The quality of mercy is not strained,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
  --Shakespeare: The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene I

***

Chapter 1. Making Preparations

 ‘I’m sure I’ve forgotten something,’ Diamond said absently.

 ‘We have packed up enough possessions to remove to Gondor permanently, bag and baggage,’ Pippin responded.

 ‘I’m sure it’s something important,’ Diamond persisted.

 ‘My love, they have markets in Gondor and many places between,’ Pippin said. ‘Bree, for instance.’ He nuzzled the back of his wife’s neck. ‘Sarn.’

 ‘Stop that!’ she slapped ineffectually at him.

Another kiss. ‘Edoras.’

 ‘Pip! How can I concentrate when you keep distracting me?’

 ‘It’s a holiday, Diamond! What can happen? If you chance to forget something, very likely someone else has packed two of them, or the King or Queen will conjure whatever you need out of mid-air, or...’

 ‘They’re not wizards,’ Diamond snapped, ‘and you’re not helping!’

 ‘I’m not?’ Pippin said softly, breathing in her ear.

 ‘You’re hopeless,’ Diamond said.

 ‘O yes,’ Pippin breathed. ‘Hopelessly in love with a farmer’s daughter. And about to go on holiday, leaving the Great Smials to muddle along without me. Hopeless indeed.’ He released her hair from its net and twined his fingers in the cascading curls.

 ‘Pippin, be serious!’

 ‘I am always serious,’ he said, and chuckled when she snorted. ‘My dear, our illustrious cousin Bilbo left on his adventures without even a pocket-handkerchief, in a borrowed hood and cloak in the bargain! He came out all right.’

 ‘Yes, but...’ Diamond tried to protest as he tickled her ear.

 ‘And the Dwarves and their burglar set out from Rivendell fully provisioned, with excellent ponies and all they needed for a long journey, and what happened?’

 ‘They lost everything in the mountains,’ Diamond said.

 ‘O aye,’ Pippin whispered. ‘Got away with just the clothes they were wearing...’

 ‘Stop that!’ Diamond said with another slap. ‘We leave on the morrow and I still have to...’

 ‘And then,’ Pippin said, ‘look at the Travellers, why, we left Rivendell fully provisioned...’

 ‘Why do I get the distinct feeling we ought to avoid Rivendell?’ Diamond broke in.

 ‘And we left bags and baggage behind at the entrance to Moria,’ he added. She closed her eyes in spite of herself as he played with the curls on her neck. ‘And we came out all right in the end, didn’t we?’

 ‘Somehow you’re making sense, and it worries me,’ she said. He chuckled and his arms went around her.

Sandy, the Thain’s personal hobbitservant, opened the door a crack and quickly and quietly closed it again. Going back to the visitors waiting in the Thain’s sitting room, he said, ‘I’m terribly sorry, sirs, but the Thain is deep in matters of importance and cannot be disturbed. If you’d like to leave a message...?’

***

 ‘What is Gondor like?’ Pimpernel asked again as she brushed little Peregar’s curls. Of course, they would not stay brushed for more than a few moments, but then she wouldn’t see the little lad for some months.

 ‘Can’t I go play now, Gran?’ the tiny one lisped.

 ‘Mayn’t I?’ Pimpernel corrected absently.

 ‘Mayn’t I go play now, Gran?’

 ‘Mayn’t I go play, if you please?’ Pimpernel said.

 ‘Stop torturing our grand and send him off,’ Ferdi said. ‘He looks entirely too clean for comfort.’ To the tiny tot he said, ‘Go on with ye, and don’t return until you’re properly covered with dirt!’

Rudivar laughed as his littlest son joined the rest in darting out the door to his parents’ suite. ‘You know where they’re bound, don’t you?’

 ‘I’ve a good idea,’ Ferdi said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Would it have to do with the waggonloads of sand that were dumped in the corner of the yard yesterday, to be spread on the yard and on the streets of Tuckborough in the event of ice this Winter?’

 ‘It would,’ Rudivar said with a grin. ‘But my dear wife will deal with the sand and the mess.’

  ‘Indeed she will,’ Laurel said stoutly, on her way out of the suite to join the stream of children and their cousins on their way out to the yard. ‘She’ll turn the bathing over to her husband, I think; that will be dealing with it quite efficiently!’

 ‘I can see why you married her,’ Ferdi said. ‘She’s the perfect helper in the running of Bridgefields.’ Rudivar and his wife, Master and Mistress of Budge Hall, were responsible for the welfare of the hobbits who lived near Budge Ford in the little communities surrounding the ford. The Quarry owned by the Bolger employed a great many of the local hobbits, and Rudi acted as magistrate to decide any differences that could not be settled between two disagreeing parties.

 ‘Are you all ready for the departure in the morning?’ Rudi asked.

 ‘I have all I need,’ Ferdi said, sitting down beside Pimpernel and putting his arm around her.

 ‘What is Gondor like?’ Pimpernel asked again, leaning her head against her beloved.

 ‘Big,’ Ferdi said. ‘Everything’s twice as big as it ought, excepting the special apartments the Queen ordered built on the ground floor of the palace.’

 ‘Rather like Lake Evendim, I’d imagine,’ Rudi said, leaning against the doorframe, ‘or Fornost, or Bree.’

 ‘Something like that,’ Ferdi said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. ‘Only much, much bigger. Why, the White City is as big as a mountain!’

 ‘Imagine that,’ Pimpernel said, and shivered.

 ‘Throw another stick on the fire, will you, Rudi-lad?’ Ferdi said, rising instantly to fetch his wife’s shawl and drape it tenderly over her shoulders.

 ‘I am well, indeed I am,’ Pimpernel protested.

 ‘Of course you are, Nell-my-own, for if you were not there would be no departure on the morrow,’ Ferdi said firmly.

 ‘You’d make the King and Queen and Thain and Master and Mayor all wait on me, should I so much as sneeze?’ Pimpernel said with a smile.

 ‘Indeed I would,’ Ferdi answered.

 ‘I believe you would,’ Pimpernel said, raising an eyebrow.

 ‘Didn’t I just say that?’ Ferdi said. Turning to Rudi, he said, ‘You will help Faramir in running the Shire whilst the Thain is in the South, won’t you?’

 ‘The Shire will still be here when you all return,’ Rudi said.

 ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Ferdi said, shaking a warning finger. ‘Now go and make a sand-castle with your sons before the morning’s gone!’

 ‘Yes sir!’ Rudi said smartly, and standing up from the doorway he marched away.

***

Note to readers: It is awkward to cover "background" material without disrupting the flow of conversation. Therefore I have added a chapter of notes to the end of the story. Thank you for your patience.

Chapter 2. News from the Northland

 ‘Freddy-darling, are you finished with your thinking?’ came a fond whisper in his ear.

Fredegar Bolger opened one eye with a smile. ‘Quite,’ he said. ‘Quite finished with my nap as well.’

After laying a kiss upon her husband’s cheek, Melilot straightened and said briskly, ‘Then I will tell our visitor you are ready to receive him.’

 ‘Visitor? Did we invite someone for tea?’ Freddy asked.

 ‘No, but the Big Folk all know that teatime is at four, and all are welcome,’ Melly said. ‘The Captain has come.’ She stirred sugar into the cup on the table and said, ‘Now drink up, and I’ll show him in.’ Freddy shot her a sharp glance and she tapped the cup saying, ‘Tea first, then news.’

 ‘Very well, dear,’ he said meekly, taking up the cup as she turned away. There’d be no news until the cup was drunk; Melly’d see to that.

The sitting room was built with an especially high ceiling to accommodate Big guests, and so the tall old soldier merely had to duck his head to enter before standing comfortably upright once more.

 ‘Beregond,’ Freddy said, rising, but the Captain of Ithilien waved him back down.

 ‘My lord,’ he said in answer, a term of respect for the nominal head of the hobbit colony in the South.

Freddy pulled a face at the term and scolded, ‘ “Freddy”, or “Fatty” if you like, but “my lord” is too grand for a simple fellow like me.’ He glared in mock anger and added, ‘As I have told you all too many times!’

Beregond smiled. ‘Hard to break old habits,’ he said, and sat himself down on the oversized low chair intended for special visitors. He accepted with thanks the tea Melly poured out, selected a few sandwiches from the tray, and settled back.

 ‘What news do you bring to startle and astonish me?’ Freddy said after drinking the last of his special tea, with the drops that steadied his heart. He accepted a fresh cup of blessedly regular tea from his wife and sipped.

 ‘A large body of hobbits is coming South for the Winter,’ Beregond said, ‘in company with the King.’

 ‘In company with the King, you say,’ Freddy said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Then they are not ordinary hobbits... of course, ordinary hobbits would hardly travel five miles from the door. One of my cousins, perhaps?’

At Beregond’s smile he continued. ‘It is easier for Merry to get away from his duties than young Pip, but with Farry safely of age and married off, he might be able to steal away from the Tooks. I don’t see him giving up the Thainship quite yet. He might give the lad a chance to try driving the waggon a bit...’ As the Captain’s smile brightened, Freddy cocked an eye at him and said, ‘Don’t tell me. Both of my illustrious cousins are coming... but a large body of hobbits, you say? Who else? They’re bringing their families along?’

Despite the special drops his heart skipped a beat. ‘Estella?’ he whispered. When they’d removed to the Southlands in search of milder winters he’d not hoped to see his sister again. Ithilien was a long way from the Shire.

 ‘Yes, my dear, she’s coming, and the children as well,’ Melly said, watching him narrowly.

Freddy took a deep breath as his heart steadied itself. With a broad smile he said, ‘Well, this is a piece of news and no mistake! Melly, why is there no cake on the tray? We must celebrate!’

 ‘At once, my darling,’ she answered, rising with a smile.

Though Freddy pressed cake upon his visitor he did not take any himself. In truth, he was not as heavy as in earlier days when he’d deserved the appellation “Fatty”, and under his healer’s constant watch he was slowly losing another stone or two, to lessen the strain on his damaged and aging heart.

 ‘Prince Faramir plans to ride to meet them at the border,’ Beregond said, ‘and wondered if any hobbits of Ithilien might care to join in the welcome? The mayor of Dindale plans a grand celebration as the Travellers pass through.’

 ‘Dindale?’ Freddy said. ‘Ah, yes, the little town that sprang up at the foot of Amon Din after the War.’ He prided himself on his study of the geography of his adopted homeland. ‘They are famous for the fine honey their bees produce from the wildflowers growing on the slopes.’

 ‘Exactly right,’ Beregond said, accepting another piece of cake from the plate.

 ‘Well, we might have to go, if only to replenish the supply of honey in the pantry,’ Freddy said, and Melly hit him on the arm in gentle admonishment.

 ‘My son Bergil and his family are coming as well,’ Beregond said, ‘and the Mayor.’

 ‘Mayor Sam?’ Freddy said. ‘I’m surprised they could pry him out of the garden bed.’ He twinkled at his wife. ‘You see my dear, we did not have to fret about leaving the Shire behind. I told you we’d always take a little piece of the Shire with us wherever we went.’

 ‘Rather more than a little piece,’ Melly said dryly, but her eyes were shining at the thought of seeing her cousins again. ‘Now, Captain, I know you can manage another piece of cake!’

*** 

 ‘I’m afraid it’s the tendon,’ Elfwine said ruefully, running gentle hands down the cannon bone of the injured leg. ‘He’ll have to be walked slowly.’

 ‘But the news!’ Elfalas protested. ‘You had better ride my horse, to take the news to your father the King, and I shall walk Eaglewing back to Edoras.’

Elfwine hesitated, torn between his duty to his horse and his duty to bring the momentous news to King Eomer. The Knight of the Mark, Master Holdwine, was coming with his entire family, to visit Edoras on his way to Gondor! He was on his way, rather, making time for preparation short. ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘I will ride Shadowmane to bring the news to Edoras, and then come back to meet you.’ He knew he could trust his kinsman to care well for Eaglewing until his return.

 ‘We’ll walk slowly, stopping often for rest,’ Elfalas promised. ‘I’ll treat him as carefully as I would my own infant son.’

Elfwine nodded, vaulted onto Shadowmane’s back, and leaned into a canter. It was only an hour or two to Edoras at this pace, and he expected to return to Elfalas and Eaglewing before the setting of the sun.

Partway to Edoras a walking scarecrow hailed him and he pulled his mount to a stop. ‘Can I help you, Ancient One?’ he asked. ‘Are you in need of supplies?’ There were no beggars in the Mark, for the Rohirrim shared generously with the aged and infirm whenever one of these crossed their path. The Mad Pilgrim was well known in the area, for he’d wandered this part of the Westfold for years. None knew whence he came or where he spent most of his time, but they treated him with kindness. Undoubtedly he was a Man of the South who’d been injured in the War; an old scar crossed his face, giving him a permanent grin.

 ‘More in need of company,’ the Pilgrim rasped in reply, his voice creaky with disuse. ‘Would you care to join me? There’ll be plenty for all.’ He gestured. ‘I have found an abandoned herdsman’s hut and taken it for my dwelling, if it please the King’s son.’

 ‘You may have it for your use, and welcome,’ Elfwine said politely. This part of the range lay fallow at present, and the herds grazed in another part of the Westfold.

 ‘You are too kind,’ the Pilgrim muttered. His mad grin widened. ‘Will you bless my dwelling with your presence? Join me for a meal?’

 ‘I am sorry, Ancient One,’ the King’s son replied. ‘I have an urgent message for the King.’

 ‘A pity,’ the Pilgrim said, shaking his head, his grin undimmed. ‘Another time perhaps?’

 ‘Another time,’ Elfwine promised. He made a mental note to have firewood and winter supplies delivered to the herdsman’s hut for the old one’s comfort through the winter months. Perhaps he’d deliver them himself, just to make sure the hut was in good repair before the onset of winter’s storms.

 ‘Another time,’ the old one said, and cackled. ‘I’ll hold you to that, young prince!’

Chapter 3. Change in Store

 ‘It’s teatime!’ Goldilocks carolled as the escort opened the door to the Thain’s study to admit her.

Faramir glanced up from the papers he was perusing, a harried look upon his countenance. ‘It cannot be, already!’ he answered.

 ‘O yes,’ Goldi said, putting down the tray on the side table. ‘Regi,’ she said brightly, ‘would you like me to pour out here, or will you be joining your wife for tea?’

 ‘I’ll be joining Rosa,’ the steward said with an answering smile, rising from his desk. ‘Coming, Robin?’

 ‘I’m right behind you,’ the assistant steward said, and Goldi hid a smile at the eagerness in his tone. Robin had an eye on Regi’s oldest daughter, and Regi had an eye on Robin, and things were looking quite promising...

The two bowed as they took their leave. Goldi had settled into the role of Mistress of the Great Smials as if born to the position. It looked like Farry was in good hands.

Goldi poured out the tea and brought their cups to the Thain’s ornately carved desk, perching on the edge and craning to look over the papers. ‘Harvest figures?’ she said.

 ‘Mmmm,’ Farry answered, sipping his tea and making a notation on the page.

 ‘Looks as if we’re a bit ahead of last year,’ Goldi said thoughtfully.

 ‘How would you know about that?’ Farry said, and she punched him on the arm. ‘Ow!’

 ‘You need to get out more; you’d see for yourself how many of the fields are stubble and which ones have yet to be cut,’ she said wryly. ‘Why wouldn’t I know? I’m the Mayor’s daughter, after all, and the daughter of a gardener in the bargain! Besides which, the head cook wanted to go over matters of storeholes and surpluses and all this morning...’

 ‘Too many of the root crops are still in the ground,’ Farry said, running his hands through his hair. ‘If we have a freeze we’ll lose more than we can afford.’

 ‘A freeze? In October?’ Goldi said. ‘So that’s why you and Regi have the workers in the fields in the rain. I wondered why you didn’t just wait until the rain is over... as it is, they’ve got to dry what they pick as they put it into the storage holes or risk losing it to rot.’

 ‘We have to be ready for every contingency,’ Farry said, writing a note and setting the paper aside.

 ‘You sound just like the Master of Buckland,’ Goldi said.

 ‘They’ve finished their harvesting,’ Farry said in reply. ‘They put their root crops ahead of the hay.’

 ‘You thought to cut the hay first because it looked as if the rains were coming on,’ Goldi reminded him. ‘As they did, starting yesterday.’ She looked out on the grey day, harbinger of more to come. ‘The hay is cut and stacked, safe from the wet, and the potatoes and carrots and all can still be dug out, even if the workers must dig in the mud.’

 ‘I wonder if the Bucklanders will be short of hay this winter,’ Farry mused.

Goldi laughed and dropped a kiss on her beloved’s curly head. ‘If they are, we can trade them hay for taters,’ she said saucily. ‘Now drink your tea before it gets cold! No worries after teatime, as your father is so fond of saying!’

Farry didn’t answer; he was staring out the great round windows. ‘O no,’ he said under his breath.

Goldi followed his line of sight. Looking out the windows, she caught her breath. The steady rain had turned to fat flakes of lacy snow, drifting lazily to the courtyard. Farry pushed himself back from the desk and strode to the window, to stare down to the stones. ‘Not sticking yet,’ he said. He raised his voice in summons and the hobbit of the escort opened the door and stuck his head in.

 ‘Yes, sir?’ he said.

 ‘Call out all the hobbits in the Smials,’ Farry snapped. ‘Everybody with legs to walk and hands to dig. Send them to the fields, to gather as much of the root crops as may be, while there’s yet time!’

 ‘At once!’ came the answer, and the escort was gone.

 ‘I can dig too,’ Goldi said.

Farry crossed to give her a quick hug. ‘Of course you can,’ he said. ‘We all can! And we will!’

***

Elfwine peered at the mares’ tails in the sky, signs that the weather was changing and the first storm of autumn was on its way. They were delivering the last of the supplies to the poor and invalids just in time, it seemed.

The vain search for Elfalas had delayed his delivery of firewood and winter supplies to the old Pilgrim in the herders’ hut. The old scarecrow came out of the hut at his hail, waving and grinning. Of course he always grinned, but Elfwine imagined the grin to be wider than usual.

 ‘Well come!’ the cracked voice said. ‘Well come indeed! Did you come to share supper with an old man?’

 ‘Better than that,’ Elfwine called back. ‘We brought you supper, Ancient One, and many more meals to follow, as well as wood to cook those meals and keep you warm through the winter months, until springtime calls you to your wandering once more.’

 ‘Gracious is the King’s son, indeed,’ the Pilgrim rasped. He bowed low. ‘I am greatly indebted to you.’

Elfwine gestured to the men of his eored, who got down from their horses and began to help the driver of one of the wains to unload his conveyance. The young prince himself hauled sacks and crates to the storage room and helped stack armloads of firewood by the front door.

 ‘Thankee, thankee,’ the Pilgrim said over and again, bobbing his head and clasping his hands together in delight. ‘Gracious, kind and gracious. Surely you’ll join me in a meal?’

 ‘I am sorry, Ancient One, but I must once more decline your hospitality, for there are more supplies to be delivered. Surely you understand.’

 ‘Of course,’ the Pilgrim said, and cackled. ‘King Eomer is kind to the destitute, indeed he is! Who am I to keep his son from charity’s work? Another time, my prince!’

 ‘Another time,’ Elfwine said with a nod. Turning away from the door, his eye automatically went over the fencing of the corral. He stopped. ‘One of the poles is missing,’ he said.

 ‘I noticed that,’ Elfgalan responded at his side. ‘It will have to be repaired before the herdsmen return in spring.’

 ‘The fence was whole the last time we rode here,’ Elfwine said. He turned back to the old man in the doorway. ‘Do you know what happened to the pole?’ he asked.

The old man cackled again. ‘Do I know?’ he said. ‘It is not there, that is what I know. It would take strength and determination to remove it, that is all I know. I cannot tell you where it is now.’

 ‘Ah,’ Elfwine said, and then he thought to ask, ‘Have you seen a Knight of the Mark in these parts...?’

 ‘I have seen many,’ the old man responded.

 ‘This was one afoot, and alone,’ Elfwine said. He stroked Shadowmane’s neck and thought again of Eaglewing, limping into Edoras, Riderless. The King’s son had promised to meet Elfalas on the plain but had been delayed, and by the time he was ready to set out again, his horse had already reached the mounds of the kings, but Elfalas no longer walked at his head. Days of searching had yielded no clue to the whereabouts of his missing kinsman.

 ‘A Rider of Rohan, afoot and alone?’ the Pilgrim said, a glint in his eye. ‘Now that would be a sight!’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Afoot and alone, that’s for Pilgrim, I say; not for Rohirrim, not any day.’ He seemed pleased with his rhyme and brightened again. ‘Thankee!’ he cried. ‘Another time!’ Nodding, he stepped into the hut and closed the door.

Elfgalan glanced at Elfwine from the corner of his eye and surreptitiously made the sign for madness. The son of the King gave a short, quick nod, then turned to call to his men to remount. He was glad to be quit of this place, in truth, and while he would in honour return at some point to accept hospitality from the old man, another charitable deed worthy of a Knight of the Mark, the thought did not make his heart leap with joy.

***

 ‘Weather’s changing,’ Ferdibrand said, trying to rub away the ache in his head, reminder of a ruffian’s club in the long-ago Battle of Bywater.

 ‘Pity, that,’ Pippin said, riding at his side. ‘It’s been absolutely glorious up until now.’ He glanced sidelong at his cousin. ‘Big change, or little?’ he asked.

 ‘Too early to tell,’ Ferdi answered, but from the way he rubbed his head Pippin guessed rather more than less of a change was on the way.

He said abruptly, ‘Would you like to ride in a coach for a bit?’

Ferdi shot him an astonished look. ‘In a coach?’ he said. ‘What makes you think I’d feel better, cooped up in a coach, even one that the Queen has so kindly instilled with every comfort a hobbit could want? A coop it is, still, a trap and a snare! At least out here on pony back a body can breathe!’

 ‘Steady, Ferdi,’ Merry said from Pippin’s other side. ‘It was only a suggestion, not an order.’

 ‘O aye,’ Ferdi said, rolling his eyes. ‘He knows better than that, my illustrious cousin the Thain does. He can order me to swim the Brandywine, but I’m not about to grow gills and a tail to oblige him!’

 ‘It was only a suggestion,’ Pippin said mildly, but the glance he shot Merry spoke volumes. A severe change in the weather was in store, that much was evident. Merry nodded and reined his horse to the side, turning to ride back towards the coaches, the guardsmen... and the King.

 ‘Where’s he going?’ Ferdi said, rubbing again at the ache.

 ‘How should I know?’ Pippin replied. ‘We’ll be coming to Edoras in a day or two. Perhaps he’s asking the King if we might stop over more than just one day.’

 ‘I’d like that,’ Ferdi said unexpectedly. ‘Fine folk, the Rohirrim. Proper respect for good horseflesh and all. Keen eye for ponies. I wouldn’t mind having time for a chat with old what’s-his-name about breeding and bloodlines again.’

 ‘Perhaps it might be possible,’ Pippin said nonchalantly. It would be a good idea, for Ferdi’s sake, to stop over for a few days if a storm were blowing in. Once the weather change was past he’d be himself once more, head pain behind him. Hopefully the milder Gondor winters would benefit him as well. ‘The King is in no particular hurry, and I wouldn’t mind a longer stay in Edoras, myself.’

 ‘Well then, what’s to stop us?’ Ferdi said, affecting cheer though he thought his head just might split open... just might... ‘If it pleases the King,’ he added as an afterthought.

 ‘Yes,’ Pippin said thoughtfully, and they rode on.

If you are re-reading, please note that this chapter has been slightly edited to reflect Merry and Pippin riding out from the caravan together.

Chapter 4.

 ‘You didn’t know it would melt the next day,’ Goldi said soothingly as they shared a bath in the big copper tub before the fire. Their private apartments were hushed, for they’d sent the servants away once the tub was filled with steaming water. She sighed at the feel of Farry’s fingers as they gently lathered her hair.

 ‘At least the ground didn’t freeze,’ Farry replied, his hands making slow, foamy circles. ‘The Tooks are grumbling like anything, I’ll warrant, at being called out to work in the mud and cold, wind and snow.’

 ‘Let them grumble,’ Goldi said. ‘It’s what they’re best at.’

 ‘Yes, they get so much practice at it,’ Farry said, adding glumly, ‘and they’ll probably perfect it whilst the Thain is gone.’

 ‘Your da wouldn’t have put you in charge if he didn’t have every confidence,’ Goldi said, half-turning, but some soap ran dangerously close to her eye and she had to grab for the flannel. ‘I noticed you didn’t pay enough heed to their grumbling to let them off today!’

 ‘No,’ Farry said, picking up a pitcher and immersing it in the tub. Goldi squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath as he poured it over her head. ‘That storm was a warning. Snow, and in October!’

 ‘The winters have been getting ever milder,’ Goldi said in a muffled voice. ‘We don’t even get as much snow as my father remembers from his early years. Nothing like they say there was in Bilbo’s time...’ She caught her breath, pulling the flannel away from her face and turning to her husband. ‘You don’t think...’

 ‘Just because there hasn’t been a Long Winter, or a Fell one, in decades, doesn’t mean that Winter has left the Shire for good,’ Farry said. 

 ‘Or ill,’ Goldi added absently. ‘Frodo says the mild winters makes for terrible slugs in the garden.’

Farry gave her a slippery hug. ‘Trust you to find the good in a snowstorm,’ he said, then frowned again. ‘I only hope the travellers...’

Goldi gave him a push, which sent a splash of water slopping over the sides of the overfull tub, onto the floor. ‘There you go again!’ she accused. ‘You’ve spent too much time in Buckland! Why, you’re as great a worrier as Uncle Merry! And it’s after teatime! No worrying allowed!’ She punctuated each statement with a splash.

 ‘We’ll have to mop up,’ Farry said, peering over the side of the tub at the swimming stones.

 ‘Indeed we will,’ Goldi retorted, deliberately sending a great wave of water over him. He retaliated, and the level of steaming water in the tub was significantly lower before a truce was achieved.

 ‘Half a second,’ Faramir said, dropping a kiss on his wife’s dripping curls. He hopped out of the tub, took up one of the coppers hanging near the fire, and poured the water into the tub. He made a face at the feel on his feet of the cooling water on the floor and kicked a stack of towelling over the spreading pool.

 ‘Don’t use up all the towels!’ Goldi remonstrated, but he laughed.

 ‘Plenty more where those came from,’ he said, climbing back into the tub. ‘The servants have left us enough to mop up ourselves and all the water in the tub besides!’

Goldi laughed. ‘They’re getting used to us,’ she said, and snuggled against him. They stayed in the tub until their fingers wrinkled, and then laughing, they climbed out, towelled each other dry, and tumbled into the big bed. When the servants crept in, late in the night, they did not waken, even as the tub was emptied and quietly removed.

***

Pimpernel could not convince Ferdibrand to ride in a coach, and so the next morning found her riding pony-back beside him, just to keep an eye on him. His head always troubled him when a storm was brewing. Pippin and Merry had consulted with the King, and he’d agreed to stay over in Edoras until the storm was past. ‘Just as well,’ he’d said. ‘No need to travel in stormy weather. Eomer and Lothiriel will welcome the longer visit when it's rained itself out.’

 ‘If we can ever get away at all again,’ Estella had muttered to Diamond, riding along in the Queen’s coach. ‘Those Rohirrim are the souls of hospitality! We might find ourselves staying a month, or more, rather than a week.’

Arwen laughed. ‘It is why we usually only stop over a day when travelling,’ she said. ‘They can understand haste on a journey. But a visit... when you’re on holiday, there’s no reason to make haste to leave, and there’s always something important just about to happen...’

 ‘And they press you to stay and celebrate,’ Estella said, rolling her eyes. ‘This foal is about to be born, or that race is about to be run, or somebody’s getting married, or...’ Arwen laughed, remembering, as Estella continued, ‘If I had a gold coin for every day we lingered past our departure date on previous visits...’

Diamond wasn’t listening. She was staring through the curtains. ‘Look at the sky!’ she whispered. The northwest sky behind them was black and threatening, though the Sun shone brightly on the plain.

 ‘It’s a good thing we’re nearly to Edoras,’ Arwen said softly. ‘I think we shall not make camp this night’—there were no inns on the vast sweep of grassy plains—‘but shall drive straight through until we reach the Golden Hall.’

The storm continued to creep ever closer as they travelled through the day. They did not pause for luncheon, but ate as they rode.

 ‘Wouldn’t you like to rest in a coach for a bit?’ Pimpernel said to Ferdi, noting the pinched look around his eyes.

 ‘You call that rest?’ he said, breathing deeply of the bracing air. ‘This is what I call restful!’ He leaned forward and his pony increased its gait until they were cantering across the plain, for Pimpernel stayed right with him. ‘Isn’t it glorious?’ he called.

Pimpernel laughed as her hair came free of its hairpins and streamed behind her. The curls would be a mass of tangles this evening, and she’d make Ferdi pay well for this day’s work... He’d spend a long time brushing out the tangles when they reached their resting place this night. She leaned forward to urge her mount to a gallop, and Ferdi followed suit. A horn sounded faintly behind them, but the wind snatched the sound away before they took note.

They rode to the top of a rise and stopped to give their ponies a breather. ‘Look,’ Ferdi said, pointing ahead to a gleam of gold. ‘The Golden Hall! We should reach it before middle night, for it’s just teatime now.’

 ‘It’s beautiful,’ Pimpernel said, drinking in the sight of the hill crowned with gold, surrounded by an undulating sea of grass rippling in the breeze.

They gazed awhile in silence before they heard hoofbeats approaching from behind, and Pippin hailed them. ‘Hoy! Did you not hear the King’s recall?’

 ‘Recall?’ Ferdi said, turning to see the Thain ride up, Master of Buckland immediately following, but that was not the sight that made him gasp even as Pimpernel stifled a cry of alarm. Threatening clouds filled half the sky, coming on rapidly.

 ‘He wants everyone in the coaches who can fit,’ Pippin said, ‘and if large hail comes down the guardsmen will take shelter beneath the coaches.’

 ‘Doesn’t do the horses and ponies much good,’ Ferdi muttered.

 ‘That cannot be helped,’ Pippin said. ‘Your head ought to have been telling you a storm is coming, and a nasty one from the look of it.’

 ‘It has,’ Ferdi said shortly.

Merry broke in impatiently. 'This is no time to inquire after his health, Pip; we've got to get back. There's no time to lose.'

 ‘Are your ponies rested?’ Pippin said. ‘It might be a good idea to go back at a gallop, the way those clouds are coming on.’ Grey streaks could be seen reaching from sky to ground behind the little group of riders and coaches in the distance. ‘We’re likely to be wet through before we’re halfway.’

The wind, hardly noticed when it was at their backs, was blowing stiff and chill in their faces as they turned their ponies to return to the caravan.

 ‘That’s odd,’ Pippin muttered as the grey curtain approached the caravan. ‘It almost looks like...’ He broke off with a gasp as the curtain enveloped the coaches and riders in the distance, swallowing them completely.

 ‘That’s some rainstorm,’ Ferdi said uneasily. ‘Perhaps we ought to be riding away from it rather than towards.’

 ‘It’s moving faster than a pony can gallop,’ Merry said, soothing his pony’s neck as the beast tossed its head uneasily.

 ‘How will we find them?’ Pimpernel said, having to raise her voice in the face of the rising wind.

 ‘It’s only rain,’ Ferdi said, though he and Pippin exchanged worried glances. ‘Come along.’ He squeezed his knees together and his pony moved out reluctantly, as loath as his rider to ride into the wild weather ahead.

Halfway to where they’d last seen the coaches, they found Ferdi was wrong. A blinding whirl of snow enveloped them, blotting out their surroundings, making it difficult to see each other though they rode knee-to-knee.

Chapter 5. Into the Storm

Arwen had felt increasingly uneasy as the day progressed. In her restlessness she could not remain confined to the coach, not even to enjoy the delightful company of hobbits, but took horse, to ride beside her husband. He smiled in greeting.

 ‘We’re making good time.’

 ‘The storm is making better time, I fear,’ she answered, flashing a look behind them at the looming clouds. Turning back to him, she said, ‘Estel, my heart is dark with foreboding. I’ve not felt such dread in the face of oncoming clouds since...’

 ‘Long years you have seen, my Lady Undomiel,’ Elessar said gravely. ‘Tell me what it is that you are remembering.’

 ‘A Winter, long and terrible,’ she replied with a shudder, ‘and a Dearth following. Many died, and great was the suffering.’

 ‘The harvests have been good these past few years; the storehouses are full to bursting to the North and South,’ Elessar said. ‘Should the winter prove long and hard, we are ready.’

Arwen glanced behind them again, and the King’s eyes followed. Towering clouds reared ever higher, dark and threatening, crowned with lightning. Heavy dark streaks reached from clouds to the earth. ‘Raining hard,’ he said, and swept the plain with his keen eyes. ‘No shelter to be seen,’ he added. ‘There’s naught for it but to ride out the storm.’

 ‘Call them in,’ Arwen said suddenly, and Elessar followed her gaze to the hobbits who’d ridden ahead, racing joyously towards the far horizon. ‘Call everyone in; there is danger in the clouds and they will catch us soon!’

 ‘What danger?’ Elessar said. ‘Hail?’ But the Queen could not answer him. Abruptly he reined his horse over to where Thain and Master rode stirrup-to-stirrup in quiet conversation.

 ‘Hullo, Strider, it seems we will get a bath sooner than later,’ Pippin said pleasantly with a nod to the looming clouds.

 ‘Can you call Ferdibrand back?’ Elessar said, lifting his hand in signal, and Pippin’s eyebrows went up. The Captain of the guard rode over, and the King said, ‘Bring everyone in close; put all who’ll fit into the coaches. If damaging hail falls the guardsmen can take cover under the coaches.’

 ‘Yes, Sire,’ the Captain said, saluting, and turning away he began to shout orders.

Merry took up the silver horn that hung at his saddle and lifted it to his lips. He blew a clear call, but the racers did not slacken or turn.

 ‘They don’t hear you,’ Pippin said. He leaned forward and squeezed with his legs; his pony moved easily into a gallop as he rode in pursuit of the distant figures.

 ‘I’m right behind you, cousin,’ Merry said, securing the horn. His pony needed little encouragement to follow at speed.

 ‘They won’t be in time,’ Arwen said. She buried her fingers in her horse’s mane, whitening knuckles betraying the depth of her apprehension. King and Queen watched the pursuit in silence until the leading figures stopped at the top of a rise, which gave the followers at last a chance to catch them.

 ‘They should reach us soon after the storm breaks over us,’ Elessar said, and then his tone changed after another look at the fast-approaching clouds. ‘But you ought to be in a coach as well.’

Arwen straightened and put on her most imperious look. ‘You’re not the only one to have ridden out a storm or two in your life,’ she said.

 ‘Evenstar...’ he began, but was distracted by the sight ahead. ‘See, they’ve reached them,’ he said, ‘and all are turning back. Soon they’ll be with us.’ All around them the caravan was a bustle of preparation. Horses were being tied to picket lines in hopes the storm would not scatter them; the coaches were driven close together and staked with ropes to resist the wind; children were being hastened into the dubious safety of the coaches and guardsmen stood ready to take cover.

All jumped at the ripping sound of a nearby lightning strike; thunder boomed deafeningly in their ears. Elessar had to raise his voice against the sudden howl of the wind. ‘Into the coach!’ he shouted, leaping down from his saddle and reaching up to take Arwen. ‘Now!’ A guardsman seized the reins of their skittering horses to lead them to one of the picket lines.

As he shoved Arwen bodily into an already-crowded coach, icy pellets suddenly assaulted them and all the world dissolved into a maelstrom of whirling white.

***

 ‘Pippin!’ Pimpernel shrieked, but the sound of her voice was swallowed in the pummelling storm.

Ferdi, who’d grabbed at the near rein of his wife’s pony, now dropped his reins completely to lunge for Merry’s. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘We have to stay together!’

Merry tried to pull away but Ferdi clung like a bulldog. ‘Pippin!’ the Master shouted. ‘Pip!’

 ‘Sound your horn!’ Ferdi bellowed. ‘Perhaps he’ll be able to follow the sound, to find us again!’

With a deep breath of icy air that burned his lungs, Merry blew a great blast, and another.

 ‘Pippin!’ Pimpernel screamed again.

Another blast from the horn, and another, and then Merry had to stop to draw breath.

 ‘We ought to reach the caravan anytime!’ Ferdi shouted.

 ‘We ought to have reached it already!’ Merry said. ‘I’m afraid we’ve missed our mark in the storm!’ He winded the horn again, then lowered it to his lap, staring into the whiteout surrounding them. ‘Perhaps Pip’s already there!’

 ‘Undoubtedly,’ Ferdi yelled. ‘He has a knack for landing on his feet!’

 ‘Pippin!’ Pimpernel cried.

  ‘Save your breath, love!’ Ferdi yelled. ‘If he didn’t hear the horn...’

 ‘No!’ her lips formed. Tears were freezing on her cheeks, but he could not spare a hand to wipe them away. If he let go Merry’s bridle his cousin would be off into the storm in vain search, and would probably be lost as well.

 ‘We’ve got to keep riding or we’ll freeze!’ Ferdi shouted now. ‘Your pony came from Rohan! Could it lead us to shelter?’ He knew from long experience the marvellous instincts of the beasts for returning to familiar safety. ‘Give him his head!’ He let go the bridle to grasp at Merry’s sleeve.

Merry loosened the reins and the pony tossed its head, snorting, before setting off in a new direction. ‘There’s a lad!’ Ferdi cried, using his knees to guide his own pony. He pulled at Pimpernel’s reins and her pony followed.

He could only hope that he was right about Pippin.

Chapter 6. Blind Faith

A numbing nightmare that seemed to go on forever: Ferdi pulled his cloak more closely about himself and Pimpernel who rode before him on his saddle. Her pony had stumbled and gone down in the worsening storm, unable to continue, and Ferdi had taken Nell onto his own mount. Though they shared their warmth thus, both were shivering, and their teeth chattered too much for conversation.

Although Ferdi had released his sleeve to grab at Nell, Merry didn’t ride into the storm in search of Pippin, for it was much too late. Winds howled from every direction, one moment blowing stinging snow into their faces, the next pushing at their backs as if to urge them in the way they were going. It was all they could do to struggle along, ponies trudging with their heads bowed nearly to the ground, for to stop would be to flounder in the deepening snow, to freeze and die.

Stop they did, however, and suddenly. Ferdi squeezed his legs on the pony’s sides to urge him forward, but the beast stood fast. Merry slid from his saddle to move to his pony’s head. With difficulty he made out the lines of a fence before them. His heart leapt; the Rohirrim used fences only near their dwellings! Shelter lay nearby! He groped his way along the side of Ferdi’s pony, screaming the news at the huddled shape still mounted there.

The shape split itself and the half that was Ferdi slid down to land next to Merry. Together they led their ponies along the fence, coming at last to the side of a building, one of the sturdy huts built for the herdsmen who watched over the great horses of Rohan as they grazed the lush pastures surrounding Edoras.

Ferdi helped Pimpernel down and groped his way to the door, which yielded easily. They fell into relative quiet and gloom, the storm pounding and shaking the walls, yet the shelter stood firm against that assault. Ferdi pushed the door closed behind them with a great sigh. He helped his wife to her feet, urging her across to the hearth and its rug of shaggy fur.

Though no one greeted them, there was a banked fire on the hearth, wood piled neatly at hand, and a bucket half-filled with water standing nearby. Merry had not yet come in. Undoubtedly he was leading the ponies to shelter of their own before coming in.

Ferdi laid Nell on the warm rug, stirred up the coals and quickly built up the fire into a cheerful blaze, then turned to undo Nell’s wrappings, pulling out her icy hands and chafing warmth into them, though his own were hardly better. When he could talk without chattering, he said encouragingly, ‘There, my love. That’s better.’

 ‘Where’s Merry?’ she managed, though shudders still shook her.

 ‘Taking care of the ponies,’ Ferdi said. ‘He ought to be in soon.’ She nodded convulsively. Ferdi pulled both their cloaks about her and turned his palms to the flames to warm them. He was feeling better by the moment, and soon he was able to rise from the furry rug. ‘I’ll see what’s what,’ he said, ‘and be back before you can say “Jack, Robin’s son!”.’

He prowled, finding a number of beds in two other rooms, though only one bed was made up with blankets. Only one herdsman in residence? Perhaps he was there to see the shelter through the winter months, for the horses would not be out in the fields this time of the year. At least, Ferdi hoped not, for their sakes. This weather was not fit for man nor beast. Winters in the South were milder? He’d not seen a storm like this, ever, in all his years in the Shire...

After exploring the sleeping rooms and storage room he returned to the main room again, which was warming nicely. ‘No one at home,’ he said cheerily.

 ‘Someone’s here,’ Pimpernel returned. ‘Who banked the fire?’

 ‘Well, he’s out and about in the storm,’ Ferdi said, ‘or perhaps Merry met him in the shed and the two are conversing while rubbing down the ponies and putting them to bed. These Rohirrim are mad for their horses, you know. They’d go hungry and without shelter before letting the same happen to their beasts.’

He stretched, looking about the firelit room. ‘Now, we’ve never known ill from the Rohirrim, but I still want you to hide yourself when we hear the owner returning, just until we know what manner of Man he is.’

 ‘You and your ruffians!’ Pimpernel said in exasperation.

 ‘My ruffians?’ Ferdi said quizzically.

 ‘To you every Man is a ruffian, no matter how fair he speaks or how nobly he treats you,’ she said.

 ‘Of course,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Even the King?’ Pimpernel asked, hands on hips.

 ‘Especially the King,’ Ferdi said. ‘Why, you should see him on a hunting trip, with no wife around to civilise him, when he’s gone without bathing for days on end and his hair and beard are scruffy and tangled with dried leaves, and...’

 ‘I don’t believe you!’ Nell laughed, and Ferdi joined her.

Sobering again, he said, ‘But I want you to obey me in this, Nell, my own, if only for my own peace of mind.’

 ‘If only for your own peace of mind,’ Pimpernel answered softly. She sighed, staring into the flames, and Ferdi knew what she was thinking.

 ‘I’ll go out to see about Merry, now that I see you’re thawing nicely,’ he said, hesitating before he added, ‘I’m sure Pip’s all right. He has the luck of the Tooks, you know.’

 ‘I know,’ she said. ‘That’s what worries me.’

***

Arwen had to shout above the howl of the wind. ‘Blizzard!’ she cried in her husband’s ear. ‘We must make for Edoras! It is death to stay here!’

Elessar looked at her helplessly. His lips formed the word How? ...and he did not have to shout for her to read his doubt. You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face out there.

She smiled, touching a hand to his cheek. You forget, Estel, she answered, and suddenly her eyes were full of ageless wisdom and he no longer knew her.

He nodded slowly, and she knew he understood. He shouted so that the others in the coach could hear him, ‘Hold fast! We’ll be moving on to Edoras!’ Wondering eyes met his and he smiled, projecting a reassurance that he did not feel.

 ‘Bundle up,’ Arwen said, just loud enough for him to hear her, and he laughed at the absurdity of it, for she wore the same look as years ago, when she'd send young Eldarion out to play in the courtyard on a breezy day. He muffled his cloak securely around himself, pulled on his gloves for the little protection they’d give him in the rapidly dropping temperatures, and nodded.

Arwen’s smile brightened briefly, then with a nod of her own she opened the door to the coach just wide enough to slip out, thrusting a hand back to her husband. She latched the door securely behind them and then began to walk as if she were out for a stroll in the hidden valley of Imladris.

Elessar followed blindly; Arwen was a dark shadow before him. He remembered Legolas on Caradhras, walking lightly over the snow in thin soles, not seeming to feel the cold. They came to a huddled mass of guardsmen, their faces blank with shock and bleaching white from cold.

Elessar shouted orders: hitch the coach horses, check the gear on the others, prepare to depart. They’d use the picket lines and the ropes stored under the coaches for emergency use to link riders together in two lines flanking the line of coaches. The Captain nodded, used to following orders. His doubt faded with his renewed confidence in his King. Of course Elessar would lead them out of this.

With Arwen’s guidance he was able to oversee the muster, and at last all was ready. He floundered after his wife to the head of the caravan, where the Captain and a grizzled sergeant waited at the head of the two lines of mounted guardsmen. They handed the ends of the guide ropes to the King. King and Queen mounted their waiting horses, brushing as much blowing snow from their saddles as possible before settling. Arwen took Elessar’s hand in hers once more. He did not hear her speak to her horse, but suddenly they were moving, stepping into the whiteout. He heard the Captain raise his horn behind them, heard but faintly the call that set the vehicles in motion. They would reach Edoras, or die trying. It was death to stay, in any event.

A part of his mind was with the hobbits. Where were they now? Had they found shelter, somehow, or were they even now freezing, dying? He thought he saw Arwen’s head turn towards him but was only sure of the squeeze of her fingers. The ropes pulled taut behind him, then loosened. They were on their way.

Angst Warning. The story turns considerably darker from this point on. Buckle your seatbelt, it's going to be a rough ride.

Chapter 7. Stirring the Embers

Just as Ferdibrand reached up for the latch, heavy boots sounded on the porch outside the door. Pimpernel grabbed up her cloak and scooted into the unused sleeping room. She positioned herself out of sight from the door, but where she could dive under a bed if necessary, should the Man need to fetch something in this room. Safely out of sight, she sighed and shook her head. Huddling in an empty room, when there was a perfectly cheerful fire on the hearth! She certainly hoped Ferdi would quickly form a good opinion of this Man and not be all night about it!

She heard Merry’s voice, then Ferdi’s, and a rumbling response, but could not quite make out the words. Very well, then, she’d choose to burrow sooner rather than later. Lying herself down on the polished floor, she slid under the nearest bed and snaked her way to lie concealed beneath the bed nearest the doorway. There, that was better; she could hear what they were saying quite clearly now.

 ‘...poor weather, to be travelling in,’ the Man said.

 ‘Don’t I know it,’ Ferdi answered wryly. ‘But who would have known we’d have a blizzard in October! As a matter of fact, Merry here told me that winters in the Mark were much milder than what we know in the Northlands.’

 ‘But you’re still shivering, Master Merry! Let me fetch something warming. The King himself provided a case of wine to help an old pilgrim to while away the long cold.’

 ‘King Eomer is kind indeed!’ Ferdi said. ‘Our own Thain insures that gaffers and widows have food and firewood in the winter months, but I don’t think he provides any bottled cheer!’ There was a clinking of glass, a pouring sound, and Pimpernel suppressed another sigh. She could do with a bit of cheer herself. At least the polished floor was not dusty, and there was no danger a sneeze would give her away. The Man left here to take care of the shelter must take his duties seriously.

The pouring sound ended, and the Man said, ‘Well, that bottle’s done. Let me open another... no, my honoured guests, I will drink from the old and give you the new!’ Pimpernel heard movement in the other room and quiet talk until the pouring recommenced, comments from the hobbits on the rich ruby colour of the wine, the heady aroma, the heavy swirl of the stuff in the glass.

Another clink, as of glasses touching in toast, and a loud sigh from the Man. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Now I call that warming.’

 ‘Very nice,’ Ferdi agreed. ‘As good as the best from the South Farthing, I’d say.’

 ‘Brandy Hall could do no better,’ Merry said politely. ‘There’s an unexpected sweetness to this, and something else that makes the flavour quite unique, and fascinating on the tongue.’

 ‘Brandy Hall?’ the Man said. ‘There was no chance to speak as we tended your ponies,’ he added, ‘with the wind singing such a song! You Shirelings are from Buckland?’

 ‘Why yes,’ Merry said, ‘at least, I am a Bucklander.’

 ‘A Bucklander!’ Ferdi snorted. ‘He’s only the Master of Buckland, is all.’

 ‘But your glasses are empty,’ the Man said. ‘Let me give you more. I poured only a little, at first, to see if you liked it. ‘Twould be a shame to waste the King’s gift.’

There were more pouring noises and then silence in the other room, finally broken by the Man.

 ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Drink up, there’s plenty more! And supper yet to come. I’ll put the roast on the fire soon, and we shall be merry indeed.’

 ‘Indeed,’ Ferdi said, slurring the word a bit. It must be strong wine, that came from the King of Rohan, or perhaps drinking from a Man-sized glass had deceived the hobbits into drinking more than they could usually manage.

 ‘You’re the Master of Buckland,’ the Man said, coming back to the earlier topic. ‘Don’t tell me you are Master Holdwine, knight of the Mark, esquire to King Theoden and great friend of King Eomer!’

 ‘No need to bow to me,’ Merry said, plainly discomfited.

 ‘Indeed, I am honoured to have you grace my humble abode!’ the Man protested. ‘I have welcomed a lord of Rohan to my table, and so I hope I know my manners well enough to receive the King’s friend.’

 ‘And friend of the King’s friend,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘You are his friend only, and not a hero in your own right?’ the Man said jestingly. ‘I cannot believe it, for you are a doughty Halfling, after all, who bears a finely-crafted bow and quiver full of shafts, not just a farmer who hides behind his door when danger comes a knocking.’

 ‘Hero of Tookland, is all,’ Merry said in the same vein, and Pimpernel was startled, for he, like Ferdi, was having trouble with his words. Merry, of whom Pippin had shared many a tale, who had drunk more than one knight of Rohan or soldier of Gondor under the table.

 ‘Go on with you,’ Ferdi said, but Merry continued without mercy.

 ‘He’s the Fox, you know, helped the Thain keep the ruffians out of Tookland during the time of the Troubles, though you’d never know it to look at him now.’

 ‘The Fox...’ the Man said thoughtfully.

 ‘Yes, but that was only until you came to throw the ruffians out of the Shire completely,’ Ferdi said. ‘That was something we could not manage, but you and Pip, Sam and Frodo did, just the four of you against all those Big Men!’

 ‘We had a fair amount of help,’ Merry demurred.

 ‘More?’ the Man said hospitably.

 ‘No... no...’ Merry answered vaguely. ‘I think I’ve had...’

 ‘...Enough,’ Ferdi agreed. There was the sound of a glass shattering on the floor. ‘I beg your pardon!’ Ferdi added. ‘Just slipped out of my hand... I’ll clean it up.’

 ‘Never you mind; it’s no trouble at all. That’s right, rest yourself, Little Took, for you are weary from your labours.’ To Merry the Man said, ‘Let me take your glass, Little Master.’ The hobbit’s thanks trailed off into unintelligibility.

Pimpernel felt the hairs on the back of her neck stirring at this abundance of hospitality. Something was amiss, though she could not have said just what was bothering her. She had known Ferdi to drink more than was good for him, out of politeness to an overly accommodating host, but...

She held her breath, listening closely to the sounds in the next room. The Man muttered to himself as he moved about. Pimpernel wished she could find the courage to creep from under the bed and peep through the doorway, but unaccountably she found herself frozen, unwilling to leave the safety of her hiding place. She tried to give herself a stern talking-to but her fear increased... and then suddenly the Man’s words came clearly to her once more.

 ‘Aha, Little Took,’ he said, dark satisfaction in his tone. ‘You are the Fox indeed! The years have been kinder to you than to an old ruffian, I warrant.’

With a great effort, Pimpernel pushed herself out from under the bed, crawling to the doorway and peeping around the edge.

The Man was bent over her Ferdi. He’d pulled the hobbit’s collar open and was tracing the old, faded scar under his chin. ‘Sharkey’s men put a rope around your neck and hanged you from a tree,’ he said softly, ‘but you didn’t stay there long enough to feed the birds, it seems! Ah well, their loss is my gain.’

Pimpernel watched in silence, wondering at his meaning. How did he know about the ruffians hanging any of the troublemakers amongst the Shirefolk that they could put their hands on?

She caught her breath to hear the Man’s next words, muttered as they were. ‘You and I go back a ways, don’t you remember? There was a little matter of a shed, and a nice warming fire... We propped you inside, with your leg nicely broken, and fired the roof above you. I was betting that you’d crawl out at least once, and Gimp was betting you wouldn’t. I was all set to win my wager, seeing you crawling... I was ready to pick you up and throw you back in, so you wouldn’t cheat the flames of their sport, and then an arrow took me from behind, and one took Gimp as well.’

Pimpernel felt faint. She squeezed her eyes tight shut and forced them open again. This was one of the ruffians from the Tower Hills, before the Westmarch became a part of the Shire.

 ‘They left me for dead, they did,’ the Man’s voice rose in triumph, ‘but I wasn’t dead! O no, but I was ill for a long time. I missed the great battle afterwards, when those poor fools tried to take the Havens. Your friend did me a favour, whoever he was, shooting me, making me useless to fight. I’d like to thank him!’

He gathered Ferdi in his arms and rose. ‘You cheated the flames that time, but you won’t cheat them so easily this day. No, they’ve waited for you all these years and now they’ll claim you at last!’ So saying, he walked to the hearth and laid the limp hobbit upon the fire!

Chapter 8. To Sing for His Supper

The Man straightened and stepped back, looking well-pleased as he gazed at Ferdibrand on the hearth. There was a horrid stench of burning wool. Before Pimpernel could overcome her horror and launch herself into the room in vain effort, several things happened. Merry reeled off the oversized sofa, pulling his sword from its sheath. Ferdi stiffened with a cry and began to struggle.

 ‘That’s right, Little Took,’ the Man sang softly. ‘Dance for me, now. I’ve waited years to watch you dance.’ Ferdi writhed, seeking purchase, and somehow in his twisting he was able to roll away from the fire, out of the hearth, onto the stones.

The ruffian lost his satisfied look and stooped to push the hobbit back into the flames, but Merry’s feeble blow caught him and he turned, more distracted than hurt. Ferdi ended on his belly on the floor, his chin thrown back, his desperate gaze locked with Pimpernel’s. She read in his look a plea to hide herself, save herself, not to throw her life away. She shook her head, tears coming to her eyes, but the moment for action had passed. The ruffian had wrested Merry’s sword away and now stood over the Master of Buckland, sucking at a cut on his arm and staring down at the helpless hobbit.

 No, Ferdi moaned, summoning great effort, and Pimpernel nodded at last, forcing herself from the doorway. She moved not a moment too soon, for the ruffian’s attention was drawn by Ferdi’s plea and he might have seen Pimpernel had she not pulled back.

 ‘What’s that, Fox?’ he said pleasantly. ‘Cannot quite find the right note to sing? Do not worry, we’ll...’ He swayed and grasped at his head. ‘But...’ he said. ‘What is this?’

Pimpernel’s hopes rose as the ruffian cried wildly, ‘What madness is this? What am I thinking?’ ...only to be dashed with a chill as he continued. ‘This is not the way to serve honoured dinner guests! Why, the roast must be properly prepared before it is put on the fire, or there will be no feast!’

Breaking into a happy song he stomped to the door, jerking it open. The blizzard blew in, wind and scouring snow, but it hardly seemed dangerous to the hobbits now. Pimpernel began to creep from the bedroom, but Ferdi breathed once more, ‘No!’

Though he could not manage another word, his eyes spoke volumes. The Man had left the door open and would be back within seconds. Don’t let him catch you, Nell!

Pimpernel bit her lip and pulled out of sight again as the stomping boots returned, accompanied by a dragging sound. She was not about to lie fast and listen to her husband and cousin foully murdered! Still, if she wanted to have an effect and not end a hapless victim herself, she had to find a weapon... Slowly, keeping one ear cocked to the madman’s rambling cheer, she made her way around the sleeping room.

The door slammed. ‘The room is chilled,’ the Man said, ‘chilled indeed. We’ll build up the fire and soon take the chill off again.’ As he worked he continued to talk to his unwilling guests. ‘No, no, there’s no need for you to stir yourselves to help! I’ll have the fire mended in three shakes of a lamb’s tail, see if I don’t. Fire and me, we go way back; yes, we have quite the friendship.’

Pimpernel heard the dragging sound again, something heavy, wood perhaps. The madman confirmed her impression. ‘A fence rail,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you noticed several, piled upon the porch outside?’ He paused as if waiting for answer, then said, ‘No, no, not for firewood. The Rohirrim left me firewood enough. It takes strength and determination to remove a fence rail, you know, but where there’s a will, there’s a way.’

Softer sounds, that Nell could not quite make out, interrupted the flow of words. ‘It was the young lord of the Mark,’ the ruffian said. ‘He was the one who gave me the idea. He was much too tall, you know. These Riders are awfully tall; they have to be, to fit their pride.’

There was another short silence and the Man said, ‘When you have a roast too big to fit on the fire all at once, you roast it in little bits, you see? Tie it on to the pole, shove the end of the pole over the fire, and as it burns away, push it in further. You see? And while we’re waiting for our supper we’ll sing together. Ah, we’ll have a merry time, we will!’

Pimpernel peeped into the main room to see the madman tying Ferdi and Merry to the pole, back to back. He stepped back to survey the result, nodding. ‘We must do this up right, we must,’ he said. ‘Old Pilgrim grows hungry, and there’s been no fresh meat since that young lord of Rohan departed... only that salty dried stuff they gave us. Now let me see...’ He debated with himself, looking down upon his handiwork. ‘Fire’s nearly ready!’ he announced cheerily. ‘Hmmm,’ he added. ‘Shall we peel you, or roast you in your jackets like the taters you little ones are so fond of?’

 ‘You devil,’ Merry managed, but the ruffian only laughed.

 ‘A poor enough host I am indeed, to keep you waiting this way,’ he said. ‘But I have worked out the problem, you’ll be happy to know.’

He bent to the hobbits again, drawing a sharp knife from its sheath. ‘It is too cold to peel you, I think, for you’d hardly sing well, were you shivering. We’ll just peel away as it becomes necessary. Slow roasting is the best, you know!’ He slit the hobbits’ trousers up to the knees and rolled the fabric out of the way, then began roughly scraping the curls from the tops of their feet. ‘That smell of singed wool, still hanging on the air,’ he said conversationally, ‘it reminds me to prepare properly. We must do things properly!’

Pimpernel forced herself from the doorway, striking out in redoubled search. The madman was too meticulous a housekeeper, and little rewarded her efforts, until... Under one of the beds she found a bundle rolled in cloth which turned out to be a cloak of rich Rohan green. Unrolling it, she found a mail shirt such as the Rohirrim wore, indeed, a full suit of clothes and a sword nearly as tall as herself. She could not even lift the thing. With a chill she realised she was holding all that remained of the “young lord of Rohan”.

Behind her the madman resumed his one-sided conversation. ‘Don’t worry!’ he assured the hobbits. ‘There’s plenty for all! Why, when the marrow’s been sucked from the bones and the scraps have been boiled into soup, there are still the ponies in the stable! We’ll eat well, even if the storm lasts a week! And by then the young prince ought to be riding by, to check on an old pilgrim. He promised me he’d come to dinner the next time, and I aim to hold him to it!’

Beyond the bundle an empty bottle lay. Nell picked it up; it was twice the size of a bottle from the Shire. She hefted it, considering. Yes, it would do the trick, she thought, if only she could use it well. Creeping to the doorway, she peered out cautiously.

The ruffian had pushed the end of the pole over the fire, but the hobbits’ feet were still outside the firebox. ‘Not long now,’ the ruffian informed them. ‘Why, it’s nearly burned through! Soon I’ll shove it in further and we’ll begin to sing.’

He looked into their horrified eyes. ‘You don’t think you could sing? Let me reassure you!’ He settled himself comfortably on the furry rug. ‘The stuff in the wine was not poison, no it was not, for we’d hardly want to taint the meat for supper, now, would we?’

He shook his head and continued sententiously. ‘No, we would not. It is a wondrous stuff, it is, from the dark hills beyond the White City. Dark things roam there even now, great spiders among them; o yes, they roam in Mirkwood as well, and some of the woodsmen hunt them and are hunted by them.’

He got up to push the pole further into the hearth; the hobbits’ feet were dangerously near the flames now. Sitting back down, he said, ‘You know that spiders have a sort of juice they shoot into their meat, don’t you, that doesn’t spoil the meat nor kill it, for they like it fresh, o yes, they do! It just makes the meat more cooperative for a bit.’ He looked fondly down at the hobbits. ‘If she shoots the juice into the meat, it makes her little guest limp as if it had no bones, ah yes, it does. The stuff doesn’t work quite as well if you drink it, but it works well enough for our purposes. You’ll feel miserable in the morning, I fear, and for some days after, but the stuff won’t kill you.’

He chuckled, ‘As a matter of fact, you’ll find yourselves well able to carry a tune while our dinner is roasting. Why, the young lord of Rohan and I sang for a wonderful long time before we supped together.’ He bent to eye the pole, blazing over the flames, and nodded. ‘Roast’s on!’ he chortled. ‘Won’t be long now before we sit down to eat! But let us sing a few of the old songs, first!’

He crouched to shove the hobbit-laden pole further into the hearth. Pimpernel rushed forward on silent hobbit feet, bottle held at the ready. Quick as a weasel the Man turned to meet her rush, but lost his balance in his crouched position.

Hobbit lasses can throw stones as well as any hobbit lad... Nell hurled the bottle with all her strength and it smashed, on target, against the ruffian’s head. He half-rose, extending a menacing hand towards her, and then crumpled to the floor.

----
A/N: Thanks to Llinos for suggesting spider venom!

Chapter 9. In the Deep of the Night

For a long moment time was frozen. Pimpernel stared at the tumbled pile before her, until the fire-ravaged pole collapsed and Merry cried out, galvanising her to action. With strength beyond her understanding, she rolled the ruffian off the pole-bound hobbits, grasped at Ferdi and Merry and hauled them away from the hearth. The polished surface of the ancient floorboards aided her efforts.

She grabbed up Merry’s fallen sword and cut the bonds.

 ‘Are you all right?’ she gasped.

She half-expected Merry to reply irritably, ‘No of course I’m not all right,’ just as in the time they’d been out riding on a sunny day long ago, in the fields of the farm that had been home until her father had become Thain and moved his family to the Great Smials. Ferdi had dared him to jump a stile; the pony had refused at the last minute, throwing Merry into the fence, and a broken arm had resulted.

His silence was more frightening than any answer could have been; he simply stared at her, eyes wide.

 ‘He said the poison wouldn’t kill you,’ she whispered, stroking a curl back from his sweating forehead.

She turned next to her husband, fearing what she’d find. He had not moved, he had not cried out when the collapsing pole dropped their feet into the fire.

 ‘Ferdi, my love?’ she said softly. His eyes were closed, his face slack, unresponsive to her feather-light caresses. She reached for his throat and gave a sob to find the pulse beating there. Truly she had thought she’d lost him... she might lose him still, if she did not take action. ‘Don’t go away,’ she whispered absurdly, with a final stroke, and rose. She’d need dressings, and bandages. There was a bucket of water nearby, and...

In the other sleeping room she found a kit of sorts with rolls of lint, dressings, ointments and such. She hurried with her find back to the main room.

Of a wonder Merry was stirring, fighting off the effects of the venom.

 ‘Merry?’ she said. He moved, and grimaced. ‘Steady now,’ she said, touching his shoulder before moving lower. ‘Your feet are a disaster.’ The tops of his feet were bleeding where the hair had been scraped away with the rough shave the madman had performed. The bottoms, now, were burned and blistering.

 ‘Mercy,’ Merry said through his teeth.

 ‘I have to tend them,’ Pimpernel soothed.

 ‘No,’ he said, ‘Pain... helps...’ and she realised he meant that it was a mercy that he was injured so, for it gave him something to cling to, a way to fight the paralysis.

 ‘Man... dead?’ he managed now, and Pimpernel shuddered.

 ‘I don’t know,’ she said. She hadn’t looked at him since rolling him away.

 ‘Must,’ Merry said, and she nodded.

Steeling herself she bent over the ruffian. She didn’t want to touch him, not at all, but she reached out to find the pulse, and found one. Absently she wiped the sticky blood from her fingers. He wasn’t dead, then. It was a pity. She couldn’t kill him, no, not in cold blood, but she did wish she’d managed earlier in the heat of the moment. ‘He lives,’ she said coldly.

 ‘Tie...’ Merry said, and she nodded. She didn’t want this monster coming to life again, unfettered.

Suppressing her distaste, she drew the Man’s hands behind him and tied them with her best knots, using some of the rope he’d brought out to bind the hobbits. She tied his feet together for good measure, humming a little tune as she did so. She noticed for the first time the blood on her dress. She hoped it would come out; she didn’t want that reminder... reminder... there was something she ought to remember but it eluded her at present.

Turning back, she settled between Merry and Ferdi, stroking her husband’s face once more. ‘Ferdi?’ she called softly. Perhaps he was only sleeping. Yes, that was it. He was asleep, and in the morning he’d waken and all would be well.

 ‘Burns,’ Merry gritted.

 ‘Yes, cousin,’ Pimpernel said lightly, still tracing Ferdi’s features. ‘I do need to dress your feet.’

 ‘Ferdi...’ Merry said. His mind was perfectly clear though his body would not respond to his will. He could see that Pimpernel was not right, somehow, not thinking as she ought, for there was a slight smile on her face, a faraway look. Merry moved one leg slightly, scraping one burned sole. The pain was refreshing and gave him a surge of energy.

 ‘You have to tend his burns!’ he snapped before a wave of weakness dragged him down again. Deliberately he summoned the will to move the leg again, to cause himself pain, to liberate his body from thrall. ‘Nell!’ he said sharply.

She jerked at his tone. ‘No need to scold,’ she pouted. She kissed Ferdi gently and laid his head down, then moving as one in a dream, she rolled him to his side. She caught her breath in a sob at the sight of her husband’s back.

Merry closed his eyes in relief. Nell had returned from wherever it was she’d gone. He let himself drift for the nonce, confident that Nell would deal with their injuries and not lose herself in a dream.

***
 
The ground was rising, Aragorn thought. He’d tied the lines to his saddle and now he slid to the ground, trudging through snow that reached his knees. Yes, the ground beneath them was rising. It was easier to tell on foot than from horseback. He peered into the darkness, wondering.

Arwen slid down to walk beside him, but she walked lightly, atop the snow, unhampered. ‘We are passing between the mounds of the kings,’ she said. ‘We are nearly there.’

Nearly there, Aragorn thought, his shoulders straightening, weariness and cold forgotten. They had led the caravan to safety. Soon there would be warmth, and food, shelter from the storm.

The thought niggled at the corner of his mind, but what of the hobbits? Where were they? Pippin, and Merry, Ferdibrand, and Pimpernel? Had they found shelter? He vowed to himself, and not for the first time, that as soon as this cursed snow ended he would be off in search, with all of his guardsmen. Knowing Eomer, all the Rohirrim currently in Edoras would join the hunt.

Chapter 10. Until the Morning Light

Ferdibrand’s burns were not as terrible as Pimernel had at first feared. The heavy woollen jacket and waistcoat, of good Tookish wool from the hardy sheep that grazed the Green Hills, had resisted the flames. The wool had kindled reluctantly and snuffed quickly once Ferdi rolled out of the hearth.

She carefully pulled scorched linen and charred wool away from the skin, working as slowly and gently as possible, though Ferdi did not stir under her cautious ministrations. When his wounded back was as clean as she could manage, she folded a clean sheet from the store of linens to fit and bound it in place with strips of bandage.

She took a bucket from the storage room and went out to the porch to scrub it clean and scoop it full of fresh clean snow, then placed it near the fire to melt. She no longer trusted the half-full bucket that had been there when they’d arrived. The blizzard was blowing as hard as ever, and she wondered just how long they’d be shut up with the madman before they could escape this terrible place.

Next she dressed and bandaged Ferdi’s and Merry’s feet. When this was done, she brought mugs from the storage room, scrubbing them well before filling them with melted snow. She trusted nothing in this place, as a matter of fact, walking a wide path around the fallen ruffian as if he might reach out to snare her, thoroughly shaking out or washing everything she touched, avoiding the furry rug by the hearth although it would offer a warmer seat than the boards of the floor.

 ‘Can you drink?’ she said, lifting Merry’s head into her lap and holding the mug of water for him. He closed his eyes as if to gather his strength and then nodded, the barest movement, but Nell took this as assent and began to tip the water into his mouth, waited for him to swallow, and then tipped more in. ‘You ought to drink as much as possible,’ she said. ‘It can’t but help.’

She nearly dropped the mug as Merry finished it, seeing Ferdi blink and open his eyes! ‘My love,’ she whispered, settling Merry gently to the floorboards and scooting over to her husband. He did not look at her but remained staring fixedly at the flames of the mended fire. The storm outside howled like an injured beast and shook the shutters in its fury, but they were warm and snug in this haunted place, if not exactly cosy.

Nell dipped a mug in the melted snow and coaxed Ferdi to drink, talking softly the entire time. He drank obediently enough but never raised his eyes from the fire to acknowledge her. Indeed, when she got between him and the flames, thinking to ease him, he stiffened as best as he was able, until she moved to dip the mug in the bucket and he could see the hearth again. She felt him relax as he resumed his wary watch.

Merry had been watching Ferdi. Now he summoned strength enough to say, ‘Fire.’ Nell looked to him and he locked gazes with her, willing her to understand. ‘Out,’ he said with the smallest of nods.

She stared at him and then the hearth. ‘Put the fire out?’ she asked slowly. ‘But it’s freezing outside!’

 ‘Out,’ he confirmed, and to clinch the matter he repeated, ‘Fire.’

She laid her husband gently upon the floor and rose to fetch his and Merry’s cloaks from the hooks where the madman had hung them. It was a bit of a struggle to get them down but at last she managed. Returning to the hearthside she rolled Merry up against Ferdi’s side, saying, ‘We’ll have to huddle for warmth,’ then threw all three of the cloaks over them. She thought of adding blankets from the linen store and shook her head. Truly she trusted nothing of this place. She’d only used Their dressings and lint because the hobbits had brought nothing of the sort with them.

Using her skirt to shield her hands from possible contigen, she poured half the contents of the ruffian’s bucket over the fire on the hearth, sending a hiss of smoke and sparks and flying ash upwards. She stirred the resulting mass of wet ash and charred wood with a stick and poured the rest of the bucket over. There. That was done, and done well. No coals were banked towards the start of a new fire later. Only a candle burned on the table now, to give light to the room.

Pimpernel put the bucket down, shook out her skirts, and stepped lightly to Ferdi’s other side. His eyes had closed again; he no longer stared hopelessly at the hearth. She settled herself beside him, pulling a corner of the mounded cloaks over her, and carefully put her arms around him. ‘There, Ferdi-love,’ she whispered. ‘You’re safe now. Sleep.’

She crooned a lullaby, an old song she’d sung to the children when nightmare intruded, and his breathing which had been fast and short now settled slower, more even. Pillowing her head upon one arm, Nell fought to stay awake, to guard them from any lingering malice, but sleep conquered at last. Her last thoughts were of Pippin. Where was her brother? Had he met a kinder fate? Freezing to death did not hold the terror it once had.

***

The Golden Hall was lit up as if for a banquet, and in truth a banquet of sorts was being served. The cooks had been roused, and in a remarkably short time they were serving up food and hot drink to the shivering, blanket-wrapped travellers.

The hobbits huddled together at one table. King Eomer had ordered the legs of table and benches sawn short enough for comfort. A servant was still sweeping away the sawdust as Queen Lothiriel held the cup for Diamond, whose hands were stiff from the long cold. She pushed the warming drink away at last, saying, ‘I certainly hope Pip is getting some of this.’

‘Merry too,’ Estella said. ‘You’d think those kings would have enough sense to let their guests warm themselves before hauling them off to wherever it is they go.’

‘Card-playing, more than likely,’ Sam’s Rose said. King Elessar had called Samwise aside as they entered the Golden Hall and she hadn’t seen him since.

‘Or swapping stories, or listening to Eomer’s plans of how he intends to entertain us until we abandon all thought of leaving,’ Estella said.

‘Exactly,’ Lothiriel said smugly. ‘You never stay long enough, you know. Why, last time you left before Windwalker’s foal was born! You missed a wonderful celebration, and if you’d only stayed a few days longer...’

Estella politely refrained from sputtering. She put on a serene smile, and adding just a touch of regret to her tone, replied, ‘What a pity! I know that foal was eagerly anticipated... but we really did have to get back, you know.’

Pippin’s sister was missing along with her husband; presumably she was keeping an eye on Ferdibrand, or Pippin, or conveniently, both at the same time. Rose and Estella made sure Nell and Ferdi’s children ate well and did not worry.

At last warmed through, Diamond grasped the cup herself and drained the cooling dregs. ‘My thanks,’ she said to the queen of Rohan. ‘Do you know when our husbands will return? I’m afraid we’re already losing some of the children.’ Her own youngest set of twins, Lapis and Lazuli, had eaten only half of what was set before them. Their heads lay upon the table, and they were fast asleep.

Having had a quick whispered conversation with Arwen in the bustle of arrival, Lothiriel had a smile and smooth answer ready. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said truthfully. ‘But we have beds warming and ready for all. You must be exhausted! Come, now.’ She took up Lapis in one arm and Lazuli in the other and rose gracefully from the table, escorting her guests to their waiting beds. It took a little skilled persuasion, but at last the hobbit mums were tucked up with their children. Though each had privately resolved to wait up until her husband’s return, sleep won.

***

Halfway between middle night and dawn a tap came at the door to the king’s study. ‘Enter!’ Eomer called.

A guard poked his head through the doorway. ‘The snow has stopped, and the wind is dying,’ he said. ‘Stars are appearing. It seems the storm has spent its fury.’

 ‘A short storm,’ Elessar commented.

 ‘It is only October, after all,’ Eomer reminded him. ‘Very good!’ he said to the waiting guard. ‘Inform me at once if there is any change.’

 ‘Yes, Sire,’ the guard said and withdrew.

The kings bent once more over the maps they’d spread out. ‘Good,’ Eomer said. ‘With a fair day dawning, snow or no snow we will be able to mount the search. Now,’ he said straightening, ‘Master Holdwine was riding Cloudracer, was he not?’

 ‘He was,’ Bergil confirmed. ‘Pippin was jesting with him about how he ought to trade his pony of Rohan for a horse of the Mark, seeing as he’d grown so tall on Ent draughts...’

 ‘And his answer was that his pony had the heart of a horse,’ Elessar said absently. ‘You’re thinking...?’

 ‘The pony left the grazing lands less than a year ago,’ Eomer said. ‘He might remember, and take them to shelter.’

 ‘Ponies are great ones for remembering home and bed,’ Sam said practically.

 ‘Where was he grazed?’ Elessar asked, looking at the map more hopefully. He nodded as Eomer touched several widespread points.

 ‘The ponies go to summer pasture here, or here,’ the King of Rohan said, ‘but we can rule those out as too distant. In spring and fall they graze closer to Edoras. There’s one hut here,’ his finger touched a spot to the North of the city, ‘where the ponies are to be found now, and in the spring they’ll be moved here.’ He touched another spot, not far from their line of travel.

 ‘Cloudracer would know this shelter?’ Elessar said.

 ‘Yes, though there’s no one there at present. The hut is empty, the herdsmen occupied elsewhere.’

 ‘Father,’ Elfwine broke in, and Eomer turned to him politely. At the king’s nod, the prince continued. ‘The hut is not empty. A wanderer lodges there by your leave, through the winter months. I delivered supplies there but a few days ago.’

 ‘Ah,’ Eomer nodded. Wanderers were welcome to stay in empty herders’ huts in return for their labours. The herdsmen appreciated returning to polished floors and furniture that wasn’t heaped with dust, and the wanderers had shelter through the winter storms. It was a good bargain, all around. ‘We’ll ride there, first thing, and see if he’s seen any sign of them.’

***

Halfway between middle night and dawn, Nell woke abruptly to Ferdi calling her name. She felt stiff and cold, half-uncovered as she was. The candle on the table had burned itself out and the room was dark and freezing, but the wind no longer howled outside. That was a mercy.

 ‘Ferdi!’ she whispered, feeling his arms tighten around her. He’d turned from his stomach to his side in order to hold her. ‘O my love.’ She buried her head against his shoulder and returned the embrace, careful not to put pressure on his bandaged back. He sighed but did not relax. She moved again, manoeuvering until his head rested upon the softness of her breast, thinking that hearing her heartbeat would soothe him.

 He lay quietly for a time, then, ‘Sick...’ he said, and then, ‘Dark.’

 ‘Yes, my love,’ she answered, but she felt him shake his head.

 ‘Dark,’ he insisted. ‘Cannot see.’ She remembered his fear of blindness, that the stars might be extinguished for him once again.

 ‘All is well, Ferdi. The candle’s gone out, is all. It’s dark.’

 ‘Candle?’

 ‘Yes, my love. Now sleep. I’ll see you in the morning light,’ she said, stroking his hair and drawing his head once more onto her breast. ‘Sleep,’ she repeated softly. Merry snored beyond.

 ‘Morning...’ Ferdi whispered, then, ‘light...’ and then he, too, slept once more.

Pimpernel thought she’d never sleep again, chilled as she was, her feet like blocks of ice, but she did.

Chapter 11. Just past Dawn

Brant stirred and cursed softly. He was freezing cold and deucedly uncomfortable, his head was splitting, and he could not lift a hand to soothe at the ache. Perceiving that his hands were bound behind him, he stiffened. Had the Easterlings recaptured him? Were they even now about to do to him what he’d watched them do to that other poor devil the previous day?

He squeezed his eyes tight shut, hearing the taunting voices, the outbursts of laughter as the other prisoner’s screams grew weaker.

They’d known just enough Westron.

 ‘Eh, Man-of-the-West! Eh, you watch him sing, no? Don’t he sing a beauty? You learn, Man-of-the-West! Your turn, sing to morrow. Eh? Sleep well, Man-of-the-West! Dream good!’

But wait, it should not be freezing cold he felt, rather desert heat. He had waited until they slept, until even the sentry dozed, and worked his hands under his feet and up again, bringing them before him. He’d been able to reach the ropes with his teeth, and though it made his teeth ache he’d worried the knots until his hands were free. It was a matter of seconds to free his feet and slip into the shadows. He’d heard the hue and cry behind him, but no matter. He’d slipped away when he deserted the army of Gondor before the great battle against the Dark Lord. He’d eluded Kingsmen, Rangers and hunting Elves after the Grey Havens debacle. He’d evade these Easterlings as easily. He wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t let them catch him unawares again.

Cautiously he drew up his knees, worked his hands down, down, grunting softly as he forced them over the soles of his boots, and then, yes! His hands were before him and he could worry at the ropes. He was glad those fools of Easterlings had not learned from his earlier escape. He peered into the darkness, but there was no sound. Not even a watch fire burned. Perhaps they’d all gone off hunting more prey for their sport and left him here, thinking him secure in his bonds. He’d show them.

By the time he’d worked himself free a thin light was trying to steal past the shutters. He looked about the room, seeing a small mound of cloaks before the cold hearth, but no guards. He crept from room to room. No guards; they’d gone and left for some reason. Returning to the main room, he eased one set of shutters open to welcome the dawning light. He looked at the sparkling landscape outside. He must be mad to think the desert sands looked like snow. Still, it was cold in the room, terribly cold. He could see his breath. He could use one of those cloaks.

Under the cloaks he found three small figures, half the size of a Man. Not Easterlings, then. Something stirred in the back of his brain, and he hid himself once more.

 ‘But my friends!’ the Pilgrim exclaimed, bending to the hobbits. ‘We never had our feast last night! What a pity!’ None of the hobbits moved. Cold, they were, and scarcely breathing. ‘This will never do!’ he said, clucking with concern.

Rubbing his hands together, he said, ‘First things first! We’ll build up the fire, o yes, that’s the first thing needed. Cannot have a feast without fire! Why, it wouldn’t be a roast without roasting, now would it?’

He frowned at finding the wet, cold ashes. The fire had not been banked, but thoroughly quenched with water. It would take time to build it up again, and more time to spark it to life. Still, his guests were waiting. ‘No matter!’ he called over his shoulder. ‘No worry! We’ll soon set things to rights!’

He scooped the nasty wet ashes to the side of the firebox and laid fresh wood in carefully. ‘Lots of kindling,’ he muttered to himself. ‘That’ll get it off to a good start, and quickly too!’ He raised his voice once more to reassure his guests. ‘We’ll have a roasting fire before you know it!’

They didn’t move; perhaps they hadn’t heard. He arose; he’d have to go into the other room to get the matches. Looking at the hobbits once more, he caught his breath. He’d not really seen the third one; there had been a rush of movement and then blinding pain.

 ‘You’re a pretty one,’ he breathed, falling to his knees before the pile. He reached out a trembling finger to stroke the jaw now pale and cool to the touch. ‘Why, they didn’t tell me they’d brought you along! O now,’ he said, his eyes brightening. ‘We’ll have quite a time, we will! We’ll put the roast on and dance to the music as they sing!’ He ran a hand over the soft, unresponsive body. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said appreciatively. ‘We’ll have a lovely time; we’ll dance, and feast, and then when all the meat is gone you’ll sing for me as well, won’t you, my lovely?’

But first things first. Sitting here here contemplating imminent delight would not get that fire going. He gave the soft, alluring body a promising caress and rose. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he vowed.

As he was in the sleeping room, humming a little tune as he rummaged for the matches (he hadn’t needed them in some days, for he was always careful to bank the fire) he heard the shouts of men outside.

Brant was instantly alert. The Easterlings! They’d found him! He eased one set of shutters open just a crack, peeping through. He had to find a way of escape, he had to, or die trying! They would not torture him to death; his would be a quick, clean death. He didn’t care what they did to his body afterwards.

***

Out in the yard a body of guardsmen of Gondor and Rohirrim were dismounting, tying their horses to the rails of the fence.

 ‘Missing rails,’ Eomer said to his son with a frown.

 ‘Only one was missing when we delivered the supplies,’ Elfwine said, puzzled. ‘He shouldn’t have had to chop them up for firewood; we delivered plenty.’

There was a shout from the small stables, meant for the care of sick or injured beasts, but a good shelter in a storm as well. ‘Their ponies! Two of them, at least!’

 ‘Only two,’ Elessar said bleakly. But which?

He lifted his voice to shout a greeting, but there was no answer.

 ‘No smoke coming from the chimney,’ Eomer said grimly. ‘That’s not a good sign. Perhaps they found shelter, but if they were too numbed with cold to start a fire...’

 ‘The Pilgrim ought to have helped them,’ Elfwine said.

 ‘What if he was caught out in the storm?’ his father replied. ‘You said he was a wanderer.’ He stopped talking as they entered, seeing the three hobbits lying together a little way from the hearth. ‘What in the name of...’ he said, striding forward.

Elessar pushed past him, falling to his knees. ‘Bandages,’ he said, and immediately moved to look at the injuries they covered. He sat back on his feet, looking up at the others. ‘Burns,’ he said grimly.

 ‘So they had a fire,’ Eomer said, ‘and I see one freshly laid on the hearth, but not burning.’ He bent to touch cool skin. ‘We need to get them warm.’

One of the Rohirrim quickly sparked the fire while another fetched blankets. Two of the guardsmen shed their mail, gathering Ferdi and Nell against the soft wool of their tunics and letting themselves be covered with layers of blankets, allowing the warmth of their bodies to begin to warm the chilled hobbits. Samwise had pulled Merry close, to be swaddled together in blankets in the same manner.

Elessar was going over the room, his face increasingly grim as he took in the remnant of fence pole with its blackened end, the scraps of cut rope, the blood on the floor.

Eomer caught sight of his expression and asked, ‘What is it?’

 ‘I don’t know exactly what happened here,’ Elessar said slowly, ‘but I don’t like what I see.’

 ‘What is it?’ Eomer said again.

Elessar looked up at him from his crouched position, dropping the piece of rope he held. ‘The pole, the ropes, the pattern of burns on their feet...’ he said. ‘The Easterlings have a particular method of torture... it is very effective when they wish to get information out of reluctant prisoner, but they use it sometimes for diversion rather than need.’

Eomer nodded. He’d heard of the Easterlings’ fondness for “diversion”. There was old pain reflected in Elessar’s face, old anger, and the king of Rohan remembered that the King of the West had travelled far, under many names and guises, in the years before his crowning. ‘So what do you think happened?’

Elessar rose and prowled the room, finding several shards of glass near the sofa. He sniffed these, then went to the table where a half-full wine bottle rested next to a burned-out candle. He picked up the bottle, sniffed it, took a cautious swig and spat the wine onto the floor. Flingsae, he said in disgust.

 ‘What’s that?’ Eomer said, taking the bottle from Elessar’s hand. He wasn’t about to drink it, but he took a cautious sniff.

 ‘Venom, from one of the great spiders that still roam the darkest places of the Wild,’ Elessar answered. ‘The Easterlings use it in hunting. They’ll taint a waterhole, wait for the creatures to drink and be made helpless, then they roast their prey alive. They say it enhances the flavour.*’

 ‘Methinks it is time to pay the Easterlings some attention, when next the season comes for kings to ride out to war,’ Eomer said.

 ‘You’re right,’ Elessar said. ‘I’ve been busy dealing with the Haradrim and left the Easterlings in peace for far too long.’

 ‘The Pilgrim, do you think?’ Elfwine said, coming back to the matter at hand.

 ‘Let us not jump to conclusions,’ his father said gravely. ‘We’ll see what the Holbytlan have to say when they waken.’

 'We still have to find out what's happened to Pippin,' Elessar whispered.

Eomer looked from the blackened pole to the brightly blazing fire and suppressed a sudden violent desire to be ill.

***

Brant watched and waited. He’d silently assumed the clothes and armour found under one of the beds, and when one of the men had poked his head into the sleeping room he’d stuck his head under the bed to make a show of searching, and had been left alone to continue his business. Now he watched through the shutters, until another of the men tied his horse to the fence and walked into the hut. This was his chance!

He slipped on the concealing helm and climbed out through a rear-facing window when the way was clear. He sauntered around the end of the house, untied the horse he’d just seen tied, and mounted.

 ‘Do you carry a message to Edoras?’ a guardsman hailed him.

He raised his arm in assent, wheeled the horse, touched his heels to its sides, and was off in the direction of Edoras at a gallop, urgent as any messenger. There were no shouts and no pursuit. He rode almost all the way to Edoras, slowing his horse to a ground-eating trot and skirting the city. Once beyond, he was free! They’d never take him again.

Pilgrim whispered in the back of his mind. What a pity! I’m starving.

Brant shook the fancies from his head. There was likely food in the saddlebags. He’d check when he was some distance from the city.

Pilgrim whispered again. ‘She was pretty, even if she wasn’t a young thing, young and tender.’ He licked his lips. ‘She’s mine, though. I’ve claimed her.’ When Brant didn’t answer, he said, a little testily, ‘I’ll find her again, take what’s mine. I made her a promise, you know.’ Brant still did not answer, lost in thought as he was. Pilgrim’s voice rose to a whispered scream. ‘I’ll find her again!’

 ‘You do that,’ Brant said absently, and moved his horse from a trot to a walk to rest the beast. There was a ways to go before they reached the White City, where he could lose himself for a time, lick his wounds, find a new identity and move on.

***  

*A/N: In our world, dogs are roasted alive in certain cultures, for the same reason given in the story. (Feeling a sudden need to call the Alsatian over for a hug)

Chapter 12. Awakenings

Pimpernel awakened to an unfamiliar heartbeat. She wakened slowly, for she was warm, wonderfully warm and snug after the ache of cold. In dark dreams had she wandered, while a fell voice whispered dreadful promises, and remembering, she whimpered. The arms of her beloved tightened around her, comforting her... but it was not her beloved. His heart was... it was not his heart, and it was not his scent, and...

 ‘I think she’s coming around, Sire,’ a voice rumbled against her ear, and she stiffened, tried to push herself away, but was held fast, trapped!

All in the room froze as a heart-rending scream issued from the blankets wrapping the soldier and the hobbit he held, and then both kings leapt to pull the blankets away.

Merry sat up in Sam’s hold, fumbling under the blankets, muttering, ‘Sword! Where’s my sword!’

 ‘Steady, Merry, all’s well,’ Sam said, taking a firmer grip on his burden as Merry stiffened and began to retch violently.

Elessar tore away the blankets and moved to take Pimpernel from the guardsman’s lap, a Man who had faced fire and battle, but now sat helpless in the face of feminine terror, his jaw working as he sought for a comforting word, his arms hovering but not quite touching the hobbit once the enfolding blankets were gone. The King took the hobbit from him and he sighed in relief, though his face still reflected the distress he felt for the terrified little one.

 ‘Nell,’ Elessar soothed, but she stiffened and struck out wildly, hitting and kicking with all her strength, screaming and sobbing incoherently.

 ‘Help her,’ Merry said, pushing Sam away with as much strength as he could muster. The retching had stopped but now spasms racked his body. As Sam rose to obey, Merry wrapped his arms about himself and twisted, gasping for air, his face ashen. ‘Go!’ he gritted when Sam hesitated.

Elessar had set Nell hastily upon the floor, where she crouched, head covered by her arms. She screamed no longer but continued to sob, little gulps of abject fear.

 ‘Nell,’ Sam said softly, moving to crouch beside her. He met Strider’s eyes, and the King nodded. ‘Nell, you’re safe now. We’ve come to help.’

She stiffened as he put a tentative hand on hers, but it was a hobbit hand, of proper size, and soothing for that reason. Slowly he enveloped her in a proper hobbit hug, and slowly he felt her relax against him, until he was able to hold her as he might his Rosie, and stroke her hair.

Elessar gave another nod and rose to cross to Merry. ‘What happened?’ he asked. He didn’t ask how Merry was feeling. He had a good idea, from his own long-ago experience with the foul stuff in the wine.

 ‘Monster,’ Merry said with a grimace. ‘Took us in out of the snow, drugged us, and invited us to sup with him.’ He took several rapid shallow breaths, fighting the nausea. ‘We were to be the main course, and I suspect Nell was intended as the sweet.’

 ‘How did you escape roasting?’ Elessar asked.

 ‘Was it the Pilgrim?’ Elfwine said suddenly, looking from the fence pole to the hearth and then back to Merry.

 ‘Did the Pilgrim save you from him?’ Eomer said, bending low to address Merry eye-to-eye, but the young prince beside him shook his head.

 ‘No, he’s the monster. I see it now,’ Elfwine said. ‘He was always pressing me to dine with him, and I met him on the day Elfalas disappeared...’

 ‘You think,’ Eomer began.

 ‘The day we delivered the supplies a fence pole was missing,’ Elfwine said, ‘the top rail of the middle span on the north side. We were late bringing his supplies because of the search for Elfalas.’

 ‘Have the men look about for bones,’ Elessar said grimly to Bergil, hovering nearby. ‘Bones, skulls, any remains of man or hobbit.’ Bergil saluted and strode from the room. Outside they heard him snapping orders.

Elessar turned back to Merry to ask, ‘What of Pippin?’

 ‘Pippin...’ Merry said faintly, and then his eyes closed and he slumped, senseless once more.

Ferdibrand was unresponsive, and Nell still sobbed, beyond all reason, in Sam’s embrace. If a Man approached too near she would stiffen and Sam would quickly wave him away.

 ‘The man was mad,’ Elfwine said with a look to his father. ‘I thought him harmless, but... Do you suppose he left before the storm was spent, bearing away the other hobbit? That would explain why we saw no tracks in the fresh snow.’

Eomer nodded, jaw clenched, face grim. He rose abruptly and strode from the little house, shouting for his Riders. When they gathered, he quickly scanned their faces, saying, ‘There is a monster loose in the Mark, eater of man-flesh and tormenter of souls. Take horse and ride in all directions! Spread the news! Search for an old man bearing one of the Holbytlan! There is no time to lose!’

There was a shout from one of the guardsmen who’d been digging through the midden pile. He held a skull aloft, larger than a hobbit skull, obviously the skull of a Man.

 ‘Elfalas,’ a Rider of Elfwine’s eored whispered.
 
 ‘Go!’ King Eomer snapped to his men, and they whirled and ran to their horses, scattering like leaves in a stiff breeze.

The snow was already beginning to melt as the Sun arose beyond Edoras. It promised to be a glorious day.

The King’s esquire, a young knight, came out of the house. ‘We found nothing inside,’ he said to his lord. ‘Do you wish me to take a message to the City?’

They had left the Golden Hall an hour before the dawning, hoping to bear good news back with them in time for breakfast. They would return bearing hobbits, indeed, but three instead of four, and wounded in body and spirit.

 ‘Yes,’ Eomer said heavily. ‘Take back the news that three have been found alive: Master Holdwine, Chancellor Ferdibrand, and his wife.’ He stopped the young Rider, grasping his arm urgently. ‘Do not tell them what we fear has happened to the fourth, not until we have more evidence.’

 ‘Yes, Sire,’ the esquire said, saluting and turning smartly to walk to the fence where he’d tied his horse. Odd. There were a few remaining who bore the trappings of the Mark: the king’s horse, of course, and that of Prince Elfwine, but most of the horses belonged to the guardsmen of Gondor. His eye scanned down the line, not finding his own mount. His bewilderment mounted as he went down the line again. His horse had not simply sprouted wings and flown away!

He re-entered the little house to find his king in discussion with King Elessar.

 ‘Of course, there’s a lot of country to cover, but the snow ought to slow him. My knights will rouse the entire countryside and all the farms and villages...’ Eomer looked up. ‘What is it, Theomund?’ he asked.

The esquire hesitated, then blurted, ‘I cannot find my horse.’

 ‘You cannot find...’ Eomer said slowly.

 ‘I left him tied to the fence with the others, and now...’ Theomund replied helplessly, spreading his hands in a futile gesture.

It did not take long to establish that a knight of the Mark had ridden away soon after their arrival, and not long after that they determined that he had not arrived, in the first place, with the rescuers.

 ‘He carried a message from the king,’ the guardsman who’d witnessed the departure said.

 ‘He said he carried a message? You spoke with him?’ Eomer demanded, his esquire hovering at his elbow.

 ‘You saw him?’ Elessar said in turn. His guardsman turned to him.

 ‘No, Sire,’ he said earnestly. ‘I saw him not. He wore his helm and was already riding away when I hailed him. He answered me with a wave and I let him go.’ His guts were churning within him. He had failed his King. Because of him, the monster had escaped in the guise of a Rider of Rohan.

 ‘Then the news sent out into the land is wrong,’ Elessar snapped. ‘We are not seeking an old man bearing a Halfling...’ He clenched his jaw as the implication came home to him, and then raised his head to address the hovering guardsmen. ‘We are still looking for the remains of the Ernil i Pheriannath,’ he said grimly.

 ‘Yes, Sire,’ a grizzled sergeant replied, and turned away, shouting to his men. ‘You heard the King!’ Once more they spread out in search, some to dig through the midden, others to look for signs of disturbed ground under the rapidly melting snow.

Turning back to Eomer, Elessar said, ‘We need to take the others back to Edoras, and as quickly as possible. They will heal more readily, surrounded by their own.’ They rapidly worked out the details. Half of Elessar’s guardsmen would continue to search here; the other half would escort the surviving hobbits to Edoras with the Kings, who would bear Merry and Ferdibrand in their arms to the City. Sam, who’d ridden with Elessar, would ride Cloudracer with Nell beside him on Ferdibrand’s pony so that she need not suffer the agonies of being carried by the Men she now found so terrifying, and no wonder: undoubtedly she'd watched that monster consume her brother. 

***

He wakened slowly, unsure of his surroundings. Unsure of anything, as a matter of fact. A stranger’s face hung over him, braids of gold coiled around her head, her fair face smiling though her blue eyes were dark with concern.

 ‘You are with us,’ she said softly, her tone one of relief. ‘How do you feel?’

He opened his mouth to answer but no sound resulted. He could not remember for the life of him how to form the words.

 ‘Grandfather,’ the girl called softly. ‘He wakens.’

Soon another face bent over him, etched with years and marked with the scar of an old battle. ‘Master Holbytla,’ the old man said. ‘You’ve had us quite worried. You struck your head when you fell from your pony in our yard.’

He had no memory. Pony? What pony? Where was he? For that matter, how did he come to be here? And where had he come from, in the first place? A frightening blank reared in his mind where thought and memory ought to be. He tried to raise his hand to his aching head, but it would not answer him. Was he bound? Was he a prisoner?

Seeing fear cross the small one’s face, the old man said reassuringly, ‘All is well. I will bear you to Edoras, to the Hall of Healing there, and they will undoubtedly mend the trouble.’

 ‘I will bundle him well, Grandfather,’ the girl said.

As he lay helpless, he saw the old man smile, nod, felt the old man pat his shoulder before arising. He could not turn his head to follow the old one’s movements, but thought he heard the sounds of a cloak swirling in the air and settling. When the old man came back into his line of vision he smiled slightly, glad to know he’d been correct. The old man turned away as the girl tugged at his arm, and he heard her whisper. He doesn’t move or speak. Is he going to die?

Hush, child, he will hear you, came the answer, and then in an everyday voice, ‘Bundle him well, little flower. The snow is melting, but the wind of our passing will be swift.’

 ‘Yes, Grandfather,’ came the obedient answer. She bent over him once more, tucking blankets around him. His eyes were caught by a few strands of gold that had escaped the braids. They reminded him... reminded him... He closed his eyes and slept again.

***
A/N: Medical details drawn from research notes provided by Lyllyn at HASA

Chapter 13. Catching their Deaths

 ‘What’s that up ahead?’ Elessar asked.

Merry opened bleary eyes to look and closed them again, seeing nothing but blinding sunlight.

 ‘Crowd of some sort,’ Eomer grunted, looking down at his burden. ‘Master Holdwine?’ But the hobbit did not open his eyes again.

 ‘I see some of your knights,’ Elessar said, ‘but what’s that they’re dragging?’

Eomer squinted, then suddenly urged his mount into a run, the others belatedly following.

 ‘Steady now,’ Sam said to Cloudracer as the pony threw up his head and snorted. He kept a firm hand on his reins and grabbed the bridle of the pony Pimpernel rode to forestall a runaway. She’d guided her mount well enough, so long as they kept away from the main body of Men. ‘We’ll get there soon enough.’

The knights pulled their horses to a stop as their king rode up. ‘We have him, Sire!’ one shouted. ‘Caught him with the Halfling in hand!’

 ‘Hanging’s too good for him,’ another growled. ‘We’d have drawn-and-quartered, him, but for the law that we must bring him back to the Hall of Judgement!’

 ‘So you decided to drag him to death on the way?’ Eomer shouted. His knights exchanged uneasy glances.

The one who bore the limp hobbit in his arms said, ‘But Sire! He’s already done the Prince of Halflings untold harm!’

Elessar moved in closer for an anxious look. Pippin lay white and unmoving.

The old man at the end of the rope raised his head from the muddy ground. ‘I didn’t!’ he panted. ‘Sire, I swear, I meant only to help the little one!’

 ‘Help him right into his grave!’ one of the knights snarled, to be silenced with a look from his king.

 ‘Could there have been two of them?’ Elfwine said. ‘One took the Halfling in the night, before the snow ceased, and the other escaped wearing the clothes of Elfalas?’

 ‘It’s possible,’ Eomer said slowly. ‘Is he the wanderer you remember?’

Elfwine looked closely at the mud-spattered man, his white hair wild. An old battle scar crossed his face, leaving a permanent grin. ‘He is like,’ he said doubtfully. ‘Very like, but his voice...’

Eomer looked down to the hobbit he held. ‘Master Holdwine,’ he said. ‘Merry! We need you to waken.’

Merry groaned but did not open his eyes.

 ‘Ferdibrand?’ Elessar said to his own burden, without hope. Ferdi had shown little sign of life since their arrival at the herdsmen's hut. At least he was breathing.

Elessar looked over to where Samwise had halted the ponies, some ways from the crowd. ‘Sam!’ he said. ‘We need to know if this is the Man!’

Sam spoke softly to Pimpernel, and she shook her head. He spoke again, nudged his pony into motion, pulling on her reins so that her pony would follow. She slipped from the saddle to stand in the melting snow as if rooted there.

 ‘Nell,’ he said, stopping his pony and jumping down to stand beside her. ‘Nell, you’ve got to look. You have to tell them if he’s the one. There seems to be some doubt about the matter.’

 ‘No,’ Nell said, her look far away and lost. ‘We mustn’t. The ruffians, you know.’

 ‘Nell,’ Sam said again, taking the reins of both ponies in one hand so that he could take her arm with the other. ‘If he’s the one who hurt Ferdi he’ll be punished. But they’ll let him off if you don’t look, and tell them if he’s the right one. They’ll let him off, Nell, and he’ll be free.’ He wasn’t sure if this was the truth. Usually one accused had to prove his innocence rather than the accusers having to prove his guilt. That was the way things were in the world. Still, if there was doubt about the matter, Sam would do his best to see justice done.

This argument reached Nell. The thought of the monster going free was enough to waken her from her nightmare of remembered fear. She shook off his hand and stalked towards the Men. Ruffians all. Ferdi’d had the right of it.

 ‘I was only trying to help,’ the old man said again, lifting his bound hands in pleading to his king.

Nell frowned. The voice wasn’t right.

 ‘He could be disguising his voice,’ she said.

 ‘Look closer, Nell,’ Sam said in her ear. She steeled herself to look, meeting the Man’s bloodshot gaze... and gasped.

 ‘Blue!’ she said.

 ‘What was that?’ Sam asked gently, raising a hand to forestall any comments from the Men surrounding them.

 ‘The monster’s eyes were grey, grey as the eyes of a guardsman of Gondor,’ she said coldly. ‘Grey as the eyes of the King himself. He was a Man of Gondor, not one of the Rohirrim.’

 ‘Cut him loose!’ Eomer snapped. The knight who’d been dragging the old man along slid down from his saddle to comply, then looked questioningly at his king.

 ‘Pick him up! Put him on your own horse,’ Eomer said tightly. ‘You may walk; lead the horse into Edoras and to the Healing Hall.’ To the old man he said, ‘My apologies, Grandfather. You shall be compensated for this day’s work.’

The old man nodded, shook off the knights’ now helping hands, and climbed into the saddle with dignity despite his bruised and battered state.

Eomer raised his voice to address the crowd of townspeople and knights gathering closer. ‘There’s been a mistake!’ he shouted. ‘The monster is loose among us, indeed, but he goes dressed as a knight of the Mark, riding a stolen horse! Mark the face of every knight you meet; trust no one. Bring any unfamiliar Man you find to Edoras. I trust you will do this in a more... appropriate manner.’

There were mutters from the knights and nods from the townspeople, and they turned away to resume the search for the madman.

***

 ‘You’d think they’d never seen snow before,’ Diamond said in amusement to Estella. The hobbit children were having a glorious snowball fight with the children of Edoras. Bergil’s family and Elessar’s had joined in on the hobbit side, but the hobbits didn’t need help, with their prowess in throwing.

 ‘The children of Edoras seldom see snow,’ Estella answered. ‘Winters really are milder here. Such a storm is unusual.’

 ‘At least it’s promising to melt away quickly,’ Diamond said. A snowball gone awry smacked against her skirts and she bent to scoop up a handful of her own, tossing it at the perpetrator and laughing at his surprise. ‘Too bad Pip’s missing this; he loves a good game.’

 ‘Well he needn’t have ridden out with the kings before breakfast,’ Estella said, ‘no more my Merry and your Sam, Rose, but that’s the way of these Rohirrim. The menfolk are always off on some errand or other, for it’s more sport than sitting prim and proper and sipping tea with the ladies.’

 ‘Hunting, and in this weather,’ Rose said in disgust. ‘They’ll probably catch their deaths, and naught else!’

 ‘Looks as if they might have caught something,’ Diamond said, seeing the riders approaching the city. That was an advantage of playing in the courtyard before the Golden Hall; they had a fine view of the approach to Edoras. ‘Three of the Men are carrying burdens in their arms...’

 ‘That’s not how you bring back trophies,’ Estella said sharply. ‘And there are only three ponies... didn’t you say Pimpernel went out with them? And one of the ponies being led, not ridden!’

As they watched, one rider broke from the group and spurred his horse ahead. He pulled his mount to a walk between the mounds of the kings for the briefest possible time before urging the beast up the great hill at its best pace. It was not long before he pulled up before the Golden Hall and jumped down—Elfwine it was, the young prince himself.

He bowed before the ladies. Arwen, Lothiriel, and Bergil's wife Gaelwyn came up silently behind Estella and Diamond to hear the news.

 ‘Regards of King Eomer,’ Elfwine said. ‘We are bringing your husbands to the Hall of Healing, and if you please, the king requests that you accompany me there to meet them.’

 ‘Hall of Healing!’ Diamond exclaimed.

But Rose only shook her head and said, ‘I told you so.’

Chapter 14. Healers' Care

 ‘There is something you must know,’ Queen Lothiriel said firmly as the hobbit mums exchanged glances amongst themselves.

 ‘Something you haven’t told us?’ Estella said at once. She shot Diamond and Rose a look that said, Why am I not surprised?

 ‘You have been under healers’ care since your arrival,’ the queen said. ‘You all were in such a state of cold and exhaustion, King Eomer sent at once to the Hall of Healing and they sent out to the rest of the city, to summon all healers who were free to attend you.’

 ‘All those attentive servants...’ Diamond said.

Lothiriel smiled. ‘Yes, quite a few of them,’ she agreed. ‘They saw to it that you were fed, warmed, and tucked into beds for a restorative period of sleep.’

 ‘Very kind, I’m sure,’ Rose murmured, but she did not lose her watchful look, and Estella was clearly exasperated.

 ‘They determined that it would have been harmful to allow worry to rob you of rest...’ Lothiriel continued.

 ‘And just what have we to worry about?’ Estella said, advancing on the queen, who crouched in the snow to see eye-to-eye with the irate hobbit.

 ‘Several riders had been lost in the storm,’ Lothiriel said candidly. Diamond caught her breath, and the queen nodded.

 ‘Pippin,’ Diamond whispered, ‘and Merry...’

 ‘Ferdibrand and Pimpernel,’ Rose put in. ‘She wouldn’t let him out of her sight, yesterday, do you remember? She said she’d ride all the way to Edoras pony-back if she had to.’

Estella said, ‘But they’re found, or we wouldn’t be called to the Healing Hall...’ She whirled to address Elfwine, who’d dismounted and was waiting nearby. The children, curious, were gathering, snow battles forgotten. ‘You!’ she said sternly, wagging a finger at the prince. ‘Tell me, are they all found?’

 ‘They are,’ he said.

 ‘But not all well, I take it,’ Diamond said, moving to Estella’s side. ‘Come, let us not waste time in chit-chat.’ Gathering skirts and children, the crowd of hobbits and Big Folk removed to the Halls of Healing.

***

 ‘Well that’s one problem settled,’ Goldilocks said. She made a face at her untouched plate and pushed it away, choosing to sip her tea instead.

 ‘Off your feed?’ Faramir said, instantly solicitous.

 ‘We ate so heartily last night,’ Goldi said, though the thought made her stomach flip-flop now in the morning light. ‘It was clever of you, to order a feast to celebrate conclusion of the harvest. I imagine the level of grumbling has dropped precipitously.’

 ‘And now I have them out planting the winter wheat and barley,’ Farry said, absently lifting a forkful of bacon from Goldi’s plate. ‘There’s grumbling, be assured of that.’ He sipped his own tea, rose to refill both their cups, but Goldi waved the teapot away. ‘What’s the rush?’ he said, imitating one of the chief farmers of Tuckborough, a hobbit of more mouth than brain. He didn’t deserve the land he’d inherited, in Farry’s opinion, but what could one do? Pippin had bribed the farmer to take a position at the Great Smials, leaving his competent younger brother to manage the land, but now Faramir was stuck with listening to reams of useless “advice”. ‘Why are we hurrying to finish planting the winter wheat? We have an entire month left in the season!’

 ‘Why are we hurrying?’ Goldi said, sitting back. It would be time soon to go down to the kitchens, to plan menus with the chief cook. The idea was less than appealing at the moment. ‘The weather is perfect! You’d never know it snowed a few days ago.’

 ‘The weather was perfect before it snowed,’ Farry said. ‘The hunters are worried; they say it’s going to be a bad winter from the signs.’

 ‘It seems I hear that every year,’ Goldi said. ‘Pip and Merry-lad enjoy coming back from the Dragon with tales of the old gaffers’ predictions of woe.’

 ‘Better safe than sorry,’ Farry said. ‘I want the Shire to still be here when my father returns.’

 ‘ “If he returns,” you mean,’ Goldi laughed. ‘He’s been talking of stepping down as Thain for all the time I’ve known him, and now he has you...’

 ‘Don’t even think it,’ Farry said with a shudder. ‘I’m not ready...’

 ‘You don’t feel ready to run the Shire,’ Goldi said with a smile, ‘but you’ll do it anyhow, because your father expects it of you or he’d never have left you in charge in the first place.’

 ‘Well,’ Farry said, ‘I’ll be glad when he returns...’

 ‘As long as he doesn’t decide to stay in the Southlands for good!’ Goldi teased.

 ‘Don’t borrow trouble,’ Farry said, ‘for all you’re so good at sweet-talking others out of what you want. And remember, on the morrow we’re off to Bridgefields, to meet with the Bolger and Berilac Brandybuck to discuss preparations for the winter.’

 ‘My saddlebags are already packed,’ Goldi said. ‘I have all I need.’

 ‘Saddlebags?’ Farry said.

 ‘You don’t think we’re going to haul a pack beast along, or ride in a carriage in this glorious weather!’ Goldi said. ‘What I cannot bring, I’ll borrow!’

***

Most of the visitors were shown to a large, pleasant room with fires at both ends, the floor deep in richly-hued carpets, the furnishings overstuffed and comfortable. Thick hangings graced the walls, depicting pleasant scenes. All was inviting—suitable for a prolonged wait, Estella noted warily. Thankfully, in all their visits to Edoras, this was her first glimpse of the insides of the Healing Hall.

 ‘If you will come with me,’ a healers’ assistant said quietly.

 At a look from Diamond, Forget-me-not, eldest daughter of the Thain, settled the little ones around her on the floor for a counting and clapping game.

The hobbit mums followed a healer’s assistant to another room much more sparsely furnished, with walls and floors of stone. Tall wooden tables dwarfed the three small figures that lay upon them as healers and their assistants worked. One held Merry as he retched miserably into a basin, another was treating the burns on Ferdibrand’s back, several others gathered around Pippin, manipulating his limbs and exchanging comments in low tones. Estella rushed to Merry’s side, Diamond to Pippin’s, while Rose stood uncertainly. Where was Samwise? She felt hands on her shoulders and looked up to see Arwen behind her.

An old man wrapped in a blanket was talking to Elessar by the bier where Pippin lay. His wrists were being gently tended, though the assistant at work was hampered by the fact that the old man kept pulling his hands away to gesture expressively.

 ‘The dogs were restless,’ he was saying. ‘As I was, listening to the wind howl as if the wolves had come down from the mountains again, or the spirits of those lost at the Fords of Isen were wandering... my father and two brothers fell there...’

 ‘The dogs were restless,’ Elessar prompted, and the old man returned to his story.

 ‘They kept getting up and lying down again. Restless they were, as I've said. They pawed at the door and whined though I scolded them well. I told them to lie down, but Ironjaw cocked his head, ran to the door and began to howl louder than the wind. “There is something out there,” I told my granddaughter.’

The healer’s assistant gently pulled his pointing hand down and began to re-wrap the bandage.

 ‘She said it was no more than the wind, but Ironjaw is not one to give up when he has his quarry. I thought he’d dig a hole through the door though it has withstood worse. I took the lantern and went out. You couldn’t see a hand before your face, but the dog, he darted out into the snow as if he had eyes to see through wind and storm! He came back, took my sleeve, pulled me into the yard...’

The healer’s assistant sighed and let go long enough for the old man to tug at his own sleeve to illustrate his words.

 ‘Straight out into the yard he brought me, to the trough, and the lantern showed me a dark bulk. It was a pony, head hanging. I said, “How came you to be here?” Ironjaw thrust forward, diving at the pony’s feet; I thought he’d drive the beast away, but that was not his intention. He was pulling at something.’ He pointed to Pippin. ‘This one’s cloak. When I touched him, he was alive and not frozen through as I expected! He’d been riding through the storm, trusting the pony to lead him to shelter, to my reckoning, but too stiff from the cold to dismount properly. He fell and hit his head, I think, on the stones or on the trough itself.’

 ‘Hit his head,’ a healer with a quiet air of authority said. ‘Yes, here.’ Elessar thanked the old man and turned to the table, to run his hands over Pippin’s head. Diamond was standing beside her husband. Standing on tiptoe, she could just see him. She was jostled from behind and half-turned to protest, but it was another assistant with a tall stool. She thanked him softly, climbing up, taking Pippin’s hand and gazing into his face.

 ‘Pippin?’ she said softly. ‘My love, I’m here. Pippin? Are you with us?’

He heard a familiar voice and opened his eyes, seeing a stone ceiling above him, curiously flat. Shapes moved at the periphery of his vision, and then suddenly a face was suspended over his. He knew this face; it was as familiar to him as the fur on his feet, though he could not put a name to it, nor to the feelings that welled in him. He smiled.

 ‘You see,’ the healer said to Elessar. ‘Only the left side responds.’ He bent over the hobbit, taking the small hands in his. ‘Can you squeeze my hands?’ he said. He gave a gentle squeeze of his own to encourage the hobbit, and felt a feeble response from one of the hands. Stepping back, he caught Elessar’s eye and shook his head. ‘Only the left side,’ he repeated. ‘And look at his eyes when I bring the lamp close. By your leave, Mistress,’ he said politely to Diamond.

The face was withdrawn and a bright light was shone in his eyes. He wanted to protest but there were no words left to him. When he tried to close his eyes, something held them open as the bright light advanced and retreated. Voices rumbled meaningless noises in his ears. When his eyes suddenly were allowed to close, a tear trickled down his cheek.

 ‘What is it?’ Diamond whispered. She knew Pippin had every confidence in Strider. She took up her husband’s left hand, the one the healer had said was still working, and held tight. The hands of the King... she thought desperately.

 ‘Diamond,’ Elessar said gravely, bending close. ‘Pippin is bleeding inside his head.’

 ‘I see no blood,’ she said, perplexed.

 ‘When a hobbit hits his head, and falls asleep, and does not waken,’ Elessar said, ‘you do not see the blood, but it is there.’

Diamond nodded. One of her father’s workers had died so. An icy hand gripped her heart. ‘He will die, then?’ she said. ‘Not even athelas can save him?’

 ‘Not athelas, not this time,’ Elessar said, ‘but there is something we can do.’

 ‘What?’ Diamond said, her eyes not leaving her husband’s face. If he opened his eyes again, she did not want to miss the moment.

 ‘We bore a hole, through the bone, to let the blood out,’ Elessar said.

 ‘A hole? In his head?’ Diamond said in horror.

Estella looked over from Merry’s side. Happily her husband had not heard Diamond, so involved was he in trying to bring up his insides.

 ‘It is his only chance,’ Elessar said.

 ‘No,’ Diamond half-sobbed. ‘I cannot let you do such a thing to him...’

 ‘Diamond,’ Elessar said. ‘If we do not do this thing, he will die, or worse, he will live on as you see him: a faint spark burning in a shell. He cannot move or speak. He is trapped, and he can never win his way free this side of death.’

Chapter 15. The Road Goes Ever On

Arwen’s hands tightened on Rose’s shoulders. When the hobbit looked up questioningly, Arwen softly said, ‘Come.’ Rose took the proffered hand and followed. Perhaps the queen would lead her to Samwise.

...which she did. In a small room nearby (small by Men’s standards, but large enough to be a sitting room for a large hobbit family), Samwise sat upon the floor, his back to the corner of the room. Pimpernel was cradled in his lap; he held her close and whispered gentle soothing comfort against her curls.

 ‘Sam?’ Rose asked. She saw her husband’s arms tighten about Ferdi’s wife, but his whispers didn’t stop.

 ‘There, you see,’ he was saying. ‘All is well, we’re amongst our own kind now, the danger is over...’ and more of the same.

 ‘Sam?’ Rose asked again, stepping forward to kneel beside Sam and Pimpernel, wrapping her arms around them both. Arwen followed, stopping when Pimpernel stiffened in Sam’s embrace.

 ‘You’re safe,’ Sam murmured, but Pimpernel shook her head.

 ‘Men,’ she hissed. ‘We’re among Men; how can we be safe?’

 ‘I may be mortal now, but I am Half-elven,’ Arwen said, stooping but not coming any nearer. ‘None of the Men here wish to harm you; they only seek to render aid.’

 ‘Aid,’ Pimpernel said bitterly. ‘Aid! He said he offered aid, but he meant death,’ she spat.

 ‘But the aid is now yours to give,’ Arwen said persuasively.

 ‘Why should I help them?’ Pimpernel said, and then added softly, ‘What can I do? They’re so Big...’

 ‘You can help your brother,’ Rose spoke up, and Pimpernel stared at her. She had retreated into dream after the old man’s bonds were cut, seeing nothing, saying nothing more as Sam led her pony through the streets of Edoras. Sam’s face was sober; he’d watched the Thain, lying unmoving in Bergil’s arms as they rode slowly the rest of the way into the city.
 
 ‘What help does he need?’ Pimpernel said now.

 ‘He’s injured, and Elessar can help him,’ Rose said, ‘but only if Diamond agrees.’

 ‘Diamond’s right to fight them!’ Pimpernel cried. ‘She has the right of it,’ she said, lower, and buried her face in her hands. ‘Ruffians all,’ she whispered. ‘Just as Ferdi said.’

 ‘Would you condemn your brother?’ Rose said.

 ‘He has a good chance if the healers are allowed to help him,’ Arwen said. ‘My father has saved several Elves in this manner, and a few Men as well.’

 ‘In what manner?’ Pimpernel said.

Rose hesitated, for the cure sounded barbaric and cruel. ‘He is bleeding inside his head,’ she said at last, ‘and they have to make a way to let the blood out, like you’d lance a boil.’ At least, she thought it was something like that.

 ‘How?’ Pimpernel pressed, her eyes going to Arwen.

 ‘They must bore a hole through the bone,’ Arwen said, her eyes steady on Pimpernel’s.

 ‘Ruffians!’ Pimpernel shouted. ‘And you would have me persuade Diamond to give her consent to let them torture my brother to death?’

 ‘Nell,’ Arwen began.

 ‘Don’t you “Nell” me!’ Pimpernel said furiously, but Arwen would not be denied.

 ‘I trust my husband implicitly,’ she said. ‘If he says it is the only way, then what he says is truth.’ Pimpernel shook her head furiously, but Arwen held her gaze. ‘Pimpernel,’ she said formally, ‘what if... what if I laid myself down, allowed my husband to bore a hole in my head, through my bone. Would that convince you? If I could prove it safe to you in that way...?’

Sam and Rose stared at the queen in amaze. She could not be serious!

 ‘Why would you do that?’ Pimpernel asked in a whisper.

 ‘My husband loves Peregrin dearly,’ Arwen said, ‘as do I. If it is the only way to save him from death, or worse, then I will offer myself.’

Pimpernel nodded. ‘Take me to Elessar,’ she said, stirring herself loose from Sam and Rose’s embrace and rising. Arwen extended her hand and Pimpernel took it, and together they walked from the room.

 ‘Do you think she’ll really...?’ Rose whispered.

 ‘I wouldn’t put it past her,’ Sam said, shaking his head in wonder. He wrapped his arms around Rose and hugged her tightly. ‘O my Rosie-Rose.’

 ‘O my Sam,’ she said in return, snuggling into his embrace.

***

Evidently Arwen would not need to submit to her husband’s healing hands, for when Sam and Rose returned to the big room, Diamond was weeping, holding Pippin’s hand, and nodding as Elessar explained something in a low voice. Merry had stopped retching and lay on his side, staring at Pippin while the burns on his feet were freshly tended.

 ‘You’ll be walking in a week, Master Holdwine,’ King Eomer said, forcing a smile.

 ‘So they tell me,’ Merry said. He grimaced. ‘If I live that long,’ he added.

 ‘Merry?’ Estella said, worried.

 ‘I feel as if my insides have been turned to the outside and I’ve been beaten with sticks and clubs from head to toe,’ he said, too miserable to be less than candid. He caught sight of Estella’s face and forced a smile. ‘Other than that I’m well, my love,’ he added.

Estella hiccoughed, caught between laughter and tears, feeling dangerously close to hysteria, but she fought for control, not wanting to add to the distress her husband was feeling. ‘So glad to hear it,’ she managed at last.

 ‘When?’ Diamond said now.

 ‘The sooner the better,’ Elessar replied. ‘The longer we wait, the poorer his chances.’ Diamond did not understand, he saw, but hopefully she would understand soon, and have cause to rejoice.

 ‘Leave us, then,’ Diamond said. ‘Give us a moment, just family.’ Elessar nodded, gesturing to the healers to accompany him. Diamond caught Rose’s eye and the latter nodded, slipping from the room.

 ‘What is it? What’s happening?’ Merry said, wakening from the misery that ruled him.

 ‘It’s Pippin,’ Estella whispered, blinking back her tears. ‘They seek to ease his passing, I think. Diamond tried to argue that it is not our way, but Nell took their side, for some reason. In any event, Diamond’s given in.’

Merry nodded, his own eyes brimming. To think they’d escaped the madman’s clutches, only to bid his dearest cousin farewell... Estella hugged him gently. ‘O my love,’ she said, and they held each other, watching Diamond sitting atop Pippin’s bier, softly stroking his face. Nell had climbed up a stool pushed close to Ferdi’s resting place and had taken her husband’s head in her lap, both turned to see Pippin.

Diamond kissed her husband’s forehead, swallowing hard. ‘I release you from your promise,’ she said. ‘It was vanity on my part, for who among us knows his end? Forgive my foolishness, beloved.’

Pimpernel’s arms tightened on Ferdibrand. She knew of the vow Diamond had won from her husband, half in jest—but only half—that he would not leave her to mourn alone. After all these years, I think I’ve finally made him see/ that a widow I’d not care to be, she’d said, quoting the absurd old ditty about the hobbit who had so many adventures he drove his wife to tie him in a chair to keep him at home.

Now Diamond softly kissed her husband’s lips, but like a stranger’s they were to her, half-unresponding. As she rose from the kiss his eyes opened again, unfocused now. She stroked the hair back from his forehead, saying, ‘Go in peace, my love.’

Hobbits, summoned by Rose, were filing into the room. Pippin’s older children helped the little ones onto the bier and climbed up themselves to take their leave of their father. The others settled against the far wall, larger ones taking small children on their laps to shield them from the cold of the stone floor.

 ‘It’s Farry’s place,’ Merigrin, next-oldest to Faramir Took, said. ‘But I’ll do my best.’ He laid a kiss upon his father’s forehead.

 ‘He’ll hear you,’ Diamond said, meaning Pippin and not Farry, of course, hundreds of leagues away in the Shire. She wished that all of them had stayed there.

The Big People re-entered, the healers' eyebrows rising at the sight of all the Holbytlan now in the room. ‘Go now, children,’ Diamond said, and her family climbed down to join the waiting watchers.

 ‘Strider,’ Merry said, reaching out. Elessar stopped by the table that held him. ‘Do not do this thing. It is not our way; let him go in peace.’

 ‘It is the only way, Merry,’ the King said gently. Merry shook his head but was too weak to argue. When they would have borne him away, he protested.

‘Let him stay,’ Elessar said unexpectedly. ‘And the others,’ he added, indicating the hobbits watching from the side of the room.

 ‘Let me see him,’ Merry said as Elessar turned away. The King nodded, taking the hobbit in his arms. He carried Merry to Pippin’s side and laid him down. Merry looked for a long moment into Pippin’s face, bent to whisper something in his cousin’s ear, rose and nodded. Elessar returned him to the other table.

Ferdi sat up now in Nell’s embrace, both watchful, both stiffening when the King approached them. ‘Let us be,’ Nell warned. ‘You won’t make us leave him. We’ll not stir from this spot.’ Elessar heard the iron will behind the words, that will he knew so well in his friends, and he nodded, touching his hand to his forehead in a graceful salute.

 ‘We must begin,’ the head healer said. Diamond nodded. She had not asked his name; she did not want to know it. She held her husband a bit more tightly.

 ‘Let her stay,’ Elessar said again. She looked up, surprised, but the head healer was nodding. They positioned her on the side away from where they’d work, laid a thick cloth over her skirts, and then gently rested Pippin’s head in her lap. His eyes were closed now, his breathing slow.

 ‘His heart is slowing,’ an assistant warned.

 ‘We must begin,’ Elessar said. Diamond took a deep breath to steady herself and then nodded, keeping her eyes locked on her husband’s face.

 ‘Hold him as still as you can,’ the healer whispered, and she nodded. She stroked the curls back from her husband’s forehead as an assistant washed the left side of Pippin’s face. From the corner of her eye Diamond saw Elessar and several others of the Big People scrubbing their hands under the flow of water that issued from a fountain on the far wall. She took firm hold as they returned to surround the table. 

Pippin didn’t fight her. He might have been asleep. She hoped he was; she hoped he wouldn’t feel any of this. How could she have agreed to it?

Elessar picked up a bright, sharp blade and brought it close. Diamond looked away, catching Merigrin’s eye. The tween sat straighter and lifted up his voice.

The Road has seemed to go ever on and on,
Down from the place where I had my beginning...

One by one other voices joined his, until the soft voices of the hobbits filled the room with song.

Now from the sky, the Sun is gone;
The Man in the Moon from his starry bed is grinning...

 ‘Don’t stop,’ Elessar said softly in the language of Eorlingas to the healer drilling through the bone, as he retracted the skin.

 ‘I’ve never worked to music before,’ the healer muttered, his eyes on his work. He was through the dense outer layer and into the spongy middle layer of the skull. An assistant reached in to wipe away a trickle of blood.

 ‘They think we’re murdering him,’ Elessar said. ‘It is their custom to sing the dying out of the world.’

Diamond listened to the incomprehensible talk, watching in horror as the drill bit deeper. Pippin’s eyes were open again, but empty now, no awareness in them at all. She hoped he didn’t know...

 ‘Steady,’ Elessar said.

The healer was scarcely breathing as he drilled through the hard inner layer, going slowly now, slowly and carefully. Suddenly he stopped. ‘I’m through,’ he said.

An assistant took the retractor from Elessar, and the King wiped away the trickling blood to take a closer look at the wound they were making. ‘It’s under the membrane,’ he said to Diamond. ‘This blood comes from the bone itself.’

She nodded, uncomprehending. She was sick with grief as she saw him select another sharp blade from the cloth holding instruments of healing, instruments of torture, of life, of death... She forced herself to watch as the blade bit. A rush of dark blood resulted, sponged up by the assistant, that tapered off to a slow flow, and then, as she watched, became a trickle.

She heard a soft sigh from the King and realised that he’d been holding his breath. A little dizzy, she told herself to breathe. She had kept one hand on Pippin’s throat through the entire ordeal, feeling for life for as long as it would flutter under her fingertips. To her surprise the pulse quickened, seeming to grow stronger. She wondered just when it would stop.

The song ended. Merigrin watched his mother, waiting for a sign. Should they begin another, or was his father already gone?

Pippin blinked, awareness returning. He swallowed, tried to clear his throat. All must be well, for there was Diamond’s face above his, looking down at him. Had he fallen asleep with his head in her lap?

He cleared his throat again and spoke. ‘I’m hungry. What is the time?’

***
Thanks to Lyllyn of HASA for patiently answering my questions on medical details.

Chapter 16. Forget-Me-Not

Pippin opened his eyes to see Diamond smiling at him hopefully. ‘Welcome back to the world, my love,’ she said softly.

 ‘What is the time?’ he asked.

 ‘Teatime,’ she said firmly. She had said the same, when he’d asked ten minutes earlier, and again a quarter hour before that. ‘I have some lovely broth for you.’ 

 ‘Broth!’ he protested weakly, just as he had earlier. ‘Broth is for sick folk!’

 ‘For me, dearest?’ Diamond said, bringing a mug to his lips.

He raised his right hand to intercept it, hearing someone behind him say, ‘The right side is responding nicely... I anticipate he’ll regain full function, at this rate.’

He knew the voice that answered, ‘Now that the pressure has been relieved...’

 ‘Strider!’ he said, pushing the mug away. ‘Stop hiding back there!’

Elessar stepped forward, into Pippin’s field of vision. ‘Welcome back, old friend,’ he said with a smile. ‘Drink up.’ He added a phrase his hobbit friends were fond of employing. ‘Plenty more where that came from.’

 ‘And you’ll force it down my throat until I float away, won’t you, Strider? I know how you healers work...’ He allowed Diamond to seat the mug against his lips and sipped. Ah, that hit the spot.

His head ached, and he tried to raise his left hand to soothe it, but something held his wrist in a firm grip. The old fear stirred: was he a prisoner? Had they bound him? Was Strider, was Diamond for that matter, a mere fever-dream?

Seeing the fear in his eyes, Diamond soothed. ‘All is well, dearest.’

 ‘Cannot lift... can’t lift my hand,’ he protested. His attention was drawn by another voice to his left, a sweet voice.

 ‘All is well. You mustn’t touch the dressing, you know.’

With an effort he looked to his left, seeing a smiling young hobbit lass. He realised that she was holding his hand, keeping him from touching his wounded head. How had his head got wounded? He closed his eyes, the better to think, and...

***

 ‘Pippin will be well, Merry. You have the King’s assurance.’

 ‘But after they... they... I thought they were killing him, Estella, to do what they did, and Diamond sat by and did nothing!’ Merry raised haunted eyes to his wife. ‘Would you do the same?’

 ‘If it were the only chance to save you, I would,’ Estella said bravely, though deep in her heart she shuddered at having to make such a choice. ‘And Diamond, sitting by and “doing nothing”, as you said, was fighting for her husband’s life! How many times you yourself have told me, The hands of the King are healing hands. Why would you not trust him now?’

Merry was shaking his head. ‘To do what they did... perhaps it were better, had they let him die.’

Estella wanted to protest, but the old hobbit superstition was too strong, rooted as it was in half-forgotten legend, whispered stories of the torments in long-ago Angmar, where torturers would cut a hole through the skull to let out a man’s spirit, leaving only a husk that would mindlessly follow the direction of the terrifying witch-king.

 ‘What if... what if he’s gone, what if Pippin is gone, his spirit fled? O Estella, how could we allow them to...?’

 ‘Master Holdwine,’ King Eomer said gently from the doorway. Merry jumped, his nerves flayed raw by the experiences of the past night and day, and Estella put her arms about her husband, glaring at the Man. ‘He is not gone,’ Eomer said. ‘I was sitting with him just now, and I thought to come and tell you of his progress. I think you must see for yourself, however.’

He stepped into the room, walking lightly, stopping short of the bed holding the wary hobbits. His heart grieved to see his old friends so reduced to fear and suspicion. The Eorlingas would catch that false knight, and they would exact a terrible payment for his deeds... but now the battle of trust must be waged, and won.

The king extended a hand. ‘Will you come with me?’ he said. Merry held his gaze a long moment, then nodded. Eomer gathered him in his arms, rising with a grunt of effort. ‘You’ve eaten well, these past few years, my friend,’ he said under his breath. The hobbit did not relax; he did not retort with a witticism as had been his wont.

Estella walked beside them, one hand on her husband’s bandaged foot. She wouldn’t let him out of her sight again anytime soon.

***

Pippin opened his eyes to see Diamond smiling hopefully at him. ‘Hullo, my love,’ she said. ‘Merry’s come to see you.’

 ‘What is the time?’ Pippin said. It seemed if he could just grasp the moment that eluded him, the world would steady and become comprehensible.

 ‘It’s teatime, dearest,’ Diamond said. It would remain teatime with every wakening, until she got the entire mug of broth into him, she vowed. ‘Come, have a sip of this broth.’

 ‘Broth!’ Pippin protested, rolling his eyes to meet Merry’s. His cousin sat in a chair just beyond Diamond. ‘That’s for sick folk!’ For some reason Merry didn’t smile, but Pippin saw some of the tension leave his cousin.

 ‘Just a few sips, my love,’ Diamond said in her most persuasive tone. ‘If you don’t drink it, I’ll have to, and you know how I feel about broth!’

 ‘Anything, to save you from having to sip broth, my love,’ Pippin responded, and drank several swallows from the mug she held for him. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Mmm,’ he said shortly. ‘That’s better than I thought it would be.’ He closed his eyes, the better to savour the rich flavour, and drifted on a sea of broth...

 ‘You see?’ Eomer said, his hand tightening on Merry’s shoulder. ‘He is the same Pippin.’

 ‘He will sleep much of the time, for sleep is healing,’ Elessar added, ‘growing stronger with each wakening. He will be well, Merry.’

Merry nodded. He watched Pippin sleep for a few more moments before nodding to Eomer to indicate he was ready to return to his bed, for his own measure of healing sleep. He’d rather have curled up next to his cousin, but with Diamond and all the children already there, crowded around Pippin, even that Big bed would not admit another hobbit.

***

Ferdibrand stared into a far distance, seeing nothing, hearing none of the words addressed to him. It had all been too much. First there had been the voice out of the past, the searing flames, the mocking laughter. Then had come the long darkness, cold as death. Light brought no relief, only more horror. He thought of what they’d done to Pip, ah, Pip... and wondered when they would come for him.

***

Pippin opened his eyes to see Diamond smiling at him hopefully. ‘Welcome back to the world, my love,’ she said softly.

 ‘What is the time?’ he asked.

 ‘Teatime,’ she said firmly, ‘though you’ve nearly slept through it! I have some lovely broth for you.’

 ‘Broth!’ he protested. ‘Broth is for sick folk!’

 ‘This is uncommonly good broth, and there’s not much here,’ Diamond said, bringing a mug to his lips. ‘You could likely finish it in two or three swallows.’

He raised his right hand to intercept the mug. Diamond let him take it, merely steadying the mug as he brought it to his lips and drank. It was surprisingly good, for broth.

His head ached, and he tried to raise his left hand to soothe it, but something held his wrist in a firm grip. The old fear stirred: was he a prisoner? Had they bound him? Was Diamond a mere fever-dream?

Seeing the fear in his eyes, Diamond soothed. ‘All is well, dearest.’

 ‘Cannot lift... can’t lift my hand,’ he protested. His attention was drawn by another voice to his left, a melodious voice.

 ‘All is well. You mustn’t touch the dressing, you know.’

With an effort he looked to his left, seeing a smiling young hobbit lass. He realised that she was holding his hand, keeping him from touching his wounded head. How had his head got wounded?

 ‘You’re very kind,’ he said with a smile of his own. ‘What’s your name?’

The tween exchanged glances with Diamond, remembering King Elessar’s strict instructions to show no surprise at anything her father might say.

 ‘Forget-me-not,’ she managed, somehow keeping her voice steady.

 ‘Forget-me-not,’ Pippin breathed. ‘I have a little lass by that name,’ he added dreamily. ‘Just a little thing. How sweet she is...’ His voice trailed off and he slept once more.

Chapter 17. Of Warm Milk and Honey 

Goldilocks wakened reluctantly from sleep. Something was amiss, but her foggy brain could not immediately grasp what it was. Faramir moaned and thrashed beside her. She hauled herself upright, shaking her husband’s shoulder. ‘Farry!’ she said. ‘Farry, it’s all right, just a dream, my love.’

 ‘No,’ he moaned in reply. ‘No, don’t!’

 ‘Farry!’ Goldi said, rather louder than she meant to, for there was a tap on the door and Dobby, the servant on duty for the night, stuck his head in.

 ‘Is there aught you be needing, Mistress?’ he said.

 ‘No... wait, yes,’ Goldi said. ‘Two mugs of warmed milk, if you please, with honey.’ Might as well let the hobbit make himself useful, since he was obliged to stay wakeful anyhow. Goldi had argued with Farry when she’d first taken up residence in the Great Smials, but now she was becoming accustomed to living surrounded by servants, even as she figured out ways to side-step their constant and rather inconvenient availability.

 ‘Yes’m,’ Dobby said, withdrawing.

She shook Farry’s shoulder again. ‘Farry!’ she said. By the light of the watch-lamp she saw his eyes open, blinking, finally finding her face. ‘That’s better,’ she murmured. ‘You were having a bad dream.’

 ‘Was that what it was,’ he said sleepily. He sat up and hugged her fiercely. ‘O Goldi!’ She could feel him shaking.

 ‘What is it, Farry?’ she said. ‘What is the matter?’

 ‘I dreamed...’ he said, and stopped. ‘No, for it is too terrible.’

 ‘Tell me,’ Goldi said softly, her fingers stroking in long, soothing arcs across Faramir’s back.

It took some persuading, but finally Faramir took a shuddering breath, sat back, met her eyes and said, ‘It was my da...’

 ‘Your father?’ Goldi said when he stopped. ‘What, did he stay in Gondor and send word that you were to be Thain from now on?’

 ‘O Goldi,’ he said again, ‘they were... they were... no, I cannot.’

 ‘Tell me,’ she said once more, hugging him close. He was breathing raggedly, and she soothed and comforted and coaxed until he whispered into her tousled curls.

 ‘Angmar...’

Her blood ran cold at the word, but she nodded. ‘Yes...’ she said.

 ‘They were... they held him down, they were cutting... he fought and screamed and then...’ Farry caught his breath, shaking as the power of the dream returned with the recounting.

 ‘It’s all right,’ she soothed, ‘It’s all right, Farry, ‘twas a dream and nothing more. You oughtn’t to eat peppered stew so late at night, for it disturbs your sleep most awfully.’

 ‘Peppered stew,’ Farry said after a moment, his breathing becoming steadier.

 ‘That is all it was, my love,’ Goldi said. Her own midnight supper was sitting rather uneasily.

Another tap at the door and Dobby was there, bearing two steaming mugs of honeyed milk. ‘Here you are, sir and mistress,’ he said. Goldi thanked him and he beamed. ‘Glad to be of service,’ he replied, and bowed his way out the door.

Goldi sipped cautiously at the milk, but found that it stayed down and steadied her stomach. ‘Drink up, Farry,’ she said at last, setting her empty mug aside. ‘You need your sleep; we’re leaving early, you know.’

 ‘Yes, love,’ Faramir said obediently. He finished his mugful, and gave the mug to Goldi to set aside with her own. Undoubtedly Dobby would listen for snores before he eased the door open again, to spirit the mugs away while they slept. Servants delighted in such sneakiness. He laid himself down again, pulling Goldi firmly against him, snuggling with a sigh. It wasn’t long before he was snoring again.

***

Elessar waved a hand before Ferdibrand’s unseeing eyes. ‘How long has he been so?’ he asked.

Pimpernel took a deep breath before replying. Her grasp on reality was growing, and she knew, in her head, that they were among friends, that these Big People meant only good to her and those she loved, but her heart still gave warning whenever one of them entered the room.

 ‘They carried him here, after we watched... we watched...’ she said, and stopped. The King nodded encouragement; she did not have to go into detail. ‘We lay down to sleep, the children all around us, and we did sleep, though I’d have thought it not possible...’ Her eyes narrowed with suspicion and she pointed an accusing finger. ‘There was something in the warmed milk,’ she said angrily.

 ‘Only honey,’ Elessar said. ‘After what that ruffian did, I can understand your thought. But I’d not put a sleeping potion in a drink, no matter how much you needed the rest, unless I told you it was there. You were warm and safe, surrounded by family, with no “Big folk” about, and the milk and honey relaxed you enough to gain the sleep you needed.’

Pimpernel nodded, relaxing slightly, though she kept her protective hold on her husband. ‘He was a bit distant last night, while I was coaxing the warm milk into him, but then he lay down and slept like a rock in the garden bed. I thought all was well, for if nightmares haunt him he cries out in his sleep, but he did not move nor waken me with a cry. But... He was like this when I wakened,’ she said. ‘Just sitting, and staring... not hearing a word that any of the children said, not hearing a word I said.’ She stroked her husband’s cheek with a gentle finger. ‘Ferdi?’ she said softly, ‘Come back to me? Please?’ There was no response, and tears sparkled in her eyes when she looked back to the King. ‘He’s gone, far away, and I don’t know how to call him back.’

 ‘We can try athelas,’ Elessar said, feeling his way delicately. Pimpernel was still fearful, chary of anything Men had to offer.

To his relief she nodded. ‘Pip has told me about it,’ she said. ‘I know you’ve used it on Ferdi before, and it did not harm him.’ She hesitated. ‘How is my brother?’ she asked.

 ‘Recovering,’ Elessar said. ‘He took a full mug of broth yesterday afternoon, ate a light supper last night and a full breakfast this morning; he can use his right hand again, he moved his right leg, and his memory is returning slowly.’

 ‘I’d never have believed it,’ Pimpernel said with a delicate shudder. ‘I thought you’d tricked us into agreeing to allow you to murder him, for some dark reason of your own.’ As Elessar opened his mouth to explain, yet again, she held up a hand to stop him. ‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘I understand now, what the problem was, and that it was the only way to save him. Still, don’t expect hobbits to come knocking at your door asking for your services anytime in the future!’

Elessar chuckled softly. ‘I will not,’ he said, ‘but let us at the very least see if athelas will bring your husband relief.’ He rose from the bed, moving slowly so as not to startle Pimpernel, or Ferdi for that matter, if the hobbit was able to notice anything at all around him. ‘I shall return after I consult with the healers here.’

 ‘Very well,’ Pimpernel said. She held Ferdibrand a little more tightly, careful of his bandaged back. She felt rather lost in the large bed, having sent the children off to breakfast and to play, that they might not be frightened by their father’s blank stare. Now she wished for their chatter to surround her, but no. It was better that they eat and play, thinking their father slept.

She waited for the King to leave the room before she spoke again. ‘All is well, Ferdi. I won’t let them hurt you.’

Chapter 18. Just Before Teatime

It was nearing teatime when Arwen found Elessar, sitting in a secluded corner of the Golden Hall, half-hidden behind a great carven pillar. ‘Estel?’ she said quietly, settling to the floor beside him. He raised his head, and she saw that he had not yet rested, and that worry gnawed at him.

 ‘How is Ferdibrand?’ he asked at once. ‘Have they been able to persuade him to eat?’

 ‘No,’ Arwen answered, shaking her head. ‘Not even his wife was able to place a cup to his lips; he struck out blindly when she tried to do so.’ Pimpernel, unmarked by the madman’s attentions, now bore a blackening bruise on her face from her husband’s hand.

 ‘We will have to try the athelas then,’ he said, dropping his gaze to the leaves he cradled. ‘I have but two leaves remaining; I had hoped to gain more when we reached Gondor.’

He pondered a moment, then began thinking aloud. ‘Merry is wounded in body and spirit; he shrinks from touch, turns away from song, and must force himself to eat and drink. He has lost all pleasure in the simple ways of hobbits.’ His eyes darkened. ‘He cannot very well resist dark thoughts, the memory of Shadow, in his present state.’

 ‘Yes,’ Arwen said encouragingly.

 ‘Pimpernel is in much the same straits,’ Elessar continued at last. ‘Though her body was not injured, her spirit is in tatters, her nerve is shattered and her only thought is to guard her husband from further harm.’

 ‘At least she is not buried in her own miseries,’ Arwen said.

Elessar shook his head. ‘She has hardly spoken to her children—have you seen? They crowd around her, seeking her touch, her voice, her attention, but she scarcely acknowledges their presence.’

Arwen nodded, tears coming to her eyes, and she had a sudden sharp desire to seek out her own youngest daughter, draw her into her lap, croon a song.

 ‘Pippin...’ Elessar said.

 ‘He is improving by the hour,’ Arwen said.

 ‘His memory is returning slowly,’ her husband answered. ‘I have hopes that athelas could quicken his healing. It distresses his children that he does not know them as they are, but remembers them as they were some years ago.’

 ‘And Ferdibrand...’ Arwen prompted, when her husband fell silent once more.

 ‘He’ll will himself to die if no one can reach him,’ Elessar said soberly. ‘He is lost, walking in the darkness of remembered evil.’ He sighed. ‘An ill choice lies before me... Ferdibrand’s is the most pressing need, yet we may lose Merry to the Shadow before more athelas can be gathered and sent here.’ 

 ‘The healers here...’ Arwen said.

Elessar shook his head. ‘I’ve asked for kingsfoil and athelas and all the other names I could think of. They have no reason to keep it here, for I’ve always carried it with me on visits. It does not grow here on the plain.’

 ‘Then...’ Arwen said. A smile bloomed upon her face. ‘But of course!’ she said.

 ‘What?’ Elessar answered, and she saw the hope stir within him.

 ‘Hobbits draw hope and courage from one another,’ Arwen said. ‘Why not...’ She saw that her husband was holding his breath, and reached out to place her hand over the leaves he cupped so carefully. ‘Why not bring them all together, use the athelas where all can have the benefit of it? Even the hobbits who were not injured by the madman have been affected by this.’ She felt his hands tremble beneath her fingers.

 ‘My Lady Undomiel,’ he said. ‘You never fail to meet my need.’

She kissed him tenderly and rose. ‘I will make the arrangements,’ she said. ‘Go, eat something, take some rest and renew your strength. I will send for you at sunset.’

***

Faramir Took reined in his pony, laughing. ‘You win again!’ he said. ‘It is hardly fair! There must be some trick to it!’

 ‘Your pony carries the greater weight,’ Goldi said smugly. ‘You’re taller than a hobbit ought to be, and you carry as much weight as a proper hobbit of your height ought to carry...’

 ‘If there were proper hobbits of my height, which there are not,’ Farry put in. Goldi had to stand on tiptoe to kiss him, though of course on ponyback the problem was not in height but in steering their ponies close enough together for lips to meet without leaning too far, overbalancing and ending on the ground. Practice made perfect.

 ‘...not to mention you’re carrying most of the baggage,’ she murmured when the kiss ended.

 ‘What do you have in your saddlebags?’ he said, sitting up straighter.

 ‘A few necessities,’ Goldi said. ‘All I needed. Laurel Bolger has fine taste in clothing, and we are of a similarity and can wear each other's clothes, so I’ll just play sister to her and borrow all her prettiest frocks whilst we’re visiting. When she tires of it, I’ll put on my travelling clothes and we’ll come back home. It’s like having all new clothes!’

 ‘Laurel’s?’ Farry asked, wrinkling his brow.

 ‘No, mine,’ Goldi said with a laugh, ‘for we’ll be there a week or two, and my clothes will seem new and fresh when we return to the Smials.’

 ‘You’re a devious one,’ Farry said.

 ‘You ought to be thanking me,’ Goldi said with a smirk, ‘for instead of fussing that I’m tired of my things and need a new set of dresses, the cost of which would make you stagger, I simply persuade you to take me visiting and...’

 ‘You are terribly rude,’ Farry pronounced. ‘Whatever do people say about us behind our backs?’

 ‘All sorts of awful things, I’m sure,’ Goldi said airily.

 ‘Sometimes you bring trunks full when we go visiting,’ Faramir said.

Goldi laughed again. ‘Some people have no taste in clothes,’ she said, ‘or no sense of humour. Laurel has both.’ She peered ahead. ‘I see the inn!’ she cried. ‘I’m famished, aren’t you? Let us eat up the last of the distance and settle to a delectable and substantial tea!’

 ‘Your least wish is my greatest desire,’ Faramir said, bowing his head.

 ‘Just so long as you remember that, we shall get on famously,’ Goldi quipped, and laughing together, the two rode on.

 Chapter 19. Healing Begins

 ‘Pippin, my love,’ Diamond said softly in his ear.

Without opening his eyes, Pippin said, ‘What did I do now?’

Surprised laughter rippled, and then, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

He opened one eye to see Diamond bending over him. ‘You only use that tone when I’ve done something incredibly stupid.’ Someone was holding his left hand in a firm grip, so he raised his right hand to his aching head. ‘What did I do? Try to ride one of those lovely ponies the Rohirrim are so fond of foisting off on us?’

 ‘You know we’re in Rohan?’ Diamond said hopefully. Though they’d told him several times where he was and what had happened, the memory seemed to slip away when he slept again.

 ‘Of course we’re in Rohan,’ Pippin replied. ‘Everything is too Big, and the ceiling is flat—those were my first clues. Those horses carved into the lintels are the capper. We have got to be in Rohan, though I do not remember arriving.’

 ‘There was a snowstorm...’ Diamond began.

 ‘In October?’ Pippin said in astonishment. He opened both eyes. ‘It is October, isn’t it?’

 ‘Yes,’ Diamond reassured. ‘But you were lost in the storm, and when you reached shelter you were so cold and stiff you fell from your pony.’

 ‘Clumsy of me,’ Pippin muttered, closing his eyes again. ‘And so I got a knock on the noggin.’ It was a favourite phrase from Bilbo’s retelling of the Battle of the Five Armies. Strange, how he could remember Bilbo’s voice clear as anything, telling that tale, but he could not remember the snowstorm.

There was a laugh to his left, and he looked over to see a dark-haired hobbit lass who looked familiar. ‘So you’re the one holding my hand,’ he said. ‘Going to make sure I don’t accidentally get up out of bed, are you?’

She laughed again in answer. Before he could ask her name, there was a stir at the doorway and King Elessar entered.

 ‘Strider!’ Pippin said. ‘What a worry and a bother we hobbits are to you! Have I made us break our journey?’

 ‘The snow did that, old friend,’ Elessar answered. ‘It has melted away, however, and we will be able to take up our journey once more, as soon as you and the other invalids are mended.’

 ‘Other invalids?’ Pippin said, looking back to Diamond. ‘You didn’t tell me about other invalids.’

As a matter of fact, she hadn’t. All she needed was for him to throw back his covers and go in search of Merry and Ferdibrand, and fall on his head again. ‘You haven’t been with us,’ she said, dismissing the subject.

Pippin, however, was not going to let it go. ‘Who?’ he demanded.

Elessar swiftly crossed the remaining space between bed and door and gently pressed Pippin back against the pillows. ‘Don’t get up,’ he warned. ‘You need to keep as still as possible.’

 ‘That seems a good idea,’ Pippin murmured. His face had lost all colour and his eyes closed as he sagged against the supporting cushions.

 ‘Elessar?’ Diamond said anxiously.

 ‘All is well,’ the King said in reassurance. ‘He’ll be stronger after the athelas.’

 ‘Ah yes, athelas,’ Pippin said without opening his eyes. ‘It’s that bad, is it, Strider?’

Elessar took the hobbit’s right hand in his and gave a gentle squeeze.

Pippin drew a deep breath, and another, and then said, ‘What other invalids?’

Diamond exchanged a hopeful glance with Forget-me-not. In earlier wakenings Pippin had almost immediately forgotten what they told him, repeatedly asking the same questions over again, the answers slipping away without his seeming to notice.

 ‘Merry,’ she said quietly, ‘and Ferdi were injured as well,’ she said. ‘Strider’s having them brought here, that they may benefit from the athelas as well.’

 ‘Ah, Strider,’ Pippin said. ‘Now you’re thinking like a hobbit. Make a party of it, a celebration! None of this quiet, private, wave-the-bowl-under-his-nose-and-move-on-to-the-next nonsense! Let us invite half of Rohan as well. I’m sure they’d benefit from breathing a little of that steam.’

He opened one eye to locate Diamond, and reassured, closed it again. ‘How badly were Merry and Ferdi injured?’ he asked.

Diamond held her breath and looked to Elessar. How much of the story...?

 ‘Burns to their feet, and Ferdibrand has burns on his back as well,’ Elessar said, maintaining his grip on Pippin’s hand.

 ‘Burns!’ Pippin said, stiffening. ‘What, did they fall into a fire?’ He opened his eyes though it cost him some effort, to fix Elessar with a stern look. ‘You’re not telling me all. And fire... how’s Ferdi taking it?’ He knew of old his cousin’s fear of fire.

 ‘Steady, my love,’ Diamond said, and saw her husband will himself to relax once more.

 ‘They fell into the hands of a ruffian,’ Elessar said slowly as he watched Pippin’s face.

 ‘A ruffian?’ Pippin said, then, ‘burns...’ He drew another long breath. ‘But they are invalids, so that means they survived.’ He let his eyes drift closed, and Diamond thought he might be falling into sleep, but he spoke again. ‘Athelas,’ he said. ‘Ferdi is not well, I think. He has not fared easily in the hands of ruffians in the past, nor recovered quickly.’

 ‘Yes,’ Elessar said. ‘And Merry is haunted by memory as well.’

 ‘Shadow...’ Pippin breathed. ‘There are still Men walking under Shadow, even though the Dark Lord was defeated years ago now. Gandalf said that Shadow always returns and takes on new form...’

Elessar leaned close. ‘This is not the rising of a new Shadow, Pippin, but the lingering effects of the old.’

 ‘That’s a mercy,’ Pippin said, ‘I think.’ He was silent again.

 ‘Are you sleeping, my dear?’ Diamond whispered.

 ‘How do you expect me to answer that question?’ Pippin said in an everyday voice. Elessar chuckled, and Pippin went on, ‘Isn’t it some sort of meal time? Either bring on the athelas or bring on some food, but don’t leave me dangling here.’

***

Somewhere far beyond the hiding place where Ferdi’s thought crouched in concealment, he was dimly aware of his body being lifted, and a sense of motion. He knew what was about to happen, for he’d lived through it, somehow, once before. The ruffians had decided what sort of torments would be most amusing to administer, and to watch. He would die by slow agonies whilst they cheered and jeered, and they would prolong their pleasure just as long as might be. He hoped the end would come quickly, but really there was no hope. No hope at all.

***

Merry wakened from dark dream as Estella stroked his face. ‘Pippin’s awake, beloved, and Elessar has the athelas ready.’ She nodded to Sarry and Merigrin, and they lifted Merry between them, that he need not suffer the touch of a Man. They had settled Ferdi first and returned to fetch Merry. 

 ‘Where are we going?’ Merry said, though in truth he cared not. All was darkness, and Shadow covered all. He almost wished they’d leave him to dream in quiet.

 ‘We’re going to see Pippin,’ Estella answered firmly. Her heart was in her throat. Merry’s right arm was icy cold, and he hadn’t used his right hand in some hours. He was falling rapidly into despair, and if the athelas did not have effect he would lose the long fight against evil memory. Shadow would take him at last, and there was nothing Estella could do to prevent it. They were placing so much hope upon two small dried leaves...

Merry did not rouse at the sound of Pippin’s name, merely nodded dully, his look turning inward once more.

The athelas must have effect, she thought desperately. Arwen and Elessar place such confidence in it.

***

 ‘Here we are!’ Merigrin said as they entered his father’s room. He and Sarry carefully deposited Merry on the large, low bed, another piece of furniture that had sacrificed its legs to King Eomer’s orders.

Estella and Sarry helped Merry to settle next to Pippin, back against the cushions. Pippin looked over. ‘Welcome,’ he said cheerily, though he worried at the dark shadows under his cousin’s eyes, and Merry’s lack of response. ‘I was wondering when you’d get here. They told me we’d eat after this athelas business, and I’m famished.’ When there was no answering smile, he reached for Merry’s left hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I’m here, Merry,’ he murmured. ‘Do you know?’

Merry blinked and looked over. ‘I know,’ he said, but then he seemed to slip again into dark dream.

Ferdibrand had said nothing in response to Pippin’s greeting earlier, had not opened his eyes nor returned Pippin’s squeeze on his hand. He lay on Pippin’s other side, leaning against the cushions, seeming scarcely to breathe. Pimpernel sat beside her husband, holding his hand and eyeing with suspicion the Kings and healers who moved about the room.

Hobbits crowded into the room. Big brothers and sisters lifted the littlest ones onto the bed and then stood as close around the bed as they could, wanting to offer support to their fathers, uncles, cousins, friends (as well as aunt and mother).

Elessar entered, moved smoothly through the crowd of hobbits, and knelt upon the bed. First he placed a palm against Merry’s forehead, seeming for long moments to listen, before moving on to Pippin, and then Ferdi in his turn. When he reached Pimpernel beside her husband, he looked with compassion into her defiant eyes. ‘May I?’ he said softly.

She hesitated and nodded. She closed her eyes as the overlarge hand approached her face, and stiffened as she felt its touch. She didn’t know what she expected, but Elessar’s palm was warm and dry, gentle, and... peaceful somehow. Peace radiated from his hand, cascading down her head to her neck, into the knotted muscles of her shoulders, down her arms to the clenched fists that slowly opened to lie limp upon her lap, down her body to her legs and on to the tips of her toes. With a sigh she relaxed against the cushions at the head of the bed.

Elessar settled cross-legged on the bed, facing the line of “invalids”, as Arwen entered, bearing a steaming basin. The crowd of hobbits parted before her and she stood by the side of the bed, ready.

Elessar took the two precious leaves and regarded them a moment, gathering himself, and then he breathed on them, and then he crushed them. The hobbits and Rohirrim in the room straightened, breathing deeply of the living freshness that filled the room, promise of joy, a tingle that entered with inhaling the sparkling air and quickly spread throughout a body. The King himself sat straighter, a burden seeming to fall from his shoulders, and he cast the leaves into the steaming water.

Sam’s arm slipped around Rose as the memory of springtime at Bag End stirred within. He closed his eyes, the better to breathe the fragrance of roses and lilies and the promise of damp rich earth. He opened his eyes again to see the King holding the basin before the invalids, and Merry and Ferdi blinking as those who waken from a deep sleep. Pippin still lay back against the cushions, his eyes closed, but there was more colour in his face than Sam had seen since they’d come to Edoras. Pimpernel was staring in astonishment at the healer-king.

 ‘You...’ she breathed. ‘You...’ As Elessar gave the basin back to Arwen, Pimpernel suddenly leaned forward, throwing her arms as far around him as they’d reach. Laughing, Elessar gathered her close, holding her for a long moment before she released him. As she sat back, she shook her head in wonder. ‘I understand now,’ she said. ‘I didn’t before, but now I understand.’

Pimpernel turned to Ferdi, who said, ‘I’ll take one of those, if they’re still on offer.’ Pimpernel laughed and gently hugged her husband. Merry was deeply kissing Estella while their son and daughter looked on, beaming, before being drawn into a general embrace.

Pippin opened his eyes, his gaze falling on Forget-me-not. 'But of course,' he said as if in answer to a lingering question. 'How could I forget you, Ruby, my heart?' he added, using the old pet name from her early years. The Thain's eldest daughter caught her breath as tears came to her eyes. Her father knew her!

One of the hobbits raised a song of springtime’s promise, and the rest joined in. Soon even the Big Folk were humming along and joining the simple chorus, as the sound of celebration filled the room.

 Chapter 20. If the Shoe Fits...

About a week later Pippin, walking between Diamond and Merigrin, poked his head in at the door to Ferdibrand’s room. The children were out taking tea with new friends amongst the Rohirrim. Tea was all the fashion in the city of Edoras, since the Halflings had arrived and thoroughly charmed their hosts.

 ‘We’ve been bewitched,’ Eomer had said more than once.

Each time Lothiriel had answered firmly, ‘It is a good sort of bewitchment.’

Still, Eomer reflected, his armour was sure to grow uncomfortable if the practice of six meals a day continued after the hobbits recommenced their journey.

At the moment King and Queen of the Mark were taking tea with Ferdibrand and Pimpernel. While he had not cared all that much for the beverage on first acquaintance, Eomer found himself this day finishing his second cup, and about to accept a third that Nell was pressing upon him, whilst Lothiriel hid her amusement and nibbled at a dainty sweet.

 ‘Pip!’ Ferdibrand said, half rising before his tender feet reminded him of their state. ‘What’re you doing out of bed?’

 ‘Walking,’ Pippin said. The only reminders of his injury were a healing scar just before his left ear, a slight wobble while walking that was slowly improving, and a tendency to ask the same question over again. Since he’d always been one to ask a question repeatedly until he heard an answer that satisfied him, no one found this worrisome. He also had no memory of the snowstorm, his fall, or the events afterward, up until he breathed the fragrance of athelas, at which time he “woke up”, in his own words.

 ‘Well, walk in here and take some tea before you waste away to naught,’ Pimpernel said, taking down three more hobbit-sized cups and pouring out.

One of the healers’ assistants, Fylstan, knocked at the door as the Thain was regaling Eomer with a story of the annual Tookland Pony Races. ‘...and so, not to be left out, he jumped three fences, ended on the race course, caught the field, passed them up and won the race!’

King and Queen were laughing heartily at the spectacle of a pony taking matters into his own... hoofs and entering himself in the running.

Finally wiping his eyes, Eomer looked to Ferdibrand. ‘Is this story true?’ he demanded. ‘It does not sound possible.’

 ‘Not completely,’ Ferdi said with a smug look. As Pippin started to protest, he went on, ‘ ‘Twas only two fences he jumped, cousin, do you not remember? Someone had left the gate unlatched and so when he pressed against it he won free of the paddock.’

 ‘He was disqualified, of course,’ Nell said smoothly. ‘He did not bear the weight of a rider and so had an unfair advantage.’

 ‘None of the other ponies had to jump any fences,’ Ferdi said. ‘I’d say he won against the odds.’

 ‘In any event, he seemed to think he’d won,’ Pippin said. ‘There was no talking to him for weeks after, unless you brought apple or carrot or other bribe.’ He sighed. ‘He was unlike any other pony I’ve ever known, and I miss him still. I think I know a little of what the Elves must feel when they befriend mortals...’

 ‘It is a short life, so make it a merry one,’ Ferdi said, toasting with his teacup.

 ‘Sometimes I think you’re more pony than hobbit,’ Pippin observed.

 ‘Undoubtedly,’ Ferdi said, and Eomer laughed.

 ‘We are kindred spirits, my hobbit friend,’ he said. ‘My wife accuses me of being more horse than Man at times.’

 ‘Especially when you come in after a long day in the saddle,’ Lothiriel said, wrinkling her nose.

Fylstan had been listening from the doorway, and now entered on the burst of laughter that followed the Queen’s remark. ‘That’s a good sound to hear,’ he said with a smile, adding, ‘Master Chancellor, I come bearing your release from your bed.’

 ‘Lovely,’ Ferdi said, looking quizzically at his bandaged feet. ‘Am I to crawl about the Halls of Healing, then?’

Eomer made as if to rise from his seat and Ferdi waved him back down, saying, ‘Stay, you haven’t had a fourth cup yet! We’d be terrible hosts to turn you away with your tea unfinished.’

 ‘By your leave, Lord,’ Fylstan said, and Eomer nodded. Fylstan knelt upon the floor, unwinding the bandages, probing the healing new skin with gentle fingers. ‘Healing nicely,’ he murmured.

 ‘I could have told you that,’ Ferdi said, passing his teacup to Nell for refilling. ‘They itch.’

 ‘No need for more bandages as long as you keep them from the floor,’ Fylstan said. He smiled at Ferdi’s quizzical look and drew two pairs of socks from the sack he bore, one pair of a smooth white material and the other pair knitted thick and soft-looking. ‘Let us see how these suit.’ He eased them over Ferdi’s feet, white first, followed by the colourful pair. ‘How does that feel?’ he asked.

 ‘Warm!’ Ferdi said, marvelling. ‘Why, I see now how you Big Folk get along without fur on your feet.’

 ‘Yours is growing back, but the socks will keep your feet warm and cushion the healing skin until your feet are as they were,’ Fylstan said.

 ‘They don’t seem all that practical,’ Nell said with a puzzled look. ‘How do you keep them clean?’

 ‘Ah,’ Fylstan said, reaching into his sack. ‘You wash them, as you’d wash your feet, but you also keep them from the dust.’ He drew out a pair of boots, somewhat larger than Ferdi’s feet to accommodate the thick stockings, but obviously made for a hobbit.

 ‘Boots!’ the hobbits all exclaimed together.

 ‘It’s all the latest fancy in Buckland, you know,’ Merry said from the doorway, Estella at his side. He grinned at the welcome, and pointed to his own booted feet. ‘Come, Ferdi, slip the boots on and keep company with me.’

 ‘Well, throw me in the River and call me a Brandybuck,’ Ferdi drawled. He stuck out his feet and Fylstan eased the boots on.

 ‘Let us try standing now,’ Fylstan murmured, hands held ready to steady the hobbit.

 ‘Are you in doubt? I’m sure you have no trouble standing,’ Ferdi said. ‘At least I hope you don’t. Or have you been at the King’s wine? Now for myself...’ He set his feet on the floor and rose cautiously. A smile broke out on his face. ‘What do you know about that?’ he said. ‘It doesn’t hurt!’

 ‘If you do not run, jump, or stomp your feet you ought to remain comfortable,’ Fylstan said.

 ‘Hear that, Ferdi?’ Nell said, wagging her finger. ‘You may not stomp your feet at me when you fly into a fit of temper.’

 ‘However am I to find diversion if I cannot fly into a fit of temper?’ Ferdi asked.

 ‘Go and find a wild pony running on the plains of Rohan and teach him to jump fences,’ Pippin said. ‘Their races need more excitement.’

 ‘Teach him to jump fences?’ Ferdi said, all innocence. ‘Why cousin, I...’

Pimpernel laughed. ‘He knows you too well, Ferdi.’

 ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Ferdi said with dignity. ‘Just because I argued that the particular pony under discussion ought to be allowed to run in the race, doesn’t mean that I...’

 ‘You mean, you were not the one who left the gate unlatched?’ Pippin said, feigning surprise.

 ‘I know better than to leave a gate unlatched!’ Ferdi retorted.

 ‘Indeed,’ Pippin said wisely.

Elessar spoke from the doorway. ‘Well, Eomer,’ he said. ‘It seems that the farewell feast under preparation is in good time. All of our invalids are on their feet and ready to continue the journey.’

 ‘You could stay, you know,’ Lothiriel said. ‘Our harvest is nearly finished, and there will be feasting and dancing and races...’

 ‘Ah but we are expected in Gondor,’ Elessar said, shaking his head. ‘The mayor of Dindale, as a matter of fact, has planned a grand welcoming celebration, and it would be thoughtless for us to stay on when he and his people have done so much to prepare, from the reports I’ve received. They are expecting us soon.’

 ‘Perhaps on your return journey, you could stop over for a few weeks,’ Eomer said. ‘In the springtime there are many births of foals to celebrate.’

 ‘Many!’ Estella said, squeezing her husband’s arm, and Merry laughed, remembering other visits to Rohan that stretched for weeks beyond the original departure date.

 ‘In any event,’ Eomer said after he drained his fourth cup, ‘the farewell feast is laid, and I invite you to join us in the Hall if you cannot see your way clear to stay with us through the winter.’

 ‘Another time, perhaps,’ Estella said politely. Undoubtedly they would stay through the winter on a future visit. If Eomer were to have his way they’d move in to the Golden Hall and take up permanent residence there. ‘The feast is laid, you say? Then let us gather the children and meet you there!’

Chapter 21. Not about to Fall Apart

 ‘Are you well, my dear?’ Melilot said. Fredegar had been abstracted for the last few miles.

 ‘Er... eh?’ he said, straightening in his saddle. Melly would have preferred the comfort of a carriage, but her husband stirred so seldom from their smial... She had rejoiced to see the sparkle lighting his eyes again, his keen interest in their surroundings, the way he took in every detail.

Prince Faramir, riding nearby, spoke quietly to Beregond at his side. The Captain nodded, stopped to call to the riders following.

 ‘They’re calling a halt, Freddy,’ Melilot said.

 ‘What, teatime already?’ her husband said. He stretched and sighed. ‘Look at those hills,’ he said, indicating the line of mountains before them. ‘Imagine it, Melly, imagine them crowned with fire as a message races to the North, calling Gondor’s allies to her aid.’

 ‘I certainly hope not!’ Melly said with a shudder.

 ‘Frodo wrote of it,’ Freddy said. ‘I never thought I’d see those peaks... and yet, here we are a second time!’

She hadn’t thought he’d seen them, the first time, so ill had be been as they carried him South in search of healing. The Houses of Healing had been a wonder, and a boon, and Freddy had walked out of their doors on his own feet once more, but...

 ‘You needn’t watch me so close, you know,’ Freddy said. ‘I’m not going to fall apart before your eyes.’ He patted his chest. ‘Still ticking away, my love. Just as dependable as Bilbo’s old pocket-watch.’

They camped that night under the stars, eschewing the inn just a few miles beyond. Hobbits and Men and Elves mingled freely, singing and feasting in the firelight, anticipating the joyous reunion on the morrow. Word had come that the travellers from the North would reach Dindale soon, and Prince Faramir had timed their departure from Ithilien that their arrival might coincide.

One Elf sat a little apart, knees pulled up and arms embracing them. A Dwarf sat at his side, lovingly polishing an axe. ‘So,’ he grunted.

 The Elf looked up. ‘Yes?’ he asked.

 ‘Tomorrow,’ the Dwarf said, and frowned. Was that a pit in the shining surface? He ran sensitive fingertips over, sighed in relief, and applied the soft cloth once more.

Legolas smiled, ‘Yes, Gimli, tomorrow,’ he said. ‘It has not been that long since last we saw them. You only left the Shire yourself a month before they did.’

The Dwarf grunted wordlessly.

 ‘Yes, I know they come belatedly,’ Legolas said, ‘but then, they stopped in Rohan, you know.’

Gimli hmphed.

 ‘At least they sent word to the Mayor of Dindale that they’d been delayed,’ Legolas said. ‘And in truth, it was not a bad thing. I hear that the Mayor was able to procure some rare wine for the King and his guests at the welcoming banquet, with the extra time allowed for preparations.’

Gimli muttered something under his breath, but it was a slightly more cheerful mutter, and Legolas smiled as he looked to the stars. Soon these wove their usual spell and he began to hum under his breath, and then sing. Other Elves of Ithilien blended their voices with his, and all the people, Big and Little, stilled to listen.

There was a long silence as the song ended, and then the conversations began again, quietly, a comment here, a question and answer there, desultory pebbles dropped into a peaceful pool. Budgie Smallfoot, head healer of the little hobbit colony in Ithilien, arrived on one of the resulting ripples of laughter.

 ‘Your nightcap, Freddy,’ he said, offering a small glass.

 ‘Already have it,’ Freddy answered, pointing to that item of attire perched atop his head.

Budgie laughed as Freddy took the glass from him and gulped down the contents.

 ‘There,’ he said, ‘though I’m feeling very much myself again, Budgie. I hardly think I need your potions these days.’

 ‘You probably don’t,’ Budgie replied. ‘For all you know that was merely wine without any magic drops added... but if I were to say so, you’d discharge me and then what would I do?’

 ‘You could find labour as a cupbearer to the King, perhaps,’ Freddy said.

 ‘Wouldn’t do at all,’ Budgie said complacently. ‘I much prefer badgering you.’

Frodovar came up quietly. ‘Everyone’s settled,’ he said. ‘Your places are ready for you.’

 ‘Thank you, my son,’ Freddy said. ‘You’ll make a fine Mayor some day, if the folk of Ithilien ever elect one.’ Frodo smiled briefly and kissed his mother, then was called away to see to some detail or other.

 ‘He’s grown so fast,’ Melilot sighed, and her husband laughed.

 ‘He’s grown,’ he corrected. ‘Wonder if any marriageable lasses are in that crowd of hobbits descending upon the Southlands.’

 ‘Freddy!’ Melilot scolded, though the same thought had crossed her mind.

Next morning they arose early to the clear call of the trumpets. Freddy laughed at his wife as she took extra care in her dressing, but he took extra care, himself. Truly he’d never expected to see his sister Estella again, and he wanted to look his best for her benefit.

 ‘Promise me you won’t tire yourself with all the excitement, Freddy,’ Melly said softly.

 ‘I am well, Melly, really I am!’ Freddy said, laughing, and to prove it he took her arm and whirled with her until he had to stop to catch his breath. ‘You see?’ he panted. ‘We’ll dance the Springle-ring at our son’s wedding; see if we don’t!’

 ‘Aren’t you putting the cart before the pony, rather?’ Frodovar said, entering their small pavilion. ‘The guardsmen are ready to take the canvas down,’ he added, and then, ‘...or were you planning, perhaps, for Merry or Pip’s wedding? It will take some time, I fear, to settle them to the point where any parents of a respectable lass would accept a marriage contract.’

 ‘Merry and Pip,’ Freddy said with a frown. ‘D’y’know, I think we shall have to call them by their names-of-misdeed, as if calling them to account for some mischief. Otherwise we shall be altogether muddled with “this Merry” and “That Pip”.’

 ‘Did someone call me?’ Perevar said, sticking his head in at the flap. ‘The guardsmen are ready to take the canvas down,’ he added.

 ‘Yes, dear heart, nearly ready,’ Melilot said. ‘Do me up, Frodo, there’s a dear.’ She could not quite reach the buttons in the middle of her back, but it didn’t matter, with a large and loving family surrounding her. There were always happy hands ready to help.

Perevar jumped to his father’s side, offering his arm. ‘Your escort, sir!’ he said smartly.

 ‘The Thain himself is not so well served as I,’ Freddy observed, picking up the heavy walking stick.

Frodovar did up the difficult buttons and offered his arm to his mother. Just then, Merivar entered, announcing, ‘The guardsmen are ready to take the canvas down.’

 ‘It’s about time,’ Freddy said.

Note to the reader:

I hope it is not too confusing, having two Faramirs in one chapter. I have tried to make it clear that the Faramir in the first part is Faramir Took, or "Farry", a Hobbit, while the Faramir in the second part is Prince Faramir of Ithilien, a Man. Happily the two do not enter the same scene in any of the chapters of this story.

Chapter 22. Great Expectations

Goldi stretched—such luxury these Bolgers practiced! These must be the softest bedclothes she’d ever enjoyed. If her head did not ache so...

 ‘Farry, I think she’s coming ‘round,’ Laurel Bolger said softly.

 ‘Mmmm?’ Goldi said, opening her eyes. Her good friend sat by one side of the bed, leaning over her to touch Faramir’s shoulder. He sat on the other side of the bed, or had started sitting at any rate. At the moment he leaned forward, head resting upon his arms on the coverlet.

 ‘Farry?’ she said, startled, trying to sit up. A wave of dizziness, followed by an overwhelming nausea seized her.

 ‘No, Goldi, don’t try to sit up,’ Laurel said hastily, then raised her voice to call her husband. ‘Rudi!’

Faramir stirred, lifted his head, blinked sleepily, came instantly awake. ‘Goldi,’ he said, moving to gather her in his arms. ‘Goldi!’ He buried his face in her hair.

Goldi endured the embrace for as long as her churning stomach would allow before she had to push him away, turning away from him to retch miserably. Of a wonder Laurel had a basin in place, though there was nothing on Goldi’s stomach to bring up, as it turned out.

 ‘There-there, lass,’ she soothed. ‘Happens to the best of us. You’ll feel better once we get some food into you.’

Food was the last thing Goldi wanted, and she said so. Laurel chuckled, but just then Healer Chamomile bustled in, a smile on her face. ‘So we’re awake, are we?’ she said cheerily.

 ‘I don’t know about you,’ Goldi said, a hand on her head, which had not been improved by the retching, ‘but I seem to be.’

 ‘Spoken like a true Took,’ Farry said, easing an arm around her. He was treating her as if she were made of rare Elvish blown glass, she noted with irritation, when she’d only...

 ‘What happened?’ she asked.

 ‘You fell,’ Laurel said. ‘Fainted, actually.’

Goldi wrinkled her nose. ‘Fell?’ she said, puzzled.

 ‘You didn’t want breakfast,’ Faramir said. ‘Said you wanted to get an early start—remember how you wanted to leave early and reach the Smials by this evening, rather than taking two days to travel as is usual? You got us up in the middle night, practically! Anyhow, you didn’t want breakfast, and said that we’d stop for second breakfast...’

 ‘You were looking a bit green,’ Laurel said critically. ‘As you still are, but it’s understandable.’

Memory came flooding back. ‘Early start!’ Goldi said. ‘That’s right! Why...’ she glanced at the Sun peeping through the round, sparkling windows of the best guest room of Budge Hall. ‘It must be midmorning!’ she cried.

 ‘Nearly time for second breakfast,’ Laurel said, and Goldi groaned.

 ‘Don’t mention food to me,’ she said.

 ‘You have to eat, love, especially now,’ Faramir said earnestly.

 ‘Especially now...?’ Goldi said, confused, and her confusion grew at the look on her husband’s face. Doting, he was, even fatuous. ‘You look like the cat that got into the cream,’ she accused.

 ‘Don’t you know?’ he said joyfully.

 ‘Of course she doesn’t know,’ Laurel said crisply. ‘She’s never been in the family way before.’

Goldi knew she must look awfully silly with her mouth hanging open as it was, but... ‘You jest,’ she managed at last.

 ‘Congratulations,’ Rudi said, breezing into the room. He kissed Laurel’s upturned face and turned back to Goldi and Farry. ‘Wonderful news. You had us worried, I’ll tell you. What a relief!’

 ‘A babe...’ Goldi breathed, and then the truth burst upon her in all its glory. She returned Faramir’s hug, nausea forgotten; indeed she wanted to rise from the bed and dance, to sing to the skies. ‘O Farry! A babe!’

The healer ushered the Bolgers out of the room, leaving Farry and Goldi to rejoice together. She returned a little later with a covered cup, tapping on the door to make sure her intrusion was not inconvenient. At Faramir’s “Come” she pushed the door open. ‘I have a little something to settle your tummy, lass,’ she said.

Goldi sighed. Just because old Cammy had known her since she was in nappies, she didn’t care to be treated as a child.

 ‘Drink it down, now, Goldi; it’ll do you good,’ Farry said encouragingly, and she shot him an ironic look. He was as Tookish as they came when dealing with healers, but he wouldn’t hesitate to inflict them on his wife, it seemed.

The potion was not unpleasant-tasting, however, and did the trick, for when the tray with its covered plate appeared soon after, Goldi’s appetite had returned. She tackled the shirred eggs, lightly buttered toast and cut-up fruit with enthusiasm and asked for more, which Laurel was delighted to provide. As a matter of fact, she was halfway through her third helpings when the conversation between Farry and Rudi, sitting in the chairs flanking the little hearth, caught her ear.

 ‘...send you back in our coach, of course,’ Rudi was saying.

 ‘Coach!’ Goldi said. ‘But...’ she gestured to the golden sunshine pouring down outside the Hall. ‘To be shut up in a coach, in such glorious weather...!’

Laurel patted her hand. ‘Goldi,’ she said softly, and at her tone the younger hobbit subsided. Laurel smiled at the two husbands. ‘Go on with your planning,’ she said. ‘Or better yet, go down to the kitchen and see if you can find something for me to eat. I’m getting hungry just watching our young cousin eat!’

Farry and Rudi rose from their chairs at once. Farry embraced Goldi once more, his lips brushing her forehead, though he was careful not to upset the tray. ‘Would you like anything else, my dear?’ he said.

 ‘No, but you go ahead and eat,’ Goldi said. ‘I don’t want you wasting away whilst I’m swelling to the size of a dragon’s hoard.’ 

 ‘Never!’ Farry said gallantly. ‘Rudi tells me that you’ll only grow more beautiful.’

Laurel smiled at her husband and said conspiratorially, ‘He knows which side his bread is buttered on.’ All laughed, and the husbands left the room.

When they were alone, Laurel touched Goldi’s hand. ‘He’s going to want to shower you with blessing and pamper you until you feel as if you’ve been wrapped up in cotton wool,’ she warned.

 ‘What a dreadful thing to say!’ Goldi said in dismay. ‘How do I stop it?’

 ‘You don’t,’ Laurel said firmly. ‘No, Goldi, hear me out. You’re engaged in serious business, you know, knitting a babe. It’ll take all your reserves and then some. You must eat well, you must get adequate exercise but gentle, mind you, none of this wild pony-racing business of which you are so fond. And you must let your husband coddle you to his heart’s content, for that is his part in the business.’

 ‘I thought he already did his part,’ Goldi said, and then blushed.

Laurel laughed and shook her head. ‘You’re impossible,’ she said. ‘But then we have to make allowances.’

Goldi bristled. ‘Allowances?’ she said. Laurel had never before made reference to her lowly family line, gardeners who were only common hobbits in truth.

 ‘Yes,’ Laurel said. ‘You’re the daughter of one of the Travellers, married to the son of one of the Travellers, and so this will be no ordinary babe at all, being born into such an extraordinary family.’ She patted Goldi’s hand. ‘These are some of the happiest days of your life,’ she said softly, her eyes shining with remembered joy. ‘You’ll never be expecting your first babe again, so make the most of it. And don’t spoil Farry’s pleasure.’

 ‘Let him pamper me?’ Goldi said quizzically.

 ‘And cosset you, and cherish you... believe me, you’ll be storing up strength for after the babe is born, and you’ll need it all! You’ll be exhausted, and if you haven’t allowed folk to care for you properly, if you haven’t had enough rest before the babe comes, you won’t enjoy the days to follow so well as you ought.’

 ‘If you say so,’ Goldi said, but then their husbands were heard in the corridor and the wives fell silent.

 ‘Goldi!’ Farry said, entering the room with another kiss for his wife as Rudi settled a tray in Laurel’s lap. ‘I bought this off one of Rudi’s goldsmiths, and was going to give it to you on my birthday, but I find I simply cannot wait...’ He drew an exquisitely fashioned bracelet from his pocket and, taking her hand in his, fastened it on her wrist.

 ‘Goldi?’ Laurel said, raising an eyebrow.

Goldi sighed, then smiled at her friend. ‘I think I can get used to it,’ she said.

 ‘Used to what?’ Farry asked, settling beside his wife, his arm stealing ‘round her once more.

 ‘Never you mind,’ Laurel said firmly. Rudi, father of three with a fourth on the way, laughed.

***

The marketplace in Dindale was even more festive than usual, for instead of merchants’ booths spilling over with varied and colourful wares, tables were set up, bright bunting hung from lines strung from one end of the market to the other, musicians practiced in a corner, bakers’ boys bustled from table to table, putting out baskets of bread, while maidens arranged flowers on every table and all sorts of other preparations were underway.

A brilliant blast of trumpets was heard in the distance. ‘That’s the call of Ithilien,’ the Mayor said to two of his councillors who were walking the marketplace, overseeing all the finishing details. Raising his voice, he shouted, ‘Make ready! They’re here!’

If the marketplace had seemed a busy place before, now it positively boiled like a nest of ants disturbed. The Mayor settled his robes about his shoulders (he hardly ever wore them, save for occasions of state) and hurried to the town gate, to be joined by all five of the Men who sat on the city council, also ceremonially dressed for the occasion. Quite a few of the townspeople waited, waving banners in bright colours, cheering the approach of the visitors from Ithilien: the Prince and his family, of course, but also Elves! ...and Halflings!

 ‘Welcome, well come indeed!’ the Mayor shouted, bowing to Prince Faramir.

Faramir dismounted and waited for his Lady to dismount before, arm in arm, they approached the welcoming committee. ‘My Lord Mayor,’ he said with a bow of his own.

 The Mayor beamed and turned to the councillor on his right, extending his hand. That Man pulled a large key from his sleeve and placed it in the waiting palm. The Mayor thrust the key at Faramir, saying, ‘The key to the city, My Lord. Make yourself free of her gates.’

The prince took the key with appropriate solemnity, thanking the people of Dindale for their welcome.

 ‘Come along, then,’ the Mayor said with a grand gesture that encompassed all the travellers. ‘The King is due to arrive within the hour. Let us put up your horses; we have accommodations where you may wash away the dust, if you wish, before we greet the King and sit down to feast.’

 ‘Very kind, I’m sure,’ Faramir said, falling into step with the Mayor. His was a new face to Faramir, being newly elected, but he seemed to be handling this affair with efficiency and good humour. He glanced at Eowyn and she nodded, sharing his opinion. As they walked a little ahead of the crowd, Faramir unobtrusively pressed the large key back into the Mayor’s hand. ‘I suspect you’ll want this back, if only to present to the King when he arrives,’ he said.

The Mayor laughed. ‘We had another made,’ he confessed, ‘but it could be a ruinous business if every noble to pass through our fair city should elect to keep the key!’

Chapter 23. To Be Meeting Once Again

 ‘It looks as if all of Dindale has gathered to greet us,’ Arwen said to her husband as they rode at the head of the file.

 ‘Undoubtedly,’ Elessar said in reply. ‘They’ve dressed the town in her finest, and a most promising fragrance is on the breeze.’

 ‘Remind me to dab a little juice from that flavourful roast behind my ears,’ Arwen said. ‘It seems to have a more salutary effect than attar of roses.’

Elessar laughed and signalled to his standard-bearer. The guardsman rode forward with the trumpeters, who sounded the call. An answering call came from the town. ‘Ah,’ Elessar said in satisfaction. ‘Faramir is there before us.’

 ‘Then all arrangements have undoubtedly been made for our comfort,’ Arwen said. ‘He was an excellent steward before you made him Prince.’

The King’s procession moved between two lines of cheering, waving people, all the way to the gates where the Mayor waited with his councillors. All bowed low as the King and Queen dismounted.

 ‘Welcome, my lord and my king,’ the Mayor intoned as he straightened again.

 ‘Ulrich?’ Elessar said, stepping forward. ‘Mayor?’

The Mayor laughed, and the councillors grinned. ‘I gave so much valuable advice, all the years I served on the city council, that when old Efram retired they decided I ought to retire to a higher position.’

 ‘Well earned, I’m sure,’ Elessar said. ‘Efram told me himself, when last I visited, that it was your energy and your ideas over the last dozen years that built the town into what she is now.’

 ‘My thanks,’ Ulrich said with another bow. ‘And now, if I may present you the key to our fine city!’

 ‘I’ll add it to the collection,’ Elessar said with a wink, and the Mayor laughed.

 ‘If you fear that your collection might become burdensome, you might always leave the key upon departing. I promise we’ll keep it safe for you.’

 ‘Will you? I had the impression you were in the habit of presenting it to any stranger who passed by,’ the King said.

 ‘Only the well-dressed strangers,’ Ulrich said. Turning to Arwen, he said, ‘My Queen, you are as beautiful as ever.’

 ‘Have you brewed enough of your excellent mead to satisfy the King and all his followers?’ Arwen said in reply.

 ‘The bees have been extra-busy this summer in anticipation of the need,’ Ulrich said. ‘If you will follow me... the feast is laid in the town square, and all is in readiness.’

The parade was a grand affair, with King and Queen, Mayor and councillors at the head. The good townspeople cheered and waved banners as the guardsmen rode past, flanking coaches bearing families of Men and Hobbits.

When they reached the marketplace, the guardsmen dismounted, giving their horses in charge of the stable lads who stepped up to take them. The coach doors opened to disgorge their passengers. The musicians struck up a lively tune, but it was drowned in the cheers of onlookers and the cries of greeting.

Elessar and Arwen were met by Faramir and Eowyn; Beregond was hugged heartily by son Bergil and daughter-in-law and mobbed by his grandchildren, one of whom bore his own son in his arms. Freddy and Estella embraced for a long time while Merry and Melilot shared a satisfied look after their own hug ended. There was much exclaiming and introducing and explaining family relationships amongst the hobbits as they settled to the feast, but soon all was sorted out and they fell to the meal with light hearts and heavy appetite.

The musicians needn’t have bothered, really, with all the happy conversations filling the air. They did their duty, however, and occasionally a scrap of music could be heard floating through the square.

 ‘Boots!’ Freddy exclaimed. ‘Why, cousin Ferdi, have you become a Brandybuck? To see boots on Merry doesn’t surprise me, but on a Took!’

 ‘It’s all the latest fashion,’ Ferdi said. ‘They were gifts from the King of Rohan, and you know how those Men are... we could not insult him by refusing.’

 ‘And found them so comfortable that you continue to wear them?’ Freddy said. ‘Will wonders never cease?’

 ‘It is good to see Freddy looking so well,’ Estella murmured to Melilot.

 ‘You thought he was dying when we left the Shire,’ Melly said, not one to mince words.

Estella nodded wordlessly, her eyes bright with tears. ‘When word came that the healers of Gondor had been able to help him...’ she said. ‘It was bitter, to see him go, thinking I’d never meet him again in this life, but now...’

 ‘Now you forgive me for taking him away,’ Melilot said, patting her hand. ‘Good. I can tell you, then, that it was all Pippin’s doing.’

 ‘What?’ Estella said, laughing in spite of her tears.

 ‘I could not tell you before! Better for you to blame me in absence than to feel resentment towards Pip, whom you see so regularly!’ Melilot said practically. ‘But have no fear. Freddy is better than he’s been in years, and we watch over him carefully; even the Big Folk do.’

 ‘I can see that,’ Estella said, watching Beregond bend over her brother to offer him a small cup of mead, waiting while he drank it before withdrawing with a bow and a smile. ‘The drops?’

 ‘Yes, they steady his heart,’ Melilot said. ‘Even joy can be a strain, you know.’

 ‘But he looks well,’ Estella said, more to reassure herself than Melilot.

Melly laughed and patted her hand a last time before taking up her fork once again. ‘He does, my dear, indeed he does.’

When the feast was half-done, Freddy rose from his place, motioning his wife to stay seated. ‘I need to see a gaffer about a pony,’ he said, and she nodded with a smile.

 ‘I’ll just go with you, if I may,’ Frodovar said, rising from his own seat. ‘I’ve had just enough mead to need to visit that same gaffer.’

Melilot nodded slightly, and her oldest son smiled as he took his father’s arm. ‘I remember the way to the inn where we stayed the last time we were in Dindale,’ Frodovar said conversationally. ‘It’s just around the corner.’ To the others at the table he added, ‘We’ll be back.’

They took care of their business. The innkeeper had made ready for visiting Halflings and so all was made as convenient as might be. On their way back to the feast, Freddy paused. ‘If I might rest a moment, lad, and catch my breath,’ he said.

 ‘Are you well, Father?’ Frodovar asked.

 ‘Never been better,’ Freddy said. ‘The day started earlier than I’m used to, and a heavy meal on top of the long ride... I just want a breath of quiet air before we go back into the storm of celebration.’

They heard a burst of laughter from a side alley. Glancing over, Frodovar saw the Mayor of the town, his robes somewhat askew, lifting a mug in toast with three of his councillors.

 ‘The feast is grand enough for a King, indeed,’ one of the councillors said.

 ‘It ought to be!’ the Mayor retorted, ‘...seeing as how the King has graced us with his presence!’

 ‘Ah, but will the supply of mead hold out, or will we have to breach the storage cellars?’

Another councillor ran up, panting. ‘Indeed,’ he said breathlessly. ‘It is no joke. The mead is running low.’

The Mayor threw his head back and laughed. ‘We’ll have to do something about that!’ he shouted. ‘But no worry. As Mayor I happen to have the keys to the storage cellars!’ He dug under his robes and produced a ring of keys, selecting one. ‘Here you are. Mustn’t let the river run dry!’

The councillor grinned in relief and took himself off.

Frodovar looked back to his father, expecting to share a grin, but Freddy had gone white. ‘Father?’ Frodo said, worriedly.

Freddy’s mouth opened, but no words came. His eyes looked somewhere into the far distance, beyond his firstborn. He raised shaking hands to grab at his chest, and crumpled. Frodovar caught him and shouted for help.

Immediately the Mayor and three councillors surrounded them. ‘What’s happened?’ the Mayor said. ‘What can we do?’

 ‘Fetch the King,’ Frodo panted. ‘Hurry! Please!’

Chapter 24. Reflections of the Past

Melilot was laughing at something Estella had said, recounting her experiences with the Rohirrim and their overabundance of hospitality, when she saw a stir at the head table. One of the councillors of Dindale had thrust his way past the guardsmen surrounding King Elessar and had taken the King by his arm, speaking urgently. The King arose at once to follow, Queen Arwen close behind.

 ‘I wonder...’ she said.

 ‘Probably running out of mead,’ Estella said dryly, ‘and wanting the King to issue an opinion on the matter.’

Melilot shook her head. ‘You seem to think little of Men,’ she said. ‘Belittling the Rohirrim, whom I hear are the souls of hospitality, and now...’

Estella placed a hand on her arm in tacit apology. ‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘You have known only good of Men, surrounded by the White Company as you are, Men of honour and of duty.’

 ‘What is it, cousin?’ Melilot said, gazing searchingly into Estella’s face. ‘What has happened?’

 ‘An old ruffian crossed our path,’ Estella said.

 ‘Not—,’ Melilot gasped, grasping at Estella’s hand. ‘Not the ones...’

 ‘Not one of the ones that waylaid Merry and myself, no,’ Estella said in reassurance. ‘I saw their deaths with my own eyes. No, this was another, from the time of the scouring of the Westmarch.’ She looked about them, but Freddy had not yet returned. Nevertheless, she lowered her voice. ‘You saw that Merry and Ferdi are wearing boots? They were injured at the hands of the ruffian. They said nothing so as not to worry Freddy.’

 ‘Injured... how?’ Melilot said, thinking of what Budgie had told her of the ruffians in the Lockholes, and what Freddy had suffered there, though her husband had never spoken of such things to her—in his waking moments, that is.

 ‘I will not darken your heart by telling you,’ Estella said.

 ‘And Pippin?’ Melilot said. ‘He walks unsteadily, though he wears no boots.’

 ‘He was injured,’ Estella said, ‘in a fall from his pony, and not at the hands of a ruffian.’

 ‘There’s a mercy,’ Melilot sighed. Just then Beregond came up behind them and bent to speak, his face grave. ‘I beg your pardon, Mistress,’ he said formally.

Melilot stiffened. ‘What’s happened to Freddy?’ she demanded.

 ‘Come with me,’ the Captain of the White Company said. ‘I will bear you to him.’ The crowd parted before them. Estella followed; Freddy was her brother, after all. They walked quickly from the marketplace down a short street to an inn where accommodations for hobbits had been arranged. They walked through the entrance and down a corridor on the ground floor, wide windows on one side open to admit the fragrance of flowers in a courtyard garden, doors on the other, some ajar to reveal comfortably appointed rooms.

 ‘Have you no athelas in your stores at all?’ Elessar was demanding of an old, grandmotherly woman in healer’s garb.

 ‘None,’ she said. ‘We sent what we’d gathered to the White City, to the Houses of Healing, knowing you would be returning to Gondor soon.’

Estella saw the King clench his jaw in frustration. ‘Send your gleaners out to gather more,’ he said. ‘At once! It is late in the season, but they ought to find some where they harvested it before.’

 ‘At once, my lord,’ the woman said, and hurried away.

 ‘What is it? Has his heart...?’ Melilot said tremulously, pulling at Elessar’s cloak.

 ‘Ah, Melly,’ he said, kneeling swiftly to be at eye-level. ‘His heart we have managed to steady again, but his spirit has been sorely afflicted; I know not the cause.’

 ‘His spirit? But what could offer him harm, here?’ Melilot whispered. With a gasp she whirled and seized Estella. ‘That ruffian!’ she said. ‘Did he follow you here?’

 ‘I have had my guardsmen watching carefully,’ Elessar said. ‘He has not been seen anywhere nearby.’

 ‘But Freddy went off alone, with Frodovar,’ Melilot said desperately. ‘Where is my son? Is he safe?’ Her voice rose in her perturbation.

 ‘I am here, Mother, fear not,’ Frodo said, emerging from a room farther down the corridor. He hurried to hug Melilot, to murmur reassurance. When she was as calm as might be under the circumstances, he circled her with one arm and led her to Freddy’s bedside.

Her husband lay in a bed that was Man-sized but with the legs sawn away, thus made low enough for hobbits to enter and exit with ease. He was as white as the pillows that propped him. Melly knelt on the bed beside him and took his hand. He clenched his fingers into a fist and tried to pull away. ‘Freddy,’ she soothed, but he continued to fight her hold. Baffled, she released him.

 ‘Mayor,’ he whispered without opening his eyes. ‘Ruffian.’

Melilot looked to Frodovar. ‘Fetch Samwise,’ she said.

Elessar knelt beside the bed, laying a hand on Freddy’s forehead, calling his name. Freddy calmed somewhat, but stiffened immediately when his wife tried to take his hand. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘Please.’

 ‘He doesn’t want me to hold his hand?’ Melilot said, confused, blinking back her tears as she met the King’s compassionate gaze. ‘But that’s—that’s unheard of! I cannot leave him to walk alone in the dark!’

 ‘Put your hand on his arm instead,’ Estella said suddenly, and Melilot reached out slowly, to rest a gentle hand on Freddy’s arm. He did not jerk away this time, but lay quietly.

 ‘Freddy,’ Melly said softly. ‘Freddy, I’m here, my darling. Freddy, do you hear me?’

 ‘Mayor,’ Freddy said again.

Running feet sounded in the corridor outside, and Samwise skidded into the room, Frodovar at his side. ‘Samwise is here, Freddy,’ Estella said, placing a hand on her brother’s other arm. In the meantime the King’s palm remained on the hobbit’s forehead; Elessar's eyes were closed in concentration.

 ‘Mayor,’ Freddy said, and half-sobbed, ‘Ruffian.’

 ‘I know, Mr. Freddy,’ Samwise said quietly, sitting down upon the bed. Looking to Melilot, he added, ‘but how did you all know?’

Melly shook her head. ‘I only just now heard the news,’ she said, ‘and that because I pressed Estella. I still do not know exactly what happened to delay you in Rohan, though now I can hazard a guess.’

Sam nodded and looked down at Freddy, frowning slightly as he saw that neither wife nor sister held the ailing hobbit’s hands. He reached out, delicately for all the rough appearance of his work-worn hands, to touch the fingers. Freddy’s hand curled into a fist and he jerked away with a moan.

 ‘I see,’ Sam said slowly.

Elessar opened his eyes. ‘What do you see, Sam?’

Mayor Sam looked to the King. ‘It’s the old trouble come back, Strider,’ he said. ‘Something’s happened to set him off again.’

 ‘Set him off?’ Melilot asked.

 ‘He was very ill after the Lockholes,’ Sam said. ‘I watched my master and his cousins care for him, for days, despairing of his life. That dratted wizard cursed him, you know.’

 ‘Budgie said something to that effect,’ Melilot said faintly. ‘He said it was why Robin could no longer live in the smial where he grew up, that Sharkey had cursed the rebels in the Lockholes to a terrible fate.’

 ‘Tell me,’ Elessar said, his hand remaining on Freddy’s forehead.

 Sam gulped, memory taking him back to the days of the scouring of the Shire, the ruin they’d returned to, damaged Shire and broken lives, all in need of nurture and rebuilding. Most of the hobbits had rebounded quickly, but those in the Lockholes had faced the longest recovery. Some, like Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, had never really recovered from the experience, though she’d been over an hundred years old anyhow. Still, she’d never been the same.

 ‘Sam,’ Elessar said, bringing Sam back to the present.

 ‘He said...’ Sam began, and screwed up his eyes in his effort to remember. ‘He said, “...most suited to hobbits”.’

 ‘Suited,’ Freddy murmured, his hands clenching into fists and relaxing again, while a spasm of shared pain crossed Elessar’s face.

 ‘What was suited to hobbits?’ Melilot demanded, seeing remembered horror dawning in Estella’s eyes.

 ‘I cannot remember completely,’ Sam said, ‘though I read it in his own hand, before he left the Shire.’

 ‘The papers he was working on,’ Frodovar said quietly. ‘The ones he always locked in his desk. I looked for them after he fell ill, when the Thain convinced us to take him South, but the locked drawer was empty.’

 ‘He sent the pages to me,’ Sam said, ‘to finish the book that Mr. Bilbo started, and Mr. Frodo continued. It talks of the scouring of the Shire, and the greening afterwards.’ He shut his eyes tightly again, searching his memory. ‘I remember one of the words,’ he said suddenly, ‘an odd word, one I’d use for a flower more than a curse... “exquisite”, he said, but “exquisite...” what?’

 ‘Exquisite torture,’ Budgie said from the doorway, his younger cousin Robin at his side. His voice was strained, his eyes haunted.

 ‘Yes?’ Elessar said quietly.

 ‘The entire curse was this: Death by slow starvation is exquisite torture, most suited to hobbits...’ Robin whispered. Budgie steadied him as he swayed.

 ‘Are ye well, Robin-lad?’ Budgie said, much as if he was speaking to the tween of those terrible days long ago, though strands of silver now touched the dark locks, and laugh lines graced Robin’s eyes.

Robin shook off his cousin’s hand and crossed to the bed, looking down at Freddy’s curled fingers. ‘They broke his fingers, you know,’ he said in a conversational tone, as if the subject were far away and long ago. ‘They liked to play the Question game, you see. For every right answer, it was a reprieve. O they loved their games, the ruffians did.’

 ‘And for every wrong answer?’ Elessar prompted.

Robin raised hot eyes to gaze steadily into the King’s face. ‘For every wrong answer it was a burn, or a broken bone. They broke all of Mr. Freddy’s fingers on his right hand, you see, and then they busted up his hand, bone by bone, and then they would have started on the left hand but for the chief ruffian saying someone’d have to feed Mr. Freddy, did they make him helpless, or he’d starve to death, and Sharkey wouldn’t like that much, no he wouldn’t!’ Robin was breathing hard when he finished that speech, as if he’d run a race.

 ‘He’s not been able to make a tight fist since, not even since they re-set his fingers and the bones of his hand,’ Budgie said.

Frodovar had listened in horror, but Estella was nodding. How she remembered those dark days.

 ‘Broke his fingers...?’ Frodo said, wanting to be sick.

Hearing his voice, his father opened his eyes and looked at him, then at Sam. Freddy tried to sit up, but they restrained him. Grabbing urgently at Sam, he said, desperation in his tone, ‘Mayor... ruffian...’ only to sink back, eyes closed. Budgie stepped forward to take up a wrist, but nodded as he felt the heartbeat steady once more. The drops were doing their work.

 ‘Saruman allowed such treatment?’ Elessar said tightly.

 ‘O yes,’ Budgie said, but Robin interrupted.

 ‘That wizard... He told his Men that Freddy and I were his special pets, and that they might do whatever they wished but that they must not take our lives. We had to stay alive so that he could vent his poison on us, and glory in our wretchedness.’

 ‘He would come around to gloat,’ Budgie said, and Robin continued.

 ‘He’d stop in Mr. Freddy’s cell, he would, it was just across the way from mine, and shake his head and cluck his tongue at the state of Mr. Freddy’s poor broken hand. “We’ll have to do something about that,” he’d say, and go away again, and soon those ruffians would return and stand about Mr. Freddy and stomp on his fingers and shout, “Do something about that! We’ll have to do something about that!” Aaaaargh!’ He covered his eyes as a terrible cry of grief escaped him. Budgie gathered him close as he began to sob.

 ‘Do something about that,’ Frodo echoed faintly. ‘But that’s...’

 ‘What?’ Elessar said sharply.

 ‘That’s what the Mayor was shouting, about the mead running low, just before Father...’ His voice trailed off and he looked back to Freddy.

Freddy did not open his eyes, but he moaned once more, ‘Mayor... ruffian...’

***
The story of the greening of the Shire is found in "A Small and Passing Thing", also on SoA.

Chapter 25. Reminders and Remembrances

There was a banquet in the Town Hall that evening for the notables of the town and the travellers. The Mayor sat at the head table with Merewyn, his delicate wife, talking quietly with the councillors. Several times he was interrupted, introduced to various of the guests, who thanked him for his hospitality and the warm welcome his town had offered. The Councillors were especially charmed by the group of Halflings who came up together to bow as one to their host and thank him for the meal.

At last nearly all the places were filled, save a few left vacant at the head table.

 ‘Do you suppose the King will attend?’ old Councillor Heledir said.

 ‘Prince Faramir is here,’ Ulrich replied, ‘and Queen Arwen, and quite a few of the travellers.’

 ‘Yes, but the King...’ Councillor Arasfaron said from the other side of the table. ‘The word is that he tends the fallen perian.’

Ulrich shook his head. ‘A sad business,’ he said. ‘For the Halflings to meet after long parting, and then lose one of their kindred in the same day.’ He squeezed his wife’s hand as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

 ‘Very sad,’ she whispered.

 ‘Ah, but one of the King’s escort comes,’ Arasfaron said. ‘Perhaps he brings news.’

 ‘It seems he brings a Halfling,’ Heledir observed.

Ulrich rose to greet the arrivals: Beregond and Bergil, escorting an unsteady hobbit between them.

 ‘Here we are, sir,’ Beregond said gravely as they reached the head table.

 ‘About time!’ the Halfling said querulously. ‘A body might starve to death in the time it takes to walk the length of this great hall!’

 ‘Come sir,’ Bergil coaxed. ‘Your seat is prepared for you. Let us assist you, if we may?’

 The two guardsmen, Captain of the White Company and his son, piled cushions upon the chair and lifted Pippin into the seat.

 ‘You have travelled far from the North, Master Perian,’ Ulrich said with a bow. ‘You are one of the King’s company, are you not?’

 ‘Know you not this doughty warrior?’ Beregond said, shocked. ‘This is the Ernil i Pheriannath! You’ve seen him many a time before!’

 ‘Of course, of course!’ Ulrich said promptly. ‘Forgive an old Man, sir, for not recognising you. Why, I still remember seeing you at the coronation of the King, in your fine guardsman’s garb, with your kinsmen. What a sight it was!’

 ‘You were of Minas Tirith?’ Pippin said. ‘You came from the White City to...’ he turned to Beregond, ‘...what is this place?’

 ‘Dindale, sir,’ Beregond said quietly. A plate was set before Pippin, but he paid little heed. Beregond reached over and cut the slices of succulent roast into small pieces, then pushed the plate a bit closer to the hobbit. ‘Eat now, sir,’ he urged.

 ‘Eat?’ Pippin said in confusion. He looked down at his plate. ‘Is it time to eat?’

Sitting so close, the Mayor and his Councillors could see now the healing wound. Heledir shook his head sadly, remembering the bright young hobbit who’d set an entire public house to laughter with his stories, after the coronation had concluded and the celebration was well under way.

 ‘Yes sir,’ Bergil said from Pippin’s other side. ‘Eat now.’

Pippin speared a few pieces of meat and ate, chewing appreciatively, then saying plaintively, ‘I thirst.’

Beregond put a goblet into his hand. ‘Your cup, sir,’ he said deferentially.

Pippin drank, set the goblet down too close to the edge of the table, but Bergil deftly caught it as from long practice.

The Ernil i Pheriannath fixed Ulrich with his wavering gaze. ‘You’re from the White City?’ he said again. ‘You saw the coronation?’

 ‘I did,’ Ulrich said proudly. ‘What an occasion!’

 ‘A far cry from the scene before the Black Gate, eh Ulrich?’ Heledir said.

 ‘You were at the Black Gate?’ Pippin quavered.

 ‘Indeed he was!’ Arasfaron said. ‘Why, the townspeople are proud to call a hero of the last battle their Mayor!’

Ulrich tried to dampen his councillors’ ardour, but Pippin piped up once again. ‘You saw the battle?’ he said. ‘You saw the trolls march forth?’

 ‘I was not in the front rank,’ Ulrich said. ‘I was only a callow youth, and not one of the picked men of the City. I stood a little ways back, higher on the hill than you, Master Perian. I saw you ride back from your parley, and stand with the Men of Dol Amroth. But I was upon the right-hand hill, sure enough.’

 ‘The trolls strode forth, the orcs behind them pouring their arrows into the defending ranks,’ Pippin murmured, lost in memory.

 ‘Nay, Master Perian,’ Ulrich said, ‘but the orcs poured forth first, only to be hindered by the mires; it was then the trolls behind caught them up and passed them.’ He was sure of his facts; he had recited this story so often by request that it was burned into his memory.

 ‘O aye,’ the hobbit said vaguely. He gestured to the healing wound on his head. ‘The King bored a hole in my skull, you see, and half my memories have leaked out, it seems. I cannot keep a thought in my head.’

Ulrich smiled reassuringly. ‘It was a long time ago in truth,’ he said, taking another draught of mead.

 ‘Let me see your hands,’ Pippin said suddenly, turning from his plate as if he’d forgotten all hunger. He held his palms out, and Ulrich, with a humorous look at his wife, placed his large hands upon them.

Pippin ran his fingers over Ulrich’s hands, nodding. ‘The hands of a warrior,’ he said. ‘You have known the sword, but there are also calluses here that tell of the pen.’

He looked over to Beregond. ‘But Ulrich’s least finger on the sword hand was missing the last joint, do you not remember?’

 ‘It wasn’t,’ Ulrich said in astonishment. ‘His hand was as whole as...’

The hobbit’s unfocused gaze suddenly became sharp and piercing. ‘His hand,’ he said softly. ‘Well now...’

 ‘I mean...’ Ulrich said, back-paddling, while his wife looked from hobbit to husband in surprise.

 ‘Yes,’ Beregond said, standing to his feet, his hand on his sword. ‘Tell us what you mean, Mayor Ulrich. Or would that be Reinadan, scribe at the Lockholes, while Sharkey ruled the Shire?’

The Mayor lost all colour as he gasped, ‘I don’t know what you mean...’

 ‘I think you do,’ Pippin said. ‘You were never at the Black Gate, were you? At the time the Men of the City were fighting and dying, you were terrorising little folk who never offered you harm or offence, and some months after you were laughing and tormenting helpless prisoners in the Northlands.’

 ‘No,’ Ulrich whispered. ‘Not possible...’

 ‘My husband is a good Man!’ Merewyn protested. ‘You have mistaken him for someone else!’

 ‘I have not mistaken him,’ Pippin said slowly. ‘Nor have three survivors of the Lockholes, who recognised his voice and and his smile, even though so many years have passed.’ He looked with real pity at the Mayor’s wife. ‘I am sorry, my lady,’ he said, ‘but your husband is a ruffian, and his past has caught him at last.’

Chapter 26. Truth or Dare

Ulrich kissed his wife on the cheek and squeezed her hand. ‘If you’ll excuse me, my dear,’ he said lightly. ‘I’m sure we’ll have all this cleared up in no time.’

He looked to Beregond and added, ‘How are we to do this? Is it to be a formal hearing, with witnesses as to my character and actions, and proofs of my identity?’

 ‘Not yet,’ Beregond said. ‘The King would like to speak with you, to ascertain the truth of the charges.’

 ‘You see, Merewyn,’ Ulrich said. ‘My guilt has not been established. I doubt that it ever shall be, seeing as how I am no ruffian.’

Merewyn swallowed hard and nodded. She knew that her husband was no ruffian, but with three witnesses claiming otherwise... She hoped the King would quickly sort out this case of mistaken identity.

 ‘Stay here and mind the feast,’ Ulrich said to his wife, rising and patting her on the shoulder.

 ‘I’ll come with you,’ old Heledir said, rising as well. He turned to the other councillors. ‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘Take care of business.’ 

 ‘Of course,’ Arasfaron said, and the others murmured their compliance.

Ulrich and Heledir made their way from the hall with smiles and nods, off to see to some business or other, the rest of the feasters surmised, the Mayor walking between the Captain of the White Company and the old councillor, and the Halfling--evidently much improved since he’d eaten--next to the King’s guardsman.

The King awaited them in the council room of the Town Hall. He occupied the Mayor’s central chair, two Halflings beside him, talking in low tones. The Halflings looked up at their entrance and rose, evidently in deference to the Ernil i Pheriannath. Ulrich was surprised to see boots upon their feet. One of the Halflings moved to the next chair to make room for Pippin, and Bergil escorted him to his seat. Heledir wanted to chuckle at the sight of the three of them, their chins barely above table level, looking all too much like small sons invited to their fathers’ place of business for the day. He pursed his lips and cleared his throat instead, thinking of the Ernil i Pheriannath’s words. Three witnesses, he’d said. Heledir wondered if these were the three.

 ‘Be seated,’ Elessar said, indicating the chairs opposite him.

 ‘I’m not to stand in the dock? That’s reassuring,’ Ulrich said with a chuckle, and took the seat indicated. Beregond came to stand behind him, and two of the King’s guardsmen stepped outside the door to the chamber, evidently to turn away any who tried to enter. Two more took up stations just inside the door, and more by the windows. Preventing escape? Ulrich mused. They seemed to have a hearty respect for former ruffians.

 ‘Now where do we begin?’ Ulrich said, sitting back. ‘How do I prove these charges false?’

 ‘Begin by telling me your story,’ Elessar said. ‘The witnesses place you in the Shire during the War of the Ring. Tell us where you come from, and where you have been between that time and this.’

 ‘I was born in Minas Tirith,’ Ulrich said. ‘My grandfather was one of the Tower Guard.’

The Halfling closest to the King was nodding slightly.

The Ernil i Pheriannath broke in. ‘Why are you called “Ulrich”?’ he asked. ‘That is not a name common in Gondor.’

Ulrich looked into the keen eyes. ‘My father came from Westfold,’ he said. ‘My mother’s father, it was, served in the Tower Guard. My father came to Minas Tirith with a caravan of traders and stayed on.’

The booted Halfling beside the King smiled faintly and said, ‘A curious mixture of truth and falsehood, my lord.’

 ‘I beg your pardon?’ Ulrich said in surprise.

 ‘Go on,’ Elessar said.

 ‘He has called me a liar!’ Ulrich spluttered, outrage replacing surprise.

 ‘Ulrich, I’ve known you since you saved my son from drowning years ago,’ Elessar said. ‘Please, do not take umbrage. I’m sure we can work this out. Go on with your account.’

 ‘Ferdi,’ the Ernil i Pheriannath said to the booted Halfling beside the King, and that one nodded and sat back, seeming to lose interest in the proceeding.

Ulrich proceeded to tell his life’s story, growing up in his house in the First Circle of Minas Tirith, losing home and possessions in the fire during the Siege, joining the army of the West as they marched to the Black Gate... ‘My father and my brothers fell in the battle,’ he said. ‘My mother died of grief a few months after we returned.’

 ‘How did you come to the Northland?’ Elessar said. ‘You were plying your trade as a fisherman on the Lake when you saved Eldarion from drowning.’

 ‘I had no ties in Minas Tirith anymore. My mother’s family were all dead; her brothers fell in battle. I thought to go to Westfold to find my father’s family, but the people there had been scattered and I had no success.’

 ‘You did not stay in the Westfold,’ Elessar prompted.

 ‘No, by then I had seen so much, I wanted more,’ Ulrich said. ‘I kept moving, for the Road beckoned me. Each bend or hill brought new sights to my eyes, and another promised beyond.’ His look grew far away. ‘When I reached Lake Evendim, I knew I’d found my home.’

 ‘But then it was your misfortune to save the son of the King from drowning,’ Elessar said wryly.

Ulrich shook himself. ‘It was,’ he said. ‘I could hardly remain in my lonely state with the King and Queen and princesses showering me with their gratitude and attentions.’ He sighed. ‘I grew used to banquets, and fine clothing, and having people ask my advice about this and that.’

 ‘And so great grew our friendship that you agreed to accompany us to Gondor at the end of the season,’ Elessar said with a smile at some memory.

 ‘On my way back to the Lake, after visiting Gondor, I stopped to help a traveller who’d been waylaid by ruffians,’ Ulrich said, his face darkening. ‘A harmless old man, who’d have given them what little gold he was carrying with no need for a beating. I helped him to his daughter in Dindale, and went to join the town guard as they tracked those ruffians and brought them to justice.’ Doubt was showing in the faces of two of the Halflings as if they were beginning to believe his tale; the one who’d called him a liar seemed to have fallen asleep, eyes closed and head leaning against the table. He smiled. ‘Great was my reward. Some months later I married his daughter, and it was not long before I was elected to the Town Council.’

 ‘He’s the hardest worker I know,’ Heledir put in, and Ulrich chuckled.

 ‘We’ve done a great deal of good for the town, if I do say so myself,’ he said.

 ‘Indeed you have, which makes these charges all the more grievous,’ Elessar said, sitting back. He turned to address the booted hobbit at his side. ‘Ferdi?’

The hobbit raised his head, no sign of sleep in his countenance. ‘He is the most skilled liar I have heard yet,’ Ferdi said. ‘He blends his lies with so much truth that it is difficult to sift through and tell the one from the other.’

 ‘You have no proof,’ Elessar said. ‘I need more than vague generalities.’

 ‘Very well,’ Ferdi said, sitting straighter. ‘The account of his journey North is true, though I suspect it did not take place when he said it did, after the War. It could as easily have taken place before the siege of Minas Tirith.’

Elessar turned to his old friend. ‘When did you travel North?’ he said.

 ‘After the War, of course,’ Ulrich said easily. He'd made more than one journey between North and South since the War of the Ring.

Ferdi’s eyes narrowed. ‘Truth,’ he said.

 ‘You see?’ Elessar said to Pippin and Merry. ‘It is a case of mistaken identity.’

Ferdi was leaning forward. ‘Answer me this,’ he said. ‘What was the time of your first journey North? When did you first leave Gondor?’

 ‘After the war, of course,’ Ulrich repeated.

 ‘Truth,’ then, ‘Which war?’ Ferdi pressed. Gondor had known many in her long history.

 ‘The War of the Ring, of course,’ Ulrich answered, knowing that this was the correct answer.

Ferdi sat back and nodded, satisfied. ‘A lie,’ he said flatly.

 ‘How can he...?’ Heledir said. ‘And how can you believe him?’

 ‘It is a gift,’ Elessar said. ‘Such a gift was known in Rivendell. It seems that this gift is not confined to Elves.’ He looked at Ulrich now, a curious expression on his face, mixture of anger, sorrow, and regret. ‘Tell me, Ulrich, were you the scribe who wrote down the names of the hobbits dragged to the Lockholes against their will, the one who assigned them numbers to replace their names? Did you offer no comfort or aid, but only humiliations and torments?’

 ‘I beg your pardon!’ Ulrich said, rising from his chair, anger suffusing his features.

Elessar rose as well. ‘Were you that scribe?’ he demanded.

 ‘No!’ Ulrich thundered.

 ‘Falsehood,’ Ferdi said into the silence that followed.

***

For more on Ferdi's truth-sifting ability, see "Runaway" and "Truth", both here at SoA.

Chapter 27. Burning Truth

Heledir rose and put a hand on Ulrich’s shoulder. Squarely facing the King, he said, ‘Surely this Halfling’s ability to sift truth from falsehood is a wonder and a marvel. I have never heard of such a gift before, and if it were not that he sat at the side of the King of Gondor and Arnor, I’d say it was a simple trick, to force a confession from a guilty man. If, that is, Ulrich were a guilty man.’

 ‘I know only what I hear,’ Ferdi said. How ironic, he thought, to lie about hearing truth or lies!

Pippin put a hand on his arm and squeezed slightly. Ferdi looked over and he nodded. There is no proof, Pippin thought, and these Men will never believe what they cannot hold in their hands, or see with their own eyes, or hear with their own ears. ‘Very well,’ the Thain said aloud. ‘I have asked my Chancellor to assist us, and you have heard his words. We can do no more.’

Heledir met the gaze of the Ernil i Pheriannath. ‘I thank you for attempting to aid in this matter,’ he said carefully, not wanting to offend the princely Halfling. ‘It would have been a fine thing if he could have dispelled the fogs of suspicion aroused by the accusers.’

 ‘It might be best to meet with the three witnesses,’ Ulrich said, ‘to reassure them that they have seen only a chance resemblance, and that their tormenter is not here. In any event, he probably died long ago. It is not known for ruffians to live a long life.’

 ‘Were there enough evidence for a trial, you’d have met them,’ Elessar said, confirming Ulrich’s suspicion that the three Halflings in the room were not his accusers. He wondered which of the feasters he’d met that day had seen another man’s face in his. ‘I will ask if they are willing to meet with you in the morning, ere we depart.’

 ‘It might be better for them to put the dark memories behind them,’ Heledir said.

Ulrich bowed his head. ‘I will do whatever the King desires,’ he said, and raising his eyes to meet Elessar’s once more, he added. ‘Whatever you deem is best for the Halflings, my lord. It grieves me to know that any of the kinsmen to the Ring-bearer were tormented and oppressed.’

He bowed to the three Halflings, who rose and nodded to him but did not deign to bow in return, and together, he and Heledir strode from the chamber, past the guardsmen standing at the door.

***

 In the dark watches of the night, dark figures crept from shadow to shadow until they reached the inn where the travellers were staying. One climbed upon the low, leaning roof, his softly shod feet making no more noise upon the wood shakes than the soft scratching of a rat. The other handed up several large jars. Taking one of the vessels, the rooftop stalker poured out its contents upon the shakes as he moved along the length of the roof, returning twice to exchange his empty jar for a full one.

The smell of lamp oil rose on the night breeze as he worked. His companion, in the meantime, was splashing the same liquid against each door in the long corridor, generous in his distribution so that lamp oil ran down the door to puddle on the floor outside each room. At the last he took up two of the turned-down lamps from their brackets on the wall. His companion jumped softly from the roof, taking one. In the same breath each hurled his lamp, one into the corridor, the other up onto the roof. Glass shattered and the tongue of flame that had made each lamp a homey guide flared into a monster, feasting greedily on the oil-soaked wood and puddles of oil.

The shadowy figures faded back once more into the shadows whence they’d come, watching the flames build higher, until the first of the guardsmen to see the flames shouted and the fire-bell began to ring.

Beregond had been restless, walking under the stars instead of seeking his bed, trying to make some sense of the matter. Ulrich seemed a fine and upright man, well-esteemed by all in the town, high in the esteem of King and Queen, for that matter. Surely he could not be the villain the hobbits had made him out to be. Yet from what Bergil told him, the three witnesses were respected amongst their own kind, known for their integrity.

He heard the ringing of the fire-bell and scanned the surrounding rooftops. Tongues of flame were rising to the east of the market square... the inn! He pounded over the stones, down the street to the inn where the travellers were staying. The wing where the hobbits were lodged was fully involved, rooftop ablaze, flickering fire showing through the windows of the corridor, windows that were already starting to shatter from the heat.

Bergil ran up to him, his face streaked with soot.

 ‘Hobbits!’ Beregond shouted.

 ‘Trapped!’ his son returned desperately. ‘We cannot reach them!’ Indeed, the first buckets of water poured upon the flames in the corridor had floated the flaming oil, spreading the fire instead of dousing it.

 ‘Blankets!’ Beregond shouted, remembering the Siege of Minas Tirith. ‘Soaked blankets, to smother the flames!’ Bergil nodded and ran in through another entrance to the inn where the flames had not yet extended their reach.

In the meantime, Beregond ran to the trough before the inn and rolled in, gasping at the coldness of the water. Thoroughly soaked, he ran to the flaming wing, his sodden cloak about his head, and into the inferno. As he’d seen through a window, the wooden doors in the corridor were burning, and it was not hard to force his way through the first. The light from the fire in the corridor played on the faces of the hobbits, still in their blankets, untouched as yet by flame.

The White Captain scooped up an armful of children, wrapped them in his wet cloak, and turned to carry them to safety, nearly colliding with another guardsman as he did so. As the other guardsman was taking up a hobbit, Beregond dashed through the flames to the safety of the yard. Someone took his burden from him and as he turned to run back into the flames, a townsman in the bucket brigade dumped his bucket over Beregond’s head, soaking him once again. He shouted thanks and ran back in, one of a number of guardsmen and townsfolk who braved the flames to bear away the unconscious hobbits.

By some miracle, the hobbits were all got out before the roof collapsed. It might have had something to do with the heavy rains that had fallen some days earlier, the remainder of the storm that had stranded the travellers in Rohan. It might have had to do with the Men who braved the flames, suffering smoke and burns in their efforts. There might even have been some power to the words Queen Arwen whispered as she watched, scarcely breathing. Merewyn, who’d been roused from bed with her husband, heard Elbereth amongst the other words that were beyond her ken, but somehow comforted her.

Ulrich stood aghast, watching the limp bodies of the Little Folk borne out of the flames. He tried to go forward, to join in the rescue effort, but his wife clung to him, anchoring him in place. The first of the hobbits rescued were beginning to rouse, coughing, gasping for air, the little ones crying as their bewildered parents hugged them tightly.

Elessar fell to one knee before Pippin, who was holding Diamond as she clutched their little twin daughters. ‘All out,’ he gasped. ‘All safe. Many breathed some smoke, but we got to them before the air was unbreathable.’

 ‘It helped that the innkeeper put us on pallets on the floor, rather than in high beds,’ Pippin rasped. ‘The air was clearer where we were sleeping.’ 

 ‘He extended us every comfort,’ Diamond said, ‘including the convenience of being roasted alive in our beds.’

 ‘No, my love,’ Pippin said, his arms tightening about her and their littlest ones. ‘No, the fire may have started by the hand of Man, but it was not the innkeeper.’ He looked beyond Elessar, to the still figures of the Mayor and his wife.

Ulrich stood frozen as the flame-eaten roof of the wing collapsed. The fire-fighters had turned their efforts to preventing the spread of the fire to nearby buildings. Arasfaron came up to report, wiping soot from his face. ‘They got all the Halflings out,’ he panted. ‘Several of the rescuers sustained burns and breathed smoke, but this fire will claim no lives, thanks be!’

The fire marshal jogged over. ‘I think we’ll stop it from spreading any further,’ he said. ‘We’ll lose the farrier and the greengrocer for sure, but...’ He turned his head to cough. ‘From what I’ve been able to gather, it started in one wing of the inn and spread quickly.’

 ‘How?’ Ulrich demanded.

The fire marshal shrugged. ‘Too early to tell,’ he said, and lowered his voice. ‘One of my men told me there was a strong odour of lamp oil...’

 ‘Lamp oil!’ Ulrich said. Pieces began to fall into place. Others at the banquet could have overheard the words of the Ernil i Pheriannath. Gossip might have spread, and someone might have decided to take matters into their own hands. Someone who suspected the rumour might be true? In any event, the danger for the Halflings remained so long as Ulrich was under suspicion... Even if he were completely cleared, the accusation would hang in the air, prompting action he wanted no part of.

He put his arms around his wife and kissed her forehead. ‘I have always loved you,’ he said, ‘from the first moment.’

 ‘Ulrich?’ she said, confused.

 ‘I never wanted you to be touched by the curse of the past,’ he said. ‘That was another life, another Man who is long dead, now.’

 ‘What do you mean?’ Merewyn said. ‘You’re frightening me... I do not understand.’

Ulrich held her tightly for a moment, memorizing the feel of her, the smell, the look of her face as he put her away from him. He looked to Heledir, standing nearby. ‘Take care of my family,’ he said. The old councillor nodded slowly.

Ulrich gently detached his wife’s clinging hands and walked to where the King still knelt. He waited for Elessar to rise. By the light of the torches in the courtyard, and the dying flames of the ruined inn, he looked the King full in the face. ‘I am the Man you spoke of,’ he said. ‘I am Reinadan.’

Chapter 28. No Smoke without Fire

In the dawning a haze of smoke still hung over the little town nestled at the foot of Amon Din. The town was unnaturally quiet after the celebration of the previous day, followed by the midnight alarm. Large pavilions had been erected in the hours between midnight and dawn in a field outside the town wall. Guardsmen patrolled the perimeter, some wearing bandages or glistening with salve, many with scorched cloaks still stinking of smoke.

Coughing sounded from within one of the tents, and then soft voices.

 ‘Take some more of this soothing syrup, my love,’ Pippin said huskily, holding out a small cup.

Diamond drank and extended the cup to her husband. ‘You sound as if you need it as badly as I do,’ she said. She looked around at the sleeping children, unconsciously counting them once again, as she had over and over throughout the night. All safe. All safe.

 ‘You were right,’ Pippin said, still husky but less likely to break into a hacking cough after quaffing the syrup.

 ‘Yes, the syrup is effective,’ Diamond said.

Her husband pulled her close. ‘Not that,’ he said fondly, though his arms belied his casual tone. He’d come so close to losing her, losing them all!

 ‘What, then?’ Diamond said, snuggling into his embrace.

 ‘All those clothes you packed,’ Pippin said. ‘The baggage carried into the inn was lost, of course. All we have is what was still in the baggage waggons and loaded on top of the coaches. The Gamgees lost all their baggage, I believe, for they’d not brought much extra.’

 ‘They’re welcome to anything they need!’ Diamond said, and Pippin laughed.

 ‘We have plenty to share,’ he said. ‘The hobbits of Ithilien lost all as well, for they did not bring much baggage with them, and it burned with the inn.’

 ‘See?’ Diamond said smugly. ‘And here you were chiding me...’

Pippin’s arms tightened about her. ‘I see,’ he said fervently. ‘I do indeed.’

***

 ‘How is he?’ Arwen asked, bringing a steaming mug to her husband.

Elessar stretched from his cramped position by Freddy’s pallet. ‘He’s breathing well,’ he said. ‘It is a good thing he was one of the first hobbits brought out. I’m not sure he could have stood much smoke.’

 ‘You needn’t talk about me as if I’m not here,’ Freddy said without opening his eyes. His mental confusion had cleared the day before when his heart had steadied. He had worked at taking regular deep breaths once he was aware enough to do so.

 ‘How about some tea?’ Arwen said.

 ‘Complete with special drops,’ Freddy said. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for all the world.’ He was already propped in a sitting position, accepted the hobbit-sized mug Arwen extended, and sipped cautiously. ‘How are my family?’ he asked.

 ‘They are well,’ Arwen said. ‘Still sleeping, as a matter of fact.’ Melilot had been awake, watching by Freddy’s side when the fire began, had opened the door onto the blazing corridor. She had immediately slammed it again, screaming loudly enough to waken Freddy and all their children. They had huddled, helpless, knowing no escape was possible, until the door splintered before their eyes and wringing-wet guardsmen stooped to wrap them in wet blankets and carry them out through the inferno. Several of Freddy’s family had been so traumatised that Elessar had made all drink sleeping draughts once he’d reassured himself that they had taken no hurt.

 ‘I heard you tell someone that the ruffian confessed,’ Freddy said when he’d finished the mug. He held it out for a refill of regular tea. ‘Why would he confess to such a thing? There would be no proof against him, unless he smelt of lamp oil.’

 ‘He confessed to being a guard in the Lockholes,’ Elessar said, ‘not to setting the fire. Indeed, I believe it was the fire that pushed him to make his confession. He had nothing to do with it.’

 ‘Then there are more ruffians running about?’ Freddy said, raising an eyebrow. ‘That is hardly reassuring.’

 ‘The camp is heavily guarded,’ Elessar said, ‘and you are so much improved that we will be packing up and heading to Minas Tirith this day.’

 ‘Minas Tirith?’ Freddy said. If his eyebrow rose any farther it would disappear into his curls. ‘I had not planned a visit to Minas Tirith, I must admit. We were to go back to Ithilien after greeting the travellers. Merry said he would bring Estella there to pass some of their time in the South, until they were ready to go back to the Shire.’

 ‘There will be a trial in Minas Tirith, as soon as you are well enough to stand the strain,’ Elessar said. ‘Your testimony will be needed.’

 ‘A trial?’ Freddy said. ‘But I thought you said the ruffian confessed?’

 ‘It is not so simple as that,’ Elessar said. ‘When dealing with a capital case...’

 ‘Capital case?’ Freddy echoed. ‘I do not understand.’

Arwen put a steadying hand on Freddy’s as her husband sought to explain. ‘Reinadan’s crimes are considered serious under the law of Gondor and Arnor,’ Elessar said.

 ‘As they should be,’ Freddy said with a nod.

 ‘By rights I could hang him here and now,’ Elessar said, ‘but it is customary to go through the motions of a trial, even when a man has confessed his guilt.’

 ‘Hang him,’ Freddy said bleakly. Arwen’s hand tightened on his, and he smiled at her in absent courtesy. ‘My thanks, my lady,’ he said, raising her hand to his lips and laying it down with a sigh. ‘I had forgotten, for a moment, that we were not in the Shire, where such things are unknown.’

 ‘The cruelties that are common to Men are also unknown there,’ Arwen said gently. ‘Shirefolk have no need for such penalties.’

 ‘So we are to travel to Minas Tirith, give evidence, hear the verdict pronounced... do we have to watch the hanging as well?’ Freddy asked.

 ‘It is customary, but I would not hold you to it,’ Elessar said. ‘Especially as it is not the custom amongst your people.’

Freddy sat very still for a moment, then shook his head. ‘If my testimony is a part of the net that draws him to his death, I could hardly in honour stay away,’ he said. ‘It would be cowardly of me, not to face the fruit of my planting.’

 ‘It was not your planting,’ Arwen said, but Freddy shook his head.

 ‘Whose planting was it, pray tell?’ he said. ‘Saruman’s? Sauron’s? Why not hang them, then, for the bitter harvest we are reaping?’

Arwen glanced worriedly at her husband, but Freddy patted her hand. ‘I am not delirious, my dear,’ he said. ‘Merely thinking deeply.’

 ‘Think a little less deeply for the next few days,’ Elessar said with a sigh. ‘It will be better for your recovery.’

 ‘It is a heavy burden you bear, my lord,’ Freddy said. ‘To hold the lives of Men in your hand, and yet be cumbered by the law... Melly told me that you and the former Mayor of Dindale are old friends.’

 ‘He saved our son from drowning,’ Arwen said softly.

 ‘I’m very sorry,’ Freddy said.

 ‘Sleep now,’ Elessar said abruptly. ‘We’ll be loading you into a coach in a few hours.’

***

The former Mayor of Dindale stood with the councillors of the town, passing on his last instructions, his wrists in shackles, alert guardsmen surrounding him.

 ‘I want you to find whoever was responsible for that fire, for trying to burn the inn down over the heads of the Halflings,’ he said. ‘I want them found and punished. Attempted murder on that scale...’

 ‘The storehouse was broken into and the oil jars taken,’ Arasfaron said, ‘much the same way as the breaking-and-entering of the silversmith’s last month.’

 ‘The same element, perhaps,’ Ulrich said. ‘I had hoped that was a passing strike, strangers who saw an opportunity and moved on. It seems I was wrong, and they are still among us.’

Bergil stepped up to take his arm. ‘The King is ready to depart,’ he said.

Heledir set his jaw and stepped forward to embrace Ulrich, shackles and all. ‘I take my leave, but can not in truth say “Fare well”, for I know only too well how you shall fare,’ he said. ‘I will take care of my niece, and the children. They will want for nothing.’

 ‘Do not come to Minas Tirith for the hanging,’ Ulrich said. ‘Spare them that.’ He felt the old man’s nod against his cheek, and then Heledir stepped away.

Bergil helped Ulrich onto his horse. The former Mayor took a last look at the silent townspeople. No hands were raised to wave a blessing, no voices called a last farewell. Women wept silently and men stood sober-faced. In the front of the crowd stood Merewyn and the children. Ulrich craned for a last sight of them, his oldest son standing as tall as his ten years allowed by his mother’s side, his younger son fighting back tears, his little daughters openly crying.

The White Company of Ithilien fell in behind them, hiding the town and townspeople from his sight. Ulrich set his face towards Minas Tirith and tried to think no more of what he was leaving behind him.

Chapter 29. Food by Firelight

That night they camped in a meadow beside the Road, near an outpost of guardsmen of Gondor. Arwen thought it best to avoid inns for the present, and the King agreed.

Bergil silently shackled Ulrich’s ankles and fastened his chains to a stake driven into the ground. ‘Just in case,’ he said in response to the prisoner’s questioning look. ‘If you have friends out there—’ he gestured to the darkness outside the circles of firelight, ‘who cause a disturbance, we wouldn’t want you to slip away.’

 ‘Such friends as I keep these days would not,’ Ulrich said.

Bergil shrugged. ‘Someone set fire to the inn,’ he replied.

All about him, guardsmen were settling to the evening meal, or laying out bedrolls, or taking up the watch. The pavilions of the travellers were set up a little ways away from where Ulrich reposed in the midst of the guard. He heard quiet talk from that direction, and then the rising of a song in the gathering gloom. Homey, it sounded. Merewyn should be singing to the little ones at this hour, while Ulrich walked the town with one of the councillors, making sure that all was well.

Some of the guardsmen settled to their bedrolls, for they would take the midnight watch. Ulrich sat listening to the singing, huddled in his cloak, chained like an animal a little ways from one of the watchfires. He wondered if they would bother to feed him. Elessar had been his friend... no. Elessar had been friend to Ulrich, the man he thought he knew. Not to Reinadan, scribe and ruffian.

His stomach gave a lurch. Odd, that he could be hungry in the midst of personal ruin. The body paid little heed to circumstances. It was humbling to have to request of a guardsman the privilege of taking care of the smallest personal need, and to suffer the presence of one or more watching guards as the need was satisfied. They did not leave him alone for a second. Did they hold ruffians in such high esteem?

It never occurred to him that Elessar had decreed a suicide watch, for such an action was not in him. He’d become a new Man, of honour and duty, and had learned courage, somehow, along the way.

A small figure, not quite the height of Ulrich’s eldest son, walked up to Bergil and spoke in low tones. Bergil answered something, and the small one stepped past the guardsmen, bearing something in his hands. What was so small a lad doing, so near a “dangerous” prisoner?

Suddenly Ulrich realised it was one of the booted Halflings from the earlier hearing. He wasn’t sure which; they hadn’t been introduced, and he had trouble telling one Halfling from another. He’d seen only two wearing boots, however.

 ‘Here you are,’ that one said, holding out a bowl that smelled of meat and spice.

Ulrich’s chains rattled as he reached for the bowl. He could not stand, of course, but he faced the West a moment before diving hungrily into the food.

The Halfling stood watching. After the first few bites, Ulrich raised his head. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I’d thank you, but I do not know your name.’

The Halfling gave an ironic bow. ‘Ferdibrand Took,’ he said pleasantly, adding, ‘not at your service, nor that of your family.’

Ulrich nodded. ‘A Took,’ he said conversationally. ‘I cannot say I’ve had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a Took before.’

 ‘Ah, but you have,’ Ferdi said, settling to the ground nearby for a chat. It wouldn’t have been his first choice, but that he was doing a favour for the Thain. Why Pippin would make such a request of him was beyond his ken.

 ‘Have I?’ Ulrich said, taking a large spoonful of stew.

 ‘My cousin, Fredegar Bolger, the hobbit whose heart nearly failed him when he heard your voice,’ Ferdi said, drawing up his booted feet and circling his knees with his arms. ‘You knew him quite well, from all accounts.’

Ferdi sat with his back to the fire, and Ulrich could not see the Halfling’s face. He wondered what Ferdi was doing here. Ferreting out more lies? No need for that. The truth was out, and with a curious feeling of relief, Ulrich put all lies behind him. ‘Fredegar...’ he said slowly, thinking back. Had there been a Fredegar in the Lockholes?

 ‘Also called “Fatty” Bolger,’ Ferdi went on, ‘though I imagine he did not live up to his name while enjoying your hospitality.’ Seeing confusion on Ulrich’s face, he added, ‘His mother was a Took.’

 ‘Fatty Bolger was in the Lockholes?’ Ulrich said, his mouth full. ‘But he...’ He swallowed, and added, ‘I’d have remembered his arrival, surely.’ Thinking back, he added more slowly, ‘I remember the day they marched in his band, and he was not among them. They said he’d been slain in an earlier raid, or they’d have hanged him from a tree along the way to make an example of him for the Shirefolk.’

 ‘Yes,’ Ferdi said. ‘It was not healthy to be a Took outside of Tookland in those days.’ He rubbed contemplatively at his chin.

Ulrich was only half-listening. Ferdibrand Took, he was thinking. He’d heard that name before... Wait! ‘You’re the Fox!’ he blurted.

Ferdi bowed his head and raised it again, his voice ironic though Ulrich could not see his expression. ‘Not at your service,’ he said again.

 ‘But... I’d heard you were dead! Sharkey was quite put out,’ he said. ‘He wanted you in the Lockholes for some reason...’

 ‘Most likely to make me one of his special “pets”,’ Ferdi said dryly. ‘I’m sure he had reserved one of the deepest, darkest unpleasant and stinking pits to throw me into, where he could toss me a mouldy crust whenever he liked... or not, as it were.’

 ‘You kept us out of Tookland,’ Ulrich said.

 ‘I had quite a bit of help,’ Ferdi corrected. ‘One Took does not a battle make.’

 ‘But they hanged you!’ Ulrich said, laying his spoon in the empty bowl.

The Halfling rose and with a swift gesture took the bowl from Ulrich and stepped back out of reach. ‘I didn’t stay hanged,’ he said, and turned away. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back to say, ‘Which is not a fate that you ought to anticipate.’ He half-bowed once more, then turned and walked away into the darkness.

Chapter 30. Ruffians, All

 ‘Are we coming into Minas Tirith?’ Freddy asked sleepily as he felt the coach ease to a stop.

 ‘No my love,’ Melilot said with a kiss for his forehead. ‘It will be several days before we reach the White City.’

 ‘Several days?’ Freddy said, sounding more awake. ‘It is a two-day journey from Dinsdale!’

 ‘We are travelling very slowly,’ Melilot said. ‘The better for the visitors from the North to see the landscape. Why, many are walking and enjoying the feel of grass beneath their feet!’

 ‘Slowly indeed,’ Freddy said, eyeing her narrowly. ‘Is it possible for guardsmen to travel at such a pace? And what of the prisoner? I’d think they’d want him safely locked up so soon as possible.’

 ‘I do not know why they do what they do, Freddy,’ Melilot admitted. ‘Bergil suggested to the King that a detail of guardsmen ride ahead with the ruffian, but naught came of it so far as I could tell.’

***

Ulrich was wondering the same thing. He was not enjoying the feel of grass beneath his feet, of course, as he walked encumbered by chains. They hadn’t put him on a horse this day: too worried about the possibility of escape? Or making a spectacle of the prisoner as he was slowly marched to his doom? Thankfully Elessar had spared Ulrich’s family that pain, though they had not ridden far, less than ten miles from Dindale, before they made camp the first night.

He grew used to stares and comments. The farmers and townsfolk who watched them pass were more interested in the Halflings, but Ulrich came in for his share of attention. At one point along the way that second day, hearing of his crimes, a few striplings began to throw refuse at him from the baskets they were carrying to the burning pile, but Bergil quickly put a stop to their sport.

Staked to the ground, he watched the pavilions rise beyond, the guardsmen lay out their bedrolls, eat the evening meal, lie down to sleep or pace slowly, watching. No one brought him food, and he hungered silently, crouched in his cloak. He didn’t know it, but he was the topic of argument in one of the pavilions.

 ‘Why do I have to be the one to carry his dinner to him?’ Ferdi said, his voice tight with frustration.

 ‘Because I ask it,’ Pippin replied calmly.

 ‘You can ask me to swim the Anduin, but I hardly think I’ll grow fins and gills,’ Ferdi said. Pippin did not answer, but bent to his own meal. Sam looked from one to the other, his face troubled.

 ‘What will happen if I don’t?’ Ferdi said at last. Pimpernel noticed that her husband’s food was going cold. Ferdi hated cold food. What was Pippin about, that devious brother of hers?

 ‘He will go hungry,’ Pippin said. ‘Elessar requested that we bring the ruffian his evening meal, and I have asked you to be the one to bring it, Ferdi. If you do not, he will hunger... but then, what does it matter? He is only a ruffian, after all.’

With a wordless snarl Ferdi rose from the table and flung himself out of the pavilion.

 ‘Pippin,’ Pimpernel reproved.

 ‘I know exactly what I’m doing, Nell,’ her brother said, fixing her with his keen eye.

 ‘Shall I bring the Mayor his meal?’ Sam said. ‘One Mayor to another, as it were.’

 ‘No, Sam,’ Pippin said. ‘If Ferdi does not, no one shall. No one ever died of a little hunger, after all.’ He held Sam’s gaze for a long moment before the Mayor of the Shire nodded slowly and looked down at his own half-finished portion.

Merry stared into his stew until Estella urged him once more to eat. He picked up his spoon and moodily finished his meal, and then he took his leave, for Estella wished to spend some time with her brother Fredegar before retiring.

Sighing, Sam shoved his bowl away and rose. ‘I think I’ll take myself off for a walk.’

 ‘Stay within the circle of guardsmen,’ Pippin said. He shook his head. ‘I wish we were safe within the walls of Minas Tirith.’

 ‘But you asked the King to delay the journey as much as possible!’ Diamond said in astonishment, while Pimpernel stared at her brother. ‘You told him you’d be happy if he stretched it out as much as a week!’

Sam shot Pippin a sharp look, which the Thain returned with a nod before saying to Diamond, ‘Did I now? I wonder what I was thinking?’

Sam exited the pavilion, wondering what devious plan of Pippin’s was in the works this time. He walked about, exchanging greetings with guardsmen, talking quietly with Bergil’s family for some time, checking on the comfort of all the hobbits travelling in the party.

Each time he passed the former Mayor of Dindale, he saw the Man sitting motionless, with drooping head, huddled in his cloak against the chill of the falling night. He shook his head. It was a bad business. He was half-tempted to defy Pippin and bring the Man a hot meal and a blanket, but when he’d finished his rounds he saw Ferdi sitting near the chained Man as the latter wolfed his portion of stew.

He walked over. ‘Hungry?’ he said conversationally.

Ulrich nodded, cleared his mouth with a swig of water from a mug. ‘First I’ve had all day,’ he said.

 ‘The prisoners who were marched to the Lockholes got less, and worse, after a longer march,’ Ferdi said coldly.

 ‘I know,’ Ulrich said, gazing into his bowl. ‘They arrived half-dead already, staggering in the heat, holding each other up because they knew they’d get the whip if they fell...’

 ‘No water along the way, or perhaps just the few inches left at the bottom of a trough,’ Sam said. ‘Torture, it is, to march in the heat without water.’ Ulrich did not answer, but he put his cup down half-drunk.

 ‘You might as well drink,’ Ferdi said. ‘The King and his Men are not ruffians, after all, to march you through the day with no rest, no water, no food...’

 ‘Really?’ Sam said, turning to Ferdi. ‘And here I thought all Men were ruffians!’

Ferdi’s lips tightened as his own words came back to him. ‘I did not say that,’ he said.

 ‘Who’s telling the lie now?’ Sam countered. ‘If the truth-sifter lies, then what is to become of us?’

 ‘Truth-sifting,’ Ulrich said, to interrupt the incipient argument. ‘It is a marvel indeed! I have never heard of such.’

 ‘It is not something to speak freely,’ Ferdi said. ‘If it became well known, where would I be? Locked up with the King’s other treasures, and brought out only when he wanted me to ferret out a glimmer of truth.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m that sorry Pip ever told Elessar about it.’

 ‘I only hope Strider allows you to return to the Northland, and doesn’t press you to stay on in Gondor,’ Sam said.

 ‘Ruffians all,’ Ferdi said under his breath.

Sam chuckled. ‘My point, exactly,’ he said.

***

The story of the march of a band of hobbit prisoners to the Lockholes is detailed in "The Rebel", also here on SoA.

Chapter 31. Ulrich's Tale

The next day was a mirror of the previous one: a late departure, slow procession at the speed of a walking hobbit which was, happily for Ulrich, not too fast for a shackled Man, and an early camp. Ulrich reflected that he might welcome the trial and subsequent hanging by the time they finally reached Minas Tirith.

Ulrich’s supper appeared promptly that evening, brought by the same booted hobbit. Ulrich looked at the slices of roast meat with a wry twist to his mouth. How did they expect him to manage with only a spoon? Still, he reflected, they might not have bothered to feed him at all.

He picked up one of the slices in his fingers and took a bite. ‘Good meat,’ he said through the mouthful. ‘Nice and tender.’ He eyed the hobbit. ‘Aren’t you eating?’

 ‘I’ll eat later,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘It takes away your appetite to see good food wasted on someone about to be hanged?’ Ulrich said, taking another large bite. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate the company, mind. You’re about the only one speaking to me these days.’

 ‘Silence gives one time to think,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Probably not the happiest occupation for a man in my position,’ Ulrich commented.

Ferdi, who’d had a time in his life when he’d known much the same trouble, nodded thoughtfully. He looked up at the sound of quiet voices nearby, to see Merry talking to the guardsman watching Ulrich. The Master of Buckland bore two plates, one of which he handed to Ferdibrand as he settled himself with the other.

 ‘I know how you hate cold food,’ he said at Ferdi’s surprised expression. ‘Now eat!’

The meat and vegetables were not piping hot the way Ferdi preferred them, but at least they retained some warmth. He dug in hungrily. Merry did the same, and Ulrich continued his meal, so silence reigned in their circle for a time.

At last Merry looked up and said, ‘How did you and Elessar come to meet? I am curious to know how he ended with a ruffian for a friend.’

Ulrich laughed, and several guardsmen in the vicinity turned to stare in surprise.

 ‘I was not a ruffian at the time,’ he said. Pointing a greasy finger at Ferdi, he added, ‘Ah, I know what you are thinking, master perian. “Once a ruffian, always a ruffian,” is it not so?’

 ‘O no, ‘tis much simpler than that,’ Merry protested. Fixing his cousin with a stern eye, he said, ‘More like, “All men are ruffians,” isn’t it, Ferdi?’

 ‘I never said that!’ Ferdi said, putting down his fork.

 ‘I beg to differ,’ Merry said mildly, taking another bite. ‘This meat is most tender and flavourful, wouldn’t you say?’

 ‘Quite,’ Ulrich said, absently wiping his fingers on his trousers and using his spoon to attack the honeyed spiced carrots and creamed onions. ‘Better than any camp food I’ve had the pleasure of eating.’

 ‘It is a boon to travel with hobbits,’ Merry said. ‘You may travel slowly, but your belly will never complain.’

Ulrich laughed again. He polished off the rest of the contents of his plate and laid it aside, shoving it as far towards Ferdi as he could reach, to save the hobbit the trouble of stooping swiftly to take the plate and stepping out of reach again. ‘A good meal,’ he said again, and then turned back to Merry. ‘How did I meet the King?’ he said. ‘It is simple enough a matter. I was fishing in his lake.’

 ‘You were a poacher?’ Ferdi said. ‘Why does that not surprise me?’

 ‘Ferdi!’ Merry remonstrated, but Ulrich waved his protest aside.

 ‘Nay, little master, so it would appear on the surface, to one who did not possess all the facts.’ Ulrich took a swig of water from the tin cup. ‘It was not his lake at the time, or at least I did not know it was. I did not know that the King had returned, you see.’

 ‘Fine it was, to catch his fish as long as he was safely in the Southlands,’ Ferdi observed.

Ulrich shook a finger at him. ‘That was not the way of it at all,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Annuminas was in ruins, with dark things skulking through its deserted streets. The Rangers returned and put things in order.’

 ‘We returned with them, remember?’ Merry said aside to Ferdi.

 ‘About time,’ that hobbit grumbled.

 ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Ulrich said. ‘You put a few things in order yourself, didn’t you? I remember you, sitting so proud on your pony as we reclined in the dust with our hands on our heads, hoping not to be shot out of hand.’

 ‘How many hobbits did you kill in the battle of Bywater?’ Ferdi asked, twisting his lip.

 ‘None at all, you might be surprised to learn,’ Ulrich said. ‘My thoughts were on escape only. I was heartily sick of the business. Were it not for the fear of Sharkey...’

 ‘Oh?’ Merry said quietly.

Ulrich was sober now, no laughter lurking yet ready to break out despite his dire circumstances. ‘His eyes,’ he whispered. ‘When he looked at you, it was enough to chill your bones to the marrow... and that Voice...’ He shuddered. ‘I’d’ve left weeks earlier, were it not for...’ His voice trailed off and he stared into the middle distance, a haunted expression on his face.

 ‘You didn’t enjoy your stint at the Lockholes?’ Merry said, a look of polite interest on his face.

 ‘It was fine enough before... He arrived,’ Ulrich said slowly. ‘I had all I wished to eat...’

 ‘ “Gathered” from Shirefolk,’ Ferdi said aside to Merry.

 ‘...and pleasant conversations with Mayor Will,’ Ulrich continued, not seeming to notice the Halflings’ astonishment. ‘Ah, the stories he could tell! I’d put some pipeweed in my pocket and walk down the row to his cell, and he’d sit and smoke and tell me about someone called Bilbo, and someone else called Bullroarer, and Marcho, I think, and a brother.’ He sighed. ‘Marvellous stories. My children clamoured to hear them at bedtime.’

 ‘Marcho and Blanco,’ Merry said quietly. ‘They set out from Bree on a summer’s day, and found the Shire along the way.’

 ‘Exactly!’ Ulrich said, wiping at his eyes with a hasty hand as if it were no more than smoke that bothered them. ‘That’s just what he’d say to begin that story.’

 ‘So it is told in the Shire, even today,’ Merry said. ‘Children? I saw your family, I think. How many children do you have?’

Somehow Ulrich found himself telling of his pride and joy, his sons and daughters, from the eldest, “half a guardsman already” at the age of ten, down to the baby daughter who loved to bounce upon her father’s knee.

 ‘Your oldest is ten?’ Merry said, for Ferdi was listening in silence.

 ‘Ah, I know, I look more like a grandfather than a father to such little ones,’ Ulrich said, ‘but then, I found my love late in life.’ He told how he’d met his wife, niece of one of the town’s councillors, and stopped off from his journeying to labour in the livery stables of the town of Amon Din, captivated by her smile and gentle ways.

 ‘You rescued her father from ruffians,’ Ferdi said. ‘How ironic.’

Ulrich shook his head. ‘I’d given up the life of a ruffian years before,’ he said. ‘After you granted us our lives,’ he said to Merry, and then turned back to Ferdibrand, ‘I wandered until I came to the shores of a lake, wild and beautiful, and there I made my home. The fish were plentiful, I built myself a little hut, and once a year I walked to Bree to trade dried, smoked fish for what I needed. Little enough were my needs in those days.’

 ‘How did you come to be “Ulrich”?’ Merry asked. ‘I’m told he was a real Man of Gondor who came North after the war.’

 ‘He was,’ Ulrich said. ‘You’ll find it hard to credit...’

Ferdi snorted, and the Man chuckled. The hobbit evidently found it hard to credit anything that a Man might say.

 ‘...but we were friends in our youth, in Minas Tirith. Closer than brothers, we were, and often mistaken for such, so like we looked to each other. My mother was sister to his father.’

 ‘You were cousins!’ Merry exclaimed, with a sidelong glance for Ferdi.

Ulrich nodded and continued, ‘Our families lived near each other, and our grandfathers were guardsmen together. But fever swept the White City,’ his eyes sobered, ‘and my grandfather—my father’s father—died, and my mother took sick from nursing him. My father packed us up and took us to the Westfold, to my mother’s family, for he thought we’d be safer there than in Minas Tirith.’ He shook his head, his expression sad. ‘Once he saw us safely settled he returned to Minas Tirith, promising to come back for us when times were better, but we never saw him again. I think he must have fallen during the siege or at the Black Gate.’

 ‘It was in the Westfold that you met Saruman,’ Merry said thoughtfully, after a silence.

Ulrich’s breathing stilled and he tensed, as he always did at that name. ‘I did,’ he said. ‘He was promising riches and glory if we followed him. He knew of a new land, a fine land where there was peace and plenty.’

 ‘He didn’t happen to mention that it was already occupied, did he?’ Ferdi asked dryly.

Ulrich turned a wry eye upon him. ‘ “Infested” was the word he used,’ he said honestly. ‘Infested by little rat-folk who were a blot on the land, who were too stupid to hold it properly and were like to ruin it if something were not done by wiser heads.’

He shook his head. ‘Truth be told, when I got to the Shire I found it to be a beautiful land, and while Shirefolk were complacent and seemed simple enough, they were pleasant folk.’

 ‘They are,’ Merry nodded. ‘Still are.’

 ‘I know that,’ Ulrich said. ‘But somehow, when Sharkey himself came, everything changed. I began to see them differently, as a trouble and a blight.’

 ‘You saw what he told you to see,’ Merry said quietly.

Ulrich sighed. ‘Isn’t that the truth,’ he said, and shook his head. ‘And did what he told us to do, all without question. Somehow it never occurred to me to question, until afterwards. And then, of course, it was too late to go back and change anything.’ His eyes held a faraway look. ‘I’ve lived with it ever since.’

He seized his cup and drained the contents. ‘But you were asking about Ulrich,’ he said briskly. ‘Imagine my surprise to see him on the shores of that same northern lake! He’d been through fire and battle, his father and brothers killed at the Black Gate, his mother dead of grief soon after, his home burned to ashes in the siege of Minas Tirith. He came to the Northland to forge a new life. We became fishermen together, partners. Ah, the stories he could tell!’

 ‘And you told your stories?’ Ferdi said wryly.

Ulrich shook his head. ‘I had few stories to tell,’ he admitted. ‘Ulrich used to like to tease that I’d cut out my own tongue to use as fish bait! But as he liked to talk, and I liked to listen, it was a good partnership.’

 ‘What happened to him?’ Merry asked.

 ‘We were on the lake when a storm blew up,’ Ulrich said. ‘Our boat capsized, and he struck out for shore though I told him to cling to the boat. I was able to hold to the boat and kick my legs until I reached the shore, but he...’

Merry nodded in understanding. Stay with the boat was the rule all young Brandybucks were taught, when first they ventured upon the River.

 ‘I met Elessar a few weeks later,’ Ulrich continued. ‘Dressed like a common Ranger, he was. I knew no differently. He walked into my clearing and I offered him a meal. We sat and talked, and he asked me whose grave he’d seen bedecked with summer flowers. It occurred to me at that moment that “Reinadan” could be the one who’d died, that Man who had no honour, and that “Ulrich” could live on, and his deeds with him. And so I became Ulrich that day, and never looked back... until now.’

 ‘Ah,’ Merry said. ‘I see.’ He nudged Ferdi, who seemed to be deep in thought. ‘Come, Ferdi, Nell will be waiting.’

 ‘Oh...’ Ferdi said, and then, ‘O yes.’ He rose to his feet, catlike despite the hampering boots, and collected Ulrich’s plate. ‘Good night,’ he said to the Man, and for the first time the note of irony was gone from his voice.

 ‘Good night,’ Ulrich responded pleasantly. He shrugged deeper into his cloak and watched the Halflings walk away.

Chapter 32. Make New Friends

The next morning there was a stir of excitement at the outskirts of the camp, and Ulrich’s guards were distracted from their close watch. Not that it would do Ulrich any good. His chains were sturdy, he was firmly staked to the ground, and he had no one to assist him in escaping, even if he had any desire to return to a ruffian’s lot.

He watched with interest to see what would happen. It didn’t take much to divert him. His life, for the nonce, consisted of dragging his chains as he walked, shackled, to his doom in Minas Tirith, or resting between stages. Any variance was to be savoured slowly, lest he allow his mind to dwell on what was left behind, and what lay ahead.

How odd. Pavilions that had been half-taken down were hastily erected again. It looked as if they’d be staying in one place, at least for the day. A reprieve of sorts, but what was the cause?

Bergil was called away and a young guardsman took his place. 

 ‘What’s the word?’ Ulrich said companionably.

His young guard shot him a nervous glance and refrained from answering.

Ulrich sighed. At least they might have assigned him a garrulous companion. Even the hostile hobbit had spoken more words to him than any of the Men. And Elessar, his old friend, had not come to see him since the shackles were put on. Not that the prisoner could blame the man; he’d been friends with “Ulrich” and not “Reinadan” the ruffian.

The King wandered at the outskirts of the camp; he appeared to be casting about for a trail. As Ulrich and his guard watched, Elessar moved purposefully back and forth over the ground, stiffening suddenly and calling an order. He walked away from the camp, a group of guardsmen at his heels.

 ‘What’s it about?’ Ulrich said. His guard gave no answer, simply craned after the departing search party—for they gave every appearance of searching for something.

Another guardsman called to Ulrich’s companion. He hesitated, then said to the prisoner, ‘Stay put!’

 ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Ulrich returned pleasantly. He gave his chains a demonstrative yank. Yes, the stake held firm.

The guard nodded and stalked away to confer with several others.

Ulrich closed his eyes and leaned back against the rock they’d staked him near. Ah, but the Sun was warm and pleasant, and there was a cool breeze at the moment. He’d be hot and sweating soon after they began to march, of course, but for now he’d enjoy the sunshine.

 ‘ ‘lo,’ a small voice piped.

Ulrich opened his eyes to see two tiny hobbit lasses standing before him. ‘Hullo,’ he answered, keeping a smile on his face, staying quite still so as not to alarm these little ones. He could only imagine the repercussions should they begin to cry and the guardsmen jump to conclusions. 

 ‘What’s your name?’ one of the twain said. Twins they were, he saw, and if their hair were not arranged differently from each other he’d have thought he was seeing double.

 ‘Ulrich,’ he said, though really, he had no claim to the name. Still, Reinadan was dead. He’d died long ago, in story, and soon the story would be made truth. ‘What’s yours?’

 ‘Lapis,’ the one said.

 ‘Lassie,’ chimed the other, but her sister gave her a poke and turned back to Ulrich.

 ‘She’s really “Lazuli”,’ she corrected, ‘but everyone calls her “Lassie”.’

 ‘You can call me “Lassie” too,’ that lass said. ‘All my friends do.’

 ‘But you don’t even know me,’ Ulrich said, bemused by these little ones and their easy ways.

Lassie held out a diminutive hand. Ulrich hesitated, but she gave him a commanding look and so he reached tentatively to meet her. She put her hand in his palm and made a little courtesy. ‘Lazuli Took, at your service, and your family’s,’ she said formally.

 ‘Ulrich, at yours,’ he responded, his hand swallowing her tiny one in a gentle squeeze. Like holding a butterfly, it was. When he released Lazuli, her sister Lapis put out her hand and offered her service as well.

He wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but soon he had a tiny hobbit lass perched on each of his knees, conversing so busily that he could hardly get a word in edgewise.

 ‘Those chains look so uncomfortable,’ Lapis said at last, eyeing him critically. ‘Why do you keep them on?’

 ‘It is a long story,’ Ulrich said. 

 ‘That is what Da always says when he doesn’t want to tell us something,’ Lassie said wisely.

 ‘Lapis! Lassie!’ a new voice said breathlessly. ‘What are you doing? Get away from there!’

Ulrich looked up. An older hobbit lass stood before them, like enough to be their sister, and yet unlike. She was fairer and taller than most of the hobbits he’d seen, with a gracefulness that made him think of the old stories of fairies, and the wide-eyed look of a startled doe.

 ‘This is our new friend,’ Lassie pouted, even as Forget-me-not, greatly daring, stepped close enough to grab each younger sister’s wrist and yank them to safety.

 ‘His name is Ulrich,’ Lapis contributed.

Forget-me-not turned a dark look on the ruffian. ‘I know very well what his name is,’ she said, her voice melodious even when filled with fear and anger. ‘I don’t know what mischief you intended,’ she continued, ‘but...’

 ‘I intended no mischief,’ Ulrich said, ‘honestly I did not. I apologise for alarming you, miss. We were only talking.’

 ‘We were!’ the twins corroborated with one voice. ‘We were only talking!’

Forget-me-not hmphed, and even that sound was music to the ears. Ulrich wondered who this lass was. ‘Da will have a thing or two to say about that!’

Ulrich’s guard had noticed the presence of the three young hobbits and hurried back from his conference. ‘Here now, little misses,’ he said officiously. ‘You ought not to be here. Your father wouldn’t like it!’

 ‘Here now yourself,’ Forget-me-not said regally. ‘When I tell my father the Thain—the Ernil i Pheriannath—about your lack of attention to your duties, and he tells the King...’

 ‘Please, miss,’ Ulrich said, even as the guardsman was gulping a protest. If the King determined that the young guardsman had neglected his duties he’d likely face a flogging. So the real Ulrich had told Reinadan, when reminiscing about life in the army of Gondor, before he’d resigned his place and wandered North to put the past behind him.

Forget-me-not flashed him a severe look, now that her sisters were safely out of his grasp. ‘It is to your credit that you intercede for him,’ she said, ‘but do not imagine that it will gain you any favour.’

 ‘I have no such delusions,’ Ulrich said dryly. ‘Please, miss, I meant no harm. I was only reminded of my own little daughters, sorely missed.’ He swallowed hard, and could not continue.

The hobbit lass softened slightly, took a deep breath, and nodded to the guardsman. ‘Do not relax your vigilance again,’ she said sternly, and taking a twin in each hand she walked away.

***

Ferdi came that evening, bearing two plates. He had to argue with the young guardsman to approach Ulrich, and in the end he ordered the guardsman off “in the name of the Ernil i Pheriannath, and don’t come back until you’ve had your own supper!”

 ‘You have to be firm with these guardsmen,’ he said, handing Ulrich his plate and settling nearby with his own dinner.

It was slices of roast again, but before Ulrich could soil his fingers picking up a slice, Ferdi had jumped to his feet, saying, ‘Wait, allow me!’

Ulrich watched, bemused, as the hobbit used his own fork and sharp-edged knife to cut up the prisoner’s meat and then sat back down.

 ‘I... thank you,’ he said.

 ‘Don’t mention it,’ Ferdi said carelessly, applying himself to his meat and vegetables.

 ‘Did you not fear that I would wrest the blade from your hand and threaten you with it?’ Ulrich asked, then lifted a spoonful of meat to his mouth as he awaited the answer.

Ferdi astonished him by laughing heartily. At last the hobbit said, ‘You had the youngest daughters of the Thain in your grasp... you could have used them to win your freedom! I have never before known a ruffian who did not use a hostage to his advantage.’ 

 ‘I am not a ruffian,’ Ulrich said with dignity.

 ‘I begin to believe you,’ Ferdi said. They ate together companionably, their talk ranging widely from one topic to another.

Ulrich asked him about the excitement, and the unexpected stay.

Ferdi shook his head. ‘A guardsman disappeared last night,’ he said. ‘They don’t know what happened to him, or at least they didn’t, last I heard.’

 ‘I don’t like the sounds of that,’ Ulrich said.

 ‘Nor did the King,’ Ferdi said. ‘But he’s got double the guardsmen standing watch, and each one on the perimeter is within sight of the two on either side, so there ought not to be any more disappearances.’

He finished his dinner and when the young guardsman returned from the mess the hobbit rose, to bow to the prisoner. ‘My wife is waiting for me,’ he said, ‘and the children will be wanting their story. May you have a restful night.’

 ‘And you,’ Ulrich said, and hesitated.

 ‘Yes?’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Thank you,’ Ulrich said humbly.

 ‘It was my pleasure,’ Ferdi said. ‘Good night.’

Chapter 33. Hangings

Next morning all were up early, pavilions taken down, horses harnessed to coaches, and coaches filling with passengers. No leisurely amble this day, it seemed. Perversely Ulrich sighed for the slow, dragging walk surrounded by the green of the fields with the Sun smiling down upon him.

 ‘Come along, you,’ his guard said as half a dozen guardsmen gathered round him. It took two of them to yank loose the stake, and then they escorted him to one of the coaches. It seemed the Queen and her children would ride horses this day...

Ulrich was helped into the coach. A guardsman sat on either side of him, and Bergil and two others sat in the facing seats. ‘Riding in style,’ he remarked. ‘Queen’s coach, no less.’

 ‘They thought more of speed than your comfort,’ Bergil returned grimly.

Ulrich stiffened. ‘They found the missing guardsman?’ he said.

The younger guardsman beside Bergil swallowed hard and looked away, the older guardsman on Bergil’s other side sat stony-faced. Bergil himself only nodded, sharply, a single jerk of his chin.

 ‘I swear, if I thought he was working with you...’ the Man to Ulrich’s right hissed, only to be quelled by a look from Bergil.

Some part of Ulrich wanted to know more, while the rest of him turned the thought away. It was better not to know. Something was out there, some dark force that burned inns over the heads of innocent little folk—he thought of Lassie and Lapis and his heart gave a lurch—and horribly murdered sturdy guardsmen. Was it following him? He gave a superstitious shudder. Had the spirit of Saruman somehow returned?

The landscape passed swiftly this day, familiar landscape, for as councillor he’d made the two-day journey to Minas Tirith many times, often bringing his family if the occasion were festive, or if his wife wanted to shop at the larger market in the great city. Ulrich spent the time looking out the window. His escort did not speak again.

The coach slowed, wakening him from a doze. He jerked his head upright, seeing the fields of the Pelennor outside the window. Trumpets sounded, and the coach rolled to a stop. Bergil jumped out, leaving the rest to wait in silence, listening to the cheers of a welcoming crowd.

He was back in a few moments, gesturing to the guards to either side of Ulrich. They rose, taking Ulrich between them though the coach was cramped for such tall Men to be standing at once, and shoved him towards the door. Two guards outside the coach received Ulrich, helping him down the steps. Kind of them, not to let him fall flat on his face, Ulrich thought wryly.

He caught his breath as the White City loomed before him. Always before it had shone in beauty and promise, but now it looked cold and remote to his eye, tomblike, and he shivered as a chill went down his spine.

People lined the walls, cheering for the royal family, cheering for the hobbits as they alighted, shouting and singing welcome. The noise died down as Ulrich’s guard pushed him towards the Gate. The people, seeing a shackled Man, quieted, and their noise changed from joyous welcome to murmuring, and then something unpleasant.

Ulrich had seen such a procession on one of his visits to Minas Tirith. Some heinous criminal had been paraded in through the great Gate and along the streets of the city, through the seven levels to the Citadel, while the people watched in silence or jeered or hissed, according to their nature. Now he was the heinous criminal.

He doubted that any would recognise him, rumpled and dirty as he was, his hair unkempt. He trudged slowly, surrounded by guardsmen, trying not to think of anything more than putting one foot in front of the other. Indeed, it was heavy going, dragging his chains up the long incline, and the imprecations heaped upon his head by the pressing crowds made the task all the more arduous.

He’d gone through the second gate when there was a stir in the guardsmen surrounding him, and then a small figure pushed its way through: a booted hobbit.

 ‘A lonely business,’ Ferdi said, falling in beside Ulrich.

 ‘How could one be lonely, surrounded by so many fellow creatures?’ Ulrich said.

 ‘I thought I would not wish to be alone, were I in your boots,’ Ferdi said. Looking down at his feet, he added, ‘These boots of mine are uncomfortable enough!’

Of a wonder, Ulrich found a chuckle deep within himself. Better still, the crowd, seeing a Halfling plodding by his side, had quieted to confused murmurs.

 ‘You would be seen with a ruffian?’ Ulrich said.

 ‘I have decided you are not a ruffian, just as you said,’ Ferdi replied. ‘I do not quite understand it. If it is truly a case of mistaken identity, why would you have confessed?’

 ‘It is not a case of mistaken identity,’ Ulrich said.

Ferdi shook his head, puzzled. ‘Then you really did those horrid things my cousin spoke of,’ he said.

 ‘Your cousin?’ Ulrich asked.

 ‘Freddy,’ Ferdi said. ‘You knew him as Fatty Bolger.’

Ulrich shook his head. ‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘He must have gone by some other name.’

 ‘Try “Number Seventy-Four”,’ Ferdi suggested, in a less pleasant tone.

Ulrich caught his breath, and then his shoulders sagged. ‘I remember your cousin,’ he said low. A groan escaped him and he buried his face in his shackled arms.

 ‘Here, you!’ a guardsman barked, prodding at Ulrich. ‘Keep going!’

The prisoner stumbled into motion again, whispering, ‘I only wish I were going to my hanging now, get it over with...’

 ‘Where are we going, then?’ Ferdi said, and the Man realised that the hobbit was keeping him company on this long, dreadful walk, thinking to ease the loneliness of his anticipated death.

 ‘I will be lodged by the generosity of the King,’ Ulrich said wryly, ‘in a dungeon, a cell under the ground, where never the Sun shows her face, until they can arrange the trial. When all the evidence has been heard and written down for the record, they’ll haul me to the Gate of the City and hang me.’

 ‘A cell under the ground,’ Ferdi mused. ‘A sort of Lockholes. Fitting, somehow.’

 ‘Very fitting,’ Ulrich said, smiling grimly. ‘Let the punishment fit the crime.’

 ‘But you hanged no hobbits that I know of,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘No,’ Ulrich said. ‘At least I am free of that stain.’

***

 ‘Yuletide is upon us,’ Goldi said.

 ‘Not for another week,’ Farry replied.

 ‘I know!’ Goldi said, snuggling against him. ‘Let us start Yuletide a week early this year! That would give us an extra week of celebration!’

 ‘Goldi,’ Farry said firmly. ‘That is not what my father had in mind when he left me in charge. We will wait until the first of the month, as is tradition, before we order the preparations to begin.’

 ‘But couldn’t we ask the cooks to stir up a batch of spice cakes for tea today?’ Goldi wheedled, nearly bouncing in her eagerness. ‘And we could hang bright ribbons, and...’

 ‘No hanging anything,’ Farry said, breaking into the rush of words, but looking at his wife’s eager face he relented enough to conceded, ‘...but I do believe we will order spiced cakes for tea today, a taste of good things to come.’

 ‘Mmmmm,’ Goldi said, bestowing a kiss. ‘I love you!’

 ‘You taste almost as good as spiced cake,’ Farry teased.

Goldi kissed him again. ‘Almost?’ she said, laughing up at him.

 ‘I don’t know,’ Farry said, tilting his head with a thoughtful look.

 ‘You don’t know?’ Goldi said.

 ‘I’d have to have another taste, just to make sure,’ Farry said, pursing his lips.

Goldi obliged, and said, ‘Well?’

Farry gave a satisfied nod. ‘Spiced cakes for tea,’ he said. ‘A taste of good things to come.’

 ‘Indeed!’ Goldi said, and laughed again. ‘New year...’

 ‘New life...’ Farry added, pulling her close.

She snuggled under his arm. ‘Just a few bright ribbons?’ she wheedled.

 ‘No hanging anything until Yuletide,’ Farry said firmly.

 ‘I love it when you use that no-nonsense tone,’ Goldi said.

 ‘You do?’ Farry said in surprise.

 ‘Yes,’ Goldi said, looking up at him with a mischievous gleam in her eye. ‘It presents such a lovely challenge...’

Chapter 34. The Lockholes of Gondor

That evening after the welcoming feast, the King turned to the three Counsellors of the North-kingdom who were present at the high table. ‘If you would join me in a glass of brandy...’ he said.

Ferdibrand rose as well, and at the others’ look of surprise he said, ‘Well he’s offered me the position on more than one occasion, so I’m all-but-Counsellor for all practical purposes.’

 ‘All the benefits and none of the burdens,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Exactly,’ Ferdi returned with a bow.

 ‘Come along, Ferdibrand,’ Elessar said. ‘I’m sure we can scare up some sort of glass for you, or perhaps borrow the cat’s dish for the evening if all else fails.’

 ‘Which of course you would be drinking from, my liege,’ Ferdi said, not one to be easily suppressed, ‘as any proper host would, giving the glasses to his guests.’

Pippin kissed Diamond. ‘See that the little ones are put to bed,’ he said. ‘It seems that Lapis has fallen asleep on Lassie’s shoulder.’

 ‘And vice versa,’ Diamond said. ‘Will you be long?’

Seeing the other wives listening, Pippin laughed reassuringly. ‘Half the night, if we get to talking over old times,’ he said. ‘But I promise to return to you safely on the morrow.’

 ‘We are going no further than the study,’ Elessar reassured. ‘No chance of anyone going missing.’

 ‘See to it,’ Rose said sternly. ‘We’ve had quite enough excitement this trip, thank you very much!’

 ‘Let me escort you to your quarters,’ Arwen put in smoothly. ‘And then I will return to the study, and when they have finished the second glass I will make sure your husbands join you.’

 ‘Really, Elessar, just who is running this kingdom?’ Ferdibrand was heard to demand as the little group of king and counsellors and near-counsellor walked away.

Happily the feared dearth of brandy glasses did not materialise and soon all were sipping comfortably, sitting around the furry hearthrug on the floor before a cheery blaze. Sam looked closely at Merry and Ferdi, finding no sign of unease on the part of either. He met Elessar’s gaze, and the king nodded and smiled. The athelas had healed even subtle wounds, it seemed.

They talked of celebrations and banquets at first, but soon the talk turned to more sober matters, such as Freddy’s heart and Ulrich’s trial.

 ‘He has a right to hear the words of his accusers face-to-face,’ Elessar said.

 ‘Is Freddy well enough?’ Merry said.

 ‘He is gaining in strength from this latest heart-seizure,’ Elessar answered. ‘Some damage occurred, of course, but the undamaged parts of his heart are taking up the work at hand.’

 ‘Can he stand the strain of a trial?’ Pippin asked candidly.

 ‘I could sit quietly with him and hear his testimony. A scribe could write down his words and read them in front of the jurors.’

 ‘Jurors?’ Pippin said. ‘You will not judge this case yourself? But he is likely to hang! I thought only the king...’

Elessar shook his head. ‘We are old friends,’ he said quietly. ‘He saved my son’s life. I cannot in conscience judge him. The jury will have the power to condemn or release.’

 ‘But you see little likelihood of release,’ Ferdi said, his eyes intent on the king’s.

 ‘From what I know of the Lockholes,’ Elessar said, and sighed. ‘From what was done there... Not many remain unaccounted for who were guards in the Lockholes. We have hunted them down and hanged them, one by one.’

He held up a restraining hand as his counsellors raised their voices in protest. ‘You know what they did,’ he said sternly. He took a deep breath and admitted, ‘...what Ulrich, or rather Reinadan, did, turns my stomach and makes me sick at heart to think of it.’

 ‘He murdered no hobbits,’ Ferdi said. ‘He told me that, and it was the truth.’

 ‘That is a point in his favour,’ Elessar said, but Ferdi could hear the negation in his voice. Elessar held out no hope for his old friend, if indeed he could still bring himself to call Ulrich “friend”.

 ‘What is the real reason you called us here, Strider?’ Pippin said suddenly after swirling the last of his brandy in the glass and sipping it to its end. ‘Why the haste to reach Minas Tirith, after the slow march?’

All four hobbits fixed their gaze upon the king, waiting.

 ‘The missing guardsman, Terril,’ Elessar began, and the hobbits nodded. They had figured as much.

 ‘He was found, and...?’ Pippin said. He nodded thanks as the king filled his glass once more.

 ‘His body was found,’ Elessar said gravely, ‘or what was left of it.’

 ‘Tell us,’ Ferdi said, his voice intense.

 ‘He had been foully murdered,’ Elessar said. For some reason the words came with difficulty, and he had trouble meeting Merry and Ferdi’s eyes. ‘Murdered in the same manner as the madman of Rohan used. He was gagged so that none would hear his screams.’

 ‘The Pilgrim,’ Merry breathed, setting down his glass with a hand that suddenly shook enough to spill the contents upon the furry rug.

 ‘We don’t know that,’ Ferdi said desperately. His own glass was empty, and fortunately the king had not refilled it before it fell from his nerveless fingers. ‘There’s no way of knowing it was that same Man.’

 ‘Word came in the early morning hours,’ Elessar continued. ‘Word from Dindale. They had thought that a half-wit living in the town was responsible for the burning of the inn, as his knife had been found outside the storehouse where a window had been forced.’

 ‘The storehouse containing lamp oil,’ Sam said quietly.

 ‘Yes, Sam,’ Elessar said.

 ‘They caught him?’ Pippin said, taking a steadying sip of his brandy.

 ‘They... found him,’ Elessar said. The difference in words did not go unnoticed.

 ‘Found,’ Ferdi hissed, pouncing upon the word. ‘He’s dead, then?’

 ‘In the same manner as Elfalas, and Terril,’ Merry added in a matter-of-fact tone, though his face was bleached with shock.

 ‘Yes,’ the King said, watching them closely. Merry’s hand closed unconsciously about his belt, where his sword would hang had he not put it away upon arrival. Ferdi’s fists were opening and closing, until he noticed the king’s regard and settled his hands firmly on his knees.

 ‘The poor fool, I wondered how the madman gained his confidence,’ Merry murmured.

 ‘He’s following us,’ Sam said.

 ‘So it seems,’ Elessar said.

 ‘The bodies of the Men he murdered,’ Pippin said, ‘were they clad?’

The other hobbits looked at him in surprise, but Elessar was nodding. ‘Their clothes had been removed,’ he said.

 ‘So he could be going in the guise of a knight of the Mark, or a citizen of Dindale, or a guardsman of Gondor,’ Pippin said, and then the others followed his thought. ‘He could be here, in the city, watching for his chance.’

 ‘Nell!’ Ferdi breathed. He wanted to go at once to his wife but he was frozen to the spot by horror.

 ‘I have detailed guards to watch over all the visiting hobbits,’ Elessar said quickly.

 ‘But who’s watching the guards?’ Pippin said.

 ‘The guards of the detail have a black cloth tied about the left arm, much as a lady’s favour in a tournament,’ Elessar said. ‘Subtle, against the black uniform, but noticeable to one who is looking for the sign. Any guardsman who approaches a hobbit without that badge will be detained and questioned.’

 ‘I only hope it’s enough,’ Merry said shakily, and Ferdi nodded.

***

There was no trial the next day, though Pippin had told Ferdi that justice in the White City was swift and sure, for the most part.

 ‘Justice?’ Ferdi said. ‘Retribution, sounds more like. Ulrich never murdered a hobbit, and here he is destined to hang.’

 ‘He tortured hobbits, however,’ Merry said sternly. ‘Haven’t you listened to Freddy’s account?’

 ‘I have,’ Ferdi said shortly. ‘I have,’ he said again, more softly. ‘But I do not believe he is the same Man as he was when he was scribe in the Lockholes.’

 ‘You think he’s changed?’ Merry challenged.

Ferdi met his gaze calmly. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘We have spoken long, and now that he no longer hides behind a lie, I trust his word. He is a simple Man, devoted to his wife and children, trying to make Dindale a safe place for other Men to raise their families.’

 ‘Or was,’ Pippin said, pushing away his plate.

 ‘Eat, cousin,’ Merry urged. ‘No need for you to make yourself sick.’

 ‘They say Ulrich has not eaten since that last meal you brought him, Ferdi,’ Sam said, as if changing the subject.

 ‘Not eaten? How do you know?’ Pippin said.

Merry snorted. ‘He made his rounds of all the hobbits and had time on his hands, and so he went to look after the comfort of the prisoners in the dungeons.’

Sam smiled. It was close to the truth. The thought of the Men locked up in the bowels of the earth, with no sight of sky or Sun or rain or green of grass was very grievous to him. ‘It seems that they are not locked away and forgotten,’ he said. ‘They are brought filling meals, morning and evening, and not left to gnaw on candle ends and the bones of rats.’

Merry shuddered, remembering his first sight of a cell in the Lockholes. ‘Better than some of them deserve, I warrant.’

 ‘But Ulrich is not eating, you said?’ Ferdi questioned. He arose abruptly from his place at the head table, kissed his wife and murmured in her ear.

 ‘Where are you going?’ Pippin said, though he had a good idea.

 ‘It seems my duty is not finished,’ Ferdi said. ‘It is the duty that you, yourself, assigned me. We must see that the ruffian does not starve.’

Merry muttered something under his breath, but refrained from repeating it aloud for Estella’s benefit. She nodded understanding. It rankled that the testimony of hobbits, who killed only at great need, was likely to lead to the Man’s death.

***

Ferdi bore his covered plate, accompanied by two guards, ever deeper. The noontide Sun was left far behind, and only the flickering torches provided light. It might have been noon or middle night, for all he could reckon.

He had expected an evil smell, but smelt only earth and stone, oiled steel and the burning oil of the torches. It seemed the king preferred even his dungeons kept in good order.

They passed several occupied cells, but the Men within made no sound. Evidently quiet was enforced here as well as it had been in the Lockholes. Ferdi wondered how they got the prisoners’ cooperation.

After passing through several iron gates that were unlocked before them and locked again after their passage, Ferdi’s escort stopped before a cell. A man sat upon a straw pallet on the stone floor, his head drooping. He looked up at the grating of key in lock.

 ‘I brought you your dinner,’ Ferdi said. One guardsman stood out of reach with his hand upon his sword while the other quickly scooped up the untouched plate from Ulrich’s breakfast.

 ‘What brings you to the bowels of the Citadel?’ Ulrich said in greeting.

 ‘They say you’re not eating,’ Ferdibrand said, offering the fresh plate.

 ‘What does it matter?’ Ulrich answered wearily, waving the plate away.

 ‘I refuse to see good food wasted,’ Ferdi said, stubbornly standing his ground.

 ‘Then eat it yourself,’ Ulrich said with a ghost of a smile.

Ferdi looked from one guard to the other. ‘Leave us,’ he said imperiously. As they hesitated, he stamped his booted foot. ‘King Elessar ordered you to extend me every courtesy!’

 ‘Sir, the prisoner...’ one of the guards remonstrated.

 ‘If it is my wish to be strangled by this dangerous criminal, it is your duty to allow it!’ Ferdi barked. ‘Now go, leave us, give a few of the other prisoners their scheduled beatings or whatever it is you do with your time, and come back at my shout.’

 ‘Sir,’ the other guard said.

 ‘Go!’ Ferdi snapped. The guards went.

 ‘You stamped your foot at them,’ Ulrich said, bemused.

 ‘Aye,’ Ferdi said, ‘one of my grandchildren taught me the trick. Very effective in getting your own way.’ He examined the straw pallet with a leery eye, and finding no evidence of infestation he sat himself down. ‘Here now,’ he said. ‘Are you going to eat this? It’s going cold.’ He shook his head and muttered, ‘I hate cold food like a plague.’

 ‘Let me save you from eating it then,’ Ulrich said accommodatingly. Ferdi extended the plate to him and he plied his spoon. ‘Is the Thain still ordering you to see to my care and feeding?’

 ‘No,’ Ferdi said. ‘He has released me.’

 ‘Why are you here, then?’ Ulrich asked.

Ferdi rubbed the toe of one boot against the opposite leg, pursing his lips to examine the effect. ‘I don’t know why you folk wear these things,’ he said. ‘They take a shine nicely, but it’s nearly impossible to keep any sort of gleam without a great deal of work.’

 ‘Why did you come?’ Ulrich asked.

Ferdi fixed him with a stern eye. ‘You’re as bad as my cousin Pip for asking the same question over again,’ he said.

 ‘Why?’ Ulrich repeated.

Ferdi sighed, looked down, and then met Ulrich’s gaze once more. ‘Eat,’ he said, nodding at the plate. Ulrich began once more to ply his spoon. ‘I don’t rightly know,’ the hobbit added. ‘I just felt...’ He shook his head.

 ‘What?’ Ulrich said.

 ‘I just felt as if you might need a friend,’ Ferdi said. ‘There’s no sense in it, but then, they often say I’m daft, back home.’

 ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Ulrich said after a pause.

 ‘Then spare us both and fill your mouth with food,’ Ferdi said. ‘ ‘Tis rude to talk with your mouth full, after all.’

Chapter 35. Time and Talk

Ulrich counted the time by the meals the hobbit brought, a total of four more meals after that first at noontide—dinner, breakfast, dinner, and breakfast again—that Ferdi carried down into the depths beneath the Citadel. The guards no longer argued but simply exchanged pleasantries with the hobbit as they admitted him to Ulrich’s cell and locked him in, to pass an hour or two talking. 

 ‘Do they beat you when I leave?’ Ferdi said near the end of the fourth meal he brought, breaking into the middle of a story the Man was telling.

 Ulrich stopped, blinking in astonishment. ‘Beat me?’ he said. ‘I do not take your meaning.’

 ‘For talking,’ Ferdi said. ‘ ‘Tis so quiet, as I heard the Lockholes in the Shire were. There, if you broke the rules, they would beat the hobbits in nearby cells as well as the rule-breaker, or so I was told.’

 ‘They have not beaten me,’ Ulrich said. ‘I’ve done nothing to deserve a beating, after all.’

 ‘Maybe you ought,’ Ferdi said whimsically. ‘Perhaps they’d let you off with a beating and dispense with hanging.’

At Ulrich’s dumbfounded look he laughed. ‘Told you I was daft,’ he said. ‘So oft in this White City of stone I’ve heard folk speak of “the punishment fitting the crime”. Seems to me you’d give up your life if you’d taken a life, aye, I can understand it though it would not be our way...’

 ‘I’d heard that no hobbit has ever deliberately taken the life of another,’ Ulrich said.

 ‘Men, now, that’s another matter,’ Ferdi said, and though his tone was light his face was sober. ‘A horrid thing.’

 ‘Oh?’ Ulrich said quietly.

Ferdi was silent a few moments, and said, ‘I still remember the face of the first ruffian I ever shot dead.’

 ‘Yes?’ Ulrich encouraged when he did not go on.

Ferdi shook himself as if to shake off the memory. ‘He was choking a friend of mine at the time,’ he said in dismissal. ‘I had no choice in the matter.’

 ‘But it haunts you still,’ Ulrich said shrewdly.

 ‘It was a life,’ Ferdi snapped. ‘A living, breathing person, who had kin, a mother, sisters, perhaps...’ He shook his head and said lower, ‘It was not my life to take, and yet take it, I must.’

 ‘So says the King’s executioner,’ Ulrich said. ‘He does not glory in his position.’

 ‘You have spoken with him?’ Ferdi said in surprise.

Ulrich chuckled without humour. ‘Many’s the time,’ he said. ‘We met at a banquet years ago and struck up a friendship. My oldest son was born the same day as his middle son, and closer than brothers the two became...’

After a silence, Ferdi said briskly, ‘In any event, it seems a hard thing to me that you should hang when you’ve not taken a life... or have you killed Men in your past?’

 ‘I have taken no life,’ Ulrich said. ‘I helped to capture ruffians, who went on to hang, so in a sense my hand was in their deaths, but it was my friend the executioner who did the deed.’

 ‘A ruffian, capturing ruffians,’ Ferdi mused. ‘Doesn’t sound right, somehow.’ He breathed deeply and stretched. ‘In any event, they ought to shut you up here in this dark place for some weeks or months, administer daily beatings, deny you food and water, break your fingers and set burning torches against your flesh... but they ought not to hang you.’

Ulrich stared at him for a long moment, then said, ‘Do you feel better now?’

 ‘Quite,’ Ferdi said. ‘Have been wanting to say it for some time, you know.’ He put his arms behind him and stretched again. ‘Now I can put it behind me. I know you did those awful things to my cousin, and to others, and you ought to pay for your deeds.’

 ‘And so I will,’ Ulrich said. 'So I will.'

 ‘I take it back,’ Ferdi said suddenly into the silence that followed. ‘I could not stomach locking anyone away under layers of stone, not even for a day. It chills my heart just to sit here an hour at a time.’

 ‘At least hanging’s quick,’ Ulrich said. ‘Break your neck as you fall, and they say you feel naught.’

 ‘I beg to differ,’ Ferdi said. ‘If you don’t break your neck, you feel quite a lot. Believe me.’ He rubbed at the scar under his chin.

 ‘In any event, it might not come to that,’ Ulrich said pleasantly. ‘They might just decide to lock me up here for a year or ten, to pay for my crimes, though it’s not often heard of. It’s simpler just to hang a criminal, much less expense in the long run.’

 ‘How likely is it that you’d be spared?’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Well...’ Ulrich said, and then decided to speak the small hope he nursed. ‘Elessar was my friend, for a long time. He has not spoken to me since they put the shackles on.’

 ‘I’d noticed that, yes,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘He might be keeping away from me, so that no one murmurs “undue influence” should the jurors decide to spare my life,’ Ulrich said. ‘If there were no hope of reprieve I do believe he would visit me, or at the very least send word.’

Ferdi stiffened and did not speak.

Ulrich noticed. ‘What is it?’ he said.

 ‘I do bring word,’ the hobbit said reluctantly.

 ‘What word do you bring?’ Ulrich asked quietly, his heart sinking within him as his last hope faded.

 ‘I am bid to remind you of how he’d come in the dark between middle night and dawn, and how the two of you would go out and fish together in the summer silence,’ Ferdi said slowly, staring straight before him. ‘How you’d row him to the city, and he’d stand on the dock to watch you as you floated away into the misty dawn.’

He looked to the Man. ‘What does it mean?’ he said.

 ‘The trial will be today,’ Ulrich said tonelessly, his mind still spinning at the suddenness of it all, even though he’d steeled himself to expect naught else, ‘and the hanging at dawn, tomorrow.’

Note to the reader:
This chapter started out as "background" and is a very very rough draft, at the moment. Comments are most welcome, suggestions will be thoughtfully considered.

***

Chapter 36. Trial by Jury

‘I would that you’d stay here, my love, and wait my return,’ Fredegar Bolger said to his Melilot. He tried to soften his words with a kiss laid in the palm of her hand.

‘And I would not see you go alone,’ she said as firmly.

He forced a laugh. ‘Alone? With two of my loyal band by my side, and surrounded by sons and cousins? Hardly alone! Why, I doubt the Hall of Kings will hold us all as it is!’

‘You seek to spare my sensibilities, but it is nothing that I’ve not heard before,’ Melilot said.

‘No, my love,’ Freddy began, but she interrupted him.

‘Yes, my love,’ she said. ‘Merry told me. Everything.’

‘Everything!’ he sputtered, then tried to turn it to a joke. ‘Why, Merry hasn’t even told me everything!’ Merry Brandybuck! Not that he doubted his wife, no, not at all, but he doubted that Merry had told her everything about the Lockholes. Even if Merry knew everything, why, this was the same Merry who’d argued with Frodo about the writing of the Red Book. Had Merry had it all his way, the Book would have been much slimmer. Had Frodo not compromised, it would have been a fair piece thicker.

Freddy knew some of the parts that had been left out, and he agreed with Merry. There were some memories better left to be buried with the rememberers.

‘Please, Mellie,’ he said once more.

‘No,’ she said stubbornly. ‘If I cannot be by your side, then you shall not go. And not even the King can make you!’

‘It is by the King’s command that I go in the first place,’ Freddy said.

Goaded to recklessness, Melilot retorted, ‘Well the King may just take his command and...’

‘Mistress Melilot,’ Prince Faramir of Ithilien smoothly interrupted from the doorway. ‘I have come to escort you and your husband to the Hall of the Kings.’

Freddy sagged slightly and Melly regarded him anxiously. ‘Are you well enough to do this, love?’ she said.

He squeezed her hand with a wan smile. ‘I’m as well as I’ll ever be,’ he said wryly. ‘If they wait for me to be completely recovered, that poor Man languishing in the dungeons shall die of old age.’

‘I can think of worse things,’ Robin Smallfoot muttered under his breath. His wife hugged him, and his children joined the embrace as if to pour their strength into him.

Robin’s cousin Budgie hugged his wife and children in turn, saving for last his oldest daughter Amaryllis, who happened to be holding his youngest grandchild. He closed his eyes, the better to inhale the sweet baby smell of the tiny curls. He would take this freshness, this newness of life, into the past and its remembered horrors, an anchor to steady him.

‘Very well,’ Freddy said, conceding defeat. He held his arm out to Melilot, and the little procession of hobbits set out slowly, escorted by Faramir and flanked by guardsmen.

‘We could carry you along, you know,’ Faramir bent to say to Freddy in an undertone.

The hobbit snorted. ‘What a pathetic picture that would present!’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t even have to hear my testimony. One look at me, borne along in your arms, and they’d hang the poor ruffian from the rafters right there in the Hall of Kings!’

He waved his heavy walking stick. ‘With my prop on one side and my stay,’ he nodded to Melly, ‘on the other, I shall walk on my own two good legs!’

‘Hear, hear,’ Ferdibrand said, coming up to the group and falling in beside Fredegar. ‘They’re all assembled, waiting for the witnesses to arrive.’

‘They sent you as messenger?’ Freddy said.

‘No,’ Ferdi admitted. ‘That room is chock-full of Men, you know, courtiers and nobles and guardsmen and such; it made me nervous to be among so many potential ruffians.’

Freddy snorted and Melilot hid a smile.

‘You are not excused from suspicion,’ Ferdi said to Faramir, observing the Prince’s surprise. ‘I heard what you did to my cousin Frodo!’ Under his breath, he muttered, ‘Ruffians, all,’ but he squeezed Freddy’s arm reassuringly as they walked along.

‘But he showed his quality in the end,’ Freddy reminded Ferdi.

Ferdi eyed the Prince, affecting doubt giving way to thoughtful consideration. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘Perhaps even a ruffian can change his stripes.’

The great room was indeed “chock-full” of those called to be there, and as many others as were able to gain admittance. The trial of a ruffian was always of interest, of course, if a hanging offence was under consideration, but the contribution of Halflings to the proceedings added to the significance of this occasion.

The hobbit witnesses were shown to the left side of the great throne, where small, hobbit-sized chairs had been placed to await them. There were four chairs standing ready, and Freddy shot his wife a severe look, which she returned calmly. Melilot seated herself, and the others followed suit.

‘Where will you be, Ferdi?’ Fredegar said.

‘O hereabouts,’ Ferdibrand answered vaguely. He nodded to the witnesses, bowed to Faramir, and disappeared into the crowd of Men and Hobbits.

‘What do we do now?’ Robin murmured to his cousin.

‘Dunno,’ Budgie admitted. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’ He went over Freddy with his healer’s eye. ‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ he added.

‘What’s that?’ Freddy said.

‘If you show signs of strain, trial or no trial, we’re taking you back to the Houses of Healing before you can so much as say “Jack, Robin’s son”.’

Robin snorted but held his peace. Melilot squeezed Freddy’s hand as the crowd parted before them to allow the approach of a man, weighed down by shackles, surrounded by guardsmen. There were murmurs and hisses amongst the waiting Big Folk.

‘Seems they have a low opinion of ruffians as well,’ Robin murmured.

‘This is old news to them,’ Freddy said. ‘This is not the first of the Lockholes guards to be tried before the King, you know.’

‘I know,’ Robin said. ‘But they were all tried and hanged without my help. I feel as if I’m the cause of this Man’s death, somehow.’

‘Never think that, Robbie,’ Budgie said firmly, as if Robin were still the uncertain tween he’d been during the time of the Troubles. ‘Whatever happens, he’s the cause. His choices, his actions, led him to stand before the King this day. Not yours.’

Melilot patted her husband’s hand. She had reassured him on this point just the previous evening. She did not want him to labour under the additional strain of bearing this Man’s death on his conscience.

The sound of trumpets rang through the hall, and a voice heralded the entrance of the High King of the West. His progress through the hall was marked by a wave of bows, and the hobbit witnesses rose from their chairs to bow to him when he reached the Throne. He thanked them gravely for coming in answer to his summons.

‘As if they had a choice,’ Ferdibrand murmured to Merry beside him.

‘Hush,’ Merry said.

‘When do we get to plead for clemency?’ Ferdi whispered.

‘Where did you learn that word?’ Merry asked. A single trumpet sounded, a high clear note, and all in the hall, including the two booted hobbits, fell silent. A Man bearing an open scroll stepped into the space between throne and crowd.

‘Hear ye, hear all!’ he intoned, the customary opening words. He looked down at the scroll he bore and began to read, his voice pitched to reach the onlookers crowding the doorways.

Reading from the scroll, the herald reminded the court of the King’s decree, issued shortly after his crowning, that renegade Men who tormented the innocent and abused the power of their positions during the reign of the King stood in forfeit of their lives. He then read from a long list of charges against the accused.

Ferdi saw a courtier stifle a yawn. The Man had heard the litany before. This was not the first trial of a ruffian of the Lockholes. Each had gone much the same way: the reading of the charges and then of written testimony of witnesses, taken by Rangers of the North and sent to Gondor, and then the pronouncement of doom.

The ruffian guards of the Lockholes in the Shire had held sway while Elessar was King. They were, therefore, condemned under the King’s edict, and none, once captured and brought to trial, had escaped hanging.

‘Reinadan, known as Ulrich, stand forth!’ he concluded when the charges had been read. Ulrich took a shuffling step forward. ‘Here are your judges,’ the herald said.

The three jurors stepped forward as they were introduced, all Men of honour, well-respected in the City. Turamir, former captain of the Guard, sat as advisor to the King in military affairs. Rion, president of the merchants’ association, was known for his wisdom in settling disputes in the world of commerce. Cuillon was head of the Houses of Healing. All bowed to the King and then took the seats placed to the right of the throne.

Elessar swept the room with his glance. ‘Are there any here, to speak in behalf of the accused?’ he said, in accordance with custom. First, those who would bear witness in favour of the prisoner would be given the chance to speak. Then his accusers would testify as to his crimes. When they had finished, the King would invite anyone to speak, who could offer evidence contradicting any of the preceding testimony. After final questions were answered, the verdict and sentence would be pronounced.

‘Who would speak for such a one as this?’ Ferdibrand heard someone say in the crowd behind him. He opened his mouth, but silence fell as two Men stepped forward. He craned to see around the tall Men who were blocking his vision.

‘Heledir,’ the older, white-haired Man said in answer to the captain of the Guard.

‘Asfaron,’ the younger, well-dressed Man said. ‘We are councillors in the town of Dindale.’

The herald’s voice rang through the hall. ‘What would you say in his behalf?’

‘He is our Mayor,’ Heledir said clearly. There were gasps from the watching crowd as some recognised Ulrich for the first time since his entrance. ‘His actions, since I knew him, yea, and his reputation from the time before we met, have not been those of a ruffian!’

He went on to explain how he had met Ulrich as the Man was travelling South in company of the King, that he’d found him fair-spoken at the time of their meeting. How Ulrich had been returning northwards from Minas Tirith when he’d rescued a Man being beaten by robbers, how he’d placed that unfortunate on his own horse and led him to Dindale, how he’d joined the hunt for the robbers, helped to capture them, testified at their trial, witnessed their doom, and gone on to stay on in the town afterwards, working hard, making something of himself, becoming a councillor and eventually Mayor.

Asfaron, when it was his turn, told much the same story. He told of the Mayor’s honesty, his integrity, his good name in the town. Melilot’s hand tightened on Freddy’s when he spoke of Ulrich’s devotion to his wife and children.

Ferdi heard hissing conversation behind him. Honesty! Integrity! The Man did not even bear his own name, but the name of a dead man! Evidently rumour had run freely even before the start of the trial. The hobbit made ready to step forward, only to be precluded by the stiffening of the Men in front of him. He pushed rather rudely between them, to see Elessar descending from the throne to stand before the jurors.

‘I would speak for him,’ the King said quietly, but every word was heard, to the ends of the hall. ‘We spent many a long night fishing together, and one stormy day he saved my son from drowning at great peril to himself.’

‘He’d have done better to save the Prince and let himself drown,’ Ferdi heard someone mutter. He elbowed his way between the tall Men.

‘I would speak for him!’ he cried. He caught Elessar’s warning glance and nodded. He would not speak of the truth-sifting; it would bring danger to hobbits in general and himself in particular, and most likely he wouldn’t be believed by ones whose belief mattered most.

‘I have spent hours conversing with Ulrich,’ he said. ‘Which of you can say the same?’ He looked challengingly from one juror to another. ‘Do you know this Man, whom you would judge?’

There were sounds of amazement from the crowd, that one of the Halflings would speak on the prisoner’s behalf.

Several more stepped forward from the crowd, speaking well of Ulrich as they had known him. Turamir thanked each one gravely.

When no one else answered the call to speak, the herald called out, ‘Reinadan, face your accusers!’

Elessar resumed his seat on the throne as Ulrich turned to the seated hobbits with a bow. The King nodded to the jurors. ‘You may question the witnesses,’ he said.

‘Do you recognise any of these?’ Turamir asked Ulrich.

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘Do you know the names of your accusers?’ Turamir said.

‘No,’ Ulrich repeated, ‘only the one, Fredegar Bolger, for he was taken ill during the banquet welcoming the King and there was much concern as to his condition.’

Freddy patted his wife’s hand and stood to his feet, leaning on his heavy stick. ‘I am Fredegar Bolger,’ he said. ‘You knew me better, perhaps, as Number Seventy-Four.’

Ulrich nodded.

The questioning began. The jurors, knowing of Freddy’s condition and the wariness in general that these particular Shirefolk had towards Men, were calm, gentle, polite, each asking questions in their turn and waiting patiently for the witness to order his thoughts before answering.

‘Master Bolger, would you describe your stay at the Lockholes,’ Turamir said with the utmost courtesy. ‘You may be seated, if standing before the court would be too much of a strain.’

‘I thank you, sir,’ Fredegar said, and resumed his seat. He recounted, without expression, the capture of his band in their hidings in the Brockenbores by the hills of Scary, the long, terrible march to Michel Delving through the heat with little water, almost no food, and, for the last part, no rest.

‘Reaching the Lockholes, you encountered the accused,’ Turamir said.

‘Yes,’ Freddy said. ‘He was the scribe who jotted down our names and gave us new names in return for the old.’ He smiled grimly. ‘I did not give him my proper name, however, having been warned that it was a ticket to a front-row seat at a hanging.’

‘What name did you give?’ Rion asked out of curiosity.

‘The first thing off the top of my head,’ Freddy said. ‘I had sand between my toes, and so I said, “Sandy.” He told me that Number Seventy-Four would suit me for the rest of my stay, and that is what they called me.’

‘What was the punishment for using a hobbit’s real name?’ Turamir said.

‘Beatings,’ Freddy answered. ‘The hobbit who forgot and spoke another hobbit’s name would be beaten, as well as the hobbit whose name was spoken.’

Under questioning, Freddy went on to tell of the starvation diet, the myriad and changing “rules”, impossible to remember and keep them all, the cruel punishments and wicked diversions devised to alleviate the boredom of the guards. The Question Game in particular elicited angry murmurs from the crowd.

‘Let me understand this clearly,’ Cuillon said. ‘For every right answer, they spared you pain, and for every wrong answer, they inflicted pain. What sort of questions were there?’

‘For an easy question, something like “What sort of tree bears acorns?” or the like,’ Freddy said. Cuillon nodded, his face reflecting his puzzlement. ‘They’d give you two or three easy questions,’ Freddy went on, ‘but they were always followed by a question impossible to answer. “What’s the name of the inn by the second gate in Minas Tirith?” for example.’

‘That’s easy enough,’ someone muttered stupidly behind Ferdibrand.

‘Idiot!’ another hissed. ‘How would Halflings know such, when they’d never been to the White City?’

‘Describe the penalties you suffered,’ Cuillon said.

‘For every wrong answer, a burn or lash from the whip,’ Freddy said. He lifted his shirt and turned to display the old scars upon his back. Dropping the shirt, he turned again to face the jurors. ‘Or a broken finger, perhaps,’ he said, tugging at the glove on his right hand. Cuillon carefully examined the gnarled fingers that were revealed as the glove came off. ‘Or a kick in the ribs. ‘Twouldn’t have hurt so much if they didn’t have heavy boots on, of course.’

At the end of his testimony, Freddy was asked if he had any more to say. He did. ‘This ruffian never murdered nor hanged any hobbits that I know of,’ he said. ‘He was under the influence of a powerful wizard. And...’ he looked piercingly at Ulrich. ‘And he was young, and slightly built, and the other ruffians made sport of him. Perhaps he was driven to prove himself their equal.’

‘Conjecture,’ Rion said dismissively. ‘It stands to your credit that you would defend him, scarred by his actions against you. But then, we know that Halflings are a noble and charitable race.’

Budgie and Robin were questioned in the course of the hearing. Ulrich knew who they were, of course, once they gave their names and numbers. He’d written their names in the book, of course, and assigned the numbers himself.

Cuillon asked Robin in particular about another of the ruffians’ games. ‘What exactly did you mean by “Take the Cake”?’ he said.

Robin cleared his throat. ‘It is easy enough to play,’ he said. ‘You set a plate of tempting food before a starving hobbit and encourage him to help himself. When he reaches for the food, you lash him with a whip.’

There was a murmur of outrage from the crowd.

‘What would prevent the hobbit from refusing?’ Rion asked.

Robin smiled bleakly. ‘Refusing?’ he said. ‘Refuse a ruffian?’ He let the words stand, to have effect. The Men looked down at the diminutive figure, less than half the height of a Man.

The hobbit nodded. ‘If you played the game correctly, you’d end with your arms raw and bleeding from fingertip to elbow,’ he said, rolling up his sleeves and extending his arms, with their fine white criss-crossing of scars, for the jurors to examine. ‘If you did not play the game, you’d still have the beating, but it would be over more than just your arms.’

Budgie, as a healer, answered Cuillon’s questions about the condition of the Lockhole prisoners both during their incarceration and the long recovery following release.

‘Years, it took in some cases,’ he concluded. ‘And some did not recover, but died soon after release, in the bosoms of their families,’ he looked soberly from Freddy to Robin. It had been a near thing in both their cases. ‘And for some, the effects have lingered the rest of their lives.’ As in the case of Freddy’s heart, he didn’t have to add.

Each witness in turn mentioned the effect of the Voice of Saruman. Ferdi could see the scepticism on the faces of jurors and onlookers alike. None, apparently, had experienced the power of a wizard close at hand. The age of wizards was past, and the stories of Gandalf and Saruman were fading into the mists of legend.

When Turamir asked if any could prove any of the testimony wrong, either in favour of the prisoner, or in contradiction of the charges against him, there was silence throughout the hall.

Sam stepped forward. ‘Wait!’ he said. ‘I too can testify as to the effect of the Voice of Saruman.’

The jurors bowed respectfully to acknowledge the remaining Ring-bearer, though there was no evidence that his words had any effect.

Merry strode to Sam’s side. ‘I too!’ he shouted. ‘He had a power in his Voice, to make Men believe whatever he told them. Ulrich—Reinadan, had little choice in the matter. Surely many of the ruffians under Saruman’s sway were brutes or worse than brutes, and they proved it by going on to lives of debauchery and crime after we chased them from the Shire. But Reinadan did not continue as a ruffian. Perhaps there may be others, as well, who became decent Men when the wizard departed!’

The jurors listened politely, but they were practical Men, pragmatic in their attitude. Rion, the youngest of them, had been born in the dawning of the Fourth Age and had never seen a Wizard. Turamir, who had been young guardsman at the time of the War of the Ring, was old enough to remember Gandalf as a distant figure in white. Turamir had seen him once in passing, during the siege of the City, and had experienced a brief lightening of heart... but the feeling could be explained away. He was a practical Man, after all, and not given to superstition. Cuillon, for his part, had become a healer’s apprentice in the Houses of Healing bare days before the siege began and had been kept impossibly busy, working at whatever tasks were needed until he dropped from exhaustion, curled in an out-of-the-way corner, and slept until he could begin again. Those dark days remained a blur to him afterwards, and in his recollections, the Wizard was more of mention than memory. 

Turamir gravely thanked the hobbits, bowed again in dismissal, and turned to face the King.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I think we are in agreement,’ he added, looking from Rion to Cuillon. They nodded soberly.

‘Render your verdict,’ Elessar said.

Turamir bowed to the King, and the jurors turned to confront Ulrich. Turamir spoke for them all. 

‘Reinadan, late of Minas Tirith, also called Ulrich, Mayor of Dindale, we find you guilty as charged. Death is the penalty for the crimes you have committed. Now therefore I must pronounce your doom.’

Ulrich looked the old guardsman steadily in the eye. ‘I’m ready,’ he said.

‘With the next rising of the Sun you shall hang by the neck until dead,’ Turamir intoned. ‘And may you somehow find grace beyond this world.’

‘But he shouldn’t hang!’ Freddy muttered. ‘He took no life...’

Chapter 37. To Market, To Market

The hobbits who had attended the trial filed out in a subdued body, talking quietly amongst themselves. Despite Freddy’s protests, Faramir lifted the hobbit in his arms. ‘I will carry you back to the Houses of Healing,’ he said, ‘and will brook no contradiction, my lord hobbit!’

 ‘I could stab him in the kneecap for you, cousin,’ Ferdi said helpfully, ‘but I fear he might drop you as a result. You had better suffer being carried, to be safe.’

Melilot walked with a son on each arm and more walking before and behind her. ‘No need to protect me so fiercely,’ she said. ‘I doubt even the maddest ruffian would attack me in the presence of Prince Faramir and Captain Beregond.’

Merry walked beside Ferdibrand. ‘Are you coming to the Houses of Healing?’ he said.

 ‘Of course,’ Ferdi said. ‘Nell is there, watching over her brother and his wife.’

Merry nodded. ‘Estella would have insisted on staying by my side, had I not convinced her that Diamond needed her more.’ Pippin had been flushed and restless the previous evening, pushing his plate away, dinner untouched. Over his protests Diamond had sent a message to the King, and Elessar had carried him to the Houses of Healing and put him under charge of the healers there.

The fever had risen through the night, despite all the healers could do, and had been dangerously high when Elessar had to pull himself away to attend the trial. The witnesses had been compelled to be in attendance, and their older sons had accompanied them. Merry, Sam, and Ferdi had felt they had no choice in the matter but to be there, to testify on Ulrich’s behalf. All the rest of the visiting hobbits were settled in or about Pippin’s room in the Houses of Healing, trying to stay out from underfoot while keeping as close as possible.

To their relief they found the Thain resting more comfortably. The blinding headache he’d complained of was much improved, for the stubborn fever had finally responded to the tepid baths and herbal concoctions. He demanded a full account of the trial.

 ‘What?’ Freddy said. ‘Don’t tell me we have to go over it all again, just because you couldn’t be bothered to attend!’

 ‘Very well, I’ll let you off this time,’ Pippin said weakly. ‘But tell me the outcome, at least.’

 ‘It is as we expected,’ Merry said quietly.

 ‘You told them of the Voice of Saruman...’ Pippin said, sitting up, only to fall back on the pillows that propped him.

 ‘They won’t believe what they never heard,’ Sam said, shaking his head in frustration. ‘But then, how many hobbits of the Shire believe today? Those who never heard the wizard speak don’t understand how he could have taken possession of the Shire.’

 ‘One key to Paladin’s resistance was that he never met Saruman,’ Merry said, and Ferdi looked at him in surprise.

 ‘The Tooks kept the ruffians out of Tookland,’ he said.

 ‘My point exactly,’ Merry said.

 ‘It had nothing to do with that wizard,’ Ferdi protested.

 ‘You see?’ Sam said to Pippin. ‘Even Ferdi doesn’t believe.’ He levelled his most serious look at Ferdibrand. ‘Had Thain Paladin agreed to work with Lotho, had he met with Saruman, Tookland would have fallen.’

 ‘Never!’ Ferdi said hotly, but Pippin raised a shaking hand to quell him.

 ‘You never heard his Voice,’ he whispered. ‘I doubt you’ll ever understand completely.’ He took the sting from the rebuke by adding, ‘and it’s a good thing you were spared.’ He looked to Freddy, Budgie and Robin, who still fought the memory of that Voice on a daily basis. They nodded soberly.

 ‘We’ll let you rest,’ Budgie said, for Pippin had clearly overtaxed his strength.

 ‘No—wait,’ Pippin said, and there was enough of command in his voice that the visitors hesitated.

 ‘What is it, love? Surely it can wait until you’ve rested,’ Diamond said, squeezing his hand.

 ‘No,’ Pippin said. ‘From what I know of the law and customs of Gondor, the hanging will be at dawn. That leaves us little time.’

 ‘Little time for what, cousin?’ Freddy said.

Pippin pulled his hand free from Diamond’s and massaged his head. ‘Time to figure a way out of this mess,’ he said. ‘If only my head did not ache so.’

 ‘Pippin,’ Diamond said, even as Forget-me-not dipped a cloth into a basin of water, wrung it out, and tried to place it on her father’s forehead. He fended her hands away.

 ‘Let me finish,’ he said.

 ‘Finish quickly, cousin, before the healers return and finish it for us,’ Freddy said.

 ‘Reprieve... reprieve,’ Pippin said, obviously trying to marshal his thoughts. ‘Unfortunately, the only case I can think of where a Man sentenced to hang was reprieved was a dying request.’

 ‘You’re not making sense,’ Ferdi said. ‘Of course he was dying... why would they pay any mind to his request?’

 ‘Not his request,’ Pippin said, rallying as annoyance lent him false strength. ‘His father’s.’

 ‘His father’s?’ Merry said. ‘I don’t understand.’

 ‘It happened, one of the times you stayed in Rohan and I went on to Gondor,’ Pippin said. ‘Cloud Dancer was due to foal, and Eomer wanted you to stay for the celebration, but Strider had sent an escort to bring me to Minas Tirith without delay for Ring Day, remember?’

Sam brought him back to the topic at hand. ‘The Man doomed to hang—his father was dying?’ he said.

 ‘That’s right,’ Pippin said. ‘He called for the King, and as he had served loyally in his time, the King came. He asked for a reprieve, his life for his son’s, that his son might live to care for the family, even if they had to go into exile.’

 ‘And Strider granted the reprieve?’ Merry said.

Pippin nodded weakly. ‘A life for a life,’ he said. ‘It seems it is an old custom in Gondor. If one Man is willing to lay his life down for another, the King is honour-bound to accept the payment.’

 ‘Well then,’ Ferdi said slowly.

 ‘Yes?’ Merry said as all turned to him.

 ‘I see only one problem,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Only one?’ Sam said.

 ‘Aye, but the one,’ Ferdi said. ‘Solve that one, and Ulrich is saved.’

 ‘What exactly do you mean?’ Merry said, his eyes narrowing.

 ‘Which of us is going to lay his life down, that the ruffian might live?’ Ferdi said. A stunned silence followed. He nodded. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘I thought as much.’ He shook his head. ‘So, d’you have any last words for me to carry to him when I bring him his dinner?’

 ‘Ferdi, I...’ Pippin began, but a stern voice spoke from the doorway.

 ‘What’s this? Can’t you Halflings hold your discussions somewhere else? This is a sick Halfling here, and he needs his rest!’

It was Cuillon himself, come to check on his most important patient. He strode forward as the hobbits scattered from the room, stopping by the bed to glare down at Pippin. ‘Have you never heard of rest and quiet?’ he demanded.

 ‘Never,’ Pippin answered.

 ‘That’s all too obvious,’ the Man said, brushing his hand over the hot forehead. ‘Your fever’s up again, and here I’d been told they’d brought it down.’ He looked to Diamond. ‘Another tepid bath is in order, I think.’

 ‘Ah no,’ Pippin complained. ‘It makes me feel so cold!’

 ‘That’s just the idea,’ Cuillon said.

Pimpernel stepped to Diamond’s side. ‘Let me take the little ones on an outing,’ she said. ‘It does them no good to sit around here listening to whispers and worries.’

Diamond gave her a grateful look. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m sure some fresh air would be welcome.’

Though at first they were reluctant to leave, Pimpernel coaxed Pip and Diamond’s youngest away, diverting them with promises of purchasing bright flowers to cheer their mother, and sweetmeats to cheer themselves. As they passed the doors to the Houses of Healing, guardsmen in attendance, they were already chattering excitedly.

Ferdi put on his brightest manner though his heart was sad within him at the thought of Ulrich’s passing on the morrow. If only there were some way to win the Man a reprieve! He soon had Lapis and Lassie laughing in delight at his description of one of their escort buried in blooms to the top of his winged helm as the guardsman helped them bear all the flowers to be found at market back to Diamond.

The market square was an enormous expanse of colour and sound and delicious smells. They stopped to watch roasted nutmeats being stirred in a pot of melting sweetness and each of the little hobbits received a folded paper full of the treat, hot enough to sting their fingers until they learnt caution.

There were several flower stands, and the little group went back and forth between them, trying to decide which Diamond would like best. Pippin and Diamond’s young sons, Beregrin and Borogrin, were fascinated by a stand where a puppet show was being performed. Ferdi lingered a moment with them, as Nell followed Lapis and Lassie to yet another flower vendor.

Nell was diverted, however, by a table of brightly painted silks. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. The vendor smiled broadly and tried to present her with a length of yellow silk decorated with intricately brushed butterflies. ‘No, no, I couldn’t,’ she said, fumbling with her purse strings. ‘How much do you want for it?’

In the meantime, Lapis and Lassie had stopped at the flower vendor nearby and were laughing and ducking around the pots full of tall blooms. Their guardsman’s attention was diverted by the call of another guardsman, and when he looked again he didn’t see them. Where had the little ones gone?

 ‘I think I saw them over there,’ the flower vendor said helpfully, pointing to a vendor of carved toys and whatnots. Indeed, there were several little hobbits in view, if one looked under and between the legs of the charmed onlookers watching them test the toymaker’s wares.

Lassie exchanged a mischievous glance with her twin. No one could see them where they crouched amongst the blooms. It was as good as any game of “I hide and you seek me” on the meadow. As the guardsman started towards the toymaker’s stand, Lassie stood to follow, but her twin pulled at her hand.

 ‘Listen!’ Lapis whispered. The small sound came again.

 ‘A kitten!’ Lassie breathed. The twins turned to locate the sound.

The high-pitched mews were coming from a nearby alley cluttered with barrels and broken boxes leaning against one wall. Evidently a tiny kitten had lost itself amidst the litter.

Hand in hand the twins crept from their hiding place towards the sound. A guardsman standing near the alley entrance noticed them and turned into the alley after them.

 ‘What have you there?’ he said, bending over the wee lasses, who were crouched over something, cooing and crooning.

 ‘A kitten!’ Lassie said. ‘A lost babe! All alone, without its mama!’

 ‘Aw, now,’ the guardsman said fondly. ‘He’s just a mite.’

As the little lasses bent to exclaim over tiny pink nose and bright eyes, the guardsman fished a cloth and little bottle from under his tunic. Sprinkling a few drops on the cloth, he extended it to Lapis. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘See if he’ll take this.’

 ‘What is it?’ Lapis said, her nose wrinkling at the pungent odor.

 ‘He’ll think of it as rare perfume,’ the guardsman said, a smile in his voice. Lapis took the cloth and Lassie bent close to smell the “kitty perfume". A deep breath and both twins were slumping over the little ball of fur.

 ‘Lapis! Lassie!’ came from the entrance to the alley. Pimpernel stood blinking into the shadows. The guardsman behind her, seeing one of his fellows already in the alley, black armband in place, nodded and started to follow, only to be distracted as one of the little hobbits in the marketplace began to shriek in distress, having fallen and bloodied a knee.

 ‘Lassie? Lapis?’ Nell said, seeing her nieces bent over on the ground.

 ‘They found a kitten, ma’am,’ the guardsman said politely. Seeing the black armband, Pimpernel relaxed.

 ‘Come away, now, lasses, back to the market,’ she started to say, putting a hand to one of the bent shoulders. Lapis lolled in her grasp and she gasped.

 ‘What’s wrong?’ the guardsman asked, bending over her. ‘What’s this?’ he said, retrieving the cloth from the twin’s lap.

 ‘I don’t...’ Pimpernel began, but suddenly the Man had seized her with one hand and forced the cloth over her mouth and nose. She drew breath sharply to scream and was overcome by the fumes, sagging in the guardsman’s grasp.

He leaned her against a crate and considered. Which would be better, the two little lasses, or the larger hobbit? Both choices offered all manner of possibilities... pity he couldn’t manage them all at the same time.

He had picked up the little ones when another hobbit came up, saying, ‘Nell? Nell, what’s happened?’

The Man quickly shoved the little hobbits into the shadow of a barrel and bent over the hobbit matron, making as if attempting to rouse her. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I saw her wandering, as if looking for something, and then she suddenly crumpled.’

Ferdi hardly gave the guardsman a glance, once he saw the reassuring black armband. He bent over his wife, calling her name again, anxiously.

 ‘Do you want me to carry her to the Houses of Healing, sir?’ the guardsman said helpfully.

 ‘Yes,’ Ferdi said, chafing Nell’s hand between his own. ‘Yes, we had better...’

He never saw the blow coming.

Chapter 38. Closing the Barn Door after the Ponies are Gone

 ‘What a waste,’ the Pilgrim whispered, staring down at Ferdibrand. ‘You shouldn’t have hit him so hard!’

 ‘This is going all wrong,’ Brant gritted. ‘You said it would be simple! You said we could get out of the City after this, and it’s getting worse, not better!’

 ‘Why it is simple,’ the Pilgrim said, and giggled under his breath. ‘Look at how much we’ve accomplished! We’ve killed the Fox, for starters!’

Brant started. He’d been too busy keeping an eye and ear on the market just beyond the entrance to the alley to pay much attention to the hobbits at his feet. Now he looked more closely.

 ‘I know we wanted to give him to the flames,’ Pilgrim whispered, ‘but we’ll tell the flames what happened and I’m sure they’ll understand.’

 ‘Got to keep the fire happy,’ Brant said absent-mindedly. As long as they kept feeding the flames, the tongues of fire would not go for him. He didn’t much like it, but it was the only way. He sighed again for a quick, easy death, but Pilgrim was always telling him he was destined to burn, should the flames ever grow angry or impatient. He shuddered. He’d reluctantly watched too many others to want to go through the same agonies.

 ‘Now we’ll take the little ones and...’ the Pilgrim said, turning to where he’d secreted the small hobbits.

 ‘Wait,’ Brant said. His stomach turned at the thought, and he was happy to seize on an observation of his own. ‘Now you’re the one not using your eyes.’

 ‘Eh?’ Pilgrim grunted.

 ‘The hobbit mum,’ he said. ‘Look at her! She was with the Fox before, and she’s the same one now.’

The Pilgrim bent closer to Nell. ‘Yes,’ he hissed, his mouth beginning to water in his excitement. ‘She’s the one I made the promise to!’ Forgetting the youngsters, to Brant’s secret satisfaction, he scooped up Nell and began to hurry down the alley, away from the market. ‘My father taught me, a promise made is a promise you’re honour-bound to keep!’

Brant nodded absently. His father had taught him the same. He was busy watching for guardsman and others who might notice them carrying off one of the Little Folk. Pilgrim had lost all caution, he knew, and was thinking only of anticipated pleasures. Brant didn’t like it, much, but it was better than carrying off the two tiny lasses.

Pilgrim stopped, however, and put Nell down again.

 ‘What are we doing?’ Brant hissed.

 ‘You watch her a moment,’ Pilgrim said. ‘I’ve got to take care of some unfinished business.’

Brant didn’t stay to watch, of course, but followed Pilgrim back towards the market. He saw his companion stop to pick up the little hobbits.

 ‘We can’t carry them all,’ he said desperately.

 ‘No, but we can put them away safe for later,’ Pilgrim chortled under his breath as they jogged along. ‘O yes, quite safe!’ He laid the little ones gently in a barrel near the dusty stone wall of one of the flanking houses, just past one of the alley’s crooked turns, out of sight of the market. ‘There,’ he muttered in satisfaction. ‘Nobody will notice them there and steal them away from us. We’ll come back later when all is dark and quiet and fetch the little darlings.’

 ‘Too dangerous,’ Brant muttered. Somehow he had to dissuade the Pilgrim.

 ‘Too dangerous not to,’ the Pilgrim shot back as they hurried to reclaim Nell and escape the market’s environs before the true guardsmen discovered hobbits missing. ‘The flames, you know, they’re always hungering...’

When Pilgrim wasn’t looking, Brant did some furious thinking. He’d try to get them to leave the City without the youngsters, if he could. A part of him would rather face the flames himself than stand by while Pilgrim went about his business with those tiny ones.

***

 ‘Lapis! Lassie!’ Forget-me-not called. Her mother had urged her to join the marketing party, and all had seemed lovely for a time, but now she was growing increasingly worried. ‘If you’re hiding, come out now!’ She’d thought they were with Auntie Nell, but Auntie Nell and Uncle Ferdi were nowhere in the market, and neither were her little sisters.

 ‘Perhaps they went back to the Houses of Healing,’ one of the guardsmen said.

 ‘They wouldn’t have, not without telling us,’ Forget-me-not said, and shook her head impatiently. ‘No, that’s not right! They would have insisted that all of us go back with them, escort or no escort!’

Berry and Borry and their remaining sister Jonquil stood huddled in a fearful group, surrounded by guardsmen. Others were searching through the marketplace, looking under every table, calling, assisted by most of the vendors.

 ‘They were just here,’ the flower vendor said in tears. ‘And then I thought I saw them by the toymaker.’

Bergil shook his head. Berry and Jonquil had been at the toymaker’s, while Borry lingered to watch the puppet show. All their guards had been in place.

 ‘Who was watching Nell?’ he said.

 ‘I was,’ Celon said sheepishly. ‘I was right behind her at the flower vendor, and when the little lass started to shriek I turned to see what was the matter. When I looked back I saw another guardsman had her and I...’

 ‘Who was it?’ Bergil broke in.

Celon thought back. ‘Adonion,’ he said uncertainly.

Bergil raised his voice to call that guardsman. Adonion trotted up. ‘Sir!’ he said smartly.

 ‘You were with Pimpernel?’ Bergil said.

 ‘No, sir,’ Adonion said in surprise, ‘I was watching the north entrance to the market as you told me. No hobbits approached that entrance.’

 ‘There was a guardsman standing by the alley,’ the flower vendor confirmed. ‘He followed the little mother in.’

 ‘No,’ Celon contradicted. ‘I started to follow her.’ Frustrated he insisted, ‘There was another guardsman in the alley.’

 ‘Search the alley,’ Bergil snapped, leading the way. Not far away, amidst a clutter of barrels and broken boxes, his worst fears were realised as he found Ferdibrand’s crumpled figure.

 ‘Ferdi,’ he whispered. He turned the hobbit over, lifted him in his arms, and carried him back towards the market, snapping over his shoulder, ‘Keep searching!’

Ferdibrand’s body was cool and limp, his head lolling. Bergil had a terrible feeling that things were about to get much worse.

When Jonquil caught sight of her uncle in the tall guardsman’s arms, head bloody, eyes closed and face pale, she began to shriek once more, and as before, all movement in the marketplace stopped.

 ‘Back to the Houses of Healing,’ Bergil said to the detail surrounding the remaining hobbits.

 ‘But what about Lappie and Lassie?’ Berry said.

‘And Auntie Nell?’ Borry echoed. ‘Have they been hurt too?’

 ‘Back to the Houses of Healing,’ Bergil repeated, and broke into a jog. To expedite matters, several guardsmen picked up the young hobbits and jogged after him. The rest began to take the marketplace apart, board by board, stall by stall, scattering the wares on the stones as they went.

Note to the Reader:
You are fortunate to be getting a bunch of chapters just as fast as I can type them in from the written draft, the next few days. I'm going on vacation and really don't want to leave this story hanging... will do my best to get to the end quickly. Since the chapters are very rough drafts, not even seen by my editor, your comments would be very welcome in smoothing out the rough bits. If you notice any contradictions (someone in two places at once, for example) please let me know.

Chapter 39. Rag, Tag and Barrel

Ulrich looked up at the rattle of key in lock, expecting to see Ferdibrand with his covered plate. But no, it was a pair of grim-faced guardsmen.

 ‘Come along,’ one of them said to him, opening the door wide.

Ulrich blinked. ‘It cannot be time already,’ he said. Ferdi had turned away when the verdict was read. Had he refused to bring Ulrich his last supper, as some sort of protest? Was it dawn already?

 ‘Come along,’ the guard repeated through his teeth. Ulrich looked from one to the other. Their jaws were set, their eyes flashed with suppressed fury. Had they heard the testimony? Did they hate him that much? Was it not enough that he was about to pay with his life?

Ulrich shuffled between them at the best pace his chains would allow. He didn’t want to hurry, of course, but with a guard holding each arm in an iron grip he didn’t have much choice in the matter.

What had been an interminably long walk, down, down into the depths, with gates clanging shut behind him, until he felt he’d been buried alive, seemed much shorter, as each step brought him closer to the end. The guards didn’t speak, and Ulrich was silent as well. He’d be asked for his last words when they reached the gallows, after all, and for the life of him he didn’t know what he wanted to say. It bothered him that he’d only have the one chance. What if he didn’t find the right words in time?

Instead of the dusky softness of predawn they emerged into bright afternoon sunshine, though the lengthening shadows portended the approach of day’s end.

 ‘What is this?’ Ulrich said in confusion. He’d never expected to see daylight again, once they’d taken him back to his cell after the trial concluded. O he’d see the light in the sky as the Sun threw her promise into the air before arising, but by the time she peeped over her coverlet, as Ferdi was so fond of saying, Ulrich would no longer be able to see or care.

 ‘Come along,’ his guard gritted. They marched out of the Citadel and down through the gateway to the sixth level of the City. They were taking him to his hanging now? The custom was to march through the dark, torch-lit streets to the funeral beat of a solitary drum.

They marched no further than the sixth level, however. As they reached the Houses of Healing, his guard steered him towards the entrance. Impatiently they shoved him along, barely giving him time to negotiate the broad steps.

The King met them at the entrance.

 ‘What is this?’ Ulrich asked as his guard detail halted and stood at attention.

 ‘Dismissed,’ the King said to the guardsmen. They looked as if they wanted to protest, but saluted and marched down the stairs again.

 ‘Elessar?’ Ulrich said. He was still in shackles, and his old friend looked grim, so he was pretty sure this was not some sort of reprieve.

 ‘Ferdibrand came to me immediately after the trial,’ Elessar said. ‘He asked if he could stand by you at your hanging.’

 ‘He would,’ Ulrich said. ‘It’s the sort of thing he’d do.’

 ‘He didn’t want you to go into the darkness alone,’ the King said low, and Ulrich looked at him in astonishment. Elessar’s voice was husky with grief. Surely not grief for Ulrich...

Without another word, Elessar took Ulrich’s arm and turned into the Houses of Healing. Ulrich shuffled along at his best pace, wondering, until they came to a room where a small occupant lay dwarfed by the large bed.

 ‘Ferdi?’ Ulrich gasped, stumbling forward.

The other booted hobbit was sitting on the bed, holding Ferdi’s hand. He looked up. ‘Go on, Merry,’ Elessar said.

Merry shook his head. ‘How?’ he said helplessly. ‘If I go, I’ll have to face Pippin, and Diamond. Have you told them yet?’

 ‘No,’ the King said. ‘I fear what the news will do to Pippin, in his weakened state. And to tell Diamond...’ Merry nodded. Pippin would know quickly after Diamond was told that her youngest daughters were missing.

 ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Ulrich whispered.

Merry measured him with a glance. ‘The madman—the real ruffian—has taken Ferdi’s Nell, and Lapis and Lassie,’ he said. ‘Only mercy knows what he intends.’

 ‘Ferdi did not want you to walk alone into darkness,’ Elessar said. ‘I thought you’d like to extend him the same courtesy.’

 ‘He’s dying?’ Ulrich said, stunned, as he sank onto the bed.

 ‘I’ve tried to call him back,’ Elessar said. ‘The injury is survivable. But he’s sinking... he might rally if his Nell were by his side, but she’s missing.’

 ‘I’ll stay with him,’ Ulrich said, ‘for as long as I can.’

 ‘If he lingers past dawn, there will be no hanging on the morrow,’ Elessar said grimly. ‘You may stay with him for as long as need be.’

***

The guardsmen had torn the market to pieces to no avail. Near the entrance to the alley they’d taken apart the broken boxes and pulled the barrels to pieces. They’d scouted further into the twisting alley, but found no sign.

Now as the Sun sank in the west, the dusky alley became dark and silent. There was no sound from the barrel where the little hobbits slept.

***

 ‘It’s nearly suppertime, and they’re not back from the market yet?’ Diamond said.

 ‘Perhaps Nell and Ferdi took them to supper,’ Pippin suggested.

 ‘And they didn’t come by here beforehand, to show off their purchases?’ Diamond said.

 ‘I’m sure there’s a grand surprise in the making,’ Pippin reassured her. It was rather puzzling that no hobbits at all had come to see him for some hours... perhaps Cuillon had made good his threat to place the Thain’s room under quarantine.

 ‘I’ll just go and see,’ Diamond said, brushing a kiss over his forehead. ‘You’re cooler than you were, at least.’

 ‘Ah yes,’ Pippin said. ‘I might die of boredom, but the lack of excitement is helping the fever go down, at least.’

 ‘O you!’ Diamond chuckled. ‘I’ll return anon.’

She did not keep her word. Indeed, a placid old nurse entered the room instead, a woman who reminded Pippin somewhat of his grandmother, only much larger, of course.

 ‘Here now, we’ve sent your missus off to rest,’ she said briskly in answer to his query. ‘She’s not left your side since you were taken ill, and Cuillon decided that she needed to sup and nap a bit lest she fall ill herself.’

 ‘Where is everyone?’ Pippin said, sitting up on his pillows. ‘This place is quiet as a tomb!’

 ‘Master Cuillon sent all the hobbits away, all those that might make noise, anyhow,’ the nurse said, seeing another question forming on Pippin’s brow. ‘Your cousin, the one with the heart trouble, is asleep, of course.’

 ‘Did they send his wife off?’ Pippin wanted to know.

 ‘No, she’s holding his hand, last I looked.’ The old woman twinkled at him from under her prodigious eyebrows. ‘Do you want me to do the same for you?’

 ‘No, many thanks; that won’t be necessary,’ Pippin said hastily. ‘It’s the sort of thing we only require of relatives and relations.’

 ‘Ah,’ the nurse said with a nod. She’d got a slightly different impression, looking in on the ruffian in his shackles, holding the hand of the injured hobbit and talking softly to him. 'Would you like me to sing to you, then?'

 'That won't be necessary,' Pippin said, shutting his eyes and slumping down on his pillows, just as she'd intended.

When he cracked one eyelid open, she was still watching him closely. He shut the eye again and sighed. It wasn't long, however, before he was truly asleep, to the old nurse's satisfaction. She pulled her knitting from her bag and settled down to a long watch.

***

After the initial hysterics Diamond had settled to soft, hopeless weeping. ‘He has my babies,’ she said over and over again, rocking back and forth as tears poured down her cheeks. ‘He has my babes.’

 ‘Eregeth is sitting with the Ernil i Pheriannath,’ Cuillon said, entering quietly.

Elessar nodded. He held Diamond’s hand in one of his, patting it with the other. ‘We’ll find them,’ he said. ‘We’ll bring them back to you, I swear it.’

 ‘How?’ Diamond said, raising her ravaged face to meet his. She shook her head and was again bowed down by the weight of her grief. ‘My babies,’ she whispered. ‘He has my babes.’

 ‘We will tear the City apart, stone by stone,’ Elessar said grimly. ‘Both above the market level, and below. No one gets out of the City, no one at all. Guardsmen and Men of the City will go to search in pairs. Evict the occupants of every house; search every wardrobe, trunk and corner. Slit open the mattresses if you have to, and look in every cupboard, every cellar, every box and barrel in every alley.’

 ‘Evict the occupants...’ Bergil said carefully.

 ‘Not even an old granny in wrapped in her shawl is immune,’ the King snapped. ‘Carry her out, rocking chair and all, and be sure to search underneath the shawl!’

 ‘Yes, sir!’ Bergil said sharply, and saluting he turned on his heel and hurried out.

***

The Sun was gone from the land, and lamplight shone from windows as the people of Gondor sat down to their suppers, all, of course, except for those who were evicted from their homes as the search widened.

In a darkened alley leading from the deserted market square, a whimpering sound came from one of the barrels that had been somehow overlooked in the earlier hasty search. Of course, it was several twists and turns away from the market; that might have had something to do with it... undoubtedly the guardsmen would have returned to it in the course of the greater search, but then, they thought this part of the City had been covered already.

The whimper came again. ‘What was that?’ old Grendil, a rag-picker said, straightening to ease a back that had been bent too long.

 ‘Puppy?’ said his grandson in a bright, hopeful voice. He was always hoping to find one, had found several as a matter of fact, but all had been claimed by owners and he had yet to have a dog of his own.

 ‘People ought to be more careful of their pets,’ Grendil grumbled. ‘You get a dog to kill rats, you oughtn’t let it wander when it’s too young to go off in the dark.’

 ‘The last pup I found, the owner gave me a reward,’ the grandson said hopefully. ‘And if we don’t find this one’s master, I can keep’m, I can!’

 ‘How’re we going to feed a dog?’ old Grendil grumbled. ‘We have hardly enough to feed ourselves!’

 ‘He’ll catch rats and eat them,’ the grandson said practically. His eyes were shining. Perhaps this would finally be his very own pup!

The shadowy figure of a guardsman entered the other end of the alley, not far from where the pup was whimpering. ‘Here now!’ he said sharply!’ What are you doing?’

 ‘Picking rags,’ Grendil said unperturbed. ‘As I always do, after market closes.’

 ‘Well do your rag-picking somewhere else,’ the guardsman snapped.

 ‘Can’t,’ Grendil said practically. ‘They’re searching the City, turned everyone out.’

 ‘Searching...’ the guardsman grated, his voice bleak. Grendil couldn’t see his face under the helm, not even by the light of the torch he held. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Pick your rags and get out of here.’

 ‘Yes, my lord,’ Grendil said. It was prudent to be over-polite to guardsmen. He didn’t want to spend the night in the dungeon. What would his grandson do?

The Pilgrim spun away and marched off down the alley. He’d have to come back when the beggars were gone. His thoughts turned to what the old Man had said. Searching the City? He didn’t like the sound of that. He’d told Brant to stay and watch the hobbit-mum, but he’d better go back to see if the half-wit had followed orders...

Chapter 40. Finders Keepers

 ‘Here, pup-pup!’ Nordhil called softly. His grandfather whistled between his broken teeth. There was no answering bark, only another small, frightened sound.

 ‘Come, pup-pup!’ the boy called again, coming closer to the cluster of barrels. He tapped at one, peeped into another, half-climbed onto the top of a third to peer into the barrel jammed into the corner, blocked by the other three. ‘Pup?’ He heard a gasp.

 ‘Grandfa!’ he called. ‘Bring the torch!’

The old rag-picker brought his torch closer and the light shone on two pairs of eyes in the black depths. ‘Two!’ the boy called.

 ‘Two pups? In a barrel? What sort of madman would treat pups so?’ the old Man grumbled.

 ‘Not pups,’ the boy said, catching his breath in wonder.

 ‘Not pups,’ his grandfather echoed. He moved one of the empty barrels aside to join Nordhil. He brought the torch to bear and stared a long moment at the tiny upturned faces. ‘Dolls?’ he whispered. ‘Be they dolls?’

 ‘Mama,’ one of the little creatures whimpered, and the other buried her face in her sister’s shoulder and sobbed as if her heart were breaking.

 ‘Grandfa,’ Nordhil whispered. ‘It’s them... it’s the Halflings the guardsmen are seeking, the ones that disappeared in the market today.'

 ‘Here now,’ Grendil said, shoving the torch hastily at the boy. He leaned over into the barrel, crooning reassurance to the trembling lasses. ‘There,’ he sang low. ‘There now, let us lift you up and out of here and bring you safe to Mama.’

Little arms lifted to meet him, grasping him trustingly around the neck as he lifted the first twin out, his back creaking audibly with the effort. ‘Here now,’ he said again, and handed her over to Nordhil.

 ‘What, me?’ Nordhil said, stunned.

 ‘Take her!’ the old Man said, his tone brooking no contradiction. Holding the torch away from himself, the boy took the tiny hobbit in one arm and settled her on his hip, much as he’d seen his older sister carry a babe. The little lass fastened her arms as far around him as they’d go and laid her head against his shoulder with a sigh.

Grendil reached into the barrel for the other, but she was more timid and cowered in the bottom of the barrel, hiding her tear-streaked face. ‘Come, little lassie, I mean you no harm,’ he coaxed.

He knows my name! the little one thought. He must be a friend! She reached up and he lifted her out of the barrel and then snuggled her against his chest.

 ‘There now,’ he said in the same soothing tone. ‘We’ll bring you to Mama in no time at all.’

 ‘The guardsman,’ Nordhil suggested, starting after the guardsman they’d seen only a few moments ago. ‘We could take them to him! He’s undoubtedly searching for them.’

 ‘I think not,’ Grendil said. ‘He was much too high and mighty for my taste! I don’t happen to feel like doing him any favours, I don’t! He won’t get a promotion with my help...’ Deliberately he turned the other way, back towards the market. Lowering his voice, he said, ‘We’ll go out by another way, just to make sure we don’t run into him again.’

***

Merigrin and Forget-me-not sat on either side of Diamond, their arms about her as she wept. There were no words of comfort that they could speak, no songs that they could sing, no hope that they could offer. It had been hours since their tiny sisters had disappeared, and everyone seemed to think the madman had taken them. Who knew what awful fate had befallen them? Forget-me-not buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, trying not to think of her sweet little sisters in mortal danger... or perhaps already dead.

There was a booming sound, as of one of the great doors, then a babble of voices mingled with rapidly approaching footsteps, and suddenly Bergil was there, a twin in either arm and a broad grin on his face. ‘Safe!’ he cried. ‘Found safe!’

Diamond started up, her empty arms stretched yearningly, and the guardsman knelt to fill them with her littlest daughters. Sobbing still, but tears of joy and blessed relief, she hugged Lapis and Lassie to herself as they clung to her.

 ‘Don’t cry, Mama,’ Lapis said bravely. ‘Don’t cry. We lost ourselves, but the nice Man found us.’

 ‘Don’t cry,’ Lassie echoed.

 ‘O my darlings,’ Diamond sobbed, hugging them tighter. ‘O my dears.’ She looked up to thank Bergil but he was already gone.

***

 ‘Someone sent them off to sleep and then hid them in a barrel for safekeeping,’ Bergil was reporting to the King. He took a cloth from his tunic and held it out.

Elessar took the cloth and sniffed at it cautiously. He handed it to Cuillon.

 ‘It’s what we use to put a Man to sleep before we do any cutting,’ the head healer said after taking a careful whiff of the lingering odour. ‘But I cannot imagine anyone from the Houses of Healing trying to steal little Halflings.’

 ‘He dampened the cloth and laid it over them in the barrel,’ Bergil said. ‘Evidently he meant to keep them sleeping until he could fetch them.’

 ‘Dangerous,’ Cuillon said.

 ‘I don’t think he had their well-being in mind,’ Elessar answered. ‘What of Pimpernel?’

 ‘No sign yet,’ Bergil said. ‘The search continues.’

 ‘Where did the search turn them up?’ the King asked.

Bergil hesitated and then admitted, ‘It didn’t. The place where they were found had already been marked off.’

Elessar’s lips tightened to a fine line. He knew that finding Pimpernel in that great City was  like shooting at a target on the other side of the Anduin, but they couldn’t not search. At the very least, the search would hopefully put pressure on the madman to keep moving to avoid discovery. The sort of torture he employed required time and a quiet, hidden place. Elessar had no intention of availing the madman the time he needed.

 ‘You are expanding the search?’ the King said.

 ‘Constantly,’ Bergil said. ‘Men of the City, when the knock comes at their door, are joining in the search as soon as they hear the explanation. Each passing hour brings ever more searchers.’

 ‘Let us hope they are thorough,’ Elessar said. ‘Very well,’ he added. ‘Carry on.’

 ‘Yes, my lord,’ Bergil said, and left.

Elessar went to see to Ferdibrand and his old friend.

Ulrich looked up.

 ‘Any change?’ Elessar said.

 ‘No,’ Ulrich answered. ‘Have they found his wife?’ He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer to this question. There were two possibilities, after all, for finding Nell. Either she’d be alive and well, in which case she ought to be bursting through the door to take up Ferdi’s hand and scold him back into the world, or else...

 ‘No,’ Elessar said, ‘but there is a glimmer of hope. They found little Lassie and Lapis.’

 ‘Untouched?’ Ulrich said. ‘Unharmed?’

 ‘Safe,’ Elessar said.

Ulrich bowed his head to hide the tears that came to his eyes. ‘Thanks be,’ he whispered. ‘They remind me so much of my own little ones...’

 ‘I know,’ Elessar said. He hesitated, then asked, ‘Is there aught you need? Food, or drink, or...’

 ‘All I need is a new life,’ Ulrich said. ‘You don’t happen to have any of those lying around, do you?’ He looked to Ferdi, lying unmoving and unresponsive. ‘On the other hand, if you did happen to find such a thing, I suppose I’d only pass it on to this fellow here. He needs it more than I do, at this point.’

Elessar was silent for a long moment, then he said softly, ‘I’m sorry, old friend.’

 ‘You’re not the only one,’ Ulrich said. ‘I’d do it all over, if I could.’

 ‘I know,’ Elessar said. He stood a moment longer, and then turned and left the room.

Chapter 41. Into the Dawn

Grendil and his young grandson were having the feast of their lives. The Queen herself had served them, not even wrinkling her nose at their unwashed state. She had brought them laden plates and sat down with them to talk quietly as they feasted, and she beckoned to a hovering guardsman and sent word to Grendil’s granddaughter, who was a nursemaid for a wealthy family. Otherwise the girl would still be waiting by the tradesmen's entrance of her employer’s great house with a plate of leftover food for Grendil and Nordhil, and worrying when they did not appear for their daily meal.

It did not escape the Queen's attention that Nordhil was stifling yawns, or that the old Man was dropping with weariness. Rag-picking is a hard life, after all, and one must be early to bed if one is to rise early enough to find the best cast-offs before someone else does.

 ‘Would you care to stay in the palace tonight?’ Arwen asked delicately. ‘I’m sure the King would like to speak with you on the morrow, to offer you suitable thanks...’

 ‘Already been thanked,’ Grendil said through a mouthful, waving a hand in dismissal. ‘Begging your pardon, my lady.’

 ‘Your grandson is tired,’ Arwen whispered, and the old Man looked over and nodded. Nordhil’s head was drooping lower, and he was in great danger of falling asleep in his plate. ‘Please, I have ordered quarters prepared for your convenience.'

Grendil nodded reluctantly. ‘If it please the Queen,’ he said. He wanted nothing that smacked of charity. Still, the thought of a bed instead of crawling into a barrel tipped on its side was tempting.

 ‘It would please me,’ she said with a smile. ‘Thank you again.’ She rose smoothly, made a graceful courtesy to the old rag-picker, patted the sleepy boy on the shoulder, and exited.

Not long after, Bergil came in. He sat down opposite the two, took an apple from the bowl, and began to munch. ‘You here to escort us?’ Grendil said shrewdly. ‘Make sure we don’t steal anything?’

 ‘Here to ask a question or two,’ Bergil said casually. ‘I want to know all you can tell me about the guardsman you saw.’

Grendil nodded, launching once more into the story of the finding of the Halflings. Bergil was able to determine that the guardsman had been alone, that his face had been hidden by his helm, that he’d worn a black armband, and that was about all. It was the madman, he was sure of it. All the guardsmen of the City had been working in pairs by the time Grendil encountered his single guardsman.

 ‘Very well,’ Bergil said. ‘I thank you for your courtesy.’ He rose, bidding them good night.

A deferential servant showed them to a finely appointed room, complete with steaming bath by a cheerful fire, and fresh nightclothes laid out upon the large bed and the smaller cot set up nearby.

Young Nordhil fell asleep nearly at once, curled up in the big bed. His grandfather stayed awake a little longer, sitting before the hearth with a borrowed blanket wrapped around him, before he too dropped off. Sleeping on a floor in the palace was quite a bit more comfortable than in a barrel in an alley, he decided.

***

Pippin wakened feeling much better, and then as he saw the growing light outside the window, much worse. Dawn, already! Ulrich’s time had run out, and the hobbits hadn’t been able to find a way to stay the execution. At least, Pippin had no recollection of anyone saying such. Thinking back, he realised he’d seen no hobbits, not even Diamond, since suppertime. Even more astonishing, he’d slept through supper. He felt ravenous, even as his stomach gave a lurch at the thought of Ulrich’s passing.

Another watcher was sitting by the bed, plying her needle. She smiled at him to see him awake. ‘Are we feeling better?’ she said brightly.

Pippin gave her a wary look. ‘You’re a healer, aren’t you,’ he said.

 ‘Why I am,’ she responded warmly.

 ‘You talk the same way the healers back home do,’ he said.

 ‘Well, I’m glad to able to make you feel more at home,’ she said. ‘Would you like some breakfast?’

 ‘Where’s Diamond and the rest?’ Pippin said. ‘Am I that bad off, you sent them away?’

 ‘If you were that bad off, old friend, they’d be settled about you, singing,’ Elessar said from the doorway.

 ‘Strider!’ Pippin said, sitting up. The King crossed into the room with a few swift strides and pushed him back against the pillows. ‘I’m well, honestly, Strider. I feel a whole new hobbit!’

 ‘Let me be the judge of that,’ the King said. Pippin sighed with exasperation but submitted to the inevitable examination. ‘Well,’ Elessar said in satisfaction, ‘your fever seems to have broken. Are you hungry?’

 ‘Starving,’ Pippin admitted, ‘though I’m not sure I could eat a bite, knowing...’ He looked out the window at the bright morning sky.

 ‘There was no hanging this morning,’ Elessar said, divining his thoughts.

 ‘No hanging! You found a way to...’ Pippin said.

 ‘Actually, it was Ferdi who found a way,’ Elessar said.

 ‘Ferdi! I thought it might be Merry. He said he was going to spend the entire afternoon and night searching through those dusty records of yours,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Pippin...’ Elessar said, and the smile left the hobbit’s face.

 ‘What is it, Strider?’ he said. ‘You’ve got that look on your face, the one you had in Cormallen when you popped Frodo back into bed two days after the feast and dosed him to sleep for another three days.’

 ‘It’s Ferdi,’ Elessar said, and went on to explain what had happened in the marketplace, omitting the disappearance of Pippin’s littlest daughters for the nonce. 'The jurors granted my petition to allow Ulrich to stay by Ferdi until the end, for good or ill.' It seemed strange to hear the King talk about making petitions, but Elessar was a wise and just King and had truly set himself apart from Ulrich's case.

 ‘How badly was he injured?’ Pippin demanded. ‘How is Nell taking the news?’ His eyes narrowed as the King hesitated. ‘I know you too well, Strider, for you to withhold news from me! What’s happened to Nell?’

 ‘We’re searching the City for her,’ Elessar said.

Pippin’s hand tightened convulsively in his, and then the hobbit nodded. ‘How do you know he hasn’t spirited her out of the City already?’ he asked slowly.

 ‘As soon as Bergil knew she was missing, he sent word to shut the Gate,’ Elessar said. ‘No one went out of the City after that without a thorough search. We’re sure that he must be hiding somewhere in the City, and we mean to find him if we have to take Minas Tirith apart stone by stone.’

 ‘Make an awful mess, it would,’ Pippin murmured, but his face was white. ‘I want to see Ferdi.’

Elessar nodded. ‘I’ll take you to him,’ he said, and wrapping a blanket about the hobbit he lifted him and carried him to Ferdi’s room.

 ‘Ulrich!’ Pippin said, to see the ruffian there.

 ‘I seem to be late for my own hanging,’ the ruffian said.

 ‘And here you always prided yourself on your punctuality,’ the hobbit said chidingly. ‘What am I to think of you now?’

Elessar laid him upon the bed, and Pippin took up Ferdi’s free hand. ‘Ferdi, do you hear me?’ he said. He did not mention Nell, for Elessar had told him that Ferdi did not know of her disappearance and he did not want to distress the King. Pippin would beg to differ. Nell was not by his side, and if Ferdi were aware of anything at all, he’d know...

The King laid a hand upon Ferdibrand’s brow, seeming to listen for a space. He sighed as he withdrew his hand. ‘No change,’ he said.

 ‘Will you call in his family?’ Pippin said. ‘They ought to be here with him.’

 ‘We’d hoped to have news by now,’ Elessar said obliquely. He shook his head. ‘I suppose you have the right of it.’

***

In the dusty Hall of Records, the keeper brought another stack of papers to the small knight of the Mark. Merry scooted over on the table to make room, thanked him absently, rubbed his weary eyes, and continued to read.

 ‘Hail, Master Holdwine!’ a voice called from the stairs leading down into the cavernous room.

 ‘Elfwine?’ Merry said, starting to his feet.

 ‘The same!’ the prince of Rohan cried, running lightly down the last of the stairs and striding across to the table where Merry laboured. ‘But what is this? It is a glorious morning! Why do you bury yourself here with these dusty tomes?’

 ‘Morning?’ Merry said bleakly, sinking down upon the table. ‘No one came to fetch me.’ Had he missed the hanging? Forbidden from joining the search ("Too dangerous"), he had buried himself in the bowels of the earth since Ferdi had been brought back from the marketplace. Evidently no one had thought to send for him as dawn approached, and he had not heard the latest news.

Nor had Elfwine, newly arrived. Had Merry asked, he could have told the hobbit that no body was hanging from the scaffold as he rode up to the great Gate, but Merry did not ask, of course. He merely pushed the nearest stack of papers away, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

 ‘But come,’ the young Rider said, ‘you are weary, and if I’m not mistaken, you look as if you hadn’t eaten in hours!’

 ‘I don’t think I have,’ Merry admitted, running his fingers through his tousled hair. There was a cup, half full of tea, beside him, a scum of milk floating unappetisingly on the cold surface.

 ‘Come then!’ Elfwine said. ‘Come away from this place, into the sunshine, and we shall break our fast together.’

 ‘I suppose,’ Merry said gloomily, and sighed. What use in perusing old records now? ‘I’m sure Estella will be glad to see us both.’

 ‘Glad to see her husband, perhaps,’ Elfwine said with a laugh. ‘Glad to see one of the Rohirrim? That is another matter!’ He clapped the hobbit on the shoulder. ‘She suspects us of plotting to abduct you and keep you in the Mark.’

 ‘Well, aren’t you?’ Merry said.

Elfwine dropped his voice and looked about before saying conspiratorially, ‘Well, we are, but don’t tell her that! We want her to think it’s her own idea, to make Edoras your permanent abode.’

 ‘A wise thought,’ Merry said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his heavy heart. ‘I wish you all success.’

***

Brant sat watching the hobbit mum sleep. Pilgrim had left him on watch and gone away somewhere, perhaps to sleep; Brant didn’t know and frankly, he didn’t care. He was sick of the whole affair. They’d moved several times already, to stay ahead of the spreading search. He’d argued with Pilgrim about leaving the hobbit, changing their guise, slipping out of the City amidst the uproar that would surely result when the missing hobbit was found.

Pilgrim would not be moved. ‘Just you wait,’ he said. ‘We’ll slip past the searchers, see if we don’t. I’ll find a way! We’ll slip into a part that has been already searched, and in some dark cellar we’ll let the flames feast. They’re restless, you know, very restless. They might break out against us if they do not feast soon. Why, they might seek to burn the City above our heads!’

 ‘We cannot have that,’ Brant agreed, but secretly, he began to lay plans for his escape. He’d tried to get away before, but the Pilgrim always found him and brought him back. Pilgrim and the flames were growing worse, always hungering these days. Brant wanted no more of it. Half of him wished he had the courage to slip away and give himself up to the searching guardsmen. They’d hang him quick enough; he’d heard much about the legendary justice of the King of Gondor. Perhaps if the justice was quick as it was reputed, he’d escape the flames after all.

Pilgrim returned and Brant stiffened as he bent to caress the hobbit mum’s face. ‘I hope she wakens soon,’ Pilgrim crooned. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve had a proper dance.’

 ‘Why not have your way and be done with it?’ Brant said. He didn’t care one way or another. Hobbits were a bit small for his taste; give him a full-sized woman any day.

 ‘Not while she’s sleeping!’ Pilgrim said, sounding shocked. ‘Why, it wouldn’t be proper, to take advantage of her in her sleep!’

 ‘We must be proper,’ Brant muttered.

 ‘Indeed we must,’ Pilgrim said. ‘The searchers will be getting close; it’s time to wrap up our beauty and move again.’

 ‘Why not leave her here and make our escape?’ Brant said.

 ‘No!’ the Pilgrim hissed. ‘No,’ he said, more calmly. ‘We’ll scout about a bit, try to find a way past them. I think I saw a way when we found this place. There’s a wall, and a rooftop... if we climb at just the right time, throw ourselves flat as they pass below, well, they might just pass us by. Then we’ll go back to that last hidey-hole, and let the dancing and feasting begin!’ He chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

 ‘Fine,’ Brant said. He’d go along with Pilgrim for the nonce; it wasn’t as if he had any choice in the matter. The last time he’d defied the old Man, he’d burned himself starting a fire to cook a simple supper, and the Pilgrim had smiled significantly. See? The flames are just waiting to take you. You had better do their bidding...

Brant would wait until the flames were satiated with this latest offering, and then surely he would take himself off, lose himself in the wide world. He hoped Pilgrim would never find him again.

Chapter 42. Thoughts of Hearth and Home

Cuillon himself entered Ferdi’s room with a breakfast tray for Pippin. An assistant bore a tray intended for the King, but Elessar passed the tray on to Ulrich, saying, ‘I have other business to attend; but I shall return.’

 ‘Indeed, we will wait with bated breath for the return of the King,’ Pippin said sombrely, and Elessar chuckled. The assistant bowed his way out of the room, but the head healer lingered.

Looking to Ulrich, Elessar said, ‘It was always a byword in the Shire, until after the War of the Ring: To say “when the King returns” was the same as saying “never”.’

Ulrich smiled and bent to address Ferdibrand. ‘You hadn’t told me that! There is so much, yet, that you said you had to tell... but you’ll have to waken to do so.’

Pippin took a forkful of bacon and waved it under Ferdi’s nose. ‘Remember, Ferdi? This was how I always used to waken you, when your family visited the farm. Your nose would twitch, and you’d murmur in your sleep, “Is it hot?” Even then you hated cold food...’

Ferdi’s nose did not twitch on this occasion, however, and Pippin sighed and absently ate the forkful of bacon. ‘Strider,’ he said, putting the fork down and rubbing at the healing scar on his face. ‘Couldn’t you do for Ferdi what you did for me?’

 ‘What?’ the King said, arrested in the act of leaving by this startling request.

 ‘You know,’ Pippin said. ‘Your bloody torture that frightened my loved ones out of their wits. They really thought you were murdering me... but I wakened again, in my right senses. Couldn’t you help Ferdi in that way?’

 ‘His injury is different from yours, Pippin,’ Elessar said quietly. ‘In the first place, he has suffered such an injury on more than one occasion: the ruffian’s club at the Battle of Bywater, the fall during the pony races you told me about, the incident during the survey of the Westmarch...’

 ‘Aye, he is a battered fellow,’ Pippin said. ‘The luck of the Tooks didn’t do much for him, I fear.’

 ‘He mentioned that,’ Ulrich said, ‘but blamed it on being half Bolger.’

 ‘Ah,’ Pippin said. ‘I always wondered.’

 ‘He said it was truth, and that your own luck was due to being half Banks,’ Ulrich said.

The King hid a grin.

 ‘Ferdi!’ Pippin remonstrated. ‘I cannot believe it! You... gossiping with a ruffian!’ He turned back to the King. ‘Couldn’t you help him, Strider?’

Elessar approached the bed once more, kneeling to see eye-to-eye with the hobbit. ‘I cannot, Pippin,’ he said. ‘He has been injured, in truth, and a blow to the head is no laughing matter. But it is fear and sorrow that are pulling him down, and the athelas has no effect.’

 ‘Why is that?’ Pippin asked, setting his tray aside and leaning forward.

 ‘It is not remembered sorrow or imagined fear that assails him,’ Elessar said quietly. ‘Somehow he knows...’ He did not finish the thought, but all in the room knew his meaning. ‘But you,’ he said, his voice growing firm, ‘had better eat that breakfast before it goes cold.’

 ‘Ferdi’s the one who hates cold food,’ Pippin said. ‘I grew quite used to it on our journeys, you know.’ Nevertheless, he applied himself once more to his breakfast.

 ‘As I was saying, I shall return,’ Elessar said, rising once more.

Cuillon and Ulrich bowed their heads as he left them, and then the healer said to the ruffian, ‘Don’t let that good food go to waste.’

 ‘No, sir, thank you,’ Ulrich said, and began to eat.

The healer performed a quick examination of Ferdibrand, sighed and shook his head. ‘No change,’ he said. ‘I think that part of the business Elessar was referring to was gathering the chancellor’s family and preparing them for what seems inevitable at this point.’

 ‘How long?’ Ulrich said.

 ‘Difficult to say,’ Cuillon replied. ‘He could linger another day... longer than that, I doubt.’

Ulrich nodded soberly. His own time would run out not long after Ferdibrand’s did.

Cuillon rose from the bed and bowed to the Thain. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘I wish it were better news.’

 ‘Ferdi may yet surprise you,’ Pippin said stoutly. ‘He takes great pleasure in confounding healers, you know.’

 ‘I for one would be happy to be confounded,’ Cuillon said, and took his leave.

Some time later, Bergil entered. He nodded to Pippin, took out a key, and began to unfasten the shackles binding Ulrich’s wrists.

 ‘What’s this?’ Ulrich said, wondering. Had he been reprieved?

 ‘Master Cuillon’s orders,’ Bergil said. ‘He says it upsets the hobbits to see you in chains. He also told me that one of the hobbits had offered his life in return for yours, should you attempt to escape.’

 ‘Which?’ Ulrich said in astonishment.

Bergil shook his head. ‘I don’t know...’ He looked at Pippin, but the Thain had fallen asleep with his head on the pillow next to Ferdi’s bandaged head.

 ‘They wouldn’t...’ Ulrich said, but Bergil interrupted.

 ‘You don’t know hobbits well, if you say that,’ he said. ‘Should you escape, that hobbit, whoever he is, would insist on paying the penalty. They are creatures of honour and duty.’

 ‘I don’t know hobbits well,’ Ulrich admitted. ‘I saw them through the wizard Saruman’s veil of hatred and scorn, and have only begun to know them in general and Ferdibrand in particular.’

 ‘I have lived amongst them for years,’ Bergil said. ‘It has been part of my duty to the King to come to know them, and yet they still can surprise me.’

 ‘How is it that you’ve lived amongst them, when the King has banned Men from the Shire?’ Ulrich said. ‘Were you living in Bree?’

Bergil laughed softly. ‘I was adopted by the Mayor and his wife, years ago when they visited Minas Tirith,’ he said. ‘I am an honorary hobbit of sorts.’

The shackles fell away from Ulrich’s wrists and Bergil caught them before they could fall to the floor and waken Pippin. He then bent to unlock the shackles about Ulrich’s ankles. ‘There,’ he said, rising. ‘I’ll just take these away.’

 ‘You do that,’ Ulrich said. ‘And don’t worry about any of the Halflings having to give up his life. I know something about duty and honour, too.’

***

Noontide came, and the hunt pressed close. The Pilgrim grumbled about each move made necessary by the spreading search, for it was needful to drug the hobbit into deeper sleep, to ensure she kept quiet in her sack, flung over the ruffian’s shoulder, as he crept from one hiding place to another. He knew the shadowy parts of Minas Tirith well, the cellars, the alleys, the hiding places for rats of all sorts. The guardsmen were constantly rounding up stray Men and evicting them from the City. Pilgrim had learned much about hiding from the patrols, in earlier days.

 ‘When will she waken?’ he fussed. ‘It’s past time to eat!’

 ‘Did you forget the dance?’ Brant said sardonically. He was gnawing on some bread he’d taken from the baker’s stand in the marketplace, just before seeing the little hobbits enter the alley.

 ‘Dance, dance,’ Pilgrim fretted. ‘It is a waste and a shame, but the flames clamour for a dance of their own, and they demand music to accompany them.’

 ‘A bit hard, that,’ Brant said. ‘How can she sing through the gag?’

Pilgrim only muttered and rocked back and forth, hugging his knees. ‘Past time to eat,’ he said again.

 ‘Have some bread,’ Brant replied. With a snarl, Pilgrim broke off a piece and stuffed it in his mouth.

Before long it was time to move again.

***

Ferdi’s family was gathered on and about the bed, telling stories in turn and singing songs, as is the hobbit way. They wanted to remind Ferdi of all the good memories before he slipped away.

Merry, seeking Pippin, was told that his cousin was with Ferdibrand. Entering the room, he stopped short to see Ulrich, an unshackled Ulrich at that!

 ‘You’re not—’ he began.

 ‘No,’ Ulrich said hastily.

 ‘But—’ Merry said. The Man caught his eye and shook his head significantly, looking quickly about the room before meeting Merry’s eye once more. Merry understood. Ulrich had not been hanged, it was true, but he was not exactly reprieved, either. What he was, Merry would have to find out, but evidently this was not the time and place to do so. Something stirred then, deep in memory. Merry stood quite still, but it was an itch he could not scratch. There was a thought niggling at him...

 ‘Come, cousin,’ Pippin said. ‘We were wanting someone to tell the story of Ferdi daring you to jump a stile, and breaking your arm in the bargain.’

The thought was gone. Hopefully it would return at a quieter time. Merry had the feeling it was important.

Pippin was looking expectantly at him, and he straightened, replying, ‘He did not dare me to break my arm, cousin!’

Pippin poked Ferdi’s shoulder. ‘Hear that?’ he said. ‘At least with you sleeping he’ll get to tell the whole story without interruption this time!’

And so the story was told, and more followed as the Sun turned her face towards evening. Pippin found his thoughts turning often to the Shire, and wondering if those he loved were watching the same sunset, at peace at the end of the day...

***

 ‘Watch out! Here comes another!’ Farry shouted, taking a tighter grip on his sword as Adelbrim launched one of a dwindling number of arrows into the throat of another snarling wolf.

 ‘I’m running low on arrows,’ the escort said. ‘What’ll we do when we run out?’

 ‘Goldi!’ Farry called behind him, where his wife sought to kindle fire.

 ‘Nearly got it,’ she gasped, even as a finger of wind found its way through the makeshift shelter and extinguished her latest effort.

Chapter 43. Slipping Away

Somehow they’d done it! Brant stared in silent amazement at the searchers’ retreating torches. It had been just as the Pilgrim said: slip into the alley just ahead of the searchers, up onto a tall stone wall and then the low rooftop of a shed, hidden by the overhanging branches of a nearby tree, lie flat as the search passed through the house and garden, and then...

Without a sound the ruffian crept back the way they’d come, to the last hidey-hole. He laid the bag down gently and freed the hobbit from its folds. ‘What do we do now?’ he whispered.

 ‘We wait,’ the Pilgrim said. ‘This time when she starts to waken, we don’t need to send her off back to sleep.’

***

Goldi was more determined than the wind. She’d flung off her cloak and hung it on the brambles behind her, forcing it onto the thorns, making a wall of sorts for the wind to whistle around. Though her hands and arms were scratched and bleeding, she bent with a will to her fire makings. ‘Please,’ she said, thinking of the Lady who’d sent water and light to her father in a parched dark land, ‘Please.’ Her hands were trembling as she lit the match. It was the last, and then she’d be reduced to the flint and steel that Farry always carried, though his cousins teased him that he was hopelessly old-fashioned in that way.

The fire would not burn! ‘Please,’ she said again to the Lady. With a sudden thought, she took the cushion Farry had brought from the coach for her comfort and tore a hole in it with the knife that Farry had supplied her, should the wolves break through. She pulled out the stuffing, blessing for the moment the bitter temperatures that insured it was dry despite the snow that was sifting down. She spread a piece of stuffing with her cold-stiffened fingers, to provide air and encourage burning, and laid the stuffing at the base of the kindling. Now she picked up the flint and began to strike it on her knife, directing the sparks onto the stuffing. ‘Please,’ she said once more.

The sparks landed on the soft, flammable stuff and smouldered as if deciding whether to burst into flame or die. ‘Please,’ Goldi whispered.

***

 ‘There,’ Pilgrim said. ‘Fire’s laid.’ He looked at the still figure tied to the long stick. ‘Now if she’ll only waken, we can begin.’

 ‘What if they come back?’ Brant said.

 ‘They won’t,’ Pilgrim replied confidently. ‘It’s a big City, and they’ve hardly scratched the surface, as it were.’

 ‘But if they find no signs we’ve gone before them...’ Brant said reasonably.

 ‘They’re not that clever,’ Pilgrim said. ‘We have the rest of the night before us, and in the dawn we’ll become the rider of Rohan once more and slip away. They’re still looking for a guardsman. We’ll set the roof of the house on fire to draw them back, and once they discover the body, the Gate will be opened again and we’ll make our way to freedom.’

 ‘It sounds as if it might work,’ Brant said.

 ‘If only she’d waken,’ the Pilgrim said, frustration in his tone.

 ‘With all the stuff she’s had, it might be another hour or two,’ Brant said. ‘Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll watch.’

The Pilgrim hesitated, and then nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But waken me the moment she stirs.’

Nell lay limp, watching the old ruffian from under her lowered eyelids. First he’d talk in the chilling voice, the voice of the Pilgrim that had been seared into her memory in the herdsmen’s shelter in Rohan. Then he’d speak in another voice, the voice of the guardsman in the alley. How could he be two at once?

She thought then of the stories her brother had told, of Smeagol and Gollum. Frodo had been able to reason with Smeagol, she thought. Hope was fading, but she resolutely turned her mind from the knowledge of the manner of her death, should the Pilgrim be correct that the searchers had passed them by.

For an eternity Nell watched the Man dozing by the makings of the fire, dreading his wakening. She cautiously tried her bonds once more, but they’d been securely tied.

A rat slipped into the room, stopping to raise itself on its hind legs, sniffing the air suspiciously. Nell couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath as it suddenly changed direction, scampering directly over her to make its escape.

The rufffian’s eyes opened. He rose, catlike, and moved to the hobbit. ‘You’re awake,’ he said softly. His finger traced her cheek and jaw.

Nell kept her eyes shut, her breathing even, and felt him settle to the ground beside her.

 ‘Go ahead,’ he said in the voice of the guardsman. ‘Pretend sleep. It might fool him a little longer, but he always has his way in the end.’

He stretched and leaned against the wall. ‘How I wish I could get away,’ he said. ‘You don’t know how many times I’ve tried to escape him, but he always finds me again.’ He looked to the silent, limp figure and shook his head.

 ‘You’d never believe it, but he saved my life.’ The hobbit seemed to be listening, and Pilgrim was still asleep, so Brant went on. ‘I was but a youth, in the army of the West, marching hopelessly towards death and darkness, to the Black Gate, to be destroyed. We all knew that death awaited, and horror. With every mile we marched the fear grew upon us. Finally I could bear it no longer.’

He gave a sigh. ‘Chilly in here,’ he said. ‘But Pilgrim will give me a tongue-lashing if I light the fire when he’s not ready. He likes to do things just so.’ He unslung the rich green cloak of Rohan and spread it over Pimpernel. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Now you ought to feel warmer.’ She made no acknowledgment, of course, but he smiled and bowed ironically anyhow. Pilgrim slept on.

 ‘Where was I?’ he said. ‘O yes, the death march. I slipped away from the body of Men that night. My older brother, a cousin and two friends were with me.’ He laughed suddenly, and stopped as suddenly, afraid he might waken the Pilgrim. After a cautious moment of silence, he began again. ‘If we’d only waited a day. Do you know that the King released those who were unmanned by fear and sent them back? If we’d only waited a day...’ He huddled in his cloak and brooded.

 ‘We blundered into Easterlings who were shadowing the march,’ he said bleakly. ‘We were no match for them. They took us, and bound us, and having orders to watch the army of the West only and not attack, they were bored and decided we’d make a fine diversion.’

His voice dropped. ‘One by one, they burned us,’ he said. ‘One by one, so that the rest of us could hear the screams and anticipate our own fate. And then, most horrible of all, when death came they gave the body to the orcs who were with them, and they ate...’ His face twisted with revulsion. ‘They made us watch the burning and the feasting. One orc thought it would be sport to share the feast, and forced the flesh into our mouths. “Chew, swallow,” it urged with devilish glee. “The first to eat will be the last one burned.” O Heimdal forgive me! Forgive me!’ he cried softly, in an agony of remembering.

Pilgrim stirred within him but did not waken completely. He’d heard this story before. Brant waited as the other slipped back to sleep.

 ‘They grew weary of their sport,’ he whispered at last. ‘They told me I could wait through the night, that my “bravery” had won me the honour of being the orcs’ breakfast in the morning. And so they lay down to sleep, all but one guard at the edge of their camp. It was then Pilgrim came to me...’ he said in wonder.

 ‘He showed me how to ease my hands under my feet until they were before me. O so softly we moved, Pilgrim and I. He bit at my bonds until I was untied, and then he led me from that dreadful camp. We went deep into the hills,’ he said, ‘and lived together for a time. We became close as brothers.’

He shuddered. ‘Little did I know the Man I’d joined my fortunes to,’ he said. ‘Little did I know.’

He bent forward. ‘You are awake,’ he said. ‘Do you think you could walk?’

Nell shut her eyes completely as she felt his breath on her face, his fingers fumbling behind her neck. Then the gag was pulled away, and he opened her mouth to remove the muffling cloth. Next she felt the bonds holding her to the long stick loosen, and she was free. She lay unmoving, unbelieving.

The ruffian gave her a little push. ‘Go,’ he breathed. ‘Quick, before he wakens! He’s still asleep, but I don’t know how long he’ll remain so.’

Nell lay limp a moment longer, then gathered her wits and her stiffened muscles and rolled away from him, as far as she could and as quickly as she could manage, ending crouched a little ways from the ruffian.

 ‘That’s it,’ he said, his eyes intent on hers, and though his face remained in that crazed half-smile because of the scar that marked it, somehow she knew it was not the Pilgrim talking. ‘Go quickly! I feel him stirring. He’ll waken soon, and then you are lost.’ He pointed. ‘That way.’

 ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed, and scampered in the direction indicated. It could be a trick, a cruel game, the ruffian playing with her as a cat played with a mouse, but there had been something in his eyes, in his voice...

At the top of the stairs she found a door ajar leading into a garden. Behind her she heard a roar of outrage.

Pimpernel ran across the garden as fast as she could to a tree leaning against the high stone wall. She knew how to climb trees! Hadn’t she climbed up to rescue young Pip when he’d gone too high and was afraid to come down?

Though her muscles were still stiff, fear lent her strength. She reached the top of the wall as the ruffian burst from the cellar door. Seeing torches some ways down the street, she began to shriek at the top of her voice. ‘Help me! Help!’

The ruffian reached the base of the tree as she gathered her courage to jump down from the high wall. She landed, stumbling, but the torches were rapidly approaching. She heard the Pilgrim curse, and then guardsmen surrounded her, exclaiming. She looked up, past them, and the Pilgrim was gone from the wall.

 ‘There!’ she gasped, pointing. ‘He’s in there, in the garden!’

The old sergeant took her meaning at once, dispatching half his Men to the locked gate. They swarmed over swiftly and spread out to search the house and grounds. Nell was sure the Pilgrim would be long gone, however. He was too wily to wait for capture.

She was shaking with reaction, but she didn’t stiffen as the grizzled guardsman bent to address her. ‘Are you well, ma’am?’ he said. ‘Did he hurt you?’

 ‘I am well,’ she whispered.

 ‘May I take you to safety?’ he asked, extending his hands slowly towards her. He didn’t want to frighten the hobbit. Only mercy knew what she’d been through, the past day and a half.

Nell took a steadying breath and stepped forward, into the sheltering arms. The sergeant lifted her gently, snapped a few orders to the lingering Men, and he and two others began to jog, bearing the news and the recovered hobbit to the Houses of Healing, where the King waited... and the rest of the hobbits.

The Sun smiled as she threw off her coverlet. It was promising to be a glorious day.

Chapter 44. The Rising of a New Song

The sullen sky was growing lighter. Farry threw another armload of sticks on the fire and returned to the relative warmth of the cloaks.

 ‘Daylight,’ Goldi said sleepily. ‘They haven’t returned.’

 ‘No,’ Farry said, putting his arm around her after he’d settled the cloaks as well as he could, to keep out the bitter cold. ‘Thanks to your fire.’

As the flames had taken hold in the fading of the previous day, Adelbrim had launched his last arrow and fallen back; a great wolf had moved forward in a silent rush, knocking the escort to the ground as the hobbit instinctively threw his arms up to protect his face and neck. Farry’s sword had bitten deep, and the wolf had rolled away, convulsing. More wolves rushed at Farry, but Goldi rose from the now-vigorously burning fire, a flaming branch in each hand, to smite them on their muzzles and send them howling away.

Goldi used the respite to bind up Adelbrim’s bleeding arm with strips torn from her petticoats. They’d alternated pacing and huddling beneath the cloaks for the rest of the night, fearful of sleep.

The wolves had returned twice in the night, but a few well-aimed fiery missiles had discouraged them from trying to win their way through the narrow opening in the brambles. Faramir, sword in one hand and burning branch in the other, crept from the bramble patch at first light. He returned soon, his sword sheathed, bearing moss which he placed in the middle of the fire. Smoke began to rise. Farry kept feeding the fire dry wood and damp moss as they waited.

Some time before elevenses they heard ponies approaching, and a questing cry.

 ‘Here!’ Faramir shouted.

 ‘Farry! Goldi!’ came the answer. It was Rudivar, the Bolger himself, come in search with a body of hunters. He leapt from his pony, thrusting his way into the briar patch without thought of scratches or jabbing thorns, and embraced Faramir and then Goldilocks. ‘You were due yesterday, and then when word came that wolves had crossed the Brandywine we feared the worst...’

 ‘How did they get across?’ Farry asked. ‘I thought the Brandybucks had the gates up on the Bridge when they heard that wolves were prowling around the High Hay.’

 ‘The River’s frozen all the way across,’ Rudi said, ‘just as it was in the Fell Winter.’

Farry whistled. ‘I knew it was cold,’ he said, ‘but...’

 ‘Don’t know quite how cold,’ the Bolger said. ‘The quicksilver’s all the way down in the glass.’ He looked to the escort. ‘But you’re injured!’ he said.

Adelbrim eased his arm in the makeshift sling. ‘Could be worse,’ he said. ‘If it wasn’t for the Mistress and her fire-making...’

Goldi smiled. ‘You bought us time with your arrows,’ she said lightly.

 ‘Come now,’ Rudi said. ‘Let’s get you to Budge Hall, and warm. Cider’s already simmering on the stove, waiting for us.’

 ‘I’ll drink to that,’ Farry said.

***

Ferdibrand’s breaths came at longer intervals now, with pauses between.

 ‘I guess he should have stayed in the Shire,’ Pippin said regretfully. ‘If I’d asked him to stay, to keep an eye on Farry...’

 ‘We cannot know our end,’ Elessar said, sitting down beside the hobbit.

 ‘I do not understand,’ Ulrich said in his turn. ‘You said this wound is survivable. How can he be dying?’

Pippin regarded him thoughtfully. ‘In the old times,’ he said, ‘long ago, before the People made the crossing of the Misty Mountains into Eriador, it is said...’

 ‘Yes?’ Ulrich said to encourage him when he fell silent.

 ‘Hobbits mate for life, you know,’ Pippin said. ‘It is very seldom that they will marry again if a mate dies. Nell was an exception, marrying Ferdi after her Rudivacar died, but then, she and Ferdi had loved each other from childhood.’

 ‘Why did they not marry?’ Ulrich said.

 ‘It is a long story,’ Pippin sighed. ‘Suffice it to say, they were each other’s match, always meant to complete one another. When your mate dies, you are left half a hobbit. In the old days, it is said that hobbits turned away from food and drink when their mate died, preferring to follow on the dark road rather than live on only “half”.’ He looked to Elessar. ‘Frodo was only half, afterwards, wasn’t he? It is why he had to seek healing in the West.’

Ulrich did not follow this cryptic comment, but the King was nodding.

Turning back to the ruffian, Pippin said, ‘Though now, hobbits often live years after a mate dies, it is not always the case. Nell is Ferdi’s match. Without her...’

 ‘But he doesn’t know she’s dead,’ Ulrich said.

Elessar merely shook his head with a sorrowful expression.

Freddy finished telling a story of Ferdibrand and a certain wager, and then his son Frodovar lifted his voice in song, a lovely old ballad that Ulrich had heard the hobbits sing on the long march from Dindale to Minas Tirith.

A lilting soprano joined his, and the other hobbits who’d begun to sing fell silent once more to hear the two voices blending in flawless harmony. Diamond sat down on Pippin’s other side and nestled close. ‘Are you thinking...’ she said softly.

Pippin looked from Frodovar to Forget-me-not, who was singing with her eyes closed and tears on her face, but singing her best for the sake of her beloved Uncle Ferdibrand. ‘The thought had crossed my mind,’ he admitted.

 ‘But she’s so young!’ Diamond protested.

He took his hand from Ferdi’s to pat her hand gently. ‘You weren’t much older when I first saw you,’ he said. ‘They’ve been thrown together much, since we met the hobbits of Ithilien at Dindale. Ferdi was commenting just the other day...’

 ‘Ferdi and his matchmaking!’ Diamond whispered in exasperation. She bent down to whisper in the ear of the silent hobbit. ‘It’s your duty to dance at their wedding, you know,’ she said.

Pippin overheard. ‘Now who’s thinking?’ he asked, though his heart was full. He shook his head. ‘It seems fitting somehow. As one life ends, we can take comfort in the promise of new life.’

As the song ended there was a stir in the doorway, and sudden joyous cries from Nell and Ferdi’s children. A grizzled guardsman, breathing hard, gently placed Pimpernel on the bed beside Ferdibrand. ‘We came as quick as we could, my lord,’ he said to Elessar.

Nell took Ferdi’s face between her two hands. ‘I’m here, my love,’ she said.

 ‘Did he hurt you?’ Elessar said, touching her shoulder.

 ‘He let me go,’ Nell said. ‘I don’t quite understand why. He meant to harm me, but he didn’t.’ Turning back to her husband, she said again, ‘I’m here.’

The slow breaths continued, with pauses between. Nell said in desperation, ‘You don’t have my leave to go, Ferdibrand Took! Do you hear me?’ She descended on him, finding his lips and kissing him thoroughly, trying somehow to win through. The sergeant had told her that the King’s athelas hadn’t worked... What if nothing could call Ferdi back? She couldn’t feel him breathing.

Then, suddenly, another breath ghosted from his nostrils, and she felt his arms close over her in a feeble embrace. She ended the kiss and laid her cheek against his, whispering his name.

 ‘Nell,’ he murmured. ‘My Nell.’

 ‘Yes, my love,’ she said. ‘I’m here.’

 ‘I thought,’ he whispered, and a tear escaped from under the lid of one eye. ‘I thought he...’

 ‘He didn’t,’ she said fiercely. ‘Now look at me!’

 ‘What if...?’ Ferdi said, and Nell remembered how, a dozen years before, he’d wakened in darkness and lived with blindness afterwards, until of a wonder his sight returned, somehow healed over time.

 ‘Look at me,’ she whispered, and his eyes opened. Her heart sank as he stared blankly for a few seconds, and then he blinked and she knew that he saw her.

 ‘Nell, he whispered, and his arms tightened about her. ‘My Nell. You’re safe.’

 ‘I am,’ she said from the circle of his embrace.

Ulrich looked on with mingled joy and pain. He rejoiced to see his newfound friend restored, and to see Nell unhurt by the madman who’d shadowed their steps from Rohan. Now he met Bergil’s eye. ‘I’m ready,’ he said, rising.

The guardsman nodded, rising himself, taking Ulrich’s arm to escort him back to the dungeon.

 ‘Where are you going?’ Cuillon said in surprise.

 ‘Back,’ Ulrich said. He didn’t want to mention chains or hanging or dungeons and dampen the atmosphere of celebration. He had seen yet another dawn, and it ought to be enough.

Cuillon accompanied Ulrich and Bergil to the hallway, but stopped them outside the door. ‘He asked the jurors for permission to walk the last road with you, and stand beside you at the end,’ he said. ‘He’s in no condition to take that walk. I doubt if he’ll be able to stand, either, at tomorrow’s dawning.’

Elessar and Pippin had joined them while the head healer was speaking.

 ‘It would probably be better so,’ Ulrich said.

 ‘You don’t understand,’ Cuillon insisted. ‘We granted him permission. We cannot rescind our decision. It is already written in the record.’

At Ulrich’s uncomprehending look, he said, ‘You have been faithful to sit beside him through these dark hours. I would not slow his recovery by taking you away now. It would not do you any good to sit in the dark dungeon, awaiting his recovery, and it certainly won’t do him any harm to have you beside him, since he seems to have taken a fancy to your friendship.’

 ‘I don’t know why,’ Ulrich said.

 ‘Hobbits are a curious folk,’ Elessar said, with a smile at Pippin. ‘When they decide to convey their friendship, they remain fiercely loyal.’

 ‘The end will not come until Ferdi’s recovered?’ Pippin said slowly. ‘This may be the slowest recovery in the history of the Tooks!’

 ‘Are you saying that he would delay his recovery, falsely claim weakness, to draw out Reinadan’s time?’ Cuillon said sternly.

Pippin laughed. ‘Quite the opposite,’ he said. ‘He will be a model patient, cooperating with the healers and staying abed just as long as they order him to.’ He looked the head healer straight in the eye. ‘Usually, we Tooks begin badgering our healers to let us up out of bed days before they think it appropriate.’

 ‘Why does that not surprise me?’ Cuillon said. He shook his head, exchanging glances with Elessar. The King was nodding, a wry expression on his face. ‘Very well,’ the head healer said. ‘Go on back in there. There will be no hanging until Ferdibrand is recovered enough to keep his word.’

 ‘Thank you,’ Ulrich said humbly. He turned back into the room, to be greeted with cheers and the rising of a new song.

Chapter 45. A Model of Patience

Pippin and Freddy had been ordered back to their beds, escorted by their families. Nell and Ferdi’s children had joyously greeted their parents while Cuillon, Elessar and Ulrich looked on with pleasure. Now two beaming women appeared bearing laden plates.

 ‘Second breakfast!’ one sang. She was quite proud of remembering the hobbity term.

 ‘Nice and hot!’ the other contributed. ‘You children go on; your breakfast is waiting for you in the hall.’ With another kiss each for mother and father, the younger children allowed themselves to be herded from the room by the older.

 ‘Will you be joining us?’ Ferdi said, squinting at the King and head healer hovering in the doorway, as one of the serving women propped him with pillows into a sitting position.

 ‘No, but thank you,’ Cuillon said courteously. ‘I would sit, a time, before turning my attention to the duties of the day.’

 ‘Please,’ Nell said with a hospitable sweep of her hand towards two chairs. Cuillon and Elessar seated themselves comfortably, prepared to chat lightly whilst unobtrusively observing the recovered and recovering hobbits.

Nell sat close beside Ferdi. She was ravenous, she discovered, and had eaten several bites before she noticed that Ferdi was merely staring at his plate.

 ‘Is something wrong, my love?’ she asked. ‘Is there anything wanting?’

 ‘All is well,’ he said absently, moving his hand cautiously towards the plate and away again. ‘I will eat, just as soon as I find something to eat with.’

 The fork was there on the plate, and Nell told him so. He stared with a puzzled expression and finally admitted, ‘I cannot sort it out, Nell. I see two forks, and when I reach I cannot seem to find a one of them.’

 ‘Two forks?’ Cuillon said. He rose from his chair and crossed to the bed to put his hand before Ferdi’s face. ‘How many fingers do you see?’

 ‘Fingers?’ Ferdi said, blinking. ‘I see a blur...’ He blinked again. ‘O yes,’ he said, his face clearing. ‘Three, I think. Or is it four?’

Cuillon looked at the two fingers he had extended and said, ‘That’s just fine, chancellor. It’s not at all unusual to experience some disturbance in vision after a blow such as the one you sustained. It ought to resolve in time.’ He did not specify how much time. Elessar had told him that the Halflings healed more quickly than Men, as a rule.

 ‘I assume you mean I’ll be able to see properly,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Yes,’ Cuillon replied, unruffled. ‘That is what I said.’

Ferdi solved the problem of eating by closing his eyes, resorting to the skills he’d used during the years he’d been blind.

After eating a hearty second breakfast, Ferdi stretched and yawned. ‘A goodly meal,’ he said contentedly. ‘I think I could do with a nap, and get up after that, perhaps.’

 ‘Perhaps,’ Nell said dismissively, and snuggled against him. Her drugged sleep had been long but not restful, and she felt relaxed and ready to sleep in truth. ‘We shall see,’ she added, her eyes closing of their own accord.

However, Ferdi did not get up after that nap. When he and Nell were still stretching after wakening, Pippin entered and sat down to repeat Cuillon’s words concerning Ulrich’s fate.

 ‘You want me to stay in bed?’ Ferdi said in consternation.

 ‘Only so long as the healers advise,’ Pippin replied. ‘I don’t ask you to dissemble or pretend to be more ill than you are.’

 ‘Of course not, my love,’ Nell said. ‘For the first time in your life, you must hearken to the healers.’

 ‘It is only until one of us can find a way to save the Man,’ Pippin said. ‘Of course, if we have not found it before the healers pronounce you well, there’s nothing for it but...’

Ferdi nodded soberly. ‘I will do my best,’ he said. ‘I can promise no more than that.’

 ‘It is all I can ask of you, cousin,’ Pippin said.

***

 ‘Will Ferdi’s vision really clear, do you think?’ Merry asked Pippin that evening over supper.

 ‘Elessar and Cuillon seem to think it will,’ Pippin replied. ‘They say he’ll be on his feet, not much the worse for wear, in a week or so.’

 ‘A week,’ Merry said in dismay. ‘I had better get back to the Hall of Records.’

 ‘Do you really think you can find something to save Ulrich?’ Pippin said, his tone discouraged.

 ‘I don’t know,’ Merry admitted. ‘There’s something I heard or read once, I cannot quite remember...’

 ‘What?’ Pippin said eagerly.

Merry shook his head. ‘I told you I can’t remember,’ he said. ‘But I think there was a record I read once, years ago, that might have some bearing on Ulrich’s case.’

 ‘Well then,’ Pippin said brightly. ‘You’ve a whole week to find it!’

 ‘A week,’ Merry echoed dismally. ‘Do you know how many records are in that Hall? Thousands of years worth, and I haven’t the faintest idea what it was that I read, that is niggling at the back of my mind.’

 ‘If you found it once, you can find it again!’ Pippin said encouragingly, clapping Merry on the shoulder. ‘I have perfect confidence in you, cousin.’

Merry forced a smile, said good night, and made his way out of the Houses of Healing, back to the Hall of Records with its overwhelming collection of papers, to what seemed a near hopeless task.

At the threshold he was stopped by a guardsman. ‘Hold! I’m sorry, Master Perian, I cannot allow you to walk unescorted.’

 ‘I’ll go with him,’ Elfwine said, coming up the steps. ‘Where are we going?’

 ‘To the Hall of Records,’ Merry said.

The young prince made a face. ‘Back there? Such a dusty place it is, living up to such a name,’ he said. ‘I had thought, perhaps, of a ride across the plain under the stars.’

 ‘A Man’s life hangs in the balance,’ Merry said.

Elfwine brightened. ‘A quest!’ he cried. ‘When you put it that way... such an endeavour takes on new meaning, new interest! If I may be of assistance...?’

 ‘I’ll take all the help I can get,’ Merry said.

***

 ‘We must get out,’ Brant said. ‘We must. We cannot stay here in the City, with every Man’s hand against us.’

 ‘They’ve searched and they have not found us,’ Pilgrim said cheerily. ‘They will never find us, the imbeciles! They do not know what they are looking for!’ He glowered into the darkness. ‘Do you really want to brave the displeasure of the flames?’

 ‘We’ll find other offerings,’ Brant said. ‘The world is full of possibilities.’

 ‘No,’ the Pilgrim said. ‘We promised the flames one of the small folk, sweet and tender, and we will take one with us when we go.’

 ‘You’re mad,’ Brant said, and not for the first time. ‘How can we do such a thing?’

 ‘Their young ones are small,’ Pilgrim said. ‘Small enough to hide easily. Why, that hobbit female we had wasn’t all that burdensome to carry. We wait until they relax; we snatch a little one when they are distracted by something else, and we go before the alarm can rise. We must not disappoint the flames, you know.’ He gave a diffident cough. ‘Don’t think they’ll let you off so lightly next time.’

Brant looked glumly at his bandaged left hand. Pilgrim, hearing the outraged cry of the flames, had forced him to thrust his hand into their midst. Brant was relieved it hadn’t been his sword arm. Still, the flames were hungering for more, and even Brant had begun to hear their clamour, so loud had it grown. He feared the flames would try to take more than just a taste of his left hand, the next time...

***

Yes, I'm back from vacation. Thank you, had a lovely time. Don't you love weddings?

Chapter 46. Slow but Steady

The healers kept Ferdibrand in bed for the next week. Ulrich sat with him much of the time, except when Pippin called him away to allow Ferdi and Nell some time alone together. Bergil set aside a room for Ulrich’s use when he was not attending Ferdi or Pippin, locking him in to sleep with a guard stationed outside. He was, after all, still a ruffian.

Towards the end of the week a troubled Cuillon met with the other jurors. ‘I would save him if I could,’ he said, after detailing his observations of Ulrich over the past days.

 ‘Is there a precedent?’ Rion said. ‘Have you ever heard of one sentenced to die who was later reprieved?’

 ‘Sentenced... no,’ Cuillon said. ‘Reprieved before final sentence was pronounced, yes. Captain Beregond, for example, was guilty of crimes leading of old to death, and yet the King found a way to save his life while satisfying the law.’

 ‘Reinadan is admittedly guilty of the crimes he was accused of,’ Turamir said slowly. ‘He deserves the penalty; he has earned it.’

 ‘Yes, but Ulrich...’ Cuillon said in frustration.

 ‘The law leaves us no “out”,’ Turamir said, and Rion nodded. ‘If he were found innocent; if new evidence came to light to show that he was not guilty, but that someone else...’

 ‘But he is guilty,’ Rion said. ‘He does not protest his innocence.’

 ‘No,’ Cuillon said dryly. ‘It seems we have condemned an honourable Man.’

***

 ‘You are looking much improved,’ Elessar said to Ferdibrand when the week was out.

 ‘Am I?’ Ferdi said listlessly. ‘Such good news.’

 ‘Come,’ the King said. ‘Sit up and swing your legs over. We’ll give standing a try.’

 ‘You don’t mean it,’ Ferdi said, looking from King to Ulrich.
 
 ‘Ah but I do,’ the King said. ‘We don’t mean for you to take root in the bed, you know.’

 ‘Could have fooled me,’ Ferdi said. Ulrich and Elessar steadied him from either side as he pulled his feet from under the coverlet and braced them against the floor. The hobbit looked down in surprise. ‘Well now,’ he said. ‘They appear more like proper feet every day.’ The curls singed away in the herdsmen’s hut were growing back; the tops of Ferdi’s feet were now covered with a short but thick carpet of woolly curls.

 ‘How does that feel?’ Elessar said when they had him on his feet.

 ‘Dizzy,’ Ferdi admitted. He had committed himself to an honest course, after all. ‘It is a common problem when one stays in a bed for days on end; the body forgets how to go upright.’

 ‘It is why you never let the healers keep you in bed for very long,’ Ulrich said.

 ‘You have the right of it,’ Ferdi said stoutly. ‘I have no desire to forget how to stand and walk.’ He swayed but the Men held him steady.

 ‘I think that is enough for the moment,’ Elessar said. If not for Ulrich’s sake, Ferdi would have protested, would have insisted on walking a few steps, would have shaken off the assisting hands. As it was, he sank down on the bed and wiped at his face with a trembling hand that he did not fight to keep steady as he might have under usual circumstances.

 ‘I think you are right,’ he said. ‘My head swims most alarmingly.’

Ulrich poured him a glass of water and urged him to drink. Ferdi allowed them to cosset him, to tuck him back in the bed, to bring him a light meal intended to replenish the energies he’d spent by his brief effort.

When the Men had left him alone with Nell, the latter said, ‘How are you doing, in truth, my love?’

 ‘I am doing my best,’ Ferdi said. ‘I am being truthful with the healers and not fighting them. I am letting them wrap me in cotton wool and cosset me to their hearts desire. My only worry is...’

 ‘What?’ Nell said, taking his hand.

 ‘My only worry is,’ Ferdi continued wryly, ‘I might just get used to it, and then where would I be?’

 ‘In bed,’ Nell said with a kiss, ‘healing and gathering strength.’

 ‘Aye,’ Ferdi said glumly.

 ‘They said they’d let you take a few steps on the morrow,’ Nell said. ‘Every day a bit of progress.’

 ‘And what of Merry?’ Ferdi said. ‘Has he found aught?’

 ‘No,’ Nell said, ‘Not that I’ve heard. He has only that prince of Rohan to help him. Pip tried to send others to his aid but he turned them away, for he feared that he’d miss what he was looking for in a general commotion.’

 ‘Between us we’ll see Ulrich hanged yet,’ Ferdi said gloomily. ‘Me with my slow but steady progress, and him with his steady but slow progress.’

***

Next day young Frodovar Bolger kissed his mother and shook the hand of his father. ‘Wish me luck,’ he said solemnly.

 ‘You’ve made us very happy, my son,’ Freddy said. Melilot beamed at his side.

 ‘Not quite yet,’ Frodovar replied.

 ‘O yes,’ Freddy insisted. ‘No matter what my cousin the Thain should say, I maintain that you have made a wise choice.’

 ‘I only hope the Thain agrees,’ his oldest son said fervently.

Melilot laughed. ‘How could he not?’ she said firmly. ‘You are one of the finest young hobbits living in the Southlands, in my opinion.’

***

 ‘...one of the finest young hobbits I’ve had the pleasure to make my acquaintance,’ Pippin said. Glancing at Diamond, he added, ‘And my wife is in complete agreement.’

Diamond smiled as she refilled Frodovar’s teacup. ‘I’ll just be a moment,’ she said, setting down the pot and leaving them.

 ‘You are both young,’ the Thain said, leaning back and fixing Frodovar with a keen eye. ‘I assume you were thinking of a handfasting now, and a period of visiting between families until you are old enough to marry.’

 ‘I had hoped for correspondence at least,’ Frodovar said.

 ‘Think of the forests that would give up their lives to sustain such,’ Pippin said with a twinkle. ‘Visits back and forth, to my way of thinking, are to be preferred. You might spend half the year in Tookland, and she might spend...’

As Forget-me-not entered with her mother, the Thain rose in greeting, kissing the tween on the cheek and pulling her to his side to face Frodovar. ‘Well my lass,’ he said. ‘Are you in agreement? Frodovar here has asked for your hand, and I’m of a mind to give it to him.’

 ‘Yes, Da,’ she said at once, for Diamond had informed her of Frodovar’s visit and the purpose thereof.

 ‘Well then,’ Pippin said, rubbing his hands together. ‘There’s no time like the present. Ferdibrand stood up for the first time yesterday, and I do believe he walked a few steps today... if he were to ride a pony down to the wildflower meadow outside the great Gate we could have the handfasting this afternoon.’

 ‘This afternoon!’ Frodovar said in wonder.

 ‘Yes, go now and tell your parents,’ Pippin said. ‘Let us live up to our reputation for hastiness!’

Frodovar exited in a rush as Diamond turned to her daughter. ‘Go now,’ she said, ‘Tell the rest of the family. We’ll make all the other arrangements.’ The tween nodded, her eyes shining, and went to obey.

 ‘Well then,’ Pippin said, putting an arm around his wife.

Diamond’s smile had faded. ‘So far away,’ she murmured.

 ‘But you see, my love,’ Pippin said sensibly. ‘We’ll get them used to travelling back and forth before the wedding, and they’ll be more amenable to spending part of each year in Tookland... we’ll see more of Forget-me-not, likely, this way than if she married some hobbit away to the South Farthing.’ He laid a kiss in Diamond’s palm before releasing her hand. ‘I will go to inform the King.’

***

Elessar was talking with Ferdibrand and Ulrich, for he often visited during the noontide meal.

 ‘Ah, Strider!’ Pippin called, entering. ‘Just the Man I wished to see.’

 ‘What is it?’ the King asked curiously.

 ‘Congratulations are in order,’ Pippin said. ‘My daughter is to be joined with Fredegar’s son.’

 ‘Indeed! Congratulations!’ Elessar said. ‘When is the happy occasion?’

 ‘This afternoon, on the Pelennor,’ Pippin said. ‘Lovely wildflowers peeping amongst the grasses, even this late in the year.’

In answer to the King’s protests, Pippin held up restraining hands. ‘You may surround us with all the guardsmen of the City if you wish, Strider,’ he said. ‘Even though nothing has been heard of the madman in a week, and he has undoubtedly left the White City for greener pastures, your guardsmen will be welcome as witnesses, should their swords prove to be unnecessary.’ He eyed the King narrowly. ‘On the other hand, I have the distinct impression that the guardsmen have been more relaxed, the past few days, and I heard rumour to the effect that the Haradrim have been warned to be watchful.’

 ‘You heard rumour?’ Elessar said.

Pippin laughed. ‘Tooks are great ones for gossip,’ he said. ‘We live and die by the Talk, you know. It is said that a body was found on the Harad Road at some distance from Minas Tirith. Perhaps our madman has moved on?’

 ‘Perhaps,’ the King said cautiously. ‘And so you wish to dance upon the Pelennor this day?’

 ‘The sooner the better,’ Pippin said. ‘Of course you and all your family are welcome to join the celebration, and anyone else who wishes. The more, the merrier!’

 ‘Why so hurried?’ Ulrich asked.

Pippin lost his grin. ‘It is for Freddy’s sake,’ he said soberly. ‘I’m told he could be taken from us at any time.’

 ‘He could live another twenty years,’ Elessar said.

 ‘Or his heart could fail him this very day,’ Pippin countered. ‘Cuillon himself told me.’ He looked to Ferdi. ‘You can ride a pony down to the Pelennor, Ferdi, and sit to witness the vows if need be. You ought to be there, seeing as how you introduced them in the first place.’

 ‘Did I, now?’ Ferdi said, stroking his chin with a thoughtful air.

Ulrich laughed, having witnessed the introduction in question at the welcoming banquet on the day the hobbits arrived in Dindale. ‘You did indeed,’ he said. ‘I saw the whole thing.’

 ‘Then you are a witness!’ Ferdi said. ‘You were there from the beginning, and by rights you ought to be at the handfasting.’

 ‘What!’ Elessar said, nonplussed.

Pippin shook a finger at him. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘You know you have a guarantee of his good behaviour, a hostage against the possibility of his escape.’

 ‘You cannot do such a thing for me...’ Ulrich began, but Pippin shook his head.

 ‘Not I,’ he said, ‘but another.’

 ‘Who?’ Ulrich said, for he had wondered long on this point.

 ‘If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you,’ Pippin said. ‘His wife knows, and though she is not in full agreement she is at least in understanding; and the King and jurors know, and that is all that is necessary at present.’ He looked hard at the former ruffian. ‘And if you stand by your honour, then no one else need ever know.’

 ‘I have no intention of trying to escape,’ Ulrich said. ‘I have no wish to resume the life of a ruffian, and that is all that would be open to me. And if you would believe me, I have no wish to cause any hobbit’s death, nor have I ever, even when I was under the cursed wizard’s spell.’

 ‘I believe you,’ Pippin said, and Ferdi echoed him.

Elessar looked from one hobbit to the other. ‘What happened to “All Men are ruffians”?’ he asked. ‘Have you changed your mind, Ferdibrand?’

 ‘Not at all,’ Ferdi said. ‘I have decided that Ulrich, here, isn’t a ruffian.’

 ‘And I?’ the King said, raising an eyebrow.

 ‘I haven’t made my mind up about you, yet,’ Ferdi said.

***

I managed to write this one more chapter while on vacation, so you get two chapters in two days... don't know when the next few updates will be as this is an impossibly busy month. For you, too? If you do read, please drop off a review to encourage the Muse to resume her story-telling... she's quite got used to being distracted by other things.

Thank you for the lovely reviews. The Muse was inspired to write another chapter and is busy blocking the action in the next chapter to follow.

Chapter 47. The Two Shall Be as One

 ‘Here you are!’ a deep voice boomed, albeit softly, in the cavernous hall.

 ‘Ulrich?’ Merry said, looking up and then rubbing his bloodshot eyes. Elfwine lifted his head from the table where he’d been dozing and blinked. ‘Ulrich, what are you doing here?’

 ‘He asked me to come and fetch you,’ Bergil said. ‘I told him you wouldn’t come, that you are on the hunt and will not turn from the trail until you find the prey you are seeking.’

 ‘I doubt there is anything in those dusty records to save me,’ Ulrich said. ‘All tradition condemns me.’

 ‘There must be something,’ Merry insisted.

Ulrich shook his head. ‘I thank you for your efforts, master perian,’ he said. ‘But the hanging has been set for the day after tomorrow, and I doubt,’ his hand swept to encompass the nook where Merry sat, containing but a small portion of Gondor’s records, ‘I doubt very much that you will find anything in that time.’

Merry shook his head and pulled another stack of parchments towards himself.

Ulrich stepped forward to place a restraining hand upon the top of the stack. ‘I have a boon to ask of you,’ he said.

 ‘What is it?’ Merry asked, still tugging at the top sheet.

 ‘There is a handfasting, and your cousin the Thain expressed his desire that you could perform it,’ Ulrich said, ‘even as he acknowledged that he could not ask you to come away from this place.’

 ‘Who?’ Merry said.

 ‘The Thain’s daughter, and Fredegar’s son,’ Ulrich said.

Merry shook his head. ‘I ought to have seen that coming,’ he said. ‘Ferdi’s been predicting it for some days now.’

 ‘Your cousin is not well, you know,’ Ulrich said. ‘Well, actually, neither of them is. Freddy’s heart...’

 ‘I know about Freddy’s heart,’ Merry said impatiently. ‘What about Pippin?’

 ‘The fever weakened him,’ Ulrich said. ‘He asked the Mayor to perform the handfasting, as he lacks the strength, but he really wants you to do the deed.’

Merry looked to Bergil, who nodded soberly. ‘I heard him say so himself,’ he said. ‘He wasn’t complaining, just wishing aloud to Diamond.’

 ‘Please,’ Ulrich said. ‘Leave off this hopeless task. I don’t want to go to my death knowing that I’m the cause of sorrow on such a joyous occasion. They want you at the handfasting.’

 ‘When is it to take place?’ Elfwine asked.

 ‘They wanted to start as soon as possible,’ Ulrich said. ‘I do believe they’d wait long enough for you to wash and change into fresh clothing.’

 ‘Come, old friend,’ Elfwine said, giving Merry a poke. ‘We will not blot the handfasting with our absence. We will go, you will be a comfort to your cousin by performing the ceremony, we shall enjoy an hour or two of fresh air and sunshine, and then we will return, refreshed, to the task at hand, and all the better for the rest.’

Somehow Merry found himself persuaded. After he’d washed and dressed in his most festive clothes, he emerged from the Houses of Healing to a cheer from the hobbits assembled in the street outside. Elfwine stepped forward. He, too, had washed hastily and donned fresh clothing. ‘Come, Master Holdwine,’ he said. ‘It is too far for you to walk on booted feet, down to the Gate of the City and back again, so I offer my services.’ The prince of Rohan escorted Merry to his waiting horse and lifted the hobbit into the saddle. He next placed a beaming Estella behind Merry, and she squeezed her husband and placed a kiss on the back of his neck.

'Thank you for doing this,' she whispered. He nodded, not taking his eyes from Ulrich. What if the two hours spent celebrating robbed the Man of his life?

As if he divined Merry's thought, Ulrich saluted and turned to regale Ferdibrand with the story of his own wedding to sweet Merewyn. 

Ferdi was seated with Nell upon Bergil’s horse, Freddy and Melilot rode a horse led by Prince Faramir, and Pippin and Diamond were on the King’s own horse, led by Elessar and Arwen walking together. A jumble of Men and Hobbits walked together along the main street as it wound back and forth, leading down through intermediate gates to the entrance of the City. A song arose, and soon all were singing on the choruses. More Men joined the procession as it passed, until it was quite a great crowd that exited the great Gate and walked onto the Pelennor. Some waved banners, some had come from their tasks in their working clothes, some wore holiday attire. There were even some visiting Haradrim in the crowd, a scattered flock of exotic birds in their bright robes.

Laughing hobbit lasses darted out from the body of celebrating folk, gathering wildflowers. They were joined by girls of the City, picking flowers and weaving them into garlands and crowns. Forget-me-not’s sisters crowned her with bright blooms and melted into the circle forming around her and Frodovar, hobbits to the front of course, and curious Big Folk crowding behind them,

Merry raised his voice. ‘You are called here to witness a handfasting!’ he cried. A cheer arose from the crowd. ‘Frodovar? Ruby?’ he said, holding out his hands. “Ruby” was Forget-me-not’s love-name, in memory of Diamond’s older sister, gone these many years. The two stepped forward.

Merry took the left hand of each, for the left hand is where the heart-blood beats most strongly. He said,  ‘We are here to unite two lives, two hearts, two spirits,’ He lifted the hands he held, placing them palm together above hobbit head-height, and spoke the remainder of the traditional words as he wound a silken cord about them, tying them firmly together.

Ulrich listened soberly. He thought of his own sweet Merewyn, doomed to raise their children alone. He ought to have passed her by, let her go on to marry some upright young Man of Dindale... but the last dozen years had been the happiest of his life. Selfish beast that he was, he’d do the same over again, given the chance to repeat the past.

 ‘A handfasting is as binding as a wedding,’ Merry was saying. ‘Once the last knot is tied, Frodovar and Forget-me-not will be hobbit and wife in the eyes of all, their lives plaited together into one cord, to live, each for the other. The wedding to come will only complete what was begun this day.’

He waited, fingers holding the ends of the cord. ‘If for any reason this joining should not be, speak now your objections, or resolve to speak them never!’ In the silence that followed, he waited three breaths and then tied the two ends of the cord together, binding the two hands held high.

 ‘...And what has been joined here, before witnesses, let no one tear asunder!’ he ended loudly. ‘You are all invited to come seven years from now to witness a wedding!’ It was the earliest date Pippin and Diamond would agree to, for in seven years their daughter would be nine-and-twenty—a little young to marry, by hobbit standards, but not scandalously so.

A cheer arose from the crowd, but Merry turned to the parents of the newly joined couple. ‘Have you any words to say?’ he asked, looking from Pippin and Diamond on one side to Freddy and Melilot on the other.

Pippin stepped forward to kiss Forget-me-not and embrace his new son-in-love. ‘You may bring your hands down now,’ he whispered, ‘before your arms fall off!’

 ‘Bless you, my dears,’ Diamond said with a kiss and embrace of her own.

Freddy and Melilot moved to welcome their new daughter-in-love, and then the parents stood to  either side of Frodovar and Forget-me-not to accept congratulations from the many well-wishers crowding in about them. The King and Queen with their children were the first, of course, and Prince Faramir and his family. Bergil, amongst the guardsmen spread throughout the crowd, nodded his congratulations to Pippin and received a nod and a grin in return.

A song arose and hobbit lasses and girls of the City joined hands to dance about the newly-joined couple. ‘Spread out a picnic upon the field and you’d not know we were away from the Shire,’ Ferdi said from behind Pippin, with Pimpernel smiling at his side.

 ‘A bit warmer here than it is in the Shire, this time of year,’ Pippin answered, and Freddy laughed.

 ‘When your bones grow too old for northern winters, you ought to remove to the Southlands and join our little colony in Ithilien,’ he said.

Forget-me-not’s face brightened at the thought, and Pippin nodded thoughtfully.

 ‘Such an idea is not out of the question,’ he said. Merry shot him a sharp glance and he smiled, adding, ‘I think, however, that we will plan to return to the Shire as scheduled, at least this time.’

 ‘This time,’ Diamond said dryly. ‘I’m sure Farry would be glad to hear that.’

 ‘I have ordered a banquet to be laid in the great hall,’ Arwen bent to say. ‘Shall we remove there? While it is undoubtedly warmer here than in the Shire, it is not quite warm enough to recline upon the grass to feast.’

 ‘A goodly idea,’ Pippin said. ‘What do you say, Freddy? How about a feast to complete the celebration?’

 ‘If I were to drink the last sip of the cup this very moment, I could not wish for more,’ Fredegar said quietly. ‘I have all I ever wanted, and more... my blessings are too many to number.’

 ‘Aye,’ Pippin said, and Ulrich looked at him sharply, and then at Freddy and Melilot. There was a slight smile on Freddy’s face, but his wife was blinking back tears. Freddy? Was Fredegar, the hobbit Ulrich had so mercilessly tortured, the same hobbit who’d offered his life for Ulrich’s?

He put the thought firmly away. He had not been responsible for the death of a Halfling, not even under the influence of the wizard, and he vowed that he would never be. This night, after the feast, Bergil would return him to his dungeon cell, lock the shackles on his wrists and ankles, clang the door shut behind him... another dawn, a day, a night, and Ulrich would not greet the following day. He had earned the penalty, and he would pay it.

 ‘To the feast!’ Elessar said firmly. He signalled to the guardsman holding the reins of the waiting horses, and the Man started forward. The King raised his voice that the crowd might hear. ‘A feast! A feast in the great hall! All are welcome!’ A cheer arose, and those on the outskirts of the crowd began to turn back towards the Gate.

The Pilgrim watched. He’d been able to edge quite close to the hobbits in his colourful guise. The robes of a Southron were wonderfully concealing, and his head was conveniently covered by the headscarf wrapped over and around his head, a concealing fold pulled up to cover all but his eyes as was custom among the Haradrim when in the presence of those not of their Law. No one had noticed that his eyes were of the grey of Gondor, not even the other Southrons.

Now he was mentally rubbing his hands together at the bounty spread before him. It was all he could do to keep from laughing aloud. So many little ones to choose from! How the flames would sing, if only he could surround the creatures with a wall of fire, burning slowly inwards until all had been claimed and only blackened ruin remained. But no, he must be cautious, move slowly, not give himself away. Surely on the journey back up the winding street of the City he’d have his chance to snatch a lagging hobbit, and no one the wiser save himself, the hobbit, and the flames...

The crowd parted for the guardsman leading the horses. Elessar lifted Diamond to the saddle and turned to take up Pippin.

As Bergil waited to lift him to the saddle, Ferdibrand tendered his congratulations to Frodovar and kissed his niece on the cheek. ‘A Bolger!’ he said to her. ‘That’s the next best thing to marrying a Took.’ He was half Bolger himself, as it were.

The Pilgrim stiffened. It could not be! The Fox was dead; Brant had killed him with a blow... but there he stood, in the midst of the celebrating hobbits. A red mist of rage rose before his eyes, and he moved forward without thinking, drawing the wicked Southron blade that hung at his belt, intending to strike as swiftly as a snake, destruction and murder in his heart.

Chapter 48. In the Bargain

When Ulrich saw the flash of the blade he acted without thinking, pushing Ferdi down even as he felt hot fire trace a path along his ribs. The Southron snarled and turned, seeking other prey. Guardsmen drew their swords and pressed forward through the crowd.

Bergil threw himself between the attacker and the royal family, pulling his own sword from its scabbard, but the Southron was seeking blood not of Men but Halflings; the cruel knife found Frodovar and plunged deep. In the meantime, Brant was staring, aghast, at the advancing ring of swords. He had to wrench the situation from Pilgrim’s grasp or they’d both be slain in another instant! Even as the Pilgrim pulled the knife from the hobbit, Brant grabbed at the free hand of the hobbit lass whose hand was entwined with that of the staggering victim.

As the Southron tugged at Forget-me-not, Frodovar was pulled along as well, crying out in pain, weakly pawing at his bloodied breast. The Man cursed and roughly cut the cord binding the hobbits together, lifting the lass up and against him, a living shield. Forget-me-not kicked and screamed, trying to win free, to go to Frodovar who was now sinking to the ground. One of her flailing hands caught the headscarf and ripped it free, revealing no Southron but the mad Pilgrim of Rohan. Roughly he subdued her, bringing the knife to her throat.

‘Hold!’ he shouted to the guardsmen, backing rapidly until none stood behind him. ‘One step forward and she dies!’

 ‘Slay her and you will die at once,’ Elessar said, pushing past Bergil.

 ‘So long as you stay back, she will continue to breathe,’ the madman said, knife steady at Forget-me-not’s throat.

 ‘Ruby,’ Diamond moaned, and Pippin’s arms tightened about her as he stared, helpless, at his oldest daughter.

 ‘What do you want for her?’ Elessar said tightly.

The madman laughed. ‘What will you grant me?’ he mocked. ‘Even unto half your kingdom?’ He tightened his grip on Forget-me-not. ‘I will not require so much of you... a horse will suit my needs handsomely. I must warn you, however, that if your archers shoot me down as I ride away, this little one will die with me.’

Elfwine stepped forward. ‘Take my horse,’ he said, gesturing to the guardsman holding the reins of several horses. ‘He’s faster than anything Gondor can offer.’ He met Merry’s eye, and the small knight of the Mark nodded slightly in understanding, loosening his grip on his sword, standing straighter.

Elessar shot a look at the young prince of Rohan, but Elfwine was already taking his reins from the guardsman, knotting them and throwing them over the horse’s head. ‘Run well, Eaglewing,’ he murmured into the twitching ear. He stepped back and slapped the horse lightly on the side, sending it towards the madman.

 ‘Wait!’ Nell called, her voice high and clear in the deadly silence. The madman caught the reins of the horse with the hand holding the knife, but the blade settled once more against Forget-me-not’s throat before any of the guardsmen could move.

 ‘Nell, no!’ Pippin gasped. Ferdi still lay beneath Ulrich, stunned and breathless, but he struggled now to push the Man away, to rise.

 ‘He let me go upon a time,’ she whispered to her brother in an undertone that did not reach the ruffian. ‘Ruby has no such hope.’ Raising her voice, she called again, moving towards the madman holding her niece. ‘You don’t want her!’

 ‘Don’t I?’ the Pilgrim sneered. ‘Young and tender: ah the dancing and feasting to come!’ Nell knew that voice. It was the other that she was trying to reach.

 ‘She doesn’t know how to dance,’ she said, in as persuasive a tone as she could manage. ‘She’s too young... you don’t want her,’ she said again. ‘Take me instead. I know a thing or two about dancing. What delight we might share...’ she cooed, and then hardened her tone, ‘but not if you take her.’ Pimpernel infused her last words with as much scorn as she could muster.

 ‘Stand back!’ the ruffian rapped out, and the creeping guardsmen reluctantly halted. ‘Tell them to move away, or this little one will lose an ear, to start. I will cut her to pieces slowly, before your eyes!’

It was Brant talking, Nell thought. The Pilgrim wielded the knife, but Brant was trying to escape. Somehow his words did not ring true to her. He did not want to harm Forget-me-not, she thought, though the Pilgrim would not hesitate. She must reach Brant, somehow, in that dangerously confused Man standing before her, or she must use the Pilgrim’s madness against him. Suddenly she remembered...

 ‘You promised,’ she said softly, holding out her hands to the Man. ‘You made a promise to me; you know you did. “A promise made is a promise you’re honour-bound to keep.” I heard you say it more than once.’

 ‘True,’ the madman said. The Pilgrim cackled, but Brant’s eyes looked out at her thoughtfully.

 ‘Let her go, and take me with you,’ Nell said again. She feared the guardsmen would grow reckless and cause harm to her niece, so she moved forward quickly until she was just out of the madman’s reach.

 ‘Perhaps I’ll take the two of you!’ the Pilgrim chuckled nastily, but Nell still saw Brant’s eyes meeting her gaze, and she shook her head.

 ‘You don’t need her,’ she said again softly. ‘I am the only one you need.’

 ‘How would you know what I need?’ the madman sneered.

 ‘I know,’ Nell said, her voice ripe with promise, in a tone she’d only used with her husband until this moment.

 ‘Come to me, little darling,’ the madman crooned, loosening his grip on Forget-me-not, though the knife edge did not waver from its threat.

 ‘I am yours,’ Nell said in a soft sing-song. ‘You said I was; you promised.’ She gathered her nerve and stepped forward, adding, ‘Let her go.’

In an instant Forget-me-not was sprawling on the grass and the hand had taken Pimpernel in its merciless grip. She gave a gasp and protested, ‘You’re hurting me!’ Astonishingly, the grip was lessened; the madman held her loosely now.

 ‘Stand back,’ he growled. ‘I do not want to kill this one, but I will if I must.’

Elessar gestured, and the guardsmen fell back. The madman, holding Nell close, mounted the tall horse of Rohan and pulled at the reins, urging the horse backwards, away from the crowd. ‘Stand fast!’ he said. ‘Stand fast and no harm will come to this little one.’

Nell relaxed slightly. She recognised Brant’s voice, and knew he would keep that promise if he could.

When the horse was clear of the crowd, the madman reined him around and dug in his heels. The horse sprang into a gallop, and the Pilgrim’s laugh sounded high and wild as they made their escape.

 ‘Nell,’ Ferdi gasped, even as Pippin plucked at Elessar’s sleeve, saying ‘Archers!’

 ‘Too dangerous,’ the King replied, and to all the staring hobbits he added, ‘Wait. A moment only, I beg you, and then...’

Ulrich knelt by Frodovar’s side. He had complete confidence in Elessar, and so he paid no heed to the escaping madman with his hobbit hostage. This hobbit, lying before him, didn’t have a moment, or very many moments, from the look of him. Frodovar gasped for air through lips that were turning blue. He had coughed but a moment ago, and a bright froth of blood issued from his mouth.

Ulrich pushed aside Frodovar’s hands which were pressing against his chest and pulled the bloodied shirt open to reveal the wound. Air whistled in and out and bubbles formed in the blood at the edges. Ulrich had seen such a wound before; instinctively he pushed his hand against the opening, sealing the wound. ‘Breathe,’ he panted to the stricken hobbit. ‘Keep breathing.’

 ‘Listen to him, Fro,’ Freddy said, kneeling beside his son. His own face was very pale, but he held himself tightly in check, firmly ignoring the hammering of his heart in his chest. His son needed attention, and he would not allow himself to collapse and draw away needed help from Frodovar. ‘Breathe, son. I’m here beside you.’

Forget-me-not fell to her knees beside Frodovar, taking up his hand in hers. ‘Stay,’ she begged. ‘Please stay.’ Her eyes went from the face of her beloved to the horse retreating across the plain. No riders pursued. She wept fresh tears for the sacrifice of her aunt, and all for naught. If Frodovar died, then she didn’t care to live. They ought to have let the madman take her.

A whistle rang out across the plain, high and clear.

One moment they were galloping along, Pilgrim chortling and Brant grumbling by turns, the madman’s arm tight around her though he’d put the knife away, the bright Southron robes streaming behind him in the wind of their passing. In the next moment they were flying through the air. Nell was not quite sure what had happened, only that the horse was no longer beneath them. She felt the Man curl himself around her as they flew, and then there was a terrible jolt and she knew no more.

Chapter 49. Captured

One moment Elfwine’s horse was running at full speed away, bright flapping Southron robes seeming to taunt the watchers, and then the prince of Rohan raised his fingers to his lips and blew a whistled signal. The bright Southron robes tumbled through the air as the horse abruptly reversed course, running unburdened back to his master.

 ‘Nell,’ Ferdi gasped.

Bergil, sword in hand, leapt aboard his horse and sped over the plain to the crumpled pile of orange and yellow shining from the grass. Elessar was not far behind, taking only enough time to lift down Diamond and lift up Pippin and Ferdi to the saddle before him.

Cuillon fell to his knees beside Ulrich, fumbling in the bag that hung from his shoulder. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Keep your hand there until I tell you...’ To the anxious hobbits hovering close by, he said, ‘Not as much bleeding as there might be; it’s a good sign.’

Forget-me-not nodded absently, her eyes on Frodovar’s face as her hands tightened on his. ‘Breathe, Fro,’ she said. ‘Keep breathing.’

Bergil had reached the fallen and catapulted from the saddle before his horse had completely stopped. He approached warily, sword at the ready, but the old ruffian lay quite still, Nell still loosely clasped in his arms. ‘Nell,’ he said. ‘Pimpernel, do you hear me? Can you roll away?’

 ‘I...’ she murmured groggily, and said no more.

 ‘Nell,’ Bergil said again. Elessar rode up and swung down, unsheathing his sword. While he stood guard, Bergil moved behind the ruffian and with a quick movement stooped, pulled the madman’s arms behind him and tied them firmly. He reached around to remove the Southron blade from its sheath, even as Elessar lifted Nell in his arms.

Ferdi had slid from the King’s horse, biting off a cry as he jarred the tender soles of his feet. ‘Nell,’ he said. ‘Nell?’

She opened her eyes and smiled. ‘I knew you’d come,’ she said dreamily, and looking past him to her brother, still on the horse, she said, ‘I told you he wouldn’t harm me.’

 ‘You did at that,’ Pippin said. To Elessar he added, ‘Is she hurt?’

 ‘Nothing seems to be broken,’ the King answered.

 ‘I am well,’ Nell said vaguely. ‘Put me down.’ Elessar hesitated, and she pushed at him, her tone growing more insistent. ‘Put me down. Ferdi? Tell this great ruffian of a king to put me down!’

 ‘Nell,’ Ferdi said, and it seemed to be the only word he was able to form for the nonce. Elessar gently lowered Pimpernel into Ferdi’s waiting arms, and the two hobbits shared a long, fervent embrace.

 ‘It’s over,’ Nell whispered. ‘Finally over.’

Elessar lifted Nell and Ferdi to his saddle and began to lead his horse back to the Gate. They met in passing a group of guardsmen, trotting to Bergil’s support. When they were nearly to the Gate, a wild keening cry rose behind them. Looking around, the hobbits saw two guardsmen lifting the ruffian to his feet between them, urging him to walk towards the City Gate. He was struggling, fighting against them, and two more joined the fray, forcing him along.

Bergil mounted and rode beside them, sword held ready in the unlikely event the ruffian might break free.

Frodovar, Freddy, Melilot, Diamond and Forget-me-not were not in the crowd that awaited them, neither were Ulrich and Cuillon. ‘They took Fro to the Houses of Healing,’ Merry explained. ‘Cuillon seemed to think he had a good chance.’

Elessar lifted Pimpernel down that she might receive the relieved hugs and kisses from her children and other relations while he passed orders to the guardsmen to disperse the crowd and escort the hobbits back to the Houses of Healing. There would be no banquet this day. Then he restored her to the saddle and led his horse, bearing Pippin, Ferdi, and Nell, up the winding way to the Houses of Healing.

***

Cuillon emerged from Frodovar’s room wiping his hands on a soft cloth. ‘A good chance,’ he repeated. Ulrich sagged against the wall where he’d waited, out of the way. He would have had an excellent opportunity to make his escape in all the excitement, were he inclined to do so. No guardsman watched him; they were all occupied elsewhere. He’d waited, alone, outside the room where the healers and hobbits had gathered, waiting to hear if the young hobbit would live or succumb to the wound. Now that he’d heard the news, he wondered if he could gather enough energy to stir from the spot.

The head healer frowned. ‘You’re bleeding,’ he said.

 ‘Am I?’ Ulrich responded faintly. As Cuillon took his arm he found his legs did not seem to want to hold him. The healer was ready for a collapse, however, having read the signs in Ulrich’s face, and took Ulrich’s arm over his shoulders, supporting him to a nearby bench where he eased him down.

 ‘Let us take a look, shall we?’ Cuillon said. He opened Ulrich’s shirt and whistled low. ‘Glanced off a rib, and lucky thing, I think, or you wouldn’t have made it halfway up the hill.’ He raised his voice, calling to an assistant, and soon the shallow wound was washed and dressed.

Ulrich was sipping at a restorative cup of wine when the King arrived, escorting Pippin, Ferdi and Nell. Cuillon was quick to reassure them as to Frodovar’s condition. ‘He’ll be in bed for a week or two, but the wound is a small one—the knife blade was narrow and went straight in and out again, fairly straightforward...’

 ‘Yes, yes,’ Pippin interrupted, seeing his sister pale. ‘You expect a full recovery.’

 ‘Barring any complications,’ Cuillon cautioned.

 ‘Of course,’ Pippin said, thinking privately that the healers of Gondor were just as difficult to pin down as healers of the Shire. He sighed in relief for Forget-me-not’s sake. His daughter had formed a firm attachment of the heart with Frodovar in just the few weeks they’d been together; he doubted she’d even look at another hobbit were she to lose Fro now, even at her tender age.

Cuillon’s gaze sharpened; he’d heard the sigh. ‘You ought to be back in bed,’ he said. ‘We do not want that fever to recur.’

 ‘No indeed,’ Diamond said. ‘Ruby will be fine, she’ll stay by Fro’s side. They’ll soon be sending Freddy off to his bed. All the excitement is over for the day.’

 ‘You ought to seek your rest as well,’ Cuillon said to Ferdi and Nell. ‘Your testimony will be needed at the trial on the morrow.’

 ‘Trial?’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Of course,’ Nell said at the same time. There would be a trial for the record, though the outcome already be written. Someone needed to be there, to tell Brant’s story, for Brant himself might not be able. She found it in herself to pity the Man, especially now that he was safely captured and soon to be locked away.

Pippin turned to Ulrich. ‘I thank you,’ he said formally, with a little bow.

 ‘Thank me?’ Ulrich said.

 ‘For saving my daughter’s beloved,’ Pippin said. ‘I saw what you did; without your quick action he might have died where he lay.’

 ‘No...’ Ulrich protested, but Cuillon was nodding.

 ‘Undoubtedly,’ the healer said. ‘It was a close thing, but you did just what was needed, and in good time.’

 ‘Anyone could have done the same,’ Ulrich said.

 ‘But they didn’t; it was you,’ Ferdi said. ‘So say, “You’re welcome” and be done with it.’

 ‘You’re welcome,’ Ulrich said obediently.

 ‘Nice polite fellow, that Ulrich is,’ Ferdi said conversationally to all and no one. ‘I told you he was no ruffian.’

Ulrich snorted.

 ‘Another cup of wine?’ Cuillon said.

 ‘Thank you, but no,’ Ulrich said. ‘You’ll have me swimming away.’

 ‘Food, then,’ the head healer said. ‘I’ll have a plate made up for you.’ He surveyed the assembled hobbits with a stern eye. ‘I do believe that a meal would be in order for all. It is my understanding that hobbits need regular feeding.’

 ‘We can get along without it,’ Ferdi said, and Pippin poked him.

 ‘But we’d rather not,’ Pippin put in. ‘The rest of the hobbits walking up the hill will be all the better if a meal is readied against their arrival.’

 ‘A feast was promised, but I fear we must defer it for a week or so, until Frodovar is on his feet again,’ Cuillon said.

Ulrich said nothing. He did not have a week, after all.

An assistant brought Ulrich a well-laden plate, and he managed to eat about half of it before he found himself nodding. The excitement of the day, the wound, the wine, all combined to make him drowsy. The hobbits had settled in their various rooms in the Houses of Healing, conversing quietly, and the murmur of their voices, the harmony of the occasional song that rose, brought a calm and peaceful feeling to the stately halls.

Ulrich was debating whether to stretch out on the bench or on the floor alongside it when Bergil cleared his throat beside him. Ulrich looked up in surprise. He must have been dozing, for he hadn’t heard the guardsman’s boots on the stone floor.

When Ferdi came in search after seeing Nell settled with a plate of supper, Ulrich was already gone.

Chapter 50. A Murderer's Lot

Ferdibrand brought Ulrich’s breakfast to the dungeon once more. ‘Feels odd,’ he said. ‘I’d got quite used to seeing you free.’ It grieved him to see Ulrich weighed down again by shackles. On the other hand, he wondered if shackles were enough to keep the Pilgrim from doing harm.

 ‘It won’t be for long,’ Ulrich said quietly. ‘Just the one more meal, as it were.’

In a nearby cell the Pilgrim grumbled and threw his own breakfast at the bars. ‘You have a Fox to bring you your meals!’ he shouted. ‘Why not a poor old Pilgrim? I’d show him proper gratitude, I would!’

 ‘Wring your neck, more likely than not, or tear you limb from limb,’ Ulrich said under his breath. ‘He grumbled and threatened all the night, what he’d do to you if he got his hands on you once more. He took great pleasure in describing his plans in detail.’ He shuddered. ‘He’s worse than the worst that Saruman ever set upon the unfortunates in the Lockholes.’

 ‘What did I ever do to him?’ Ferdi said, honestly puzzled.

 ‘You cheated the flames!’ the Pilgrim roared, brandishing his bandaged hand. ‘This is how they punished me, for letting you get away. Ah, the pain, the agony of burning...’ His voice trailed away into intermingled wails and guttural sounds.

A muted call sounded, and soon there was the sound of approaching booted feet. Bergil called a halt outside the Pilgrim’s cell. ‘The King commands that you appear before him, on trial for your deeds,’ he said.

 ‘Deeds? My deeds? What deeds have I, a poor Pilgrim?’ the madman said, rising from his seat to shake the bars containing him. He dropped his voice to an even tone. ‘Come, let us reason together,’ he said. ‘I have done no wrong. I’m just a poor old Man, unjustly accused of crimes I did not commit.’ His voice rose suddenly as he stiffened, pointing to Ferdibrand. ‘He’s the one! He’s the one you want! He’s the one who did it all! He set the fires!’

 ‘Come along now,’ Bergil said over the tumult. The guardsman with the keys unlocked the cell and Bergil’s four companions moved to take the madman between them, half dragging and half carrying him out of the cell.

Bergil moved to Ulrich’s cell. ‘Had a bad night?’ he asked.

 ‘It was better after they took off the ropes and locked the shackles on him,’ Ulrich said. ‘He stopped shrieking and screaming about Easterlings, then, and settled to muttering for the most part.’

Bergil nodded. ‘I’ll see if I can get you moved to another cell,’ he said. ‘At least you’ll sleep this night.’

 ‘You think so?’ Ulrich said ironically. ‘My last night, and you think I’d spend it sleeping?’

 ‘I would,’ Bergil said practically. ‘So oft the dreams are better than the waking.’ He nodded to the keeper, who unlocked Ulrich’s cell. ‘Come along, Ferdi, they’ll want to hear your testimony.’

 ‘Nell,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘She’s to meet you outside the Hall,’ Bergil said. ‘Pippin is with her, and Merry.’

This trial went much as the previous one the hobbits had seen, except that Elessar had no compunctions about ruling on this case. Elfwine offered evidence about the disappearance of his kinsman, whose bones were found later outside the hut where the Pilgrim had sheltered. Ferdi and Merry gave their testimony about the ordeal in the herdsmen’s shelter, and Nell told her part about that and about her own captivity.

She also tried to speak on Brant’s behalf, for as she’d anticipated, the Pilgrim held sway and did not allow Brant any expression of his own thoughts. The King nodded gravely; he’d known other Men whose minds had broken under such torture. There was no known remedy.

The end was about as everyone expected. The madman was found guilty of the crimes he’d been accused of perpetrating, even Elfalas’ death and that of the guardsman, the Southron, and the half-wit of Dindale, though he raged that there was no proof to tie him to those deaths. There was a short delay as Elessar was pronouncing his doom; Elfwine stepped forward to argue that King Eomer ought to have the right to try and execute the madman, but Elessar disagreed and proceeded to the sentencing: death by hanging at the next dawning.

 ‘At least Ulrich will have some company,’ Pippin muttered at Merry’s side.

 ‘He already had an offer of company,’ Ferdi protested softly. ‘I will stand by him, as I said, even though I must breathe the same air as that creature there.’ He nodded at the madman as the guards stepped forward to drag him back to the dungeons to await his doom.

 ‘He will not hang, not if I have anything to say about it,’ Merry said grimly. ‘Time is wasting.’ He turned on his heel and marched out, pushing his way through the crowd, back to the dusty records. Elfwine caught up to him when he was halfway to the door and the two exited together, the young prince bending to catch Merry’s words as he laid his plans for their last-ditch assault upon the parchments.

***

That evening Pippin accompanied Ferdi as he brought Ulrich’s last dinner. It was difficult to hold a conversation with the Pilgrim muttering near at hand. The madman grew more agitated at seeing the hobbits, and though the guardsmen escorting Pippin and Ferdi spoke sharply, the Pilgrim continued to disrupt the conversation.

 ‘Bergil had said he’d get Ulrich moved to another part of the dungeons,’ Pippin said to the guardsmen.

One of them nodded and answered, ‘I’ll check on it. Perhaps they thought it too much bother, what with...’ he hesitated. He’d been about to say what with the hanging coming so soon. The others heard the unspoken words, of course, for the hanging loomed ever closer.

‘The sooner the better,’ Ulrich murmured wearily. ‘Better than being locked up with only a madman for company.’

‘He goes by two names as well!’ Pilgrim said brightly. With an expressive gesture he said, ‘Give the Man a sword and let them fight it out! Let the best Man win!’ He cackled with laughter.

The madman’s face changed subtly and he said in Brant’s voice, ‘Sooner is better. I cannot escape him.’

‘Why would you want to escape me?’ Pilgrim shouted. ‘Many’s the time I helped you escape! Why, the Easterlings would have roasted you, were it not for old Pilgrim!’ He subsided into grumblings and chucklings while the hobbits looked on in horror and pity.

The guardsman shook his head and left them, promising to return as quickly as possible.

It was a long time before he returned, long enough for the gravy on Ulrich’s plate to begin to congeal, but when he did, he gestured to Ulrich after the keeper unlocked the cell. ‘You’re moving up in the world,’ he said. ‘We found you a new home, quite a valuable piece of land, actually, with a view.’

The hobbits accompanied Ulrich’s shuffling walk up the ramp to the next level, and then the next, and finally to the new cell which of a wonder had a window opening onto the sky. ‘Stars,’ Ulrich whispered.

 ‘It’s all I could do,’ the guardsman said quietly.

 ‘Thank you,’ Ulrich said, holding out a shackled hand.

The guardsman took his hand, gave it a squeeze, released it again. ‘I’ll be on duty when you take the last walk,’ he said, ‘or I’d walk with you. Grace go with you.’

 ‘And with you,’ Ulrich said. The guardsman nodded and turned away.

 ‘What about you?’ Ulrich said to the hobbits. ‘Oughtn’t you seek your rest?’

 ‘I will wait with you,’ Ferdi said. ‘I told you I’d go the whole last stretch, didn’t I?’ He turned a stern eye upon Pippin. ‘You, on the other hand, cousin, need your rest.’

 ‘I...’ Pippin said, but Ferdi would brook no contradiction.

 ‘If you don’t go back to the Houses of Healing by the time the moon rises, Diamond will send healers to carry you off, and how would that look? The Thain of the Shire being carried off to his bed as if he were no more than a wayward lad?’

 ‘Indeed,’ Pippin said dryly.

Ulrich held out his hand with a rattling of chain. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

Pippin took the hand. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said, ‘though I don’t know what cause you’d have to thank me.’

 ‘For the gift of friendship,’ Ulrich said.

Ferdi looked down, cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. ‘I certainly cannot offer him thanks,’ he said truculently. ‘Certainly, he caused me to look at you with new eyes, to become your friend. But now I’ve gained a friend, only to lose him. I’d have been better off without your interference, cousin.’

 ‘Indeed not,’ Pippin said, and turning on his heel he left before any more words could be said.

***

Late that night the three jurors met. ‘Anything?’ Rion said. Turamir leaned forward in his chair.

 ‘Nothing,’ Cuillon said in discouragement. ‘My assistants have gone over the laws and precedents in the records of Minas Tirith until they could recite them in their sleep...’

 ‘But found nothing to save Ulrich?’ Turamir said, his expression grieved.

 ‘Once sentence has been pronounced, it has been summarily carried out. We’ve found no case where a man was sentenced and then somehow escaped his doom,’ Cuillon said.

 ‘Beregond...’ Rion began.

 ‘Beregond’s hearing was delayed,’ Turamir said. ‘Not the sentence. He waited long for his case to be heard. Had the Lord Denethor not succumbed to madness, he’d have had Beregond executed on the spot for leaving his post and spilling blood in the Hallows, without even a trial.’ He grinned without humour. ‘Once the sentence was pronounced, it took effect immediately. He was at once raised to the position of Captain of the White Company. Had the King decided otherwise, he would have been as swiftly put to the sword.’

He had stood at attention in the Hall of Kings that day, with the rest of Beregond’s Company, ready to witness his death. He had watched Targon, Beregond’s oldest friend, draw his sword, ready to give the death stroke at the King’s command. He had stood stunned with all the rest when the King pronounced Beregond’s “doom”: life and honour instead of death and disgrace. He had shouted himself hoarse in the joyous aftermath, and nearly drunk himself into a stupor in the celebration afterwards... Now the old guardsman dragged his thoughts back to the present.

 ‘No hope,’ he gritted. ‘What good is law when it condemns an honourable Man?’

 ‘What good is law when it is set aside on a whim?’ Rion countered.

 ‘This is no whim,’ Turamir said hotly, but Cuillon held up restraining hands.

 ‘One Man cannot bend the law to his will,’ he said, ‘no more may three Men. The Council, perhaps...’

 ‘Given time to study the matter thoroughly, and chew it to death, and tear it to tatters in lengthy discussion,’ Rion said sourly. ‘It is a bad business,’ he added, the worst epithet he could employ.

 ‘A bad business,’ Cuillon agreed, shaking his head. ‘A bad business indeed.’ He sighed. ‘Who is the murderer in this?’

 ‘Not Brandir,’ Turamir said. ‘He executes by command only.’

 ‘Certainly not the executioner,’ Cuillon agreed. He thought to himself that it would be difficult, from this point on, to look at his image in the mirror. He surely felt like a murderer.

Chapter 51. Into Eternity 

In the depths of the night there sounded the slow marching of booted feet, which approached inexorably until they stopped just outside Ulrich’s cell. The condemned Man dragged his gaze from the window, where he’d watched the stars as he and Ferdi had quietly talked the dark hours away. There was a jingle of keys as the keeper unlocked the cell.

A Man dressed all in black, without the relieving silver of a guardsman, stepped forward. ‘Ulrich,’ he said.

 ‘Brandir,’ Ulrich said. ‘It has been too long.’

 ‘Not long enough, I think,’ the King’s executioner said.

 ‘I don’t blame you,’ Ulrich said quickly. ‘If anything, I bless the fact that it is you. You’ll make it quick.’

 ‘I’ll do my best, old friend,’ Brandir said. He held out his hand, and Ulrich took it. Suddenly the executioner threw his arms about the prisoner, embracing him tightly, laying a brother’s kiss upon his cheek before releasing him. ‘I must take my leave of you now,’ he said, ‘for there’ll be no time later.’

 ‘Grace go with you, my friend,’ Ulrich said.

The executioner nodded and stepped back. ‘I must go on before you,’ he said, and left. His rapid steps sounded in the corridor, a door slammed, and all was silent once more.

 ‘It’s time,’ Bergil said, standing at the cell opening. This would not normally be one of his duties, but he’d asked the King for this place.

 ‘I’m ready,’ Ulrich said, though he knew Ferdi would hear the lie in his voice. The hobbit said nothing, however, only nodded.

He shuffled out of his cell and into the courtyard, where they waited under the stars which were not yet dimming. It would be a long walk down through every level of the City to the Gate, and the gallows just beyond, and they must arrive before the dawning to be in good time. The stars would shine on them for much of the walk. They’d begin to dim only as the end was near.

At last he heard the muttering and cursing that announced the Pilgrim’s arrival from a deeper level of the dungeons. Bergil raised his voice to order the march, and they set off. It was not a brisk march, but a slow one with the dirge of a single drum to accompany them.

Ulrich shivered a little as they walked down the darkened streets, the echo of the drum and the guardsmen’s boots sounding unnaturally loud against the stone walls and shuttered windows. No light shone save the moon and stars above and the torches that accompanied the slow parade.

At the beginning he’d thought he’d be eager to get this over, but now it all seemed to be going much too quickly. Each step brought him closer to his doom. On the long climb, upon his arrival, he’d thought the streets stretched to eternity. Now the walk was shorter than he remembered, and each level passed swiftly beneath his feet.

***

 ‘I wish you all the best in life,’ Fredegar said quietly to his weeping family, who stood all round and held to him as if they’d never let him go. ‘It has been a good life, and longer than I deserved.’

 ‘Never say that, Freddy,’ Melilot sobbed. ‘Never.’

 ‘O yes,’ Freddy said gently. ‘If the wizard had had his way, I’d’ve died within a few days of leaving the Lockholes, his parting gift to my family. Look at how I’ve spited him, living so many years longer than he intended!’

He pulled Melilot around to his side, settled his arm around her, and looked around the circle of loved ones. ‘It has been a good life,’ he said again, ‘and I go to a better place, they say, or why would they call it “the gift of Eru”?’ He smiled. ‘I will not even be lonely for you all, for they say there is no time there. It will seem like no time at all that I must wait for you...’

He squeezed Melilot gently as his daughters gulped back their tears and his sons blinked hobbitfully. ‘You must be of comfort to one another,’ he said, ‘and know that my love is ever with you.’

 ‘But why?’ Perevar whispered.

 ‘You know very well why,’ Fredegar returned calmly. ‘His oldest son is only ten years of age, his youngest daughter a babe. Why should they be condemned to grow up fatherless? You’ve had a father all your growing years, and you’re nearly grown now...’ He looked once more at each beloved face. ‘I might be taken from you at any time, but there’s no need for him to be taken from them.’

 ‘O Father!’ Violet, his youngest sobbed. Merivar took her hand, and she buried her face in her older brother’s shoulder until she could control her tears once more. Freddy smiled and moved forward to take her in his arms; she clung to him and wept softly, then gained control once more, straightened again, wiping her face defiantly, setting grief aside.

He patted her back, whispering, ‘Someone wiser than I’ll ever be once said that not all tears are evil.’

Melilot nodded, her own face displaying evidence of sorrow. Freddy returned to her, to give her the comfort of a final embrace.

 ‘I love you,’ Freddy whispered. ‘I love you all.’ His heart was so full that he might drop on the spot, and what good would that do Ulrich? He gave Melilot a last kiss and then turned to Faramir, waiting silently. ‘I’m ready,’ he said.

The Prince of Ithilien nodded and picked him up, to carry Freddy to the waiting horse, and thence on horseback, down to the Gate.

Frodovar, from his bed, took as deep a breath as he was able and began to whisper a song to sing his father on his way. Forget-me-not, holding his hand, took up the tune, and soon all the hobbits were singing even as the tears streamed down their faces.

 ‘Are you sure about this?’ Faramir said, lifting him into the saddle.

 ‘I am doing the right thing,’ Freddy said in reply. ‘It is not always the easiest thing to do, but I choose to do it all the same.’

The Prince of Ithilien nodded, his thoughts going back to the first Halfling he’d ever met, who’d said much the same thing to him upon a time.

The song swelled behind them as they rode into the night.

***

The Gate loomed before them in the light of the torches and the fading stars, and then they were through. The executioner awaited them on the platform, standing with the King and the jurors. Others stood quietly nearby; it seemed quite a number of Men of the City had risen early this day. Hobbits stood there too, among them Pimpernel, for her testimony had helped convict the madman, and though many had tried to dissuade her she maintained that she must be there.

The drum fell silent; its voice would not be heard again until the actual moment of execution. Guardsmen wrestled the Pilgrim up the tall, narrow steps and onto the platform, but he continued to fight them so fiercely that one of them finally stunned him with the blow of a gauntleted fist to get him to stand still for the noose. The executioner did his work quickly and competently and stepped back again before the prisoner could revive and try to strike out, even shackled as he was.

Next he stepped up to Ulrich, but before he could lower the noose over his friend’s head hoofbeats rang on the stones and Prince Faramir hailed the King.

 ‘A moment,’ Elessar said to Brandir, and the Man in black nodded and took the rope away again.

 ‘I have come to take his place,’ Freddy called from the horse’s back. ‘We are just in time, I take it!’

 ‘Your timing is impeccable,’ Elessar said, ‘though I wouldn’t say you’ve come in good time.’

 ‘I offer my life for his,’ Freddy said, ‘and by tradition you are honour-bound to grant me this boon.’

 ‘I have no choice in the matter,’ Elessar agreed reluctantly. It gave him no joy to save his old friend in this manner.

 ‘But I do,’ Ulrich said, standing straighter even as Brandir looked in amazement from one speaker to another. ‘I will not accept this gift, Master Perian, no matter that it is freely given, or that you think to exchange your short remaining time for a longer time for me. Not one of us knows our end. You could live another twenty years, and I could be kicked in the head by a horse on the morrow.’

 ‘You don’t know...’ Freddy began, but Ulrich overruled him.

 ‘I refuse the gift, I say,’ he shouted. Lowering his voice, he said, ‘Forgive me my rudeness, Master Fredegar, but I stand on my words. I will not let the noose pass to you. On my honour, I’ve never taken a life and I refuse to do so at this late date.’ He turned his head to nod at the executioner.

Brandir returned the nod and without waiting for the King’s order he settled the noose over Ulrich’s head, adjusting the knot. ‘It ought to break your neck when you hit,’ he whispered. ‘That’s as quick as I can make it.’

 ‘My thanks,’ Ulrich whispered in return.

Elessar walked to stand before the Pilgrim, slumping dazed in the grip of the guards. ‘Have you any final words?’ he asked.

The madman straightened, swallowed hard, started to shake his head but was constrained by the rope. He seemed to waken then, to realise his circumstances. His voice rose in panic. ‘I didn’t do anything!’ he cried. ‘I’m innocent! You cannot do this! You cannot condemn an innocent man!’

The guards tightened their grip as the King turned away and walked the few steps over to Ulrich. ‘Old friend,’ he said.

 ‘Old friend,’ Ulrich responded.

Elessar embraced him suddenly, heedless of shackles and rope. ‘Go with grace,’ he whispered. With a kiss for Ulrich’s cheek he stepped back.

 ‘And you,’ Ulrich said. He took a deep breath. Not long now.

Cuillon stepped to the King’s side, his eyes steady on Ulrich’s. ‘Do you have any final words?’ he asked.

 ‘I’ve said all I need to say,’ Ulrich responded. He looked to Ferdibrand, standing nearby, the eastern sky beginning to lighten beyond him. ‘My thanks.’

Ferdi nodded, a sharp jerk of his head. He did not trust himself to speak.

As King and head juror stepped away the drum began the final roll. Ulrich closed his eyes, knowing that he would not hear the last beat. During the drumroll Brandir would walk to the lever, give it a sharp pull, and the two condemned men would drop to the ends of their ropes. The drummer would count the slow march of seconds until the passing of a long minute, and then he would stop.

The drum rolled on, seeming to swell into eternity.

Chapter 52. The Quality of Mercy

The drum did stop, however, and to his amazement Ulrich found himself still standing and breathing. He opened his eyes, wondering.

A horse reared before the platform; the sound of its hurried approach had been covered by the drum. ‘Hold!’ rang out two voices in unison. ‘Hold!’

 ‘What is it?’ Elessar said, stepping forward. Brandir the executioner released the lever he’d been about to pull and took a deep breath. Dawning or no dawning, he vowed he’d seek a good, stiff drink when this morning’s work was done.

 ‘The precedent!’ Merry shouted, brandishing a parchment in the growing light. ‘The precedent!’

The joyous laugh of the young prince of Rohan rang upon the morning air. ‘We found it in your dusty old records!’ he cried. ‘Mouldering away, they were, but we found it nevertheless!’

The King strode to the edge of the platform to seize the parchment from the hobbit. He read rapidly, curling the sheet between his fingers as his eye travelled down the page. His stiff, cold expression thawed, hope dawned and turned to joy and then he jerked around, waved an arm to Brandir and said, ‘Release him!’

 ‘What, me?’ said the madman hopefully.

 ‘I think not,’ Brandir said, moving to Ulrich, loosening the noose and drawing it gently over his friend’s head and letting it fall empty.

Bergil stepped up to undo the shackles on Ulrich’s wrists and ankles. Ulrich stood transfixed in wonder, absently rubbing his wrists.

 ‘If you wouldn’t mind...’ Brandir murmured, pointing at the platform under Ulrich’s feet.

 ‘Oh. O yes,’ Ulrich said, shuffling aside onto the firmer foundation.

Elessar gestured to the jurors, and all came to stand before Ulrich. ‘It is in the records of Minas Anor,’ the King said, ‘though ancient, still to be considered as a part of the history and law of Gondor.’ He passed the record to Cuillon, who perused the sheet eagerly. ‘It seems a Man condemned to die was to be hanged at dawn outside the City Gate. An attack came as the sentence was about to be carried out; he was cut loose by chance and grabbed up the sword of a fallen guardsman. He fought bravely and the attack was beaten off by the defenders of the City.’

Elessar smiled broadly and went on, ‘The hanging was put off until the next day, but in view of the fact that he had not received proper justice -- he was not hanged on the day he was sentenced to die -- and in light of his bravery, it was determined that he must be re-tried, and re-sentenced.’

 ‘And?’ Ferdi demanded.

 ‘And he did not hang,’ Elessar finished. ‘He went on to rise in the ranks, to become one of the finest Captains of the Guard of his time.’

 ‘Well,’ Ferdi said. ‘It appears, Ulrich, that you have prospects for a bright future.’

 ‘But what about me?’ the Pilgrim yelled.

The King spared the madman a pitying glance as he and the jurors ushered Ulrich from the platform, Ferdi following close behind.

Nell greeted Ulrich warmly, kissed Ferdi, and gave Merry an enthusiastic hug. ‘I knew you could do it, if anyone could!’ she said. ‘You’ve always been the booksiest of all my cousins.’

 ‘I think that’s a compliment,’ Merry said with a laugh.

 ‘It is!’ Nell said stoutly.

The Sun was rising, peeping over the Eastern range, smiling to greet the new day.

 ‘It’s past sunrise!’ the Pilgrim yelled desperately. ‘I did not hang as I was called to do! Save me! Please! Have mercy!’

King Elessar turned a grave face towards the hobbits. ‘You were witnesses against him,’ he said. ‘We have only your evidence; the others who died, their deaths cannot be laid directly at his feet.’

 ‘What are you saying, Strider?’ Merry asked slowly.

 ‘I know it is not the Hobbit way to take life,’ the King said. ‘If it is your wish, I will grant him mercy, commute his sentence.’

 ‘Commute his sentence...?’ Ferdi said, suspicion and puzzlement in his tone. ‘I do not understand.’ He did not begin to comprehend the ways of Men. Did this mean the madman would go free? He didn’t like the sound of that.

Evidently Nell didn’t either. Her grip tightened to a stranglehold on Ferdi’s arm. She drew a shaking breath, and then whispered, ‘I thought you said his madness cannot be cured.’

 ‘It cannot,’ Elessar said gently.

 ‘Then what do you mean?’ Merry insisted.

 ‘I mean, Merry, that he would not hang,’ Elessar said, going to one knee to be at hobbit eye-level. ‘Neither would he go free.’

 ‘Then, what?’ Merry said, confused. For some reason the spectre of Gollum, held captive by the Wood Elves, rose in his thoughts.

 ‘He would spend his remaining days locked safely away,’ Elessar said.

 ‘In the dungeons,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Yes,’ Elessar nodded.

 ‘Never to be released,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Never,’ the King affirmed.

Ferdi and Merry exchanged glances, but Nell was looking at the madman on the platform, who’d been following the conversation, it seemed. Now he looked directly at Nell and said, ‘Please.’

Nell stepped forward a little.

The madman straightened, saying, ‘Help me. Please! Have mercy!’

Nell nodded to herself. Pilgrim was speaking, but Brant’s eyes looked directly into hers.

All eyes were on Pimpernel. ‘Nell?’ Elessar said quietly. ‘If it is your wish to save him...’

Nell took a deep breath and steeled herself. ‘It is my wish,’ she said clearly. She did not look at Ferdi, for she imagined he looked stricken, sick with fear for her... and though he would not admit it, for himself as well. She looked back to the Pilgrim, seeing the desperation in Brant’s eyes even as the wild grin broadened at her words.

 ‘I would cry mercy: I wish to save him,’ she echoed. She swallowed hard and met the King’s gaze, with such a look in her eye that he did not turn away to order the noose removed from the madman’s neck;  he waited to hear what else she might say. ‘Hang him,’ she said firmly.

Elessar hesitated, and then understanding came into his face. ‘As you wish,’ he said, and rising he gestured to the drummer. The madman’s mouth was moving but mercifully the drumroll covered his words. Ferdi and Merry were still looking at Pimpernel in astonishment but her eyes were fixed on Brant’s, right up to the time the executioner pulled the lever and the madman dropped, snapping the rope taut.

The drumroll continued for a long moment and then stopped.

Ulrich, his face devoid of colour, sagged against Elfwine. ‘I don’t know...’ he gasped. ‘...don’t know what’s the matter with me...’

 ‘I do,’ the young knight of the Mark said grimly, and without another word he helped the staggering man onto his horse, mounted lightly behind him, and cantered to the Gate, on his way to the Houses of Healing. It would be a fine irony, he reflected, for Ulrich to die of heart failure after escaping hanging, but he wouldn’t be surprised at such a thing, after all the man had been through.

Nell watched the gentle sway of the body against the brightening sky for some minutes. ‘Is he dead?’ she asked at last.

Elessar gestured to the executioner, who had long experience in such matters.

Brandir made sure and indicated that life had departed. His expertise had caused the madman’s neck to be broken as he fell, and death came not long after.

 ‘I know that the practice is to leave him until sunset,’ Nell said tonelessly, her eyes still fixed on Brant, ‘but would you please order him cut down?’

 ‘As you wish,’ Elessar said, and raised his voice to call out. ‘Cut him down!’

The executioner waved and complied. Guardsmen caught the body, brought it out from under the gallows, and laid it gently on the ground. Nell stumbled forward, Ferdi and Merry following belatedly, and stood gazing down. To her eyes he looked strangely peaceful in repose.

 ‘What will happen to him now?’ she whispered.

 ‘He’ll be buried out there,’ Brandir said quietly, his arm sweeping the Pelennor, ‘in an unmarked grave, if no one comes to claim the body.’

 ‘Buried and forgotten,’ Nell said.

 ‘I don’t know that he’ll be forgotten,’ Merry said wryly. Ferdi stood mute.

 ‘His name was Brant,’ Nell said. ‘He was a Man of the City, who marched into darkness and doom upon a time, when Shadow covered all and hope was all but lost.’

 ‘Yes,’ Merry said, remembering that time.

 ‘But he was not yet a Man, in truth,’ Nell went on. ‘Too young to be reckoned a Man, too old to be called a boy... a foolish youth,’ she said softly. ‘He marched with the Army of the West, from despair into destruction... and was lost.’

Ferdi fumbled at the purse that hung from his belt. ‘Here,’ he said, roughly thrusting the bag at the executioner once he managed to jerk it free. ‘We claim the body, and ask that you’d bury it with other Men of the City, and mark the grave with his name.’

 ‘Brant,’ the executioner said. ‘I had an uncle by that name. I’m called after him.’

 ‘What happened to him?’ Merry asked.

 ‘He marched to the Black Gate and never returned,’ Brandir said, ‘He...’ His blank look was replaced by dawning comprehension. ‘No,’ he whispered.

 ‘I’m sorry,’ Nell said softly. ‘He saved me, you know, even in the depths of his madness.’

 ‘Did he?’ Brandir asked numbly.

 ‘He did,’ Ferdi said.

Brandir seemed to notice the bag in his hand for the first time. He hastily shoved it back at Ferdibrand. ‘Take this,’ he said. ‘I’ll see he has a proper burial, and remembrance.’

 ‘Thank you,’ Nell said. ‘We can go now.’ She turned away and walked towards the Gate.

***

There was a hurried clatter of hoofbeats and a shout outside the Houses of Healing.

 ‘That doesn’t sound good,’ Pippin said from where he’d stationed himself to watch. He’d been banned from the hanging by the healers, not that he’d ever listened to healers before, but Diamond was a force to be reckoned with.

 ‘Aid! Aid is needed!’ came the voice of the young Prince of Rohan. ‘A Man is ill!’

Healers hurried past the waiting hobbits and out the door.

 ‘Surely I may stir from this spot,’ Pippin said reasonably, but Diamond shook her head in stubborn insistence.

 ‘Cuillon said no closer to the door than this, and I’m holding you to your promise,’ she said.

 ‘It wasn’t a promise,’ Pippin said. ‘I was just trying to make him feel better about this wretched business by agreeing with him at the time.’

 ‘It was a promise,’ Diamond said, shaking her finger in his face, ‘and...’

The healers returned, bearing Ulrich.

 Pippin gasped the Man’s name, adding in a stunned whisper, ‘but how that he be brought here? They wouldn’t hang him and then heal him, would they?’

 ‘O Pip,’ Diamond moaned, and suddenly he hugged her tightly.

 ‘Freddy succeeded,’ he whispered, closing his eyes and sagging against Diamond as the realisation sank in. ‘O cousin.’

A hobbit peeping from the doorway of Frodovar’s room had reached the same conclusion; soon fresh sounds of grief were heard from Freddy’s family.

It took some time for Elfwine to learn of the sorrow he’d engendered; he hovered just out of the way as the healers worked over Ulrich, finally administering a draught of some sort and propping him, half-sitting, in a bed. Ulrich continued to gasp for air for some moments before the draught took effect, calming him and easing him to drowsiness.

 ‘He’ll sleep now,’ old Eregeth said, taking the young prince firmly by an elbow and escorting him from the room. ‘You may tell his friends that all is well with him.’

Elfwine went to assure the hobbits that Ulrich had taken no harm; the healers said he’d collapsed from strain but rest and care would put him right once more. To his wonder the news did not cheer his friends; they continued to weep as in despair. Finally he heard Melilot murmur brokenly, ‘Freddy,’ and he understood.

 ‘No!’ he said, ‘not at all! Master Fredegar lives! Prince Faramir will return him to the Houses shortly!’

He could not make them understand, however, until Faramir himself rode up to the entrance and carried Freddy into the Houses of Healing. Freddy was joyfully mobbed by his astonished loved ones, all babbling at once, until Faramir picked him up again and bellowed at the top of his voice for quiet.

 ‘I should say so!’ Eregeth said, emerging from Ulrich’s room. Glaring at the Prince of Ithilien, she snapped, ‘You might start with yourself, my lord. Indeed, the very thought...’ Muttering, she returned to her duties.

Prince Faramir quietly explained to the now-listening hobbits the events that had transpired outside the Gate. ‘And now,’ he concluded, ‘I think you all ought to settle to your breakfasts, and hold all other questions until Master Fredegar has rested and eaten!’ His glance went to Pippin, half-leaning on Diamond. ‘As well as you, Ernil. Should Cuillon return to find you in this state he’ll pop you into bed for another week!’

 ‘We cannot have that,’ Pippin said, straightening, but he allowed Diamond to escort him back to his bed and serve him his breakfast there. Truly he was drained by the events of the day, and early breakfast was not yet over!

***

Ulrich was better after a day’s rest; Pippin was, as well, and even Freddy seemed stronger.

The Hall of Kings was more crowded than before, if possible, as Bergil escorted Ulrich to judgment.

 ‘What makes you think this will come out any different than the last trial?’ Ulrich whispered to the guardsman.

 ‘You’re not shackled, to start,’ Bergil returned in an undertone. ‘I’d call that a good omen.’

All proceeded as before, according to custom. The trumpets and the herald announced the King’s entrance, the accusation was read, and Ulrich was called to stand forth. The jurors were introduced, and Ulrich had a terrible feeling that it was all a dream, and the outcome would be the same as before. They were simply going through the motions.

Elessar swept the room with his glance. ‘Are there any here, to speak in behalf of the accused?’

Cuillon stepped forward. ‘I choose to speak in behalf of the accused,’ he said.

 ‘Do you excuse yourself from the case?’ the King asked, leaning forward.

 ‘I do not,’ Cuillon said. ‘I offer the thoughts of an impartial observer.’ He went on to detail his observations of Ulrich from the time of the first trial forward.

Though no one from the town of Dindale was represented, more Men pressed forward, Bergil and other guardsmen amongst them, and hobbits spoke, Pippin and Ferdibrand foremost among them, and finally the King added his testimony.

Next came the questioning of the witnesses. The jurors were not as thorough as in the previous trial. For the sake of the hobbits’ sensibilities, they referred often to the earlier testimony, asking that the hobbits’ words be taken from that record and inserted into the record for the current trial. No one seemed to object to this practice.

 ‘The evidence is clear,’ Cuillon said at last. ‘Reinadan tormented you in word and deed, offering no comfort and no aid in your extremity, and had not his actions been interrupted by the scouring of the Shire, you would have undoubtedly died under his treatment.’

 ‘Not Reinadan alone,’ Robin protested.

 ‘And he was acting under orders,’ Budgie put in.

 ‘He was under the wizard’s compulsion,’ Freddy clarified.

 ‘Nevertheless, I think we have summed up the situation adequately,’ Cuillon said. ‘I thank you for your patience in answering our questions a second time.’

Freddy seemed about to protest but the healer caught his eye and gave just the slightest shake of his head.

Next Cuillon called the King to testify. He asked how Elessar had met Ulrich and listened patiently to the story until the King reached the part about the grave.

 ‘Was there a marker on the grave?’ Cuillon asked.

 ‘There was a stone,’ the King answered.

 ‘Did it have a marking?’ Cuillon said.

 ‘No,’ Elessar said.

 ‘Who was buried there? Did you hear a name?’ Cuillon pressed.

Elessar looked to his old friend and back to the jurors. ‘Ulrich said it was his cousin Reinadan, drowned in a storm,’ he said slowly.

 ‘I see,’ Cuillon said, stepping back and exchanging glances with the other jurors. ‘It appears Reinadan is dead.’

He turned to Ulrich and bowed. ‘It seems we have a case of mistaken identity,’ he said.

 ‘No, that’s not it at all,’ Ulrich said, for he was an honorable Man and had put all lies behind him.

 ‘O yes,’ Cuillon said, nodding sagely. ‘You are not the same Man who terrorised the hobbits in the Lockholes. That much is clear.’

 ‘Not the same Man at all,’ Turamir said gruffly, and Rion added his agreement.

Cuillon thanked the King for his testimony and bowed in dismissal. Elessar resumed the throne.

‘Very well,’ Cuillon said. ‘I think we are in agreement,’ he added, looking from Rion to Turamir. They nodded soberly.

‘Render your verdict,’ Elessar said.

Turamir bowed to the King, and the jurors turned to face Ulrich. Turamir spoke for them all. 

‘Ulrich, Mayor of Dindale, we find you innocent of all charges laid against you. We find the Man named Reinadan to be the guilty party, but it appears that he died long ago and is no longer available to be put to trial and hanged for his crimes. Ulrich of Dindale, you are set free.’

***

Next: Final Chapter "Homecoming"

Chapter 53. Homecoming

Cuillon was demonstrating the preparation of a decoction to the new apprentices when old Eregeth cleared her throat in the doorway. ‘A moment,’ he said, and then continued. ‘Now that the mixture has been reduced by about a third, we’ll strain it...’ He suited action to word. ‘And now it is ready for the Ernil i Pheriannath to sip,’ he concluded. ‘Best taken hot, of course.’

 ‘Oughtn’t we to add honey?’ one of the apprentices asked.

 ‘He will not drink it, should it be sweetened,’ Cuillon said. ‘One of your tasks is to work out the best way to get the medicines into your patient. It won’t do them any good if they don’t take it.’ He gave the apprentices a stern look and added, ‘Now see to it that he drinks every drop of this. Enlist the aid of his wife, if need be.’

He turned away and addressed Eregeth. ‘Yes? What is it?’

 ‘Visitors,’ she said. ‘Won’t state their business. They say they’ll speak only to you, sir. They’re waiting in your study.’

 ‘Ah,’ Cuillon said. ‘Thank you, Eregeth.’ She nodded, bobbed a courtesy and went about her interrupted business.

In his study he found three sober-faced Men dressed in the colours of mourning. Two of them looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place them. He couldn’t recall losing a patient in the last day or two... ‘How may I be of service?’ he asked.

The oldest of the group stepped forward. ‘We’ve come to bring Ulrich home,’ he said quietly. ‘The guardsman at the Gate sent us to you.’

Given this context Cuillon recognised Heledir, one of the councillors of the town of Dindale, though his face was pulled longer than usual, the lines deep and sorrowful. Yes, and that was Arasfaron to one side of him. Both had testified on Ulrich’s behalf at the first trial. He did not know the third Man, but assumed him to be a town councillor as well.

 ‘We’re not too late, are we?’ the third said anxiously. ‘The hanging was yesterday, we know, but we were told after the trial to come to claim his body the day after, seeing as how it wouldn’t be cut down until sunset...’

Understanding dawned, and Cuillon stepped forward. ‘You don’t understand,’ he said, taking Heledir’s arm and steering him out into the corridor, the other councillors falling into step behind him. ‘There was no hanging yesterday.’

 ‘There was a hanging,’ Arasfaron protested. ‘We heard all about it in the inn last night. They cut the body down instead of letting it hang as customary. We’re not too late, I hope.’

 ‘Mercy,’ Heledir muttered. ‘He’s not already been buried on the Pelennor, has he? How will I ever face my niece? Can we somehow locate the grave and dig him up again?’

 ‘I told you we should have ridden through the night,’ the third Man mourned. ‘We’re too late.’

A burst of laughter came from the room that housed Ferdibrand and Nell and their family, and Heledir passed a hand over his eyes as he heard a laugh that reminded him of Ulrich.

On the heels of the laughter, Ulrich himself came out of the room, stopping short to see his councillors, who gasped his name more or less in unison and stood rooted.

 ‘Heledir, Arasfaron,’ Ulrich said, embracing each in turn, and, ‘Thulion.’

 ‘How is it possible?’ the latter gasped. ‘The hanging...’

 ‘Was interrupted. There was a new trial,’ Ulrich said, ‘only this morning, and word went out to Dindale shortly after.’

 ‘Passed us on the road, more likely than not,’ Heledir said, wiping hastily at his wrinkled cheeks. He took Ulrich’s hand and wrung it heartily. ‘I never thought to see you again in this life,’ he said. ‘You didn’t want us to attend the hanging...’

Ferdi appeared in the doorway and grasped the situation at once. Before they knew what was happening, the three councillors of Dindale had been drawn into the celebration in Ferdi’s room, where it was raining drink and snowing food and festivity.

The talk and song and feasting lasted well into the evening hours, when the healers shooed everyone back to their own rooms to rest, including Ulrich. ‘He’ll be ready to travel on the morrow,’ Cuillon assured the councillors.

 ‘We brought an extra horse, but no saddle,’ Arasfaron said in chagrin. They’d planned to lay the shrouded body over the horse’s back and lash it in place for the long ride home.

 ‘Who needs a saddle, or even a horse for that matter?’ Ulrich said, laughing. He spread his hands wide. ‘I feel so light I could sprout feathers and fly home!’

 ‘Not necessary,’ Pippin said. ‘I do have a bit of pull with the King, you know. I think I might be able to convince him to give you a saddle, if only the loan of one.’

 ‘Very kind,’ Ulrich said with a bow.

 ‘Don’t mention it,’ Pippin said with a bow of his own. ‘I’ll just go and...’

 ‘You’ll just go and tuck yourself up in bed,’ Cuillon said sternly. ‘I’ll be happy to have a message carried to the King for you, or... no doubt he’ll be stopping in this evening.’

 ‘If I’m still awake,’ Pippin said. ‘Perhaps you could hold off on any more of your decoctions or infusions until after he comes.’

 ‘I will consider your request,’ Cuillon said with a bow, ‘if you will take yourself off at once, Master Ernil.’ And so Pippin did.

Next morning, Ferdi walked down the steps with Ulrich to see the Man off. ‘As I promised,’ he said.

 ‘A happier parting,’ Ulrich said, and the hobbit laughed his infectious laugh. The Mayor of Dindale held out his hand. ‘Stop in our fair town anytime you be passing by,’ he said. ‘We’ll roll out the best carpet for you.’

 ‘Not the red one, I hope,’ Ferdi said, taking the larger hand in a firm grip to meet Ulrich’s gentle squeeze. ‘Fades so badly in the sun, you know.’

 ‘Blue fades as badly, and the lighter colours show the dirt,’ Ulrich said. ‘What are we to do?’

 ‘Close our eyes,’ Ferdi said. ‘The mead will taste as well with eyes closed as with eyes open.’

 ‘Better, even,’ Ulrich said, ‘for we can concentrate on the fine flavour if we’re not distracted with other things.’

 ‘You two are peas in a pod,’ Nell said, slipping her arm about Ferdi’s waist. ‘If you’re ever in the Northland, send word. We’ll be happy to meet you on the shores of Lake Evendim. You might even do some fishing together.’

 ‘No boats!’ Ferdi said stoutly. ‘I do my fishing from solid ground, thank you.’

 ‘No boats,’ Ulrich said. ‘I’m sure we can manage somehow.’

After a pleasant two days of journeying, for the borrowed saddle was comfortable indeed, they came to the town of Dindale on an afternoon of misting rain. Mourning was everywhere, draped even over the gateway.

 ‘My,’ Ulrich said softly, pulling his horse to a stop to see this silent tribute of the townsmen.

 ‘My brother often said you’d make a fine Mayor,’ Heledir said. ‘Even finer a Mayor than he was, and as usual he had the right of it.’

 ‘He was a fine Man,’ Ulrich said.

 ‘It takes one, to know one,’ Heledir said. ‘Come, let us turn mourning to joy.’ He squeezed his legs to urge his mount forward.

A sober crowd waited to welcome their Mayor home, to escort him to the resting place already prepared for him, a canvas-draped hole in the burial yard on the far side of the town. ‘But where is the pack-horse?’ Merewyn whispered to her aunt, who hovered protectively at her side. She stiffened in dread. ‘Were they too late?’ She thought of her beloved in an unmarked grave upon the Pelennor, not even flowers to mark his passing.

 ‘Who is that with them?’ her aunt said in return, straining her eyes.

Merewyn held the baby tighter as her children pressed close in dread and confusion.

The gateman stepped forward to welcome the travellers and shouted suddenly.

 ‘What was that?’ Merewyn whispered, but the people around her were murmuring and she heard not.

 ‘The Mayor, I think he said,’ her oldest son answered, standing as tall as he could to crane for a view.

 ‘Mayor?’ Merewyn said, but rising cheers from the crowd drowned the puzzled query. She stood on her tiptoes to try to see over the tall Men surrounding them, but it was only as the riders pushed close that she saw... but could not comprehend... not until her beloved swung down from his saddle to gather her in his arms, chanting her name. The Sun might have broken through the clouds at that moment, or perhaps it was only Merewyn’s joy, as her eyes filled with tears of another sort and the world turned to sparkling jewels around her.

***

 ‘Two months late,’ Pippin said as they rode into the yard of the Great Smials.

 ‘And not the fault of the Rohirrim, this time,’ Diamond said.

 ‘No, but of the weather,’ Pippin returned. He’d been busy all through the long ride from the end of Woody End, observing the fields they passed, making note of the progress of the crops. ‘Planted late,’ he’d said repeatedly. ‘They ought to be knee-high by now. What was Farry thinking?’

It had been a harsh winter, they’d heard. They’d experienced a bit of it themselves, with that October blizzard on the plains of Rohan. After Yule snow had blanketed Gondor, even as far south as the White City, truly white in its freezing cloak. Their departure for the Shire had been delayed until the King determined the roads fit for travelling. As a result, the ill or injured hobbits had a longer rest-cure than they might have, and all were fit and fair once more when the King set out to return to the North-kingdom.

 Merry and Ferdi had retained their boots, however. ‘I’ve grown used to the feel of them,’ Ferdi confessed. ‘Perhaps in the sweet summertime I may toughen my feet again, beginning with walks in the caressing grass, but for now...’

 Merry had not been quite so apologetic. After all, Bucklanders were known to have worn boots on occasion. He was not so likely to be regarded with suspicion or ridicule as Ferdibrand. Indeed, when he rode through the North Gate no one even remarked on the boots he wore. Of course, Ferdi was generally known to be daft, so the Tooks might not say aught about the matter.

 ‘It’s good to be home,’ Diamond said. ‘Even if we bring back much less than we took with us.’

 ‘I told you,’ Pippin said, and laughed. ‘I hope the next time we journey you’ll fill no more than saddlebags.’

 ‘I’ll take a page from Goldi’s book,’ Diamond said. She looked at each of the entrances to the Great Smials in turn. ‘Where are the children? They ought to be at hand to greet us!’

Reginard Took walked forward stiffly to greet them, leaning on his heavy walking stick. ‘Well come!’ he shouted. ‘Glad to see you back where you belong!’ He greeted the Mayor and Mistress Rose in turn and welcomed them to the Great Smials, telling them that the Mayor’s suite was ready for them: tea was on the table, the fires were lit, the baths were steaming and the beds were turned down.

 ‘Where’s Farry?’ Pippin said, sliding from his saddle. The stones of the yard felt quite homey under his feet.

Ferdi’s boots made a bit more noise than hobbit feet as he jumped down from his own saddle, and Regi frowned absently at him before turning back to the Thain. ‘Abed,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you to him.’

 ‘Abed?’ Diamond said, taking Pippin’s arm. ‘Is he injured? Sick?’

 ‘Weary,’ Regi said, hiding a grin.

 ‘Weary is all?’ Pippin said severely. ‘From what I’ve seen he’s not been all that busy about the business of running Tookland.’

 ‘I’ll let him answer to you,’ Regi said, thinking that Pippin was in for a pleasant surprise. More than one, actually. Farry’s diligence and foresight had saved the Shire from hungering, as Pippin would soon hear. But why spoil the anticipation?

Pippin and Sam set their children to seeing to the baggage and followed Reginard, at his bidding, into the Great Smials.

Regi was full of questions and kept Pippin and Diamond, Sam and Rose busy answering his various queries about the journey as they walked through the winding tunnels to the Thain’s family quarters. Outside Farry and Goldi’s apartments he stopped, putting a finger to his lips. ‘Shhh,’ he said. ‘The healers have warned me in no uncertain terms to be quiet.’

 ‘Healers?’ Diamond whispered, alarmed all over again.

 ‘Come along,’ Regi whispered, without further explanation. He tapped at the door, which was opened by a beaming Dobby.

 ‘Welcome back, Sir and Mistress,’ the hobbitservant whispered. ‘You are in good time!’ He looked past them to the Mayor and his wife, and then that staid hobbitservant actually winked. Pippin wondered just how far etiquette and propriety had slipped in his absence...?

 ‘In good time?’ Pippin said, his irritation (and, truth be told, worry) growing.

Regi and Dobby actually tip-toed across the sitting room to the corridor and on to the largest of the bedrooms. ‘Shhh,’ Regi said at the door. ‘I think they may have just dropped off.’

 ‘What in the world,’ Pippin began in irritation, but the door opened and he automatically followed Regi into the room, stopping short to see Farry and Goldi together in the big bed—and here it was, just after teatime!

 ‘Sir?’ Dobby said softly.

Farry jerked awake, to see a crowd of hobbits spilling through the doorway.

 ‘Da?’ he said incredulously.

 ‘Farry, what in the world...?’ Pippin said striding forward, but he stopped to see the blanketed bundle cradled in his son’s arms.

 ‘We were just having a bit of a rest,’ Farry said, looking down, his face bright with joy and wonder. ‘It was a busy morning, you see...’

 ‘Ohhh,’ Diamond breathed, moving forward to take the bundle, gazing down into the tiny, curl-crowned face.

 ‘Greet your grandson,’ Regi said softly, beaming.

 ‘Grandson,’ Pippin said, sinking down upon the bed. Diamond sat herself on the bed beside him, sharing the bundle.

 ‘And grand-daughter,’ Goldi said sleepily, pulling back the coverlet to reveal a bundle of her own.

 ‘Grand-daughter!’ Rose said, stepping forward to hug her daughter and peer into another sweet, curl-topped face.

Samwise, who always had something to say, seeing as how it was his duty to open so many festivities in every part of the Shire, was struck speechless. ‘Come along, Sam,’ Pippin said, looking up, his face shining with joy. ‘This is no time to stand with your hands in your pockets! We’ve grands to be greeting!’

***

Some months later, after a harvest that was surprisingly bountiful given the late planting, hobbits gathered on the banks of rivers throughout the Shire to remember those who’d passed from life over the past year.

In Buckland, Merry sounded the silver horn of Rohan as he always did, for this night of remembering coincided with the throwing out of the ruffians so many years before.

In Hobbiton, Samwise stood surrounded by his family, those who’d stayed behind, and those who’d gone on the journey, stood remembering those who’d gone before, in silent thankfulness that none of his loved ones had been lost while he journeyed to far parts and back again.

On the banks of the Tuckbourne, Nell stood with an ornately carven boat, the centre hollowed out, a wick fixed within and melted wax poured to fill the hollow. A floating boat-candle, it was, and hobbits all over the Shire who were remembering the departed bore such boats, waiting for sunset.

 ‘Do you think his own family mourns him?’ she said, leaning her head back against Ferdi’s shoulder.

 ‘From what I saw,’ Ferdi began, and fell silent. After a few breaths, he said, ‘They claimed the body, buried him, marked the grave. In truth, they mourned him years ago when they thought him lost.’

 ‘He was lost,’ Nell said. She quieted with the rest to hear her brother speak the ritual words as he lifted high the torch he bore.

We gather together for remembering, as is our custom on this day. We remember those who have been lost to us since the last time we gathered so. We are here to celebrate their lives, their memory, our love which can never be lost, and the hope we share.

Tooks and Tooklanders moved forward a few at a time, each little group with a small candle-boat bearing the name of a loved one lost. The wick would be lit from the torch the Thain held, and with cupped hands guarding the flickering flame from a stray breeze, the rememberers would walk slowly to the water's edge, to speak the lost one's name once more and then set the boat upon the waters to be carried into the night.

Nell cradled her boat, thinking, remembering, and putting the past behind her, while Ferdi waited at her side. At last she stepped forward, holding out the little boat, a name etched in its side. The torch dipped and the wick was lighted. Ferdi walked with her to the water, his arm around her waist as she stood quietly for a moment before laying the boat upon the water, to join a shining armada of flickering lights borne upon the dark waters on their way to the Sea.

 ‘Brant,’ she said at last. ‘He was a life,’ she added. ‘A living, breathing person, who had kin, a mother, sisters...’ She had met the sisters. She shook her head and said lower, ‘His was not my life to take, and yet take it, I must, by my words to the King.’ She swallowed her tears and whispered. ‘I hope he found his peace at last.’

 ‘They call it the “gift of Eru”,’ Ferdi said, his arm tightening around her waist. ‘I cannot imagine but that he did find his peace, and healing...’

 ‘Brant,’ Pimpernel said once more. She stooped and laid the little boat upon the water, stood again to watch it join the floating lights already passing from gatherings upstream, and sighed.

 ‘Come, love,’ Ferdi said, tugging her away. She allowed him to lead her from the water’s edge. When they were in the darkness under the stars, behind the bulk of the crowd, he stopped, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

 ‘My Nell, my own,’ Ferdi whispered. ‘Have I told you how much I love you?’

 ‘Not since teatime, at least,’ Nell whispered in reply, tilting her face upwards to gaze into his eyes.

 ‘Nell, my Nell,’ Ferdi said, tightening his arms around her. ‘I love you more than my own life: as the Moon loves the stars, as the River loves the Sea, as the grass loves the dew and the forest loves the tree...’

 ‘My love,’ Nell said, but he interrupted her with a kiss, and no more words were needed between them.

For those who have not read any of the other stories in the "Thain" cycle, a little background may be helpful.

About Pimpernel Took (Pippin's sister)

Thain Paladin formed a marriage agreement with Rudivacar Bolger, Odovacar's younger brother, despite the mutual feelings between Pimpernel and Ferdibrand Took. Rudi and Nell married and removed to Bridgefields, where they lived happily and had five children together. A sixth child was expected when Rudi died of a sudden illness (probably appendicitis, though the records are rather vague). Nell lost her wits from grief and was forceably returned to the Great Smials, with her five young children, to be cared for at least until the birth of the baby. It was here she found love again with her Ferdibrand, and though it is nearly unheard of for a hobbit to remarry, Pippin and Odovacar schemed together to bring their union about.

In answer to a reader's question:

Stories written thus far involving Nell and Ferdi:

"A Pearl of Great Price"
Though this story is more about Pearl Took (and Mistress Lalia), there is quite a bit about Ferdibrand and Nell's early relationship and how it got derailed by tragedy when Ferdi was 19.

"Flames"
In this story you see, among other things, Nell's marriage to Rudi, Rudi's death, Nell's return to the Smials, and her growing relationship with Ferdibrand, culminating in their wedding.

"A Small and Passing Thing"
This is mainly the story of Fatty Bolger's recovery after being released from the Lockholes. Paladin's scheming leading to Nell's marrying Rudivacar is detailed here.

"Where the Merlin Cries" (up in draft form at ff.net)
How Ferdi nearly died at the hands of ruffians during the acquisition of the Westmarch, and how Nell helped him to find healing.

***

About Ferdibrand Took:

Ferdi is married to Pippin's sister Pimpernel. He serves as the Thain's Chancellor, though "special assistant" would be more descriptive of his duties. Basically he does whatever needs doing, or sees that someone else gets it done. He is a hero among the Tooks, having been one of those who kept the ruffians out of Tookland during the time of the Troubles under Thain Paladin. He has led a varied and exciting life, full of tragedy and triumph. In an encounter with ruffians during the acquisition of the Westmarch, he lost his sight, either due to injury or trauma, and continued blind for a dozen years before regaining his sight just before Faramir Took's wedding to Goldilocks Gamgee. He has been to Gondor once before, in the company of Faramir, Thain Peregrin's son.

***

About Rudivar Bolger (Nell and Rudivacar's eldest)

When Fredegar Bolger (aka "Fatty") was released from the Lock-holes, his health was so broken from the experience that he renounced the succession. Therefore, the family headship (the title of "The Bolger") and possessions, save Freddy's personal fortune, passed to his Uncle Rudi on his father's death. When Rudivacar died the family headship passed to his and Pimpernel's son Rudivar, although he did not inherit the title until his coming of age. Rudivar married Laurel Boffins, and at the time of this writing they have three small children, two sons and a daughter. He is a good friend of Faramir Took.

***

About Fredegar "Fatty" or "Freddy" Bolger

Fredegar Bolger, brother to Estella Brandybuck (Merry's wife), after a long convalescence following his release from the Lock-holes, married Melilot Brandybuck and retired to the quiet life on the outskirts of Budgeford. Because of his sharp wits he was often called upon to investigate and settle disputes. When King Elessar sent ships full of food to relieve a famine in the Shire during the time of Thain Peregrin I, Fredegar befriended one of the ships' captains. When this captain returned with his ship some years later, Freddy and his family, along with several other families (among them, Budgie Smallfoot and his cousin Robin, former members of Freddy's band of raiders in the time of the ruffians) sailed to the Southlands, settling in the fair land of Ithilien.

***

If you have any questions while reading the story, ask (reviews are handy for that) and I will try to add a clarifying note here!