Chapter 12 – Rumors And Tumors

Merry shrugged out of his training livery, grateful for the steaming bath in which he was about to immerse himself. Two mornings in a row of grueling practice drills might not have been the best idea, but he enjoyed the feel of fatigue in his muscles, knowing they had been well-used. He had been tight and sore when he rose in the morning, but the exercises had melted away any aches and pains. He knew that tomorrow he would wake to newly compacted muscles and no aches to slow him.

He stepped down into the tub, luxuriating in the heat that seeped into his muscles, relaxing any tightness that lingered. Because of his height, he always had to soak on the steps rather than the seat that ran along the edge of the tub. As such, he was always the last one in and the first one out. He didn’t mind this though, as he had always viewed baths as a necessary and languishing interruption in an otherwise busy day.

“What do you think the Haradrim will be like?” Ecgberht asked to everyone in general.

Erkenbrand had brought the news to them last night after the feast that they will be neighboring the remainder of the Haradrim embassy. As part of their neighborly duties, they were to show the Hardrim around the city and make them welcome, while simultaneously keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity. They did not doubt that the Haradrim would be observing them likewise, and they were the sole representatives of Rohan in the city.

“They seemed nice enough at the feast,” Erkenbrand said. “A few of them can even understand a bit of Westron, and they were all eager to learn as much as they could about our ways. They had been told by the Dark Lord that we were heathens, barbarians who would as soon cut their throats as look at them, and use their bones to make our bread. Many of them were afraid of coming and were surprised at how kind we were to them.”

“They’re the barbarians,” Offa said. “We’ve all heard the stories of those who were captured by them. They were sold into slavery, branded like cattle, left to the mercy of their so-called masters. They say the men who were rowing the boats when King Aragorn liberated them were little more than skeletons. They just used them up until they died, then tossed their bodies into the bay to feed the fish.”

“It is more complicated than that,” Ceorl said. “You heard the queen and king last night. It sounds to me that Far Harad is not just one nation but several, such as Gondor and Rohan, even the Shire.”

“Yet none of us treat men is such a manner,” Wulf said.

“Perhaps not, but what of the Dunlanders?” Merry said. “They were misinformed and their hearts filled with hatred against you by the lies of Saruman. Yet Théoden forgave them and set them free, and they returned to their lands with a better appreciation of you. Should we do any less for the Haradrim?”

This was met by grumbling and muttering.

“The way I see it, they govern themselves much the same way as Hobbits do,” Merry said. “Every hobbit can trace their lineage back to the one or more of the Great Families, and the families govern themselves. There is no one single ruler. Sure, we have the Thain for raising an army at need, and the Mayor for running the Post, the Shirriffs and Bounders, but even they can’t overstep the ruling of the family head when it comes to his own kin or property. It would be easy enough for one family to veer away from the Rules that all the other families live by and nothing whatsoever for them to do to prevent it. I think something like that must have happened in Harad: some of the families, or Houses, chose to follow the Dark Lord, and others chose not to.”

“No wonder then if they are concerned about civil wars now that the Dark Lord is defeated,” Penda said. “We have won peace for ourselves, but their troubles are just beginning, or continuing, depending what side they’re on.”

They sat in silence contemplating this matter, envisioning such a fraction among the clans within their own homelands and the mayhem it would cause.

“Is there truth to the rumors of eunuchs?” Olaf asked suddenly, looking surprised at himself for having asked the question. The surprise quickly shifted to a dreadful fascination; he wasn’t certain if he really wanted to know the answer.

“I know not,” Erkenbrand said, shifting uncomfortably.

“What’s an eunuch?” Merry asked.

Now all the Rohirrim began to squirm in their seats, blood rushing to their faces that had nothing to do with the heat of the water. Several of the Riders shot glares of contempt at Olaf; anything that transpired now was entirely his fault, the glares all said. Erkenbrand cleared his throat and avoided looking in Merry’s direction.

“It is not known what their purpose is,” Erkenbrand answered.

“What do the rumors say then?” Merry asked.

“It is not important,” Erkenbrand said, finally meeting his eyes. “It is nothing you need concern yourself with and I suggest you forget the matter, for your own good. You have lost enough of your innocence as it is.” He looked each of his men in the eyes and they all nodded at the silent command; they would not speak of the matter to Merry or any of the hobbits. Erkenbrand came full circle to Merry again and waited.

Merry nodded. He would not ask his fellow Riders about the matter, but that wouldn’t prevent him from asking someone else.

“Trust me, Merry,” Erkenbrand said, as though reading his mind. “It is nothing you want to know.”

Merry nodded again, more curious now than ever. What could possibly make these Riders, these brave and fierce warriors of Rohan, quiver in their skins, and did he really want to find out?  

They spent the rest of their bath in silence, speaking again only once they were dressed and on their way to the tavern where they took their noon meal. They spoke haltingly of their plans for the remainder of the day, clearly still bothered by the mystery of eunuchs. Merry was glad to quit their company at the end of the meal, even though it meant going to the citadel to join Frodo and Sam with the redecorating.

He walked with some of the Riders to the stables on the sixth circle but did not go in with them. To see them fondling their horses would only make him miss Stybba, not to mention Taffy, the ginger-and-white coated mare he had left behind in Buckland. He bid his friends farewell and continued to the citadel.

Jodocus admitted him into the house, bowing deeply before escorting him to the library. There they found Pippin and Elrohir leading the group as they finalized their proposals for the twins to take to Aragorn that night. Merry knew he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Pippin there – if there was anyone capable to stealing pages and knights away from Strider, it was Frodo – but he was surprised to discover how much Pippin was enjoying himself in his role as Master Decorator. Clearly, Merry had failed in his role of older cousin and had allowed Pippin far too much time to be influenced by his sisters. He should have insisted Pippin spend more time in Buckland.

“Shall I bring you refreshment, Sir?” Jodocus asked.

“That won’t be necessary,” Merry said, dismissing the butler back to his duties. He stepped into the library and came to stand behind Sam, who was sitting in one of the big chairs, staring down at the materials spread over the library floor. “Not finished yet? It’s a good thing I’ve come then. Maybe now something will get accomplished.”

Pippin snorted without looking up. “Only if nothing is something.”

“Oy, now! I’ll have you know I helped Mother when she wanted to redecorate at home,” Merry protested, looking wounded.

“Moving things where she told you to put them doesn’t count,” Pippin said. “Any idiot can do that.”

“She did ask you to move that rocking chair,” Merry said, grinning impishly. He winked at Adrik, who was goggling at the cousinly repartee; this was not the sort of conversation he was accustomed to hearing, family or no. “So what has been decided upon then? You’re not using that color are you?”

“We are. Elladan assures us Aragorn will approve of it,” Frodo said. He had spoken softly enough, but there was a slight edge to his tone that even an untrained ear could not miss.

“Are you feeling well, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked, concerned.

“I’m fine, Sam,” Frodo said and took a steadying breath. The minor headache he had woken with had steadily grown worse as the morning progressed. He had hid it for as long as he could but the pounding was nearly unbearable now. “It’s just a headache.”

“Maybe it’s a tumor,” Pippin suggested.

“It’s not a tumor,” Frodo said.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a quick glance that went unnoticed by everyone else, preoccupied with Frodo as they were. The Ring-bearer did look paler than normal, now that they took a proper look, and they could almost feel the tension going through his frail body.

“It is time we took a break and a proper meal,” Elladan said. “As we have already finished here and there was nothing else Estel required of us today, you may go about your business as you wish after you’ve eaten.”

“I don’t have to do anything?” Merry asked, perking up.

“No. Amarlicus and Adrik can clean up in here,” Elrohir said. “I will brew some athelas tea for you.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said. He stood and insisted on walking unaided to the kitchen. His friends followed after him, concerned but determined to lift his spirits as Pippin began to berate Merry for shunning his duties.

“How can I be shunning my duties if I’m at training with the Rohirrim?” Merry rightly asked. “That is my duty.”

“Shunning one duty to fulfill another is still shunning your duties,” Pippin insisted.

“Well, perhaps I can have Gandalf split me in half so I can be in two places at once!” Merry said.

“Don’t be silly, Merry. You just need to prioritize better,” Pippin said, their voices growing dim as they walked down the hall.

In the library, the elves and men waited until they could no long hear the hobbits. Amarlicus put his hand on the back of the chair where Frodo had just been sitting.

“It came on so suddenly. He was fine but a moment ago,” the old tutor said.

“Or were we just not paying attention?” Adrik asked, guilt coursing through him like waves crashing ashore.

“I cannot say. Frodo is far closer than I suspected if this headache has been plaguing him all day and we are only now sensing it,” Elrohir assured him.

“Maybe it’s Merry,” Elladan joked.

“I think rather that we simply expected too much, too soon,” Elrohir said, smiling nonetheless. “I will tell Estel. The hobbits should be allowed a couple of days off to rest. When next they come, we will need to be mindful to take more breaks. Estel would rather us finish late than risk further injury to the Ring-bearer and his friends. We have time yet.”

“Not so much time,” Elladan said.

Elrohir grimaced. “We can only do what we can do.”

“So we will not be meeting here tomorrow?” Adrik asked.

“No. Elladan and I will meet with the craftsmen that Mistress Porcia and Master Jodocus commissioned for us,” Elrohir said. “The Haradrim will be entering the City today. You both should remain in the lower circles and keep an eye on the hobbits’ house and their movements. Dress in civilian clothes; two more of the Guard will be sent to help you. Naturally, do not allow yourselves to be seen by the hobbits, unless it cannot be avoided. They cannot suspect that they are being protected in such a manner; they will feel it an invasion and an unnecessary one at that.”

“Yes, my lords,” Amarlicus and Adrik said, bowing.

“Come. Eat as well, or the hobbits will worry,” Elladan said. “We will help you clean after the hobbits are on their way.”

“I will get the athelas,” Elrohir said.

They split ways at the staircase, Elrohir heading for the upstairs garden, the others continuing to the kitchen, where the silence of hobbits eating was sweet in the air.  

Faramir stepped into the buttery, waving distractedly at the chorus of hellos and good-days that greeted his entry. His mind was full of everything he had heard during the interview with the Haradrim king and queen. Very little of what he heard confirmed the rumors that he had grown up listening to, spoken in whispers behind closed doors or under the cover of moonlight and starlight. He had received one shock after another, beginning with tales of hobbits in Harad, continuing with the translators' story, and finishing with Aragorn’s decision to tell the Haradrim about the Ring-bearer.

Naturally, Aragorn would not tell them the identity of the Ring-bearer. Instead, he had given them a thorough recounting of the final days of the War of the Ring. Of Frodo’s part in the War he said only that a Ring-bearer chosen by Providence had come forth at the final hour, and together with his servant and a guide went into the Black Lands and threw the Ring into the Cracks of Doom. He told them that the guide perished, but that the Ring-bearer and his servant yet lived, though they too were very nearly lost, so starved and dehydrated they were, and fallen amongst a sea of boiling lava. The Eagles were only just in time to lift them out of the Black Lands and bear them to safety in Cormallen.

The Haradrim had been fascinated. Long had their ancestors wondered what caused the Great Eye’s long absence from their lands. They had known nothing of a Ring of Power, nothing about the Battle of the Last Alliance. They had always assumed that the Blue Wizards had something to do with it. Little were the wizards seen among those lands, but there were rumors of their passage from Sea to the mountains in the East. Some said they were powerful conjurors, others that they were mere men playing at gods, yet others that they were agents of the Eye, dark and corrupt. The revelation of the Ring was met with some reservation, but eventually Farzana admitted that it was just as likely an explanation as any other.

The Haradrim were naturally curious to discover how the Ring-bearer had come to be in position of the Ring in the first place. A brief recounting of the history of the Ring followed, from Its forging long ago by Sauron in the Cracks of Doom, to Its disappearance after the slaughter of Isildur and Its surprising reappearance when the Ring-bearer’s kin discovered It in a cave, owned by the Ring-bearer’s future guide, and lastly how the Ring-bearer inherited the Ring, not knowing Its true nature.

“But who is he?” Sultana Farzana had persisted in knowing, through the efforts of the translators. “What is this great warrior’s name? We must know, so that we can honor him in our lands, praise him for our freedom, raise monuments in his liking so our people can look upon him and know their liberator.”

“He would be horrified to think that any people were doing such a thing,” Aragorn said. “He thinks very little of himself. A more humble soul will you never meet.”

“Can we meet him?” Sultan Ashraf asked.

“We shall see,” Aragorn said.

We shall see. Such a simple statement, such a heavy prospect. Could the Haradrim be trusted? They were sincere, of that Faramir did not doubt, but what would they do if they saw Frodo and realized who he really was? They were already fascinated with the hobbits, knowing of such creatures from the folklore of their ancestors. What would they make of the connection?

Aragorn clearly wanted to see how they responded with the hobbits one-on-one first, and he was counting on the citizens to protect the identity of the Ring-bearer until such a time as Aragorn chose to reveal it. It was a risky gamble. Many of the Haradrim understood at least a few rudimentary words and phrases in Westron, and others, thanks to the translators, knew even more. Someone could easily reveal the Ring-bearer’s identity, thinking the Haradrim ignorant of the language, before Aragorn even had a chance to broach the topic with Frodo.

So absorbed was Faramir in his thoughts, that he didn’t at first notice when Legolas sat down next to him at the table, a cup of lemonade in hand.

“Farthing for your thoughts?” Legolas asked, borrowing a phrase the hobbits liked to use.

“Hm?” Faramir asked, stirring from said thoughts. “Legolas? When did you get here?”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Legolas said. “I was hoping you might be able to help me find out what Merry has planned for his prank on Frodo. I don’t want to stop him, necessarily; Gandalf seems to think it might be good for them both to be focused on such trivial things. But with Frodo’s health being so poor, I think it might be best for him to at least know what is coming his way.”

Faramir stalled, pretending to ponder the proposition. Did Legolas know that the prank was merely a cover for an entirely different scheme? Faramir thought it unlikely; Pippin hadn’t even wanted Aragorn to know that.

“I can’t imagine Merry would do anything to Frodo that would cause him duress or harm,” he said at length. “Still, it couldn’t hurt to find out what we can. We will leave it up to Frodo if he wishes to hear anything we may discover. I admit that I would be at a loss of how to broach the subject without making Merry suspicious.”

“I’m confident you’ll think of something,” Legolas said.

“I’ll do what I can,” Faramir said. They clinked their cups together, their agreement sealed.

To be continued…

GF 3/30/09
Published 6/1/09