Chapter 11

What Friends Do

Boromir spurred his mount on, pushing her to keep going when he knew the effort might well be the death of her, but he dared not stop now. She was exhausted, covered in lather, and her sides heaved like a great bellows. He dared not take time to rest until he caught up with Faramir and his men though it seemed he had been pushing the mare for countless leagues now. At last he spotted them following the trail left by iron-shod boots. Perhaps his horse would be spared after all.

Faramir’s grim countenance spoke to Boromir of the desperation which held sway over them all as he reined in his mare. As soon as he caught up to them he dismounted, but had gone no more than a few paces when he heard his mount hit the ground with a heart-wrenching grunt of pain and exhaustion. Turning, he walked back to where the mare laid, her sides heaving and bright, bright blood foaming from both mouth and nostrils. Her large, liquid eyes rolled with agony and terror. He fell to his knees at the mare’s head.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, “fate has dealt us a cruel hand, bold lady. You should never have had to suffer this fate.” In his mind’s eye he could see himself and Faramir when they were boys, as they clung to her back. He could almost feel her mane against his beardless cheek as they raced along the bridle path, his arms holding her around her long, graceful neck. With one hand he stroked the side of her head affectionately, drawing his dagger with the other hand. “Great is your heart, lady, yet to my sorrow it has burst. Sleep now, and take your rest.” Though it wrenched his heart to do so, he must fulfill his duty to her. He owed her a merciful death, and there was nothing to do now but fulfill his obligations to her.

His dagger was quick and true, slicing through the great vessels in her neck. Her blood gushed forth in a dark freshet as his eyes filled with tears of sorrow and anger, tears which fell with a soft splash into the growing pool of blood. He spoke softly to her as she slipped away to suffer no longer. Somehow the death of this wonderful beast angered him even more. “Those monsters will pay, this I vow, lady,” he bent and kissed the side of her head as she breathed her last. Rising, he wiped the bloody dagger on the battered grass, sheathed the blade and caught up with Faramir.

On they went, the brothers and their men, even eating on the run, mile after brutal mile. They dared not tarry. At last they caught up to the Orcs and hemmed them in against a sheer rock wall. Exhaustion burned off like fog under the bright sun upon seeing what they had done. In his nineteen years of life, Boromir had never been this angry. His rage was a perfect rage. There was no merciful death for the Orcs that day. Even gentle Faramir hacked at them, hewing them down in righteous wrath.

How could they? How could they? He had always known the evil Orcs were capable of, but until this day he had never considered just how evil they could be.

How could they?

It was… monstrous…

Boromir woke with a wail of grief, bolt upright. He was wet with sweat. His chest and left arm hurt horribly, and the wetness on his face was not from sweating, but tears born of ancient heartache. Ever was it thus, when these nightmares visited their outrage upon him, but this time it was much worse. By the time the pain became more manageable and his emotions were mastered, it was nearly dawn. No sense in trying to sleep now. Merry and Pippin were right. He must see a healer.

A bit of bread with butter and honey and a cup of tea served to break his fast. After a quick dip in the little pool he was ready to harness his ponies. Having loaded the wagon the previous evening, he was soon on his way. It had become his habit to begin his marketing from Brandy Hall. There he normally would spend the remainder of the day as well as the night, rising early yet again. After rising from Estella’s breakfast table, which was always laden with what would amount to a fine feast in Gondor, he would soon be on his way to the Breelands. Today, however, he departed from his usual stop at Brandy Hall. The Tooks were visiting, and Boromir knew if he started his journey there, by the time he had finished greeting everyone he would be far behind schedule.

So this day, he departed from his little house on the edge of the Old Forest. He sighed, thinking of his promise about the healer. He never had liked seeing a healer, but he knew he could not put it off any longer. Besides, he had made a promise, and Men of Gondor, like hobbits, take promises very seriously. He was well on his way before the dew had time to dissipate. Later in the afternoon, it would be unbearably hot, but this early in the morning, riding in the lane shaded by huge oaks and ancient alders, it was warm, but still quite pleasant. He looked up through the branches. The sky was a wonderful, crystalline blue, and the day was turning out to be more pleasant than he had hoped. Looking about from the wagon, he took in the landscape. His new home was so green, very green, and very beautiful. He breathed in the clear air and smelled freesia and wild lilac.

“Well, Boromir,” he said to himself, “you used to wonder what it was about this place the hobbits love so much, and now you know. Even in Imladris, even in the Golden Wood, you used to hear them speak of it with such great love. You wondered how any place could be so wonderful that they would love it as much as you love Minas Tirith, and now you know. You have fooled about and fallen in love with it, yourself. And there is much here to love, indeed. If only Faramir… ” He sighed and smiled sadly to himself.

“What would Galapas say at a time like this? Ah, I can hear him now! ‘Do not dwell in the times which are passed. Rather, look at the days passed as a garden you may visit, yet in which it is not wise to dwell. Among the fragrant petals are thorns that may tear the flesh and blind the eye to the blessing of the present.’ A most wise and kindly old man was my Master Galapas, and I miss him sorely. So much he saw with his blind eyes! Ah, here we are at the fork of the road.”

Bree, as usual, was all a bustle. Dry weather left the streets dusty, and the trafficking of buyers, sellers and citizens stirred the dust, making for thirsty traveling. A cool drink of water would be welcome, and he knew there would be plentiful offers of ale and wine from his customers. Today was a good day to accept such hospitality. As he passed by the first few residences, a group of children -- little urchins from poor families of both Big Folk and Halfling -- spotted him and ran behind his wagon calling out to him.

“The Beeman is here!”

“Beeman! Beeman, it’s the Beeman!”

“Honeycomb, Beeman, honeycomb, please?”

He smiled at the young ones, the children of Men and Hobbits, who played and lived side by side. This was why he so loved this town, and he wished there was more places like it. This was always his favorite part of market day in Bree, the greetings from these young ones, for Boromir held the young of all people as life’s great promise for the future and life’s great treasure of the present day. As was his custom, he stopped his wagon and pulled a rather large earthen pot and a basket from under his seat. These little ones, being poor, would rarely or never enjoy sweets as the children of the more well-to-do might. They were thin and ragged, but well scrubbed, and though faded, patched and worn, their garments were not unclean. Life was not easy for them, yet their bright faces and cheerful voices gave no hint of their suffering, and their large eyes glittered with delight when they saw him. He had brought some extra honey-and-seed cakes, and these he handed out to each child along with pieces of comb dripping with honey. Smiling, he watched them eat the little cakes with an appetite that bespoke food too little and not often enough. The honeycomb they liked to chew. It was probably the closest thing to candy these ragged little things ever got, and it did Boromir’s heart good to see them enjoy his gifts.

He watched them scurry off after giving him thanks. From the inside of a doorway a woman with a mop and bucket watched him, a smile on her pretty face, her hazel eyes shining warmly at his kindness. Dabbing her brow with a worn handkerchief, she nodded to him as though he had her thanks as well, then she picked up her mop and bucket and disappeared into the residence where she was, no doubt, no more than a servant. Climbing back into the wagon, he traveled down the street, listening to merchants and customers in the daily barter, squabble and gossip of a busy market.

“This bread is stale, I can’t pay you that much for it!”

“Aye, ‘tis a fine pup, and out of old Goatleaf’s Maisy, no better deerhound in these parts!”

“The price is dear, but we’ll take him.”

“I’ll sooner pay a pig for a penny-whistle as sell you this wool at that price!”

“Look, the Beeman is in town! It’s candles I shall buy for her wedding gift.”

“Did you know she was married?”

“You mean before now?

“There is the Beeman! Will you look at the size of that boot! The shoe-maker says it takes a cow and a barrel of shoe-tacks for him to go properly shod.”

“And did you know she had the nerve to say my pickling spices were all wrong?”

“But father, it is such a pretty hat, and I need a new one so badly!”

“Well, your old one is looking more like a bird’s nest than a hat. We’ll take it.”

“He’s a good son to his mother, but he always smells like cheese and garlic.”

“Madam, your little one has just taken a bite out of this. You’ll have to buy it now.”

“They say he fought in the war along with the Thain and the Master of Brandy Hall, but I have my doubts. He is too gentle to be a soldier, so my mother says.”

Boromir lifted a friendly hand and waved, muttering to himself through his forced grin, “May not a soldier be a soldier and also know something of gentleness? But I suppose your mother fought in many campaigns… the prattling old man-trap.” Ah, there was the bakery. Boromir loved doing business there, for he had a prodigious sweet tooth, and the baker made wonderful pastries. He was always generous with them, so Boromir always stopped here first. There were also some smaller inns and boarding houses as well as more than a few little shops where he sold both honey and candles. In between, he located the healer. He was told to return at half-past two, so he went to his last stop, the Prancing Pony, to complete his deliveries and take his mid-day meal.

By this time the air had become quite hot and stuffy. Being a Southerner by birth could have its advantages, for when one is born in a kindly clime, Boromir reflected, one understands the value of a more leisurely pace, especially in high summer. The Prancing Pony was cool and dark, a perfect place to escape the heat, and he could smell the toothsome aroma of roast beef. The inn was busy and noisy, as it ever seemed to be, and he rather enjoyed watching people. He was perhaps a little more sociable than he had been, and he knew his friends had had a healing effect on him in this way. The two hobbits had changed since he first met them, yet somehow they were the same. Merry was still more studious and serious, though he seemed to laugh a bit more than he used to. Pippin was still just Pippin; Boromir had never met any creature that seemed to so love life and song and laughter as Pippin Took, yet now he seemed a bit more serious at times, and seemed to weigh his actions a bit more than he used to. Yes, they all had changed, and he wondered what his friends might think of the changes in himself.

The wives and sons of both his friends had become dear to him, and he wondered if he would ever find that happiness that comes with a wife and family. Once he had almost known this happiness with his Ruby. After all this time, he still missed her, and still mourned the baby boy that had died with her. He found himself feeling a little envious of his hobbit friends in that regard. Still, he supposed he might someday love again, but who could say? At least he would never have to suffer an arranged marriage as so many of his former station had.

He was brought out of this reverie by a bit of a scuffle between two women. Apparently, one had made some remark about the father of the other woman, and they were becoming quite loud. One of the women was the servant girl who had smiled so prettily at him in the doorway with her mop and bucket. She was not smiling now. The other woman pushed the servant girl. It was time to go; he did not wish to be caught here if an outright catfight ensued.

He walked out of the inn into the midsummer sun and squinted his eyes in the bright light. Such a beautiful day... and to have to spend making deliveries and sitting with a healer, to be poked and prodded and questioned! He sauntered across the busy street and walked into the healer’s front room. Along the wall were many shelves holding numerous bottles and jars of unguents, ointments, balms, powders, rubs, oils and potions along with herbs, and yet more herbs tied in bundles among the rafters. The place smelled perfectly awful. The old man who served Bree as a healer was a bit bossy and overbearing but thorough, and soon his examination was over. His troubles sprang, of course, from his old wounds.

Merry had been right. The healer wanted him to take a brew of foxglove mixed with willow-bark and a few other noisome-smelling ingredients to be boiled and consumed as a medicinal tea. He was assured that if he followed the healer’s advice, his discomfort would ease and he would breathe more easily. It cost a pretty penny, but after all, a promise is a promise; in addition, he knew, as Galapas had oft said, that pain was inevitable, but suffering need not be. His friends were right. He needed this medicine, though he hated to admit this to himself.

As he was just about to leave, a woman burst through the door. She held a bloody handkerchief to her nose. Boromir recognized her immediately as being one of the arguing women at the Prancing Pony, the servant girl, in fact.

“Now, Saro, what’s this about, this time?” asked the healer, shaking his head in disapproval.

“What do you think? It is not easy having a man like Bill Ferny as your father. Everyone takes his misdeeds out on me. For all the good it has done me, I might just as well have stayed in Combe,” the woman said. “It seems I shall never be Saro, but only ‘that foul Bill Ferny’s daughter’ no matter how I try!”

Bill Ferny? Oh, that fellow, thought Boromir. Poor thing, her life must be a nightmare. He decided to take his medicine and get out of the way. The woman’s nose was bleeding a river and would need to be set. Boromir hoped it would not spoil her looks, as she was quite pretty. Perhaps not a beauty, but she was certainly easy on the eyes. She did seem a bit, well, scratchy, though. He supposed this was understandable. She really ought to leave Bree and her father’s ill name behind her. Perhaps she was too poor. And she had tried moving from Combe. If only she could find a good man to marry, she could leave the name Ferny behind her. If any man knew the good of a fresh start, it was himself, after all.

Wrapped in these thoughts, Boromir stepped out of the little shop back into the sunlight. After the dimness of the healer’s rooms, the bright light robbed him of his vision, and he had to squint his eyes down to slits. Something bumped against a leg and he heard an “Oomph!” followed by an “Och!” He looked down and saw none other than Peregrin Took, sitting on his backside in the dusty street.

“Pippin! I am terribly sorry, I did not see you!” He helped Pippin up and brushed dust from his friend. Pippin batted his hands away irritably and Boromir bit back a smile. The hobbit stood with his arms crossed in what Boromir recognized as his one and only don’t hand me any nonsense pose. The sight made Boromir smile.

“What are you doing here, Pippin? Had I known you would be coming this way we could have ridden together.” Boromir grinned. So, he thought, as if I do not know what you are up to, you rascal! Looking in on me as if I am a wayward child, are you?

“What am I doing? Why, spying on you, as if you haven’t figured that out,” Pippin said, impudent as ever.

“Yes, I thought as much.”

“Then you haven’t forgot whom you are dealing with,” Pippin said imperiously. “If I can spy on my own cousin, I can certainly spy on you!”

“I see. So this is how you treat your friends!”

“In fact, it is! You can depend on me for a great many things, my good Man, among them making sure you kept your promise to take better care of your health.” Now Pippin gave him that sunny smile and a nudge with his elbow, and they strolled down the street at a leisurely pace. “That is what friends do, you know, they look out after each other. And sometimes that means doing things you might not like so much.”

“Speaking of keeping promises, I made one to myself,” Boromir said. “Would you be interested in joining me in a visit to the Gamgee household?”

Pippin smiled at him warmly, as if he had long expected this conversation would eventually come up.

“Of course I will come with you. I was wondering when you would get around to it.” The friends paused at the hitching post where Dapplegrim waited. As Pippin gathered the reins the pony regarded Boromir with bright eyes and nodded his head as if in greeting. “But tell me about your visit to the healer.” Pippin said, leading his precious Dapplegrim to the back of Boromir’s wagon, where he fastened the reins. He climbed into the wagon alongside Boromir, and the Man and the Hobbit set off.

“It is my old wounds which plague me,” Boromir said. “The healer says I must have some scars around my heart and lungs. He gave me some herbs, just as Merry said, and though there is no cure, I can use the herbs to ease my pain and help me to breathe easier.”

Pippin laid his hand on Boromir’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze, his face a picture of both gratitude as well as sorrow, but said nothing. Speech was of little use to these two just now. The unspoken words said everything the friends needed to say.

“How is Merry, and how are your wives and sons?”

“If by that you mean did you stay at Brandy Hall, and did Diamond and Faro come along, the answer is yes. We are all fine, and Diamond and Faro are at Brandy Hall right now, with Merry.”

“I see,” Boromir said, struggling not to smile. Apparently all the members of both families had conspired to spy on him. “Pippin?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think perhaps…?”

“Yes, they will all want to come along. A visit with Sam and Rosie is overdue anyway.”

“Then perhaps it is time…?”

“If you are saying you are now comfortable enough with Diamond and Estella to tell them who you really are, then I would agree it is time to do so. Once Sam sees you, they will find out anyway.”

Boromir looked at Pippin, eyes shining and smiling broadly. Only Faramir had ever been able to read his heart like that.

“Pippin?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. You are a most excellent companion, and a good friend.”

Pippin returned Boromir’s smile, and without having to say so, told Boromir the feeling was mutual. They arrived at Brandy Hall in time for a late supper, and Boromir had to give an account of his visit with the healer to Merry and the others. Without a word, Estella put the copper on and made preparations to set coffee brewing for good measure, as Merry examined the herbal tea Boromir had purchased, sniffing it and wrinkling his nose at the smell. As the brew steeped, Merry pushed the honey-pot towards Boromir.

“You’re going to need to sweeten it well, going by the smell of it,” Merry said. Even with the honey to cover the taste, it must have been awful, and Merry had to laugh at the face Boromir made when he drank the tea. The Man wished he could be drinking the same tea as Diamond, just plain tea, no fussy herbs. Even Estella's coffee would be nectar by comparison. “I suppose you know we’ve been wondering for a while when you were going to get around to visiting Sam.”

“So I’ve been told,” replied Boromir, nudging Pippin’s elbow. “I cannot help but wonder what else about me has been discussed.” Diamond choked and nearly spewed her tea at the last statement, and Boromir looked at her just in time to see Estella elbow her friend with no small force.

Boromir’s eyes and Diamond’s locked. An unbearable silence ensued, lasting long enough to bring all conversation to a dead halt. He looked from Diamond to Estella, who cleared her throat and pretended to be pouring cream into her coffee, which, Boromir noted, appeared to be a thing most strange since there was not a drop of coffee in the cup.

“Estella, either you have changed the way you take your coffee or you have begun to give your cat her cream in your cup,” Boromir observed.

Estella sighed and slumped a little, looking at Diamond. The silence became awkward yet again. At last Boromir could bear it no more.

“Ladies,” he said softly, schooling his voice carefully so as to sound as gentle as possible, “am I right in assuming you two have something you would like to say?”

“All right! All right, then, we confess!” Diamond exclaimed. “Estella and I think… well, we have begun to wonder… well, you see, it’s just that things are so different since Merry and Pippin found you in the Old Forest.”

“Different? Would you be so kind as to explain this?” said Boromir, reaching across the table to lay his hand gently on her forearm.

“Well, it’s Pippin,” she said.

“Pippin…?” Boromir appeared very confused.

“When he looks to the West at sunset, he is never melancholy anymore, as he used to be. And… well, he used to have such terrible nightmares. He would call out, call out for Boromir, his friend whom the Orcs attacked. Since I first met you he hasn’t had the nightmares any more, not even once, and… ”

“And Merry had nightmares just the same,” Estella said, “but then you came, and his nightmares stopped, too so…”

“So we began to wonder how this could be,” Diamond added, “but we didn’t want to ask Merry and Pippin, in case they had some agreement with you. We thought there must be a reason you wanted to keep a secret, if it is true that you really are the Boromir…”

“And we did not like the idea of just asking you, either,” Estella continued. “Because if you are who we think you are, and if you have a reason for not wanting anyone to know, it would put you in a very bad place. You would be forced either to tell a lie or to tell us to mind our own business, and I think you do not like either choice.”

“We want you to understand,” said Diamond, “that if you really are the Boromir we think you are, and if you wish to keep your secret, the secret would be safe with us. If you are the one, then surely you must know how dear you are to our families. In fact, it would be as if you are family, as every member in the Fellowship is a part of the family, in a manner of speaking, and families stick together.”

All this time Boromir had sat listening to the ladies, his head bowed, his fingers tented, as though in some deep thought. Diamond and Estella looked at each other worriedly, each wondering if perhaps they had gone too far. Boromir’s shoulders were shaking, and the ladies were sure he was struggling with some dark and ancient hurt. Estella, ever the most tender of heart, went to him and laid her hand softly on one trembling shoulder. He raised his face to them, and to the surprise of all Boromir laughed.

He laughed so hard he couldn’t speak, so hard that tears coursed down his cheeks. The muddled expressions on the faces of Diamond and Estella seemed to make him laugh even harder.

“What in the world!” Diamond finally managed.

She looked to her husband in confusion, only to find Pippin doubled over with laughter himself. Wiping his eyes, Pippin took Diamond’s hand. “My dear, we do not laugh at you and Estella,” Pippin said, “It is only that on the way here, Boromir brought this very subject up, himself.”

“Then, he really is…” Diamond said, rising from her chair to stand beside Estella before the Man.

“Yes, I really am,” Boromir answered, finally mastering his laughter. “Truly, I do not laugh at you, my dear, dear ladies. I did indeed discuss this with Pippin on the way here, I should have known you two would figure it out in one way or another, so truly it is myself I laugh at. However, more than this, I laugh with relief. I liked not at all keeping my secret from you, for from the first I liked and admired you, and now you are dear to my heart. The secret weighed heavily upon me, and I am glad to have the weight of it taken away.”

“Well,” said Diamond, arching one brow, “we shall have plenty to talk about on the way to Hobbiton, then. You, sir, owe us the telling of your tale in full.”

“You shall have it in full,” Boromir answered warmly.

“And please, you foolish Man,” Estella said, “Do not think us incapable of understanding why you wished to keep your secret. If your reason was good enough for our husbands, it will be good enough for us.”

“We will look after your secret, Boromir!” Diamond said, “You have been a great friend to our husbands, we have heard all about how you looked after them.”

“’Twas no trouble to look after them,” Boromir smiled, and with a wink to Pippin added, “That is what friends do, you know.”