For Marigold--Sam in the middle

SAM IN THE MIDDLE

The first day of the journey from Cormallen to Osgiliath had passed pleasantly enough, thought Sam. They were taking it slow-like. The worst of the injured was being floated down in ships and barges, but he and Mr. Frodo and Mr. Pippin had been judged well enough to ride the nearly fifty mile journey in the wains. Sam was relieved. He knew that soon enough they’d have to take boats to get back across the Great River, but he was glad enough to make that as short a time as possible.

Their driver was a pleasant young soldier from Rohan, who had lost his horse in the big battle near the City, and then received a minor leg wound before the Black Gate. He had been full of questions about the hobbits and their homeland--a welcome change from questions about the last part of their journey.

Anwald, as was the driver’s name, had been especially interested in tales of Mr. Frodo and Mr. Merry as lads in Brandy Hall, and a few tales as had Mr. Pippin in them, too. He seemed right curious about the Shire, and Mr. Frodo was only too happy to speak of those happier days, afore anyone knew of such a thing as the Ring.

From time to time Legolas, with Gimli perched behind, would ride alongside and have a pleasant word or two, and once even Gandalf rode with them for a while, laughing and telling his own tales of hobbits.

But they saw neither hide nor hair of Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, who were riding with their Kings, and busy with their duties. Sam had thought at first that the part about them being Knights was just one of Mr. Pippin’s jests, but it had soon become clear that the two of them really had been made Knights, and that they really had important tasks to do. He’d managed to get most of Mr. Pippin’s story out of Mr. Merry, who was so proud of his younger cousin Sam thought he might bust. And Mr. Pippin was always ready to brag on Mr. Merry, but now he just shone with pride when he spoke of him. Mr. Frodo was right proud of them both, but Sam could tell the stories bothered him no end, realizing what danger they’d been in, and blaming himself for putting them there. As if he would’ve had much choice in their coming along once they’d made their minds up.

No more choice than he’d had in Sam’s coming with him. And Sam was fairly certain that if Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin had not been caught by old Saruman’s Orcs, they’d’ve followed Mr. Frodo to the Black Land as well. Still, from what he could gather, it was as well that they had not. If they had not been able to do what they’d done, the Dark Lord might not have been so distracted that he had missed Frodo and Sam creeping across his land.

But now the army had come over a third of the distance to Osgiliath, and the wain had stopped for the night, and here they came, the two of them, taller than they’d any right to be.

“Hullo, Frodo, Sam,” called Pippin cheerily. “Our Kings sent us to invite you to join them--and us--for supper.”

“And they’ve said we may stay with you both tonight,” added Merry. For Frodo and Sam were to bed down in the back of the waggon.

Well, that was pleasant news. It was a nice little walk to the front of the line, where a great pavilion was set up for the Captains of the West and their guests. It was no fancy feast, such as they had been honored with in Cormallen, but a pleasant meal with good company. Still, Sam watched in amusement as Merry and Pippin saw to serving Aragorn and King Éomer, and then Frodo and Sam, and Gandalf and Legolas and Gimli, before they ever sat down to a plate themselves. There were a couple of other squires who were serving the rest--Elrond’s sons, and that Prince Imrahil and his sons, and a couple of other important people whose names Sam didn’t rightly yet know.

And after they had eaten, and the hobbits, and Gandalf and Gimli and Strider had lit their pipes, they’d had a nice talk, all of them. The conversation had somehow turned to how some of the Fellowship had known one another before they had all set out from Rivendell.

Legolas had mentioned that he had known Aragorn--”I had of course met him when he brought Gollum to my father’s halls; but our paths had crossed at least once before that, for I came to Rivendell on an errand for my father when he was a mere child. And Mithrandir was often a visitor to our realm.”

And Gimli had known Gandalf, and had met old Mr. Bilbo before, when Mr. Bilbo had gone back to the Lonely Mountain before he settled in Rivendell. “And though I met none of you rascals” and he had winked at the hobbits, “I felt as though I must have known you already, for Master Baggins was full of tales about his kinfolk and told us many a story about your younger days.”

And then Strider had let something drop that none of the hobbits had realized before. He was mentioning the message that had been sent to him from Gandalf, that his hobbit friends would be abroad and perhaps in need of assistance, and then the message brought to him from that Elf, Gildor--”I was a bit confused, for Gildor’s message mentioned three hobbits, yet Gandalf’s message was unclear as to whether I was to expect two or four--”

The hobbits exchanged quick looks, and Frodo had interrupted. “Two or *four*? Do you mean to say that Gandalf knew Merry and Pippin were coming?” He turned an accusing look on the wizard. “Gandalf? What made you think there might be *four* hobbits? I did not know myself that Merry and Pippin were planning to come until the night before we left the Shire!”

But Gandalf returned Frodo’s glare with a mild one of his own. “Let us say that I am observant. It was clear to me before I left you in early summer, that your cousins had tumbled to your plan to leave, and knowing them, I was fairly sure they would not allow you to slip away without them.”*

Now Merry and Pippin looked at one another in shock. “But Gandalf!” Merry started to protest, “How? How did you know?”

He looked down his long nose and chuckled. “Meriadoc, I *do* know hobbits. And when I see two hobbits who normally tell one another everything tiptoeing about and bursting with secrets, I can put two and two together to make four. I was, of course, uncertain whether Frodo would *allow* you to accompany him, but there was no doubt in my mind that both of you meant to try.”

Frodo glared at Gandalf. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you warn me they knew?”

“My dear Frodo! It was not mine to tell. And I felt in my heart that Meriadoc and Peregrin might have some part to play before all was over.”

Well, that had been a shock, and no mistake. But it had made Sam feel better anyway, about something that had bothered him all along--which was having told Mr. Merry about the Ring, after Gandalf had made him promise to keep everything secret. He looked up at the wizard and met his eye, and with a slow smile, Gandalf tipped him a wink.

The conversation had turned to other topics for a while. Sam could tell Mr. Frodo was getting weary, and Sam was stifling yawns himself.

Merry rose, and bowed to Éomer. “My liege, if you will excuse me, I believe it is time that we hobbits seek our rest.”

Belatedly recalled to his manners--for he had been sitting there with a distant expression making little balls out of bits of leftover bread before absently popping them into his mouth--Pippin rose to bow also. But his movements were a bit awkward.

Merry and Frodo, at the same instant, and with identical looks of concern said “Pippin!” But Aragorn had already put his hand out to the youngest hobbit. “Pippin, is your knee bothering you?”

Pippin sighed. “It’s only a twinge. I sat still for too long.”

“Well, my young knight, I think that I had better rub some ointment on it, and give you a mild draught, so that your sleep will be pain-free.”

The young hobbit rolled his eyes, but did not protest. He looked over at the other three. “You lot go on back and get settled in. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

Rather reluctantly, the others did as Pippin urged them, and walked back to the waggon in which Frodo and Sam had ridden during the day. Anwald was already bedded down beneath it, and Sam clambered into the back, and began unrolling the blankets and bedrolls, and ignoring the quiet and earnest conversation Mr. Merry and Mr. Frodo were having a few feet away. Sam knew right well how that conversation was going--Mr. Frodo was apologizing again for dragging his cousins through “all this”, and Mr. Merry was doing his best to reassure him that he’d not “dragged” them anywhere. He was pleased to hear Mr. Frodo give a little chuckle, and to see Mr. Merry grab him in a quick embrace.

Then the two joined in helping Sam to arrange their little nest. They all divested themselves of their mail--Mr. Merry was wearing his as a matter of course, but Strider had insisted that Sam and Mr. Frodo continue to wear theirs until after they arrived in the City, just in case any stray enemies with arrows were lurking about. Sam nestled down next to Mr. Frodo, and Mr. Merry was on his cousin’s other side. Sam noticed that Mr. Merry kept his sword where he could reach it right off. He supposed that Mr. Merry’d move over to let Mr. Pippin in between when he got there.

They lay silently for a while, and soon Sam heard their breathing even out. But he wasn’t real sleepy himself, and he lay there thinking how good it would be to have them all four together once more.

When they had set out, and all the way up to the time they had been separated on the other side of the River, the hobbits had slept the same way--the old way. Mr. Merry on one end, next to Mr. Pippin, and then Mr. Frodo, and Sam on the other end. That’s how it was with hobbits. Mr. Frodo, he had to be protected ‘cause of the Ring, and Mr. Pippin, he was the youngest. So Sam and Mr. Merry, they took care of the other two.

He had missed that, when they’d gone off on their own. It would have been good to have extra eyes and ears, to know that someone else was sharing the burden of watching Mr. Frodo’s other side. But, Sam reminded himself yet again, the others had their parts to play.

Just then he heard a little clink, and felt the waggon move as Mr. Pippin climbed in. He carefully removed his mail as quietly as he could, and then began to lay down next to Sam.

“Mr. Pippin,” Sam hissed, “hadn’t you ought to be between your cousins?”

Pippin chuckled softly. “I don’t think so Sam.”

Sam was startled to realize how much larger Mr. Pippin really was. “But--”

“Shh. Sam, this is fine. This is where I belong now.” He turned, so that he was facing outwards, and Sam was quite aware that, like Mr. Merry, Mr. Pippin had placed his sword in easy reach. Soon Mr. Pippin, too, was breathing quietly.

Sam felt an unexpected sting of tears, and blinked. It was the hobbit way, in strange places, to put the ones in need of protection in the middle. Mr. Pippin was right: he was a warrior now, a knight.

No, Mr. Pippin might still be a tween, but he was no longer a lad in need of cosseting or protection. And while Sam was sure he could still take care of himself just fine, thank you, it was rather heart-warming to think that Mr. Pippin could do that, too.

But it did make a body feel older.

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A reference to my story "A Conspiracy of Hobbits", Chapter 5