Chapter seventeen: The Giving of Swords
Beta provided by Pipspebble

Agonized screams rent the air, waking Merry once again. He climbed out of bed and trudged over to Pippin’s cot, the third such trip he’d made since seeking his own bed not long ago. Judging by the faint glow of moonlight seeping in through the opening of the tent, it was not yet midnight.

Reaching his cousin’s side, he found him already awake, weeping quietly into his pillow. Merry lighted the lamp and poured some water into a mug, offering it to the other hobbit. Speaking calmly and quietly, he got Pippin to sit up and drink some of the water. When the mug was empty, Pippin lay back down, rubbing a sleeve across his reddened eyes

Merry frowned, torn between worry and exasperation. "Will you tell me, this time?" he asked, with no great hope of success.

Pippin, face still pale and tear streaked, shook his head. "It’s nothing, Merry. Just a bad dream." He looked away, refusing to allow eye contact.

Merry wanted to argue, but Pippin was still trembling in reaction to the dream and Merry knew that now wasn’t the time to make him talk. "I’ve certainly kept you up enough nights lately that I can’t complain about the noise. I think you’d feel better if you talked about your dreams, but I won’t press you, not now. We can talk about it in the morning."

Pippin looked as though he might dig his heels in, but nodded slightly. His trembling had eased and he was starting to look sleepy again.

"Back to sleep with you," Merry ordered. "I’ll be here if you need me." Pippin obediently closed his eyes, releasing a final, quivering sigh before falling asleep. Resolving to stay close for the rest of the night, in case Pippin needed him again, Merry dragged a chair next to the bed. Taking a blanket from his own cot, he settled himself into the chair and blew out the lamp, plunging the tent into darkness.

It was a long night. Pippin had intermittent nightmares until nearly dawn. He finally slipped into a deeper, dreamless sleep just as the stars began to fade and sounds of life rose in the camp. Merry had got very little sleep and was feeling out of sorts as he moved about the tent, doing mindless morning chores. He was just giving some thought to lying down again and sleeping a bit longer himself when the sound of heavy footfalls approaching from behind caught his attention.

Spinning, he saw Gimli entering the tent with a laden tray, which he placed on the table. "I’ve brought ye some breakfast, although it looks like I’m a tad early this morning." He glanced at Pippin, wrapped up in a swirl of tangled coverings.

"He’s had a bad night," Merry said in response to the dwarf’s unspoken question. "So’ve I, come to that. Pippin kept us both up with screaming nightmares until just about an hour ago."

"And how about you, lad?" Gimli asked in concern, looking at the elder hobbit with a practised eye. "Did you have any more nightmares, yourself?"

Merry shook his head with a rueful grimace. "No. I didn’t get enough sleep to have nightmares. Pip’s were enough for both of us, though."

"Well, I’ll leave you then. Mayhap you can find a little more sleep while the day is young." Gimli headed for the entrance, but turned back just as he was leaving. "Oh, I almost forgot. Aragorn said he’s running late this morning, but he’ll be along before too much longer, to check on you both."

"Thank you, Gimli." Merry looked at the untidy state of the tent, at the tray of food, and then at his cot. He wanted to get the place straightened up before Aragorn arrived, and the food smelled delicious, but he was dreadfully tired and the thought of catching a bit more sleep was very appealing. Yawning until his jaw cracked, he decided that sleep was more important than tidiness, or even food, at least today. Tossing the blanket he’d just folded onto the cot, he lay down and closed his eyes, falling asleep immediately.

The sound of voices woke him after what seemed only a few beats of his heart. Groaning, he rolled over and pulled his blanket up over his head, trying to deny that he was awake, but it was no good. The voices, while low, were persistent and could not be ignored. Throwing the blanket off, he sat up, blinking groggily in the light of the tent. He must have slept longer than he’d thought, as it was full morning, with bright sunlight shining in through the open tent flap.

"Good morning, Merry," Aragorn greeted him with a smile, handing him a mug of tea.

Merry took several sips of the hot beverage, trying to ease his grogginess. "What is the time?" he asked, when he had begun to feel a bit more alert.

"Mid morning," Aragorn answered as Pippin responded from his own cot, "Well past breakfast, Merry, but I’ve saved you a smidgen, out of respect for the fact that very old hobbits, such as yourself, do need more sleep than us younger fellows." Pippin seemed very perky, in spite of shadowed eyes, testament to the little sleep he’d had the night before.

"A very old hobbit am I?" Merry asked indignantly. "Well, I might be very old, but you are very loud. I don’t think I want to share a tent with such a noisy hobbit any more. Aragorn," he asked, turning to the king, "can you think of anyone quieter who might have a bit of space to share? There’s plenty of room in the beech grove, isn’t there? Maybe I could move in with Frodo and Sam. They wouldn’t keep me up all night and then eat all the breakfast when I pass out from exhaustion."

He climbed out of bed as he spoke, hurriedly dressing and moving to the table. Contrary to Pippin’s words, there was a loaf of bread, a large wedge of cheese, several pieces of fruit, and even some sausage waiting for him.

"I take it all back," he exclaimed as he helped himself to more tea and sat down to eat. "You are indeed a prince among hobbits, Pippin, and I would be happy to share a tent with you anytime."

Aragorn smiled at the jesting but Merry noticed that the king looked exhausted himself, with a stoop to his shoulders that Merry had rarely seen. He wondered how late it had been before Aragorn had left the healing tents yesterday, and how his patient fared.

Aragorn finished his examination of Pippin as Merry ate. "You are healing quite well, Pippin. That lump on the back of your head is nearly gone and the cut on your leg is looking much better. You may always bear a scar there, but I think it will not trouble you. Are you ready for your walk?"

Pippin, looking determined, sat up and slid his legs over the side of the bed. "I’m ready, Aragorn."

"Very well," Aragorn answered with a smile, "I think that you should be able to make it as far as the tent flap this morning. What think you?"

Pippin eyed the tent flap and nodded. "That shouldn’t be too hard."

Merry, finished with his food, took his place at the entrance while Pippin carefully stood up. Taking one slow step at a time, Pippin made his way over to where Merry stood. As he came to a halt, Pippin looked up and flashed a triumphant grin. Although his face was a bit pale and sweat beaded on his forehead, he looked to be in fairly good shape, and Merry grinned back at him. Growing overconfident from his success, Pippin turned too swiftly and lost his balance, wavering for a heartbeat. Merry jumped to his side, catching him as he fell and offering support while Pippin clutched at his arm, cursing in frustration. After a moment, the younger hobbit pushed himself upright and stepped away from Merry’s grasp, wobbling back to his cot, where he collapsed in an ungainly heap.

"Blast it all!" Pippin muttered, "How long is this dizziness going to last, Aragorn?"

"Give yourself time, Pippin." Aragorn sat on the edge of the cot, offering the young hobbit some water. "You did much better today than you did yesterday. As you get up and move around more often, you will regain your strength and the dizziness will continue to fade."

Pippin accepted the mug with a grimace, although whether for the beverage or the advice, Merry couldn’t say. He, too, wanted to know how much longer it was going to be before Pippin was well, but knew there could be no rushing of recovery from the wounds his cousin had sustained.

"You should rest for a time," Aragorn continued, ignoring the grimace, "and then, if you feel up to it, I see no reason why you should not be able to sit at the table for luncheon today. This does not mean," the king continued as Pippin looked up in surprised glee, "that you are healed. I will continue to monitor your progress, but I think that a few short walks during the day, as long as they are closely supervised, will do you good. Short meaning inside the tent, only," he added as a precaution, before Pippin could form any plans to charge out of the tent. "And if you get tired or start to feel dizzy, you need to return to your bed, at once."

Pippin nodded agreement to all of Aragorn’s stipulations, although Merry felt sure his cousin would be trying to get around them the first chance he got. He would have his work cut out for him, the next few days, keeping Pippin in line.

Looking up, Merry saw that Aragorn’s gaze was fixed on him and as he looked, the king quirked an eyebrow. Nodding, Merry motioned that Aragorn should lead the way. "I’ll be back in a few minutes, Pip," he said as he followed behind the king. "As I didn’t have any dreams last night, I don’t suppose this conversation will take long."

Arriving at Aragorn’s tent, the king motioned Merry to sit, offering him a drink of water. "I understand from Pippin that you did not get much sleep last night. How are you feeling, now?"

"Tired," Merry admitted with a wry grin. "I didn’t have any dreams though, so I suppose that’s one good thing."

Aragorn regarded his patient with shrew eyes before returning his smile. "Are you experiencing any anxiety, or unusual anger today?"

Merry took a moment to seriously examine his thoughts before answering. "Nothing unexplainable. I’m worried about Pippin. He had terrible nightmares all night, and he wouldn’t speak of them to me. He wouldn’t even look at me. Is it possible for him to be affected by the Shadow as I’ve been?"

"I know about the dreams Pippin had last night," Aragorn answered. "He spoke to me about his nightmares this morning, before you woke up. He has asked me to keep our conversation private, but I can assure you that he is not touched by the Shadow. He thinks only to save you additional worry, by sparing you the details of dreams that you cannot alter anyway."

"And did you tell him how stupid that is?" Merry asked. "Does he really think that I’ll worry less, not knowing what he’s dreaming about?"

"I understand that this is difficult for you, Merry," Aragorn said. "But I suggest you give Pippin a little time. As long as he is willing to speak with someone about his dreams, try not to fret overmuch that he is not speaking about them to you."

Merry started to object but paused, not knowing how to respond to this. His first instinct was to say that it was his job to take care of Pippin and so he should know what was going on, but he stopped himself before voicing this thought. Pippin was an adult in all the ways that counted and he had the right to make his own decisions, whether Merry agreed with them or not. Still, it was hard to be shut out.

He finally nodded in resignation. "I’ll try, even if I do think he’s being wrongheaded and stubborn about this." Merry managed a small, reassuring smile, to let Aragorn know he wouldn’t do anything rash.

He and the king spoke for only a few minutes more before separating, Aragorn heading to the healing tents and Merry back to the tent he shared with Pippin.

When he arrived, he found Gandalf inside, escorting Pippin from his cot to the small, curtained off area at the back of the tent where the chamber pot was kept. Pippin returned from his short excursion looking very pleased with himself. Gandalf helped him to a seat at the table on the far side of the tent, which held a luncheon tray, and then motioned to Merry.

"I have a task for you this afternoon, Meriadoc, once you’ve eaten," he rumbled. "Please attire yourself in your armour and the livery of Rohan, and meet me outside the tent of Eomer King in one hour." With that, he nodded to both hobbits and left the tent. Merry looked questioningly at Pippin, who returned his gaze with a quirked eyebrow.

"I suppose I’ll find out what that’s all about later," he finally said with a shrug, before turning his attention to the food on the table. Although he had eaten breakfast only a short time ago, Merry found himself ravenously hungry. In true hobbit fashion, silence reigned for several minutes as the cousins concentrated on eating.

When they were both finished, Merry helped Pippin back to bed and settled him in, tucking the covers around the clearly exhausted younger hobbit. Although Pippin fussed at Merry’s attention, he was too tired to give much protest.

"Now," Merry said, pointing his finger in his best older cousin manner, "take a nice long nap and I’ll see you when I get back from whatever it is I’m doing this afternoon."

Pippin nodded acquiescence as he watched Merry don his leather jerkin. "You should wear your sword," he mumbled sleepily, and Merry looked at him, surprised he was still awake.

"Don’t you remember, Pip? I lost it during the Battle of the Pelennor, in Minas Tirith. It ... melted away... like Frodo’s did at Weathertop."

Pippin frowned. "Oh. No, I don’t really remember that. Still," he continued after a momentary pause, "you should have a sword with you. You can take mine if you like. It’s around here somewhere. I know Gimli brought it back from the field of battle. He made a huge deal of presenting it to me. Of course, at the time, I didn’t know who he was or why he was giving me a sword, and I paid very little attention to what he did with it."

Merry was torn between amusement at Pippin’s anecdote, and sorrow for all that his cousin was still missing. Shaking his head, he looked about the tent, and finally found the sword and sheath, stored next to Pippin’s pack and armour. Taking it up, he pulled the blade from the sheath and tested the edge. It had been cleaned and sharpened, no doubt by Gimli. Satisfied that it would serve any purpose required of it, Merry slipped the blade back into its sheath and affixed it to his belt.

Several weeks had passed since he’d worn his armour and he’d grown unaccustomed to it. It felt decidedly odd to wear a sword again, and he wasn’t sure he liked the sensation. Shaking off the uneasy feeling, Merry turned to thank Pippin for the use of his sword, only to find that his cousin was on the cusp of sleep, eyes closed, his breathing becoming deeper, soon turning into a gentle snore. Smiling fondly, Merry bent to kiss him lightly on the forehead in farewell and left the tent to meet Gandalf.

The wizard was waiting for him just outside Eomer’s tent. "Ah, Meriadoc, right on time, I see. Good, good." He motioned with one hand. "Come inside. Eomer King would like to speak with you."

Following behind the wizard, Merry found himself in a tent that, while large, seemed small and overcrowded due to the number of Riders congregating there. Gandalf made his way through the group of men until he stood in front of the king.

"Eomer King, here is Meriadoc Brandybuck, as you requested."

Merry looked askance at Gandalf, wondering at the formality, but quickly collected his wits at a sharp glance from the wizard, and bowed deeply to Eomer. "My lord."

The king of Rohan rose and approached Merry. "It is good to see you looking so well, Master Holbytla. I confess, you still looked quite ill when we set out from Minas Tirith."

"Thank you, my lord," Merry responded, not quite sure where this conversation was going. He felt uncomfortable, standing in front of the Rohirrim in his Rohirric garb, as he was no longer in service to the king.

"I believe we have some unfinished business," Eomer continued, his expression stern. "I know that my uncle, Theoden King, released you from your service to him, ere we left Dunharrow, ordering you to remain behind, with my sister. Yet you disobeyed this last order of the king and found a way to accompany the army in spite of his wishes. What say you to this?"

Taken aback, the hobbit stared up at the king and stammered a reply. "I...I told Theoden King that I would not be left behind, and I meant it, although I’m sure I didn’t have a thought as to how I would accomplish such a thing as following after the army. But you must know, lord, that your sister, the lady Eowyn, came to my aid, although I did not know her true identity at the time. She spoke to me, in the guise of a young Rider, and said that if I would, I should ride on her horse, with her."

Merry paused for just a moment before continuing in a voice laced with sadness. "You know that I was with Theoden King ere he died. I begged his forgiveness, which he granted freely."

"It is well, Meriadoc." Eomer smiled, letting all hints of displeasure slide from his face. "Your ‘disobedience’ saved my sister and many others, and this I know well. You need fear no censure from me." Beckoning an attendant to bring over a small cask, Eomer continued. "What I wish is to rectify the error my uncle made in dismissing you from his service."

Opening the cask, the king removed a small sword of different make from the blade Merry had received from the barrow, but elegant in design and most efficient in purpose.

Eomer extended the blade to Merry. "I would be honoured if you would take this sword, and agree to be my liegeman."

The hobbit swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, blinking away the moisture that threatened to cloud his eyes. Kneeling, he accepted the sword and bowed his obeisance to the king, who placed his hand on the small knight’s head. Merry was sharply reminded of another king who, just a few short weeks ago, had performed this same ritual.

"Rise, Meriadoc, knight of Rohan," Eomer said. "May this blade bring you as much fortune as did your previous sword."

Merry rose and removed Pippin’s sword from his belt, handing it to Gandalf, who stepped forward to receive it. He then placed his new sword on the belt, feeling keenly the honour bestowed upon him by the king of Rohan.

"Come now, my friend," the king commanded, his face relaxing into a warm smile of welcome, "let us sit and talk for a time. I would hear more about your home and people. You promised to tell my uncle all about this leaf you smoke. I would learn about it as well."

Merry soon found himself seated by a warm fire, with the king of Rohan on one side and Gandalf on the other as he told tales of the Shire. He spoke of pipeweed and other herbs of interest, and reminisced about the small adventures he’d had, growing up in Brandy Hall. He listened as Eomer related what it was like growing up on the plains of Rohan, learning to ride before he could walk, playing at swords with the other children from the time he was old enough not to hurt himself, and always preparing to defend against the growing threat to the south and east.

The sun rode low in the afternoon sky when Eomer finally dismissed his newest knight, with the promise of duties to come on the morrow. Merry was almost glad to find Pippin sleeping when he returned to their tent, for he had much to think over, and needed some time alone. Setting Pippin’s sword back with his pack, he reassured himself that his cousin slept peacefully before turning and leaving the tent again.

Of a mind to check on Frodo and Sam, he headed for the peaceful solitude of the beech grove. He hadn’t seen them yet today and looked forward to a nice, quiet visit. Talking to them always helped to clear his head.

He returned to his tent much later that afternoon, having once again fallen asleep while sitting between his two friends. The nap had done him as much good as the thinking and he felt greatly refreshed, ready to face whatever came his way next.