Chapter 17
Saro, Pretty Saro
They had all gone fishing with Boromir earlier, and all had a capital time. They had eaten their catch, and now the bones were being picked over by a virtual cozy of cats. It seemed that charming bees was not Boromir's only talent; feral cats had begun to show up in his barn and apparently tamed themselves to keep him company. Whenever he was about the barn, the cats swarmed about his ankles, rubbing themselves on his legs and wiping whiskers on his feet, which nowadays were bare more often than not. When he wore shoes at all, it was sandals or low soft shoes.
Merry and Pippin were sitting with their wives and sons in the shade of a great oak that sheltered Boromir's cabin, smoking their pipes and watching Boromir playing with his many cats. When he was at home, he often went shirtless, but not on this day; not in front of the ladies. His days as a Wild Man had taught him to enjoy the feel of sun on skin, and he was very, very brown. His long hair was now quite bleached by the sun. He had taken to wearing his hair in elven-type braids, recalling his Uncle Imrahil of Dol Amroth, whose Teleri bloodlines were clear to see, as had been the case with his mother Finduilas. His beard he maintained in iron order, and it never looked as though it was neglected. The tavern girls loved his beard, and often commented that it made him look quite the rake and rascal. He still had found no sweetheart, but until he did the company of tavern girls sufficed.
The group of hobbits sat studying their friend. "He seems so much more at peace, now." Pippin said. There was no need to qualify the 'he'.
"Yes, he does, quite. He looks better too, since he's been taking his medicine," replied Merry, "He's put on a bit of weight, as well. He was too thin, before."
"Yes, he does look better. I am very happy for him," Pippin said, and sent a splendid smoke-ring off on the gentle breeze.
The month of Halimath, which Boromir still thought of as Ivanneth, called Harvestmath in Bree, was drawing to a close, and the day of Yavannië was fast approaching. Harvest celebrations across the entire region had been going on for a week now, and Merry, Pippin and Boromir had eagerly looked forward to spending some time together in Bree. The Harvestmath festival was always celebrated a little later in Bree than in the Shire and Buckland. Merry and Pippin had been enjoying harvest festivities with their families and clans for some days, and now they meant to keep their plans to celebrate with their friend, as well as accompany Boromir on a trip to the carpenters, to purchase furniture. Harvest time now over and winter not yet begun, they could afford a few days of leisure, and Pippin with his family had driven to Boromir's cabin, where they had arranged to meet with Merry and his family. Faro and Theo wanted to camp beside Boromir's pool one last time before winter set in, and Diamond and Estella had come armed with fabric, needles and thread: They intended to make curtains for Boromir's windows, insisting that before he could "catch a bird," he must first "build a proper nest."
As Diamond and Estella made themselves familiar with Boromir's little cabin, they clucked their tongues with disapproval at his "furniture," meaning, of course, the lack thereof, and jotted down notes on what kinds of furnishings he needed. Included in this list were a proper table, a washstand, chests, wardrobes, a dressing table, and chairs to replace the rough-hewn benches, as well as a settee, at least one footstool, a wardrobe and a proper bed.
Boromir listened to the pair of them fussing about his little abode with a gentle smile. They moved with the grace and beauty of two flowers floating on the surface of a pool. Statements such as "Dishes! He needs a proper set of dishes!" and "A silver service is called for, as well," were heard quite frequently, along with such observations as "Tea towels! And a cozy, too! My goodness, how has he survived without our help?" By now, he knew better than to attempt to dissuade them. After all, this could not be as awkward for him as the Great Matchmaking Debacle. Besides, they were right when they told him, "You've been living like a bear with a fireplace in its den! I do hope you have a bath-house." Which he now did, as well as having added a bedchamber to his little home: It was becoming more a cottage, and less a cabin.
"You should consider adding a kitchen, dear," Estella advised. "I can't imagine how you have managed all this time."
"Yes, you should," Diamond agreed. "Your hearth is all well and good, but you need a proper cooker and pots and pans as well. Not to worry, we will help all we can. Poor dear, living all alone, with no gentle lady's hand to add all the little comforts of home!"
"In fact, I have been considering a kitchen," Boromir said. "When first I built here, all I needed was a small space to shelter me from the cold and rain, but happily enough my friends see fit to keep me company from time to time. I should very much enjoy offering them all the amenities it is in my power to give. A kitchen would allow me to do so."
"Well, then, whilst the three of you are in Bree," Diamond said, "We shall charge you, good sir, to see to the purchasing of materials for your kitchen as well as a visit to the carpenters!"
"Don't let him get away with buying any old thing, Merry!" Estella said tartly, "Remember, he is a bachelor, and has not had the benefit of the feminine touch in a long while."
"Not to worry," Merry said. "Pippin and I will make sure he brings back furniture that befits a home and not a barracks!"
"Well, now that we have settled matters," Diamond observed, "You three had best be on your way. Mr. Butterbur will be holding your rooms, and you will want to get there in time for a bite or two before retiring. We will be very comfortable here. In fact, I am sure Estella and I will have a splendid time, on our own. Just think, Estella! No Hall or Smials to run, no duties to see to, no one to see, just peace and quiet, away from it all! I warrant there is good mushrooming about! Just think! No one comes here, so I should think the place should be teeming with mushrooms. Do mushrooms teem?"
"They do, here," Boromir assured. "Just don't wander far, please. This is still the Old Forest, you know."
"We know, we know," Estella said. "Don't worry! We can send our lads to fetch help, should the need arise. But I do not think the need will arise. Most folks are still wary of this place, so I should think we shall have no trouble at all."
"Very well, then, we will be off," Pippin said. "I'll pick up that blue wool you wanted from the weavers while we're there." Leading his precious Dapplegrim and Merry's sturdy Stybba to the back of the wagon, Pippin made fast the reins, then brought out an oat muffin he had secreted in his pocket. He broke it into three pieces and gave one each to Dapplegrim, then to Stybba, reserving the third piece for the "lady". He scratched Stybba behind one shaggy ear, and then went to the front of the wagon to give Lady Grey her tidbit. "You shall be leading your son and his father, today, Lady Grey," he said to her. "That is how it is done, eh? Ladies may lead, while sons and sweethearts are willing to follow! There's a sweet girl." Then, bidding their loved ones farewell, Boromir, Merry and Pippin climbed into Boromir's sturdy market-wagon, with Lady Grey in harness and eager to go, the trio set off.
The country night was cool and pleasant. As they approached Bree, the stars were shining brightly. The Star-Kindler had done her work well. It was a perfect Harvestmath night. They headed straight for the Prancing Pony, of course. Once settled in their room, they went downstairs for supper, and after a bite and a drink there, they headed off to the next inn and the next. They were soon in their cups and having a grand time. As they entered their fourth inn, the Fox and Hound, they could hear voices raised in song, as different people took turns singing. Boromir immediately spotted Saro Ferny. Her looks had not been spoiled at all, to his relief. She was standing on a chair, as it was her turn to sing, and this is what she was singing:
When I was a single girl,
My shoes how they did squeak,
Now that I am married,
My shoes how they do leak,
And I wish I were a single girl again,
Oh, yes,
How I wish I were a single girl again!
All around her, folks both big and little clapped time and stamped their feet. Boromir knew the tune to this old ditty, and in his rich baritone voice sang in answer:
When I was a single man,
I sang a happy song,
Now that I am married,
I am quiet all day long,
And I wish I were a single man again,
Oh, yes,
How I wish I were a single man again!
Merry and Pippin encouraged their friend by way of nudging him with their elbows, smiling broadly. Saro looked at him merrily, and sang the reply,
When I was a single girl,
I had a brand new shawl,
Now that I am married,
I have no shawl at all,
And I wish I were a single girl again,
Oh, yes,
How I wish I were a single girl again!
Then, in reply, with the carousers clapping louder than ever and shouts of encouragement cutting through the smoky room, Boromir sang in answer,
When I was a single man,
I had the time to drink,
Now that I am married,
I don't have the time to think,
And I wish I were a single man again,
Oh, yes,
How I wish I were a single man again!
The inn was filled with a great deal of cheering upon the last reply, along with clapping and whistling, and then someone called for Saro to dance. Another tune was taken up, and Saro began to move. Her feet were a graceful blur, her arms raised above her head, her chestnut locks bouncing, as if even her hair was moved by the rhythm of gaiety. She spun and reeled around Boromir, and as the song ended, she dropped him a pretty curtsy, her cheeks rosy and glowing. Merry nudged Pippin. Pippin nudged Merry. They both grinned, and ordered a round for the four of them.
She sat at the table with the three friends, and Pippin noted the worn but clean frock. Her shoes were shined, but one could plainly see the wear on the heels. Her hands were clean and the nails cared for, but her palms were callused. She had a ready smile, but if he watched, he could see a little sadness edge itself into her eyes. Pippin also noted a bruise on her arm, one that was the perfect imprint of four fingers. Someone had been rough with her. It made the hobbit's blood boil.
When he found out who her father was, he understood everything at once, and his heart was moved for her. When she realized she was in the company of the famous Took and Brandybuck, she knew these two hobbits had known her father. She lowered her head in shame, her cheeks ablaze with embarrassment.
"Now, now, you mustn't," Pippin assured her. "After all, if we chose all our families, the world would indeed be found wanting! We do not have that luxury, my dear. The world must be peopled!"
She raised her eyes, seemingly half-expecting to be taunted. Long did she look into Pippin's eyes. With his head cocked just so, and a warm look in his eyes, he seemed such a kindly hobbit that she felt quite reassured. Then she looked at Merry, and, finding only understanding in his eyes, she felt assured that they would never shun her, Billy Ferny's daughter or no.
Boromir, in that way that only he seemed able to master, reacted with his usual mixture of bluntness and nobility. "A dear friend and a most wise counselor once taught me that a black hen may lay a white egg," he said with a grin. "Some of us came from some very black hens, indeed! Yet an egg may prove otherwise than a hen may have it, in the hatching. I see not a single black feather upon you, lady! No need for you to feel so down-hearted!"
"Ouch, Boromir, you are a horrible jester!" Merry laughed. "Down, indeed!"
"Aye, I fear that was no feather in your cap!" Pippin laughed, rolling his eyes.
Saro looked, one after the other, at the three of them. Her slow smile soon broadened, and suddenly she laughed merrily.
"Well, we have won a great victory," Merry added. "She is coming out of her shell, now!"
"Please, no more fowl jokes!" Saro said, wiping her eyes. "Now if you shall excuse me, I have a peck of chores to do, and I must get back to work before I go home to roost."
She rose from her chair and left them laughing, parting with a playful curtsy, then went back to the kitchen to fetch her broom and cleaning rags. Boromir, Merry and Pippin moved on to the next inn and the next. The hours were quickly becoming small, and the inns soon began to close for the evening, Harvestmath or no. They were weaving a bit as they walked, humming the ditty Boromir and Saro had sung. As they came near the Fox and Hound, they saw a scene unfolding before them that was not to their liking at all. There was an older man staggering behind Saro, shouting. He reached forward and grabbed her arm. Instantly, Pippin knew where the finger-shaped bruises on her arm had come from.
"You give me those coins right now, Saro Ferny, or I swear you'll see the back of my hand again!" slurred the bully.
"I am tired of giving you my money, Uncle Bob," Saro protested. "All my life I have worked, and all my life you have taken my money!"
"And I am going to take it again, you ungrateful little trollop!" sneered the man. "Who was it took you in when Bill had enough of the burden your mother laid upon him, and her naught but a lowly stale!"
"Stop it, Uncle Bob! She was no stale, and you know it! She was a seamstress and a fine lady--I asked around--you've lied about her all my life! You know she was forced into that union after Father… after Father did her such a wrong!" Now Saro's cheeks were wet. She struggled to pull her arm free.
"She asked for it!" Bob shouted. "Dancing like she was, looking like she did, it was no wonder he followed her into the streets."
"Father was a liar, a drunken lout and a ruffian, just as you are!" Saro rasped. "She was only going home, as I am going home, now!"
"Is that so?" Bob sneered, and this time his eyes raked up and down her body. "Look at you! Why, you are asking for it, same as her! Time you paid me back for all I done for you! No wonder I never wed, with the likes of you like a stone around my neck! What woman would be my wife, with the daughter of a trollop living in the same house!"
"Why, that drunken lout!" Boromir said under his breath. Then he, Merry and Pippin looked at each other grimly. As one, the three friends ran the rest of the way. In a flash, they were there, hemming in the man and the girl. Pippin, filled with rage and more than a little ale, nearly forgot the difference in size between Man and Hobbit, but Boromir laid a hand on his shoulder. "Allow me, Pippin," he growled. "I would not have you sully yourself with this… offal."
Boromir had struggled these many years to keep his temper in check. This, however, was too much, even for a man trying his best to maintain peace. He stepped between Saro and Bob Ferny. He said nothing, but stood firm, his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. Bob tried to reach around him to grab Saro's arm. Boromir simply moved to the left and blocked him. Bob tried the same trick yet again, reaching around his right side, and Boromir moved to the right. Bob may have been a bully, and he may not have been the smartest man in Bree; he may even have been a plainspoken villain, but he was no fool. This man, whoever he was, was far too large to be bullied by him. Bob spun on his heel, glowering at Saro, and began to move off.
"Well, trollop," he slurred over his shoulder, a filthy look in his eye. "Looks like your friends are here, so I'll leave you to it." Once again, he leered at Saro, and then glared at Boromir, Merry and Pippin. Slowly the glare shifted back to Saro in an expression best described as nothing less than lecherous, as if to infer some vile agreement between the three friends and his kinswoman. Merry was shocked. Boromir was outraged. Pippin, however, positively seethed. He had never been able to bear the sight of a male browbeating or mishandling a female, be the folk in question big or small. Bob saw the Thain then, not just an ordinary hobbit; this was a hobbit not to be trifled with. Yet, even seeing Pippin in such a state, in his drunkenness Bob was unable to rein himself in, and he roughly pushed the hobbit out of his way. "Just you mind you're messing with a man, you filthy little rat boy! Faugh!" he said, spitting. "Seems she'll entertain even rat folk! A stale, just like her trollop mother!" At this, he guffawed at his own crude "wit".
Boromir was just drunk enough to forget he had to hold his temper, and just angry enough not to care. Drunk or no, his arm shot out, swift as a serpent, and grabbed Bob by the shoulder. "I know you didn't just say what I think you said," he said. His voice, low and soft, was nonetheless a rather dangerous-sounding growl. His grimace of anger twisted his handsome features into a Warg-like snarl. Neither Merry nor Pippin had ever seen or heard Boromir like this, and it gave them a shiver. "You will apologize for the filth you spout from that sewer of a mouth of yours, or you will pay."
Bob twisted in Boromir's hold; his eye fell on the hobbits and he sneered, "What, about your little rat-boys? Surely you don't mind me calling them what they are, naught but cheap pieces of tat, a trollop and a couple o'… " He never got to finish this scurrilous remark, though. Bob had never been the brightest candle in the sconce, but this was one of his less brilliant ideas and very quickly, Bob measured his length on his back in the street. The fact that he landed in a pile of horse-dung made it all the sweeter to Saro.
Trembling, yet still game, Saro sauntered up to Boromir, took his arm, and winked saucily. She said, "I didn't know it could be stacked that high."
Boromir gave his arm to her, and Saro and her three new friends headed off towards her home a few streets away. The three companions halted at the door of her humble home, a little boarding house, worn down but clean, run by good, honest folk. She could not have afforded anything better, but it was a kindly if cramped little place, and though poor in purse, the owner was known to be a kindly if plain and humble woman, as were her tenants. Boromir escorted Saro to her door as though she was a fine lady, bowed, and kissed her hand, whispering, "Saro, pretty Saro, will you see me again?"
"Oh, I am so sorry, good sir, yet I must say nay, for you are too fine to be seen with the likes of me," Saro replied, again hanging her head. "I am sorry you had to trouble yourself with my uncle. I hope we have not spoilt everything for you and your friends."
"Nay, Lady! I forbid you should even entertain the thought," Boromir said gently. "You are not responsible for the misdeeds of your kin, and you mustn't feel it is your fault. They chose their path, just as any of us chooses."
"Your kindness touches me, good Sir," she said, her smile quite genuine, if a little sad. "Still, I am sorry for the trouble he caused you." She seemed to be examining her shoes for a moment, and then continued, "When I was small, Uncle Bob was not like that. But then my father was such a boor, especially during the War. When he left, he simply pushed me through Uncle Bob's front door and walked away. But the people never forgot what kind of man my father was, and they expected no better from Uncle Bob. We were scorned and shunned, and no one would give Uncle Bob decent work. It started out with him taking a drink now and again, but by the time I was twelve years old, the bottle had him instead of the other way round."
"I am sorry," Boromir said softly. "Too many fall into that trap. It becomes a kind of madness. Most of them meet their death from it, in one way or the other. Perhaps I should not have struck him."
"No one will blame you for that, never fear," Saro said. "Who knows, perhaps some day he will learn the lesson of consequences. But I do not hold much hope for him, and you mustn't feel badly you struck him. In truth, I am glad you did. If you had not come along, he would have taken my coins, and I need them for rent."
"Whatever assistance I may lend, I will do so gladly," Boromir said, placing his hands on her shoulders. He tugged her shawl more closely around her, and, smiling gently, said, "Say you will see me, please? I have seen you in town many times, and for some while now, I have thought I should like to get to know you. Allow me to escort you to dance or dinner some time soon."
Saro looked at him warmly, her cheeks flushed, but she shook her head. "Nay, Sir. I cannot. It wouldn't be proper for me to, to… I am sorry, but I must say no."
"Is there nothing I can say that would change your mind?" Boromir paused, then said, "Wait, do not answer! I shall simply have to find a way to change your mind. Until we meet again, Lady, I bid you good night." He bowed in a courtly manner, yet when he raised his head up again, did not walk away, but only stood, looking at her as if he wished to say more, but could not find the words.
From a bit further away, Saro and Boromir could hear Pippin hiccup, then say in a very loud whisper, "Look, Merry, they fancy each other!" and then Merry, in an equally loud whisper, "Pippin, shoosh, that's not nice." Saro giggled and went inside, and the three companions headed off to the Prancing Pony. Drinks were still being served there, but people were leaving little by little. There were, after all, another two days of celebrating to do.
The three friends climbed the stair to their room. They lit a fire in the fireplace to chase the chill out of the place, and with a stretch and a yawn, each took a seat before the fireplace. Merry and Pippin lit their pipes, and the friends stretched their feet out to catch the warmth from the fire.
"You look thoughtful, Boromir," Merry observed. "What do you see in the fire?"
Boromir shook his head, as though he had been brought out of himself by surprise. "Oh, I was just thinking about… well, I expect you know, I was thinking about her. And about her uncle. Most likely, he is doomed to die of his malady, or by subsequent mischance, perhaps stepping some day in the path of an ox-cart, or catching his death in some muddy ditch. It is all too common. What will she do, then? She shall be all alone in the world. I'm afraid people will shun her still, in spite of all her gentle ways."
"Well, don't worry too much," Pippin said. "Perhaps with her uncle gone, people might look at her differently. And perhaps you might yet persuade her to give you a chance, out of pity."
Boromir laughed. "Well, better pity than nothing at all! But that is for another day. Who knows, perhaps even tomorrow. And you, Merry, what did you see in the fire?"
"Goodness, quite a lot, in fact. I had my first taste of the Black Breath the night we first met Aragorn." Merry heaved a sigh. "Such memories as this place holds!"
Pippin leaned near Merry and placed his hand on Merry's arm. "What a fright you gave us," he said. "Had we known then what we know now, we might have gone no farther than this room."
"Somehow I find that difficult to believe," Boromir said. "You two would have gone on, I would lay a wager on it. Never would either of you abandon Frodo. I know you both better than that."
"Too true, I say," Pippin grinned. "The Brandybucks and Tooks are famous for being congenitally mad, you know."
"Speak for your own family, Peregrin Took," Merry said. "In truth, I only came along because we needed at least one hobbit on the journey with a little sense."
"Then it is a good thing Sam came with us," Pippin grinned.
"Do you see what I have to put up with, Boromir?" Merry said.
"You would not have it any other way," Boromir grinned, shaking his head.
"Yes, there lies the truth," Merry replied sagely. "It has been that way since he was just a baby, when the hair on his feet was no more than fluff, soft as a catkin."
"The charm of the Tooks is a perilous thing," Pippin said. "As well you know, since you are half Took."
"I am also half asleep," Merry yawned. "I'm off to bed, and you two had best be as well. We dare not make our way back from Bree without furniture, I dare say."
With that, they made their way to their beds. The hobbits fell asleep straight away, but Boromir lay wide-awake for some time. He found that his eyes wanted to wander about the room. In his mind's eye, he could see Aragorn keeping watch over the hobbits, and he wondered what Aragorn was doing, and whether or not he found kingship burdensome, if he perhaps yearned to wander now and again, and if he ever thought of Boromir, and, if so, what he might have thought of Boromir now. When at last he slept, he dreamt of Moria, not long after Pippin had dropped the stone into the well.
Gandalf had made Pippin take the first watch, but when he had not been able to sleep, he had sent Pippin off to rest with a pat and a gentle word or two. Boromir had lain awake then, too, uneasy in the dark foulness of Moria. Pippin had settled down near him, lying down beside Merry, and Boromir had found himself wishing the others would have more patience with the lad. Pippin had been restless, and Boromir edged himself quietly a little closer, thinking, He is only a little thing, just a lad, really. He makes mistakes sometimes. But perhaps I judge the others harshly. Perhaps when they scold him, what I am really hearing is my father visiting his ire upon Faramir. Only look at him. He reminds me of Faramir, sometimes. And heavens help us, sometimes he reminds me of me!
Pippin had tossed as he lay there, and his sigh spoke volumes to Boromir: plainly the ire visited upon him by others paled in comparison with the youngster's anger at himself. Boromir reached out and touched Pippin's shoulder, and the hobbit turned his head to look at Boromir.
"Do not fret," Boromir had said. "I shall help you to learn, Kit."
"Kit?" Pippin had whispered back.
"Yes. You remind me of a fox kit," Boromir said. "Often I have thought the same of my brother. You are both like fox kits, I quite think. Both of you are young and curious, and if you have much to learn, then it follows that the foxes have much to teach their kits. So do not fret, Kit. I shall help you to learn."
"Kit," Pippin had said to himself with a grin. The youngster had closed his eyes and soon slept soundly.
Then the dream shifted, and instead of Moria he was once again riding his horse to death, once more running, running…
Boromir woke with a start, gasping for breath. For a moment, he was sure his heart was giving out on him. It was as if he had a stone on his chest. He put his hand to his chest and encountered a handful of curls.
"What in the… Pippin? What on earth are you doing?" Boromir lifted himself on one elbow.
"You were having a bad dream," Pippin said. "I was worried about your heart, so I wanted to listen to it."
"I see, I think," Boromir gave Pippin a wry grin. "And what did you conclude?"
"Your heart sounds funny," Pippin said gravely. "It does not beat like any other I have listened to. It goes lub dush, lub dush."
"Yes, poor heart," Boromir said. "But it shall serve. I am all right. Go back to sleep."
Instead of going back to his own bed, Pippin flopped down beside his friend. "Boromir?"
"Yes?"
"Your nightmares… you remember my offer to listen if you ever wish to talk about it, do you not?"
"I do," Boromir replied. "And again, I thank you."
"Well, I just wanted to remind you, that's all. Go back to sleep. If you have another bad dream, I shall wake you."
"You do that," Boromir said.
"I will," Pippin said. "Boromir?"
"Yes?"
"Before the nightmare, you dreamed of something else. I had forgotten."
Boromir laughed. "So had I," he said. "I did not know I talked so much in my sleep, I never used to do that. I am sorry I woke you."
"Well, don't fret, Father Fox, I shall be right in the next bed if you have another bad dream."
"I shall keep that in mind," Boromir grinned. He watched Pippin go back to his bed. As he fell to sleep once more, he could feel Pippin's eyes on him. Not altogether a bad thing, knowing there was someone there to watch over him.