Rivendell
In which the sad goes with the fun
Pippin, age 53
It was Diamond's idea, taking Faramir to Rivendell, and you could have knocked me over with a feather when she suggested it.
I think you should do something special with Faramir, she'd said at breakfast, calmly buttering her scone.
I've done everything special there is to do with Faramir, Di, I answered, helping myself to more bacon. Why, do you know of something he wants to do?
Diamond bit into the scone daintily, then sipped at her tea. I waited -- if I've learned nothing else from marriage, I've learned patience. She set her cup down and fussily arranged it. Well, he does want to travel, she said.
I was so surprised I put my fork down. He does, I agreed. Faramir did want to travel, so much so it was a wonder he hadn't set off on his own. His mother, though, had let me know through the tightening of her mouth at the mention of even the small excursions I had taken Faramir on thus far that she did not approve.
she continued. Perhaps a trip, then. Maybe to that place, with the elves, where you and Merry are always running off to.
I said. And I've only been there once since Faramir was born. I'd hardly call that always running off to.'
The corners of Diamond's mouth tightened, a warning sign, and her fingers clenched about the handle of her teacup. She looked out the window at the soft spring morning, and then sighed, the tension suddenly leaving her.
I don't want to fight, Pippin, she said, and sounded so weary and unlike herself. Our son is hurting, and he needs something to help him move on. As there is no comfort for him here, perhaps he could find it elsewhere. She looked out the window, toward Green Hill Country, for a moment longer, then stood and put her napkin on the table. I am going home soon, she said. You do what you think best for Faramir.
She turned to walk away, but I stayed her with a hand on her wrist. I said softly, not sure what to say. In all the years she had lived more with her family in the North Farthing than with her husband and son in Tookland, she had never before called her family's smials home. And never before had I heard so clearly in her voice regret at not knowing our son better.
But in the end, all I could think to say was, I think Rivendell would be wonderful for Faramir. I had found dear Briony, late one evening, seated in the rocker that had soothed me to sleep as a baby, in front of the fire. Her knitting needles were in her hands, a half-finished hat for Faramir in her lap. Never to be finished now.
One-hundred and twenty-four years is a long, long life for a hobbit, and Briony spent just shy of 102 of those years in service to the children of the Tooks. She was only 22 when she came to train as a nurse at the Great Smials, when my father was eight. I had never known a world without her fierce, cantankerous, sharp-tongued love, and I had knelt down on the rug and put my head in her lap one last time and cried.
Almost 300 hobbits came to her burial. The Smials emptied out of family and servants, and Tuckborough market shut down. Hobbits came from Hobbiton and Bywater, Waymoot and Michel Delving, and from as far away as Buckland, in the form of a large contingency of Brandybucks who had loved and feared Briony in their youth. Merry and Estella had been at their head, little Periadoc and Éowyn in tow.
And from Bag End came every one of the Gamgees, now 15 strong since Sam and Rose came back from Minas Tirith with Elanor and baby Tolman. I am always happy to see every one of those 15 faces, but especially so then, because Faramir is closer to the Gamgee children than to any cousin he has at the Smials. That night, I was able to tuck him into bed in between Hamfast and Periadoc, and in the morning, I discovered that Goldilocks had sneaked in and made a nest of blankets at the foot of the bed.
Faramir had shouted at me when I'd told him Briony was gone, and accused me of lying. But once he had seen for himself, he had become distant and quiet, dazed and grieving too deeply even to weep. Briony had been mother, grandmother, nurse, confidante, friend and comfort to my lad, and he could not imagine a world without her, not even after she was gone.
Diamond had come by pony, not carriage, so that she might be in time for the burial service. I was surprised when she arrived, but then I saw it in her face -- she knew what this loss meant to Faramir, and thought to step into that empty place. After 13 years, Di was finally grown-up enough to be a mother.
Faramir had kissed her cheek, and said, Hullo, Mamma. Thank you for coming, as politely as he had greeted every mourner, and pain had flashed across my wife's face.
She stayed, though, a full six weeks until that breakfast when she told me to take Faramir to Rivendell. I saw her reach out repeatedly to Faramir, but while I know he loves his mother, she is largely a stranger to him.
Sam and Rose left Goldilocks and Hamfast behind with Faramir, but not even their presence lifted his spirits. A six-week stay, and not once did I have to rescue a hobbit-child or pay for damages. I would have given anything to break up a tussle or hear from the cooks about missing cake.
I stood up from the breakfast table and went to the window. I had followed Frodo and Merry across those hills once, when I was small enough to be packed as luggage myself. Briony, I recalled, had grabbed both of them by an ear and shook them so hard that Frodo claimed the next day he had a loose tooth.
I had last been to Rivendell when Faramir was five, back when Diamond was still a regular presence at the Smials. I had not travelled far in the ensuing years, save one trip to Gondor, but other than that I had not strayed farther than Bree.
I said aloud, and pictured Faramir's face when he first saw the Last Homely House. I smiled, and said it again. Di's plan worked splendidly, especially when I persuaded (quite easily, in fact) Sam and Rose into letting me take along Goldilocks and Hamfast. Actually, it may have worked too well, I decided on our fourth day at the Last Homely House, when I had to apologize to the cook for missing delicacies, the gardener for trampled sprouts, the head groom for general noise and disruption, and the cleaning staff for little fingerprints on every surface to be found and little mudprints throughout the house.
Perhaps tomorrow an excursion in the valley? Elrohir suggested dryly that evening, and I heartily agreed. There is nothing like a walking party for young energy.
So we packed lunch (and second breakfast, and elevenses, and some snacks -- they are growing children, and I need energy to keep up with them, after all) and allowed Elrohir to take us wandering about the hidden paths and nooks and crannies. The Rivendell valley in spring is a wonder, indeed, and there seemed nothing to put a damper on our day -- not until a heavy spring rain began to fall and thunder to rumble.
Elrohir seemed unbothered by the sudden storm, but we hobbits must not have seemed so unbothered, because he picked up little Hamfast and called, Follow me, I know a better way back to the house than through the rain. He led us up to what seemed to me a rock wall thrust into the valley -- and then walked right into it.
Faramir, Goldilocks and I stood blinking through the rain at the wall, and then I took both of them by the hand. Come on, I said. Elves can do wondrous things, but they cannot walk through rock. There must be a way in. And I confidently (at least, I meant to appear confident) approached the rock wall, only to discover that there was an entrance, large enough for a single Elf to pass through at a time, and cut at such an angle that someone walking by would mistake it for a solid wall.
Inside, we found an Elf I recognized as being one of Rivendell's border guards, inside a warm, dry cave that was less cave and more sanctuary. As the Elf brought us blankets to dry off with, I looked around the cave at the graceful statues and ornate benches seemingly carved out of the walls themselves. Torches glowed on the walls. It reminded me strongly of Minas Tirith, only what Minas Tirith would have looked like if Elves, and not Men, had built it. I wondered if this was what the caves of King Thranduil were like.
A guardhouse? I inquired of Elrohir, who smiled.
I suppose Men would call it such, he answered. It is part of Rivendell, and will lead us back to the house. He nodded toward an archway at the back of the room, through which I could see the flickering lights of more torches.
A secret passage! Faramir exclaimed in delight. A hidden tunnel to the Last Homely House!
Very secret, Elrohir solemnly assured him, and the Elf guard looked highly amused as he resumed his position at the exit to the valley.
Will we come out through a hidden door inside your house? Goldilocks asked excitedly.
Actually, yes, Elrohir said. There are many such secrets in Rivendell, and it is a great thing to be entrusted with them.
The children all looked suitably impressed, and Hamfast said, We will never tell your secrets, Elrohir.
Not even if we're captured and tortured and made to go without food and water, Goldilocks added stoutly, making her brother look rather regretful that he had agreed to such trials. She, on the other hand, sounded as if she were looking forward to it.
Elrohir bowed to her. I know my trust is not misplaced, he said solemnly. Now, if we can move ahead down the passageway, you shall find that we come out quite near the kitchens. I believe we shall arrive just in time for tea, provided Cook has come to believe that such is a necessary meal.
Quite necessary, I said, and the children nodded vigorously in agreement. Thus we let Elrohir lead the way.
As the cave was more sanctuary than cave, the tunnel was more passageway than tunnel. There were more statues along the way, and beautiful murals painted on the walls. We found ourselves receiving several small lessons in Elf history and legend as Elrohir explained each one. The children -- still quite full of energy despite a day of walking out-of-doors -- would run ahead as soon as each lesson was finished, searching for the next piece to be explained.
Look, look! I heard Goldilocks exclaim from ahead of us, and then there was the scrabble of hobbit feet.
Come see, Father! Faramir called back. It's Queen Arwen!
It is? I said in surprise, for everything we had passed thus far was of heroes past. Approaching the children, I saw a mural of an Elf maiden, dancing in a golden wood. Her long dark hair was so black it shone like ebony and her skin was the fairest I had ever beheld, in person or in painting.
It is not Arwen, but Lúthien Tinúviel, the Nightingale of Doriath, Elrohir said as he came up behind us. The fairest of all beings, and the sunrise of our race. We are descended from her, and Arwen is the sunset.
Did she go into the West? Faramir said. Did she leave Middle-earth forever?
Indeed, no, Elrohir said, looking thoughtfully at the painting. Lúthien fell in love with a mortal, Beren. They faced many dangers together, and succeeded at many tasks thought impossible. So great was their love that Lúthien persuaded the Valar themselves to allow her to live a mortal life, that she might never be parted from him.
She died? Hamfast asked, crinkling his brow. Just like an ordinary person? He looked wistfully at the painting. She seems too beautiful for that.
But that is what happened, Elrohir said. She is lost to us, and shares whatever fate greets mortals when they leave this world. What that is, none I know can say. But never will she come to the Undying Lands.
A choice she was not alone in, I thought, watching Elrohir's face. It was both sad and awed.
But who would choose that? Faramir asked, scowling with intensity. Who would choose to leave behind those they love and die, when they could stay forever?
Elrohir turned from the mural and bent down to look Faramir in the eyes. Who would choose to stay while the one they love more than all others leaves this world behind? he responded. Death comes to all you mortals, in a way we First Born do not understand. It may be that you have ahead of you a joy even greater than that known in Valinor. Whatever you face, do you think it wrong that Lúthien would choose to not let Beren face it without her at his side?
Well, I don't -- that is -- that's not what I meant, Faramir said. I just think that if I had the choice between living forever and dying, I'd pick living forever.
Elrohir raised an eyebrow. Would you? he asked. You would choose to watch everyone around you grow old and die? All those that you love? And then to watch their children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, grow old and die? He straightened and looked down imperiously at my son, who suddenly seemed very small. You should think long and hard, Faramir, before saying such things. Our fates are what they are, for reasons known not to us, and it is a grave choice indeed to choose a path not intended for us.
Faramir flushed. Yes, sir, he said, and Elrohir smiled kindly.
I do not scold, he said, merely ask that you think on your words. After you have done so, we may speak of this again. Now, he crisply clapped his hands together, I believe we have tea waiting if we ever arrive at it. Your father's stomach is grumbling.
'Tis not, I said, even as my belly let out a low growl, making the children laugh.
Mummie says Mr. Pippin eats like a Gamgee, Hamfast said, and I bowed to him.
I defer, as always, to Rose-Mum's wisdom, I said. Now come along, before I am forced to eat one of you for my tea. Another rumble from my stomach sent them running as they laughed.
I believe you can do that on demand, Elrohir said dryly as we followed at a more dignified pace.
That would be a great skill, I said casually. I believe you are learning to eat like a Gamgee.
Valar forbid, he answered mildly. Rivendell has not the supplies for that. That evening, Faramir bounded onto my bed as I lounged on it, reading, and helped himself to a handful of roasted nuts. Sitting back on his heels, he looked over my shoulder at the map of Middle-earth in the First Age.
I swear I remember putting you to bed, I said.
Elrohir sounds as if he misses Lúthien, though I asked Elladan and he said they are not old enough to have ever met her, Faramir said. Can you miss someone you've never met, Father?
I suppose you can miss the chance at having known them, I said.
Faramir stuffed more nuts in his mouth, and then fanned at it with his hands when he found them too hot. That is what Queen Arwen has chosen, isn't it, Father, to stay here with King Elessar and someday die, just like Lúthien did? I didn't think about that while Elrohir was talking, but it's the same, isn't it?
It is, I said, and I was sad, suddenly, to think of the Evenstar someday fading. Faramir flopped onto his stomach and pressed into my side.
That is very sad, he said, but I can see how it might have been more awful for her to have to live forever and ever without the King.
I stroked his curls before placing a kiss on them. Sometimes life is very sad, no matter what choice we make, I said.
As if reading my thoughts, Faramir said, It is rather like what Cousin Frodo had to decide, isn't it, Father? So that he could be happy again, he had to leave everyone he loved behind and never see them again.
It is rather like that, I said, putting an arm around the lad. But not even the Elves know what happens to us hobbits after we die, so perhaps we shall see Cousin Frodo again someday, outside of this world.
But not in it, Faramir said, fiddling with the edges of my book. He shall never come back here, and it makes me very sad for him, that he will not see any of us again.
I put my cheek on top of Faramir's head and took a deep breath to steady my voice. Perhaps he will, I said. There is one Ring-bearer left in Middle-earth, you know, and maybe someday his time will come. But the rest of us are quite left behind, aren't we?
I think I miss Cousin Frodo, even though I have never met him, Faramir said, and his voice trembled.
I miss him every day, I said, and now I shall miss Briony every day as well. But I would not have asked Frodo to stay in agony, nor would I have asked Briony to live forever and ever, just so I would not have to be without her. It would be a wretched thing to ask of a hobbit, don't you think?
I think he did agree, but he was already crying fit to break my heart, so I cried with him for a bit, and then we did a poor job of mopping our faces with the edge of the sheet and I got us a mug of tea to share from what was left warm by the hearth, and we snuggled underneath the covers in the tall bed.
I suppose, Faramir said, sipping at the tea and then handing it over to me, that if we miss someone who's gone because we knew them so well and if we miss someone who's gone who we never even knew at all that there's just no way out of it. Then he heaved a great sigh of resignation.
Certainly there is, I said, sipping at the tea in turn. We can not know anyone at all.
No fun in that, Faramir said, giving one more wipe at his eyes with his nightshirt sleeve.
Not a bit of fun, I agreed, and handed him back the tea. But eventually the sad goes with the fun, more likely than not.
I hadn't thought of it like that, Faramir said, and yawned widely. I took the mug from his hands.
Well, do, I said, setting the tea aside and then blowing out the bedside lamp. Think on that and tell me what you think. Only later, for I am old and tired.
You are old, Father, Faramir said, but then he was asleep before I could retort. He was up before me, though, and nearly before the sun. I found him on the porch outside my room, standing on the bottom rung of the rail while leaning his midsection and hands against the top rail. He turned his head when I came outside.
You are so old and tired you didn't even notice me getting up, Faramir said, and shook his head sadly. We shall have to have a special cart for old hobbits to get you back to the Shire.
I am going to tell Cousin Merry you have said all these things, and then remind him that they reflect poorly on his age, as well, seeing as how he is so very, very much older than I, I mused, wandering over to him with my hands in my pockets. The valley lay spread out below us, and from the edges of the mountains, the sun peered at us shyly. It was beautiful, and something stirred in me, something that wanted to hear silver trumpets at dawn and see the day's first light reflect off white towers.
What are you plotting for the day? I asked Faramir, still looking toward the mountains.
he answered, and when I turned to look at him, he lifted his hands off the rail and extended them, as if he could take the whole world in with them. All the fun there is to have, and the sad along with it.
Then he smiled, large and bright and brave and joyous, and ready to embrace the world.
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