Chapter 4 – Confessions and Lies

“Strider?” Sam tapped on the study door and waited for his friend’s invitation before letting himself in. “Can I have a word with you?”

“Of course, Sam,” Aragorn said. He put down the letter he was reading and sat back in his chair. “You know you can come to me anytime you need to talk. What is it? Is it Frodo?”

“Well, yes and no,” Sam admitted.

He sat himself down in one of the large chiffon chairs in front of the hearth, rather than the ones in front of the desk. A moment later, Aragorn was sitting next to him and they stared into the darkened hearth together.

He had left his master in the capable hands of Merry and Pippin, who were keeping Frodo entertained by bickering over the day’s events. Merry was of the opinion that Pippin should have to take a solo tour of the house immediately to offer up his opinions, and if he just so happened to be late for dinner because of this, then that was a risk he would have to take. Pippin, obviously, disagreed wholeheartedly.

“Is Frodo not feeling well? He looks hale enough,” Aragorn said, worry etched into his face.

“Oh, he is. It’s not that,” Sam said, relieving Aragorn’s fears. “It’s just, we decided as Mr. Frodo needs more social interaction, on a smaller scale though. We were wanting to invite folk over to the house. In the Shire, normally we’d send an invitation for elevenses or tea, but you don’t have either of those meals here.”

“Ah,” Aragorn said, seeing their dilemma. “Well, I believe the proper protocol would be to invite guests for luncheon or dinner. Either one would be appropriate. Luncheon would be more for personal calls, while dinner would imply a larger crowd.”

“So luncheon, then,” Sam said. “It’s held at one or noon?”

“Noon,” Aragorn said with confidence. They always stopped court at noon so people could go and eat.

“How should the invitation be worded?” Sam asked next.

Aragorn quirked an eyebrow at this and frowned. “Well, I’m not sure. I’ve never invited anyone to luncheon before, nor been invited in return, being otherwise occupied.”

“Well, what do you do when you have your feasts then?” Sam pressed.

“Jodocus takes care of all the arrangements,” Aragorn said, Jodocus being the Head Butler. “He would be better informed for answering these questions than I would.”

Sam nodded. “I’ll talk to him then,” he said.

Aragorn waited for the gardener to rise so he could see him to the door, but Sam instead continued to sit and stare into the hearth. Aragorn thought he could see some great debate taking place behind those soft brown eyes and even fancied that Sam’s lips moved ever so slightly in silent conversation. Aragorn quirked his eyebrows higher, the frown replaced with a small smile.

“Sam?”

“Eh, Strider?”

“Was there something else?”

“Something else, sir?” Sam asked, feigning innocence. He met Aragorn’s eyes for the first time and studied his friend for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, as though resolving himself to some great task, and plunged ahead. “Well, you see, sir, it’s just that we’ve been noticing as how you’ve been distracted lately. You’re always going up to the precipice and looking out over everywhere like you’re expecting to see something any minute. Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin were wanting me to find out what the matter is, only I can’t very well spy on you, what with you being the king now and all. It just doesn’t seem proper. So I thought as the easiest way to go about it was to just ask you direct-like, if you don’t mind. Obviously, you don’t have to answer.”

Aragorn chuckled at this confession, reminded anew of the inquisitiveness of friends, especially when said friends were hobbits. If he had thought the hobbits wouldn’t notice his mood simply because they lived in their own house, he was clearly mistaken. They all knew each other too well to miss such changes, no matter how slight or well-concealed.

“I am waiting for something, Sam, but I would rather the answer be a surprise,” Aragorn said.

“So then it’s naught bad?” Sam asked. “We were thinking maybe you were having the dreams too or some such.”

“I have many dreams, Sam, many indeed. But no, it’s nothing bad. In fact, it’s quite the opposite, and it would be my greatest honor for my friends to be here for the occurrence,” Aragorn said. “That is all I will say for now.”

Sam nodded again. “All right then. I must warn you though, Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin won’t be satisfied with such an answer, so they’ll still be wanting me to nose around. You might see me from time to time then, lurking as it were, but I ain’t overhearing naught, and if I do overhear, I won’t say aught to them.”

Now Aragorn laughed heartily, amused by his friend’s frank honesty. He clapped Sam on the shoulder and squeezed in gratitude. “I thank you, my friend.”

“I’ll slip off and speak with the butler then,” Sam said and did just that.

Aragorn watched Sam exit the room, still laughing. What had Gandalf told him about Hobbits? “They’ll surprise you in a pinch,” he answered himself aloud and chuckled anew.  

Sam found Jodocus seeing to the setting of the table in the dining hall. He was short for a Man, no more than five feet tall, with a slim build and small feet clad in leather shoes. Sam guessed he was probably near mid-age by the specks of grey in his brown hair and the fine lines around his dark eyes.

“Excuse me, sir?” Sam asked.

Jodocus turned and bowed. “Lord Samwise? Are you requiring some more refreshments?” he asked cordially, reaching for the bell that sat on the hutch.

“No, sir, we’re fine enough till dinner. I was needing some invitations, or the wording for invitations, if you like, to luncheon or even dinner,” Sam said.

Jodocus nodded. “I shall have one of the pages deliver the necessary supplies to your house tomorrow, my lord.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sam said and bowing took his leave.

He stopped at the privy on his way back to the parlor. By the time he returned to his friends, Merry and Pippin had long since abandoned their argument about the house tour and were now arguing about the suggestions Merry, Frodo and Sam had come up with for the parlor.

“I don’t think this table is very banged up,” Pippin said. “It has character.”

“It’s a table. Tables don’t have character,” Merry returned. “They have tops and legs, and this table has a gouge in the side panel so large it makes Rivendell look like a rut.”

“It’s not that bad, and it’s facing the wall,” Pippin said.

“It should never have been brought in here,” Merry said.

“It can be filled in,” Pippin suggested.

“With what?” Merry rightly asked.

Pippin shrugged. “Wood?”

“Wood?” Merry repeated. “It would be easier just to replace the panel.”

“Maybe it has some historical significance,” Pippin suggest. “You know, like that statue on the third circle with the missing left arm.”

“That’s different. You can’t glue an arm onto a statue. It has to be made from the same mould,” Merry said.

“Yes, but it could still be the same,” Pippin persisted. “It all depends why it’s there, and I still think it gives it character.”

Sam sat next to Frodo again and they watched the argument escalate into who had the better understanding of woodwork and sculpting. After a few minutes of this amusing pastime, Frodo turned to Sam.

“That was a long trip to the privy,” he said.

“Well, it’s been a long time since I’d been last,” Sam answered smoothly.

“You aren’t helping Merry and Pippin with their prank, are you?” Frodo asked. Apparently, he had decided a direct approach was best as well.

“Of course not, sir. I don’t even know what they’re planning for that,” Sam answered truthfully, thinking of the fake prank. “Do you know what your retribution is going to be yet?”

Frodo nodded. “I have something in mind,” he answered vaguely, a little smile curling the corners of his lips.

“Because I said so, that’s why!” Merry exclaimed from across the room.

“Well, I’m sorry, Merry, but that’s not a very convincing argument. You have clearly run out of arguments and are just counting on your position as a senior cousin in order to win. It won’t work though,” Pippin said coolly. “Also, I don’t think the dwarves or the elves would agree with your theory that furniture cannot have character.”

“Fine. We’ll ask Legolas and Gimli when we see them.”

“Fine.”

“Dinner is served,” Jodocus said from the doorway. He bowed, turned on his heels and walked back in the direction of the banquet hall. Sam couldn’t be sure, but he thought he caught a glimpse of a smirk on the butler’s round face before he disappeared behind the wall.

Merry and Pippin instantly forgot their argument in favor of dinner and followed Frodo and Sam to the banquet hall.  

“What do you mean you told Strider you were spying on him?” Merry hissed in a whisper.

They were back at their house on the fifth circle, and it was just past midnight. They had been obliged to wait until everyone else fell asleep, which seemed to take forever. Gimli and Legolas had been engrossed in a chess game when they returned from dinner, and Gandalf hadn’t returned until nearly ten. He had offered to play the winner, and that game had lasted over an hour.

Finally everyone had gone to bed, and the three conspirators had waited until the sounds of snores and deep breathing could be heard in the other rooms. They had snuck back downstairs to the kitchen where they could conspire in privacy. Sam went first, telling them of his conversations with Jodocus and Aragorn.

“I had to, Mr. Merry,” Sam said. “He’d surely notice if I suddenly started sneaking about, and without Mr. Frodo around what’s more. So if he already knows I’m spying on him, then he won’t think anything of it when he sees me. Plus, I got his permission to spy, so as I can’t get in trouble. They call that treason here, you know, and I’d much rather avoid that.”

“You’re good,” Merry said, clearly impressed.

Pippin didn’t look convinced. “But then, he just won’t say anything revealing around you.”

“Well, he won’t always see me. I do know how to keep hid well enough. Also, I promised if I did hear aught, I wouldn’t tell either of you what I heard,” Sam explained.

“So how does that help us?” Pippin asked.

“I said I wouldn’t tell you,” Sam repeated. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t tell Mr. Frodo, or Legolas or Gimli, and if one of them should tell you, there’s not much I can do about that.”

“You’re really good,” Merry complimented.

“I learned from the best,” Sam said with a modest shrug. It had been his own master who taught him the art of spying, and Sam had found many uses for it over the years. “Course, it don’t guarantee anything. Strider’s surely smart enough to figure it out, and he can be close when he wants to be. He did say as whatever it was is supposed to be a secret. I doubt he’d talk about it to anyone, except maybe Gandalf, and I certainly ain’t spying on a wizard.”

“No, we wouldn’t want you turned into anything unnatural,” Merry agreed. “Very well. Just do your best and hopefully we’ll learn something. If not, we’ll just have to wait, I suppose. What about you, Pip? What did you find out?”

Pippin pulled his copy of the day’s court docket from his pocket and smoothed it out on the tabletop. He had already made notes on the scroll so he wouldn’t forget the details. The list had several names on it, and the notes all entailed such things as repairs to homes, dwindled livestock and crops, and lack of employment.

“I don’t see how you plan to narrow it down or decide who should or should not be invited to tea,” Pippin began.

“Luncheon,” Merry and Sam corrected.

“We’ll have to skip elevenses if we’re to have luncheon at noon instead of one,” Sam said with a frown. “Mr. Frodo will know from that whenever we’re going to have guests over.”

“There are plenty of times when we miss elevenses,” Merry said. “Though he will question why we’re eating luncheon early.”

“When in Gondor…” Pippin said.

“I suppose that’ll have to work,” Merry agreed. “I don’t think it should be too much of a problem.”

“Especially if we can’t narrow down who we’re going to invite,” Pippin said, returning to the problem at hand. “They’ve all been through so much, and it would mean so dearly to all of them to meet Frodo. As it was, nearly every single one of them gawked at me at some point or another. Maybe we should just draw names from a hat.”

“How will we find out where they live?” Sam asked.

“Faramir said he would send Bergil to find out where they live and make the appointments for Merry to interview them,” Pippin explained. “What exactly are you going to say during the interviews?”

“I got turned around in the streets looking for someplace or another and lost my way,” Merry said. “I’ve been wandering around for an hour and am thirsty. Could I come in for a drink? I think it’s best if I don’t mention anything about Frodo and potential invites to luncheon. We don’t want that rumor getting started. Best to make it seem like the invitation is an appreciative gesture for their kindness. If we decide not to invite them, we can always send them a gift instead.”

Sam agreed with this wholeheartedly. “You won’t want to be making no appointments then, sir,” he pointed out. “It’ll discredit your ruse of getting lost if you’re supposed to be there.”

“I’ll inform Faramir of the change,” Pippin said, then pointed at a name on the list, next to which he had drawn a star. “This woman here, Lady Bodil, actually came on behalf of her tenant, a woman named Ioveta,” he said. “Ioveta lost her husband in the wars early on, about a year or so ago. She was left with three children, the youngest born after her husband was taken by the Southrons. She lost her farm and home even before they were sent away as refugees, and she has been struggling to support herself and her family since her return to the city by working as a sempstress from her room. Lady Bodil provides what she can, but she worries that Ioveta is withering. She often finds her sitting along the walls and staring out at the river; her husband was believed to be among the prisoners taken to man the Corsairs ships. She said her tenant would refuse to admit needing help, but she didn’t think it would be turned away if offered.”

“Her friend sounds a lot like Frodo,” Merry intoned.

“I thought we could start with them,” Pippin said.

“Very well,” Merry agreed. “Have Bergil track them down. If she works out of her room, it should be fairly easy to catch her at home.”

Pippin rolled up the list again and stuffed it back in his pocket. “What about you? Have you figured out a prank yet?”

“Not yet,” Merry said.

“You better had soon. Mr. Frodo’s already worked out his retaliation,” Sam warned.

“I’m sure that he has,” Merry replied dryly. He thought for a moment and shook his head, at a loss. “The most appropriate thing would be to steal his clothes and lock him out of the house, but I can’t do that.”

“That you can’t,” Sam agreed, crossing his arms and looking stern.

“Don’t worry, Sam,” Merry said. “Frodo will be perfectly safe from humiliation, whatever I decide to do, I assure you. I don’t think I shall be requiring your assistance either, Pip. I think it’s best if I do this one myself.”

“But, Frodo’s already forgiven me for helping you,” Pippin protested.

“Save it for next time, Pip,” Merry said. “You won’t need it for this. Now let’s get to bed. It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow.”

They snuck upstairs to their rooms and were fast asleep within minutes.

Later that night, Merry began to dream, one of those nighttime visions that laid out before him the solution to his most pressing problems of the moment: in this case, his failure to come up with a suitable prank for his dearly beloved older cousin. The dream went into helpful detail, showing him all the various possibilities and outcomes for the prank, his mind busily working on perfecting it before he even woke.

Merry burrowed into his pillow, a smile spreading over his face.

To be continued…

GF 12/31/08
Published 3/24/09