Farewell

The next two days passed well enough, the long procession met no challenge and arrived in due time at the broad swath of green grassland surrounding Edoras where they set up camp. In the morning, with appropriate ceremony, King Theoden, Thengel’s son, was borne into his city for the last time. His body would lie in state for three days to allow his own people time to pay their proper respects.

The members of the Royal Household of Gondor, the honored Elves, and the noble Hobytla were given lodging in Meduseld itself, as befitting their stations. Merry had, for a moment, considered asking he be housed with the other Riders and Knights of the Riddermark, but he listened to a voice deep within himself that said he should stay close to his kith and kin. After all, Pippin might need him.

“Merry is going to need me before all this is over,” Pippin said to Beregond as they walked about Edoras and those who dwelt there smiled and shook their heads in amazement as the two friends walked by. They had heard that the hobytla of their children’s stories had sprung to life to not only ride with their own king but with the new King of Gondor as well. But a greater wonder still was the tale that one of the small beings and his esquire had gone all the way to the Dark Lord’s lands and brought him to his ruin. The people of Rohan had marveled at the Ringbearers as they accompanied the High King and their own future king, Eomer, hither and yon about the city. They marveled as well at the small one, liveried as a Knight of Rohan, who stood at attention beside King Theoden’s catafalque in the Golden Hall. It had been the talk of the city for months that Eomer had knighted one of the hobytla because he had helped the White Lady destroy the Dwimmerlaik. Few had believed it yet there he stood beside the fallen King.

“I’m surprised he’s able to stand there at all, Beregond. He’s that weary. I can tell,” Pippin continued as the two ducked into a public house and found seats at a table in a corner.

Beregond nodded. “Though I do not know him as you do, even I can see his weariness.”

“It’s not natural, this long drawn out time of having the King’s body on display. I mean, it might be natural to you Men, this waiting so long to bury your dead, but it is most unnatural to us hobbits. I’ve know times when someone who passes on in the morning is buried as the sun sets the same day. Certainly it is never longer than two days, three at the most, and that only in the winter.”

“I’ve heard from some of the Riders I have come to know that it is unusual for the Rohirrim as well.” Beregond took a long pull of his ale before continuing. “Truthfully, Pippin, it is only royalty that are embalmed with such care in Minas Tirith. All others are buried as you say is customary in the Shire. But, since we are accustomed to it with our nobles this has not seemed odd to us as it has to you and the others who hail from other lands.”

“Well, whether it is only for the royalty or whoever, it’s taking a toll off Merry,” Pippin said sternly, “and I’ll be keeping an eye on the old lad.”

“As will I.”

“Good! An extra set of eyes is always handy to have.”

They shook hands as if closing a business transaction, then the conversation shifted to the new things they had seen in Edoras.

The morning of their fourth day in Edoras dawned bright and fair, but the feeling in the city was neither. With a slow tread of feet Theoden, son of Thengel, King of Rohan was borne to his barrow. The stone enclosure had been covered over with turves of his country’s green grass amongst which grew the white simbelmyne. Simbelmyne; ever white, ever blooming, ever reminding the living of the ones who have passed on before them as it grows upon the burial mounds of the Kings of Rohan.

The Riders of the King’s House rode around Theoden’s barrow, their white horses gleamed in the sun as their voices were lifted in the song Gleowine the minstrel wrote for his king. It was the last song he would ever write. Stately, powerful, bringing images to the minds of all who listened, even those who spoke not the language of the Mark, the song told of Theoden’s life with all of it’s hurts and triumphs.

Meriadoc Brandybuck, Knight of Rohan, Esquire to the King rode not amongst those who circled his king’s mound. Those horses were large and spirited, not a mount that a hobbit could handle. He stood at the foot of the turf covered barrow weeping as the King’s last song was sung. When it finished, Merry stepped forward and cried out:

“Theoden King! Theoden King! Farewell! As a father you were to me, for a little while.”* His voice cracked with his sorrow. Merry paused, swallowed, then more quietly spoke his final “Farewell,” then turned away to join the ranks of the honor guard that stood encircling the newest mound on the eastern side of the Barrowfield.

Sir Peregrin Took stood amongst the honor guard of the High King. Not in the fore of the group, just in case his condition should pick that time to assail him, but with the guards nonetheless. King Elessar had not the heart to deny his smallest knight his place near his king. Sitting proudly beside Peregrin was Sunshine. As he kept watch on his lord, she kept watch on her master.

The Knights of Gondor were holding their swords unsheathed, up by their shoulders, points upwards in a salute. There was a moment when a spell took hold of Pippin and the point of his sword gradually started to lower. King Elessar allowed himself a slight smile as the swords of all those in the honor guard lowered at the same time, returning to their original places only as Pippin regained himself and lifted his. Anyone else would have thought it a planned part of their honoring King Theoden.

Because he was not in the front, Pippin had been unable to see Merry. He occasionally nudged the knight who stood beside him.

“Dagond, is he all right?” Pippin would whisper and the tall man would tell him how the small knight of Rohan fared.

Finally, as the song of Theoden’s life began Dagond said, “He left his place amongst the standing guard to weep at the foot of the mound.”

When the song ended, Pippin needed no assistance to hear his cousin’s cries of farewell to the king he had so quickly loved. Pippin wept for both the dead and the living.

A great feast the likes of which had not been seen in the Mark since the building of the Golden Hall, followed the burial. There was as much to celebrate as there had been to mourn; the new Age had dawned and a new High King had come. Merry sat with his fellow Riders enjoying the food and the conversation, for Eomer had decreed that none who had fought in the battles of Helms Deep, Pelennor Fields or before the Black Gate would serve that day, but all would sit in honor and be served by those whom they had fought to protect.

Frodo was watching Pippin. Sam was watching Frodo. Pippin was keeping as close a watch as he could on Merry. Merry was allowing himself to be distracted by the camaraderie of the Rohirrim. As were many others at the feast, the hobbits had set their grief aside to look forward to life instead of back at death, but life still held its own troubles. Frodo was concerned about Pippin having a bad spell or worse, a fit. It had been awhile since he had had a fit and to Frodo’s mind that just meant the lad was over due for having one. Sam was concerned that the touch of gloom which would settle at times upon his dear master would begin its toying with his thoughts, this being a funeral feast and all. He feared Frodo would be plagued with “If only . . .” thoughts until he would begin to feel every grievous thing was his fault. Pippin was concerned that Merry would withdraw into himself; that the remanent of Darkness might cast its shadow over him. He was watching for the grey pallor to creep into Merry’s face, or the tell tale rubbing of his right arm as the chill crept up it. Merry was simply making every effort to not think at all . . . if he began to think he feared he would crumble.

Despite their concerned observations of each other, or lack of such on Merry’s part, the hobbits gave themselves over to enjoying what they knew would be their last feast with their new friends and companions. They thrilled at the reciting of the names of the kings of Rohan, loving genealogies as all hobbits do, building to the moment when Eomer drained his cup, signifying the end of the rein of King Theoden. Then all assembled rose to their feet and drained their cups after proclaiming “Hail, Eomer, King of the Mark!” Later the hobbits smiled till their faces hurt as the new king announced and blessed the trothplighting of his sister, the Lady Eowyn of Rohan to Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien. Merry and Pippin finally locked eyes across the huge hall, nodding and winking to each other. The bond between the hobbit knights would now be even stronger than it had been before, if such a thing were possible. They had risked their lives for Eowyn and Faramir and the hobbits were nearly bursting with joy that their dear friends would soon be married.

With that the feast was ended and the Companions of the Ring, the Elves of Lorien and Rivendel, the King and Queen of Gondor and all in their party went out to where the horses and wains of their cavalcade had been readied for their departure. Eomer and Eowyn bid farewell to Meriadoc, marveling once more that he would take no treasure with him.

“This I suffer,” Eomer said, “for indeed I have no gift that is worthy; but my sister begs you to receive this small thing, as a memorial of Dernhelm and of the horns of the Mark at the coming of the morning.”*

Eowyn presented to Merry a small horn; ancient and beautifully wrought.

“This is an heirloom of our house,” she explained. “He that blows it at need shall set fear in the hears of his enemies and joy in the hearts of his friends, and they shall hear him and come to him.”*

With tears glimmering in his eyes Merry accepted their gift, kissing his lady’s hand and embracing them both. Then all present drank a final drink together and the entourage took their leave.

They did not ride far that day, it already being after midday when they left. Gradually, Merry grew quiet. He missed the Rohirrim, which made him feel badly for why should he miss them when he now could spend more time with Frodo and Sam? Pippin was still riding in the ranks of the Knights of Gondor, but Merry was free to ride where he wished. Yet there seemed to be nowhere he wished to ride. No place in the long procession felt like it was the right place for him to be and he was relieved when the final halt of the day was called.

Pippin hastened to be with Merry, Frodo and Sam. During supper, he shared some jokes that had been told while riding that afternoon, told a few stories and sang a song he had learned while they were at Edoras, all the while keeping an eye on Merry. Merry had cheered up noticeably when Pippin arrived, but the younger cousin knew that it was not how his elder cousin was really feeling. He could sense that Merry was nearly out of strength.

That night, in the tent the hobbits shared, Frodo was sleeping soundly, the result of a long day and perhaps a mite too much Rohirric ale at the funeral feast. Sam, once satisfied that Frodo was in deep slumber, slept as he usually did; like a log. Of the hobbits only Pippin had not been able to drink his fill of the ale, due to it wrecking havoc with his falling sickness, and only Pippin was lying on his pallet listening intently to the sounds around him.

Only Pippin heard Merry’s attempts to stifle his grieving.

Silently, he picked up his bedding and made his way over to Marry’s camp cot, standing there for a moment to see if his cousin had heard his approach and might order him back to his own bed. Pippin had been given a folding bed as well but abandoned it after their first night of this journey as there was no room in it for Sunshine, and he took great comfort in her snuggling with him if he had had a bad spell or a fit. He now slept on a thin but comfortable mattress on the floor of the tent.

Pippin kept an eye on Merry as he spread out his mattress and bedding, but there was no indication that Merry was aware of anything outside of his own suffering. Finally, Pippin sat down on his pallet beside his dearest friend. Merry was laying on his left side facing Pippin. His knees were drawn well up, his head was tucked well down and his arms were on top of the blankets clutching the bedclothes at his chest. Pippin wanted to see if Merry’s right hand was cold so he cautiously reached up to touch it.

“It feels like ice.”

With a startled yelp, Pippin jerked his hand back.

Pippin gasped in a sharp deep breath. “I-I thought . . . I thought you, eh, hadn’t noticed me, Merry.” Pippin quickly looked around to see if his yelp had awakened Frodo or Sam, sighing with relief when he saw it had not.

Merry did not change position, didn’t lift his head or open his eyes, he only spoke with a raspy, sorrow-filled voice.

“You have been staring at me,” was all he said.

Pippin nodded, although Merry wasn’t looking. “Aye, I was. I didn’t think you would notice.”

“My hand feels like ice and it’s nearly as dark with my eyes open as it is with them closed,” Merry whispered. The tent was bathed with the soft glow of two small lamps. Pippin shivered; it shouldn’t have seemed that dark to his cousin.

“He is gone now. Finally gone. It has hurt for so very long,” Merry continued to whisper. “It was wrong. All wrong, letting it go on and on like that and being told to stand there. Stand there all full of sorrow and not show it.”

Merry shivered. A long minute passed before he continued more quietly than before.

“Too many, Pippin. Too many have died. Didn’t even know them all. No time to know them and they are gone. He is gone. Frodo and Sam were almost gone, just laying there in their cots. You were almost gone.”

He finally raised his head and looked at Pippin. Pippin fought to stay calm. Merry’s eyes looked nearly as empty as they had that day when he had become separated from Theoden and Eowyn’s litters as they were carried into Minas Tirith. He reached up, taking hold of Merry’s icy hand, curling his injured hand into the palm of it while covering the top of it with his left hand then rubbing it gently to try to bring some warmth to it.

“And you were hurting and sick,” Merry went on, “and Frodo . . . there are shadows in his eyes. He seems well, is well mostly, but there are those shadows. I can see them, Pip. See the shadows lurking in his eyes.”

“I see them too. That’s why, now that I’m doing better myself, I make a point of telling stories that I know are Frodo’s favorites or telling about funny sorts of things from while we were apart on the quest.” Pippin scooted forward to lay his head on the edge of the cot. “It’s time to let your sadness out now Merry. You’ve held it in much too long, old lad, and it’s got you all mucked up inside. It is like when Grandpa Rory died. Remember? Once I got there we talked and talked about your grandfather and my cousin Hildigard who had passed a few months before, and we cried and laughed and cried some more.”

Pippin drew Merry’s cold hand over and placed it against his cheek, still keeping it covered by his left hand. It wasn’t as cold as it had been before, which made Pippin smile; he was touching Merry’s spirit, he was helping him to come back.

Merry was gently nodding his head. “It was good talking to you, and that was even with my being able to cry and grieve right from the start.” He sniffed then drew a deep slow breath. “I don’t see how these men can bear to hide their feelings so much and for so long.”

“Beregond has told me that it’s only like this in Minas Tirith and then only for royalty. The Rohirrim and the regular folk of Gondor are buried quickly as we do in the Shire. I think it has been nearly as hard on the Men who have stood in the honor guard as it has been on you, Merry.”

Both hobbits were quiet for a time then Pippin spoke.

“I understand how you feel Merry.”

Unexpectedly, his cousin jerked his hand away from Pippin’s face.

“No,” Merry coldly replied. “No you don’t, Pip. Your grandfathers passed before you were born. You’ve . . . you’ve lost no one so close to you. I-I said he was like a father to me and he was. He was as kind and thoughtful and wise as my Pa and . . . and . . . you don’t understand.”

Pippin was quiet a few moments, gazing sadly at Merry. “I don’t know what it is like to love someone dearly almost as soon as I’ve met them? I don’t know what it is like to love them and then lose them, is that what you’re saying, Merry?” he asked softly.

Merry was silent. Pippin continued.

“I can give you three names without even having to work hard to think of them. Gandalf. Boromir. And nearly Faramir.”

“Gandalf didn’t die,” Merry said lamely. He knew that argument wasn’t a good one.

“We didn’t know that at the time Merry. And he did die, he just came back, and really how would any of us have expected that? From the first time I can remember being around Gandalf I felt as though he was my grandfather, wanting to have him notice me, wanting to please him and have him be proud of me. Then I felt as though I had caused his death.” Pippin stared hard into Merry’s eyes. “Don’t tell me I don’t know how you feel.”

Without saying a word, Merry backed down. “We both loved Boromir,” he quietly said after a brief pause.

“Like a brother,” Pippin said as a smile grew on his face. “A very big brother.”

Merry smiled in response, though it quickly faded. “Eowyn. I nearly lost her and I love her dearly.”

“And I Faramir. But we didn’t and now they are going to be married.”

“Yes,” Merry smiled.

“Do you remember that story Boromir told us about his trying to teach Faramir to shoot an arrow?” Pippin’s eyes were twinkling now.

“I do!” Merry exclaimed before covering his mouth and chuckling softly. “Is there room on your pallet for two, Pip? We can stay quieter if we’re closer.”

“Indeed there is, cousin. Room for three in fact. I’ll lend Sunshine to you. She can snuggle up against your back. It really is the most wonderful warm experience. Very comforting.”

For the next few hours Sunshine slept peacefully against Merry as the cousins remembered tales of their loved ones who they had lost or nearly lost. As Merry fell asleep, he realized he felt better than he had felt since the day when Frodo and Sam woke up from their healing sleep and he was assured that all of them had truly survived the Quest.

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A/N: Passages marked with an asterisk ( * ) are taken from “Many Partings” in Return of the King.