Hey there! Apologies for another late chapter – my life has been rather hectic, lately. Thank you to all of the lovely people who have left reviews, it truly means the world to me.
As ever, please forgive any mistakes – and also, there is a song reference at some point in this chapter, so points if you get what it is! I'll reveal it in the end-note!
Chapter Eighty: The Twining Roads to Battle
The Muster of Rohan truly was a sight to behold. After talking with Aragorn, Merry had not expected so many troops to answer the call, even though it was the call of their king. The safe, lawful land that Merry knew Rohan to be relied on the constant patrolling and communication of Théoden's guards, and without them they were little more than a scattered people in a series of very flammable towns, villages and homesteads.
And still, near on six thousand soldiers were camped in the hidden mountain refuge of Dunharrow. Some seemed to have brought their families with them, but the warriors far outnumbered the refugees.
The day after tomorrow, they would be riding for Gondor. Though the last thing that he wanted was to ride into a battle, it still felt like they were waiting too long. It had been bad enough riding in the opposite direction to Gondor to get to Dunharrow – they had delayed long enough, he was sure. Yet Éomer still seemed hopeful that more soldiers would come, and Théoden insisted that it would be wiser to wait.
After what he had seen, Merry did not doubt it – he just hated waiting.
He sat at the top of the long, winding path that led to the mountain refuge, peering down into the misty evening below. At least if he was watching, he was doing something. He wondered where Pippin was, if he was alright. If Boromir's father was taking as good care of him as Boromir promised. Movement caught his eye from down below, and beside him, Denahi pricked up his ears. There were horsemen, three or four of them, perhaps, shrouded in dark, blue-grey cloaks.
Keeping an eye on these new riders, Merry called out to a nearby guard, and together they waited until the sound of the horse-hooves were loud as drums, and the riders began to enter the swell of light from Rohan's torches.
"Halt!" called the guard, and the hoofbeats stopped. "Who goes there?"
"I am Elladan, of Rivendell," replied a lyrical, oh-so-familiar voice as the torchlight fell on two very well-known faces. "With me are my brother Elrohir, and Halbarad, of the Dúnedain Rangers. We are seeking his kinsmen – Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I believe he is here."
"Elladan!" cried Merry, happiness swelling within him at a familiar face appearing, instead of disappearing. "Elrohir! He is here, he's just inside."
"You know these folk, young master?" the guard asked Merry, a heavy frown on his face.
"They are the sons of Elrond, and very fine folk indeed," said Merry, glancing at Halbarad. There was something familiar about the name, and the face, but he could not place them, so instead he said, "And that's the uniform of a Dúnedain Ranger if I've ever seen one."
"Very well," said the guard. "I shall fetch Lord Aragorn, so that he can bid you enter. I'm afraid neither Master Brandybuck nor myself have such authority."
Elladan inclined his head, dismounting gracefully. "Of course. We shall wait here. But I would ask for you to seek some fresh hay and clean water for our horses. They have ridden fast, and far, and are in much need of rest."
The guard bowed, and Merry ran up to the elven twins, throwing his arms around them both – as far as they would go, at least – in a move that made them both laugh.
"It's good to see you!" he admitted, pulling away and looking to Halbarad. "Have we met before?"
Halbarad smiled warmly. "I think so – is your name, by any chance, Merry Brandybuck?" When Merry nodded, so did Halbarad. "I journeyed to Erebor once, with my mother, to deliver a parcel to Samwise Gamgee. I believe we were both children at the time."
Merry nodded slowly, memories of laughter and games and an old, dog-eared gardening book stirring in the back of his mind. It felt like far more than a lifetime ago. "I remember now."
"I heard that you have caused quite the commotion, since then," commented Halbarad, a grin spreading across his face. "I'm impressed."
Merry smiled back, but it took a little effort this time. "Thank you."
Elrohir clearly picked up on the tension, and gave a soft smile of his own. "Do not fear, Merry. We are not here to lecture you. We understand what you did, and why, though it was not the way that we would see things go."
"I bet your father wasn't best pleased with us?" said Merry, feeling almost guilty for how they had left.
Elladan raised an eyebrow. "He was not angry."
"Just disappointed?" Merry supplied glumly, but Elladan laughed.
"So it is not only the elves who use such tactics on mischievous children? To tell the truth, I do not think he was disappointed, either. Of course, he was sad that a group of folk so young would feel compelled to undertake a task, and he fears for you. But he was not angry."
A cry of joy announced Aragorn's arrival, and he ran at the twins with twice the gusto that Merry had, seizing them tightly in his arms despite their obviously feigned protests. Turning his head over his shoulder, Aragorn called back to the guard, "I give them leave to enter! These folk will do Rohan no harm."
"In that case, welcome," said the guard, bowing low again, and returning to his post.
"I am so pleased to see you," said Aragorn, peeling away from the twins to seize Halbarad in an equally tight embrace. "What brings you here?"
"We have come to help," said Elladan. "And to deliver this." He pulled out a thin envelope from his cloak, but to Merry's astonishment, he did not hand it to Aragorn.
Instead, he passed it to Merry.
Stunned, the hobbit peered down at the envelope, and his heart gave a painful squeeze at the familiar writing across the front. It was not only the words, 'The Family of Kíli Baggins' that hurt, but the hand they were written in.
"Mama…" he murmured, hardly realising that he spoke aloud.
"We should go inside," said Aragorn, but Merry could not wait for inside. He grabbed his knife from his belt and slit open the envelope, shaking the letter out into his hands.
My dear ones,
I don't know which of you will read this, or if anyone ever will. But in desperate hope I write to you with news of the Shire – for if you think to return to safety, I beg of you to make for Erebor instead. The Shire is not safe. Not anymore.
The attacks began a week after we received word from Rivendell – the first fell upon Crick Hollow, in Buckland. Ruffians and raiders came upon the town, searching for us, and as their homes burned behind them, some pointed towards Hobbiton. I will name no names, and I do not blame them – neither should you. It is not fair to judge them simply because they do not share the incredible courage that you have.
In any case, it was not long before Men arrived in Hobbiton. They claimed to be Rangers, though they wore no uniform. They were looking for us – for the 'hobbit lords of Erebor,' and especially for the dwarflings, but mercifully Papa had already started dressing them like wee hobbits (Bodin looks adorable with curls in his hair, though he fights every evening like a wildcat against having them in.) They could not find us – we blend in well enough, there being no one willing to give us up, and on the first night, the men left empty handed. The next day they returned with swords, and raided twenty homes before we could get there with our bows, and chase them off. No one was killed, though Hugo Boffin received a nasty black eye, and we were all much shaken.
True rangers arrived by the end of that first week, a group of fifty of them, but their presence doesn't seem to be much of a deterrent. The attacks have neither slowed, nor ceased. Once or twice a week we beat them back, but we don't know exactly who it is that we are fighting, so there is no way of ripping out the weeds by the roots. Most of the raiders are Men, but there have been dwarves, as well, and we hear rumours of orcs from the edge of the West Farthing. Though there have been no deaths here in Hobbiton, we're afraid that throughout the Shire, the toll may be even greater than the dozen fatalities that we have heard of.
How much longer we can hold, I do not know, but we will do what we can, and what we must. If chance falls upon you to send aid our way, it would be appreciated, but I beg you not to return yourselves. You will only make the Shire a greater target, and risk running towards ruin. You may even risk ruining the world. I do not write, however, with the expectation of receiving any help. What I hope is that you will take this news to any lords to come upon, and implore them not to sit idle. You rile up the world, my darlings – you tell them that this war is reaching the most sheltered of folk, and that if they don't fight it, our entire world will be swept away. You must make sure that they fight, and we will make sure that we fight, just like our dwarves taught us. We will fight, and so must you. But if you are injured, and forced to fall back, I beg you turn first to Erebor, or to our allies. There is no safety to be found here anymore.
I have but one more request of you, if fate is kind enough to let you read this. Please, if you have any chance to see Merry, please deliver him my words, and my love:
Merry, I have heard of what you have done, and it has torn my heart in two, but I am so, so proud of you. Were I there, I would have done the same thing, and I have no words for how proud I am. But please, my baby, take care. Take care of your cousins and your friends, but most importantly, take care of yourself. Please, please, keep yourself safe, and make sure that when this is over you can come home, whole and unharmed. I beg you, baby, to come home when your work is done. But do not fear for the Shire, or for your Papa and I. We will meet again. I may not know where, or when, or how, but I know that I will find you, be it here, or in Erebor, or even in the Halls of Mandos. I will always find you, Merry, I promise that. I love you so much, so much more than I can ever write. Just believe in yourself with every step that you take, and know I am smiling with pride every day. My love will forever be stronger than strong, and don't be afraid – you are never alone.
My love to you, who may read this, and to all family my words cannot reach.
May the Valar save you all,
Esmeralda Brandybuck
Merry stared at his mother's name until his eyes lost focus, though that could have been through the tears that threatened to mist over his eyes. He sniffed, and dragged his arm roughly over his eyes, clearing his throat. This was not the time for crying. His fingers shook, and the paper held within them fluttered as though tugged by the wind, but he steadied himself, and looked up at the elves.
"When… when did she write this? How did you get it?"
It was Halbarad who answered, his face grave. "It was written just over a month ago, the day I left the Shire. My job was to seek reinforcements, and two of my kin left with me. I managed to rally two dozen rangers from the surrounding lands, but we are a dwindling people, and I fear it is not enough. My companions and I split up, heading one heading north and the other south, while I rode towards Rivendell, to seek the advice of Lord Elrond. I was little over halfway there when I met Elladan and Elrohir."
"Rivendell is surrounded," said Elladan gravely. "None have been bold enough to make a move into the valley, but throngs of orcs are camped around it, and their spies are everywhere. We wished to ride east and play our part in this war, but to have any chance of doing so we knew that we had little choice but to go back on ourselves, and then take the North-South road to Rohan. We collected Halbarad along the way – he knew it was the only chance he would likely get in delivering his letter."
"Yet our father had foreseen trouble in the Shire, and some of our people did go west," added Elrohir, looking at Merry. "Glorfindel is leading a small group to assist the Shire, and Ori Dragonsbane went with him."
Merry nodded slowly, as if receiving so much horrible news was something he was used to. In truth, the information was a tornado behind his eyes, flying so fast in so many directions that he could barely keep track. His home was under attack – both of his homes were under attack – and his mother and father were on the front line. Unlike the younger dwobbits, neither Saradoc or Esme had received much more than the most basic of training in weaponry, though they were both pretty good with a bow, and the same was true of Paladin and Ellie – if they were in a real battle –
And Bodin and Orla and Ola – what would happen to them if they were captured? They were only children, but Merry was not nearly naïve enough to think that would spare them fear and pain. He had heard stories of what kidnappers would do to procure a ransom –
And the dwarves of the Blue Mountains could not help, which meant that they too were under attack, and the whole Shire was guarded only by a handful of Rangers and half a dozen elves, and hobbits were already dead, and –
No.
He had to focus.
He had to figure out what to do.
What he wanted to do was leap on Denahi's back and ride to the Shire with all the speed that he could, but he knew that it was worthless. He was alone, just one hobbit, and he could not change the tide of a war on his own. Also, if he did, he would be turning his back on Pippin, and Frodo and Sam and Nelly and Bróin.
So first things first.
"I'm going to find Gimli," he said. "He needs to see this."
Aragorn frowned sympathetically, reaching out his hand. "Merry-"
"I'm fine. But Gimli is family of Kíli Baggins too, and he needs to read this."
Without waiting for an answer, Merry strode back into the camp, keeping his jaw clenched and his hands relaxed. He wanted to scrunch up his fists, but doing so would crumple the letter, and that was not a risk that he was willing to take. Something in his scowl must have meant business, because the men of Rohan parted before him as he stalked through their camp. Of course, Denahi's raised hackles might have had something to do with their retreat.
It took him less than a minute to find Gimli, who was laughing with Boromir, Éomer and Legolas around a smoking fire.
"…I told you," Gimli was chortling, "Never trust a man to make a fire. Could hardly make it smoke more if I – Merry! What's wrong?"
Wordlessly, Merry passed Gimli the letter, and used the time it took the dwarf to read it to slow his breathing.
"What's going on?" asked Éomer, looking between Merry and Gimli. Then his eyes widened, and as Legolas and Boromir stood, so did he. Gimli was too busy reading the letter to focus on such a trivial thing as manners. "I see we have visitors."
Even as Aragorn murmured introductions, Merry only had eyes for Gimli, whose eyes were growing darker and darker. Finally, he looked up, and met Merry's eyes. He opened his mouth, but no words came from his lips. He closed his eyes and hung his head, and Merry darted forwards, swiping the letter from his fingers before it could fall too close to the fire.
Carefully, he folded it over itself and slid it back into its envelope, before tucking it safely inside his pocket. He took a deep breath and stepped back, meeting the wary eyes of Boromir, Legolas and Éomer.
"The Shire is under attack," he said, and it sounded as though his voice belonged to someone else. Someone whose world was not falling apart. "Raiders, ruffians – no one knows who they really are, but they have brought war to the most peaceful place in all of Middle-Earth, and – and my people don't stand a chance. There are Rangers with them, and that might help them last a while, but if we don't win this war, there will be no safe place left in the west."
Boromir put a hand on his chest and Éomer's eyes widened, as Legolas bowed his head.
"I am deeply sorry to hear that," said Éomer solemnly. "War is no place for the innocent and sheltered."
"No, it isn't, but it's found them anyway," said Merry, and a tremor broke into his voice. "And there's nothing we can do about it. We cannot go back. We must fight on, push on. We must go east."
"This is ill news indeed," whispered Boromir, running his hand through his hair. "Tell me there is not more bad news?"
"There is more news to be shared, I deem," said Elrohir, almost sheepishly. He looked to Aragorn, and for a long moment they shared a gaze. Then Aragorn nodded.
"I will not be riding to war with you," he said heavily. "Though, if the Valar are willing, I will meet you there."
Merry's heart seized, and he folded his arms. "And what, exactly, do you mean by that?"
"There is a road I must take – the Paths of the Dead."
"The what of the who?" Merry spluttered. "That doesn't sound like a good idea."
"I stand with the hobbit," said Éomer. "No man has ever returned from those paths with his sanity – of those who have returned at all."
"No man can hope to gain anything from the mountain while the dead dwell there," said Elrohir. "No man, save the Heir of Isildur. For it was an oath to Isildur that they broke, and were thence cursed. But Aragorn may be able to convince them to fight, and that could be the difference between victory and defeat."
"Wait – the dead? What do you mean, the dead?" demanded Gimli.
"Once they were men," explained Boromir, looking deeply concerned, "they swore an oath of allegiance to the King of Gondor, but when Sauron attacked, and they were called to fight, they fled into the mountains. Isildur cursed them, that they would remain without rest until their oath was fulfilled. Their ghosts have dwelt in the mountains ever since."
"Ghosts?" repeated the dwarf, throwing an incredulous look to Merry. "You want to gather an army of ghosts?"
"As Elrohir said, it could tip the scales," said Elladan, turning to Aragorn. "Our father said this would be a path you would take. We three have come to take it with you – to whatever end."
"I will go with you," said Boromir quietly. "I know this is the path I must take. I will not return to my city before my king."
Merry was surprised – he had expected Boromir to share his own desire to reach Minas Tirith as soon as possible. Whether he was surprised too, Aragorn did not say, but he put a hand over his head and bowed deeply.
"I would not ask anyone to come with me," he said.
"And still, we will go," said Boromir.
"I will go too," said Legolas. "I do not fear the dead."
"If pointy-ears is coming, so am I," grunted Gimli, but then he paused, and met Merry's eyes. "Even if that means one more goodbye. I do not think such a path is one a hobbit should take."
Merry smiled sadly. "You should know by now, Gimli, there's nothing a hobbit can't do, and nowhere a hobbit can't go. But you don't have to worry. I won't be taking the Paths of the Dead."
Gimli frowned. "You won't?"
"No," said Merry, turning to Éomer. "I'm going to Gondor by the straightest road I can. I am riding to war with you." Éomer's eyes grew so wide it looked like they were about to spring from his skull, and Gimli began to splutter a protest, but Merry shook his head. "I may be a hobbit, and a small one at that, but I can fight as well as any dwarf my age and all my friends are fighting. I would be ashamed to be left behind. And before you start, I won't be a burden – Denahi will bear me longer than any horse can bear you."
"You do not know the horror of war," said Éomer.
Merry shrugged. "So you say. But I'm not asking permission. The only way you can stop me from riding into that battle is to kill me, here and now."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa there!" said Gimli, getting to his feet for the first time to stalk around the fire. "You cut that talk out, Master Brandybuck, before I tell your mother!" With that, he seized Merry's forearms tightly, and stared deep into Merry's eyes. He slipped quickly into Khuzdul, lines of fear and sorrow carved deeply into his face as he asked, "Are you sure?"
"Certain," replied Merry in the same tongue, though a lump was growing in his throat. "I have to go and find Pippin. I cannot take a detour."
"I will stay with you, if you wish it of me," swore Gimli, holding Merry's arms tighter. "I will protect you, and fight beside you, and we will find Pippin together."
"No," said Merry, though he wanted more than anything for Gimli to stay. To watch him go, to see the last member of his family torn from him – it was already ripping at Merry's soul. But he knew what had to be done. "I think we both know this is the path you have to take. And besides, the elf would never let you live it down if you backed away now."
Gimli did not smile. "And you are certain? No one will think less of you for staying here, or in Edoras, I swear it. There is no need to be ashamed – aye you're a capable swordsman, but you're not a soldier."
Merry swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "I am sure."
Gimli closed his eyes and bowed his head, gently pulling Merry forward so that their foreheads touched. "I will find you at the battle," he promised, his hands shaking on the back of Merry's head. "Maybe even before you find Pippin. And we will fight together."
"It's a deal," whispered Merry, his voice cracking. Already, he felt so hopelessly, desperately alone.
"I'm very proud of you," muttered Gimli, and the next thing he knew Merry was being crushed against the dwarf's chest in the fiercest hug of his life. "Now, see here laddie," Gimli called over Merry's shoulder. "My cousin here means an awful lot to me, and there's no stopping him from going into battle. But if you could keep an eye on him, when fate allows you-"
"Gimli!" Merry protested, but Éomer did not seem to hear him.
"I will protect him, as best I can, though I can make no promise other than that," said Éomer. "I cannot promise that I will not leave him, if that is what the battle calls for."
"I understand," said Gimli, but he held Merry tighter. "And you look after these horse-lads, you hear?"
Merry laughed, and gave a nod, and finally Gimli released him, and he could breathe.
"When do we need to leave?" the dwarf asked Aragorn, who gave a sorrowful smile.
"Yesterday," he said. "Though now will suffice."
Gimli nodded, and cleared his throat. "Thought as much. You take care now, Merry. And I will see you soon."
Merry nodded, but he could not talk. There was too much fear in his own throat to be cleared with a simple cough. Nevertheless, he kept tears at bay as he embraced Aragorn and Legolas, and then Elladan and Elrohir.
"Oh, I almost forgot!" said Elladan, shaking his head slightly. He put his hands on Merry's shoulders and smiled. "I thought you would like to know that Bofin is doing remarkably well, for so young a dwarf with such an injury. He was in good spirits, and able to sit up and enjoy the gardens when we left Rivendell."
"Thank you," mumbled Merry, but they were all the words he could manage. Elladan squeezed his shoulders, and then turned, mounting his horse.
Finally, Boromir stood before him, having already helped Gimli up onto the back of Legolas' horse. The man knelt on one knee before Merry, enveloped him in a hug almost as fierce as the dwarf's.
"Take care, Merry," he murmured. "It pains me to see you ride to war, but we will meet you there. You keep yourself alive and whole, and if I am standing at the end of the battles to come, I will ride west with you, and scour the land of ruffians with all the wrath of Gondor."
Unable to respond with anything but a nod, Merry clung to Boromir for as long as he dared. Then, he released the man, and watched him join the others. They rode away, and Gimli turned to give one final wave goodbye, before the misty path before him swallowed the riders whole.
I hope you enjoyed that chapter! We will receive more insight into motiviations (specifically Boromir's, though I will happily explore anyone else's motives that you would particularly like to see) as to the paths they have taken in upcoming chapters.
So the song referenced in this chapter was in Esme's letter:
Just believe in yourself with every step that you take, and know I am smiling with pride every day. My love will forever be stronger than strong, and don't be afraid – you are never alone.
This is a slight paraphrasing (but mostly quote) of the fantastic song 'Fall On Me' by Andrea and Matteo Bocelli, which was released as part of the soundtrack to Disney's 'Nutcracker and the Four Realms' movie (which I still haven't seen.) The song is absolutely gorgeous, so check it out!
If you have any feedback, please do leave a review! We've finally reached over 200, which is fantastic! I cannot thank you enough.
In any case, until I next see you, take care!