Passing for Underhill Chapter 2
Eldarion's stay in his room had not subdued him. Every time Pippin looked over at the childrens' table, keeping an eye on his six year old son Faramir, who kept trying to introduce five year old Goldilocks Gamgee to the amphibian family of the lake's wildlife, Pippin noticed Eldarion jittering like a faunt on a brother's birthday.
Pippin recognized that phenomenon all too well from young Faramir: time spent cooped up inside as a punishment caused all the dammed-up mischief to burst forth like the river Isen when finally released. That was the downside to raising a boy elven-style. But, Pippin reflected, as frustrating as it was to manage those floods of boyish energy, he was proud of his promise to himself that little Faramir Took would reach his majority unscarred. Pippin thought he would go mad if he ever saw the same look of fear in little Faramir's eyes as his namesake had when he looked at his father. He realized what words he had just thought, and turned back to his breakfast sausages with a snort of irony. Go mad, indeed.
Breakfasts and lunches in the northern palace tended to the informal, so when the King and Queen rose and went inside, it did not mean that everyone had to follow them, and most of the hobbits stayed at the table. It was, however, the signal that everyone could go if they wished, and Eldarion sprang away like a deer. Even from outside, they could hear him bounding down the stairs.
The hobbits were just finishing up and letting the servants clear away the platters when the King, trailed by his court, wandered back out onto the terrace. On fine days he was in the habit of holding court in the courtyard in Minas Tirith, and was keeping up the custom at his newly rebuilt summer palace here in the north. The terrace was much smaller than the court of the fountain, but then his throne room here was also much smaller than the throne room in Minas Tirith. That suited Aragorn; it was a good excuse to leave most of the hangers-on behind in Gondor.
Kingly business took up a great deal of Aragorn's time, but he dismissed his court when Eldarion came running back up the stairs crying. The princeling flew to his mother. Arwen folded her arms around him, and Aragorn waved off his courtiers, a gesture they correctly interpreted as an order to disperse. The hobbits did not draw off with the Big Folk, however.
"What is it?" Aragorn asked softly.
Eldarion's reply was muffled, due to the boy's face being buried in pearl-studded, mother-scented velvet. Arwen asked the child, "Were the other boys teasing you again?"
Eldarion pulled back and wiped his face. "Can we make a law against the word 'shorty'? Please? Throw 'em in the dungeon."
"The word, or the boys?" Arwen asked.
"Dungeons on the brain, Eldarion?" asked Aragorn. "I'd take you down to the basement and show you what you are so fond of, if I had not just looked at it myself yesterday. You're far too young to find out what some of those things are. Perhaps after the workmen have melted down the offending ironmongery, as I ordered. I had no idea such things were practiced in the old north kingdom. Doubtless they date from the declining years."
"You're not short," broke in Sam. "You're taller than me."
Eldarion chuckled, "You're a hobbit."
"Yes!" exclaimed Pippin. "You look like a hobbit, do you know? Merry mistook you for me in the dark. And I'm the tallest hobbit in the Shire."
"Are not," said Merry.
"Alright, tied for tallest," allowed Pippin. "Though he doesn't really look like me, you know."
"Same height."
"I'm taller."
"Are not. He's eye level with me, which means he's the same height as you, because you are not taller than me."
By this time Eldarion had forgotten his teasing by the other children, and was giggling at Merry and Pippin's banter.
"I'm the tall one," claimed Pippin.
"Eldarion, go stand back to back with Pippin and show us you're as tall as he is."
Eldarion laughed and bounced over to Pippin. He whirled around and jumped backwards against Pippin with gusto. Pippin winced, but held himself upright.
Aragorn noticed the brief expression of pain flicker over Pippin's face, and thought, Still? Again? I must find out about this, later.
Merry picked up a tray and a plum from the table. "Now hold still, you two," he commanded, placing the tray across both their heads. He set the plum in the middle of the tray and backed off slowly, waiting to see if it would roll. It stayed put.
"There. Perfect. You two are exactly the same height."
"Good," said Pippin. Then he snatched the plum, and ducked, letting the tray fall. "Mine!" He popped the whole fruit is his mouth, chomped down, and spat out the pit. The tray clattered on the stone.
"You had better not do any more growing this month or you'll never pass," commented Sam. "One more inch and you won't look like a hobbit anymore. Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry barely look like hobbits themselves, anymore."
Eldarion laughed. "If this is a conspiracy to make me feel better about being a foot shorter than any other thirteen year old in Gondor or Arnor, I have to say it worked."
"I'm thirteen," said Frodo Gardner, not quite three feet tall.
Arwen said, "Eldarion, sweetums, you know your elven heritage makes you grow more slowly than those of pure edain descent. You'll appreciate it someday."
"When?" he asked, "When Guilin and Neldordil and everybody I know dies of old age? Somehow I don't think I'm going to enjoy it nearly as much as everybody seems to think I will. That is what you meant, isn't it?"
"O child…" Arwen trailed off.
Merry sneezed loudly into the silence.
Aragorn cleared his throat. "Back to the subject of passing as a hobbit. I have made up my mind, and I have decided to allow Eldarion to visit the Shire in disguise."
"Really?!" Eldarion jumped up and down in his excitement, all thoughts of mortality put aside.
"Really. If you can behave yourself, that is. You will have to pass as an adult, after all."
"I'll be good I'll be really good I'll be really really really really good!"
"See that you do."
Pippin, still standing close, winked at the boy and whispered, "Don't worry, you'll be passing as an adult HOBBIT. Not one of those stuffy courtiers of your father's."
Eldarion grinned.
Merry sneezed again.
"Be off now," Aragorn told his son. "Go expend some of that youthful exuberance."
Eldarion raced off, back down the stairs and out to the lake.
Merry, sneezing and coughing, retreated to the first floor and the room he shared with Estella, nee Bolger. His wife followed him after a few minutes, accompanied by a servant bearing tea.
"Just set the tray down on the nightstand," Estella directed. When the tall woman had gone, Estella made Merry sit down on the featherbed and drink tea. She clucked, "I do hope that doesn't turn into a nasty cold. A souvenir from the basement, no doubt. What a terrible night you must have had."
Merry sneezed again. "I'm not ashamed to say I was frightened. But 'terrible' is a little strong. Just one more adventure, after all, and hardly the scariest."
"Is that what your adventures were really like? You tell the tales like old Bilbo did, and you make them sound like fun."
"Sometimes I did have fun. Did I tell you about finding the barrels of pipeweed?"
Estella smiled. "Many times."
"What you need is about a dozen children to fuss over, like Rosie has."
"One would suffice," Estella said quietly, her smile fading.
"I'm sorry."
"I know. You've certainly gone to great lengths to try to remedy the situation. I can't fault your determination to try."
"Sometimes…"
"What?"
"Sometimes I think it's just as well. I mean, me, a father?"
Estella kissed his brow. "I think you would find you're not as ill equipped for parenthood as you fear. Do you suppose—no. It's not that time yet."
"What, you're not thinking of stealing one of Rosie's, are you? Not that she'd miss one right away, but I think she does count heads sometimes. Once a week at least."
Estella's mouth quirked and she took the teacup from him and tried to kiss him, but he pushed her away.
"Don't, I don't want you to catch my cold. Who would take care of me if you were sick, too?"
She chuckled. "Selfish hobbit."
"Entirely."
By day three, Merry's cold had turned into a fever. His friends and family checked on him often, and the servants kept him supplied with tea at all hours of the day and night, but he was irritated about missing out on the lakeshore picnics and boating expeditions. And his cough sounded bad.
Aragorn went herb-gathering and brewed an athelas leaf in a porcelain bowl. He held the bowl under Merry's face and directed him to inhale the steam. Then he dipped a cloth into the wholesome-smelling water and laved Merry's forehead. Merry was breathing easier when Aragorn was done.
"I shall visit you again later. If you are still feverish tomorrow, I shall treat you again." Aragorn left a small pile of athelas leaves on top of a bureau. When he checked on Merry just before bedtime, Merry's fever still had not broken. Aragorn said he would wait overnight, and if the fever did not improve, he would give him another treatment.
The next morning, while golden dawn light spilled in the window, there was a hesitant knock on the door. Estella answered it, spoke quietly with the visitor for a few minutes, and then admitted him. It was Eldarion.
"You have a visitor," Estella said. She looked slightly amused.
"I heard you were ill," he said. "My father says you probably caught this cold from one of Sam's children, all the babies are sniffling, but I think maybe you would have thrown it off if not for the night in the dungeon. Nobody says so, but they all think it. I can see it in their eyes. I'm sorry and I want to help."
"Sure, you can help," Merry said, coughing.
Eldarion looked around and spotted the herbs. He picked up a leaf, and breathed on it. Then he poured the steaming water from the teapot into a basin, and cast the leaf into it. He closed his eyes and mumbled something.
At first Merry thought Eldarion's attempts to imitate his father were cute, but then he felt the fragrance of the athelas in the room turn from merely pleasant to something divine, as if a breeze had blown in from the Blessed Realm. The air tingled. It almost sparkled, and Merry turned wide eyes to Estella, silently asking if she felt it too. By her expression, no longer amused but awed, he knew she did.
Eldarion wetted a cloth in the athelas water and pressed it to Merry's brow. He closed his eyes again, and Merry felt a jolt go through him. Merry sat up abruptly and had a coughing fit, expelling sputum into a handkerchief. Then he said, "Hey. I feel better." He touched his head where Eldarion's power had flowed into him. "Estella. Feel. Do I feel hot?"
Merry's wife felt his face. "No." She turned to Eldarion in surprise. "I think you cured him."
Merry got out of bed, and did not sway. "The fever's gone." He took Eldarion's hand and kissed it. "You too have the hands of a healer. The hands of a king."
Eldarion grinned.
End of Chapter 2