Chapter 32 – Farms and Charms

Pippin woke the following morning with mountain trolls rampaging through his stomach. He climbed out of bed with great reluctance and plodded over to the ewer to wash his face, neck and hands. He made the bed, smoothing the sheets and tucking in all the corners, taking more care than he usually did. He dressed with great deliberateness, hoping that if he took long enough, perhaps the day would pass without him noticing it. Unfortunately, he was dressed and ready far too soon, and he descended the stairs with a growing sense of dread. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely noticed his friends in the kitchen.

They were a scant crew today. Merry was standing guard at the tombs – hence the reason Pippin had chosen today to face Denethor. He would need Merry there, nearby if not by his side, when he went to the Hallows. Gandalf was still gone, disappeared with Aragorn in the middle of the night. Pippin had hoped to ask Gandalf about the nature of ghosts, for surely a wizard would know about such things. At the least, he had wanted to question Aragorn again about the Shadow Men of Dwimoberg. Not that Aragorn’s advice would be of much help to Pippin; he wasn’t Isildur’s heir and Denethor owed him no oaths. He already knew what Gimli’s and Legolas’s reactions were to the ghost army: Gimli had been petrified and Legolas unconcerned over the ghosts of men.

“-that we heard,” Gimli was saying as Pippin entered the kitchen. The dwarf was beating a half-dozen eggs for the skillet, and Legolas was busy squeezing oranges for juice. Sam and Frodo were at the oven, frying the ham and bacon.

“Ingold was just as surprised as everyone else that Strider was gone,” Frodo said. “Wherever Strider and Gandalf snuck off to, they didn’t tell anyone they were going.”

“Good morning, Pippin,” Legolas said, seeing him first. “We were just discussing what we learned last night at the tavern. The rumors circulating about Aragorn’s disappearance were rather entertaining I thought. One person was even of the mind that Faramir had locked him and Gandalf away in the cells and was holding them there against their will.”

“Why would Faramir do that?” Pippin asked, grateful for the distraction but offended on his friend’s behalf.

Gimli scowled. “To pay them back for his brother and father,” he said, abusing the eggs more vigorously than before. “As though they had any part to play in that!”

“What rumors did you hear?” Legolas asked.

Pippin went to the cupboard and pulled out the plates to begin setting the table. He thought hard. Yesterday night seemed so far away already. “That Strider went to destroy Minas Morgul, that he went to restore Osgiliath, that he is hunting orcs in the Mountains of Ash, that he has some further command for the Shadow Men or that there’s some ritual he must perform at the Stone of Erech, that he and Gandalf are searching out some lost artifact of the Kings of Old,” Pippin listed off as he went back and forth from the cupboard to the table. “I even heard one person speculate that the Haradrim had circled back in the night and stolen away with the king and his brothers, though how they were supposed to accomplish such a feat he couldn’t explain. Will they never accept the Haradrim as our allies?”

“Not until the Black Númenóreans are defeated,” Gimli said, “and that is unlikely to happen any time soon. Things are unstable in the lands of Harad. The destruction of Sauron brought us peace, but to them it brought only more chaos and uncertainty. The truce that stands will not hold long, not once the Houses of the Eye have had a chance to regroup.”

“But how can they?” Sam asked. “I thought all their power came from the Enemy?”

“Their power to control Men’s minds perhaps,” Frodo said. “Sadly, that is not all that is required to sway men to war. It seems to be in their nature.”

“You are going to the Citadel, Peregrin?” Gimli asked, noticing Pippin’s uniform for the first time. He was so accustomed to seeing Pippin dressed up so that he had not at first remembered that the small knight had been dismissed of his regular duties until Aragorn’s return.

“I have a matter to attend to,” Pippin said. “It should not take long.”

“What is this?” Frodo asked.

“I’ve a promise to fulfill,” Pippin said. “I don’t wish to speak of it until afterwards.”

This only piqued his friends’ curiosity, but they refrained from asking further questions and pretended not to notice his uncommon silence during first breakfast. They washed the pots and dishes afterwards and then separated for their duties. Legolas and Gimli were as ever busy with the reconstruction of the Pelennor. They had recruited the additional help they required yesterday, and today they would need to teach that help what to do. Frodo wanted to see his carpentry supplies delivered to Lord Duilfin’s house and make certain that young Petras was settling in. He also owed a basket of produce to the carpenter who had lent him the tools, and he went into the pantry to scour the shelves while Sam went up to the roof garden for the tomatoes and cucumbers.

Before Pippin could leave, he had to find some cord for the two stones that Gerwinda had given back to him. He went to where Sam kept the sewing supplies and cut a length of black yarn. He slid the healing stones onto the cord and tied it around his neck, then tucked it under his hauberk. He lingered in the hallway, waiting for some sense of calm to descend, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Frodo tapped him on the shoulder from behind. Pippin whirled around, hand over heart.

“By the stars, Frodo!” he exclaimed.

“I’m sorry,” Frodo said, frowning. “Are you quite certain you’re all right, Pip? You don’t look very well.”

“I’ll be all right,” Pippin said, more to reassure himself than Frodo. “After I’ve completed my task, I’ll be right as rain.”

“Sam and I could join you,” Frodo offered.

Pippin was very much tempted to accept the offer, but he knew that facing Denethor was something he needed to do on his own. That was another reason for choosing a day in which Merry would be standing guard. His friend would be nearby but unable to leave his post and hover.

“That won’t be necessary,” Pippin said. “I should go now.”

He took a deep breath and moved towards the door before he could talk himself out of it. He could feel Frodo’s eyes watching him as he went and was glad to step outside and put the door between them. He stepped onto the street and looked to his left. The walls of the Rath Dínen could be seen from their house but they had never looked more ominous to him than they did on this bright, midsummer morning. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards the sixth gate and his Lord Steward.  

Legolas greeted Ioveta and her daughters at the main gate. They were all dressed in light frocks, for the morning was already warm and the clear skies promised a hot day ahead. Ogiva carried a basket over one arm, and all the girls looked excited at the prospect of leaving the city for a while. Ioveta smiled bravely at Legolas’s greeting and curtsied.

“Prince Legolas,” she said. “I have heard so much about you from the pheriannath. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Legolas said. “The court  recorder will be here shortly. Did you wish to wait for him?”

Ioveta looked ready to agree to this, but one glance at her daughters’ eager faces swayed her. “They want to see what treasures we can find. Has the rubble been cleared yet?”

“Some of it,” Legolas said. He led Ioveta and the girls down the road towards the place where their house once stood. “We began clearing the lot yesterday. We have not found any treasures as of yet, but there may still be something hidden near the bottom. There may also be nothing left at all. You must be prepared for that.”

The girls nodded but weren’t really paying attention. They were drinking in the sight of the Pelennor around them and seemed to blossom with the open fields and the breeze from the sea far away.

“You have missed living on the farm,” Legolas guessed.

Ogiva nodded. “The city is a grand place and we are growing accustomed to its closeness,” she said. “There are not enough open spaces in between all that stone. I think I shall marry a farmer.”

“It is quite too early to be thinking of such things, love,” Ioveta said with a fond smile. “You may grow to love the city yet. Gerwinda and Leudreda find many places to play and enjoy themselves.”

“Where’s the grain?” Leudreda asked then. She frowned with disappointment. She had heard so many stories from Ogiva about running up and down the endless rows of grain, hiding in the wheat and heather, and racing to reap the most grapes and cherries.

“There will be no new sowing in this part of the fields until the spring,” Legolas said. “Some has been planted on the farther reaches, where the least damage was done. It should be enough to see the city through a lean winter. I regret that another year of rations is ahead of you.”

“I’d rather face rations than orcs,” Ioveta said. She shaded her eyes against the bright sun with her hand. She should have accepted Lady Bodil’s offer of a hat, but she had not wanted to disturb her hair after combing it so carefully. Her brown tresses fell freely down her back, curling at the tips. This was the first time in years she had worn it so. She could not explain why, but she had felt it important to wear it as she had in the years of her marriage. She was in a fashion bidding farewell to her lost love, and he might not recognize her with her hair pulled into a bun.

They walked in silence for the remainder of the journey. The farmlands of her husband’s family were near the center of the fields, where the heaviest fighting had taken place. While on the outskirts of the fields could be seen skeletons of buildings and structures, here all was leveled to the ground, once smoldering heaps of brick and wood now cold mounds of powder and ash. They almost walked past the place where the lane had once been to their house, so little did they recognize anything around them.

They followed Legolas’s lead and treaded behind him over barren earth and rotted crops to the heap of debris, all that was left of their home. They stood and stared at the mess for some time, shocked and heartbroken. They had heard the tales, they had been warned, but none of that had prepared them for this moment. Silent tears streamed down their cheeks, even young Leudreda. She would not remember her home, of course, but she sensed her mother’s and sisters’ turmoil and responded likewise to it.

Finally, Ioveta pulled back her shoulders and took a deep breath. She took a tentative step forward and said, “We won’t find anything just standing here. Come, ladies. Let us see what treasures we can find, if any. Be careful you don’t hurt yourselves.”

“Yes Mother,” Ogiva and Leudreda said. Gerwinda nodded. They fanned out and circled the mound, each one looking in a different section for whatever they could find.

Legolas waited by the main road for the court recorder, giving the family time alone with their former home. An hour ticked by before Legolas spotted them coming up the center lane, each riding a horse. The recorder looked like he would much rather be walking. He was not accustomed to riding on horseback, and his eyes kept darting to the ground beneath him. His face was pinched up from the discomfort of the saddle and he clutched the reins so tight his knuckles were white. Beside him rode Sador. The former Haradim rode tall and straight, and he held the reins loosely, allowing the horse to meander as he glanced around the fields, guiding the beast only when needed. While the recorder was dressed for a morning in court, Sador wore breeches and a shirt with the sleeves torn off. His tanned skin glowed golden in the sun and though he had claimed his Gondorian name he still had about him an air of Harad.

When at length they reached Legolas, they dismounted – the recorder with a sigh of obvious relief – and followed Legolas to the house.

“Have you seen the sketches yet, Sador?” Legolas asked. “It was designed based on what Ioveta told us of the previous house. If there are any changes you require, we would need to know now.”

“I have seen it,” Sador said. “I will require only one change: an additional room. I plan to bring my brother and his family to stay here with me.” He crouched down and raked his fingers through the soil. He brought some of the soil to his nose to smell. “It is fertile land. It did not fail the crops without a fight. Only grain has been grown here before?”

“So far that I know,” Legolas said. “The previous mistress of the land is here with her daughters. She can answer more of your questions than I can. You should be warned, she has little love for the Haradrim. Her husband was one of a company killed by them a few years ago. She has grown bitter over the years, and though she has recently begun to shed that anger she is still unlikely to look kindly upon you.”

“What is her name?” Sador asked.

“Ioveta, my lord,” said the recorder. “Wife of the late Leudred.”

“The hobbits mentioned her husband,” Sador said, spotting the woman and girls crawling over the debris. “Is it safe for them to be doing that?”

“They will not be harmed,” Legolas said. He looked behind him to the lane and saw far off the cartload of men coming up the road. “The diggers will be here soon to start hauling away more of the debris.”

They reached the mound in short order and Legolas made the introductions. The girls greeted both men happily, though Ogiva’s gaze lingered over Sador’s tattoo with interest. The moon-phase band around his upper left arm was the only mark upon his skin that signaled he once belonged to the Haradrim. Ioveta noticed it also but she greeted him cordially, if impersonally.

“You are the one to whom they are giving my farm?” she asked.

“I am,” said Sador. “I grew up on a farm and only dreamed that I might again oversee one.”

“Please, mistress,” the recorder said. “I need your mark upon the parchment, to make it official.” He opened the case he carried and pulled out a scroll, a quill and an inkwell. He pulled out the stopper from the well, dipped the quill then held the quill out to Ioveta, but she did not take it. “Mistress?”

Ioveta was eyeing Sador with cold calculation. Sador met her gaze unwaveringly, his manner resigned. He had been met with similar regard since he first came to the city; he could hardly expect for her to feel any differently, especially given the circumstances.

“Mistress Ioveta,” the recorder said. “I do not mean to press you, but I must return to the Citadel.”

Ioveta looked down and took the quill. She read through the contract quickly and then glanced over her shoulder where Leudreda was digging through some dirt. Ogiva and Gerwinda were watching her, waiting.

“Mistress?” the recorder said again.

“Leave her be,” Sador said. “This cannot be an easy task for her. Allow her a few minutes. You’ll be no later to return to the Citadel for it.”

“I do not require you to defend me,” Ioveta said, glaring up at the man.

“I apologize,” Sador said with a bow of his head.

“There are many types of farms, Master Sador,” Ioveta said. “You grew crops, I assume?”

“We raised sheep and goats, actually,” Sador answered. “We had crops to meet our own needs and enough to trade at market for those crops we didn’t grow ourselves. I will be a worthy caretaker for this land, I assure you.”

“Did you grow grain?” Ioveta asked.

“My uncle did and I helped on his farm during the summers,” Sador said. “I will of course be happy for any advice you can give me on the matter.”

Ioveta dipped the quill again and signed her name upon the parchment. “You will find you have endless advice from the other farmers. Everyone helps each other for the sowing and the harvest, and you can always hire a crop master.” She handed the quill back to the recorder, curtsied and turned back to the mound of debris.

“Your signature as well, good sir,” the recorder said.

Sador signed quickly. As he signed, a tension he had not realized he was carrying eased from his shoulders. When he looked up, he gazed over his lands, his farm, his home to be, and sighed. He was truly returned to Gondor.

When the recorder was finished repacking his things, Sador helped him to mount his steed. He watched as the man rode away then turned to Legolas. “About the changes to the house, who do I see about that? I will also need to acquire the necessary supplies and seed.”

“Master Merovin will be able to help you acquire all that you need,” Legolas said. “I will take you to him once the ladies are returned to the city.”

“What are they doing?”

“Looking for treasures,” Legolas said. “There may be small trinkets that survived the desecration. Others have been able to find things: pipes, books, small portraits, combs.”

“Six pairs of hands are better than four,” Sador said and began to move towards the mound.

“I do not think she will welcome your help,” Legolas warned.

“This land is under my care now,” Sador said. “Welcome it or no, I will help.”

They climbed onto the mound with care and began to root through the debris. If Ioveta noticed, she pretended not to and the next hour passed in careful silence until the diggers arrived with their large carts. Only then did Ioveta approach Sador again.

“We will take care of things from here,” she told him.

Sador smiled but did not move. “This is my land now, and I wish to help.”

“I read the contract. This is still my husband’s lands until the first of next month, and you will remove yourself until that time,” Ioveta ordered. The diggers paused in their preparations to watch, ready to come to the lady’s defense if need be.

Legolas waited on the fringe, knowing it was best not to interrupt until it was necessary. He caught movement to his right and turned to see Gerwinda picking her way down the mound. The young girl came to stand at her mother’s side and she looked up at the man with interest.

“I sympathize with your loss, Mistress, but I assure you I am not your enemy,” Sador said.

“You are one of them!” Ioveta returned hotly, with a glance at his armband.

Sador nodded. “I am, but I am one of you also.”

Ioveta looked ready to say something else but at that moment Gerwinda took her hand. Ioveta jumped in surprised and watched as Gerwinda reached out and took one of Sador’s hands. The girl stood between them, looking back and forth between them with wide brown eyes, full of confusion and pleading. Then the girl placed her mother’s hand in Sador’s, and nodded with purpose. They both looked at their joined hands with wonder.

“Please, Mama,” Gerwinda said, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Let him help.”

Ioveta’s eyes filled with tears of joy and she dropped to her knees, pulling her daughter into a fierce hug. Ogiva joined them, and the three of them sat there for some time, simply holding each other. Sador, not knowing what to make of it, but sensing that he was given a reprieve, joined the diggers and Legolas in loading the larger chunks of debris into the wagon.  

Pippin had passed through the Closed Door and down Rath Dínen easily enough, or at least, more easily than he had thought possible. Stepping onto the Silent Street had been more difficult but once he had taken that first step, the others followed without his being aware of them. As he drew closer to the end of the road, he saw the two silent sentries in front of the House of Kings. He spotted Merry and knew his cousin was watching him too. Pippin turned before getting too close; he did not want Merry to think he was approaching with some message from the Citadel.

He stopped before the House of Stewards and looked up at its gleaming white marble. How long he stood there he could not tell, but to his wonder the fear and dread slowly faded to a bearable level. At length, he could close his eyes and feel a sense of calm beneath the panic. He focused on that calm and willed it to overtake him, to push away all other feelings and thoughts until he could leave this place. When at last he was as pulled together as he thought himself likely to get, he opened his eyes again and looked into the windows of the House.

He had planned to say something, but words for once failed him. Remembering that night, those hours of terror and horror, of watching and waiting, remembering the growing madness of Denethor as he imagined the lose of his last son, his final kin, what could he say? That he was sorry? That he wished Denethor could be here now to see what had grown out of hope in the darkness of that dawnless day? He did wish it, but he knew also, somehow, that Denethor would not have welcomed the victory but would have been the more miserable for it, knowing how close he came to ruining his city because of the lies of the Enemy.

In the end, Pippin knew that all he could do was fulfill Denethor’s request for a song, but which song should he sing? He should have thought of this beforehand, should have figured out which one to sing before leaving the house. Now all he could think of were bathing songs, or cooking songs, or bawdy inn songs that would earn him a mouth full of soap just for uttering a word of them were his mother nearby to hear. There were the standard funeral songs, but those did not seem appropriate either. Denethor had already received his service and was not waiting for that.

Pippin dithered there, looking up at the mausoleum before him, until at last a song popped into his head. He, Frodo and Sam had sung it at the start of their quest, while they were still safe (or so they thought at the time) in the Shire and walking to Buckland under the moonlight. A walking song seemed just the thing to send Denethor on his way to wherever he was going.

Pippin licked his lips and hummed the song once to warm his voice. Then he took a deep breath and began to sing in a soft voice, barely above a whisper.

Upon the hearth the fire is red,
Beneath the roof there is a bed;
But not yet weary are our feet,
Still round the corner we may meet
A sudden tree or standing stone
That none have seen but we alone. 
            Tree and flower and leaf and grass, 
            Let them pass! Let them pass! 
            Hill and water under sky, 
            Pass them by! Pass them by!

He finished this stanza with a strong, steady voice and he found that the singing became easier as he went. He also fancied that Denethor was enjoying the tune, for it was a cheerful melody set to a quick beat to encourage the weary traveler to hurry home after a long journey.

Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate,
And though we pass them by today,
Tomorrow we may come this way
And take the hidden paths that run
Towards the Moon or to the Sun. 
     Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe, 
     Let them go! Let them go! 
     Sand and stone and pool and dell,
     Fare you well! Fare you well!

Now the song was strong enough to reach the ears of Cuthred and Merry, and they listened with wonder as Pippin’s fair voice soared to the sky and filled the Hallows with a joy and hope that had not been heard or felt there before. Tears spilled down Merry’s cheeks and it was everything he could do not to smile and join in the song.

Home is behind, the world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadows to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.
Then world behind and home ahead,
We’ll wander back to home and bed. 
            Mist and twilight, cloud and shade, 
            Away shall fade! Away shall fade! 
            Fire and lamp, and meat and bread, 
            And then to bed! And then to bed!*

Pippin finished with a high, clear voice and instantly started again so that Denethor could hear it properly. He finished a second time and bowed. Peering into the tombs’ windows again, he said quietly, “I regret I couldn’t sing for you while you yet lived, but I hope that this suffices. You released me of my duty to you and said I should die in whatever way seemed fit to me. Well, I am a Hobbit, Lord, as you know, since you were kind enough to let me serve you without the burden of boots. So if it’s all the same to you, I think I shall die when I am very old and have had lots of children and led a full life, for dying in battle would seem a waste to a Hobbit, not a glorious thing as you deem it to be. Be at rest, my friend.”

With that he turned and walked away from the tomb wherein lay the body of Denethor, the palantír grasped in his burnt hands. Pippin met Merry’s eyes and smiled, and Merry broke his guard to smile in return. Then, whistling heartily, Pippin left the Hallows and returned home. He would not again smell the phantom vapors of ash or flesh whilst in the city.  

The sun began to sink in the West when Ioveta called her girls to her. They had found a few spare bits and pieces: a porcelain cup, the only remaining one of a set that had belonged to her husband’s grandmother; a letter opener; some sconces; and of all things a winter stocking.

“There is nothing else here, girls,” she said. She looked around at the diggers and smiled gratefully. “Thank you all for helping.” Her eyes lingered over Sador so that he knew he was included in this sentiment as well. He nodded ever so slightly.

“Mistress, we found this,” said one of the men. “It got caught up with the brick as we were shoveling.”

He handed her a small box. It had once been beautiful, crafted by her father-in-law long ago. The box was charred on all surfaces but she recognized it instantly. She drew in a breath and held it, not daring to open the lid. The outside was beyond repair. Was it possible that the contents remained intact? Ogiva and Gerwinda recognized it also and they both touched it with tentative fingers.

“Daddy’s songs,” Gerwinda said.

“The ones he wrote for you,” Ogiva said.

“Open it, Mama,” Leudreda said. “Open it!”

Ioveta pulled back the lid. The parchment inside had once been folded neatly and stacked in proper order and packed tightly. The parchments at the top, the last ones Leudred would have written, were as burnt as the outside of the box, but as she dug further she found that the remaining ones were singed but readable. She unfolded the one at the very bottom, the first song he had written, back when they were courting. She cleared her throat and read.

Your eyes round as pies
Your lips soft as wisps
Of a flower’s petal
I sigh as you walk by
Your heart sweet not tart
Nor dark like a kettle

“It’s just as horrible as I remember,” she said with a laugh and handed it to her daughters for their careful inspection. “Thank you so much,” she said to the digger. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

“I’ve an inkling, mistress,” the digger said.

Legolas returned from a neighboring farm where he had been helping to stake out the frame lines for the new house. “We should be returning to the city now, Mistress Ioveta.”

“Yes, we will go now,” Ioveta said. She took back the parchment from her daughters, closed the box and added it to the basket that Ogiva still carried. “Let’s go, ladies.”

They followed the wagon to the road. Ioveta looked back and said a silent farewell to the land that had been her home for so long. Then she took Leudreda’s hand and looked forward to the city.

To be continued…

GF 9/27/09
Published 11/9/09

* - From FOTR, “Three Is Company”