Chapter 14 – Out and About

Faramir entered his sun room and there found Merry sitting on the settee with his head thrown back against the seat cushion and his eyes closed. Sitting on the floor at Merry’s feet was a small bag sack, looking equally bedraggled. Merry did not stir as Faramir approached, which he found disconcerting; the hobbits so often teased the men about being able to hear them from a mile off.

“Merry?” he asked, taking extra care to speak gently.

Merry forced his eyes opened and smiled. “Good morning, Faramir,” he greeted cheerfully, despite his obvious fatigue. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Would you happen to have any more of those curtains lying about?”

Faramir glanced at the curtains that hung from ceiling to floor, tied back between every other window to let in the light. He studied them for a moment to take in their grace and elegance; he had not really paid much heed to any of the aesthetic details of the house since his childhood.

“I would doubt it,” he said, sitting next to Merry. “My mother chose those curtains when she first came here. Father never saw reason to redecorate.”

“I wish Strider was so like-minded,” Merry said. “This is all your fault, you know.”

Faramir chuckled. “Had I known Aragorn would be so eager to redecorate, I would have waited until you were safely removed from the city before suggesting it, I assure you. In all honesty, I am surprised at his enthusiasm. Usually, it is the queen who sees to such matters.”

Merry perked up at this. “Do you know of any eligible ladies among the court? Now that Strider is grooming himself regularly, he might be able to catch himself a lass.”

Faramir cleared his throat to prevent himself from smirking. He studied Merry instead and was surprised anew by the dark circles under his friend’s eyes. He frowned. “Aragorn has enough to keep himself occupied without adding courtship to his duties. Does your arm burden you?”

“My arm?” Merry asked, peering down at his appendages in momentary confusion. “Oh, that. It is well. I did not have a restful night, but that is for another reason entirely.”

“Oh?” Faramir said, his tone making it clear that he was interested but wouldn’t press for details.

Merry grimaced. “Frodo had another nightmare. He had a headache yesterday. He was given athelas for it which seemed to help, but…” He trailed off with a dismissive flap of his hand. “He is better now, resting finally if not yet sleeping when I left him.”

“I had hoped his troubling dreams would ease, if not cease entirely,” Faramir said.

“Gimli said he knew something that might help, but he wouldn’t tell us what it was,” Merry said. “He banned us all from the room this morning.”

“Even Sam?”

Merry managed a derisive look.

“No, I suppose not Sam.”

“Quite.”

“Does this change your plans for the prank you are planning to play on Frodo?” Faramir asked. It was as good an opening as he was likely to get, and he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity placed so neatly into his lap.

“I shouldn’t think so,” Merry said. “We’re inviting Lady Bodil and her tenants to luncheon on Highday. Sam will be sending out the invitation this morning, and Frodo should be back to his usual self by then.”

“What of the other prank?”

“What other prank?”

“Pippin mentioned a fake prank,” Faramir prompted. “Do you think it is wise to be toying with Frodo’s emotions in this manner, given his fragile state?”

“Absolutely,” Merry said without hesitation. “It’ll make him laugh, once he figures his way around it, which he should be able to do in all of five minutes. Now, where is this gift for Éowyn on which you required my opinion so desperately? If it’s weaponry or armor of any kind, she’ll adore it.”

Faramir excused himself and retrieved from the study a wooden box. He returned with this to the sun room and sat beside his friend again. He flipped open the lid to reveal its contents. Inside on a bed of black silk were a pair of silver earrings, a silver necklace and a silver circlet, each with a single tear-drop sapphire dangling from a simple yet graceful setting.

“Will she like it, do you deem?” Faramir asked.

“She will love it,” Merry said.

“But she won’t adore it?” Faramir said, smirking.

“Maybe if the earrings were shaped like shields, with the sapphires in the center, and the necklace had a pendant shaped like her sword, with the jewel in the hilt,” Merry suggested, only half-teasing. “The circlet is fine as it is. You can't do much with a circlet after all.”

Faramir chuckled. “I will keep that in mind for next time. Now, do not linger for politeness’s sake. I know you must be eager to return to Frodo. Give him my well-wishes and don’t forget to take some rest for yourself. Has Aragorn been informed?”

Merry nodded and rose to his feet. “Gandalf is likely telling him even now,” he said.

“Your bag,” Faramir said. He stooped down to pick it up and handed it to Merry. “It’s light.”

“Medicaments from the Houses of Healing,” Merry said, suppressing a yawn. “I suppose I should have waited to pick it up, but I’m not exactly thinking very clearly this morning.”

Faramir saw Merry to the door and watched his friend as he strolled down the street. Merry stumbled now and then, his feet scuffling along the cobble stones, but he kept his feet and greeted cheerfully anyone he passed. Faramir waited until Merry turned the corner before closing the door and going to his breakfast.

Concerned as Faramir was, there was little he could do for Frodo other than hope him peace and healing. As for Legolas, he would have little to tell him. He was bound by Pippin’s confidence and so could not reveal the true nature of the prank. Still, he thought he could at least inform Legolas to expect the trap to be sprung before Friday next without fear of breaking his oath.  

The market square grew more crowded each week as more refugees returned to the city and more goods and produce became available. There was still little to be spared and the rations were leaner than desired, but with cunning and ingenuity, there was enough to fill empty stomachs.

Legolas and Pippin took their rations with good cheer. The baskets slung over their arms grew slowly more heavy with each stall and shop they visited. The Fellowship had unanimously insisted upon receiving the same rations as any other household their size, despite having four hobbits amongst their number. They ate so often at the King’s House or the Hall of Feasts that they usually had food to spare for their neighbors, delivered anonymously by Bergil.

They saw groups of Haradim now and then in the market square, each group being led by a Rohirrim Rider or a Ranger of the North. They managed a word with Ceorl, who explained that they were giving the Southrons a tour of the city, or at least attempting to. A few of the Haradrim spoke a little Westron, but none were fluent and the translators, who could have helped, were required for the service of the king and queen. The Haradrim spent most of their tour staring and nodding blankly at whatever their guides told them, jabbering in their own language as they pointed here and there, misusing the few Westron words they had learned so far, and wearing looks of wonder, excitement or even fear. Fear especially took dominance if a ‘Pale Skin’ approached them too quickly or appeared too suddenly.

“It has been a long day,” Ceorl said.

“Oh, it’s still morning,” Pippin informed him cheerfully.

“Is it?” Ceorl asked, deflating even more. He gathered his group and attempted to explain they were now going to the coopery.

The summer sun was nearing its zenith, the heat rising with it and radiating off the stone walls all around, when Legolas and Pippin finally finished their shopping. They ducked into an inn for a quick drink before making the trek back to the house.

The inn was battered down against the heat, the windows closed and shades shut, the doors left ajar to allow the heat of the kitchen fires to escape outside. As a result, the inn was dim and dank and cooler than outside, if still warm. Pippin shut his eyes for a count of ten, so when he opened them again he was able to see his surroundings clearly. Legolas ordered their drinks and they turned to find a booth, Pippin following Legolas.

Pippin’s eyes traveled over the common room and landed on the far corner, where a small square of light was coming in. There he spotted a group of seven Haradrim sitting around a table. Some of the Haradrim were peering outside through the partially opened shades, watching the foot traffic and the general bustle of the city from a safe and secure distance. A few were making cursory attempts to eat their soup with their spoons, the instruments looking clumsy and foreign in their hands. One was looking straight at Pippin, a look of astonishment and excitement on his face. It was Amir Shahzad.

On impulse, Pippin changed directions. He weaved through the booths and tables to the Haradrim. He spotted their guide, the ranger named Ingold, only as he neared their table. Ingold frowned at him and straightened in his seat, readying himself to rise and stand between Pippin and the Haradrim if the need arose. His frowned deepened as Legolas came up behind Pippin. Legolas gave the ranger a small shrug: what could he do about an impulsive hobbit such as Pippin, short of put him on a leash and gag him? Ingold shrugged back, conceding the point, but did not relax.

“Hallo!” Pippin greeted with a nod of his head all around, ignoring this silent exchange.

“Good day, Sir Peregrin,” Ingold said.

“Gud dai, Sur Peargrin,” the Haradrim chimed, nodding their heads in return and grinning freely.

Pippin looked back at Legolas and raised his eyebrows.

Legolas bowed slightly. “Good day. I am Legolas.”

“Gud dai, Legless,” the Haradrim said.

Pippin stifled a laugh and met the prince’s eye. “Might we join you?”

“We should not delay,” Legolas said. “Sam will be expecting us for luncheon.”

“It’s just for one drink,” Pippin said and lifted his mug as evidence.

Shahzad nodded and flicked his hand at two of his companions sitting at the end of the booth. They slipped out and offered their seats to Pippin and Legolas, who nodded in gratitude and sat. Pippin turned to the prince, wondering how to proceed. If what Ceorl told them is true…

“Is there a translator?” Pippin asked.

“I speak,” said a Haradrim woman.

Ingold lifted a hand and shook it to indicate that the woman was not fluent but better than nothing.

“You saw me the other day,” Pippin began, addressing the prince and pantomiming as best he could to help the woman along. “You recognized me, or my kind.”

The woman said something to Shahzad. The prince’s smile dimmed somewhat and he pursed his lips as he considered the stunted one – no, the hobbit – addressing him. He had hoped to meet the hobbit again before leaving the city but had planned on needing patience for such an opportunity. His parents and the vizier had all noted how highly guarded the hobbits seemed to be. Even now, he could sense the tension in their guide and the elf. Either the hobbit didn’t notice this, or didn’t care. Interesting.

Pippin, mistaking the prince’s delay for incomprehension or some mistake in translation, thought of another way to get his point across. “Begging your pardons,” he said to the table in general. He turned in his spot and kicked up his left foot above the table’s surface. “You saw my feet, my foot hair that is, and you recognized something about it.” He put his foot down, then lifted his hands and shrugged. “How?”

Amir Shahzad and his companions did their best not to laugh, though they couldn’t prevent grinning. Legolas and Ingold both looked shocked, embarrassed and amused, with the latter taking precedence.

Shahzad held out a hand and shook his head. “I know yur kind,” the woman translated for him, but she seemed at a loss of how to say the rest of the message. Shahzad looked about and grabbed a bit of spare parchment with several scribbles and drawings on it. He flipped the parchment over and requested the ink and quill from the man next to him. He began to draw a series of squiggles and horizontal lines, connecting them together in what Pippin quickly recognized as a family tree. Pippin watched with increasing fascination as Shahzad finished a very basic tree, put down the quill and turned the parchment to face Pippin. He pointed at the bottom row, which consisted of a squiggle, two circles, another squiggle, a circle and a third squiggle. He pointed at the third squiggle mark, then at himself.

“Amir Shahzad,” the woman said.

From this one statement, Pippin was able to deduce that the squiggles were for men and the circles for women, and that Shahzad had two older brothers and three older sisters. Shahzad had drawn his parents on the tree, and five generations of grandparents on his mother’s side, showing a total of seven generations on the parchment.

Pippin pointed at the marks that stood for Shahzad’s parents. He tapped the squiggle line and the circle, saying the king’s and queen’s names as he did so. Shahzad nodded, impressed with how quickly Pippin had caught on. Shahzad pointed at the top row, to his four times great-grandfather on his mother’s side.

“Sultan Caros see yur kind,” the woman said.

“How long ago was this?” Pippin asked, a small thrill running up his spine. Could Shahzad possibly be speaking of Isengar? Or even, Hildifons? There was always the possibility of a Boffin or two straying to the south, but would they have gone that far? He thought not.

“One honderd furty yers pass,” the woman said, with a shake of her hand.

140 years, more or less. The year 1280 in the Shire reckoning. Isengard wouldn’t leave the Shire for sixteen more years, and wouldn’t come to the Sunlands for another three. “Hildifons,” Pippin whispered, feeling at once stunned and relieved to have finally discovered some news of his long-lost great-great-uncle. What had become of him? How had he come to Harad and why hadn’t he returned? Why had Isengar been unable to discover anything about him during his time in Harad?

Pippin yearned for a way to speak more openly with Shahzad. The woman was clearly limited in her vocabulary and she was slow with what she did know. If only… “Will you come to our house for supper sometime?” he asked the prince. “My cousins, they will want to hear the story too. You can bring the Gondorian translator.”

Legolas and Ingold cringed inwardly at this but there was nothing they could do to take back the invitation. The woman was already explaining to Shahzad, who was nodding eagerly. “Yes! Yes!” Shahzad said in clipped Westron. His next words were in Haradrim, but their meaning was clear. “It shall be arranged.”

Pippin and Legolas then finished their drinks and excused themselves. “Until next we meet,” Pippin said, bowing.

“Nect meit,” the Haradrim echoed and nodded their farewells.  

The sun was past one before Merry at last arrived home from the Citadel. He carried a small parcel of athelas and other healing herbs tucked under his arm. The parcel he placed in the pantry off the kitchen before going upstairs. He found Sam watching over Frodo, who was still slumbering with the blankets tucked in tight around him.

“How is he?” Merry asked, his voice hushed.

“Been sleeping mostly,” Sam said, also speaking softly. “Gimli’s remedy did the trick right well.” He sounded surprised by this, but there was relief and gratitude there as well.

“Where is Gimli now?” Merry asked. Besides the three of them, the house felt empty and quiet.

“Went to the jewelers,” Sam said.

Merry arched an eyebrow at this but received no further information. He shrugged, figuring that the jewelers must seem like an appropriate destination for a dwarf during such a situation. He dismissed Gimli for the moment; he had more pressing things of which to speak. He tapped Sam’s shoulder and motioned towards the adjoining room.

Once in Sam’s chamber he closed the door behind them. “What do you think of finding a lass for Strider?” he asked before he could lose his nerve. He knew from the look on his friend’s face that it was a lost cause before Sam even opened his mouth.

“I don’t think I know enough about Gondorian women,” Sam said, tactfully. “Why?”

“Faramir gave me the idea,” Merry said, plunging ahead. “I think it would distract Strider from his worries. Courting a lass always makes things seem more cheerful.”

“If both are willing, aye,” Sam agreed. “What makes you think as Strider doesn’t already have a lass?”

“He’s never mentioned one,” Merry said, thinking back on all their conversations during the Quest about lasses and loves. “I don’t think it would be very likely for him to have met anyone, what with his duties as Ranger. I had thought perhaps Éowyn, but…”

“His father met a lass just fine, Ranger notwithstanding,” Sam said.

“Strider would have said something,” Merry insisted. “So I think we should find him a lass, someone adventurous and young, but also patient and wise. She will be queen, after all.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Merry. Getting involved in folk’s love lives only ever leads to heartaches. Look at your mother and all those lasses she’s sent Mr. Frodo’s way. Mayhap Strider ain’t interested in marriage,” Sam said.

“He needs heirs, Sam, and he has no kin to adopt,” Merry said. “What harm could it do to make a few introductions?”

“Plenty of harm, to the lass if no one else if he ain’t willing,” Sam said, crossing his arms in a gesture of finality that Merry recognized far too well. "Besides, I rather got the impression there was somewhat going on with him and Lady Arwen. They seemed to be quite close."

“She’s his foster sister,” Merry persisted. “Of course they’re close.”

“I ain’t never looked at any of my sisters that way,” Sam said.

“You can’t marry your sister, Sam.”

“They ain’t actually related, sir.”

“Actually, they are. She’s his first cousin eighty-eight times removed.”

Sam crossed his arms again.

Merry sighed, giving up. For now. “Very well. How is the spying coming?”

“I’ve got something worked out,” Sam said.

“Great. What?”

“A master never reveals his secrets,” Sam said, to Merry’s eternal frustration. “I should get back to Mr. Frodo. He’ll be waking soon, or so Gimli said, and he’ll be hungry.”

“I’ll make luncheon,” Merry offered and went downstairs to do just that.

He was finishing a simple meal of cucumber sandwiches and fruit with yogurt when Legolas and Pippin returned with the shopping. Gimli came in behind them, having met them on the road, a small purse hanging from his belt. Merry eyed the purse, curious about its contents. He was about to ask Gimli about his trip to the jewelers when Gimli tapped Pippin on the shoulder and led him into the study.

“What’s that about?” Merry asked.

Legolas shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll find out eventually,” he said and commenced putting away the food. He spotted the parcel Merry had placed there and lifted it to sniff. “What’s this?”

“Just some athelas and herbs Strider sent down, prepared by his own hand,” Merry said. “We’ll be ready, for next time.” This last part was resigned; there was no doubt anymore that there would be a next time.

Legolas put the parcel back and continued with his task.
 

In the study, Gimli reached into his purse and pulled out a simple leather cord with a small row of four round beads, two agate and two aquamarine. He slipped this over Pippin’s head and tucked it under his shirt before Pippin could so much as blink.

“What’s this for?” Pippin asked, pulling the necklace out again to admire the stones.

“That’s for courage,” Gimli said simply. “It is not wise to wear it all the time, but if you find yourself wanting, put it on and wear it like so, under your shirt.”

Pippin smiled at this, perplexed and touched at the same time. “What would I need courage for?”

“We all have our fears and ghosts to face, lad,” Gimli said.

“Ghosts?” Pippin said, catching on now. “Denethor.” Despite his best effort, he shuddered when he spoke the name.

“Aye, lad,” Gimli said. “I miss hearing you sing. You’ve a bonny voice, to be sure, and it shouldn’t be shut away where no one can enjoy it.” He gave Pippin a rare squeeze on the shoulder.

Pippin nodded, removing the necklace and putting it in his pocket. “Thank you, Gimli. I’ll bear that in mind, though I don’t think I’ll need them to eat Merry’s cooking,” he joked, smiling pertly. “He’s actually a fair hand in the kitchen, despite being raised in Brandy Hall and having his meals cooked for him his entire life.”

“Come then, lad. You must be hungry,” Gimli said, ushering Pippin back to the kitchen, where Merry was setting the table for their meal.

A few moments later, Sam came down the stairs. He was followed by Frodo, who looked refreshed and alert after his long nap. Frodo smiled when he saw the meal spread upon the table.

“You made your cucumber sandwiches!” he exclaimed. Merry always insisted that he did nothing special with the receipt and yet his cucumber sandwiches were better than any Frodo had ever tasted. “How delightful!”

Merry beamed. “Eat up, before Pippin devours them all.”

They sat to their meal while Legolas told his companions of their day in the market and Pippin’s impulsive invitation to the Haradrim prince.

“We shall have to arrange something,” Frodo said. “If they have news of Hildifons, that would be worth taking home.”

Merry, Sam and Pippin met eyes. Their second house guests were now confirmed.  

“Alas, all that Faramir could discover was that Merry intends to spring his trap before next Friday, which gives him an entire week to plot,” Legolas told Frodo later that night. He had sought Frodo in the study, knowing he would be alone. He had expected to find Frodo pretending to jot down notes for his book and had been pleasantly surprised to discover Frodo working busily on his manuscript. “I think also that the clothes he bought at market the other day are part of it.”

Frodo frowned, trying to piece together this information in some sensible way. “I suppose I shall have to set aside an outfit, for precaution’s sake. At least we know he won’t be able to do anything tomorrow.” For Merry would be standing guard at Théoden’s tomb beginning midnight tonight and would be there until the following midnight.

“We shall have a day of rest,” Legolas said, sharing his sentiments. He left Frodo to his work and went upstairs to the garden to look up at the stars.

To be continued…

GF 5/2/09 
Published 6/9/09