Chapter 23 – Dreams and Schemes

Frodo should have expected this would happen.

He woke from his slumber sitting in the window ledge, his eyes slowly focusing on the grey sky and the Mountains of Ash on the horizon. He turned away and only then noticed the pillow behind his head and the thin blanket over his body. A breakfast tray sat on the table between the window and bed, the food and tea still steaming hot. Sam must have just left.

Frodo slid down from the window ledge onto the chair, then stepped onto the floor. The rug felt odd beneath his feet; every fiber jumped up to tickle or bite. The window had been opened; the wind on his face, not the smell of the food, had woken him and now it caressed the back of his arms and neck, tickling the little hairs. Frodo shivered, closed his eyes and took a deep breath to keep the panic at bay.

Sam didn’t come back until breakfast was eaten in the kitchen below and the plates were washed and put away. Frodo ate alone, a solitary peace he appreciated more than he could say. He used the time to shake away the final shadows of his dream and focus on the day ahead. There were commitments he had to fulfill; he could not afford to be a wreck. Unfortunately, he spent so much time talking himself up for the day that he ate only half the food. Sam noticed this immediately when he came to collect the tray. Frodo held his breath, waiting for the gentle chiding.

Instead, Sam only gathered the tray and smiled happily. “Good morning, Mr. Frodo! Best get dressed or we’ll be late for Lady Bodil’s.” Then he turned and left.

Frodo let out his breath and sank into his chair, part in relief for his narrow escape and part in dread as he remembered their luncheon with Lady Bodil and Mistress Ioveta. Was that really today? He forced himself to stand and went to the wardrobe to change.

Sam returned some time later, after Frodo was dressed, and Frodo discovered then that his brief respite had come with a price. Sam entered through the joined door from his room. In his right hand was the bag of healing stones Gimli had given him, and in his left the list he had written down detailing their uses. Frodo watched Sam through the mirror as he finished brushing his hair.

“Really, Sam, it was only a dream,” he said before Sam could say anything. He knew it was a flimsy excuse and from the look Sam gave him, he knew Sam agreed.

“You were quiet all afternoon yesterday, ever since your talk with Queen Farzana. She must have said something to upset you,” Sam said. “Dreams don’t get you out of bed and staring out windows.”

“Doesn’t your mind wake you up with silly thoughts sometimes?” Frodo asked, searching his battered memories for something, anything, that would prove to Sam he was all right. Out of nowhere, it came to him, that spring day long ago when he and Sam dug side by side in the dirt. “You told me once you were awake all night planning the garden for Number Three. You were sixteen and you were in charge of it for the first time. I came by to see how you were doing and you were conked out in the tater bed.”

The sweetest smile lighted Sam’s face. “You remember that?” he asked, a glimmer of hope behind the concern.

“I offered to help you so you could catch up with the time you lost,” Frodo said.

“Gaffer nearly passed out himself when he come down from Bag End and found you with your sleeves rolled up, kneeling on your weskit and covered with dirt,” Sam said, grinning now at the memory. “He couldn’t say aught though, with you rambling on about it all being your idea.”

Frodo nodded. He didn’t remember that part or anything that happened after.

“So what was your dream about?” Sam asked.

“I was walking down the streets of the city. There was a full moon,” Frodo said and did his best not to shiver.

Sam narrowed his eyes, alternately scrutinizing his master and the list of healing stones. He bit his lip in doubt. “I don’t see as any of these are meant for insomnia.”

“That’s settled then,” Frodo said. He set down his brush and nodded at the reflection in the mirror. Neat and tidy, but for the hair. No matter how well he brushed it, it always looked unruly. He kept promising to get it cut one of these days, but he had felt that ugly scar on his neck and imagined it couldn’t look much better. A haircut could wait.

He turned from the window and grinned hopefully. “It’s not too obvious I only slept a few hours last night, is it?” he asked. “I should be able to put in a good showing. I didn’t realize the luncheon at Lady Bodil’s was today.”

Sam hummed. Merry had reminded Frodo about the luncheon last night over dinner.

“Merry’s the one who got lost,” Frodo continued, frowning. “I don’t see why we all have to go.”

“It’s custom, sir.”

“Custom,” Frodo echoed. How do you argue with that? “I know that, but now Merry’s gone and invited more guests to luncheon tomorrow, some proprietor he met at the ceremony yesterday. Perhaps I was too quick to give approval to houseguests.”

“Mr. Merry can postpone the luncheon tomorrow,” Sam said, “but Lady Bodil is expecting us today. They’d already be cooking. Now, Gimli said the diamonds were good for general healing and the sodalite and obsidian are helpful against dreams. We’ll use these today. Lie down now, Master. Ten minutes should do it.”

“They might put me to sleep again,” Frodo said, checking the sun out the window. Was it that late already? That must have second breakfast then that Sam had brought him.

“Gimli said that ten minutes should only help to relax and rejuvenate you. It shouldn’t be putting you to sleep,” Sam said.

“Five minutes then, to be safe,” Frodo said but made no move towards the bed.

Sam hummed again. He dug the required stones from the sack and looked pointedly at Frodo. “Mayhap you did only have a dream, but from the looks of you, you’re not too far off from another night terror, begging your pardon. Ten minutes. Please, Master.” Then he pouted.

Frodo’s resolve melted, as Sam knew it would. “Very well,” he agreed and lay down on the bed. He sighed and wondered if the Haradrim slaves were this bold with their masters. Would that be the difference then, between Sam and them?

He kept still as Sam set the stones in place. He noticed the same sensations as before, the same warm tingling that stretched out through his body from the stones, the same humming in his veins that filled him with calm. He began to relax, but looking up at Sam he thought of something.

“What about your dreams?” he asked, his mind coming back to the present. “How have they been of late?”

They all remembered, far too well, that night some weeks back when they had been woken by Sam screaming in his sleep. It had taken a massive effort by Gandalf to wake him, and when he finally surfaced from the nightmare, he could only sob and repeat over and over, “I’m too late! He’s dead! I shouldn’t have left him. I promised not to leave him.” It had taken Frodo close to ten minutes to convince Sam that he had been dreaming, that he, Frodo, wasn’t a phantom but his master alive and well. When Sam finally dared to believe it, he only cried harder and grabbed onto Frodo and wouldn’t let go. The experience had shaken them all, but Sam had never spoken of it again.

“Rather forgettable, sir,” Sam said, placing the second diamond next to the sodalite stone just above Frodo’s eyes. “Mostly I’ve been dreaming of the Shire: Gaffer and Goldie at Number Three, Rosie and the Cotton lads splashing at Bywater Pool. I even dreamed of Nibbler the other night. That cat’s been gone for years and all of sudden out of nowhere, he’s walking through one of my dreams, taking me all over the Shire, to the Water, to the Woody End, even to Bindbole Wood and that quicksand pit we found there that one time. He finally stopped on old Mr. Boffin’s barn roof and you know what he did? After all that chasing, he just plops down and starts grooming his face with his paw, like I’ve got all day to just stand there and figure out what he wants.”

“Nibs was a good cat,” Frodo said with a wistful smile. “Any other dreams?”

“Naught worth telling about,” Sam said. He didn’t want to mention the other dreams, especially the one of the pass in Cirith Ungol. That dream started out boring enough. He would just walk and walk and the tunnel would never end. Then hot lava would start pouring in from either side, creeping towards him in its slow, menacing way, teasing him because he had no hope for escape and could only stand there, waiting. He always woke at the same moment, just as the lava was nearly upon him, and he would wake with a pounding heart and burning feet. He had not, thankfully, had anymore nightmares about Frodo in that dread tower and he hoped it remained that way.

Frodo peeked at him and caught the shiver passing through him. “I think you could use one of these treatments yourself.”

“They’re meant for you,” Sam objected. He set the crowning stones in place and stepped back.

“Gimli gave them to you,” Frodo said.

“You’re supposed to be clearing your mind, sir.”

“Tonight then,” Frodo said and closed his eyes. He relaxed then, letting the warm pulses of the stones carry him towards slumber. Before he could fall into sleep, Sam gently shook him.

“It’s time, sir,” he said. He had already removed the stones and outside the birds were chirping.

“It’s been ten minutes already?” Frodo sat up and stretched, surprised to discover how rejuvenated he felt. He took Sam’s proffered hand and hopped off the bed.

They went downstairs where Merry and Pippin were waiting. They had prepared a gift basket for their hostesses, some scones, biscuits, and teabags made with cheesecloth. Pippin wanted to buy some hair ribbons for the lasses, so they were going to the fabric shop Merry had found in his quest to uncover Aragorn’s Secret.

Merry grinned when they entered the parlor. Frodo was wearing the outfit Merry had bought him for his prank. “So you like it, do you?” he asked.

“I do. I believe I forgot to thank you earlier,” Frodo said.

“Nothing says ‘thank you’ like a short-sheeted bed,” Merry said. “Or blue food dye in someone’s shampoo. Or manure in someone’s potpourri bowl.”

“Merry! That is disgusting!”

“I didn’t do that! Everard did!”

Pippin nodded. “To Pervinca. Her room stunk for days before she figured out why.”

“And they’re getting married?” Frodo said. “I don’t understand it.”

“Neither does anyone else,” Pippin said. He picked up the basket and headed for the door.

“You know, I only made you wait a week for your prank,” Merry said, as they followed Pippin.

“I know. That was very considerate of you.” Frodo smiled innocently and hurried to catch up with Pippin, who was already at the gate to the street.

Merry lingered behind as Sam closed the door, then walked with him. “What were you two doing up there?” he asked once Frodo and Pippin were far enough away not to overhear them.

“He didn’t have a good night, sir,” Sam said. “He needed to relax.” He and Frodo had not told anyone else about the healing stones at Gimli’s request, not even when Pippin had shown them and Merry the necklace he had received. Pippin had presented it as ‘a bit of Dwarf magic’ and neither Frodo nor Sam saw any reason to correct him. If Pippin suspected Gimli of giving similar stones to Frodo, he did not press the matter.

“You take good care of him, Sam. I cannot thank you enough,” Merry said. “Now, what is he plotting for my prank? I know my cousin. He has something in mind, no doubt since right from the start.”

“You know I can’t tell you, sir,” Sam said. There was no point denying that Frodo was involving Sam with his prank, though that involvement was thankfully limited. He only knew about the proprietor Frodo had dragged him to the day of Merry’s prank, and that was more knowledge than he cared to possess.

“Then what’s taking him so long?” Merry asked. “Tell me that at least. Is it a matter of logistics? Supplies? Opportunity? I would figure opportunity wouldn’t be an issue, now that we’ve done our part in the King’s House. Apparently, Strider was only concerned with keeping us distracted so I couldn’t play my prank on Frodo. No one seems overly concerned about what he might do to me. I wasn’t either, until the days kept passing. Does it simply require that much planning, whatever he’s going to do?”

“I wouldn’t worry yourself over it, sir,” Sam advised.

“But he’s wearing the outfit I bought him! It means something,” Merry insisted. “What does it mean?”

“That he likes it, I suppose,” Sam said.

“No, it’s a signal of some sort, I know it.” Merry walked in silence, watching Frodo and Pippin strolling arm in arm ahead of them. Pippin was swinging the basket back and forth, as he used to when they were younger and would go on picnics. They would sing as they walked, picnic songs, eating songs, walking songs, and Pippin would stop every five minutes to look at some flower or bug or cloud shape. That was before the Ring, before the War. Before Denethor. Would he ever hear Pippin sing again? Was he really still just a tween?

“Mr. Merry?” Sam said.

“Hm? Oh, yes, sorry Sam,” Merry muttered. “Frodo. What could he be planning?” he pressed on, speaking mostly to himself. The Shire faded away and Minas Tirith returned, cobble-stoned streets and buildings tall. A sudden thought struck him. “Or is he planning nothing? He’s letting me think he’s going to prank me back, but he isn’t, is he? He’s just going to let me sit and worry about what he might do instead! And I’ve been doing it! Well, you can tell him it won’t work. I’ve figured it out and I’m not falling for it… any longer.”

“Speaking of pranks, can you postpone the luncheon for tomorrow, just by a day or two?” Sam said. “Mr. Frodo was that jumpy this morning, but I think another day will do the trick, so long as he doesn’t dream again tonight.”

“Any luck finding out what he and the queen were talking about yesterday?” Merry asked. Frodo had denied it, but they all suspected that his conversation with Sultana Farzana was what had caused him such distraction yesterday. Sam shook his head. “Maybe if we asked the queen, but they’re leaving the day after tomorrow. Have you had any luck with that list I gave you?”

“I went to a few more of the shops yesterday after the ceremony,” Merry said, turning pink. “One had a commission from Strider. I told her I was sent to check on its progress.” His blush darkened and reached the tips of his ears. He cleared his throat and looked anywhere except at Sam. “I think you were right about Arwen.”

“Why wouldn’t he just tell us, then?” Sam wondered and scratched his head. “Men. Just when you think you’re starting to understand their ways.”

“They’re a mystery,” Merry agreed.

“Hey now!” Pippin called back to them. He and Frodo were stopped and waiting for them. At Pippin’s shout, many of the people nearby also stopped and turned to watch. “You ladies want to hurry it up? Stop braiding each other’s hair and pick up those feet! Hop, hop!”

“He’s spending far too much time with those soldiers, if you ask me,” Sam said.

“I’ll make him hop!” Merry said and darted after Pippin, who dropped the basket and bolted down a nearby alley.

Frodo stooped to retrieve the basket. “Wait for us at the gate! And don’t hurt yourselves!” he called after them. He waited for Sam to join him and together they continued their stroll. “So?”

“He’s fretting, sir,” Sam said. “He’s figuring you’re only pretending to prank him back.”

“Good. We’ll let him continue to think that, shall we?” He smiled and took Sam’s arm. To their right, Merry and Pippin dashed by, their faces alight with joy.  

Merry was able to find Lady Bodil’s home much more easily this time around. He kept to the main road until he came to the alley leading towards the house and was pleased when he remembered the alley correctly. They arrived at eleven-thirty on the dot. Gerwinda again answered their call and let them inside. She didn’t keep them standing in the entryway this time, but instead lead them directly to the parlor where the others were already waiting. Greetings were exchanged and they sat, Pippin wincing slightly. He had tweaked his weak knee while running around a corner, but he thought with some nursing it wouldn’t bother him more than a day or two.

“We brought this,” Merry said, presenting the basket and three small parcels. “We made scones and biscuits, and prepared some teabags for your later enjoyment. There are three different kinds: lemon with ginger; rose hips with chamomile; and mint. Let it soak in a pot of hot water, five cups worth, for fifteen minutes. You can add sugar or honey to taste, or drink it plain. These are for the lasses.”

“That is most thoughtful of you,” Bodil said. “So very generous. Thank you.”

“Thank you, masters,” Ogiva and Leudreda said. Gerwinda hummed happily and smiled. They opened their parcels. Each lass had two hair ribbons and a styling comb made from seashells.

“Those are lovely,” Ioveta said. “What a kind gift.”

“Thank you, masters,” the girls said again. “Hm-hm,” Gerwinda agreed. It was the most noise she had made in all the time Merry had known her.

“We hope that you have been well,” Merry said, smiling at her.

“Mother’s been telling us stories about Father,” Ogiva said. “Did you know he used to make up horrible poems and try to sing them to Mother?”

“Each poem was worse than the last,” Leudreda said.

Ioveta laughed, another first. “They really were dreadful.”

“Did you keep any of them?” Pippin asked. “We love dreadful songs.”

“He used to keep them in a box, but during the rush to evacuate, they were left behind, with nearly everything else,” Ioveta said. “I doubt they survived the battle.”

“We didn’t see you at the groundbreaking ceremony yesterday,” Frodo said. “We were hoping you would come.”

“I’ve been busy,” Ioveta said. “I’ve received more commissions for dresses and even one for a suit. I’ve never made a suit before. I’m rather nervous about that one, but I found an accomplished sempstress who agreed to help me for half the profit. She even has a couple of rooms she is able to rent to me, one for my work and another for us to live in once Lady Bodil removes from the city.”

“Have you received any commissions from the king?” Merry asked on a hunch.

Ioveta chuckled. “I would be surprised if King Elessar even knows I exist.”

“I wouldn’t. The king knows talent when he sees it, or hears it, or senses it in the general area,” Pippin said.

“I take it you will not be returning to the Pelennor then?” Frodo asked. “Have you checked to see if there is anything salvageable? Most people have been able to recover at least some of their lost items.”

“I will be returning this coming Monday. I have an appointment there, where the house used to stand,” Ioveta said. “I am not looking forward to it.”

“We can come with you,” Pippin offered.

“That is generous, but not necessary,” Ioveta said, lifting her chin in defiant stubbornness. “I only need to sign the forms releasing my duty of the land to whomever the king has decided to put there in my place. I would have gone yesterday but… when I learned those Southrons would be there… I simply couldn’t.” She spoke these last words with a vehemence that surprised everyone.

“I understand your anger, Mistress Ioveta,” Frodo said, “but the Haradrim in the city now have nothing to do with the men your husband met in battle.”

“Met in battle!” Ioveta said, scoffing at the idea. “That would imply a sense of honor and fairness in warfare that those savages do not possess.” She closed her mouth tight and clutched her hands in her lap, but now that she had started, she found it nearly impossible to keep silent. Four years, she had been holding back the pain and anger. Now it poured from her as flood waters over a dam. “My Leudred’s fate was sealed the moment he stepped off that boat in Pelagir. The Haradrim came at night and attacked them while they slept! Only a few managed to escape the massacre, and those who survived, if any survived, would have been captured to man their ships. Everyone knows they work their prisoners to their deaths. That the King allows those monsters in our city… I just… It is an outrage!”

A long pause followed this declaration, during which Ioveta struggled to regain her composure, Lady Bodil struggled to think of something to say, and the hobbits exchanged panicked glances. Ogiva hugged her mother’s rigid form, and Gerwinda and Leudreda hugged each other. Finally, Frodo sat forward and placed his hand over Ioveta’s, which she had clutched tightly in her lap.

“No one can deny your loss and your pain,” he said. “What you have been through is terrible. Holding onto your anger will not bring your husband back, nor help you or your daughters to find happiness again. Nor will aiming your anger at those who do not deserve it do anything but fuel more hate. And know this: King Elessar is no fool. He knows more about the Enemy than you ever will, just as he knows that not all the Haradrim mean us harm. There are those among the Southrons who fought against the true Enemy even as we did, who suffered losses just as we did, if not more so. They are here within this city now and they are kind. We have all met them, and we consider them our friends. Unless you think me a fool as well.”

Ioveta looked about to argue further until she noticed Frodo’s hand upon her own. It was the maimed hand and the missing ring finger glared up at her as though from the grave. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. When at last she spoke again, the anger was replaced with anguish. “I do not think you a fool, my lord, but I cannot forgive them.”

“Then it was not only your husband who was lost to the Enemy.”

She opened her eyes at this and looked into Frodo’s, where she saw so much compassion and empathy that she wanted to weep. Only the presence of her daughters gave her the strength to reign in her emotions but she feared to speak again lest the little control she had over them break.

After another uncomfortable silence, Lady Bodil stood. “I do believe it is time to eat. Join me in the dining room. Ioveta-dear, I just remembered that we forgot to place the tapers on the table. Do go to the storage closet and see if you might be able to locate them.”

Ioveta bobbed a curtsy and excused herself.

“Come dears,” Bodil said to the girls. “Let us not keep our guests waiting.”

The dining room was as sparsely furnished as the parlor. Besides the long table and its chairs, the only other decorations in the room were the curtains over the windows, the sconces on the walls, and one single painting of the herb garden.

They turned to the West, then sat to wait for the servants to bring in the food. As they waited, Bodil explained that prior to the war she’d had a penchant for collecting things of purely aesthetic value. After witnessing so much suffering caused by the war and seeing how those with the least to spare often were the ones to give the most, she had decided upon returning to the city to disperse anything not of immediate use to those who could use it. Half of her furniture, all of her husband’s clothes, nearly all of the knickknacks accumulated over years of living, and much of the art was given out to those who had none or could refurbish it into something of better use. Her silver serving platters had been melted down into buckles for boots. Her garden statues now decorated the porticos of the inns and shops in the second circle and were the only things in that section of the city not destroyed or damaged. Some of her portraits had been saved to hang on other walls, while other canvases had been shredded for rope and cord. Her jewelry was melted for tapers, knives or anything else that was needed, while the gems were distributed amongst the poorest for later trading. She missed none of it.

“It will do me very little good on a farm at any rate,” she finished as the servers arrived with the food.

“I’m embarrassed to say that most hobbits would not share your sentiment,” Frodo said. “Hobbits do love to collect mathoms and many a hobbit hole is cluttered with them. Still, in similar spirit, a mathom is only truly so if it is given away.”

“What is a mathom?” Ogiva asked.

“Anything that you don’t have immediate use of,” Merry said with a smirk at Bodil. “They’re often given away at birthday parties, but as we have so many of those, it really only serves to shift the clutter. We also have a museum for storing mathoms, in Michel Delving. Sam’s sword, Sting, resided there for years after Bilbo returned from his adventure with the dragon, along with… What did Gandalf do with that mithril corselet of yours, Frodo?”

Now Frodo smirked. “He plans to display it in the museum here.”

“So it just traveled from one museum to another?” Pippin said.

“What museum?” Sam asked.

At that moment, Ioveta entered the room. She carried the tapers and candles and put these on either end of the table, but did not light them. She was composed again; her eyes were blotched but no longer red. When she sat, she looked at the hobbits and made an unexpected request.

“Tell us then of your friends, the Haradrim. What stories are there to tell?”

“What stories, indeed,” Bodil said. “I have only seen them in the city, but I have had no opportunity to speak with them. What are they like?”

“They’re very kind,” Pippin said. “The prince is much like my cousin Ilberic, quiet and respectful but with a taste for adventure and a heart for laughter. Actually, he had a surprising revelation for us. Did you know that two of my great-great uncles ventured into the Sunlands and the queen’s ancestors knew one of them?”

“This is surprising!” Bodil said. “I had never known any hobbits but yourselves. I heard your kind did not travel much, and now you tell us two of your kin have gone to Harad! Tell us about it.”

“Yes, please, do tell us,” Ogiva said, her face lighting up with wonder. Her sisters nodded with enthusiasm. Their mother, for her part, looked interested but weary.

“Well, it all started because of Gandalf, or so my father tells it,” Pippin said and told them first of Hildifons’s and then Isengar’s adventures in Harad. The tales took them through luncheon, and Merry and Frodo helped to tell the tales so that they all had opportunity to eat the delightful meal prepared for them.

After luncheon, they returned to the parlor, where Sam entertained them with his poem, Ode to Rivendell. This led to him reciting his troll poem, the Man in the Moon poems and the lays of Gil-Galad and Eärendil.

When the hobbits prepared to leave, Ioveta curtsied and said, “I apologize for my earlier outburst.”

“No apology is required,” Frodo said. He took her hand and squeezed. “Be well.”

“I will be. Thank you, Lord Frodo. Thank you all of you, for coming and being so kind.”

“If you are not otherwise engaged,” Bodil said, “I will be hosting a dinner party on Friday night. It will be a small gathering, just us and a few friends. You are invited to join us if you wish.”

“We’ll send word no later than Thursday,” Merry said. “We never know when King Elessar is going to require us at one of his dinners.”

They said farewell and headed back to the street, each lost in their own thoughts.

To be continued…

GF 7/11/09
Published 8/17/09