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rabidsamfan This chapter of "Chance Encounter" is dedicated to you!
Apr. 23rd, 2005 10:28 amdreamflowerHappy birthday, RSF! I've been planning for this particular chapter to make its debut in honor of your birthday, as it is chock full of Sam and Bergil.
PART 32
When the breakfast was finished the other hobbits insisted on doing the washing up. “It’s your birthday, Sam! Let us do that much for you! You have gifts to yet deliver,” said Frodo emphatically.
“Yes,” said Pippin. “Why don’t you walk on back up to the Citadel with Bergil and keep him company on the way?” Pippin mentally crossed his fingers.
“Well, if you are sure--” Sam hesitated. Even after all else had happened, it still didn’t feel right to be leaving the washing up to the gentlehobbits.
“We are absolutely sure,” said Merry. Would he never leave? They had dozens of things to do to get ready for the party.
“Go.” Frodo sounded amused but firm, so Sam finally relented. He took the remaining sacks, and left the guesthouse with Bergil at his side.
“May I help you carry those, Lord Sam?” asked Bergil politely.
Sam rolled his eyes. Bergil ducked his head, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I mean ‘Mr.’ Sam?” Bergil was still a bit uncertain about the hobbity form of address.
“Well, seeing as one of them’s for you, and one is for your dad, I don’t see why you shouldn’t take those. And I suppose you can handle a couple more as well.”
“Oh, thank you!” He gave Sam a questioning look, and Sam nodded, so he opened one and peeked in. The smell of ginger and cinnamon wafted out.
“It’s gingersnaps,” said Sam. “How is your father doing, by the way?” The hobbits, especially Pippin, were very worried about Beregond’s possible fate, though they trusted Strider to see the right thing done. Frodo was positive that somehow King Elessar and the Steward Faramir between them would find a good solution.
A cloud passed over Bergil’s face briefly, but he said lightly enough, “Oh, he’s all right. He said he trusts Faramir, and Faramir trusts the King. But I keep thinking I know what the old Steward would have done.”
I’m sure you do, thought Sam, though he didn’t say it. He’d heard enough from Mr. Pippin that he was not favorably impressed by Denethor. It was probably his father’s fault as much as the Ring’s that Boromir had gone off his head like that--probably worrying about letting his father down on top of all the Ring’s constant nattering. Out loud he merely said “Well, I’d trust Strider any day to put things right, lad.”
Bergil laughed. He always thought it funny when the hobbits called the king “Strider”, though he knew they had leave to do so. Sir Pippin had told him of their first encounter with the king, and he had trouble imagining their handsome and majestic king all “scruffy” as he had been described.
The two soon came to the Citadel, and were passed in immediately. Sam had brought gingersnaps for the King, Lord Faramir, King Éomer and Lady Éowyn, and Menelcar, as well as for Lord Ondahil, who had done what he could to see to the hobbit’s comfort while they were there, and Mistress Firiel, the head cook in the kitchens, who had been kind enough to let Sam mess about there from time to time. He also had a sack for Mistress Ioreth in the Houses of Healing, for having been so kind to Mr. Merry when he was there.
Bergil left Sam at that point, giving him back most of the small sacks, for he had to report to Lord Ondahil to see if he had any other errands to run. Sam gave him the gingersnaps for that worthy as well. “You be certain to tell him my thanks now, lad.”
“I will, Lor--I mean, Mr., Sam.” He gave an engaging grin and headed off.
He also had to let it be known Sam was there, for Frodo’s instructions had been to keep Sam at the Citadel until just before noon. There were any number of conspirators about to help in that task.
Sam spoke to one of the guardsmen, and was told that he might find the king in his private chambers. Since all four of the hobbits had leave to see the King whensoever they wished, Sam headed in that direction. The servant showed him right in.
The King was at breakfast with Faramir, Éomer and Éowyn. “Why Sam! It’s good to see you! I am sure you have already broken your fast, but if I recall correctly, a hobbit can always use a second one. Please join us!”
Sam looked at the table, surprised as always, with the paucity of the meals Men considered adequate: some kind of sweet roll, coffee, juice made from those orange fruits, and sliced melon. It did look good.
“Well, I don’t mind if I do, but first--” he blushed a bit. He was not shy of giving gifts out the way Mr. Pippin was, but it was strange having to explain it. “It’s my birthday--”
“Fancy that!” said the King with a straight face. “Is it really?” He did not ever lie straight out, but decades among the Elves had taught him the subtleties of omission.
“Er, yes, and hobbits give gifts to their friends on their birthdays. It’s not much, but--” he brought forward the sacks and passed them out.
There were exclamations of appreciation, which gratified Sam no end. Aragorn ordered another place set for the table, and Faramir brought out a thick cushion for the chair.
“This custom of your people is very interesting, Master Samwise,” said Éomer. “Meriadoc and I have talked much about some of the things my people and yours seem to have in common. Did you know that among the Rohirrim, very young children always give their mothers a gift of flowers on their birthdays?”
Sam’s face lit up in surprise. “Why, that is just how it begins with us hobbits! A little faunt’s first birthday gift is flowers for his parents!” He was delighted with this small revelation, and soon was involved in explaining the intricacies of hobbit gift-giving customs, which to his listeners began to sound every bit as complicated as hobbit genealogy.
“--and so it’s awful bad luck to take a gift to the wedding. It’s said sometimes an ill-wisher will do just that, to get back at the bride and groom, though in all my born days I’ve only heard of it actually happening once, when old Missus Lobelia give a gift to Mr. Frodo’s mum at her wedding, on account of she had once been sweet on Mr. Drogo herself. But that’s old gossip, that is. Listen at me natter on! Would you excuse me, Strider? I still have some more gingersnaps to deliver.”
At Aragorn’s assent, Sam slid off his cushion. Faramir rose. “I have some things to tend to, I will walk out with you.”
As arranged, when Faramir and Sam had gone only a short way down the corridor, they encountered Menelcar, who affected great surprise.
“Greetings, my Lord Steward. And Master Samwise, what a pleasant surprise it is to see you! I had no idea you would be here today,” he lied. “Where are the others?”
Sam explained his errand to the minstrel, as Faramir took his leave, amused. They would all have to hurry, to get down to the guesthouse before Sam realized they were leaving. Menelcar would take it from here.
“I will walk with you down to the kitchens, Sam,” said Menelcar. “I usually visit there at least once a day, you know,” and he winked at Sam, who grinned.
“Like to stay on the good side of the cook, do you, Mr. Menelcar?” he asked slyly.
“Well, that’s never a bad idea, as I am sure you know.”
Sam laughed. “I think Mr. Pippin would definitely agree with you.”
Mistress Firiel was delighted with the gift of gingersnaps, and after trying one, insisted on having the recipe from Sam. She fetched him paper and stylus, and as he wrote it down, she offered him and Menelcar slices of the still warm crumb cake she had just taken from the oven. Since second breakfast among the Men had been so small, Sam did not say ‘no’. Menelcar took some as well, though he asked for a very small slice.
After they had finished, Menelcar offered to sing for the kitchen staff, something he had made a habit of doing most days since coming to the Citadel.
He sang a pleasant and rather jolly song about the courtship of a frog and a bumblebee. It was a silly song, often relegated to the nursery in Gondor, but Sam had never heard it before, and found it thoroughly delightful. He hummed along, trying to remember the words.
When he had finished singing, Menelcar looked askance at Sam. “Perhaps I should have asked for you as my apprentice, when I could not get Pippin.”
Sam blushed. “I don’t think as I’m cut out for that kind of life, Mr. Menelcar. But I thank you kindly for the thought--I’m not nearly the singer Mr. Pippin is, and I don’t play nothing.”
“You underestimate yourself, Samwise,” replied the minstrel. All these hobbits tended to do that, but Sam was particularly self-effacing.
“Well, Mr. Menelcar, I need to get to the Houses of Healing before I go back to the house and see to fixing lunch.”
“I will come with you, Sam. I’ve no pressing duties elsewhere, if you would not mind waiting while I fetch my harp. A bard goes nowhere without his instrument.”
Sam agreed, and while he waited for Menelcar to return, he accepted another piece of crumb cake and a cup of tea from Mistress Firiel.
Just before they left the kitchens, Menelcar whispered to the cook: “Let them know we’ve left.”
She nodded and winked.
At the Houses of Healing, Sam had no trouble finding Mistress Ioreth. He had only met her a few times, but he knew from what Mr. Pippin had said how kind she had been to poor Mr. Merry when he’d been left here all alone. And that made her a friend to Sam’s eyes.
She was voluble in her thanks, eating one of the gingersnaps immediately, and praising them to the skies. Talking a mile a minute, she walked along with the two. “Master Menelcar, I know that you are the Court Bard, and thus very important, but it would cheer some of the patients no end to have a bit of song.”
Menelcar agreed, and once more Sam found himself standing by as the Man sang to a roomful of still recovering patients. Many of them had been injured either on the Pelennor or before the Black Gates, and it wrung Sam’s heart to see them so. How lucky Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin were to be hobbits and to have that stuff from the Ents; according to Strider that’s all that enabled them to heal the way they did. And they had all their limbs, too. He saw one poor young fellow who had no legs at all. After Menelcar sang, Sam was persuaded to give them a bit of comic verse, so he recited that one of Mr. Bilbo’s about the cat. He did not think any of these poor lads would find either trolls or oliphaunts funny right now. He remembered Mr. Pippin saying he couldn’t find “Perry-the-Winkle” at all amusing anymore, now he knew the truth about trolls.
Afterwards he glanced out a window. “Why, Mr. Menelcar! The Sun’s made her way and it’s very nearly noon! I must hurry if I’m to get lunch ready on time!”
So Man and hobbit hurried in the direction of the guesthouse, one not noticing and the other paying no mind to, the two guardsmen dressed in civilian clothing who trailed behind them.
____________________________________________
The two figures who had been surreptitiously watching the guesthouse drew back. “Arv,” said a whiny voice, “today’s not going to work. There’s been a steady stream of folk going in there--including the King and the Steward.”
“I think you’re right,” said Arv. “We’ll try again tomorrow to see if we can talk to one of them alone.
They crept off, also failing to notice they were being followed.
______________________________________________
If Sam was surprised that Menelcar wanted to come down to the guesthouse with him, he did not say so. They walked in companionable silence, and Sam led him through the courtyard to the front door. He went in--
“SURPRISE!” The clamor of voices nearly made Sam jump out of his skin. He looked about wide-eyed. Of course there was Mr. Frodo, and Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin. And there were Gandalf and Legolas and Gimli--and Strider, and Faramir, and the King of Rohan and his sister, and Beregond and Bergil, and a couple of the soldiers from Pippin’s company, and a couple of the Riders of the Rohirrim that he knew by face if not by name. His jaw dropped. He tried to say something, but no words would come out. He thought for a moment as though he might swoon.
But Frodo and Merry took him laughingly by each arm, and Pippin slid a hobbit-sized stool behind his knees. He sat down, and finally said “Glory and trumpets, Mr. Frodo! Why did you do it?”
Frodo grinned. “Because we all love you, Sam, you goose, and because we thought it was time for a hobbit-style party!”
Sam looked at his master with tears of joy in his eyes. “Oh, Mr. Frodo!” was all he could manage.
______________________________________
I hope you enjoy it!
PART 32
When the breakfast was finished the other hobbits insisted on doing the washing up. “It’s your birthday, Sam! Let us do that much for you! You have gifts to yet deliver,” said Frodo emphatically.
“Yes,” said Pippin. “Why don’t you walk on back up to the Citadel with Bergil and keep him company on the way?” Pippin mentally crossed his fingers.
“Well, if you are sure--” Sam hesitated. Even after all else had happened, it still didn’t feel right to be leaving the washing up to the gentlehobbits.
“We are absolutely sure,” said Merry. Would he never leave? They had dozens of things to do to get ready for the party.
“Go.” Frodo sounded amused but firm, so Sam finally relented. He took the remaining sacks, and left the guesthouse with Bergil at his side.
“May I help you carry those, Lord Sam?” asked Bergil politely.
Sam rolled his eyes. Bergil ducked his head, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I mean ‘Mr.’ Sam?” Bergil was still a bit uncertain about the hobbity form of address.
“Well, seeing as one of them’s for you, and one is for your dad, I don’t see why you shouldn’t take those. And I suppose you can handle a couple more as well.”
“Oh, thank you!” He gave Sam a questioning look, and Sam nodded, so he opened one and peeked in. The smell of ginger and cinnamon wafted out.
“It’s gingersnaps,” said Sam. “How is your father doing, by the way?” The hobbits, especially Pippin, were very worried about Beregond’s possible fate, though they trusted Strider to see the right thing done. Frodo was positive that somehow King Elessar and the Steward Faramir between them would find a good solution.
A cloud passed over Bergil’s face briefly, but he said lightly enough, “Oh, he’s all right. He said he trusts Faramir, and Faramir trusts the King. But I keep thinking I know what the old Steward would have done.”
I’m sure you do, thought Sam, though he didn’t say it. He’d heard enough from Mr. Pippin that he was not favorably impressed by Denethor. It was probably his father’s fault as much as the Ring’s that Boromir had gone off his head like that--probably worrying about letting his father down on top of all the Ring’s constant nattering. Out loud he merely said “Well, I’d trust Strider any day to put things right, lad.”
Bergil laughed. He always thought it funny when the hobbits called the king “Strider”, though he knew they had leave to do so. Sir Pippin had told him of their first encounter with the king, and he had trouble imagining their handsome and majestic king all “scruffy” as he had been described.
The two soon came to the Citadel, and were passed in immediately. Sam had brought gingersnaps for the King, Lord Faramir, King Éomer and Lady Éowyn, and Menelcar, as well as for Lord Ondahil, who had done what he could to see to the hobbit’s comfort while they were there, and Mistress Firiel, the head cook in the kitchens, who had been kind enough to let Sam mess about there from time to time. He also had a sack for Mistress Ioreth in the Houses of Healing, for having been so kind to Mr. Merry when he was there.
Bergil left Sam at that point, giving him back most of the small sacks, for he had to report to Lord Ondahil to see if he had any other errands to run. Sam gave him the gingersnaps for that worthy as well. “You be certain to tell him my thanks now, lad.”
“I will, Lor--I mean, Mr., Sam.” He gave an engaging grin and headed off.
He also had to let it be known Sam was there, for Frodo’s instructions had been to keep Sam at the Citadel until just before noon. There were any number of conspirators about to help in that task.
Sam spoke to one of the guardsmen, and was told that he might find the king in his private chambers. Since all four of the hobbits had leave to see the King whensoever they wished, Sam headed in that direction. The servant showed him right in.
The King was at breakfast with Faramir, Éomer and Éowyn. “Why Sam! It’s good to see you! I am sure you have already broken your fast, but if I recall correctly, a hobbit can always use a second one. Please join us!”
Sam looked at the table, surprised as always, with the paucity of the meals Men considered adequate: some kind of sweet roll, coffee, juice made from those orange fruits, and sliced melon. It did look good.
“Well, I don’t mind if I do, but first--” he blushed a bit. He was not shy of giving gifts out the way Mr. Pippin was, but it was strange having to explain it. “It’s my birthday--”
“Fancy that!” said the King with a straight face. “Is it really?” He did not ever lie straight out, but decades among the Elves had taught him the subtleties of omission.
“Er, yes, and hobbits give gifts to their friends on their birthdays. It’s not much, but--” he brought forward the sacks and passed them out.
There were exclamations of appreciation, which gratified Sam no end. Aragorn ordered another place set for the table, and Faramir brought out a thick cushion for the chair.
“This custom of your people is very interesting, Master Samwise,” said Éomer. “Meriadoc and I have talked much about some of the things my people and yours seem to have in common. Did you know that among the Rohirrim, very young children always give their mothers a gift of flowers on their birthdays?”
Sam’s face lit up in surprise. “Why, that is just how it begins with us hobbits! A little faunt’s first birthday gift is flowers for his parents!” He was delighted with this small revelation, and soon was involved in explaining the intricacies of hobbit gift-giving customs, which to his listeners began to sound every bit as complicated as hobbit genealogy.
“--and so it’s awful bad luck to take a gift to the wedding. It’s said sometimes an ill-wisher will do just that, to get back at the bride and groom, though in all my born days I’ve only heard of it actually happening once, when old Missus Lobelia give a gift to Mr. Frodo’s mum at her wedding, on account of she had once been sweet on Mr. Drogo herself. But that’s old gossip, that is. Listen at me natter on! Would you excuse me, Strider? I still have some more gingersnaps to deliver.”
At Aragorn’s assent, Sam slid off his cushion. Faramir rose. “I have some things to tend to, I will walk out with you.”
As arranged, when Faramir and Sam had gone only a short way down the corridor, they encountered Menelcar, who affected great surprise.
“Greetings, my Lord Steward. And Master Samwise, what a pleasant surprise it is to see you! I had no idea you would be here today,” he lied. “Where are the others?”
Sam explained his errand to the minstrel, as Faramir took his leave, amused. They would all have to hurry, to get down to the guesthouse before Sam realized they were leaving. Menelcar would take it from here.
“I will walk with you down to the kitchens, Sam,” said Menelcar. “I usually visit there at least once a day, you know,” and he winked at Sam, who grinned.
“Like to stay on the good side of the cook, do you, Mr. Menelcar?” he asked slyly.
“Well, that’s never a bad idea, as I am sure you know.”
Sam laughed. “I think Mr. Pippin would definitely agree with you.”
Mistress Firiel was delighted with the gift of gingersnaps, and after trying one, insisted on having the recipe from Sam. She fetched him paper and stylus, and as he wrote it down, she offered him and Menelcar slices of the still warm crumb cake she had just taken from the oven. Since second breakfast among the Men had been so small, Sam did not say ‘no’. Menelcar took some as well, though he asked for a very small slice.
After they had finished, Menelcar offered to sing for the kitchen staff, something he had made a habit of doing most days since coming to the Citadel.
He sang a pleasant and rather jolly song about the courtship of a frog and a bumblebee. It was a silly song, often relegated to the nursery in Gondor, but Sam had never heard it before, and found it thoroughly delightful. He hummed along, trying to remember the words.
When he had finished singing, Menelcar looked askance at Sam. “Perhaps I should have asked for you as my apprentice, when I could not get Pippin.”
Sam blushed. “I don’t think as I’m cut out for that kind of life, Mr. Menelcar. But I thank you kindly for the thought--I’m not nearly the singer Mr. Pippin is, and I don’t play nothing.”
“You underestimate yourself, Samwise,” replied the minstrel. All these hobbits tended to do that, but Sam was particularly self-effacing.
“Well, Mr. Menelcar, I need to get to the Houses of Healing before I go back to the house and see to fixing lunch.”
“I will come with you, Sam. I’ve no pressing duties elsewhere, if you would not mind waiting while I fetch my harp. A bard goes nowhere without his instrument.”
Sam agreed, and while he waited for Menelcar to return, he accepted another piece of crumb cake and a cup of tea from Mistress Firiel.
Just before they left the kitchens, Menelcar whispered to the cook: “Let them know we’ve left.”
She nodded and winked.
At the Houses of Healing, Sam had no trouble finding Mistress Ioreth. He had only met her a few times, but he knew from what Mr. Pippin had said how kind she had been to poor Mr. Merry when he’d been left here all alone. And that made her a friend to Sam’s eyes.
She was voluble in her thanks, eating one of the gingersnaps immediately, and praising them to the skies. Talking a mile a minute, she walked along with the two. “Master Menelcar, I know that you are the Court Bard, and thus very important, but it would cheer some of the patients no end to have a bit of song.”
Menelcar agreed, and once more Sam found himself standing by as the Man sang to a roomful of still recovering patients. Many of them had been injured either on the Pelennor or before the Black Gates, and it wrung Sam’s heart to see them so. How lucky Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin were to be hobbits and to have that stuff from the Ents; according to Strider that’s all that enabled them to heal the way they did. And they had all their limbs, too. He saw one poor young fellow who had no legs at all. After Menelcar sang, Sam was persuaded to give them a bit of comic verse, so he recited that one of Mr. Bilbo’s about the cat. He did not think any of these poor lads would find either trolls or oliphaunts funny right now. He remembered Mr. Pippin saying he couldn’t find “Perry-the-Winkle” at all amusing anymore, now he knew the truth about trolls.
Afterwards he glanced out a window. “Why, Mr. Menelcar! The Sun’s made her way and it’s very nearly noon! I must hurry if I’m to get lunch ready on time!”
So Man and hobbit hurried in the direction of the guesthouse, one not noticing and the other paying no mind to, the two guardsmen dressed in civilian clothing who trailed behind them.
____________________________________________
The two figures who had been surreptitiously watching the guesthouse drew back. “Arv,” said a whiny voice, “today’s not going to work. There’s been a steady stream of folk going in there--including the King and the Steward.”
“I think you’re right,” said Arv. “We’ll try again tomorrow to see if we can talk to one of them alone.
They crept off, also failing to notice they were being followed.
______________________________________________
If Sam was surprised that Menelcar wanted to come down to the guesthouse with him, he did not say so. They walked in companionable silence, and Sam led him through the courtyard to the front door. He went in--
“SURPRISE!” The clamor of voices nearly made Sam jump out of his skin. He looked about wide-eyed. Of course there was Mr. Frodo, and Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin. And there were Gandalf and Legolas and Gimli--and Strider, and Faramir, and the King of Rohan and his sister, and Beregond and Bergil, and a couple of the soldiers from Pippin’s company, and a couple of the Riders of the Rohirrim that he knew by face if not by name. His jaw dropped. He tried to say something, but no words would come out. He thought for a moment as though he might swoon.
But Frodo and Merry took him laughingly by each arm, and Pippin slid a hobbit-sized stool behind his knees. He sat down, and finally said “Glory and trumpets, Mr. Frodo! Why did you do it?”
Frodo grinned. “Because we all love you, Sam, you goose, and because we thought it was time for a hobbit-style party!”
Sam looked at his master with tears of joy in his eyes. “Oh, Mr. Frodo!” was all he could manage.
______________________________________
I hope you enjoy it!