CHAPTER 27

Freddy had been enjoying his conversation with Legolas and Gimli. He found the Dwarf as interesting as the Elf, and was fascinated with their take on the adventures his friends had while they were gone. He had heard Merry and Pippin tell their own tales, but it was quite different to hear someone else’s take on the same events. To hear the matter-of-fact account of the way in which these two, along with Aragorn had run after the army of Orcs that had captured the two hobbits was amazing. Even though he knew that his friends had turned up alive and well, he could still hear the distress and fear that Elf, Dwarf and Man had held when they thought them dead. And it was fun to listen to their easy banter and teasing as they took turns speaking, interrupting one another with disparaging jests and mock taunts.

Just then, from the Men’s encampment floated up the last sound he thought to hear. Someone was playing a flute, and very well.

“In just a moment,” chuckled Gimli, “we will hear it played again, and not so well. Anwynd must be giving Bergil his lesson.”

But Fredegar barely heard him. The music filled him with a raw piercing grief, as though his loss had only just happened. He made a sound as though struck by a blow, and tried to move, to get up, to run, but it was as though he was paralyzed.

Legolas and Gimli looked at him in alarm, seeing his pallor and his wide unfocused eyes, Legolas realizing the emotion, but at a loss to explain it.

Then as Gimli had said, the music changed, became the halting notes of someone only just beginning to learn. This carried his sorrow even deeper, into their childhood, and Folco’s first early lessons. Though a distant part of his mind was somehow aware that he did not want to do this in front of anyone, he was helpless to stop it. He curled up around his knees and began to weep uncontrollably.

The Elf and Dwarf were shocked at the sudden violent display of sorrow. Gimli was growing agitated, as Legolas lay a hesitant hand on the hobbit’s back in an attempt to offer comfort.

“Gimli,” said Legolas “please go and fetch Merry as quickly as you can.”

The Dwarf raced off as though he were chasing Orcs.

Merry and Pippin were talking with Éothain about the rather pressing question of fodder for the horses, who ate quite a bit more than did ponies, when Gimli raced up. It had not been a far run, and he was barely out of breath, but his agitation was clear.

“Gimli?” Merry looked at him in surprise.

“Please excuse us Master Éothain, but I need to speak to Meriadoc.” He tugged on Merry’s sleeve and drew him away. Pippin naturally followed. “We need you to come at once, Merry. Something seems to be wrong with your friend Fredegar.”

Merry’s heart plummeted to his toes. It would have to be dire to upset the unflappable Gimli so. He looked at Pippin and nodded, and they both raced off after the Dwarf.

By the time they got to the mallorn the music had stopped, and Legolas was rubbing the weeping Fredegar on the back, and humming a quiet Elvish lullaby. Merry came up and caught Freddy in an embrace.

It was Pippin who realized what had set their friend off. “It was the flute, wasn’t it, Freddy?”

Fredegar had begun to calm at the arrival of his friends. He sniffed and nodded. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to do this.” Now that the first impact of the grief had abated, he was mortified to realize how he had behaved in front of the Elf and Dwarf.

Merry shushed him soothingly. “Can you come with me back to Bag End? I think maybe you need a cup of tea.” He helped him to his feet, and with a nod back to the others slowly led Freddy off.

Pippin remained for a moment, and turned to explain to Legolas and Gimli. “His best friend was killed in the Troubles by Saruman’s bullies.” Pippin’s face also filled with sorrow. The last time he had seen Folco, he had ruffled Pippin’s hair and told him he would see him again soon. “Folco played the flute.” He looked at the two of them. “I’m sorry you had to see him like that; he is going to be terribly embarrassed.”

“There is no shame in grief,” said Legolas.

“Well, I’m going on down to Bag End, too; see if I can help. I know you won’t say anything to anyone else.”

The two watched Pippin trudging down the hill in silence. Legolas put a hand on Gimli’s shoulder. Gimli reached his own hand up and gave it a squeeze. Not for the first time, nor for the last, Legolas thought of the grief he was piling up for himself in his own future. It couldn’t be helped. Love bestowed itself where it would, and it was both his fortune and misfortune that his love had bestowed itself on mortals. Friendship is a perilous thing.

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Pippin found Merry and Freddy in the kitchen at Bag End. Merry had put the kettle on, and Freddy sat at the table with his head in his hands. No one else had come back to the smial yet.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to look them in the face again,” Freddy was saying. “How long will it be before I don’t do something like this all the time?”

“We can ask Anwynd and Bergil to leave off the flute lessons for a while,” said Pippin reluctantly.

“No.” Freddy was emphatic. “I have to learn how to live in the world as it is. Other people play flutes. I have to remember that.”

Merry set a cup of tea in front of him, with a plate of biscuits and the sugar bowl. “You will learn to remember that. It’s going to take a long time; I don’t think it is something you will ever get over, Freddy dear. Frodo still grieves for his parents. Pippin and I still grieve for Boromir, and for other friends we lost in the War.” Pippin nodded solemnly. Merry went on, “But you can learn to control it after a while. The problem is that you did not have time to grieve when it happened--first you were leading the Rebellion, and then you were in the Lockholes. Give it time.”

Fredegar nodded. “Thank you, Merry. And you too, Pippin. Maybe I will make it through this.”