Chapter 17 - Luncheon

Despite Frodo’s promise to determine what exactly Aragorn was planning, he made no attempt the rest of that week to discover what that plan could be. Merry suspected that Frodo was stalling only to keep Sam from helping further. Merry did manage to coax Sam into giving him a copy of the list of proprietors from Aragorn’s study, on the basis that Sam had written this out prior to Frodo’s interruption, but Sam would not do anything more without Frodo’s well wishes.

Merry managed to use his time after his morning training with the Rohirrim on Monday to search out a few of the shops on Sam’s list, as well as visit a couple more potential guests for luncheon. The shops were as he expected. One shop belonged to a cobbler, another was packed of women spinning fabric, and yet another belonged to a jeweler. None of them had yet received any commissions from the king. Merry could only assume that Faramir had told Aragorn about these shops, but why the list was hidden with the remodeling plans continued to elude him. If only he could send Sam to look at those plans again; he must have missed something that would explain the connection.

Sam, though, was off limits and Frodo, drat him, was not letting Sam out of his sight. Merry was hard-pressed to find a suitable substitute. He could not even use Bergil for this. Getting the lad to help with the prank on Frodo had been hard enough. He would never agree to spy on his king. Instead, Merry would likely find himself standing before the court attempting to explain his actions while Aragorn sat in his throne trying to look stern with laughter in his eyes. Pippin was likewise bound to secrecy by his oath of fealty, and asking Legolas and Gimli for aid was equally out of the question. Legolas was still stewing over his failed efforts to warn Frodo of Merry’s plan, and Gimli was simply too busy with actual work to be of use.

Every night, Gimli returned to their house on the fifth circle more excited and dirty than the night before. The cement was now perfected and they were building mock walls with the bricks and mortar, which they were then attempting to smash, shatter and otherwise demolish by any means necessary to determine just how strong the mortar was. The results were beyond Gimli’s expectations and the soldiers who were helping him and the masons were eager to get to work on the actual rebuilding. A few of them were farmers themselves, and others had friends or family who once farmed on the Pelennor. They wanted nothing more than to see the Pelennor returned to its previous glory.

“Naturally, even cement cannot protect against the most determined enemies,” Gimli warned. “That battering ram of the Enemy would level any home but for those hidden beneath the mountains. Still, it makes for a mighty wall and the farmers can rest well at nights, knowing they are safe.”

Gimli announced to the court on Tuesday that rebuilding could begin the following week. He had the soldiers and masons working in three shifts around the clock baking bricks and firing cement. While they could always use more hands, he had enough that they should be able to keep up the supply to meet the demands of rebuilding. Aragorn wished to send more help, but all available hands not working on rebuilding the city were in the Pelennor, clearing the fields and staking out the areas where the homes were to be built, or else retrieving the materials necessary for the making of the bricks and mortar. 

In an unexpected move, Sultana Farzana offered her own men to help and Aragorn gladly accepted. The citizens were not so sure. While they were slowly growing accustomed to seeing the Haradrim in the city and were beginning to interact with them, there was still trust to be built. Aragorn hoped that by working side by side trust may begin to take root and flourish for the betterment of both their kingdoms. For their part, the Haradrim found the process of brick-making most fascinating. Their own homes were built of adobe, mud that hardened in the sun, and their palaces were built in the same manner as the city walls: large slabs of granite sitting one upon the other, their weight alone keeping them in place.

Despite their inexperience, they were quick to learn the job, requiring no more than one or two demonstrations. Soon enough, they were working as quickly as the Gondorians and they fell into a rhythm, singing in their strange tongue as they worked. The Gondorians would sing also, and they began to take it in turns, even learning a few words as the days went by. Gandalf and the hobbits listened in amazement as Gimli and Legolas, who was lending his hands to the effort as well, told them about the Haradrim and Gondorians working side by side, singing songs in each others’ languages, or attempting to, and sharing laughs over jokes they couldn’t possibly understand except in a vague, general sense.

The hobbits were eager to share their own rebuilding stories over the dinner table at nights. Pippin listened most raptly, so that when he rejoined them, he would know what to expect. When Thursday came, he dashed up to the House, eager to see what work had been done since Sunday. Merry missed this, as he went to his training with the Rohirrim that morning, but Pippin had been kind enough to share his thoughts as soon as Merry came to the House later that afternoon. Pippin, who had seen quite a few remodeling projects thanks to his mother’s incessant need to redecorate at least one room of the house every year or so, was not at all bothered by the wreck the men were leaving in their wake all over the House. In fact, he was impressed that they were working so quickly and efficiently. The others did not share his opinion but were wise enough to keep their doubts to themselves.

On Thursday, they laid down the plans for the last room to be redecorated and began the work themselves in dismantling it. Adrik and Amarlicus tore up the trim, pulled down curtains and hauled away furniture while the hobbits took up their customary job of testing paints on the walls. The Big Folk didn’t seem keen on allowing them to help with any of the heavy lifting and were uncomfortable if they attempted to assist them by handing them tools and picking up fallen nails. Elrohir and Elladan spent the rest of the day running about the house, checking on the progress in the various rooms and lending their hands to the designing of the trim, chairs and tables.

At last, Friday arrived bright and warm. Merry had worried that their efforts in the King’s House would cause Aragorn to forget about Highday, but Aragorn knew his friends well. When he had arrived at the house to survey the latest efforts before dinner, he had reminded the hobbits of their day off before he had done anything else. He had looked at them each critically, as though expecting one of them to fall over in a faint from their day’s efforts, but they had simply grinned.

“Trust me, Strider, we don’t need to be reminded not to work!” Pippin had quipped.

So Friday morning found the hobbits relaxing in their own house and grateful that they wouldn’t have to blink dust from their eyes or smell wet paint again until Saturday.

Gandalf was setting out on Shadowfax to attend to some business matters out in the wilds over the next two days. The twins were to accompany him and they stopped by the house on their way to the gates. Frodo took this opportunity to speak with them about any ulterior motives Aragorn might have in allowing Sam to spy upon him. While Frodo was thus preoccupied, Merry gathered Pippin and Sam in the kitchen.

“Lady Bodil confirmed she would be coming today, correct?” Merry asked Sam. In all the excitement of the last few days, they had had little time to speak about their actual prank and the luncheon invitation that Sam had sent out last Friday.

“She is,” Sam said. “She will be bringing her tenants as well. They should arrive at half-past eleven. I suppose it’s customary to sit and talk for before the meal in the parlor, as it is in the Shire.”

“What are we making?” Pippin asked.

“I’ve got a chicken stew going already. I thought a green salad and some bread with jam and cheese would go nicely with it,” Sam said. “You don’t think as they’d be expecting aught fancy, do you?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Merry said, thinking of the simple fair they had given him on his unexpected visit and the nature of all the luncheons they’ve been served by Mistress Porcia over the last couple of weeks. Supper appeared to be the only meal that was expected to be fancy here, and then only when there was a feast.

“I could also make a custard to serve with some fruit for afterwards,” Sam said, still sounding doubtful. He had never cooked for anyone but the Fellowship and Faramir before. He wasn’t at all sure how his humble Shire cooking would be received by a noble woman and her friends. “I’ve got teas for drinking, naturally. Perhaps I should open up a cask of ale too.”

“What are you three talking about?” Frodo said from the doorway, making them all jump. They had not heard him come in. How long had he been standing there?

“Just luncheon,” Pippin said, trying not to sound too guilty. “Does custard with fruit sound good to you, Frodo?”

“That depends. Who are we making it for?” Frodo asked.

“We were going to tell you, but we didn’t want you worrying, especially after your night terror the other day,” Merry said. “I’ve invited some ladies over for luncheon. They were kind enough to help me find my way when I got lost on the third circle last week. I was trying to get to the thrift shops and went the wrong way out of the gate.”

“It’s a circle, Merry,” Frodo pointed out.

“Yes, and a rather big one. They helped me find my way and they were very kind,” Merry said. “So I invited them to luncheon. They’ll be arriving at half-past eleven.”

“I suppose that custard with fruit and chilled tea will do well, lemonade if we’re out of tea,” Frodo said, answering the original questions before narrowing his eyes at his friends. “The three of you have been planning this for some time then. You seem to be conspiring together quite frequently these days. Any other plots I should know about?”

“No,” they chorused.

“I’m that sorry, Mr. Frodo. We should have included you sooner, it’s just… Well, like Mr. Merry said, we didn’t want to be bothering you is all,” Sam said.

“Why would houseguests be a bother to me?” Frodo asked.

“You ain’t exactly been enjoying the dinner parties,” Sam said, looking at his toes. Oh, why hadn’t they expected this? Why hadn’t they realized that Frodo would feel left out of their planning, and likely think himself weak and a nuisance to boot? “We just thought…”

“You thought blindsiding me with houseguests would be the solution?” Frodo said and shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know how the three of you keep from tripping over your feet coming down the stairs every morning.” Then he laughed.

“You’re not angry with us then?” Pippin asked.

“I’m not. Just promise me you’ll tell me of any future houseguests. I could have had other plans.”

“Yes, Frodo,” Merry and Pippin said. “Yes, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said.

“Do you require help?” Frodo asked.

“We’ve got it in hand,” Merry said, suppressing a sigh of relief. “You get to your writing. Holler if you need anything.”

“And maybe, if you’ve the time, you could tidy up the study a bit?” Sam suggested.

Frodo gave a small smile and nod, then went to his study. They didn’t breathe easily again until they heard the door click shut behind him.

“I feel dreadful,” Pippin said, holding his stomach. “He’s right. We should have said something sooner.”

“Perhaps, but your plan worked, Pip,” Merry said. “Frodo has no clue this is the real prank, and now he’s even willing to help! Brilliant.”

“Thank you, Merry,” Pippin said. “Still, I don’t want to be keeping anymore secrets from Frodo. We should tell him about future guests.”

“And let him help with the planning when he wants,” Sam said.

“Quite,” Merry agreed.

“We best get to cleaning up then,” Sam said.

While they were never messy in their housekeeping, there were obvious signs of neglect throughout the house: a cloak thrown here, a pair of boots tossed there, a couple of empty cups and mugs scattered throughout and whetstones and polish left sitting on tables rather than returned to their shelves. They went through the rooms, putting everything to rights and sweeping and dusting as they went. They brought chairs from the other rooms into the parlor for extra sitting and pulled back all the curtains for lighting.

They finished with just enough time to begin the final preparations on the food and to set the table. While Merry and Sam took care of the food, Pippin climbed into the kitchen closet and brought out the finest tablecloth he could find. His mother had always said that it was the details more than the food served that let your guests know how highly their company is valued, and Pippin intended to make his mother proud. In the end, he brought out not only the tablecloth but the nicer hand towels, a pair of candles set in silver sconces for the table and a colored-glass vase for the centerpiece which he filled with cut flowers from the gardens, with Sam’s permission. He was just placing the vase on the table when the bell rang.

From his seat overlooking the patio, Frodo saw the women and girls approach first. He slipped from his chair before they could spot him and trotted the short distance down the hall to the entryway, where he waited for the others. Outside, he could hear the women debating if this was the correct house or not and the girls exclaiming over the flowers and plants hanging from the patio. A few moments later, they pulled the bell and the women hushed the girls.

Merry, Pippin and Sam came from the kitchen within a heartbeat. Once they were situated, Merry, as host, opened the door. Frodo looked curiously past his shoulder. On the stoop were the two women, one a noblewoman appearing to be in her middle years, the other a young woman with old eyes. Behind them on the walk were the three girls, lined up by size and age. The youngest, who looked to be about three or four, was peering just as curiously around her mother’s skirts; she was very much a miniature version of the young woman.

Their guests sank into a deep curtsey. “Good morning, Sir Meriadoc,” they greeted their host and rose. The noblewoman held forth a basket of bread and baked goods. “We are honored to receive your invitation. May our gracious host accept this gift as a symbol of our gratitude.”

Merry took the basket and bowed in return. “At your service,” he said. “I thank you for your generous gift and invite you into our home.” He and the others stepped aside to make room for their guests in the entryway.

“May I introduce to you my kinshobbits, Frodo Baggins and Peregrin Took, and my dear friend, Samwise Gamgee.”

The hobbits bowed. “At your service,” they said.

“My friends, these radiant beauties are Lady Bodil of the House of Seaward, and Mistress Ioveta and her three daughters, Miss Ogiva, Miss Gerwinda and Miss Leudreda.”

The women and girls curtsied again. “Your servants, masters,” they said, except Gerwinda, who merely mouthed the words.

Introductions completed, Merry handed the basket to Sam and whispered so only he could hear, “Serve this alongside our own food,” then led his guests into the parlor. They settled into their seats, Ioveta and her daughters upon the settee, Bodil and Merry in the stuffed chairs, and Frodo and Pippin in the spare chairs from the other room. Sam returned from the kitchen with a tray of lemonade, several glasses and a few small bowls of nuts and berries. He poured drinks for everyone.

“You must be parched from your walk,” he said as he sat next to Frodo with his own glass.

“Thank you, my lord,” Bodil said graciously, though she looked about the room with a sense of mild confusion.

“We don’t have servants,” Merry volunteered, guessing at her concern. Her face cleared immediately upon hearing this. “We prefer to do things for ourselves.” There was no need to mention that Sam technically was their servant. While everyone in the city knew that the Ring-bearer had gone into the Black Lands accompanied by his servant, no one seemed to be able to make the connection between the servant in the tales and their beloved “Lord” Samwise. Reminding their guests of that now would only lead to discomfort.

“Thank you for accepting my invitation,” Merry said. “I would likely still be lost somewhere on the third circle” – here he shot Frodo a look that pleaded for silence – “if it weren’t for you.”

“It was our delight to serve you that day, and all the days that shall pass from now forth,” Bodil said.

“Our Merry is always getting himself, or his things, lost,” Frodo said, unable to let the opportunity pass. “The day he lost his marbles, we thought we’d all go mad with having to hear about it.”

Merry smiled, a little too widely. “Yes, well, the city is quite large. We’ve all gone astray at one time or another.”

“Are the cities not large where you come from, masters?” Ogiva asked.

“We have no cities in the Shire,” Pippin said. “Most hobbits live on their farms or plantations or in groups of cottages and homesteads. We do have towns though, that are set up a bit like your Pelenor Fields were, except that we have hills, and our homes are built into the hills, under the ground, or in single-story dwellings above the ground where all the hills have been delved. Our smallest towns have no more than a couple of dozen families living there. The larger towns, such as Tuckborough and Bucklebury, can have whole clans living there, along with several other families. Only the largest towns have post stations, but nearly all towns, except the very smallest, have inns.”

“How very fascinating,” Bodil said. “You bring to my mind memories of my homeland and make me all the more eager to return there to be with my daughters and their families. We do not delve into hillsides for living quarters, but in every other respect, our homesteads and market centers are much the same. Clans, though. I fear I am not familiar with that word.”

“Clan is our word for family,” Pippin said. He thought for a moment, trying to discern the simplest way to explain their complicated family systems. He spotted the bowls of nuts and berries on the table. “Pardon me,” he said and, grabbing a handful, dumped them upon the table. There were cashew, peanuts and walnuts, and cranberries and blueberries. He sorted them accordingly and sat back. “These would be clans.”

“The largest nuts would be the Tooks,” Frodo said, smiling innocently. At Pippin’s frown, he elaborated, “The largest number, because there’s more of the them. They’re the largest clan among Hobbits and even have their own sort of ‘kingdom’ called the Tooklands. In fact, the head of their family, called The Took, is also the Thain, our version of a Steward, if you will. Except he does not rule over the Shire. In times of trouble though he can call the Shire Muster and the Hobbitry in Arms together for defense.”

“Who rules then?” Ioveta asked.

“The heads of the family,” Sam said. “That’d be the eldest male and his wife, or sometimes the eldest female, depending. Their word is law within their own families. Of course, there’s more’n one family in any given clan. When troubles reach that level, then it’d be the head of the clan as settles things. Taking our example here again, the various nuts would all be one clan and the berries another. If a nut were to marry a berry though, then it’d be the larger of the two clans as settles the matter, or the two clan heads can get together and decide upon the outcome that would be best for both.”

“How many clans are there in the Shire?” Ioveta asked.

“There are hundreds, if not thousands, of families, but only fifty clans or Great Families,” Frodo said. “Thirty clans are among the gentry, or the nobles, if you will. The rest are commons.”

“You give your commoners their own separate status?” Lady Bodil said. “In Gondor, they are considered as part of the households for which they serve.”

“A master can only advise or discipline his servants in matters related to their work, not their personal lives,” Pippin said. “The family rules their own, no one else.”

“Fascinating. You have a truly extraordinary system. In the country, it is only natural for one to mind their servants in matters of the land and household. They so often know what is going on more than yourself. Here in the city, I fear their voices are rather drowned out by all the bustle,” Bodil said. “You must be eager to return home after so long an absence.”

“We are indeed. We miss it very much, but King Elessar has asked us to remain a while longer,” Merry said. Deciding this was as good a time to get to the heart of the matter, he turned to Ioveta. “When last we talked, I believe you said something about moving back to the Pelennor, Mistress Ioveta. Has anything more come of that?”

“We will be remaining in the city, Sir Meriadoc,” Ioveta said.

“Mother has received a few commissions for gowns,” said her eldest daughter, Ogiva. Frodo guessed she was close to Bergil’s age of twelve. “I’m helping her.”

“I help too,” Leudreda said.

Pippin smiled at her. “I’m sure you are all a great help to your mother. What do you do?”

“I hold the thread so Mother can tie it,” Leudreda said with importance.

Ogiva grinned. “She has the perfect fingers for it. I help with the sewing and ironing, and Gerdy helps with the cutting and measuring.”

“You’ve got steady hands for that then,” Sam said to Gerwinda. “Whenever I helped my sisters, they always complained that I never cut the fabric straight enough.”

Gerwinda nodded and held up her hands to show how steady they were.

“How old are you, if I may ask?” Frodo ask.

Gerwinda held up seven fingers, and Leudreda three. “I’m three!” she said. “I’m turning this many next month.” She looked at her hands as she lifted a fourth finger to be sure of the count before showing the hobbits.

“You’re a big lass for three,” Merry said. “Hobbit lads and lasses of that age would still be in nursery.”

“If they have one,” Sam said with a grin. “Otherwise, we’re sitting ‘round our mother’s knees and helping, as you lasses are.”

“I’m twelve,” Ogiva said, confirming Frodo’s earlier guess. “I was never in a nursery either.”

“You have lovely daughters, Mistress Ioveta,” Frodo said.

“Thank you, my lord. They are such a comfort to me,” Ioveta said. “These last few years… They have been difficult for everyone. If I didn’t have my girls… They are my heart’s joy.”

“Did you help your mother sew?” Leudreda asked Sam.

“Nay, lass,” Sam said. “Most younglings do help their mothers, but my own passed of the coughing disease when I was four. We were carted off to the Widow Rumble, though she weren’t a widow at the time, so as my dad could do his gardening for Mr. Bilbo.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Ogiva said.

“That must have been a difficult time for you,” Bodil said.

Sam shrugged. “So I’m told. I don’t remember it much. My eldest sister Daisy took over for Ma in a lot of ways, and we had the folk on the Row and Mr. Bilbo to help of course.”

“Do you remember her?” Ogiva said. “Sometimes, I have trouble remembering Father.”

“I remember some things, mostly just little scraps of memory,” Sam said. “My dad was always good about telling us stories about her, so as us youngest ones would know her. My sister Marigold was only a bairn when she passed, about six months, so all she knows about Ma is the stories she’s heard.”

“We don’t talk about Father much,” Ogiva said, with a lift of her chin that mirrored her mother’s perfectly.

“This is not the time for this discussion,” Ioveta said. “I am sorry for her behavior.”

“No apology is needed,” Frodo said. “Sometimes, it is difficult to speak of painful things. I don’t speak of my parents much either.”

“You lost both of your parents?” Bodil asked. “Were you very young?”

“I was eleven. They were in a boating accident,” Frodo said. “I am fortunate to remember them. My mother was an accomplished sempstress as well. She loved nothing more than to sit at her loom weaving blankets or at her rocking chair by the fire with her needles. I would help her too, unrolling the thread and keeping them from getting tangled. She’d tell me stories as she worked, little nonsense things or anecdotes from her childhood. My father was a carpenter. He made her that rocking chair, and the loom, and many other things besides. I would help him too, but the sawdust always made me sneeze.”

“We would help Father with the farm sometimes, Gerdy and me,” Ogiva said. “We’d help milk the cows or gather the eggs. I was just getting old enough to help with the sowing and harvesting when he went off to march. I guess I didn’t learn enough.”

“It is not your fault we lost the farm,” Ioveta said. “Is that what you think?” She turned her daughter’s face towards hers and looked at her closely. “It is not your fault.” She kissed Ogiva’s brow. “I’ll tell you one thing about your father. What he loved the most about you is that you always did your very best at everything. He would be so proud of all you girls.”

Her daughters beamed proudly at this praise.

“He would be indeed,” Merry said, getting to his feet. “Shall we eat now?”

Pippin’s stomach grumbled in reply. “I say that’s a smashing idea,” he said, as everyone laughed. They rose and followed Merry to the dining hall.

“The food is only simple Shire fare, so forgive us if it is not quite up to your standards,” Merry said.

“I am sure that it will be more than delightful,” Bodil said.

They filed into the dining hall, looked to the West and sat. Sam and Merry brought in the food from the kitchen and served everyone while Pippin poured more lemonade. The food was met with many exclamations of delight and praise, and soon Sam was giving them his receipt for the stew. Pippin meanwhile entertained the lasses with riddles and jokes, and Frodo and Merry spoke to Bodil and Ioveta of all the latest rumors and news.

Afterwards they retired again to the parlor for the fruit with cream that Sam had made and the lemon tarts Bodil had brought. They spoke then of family and happier times, and the hobbits regaled them with as many tales and legends of Shire-lore as they wished to hear. By the time the ladies departed, it was nearing teatime and everyone was again laughing and smiling. They said their farewells at the door and waved until their guests were out of sight through the gate.

“That was pleasant, more or less,” Pippin said.

“Does anyone know who her husband was?” Frodo asked.

“His name was Leudred,” Merry said. “Her youngest daughter is named for him. She was with child when he left.”

“It’s odd that Gerdy never said naught,” Sam said.

“She doesn’t talk. I’m not sure why, but I suspect she hasn’t spoken since news came back of her father,” Merry said.

“But that had to be three years ago, at least!” Pippin said.

“Some wounds can never be healed,” Frodo said and went into the kitchen to clean up.

To be continued…
 
 

GF 6/1/09
Published 6/29/09