After the celebrations of the downfall of the Dark Lord, the Fellowship stayed in Minas Tirith. Faramir, the Steward of Gondor and recently-named Prince of Ithilien, had been commanded by the King to recover his strength fully, as Aragorn took control of Gondor. Faramir retired to a place he loved best for a short week, the white beaches of Dol Amroth. As the Shire-folk had never seen the ocean (and as they had little to do in Minas Tirith, and Aragorn and Gandalf had much to do), Faramir had invited them to travel with him.
"Look at that Took, Frodo," Merry said, gazing across the warm white sand to a small figure bobbing amidst the white-tipped blue waves. "Just because he slays a troll, he thinks he's invincible." A wave toppled Pippin off the board he lay on and tumbled him into the water. A moment later a wetter hobbit (if that was possible) had clambered back on the board and paddled it into the waves of the Bay of Belfalas. Beside him, a gangly boy paddled on his own board, encouraging Pippin on.
"He may have a point," Frodo lazily replied from under the shade cover, his eyes closed as he wiggled his toes into the hot sand. "He knows how to swim, and Bergil won't let any harm come to him." The sun's heat warmed his skin and his feet through the soft linen shirt and pants, and Frodo sighed in comfort. Would that his left shoulder would stop its low throbbing.
Beside him Merry reached for his pipe and pouch with his right hand. He hissed with pain and irritation as his arm twinged with a painful coldness. Frodo opened an eye. "Your arm hurting again?" he asked, sitting up.
"Just a twinge, nothing to complain about," Merry replied. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his arms exposed to the sun and the heat. Aragorn said that the coldness would soon fade, but Merry wondered if his arm would ever be warm again. Merry hated the weakness left to him, and even more, felt shamed that Frodo noticed. Compared to Frodo's wounds, Merry felt that his own were mere scratches.
"Ah. Just because a Brandybuck slays a Wraith, he thinks he's invincible," Frodo gently smiled, a quiet but amused light in his eyes. "Let me see your pipe and pouch." He took Merry's pipe in his left hand hand, and started stuffing it with his now-healed right hand. His brow furrowed as his left shoulder throbbed sharply.
Merry reached for his pipe, a wry grin on his lips. "Look at us, Frodo. A fine pair we are! Together we have a proper set of arms that work. Here, you hold my pipe first, and then I'll start on yours."
A few moments later, with some laughing cooperation from each of them, Merry and Frodo puffed their pipes contently. "It's so grand," Merry said, eyes alight at the way the sun's light danced on the waves that crashed softly on the shore. "I'd never really imagined the ocean before… It's not like the Anduin at all." He lay back down. "And the sand--it soothes the hurt."
"Mmm. The Elves sailed West from here, once," Frodo said. He gazed across the ocean, wondering what he might see if he stared long enough past the horizon. Did a green land with white beaches beckon him across the endless water?
"I wonder if the land remembers? They said that Prince Imrahil has Elven blood in him… maybe they really never left?" Merry blew a ring over their heads.
"I think they've all gone from here," Frodo replied sadly. He stared at the waves. "I wonder what it would be like, to go West?"
"To sail over the ocean, and forget all your cares?" Merry peered sharply at his cousin. So fair and pale now, still so thin… Frodo will never recover, he thought. None of us will. "Forget all the pain? That does mean forgetting so much of the past few months. While there are many moments I'd willingly part with, there are many more I cherish."
Frodo shrugged. "You have much happier memories than I, I fear. I just want peace, and settlement. And rest… so much rest…"
"You want the Shire," Merry said. "You want to go back to Bag End, to the way it was. Before… all this." He gazed at the beach. A still-thin Samwise Gamgee walked slowly at the edge of the waves, obviously lost in thought. Pippin laughed as he and his board nearly sailed into Sam and tumbled him onto the sand. A pavilion's flags rippled in the breeze further back on the shore, the flags of the White Tree of Gondor matched with the White Swan-ships of Dol Amroth. "I'm not sure I want to go back," he said softly.
Frodo stared at his cousin. "Merry, you don't want to go back home? To the Shire? You must, you will be the Master of Buckland some day."
Merry's innermost thoughts boiled to the surface. "I… When Bilbo told his tales, I so wanted to leave with him. I wanted to see new places, new peoples. But I must stay. I've been trained to be the Master of Buckland. To stay in the Shire, with those wonderful hobbits that whisper how outlandish the Bucklanders are, how much stranger than even the Tooks!" His words were laced with bitterness. "And now… I have a station in Rohan, a place that most hobbits never want to hear about. I've had experiences that no other hobbit save us have had. Amongst the outlandish Brandybucks, I'm the most outlandish of all… and I'm the heir. I MUST stay. There's no one else. At least none that my father will recognize. But I don't want to!"
Merry hung his head. "Nothing ever changes in the Shire, Frodo. I know you cherish that, but I don't. I don't want to be a curiousity, not here, not in Rohan, and certainly not in the Shire. I want to be Meriadoc Brandybuck, of Buckland. And Master Holdwine, of Rohan. And Merry, one of the Nine Walkers. I want to be all of it, not just one. But that won't happen in the Shire. I'll go back, and all the other hobbits will see is Meriadoc Brandybuck, the heir to the outlandish Bucklanders, come back from a journey that no one will care about." He gazed at the waves, barely noticing Pippin talking energetically with Sam at the water's edge, Pippin's board stuck upright in the sand. Never had Merry let his feelings emerge, until now.
Laying his hand on Merry's arm, Frodo laughed softly. "I do know how you feel. After all, I'm the heir to old Mad Baggins, and a queer Brandybuck on top of that! But I think you do the Shire wrong, Merry. I think they will see the changes in you, in the world. They're not as blind as you believe, and you've not changed as much as you fear. The same traits that make you Merry of the Nine Walkers were always there in Meriadoc Brandybuck." Frodo grinned wickedly and delightedly. "No one who fell to your pranks would ever say that you did not have persistence, planning, and cunning! And if you are not there, how CAN the Shire know anything of Merry of the Nine Walkers, or Master Holdwine? You must show them."
Merry stared at his cousin, at a loss for words. He'd never realized how Frodo felt--Frodo had always looked to the Shire for the good memories, and seemed to ignore old slights and disappointments. But Frodo had grown--all of them had. "When did you become so wise, Frodo? It seems like yesterday that you were showing me the shortcuts to Maggot's crops."
The bitterness and wanderlust was still there, but Frodo had laid some of Merry's fears to rest. He hugged Frodo, grinning. The words had been said, the emotions laid bare, and a plan had been made. He felt as if a sore had been lanced, and though he knew that the cure would be long and not always pleasant, he would be whole. "I felt as if I'd lost my way, but now I'll just forge a new way. It's not as if the Brandybucks haven't before, and we'll do so again." A smile on his lips, he released Frodo from his grip. Already plans for parties, for meetings, for changes were bubbling in his mind. Once again he was at peace with himself and the Shire.
The peace didn't quite last as Pippin ran towards them, splashing sand over Merry and Frodo. "You must try the water! It's so warm and playful! Come in and swim with me!" Behind the very wet and now sandy hobbit, Sam smiled ruefully as Pippin tried to hide a conspiratorial grin that he shared with Sam.
"Might make you feel better, Frodo," Sam said quietly. "At any rate, you'll need to rinse off the sand shower that Master Peregrin has kindly given you." A light shone in his eyes of quiet determination, and somehow Frodo knew that he was not going to win any arguments with Sam. Frodo, with only a small sigh, got to his feet and started walking before Merry tapped him on his arm.
"Race you to the water, Frodo," Merry said, on his feet and already moving across the sand. With a laugh and a yell, Frodo was not far behind him as they jumped into the warm waves. Pippin had already raced back to his board, grabbed it, and plunged into the water. Sam stayed on the beach, letting the foaming water dance onto his feet.
Merry and Frodo, acting as one, commandeered the board that Bergil had been using and clambered on. Defeated, Bergil splashed onto the wet sand, as Sam watched his friends at play. Exchanging an understanding grin with Bergil, Sam approached the water to his thighs. "Pippin, what are you doin'?" Sam yelled. "You're not an elf, you're going to fall off that board! Peregrin Took!"