Chapter 26 – A Tangled Web

Aragorn and Erkenbrand bowed in farewell to the Haradrim. Soroush flashed them a sympathetic grin before following the vizier out of the King’s chamber. Aragorn waited until the door closed behind them before sinking back into his chair. He groaned and laughed ruefully.

“That was embarrassing.”

“I made the same assumption as you, my Lord,” Erkenbrand said. “Our new friends have quite the sense of humor.”

“Indeed. A clever ruse they played on us,” Aragorn admitted. “I wonder how the hobbits would repay them for their jest.”

“Streak across the stage in the middle of the dance, most likely,” Erkenbrand quipped, doubling them over with laughter at the thought.

Aragorn sat back, still chuckling. “I shall have to ask them, after the Haradrim leave. Tonight’s festivities should be entertaining enough without their assistance.”

“I will be sorry to miss it.”

“I will remember as much of it as I can and give you a full report tomorrow afternoon,” Aragorn promised. “Our men have brought us much honor. The queen wishes to return the favor. I wonder though if they will appreciate the manner in which it is given.”

“It will be a small price to pay, if the queen is correct about the luck it will bring to our lands and our people,” Erkenbrand said. “The sacrifice is more than reasonable, even if Osric won’t be able to see that at first.”

“Nor will my lords,” said Aragorn, running a hand through his hair. “Yet we cannot deny the queen’s request. I must send for my lords at once if they are to have time to learn the ritual and prepare for it properly.”

“I will stop by the stables on my way to the Hallows and summon Osric, or send Merry to find him if he is no longer there,” Erkenbrand said and bowed to the King. “I must return to my post. Until tomorrow.”

“Until then,” Aragorn said.

Erkenbrand departed. As he left, Pippin entered. The small knight bowed and resumed his post behind his king without a word. Aragorn would have expected a barrage of questions from his inquisitive friend. He turned his chair and noted the thoughtfulness in Pippin's eyes.

“How did you find the Hallows?” he asked, gesturing for Pippin to be at his ease.

“Through the Closed Door, down Fen Hollin and at the end of Rath Dínen. The same as last time,” Pippin quipped.

“Not entirely the same, surely,” Aragorn pressed, adopting what the hobbits called his Healer’s Glare.

Pippin sighed. “Well, no,” he admitted. “It was dreadful as ever at first. I had to pretend I was guarding that dead tree for a time. But then… I don’t know. It’s so quiet and still. It was almost peaceful. I can see now how Merry can find it soothing at times, while the sun is up at any rate. I wouldn’t wish to be there at night.”

“Was Merry long in relieving you?” Aragorn asked.

“No. He came much quicker than I would have thought possible. I was never so glad to see him, exempting when I found him after the Battle of the Pelennor, of course,” Pippin said. 

“Of course. Were you able to find guests to bring to tonight’s ball?” Aragorn asked, satisfied enough to allow the change in subject.

Pippin nodded. “We were. Is Osric in trouble then? What did the queen want? Did it have anything to do with what Osric saw last night?”

“It did, to an extant,” Aragorn said, smiling. He had known the questions were there somewhere, not that he intended to answer any of them. “There’s no trouble. Quite the opposite, actually. You will get all your answers at the ball. Speaking of which, I must ask you to send missives to these lords immediately. They are to abandon whatever they are doing and report to Merethrond at once. They will be given further instructions once they arrive there. You may be dismissed of your duties after you see the missives dispatched. Find your friends and prepare for the feast.”

He handed Pippin a list with the names of the six young lords. Pippin took this and despite the questions Aragorn could see piling up behind his eyes, he only bowed and left to carry out his orders. Aragorn watched him go, reminded anew of just how much Pippin had grown over the course of the Quest.  

Erkenbrand hurried to the stables, shocked at how high the sun had climbed while he was discussing politics with the queen. He had been gone too long, and Merry was no doubt anxious to know what was going on. The Holdwine would have to wait for answers.

He reached the stables in quick order and spotted Penda, Wulf and Ecgberht in the paddock, exercising their horses two at a time. Osric was nowhere to be seen, yet he must be there somewhere. His men stopped their training when they noticed him approach.

“Erkenbrand, what is the matter?” Ecgberht asked with open curiosity.

“Is Osric inside?” Erkenbrand asked.

“He is asleep in the stalls,” Ecgberht said.

They watched in bewilderment as their leader stalked past them. Wulf shook his head as Penda leaned over and whispered, “I told you I saw him walk by earlier.”

“Why would he leave his post?” Wulf wondered, but none of them could think of a reason beyond the one already given: Osric.

Erkenbrand entered the stables. He nodded tersely to the other grooms and went to the stalls that held the Rohirrim’s steeds. In the second stall, he found Osric fast asleep, his head pillowed on his horse’s back.

“Horse and Rider rest together,” Erkenbrand murmured with a laugh. He lifted a booted foot and nudged Osric in the side until he woke. Osric stared up at him bleary eyed for several moments before he remembered where he was and realized who was standing before him. Erkenbrand reached down and helped him to his feet.

“My Lord! Is there some trouble afoot?” Osric asked.

“Fortunately for you, there is not,” Erkenbrand said. “Queen Farzana is impressed with you and the courtesy you showed her maid last night. She has a great honor in store for you. Go home, bathe and change into your livery, then report to Merethrond. You are to do everything you are told to do. Everything, without complaint or comment. Do not disgrace your King.” He turned heel and left without further explanation. Let Osric piece the puzzle together in his own time.

Erkendbrand now hurried back to the Hallows; nearly two hours had passed since Pippin first beckoned him away. He reached the Hallows in short order, slowing to a quick walk as he reached the Silent Street. He noted the guards, one tall, one short. As he drew nearer, the short one stepped forward.

“Is there anything amiss, my lord?” Merry asked.

“Everything is well, Sir Meriadoc,” Erkenbrand assured. “You will discover the answer to the mystery at tonight’s feast. It should be quite the spectacle. Go now and rejoin your friends.” He took his place and fell into attention, ending the discussion.

Merry bowed and walked away, more confused than before. He knew only that Frodo and Sam would be worried also. He needed to assure them that all was well, then he needed to find Pippin. His cousin had looked well enough when Merry came to relieve him, but Pippin could be just as close as Frodo when he wanted to be.

When he arrived at the King’s House, he was surprised and relieved to find Pippin already there, putting the last coat of varnish on the mantle. Frodo and Sam were on the balcony tending the plants. Sam showed no sign of injury from the hammer falling on him, of more relief to Frodo than to Sam no doubt. Adrik was clearing away the supplies, while Amarlicus, Elrohir and Elladan went through the rooms cleaning the surfaces. Merry joined Pippin.

“What do you know?” he asked.

Pippin finished his last brush stroke and tossed the brush rather jubilantly into a nearby bucket of water. He crouched to put the lid on the can of varnish. “Not much,” he answered. “Only that we’ll find out more at the feast and no one’s in trouble.”

“That covers what I know also. Are we finished here then?” Merry asked. “We should go home and get ready.”

“That’s our next stop,” Frodo said, coming in from the balcony. “Are you sure about these guests you invited?”

“Of course I am. We met them at the very fine establishment of The Peeking Eagle,” Merry said. “They’re upstanding citizens.”

“I don’t know about this,” Sam said, uncertainly. “I’m sure Strider had his reasons for not telling—Shh!”

“We are finished, my friends,” Elladan said, coming in from the kitchen. His brother walked beside him and they glanced around the master suite with identical expressions of satisfaction. They both noticed the hobbits’ too-wide grins at the same time. Identical eyebrows lifted.

“All right then. We’ll see you at the ball, shall we?” Pippin said. The hobbits promptly left.

“What was that about?” Adrik asked.

“I do not know, but I suspect this feast is going to have one more surprise,” Elrohir said. “I know those grins far too well.”

“To be young and carefree again,” Amarlicus said wistfully. “I will inform Mistress Porcia that she can send her maids to give the House a more thorough cleaning.”

“And we will go warn our brother to be on his toes,” Elrohir said.

“Why? Whatever the hobbits are planning for him, I’m sure he deserves it,” Elladan said.

“Brother!” Elrohir scolded. “Letting Estel be blindsided at a dinner party is well and good, but this is a diplomatic feast.”

Elladan sighed. “You always ruin my fun.”  

The hobbits returned to their house and readied for the feast. As they would be bringing guests, they had decided to wear the outfits prepared for them for Aragorn’s coronation ceremony. They didn’t have time to take turns bathing, and from the sounds emanating from the bathing room, Gimli had already beaten them to the tub at any rate. They settled themselves with bathing at their ewers in their rooms instead.

Merry gratefully shed his knight’s armor. Standing guard at the Hallows was hard enough when he had a day to prepare for the somber vigil. His whirlwind dash home to change from his painting clothes to his armor, the quick wash to remove the paint and dirt, and his run to the Hallows to relieve Pippin had hardly given him time to think about what he was doing. His primary concern was getting to Pippin and once there, determining if he was all right. Only when Pippin returned to the Citadel did Merry begin to wonder just how long he was going to have to stay there, what exactly was happening in the Hall of Kings, and what Erkenbrand had to do with it.

Those endless riddles had kept him occupied for the first half-hour. Then the silent magic of the Hallows slowly pushed out all other thoughts. The stillness of that place overtook him and he felt most peculiar, as though he were seeing the mausoleums through Pippin’s eyes. The stark, white buildings loomed tall and ominous on all sides. The sun glinted off the marble with a blinding brilliance, and the heat of the summer sun became as that of a raging fire. From the House of Stewards a dark presence watched from the shadows within, biding its time.

Gandalf and Beregond had described that night to them, when Denethor’s madness reached its horrifying conclusion. Pippin had described it also, in an almost monotone voice, his usually vivid face devoid of any emotion. He had told Aragorn the facts of the matter but nothing more. To Merry he had only spoken of it once, the first time he had smelt the phantom vapors.

“Out of everything I’ve seen, that was among the worst,” Pippin had said. “I should have done something more, stalled him going somehow. Watching that… Hearing him… At least Gandalf got Faramir out before it was too late. I did that much at least. But Denethor… He told me to go and die in whatever way I saw fit. I thought I was doing that when I killed the troll, and now he’s just waiting.”

It was more than he had said about the Palantír but not by much. Pippin never mentioned it again, but whenever he grew suddenly still and silent, Merry knew he was smelling the ash and fire again.

As Merry stood in the Hallows, he imagined he too could smell the ghostly scents, that visceral stink of burning flesh. Combined with the heat and the light, he suddenly understood what Pippin must have felt during those moments when the phantoms overtook him. It took all of Merry’s strength not to double over and be sick in the bushes. Instead, he stood there trembling, his breaths coming quick and shallow, until the spell passed and he could tell day from night once more. The spell had lasted but moments, yet it left him exhausted in both body and mind. He would gladly fall into bed rather than trudge back to the Citadel for the feast, but that would only cause alarm and he never wanted Pippin to know what had happened.

He splashed cold water on his face and picked up the wash towel. He dabbed away the sweat and soot with intense pleasure and dressed in his coronation suit and hauberk. The cool silk was like water against his skin and the airy weight of the green-red-and-gold fabric washed away the last of the tombs.

Feeling more rejuvenated, he closed the wardrobe door and froze. His eyes were pulled to the corner of the room quite against his will, as he had seen something there that left him in utter disbelief. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. Yes, they were still there, small and insignificant, but for the meaning behind them. He stepped back, thinking furiously. They could have been there for days without his noticing, and yet he had just given the room a thorough sweeping yesterday after the groundbreaking. Before going to the tavern. Gathering his will, he leaned down again for a closer look, but there was no mistaking them. They could only be one thing: rat droppings.

Forgetting entirely about Denethor, Pippin and the Hallows, Merry turned about-face and marched out of his room and into Frodo’s. Ignoring the fact that Frodo was only half-dressed, Merry pointed at his cousin in barely contained panic.

“You!” he declared.

“Me?” Frodo asked, slipping on his shirt.

“You put them there!”

“It’s possible. I put many things in various places,” Frodo allowed.

“Don’t play at games, Frodo. Admit it!” Merry hissed.

“All right,” Frodo said with a frown. “I put your gloves in the left drawer of your wardrobe instead of the right. I couldn’t remember which side they went on. I’m sorry.”

“Not that! The rat droppings!”

“There are rat droppings in your room?” Frodo asked, looking alarmed. He instantly forgot about buttoning his shirt in favor of searching his floor for similar signs of vermin.

“We’ve got an infestation, do we?” Sam asked, coming in through the adjoining door. He frowned at Merry. “You can hardly be blaming Mr. Frodo. Gimli’s the one as eats in his bed all the time.”

“No,” Merry said. “I know what you’re doing, Frodo, and it won’t work. Your prank has failed, so you can stop it now.”

“You think that’s my prank?” Frodo asked, looking insulted. “Merry, really, give me some credit. I may not have been myself of late, but I do remember how to pull a proper prank, and I am not going to allow my reputation as the worst rascal in Buckland to be sullied at this point of my life. So think about it. What I am more likely to do: leave rat droppings in the corner of your room, or unleash a cage full of rats upon you when you least expect it?”

Merry’s jaw dropped in aghast horror. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I might. Actually, that does sound rather appealing, now that I think about it,” Frodo said, pondering the matter with graveness.

Sam sighed and shook his head. Bucklanders. “Whatever you decide to do, Master, we best send word to the rat-catcher about the pests afore they grow bold and start making away with our cheese,” he advised before returning to his room to finish dressing.

Frodo likewise resumed buttoning his shirt while Merry remained rooted in his spot. “You see, Merry, unlike you I can think of pranks that will work just as well whether you know about them or not.” He smiled sweetly. “Your brooch is on backward.”

Merry backed out of the room and closed the door. Only then did he glance down and saw that Frodo was right. In his distraction, Merry had put the Lorien brooch on facing the wrong way. He corrected it now as he headed down the hall.

‘Frodo couldn’t possibly be serious about the rats,’ he told himself furiously. ‘No, he’s just playing his usual mind games. He knows I’m afraid of the pests, so he’s using that to his advantage, hoping I’ll worry myself senseless over it and do all his work for him. Well, it won’t work this time. I’m not falling for it. I’m n— What was that?!’

A sudden movement skittering along the floor caught his eye and he froze, barely containing himself from squealing like a lass. Heart pounding in throat, he risked a glimpse down and saw a dust ball being blown down the hall by the wind. Feeling more than foolish, he bent down and swept the dust ball into his hand, then returned to his room to finish getting dressed. Their guests would be arriving soon.

An hour later, all were assembled and ready to depart. Legolas and Gimli had invited the master masons as their guests, and Gandalf had asked Amarlicus to accompany them tonight. The retired royal tutor was the closest thing Faramir had to family now, and the old man was fond of the prince and his late brother. The hobbits’ guests were the last to arrive, and everyone stopped in surprise when they entered the house.

Merry bowed to them and introduced them. “This is Miss Isolda, Miss Laine, Miss Marja and Miss Esti, the finest and loveliest serving lasses at The Eagle’s Peak Inn.”

The young ladies curtsied with practiced ease, each of them beaming with pride to be going to such a high function and with the famous pheriannath no less! They had taken great care of their hair and nails, and borrowed dresses from the wife of one of the tavern’s more influential patrons. One would never guess them to be anything other than respectable ladies.

“Pleased to meet you,” Gandalf said, his bushy eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “You lads have chosen a most fetching quartet to accompany you. I admit I’m surprised, and thoroughly delighted, by your choices.”

“We only hope that Strider will be also,” Frodo said with an innocent air. “Shall we go? We don’t want to keep the King waiting to receive his guests.”

“Indeed,” Gandalf said.

Legolas leaned down to Gimli’s ear. “I shall treasure this night,” he whispered.

Gimli grunted. “You and me both, my friend,” he agreed and led the way out of the house, the others trailing after. This would be a night none of them would soon forget.

To be continued…
 

GF 8/16/09
Published 9/14/09