Chapter 1. Signs of Warning

King Elessar rides north, and dwells for a while by Lake Evendim.
He comes to the Brandywine Bridge, and there greets his friends.
He gives the Star of the Dunedain to Master Samwise,
and Elanor is made a maid of honour to Queen Arwen.
-- From the Tale of Years

S.R. 1436

Two Rangers of the North waited just outside the Bounds of the Shire. They did not have long to wait; soon a small party of mounted hobbits approached. One of the Rangers rose to his feet to meet them.

 ‘Hail, Master Took!’ he called. ‘We had your message from the Shirriff.’

The grey stallion danced beneath Ferdibrand, who was stiff with suspicion. Ranger, kinsman to the King or no, a Man it was who stood there, hand on his sword.

 ‘No need for that,’ Ferdi snapped. ‘He’s dead, already.’ He pulled at the lead rope of the following pony, urging the beast towards the waiting Ranger. The tall Man caught the trailing rope and halted the pony, while his companion rose quickly to examine the burden draped across its back.

 ‘Three shots,’ the second Ranger said.

 ‘He hurried us, rather,’ Ferdi said. ‘He’d taken a hobbit lad, in hopes of being led to the Thain’s treasure-hoard and out of the Shire again, safe.’

 ‘And the lad?’ the first Ranger asked.

 ‘Safe,’ Ferdi said shortly. Safe in body, at least. Frightened half out of his wits, and likely to have screaming nightmares for a time. The ruffian had made awful threats whilst the archers were moving out of his sight to his rear, to find the best vantage for shooting. Ferdi had stood firm, pretending fear and trembling compliance, promising to guide the Man to the gold, babbling like a fool to keep the Man’s attention until his archers could line up the shot.

Luck had been with them, for the lad had been so frightened, and the ruffian had squeezed him so menacingly, that the little hobbit began suddenly to retch and then to heave. The Man thrust him out at arm’s length to avoid the spatter, and Tolly had taken the first shot, quickly, before the Man could turn and pull the lad to himself again, a living shield. The Shirriff and the farmer had shot immediately after, and the ruffian fell. The farmer rushed forward to reclaim his son, examining him all over for injuries, weeping in relief.

Once they secured the ruffian with tight ropes and wrestled the body onto the pony, the Shirriff went pelting off as fast as his pony would go, to summon the King’s Men who patrolled outside the Bounds.

 ‘That’s the second since the New Year,’ Ferdi said now.

The Rangers nodded. They were used to Shire Reckoning and were careful, in their dealings with Shire-folk, to use the dates the hobbits used. ‘The Thain’s treasure-hoard, you said?’ the first Ranger asked.

Ferdi eyed him with dislike. ‘Aye,’ he snapped. ‘Seems as if news of the gold has gone beyond the Bounds.’

 ‘We’ve heard of it,’ the second Ranger said. ‘We’ve heard how he sent two waggons of food and fuel to a woodcutter’s family, to see them through the winter after he broke his leg.’

 ‘And the waggons of supplies and relief to the farmers of the Greentuck Valley after the disastrous flooding,’ the first Ranger said. ‘Why, the news has travelled all the way to Sarn, and to Bree in the East, how the Thain watches over the Shire-folk as if they were the sheep of his pasture.’ For of course, the hobbits living within the Bounds sometimes met those who lived Outside to exchange news and trade goods. ‘He doesn’t sit on his hoard but sows the gold and reaps blessing.’

 ‘Aye,’ Ferdi said, slightly mollified by the Men’s obvious respect, but still suspicious. ‘And so Men have decided he has gold to spare, and have begun to seek it.’

 ‘We will double our watch,’ the second Ranger said.

 ‘You do that,’ Ferdi said. ‘At least we haven’t seen the first band back again.’

The Rangers exchanged glances, and he stiffened again. ‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘What is it that we do not know?’

The hobbits resented being treated as children, the Rangers knew. Elessar had stressed this point, in years past, when he was Chief of the Rangers and his being King was only the glimmer of a dream by moonlight. There was certain knowledge that the Counsellors of the North-kingdom wanted suppressed...

 ‘You are the Fox,’ the second Ranger said slowly. ‘Are you not?’

 ‘So I have been called,’ Ferdi said, wondering at the change of subject.

The Rangers exchanged glances once more, and Ferdi worked to keep as tight a rein on his temper as he did the grey stallion.

 ‘A private word, if I may,’ the second Ranger said, lowering his voice, and Ferdi waved the other hobbits back at once. Pippin had emphasised the honour of the Rangers of the North; he had nothing to fear from these Men, and he was curious to know what the old name from the time of the Troubles, when Sharkey ruled the Shire, had to do with the new crop of ruffians springing up.

The first Ranger went about the business of pulling the body from the pony’s back, talking quietly with the other hobbits while the second Ranger spoke with their leader.

 ‘They violated the King’s edict,’ the second Ranger said, low.

 ‘I was aware of that,’ Ferdi replied dryly. ‘It’s why we captured them and delivered them into the hands of the King’s Men, after all, instead of driving them before us with a few well-placed shots.’

 ‘The penalty for entering the Shire is hanging,’ the Ranger said, lowering his voice still more. The Counsellors did not want common hobbits to hear of such things; knowledge of the cruelties of Men was slowly fading as the Troubles receded into the past, and hobbits were once again becoming the simple, quiet-living folk they had been before the War of the Ring. All but a few, that is, who maintained their vigilance against danger, troubling themselves to keep the greater number innocent and untouched by evil.

This hobbit before him, with the faded scars under his chin, knew what hanging was. The ruffians under Sharkey had hanged troublemaking hobbits, towards the end of Sharkey’s sway, and he’d been one of the lucky few to be rescued from the end of a rope.

 ‘Hanging,’ the hobbit gritted, his face bleak.

What else would you expect us to do with them, keep them in our pockets? the Ranger wanted to ask, but he knew the hobbits were a peaceful lot, reluctant to take life even at need.

Ferdi nodded abruptly, snapped out, 'Thain’s thanks to you,' and wheeled his pony about, calling to the other hobbits to follow, leaving the second Ranger staring after them.

The first Ranger grunted from under his burden, ‘So what do you want to do with this one?’

 ‘Hang him up with the rest,’ came the answer. ‘They might yet serve as a warning to Men to stay out of the Shire.’

Chapter 2. Old Enemies, and New

The leader of this particular band of ruffians grinned unpleasantly into Ferdi’s face. ‘Well, well,’ he said thoughtfully, the scar that crossed his cheek moving with his jaw as he looked back down at the business of his hands. ‘Looks as if we’re just in time. The Fox would’ve worked his way loose in a few moments more.’

 ‘We’ll see you back in Stock!’ one of the departing band shouted, and Bill, the other ruffian remaining “to see to a little business”, waved a hand and laughed.

“Scar” gave a grunt as he pulled the rope knots as tight as might be, and Ferdi gasped as the bonds bit deep into his wrists. ‘Not to worry,’ the ruffian said cheerily, tying off the last knot. ‘It might be a little too tight for comfort at the moment, but you’ll have other worries soon enough.’

He gave the knot a little pat, much as a storekeeper might after tying up goods in a brown paper parcel with a neatly knotted length of twine. ‘There,’ he said in satisfaction. ‘All nice and snug again.’

As the ruffian stepped away, the pony moved uneasily under Ferdi. Scar patted the dark neck. ‘Steady, lad,’ he said. ‘Just a few moments more and you may run all you please.’

Ferdi certainly hoped the pony would stay steady. His own Dapple would have stood like a rock. Had he ridden his own Dapple out of the Tookland in the first place, he’d not be in this quandary. She’d have stood in the thicket where he’d secreted her. This pony had pulled his reins free and trailed into the open, for whatever reason, and so the ruffians had found him.

But Dapple was back at the Great Smials, for she’d been limping slightly, favouring one of her front legs when Ferdi had set out on this information-gathering foray for Thain Paladin. A sharp stone had penetrated the soft frog of her foot; she’d have a day or two of rest while he went out of Tookland on one of the Thain’s ponies. He hadn’t wanted to risk riding her if speed might be needed.

Scar whistled cheerily as he checked the other end of the rope, knotted to the tree. ‘All secure,’ he said. ‘This one won’t come loose when he hits the end of the rope.’

Everything seemed somehow unreal to the hobbit. He saw the bright leaves around him, felt the tickle of the cool breeze on his face, the warm pony hide beneath him. He smelled the earthy scent of the surrounding wood, a tang of smoke on the air, and heard the warning cry of a bird. It did not seem possible that the next breath or the one after that would be his last.

 ‘Are you really the Fox?’ Bill asked curiously as he adjusted the noose. ‘You look over-young to dance at rope's end.’

 ‘Tooks tend to look younger than they are,’ Ferdi answered quietly, the feeling of unreality growing. ‘I passed my majority three years ago.’

 ‘And it seems you won't be getting any older,’ Scar said, returning to remove the pony's bridle.  ‘Take yourself a good breath, Master Fox, for it'll be your last.’ He stepped to the pony's side and, with a sudden yell, gave the beast a sharp slap on the rump.

The pony bolted out from under Ferdibrand, and suddenly there was no way to breathe as the rope jerked tight and he walked upon the air. The biting cords about his wrists burned and flared in fresh agonies as his hands twitched in an ineffectual effort to reach up and pull the strangling rope loose.

 ‘Lookit ‘im dance!’ Bill crowed, and Scar guffawed, slapping his knee. ‘That’ll learn him!’

His senses dimming, Ferdi heard the pony’s galloping hoofbeats fading, heard the creaking of the rope as he swayed, heard the thunder of his heart in his ears growing to a roar that overwhelmed all other sounds. Swinging at the end of the rope, he swayed and twisted with the motion given him when the pony bolted. At the last he saw the face of the boy hanging beside him, terror and reproach fading into a blank, bulging stare as the strangling rope fulfilled its function.

He’s scarcely breathing! a voice said, and another hissed as if in answer, Breathe, Ferdi!

Ropes held him tight as he tried to raise his hands to his constricted throat... but they no longer bit and tore at his flesh. No, they felt more like hands, restraining him. Instinctively he fought for air, even as his sense told him there was no point in it. His heartbeats hammered in his ears.

A beloved voice reached him through the mist of confusion. Ferdi my love!

Called back out of the roaring blackness, he gasped, ‘Nell, my own?’ and heard her sob, a sound of fear and relief.

 ‘Ferdi!’

He opened his eyes, to find himself in his own bed, Pippin on one side of him, Tolly on the other, and Healer Woodruff kneeling before him, staring into his face. ‘Breathe, Ferdibrand,’ she ordered. ‘Steady, slow breaths, as deep as you can manage. Yes, that’s it.’

Nell stood just behind the head healer, supported between Diamond and Tolly's Meadowsweet, tears upon her cheeks and her hands wrung together in her all-too-evident distress. Ferdi wanted to arise, to go to her, but his limbs were weak for some reason, refusing to answer his promptings, and Pippin and Tolly held him firmly.

He smelled the pungent odour of the stuff that was used when Pippin had one of his bad spells; had the Thain strangled on dust? But no, Pippin was beside him, and strong, not weakened by the betrayal of his damaged lungs, but holding Ferdi in a tight grip, his face filled with colour and life and concern for... for Ferdi?

Ferdi felt a tingle on the skin of his throat, chest and back. ‘It’s working,’ the healer muttered. ‘The air passages are not as constricted. There’s air getting in and out now.’

Diamond patted Pimpernel's arm and murmured something in her ear. Pimpernel's eyes closed and Ferdi saw her swallow hard, regaining control of her emotions.

 ‘Here’s the draught,’ Fescue, a healer’s assistant panted, entering the sleeping chamber with a covered cup in hand. Ferdi closed his eyes. Ah, yes, when Pippin had one of his bad spells, where he could not draw breath, first they’d smear smelly stuff all over his torso and then they’d force a relaxing draught down his throat, to ease the muscle spasms and send him off to sleep.

To his surprise, he felt a mug seated against his lips, and heard Woodruff’s voice urging him to drink. When he opened his mouth to protest, the draught went in, and he choked and spluttered.

The mug was taken away, his back was slapped vigorously, and when he stopped choking, Woodruff said firmly, ‘Drink now, Ferdi, and no more of your nonsense!’

 ‘But Pip...!’ Ferdi tried to protest. It was Pippin who had the bad spells, not Ferdibrand!

 ‘Drink!’ Woodruff said, her tone brooking no contradiction, and Ferdi drank. The strong arms holding him eased him back against pillows that had been placed to prop him half-sitting.

He felt well-loved fingers stroking his cheek, and opened his eyes again to see Pimpernel bending over him. ‘What a fright you gave us, Ferdi-love,’ she whispered. Beyond her he could see the older lads hovering, eyes huge. They reminded him of something, the face of the hanging boy... he gasped for breath once more, but the muscles of his throat and chest were relaxing from the balm and the draught and Woodruff’s tone was soothing, reassuring now, where it had been sharp a few moments before.

 ‘He’ll sleep,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll stay to watch through the rest of the night.’

But I was sleeping! Ferdi wanted to protest. Though the draught was stealing his senses away from him, he was now aware of the truth. It had all been a dream, the hanging of the past, when ruffians caught him during the Troubles, mixed up in the way of dreams with the memory of the boy. He shivered, and Nell pulled the coverlet up to his chin, but Ferdi didn't notice. He was thinking of the boy, caught with the Men who'd entered the Shire just after the New Year, in search of the Thain's gold. Just a dream...?

Chapter 3. Stuff and Nonsense

When Ferdi finally wakened, halfway through the morning hours, he was groggy but uncooperative.

Pimpernel sat by his side, holding his hand, and she was all that kept him in the bed whilst Healer Woodruff made her examination.

 ‘Lungs clear,’ the healer muttered, lifting her head from his breast.

 ‘There’s nothing wrong with my breathing,’ Ferdi said. ‘I could have saved you all this trouble if you’d only listened to me from the start.’

 ‘No fever,’ Woodruff continued, ignoring him. ‘Heart sound as a drum.’

Pimpernel patted Ferdi’s hand. ‘She’s nearly finished,’ she whispered. ‘Steady on.’

Ferdi took a steadying breath, holding tight to his temper; Woodruff was glad to note that the breath was full, deep and unimpeded.

She sat back with a smile. ‘Well then,’ she said.

 ‘Yes?’ Pimpernel said, leaning forward, her hold on Ferdi’s hand tightening.

 ‘Nothing wrong with you that I can see,’ Woodruff said. ‘So what happened in the night?’

 ‘Naught!’ Ferdi said firmly, but his wife shook her head, her grip on Ferdi’s hand grown painfully tight.

 ‘You stopped breathing, is what I saw,’ Woodruff said calmly. ‘When your wife awakened, you were struggling for breath; she screamed and wakened half the hobbits in this part of the Smials! ...you were turning blue when I reached you. It’s a mercy the Thain had the presence of mind to do that “dwarf breathing” he learned about in the Outlands or we’d be burying you instead of greeting you this morning.’

 ‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘At that it was a near thing,’ Woodruff said. ‘The air passages were so constricted he could scarcely blow any breath into your lungs as it was.’

 ‘It was just a dream,’ Ferdi said, and the healer pounced upon that.

 ‘A dream, you say?’ she said. ‘And what sort of dream might it have been?’

The pleading face of the boy he’d handed over to be hanged loomed before Ferdi; he swallowed hard and looked away. ‘I cannot remember,’ he said. ‘That is the way of dreams.’

Woodruff looked intently into his face for a long moment, and then she nodded slowly. ‘If you happen to recall any parts of the dream, I’d like to know about it,’ she said. ‘Not breathing seems rather an extreme reaction to dreaming, though I have heard of such a thing happening once or twice in the past.’

 ‘There, you see?’ Ferdi said to Nell, patting her white-knuckled hand. ‘A rare event, to all appearances, and you’ve no need to worry yourself about it.’ He rose rather unsteadily from the bed, privately cursing the sleeping draught they’d forced upon him in the night.

 ‘And where d’you think you’re going?’ Pimpernel said, maintaining her fierce grip on his hand.

 ‘Nell,’ he answered, gently disengaging her fingers, ‘I’ve duties to perform. Why, I must’ve slept half the day away!’

 ‘Pippin’s released you for the day,’ Pimpernel countered.

Ferdi smiled and kissed the tips of her fingers. ‘Everyone’s blowing this all out of proportion,’ he said lightly. ‘I am well! Look at me!’

Nell looked obediently, but the worry didn’t leave her eyes. ‘You look well enough...’ she said slowly.

 Ferdi laughed. ‘I am!’ he said, ‘Truly, Nell my own! Now then,’ he continued, ‘have you had breakfast?’

When she shook her head, Ferdi looked to Woodruff. ‘Well then,’ he said, ‘it seems to me that you ought to keep an eye on my beloved, lest she fall, fainting from hunger! As for me, I have work that’s going wanting.’

 ‘You ought to eat something...’ Woodruff warned, and Ferdi laughed again.

 ‘Of course!’ he said. ‘I’ll get something, just as soon as I catch up on the news!’ To Pimpernel he said, ‘I shall return to you at teatime, my love!’ And before anyone could offer a contradictory word, he was out the door.

 ‘He looks well enough,’ Nell said uncertainly, and Woodruff sat down beside her and patted her hand.

 ‘You are weary,’ the healer said.

 ‘I am at that,’ Nell admitted. ‘I don’t think I slept at all.’

 ‘Rest now,’ Woodruff said gently. ‘Diamond and Sweetie have your little ones well-looked-after. A tray of breakfast ought to be arriving at any time now...’ Her timing was impeccable, for at that moment there was a tap on the door and a healers’ assistant peeked in. ‘Here we are!’ Woodruff said, rising to take a laden plate from the tray and settling it on a serviette in Pimpernel’s lap. ‘Eat, and lie yourself down for a nap.’

Woodruff took the other plate on the tray for herself, the one that had been intended for Ferdibrand, and settled to the chair beside the bed, chatting companionably. Nell was distracted, but she did her best to keep up her end of the conversation, and to the healer’s satisfaction she began to relax halfway through the meal. When they finished eating, Nell deigned to lie back and “close her eyes for just a moment or two”, and within a few breaths she was asleep, thanks to the soporific qualities of the food Woodruff had ordered.

The healer felt rather drowsy herself as she collected the tray and let herself out. Well, she’d just check in with her assistants and then she might take a page out of Nell’s book, so to speak. Though why anyone would want to take a page out of a book was beyond her... she shook her head, chiding herself for Tookish nonsense worthy of the Thain himself, and went about her business.

***

Ferdi walked briskly to the Thain’s study, where a startled Tolly admitted him.

 ‘What’re you doing here?’ was his greeting.

 ‘I happen to work here, how about you?’ Ferdi returned pleasantly. He nodded at the doorknob under Tolly’s hand, and the head of the Thain’s escort was quickly recalled to his duty, opening the door with a stammer of apology.

Pippin, in the midst of a consultation with a visiting deputation from the Buckland, looked up. ‘Ferdi!’ he said. ‘I gave you the day off; did the message go astray?’

 ‘Must’ve,’ Ferdi answered. ‘In any event, I’m here and I might as well get down to business.’ He settled himself at his desk and pulled out a piece of paper and pen, at once busily jotting down figures in a neat column. ‘Don’t mind me,’ he said to the Bucklanders. ‘Beg pardon for interrupting.’ The Master of Buckland was not with them; it seemed he'd been detained by business, and hoped to get away later, arriving perhaps by teatime the next day if he was able. 

The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of elevenses, and Ferdi, aware of Pippin’s scrutiny, ate heartily of his portion. I am well; no need to worry yourself on my account.

Merry Brandybuck was admitted to the Thain’s study when they were halfway through eating. ‘Well, Pippin!’ he cried. ‘I am here at last, though I apologise for coming in the middle of a meal, and not at the start!’

 ‘Did you ride through the night?’ Pippin said. ‘We didn’t expect you until teatime on the morrow at the earliest!’

 ‘The news I have was worth lost sleep,’ Merry said dismissively. Though hampered by the arm suspended from a strap—a sling of sorts—he fished an impressive-looking envelope from beneath his coat.

 ‘What’s this?’ Pippin said. ‘Have we been invited to a fancy dress ball?’

 ‘Better!’ Merry replied, his eyes dancing. ‘A picnic by the Brandywine Bridge!’

 ‘A picnic!’ Pippin said in astonishment. ‘In the kind of weather we’ve been having!’ He shuddered. ‘We’ll catch our deaths!’

 ‘If it’s cool and misty we’ll have shelter,’ Merry said. ‘In any event, the company that’s promised is beyond reproach.’

Pippin carefully broke the seals and slit the envelope open, pulling out two decorated sheets. ‘My we’re fancy,’ he said.

 ‘Fit for a king,’ Merry answered.

Pippin was not listening; he was frowning at the top sheet. ‘How am I supposed to read this?’ he asked of the air.

 ‘Look at the next page,’ Merry said cheerily. He’d had a missive of his own, it seemed.

Pippin put aside the first page, which was full of some sort of elvish writing, Ferdi could see from where he sat, and began to read, though his frown did not diminish until he got halfway down the page.

 ‘Strider!’ he cried, throwing the letter down and looking up with a grin. ‘Strider’s coming to the North!’

 ‘He is, at that,’ Merry said. ‘Going to spend some time by the Lake, now that he’s got things in the Southlands running smoothly. And he’s invited us to meet him at the Bridge. What a feast we’ll lay out for him! We’ll put those fancy palace cooks to shame, we shall!’

 ‘I can hardly wait,’ Pippin said, his eyes sparkling as he began to pace. ‘Little more than a week away! We’ve so much planning to do...!’

Author's Note: Chapter 3 has been adjusted slightly since its original posting to reflect that Merry was due to arrive at teatime the *following* day, but rode through the night to arrive when he did.

Chapter 4. Truth and Consequences

Tea in the Thain’s private parlour was a relaxed affair. Ferdi’s first weeks as head of escort to the newly confirmed Thain Peregrin had been uncomfortable at best, but since their rocky beginning two years previous he’d grown used to moving in the high circles of Tookish society, and now as Pippin’s special assistant (not to mention, his brother-in-love), Ferdi could sit back and relax as Diamond poured out and Pippin handed round the cups.

The servants had been dismissed, allowing for unconstrained conversation, though Ferdi suspected that Pippin’s personal hobbitservant, Sandy, and the healer on duty stayed within hailing distance.

Pippin unobtrusively touched Merry’s right hand as he laid down Merry’s tea convenient to his cousin’s able left hand.

 ‘Cold,’ he said frowning. ‘You really oughtn’t to have ridden so soon after...’ He broke off as Merry cleared his throat, took up the cup from the saucer, and murmured thanks.

 ‘Would you prefer seedcake or dried-apple tart, Ferdi?’ Diamond said brightly.

Ferdi elected apple tart as calmly as if a close-held family secret had not nearly been brought out in the open. It was rumoured that the Master of Buckland celebrated the anniversary of some battle down in the Southlands each year by drinking himself into a stupor. Ferdi didn't find it too hard to credit. “Drunk as a Brandybuck” was a byword amongst the Tooks, after all. It was some years later that he learned the truth of Merry’s annual bout with Shadow.

 ‘It’s always cold,’ Merry said conversationally, looking down at his all-but-useless arm in its sling. ‘It never healed properly after that ruffian’s arrow, you know.’ The previous year, a small party of hobbits riding to Bree had been taken by surprise; Merry and Estella had been the only survivors, rescued barely in time by Rangers. The arrow had been removed with great care from his shoulder, the wound had healed over time, but Merry never regained use of his arm.

Merry had learned to do much with his left hand over the past months, even taken up his pen once more, though he had long and patient work to learn to write in a fair hand. Now he said, too casually, ‘The healers are telling me to have it off altogether.’

 ‘Off!’ Pippin exclaimed in horror.

 ‘It’s of no use, and it’s rather a nuisance, really, always getting in my way,’ Merry said.

 ‘You cannot be serious!’ Pippin said, but Merry shook his head.

 ‘I must admit they have a point,’ he said. ‘If it slips out of the sling it does flop around most inconveniently.’

Pippin sputtered, and Ferdi offered a vehement protest of his own, while Pimpernel sat in silent dismay. Healers!

Diamond leaned forward. ‘But...’ she said softly.

Merry turned to her with a raised eyebrow. ‘But...?’ he prompted.

 ‘But there’s something else,’ Diamond said, setting her teacup aside. ‘Something you haven’t said. Some reason you’re not listening to the healers...’

 ‘Other than having too much Tookish sense on your mother’s side, to listen to such nonsense!’ Pippin said angrily.

Merry smiled and looked into his teacup. ‘There is one hope yet,’ he said. ‘Something hobbit healers wouldn’t know to take into consideration.’

Pippin, of course, followed the thought at once. ‘Strider!’ he said.

At the others’ confused looks, Merry nodded and smiled. ‘I put great store in the healing hands of the King, you know,’ he said.

 ‘I’d heard something to that effect,’ Diamond said, but Pimpernel continued to look mystified. Ferdi, however, was working things out.

 ‘Something that happened in the Southlands, I suppose,’ Ferdi said slowly, looking from Pippin to Merry and back again. He sucked in a breath, thinking of his cousin’s ruined ribs, the obvious scars of terrible injury that very few had seen; and yet his cousin breathed, walked, even laughed and sang. ‘Healing hands,’ he whispered.

 ‘Aye, cousin,’ Pippin said softly, taking the hand Diamond held out to him and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Indeed, Elessar had brought him back from the brink of death. ‘The hands of the King are healing hands. That was the prophecy, and Elessar proved himself thereby.’ He picked up his cup with his free hand and sipped at the strong, black tea. It was not quite as scalding hot as he preferred, and he set the cup down again nearly full. ‘And I was not the only one to benefit from the King’s healing powers.’

Merry looked down into his own cup. ‘There were many who profited,’ he said. ‘Many who would have been lost without Elessar’s skills, without his gift.’ He looked up again with a smile. ‘In any event, he’ll meet us at the Bridge in less than a fortnight! I intend to ask for his opinion.’

 ‘I certainly hope he gives you more than mere opinion, cousin!’ Ferdi said, and Pippin nodded vigorous agreement.

Merry turned the conversation from himself. ‘You’re looking well, Pippin,’ he said. ‘I do believe life amongst the Tooks is agreeing with you.’

 ‘Hard to credit, what with the disagreeable nature of the Tooks,’ Ferdi said dryly.

 ‘Now, Ferdi!’ Pimpernel remonstrated, but her husband only laughed.

 ‘Indeed, they take great care of me,’ Pippin said. ‘My least wish is their greatest desire! Why, should I express the slightest longing, say, for honey-cured bacon from the North Farthing, it’ll appear on my breakfast table within a day or two, allowing time for a swift messenger to ride northwards and back again with a sackful of the stuff.’

 ‘I thought you were looking well-fed,’ Merry said with satisfaction. ‘D’you suppose it would work, in my case?’

 ‘I do not know,’ Pippin said thoughtfully. He turned to Diamond. ‘What is your opinion on the matter, my dear?’

 ‘I think that Merry would have to express his wish to the Thain, and the Thain would have to repeat that wish in the hearing of the steward, as if it were his own in origin, for such an event to have any promise whatsoever,’ Diamond answered.

 ‘Ah, that clears things up marvellously,’ Pippin said. ‘Offer me any wish, with a sufficient bribe, of course, cousin, and I will repeat it in the hearing of the most excellent steward of Tookland as if it sprang whole and in its entirety from my thought.’

 ‘A sufficient bribe?’ Merry echoed, bemused.

Pippin harrumphed like an old uncle and fixed Merry with a gimlet eye. ‘Do you think Northfarthing honey-cured bacon grows upon trees?’ he demanded. ‘It comes dear, very dear indeed, especially when one takes into account the cost of swift pony and rider!’

 ‘Unless of course the swift rider is the Thain’s special assistant,’ Ferdi said, leaning back with a grin. ‘In which case his salary covers all such expense. It helps, of a certainty, that said assistant owns the fastest pony in the Shire.’

 ‘Ferdi!’ Pippin said severely. ‘How ever am I to chisel gold out of my Brandybuck cousin’s hide if you insist upon being so dashedly truthful?’

Pimpernel and Diamond were laughing out loud by this juncture, and tea ended very merrily indeed.

***

That evening, after telling the little ones their nightly story and tucking them up in their beds, Pimpernel and Ferdi sought their own bed, snuggling together as drowsiness stole over them.

Pimpernel sighed.

 ‘What is it, Nell my own?’ Ferdi murmured into her curls, adding a kiss for good measure.

 ‘I do hope that king-fellow can help Merry,’ she said softly. ‘I hate to think of him...’

 ‘I lived with a useless arm for quite some time, after the Battle of Bywater,’ Ferdi said. ‘I agree, it can be quite a nuisance.’

 ‘But your arm got better,’ Pimpernel said. ‘The healers never tried to tell you to have it off!’

 ‘I wouldn’t have listened to them if they had,’ Ferdi said. ‘And it did get better, at last,’ he added. ‘We’ll hope for the best for our cousin’s sake.’

He held Nell close, stroking her back gently until he felt her relaxing into sleep. When her breaths came deep and even, he closed his own eyes.

The face of the doomed boy stared reproachfully from the darkness.

He opened his eyes hastily, and gazed long at the familiar, comforting, rounded ceiling above. A dream, he said to himself. A memory only.

He was weary, and in no time his eyes were closing of their own accord.

The boy waited.

Ferdi jerked half-upright. Nell murmured a sleepy protest, and he soothed her back to sleep. When her breaths came once more deep and even, he eased himself from the bed. He’d go for a ride, or a walk under the stars, if the night were clear. Surely a little fresh air would clear his head.

But when he returned to his bed a few hours before dawn, the memory of the boy was still waiting for Ferdibrand to close his eyes.

Chapter 5. Midnight Arrival

 ‘But can we get there and back again in time?’ Pippin asked in his most reasonable tone.

 ‘This has been in the planning for a year or more,’ Diamond said firmly. ‘The hobbits of Pincup have been planning this Jonquil Celebration in my honour ever since last year when someone heard me exclaim over the exquisite blooms in the Thain’s Garden and wrote to their cousin’s daughter-in-love’s brother’s grandson about it. Just because your old friend sends word that he wants to meet you in little more than a week...’

 ‘He just happens to be the King of Gondor and Arnor and...’ Pippin began, but Reginard cut in smoothly.

 ‘I do believe we can manage to satisfy honour and duty in both events.’ He looked from Thain to Mistress. ‘We can send the baggage ahead to Buckland, you know. You can take with you just what’s needed for the journey and a day or two at Pincup and then go on to the Bridge from there.’

 ‘It won’t be fast travel,’ Pippin warned. ‘No more than tracks between here and Pincup, and between Pincup and Stock, unless you take the long way ‘round.’

 ‘We can ride pony-back,’ Diamond said.

 ‘And I’ll have your coach waiting at the Crowing Cockerel,’ Reginard put in. ‘You just ride down to Pincup, honour the good wishes of the hobbits there, ride north to the Stock Road, have a bath, hot meal and good sleep at the inn, and be on your way to the Bridge. Why, you might even be a day or two early for the meeting.’

 ‘Better than a day or two late, anyhow,’ Pippin muttered, his glance falling on the much-decorated letter lying on his desk. He shook his head and said, ‘O very well,’ and to Diamond, with the beginnings of a smile, ‘You know I can never refuse you anything, my love!’

 ‘O Pip!’ she said, flying at him with her face lit up with delight and her arms open to embrace him. After a sweet kiss, she whispered in his ear, ‘I’m going to hold you to that, you know.’

Reginard cleared his throat. ‘Well then,’ he said. ‘Be that as it may... When shall I have them saddle your ponies?’

 ‘I cannot leave today,’ Pippin said. ‘There’s that delegation from Michel Delving to deal with, and the Bracegirdles...’

 ‘I could...’ the steward began, but Pippin shook his head decisively.

 ‘No, Regi, I’d trust you to handle everything with your usual aplomb, and the hobbits of Michel Delving wouldn’t mind, but the Bracegirdles are likely to take offence and triple the price of their pipe-weed if I do not treat with them myself.’ He could just hear the mutters: Foisted off on an underling! Who does he think he is!

 ‘Farry and I could go ahead, with an escort,’ Diamond said. ‘If we do not leave today, they’ll have to delay the opening of the celebration! And Mayor Sam won’t be there to open!’

 ‘As he’s preparing to meet King Elessar at the Brandywine Bridge,’ Pippin said. As I ought to be doing, he thought better of saying. He saw his wife’s smile dim and added hastily, ‘An excellent notion, my dear! We shall send you and Farry ahead with an escort, and I shall follow with Reginard as soon as we’ve hammered out this year’s purchase of wine and pipe-weed.’

He turned to Ferdibrand in time to catch him hiding a yawn. ‘What ever is the matter with you, Ferdi?’ he said. ‘The morning’s barely begun!’

 ‘Beg pardon,’ the special assistant said. ‘Haven’t quite pried my eyelids open as of yet.’

 ‘Well can you pry them open wide enough to arrange an escort to Pincup for Diamond and Farry?’ Pippin said.

 ‘Certainly, certainly,’ Ferdi said, rising hastily from his desk. ‘When would you like to leave, Mistress?’

 ‘Immediately after second breakfast,’ Diamond said. ‘We’ll take the Stock Road to the Crowing Cockerel, refresh ourselves with some tea, and head south from there along the little track to Pincup.’

 ‘Yes,’ Pippin said thoughtfully. ‘That’ll likely be faster than going across the fields and through the woods, though a bit longer to do it that way.’ He pulled Diamond to him, laying a kiss upon her cheek. ‘If you insist upon leaving this morning, and not waiting for me to conclude my business...’

 ‘Those Bracegirdles could talk a Brandybuck up a tree,’ Diamond said, ‘and you know how they feel about heights!’

 ‘They could talk a Took into the Water,’ Pippin agreed. ‘But this is one Took who learnt how to swim, and who’s climbed a number of trees in his life, so I have no fear from the Bracegirdles. Let them do their worst!’

Reginard shook his head. Likely the Thain would rue those words; the steward had been dealing with the Bracegirdles for years and had no illusions as to how the discussion would proceed. Or wouldn’t, as it were.

And so it was agreed. Hildibold would ride to Pincup with Diamond and little Farry. Deep in the centre of the Shire, only one hobbit of the escort would be needed, and that more to fend off foxes or stray dogs than anything else. The Bounders were efficient at keeping wayward Men from penetrating more than a few miles into the Shire proper. Both times Men were caught within the Shire, swift word had been sent to the Thain as chief of the Shire-muster and thus the defence of the Shire, and he’d dispatched Ferdi and Tolly to help deal with the situation and report back to him.

So Pippin saw Diamond off, young Farry riding before her on the saddle, Hilly at her side, his bow strung and his quiver full of arrows. The escort didn’t expect any trouble, really, but it made a good show, and he’d been the second-best archer at the tournament last year, so if trouble were to come sniffing at them he was sure he’d drive it away without much ado.

 ‘Good thing it’s not you,’ Tolly muttered to Ferdi, who was stifling another yawn. ‘You’re asleep on your feet. What’s amiss?’

 ‘I’m fine, really,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘I beg to differ,’ Tolly said. ‘Why don’t you take yourself off for a nap? You look a sight, and we’ll be riding off to Pincup in a few hours. Don’t want you falling asleep and falling off your pony!’

 ‘You forget,’ Ferdi said, ‘Pippin wants me there while he treats with the Bracegirdles and the contingent from Michel Delving. I’m supposed to be making note of everything that’s said.’

 ‘Hah,’ Tolly said sceptically. ‘If you can only stay awake through it all! I’ve never met anyone more boring than a Bracegirdle.’

 ‘Pompous asses,’ Ferdi agreed. ‘But I’m fine, really I am, Tolly.’ He fought down another yawn and forced his eyes wide, putting on an alert expression. ‘All I need is a good strong cup of tea and that’ll do me up right.’

As it turned out, the business with the hobbits of Michel Delving went smoothly and fairly quickly. They’d been trading their crops and chalk from their quarry for Tookland wool and mutton for some years now, and both sides had been satisfied with the equity of the trade. By the time elevenses were served, Pippin was shaking hands with the head of the delegation and wishing him safe journey home again.

 ‘At this rate, we’ll be finished well before teatime,’ he said to Reginard. ‘We’ll ride out just as soon as we’ve said fare-thee-well to the Bracegirdles, and probably be in Pincup by late supper!’

 ‘You want to ride that track through the woods in the dark?’ Regi said dubiously.

Pippin laughed. ‘Why ever not?’ he said. ‘Certainly, bed and beer at the Cockerel would be softer and more comfortable, but Diamond is to open the Jonquil Festival at dawn, and I mean to be there to watch the good hobbits of Pincup shower my wife with praise!’ He gave a satisfied nod. ‘She does so much for the Tooks, and yet they know so little of her efforts... it’ll be good to see her receive just a little of what she’s due.’

The steward smiled. Pippin might have been describing himself. He did so much for the Tooks, and yet tried to do as much of it as he could privately, ducking accolades with the muttered sentiment that he was only doing as he ought. ‘Everything will be ready for our departure just as soon as we’re finished with the Bracegirdles,’ he said.

 “As soon as we’re finished with the Bracegirdles.” It sounded so promising, and innocuous. Pippin could not think of an analogy bad enough to describe what that meeting felt to him: being dragged off his feet by Orcs through rocks and thorns came to mind, but he dismissed it as mere fancy. He did feel exhausted and bedraggled when Odo Bracegirdle finally held out his hand and said sourly, ‘I think we can live with that agreement.’

Pippin forced a genial smile and took the hand in his, pumping it with feigned enthusiasm. ‘Yes, fair all around, I’d say,’ he said. And it was fair, but only because Pippin had kept politely hammering at the recalcitrant Bracegirdles until the agreement was fair to Took and Bracegirdle alike. He wondered if Gimli had ever felt like this, coaxing a jewel from a rock-face of flint.

It was well after teatime that their business was concluded, and Pippin, Reginard, Tolly, and Ferdibrand did not make a proper supper, but ate in the saddle as they rode. Ferdi elected to lead them across the fields, a rougher journey but more direct, if one had a hunter’s intimate knowledge of  the Green Hills. Still, it was nigh on middle night when they pulled up in the darkened streets of Pincup.

Pippin pounded on the door of the inn for some time before the door was opened by the innkeeper, who was blinking sleepily. That jolly hobbit’s face brightened considerably when he recognised the Thain. ‘Well come! Well met and well come, indeed!’ he said, peering past Pippin to the dark group behind him. ‘We’ll put up your ponies and show you to your rooms! We’d given up hope that you’d arrive today, and were going to put off the celebration in hopes that you’d come on the morrow. But come in! You must be tired, and I imagine your Mistress...’

 ‘Yes, yes,’ Pippin said, stripping off his riding gloves and ducking through the opening doorway. ‘I’m sure Diamond is quite impatient at the lateness of the hour.’

 ‘No, impatient? Never,’ the innkeeper protested. ‘Why the Mistress is ever as gracious as the day is long in the summertime,’ he added. ‘We’ll just show you to your rooms...’ He turned to address two sons blinking behind him, night-caps still on their heads. ‘See to the ponies!’ The lads bowed and darted out the door and the little group of riders and ponies began to move towards the stables.

Still chattering, the innkeeper led the way to the best room, throwing the door open and hurrying inside. ‘Half a moment,’ he cried over his shoulder. ‘I’ll just light the fire; it’s been laid ready, you know, and have fresh warmers put into the bed...’

Pippin entered the room, looking to the bed, expecting to see Farry tucked up and fast asleep, Diamond sitting up beside their little son, waiting for Pippin’s arrival. He was a bit surprised that a fire was not already going. His greeting died on his lips as he surveyed the empty bed. His gaze swept the room. ‘Where’s Diamond?’ he asked.

 ‘Is she still in the stables?’ the innkeeper said, straightening up from sparking the fire. ‘I thought she’d come in directly behind you, O forgive me my oversight, Sir...’

 ‘Still in the stables?’ Pippin said, dumbfounded. ‘Why would she still be in the stables?’

 ‘Well, Sir, I...’ the innkeeper said, nervously washing his hands together. ‘You’d know better than me, I should think.’

Pippin turned on his heel and strode out again, meeting the other travellers halfway across the yard. ‘Did you see Diamond?’ he demanded.

 ‘Diamond?’ Reginard said, mystified.

 ‘The innkeeper seems to think she was awaiting us in the stables,’ Pippin said. ‘Or that she went out to the stables to feed her mare a midnight apple, or something of the sort.’

 ‘Not at all,’ the innkeeper said.

 ‘Then where is she?’ Pippin demanded, swinging around to confront him.

 ‘I—I—I...’ the poor hobbit stuttered.

Ferdi, now thoroughly awake, took Pippin’s arm. Pippin, fair and reasonable and clear-headed about most things, was definitely not level-headed when it came to his wife and child. ‘Pip...’ he said under his breath. ‘Let’s calm down and I’m sure we’ll sort this all out.’

 ‘I am calm!’ Pippin snapped. ‘And what is there to sort out?’ he added. The hobbits around him stiffened at his tone, not the mild, sensible, invariably cheerful and sometimes whimsical hobbit they were used to dealing with.

Ferdi turned to the innkeeper, retaining a vise-like grip on the Thain's arm. ‘Now then, Master Broadbank,’ he said lightly. ‘What time did Mistress Diamond arrive? And what did she say? Was she invited elsewhere?’

 ‘I—I...’ said the innkeeper.

 ‘Where is Diamond?’ Pippin demanded.

 ‘I thought she was with you,’ the innkeeper quavered.

The travellers exchanged glances, but Tolly was the first to catch the implication. Taking the unfortunate innkeeper by the shoulders, he hissed, ‘She never arrived?’

Regi put in, ‘She should have been here by late supper at the latest!’

The innkeeper opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

 ‘Diamond is not here?’ Pippin whispered, anger draining away.

The innkeeper blinked from one grim countenance to another, skimming over the pale faces of his sons, uncertainly huddled together in the face of this storm of emotion. At last, in a shaking voice, he ventured, ‘You mean, the Mistress did not travel with you...?’

Chapter 6. In the Grip of Misfortune

They had not been far out of Tuckborough when Hilly heard the sound of a galloping pony rapidly approaching from behind them. He swung his pony at once to meet the rider, shouting a cheerful greeting upon recognising the Master of Buckland.

Diamond reined in and waited for Merry to catch them. ‘Merry!’ she cried. ‘Is aught amiss?’

 ‘Not at all,’ Merry said, pulling up his prancing pony. ‘I was going to stay over until the morrow, but there’s not much point, with Pippin immersed in business and then departing directly after. I thought I’d offer my company to the Cockerel, and tea when we get there.’

 ‘And then ride on through the night to Buckland?’ Diamond said, shaking a stern finger at him.

 ‘Nay!’ Merry laughed. ‘For if I arrive too soon at Brandy Hall, Estella shall accuse me of losing sleep, and pop me directly into bed!’ He soothed his jigging mount’s neck and added, ‘I’ll stop over at the Cockerel; will you sup with me?’

Diamond smiled regretfully and shook her head. ‘We mean to make good time to the Cockerel,’ she said, ‘have a quick bite for tea, and on to Pincup. I don’t want to ride that wooded track in the dark!’

 ‘Why not stop over? Ride down in the morning? If you were to leave immediately after early breakfast, you ought to arrive in good time for second breakfast,’ Merry argued.

 ‘And if we leave directly after tea, we’ll arrive well before eventides,’ Diamond returned. ‘I can tuck up Farry, doze a bit myself whilst waiting for Pippin, and be fresh as a daisy to open the festive breakfast. ‘Twould be most inconvenient for the hobbits of Pincup to have to postpone their celebration because the guest of honour came belated!’

 ‘I see,’ Merry said solemnly, though there was a twinkle in his eye. ‘I shall have to settle for your delightful company at tea table only, and reconcile myself to a solitary supper.’

 ‘Surrounded by admiring hobbits who hang on your every word,’ Diamond said. ‘My poor cousin, it is almost enough to make me take pity on you, but for the fact that mine husband would be most disturbed to reach Pincup and find me not yet arrived.’

 ‘You could reassure him when he stops at the Cockerel,’ Merry suggested, but Diamond shook her head.

 ‘He won’t stop,’ she said decidedly. ‘He’ll ride straight through, knowing him, eating cold food packed in his saddlebags and forcing any unfortunate hobbits with him to do the same.’

 ‘Your husband is such a harsh taskmaster,’ Merry said, hiding a smile.

 ‘He’s not!’ Farrry protested. His mother patted his shoulder.

 ‘Of course not, lovie,’ she soothed. ‘Cousin Merry and I are only playing, you know.’

Farry subsided and listened to the talk the rest of the way to the inn, occasionally laughing at a witticism or chirping a comment of his own.

Diamond made a quick tea indeed, rising from table a scant half-hour after their arrival at the Cockerel.

 ‘I’m sorry, Merry, but we really must go,’ she said. ‘I do want to arrive well before the Sun seeks her bed.’ The innkeeper had warned that the heavy rains of the previous week had left the trail rather difficult in places. It would be best to ride by light of sun rather than torch or lantern.

 ‘I’ll ride part way with you,’ Merry offered, but Diamond demurred.

 ‘You have a long journey on the morrow,’ she said. ‘Give your Jewel of a pony a good rest this night.’

At last he desisted, but he did walk out to the yard to see them off, and watched them out of sight before turning into the inn.

***

The streams they forded were running rather swift and high, but they made the crossings safely. More troublesome were the boggy stretches where they had to turn aside from the track to find firmer ground.

As they were crossing one nameless stream, rushing through the woods in a hurry to reach the larger river near Pincup, Diamond’s gelding balked in the middle of the ford, up to his hocks in swift water. To no avail did she urge him forward.

At last Hilly persuaded her to hand Farry over to him; he’d carry the lad to the safety of the bank and return for Diamond. Hilly and Farry were nearly to the bank when a leafy branch, carried on the current, was driven against Diamond’s gelding, causing the beast to leap and shy, nearly upsetting himself and his rider in the stream. The gelding regained his footing, however, and Diamond somehow retained her seat. The good part was that, having moved his feet to escape the fearsome branch, the gelding consented to keep moving unto the other side of the stream.

The bank was steep and muddy, the footing treacherous, and Hilly elected to ride downstream a way in search of better footing. At last they came to a spot where the stream had overflowed the bank, spreading over the low ground. The ground was shallowly submerged but fairly even, and Hilly turned his pony out of the stream, Diamond riding alongside.

They were nearly out of the flooded region when disaster struck.

The ponies had been uneasy, understandable in that terrain. They were used to fording muddy or sandy or rocky streambeds; it was quite another thing to be pacing through watery forest, through a patch of leafless trees that did not seem to know Spring had arrived. Hilly soothed his pony’s neck and urged him towards the higher ground, just ahead now.

Suddenly his pony half-reared and plunged to the left, while Diamond's pony snorted and shied violently in the opposite direction. Diamond screamed as her pony’s hindquarters sank into muddy ooze.

 ‘It’s a bog!’ Hilly shouted. His own pony lost its footing and wallowed, frantically seeking purchase.

Diamond’s gelding found solid footing under his front feet and fought his way free, standing trembling as she slid from his back.

 ‘Farry!’ she shrieked. ‘Hilly!’

The struggles of Hilly’s pony had submerged it to the neck; it whistled its terror as its struggles caused it, and its hapless riders, to settle ever more deeply.

 ‘Diamond!’ Hilly shouted, lifting Farry before him. He had pulled his feet free of the stirrups and managed to kneel upon the submerged saddle, though the roiled waters were closing about his waist. With a mighty thrust and heave that sent him deeper, he threw Farry towards the panic-stricken mother.

Diamond caught Farry’s arm and pulled him to safety. The mired pony’s whistles stopped abruptly and she looked up from her son, to see a fast-sinking Hilly casting desperately with his bow at an overhanging branch out of his hands’ reach, somehow snagging the weapon on a thumblike protrusion. His pony was gone as if it had never been.

 ‘Hilly!’ she cried, starting forward instinctively.

 ‘Stay!’ he gasped.

 ‘I’ll ride for help!’ Diamond shouted, but her frantic resolve died as she turned to her gelding, obviously badly lamed in his fight to win free.

 ‘Rope!’ Hilly called, his knuckles white on the bow that kept the sucking mire from pulling him under.

Diamond scrabbled in her saddlebags, futile as it was. She knew the contents already: a change of clothing for herself in one side, a change of clothing for Farry in the other, two bags of gold, one in each pocket, for the hobbits of Pincup, to pay for firewood and food for old gaffers, widows, and orphans in the coming year. Useless gold, of no help at all to a drowning hobbit.

 ‘No rope,’ she called back, ‘but keep hold, Hilly!’ She babbled on as she infused her tone with as much encouragement as she could manage. ‘My husband will be coming soon behind us, just as quickly as his business is finished. He always carries rope with him. He says it’s a thing he learned from Mayor Sam.’ 

 ‘I only hope he talks fast then,’ Hilly said, gripping harder the saviour bow. ‘Or perhaps uses some of that rope to tie up a bargain with the Bracegirdles, quickly.’

 ‘Hold tight,’ Diamond repeated. Farry snuggled deeper in his mother’s arms and stared, wide-eyed, afraid to ask where Hilly’s pony had got to.

 ‘Tight as my own true love’s hand on our wedding day,’ Hilly agreed. So long as he kept absolutely still, the pull of the mire was not overwhelming. The water overlying the bog, however, was icy cold, and he wondered how long he’d manage to keep his hold. He had already begun to shiver. He tried to smile for the little lad’s sake. ‘It seems we’ll be here awhile, Master Farry, so why don’t you teach me that new song you told me about?’

Chapter 7. Into Darkness

The pull of the mire was not overwhelming, yet it was steady. Hilly clung to the bow as the pony, no longer struggling, continued to sink from under his feet. His initial gasps at the shock of the icy water had turned to rapid panting; he could not seem to catch his breath. He was drawn down inexorably, the sustaining branch above him bowing under his weight and the pull of the mire. He’d thought to grab at the branch, should it bend within reach, but it remained tantalisingly just beyond his fingers as the water rose nearly to his shoulders.

Farry’s song faltered and he whimpered for reassurance from his mother.

Hilly wished that reassurance was all that was needed. The branch bent further as the water continued to creep upwards. ‘Don’t look!’ he panted, meeting Diamond’s horrified gaze. ‘Hide his eyes!’ Little Farry must not watch this terrible end.

 ‘Hilly...’ Diamond whispered, but then she turned Farry, pulled him against her, covered him with her cloak and held him tight. She would not turn her own eyes away.

Hilly stiffened as the water approached his jaw, and then...

...and then, he was no longer sinking. The branch held.

Diamond gasped out the breath she’d been holding. ‘Hilly!’

Panting for breath was making him light-headed, and so he forced himself, despite the grip of the icy mud and the chill of the water’s embrace, to steady his breaths, to breathe as deeply as he was able. ‘M-m-mistress,’ he chattered.

Diamond was not one to sit and do nothing while every moment brought Hilly closer to drowning. She rose abruptly, lifting Faramir and setting him on his feet. ‘Come, Farry,’ she said, forcing herself to speak cheerfully. ‘We may not have rope, but we’ve branches a-plenty, just waiting for us to drag them to Hilly’s aid.’

 ‘G-g-g-good thinking,’ Hilly said.

 ‘Save your strength,’ Diamond said over her shoulder.

Hilly nodded and closed his eyes. He was shivering violently, though he could no longer feel his lower limbs, and his hands, both now clinging to the bow, felt numb, almost wooden. His head slowly drooped forward, but when his chin touched the water he jerked upright once more, looking wildly about.

Diamond had tucked up her skirts, exposing shapely limbs which Hilly, always ready to admire maidenly virtues, was in no condition to appreciate. She and Farry were dragging a long branch towards the bog, and when they reached the edge they shoved it as far towards Hilly as they could. ‘There,’ Diamond said. ‘Plenty more where that one came from.’

Hilly tried to smile, and Diamond’s lips twitched in response. Farry had run back from the edge of the bog and now his piping call came, ‘Here’s another!’

 ‘Good, Farry!’ Diamond cried, and turned. Over her shoulder she said, ‘Hold tight, Hilly.’

He didn’t expend energy on answering, simply concentrated on steady breaths, and keeping his eyes open.

Branch after branch they dragged to the bog and shoved in. Hilly was shivering less now; he was feeling warmer, actually rather cheerful, even optimistic about the situation.

 ‘You’re building quite a bridge!’ he called, though he had a bit of trouble forming the words, much as if he’d had a pint too many at the Spotted Duck of an evening. ‘When Pip arrives he won’t need any rope, he’ll simply walk out and not even get his feet wet!’

 ‘Are you well, Hilly?’ Diamond asked, straightening for a moment to rub her back and eye him narrowly.

 ‘Better and better,’ Hilly slurred. ‘I think I’m getting used to the water. It seemed quite cold, in the beginning, but now it’s beginning to grow on me. Invig—invi—invigorating!’ he finished in triumph.

 ‘Fine,’ Diamond said. She eyed the lengthening shadows: nearly time for eventides. Hilly had been in the water for over an hour now, and she did not know how much longer he could sustain the fight. How much longer until Pippin came? They couldn’t afford to wait for rope and rescuers. ‘As you’re feeling so invigorated, perhaps you could take hold of the branches we’ve fetched for you and pull yourself to firmer ground.’

 ‘Lovely idea, Diamond-bright,’ Hilly said, and chuckled at his own witticism. He looked up with a frown. ‘Very strange,’ he added.

 ‘What’s strange?’ Diamond said. ‘It ought to feel good, to put your arms down. Just try one, however, until we see if our branches will hold you.’

 ‘I would if I could,’ Hilly said, frowning at his unresponsive hands. ‘I seem to be somewhat... stuck.’

 ‘Come, Hilly,’ Diamond said, and Farry added his coaxing. ‘Work at it. Loose one hand, just one, and grab hold of the branches we’ve worked so hard to bring you.’

 ‘Very well,’ Hilly said agreeably. His face grimaced as he worked one hand free of the bow, letting it fall to the water with a splash. ‘Seems all the blood’s run out,’ he said, ‘hanging there so long.’ He moved his arm in the water, lifted it and let it fall again. ‘Splash, splash, in the bath!’ he sang.

 ‘No time for nursery rhymes,’ Diamond said, nearly frantic now. Hilly was losing his faculties; all too soon he’d become unresponsive and beyond all aid. She spoke as persuasively as she knew how. ‘Take the branch, Hilly, and pull yourself along.’

He smiled, a grimace of a grin, and swam his fingers to the nearest branch. He pulled on the bow with one hand to try to ease himself further out of the water. There was an ominous cracking sound from the hanging branch, even as he hauled his shoulders clear of the water. His fingers slipped from the bow and he fell forward, grabbing clumsily at the branches Diamond had shoved out to him. Released, the bough sprang upwards, the captive bow hanging as a trophy won by the tree.

Diamond stifled her involuntary cry as Hilly came to rest on the floating branches. His legs were still mired, but the upper part of his body was supported, though the branches dipped under his weight, forcing him to make an effort to raise his chin above the water. He stared straight ahead of him, towards Diamond and Farry, through glazing eyes. ‘That’s got it,’ he whispered.

 ‘Can you pull yourself free?’ Diamond called. She saw Hilly’s hands close reflexively on the branches, saw his face tighten with effort, saw when his strength failed and he relaxed, half turning to rest his head upon his upper arm, to keep his face above the water.

 ‘No,’ he whispered. After several breaths, he added, ‘But at least I’m not sinking any more.’ His eyelids drooped as he gazed straight before him into the darkening wood; a smile bloomed on his face at what he fancied he saw.

 ‘Hold tight, Hilly,’ Diamond said, yet again. She pushed Farry down upon the ground. ‘Stay here,’ she said firmly to her son. She moved to the edge of the firm ground and crouched, surveying the branches. ‘Hilly!’ she called. ‘I’m going to crawl out to you, try to pull you free.’

This was enough to rouse the escort from his daze. ‘No!’ he cried, raising his head. ‘Don’t you do it, Mistress-mine! Don’t you risk your Diamonds in the mire. Pippin would have my hide, and welcome to it!’

 ‘I cannot leave you there!’ Diamond snapped.

 ‘You cannot leave your son!’ Hilly responded. Farry lunged to grab hold of Diamond’s skirts, adding his own plea. Diamond took her son in her arms, and when she looked back to the escort, his head was resting on his arm once more, face drooping ever closer to the surface of the water.

 ‘Hilly!’ Diamond said, and caught her breath in a sob.

The escort took a few slow breaths. ‘No need,’ he said in a faraway tone. ‘No need to weep, my love.’ His eyes returned to the wood, and he gazed longingly at some vision that only he could see. ‘A little sleep will put me right. Ah, but I’m weary.’

 ‘Hilly, no!’ Diamond sobbed. ‘Hold on, just a little longer.’

 ‘Weary,’ Hilly whispered. He turned his head so that his gaze met Diamond’s once more. ‘Hide his eyes,’ he breathed, and then he looked back into the woods. ‘What’s that?’ he said, lifting his head slightly. ‘Ah, yes, Posey-love, all will be well. I’m just so weary, you know. Sing me to sleep?’

Breathing raggedly, Diamond pulled Farry closer, casting her cloak over him. ‘All is well, love,’ she echoed. ‘Hilly just wants a bit of a nap, that’s all. I imagine you’re weary yourself; it’s past eventides and you ought to be tucked up in a proper bed, you ought.’

 ‘But mama,’ Farry protested, his voice muffled.

Diamond shushed him, and settling to the ground and holding him tightly against her, she began to sing.

Chapter 8. On the Wings of a Song

The man walking in the lead raised his head as the breeze brought a scrap of sweet song to his ears, and he lifted his hand to halt his companions.

 ‘What is it?’ the youth whispered, and he hushed his smaller brother as the young one tugged at his arm. ‘A wood sprite?’

The man suppressed a chuckle and answered, ‘It is one of the little ones. I’ve heard the song before, when they travelled in Gondor and sang songs at the great feast.’ He cocked his head and added thoughtfully, ‘Very like...’

 ‘So we capture it, and ask it to lead us to the gold, just like in the old stories Gran told,’ the little boy said eagerly. His brother hushed him again.

 ‘Not quite that easy,’ the man whispered. ‘They’re shy folk, shy of us Big Folk, anyhow, and this is their home. If they hear us coming, they’ll disappear in a twinkling, whisk round the edge of a tree or into a thicket and we’ll never know where they went.’

They crept towards the music as quietly as they could.

A hobbit under most any other circumstance would have heard their approach and hurried away to warn the Bounders, were he close to the borders of the Shire, or a Shirriff otherwise. Diamond, of course, sick at heart and exhausted from her efforts, shivering from the cold and damp and the chill of sitting on the ground, was too involved in her singing, her last gift to Hilly, to hear. Farry, snug in his mother’s cloak, was dozing in spite of his fears, overcome at last by cold and weariness. Hilly, of course, heard no more than the faintest echo of Diamond’s song, for he was failing quickly, eyes closed, his face slipping dangerously close to the water as he relinquished the fight.

The man paused behind a tree to take in the scene: little mother cradling a young one, her head drooping wearily as she sang. A pony stood to one side, holding one leg off the ground, obviously lamed. Stranded travellers, obviously in need of aid. Why, they were sitting on the damp ground, without a fire as the chill of night began to descend!

He moved forward without thinking. He had nearly reached the hobbits when the mother became aware of him and the two companions that followed, breaking off her song in a gasp, raising a tear-streaked face to stare into his eyes.

 ‘I mean you no harm,’ he said quickly. ‘I didn’t even mean for you to see us, but it seemed as if you were in need of aid.’ He bowed. ‘Jack, son of Robin, at your service, little lady!’ It wasn’t his true name, of course, but it was one of the names he used in his travels. ‘Wandering conjuror and master of pleasing illusions.’

The tiny hobbit stirred and his eyes widened at seeing the man, though he showed no fear. Jack bowed once more, reached slowly towards the little hobbit, and drawing his hand away from the tiny ear, showed a silver penny between his fingers and thumb. ‘What do we have here?’ he said cheerily. ‘Hasn’t your mother taught you to keep your coins in your pocket?’

 ‘Jack!’ the youth shouted, and Jack turned angrily to hush him. Did he want to bring all the hobbits of Tookland down upon them, with their sharp tongues and sharper weapons? Not to mention the fate that awaited any man caught in the Shire and turned over to the King’s Men.

 ‘Keep your voice down, Will,’ he said brusquely, but the rebuke died as his eyes followed the pointing finger to a bow, incongruously hanging from a tree limb, pointing down, to...

He started forward.

 ‘It’s a bog!’ the hobbit mother cried in warning, and Jack stopped as he felt the first warning give of the land under his boots. He scrambled backwards, slinging his pack from his back, scrabbling desperately for the slim rope therein. He’d heard it was of elven-make, though having won it on a wager he really had no idea of its provenance. In any event it was slim and light but very strong.

 ‘Will!’ he snapped. ‘Tie this round yourself and see if those branches will hold you. It’s his only hope!’ The hobbit in the bog did not stir at the upraised voice of the Man, and he was dangerously close to drowning.

The youth shed his boots, cloak, coat and shirt and took the end of the rope, even as the boy pulled at his arm. ‘But Will, it’s a bog!’ the smaller brother said desperately. ‘I can’t lose you too!’

 ‘I’ve no choice, Rob,’ Will said. ‘Would you have that little lad lose his father, as we’ve lost ours?’ He knotted the rope securely, knelt down, and began to creep cautiously over the floating branches. They sank under his weight, but held him up enough that the mire could not get a grip on him. Behind him, he heard the hobbit mother gasp, He’s drowning! and Jack’s urgent, Hurry, Will!

 ‘This is not as easy as it looks,’ he gritted, but he pulled himself along the length of branches as quickly as he dared. The hobbit lay face down in the water, unmoving. He was cold as death as Will reached him, took him under the arms, and began to pull. He felt the rope tighten about him as Jack commenced to haul away from the bank.

The branches sank deeper under their combined weight, and Will held his breath as his head went under. The bog resisted as he fought to pull the hobbit free, but just as he began to despair of winning the fight the resistance lessened, and suddenly eased. He felt the kiss of the quagmire beneath the branches that supported him, growing more insistent as his knees became mired. He managed to pull free and swing sideways, staying parallel to the mire that lay beneath the water, pulling the hobbit with him, pushing against the branches with his feet to impel them towards safety. He gasped as his head broke the surface of the water, and he heard his young brother’s desperate cry. Will!

 ‘I’m coming!’ he gasped. ‘Half a moment!’ It was something more than half a moment before Jack pulled rescuer and rescued onto safe ground.

The hobbit mother and lad fell upon the rescued hobbit, but Jack pushed them away and lifted the limp body, laying Hilly over his arm and whacking him firmly on the back. ‘Come on,’ he hissed. ‘Breathe now.’

At last Hilly coughed weakly and vomited a small amount of water. ‘That’s got it,’ Jack said. ‘Now we need to get all of you warm, before you catch your deaths.’

Diamond’s face was pale and strained, and she was shivering. ‘Warm,’ she said vaguely. ‘A lovely sentiment. Bath and fire, supper and bed.’

 ‘Come along, then; we’ll see what we can do,’ Jack said, affecting cheer. He hefted the half-drowned hobbit in his arms and turned back the way they’d come; it was away from the track that led through this part of the woods. He didn’t want a casual traveller to see their fire and investigate. As a matter of fact, they’d been about to go to ground for the night when they’d heard the singing.

Will lifted the hobbit lad, who began to chatter away, full of bright curiosity and spilling over with questions, and young Rob took the hobbit mother’s arm and began to help her along.

 ‘Pony’s lame,’ Jack called over his shoulder when Will hesitated. ‘Leave the beast and I’ll come back for him as soon as we have a fire going to warm you.’

He led them to a sheltered hollow he’d noticed, where a tree had fallen in a windstorm, lifting a great knot of tangled roots into the air. The bole of the tree, with the wall of roots to one side, made a shelter of sorts, and a fire here would not be easily seen unless one passed very close by.

Starting a fire was no trouble to a wanderer like Jack, and soon after it caught he stripped Hilly’s sodden clothes away and wrapped him in his own blanket, laying him as near the fire as he dared. Will had donned shirt, coat and cloak again and wrapped his nether parts in the blanket he shared with his brother, while his trousers steamed before the fire. Rob and the little hobbit were digging rocks from the mossy ground and placing them by the fire to warm; these would be tucked into Hilly’s blankets.

Diamond sat shivering by Hilly’s side, on a pile of ferns that Jack had arranged before settling her there. She stared blankly into the fire, but stiffened when Jack gently touched her shoulder. ‘I go to fetch some water from the stream,’ he said, ‘and soon we’ll have a hot drink for everyone.’

She murmured her thanks, her voice all but inaudible in her own ears. She was sleepy, and though she recognised the signs of deadly chill she found it difficult to care. Farry sounded cheerful, thankfully, and he was moving about, keeping warm with the exercise of obtaining rocks for blanket-warmers. She didn’t need to worry about him just yet. She would close her eyes for a moment, no more, before rousing herself to deal with everything. Men, she thought disjointedly, and Farry; Hilly, and lamed pony; danger, and gold...

Chapter 9. Resting Places

Diamond became aware that someone was cradling her, holding a cup to her lips, urging her to drink. She opened her mouth and a very little amount of warm liquid entered, some sort of broth, salty and sustaining. She swallowed and the warmth moved comfortingly down into her frozen middle. Frozen? How had she come to be in this state?

 ‘Pippin?’ she murmured.

 ‘Steady now,’ a voice said. It was a young voice, one she might have heard before, but not all that familiar. She opened her eyes to meet Will’s concerned gaze, and she remembered where she was. She sat abruptly upright, spilling some of the contents of the cup over herself, eliciting profuse apologies from the youth.

 ‘No matter,’ she said automatically, adding at once, ‘Farry? Farry?’

 ‘Shhh, now,’ Will soothed. ‘He’s asleep, poor little tyke. Had a busy day, from the sound of it. Riding all day long, only to blunder into a bog.’

 ‘He was never in the bog,’ Diamond protested, though worry stirred within her. Had Farry been in the bog? Her breath came short as memory of the ordeal returned--seeing Hilly on the fast-sinking pony, Farry in his arms. Hilly had been taught how to save himself in a bog: cast yourself down flat and “swim” out. Tooks as a rule don’t swim, but Pippin had insisted that all of the hobbits of the Thain’s escort learn the skill, and practice it on a regular basis, regardless of their distaste for the exercise. As mentioned, he’d also taught them, among other unTookish things, about bogs: there were enough of these in the Shire, after all, and if a hobbit were caught unawares and no one with a rope was at hand, it was a sure death.

But Hilly did not swim out of the bog, though he’d had few seconds to position himself, to launch himself flat out from the pony’s back, to float on the surface of the water and stroke his way to safety without becoming mired and pulled down. Instead he’d elected to push himself upright in order to throw young Faramir to safety. In doing so, he’d signed his own death warrant. Diamond, from journeying to the South with Pippin, knew what a death warrant was.

 ‘Hilly,’ she whispered, and tears flooded her eyes.

 ‘Is that your husband?’ the youth said, lifting the cup to her mouth for another sip. ‘Come now, drink up while it’s warm.’

 ‘He’s not her husband,’ the man said nearby, and Diamond turned her head with difficulty to look at him. Really, she was nearly too comfortable to move, and feeling much warmer, what with the steaming drink and the fire and the cloaks wrapped around her, her own and another so much bigger that it went round and round her, cocooning her in woollen warmth. There were spots of heat tucked in here and there: Farry’s rocks, of course, warmed by the fire and bringing her back from the chill of watching Hilly drown.

But Hilly was there, cradled in the man’s lap, wrapped in an overlarge blanket. Though his eyes were closed, he sipped from the steaming cup held to his lips, and murmured thanks.

 ‘Not her husband?’ the youth said. ‘Who is he, then?’

 ‘My cousin,’ Diamond said. Her thinking was growing clearer, and caution returned. These were Men, unknown to her, but by their very presence in the Shire they posed a danger and a threat. They had already broken the King’s edict, showing their disdain for order and law. What else might they be capable of? ‘We were riding together. My husband had matters of business,’ she added, ‘and so he... he asked my cousin to accompany me.’

 ‘I can imagine he did,’ Jack said dryly, and at Diamond’s inquiring look, added, ‘have matters of business, that is.’ He tilted the cup for Hilly to finish and laid it aside, using a cloth to wipe the escort’s face with surprising gentleness. ‘There now,’ he said, laying the hobbit carefully down upon a bed of fern fronds. ‘Sleep. All is well.’

 ‘I told you all would be well,’ Hilly muttered, not opening his eyes, and a moment later he was snoring.

Will urged Diamond to finish her own warm drink before it went cold, and she did, though her eyelids were closing before she reached the dregs. She did not even feel herself laid down upon her own soft bed.

Jack took care to lift little Farry and lay him down beside Diamond. Only then did he see the hobbit mother relax completely, as her arms fumbled free of the large cloak and pulled her little son close. He re-wrapped the garment about them both, pulled his coat more snugly about himself, and settled down by the fire, to watch and to think as night shrouded the forest in thickening wisps of mist.

***

 ‘Likely they stopped over at the Cockerel,’ Reginard said.

 ‘Of course,’ Ferdi agreed. ‘That’s the most likely explanation. Little Farry was wearied by the ride, or sneezed or somewhat, and Diamond decided to stay on. After all, it’s a full day’s travel from Smials to Cockerel... Very common for folk to arrive in time for tea and spend the afternoon resting, gathering their strength for the next day’s journey.’

 ‘But it’s only two or three hours from the Cockerel to Pincup,’ Pippin argued. ‘She wanted to be here in good time for the breakfast, and to her mind, that meant arriving before eventides.’

 ‘You sent Merry after them, after all,’ Regi continued. ‘You know how persuasive he can be, stubborn Brandybuck that he is.’

Pippin smiled slightly. A Took calling a Brandybuck stubborn was rather like the pot calling the kettle black. But then, Merry was half Took, and he could be wondrously recalcitrant when he wished. He might well have argued Diamond into stopping over, especially if Farry had sneezed, or fallen asleep over his tea, or something of the sort. ‘I half expected to find Merry here in Pincup, having insisted upon accompanying Diamond all the way here before going on to Buckland,’ he admitted.

 ‘There you are!’ Regi said. ‘I imagine they’ll all arrive on the morrow, rested and fresh after a night’s rest and short journey!’

 ‘Still,’ Pippin said. ‘I’d just like to be sure, you know. I don’t like coming here and finding no Diamond, no Farry, no Hilly...’ he looked at each of the hobbits around him in turn to emphasize his unease, ‘...and no word from them. We were to meet here, in Pincup, after all.’

 ‘Diamond might have thought you meant to stop over at the Cockerel,’ Regi said, ‘especially if you got a late start, as was almost inevitable, considering the Bracegirdles. Likely she thought to meet you there, and left word for you with the innkeeper when she retired for the evening.’

 ‘Likely,’ Pippin said reluctantly, but he slapped the palm of his hand with his gloves.

Ferdi, seeing this ominous sign, spoke up again. ‘I’ll go, cousin, and not you,’ he said.

Pippin looked to him with eyebrows raised. ‘You’ll go?’ he asked mildly.

Ferdi sighed, thinking of fire and supper, bath and bed. It was more than halfway to dawning already, and he’d likely arrive just in time to turn around and head back to Pincup with Diamond. The drugged sleep under the draught had been his last, and the sleeplessness since was beginning to tell on him. ‘I’ll go,’ he said, fighting to keep a note of irritation out of his voice. ‘You won’t rest until you know Diamond’s safe and sound...’

 ‘And Farry,’ Tolly put in.

Ferdi shot him a sardonic glance. You’re no help at all. We’re trying to calm the hobbit enough to take his rest, have you forgotten that?

Regi jumped upon the idea. ‘An excellent notion!’ he said. He put an arm about Pippin’s shoulders. ‘Now, Pippin,’ he added, ‘the innkeeper wakened his staff upon our arrival and they’ve been bustling about ever since, cooking and heating water and preparing a bath... I imagine all is nearly ready, and you don’t want to put them to all this trouble for naught, do you, cousin?’

 ‘Starfire’s the fastest pony in the Shire,’ Ferdi said, pulling his own gloves back onto his hands. ‘Why, I might well meet myself coming, should he take it into his head to soar on the wind. We’ll fly to the Cockerel and back, bringing you word of your wife, if not Diamond herself!’

 ‘If not...’ Pippin said, uneasy again.

Ferdi steadied his temper. ‘Of course not!’ he snapped. ‘I’m not about to rouse her from her bed, after all, before her time! I’ll go to the Cockerel, leave her the message that you’re awaiting her here, and ride back again... unless you want me to wait there for her to set out.’

 ‘You might as well,’ Pippin said. ‘Have breakfast, or something, before riding back again. At the very least Starfire should have a bite and a rest.’

 ‘At the very least,’ Ferdi said dryly. ‘Well then,’ he added abruptly, before Pippin could change his mind and decide to ride out into the gathering damp himself, decidedly an ill-advised notion with his damaged lungs, ‘I’m off.’ He whirled about and stalked off to the stables.

His astonished pony turned from the feedbox to greet him and nuzzle at his fingers. ‘Good thing one of us got his supper,’ he muttered, and fetched saddle pad and saddle from their resting places.

Chapter 10. Diamonds

Diamond awakened with a start, opening her eyes to see Jack’s face, inches away, peering into her face. She drew her breath sharply and he put his hand on her mouth, whispering urgently. ‘Do not scream! I mean you no harm!’

He did no more than that, simply stared into her eyes intently. There was no menace in his expression, and no... she didn’t know quite what the word might be, but she’d heard of lasses accosted by ruffians during the Troubles. Not many, for most fathers or husbands kept their loved ones tight indoors and out of sight when ruffians had ruled and roamed the Shire.

When she forced herself to relax, he nodded and took his hand away, though he hovered it near her mouth. ‘Keep quiet,’ he ordered. ‘Do not waken the lads.’ Faramir, Rob, and Will were all asleep, their soft breathing blending with Hilly’s snores.

She swallowed hard and nodded, and he took his hand completely away. ‘That’s better,’ he whispered. ‘I mean you no harm.’ His gaze dropped and his lips tightened, before he looked up again. ‘No matter that I ought to.’

 ‘What do you mean?’ Diamond whispered, fear clutching her heart. He ought to mean them harm?

 ‘I ought to take you all back to the bog and drop you in,’ Jack said candidly. Diamond lay frozen in fear and shock, tightening her hold on sleeping Farry.

Jack sat back and circled his knees with his arms, staring down at his boots. ‘It was to be so easy,’ he said. ‘Slip into the Shire, avoid the watchers, and slip out again, unseen.’

 ‘But why?’ Diamond breathed.

Jack’s eyes raised to meet hers. ‘You know very well, my lady Diamond,’ he whispered. ‘Word has gone out that your husband has more gold than he knows what to do with. We were going to creep in, mice in the pantry, lift a little nibble—why, not enough that he’d miss it—and creep away again.’

 ‘It’s not your gold to take!’ Diamond hissed, indignant.

Jack spread his hands, cool laughter in his eyes. ‘What matter? I hear the gold goes to those in need, and I certainly need it!’ He circled his knees again and said reflectively, ‘I worked hard all my life, to gain what I had, only to be robbed of it in the end.’

 ‘Robbed?’ Diamond said.

 ‘I was going to have a little shop,’ Jack said incongruously. ‘Leave the wandering life behind, and settle down. The King is coming to the North-land, did you know? Fornost will be built again, and a City by the Lake will rise from the rubble of Annuminas. The people will need shopkeepers to sell them goods.’ He sighed. ‘I’m growing too old to wander.’

Diamond stared at his silvering hair in silence.

 ‘Robbed, and beaten, and left for dead,’ Jack said, answering her earlier question. ‘I gambled, and won, and the losers took exception to that. They lay in wait for me, along the road, and took back the winnings and all else besides.’ He glanced over at little Rob and Will, curled together for warmth. ‘The lads found me, and took me in. They were living in a shack, a rude shelter, not much but it kept off the rain. Will was trying to be father and mother to his little brother, and he not much more than a boy himself. They took me in, and I took them on when I was ready to travel, and they’ve been with me ever since.’

 ‘You were robbed, and yet you would do the same?’ Diamond said.

Jack shrugged. ‘I could not spare what I lost, a lifetime’s earnings, but your husband has not only legendary gold but showers of blessing from the King as well. Surely he would not miss a bag, or two.’

 ‘There is a curse upon the gold,’ Diamond said. ‘Thain’s gold, given freely, brings blessing. Taken by stealth, it will bring only ruin.’

Jack nodded wryly. ‘Too true,’ he agreed. ‘Ruin indeed, as I know to my sorrow. What am I to do with you?’

Diamond stared, perplexed.

Jack nodded to himself. ‘You don’t know,’ he said. ‘They keep you safe, of course, but they don’t tell you how your safety is bought with blood and the lives of Men.’

 ‘I don’t understand,’ Diamond faltered.

 ‘It is death to break the King’s edict, to enter the Shire,’ Jack said. ‘Even if we win our way out again, you’ve seen our faces. You could give us up to the King’s Men, even years afterwards, and we’d hang, Will and I, on your word alone. The King sets great store by the word of a hobbit.’ Diamond, because she had travelled to Gondor with Pippin, was one of the few hobbits who knew what hanging was. She thought of Jack’s readiness to help, of Will crawling over the perilous bog to rescue Hilly, of how she and Farry might have died of the cold before anyone found them.

 ‘You’ve offered us no harm,’ she said slowly, ‘well, you didn’t at first, anyhow. You saved Hilly’s life...’ She saw that he didn’t understand, and pressed on, ‘I have no reason to give you up to the King’s Men.’

 ‘How can I trust that?’ Jack said. He rubbed at his face.

 ‘How did you mean to get the gold, if no hobbits should see you?’ Diamond said suddenly. ‘How would you find it?’

Jack laughed softly, dropping his hand again. ‘Before the King’s edict, I tramped about the Shire,’ he said, ‘amusing the little folk with my tricks. I’ve walked the length and breadth of every Farthing, and even the Tooks welcomed me before they started having trouble with renegade men. I’ve been all over the North-lands; at least, all over where there were hearths and homes and people, big or small. I wasn’t in the Shire in the time of Saruman, of course. I didn’t want to be pressed into his service, and I didn’t like the company he kept. When I saw which way the wind was blowing, I tramped along to Bree. They didn’t want any conjurors there, and so I cleaned stables for my bed and bread.’

Diamond nodded encouragingly. ‘The gold?’ she said. She was used to bringing a wanderer back to the topic at hand.

 ‘One day I was lying in a field of tall grain,’ he said, ‘plucking the heads and chewing their sweetness, considering which way I should go that day. I saw two riders on a track alongside the big hill, leading a pony. I watched them, thinking I might follow to whatever village might be their destination. They went around the hill, and I followed, quietly. The one had a bow, and it was strung and ready, making caution seem an excellent choice.’

Diamond smiled. ‘They were hunting, no doubt,’ she said.

Jack shook his head. ‘Only one bore a bow. The other was richly dressed. I was curious,’ he said. ‘It is a failing of mine. They went around the hill, as I said, and disappeared. I was very curious. I crawled up that hill through the gorse and grass and saw an opening in the hillside, but no hobbits, only the two saddled ponies. I waited.’

Diamond nodded. She knew the place: the treasure-hoard of the Thain. Pippin had shown her, on one of their picnics, where Ferumbras and the Thains before him had hidden their gold away.

 ‘They emerged again, leading the pack-pony, obviously heavily laden. One turned and touched the wall, and the hole became solid rock.’

At Diamond’s quizzical expression, he smiled. ‘Ah, yes, I know it was solid rock, for I waited for them to be gone, and I climbed up to that place. There was an overhang, and a circle of stones where some traveller had built a fire some rainy night, taking shelter. I touched the wall, and the stone fell away, and...’

 ‘How much of the gold did you take that time?’ Diamond said dryly.

 ‘None at all, if you’d believe it. I had no need of gold,’ Jack said. ‘My father raised me to work hard, to earn what I’d keep. One thing, and one only, did I take, and that only to remember afterwards that what I saw was no dream.’

He fumbled with the seams of his coat, bringing out at last a stone the size of his thumbnail, that flashed reflections from the fire. ‘This was one of the smaller stones,’ he said. ‘It was lying on the floor, as if it had fallen and been kicked aside without noticing.’ He smiled grimly at Diamond. ‘Your naming stone, my little lady.’

 ‘The thieves did not take it from you,’ Diamond said.

 ‘No,’ Jack said. ‘I kept it sewn in a seam, you see. It’s been my good-luck piece all these years.’ He stared at the stone, brooding. ‘It has never failed me until now.’

 ‘Not even when you were robbed and beaten?’

 ‘Ah, but it brought me luck, even then,’ Jack said softly, his eyes going to the sleeping boys. ‘For that brought me little Rob, and Will. They are like the sons I never had, and I bless the day they found me by the roadside and took me in.’

He sighed, and shook his head. ‘Now,’ he said once more. ‘What in the world am I to do with you?’

Chapter 11. Dawning Realisations

Ferdi might have been riding the fastest pony in the Shire, but he could have ridden an old plough pony and gone just as quickly. The track was wet, muddy, and treacherous in places, the streams they forded were running swift and high, and a mist enclosed the land, making the lantern Ferdi held all but useless. He might as well have left Starfire snug in the stall, for he spent much of the journey afoot, leading the pony, holding the lantern up to survey the track ahead of him. He was glad of the pony, however, fording the streams. A hobbit on foot would have been hard put to it to stay on his feet in the angry waters.

It was nearly dawn when the lights of the Crowing Cockerel came into view: watchlamps in the windows to beckon a weary traveller to comfort and rest. Ferdi, dishevelled and muddy, slid from the saddle and led the grey stallion to the stables, to be met by a sleepy stable lad. ‘Rub him down well and give him breakfast,’ Ferdi said. ‘He’s had a wearying night.’

He might say the same for himself. His eyes felt as if they were filled with sand, every muscle ached, and a flat taste was in his mouth. He’d rather sleep than eat at this point, but he resigned himself to sharing breakfast with Diamond and Farry, and then riding out again. At least he could rest once they reached Pincup. He doubted that even the memory of the doomed boy could keep him awake much longer.

Merry Brandybuck looked up from his breakfast as Ferdi entered the common room. ‘Ferdi!’ he cried. ‘What’re you doing here? Did Pippin send you back with a message?’

Ferdi wondered why Diamond and Farry were not breakfasting with Merry. Perhaps they’d taken breakfast in their room. But where was Hilly? ‘He sent me back for Diamond,’ he answered.

 ‘You bring a message from Diamond?’ Merry said. ‘Don’t tell me she has found the Jonquil Celebration so delightful that she wishes me to return to Brandy Hall by way of Pincup!’

 ‘You’re not making sense,’ Ferdi said irritably. He nodded thanks as the server set a cup before him and poured out the steaming tea. Feeling drained, he added twice his usual amount of sugar to the cup, and gulped the sweet, milky beverage greedily.

 ‘You look a sight,’ Merry said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a bath before breakfast?’

 ‘After all the effort I’ve gone through to gather this much mud?’ Ferdi said. ‘I’ll only be off again after breakfast, anyhow, so there’s not much use in it.’

 ‘Well the sight of you quite puts me off,’ Merry said, buttering his bread with remarkable skill for a hobbit with only one good hand, and adding a generous dollop of jam.

 ‘Close your eyes to eat, then,’ Ferdi growled, and Merry laughed.

 ‘Daft as ever, Ferdi,’ he said. ‘Some things never change, and it’s evident you haven’t! Those are the same clothes I saw you wearing yesterday, and much the worse for wear.’

 ‘I left my spare clothing at Pincup,’ Ferdi said. ‘No use muddying those.’ It would be good to bathe and change—and sleep! He was wondering just how upset the innkeeper would be if he slept first, and then bathed...

The server set a laden plate before Ferdi, eggs, bacon, potatoes, bread, and he dove in. Though he was more tired than hungry, the hot food was reviving, and a far cry from the meals taken in the saddle on the way to Pincup. He gratefully accepted a second cup of tea; he was shivering cold, more from weariness than the damp chill he’d ridden through.

 ‘So what does Diamond have to say?’ Merry asked after a few bites of his own breakfast.

 ‘I don’t know,’ Ferdi answered through a mouthful of eggs. ‘I haven’t seen her yet.’

 ‘Ah,’ Merry said, concentrating on cutting precise pieces of bacon with the edge of his fork. Thoughtless of Pippin, to push his special assistant so hard. They’d evidently arrived in Pincup after Diamond had fallen asleep, and then Pippin had decided to send Ferdi back to the Smials for something the Mistress had forgotten.

Ferdi kept expecting Hilly to walk into the common room and hail him. He gulped his food, ignoring Merry’s chiding, and rose from the table. ‘Well, I must be off,’ he said.

 ‘I’ll see you at the Bridge,’ Merry said cheerily. ‘You’ve not seen the Brandywine before, have you?’

 ‘Never been farther than Bridgefields, happily,’ Ferdi replied. ‘I hope it’s a good sturdy Bridge.’

 ‘I do believe it will stand even the weight of a King,’ Merry said, hiding a smile. Ferdi nodded and turned away.

Merry watched him walk over to the innkeeper by the doorway. He could not hear the words they exchanged, but Ferdi went white, and the innkeeper caught him by the arm as he swayed. Merry jumped up from his chair, leaving his breakfast half eaten, and rushed to Ferdi’s side.

 ‘Ferdi? Are you taken ill?’ he said.

 ‘Steady, now,’ the innkeeper was saying.

Ferdi straightened and shook off his arm. ‘They’re not here?’ he demanded.

 ‘Left yesterday, while most folk were still at tea,’ the innkeeper said.

 ‘What is going on here?’ Merry said. ‘Ferdi, what’s this all about?’

Ferdibrand turned to him, grasping at Merry's good arm with a painful grip. ‘Diamond and Farry,’ he said. ‘They didn’t stay the night?’

 ‘Of course not,’ Merry began, ‘they...’ He stopped short as the implication hit him. ‘They’re not in Pincup?’ he said. ‘They ought to have arrived there by eventides at the latest!’

***

 ‘I cannot drop you in the bog,’ Jack said quietly. The light was growing slowly, but he and Diamond were the only wakeful ones at the moment.

 ‘Well I’m glad you’ve been able to work that out,’ Diamond said.

 ‘I cannot let you go, to raise the alarm,’ Jack said, ‘and I cannot leave you here, bound and helpless, for you could freeze before you were found, or fall prey to wild beasts.’ 

 ‘We seem to be in a quandary,’ Diamond said.

 ‘And if I take you with us, you’ll be missed eventually, and the Tooks will descend upon us with all the wrath of the Thain behind them.’

 ‘Undoubtedly.’

 ‘So what am I to do with you?’ Jack said.

 ‘Take us with you as far as the Bounds and let us go as we pass the last farm,’ Diamond said. ‘By the time we raise a hue and cry you’ll be gone.’

 ‘The Rangers will track us,’ Jack said, his gaze going to Will. ‘I must have been mad to consider such a course. If only we could slip into the Shire, and out again unseen... but the curse has brought us to ruin, before we even reached the gold.’ He took a shuddering breath. ‘Thain’s gold, taken by stealth...’

 ‘Perhaps not,’ Diamond said softly. ‘Perhaps you have been blessed instead, in turning aside before carrying out your intent. That store-hole that you remember...’

 ‘Yes?’ Jack said after the pause lengthened to silence.

 ‘The gold is no longer there,’ Diamond said at last. ‘The treasure-hoard of the Thain was moved some years ago. A terrible death awaits any Man who enters in search, bearing a torch.’

 ‘Death?’ Jack gasped. He reached to grasp Diamond’s shoulder, and when she stiffened snatched his hand away once more. ‘Beg pardon, my lady,’ he said automatically, and then in wonder he repeated, 'Death?'

 ‘Death,’ Diamond said firmly. The store-hole was filled these days with treasure of a different sort: black powder, gift of the King, for the hobbits to use in their excavations, and so that fireworks might not be lost from Middle-earth though Gandalf had departed over the Sea.

Jack closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘I’ve brought ruin on my lads,’ he moaned. ‘Save us!’

Diamond placed a gentle hand on his arm. Though the plea was not directed at her, she was moved nearly to tears by the Man’s anguish. He was truly not a ruffian; a fool, perhaps, or a man tempted beyond his bearing by a foolish idea.

To distract him, she said, ‘How did you know it was us?’

 ‘Eh? What’s that?’ he said, lowering his hands to blink at her.

 ‘How did you know who I was?’ Diamond said.

Jack smiled bleakly. ‘It wasn’t hard,’ he said. ‘You called out for “Pippin” in your sleep, and your son is named Farry. How many hobbit lads are named after the Prince of Ithilien, I ask you?’

 ‘My husband is the Thain,’ Diamond said. ‘What if I asked him to intercede for you?’

Jack shook his head. ‘He’s a King’s Man,’ he said, and at Diamond’s raised eyebrow, he insisted, ‘Well he is! He is a knight of the White City, and he must follow the King’s commands. The King’s edict is quite clear: it is death for a Man to cross the Bounds. The King himself honours the edict and has declared that he will not pass over. Your husband must honour his liege. We have violated the edict, and not by chance or error, but by choice. Besides,’ and he eyed Diamond narrowly, ‘he’d see us holding you prisoner in a dim light, I suspect.’

 ‘Prisoner?’ Diamond gasped.

Jack nodded. ‘So it must be,’ he said. ‘We’ll run for the border, that we will, and try to evade the Shirriffs and the Bounders, yea, even the Tooks. I cannot leave you here, bound, and I cannot set you free to raise the alarm...’

 ‘But we wouldn’t...’ Diamond tried to protest. Jack eyed her wearily.

 ‘You say that you wouldn’t,’ he said, ‘but that hobbit there, I suspect, has sworn to defend you with his life. He’d take a dim view of letting a ruffian, a law-breaker, off scot-free.’

Chapter 12. Best Laid Plans

The would-be ruffian sighed and rose from his crouch, and pulling a cloth from his shirt, he tied it over his face. ‘If you please, my lady,’ he said, indicating the large cloak that encompassed Diamond and Farry. Diamond unwrapped herself from the cloak and Jack gently lifted it away with a bow and donned the cloak. After he pulled his hood over his head, only his eyes could be seen.

 ‘One small hope,’ he said, and Diamond saw the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile. ‘You say you won’t give us up, and so I’ll trust you, and hope your Farry is too young to remember our faces... and Hilly has not seen us yet, and he won’t if all goes well, so that he could not point us out to a King’s Man whether he wanted to, or not.’

He moved to the boys, wakening them gently. Rob gave a start, seeing Jack cloaked and hidden, but Will immediately took the cloth Jack held out to him, saying gaily, ‘What a fine game, Rob! We are to play at disguises! Do you suppose Farry will know which of us is which?’ He shot a worried glance at Diamond, and her heart ached for the youth, the threat of death hanging over his head.

Little Rob, laughing softly, allowed his brother to tie a cloth round his face and snugly fasten the muffling hood. When the boys were sufficiently disguised, Jack sent them off to fetch water.

He doused the fire carefully, that no tell-tale plume of smoke might rise to betray them. ‘Cold breakfast is in store, I think,’ he said, ‘and then we’ll travel as quick as may be over the Bounds and gone. My hope is that the message to your husband saying you’ve been found safe will reach him before the one that says you’re missing!’

Jack knelt by his pack and reverently removed the silver-grey rope. ‘Forgive me,’ he breathed. ‘This is a foul business to put you to, but I mean no harm. I beg your aid in this, and not your hindrance, that all may be well in the end.’ It was a curious speech to address to a rope, but as Diamond watched, the man moved to Hilly’s side and began to bind the hobbit’s wrists.

Hilly stirred and tried to pull away, but by the time he was fully awake the deed was done. He gasped at seeing the shrouded Man knotting the rope firmly, and looked about himself immediately.

 ‘Mistress!’

 ‘All is well, Hilly,’ Diamond said with as much assurance as she could muster.

 ‘Is the lad...?’ Hilly was careful not to use any names. If the ruffian knew whose wife and child he held... 

 ‘All is well,’ Diamond repeated firmly.

Jack pulled at the rope to gain Hilly’s attention. ‘They’ve not been harmed,’ he said, growling low, and not sounding like himself at all. ‘And they won’t be, neither, if you cooperate with us.’ The blanket fell away from Hilly’s shoulders and Diamond saw that Jack had dressed the hobbit some time in the middle night when the fire had dried his clothes sufficiently.

 ‘What do you want?’ Hilly snapped. The situation was a desperate one. The last thing he remembered was the bog, and Diamond and Farry shoving branches into the water in an effort to build him a bridge to safe ground. Had Diamond managed to get him free, somehow, only to be taken by ruffians coming after her husband’s gold?

 ‘Just that you’ll come along quietly,’ Jack growled. ‘Give me your word that you won’t shout for help, and I won’t have to put a gag in your mouth.’

 ‘You will keep quiet, Hilly,’ Diamond said, holding sleeping Farry a little closer. ‘They’ve promised us no harm if we do as they say.’

The escort looked to her and nodded. ‘As you order it, Mistress,’ he said, ‘I will obey.’

Farry awakened and Diamond whispered to him about the “game” before he could be frightened at Jack’s muffled countenance. Indeed, it was all she could do to keep him from muffling his own face to join in, but she persuaded him that they were “playing at ruffians” and he must do his part properly.

The lads returned with the water. Rob stopped short to see Hilly bound, but his brother whispered “All part of the game!” and he nodded and accepted a wafer of waybread and a handful of dried fruit from Jack. The “ruffians” ate quickly, keeping their faces concealed, and Diamond fed Farry half a wafer, breaking off small pieces for him, and pocketed the rest for him to nibble later.

After all had drunk of the icy water, Jack brought the waterskin to Diamond. ‘Would you care for a wash, my fine lady?’ he said ironically, maintaining the harsh voice of his disguise.

 ‘If you please,’ Diamond said with dignity, and as she held out her hands he poured water over them and supplied a rag for her to dry her face and hands.

 ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘Time’s a-wasting.’

He put Farry and Rob together on the pony’s back, took Diamond’s arm, and began to walk. Will took up the rope and looked to Hilly. ‘Come along, you,’ he said, trying to growl as Jack did.

 ‘You’re a young one,’ Hilly observed, following the tug of the rope.

 ‘I’m old enough,’ Will said bleakly. Old enough to finish my life at the end of a rope, he thought to himself. It was to have been so simple... slip into the Shire, and slip out again, unseen, with a bag of gold to start a new life. His gran would’ve scolded, he knew, but Jack had said... and they’d trusted the old man... and now Jack, in their middle night discussion when all the others slept, had said his gran had the right of it, and thievery didn’t pay, and they’d be lucky to get out of this with their skins.

 ‘South,’ Jack was saying to Diamond. ‘South-southeast. We'll give Pincup a wide berth. This part of the Shire isn’t heavily habited, and we’ll travel unseen, I think, through the woods until we reach the Shirebourn, and then we’ll follow her course a ways, walking in the shallows to throw off any who’d track us before we turn southwards again for the last run.’

 ‘It’s as good a plan as may be,’ Diamond said, thinking of her feet. She was a farmer’s daughter, true, and mother of a lively lad, but that didn’t prepare her to traipse halfway across the Shire!

 ‘The pony and I will be pack beasts by turn,’ Jack said. ‘Rob’s used to walking, and I’ll carry Farry and let the pony carry you, when you tire.’ He cast a speculative eye over Diamond’s pony. ‘He’s lame, but he’ll bear up if we don’t press him too hard.’

 ‘You’d likely go faster without us,’ Diamond said, and he shook his head.

 ‘We’ve already been over that ground,’ he said. ‘I won’t leave you bound, and I dare not leave you free.’ He nodded to Hilly, following Will at the end of his rope. ‘That one would undoubtedly find himself another bow and come after us, shooting.’

  ‘Likely he would,’ Diamond sighed.

The day continued misty, and fog shrouded the tops of the Green Hills and filled the valleys with curtains of damp cold. ‘All the better for us,’ Jack muttered. ‘We’ll be hard to find in this murk.’

 ‘I certainly hope so,’ Diamond said fervently. Hilly, who’d been listening intently to their low-voiced conversation while giving the impression that he was sunk in his own gloomy thoughts, began to wonder.

Chapter 13. The Hunt

Fear and anger dissolved Ferdi’s weariness as if he’d had a magical potion: as Pippin’s special assistant he was as responsible for the safety of the Thain and his family as the head of escort. As a matter of fact, Tolly answered to him... but Tolly was in Pincup, two other hobbits of the escort remained at the Great Smials, kept confined by the healers for a fever-and-rash that was making the rounds, and the last of the escort, Hilly, was missing with Diamond and Farry.

He snapped out orders, sending a quickpost rider to the Smials with a message commanding the muster of an hundred mounted archers, all to ride at best speed to the Cockerel, and another fifty to ride direct to Pincup. He’d send further instructions to the group at the Cockerel after scouting the trail, or if he were prevented, they were to proceed to Pincup, to the command of the Thain. Should Ferdi disappear while tracking the missing hobbits, Pippin would rouse Tookland to the search for Diamond and Farry.

It was possible that they’d met with some sort of accident along the way, but with ruffians having entered the Shire on at least two previous occasions, Ferdi was not going to take any chances.

 ‘I will ride with you,’ Merry said, and Ferdi nodded relief. He considered Meriadoc the Magnificent, one-handed, to be more help than a dozen able hobbits, and he said so.

 ‘Half a dozen, perhaps,’ Merry said lightly, but his visage was grim and the light of battle was in his eyes. His encounter with ruffians the previous year had left him with few illusions about the goodness of renegade Men. It did not occur to him to take charge of the situation; Ferdi was the hunter, after all, experienced at following trails, and responsible for Pippin's family. He'd follow along until there was need for action.

Another quickpost rider accompanied them as they rode to the place where the track left the Stock Road, heading due south to Pincup. Ferdi dismounted and scouted the trail. He found Starfire’s hoofprints, of course, leading towards the Cockerel, but more importantly he found clear prints of Diamond’s gelding, marks he’d missed in the darkness. He recognised the pattern of nail-marks, having watched the farrier shoe the pony just a week earlier. Luck of a sort was with them; there had been very few travellers along the track since the heavy rains of the previous week.

Remounting, he led the others, following the marks with a keen eye as they rode along as fast as he could manage and still distinguish the marks of the gelding’s passage. They forded the first stream, but the trail was easy to pick up, churned into the muddy bank on the opposite side. Onward they pressed, through the fog that shrouded the woods. Ferdi didn’t need to see far ahead; the trail he followed was just in front of his pony’s nose...

They crossed several more streams before Ferdi lost the trail on the far side of a rushing stream. He could see the marks in the steep muddy bank on the Pincup side where Starfire, protesting, had slid down into the foaming water, but there were no marks showing ponies struggling up the bank. He dismounted at the edge of the stream, nearly to his waist in the water, and clawed his way to the top of the bank, following the track a ways back before he decided that Diamond’s pony had not emerged from the stream at this point. The hoofprints went into the water on the north side of the stream, but none had emerged on the Pincup side.

He slid down the bank again, landing in the water with a splash that soaked him further. Starfire tossed his head in protest, but stood in the foaming water to let Ferdi mount. Shivering, he reined the stallion around and returned to the northern bank where Merry and Jay, the quickpost rider, waited. ‘The trail stops here,’ he said.

 ‘Swept away?’ Merry said grimly.

Ferdi shook his head. ‘It hasn’t rained in several days,’ he said. ‘The stream wouldn’t have been much higher than it is now.’ He cast an eye up the bank on the far side. ‘Likely they didn’t like the looks of the bank and went in search for easier footing.’

 ‘Which way?’ Merry said. He wasn’t a tracker or hunter, but he trusted Ferdi’s long years of practice.

 ‘We’ll try upstream first,’ Ferdi said, making an arbitrary decision. Merry and Jay urged their beasts into the water after Starfire; they forded the stream and turned upstream, forging against the current. Ferdi felt astonishingly alert, considering his want of rest. The soaking in the icy water had shocked all weariness away, and though his ears were buzzing and the land seemed somehow tilted to his senses, he was wide awake and paying strict attention to his surroundings.

When they reached a spot where the bank dipped lower, he dismounted again to survey the muddy incline. ‘They might have left the stream here,’ he said, ‘but they didn’t.’

 ‘Farther along?’ Merry said.

Ferdi shook his head. ‘No reason,’ he said. ‘I imagine they didn’t come this way. We’ll try downstream next.’

They turned their ponies and plodded downstream again. Starfire’s ears were flat back against his head in distaste; he hated walking through puddles, much less fast water up to his knees. Still, he led the way, stopping at the ford as if to say, I’ve had enough of this nonsense. May we go back to the inn, now? Ferdi urged him onwards, and with a near-hobbit sigh the stallion continued.

At last the bank fell away abruptly and they came to an area where the stream had broached the shore. Ferdi reined in to regard the lie of the land; he slid from the saddle into still water that was knee-deep. Looking up at Merry, he said, ‘It’s passable. If they rode this way, Hilly might have turned in here.’

Remaining afoot, he led his pony into the flooded wood. Starfire walked lightly, delicately, placing each foot with precision, his ears still pinned firmly to his head, his nose close to the surface of the water, his nostrils wide as if he sought to catch some elusive scent.

 ‘The trees are dead here,’ Merry said uneasily, looking around them.

 ‘Not a good sign,’ Ferdi agreed. He was distracted, however, when Starfire planted his feet and pulled backwards on the reins, refusing to stir a step farther. ‘Come along, old lad,’ he said with a gentle tug. The pony, blowing heavily, rolled an eye at him and refused.

 ‘Some time for him to quit,’ Merry said, ‘When we’re nearly to dry ground.’

 ‘Come along, now,’ Ferdi said, walking to the end of the length of reins. It was as if he’d stepped from solid earth into the mouth of a ravenous creature intent upon sucking him in; suddenly the reins were all that held him from being swallowed at a gulp.

 ‘A bog!’ Merry shouted, throwing himself from his pony. ‘Ferdi!’

Starfire threw his head up to counter the pull. Ferdi clung tight to the reins, praying that they’d hold... he’d braided them himself, upon a sunny summer day, and now his life depended on them.

 ‘Stand, Star,’ Merry gasped to the pony as he splashed his way to Starfire’s head. Starfire had no intention of moving! The pony maintained the pull against the bog, and Merry grabbed a handful of the pony’s long mane and leaned forward, helpless to do more. ‘Fight, Ferdi!’ he cried.

 ‘Back!’ Ferdi gasped. Merry misunderstood and shook his head, but the pony knew that word, and was in complete agreement with the sentiment. Slowly, Starfire moved one foot backwards, and then another, keeping the pull on the reins steady.

 ‘That’s it!’ Merry said, and Jay added his own encouragement from Starfire’s other side. He was at the edge of the safe footing, one hand on the pony and the other extended to Ferdi. ‘Back, lad, there’s a fine pony!’ Merry added.

At last the quickpost rider was able to grasp at Ferdi’s hand and add his pull to the pony’s. It wasn’t long before Ferdi was gasping in the shallow water, firmer mud beneath him.

 ‘We’ve got to get you out of this water and warm,’ Merry said, but the rescued hobbit stubbornly shook his head.

 ‘They were here,’ he panted. ‘Look!’

The others followed his pointing hand, to the hanging bow.

  ‘Lost?’ Merry whispered. ‘Lost in a bog?’ How could he ever tell Pippin?

Ferdi shook his head. He’d seen the branches without understanding their significance, but now he knew of a certainty something of what had happened here. ‘Someone—Hilly was in the bog, and someone else shoved branches out to make a bridge of sorts for him to crawl out,’ he said. ‘Pip taught us that... he said it was the next best thing to rope, if the one in the bog wasn’t sinking too quickly.’

Merry nodded. It was one of the things Pippin had learned from the southern Rangers, during the days they’d lingered in the Southlands, after their wounds healed but before they turned their faces homewards. ‘We’ll go around,’ he said as he and Jay helped Ferdi to his feet. Ferdi leaned against Merry, momentarily dizzy. Jay pulled Ferdi's dripping cloak from him, tossed it over Starfire's saddle, and slung his own cloak about Ferdi's shoulders as Merry continued. ‘There must be marks of their feet on the shore.’

Ferdi nodded and pushed himself upright again, muttering thanks to the quickpost rider.

They led their ponies, testing each step, around the treacherous area, scrambling with relief onto stable ground. Merry and Jay waited with the ponies while Ferdi moved forward, shivering cold forgotten as he concentrated on the story left there for him to read.

Merry saw the hunter’s shoulders stiffen. ‘What is it, Ferdi?’ he called, only to receive a wave in reply. Ferdi went over the ground again, seemed to follow a trail from the clearing a little ways, and then trotted back to them, his face grim.

 ‘I don’t think they were able to save Hilly,’ he said on reaching them. ‘I’ve found no sign of his pony or himself, no marks of his feet and no body dragged away from the edge.’

 ‘Ah,’ Merry sighed, and Jay swallowed hard. ‘But you found signs of Diamond and Farry,’ Merry pressed.

This news did not seem to cheer Ferdi. ‘I did,’ he gritted, ‘but there were signs of others as well. Booted feet, twice the size of proper hobbit feet.’

 ‘Men!’ Jay gasped.

Merry’s hand closed on the hilt of his sword. ‘Ruffians,’ he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Ferdi turned to the quickpost rider. ‘Jay, ride back! Meet the archers and tell them what’s what. Merry and I will follow the trail, and when we find the ruffians I’ll send Merry to Pincup, to the Thain. The Thain and Master will know what to do...’

Chapter 14. Fox and Hound

As Ferdi and Merry walked, the hunter broke twigs, leaving them pointing along the trail they followed. ‘Jay will lead the archers around the bog,’ he told Merry. ‘We’ll leave them clear markers.’ 

 ‘All the faster for them to catch us up when we find the ruffians,’ Merry agreed, his fingers brushing his sword. ‘How many are we dealing with?’

 ‘A small band, it seems,’ Ferdi said. ‘But then, they don’t travel in large groups these days. Too difficult to pass unnoticed.’

***

Jack pressed them to go as quickly as possible. When Diamond tired, he put her on the pony with Farry and carried little Rob, and when the pony began to stumble after an hour or two, Diamond bravely said she was sufficiently rested to walk, and walk she did, mile after mile, though her feet protested the unaccustomed demand and her legs began to ache before the day was half done. She jested often with Pippin, how she walked leagues in a day in her oversight of domestic matters of the Great Smials. Now she was realising just how far a league was, and decided that a usual day of duties was restful and lazy, compared to this desperate journey.

Hilly walked along in silence, listening to every word he could catch. The young ruffian said almost nothing as he led the hobbit of escort, save a caution to watch his step when the footing was tricky. The boy chattered softly with Farry, and Hilly gathered that the two young ones considered all this a game. Diamond, evidently, didn’t want the ruffians annoyed with her young son, and had convinced Farry that this was some sort of picnic outing. Hilly only hoped the little lad could keep his illusions. From what Pippin had told the escort, about the ruthlessness of ruffians holding folk for ransom... His breath came shorter as he remembered grim details.

 ‘Are you well?’ the youth asked, turning to regard him. ‘Jack!’

Jack turned and the youth let go the rope to trot to him. It was Hilly’s chance to get away... but where would he go? They’d catch him up and grab the trailing rope before he got more than a few steps away, and what terrible retribution would they visit upon innocent Farry or Diamond for his attempt? He let his legs fold up under him and sat upon the grass.

The two ruffians had a low-voiced conversation, and walked back to where Hilly waited. ‘Are you well?’ Jack echoed, bending to eye the escort. He listened to Hilly’s breathing and nodded to himself. ‘You sound well enough,’ he said. He held the back of one of his hands to Hilly’s forehead, though the hobbit flinched away. ‘No fever.’ He frowned at Hilly. ‘Do you wish to ride for a time?’

Stung, Hilly straightened, and scrambled to his feet. ‘I am well,’ he said defiantly. ‘You may let my Mistress ride; she’s limping.’ He strode forward, not waiting for the ruffians. The youth caught up the trailing rope and they were off again.

Hilly had made good use of the stop; he’d drawn with his finger in the mud, and pulled grass to cover the message. He’d managed to divert the ruffians’ attention by his reference to Diamond; they had not looked at the ground where he’d sat himself down.

***

Ferdi scouted the camping spot under the uprooted tree, thrusting a cautious finger into the ashes of the fire. ‘Cold,’ he said. ‘They’ve been gone some hours. I’d imagine they started just after dawn.’

The ruffians had left little other sign for him to read; Merry found ferns kicked into the underbrush that might have been used for bedding, but the ground was harder here, and there were few footprints. Ferdi scouted until he was sure of the direction of departure, and leading their ponies, the two hobbits followed the trail, if you could call it that. It might be a clear trail to a hunter, Merry mused. He saw little sign of anyone’s passing, perhaps a broken twig here or there, but nothing remarkable.

 ‘They’re heading towards the Shirebourn,’ Ferdi muttered, stopping a moment to get his bearings.

 ‘Away from Tookland again,’ Merry said, ‘and giving Pincup a wide berth. Out of the Shire?’

 ‘Perhaps they’ve found what they wanted,’ Ferdi said grimly. The ruffians could ask for the moon, in exchange for Diamond and Faramir, and Pippin might well give it to them... When it came to his wife and child, he did not think at all clearly.

***

When they reached the bank of the River Shirebourn, Jack sat down upon the grass and removed his boots. ‘We’ll all be hobbits for a time,’ he said, and Will nodded and followed his example. They stuck their boots into their blanket-rolls and stepped into the chill waters, walking along the sandy shallows of the river, their feet sliding over stones washed smooth by the constant flow of water.

Hilly knew what the ruffians were doing, of course. They were throwing off pursuit, or at least they hoped. Their trail would disappear at river’s edge, and any trackers would waste valuable time deciding which way they went, across the river, down the stream, or up. He hoped the distinct footprint he’d left on the sandy shore, pointing downstream, would make the matter clearer for their pursuers.

They splashed along the shallows of the river for miles and hours, as the foggy day brightened and long, numbing miles later, began to dim. Diamond and Farry rode the pony. (“No need, my lady, for you to wet those delicate toes of yours,” Jack had growled unpleasantly as he lifted little Rob to his back.)

At last, as the light of day was retreating, the river turned and they left its course, climbing the grassy bank where a copse of ghostly trees rose before them, mist-shrouded and foreboding in the gathering gloom. Hilly stumbled, scuffing the sand at river's edge, before answering to Will's tug on the rope and toiling up the bank, falling to his knees again when he was halfway up. He pulled at some grass to help him, but the roots didn't hold and the grass pulled free, cascading down to river's edge. At last Hilly gained the top of the bank, where Jack was waiting. The ruffian gestured them into the shadowy copse.

 ‘We’ll halt here for a bit,’ Jack said when they were well within the shelter of the trees, setting Rob down again with a groan. He sat down upon the ground and pulled on socks, and then boots. Will followed suit. Next Jack dug in his pack, bringing out a rough flask. ‘Been saving this for a rainy day,’ he said, shaking it as if to ascertain the contents, ‘and I’m as wet and cold as if it had been raining all the day, instead of cloaking us in mist.’

He lifted the flask to his lips and then handed it to Will. ‘Take some warmth,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to make a fire, so this’ll have to do.’

Will nodded and lifted the flask to his own lips. As Jack had instructed him earlier, the youth stoppered the opening with his tongue so that none of the liquid entered his mouth, pretending a hearty swallow or two until Jack protested and made to snatch the flask away again.

 ‘Hi there! Save a bit for our guests!’ he said.

Will gasped as if he’d just swallowed strong drink and handed the bottle to Jack. ‘Warming it is,’ he said, wiping his mouth.

 ‘Take it,’ Jack said, extending the flask to Hilly. ‘ ‘Tisn’t poison; you saw us drink without harm. It’ll warm you.’

Hilly shook his head, but Diamond said, ‘Hilly, I think you ought. You took a terrible chill yesterday, you were walking in the river half the day, and we’ll have no fire to warm us this night.’

 ‘As you wish, Mistress,’ Hilly said, accepting the flask rather awkwardly. His hands were bound before him, at least, which meant that he could lift the flask to his lips himself and not be nursed like a babe. The liquid was warm in his mouth, a burst of golden sunshine, and he felt the warmth cascade downwards into his innermost being and begin to spread from there. He could understand the youth’s greed. He might have drained the flask himself, but for the fact that Diamond was shivering.

Lowering the flask, Hilly said, ‘Thank you, Mistress, that was warming indeed.’

 ‘You’re welcome,’ Jack said, a chuckle in his voice, but then he remembered to growl. He shook the flask. ‘Nearly done,’ he said. ‘Between you and the lad, it’s a wonder there’s any left.’ He tucked the flask away and turned to help Diamond from the pony. ‘We’ll just get you settled, my fine lady, and then you may finish the rest, or give the little one a sip if you like, to warm him.’

The ruffian pulled some ferns and piled them, settling Diamond on the improvised bed. ‘A bit of travel bread and dried fruit, I think,’ the ruffian said, ‘and then if you need warming before we go on, well, there’s a swallow or two left.’ He dug out some travel rations and distributed them; Farry and Rob immediately began to eat, ravenous though they’d done nothing that day but sit still and be carried. Will ate more slowly, and Hilly barely nibbled at his portion.

 ‘It’s strong drink,’ Hilly warned when Diamond was finished eating, as Jack fumbled for the flask, watching the escort out of the corner of his eye. Diamond nodded, though she seemed to waver before Hilly’s eyes. Indeed, the drink was stronger than he’d realised; just the small amount he’d taken was beginning to make his head swim. He sank down on the bed of ferns Will prepared for him, and a moment later he collapsed gently into a ball and sighed.

 ‘Hilly!’ Diamond said anxiously, and Jack hastened to reassure her as Will and Rob spread Hilly’s cloak over him and came to stand before Diamond and Farry.

 ‘A sleeping draught,’ the old man said. ‘I carry it in case of injury, bones needing to be set or something of the sort. He’ll sleep, and I can take back my rope and not fear the consequences.’ He spoke softly to the glistening rope and it seemed to unwind of itself from Hilly’s wrists. Jack stroked the rope, coiled it, and laid it atop his pack, preparatory to stowing it and the rest of the food.

 ‘You’re leaving us here?’ Diamond said.

Jack nodded. ‘Darkness has overtaken us,’ he said. ‘This is as good a place as any for you. There are farms nearby, and you’ll be heard if you shout for help loud enough. If you’d be so kind as to give us a few hours’ start...’

 ‘Of course, and grace go with you,’ Diamond said.

Farry threw himself at Rob. ‘Don’t go!’ he begged. ‘They say that Men cannot enter the Shire, but you’re only a boy! Surely you can stay!’ He turned to Diamond. ‘Can’t he stay? We’ve become such good friends!’

Tears were spilling from Rob’s eyes. ‘I have to go,’ he said, wiping at his face with a ragged sleeve. ‘But I won’t never forget you, Farry.’

Will picked up Farry to be able to see eye-to-eye. ‘I’ve been glad to meet you,’ he said. ‘Gran always told us about the wee folk, and their odd ways, and their magic and their tricks, but I find that you’re just like anybody else I’ve known. Perhaps a bit jollier, and kinder...’

Diamond was about to remark on the kindness of the departing ruffians, when a voice spoke sharply from the shadows. ‘You’re covered by arrows! Put the lad down, step away, sit yourselves upon the ground, and keep your hands where we can see them!’

Chapter 15. Taut as a Bowstring

Will froze, Farry still in his arms, but Jack had the presence of mind to shout, ‘Don’t shoot! We’ve no weapons!’

 ‘Put the lad down!’ the voice demanded, and Diamond gave a start.

 ‘Merry!’ she cried. ‘Don’t let them shoot!’

 ‘Will,’ Jack said quietly, infusing calm into his voice. ‘Put Farry down, slow and easy-like.’

The youth complied as one under a spell. Farry stood uncertain as Merry called, ‘Move away and sit yourself down!’

Little Rob flung himself upon his brother. ‘Don’t shoot!’ he sobbed. ‘Don’t shoot my Will! He’s all I have!’

In the shadows, Ferdi eased the tension on the bowstring and took a deep breath. Startled by the sudden movement, he’d nearly shot the small boy.

Merry put his good hand on Ferdi’s shoulder. ‘Steady, cousin,’ he whispered. Ferdi nodded without speaking.

Jack sat down, his hands in the air, calmly telling the lads to do the same. There was no hope for himself, nor for Will, but he hoped to save little Rob if he could.

Holding Rob, Will settled to the ground, and then put his hands in the air, showing that they were empty. Rob continued to cling and sob, and Will spoke soft words of reassurance, empty promises though they might be.

 ‘Come, Farry,’ Diamond coaxed. If there were a troop of Tooks in the shadows, she didn’t want Faramir in the thick of things, should arrows start to fly. They had to keep the situation under control if there was any hope of saving Jack and the lads. Farry walked slowly to her and she caught him up, turned towards the shadows, and called, ‘Pippin?’

She heard Merry call, Hold your fire! and then, instead of her husband, Ferdibrand emerged from the shadows, bow in hand. ‘Are you well, Diamond?’ he said.

 ‘Very well, thanks, and you?’ she answered automatically, and shook herself a moment later for a silly goose.

Ferdi scooped up the coiled rope on the ruffian’s pack and moved with caution behind Jack. ‘Put your hands behind you,’ he snapped, ‘and don’t move, unless you wish to boast more holes than a pincushion.’

Silently Jack complied, and Ferdi quickly bound his hands behind him. He had a little trouble, it seemed, in pulling the knots tight enough to satisfy him.

 ‘Don’t!’ Jack said suddenly, in spite of the situation, craning to look over his shoulder.

Ferdi looked up in surprise, knife in hand. ‘Don’t what?’ he said irritably.

 ‘Don’t cut the rope,’ Jack entreated. ‘ ‘Tis a special rope; please don’t cut it. There’s more rope in my pack if you want it.’

 ‘You want to leave it long? Well then, it’ll be convenient for the Rangers. I’m sure they’ll put it to good use,’ Ferdi muttered.

He rose and fished a length of line out of his pocket, of the sort a hunter would use to snare a rabbit, and bound Will’s hands behind him. He frowned down at Rob, who refused to leave his brother.

 ‘He’s just a boy!’ Will protested.

 ‘He should keep better company,’ Ferdi said tonelessly, and to Rob he added, ‘Put your hands behind you.’ With another length of line he bound the little lad, muttering an apology when he’d finished, and raised his voice to call sharply, ‘Done!’

Merry emerged from the shadows, sword in hand. He surveyed the clearing as he moved to Diamond and Farry and then ordered Ferdi to lay a fire.

 ‘Merry!’ Diamond said as he reached her, and she threw her arms about him, shaking in relief.

He hugged her awkwardly, for the sword was still in his hand. ‘You’re safe now,’ he said. ‘It’s all over. Pippin will be here soon.’

 ‘Please,’ Diamond said, ‘please let them go.’

Merry frowned. ‘Steady, Diamond,’ he said, and repeated, ‘It’s all over. You’ve naught to worry over any more.’ He put her aside long enough to sheathe the sword and then gave her a more genuine hug, as Farry clung to his other side, adding his pleas.

 ‘No,’ Diamond said, and then, ‘They’ve done nothing to deserve death! They didn’t harm us. As a matter of fact, they saved Hilly from the bog, and...’

 ‘Hilly!’ Ferdi said, bending to uncover the recumbent hobbit. ‘We saw signs of three hobbits, but we thought perhaps the ruffians had taken a forester or farmer! We thought Hilly dead!’ He took hold of an unresponsive shoulder, and Hilly lolled upon his bed of ferns.

Ferdi looked to Jack, spitting angrily, ‘What have you done to him?’

 ‘It was just a sleeping draught,’ Jack said quietly, ‘that he might not follow us, or raise an alarm.’

 ‘So you could spirit the Mistress and her son out of the Shire without hindrance,’ Ferdi gritted, but Diamond broke in.

 ‘No! They were going to leave us here, safe...’

Merry said in amaze, ‘They’ve turned your head!’ To Ferdi, he said, ‘I’ve heard of this, in the Outlands, where prisoners somehow are turned to their captors’ side and take their part, but I never thought I’d see...’

 ‘No!’ Diamond protested, pulling away. ‘That’s not the way of it at all! They...’

But Merry was stronger, even with one good arm. He held her, saying, ‘But you’re cold as ice, cousin, and shivering! Ferdi, leave Hilly and lay a fire! I daresay it will do him some good, as well as Diamond and yourself.’

 ‘I’m well,’ Ferdi said out of reflex, but he scraped the soil bare in the middle of the clearing and began to gather sticks.

 ‘Please let them go! They’re my friends!’ Farry said, pulling on Merry’s coat.

The Master of Buckland looked down at him in astonishment. Tightening his hold on Diamond, now sagging against him in grief and exhaustion, he said, ‘We won’t harm them, Farry. Ferdi’s going to build a fire to warm your mother, and when your father comes, he’ll know what to do.’ He attempted a smile and said, ‘You go and help him, pick up sticks, there’s a good lad.’

 ‘Go on, Farry,’ Diamond whispered with a nod and a false smile. ‘Your da will know what’s right.’ She would plead for Jack and Will when Pippin arrived. Surely the fact that the Men had saved them all would sway Pippin in their favour, if she could only impress that fact on Pippin, reaching past the inevitable fear and fury her husband must be labouring under.

In silence, Farry began to gather sticks, while Diamond leaned against Merry and began to sob. Even as she chided herself for her weakness, she didn't seem able to take herself in hand. Merry patted her back gently and murmured soft reassurances.

As Farry passed Will and Rob, his arms full of small sticks, he whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’

 ‘Stay away from them!’ Merry said sharply, and Farry veered away, his little face screwed up in distress.

He brought his sticks and twigs to Ferdi, who soon had a brisk fire going. Merry steered Diamond over to the fire and let her down gently. ‘Warm yourself, cousin,’ he said. ‘You too, Ferdi! You’re chilled to the bone.’

 ‘I’m well,’ Ferdi protested automatically, but Merry persuaded him to sit down beside Diamond, facing the bound ruffians.

 ‘What of the archers?’ Diamond said numbly. ‘Won’t you call them in?’

Merry and Ferdi exchanged glances, and Merry said hastily, ‘I think we’ll leave them in place, in case there are other ruffians lurking about.’

 ‘Pippin will be here soon,’ Ferdi said. He’d laid his bow close at hand, and now dug a long-cold sausage roll from a deep pocket. ‘He’ll dispose of the archers as he sees fit.’

 ‘Escort Diamond back, for one thing,’ Merry said, ‘and perhaps sweep the woods for ruffians, just to make sure we got them all.’

 ‘He might miss the markers where we left the stream,’ Ferdi said through a mouthful, taking up his bow and rising to his feet.

 ‘You stay by the fire,’ Merry said. ‘I’ll go back along the stream, meet up with him and direct him to this place.’

It didn’t take much persuasion. Ferdi was shivering cold, and Merry with a few more words was able to convince him to “take charge of the archers” (there were none arrived as of yet, but the ruffians didn’t need to know that) while Merry made sure Pippin and the archers with him would find this place.

Diamond held Farry close and whispered reassurance to him, fighting down her own doubts. Surely Pippin would do the right thing when he heard the whole story. Surely, if she could just calm him enough to listen...

Chapter 16. The Dark before the Dawn

Ferdi built up the fire and piled wood near at hand. As full dark fell, he shooed Farry to Diamond’s lap, then sat himself down with his back to the broad bole of an ancient tree. He thrust several arrows into the dirt by his side, handy for swift shooting, took up his bow and sighed.

Farry had managed to put the bound ruffians out of mind while gathering wood, but now he had a full view of them, to one side of the cheery fire, and he burst into fresh tears.

 ‘Now, now, Farry,’ Diamond said.

 ‘Why?’ Farry gulped.

 ‘I don’t understand, lovie,’ Diamond said gently.

Farry turned his tear-streaked face full upon Ferdi. ‘Why?’ he demanded.

 ‘Because they’re ruffians,’ Ferdi answered calmly, thinking he knew what the lad was about.

 ‘They’re not ruffians!’ Farry said hotly. ‘They’re not!’

 ‘They entered the Shire,’ Ferdi said, unruffled. ‘There is an edict, you know, issued by the King.’ He raised his voice. ‘You there!’ he called. Jack raised his drooping head. ‘You knew about the King’s edict?’

 ‘We did, Farry,’ Jack said, rightly divining the reason for Ferdi’s question. ‘We knew. We came into the Shire by stealth, and we were trying to leave the same way. We knew well enough. We just thought we knew better than the Rangers and the Bounders.’ He still hoped that, by cooperating to the fullest now that all was lost, he might yet save little Rob.

 ‘But you’re not ruffians!’ Farry shouted. ‘You saved Hilly! He was drowning, I know he was. Mama covered my face, but I saw enough... his pony was eaten by the bog, and he was being swallowed...’

 ‘Farry,’ Ferdi remonstrated, but the lad turned back to him.

 ‘They oughtn’t to hang for saving Hilly’s life!’ he said vehemently.

Ferdi was taken aback; he opened his mouth, but no words came.

 ‘Farry!’ Diamond said in shock. ‘How can you say such a thing!’

 ‘I heard him,’ Farry said bitterly, with a nod at Ferdi. ‘I heard him talking with Da. He said there are bodies of Men hanging from trees all about the Bounds of the Shire as warning! He was angered by it...’ and to Ferdi he added, ‘You know you were! You said so!’

At a loss, Diamond repeated, ‘Farry...’ but he turned to her, fresh tears welling in his eyes.

 ‘I know what hanging is,’ he spat. ‘I saw it, when we travelled to the Southlands!’

 ‘You were no more than a babe,’ Diamond whispered, ‘a faunt...’

 ‘I saw!’ Farry sobbed, and buried his face in his hands. ‘I saw!’ he whispered, and gave himself up to weeping. Diamond gathered him close, helpless to do more, and held him until, exhausted by the storm of emotion, he fell into a troubled sleep.

Ferdi silently rose, threw more wood on the fire, and settled once more with his back to the tree, bow at the ready and an arrow fitted loosely to the string.

 ‘What is it?’ Diamond said softly, cradling her son. ‘Why don’t you sit closer to the fire?’

 ‘There might be others out there,’ Ferdi said huskily.

 ‘But the archers...’ Diamond said.

Ferdi shook his head. ‘More archers are on their way,’ he said obliquely. Diamond’s eyes widened as she took his meaning. They were alone in the little copse, with Ferdibrand alone to guard them. She held Farry a little closer. She’d never felt vulnerable in the heart of the Shire before, but now she imagined rough Men slipping over the borders of the Shire, and all in search of gold.

 ‘No one’s going to rescue us,’ Jack said quietly from the other side of the fire, though he had caught the implication as well. No archers! They might have slipped away after all. They'd been captured by a one-handed hobbit and a single archer, the latter only half his size and the other not all that much taller. ‘We acted alone. I doubt there are bands of ruffians wandering the Shire; it was difficult enough for us to make our way in, unobserved, and I know the Shire like you know the fur on your foot.’

 ‘How is that?’ Ferdi asked, stifling a yawn as he slumped a little lower against the tree. Mercy, but he was weary. The talk would help to keep him awake until Pippin arrived. He didn’t even know the Shire like he knew the fur on his foot. He’d seen very little outside of Tookland and a slice of the Woody End, and but a dim memory remained of the Bridgefields of his early years.

 ‘I walked every inch of the Shire, I’ll wager, and more than once,’ Jack said. At Ferdi’s snort, he nodded. ‘Tookland as well,’ he said. ‘The Tooks are a wonderful folk, always ready with a jest or a question, always prepared to welcome a traveller with a meal and a pint.’

At Diamond’s look of wonder he laughed humourlessly. ‘Well, they were,’ he said, ‘before the Troubles, that is. Why, I had families of Tooks in the countryside who hailed me as a long-lost cousin and looked for me at the same time every year!’ He lowered his voice. ‘I never went to the Great Smials but once, though,’ he said. ‘I worked hard, the one time I visited there, and ended up paying Mistress Lalia for my bed—in the stables!—and board.’

 ‘You worked hard?’ Ferdi said sceptically.

Jack bowed his head and upper body. ‘The Amazing Allemondo, at your service,’ he said grandly. He smiled then, more than a little irony in his expression, and said, ‘I’m afraid I cannot astonish you with my illusions... disappearing coins and magically appearing pocket-handkerchiefs and such. I seem to be a little tied up at the moment.’

Ferdi guffawed and then wiped his face free of expression. ‘I’m in danger of finding some small liking for you,’ he said, ‘and that would not do at all.’

 ‘Not at all,’ Jack said obligingly, but then he leaned forward. ‘Unless...’

 ‘What?’ Ferdi said suspiciously, sitting straighter, his hands tightening on bow and arrow.

 ‘Please,’ Jack whispered. ‘Do what you will with me, but let the lads go. I led them into this. It’s not their fault...’

 ‘What I will or no matters not at all,’ Ferdi said, relaxing again with an effort, though his knuckles whitened on the bow, betraying his inner perturbation. ‘It is the Thain you must deal with, and I suspect he will turn you all over to the Rangers without a quiver of compunction.’

 ‘I expect you have the right of it,’ Jack said morosely. He sighed and looked down at the lads, who’d slumped to the side and managed to sleep despite their bonds. ‘I am so very sorry, my lads,’ he whispered, ‘for all the good it does.’

 ‘No good at all, I’m afraid,’ Ferdi muttered.

Quiet reigned in the clearing then. Jack’s head drooped and he seemed to doze. Diamond felt her eyelids grow heavy; she curled around Farry on the bed of ferns Jack had laid down and pulled her cloak over them.

Ferdi, chilled, rose again and stomped around the clearing, taking deep breaths to clear his head. He stood close to the fire for a moment, warming his hands, before adding more wood to the blaze and retreating to take up his post once more, sitting against the tree, looking around the clearing to the darkness beyond the reach of the firelight. How he wished there were two or three score of archers there! Still, all he had to do was stay alert until Pippin and Merry came... all he had to do... all...

He jerked awake, realising he’d dozed, but not for long. The fire still burned brightly, and all the others in the clearing were deep in slumber. What had wakened him? The snap of a twig? ‘Pippin!’ he called, and listened. Nothing stirred. The fire popped once more and he relaxed.

Not long now... not long. All he had to do...

Jack wakened at the sharp call, but he was stiff from the night air, and so he sat, head bowed, listening for the greetings that would mean that he and the lads would be roused to begin the long, final march to the Bounds where the Rangers watched.

No greetings rang out, however. The only sound was the soft breathing of the sleepers, the crackling of the fire, the whispering of the breeze in the leaves above his head. He moved restlessly, the muscles of his arms cramping. How he wished he could change his position!

Almost without thinking, he twisted his wrists within the bonds, and felt one hand slip free. He froze. He moved his hands slightly. Yes, the knots had loosened; the rope wrapped itself with loving care about one wrist, but his other hand was free!

He raised his head slowly, looking to the Tookish guard. Ferdi’s head rested on his knees; his bow was on the ground beside him, hand still loosely clutching the polished wood.

Ever so slowly, Jack pulled his hands to the fore, easing the rope from his wrist, coiling the slim line. He raised the coil to his lips in benediction, laid the rope down and turned to Will, placing a cautious hand over the youth’s mouth.

Will came to with a start. Jack placed a silencing finger over his lips, and Will nodded, the light of hope dawning in his eyes. Jack quickly untied the cord about Will’s wrists, and nodded for Will to do the same for little Rob. In the meantime, he rose, picked up the sliver-grey rope, and crept across the clearing to their packs. He reverently stowed the rope away with a gentle pat, breathing his thanks, and lifted his pack and Will’s. With a glance at sleeping Ferdi, he walked gingerly back to where the lads sat, urged them to their feet, and began to steal from the clearing.

 ‘Wait!’ came a hiss, and the three “ruffians” froze, shoulders taut, waiting for an arrow to bury itself between the shoulder blades. They waited for what seemed an eternity, not daring to move nor to look behind; hearing nothing, but knowing how silently hobbits move.

Suddenly Diamond was there, a heavy bag in her hands, her eyes shining in the firelight. ‘I don’t know what wakened me,’ she whispered, ‘but I’m glad I caught you before you could slip away.’

She held out the bag awkwardly, and Jack took it, feeling the heaviness in the heft.

 ‘Some thieves you are,’ Diamond said so low that Jack barely heard. ‘It was in the saddlebags all the time, and you never looked!’

Jack shook the bag slightly, hearing the soft clink of coin on coin. ‘I cannot...’ he began.

Diamond smiled. ‘Thain’s gold,’ she whispered, ‘given with blessing.’ She gestured to the darkness outside of the firelight. ‘Go with grace,’ she said.

 ‘I’ll never forget you,’ Jack said softly.

 ‘Nor I,’ Will said, and Rob kissed his hand to Diamond, an oddly adult gesture.

 ‘Go!’ Diamond said. With a last bow, Jack stepped into the shadows, followed by his lads... and they were gone.

Diamond returned to her bed of ferns, curled herself around Farry once more, and gave herself up to sleep.

Chapter 17. Fighting for Breath

A river of light flowed along the Shirebourn, a double column of riders whose weary ponies walked splashing in the shallows of the river. Half bore torches, the others rode with bows at the ready. A hunter walked at their head, leading his pony, scrutinising the bank by the light of the torch he held.

Master and Thain rode just behind the hunter, immersed in quiet conversation. ‘Ferdi said he saw no signs of more than the three ruffians,’ Merry was saying.

 ‘It doesn’t hurt to be careful,’ Pippin said. ‘Should any arrows come whistling out of the dark, the archers are to drop their torches in the stream, loose their ponies, and go to ground on the bank.’

Merry shook his head. ‘I don’t think ruffians are waiting for us,’ he said. ‘Ferdi ordered a veritable army of Tooks to turn out; unless the ruffians entered the Shire in force of numbers, as they did under Saruman, they’d probably just turn tail at seeing us.’

Pippin smiled faintly. ‘Ferdi takes his ruffians very seriously.’

 ‘As do I,’ Merry said stoutly. ‘But I really think...’

 ‘They didn’t take your wife and child,’ Pippin snapped.

 ‘I beg to differ, cousin,’ Merry said softly. They rode along in silence for a few moments, and then Pippin groaned and put a hand to his head. Merry reined his pony to a halt, saying, ‘Pippin?’ The column halted behind them, and hearing this, the hunter stopped and looked around, waiting for orders.

 ‘I’m sorry, Merry,’ Pippin whispered. ‘You are still living with the reminder the ruffians left you, the ones that took your wife, and yourself.’ He took as deep a breath of the foggy air as he was able. ‘Somehow, when danger threatens Diamond or Farry, my head just does not...’ His words were interrupted by a strangling cough, and yet more, until he was fighting for breath as Merry steadied him in the saddle.

There was a vigorous splashing as Healer Fennel kneed his pony out of the column and forward to where Thain and Master sat. Without hesitation, he took hold of Pippin’s reins and turned to the bank, mounting up as Merry rode alongside supporting his cousin.

Fennel jumped down from his pony, pulled his blanket roll from the saddle and snapped it sharply, laying the blanket on the grassy bank and turning to catch hold of the Thain. Merry let Pippin go and slid from his saddle, to kneel by his stricken cousin almost before Pippin was stretched out upon the blanket.

 ‘Prop him up,’ the healer snapped, and Merry and Tolly, who’d followed on their heels, hastened to obey. The healer dug in his bag, bringing out a jar of pungent ointment that he nearly fumbled in his haste. Tolly, well versed in the Thain’s bad spells, already had lifted Pippin’s coat, waistcoat and shirt out of the way.

 ‘Cold,’ Pippin managed to gasp before a more violent seizure of coughing robbed him of breath.

Fennel smeared the ointment on Pippin’s chest and throat, then moved to rub the pungent stuff over the Thain’s back, muttering all the while. ‘...knew he ought to have stayed at the inn, not gone riding out in the fog and the chill, but would anyone listen...?’ He broke off his litany of complaint to seize Pippin’s shoulders. ‘Breathe!’ he ordered. ‘Steady, slow breaths!’

 ‘Trying,’ Pippin gasped. His desperate grip on Merry’s good arm loosened and his head fell back, eyes half-closed in concentration.

 ‘Kindle fire,’ Fennel barked.

 ‘We’ve torches,’ the hunter said, waving at the line of archers waiting in the stream.

 ‘Not torches,’ the healer scolded. ‘Fire, to boil water! I need to get a draught into him.’

Pippin raised his hand to grasp at the healer’s shirt. ‘No,’ he gasped, ‘No draught.’

 ‘Thain Peregrin, I...’

Pippin, by dint of great determination, along with the help of the balm, was somehow steadying his breathing. He did not want a sleeping draught to carry him off, not when they were so close, no matter that it would relax the muscles and enable him to breathe more easily.

 ‘That’s it, Pippin,’ Merry encouraged.

Fennel, reassured by the signs of progress, went back to his muttering, ‘...night air...’

 ‘Do you want us to go on without you?’ Merry asked.

Pippin’s grip tightened again and he raised his head. ‘...no,’ he whispered. ‘Be all right ...in a minute.’

Tolly said smoothly, ‘Ferdi’s on guard. On his life, he won’t let anything happen to Diamond and Farry.’

 ‘And by the signs Hilly left, there were only three ruffians in all,’ Merry said, thinking back on the drawing in the mud under its grass covering. Three long strokes, three half as long: three Men, three Hobbits.

So they waited.

It was many minutes before Pippin was strong enough to sit up himself, and at that they had to lift him onto his pony once more. Merry rode on one side of Pippin and the healer rode on his other side, but Pippin shook off their supporting hands. He wanted to lean forward, to splash along the stream at a gallop, but he was constrained by the hunter walking before him, watching for the signs Hilly had left when he’d climbed the bank at the end of the ruffian’s rope.

Fennel suppressed his grumbling with an effort; he wanted to be able listen to the Thain’s breathing as they rode along; worrisome it was. Every inch of him wanted to carry the Thain to the nearest smial and pop him into a bed, but unless Pippin collapsed completely he could not hope to overcome the hobbit’s stubborn insistence. Fennel supposed if it were his own wife and child, he’d do the same.

Sometime between middle night and dawn the hunter raised his torch, and Merry called for the column to halt.

 ‘Here!’ the hunter called, and Merry slid from his saddle to splash forward.

The bank looked different by torchlight, but he nodded and said, ‘You have the right of it. This is where we climbed the bank after them. There’s a small copse of trees not far from the top, and that’s where they are. We ought to see their fire when we climb out...’

The fire that had been burning high and bright when Merry rode away was a bare flicker amongst the trees. He reined his pony in at the top of the bank, saying, ‘That doesn’t look right.’

Pippin lifted his head. ‘Doesn’t look right?’ he rasped. ‘Speak plainly!’

 ‘Ferdi’s let the fire die down,’ Merry said, ‘or...’

Thinking quickly, he passed orders along the line of archers. These quickly extinguished their torches and then, leaving their ponies, moved to surround the copse of trees, bows at the ready. They didn’t know what they were expecting, but they were prepared to meet it.

Pippin slid from his saddle, and Fennel and Tolly caught him as he staggered.

 ‘Wait a moment, cousin,’ Merry said. ‘Let me see what’s what.’

 ‘Diamond,’ Pippin said hoarsely.

 ‘I won’t be long,’ Merry said, forcing cheer into his low tone. He nodded to Bracken, the hunter, and the two of them slipped silently towards the trees.

The dying fire threw light on two cloak-covered piles and a hobbit resting against a tree, silent and unmoving. There was no sign of the ruffians.

Merry turned with a shout while the hunter went from one pile to the next, and the Thain and archers came up quickly.

 ‘Diamond...! Farry!’ Pippin gasped, and Bracken called, ‘Here!’

The Thain stumbled to his side, falling to embrace his wife and child. Diamond blinked sleepily, then gave a glad cry and threw one arm about Pippin, the other still firmly holding Farry, who was deep in a dream and difficult to waken even when in his own bed, under ordinary circumstances.

Merry knelt by Hilly’s side, calling the healer over. ‘He was given a sleeping draught,’ he said. The fire flared to new life, fuelled by the fresh supply of wood one of the archers supplied, and firelight flickered on Hilly’s slack face.

Fennel checked Hilly quickly and relaxed. ‘That’s all it seems to be,’ he said. ‘He’s deeply asleep, true, but his heart is strong and his breathing is regular.’

Tolly called from where he knelt by Ferdi, and Fennel rose to go to him. ‘I don’t know what the ruffians did to him,’ Tolly said. ‘I cannot waken him, and he’s not breathing as he should.’

 ‘Bring a torch!’ Fennel called, and soon several freshly-kindled torches were surrounding him. ‘Ferdi,’ he said, taking one shoulder in his hand. The hobbit lolled in his grasp, and Fennel knew a terrible moment, listening to straining breaths for the second time of an evening. He pulled his bag from his back and rummaged for the balm.

 ‘Ferdi?’ Diamond said, looking past Pippin to the cluster of hobbits by the tree. ‘I am well,’ she told Pippin, pushing at him, ‘but what’s happened to Ferdibrand?’

Pippin’s arms tightened about her, and then he released her and rose from his crouch. ‘You’re unharmed,’ he said, as if to reassure himself, ‘and Farry is well.’

 ‘We’re well,’ Diamond said, giving him another push. ‘See to Ferdi!’

Pippin moved quickly to the tree, staring down as Fennel applied the balm to Ferdibrand, muttering, Two in one night! Of all the...

Ferdi’s hands came up to his throat as he laboured for breath.

 ‘Did they strangle him?’ Pippin said, struck by a sudden thought.

The healer shook his head. ‘Nay,’ he said. ‘There’s no sign of such.’

Pippin bent closer, for Ferdi was gasping out words, even as he tensed in the firm grasp of the hobbits holding him. ‘Please...’ Pippin heard. ‘Just a boy...’ and ‘Don’t hang...’

Behind him, Merry was asking, ‘But which way did they go?’

The hunter raised his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘Find a trail? In the darkness? When all these blundering archers have spoilt the ground?’ He spat disgustedly. ‘In the morning light, perhaps, if all these hobbits stay put and don’t lay down any more marks!’ He thought of the grassy field surrounding the copse. ‘On the other hand,’ he said glumly, ‘there may be no trail to find. The grass that bent to their passing will have stood itself up again, if the fire’s any indicator.’

 ‘The fire?’ Merry said, confused.

 ‘If it was burning bright when they left, it’s been some time,’ the hunter said. ‘It had burned low by the time we arrived.’ He stared out into the darkness. ‘And the fog’s come down heavy. They’ll leave no footprints in the dew,’ he concluded.

 ‘We know they’re going to the Bounds,’ Merry said.

Bracken shrugged. ‘The Bounds go a long way,’ he said. ‘All the way round the Shire, so I hear tell.’

 ‘Very well,’ Merry said shortly, and turned to issue orders. Before long, a score of archers were riding off, each taking a slightly different line to the borders of the Shire. ‘They’ll alert the Bounders and the Rangers to keep watch,’ he said to the hunter. ‘But I rather have the feeling that we’re closing the barn door after the ponies have run off.’

Chapter 18. Should I Die Before I Wake...

Helpless to intervene, Ferdi watched the stony-faced Ranger bind Will’s hands behind him. Little Rob flung himself upon his brother. ‘Don’t!’ he sobbed. ‘Don’t hang my Will! He’s all I have!’

The Ranger frowned down at Rob, who refused to leave his brother, and pulled another piece of cord from the pouch that hung from his belt. ‘Plenty more where that came from,’ he said.

 ‘He’s just a boy!’ Will protested.

 ‘He should keep better company,’ the Ranger said tonelessly, and to Rob he added, ‘Put your hands behind you.’ Ignoring Rob’s sobbing and Will’s entreaties he bound the little lad, and when the knots were tied to his satisfaction he called sharply, ‘Done!’

 ‘Just about finished here,’ the second Ranger answered, tying off Jack’s rope.

‘Please,’ Ferdi said, ‘He’s just a boy. Don’t hang...’ The rope around his own neck tightened as he tried to balance on the split log they’d stood him on.

 ‘I’d worry more about myself, if I were you,’ the first Ranger said, eyeing the hobbit. ‘You fall off before we kick the log out from under you, and we’ll just leave you to dangle with thanks for saving us the trouble.’ He sounded more ruffian than Ranger, but then, all Men were ruffians, in Ferdi’s estimation. He shouldn’t be surprised at this turn of events.

Merry put his good hand on Ferdi’s shoulder. ‘Steady, cousin,’ he whispered. Ferdi nodded without speaking. He’d caught his balance again, but didn’t know how long he could hold it. His breath came harsh as he struggled to force air past the tightened noose.

Jack balanced on a split log nearby, silver-grey rope around his neck. ‘Please!’ he called.

 ‘Very convenient, that he brought his own rope,’ the first Ranger muttered to the second as he held a log ready for Will. ‘Just the right length.’

 ‘Step up now, or do you want us to haul you into the air?’ the second Ranger said to the youth. Will stepped up; the first Ranger steadied him as his partner threw Will’s rope over a branch and tied a good strong knot.

 ‘Please,’ Jack whispered. ‘Do what you will with me, but let the lads go. I led them into this. It’s not their fault...’

 ‘What I will or no matters not at all,’ the first Ranger said. ‘The King has issued an edict barring Men from the Shire. Don’t tell me you didn’t know...’

Tears stood in Jack’s eyes as he looked from Rob to Will and back again. ‘I am so very sorry, my lads,’ he whispered, ‘for all the good it does.’

 ‘No good at all, I’m afraid,’ Ferdi rasped.

 ‘We’re ready, sir,’ the first Ranger said respectfully, stepping back.

Ferdi’s eyes widened to see Pippin standing there, sadly looking down the line of the doomed.

 ‘Pippin!’ he gasped.

The Thain shook his head, his eyes unreadable. ‘Ferdi,’ he sighed. ‘You of all hobbits ought to have known better than to throw in your lot with ruffians!’

 ‘I didn’t!’ Ferdi said, but he could hardly get the words out with the rope so tight around his throat.

 ‘You let them go,’ Pippin said.

 ‘No!’ Ferdi tried to shout, but the rope was choking him, cutting off his air, cutting off his life...

Pippin reached out, put his hands on Ferdi’s shoulders, and shook him, repeating, ‘Let them go, Ferdi! Let them go...’

Ferdibrand’s throat threatened to close completely, making it impossible to breathe. He heard Pippin shout his name again, felt himself shaken, and cracked his eyes open to protest. In another moment Pippin would knock him from his teetering stance...

 ‘Ferdi! Let it go!’ Pippin repeated desperately, trying to win through to his cousin.

 Ferdi thrashed against the restraining arms that held him, and then was ominously still.

 ‘Ferdi?’ Pippin whispered, his hands tightening on his cousin’s shoulders.

 ‘It’s like a bad dream,’ Ferdi murmured, and lay quiet once more.

 ‘It is a bad dream, Ferdi! Let it go! Breathe, cousin!’

 Ferdi took a gasping breath and mumbled, ‘You’re one to talk.’  All around him he could smell the pungent odour that meant Pippin had suffered one of his bad spells.

 ‘Breathe, Ferdi!’ Tolly hissed in his ear, and Healer Fennel added the healers’ rhythmic chant about “slow, steady breaths... in... out... in... out...”

Ferdi found himself caught in the rhythm as the aroma and tingle of the ointment loosened muscles knotted to strangling tightness: in... out... in...

His throat opened as the rope of the dream fell away, and his mouth gaped to welcome the life-giving air.

 ‘That’s it,’ Pippin said. ‘That’s it, Ferdi.’

Ferdi strove to open his eyes, to make one final plea. ‘He’s just a boy,’ he whispered.

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder and heard Pippin say, ‘All will be well, Ferdi. You have my word.’

He had Pippin’s word, and so he relaxed as the Ranger kicked the log out from under his feet and the world fell away.

***

 ‘A dream?’ Merry said at Pippin’s shoulder. ‘What is it, that has such a terrible effect? That he should nearly strangle in his sleep...’ He was not questioning the power of the dream, of course, having struggled with dreams himself, but rather its underpinning.

Pippin sighed and sat back on his heels. His glance swept the faces around him, and he nodded. ‘I have a fair idea,’ he said, ‘but it’s not fit for the ears.’ He murmured low, ‘Just a boy...’

 ‘What was that?’ Merry said, and Pippin looked to him with sharpening gaze.

 ‘Didn’t you say that one of the “ruffians” was a young boy, not even as tall as Ferdibrand?’ he said.

 ‘And one was a youth,’ Merry confirmed. ‘Not very old, but old enough...’

Pippin nodded grimly. ‘Old enough,’ he said.

He was constrained from saying more by the fact that hanging was not common knowledge in the Shire, a result of deliberate effort on the part of Master, Mayor, and Thain. Hobbits knew, of course, that Men were banned from the Shire, but most did not know how the edict was enforced. To be cast out of the Shire was the worst punishment a hobbit could conceive of, and no hobbit would think of returning, should he suffer such a penalty. Mourning, he’d make a new life outside the Shire, in the Breeland perhaps, or possibly he’d die of his grief. To a hobbit’s way of thinking, a man caught inside the Bounds and shown the border was unlikely to return.

Elessar knew Men better, of course.

Chapter 19. A Matter of Business

Ferdibrand wakened slowly, unsure of where he was. He knew where he wasn’t—curled in a soft bed (his beloved Nell insisted on sinking into layers of softness when she retired, and so, of course, Ferdi must put up with the luxury), with the warmth of his wife snuggled against him. He was warm, indeed, but definitely alone, and he was lying on a hard surface.

He cracked his eyelids open to be assaulted by daylight brightness, and this, also, was wrong. When hunting he was up with the Sun, but it seemed this day that the Sun had left her bed well before he’d begun to stir. 

 ‘Awake at last,’ Pippin’s voice came from the same direction as the crackle of a cheery fire. ‘I was beginning to think you’d sleep the day away.’

Ferdi began to sit up abruptly but found himself groaning slowly upright. Odd, now, how he was wrapped in more than one blanket... three, perhaps? And lying close to the fire, though not close enough to roll in, were his sleep restless.

 ‘Would you like some tea?’ Pippin said. ‘Freshly brewed. I warmed the pot and poured the water over the leaves when you stopped snoring.’

 ‘I don’t snore,’ Ferdi muttered, and Pippin laughed.

Ferdi pulled a hand free from the blankets that wrapped him and rubbed his face, prying his eyes open enough to survey his surroundings. Memory returned as he recognised the clearing, and he threw back his coverings, saying, ‘Diamond!’

 ‘Steady now,’ Pippin said. ‘This stuff is hot!’ He extended a steaming cup to Ferdi and settled to the ground with his own cup.

 ‘But...’ Ferdi said.

 ‘She’s probably reached Pincup by this time, and is being feted and feasted and praised to the skies,’ Pippin said in satisfaction. ‘Quite a guard of honour accompanied her: dozens of Tookish archers. I imagine it made an impressive sight.’

 ‘The ruffians...’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Drink your tea whilst it’s hot,’ Pippin interrupted. ‘I went to a great deal of trouble, you know.’

 ‘But...’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Your tea,’ Pippin said implacably. His tone brooked no contradiction. Ferdi sipped at his tea. ‘That’s better,’ Pippin said with satisfaction. He rose and returned to the fire, adding over his shoulder, ‘I imagine you’re ravenous. I’ve been keeping a plate warm for you, as I know how you hate cold food.’

 ‘I...’ Ferdi said, as his cousin placed a plate on his lap and removed the cover with a flourish.

 ‘Kidneys and kedgeree and lovely eggs scrambled with cream, and cheese melted in,’ Pippin said. ‘Looks so good, I think I’ll serve myself another portion.’ He rose again to go over to the fire.

 ‘But...’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Eat!’ Pippin said over his shoulder, using his most Thainly tone. Ferdi ate.

Pippin returned with his own plate and sat down beside Ferdi. ‘I wonder why they call it kedgeree?’ he said conversationally.

 ‘I’ve always wondered where it came from in the first place,’ Ferdi said, ‘It hardly seems hobbity.’

 ‘Some wandering Man undoubtedly brought it to the Shire, in the days before the Troubles,’ Pippin said.

That reminded Ferdi... but when he tried to bring up Jack and the boys, Pippin firmly turned the subject.

 ‘Not much time now, before I must be at the Bridge to meet the King,’ he said. ‘I thought to take Hilly as escort, in view of his clear-headedness during the recent difficulty. What do you think?’

Ferdi had an idea that discussing the “recent difficulty” would not be a possibility, at least over breakfast, and so he answered, ‘That would be a great honour, and one that Hilly has earned, certainly, from what Diamond told me.’ He’d had the impression that Regi or himself would accompany Pippin, but it was all too likely that he was in disgrace for falling asleep while on guard. It was a good thing he’d firmly tied the ruffians... He imagined Pippin, upon his arrival, had detailed some of the archers to escort them to the Bounds, where the Rangers patrolled.

Suddenly his breakfast was sitting uneasily on his stomach. He put his fork down.

 ‘More?’ Pippin said, still working on his own portion.

 ‘No,’ Ferdi said. ‘I couldn’t manage another bite,’ he added honestly.

He took a few deep breaths to settle the food, and said, ‘Why are we here?’

 ‘Really, Ferdi, not over breakfast!’ Pippin said, lifting a forkful to his mouth. ‘Save the philosophical discussions for brandy, after a fine dinner.’

 ‘Pippin...!’ Ferdi said in annoyance, and his cousin laughed.

 ‘That’s better,’ Pippin said. ‘You’ve been much too subdued since wakening. Now you sound more like yourself.’

 ‘You’re not making sense,’ Ferdi grumbled.

 ‘It’s a failing of mine,’ Pippin said serenely. He cleared his plate and wiped his mouth, then got up, and taking Ferdi’s plate he walked over to a basket sitting by the fire. He deposited the plates and cutlery in the basket and lifted the cosied teapot that sat nearby. ‘More tea?’

 ‘No, thank you very much,’ Ferdi said, wondering.

 ‘Lovely family, the Tunnelys,’ Pippin said. ‘Packed up this amazing picnic breakfast and when they see the smoke rising from us putting out the fire they’ll come to clear away and fetch the dishes and whatnot and look after the washing up.’

 ‘Tunnely?’ Ferdi said.

Pippin waved vaguely. ‘Nearest farm family,’ he said. ‘Farmer Tunnely is out ploughing as we speak.’ He picked up a bucket sitting by the fire and began to pour the contents on the flames, sending smoke and ashes hissing high. ‘Come along,’ he said. ‘Time is wasting!’

 ‘Where are we going?’ Ferdi said in wonder, and then kicked himself for a fool. Of course, they’d be going on to Pincup, to the Jonquil Celebration, and then back to the Cockerel, where Regi would have the Thain’s coach waiting for the journey to the Bridge.

 ‘Out and about,’ Pippin said. ‘I needed to take care of a matter of business, and as you were still asleep when everyone else was rested and ready to go, I told Tolly I’d take you for my escort when you wakened, and all the rest could accompany Diamond and Farry to Pincup. Very convenient.’

 ‘Convenient,’ Ferdi muttered. Either he was feverish, or Pippin was being more obscure than usual.

 ‘Come along,’ Pippin repeated. Ferdi extricated himself from the blankets, rolled them neatly, and picked them up. ‘Just leave them by the basket,’ Pippin instructed him. ‘We borrowed them off the Tunnelys, you know.’

Ferdi didn’t know, but he left the roll of blankets as directed and followed Pippin to the waiting ponies. Starfire tossed his head to see Ferdi, and he stroked the velvet nose. ‘Sorry, lad,’ he said. ‘Not an apple or carrot to be had.’

 ‘He had a nosebag of oats earlier,’ Pippin said. ‘He’ll be fine.’

 ‘You’ve been busy,’ Ferdi observed as the two mounted their ponies.

 ‘Thain’s work is never done,’ Pippin said brightly. He turned his pony’s head towards the southeast and leaned into a steady ground-eating trot. Of course Ferdi followed.

The day was bright and fair, the fog burned away by the hard-working sun.

They trotted and cantered by turn, the miles spinning away behind them. Ferdi rode the fastest pony in the Shire, and Pippin’s mare, a daughter of his fiery Socks, was well-matched. It was not long after noontide that they crested a long hill and saw a silvery ribbon off to their left that sparkled in the sun.

 ‘The Brandywine,’ Pippin said. ‘We’re not far from the Bounds, now.’

Ferdi nodded. He’d never been quite so far to the east before. He knew the southern border of the Shire ran all the way to the River, but he hadn’t set eyes on the Brandywine until now. It didn’t seem all that wide to his eyes, but then, they were still some distance from its banks, and not likely to approach any nearer.

They rode until they passed a marker half-buried in the grass. ‘Outside the Bounds, now!’ Pippin called, and turned his mare’s face to the West, towards a wooded area outside the borders of the Shire. Ferdi knew with a sudden chill that Rangers were to be found there. Undoubtedly Pippin had sent a messenger ahead to arrange a meeting. He fought down a desire to turn Starfire’s face back towards Tuckborough, to turn away from the dark wood. It was likely that the trees bore grisly warnings intended to discourage Men from entering the Shire.

 ‘They ought to have been expecting us,’ Pippin muttered as they rode under the shadow of the trees. Evidently he thought a Ranger or two should be waiting at the verge.

 ‘Perhaps they had a few matters of business to manage,’ Ferdi said, trying to speak lightly, though his throat was tight with dread. He’d been in a similar wood, some distance to the West. After the Ranger told him of the fate of ruffians, he’d had to go and see for himself. He’d sent Tolly and the Shirriff back to the Shire, saying he’d follow shortly. The bodies hanging from the trees had haunted his dreams for days afterwards.

 ‘Perhaps,’ Pippin said. ‘But it’s a long ride back to Pincup, and I’d like to arrive before the middle night! They’ll be up betimes to provide a breakfast feast before we ride to the Cockerel...’ He broke off with an oath, reining his mare roughly against Starfire to turn him from his course. ‘Don’t look, Ferdi!’ he warned.

Of course, Ferdi’s eyes were drawn to where they shouldn’t. Involuntarily he cried out, choking, ‘No!’ Through the trees he could see one of the Rangers kick away a log on which a Man was standing, hands bound behind him, noose around his neck, and move to kick away another log under an adjacent figure.

Chapter 20. Clearing the Air

Ferdi instinctively pressed Starfire towards the distant horror, but Pippin blocked him with equal determination, and the stallion was reluctant to ride down the mare.

 ‘No, Ferdi!’ he repeated.

Ferdi drew a shuddering breath, for it was already too late. Much too late. The Rangers were efficient in their methods, not having a cruel ruffian's attitude of finding sport in prolonging the agony of dying. The Men, though still moving in dying reflex, had broken their necks as they fell. He averted his eyes from the twisting figures, and a moment later turned aside, bent in the saddle, losing what remained of the fine breakfast the Tunnelys had provided. He scarcely noticed that Pippin had come alongside and was supporting him as he retched.

When there was nothing left to lose, he straightened slowly. Pippin let go of him and brought out a handkerchief, wetting it from his water bottle and extending it to Ferdi. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Wipe your mouth out.’

Ferdi did as he was told, but the bitter taste remained. He could not meet Pippin’s gaze.

 ‘I’m sorry, Ferdi,’ Pippin said. ‘I didn’t realise...’

 ‘I told you,’ Ferdi said shortly. ‘You didn’t believe me?’

 ‘I knew that bodies would be hanging from the trees,’ Pippin said, ‘for I did believe you, Ferdi. What I didn’t realise was that they’d be in the midst of hanging up more.’ He took an unsteady breath. 'I wouldn't have put you through seeing such a thing, after your own experience, for the world.'

 ‘Didn’t Diamond tell you what they did? Could you not find it in your heart to spare them?’

 ‘Diamond told me how young Will risked his life to save Hilly from the bog, and how Jack warmed them and fed them when they were suffering a deathly chill...’ Pippin said.

 ‘And you turned them over to the Rangers; you sent them to their deaths,’ Ferdi said low. ‘Didn’t you expect...?’

 ‘I did not turn them over to the Rangers,’ Pippin said stiffly. ‘They must have been taken after they slipped away in the darkness, while you slept...’

The rebuke went to Ferdi’s heart and he bowed his head.

They had been seen, and now a Ranger came up. ‘I beg your pardon, Sir,’ he said to Pippin. ‘We didn’t expect you until teatime.’

 ‘Thought to take care of a little business beforehand?’ Ferdi said, and laughed harshly. He was too tightly wound, and barely managing to keep hold of himself.

 ‘Steady on, cousin,’ Pippin said, and turned to the Ranger. ‘How is it that I didn’t know more Men were taken?’ he demanded. ‘No messenger...’

 ‘Undoubtedly the messenger is seeking you near the Shirebourn even now,’ the Ranger said. ‘Your own archers brought these Men to us. They said they were hunting ruffians by your order, and they found these and rode them down, bound them and brought them to us.’ He looked from Ferdi to Pippin. ‘When they said you’d be following, we thought we’d get the unpleasantness over before your arrival.’

Pippin might know of hanging, might have seen it in the Southlands, but there was no reason, as far as the Rangers were concerned, for him to watch Men die. It was bad enough to see the aftermath.

Pippin nudged his mare forward, and Starfire automatically followed. ‘But, Sir...!’ the Ranger protested.

Pippin turned his head slightly to snap, ‘I want them given a decent burial, at the least!’ He forged towards the freshly-hanged bodies that were now dreadfully still. Ferdi followed. Though he rode with his head down he knew that bodies were hanging farther into the wood; he’d already glimpsed them. As they rode, Pippin pulled a kerchief up over his mouth and nose, to filter some of the charnel stench that hung heavy on the air in this part of the wood, and Ferdi followed suit.

When they reached the newly-dead, Pippin stopped and surveyed them. ‘Which was Will?’ he grated.

Ferdi raised a countenance white and bleak under its covering, looking from one distorted face to the other. He swallowed down sickness and forced himself to look closely. Pippin waited.

At last, Ferdi said, ‘I...’ and stopped.

 ‘What is it, Ferdi?’ Pippin snapped. His nerves were wearing thin; this was more like the Morannon, the atmosphere of this place, than a peaceful little woodland just outside the sleepy Shire.

One of the Men was bearded; neither sported silvering hair.

 ‘Not them,’ Ferdi murmured, feeling weak. He reeled in the saddle and the Ranger caught him as he slipped sideways. He had the terrible feeling that he would be the next to balance precariously upon a log while a noose was laid over his head...

When he came to himself again, he smelled only fresh air: green, growing things and leaf mould and dirt. A fire crackled nearby, and he wondered if he had dreamed again. But no, when he opened his eyes, Pippin sat to one side of him, holding his hand in a firm grip, and a Ranger sat to his other side.

 ‘Better?’ Pippin asked quietly.

 ‘How can anything ever be better again?’ Ferdi said. When he closed his eyes, just to blink, he saw Will, and Jack, and little Rob, faces dark and distorted. In his mind he could hear little Rob pleading, his voice blending with that of another young boy.

 ‘Ferdi,’ Pippin said. ‘You said it wasn’t Jack and Will. Diamond described them to me, and I’m inclined to agree with you. The clincher is that these ruffians had no boy with them.’

 ‘We’ll see if we can pick up their trail,’ the Ranger said, but Pippin spoke sharply.

 ‘No! Leave them be.’

 ‘Leave them?’ the Ranger said, astounded.

 ‘Let them go,’ Pippin said. ‘If you Rangers happen to find a man with silvering hair, a youth, and a small boy coming out of the Shire in the near future, leave them. They have my guarantee of safe passage.’

 ‘Your guarantee...’ the Ranger said.

 ‘So say I,’ Pippin said. ‘Only the King can gainsay me. It is my right to grant such. You read your Edict and you’ll see.’

 ‘Yes, Sir,’ the Ranger said, rising abruptly. ‘I’ll pass the word.’

Ferdi was attempting to sit up, hindered by the spinning of his head. Pippin moved to help him. ‘Steady, cousin,’ he said. ‘You’ve had a bad turn.’ When Ferdi was safely upright, his cousin reached beside him, bringing to bear an oversized cup half-full of sweet, icy water from a spring that bubbled nearby. ‘Drink, now.’

Ferdi drank, and the dizziness subsided.

The Ranger returned and seated himself again. ‘Done,’ he said. ‘Was there anything else? You said you had a matter of business to discuss.’

 ‘I do,’ Pippin said grimly. He waved in a vague gesture to the side, and from his next words Ferdi guessed that he was motioning towards the grisly part of the wood where death reigned. ‘I want all the bodies decently buried,’ he said, ‘not just that fresh lot we were unfortunate enough to bid farewell.’

 ‘Sir, I...’ the Ranger said carefully.

 ‘The Edict says nothing about leaving them hanging to feed the birds,’ Pippin said, standing to his feet to stare eye-to-eye with the Man, hands upon his hips, a picture of offended hobbit.

 ‘It’s intended to discourage...’ the Ranger began, but the Thain was having none of it.

 ‘Fat lot of good it does!’ he flared. ‘Men are still coming into the Shire, while you sit on your backsides, expecting stinking corpses to do your duty for you!’

 ‘Pippin,’ Ferdi breathed uneasily, but the Ranger nodded soberly.

 ‘Very well, Sir,’ he said. ‘We’ll bury them, and pass the word to all the outposts.’

Pippin nodded, his eyes still flashing fire. ‘You do that,’ he said coldly.

 ‘Please,’ the Ranger said in a conciliatory manner. ‘Sit down. You must eat something. It is a long ride back to the heart of the Shire.’

 ‘I couldn’t,’ Ferdi said, but Pippin put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

 ‘We’ll be delighted to join you,’ he said with a decided nod. ‘Won’t we, Ferdibrand?’

 ‘I...’ Ferdi said, as Pippin seated himself once more.

 ‘We are, however, in haste, so if you’d bring on the food without further delay, we’d be grateful.’

 ‘Of course, Sir. The King is due at the Bridge within a few days...’

 Pippin snorted. ‘There’s rather a more important celebration at hand,’ he said. ‘My wife is being honoured by the good hobbits of Pincup, and I have no intention of missing the festive breakfast!’

 ‘Indeed, Sir,’ the Ranger said gravely, and rose to see to the comfort of the guests.

Pippin looked over at Ferdi, finding his cousin staring at him in astonishment. ‘You have to be firm with these Men, cousin,’ he said pleasantly. ‘They can be quite reasonable, just so long as you keep them well in hand.’

Chapter 21. Laying Uneasy Spirits to Rest

Though Pippin had professed to be in a hurry, he now made a leisurely meal, chatting with the Ranger who attended them, insisting that the Man sit down with them, asking questions and making comments on the food, the weather, the prospects for this year’s harvest, the difficulty in finding good stable help, and other such topics.

He told a comical story of Bilbo’s, and the Ranger laughed heartily, saying, ‘I’d believe it! You ought to have heard him go on when he shared our campfire on his way to Rivendell...’

Ferdi shot a surprised glance at the Man, who must be older than he looked. Evidently he was familiar with hobbits’ appetite, as well, for he brought enough food to feed a small army of Men, though he was the only one to share the meal with them.

No other Rangers were in sight, and Ferdi could only hope they were busy about their... duties.

He was beginning to wonder if they’d be staying through teatime and supper as well when Pippin broke off in the middle of a discourse on selecting the finest pipe-weed to say, ‘Ah, at last!’

Ferdi followed his gaze, to see a Ranger approaching on horse-back, a hobbit-sized figure riding behind him. The Ranger eating with them unfolded his long legs and rose, calling a greeting.

 ‘Who would that be?’ Ferdi wondered aloud, and Pippin clapped him on the shoulder as he stood to his feet.

 ‘Someone you know,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d like to meet again.’

Ferdi hastily set his plate aside and scrambled to his feet. ‘You thought...?’ he said.

 ‘Yes, Ferdi,’ Pippin said, ‘one of the archers had instructions to seek him out and send him to us here.’

 ‘I thought we were...’ Ferdi said. Pippin had been in such apparent hurry, earlier, to reach this place after they'd finished breakfasting, and now he gave the impression that he’d been prepared to wait the day long for this Man’s arrival.

 ‘That’s your trouble, cousin, you think too much!’ Pippin said cheerily, and then he stepped forward to hail the arriving Ranger. ‘Bargalad! Thank you for coming so quickly at my summons!’

 ‘Did I have a choice?’ the Ranger laughed. He slid down from his saddle, reaching up to lift down the cloaked figure that rode at his back. ‘We are to extend every courtesy to the Ernil i Pheriannath, you know.’

 ‘And a more demanding fellow I have yet to meet!’ Pippin said. ‘I’ll ask him to put in a good word for you with the King.’

 ‘You do that!’ Bargalad said. The smile faded from his face as he looked to Ferdibrand, for he remembered all too well their previous meeting. ‘Master Fox,’ he said.

Ferdi bowed stiffly. ‘Sir,’ he said in reply.

 ‘Bargalad has brought someone I wanted you to see,’ Pippin said, stepping forward to draw the cloaked one, evidently suffering an attack of bashfulness, from behind the tall Man. ‘Come now, lad, we don’t have Rangers on toast for tea.’

The little one stepped forward slowly, and Bargalad put a gentle hand atop the hood. ‘All is well,’ he said softly, and drew the hood back.

Ferdi gasped as he recognised the face of the boy, the boy he’d thought hanged, the boy who, when last he’d seen him, had been pleading with the Rangers after the hobbits turned the first band of ruffians over for them to “deal with”. Bargalad had insisted on escorting the hobbits to the Bounds even as the ruffians were being wrestled to their feet and forced to march into the little woods, and Ferdi’s last sight of the lad had been burned into his conscience: shaking in fear, pleading breathlessly, tears running down his dirty little face.

The wide eyes were still the same as Ferdi remembered, though no longer filled with fear. The pinched little face had become rounded; and warm, well-fitting clothing had replaced the rags he’d worn in the winter’s chill, just after Yule.

 ‘Mind your manners, Bargil,’ Bargalad prompted.

The boy bowed and said in a low voice, ‘At your service, sirs.’

 ‘My son,’ Bargalad said, drawing the boy to his side. At Ferdi’s stunned expression, he smiled. ‘I have taken him for my son; he has no family.’

 ‘Of course not,’ Ferdi said bleakly, thinking of the band of ruffians, all likely to be still hanging in trees in the little wood to the West of them, for there hadn’t been time for Pippin’s burial order to be carried there and carried out. Whichever of the ruffians had been the boy's kin was now carrion.

 ‘He was an orphan, begging in the streets of Sarn,’ Bargalad continued, as if reading Ferdi's thoughts. ‘A leader of a band of rough Men who’d heard of the treasure-hoard in the Shire, ripe for the taking, picked him up, just in case someone hobbit-sized was needed to get to the treasure. He knew only ill-treatment and curses from those ruffians, and schemed to escape, but was never able...’

 ‘You see, Ferdi,’ Pippin said quietly. ‘You didn’t doom the lad; rather, you rescued him.’

 ‘Rescued,’ Ferdi whispered. The world around him felt unreal. ‘I thought...’ His breath came shallowly.

 ‘They don’t hang young lads,’ Pippin said. ‘Only those who are old enough to know better.’

 ‘Will,’ Ferdi said.

Pippin nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said soberly. ‘It’s likely Will’s life would have been forfeit. But the Rangers would have treated little Rob kindly and found a home for him.’

 ‘Rather like a stray pup,’ Ferdi said absently.

 ‘Are you well, cousin?’ Pippin said, eyeing Ferdi intently, and taking his arm.

 ‘The dreams...’ Ferdi whispered.

 ‘Were only dreams,’ Pippin said. ‘There was no truth to them.’

 ‘I thought I was cursed,’ Ferdi said, shuddering. ‘I thought I had taken an innocent life...’

Impulsively the boy stepped forward to hug him. ‘O sir,’ he breathed. ‘You saved me!’ He looked up at Bargalad, a wondering smile upon his little face. ‘I found a father, and a home, and a hope!’

Ferdi nodded numbly, unable to take it in. He’d lived with the guilt gnawing at him for so many days, since just after the New Year. Nearly three months, it had been, and much worse after he’d seen the bodies hanging in the trees.

He swayed, but Pippin held him up. ‘A glass of water is in order, I think,’ he said. ‘My cousin is not well, and is much worn with worry and toil.’

 ‘I am well!’ Ferdi protested, even as Bargalad took his other arm, helped Pippin walk him to the fireside and eased him down. The other Ranger, whose name Ferdi had not heard, quickly brought a cup of icy water. Drinking made him feel better. 

 ‘You will be well, cousin,’ Pippin said low, while the Rangers were busy about saddling their ponies, little Bargil chattering as he stroked Starfire’s soft nose and offered the pony a piece of carrot from his pocket. ‘You’ve not been sleeping, Nell told me, and you’ve been off your feed, and then there was the long chase... had I been thinking clearly I’d never have sent you back to the Cockerel in the middle night, without even a hot meal to sustain you; I'd've sent Tolly or Regi instead.’

 ‘But Diamond...!’ Ferdi protested. Neither Tolly nor Regi were trackers, able to follow the faintest of trails.

Pippin’s lips tightened. ‘The way things turned out,’ he said, ‘there was no need for you to use yourself up, Ferdi.’

 ‘The way things turned out,’ Ferdi echoed. ‘But what if they had been ruffians in truth?’

 ‘Then you would have saved Diamond and Farry, undoubtedly, and the ruffians would have murdered you in your sleep afterwards; of that I have no doubt.’

Ferdi coloured and looked down. He had failed in his duties, it was true, and it was only luck that Jack had not been the sort to take advantage of Ferdi’s failure.

Pippin put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Ferdi,’ he said. ‘You’re my most valued assistant; you know that, don’t you?’ When Ferdi didn’t answer, he went on, ‘Not only that, but you are my cousin, and my friend from the time I came into the world. Fennel said...'

 'Healers!' Ferdi snapped in disgust, but Pippin would not be turned aside.

 'Fennel said you'd have died, had we not arrived when we did; you had another bad spell in your sleep, Ferdi...' Ferdi made an impatient gesture, pushing the words away, but his chest was tight and painful and his voice had been hoarse on awakening, his throat protesting every word and swallow. Pippin went on, 'You'd pushed yourself beyond your limits until you were running on nerve alone...’

Ferdi shook his head. ‘I was only doing my duty,’ he said.

 ‘What would have happened had you set off alone to find Diamond?’ Pippin pressed. ‘You ought to have taken a dozen hobbits with you, not just Merry!’

 ‘You’re always saying Merry is equal to any dozen hobbits,’ Ferdi quipped, but his heart wasn’t in it.

 ‘It was stupidity on your part, overconfidence and short-sightedness,’ Pippin said, shaking a finger in Ferdi’s face. ‘The only explanation I can find to excuse you is that you were wearied beyond coherent thought, and acting on instinct.’ He sighed, thinking of Sam, long ago in Mordor, and Frodo, of course. ‘Sometimes that is enough... but it might have turned out badly.’

Ferdi nodded.

 ‘I want you to promise me, cousin, that you will not be so impulsive next time, but that you will think before you act,’ Pippin said.

 ‘You—you are taking me to task for being impulsive?’ Ferdi said, in his astonishment raising his eyes to meet Pippin’s.

Pippin threw back his head and laughed. ‘I ought to know,’ he said. ‘It’s a battle I fight daily!’

The ponies were ready, the saddlebags packed with food to eat along the way, and Pippin helped Ferdi to his feet. They thanked the Ranger for the meal and took their leave of Bargalad and Bargil. Ferdi bore the lad’s thanks with good grace, but he was glad to climb into his saddle and turn his pony’s face northwards.

They rode swiftly, with little chance for talking, but halfway to Pincup they stopped to let their ponies drink from a crystal stream, and then as they stared at the great, round, pale-gold glow of the rising Moon, Pippin had a few words for Ferdi. ‘We ought to arrive a few hours before dawn, at this rate,’ he said. ‘Thain’s orders for you, cousin, will be to go straight to bed! And not arise before elevenses at the earliest!’

 ‘What, and miss the feast?’ Ferdi said.

 ‘I’ll tell them to keep your plate warm,’ Pippin responded. And that is what he did.

Chapter 22. Sleeping Half the Day Away

When Ferdi wakened it was still dark, his little room in the inn lit only by a turned-down watchlamp. Pippin had insisted on a private, quiet room for Ferdi, rather than him sharing quarters with Tolly or a few of the archers. Pincup must be bursting at the seams to accommodate so many extra hobbits! He snorted to himself. Stay abed until elevenses! A more ridiculous order had never been given!

There was a rustle of movement to one side of the bed, and then shutters were thrown open, flooding the little room with light. ‘What...?’ Ferdi said, shielding his eyes.

 ‘Thain’s orders,’ Healer Fennel said from the window. ‘Did you sleep well?’

 ‘So it seems,’ Ferdi said, still blinking. ‘I didn’t need a watcher!’

Fennel smiled. ‘As you were asleep at the time I took up my post, it didn’t seem opportune to ask your opinion. You’ll be glad to hear that you did not suffer another bad spell in your sleep.’

 ‘I don’t need you to tell me that,’ Ferdi grumbled, but his chest felt heavy, as did his head.

 ‘Well then, let us look you over and tender a report to the Thain,’ the healer said, and despite Ferdi’s protests that he was perfectly well, Fennel proceeded to make a thorough examination. He frowned but did not share his findings with Ferdi, saying only, ‘I can imagine you must be hungry! I’ll send someone in with a plate of hot food, whilst you’re dressing, and you ought to be ready to depart by the time everyone else is finished admiring the jonquils.’

 ‘Indeed,’ Ferdi said, for want of anything better, and he hopped out of bed in his nightshirt to see Fennel to the door, affecting energy and cheer. Healers! Were he to wilt the slightest amount they’d likely pop him into bed for a week! And then where would he be?

Just in case the healer thought of something and returned, Ferdi dressed quickly and pulled the bedcovers straight—much less inviting, that way. He sank down on the bed and wondered why he felt more exhausted after a full sleep than after all the nights of sleeplessness that had preceded it.

At a thump on the door, he jumped to his feet, calling in his cheeriest manner, ‘Enter!’

Open the door! a muffled voice sounded. I’ve my hands full here!

Ferdi sprang to the door and pulled it open with a flourish, revealing a heavily-laden Hilly.

 ‘Breakfast—first and second—and elevenses, and probably nooning as well,’ he said, swinging the tray down upon the little table by the bed. He pulled up a chair to seat himself, and Ferdi sat back down on the bed, and they had a feast of their own in that little room with the sunshine pouring in through the round, sparkling window.

 ‘You don’t look much the worse for wear,’ Ferdi observed when the roasted capon had been reduced to bones, as he buttered his fourth piece of bread—still warm from the oven, imagine that! The bowls of mash and buttered carrots and peas were reduced to scrapings, but there was still plenty of bread and butter, a variety of jams and preserves, and a tempting assortment of cheese just right for filling up the corners.

 ‘They keep thumping my chest and insisting I bundle myself warmly,’ Hilly said sourly, pouring himself another cup of tea and adding an extra spoonful of sugar, moodily watching it dissolve as he stirred. ‘As if I were going to melt in a puddle!’

 ‘Rather more than a puddle,’ Ferdi said, sitting back with his own cup. ‘I fell in at the same place, you know.’

 ‘You did!’ Hilly said with a shudder. ‘I hadn’t heard that part. They pulled you out with a rope?’

 ‘Something like that,’ Ferdi said, thinking of the braided reins.

 ‘Is that why Pippin’s given orders to cosset and care for you?’ Hilly said. ‘I thought perhaps the ruffians had got hold of you and...’

 ‘There were no ruffians,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘I beg to differ,’ Hilly said, looking at his wrists thoughtfully. ‘Though they were oddly soft, for ruffians. I don’t even have any marks...’

 ‘It was all a misunderstanding,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Misunderstanding!’ Hilly cried. ‘This ought to be good!’

 ‘You haven’t heard?’ Ferdi asked.

Hilly chuckled and shook his head. ‘I’ve only been up about an hour longer than you,’ he said, ‘and when I awakened a healer was sitting by my side and wouldn’t tell me anything more than “You’ve taken no harm, I’m glad to say!” and that everyone was out admiring the flowers.’ He tilted his head to gulp the last of his tea and set the cup firmly on its saucer. ‘So what haven’t I heard?’

 ‘They were in the Shire by mischance,’ Ferdi said. ‘Evidently took a wrong turn, or read the map wrong, or somewhat. By sheer luck they missed the Rangers and the Bounders, and they were walking through the woods, trying to get their bearings, when they heard Diamond singing her farewell to you. They were just in time to pull you from the bog as you were drowning.’

 ‘They certainly acted like ruffians afterwards,’ Hilly argued, looking again at his unmarked wrists.

 ‘O aye,’ Ferdi drawled. ‘Built a fire and made broth and forced it into you all. Diamond and Farry were badly chilled, and you...’

 ‘Yes, yes, I know all about me,’ Hilly said impatiently. ‘And then they tied me and forced us all to go along with them...’

 ‘They realised they were in the Shire, you see, and what a fix they’d got themselves into,’ Ferdi said easily. ‘They had to get out again, but they were afraid you or Diamond would give them up...’

 ‘And so they walked us all that way, bound...’ Hilly said.

 ‘You were the only one bound,’ Ferdi argued, ‘and that just because the old man realised you were sworn to serve Diamond, and would likely try to escape and raise the alarm. He had the lads to think of...’

 ‘You’re taking their part!’ Hilly accused. ‘I do not believe this!’

 ‘I’ve heard their story,’ Ferdi answered, ‘which is more than you can say if you only awakened an hour ago.’ Pretty powerful sleeping draught, he thought to himself. But then, Pippin himself told me that they put folk into healing sleeps for weeks at a time, in the lands of Men. Aloud, he added, ‘In any event, Pippin gave them safe conduct out of the Shire again, once he knew the full story.’

 ‘You, taking the part of ruffians,’ Hilly muttered, shaking his head.

 ‘They weren’t ruffians,’ Ferdi said patiently. Hilly might never come around, having walked so far at the end of a rope, but that wouldn’t stop Ferdi from advancing the “official line”, or the story as Pippin wanted it told. ‘They were just an old man and two young lads under his wing, on their way to make a new life in a new home.’

Hilly humphed and poured himself another cup of tea. ‘Have another slice,’ Ferdi said, pushing the bread plate toward him. ‘The gooseberry jam is excellent.’

 ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ the escort said, helping himself. They continued to eat in silence, and Ferdi was aware that an atmosphere of constraint was settling over the pleasant meal. He thought he might know what it was about.

 ‘Not long until the King comes to the Bridge,’ he said conversationally, and was rewarded with seeing Hilly give a start, spilling the tea he was pouring from the fresh pot a serving lass had brought a few moments earlier.

Ferdi helped him mop up, accepted another cup of tea, and settled back on the bed, eyeing the younger hobbit closely. ‘It’ll be quite a sight, I hear,’ he said. ‘All those guardsmen in their fancy togs, and the King and Queen, and Thain, Master, and Mayor to greet them.’

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly said, staring into his teacup.

 ‘Quite a sight,’ Ferdi said. ‘Pippin tells me you’re to ride escort to the Bridge.’

Hilly did not answer.

 ‘It is an honour, you know,’ Ferdi said.

Hilly nodded but did not look up.

 ‘You earned it,’ Ferdi said. ‘You threw away your own chances in the bog, pushing yourself upright to throw young Farry to safety.’

 ‘What else would I do?’ Hilly said hotly, flashing a brief glance at Ferdi. ‘Push the lad down into the bog, use him as a stepping stone to safety, stand upon him as I stood upon my poor...’ his voice broke, ‘Whitefoot...’

 ‘You couldn’t have saved the pony,’ Ferdi said softly.

 ‘He went down faster, with me standing on him,’ Hilly said.

 ‘You were barely saved from the bog yourself,’ Ferdi said. ‘He was a fine pony, Hilly, and...’

 ‘I helped him come into the world,’ Hilly whispered. ‘I tore away the birthing sack. I watched him stand to his feet for the first time, and...’ He drew a shuddering breath, staring fiercely into his teacup as if the dregs would give him the words to express his loss. ‘And I helped him out of the world again,’ he said at last. ‘Poor lad.’

Ferdi was silent. There really were no words to be said.

A tap came at the door and Fennel stuck his head in. ‘The Thain’s nearly ready to ride out,’ he said. ‘Hilly, he’s waiting for you. Have you finished your meal?’

 ‘We’re just finishing,’ Ferdi said. ‘He’s waiting for Hilly? What about me?’

 ‘You’re to return to the Great Smials,’ Fennel said lightly. ‘Apparently we’re to wrap you in cotton batting and cosset you all the way there.’

 ‘I’d like to see you try,’ Ferdi said grimly, but he couldn’t help smiling as the healer burst into a peal of laughter. ‘Go on with you, Fennel,’ he said with a pushing motion of the bread-and-jam in his hand. ‘You go tell the Thain that his escort will be there soon!’

 ‘Don’t leave your plate half-full, Hilly,’ Fennel said. ‘I’ll tell the Thain you’ll be with him in a quarter hour or so. Tolly’s saddling a pony for you.’

He was gone before Hilly could say he was on his fourth servings.

 ‘Eat up,’ Ferdi said pleasantly. ‘Healer’s orders!’

Hilly looked down and cleared his plate as rapidly and efficiently as a hobbit in a hurry, while Ferdi continued to make a leisurely meal.

At last, plate cleared, Hilly broke the silence. ‘I had better go,’ he said.

 ‘Don’t want to keep Pippin waiting,’ Ferdi answered, putting his fork down and rising from the bed. Hilly rose hastily.

‘You ought to be the one, going to meet the King,’ he said low, his gaze fixed firmly on his toes. ‘You, who out-Foxed the ruffians in the Troubles. Hero of Tookland, and Pippin’s right hand...’

Ferdi put a steady hand on Hilly’s shoulder. ‘I cannot think of a hobbit I’d trust more with the task,’ he said gently, ‘nor one more worthy.’

The younger hobbit raised his eyes. ‘You mean that?’ he said unsteadily. ‘You, the Fox, say that to me... and mean it?’

 Ferdi squeezed Hilly’s shoulder hard and released him. ‘I always mean what I say; you know that,’ he said.

Hilly swallowed hard. ‘Except when you don’t,’ he quipped.

 ‘Exactly,’ Ferdi said lightly. ‘Go, and greet the King for me!’

 ‘Me? Greet a King?’ Hilly said. ‘You don’t mean that.’

 ‘Of course I don’t,’ Ferdi said, and laughed. He gave the escort a push. ‘Go, don’t keep the Thain waiting or he’s likely to leave without you.’

Chapter 23. To Meet Once More

The Thain and all who accompanied him to this momentous occasion arrived the day before the scheduled meeting on the Bridge, and this was a good thing, for Pippin was wearied by all the worry and effort of the previous week, though he would not admit to such.

Diamond elected to stay at the Stonebows Inn at the Bridgefields' end of the Bridge rather than riding a mile farther, much less ten miles or more to Brandy Hall. She professed to be “too tired” to stir another step. Argue as he might, Pippin could not convince her that it would be no work at all to ride in a coach, just ten miles more. In the end he had to send a messenger to Brandy Hall, for Diamond insisted that he remain at her side. After the fear of following a faint trail, not knowing what he’d find at the end, but all too familiar with the ways of ruffians to expect his beloved Diamond to be safe and unharmed, his wife’s least wish was Pippin’s greatest desire.

As a result, after Farry was tucked up in his bed and safely asleep, Pippin and Diamond shared a long, luxuriating bath, a leisurely meal, and an early bedtime, though they lay long awake, nestled in each other’s arms.

It was a relaxed and restored Pippin who awakened early the next morning, stretched contentedly, and reached for his wife... who wasn’t there. ‘Diamond!’ he said, pulling himself upright.

 ‘In the bath!’ he heard from the adjoining room.

 ‘What? Another bath?’ he called. ‘Didn’t you wrinkle your fingers enough last night?’

Diamond’s laugh rang out. ‘Not quite!’ she returned. ‘I found one unwrinkled span of skin and I am endeavouring to wrinkle it!’

There was the sound of moving water as she heaved herself out of the tub, and a moment later she appeared in the doorway, well-wrapped and towelling her hair. ‘We are to meet the King this day!’ she said, peering sideways at Pippin. ‘I want to do you proud!’

He rose from the bed to embrace her, laying a tender kiss upon her tousled curls. ‘You’d do me proud whether you were covered in dried mud, or the finest brocade, or nothing whatsoever,’ he murmured.

 ‘Nothing whatsoever might do at the moment,’ Diamond said with a smile, ‘but I think I’d prefer to meet Elessar again, decently clad.’

 ‘I’ll send him a message, then, shall I?’ Pippin said wickedly. ‘I’ll inform him in no uncertain terms that if he’s to meet us this day, he’s to be decently clad!’

Faramir popped up from the pillow on the wings of the resulting peal of laughter and his mother swooped him from the bed and carried him off to the tub for “one more go at the dirt behind those precious little ears!”

The Brandybucks, Tooks, and Gamgees sat together at breakfast that morning, for Merry and Estella had come very early up the road from the Hall, and the Gamgees had arrived shortly after the Tooks sought their beds the previous evening. The wives chatted merrily, the children were excited and animated, and the Travellers were quiet, thinking of another twenty-fifth of March, some years ago now, and another who had gone far beyond reach but was never far from memory.

At last it was time to change into their “fancy togs” as Merry and Pippin insisted on calling the suits and dresses made up for the occasion, fit for the eyes of a king, and for their part, the uniforms of Rohan and Gondor. Merry’s had been adjusted for the inevitable thickening of a hobbit in peace and plenty; Pippin’s long fight for his health had left no alterations needed in his uniform.

 ‘How do I look?’ Pippin said, throwing his cloak over his shoulder and taking up the uncomfortable winged helm under his arm, striking an heroic pose.

 ‘I fear he’ll take you with him, mistaking you for one of his guardsmen,’ Diamond said softly, holding Farry a little closer as their young son stared in awe and admiration.

 ‘I am one of his guardsmen, in daylight at least!’ Pippin said. ‘But I do odd jobs by moonlight, on the side. We have an understanding, you know.’

 ‘We’ll just make sure to wine and dine him until the moon rises, then,’ Diamond said.

They walked out of their rooms, and out of the inn, meeting cheers from the crowd of hobbits who had come from miles around to observe the august occasion. Merry, resplendent as a knight of the Mark, was waiting with the Brandybuck contingent.

 ‘There you are, cousin!’ Pippin called. ‘Are you ready at last?’

Merry did not remark that he’d been waiting on the Tooks, rather, saying only, ‘I’m right behind you, Pippin!’

 ‘We’ll thrust Sam before, just in case we need a shield,’ Pippin said with a grin.

 ‘Always happy to be of service,’ the Mayor said, affecting cheer, though he looked as if he’d rather be in his comfortable old gardening clothes than the fashionable suit coat and snowy linen shirt with tight-fitting collar that even a nervous finger could not loosen sufficiently for comfort.

 ‘Three cheers for Mayor Sam!’ an old gaffer called from the edge of the crowd, and Pippin was happy to lead the ovation.

Hilly pushed his way through the crowd. ‘The Men are approaching the Bridge, Sir,’ he said urgently to Pippin.

The Thain cocked an eye at the sun, shining merrily down. ‘Exactly on time,’ he said. ‘We had better move to our end of the Bridge!’ The plan was to meet in the centre of the broad and ancient Bridge of Stone Bows, the exact border between the Shire and the Outlands.

The Travellers and their families walked slowly, followed by a hobbit throng, to the edge of the great Bridge. There was the sound of silver trumpets, and the assembled hobbits gasped, looking to the opposite shore of the Brandywine, where a great army—to their eyes—was drawn up in glittering ranks, sun glinting from polished surfaces, Men as still as statues, the only movement the flapping of colourful banners in the teasing wind.

Merry lifted the silver horn of Rohan in answer, and another fanfare rang out from the opposite shore. Two figures moved to the fore: a grand and lordly figure on a finely-bred stallion of deepest ebony, and a slender and graceful one on a palfrey of purest white. The King was dressed as he had been the day of his coronation, in black mail girt with shining silver, a long mantle of pure white clasped at his throat with a great jewel of green that shone from afar; but his head was bare save for a star upon his forehead bound by a slender fillet of silver, for the crown of Gondor remained in Gondor when Elessar travelled to his northern kingdom. Arwen was clad all in silver, with a snowy-white mantle to match her husband’s, and a net of silver and diamonds to contain her midnight tresses.

Pippin took Diamond’s hand in one of his, and Farry’s hand in the other, and stepped onto the Bridge, Merry and Samwise following with their families. King and Queen seemed impossibly tall, sitting on their horses, awaiting the hobbits’ approach, grown to giants’ height, even. Pippin’s breath came short, and he felt Diamond’s hand tremble in his, felt Farry pull back in apprehension.

Pomp and pageantry, to be expected, endured, sometimes enjoyed, were a part of life in Gondor and the White City, and the hobbits had not been put off by the grandeur that surrounded them there. Here, in the quiet of the Shire, it was quite something else again. Pippin knew that the King meant only to honour his friends, but... hobbits are a shy folk, and quiet, and especially wary around the Big Folk, and Pippin had a feeling that if things kept going the way they were going, the silent crowd at his back would soon scatter and dive for cover, a most embarrassing prospect! He looked to Diamond, and saw her eyes fixed and staring. Beyond her Merry’s face was grim, and Estella looked frightened. On his other side, he could see that Sam was troubled, and the Gamgee children, so bright and bold, were hanging back, holding to their white-faced mother’s skirts. This would not do at all!

He squeezed the hands he held and released them, striding forward, jaunty and confident, raising an arm in welcome. ‘Strider!’ he shouted. ‘What’s the meaning of all this? Get down off your high horse and give your old friends a proper greeting!’

(Description of King Elessar was taken from “The Steward and the King”, The Return of the King, by J.R.R. Tolkien)

Chapter 24. When in Rohan...

Bergil stood stock-still at attention in the front rank, his face expressionless, his eyes straight ahead, though inside he was laughing. Pippin! Quite clearly he heard the gasp of a courtier, standing under one of the bright banners.

 ‘It’s only to be expected,’ one of the nobles muttered. ‘King Elessar said himself this morning that the Periain are too simple to appreciate pomp and ceremony.’

 ‘I beg to differ,’ another said smoothly, and Bergil recognised the voice: a no-nonsense soldier of Gondor, elevated by his brave deeds during the Siege. ‘The King said the Halflings are too sensible to endure pomp and ceremony.’

The conclusion of Elessar’s speech, given shortly before this morning’s departure for the Bridge, rang in Bergil’s memory. The ways of hobbits are not our ways, the King had said. But we seek to honour them to the best of our poor ability. Were it not for the deeds of hobbits, there would be no Gondor... there would be no Arnor... there would be no Middle-earth! They saved us all!

Someone made a shushing noise and silence fell once more as the less disciplined amongst the nobility craned for a view and the guardsmen stared straight ahead. Without moving his eyes, Bergil could clearly see the happenings on the Bridge, and in the silence he could hear the jingle of Elessar’s mail as the King dismounted.

Pippin looked like a small boy, moving to greet the tall Man, but Elessar fell to one knee to embrace the hobbit, laughing aloud and calling greetings to those who followed. Constraint fell away as the King was mobbed by a welcoming group of Travellers and their families.

 ‘Much better,’ Pippin said in satisfaction after the completion of hugs all round.

 ‘It wasn’t exactly my idea,’ Elessar said, sounding more like the grimy Ranger that had led them from Bree. ‘But a King must give at least an appearance of listening to his counsellors...’

 ‘Wrong Counsellors,’ Merry said expressively, and Sam guffawed, discomfort of the tight collar quite forgotten in his joy at meeting this old friend once more.

 ‘Bear with me,’ Elessar said, rising. ‘Just a few more motions to go through, and then the feasting will start.’

 ‘Ah, the feasting,’ Pippin said, rolling his eyes. ‘The only reason we put up with all your nonsense in the first place.’

 ‘As I know very well,’ Elessar replied, and then he turned to offer a hand to his Queen. Arwen descended lightly from her horse with a smile, to greet those she knew and to be introduced to those who were new to her.

Elanor, to her chagrin, was seized by an attack of shyness, but the Queen knelt, heedless of dust, to greet her, saying gently, ‘I find myself in great need of a maid of honour... do you know of anyone hereabouts that would suit?’

 ‘Ellie here has talked of nothing else but your visit for the past week,’ Rose said, greatly daring in the face of these Great Folk. Their appearance filled her with awe, but Sam had told so many stories about Strider and his lovely Queen over the years that Rose knew they were just plain folk underneath the fancy trappings.

Arwen laughed merrily, her countenance filled with delight, and she answered, ‘Then you must all join us at the Lake for the summer, or a part of the summer at the very least!’

 ‘My Lady,’ Elessar said, extending his hand to Arwen. She put her hand in his and rose. ‘Just one more matter of business,’ the King said.

 ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Pippin said, shaking a stern finger. ‘King or no.’

 ‘A King is only as good as his word,’ Elessar agreed. He turned towards the massed ranks of guardsmen and crowd of nobles on the eastern end of the Bridge and raised his hand. The trumpets rang out in a grand fanfare as the King turned back, exchanged glances with Arwen, and King and Queen went to their knees, bowing their heads, giving honour to the Travellers.

 ‘But... but...’ some one of the Travellers stuttered, even as the families of the Travellers looked on with shining eyes, and the crowd of hobbits hesitating on the western edge of the Bridge gasped in wonder.

Behind the King and his Queen, rank and file of guardsmen, noblemen, and family members, all the travellers from the Southlands coming north with the King to re-establish the City by the Lake—all of these bowed the knee, and silence reigned for a long moment, until the King straightened and shouted, ‘Praise them with great praise!’

A deafening roar rose with the Men and their families; the guardsmen drew their swords and waved them, glittering in the sun, and the bright banners dipped and swirled.

The ovation continued for a good many more minutes than the Travellers might have wished, but at last the noise quieted as the King knelt once more before the hobbits.

 ‘Strider, you hadn’t ought to have...’ Sam began. Though he’d made plenty of speeches as Mayor in the past few years, his tongue felt as if it might cleave to the roof of his mouth... just might.

 ‘O yes,’ Elessar said softly, smiling as he turned Sam’s own words. ‘I had ought.’

He reached up to remove the circlet of silver from his head, opened a cleverly concealed catch, and clasped the silver Star about the Ring-bearer’s neck.

Sam’s hand rose to touch the Star, even as he protested, ‘No... no... I couldn’t...’

 ‘It's for Frodo,’ Elessar whispered, and tears came to his own eyes as Samwise covered his face with his hands and began to sob. Merry and Pippin stepped close, winding their arms around Sam as he wept.

 ‘Not all tears are evil,’ Arwen murmured, and she bent to kiss the Ring-bearer’s forehead, then placed her lips against his ear and whispered, ‘One day, when you greet him, you may give to him the Star of the North, and our love.’

Sam nodded, slowly took his hands from his face, wiping away the tears as he did so, and looked into the Queen’s ageless eyes. ‘Thank you, my Lady,’ he said, and turning to the King, he hesitated.

 ‘Just call me Strider,’ the King said, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. ‘It sounds more hobbity, somehow.’

 ‘Thank you, Strider,’ Sam whispered, still blinking. He took out his pocket-handkerchief and put it to good use as his family gathered round him. Soon all signs of the cloudburst had been scoured away and the sunshine had returned.

Pippin patted Sam’s back and turned to the King, after gaining control over his own unsteady breathing. ‘Well, then,’ he said. ‘I know all this pomp and pretension is common amongst Men, but you've got a saying in Gondor: When in Rohan, do as the Rohirrim! As it is, you’re in my country now, and we’ve had our fill of it! Do you think we could cut out the rest of the ceremonies and go straight to the important part?’

Merry laughed and Sam stared at the Thain in amazement.

Elessar chuckled, rose to his feet and half-turned, addressing together the crowd of hobbits on one bank and the Men on the other. ‘And now, the feast!’ he shouted.

Under cover of the resulting cheer, Pippin said, ‘Well, Strider, it appears you finally got it right!’

***

A/N From information found in the text of LOTR, Appendix A, and the "Complete Tolkien Companion":  

The original Star of Elendil or "Elendilmir" was in Isildur's possession at the time of the disaster of the Gladden Fields and was lost with his body. A new Elendilmir was made for Valandil, Isildur's last remaining son--this was the jewel Aragorn wore at Pelennor Fields.

After the War of the Ring, the original Elendilmir was found in Orthanc, after Saruman's expulsion.

Therefore, Aragorn could give Samwise his Northern crown (Valandil's) and still retain the heirloom of his House.  

OTOH, there is a possibility that there were two items with the name "Star of the Dunedain", one of which was a silver star that Aragorn wore on his cloak when he served Gondor as Thorongil.

Since I really cannot discern what, exactly, Aragorn presented to Samwise, I have kept the original language from ROTK (a star bound upon his brow with a slender fillet of silver), and this is what he presented to Samwise. Not necessarily one of the two Northern crowns; could be the silver cloak-star, given the ambiguity I've run into. Not being an arbiter (is that a word?) of canon, I will leave just what Star was presented to Sam up to the imagination of my esteemed Reader. (Though I might have unconsciously made a choice: I see that I wrote that Elessar presented the "silver Star" to Samwise.)

Forgive my vacillations. I was up most of the night with sick children and can hardly think straight.

BTW, does anyone know what happened to the Star? Was it passed down to Sam's descendants, in which case I might have to re-do Arwen's whisper? Is there any record of what happened to it, or is it plausible that he might bear it, a token of Aragorn and Arwen's regard, over the Sea?

(Thanks to Lois and FantasyFan and Elena Tiriel for contributing their knowledge of this artifact.)

Chapter 25. Conversation, Polite and Otherwise

If the courtiers and nobles had been bemused by the hobbity greeting the King and Queen received upon the Bridge, they were astonished at the feast that followed. Queen Arwen had given very specific and detailed instructions, and so great was the love and respect her people bore her, and the awe they felt towards the Halflings, that her slightest wish was carried out to the best of their ability.

The advance guard had stopped a few days earlier at the Highgate Inn, just outside Buckland’s North Gate, to request the proprietor’s assistance, and as a result a prodigious number of tables sprang up in a flowery field across the Road from the Gate, as thick as the mushrooms in one of Maggot’s fields. Many were carted from surrounding inns, and not a few were borrowed from neighbouring farm folk, and two tables came from the Shirriff’s house adjoining the Gate! It was a bit inconvenient, eating without a table for a few days, but the contributors were cheerful, having done their bit in support of King and Country, and they were invited to the Grand Feast as compensation!

Folded blankets were laid along one long side of each table, while borrowed chairs and benches lined the opposite side, allowing folk both Big and Little to dine together in comfort. (More comfort for the hobbits, actually, than some of the older nobles with creaking joints, but hadn’t the Travellers attended more than their share of banquets from atop a wobbly pile of cushions for each?)

The Travellers and their wives shared the high table with the royal family. Hilly had thought he’d be standing behind the Thain, serving him, but blushingly found himself seated at Pippin’s right hand, right where Regi or Ferdi would be, were either one at the feast. He kept his eyes strictly on the food, but was aware of all that went on around him.

The Big Folk at the high table were careful to use the Common Speech, but Hilly’s ear caught exotic words, tantalisingly foreign, from the nearby tables. Among these was a repetition of the phrase Ernil i Pheriannath. It meant nothing to the escort, of course, but several times Pippin rose as if in response to bow and call out a cheerful greeting.

Finding Hilly’s eye upon him after one of these exchanges, he said, ‘It is their way of saying “Thain”.’

 ‘Eh?’ Hilly said, swallowing too large a bite. Clearing his throat, he straightened and said more properly, ‘I beg your pardon, Sir?’

 ‘Ernil i Pheriannath,’ Pippin said. ‘Means “Prince of the Halflings” or some such. It’s the closest their language comes to “Thain”.’

 ‘Perhaps they find “Thain” too difficult a word,’ Hilly said politely, and the King guffawed.

 ‘You must excuse my kinsman,’ Pippin said in his stiffest tones, though there was a twinkle in his eye. ‘Tooks are known for speaking their minds, and his opinion of Men is a poor one.’

Hilly started to protest, but Pippin forged on. ‘You see, his only experience with Men for the last score of years has been ruffians. He’s one of the heroes of Tookland, as a matter of fact, whose tireless vigilance kept ruffians out of Tookland during the War of the Ring, when the rest of the Shire was overrun, and he fought valiantly in the Battle of Bywater, the turning point in the war to reclaim the Shire from Saruman and his renegade Men.’

 ‘Naught so grand as all that, cousin,’ Hilly began, but Pippin put a hand on his arm, still speaking to the King.

 ‘He would have you think he stood by while others faced all the danger,’ he said fondly, ‘but he’s a bold Took, indeed.’ He fixed Hilly with a firm eye. ‘All but laid down his own life just the other day, to save my son from a bog, and was barely rescued in time—he nearly drowned before they could pull him out.’

 ‘I had thought you Travellers rather the exception amongst hobbits,’ a courtier sitting across from Merry said, leaning into the conversation. ‘I’ve been told that hobbits are altogether a sleepy, quiet and retiring folk.’

 ‘When left to their own devices they might be,’ Merry said smoothly. ‘But there is a core of courage, deep in the heart of the most timid hobbit...’

 ‘One would never have thought the Ring-bearer capable of the deed,’ another noble—the no-nonsense soldier—said, ‘not from his mild manner and polite way of speaking. And to have seen you, Pippin, setting an entire mess to laughter with your jests, one would never have thought to see you stab upwards and bring down a troll four times your height. And your cousin, the knight of Rohan...’

 ‘That’s all very well,’ Merry said hastily, to forestall the recitation of his deeds, and gestured towards Samwise. ‘And this quiet, pleasant fellow over here subdued a great spider that had devoured many a soldier of Gondor in her time. Not to mention the hobbits that remained in the Shire, who stood against the ruffians; not just the Tooks, but the rebels too...’

 ‘Freddy ought to be sitting here, at the head table,’ Pippin said, indicating a portly hobbit at one of the lower tables. ‘He led a band of rebels and gave the ruffians a merry time of it, before his band was smoked out and taken to the Lockholes. He nearly died there.’

 ‘He was one of the original conspirators, I remember,’ the King said. He gestured to one of the servitors, and soon room was made for two more places to be laid and Freddy and his wife were being escorted to the high table. Pippin jumped up and ran to him, to offer whispered explanations, and so Fredegar Bolger was ready with a bow and his wife with a graceful courtesy as they were presented to King and Queen and shown their seats.

 ‘Melly, you’re looking well,’ Diamond said, passing a dish to Freddy’s wife, who was obviously eating for two.

 ‘Yes, rather,’ Freddy said, drawing out the latter word. ‘This one’s name is to be Pippivar, if I ever have my way.’

 ‘Perevar,’ Melilot Brandybuck Bolger said firmly. ‘He thinks he’ll wear me down with repetition, but I’m every bit as stubborn as he is.’ She joined in the burst of hobbity laughter that followed.

 ‘Why not Thainivar?’ Pippin said brightly, ‘or Ernivar, or Periann—’

Diamond kicked him under the table. ‘Don’t give Freddy ideas,’ she said. ‘Frodovar was ridiculous enough. A Baggins name with Bolger added on!’

 ‘That young lad is anything but ridiculous!’ Pippin said, smiling at the nursery tables to one side where young hobbits were eating without their parents’ constant eye upon them for fear they’d disgrace themselves with upsets or blurting out opinions with full mouths. ‘He’ll do great deeds one day!’

 ‘Save us!’ Melly said, rolling her eyes. ‘Thankfully he’s a serious and sober lad and not likely to be spoilt with the nonsense you feed him!’ Under her breath she muttered, Knights in shining armour, and slaying dragons, and wizards and warriors...

 ‘Don’t look now, beloved, but his head is in a fair way of being turned,’ Freddy said, and nodded at the soldier of Gondor, in his gleaming mail, who bent to present a tray of sweetmeats to the youngsters.

 ‘He does look dashing,’ Melly said with a sigh. ‘Well, soon enough the soldiers will be gone to the Lake with the King and things can settle down to proper dullness.’

 ‘So how does it feel, Sam?’ Pippin said, turning the talk.

 ‘How does what feel?’ Samwise said, digging his spoon into something delightfully light, sweet, and creamy, and—how ever did they manage, on a warm spring day—if he weren’t mistaken, frozen?

 ‘To be a knight, part of such an esteemed company?’ Merry said, following Pippin's thought.

 ‘A knight? Go on with you!’ Sam said, astonished. His fingers rose to touch the silver Star that hung at his throat, and then he firmly took possession of his spoon once more and determinedly subdued his sweet course.

 ‘A knight?’ Rose said shyly, for Arwen was smiling though the King’s face was sober.

 ‘That is the Star of the Dunedain, if I am not mistaken,’ Pippin said. ‘In conferring this upon you, Strider has elevated you to the rank of Knight of Arnor.’

 ‘You have the right of it, cousin,’ Merry agreed, nodding.

 ‘Tell him the story of it, Strider,’ Pippin said. ‘I do believe he’s forgot!’

A slow blush rose upon Samwise’s cheek, but he looked up and said steadily, ‘I remember well enough. You wore it upon your cloak when you served King Thengel, and then Ecthelion, Faramir’s grandfather.’

Several of the hobbits looked baffled at this, looking to little Farry at the nursery table.

 ‘Faramir, Prince of Ithilien,’ Pippin clarified, as Elessar sat back and took another sip of his wine. Once the hobbits got started, there was no need for him to try to wedge a word in edgewise. ‘I remember, Strider, sitting with you by the fire in the evenings, as we marched to the Black Gate, and to distract me from worry you told me of the Star, and the Men who’d worn it before you, all the way back to Aranarth son of Arvedui, first chieftain of the Rangers of the North. Every night you told me a little more of the story, until I became sleepy enough to seek my blanket.’

 ‘As he tells the stories to his own Faramir,’ Diamond said softly. ‘Long have the Rangers watched over the Shire-folk, and until recently we never knew of their own tireless vigilance.’

Hilly looked up at that, at Men being compared to the Tooks who'd kept the ruffians out of Tookland during the Troubles. Surely the Rangers' duty had not been so dire as the hobbits’ had been, for the Tooks had been resisting creatures twice their size!

 ‘There are Men of virtue, cousin, as well as the other,’ Pippin said quietly, following Hilly’s thought. ‘Else we would not sit here this day.’

 ‘All Men are ruffians, eh, Hilly?’ Merry said, one corner of his mouth twisting.

 ‘I never said...’ Hilly protested.

 ‘Nay, ‘tis Ferdi who says such,’ Pippin said easily. ‘And in truth, I believed Strider, here, to be amongst the worst of the lot when first we met.’

Arwen laughed. ‘So I’ve heard,’ she said. ‘And I’d believe, after seeing him come home from a campaign in the field, or a hunting trip...!’

 ‘It would hardly be practical to haul a bath along,’ Elessar said lightly, ‘and unlike the Shire, where an inn is to be found every few miles...’

 ‘Yes, Shire-folk are much more civilised than our Large counterparts,’ Pippin said serenely, and Samwise nearly choked on the sweet biscuit he was nibbling, that had been thrust into the frozen beaten cream.

 ‘Indeed,’ Elessar said gravely. ‘I fear one or more of my Counsellors must accompany me to the Lake, to offer advice on such matters.’

 ‘Where is Ferdi?’ Freddy said. ‘I thought you wanted him here, to change his opinion of Men in general by introducing him to some of the more upright amongst them.’

 ‘Dratted healers,’ Hilly muttered under his breath. Ferdi really did ought to be here!

Pippin nodded at Hilly and turned to Freddy. ‘They didn’t like the sound of his lungs after that bad spell,’ he said. ‘Wanted to keep him tucked up right there in Pincup, but I was able to convince them to wrap him up in cotton wool and take him back to the Great Smials at the very least, where my sister could sit upon him in the comfort of her own apartments.’

 ‘You might have brought him here, to the healing hands of the King,’ Merry said.

 ‘Speaking of healing hands, you are going to put Merry right, are you not, Strider?’ Pippin said. He was always one to speak his mind. If he had his way they’d rise from table and get right down to business.

 ‘I had noticed,’ the King said gravely.

 ‘But he was too polite to say anything,’ Estella said, reaching past Merry and Diamond to give Pippin a nudge.

Chapter 26. In the Hands of a Healer

Ferdi walked slowly back to his room and sat down on the bed after seeing Pippin off and all who accompanied him. He sighed as he poured himself a cup of tea from the freshly warmed pot that had appeared in his absence. Despite the fire burning brightly on the hearth and the quantities of hot tea he’d downed earlier, there was a chill deep within that he was unable to dispel.

Fennel popped his head in at the doorway. ‘I told you I’d be right with you,’ he said cheerily.

 ‘No hurry,’ Ferdi said. ‘I thought we were supposed to depart, ourselves, after everyone finished admiring the flowers, but Starfire was still in his stall, last I looked, nose-deep in hay.’

 ‘Yes,’ Fennel said, seating himself on the chair and helping himself to one of the fresh-baked scones that had appeared alongside the cosied teapot. Applying cream and preserves with much the same precision as he might dress a wound, he said, ‘What do you say to one more day’s rest for the lad? You’ve ridden him fast and far, the past few days.’

 ‘There’s no rest for the weary, they say,’ Ferdi replied pleasantly, though it took an effort to speak so. The inn was comfortable enough, but it was not home, and more importantly, his Nell was not here. Before they’d left the Great Smials, he’d been resigned to travelling to the Bridge with Pippin, staying perhaps a week, and returning thereafter with well-earned joy to his beloved, but this... to be staying within a day’s ride of the Great Smials, staying, and not riding homewards, went against all that was in him. To add insult to injury, he had a healer for company, and if he put up a fuss, Fennel had all manner of compensation at his disposal: bitter draughts and threats of staying abed, to begin with, and somehow he didn't have the energy to fight the healer.

Fennel eyed Ferdi with well-concealed concern. For a Took to be so tractable was unusual, to say the least. Ferdi must be feeling worse than he was letting on. ‘Have a scone,’ was all he said. ‘Flaky and tender, and still warm!’

The last thing Ferdi wanted was more food, but he smiled and took up a scone and began to load it with cream and strawberry preserves. ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he said. Wouldn’t want you to think I was off my feed!

To rid himself of Fennel’s constant attendance, he hid a yawn behind his hand after downing several scones, saying, ‘You know, what I really want at the moment is to close my eyes for a bit.’

As he expected, Fennel jumped upon the idea, standing up from his chair and saying with enthusiasm, ‘An excellent idea! I’ll just clear this away and come back with your supper... unless you’d like to eat in company?’

The cheer and noise of the common room did not suit Ferdi’s mood at all; he craved quiet and solitude, at least if he couldn’t snuggle together with his Nell and talk over the events of the past few days. But of course he put on a smile and said, ‘That would just suit! A few winks followed by supper and ale and a game of draughts by the fire... who could ask for more?’

 ‘Very well then,’ Fennel said, and loading the teapot, cups, plates and the rest onto the tray, he left the room.

The rest of the day was uneventful and proceeded much as one would expect, and Ferdi went early to bed, firmly closing the door after ordering Fennel to “get some sleep yourself—I never saw such a one for sitting up and losing sleep as a healer!” If he were to have a private room, by the order of the Thain, then it should be indeed private. He didn’t need a healer keeping constant watch! He was wearied from the long chase following... well, following the trouble he’d had over the King’s Edict, and he was recovering from a chill, and that was all!

Next day they lingered until after elevenses, before mounting their ponies and riding the northwards track at an easy pace. Ferdi was less than pleased, but not surprised when Fennel elected to stop over at the Crowing Cockerel. He refrained from shaking his head and said agreeably, ‘Best beer on the Stock Road!’

He thought he might possibly melt away at the prospect of yet another hot bath before the fire; like any other sensible hobbit he bathed once a week whether he needed to or not, and oftener only when circumstances dictated: returning from a muddy hunt, for instance, or an inadvertent soak while fishing an icy stream.

He had to admit, though, that the steaming water was soothing to his aching muscles, and even though he shivered as he snuggled deep under his bedcovers, the bath relaxed him enough that he quickly slept.

The next morning, Fennel went too far, in Ferdi’s opinion. Although, it seemed, he laid the blame completely at Pippin’s door. ‘A coach!’ Ferdi protested. ‘Ride back to the Great Smials shut up in a coach! And what am I to do about my pony?’

 ‘Tie him on behind,’ Fennel said smoothly. ‘You have him so beautifully trained by now, Ferdi, that he shouldn’t object to leading.’

Smooth, these healers were. Cut past bluster and bristle with a compliment, and how could one resist such? Ferdi was hardly about to protest that Starfire was not beautifully trained. ‘I am not a babe, that you need to swaddle me! I can easily ride to the Smials; why, it’s only a day’s journey, and high time we were leaving!’

 ‘High time indeed,’ Fennel agreed. ‘If you’ll just step into the coach, then...’ He clinched his argument by the news that Pippin had sent to the Smials particularly for Ferdi’s comfort. Ferdi snorted; comfort indeed! Pippin had done all he could to make it clear that Ferdi’s exclusion from the Bridge meeting was not punishment for his falling asleep on guard. He rather wished it was.

 ‘O very well,’ Ferdi said with bad grace, and stepped into the coach. He refused to engage the healer in conversation, staring stubbornly out the window at the passing woods, and Fennel left him alone, immersed in a book he took from his sack, likely to be receipts for evil-tasting concoctions to force down reluctant patients.

Before the woods gave way to fields being ploughed for the spring planting, Ferdi had dropped off to sleep. He didn’t waken when Fennel softly covered him with a thick woollen blanket, tucking it carefully all round, and placed the foot-warmer with its glowing coals squarely under Ferdi’s feet.

As the coach turned into the yard at the Great Smials, the blanket resumed its folds without Ferdi any the wiser. He jerked his chin and blinked as the coach slowed. ‘What...? Er...? Eh...?’

 ‘Home at last,’ Fennel said.

 ‘At last...?’ Ferdi said fuzzily. From his point of view they’d barely departed the Cockerel.

 ‘And there’s your missus on the steps,’ Fennel said with a grin, opening the window to lean out with a wave. ‘I sent a message to tell her to expect us about this time!’

 ‘What time?’ Ferdi said, rubbing at his face with his hands. He’d slept the journey through, not even wakening for a meal or a drink. What was the matter with Fennel, letting him sleep like that?

 ‘Teatime, of course,’ Fennel said. ‘I told her we’d be back in time for tea.’

***

After the banquet, the guests retired to the local inns, or to their homes, or to pallets laid ready in pavilions. There would be a time of quiet and resting, to aid in proper digestion of the meal, and then the soldiers of the King would put on a demonstration of skill for the hobbits’ benefit, and then there would be a festive dinner, and then as darkness fell there would be an exhibition of fireworks, and all to celebrate the events of March the Twenty-fifth, a date that had some significance for the Travellers and their families, and the visiting Big Folk, but meant little to the Shire-folk whose fellows were being so honoured. After all, the events being remembered were far away and had little to do with goings-on in the Shire. The second of November, now, when the Battle of Bywater marked the end of the ruffians’ sway...

In the King’s pavilion, Pippin watched closely as Elessar probed gently at Merry’s shoulder. The healer-king had asked a number of questions, lifted the arm and manipulated it, found just which movements produced pain and reproduced them a number of times more than Pippin thought necessary, though Merry did not complain.

 ‘You’ve kept the arm from withering away,’ the King said now.

 ‘Yes, I have helpers who work the muscles daily,’ Merry said. ‘I learned that much in the Houses of Healing; that if there’s to be any hope of restoration you must put in the work, or have someone do it for you.’ He sighed. ‘But there’s been no sign of restoration; the arm’s as dead as ever, since the shaft buried itself in my shoulder.’

 ‘The arm went dead when struck?’ Elessar said sharply.

 ‘No-o-o,’ Merry responded. ‘Not quite. It was when the ruffian was after Estella, and I tried to beat his head in with a flaming brand... he grabbed the shaft and twisted it in the wound. That’s when the arm went dead.’

Pippin shuddered at the picture that rose before his eyes: the ruffian, twice Estella’s size, forcing himself upon her while Merry lay wounded nearby; Merry, staggering to his feet, snatching up a stick from the fire to defend his wife, all odds against him. Had the Rangers not appeared in time to rescue them, Pippin’s beloved cousins would have died terrible deaths.

Hilly poured out a glass of brandy and extended it silently to Pippin, who took the glass with a nod of thanks and tossed it off quickly. ‘Have one yourself,’ he said, handing it back.

Hilly gave a grimace of a smile and set the glass beside the decanter. He could imagine all too well what might have happened to Diamond, and little Farry, had Jack been a ruffian in truth. He was beginning to admit to himself that the old man and the boys had shown more good than ill towards the hobbits in their power.

Elessar sat down tailor-fashion on the pallet by Merry, gesturing to Pippin to sit as well. He drew a pipe from a bag round his neck and began to tamp pipe-weed into the bowl. ‘Well then,’ he said, as the hobbits waited.

Hilly wanted to protest, knowing the state of Pippin’s lungs, but the King did not light the pipe, merely placed it in his mouth and sucked at the stem thoughtfully.

 ‘Yes?’ Pippin asked helpfully. ‘Just what do you have to do to set Merry’s arm right?’

Elessar sighed as he looked at the young Thain. ‘If it were only so simple,’ he said.

 ‘So do I let the healers have their way?’ Merry said. ‘Have it off, and good riddance to a bad nuisance?’

 ‘Merry!’ Pippin said, shocked, but Merry quelled him with a look.

 ‘I know, the “hands of the King are healer’s hands”, or so the saying goes,’ Merry went on quietly. ‘But if you could truly heal all ills, well, there’d be no ills in the world at all, would there?’

 ‘Or he’d be too busy healing folk to be King,’ Pippin said, ‘in which case his hands wouldn’t be healing hands because he wouldn’t be King anymore.’

Neither Regi nor Ferdi was there to chide Pippin with None of your nonsense, now! and Hilly certainly was in no position to say it, so he contented himself with rolling his eyes and suppressing a sigh.

Elessar merely smiled at his young friend’s leap of logic and said, ‘Too true, Pippin. Being King takes a great deal of time; nearly as much as being Thain, I’d imagine.’

 ‘Possibly,’ Pippin said dismissively. ‘Of course, hobbits are a deal more sensible than Big Folk, which makes my job all the less onerous than yours.’

 ‘What do you think ought to be done?’ Merry said.

 ‘I cannot do anything here,’ Elessar said. ‘A new House of Healing has been built by the Lake, in the new city arising near the ruins of Annuminas.’

 ‘The Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith were a wonder,’ Merry said, nodding. ‘What is it you can do there, that you cannot manage here?’

The King hesitated. ‘A hobbit healer would be horrified,’ he said. ‘Our methods are not quite...’

 ‘The injuries your healers have dealt with over the centuries are not at all the same,’ Pippin broke in. ‘Our healers bring babes into the world, true, and set bones, and stitch gashes, and...’

 ‘They do not deliberately inflict wounds for the sake of healing,’ Elessar said obliquely.

Hilly gasped at the thought, but quickly suppressed it for fear of being dismissed.

 ‘They lance boils,’ Pippin argued. For a Took he seemed to have a fair knowledge of Shire healers’ practices.

 ‘Peace, cousin,’ Merry said, raising his left hand. ‘What exactly do you have in mind, Strider?’

 ‘We will give you a sleeping draught, one that will keep you asleep while we open the shoulder and do what we can to properly re-align the inside structures as they should be.’

Hilly was breathing shallowly, gulping back nausea at the mental picture that presented itself, and he missed the rest of the King’s explanation. Of a wonder, Thain and Master listened soberly, without apparent perturbation, nodding their understanding. At last Hilly was able to focus again, just in time for the King’s answer to Merry’s next question.

 ‘You’ll sleep for some days after, of course; it’ll be a healing sleep. You’ll feel much less discomfort when you waken, that way, and the worst of the pain will be behind you.’

Merry pursed his lips to give the matter some thought, then nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll put my trust in the King’s healing hands once more.’

 ‘It’s all a ploy to get us to come to that precious Lake of yours,’ Pippin grumbled, and Hilly could see that the Thain was not so comfortable with the ordeal proposed for Merry as he’d seemed.

 ‘You know me all too well,’ the King said with a smile.

 ‘Not nearly well enough, considering what you’re about to do to my cousin,’ Pippin said with a stern look. He looked to Merry. ‘Is this truly what you want, Merry?’

 ‘Let him dig around in my shoulder? It didn’t kill Frodo...’

Hilly suppressed a desire to be ill. Merry and Pippin had seen such torture performed on a hobbit before this?

Pippin took a shaky breath. ‘And I suppose I’ll have to watch this time as well, just to make sure he gets it right the first time,’ he said.

 ‘More than once?’ Hilly said faintly. He wasn’t aware he’d spoken aloud until the eyes of the others turned on him.

Merry rose abruptly from his seat. ‘Come Hilly,’ he said kindly. ‘I find myself in need of a breath of fresh air...’ Placing his good arm over the escort’s shoulders, he urged Hilly from the pavilion.

When some colour had returned to Hilly’s countenance, Merry said, ‘Better, cousin?’

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly said in a whisper, and then, ‘You’re really going to let him do that to you?’

 ‘I trust him implicitly,’ Merry said.

 ‘With your life?’ Hilly said.

 ‘With more than that,’ Merry said. ‘Go off and get yourself something to eat, Hilly. Pippin’s not going to need any escorting for the moment.’ As he turned away, Hilly called to him, hesitating, not knowing quite what to say but wanting to say something. ‘Yes, cousin?’

 ‘Just mind those sleeping draughts,’ Hilly muttered, after a pause. 'I had a bare mouthful, and it sent me off to sleep for two days!'

Merry laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I will, Hilly! Indeed I will! Now take yourself off.’

Hilly took himself off, and was intercepted by a tall guardsman who seemed to know Pippin well, and knew just what a Took might require in the way of restorative food when he’d been overcome by recent events.

Chapter 27. Not So Bad, Really

Hildibold took his loaded plate to the low, grassy bank of the River and sat himself down on a rock not far from the water’s edge. He had an un-Tookish fascination with water, drawn rather like a moth to a flame, or so had said his despairing mother on one of the many occasions she braved the shallows of the Tuckbourne to rescue her squealing, splashing toddler. ‘Like a bee to the flower,’ his oldest brother, Mardibold, had grumbled more than once, pulling little Hilly out of yet another puddle.

Now the hobbit of escort watched the smooth-rolling waters of the Brandywine in wonder. It was the largest body of water he’d ever seen in his life, and it stirred a longing deep within. “Gone to Sea” was whispered of Tooks who’d disappeared in the past and never returned. If the River was so broad, so majestic, so wrought with power and mystery, what must the Sea be like?

If it weren’t for his beloved Posey, Hilly just might scratch that itch.

The helpful guardsman spoke up behind him and he nearly spilled the contents of his plate. ‘May I join you?’

 ‘You don’t need to dance attendance upon me!’ he snapped.

 ‘Not at all,’ the guardsman said, smiling.

Hilly gestured to the riverbank with his knife. ‘I don’t own it,’ he said shortly. ‘Please yourself.’

The guardsman settled to the bank, and to Hilly’s surprise he took off his shining black boots and the knitted things underneath—he’d heard the word for them once but sensible hobbits have no use for such—revealing feet that looked pale and deformed, somehow, lacking a hobbity covering of warm, curly wool. Hilly caught himself staring and firmly fixed his eyes on his plate, until the River drew them once more.

 ‘I’m off duty at the moment,’ the guardsman said, wriggling his toes in the soft grass.

 ‘Good for you,’ Hilly replied, keeping his eyes on the River. What did the Man expect? Tea and cakes?

 ‘Guard duty from middle night until the dawning,’ the guardsman went on conversationally.

Hilly sighed in exasperation. ‘Just what is it that you want?’ he said rudely, half-turning to shoot the guardsman a reproving look, and then turning firmly back to the soothing water once more.

The guardsman shrugged. ‘It’s restful,’ he said, ‘watching the River go by. I like to sit on the banks of the Anduin, back home, the same way.’

Hilly ate the next few bites in silence, and then, drawn by curiosity, he said, ‘The Anduin? Is it as large as the Brandywine?’

The guardsman had a pleasant laugh, and for some reason Hilly felt no need to bristle. ‘Larger,’ the Man said.

 ‘Larger?’ Hilly said in astonishment. He stared across the broad sweep of water, trying to imagine such a thing.

 ‘Some call it the Great River, the way you call the Baranduin the River,’ the guardsman said.

 ‘Brandywine,’ Hilly corrected.

 ‘Brandywine,’ the guardsman echoed obediently. When in Rohan...

 ‘What’s your name?’ Hilly demanded abruptly. Pippin had introduced the guardsman, calling him his “first friend in Gondor”, but the outlandish name did not stick in Hilly’s memory.

The guardsman scrambled to his knees (not to his feet—he did not want to tower over the hobbit), bowing from the waist. ‘Bergil, son of Beregond, at your service,’ he said.

 ‘Hildibold Took at yours,’ Hilly said automatically, putting down his plate to stand and bow. His mother had raised him with manners, after all. He sat back down and reclaimed his meal. ‘Why don’t you eat something yourself?’ he asked.

 ‘I already ate,’ Bergil said, ambling closer to the water and sticking one foot in. He shuddered involuntarily, sat down on a rock at water’s edge, and immersed both feet with a satisfied sigh. ‘Feels good after the long march.’

Already ate! As if that would stop a hobbit... but though the guardsman’s mien seemed quite hobbity to Hilly’s feeling—what an odd notion!—he was, after all, a Man. Pippin had said that in Gondor, Men might eat only two meals in a day. Strange folk they were.

They sat in silence while Hilly finished his meal, and then, drawn by the water, he stood up from his rock, laying his plate upon it, and walked down into the water, stopping ankle-deep, feeling the pull and surge of the mighty River. ‘Chilly,’ he said.

 ‘It is,’ Bergil answered, ‘but not bad once you get used to it.’

Pippin had said much the same thing about Men, as Hilly recalled.

As if thoughts of Pippin had conjured the hobbit, the Thain spoke from behind them. ‘Hilly!’ he said. ‘What ever are you doing in the River? Do you know how dangerous it is?’

 ‘I can see my feet,’ Hilly said evenly. ‘You taught us yourself that part of a river’s treachery is holes, that if you step into you’ll be swept off your feet... but I can see no holes before me.’ And, unlike most hobbits, the escort could swim. Pippin had insisted on teaching all the hobbits of the escort this most un-Tookish of skills. Hilly had not grumbled quite as much as the others saddled with this requirement.

 ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘were I to fall, no doubt this King’s Man would haul me out again.’

Bergil chuckled. ‘Dressed in mail?’ he said. ‘Men might be great fools in your eyes, Master Took, but I am not so foolish as that!’

 ‘Say “Thain”,’ Hilly said, seemingly changing the subject. Perhaps not. Was he calling Pippin a fool for his friendship with Men, or was he expressing his opinion of the guardsman?

Bergil exchanged glances with Pippin, then turned to Hilly. ‘Thain,’ he said.

 ‘It is not all that difficult,’ Hilly said. ‘It is the proper title, after all, and has been used without mishap for hundreds of years.’

 ‘I fear Hilly, and perhaps other hobbits, are insulted each time Men employ the phrase Ernil i Pheriannath,’ Pippin said mildly. ‘It is an outlandish phrase, you see, and sounds rather like a Tookish insult, a phrase we learned off a travelling dwarf years ago...’ He made a throat-clearing sound that did have some slight resemblance to the title.

 ‘I see,’ Bergil said thoughtfully, filing this fact away for future reference. No wonder Merry and Frodo had been convulsed with laughter the first time they heard Pippin so addressed, and had been carefully polite whenever a Man of Gondor used the phrase. “Halflings are so pleasant,” one noble had said patronisingly. “They always seem to have laughter in their hearts.”

Bergil repressed a snort at the memory. ‘You might have told me,’ was all he said.

 ‘And spoil your pleasure?’ Pippin replied. ‘The Men of Gondor seemed so enamoured of the phrase, I hated to disillusion them.’

 ‘You really are a Prince of the Halflings, you know,’ Bergil said. ‘Much as Faramir is Prince of Ithilien.’

 ‘He is?’ Hilly said in surprise, and then kicked himself. Of course they were talking about a Man and not Pippin’s small son.

To his credit, Bergil did not laugh at the escort’s mistake, nor even smile. ‘He is,’ he said. ‘He was elevated to the position by the King, although he still retains the title of Steward of Gondor as well.’

 ‘So I could be “Prince Peregrin” of the Shire,’ Pippin said thoughtfully.

 ‘I like “Thain” better,’ Hilly muttered. ‘Prince!’ He hmphed. Lotho Sackville-Baggins might have welcomed such a title, but then he was a hobbit who’d liked to put on airs. And look where it got him!

 ‘It would never do,’ Bergil said. ‘That would make your son “Prince Faramir”, and that would be much too confusing.’

Pippin threw back his head and laughed. ‘I cannot imagine confusing Faramir with Faramir!’ he said. He made a motion of reaching up to pat a head high above him, saying in his deepest voice, Run along, son! Father’s got some business to attend to! Bergil and Hilly joined in the laughter.

Pippin set Hilly’s plate aside and sat down upon the rock with a sigh. Bergil looked at him sharply and said, ‘Something certainly smells enticing, coming from the kitchen tents. I think I’ll fetch myself something.’

 ‘You do that,’ Pippin said, his eyes on the River. ‘I’ll sit here with Hilly, so that when he’s swept away in the current I can recount his ending to his grieving wife.’

 ‘I can see my feet,’ Hilly repeated as Bergil bowed and took his leave.

 ‘Aye, and no doubt we’ll see them waving in the air as the River pulls your head down to the depths,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Pippin,’ Hilly said in annoyance. Alone together, they could be cousins for the moment, and not Thain and escort.

 ‘We’ll be leaving for the Lake tomorrow,’ Pippin said. ‘If you think the River is wide...’

 ‘Have you seen this Lake?’ Hilly asked.

Pippin shook his head. ‘Only heard tales about it,’ he said. ‘They say it’s so wide you cannot see the opposite shore, and large waves break upon the strand when the wind is high.’

 ‘I cannot believe it,’ Hilly said, raising his eyes from the hypnotic flow of the River to look at the opposite bank. Once again the Sea-longing stirred within him. Gone away to Sea...

 ‘Will you come with us to the Lake?’ Pippin asked.

 ‘I have a choice?’ Hilly said, his heart leaping within him.

 ‘You do,’ Pippin said. ‘Diamond and Farry and I are going, of course, and the Master of Buckland and his family. We’ve nearly convinced the Mayor that he’s not needed in the Shire until the first of May. Surely the planting festivals can muddle along without him opening them.’

Hilly nodded, overwhelmed at the thought of travelling to a great City of Men, on the shores of a Lake so broad he could not imagine the sight. But Posey...

 ‘I’ll give you some time to think on it,’ Pippin said. ‘Give me your decision by supper time, for I’ll be sending a message back to Reginard shortly thereafter, to let him know how long we expect to be gone.’

 ‘I’ll do that,’ Hilly said. ‘Thank you, cousin.’

Pippin smiled. ‘Just don’t run away to Sea in the meantime,’ he said lightly, ‘or let the River carry you there.’

Hilly smiled himself and wiggled his toes in the yielding bottom, digging them in as the water flowed over and around them. He tried to imagine a body of water so large that you could not see the other side...

Pippin threw a stick into the River and watched it carried downstream. Then he began to tell Hilly of the places the stick would pass on its journey to the Sea. Hilly listened in wonder. Truly the world was a large and wondrous place!

Bergil returned, bearing a large basket. He proceeded to deal out plates and brought out covered bowls of food. ‘I told the cooks you might be feeling peckish,’ he said, ‘and they sent you a little something to tide you over until suppertime.’

 ‘Very kind, I’m sure,’ Pippin murmured.

Hilly scrambled out of the water. ‘You went without your boots?’ he said. ‘Isn’t that frowned upon?’

Bergil chuckled. ‘Perhaps they mistook me for a hobbit,’ he said. ‘In any event, they showered me with food.’

 ‘A tall hobbit,’ Hilly said.

 ‘A very tall hobbit,’ Pippin agreed with a twinkle.

 ‘Just call me Bergilin,’ Bergil said.

 ‘Or Bergibold,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Bergilard,’ Hilly suggested. ‘Bergiland?’

 ‘Just so long as you don’t call me late to supper,’ Bergil laughed, a hobbity sentiment indeed.

Pippin was right, Hilly mused, somewhere in the midst of eating and laughter and talk. Men weren’t so bad, really, once you got used to them.

Chapter 28. News to Keep 

Most of the hobbits watched the drill and demonstrations by the guardsmen with some astonishment. The soldiers of the King moved as one, perhaps even breathed as one, so far as anyone could see. They clapped politely at the display of swordplay, but it was the wrestling matches that brought the hobbits to life—this was more like! Several of the younger hobbits even removed their fancy coats, rolled up their sleeves, and demonstrated a few winning strategies of their own to interested and appreciative soldiers, after the show was over and shortly before supper was served.

The tables had been taken away during the resting time and blankets spread on the flowery field for a picnic supper. Hobbits mingled with Big Folk, laughing and talking, shyness forgotten over the course of the day, and over the many courses of food and drink served. It was good, plain and wholesome food, too, as Pippin was glad to see. None of the fancy “court” food that had upset hobbit digestions in Minas Tirith. Evidently Elessar remembered the lessons of the past and had planned accordingly. No doubt the royal cooks had argued to show off their skill; Pippin was all too familiar with Diamond’s trials and travails with the chief and assistant cooks at the Great Smials. Fine, competent cooks they were, but temperamental, to say the least.

 ‘Ah, there you are, Hilly,’ he said, gesturing to his cousin to join him on a large blanket with Diamond and Farry, Elessar and Arwen, Sam and Rose, their children spilling onto an adjacent blanket. Hilly bowed to the King and Queen and stopped halfway to rising at seeing the tiny mite in Arwen’s lap, balancing on wobbly legs as the Queen held her steady.

 ‘This is Liriel,’ Elessar said, ‘our daughter.’

 ‘And the apple of her father’s eye,’ Pippin said with a grin. ‘She’s been in the world not even two years, and already she has the King wrapped around her least finger!’

 ‘Princess Liriel,’ Hilly said solemnly, bowing low once more. He was rewarded with a bright smile from the little one.

 ‘She was asleep earlier,’ Arwen said, dropping a kiss on the dark head before her. ‘Quite tired out from the journey and the excitement.’

 ‘And of course she was awake and ready to play during the resting time,’ Diamond said, ‘so that you had no rest yourself, my Queen.’ She’d had some experience along the same lines herself. Arwen, however, did not look at all weary.

 ‘Of course she was!’ the Queen laughed, while the baby danced.

Hilly smiled to hide the pain in his heart, but meeting Arwen’s eyes, he had the feeling that she felt what he felt and saw what he remembered: a little daughter of his own, whose flame had flickered and gone out much too young, whose absence left a void of aching heart behind. There had been no more little ones granted to Hilly and Posey but just the one. The healers couldn’t say why Posey’s arms continued empty, and though Posey sang the day long, Hilly often found his wife’s pillow damp upon arising.

He knew what he must do.

He bowed once more to the King and Queen in thanks for the meal and sat down where Pippin indicated.

 ‘So, cousin,’ Pippin said, tucking into the loaded plate Diamond passed to him. ‘You’ll be coming to the Lake with us?’

 ‘I’m sorry to say, I cannot,’ Hilly replied, his eyes on the succulent lamb he was cutting. Mint sauce and all the trimmings! Perhaps Big Folk did know a thing or two about cookery, despite the fact that they might eat only two meals in a day.

He expected a protest from the Thain, and looked up to see Diamond, eyes full of sympathy, rest her hand on Pippin’s arm. Rose beyond her blinked back tears; the Mayor and his family had been visiting the Smials at Yuletide when... Hilly swallowed hard and hastily shoved the thought away as he sprinkled salt over his meat with as much care as if the fate of the world depended upon his skill in seasoning.

 ‘Of course,’ Pippin said, nodding slowly.

 ‘I’ve been gone a week now,’ Hilly said low, glancing at the King and Queen who seemed immersed in their daughter, ‘and though you sent word I’d be accompanying you to the Bridge...’

 ‘Of course,’ Pippin repeated. ‘It would be thoughtless of me, cousin, to require your attendance at the Lake when you are expected home.’

 ‘Not to mention,’ Hilly said, ‘if somehow she had word of the... mishap.’ So far as he knew, Pippin had not mentioned Jack and the boys to the King or any of the guardsmen. ‘She’d be beside herself with worry if Ferdi let slip somehow that I fell in a bog.’

 ‘Ferdi?’ Pippin said. ‘That hobbit wouldn’t tell his sister what was for tea if he didn’t think she ought to know.’

 ‘Or Fennel, or one of the archers,’ Hilly said.

 ‘Fennel knows better than to alarm your wife,’ Diamond said smoothly, ‘especially when duty has called you from her side. And the archers have all gone back to their farms and shops...’

 ‘Archers?’ Elessar said. ‘You called a muster?’

Pippin made a dismissive gesture. ‘You know we’ve been having trouble with ruffians, lately,’ he said. ‘They seem to think the Thain has rather more gold than is good for him.’ He looked sternly at the King from under his eyebrows. ‘You’re much to blame, you know.’

 ‘I heard the treasure hoard of the Thain was recovered on the same day our gifts arrived,’ Elessar said smoothly.

 ‘That is beside the point,’ Pippin said, shaking a finger at the King. ‘Truth be told, I do have more gold than I know what to do with, and more popping up every time I turn around!’

 ‘Perhaps Tookland won’t enter any ponies in the All-Shire Race,’ Merry said, arriving with Estella on his arm. ‘That’ll help the gold to stop mounting up so alarmingly!’

 ‘Cancel the Tournament this year,’ Estella said. ‘Then you won’t have hobbits coming from all over the Shire to shoot in an attempt to win the golden arrow!’

 ‘You don’t have to hold pony sales in the Spring and Autumn, you know,’ Merry went on, ‘and you could always nail boards over that new mine...’

 ‘I heard about that,’ Elessar said, looking up from his daughter’s plate, where he was cutting her meat into tiny pieces just right for little fingers to grasp. ‘Your engineers were digging in various places, determining where to locate a New Smials, and they struck gold...’

 ‘Yes, that’s all very well...’ Pippin began.

 ‘Perhaps you ought to be sending gold to the King instead,’ Merry said.

 ‘Perhaps you ought,’ Elessar said, leaning back with a laugh. ‘If the treasury ever gets low, I know I can count on your help. You may send the gold to the Lake, if Gondor is too far.’

 ‘Ha!’ Pippin said. ‘If you think...’ He broke off suddenly, his eyes narrowing at a sudden thought.

Diamond touched his hand. ‘My love?’

 ‘Hilly,’ Pippin said, turning to the escort. ‘Why not bring Posey to the Lake for a holiday? She was laid so low over the winter, think of what the sunshine and fresh air will do for her, and perhaps there might be other healing as well...?’

 ‘The House of Healing offers hope to many that were hopeless,’ Arwen said gently, her smile warm and somehow filled with understanding; how she knew, Hilly did not know.

 ‘But how?’ he said, his breath coming short. To see the Lake, and to take Posey away from their smial and the grief that lingered there... ‘You’re off in the morning, you said, and...’ He sneaked a glance at the King and looked quickly away. Who was he, to hold up a King?

 ‘A guard detail could remain here until your return,’ Pippin said, and then he laughed. ‘An escort for the escort! What a droll idea!’ He cast an eye at the King. ‘What do you say, Strider? Could you spare a few Men to bring Hilly and his beloved safely to the Lake?’

 ‘I could indeed,’ the King said. ‘We shall depart on the morrow, as planned, but I’ll leave an escort waiting for you, Hildibold, if it please you to join us at the Lake.’

 ‘If it please me...’ Hilly said, quite overcome. He seized the King’s hand and kissed it fervently. ‘Thank you, my liege,’ he said. ‘I was that grieved, to have a chance to see such a great sight in all the world and yet not dare to go too far and too long from my beloved, and now to hope for healing and new hope for my Posey...’

So it was that Hilly found himself after supper riding across the Brandywine Bridge and on his way to the Great Smials, himself bringing Pippin’s message to Reginard, rather than a quick post rider. He could not help singing as he rode into the gathering dusk, welcoming each star that winked at him from the sky above, singing the jolly round Moon out of his bed, not quite so round as he’d been a few days earlier; he was pouring himself out again, but still he graciously lit the road for a traveller eager to reach home.

Partway to morning, Hilly stopped at an inn to rest his borrowed pony and himself. He slept a few hours and rose early, breakfasted heartily, and was on his way again as the Sun was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. At this rate he’d reach the Great Smials just in time for tea.

He trotted into the yard feeling a lightness of spirit that he hadn’t felt in weeks. The yard was quiet, for such a bright spring day. Of course, with the Thain gone, the Great Smials wouldn’t be as busy as usual... But the stable lad who stepped up to take his pony greeted him with sober face and reddened eyes. ‘Welcome home, Hilly. It is good indeed to see you. You’re come in good time.’

 ‘Thankee, Tam,’ Hilly replied, wondering, but before he could ask if aught were amiss, the lad gulped and mumbled that he’d rub the pony down well and turn him out, turning abruptly away.

Hilly stared after him, and then looked to the face of the Smials. Mourning was not hung in the windows, as he’d half-expected. “Come in good time,” though. Someone hadn’t died in recent days, then, but...

Worry hurried his steps as he crossed the yard to enter the Great Smials. He’d find Posey, first, and make sure that all was well with her, or as well as he could expect, anyhow. Then he’d convey Pippin’s message to Regi, that the Thain expected to spend the entire summer at the Lake with the King, unless word was sent that he was urgently needed. The King would maintain a small outpost not far from the North Gate of Buckland, and a message would travel as swiftly as might be at need.

He received sober greetings from all he met, and not a few showed signs of weeping, though he was in too much of a hurry to greet Posey to stop and inquire as to the bad news. Such news, no doubt, would keep.

Reaching his quarters, he heard Posey’s voice lifted in song and threw back the door with a glad, ‘I’m back!’

Posey sat upon the hearthrug, surrounded by young hobbits, the oldest of whom were toasting bread over the fire. At Hilly’s entrance she jumped up and ran to embrace him, holding tight and burying her face in his shoulder. ‘O my love!’ she said over and again.

Hilly was ready to protest that he was well, indeed, and the mishap with the bog had been grossly exaggerated, truly, but she put a silencing finger to his lips as she raised a tear-streaked face. With a glance back at the hearth, she said, ‘Rudi, you just mind the younger ones for a moment.’

Young Rudi nodded soberly and turned back to his toasting fork, saying, ‘Now who’ll have this next slice?’ as Posey drew Hilly through the door and into the corridor.

 ‘You’re keeping Nell and Ferdi’s young ones?’ Hilly said.

 ‘O Hilly,’ she whispered, fresh tears welling from her eyes.

 ‘What is it? What is the matter, my love?’ Hilly said, his unease growing.

 ‘O Hilly,’ Posey said again, her voice breaking. ‘It’s Ferdi...’

Chapter 29. Leave-taking

Hilly patted Posey’s back automatically as his mind reeled. ‘Ferdi?’ he said. ‘But he was well...’ He thought back to their leave-taking. Ferdi had eaten well, had talked and laughed, had got up from the bed to see them off, calling hearty sentiments and waving vigorously. He’d been a bit flushed, perhaps, but Hilly had attributed that to the warmth of the room; the fire on Ferdi’s hearth had been burning merrily when he arrived with the breakfast tray.

He thought again of the exchange he’d overheard between Thain and healer as he dressed after awakening.

 ‘...to the Bridge with me, is he well enough?’

 ‘Well enough! Never been better, I’d say. No ill effects, it seems. I checked him over when he started to waken, and it appears he’s taken no harm.’

Hilly had walked softly to the door of his room, not quite closed, and while his fingers automatically put his buttons through their holes he listened closely.

 ‘Glad to hear it! I’ll send a message to his wife, then, with the archers returning to Tuckborough...’

There had been a bustle in the corridor then, and Hilly had stepped back, missing the next few words, but no one tapped on his door and the low-voiced conversation resumed.

 ‘...settled then. I’ll send Ferdi back to the Smials under your wing.’

Tolly’s voice sounded then, with a question for the Thain, and Hilly heard Fennel say, ‘I’ll just check on Hilly. Now that the effects of the draught are wearing off at last, he ought to be fully awake and on his feet soon.’

Hilly moved on silent feet to the bed and sat down, fiddling with his top button. He looked up when Fennel tapped and entered.

 ‘Ah, we are awake!’ the healer said cheerily.

 ‘I don’t know about you, but I certainly am,’ Hilly said, jumping to his feet. ‘Where are we, and what is the time?’

 ‘It’s about time for elevenses, we're in Pincup, and everyone is out admiring the flowers,’ Fennel said. ‘Let’s just take one more look at you.’ Pincup? How had he come from Jack's camp to Pincup? Asleep the entire journey? Hilly shook his head.

 ‘Come now, Hilly, one more look,’ Fennel repeated, gesturing to the bed.

 ‘ ‘Twouldn’t be so bad if all you did was look,’ Hilly muttered as, after he undid all the buttons he’d just done up, Fennel proceeded to thump his chest and back, put his ear to a funnel laid against Hilly’s torso and instruct the escort to take a series of deep breaths.

 ‘Clear as a bell,’ Fennel said, straightening. ‘Bundle yourself warmly; you’re riding with the Thain to the Cockerel after nuncheon.’ He eyed Hilly. ‘Are you hungry?’ 

 ‘I could eat something,’ Hilly said. ‘Elevenses, you say? Then I missed breakfast, I suppose...’

 ‘You missed a deal more than that,’ Fennel said obscurely. ‘Fascinating thing, this outlandish draught you were given... You’re not famished from sleeping through so many meals, you look well...’

 ‘I am well,’ Hilly said emphatically, rising from the bed. ‘Never better.’ To his satisfaction, the healer did not contradict him. Truth be told, Hilly did feel fine and full of energy.

 ‘Good,’ Fennel said. ‘I’ll just go and relieve Old Holyard; he’s sitting with Ferdibrand. I cannot believe that hobbit has slept this long...’ the last part muttered under his breath, before the healer put on a smile once more and said, ‘You go to the kitchen and tell them to load a tray for two hungry hobbits of the Thain’s escort, and bring it to Ferdi’s room, will you, Hilly? You and Ferdi missed the feast, but you can have a feast of your own before you depart with the Thain.’

Hilly was brought back to the present moment as Posey’s arms squeezed him tight, before she raised her head from his shoulder and wiped her streaming eyes. ‘Don’t want to frighten the little ones,’ she whispered, putting on a smile. ‘They’ll be called soon enough to take their leave...’

 ‘What’s happened to Ferdi?’ he said. ‘Where is he?’

 ‘They moved him from the infirmary to his own bed this morning,’ Posey whispered.

Hilly nodded. “His own bed” meant one of two things when applied to a sick or injured hobbit. Either he was on the mend, too well to need healers’ constant attendance, or he was slipping away and being made as comfortable as possible. No wonder so many in the Smials were grieving: the Talk had gone round already that Ferdi was near death.

 ‘But I was just feasting with him...’ he said numbly, and then he laid a tender kiss upon Posey’s cheek. ‘Mind the little ones,’ he said. She nodded and slipped into their quarters again, and he heard her say, What song shall we sing now? as he turned away.

The door to Ferdi’s apartments was ajar, and as Hilly pushed it open he saw Reginard talking to Healer Woodruff. ‘Not long, now,’ the healer was saying.

 ‘What’s happened?’ Hilly demanded, striding into the room.

 ‘And how are you feeling, Hildibold?’ Woodruff said, breaking off and moving towards him.

 ‘I’m perfectly well; why shouldn’t I be?’ Hilly challenged.

The healer eyed him narrowly. ‘You look well enough,’ she said.

 ‘What’s happened?’ Hilly repeated. ‘Ferdi was perfectly well, a few days ago, when...’

 ‘He was not perfectly well,’ Woodruff contradicted, ‘though he wanted everyone to think he was. That hobbit hates a fuss.’

Tooks in general hate a fuss, but this was not the time to get into a debate with a healer. ‘So he wasn’t perfectly well,’ Hilly said. ‘He was on his feet, and...’

 ‘He had a small, dry cough, annoying but not worrisome, when he left the Smials with the Thain,’ Woodruff said. ‘Nell told me about it later. Had I heard it, I might have popped him into bed on the spot.’

 ‘For a cough?’ Hilly said. Healers were mad, they were, and here was proof.

 ‘The Old Gaffer’s Friend* is not to be trifled with,’ Woodruff said. ‘Falling in bogs and splashing through icy rivers with no food or rest to speak of would not be my best advice to someone suffering a cough.’

 ‘Old Gaffer...’ Hilly gasped.

 ‘Fennel wanted to keep him tucked up at Pincup, but from the sound of his breathing, the damage was already done and so the Thain was able to persuade him to bring Ferdi home to Nell, where at least he’d rest.’

 ‘But he didn’t rest?’ Hilly said.

For the first time, Reginard spoke. ‘He sat down to tea after arriving, was seized by a coughing fit so fierce he broke a rib, and went from bad to worse in the infirmary over the course of the evening.’

 ‘He’s had no rest from the coughing,’ Woodruff said. ‘Every breath is a stabbing pain, and so he doesn’t take deep breaths, even if he weren’t drowning already... and then the coughing starts again.’

 ‘Where’s Pippin?’ Regi said, turning towards the corridor. ‘Did he return with you?’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t want to call him away from the King...’

 ‘He’s on his way to the Lake,’ Hilly said. ‘I was to bring the message...’

Regi swore under his breath. ‘On his way,’ he said hopelessly. ‘No chance to catch him up, then, I take it?’

 ‘A fast rider...’ Hilly said, thinking quickly, but Regi shook his head.

 ‘Too far,’ he said, ‘even riding straight through. Reach the Bridge some time tomorrow, and then how far will the King have gone? He’ll be two days’ journey ahead, and still the journey back again. Even if Pippin turned straight around, I don’t think Nell would last.’

 ‘Nell?’ Hilly gasped.

 ‘You know how it is with her,’ Woodruff said. ‘She nearly died when Rudivacar did. They were able to keep her eating then for the sake of his babe that she bore, but there’s no babe to keep her now. She’s taken neither food nor drink since Ferdi was carried to his own bed.’

 ‘But...’ Hilly said, sick at the thought. Though it was almost unheard-of for a hobbit to marry more than once, Nell and Ferdi had loved one another since childhood. They were a match, two halves of a whole. Nell’s first husband had been of a marriage arranged by her father, Thain Paladin, but though Nell married out of obedience, she’d come to love her Rudi and had nearly died when illness took him. Pippin had sustained her through her grief, and when she’d mourned a year, he’d nearly shoved her into Ferdi’s arms. ‘The children...’

 ‘She’d give her life for any of them,’ Woodruff said softly, ‘but for Ferdi she’ll lay her life down, and I know of no one able to turn her from it, save perhaps her brother. You know how it was when Rudi died...’

Hilly nodded. It had been all the Talk. He thought of Posey’s illness over the winter, and how he couldn’t imagine living on without her. He’d leave the Great Smials, at the very least, if he ever lost her, and wander, perhaps find the Sea at last. Nell’s choice was simply another way of leaving, following her beloved into the darkness.

 ‘May I see him?’ he whispered.

Woodruff’s lips tightened as if she would smile, but there was no smile in her eyes. ‘You may take your leave of him now, if you wish,’ she said.

I don’t wish anything of the sort! Hilly thought to himself, but he nodded and turned towards the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

Ferdi was propped up in the bed, Nell clinging to his hand, tears silently welling from her eyes as she gazed into the face of her beloved.

Hilly could see the pain and the effort in each gasping breath, though Ferdi seemed not to see anything, staring into nothingness, eyes half-open.

 ‘No,’ Hilly whispered. ‘Ferdi, you cannot... not like this...’ He stumbled over the words much as he stumbled over his feet, turning away blindly, not knowing where he was going but unable to bear the sight of Ferdibrand’s struggle for breath and the pain in Pimpernel’s eyes.

***
*A/N “Old Gaffer’s Friend” is a Shire term for pneumonia, which took the elderly relatively quickly and painlessly, but had an unfortunate mortality even amongst younger, stronger hobbits.

A/N: The chapter ran long and has split itself in two. More soon, I hope!

Chapter 30. Hidden Treasure

Hilly found himself in the stables, not quite sure how he’d got there. He wandered down the line of stalls, stopped for a moment at Whitefoot’s to finger the halter hanging there, and then quickly moved to the next stall to greet his other pony, Flametail.

 ‘There you are, lad,’ he said, holding out his empty hand to be lipped and then rubbing the whorl of hair on the pony’s forehead. ‘No treats, I’m afraid. I’m fresh out.’ He earned forgiveness with a good jaw-scratching and turned away, at a loss. He couldn’t face Posey and the grave-eyed children about to be bereft of both their parents. He kicked his way down the freshly-swept corridor, turning in at the tack room with its racks of saddles and pads and hooks bearing bridles and ropes and harness. He’d clean and polish and rub away at his grief...

He’d soaped a saddle well and got up to fetch a soft cloth from the barrel of rags for the polishing, stopping short to see Diamond’s saddle on a stand in the corner, awaiting attention. Her lamed gelding had been hand-walked back to the Great Smials from Pincup and was undoubtedly under Old Tom’s competent care.

The saddle bags were laid casually over the blanket atop the saddle, as if someone had been interrupted before putting everything to rights. A sudden thought made Hilly cross to the bags, to look within. They were empty; of course Diamond had taken out the clothes, and she’d presented the sacks of gold to the good hobbits of Pinfolk at the festive breakfast, no doubt.

Moved by an impulse he could not understand, Hilly reached into first one bag, exploring its dimensions with his fingertips, and then the other. His fingers closed about something in the bottom of the second bag, and bringing it out, he saw the leather-clad flask that had been Jack’s. Diamond had missed it, somehow, when she unpacked her bags, the rough leather blending into the bag’s insides. He shook it consideringly. He’d only had a mouthful, and there was at least that much left, perhaps more... A wondrous thing, a draught that tasted like golden sunshine and healed you as you slept...

He took a sudden deep breath, and another, thinking furiously, and stood abruptly to his feet.

 ‘Is aught amiss?’ Old Tom called after the escort, racing from the stables, but Hilly’s only answer was a wild wave as he ran across the stones to one of the lesser entrances of the Smials. Running in the corridors was heavily frowned upon, but Hilly cast aside all good manners and ran all the way to Ferdi’s quarters.

Bursting breathless through the door, he was brought up sharply by Fennel, who was talking with another healer; when the latter turned in surprise Hilly recognised his niece Rosamunda, Regi’s wife. ‘Rosa!’ he gasped. ‘Fennel!’

 ‘What is it, Hilly?’ Fennel said, catching hold of him. ‘Does someone need a healer?’

 ‘This...!’ Hilly managed, thrusting the rough flask at the healer. ‘Give him this!’

 ‘Uncle Hilly,’ Rosamunda said smoothly, taking his other arm. ‘You’re overwrought...’ She tried to guide him towards a chair, but he shook off both healers’ restraining hands.

 ‘Give him this!’ he insisted. ‘It’s a healing draught, the same as I had...’

 ‘Fetch Posey,’ Fennel told Rosamunda, and with a quick nod she was gone. ‘Now Hilly,’ Fennel said, taking Hilly’s arm once more. ‘Where did you get this?’

 ‘It was in Diamond’s bags; it’s the same one Jack gave me,’ Hilly said. ‘Diamond must have put it away there after Ferdi arrived with the Master of Buckland...’

 ‘I thought the Man took it with him,’ Fennel said. ‘He wasn’t there when we arrived with the archers, and when I asked what you’d been given, Diamond made no mention of this...’

 ‘She was weary, and overwrought when Ferdi arrived,’ Hilly said, ‘or so Pippin told me later... She knew they’d turn Jack and the boys over to the Rangers, and feared the consequences for them, seeing as how they’d blundered into the Shire.’

 ‘Pretty large blunder,’ Fennel muttered. He was as sceptical as any other Tooklander of a report of “good Men”, but he’d had to admit on examining Diamond, Farry, and Hilly that no harm had been done, save the sleeping draught, and that hadn’t harmed the escort, really; it had only sent him into a deep slumber from which nothing could waken him for two days.

 ‘In any event,’ Hilly said, abruptly recalling himself and thrusting the flask at Fennel once more, ‘this is the draught! This is what they gave me! You’ve got to give it to Ferdi!’

His voice rose in his urgency, and Woodruff came from the bedroom. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ she scolded softly. ‘Why have you come to disturb the peace of a dying hobbit?’

 ‘He’s not dying!’ Hilly said stoutly, and the healers exchanged glances. Seeing this, Hilly forced himself to speak calmly. ‘He doesn’t have to be...’

 ‘Hilly,’ Fennel said reasonably, pushing the flask back into the escort’s hands. ‘I’ll be happy to examine this at a later time, but surely you’re not suggesting we give a sleeping draught...’

 ‘A sleeping draught!’ Woodruff protested. ‘He’s barely getting any air as it is!’ Sympathy came into her face then, and she put a hand on Hilly’s arm. ‘I know he’s suffering,’ she said more gently, ‘and you’d seek to ease him, Hilly, but...’

 ‘No!’ Hilly said, shaking off the healers once more. ‘That is not my meaning at all! You don’t understand!’ He looked from face to face. ‘I drowned in a bog, drowned, mind you! I was trapped, sinking slowly, immersed in icy water for hours, long enough to lose my wits, anyhow, and when my strength failed I drowned!’

He heard a gasp behind him but doggedly plunged on, staring from Fennel, who was nodding — he’d heard as much from Diamond — to Woodruff. ‘I wasn’t breathing when they pulled me from the bog, and they had to pound the water from my pipes,’ he said.

 ‘You were lucky the Old Gaffer’s Friend didn’t take you as well...’ Woodruff began, but Hilly interrupted.

 ‘The next day we walked for miles, leagues,’ he said, ‘half of it wading along the course of the Shirebourn; ah, how cold it was! I was chilled, shivering by the time we climbed out again to make camp, my head felt like fire and my chest was so heavy I could scarce draw breath!’

 ‘You weren’t fevered or coughing when I examined you,’ Fennel began.

 ‘It was the draught! The healing draught!’ Hilly insisted.

 ‘Posey,’ Woodruff said, ‘your husband is overwrought. Take him to his rest, and Rosa will watch the little ones.’

Hilly turned to see Posey, standing white-faced with Rosa’s arm about her. ‘You drowned?’ she said in a shaking voice.

 ‘You don’t understand!’ Hilly said. ‘It’s a healing draught!’

 ‘Come along, Uncle Hilly,’ Rosa said, giving Posey a squeeze and releasing her. She moved forward, and Posey broke from her horrified daze to take Hilly’s other side.

 ‘Come, my love,’ she said softly, her fingers tightening on his arm, reassuringly warm and alive. He’d drowned?

Rosa and Posey led Hilly, still protesting, from Ferdi’s quarters and down the corridor to his own, where they sat him down in a chair in the sitting room. Rosamunda gathered Ferdi and Nell’s little brood with “Come, chicks! A little eventides is in order, I think, and then we’ll have a sleepytime story...” The young hobbits huddled uncertainly as she shooed them out the door and shot a significant look at Posey.

 ‘A little eventides,’ Posey murmured, her hands tightening on Hilly’s shoulders. ‘Sit here, my love, and I’ll fetch you a bite to eat. Why, you haven’t even made a proper tea!’ she said in chagrin, ‘...and here you’ve ridden all the way from the Bridge! I’ve given you no proper greeting at all.’ Still clucking to herself, she stepped lightly from the room, leaving Hilly alone with the crackle of the fire on the hearth.

Chapter 31. Fighting Fire with Fire

Hilly stared at the flask in his hands as wild possibilities ran through his head, none of which of course was workable. In every case he fetched up against the immovable wall of a healer. He could not appeal to Nell; Woodruff would be guarding her last hours with her husband as fiercely as a dragon guards a treasure hoard. For the same reason Hilly would be unable to try to get the draught into Ferdi himself. Healers! he fumed. And then...

There was one healer to whom he might appeal, who might be detached enough from this situation to be able to listen to Hilly’s plea: Mardibold, his oldest brother. Mardibold, who chose to live in Tuckborough rather than within the Great Smials. He jumped to his feet in a rush to leave the Smials. Just in case the Talk had already begun to circulate that he’d lost his wits and been escorted from Ferdi’s quarters, he followed less-frequented corridors to an inconveniently-situated entrance.

As it was, a cousin called to him as he stepped out of the Smials, ‘What’s the rush, Hilly?’

 ‘Urgent message,’ he shot back, and broke into a run towards Tuckborough.

Lamps were shining their twilight welcome in the gleaming round windows as he pelted down the main street. No one was about: it was time for eventides, when families sat down together at table before readying young hobbits for bed.

He jumped over the low gate in front of the grand old smial and ran up the garden path. As he flung open the front door he had a terrible thought: what if Mardi had been called away, to attend a birth or a death bed or anything in between?

 ‘Uncle Hilly!’ his nephew Telebold said in surprise, coming from the kitchen with a well-filled serving platter in each hand. ‘What brings you here?’ He turned to shout towards the back of the smial. ‘Lili! Set another place at table! Uncle Hilly’s here!’

Little Hildibold came shouting from the yard to greet his uncle. Hilly tried to make himself heard even as he hugged the lad. ‘No, I...’ He was interrupted by the welcome sight of Mardibold emerging from his study.

The healer quickly restored order. ‘Hilly-lad, run and wash those hands of yours! And whilst you're at it, splash your face and run a cloth behind those ears! Telly, take your brother in hand...’

 ‘Come along, Hilly,’ Telebold said (to small brother, of course), giving a jerk of his chin, and soon father and uncle were left in peace.

 ‘Hilly,’ Mardi said warmly, catching the escort’s hands in his. ‘When did you get back? The Talk was, you actually were to meet the King!’

 ‘I did at that,’ Hilly said, ‘but this is not the time to talk of it. I need your help.’

 ‘My help?’ Mardi said, raising an eyebrow. He called after Telebold. ‘Have Lili make up a tray to bring to the study. Your Uncle Hilly and I have some business to discuss.’

 ‘Aye, Da!’ Telly answered, turning to give his uncle a curious look, but he obediently shepherded his younger brother towards the kitchen and soon a door closed on the little hobbit’s babble and the larger brother’s rejoinders.

Mardi guided Hilly into the study with a firm hand on his younger brother’s back, shutting the door behind them. ‘Sit down, Hilly,’ he said, and then took his own seat. ‘What is it this time, another wager gone sour?’

 ‘I don’t wager anymore, you know that,’ Hilly said impatiently. ‘It’s Ferdi!’

 ‘I’d heard he was taken ill last night at tea,’ Mardi said, leaning forward. ‘It was all the Talk at the Spotted Duck.’

 ‘And now they’ve given him up!’ Hilly said bitterly. ‘Without even a fight...’

Mardi whistled. ‘So soon,’ he muttered, and then added with a note of reproof in his voice, ‘The Old Gaffer’s Friend is no light matter. I’ve lost more patients to that malady than I care to think about. Of course we do all we can, but all too often...’

 ‘This,’ Hilly said, pulling out the flask and pushing it across the desk. ‘This could save him.’

 ‘What is it? Where did it come from?’ Mardi said, taking up the flask. ‘From the King?’ He opened it, sniffed, wet a cautious finger and tasted. His eyebrows rose again. ‘Where did you get this?’ he repeated.

 ‘It comes from the Outlands,’ Hilly said cautiously. If they thought it came from the Healer-king, all the better, though he wasn’t going to lie outright. ‘It could help Ferdi, if only...’

 ‘What is it? Some sort of medicine?’ Mardi asked, stoppering the flask after another inquiring sniff.

 ‘A healing draught,’ Hilly replied. ‘It puts one into a healing sleep...’

 ‘A sleeping draught? Out of the question!’ Mardi said. ‘Why, he’d be getting little enough breath as it is.’

 ‘Listen to me!’ Hilly snapped, and the older brother fell silent out of astonishment at being so addressed by his youngest brother. Hilly rapidly outlined his drowning in the bog, the following day’s chilling journey, his symptoms as they made camp, and then the effects of the draught.

 ‘That’s quite a story,’ Mardi said as Hilly finished and then looked at him expectantly. ‘So just what is it you want me to do?’

 ‘You were Woodruff’s chief assistant before she took the position of head healer in the Smials,’ Hilly said desperately. ‘Talk to her! Get her to see reason.’

 ‘But a sleeping draught,’ Mardi protested. ‘It goes against all...’

 ‘What does it matter at this point?’ Hilly cried. ‘What harm can it do? They’ve given him up!’

 ‘Harm,’ Mardibold said softly, giving Hilly a long measured look. ‘The first thing I learned at Woodruff’s elbow,’ he said, ‘before she ever taught me to count breaths or make a tincture or any other of the healing arts. The oath I took, brother, the first thing I learned was this: Do no harm. Even when there’s naught left to be done for good, still, we must do nothing to bring harm. Do you understand this, Hildibold?’

 ‘Of course I do,’ Hilly gritted. ‘But this might well do Ferdi a great deal of good instead, as it did me!’

 ‘We don’t know that the Old Gaffer’s Friend had got his claws into you...’ Mardi began.

 ‘But it might likely have been,’ Hilly argued. ‘I drowned, Mardi—my lungs were full of ice water. It would have been difficult to avoid the Gaffer’s Friend after such!’

 ‘True,’ Mardi said thoughtfully, with a chill at realising how close he’d come to losing his youngest brother. He rose abruptly from the desk. ‘Undo your shirt,’ he said. ‘I want to take a look at you.’

This was one healer’s examination Hilly did not protest. He submitted meekly to thumps, took deep breaths as instructed, and when Mardi was finished said only, ‘Well?’

 ‘You are that,’ Mardi admitted. ‘You drowned, you say? I’d never believe it, not from the sound of your breathing!’

 ‘You could ask Diamond, were she here,’ Hilly said. ‘Please, Mardi, there’s got to be a way to...’

 ‘Come along,’ Mardi said, turning to the door. ‘I’ll speak to Woodruff. But,’ he added, holding up a hand, ‘she’s likely to accuse me of going round the bend.’

 ‘You’re in good company,’ Hilly began, but his brother interrupted.

 ‘If they’ve given him up, he may be too far gone for this healing draught to help him,’ Mardi cautioned. ‘You were in the early stages, from what you’ve told me, while Ferdi may have been ill for some days before...’

 ‘But he may not be too far gone,’ Hilly argued. ‘All I know is he’s going farther as we speak.’

 ‘You have the right of it, little brother,’ Mardi said.

There was a tap at the study door and Mardi opened to admit Telebold, who carried a loaded tray. ‘Just put a damp cloth over the sandwiches and cosy the teapot, if you don’t mind, my lad,’ Mardi said. ‘Your uncle and I have a bit of business to attend to.’ And with that, he clapped his hat on his head, shouldered his cloak and gestured to Hilly to follow him out the door.

***

Hilly had not expected Mardi to win easily against Woodruff, but his brother was a bulldog when he sank his teeth into an issue. Still Woodruff stood firm in her defence of her patient, refusing to hear her former apprentice’s arguments.

She was furious when the bedroom door opened and a wan Pimpernel emerged. The head healer flashed scathing glances at Mardi and Hilly, saying, ‘If you won’t go of your own accord I’ll have you put out!’ before turning to Pimpernel with apologies.

 ‘No, wait!’ Nell said as Mardi turned away, pulling Hilly after him. ‘I heard...’ she faltered. Looking to Woodruff, she added, ‘If they say there’s something that might help...?’

 ‘You don’t give a sleeping draught to one who’s barely breathing!’ Woodruff said. ‘Nell, it would finish him.’

 ‘He’s finished already,’ Nell said. At Hilly’s exclamation of grief she raised a hand. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not yet. But it’s not long, I think.’

Turning to Mardi she said, ‘Why do you think this would help Ferdi and not harm him?’

Mardi wasn’t sure the draught was harmless, but he gulped and ploughed ahead. Woodruff looked daggers at him as he said, ‘It helped my brother...’

Nell turned to the escort. ‘Hilly?’ she said softly.

Hilly stepped forward to take her hands in his. ‘It helped me,’ he said. ‘I know it can help Ferdi.’

Nell pulled her hands free to hold a demanding palm out to Mardi. ‘Give it to me,’ she said, her tone brooking no contradiction. ‘I’ll give it to him,’ she continued, looking from Mardi to Woodruff. ‘If it does him harm, at least I’ll have spared you the breaking of your healer’s oath.’

 ‘But Nell!’ Woodruff said.

Nell shook her head and turned away, closing the bedroom door firmly behind her.

Chapter 32. Sweet Draughts and Savoury Biscuits

Woodruff stood frozen a moment, then leapt to open the door, the others directly behind her. ‘Nell, no!’ she said urgently, but Pimpernel already held the flask to Ferdi’s lips, and from the tilt it appeared he’d drained the contents.

Despite the desperate situation, Hilly fought a grin. How well he remembered that taste, and the temptation to guzzle the draught; never had he tasted anything the like.

Ferdi was smiling as Nell took the flask away and turned to face the healers, defiance plain in every line. ‘It helped Hilly,’ she said. ‘It helped...’ Ferdi plucked at her sleeve and she broke off, to bend close as he whispered. She listened, then kissed him tenderly on the cheek and rose again, her eyes full of tears and a half-smile on her lips. ‘He says it tastes like golden sunshine,’ she said, ‘and that you’ve finally got something right, Woodruff.’

Fennel had entered the apartments with a laden tray just as Woodruff called her warning. Hastily putting the tray down, he followed the others into the bedroom and moved to Ferdi’s other side, taking up one limp and ashen hand, his fingers seeking the pulse of life, his eyes glued to the labouring chest. The heartbeats fluttered weakly, as if a wild bird struggled to free itself; the breaths were as rapid and shallow as they had been before he’d left to fetch a meal for Woodruff, who would not leave Pimpernel until all was done.

 ‘Well?’ Woodruff demanded, though as a healer she knew better.

 ‘Give it time,’ Hilly murmured. He’d had time to nibble at a journey-wafer, after all, before the dose had worked.

 ‘Time,’ Woodruff muttered, her face bleak. Giving a sleeping draught to Ferdi, in his condition, had cut his time short, and Nell’s with it. They’d see, soon enough, that two deaths would result from this foolishness. The thought niggled at the back of her mind that two deaths would result, regardless, but she thrust it away. There had always been the hope that Ferdi would rally, would fight off the encroaching illness, but Pimpernel’s actions left no hope now. The draught would depress Ferdi’s already distressed breathing, and he’d lay down the fight. It was little comfort to know he’d slip away peacefully.

There was no sound in the little room, save Ferdi’s struggle for breath, for a time that seemed to stretch to eternity. Fennel broke the silence. ‘Slowing,’ he said, concentrating fiercely on his task. He looked up and away from the breaths he counted. ‘His heart is slowing,’ he said sadly, but then a look of confusion bloomed. ‘Slowing,’ he whispered, ‘and... growing stronger?’

 ‘Let me see,’ Woodruff demanded, moving to his side. He gave up the wrist to the head healer, and she closed her eyes to concentrate. The faint, fluttering heartbeats she’d felt not long before Hilly and Mardi arrived had grown stronger, and slower, as if the draught somehow brought strength to her patient instead of robbing him of his life. She opened her eyes to count breaths, and the breathing, too, was slowing.

 ‘Weary, my love,’ Ferdi whispered, heard clearly in the silence of the room. ‘So wearied.’ Nell bent to kiss him once more, laying a hand upon his cheek. He leaned into her touch, nestling like a child, and sighed. ‘Sing me to sleep?’

Pimpernel blinked away her tears and sank down on the bed, her palm still cupping Ferdi’s cheek; so hot he was, burning hot and yet pale as death. At least the draught had brought him a peaceful end; no more painful struggle. Softly she began to sing.

The wind walks wild o’er the darkling world;
‘Tis time to seek my resting place.
The trees their banners of leaves unfurled
Are waving their farewells.

I’ve wandered far from my familiar home
My hidey-hole where my true love waits.
Forgetting the reasons I e’er sought to roam,
No more will my straying feet lead me away.

Tuck me up ‘neath the wide-spreading tree;
Spread a blanket of wildflowers to keep.
Clouds and sky to fill up my eye,
As the wind sings me to my sleep.  

 ‘He’s sleeping,’ Woodruff said in wonder.

Nell gulped back a sob and laid a kiss on Ferdi’s sweat-dampened forehead. ‘Goodbye, my love,’ she whispered, and laid her head upon her beloved’s breast.

 ‘No!’ Woodruff hissed, laying Ferdi’s hand down once more. ‘His heart is stronger; he’s breathing more deeply than the pain would allow him before. It’s as if the draught has given him strength along with rest, and the pain of the broken rib no longer impedes his breath.’

 ‘What are you saying?’ Nell said numbly. She was weary, herself, from sitting up with Ferdi through the previous night, watching the illness take him ever deeper, ever farther from her.

Mardi had stepped to Woodruff’s side. He took up Ferdi’s wrist and nodded. ‘Not what I’d expect,’ he said.

 ‘He’s resting for the first time since the coughing fit took him at teatime yesterday,’ Woodruff said in wonder. ‘It’s as if he’s not bothered by the pain of the broken rib any more.’

 ‘Resting and gathering strength,’ Fennel marvelled. ‘Just as you said, Hilly.’

Woodruff turned to the escort. ‘How long?’ she said.

 ‘How long?’ Hilly echoed stupidly.

 ‘How long with this last?’ Woodruff said. She was thinking of Nell, who’d refused all food and drink since they’d moved Ferdi to his own bed to die.

 ‘How much did he take?’ Hilly said. ‘I had but a mouthful and slept for two days.’

 ‘Flask’s empty,’ Fennel said, picking up the flask from where Pimpernel had dropped it, and shaking it. ‘How much was in it?’

 ‘I don’t know,’ Hilly said.

Woodruff touched Pimpernel on the cheek; Ferdi’s wife had closed her eyes, her head still resting on his breast, his heartbeat sounding reassuring in her ear. ‘Nell,’ she said gently.

Pimpernel’s eyes opened. ‘What is it?’ she whispered. ‘He’s still with us.’ Her fingers twitched against Ferdi’s cheek; her other arm tightened about him.

 ‘How much did he drink?’ Woodruff asked, bending close.

Pimpernel shook her head against Ferdi’s chest. ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured. ‘He drank all there was, and asked for more.’

 ‘Hilly?’ Woodruff said, rising and turning. ‘Mardi?’

 ‘We didn’t measure what was in the flask,’ Mardi said. ‘I tasted it, only, to try to see what it was. Hilly?’

The escort found all eyes pinned to him (save Ferdi’s and Nell’s). ‘I...’ he said uncertainly.

 ‘How much was in the flask?’ Woodruff demanded.

 ‘I haven’t the faintest,’ Hilly said helplessly. ‘It wasn’t full, but there was more than a swallow left...’

 ‘Half full?’ Woodruff pressed. All Hilly could do was shrug in response. The healers exchanged glances, and Fennel put a gentle hand on Nell’s shoulder.

 ‘Nell,’ he said, and when she didn’t respond he shook her gently. ‘Nell,’ he said again.

 ‘I’m here,’ Pimpernel murmured, though she did not open her eyes.

 ‘Nell,’ Fennel said more insistently. ‘Ferdi’s sleeping now, a healing sleep. You won’t be losing him this night.’

Woodruff shot him an acid look and he frowned in return before bending to Pimpernel again, consciously putting a smile on his face, that she might hear a smile in his voice. ‘Nell,’ he said. ‘Come away. I’ve just brought a tray of eventides, and I want you to eat up every morsel before you sit with Ferdi through the night.’

 ‘But what if...?’ Nell said, raising her head to look dazedly at him. ‘What if...?’

 ‘It’s a healing sleep,’ Fennel said firmly. ‘We’ll keep watch, but all is well, Nell.’ He certainly hoped he spoke truth. Mardi, behind Woodruff, was grim, and Woodruff was grimmer. Things did not bode well for Woodruff’s assistant, should it turn out that all was not well. Still Fennel maintained his cheerful mien. ‘Come, eat,’ he urged. ‘You’ve got to keep up your strength if you’re to sit with Ferdi through another night.’

 ‘Until the dawning?’ Nell murmured. She leaned to lay another kiss upon Ferdi’s brow and gasped. ‘He’s cooler,’ she said.

Woodruff laid the back of her hand on Ferdi’s cold, damp brow. ‘The fever’s broken,’ she whispered. ‘How...?’ She exchanged glances with the other healers. ‘Fennel,’ she said. ‘I want you to stopper the flask, conserve whatever drops might be left, and leave the flask upon my desk; I’ll want to examine it later.’

 ‘Yes’m,’ Fennel said, taking his hand from Nell’s shoulder to fit the hanging stopper into place.

 ‘Come, Nell,’ Woodruff said firmly, putting her hands on Pimpernel’s arms to urge her upright. ‘I want you to make a good meal before you take up your watch once more.’

 ‘Ferdi?’ Nell said, not letting herself be pulled away so easily.

 ‘I’ll watch with him for as long as you’re eating,’ Fennel said, ‘and call you if there’s any change at all. Though I doubt there will be,’ he added. ‘He’s sleeping, and it’s a healing sleep...’ not like anything I’ve ever seen! ‘...and I doubt he’ll waken for several days.’

Nell stroked her beloved’s cheek once more and eased her hand away, allowing herself to be escorted to the sitting room where Woodruff’s tray waited. Woodruff sat her down and made sure that she ate every scrap of food; after all, there was plenty more where that came from, and the healer’s appetite had been quite taken away by events. She itched to know what was in the wondrous draught, and whence it had come.

Such would have to wait, however, for while she was occupied with Pimpernel, Mardibold had spirited his youngest brother from the room, and out of the Great Smials, and sent Telebold to fetch Posey, and by the time Pimpernel had finished Woodruff’s eventides and taken up her post once more at Ferdi’s side, Hilly, Posey and Mardi were polishing off the last sandwich on the tray in Mardi’s study, while Mardi’s daughter Lili brewed them a fresh pot of tea.

***

Part way to the Lake, the King’s party made camp for the night. ‘Why does food eaten out-of-doors taste so much better somehow?’ Diamond said, gnawing on a bone as she never would at home.

 ‘Fresh air, perhaps,’ Pippin replied, sitting back with a satisfied sigh. He’d eaten more at this one meal than he did in a full and busy day at the Great Smials. The waning Moon smiled down from above the treetops and he gave an answering wink. ‘The exercise of the long ride, coupled with...’

 ‘Exercise!’ Estella said, selecting from a tray of biscuits and cheese just perfect for “filling up the corners”. ‘The guardsmen ought to eat a deal more, considering they’re marching whilst we’re riding.’

 ‘At that the ponies ought to eat a deal more,’ Pippin laughed.

 ‘They do,’ Sam said. ‘Mine was snatching mouthfuls at every pause, and is feasting greedily upon the long grass as we speak.’

 ‘Does the grass grow as long and green in Rohan?’ Merry-lad Gamgee piped. ‘Where my pony is?’

Merry Brandybuck laughed and tousled the lad’s hair. He’d promised to bring a pony back from next year’s visit to Rohan. ‘Just as long and just as green,’ he said. ‘Why, your pony is as fat and jolly as any Shire pony, and twice as fast as most.’

 ‘Hoorah!’ the lad shouted.

 ‘Merry-lad,’ his mother said warningly, and he subsided.

 ‘How long until Hilly and his beloved arrive, do you think?’ Merry said.

 ‘If Posey’s anything like Diamond,’ Pippin replied with a gleam in his eye, ‘she’ll take a week just for the packing up! You’ll have had your sleeping draught and awakened already by the time Bergil brings them to the Lake!’

 ‘Pippin,’ Diamond protested.

 ‘A week!’ Merry said.

 ‘Aye, she’ll be ready that quickly,’ Pippin said. ‘After all, she’ll be packing only for herself and not a whole family.’

Diamond threw a biscuit at him and he dodged aside. As a result the biscuit struck Samwise. ‘You...!’ she said to her husband.

 ‘Here now,’ Pippin said, ‘none of that! Don’t go assaulting the good Mayor!’ He popped a piece of cheese into his mouth and said around his munching, ‘After all, my wife was ready to journey in record time.’

 ‘Record time?’ Merry said with interest.

 ‘Aye. Took her only a month of packing for this trip,’ Pippin said serenely. He opened his mouth wide as Diamond chucked another biscuit at him, catching it neatly. ‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘Strider’s cooks have a marvellous touch. These savoury biscuits are light and flaky and just the right complement to the cheese.’

Chapter 33. Fireside Conversations

Woodruff was dozing when Pimpernel’s panicked Ferdi! brought her to abrupt wakefulness. She jerked upright, taking in the situation at once. Her patient remained unconscious, but writhed, choking, on the bed.

 ‘Fennel!’ she called sharply as she leapt to her feet, to take Ferdi’s shoulders and bend him forward and to the side. Fennel jumped up from where he was curled near the little bedroom hearth, looked about wildly, and shook his head to clear it before hurrying to the bedside.

The choking resolved into deep coughing. Fennel took Ferdi from Woodruff’s grasp and Woodruff barely had time to thrust a basin in place.

Pimpernel clung to Ferdi’s hand. ‘My love,’ she whispered, staring in horror.

Woodruff looked up. ‘It’s a good sign, Nell,’ she said firmly. ‘He’s coughing out the poison that was drowning him.’

 ‘Coughing his lungs out,’ Nell whispered, but Woodruff shook her head.

 ‘No, Nell, this is the stuff that was killing him,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t able to get it out in that coughing fit yesterday, and broke a rib trying, and then the pain kept him from coughing deep enough, but under the draught...’

The basin was half-full when the fit ended and Fennel eased Ferdi back on the bed. ‘He’s breathing easier,’ he said.

 ‘You see, Nell?’ Woodruff said. ‘I’ll just dispose of this and be right back.’ She covered the basin with a cloth and left the room.

 ‘He is breathing more easily,’ Pimpernel said, sinking down beside Ferdi and stroking the straggling curls back from his forehead. ‘Ferdi, love?’

Fennel soaked a cloth in water, wrung it out, and gently wiped Ferdi’s face. ‘Still sleeping,’ he said quietly. He lifted a lid with his thumb and gazed into the dreaming eye. ‘No sign of wakening. It’s just as well. That rib would be quite painful at the moment, but the draught is sparing him that and letting him rest and recover his strength.’

***

At about that same time, Mardi was sitting by his fireside with Hilly and Posey, drinking brandy and staring into the flames. ‘The King himself invited you to the Lake,’ he said in wonder.

 ‘He did indeed, and Posey too,’ Hilly said, taking his beloved’s hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze before he rose to refill her glass, blessing her cheek with a kiss as he regained his chair.

 ‘The King himself,’ Posey murmured, her eyes wide.

Mardi shook his head. ‘My baby brother,’ he said. ‘An invited guest of the King of all the free peoples of the West.’

 ‘He’s not so terrible once you get to know him,’ Hilly said. ‘Quite hobbity, as a matter of fact.’ The other two stared at him in astonishment, and he shrugged. ‘Just as the Thain himself is so fond of saying. He calls him “Strider”, you know.’

 ‘I just thought that a bit of Pippin’s charming eccentricity,’ Mardi said, sitting back and swirling the brandy in his glass. ‘He’s always turned rather a blind eye on differences.’

 ‘He was raised that way,’ Posey said softly. ‘Paladin may have been a simple farmer, but he was descended from the Old Took. I've heard how his grandfather left the Smials to escape the pretension and posturing he saw arising under Mistress Lalia; he learned how to work hard, and taught his sons and grandchildren to respect a hobbit’s achievements rather than his position.’

 ‘Grandson, perhaps,’ Mardi said. ‘Paladin’s sisters married “Smials Tooks” and learnt their lessons well.’ He shook his head, once again glad for his own grandfather's decision to leave the society of the Great Smials.

 ‘But Paladin’s Pearl married a “Smials Took”,’ Posey protested, ‘and she’s just as sweet as can be... and Nell... and Pippin never distinguished between great family and common hobbit... He was always as polite to a kitchen maid as to a grand lady... sometimes politer, even.’

Hilly snorted. Pippin had little use for put-on airs. As a tween his plain-speaking had got him into trouble more than once. As Thain, of course, he could say what he liked, though he’d learnt a bit more restraint over the years. 'Pearl married well enough to put on airs, but her husband would hardly put up with her if she did!' he said.

 ‘Pearl has a sensible husband,’ Mardi said. ‘ "Smials Took" or no. As does my Rosamunda, or I’d never have consented to her marrying Regi.’ He puffed broodingly on his pipe, and said, ‘and of course, it’s a good thing for my baby brother that he has a sensible wife!’

Posey coloured prettily and looked down at her clasped hands. ‘I should hope so!’ she said.

Hilly put an arm around her and hugged her close. ‘More sensible than I might deserve, perhaps,’ he said.

 ‘O no, Hilly,’ she said, nestling against him. ‘You deserve a great deal.’

 ‘Posey needs a great deal of sense, just to make up for what you lack, brother,’ Mardi said, but the hand he placed on Hilly’s shoulder told a different tale. How glad I am to have you here, it said, and not at the bottom of a bog halfway to Pincup.

***

Merry was staring into the flames of the watch-fire when he felt an arm steal about his waist. He covered the arm with his own, pulling Estella close and dropping a kiss on her fragrant hair. ‘It’s late,’ he said. ‘What are you doing out of your blankets?’

 ‘I might have said the same to you,’ Estella said.

The guardsmen sitting at the fire rose to their feet with bows for the hobbits and then walked off into the darkness.

 ‘I didn’t mean to scare them away,’ Estella said.

 ‘Changing of the guard,’ Merry said with a reassuring squeeze. ‘We are well-watched-over, my love. Ruffians might be attracted by such a rich procession, but for the guardsmen who ring us about.’ He pulled her a little closer. ‘But do not wander from the centre of the camp, love.’

 ‘Me, wander?’ Estella said.

 ‘This is not like Buckland, where you can walk on the soft grass by the River and count the stars without any worries.’

 ‘Only when you’re away, beloved,’ Estella said, ‘for the same stars shine on the Shire and Rohan alike... and who’s been telling tales about me?’

 ‘A little bird,’ Merry said, and sighed.

Estella rested her head against her husband. ‘Are you very sure about this healing business, beloved?’ she said softly. Merry had told her all of what was involved, answered all her questions to the best of his ability, even brought her to the King for explanations. After all, he couldn't very well disappear for a week without Estella knowing something was amiss, though he had thought a bit about pretending to go off on a hunt with the King—she'd be very put out with him if he kept this from her, much as he'd like to spare her worry.

 ‘Very sure,’ Merry said. ‘It seems the only solution.’ He looked away from Estella, down at the useless arm. ‘A dead weight it is,’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘A drag. I’d be better off without it, if Strider cannot bring life back to the limb.’

He forced a smile. ‘Just think, my love: you would never again have to hold an ice-cold hand in yours. Why, perhaps I wouldn’t have to fight off memory of the Shadow anymore, if the arm that stabbed him were gone.’

Estella forced back a sob and said bravely, ‘I would love you if you were only half the hobbit you are... but we will give your Strider his chance. You say he brought Frodo and Sam back from the brink of death, and put Pippin back together when he was shattered to pieces... surely one lame arm cannot be that much more difficult than a cousin crushed to crumbles.’

 ‘I saw many terrible things in the Houses of Healing,’ Merry said, ‘and many wonders. Their way of healing is not ours, Estella. I do not want you to watch...’

 ‘Not to be by your side, beloved?’ Estella said in shock. ‘Not to hold your good hand through it all?’

 ‘I’ll be asleep, and won’t know if you’re there or not,’ Merry said sensibly.

 ‘But I will know,’ Estella said decisively. ‘You won’t keep me from your side that easily, Master Holdwine!’

 ‘But Estella—’ Merry said.

 ‘You think I’ll swoon at a little blood?’ Estella said. ‘Who was it, stitched young Merilac’s head wound last month when he fell from the tree?’

 ‘My love—’ Merry said.

 ‘Who was it, held little Essie as they set her leg, Merry? Her screams would have caused a wraith to pale, but I held her until the task was done.’

 ‘My dear—’ Merry said, but Estella wasn’t through.

 ‘I doubt you’ll be screaming, anyhow,’ Estella said matter-of-factly. ‘The King is going to give you a sleeping draught, you know.’

 ‘Love, you’re as bad as Pippin,’ Merry managed to get in.

 ‘I am not as bad as Pippin,’ Estella said huffily. ‘I’m making perfect sense, which is more than you can say about him much of the time.’

 ‘But when he wants to argue, you can’t get a word in edge—’

 ‘I am not arguing,’ Estella said, ‘I am simply telling you how things are going to be.’

 ‘The way things are going to—?’ Merry said.

 ‘They’ll have to give me a sleeping draught to pry me from your side,’ Estella pronounced.

 ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Merry said.

 ‘Good,’ Estella answered, mistaking his meaning. ‘I’m sure you can make Strider understand that I intend to be at your side from the time you fall asleep until you waken again, whole and renewed.’

 ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Merry repeated, with another squeeze, and then he turned away from the fire. ‘Come love,’ he said. ‘In any event, it is past time now for both of us to sleep.’

Chapter 34. Food for Thought

Ferdi had slept for more than two days, and Woodruff was worrying. ‘How ever do they manage in the Southlands?’ she whispered to Buttercup, the assistant who’d taken Fennel’s place this day.

While the hobbit’s sleep was peaceful, his lips were dry and he was showing signs of dehydration. The healer pinched the skin on the back of one of Ferdi’s hands and frowned at the result.

 ‘He’s breathing better,’ Pimpernel said, looking from one healer to the other. Whispers were worrisome. She must have been borrowing trouble, however, for the faces the healers turned towards her were bland and unremarkable.

 ‘He is at that, my dear,’ Woodruff said, pinning on a smile. ‘His lungs are clearing nicely.’ She smoothed the back of Ferdi’s hand while she thought furiously. ‘Nell,’ she said at last. ‘He’s doing so much better, and yet it seems as if he’ll sleep some days more. I want you to go and bathe yourself, change into fresh, clean clothes, and share a meal with your children. They’ve not seen more than a few glimpses of you for three days now.’

When Pimpernel hesitated, she added firmly, ‘Ferdi’s doing ever better, and we must take care that none of the children falls into sorrow, from what they fear. If you take a meal with them, encourage them, describe Ferdi’s improvement...’

Pimpernel squeezed Ferdi’s hand and laid a kiss on his cheek. ‘Woodruff has the right of it, my love,’ she said softly. ‘The children need me more than you do, at this point... I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep so peacefully before, and the dreams must be good ones for your smile never falters.’

 ‘Very well, Nell,’ Woodruff said with a cheer she did not feel. ‘You have a soaking bath and a good meal with the children; stay the day, tuck them up and sing them into sweet dreams of their own. We’ll watch with Ferdibrand and call you if he shows signs of wakening.’

***

It was not a hardship, waiting in the pleasant spring weather. The day after the King’s departure, Bergil sat himself down by the Baranduin—Brandywine, he reminded himself—with a hook and line.

He felt the thrill of a taut line, the flexible stick bent, and he skilfully brought the fat fish in, with a practiced flip of his wrist landing the flopping fish on the grassy bank. ‘Got the fire going yet, Denny?’ he shouted. ‘Supper’s on!’

He heard the other guardsman laugh in answer, and he smiled as he selected another worm from the clump of rich black earth in his upturned helm.

 ‘How long, do you think?’ Denethor said, settling beside him. The guardsman, but a small boy when his namesake died wreathed in flame, was as cheerful as the lord steward of Gondor had been grim. Pippin had dubbed him “Denny” and the name stuck.

 ‘Not long at all, considering how the first fellow leapt for my line,’ Bergil said, impaling the worm and casting the line out into the River once more.

 ‘No, I mean, how long do we wait here?’ Denethor said. ‘The fire’s burning to coals; the fry pan is greased and ready, and there’s seasoned finely ground meal to roll the fish in ere they fry.’

 ‘You’ll make a proper hobbit yet,’ Bergil said. ‘You’ve a hobbity name, and your cookery is coming right along...’

 ‘How long?’ Denethor persisted.

 ‘...and you are as good as Pippin at asking the same question over again,’ Bergil finished, gently moving the worm through the water with a series of practiced tugs.

 ‘How long?’ Denethor repeated. His eyes widened as a fish jumped far out in the River. ‘Look at the size of that one!’

 ‘Four days,’ Bergil said.

 ‘Eh?’ Denethor grunted. He was removing his boots and the stockings underneath, just as Bergil had before commencing his fishing, and he thrust his feet into the River with a shiver, wiggling his toes pleasurably in the muddy bottom.

 ‘Two days for Hildibold to ride to the Great Smials,’ Bergil explained, watching his line closely, ‘and two days to ride back to the Bridge with his wife... and add to that the time it takes her to pack—if you’d heard Pippin go on...’

 ‘I heard!’ Denethor said with a laugh. ‘We might be here a month!’

There was the sound of throat-clearing behind them. ‘Beg pardon, sirs.’

Bergil half-turned and scrambled to his knees with a bow for the Shirriff that stood behind them. ‘Bergil, son of Beregond, at your service,’ he said formally, and with a nudge Denethor followed suit.

 ‘Hob Hayward at yours,’ the Shirriff said with a bow of his own. ‘I saw you fishing, and...’

 ‘Have we trespassed?’ Bergil said. ‘Forgive me; we don’t know the local customs. If we were to get permission beforehand...?’

 ‘Get permission?’ Hob said, dumbfounded. ‘Of whom? The River? I think it’s already given you leave to take a fish or three.’ He nodded towards the large, fat fish lying in the grass, gills still feebly moving.

 ‘Ah,’ Bergil said, reassured.

 ‘The wife thought you were like to starve to death, now the King’s gone with all his courtiers and cooks and all,’ Hob said. ‘You cannot reason with wives, you know—they think anybody’s about to starve as has no one to cook for them. She was beside herself when I told her about the travel bread and dried meat and such... feared you’d fall down dead long ere you came to the Lake.’

 ‘I do believe the fish will stave off starvation,’ Denethor said gravely, though there was a twinkle in his eye.

 ‘Be that as it may,’ Hob said, and cleared his throat again. ‘I brought you a basket of provisions, enough for a day I hope, and on the morrow someone’ll bring you fresh and fetch the empty basket back.’

 ‘There’s no need...’ Bergil said hastily, but the Shirriff held up a stern hand.

 ‘The Thain’ll be put out if we let any friends of his go hungry, waiting on his escort,’ Hob said. With another bow, he said, ‘Until the morrow, then.’

 ‘My thanks,’ Bergil said, and Denethor echoed him.

 ‘Don’t mention it,’ Hob said, and marched away to start his duties for the day.

Bergil had missed the fish that nibbled at his bait while they talked with the Shirriff, but no matter. There were plenty more fish in the River, and when he and Denethor investigated the basket, they found enough food to feed twice their number.

 ‘They’re going to bring us more tomorrow?’ Denethor said incredulously.

 ‘I believe that’s what the hobbit said,’ Bergil replied, staring at loaves and crocks of butter and preserves and pickles and cold roasted chicken and hard-cooked eggs and fruit pockets and vegetables cut into pleasing shapes and cake and biscuits sweet and savoury and more.

 ‘And we have to eat it... all?’ Denethor gulped.

 ‘Pippin said it would be an insult to refuse food freely given,’ Bergil said slowly.

 ‘I only hope that escort of his hurries his wife,’ Denethor said, ‘or we’ll look more like stuffed sausages than guardsmen, rolling our way to the Lake.’

 ‘You can say that again,’ Bergil observed, and so Denethor, never one to be suppressed, did so.

***

By the time nearly a week had passed, even Bergil was wondering if they'd last out the month.

Chapter 35. You Can Lead a Pony to Water

No longer hampered by Nell’s presence, Woodruff had tried every trick she knew to waken the slumbering hobbit. Even the most painful of stimuli had no effect. At last she sat back, pulling at her curls in distraction.

Buttercup soaked a cloth in water, wrung it out, and moistened Ferdi’s lips. ‘We could hold a cup to his lips, try to trickle some water in,’ she said, though she knew better.

 ‘And have him choke to death, like as not,’ Woodruff muttered.

 ‘What else are we to do?’ her assistant said. ‘You’ve tried every trick in the book, and some that aren’t in the book, even.’ 

 ‘If it were a book, he’d waken to Nell’s kiss,’ Woodruff said. She rubbed Ferdi’s arm absently. What she really wanted to do was to shake the hobbit awake, but shaking hadn’t had any effect, earlier. Ferdi never lost his dreaming smile, and his breathing continued deep and even.

At last she sighed and said, ‘The steward wants a report... I don’t know what to tell him.’

 ‘Hard, to tell him the draught that saved Ferdi will take his life in the end,’ Buttercup said, shaking her head. ‘Sleeping his life away...’

Woodruff rose abruptly from the bed. ‘He won’t last much longer if we cannot get any water into him,’ she said. ‘He’s already showing troubling signs.’ She looked down. ‘He’s not drooling, so he is swallowing his spittle,’ she said. ‘Trickle a tiny amount of water under his tongue,’ she said. ‘See if he’ll swallow and not choke.’

Buttercup dipped the cloth again. She eased Ferdi’s mouth open and allowed a small amount of water to drip into his mouth, then let the mouth close again.

Ferdi did not choke, and Woodruff nodded. ‘Foot by foot,’ she said. ‘A drop at a time, if need be.’

 ‘Will it be enough?’ Buttercup said. ‘And what about food?’

 ‘Food, he can live without for some days yet,’ Woodruff said. ‘Keep pegging away, and I’ll be back as soon as I’ve reported to Reginard.’

She glanced at the mirror over the dressing table and hastily smoothed her curls. How ever did they get stirred up so?

***

 ‘The draught is bringing him down to the grave?’ Reginard said in quiet consternation. ‘I thought you said it was healing him!’

He sat at the Thain’s desk, quill poised midair. He’d been writing a report for Hilly to carry to Pippin, to the effect that the planting was going well and Tookland was running smoothly. He’d hoped to add a note about Ferdibrand’s recovery, but...

 ‘A hobbit that doesn’t eat is soon no hobbit at all,’ Woodruff quoted quietly.

 ‘But I slept for two days and felt as if I’d missed but one meal,’ Hilly protested from the doorway. Reginard frowned absently; custom was that the escort stationed by the door was to be seen but not heard as he waited to take a message or admit a visitor.

 ‘Perhaps,’ Woodruff said, ‘but Fennel said you were thirsty when you wakened, if not hungered. Three days without water, four at the outside, and...’

Regi nodded soberly. ‘There’s naught to be done?’ he said. ‘You cannot simply pour the water in, that he may swallow?’

 ‘He’d choke,’ Woodruff said. ‘We were able to trickle a tiny amount under his tongue, but as to whether it’s enough to sustain him...’

 ‘Pony draught,’ Hilly muttered.

Regi was ready to rebuke him but Woodruff turned.

 ‘What was that, Hilly?’ she said.

 ‘We pour draughts down the throats of ponies without them choking,’ he said. ‘Why not the same for Ferdibrand.’

Woodruff held up a hand to arrest Reginard’s comment. She’d seen a stable hand giving a draught once, had paused to watch the process and asked a few questions. Now excitement stirred within her. ‘A pony draught,’ she said slowly. ‘Hilly, can you bring a tube from the stables?’

Without waiting for Regi’s dismissal, Hilly was off.

 ‘Pony draught?’ Regi said, raising an eyebrow.

 ‘I’m that desperate,’ Woodruff said. ‘If I can stuff a tube down his throat and pour water in without drowning him, I’ll do it!’

It was not long before Hilly returned, smooth leather tube with its funnel-like top clutched in his hand. He’d gone all the way and back at a run, breaking another Great Smials custom, but at the moment he wasn’t thinking about etiquette and propriety.

 ‘It’s clean,’ he panted. ‘Old Tom always checks to make sure they’re well-scrubbed before being put up.’

 ‘You’re going to jam that into Ferdi’s throat?’ Regi said, flabbergasted.

 ‘He often jests about being half a pony himself,’ Hilly said.

 ‘It’s worth a try,’ Woodruff said. ‘We don’t know how much longer he’ll sleep, and he must have water soon. May I have Hilly for a helper?’ Turning to the escort, she added, ‘I take it you know how to use this contraption.’

 ‘Just jam it down his cake-hole,’ Hilly said, ‘and listen to make sure you don’t hear breath whistling up the tube is all.’

 ‘Yes, I’d imagine pouring water direct into his pipes would finish him quickly,’ Woodruff said dryly. ‘Come along, Hildibold.’

Nell, of course, was still blessedly absent. Woodruff rather hoped she was still soaking in the bath; she’d given orders that fresh, hot water was to be added at frequent intervals to keep the bath warm and relaxing for as long as possible. She wouldn’t put it past Pimpernel to check on her husband after leaving the bath, on her way to take a meal with the children, and she certainly didn’t want Ferdi’s wife to walk in on what would certainly resemble heinous torture.

Buttercup’s eyes widened when she saw the device in Woodruff’s hand. ‘What in the world...?’ she said.

 ‘It’s for giving pony draughts,’ Hilly explained.

 ‘He’s already had more draughts than is good for him, I think,’ Buttercup said, ‘and what makes you think a pony draught will do him any good?’

 ‘We’re going to pour water down and see if he keeps it,’ Woodruff explained. ‘If that works, we’ll try broth next.’

It was a bit tricky, manoeuvring the tube into place, but with Hilly’s help—he was indeed familiar with pony draughts—Woodruff finally had things set to her satisfaction.

 ‘What do I do now?’ Buttercup said.

 ‘Pour water down the tube and hold your breath,’ Woodruff said.

Buttercup nodded, picked up the water jug, and hovered it over the funnel.

 ‘Slowly,’ Woodruff cautioned.

Buttercup nodded again, nervously, and poured a mouthful while Woodruff and Hilly watched closely. All seemed to be going smoothly. ‘A little more,’ Woodruff whispered, and Buttercup complied. When she’d poured as much as a hobbit might drink from a mug or perhaps two, Woodruff held up her hand to stop. ‘That’s enough for now,’ she said. ‘We don’t want to founder him.’

Carefully she eased the tube from Ferdi’s throat, and his mouth closed once more, peaceful smile still in place.

 ‘Lovely draught,’ Woodruff murmured. ‘I can think of a few grumbly Tooks I’d like to dose.’

Woodruff handed the tube to Hilly. ‘Make sure this gets a good washing out,’ she said, ‘and bring it back. We’ll try some broth in an hour or so, if the water does him no harm.’

 ‘Hilly?’ Nell said from behind them. ‘Tolly said you and Posey were to be off today.’

 ‘I was just waiting for Regi to finish his report to the Thain,’ Hilly said, ‘but I’d really like to linger until Ferdibrand wakens.’

 ‘Did my brother order you to make haste?’ Pimpernel asked.

 ‘Nay, he told me not to rush my wife’s packing,’ Hilly said. ‘He seemed to think Posey might forget something if I harried her, and hold me to blame.’

Pimpernel laughed softly. ‘He’s learnt his lesson from Diamond,’ she said. ‘He knows that the more he harries her, the more she remembers she forgot.’ She bent to kiss her husband’s cheek. ‘He looks better, somehow,’ she said. ‘What a wondrous thing that healing draught is!’

 ‘It certainly is,’ Woodruff agreed.

Pimpernel had caught sight of the tube, from her puzzled expression. ‘Hilly?’ she said.

Hilly cleared his throat. ‘I was just on my way to give a draught to a pony,’ he said hastily, ‘and stopped in to see how Ferdi’s coming along.’

 ‘Ah,’ Nell said brightly. She caressed her husband’s cheek. ‘Dream well,’ she whispered.

 ‘He is dreaming well, to all appearances,’ Woodruff said. She took Pimpernel’s arm and turned her away from the bed. ‘Rosamunda ought to have the table laid by now,’ she said, ‘and I’ll send Buttercup to fetch you if Ferdi shows any signs of wakening, though I doubt it’ll be this day...’

Pimpernel hesitated in the doorway, turning back for another look at Ferdi. ‘When will he waken?’ she said wistfully.

 ‘When the draught has done its healing work,’ Woodruff said. ‘There’s no way of knowing when, of course, but from all signs he’ll be well and hale when he does waken.’

 ‘I’m so glad,’ Nell said simply.

 ‘Go on, my dear,’ Woodruff said with a little push. ‘Let your children be glad as well.’

Chapter 36. Spilling  Forth

The Baranduin spilled in wild abandon here, wild and free, swift-running, leaping over rocks and rapids, throwing spray into the air, its voice a steady roar—very different indeed from the powerful yet deceptively quiet beast slipping majestically by Brandy Hall, leagues to the south.

Estella kept shaking her head in wonder. ‘This is the Brandywine?’ she asked again.

Merry stroked his pony’s neck as the beast tossed its head. ‘It’s young, here,’ he said, ‘and feeling its oats!’

Pippin rode silently at Diamond’s side, his thoughts far away as his eyes scanned the hills of Evendim rearing up before them. A small voice broke into his thoughts: Pip-lad Gamgee, sharing a saddle with him while the lad's father rode on the Thain's other side with Merry-lad before him. ‘...mountains!’ 

Frodo rode on a pony of his own beyond, and the King smiled as he walked on Frodo's far side, pointing out landmarks.

 ‘Not mountains, not quite,’ Pippin said with a smile for the lad. ‘Little brothers of mountains, rather.’

Pip-lad grinned and shouted to his older brothers. ‘D’you hear? Those are my hills!’

 ‘Pippin,’ Sam remonstrated. Which Pippin he addressed was not immediately clear, as happened often when the two sharing the name were together.

 ‘Actually, they’re the King’s,’ the Thain said with a conspiratorial wink, ‘but if you ask him he might let you borrow them some time.’

Rounding a bend, they stopped in wonder at the sight of the great falls spilling from the Lake. ‘There it is, my love,’ Merry said, raising his voice to be heard above the water’s shout. ‘The birthplace of the Brandywine!’

 ‘Little brother to Rauros,’ Pippin added with another wink for Pip-lad. ‘So you might lay claim to these as well.’

Diamond’s arms tightened about Faramir as she remembered Rauros. ‘D’you remember, Farry?’ she said. He’d been little more than a babe when they’d travelled to Gondor.

Farry stared at the falls with a look of wonder. ‘I ‘member, Mum,’ he said. ‘The Falls of Rauros were much bigger, but I think these shout with a louder voice!’

 ‘We’re much closer to these,’ Diamond said, ‘than we ever came to Rauros.’ Thankfully. Even at a distance, the great Falls in the southlands had stunned her to silence, made her feel... made her feel small, and insignificant. Seeing the hobbit’s face as they'd turned from the view of Rauros, Arwen had taken Diamond onto her saddle and told her quietly of the small, insignificant creatures who'd crossed the Anduin above the Falls, creeping into the land of the Dark Lord to free Middle-earth from his encroaching Darkness. Pippin had told his wife parts of the story before, but the Queen brought the tale to life, almost as if she’d been watching every agonising step of that epic journey, as if she’d felt the very pain and determination of the travellers.

 ‘I’d like to stand up top and see the waters tumble down,’ Faramir said.

 ‘You’d likely tumble down yourself,’ Diamond retorted. ‘If your father takes it into his head to climb the falls, don’t you go with him!’

Faramir turned in the saddle to give her a pained look, and she laughed, squeezing him again. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘If he took it into his head to climb the falls, you’d be right at his side as you always are!’

 ‘Someone’s got to look out for him!’ Farry said stoutly. ‘Especially since Uncle Merry’s arm is hurt, and Uncle Ferdi isn’t here!’

The courtiers and nobles and most of the guardsmen had continued moving along the trail that branched off from the new road leading to the rising City. Ahead of them white towers rose upon the hills to the east of the falls, shining in the morning sunlight.

 ‘Annuminas?’ Elanor said, craning to look up at the Queen who walked alongside her pony.

 ‘The old ruins are to the west of the falls,’ Arwen said. At the young hobbit’s shiver, she hugged Elanor and said, ‘Evil no longer slips through the shadows there; all dark things have been driven away. We’ll have a picnic there upon sun-bathed rocks, and tell you great tales of the old days.’

 ‘I’m not afraid of shadows,’ Pip-lad declared, overhearing the Queen’s reassurance to his sister, but the Thain did not laugh at his saddle-mate’s bravado, and Samwise gave him a quelling look.

Estella reached a hand to Merry, and he took her hand in his good one and gave it a gentle squeeze.

***

Shadows hid the two men crouching nearby behind a tumble of rocks, watching the procession pass. They ducked farther under cover as the guardsmen marched by, and stared fascinated at the rich procession of nobles and courtiers. ‘We ought to have watched the Road instead,’ one grumbled to the other. ‘All the coaches and waggons took that way when the people got out to see the sights.’

 ‘Some sights are worth seeing,’ the other growled. ‘Look there, for instance.’ He nodded towards the King and Queen, surrounded by hobbits on ponies.

 ‘So?’

 ‘That one, there, in the yellow cloak, just past the King—that’s the Prince of the Halflings. He has more gold than he knows what to do with.’

 ‘What good does that do us?’ the first man said.

 ‘He brought his son with him; don’t you see?’ the second said. ‘There’s to be picnics and outings and sight-seeing in the old ruins, hunts in the forest, fishing along the Lakeside. Any number of opportunities... we take the lad and leave notice. They’ll never find us in all these wild hills! Theyll leave a fair quantity of gold where we tell them to, in hopes we’ll give them the lad back.’

The first man stared at Pip-lad, sharing the Thain’s saddle. ‘It’s an awful risk,’ he said slowly.

 ‘They’ll never find us,’ the second hissed. ‘I know these hills better than any upstart king from the southlands, or any of his fancy guardsmen. They can fight a battle, certainly, but with all that mail we’ll hear them clinking through the forest from a mile away, and slip off quiet-like before they even know we were there.’

The first man nodded. ‘But if the lad sees our faces...?’ he said. ‘What if, after we give him back...?’

 ‘Give him back?’ the second said in amazement. ‘What kind of fool do you take me for? Of course we’re not going to give him back! We’ll drop the lad off the top of the falls as we’re creeping away, or toss him to a passing wolf, or when we get a chance to stop we’ll bury him so deep they’ll never find him... you don’t really think we ought to keep hold of him while we’re evading the Kingsmen? If they only think we have the lad, they’ll pay! No need to make things any harder for ourselves.’

 ‘It might work,’ the first man said slowly.

 ‘Of course it’ll work,’ the second man said. ‘I’ve done this before, and it’s never gone wrong yet. You just do as I say and you’ll end a rich man.’

***

Pimpernel had fallen asleep; she’d caught a few winks here and there over the course of the last ten days, since Ferdi’s coughing fit on the day he arrived, but really, most of her time had been spent sitting in a chair next to the bed, or curled beside her husband on the bed, her head upon his breast, listening to his heartbeat. Several times a day the healers chased her from Ferdi’s side, and she would take a meal with her little ones, or walk in the blooming meadow with them, gathering flowers, or play a game or tell a story, and when she returned she would tell Ferdi all about the children and their antics, their quaint sayings, their asking about him. Ever he smiled as he slept.

The healer on watch had stepped out for a "moment", leaving when Pimpernel was still awake, and been detained, and so no one saw Ferdi’s awakening.

His breathing changed; he stretched slowly and luxuriously; he yawned widely, first squeezing his eyes tight shut and then opening them. ‘Nell, my love?’ he said, and then looking over saw her beside him, sound asleep.

Of course he eased himself from the bed without wakening her, gently removing her arm from his chest, stretching muscles stiff from sleep. She looked exhausted: probably had been up in the night with one of the little ones.

He’d evidently slept off the cold that had caused him to cough so violently at tea a day—or was it two?—ago. Automatically he massaged his ribcage; still a bit tender but not near as sore as it had been after the coughing fit. Healers! Woodruff swore he’d broken a rib, but it was likely just a muscle pulled wrong, and now settling nicely into place.

He was more thirsty than hungered, really, but in any event he thought he’d go down to early breakfast in the great room. It was very early, if Nell and all the children were still asleep. Often when he wakened one or more little ones would be snuggled between them in the bed, waiting for Ferdi and Nell to waken, but none had appeared as of yet this morning, and all was dark and quiet.

By the dim light of the watchlamp he selected his clothes and dressed, and laying a kiss upon his beloved’s cheek he tiptoed from the room in search of breakfast.

Chapter 37. Awakenings

When Ferdi reached the great room, he realised it was early indeed. The gathering hall of the Smials Tooks was so empty his pattering footsteps echoed on the stone floor. Stars shone through the high windows in the ceiling that curved far above his head, and no one had yet climbed the step-ladders to light the high lamps with a long wick-on-a-stick, as the hobbits called the lamplighters. The lamps would have been lowered on their chains, cleaned, filled, and the wicks trimmed after the last lingering diners left midnight supper behind, probably at the same time the tables were set for early breakfast.

A few watchlamps burned, little pools of light in the shadowy hall, but the shutters on one of the serving-hatches were folded back and bright, welcoming light spilled from the kitchens. Ferdi followed that beacon, calling through the hatch. ‘Halloo!’

A serving-lass looked up with a frown. ‘You’re too early by half!’ she said crossly through a mouthful of eggs. ‘Bread’s still in the ovens!’ The cooks and assistants and servers would be gobbling their own early meal, including the first trays of baking (it was their duty to be sure the baking turned out well before setting the main body of loaves to bake), ere the business of breakfast started in earnest.

 ‘Ah but something smells delightful,’ Ferdi said in his most charming manner. ‘Can you not spare a crumb for a poor starving hobbit?’

The lass sighed, but rose from her stool, and laying aside her plate she filled a generous plate with scrambled eggs, potatoes fried with onions and topped with chive-laced sour cream, little sausages perfectly browned, and several hunks of still-warm buttered bread. ‘Here you are,’ she said with a nod for the smiling hobbit in hunter’s clothes. Undoubtedly he’d been sent out to bag a few coneys for the Steward’s second breakfast. She could hardly let him go to his task hungry!

 ‘You’re new,’ Ferdi remarked, taking the plate with a smile.

 ‘I am,’ the lass said, not sure whether to bristle, but the hunter bowed gracefully.

 ‘I’m sure I’d have noticed such a pretty face,’ he said in a kindly manner. ‘Fresh from the country. You’ll have to beat off the lads with a stick. I do hope you’re getting on with the assistant chief cook. She can be a terror for the new lasses.’

The lass looked about, but the majority of the kitchen staff were in the back, laughing and talking. She’d been set to watch for early risers, eating her solitary breakfast in lonely silence. ‘I don’t think she likes me,’ she whispered.

 ‘That’s her way of showing favour,’ Ferdi whispered back. ‘The more she approves of you, the more sour her tone. She doesn’t want others to tease you about being a “pet”, you know.’

 ‘Do you really think so?’ the lass said, her chin coming up as she considered his words.

 ‘I know so,’ he said with a nod. ‘Now you go back to your breakfast before it goes completely cold!’ And turning, he took his plate and walked to the table where the hobbits of the escort, by custom, sat to their meals.

The serving lass drooped a little as she picked up her plate and resumed her seat. All but one of the hobbits of escort were married, and she knew the face of the unmarried one. No use setting her cap for this hunter, no matter how pleasant his manners.

In the meantime, quite an uproar was happening elsewhere in the Great Smials. Fennel had returned to find Nell alone in the bed. ‘Where’s Ferdi?’ he said to the air. Nell slumbered on.

Rather than wakening Pimpernel to the worry of no Ferdi in the bed, Fennel quickly looked through all the rooms in the suite, finding them empty of course, for the children were staying with Regi and Rosamunda for the duration. Next he went out into the corridor, to pound on Tolly’s door.

The head of escort opened the door, blinking. It was an hour before his usual early rising. ‘What is it?’ he asked sleepily. ‘Message to be run for the Thain?’

 ‘Ferdi’s missing,’ Fennel said tersely.

Tolly was awake at once. ‘Missing?’ he said sharply. 

 ‘Vanished, poof, as if we were in a children’s tale!’ Fennel said. He was not given to fancy, but he was feeling badly shaken at the moment. First the magical healing draught, pulling the Thain’s special assistant back from the brink of death, and then the long, unnatural sleep, and now... it seemed logical, somehow, that Ferdi would have melted to nothing when the watchers looked away.

 ‘You saw him vanish?’ Tolly said, dumbfounded. Had the draught been some wizard’s potion after all?

 ‘No, I... but Nell... and when I returned he was gone...’ Fennel said, stuttering in his consternation.

 ‘He cannot simply vanish,’ Tolly said, good sense returning. ‘You weren’t with him, and Nell...?’

 ‘Asleep,’ Fennel said, and Tolly calmed considerably at that.

 ‘Well then, he got up and no one was there to notice,’ he said with some asperity.

 ‘But where?’ Fennel said, and Tolly looked at him as if he’d lost his wits.

 ‘I don’t keep him in my pockets,’ the head of escort snapped. ‘We’ll have to mount a search, then, shan’t we?’

Fennel took out his pocket-handkerchief with a shaking hand and wiped at his face. Tolly caught his arm as he swayed. ‘Here now,’ he said less sharply, ‘none of that.’

 ‘Sorry,’ the healer murmured. ‘Don’t know quite what’s wrong with me.’

 ‘It might have something to do with the fact that you’ve taken no rest since you rode out with the Thain a fortnight or so ago,’ Tolly said. ‘Come along now, we’ll settle you in a chair and I’ll take on everything from there.’ Turning slightly, he called out, ‘Sweetie! A bit of help, my love!’

Fennel allowed himself to be escorted to a chair by a solicitous Meadowsweet; Tolly had already taken himself off after a few whispered words to his wife. ‘There now,’ Meadowsweet said. ‘A cup of tea ought to set you right, I’m thinking. I’ll just light the fire and put the kettle on...’

Tolly quickly called out the hobbits of the Thain’s escort to join the search, including Hilly, who’d been ordered by Regi not to leave for the Lake until they had some definite news about Ferdi to send to the Thain. Soon the search was spreading through the Great Smials as more servants and Tooks were awakened.

Tolly had roused Woodruff and sent her to Nell’s side. Nell did not waken at her soft call, and Woodruff made the difficult decision to let the exhausted hobbit sleep. After all, what would rousing her do but bring her more worry?

***

Diamond yawned sleepily, rolled over to snuggle closer to her husband, and sat up on the realisation that he wasn’t in the bed. ‘Pippin?’ she called softly, before seeing him standing before the window, outlined against the fading stars.

 ‘Diamond, love,’ he said, turning, and pulling one of the hobbit-sized blankets around her, Diamond padded to his side and stared out over the white towers, standing ghostly against the pre-dawn darkness and the faint promise of dawn in the eastern sky.

 ‘Today’s the day,’ she said. ‘And you still think you ought to stand by him?’

 ‘I asked him,’ Pippin said, his eyes returning to the sky, his arm firmly about Diamond, pulling her close. ‘I asked him what was the rush of it all. Why not wait a day or two, settle in, rest up from the journey, but you know Merry! He’s not one to let the grass grow under his feet. Still, I wish he’d give it some consideration before...’

 ‘I imagine he’s given it a great deal of consideration,’ Diamond said softly, laying her head against Pippin’s shoulder. ‘Estella says his pain grows ever more troubling.’

 ‘Pain?’ Pippin said sharply, pulling away to stare into her face. ‘He never said anything about...’

 ‘And would he?’ Diamond said simply. ‘Took that he is...’

 ‘Half-Took,’ Pippin said.

Unperturbed Diamond continued. ‘...he’d hardly be likely to admit such to you! Especially when you’re helpless to do anything about it. Why, he feared you’d take it into your head to ride off to Gondor to fetch the King and his healing hands!’

 ‘How do you know this?’ Pippin said, his eyes narrowing. Diamond had never kept any secrets from him. At least, he’d thought she’d always been true...

 ‘Estella told me last night, after you’d fallen asleep,’ Diamond said, squeezing him in a hug. ‘You were so very weary after the journey, you slept nearly before your head hit the pillow. I couldn’t sleep for some reason, and so after Farry dropped off I went in search of the kitchens, for a bit of warm milk, and found Estella there before me.’ She lifted his hand to her lips for a kiss. ‘I was going to tell you just as soon as you awakened, love...’

 ‘And so you have,’ Pippin said, his expression softening. He drew her close for a kiss, where after she guided him back to the hobbit-sized bed, installed in the special quarters designed by Queen Arwen herself, and offered the best comfort she could.

And so he fell asleep in the arms of his love as the dawn crept over the North-land, brightening the sky and turning the great Lake to a mirror of mithril. When a servant poked his head in the door, Diamond shook her head at him. He nodded and withdrew, laying the breakfast tray on the table in the outer room, creeping softly back into the bedroom to spark the fire laid ready, before bowing once more towards the watching hobbit, and the slumbering one, and slipping from the room. When he’d pulled the door to behind him, Diamond laid a gentle kiss on Pippin’s brow. He sighed and nestled deeper against her breast, and she softly stroked his curly head and watched him sleep.

Chapter 38. Bed and Breakfast

Diamond had dozed as well, but she was shocked awake as Pippin sat bolt upright with an exclamation of dismay. ‘The time!’

Bright sunshine streamed in through the window. ‘Merry,’ muttered Pippin, but as he rose Diamond caught at his hand.

‘The King said he’d call you,’ she said. She looked to the little bed where Farry had slept, but their son was gone, undoubtedly spirited out of the room while they slept themselves out.

He turned to her. ‘But what if Merry persuaded him I’d be better out of it?’ he said tightly. ‘After what happened in Rivendell...’

 ‘What happened in Rivendell?’ Diamond asked as calmly as she could, retaining her grip on his hand. Pippin was breathing as if he’d just run a race, and his colour was bad. She wasn’t about to let him out of her sight, in this state.

 ‘They tried to keep it from us,’ he said abstractedly, but as he turned away Diamond gave a yank and pulled him off-balance, landing him on the bed beside her.

 ‘Keep what?’ she persisted. The way he’d looked at her this morning, suspicion in his eyes: He’d thought she was keeping things from him, that she’d known of Merry’s pain and not told him about it... This would never do; she intended to put things right between them at once and not let the thorn fester.

Pippin’s breathing was unsteady and shallow; he stared at a bright tapestry on the wall, but Diamond had the feeling he was seeing something far different, and his next words confirmed her thoughts. ‘They kept us busy, you know, showing us about the place. So many wondrous things to see, and yet...  Sam wasn’t there to see those incredible gardens...’ He swung to look at her. ‘Why wasn’t Sam there?’ he demanded, but somehow, Diamond knew he wasn’t addressing her, but someone in the past that had seized him in its nightmare grip.

He gave a mirthless chuckle, turning away again. ‘Merry is the worrier, you know,’ he said, ‘but I was the one, I convinced him that something was wrong, badly wrong. Of course, with Elves shadowing our every step, showering us with hospitality and attention, I couldn’t say so in so many words. It was a squeeze of the hand, a significant look, a nod... I soon had him convinced. We tricked our escort; pretended sudden weariness, asked them to send for some little sustenance, lay down upon the grass to sleep, and when one left for the kitchens and the other was turned away we crept under the bushes... Such a hue and cry as you’ve never seen!’

Diamond smiled at the thought of playing “I hide and you seek me” with such august personages as Elves. Rivendell Elves, no less. She had met Elrohir and Elladan, visiting at Elessar’s invitation, at the welcoming feast, and while they’d been pleasant and charming, she’d also been overwhelmed by a sense of otherness, as if their eyes saw the world differently from hers, and a polite detachment that she found off-putting, to say the least. She missed Pippin’s next few words, but paid close attention as his voice dropped to a whisper.

 ‘Crept to the door, and heard voices within, Gandalf, Strider, the Lord Elrond. Merry reached up; he can turn a knob without sound, you know, and open a creaking door as silently as a ghost. There was Frodo, upon the bed, Sam holding his hand, old Bilbo sitting by with tears streaming down his face and Elrond...’

Pippin’s voice broke and he drew a shuddering breath. ‘Elrond’s hand was buried in Frodo’s flesh,’ he whispered. ‘Buried, pushing in, reaching—I could see it moving beneath the skin as a wave.’

Sickened, Diamond clung to Pippin’s hand in silence.

 ‘Elladan sat with one hand on Frodo’s throat,’ Pippin whispered, ‘feeling for his heartbeats, I suppose. He spoke then—I don’t know what he said, a warning no doubt, and Elrond growled a reply. Imagine an Elf—growling!’ Laughing and weeping in the same breath, Pippin squeezed his eyes shut.

 ‘Don’t, my love,’ Diamond implored, but he went on, the words wrung from him.

 ‘The Lord Elrond pulled his hand slowly free, crimson from fingertip to wrist, past his wrist, really, dripping blood, and then his eyes found us, frozen in the doorway.’

 ‘O my love,’ Diamond whispered. Pippin seemed to come to himself then; he buried his face on her shoulder and gave himself up to weeping. She stroked his unruly curls and whispered soothingly until he calmed once more. ‘Merry had the right of it,’ she said at last. ‘You ought not—’

 ‘But I must,’ Pippin said. ‘Don’t you see? The horror of that memory, and the ones that followed as they tried again to remove the sliver that sought to take Frodo forever from us, that horror is still with me. It is all that I see, when I think of Strider... cutting into Merry, plunging his hand in... I know that it is only Merry’s shoulder, and not his heart, but if I’m not there, if I don’t see...’

 ‘The memory is a thousand times worse than the reality,’ Diamond murmured, and Pippin raised his head from her shoulder, staring at her wide-eyed.

 ‘You see,’ he breathed. ‘You understand.’

 ‘I do,’ Diamond said. ‘You’ll drive yourself to distraction with your memories and imaginings, my love. Surely the reality can only be better. One would hope so, anyhow.’ She rose smoothly from the bed. ‘I’ll find out just where Merry is at the moment,’ she said, ‘but only if you’ll promise me to put those awful memories behind you. Stir yourself up, take heart, and eat breakfast.’

 ‘Yes, love,’ Pippin said, rubbing the tension from his forehead and rising to walk beside her, opening the door with great courtesy and gesturing her into the outer room.

The table was set for breakfast, the cosied teapot was hot (evidently replenished before their wakening), and they were greeted by baskets heaped with hobbit-sized loaves of varying flavour and texture, butter and preserves and jams. They had just sat down when a knock came at the door and servants entered, stooping to pass through the low doorway, with platters of hot shirred eggs and crispy bacon, griddlecakes and warm fruit compote, fried potatoes and more. They'd been listening at the door, no doubt, for signs of waking.

 ‘What is the time?’ Diamond asked, pulling her wrapper more closely about herself. ‘And where is Merry Brandybuck?’

 ‘Half-past ten, madam,’ one serving girl answered. ‘And Mr. Brandybuck is in the bath at the moment. The King sends word that you have time to eat before the Ernil is called to his side. Is there anything else you require?’

 ‘No, thank you very much,’ Diamond said. Imagine being caught in her wrapper at half-past ten in the morning!

 ‘Just ring if you need anything,’ the girl said with a smile, touching a silver bell standing in the centre of the table.

 ‘Where’s Farry?’ Pippin said.

The serving lass bowed. ‘He’s out with the young Gamgees,’ she said. ‘The Queen is showing them the gardens, and then I believe they’re to go to the stables, to pick out the ponies they’ll be riding through their summer stay here.’

 ‘Ponies!’ Diamond said.

 ‘The sweetest, gentlest beasts to be found,’ the girl said with a courtesy. ‘By special order of the King.’

 ‘Of course,’ Pippin said. ‘Frodo was never much of a rider, but Strider found him the perfect mount, to see him safely all the way back to the Shire.’

 ‘Named after himself, I hear,’ Diamond said, and Pippin chuckled. She was glad to see him relaxing.

 ‘Yes,’ Pippin said. ‘I wonder how he came by that name, anyhow?’

 ‘I wonder,’ Diamond said, and spooned a generous portion of strawberry preserves over her first piece of bread.

***

After polishing off his plateful, Ferdi returned to the kitchen for more. The serving-lass, having finished her own breakfast, was happy to oblige, even adding a generous dollop of strawberry preserves to brighten Ferdi’s bread-and-butter. ‘Much obliged,’ he said with a courtly bow. ‘The early bird might get the worm, but the early hobbit gets something much better, and a smile to go with it!’

 ‘Go on with you,’ the lass said, pleased to be complimented and bowed to by a pleasant smiling hobbit. It was a great deal more agreeable than being ordered about by a snappish assistant cook.

 ‘So I shall,’ Ferdi said, ‘and you may have the satisfaction of a job well done. I’m strengthened and well-prepared to take up my duties.’

May! The lass started at the sharp call. ‘Speaking of duties,’ she said ruefully.

Ferdi shook his head with a smile. ‘She’s working very hard at it,’ he said, and at May’s quizzical look, he added, ‘not to show preference, you know. She must be quite impressed with your dedication to your duties thus far.’

 ‘Quite,’ May said, and with a quick bob she hurried away. The assistant cook’s scolding, for some reason, did not reduce the lass to tears, and she went at her work with redoubled determination, intending to live up to the good opinion of the assistant cook, volubly expressed though it might be.

Ferdi finished his breakfast, deposited his plate on the little service trolley by the hatch, and took himself off. He’d thought to go for a ride as he always did in the dawning, but he’d check in with Nell first, and then take his ride, and then have a wash and change into clothes suitable for reporting to Reginard the steward, to find out what needed doing.

On second thought, reaching the bedroom, Nell looked so cosy there, curled sleeping on the bed. Ferdi, replete with good food, found himself stifling a yawn. It was early yet. A number of hobbits were about in the corridors, he wondered why, though none spared him a glance, dressed as he was in his comfortable old hunting togs, suitable for an early morning ride but not what he usually sported in company. Perhaps there was a special celebration planned for some reason or other? In any event, Ferdi had not been roped in to the preparations. He'd find out about it sooner or later, he was sure. Preparations or no, it was not yet time for him to take up his duties for the day. It was too soon for early breakfast to be served, officially, anyhow. The little ones weren't even up yet.

He laid himself down on the bed, snuggling under the covers, and curled himself around Pimpernel. She gave a contented sigh, resting her cheek on the arm he’d eased under her, and soon their soft breathing joined in a sweet duet of slumber.

Woodruff had been called away by a worried Meadowsweet, to check over her assistant, who was showing signs of fever. She escorted Fennel to his bed and soon had him tucked up with his wife watching over him. Though he wasn’t a Took, was only married to one, she didn’t trust him to stay abed without some persuasion, and certainly not so long as he was upset over Ferdibrand’s disappearance.

It took some argument, but she managed to get a healing draught into him—of the usual sort, willowbark tea with other relaxing herbs mixed in—and sat with him and his sweet Bellamira until he was safely asleep.

Chapter 39. Of Draughts and Dreams

Hilly poked his head in at Ferdi and Nell’s door. No healer was in the sitting room, so he walked softly into the short corridor leading to the bedrooms. ‘Hullo?’ he called cautiously. No healer answered. He gave a superstitious shudder. Had Nell and Woodruff disappeared, after Ferdi? Was the room bewitched?

In the big bed, Ferdi stirred and sat up, not sure what had wakened him. ‘Nell?’ he said, blinking sleepily. ‘Nell, my own?’ He bent his head to lay a gentle kiss upon her lips. She sighed and smiled in her sleep, and Ferdi eased his arms around her, deepening the kiss. After all, the children weren't awake yet... 

Hilly heard the soft words and pushed open the door. ‘Ferdi!’ he cried.

 ‘What in the—what are you doing here?’ Ferdi said, releasing his wife and sitting up again, dumbfounded. ‘Don’t you know how to knock at a door?’

 ‘Ferdi, you’re awake! You’re well! You’re awake! You’ve not disappeared after all!’ Hilly was babbling in his excitement.

 ‘Have you lost your wits?’ Ferdi demanded, putting protective arms about Nell again.

Pimpernel wakened, and seeing her situation, gave a glad cry and threw her arms about Ferdi, burying her head in his shirt and bursting into tears, sobbing his name over and again.

Ferdi shot a furious look at Hilly and set at once to soothing his wife. ‘There-there, Nell, my love. All’s well.’ To Hilly he hissed, ‘Get out!’

Even had Hilly wanted to, he’d have been impeded, for Tolly had come up behind him, and now he pushed into the room, exclaiming, ‘Ferdi!’

 ‘Have you come for your half-witted brother?’ Ferdi snapped. ‘Or is it the latest fashion to come visiting without knocking, before the break of day?’

 ‘You’ve been ill,’ Tolly countered.

 ‘I’ve never been better!’ Ferdi said. ‘Naught but a cold, it was, and put right by a good night’s sleep...’

Nell’s sobs took on an hysterical note and Hilly’s eyes widened, even as he tumbled over his words trying to make things clear.

 ‘You’ve been very ill,’ Tolly said firmly, his voice rising above Hilly’s. ‘We’d given you up, as a matter of fact.’

Ferdi diverted some of his attention to Nell, patting and soothing her back, trying to hush her so that he could hear and be heard, though the explanations coming from both Hilly and Tolly weren’t making much sense.

 ‘Given me up,’ he said, ‘go on with ye, now! You’re having me on!’ He didn’t listen to Hilly’s breathless explanation about the sleeping draught, rather eyed Hilly narrowly. ‘This is one of your jests, isn’t Hilly? Admit it now. You’ve laid a wager that you can get me to believe this nonsense...’

 ‘You know I don’t wager anymore,’ Hilly said.

 ‘No more than the price of a mug down at the Duck,’ Ferdi said. ‘A lot of effort for such a small wager, I’d agree.’ He turned to Tolly. ‘Or was it your idea?’

Struck dumb by this conclusion on Ferdi’s part, Tolly just stared, and when Woodruff pushed him from behind he gave way without a word.

 ‘Ferdibrand Took!’ the healer scolded. ‘Where were you? What were you about, getting out of the bed when you’ve been so seriously ill these past...’

 ‘Have you all taken leave of your senses?’ Ferdi said in outrage, rearing himself up to his full sitting height. Nell clung all the more, and his arms tightened round her as worry came into his face. ‘Come now, love,’ he soothed. ‘You’ll make yourself ill...’

Woodruff stepped forward briskly, hauled Pimpernel from Ferdi’s embrace, and gave her a shake. ‘This is not helping things,’ she said firmly. ‘Nell, take hold of yourself this instant!’

Nell gulped and blinked back tears while Ferdi began to bluster at Woodruff’s tone.

Reginard spoke from the doorway. ‘You must be yourself again, Ferdi, it seems, for you’re turning the place on its head as you have the knack of doing.’

 ‘They’ve all lost their wits,’ Ferdi defended. ‘Either that or this is some colossal piece of foolery. Was it all Pippin’s idea? I wouldn’t put it past him.’

Regi crossed his arms and strove for an even tone. ‘There are hobbits combing the Smials for you, Ferdi. You disappeared from your bed whilst your watcher was elsewhere, and...’

 ‘Watcher!’ Ferdi said. ‘What need have I of any watcher!’ He thumped his chest. ‘Solid!’

 ‘Your watcher was elsewhere,’ Regi continued, ‘and so the healers were understandably concerned, thinking you wandering in your sleep...’

 ‘Sleepwalking!’ Ferdi said. ‘O this is rich!’

 ‘...after you disappeared from your bed without a sign...’ Regi said.

 ‘I went to find some breakfast!’ Ferdi said. ‘A hobbit gets hungered, after all, going the night through without food... and I do believe I missed eventides and late supper, for the last I remember was laying myself down after tea...’

 ‘You missed a deal more than that,’ Tolly said. ‘The sleeping draught...’

Ferdi turned a sceptical eye on Woodruff as these words penetrated his self-righteous fury. ‘Sleeping draught!’ he echoed angrily. ‘You foisted off a sleeping draught on me!’

 ‘No, my love,’ Nell whispered, ‘rather, it was I who did so.’

Ferdi gave his wife a reproachful look. ‘Nell, my own,’ he said gently. ‘You ought not to listen to the healers when they start spouting such nonsense as “it’s for his own good”...’

 ‘They tried to stop me,’ Pimpernel defended. ‘But I made sure you drank it all before they could interfere.’

 ‘You made sure...’ Ferdi said, his voice trailing off in his amazement.

 ‘It was the ruffian’s healing draught,’ Hilly said, and then cleared his throat. ‘I mean, Jack’s draught—you know, Ferdi, the Man who lost himself in the Shire and nearly was taken for a ruffian.’

 ‘Jack’s draught,’ Ferdi said, unconsciously echoing Hilly’s emphasis. He took a deep breath, his brows knitted in thought. ‘The sleeping draught... you slept for two days!’

 ‘You slept for a week, more, actually,’ Woodruff said.

 ‘They had to give you water and broth through a pony tube,’ Nell said.

Ferdi’s hand went to his throat. ‘Pony draughts,’ he said in wonder. ‘Is that why my throat feels so... deucedly odd?’

 ‘Let me take a look,’ Woodruff said automatically, but her erstwhile patient fended her off.

 ‘I think I’ve had quite enough of healers, thank you,’ he said sharply. Clearing his throat, he said, ‘I’m perfectly well. You ought to be able to see that just by looking at me.’

 ‘Well then, Hilly,’ Reginard said. ‘If you’ll attend me, I’ll have a few final instructions for you while I’m finishing that letter to the Thain. It looks as if you and Posey will be able to depart this very morning for the Lake.’

 ‘You’re taking Posey to the Lake?’ Ferdi said.

 ‘He is,’ Regi answered for Hilly. ‘And you, cousin, are staying here, where I can keep you under my eye. No traipsing off into the Wilds for you, not for some time! You owe it to your wife, for all the trouble you’ve given her these past days, to sit at home and become thoroughly bored.’

 ‘Have I been a deal of trouble to you, Nell?’ Ferdi said softly with a worried look for his wife.

 ‘O Ferdi,’ she whispered, and threw her arms about his neck once more. Woodruff spoke to Tolly in a whisper, and he nodded and left abruptly. Regi took Hilly’s arm and walked him out of Ferdi’s apartments. Not long after, a whirlwind of little hobbits descended upon Ferdi and Nell in a flurry of hugs, and Woodruff excused herself with barely a word, and with more than a little satisfaction.

***

 ‘A sleeping draught,’ Merry said, holding the cup in his hands.

 ‘You’re sure about this, cousin?’ Pippin asked for a last time. Now was not the time to go into Merry’s hiding the pain of his arm from those who loved him.

In answer, Merry lifted the cup in a toast, brought the cup to his lips, and drained the golden liquid. He lowered the cup with a sigh. ‘Better than the Hall’s finest,’ he said. ‘What do you put in this stuff, anyhow?’

 ‘It’s my father’s special recipe,’ Elrohir responded with a smile.

 ‘A little of this, a little of that,’ Elladan added.

 ‘He was an excellent brewer,’ Merry said. ‘You could bottle this stuff and sell it in the Shire at a nice prof—’  He broke off with a wide yawn.

 ‘That’s it,’ Elessar said softly. ‘Lie back against the pillows. The bath was relaxing, was it not? And now you’re in a soft bed, warmly wrapped, and you’re feeling drowsy...’

Pippin felt his eyelids start to close, and he hadn’t even had a relaxing bath or any of the rest. He pinched himself, to meet Elessar’s knowing smile. ‘I know that trick,’ he mouthed. ‘It’s the same one you pulled at Cormallen, when you wanted me to rest.’

Elessar paid him no heed. His eyes returned to Merry’s as he continued to intone, ‘...very drowsy. You’re sleepy, are you not? Close your eyes now, and rest. That’s right. Deep breaths, in... out... in... out...’

Merry’s eyes drooped closed, and he sighed deeply. Estella bent to brush his forehead with her lips. ‘Good night, my love,’ she said. ‘Dream well. I’ll keep watch.’

Chapter 40. Courage is Found...

Pippin had watched all the preparations as keenly as the bird whose name he bore. He had not waited to be called to Merry’s side; on the contrary, he’d gulped as little breakfast as he could manage, under Diamond’s eye, and bolted from the table. Diamond, still in her wrapper, could hardly follow him into the corridors, and as she stood to her feet, half-undecided, one of the servants interrupted her thoughts.

 ‘Your bath is drawn, ma’am.’

 ‘My bath?’

 ‘Yes, the Queen gave orders that your bath was to be drawn as you were breakfasting.’

Diamond’s eyebrow rose, and she nodded. A subtle message from Arwen, it was, to say that someone would be watching over her husband in the midst of this worrisome situation long enough for her to relax and greet the day. Although... it seemed more than a little odd to be greeting the day when properly she should be in the middle of elevenses.

Merry had just emerged from the bath, laughing and talking to Estella, as Pippin entered their suite. ‘Hullo, Pippin,’ he said cheerily. ‘I hope you didn’t miss breakfast on my account!’

 ‘It’s time for elevenses,’ Pippin said. ‘And here you are, lolly-lagging about in the bath for half the morning. Will you Brandybucks ever take leave of your unnatural fascination with water?’

 ‘It would be completely unnatural,’ Merry said, his chin in the air. ‘It was a major concession on my part to be bathing in a tub and not in the Lake this morning.’

 ‘But much warmer,’ Estella said smoothly. She was wound as tight as a watchspring but maintaining a calm exterior for fear they’d send her from Merry’s side.

Elladan emerged from the bath room. ‘At least he doesn’t splash quite as much water on the floor as certain other hobbits have been known to do,’ he said with a smile.

Pippin did not answer the smile. Fixing his eyes on Merry’s, he said, ‘Are you sure of this, Merry? It’s not as if you need to go through with this to save your life.’

Merry crossed to take Pippin in a one-armed embrace. ‘All will be well, cousin,’ he whispered in the younger hobbit’s ear, just as he’d reassured him many years ago, in other circumstances. Pippin was eerily reminded of their parting in the Houses of Healing, as he'd been about to march off to the Black Gate. Merry's words had rung brave but hollow in those circumstances, and he wondered now at the shiver that went down his back.

Elessar entered then, gesturing Merry to the bed. Merry, of course, made a joke of it, rolling his eyes and laughing as he released Pippin. ‘Healers!’ he snorted. ‘It’s all you ever think of. Bed!’

 ‘I’m in league with the chambermaids,’ Elessar said in kind. ‘As long as you’re in it, they don’t have to change the sheets!’

There followed yet another examination, unhurried, with low-voiced conversation between King and son of Elrond.

 ‘We ought to have Frodo with us,’ Merry said. ‘At least he’d be able to tell us what dastardly plots they’re hatching.’

 ‘We’re planning to eat all the teacakes whilst you’re otherwise occupied, Master Brandybuck,’ Elladan said, and shifted his grip on Merry’s arm so that Elessar could ink a careful line.

 ‘Run out of parchment, have we?’ Merry said. ‘I want to know how you’re going to stack hobbits in orderly piles in your records room.’

Pippin had remained uncharacteristically silent through the examination. At the end, Merry had loosed Estella’s hand to take his cousin’s. ‘All right, Pip?’ he said.

Pippin had swallowed hard and forced his eyes to meet Merry’s, all too aware of the healers’ scrutiny. ‘Of course I’m all right,’ he said. ‘I’m just reminded of the time Farry got into the ink and drew pictures all over himself. Why, it took days for the marks to fade...!’

 ‘You had to throw away the carpet, as I recall,’ Estella had said.

 ‘Throw away the carpet!’ Pippin had rejoined, in apparent shock. ‘My dear cousin, that was a valuable carpet! Throw it away? By no means! We used it to decorate the quarters kept for the Master of Buckland, of course!’

Elessar had subtly relaxed, and Pippin had not been sent from Merry’s side. The sleeping potion that Elrohir brought was drunk, the hobbit was sent off to sleep, and Elessar wrapped the blankets round his friend and lifted him gently from the bed, Estella still clinging to Merry’s good hand. Elrohir had disappeared once the potion was drunk, but Elladan stayed by Pippin.

Estella walked to one side, reaching high to maintain her life-grip on Merry's hand. She listened in silence as Pippin walked on the King's other side, talking lightly of the wonders they’d seen. ‘Really, Strider, I don’t know why it’s taken you so long to come North! And I hardly understand how you could tear yourself away, to go South once more.’

 ‘I’ll be alternating between South and North from now on,’ Elessar said.

 ‘Every other year with us?’ Pippin said in delight.

 ‘Not quite,’ the King said cautiously. ‘If, perchance, I’m in the midst of a quarrel with the neighbours...’

 ‘Ah, yes, you’d need to settle such disputes,’ Pippin said. ‘Wouldn’t want the neighbourhood to go downhill whilst you’re away on holiday. Whilst Jack’s away the rats will play.’

Elessar looked at him in surprise, and he laughed. ‘Yes, Bergil told me the story,’ he said. ‘We have a similar children’s tale in the Shire, you know.’

 ‘I didn’t know,’ Elessar said. ‘You’ll have to tell it by the fireside this evening.’

 ‘Yes,’ Elladan put in. ‘My younger brother does appreciate a tale before he’s sent to his sleep.’

 ‘My older brother has been known to pause in his adult affairs and settle his creaking joints to listen to children’s tales,’ the King returned affably. ‘It makes him feel young at heart.’

 ‘He must listen to an awful lot of children’s tales,’ Pippin said, eyeing the son of Elrond.

Elladan threw back his head and laughed. At last, he said, ‘I thank you for your kind compliment, Pippin... I think.’

They turned into a room that was already bustling with large folk making preparations. Pippin fought down the feeling of being insignificantly small and in-the-way. ‘Where do you want me to stand, Strider?’ he asked.

 ‘We’ve arranged special seating for you,’ the King said, laying his burden upon the table. He nodded at two Man-sized chairs set a little to one side. Samwise was already sitting upon one of the chairs, talking quietly to Elrohir.

The latter stood up to bow Pippin to the chair he vacated. ‘I have been keeping your seat warm,’ he said.

 ‘That’s very kind of you, Elrohir,’ Pippin said, climbing onto the chair. He frowned and started to add something, but Sam pulled at his arm with a wink.

When Pippin turned, the Mayor bent near and muttered, ‘If we stand upon the chairs we’ll have some sort of view; better than standing on our tip-toes next to the table, craning our chins, at any rate. But Elrohir has solemnly warned me if we make any sort of fuss we’ll be put out, to wait with the rest.’

Pippin nodded. The greatest concession had been made on Estella’s behalf, of course. A chair had been placed with its back against the table, and she stood pressed against the table on her husband’s good side, firmly holding his hand, watching as assistants bared Merry’s shoulder with its inked guide-marks, and draped lengths of fabric all around to set off the area where Elessar and Elladan would be working.

Elrohir settled on a stool at Merry’s head, fingers lightly touching the throat where the lifeblood pulsed, his eyes on the rise and fall of the sleeping hobbit’s chest. Elessar and Elladan had donned shapeless gowns to cover their clothing from spurting blood—Pippin had seen enough in the Houses of Healing after the siege of Minas Tirith to know that much—and they were scrubbing their hands at a nearby fountain where the water continually flowed, for most healers knew in those days that quantities of fresh water kept away the red swelling that otherwise too often followed injury.

At last all preparations were complete, and Elessar lifted the gleaming blade from the tray an assistant held, while Elladan stood ready to wipe away the blood of the first cut.

Sam looked away, but not just because he felt squeamish. He surreptitiously watched Pippin, mindful of Elrohir’s instructions. The Thain was breathing shallowly, his face pale, and he swallowed hard as the knife descended upon his beloved cousin.

Estella bit her lip, watching her husband’s flesh part under the smooth, soundless onslaught of the blade, but she did not look away or show signs of fainting, Elrohir was glad to see. He turned his full attention back to Merry.

A/N: Thank you to FantasyFan for invaluable technical assistance!

Chapter 41. Deep in the Heart 

 ‘The Thain’s own coach,’ Posey said again in wonder, running a tentative hand over the velvet seatcovers.

 ‘Aye, m’love,’ Hilly answered, leaning back into the softness of the cushions. Though Pippin was not a lover of luxury, he spared no expense or thought when it came to Diamond’s comfort, and so the interior of the coach was as soft and pleasing to eye and touch and the ride as quiet and smooth as gold could secure.

 ‘Because you saved his son, we are to have every comfort and courtesy,’ Posey said.

 ‘He is generous, indeed,’ Hilly said, ‘and not afraid to shower others with blessing.’

 ‘All the way to the Bridge,’ Posey said, ‘and then to ride with Kingsmen...’ She gave a delicate shudder. ‘They’re so... so Big, Hilly! How ever will I bear it?’

 ‘Bergil will take you on his saddle before him,’ Hilly said, ‘with as much care as if you were his child... though he has none, yet. And I will ride with Denny, unless you prefer the look of Denny to that of Bergil.’

 ‘No children,’ Posey sighed. ‘Poor fellow!’

 ‘He’s not married yet,’ Hilly said to reassure her. ‘He told Pippin that he has an understanding with a lass down in the Southlands, and that he hopes to marry her some time after he returns there... when the King gives him leave so to do, of course.’

 ‘When the King gives him leave?’ Posey asked in amaze. ‘He cannot marry when he will?’ She couldn’t imagine such a thing.

 ‘He is a soldier of the King,’ Hilly said. ‘His first thoughts must be for his duty, and not for a wife or child.’

 ‘Well I never!’ Posey huffed. ‘The next thing you’ll say is that his life is not his own, and he must come and go at the order of the King!’

 ‘Not so different from an escort of the Thain,’ Hilly said calmly. ‘Sometimes the going is not so arduous, however.’ He glanced around the interior of the coach, lifted the lid on one of the baskets, selected from the generous and carefully assembled contents a bunch of grapes grown in the Great Smials’ hothouse, and broke a luscious globe free. He brought it to the mouth of his beloved with a smile, and followed the tempting morsel soon after with a kiss. Luxury, indeed!

***

 ‘I heard you’d not been fishing,’ Hob Hayward said as he set his heavy basket down. ‘Is aught amiss?’

 ‘No,’ Bergil said. ‘All is well! We just thought to give the fish a rest this day.’ Denny nodded his agreement, though he eyed the second basket-bearing hobbit with a worried look.

 ‘Ah then, that’s all right,’ Hob said brightly. ‘We feared you might not have enough to eat, without a catch of fish to tide you over, so we brought extra!’

 ‘Very kind, I’m sure,’ Bergil said firmly.

 ‘Kind indeed,’ Denny said, smiling to hide his dismay.

Though they’d agreed they didn’t need to fish, what with the prodigious supply of food the shirriff or an innkeeper or a farmer brought, renewed daily, Bergil said, ‘So very kind, but I find I miss the exercise and excitement of fishing, so we’ll likely be catching strings of fish again on the morrow. Please don’t bestir yourself to worry on our account.’

 ‘The Missus was most happy to put up two baskets for you gentlemen,’ Hob said. ‘One each, as it were. We can easily keep bringing two, for we don’t want you hungering as you wait. The Thain charged us most solemnly to see to your comfort and feeding!’

 ‘The Thain,’ Bergil said thoughtfully. It would be a fine joke on Pippin’s part to solemnly charge the hobbits with stuffing him like a goose being fattened for the feast. ‘Very kind of him, I’m sure, but truly, with the strings of fish we’ve been catching, one basket of food is plenty!’ As it was, his mail was getting uncomfortably snug. He looked forward to steady meals again—steady, not constant!

 ‘Strings of fish!’ Denny echoed. He did not add that they set each fat fish free after letting the string sit in the water awhile, at least until their daily basket was brought and the bringer got to see the fine, fat fish “intended” for the guardsmen’s supper.

 ‘Well then,’ Hob said, not quite satisfied. ‘I do hope you’ll tell the Thain we didn’t let you starve.’

 ‘I’ll be sure to tell him,’ Bergil said with a firm nod. ‘You can be certain of that!’

***

Estella watched in fascination as Elessar carefully worked through each layer of muscle. Elladan wiped away blood as he held back the edges. The King carefully dealt with the blood vessels encountered, either cauterising each with a rod that stood in a brazier full of coals, or tying the larger vessels off, one by one, with fine strong thread of horsehair, just as a Shire healer might use. Arwen stood by her husband’s side, wiping his face on occasion. For some reason, the King’s forehead was wet with perspiration, though his face remained calm and he kept up a low-voiced but unintelligible—to the watching hobbits, at least—conversation with the sons of Elrond.

 Shards of the Sword that was broken! Elessar was thinking to himself. I’d forgotten just how small these blood vessels are! Long had it been since he’d watched Elrond delving into Frodo’s shoulder and down into his chest; long had it been since he himself had worked over Pippin’s injuries.

Another, Elladan said with a nod, and the King dealt with the bleeder. Then another careful cut and a gleam of white shone amongst the strands of muscle.

 ‘There,’ Elessar said, looking up to meet Estella’s eyes; she’d looked to him when he spoke the word in the language she understood. ‘It is as I thought. Here is bone where there should not be bone.’

 ‘How?’ Samwise asked, craning for a look.

 ‘When the arrow struck, or perhaps when the ruffian twisted it in the wound,’ Pippin said absently, his attention on Merry’s peaceful face. He could not bring himself to look into the wound.

 ‘Pieces of bone were broken off,’ the King agreed, separating muscle from bone with delicate prods of his finger. ‘They commenced to grow in the new places where they found themselves, and trapped his arm so that he could not move it.’

Carefully, Estel, Arwen whispered, seeing the glistening of nerve-fibre. The Road...

 ‘Road,’ Sam said, leaning forward. ‘I know that word! What road?’

 ‘The king in his citadel sends messengers down the Road,’ Pippin said, remembering Elessar’s words as the King explained to Merry why he thought Merry’s hand grew ever more numb and unresponsive. ‘Some messengers gather information and speed northwards, to bring it to the king’s ears. Hot, cold, pain, pleasure...’

 ‘Messengers?’ Sam said, confused.

 ‘Other messengers race from citadel southwards,’ Pippin continued, ‘with the king’s orders for troop movements.’ He gave a shallow cough and added, 'Something pressing against the Road, just as a rock-fall blocks an actual road, can prevent the messengers from doing their duty.'

 ‘The king is what’s inside your head, Samwise,’ Elessar said, not taking his eyes from the painstaking work of his hands, but somehow sensing the good Mayor’s confusion. ‘The troops are the rest of your body, all the parts you use to move, or to feel.’

 ‘Ah,’ Sam said, his furrowed brow smoothing as he considered this thought. ‘And if the road is cut off, like a real road washed out by a flood, the messengers cannot travel between king and troops and gatherers of news...’ He took a shaky breath, not reassured by his new understanding, and awed that this Man should have such knowledge of people’s innards.

There was a small, sickening crack as Elessar broke the offending bone, after which he worked it loose, lifted it from the wound and dropped it on the floor, into a small pool of blood that had trickled down. Pippin never took his eyes from Merry’s face, but Sam swayed a bit at the sight, bumping against Pippin, for he remembered too vividly another pool of blood in another place, another time. Pippin took his arm and held tightly. ‘Steady,’ he whispered.

Estella gasped, and Elrohir turned his eyes on her. ‘All right?’ he said softly.

 ‘I am well,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting it to be so... so...’ Her voice trailed off and she took a deep breath. ‘I know that the badly-healed bone was to be re-broken,’ she said bravely. ‘I just didn’t know how many bones must be broken. Each chip? Each one has grown into an impediment?’

 ‘Each one must be removed,’ Elladan said, pulling the lips of the wound wider in anticipation of Elessar’s further exploration.

 Too much blood, Estella was thinking, but she did not dare voice the thought. Elessar was a healer, after all, and she was not. She knew various uses of healing herbs, and she could press a cloth against a bleeding wound, or stitch a gash, yes, and she could stabilise a limb that awaited a healer to set the bone, but she’d not needed to know much more than that. Perhaps one should expect more bleeding when delving so deep. At the thought she swallowed hard again, breathing shallowly through her mouth. I will not swoon!

Piece by piece the misplaced bone was broken and removed.

Estella did not see anything else, for she had closed her eyes after the first breaking, biting her lip at each succesive painful sound. Elrohir watched her with concern, and when he saw her trembling he took his fingers from Merry’s throat to steady her on her chair.

At last Elessar turned his attention to the bones of the shoulder itself. He ran his fingers gently along the surface, and then... Sam felt a shudder go through Pippin at the last crack, louder than the others, and he pulled free of Pippin's grasp to put an arm around the younger hobbit. He could not quite see what Strider was doing, but the King was frowning more in concentration than worry, he decided.

 ‘Done,’ the King said, satisfaction in his voice. ‘That ought to heal true, and we’ve freed the Road for the messengers once more.’

Chapter 42. Making Progress

Estella straightened and opened her eyes, and Elrohir released her and looked back to his charge. He stiffened and snapped out, ‘Estel!’

Elessar, in the midst of doing up all he’d undone, looked up, his hands freezing in place as he took in Elrohir’s expression.

Too much blood, Elrohir said. You must finish quickly. Elessar nodded, and his fingers, which had already moved swiftly to the watching hobbits’ eyes, now began to fly.

 ‘What is it?’ Estella said anxiously.

Elladan calmly met her gaze. ‘He’s chilled, and we need to get him warm, and pour in fluids to restore what he has lost.’ They didn’t need the hobbits to panic; Merry was in enough trouble as it was, from the look of things. He saw, now that his concentration had been yanked from the wound, the paleness of the hobbit’s skin, the rapid and uneven breathing, and he looked over the pooled blood with new understanding. It was not much, for a Man or Elf, but entirely too much for a being half their size.

Samwise felt another shudder go through Pippin as they watched the flurry of activity that followed Elrohir’s warning. He’d caught the word “blood” and little else, but he looked more closely and was sickeningly reminded of the failed attempt to free Frodo of the splinter from the Morgul blade. Elrond had been delving carefully, pushing by hair-breadths ever deeper, when Aragorn spoke in warning. There had been bare seconds of argument; to Sam’s amazement a look of frustration crossed Elrond’s brow before his face smoothed again and he slowly withdrew his hand, speaking soft words in the Elf-tongue.

 ‘Blood,’ Pippin whispered, yanking Sam back into the present moment. He was nearly as white as his cousin, and breathing as rapidly, as if he were the one who’d lost too much blood.

 ‘Steady,’ Sam said, stiffening his supporting arm. ‘You cannot faint now; you’ll distract them from their business.’

Pippin flashed him a glance, and Sam was relieved to see annoyance come into his eyes, lending him strength. ‘Who said anything about fainting?’ he whispered. ‘I am well.’

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead saying, ‘We ought to get you out of here.’

Pippin took hold of his arm with a surprisingly strong grip. ‘I am not leaving until I see that all is well with my cousin.’ 

 ‘All is as well as it may be,’ Sam said. ‘Look. Strider’s closing up the wound, and no more blood is adding to the pool.’ Unwise, on his part, to refer to that, for Pippin’s eyes moved to the floor and he shuddered before locking his gaze on his cousin’s face once more.

 ‘Done,’ Elessar said again, a note of finality in his tone. Two assistants stepped in to apply a dressing to the stitched wound, and then proceded to bind Merry's arm firmly to his side, while Elessar and Elladan moved to the fountain to scrub the blood from their hands. Elrohir hovered over Merry and as soon as the assistants finished he took up a blanket that had been warming, wrapped the blanket securely around the hobbit and lifted him in his arms.

 ‘We’ll tuck him up warm,’ Elrohir said, pausing a moment to allow Estella to get down from her vantage point. ‘And pour fluids into him.’

 ‘So your brother said,’ Estella replied. ‘How can I help him?’

 ‘You may stay by his side and hold his hand,’ Elrohir said as the two walked from the room. ‘I understand that such is an essential part of hobbit-healing...’

Elessar dried his hands and came to where Pippin sat, for the hobbit’s legs had folded under him as Merry was carried away.

 ‘I don’t like the sound of your breathing,’ the King said candidly, bending to examine Pippin.

 ‘There’s a lot of things I don’t like, myself, but I’m too polite to say anything,’ Pippin retorted, gasping.

 ‘Steady breaths, my friend,’ Elessar said.

 ‘What d’you think I’m trying to do,’ Pippin said in frustration.

 ‘Don’t try to talk,’ Elessar said.

 ‘Hah!’ was all Pippin could manage.

Sam snorted, and when the King looked to him he said, ‘It’s like telling the wind not to blow!’

Elessar lifted Pippin carefully. ‘You’re off to your bed,’ he said, ‘at least until you’re breathing properly once more.’

 ‘Put me down!’ Pippin said, resisting rather more feebly than he wished. A good sound kick, now, that was what was wanted...

 ‘Diamond has a balm...’ Sam put in helpfully.

 ‘Why yes,’ Elessar said. ‘I imagine it’s much the same as what I gave Frodo, to use on his young cousin should he have trouble breathing on the homeward journey. He still suffers some of the old trouble, I take it?’ Though he spoke lightly, he was grieved to think that the old injury from the troll still had its effect; though a man crushed under a troll likely would not have survived at all. We must take such blessings as come to us.

 ‘Some of the old trouble,’ Sam agreed. He wasn’t sure if Elessar was informed of Pippin’s near-fatal bout with the Old Gaffer’s Friend, for Pippin hated a fuss. It was all too likely he’d let Strider think, in previous visits to Gondor, that any trouble of his was due to the old injury and not the compounding damage done by illness.

 ‘You’re not going to disturb Diamond!’ Pippin said.

 ‘She’s rather expecting something of the sort,’ Strider responded, shifting his grip to better hold the wriggling hobbit. It would serve Pippin right to be dropped on his head, but...

 ‘Rather expecting?’ Pippin said in outrage. ‘What have you been telling her?’

 ‘Not what I told her, but rather what she told me,’ Elessar said calmly.

 ‘What she told you!’ Pippin sputtered.

 ‘Tea and gossip; you ought to feel right at home,’ Sam said smugly from where he trotted at the King’s side.

***

 ‘It’s... it’s... lovely!’ little Rob breathed. Jack’s boys lay well-concealed from patrolling guardsmen, gazing at the white towers of the new city by the Lake.

Will smiled and blinked away a tear, hearing an echo of his mother’s voice. She’d often exclaimed in just that way when presented with a frog or beetle or short-stemmed wildflower. He hugged Rob closer. ‘That it is, little brother,’ he said huskily.

 ‘Is it really to be our new home?’ Rob whispered.

Will tousled his head and said, ‘It is! Can you believe it?’

There was a rustling in the underbrush and Jack slipped into their hiding place. ‘Just as I’d hoped,’ he said. ‘There’s a row of shops fronting the market square, just gone up and ready for the shopkeepers! I’ve bought one near the greengrocer’s end of the row. Tonight we’ll sleep with a roof over our heads!’

 ‘A roof!’ Rob said in wonder, and frowned. ‘No more stars?’

 ‘Plenty of stars, and moon, where we’re going,’ Jack said. ‘And if not, well, we can always close up shop and take a tramp in the hills around the Lake, for old times’ sake.’ He drew Rob from Will’s embrace and settled the small boy on his lap as his face took on a serious expression.

 ‘What is it?’ Will said, hitching closer.

 ‘Now that we’re here, we’ve got to seize the future in a firm grasp,’ Jack said. ‘For one thing, we don’t know if the King’s Men will be looking for “Jack” and “Will” and a boy named “Rob”. We don’t know how much the little folk told the Rangers; surely the Thain would have made it his business to see us taken.’

Will nodded soberly. If it had been little Rob, taken by renegade Men, he’d have sworn revenge, for that was the way of things. He shivered, and Jack placed a comforting arm about his shoulders.

 ‘Now,’ Jack said, ‘Soon enough we’ll have new clothes, for that’ll be our first order of business in the City. But before that we’ll put on new names.’

 ‘New names?’ Rob said in wonder.

 ‘That’s right, lad. Now, tell me, is there a name you’d like to wear? One you always wished your folk had chosen?’

Rob shook his head. ‘I’ve always been “Rob”,’ he said in confusion.

 ‘Will’s easy enough,’ Jack said cheerily. ‘We’ll just change the name a little, so you still come when you’re called. I was thinking...’

 ‘But what are we to call you?’ Rob blurted.

Jack was abruptly sober. ‘Well now,’ he said, treading delicately. ‘I’ve been giving that some thought. We’d garner fewer odd looks and speculations if you lads clearly belonged to me. I know I’m not your father, but...’

 ‘You’ve been as good as a father to us, these past months,’ Will said stoutly.

Rob nodded. He scarcely remembered his own father, a laughing giant who’d throw him into the air and catch him again. Jack hadn’t done anything of the sort, but he’d taken the boys with him and fed them and clothed them and held Rob close when nightmares came...

Jack looked directly into Rob’s eyes. ‘If you could make believe I’m your father,’ he said, ‘things would look better in the eyes of our neighbours.’

Rob threw his arms around Jack and he hugged tight. ‘You can be my father,’ he said, ‘if it’s all right with Will, that is.’

Will hesitated a moment, then nodded. ‘I’ll never forget my own father,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think he’d be dishonoured if we took you on.’

 ‘Then I’ll be “Father” to you,’ Jack said, hugging both boys close, and blinking away moisture that seemed to surprise him by its advent.

 ‘And we’ll be your sons,’ Rob said in delight. He liked this new game!

 ‘We’ll be your sons,’ Will said more softly, but he nodded and his arm pressed against Jack’s back as he returned the embrace, fatherless no longer.

Chapter 43. Never Judge a Flask by its Cover

Perhaps the best part of the healing draught, as Estella observed to Diamond about a week later, was that they were able to pour the most disgusting concoctions down a tube into Merry’s throat and he never lost his dreaming smile.

 ‘He doesn’t even allow the cooking of liver when he’s in the Hall,’ she said. ‘Any Brandybuck with a fondness for such meat has to go somewhere else to eat it, an inn, or an outlying smial.’

 ‘We’re making up for all the liver he’s missed in his life,’ Elladan said as he seated the feeding tube so that Merry would not choke on the liver, finely ground and mixed with broth and other strengthening ingredients, about to be bestowed.

Diamond wrinkled her nose at the smell. ‘I admit I never cared for liver, myself, though I eat it.’ 

 ‘It’s good for you!’ Estella said in her best old-auntie voice. ‘Thickens the blood! Have another helping, dearie, do!’

 ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Elladan said, slowly pouring the noisome mess into the funnel at the top of the tube. ‘And plenty more where that came from.’ He gave the hobbity sentiment with a bright smile, adding a chuckle of his own to Estella’s following laughter.

‘He’s looking better already,’ she said, watching closely.

 ‘The healing draught is speeding his recovery,’ Elladan said. ‘His hand is warm, and that’s a good sign.’

 ‘And of course the liver is doing something for him,’ Diamond said. ‘Thickening his blood, or whatever it is that it is supposed to do.’

 ‘Yes,’ Estella said. ‘His colour is much better than it was a few days ago.’

 ‘Perhaps we ought to dose my husband and give him a few courses of liver-broth in his sleep,’ Diamond said thoughtfully. Pippin had left momentarily with a question for Elessar and so he was not there to defend himself.

 ‘Mistress?’ sounded from the doorway, and Diamond looked up to see Hilly hovering.

 ‘Hildibold!’ she cried, rising. ‘You’ve arrived at last!’

 ‘They told me I’d find the Thain here, and yourself, Mistress,’ Hilly said, on his stiffest behaviour in the presence of a stranger—one of the Fair Folk at that! He couldn’t help stealing an awed glance at the son of Elrond, and blushed to find Elladan looking back at him in a friendly manner.

 ‘You’re Hilly,’ Elladan said. ‘Pippin’s told me a great deal about you.’ He shifted his grip on the feeding tube to bow to the hobbit. A hobbit or man would have appeared awkward to bow while managing a feeding tube, but the son of Elrond made it a gesture full of grace. ‘Elladan, son of Elrond, at your service.’

Hilly was more tongue-tied than ever. Son of Elrond! Even he, Tookland-locked Took that he was, knew that august name. Somehow he managed to bow and mutter some sort of answer.

 ‘It’s all right, cousin,’ Diamond said fondly. ‘He doesn’t bite.’

 ‘And if I do, I don’t sink my teeth in very far,’ Elladan said smoothly, turning his attention back to Merry, for he could see how Hilly was disconcerted by his gaze.

 ‘Pony draughts!’ Hilly said. ‘But more fitted to a hobbit’s throat, I see. Just like what we gave Ferdi!’

 ‘You gave Ferdi pony draughts?’ Diamond said. ‘What in the world? Is all well with Pimpernel?’ Surely Pippin’s sister must have been fit to be tied if people had been sticking tubes down her husband’s throat.

 ‘She is now,’ Hilly said. ‘Ferdi’s made a full recovery, for all they gave him up early on.’

 ‘What’re you talking about?’ Pippin demanded from behind him. ‘Gave Ferdi up?’ He took Hilly by the shoulder and swung him partway around in his perturbation.

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly said, standing firm in the Thain’s grasp. ‘Gave him up; and from what I saw he seemed about to gasp his last, but the draught...’

 ‘What draught?’ Pippin said.

 ‘The healing draught, the one that Jack gave me,’ Hilly said. ‘Diamond packed it in her saddle bag and...’

 ‘Why, that’s right!’ Diamond exclaimed, stepping forward.  ‘I’d forgotten that I did. It was in my bag, and my pony was sent back to the Smials when we reached the Cockerel. I’d thought the bags were empty.’

 ‘I brought it with me,’ Hilly said, bringing out the battered flask that he’d secreted safely inside his shirt. ‘Woodruff wanted me to ask the healer-King if he knew what the stuff was, that it should heal a hobbit who was near to death.’

 ‘May I see that?’ Elladan said. He’d withdrawn the tube from Merry’s throat, and wrapping it in a cloth he set it aside.

 ‘Sir?’ Hilly said, looking to Pippin. One of the Fair Folk might be asking, but he answered to the Thain first and foremost.

 ‘It’s all right, Hilly,’ Pippin said, taking his hand from the escort’s shoulder to accept the flask. He carried it to Elladan, who bent to examine it as Pippin held it up.

 ‘May I?’ the son of Elrond said politely.

Pippin nodded and put the flask into the extended hand. Elladan pulled the stopper and sniffed delicately. His face changed as he said, ‘Where did you get this?’

 ‘A Man who blundered into the Shire,’ Pippin said. ‘Hilly, here, had fallen into a bog and was showing signs of lung fever, and the Man dosed him with some of this stuff. It put him to sleep for two days, more...! And when he awakened his lungs were clear, his fever was gone and he was refreshed and had no remaining traces of illness.’

He bent a severe look on the escort. ‘And now you tell me that someone used it on Ferdibrand?’

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly said, ‘Pimpernel herself! The healers had given Ferdi up, for in his case the Old Gaffer's...' he stopped to recall the term Pippin had used, '...the lung fever was advanced and responded to none of their efforts; they were making him as comfortable as possible, but they were waiting for his death.’

 ‘Someone must have put her up to it,’ Pippin said sternly.

Hilly sighed and his eyes sought his feet. ‘I did,’ he admitted, but then looking up he added, ‘I tried to make them see reason, Pippin; I tried... they wouldn’t listen, Woodruff wouldn’t, nor Fennel, and I knew none of Woodruff’s other assistants would listen if she wouldn't. I went to Mardi, and he said he’d try, and while he was arguing with Woodruff Nell heard and took the flask and coaxed it into Ferdi before the healers could stir foot...’

 ‘A story I think I’d like to hear at length, over a glass or three of ale,’ Pippin said, ‘but that will suffice for the moment. What is it, Elladan?’

The son of Elrond had taken his knife from his belt and was carefully applying it to the weathered leather covering the flask. As the leather fell away the hobbits gasped, for under the rough covering was a silver sheen as if light itself resided there.

 ‘Mithril,’ Pippin whispered.

 ‘Yes,’ Elladan said quietly. He held the revealed flask, a thing of beauty with intricate patterns worked into the metal, with reverence and not a little awe.

 ‘What is it, Elladan?’ Pippin said again, but the son of Elrond was tracing the runes worked into the design and did not seem to hear him.

Elladan straightened abruptly and bowed to the hobbits. ‘If you will excuse me,’ he said, and taking up the feeding tube and cup that had held the liver-broth he left the room.

Chapter 44. Questions and Answers

If the hobbits expected to learn about the mithril flask, they were to be disappointed over the ensuing week. Merry was perhaps the only one not consumed by curiosity, and that because he remained in the healing sleep. Elladan and Elrohir had plenty of questions, but they weren’t answering any.

Diamond was asked to tell all she remembered of Jack, as was Hilly (though he proved too shy, in the face of the Fair Folk, for them to get much out of him—in the end Pippin had to question him and carry the answers back to the children of Elrond, though they wouldn’t tell him what they were about, either). Arwen even took little Faramir on her lap and plied him with sweets as she casually chatted about little Rob, Will... and Jack.

Towards the end of the week, curiosity was eclipsed by growing excitement: Merry was to be awakening soon! A feast was planned to welcome him back to the world. (“We ought to include platters of liver,” Pippin joked.) Better yet, Elessar had told Pippin when that hobbit’s questions grew too pressing, the mystery of the mithril flask would be revealed at the feast.

 ‘You wouldn’t want Merry to miss it,’ Pippin said later, as he was chatting with Hilly. Posey had gone off to the market square with the other hobbit wives.

 ‘You’re taking their side?’ Hilly retorted. ‘After they’ve badgered me no end, and made my life miserable? I’ve had half a mind to return to Tookland!’ 

 ‘They asked you a handful of questions, none of which you answered,’ Pippin said. ‘Elladan told me you wouldn’t even meet his eyes. Have you something to hide?’

 ‘No—yes—no,’ Hilly said, turning away.

 ‘Hilly,’ Pippin said more softly, placing a hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

 ‘I cannot face them, Pippin,’ Hilly said. ‘Their eyes, so wise, so—so—knowing, somehow. As if they know what’s going on inside of me, and judging it, and weighing me and finding me wanting.’

 ‘I know the feeling,’ Pippin said softly. ‘I felt it first in Lothlorien. It was as if the Lady Galadriel offered me peace and safety, and all I had to do was abandon the Quest... abandon Frodo. All the reasons why I should do so were there, passing before my eyes. It would have been so easy, and yet... somehow I knew I could never take that step away. I could never live with myself, after.’

Hilly remained silent. Pippin squeezed the stiff shoulder.

 ‘They know all right, Hilly.’ His cousin shuddered, and he held tighter. ‘They know that you find yourself wanting. You never quite measure up, in your own eyes, and that is what they see.’

 ‘It’s not true,’ Hilly protested in a whisper.

 ‘O’ course it’s true,’ Pippin said. ‘You measure yourself against Mardi, against Tolly, against Ferdi... never against “Hilly”. You don’t give yourself credit for what you do do...’

 ‘You’re not making sense,’ Hilly said, but his heart wasn’t in it.

 ‘And when you do look at your own feats, you’re always picking fault... what you might have done differently... what you might have done better.’

 ‘And if I do—what’s the terrible wrong in wanting to do my best?’ Hilly said, half-turning.

 ‘Naught,’ Pippin said. ‘You always do your best, Hilly. I can count on that. Just do me a favour, will you, cousin?’

 ‘What favour?’ Hilly said, finally meeting Pippin’s eyes.

 ‘Give yourself some credit, Hilly,’ Pippin said. ‘It’s hard to be the youngest in a family, always looking up at the others. But some day you have to realise, you’re all grown up and you have to stand on your own feet. You cannot be measuring yourself against the older ones any longer. You’re a hobbit in your own right.’

 ‘You’re not making sense,’ Hilly said again.

Pippin clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You think on it,’ he said, ‘and when you start seeing “Hilly” for his own sake, and not as Tolly’s younger brother, you’ll be able to look the Fair Folk in the eye and hold your head up with the rest of us.’

***

At last the great day came. Merry opened his eyes, to find Estella gazing into his face. ‘What?’ he said. ‘When will they begin?’

 ‘When will they begin what, beloved?’ Estella answered, bringing his hand to her lips.

 ‘Why, Strider said I’d sleep and then they’d bear me to the room where they’d see what they could do, but truth be told, my love, I don’t feel the least bit sleepy.’

Estella laughed in surprise. ‘It’s all and done, beloved,’ she said. ‘You slept, and they did... what they did, and you’ve been in a healing sleep for two weeks now.’

 ‘Not possible,’ Merry said. ‘Are you having me on?’

A shadow crossed Estella’s face as she said anxiously, ‘Merry, beloved, are you still in such pain?’

Merry grew thoughtful. ‘No, as a matter of fact,’ he said slowly. ‘You have the right of it, my love. The pain is... why, it’s nearly gone!’ He closed his right hand into a loose fist and opened it again. ‘I can move my fingers! I can feel them—they’re not numb and tingly!’ A great smile spread over his face.

 ‘And your shoulder?’ Estella said. ‘No,’ she added belatedly, ‘Don’t try to move it.’

Merry had winced, and now he took a shaky breath. ‘The shoulder, yes,’ he said, ‘it is painful, but a different sort of pain than it was. I don’t know how to explain.’

 ‘A healing pain, I think, rather than a crippling one,’ Elessar said from the doorway, where he’d hovered through Merry’s wakening. ‘A sort of stretching pain—you’ll have more of that as we accustom the arm and shoulder to motion again. But at the moment it’s firmly bound, and bound it will stay. How do you feel?’

 ‘Hungry!’ Merry said at once. ‘I haven’t eaten in two weeks?’

 ‘O you’ve eaten!’ Estella said, convulsed with laughter.

Merry looked at her, puzzled, before his face cleared. ‘Ah yes,’ he said, ‘I remember. Elladan explained that there were ways of feeding a sleeping patient.’

 ‘Hilly Took calls them “pony draughts”,’ Estella said.

Merry laughed. ‘Pony draughts!’ he said. ‘The very word!’

 ‘There’s a grand sound!’ Pippin said, entering the room. ‘Bless me, Merry, but it’s good to see you awake!’ He’d wanted to be there from the beginning, of course, but the healers had explained that a slow and quiet awakening was the best course, and so he’d hovered in the hallway behind the King until Elessar had waved a hand behind his back to signal Pippin to enter.

 ‘Did you miss me?’ Merry said.

 ‘Not much—well, perhaps a little, but really, it is time for you to get up out of the bed. The feast is laid, and the smells of roasting meats and baking breads have been driving us to distraction half the morning!’

 ‘We cannot have you driven to distraction,’ Merry said. ‘Where are my clothes?’

With Estella’s help, and Pippin’s, he was soon dressed. Elessar watched closely as they helped him to his feet.

 ‘How strange,’ Merry commented.

 ‘Strange?’ the King asked.

 ‘I expected to be weak and dizzy, after two weeks abed, but I feel remarkably strong and well,’ Merry said.

 ‘Must be all the liver,’ Pippin said. ‘Made your blood thick and gave you strength.’

 ‘Liver?’ Merry said in horror. ‘You fed me liver unawares? You're not serious!’

 ‘If you say so,’ Pippin answered serenely. ‘In any event, they used up all the liver that was to be had, while you were sleeping, for you seemed to like it and so they poured more and more of it down your throat. I’m happy to report there will be no liver at the feast.’

Merry put a hand to his throat and swallowed cautiously. ‘Thank goodness the taste doesn’t linger,’ he said.

 ‘I could send out for some liver, if you miss the taste,’ Elessar said helpfully. ‘There might be some to be found in the market square.’

 ‘Very kind of you, I’m sure, Strider,’ Merry said, ‘but don’t go to any trouble on my account.’

 ‘It would be no trouble,’ the King said with a twinkle in his eye.

 ‘Really,’ Merry said emphatically. ‘It would be much too much trouble, Strider!’

 ‘As you wish,’ the King said with a bow.

Chapter 45. Something to Remember Him By

The hobbits buzzed expectantly as they waited in the banqueting hall. At Merry’s entrance, flanked by Estella and Pippin, they rose with cheers and applause.

Though his arm was firmly bound to his side, Merry still managed a creditable bow. ‘Really, cousin, what has been going on while I’ve been sleeping? Easiest accolades I’ve ever earned, I think.’

 ‘Undoubtedly,’ Pippin replied. ‘We’ll have to put you to a great deal more trouble in future, to make up for it.’

All rose and bowed to the King, following with a broad smile on his face. He took his place beside Arwen, and all sat down again.

Arwen’s plans for this room had been ingenious, really. Steps led up to a platform that ran along one side of the high table, and another that ran along one side of one of the lower tables, so that hobbit-sized chairs could be used, to the comfort of guests. To keep an unwary hobbit from pushing his chair back and over the edge, sturdy railings ran round all the edges.

 ‘Well,’ Merry said, taking his seat opposite Arwen. ‘You must be expecting a great deal of hobbit company!’

 ‘I do hope you won’t disappoint us,’ Arwen said, smiling.

 ‘Your least wish is my greatest desire,’ Pippin said, rising from his chair to bow. Turning to Diamond, he said, ‘Do you hear, my dear? It is my duty, as Knight of Gondor in service to the King, to attend my lord when he is in residence at the Lake!’

 ‘Well, a good part of the time, anyhow,’ Diamond said. ‘If you stay away too long, Regi’s likely to send a party of Tooks to seize you by force and carry you home.’

 ‘But I had thought hobbits a peaceable lot,’ one of the nobles commented from further down the table.

 ‘As a whole we are,’ Merry answered. ‘The Tooks, however, pride themselves on confounding the expectations of others.’

 ‘They’re contrary, in other words,’ Pippin said in a satisfied tone. ‘Which is how they managed to keep Men out of Tookland without much killing, though the ruffians were larger and stronger and not bound by such niceties.’

 ‘Most hobbits are peaceable,’ Diamond said smoothly. ‘They live quiet lives, happy in their farms or shops, satisfied with the lot they’ve been given...’

 ‘Perishing dull,’ Pippin said. ‘But then, they make the Shire what it is. A haven of green and peace.’

 ‘Thanks in part to Samwise, here!’ Merry said, with a nod for the Mayor. ‘The Shire wasn’t very green at all when we got back from the Southlands... but he went all about, planting and blessing the seeds...’

 ‘Wasn’t all my doing,’ Sam said placidly. ‘The Lady's gift had a great deal to do with it, and when I ran out of dust... A little sun, a little rain, and seeds will do as they ought without much help on my part.’

It was a grand feast, all told, with course after course of carefully prepared food, not even marred by the fact that Estella cut up Merry’s meat for him. After all, she’d been doing such for months—and now had the hope that he’d be cutting his own soon enough.

After the final sweet course, while the servants were laying platters of cheese and sweet and savoury biscuits for “filling up the corners”, together with pouring out a suitable wine, Pippin turned to Elladan. ‘Well now,’ he said, ‘you’ve badgered us all with more questions than a curious hobbit might ask, and put off our own questions until we’re likely to burst from curiosity.’

 ‘And not from all you’ve et?’ the old soldier-turned-courtier said genially. Several of the other nobles at the table were scandalised, but the hobbits only laughed.

 ‘Never!’ Pippin said sturdily. ‘Why, this would be considered a light luncheon back home. Still, we’ll muddle through without too much trouble, if the cooks will kindly supply a proper tea in an hour or two, and then an eventide meal, and a following late supper, as they have done.’

 ‘And don’t neglect the bedtime tray of bits and nibbles,’ Arwen said, ‘for I arranged it most especially!’

 ‘Most hospitable,’ Pippin returned with another bow and a twinkle in his eye, but he would not be deflected from his questioning. ‘Now, Elladan, put us out of our misery.’ He turned to the other son of Elrond, sitting beside his brother. ‘Elrohir? You’ve been remarkably quiet through this fine meal!’

 ‘The better to appreciate the tastes and textures,’ Elrohir said, ‘as you hobbits are so fond of saying. Bilbo taught us never to ask him a question when he was in mid-bite, and he was usually careful to extend the same courtesy to us as well, for all his long years in Rivendell.’ He exchanged glances with Elladan, looked to Arwen and Elessar, received their nods, and looked back to meet the bright and curious eyes of the hobbits. ‘Very well,’ he said.

 ‘Very well... what?’ Pippin said.

 ‘All in good time,’ Elrohir said. ‘After all, a great deal of time is involved in the story of the flask.’

 ‘And more time in the telling, it seems,’ irrepressible Pippin said. Merry shot him a quelling look and he laughed. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘I’ll be good as gold, if you’ll only begin the telling!’

Elrohir reached into a silken bag that hung from his belt, bringing out the mithril flask, still shining as bright as if it had been minted that day. He reached a long arm to set it on the table between Elessar and Arwen. ‘Here you see before you,’ he said, ‘an heirloom of my father’s house.’

A gasp arose from the hobbits, and Diamond whispered, ‘How ever did a wandering Man come to possess such?’

 ‘You’ll wonder more when you’ve heard the story,’ Elladan said gravely, and looked back to his brother.

 ‘Long years ago, long years,’ Elrohir said slowly, and his look grew far away as if the long years were not so very long, after all, but a breath away. ‘Many lifetimes of hobbits and Men, at least...’

Pippin opened his mouth, but Diamond nudged him and he closed it again, settling himself to listen without further interruption.

 ‘You know how the Dark Lord was vanquished at the last, thrown down, his Dark Tower destroyed,’ Elrohir continued, after a pause. He looked directly at Pippin. ‘You were there, of course.’

Pippin nodded. The courtier-soldier was nodding as well; he’d been there at the last stand before the Black Gate, not far from where Pippin and Beregond stood, and it went without saying that Elessar had been there, along with the sons of Elrond.

 ‘You know the tale of the Ring, from the start to the finish,’ Elrohir said, and the Travellers nodded, though Hilly and Posey weren’t completely sure what was being said. They’d heard bits and pieces from Pippin, and through the Talk of the Tooks, but an entire tale, from start to finish? It would be some years yet, before the Travellers resolved to set aside their private nightmares and tell the whole of the tale, that the Shire-folk might know all that had been suffered, all that had been sacrificed, on their behalf.

 ‘The army that you were a part of,’ Elrohir said, ‘that Army of the West was a mere echo of the vast army that marched out in a previous age. A great alliance of Elves and Men: the Last Alliance.’

He paused to take a sip of his wine, and Elladan took up the tale.

 ‘Names that are just fading marks in history books, now,’ he said. ‘Elendil, Isildur, Gil-galad.’ Sam straightened at the latter name, thinking of a night beneath the stone trolls, when he stayed steadfast at Frodo’s side and never imagined himself anywhere else.

 ‘Elrond,’ Arwen said softly.

 ‘He was Gil-galad’s Herald,’ Merry said. ‘I remember.’

 ‘At the end of a long siege, Sauron stood at bay upon the slopes of Orodruin,’ Elladan said. ‘Gil-galad and Elendil stood against him, while the rest quailed in the face of his terrible power and malice. Isildur fell to his knees at his father’s side while Elendil held his shield to cover them both from the Dark Lord’s gaze, and Elrond and Cirdan alone stood by the Elven-king as the others fell away... The Dark Lord reached out in his fury; Elendil could not stand against him, and Gil-galad...’ Eyes wide, he stared into some dark vision, his breath ragged and shallow.

 ‘Gil-galad fell, mortally wounded,’ Elrohir breathed, ‘and Elrond fell to his knees beside him, a cry of grief on his lips. He had no thought but to fumble for his flask, the healing elixir he carried, but there was no remedy to stay the High-king’s departure...’ His eyes were dark with grief.

 ‘And then Isildur, with a cry, snatched his father’s shattered sword from the ground...’ Elessar said quietly. ‘He struck the Dark Lord, cut the Ring from his hand, and victory was within his grasp.’

 ‘Cirdan pulled at our father, seeing that Gil-galad was past all healing, and seeing the Ring in Isildur’s hand,’ Elladan said. ‘Father rose, forgetting the elixir, to join Cirdan in arguing with Isildur. He must destroy the Ring, put an end to it there! ...but you know the rest.’

 ‘He dropped the flask,’ Estella breathed, her eyes going to the shining thing. ‘But how...?’

 'How do you know it's the same flask?' Merry asked curiously.

 'He had another made, when he returned to Imladris, in the image of this one,' Elrohir answered.

Arwen picked up the flask and pointed to a part of the elvish writing. 'This is his name,' she said quietly. Her fingers caressed the runes before she put the flask down again, with as much care as if it were of blown glass.

 'But how would it come from the slopes of Orodruin to a Man wandering in the North-lands?' Pippin said.

 ‘I doubt even Jack could tell us,’ Diamond said quietly. ‘All those lifetimes ago. Perhaps a soldier picked it up, as they bore the wounded and dead from the field.’

Hilly shot her an astonished look. What did she know about such things?

Pippin squeezed his wife’s hand, and said, ‘Aye, picked it up, covered with mud or ash, not knowing what he had, perhaps intending to return it to Elrond, even, but then in the bustle...’

 ‘We’ll never know, most likely,’ Arwen said.

 ‘It probably passed from hand to hand, over the years, whether honourably or dishonourably,’ Elessar said.

 ‘Jack was a gambler,’ Diamond said. ‘He told me he’d won the rope on a throw of the dice.’ The others nodded, remembering the elven-rope of her story. Hilly unconsciously rubbed one wrist. ‘Likely he won the flask the same way. Someone had fashioned a cover of leather for it, along the way, and no one knew its value anymore.’

She looked to Hilly. ‘He knew it only as a sleeping draught,’ she said. ‘He told me a tiny sip would bring a deep and healing sleep. He kept it in case of injury, a broken bone needing to be set or something of that sort, but he told me he’d only used it once before in all the time he’d carried it.’

 ‘It is a wondrous draught,’ Hilly said, forgetting his shyness of the Fair Folk. ‘It healed Ferdibrand, when he was near death!’

 ‘The same draught healed Frodo and Samwise, in Cormallen,’ Elrohir said, ‘and it is the same as you had, yourself, Merry.’

 ‘Woodruff would like to put in a good supply of the stuff,’ Hilly said with an emphatic nod, and then suddenly recalling whom he addressed, he flushed and fixed his eyes on his plate once more.

 ‘I would that we could oblige her,’ Elladan said, ‘but the elixir is not that plentiful, I fear. It is made from the nectar of a flower that grows only in the Hidden Valley of Imladris, and it takes more than the lifetime of a hobbit to fill such a small flask as the one you see here.’

Hilly looked up at this, gasping at the thought of the years that must have gone into the small swallow he’d had. ‘And Jack never knew what he carried...’ he whispered.

Merry, too, looked unusually sober. ‘And you spent a reckless amount of the stuff on me,’ he said. ‘My thanks, Strider.’

 ‘And thanks to you, Hilly, for returning this treasure,’ Arwen said, taking up the flask. ‘I wish my father were here to see it... but somehow, it’s like having a piece of him, here.’ She fumbled for the words she desired, but tears filled her eyes and she who always had the right words did not know quite what to say.

 ‘Something to remember him by,’ Sam said quietly, and Merry and Pippin nodded in complete understanding, thinking of a white sail disappearing over the horizon.

Chapter 46. Making Merry

The days grew longer and brighter, filled brim-ful from dawning—which came earlier each day—to bedtime. Bergil or young Denethor were assigned to watch over the little hobbits while their elders were occupied. The Travellers, after all, were also Counsellors to the King, and so much time was spent in discussion and planning, while Arwen consulted with the hobbit wives, ever refining her knowledge of creating comfort for Halfling visitors.

 ‘You’ll be getting as bad as those Rider-folk,’ Estella scolded as she relaxed over tea with Diamond and Arwen in her guest apartments. The hobbits sat at table, the Queen upon the floor, taking delicate sips from the small teacups. ‘Souls of hospitality, they are.’

 ‘Even one of the Fair Folk would grow old, staying as long as they urge you to stay,’ Arwen said with a smile. ‘This festival or that celebration...’

 ‘...or this race or that foal about to be born,’ Estella agreed, while Diamond laughed.

 ‘I suppose I ought to be grateful that my husband is a knight of Gondor and not of Rohan,’ she said. ‘At least the King and Queen of Gondor will dislodge us from our comfortable quarters and send us off home again when they tire of us!’

 ‘Not when we tire, my dear,’ Arwen said, accepting the re-filling of her cup. She much preferred to drink from a hobbit-sized cup, for then the half-dozen cupfuls that comprised a hobbity teatime were not so likely to make her feel as if she’d float away before all was drunk and done. ‘Why, we’d never tire, I fear, and should be tempted to keep you with us forever. Before he visits, however, Pippin always sends a letter to set out the dates of his visit, to ensure that we’ll pry him loose when it’s time to go.’

 ‘Clever husband of mine,’ Diamond said. ‘If he ever forgets to set a departure date, I fear he might never return from Gondor again!’

 ‘And the same with my husband, and Rohan!’ Estella agreed. ‘Why, they belong as much to the South as the North now!’

 ‘As does my husband,’ Arwen said, and they toasted with their teacups.

Samwise alone of the three remaining Travellers remained solidly entrenched in the North. King and Queen had not yet been able to persuade him to make the long trip to Gondor, not even with his family, though not for want of trying. The journey to the Lake had been a great concession.

Perhaps his caution was justified. After all, the first haying was underway in the Shire, and he’d made no preparations yet for leaving. Must’ve meant he’d stay until the second haying, Pippin muttered to Merry.

Either that or he’s become trapped in the same hospitable spiders’ webs as we, Merry replied under his breath.

Pippin smiled. He’d given Strider a firm date for his departure, and secure in this knowledge, he could throw himself into the work of discussion and planning, and the play of diversion and delight, without reservation.

***

Though they could have been waited on hand and foot, the Mayor and his wife were wise in the ways of raising young hobbits. They kept to a daily routine that was as close as possible to what they kept at home. No servants lit the fires, made the beds, swept the floors, beat the rugs, or dusted the furniture. The little Gamgees did all that with their mother. True, there were no chickens to feed, no cow to milk, no need to churn butter, no garden to weed... Sam soon made up for the latter difficulty by seeking out the head gardener. Not long after their arrival, Samwise and his sons spent a few hours each day in the palace gardens, pulling weeds, planting seeds, coaxing young plants that would bear glorious blooms later in the summer.

 ‘Though we won’t see them,’ Pip-lad muttered to Merry-lad. ‘Not if we leave at haying-time.’

Samwise, overhearing, said, ‘Sometimes the most meaningful work is for the reward we’ll never see.’

 ‘I don’t understand, Dad,’ Pip-lad said, screwing up his little face in puzzlement.

 ‘I think I do,’ Frodo-lad said low, and he tenderly brushed the dirt from the root ball of a plant started in the hot-house in a colder month, and now ready to transplant in the warming soil.

Sam smiled at Mister Frodo’s namesake and blinked away a tear. How he wished his master could see this grand new city, rising by the Lake, white marble and pink granite carved into majesty by the Dwarves, and gardens planted by Elves and humbler gardeners, and people, fine and noble, smiling and kind, the souls of hospitality.

Frodo-lad looked up then, squinting against the bright morning light. ‘What did you say, Dad?’ he asked.

 ‘Nothing,’ Sam said, ‘Er, I meant to say, you’re doing a fine job there, lad.’

 ‘Ah,’ Frodo said with a pleased blush, looking at once to the next plant that awaited his gentle touch.

***

While her brothers gardened, Elanor attended the Queen. It was not arduous duty; indeed, it often seemed more play than work, for much of her duty involved listening to the Queen’s stories until she could repeat them back, word-for-word. There was also sewing, and singing, and playing with the little princess and sometimes young Faramir, when both his parents were occupied, none of these arduous tasks.

Not that the young Gamgees worked all the day long, for “all work and no play”, as the proverb goes, even amongst the Shire-folk, means that the day ought to be balanced between productive endeavour and rest.

There were picnics and pony rides, fishing at the shore, dancing in the sunshine, lying upon the grass to tell stories about the cloud-pictures, tea with the Queen, excursions to the old ruins with the King, all manner of activity, too much, really, to recount without filling a score of books!

Always there were Big Folk with the hobbits, until they grew so used to having Bergil or Denny or other guardsmen with them that they wondered how it would be, in the Shire, to be amongst only hobbit-sized folk once more. The sight of a Man no longer gave them pause, and the tiniest Gamgee would often seek out a Large lap when troubled or weary, resting comfortably against a fine surcoat woven of softest black-dyed wool, tracing with wondering little fingers the White Tree broidered there.

Merry even went out with the King in a boat, far out onto the Lake, farther, even, than Pippin was willing to go. In the mists of the early morning, they’d sit talking. Merry would bait the hook, for it was good exercise for his fingers, and Strider would cast the line out and move the hook-and-worm through the still waters in a series of jerks, until a fish would strike the line and he’d bring it in. Merry would be ready with the net, and then it would be time to bait the hook again. ‘Fried fish for breakfast!’ he’d whisper with a grin, and the King would give an answering grin.

Sometimes there were other boats upon the water. Several times they came close to one, the lone occupant raising a hand in silent salute, answered by the King in similar manner.

 ‘Who is he?’ Merry asked.

 ‘A soldier of Gondor,’ Strider said. ‘A hermit—he lives alone, and likes it that way. He catches fish, smokes them, and occasionally brings them to the City to trade for anything he cannot raise in his garden or catch in the woods.’

 ‘He looks half-mad,’ Merry said with a shiver, looking at the long, tangled locks.

 ‘He’s not, really,’ Strider said, sitting back and laying down his line to take up the oars. ‘No fish in this spot, it seems.’ He stroked the boat smoothly away from the hermit. ‘We’ve talked a few times. His eyes are shadowed with the knowledge of the past, and he came to the Lake when the land was still wild and empty, to find healing. I’ve given him leave to hunt and fish.’

 ‘You ought to introduce us some time,’ Merry said. ‘I don’t think one can find healing in solitude. What about love? What about song and laughter?’

 ‘He could use a few hobbits in his life,’ Strider agreed, ‘and perhaps some day he’ll be ready for such a meeting. When last we talked, however, he warned me off of bringing my “son” to visit him...’

 ‘Your son?’ Merry asked in astonishment. ‘You don’t have a son!’

 ‘He meant you, I’m sure,’ the King said. ‘Seeing you in the morning mist, fishing with me...’

 Merry’s laughter was tempered with sorrow. ‘Son or not, he won’t allow you to bring another to meet him?’ He was struck by another thought, crowding upon the last. ‘And... everyone knows the King has no son, not yet anyhow, but a little daughter. ...He doesn’t know you’re King?’

 ‘It doesn’t seem to matter,’ Strider said with a shrug. ‘I wander into his clearing, we sit in the dust together, he offers me a haunch of whatever is roasting over his fire. We might talk of the Lake, or the weather, or more often, just sit in silence together. It’s healing.’

 ‘I’m sure it is,’ Merry said. ‘Rather like getting away. No one making demands on you, no disputes to settle, no decisions to make.’

 ‘Rather like getting away from the Hall for a summer of rest and recovering, I’d imagine,’ the King said.

 ‘Indeed,’ Merry said. ‘Why, I haven’t found anything to worry about in a week, or even longer!’

 ‘Perhaps you ought to stay,’ Strider said with a chuckle.

Merry shook a finger at him, and to his satisfaction he felt only the merest twinge in his shoulder. ‘Don’t you go taking any pages out of Eomer’s book!’ he warned. ‘But it has been good to have a long holiday, and even Pippin’s looking so much better.’

 ‘Quite wearing for him, being Thain,’ Strider said, a question in his voice. ‘And I see his old wounds still trouble him.’

Merry was silent a moment, weighing, perhaps, a promise made to one against the honest concern of another. ‘They do,’ he said at last.

 ‘We’ll let it stand there for the nonce,’ Strider said after the silence stretched out for several more moments. ‘But I’m nearly as good at finding things out as that cousin of yours, Merry.’

 ‘I’m sure you are,’ Merry said, and then, ‘Are we going to fish, or are you going to row us all the way round the Lake and back again?’

***

At last Hilly was able to persuade Posey to undergo examination by the healers amongst the Big Folk. He held her hand through it all, and with great difficulty held his tongue as they poked and pried where, truth be told, they really oughtn’t, at least in his opinion. Posey was brave through it all, though her breath came short and at one point she bit her lip until it bled. This was so very different from the midwife she trusted, and the hobbit healers of the Great Smials!

An overlarge hand gently dabbed at the hobbit’s bleeding lip, and Hilly’s breath came short, now, as Elladan bent over Posey, but the son of Elrond had eyes only for the trembling hobbit mum. Looking into his eyes as Elladan crooned a song in a tongue the hobbits did not know, Posey calmed, and her expression grew dreamy. Her desperate grip on Hilly’s hand eased, and she sighed.

 ‘There now, lass,’ Hilly said, and he kept his eyes fixed on her face for the remainder of the ordeal. At last the healers were finished, a blanket was drawn up, Elladan’s song changed and Hilly felt his head jerk. He shook his head, blinking, and saw that Posey’s eyes were closed now, and she slept.

At last Elladan’s song ended, and he said, ‘It might have been better for her to sleep through it all, though we needed the answers she gave us to our questions...’

 ‘Then it was better she was awake,’ Hilly said, and with an effort he forced himself to meet Elladan’s eyes. They were filled with sympathy, and was that understanding? He dropped his eyes again, unnerved by Elladan’s regard. ‘You have all you need?’

 ‘We have all we need,’ the son of Elrond said gently. ‘Why don’t you stretch out beside Posey and have a rest yourself? It’s late.’

Hilly nodded, but he didn’t move until the son of Elrond rose and went to the doorway.

Elrohir found his brother some time later, sitting in a darkened corner of the Great Hall, well on his way through a bottle of strong spirits.

He sat down, regarding Elladan with a frown. ‘What is the occasion?’ he said.

 ‘ ‘Tis a short life, so let’s make it a Merry one,’ Elladan said, raising his glass. ‘So I’ve heard Pippin say, toasting his cousin.’

 ‘And Merry always laughs,’ Elrohir said. ‘Though I must admit the point evades me.’

 ‘And some lives are shorter than others,’ Elladan said with a sigh. ‘He knows.’

 ‘You told him?’ Elrohir said.

 ‘I didn’t have to tell him,’ Elladan said. ‘Haven’t you seen how it is? When he’s not called upon to attend Pippin, he’s always by her side. They’re always touching, did you notice? When they walk, they hold hands. When they sit at a feast, she leans against him, or his arm is about her. I wish...’ He did not finish the sentiment, but drained his glass and picked up the bottle to pour out again.

 ‘Pour me one of those, will you, brother?’ Elrohir said, pulling another chair up to the table.

Elladan obliged, and they brought their glasses together with a soft clink.

 ‘May it be a Merry one,’ Elrohir said. Elladan nodded, and the brothers drank.
 

Chapter 47. Life and Death and Somewhere Between
 
Elanor didn’t bounce out of bed as usual, and when she did sit up and stretch, roused by the chatter of her brothers and sisters, her nose seemed to fill suddenly with sniffles, and the next thing she knew... Ah-tchoo!

Her mother straightened abruptly from thrusting Pip-lad’s shirt buttons through his buttonholes. She shooed the younger Gamgees from the childrens’ bedroom, little Daisy in young Rose’s arms and baby Primrose in Merry-lad’s, telling them to join their father at the breakfast table. ‘Ellie?’ she said, hurrying to the bedside to brush her eldest daughter’s forehead with her lips. ‘No fever,’ she muttered.

 ‘I’m well, Mum,’ Elanor protested, but her voice sounded strange to her own ears, rather fuddled, and she sniffed.

 ‘Use a pocket-handkerchief for that!’ Rose reminded automatically, pulling the required item from one of the capacious pockets of her morning-apron and thrusting it at her daughter. ‘Well, Ellie, it seems you’ve come down with a cold in the head!’

 ‘It’s naught but a few sneezles!’ Elanor protested. ‘I feel right as rain, really I do, Mum!’

 ‘Nonetheless, you’ll stay abed today, and not attend the Queen,’ Rose said decidedly.

 ‘But Mum!’ Elanor wailed.

 ‘Ellie!’ Rose said in shock. ‘What are you about, child?’

Elanor took a deep breath, surprised at herself. ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she said meekly. ‘I didn’t mean to contradict, really I didn’t. It’s only that Queen Arwen told me that she hardly knew how she’d get along without me, seeing as how it’s already haying-time and we might be up and leaving any time...’

 ‘Well, she’ll have to get along somehow,’ Rose said, still huffy, ‘for I know as I cannot spare you, child, and I certainly won’t be leaving you behind when we return... but honestly, you cannot attend the Queen with Sneezles! Why, you might pass your cold on to the little princess, or worse...’

 ‘Worse?’ Elanor said, wondering. Could Queen Arwen catch a cold? It seemed beneath her, somehow.

 ‘Worse,’ Rose said grimly. ‘If young Faramir Took were to catch your cold, and pass it on to his father...’

Elanor opened her mouth and closed it again immediately as she remembered a cryptic comment or two, casually overheard.

 ‘Mum, what did Dad mean, when he said a good cold could carry off the Thain?’ she said in puzzlement. How could there be a “good” cold? And how could anything pick up tall Thain Peregrin, much less carry him?

Her mother’s reaction was even more puzzling; Rose jumped as if stung and then briskly plumped Elanor’s pillow before pulling the coverlet up to her chin. ‘Now,’ the hobbit mum said, ‘you just rest here—mind you use that handkerchief!—and I’ll see about bringing you some breakfast on a tray. You’ll spend the day in bed, and likely be as right as rain in the morning!’ She bustled from the room.

Elanor wanted to ask what made rain “right”, but she knew her mother would make short work of such nonsense, though when the Thain asked such a question, as he was always doing, her mother would simply smile and shake her head, saying, “Now, then...”

The teen caught her breath in sudden understanding, and tears came to her eyes. She found it necessary to blow her nose more vigorously than before.

 ‘I hope you’re making good use of that handkerchief!’ Rose called from the sitting room.

Elanor gulped, blinked, dabbed at her eyes and found her voice, froggy though it might be. ‘I am, Mum!’ she called back.

***

Posey brushed her husband’s forehead with her lips. She’d sat for some time, watching Hilly sleep, lost in her thoughts.  O the healers hadn’t said, in so many words... but it was more what they didn’t say, now, wasn’t it? She’d had her share of dealing with healers over the years: her father-in-love, and Hilly’s eldest brother Mardi, and Healer Woodruff, even before Woodruff became head healer at the Great Smials, and certainly afterwards.

She had taken her turns as watcher by the bedside of sick or injured hobbits, heard the whispered consultations, come to know the healers’ private language and how they always turned a smiling face to the families, always, though the smile be tinged with sympathy and seasoned with tears, hastily dashed away before a loved one’s entrance.

Truth be told, she didn’t feel all that terrible. A little tired, perhaps, with a nagging weariness that was never quite satisfied with sleep. But then, she’d gone so very long without sleep, during the desperate days of tiny Liliana’s illness and then in the wordless misery after, that she really thought she’d never feel completely rested again. She wondered how many days, weeks, or—dare she hope for years?—were left to her? ...but then, none of us knows how many sips are in the cup. Why, Hilly might have drowned in that bog, or died of the Old Gaffer’s Friend, after, had it not been for the wonder of the age-old draught.

 ‘Good morning, my love,’ she whispered as Hilly’s breathing changed and his eyelids fluttered. ‘Is it that you’ll be sleeping all day, then?’

His arms came up around her, pulling her down to lie beside him, and she gladly surrendered to his embrace.

***

 ‘None of them will admit anything, save that he’s troubled by his old wounds,’ Elessar said, watching the sun rising, turning the towers of the City first to purple, then rose, then gold before they awakened to glimmering white.

 ‘But it’s more than that,’ Elrohir said soberly. ‘He shows all the signs...’

 ‘You know it, brother, and I know it, and even Elladan knows it,’ the King said in frustration.

The latter did not protest, but neither did he smile at the customary banter that still arose upon occasion when the King was alone with his foster-brothers. ‘Even I know it,’ he affirmed, ‘and that’s telling.’

  ‘Have you asked Pippin himself?’ Elrohir said.

Elessar’s shoulders slumped. ‘I have,’ he said. ‘But you know how stubborn hobbits can be. “I am well, Strider!” he says, eyes wide with surprise. “Don’t you go fussing round me, testing out this potion or that! I’m wise to your ways now, you know, and you won’t be trying any of your healers’ tricks if you know what’s good for you!” And what am I to say to that?’

 ‘You might say what we’ve all seen,’ Elladan said slowly. ‘The half breaths, the pallor, the fact that he’s thinner than a hobbit ought to be, not to mention...’

 ‘Not to mention,’ the King said, ‘and that’s the trouble. He changes the subject with the ease of long practice, and I find myself in a discussion a world away from my first question, without even noticing!’

 ‘That’s our Pippin all over,’ Elrohir said with a rare smile and a shake of his head. ‘Young scamp. Do you recall the trouble he was in, before we left Cormallen for the coronation, and how he evaded all questioning until his cousin Merry...’

 ‘But his cousin Merry has joined his side in this matter,’ Elessar said. ‘And when they present a united front, they are a force to be reckoned with, indeed.’

 ‘His wife...’ Elladan said, still seeking for a chink in the hobbit’s defences.

 ‘She is in agreement with the rest,’ Elessar said. ‘When I asked her about her concern, the day we put Merry on the table, she said only that Pippin worried so about his cousin, she feared he might be brought low under the strain. When I questioned her further, she would only say it was “not her news” to tell.’

 ‘A curious phrase, considering how they love their gossip,’ Elladan said.

 ‘I feel that my hands are tied, if we do not have their confidence in this matter,’ Elessar said.

Elrohir nodded.

 ‘Had you considered...?’ Elladan said suddenly, and left off. The others turned to him.

 ‘What is it, brother?’ Elrohir said.

 ‘Perhaps there’s nothing to be done,’ Elladan said at last. ‘Pippin was quick enough to ask for help for Merry’s shoulder...’

 ‘It was like him to put another before himself,’ Elrohir said, but Elladan shook his head.

 ‘I cannot see any who loved him hesitating, if they thought that healer’s skill could help him,’ he said stubbornly. ‘They’d nag him mercilessly until he sought out our aid, simply to quiet their demands.’

‘Perhaps...’ Elrohir began, but he was interrupted.

 ‘They’ve given him up,’ Elladan persisted. At Elessar’s quizzical look, he elaborated. ‘It’s the phrase they used about the other perian, the one they call “Ferdi”. They’d given him up, Hilly said, and were waiting for him to die, for there was nothing within their scope to save him. The draught was a last, desperate attempt.’

 ‘Given him up,’ Elessar muttered under his breath. ‘Well, if he has maintained his stubborn pretence that all is well, up to the day of his departure, I’m going to do my best to trap him somehow, and learn the truth of the matter. This is not just the residue of the old battle injury...’

 ‘I’ll hold him down while you examine him,’ Elladan said, ever helpful.

Chapter 48. Of Picnics and Party Games

It was a glorious day for a picnic, and even with Rose Gamgee staying behind with her eldest and the littlest ones, quite a crowd set out that day, following the Road part-ways out of the City, turning off on a track that lead into the woods, until they reached the little clearing with its velvet moss and noontide sunshine slanting down through the trees. The rushing of the stream sounded, cool and refreshing, not far away.

Merry claimed the privilege of carrying little Faramir upon his shoulders, and so the Thain was not encumbered, but free to carry Pip-lad, who smiled down upon the rest of the hobbits from his high and lofty perch. He was nearly as tall as one of the Big Folk!

Hilly had his bow with him, strung and ready, providing escort to the Thain and his family, guardsmen or no guardsmen. He walked, one hand holding his bow, and the other holding to his greatest treasure, though Posey was ready to loose his hand at any time, should he need to pull an arrow from the quiver on his back and fit it to the bow.

Arwen and Elessar also walked hand-in-hand, and when they reached the clearing the King removed his boots and stockings and revelled in the feel of the moss on his bare feet. ‘We’ll all be hobbits for the nonce,’ he said, and when he’d sat down Pippin clapped him on the shoulder.

‘I’ve been a hobbit for years, and I can tell you there’s no better thing in the world to be!’

Arwen laughed and drew off her light slippers.

Bergil and Denny exchanged glances. They didn’t expect the King’s “edict” to apply to them, on duty as they were, and so they took up their posts at opposite ends of the clearing, where they had a good view of the clearing and the surrounding woods. Really, they expected no trouble, this close to the City, but little hobbits will wander, and there are wandering Men as well, so they were more there in event of wandering than for any other reason.

It might have been boring duty, except for the young hobbits who kept coming up to them to “share” tid-bits from the picnic hampers: nice little sandwiches, or sweet biscuits, or a slightly crushed strawberry clenched in an overeager little fist. The two guardsmen exchanged ironic looks; they were still being plagued by hobbits intent on stuffing them full of food! But things could be worse, they supposed.

It might have made the duty less boring for them if they’d seen the Men concealed in the underbrush, near where they left the Road to take the trail to the picnic clearing, rough-clad and ill-kempt Men who were staring after the procession with hungry eyes.

 ‘Not this day,’ one barely breathed when the picnickers were well-past. ‘Too well guarded, and King and Queen amongst them. But you marked the little lad, did you not?’

 ‘It was easy to pick him out, with his father dressed like a little guardsman! I’ll know him when I see him,’ the other said, nodding. ‘Dark hair, much darker than his father’s, dark eyes too. Pointed chin with a dimple, one crooked tooth in a gap-toothed grin. Even if he’s not with his father, we’ll take the right one, when luck favours us!’

Diamond took Posey’s hand and settled her on a picnic blanket near Arwen and the little princess. Posey quickly made friends with the little one, playing “peek-boo” with a serviette while Diamond and Estella set out the food. Soon all were eating, laughing, and talking, all at once, all, of course, but the watchful guardsmen, standing like statues in the shadows of the trees.

Strawberries, there were, and scones, and cream in crocks, and sparkling sugar to scatter atop like snow upon a mountain top. Sandwiches, cut into pleasing shapes and stuffed full of good things: salmon, and trout, ground and mixed with soft cheese and spice; cucumbers sliced paper thin, nestled atop a layer of thin-spread sweet butter; minced meat or fowl or chopped egg; why, there were even sandwiches with a filling of spicy watercress!

To complement the sandwiches were vegetables, fresh and pickled in jars. The fresh vegetables had been cut into clever shapes. Why, that picnic was a feast for the eyes as well as the taste!

Biscuits there were of many sorts and shapes: shortbread, jam-filled, ginger-and-spice, just to name a few. And then there was the cake! Seedcake, of course, for that was the Thain’s favourite, but there were also apple-tart and cherry-pockets and sponge cake with cream filling and so much more! A feast fit for a King, as Pippin declared more than once, and each time Elessar would bow and pop another morsel into his mouth in perfect agreement.

Meal over, the youngest among them fell asleep and were laid down upon the blankets, Faramir and Pip-lad, Merry-lad and Goldilocks, and little Princess Liriel.

 ‘Can we not dance?’ young Rosie Gamgee said with a plaintive look. ‘The moss is so cool, and fresh, and green!’ She picked up her skirts and executed a few pretty steps.

 ‘In truth, I believe we must!’ Pippin said, seizing her hand and holding his hand out to Arwen. Laughing, the Queen left her little one sleeping and joined the dance, and soon Elessar and Merry and Diamond and Estella and Frodo-lad and Hilly and even his Posey had joined the circle, while Samwise dozed in the midst of his sleeping children.

When at last, breathless and laughing, the dancers sat down again, Merry proposed a game where one or two would act out a scene and the rest would have to guess the story. This provided a great deal of distraction for all, and even the silent guardsmen occasionally smiled at the antics that followed, especially to see their King crowned with flowers, crawling upon the moss with Frodo-lad riding on his back while the other merry-makers shouted their guesses.

 ‘Ah, me!’ Arwen panted, holding her sides, flushed from laughing. She looked like a mere girl in that moment, with her dark hair come undone and cascading down her back and her eyes dancing in merriment. She looked like a mere girl, or perhaps a wood sprite that had come out to play in the sunlight. She fanned herself and added, ‘I don’t know when I’ve had a better time!’

 ‘We must picnic more often, I think,’ her husband said with a fond smile, but the smile faded as he looked past her.

 ‘What is it?’ Merry said, for though he’d had a fine and frolicsome time himself, he was ever watchful for a new worry.

 ‘Estel?’ Arwen said, her own smile gone. She followed his gaze to the blankets and gasped. ‘Liriel!’ The rumpled coverlet, where the toddler had been so peacefully asleep through the merry revels, surrounded by slumbering hobbits, had an empty spot in the middle. The little princess was gone!

Chapter 49. Hide and Seek

Arwen was the first to react. ‘It’s a game,’ she said. ‘We’ve played this in the garden. She hides behind a tree or bench and we try to find her, paying no mind to her giggles, of course.’ Raising her voice, she called out, ‘Liriel-love! Liriel! Now where has that Liriel got to?’

No resulting giggles were heard, and Arwen’s smile faded.

Elessar knew a moment of frozen panic, very unlike himself, but though his thoughts were racing, his body seemed mired in place—his little daughter, brightest gem of all he treasured, his Liriel was missing! The panic dissolved into nightmare memory as hobbits scattered from the clearing, calling... only instead of Frodo! as in the nightmare that still returned to haunt him some nights, they called little Liriel’s name, their voices fading against the tumult of the unseen river as they spread out in search. Sam sat up abruptly, seeming to grasp the situation at once. He looked around at his own peacefully slumbering little ones, counting noses, and jumped to his feet, darted from the clearing, and soon they heard his voice. Liriel!

 ‘Estel,’ a soft plea, a touch on his arm, and Elessar turned, memory-spell broken.

 ‘Arwen,’ he said, taking hold of her arms. ‘We’ll find her. She cannot have wandered far.’ He turned to the guardsmen, immobilised by shock and surprise, not so quick to react as the hobbits, who were used to chasing after wandering little ones. ‘Denethor! Call out a company of guardsmen to take up the search! Bergil! Go towards the Baranduin; I will head for the falls, for their roar is loud and might have sparked her curiosity. Arwen...’ he added, dropping his voice and turning once more to his wife. ‘Stay here; watch over the little ones. We don’t want anyone else to wander.’

He could see in her eyes that she wanted to protest, but she nodded and moved to stand by the blanket where the young hobbits still slept. She watched Elessar scout the ground, frowning, knew by his expression that their daughter’s pattering footsteps had left no mark. Elessar turned towards the roar of the waterfalls, disappeared into the forest, and then she was alone. Clasping her hands together, she sank down upon the blanket, bowing her head, uttering silent but fervent pleas to Elbereth, that light might be shed on the path of the searchers.

She did not know how long a time passed, but raised her head at a light touch on her shoulder. Posey stood there, her expression filled with understanding. She had not run far before becoming winded, and had decided she’d be of more help in the clearing. Arwen raised her hand to cover Posey’s, and the two mothers waited in silence as their ears strained to hear a joyful shout.

It was fortuitous indeed that when Denethor broke from the woods, pounding down the last stretch of the path that joined the Road, two riders were just passing. They reined in at his hail, turning their horses towards him, and one slid from the saddle as he approached.

 ‘What is it?’ Elrohir said. He and Elladan were riding out on an errand for the King, and had not been able to join the picnic this morning. ‘What’s happened?’

 ‘The little princess,’ Denethor gasped. ‘Liriel... she wandered... in the forest!’

Elladan gave a sharp exclamation and started to urge his horse towards the trees, but Denethor grabbed at his bridle. ‘Wait!’

 ‘What are your orders?’ Elrohir said, understanding at once.

 ‘I'm to call out a company of guardsmen to join the search,’ Denethor said. ‘Most likely she’ll already have been found by the time I reach the City, but...’

 ‘Take my horse,’ Elrohir said. ‘You’ll go faster.’ He spoke softly to the beast, words Denethor did not know, but the guardsman did not hesitate. He jumped into the saddle, turned the Elf-horse’s head towards the City, and was off at a gallop, bells on the horse’s harness ringing in a mad jangle. Meanwhile, Elrohir vaulted into the saddle behind his brother and Elladan guided his horse down the path into the forest.

Hilly had grabbed up his bow out of force of habit, and now he chided himself. ‘What were you going to do when you found her, bring her down with a well-placed shot?’ He headed towards the sound of the river, in part because it drew him as a moth to the candle, and in part because he’d first watched and then joined the little princess in laughing and splashing in the shallows of the Lake under her mother’s vigilant eye. Kindred spirits, they were, throwing the water into the air to watch it break into sparkling gems as it rained down again.

Posey had laughingly scolded him that he’d catch his death, wetting his clothes that way, and he’d replied that he’d felt refreshed from the heat of the day.

Now he stopped short at the top of a steep and rocky bank, grabbing at a nearby sapling to keep from falling headlong. The river danced below, pouring over and past rocks, throwing water into the air, roaring with vigour and energy. And there, at water’s edge, river foaming around her ankles...

 ‘Help!’ he shouted. ‘Here! Help! The river!’ He thought he heard an answering shout, but there was no time, really. He took the first step down and went skidding and sliding, grabbing at rocks and roots and little bushes to stop himself from plummeting directly into the river. ‘Liriel!’

Reaching the bottom with a scattering of dirt and stones, he called again, ‘Liriel! Come away, little one!’

Mesmerised by the song of the water, the little princess did not turn at the call. She waded a little farther, laughing at the tickle of the moving water on her fat little legs.

Hilly reached the edge of the water. ‘Liriel!’ he shouted again. The little princess turned her head at his call this time, eyes alight with mischief in a face dimpled with delight.

Hilly did not want to frighten her into losing her balance and falling. He forced a smile and held out his hand as he stepped into the water, his toes feeling for footholds as the rocks shifted under his weight. A step or two beyond the princess, the water turned white with menace. The Brandywine that ran through Buckland was a sedate old plough-pony, compared to this playful but powerful young colt of a river. ‘Come, lassie,’ he coaxed.

He heard the giggle that so delighted him, and at the same time pained his heart, so much was it like sweet Liliana’s had been... ‘Come, lassie,’ he said again. ‘I have a surprise to show you!’

Liriel’s eyes lit with joy; how the toddler loved surprises. ‘ ‘Prise?’ she said.

 ‘Yes!’ Hilly answered, taking a step nearer. How she had managed to keep her feet, wading on these smooth, slippery stones, was beyond him. Perhaps it had something to do with her Elven blood. ‘Surprise! Come, lassie!’

 ‘ ‘plash!’ she said, and bent to the water to slap a dimpled hand against the surface.

 ‘Come, little darling,’ Hilly said, using one of Arwen’s pet names as he took another cautious step.

 ‘Catch!’ the little darling said, and the hobbit groaned inwardly—a game of chase? In this?

 ‘No!’ he shouted, but she’d already taken the next wobbly step.

Rivers are tricksy things at best, and the princess was not watching her feet, not looking ahead to step safely, not mindful of such things as holes. One moment she was there, and the next...

Hilly gasped, and in the next second he’d thrown his bow and quiver behind him, hoping they would land on the shore to mark the place, and a bare second later he’d drawn as deep a breath as he could while plunging after the princess.

Chapter 50. Steps and Mis-steps

Pippin heard Hilly’s shout and turned directly towards the river, shouting for Strider, hoping the King could hear him above the tumult of the waterfalls that were casting mist high into the air somewhere to his right. He broke into a run, reaching the edge of the precipitous bank just as the toddler below threw up her little arms and disappeared.

He was panting for breath already, but his lungs failed him completely at the sight, and seeing Hilly toss bow and quiver to the bank and dive into the racing waters did not help matters any. The world began to tilt around him; he felt large hands seize his shoulders and looked up. Bergil!

Somehow he found enough air to gasp, ‘River!’ as he gestured urgently. He heard Bergil mutter an oath, and then the guardsman was gone, sliding down the bank, losing his footing halfway down and tumbling the rest of the way. He jumped to his feet at the bottom, apparently unhurt, and began to run downstream along the rocky bank, hurtling fallen trees and running over or around boulders.

Somehow it seemed to Pippin that the mist from the falls had rolled downstream to that point; in any event, a mist was in Pippin’s eyes. He tried to raise a leaden hand to wipe it away, clear his vision, but the effort was beyond him. His legs would no longer hold him, and the thought came to him that he ought to sit down before he fell down, but it was dim, and far away, swallowed up as the roaring in his ears swelled to merge with the roaring of the wild waters. His senses failed him; he was falling, a long distance, but he never felt himself hit the ground...

***

Hilly was grateful for that gulp of air he’d managed before the waters closed about him, but really, he’d like another if at all possible. He had no idea how he’d find the little princess in the roiling waters, only a vague hope that the same current that had swept her away would take him to her.

The waters turned him this way and that, until he was so turned around he wouldn’t have known which way was up save the promise of sunlight that sparkled through the water. He stroked hard, lungs aching for air, and his head broke the surface! He gulped air greedily before he was pulled under once more. He forced himself to keep his eyes open, looking ahead, searching, searching... how in the world would he find the princess? And how would he save her, when he was in serious doubt about his own safety?

***

Bergil caught a flash of bright yellow in the river, a dark head—Hilly!—which as quickly disappeared under the water. He saw no sign of the princess, but if the hobbit was in the water, it stood to reason he’d seen little Liriel fall in.

 ‘I’m coming!’ he shouted, though he doubted Hilly could hear him. He stumbled, and gave more attention to his footing. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he broke a leg, following the river-borne hobbit.

***

Merry, drawn by the shouts, was in time to see Pippin swaying at the top of the bank. ‘Pippin!’ he cried, but his cousin seemed to crumple together, and in the next moment he’d disappeared. Though out of breath from running, Merry pushed himself forward, pausing at the edge to see Pippin lying in a heap at the bottom. ‘Pippin!’ he cried again, and ‘Diamond!’ and then ‘Strider!’

It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he broke a leg, following his hapless cousin, and so he forced himself to pick his way carefully down the slope, grasping at rocks and small trees until he was safely down. He bent urgently over Pippin, grasping his cousin’s shoulder. ‘Pippin? Do you hear me?’ To his terror, he couldn’t tell if Pippin was breathing. More urgently, he said, ‘Pippin!’ and gave the shoulder a shake. ‘Pippin!’

***

Arwen gave a glad cry to see her brothers’ arrival. Elrohir jumped from the saddle and ran lightly to her, Elladan not a step behind. ‘What news?’ he said.

 ‘Liriel wandered... I looked away but a moment or two, and she was gone!’ Arwen said.

Elrohir nodded. It was the way of little ones; take one’s eyes away and they could be gone in the space of a few breaths.

 ‘The hobbits scattered to search. Estel went towards the waterfalls, Denethor—’

 ‘We met Denethor,’ Elrohir said.

 ‘Bergil took the more direct line towards the river,’ Arwen said. ‘I’ve heard nothing since.’

 ‘Dad?’ Pippin-lad said. He was blinking away sleep, and now he sat up, looking about. ‘Frodo?’

Elladan started to answer, but Elrohir stiffened and turned towards the river. ‘Did you hear that?’ he snapped. ‘Merry!’

 ‘What was it?’ Elladan said, straightening and turning, straining his ears to hear something other than the distant roar of the waterfalls.

 ‘Perhaps he’s found something... but I heard him calling Estel! The waterfalls, you said?’

Elladan didn’t wait for Arwen’s answer. ‘I’ll go to the waterfalls,’ he said. ‘I doubt Estel would hear any summons if he’s near them.’ He mounted his horse and was gone.

***

Diamond heard Merry’s sharp summons; worse, she heard the frantic note in his voice as he called for the King. Something had happened to Pippin!

She picked up her skirts and ran as fast as possible towards the sound, nearly colliding with Samwise at the top of the bank. Looking over, her heart in her throat, she saw Merry cradling her husband.

 ‘Merry!’ she cried.

He looked up, desperation in every line. ‘The balm! He’s scarcely breathing!’

She hurriedly reached in her pocket for the jar that she always carried with her. Hilly had another, since he often was at Pippin’s side when Diamond could not be. And when Hilly couldn’t be with Pippin, often that meant that Pippin was with the King, and the King was a healer and would know what to do in the event of a breathless fit...

She took the precious jar and held it out to Sam. ‘Take it to him,’ she said, and the Mayor nodded. He tucked the balm away and began to descend the slope, cautious despite his urgency. He was just a quiet gardener, after all, and not much for climbing these days...

Unfortunately, one of the roots he grasped had been loosened by earlier descents, and it pulled free when he put his full weight on it, sending him cascading to the bottom while Diamond and Merry watched helplessly.

 ‘Sam!’ Merry cried as the Mayor came to rest with a thump against a boulder. ‘Sam, are you—?’

Sam was much too bruised and breathless to answer immediately, but he pushed himself upright with a groan, clutching at his side as the pungent odour of the balm rose about him. The sturdy jar in his pocket had been unable to sustain his impact against one of the boulders at the bottom of the slope.

Chapter 51. Difficult Choices

Grabbing a gulp of air whenever the opportunity presented, drawing on the experience of long years of watching rivers and grim lessons learned in helping Shirriffs recover bodies from receding floodwaters, Hilly let the rushing waters carry him, for the most part. He tried to get a glimpse whenever he surfaced, to take his bearings, calling to mind every detail of this stretch of the river, memorised during picnics and hikes as he shadowed Pippin over the course of the early summer months. In this way he was able to avoid some of the more treacherous features where he might be trapped and drowned. Always he scanned the water for some sign of the princess, though his hope of rescuing her had changed into desperate effort to “rescue” himself from his own stupidity. As he fought to the surface yet again, he remembered all the well-meaning hobbits, drowned trying to save others from drowning, whose bodies he’d helped pull from streams. He was tiring; the river was stronger, running never-exhausted, while Hilly’s muscles screamed for rest and his limbs turned to lead, ever heavier, ever more difficult to move.

***

’Sam!’ Merry said again, putting Pippin aside as gently as he could in light of the haste needed. He leapt to the Mayor’s side, pushed aside Sam’s clutching hand, pulled away the coat and gave a groan to see the blood and balm and bits of glass decorating Sam’s shirt. The balm had fallen from Sam’s inside coat pocket as he landed, the jar smashed between the Mayor’s body and the boulder.

Sam in turn pushed Merry’s hand away and began to scrape at the glistening balm on his shirt. ‘Quick,’ he gasped, ‘before the heat of my body melts the stuff!’

Merry nodded, bloodying his fingers in his haste. He picked out glass shards from the small mass of balm in his hand as he turned to Pippin, pulling up his cousin’s shirt with his free hand. He saw Pippin’s eyelids flutter at the touch of the cold balm on his chest and throat. ‘Hold fast, Pippin,’ he urged. ‘It’ll start to work soon.’

Merry turned back to Sam, accepting the handful of balm the injured Mayor had been able to collect, and proceeded to smear the stuff on Pippin’s back. He felt the sting in his fingers, in the palm of his hands, and he said (as he had heard healers say on previous occasions), ‘Feel the tingle, cousin! That means it’s working!’ Anointing done, Merry sat down once more, holding his cousin in an upright position, entreating him to steady his breaths.

Pippin’s mouth opened as if he would speak but no words came. His clouding eyes sought Merry’s in unspoken apology, and then they closed as he settled in Merry’s arms, unmoving, unbreathing.

 ‘No!’ Merry cried in an agony of denial, tightening his hold. ‘Breathe, Pippin!’

***

Though one could not hear above the roar of the waterfalls, some instinct caused Elessar to turn as Elladan rode up behind him.

Brother! he cried, his voice lost in the waters’ song, but the son of Elrond read the words upon his lips. Anything?

Elladan reached a hand down and pulled Elessar to the horse’s back as the King grasped his hand. Turning the horse’s head around, he leaned forward into a gallop, hurtling obstacles and dodging trees.

***

Resting lightly on Pippin’s throat, Merry’s bloodied fingers felt a faint flutter. ‘His heart still beats!’ he gasped to Sam, who was leaning forward as if to pour some of his own strength into Pippin though he had not yet regained the breath knocked out of him in his fall.

 ‘The dwarf breathing,’ Sam managed, though he found it difficult to draw breath of his own. ‘Remember... Gimli!’

A scrap of memory returned, of Gimli telling how he’d heaved the carcase of the troll from Pippin’s body, lifting the limp and apparently lifeless body of the young hobbit, cradling him in his arms, mourning. He’d told of finding the faintest of life-pulses under his fingers, how he’d breathed life and air into Pippin...

Merry nodded, took a deep breath, fastened his mouth on his cousin’s and blew. Air whistled from Pippin’s nostrils, and Merry instinctively pinched his cousin’s nose as he renewed his effort. It was curiously difficult, not at all like inflating a pig’s bladder on butchering day, to amuse little ones, but as if the air met resistance as he tried to blow it down his cousin’s windpipe. Still, Pippin’s chest rose and fell slightly, and heartened, Merry took another breath and blew.

***

The current carried Hilly over a boulder the size of the King's war-horse, plunging down into a whirling maelstrom. He felt rather like laundry in a tub stirred by an overenthusiastic hobbit-lad in a hurry to help his sisters finish the washing so that he could be off fishing or somewhat. Despite the need to hold onto the air he’d managed to take in, he lost some in his surprise as one hand encountered something soft and clinging, more laundry in the tub... reaching now with deliberate effort, he pulled the fabric toward him until a solid little body was in his hands. The princess!

Instinct shouted at him to kick his way to the surface, but cold knowledge sent him instead down, down away from air and light, into the depths, the darkness, the cool rush of water. He found what he was looking for near the bottom of the stream—the current leading out of the whirling tumble. Once free he was able to make the surface once more, gulping air, and now he kicked his legs as strongly as he could, trying to move across the current as the river pushed him ever on, trying to reach the calmer waters near the bank that he remembered, not far past this bend in the river.

***

Elrohir found Diamond clinging to a small tree at the top of the steep bank. ‘Down there!’ she said, unnecessarily, pulling one hand free to point.

The son of Elrond nodded and launched himself over the side, running lightly down as easily as a child skipping over a grassy meadow.

Sam was sitting up, his face grey with pain, but he waved Elrohir away. ‘I’m well,’ he lied. ‘See to Pippin.’

Merry looked up. ‘He’s breathing,’ he said, ‘only just. We’ve got to get him to the House of Healing.’

Elrohir nodded, gently taking up the limp hobbit. He hesitated, and Merry said, ‘I can climb up again, but Sam cannot. I think he’s broken his leg.’

 ‘I’m well,’ Sam said again, and Merry shook his head with a wry smile, despite his worry for Pippin.

 ‘No need to climb this Mount Doom,’ he said. ‘We’ll find an eagle to lift you off.’

 ‘I’ll return,’ Elrohir said.

 ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Merry responded, and moved to take Sam’s hand. ‘Hilly went into the water, here, and Bergil ran after, downstream, along the bank. I can only think they were after the princess.’

Elrohir’s eyes quickly scanned the water and he suppressed a shudder, thinking of his little niece, and his sister’s grief. ‘I’ll return,’ was all he said, and nimble and fleet as a young deer he climbed the slippery and steep bank to where Diamond waited.

As he reached the top Elladan rode up, Elessar behind him. Seeing his burden, the King slipped from the horse.

 ‘Pippin,’ he whispered, his hand going to the pale forehead. Raising his eyes to meet Elrohir’s, he said, ‘Any word?’

 ‘The river,’ Elrohir said softly.

Elessar gave an inarticulate cry. Elladan steadied him as he stared down into the rampaging waters.

 ‘Bergil and Hildibold went after her,’ Elrohir said, his tone cutting through the King’s grief and demanding Elessar’s attention. ‘But Pippin cannot wait. Have you athelas with you?’

Elessar’s hand went to his neck, but of course the pouch was not there. He carried it when travelling, taking with him a small store of the precious leaves. He had no need to carry athelas on a picnic.

Elladan dismounted. ‘You must take him to the House of Healing,’ he said.

 ‘Liriel,’ Elessar countered.

 ‘Pippin is near death,’ Elrohir insisted. ‘He cannot wait, Estel. It is his life...’ or your daughter’s. And Liriel might already be gone, beyond reach.

Elessar swallowed hard, caught in the sort of indecision that had not bothered him since Parth Galen, but he nodded sharply and grated, ‘Send word.’

He leapt lightly onto the horse’s back and Elrohir passed Pippin to him. Yanking the horse’s head around, Elessar dig his heels into the beast’s sides and was gone.

Chapter 52. Still Waters, Running Deep

Elrohir then became aware of a tugging at the hem of his tunic, a tugging that grew ever more insistent, and Diamond’s voice to match, calling his name. He looked down to see her upturned face, streaked with tears, mingled fear and frustration to be read there.

At once he knelt, that they might see eye-to-eye. ‘Diamond,’ he began.

 ‘Where is he taking him?’ Diamond demanded. ‘What did you say to him?’ For of course she had not understood the quick exchange.

 ‘There is athelas in the House of Healing,’ Elrohir said. ‘The hands of the King...’

 ‘...are hands of healing, yes, I know,’ Diamond said impatiently. ‘But...’

Elladan understood suddenly, and went at once to one knee. ‘But you must be with him, of course,’ he said.

 ‘He’s walking alone into the darkness,’ Diamond said, and her eyes filled once again with tears. ‘No friendly voice, no song to sustain him, no hand holding his...’

 ‘The King,’ Elrohir began, but his brother overrode him.

 ‘He yet lives, Diamond,’ Elladan said. ‘Estel seeks to save his life.’

Diamond said nothing, only bowed her head. The sons of Elrond exchanged glances, but whatever might have been said was interrupted by a hail from below.

 ‘Samwise,’ Elrohir said under his breath, and rising he gave Diamond’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning to descend the bank to the waiting hobbits.

***

 ‘Such a to-do!’ one of the ragged Men said to the other, not long after Denethor took horse and galloped away. ‘Guards gone: one run off down the river, one riding off, grown hobbits scattered... Now’s the perfect time!’

 ‘No,’ the other said unexpectedly. ‘Didn’t you hear? It won’t be long before this country is crawling with guardsmen searching for the little princess. We’d better make ourselves scarce. The Queen is watching the young hobbits for all she’s worth, and those sons of Elrond are about. There’ll be another day for our plan.’

 ‘But...’ the first Man said, frustrated.

The other silenced him with a blow. ‘Another day,’ he hissed. ‘Now come along!’

***

Clutching the little princess close, Hilly kicked for all he was worth—which wasn’t much, considering his legs were heavy and numb from effort and the chill of the water. It would be so easy to stop struggling, just to let the water carry them along. He was so very weary... but he was a Took, stubborn as they come, and so he forced his legs to kick, and again, and yet again!

Just when he thought there were no more kicks left to him, he realised that the insistent pull of the water had ceased. He had reached the eddy. The shore was not far off, and attainable. Just a few steps away, perhaps... He lifted his head, gulped air, stared with strangely dimming eyes, seeing dark shadows that might be trees rearing upon a bulk of land; he felt with his numbing toes for the bottom—and went under, sinking, weighed down by burden and exhaustion, crumpling at last in defeat in still, deep water.

***

Halfway to the City the King met the vanguard of the search party, mounted knights led by Denethor.

 ‘Have you found her?’ the guardsman cried, before recognising the burden Elessar bore.

 ‘Not yet,’ Elessar said, shifting Pippin in his arms to a more upright position. The hobbit was barely conscious, his breathing shallow and uneven.

 ‘A full company is marching double-time behind me,’ Denethor said. ‘We’ll find her, my Lord.’

 ‘Very well,’ Elessar said, though his heart was wrung with grief. The guardsmen would walk the riverbanks in hopes of finding the body, that Arwen might hold little Liriel for a last time... Thrusting the thought away, he forced out the words, ‘Carry on,’ and urged the elf-horse into a gallop once more.

***

 ‘The leg is broken,’ Elrohir affirmed, sitting back after completing his examination. ‘Master Merry had the right of it. We’ll splint it before I try to lift you. Now let me look...’ He coaxed Sam’s hand away from his side, pulling back the Mayor’s coat, and gave a low whistle.

 ‘They call it a healing balm,’ Merry said lightly, his hand tightening on Sam’s, ‘but it doesn’t look all that healing, in this light.’

Sam winced as Elrohir delicately eased a shard of glass from his side.

 ‘Not too deep,’ Elrohir murmured, ‘but others might have gone deeper. I don’t want to move you just yet. I think we had better work out as much of the glass as possible before I carry you up the bank.’

 ‘Not too deep?’ Sam echoed, exchanging glances with Merry. ‘You could have fooled me.’

***

Black stillness was disrupted by violent motion and then brilliant sunlight. Hilly gasped as his head broke the surface of the water. He struggled feebly, feeling himself carried along, the water foaming around him. They were in the current again...?

But no, he was being hauled into shallower water, strong arms gripping him much as he in turn gripped the little princess. Next he knew, he had been plonked onto the bank, an unlikely fish caught by a lucky fisherman, and Bergil was prying the princess away from him, hanging her over his arm, pounding gently on her back to force the water out of her.

Hilly himself went into a coughing fit, and then he was thoroughly sick, his body rejecting the water he’d swallowed as the river battered and bounced him along. While he was thus busied he heard a choking gasp and a weak cry that became thin sobbing, growing stronger, and the low murmur that was Bergil, soothing.

At last he was able to look up, to see the guardsman cradling the toddler, who was calling plaintively for her mother.

 ‘Bergil,’ he rasped, throat sore from his recent exertions.

 ‘Hilly,’ the guardsman replied, and then turned back to the toddler. ‘There-there. All’s well. You’re safe. We’ll take you to your mama soon.’

 ‘I thought you said only a fool would jump in the river with mail on,’ Hilly said, sitting up with an effort.

 ‘Call me a fool, then,’ Bergil said. ‘I saw you at the bottom of the pool, and it didn’t seem a good time for niceties.’ He looked at his dripping mail in dismay. ‘The armourer will be quite put out.’

 ‘He’ll probably make you oil it yourself,’ Hilly said, ‘that is, if you don’t want to be consumed by rust.’ He attempted to rise, and groaned as his tormented muscles refused to obey him.

 ‘Hold fast,’ Bergil said. ‘The King and half the garrison will be here soon, searching, and I’m sure someone will be more than happy to bear you back to the City.’

***

Diamond watched as Elladan joined his brother at the bottom of the slope. There was nothing else for her to do; Elladan had promised to send her and Farry back to the City on the first horse that appeared. Apparently the King had decreed that no hobbits should wander without a guard detail, and so she could not begin walking back, without even Hilly’s escort.

She swallowed a sob, staring at Hilly’s bow and quiver on the riverbank. She could only surmise that he’d gone into the water after the princess, and been swept away. No Took would abandon his bow... She covered her eyes, counting the losses of the day: little Liriel, faithful Hilly, Pippin...

There was a crashing in the trees behind her and she turned, seeing Denethor approach, leading Men and horses. He bowed. ‘My lady Diamond,’ he said. ‘The Queen said to look for you here, that shouts had been heard in this direction.’

Diamond caught her breath as she realised that, despite all that had happened, only a short time had passed, relatively, and the Queen did not yet know that her little daughter had been lost in the river.

 ‘In the river,’ she said, her whisper echoing her thought. The guardsman blanched, catching her meaning, and then setting his face in a grim mask, he turned to snap orders to the knights following him.

 ‘Is there aught else, my lady?’ Denethor said, turning back as the knights mounted to begin the search downriver.

 ‘Yes!’ Diamond snapped. ‘I need to get to the City at once, and Farry...’

The guardsman nodded, remembering Pippin, gasping in the King’s arms. He called one of the knights back, ordering him to take Diamond on his saddle, stop at the picnic grove for little Faramir, and ride back to the House of Healing at best speed.

 ‘If you please, my lady,’ Denethor said, and Diamond held up her hands, that he might lift her to the saddle.

 ‘Thank you,’ she said.

It was not far to the grove, where Queen and young hobbits waited. Farry jumped up at the sight of his mother sitting before the knight, one question tumbling over another as he ran to them, stopping short of the giant prancing hoofs.

 ‘What news, Heladan?’ Arwen said, her eyes wide and anxious.

 ‘No news as of yet, my Lady,’ the knight said. ‘The Ernil i Pheriannath has been taken ill, it seems, and I am to carry his family to him.’

Diamond stared miserably at the Queen, dropping her eyes when Arwen turned to her, for she could not face that penetrating gaze. She busied herself with settling Farry securely, and at Arwen’s soft, “Grace go with you,” she merely nodded her head, not daring to look up.

The Queen’s gentle hand fell away and the next thing Diamond knew, the powerful horse was bearing them swiftly through the trees, as they rode securely held between Heladan’s steadying arms.

Happy Christmas! Wishing you and yours an abundance of comfort and joy in this holiday season.

Chapter 53. Comfort and Joy

 ‘You’ve found her!’ Healer Ceolwen exclaimed as the King’s long legs took the steps into the House of Healing two at a time, only to break off in confusion at recognising the Prince of the Halflings in Elessar’s arms. ‘My Lord! What’s happened?’ They had been making ready for any possibility—the little princess had wandered in a wood, and who knew what the toddler might encounter?

 ‘Athelas!’ Elessar snapped out.

  ‘At once, my Lord!’ the healer said, and rather than turning the task over to an assistant, she abandoned dignity and ran to the herb-room herself, while others scattered to fetch a basin and a kettle of steaming water or to run ahead of the King to throw open the door of a room made ready for emergencies.

Hearing the hobbit’s thin wheezing one assistant quickly heaped pillows on the bed, that the King might set the hobbit down propped-up in a sitting position. Running feet were heard in the corridor and Ceolwen skidded into the room, carrying a cloth which she presented to the King. ‘Athelas,’ she gasped.

As Elessar unfolded the top layer of the cloth, revealing two of the wondrous leaves, the basin arrived, and right behind it the hot water. Elessar took the leaves into his hands and breathed upon them. As he crumpled them, a living freshness filled the air, and all in the room found themselves breathing more deeply. Pippin’s nostrils flared as if to take in the scent, his mouth gaped, though the painful wheezing continued and his face had a bluish tinge.

The King cast the leaves into the freshly poured water and held the basin before Pippin’s face. ‘Breathe, now,’ he said. The hobbit did not appear to hear him; his eyes were half-closed and fixed in concentration as if by sheer will he continued to draw breath despite the failure of his body.

Elessar nodded to Ceolwen to take the basin. She sank down on the bed, holding the basin almost under Pippin’s nose. Elessar bared Pippin’s chest, took up a clean cloth, soaked it in the hot athelas-water, and laid it upon the straining ribs. ‘Breathe,’ he said again.

Pippin swallowed, an acknowledgement, and Elessar continued to wet cloths and lay them down until Pippin was covered from throat to diaphragm, and he renewed each cloth as it cooled, talking all the while in a soothing, encouraging voice.

 ‘The muscles are relaxing, the pain is easing, it’s growing easier to draw the air in and out...’ and so forth, as the healers and assistants watched, their own breath stilled as they silently willed the gasping breaths to continue.

At last the breaths came slower, deeper; the hobbit relaxed against the sustaining cushions. His eyelids drooped, he swallowed again, and some of the tension left the eagerly watching King. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘That’s right.’

 ‘Strider,’ came faintly, a mere breath.

 ‘Don’t try to talk. Breathe, old friend. Gather your strength,’ Elessar ordered, one hand moving to Pippin’s forehead.

Pippin’s eyes opened; he seemed to see the others in the room for the first time. ‘Go,’ he whispered. ‘Leave us.’

 ‘Go,’ the King affirmed. ‘I’ll call you at need.’

Ceolwen nodded and gestured to the others to follow her from the room.

 ‘How?’ Pippin whispered.

 ‘Did I not tell you to be still?’ the King said in exasperation.

Pippin ignored him. ‘How can you?’ he pressed. ‘You pour strength and courage into me, even as your own heart is broken, your courage gone, and dark fear overwhelms you...’

Though he did not remove his hand, Elessar turned his face away and closed his eyes as grief rose in him once more.

 ‘I saw her swept away,’ Pippin whispered, and the King took a ragged breath of his own.

 ‘But—hear me, Strider!—I saw Hilly go after her, and Bergil... Hilly’s as stubborn a Took as ever was born, and Bergil for all his height is practically a hobbit himself. They won’t let the stream have her, if I know aught about anything.’

 ‘Save your strength, Pippin,’ Elessar said, his voice low. ‘Unless you want to tell me how you got into this strait.’

Though Pippin’s face no longer had a bluish tinge, it was still as white as the pillows that supported him. Yet a strangely defiant look came upon him, and he set his lips. ‘Into this strait?’ he echoed. ‘I saw Liriel...’ he broke off, not wanting to add to his old friend’s grief, and added, ‘...and Hilly following, and I was so startled I missed my footing and fell down the bank.’

 ‘You didn’t just knock the wind out of yourself,’ the King said, his hands gently probing the battered ribcage. ‘No broken bones, at least, but your breathing...’ He listened more sharply, and moved one of the cloths to place an ear against the hobbit’s chest.

When he rose again it was with a frown and a penetrating look. ‘Why did you conceal the fact that you’re ill?’ he said.

Watchful, the hobbit replied, ‘I know that the hands of the King are healing hands, and athelas can do a great deal, but you admitted yourself that it cannot heal all ills...’

 ‘You have a cold,’ the King interrupted.

Pippin relaxed slightly. ‘Is that what it is?’ he said more lightly. ‘I thought it was only the dust we stirred up in the ruins of Old Annuminas the other day; it made me sneeze most dreadfully! I really didn’t feel all that badly this morning when we set out, and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. They were quite looking forward to our picnic, you know!’

 ‘Quite,’ Elessar said dryly.

There was a stir in the doorway, and then Diamond was there, hurrying to Pippin’s side, seizing his hand in hers as she burst into relieved weeping. ‘O Pippin!’

 ‘Diamond, love!’ Pippin protested, though he was too weak to sit up and take her in his arms to comfort her. He had to content himself with squeezing her hand and forcing a wide grin to reassure a frightened-looking Faramir. ‘All is well, love, truly!’

 ‘All is well,’ Diamond echoed in a gasp, and laid her head upon his breast. ‘O my love, I thought...’

 ‘I know what you thought,’ Pippin said hastily, before she could express the thought. He did not want the healers here poking and prodding him, plaguing him half to death before deciding there was nothing to be done. He’d already been through such, more times than he cared to think after the Old Gaffer’s Friend had nearly carried him off, and frankly, life was too short as it was, to be bothered by more of the same. ‘But the truth of the matter is, I have a cold.’

 ‘A cold!’ Diamond said, sitting up, her eyes wide with alarm.

 ‘That’s all it is,’ Pippin said, patting her hand and putting on a bright expression. ‘Don’t look at me like that; it’s merely a cold and that’s all! O I admit I foolishly missed my footing at the top of the bank and tumbled over, but there’s not much wrong with me that a few days’ rest won’t put right.’

 ‘At least you didn’t break a leg as Mayor Sam did,’ Diamond murmured.

Pippin sat up, or tried to, anyhow, before his weakness forced him to sink back against the pillows. ‘Sam? Broke a leg?’

 ‘He did,’ Diamond affirmed. ‘They’ll be carrying him here, next thing.’

It was not quite the next thing. First there was a babble of voices in the corridor, rapidly approaching, and Arwen burst through the door, little Liriel in her arms. ‘Found!’ she cried. ‘Saved! Plucked from the waters!’

Elessar rose from the bed with a glad cry and enveloped wife and child in a fervent embrace. ‘How?’ he breathed, but took no more time for wondering as he buried his face in his daughter’s damp locks and breathed deeply of her living scent.

 ‘Hilly!’ Diamond whispered, seeing the tall guardsman following the Queen, bearing a blanket-wrapped hobbit in his arms.

 ‘Mistress,’ Hilly said. ‘I trust all is well with you. If you won’t be needing me, I believe I’ll take myself off for a rest.’

 ‘He’s been battered black-and-blue and half-drowned,’ Denethor said soberly, ‘and I don’t think he could stand up if he tried... but the princess wouldn’t be here, if not for him.’

 ‘Go on with ye,’ Hilly said in irritation, pushing at the guardsman though it made him wince to put his muscles to such effort. ‘It wasn’t all that much. The river did most of the work, and I just let it carry me along. And it was Bergil who...’

 ‘Hilly,’ Pippin intoned seriously, his voice grown somewhat stronger as his breathing steadied, ‘you have got to learn to give credit where it’s due.’

 ‘Credit?’ Hilly said in outrage. ‘Credit, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time?’

 ‘You saved Farry,’ Diamond protested, ‘and now you’ve saved little Liriel!’

 ‘I had the bad luck to fall in a bog,’ Hilly retorted, ‘and...’

 ‘And the good luck to fall in a river,’ Pippin said, adding in the manner of one who has argued long and hard and up until the present time unsuccessfully, ‘and perhaps at last you’ll admit that a hobbit learning to swim is not such a bad idea after all.’

 ‘Totally unnatural,’ Hilly said stoutly. ‘Unless that hobbit is a Brandybuck. And you know what they say about Brandybucks!’

 ‘But not in polite company,’ Pippin said hastily.

 ‘What do they say about Brandybucks?’ the King asked, diverted from examining every inch of his daughter to make sure no lasting harm had been done.

 ‘Tell you later,’ Pippin said behind his hand. Of a wonder, Diamond laughed.

Chapter 54. All the King's Horses

Next morning, Elessar looked in on Pippin early. He smiled to see Diamond curled on one side of the hobbit, Farry on the other, all three peacefully sleeping, even Pippin, who’d protested that he never could sleep sitting up... but there he was.

Pungent herbs were simmering over a brazier, and had been renewed at regular intervals during the night by the healers’ assistants who watched over the hobbit. The King had left orders that he was to be called at the slightest change for the worse, but no call came. He nodded to the watcher and stepped away from the door, on his way to check the other patients.

Samwise was awake. He was by nature an early riser, and the pain of his injuries had made his sleep restless in any event, sleeping draught or no. He turned a piercing look on the King. ‘How’s Mr. Pippin?’ he demanded.

 ‘Asleep,’ Elessar said, entering. He lifted the sheet and peeped under the dressing that covered Sam’s side, nodding in satisfaction at the signs of healing. He checked the leg next, asking a few questions, ordering applications of ice for the swelling. He sent Rose to have breakfast with the Gamgee children—they’d spent the night in the care of Merry and Estella, that Samwise might have quiet and peace to sleep—and settled next to the bed.

 ‘Pippin’s breathing is much better,’ the King added, ‘but worse, perhaps, than I’d expect. I find myself wondering why.’

 ‘Ah,’ Samwise said noncommittally, and added no more.

 ‘Why would you say he’s so much worse than he ought to be?’ Elessar said.

 ‘I’m no healer,’ Sam said diffidently.

The King laughed. ‘I can certainly see why they roped you in as chief conspirator!’

 ‘I beg your pardon,’ Sam said.

Elessar fixed him with a stern eye. ‘You know very well what I mean,’ he said. ‘And now I wish to know what has happened, in the meantime, since you all returned from Gondor.’

 ‘Which time?’ Sam wanted to know. ‘Pippin’s been to Gondor more than once.’

Elessar felt some hope that he might be unearthing some gem of truth.  Leaning forward, he said, ‘I know that something has happened. The first few times he returned to the Southlands he seemed no different than when he’d left, but after he married, when he brought his wife and little son...’

 ‘Ah, when little Farry was but a faunt,’ Sam said, nodding wisely. ‘I remember, Merry was quite insistent that they travel south that winter.’

Elessar pounced upon this. ‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘He was thinner than I remembered. I recall thinking that married life was not all that good for him! ...until I saw how attentive Diamond was, how she anticipated his needs, how devoted she was to him, and how he doted on her. Yet he was thinner, and had less energy, less substance, less...’

 ‘Less...’ Sam said softly, his expression reminding the King of a time he’d happened upon Sam and Frodo in the gardens of Minas Tirith, after the coronation. Frodo had been asleep, and Sam sat beside him on guard, almost as if he feared his beloved master would slip away... as he did, eventually.

 ‘What happened to him?’ Elessar said in his most persuasive tones.

Sam smiled faintly. ‘Such a ruffian,’ he said. ‘You used that same tone, trying to persuade Mr Frodo to take you on, to let you guide him through the Wilderland. I was sure you meant to bash his head in, to steal It, you know.’

 ‘I know,’ Elessar said with a smile of his own, but then he sobered and said, ‘What happened to Pippin? If I knew I might be able to help him.’

 ‘There’s no help for what ails him,’ Samwise said. ‘They don’t know how he’s managed to last as long as he has, but I could tell them. He’s the same stubborn Took that followed his cousin into horror and War, and did his bit, and came back again.’

 ‘No help... for what?’ Elessar said, holding tight to his temper as his frustration grew.

Sam looked him right in the eye and shook his head. ‘It’s not my news to tell,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t want you to fret, to worry, to hover over him as if he’s about to die any day... even if he is. About to, I mean. Which he isn’t, at least in my estimation.’

When Elessar had sifted through this remarkable speech he was no nearer an answer, though he did not like the implication that was staring him in the face.

 ‘They’ve given him up,’ he said, echoing Elladan’s earlier summation.

Sam pursed his lips and nodded slowly. ‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘But then, he’s more stubborn than they give him credit for. A great deal like his cousin Mr Frodo, you might say, who went farther than any of the Wise expected, I think.’

There was not much to be said in answer to this, and so they talked on of inconsequential things until Rose returned from breakfast, bringing the children’s greetings.

Next Elessar went to see Hildibold.

Hilly was in more misery than the previous day, for the muscles had stiffened overnight. As the King entered, a healer’s assistant was arguing with the escort.

 ‘None of your brews,’ Hilly was saying.

 ‘It’s only willow-bark tea,’ Posey soothed. ‘You ought to drink it, do!’

Hilly glared at his wife. ‘You’re taking their part?’ he demanded.

Posey laughed. ‘I don’t think you have any ground to stand on,’ she said. ‘You, who got Nell to give Ferdi a sleeping draught that kept him sleeping for days! At least this is just willow-bark tea!’

 ‘It won’t put me to sleep,’ Hilly said suspiciously.

 ‘It won’t,’ the healer’s assistant said. ‘It’ll ease you somewhat, but it won’t make you sleepy.’

 ‘Contusions and abrasions,’ Hilly grumbled, hearkening back to the previous day’s conversations. ‘Why don’t you just say “bruises and scrapes”? And what, exactly, do you mean when you say “ease”?’

 ‘Ease,’ the healer’s assistant said firmly.

Posey held out her hands. ‘Give the cup to me,’ she said. ‘You said you hadn’t had your breakfast yet, and my husband is holding you up.’

Elessar nodded dismissal, and the assistant bowed and took her leave.

 ‘Ease,’ Posey said. ‘It’ll give you ease. You know you’re so stiff you can scarcely move, and you were groaning in your sleep.’

Hilly looked horrified at this news, whether it was his wife’s speaking so before the King, or that he’d kept Posey wakeful, but in any event, he grabbed the cup from her, wincing, and downed the mixture.

 ‘That wasn’t so difficult,’ Posey said briskly. ‘Now, I’ll just go and see about second breakfast.’ She made a graceful courtesy to the King. ‘If you wouldn’t mind sitting on him for a moment, my Lord? I doubt he’d stir from the bed, but you never know, stubborn Took that he is.’

 ‘I have some experience with stubborn Tooks,’ Elessar replied with a bow, and Posey dimpled at him and then withdrew.

 ‘Well then, Hilly,’ the King said, settling himself.

 ‘She knew I wanted a word,’ Hilly said unexpectedly.

 ‘A word?’ the King said.

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly said, and hesitated. At last he said, ‘And how is the little princess this morning?’

 ‘Bright and cheerful and into mischief as if it were any other day,’ Elessar said. ‘Thanks to you.’

Hilly made a face and seemed to push the words away. His mouth worked, but the words that emerged came as a surprise to the King.

 ‘Can you not give the stuff to Pippin?’

Taken aback, Elessar stared at the hobbit.

 ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said carefully.

 ‘Don’t waste it on me,’ Hilly said firmly. ‘I’ve already had my share, and I can heal from my ills just fine without any fancy elvish elixir.’

On an impulse the King gently placed the back of his hand against Hilly’s forehead. ‘You’re feverish,’ he said, frowning in concern.

 ‘Well the willow-bark ought to “ease” that just fine,’ Hilly said, with a twist of his mouth on the word the healer’s assistant had used. ‘But can you not use it on Pippin? Will you not give him the same healing as Ferdi got?’

 ‘I don’t understand,’ Elessar said.

Hilly gave an explosive sigh of exasperation. ‘The draught—the elixir!’ he said. ‘Ferdi had the Old Gaffer’s— the lung fever, and they’d given him up for lost. He was dying, I could see it in his face, had seen it often enough when my da treated hobbits drowning of it... Nell got him to drink the draught and it brought him back from the edge of the grave. Why won’t you give some to Pippin? Put it in his goblet at supper if he won’t take it on his own bent.’

 ‘When, exactly, did Pippin have the Old Gaffer’s Friend?’ Elessar said, sitting back and striving for a casual tone, though he was tense with expectation.

 ‘Why, ‘twas a year or two before he married Diamond,’ Hilly said. ‘They were handfasted not long after he was out of danger, as I recall, and he slept through most of the celebration that followed. He’d been so ill, you know, they despaired of his life and his parents travelled to Buckland where he was visiting at the time, riding the daylong without stopping and on through the night to bid him farewell. But then he was too stubborn to die, as it turned out. They were married... two years after the handfasting?’ Elessar sat patiently as Hilly continued to remember aloud. Hilly had been part of the escort that had accompanied old Thain Paladin to the wedding at Long Cleeve, and he spoke at length about the affair, and the estrangement between Pippin and his father the Thain because of Pippin’s choice of wife, and Pippin’s return to Tookland to take up the office of Thain after Paladin’s death.

The escort stopped suddenly in the middle of his reminiscing. ‘Regi said,’ he reported, and stopped, then started again. ‘Regi said that it wouldn’t take much to carry him off. A good lungful of dust, or smoke, or even a cold, if it went to his chest...’ He forced himself to meet Elessar’s eyes. ‘Will you not give him of that wondrous draught? If you were thinking of giving me some, after that soak in the river, well, let me get over my ills the usual way, and save my portion for Pippin?’

 ‘You say he suffered the illness two years before he married Diamond?’ Elessar said quietly. He contrasted the Pippin he’d known before that time, with the Pippin who’d travelled to Gondor with Diamond and their young son. ‘It must have been a serious bout.’

 ‘Near to ripped the lungs out o’ him,’ Hilly confirmed. ‘Regi says, he doesn’t know what Pippin uses for breathing, really.’

 ‘Ah,’ Elessar said, falling back on Sam’s favourite noncommittal expression.

 ‘I’ll help Master Meriadoc to talk him round,’ Hilly said. ‘Do you have some of the stuff ready, or do you have to send to that Homely House for it?’ His expression took on a trace of alarm. ‘Don’t tell me that Bucklander’s been given the last of it!’

 ‘Hilly,’ Elessar said gently, holding up a restraining hand.

 ‘But...’ Hilly insisted. ‘If it helped Ferdi, as if he’d been made new...?’

 ‘Ferdi received the draught before lasting damage had been done,’ Elessar said.

 ‘But...’ Hilly said again.

 ‘Pippin would not let me examine him before this, and I only got a brief “listen” to his breathing, and that only because he was in desperate straits,’ the King said, ‘but I heard enough. The Old Gaffer’s Friend “near to ripped the lungs out of him”, you said, and you had the right of it.’

 ‘But the draught...’ Hilly persisted.

 ‘Hilly,’ Elessar said, placing a restraining hand on the hobbit’s arm. ‘You’re a healer’s son. What did your father teach you about wounds, and scars?’

 ‘He taught me that a wound must be treated just so, that when you sew someone up you have to trim away any flesh that would scar and stiffen, and that you must massage balm into the skin to keep it soft,’ Hilly said, as if reciting a long-ago lesson. ‘I learnt that much, afore I told him I’d rather go for a hunter than a healer.’

Elessar nodded. ‘What can be done about a scar, after the fact?’ he asked.

 ‘Not much,’ Hilly said. ‘Not that I know, anyhow.’

Elessar nodded again. ‘Pippin’s lungs were damaged when a troll fell on him in battle,’ he said. ‘His ribs were broken, his... insides were torn. There was damage, and scarring in the healing, though we did what we could.’

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly said. ‘He told us of the troll. Made a great joke of it, but I’ve seen his ribs, and they surely don’t look as they ought.’

 ‘Still, he healed, and healed well,’ Elessar said. ‘A man so crushed would most likely have died, or been bedridden ever after. But Pippin was on his feet long before I'd have credited it, and soon was much himself again.’

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly said, wondering at the King’s meaning.

 ‘But he still had times when he was short of breath,’ Elessar said. ‘And colds were a danger to him, even then, for he had less to breathe with than he’d had before.’ His eyes bored into Hilly’s. ‘And the Old Gaffer’s Friend left yet more damage, more scars...’

 ‘But the draught...’ Hilly said stubbornly.

 ‘What can be done to heal a scar?’ Elessar asked again, and the hobbit closed his mouth, tears welling in his eyes. ‘Hilly...’ the King said softly.

 ‘But you’ve got to help him,’ Hilly said desperately. ‘You’ve got to! He’ll die!’ He'd come to terms with losing his beloved Posey; truly he envisioned his own end when hers came, and the Shire would go on as ever without them; but Pippin... the Shire needed him!

 ‘I’m sorry, Hilly,’ Elessar said. ‘You’ve earned anything that is in my power to give you, but this thing you ask... it is not in my power. I cannot heal him.’

 ‘Please,’ Hilly whispered, and then he covered his face with his hands. The King sat a long time, an understanding hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, and he said nothing, for there was nothing more to be said.

Chapter 55. A Choice to Consider

Pippin began pressing to get up out of the bed, of course, as soon as he wakened. Denethor, stopping in to see him on his way to check on Sam and Hilly, found him fully engaged in arguing with Diamond and Ceolwen. The exercise had brought colour to the hobbit’s cheeks and a sparkle to his eyes, and despite his shortened breath he affected vigour and health.

 ‘The King has given strict orders...’ Ceolwen was saying. 

 ‘And where is the King?’ Pippin demanded. ‘Why isn’t he here to speak for himself, instead of letting you do the dirty work?’

 ‘He was here earlier,’ Denethor said, crossing his arms and attempting to look stern. ‘You, slug-abed, were still asleep when he looked in on you. There’s a matter of a certain bag of herbs...’

 ‘Herbs?’ Diamond asked in confusion, though she was glad for the guardsman’s entrance. Young and merry of heart yet courageous and tested by battle, one of the King’s elite bodyguard, Denny had more influence with her husband than the strictest healer.

Ceolwen looked to the guardsman, an eyebrow raised. Any help was welcome, of course, but Denethor was known to have a penchant for practical jokes.

 ‘Herbs,’ the guardsman said firmly. He nodded to the simmering mixture, sending its pungency into the air, a smell that could clear the stuffiest head. ‘I saw the King measure out herbs into a bag, and he said you were not to leave this room until the entire contents of the bag had been simmered.’

 ‘Let’s just dump them all in and get it over with!’ Pippin said.

 ‘It is about time to renew the mixture, is it not?’ Diamond asked, with a restraining hand on her husband’s arm.

 ‘Yes,’ Ceolwen said. ‘I’ll send an assistant in.’

 ‘How much is left in the bag?’ Pippin called after her, but she did not stop to answer. He grumbled, settling back on the bed. ‘Measured herbs into a bag... no doubt the bag is a piece of your imagination, Denny, as are so many other...’

 ‘You doubt my word?’ Denny said, insulted. He stood straighter, unfolding his arms. ‘You watch yourself,’ he said, affecting a grim tone. ‘I’ll—’

 ‘You’ll—what?’ Pippin said with an interested look.

 ‘I’ll add more herbs to the bag when the healers aren’t looking,’ Denethor said. ‘They’ll keep you in bed a week longer!’

 ‘You wouldn’t!’

 ‘Just try me.’

Diamond spoiled things by laughing aloud, and Denethor relaxed with a chuckle. ‘Stay in the bed,’ he said. ‘Or I’ll sit on you myself!’

  ‘Where did you learn about sitting on Tooks?’ Diamond asked.

 ‘Bergil told me all about it,’ Denethor said. ‘Evidently Pippin had a bad spell in Minas Tirith after the Coronation, and it took both his cousins together to keep him abed as long as the King thought necessary.’

 ‘King, hah!’ Pippin said. ‘He might be King but he’s as bad as any other healer!’

 ‘And you’re worse than all the Tooks put together,’ Denethor returned, ‘or so your cousins Merry and Frodo told Bergil.’

Bag of herbs or no bag of herbs, Pippin was out of the bed well before the healers thought he ought to be, but that of course was nothing new. Hilly stalked alongside him when he deemed the Thain needed escorting, still stiff and more than a little sore, but glad to be out of his own bed.

A fair amount of time was spent at Sam’s bedside, bringing cheer, at least until the healers allowed that the leg had healed enough for him to be carried to the garden where he could sit and chat with the gardeners and observe his sons in their “duties”.

Soon the picnics and outings resumed as if there had never been an emergency, though all watched over Princess Liriel with much more care than heretofore. Indeed, as Pippin declared, they watched her more carefully than they did the little hobbits, and that was saying something!

During one of their outings, Merry walked by Pippin’s side as young Gamgees and a little Took swarmed into the low branches of apple and pear trees, planted fairly recently and still small enough for hobbits to climb, not like the ancient trees in Gondor, giants of trees that held their fruit inconveniently high, as far as a hobbit was concerned. There would be no fruit to eat for some weeks yet, for it was barely mid-Summer. The little hobbits knew better than to disturb the setting fruit, but perched on the sturdy branches and sang like curl-topped, wingless birds.

 ‘I’ve been talking with Strider,’ the older cousin said. 

 ‘Oh?’ Pippin responded politely. ‘I’m sure he’s gratified that you’re holding up your end of the conversation.’

 ‘He says the damp chill was a part of it—O the cold was the start, but the mist from the Falls was enough to push you over the edge.’

 ‘Funny, that! I thought I lost my footing,’ Pippin said. ‘You say it was the mist, pushed me over? How inhospitable!’

 ‘Pippin!’ Merry said in annoyance, but the younger cousin only laughed. Merry tried again. ‘It seems the cool and damp that makes the Shire so green is a part of what’s killing you,’ he said, setting aside light talk in light of his fear for his cousin.

 ‘Killing me!’ Pippin said, affecting astonishment. ‘Merry, I do think you’re exagger—’

 ‘I thought you were dying there, in my arms!’ Merry said, his voice rising in his perturbation. He looked about himself, at the youngsters in the trees, and lowered his voice. ‘You said goodbye...’

 ‘I never said any such thing!’ Pippin retorted.

 ‘You hadn’t the breath to say it,’ Merry allowed. ‘You looked it, rather, and then you closed your eyes and gave up the fight.’

 ‘Gave up the fight,’ Pippin mimicked. ‘Honestly, Merry, the way you—’

Merry stopped, placing a heavy hand on his cousin’s shoulder. ‘Honestly, Pippin,’ he said, staring straight into his cousin’s eyes.

Pippin’s bright smile faded. ‘No matter how I struggled, I could not seem to get any air,’ he admitted. ‘I was trying, Merry, honestly I was, but there simply was no air to be had.’ He took a few shallow breaths and determinedly found his smile once more. ‘Be that as it may, it is past and done and I did not die in your arms after all! As I have no intention of doing! I’m going to die in my bed, just as any proper hobbit!’ He started to walk again, pulling away from Merry's restraining hand, and Merry was forced to follow.

 ‘As if you’ve ever been proper,’ Merry said. ‘Is that why you avoid your bed like the plague? Getting up a full week before the healers said they were going to let you up!’

 ‘Beds are for sick folk,’ Pippin maintained, ‘and other—ahem!—pursuits. But you won’t catch a Took lying about in bed, doing nothing. It’s inviting Death to come and have a look in, and we cannot have that!’

 ‘No of course not,’ Merry said, his voice rich with irony, ‘but...’

Pippin stopped walking and turned to look his cousin full in the face. ‘What is it, Merry?’ he demanded. ‘You’ve been dancing about the subject for days now. Have out with it!’

 ‘I think you ought to go to Gondor with the King when he goes South,’ Merry blurted. It was not like him to blurt things out; he usually liked to think a matter through and present a considered opinion. But Pippin so often unsettled him...

 ‘What, after spending the summer at the Lake? The Tooks barely tolerated this long a desertion, on my part! They might not welcome me back into the Tookland, should I stay away much longer!’

 ‘I mean, go back to Gondor, to live,’ Merry said, ploughing ahead.

Pippin laughed. ‘To live!’ he said, incredulous. ‘Merry, I do believe you’ve had too much sun!’

 ‘The air is warmer and drier,’ Merry said stubbornly. ‘They don’t have the cool damp of the Northlands.’

 ‘Cool sunlight and green grass,’ Pippin murmured incongruously.

 ‘There’s green grass a-plenty on the fields of the Pelennor,’ Merry said, misunderstanding.

 ‘You want me to leave the Shire?’ Pippin said.

 ‘No,’ Merry said, ‘I don’t want you to. But I do want you to live, Pippin.’ He swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘Strider says—’

 ‘Strider said his short-cut would get us to Rivendell sooner than later,’ Pippin said, ‘and as I recall we ended up on the Road notwithstanding.’

 ‘Pippin!’ Merry said, louder than he intended. The laughter of the young Gamgees faded.

 ‘Da?’ Faramir said from his perch, not far away.

 ‘All’s well, Farry,’ Pippin called. ‘Your Uncle Merry is dismayed to find he must spend Yule at the Great Smials this year, instead of us going to Buckland as usual. But I had to give in to Regi’s insistence, to get him to agree we could come to the Lake for the entire Summer!’

Faramir nodded, and went back to the song-game that the young hobbits had been playing.

 ‘Pippin!’ Merry said, under his breath this time, but with no less intensity.

 ‘I’ll think on it, Merry,’ Pippin said. ‘This sort of thing requires a great deal of thought, I fear. You’re asking me to shirk my responsibilities...’

 ‘I’m asking you to save your life,’ Merry said softly. ‘Please, Pippin...’

 ‘I’ll give it all the thought it’s due, and more,’ Pippin said, ‘but only if you promise not to badger me about it in the meantime. At Summer’s end you’ll know my decision.’

Chapter 56. Considering Choices

(Note to the Reader: This is pretty much an unedited draft chapter, and may contain background material subject to excision. Behold the writing process at work. If you think this stuff is boring and slows down the story interminably, say so. If you think it's essential, express that opinion as well. I don't have much time for editing right now, and my editor-friend is offline for a week or so. We'll be happy to consider your opinion when we get back to refining these final chapters.)

A day or two later, having joined the hobbits for a picnic tea, Elladan heard Pippin mutter, in a tone as close to despair as he’d heard from the hobbit, ‘Is there nothing to be done?’ The two sat alone for the nonce. All the others were wandering over the meadow, plucking bright wildflowers that nodded and beckoned in the gentle breeze beneath the summer sun.

He knew the words were not meant to be heard, but his hearing was sharper than a hobbit might suspect. He took a deep breath. Perhaps this was the right time to speak, to encourage Pippin with Elessar’s idea that the hobbit could live in relative health for many years yet, if he were to leave the Northlands and move to Gondor as the King wished him to do.

Turning his head he was struck by the bleak expression on the invariably cheerful face. He followed Pippin’s gaze, fixed as it was, to see that the hobbit was staring at his kinsman, Hildibold, bending over his beloved Posey, proffering a double-handful of bright wildflowers he’d plucked from the meadow. Posey’s delighted laughter wafted to them on the breeze, even as Hilly bowed lower, seizing one of Posey’s outstretched hands to lay a kiss in the palm.

 ‘What is it, Pippin?’ Elladan said.

Pippin started. ‘O Elladan,’ he said. ‘Would you care for another slice of seedcake? They’ve packed more than I can eat in this basket, and that’s saying something.’

Elladan accepted the cake, encouraging Pippin to help himself to an additional slice, and the two sat, companionably chewing, until Pippin said, ‘His days are numbered, you know.’

Elladan looked from Pippin to Hilly and back again. The escort had dropped on the blanket beside his love, and his laughter rang out as she bedecked him with chains of bright flowers. He looked healthy enough... was well over the fever and the bruising he’d received from his battle against the river.

 ‘I don’t understand,’ Elladan said.

 ‘How long?’ Pippin asked. ‘How long will it be?’

 ‘Is he ill?’ Elladan said. ‘I examined him myself, when Denethor carried him to the clearing, though I must admit I might have been distracted, seeing Arwen’s reunion with Liriel.’

Pippin shook his head and seemed to change the subject. ‘What happens to Elves when they die?’ he asked.

Elladan looked at him in astonishment. ‘Why do you ask?’ he said.

 ‘Frodo told me once that Elves marry for life,’ Pippin said, ‘much as hobbits do. What happens when they die?’

 ‘We are bound to the world,’ Elladan said. ‘If one is slain or withers with grief, he goes to the Halls of Mandos.’

 ‘As Men do,’ Pippin said. ‘So Frodo said.’

 ‘But Men depart the world thence, and go beyond.’ Elladan said.

 ‘Beyond,’ Pippin mused. ‘Beyond... where?’

The son of Elrond shrugged, and Pippin chuckled. ‘Frodo always said I had perfected the art of asking unanswerable questions.’

 ‘There is always an answer,’ Elladan said. ‘It is just that I don’t have them all.’

 ‘Among my people...’ Pippin began.

Elladan leaned forward. This was one of the answers that he didn’t have. ‘Yes?’ he said.

 ‘Hobbits mate for life, as well,’ Pippin said. ‘It is almost unheard-of, for a hobbit to marry again after losing half of oneself.’

 ‘Ah,’ Elladan said to encourage him.

 ‘There are exceptions,’ Pippin said, and stopped. ‘Of course, in earlier times...’

Elladan’s breath froze within him as sudden memory arose, hobbits he’d known long ago, many lifetimes ago by hobbit reckoning, not even distant memory and yet for the son of Elrond, they were faces that he could bring to mind when he closed his eyes, their laughter and song still echoing in his ears. Pippin didn’t seem to notice his companion’s abstraction.

 ‘In earlier times, hobbits didn’t re-marry simply because one usually didn’t survive the death of a mate,’ Pippin said. He picked a many-petalled flower from the grass and raised it to his nose for a thoughtful whiff.

Elladan nodded.

 ‘Even in these days, they call it “turning one’s face to the wall”,’ Pippin said. ‘You simply lose all interest in food. A hobbit who doesn’t eat is soon, as they say, no hobbit at all.’

 ‘I had heard as much,’ Elladan managed to force out past the lump in his throat.

Pippin gave him a curious glance. ‘Nowadays, of course, we don’t go in so much for the dramatic,’ he said. ‘Most hobbits are too sensible to die of a broken heart anymore. I’ve made Diamond promise that she’d stay, for Farry’s sake...’

It was the closest Elladan had ever heard him refer to his impending end.

 ‘But in some of my relations, the Fallohide strain runs strong,’ Pippin said. ‘My sister, for instance.’

Elladan nodded, though he hadn’t met Pippin’s sister.

 ‘No hobbit child is ever orphaned, you know,’ Pippin said. ‘Even if both parents die, there’s always someone to take the children. Frodo had too many looking after him, as a matter of fact. Lots of fingers in the pie, lots of cooks spoiling the broth, and everyone thinking someone else had taken charge of him. But Bilbo sorted things out, eventually...’

The hobbit returned from this side trail. ‘And Hilly,’ he said.

 ‘I don’t follow you,’ Elladan said quietly.

Pippin smiled. ‘It’s a common failing,’ he said. ‘Hilly’s a Fallohide; the strain runs very strong in him, just as it does in my sister. Posey is his other half; without her he’s...’ He began slowly and carefully to pluck the petals from the wildflower in his hand. ‘How long would you live, if Strider took that fine and ancient sword of his and cut you in half?’ He wielded the half-plucked flower in his hand and made a gesture as if bringing a sword down on Elladan’s head, down and through his body, to the ground.

 ‘I would die, of course!’ Elladan said, a surprised chuckle escaping him.

Pippin nodded. ‘Hilly will die,’ he said, ‘for Posey is his other half, you see. They’ll meet again beyond the circles of the world.’

 ‘Beyond the circles...?’ Elladan said softly.

 ‘When we die, or so my people say, we go beyond the circles of the world, to sit down to an unending feast, eating, talking, and singing, surrounded by love and laughter, where there is no sorrow and no time, and where all we’ve ever lost is restored to us.’*

 ‘Beyond the circles of the world?’ Elladan repeated.

Pippin shrugged. ‘I don’t know what it means,’ he said. ‘My grandfather told me, and his grandfather told him, and for all I know his grandfather made it all up, but most likely his grandfather passed it on from his own grandfather.’

 ‘Most likely,’ Elladan said.

Pippin sighed. ‘So why should I begrudge Hilly his choice?’ he said. ‘I only know that I’ll be heartily sorry to lose him, a fine hobbit, a fine cousin, a friend of my youth. That he should be cut down, short of his full measure of days...’

Elladan looked at Pippin curiously. The hobbit did not rail against his own measure coming short, but rather grieved the anticipated loss of his kinsman.

 ‘And what of yourself?’ he said delicately.

Pippin snorted. ‘What of myself?’ he asked.

 ‘Will you stay in the Northlands?’ Elladan asked.

 ‘Has Strider been talking to you as well?’ Pippin said, and sighed. ‘Has he turned everyone against me, then? Who’s the next to speak? Sam? Diamond?’

 ‘Turned them against you?’ Elladan asked, nonplussed.

 ‘What choice do I have in the matter?’ Pippin said.

 ‘What choice?’ Elessar’s voice was heard from behind them. Elladan had heard his approach, but Pippin evidently had not. The hobbit jumped and turned, frowning.

 ‘I ask you, Strider, what would you do?’ he said.

 ‘The air in Gondor...’ the King began, but Pippin interrupted him.

 ‘If, instead of ruling the land of Gondor and the land of Arnor and everything else,’ Pippin said, making a vague gesture encompassing all the meadow and what lay beyond, ‘What if you’d had the choice of sailing into the uttermost West, where your Lady would not be parted from her kin? No strife, no difficult choices, no heartaches in the Land of Light, where you might live as long as you wished and lay your life down when at last you tired of it, and yet Arwen would live on... whereas, staying here, she will lay her life down when you depart. Come to think of it, that would be a very hobbity thing for her to do.’ His face brightened with wonder at the thought.

 ‘Pippin,’ Elessar said.

 ‘She has a real understanding of hobbits, you know,’ Pippin said, and then he was rising, casting aside the denuded flower as he called a greeting to Diamond and Farry, returning to the picnic blankets bearing armloads of wildflowers to be braided into garlands.

*A/N: What happens to Hobbits when they die? Even the Wise do not know. What appears here, and in other stories of mine, is my invention. JRRT never said, exactly, so far as I know.

Note to the reader: This is the last part of the draft chapter, Thoughtful Conversations, that split itself into three parts. It might get re-combined, might not. Each part is over 1000 words, after all, and with my slow dial-up connexion I don't want to approach 3,000 words in a single chapter if I can avoid it.

Pippin found Posey in the Queen’s garden.

 ‘Hilly?’ she said, not turning.

 ‘I sent him to escort Diamond to the marketplace,’ Pippin said.

She rose at the sound of his voice, and he gestured her back to her seat, leaning against the back of the hobbit-sized bench with a pensive air.

Posey sat back down obediently, but remained politely half-turned. ‘Were you needing something, cousin?’ she said.

 ‘I have all I ever dreamed of, and more,’ Pippin said, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the garden wall with its climbing flowered vines, bees droning in and out of the blossoms. He shook himself slightly as if coming back from a long way and added, ‘Is there anything I can be doing for you?

Puzzled, she lifted an empty hand ‘All is well,’ she said.

 ‘The healers say...’ Pippin began, and stopped.

 ‘Yes?’ Posey said, turning further around. ‘What do they say?’

 ‘Not a bl—blessed thing,’ Pippin said, and from his expression she knew he’d turned curse into blessing.

She put a gentle hand on his, resting on the back of the bench. ‘You asked them?’ she said simply.

 ‘I know better than to ask,’ he said ruefully. ‘ “Not my news to tell”—it’s what I’ve asked of Sam, and Merry, after all, that they not trouble Elessar with the knowledge of how things truly are. Not that he doesn’t know, blasted healer that he is. He laid his head upon my breast, to hear my breathing, and his face changed. He knew.’

 ‘But he said nothing,’ Posey said.

 ‘Nothing, but to convince Merry that I must remove to Gondor or die.’ Somehow the words that he could not mull over before Diamond came easily in the presence of this cousin in similar straits.

 ‘And isn’t that the case?’ Posey asked gently.

 ‘I’ll die anyway,’ Pippin said. ‘No body lives forever. Save Elves, perhaps.’

 ‘They are a wondrous folk,’ Posey said, her eyes taking on a far away look.

They remained in silence for a time, each lost in his or her own thoughts, before Pippin said, ‘Have they told you how long?’

Posey smiled and lifted her empty hand once more, polite version of a shrug. ‘My life stretches before me,’ she said. ‘A bright ribbon, winding into future days. No one knows how many sips are in the cup. Why, Hilly nearly drowned in a bog not so long ago.’

She could see this did not satisfy him, and so she tried again. ‘It is a slow-creeping malady. I have the possibility of some years, yet, if I eat well, and rest well, and seek for joy around me.’ She smiled. ‘And even if my arms continue empty, there are plenty of little ones to go round, at the Smials, and another pair of loving arms is always wanted.’

Pippin nodded.

 ‘And you?’ Posey ventured after another silence.

 ‘What about me?’ Pippin said, though he knew very well. He watched a fat bee force its way into a half-opened flower and emerge again, pollen-dusted.

 ‘Will you go to Gondor?’ Posey asked.

Pippin did not answer for a moment. ‘I’ve considered,’ he said. ‘I promised Merry that much.’

Posey waited.

 ‘They—not one of them, save Diamond perhaps, knows the truth of the matter,’ Pippin said. There was no answer to this; Posey did not know the truth of the matter, either, but it seemed if she listened well she might yet learn it, and give her cousin’s troubled heart some ease in the process.

 ‘We are all just one breath away from leaving this life, after all,’ Pippin went on after a moment. ‘It’s only that I’m more aware of each breath, perhaps.’

Posey nodded.

 ‘It’s an easy death, at least,’ Pippin said, his voice dropping, as if he spoke to himself. ‘Things grow dim and far away, each breath seems less important as the struggle mounts, and all I have to do is lay down the fight. Only a breath away...’

 ‘Pippin!’ she said softly.

He turned from his perusal of the bees to meet her gaze. ‘But for the pain it would cause those I love best, I would have laid down the fight some time ago,’ he said. ‘And now, to chase a phantom promise of more years, more sips added to my cup, I am to leave all I love behind me?’

 ‘At least you have a choice,’ she said, and he winced.

 ‘None of us has a choice,’ he returned, meeting her eyes once more. ‘Nobody lives forever.’

 ‘Will you not go to Gondor?’ Posey asked.

 ‘At night I lay me down,’ Pippin said, as if to change the subject. ‘D’y’know, I force so many breaths during the day, when I lie down to sleep I always wonder if I’ll still be in the world when the Sun wakens.’

 ‘O Pippin,’ she whispered, her hand at her throat as a sob threatened to emerge.

 ‘I don’t know that going to Gondor would do all that much good,’ Pippin said briskly. ‘Why, the journey in and of itself would be such a strain! I’d be much better off, at my ease in my own home, with everyone waiting on my least wish.’

Posey swallowed hard.

 ‘Diamond had the right of it, you know,’ he went on.

 ‘Oh?’

 ‘Plenty of rest, good food, love and laughter are her cures for nearly any ill,’ he said. ‘The Old Gaffer’s Friend nearly carried me off, you know.’

 ‘I know,’ Posey said wryly.

 ‘But Diamond—she’s a wonder!—she wouldn’t let the Old Gaffer have me. O I know, she wasn’t there for the worst of it. But even after they said I’d live, I felt as if the alternative might be preferable. Diamond, though, she wouldn’t allow it. What a wonder she is! And do y'know, when I've had a long stretch of rest and good food, a long stretch of good luck with few ills to plague me, I feel as if I could live forever!’

Pippin fell silent for a moment, his face reflecting the joy he’d found in love. At last he added, incongruously, ‘She always laughs at my jokes, did you know that? Even the lame ones!’

 ‘I wasn’t aware you told any lame ones,’ Posey observed, her eyes suspiciously bright. She would not cry, she told herself fiercely, and make him think she pitied him.

Pippin threw back his head and laughed, and Posey joined him.

 ‘There’s a grand sound!’ Diamond said, entering the garden with Hilly just behind her. Farry ducked under her arm to run to his father, and Pippin lifted him high and then hugged the lad tight. ‘And what have you been doing, to generate such merriment?’

 ‘Telling lame jokes,’ Posey said, twinkling at her beloved Hilly.

 ‘Pippin excels at such,’ Hilly said, sitting down beside her and slipping an arm about her waist.

 ‘He does, indeed,’ Posey said, and gave a contented sigh as she laid her head upon Hilly’s shoulder.

Chapter 58. Picnic Breakfast

Jack hefted the rough bag he bore and grinned. Just a few more and he’d be ready to leave the forest and cross the River on the tumbled rocks above the waterfall—anyone with nerve and a good sense of balance could do so, and avoid going the long way around to the bridge about a mile upriver, where the Baranduin was born from the Lake. The best mushrooms were to be found on the Old Annuminas side of the River, where people seldom went, whether for fear of what might lurk in the ruins, or because they had too much to do in building up a new City in what had been for too long Wilderland.

He’d turn over the bag of mushrooms to the greengrocer, in payment for supplying his middle daughter to help Jack and the lads run their little shop. This was the first day of the week, when the hobbits could be expected to come to the marketplace, and the greengrocer would be happy to take their coin for the freshly-gathered mushrooms. After his years spent in the Shire and amongst the Shire-folk, Jack knew the best mushrooms, and which were the deadly ones, and his bargain with the greengrocer had resulted in benefit for both parties. Jack would be happy to take the lads out fishing, or tramping in the woods, leaving Seledrith in charge of the shop for their “day out”. She had a real feel for colour and texture and was already helping them turn a profit amongst the ladies of the court. Should Diamond, by chance, step into the shop, only Seledrith would be there to meet them. Another benefit that Jack had noticed was Will’s rapid breathing in Seledrith’s presence and his wide-eyed attention to anything the girl said, while stumbling all over his feet to please her... it would not be all that long before youth turned to manhood...

Though it was misty yet, the day promised to be warm and bright. Summer was waning; autumn would be here soon, and the hobbits would return to the Shire. The greengrocer would rue the loss of profit, perhaps, but Jack and Will would be able to relax for the first time since the excitement in the marketplace heralded the hobbits’ arrival last Spring. The King would return to the Southlands and Jack’s breathing space would stretch out for months, years perhaps, until the next visit of the Thain to the Lake.

In the meantime... Jack knelt at the base of a tree and dug his fingers into the loose soil. Fine specimens, these! Just a few more, and he’d call it a good morning’s work.

***

 ‘A picnic breakfast!’ Denethor said under his breath. ‘Now I think I’ve seen everything!’

 ‘Here, I think,’ Diamond said, indicating a grassy spot under the apple trees. ‘We can watch the Sun as she climbs into the sky, and when the day warms we’ll have a nice little walk to the Lake where we can cool our toes before we meet the King and Queen for luncheon, or was it tea?’

 ‘Tea,’ Pippin said, helping Hilly spread the blanket where Diamond had indicated. ‘Bergil will meet us at the Lake with our luncheon, as you recall, my dearest. Then he’ll escort you to the market, and Denny will have a well-earned rest!’

 ‘Rest,’ Diamond pouted. ‘Probably spend the afternoon polishing his mail or some such. Wouldn’t you much rather accompany us to market, Denny, and take tea with the Queen afterwards?’

 ‘My time is not my own,’ Denny said with a bow and a smile.

 ‘No, I do believe that when the King is not filling your time with the escorting of guests, a certain pretty young thing is directing the rest of your hours,’ Hilly said with a wink. Though he remained shy of the other Big Folk, he’d grown accustomed to Denny and Bergil over the summer months, considering them something like overtall hobbits.

 ‘Aha!’ Sam said, adding his laughter to the rest as Denethor ducked his head. ‘You’ll find you cannot conceal much from Hilly here. He makes it his business to find things out.’

 ‘Thain’s business,’ Hilly said.

 ‘After all, I must know all that is going on under my nose,’ Pippin said. ‘Here now, Sam, sit yourself down and rest that leg!’ Sam was walking now with a sturdy stick, a little farther every day, and threatening to return to the Shire just as soon as he could comfortably sit in a saddle for the number of hours the journey would require, much to the dismay of the little Gamgees, who wished to stay, like the Thain and his family, until summer’s end.

The Thain eased the Mayor down upon one of the blankets. Sam put his stick aside and sighed in satisfaction. ‘It’s a pretty place for a picnic,’ he said, admiring the well-kept trees, heavy with promise though it would be some weeks before the apples would begin to blush.

 ‘Too bad Merry couldn’t be here,’ Diamond said as she and Rose began to set out the feast, helped by Elanor and young Rose, while Frodo set the younger Gamgees and the little Took in order.

 ‘Too busy conspiring with the King,’ Pippin said behind his hand.

 ‘Are you going to Gondor?’ Sam asked frankly.

 ‘Now Sam,’ Pippin said. ‘I told Merry I’d give the idea full consideration.’

 ‘You’ve been considering for weeks now,’ Diamond said. ‘I’ve never known it to take you so long to make up your mind.’

 ‘My love,’ Pippin said, seizing her hand, plate of glistening grapes and all. He took the plate from her, set it down on the blanket, and gave the hand a fervent kiss. ‘You know that if I do decide to go to Gondor, I’ll take you with me.’

Diamond pulled her hand away. ‘How ever do you expect me to get breakfast on?’ she scolded with a smile. ‘Take me with you indeed!’ She turned to slicing cheese.

 ‘And me!’ Farry shouted, while Merry-lad and Pippin-lad looked glum at the prospect of losing their friend.

 ‘But you’ll have to promise to come a-visiting with your family, Sam,’ Pippin said. ‘It’ll be far too lonely, to be the only Shire-folk in the White City.’

Diamond caught her breath at his phrasing, but busied herself with cutting even slices of cheese. Mingled hope and dread stirred within her—dread at leaving all she knew, forever, to go off into foreign parts; and hope that her husband might choose life over duty.

He wouldn’t really be neglecting his duty by choosing so, she argued within herself silently, and not for the first time.  It is the King’s wish, after all.

Rose had fixed a plate for Denethor, as usual, and as usual the guardsman shook his head. ‘I’ve eaten,’ he said. When told he’d be accompanying the King’s guests on a breakfast picnic, he’d arranged to take his breakfast well before the dawn.

He was on guard, after all.

Not that anything had threatened the hobbits through the long, blessed summer days. Denethor felt nothing if not superfluous, especially as Hilly accompanied the Thain nearly everywhere, bow strung and quiver of wickedly-tipped arrows at his back. When he wasn’t shadowing Pippin, the hobbit of the Thain's escort was shadowing Diamond and Farry, whenever any of them left the palace or the sheltered courtyards and gardens.

Such is the lot of a bodyguard. Denethor felt superfluous in any event, for Elessar needed guarding as badly as a... as a sharp-toothed wolf! Promoted to the King’s elite guard on the battlefield, sometimes the young guardsman wondered if he’d be better off back in the ranks. Ah, but then he might never have made the acquaintance of hobbits.

All the while he was thinking his own thoughts, he was also listening to the conversation of the hobbits—Would Pippin really be coming with them to Gondor? So it sounded!—and all the while he was keeping track of each little hobbit as they finished their breakfast and climbed into the low limbs of the trees, and he was scanning their surroundings for any threat or danger. No wolves to be found, this time of year and this close to the City. No robbers to worry about, for the Road was well-patrolled in these days of peace. No...

His thoughts broke off as he staggered at a sudden blow, and pain bloomed in his side. To his amazement, looking down, he saw the feathered shaft of an arrow... and the hand he’d raised inadvertently came away with bright blood dripping from the fine black leather of his glove. He heard Diamond scream, a far away sound, and as if in a dream he saw Hilly grab up his bow even as he pulled his sword from its sheath, swinging to face the direction whence the attack had come. A shield! He should be bearing a shield in a shooting battle. But he’d been guarding against wolves and brigands, not archers...

Chapter 59. Kidnapped! 

Denethor allowed himself to sag against the sturdy bole of an apple tree, allowed his sword to hang in his hand, assessing the situation. He knew he had bare seconds to act, knew also that time had slowed to a crawl and he must make each second count.

The wound was recoverable, he thought. The arrow was not buried deep, but hung caught in the broken links of his mail. Mail by itself was no guarantee against archers, but his luck had held and the pyle had glanced from a rib—breathing was painful and his heart was hammering in his ears, but he’d come out of this much better than he deserved. Once he located the archer, he’d put the tree between himself and more arrows. Hilly would keep the ruffian busy with shots of his own, while Denethor worked his way from tree to tree and...

He found the archer, just emerged from the field of tall grain near the orchard, and saw that his trick had worked. Thinking the guardsman mortally wounded, the archer had turned his attention elsewhere.

A choked cry from Rose and terrified shrieks from young hobbits drew Denethor’s attention with the archer’s. Pippin had pushed Diamond and Elanor down on the blankets, Frodo had followed suit with young Rose, Gamgee baby and toddler were shrieking in a most distracting way. Hilly sprawled upon the ground, Posey sobbing over him, and not far away another ruffian had dropped a club and was dragging two of the little ones from a tree branch. Sam had hauled himself to his feet and was hammering away at the Man with his sturdy walking stick, and the archer was taking aim at the Mayor! There was no time!

The guardsman pushed himself upright, raising his sword and rushing across the picnic ground, silent and deadly as a charging wolf. He saw the archer’s eyes widen, saw the bow swing back in his direction, was bare feet away when he felt the impact of the shaft striking through him, but he was already bringing down his sword so it mattered not. The archer gave a howl of pain as the bright sword clove, losing all interest in matters around him at that moment, sinking down, with the hand he still possessed clutching at the stump that remained of the other.

With a vicious kick for the Mayor the other ruffian pried the little hobbits free and ran from the clearing.

 ‘Pippin!’ It was the cry of a mother’s despair. Rose clutched her screaming toddler close, sitting frozen in horror, as the baby wailed nearby.

And yet the Thain himself was calling his own son’s name. ‘Farry!’ And Diamond was screaming and sobbing. Two young hobbits...

Denethor understood suddenly, through the rushing in his ears, that the Mayor’s wife called not for the Thain, but for her young son. Two young hobbits...

He tried to raise his sword again, but turning he could not seem to make his legs obey his command. The world was darkening around him, but he saw enough to know that he’d failed in his duty, utterly failed. The remaining ruffian had escaped, bearing with him two of the young hobbits.

His sword was too heavy, and he was diminishing, sinking into the ground, shrinking to the size of a hobbit, for now somehow Pippin was there, staring eye-to-eye. The Thain had seized him by the hauberk and was shouting, words that had no meaning. Denethor opened his mouth to reply, but there was no air to be found. No air. No...

Pippin eased the kneeling guardsman the rest of the way to the ground. ‘Diamond!’ he shouted. ‘Do what you can!’ To young Frodo, huddled with his sister, the Thain snapped, ‘Run, lad! Run for help!’ Frodo nodded, jumped to his feet, and bolted towards the City.

Pippin swept the picnic ground with one more glance and turned to follow the ruffian.

 ‘Pippin!’ Diamond shrieked, but her husband did not look back. He’d run though it killed him to do so, for the ruffian had their son!

Hilly rose, shaking off Posey, and though he was gasping for air after the blow the ruffian’s club had dealt his mid-section, he staggered after Pippin.

Sam, who hadn’t the legs to join in the chase, crawled over to Rose, scooped up the shrieking babe, and embraced wife and toddler.

Rose buried her head in her husband’s shoulder. ‘Pippin!’ she sobbed brokenly. ‘O my little Pip-lad!’

***

Jack jerked upright, puzzled. He thought he’d heard shrieks from the other side of the River, over the noise from the waterfalls. He listened a moment, then shook his head. Seabirds, it was, seabirds come inland to the great Lake, gulls with white wings, dipping and swirling and crying their doom to any Elves that might pass by.

Still, it was past time for him to be returning. Why, he was greedy as any hobbit, going after “just one more”, and one more after that! His bag held enough mushrooms to serve all the visiting hobbits, on a great serving platter. Well, considering the number of little Gamgees, perhaps not quite enough to satisfy the lot. But enough to serve them, certainly!

He secured the top of the bag under his belt and turned towards the River and the jumbled rocks at the top of the falls that Will liked to call the Stepping Stones.

***

Pippin ran, grimly determined. He knew his limits, and he would not push himself to the point of collapse, not when that Man ahead of him bore Farry and little Pip-lad to an uncertain fate. Uncertain? Pip snorted at himself and shook his head. He knew enough of Men to fear the consequences, should the Man be successful in evading pursuit.

He was weaponless, for the armourer had Pippin’s sword, to make a small repair, but there were plenty of fist-sized rocks near the River, and that was where the Man was headed. If Pippin could get a good shot at him, he might yet bring him down.

The roar of the River grew in his ears. The Man was headed there... but what was his objective? Would he turn northwards, towards the Lake? Was a boat waiting there? Surely he’d excite comment, carrying struggling young hobbits over the causeway. Perhaps he was making for the old bridge, to disappear into the ruins of Annuminas.

Pippin nodded to himself. That was the most likely course. No one would be on the Annuminas side of the River. Hardly anyone went to the ruins these days, unless the hobbits badgered the King into making a visit there, to sit upon the sun-bathed rocks and tell stories of the past.

Why had the Man taken the little ones? Pippin thought he knew, all too well. Ransom. He’d become familiar with the concept while visiting Gondor. But he’d not heard of many happy cases where the desperate family recovered their loved one safe and unharmed, not even after providing the gold demanded. More likely the gold was taken and the body was never found.

Bodies, in this case. Pip-lad and Farry had been clinging to each other in their terror, and the Man had been forced to take both lads, unable to pry them apart. Undoubtedly he’d still be trying to separate them as he ran, that he might cast off the “worthless” lad and keep the one whose father was reputed to sit upon a hoard of gold. If he reached the River before Pippin could catch him, he’d likely throw Pip-lad into the stream, to be carried over the falls and broken on the rocks below, or drowned in the tumult of roiling waters.

The ground was rougher here, and Pippin, topping a rise of broken ground, saw his quarry ahead. The Man had stumbled, fallen, was climbing to his feet. All the better! Pippin could gain some ground... a fine, round rock beckoned from a bed of moss, and the Thain stooped just long enough to pry it loose. It had a satisfying heft in his hand.

His breath came short, but he had plenty of breath for his purposes. He was very nearly within throwing distance, and the ground was rough and rocky, fine going for a sure-footed hobbit but slow and difficult for a burdened Man.

Chapter 60. Over the River and Through the Wood

It was to have been so easy! Only one guardsman, according to the gossip in the marketplace, and a relatively isolated area, outside the walls of the City, away from the main roadways and the causeway along the Lake. Only one guardsman, to be quickly dispatched with an arrow or two.  Bill was skilled enough with the bow to bring down a moving deer. A guardsman, standing still, undoubtedly bored with his post, should be no trouble at all.

Once the guardsman was taken care of, the hobbits ought to present little or no trouble. One of them carried a bow, but they had the element of surprise on their side, and if he was holding hands with his lady-love as he had, so many times when the Men had spied on their quarry, he might not be so quick to pick up his bow. A swing of the club, and he’d be no bother to them. They could outrun the hobbits, running away, and escape across the jumbled rocks above the falls, for several of the gaps were wide leaps. A Man might jump such a gap, with water rushing below him, but Tom doubted that a hobbit would.

But Bill hadn’t finished the guardsman, half-wit! And that other Halfling had landed a few choice blows before Tom managed to kick him away. Ah well. Every dark cloud had a bright lining: there’d be no need to split the ransom money now. All would be Tom’s. And well earned!

The “extra” hobbit lad, who’d clung to the valuable one as Tom tried to pull him from the tree, hampering Tom from his purpose, was beating on his chest, shouting shrilly. ‘Let go! You let us go, you great bully!’

 ‘I’ll let you go, little rat,’ he snarled. ‘Be assured, I will!’

The ground was rougher, here, and he had to watch his footing. As it was, he stumbled, lost his footing, and instinctively turned to the side to avoid crushing the hobbits he carried, not that he cared one way or the other, but appearances mattered. He looked behind him; yes, one of the hobbits was following. All to the good. He’d reach the River well before his pursuer, leap across the jumbled rocks, turn around long enough to taunt the pursuing hobbit, drop the “extra” child into the swift water, to show the seriousness of his purpose, and skip the rest of the way across the River with the valuable hostage, disappear into the woods, and reach old Annuminas before the first of the guardsmen came to the River.

Once he reached the ruins... there were a thousand hiding places there. A shallow grave would not be marked. A day or two later he’d leave a folded paper on a stand in the crowded marketplace, with instructions where to leave the gold—he’d learned a few tricks along that line as well, to keep from being trapped when retrieving his “just dues”.

He’d live in the lap of luxury until the gold was used up, and then another opportunity would come along. They always did, very conveniently.

***

The ruffian was nearly to the River! Pippin took as deep a breath as he could manage, sighted carefully, and cast his first stone. It hit the Man between the shoulder-blades, causing him to stumble and cry out, but he regained his feet and a few steps later leapt from the bank, across a gap of rushing water, onto a flat stone.

Pippin raised his hand to throw another stone, but lowered it again. If the ruffian fell now... or if he dropped one or both of the young hobbits...

Pippin clenched his fist around the stone, put his head down and began to run just as fast as he was able. He’d leapt wide fissures in Moria, over rushing water. None of the gaps between the tumbled rocks appeared to be half as wide as the widest gap, more than seven feet wide, that he’d hurtled in that benighted place. More sure-footed than the Man, he’d follow over the River and then cast his stones.

***

Jack heard a cry as he reached the Stepping Stones. Looking up—for he was watching his feet on this uneven ground—he saw a man just reaching the opposite bank, carrying something... Jack squinted. Carrying dolls? How absurd!

The man leapt to the stone nearest the bank, coming towards Jack. Well, Jack would have to wait, for there wasn’t room for two to pass on this unconventional crossing. He stood politely waiting, until the thin cries reached him.

Help! Help us! Please!

Farry? Though he hadn’t heard the young hobbit’s voice in months, his heart leaped at the sound. How well he remembered listening to the chatter between the young hobbit and little Rob, all that long and weary way to the campsite where they’d left the hobbits for the last desperate dash to the Bounds of the Shire.

 ‘Farry!’ he called.

The man looked up, startled, and missed his footing. He threw out his arms to catch his balance, and the two doll-like figures flew from his grasp, their shrieks suddenly cut off as the foaming waters claimed them.

 ‘No!’ Jack screamed, hearing an echo from the opposite bank. He raised his eyes to see a hobbit reach the bank and stand rooted in horror just as another half-sized figure topped the rise behind him, shouting in Hilly’s remembered voice.

It seemed as if the man in the middle of the River must catch his balance, even though the rock was slippery. Jack’s hands closed into fists; he’d wait. He’d catch the ruffian, for ruffian he must be, bearing such a burden with hobbits in hot pursuit! He’d catch him, and it didn’t matter what happened to Jack, himself, but he vowed that this man would face the King’s justice for this day’s work!

Or not, as it were. The hobbit at River’s edge drew back his arm and cast something that flew, that struck the ruffian squarely, that overset him just as he was catching his balance and sent him staggering, falling, plunging into the swift water. His head broke the surface just before he was carried over the falls, and gone.

The stone-throwing hobbit covered his face with his hands and fell to his knees. The following hobbit leapt down to the bank and knelt beside him, dropping his bow to encircle him with his arms, both of them bowed in grief.

Jack stiffened as he caught movement at the edge of the falls. What was that? One of the hobbit lads, swept towards the edge, had been able to grab at a rock at the very edge of the falls, and had climbed out of the current. The small figure clung desperately as the water flowed to either side of his uneasy refuge.

 ‘Hold fast!’ Jack shouted. He jerked the bag of mushrooms from his belt, dumping the contents at his feet. The slim silver rope fell atop the heap of hobbit-delights. It had been in the bottom of the sack from the time he'd left the shop before dawn that morning, for Jack always carried the rope with him when he left the City. Never knew when a rope might come in handy, and this particular rope had never failed him in a pinch.

Chapter 61. ...And All the King’s Men

At Jack’s cry, Hilly jerked his head up, instantly alert for trouble. He stared at the silvering hair of the Man leaping from rock to rock, stopping in the middle of the River, rope coiled over one shoulder.

 ‘Pippin,’ he hissed, shaking his cousin. ‘It’s Jack! I’d swear it is!’

Pippin wiped at his eyes and raised his head, taking in the situation at once. Hope bloomed briefly when he saw his son, clinging to the rock as water thundered over the edge of the falls to either side of his precarious hold, only to turn at once to bleak despair when he saw Jack's purpose. It was clear to him that Jack had been waiting on the opposite shore for the other Men. ‘So he was a ruffian after all,’ he gritted.

Hilly took up his bow and pulled an arrow from his quiver, sighting carefully, but the Thain jerked at his arm, spoiling his aim.

 ‘What—!’ he said impatiently.

 ‘Wait,’ Pippin said, voice hard and cold and when Hilly glanced at him the escort lowered his bow. The Thain’s face looked as if it might have been carven from stone, and his eyes glinted dangerously. ‘He has a rope,’ he continued. ‘He might be Farry’s only chance. Wait,’ he said again, ‘until he has Farry, and when he reaches the opposite shore, bring him down.’

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly said, and set himself to wait and watch.

***

Jack reached the midpoint of the Stepping Stones and stopped to consider. A sturdy tree branch was lodged between this rock and the next, as if the fates had anticipated his need.  He lifted the rope to his lips and breathed a benediction, then fastened one end to the branch, jerking hard to check the fastness of his anchor. It appeared it would take an axe to dislodge the branch, and of course he could trust the rope to do its part.

He shook out a loop from the other end of the rope and raised his voice once more. ‘Farry!’ he cried. ‘Hold fast! I’m going to throw the rope to you! Put it around yourself and I’ll haul you in!’

The little hobbit waved one arm, clinging to the rock with the other.

 ‘Now then,’ Jack whispered. ‘Fly true!’ He drew back his arm, aimed, and threw. The elven-rope obediently snaked through the air, settling directly by the hobbit lad, so directly that Pippin winced, thinking it would strike his little son... but it didn’t.

The Thain held his breath as Farry let go with one hand to pull the loop over himself. His fists clenched when he heard Farry call back, confidence in his tone. ‘Ready!’

Jack nodded and began to haul. It was a battle, with all the force of the water against him, but the rope helped to lend him strength. While the hobbits watched, breathless, Jack pulled Farry from the edge of the falls to the relative safety of the Stepping Stones.

 ‘Ready,’ Pippin echoed as the Man took up Farry and hugged him close. The Man paused then, and it seemed to the watching hobbits that he and Faramir spoke, though no sound came to them over the roar of the waterfalls. Pippin’s hand closed on Hilly’s arm, tightened there, and released as Jack removed the rope from Faramir and coiled it upon the broad rock where they stood.

 ‘Ready,’ Hilly replied, watching the Man narrowly. Right through the heart, he vowed, just as soon as the Man’s feet were safely ashore. But to his surprise Jack turned towards them and began leaping the gaps between the stones.

The arrow fell from Hilly’s hand as the Man leapt from the nearest rock, splashing in the shallows of the River.

 ‘Da!’ Farry called, even as Pippin was rising to his feet to seize his son from the Man.

 ‘Thain Peregrin,’ the Man said respectfully.

 ‘Jack,’ Pippin whispered, and the Man smiled.

 ‘At your service, and at your family’s service,’ Jack said with a graceful bow, and then he whirled and leapt to the first rock on his way back across the River, on to the second rock, and the third.

 ‘Wait!’ Hilly shouted, but the Man did not heed.

Farry released his choking-tight hold on his father and reared back. ‘Pippin-lad!’ he said. ‘He’s gone to get him!’

 ‘Pip-lad?’ Pippin said, dumbfounded. He exchanged glances with Hilly, then looked to the River. Jack had stopped where he’d left the rope, and now the Man tied the end of the rope about himself, and to the hobbits’ consternation he lowered himself into the water, working his way down the rope, easing himself towards the edge of the falls, and Farry’s erstwhile sanctuary.

 ‘He was holding fast to my braces,’ Farry said as he watched. ‘He was holding to one of my braces when we fell in. I managed to grab the rock, but he was swept over. I thought he was lost, but I heard him cry from below. He fell onto a ledge...’

Hilly didn’t wait to hear the rest, but rose abruptly and began to pick his way along the bank. The land fell away steeply as the waterfall descended with a roar into the gorge below. Creeping as close as he dared to the edge of the precipice, the escort saw now a tiny figure not far from the top of the falls, clinging to a precarious perch. ‘Pip-lad!’ he shouted, but doubted the lad heard him.

Pippin hugged Farry as if he’d never let him go again, burying his face in the lad’s curls, shuddering with reaction. ‘Jack’s going after him,’ he said, closing his eyes.

 ‘Jack’ll save him,’ Faramir said in utmost confidence. ‘He said he would.’

Pippin nodded and hugged his lad closer. He felt dizzy, drained, and didn’t know how he’d manage to stir from the spot.

In the next moment there was a jingle of mail, and he looked up to see guardsmen surrounding him. Looking further, he saw Frodo-lad, still perched on the back of a tall horse.

 ‘We were on patrol, not far from your picnic,’ a grizzled sergeant said. ‘The lad said there were ruffians, took two of the children...’

 ‘This one’s safe,’ Pippin said, his arms tightening on Farry once more. ‘The other’s in the River.’

The guardsman blanched, and then his jaw tightened. ‘We’ll work our way downriver,’ he said.

 ‘Jack’s going to save him,’ Farry piped up.

 ‘I’m sure he is, lad,’ the sergeant said gruffly, and then he arose and began to snap orders. Two of the members of his patrol began to leap across the Stepping Stones, pausing when they reached the taut rope fastened to the tree branch. They appeared to confer, fingering the rope, and then leaving the rope they proceeded to the other side. Two more began to make their way down the precipitous bank, down beside the waterfall, down into the gorge. These stopped when they saw Jack, hanging over the side of the waterfall, just reaching Pip-lad’s shelf.

***

Water arched to either side of them, thundering down into the mist below. Pip-lad’s refuge projected out from the face of the falls, long enough for a Man to stretch out, were he so inclined. The young Gamgee huddled in the centre, hugging himself and shivering.  His eyes widened as the Man appeared above him, climbing slowly down until he reached the ledge.

 ‘Stay away,’ he sobbed. ‘Keep away!’

 ‘Steady, lad,’ Jack soothed, even as he raised his voice to be heard above the waters. ‘I’m here to help you.’ He moved very slowly, for he didn’t want to startle the little one into falling. ‘Steady, lad,’ he repeated.

 ‘Mama,’ the tiny hobbit whimpered, burying his face under his arms and huddling into as small a ball as he could make himself. ‘Dad!’

Jack spoke comfort as he inched his way closer, and at last he had the lad!—safe in his arms. He gathered the shivering little one close, so small, less than half the size of little Rob... ‘There-there,’ he soothed. ‘We’ll soon have you to your Mama.’

At first Pip-lad drew away, but suddenly he clung, tight and trusting, and Jack gently patted the lad’s back as he considered his course. He could climb up again, surely, but there was all the power of the falls to be reckoned with. He wasn’t sure he could haul himself back to the Stepping Stones against the force of the water, even if Pip-lad were to cling to his back, leaving both his hands free for the effort. He might go down—he thought the rope was long enough—down this projection of rock to the bottom of the falls, though how they’d escape being pounded to death by the plunging waters was beyond his reckoning.

Motion on the bank caught his eye, and he inhaled sharply to see the guardsmen halted there, staring at him. He looked across to the other bank, meeting the gaze of two more, standing, waiting. More were working their way to the base of the falls, and no doubt still more were at the top, ready to take hold of his rope and haul him and the lad in... not that it matter what happened to him, but they’d soon connect him to the shop, and Will...

His resolve hardening, he gave the young hobbit’s back another pat and straightened, saying briskly. ‘We’re going to get you out of here now.’

 ‘How?’ Pippin-lad gulped, clinging tighter, as if he feared the Man would launch him into the thundering waters that surrounded them.

 ‘Here now,’ Jack said, freeing one hand to loosen the rope’s embrace around his waist. He stepped out of the loop and pulled it up and around the hobbit lad, tightening the loop securely below the lad’s armpits. ‘You’re going to fly like a bird does, fly through the air, though my elven-rope will hold you safe all the while, and won’t let you fall.’

 ‘Elven-rope?’ the lad said in wonder, but he froze as he comprehended the rest. ‘Fly?’

 ‘Fly,’ Jack affirmed, managing to loose the clinging fists from his shirt and holding them tightly in his hand before he swung the lad away at the end of the rope. The lad screamed, a high, thin sound of terror.

The Thain jerked, Farry said in wonder, ‘What’s that?’ and the sergeant swore, jumping to his feet and turning towards the gorge. Frodo-lad slid from his high perch atop the sergeant's horse, suppressing a cry as he landed badly, turning his ankle.

Heart in his mouth, Hilly watched little Pip-lad swinging at the end of the rope like the pendulum on the dwarf-made clock in the Thain’s study. He could see Jack’s purpose, as did the guardsmen halfway down the side of the gorge. They moved to intercept the hobbit, who continued to shriek as the swings grew wider.

Hilly caught his breath as one of the guardsmen stretched out his hand, almost touching the tiny foot at the end of a swing, nearly falling into the gorge as the backward swing took the hobbit away from him, saved only by his comrade’s steadying grip. Another swing and... ‘He has him!’ he shouted, exultation rising in him. ‘He has him!’

He felt someone grab his shoulder and looked up to see the grizzled sergeant, grim expression turned to wonder as he stared at his Men below them. ‘He has him!’ he said again, and the sergeant nodded and muttered an awe-filled expletive.

Jack watched narrowly, maintaining his hold on the rope as the guardsman removed the loop from the hobbit child and stood hesitating. The two guardsmen were conferring. At last one looked up and began gesturing.

Jack nodded and waved his hand as he caught the gist, just as if he were in full agreement. They were going up to the Stepping Stones, he gathered, and they’d haul him up from there. He put on a broad smile, gave the rope a tug, pointed expressively upwards, and waved again.

Once the guardsmen dropped the rope and turned to climb out of the gorge, Jack took a deep breath. ‘I’m counting on you,’ he told the rope. ‘You’ve never failed me yet.’

He pulled in the rope and settled the loop around his waist once more. After all, if he lost his grip and fell, he was counting on the rope to catch him before he was dashed to pieces on the rocks below the falls. He gave a nod and a wave to the guardsmen watching from the opposite bank... and then he began to lower himself, smiling privately at their consternation. One of them began to make his way to the top of the gorge, probably to race across the Stepping Stones to report the ruffian’s attempt to escape. Jack must be well down before they reached the rope and began to haul him up again.

He let himself slide faster, ever downwards, trusting the rope to catch him—which it did. Too short by a length, he realised, dangling in the mist above the roiling waters. Too short. He’d have to drop into the waters from here, and there’d be no chance to call the rope from its anchor.

He struggled to release himself, but the loop held him tight in its embrace. ‘Have to get down!’ he said aloud in his frustration. ‘Will...’ They mustn’t take him alive, mustn’t be led to young Will, mustn’t...’ Despair took him in the pit of his stomach as he felt the rope jerk, felt himself move upwards and stop.

***

Pippin watched as the small huddle of guardsmen on the broad stone in the middle of the River took hold of the elven-line and began to pull. It was tricky business, three Men on a rock with rushing water to either side.

 ‘Look, Farry,’ he said. ‘They’ll have Jack up and safe, soon enough.’

Hilly sat nearby, Pip-lad in his lap, and the escort was doing his best to soothe the lad, who’d developed a sudden horror of Men, not surprisingly. Frodo-lad had limped over and was hovering over his small brother, adding his own words of comfort. Pip-lad had continued to shriek, even as the guardsmen brought him to the waiting grown hobbits, and hadn’t stopped until Hilly had taken the lad in his arms and sat down, crooning a lullaby. The song sounded incongruous, considering the situation they were in, but it calmed Pip-lad enough that he stopped shrieking and huddled, trembling, in Hilly’s lap.

Hilly looked up to see the rescue proceeding, in time to see the rope sliding through the guardsmen’s hands as if it were greased. There were shouts of alarm from the other side of the gorge, and loud curses from the Men on the Stepping Stones. Hilly watched with amazement as the rope, somehow come free of the anchoring branch, whipped itself clear of the hands that grasped it, falling into the waters and disappearing in the flood.

Thrusting his burden into Frodo-lad's arms, Hilly jumped to his feet and ran to the edge of the gorge. He looked at the ledge where Jack had rescued Pip-lad, but it was empty. He looked down the falls to the bottom, seeing no sign of Man or rope. The guardsmen were climbing down the walls of the gorge towards the base of the falls, evidently searching, but Jack was gone just as if he’d never been.

Chapter 62. Waiting for the King

Diamond stood staring after Pippin, rousing only when Posey took her by the arm and shook her. ‘He said to do what we can!’

Diamond took a shuddering breath, met Posey’s earnest gaze, and nodded. Together they moved to the fallen Men, guardsman and ruffian. The ruffian was white and gasping, the guardsman ominously still.

It took all of Posey’s strength to lift the bloodied sword and move it well out of the ruffian’s reach while Diamond knelt by Denny and began to remove the guardsman’s helm. Posey moved to the ruffian and fumbled with his belt, at last managing to pull it free. ‘What’re you going to do?’ he gasped.

 ‘Well I’m not going to bend you over my knee,’ Posey said, grabbing at the bloody stump. ‘Now hold yersel’ still, or I’ll not answer for the consequences.’

The ruffian complied, and Posey passed the belt around his arm just above the elbow, threaded the leather through the buckle, and pulled tight. ‘Got to stop this bleeding,’ she said. She set a foot against the ruffian’s arm for leverage and pulled until she was puffing, but the strap cut off the flow of blood quite satisfactorily. ‘There!’ she said. ‘Now you stay quite still and you might keep on breathing.’

 ‘While there’s breath, there’s life,’ Diamond murmured in agreement. She had found a faint life-pulse in Denny’s throat, and now she pulled a mirror from her reticule and held it before the guardsman’s mouth. She drew a sharp breath of her own as the mirror misted—he was breathing!—though she could not see his chest rise and fall, so slight was the breath he drew and released again.

Pippin had eased Denny down on the pierced side, leaving his “good” side upwards, the uninjured lung free to expand. Diamond looked at his wounds without touching them; one arrow had broken through the mesh but had not penetrated far, the other had gone clear through the guardsman, tip protruding from his back. She was afraid to disturb either arrow for fear she’d break something loose and cause the guardsman to bleed quickly to death.

She took one of the large hands, carefully tugged the gauntlet off, and held the hand in her two good, strong hands, as if she might pour her warmth and life into him. The guardsman’s fingers twitched slightly, and she squeezed the hand between hers. ‘I’m here, Denny,’ she said clearly. ‘You’re not alone. Hold on; help will come soon.’

Rose had calmed, and Sam had claimed little Daisy from her, called young Rose to mind baby Primrose, and instructed Goldilocks to hold tight to Hamfast’s hand and not let her little brother wander. This would serve two purposes, for it would keep Goldi from wandering as well, or so it was to be hoped. This done, Sam sent Rose to coax Merry-lad down from his high perch. The lad was pale with fear and weeping bitterly at having seen his brother and his friend wrenched away.

There was a thunder of hoofs and a body of mounted guardsmen rode into the orchard and pulled up. Rose cried out to see Frodo-lad perched before a grizzled sergeant on a tall black horse. The sergeant slid from his horse, ordering two of his companions to dismount. These ran, mail jingling, to where Diamond and Posey sat at guard.

 ‘The River!’ Sam cried, gesturing wildly. ‘Don’t stop here! Go! Frodo will show you which way they went!’

With a nod the sergeant mounted again, circled Frodo-lad with a protective arm, and led the remainder of his men at a gallop from the orchard.

One of the guardsmen took charge of the prisoner, while the other knelt at Denny’s side.

Diamond looked up. ‘He lives,’ she said. ‘We need a litter.’

The guardsman nodded, even as he lifted aside the hauberk to examine the wounds. ‘The sergeant sent Berianir back to the City, to the King.’

Diamond bent closer to Denethor’s ear. ‘Did you hear, Denny? The King is coming!’

***

Pippin sat where Hilly had left him, looking thoroughly drained. Hilly marched up to the sergeant, still staring at the jumbled rocks as the three guardsmen made their way back to shore, and gave a sharp tug at the Man’s surcoat. Startled, the sergeant looked down.

 ‘The Thain,’ Hilly said. ‘He oughtn’t to be stopping here, with all the mist from the falls in the air.’

 ‘Right,’ the sergeant said, and as if relieved to have a solid task to deal with, he began to bark orders to the returning Men. Two would take the hobbits back to the orchard and thence to the City, the third was to join the search at the bottom of the gorge, and on down the course of the Baranduin.

 ‘If there’s anything to be found,’ he finished grimly. ‘The bodies may wash up downriver, or they might never be found.’

Hilly returned to the small group of hobbits. ‘We’re going back to the orchard,’ he said.

 ‘But what about Jack?’ Farry asked. ‘Shan’t we wait for him? I didn’t get a chance to thank him properly!’

Hilly forced a smile. ‘You know Jack,’ he said lightly. ‘He’s not one to stop for long. A wanderer born, that Man is.’

 ‘He’s gone?’ Farry said, stricken.

 ‘I wanted to reward him,’ Pippin said. ‘Are you quite sure?’

Hilly nodded, keeping the smile on his face, but the Thain looked sharply at him before turning his attention back to Farry. Hilly was quite sure of one fact: Pippin would be taking this up with him later. He might even send Hilly with the searchers combing the riverbanks for some sign of the Men swept away.

They had a spot of difficulty when it came to mounting the tall horses. Pip-lad would have nothing to do with any of the guardsmen, and the grown hobbits were not about to force him. In the end, Hilly elected to walk back to the orchard, carrying the lad. It would be longer before he’d see his Posey, and longer to reunite the Gamgees with their stolen son, but Frodo-lad, riding back with the guardsmen, would be able to reassure his family that Pip-lad was safe.

***

 ‘Horses!’ Goldi shouted. ‘I see horses coming!’ She was craning eagerly towards the River.

Merry-lad swarmed up the nearest tree for a better view. ‘Frodo!’ he cried. ‘And Thain Peregrin, and he has Farry in his arms...’ His voice trailed off. Where were Hilly and Pip-lad?

Rose stood up from tending to Samwise, shading her eyes from the bright morning sunlight. ‘Pippin?’ she said anxiously.

The guardsman bearing Frodo-lad dismounted, saying, ‘No more flying like an eagle, lad!’ and lifted the young hobbit from the saddle. Frodo hurried to his parents, scarcely noticing his sore ankle. ‘Safe!’ he cried. ‘All safe!’

Rose took a shaky breath, and tears welled from her eyes once more. Suddenly her knees wouldn’t hold her, and she sat down again by Sam, burying her face in the folds of her overskirt. Her husband’s large work-worn hand gently rubbed her back as she began to sob once more, this time in relief.

  ‘Mum?’ Frodo said in bewilderment, looking from mother to father. ‘Mum? I said Pip’s safe—he’s safe, Mum, he is!’

 ‘S’all right, Frodo-lad,’ Sam said quietly. ‘Just let her be a moment. I’m afraid we’ve been thinking the worst, especially when we heard Pip screaming. We thought...’ He stopped there. He didn’t want to go into what they’d thought.

 ‘How is Denny?’ Frodo said, to change the subject. He could only imagine what his parents had thought. He’d seen what was happening, and his small brother’s terrified shrieks had turned his innards to jelly. He looked to the guardsman kneeling by their fallen friend, pressing a cloth to the shallower wound.

  ‘While there’s breath there’s life,’ Diamond said, turning from her joyful reunion with husband and son as if to reassure herself. She had jumped up at Merry-lad’s cry and run to meet Pippin and Farry. The signs of life had been so faint... Surely the guardsman would not be dealing with the wounds of a dead man.

Posey stood near Denethor, watching eagerly for Hilly’s return. It was not long before she gave a glad cry, and Sam and Rose looked up to see the escort jogging towards them, bearing their son.

 ‘But he’s hurt!’ Rose gasped.

 ‘A little knock on the head,’ Pippin said. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

And indeed, when they had not yet reached the clearing, it became apparent that the lad was arguing to get down. Hilly stopped to put him on his feet, and Pip-lad raced to his parents, giving the guardsmen a wide berth.

Rose laughed and cried in the same breath. Sam hugged the lad close while Rose began to examine their son from head to foot, exclaiming over the bloody cloth tied around Pippin-lad’s head and his wet clothing, and counting every finger and toe to make sure all was as it ought to be with her freshly restored son.

Posey moved forward to embrace her husband. ‘I  knew you could save them,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Did you shoot that ruffian?’

 ‘I didn’t have to,’ Hilly said, relishing the feel of Posey’s arms around him, and the solid substance of her in his arms. He took a deep breath of her fragrance before adding, ‘The Thain takes care of his own, you know.’

Posey sneaked a glance at Pippin. He didn’t look like a triumphant rescuer. He looked more drained than anything else, but after a final hug he left Farry in Diamond’s embrace and turned to Denethor.

 ‘How is he, Faenon?’

The guardsman only shook his head, his face sober.

 ‘The hands of the King...’ Pippin said, taking Denny’s limp hand in his own, regardless of the drying blood on the gauntleted fingers he held.

 ‘He’ll have to get here pretty quick, if it’s to be,’ Faenon said grimly. He looked back to Denethor. ‘Listen to me, you miserable wretch,’ he said, bending closer to the fallen guardsman’s ear. ‘They’re not ready in the Halls of Mandos for the likes of you, not after that last stunt you pulled in the mess! They’ll turn you out, more than likely, for your reputation proceeds you. Everyone’s heard of what happened to the sergeant’s...’ He broke off, swallowed hard, and added in a whisper, ‘Hold on, Denny. Hold on.’

Chapter 63. Growing Clarity

Sorry...

Little more than an exhalation, but Pippin stiffened. ‘Denny?’ he said, leaning forward.

 ‘Sir,’ Denny whispered, and again he said, ‘Sorry. I... tried.’

 ‘Don’t speak,’ Pippin said, and Diamond rolled her eyes. It was too much like the pot calling the kettle black. ‘Save your strength.’

 ‘Tried,’ Denny whispered. ‘But...’

 ‘What are you talking about?’ Pippin said in exasperation. ‘Here you boldly sacrifice your life to save the Mayor’s, and you’re begging our pardon?’

 ‘Farry,’ Denny said, and winced in pain. ‘Pip-lad.’

 ‘Safe and well,’ Pippin said urgently, squeezing Denny’s hand.

Denny’s head moved back and forth in bitter negation. ‘I saw them taken,’ he said.

 ‘They’re safe,’ Pippin repeated. ‘Because you cut down the archer, we were able to pursue his companion and recover the lads. Had you not, likely the Mayor would be lying dead now, as well as Hilly and myself and anyone else who interfered with their plan.’ Instead of yourself, he thought bleakly. Shot through! Aloud he added, ‘Save your strength! The King is coming.’

Denny’s gauntleted hand closed about Pippin’s, and next they knew the guardsman was trying to sit up.

 ‘Here now!’ Faenon said, startled. ‘None of that!’

 ‘Not dying,’ Denny grunted.

 ‘You certainly had us convinced otherwise...’ Faenon said, managing to push Denethor down again without disturbing the arrow that skewered him.

Denny cocked an eye at him. ‘You still owe me half-a-sovereign,’ he said. ‘Had you forgotten that?’

Faenon made a disgusted sound and sat back on his heels. ‘Trust you to speak of such a thing at a time like this!’ he said. ‘I suppose if you were the one owing money you would have died by now.’

 ‘Undoubtedly,’ Denethor said, his speech halting and punctuated by short, painful breaths. ‘I have always had a meticulous sense of timing.’

 ‘Well then, employ some of your meticulous sense of timing now and keep yourself still,’ Faenon said in frustration. ‘If you move the wrong way that arrow might shift and cause you to bleed to death.’

 ‘He’s not dead!’ the archer said in wonder and hope. ‘Lie still, you!’ he said to Denethor.

 ‘Here now,’ Denethor said. ‘Are you going to sit there and allow this ruffian to abuse me?’

 ‘At the moment he has the right of it,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Don’t you let him die!’ the archer said, hugging his bandaged stump to himself.

 ‘You’ve got enough worries,’ Faenon said darkly. If he could have his way—which he couldn’t, being of the rank and file and not in command of anything save Denethor’s care, at the moment—they’d string up the ruffian from the nearest tree having a sturdy branch high enough to suit the purpose. But no, he supposed the proper thing was for the archer to have a formal hearing, to be able to present his side of things, to hear sentence pronounced and to be hanged at dawn before the gates of the City, as custom demanded. He doubted any evidence this ragged man might provide would be enough to save him from the King’s justice.

 ‘Hold fast, Denny,’ Hilly said from behind Pippin. Posey was helping Rose gather the scattered picnic into the baskets again, and make ready the little Gamgees, preparatory to taking them back to the City, and Hilly was once more Pippin’s shadow.

To the Thain he said, ‘Whether or not...’ He glanced at Denethor and seemed to discard the rest of his words, starting again. ‘He’s done enough to warrant the Ban, has he not?’

Pippin understood. Under Shire justice, the highest penalty, imposed only in a case where a hobbit showed deliberate intention of doing harm to another, was banishment. Pippin knew something of Men’s justice, however, and his face was grim as he answered, ‘He has, Hilly. He won’t escape the Ban.’

Most likely they’d try the Man and hang him after the hobbits departed at summer’s end, for very few hobbits knew of hanging, and the Counsellors intended to keep things that way. Until then he’d languish in the fine new dungeon under the new City.

Hilly nodded, satisfied.

***

Denethor’s spurt of energy had faded and he was lying quietly, though he continued to exchange verbal spars with Faenon, “just to pass the time” as he said whenever someone told him to keep still.

 ‘I am keeping still,’ he’d answer. ‘It is not my tongue that is shot through, after all.’

 ‘If you hadn’t relieved the ruffian of one wing I believe I might ask him to oblige,’ Faenon returned.

Thus the party were greatly relieved to hear the horn-call heralding the coming of the King.

Merry rode a fiery pony of Rohan, racing into the clearing and sliding from his saddle before the pony had quite halted. ‘Are you hurt?’ he cried.

 ‘We’re all well,’ Pippin replied, rising from Denethor’s side to embrace his cousin. ‘Thanks to Denny, here.’

Merry looked past Pippin to Denethor and his face changed. Pippin knew that he thought of Boromir, seeing the feathered shaft protruding, and he said hastily, ‘All is well, cousin. See? Strider’s here to put things back together.’ The King had dismounted and was kneeling by the fallen guardsman, demanding a full report while he examined the protruding arrow. Faenon tried his best, but Denethor kept interrupting with additions or corrections.

 ‘All the King’s horses and all the King’s Men,’ Merry murmured, drawing his hand over his eyes to dispel the vision of Boromir plucking an arrow from his side. ‘What are you grinning at?’ he added in irritation.

 ‘Naught in particular,’ Pippin said. It still gave him a thrill of delight to see his cousin perform the most mundane of tasks with his restored right arm and hand.

Elessar rose and moved to Pippin. ‘You are well?’ he said, eyeing the hobbit keenly.

Pippin thumped his chest and gave a dramatic cough. ‘Sound as your favourite war-horse,’ he said.

Elessar gave him a reproving look. ‘He’s lame,’ he said shortly.

Pippin laughed.

 ‘He’s well enough,’ Merry said, ‘but what about Sam? He’s still on the ground!’ He turned towards the Mayor.

 ‘Got the legs kicked out from under him,’ Pippin said, losing his smile. ‘He’s been off his feet ever since. Says he’s just being careful...’

 ‘We’ll see about that,’ Elessar said, striding across the little clearing. However, when he reached Sam and Rose, little Pip-lad began to shriek. Pippin ran after the King and pulled at his arm to urge him away.

 ‘He’s afraid of me?’ Elessar said, dumb-founded.

 ‘He’s not afraid of you in particular, Strider,’ Pippin said, ‘but of Men in entirety.’

 ‘I’m not at all reassured,’ the King said, knitting his brows at the hobbit. ‘I’ve heard what happened in the clearing, but not anything else. Frodo-lad said a ruffian had taken Farry and Pippin Gamgee, yet I see them here. Tell me the rest.’

Pippin rapidly filled the King in on happenings. Hilly, still shadowing the Thain, noted that he left out the stone he’d cast to plunge the escaping ruffian into the River, and also that he didn’t mention his order to Hilly to shoot Jack. Of course the King wanted a concise report, but Hilly wondered.

 ‘And so both Men were lost in the River?’ Elessar said.

 ‘Guardsmen are combing the banks, seeking them,’ Pippin said. ‘I don’t see how the ruffian could have survived the plunge over the falls, but Jack might’ve, if the waters at the bottom didn’t flatten him. He didn’t fall all that far, from what they told me.’

Hilly didn’t miss the sharp glance King gave Thain at the mention of “Jack”. Surely Elessar intended to get to the bottom of things when he had more time. For the moment, however...

Elessar gestured to Hilly. ‘I want you to take Pippin-lad,’ he said. ‘Carry him back to the City with the rest of the young Gamgees. I want to have a look at his parents, and I cannot so long as my presence terrifies the little one.’

Hilly looked to Pippin, who nodded confirmation.

  ‘Very well, my Lord,’ Hilly said, and set about to carry out his orders.

Elessar hid a smile at the unconscious show of Tookish independence. ‘Very loyal, these Tooks,’ was all he said.

Soon Hilly and Posey were shepherding the young Gamgees back to the City, with a pair of guardsmen following at a discrete distance.

Elessar bent to examine Samwise. ‘Looks as if we’ll be carrying you back on a litter as well,’ he said. ‘The leg is broken again, I fear, and if you had only kept it still...’

 ‘I did what was needed,’ Sam said with dignity, and the King nodded.

 ‘I’m sure that you did,’ he answered, ‘but it looks as if you’ll be here the rest of the summer while it heals, unless you want a permanently weak limb.’

 ‘We cannot have that!’ Merry said. ‘You’ll ride back with us at summer’s end, Sam, and I won’t hear of you doing anything else!’

The King turned to Rose. ‘And yourself, Madam,’ he said gravely. ‘I trust you are well.’

Rose exchanged glances with Sam. ‘I’m fine!’ she said stoutly. ‘All’s well that ends well, as I always say.’

 ‘Needless to say, you’ll be carried back to the City, and you’ll keep your feet up until you’re told otherwise,’ Elessar said.

 ‘What, Strider...!’ Pippin said, and then a great grin broke out on his face as he clouted Sam on the shoulder. ‘Sam! Congratulations!’

The King turned back to the fallen guardsman as Merry tendered congratulations of his own. Faenon had finished wrapping strips of linen to stabilise the arrow, that it would not shift when they eased Denethor onto the litter and carried him to the City. Elessar checked his handiwork, supervised the careful process of getting the guardsman onto the litter and gave the order to proceed. ‘I’ll catch you,’ he said, ‘as soon as I’ve had the sergeant’s report.’

 ‘Do you want to ride back?’ Merry asked Pippin, gesturing to his pony.

 ‘I’ll walk, and keep Sam company, and I’m sure Diamond will wish to keep company with Rose, walking on the other side of the litter,’ Pippin said. ‘At least the litter is decently large enough for two hobbits! Such economy!’

Even the surviving ruffian would be carried back, pale and weak as he was, though one of the guardsmen manning the litter muttered that he “didn’t deserve it.”

The ruffian had watched in some puzzlement as Pip-lad was borne away with the rest of the young Gamgees, and now he had a look of dawning realisation as Pippin hoisted young Farry to his shoulders for the walk back.

 ‘He’s yours!’ he said involuntarily as the hobbits walked past him.

Pippin stopped. ‘But of course he is,’ he said. ‘That is why you intended to take him, isn’t it?’

 ‘We never intended to take him,’ the ruffian said honestly. ‘It was the other one, Tom said, was the son of the richest rat in the Shire.’ Realising belatedly what he’d said—though he was only quoting Tom, of course—he stammered an apology.

Which, of course, Pippin did not accept; the Thain, richest hobbit in the Shire, turned away abruptly, jogging to catch up with the litter bearing the Mayor and Mistress of the Shire back to the City, his thoughts awhirl as Farry chortled with glee at the bouncing ride.

Chapter 64. Tea, that Soother of All Ills

Part-way back to the City Merry dismounted and drew near to Pippin and Farry. ‘I find myself quite ready to be put out, should I not have a turn at carrying my lad!’ he declared.

 ‘Ah, but you pout so magnificently!’ Pippin replied. ‘I find myself tempted to be difficult.’

Farry laughed and reached for Merry, who managed to catch him as he toppled from his father’s shoulders.

 ‘I suppose you want me to take a turn carrying your other lad,’ Pippin said, glancing at the prancing pony following Merry.

 ‘No, but you might sit on him, just to keep him tethered to the earth,’ Merry said. ‘I swear one of these days he’ll sprout wings and fly.’

 ‘Well then, I’ll tether him for you,’ Pippin said, and taking the reins from his cousin he swung into the saddle. Merry nodded, satisfied, and Diamond heaved a private sigh of relief, while Sam and Rose on the litter exchanged a significant glance.

However, Pippin cantered ahead to Denethor’s litter and swung down again. The guardsman had fallen silent, his face bleached of all colour, his breathing laboured. ‘Steady, Denny,’ Pippin said, trotting close by the litter. ‘One breath at a time.’

 ‘It—would—be—most—convenient—’ Denny puffed, ‘to take—two—breaths—at a—time.’ His ungloved hand tightened on the side of the litter until his knuckles turned white, for the effort to breathe, set against the steady agony of the arrow, was taking its toll.

 ‘Yes, but you’d use up your air faster that way,’ Pippin said. ‘One breath at a time.’

 ‘Save your breath; that would be even better,’ Faenon said. ‘Might I suggest, sir, that you use that pony to good effect and ride ahead to alert the healers that we’re coming?’ Privately he thought that the Ernil looked nearly as washed-out as the guardsman on the litter.

 ‘I shall carry the message onward and return in three shakes!’ Pippin announced. He mounted, guided the pony away from the litter, and leaned forward in the saddle. That was all the pony was waiting for; he broke out into a fast pace and was soon to be seen reaching the Gate to the City rising in the distance.

He did not return, however, for the head healer sent for Elladan, who brooked none of Pippin’s arguments but popped the hobbit directly into bed, giving orders for the smearing of pungent balm and simmering of herbs, at least until the arrival of the King to say otherwise. Thus Pippin did not see Denethor’s arrival, Elessar now walking at his side, though he did hear the flurry in the corridors that resulted.

When Diamond appeared he was ready to pop from frustration. ‘Well?’ he barked. ‘What news?’

 ‘Sam’s leg will be set, and the King is about to remove the arrow from Denny,’ she said, climbing up onto the bed to administer a healing kiss. ‘Merry has Farry, I ordered Hilly to escort Posey to the gardens, Rose has her feet up, and Arwen has charge of the little Gamgees with Elanor her ever-helpful maid.’

 ‘Sounds as if all’s settling out,’ Pippin said, relaxing back into the cushions that propped him.

 ‘Yes, dearest,’ Diamond said, stroking his forehead with her fingertips. ‘Your part in the matter is done, so you may take a well-earned rest.’

 ‘Rest!’ Pippin protested. ‘Why, it’s barely nooning!’

 ‘Rest,’ Diamond soothed, snuggling against him. ‘I don’t know but that I’ll join you.’

Still stiff with protest, Pippin put an arm around her. ‘I don’t know why people fuss so,’ he said.

 ‘Think how heavily the time would hang on their hands if they didn’t,’ Diamond said softly, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Why, you’re keeping them from terrible boredom!’

 ‘Hoorah for me,’ Pippin grumbled, but his wife gave a sigh and relaxed into even breathing. Pippin found it quite suggestive, really, and his own eyelids began to droop. Thus when Elessar’s step was heard in the doorway, the Thain was fast asleep and heard nothing.

Diamond, however, opened her eyes. ‘How’s Denny?’ she whispered, easing herself away from her husband. He sighed but did not waken.

 ‘Resting,’ Elessar said. ‘You may tell Pippin that I made liberal use of athelas, as he suggested,’ there was a distinct twinkle in his eye, ‘and I have great hopes that Denethor will survive his wounds.’

 ‘Survive...’ Diamond said, wrinkling her forehead as she considered the King’s phrasing. ‘What about “recover”?’

 ‘I don’t know yet, how complete his recovery will be,’ Elessar said. ‘Just tell your husband that Denethor is resting comfortably.’

Diamond nodded. Pippin would likely see through the words. “Resting comfortably” could mean anything from Farry taking a nap after a day filled with play, to someone near death and under the influence of a sleeping draught. ‘I’ll tell him,’ she said.

As she’d thought, Pippin was not satisfied with the news when he wakened, and was all ready to hop out of the bed in search of Elessar, or failing that, Denethor, when the King himself entered, Arwen on his arm.

 ‘We have come to take tea with you,’ the King said.

 ‘All very well and good,’ Pippin said, ‘but I fear we’ve little to offer you save a few simmering herbs.’

 ‘Tea and all the trimmings,’ Arwen said, ‘and due to arrive at any moment.’ It had not escaped her that Pippin would not meet her eyes, but she resolved to say nothing at the time. She’d take it up with her husband.

 ‘Well, I’d like to see the Rohirrim top this,’ Pippin said brightly. ‘Tea and all the trimmings, brought to the bedside! Why, you don’t even have to arise in the morning! Simply sit up, eat, and lie down again!’

 ‘Even Bombur has himself carried to table, as I recall,’ Elessar said. ‘He doesn’t spend quite all his time abed.’

 ‘Not quite,’ Pippin conceded. ‘Very well, I shall make it my ambition to rival him in luxury, at least as long as I can stand to sit still.’

 ‘Perhaps for five minutes,’ Diamond said, laughing. ‘I fear that is all you could stand!’

 ‘Then I’ll sit,’ Pippin said. ‘And what of our son? Has Merry decided to keep him for himself?’

 ‘He’ll be along shortly, with the tea,’ Arwen said. Pippin threw a smile in her direction, but he was still avoiding her gaze. What was he hiding? ‘And Merry and Estella. Hilly and Posey are taking their tea in the garden, and Rose and all the little Gamgees are sitting on Sam’s bed.’

 ‘Tea in bed, the latest fashion!’ Merry said, entering. He boosted young Faramir onto the bed, put his hands on Estella’s waist and lifted her onto the bed. Though none of the hobbits remarked on it, King and Queen noticed a general brightening of expressions at this evidence of his healing.

 ‘I still see no evidence of tea,’ Pippin said, disgruntled, but several trays arrived in the next few moments, and soon tea was poured out, the food was apportioned, and everyone was eating and drinking and talking at once.

Pippin had wanted a full report on Denethor, but it had to wait until tea was over, for of course such topics are better left alone when eating. At last the tea things were cleared away and Diamond took Farry off for his bath and then to ready him for bed. Estella sat resolutely through the description of removing the arrow, bathing the wound in athelas to head off the red swelling that could take the guardsman’s life even if the arrow had done no life-threatening harm, the special dressings that would allow air to escape from his chest without more air entering.

 ‘We’ll watch him for fever and other such signs,’ Elessar concluded.

 ‘It’s early days yet,’ Estella murmured, and the rest of the hobbits nodded.

 ‘A hobbit shot through would die in agonies within a week, with all that Shire-healers could do for him,’ Pippin said, his eyes clouded with memory. ‘Athelas is wondrous stuff.’

 ‘It might have something to do with the hands of the King,’ Merry said aside.

 ‘Perhaps,’ Pippin conceded. ‘Perhaps.’ Privately he was thinking that even the hands of the King had their limitations, but of course he did not say this aloud. He sighed.

 ‘But you are still weary, I see,’ Arwen said, rising from her seat. Pippin did not seize her hand and kiss it with a wink, as he usually did, and Elessar frowned slightly. ‘Let us not keep you from your rest.’

 ‘Not all that weary,’ Pippin said, but his protest was rather spoilt by the yawn that followed.

 ‘Sleep well,’ Elessar said. ‘I’ll look in on you in the morning.’

 ‘Perhaps I’ll be the one to look in on you,’ Pippin said. ‘You cannot keep me in this bed forever.’

 ‘Alas,’ Merry said. ‘It’s not for want of trying!’ All laughed, and King and Queen excused themselves.

The hobbits talked quietly for awhile longer, and Pippin could not resist the soothing tones his cousins employed. It was not long before he dropped off.

When Diamond appeared with sleepy Farry, washed and clad in nightclothes, in her arms, Merry and Estella excused themselves in whispers and took themselves off for a walk in the gardens under the fading sky.

Chapter 65. Early Morning Cheer

Next day of course Pippin was up early, slipping out of the bed so as not to disturb sleeping Diamond, curled next to him, and Farry, somehow snuggled between them. He dressed rapidly and silently. One thing they’d learned was not to hide his clothes from him, for he had no compunction about going out in a nightshirt, if he had to, and somehow it scandalised others much more than it bothered him.

It was very early yet, still before dawn, and the corridors were deserted and quiet, lit only by the turned-down lamps that hung at intervals. At the far end he saw a healer sitting at a table, bent over, writing something. To go that way would invite unwelcome comment, perhaps gentle coaxing to get him back into the bed. Gentle? Hah! More like the iron fist in the velvet glove, of the old story Bilbo had told long ago. Come to think of it, they’d had trouble keeping him in bed then as well.

He crept in the other direction, only to be stopped by a soft hail from another room further on. He froze, debating whether to flee, and deciding that such a course was undignified and unnecessary. They had no cause to chain him to a bed, after all! He felt fine—or at least what passed for fine, for him, these days.

He stepped into the room, to avoid exciting the attention of the healer on duty at the far end of the corridor. ‘Yes?’ he said politely. ‘You wanted something?’

 ‘Sir,’ the healer’s assistant said. ‘Denethor, here, has been asking for you. What a stroke of luck that I caught you, just now, before you left the House.’

Pippin looked to the bed for the first time, to see the guardsman propped up there, bared torso crossed with bandages. ‘Denny!’ he said.

 ‘Good to see you, sir,’ the guardsman whispered. His breath still came short, and pain crossed his face as he tried to sit up at attention.

 ‘None of that now,’ the assistant said hastily, and Pippin crossed to the bed, taking the guardsman’s large hand in his own.

 ‘At ease,’ he said, just as if they were on the parade ground.

A ghost of a smile crossed Denethor’s face. ‘Sir,’ he said weakly.

 ‘Would you like to take the chair, sir?’ the assistant said. She’d kill two birds with one stone: she’d calm Denethor, who’d been restless with a mild fever, and she’d ensure the Ernil i Pheriannath wouldn’t be wandering about in the pre-dawn darkness before the King or head healer had issued orders regarding his release. ‘If you wouldn’t mind sitting with him, I’ll go and brew a pot of tea if you so wish.’

 ‘Very good of you,’ Pippin said, releasing Denethor’s hand in order to climb up on the chair, whereupon he took up the hand once more. ‘Hobbit healing,’ he said to the guardsman, who nodded. He’d seen as much in his duties, shadowing the hobbits.

The assistant bowed and removed herself.

The two patients sat in silence together for a time, but neither felt sleepy.

 ‘Your hand,’ Pippin said. ‘It’s warm.’ He thought of fever, and what it might mean. The red swelling could be growing inside the guardsman until it became a raging monster that would consume him in the end.

 ‘Fever,’ Denethor agreed. ‘They tell me it’s to be expected, a sign that my body is healing itself.’

Pippin nodded, not convinced. ‘Why did you do it?’ he asked.

Denethor shifted uneasily on the bed and winced. He was not used to having to be still. He couldn’t seem to find a position that was comfortable for more than a moment or two, but they kept lecturing him to be still. The pain that movement caused was a deterrent, or would be, perhaps if it preceded a move rather than following one.

 ‘Why did I do what?’ he murmured.

 ‘Why did you run right into that arrow?’ Pippin said. ‘It seemed a rather desperate and unconventional move to me.’

 ‘It was my duty,’ Denethor said simply.

 ‘To throw your life away?’ Pippin said, incredulous.

 ‘To do what must be done,’ Denethor said. ‘He would have shot Mayor Samwise in the next breath. He had pulled back the string, had aimed, and was ready to release. He had to be stopped.’

This long speech had taken more breath than the guardsman could spare, and he panted for air, but the effort hurt him. He closed his eyes, tense against the propping cushions.

Pippin waited in silence until the guardsman relaxed once more and opened his eyes.

 ‘You might have distracted him, drawn his attention away without rushing into his arrow,’ he said.

Denethor shook his head. ‘He might have shot the Mayor first and then turned his attention to me,’ he said. ‘I could not take that chance.’

 ‘But...’ Pippin argued.

 ‘It was my duty,’ Denethor said, his voice a little louder. He was using valuable energy, such that he could not spare, and so Pippin leaned forward and patted his hand.

 ‘It was your duty,’ he agreed. ‘We are all most indebted to you.’

This was not as calming as he’d hoped; Denethor stared at him, tensing once more in his astonishment, and Pippin could see a sweat breaking out on his brow.

 ‘Indebted?’ the guardsman said. ‘For doing my duty? Nonsense!’

 ‘Steady, lad,’ Pippin said. ‘They’ll chuck me out of here in another moment, for rousing you up when you ought to be resting.’

Denethor smiled weakly, relaxing against the cushions. ‘Probably just what you were after,’ he whispered.

Pippin chuckled. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘House of Healing!’ He shuddered. ‘And they’ve nearly completed the next building in the plans, making it Houses of Healing!’

 ‘Twice the bother,’ Denethor said.

The assistant returned with a tray complete with teapot and mugs, one of them conveniently hobbit-sized. She poured out, gave Pippin his cup fixed just as he liked it (scalding hot, strong, no milk or sweetening), fixed another mug for Denethor, and lifted it to the guardsman’s lips, discouraging him from trying to lift the mug himself.

 ‘They’re cooking your breakfast now,’ she said, ‘and your wife awakened and asked after you, sir. I told her you were visiting Denethor and she said she’d see you later, then.’

 ‘Later?’ Pippin said.

 ‘Limited visitors,’ Denethor said, between sips. ‘They want to keep me quiet for some reason.’

 ‘The head healer has a wager on with the King,’ Pippin said in a conspiratorial tone. ‘One said ‘twould be impossible to keep you quiet for any length of time, and the other said you’d be so desperate to get up out of the bed just as soon as might be that you’d cooperate fully and keep just as still as a brick.’

Denethor squeezed his eyes shut, stiffened, and began to quiver. Pippin stared at him in consternation, while the assistant put the mug down hastily and seized the guardsman’s wrist.

 ‘Denny?’ Pippin said anxiously, squeezing the hand he held. The hand returned the squeeze, very gently, and the grey eyes opened for a momentary glance, which seemed to be an attempt to reassure, though they shut tight again nearly at once. The guardsman let out a pent-up breath in a sharp exhalation, sucked in a breath and groaned.

 ‘Denny?’ Pippin said, more alarmed than before. The assistant showed every sign of jumping to her feet and running for the healer on duty.

 ‘You shouldn’t—’ Denethor gasped, drawing another painful breath while Pippin and the assistant leaned forward, their own breath abated, awaiting whatever awful revelation was trembling on the guardsman’s lips. ‘Shouldn’t—make me—laugh!’ he forced out before stiffening again to fight off the agonies of laughter.

 ‘O my,’ the assistant said softly, and began to rub the guardsman’s arm with the flat of her hand. ‘Steady now, Denethor.’

 ‘Steady,’ Pippin said, gripping the hand. He remembered fighting laughter, long ago now, while recovering from the crushing injuries he’d suffered when the Troll fell upon him before the Black Gate. Somehow the sympathy in his tone was able to calm the guardsman, and his breathing steadied once more. Soon he’d relaxed against the cushions, opening his eyes and attempting a wan smile.

 ‘Sorry,’ the guardsman breathed.

 ‘It is I who should be begging your pardon,’ Pippin said. ‘Fancy my telling you a joke, in your condition.’

 ‘Nearly died laughing,’ Denethor whispered.

 ‘You’re incorrigible,’ the assistant said, taking up the mug again.

 ‘It’s a failing of mine,’ Denethor said. Pippin resisted the laughter that rose in him, not wanting to set the guardsman off again, but his eyes sparkled with mischief and Denethor grinned weakly to see him so. The hobbit had been entirely too subdued for his liking. Yesterday’s trouble had left a mark on the Thain, something he couldn’t put his finger on, but there was a definite difference.

He wondered if it was just a fever fancy.

Chapter 66. The Eyes of the Queen

Arwen sat on the wide floorboards of the summer house by the shores of the great Lake, little Gamgees crowding about her on every side, giving “oohs” and “ahs” of wonder and delight. Rose sat in a fortress made of cushions dragged from the furniture and arranged on the floor by enterprising young Gamgees. Pip-lad hid in his mother’s lap under her shawl, but he kept stealing glances as the grown-ups talked.

Sam sat leaning against one of the “citadel” walls, his splinted leg propped on a soft pillow. ‘Very pretty, those,’ he observed. ‘Are they real jools?’

 ‘No, Sam,’ the Queen said, her eyes on her fingers. ‘They are merely glass, cleverly tinted and formed into pleasing shapes. But how they sparkle in the light!’

She lifted her hands, a string of bright baubles sparkling in the sunshine, and little Goldilocks clapped her hands in delight. ‘Pretty!’ she cried.

The shawl moved again as Pippin-lad craned for a better look, and Arwen’s smile brightened though she kept her eyes fixed on the beads.

 ‘Pretty, indeed, Goldi,’ she said, her voice low and pleasant and not at all threatening, but Pippin-lad pulled the shawl over himself again when she spoke.

Arwen lowered the string and bowed her head over her lap, humming a little tune, and then she lifted the completed necklace over Goldilocks’ head. ‘There you are!’ she said. ‘As fine an ornament as any queen might wear.’

 ‘Ooo,’ Goldi said, while Elanor smiled and told her little sister that she looked quite elegant.

Rosie-lass fingered her own necklace with satisfaction. ‘Will you make another?’ she asked.

 ‘No,’ Arwen said, glancing at sleeping Daisy, even in slumber clinging tight to the first necklace made this morning, ‘but there are plenty of “jewels” for each of you to make another!’

 ‘I’ll make one for the kind flower-lady in the market,’ Frodo-lad said. ‘She always saves the freshest blooms for Mum!’

 ‘I’ll make one for the lass who sells sweets,’ Elanor decided. ‘She always gives the littlest ones a sample when we pass by.’

 ‘No wonder we must always visit that corner of the market!’ Rose said with a laugh.

 ‘I’m going to make one for Mama!’ Merry-lad pronounced.

Pippin-lad stirred again.

 ‘You do that, Merry-lad,’ Queen Arwen said. ‘You make the necklace, and I’ll show Frodo and Elanor and Rosie what to make to add to the necklace.’

 ‘Add to it?’ Rosie-lass said.

 ‘Here,’ the Queen said, taking something from a bag. The children bent closer, watching intently, and soon fresh exclamations of wonder broke out to make Pippin-lad sit up, craning from his safe perch.

 ‘It’s wonderful!’ Frodo said. ‘Like magic!’

 ‘How do you do that?’ Elanor said, and Rosie-lass clapped her hands together.

 ‘Here, I’ll make another,’ Arwen said, not seeming to notice that Pippin-lad had crept from his mother’s lap and was inching closer. ‘Watch closely!’

She bent her head, and the young hobbits murmured as they followed her fingers, though the parents were rather mystified, not able to see what the Queen was doing. Pippin-lad couldn’t see, either, and so he moved out of the stronghold and across the floor, foot by foot, silent, scarcely breathing. He jumped, startled, when the Queen spoke again, but did not retreat.

 ‘Here you are,’ Arwen said. ‘I’ll give you each a length of wire, and you pick the colours you wish to use from the box of baubles...’

 ‘It’s so soft!’ Frodo-lad marvelled. ‘Why, it breaks if I bend it back and forth...’

 ‘Yes,’ Arwen said, ‘so do take care when you wind it to join pieces together...’

 ‘ ‘Tis a flower,’ Pippin-lad breathed, for he was close enough now to see the fruit of Arwen’s labours. The Queen did not move or look up, careful of frightening the young one, but kept working at her next flower.

 ‘You see?’ she said softly, eyes intent on her work.

Rose reached out a hand to Samwise, and he took it and squeezed it, hope shining in his eyes.

 ‘I’d like to try!’ Merry-lad said, putting the half-strung necklace aside.

 ‘Ah, but where will we attach our roses, if the necklace is not finished?’ Arwen said, and then, ‘Never mind. Here you are, Merry-lad. Frodo will help you over the tricky bits.’

She sounded so like a hobbit in her speech, and not serious and courtly and... Big.

The flower-makers continued their craft, paying no mind to Pippin-lad. At last a nice little heap of “roses” lay cupped in a fold of the Queen’s skirts, and Arwen said laughing, ‘Very well, my lads and lasses! We have nearly enough flowers for a garden, and no necklace to hang them upon!’

Elanor caught her breath then, and Arwen looked over to see Pippin-lad standing at her side, holding the finished necklace that he’d silently strung while all had been busy with the “roses”. Moving very slowly and cautiously, the Queen lifted her hand, palm up, and Pippin-lad lowered the necklace. The Queen stared at the bright beads pooled in her hand and whispered, ‘What lovely work. See how the colours alternate: red, blue, green, violet...’ She took a slow breath, not wanting to startle the hobbit lad who still stood at her elbow and added, ‘Watch now, children, and I’ll show you how to fasten the flowers to our garland!’

By the time the last rose was added, Pippin-lad was seated in the Queen’s lap, watching the process closely.

Arwen said, her voice soft and gentle, ‘And who would like to take this treasure to Mother Rose?’

The other little Gamgees held their collective breath until Pippin-lad looked up shyly and said, ‘I will, if I may?’

Arwen nodded, and though she felt like hugging the lad she refrained, saying only, ‘You do that, Pip-lad! And then come back to sit with me and we’ll share a story!’

The heartfelt cheer that arose from all the Gamgees, large and small, seemed rather more than a mere story would garner. But then hobbits do like stories. They do, indeed.

***

Hilly tapped at the door to the Queen’s sitting room and heard Arwen’s pleasant voice call, ‘Enter!’

He pushed the door open and marched in, standing stiff and straight before the Queen. ‘The Thain said that you wished to see me,’ he said, meeting her eyes and then dropping his gaze. He fixed his eyes on the stitchery in her lap. Pretty, intricate work it was. Why, her fingers were as clever as a hobbit’s!

 ‘Yes, Hildibold,’ Arwen said. ‘I wanted to see you about the matter of your reward.’

 ‘I need no reward,’ he muttered, and realising how rude that sounded, he forced himself to look up, to say politely, ‘No reward is necessary, my Queen. I could not have stood by and done nothing, after all.’

 ‘Of course not,’ Arwen said, her eyes warm and understanding and making him think of... Hilly caught his breath. He did not want to think of Liliana. He wished only to live in the present moment, for as long as the present moment contained Posey, anyhow. He’d closed off the past, save those flashes of memory that he couldn’t help—why could he not have saved his Liliana as he’d saved Liriel? A Shirriff had pulled Hilly’s little daughter from the freezing stream whence she’d fallen after wandering over the low wall, down the bank, onto the ice, while they were visiting the festive Yuletide market in Tuckborough, but the lung fever that followed had claimed her in the end.

Breathing hard, he shoved the memory away once more, trying to think only of the present. The future reared, dark and empty. The present moment, that was the thing.

It was better to be thought rude than to meet that unnerving regard. He fastened his eyes on the bright threads in the embroidery again, trying to make some sense of the pattern, though it was barely begun.

 ‘No reward is necessary,’ Arwen agreed, ‘but I would still give a gift, for the burden of gratitude lies heavily upon my heart.’

Hilly maintained a stubborn silence.

Seeming to change the subject, the Queen said, ‘And how is your dear wife this morning?’

 ‘Well,’ Hilly said, and dropping his eyes still further he shuffled his feet. ‘Well enough,’ he amended. ‘The healers say she took no harm from the fright she suffered the other day.’

 ‘Not enough to set her back,’ Arwen said softly. ‘My brothers have told you all they know...?’

 ‘Only that I shouldn’t lose her for some years yet,’ Hilly forced out past the lump in his throat. ‘ ‘Tis a slow-creeping malady, and though there is no cure, at least she’ll live in peace and comfort nearly to the end of her days.’

 ‘A Man whose wife suffered this illness might expect to have his wife for half-a-dozen years more, perhaps,’ Arwen said, her voice still soft.

Hilly squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to control his breathing. Half-a-dozen years...

 ‘My brothers believe hobbits to be a hardier folk. In any event, they heal from injuries and broken bones at a faster rate than Men do,’ Arwen went on. From the sound of her voice she was bending closer, but Hilly did not open his eyes to see, not when he was still fighting the battle against tears.

 ‘They think Posey might well resist for twice that time. Ten years, or even a dozen, before she feels the grip of pain.’

 ‘And how long,’ Hilly said raggedly, looking up, ‘how long will it be, then? How long must she suffer?’

 ‘Her release will come not long after the first onset of pain,’ Arwen said. ‘She will not suffer long.’

Hilly bowed his head, tears spilling over his cheeks as he lost the fight with grief. ‘So long,’ he whispered. ‘Ten years, or perhaps a dozen... and I’ll take it all, and welcome.’

He heard Arwen rise from her chair, heard the whisper of her skirts, and then her hand took his in a gentle grip, raising it palm upwards, as something cool cascaded into his palm. He opened his eyes and gasped to see a fine silver chain pooled in his palm.

 ‘My Lady,’ he whispered. ‘I—’ Arwen’s hand still supported his, and so he did not drop the chain to the floor in his surprise and consternation.

 ‘A gift,’ Arwen repeated. ‘An heirloom of my father’s house,’ she added. ‘Pick it up, Hildibold.’

He swallowed hard and took up the chain with his free hand, lifting it, uncoiling the links until he saw it was a necklace, a small, exquisitely-cut elf-stone depending from the delicate chain.

 ‘For Posey?’ he said, beginning to understand. Not a reward for him, but a gift for his wife? He might be tempted to accept such a thing.

 ‘Elves cannot cure all ills,’ Arwen said, ‘but we have been given a gift of maintaining. If your wife were to wear this jewel, wear it at all times, mind, and never take it off, it would slow the progress of her illness.’

 ‘Slow it?’ Hilly said, scarcely daring to breathe as he stared at the stone.

 ‘She might know twenty years more, before her ending, or even two dozen,’ Arwen said, ‘and pain would be withheld from her. She would know only an increasing weariness until in the end she would close her eyes in a last blessed sleep.’

Hilly swallowed hard again and squeezed his eyes shut. ‘I cannot take this,’ he faltered, lowering his hand and feeling the chain pool once more in his palm, cool and somehow soothing to the touch.

Arwen’s fingers closed over his, gently cupping his hand round the necklace.

 ‘You cannot take it,’ she agreed, ‘not to keep. When Posey needs it no longer, it must be returned.’

Hilly nodded absently. He’d see to it. He’d leave instructions with one of his brothers, that after Posey died the chain would be sent back to the Queen.

 ‘You must return it yourself,’ Arwen went on.

 ‘But...’ Hilly protested. He could not envision going on, after his Posey was gone.

 ‘I place it in your hands, to clasp around Posey’s throat,’ Arwen said, ‘and when she no longer has need of it, your hands must unclasp it, and bring it back to me. It must be so.’

Hilly nodded, for elf-magic was a strange and wondrous thing, and who was he to question it? This necklace could buy another dozen years of time with Posey, but at what cost to himself?

 ‘How?’ he whispered.

 ‘It would be too dangerous, to travel by Road with such a treasure,’ Arwen said. ‘You must go to the Grey Havens, to Cirdan.’

 ‘Cirdan,’ Hilly repeated, his mind spinning as it tried to encompass this new thought.

 ‘The ships that sail from the Havens sail not only into the Uttermost West, never to return,’ Arwen said, a hint of a smile in her voice. ‘They ply the waters between North and South Kingdoms as well. When you bring this stone to Cirdan, he will find you a place on a ship bound for Gondor. You will bring the stone to me once more.’

 ‘I will bring the stone...’ Hilly said as if in a dream, and then he shook himself, raising his head, and looked directly into the grey eyes that were looking so intently at him.

 ‘But...’ he said, and his resolve hardened as confidence rose in him. No one could tell him what to do, save the Thain. He’d sworn an oath to the Thain, after all. No oath bound him to the Queen who knelt before him, staring into his eyes.

 ‘What if I refuse?’ he said.

It was Arwen’s turn to swallow hard. Hilly watched the muscles in her throat work, and then he saw the grey eyes blink. ‘It is your right,’ she said. ‘I cannot force you to accept this gift, and I will not order it.’

The corners of Hilly’s mouth tightened slightly in the faintest of smiles.

Arwen’s smile met his. ‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘You take orders from the Thain alone.’ At the hobbit’s look of surprise she laughed. ‘It has not escaped my attention, nor my husband’s, that every order you are given must be confirmed by Pippin before you will accept it.’

Hilly looked away in chagrin before meeting that calm grey gaze once more.

 ‘I will not order it,’ Arwen said, ‘nor ask Pippin to order it. But I will ask.’ Unbeknownst to Hilly she now held her breath, hoping the hobbit’s stubborn pride would not refuse this gesture.

Hilly lifted his chin. ‘Ask?’ he said clearly.

 ‘Please,’ Arwen said, dropping her gaze. She bowed her head and waited.

Hilly stared in perplexity at the Queen, kneeling, head bowed, waiting for him—him!—to refuse her gift. Or accept it.

Quite without his meaning to, he heard his voice answer. ‘As you ask it, my Lady, so do I accept this gift with thanks.’

Arwen raised a beaming face, and as if on impulse she took Hilly’s face between her two hands and laid a kiss upon his brow. ‘Bless you,’ she said, releasing him, ‘and I thank you for restoring my daughter to me.’

 ‘Will that be all, my Lady?’ Hilly said, hardly knowing what he ought to say or do next.

Arwen rose and returning to her chair, took up her hoop and needle once more. ‘That will be all, Hildibold,’ she said formally.

He bowed and took his leave, necklace still clenched in his fist.

Arwen relaxed and let out a gusty sigh, laying down her needle. Tooks!

Chapter 67. Before the Face of the King

A fortnight after the aborted kidnapping, Denethor was out of danger and chafing to go back to his duties though the healers kept him firmly under their collective thumbs, Sam’s leg was knitting well, Pippin-lad was back to his usual pert and curious self, and Faramir seemed little worse for the wear.

Everyone, it seemed, was doing well... with the exception of the Thain.

O he put on a good face, as whimsical as ever, and he concealed the tremor in his fingers fairly well, but there was no disguising the dark shadows growing under his eyes, the increasing pallor of his cheeks, the weight falling off that made it obvious that he was pushing the food around the plate more than he was lifting it to his mouth.

 ‘What is the matter with Pippin?’ Estella said in a whisper as Diamond refreshed her tea. Rose was with Samwise, Posey was minding the young hobbits, and Arwen was about some queenly business of her own, leaving the two to trade confidences over their teacups. ‘It’s driving Merry to distraction!’

 ‘It’s driving me to distraction,’ Diamond said, staring into her cup. ‘Elrohir told him that he must eat well, rest well, and avoid worry if he wishes not to be “inconvenienced” by bad spells, and it is as if my husband is making it his business to prove the healers wrong—or right, as it may be.’

 ‘What is he worrying about?’ Estella said, even lower.

 ‘That is part of the trouble,’ Diamond said, fingers tightening on the delicate china until Estella wondered if the cup would shatter in her friend’s hands. ‘He won’t tell me. He says it’s all in my head. Imagine it! I’d be furious with him if I weren’t so frightened for him!’

Estella reported this conversation to Merry, of course, though it didn’t tell him what he wanted to know. He squeezed her hand gently.

 ‘And you’re worrying about my worrying,’ he said.

 ‘Well at least you tell me what it is that worries you,’ Estella said.

 ‘I do?’ Merry asked in surprise.

 ‘I can read you like a book,’ Estella said firmly. ‘So you had better continue to wear your worries on your sleeve for me to read. It’s not healthy to try to conceal them!’

 ‘Tell that to Pippin,’ Merry muttered.

 ‘I will!’ Estella said, and irrepressible as she was, she did. However, Pippin merely laughed in her face and went in to the latest banquet to regale the nobles with stories and push the uneaten food around his plate, to make it look as if he’d eaten.

Something had to be done.

Those who loved him best knew that simply threatening him with healers and tonics and resting in bed would not be enough to head off a rapidly approaching crisis.

Pippin spoke only of inconsequentialities, turned a bland face to all questioning, laughed away expressions of concern. He spent a great deal of time with Denethor, cheering him with tales (though for the most part he eschewed stories that might provoke laughter), insisting upon the finest treatment for the guardsman, choice food, good wine.

When not with Denethor, he was showering attention on Farry: rides, walks, talks, fishing from the shore of the Lake, digging smials in the sand, telling stories and singing songs. Diamond watched with increasing worry, though Pippin turned her questions away with light answers. It seemed to her as if her husband was frantic to fill their son’s treasure box with shining memories.

At last she spoke her fear to Merry, and later that day Merry closeted himself with the King. That evening Elessar sought out Hilly for a long talk, whereupon he thought he understood the source of the trouble, which no amount of athelas or tonic would heal.

The time had come.

 ‘The Hall of Kings is complete?’ Diamond said, seeming to lean upon Pippin’s arm as they walked, though in reality she was ready to offer support should her husband’s steps falter.

 ‘Yes, and Strider has invited us to see it before he begins to hear matters there,’ Merry said. ‘It will be bright and shiny-new, unstained with crimes judged, not weighed down with ponderous pronouncements rendered, not hushed to hear wisdom manifested.’

 ‘How gloomy your thoughts, cousin!’ Pippin said with a laugh. ‘A place where justice is dispensed, with a sprinkling of mercy! Surely it will shine all the more brightly for the Elf-Star.’

Bergil greeted them at the door to the Hall, opening the door for them and holding it as they entered.

The Hall was not shadowy, as it had been the last time they’d peeped in. The statues that had been covered with cloths now stood fully revealed, a double line of North-kings from Elendil to Arvedui, all turned to watch the judgments, solemn expressions carven on their faces.

The Sunlight poured through the high windows, slanting down to the floor. This grand and noble hall was like to, but subtly different from the Hall of Kings in Minas Tirith. In this Northern hall the pillars that supported the high roof above were white, not deepest black; and bright hangings graced the walls, tapestries showing battle and peacetime, scenes from old legends and recent events.

Upon the throne sat the King, and his Queen stood at his side. On the morrow the Hall would be filled with courtiers and nobles, scribes writing down judgments and messages, guardsmen and petitioners, a bustling body of people who had up until now overflowed one of the lesser halls.

The hobbits walked down the centre, between the lines of Kings, staring about themselves in wonder. Just as they reached the foot of the steps leading up to the throne the great door boomed behind them. Pippin’s greeting to the King died on his lips, and he turned to see Bergil take up his station before the door, as if the King were about to begin hearing a matter of importance.

Hildibold stepped from an alcove to stand before the dais, ill-at-ease, bow clutched tightly in his hand.

 ‘Hilly?’ Pippin said, but the escort would not meet his eyes, and only shook his head before pointedly turning his attention to Elessar.

 ‘Peregrin, son of Paladin,’ Elessar said. Though he spoke quietly, his words carried to the far reaches of the hall, even to Bergil, standing before the door. ‘We have gathered to hear your case.’

 ‘My case?’ Pippin said, laughter rising in him and dying again as he looked around the solemn gathering. He tried again. ‘Very nice, Strider, to dedicate the hall of judgment with such...’ Diamond’s hand tightened on his arm and he fell silent, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the King, even as his breath came shorter than usual.

 ‘We will hear the details of the matter,’ Elessar said. ‘First witness!’

Denethor stepped from an alcove, walking slowly, but walking! He was clad in mail, his helm under one arm. He reached the group, nodded acknowledgment to the hobbits, and bowed stiffly to King and Queen.

 ‘A fortnight ago,’ he said, ‘on the first day of the week, I was assigned to guard the Halflings. They wished to have a breakfast picnic...’

Pippin listened in astonished silence as the guardsman recited the details of the day, including the plate of breakfast he’d refused, the young hobbits climbing into the low branches, the first arrow to strike, even Denethor’s thought of taking cover, once he located the archer, and working with Hilly to subdue the ruffian.

 ‘I was momentarily distracted by the arrow,’ Denethor said. ‘From what I can gather, the archer shot from the cover of the field, and as soon as they saw the arrow strike the two ruffians raced into the orchard. One swung a club at Hildibold before he could grab up his bow and ran to the tree where Pippin-lad and Faramir sat, while the other notched another arrow, ready to discourage interference.

 ‘Mayor Samwise saw at once the danger, and jumping up he began to beat the ruffian with his stick. The archer was about to shoot the Mayor when I disarmed him.’

 ‘As he nearly disheartened you,’ Pippin said, unable to contain himself any longer.

As if he hadn’t spoken, Elessar said now, ‘Hildibold, your evidence.’

Without a glance at the Thain, Hilly began to speak. ‘As the archer fell and the other ruffian ran from the clearing, Thain Peregrin jumped up and eased Denny to the ground, shouting to Diamond to do what she could for him. He then ran from the orchard in pursuit. I took up my bow and followed...’

He described the chase, while King nodded from the throne and Queen stood as if turned to stone. Pippin could hear his heart beating in his ears, and only Diamond’s hand gripping his arm, and Merry’s supporting presence on his other side, anchored him to this reality.

Hilly had reached the riverbank in his narrative when Pippin stepped forward, shaking off Diamond and Merry. ‘Yes, yes,’ he said impatiently. ‘We all know what transpired next. Ruffian and hobbits fell into the waters, and it was only by a miracle that the lads escaped death.’

 ‘Not quite,’ Merry said quietly, stepping forward to take his arm.

 ‘You weren’t even there!’ Pippin said, and though he tried to wrench away his cousin held fast.

 ‘Continue, Hildibold,’ Elessar said.

 ‘Hilly!’ Pippin cried, but the escort shook his head, not meeting his gaze. Indeed Hilly’s eyes were fixed on Arwen’s, and his gaze remained locked with the Queen’s while he told the rest.

 ‘There was a cry from the far bank—we thought it another ruffian,’ Hilly recited, much as if it were a set piece he'd practiced until he could give it by heart. ‘On further reflection, of course, once the emergency was passed, the likelihood that the newcomer was in league with the ruffians appeared much smaller. The escaping ruffian was startled by the appearance of another Man on the other bank, and his foot slipped on the rock...’ He took a deep breath before going on. ‘He lost his hold on the young hobbits, casting them into the River...’

Diamond gave a choked cry. She hadn’t heard the whole, not even from Farry who’d lived it, nor of course from Pippin.

Hilly forged ahead, not to be diverted from his course. ‘The ruffian regained his balance, and empty-handed began to leap to the next rock. Thain Peregrin threw the stone he held,’ he said, and stopped.

Pippin stood as still as one of the statues in the hall, white-lipped, his eyes staring at something only he could see.

 ‘He threw the stone,’ Elessar prompted.

 ‘The ruffian fell into the waters and was carried over the falls,’ Hilly said.

Merry worried, seeing the white, strained face of his cousin, scarcely breathing, eyes staring. But Pippin had put off all attempts to deal with his trouble, over the past fortnight. Strider had convinced Merry that this was the only way to breach the defensive wall that Pippin was maintaining, and after many frustrating attempts to talk to his cousin, Merry had finally conceded. His eyes shone with misery over Pippin’s distress, and he stood as close as he could, though Pippin stood rigid, rejecting his support.

Hilly went on to tell of Jack’s rescue of Farry, including Pippin’s order to shoot the unarmed Man as he reached safety with the lad.

 ‘Had Jack gone to the nearer bank, you’d have shot him,’ Elessar clarified.

 ‘Yes,’ Hilly said. ‘He was closer to the opposite bank than he was to us. It might have been reasonable for him to go to the nearer bank, to rest before restoring Farry to his father, if he were wearied by the struggle to pull Faramir to safety. He is—was—an older Man, with silvering hair.’

Pippin bowed his head and was suddenly—and to Merry’s eyes frighteningly—very still.

Chapter 68. Trial by Conscience

For the first time, Arwen spoke. ‘Peregrin?’

There was a long moment of silence, and then Pippin whispered, ‘ ‘Tis true.’

 ‘What is true?’ Elessar asked.

Pippin raised his head to stare into the King’s face, despair darkening his countenance. ‘All of it,’ he said. ‘I did not tell you all, when we returned.’

 The King nodded, and waited.

 ‘It is why I agreed to go to Gondor with you,’ Pippin said, and Diamond gasped, while Merry brightened momentarily, and as quickly fell sober.

 ‘You... agreed to go to Gondor?’ Merry said, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘But you never said... you never told me.’ He nodded as if answering his own question. ‘Of course,’ he said, nodding. ‘You said you’d tell me at summer’s end, and you were always one to keep your word.’

 ‘Pippin?’ Diamond said, looking searchingly into her husband’s face. She took his hand, but he pulled away from her, clasping his hands together with a desperation that tore at her heart, and the look he flashed her mixed grief and despair.

 ‘No...’ he choked. ‘You cannot... I had planned to go alone.’

 ‘Alone!’ Diamond gasped, her hand at her heart. Surely she was being torn in two. Pippin would go off to a far country, never to return, and leave her?

Pippin looked steadily into the face of the King. ‘In my country,’ he said, ‘it is the penalty for what I’ve done. Banishment.’ Merry gave a jerk, but Pippin continued implacably. ‘Exile.’

 ‘For what you’ve done,’ the King echoed.

Pippin raised his chin, his expression filled with anguish. ‘I’m a murderer,’ he said. ‘I acted with malice.’

Merry protested. ‘He’d just thrown your son to his death...! So far as you knew,’ he amended, in defence of the truth.

 ‘I took the King’s justice into my own hands,’ Pippin said, and raised a shaking hand to wipe his brow. ‘Vengeance, not justice,’ he muttered. ‘And I ordered the death of an innocent Man.’

 ‘You didn’t know he was innocent at the time,’ Hilly said. ‘And you stayed my hand when I was about to shoot, just as Frodo Baggins did after the Battle of Bywater, when he stopped us from shooting the ruffians who’d surrendered.’

 ‘I’m no Frodo Baggins,’ Pippin said bitterly. ‘It was mercy in him, mercy that I lacked.’

 ‘It was pity that stayed his hand,’ Merry murmured, thinking of Gollum.

 ‘Frodo showed mercy,’ Pippin said, ‘and so mercy was shown him in the end.’

 ‘And you told me not to shoot the old Man,’ Hilly said stubbornly.

 ‘But not out of mercy,’ Pippin countered. ‘Cold, hard calculation, rather. He had a rope, he could save my son, and once he’d carried Farry to safety you were free to shoot, as I told you.’

 ‘To shoot, if he turned to the opposite bank,’ Hilly said. ‘In order to keep him from carrying Farry off!’

Pippin only shook his head. ‘There was no mercy in me,’ he said. ‘I murdered him, in my heart, long minutes before he turned and brought my son to me.’ He laughed, a humourless sound. ‘ “At your service,” he said, “and your family’s service.” ’ Pippin laughed harshly again, and wiped impatiently at his eyes. ‘And for that I’d have murdered him.’

 ‘But...’ Merry said, and Pippin turned to him for the first time.

 ‘Intent to do harm,’ he said sternly. ‘That is all it takes, Merry, as you well know. Malice, with intent to do harm. That’s banishment, and for a very good reason.’

 ‘To protect the Shire-folk,’ Merry said. ‘Yes, I know, it’s been drilled into me from my father’s knee. Just as Frodo said: No hobbit has ever killed another on purpose in the Shire; and you and I are bound by oath to maintain that spirit.’

 ‘But they were Men!’ Hilly said in consternation. ‘Would you banish every Took that ever shot a Man?’

 ‘The Tooks were at war,’ Pippin said, ‘defending their land from the ruffians. I know, Hilly, that Ferdi never took a life lightly. Nell told me he still dreams of the ruffians whose lives he cut short, that their deaths haunt him still.’

Hilly dropped his eyes. ‘Aye,’ he said softly. He had his own memories and dreams to contend with.

 ‘I threw a stone, when the damage was done,’ Pippin said. ‘Farry and Pip-lad were already in the stream. The ruffian was running away, no menace any longer. The King’s Men were coming, and I doubt he’d’ve got far. They’d’ve hunted him down and brought him to face the King’s justice.’

 ‘Pippin,’ Merry protested.

 ‘It was not my life to take!’ Pippin said bitterly. ‘And worse...’
 
 ‘Worse?’ Elessar said quietly. Arwen stood mute, but a single tear glistened upon one cheek.

Pippin looked back to the King. ‘I had thought to exile myself,’ he said, ‘to protect the Shire-folk from the black stain on my heart.’

Diamond was weeping, shuddering, silent sobs, and Merry put an arm around her.

 ‘Yes,’ Elessar said, and waited.

 ‘But then I realised,’ Pippin said, ‘that my crime took place not in my own land, but in the land of Men, where penalties are different.’ He swallowed hard. ‘For what I have done, for slaying an unarmed Man, indeed, a Man running away... what would the penalty be, Strider?’

 ‘Of old, death was the penalty for such a crime,’ Elessar said.

 ‘And so I ought to hang on that fine new gallows before the Gate,’ Pippin said. ‘Out of my own mouth you have it, my King.’

 ‘But...’ Hilly said desperately.

 ‘Justice is the King’s,’ Pippin said, ‘and the King’s alone. Even lesser Men who mete out justice do so in the name of the King.’

 ‘What sort of justice is that?’ Hilly demanded in outrage.

 ‘It is the justice of Law, stark, demanding, unyielding,’ Elessar said, rising from the throne and descending the steps, step by slow step.

Diamond caught her breath in fear, but Merry’s arm tightened around her.

 ‘But that is why there is a King to administer the Law,’ Elessar continued.

Pippin bowed his head at the King’s approach, and Elessar stood a long moment gazing down at the hobbit before he put out his hand, gentle fingers under Pippin’s chin raising his face to meet the King’s eyes.

 ‘The heart of a grieving father, in the heat of the moment, as his loss overwhelmed him,’ Elessar said. ‘That is what I see before me. It is not the heart of a murderer, for such a one would not have so bitterly mourned the death he wrought, nor regretted the death he ordered, even though it never came to pass.’

 ‘I...’ Pippin whispered. Elessar removed his hand, and the hobbit bowed again, burying his face in his hands, and burst into bitter weeping.

Suddenly Arwen was there, at her husband’s side, her eyes filled with knowing sorrow. ‘Not all tears are evil,’ she murmured as she took her husband’s hand.

Diamond and Merry surrounded Pippin with their arms, supporting him as he sagged in their embrace. The walls had been breached at last.

Chapter 69. Decision Made

 ‘Pippin?’ Diamond said, her voice anxious. Denethor started forward but the King was closer, and waved the guardsman back as he bent to the hobbits.

 ‘He’s fainted,’ Merry said, his arms tightening to keep his cousin from sagging to the ground.

Without a word Elessar took Pippin from him, scooping the unconscious hobbit into his arms, and began to stride rapidly towards the entrance, the remaining hobbits in his wake.

Bergil fumbled the door open in his haste, bowing as the King passed, but coming erect again he held out his palm in warning. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he said to Denethor.

 ‘It’s my duty!’ the guardsman said in astonishment, but Bergil wouldn’t let him pass.

 ‘Your duty was to give evidence as required, and then take yourself back to your bed,’ Bergil said sternly.

 ‘Bed!’ Denethor laughed, but he sobered at a touch on his arm. He turned and immediately bowed, suppressing a grunt at the pain the effort cost him. Arwen stood behind him, serene, gentle, a hint of whimsy in the quirking of her lips, and steel in her eyes.

 ‘Bed,’ the Queen said pleasantly. ‘If someone has to come looking for you...’ She left the threat unfinished and nodded graciously in dismissal. The guardsmen bowed, and when they looked up she was gone.

 ‘Here,’ Bergil said, holding out a peremptory hand. ‘Take off that mail; it’s too heavy for you.’

Denethor winced, lifting off the surcoat, and Bergil hastened to help him, laying the surcoat over his arm as he helped Denethor off with the heavy mail-coat.

 ‘I feel half-clad,’ Denethor grumbled.

 ‘Then put this on,’ Bergil said, thrusting surcoat at him. ‘At least you’ll be three-quarters clad. I’ll just take this off to the armourer’s,’ he hefted the mail-coat and then gazed at Denethor narrowly. ‘On second thought,’ he said slowly, ‘I’ll see you to your bed and then take this off to the armourer’s.’

 ‘No need to put yourself out on my account,’ Denethor said.

 ‘It’s no trouble at all,’ Bergil insisted. ‘Come along now.’

Denethor had the distinct feeling of one being marched off to the dungeons, and he had about as much choice in the matter. ‘Very well,’ he said with a sigh that pained his cracked ribs. ‘Lead me to my doom.’

***

When Pippin awakened he was feeling much better than he had in days; lighter, somehow, freed of a terrible weight that had dragged him deeper than Moria.

He was propped up in bed, undoubtedly to assist his breathing. He never could sleep well, sitting up... At a movement beside him, he turned, to see his wife sitting on the bed. Come to think of it, he noticed that she was holding his hand, had been holding it, probably before he awakened.

Diamond smiled at him hopefully. ‘Welcome back to the world, my dearest,’ she whispered.

 ‘My love,’ Pippin said, lifting her hand to his lips—how convenient, that her hand held his already! All he had to do was shift his grasp.

 ‘You’ve had a good rest,’ she said softly, taking his hand between hers after the kiss. If he wasn't going to bring up the "trial" and the events that had led up to it, well then, neither was she.

 ‘Why are we whispering?’ Pippin whispered.

Diamond nodded behind him, and he turned to behold Denethor, slumped in the chair beside the bed.

 ‘He came to see you,’ Diamond said, ‘and I told him you’d be wakening soon, and pressed him to stay, and so he sat, and...’

 ‘Ah,’ Pippin said. ‘He belongs in a bed.’

 ‘Just as the daisy said to the rose,’ Diamond observed. ‘Here,’ she added, pulling one hand away to take up a cup. ‘Drink. I’d imagine you’re parched.’

Pippin found swallowing a bit difficult, and after a moment’s reflection said, ‘Pony draughts?’

Diamond laughed softly. ‘Very convenient! You cannot exactly push the food about the plate that way!’

 ‘No liver I hope,’ Pippin said, sipping at the cup. It was a mixture of fruit juices, sweet and tangy in one, and very refreshing.

 ‘If there was, I wouldn’t tell!’ Diamond said, her eyes dancing.

 ‘On second thought, it would be a sure way to keep Merry from hanging about and fussing at me,’ Pippin said. ‘He hates the very scent of the stuff!’

 ‘You wouldn’t have minded his fussing at you if you were asleep!’ Diamond said.

 ‘Disturbs the slumber most awfully,’ Pippin complained. ‘Fuss, fuss! Like an old mother hen clucking at her chicks!’

 ‘Cluck cluck!’ Merry said from the doorway.

 ‘Hush, you’ll waken the bodyguard,’ Pippin scolded in a whisper.

 ‘Some bodyguard,’ Merry said, climbing onto the bed and settling himself next to Pippin, ‘sleeping at his post.’

 ‘Don’t tell the King,’ Pippin said. ‘He might make Denny go without his supper, and then where’d he be?’

 ‘In bed, where he belongs,’ Merry said. ‘As I’m glad to see, you are!’

 ‘Hah!’ Pippin said. ‘Not for long...’

 ‘Farry thinks you’re going to Gondor,’ Merry said bluntly.

 ‘Who told him?’ Pippin said, sitting upright.

 ‘You did yourself,’ Merry said. ‘On the picnic, remember? You spoke about him missing his friends, or so he told me.’

 ‘Pippin?’ Diamond said, her hand tightening on her husband’s.

 ‘So, what I want to know, is are you going to Gondor? Sensibly, I mean, taking wife and son with you?’

 ‘I told you...’ Pippin began.

 ‘Going to Gondor, I mean, to live... and not to die?’ Merry went on mercilessly.

 ‘No,’ Pippin said, and it seemed as if he’d stop there, but for the stubborn look on Merry’s face. ‘It’s no good badgering me, Merry. I know now what is the right thing to do.’

 ‘And the right thing is...?’ Merry said, a gleam of challenge in his eye.

Pippin did not rise to the challenge, however. Instead his eye took on a faraway look. ‘The right thing is not always the easiest thing,’ he said, ‘but it is always the best.’

 ‘So Frodo used to say,’ Merry allowed, rather grudgingly. ‘And granted, it would not be easy for you all to go to Gondor, to leave the Shire behind, but...’

 ‘It would be all wrong, for Farry to grow up torn away from his roots,’ Pippin said. ‘What if he were to grow up stunted, or what if he were to be tainted by the evil that is in the hearts of too many Men? Even if I were to live a number of years, and the King promised to send Diamond and Farry back to the Shire after my demise... what damage would be wrought to my precious son, because of my selfish choice?’

Merry sat with his mouth open, stunned at this line of reasoning.

 ‘It was almost a relief to me,’ Pippin went on, ‘when I decided I must go to Gondor alone. Certainly it would be difficult for Diamond and Farry, but no more difficult than if I were to die a year or two hence. And you said yourself, that while the separation would be difficult, there’d be some comfort in knowing that I lived, away there in the Southlands.’

Still speechless, Merry closed his mouth.

Diamond blinked away a tear, but forced a smile as she clung to her husband’s hand as if he were about to be wrenched away from her.

 ‘But the right thing is not always the easiest thing,’ Pippin said again. Seeing that Merry did not understand, he went on. ‘It would be easy to go to Gondor; why, it’s practically my home away from home, when one sets aside the woeful lack of Shire-folk there.’

He raised Diamond’s hand once more for a slow and tender kiss.

 ‘It is not so easy,’ he said more softly, ‘to subject my loved ones to the failing of my body, to the slow—or perhaps rapid—decline, the inevitability of the separation... but perhaps I am selfish...’

Diamond swallowed hard, wanting to protest, but Pippin pressed her hand.

 ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I am selfish. A dozen years in the Southlands is not worth a twelve-month in the Shire.’

 ‘But...’ Merry said.

 ‘Not to mention,’ Pippin said, ‘Would the Shire truly be better off for my leaving?’ He smiled. ‘Ah, how big-headed that sounds! As if the land would dry up and blow away if I were to leave it!’ He sobered. ‘But I have considered long and hard. Who would be Thain, after me? Regi?’

 ‘He is a competent—’ Merry began.

 ‘It would kill him, to have the full weight of the Shire descend upon his shoulders,’ Pippin said. ‘He is a competent and faithful follower, but lacks the imagination to lead.’ He considered. ‘And Ev’ard—he’s a fine engineer, but his head is in the dirt. He doesn’t have the vision to see where to go, nor the patience to deal with stubborn, silly hobbits.’

Merry opened his mouth again, but Pippin wasn’t finished.

 ‘And Ferdi!’ he said, his eyes opening wide. ‘Can you imagine chaining him to a desk! He’d kick the traces over and break out in ways even I cannot imagine! Either that or he’d wither and die for lack of sunlight and fresh air.’

 ‘And you?’ Diamond said quietly.

 ‘I’ve been places, seen things, know something of the workings of the world,’ Pippin said. ‘And I’ve a year or three left to me, perhaps, better to train Regi in what he needs to know to take over the Thainship, when the time comes. I’ve time to lay plans—and with the plans laid, Regi will have no problem with carrying them out. He’s always been one to count upon.’

Diamond took a sobbing breath, and Pippin pressed her hand. ‘Is it really so terrible?’ he whispered, ‘for me to live out the rest of my time at your side, my love? Is it? Would I do better to go to Gondor while you stay in the Shire for Farry’s sake, where you can imagine me hale and hearty, whether or not it is the case?’

 ‘O Pippin!’ she whispered brokenly, and he pulled her closer, to bury her head against his shoulder.

 ‘I’ll go, if you tell me to go, my love,’ he said.

She pulled away, and though Merry stared intently at her, she slowly shook her head. ‘I won’t send you away,’ she whispered. ‘Forgive me, my love.’

 ‘Very well,’ Pippin said. ‘I’ve made my choice.’

Merry bowed his head in silent acceptance.

 ‘Made your choice?’ Denethor said, stretching cautiously. ‘You’ve been making choices? This early in the morning?’

 ‘Yes,’ Pippin said with a smile for the guardsman. ‘I’ve decided I want ham instead of bacon with my eggs for breakfast. Would you be so kind as to let the cooks know?’

 ‘I’d be happy to,’ Denethor said, rising from his chair. ‘I shall return in three shakes—four at the most.’

 ‘You do that,’ Pippin said, and he grinned as the guardsman left the room.

Once Denethor was safely gone, he held out his arms to Diamond and Merry, and the three shared a long and silent embrace.

Chapter 70. Trial by Law

The world was turning towards darkness once more, each day a little lesser than the one preceding, each night’s shadows grown a longer reach, until at last there came the day when night and day were as one, and Summer was gone.

It was the day of departure from the New City (as the hobbits called it), the day when King and Queen and all their retinue would begin the long journey to the Southlands, leaving behind a competent Steward to watch over the affairs of the North-land until the King’s return.

The hobbits, too, would be returning to their home-land. Indeed, a part of their party had returned already, a month earlier: the Gamgees, as Rose wished to end her confinement at home amid familiar comfort.

And so that morning the City arose early to bid farewell to her Queen, and Queen and guardsmen, nobles and Shire-folk took their departure down the long causeway from the great Gate as flowers showered about them and songs were sung.

Elessar rode for a time at Arwen’s side, as Pippin rode with Diamond, but when half the morning was gone, Pippin left his saddle to ride with the King. And Elessar, his face sober, turned his horse back to the City and spurred, hard, for he had an engagement to fulfil, and the Steward awaited him. King and Counsellor would catch up to the travellers the next day, or perhaps the day following.

Reaching the City, where the crowd had dissipated to go about their daily business, the King rode direct to the Hall of Judgment, where a sober-faced Denethor stepped up to greet him. The King lifted Pippin down from the saddle and the horse was taken away, and the three, King, Thain, and guardsman, walked into the Hall of Kings together, passing through the bowing crowd that parted for them as they walked down the long line of statues to the dais. The crowd turned to face the throne and fell silent, waiting.

Elessar mounted the dais and took his seat upon the throne, while Pippin and Denethor stood to one side. They did not have long to wait, for soon the sound of chains was heard, and slow-marching feet, and the great door swung open to admit a shackled Man walking between two grim-faced guardsmen, with more following in slow, doom-laden step.

The prisoner, face pale, eyes popping, sweat pouring down his brow, was marched to the foot of the dais, where the guardsmen released their hold on him.

He had only one good arm, and this was chained to his waist, but he raised that arm as high as he could in entreaty and fell to his knees before the throne. ‘Mercy, my Lord King!’ he cried.

Pippin felt a shock of empathy, which he quickly stifled. Thankfully, it was not his place to judge, for he knew what the outcome must be.

 ‘Stand before the King,’ the captain of the Guard said sharply, and the two guards hauled the prisoner, shaking and pleading, to his feet. ‘Silence!’

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.

Pippin could hear the faint rattle of the prisoner’s chains as the latter shook with fear and dread.

From the scroll, the herald read a list of charges against the accused.

‘Bill Mugwort of Chetwood Vale, stand forth!’ the captain of the Guard announced when the charges had been read. The prisoner had no choice, really. The guardsmen forced him forward a step, with a rattle of chains that resounded through the hushed hall.

Elessar stood and swept the hall with his glance. ‘Is 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 these 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.

Pippin stepped forward, and there was a murmur of surprise from the crowd.

 ‘Y-y-y-you!’ the prisoner stammered. One of his guards silenced him with a jerk of his chains.

 ‘I would speak on his behalf,’ Pippin said, turning to survey the watching crowd. ‘In my country there is no Law to put a Man to death, save in the heat of battle, or in defence.’

 ‘Bless you, sir,’ the prisoner quavered, bowing and nodding his head, holding out his one arm in a pleading manner. ‘Bless you!’

Pippin looked to the King. ‘But I know that I am not in my own country,’ he said, ‘and so I defer to the judgment of the King.’

Elessar nodded gravely, and the prisoner straightened in his chains and fell silent once more, looking about him at the grim faces, fear and dread growing on his countenance as he found no friendly eyes upon him.

When no one else answered the call to speak, the herald called out, ‘Bill, face your accusers!’

Elessar resumed his seat on the throne as the guards forcibly turned the prisoner towards Pippin and Denethor. The King nodded to his Steward. ‘You may question the witnesses,’ he said.  

The Steward, an older Man, kinsman to Elessar, bowed and turned to Denethor. With a series of skilful questions he drew from the guardsman the events of that fateful morning, up until the arrow that finished Denethor’s part in the affair, that nearly finished Denethor in point of fact.

At last the Steward turned to the prisoner. ‘Do you have any questions for the witness?’ he said.

 ‘I-I-I,’ the prisoner stammered. His breast heaved as he gulped for air, yet though he was panting, still he was light-headed, feeling that he was in a dream.

Denethor waited.

 ‘I never meant it personal-like,’ the prisoner managed at last. ‘It was all Tom’s idea. He said to put the guardsman out, and he’d snatch the little’un, and...’ He faltered, meeting the guardsman’s steady gaze, took a few more gasping breaths. ‘I never meant it...’ he whispered. ‘Never meant...’ his voice dropped still further, ‘murther.’

 ‘Never meant murder,’ Pippin murmured, stepping forward involuntarily. His voice rose as he continued. ‘You had only the best of intentions in your heart, did you? No one would be hurt? No harm would come of it all? My son would be returned to me, safe and unharmed?’

 ‘I-I-I n-n-never m-meant...’ the prisoner stammered, and fell silent at what he saw in the hobbit’s face.

 ‘Next witness,’ Elessar said.

The Steward bowed and turned to Pippin. He did not allow the hobbit to talk freely, but asked leading questions, the answers to which he was already fully informed. Of a wonder Pippin allowed this leading, following the Steward’s questioning as a sheep might follow the shepherd, never straying from the established path. There was no point to it, really; he had offered his protest, it would be written in the record, and the trial would proceed to its foregone conclusion as if he’d never spoken. Only Elessar had the power to temper the Law with mercy, but in his wisdom, in this case, likely he would bring down the full measure of the Law upon the hapless prisoner’s head.

Instead of allowing the prisoner to question Pippin, the Steward asked his own questions of the prisoner. ‘Your companion took two of the hobbit children,’ he said. ‘It was your plan to shoot and run away with the son of the Thain.’

 ‘Th-that was Tom’s plan,’ the prisoner said cautiously. ‘He told me to put down any trouble...’

 ‘And Tom grabbed two children,’ the Steward said.

 ‘He was only s’posed to take the one,’ the prisoner said, ‘just the one.’ As if that might make his crime a lesser one.

 ‘He could drop the “extra” child into the River while making his escape,’ the Steward said, ‘thus convincing his pursuers of the seriousness of his intent.’

 ‘Conjecture,’ the King said from the throne.

The Steward bowed to him and said to the scribe, ‘I withdraw the statement.’

Nodding, the scribe scratched out what he’d just written and added an annotation.

 ‘You meant to demand gold for the child’s safe return,’ the Steward said.

 ‘I-it was Tom’s plan,’ the prisoner said. ‘I was just going along with what he said.’

 ‘You planned to return the child, safe and unharmed, once your demands were met,’ the Steward said.

 ‘I-I...’ the prisoner said, flashing a desperate look at the Thain, before looking back to his questioner. ‘Of course,’ he said, standing straighter.

There was a murmur from the crowd, and Pippin’s face grew hard. He knew the lie for what it was.

As if to try to rectify the situation, the prisoner cried wildly, ‘It were all Tom’s idea, not mine! All Tom’s! All—’ He was silenced by a vicious jerk of his chains, and fell to pleading and mumbling.

 ‘Is there any other witness?’ Elessar said, sweeping the crowd with a keen-eyed glance. No one spoke.

Elessar stood. 

‘Bill Mugwort of Chetwood Vale, I find you guilty as charged. Death is the penalty for the crimes you have committed. Now therefore I must pronounce your doom.’

Bill cowered, raising his remaining arm as if to stay a blow. ‘Please,’ he faltered. ‘Have pity... mercy...!’

‘With the next rising of the Sun you shall hang by the neck until dead,’ Elessar intoned. ‘And may you somehow find grace beyond this world.’

 ‘No...’ the prisoner wailed, sobbing, and his pleas were heard as the guardsmen dragged him through the parting crowd, begging for pity, until the great Door closed behind him, mercifully cutting off the mournful sound.

Caution: This chapter contains some graphic material which might be unsettling.

Chapter 71. Of Endings and Beginnings

Pippin was awake before the dawning, when Denethor tapped lightly at his door. ‘Enter!’ he called.

The guardsman pushed the door open. ‘It’s time,’ he said.

 ‘Yes,’ Pippin answered, his usual smile missing.

Denethor’s glance went to the untouched breakfast tray. Pippin followed and his lips tightened. ‘I don’t know what they were thinking,’ he said. ‘To eat? At a time like this? A waste of good food, as I’m more than likely to lose it again in an hour or two.’

Denethor nodded without commenting. He’d lost the contents of his stomach, the first few hangings he’d seen as a boy. He imagined it must be worse for a hobbit, somehow, who had not been brought up with such justice. The Lord Denethor had enforced the Law without mercy, the last few years of his life, and the people of Minas Tirith had grown used to seeing bodies hanging at the Gate before the War, for by tradition hangings took place at the rising of the sun and the bodies were cut down at sun’s setting, a grim warning to would-be lawbreakers that justice in the White City was swift and deadly.

Pippin had added a fair amount of weight over the last weeks of summer, and though he was thinner than a hobbit ought to be, if one were to judge by Samwise and Meriadoc, he looked hale and hearty to the guardsman’s eye. There was colour in his face, and though the guardsman doubted he’d slept at all, his eyes were sharp and no tremor disturbed his fingers as had been the case only a few weeks previously. Denethor gave a private nod of satisfaction. Pippin was in better health than the hobbit the guardsman had first met at the Bridge in the Spring, and looked to be surviving, even thriving, for some time even if he did not accompany the King to Gondor.

 ‘Well then, what are we waiting for?’ Pippin said with a false briskness, rubbing his hands together as if assaulted by a sudden chill, though a fire burned brightly on the grate.

 ‘I’ll be your escort,’ Denethor said, ‘as well as fellow witness.’

 ‘Yes,’ Pippin said grimly. ‘All of Bill’s rights must be observed, after all. The witnesses whose testimony led to his death must watch their handiwork completed.’

 ‘The King has said...’ Denethor reminded, but the hobbit cut off his words with a sharp slashing gesture. Elessar had suggested that Denethor escort the Thain outside the City and some ways away, to await the King for the rest of the journey to the travellers’ camp, leaving before the Sun arose to mark the end of the ruffian’s life.

 ‘No,’ Pippin said, brooking no contradiction. ‘I’ve made his bed, and if he’s to lie in it, well then, there’s no use my avoiding my duty to tuck him up properly.’

Denethor caught his breath at this hobbity metaphor for such a grim business, but nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said gravely, and respectfully he held the door for the hobbit to pass before falling into step beside him.

The hanging was a grim affair, as hangings ought to be. In those days there was no air of festivity, no barkers selling wares to staring onlookers, no jokes nor coarse jests nor epithets flung at the condemned.

The ruffian did not go quietly to his death, but had to be dragged, whimpering and protesting, up the steps to the scaffolding. He sagged in the arms of the guardsmen and had to be held upright for the fitting of the noose.

Elessar stepped forward to ask, as tradition demanded, if the ruffian had any last words.

 ‘I—I—I—’ poor Man stammered, staring into the King’s face and then looking past him to the witnesses. ‘Please,’ he rasped, shuddering with sobs. ‘Please. I don’t want to die. Please!’

Perhaps he hoped the hobbit would call for clemency, peaceful folk that he came from, but Pippin stood like a stone. Indeed, the Thain was thinking, Neither did Denny want to die, but he nearly did. And Jack... For no trace of the wanderer had been found, though the other ruffian’s body had washed up ashore some miles downriver from the falls. Perhaps the Brandywine had carried Jack down past the peaceful Shire he’d loved, on down to the Sea, and final rest from his wanderings.

The King stepped back and nodded to the drummer, who began a thunderous roll. The ruffian’s lips moved again, his mouth opened wide in unheard screams, and he struggled in the guardsmen’s grasp, though he had to stand upright as they suddenly released him and stepped away. He had to keep his own feet then, or strangle prematurely...

Pippin watched through it all, even when the executioner worked the lever that caused the ruffian to fall, twitching and jerking at the end of his rope. The drumroll continued for another full moment, and stopped.

Denethor found he was grasping Pippin’s shoulder. It was different, to watch a hanging and know that he was one who’d sent the Man to his death. It was much different from slaying a foe in the heat of battle. He swallowed hard, silently commanding his stomach to retain whatever it still held from last night’s meal. He hadn’t been able to face breakfast. He took his hand away again when the hobbit moved, and stood at attention as the King turned towards them.

 ‘Done,’ Elessar said quietly. ‘Will you eat before we go?’

 ‘No, Strider,’ the hobbit answered as quietly. ‘I find my appetite quite taken away.’

The King nodded. Certainly in an hour or two the natural requirements of Pippin’s body would reassert themselves, but he would not belabour the matter here and now, not with the ruffian’s body gently swaying, almost near enough to touch.

 ‘Denethor,’ the King said. ‘The Steward awaits you.’

The guardsman saluted. ‘Yes, my Lord King,’ he said. He was not well enough to continue in the King’s elite guard. Elessar had assigned him to the Steward, the King’s kinsman and a fair and upright Man. There were some benefits to staying in the North until the King’s return, not the least of which had a laughing smile and dancing eyes and the promise of a kiss left upon his lips as he hung between life and death in the House of Healing.

Elessar’s horse stood ready, a laden packhorse beside it, leading rein fastened to the King’s saddle. Pippin, after turning aside to bid Denethor farewell, was able to step from the platform into the saddle. The King mounted behind him, lifted his hand in farewell to the small body of guardsmen who’d attended the hanging, and turned away from the City, urging his horse to a ground-eating canter.

***

They rode through the day, catching up to the travellers in the late afternoon, for truly they had not travelled far—a slow march for guardsmen, an easy walk for hobbits. There was some speculation as to the nature of King’s and Thain’s errand, but Arwen turned a smiling face to all inquiries and Diamond truly did not know what took her husband back to the New City.

 ‘A laden packhorse!’ Merry exclaimed after proper greetings had been rendered. ‘How could you have forgotten such a thing!’

 ‘I’m very forgetful in my old age,’ Elessar said, affecting a quavering voice, while Arwen took his arm and gave it a fond squeeze.

 ‘Yes,’ Pippin said, ‘and he needed my help to remember all that he’d forgotten.’

 ‘You ought to have brought me along,’ Diamond said. ‘I’m very good at remembering what to bring on a journey!’

 ‘You are indeed, my dear,’ Pippin said, drawing her to his side for a kiss. ‘I don’t know how I ever managed without you. Likely we forgot half-a-dozen essentials, even with the two of us, King and Thain, working at the problem.’

When the packhorse was unloaded, preparatory to being turned out to graze, there were exclamations of wonder and delight from the hobbits. ‘Fireworks!’ Hilly said, his eyes glowing.

 ‘Yes, in commemoration of Bilbo’s and Frodo’s birthday,’ Pippin said. ‘It’s today!’

Though the others exclaimed in surprise, Merry nodded. It was one date he’d never allow to pass without noticing.

 ‘O but let us not keep this lovely treat to ourselves!’ Posey said impulsively, clasping her hands together.

At the King’s questioning look, she said, ‘The Gamgees are to meet us at the Bridge, are they not, to bid King and Queen farewell? Can we not have a belated birthday celebration? For the sake of all those little ones?’

 ‘Indeed,’ Arwen said, bending to address the hobbit. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.’

 ‘Merry?’ Pippin said softly, looking to his cousin.

Merry’s abstracted air vanished and he met Pippin’s gaze squarely. ‘It would be entirely appropriate,’ he said. ‘I’m sure both Bilbo and Frodo would heartily approve!’

***

And so it was that the Gamgees and a number of other hobbits beheld the wonder of the birthday fireworks, there at the Bridge on the first day of October.

All the Gamgees, save two, that is.

Rose, though she had insisted that Samwise and the rest of the children proceed to the Bridge for the planned farewell celebration, had remained at Bag End with the newest addition to the Gamgee family, born on the 22^nd of September in point of fact, and named “Bilbo” after an earlier resident of that smial, born in the same room on the same day, many years before.

And Bilbo and Frodo, surely, would have heartily approved.

Note to the Reader: So, what loose ends remain to be tied up, besides Jack and his boys? There is still an Epilogue to come. Comments welcome!

Chapter 72. Epilogue

S.R. 1446

Ferdibrand gasped as the towers of the New City came into view, shining in the noonday Sun, who was at her brightest, as if determined to make the white towers dazzle the newcomer’s eye. Pimpernel held out a seeking hand, and he seized it firmly. Truth be told, he was in a little need of comfort himself.

 ‘It’s beautiful,’ Nell whispered, eyes wide as saucers.

Frodo-lad, riding in the open carriage with a jumble of young hobbits as their parents walked on the grassy verge—Gamgees and Tooks and Brandybucks—raised a cheer, and as if in answer to the young voices a roar went up from the City. Blinking, Nell could see bright banners waving, and a multitude of folk awaiting them. She had no doubt they were as Big as the guardsmen marching nearby.

Pippin smiled in satisfaction and exchanged glances with Diamond. ‘It’s quite a sight,’ he said lightly. Couldn’t hold a candle to Minas Tirith, away to the South, now, but then that city was built into the side of a mountain and had seven levels. This city was a hobbit by comparison, which was somehow a comforting thought.

Faramir Took climbed over the side of the carriage and leapt down, running lightly over the grass to join his parents, walking to one side of the Road. He had grown tall, recently, might be called “gangly” but then he was nearly sixteen and impossible to keep satisfied with food. ‘I’m hungry!’ he announced now.

 ‘Here you are,’ Pippin said, pulling an apple from his pocket.

 ‘I thought you were keeping that for Merry!’ Diamond said as Farry took the apple with thanks and ran to join his Uncle Ferdi and Aunt Nell, chattering about all he remembered from previous visits.

Merry laughed and brandished an apple from his own pocket, polishing it against his sleeve and raising his right hand high so that the round blushing fruit glistened in the sunlight. 

There was a ceremony of formal greeting, a great deal of bewildering noise and colour and bustle, and at last a welcoming feast. Halfway through the soup course Pippin gave an exclamation and rose from his seat with a hasty word to the King. ‘Of course,’ Elessar said, motioning to the head server, and soon more places were being laid near Master, Mayor and Thain, on the Big side of the table.

Pippin returned, leading a plainly-clad Man; he was obviously dressed for the occasion, but no noble or courtier by his clothing—perhaps a tradesman? Ferdi mused. He rose from his seat to bow politely as Pippin tendered introductions.

 ‘Ferdibrand, this is Denethor, the guardsman I told you about... and his wife Merileth...’

Ferdi bowed as the Thain continued his introductions. ‘...and Denny, this is Ferdi, my right hand.’

 ‘You must have a terrible time finding gloves to fit,’ Denethor observed, and Merileth rolled her eyes and discreetly thrust her elbow into his side with a whispered, Denny!

Through conversation it became clear that Denny was not a guardsman as he’d been introduced, well rather, he had been a guardsman until injuries had caused him to retire honourably from service. He owned a stand in the market square where he sharpened blades three days of the week; the other days he helped his wife’s father, a greengrocer. Ferdi rubbed his thumb appreciatively across the blade of the knife Denny took from his boot. ‘Very nice,’ he said. ‘Do you sell a good skinning knife, in a size a hobbit could use?’

 ‘Of course!’ Denethor answered. He could have one made easily enough. His wife’s youngest sister was married to the armourer.

After enough food to make the greediest Man roll himself into a corner, groaning, Pippin jumped to his feet and bowed to the King. ‘My thanks!’ he said. ‘An excellent repast, and plenty enough to hold us over until teatime.’

 ‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ Elessar said.

 ‘But my dear wife remembered something she forgot in packing,’ Pippin continued. ‘Will the market be open this day? What with all the people gathered outside the Gate to cheer your return and wave banners and whatnot?’

The King reassured them on this account and nodded in dismissal, and Diamond, Ferdi and Nell rose from their seats to accompany the Thain. Pippin invited Denethor and his sweet-faced wife to join them.

  ‘They will have returned to their shops and stalls,’ Denethor said as they cleared the doors of the banquet hall, ‘all but those invited to the welcoming feast, of course. After all, there will be a great deal of gossip to be got through before the sunset bells ring.’

Ferdi stared at him in frank astonishment at this hobbity talk coming from the tall man, but Denethor merely laughed. I told you he was half hobbit! Pippin said behind his hand.

 ‘Aye, but which half?’ Denethor said, and laughed again.

Ferdi found himself liking this tall-but-hobbity Man, a wonder since he considered every Man a ruffian until proved otherwise.

Their arrival in the market square caused a flurry, for the visiting hobbits were not expected until the following day at the earliest.

 ‘The finest ladies’ handkerchiefs are to be found in a little shop at the greengrocer’s end of the row,’ Denethor said.

 ‘I remember!’ Diamond smiled. ‘Wonderful fabric, and exquisite stitchery! But would they have anything now? I mean, we’ve only just arrived, and...’

 ‘Ah, but the City has been anticipating your arrival ever since the snows melted,’ Denethor said with a bow. ‘Such excitement, that the King would be bringing his Counsellors with him this trip!’

 ‘I’m sure they have stacks of hobbit-sized pocket-handkerchiefs,’ Pippin said gallantly, ‘all just waiting for your perusal.’ Even though he thought Diamond had packed quite enough of the things. Still, what ever made her happy, and was in his power to supply...

 ‘But you must put your feet up, my dear,’ Denethor said solicitously to his wife. ‘It has been a long while, sitting at that feast, and you are not far from your time...’

 ‘Far enough,’ his fair wife said, blushing, and she managed an awkward bob to Thain and Mistress. ‘If you’ll excuse me...’

Of course they did, and Denethor turned away to escort his beloved to their cheerful little home not far from the row of shops.

At the tinkle of the bell above the door a Man bending down, arranging wares on a low shelf, said pleasantly, ‘I’ll be right with you.’

 ‘Take your time,’ Pippin said jovially. ‘My wife will be taking enough of your time as it is, wanting to see every pocket-handkerchief in the shop more than likely, and asking for some that aren’t in the shop!’

The Man chuckled, a pleasant sound, but his smile was wiped away as he straightened and regarded his customers. His face paled as he stammered a polite greeting.

 ‘Is Seledrith not here?’ Diamond said. ‘She always knows just what would suit.’ She’d never met this young Man before, though there was something familiar about his eyes.

 ‘She—she’s out shopping,’ the Man said. ‘Pocket-handkerchiefs, did you say?’ He ducked beneath the counter and began a determined, if long-drawn-out, search through the contents of the shelves. Pimpernel fingered a length of fine silk, and soon she and Diamond were deep in discussion, while Ferdi fought the impulse to put his hands in his pockets and whistle, and Pippin twinkled at him as if he guessed exactly what he was thinking.

The bell tinkled again to announce Bergil’s arrival. ‘There you are!’ he said. ‘King Elessar thought you might need some rescuing about now!’ 

 ‘Indeed, rescue us,’ Pippin said fervently, ‘before we’re wound about in bright lengths of silk! Who knows what dreadful thing might happen after!’

 ‘Come along then,’ the guardsman said.

Diamond looked after her husband with a smile. No longer did she need to worry to let him out of her sight, for fear a breathless fit might take him for ever away. A few years earlier Samwise had returned from the Southlands bearing a bottle of wonder from the Tree-folk, and not a moment too soon! Pippin had been gasping his last when he drank the marvellous draught, marvellous indeed, bringing him cure where the Elf-draught could not. Now he was as well as if his lungs had been new-grown... which, perhaps they had. The Ents knew how to keep things green and growing. Pippin still jested about Samwise’s “Ent thumb”, and the gardener-Mayor only smiled and looked thoughtful.

Seledrith entered the shop, a basket on one arm and a babe on the other. ‘Oh!’ she said, rather breathlessly, to see Diamond and another hobbit in the shop. ‘Beg pardon, misses, and I’ll be helping you directly.’ Raising her voice, she called ‘Gwillam!’

 ‘Here,’ the Man said, muffled behind the counter.

 ‘Half a moment, misses,’ Seledrith said. She crossed the shop to pull aside a curtain. Beyond the hobbits had a glance of a small hearth with cheery fire burning this cool Spring day, and the shaggy white head of an old Man dozing in a rocking chair before the fire.

Seledrith laid down the basket, settled the baby in a cradle next to the rocking chair, and pulled up a lap-robe that had slipped down, tucking it gently over shoulders and under chin, and laying a soft kiss upon the shaggy head. ‘There you are, Father,’ she said. ‘You and little Robin have a nice nap together...’

She hung up her shawl, took up the basket again, and pulled the curtain to behind her as she re-entered the shop. ‘There we are,’ she said briskly. ‘Now, what was it you misses were wanting?’

 ‘Pocket-handkerchiefs,’ Diamond said promptly. ‘One of the boxes I packed seems to have been left behind.’

 ‘Well that will not do at all!’ Seledrith said. She moved behind the counter and poked the Man. ‘Gwillam! The misses want pocket-handkerchiefs!’

 ‘Yes, my love,’ the Man said, rising cautiously, meeting Diamond’s quizzical glance and looking hastily away. He really did remind her of someone... He hurried to another shelf. ‘We put the hobbit-sized handkerchiefs here, in anticipation...’

The bell jangled vigorously as a youth entered, small child chortling on his shoulders. ‘Here we are!’ he cried joyously. ‘Merileth’s put her feet up and I offered to take little Berenor for the afternoon to give her some rest!’

 ‘Robin!’ Seledrith chided. ‘Your father’s asleep, and so is the baby!’ She added in a confiding tone, ‘And we have customers!’

Robin turned to bow to the hobbits, little Berenor squealing, fists grasping the youth’s hair firmly to help him keep his seat.

 ‘Misses!’ Robin said grandly, but as he rose Diamond saw him shoot a look at Gwillam, whose back was still firmly turned as he rummaged the shelves. ‘If you’ll excuse me...’

Seledrith huffed. ‘At the very least you can take this basket back to the kitchen, cut the cheese and stir the stew!’ she said.

 ‘Your least wish is my greatest desire!’ Robin said, and taking the basket he swept out of sight.

 ‘Gwillam?’ Seledrith said. ‘The pocket-handkerchiefs?’

 ‘Here they are, my dear,’ Gwillam said, turning reluctantly from the shelf, a sheaf of small linens in his hand.

Diamond saw that his hand trembled as he laid them down, and she touched his hand gently, as if by accident. He jerked at the touch, scattering the pocket-handkerchiefs such that several fell to the floor.

 ‘I—I beg your pardon,’ he stammered, even as Seledrith scolded under her breath and busied herself picking up the dainty squares.

 ‘You have it,’ Diamond said kindly, and something in her voice stilled him and caused him to meet her eyes squarely for the first time. ‘You have my full pardon,’ she said. ‘And my husband’s, for that matter.’

Pimpernel laughed. ‘What a thing to say!’ she cried. ‘Going about scattering pardon as widely as fluttering hankies on the wind!’

 ‘Yes,’ Diamond said, ‘but then we wouldn’t want Gwillam to be in trouble with his father... or his wife!’

 ‘Never!’ Seledrith said gaily. ‘He lives in fear of me as it is!’

To her satisfaction, Diamond saw a cautious smile bloom on Will’s—Gwillam’s face. ‘Absolute fear,’ he murmured, flashing a fond look at his wife.

 ‘I’ll take them all,’ Diamond said decidedly. ‘The fabric is superior, the stitchery is exquisite, up to your usual standard, Seledrith, or perhaps exceeding it!’

 ‘Why thank you, Mistress,’ Seledrith said. ‘I’ll just bundle them up for you...’

 ‘I’ll send someone to fetch them presently, and bring payment,’ Diamond said. Certainly Pippin would wish to tender his thanks in person, and Mayor Samwise as well. ‘Good day to you.’

 ‘Good day,’ Seledrith and Gwillam chorused, and the shopkeeper bowed deeply while his wife made a pretty courtesy.

 ‘But,’ Pimpernel protested as Diamond pulled her from the shop. ‘I wasn’t done looking...’

 ‘We’ll come back another day,’ Diamond said. ‘They weren’t quite expecting us so soon after arrival.’

 ‘And she didn’t say how much the pocket-handkerchiefs cost...’ Pimpernel said.

 ‘I know very well how much they cost,’ Diamond said firmly. ‘I’ve been in that shop many times, over the course of our visits to the Lake!’

 ‘But what if they’ve put their prices up, since your last visit?’ Pimpernel persisted.

 ‘O I’ll just slip a little extra in, to cover that contingency,’ Diamond said. A bag of gold ought to do it. Perhaps two.

Note to the Reader: The links within this chapter all worked properly as of 1/11/05, but as you know the Internet is always changing, and so of course I cannot guarantee the links at a later date. Cruise at your own discretion. 

Chapter 1:
Ferdi acquires the grey stallion, "fastest pony in the Shire", in the story "StarFire", which also tells the story of the Thain's treasure-hoard.

Ferdi's experience with ruffians, hanging, and being "The Fox" is detailed in "Flames". 

The disastrous flooding of the Greentuck Valley is told in "In the Greening of the Year". 

Chapter 2:
Much of the material in this chapter was taken from "Flames".

Chapter 3:
The dates for the arrival of Elessar's letter and the Bridge meeting were taken from an early version of JRRT's "Epilogue". This story may be re-written, eventually, to bring it in line with the dates in his later version. 

Chapter 4:
Ferdi's early days as Pippin's escort/special assistant: "Flames", "FireStorm", and "StarFire"
Ferdi's useless arm: "Flames"
Merry's wound: "Ruffians"

Chapter 42: On Pippin and pneumonia:
Pippin's near-fatal bout with pneumonia is detailed in "Jewels", which exists in draft form on fanfiction.net under authorname "Lindelea1". He will have recurrence of pneumonia in "Down and Out" which can be found here at SoA, though please note that "Down and Out" takes place later on the time line than "All that Glisters". His breathing problems also trouble him in "FirstBorn" and "Runaway". And of course, his damaged lungs nearly put an end to him in "At the End of His Rope".

Chapters 49-51:
You wouldn't believe the number of people who drown in rivers every year, some who were just wading, and stepped into a hole, some who jumped in to save someone else... The following websites, in no particular order, are of interest:
http://www.americanwhitewater.org/archive/safety/safety.html
http://www.whitewatervoyages.com/reference/glossary.html
http://www.whitewatervoyages.com/reference/detailedglossary.html
http://www.e-raft.com/reference.asp
www.rowinc.com/glossary.htm
http://www.highdesertriver.com/terms.htm
www.highdesertriver.com/terms2.htm
www.adventuresportsonline.com/asp/ASOmain.asp?Option=Expert&Section=gloss
http://www.americanwhitewater.org/resources/journal/issues/1983_2.pdf
http://www.americanwhitewater.org/safety/

A real-life account and article on safety:
http://www.sowrey.org/journals/20000626.shtml

Also I found these books to be of great value:
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/1878239554/102-5371503-3408928?v=glance
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0070677905/qid=1105638081/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/104-7999912-2683927?v=glance&s=books

Chapter 63:
Thanks to Lyllyn and FantasyFan for their patient answers to my questions, once I decided the draft would have to be rewritten. (In the original version, Denny died of his wounds.)
One thing that struck me, and shaped the re-write on this chapter, was Lyllyn's comment that people retain consciousness with the most horrendous injuries. Thus Denethor does not remain "out" for long, but is talking quite rationally in this chapter, even though he's millimetres away from bleeding to death.

Shire justice: For some reason I cannot imagine the hobbits physcially locking people up. I see them as such a socially-oriented people that punishments would be in terms of increasing isolation--sitting in the corner, for a young one; the Ban which is based on what I've read of shunning in Amish society; all the way to banishment which, considering the attitude of Shire-folk to the Outside, would be equivalent to death in the minds of Shire-folk I think. Lesser offences would be punished by fasting, such as missing a meal, or going without dessert, or more formally "water rations" for part of a day up to three days at the most. Imposing "water rations" is supposed to give a hobbit pause for consideration, to think over his actions and the consequences, and to change his ways. The same with social isolation--it gives one time to think, as well as acts as a deterrent to other hobbits, hopefully. In any event there would be no such thing as a death penalty in the Shire! ("No hobbit has ever killed another on purpose in the Shire", in Frodo's own words.)  More on crime and punishment in the Shire can be found in the following stories, all found on SoA (click on story name to see chapter list):
"Truth"
"Flames" (especially chapter 5 "Guilty")
"Runaway" (co-author JoDancingtree)

In addition, Marigold commented to me on the hobbits' rather blase attitude towards Merry's restoration. It struck me as true--I hadn't clarified their attitude, being more focused on other things! So I tried to show that attitude in this chapter (Pippin's private joy at a mundane gesture)--for it's not that the hobbits are nonchalant, just that they are understated in their attitude. Privately they rejoice over Merry's healing, but aloud they "use light words and say less than they mean".

Chapter 68:
Intent and motivation are almost more important in the hobbit mind than actual actions. Or so I have gathered from research and reading of JRRT's writings. See especially the Tolkien quote supplied by FantasyFan in the reviews for this chapter, which sums things up rather well, I think.

I imagine that Master and Thain would be the only hobbits in the Shire with the authority to banish someone, though perhaps not. It might be the right of any head of a family. (I am thinking of Gollum's grandmother. I don't remember if Gollum left of his own accord or was banished, but I imagine his grandmother had the power to banish one who posed a threat to others in the family.)

Chapter 70:
Some parts of the ruffian's trial were modelled after the account of Ulrich's first trial in "As the Gentle Rain".

Final note: Of course, Pippin does get his healing, eventually, in "At the End of His Rope".