Chapter 368: Returned to Their Bearers
"Father!" Elthir and Elroth had already spotted the newcomers, their faces bright with joy.
Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin all stood up as well.
With Bilbo, Gandalf and Kael walking towards them, even the most mischievous, Merry and Pippin, suddenly became rather stiff and shy.
"Kael, Gandalf, let me introduce you," Bilbo said.
He pointed to the tallest of the young Hobbits, with a head of golden curls and clear blue eyes.
"This is Meriadoc Brandybuck of Buckland, only son of Master Saradoc Brandybuck, and cousin to Frodo."
At being presented, Merry straightened his back and stared at Kael, eyes full of excitement and awe.
"Lord Kael, sir, you can just call me Merry. It is an honour to meet you!"
Seeing the young Hobbit looking at him so eagerly, Kael's eyes warmed with amusement. "Well met, Merry. I know your grandfather and your father both. I once visited Buckland, and they helped me a great deal. How do they fare these days?"
"They are both very well!" Merry answered, even more animated. "Grandfather's told me stories about you. He said you helped Buckland hold back the Old Forest long ago, and that they called you the 'Tree‑feller'!"
At that long‑forgotten name, the corner of Kael's mouth twitched.
In his younger, more hot‑headed days, he had provoked the Huorns of the Old Forest and then beaten back their assault. The Master of Buckland at the time—Merry's grandfather—had promptly given him the title "Tree‑feller."
(TL Note: This used to be "Tree-cutter", but I thought "Tree-feller" sounded better, so I changed it.)
Hearing it again now, like the nickname of an ordinary wood‑cutter, brought the memories flooding back.
Looking at Merry, Kael's eyes flashed, and he drew a dagger from within his cloak and offered it hilt‑first.
"A first meeting deserves a proper gift. Take this blade, and may it help you in times of danger."
It was one of the four daggers he had once taken from the barrow‑mounds of Cardolan.
Forged in the lost kingdom to be wielded against the Witch‑king of Angmar, they carried a power especially keen against evil.
On the old path of history, it had been just such a blade that Merry drove into the Witch‑king on the Pelennor Fields, breaking his sorcery and giving Éowyn her chance to strike the killing blow.
Merry stared at the willow‑leaf blade, at the red and gold serpent‑patterns along its length and the black‑sheathed hilt. He fell in love with it at a glance.
His eyes flew back up to Kael, startled and uncertain. "This… this is for me?"
Kael nodded with a smile. "I used that dagger myself, long ago. It was forged by the smiths of Cardolan. I have little need of it now, so I'm giving it to you. Use it well."
Merry accepted it with delight, drawing the dagger and turning it in his hands, clearly entranced.
"Thank you, Lord Kael. I will take good care of it, I promise!"
Both Bilbo and Gandalf were a little surprised to see Kael offer Merry such a gift.
Gandalf in particular knew that blade's nature and strength, and he could not help wondering what lay behind Kael's choice.
Had he seen some glimpse of what was to come?
Frodo, Sam, and Pippin, meanwhile, could only gaze in envy at Merry's new weapon.
Set with gems on the sheath, the blade unstained by time and glinting cold and keen, it was plainly no common toy.
Bilbo moved on to the next Hobbit.
He indicated the youngest, with brown hair and dark eyes.
"This is Peregrin Took of Tookland, son of Thain Paladin the Second, and cousin to both Frodo and Merry."
At his turn, Pippin snapped himself upright, nervous and excited all at once.
"Good day, Lord Kael! You can call me Pippin. My father has told me about you—how you visited Tookland once and showed him all sorts of marvellous magic!"
Kael looked him over, amused by his earnest effort to make a good impression. "I remember that visit. Your father was only a little fellow then, and now he has a son as big as you. Time does fly. Tell me, how are your father and grandfather?"
Pippin shook his head. "Grandfather died in 2982, before I was born. Father's well, though. He almost never leaves Tookland."
Kael paused, a faint shadow crossing his face.
He remembered arriving in Tookland not long after first coming to Middle‑earth, visiting there on one of his early journeys. Paladin Took—Pippin's grandfather—had welcomed him warmly and given him a pony‑cart when he left.
That cart had carried him through many roads, as far as Rivendell during the Lonely Mountain expedition, before finding a final rest there. Both cart and ponies were long gone now, but the memories remained painfully clear.
For the first time in a long time, Kael felt the weight of years. Old friends were dust now.
Perhaps it was no wonder that the Elves chose seclusion, keeping themselves from deep ties with other races. To watch mortals age and die again and again, while you endured, would wear on any heart.
Paladin had shared only a brief crossing of paths with him; the sting was mild.
But the thought turned Kael's mind to those closest to him.
He was grateful that Arwen was an Elf, with an immortal life, and that their two children had inherited her Elven blood. As half‑Elves, they too could live unending years.
And even if one day, they chose mortality, Kael still held the Elixir of Immortality and could spare them the pain of parting.
As long as his family remained together, he felt that endless life would not be lonely.
Drawing his drifting thoughts back, Kael looked at Sam.
The gardener's eyes were full of longing, but he stood very still, not daring to ask for anything.
Born to no great house, Samwise Gamgee was as ordinary a Hobbit as could be. His work at Bag End's garden had given him the chance to know Frodo and become his friend.
He had no grand ambitions. His fondest wish was to marry the lass he loved and live a simple life.
Yet within him there burned a rare and steady light: an unwavering loyalty to Frodo.
He would not leave Frodo's side, from the Shire all the way to the end of the world. Even when the Ring gnawed at Frodo's mind and drove him to push Sam away, Sam had still followed, shadow‑quiet, and later risked his life to save him from Shelob's lair.
On the slopes of Mount Doom, when Frodo finally faltered, broken under the Ring's weight, it was Sam who lifted him and bore him upward, making that last, desperate climb and giving Frodo the strength to finish the task.
For a time, Sam had carried the Ring himself, yet never yielded to its lure. Instead, he only grew more determined to see Frodo's burden ended.
The One Ring's corruption was fierce, but Sam's love for his friend was greater than any hunger for power.
Kael had always held this plain gardener in the highest regard.
He reached for another dagger.
Though he had already given Frodo a different gift, he offered the last of the four blades to him as well.
In this way, the four daggers from the Barrow‑downs finally returned to where fate had once placed them, each resting in the hands of a Hobbit: Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin.