For Evendim, who knows why.

Chapter 8

Brandy Hall

Estella liked to keep her hands busy when she felt worried, so she had taken up her knitting in a cozy sewing room near the kitchen so as to be close enough to hear when the tea-kettle whistled. The kitchen was a smaller but no less functional or comfortable version of the enormous Hall Kitchens. It was located near the Master Apartments, which the Master of Brandy Hall and his family had occupied for many generations, Tucked away in Brandy Hall near a door leading into a grand rose garden, it was Estella’s favorite place in all the world, for here she could be Mrs. Meriadoc Brandybuck, and forget a while the duties of the Mistress of Brandy Hall.. She had decided to knit a scarf for dear Faro, a lovely green one that would set off his eyes. Her needles clicked busily, yet not so much that Estella could forget the ticking of the clock nearby. She worried about them: Merry, Pippin and the lads. How not, when they said they were going to that place to see one of those people, of all things! True, Merry and Pippin refused to think all Big Folk were capable of ill deeds, and she supposed she shouldn’t just judge summarily when she hadn’t even met the Man, but still, she worried. Her train of thought was broken by the shrill summons of the teapot, and she stepped out of the little sewing room to get herself a nice hot cup of tea.

She had only just finished spreading a little plum jelly on a piece of toast when the kitchen door swung wide. Rufus, the stable-master, walked through the door carrying a crate filled with small crockery pots sealed with beeswax. “They’re back, Missus,” he said with a wide smile, “and they’ve got honey. Lots of it! I’m to tell you Master would like some coffee, and he asked for a lot of it, for himself and the Thain, and…” here he lowered his voice to a near whisper, “there’s a Man with ‘em, Ma’am! A right big one, too. I expect he could drink a gallon of coffee all by himself, Ma’am.”

A Man! Now, what was this about? Estella mused, What in the world were they doing bringing a Man home with them? The King’s Edict forbade any Man but a merchant to enter the Shire and then it had to be a matter of commerce, so he must be a merchant… But why under heaven would they bring a merchant into Brandy Hall, and at this hour? And why coffee? Merry is well aware of how dear the price of coffee is here, why it had to be shipped all the way from the South! Surely he would not bring an important dignitary here at this late hour and without telling me beforehand! And a big one, too, from the sound of him. A gallon of coffee? Just how big was this Man, and just how much coffee could a very big one drink? Estella knew her obligations as hostess; if coffee was called for then it must be served, even if it meant depleting their stores of the precious coffee beans to alarmingly low amounts.

Just then Theo and Faro burst in, all elbows, eyes and excitement. “Mum! Mum!” Theo shouted, loud as only a young hobbit can be. “We have company, Mum! He’s a Man, and he’s ever so big!”

“Steady, Theo!” she laughed, “It isn’t as if you’ve never seen a Man before! Rufus told me he is very big, but he has little doings with the Big Folk. Surely he isn’t the size of a troll! Besides, Bucklanders have always been tolerant of our Big Neighbors, as well you know.”

“But Aunt Estella, this one really is big!” Faro said, as excited as his cousin. “But here he is, see for yourself!”

Indeed, the lads spoke aright, for at that time Merry and Pippin entered, laughingly dragging a Man through the door by the wrists. And no ordinary Man, either. This one was one of the biggest she had ever seen.

He was smiling broadly, his eyes sparkling with delight. He barely had time to crouch down as he was dragged in, the crown of his head just skimming the frame of the round door. He was clad in simple but immaculately clean and tidy clothing, and though his posture was stooped due to his height, there seemed to be a quiet dignity about him as he looked about the cozy kitchen. On his face he wore an expression of wonder, as though he had just stepped into some magical realm. Then his eyes met hers, and though the broad smile faded to one gentler, his delight at the sight of her was no less.

"This must be the famous Estella Brandybuck!" said the Man, and, bowing most graciously, he took her tiny hand in his big one and gingerly brushed her rings with his lips, as though she was a princess. This was not the action of a commoner with little knowledge of the proper etiquette: To kiss the smooth, soft skin being considered forward at best and at worst vulgar and unrefined. "Boromir Beeman,” smiled the stranger, “at your service, My Lady!" Estella was, like Boromir’s bees, quite charmed. She felt her surprise and worry immediately melt away like butter in the summer sun. Her heart spoke to her: there was something special about this Man, though she could not have said what. “My dear, I am greatly honored to meet at last the Star of Buckland,” he continued, “Merry and Theo have told me so much about you, and I see now their boasts were not idle.”

He stood, quite forgetting he was in the home of hobbits, after all, and banged the top of his head against a roof-beam. Estella giggled, blushing to her toes. So gracious and graceful but a moment before, the lapse into a clumsy bump against a roof-beam was particularly amusing to her. But though the Man had made her laugh, she felt she had been praised by a noble prince, and it made her feel like a princess. Why, he even knows my name means ‘star’! She thought, I wonder if he is highborn; his manners speak well of him, so this may well be. We shall see…

"Estella, my bright and shining star," Merry said, giving Estella a tender kiss, “this is our friend, Boromir Beeman. He’s the new honey-merchant we got wind of last time we were in Bree, do you remember?”

“Yes, Merry, of course I remember,” Estella answered. “I was counting on sending you to Bree after some honey, if for nothing else then for medicinals, but I see now you can save yourself the journey. Boromir is your first name? My Merry and his cousin often speak of a Boromir they knew but…”

“Oh, yes,” Pippin interjected almost forcefully, drawing odd glances from both Merry and their Mannish guest, “Boromir is a rather common name in the south, you know. Boromir the First was a Steward who was stabbed by a Morgul blade. He lived, but he suffered greatly until his death. He was a warrior brave and true so many soldiers name their sons Boromir, as well as giving them names of other great warriors of old.”

“Then there was a Boromir the Second?” Estella politely asked.

“Yes, but… but it was he that the Orcs…” said Pippin, and looked aside.

“Yes, dearest Pippin, I know,” Estella gave Pippin’s hand a pat. “And I know how you miss him. But let us not speak more of it just now -- I believe my husband wanted some coffee, as I’m sure you all do, since Rufus told me you wanted a fair quantity. Come, Mr. Beeman…”

“Please, call me Boromir, dear lady,” said the big Man, once more smiling warmly.

“Very well, then, Boromir!” Estella took the arm he offered her, noting his manners were quite polished. “To the dining hall, where the ceiling is higher and hopefully you can be more comfortable.”

As Boromir walked forward, he remembered the roof-beam and instead bumped the candelabra, sending it swinging only to have it swing back and catch him at the back of his head. Candles rained down on his head and shoulders, and the two lads giggled. Estella gave the pair of youngsters a sharp glance, then led Boromir (rather carefully) to the dining hall. The hall, usually used for large gatherings, had a much higher ceiling, which would prove more comfortable to one of the Big Folk. As their guest entered the dining hall, he could at last stand upright, and Estella couldn’t help but notice the lads had been correct: this one was, indeed, quite large, even for one of his kind. A low stepping-stool served for Boromir to sit on. It was sturdy enough, but made for awkward seating as Boromir’s knees jutted up higher than his elbows.

"Well, at least you have manners befitting hobbitry! Please, do sit! If only to keep you from further harm to yourself!" said Estella graciously, trying to not appear as though she was taken aback by the size of the Man.

"This is quite an honor, I must say. I have longed these many years to see the inside of a hobbit home, and the Great Smials and Brandy Hall most of all. All this is, for me, a dream come true." Boromir said. It was quite true. He felt as if he was under some gentle enchantment, because he had desired this for so long. Many times had he attempted to imagine what a visit to a hobbit home might be like, but he found his imaginings fell short, so to speak. Now he found the experience utterly charming, exceeding his every expectation. The abode was balanced between graciousness and coziness, somehow; elegant, yet completely homey.

As for Estella, she felt quite taken aback. Not since Gandalf had one of the Big Ones seemed so taken with hobbits. Moreover, such a handsome fellow, too! Why, if he were but a hobbit, the lasses from every Farthing would have set their caps for him, though she found Men to be a bit thin for her tastes. But to his credit, how graceful in manner he was, and how very well spoken!

“Will you be staying the night, Boromir?” she asked.

“Yes, he will,” Merry answered in Boromir’s stead. “Tomorrow Pippin and Faro were to go home, but since we have met with our old friend…”

“You were in the War?” Estella asked.

“Yes,” Merry again spoke in Boromir’s stead, “that was when we met, you see…”

“Merry, will you kindly allow our guest to speak on his own behalf?” laughed the hobbitess. “Goodness! Did you leave your manners in the Old Forest?”

“To answer your question concerning the War -- yes,” Boromir said, attempting to smooth Estella’s ruffled feathers, “We did indeed meet during that time…” Boromir’s voice trailed off.

Poor, dear thing! thought Estella, I doubt not in the least he is suffering from the Melancholy, and badly, too.

“Were you at war a long time, dear?” she asked gently, patting his hand, which she then noticed was covered in scars. Trying not to stare, she forced herself to look into Boromir’s eyes. Oh, dear, she thought, this one has many scars, deep scars -- I can see them in his eyes as plain as plain! Oh, Estella, you have put your foot in your mouth, and no mistake!

“Yes, sweetheart, he was at war a very long time, for the people of his city battled the Enemy for generations,” Merry said. This time Estella did not reprimand her husband for interrupting or speaking out of turn, but only looked at him gratefully.

“Oh, you poor thing!” Estella cried. “And here I’ve been so ungracious. Why, you must have been under the sword since you were a mere babe. Please forgive my stumbling about in your past, so to speak, my dear Man.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Lady,” Boromir assured her warmly. “In truth, we were trained from the cradle, hearing song and story of great battles and mighty heroes of old as we grew. We knew no different way, so for my people war was a matter of course, and not at all unusual.”

“You are very kind to say so and I do not doubt the truth of your words,” Estella replied, her hand still resting on the much larger and battle-scarred hand. “But I can still tell a cat from a cobbler, as we say. You are letting me off the hook, and you are kind to do so. I shall take more care in future when I speak.”

“You mustn’t worry yourself overmuch, Lady…”

“No, no my dear fellow! I do understand very well. Merry and Pippin still have a bit of a turn now and again. We who are closest to them understand. The worst scars are those which lie unseen.” The sincerity in Estella’s words was genuine. “I shall make it up to you, I hope, with hospitality. Now, you are far too thin, I should say, though I am no judge of Men. I have some cold roast beef and a fresh loaf, and the coffee should be put on. Whilst it’s brewing, I shall bring out a little something for us to nibble upon.”

“You are most kind,” Boromir replied, “but if it is to your liking, I would rather enjoy a cup of tea. Comfrey would suit me best at this hour, if it is not too much trouble or my request unseemly, Lady.”

With that, Estella vanished back into the kitchen. No sooner was she out of earshot than Pippin heaved a huge sigh. “I was beginning to think she was going to pick until she snagged a thread and unraveled the whole thing!” he whispered. Inwardly Merry and Boromir chuckled. Pippin was a famously bad liar.

“You have a very sweet and pretty wife, Merry,” Boromir said. “And no dullard, either, I see! But let me say now that if I played any part in ill memories for either of you, I am sorry.”

“Well, my friend,” Merry said warmly, “if I said that there were no ill memories, you would know I was less than truthful. Pippin suffered the loss of you the most, I think, as the Orcs knocked me unconscious before you fell. He has suffered nightmares, as have I, but now we know what happened, the burden will be much lighter, I am quite sure.”

Boromir reached across the table and took the hand of each of his friends, regarding them in silence for some time. Then, closing his eyes and bowing his head as if in their honor, he said “If the Orcs had not been ordered to take you both alive, I know beyond the shadow of any doubt that you two would have stood firm by me in my hour of need. Indeed, you both would have fallen where you stood by my side. You two would not desert me, my brothers in arms. This brotherhood is a long and sacred one, born of honor and love – and of blood nobly shed; a most high and noble thing, and beyond worth any counting can tell. I cannot think of a love more high and pure, that you two were willing to stand beside me in battle when you could just as easily hid yourselves away and spared yourselves much suffering.”

The three friends were distracted by the sound of sniffling, and they saw the youngsters were struggling to fight back tears. “What is it that troubles my young friends?” Boromir asked gently.

“All our lives, everyone has told us our fathers were heroes,” Faro sniffled, “but until now, they only seemed like old tales. They didn’t seem quite real, and now…”

Theo nodded his agreement. “It was like the stories we heard about the Bullroarer,” he added. “Not any more. You see -- we heard so much about you, from our fathers and even from Prince Faramir. But when we knew who you were, well; now it is all so real and true. It’s almost like you are the stories, as real as can be. They will never be just stories again. Now we can see that our fathers really are heroes, and before, well, they were just very interesting fathers, like any hobbit fathers with exciting tales to tell.”

“Then the long journey here was well worth the trip,” said Boromir. “Glad I am to serve such a purpose, for those who come after your fathers should never forget all they did to keep the homes and families of the Shire from falling into shadow. You are both quite right, your fathers are heroes, and as great as any heroes of old.”

“Theo,” said Faro, “perhaps we should go to bed now, before your mother comes back. She will see how red our eyes are and start asking all the right questions.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Pippin smiled, his own eyes misty with pride in these two young ones. “We ride to the Oak and Acorn tomorrow, and so we must rise early.”

Theo nodded his assent, and bidding Boromir and their fathers goodnight with tighter than usual hugs, the lads went to the room they were sharing.

“Boromir, why did you ask for tea instead of coffee?” asked Pippin. “I know too well how much you like your coffee: You were never without it at Rivendell or on our journey.”

“You’ve not forgotten that, have you, my friend?” Boromir said. “Truth be told, I find coffee outside the South to be a bit weak and not at all to my liking, and besides…” Here he stared at the tabletop. “Well, I find that I have quite lost my stomach for it. Faramir and I always broke our fast with coffee together. Every time I drink it, I miss him so terribly! ‘Tis a hard price to pay, but I spare my brother many woes by keeping my presence unknown. Well earned and well deserved is the crown which rests upon that noble brow, and I would not have it tarnished for the sake of my comfort.”

“Not at all to my liking, indeed! You liked it well enough when Sam brewed a pot! I think rather it is the latter reason and not the former. Well, old friend,” Merry said, “don’t despair of never seeing Faramir again. Fate can be a contrary master.”

“Aye, very true,” added Pippin. “Your destiny is yet unclear, my friend. You may yet be together some fine day! Stranger things have happened, and will happen until the end of time, as well we learned those many years ago. You shall see! I spent far too much time in the presence of Elves and Wizards to ever believe otherwise, and were it not so, just look at yourself! I thought I would never see you again in this life, yet here you sit with us. Right here in Brandy Hall!” Here Pippin once more placed a hand over Boromir’s hand, a gesture that seemed almost protective. When he resumed speaking, his voice was soft and gentle. “It is not such a far stretch of the imagination that you may someday see your brother again. Take heart! Despair, as you know, is not the friend of hope.”

Boromir sat silently, considering a while the things he had just heard from his friends. Then, raising his eyes from the tabletop, he gazed at his friends, and his heart seemed to be much lighter. “Right the both of you are,” he said. “Sometimes when I miss my brother sorely, I find the Light seems dim. It may well be we shall see each other some bright morrow! I still forget at times that it is not my will which wags the world, but that of its Maker. I thank you both for the reminder.”

Down the long hall inside the room the pair of young hobbits shared, Faro and Theo were squirming into nightshirts and turning down their bedclothes. A single candle lit the room as they chatted before turning in for the night. Faro, popping his head out of the neck of his nightshirt yawned, “He’ll never fit in a hobbit-bed! Where do you think he’ll sleep?”

“Well, I heard that Gandalf used to stay at Bag End sometimes,” said Theo thoughtfully, “and cousin Frodo would push two beds together. I suppose the grown-ups will have to manage on their own.”

“I wish we could tell our friends about all this!” Faro commented, snuggling into his pillow.

“So do I, but perhaps we won’t have to keep it secret too long,” Theo said, now yawning himself. “What a grand day we’ve had, Faro. And tomorrow will be another one, I’ll wager.”

“And the sooner we get to sleep, the sooner the day will begin.” Faro said, blowing out the candle. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow again.

“Asleep so soon?” Theo grinned, “Just like Uncle Pippin; you could fall asleep standing like a pony. Goodnight, Faro…” But he only got a soft snore as an answer.

From inside the room, they could hear down the hall the adults talking as they drifted off to sleep. The next thing they knew it was morning, and after hurried preparations, they were on their way to the Oak and Acorn before the first cockcrow.

Estella rode in a wagon with the two youngsters while Merry and Pippin rode ponies; Boromir rode one of Brandy Hall’s sturdy draft-ponies, nearly so large as a small horse, that had been trained to bridle and saddle as well as harness and wagon. The youngsters had wanted to ride as well along with their fathers and Boromir, but their fathers had decided against this since the youngsters had played truant on their mounts. Faro’s pony, one of Dapplegrim’s foals and with the same starry coat, had the best of it as she had no burden to bear, being tied to the back of the wagon.

The pair of young hobbits had sulked a little at first, but being good-natured lads, soon enough they found themselves enjoying the ride. Boromir taught them to play The Queen’s Cats, a word-game Boromir had taught their fathers when the Nine Walkers had traveled no more than a half-day’s march from Rivendell. Merry and Pippin had forgotten about the game, and were delighted to see the scene once more played out, this time on a more leisurely (and far safer and more comfortable -- and predictable) journey. The game had driven the rest of the Fellowship to distraction as Boromir and his young hobbit friends never tired of it. Estella, however, loved the game and joined right in. Theride was a pleasant one with the skies clear as glass and just enough breezes to carry the scent of wildflowers to the travelers.

They did not stop to eat, but took their meal on the road, which suited Estella just fine; she had not visited the Oak and Acorn in a while and always enjoyed chatting with the innkeeper’s wife. Soon enough the party was ensconced at the Oak and Acorn. A supper of roast pork and ale to slake thirst was called for, and was excellent. After a bit, drinking songs began to be sung. There were many hobbit drinking songs performed, and then one of the carousers called for a song from Boromir. He stood, a bit shy at first ,which quite surprised Merry and Pippin, who had always thought Boromir didn’t have a shy bone in his body. He scuffed his boots on the floor and said “I fear I am poor of talent in the art of singing drinking songs…”

Pippin raised his mug and shouted “It’s not your fault, friend! A Man must toil twice as hard to be half as good at something as a hobbit!”

“Which luckily, in the case of a certain Took, is no great feat!” Boromir retorted with a wink, “This song I learned upon my first visit to a tavern frequented by young soldiers when I was but a lad. I hope it shall serve.” Blushing just a bit, he cleared his rich baritone voice and began, and here you will find what he sang:

Here we all are, at the end of the day,

Friends we've become and friends we will stay.

Roll out the barrel, set up the cask,

Swilling down ale is our pleasant task.

Pull up a chair,

Take off the weight,

Call for a bottle,

Share with a mate.

Ruby red wine or foaming ale,

Cider is fine and cheers without fail,

Draw out the cork, open the bung,

Drink up, boys! There are songs to be sung!

Boromir’s friends and fellow patrons applauded the effort, agreeing the Man had a quite good voice and raised their cups and mugs in salute. These hobbits, it seemed, had challenged him, as one on their own terms, and had not found him wanting. He smiled broadly. The fourth life of Boromir was now well on its way.