Chapter 16

Bywater and After

Late summer in the Shire was a fine time for an evening’s stroll to Bywater. The trees that lined the Avenue had been replanted, and thanks to the Lady’s Gift, were thriving, in a seeming hurry to live up to the reputations of the trees that once had lined the road. Reflected stars glimmered on the surface of the Bywater like tiny lanterns. A few hobbits sat outside The Green Dragon sipping ale and discussing the coming harvest. Inside, the inn all was a-bustle; it had become a very popular place, even more than it had been before the Scouring of the Shire.

The first thing Boromir noticed as he entered was a sudden stillness on the part of the customers. None were so rude as to stare, but the Man did draw a furtive glance or two. This, to Boromir's mind, was understandable. Be that as it may, he felt a kind of shame that his kind were held in such disrepute by many hobbits. No small wonder that the King had forbidden Men to dwell in the lands held by hobbits.

Nevertheless, his being in the company of Sam, Merry and Pippin seemed to ease the tension, and after a while the place began to bustle once again, though at a less lively pace. The friends called for ale and gazed around the room with its bluish haze of smoke from the many pipes held in hand or between the teeth. Sam pointed out spots which held a special place in history: here where Bilbo had sat with the Dwarves, there where a conspiracy between the cousins and Sam had been formed, here a window broken out during the Occupation, there where, much to Boromir’s amusement, Merry had somehow got his hand stuck in a pickle-jar so thoroughly a healer had to be fetched from his bed to assist Merry’s release. The jar had to be filled with cold water and Merry’s hand coated in butter to get it out. It was a topic of conversation to this day, and afterward the innkeeper always put the pickle-jar behind the counter when Merry arrived.

There was no furniture inside which would accommodate one of the Big Folk, and so they took their ale outside, where a good many sturdy benches were scattered near the Inn wall. Late summer was the perfect time of year for this, for the air inside the inn was warm. Outside, customers could enjoy the fresher air and a cooling breeze while taking pleasure in the beauty of a summer night’s sky. The four companions sat across from each other, two to a bench, and Boromir and two of the Travelers stretched out their long legs, to varying degrees. The ale was most excellent, as was the companionship of the old friends. The conversation started out as a discussion of gardening, and then meandered, naturally, to the coming harvest and the festivities of the season. Once that topic ran its course, Boromir raised the subject of the Battle of Bywater, and, as each hobbit gave an accounting of the deeds that had been done, other hobbits drifted towards the four companions. These were younger hobbits, old enough to remember those dark times, yet too young to have grasped the seriousness of the situation at the time of the Scouring. As the tales were given, these younger hobbits would bring fresh ale (which delighted the innkeeper, who suddenly decided Boromir was a fine fellow after all) out to speaker and audience alike. As the account wound down, the four friends decided to visit the hill where the heroic hobbits killed in battle had been laid.

The garden around The Bywater Stone monument was fragrant with flowers, and in the moonlight, the petals of the white flowers seemed to glow. Long did Boromir gaze at the monument as he knelt, then reached out, and with his fingers, gently touched the stone placed there in honor of the hobbits that lay there in their long sleep.

His friends watched him as he knelt there, his features sharpened by the light of a torch. Some of the younger hobbits had followed them to The Bywater Stone, and as the Man knelt there in silence, one of them began to recite the names of the fallen. His brows drew downward, grim and sorrow-edged, listening to the calling of The Roll as his fingers drifted along the length of the stone marker. “Do with me and build with me what you will,” they heard him murmur. Then, rising, he bowed his head a few moments. At last, he stood; head high and shoulders squared, and saluted the glorious dead. Turning on his heel, he rejoined his friends, somber for a while. For a moment, he gazed at the starry sky in silence, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if the air had grown suddenly fresher and sweeter. Then, much to the surprise of his friends, hobbit-like, his mood suddenly lightened.

The three hobbits would discuss this moment many times in later life, for it was this time above all which heralded a change in the man, as the earth is changed when a field is tilled in preparation to the planting. Something about seeing Sam once more and the visit to the monument seemed to have fit into place inside Boromir, like stones joined to make a new foundation. “Bywater changed him,” Pippin would say, “After Bywater, he was just not quite the same. Not a bad thing, all things considered.”

The leisurely stroll back to Bag End was pleasant. The evening slipped away like the water of a brook. The friends enjoyed a bedtime cordial with the ladies and then retired. Upon arising the next day, Merry, Pippin, and their wives noticed something about Boromir. He was very quiet, yet it was not a quiet laced with sorrow. He seemed, Pippin would later comment, like some great caged bird at last set free which perched in some peaceful promontory, observing his former captivity with a kind of serenity and approval.

Boromir spent the next day in the company of his friends, most especially Sam, taking note of gardening tips and reading Frodo’s account of the War of the Ring. Often he would touch the pages reverently, sometimes with a wistful smile, sometimes with furrowed brow, but always with utter reverence, nodding his approval now and again. At one point Sam nodded towards Boromir and whispered to Merry and Pippin, “He’s visitin’ with Frodo, you see? Readin’ Frodo’s words is the next best thing to speakin’ with him. It’s a good thing to see, to my way o’ thinkin’. I do it sometimes, when I’m missin’ him.” Then Sam wiped his eyes and blew his nose.

The evening before their departure, which would take them to the Great Smials, Sam sat near Boromir as they were enjoying an after-dinner tea and cleared his throat loudly. Boromir could not help but notice. Plainly, Sam had something to say.

“Beggin’ your pardon, but I would like to ask you a question,” said Sam.

Boromir gave Sam his full attention, silently raising his brows in encouragement.

“Well, I was just wonderin’,” Sam continued. “I’ve been tryin’ to work it out in my head about you layin’ low, so to speak, no offense intended, mind. It just don’t seem right about your brother not knowin’ you’re alive and all. I know you got your reasons, as you’ve said, but still, it just seems so sad to know he still thinks you’re dead. I ain’t tellin’ you your business, mind, but just think on it. I know the two of you was close, like peas in a pod so to speak, so I know you miss him somethin’ awful. Do you think you’ll ever let him hear from you?”

Boromir stared down into his cup as the clock ticked. Heaving a sigh, he gave Sam a gentle smile. “Well, Sam,” he said, “As you say, a black hen may lay a white egg. I suppose if one of the white eggs were to hatch into something unexpected, perhaps some day… I’ll know the time is right when I see it, if it should ever come to pass. If it is meant to be, I will know the time when it arrives. But I must listen with my heart with utmost unselfishness. However, Faramir is now a Prince. My appearance would turn his world upside down, and might even cause unrest among my people. I must put their needs before my own, you see.”

“Well, I do see, don’t think I don’t,” Sam replied. “But I still don’t like it.”

“Nor do I, Master Samwise. But I made the path I walk on, and must follow its course. I cannot change the past, nor can I see into the days beyond tomorrow,” Boromir said quietly. “The future is hidden from us by the Light, and for that I am grateful in greatest measure. All will be as it should be, even if it is not as we would have it. In that, I count myself greatly blessed.”

“Well, you know best, I reckon,” Sam said. “I guess I just want a story that ends with and they all lived happily ever after. But it don’t always turn out that way, does it?”

“Well, that depends on whom you ask, I suppose,” Boromir laughed. “Also, it depends on how one looks at the outcome. I find I can choose happiness over despair. Before I ‘died’, I thought this way of thinking to be a great folly. Now, I find great wisdom and comfort in it.”

“Well, if you can, then I can, too, I suppose,” Sam said, pouring a second cup of tea. “Still, I wish you could at least see your brother.”

“So do I, Sam.” Boromir smiled wistfully and held out his cup for more tea. “So do I.”

They departed early the next day for the lovely green hills of Tookland, where the Brandybucks and Boromir tarried for almost a week before taking the return trip. Before leaving, Boromir was surprised with a gift from Pippin.

He took Boromir to his stables and led not a pony, but a horse, from a stable. “Dapplgrim’s dam,” Pippin said, giving the horse a slice of apple. “I think you two are acquainted already. I did not tell you about her before I was sure she would not stir ill memories in you. She is why my line of ponies are so tall and swift.”

“Lady Grey?” Boromir gasped. “The horse lent to me by Théodred, ere I left Meduseld? It must be she! Why, I would know her anywhere! For look at the white mark upon her breast; see how it is shaped like a crescent moon?”

“Aye,” Pippin said. “She was made a gift to me by Éomer. She is old, but, as you see, still fit as a fiddle! Only a horse of Rohan could be so hale at her age. Take her, please.”

“I thought she drowned! Yet here she is,” Boromir laughed. “She must have found her way home.”

“Aye, she did,” Pippin smiled, watching his friend stroke the side of the grey mare’s shapely head. “And like you, she found herself living among the smaller folk of her kind. You should take her. It is true she has seen better days—”

“But so have I!” Boromir laughed as the grey mare nuzzled his hand and nodded, as if in agreement. “Now I know where Dapplegim gets his sauciness from. I thought he had learnt it from his master.”

“Then you will take her? Say you will——she needs a master more her size, and I dare say she has a number of years left in her. She’s a lovely lass, she is, as gentle as can be. And she will be a good companion for you, for she loves company as much as her son does.”

“If you are willing to part with her, yes, I will accept the offer,” Boromir said warmly. “Even more dear is she to me because she is a gift from my friend, and because she bore me to the greatest adventure of my life. How I can ever repay such a gesture, I do not know.”

“Never mind that, goose,” Pippin laughed, “you already have! And now, tell me, how do you like a hobbit’s holiday?”

“Oh, it has been splendid! Making camp is much more pleasant when done for pleasure, I find, most especially in such excellent company. I have enjoyed the journey with you, Merry, and your families more than I can say. The visit with Sam… well, thank you for coming along.”

“Oh, pish! It was our pleasure,” Pippin replied. Boromir saw his face suddenly brighten, and Pippin called, “Speaking of Merry, here he is! Hullo!”

“I see you have done as you planned,” Merry said to Pippin. The grey mare nuzzled Merry in greeting. “And how are you, Greyling? That is what we have called her, though she was known as Hasopadwyn.”

“Yes, that is why I called her Lady Grey. She is most wonderful,” Boromir said. The grey mare nodded her agreement. “If memory serves, she had a gait as smooth as still waters. I look forward to reacquainting myself with her in no small measure. A good companion she was. For months did we wander together. We became great friends. At last, I can repay my debt to her. Scarcely can I wait to ride her once again!”

“You shall be doing that soon enough,” Merry said. “We must depart day after tomorrow.”

“How the time has flown!” Pippin said with a sigh. “Harvest time is coming soon, Boromir! After the holiday, why don’t we meet up at your cabin, you, Merry and I? Perhaps we could go fishing, and spend some time in Bree. We can take rooms at The Prancing Pony. In fact I should very much like to reserve the same room we once shared with Strider.”

“A splendid idea, Pippin,” Merry added. “Say you will, Boromir!”

“But of course,” Boromir smiled. “The pair of you are going to be very busy for some time. It will give us a chance to catch each other up.”

“Done and done!” Merry said with a nod and a grin. “By that time Pippin and I will be eager for a little song and ale.”

“Right now I am eager for supper!” Pippin said. “Diamond has a pudding hissing on the hearth as we speak. Soon you shall see why I did battle with that squirrel.”

“Then let us make haste,” Boromir laughed. “I am as hungry as a hobbit, myself!”