Chapter III
They were calling them 'lordly'. Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, the tallest hobbits of the Shire, dressed in magnificent attires from faraway lands, the young heroes who fought off those who had brought death and destruction in their peaceful country. Folk admired them riding, singing songs, telling stories. But what did folk know?
Sam had been the first of them to start getting his life back in the Shire. Not his old life, of course, the one of the shy, quiet gardener who dreamt of elves and never set a foot too far from home. Though the details were unknown, folk knew that Samwise Gamgee's part in the strange, big events of the last year had been a relevant one. But most of all, he had married Rosie Cotton.
Merry seemed to envy him sometimes. He envied Sam's ability to concentrate on the present, to find a balance between what they had been before the start of the journey, and what they grew to be at the end of it. But then Merry knew Sam better than that. He knew that, just like himself, Sam didn't like to talk much about his own worries and his own troubles. He and Sam were too similar in that, so Merry was able to sense that Sam's happiness was not complete, that he was, in a way, torn in two. Sam's return to his home, his life with Rosie, were still clouded by the thought of Frodo and of his strange condition. Torn in two. They all were: Sam, himself, Frodo, Pippin. The Travellers. That was what they called them, and that was what they would remain, forever, even long after their return.
A sudden noise snatched Merry's mind abruptly away from his flow of thoughts. It was only a nightbird on a tree, scared by the passing figure on a horse, but after so many nights of watches and walks in the danger, the hobbit's senses were still always tense and alert. Merry was riding back to Crickhollow, after an evening at Brandy Hall. He left as soon as he could, as the great hall was getting too stuffy, crowded with relatives, aunts, cousins and third cousins, friends of the family and families of the friends. He normally didn't mind much, but now he felt he'd rather have some peace and quiet. And some fresh air. He had arrived down to the Brandywine banks. Apparently, not only his thoughts were meandering freely, but also his path. The river run calm and the sound it made had a soothing effect on Merry. He almost felt that the water, clean and fresh as he remembered it since he was a very young lad, was there to wash the land.
Why would everybody always ask him tales of battles, of fighting, of how he and Peregrin Took had bravely defeated hordes of ruffians, blowing his horn and brandishing his sword? Why nobody ever cared to ask about how Frodo had defeated the luring powers of the Ring, how he hadn't given up to total darkness, how he had fought, alone, the deception and temptation of the Enemy? Probably, nobody even knew about that, about what the real War had been. That was also why he left the Hall so early that night. The Battle of Bywater, the killing of Saruman, of Grima, of the chief ruffian, of all those men…Those were not the tales he wanted to have been asked, but rather those he wanted to forget. After the horrors of the big War, such a huge one for a poor little hobbit, the least he expected was to find that those horrors had actually reached and attached also the Shire, his home. And that they still lingered there after the war had ended. How could that happen? Had there been a way, maybe, by which he could have prevented death, blood and desolation to even enter the Shire in the first place? "Stop that", he said to himself, resuming his ride "There is no way you can go back and undo what's been done".
He had almost arrived home, at Crickhollow, but again he had taken another little detour, almost unaware of it. He was now at the entrance gate of the Old Forest, the starting place form where it all begun. Maybe his thoughts were a bit muddled by tiredness, maybe also by the numerous pints of ale that his uncles and cousins had kept handing him merrily, but as he was standing there, Merry found himself contemplating the idea of going in there, right then. Follow the same journey they had done two years ago, and then backwards, and maybe he would come out whole again, clean and new as he was before. He had actually started to dismount slowly, still lost in thoughts, when the pony, already nervous for the strange atmosphere of the forest, suddenly neighed and reared up. Caught by surprise, Merry fell backward and his head hit a flat stone. The pony rode away, leaving him unconscious on the ground.
TBC