A/N: I love all you reviewer's soooooo much! I feel soooooo special! I wish I could give you all a real present! But chapter nine is the best I can manage. So, here it comes.
Rusta Iira
By: PTB
Chapter 9: You're heart will know
"Papa?" Saradoc turned from where he'd been watching all the young male Brandybucks getting daggers, or being taught to shoot a bow.
"Merry? What are you doing, lad?"
"Papa...I want to fight." Saradoc's eyebrows rose in surprise. Him, fight?
"Nah, Merry-lad, you're but a child. You are too young to fight." Merry's green eyes narrowed, glinting with fierce determination.
"Merimas is only a year older than me, Papa, and you're letting him fight!"
"Merimas is eighteen, lad, and you're only..."
"I'm seventeen, Pap." Saradoc closed his eyes, working out in his head his only child's age. He felt a sudden pang of sadness as he realized, Merry was right. He looked down at the fierce green eyes that stared back at him.
"I figure that if I'm going to be the reason for this war," Merry said slowly, "then I have no right to just sit back and let others die in it while I'm safe at home." When had his child grown up so? Seemed naught yesterday he was only knee high, and talking about the fairy lights Cousin Frodo, the fantastic, had told him about.
Yet the hobbit standing in front of him was almost taller than he was, and looked no younger than thirty-three, like he had already come of age. Saradoc gave him a small, sad smile, and laid a hand on his shoulders.
"There's no stopping you, is there Meriadoc?"
"No, sir."
"You'll make a fine master someday, Merry. All of Buckland will remember your name, down through the ages. Lets get you on then, find a good knife, that fits comfortably in your hand, and I'll teach you to throw it" Merry nodded solemnly, and walked over to the table where he handled the knife with grown up care. But under it all he could see the glowing pride at being told he would make a fine master, and Saradoc felt a stab of regret. Was he really such a hard father that he did not tell his son that he noticed how hard he tried to grow up and understand the importance of what he would have to do and become someday? That he was proud of him, for always looking after the little ones, and making sure they were feed and cared for before looking after himself. Had he never told him that he was sure that he would be the best Master Brandyhall had seen or ever would see? Had he not told him he loved him? And now he stood in risk of losing him forever. He had to tell him now, or he might never get the chance!
"Merry I..."
"Yes, Papa?" But now that the boy was looking at him, words seemed to have failed him.
"I think the one before was better. You should look for another one like that."
"Okay Papa." Saradoc cursed his pride, as Merry picked up two knives with small handles and long blades.
"Now Merry, first you take the handles like this..." By the end of the day, Merry could hit the target dead on every time.
"You have a fine eye, my boy!" Old Roary laughed, advancing out of his watching place only when Saradoc had left him to practice on his own.
"Thank you, sir." Merry was positively glowing with pride. He was one of the best knife throwers in the Shire now, he was sure of it. Roary walked over, and took one of the knives in his hand.
"So Saradoc's got you convinced in this war too, with his 'To long have Brandybucks been frowned upon' speech has he?" Merry was silent for a moment, though his expression of resolve never faltered.
"No, sir."
"Then what are you in it for?"
"I aim to get my mother back, sir." Roary chuckled, softly to himself.
"That's right, you're half Took by blood. Though personality is a different story." He turned the knife over in his hands, though his blue eyes never left Merry's face.
"What do you want out of this war, Merry?"
"Well sir," Merry answered slowly, "I suppose what I want, realistically speaking, is for things to get back to the way they were before. For Pip an' me to be friends again."
"Unrealistically?" Roary saw him hesitate, and added quickly, "I won't tell your Papa." Merry seemed satisfied with this reassurance, and even gave him a small smile.
"I suppose what I want, more than anything sir, is to be like a normal hobbit boy. Not have any whispers following me, and not have to stand up for myself all the time. And for..."Merry gulped, "and for Papa to say that he..." Merry blushed and looked at the ground, "say that he loves me." Roary gave his grandson an encouraging smile.
"Saradoc loves you, lad, more than anything. And he tells you, in his own way. He may never say outright that he loves you, but you know it just the same."
"I suppose so, sir. Still, I'd like to know without any doubt." Roary decided to let it drop there, and instead took the handle of the knife in his hand.
"You think you're any good with this thing, Meriadoc?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you think you understand all about war, do you?"
"I reckon so." What happened next didn't register in his mind until it was over. One second the knife was in his grandfather's hand, the next it was in the tree behind him, the handle only millimeters from his face. Thinking of nothing else to do, Merry simply stood there with wide eyes. Roary came over, and held eye contact while he spoke.
"I could have killed you then, Merry, if I had wished. I would have, if I didn't care for you so. And the people you'll be fighting, they won't care." He then turned and walked back into the hall, leaning on his waling stick. Merry put a hand up to his smarting face, and felt blood where the knife had grazed.
"Dad?" Hamfast Gamgee looked up from where he was kneeling and planting some petunias, to his son who was red faced and kneeling beside him.
"If you've finished trimming the grass, ye can start weeding the vegetables."
"Yes, sir." But Sam didn't move. With a sigh, the Gaffer put down his trowel.
"Something the matter, son?"
"Well sir, it's this whole war business. Seems to me neither of them is right."
"Now don't go talkin' about things that are over yer head, Samwise. Ye shouldn't be messing with the business of your betters." Sam nodded, but looked like he was still concerned about something, so Hamfast turned to him, and broke some of his own rules. "What do you mean neither side is right?"
"Well, sir, it wasn't right of Mister Paladin to do what he did to Mister Merry. Hobbits aught not treat others such, no matter they're different. But Mister Saradoc over reacted, in a matter of speaking. 'Tis worth getting mad over, no mistake, but not starting a war over." Hamfast nodded, and looked at his son sternly.
"Ye aught not go messing in the business of yer betters, Samwise. You'll get yourself in trouble carrying on like that."
"I'm sorry, sir," Sam stammered, "I just..."
"Let me finish, lad! Tough you have a right to understand this much I suppose." Sam blinked, and watched his father silently. "You're right that hobbits shouldn't treat others like they do, just because they're different. But you can't change the way of the world just because folks like us think they're not right. One little hobbit won't make a difference."
"But if a bunch of us got together we could..."
"Now yer dreamin' to big for yer boots, Samwise. Whose gonna' listen to a couple hobbits like us?"
"But if we..."
"Stop trying to use yer head, Samwise, it's not the best part of you. Let them big, good off folk do what they're going to do. Ye just stay here an' serve Mister Bilbo, like a good lad. Keep your nose out of trouble, and no trouble'll come to you. Now I'll have more no more of this! Go get your hands in that patch an' weed it!" Sam sighed, and walked to the other side of the hill, feeling more confused and none to reassured.
End A/N: Well, now we're down to the home stretch! I hope you've liked it so far! I've read about three stories with Merry throwing his knife, and always being true, which gave me the idea for the knife thing. Anyway, later days!
Rusta Iira
By: PTB
Chapter 9: You're heart will know
"Papa?" Saradoc turned from where he'd been watching all the young male Brandybucks getting daggers, or being taught to shoot a bow.
"Merry? What are you doing, lad?"
"Papa...I want to fight." Saradoc's eyebrows rose in surprise. Him, fight?
"Nah, Merry-lad, you're but a child. You are too young to fight." Merry's green eyes narrowed, glinting with fierce determination.
"Merimas is only a year older than me, Papa, and you're letting him fight!"
"Merimas is eighteen, lad, and you're only..."
"I'm seventeen, Pap." Saradoc closed his eyes, working out in his head his only child's age. He felt a sudden pang of sadness as he realized, Merry was right. He looked down at the fierce green eyes that stared back at him.
"I figure that if I'm going to be the reason for this war," Merry said slowly, "then I have no right to just sit back and let others die in it while I'm safe at home." When had his child grown up so? Seemed naught yesterday he was only knee high, and talking about the fairy lights Cousin Frodo, the fantastic, had told him about.
Yet the hobbit standing in front of him was almost taller than he was, and looked no younger than thirty-three, like he had already come of age. Saradoc gave him a small, sad smile, and laid a hand on his shoulders.
"There's no stopping you, is there Meriadoc?"
"No, sir."
"You'll make a fine master someday, Merry. All of Buckland will remember your name, down through the ages. Lets get you on then, find a good knife, that fits comfortably in your hand, and I'll teach you to throw it" Merry nodded solemnly, and walked over to the table where he handled the knife with grown up care. But under it all he could see the glowing pride at being told he would make a fine master, and Saradoc felt a stab of regret. Was he really such a hard father that he did not tell his son that he noticed how hard he tried to grow up and understand the importance of what he would have to do and become someday? That he was proud of him, for always looking after the little ones, and making sure they were feed and cared for before looking after himself. Had he never told him that he was sure that he would be the best Master Brandyhall had seen or ever would see? Had he not told him he loved him? And now he stood in risk of losing him forever. He had to tell him now, or he might never get the chance!
"Merry I..."
"Yes, Papa?" But now that the boy was looking at him, words seemed to have failed him.
"I think the one before was better. You should look for another one like that."
"Okay Papa." Saradoc cursed his pride, as Merry picked up two knives with small handles and long blades.
"Now Merry, first you take the handles like this..." By the end of the day, Merry could hit the target dead on every time.
"You have a fine eye, my boy!" Old Roary laughed, advancing out of his watching place only when Saradoc had left him to practice on his own.
"Thank you, sir." Merry was positively glowing with pride. He was one of the best knife throwers in the Shire now, he was sure of it. Roary walked over, and took one of the knives in his hand.
"So Saradoc's got you convinced in this war too, with his 'To long have Brandybucks been frowned upon' speech has he?" Merry was silent for a moment, though his expression of resolve never faltered.
"No, sir."
"Then what are you in it for?"
"I aim to get my mother back, sir." Roary chuckled, softly to himself.
"That's right, you're half Took by blood. Though personality is a different story." He turned the knife over in his hands, though his blue eyes never left Merry's face.
"What do you want out of this war, Merry?"
"Well sir," Merry answered slowly, "I suppose what I want, realistically speaking, is for things to get back to the way they were before. For Pip an' me to be friends again."
"Unrealistically?" Roary saw him hesitate, and added quickly, "I won't tell your Papa." Merry seemed satisfied with this reassurance, and even gave him a small smile.
"I suppose what I want, more than anything sir, is to be like a normal hobbit boy. Not have any whispers following me, and not have to stand up for myself all the time. And for..."Merry gulped, "and for Papa to say that he..." Merry blushed and looked at the ground, "say that he loves me." Roary gave his grandson an encouraging smile.
"Saradoc loves you, lad, more than anything. And he tells you, in his own way. He may never say outright that he loves you, but you know it just the same."
"I suppose so, sir. Still, I'd like to know without any doubt." Roary decided to let it drop there, and instead took the handle of the knife in his hand.
"You think you're any good with this thing, Meriadoc?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you think you understand all about war, do you?"
"I reckon so." What happened next didn't register in his mind until it was over. One second the knife was in his grandfather's hand, the next it was in the tree behind him, the handle only millimeters from his face. Thinking of nothing else to do, Merry simply stood there with wide eyes. Roary came over, and held eye contact while he spoke.
"I could have killed you then, Merry, if I had wished. I would have, if I didn't care for you so. And the people you'll be fighting, they won't care." He then turned and walked back into the hall, leaning on his waling stick. Merry put a hand up to his smarting face, and felt blood where the knife had grazed.
"Dad?" Hamfast Gamgee looked up from where he was kneeling and planting some petunias, to his son who was red faced and kneeling beside him.
"If you've finished trimming the grass, ye can start weeding the vegetables."
"Yes, sir." But Sam didn't move. With a sigh, the Gaffer put down his trowel.
"Something the matter, son?"
"Well sir, it's this whole war business. Seems to me neither of them is right."
"Now don't go talkin' about things that are over yer head, Samwise. Ye shouldn't be messing with the business of your betters." Sam nodded, but looked like he was still concerned about something, so Hamfast turned to him, and broke some of his own rules. "What do you mean neither side is right?"
"Well, sir, it wasn't right of Mister Paladin to do what he did to Mister Merry. Hobbits aught not treat others such, no matter they're different. But Mister Saradoc over reacted, in a matter of speaking. 'Tis worth getting mad over, no mistake, but not starting a war over." Hamfast nodded, and looked at his son sternly.
"Ye aught not go messing in the business of yer betters, Samwise. You'll get yourself in trouble carrying on like that."
"I'm sorry, sir," Sam stammered, "I just..."
"Let me finish, lad! Tough you have a right to understand this much I suppose." Sam blinked, and watched his father silently. "You're right that hobbits shouldn't treat others like they do, just because they're different. But you can't change the way of the world just because folks like us think they're not right. One little hobbit won't make a difference."
"But if a bunch of us got together we could..."
"Now yer dreamin' to big for yer boots, Samwise. Whose gonna' listen to a couple hobbits like us?"
"But if we..."
"Stop trying to use yer head, Samwise, it's not the best part of you. Let them big, good off folk do what they're going to do. Ye just stay here an' serve Mister Bilbo, like a good lad. Keep your nose out of trouble, and no trouble'll come to you. Now I'll have more no more of this! Go get your hands in that patch an' weed it!" Sam sighed, and walked to the other side of the hill, feeling more confused and none to reassured.
End A/N: Well, now we're down to the home stretch! I hope you've liked it so far! I've read about three stories with Merry throwing his knife, and always being true, which gave me the idea for the knife thing. Anyway, later days!