Chapter 7

Of Beehives and Battle Scars

"Well, I don’t know about Pippin, but I am quite satisfied with your explanation." Merry said, "So now how many lives have you had?"

"I count this one as four." Boromir smiled. "I think this one shall be most fruitful."

"It will be more fruitful still, if you built yourself some bee-hives instead of just raiding bee-trees." Pippin said. "I am sorry about your wife, Boromir. I think I could not stand it if Diamond died. I would dearly love to introduce you to her..." His voice trailed off at the sight of the Man's face. "What is it, old friend?" he said, as Merry rose abruptly in alarm. "Does something pain you?"

"Is it your old wounds?" Merry said on the heels of his cousin's question. Both hobbits pressed closer, as if they could pour their own strength into their old friend. Boromir's arms went out, and he hugged them close for a long, wordless time before releasing them. As he sat back, they saw his face was pale, but resolute.

"What is it, Boromir?" Pippin whispered.

The Man shook his head, half-lifting a hand, palm out, as if to stop the words.

"Bo--" Merry began, and stopped, a swift light of understanding growing in his eyes. He grabbed Pippin's arm just as the younger cousin began to speak again. Pippin looked from Merry to the Man in confusion. "It's the name," Merry said under his breath.

The Man was nodding. "Boromir is dead," he said. "I heard about it, in Minas Tirith. They laid him in an elven-boat with his weapons, and it bore him through the Falls of Rauros and down to the Sea. His father saw him, and his brother, though it might only have been in dreams."

"Boromir is dead," Pippin echoed in a whisper.

The Man smiled. "Beeman is my name," he said, holding out his hand. When Pippin automatically laid his own hand in the large one, Boromir closed his fingers in a gentle grip and pumped his arm up and down. "So pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, eyeing his dear friend closely.

Pippin had the look of a dreamer, wakening.

When Boromir released Pippin's hand, he found Merry's hand thrust out and waiting. He took it, and the hobbit shook his hand vigorously. "So pleased to make your acquaintance," Merry said, and turned to Pippin. "Pippin," he said brightly. "Have you met my new friend, the Beeman?"

“Ah,” said Pippin jovially, laying a finger along his nose with a wink, “Well met, good Beeman!”

"We missed you so, Boromir. How we missed you!" Merry added warmly.

“Yes, dear friend, how we did miss you!” Pippin said. “We once had a dear --- friend named Boromir, did you know? A common name in Minas Tirith, I expect --- I should imagine many babies were given the same name, after Lord Denethor named his own firstborn Boromir. Quite a popular name, I expect.”

Boromir laughed heartily, his mirth coming forth as swiftly as had his distress. "I have missed you two just as much, I assure you. I heard much of your deeds during the War," he said, "Do you have any interesting scars?"

"Well, we both have a few." Merry replied, "Mostly mine is just the arm…I suppose you know? Yes, I thought you might. It gets very cold sometimes, and aches a bit, but I’ve done just fine."

"I see. I am sorry, Merry. I wish it had been otherwise, that you had no discomfort from your wound, but you paid a price for a deed well done. I am very proud of you." Merry blushed a little at this. "And you, Pippin, how fared yourself?"

"Well, I have a few scars. The one on my brow you can see, and this one here, where my skin sort of just burst when the troll fell on me, oh, and this one here on my leg; see how it goes round the knee?"

"Very impressive!" Boromir said, studying the scars on Pippin’s leg, then the one on his brow, next examining a twisted scar on Pippin’s arm. He saw a smaller scar on Pippin’s small hand. "What’s this one from? It goes all the way through the thick of your thumb."

Pippin snatched his hand back, and Merry immediately began to howl with laughter.

"Don’t start, Merry!" Pippin scowled.

"Oh, that, now is a scar from a quite serious battle." Merry grinned.

"Merry, stop," said Pippin through gritted teeth. Plainly this was a tender subject.

"Really, Pippin, it was!" Merry grinned.

"Merry, it’s not funny."

"Oh, Pippin, don’t be shy! Tell the Man about it!"

"No!" Pippin glared.

"Oh, he’s just being modest."

"Just leave that tale to lie, Merry, if you please?"

"Please, Pippin, it really is quite a story!"

"It was a very good pudding!" Pippin scowled, positively glowering.

"I have never understood why you just didn’t let it have the thing."

"And it was a very big squirrel, as you well know!" Pippin said, nearly squeaking with indignation.

"He’s very sensitive about the Great Squirrel Pudding Incident."

Boromir shook with laughter, wiping a mirthful tear from his cheek. Oh, but how he truly had missed these two! He had always felt he should like to see them again, but until this day, he had not realized how much they meant to him. They had always been a balm to his heart, and it seemed they still were. Being with them again was like slipping into a pleasant and familiar dream.

Theo and Faro awoke, yawning hugely, and they all set to the rabbit stew once more, after which Boromir had amused the hobbit lads with a few tales. Merry and Pippin insisted that Boromir go with them to meet Diamond and Estella. First they would visit Brandy Hall, then journey on to Great Smials, stopping at the Oak and Acorn on the way to rest. At first Boromir had hemmed and hawed a bit, then Pippin had sweetened the invitation by offering to help build some bee-hives, while Merry offered to supervise. It had always been hard to refuse these two, but when the younger hobbits joined their fathers in insisting he come along, he couldn’t turn down the invitation

"Mercy!" he cried, "I surrender! Please, upon my honor, I am your prisoner!"

Theo and Faro jumped up and down in excitement. "He’s coming home with us! Hooray for Boromir!" they shouted.

“Boromir,” Pippin said suddenly, “I should very much like to show you my pony, Dapplegrim --- will you come with me a moment?” Leaning close to Merry, he whispered, “Talk to the lads, will you? About Boromir’s...” Merry laid a finger aside his nose and gave him a nod and a solemn wink, and Pippin led Boromir to the shady area under a great oak where the ponies were tied.

“Stay here with me a moment, lads,” Merry bid them, “for I have something to talk with you about. It concerns our friend. You know how Pippin and I still have some ill memories of the War?”

The youngsters nodded, and Merry continued, “Well, you see, Boromir has some very ill memories, so very ill I’m sure he is trying to forget it all. It is all too common in those who are long at war. It’s a kind of melancholy. You see, he was at war his whole life, from the time that he was himself but a young lad, if you can imagine that. The High King told me there is a name for it. It’s known as Old Soldiers’ Melancholy. Our kind, hobbits, that is, well, we seem to have the wisdom in such matters: we do not make much of such things, else too much be made of them. It is only good hobbit sense, really. The kindest thing to do would be to say nothing of who he really is to anyone. When he is ready to speak freely with others about his memories, he will do so.”

“Is it like an open wound in his heart, Papa?” Theo asked.

“Yes, Theo, you have the right of it,” replied Merry. “Understand me now, none of us would ever ask you to tell a lie, especially Boromir, for he counts honor as a most valuable thing. Lying would be wrong, you must always be honest lads. What we are asking you to do is simply not let on that he is the Boromir, Lord Boromir. He wishes to be known as Boromir Beeman, and forget a while his sadness, or rather lay it aside a wee while. Do you both understand?”

“Oh, yes, Uncle Merry, don’t worry!” Faro said, his eyes wide with sympathy and understanding.

“We wouldn’t want to cause him to think of things that make him sad, or bring back unpleasant memories,” added Theo. “He must have very good reasons to feel that way.”

“And we hobbits do have good sense about such things,” Faro nodded sagely.

“Indeed we do,” said Theo, with a firm nod of agreement.

“And since it isn’t really lying…” added Faro.

“Only waiting for him to decide when to speak of it…”said Theo.

“Well, then,” Merry said, “I’m sure he will be most grateful for the graciousness and kindness of you both.” Smiling and giving the young ones a pat on their shoulders, he turned to join Pippin and Boromir, who appeared to be going over every dapple on Dapplegrim’s starry hide.

“They aren’t fooling me one bit,” whispered Theo.

“Nor me!” replied Faro. “They just don’t want us to let on to our mothers because they are lasses, and they’ll blab the news to everyone. And then we won’t have him to ourselves anymore!”

“You have the right of it!” nodded Theo.

“Lasses!” Faro said, rolling his eyes.

“Boromir has his reasons, I’m sure,” Theo said.

“And I am quite sure they are good reasons,” Faro replied with a firm nod.

“Very good reasons!” Theo agreed.

“Grown-ups! They must think all young folk are daft!” Faro observed.

“Aye, there’s the truth of it!” Theo agreed, then hissed “Quiet, now, don’t let on we know the truth of it, here they come!”

"And what are we to call you, sir?" asked Faro. “May we call you Boromir, or shall we call you Mr. Beeman?”

"Well, Mr. Beeman would be fine," said Pippin.

"For now…" Faro said, a bit mournfully, "I had rather hoped for ‘Uncle Boromir’ – that be would be splendid."

"Peace!" Boromir interjected, "How about ‘Uncle Bom’? Once upon a time, I had a young friend who called me by that name."

"A wonderful compromise!" Pippin said, then added, “Now, the day is growing old, and we should soon be on our way to Brandy Hall. As it is it shall be quite late before we get there.”

"Very well, let us make ready." Boromir said, rising.

"Oh, dear! I forgot! Diamond will wring my neck! She said I have to bring her some honey, she shall be very put out if I don’t bring it. I’ve been asked to get it a dozen times, and I keep forgetting." Pippin said, a note of alarm in his voice.

"Not to worry," Boromir chuckled, "You are, after all, at the home of a bee-charmer. Now, I shall make ready, and we’ll go."