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“May I ask you a personal question?” said Boromir.
Merry put his hands on his hips, looked up at Boromir, and said, “depends how personal.”
They stood in a valley between two greyish hills. The air was cold but at least the wind was down. And Merry had Boromir’s undivided attention, which was a rarity.
More often than not whichever way Boromir was looking, his wolf-dæmon Faist was looking the other, ever attentive, her eyes on the horizon when Boromir’s were on his companions and on her companions when Boromir watched the horizon. But just then, both sets of eyes were on Merry.
“Your dæmon,” said Boromir, “is her name truly Grumpy?”
Merry looked down at Grumpy. Grumpy looked up at him. They burst into simultaneous giggles.
“What’s wrong with Grumpy?” said Grumpy. “I like Grumpy.”
“It’s short,” said Merry. “It’s short for Grumpificient.”
“It isn’t,” said Grumpy, very seriously. “It’s short for Grumpalina.”
“Grumpalicious,” said Merry.
“Good one,” said Grumpy.
Boromir looked from one to the other. Faist cocked her shaggy head. “I still don’t know what the truth is,” he said.
“Maybe you’ll never know,” said Merry.
“Ridiculous pair, aren’t they?” Gandalf loomed behind Boromir. “I shall help.” He pointed his staff first at Merry and then at Grumpy. “Meriadoc,” he pronounced. “Celandine.”
“Aw,” said Merry. “You spoiled it.”
But Boromir’s face was stern. “You should not give such things away so lightly,” he said to Gandalf.
“Celandine,” said Boromir’s dæmon in her silky voice. “That’s a beautiful name. Why Grumpy?”
Merry sighed, resigned to the truth. “When I was twelve one of my cousins said it would be funny if her name was Grumpy, because I’m Merry,” he said. “It stuck.”
“Celandine is so much more dignified,” Boromir’s dæmon said to Grumpy.
“But we match,” said Grumpy.
“We match,” said Merry, waving at himself and Grumpy. “Merry and Grumpy. We match.”
“As I said,” said Gandalf. “Ridiculous pair.”
“Indeed,” said Boromir. Though as Gandalf strode on along the valley, he said to Merry. “You do not mind my knowing?”
“Eh?” said Merry.
“Her name,” said Boromir, indicating Grumpy.
“Mind?” said Merry. “Why would I mind?”
“I do prefer Grumpy, though,” Grumpy added.
For a moment Boromir looked troubled, but whatever troubled him Merry did not yet understand. He said, “as you wish,” and they walked on.
*
Boromir was ten days dead and it might as well have been months, for all that had happened; and Merry was in Rohan, kneeling before the king.
“Meriadoc,” said King Theoden. “And –”
He looked at Grumpy, standing proud and alert beside Merry, a silent question. And of course, in Rohan it was a personal, intimate question as it wasn’t in the Shire. For half a moment Merry hesitated to answer.
He said, “Celandine.”
“Celandine,” the king echoed, with a true and warm smile. “Rise now, Meriadoc and Celandine, esquire of Rohan.”
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