Chapter 31 – Pacts and Promises

Frodo entered the alley behind the rat catcher’s cottage and roamed about in the shadows of the fifth circle. He felt it wise to keep a safe distance from Merry until his cousin had opportunity to calm down. At least he should wait until after tea to return to the house; Merry would be leaving at midnight to guard the tombs and so would go to his rest early tonight.

Frodo came at last to the sixth gate. On impulse, he left the alley and passed through the gate. To his left were the towering turrets of the Houses of Healing. The Houses shined in the midday sun and the flags whipped smartly in the breeze. Frodo paused, considering. He did not want to spend the next four hours wandering aimlessly through the alleyways, nor did he wish to attempt navigating the streets of the lower circles at this busy hour.

“Frodo?” asked a concerned voice, interrupting his thoughts.

Frodo turned and saw Sador standing a few feet away, watching him carefully.

“Are you well, my lord?” the man asked, looking between Frodo and the Houses.

“I am well,” Frodo reassured quickly. “Entirely well. What of you, Ash— Sador? How are you faring? Is Gondor as you remembered it?”

“I had never been to Minas Tirith before,” Sador said, “though the people here are very much like those I knew growing up. A bit harder perhaps than I remember, but just as generous.”

“It must be strange for you, after all these years, to be free and home again,” Frodo said.

Sador nodded. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve just woken from a dream, and at other times I think I must be dreaming still. I don’t know quite what to believe.”

“I know what you mean,” Frodo said. “I used to wonder if all of this has been a dream, and I never left the Shire at all.”

“It is a wonder what time can do,” Sador said as he started towards the Houses. Frodo fell in beside him, his decision made for him by Sador’s apparent destination. “I remember when I first awoke in Harad, I wondered if I was dreaming. Now I’m home and I’m still wondering it, but from the other side, if that makes any kind of sense. I suppose one day I will wake up again. Until then, I must simply pretend to be awake. That is but one reason I arranged to have Brondir join me upon his release from the Houses. He can remind me what is real and what isn’t.”

“Is Brondir a friend?” Frodo asked.

“We grew up together. It was a joy to discover him in the city,” Sador said. “He will be staying with me until it is time to return to Belfalas. Do you also have a friend in the Houses?”

“No,” Frodo said. “I was hoping to visit a soldier there. His father is worried about him. He refuses to return home, though the healers all say it is time. I’m not certain I can help, but I certainly couldn’t hurt anything just talking to him.”

“I’m certain that you will help,” Sador said with a smile. “You helped me.”

“How?”

“I’m home and free because of you,” Sador reminded. “Do not fret yourself. You cannot fix his life for him. You can only hope to distract him for a time.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Frodo said as they reached the Houses.

They entered together and spoke with the Warden, who called two attendants to direct them to their destinations. Frodo bid farewell to Sador and followed the first attendant, an elderly woman with a stern face, up the staircase to the third floor. They turned down the west passage to the fourth closed door.

The attendant knocked upon the door and opened it into a sun-lit room. Frodo entered behind her and glanced around the sparse chamber. Inside, the bed was made and the curtains were pulled back. The view out the window was of Mount Mindolluin, green and lush. On a chair by the window, looking like a dull winter’s day, was Petras. His sat hunched in the chair as a flower long devoid of sunlight. His raven hair was combed but lank, the curling strands drooping like the bare branches of the White Tree. More shocking than all of this was the man’s youth. Frodo had expected a seasoned soldier, but this man – boy – looked even younger than Adrik.

“He’s a child,” Frodo whispered to the attendant.

The attendant nodded. “Not much older than. He’ll be seventeen in a few months.” The attendant spoke up then, her stern face melting into kindly concern as she spoke. “Master Petras, you have a visitor.”

The patient did not look away from the window or give any indication of having heard her.

Frodo nodded for the attendant to leave. “I’ll be all right.”

“If you need anything, just send one of the pages,” she told him.

“Actually,” Frodo said, thinking quickly for a likely distraction for a copper’s son. “Could one of the lads bring up some parchment and ink or coal, preferably coal? And I do not wish to be interrupted, if possible,” he added, remembering that Pippin had suggested coming here after their luncheon with Master Duilfin.

The attendant raised her eyebrows but only said, “Of course, my lord,” before departing.

Frodo watched her as she moved down the long hallway, more to stall than to ensure she stopped to speak with the page on duty. He used that time to rein in his shock, and he clung to the hope of the coming distraction to fortify him. Finally, taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly and stepped further into the room.

He looked around the room again. A wardrobe in the corner was half open, revealing a few pairs of trousers and some shirts. There were no shoes. The bed was made and ready for tonight’s rest. On the side table were a couple of books, a lamp and a terracotta vase of lavender haze.

He stepped around the bed and came to stand beside the young soldier. He glanced down at the chair, unable to help himself. The young man’s lap was covered with a blanket, but the familiar bulge of leg and limb ended just above where the knees would have been, so that the blanket fell flat over the edge of the chair in a dizzying, unfamiliar way.

He could understand now the lad’s despair. The lad was just out of his majority, as Men reckoned such things, and his life was stolen away. Whatever plans the lad once had for himself, they were now only dreams. But what had Farzana said about plans? They were designed only to get you from one place to another. The plan itself was not important, only what it helped you to accomplish.

He hoped the page was quick with the parchment.

Frodo gulped and steadied himself before speaking. “Hullo Petras,” he said, taking great care to keep pity from his voice; the lad deserved only his respect and empathy. “I am Frodo Baggins of the Shire, at your service.”

A few moments passed in which Frodo thought perhaps he hadn’t been heard either, but then slow dawning came into the lad’s eyes. He blinked and swiveled his head to look at Frodo for several long moments. His dull eyes came alive as he realized he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. To be certain, he reached out and, after a moment’s hesitation, touched Frodo’s arm. He then pulled back swiftly and blinked again.

“I know who you are,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and licked cracked lips. “You are the Ring-bearer.”

“I am,” Frodo said.

“Petras, son of Duilfin, at the service of you and your family,” the lad said out of habit, though an ironic smirk ghosted his face as he spoke. “May I ask, my lord, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” Frodo said, holding the lad’s gaze. “I heard you were hurt and that you are refusing to leave the Houses.”

The dead look returned to the young man’s eyes and he looked away, back out the window, seeing not a mountain in summer’s bloom but a wall of impenetrable stone. “I do not wish to speak of that.”

“Nor do I require you to,” Frodo said. “May I sit?”

Petras forced himself to focus on his visitor and nodded. “Of course, my lord, I apologize for not offering. I seem to be forgetful of late.”

Frodo pulled himself up onto the bed and dangled his legs over the side. He joined Petras in looking out the window at the mountain. “I forget things too. I understand,” he assured the lad. He allowed a few moments of comfortable silence to pass between them before speaking again. “I was hoping you could help me with a project.”

Petras looked at Frodo again, curiosity creeping into his dark brown eyes. “How can I possibly help you?”

Frodo met Petras’s eyes. “By building me a box.”

“A box?” Petras asked.

“Your father is a cooper. I assume you are apprenticed to him and are accustomed to working with your hands and with wood,” Frodo said.

“I am, but I have never built a box before,” Petras said. “If you need a barrel made, I will be more than willing to ask my father if he can manage it for you.”

“I don’t need a barrel. I need a box, a jewelry box in point of fact. Everyone else is busy with reparations for the city, and they don’t have time for such fancies. However, I would like to have something to give to our future queen, whenever she arrives.”

Just then, the page knocked upon the door and entered with the parchment and coal. Frodo hopped down from the bed and asked the page to help him move the eating table from the bed to the chair. He then had the page bring the other chair from the other side of the bed and set it next to Petras.

“Thank you, lad,” Frodo said and dismissed him.

When the door was closed, Frodo climbed onto the second chair and stood, then set down the parchment and coal on the table in front of Petras. “I would draw a sketch of it myself, but I am not entirely sure of what I want. It would require many sketches, I think, and my hand tends to cramp.” He rubbed his hand and the nub of his missing finger for emphasis. “I know only that I want it to be something Elvish. Would you be able to help me?”

Petras nodded, looking stunned both at the request and his acceptance of it. “Of course, my lord,” he said.

“Excellent!” Frodo exclaimed. “Now, I think a basic design to start, but perhaps rounder. Elves are quite elegant and are not very fond of hard corners.”

“It must have a firm base to stand,” Petras said, considering the parchment. “What sort of box exactly are you thinking of? The small kind for rings and bracelets that sit upon tables? Or a cabinet, for hanging necklaces and storing circlets?”

“Can it be both?” Frodo asked.

“She’ll need a vanity,” Petras said, thinking. He picked up the chalk and began to draw an oval sitting upon a long base. “My grandmother had one of these. The mirror was set in the door, which opened to reveal the cabinet, and on either side of the cabinet were mounted two boxes which acted as the base. Of course, it was quite huge and had to be mounted to the table. It is not something that I could build here.”

Frodo considered the sketch, drawn on a corner of the parchment. “She’ll have a vanity already. I’ve only ever seen her wear the one necklace and crown. A smaller one then, for her rings and pendants.”

“Perhaps something oval-shaped. The base could be plain or it could sit upon small legs with round feet,” Petras muttered to himself as he drew a few quick shapes.

“Could it stand on one leg, like a wine goblet?” Frodo asked.

Petras looked at him, considering the suggestion. “A wine goblet? For a jewelry box?”

“A thicker stem and base, of course, to accommodate the weight,” Frodo said, “but with the same oval shape as the box.”

Petras rubbed his chin. “It could work. It will take some experimentation.” He drew the outline of a wine glass, with the thicker stem and wider base. “It should probably all be made of one piece then. If we try to mount the stand to the box, it may not be stable enough.”

A few sketches later, they had a design that they were certain would be both feasible to build and appeasing to an elf’s eye. Frodo then instructed Petras on some Elvish designs for the panels of the box and the lid, replicas of the designs the twins had painted on the floors of the King’s House. They then discussed the design for the inside of the box, whether to keep it open or to create sections and if so, how many.

When Frodo got hungry, he called for the page to bring them food and made certain that Petras ate everything put on his plate. They spoke of songs and books and their families as they ate, and afterward they returned to their drawings and discussion with zest. The process took three hours before they had a final design, and they both grinned at it with satisfaction.

“She will love it,” Frodo declared. “Can you have it done within a week?”

Petras’s smile faltered. “A week?” he asked, surprised. He had become so engrossed in their discussion that he had managed to forget why they were designing the box in the first place. “I have never built anything like this before, and if it is to be for a queen, it should be done correctly.”

“So it will take longer than a week?” Frodo asked, not allowing the lad to back out of the job so easily.

Petras opened his mouth to protest, but as he looked up at Frodo’s hopeful face, he felt all excuses die in his throat. How could he possibly deny the Ring-bearer, who had given so much for them? How could he tell Lord Frodo that building a small jewelry box in a week was impossible, when Frodo had attempted the truly impossible and accomplished it? Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “I will require help to have it done within a week,” he said.

Frodo’s grin grew into a smile. “Thank you, Petras. I will have the supplies and tools you will need delivered to your home tomorrow morning.”

“My home?” Petras asked.

“Of course,” Frodo said. “You said you would need help. You will not get it here. Your father can assist you in between his regular duties, I am sure.”

Already bound by his promise, Petras could only nod. “Four hands are better than two,” he agreed reluctantly. He took another deep breath, this time to squash the panic twisting in his gut. “I will get started on it tomorrow.”

Frodo patted the lad’s arm and climbed down from the chair. “You’re a good lad, Petras. I wish that I could stay longer, but I fear my friends are likely worried about me. I should get to my own home before they start tearing apart the city looking for me. I will see you in a week’s time. Thank you again for agreeing to help.”

“You’re welcome, my lord,” Petras said. “Farewell.”

Frodo exited the room and leaned against the wall outside. He wasn’t sure if his meddling was likely to cause more trouble than it prevented, but at least he got the lad to agree to go home and he found something for Petras to pour his energies into for the next week. He hoped it was enough.  

Lady Bodil greeted Pippin and introduced him to the other guests in the parlor. Ioveta and Ogiva came over to hug him.

“The others were unable to attend?” asked Bodil.

Pippin nodded. “They wished to extend their apologies. Merry is sleeping; it’s his turn to stand guard at the tombs tomorrow and he’ll need to be awake for a full day starting at midnight. Frodo and Sam were pulled down to the tavern by Legolas and Gimli, who seemed to think the Ring-bearers weren’t getting out enough. Plus, Frodo has a new project and is in need of a woodblock, a handsaw, a mallet and chisel, an adaze and other such items. Gimli said his best chance of getting those at this hour is in the taverns. I’m sure he’ll be able to con some poor carpenter out of his livelihood before the end of the night. Have I missed anything?”

“We were just discussing the mysterious disappearance of our King,” Bodil said and several of the dinner guests nearby hushed themselves and came closer. “We were hoping you might be able to shed some light on the matter.”

“Sadly, I cannot,” Pippin said. “We just learned about it this morning ourselves. His brothers and Gandalf are with him, we know that much. We thought perhaps this was some tradition of new kings.”

“There is no tradition I know of that would explain this vanishing,” said Amarlicus, stepping out of the crowd. “I have never read or heard any tales of a king simply vanishing from the city. King Elessar is quite unorthodox. He doesn’t even wear his royal crown in court.”

“Aren’t you afraid he’ll fall in the privy wearing that thing?” Pippin asked.

“I can safely say I’ve never considered the danger of that,” Amarlicus said with a laugh, while the others did their best to hide their shock at the suggestion. “There is nothing you can tell us then, Little One?”

“Only that Faramir said Aragorn would be back in a few days and he would be bringing something,” Pippin said. He spied what the old instructor was holding in his hand and looked up with the slightest of pouts. “Are those lemons bars?”

Bodil laughed now also. “I would never dream of depriving a perian of food!” she exclaimed. “Do go and get yourself something to eat, and then perhaps later if you would be so kind as to tell us some more tales of your Shire?”

“Of course,” Pippin agreed and followed Ogiva into the kitchen, where the cooks were assembling more platters to carry to the parlor. He grabbed a small plate and selected a few edibles to start. “It’s quite crowded out there. Where are your sisters?”

“Lue’s asleep,” Ogiva said. “Gerdy is supposed to be asleep also, but I spied her earlier. She likes to hide in the corners and watch the comings and goings. She should be under the table in the entryway. Only, don’t tell Mother.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I used to do such things as a child also,” Pippin told her as they made their way back to the parlor. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The evening progressed in a swirl of conversation and story-telling, and every now and then someone would sing a lay or recite a poem. There was much discussion still of the king’s disappearance; lacking facts only made the gossip and speculation more exciting. They came up with many good theories, both outrageous and sensible, humorous and terrifying. One man even suggested that perhaps the King had gone to Minas Morgul to desecrate what was left of the once-majestic tower.

At length, Pippin found opportunity to get Ioveta alone. They went into the sitting room and he told her everything that Soroush and Sador had said about the attack of her husband’s company. “I am sorry,” he finished. “They were certain, beyond doubt, that no survivors were left or prisoners taken.”

Ioveta sat still for some time, absorbing the information. Many emotions warred for control of her face but she held them all in check and finally nodded. “Thank you, Pippin,” she said in a whisper. “That was kind of you to ask. It is good that I know. Still, to attack at night…”

“To be fair, they aren’t the only ones to do so,” Pippin said gently. “The Rohirrim attacked the orc camp at night. That’s how Merry and I were able to escape. Of course, the Rohirrim didn’t know we were there, or what we were if they had found us. Even Gondorian troops use the cover of night to hide their movements when they can. It makes sense, strategy-wise. The Rohirrim burned the orc bodies too, but I don’t think that was out of honor for their passing. They just didn’t want to bother with digging a burial pit. Soroush and Sador said that the Haradrim cremate their dead. They believe the fire releases the spirit to the world beyond here; they were honoring your husband and his company when they burned them, not desecrating them. Their methods may be different, but their hearts are the same as ours.”

Ioveta sniffed. Grief was quickly taking control of her visage.

“Can I get you something?” Pippin asked.

Ioveta shook her head. “Just stay here, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Pippin agreed. He rooted in his waistcoat pocket for a handkerchief and handed it to her.

She took it and wiped the tears from her eyes. Then grief at last took her and for the first time since her husband’s disappearance, she allowed herself to cry in front of another. Pippin hugged her as she spent her tears and hopes, then stayed with her as she spoke of her husband’s last day on the farm.

“He was so concerned about that silly old milking goat,” she said. “He said he’d be back in time for the harvest, not to worry, just keep the pests away. If he had seen what I let become of it… I have failed him.”

“No you haven’t,” Pippin said.

“That farm has been in his family for generations,” Ioveta said. “Now all that’s left of it is rubble and stone.”

“His daughters are safe and happy and whole, and you have a new life for yourself,” Pippin said. “If he was the man you say he was, then that’s all he could have wished for you. He would not be disappointed. He would be proud to see how strong you are.”

“I do not feel very strong,” Ioveta said, wiping away silent tears. “I have to go back there tomorrow. I have avoided it all this time. How can I go back there?”

“I recently went back to the Hallows. I was there when Denethor died, did I tell you? I thought going back would be the end of me, but I’m still here,” Pippin said. “Go back there and try to remember all the good things that happened there. Take your daughters with you. It will be their last chance to see the place where they grew up. They deserve to see it.”

“I would never hear the end of it if I did not allow them to come,” Ioveta said. “At least, not from Ogiva. Leudreda doesn’t understand, and Gerdy…”

“She still isn’t talking?” Pippin asked.

“I think she wants to,” Ioveta said. “She’ll open her mouth and I can see in her eyes she wants to say something, but she’s either too afraid or it’s been too long. Can someone forget how to speak?”

“I don’t know, though I’m sure there were plenty of times when my parents wished that my sisters and I would forget how to talk. Especially Pervinca. You’d be shocked out of your petticoats to hear half the things that come out of her mouth,” Pippin said. “She and I have only ever fought each other, but in a strange way she’s the one I miss the most. Isn’t that odd?”

“Not at all,” Ioveta said. “She’s your sister. You love her.”

“I suppose so,” Pippin said wistfully. “I think we only fought because we were so similar. I’m often amazed that we’re both still in possession of our lives.”

Ioveta smiled. “Tell me about her.”

“Well, let’s see,” Pippin said, sitting back. “There was this one time that Merry and I came on her and our cousin Estella Bolger skinny-dipping in the Brandywine. Or at least, we thought they were skinny-dipping. We would find out much later that they were not…”*

Pippin remained at the party until eleven, when a number of other guests began to retire. On his way out the door with a group of neighbors, he feigned a use for the privy and then hid in the shadows until the entryway was empty. Then he tiptoed to the table, which was covered in a long white cloth that hung to the floor, and lifted the fabric to reveal Gerwinda. The lass was yawning widely and teetering back and forth where she sat, but upon seeing Pippin she perked up with a smile and held open her arms for a hug. Pippin joined her under the table and let the cloth fall.

“Evening, Gerdy,” he said, hugging her. “Looks like it’s time for you to retire as well.”

Gerwinda nodded reluctantly.

“I won’t tell your mother you’re here, don’t worry. Just go upstairs and tuck yourself away before she can go up and find you missing,” Pippin said. “You don’t want to startle her, do you?”

Gerwinda shook her head.

“Your mother tells me you’re still not speaking,” Pippin said, dropping his voice to a whisper as he heard more guests approaching the entryway. He waited until all was quiet once more before continuing. “Do you know, I used to be famous for my singing? No, I wouldn’t think you would, as I haven’t sung since I came back to the city. I’m afraid to, and now I’ve been avoiding it so long, that I think the fear has only grown worse. But my friend Gimli recently gave me something to give me courage, and it’s been helping. Do you want to see it?”

Gerwinda nodded.

There was very little light to see by under the table, so Pippin pulled out the bracelet and pressed it into her hand. “They’re magic stones that give the one who wears them the courage to do whatever they’re afraid of. They helped me return to the Hallows the other day; I didn’t think I would ever be able to go back there, but I did. I once thought I would never be able to sing here again, but I realize now that I can. And I will. I want to make a pact with you, Gerdy. Do you know what a pact is?”

Gerwinda shrugged and shook her head uncertainly.

“A pact is like a promise, but it’s more than a promise,” Pippin said. “It’s a contract of sorts, a verbal agreement that both parties involved must fulfill, no matter what. No excuses, no forgetting, no putting off to later. Understand?”

Gerwinda nodded and waited.

“Good. Then, the pact I want to make with you is this: we’re both afraid of something. I’m afraid to sing, and you’re afraid to talk. By this time tomorrow, we will both have done the thing we’re afraid of. I will go the Hallows and sing for Denethor, and you will speak to your mother. It doesn’t matter what you say, even if it’s just ‘good morning’, so long as you speak. Do we have an agreement?” He held out his hand.

Gerwinda looked at his hand for several minutes, not moving a muscle.

“The sooner you do it, Gerdy, the easier it will be. It’s only your fear telling you it’s impossible,” Pippin said. “You can keep the magic stones.”

Still Gerwinda did not move and for a while Pippin thought she would simply continue to sit there until he left. Finally, she reached out and took his hand. They shook on their pact and took identical deep breaths, letting them out slowly. Then she fingered the knot on the chord and slipped off two of the four beads. She pressed these into Pippin’s hand and smiled wanly.

“Thank you, lass,” Pippin said, closing his hand over hers for a brief squeeze. “Now off to bed.”

They climbed out from under the table and Pippin stood in the entryway until Gerwinda was upstairs and he heard the click of the bedroom door behind her. Then he hurried outside to the cool evening air and looked up at the moon, shining down brightly from the night sky.

Twenty-four hours. No excuses.

He gripped the two stone beads in his hand and, whistling a merry tune, started for home.

To be continued…

GF 9/21/09
Published 10/28/09

* - See “The Trouble With Lasses” and “The Trouble With Lads” in my series Of Merry and Pippin.