Chapter ten

Candles and Matches

In the Old Forest the air can be terribly stuffy in high summer. Boromir, Merry and Pippin had been most productive and studious in the building of beehives. The Tooks had quite an extensive library at the Great Smials, and a wealth of wisdom in setting up and maintaining an apiary had been put to good use. Within a short walking distance, the three companions had set up Boromir’s apiary, and the stuffy air was thick with bees, which meant the hives were dripping with honey.

Boromir also sold candles, as beeswax was plentiful, and Merry, being a fair hand at herb-lore at this time had suggested adding essences to the wax the way one might with soap. After a few false starts the right ingredients had been found, and the candles were now bought on a regular basis by the best and most influential of families as well as the finest ale-houses and inns in the four Farthings along with Buckland, Bree-land and in Tookland. He also made shipments to outlying countries, and Boromir’s wallet was swiftly becoming quite fat.

Boromir now had a barn in which he kept his team of ponies and a sizable market wagon. Market day came twice weekly all over the Shire, though Boromir sold his wares only twice a month. Once in the month his honey, royal jelly and candles was eagerly bought up by the hobbits of Buckland, and on his other market day he would rise early the day before and make the long drive either to the Great Smials or the Breeland. At Merry’s and Estella’s insistence, he had become accustomed to starting these journeys at Brandy Hall. Buckland or the Breelands were the most profitable markets, but also the busiest. At the Great Smials, Pippin had offered to take over distribution, a situation which profited them both. Whether selling in Bucklebury, or traveling to one of the distant markets, he usually made for Brandy Hall first thing in the morning when preparing for market days. Rising well before dawn, the Brandybucks would see him off well rested -- and well fed, of course, Estella always fussing that he never ate enough to keep a mouse alive. If Estella, Merry or Theo wanted to visit with the Tooks, they would often ride along with Boromir when he was going in that direction, and back again when market was done, singing the miles away, or telling stories, or counting the stars overhead. When the Tooks wished to visit the Brandybucks, they could ride with Boromir on his return to Brandy Hall, and later one of the Brandybucks would drive them home again.

If you'd been a little bird in the Old Forest and were inclined to eavesdrop, you might have heard many conversations between the two hobbits and their old friend. Some were serious, some nostalgic, some were sad, some were stimulating, and some were funny. Then there were other conversations that were a combination of any or all of those things.

On this particular day, Merry and Pippin had come to keep Boromir company as he set up yet more beehives and loaded the wagon for the next morning’s trek to Combe and surrounding communities and farms.

Boromir hoisted the last crate of honey-pots into the wagon. It had been very hot that day and he had taken off his shirt. This was something he would not have done in front of matron or maiden, manners being manners, but today there was no one here but himself and his favorite pair of hobbits. When he had taken off his shirt, Merry and Pippin had tried not to stare at the masses of scars on his chest and shoulders. By rights, Boromir should have been dead. The scars had freshened some very bad memories for the hobbits but, as all their kind are wont to do, they made little of it. They found the Clan mark on his chest quite novel, though.

There had been a lively discussion of this mark, as neither Merry nor Pippin had ever seen such, but then the conversation turned when the day’s work was done. Now the subject of Diamond and Estella’s attempts at matchmaking came up. Boromir said, mopping his sweaty brow, “Please, make them stop. I’m sure they mean the best, but I assure you, when I’m ready to find a love of my own, I will find her.”

“Haven’t you liked any of the girls they’ve introduced you to?” asked Merry.

“They are well enough, I suppose, except for that one; what is her name? Her father has the creamery.”

“Oh, Amarantha Nobottle. What was wrong with her?” Pippin asked.

“Much too fond of herself is Miss Nobottle. She spends more time looking in her looking glass than at anything else! She is very rude to the less-fortunate, too. Very embarrassing.” Boromir paused a moment. “Oh, then there was that niece of old Butterbur. I do not wish to be unkind, but, well, she is as twitchy as a squirrel; it makes me rather nervous. I suppose the others are well enough, but really…”

“What about the baker’s daughter? She seemed fine,” Merry said.

“All she ever talks about is money! I have never in my life seen any woman who so loves money. This in itself is bad enough, but she is loath to part with a copper penny of it! For all the good her money does her she might as well be a pauper. 'Rich in purse, poor in spirit,' as my old nurse Ioreth used to say.”

“The hooper’s cousin?” Pippin asked hopefully.

“Doesn’t like hobbits.”

“Really? That’s terrible!” Merry said disapprovingly. Pippin shook his head and clucked his tongue.

“Small minds command small hearts, as Ioreth told me many a time. I cannot abide that kind of thinking. The thatcher’s daughter would have been quite nice, but she had a fit if I so much as looked at a serving-girl. One poor lass suffered the sharpness of her tongue simply for smiling at me. Why, you would have thought the girl was dressed in the skin of one rabbit, and a young one at that!”

After the laughter of the hobbits had played itself out Merry asked, “The butcher’s sister?”

“Too bossy,” said Boromir, tossing straw into the stable rather furiously. “She should become a soldier; she would make a wonderful sergeant.”

“The fuller’s widow?” Pippin asked.

“Far, far too nosy. Gossips, and drinks heavily. Her nose is a red as a beet from her over-tippling. Tells lies, too.”

“The knacker’s oldest girl, how was she?” asked Merry.

Boromir shuddered in answer, but said nothing. Merry and Pippin nodded their heads. Boromir raked his hand through his sweaty hair. “Please, I beg of you, make them stop.”

“I can’t make Diamond do anything, Boromir,” Pippin replied. “Once she’s set her mind to do something, she doesn’t stop.”

“And Estella, too,” Merry added, “When the two of them get together, it gets worse. I’m afraid this will go on until you do find someone.”

“That doesn’t sound encouraging, because I’m not sure how likely that is to happen.” Boromir said with a sigh.

At this time, Merry and Pippin gave each other a look, and then Merry said, “I think we should talk about something else, now.”

“Yes, I agree. There is something Merry and I have discussed, and we mean to have out with you,” Pippin added.

“Oh, dear, what’s this, then?” asked Boromir.

“It’s your health, Boromir,” replied Merry.

“Yes, you may pretend all you like, but you must see a healer. We have seen how you, well, change colors sometimes, and have trouble catching your breath.” said Pippin.

“And then there’s the pain. No, do not pretend,” Merry said, cutting off any protestations before they could be made. “We see you holding your chest and your left arm; I had an uncle who had problems like that. You need to see a healer. There are decoctions and concoctions that can help. Foxglove may be all that is needed.”

Boromir studied his friends. No, they were not going to let this go. He might as well give in. “Very well, I’ll see a healer the next time I’m in Bree.”

“Promise me,” Pippin said, arms crossed on his chest. Hobbits, like his own people, Boromir knew, take promises very seriously.

“Very well! Very well!” Boromir raised his hands in supplication. “I promise I will see the healer as soon as may be.”

“Good,” said Merry. “We have only just got you back, it wouldn’t be right to let you die a second time so soon. Now who wants a nice swim? It’s so hot I think I shall melt like a candle in the sun.”

“Now that,” said Boromir, “is a wonderful idea. Besides, we should see how your young ones fare.”

They made their way a short walk beyond the apiary, where a small stream ran down to the Withywindle. Boromir had build a small dam of stones, and it made a little pool just big enough for bathing, fishing or even a little swimming. Theo and Faro enjoyed all three when visiting. Seeing their fathers and "uncle" approaching, they held aloft their catch.

“May we swim, now, Papa?” Theo asked. Both youngsters were flushed with summer’s heat and the excitement of hauling in a good catch, and they were eager to take a refreshing dip in the little pool.

“You may,” answered Merry. “In fact, we all shall. Don’t just throw your clothes on the ground! Hang them in that bush, that way they shan’t get all muddy.”

They stripped to their small clothes and waded in, splashing and shouting, followed by their elders. Boromir had brought a comb, some soap, a razor and a small mirror with which to bathe and shave, and, sitting on a flat stone beside the pool, he employed these straight away. He was right in the middle of shaving when he had a feeling he was being watched. Sure enough, Faro had paddled up to where Boromir’s feet dangled in the pool, and the youngster now watched him with curious green eyes. Apparently, Faro was, like Pippin, imbued with a cat-like curiosity. “Does it hurt?” Faro asked.

“No,” replied the Man, “no more than getting your hair shorn, unless I nick myself.”

“Why do Men have hair on their faces?” Faro asked, brow knitted, “And do you call it a beard, like dwarves? Or is it fur?”

“We call it a beard,” Boromir said, “and I no more know why we have them than I know why Hobbits have hair on their feet. We are all as the Creator would have us be.”

“But we don’t scrape the hair from our feet, why do Men scrape hair from their faces?”

“I suppose we strive to keep ourselves tidy and to look our best, Tookling.”

“Do the ladies scrape off the hair from their faces? I have never seen one with a beard.”

“We are not Dwarves, Faro, our women have no hair on their faces.” (here Boromir spared a sharp glance at Merry and Pippin) “Excepting the poulterer’s daughter.”

“Why do you shape your beard like that?”

“Because, well, actually I do it this way because the ladies like the look of it.”

“Even the ones Mum introduced you to?”

“It is my most fervent wish that they do not. Peace, youngster! How many questions can a young Took possibly ask?”

“What a silly question! What is wrong, Uncle Bom? Didn’t you like any of the ladies?”

“Why is it my need for a mate (here he glared once more at Merry and Pippin) is fair game for idle talk? Besides, you are far too young to discuss such matters, Tookling. Now will you kindly go and play with Theo and let me finish shaving?”

“Good heavens! Shaving makes you very grumpy, Uncle Bom, you should just let your beard grow like that of a Dwarf,” Faro said, then splashed water at the Man and dove under the surface of the pool, as sleek and swift as a young otter.

Pippin listened to the conversation with no small amount of amusement. Boromir could be very patient with the young, as well Pippin knew from his memories of the Fellowship. He was, however, less patient with the ladies Estella and Diamond had chosen as a match for him. Surely it could not have been as bad as he is making it out to be, thought Pippin. But then he observed his large friend’s countenance and decided that maybe, just maybe, it was as bad as he was making it out to be, after all.

Since Diamond and Estella had taken upon themselves the task of finding a match for Boromir his life had become a series of nightmarish evenings spent with girls he either had nothing in common with, or that could scare the paint right off the wall. This latest one, though, was the last straw. He couldn’t take it any more. Boromir finished shaving and set aside the razor and mirror. He shot another glaring glance at Merry and Pippin as he slid from rock to pool.

“You’ve got to make them stop!” Boromir said grimly. Merry and Pippin looked at each other and sighed.

“I told you, Boromir, I’ve tried to talk to them, we both have. It’s done no good at all,” said Pippin. “In fact, I think it’s only made them more determined than ever!”

“Pippin, I swear, this last one, the poulterer’s daughter, you’ll recall…well, it is just too much. I can hardly be expected to be charmed by a girl with a better mustache than my own!”

“All right, all right! We’ll speak to them,” Merry said, “but don’t expect them to listen. I can tell you right now they won’t.”

“Well, at least I’ll have a little respite while you four are off in Long Cleeve. Faro and Theo will be fine here with me. In fact, I’m looking forward to spending time with them.”

Boromir loved his new home, loved spending time with his favorite hobbits no matter where they were or what they were doing. He had grown to love their wives and children, but he was a Man who was at the end of his rope. Time and experience and a desire to remake himself had cooled his temper and made him a more thoughtful Man. But as we shall see, this can have some unexpected results: Boromir, after all, was Boromir, a Man who hated to be out-maneuvered, even by two lovely hobbit ladies. Merry and Pippin did their best to placate him, and he knew in his heart they were helpless and blameless in the matter. He was also quite sure they secretly found a great deal of humor in the matter, and he was right. He could tell now by the way that the two looked at each other when they thought he wasn't looking. Very well, then, he would just take matters into his own very capable hands. Always had done, always would.

Every year the Tooks and Brandybucks traveled together as a respite from their heavy obligations. This year they would go to Long Cleeve and then to the White Downs. Their sons felt they were old enough now to let their parents go without them, and had nagged their parents to let them stay with Uncle Bom until both sets of parents at last relented. They had been reluctant, but when Boromir insisted the lads would be not only welcome, but also excellent company for him, the parents had at last agreed. The fathers with their sons had arrived two days earlier, knowing they could trust Boromir to look after his charges, yet lingering because this was the first time their sons wouldn’t be traveling with their families.

The four hobbits arrived on their ponies, bags stuffed with clothing and fishing gear. The youngsters loved to go fishing; so today they had been allowed to spend the day at the pool while their fathers kept Uncle Bom company. If they were going to travel with Boromir to Combe, he had to get his market-wagon ready.

Enjoying a swim with their fathers and Uncle Bom at the end of the day was a special treat for the young ones. Though the responsibilities as Masters of Brandy Hall and Great Smials were heavy, both Merry and Pippin liked to spend as many pleasant hours with their sons as possible. Besides, they would bid them farewell before dawn, so a pleasant swim and fresh fish cooked right on the verge of the little pool was a treat not to be missed.

The next morning the lads bade their fathers farewell before cockcrow after a hearty breakfast. From Dapplegrim’s back Pippin looked worriedly over his shoulder. He scolded himself for his reluctance to allow his son to stretch his wings a wee bit. Then he noticed Boromir had an expression on his face like a cat about to get into the cream. Shame on you, Peregrin Took! he thought. Boromir would never let our sons get into any trouble. Still, that is rather an odd expression he is wearing…

The trip to Combe was quite a lark for the youngsters, and Boromir found he wasn’t at all lonely with this pair to keep him company. He had turned a tidy profit as well, and stopped by a bakery to purchase a carrot cake and some sweets for the youngsters. That night he took Faro and Theo to the banks of the stream that fed his little pool, and there they camped for the evening. As they sat around the fire, Boromir waited patiently. He knew it was but a matter of time. He eventually got what he was been waiting for.

“Tell us a story, Uncle Bom?” Faro asked. The expectant look on his face reminded Boromir so much of Pippin in his days of the Fellowship. He couldn’t help reaching out and ruffling Faro’s golden-brown curls… so like his father!

“Yes, do!” added Theo, his large blue eyes dancing, “Tell us, how did you reach such a great size, and how did you get to be so strong?”

It was then the idea Boromir had hatched was put into play, just as if he was planning a battle strategy.

“Well, it’s a secret,” he said. He waited patiently.

After about two or three minutes, the young ones said as one, “Tell us! Please? Please?”

“Well, you mustn’t tell, you know. It’s an old soldier’s secret.”

“We won’t tell, will we, Faro?” Theo said, leaning closer in that way that made him look so much like his father.

“Very well, if you promise.” Boromir said, knowing hobbits take promises very seriously. He regarded the two, wondering if what he was doing was right, then he shrugged internally, thinking, this is, after all, war…

“We promise!” Faro said, his green eyes sparkling.

“Yes, yes! Now tell us!” added Theo.

“All right,” Boromir agreed solemnly. “Don’t bathe.”

“Don’t bathe?” Theo looked puzzled.

“Don’t bathe, not until you are fully grown,” Boromir said again. “It stunts your growth and makes you weak.”

The rest of the visit Boromir spent feeling greatly satisfied, as long as he stood upwind from his young charges. When letters from their parents arrived saying they had returned, he sent the youngsters home. His strategy was about to pay off handsomely. It was only two days later when Pippin and Merry showed up. Boromir could read their faces as they approached. They were familiar with his schedule by now, and intended to catch him just as he finished his market day work. They knew. Oh, yes, they knew. He began to laugh out loud. Pippin and Merry approached him, scowling.

“Boromir,” Pippin said crossly, “You have to sort this out! They smell like wet rats!”

“Not ‘til you call your wives off,” Boromir said firmly. “No more match-making!”

Pippin looked furious. He crossed his arms. Boromir looked right back at him. He very consciously crossed his own considerable arms. Green eyes locked with green eyes. Boromir meant to win this contest of wills, and waited until he saw Pippin first begin to flag, then altogether wilt.

“I knew it!” Merry crowed, “I win! You owe me a beer!”

“Oh, be quiet, Merry! This isn’t funny.”

“Well, actually it is,” his cousin retorted, “You’re just not ready to laugh yet.”

“Oh, Merry, hush!” glowered Pippin, “You aren’t helping.”

“Well, I don’t blame him. Have you seen the poulterer’s daughter?”

Pippin sagged. “Yes,” he muttered, shuddering.

Some two weeks later Boromir lay in his narrow bed. He was listening for that presence he called the Light. The still, small voice that any can hear -- if they listen hard enough -- told him he had done well so far, but he still had much to do.

He would keep his promise to see a healer in Bree, but after that, he would need to go to Hobbiton. It was time to pay a visit to Sam. He had tried so hard to forgive himself for trying to take the Ring, but it was hard. Somewhere inside himself, he still felt he ought to be punished. He knew the Light had forgiven him, but somehow he could not forgive himself. Perhaps when he talked to Sam, this inner wound would heal.

With the exception of missing Faramir very much, life was now very good for Boromir. There had been no more matches. He now had everything he needed: his own home, good friends, plenty of money and the companionship of Merry and Pippin, their wives and their two young ones. Yes, life was…matchless.