Chapter 5 – Complications and Conversations

“I need to speak with Erkenbrand about Éomer's return,” Merry announced the next morning at breakfast. “There has been some mention of what is to be expected of us once the funeral escort arrives, but I haven’t been able to gather anything concrete."”

Six pairs of eyes focused on him as he stuffed his mouth with a bite of his omelet and proceeded to chew with what he hoped was casual vigor. That all six pairs of eyes were filled with speculation, and one blue-eyed pair tinged with wariness, only made him more conscious of his own expression. He rearranged his features to the very portrait of innocence and continued to chew.

His cover was true enough. He had heard the other Riders of the Mark make comments that hinted to certain expectations being met upon his king’s return. He had figured on being informed of his duties the day of their arrival if he and his friends still remained in the city at that time, a possibility that seemed more certain with each passing day. He had decided upon waking from his most informative dream that it never hurt to be too prepared. That an interview with his captain would also give him an excuse to be alone for much of the day was decidedly convenient. If he was going to do this prank on Frodo, he couldn’t have anyone else tagging along.

“Don’t you go to training tomorrow?” Frodo asked, pasting his own version of an innocent expression across his face. ‘Can’t you ask your questions then?’ the expression rightly asked.

“I do, but we rarely have time to speak casually at such sessions,” Merry replied, which was also true.

“But you have luncheon with the Riders afterwards,” Frodo pressed.

Their friends were following this debate with much interest and amusement. The hobbits weren’t the only ones thinking of the prank war still waiting to be unleashed.

“The others prefer not to speak of work while dining, especially about such sad business,” Merry declared.

This was only partially true. His fellow Riders had no qualms whatsoever talking about their glories in battle or singing their lays of war over a pint and a meal. They would even speak of Théoden with great affection and pride when recounting the years of his early reign and his last days. None of them though had ever mentioned the pending funeral while at sup and Merry was not about to be the first.

Frodo subsided after this, defeated for now. Merry sipped his juice, triumphant.

“If you have business on the fourth circle, then perhaps we can have luncheon together,” Legolas offered unexpectedly, with an emphasis on ‘if’ that was lost on no one. “I will be meeting Elrohir and Elladan at the smithy there to pick up our new hunting knives. It’s close enough to where the Riders are quartered. We could stop by on our way to the inn. I’m sure they would be cheered by your company.”

Frodo smirked, Pippin snorted, Sam shifted and Merry blinked. Gimli remained expressionless beneath his beard and Gandalf simply looked amused, that irksome twinkle in his eyes twinkling in a most frustrating manner.

Somehow, Merry hadn’t thought to consider the rest of the Fellowship in his machinations. Gandalf he knew would leave them alone to torment each other as much as they pleased, so long as no one was harmed. He would have thought that Legolas and Gimli would do likewise, but Legolas looked determined and quite lethal as he narrowed his eyes at Merry. Apparently, when he had given oath to defend the Ring-bearer at all costs from anyone posing a threat, he had meant it. While Gimli was keeping his expression blank, his half-clenched fist indicated that he intended to follow Legolas’s lead.

Merry narrowed his own eyes at Frodo, who merely shrugged, smirk still in place. He hadn’t put them up to it, but he wouldn’t say anything to stop them either, which meant Merry was now out-numbered three to one.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know how long I shall be,” Merry replied smoothly. “I wouldn’t want to keep you all waiting.”

“It’s no bother,” Legolas assured. “No elf has ever starved to death after all.”

Merry calculated quickly. He could be anywhere from an hour or two in conversation with Erkenbrand. From there he had planned to go to the third circle and poke around the thrift shops to search for the materials he needed for his prank. He had no idea how long that might take, and even if he found something quickly enough to meet Legolas and the twins on the fourth circle for luncheon, he couldn’t very well arrive with a package. Yet if he waited until after luncheon to go to the thrift shops, Legolas would undoubtedly conceive some way to join him.

“Merry has decided to come and train with the Guard this morning,” Pippin said, coming to his rescue. “I suggested he might benefit from learning more fighting techniques. He’ll be lunching with us in the buttery. What are your plans for the day, Gimli?”

“I am to meet with the masons and continue our experiments for the mortar,” Gimli answered grudgingly. His duties would put him far out of the way and they all knew it. “What of you, Frodo and Sam?”

“Nothing planned really,” Sam said. “I need to get seed for the vegetable garden.” His tone left it open whether he was friend or foe, and his errands were vague enough that he could be anywhere in the lower circles at any time – to help or hinder was yet to be seen.

“What do you and Frodo intend to plant?” Merry asked. ‘Will Frodo be with you?’

“Oh, I haven’t decided yet,” Sam answered. ‘No, I’ll be alone.’

“I don’t think I shall go out,” Frodo agreed. “I may take a short jaunt later though.” This was more problematic. Frodo took his walks through the smaller streets and alleyways, so he knew them well. He too could be anywhere at any time, and he had the reason and the means to stay hidden in his wanderings. The shadows under his eyes though suggested another restlessness night, so it was questionable if he would walk far, if he walked at all.

“And you Gandalf?” Pippin asked. If he too considered the wizard harmless, it didn’t prevent him from wanting to know where Gandalf would be.

“Aragorn has asked me to sit in court with him today. We will be receiving the ambassadors from Far Harad,” Gandalf replied, his tone mockingly belligerent. ‘There are more important things happening in the City than cousinly intrigue,’ the tone reminded them.

“Do they seek peace?” Frodo asked, allowing the change in subject.

“For now, I think they merely seek to appease their curiosity,” Gandalf answered. “They will be residing as guests in the Citadel while they are here, and there will be a feast in their honor tonight. They will be most interested to meet you.”

“Will they be bringing back any prisoners?” Legolas asked.

For the last week, since the coming of the embassy was first announced, there had been much speculation and hope that the Haradrim meant to turn over any remaining prisoners of war as part of their negotiation strategy. When and how that rumor began was a mystery, and there were many who doubted its validity – and doubted the Haradrim’s honesty even more.

“The scouts have not reported seeing any prisoners within their ranks,” Gandalf said. “However, their ranks are considerable and prisoners easily concealed.”

“You think there could be some then?” Gimli asked. “There are many who would be glad of it, one way or another.”

“That is yet to be seen, in either case,” Gandalf said.

After breakfast, the Fellowship separated to go their different ways, Legolas and Gimli giving Merry a long glare before heading out the door.

Their home was located on the fifth circle, near the gate to the sixth, as close to the herb-masters at the Houses of Healing and the protection of the Citadel as they could get without feeling suffocated on all sides. Merry walked with Pippin the short distance to the sixth gate.

“So, I’m to train with the Guard, am I?” Merry asked him.

Pippin shrugged. “You needed an alibi; I gave you one,” he said, frowning. “You’ve clearly come up with some prank during the night, and wanting to speak with Erkenbrand was just to get yourself away from everyone else.”

“That obvious, was it?” Merry said. “But you’re still not helping. You’re really not helping. You’re taking me in the exact opposite direction I was planning on going.”

“We’ll see,” Pippin said vaguely. “Do you think Sam is working as a double-agent?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Merry said. “I’ll have to keep any further details to myself.”

“I think that would be for the best,” Pippin agreed. He turned and hurried through the archway, sure of his footing despite the slippery cobblestones beneath.

Merry continued down the main street, passing through the tunnel in the hill and coming to the archway to the fourth circle below. He turned left out of the archway and followed the road around the northern bend of the circle to a row of houses that stood against the outer wall. He entered the gate of one of the houses, which looked slightly less decrepit and abandoned for the curtains that now hung in the windows and the scent of cooking meat that wafted from the open side door.

Merry entered this door into the kitchen and inspected the concoction simmering over the hearth. It appeared to be a beef and potato stew, seasoned with only basil and thyme. Merry riffled through the cupboards, producing rosemary, onion and oregano. He added these to the stew, threw an extra stick on the fire and headed into the parlor in search of his captain. If Erkenbrand proved to be gone, then any of the Riders present would serve in a pinch.

Erkenbrand was in fact already gone on his daily duties, as was most of the house. His footsteps echoed in the silence of the towering building. If not for the meat stewing, he would have thought the house empty entirely, but someone must be here to mind the fire. He found his friend Wulf sitting in the parlor, nursing his bad knee as he darned socks and mended shirts and breeches.

“Morning Wulf!” Merry greeted.

Wulf started with surprise. He hadn’t heard Merry come in. “Master Bag!” he greeted, his bearded face splitting into a toothy grin. “I was not expecting you until tomorrow!”

Merry sat himself next to his friend and joined him in his work, picking up a random shirt and searching for a needle that would fit well in his smaller hands.

He was glad to find Wulf here. They had become good friends during their convalescence in the Houses of Healing after the battle of the Pelennor. Their friendship was made steadfast when Merry discovered that Wulf was the brother of Gárulf, one of the Riders of Éomer’s éored who had died in battle with the uruks of Saruman: the very battle that had allowed Merry and Pippin to escape their captors into the refuge of Fangorn. Wulf had not been in that battle, serving in Erkenbrand’s éored even then.

“I was not expecting to come until tomorrow, but I have been wondering about something for quite a while and have been meaning to ask about it,” Merry said, finding a suitable needle. He picked up the spool of thread and measured off a useable length. “I thought it best to raise the question outside the training grounds.”

“What were you wondering?” Wulf asked.

“What will our duties be once the funeral escort arrives?” Merry asked. “What are we expected to do in order to make ready for leaving the city?”

“There’s not much to it actually,” Wulf answered. He bit off the end of his thread, tested his mending job, and folded the shirt. He next picked up a pair of shoes that had seen better days. “We’ll need to bear the King’s bier from the tombs, of course, and place it on the wagon. I doubt we’ll be wanting to risk our horse’s legs, so we’ll likely end up carrying it down the city streets ourselves and putting it on the wagon by the main Gate. Other than that, we do what we’re ordered to do. Will you still be with us then, when they arrive?”

Éomer had released Merry from his duty before departing for Rohan, thinking the hobbits would be departing themselves soon after. The hobbits too had thought this, but their plans changed when Aragorn asked them to remain but a little longer. Since they were going to be here for an undetermined amount of time and Merry had little else to do, he had offered to take up a day of duty guarding the tombs and came often to train with his fellow Riders. Erkenbrand, left in charge of a small guard of twelve Riders charged with keeping sentry over Théoden’s body, had agreed but made it clear that Merry should not feel obligated to stay should Aragorn release him and his friends to leave the City.

“I don’t know how long we shall remain,” Merry answered, “but it seems to me that if we are still in the City when Éomer returns, we may well end up leaving with you. So I thought I’d ask, so as to be prepared. What does a Rohirrim funeral entail?”

He had seen a few funeral processions while living in the City, but he didn’t know how alike they might be to a Rohan ceremony. The only one he had observed in Rohan had been at night at the crossing of the Fords and there had been no time to do things properly.

Wulf frowned at the frayed toes of the shoe he held, either contemplating the question or how best to mend the damaged leather. He picked up the knife, set the lip of the shoe over the corner of the table and cut off the frayed edges. Having now a clean edge to mend, he threaded his needle and set to work, only then answering his Holdwine’s question.

“They’re always in the morning, just before sunrise, before we break our nightly fast. The escort carries the body to the burial mounds and the words are spoken over the coffin, the farewells made by family and friends. As the sun rises over the east, bleeding the skies as those who have fallen in battle bled their life’s blood, the body is taken into the mound and laid to its final resting. Then the singing begins. We sing of heartache and loss and the final parting, but as we sing, the sun rises and clears the skies and so too do our hearts lift from their burdens and sadness. Then we sing the final lay, of thanks and remembrance, and we go into the Golden Hall to break our fast.”

“That’s beautiful,” Merry said, touched by the description and wanting very much to remain now so he could attend Théoden’s funeral.

“You can freeze your toes off in the winter by the time all the singing is done,” Wulf noted. “In the evening we have the feast, though for the King, the feast will begin after the funeral and go until midnight. What of you? How do Hobbits bury their dead?”

“Nothing so ritual as all that,” Merry said. “There is a wake, of course, to allow those who live far away but wish to attend the time needed to travel. We can't wait too long, of course, so the wake is never more than four days. Then we have the funeral. We have family plots and we put up markers. Sometimes the burial is in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon, but there is always a feast directly afterwards. There may be some singing, but mostly we tell stories of the departed, preferably funny ones, if there are any.”

“Will there be any funny stories to tell about yourself?” Wulf asked.

Merry laughed. “My funeral feast will last days.”

“What sort of stories will they tell, then?” Wulf asked, scrutinizing his work and shaking his head. He cut out the mend and began over again, this time accomplishing the rounded toe which had become pointed before.

“Have you ever heard of streaking? You haven’t? Then I must educate you on this fine tradition,” Merry said and settled in to tell his tale.

An hour and a half later, Merry left the house, the mending half done, the beef stew decidedly the better for his attentions, and Wulf wiping his eyes which ran over with tears of mirth. Keeping an eye out for any sign of elves in the vicinity, he returned to the gate to the fifth circle and headed to the citadel.

The barracks and training grounds for the Guard of the Tower stood south of the White Tree, down a small but clustered street that let out on a wide lawn with the barracks behind it. To the left of the lawn was the House of the Steward and to the right on the farthest corner was the King’s House. The barracks, a large singular building of three levels, housed the three regiments of the Guard. While those with families maintained private homes or rooms in the City, while on duty all guards were expected to quarter in the barracks.

Behind the barracks, between the building and the wall were the training grounds. Merry circled the building and found the third regiment just beginning their warm ups. He looked about for Pippin, but Bergil spotted him first.

“Sir Merry!” the boy called, running up to him and bowing. “Sir Pippin said you are to change into livery before joining the drills.”

“Right,” Merry agreed. “Where do I change?”

Bergil led Merry into the barrack’s bathing room, which was located directly off the training grounds for convenience. The room held many large tubs that were built into the foundation of the floor, reminding Merry more of the Bywater Pool than any bathtub he had ever seen before. The tubs looked large enough to sit twenty or thirty soldiers at a time. Along one wall, there were spouts extending from the ceiling, with foot pumps near the base of the wall: showers, Bergil explained, for washing off the worst of the dirt and grime before submerging into the baths.

Off the bathing room was the locker room. Several long rows of tall, thin wardrobes sitting cheek by jowl greeted them as they stepped through the door. Between the rows were benches for sitting. Bergil led Merry down the rows and to one locker, which he stated belonged to Sir Pippin. How the lad could tell just by looking at it was a mystery to Merry, but he realized the truth of it when he opened the door and saw Pippin’s livery hanging there.

“They wear different liveries just for training, so as not to dirty or tear the uniforms they must serve in,” Bergil explained at Merry’s look. “These are yours, Sir Merry.” The boy pointed at a neatly folded livery at the bottom of the locker and the extra hauberk that hung on the side.

“Sir Pippin also wanted me to give you this and to tell you that anytime you need me to look up another, just send a missive to me here with the name only. I will deliver the answer with the address only to Sir Pippin, for giving to you later,” Bergil went on and handed Merry a folded bit of parchment.

Merry opened the note and found the name and address, along with a few general directions, to Lady Bodil’s house on the third circle. Well, he was going to the third circle after luncheon anyway. May as well kill two birds with one stone. He folded the note and placed it in the safety of his breast pocket.

“Thank you lad,” Merry said, grateful for Pippin’s precautions, and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. “I can find my way out again.”

“I will let Sir Pippin know you’re here, so he will be looking for you,” the boy announced. He turned a precise about-face and marched out of the room, eager to announce his duty fulfilled to his smallest knight.

Merry grinned at the boy’s retreating back and changed quickly. He was eager to get to the training grounds and join the warm ups, his sword hand itching for the solid heaviness of pommel and blade.

To be continued…

GF 1/12/09
Published 3/31/09