A Took by Any Other Name

Prologue
S.R. 1430, Brandy Hall, Buckland 

Diamond steamed and fretted, looking out onto the yard. Armed hobbits stood at all the entrances to Hall and outbuildings. No one yet knew what was going on, only that a forester had been shot full of arrows and Buckland had been called to arms. She figured Pippin would be in the thick of things.

'Sit down, you worry me,' Estella, Merry's wife said. She'd miscarried their first child and her constant attendance on Diamond was touching, but sometimes aggravating as well.

'I'm fine,' Diamond snapped. She softened her voice. 'I'm sorry, Estella. I will sit down soon, I just thought I heard ponies' hoofs in the courtyard.'

'I'm worried about them, too,' Estella said gently. 'Now sit. Let me take a turn by the window; I'll tell you the minute I see something.'

Diamond allowed herself to be eased into a comfortable chair. 'You know I'll never be able to get up from here again without help,' she laughed.

Estella gave an evil grin. 'I know!' she said smugly. 'Here, put your feet up,' she said, pushing a stool into place. 'Now I have you just where I want you!'

She took Diamond's place by the window. The brilliant sunset light was fading, and Estella reported, 'They're lighting torches in the yard.'

'That'll make a fine target for ruffians,' Diamond commented.

'We don't know yet that they are ruffians,' said Estella.

'I hope that they are,' Diamond said.

'What do you mean?' Estella asked, her eyes narrowing.

'Hobbits drove out the ruffians once before, we can drive them out again,' Diamond said equably.

'What if it's something worse than ruffians?' Estella said slowly, with an uncharacteristic show of anxiety.

Diamond looked hard at her. 'You're supposed to be comforting me, remember?' she said sharply.

Estella laughed and came to give her a quick hug. 'I forgot,' she said. 'I'll try to do better. I shall return to the window and report the arrival of our husbands, safe and sound...'

Ponies' feet were heard on the stones and she whirled and ran to the window. Diamond tried her best to get out of the chair but could not. Frustrated, she called, 'What do you see?'

'Riders. Not as many as went out. Wait!' Diamond waited. Estella continued, 'Waggons, now... there are wounded.'

'Help me up!' Diamond insisted. Estella didn't answer. 'Estella, so help me, if you don't get me out of this chair, I'll...' she managed by a great effort to haul herself upright and over to the window. Looking down into the yard, she saw Pippin's Socks being led by another hobbit. The pony's saddle was empty.

Diamond gasped, and at the same moment a stabbing pain assailed her. Estella instantly grabbed her by the arms. 'Diamond, this won't help Pippin! You must think of the child, you have to take care of yourself.'

'I'm all right, it was one of those false pains I've been having,' Diamond said faintly. 'I've got to know, Estella... It's the waiting and not knowing that is tearing me apart...'

Unexpectedly, Estella agreed. 'All, right, we'll go to the entrance,' she said. 'Those husbands of ours are probably too busy to be thinking of us right now.'

***

In the yard, Merry was overseeing the unloading of the wounded. Most would be able to walk into the Hall on their own legs, a few would need to be carried, even though none was badly wounded, thanks to the unexpected help of the Forest in the fight against the orcs. He guessed the Forest hated orcs more than it hated hobbits, now.

The sounds of argument came to his ears from the nearest waggon. 'Master Steward, you must let us take you to the great room. The healer's there with his assistants, and he said he didn't want you to walk until he'd had a chance to look you over.'

'I'm fine,' Pippin answered patiently. 'I just have a few scratches. No need to carry me anywhere.'

He looked up as Merry approached and swung down from Jewel. 'Merry, Diamond will be beside herself if she sees me carried into the Hall.'

'It's all right, Benis,' Merry said to the servant. 'I'll take him from here.' He reached up his arms. 'Come on, Pip, let me at least help you down.' He ignored Pippin's grimace as the latter climbed out of the waggon, caught him as he staggered, pulled Pippin's arm around his own shoulders, careful not to touch the chafed wrist. 'All right, then,' he said. 'You're not being carried into the Hall. You're walking. Sort of.'

Pippin tried to laugh. As the Hall door swung wide, he said out of the corner of his mouth, 'See?' Both their wives hovered at the entrance.

'You look terrible,' Merry answered him from the corner of his own mouth. 'We ought to have carried you in, covered with a sheet!'

'Ah, well, it was quite a party,' Pippin said. 'You know how those orcs can be, quite wild when they've been at the orc draughts.'

'Did they give you any?' Merry wanted to know.

'No, I think they'd run out by the time I got there,' Pippin answered. 'All they had to offer me was the dregs.'

Merry laughed, and the waiting wives found reassurance in the sound.

Diamond tried to hide her shock as Merry brought Pippin into the light of the Hall. 'Hullo, my love, I'm home,' her husband said jauntily. 'What's for supper?'

'Supper's over and done,' she tried to say pertly. 'That's what you get for coming in late.'

'Perhaps you can scare up some of the scraps you'd saved for the cat,' Pippin answered.

Diamond reached to hug him, then, but he gasped and she drew back. 'Sorry, love,' he said, 'you caught me in one of my ticklish spots.'

They had reached the great room by now, and hobbits came forward to take Pippin from either side and lift him to a table.

Merry tried to escort Diamond away, but she pushed at him, saying, 'I have the right to be here.'

'You shouldn't see this,' Merry said, his eyes dark with concern for her.

'I've seen worse,' she said. 'He's alive, and that's what's important.' She turned to the healer, who had come over from another table. 'Ossilan, what can I do to help?'

'You can sit down,' the old healer said gravely, then met Merry's gaze. 'Bring a chair over, she can sit next to her husband.' He walked with Merry a few steps away, and added under his breath, 'She'll be more upset if we keep her away. We must tread carefully.' Merry nodded, brought a comfortable chair, eased Diamond into it, then placed a stool for her feet.

'All comfy, my love?' Pippin asked lightly.

'Perfectly, my dear,' she answered.

'Good, just tell me if you want anything, I'll hop up and get it for you,' her husband said.

'I'll let you know,' was Diamond's reply. Thoughout their banter Ossilan made his investigation. From where she sat, Diamond could see bruises covering every exposed spot on her husband; there were probably more bruises yet to be revealed. A long, shallow slice decorated one forearm, and his face was cut and bruised as if he'd fallen repeatedly upon it. Then there were the marks on wrist and ankle, and the mark of a rope about his neck.

'Orcs?' she whispered. The healer's low-voiced comments to Merry and his assistant stopped, and they turned to her. From the look on Merry's face she knew her guess was accurate. 'There are orcs in the Shire?'

Merry moved to her side. 'There were orcs in the Forest,' he said. 'They're all dead now. We don't know that there were any more than these.'

'How did they get here?' she gasped.

'We think they were survivors of the battle of Mirkwood, come out of the mountains at last, looking for greener pastures. They had set up camp in the Old Forest, were making themselves quite at home,' Pippin said, as if he were recounting that day's weather.

'How do we know they are all gone?' she said.

'We don't,' Merry answered. 'That's why we will continue to mount a guard on Buckland, and messengers are going out in pairs to alert the other communities. The word will spread from there to the rest of the Shire.'

'I think it's just an isolated incident,' Pippin said, his words slurring from exhaustion and pain. 'We'd have heard if other areas were losing livestock.'

'Yes, but we'll have to act as if it's not isolated, until we prove that it is,' Merry answered. 'I want to get word to the Rangers, find out what they think of this invasion.'

'Yes, and be sure to chide them for letting this menace through their defences,' Pippin added. 'I think we ought to dock their wages.'

'We don't pay them any wages,' Merry said.

'O aye, then it should cut them to the quick if we pay them half what they've been getting up until now.' Pippin sucked in his breath as Ossilan began to wash the slice on his arm.

'I'm sorry, Master Steward, but I'm told that this type of wound is often contaminated. We must make sure we get it thoroughly clean.'

'Right, be sure you grind a little harder against it, then; you've hardly scratched the surface,' Pippin answered between his teeth.

'Be assured that I will,' Ossilan said. He shook his head. 'Master Peregrin, we might as well just fill a tub with arnica and dip you in it, you're one great bruise from head to foot.'

'Tell me about it,' Pippin said.

The healer gestured to a helper and soon he had a steaming cup in his hand. 'I want you to drink this, it's tea with plenty of honey,' he said.

Merry helped his cousin sit up, but Pippin insisted on holding the cup himself despite his bandaged wrists and arm. 'You'd think I'd've learned to like honey a bit better by now, the way people keep pouring it into me,' he muttered in between sips.

'Well, if you'd just stop being so clumsy and falling down all over the place, we wouldn't need to pour it into you,' Merry answered.

'Perhaps if I don't drink quite so much brandy, I won't fall down so often,' Pippin said.

'There's a thought,' Merry answered. 'On the other hand, some brandy would be welcome right now.' His wife took the hint, and soon Estella had brought a glass of brandy for Pippin. 'Don't I get any?' Merry asked.

'Ask your cousin if he'll share his; I understand he has plans to cut down,' Estella answered.

The healer had finished his ministrations, and looked sternly at Pippin. 'You walked into the Hall on your own legs,' he said.

'O aye, I thought that's what they were there for,' Pippin replied.

'Your wife has seen that you are fine... well, that you are alive, at least, so there is no more reassuring needed to be done by you.'

'Very kind of you to say so,' Pippin murmured.

'You will let us carry you to your bed,' Ossilan said.

'Will you read me a bedtime story, as well?' Pippin asked.

The healer nearly smiled. 'I think I'll leave that to your wife,' he answered.

****

Diamond stared down at her husband as they settled him gently on the pillows; the silent hobbits pulled up the covers, nodded to her, and stepped softly from the room.

Pippin opened his eyes just then. 'What is it?' he asked. 'Did I dribble when I drank? Is there tea still on my chin?'

'I am trying to figure out where to kiss you good night,' she returned.

'I think the tip of my right ear is still intact,' he said.

She bent awkwardly to kiss the spot, then slid into her own spot on the bed. 'I'm almost afraid to touch you,' she said.

He chuckled. 'I won't break,' he said. She felt him gently encompassing her and their unborn child in his embrace, and then she felt him sigh. 'It's good to be home,' he said. She lay without moving as his breathing quickly became deep and even.

Sometime after the middle night, she awakened to feel the bed shaking. She no longer lay within her husband's embrace. Reaching out carefully, she found Pippin moved away from her. She rolled over with difficulty and sat up. By the light of the turned-down lamp, she saw that he was curled in a tight ball, hugging his knees, shaking.

'What is it, love?' she said anxiously. He did not answer, and she could see the glisten of tears on his face.

Slowly and gently, she lay back down on the bed and wrapped herself around him, holding him close as she could. 'I'm here,' she soothed. 'You're safe now.' She stroked his hair. 'They're all gone.'

Gradually she felt him begin to relax. As he uncurled, she guided his hand to rest upon her distended abdomen. 'Come, feel our son,' she said. 'He's dancing.' Their hands lay together for a long while, feeling the promise of joy to come.

After awhile, Diamond said gently, 'Sleep now, you need to rest.'

Pippin answered low. 'I cannot. The dreams...' She was shocked to hear him admit to any weakness, her laughing husband who always scoffed at danger.

'Come, love.' She eased his head against her breast. 'Let me help.'

He lay without moving for a long time, and eventually the rhythm of her heartbeat lulled him back to sleep. She held him thus until the morning light stole through the window.

-- From Seeing the Forest for the Trees (click link for chapter listing), Chapter 5, "A Glimmer of Sunlight"

Chapter 1. The Morning After

No tap came at the door; instead it opened silently, but instead of a peeping servant Diamond saw Pippin’s aunt hesitating on the threshold. She put her finger to her lips, and Esmeralda nodded, gliding into the room, two servants following with laden trays. When these had laid down their burdens, the Mistress dismissed them with a wordless glance, and they crept from the room.

Pippin awakened with a jerk, however, at the gentle sound of tea being poured out. ‘What?’ he said wildly, ‘Where...?’

Diamond could feel him trembling as she cautiously tightened her embrace. ‘All is well, my love,’ she said. ‘We’re in the Hall, remember? Merry brought you back from the Forest last night, after they killed all the Orcs.’ His trembling stopped; he was still, worrisomely so, for Pippin was never still. ‘Do you hear, my love? The Orcs are all gone, dead.’

 ‘The Forest,’ he whispered, and slumped against her, closing his eyes once more. ‘Forest brought me back.’

Esmeralda brought two cups of tea to the bedside. ‘Come now,’ she said, ‘drink up whilst it’s hot.’

Diamond took her cup and gulped the sweet, milky tea, then took the second cup and held it to her husband’s lips. ‘Here, love,’ she said. ‘Strong and hot, just as you like it.’

Meekly he sipped, without opening his eyes, and she exchanged a worried glance with Pippin’s aunt.

Esmeralda brushed the back of her hand across Pippin’s forehead and he flinched away, spilling the tea. ‘No matter,’ she said cheerily, hurrying for a serviette and dabbing at the damp spots. ‘I’ll just pour you another cup, my dear, and you make sure to drink the whole of it this time! And we’ve breakfast as well...’ Meeting Diamond’s eyes she mouthed the word fever, and Diamond nodded.

 ‘Well then,’ Esmeralda said, moving to the door and easing it open a crack for a brief murmur to whomever hovered outside. Next she went to the table where the trays resided, quickly spooning eggs from a covered serving dish onto a plate, adding bacon and buttered toast and potatoes fried crispy with savoury bits of onion. ‘Here you are, my dear,’ she said, bringing the plate to Diamond.

It was awkward, eating with Pippin dozing upon her breast, but she managed with Esmeralda holding the plate conveniently near. When she was nearly finished, the door opened to admit the old healer.

 ‘Ah good,’ he said, eying the plate. ‘Glad to see you’re not neglecting the babe.’

 ‘He’s hungry,’ Diamond answered, ‘after dancing the night through. Or at least I am.’

Ossilan nodded, already busy examining his patient. Through it all, Pippin continued to sleep, but the healer did not seem concerned by that fact. Esmeralda laid Diamond’s plate aside and returned to the bedside.
 
‘Fever,’ the old healer muttered, ‘but it’s to be expected. I only hope...’ Gently he eased the dressing from the forearm wound, sighing with relief at what he found. ‘No red swelling,’ he said, ‘and it doesn’t appear that the blade was poisoned or smeared with filth.’ 

 ‘Pippin said it was a skinning knife,’ Diamond said steadily, though her breakfast sat uneasily at the thought. ‘They would hardly taint their supper meat, using a dirty blade.’

Esmeralda gasped, hand at her heart.

 ‘I’m sorry, Aunt,’ Diamond said, immediately contrite.

 ‘No... no, lass. My nephew has always been one for plain speaking,’ Esmeralda said, and smiling faintly she added, ‘You ought to have heard some of the observations he’d come out with, as a little lad. Such consternation as he caused my brother and his wife!’

 ‘Have you sent word...?’ Diamond said delicately.

 ‘Swift messengers have been sent throughout the Shire,’ Esmeralda replied.

 ‘Will he come?’ Diamond persisted. Ossilan was carefully going over the bruising on Pippin’s torso, clucking softly to himself.

Esmeralda sighed and shook her head. ‘Paladin did not come after the stable fire that nearly took his son’s life,’ she said. ‘I doubt that he’d come now, when there is no danger of Pippin’s life.’ She touched the healer’s arm. ‘There is no danger,’ she repeated, spacing her words, ‘is there?’

Ossilan snorted softly.

 ‘I know,’ Esmeralda said ruefully. ‘I ought to know better... but... is there?’

Diamond held back a laugh. Pippin was not the only one to ask a question over and over again until he heard an answer that satisfied him.

 ‘So far as I can determine, at this early date, no,’ Ossilan said grudgingly.

Esmeralda nodded, a single jerk of her chin, and again Diamond was reminded of her husband... and his father, the Thain.

 ‘You’d think...’ she said softly, though she knew better. She was the cause of division between father and son, after all.

 ‘O my dear,’ Esmeralda whispered, reaching out to cup her cheek. ‘ ‘Tis the curse of the Tooks, their stubbornness. Why my brother refuses to see...’ She sighed. ‘But of course, he’s had his eye on the Bolgers’ daughter and the gold she'd bring to a wedding since Pip was just a little lad. I don’t know why, with all the gold in the Thain’s hoard at his fingertips, he should always be looking for more...’

Ossilan cleared his throat, though he did not look up from his examination.

 ‘So if my father held more wealth than The Bolger he’d have reconciled himself to the marriage?’ Diamond whispered bitterly. Her arms tightened on Pippin, just a little, for she did not want to cause him pain from his bruises. As if the son of the Thain were merely one of his ponies, to be traded for gain.

 ‘He was a different hobbit, before he became Thain,’ Esmeralda said apologetically. She wiped a tear from the corner of one eye.

Ossilan cleared his throat again as he arose from his examination of Pippin’s feet and legs, and Esmeralda and Diamond exchanged glances. They almost never spoke of the strained relations between Brandy Hall and the Great Smials, but in light of the recent horror and the manner of Pippin’s near-passing, social constraints seemed less pressing, at least in Diamond’s eyes, and Esmeralda seemed to be in the same mood despite the old healer’s subtle protests.

 ‘Then perhaps I ought to be grateful to him, sparing my husband the same fate,’ Diamond said recklessly. Paladin had disowned his son upon their handfasting, and even though he’d attended the wedding two years after, he’d not owned his son again. He continued to insist that Pippin return to the Great Smials, to take up his duties in preparation to inheriting the office of Thain some day, and Pippin stubbornly remained at Brandy Hall, as steward to the Master of Buckland. So long as Pippin remained disinherited there appeared to be no danger of his becoming Thain.

Ossilan cleared his throat a third time.

 ‘Dear Ossilan, I do hope you’re not sickening with anything,’ Esmeralda said solicitously. The glance she shot Diamond said, We’ll take this up another time.

The healer was carefully fingering Pippin’s jaw and throat. Pippin, oblivious to the examination, was snoring lightly. ‘Light foods, and soft,’ he said. ‘I’d even say liquids only to start, but... He wasn’t sick in the night, was he?’

 ‘No,’ Diamond said. ‘He kept all he managed to swallow last night.’ Though his jaw was not broken, Pippin was so bruised and battered that any movement, even sipping and swallowing, had been purchased at no little cost.

 ‘Soft foods,’ Ossilan repeated.

 ‘There’s porridge in the serving dish,’ Esmeralda said, moving restlessly to the tray. She lit the warming candle under the covered dish. She met Diamond’s surprised glance with a tight smile. ‘O I know,’ she added. ‘The lad hates porridge. But it’s soft, and it’s nourishing, and if you lace it with cream and jam...’

 ‘Anything but honey,’ Ossilan muttered. Too bad he couldn’t sweeten draughts with jam. Pippin’s distaste for honey made the healer’s business all the more difficult, added to the fact that he was a stubborn Took.

 ‘Anything but honey,’ Diamond said, laying a whisper of a kiss on her husband’s bruised forehead.

Esmeralda smiled and brushed a kiss of her own upon Pippin’s forehead, and then Diamond’s. ‘Do you want me to watch with him whilst you bathe and see to your needs?’ she said.

 ‘Thank you,’ Diamond said.

Pippin’s breathing quickened as she eased herself from the bed, but Esmeralda sat herself down immediately, drawing her nephew’s head to her ample bosom and murmuring comfort. Soon the soft snoring resumed, and Diamond slipped out, beckoning to Ossilan to follow. She determined to question him thoroughly before seeking her bath.

Instead it was the old healer asking the questions. He had very little to say to Diamond about Pippin, not even when Diamond pressed him.

 ‘If you’re trying to avoid upsetting me because of my delicate condition...’ she said, hands on her hips.

 ‘I’ve never seen a hobbit so bruised and battered,’ Ossilan said honestly. ‘Not even the ones we pulled out when the ceiling fell in on the south tunnel at the lowest level, some years back. And knowing how he came to be...’ He met her eyes squarely for the first time. ‘I’ve no idea of the damage done.’

 ‘No idea?’ Diamond said. ‘But surely... you examined him last night, and again this morning, and very thoroughly too...’

 ‘I’ve no idea what damage was done to his spirit, or his mind,’ Ossilan said, dropping his voice. ‘What healing is needed remains to be seen.’

Diamond started to answer, only to remember the nightmares of the previous night.

The old healer nodded, his eyes still meeting hers with a keen and questioning look. ‘As I thought,’ he said. ‘I cannot imagine living through what he did.’

Nor could Diamond. ‘He’s strong,’ she said stoutly. ‘He’s lived through worse, from what I know.’

 ‘He told you?’ Ossilan said, patently surprised.

Diamond nodded firmly. In a manner of speaking he had, for he’d talked in his sleep ever since their first night together. ‘He did,’ she said.

 ‘Well, we can hope,’ the old healer said. ‘Now, my dear, take care of your own needs so that you can be by his side when he wakens.’

Chapter 3. Breakfast in Bed

When Diamond returned, Pippin was still asleep. Esmeralda’s arms encircled him as she crooned an old Tookish lullaby. She looked up, her eyes shadowed, though she sang to the end of the song.

 ‘There now, my lad,’ she said softly. ‘Thy sweet love is here now, just as the song says, to weave thee pleasant dreams.’

Somehow they managed to exchange places without wakening Pippin. He sighed as Diamond gently stroked his hair, and murmured her name.

 ‘I’m here, my love,’ she said, settling back against the pillows. ‘Sleep yourself out, my sweet. Breakfast is keeping.’ Ossilan had said last night that healing sleep was more important than food, the first day, and that Pippin would sleep much of the time, wakening only when his body demanded sustenance, likely to fall asleep as soon as need was satisfied.

 ‘Mmmm,’ Pippin said. He brought up one arm to circle Diamond and then he was quiet once more.

 ‘If he dreams...’ Esmeralda began, and stopped.

 ‘Yes?’ Diamond said, looking up from Pippin’s face.

 ‘Old songs are best,’ Esmeralda said cryptically, the Tookish lilt very strong in her voice. ‘They bring with them a feeling of safety. Perhaps they take him back to the time when he was a small lad...’

 ‘What sort of dreams...?’ Diamond began, but Pippin’s aunt held up a restraining hand.

 ‘Later,’ she whispered, and with that she eased herself out of the room.

Not long after, servants spirited away the breakfast trays, breathing that they would bring freshly cooked hot food in an hour or so. Pippin didn’t seem troubled by dreams now. Indeed, he slept peacefully for the better part of an hour. Diamond was dozing, herself, when she felt his arms tighten again. She blinked herself to wakefulness, ready to begin singing away any fearful phantom of sleep. But no, Pippin was awake, gazing earnestly into her face, though he smiled when her eyes met his.

'Hello, my love, are you hungry?' she asked.

'Somehow I will never look at food in quite the same way,' he answered.

'Well, you still need to eat. Ossilan says you should stick to soft foods for a few days, as long as your jaw is sore.'

Pippin reached up slowly to rub at his bruised and aching chin. 'Yes, I think some porridge would go well, about now.'

'I thought you hated porridge!' Diamond said.

'I do. I thought I'd get it out of the way, first thing, so that you won't push it on me when I tire of broth and custard,' he replied.

Diamond laughed. 'I don't think there's anything at all wrong with you,' she said.

'Who said there was?' he demanded. Chuckling, his wife kissed the tip of his right ear and went to find him some breakfast.

When she returned to report that breakfast would follow close behind her, she found him sprawled on the floor beside the bed. ‘What in the world...?’ she gasped, and then she was grasping at her protruding belly as a twinge seized her.

The servant entering a moment later dropped her tray in consternation at seeing Diamond bent over, hugging herself, while a groaning Pippin tried ineffectually to reach for her. Breakfast, Pippin’s first and Diamond’s second, splattered in all directions.

The sound of running feet mingled with the servant's breathless apologies and soon Merimas Brandybuck skidded into the room, falling over the serving lass who’d automatically bent to pick up the broken crockery. More thudding feet were heard: the servants he’d dispatched to fetch Healer Ossilan and Mistress Esmeralda when he’d heard the crash.

 ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ came from the heap of Merimas and serving maid, while Diamond sank into the chair next to the bed, head bent forward as she gasped for breath.

 ‘What in the world is going on here?’ Ossilan bellowed from the doorway, and Pippin looked up, leaving off his entreaties to Diamond to speak to him.

Merimas and serving maid fell silent.

 ‘Well?’ the old healer demanded, sweeping the occupants of the room with a steely gaze.

 ‘I... I fell,’ Pippin said meekly.

 ‘You... fell,’ Ossilan said darkly, advancing to his patient and creaking to his knees. He looked up at Diamond. ‘Mistress? Is it well with you?’

Diamond nodded, though her head remained bent and her curls, cascading free from their net, hid her face.

 ‘What are you doing, falling?’ Ossilan said, turning his attention back to Pippin. ‘If you’d stayed in the bed...’

 ‘I fell out of the bed,’ Pippin said. ‘I needed... I mean, I wanted... I mean...’ He cast an agonised glance at the serving maid and if his face had not been covered with purpling bruises Ossilan would have sworn he was blushing.

Ossilan swung on the maid. ‘Out with you then!’ he said sharply.

 ‘But sir! I need to clear away...’ the unhappy serving lass said.

 ‘Out!’ Ossilan barked.

Merimas, climbing to his knees, took the lass by the elbow and hauled her to her feet as he gained his. ‘Come along then,’ he said. ‘You’d best fetch a bucket and brush to scrub up the spilled food...’ Still talking, he urged her to her feet and out of the room, closing the door firmly behind them.

 ‘Diamond?’ Pippin said plaintively.

Head still bowed, Diamond shook her head.

Ossilan frowned. Evidently the young mistress was beyond speech. ‘Is it that you’re having more pangs?’ he said.

Diamond nodded and then shook her head again. What was it to mean... yes and no?

 ‘You had pangs, but they’ve stopped?’ Ossilan hazarded.

Another nod, but still her head remained bowed. Well, if birth was not imminent, Ossilan could turn his attention to Pippin, perhaps not as urgent a case, though from the desperation with which the hobbit was clutching at the healer's arm, perhaps it was...

Without further ado he got his shoulders under Pippin’s arm, pushing upright until he could lift the injured hobbit back onto the bed. From there it was a simple matter to ease Pippin’s discomfort with the aid of a bedpan made ready for a bedridden patient. In truth Ossilan hadn’t expected the Took to be able to leave his bed for some days yet.

Business taken care of, patient tucked up and covered bedpan carried away by a passing servant he’d hailed from the doorway, Ossilan turned his attention to Diamond again. She sat quite still in her chair, head still bowed, and she hadn’t said a word.

 ‘I’m sorry, love, I really am...’ Pippin said in his distress, reaching a hand towards his wife.

Diamond only shook her head.

Ossilan gently laid his hands upon her distended abdomen, but felt no ripple of contractions, nor even any movement of the babe within. ‘Diamond?’ he said quietly.

 ‘Please, love,’ Pippin said, reaching further. Ossilan quelled him with a glare. All they needed was for the hobbit to fall out of the bed again.

Diamond raised her head, finally, her cheeks flushed and her eyes overflowing. She opened her mouth to speak, but gave a shuddering gasp instead and bent her head once more to hide her face. Ossilan realised she was weeping and laughing at one, and he took her shoulders and shook her gently. ‘Come now, lass,’ he remonstrated.

 ‘S-s-s-sorry,’ she whispered brokenly. ‘S-s-sorry.’ She gasped for breath. ‘Can’t—can’t seem to—s-s-stop...’

And then Esmeralda was there, clucking like an old mother hen with ruffled feathers, gathering Diamond’s scattered curls and tucking them neatly out of her way again. She put an arm around Diamond and urged her out of the chair, glaring at Ossilan and Pippin to preclude them from speaking.

 ‘There-there, lass,’ she said, rolling the words from her tongue as if they were in the heart of Tookland. ‘Time for you and me to take a turn about the garden. A little fresh air for the babe is what I’m thinking.’

 ‘Fresh air,’ echoed Diamond in a whisper.

 ‘Fresh air,’ Esmeralda said firmly, with a jerk of her chin. ‘And you—!’ she said, fixing Pippin with her sternest look. ‘You stay in the bed! You’re not too old to take over my knee...’

He was too old, rather, grown-up, married, and about to be a father. Nevertheless, Pippin looked down and muttered, ‘Yes’m,’ just as if he were still a careless tween, and Esmeralda shook a finger at him just as if the years had rolled away in truth.

 ‘See that you do!’ she growled, and then in a voice of lilting sweetness, she crooned and cosseted Diamond from the room.

Chapter 3. Halfway to Teatime

Halfway to teatime a tap came at the door to the Master’s study and Berilac stuck his head in. ‘He’s awake,’ he said peremptorily. ‘Ossilan says if you wish to speak to him be quick about it; he expects Pip to eat and fall asleep again rather quickly.'

 ‘Is he sprinkling powders in Pippin’s food?’ Merry said. ‘I cannot believe my cousin would willingly take a sleeping draught after sleeping nearly the day through.’

 ‘Merry,’ Saradoc said quietly, rising from the Master’s massive desk. ‘Mind the shop, if you please, Berilac?’

Berilac nodded, and Saradoc and Merry left the study.

Saradoc had been keeping an eye on his son most of the day, except for the brief times when he sent Merry away on an errand, or when he himself went to see how Pippin was faring. Pippin had been asleep, of course, and Saradoc had left orders that he was to be informed of his nephew’s wakening.

Walking the corridors to the living quarters, Saradoc pondered how much to tell his son. At last he said, ‘Merry, you know Pippin was badly injured. Those dratted creatures...! He’ll spend the next few days much as a babe would; when he’s not eating he’ll likely be asleep.’

 ‘Of course,’ Merry said too briskly.

The Master had made note of his son’s abstraction, the slight tremble in Merry’s fingertips, the shadows beneath his eyes; and when Merry had laid a sheaf of papers upon the great desk he’d relied more on his left hand than his right. Now outside Pippin’s door Saradoc stopped and took up Merry’s right hand. It was icy cold.

 ‘Are you well, Son?’ he said, beetling his bushy eyebrows.

Merry made move as if to snatch his hand away, but it seemed his arm was troubling him. Saradoc tightened his hold, gazing up into his son’s face. ‘I could order you to your own bed,’ he said softly.

 ‘I’m well, Father,’ Merry insisted. He looked to the door. ‘Come now, Ossilan said we must be prompt.’

Saradoc nodded, released his son, and opened the door. Empty chairs to either side bespoke the presence of servants called into the room. Ossilan had issued orders that Pippin was not to be left alone for a heartbeat.

Indeed, Pippin was snuggled in Diamond’s embrace whilst two cheery hobbitservants prepared cups of tea, a plate of cake and sandwiches, and a bowl of custard laced with cream. They broke off their discussion to nod to the Master, and then one moved to the bed, to spread a large serviette in preparation for the meal.

 ‘You’re not going to feed me like a babe, Dob?’ Pippin protested.

 ‘Ah but you’re not going to let me get some practice in?’ Dob said with a grin. ‘My own babe is but a month or two from coming into the world, you know, and what if I’m not ready?’

 ‘But...’ Pippin began, only to see Merry and Saradoc in the doorway. ‘Merry! Uncle!’

 ‘Nephew,’ Saradoc said in similar vein, crossing to the bed. He gently took up one bruised hand. ‘You look like something the cat dragged in.’

 ‘Bless her heart,’ Pippin said. ‘At least she didn’t leave me lying about in the yard.’ He looked past Saradoc to Merry, still hovering in the doorway. ‘Now then, Merry, you may enter. It’s not catching, they tell me.’

Merry took a shuddering breath, and Saradoc dismissed the servants with a glance. Dob put down the bowl of custard and patted the young master softly on the shoulder as the servants exited. He’d heard how this had not been Pippin’s first encounter with Orcs, nor Merry’s.

 ‘Merry,’ Saradoc said quietly, and Merry blinked, seeming to return from far away, and smiled.

 ‘Well, Pippin,’ he said. ‘They have you eating custard now! I thought you swore off the stuff.’

 ‘They tell me they put brandy in this time,’ Pippin said. ‘I’m willing to try it.’

 ‘Seems an awfully roundabout way to have some brandy,’ Merry observed, crossing to the bed. ‘Why not simply pour a glass?’

 ‘More difficult to spoon it into me that way, I’m told,’ Pippin said. ‘How ever will Dob find his baby’s mouth, if he doesn’t practice on something rather larger?’

Diamond rolled her eyes. ‘If he practices on your over-generous mouth, beloved,’ she began, bringing a chuckle from all, though Pippin’s ended in a wince.

 ‘I do wish you wouldn’t make me laugh,’ he said plaintively, and Diamond smiled and kissed him with careful precision on the tip of his ear.

 ‘We’ll see his custard finds its rightful place, Niece,’ Saradoc said, taking up the bowl. ‘You go and find some fresh air. Esmeralda’s at tea in the second parlour if you’d care to join her.’ Or she would be. Saradoc had arranged for tea to be served there, and had sent word to his wife, even though teatime was properly more than an hour off.

 ‘Don’t let him get up,’ Diamond said firmly, easing Pippin against the pillows.

 ‘I’d heard about this morning,’ Saradoc said in reply, stirring the custard. ‘Come along, then. Here’s the old owl,’ he added, lifting a spoonful as he settled into the chair by the bed. ‘He has a fat mouse in his grip, and he’s on his way to the hole in the old oak...’

Pippin obediently opened his mouth for the spoonful, as best he could, and rolled his eyes at Diamond. Laughing, she slipped from the room, and they heard her speak briefly to the hobbitservants seated on either side of the doorway before the door shut completely.

Merry absently helped himself to a cup of tea and some sandwiches while Saradoc fed the better part of the custard to Pippin. At last Pippin half-raised a hand, saying, ‘That’s more than plenty, Uncle, and thank you.’

Merry took the bowl from his father’s hand and replaced it with a plate of sandwiches, then busied himself with pouring out tea. He was a long time about stirring the sugar into Saradoc’s cup before turning again. Saradoc looked from son to nephew. ‘Well then,’ he said.

 ‘Here you are,’ Merry said with false cheer, presenting his father’s cup. He turned to Pippin with another. ‘Ossilan said your muscles would be tied in knots this day,’ he said, raising the cup in a querying manner.

 ‘My thanks,’ Pippin said, and Merry nodded and lifted the cup to his cousin’s mouth for him to sip, watching closely that he should not tilt it too far and inundate Pippin or spill the tea.

Saradoc sipped at his cup and put it down. ‘We’ve sent messengers throughout Buckland,’ he said, ‘and put the gates up on the Bridge, though it might be too late for that. If any bands of the creatures have crossed into the Shire proper, I’d imagine them to be hiding in the Woody End. We’ve sent word to the Rangers, alerted the Bounders and Shirriffs, and sent a body of armed hobbits to ride to the Smials to inform the Thain.’

 'You ought to inform the Mayor as well,' Pippin said. 'After all, the post is vulnerable...'

 'Of course,' Saradoc said. 'We sent messengers to the Mayor as well. I imagine he'll take care of the Shire-Post. Undoubtedly the Thain will call a muster...'

 ‘We scoured the ruffians out of the Woody End right enough, didn’t we, Merry?’ Pippin said in between sips of his tea. He sank back against the pillows, his eyelids already drooping. ‘Shouldn’t be that much trouble...’ he yawned. ‘A body of sturdy Tooks and Tooklanders...’

 ‘We’ll find out first if any other Shire-folk have been missing livestock,’ Saradoc said. He hesitated, but pressed by the need for information he ploughed ahead. ‘Were there others that you know of? Signs of more in the camp?’

 ‘If there were others, I’d never have got out again, I daresay,’ Pippin said. ‘After that tree obligingly flattened their cook who’d been left behind to take care of supper preparations, I sawed away at my bonds, but I swooned for a good part of the time...’

Merry’s lips tightened at “supper preparations” and he burst out, interrupting his cousin. ‘I ought to have been with you, Pippin!’

Pippin’s sleepy eyes opened wider and he sat up a little. ‘Merry!’ he said in surprise. ‘After that knock on the head you had the other day, are your brains still addled?’

Saradoc fought down a chuckle. It wasn’t comical, really it wasn’t, but somehow Pippin was so often able to make him laugh, even in the grimmest moments.

 ‘I...’ Merry began.

 ‘If you’d been with me you’d be a heap of bones alongside mine at this moment, I’ve no doubt,’ Pippin said firmly.

 ‘But...’ Merry said. Saradoc hid a grin. With a Took at full boil it was impossible to toss more than a word at a time into the pot.

 ‘As it was, you came in the nick, the very nick,’ Pippin said earnestly. ‘They were all set to begin their sport when we heard the sound of your horn...’ He swallowed hard and a sick expression crossed his face, but he quickly mastered himself. ‘Why, the party was over before it could properly begin! They were that put out, let me tell you, at the thought of party-crashers...’

Merry’s hands had begun to tremble and Pippin reached with an effort to take the cup from him. ‘Good tea,’ he said, draining the cooling dregs and making a face.

Saradoc laughed and rose. ‘How about some that’s hot, at least?’ he said, taking the cup. ‘Merry, sit yourself down.’

By the time he’d poured out fresh cups and turned back to the bed, Pippin had fallen asleep. Merry leaned forward in the chair watching him, a haunted expression on his face. Saradoc left the cups and moved to his son’s side, laying a gentle hand on Merry’s shoulder. ‘All’s well,’ he said in a low voice.

 ‘All’s not well,’ Merry said explosively, though he kept his voice low to avoid disturbing his cousin. ‘Look at him! If I’d only been able to save him—’

 ‘You did save him,’ Saradoc said, his tone brooking no contradiction. Merry looked up, his eyes brimming. ‘You did,’ Saradoc said more gently. ‘Believe me, Merry. He had the right of it. Your horn-call came just at the nick of time, as he said, and your strategy, marching a body of Brandybucks into the Forest bold as brass, as if inviting the creatures to assail them, while others shadowed them under cover to meet the attack... why, it was brilliant! You saved a lot more lives than his, the other day.’

He decided not to share Esmeralda’s report of Pippin’s dreaming. Not yet. Instead he went to the door and jerked it open. ‘Dob,’ he said, ‘I want you to sit with Peregrin until his wife returns.’

 ‘Yes, sir,’ Dob said, rising with a nod. ‘Tea’s over and done, I take it?’

 ‘Over and done,’ Saradoc said. ‘I’ll send someone to clear away. Come along, Merry.’

Chapter 4. Just in Time for Tea

It was a beautiful spring day, all the brighter for the streamers hanging from every tree in the Old Orchard at Bag End where laughing hobbits reclined on thick coverlets, to keep away the damp of the still-chilly ground.

Baby Pippin-lad Gamgee had recently discovered his toes, and now he lay on his back, waving his feet in the air as he tried to catch the elusive digits whilst his delighted grandmother cheered him on. ‘What a sharp lad he is, Rose,’ she said. ‘He’s got all his buttons, he does!’

 'Just like the hobbit he's named for, my Sam says,' Rose said, smiling down at her littlest. 'Eyes just as bright, anyhow.'

 ‘And here’s the cake!’ Sam cried, entering the orchard surrounded by a cloud of young hobbits, Gamgees and Cottons, brothers and sisters and cousins all mingled into one excited parade, and Elanor Gamgee blushed scarlet as the birthday song arose.

 ‘Nine years old today,’ Sam said, stopping before her and bowing low to present the cake. ‘Make a wish, Ellie!’

Elanor held her breath and wished hard, and she never told a soul that she wished to travel to far places and see wondrous things, perhaps even the King and his beautiful Queen, though she rather doubted it would ever come to pass.

There was laughter and much clapping of hands at the blowing of the candles, and little Pip-lad beamed, thinking it was all for him, and snagging a toe he pulled it into his mouth and proceeded to chew with all three teeth in his possession.

The cake was divided and all were happily eating and talking and waiting for Ellie to distribute the presents she’d made—flowers she’d grown in her own little spot in the garden, and dried, and glued to stiff paper to make pretty pictures—when Sam stiffened, put down his plate, and rose to his feet, still chewing a mouthful of cake.

 ‘What is it, Sam?’ Rose asked, shading her eyes to look up at him. He was looking off down the Hill, towards Hobbiton, curiosity turning to tension as he scanned the landscape.

 ‘Firebells,’ he said, hastily swallowing his cake, ‘but no sign of smoke.’

The party fell silent as the wind carried a sudden wild music of horns from below, mingling with the bells, and then the Cottons were on their feet as well, sturdy Tom and his sons clustering around the Mayor.

 ‘Something’s amiss,’ Farmer Cotton said, and nudged his youngest son. ‘Nibs, run down the Hill and see what’s what. We’ll be coming shortly.’

 ‘Dad?’ Elanor said, scrambling to her feet and taking Sam’s sleeve.

He smiled down at her, cupping her face in his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Ellie,’ he said, casting a look at the brilliant sky above, ‘but I’m afraid there’s a change in the weather. It looks like rain, don’t you think, Rosie?’

Rose looked at the sky, bewildered, and then at her father’s grim face, mirrored by his sons’ faces, a look she hadn’t seen since... Ruffians? But it would frighten the children to voice the thought. ‘Why, I think you have the right of it, Sam,’ she said, scooping up the babe in one arm and little Merry-lad in the other. ‘Mother, would you gather the blanket, and you, too, Ellie, and Frodo-lad, you pack up the dishes in the big basket, and...’

Swiftly daughters and daughters-in-love and cousins packed up picnic and blankets and tots and presents and traipsed back to Bag End. By the time they reached the smial they found Samwise coming out, umbrella in his hand, the Cottons waiting for him, and with swift good-byes they trotted down the lane. Frodo-lad, craning after then, saw his father cast away the umbrella just as they reached the road that went down to Hobbiton, though he was still carrying something in his hand.

Just then his mother called him into the smial, where the party was recommencing in the large, sun-drenched kitchen.

 ‘Frodo-lad, would you bring another chair from the parlour?’ his mother asked, and he was quick to do her bidding with a smile. Once in the parlour he picked up a chair... and stopped. Sting was missing from its place of honour above the mantel.

***

Pippin lay in a dark and troubled dream. ‘Frodo!’ he called. ‘Frodo!’ His voice trembled with fright and his calls grew uncertain as, instead of the reassuring face of his beloved cousin, he saw hundreds of hideous faces, all grinning at him in the most evil manner. ‘Merry!’ he whimpered as hideous arms grasped at him from all sides, and coarse voices taunted him.

He woke, feeling cold and sick, with cold air blowing on his face, staring into a dimming sky. When he tried to sit up, he found he was bound with cords: wrists, legs and ankles. It was all he could do to turn; beside him lay Merry, white-faced, a dirty rag bound across his brows. ‘Merry,’ he whispered, struggling a little.

One of the Orcs sitting near him laughed and said something to a companion in their abominable tongue, and then in the Common Speech he hissed, ‘Rest while you can, little fool!’

 “Fool of a Took” echoed in the back of Pippin’s brain, and tears came to his eyes. The companion rose, pulling a black knife with a long jagged blade from a hidden sheath. ‘If I had my way, you’d wish you were dead now. I’d make you squeak, you miserable rat.’ He stooped over the prisoners, bringing his yellow fangs close to Pippin’s face. ‘Lie quiet,’ he hissed, pricking Pippin’s throat with the tip of the knife, ‘or I’ll tickle you with this.’ The first Orc leaned forward, eyes glittering, and said something under his breath in his own tongue. The knife-wielding Orc grinned into Pippin’s face, holding the knife steady. ‘Just a little nick,’ he whispered, and his tongue snaked round his lips. ‘We don’t have to drink him dry... a sip or two, just a little sip...’ Pippin scarcely breathed.

 ‘Do it,’ the first Orc whispered. ‘Tender and juicy; we’ll say he tried to escape...’

 ‘Orders,’ the knife-wielding Orc growled, pulling back the blade and staring down in obvious dissatisfaction. He started to turn away, but then thrust his face into Pippin’s, eyes inches away from the hobbit’s. Pippin wanted to look away, to close his eyes, but he didn’t dare. ‘Don’t draw attention to yourself, or I may forget my orders. Curse the Isengarders!’ He launched into a tirade that Pippin couldn’t understand, but the tween closed his eyes, sick with relief, and fear...

The tirade faded and changed into something else, something eerily familiar, and a tear squeezed from between Pippin’s eyelids as he recognised an old Tookish lullaby. How would the creatures know to torment him with that? He drew a shuddering breath, and it hurt. ‘Merry,’ he whispered. ‘Please...’

 ‘All’s well,’ the Orc growled. ‘Just a little sip.’

Pippin began to struggle wildly against his bonds as he felt himself lifted to a sitting position. He waited for the flash of pain at his throat, the warm trickle of life-blood, but instead a cup was held to his lips and the Orc guard growled again. ‘Just a sip, that’s all.’

He locked his teeth but was afraid to turn his face aside, for fear he’d present a better target for the knife: the side of his throat, where the large veins bulged.

 ‘Mistress,’ the Orc growled. ‘I’m that glad to see you. He said something about a little drink, but when we tried to give him one he fought us.’

Gentle hands came to rest on either side of Pippin’s face, hands that were cool against his fevered cheeks. ‘Pippin-love,’ Diamond said. ‘Waken now. Time to wake up. We have a drink here for you, cool, fresh water, or tea if you’d prefer.’

He opened his eyes to see Diamond’s face, her eyes staring into his, a slight frown of worry creasing her brow though she smiled bravely. ‘That’s the thing, my love,’ she said. ‘There we are.’

With difficulty he pulled his arms free, arms that had become prisoned when someone pulled the bedcovers up, and flung them round her, not even noticing the pain of bruises or the throbbing of his injured forearm. Burying his face in the fragrance of her shoulder, he gave himself up to weeping, and felt her long, slim fingers stroke his hair.

 ‘All’s well, my love,’ she repeated, over and again, as if it would come true if only she said it often enough. And finally he shuddered, spent, and stilled, and raised a shame-faced countenance; but they were alone in the room, for the servants had silently withdrawn at Diamond’s nod. One of them sat in a chair just outside the door, ready to jump up at her call, and the other was already in the Master’s study, pouring out a report of this latest nightmare.

***

Halfway down the Hill Sam and the Cottons met a single rider coming up, pushing a weary pony to its best pace, Nibs running alongside.

 ‘Ilberic Brandybuck!’ Sam exclaimed. ‘Has something happened to Mr. Merry?’

 ‘Yes, and no,’ Ilberic said, sliding from his saddle and swaying. ‘There may be Orcs in the Shire, Mayor Sam, and the Master sent me to warn you.’

 ‘Orcs in the Shire!’ Sam exclaimed, while the Cottons exchanged horrified looks.

Ilberic rapidly filled Sam in on happenings.

 ‘Master Saradoc sent a score of us to ride the East-West Road, to alert the Shire-folk,’ he said, ‘and another score to ride the Stock Road, to tell the Thain. I sent the riders on towards Michel Delving and turned up the Hill to warn you.’

 ‘He’ll be calling a Shire-muster for certain, if he hasn’t already,’ Sam said grimly. He turned to his father-in-love. ‘Dad Cotton, I want you to organize Bywater. Gather hobbits together in the sturdiest diggings and bar the doors. We’ll leave some to guard while the rest march to muster.’ He’d be doing the same in Hobbiton, and in the meantime he sent Ilberic on up the Hill and over, to warn the good hobbits of Overhill to gather in a few sturdy holes and barricade the doors, to be ready for further orders as soon as there was more information to be had.

***

Merimac Brandybuck led his score of riders through Tuckborough at a fast clip, ignoring the shouts of scandalised citizens. They’d be sent scurrying soon enough.

He winded the horn he carried as they rode into the yard of the Great Smials, slid ponderously from his pony, jarring his feet on the stones, and tossed the reins to a cousin.

 ‘State your business,’ snapped a bristling Took, barring his entrance.

 ‘Orcs,’ he said. ‘Orcs in the Shire.’

Stupified, the Took stared at him, jaw dropping.

 ‘Goblins,’ Merimac said. ‘You do know what those are, don’t you?’

 ‘I don’t need a Brandybuck to tell me...’

Merimac shoved him aside, by virtue of superior bulk. In point of fact, he was carrying as much muscle as he was fat. ‘It appears that you do,’ he cast over his shoulder. ‘Now take me to the Thain, or tell me where to find him, but I’ve news that won’t keep, no, not a second more!’

Warning: This chapter contains material of a violent and graphic nature. If such disturbs you, all you need to know is that Esmeralda, Diamond, and finally Estella, clarify the treatment of Orcs of their captives, according to Diamond's understanding from having overheard Pippin's nightmares over the years.

Chapter 5. Supper Preparations

It was a council of war, of sorts. To all appearances, the staid and proper Mistress of Buckland—though there was invariably a twinkle in her eye and the soft lilt of Tookland in her voice—was pouring out tea for her nephew’s wife while they waited for the serving of an intimate supper in the Master’s apartments. The servants had been dismissed and the door shut completely, not left ajar, which meant that anyone wishing to enter must knock and await invitation. Merry was sitting with Pippin for the nonce.

 ‘Now my dear,’ Esmeralda said, placing the teacup before Diamond and proceeding to fill her own cup. ‘I know from years of experience that my nephew, when he could be compelled to stay in the bed long enough to fall asleep, would talk in his sleep—hold complete conversations, tell long stories and the like.’ She fixed Diamond with a sharp glance and was rewarded by the latter’s firm attention on the stirring of her tea.

 ‘Diamond,’ Esmeralda said, her voice sinking to a conspiratorial hiss. ‘I know.’

Diamond took a few shallow breaths before she looked up. ‘What do you know?’ she tried to say steadily.

 ‘I’ve sat with young Peregrin, and I’ve heard what he’s had to say,’ Esmeralda said, glancing at the door to make sure it was firmly shut. ‘It’s not only for his sake I’m asking,’ she went on, and a pleading note entered her voice. ‘My Merry-lad has been as one haunted ever since they returned from the Old Forest, scarcely eating, not sleeping, startling like a wild creature at the snapping of a branch in the woods... I want to know...’

She placed a hand on Diamond’s arm. ‘I want to know exactly what Peregrin meant when he spoke about “supper preparations”. Estella said Merry turned white, hearing the head cook use the phrase this morning when she was discussing menus with the kitchen staff, and Saradoc—’

Diamond’s bright put-on smile faded and a look of anxiety took its place. ‘Auntie Ally,’ she began, and stopped.

 ‘I must know,’ Esmeralda said. ‘I must, if Estella and I are to fight it. You are able to calm your husband; you know what is in his mind for he speaks to you all unknowing what he would never say in a waking moment.’

 ‘It is too horrifying,’ Diamond whispered.

Esmeralda tightened her hold on Diamond’s arm. ‘I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t know how strong you are,’ she said. ‘I saw you, when the stables burned, working alongside the healers, cutting away clothing, picking char out of the burns, binding up the wounds. I saw how you brought Peregrin through, by strength of will alone it seemed.’

 ‘But...’ Diamond said.

 ‘Do not fear for me,’ Esmeralda said firmly. ‘I’ve faced all sorts of fears. Being Mistress of Buckland is no tray of teacakes.’

When Diamond still hesitated, Esmeralda pressed. ‘Please, my dear. It’s my son’s life I’m fighting for.’

 ‘Supper preparations,’ Diamond said faintly, and Esmeralda released her hold and sat back, picking up her teacup and taking a firm swig.

 ‘The Orcs have certain... practices...’ Diamond went on. ‘When they’ve had a successful hunt, and they have time to do things properly...’

 ‘Time for sport,’ Esmeralda put in. ‘That’s what young Peregrin said.’

 ‘First they make sure their... meat... is thoroughly bruised,’ Diamond said, taking refuge in talking as if the subject were something distant. “Meat” could be anything: mutton, beef, chicken, quail, venison...

 ‘Thoroughly bruised,’ Esmeralda said matter-of-factly, suppressing a shiver. ‘Not just for the sake of torment then?’

 ‘Not at all,’ Diamond said, ‘although torment is a pleasant pastime for the creatures, it seems. No, they bruise their meat, much as Cook uses a mallet to tenderise a cut of meat. Beating it to break up the muscle fibres. The Orcs think that when the blood rises to the surface, it brings tenderness and flavour with it.’

 ‘Ah,’ Esmeralda said as if she were listening to the head cook expound upon a new recipe to be served in the great room that evening.

Diamond took a deep breath and went on. ‘Once the roast is properly tenderised, the next step is to prepare it for roasting. Of course, the skin—uncooked—is considered a great delicacy, and there is the added benefit of torment...’

Esmeralda swallowed down sickness, her fingers tightening on the handle of her teacup as Diamond continued the lecture. She’d known from the nightmare that she’d overheard that it would be unbelievably ghastly, but she couldn’t help breaking in with an exclamation of horror as the picture Diamond was weaving unfolded before her eyes. ‘They skin them alive?’

 ‘Roast them alive as well, over a low fire, in order to keep them alive so long as possible. Fear and pain infuse a great deal of flavour into the meat, or so the Orcs like to boast.’

Esmeralda gave a shuddering sigh.

Diamond went on, her eyes looking at nothing. ‘Of course the sort of meat the Orcs prefer won’t sit still for such treatment, and it is a matter of some pride to pull the skin off in sheets as large as possible rather than small bits,’ she recited, as if it were a lecture she’d heard over and again until she had it by heart. ‘And so they have a way of making them keep still.’

 ‘I can only imagine,’ Esmeralda muttered, but Diamond continued as if she heard not.

 ‘They prick a vein with the tip of a knife and sip until they’ve let enough blood—not so much as would harm the roast, of course, for they wish to have life in the meat just so long as possible, but enough to keep it relatively still for the skinning, until it is ready to be wired to a spit and hoisted over the coals.’

Esmeralda rose abruptly and groped her way from the room, hand held to her mouth. She was gone for some time, during which Diamond sat quite still, staring into her own private nightmare, until the babe kicked within to recall her to life and love once more. When Esmeralda returned, wiping at her face with a dampened cloth, her niece was stroking her belly and murmuring sweet nothings.

The older hobbit resumed her seat. ‘A little sip,’ she murmured, ‘ “We don’t have to drink him dry.” ’

Diamond looked up. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘That is what he always says when he has that particular nightmare. Evidently when he and Merry were taken at Parth Galen the Orcs of Isengard were happy to inform them of their certain fate when their Master finished his interrogations. It was to be quite convenient, you see, for in his questioning he probably would have taken care of the tenderising already.’

 ‘O Diamond,’ Esmeralda whispered. ‘How ever do you bear it? I didn’t know...’

 ‘O but you see, Aunt,’ Diamond said, but she stopped to heave a sigh and wipe at her eyes. ‘It’s been ever so long since he’s dreamed of Orcs... until now. And Merry has been doing so very well, ever since he married Estella. It’s as if she’s his shield against the horror.’

 ‘But no longer,’ Esmeralda said. ‘He’s pushing her away.’

 ‘He’s afraid,’ Diamond said. ‘But not of the Orcs. He’s afraid of tainting her with his darkness.’

 ‘If she knew what was tormenting him...’

Diamond shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t tell her, any more than my Pippin would tell me. I’m only blessed because he talks in his sleep.’

 ‘Blessed?’ Esmeralda said, her voice cracking on the word as she threatened to dissolve in laughter—or perhaps tears. She wasn’t sure which. It wasn’t a laughing matter by any means, but sometimes you have to laugh to keep from weeping.

 ‘I know how to help him,’ Diamond said. ‘It has taken time to learn the right words to say, the right songs to sing, but I can soothe him into better dreams after long practice.’ She took up her cup of cooling tea and gulped it, setting down the cup with a shudder. ‘I have the weapons to fight, you see.’

 ‘But could Estella?’ Esmeralda said. ‘O my lass, it is so much worse than I ever imagined.’

 ‘Estella could,’ came from near the doorway, ‘if only because Estella must.’

Esmeralda and Diamond looked up, startled and surprised. They had been so involved in the cookery lesson that neither had heard the slow and quiet opening of the door, the whisper of Estella’s skirts as she slipped inside, the snick of the latch as she eased it shut again. She hadn't wanted to interrupt such an apparently serious conversation, but after hearing just a small part of it she'd crept quietly into the shadow of a bushy potted plant and continued to listen, biting hard on her fingers to keep from making any noise. She’d come with a question, and now stood to leave with more answers than she’d dreamed were possible, even in her worst nightmares.

Chapter 6. A Took by any Other Name

Pippin wakened to a light pressure on his hand; even so, it hurt, but the moment he opened his eyes the grasp lightened to a feather touch and Merry’s voice said, ‘Better?’

Turning his head slightly on the pillow, he saw his cousin, wearing what he’d come to think of as his “Cormallen smile”. ‘Was it that bad?’ he croaked.

Merry reached away and in another moment was holding a cup to Pippin’s lips. ‘Was what that bad?’ he said lightly.

 ‘The dream,’ Pippin said after a sip, though he did not try to cling to the fading scraps of mist that were rapidly dissipating.

 ‘You tell me,’ Merry said, his smile belying the evasion.

 ‘I don’t remember,’ Pippin said after another sip, and raising his left hand with a wince he pushed the cup away. Was that a look of relief on Merry’s face? ‘How’s your head?’

The Old Forest, in its unexpected aid against the invasion of Orcs, had tried to keep Merry and a forester from blundering into the creatures. A falling tree branch had knocked Merry from the saddle, leaving him out of his head for a time, and plagued with double vision when he had finally wakened.

 ‘Well enough,’ Merry said. ‘I’ll be riding out to meet Uncle Merimac on his return from Tookland; if he brings with him any reports of missing livestock or hobbits we’ll be working with the Tooks to scour the Shire.’

 ‘Something I’m sure my illustrious cousin can sink his teeth into,’ Pippin said lightly. ‘He’s probably been bored silly, with the Shire as quiet as it’s been the past few years. Nothing like an incursion of Orcs, or ruffians, to brighten Ferdi’s day.’

 ‘And you’re not coming with us?’ Merry said. ‘Diamond had the idea she’d have to sit upon you to keep you in the bed...’

 ‘No,’ Pippin said, leaning back upon the pillows. ‘I think I’ll keep my distance from the Tookland in general, and Ferdibrand in particular. He’d probably see it as his duty to haul me back to the Smials, to my duty there, for all my father has disowned me...’

 ‘He said he’d take you back,’ Merry said quietly.

 ‘I’m not surprised,’ Pippin said.

Merry saw that his cousin had mistaken his meaning. ‘Not Ferdi, you daft coney,’ he said. ‘Paladin! In his last letter to my mother, he asked her to persuade you to return to Tookland before the babe is born, that its name might properly be recorded in the Book.’

 ‘Perhaps I ought to change my name to “Brandybuck” and have done,’ Pippin said.

 ‘It’s not a joking matter,’ Merry began, but Pippin cut him off with a sharp gesture that made him wince again.

 ‘I’m not joking!’ Pippin said. ‘I’m never going back there, Merry, not ever! And the same for my son—he’ll never suffer the knowledge that the entire Shire is to descend upon his shoulders, willing or unwilling, just as soon as he’s old enough to know he’s not up to the job...!’

 ‘You’re up to the job,’ Merry said quietly.

 ‘Tell that to my father,’ Pippin said, lifting an arm over his eyes.

 ‘Is it the Thainship you’re running away from, then?’ Merry said. ‘Or is it the Thain?’

 ‘What do you think?’ Pippin whispered.

 ‘That you’re running away from anything still astonishes me.’ If Merry expected his cousin to be stung by the words, he was mistaken. Pippin’s mouth tightened, but that was all. ‘Pippin...’

Pippin lowered his arm to look into Merry’s eyes. ‘He wishes to make me into something I cannot be,’ he said. ‘And Diamond... and now the babe... caught in the middle.’

Merry waited. They had not spoken so openly of this before; Pippin always made a joke or changed the subject whenever the topic of Tookland was raised.

 ‘I don’t like the hobbit I become, when I’m under his critical eye, under the lash of his tongue,’ Pippin whispered. He straightened. ‘Here, I’m of use,’ he said. ‘Here, when I have an idea, I’m not told to keep my nonsense to myself.’ His voice grew more confident as he spoke. ‘Here I have the impression that I can make a difference, that I can make good...’ His eyes flashed, and he nodded, a sharp jerk of his chin that Merry had often seen in Esmeralda when she’d made up her mind. Stubborn Tooks, once their minds were made up it would be about as possible to budge them as to change the course of the Brandywine.

 ‘In any event,’ Pippin said in an everyday tone, meaning the subject was closed, perhaps for ever, ‘I still have to thank you for saving my life.’

 ‘What, you pretty well rescued yourself,’ Merry said, accepting the change of topic, for Pippin was too weak to sustain an argument at the moment and he didn’t want to set his cousin’s recovery back, ‘riding out of the Forest as coolly as if you were returning from a picnic.’ He managed to contain a shudder at his own thoughtless choice of words.

 ‘All very well,’ Pippin said. ‘Your horn sounded at precisely the right time, as I’ve already told you.’ He wiped at the corner of one eye. ‘Whenever I hear a horn in the distance, ever since the Rohirrim rode into the battle as Minas Tirith burned around us... why, a horn has ever been a sweet sound in my ears... but never sweeter than the call of your silver horn as I lay in the grip of the Orcs,’ he said. ‘They left off their sport and marched to battle and destruction—their own, I’m happy to note.’

Merry cleared his throat, at a loss for words.

 ‘How am I to reward you?’ Pippin persisted. ‘Name my firstborn after you, perhaps?’

 ‘Meridin?’ Merry said in astonishment.

 ‘Meriadin, is more what I was thinking,’ Pippin said, and Merry laughed outright.

 ‘Why not name the lad “Meriadoc” and have done!’ he said. ‘Meriadin! What ever would the Tooks say to that?’

 ‘Name my child to spite the Tooks,’ Pippin mused. ‘What an interesting idea. What’s the least-Tookish name I can conjure?’

 ‘Aradin,’ Merry ventured, still chuckling. ‘Or better yet—Stridin!’

Pippin laughed, a hand flat against his ribs. ‘Stridin,’ he said. ‘Definitely un-Tookish. "Legalin", "Gimlin", or "Borodin" ...or what about “Faradin”?’

 ‘Now that sounds nearly Tookish,’ Merry said. ‘You’d have to stretch it a bit, if you wanted it to carry the proper sting.’

 ‘I’ll give it some thought,’ Pippin said, keeping a straight face though a twinkle was in his eye. ‘All very well and good, to name a lass as such, but what’ll I do if the babe is a lad?’

Chapter 7. Meanwhile

Merimac strode confidently down the tunnels of the Great Smials to the Thain’s private apartments. It was after teatime, and he knew that Paladin almost never worked past teatime, giving the late afternoon hours to his beloved wife and remaining unmarried daughter, retiring early to arise early in order to meet the myriad problems and duties of the Thain in the freshness of the morning, just as if he were ploughing the fields he’d left behind to become Thain.

The doorward trotted along at his heels, spluttering ineffectually about guest quarters and supper and Merimac could have one of the early appointments in the morning, but...

Reaching the Thain’s apartments, in the innermost part of the Smials, Merimac rapped sharply on the door. ‘Come!’ boomed from within.

He pushed the door open. Paladin looked up, in the act of taking up his teacup. He put it down again at once and rose to his feet. ‘Merimac?’ he said. ‘What brings you here?’ Without invitation, his tone said. He looked to his daughter, Pervinca, and said, ‘Go and tell Reginard we have visitors.’ Unwelcome visitors. At best, uninvited.

He looked back to Merimac. ‘How many?’ he said. ‘And will you be staying long?’ It was the polite thing to say, anyhow.

 ‘There are a score of us,’ Merimac answered with a bow, and the Thain’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed.

 ‘Vinca! Tell Regi!’ he snapped.

 ‘Yes, Da,’ Pervinca said, and with a quick bob to the Bucklander she was gone.

Eglantine rose smoothly, extending a gracious hand. ‘Merry,’ she said. ‘I trust all is well with Ally and her husband.’

 ‘The Master of the Hall sent me to you,’ Merimac said formally, ‘with news of the gravest nature.’

Eglantine paused, and her hand went to her heart. ‘Pippin,’ she breathed.

Paladin paid her no mind, though anyone but his wife would have earned a swift and harsh reprimand at naming his banished son. O he had no doubt that Pippin would come crawling back one day, begging forgiveness, and Paladin had every intention of granting such, after an appropriate measure of frowns and glares. But until then, he had no intention of owning the wayward lad.

 ‘And what is this news, that you deem of sufficient gravity to interrupt our tea?’ he said.

 ‘Orcs,’ Merimac said shortly, and Eglantine gasped.

 ‘Come now,’ Paladin said. ‘We’re not in the days of Bandobras, after all. What is this all about?’

 ‘Orcs,’ Merimac said stubbornly. ‘Orcs... goblins if you prefer old Bilbo’s term, were coming out of the Old Forest, stealing livestock, trying to get in at the windows of isolated smials...’

Eglantine took Paladin’s arm and clung tightly, undone by the news. By the look on her face, Merimac suspected she somehow divined the rest.

Paladin snorted, though he was clearly made uneasy. ‘Naught more than you Bucklanders ought to expect,’ he muttered, ‘living up against that unnatural place, with naught but a hedgerow between.’

 ‘Of three hobbits who went into the Forest, one was foully murdered,’ Merimac continued, ‘one was struck down with arrows; his recovery remains in doubt, and the third was brutally...’

Eglantine took a sharp breath, her face white. Paladin held up a hand to stop Merimac, and looked to his wife. His ruddy face had also lost colour. ‘My love,’ he said. ‘I think you ought...’

 ‘Nae,’ she said. ‘I ought, but I shan’t. Tell me, was it... was it Pippin? Merry?’

 ‘Meriadoc was injured by a falling branch early on. The forester who was with him was not so fortunate—he was taken by the Orcs and murdered,’ Merimac said, and hesitated.

 ‘Pippin,’ Paladin grated, the name forced from him. He was breathing shallowly, and sweat started on his brow.

 ‘You said three went in,’ Eglantine said.

 ‘Many more than three went in,’ Merimac amended. ‘I was speaking of the three most grievously injured.’

 ‘Struck by arrows...?’ Eglantine said, groping her way.

 ‘Another forester,’ Merimac said, ‘who’d accompanied our steward on an errand.’

Paladin nodded, a sharp jerk of his chin. ‘The third,’ he said carefully. ‘He lives?’

Eglantine was holding her breath, Merimac saw, and trembling in her perturbation. Having pity on the grieving mother, he said, ‘He lives, and looks to be recovering; at least old Ossilan is cautiously optimistic.’

 ‘Thanks be,’ Eglantine said faintly, and Paladin frowned down at her a moment before raising his voice to call sharply.

 ‘Buttercup!’

An old serving-hobbit entered the sitting room, a cosied teapot in her hands. ‘Were you ready for more tea, then?’

 ‘The Mistress is unwell,’ Paladin said. ‘Settle her in bed and see to it she’s properly warm. Hot-water bottles and a nice mug of tea, I don’t wonder, and an extra coverlet or two.’

 ‘I’m well,’ Eglantine protested, but Paladin patted her hand.

 ‘You lie yourself down, love,’ he said, and for a moment Merimac saw in his face the Paladin he’d once known, kind and wise, loved and loving, content with his lot as an humble farmer. That Paladin had been scoured away by the cares and demands on the Thain over the past dozen years. ‘Here, Buttercup, I’ll take that.’ Paladin lifted the teapot away from the old hobbit and set it on the table, gesturing Merimac to be seated.

Relieved of her burden, Buttercup took Eglantine’s arm, clucking like an old hen, and with an imploring look at her husband, Eglantine allowed herself to be led away.

Paladin poured out a cup of tea for the Brandybuck while questioning him closely about recent events.

 ‘Fifty!’ he said.

 ‘Some fifty,’ Merimac confirmed. ‘We think we slaughtered all that there were in the Old Forest, but how do we know if others crossed into the Shire? We haven’t yet had word from the Rangers...’

A cloud crossed the Thain’s brow. ‘Men!’ he huffed, and then he continued his questioning.

At last he settled back in his chair, noisily slurping his tea before speaking. ‘I’ve not heard of any missing livestock,’ he said, ‘and the Shirriffs would be sure to inform me of such.’

 ‘Missing hobbits?’ Merimac asked.

 ‘An old gaffer went missing a week ago,’ Paladin said, and his lips twitched in a wintry smile at Merimac’s reaction. ‘But he’d only had a pint too many, and fell in a ditch on his way home. Lucky thing for him we hadn’t had a heavy rain at the time.’

 ‘So, no missing hobbits or livestock in the Tookland,’ Merimac said, feeling relieved, ‘and none in the Marish. If only the news is so in the rest of the Shire, it’ll appear we’ve pulled the weed before it was able to establish roots.’

 ‘Do you want me to send a troop to the aid of Buckland?’ Paladin said grudgingly.

Merimac blinked at the offer. ‘Very generous of you,’ he said, and meant it. Paladin had stuck tight inside his borders in the Troubles, after all. He’d kept the ruffians out of Tookland, but he’d offered precious little help to the rest of the Shire until the Travellers’ return. But that was a sore point, touching rather close to his family troubles, and it would be better not to mention such. ‘If there were sign of the creatures in the Shire proper, a troop of Tooks would be welcome, certainly, but the Master has Buckland and the Marish well in hand. He suggests you patrol the Southern reaches...’

 ‘Aye,’ Paladin said, ‘and what about the North?’

 ‘The North-Tooks have dealt with Orcs before,’ Merimac said, paying no heed to the shadow that crossed the Thain’s face at the mention of Diamond’s relations. ‘We sent warning to them, same’s I’m bringing it to you.’

 ‘Very well, then,’ Paladin said. ‘You may take word back to Saradoc that he has my full cooperation.’ He rose and extended a hand, and startled, Merimac rose as well, taking the hand and receiving a firm handshake. ‘Now then,’ Paladin said, ‘you’ve ridden fast and far, from your account, eating in the saddle!’ He shuddered. ‘We’ll have baths and food and beds for you all tonight; I take it you’ll wish to start back on the morrow?’

 ‘I do,’ Merimac said, ‘seeing as there’s been no sign of Orcs in the Shire proper. It’ll be good news to take back to the Master.’ And after a bath and change of clothing, no doubt he’d be refreshed and ready to greet a few old friends amongst the Tooks. Why, he hadn’t seen some of them in years, not since Pippin’s handfasting to Diamond of the North-Tooks...

Though this week's schedule has been impossibly busy, my dh (and he has been a ddh!) has given up some of his precious computer time in the evenings to allow me the relaxation of writing, while he occupies the little ones with a bedtime story--which, I admit, has been interesting enough to pull my thoughts away from the computer more than once! Thus you have been able to read updates well before the weekend, including this one. Please join me in giving him applause for his generosity and understanding.

Chapter 8. The Badger Delves Deeper

 ‘His fever’s rising.’ The words echoed and blurred as if they bounced from the unseen walls of a deep cavern. Moria? Pippin moaned and tried to pull his hand from the cool grip that prisoned him. Familiar fingers... Merry’s hands, holding his arm so that he could not move it.

 ‘The red swelling?’ Diamond’s voice, thick with dread.

 ‘Will you have to take the arm?’ came Merry into the conversation.

 ‘A moment, young master.’

He wanted to thrash, to pull away, to escape the creatures’ grasp but he was held firmly, hand and foot, arm and leg. Slow torment, that was the game the Orcs enjoyed most. With agonising slowness, the loose sleeve of his nightshirt was rolled out of the way, as carefully and gradually his arm was bared. He measured the torturers’ progress by the feel of the cool air on his skin.

He locked his jaw, sucking breath through his teeth. At any moment he’d feel the bite of the blade; how ever would he bear it? How would he keep from crying out? The more noise he made, the more slowly the knife would move, and the longer the Orcs would linger over their pleasure...

His arm, already painful, was prodded, delicately and at length, as if the chief cook was selecting just the right spot to begin.

A sigh, and then, ‘Not the red swelling.’ Perhaps the arm was deemed an unsatisfactory starting place; in any event he felt cool air on his chest and stiffened in anticipation, only to feel pressure there, for moments that stretched to eternity, until the light weight left his chest and someone said, ‘Breathing well. Not the Old Gaffer’s Friend, then.’

 ‘But,’ said Diamond in distress, ‘the fever...’

 ‘There is a fever going about the Shire,’ old Ossilan said. ‘You should not be here.’

 ‘But,’ Diamond said again, and she added more words, but her voice receded and was suddenly cut off, as if a door had closed.

***

Merimac might have fallen asleep in the bath, he was that tired, but for the fact that he’d be leaving in the morning to carry glad word back to Buckland, of the evident absence of Orcs from the main body of the Shire. He could catch up on sleep later. There were old friendships to revisit, perhaps a glass of ale to lift in memory of dangers jointly braved.

First off he would seek out the Fox, that Took who’d been instrumental in keeping the ruffians out of Tookland during the Troubles. The Fox, as the ruffians had called Ferdibrand Took, the son of Merimac's old friend Ferdinand, had coordinated the laying of traps, and when the border was closed by Sharkey’s Men he’d slipped out of Tookland to gather news, as wily as the creature they named him for in evading hunters and shaking off pursuit.

Merimac had been the Badger, fat, sleepy-looking, but fierce when cornered. Many was the time when he’d crossed the River in the guise of a placid and dull-witted farmer to meet Ferdi in a hollowed-out tree, or a shallow cave, or an abandoned shed, to share news and lay plans. When the ruffians closed the Ferry, he’d rowed across on moonless nights, hiding at Maggots’ if need be, until the time was right to slip across the fields to the Woody End.

And on one of those clandestine visits, he’d been just in time to cut Ferdibrand down; the Took had been hanging at the end of a ruffian’s rope, and Merimac’s band had been barely in time to save the hobbit’s life. Though the Fox didn’t leave the Tookland again after that, Merimac heard that he continued laying ruffian traps in the few weeks remaining before the rising of the Shire-folk against their oppressors, and that he’d been in the thick of the Battle of Bywater. Had nearly lost his life again, this time to a ruffian’s club, and had lost his ability to shoot, and his nerve, for long years after. In truth, Merimac had heard little of the fellow these past... how many years? Wait... Pippin had joked on one occasion in Merimac’s hearing, since his removal to Buckland, of “Ferdi the watchdog”, appointed to be his escort, more for the purpose of Paladin keeping an eye on his son than for any need for protection on Pippin’s part.

The Bucklander ran into unexpected difficulty in making his inquiries, however. The first Took he asked turned a blank face to him and immediately changed the subject, asking if Merimac and his fellow Bucklanders had been made comfortable. The next smiled politely, more of a grimace rather and, avoiding Merimac’s eyes, affected to remember suddenly that he was required elsewhere. Before Merimac could ask another question the hobbit bowed hastily and took himself off. Merimac went to where he remembered Ferdi’s quarters to be, but found a dusty, empty room. The bed, though it was made up, appeared not to have been slept in for some days. Away on a journey? That would hardly account for the odd reactions amongst his cousins.

He would have asked Paladin but the Thain had already retired for the night. Surely it wasn’t a matter worth disturbing the old hobbit. He asked a passing servant, who apologized rather breathlessly and hurried away. Curiouser and curiouser... Merimac stopped short on his way back to the guest quarters... had Ferdi died in the meantime? Had something happened to one of the heroes of Tookland? Had the brave and bonny Fox, who had a natural Tookish aversion to rivers and streams, somehow... drowned, perhaps? Drowning was a disgraceful death, and might almost, just almost explain the reactions he had sparked. Pippin never spoke of his Tookish relations, but then he never acknowledged himself as a hero, either. No more had Ferdi. And after the Battle of Bywater the hobbit had all but hid himself away for years, immersed in bitterness over his useless arm perhaps. In any event he turned any praise away until it seemed the Tooks had forgotten his heroic deeds.

He chided himself for being such a poor correspondent, that he had so little idea how the hobbit had fared in the years following the Troubles. Ferdi’s last letter to him had been... before Pippin had turned up in Buckland, to stay? And his last letter to Ferdi... longer yet.

Merimac, from long fishing experience, made sure his next fish was well and truly hooked before springing the question. Everard Took, just in from the fields and spring planting, was emerging from one of the bathing rooms when Merimac spied him. Before Everard quite knew what was happening, Merimac had taken his hand, pumping his arm in jovial greeting, placing an arm about his shoulder to guide him to a quieter corridor, taking up the lamp from the last bracket they passed as they turned into a dark and quiet passageway.

 ‘Merimac Brandybuck; I’d heard a score of Bucklanders had arrived... did you bring the wandering son of the Thain home at last?’ Everard said in greeting.

 ‘News of him, only,’ Merimac answered.

 ‘He remains in Buckland, then?’ Everard said, and added something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “good riddance”.

 ‘So what brings a score of Bucklanders to the Great Smials?’ Everard pressed.

 ‘I’m sure you’ll find out on the morrow,’ Merimac said. Evidently the Thain was keeping the news close, though Merimac’s son Berilac had reported a number of swift riders leaving the yard before late supper was served, evidently bearing messages or sent to gather news.

Everard nodded, his eyes thoughtful. ‘There’s talk that the Thain will call a convocation at second breakfast,’ he said. ‘Though no one has any idea what it’s all about.’ He eyed Merimac speculatively. ‘Somewhat to do with your visit, they say. Talk is that the Thain intends to own his son once more.’

 ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Merimac said cautiously. Knowing the Tooks, it appeared Paladin didn’t wish to set off a whole-sale panic with hobbits shooting first and asking questions later.

Everard was clearly skeptical, and went along with Merimac, deep into the Smials until they were alone in a dusty, seldom-used tunnel. He seemed to expect that Merimac had steered him here to share the news brought from Buckland. He was mistaken.

Merimac took Everard firmly by the arm. ‘Now then, lad,’ he said, fixing the Took with a stern eye.

Everard nodded, ‘I’m ready,’ he said. ‘How bad is it?’

 ‘That’s what I want you to tell me,’ Merimac said.

Confusion clouded Everard’s brow. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said.

Merimac smiled slightly at the ill-disguised irritation in Everard’s tone. He’d chosen well; Everard’s temper mastered him rather than the other way around, and he might be baited into disclosing information that a more circumspect hobbit would conceal. Although why the Tooks would be hiding news of Ferdibrand was beyond him.

 ‘I want to know what’s become of the Fox?’ Merimac said, dropping his voice. His grip on Everard tightened as the latter tried to pull away. ‘Come now, no one I’ve asked will speak of him or give me any news at all.’

Everard’s irritation had changed subtly to alarm... and something else. Frustration? Sorrow? ‘He’s not dead, is he?’ Merimac pressed. ‘What has happened, that the Tooks won’t speak of him?’

 ‘You have the right of it,’ Everard said slowly, and now it was the Brandybuck’s turn to frown in irritation, for he said no more.

 ‘I have the right of it,’ Merimac said. ‘The right of what? He’s dead?’

Everard, for all they were alone in the depths of the Smials, their footprints the only disturbance of the dust on the floor, looked about them and swallowed hard. ‘No,’ he whispered.

Merimac dropped his voice as well. ‘No, not dead,’ he persisted.

Everard looked about them again before giving a cautious nod.

 ‘But you cannot speak of him,’ Merimac said.

 ‘Aye,’ Everard breathed.

Merimac stood long, lantern in one hand and Everard’s sleeve in the other, considering. He couldn’t imagine upright Ferdi doing something so shameful that the other Tooks would refuse to speak of him, but... ‘The Ban?’ he said at last.

Everard was breathing, shallow, quick breaths, and he seemed on the verge of panic. ‘I cannot,’ he said desperately. ‘I... especially to an outsider.’

Merimac nodded thoughtfully. It was a Tookish matter, that was for certain, and Everard risked the Ban himself if word came to the ears of the Thain. ‘What can I do?’ he whispered, striving for a reasonable tone.

He scarcely expected Everard to be able to answer. If Paladin heard that Merimac had taken him off for a little chat, he’d be pressed to render every detail of their conversation. And if the head of the Took clan had put one of the Tooks under the sentence of shunning, he’d take a dim view of Brandybuck interference, especially considering the fact that his son now resided with the Brandybucks!

Unexpectedly, Everard straightened, a hard look coming into his eye. ‘Ferdinand,’ he said, naming Ferdi’s invalid father. ‘Infirmary.’ With a jerk he pulled his sleeve from Merimac’s grasp and fled the darkened corridor.

Chapter 9. Tea and Gossip

Merimac retraced his steps several times until it was difficult to tell just how many hobbits had walked that way, hanging the lamp back on its bracket as he entered the main corridor once more. He remembered the way to the infirmary; hadn’t he spent a week there, on one visit to the Great Smials? Granted, it was a long time ago, and that place of residence for seriously-ill Tooks, or those needing extra care, being infirm or invalids, had been moved in the meantime. As was traditional in all the great holes, the Great Smials infirmary had enjoyed the sunniest exposure, but during the Troubles had been moved to the innermost part of the Smials, in the event of attack by the ruffians. Merimac hadn’t heard, but he assumed that by now the healers and their charges would be moved back where they ought to be.

He was mistaken, however. The sunny exposure had been turned into apartments and parlours, common rooms and suites, and from the look of it the most well-to-do amongst the Smials Tooks enjoyed these—undoubtedly at no little profit to the Thain from what Merimac had heard of Paladin's grasping ways. He shook his head as he walked, regarding the rich furnishings glimpsed through partly-open doors.

To be honest, Thain Paladin was stranger to him, a far cry from the youthful farm-lad he’d come to know, all those years ago when he’d tried to catch Esmeralda’s eye... and lost her to his brother. The Thain was another hobbit completely, compared to the quiet but contented farmer Merimac had known in the time before old, mad Bilbo disappeared for good with a chuckle and a flash from the infamous Birthday Party. Indeed, though his friends had seen the gradual change in Paladin as Pippin grew more spoilt, more difficult, and more of a liability than an asset first to the farmer and then the newly-made Thain, the change had accelerated after the office of Thain descended upon Paladin with smothering suddenness. His old friend might as well have died, so far as Merimac was concerned. How was it that Saradoc remained ever true to himself after becoming Master, but Paladin had lost himself as Thain?

He turned his steps back to the inmost part of the Smials, where he’d visited badly-injured Ferdibrand after the Battle of Bywater. Another old friend, Ferdi’s father, had resided in the Great Smials infirmary for years—since the year of Bilbo’s infamous Birthday, in point of fact, though Merimac had never been allowed to see him after the disastrous fire that nearly claimed his life. Ferdinand steadfastly turned away all visitors over the years. Somehow Merimac would have to get past his old friend’s stubborn resistance, if he’d understood Everard correctly, to learn more of young Ferdi’s plight.

He found the infirmary tucked away into a dark and quiet part of the Smials, where it had remained hidden away since the time of the Troubles. Night-lamps had already been lit, and the large sitting room was silent and shadowy, the fire on the hearth banked. Merimac hesitated on the threshold. Ought he to reconsider his plan to leave after early breakfast, stay over long enough to try and see Ferdinand in the morning?

 ‘May I help you?’ a voice said, low and pleasant, from the far doorway. ‘Were you needing a healer?’

 ‘In point of fact,’ Merimac began, and paused, at a loss. He’d had this conversation too many times before, asking to see Ferdinand, being asked to wait, only to be put off in the end. No visitors. Surely you understand.

 ‘Yes?’ the voice said, the bulk of a shadowy figure coming forward, resolving by the light of the corridor lamps into a pleasant hobbit matron, undoubtedly an assistant to the healers. She had a kind smile but penetrating gaze, and Merimac thought she’d brook no nonsense. Very well, he thought to himself, taking a deep breath and encountering a sudden constriction in his chest, dread, perhaps, or defeat before the battle was engaged.

 ‘I...’ he said, and she waited. ‘I came to speak with Ferdinand...’ he said, seeing the instant denial that sprang to her eyes, but before she could voice the thought he continued in a near-whisper, ‘...about his son.’

It was her turn to take a breath, to gaze intently into his face, and then to say, pasting on a bright smile, ‘It’s late to be making a visit, but Ferdinand has been sitting up late the last few nights... I’m sure he’d welcome some company.’

Wondering, Merimac followed her through the darkened sitting room and down a broad corridor, wide enough for a wheeled chair the likes of the one Lalia the Fat had used, lit by turned-down lamps. Pausing at one of the slightly-ajar doors, she tapped softly and eased the door open wider.

One of the watchers by the bed rose hastily, damp cloth dangling from her hand. ‘Hullo?’ she said uncertainly, her eyes going from the matron to the visitor.

Ferdinand looked as if he belonged in the bed rather than in a watcher’s chair, with his pinned-up sleeves and blanket-covered legs, but instead he was tied in the chair so that he could shift his weight without falling. He raised his face, one side ravaged by old fire-scars, the other strangely unmarked, and frowned with the working side of his mouth. ‘What...?’ he said. The figure in the bed moved uneasily at his tone and he broke off at once to whisper reassurances while the other watcher hastily dipped her cloth into a basin of water, wrung it out and gently laid it on the patient’s forehead. She then sank back down into the chair as if wearied by long hours of watching.

 ‘Dinny,’ Merimac said quietly. ‘Know you not your old friend? I know it has been a score of years...’

 ‘I see I’m not the only one the years have touched,’ Ferdinand muttered.

Merimac chuckled. ‘You mean I’m twice the hobbit I used to be,’ he said, spreading his hands expressively.

 ‘If not three times,’ Ferdinand grumbled, and Merimac grinned, a more sincere smile than the one he’d put on as he entered the room.

 ‘Whereas I’m half the hobbit I was,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Why are you here, Merry?’

 ‘I came to see an old friend,’ Merimac said, nodding to the bed.

 ‘Perhaps you’d care for a cup of tea,’ the matron said hastily, exchanging looks with the other watcher, ‘and I must return to the sitting room, in the event a healer is called for... Holly, would you warm a teapot and bring tea to Ferdinand and his visitor?’ No mention of the hobbit in the bed. Of course.

 ‘Yes’m,’ the other watcher said at once, rising from her seat. Merimac had the feeling that the matron was rather more important than he’d given her credit for, but before he could ask her name she’d withdrawn from the room with Holly, shutting the door firmly behind them.

Merimac eased himself into the vacated chair, touching the cloth on Ferdi’s forehead—it was already warm. He soaked the cloth in the cool water, wrung it out, and replaced it, then took up the hot, limp hand.

 ‘Hullo, Fox,’ he said softly. Ferdinand opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again. Ferdi’s eyes opened, heavy-lidded, and he strove as if to discern Merimac’s face. ‘It’s just an old Badger,’ Merimac said, ‘come to see how you fare.’

Ferdi moistened dry, cracked lips with a tongue that hardly seemed suited to the task, but said nothing.

Merimac turned his gaze to Ferdinand. ‘Why?’ he whispered.

Ferdinand cleared his throat uneasily. ‘There’s fever going round; no doubt you’ve heard of it,’ he said. ‘I’d just recovered from a bout, myself...’ He looked down at his son and essayed a sad smile. ‘Never left my side,’ he whispered. ‘Not until the fever broke.’

Ferdi smiled faintly and closed his eyes again, his fingers fluttering in Merimac’s grasp. ‘I wager that’s a comfort,’ Merimac said quietly. To be under the Ban was to be denied all intercourse with other hobbits: talk, touch, even eye contact. At most Merimac, as a Bucklander, risked being shown the border of the Tookland for violating the Ban; Ferdi risked much more, but he did not protest the handclasp. Indeed, he continued to smile as he drifted into dream.

 ‘It’s rather awkward,’ Ferdinand agreed. ‘He collapsed on his way to feed me my late supper, and I’m sure it took a deal of courage for someone to lift him and bring him here. Even the healers are tentative... tradition is, when one under the Ban falls seriously ill, sentence is lifted, but there’s been nothing of the sort in this case.’

 ‘Does he know?’ Merimac asked in wonder, carefully avoiding use of “Thain” or “Paladin” for his Tookish friends’ sake.

Ferdinand snorted lightly. ‘What d’you think?’ he said. ‘Came here to see the lad, out of his head with fever, and left without saying a word. Woodruff as head healer is the only one who’ll openly defy the hobbit; she handles most of the necessary care personally, and her daughter-in-love, Holly, takes care of the rest. But no one else dares to touch him, or sing to him, or even to visit...’ Eyes moist, he sniffled. Merimac pulled out a clean pocket-handkerchief and reached across the narrow bed to dab at Ferdinand’s eyes, then held it so his old friend could blow.

 ‘Thankee,’ Ferdinand muttered.

 ‘How long?’ Merimac said obliquely. Even a thief suffered the Ban for a year at most. Perhaps Ferdi’s time was nearly done, and that was why Paladin let the sentence run on.

 ‘Ever since... he... left,’ Ferdinand said, and hesitated, his eyes drilling Merimac’s.

Merimac nodded uncertainly, going over the implications in his head while silently cursing the Tooks and their traditions. Shunning and banishing were well and good—all families knew about the practice and made use of it when deemed necessary. Some patriarchs or matriarchs were freer than others. Tooks, with their fey streak, held more closely with the ancient traditions for dealing with troublemakers. “He” was evidently another Took, Banned or banished outright, his name unmentionable amongst those he left behind.

The Bucklander gasped as certain pieces fell into place. ‘His son?’ he said slowly. ‘But that was years ago...’ Pippin had evaded his escort to ride to Buckland... and had stayed, vowing never to return.

 ‘Five years ago,’ Ferdinand whispered, looking from Ferdi’s smiling face back to Merimac’s shocked one. ‘In a fit of anger, it was, for dereliction of duty, but too proud ever to admit the injustice of it, or to make good the error.’

Merimac eased his hand from Ferdi’s to take up the cloth, dip it in the cool water, wring it out and replace it again. He took the sleeping hobbit’s hand once more, almost defiantly.

 ‘Is he mad?’ he demanded, and it wasn’t Bilbo he was talking about. ‘This goes beyond stubborn pride...’

 ‘He kept Tookland free,’ Ferdinand said obliquely. ‘The Tooks feel they owe him for that, and unless he harms Tookland with his actions...’

 ‘Injustice to one is injustice to all,’ Merimac argued in a whisper, but his old friend merely shook his head sorrowfully. Merimac’s hand tightened unconsciously on Ferdi’s. ‘But he didn’t keep them out all of his own power,’ he said stubbornly. ‘As I recall there were certain others who were instrumental...’ Ferdi, for one, who’d risked his neck to lay traps for ruffians and to gather information for the Thain.

 ‘Tell it to the Thain,’ Ferdinand said wearily, caution forgotten for the moment.

Merimac’s lips tightened; he swallowed hard, thinking back on halcyon days, four tweens adventuring together: Merimac and Saradoc, Paladin and Ferdinand. ‘What ever happened to the days of “Merry and Sorry, Dinny and Dinny”?’ he whispered. ‘We swore that naught would ever separate us...’

He looked again into Ferdi’s sleeping face. ‘How much longer?’ he said simply. ‘If I could speak to him, persuade him that...’

 ‘Do you not think Aggie’s been trying for the past five years?’ Ferdinand said, using the old pet name they’d had for Eglantine in the former carefree days, before she became “Mistress of Tookland”. ‘Toward the end of the first month, I sent for her, though I’d refused her visits up until that time, hers and everyone else’s. I begged her to intercede for...’ his mouth worked soundlessly, the words my son, before he continued, ‘and she’s been chipping away ever since. She’s the only one to say his name, amongst all the Tooks, the only one who dares to speak a good word. Her husband cannot very well put her under the Ban...’

It was Merimac’s turn to snort. ‘Every husband’s dream,’ he said, ‘just a little peace and quiet, once in awhile.’

 ‘Aggie says,’ Ferdinand continued, ‘she says that the only way to change things as they are is if... he returns, takes responsibility for the whole mess, persuades his father to lift the Ban, and settles himself firmly under his father’s thumb once more...’

Merimac nodded, following this rather oblique speech. Pippin’s decision to leave Tookland had precipitated this dreadful state of affairs. Only his return would do to mend matters.

 ‘I’ll bring him back,’ Merimac said, rising abruptly to his feet. He gave Ferdi’s hand a squeeze and released it, renewed the cool, refreshing cloth, and stood looking down on the sleeping hobbit. ‘I’ll bring him back here if I have to drag him by his collar; if it’s the last thing I do...’

 ‘Let us hope it does not come to that,’ Ferdinand said.

Merimac ponderously skirted the bed and leaned to embrace his old friend, laying his cheek against Ferdinand’s unmarked cheek. ‘Dinny,’ he said softly. ‘It won’t come to that. You ought to see the hobbit he’s grown into: upright, honest, reliable and conscientious. He’ll probably drag me back by my collar, before I’ve even changed into a fresh shirt for the return journey...’ His arms tightened for a moment, and then rising, he let himself out of the room. Holly hovered in the corridor, tea tray in her hands. Evidently she had not wanted to interrupt the conversation.

 ‘Did you want some tea, Mr. Brandybuck?’ she asked now.

 ‘No, no thank you, lass,’ Merimac said. ‘I’ve quite had my fill.’ He held the door for her, that she might enter the room, and then he left the infirmary.

Chapter 10. A Sip at Midnight  

In spite of his resolve to go quietly in order to hasten his death, Pippin could not help fighting as the fire’s heat rose around him. He felt himself seized from all sides, heard the jeers of the Orcs; he cried out as they wired him to the spit.

 ‘It’s too hot, is it?’ the chief cook growled in his face. ‘A little sauce for the goose, I think! The roast is burning!’

Cool moistness against his skin that was somehow agony in itself; he tried to shrink away from the horror of being basted like a joint of beef as the world spun around him. His struggles were to no avail, and his voice was hoarse, now, as he cried out. Voices faded in and out of his hearing, taunting him and then to make things worse, the Orcs raised a song, much as hobbits might while waiting for supper to cook...

 ‘I don’t know how much longer he’ll last,’ one Orc snarled. ‘His heart...’ Pippin desperately hoped this was true. If only he could will himself to die!

Into the nightmare came cool and gentle hands, strong for all their softness, that took his cheeks prisoner while a feminine voice spoke in dulcet tones, no less demanding than the Orcs’, yet somehow more compelling. ‘Pippin! Peregrin Took! Hear me!’

 ‘What are you doing here?’ one of the Orcs said in outrage. ‘You oughtn’t...’

 ‘Diamond, no,’ Pippin begged. ‘They’ve not taken you as well? Please, no!’

 ‘Shhh, Pippin-love, waken now. Walk no more in dark dream, my love.’ Though the voice wowed louder and then softer in his tortured ears, it compelled him to still his struggles, to lie quiet in his bonds.

 ‘Diamond,’ he whispered.

 ‘Waken, Pippin,’ the voice commanded, and then a soft kiss was laid upon his lips.

He opened his eyes, gasping in the same breath as Merry, who was one of several hobbits holding him on the bed, ‘Estella!’

 ‘That’s better,’ Estella said in satisfaction, keeping her face close to Pippin’s, her cool hands soothing his face. ‘That’s better, cousin. Diamond couldn’t be here, herself, so she told me what to do.’

 ‘Estella...’ Merry began again, but his wife had a Tookish tongue from her mother’s side, and when a Took is in a full rolling boil it is difficult to toss more than an occasional word into the pot.

 ‘They won’t let her risk the fever, and rightly so, being so very close to her time, you know...’

 ‘My love,’ Merry said, but he might as well have been casting petals on a breeze.

 ‘And so she asked me to take her part, beloved, for she knows just how to calm her husband when the fit takes him...’

 ‘Fit!’ –that from Merry and Pippin, both.

 ‘It’s a—’ Pippin began, intending to defend his honour with the explanation that this was a dream, no more, and if everyone would simply leave him to sleep in peace and quiet... It was no doubt all the jostling bodies crowded round the bed, and the grasping hands that held him that had set things off.

 ‘Love, you—’ Merry said at the same time, but Estella blithely paid no heed to either husband or cousin.

 ‘I know all about it, you see,’ she said, an intensity in her voice that made Merry’s grip on Pippin’s arm loosen as his face lost all colour.

 ‘All about it,’ he echoed in a whisper. ‘Estella, how?’

 ‘Leave us,’ she answered crisply, speaking to the Brandybuck cousins and servants who, only a moment ago, had been struggling to keep Pippin from throwing himself out of the bed.

 ‘Yes’m,’ came in a mumble from more than one of the watchers, and they quickly filed from the room, leaving Merry and Estella—gazes still locked—and Pippin, who wished he could get up from the bed and make his own escape.

 ‘Everything,’ Estella said firmly, ‘so there’s no use trying to wrap me in cotton wool and keep me “safe”, Merry Brandybuck.’

 ‘Estella, I...’ Merry said, sinking down into the chair beside the bed. Pippin, though he was as shocked and surprised as his cousin, made good of this opportunity to pull his arm free from Merry’s grip.

Estella laid a gentle kiss upon his forehead and released him, taking up the dampened cloth someone had abandoned, wringing it out afresh and sponging Pippin’s bared torso. ‘You’re burning up with fever,’ she said briskly. ‘It’s no wonder you have delusions of roasting over hot coals.’

Old Ossilan entered on the heels of this remark, bearing a covered cup. ‘Here now,’ he said. ‘What’s all this? Mistress, you—’

 ‘Just following orders,’ Estella said, continuing her basting. Pippin shivered as cool air assailed his dampened skin.

 ‘I’m freezing,’ he protested.

 ‘Good,’ Estella said. ‘Perhaps you’ll dream of Caradhras. That ought to be an improvement.’

 ‘Estella—’ Merry tried again, and his wife smiled brightly, though she kept her eyes on Pippin’s.

 ‘There now,’ she cooed. ‘I do love the way he speaks my name, almost a caress, it is...’

 ‘My love—’ Merry said, but when she turned her gaze on him he stopped, at a complete loss.

 ‘Come now, Master Steward,’ Ossilan said, stepping closer. ‘I’ve a draught for the drinking, cool and refreshing.’

Merry jumped to help Pippin sit up a little straighter, but when Pippin tried to raise his hands to guide the cup the sick hobbit could not suppress a groan as his tormented muscles resisted him.

 ‘There now,’ Ossilan soothed absently. ‘I’ve driven many a cup in my day—you just keep your ponies in the stable now, and let me manage the reins...’

Pippin sipped obediently. Cool and fresh, the drink was, some sort of herbal mixture brewed and chilled, sweetened with the squeezings of fruits, and he drank greedily despite the slightly bitter tang.

 ‘Good,’ Ossilan said. ‘Very good, lad. There’s custard coming right behind me, and...’

 ‘You train your custard well, here at the Hall,’ Pippin observed, sinking back against his cushions, freshly plumped by a smiling Estella. ‘I’m afraid in the Wilds of Tookland the custard is much more wayward and difficult to subdue.’

Merry had recovered from his dazed state and was making good use of the healer’s presence. ‘She should not be here,’ he said, speaking pointedly to Ossilan. ‘The fever—’

 ‘—is going round the Shire,’ Ossilan said, exchanging glances with Estella and then turning back to Merry with a mild look. ‘She might catch it in the market as well as here in the Hall.’

Merry bristled.

 ‘You won’t rid yourself of me that easily, dearest hedgehog,’ Estella said. ‘I intend to stay here just as long as you do!’

 ‘I can see rapid improvement is called for, if only in the interest of domestic harmony,’ Pippin observed to Ossilan.

 ‘You stay out of this!’ Merry said, rounding on him, and turning back to Estella tried for a sweet and reasonable tone. ‘My love.’

 ‘Yes, beloved,’ Estella said. ‘Love.’ Tears sprang suddenly to her eyes in one of her lightning changes of mood. ‘How I do love you, and that is why I will not leave you now...’

 ‘But—’ Merry said.

 ‘Save your breath,’ Pippin said quietly. ‘She’s more difficult than an hundred Orcs once she sets her mind to something.’

 ‘You’re telling me,’ Merry said wryly.

***

It was good to be back in their own smial again, as Rose observed to Samwise. Crowded into the meeting hall in Hobbiton for a festive occasion during the winter months was one thing, but crowded together for hours on end, sleeping on blankets on the floor, singing away the hours while grim-faced farmers stood guard just inside the doors (in case the ones standing guard outside were overwhelmed)... well, it was not the most pleasant way to pass the time.

 ‘No muster?’ she said, after tucking up the little ones in their beds and returning to the kitchen for a cup of tea, happily brewed over their own fire.

Sting lay on the table between them. She caressed the shining blade as Sam turned to the table, teapot in hand, and proceeded to pour out.

 ‘No muster,’ Sam said. ‘The Tooks brought word from the Thain, and that’s all. If any livestock or hobbits have gone missing we’re to sound the alarm and send messengers; otherwise be on our guard, go on with all that needs doing while groups of armed hobbits scour the woodlands and deserted places.’

 ‘Go on?’ Rose said.

 ‘We’re in the middle of spring planting, Rosie,’ Sam said. ‘If we cower in our holes the children won’t eat come harvest-time.’

 ‘But—’ Rose said, thinking of one of her brothers out in the field, following the plough, with no other hobbits nearby, or another brother walking along, reaching into his bag and broadcasting the seed, eyes intent on his work, not seeing the dark forms emerging from the nearby wood...

 ‘Go on,’ Sam said firmly. ‘Of course we’ll take precautions. The work will go slower, with some guarding whilst others plant, but it will go. We cannot let ourselves be ruled by fear, Rosie... it would be as if the Orcs had the victory, should we do such a thing.’

 ‘Of course,’ Rose said, caressing the smooth blade one last time before taking up her cup. Sting shone with care and polishing, but not with the blue fire that indicated the nearness of foes. Sam would buckle on the sword and continue his duties as if all were as it should be.

 ‘As it is,’ Sam said, taking her hand in his, and she realised she’d spoken aloud.

 ‘As it is,’ Rose echoed. She squeezed Sam’s hand in response and then let go to lift her mug to her lips. ‘Good tea,’ she said in an everyday voice.

 ‘Good tea,’ Sam agreed. Placidly they sipped, exchanging news of the day just as they always did over a last cup before seeking the pillow.

***

Pippin wakened some time later to a Tookish song of sun on the daisies. Opening his eyes, he pushed the cool, damp cloth aside from his eyes to see Merry slumped in the chair beside the bed. Estella stood behind her husband, her hands soothing his shoulders as she crooned.

She smiled to see Pippin’s eyes open, and putting a finger to her lips skirted the chair to pour a cup of water which she held to Pippin’s lips.

 ‘He’s asleep,’ she breathed. Pippin nodded. From the triumph in Estella’s whisper, no doubt this was the first sleep Merry had found since the battle with the Orcs in the Forest. He sipped and sighed.

 ‘Is there anything you want?’ Estella said softly.

 ‘A little more of that song, if you please,’ Pippin responded, and yawned.

 ‘Happy to oblige,’ Estella murmured. She lifted the cloth from Pippin’s forehead, wrung it out in the basin, and applied it, cool and refreshing, and firmly over his eyes as she took up the song once more.

Smiling, Pippin drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 11. Merry Meetings

Merry wakened suddenly, as he usually did, with a jerk. Where and how he wakened usually determined his next few moments: if in bed beside Estella he would stretch long and luxuriously, wrap his arms around his wife and bury his face in her fragrant hair. If he had wakened in the midst of nightmare, he'd hold her until his heart stopped pounding and beat steadily once more; if he wakened without memory of dreaming he'd hold her in silent thankfulness, just for being.

He was in a chair, however, which meant that someone was ill, or injured. He opened his eyes to see Pippin’s bruised face against the pillow. Estella sat in the other watcher’s chair, her head resting on one arm that lay across Pippin’s chest, and Pippin’s right hand was tangled in her curls. Both of them were asleep.

The cooling cloth, now dry, had slipped over one of Pippin’s eyes, giving him a rakish appearance. Merry rose cautiously from his chair, took up the cloth, soaked it in the basin of water and wrung it out again, and sponged his cousin’s face, still too warm by any measure. Pippin did not waken, though his fingers twitched in Estella’s hair and he murmured something directed at Diamond.

Merry sat down again, letting them sleep, the two hobbits he loved best in Middle-earth, remembering the long and earnest conversation with Estella—surprising, too—as they watched Pippin sleeping in the depths of the night.

***

 ‘...at least he’s bold enough to risk the dreams,’ Estella said.

 ‘Is that how you know?’ Merry said, watching her soothe Pippin’s forehead with her cool, gentle fingers. ‘Diamond told you...’

 ‘They have held complete conversations as he slept, you know,’ Estella said. ‘Not like some hobbits’ husbands who scarcely speak to them at all when worrying about somewhat.’

He winced at the hurt in her tone, but remained stubbornly silent. The Orcs in the Old Forest had reawakened dark thoughts and feelings, and the Shadow that haunted him seemed to mock at him, seeking to enclose him in chilly, numbing walls. He smelled the stench of death in his nostrils, and feared that Estella would smell it too, if she ventured too close. Unconsciously he took his icy right hand in his left, massaging and prodding, a gesture Estella knew of old when her beloved was troubled. 

 ‘Merry-beloved, I swore to take you, warts and all, and I meant it,’ Estella went on, her eyes on Pippin’s face. ‘We made a solemn vow to give ourselves completely, one to another, and yet...’

She left off her ministrations to Pippin and swept around the bed, to take Merry’s right hand and lift it to her cheek. ‘The Shadow is not real, you know,’ she murmured. ‘Pippin told me so; he said it is only a memory that troubles you, and when you worry you lay yourself open to its chill.’ She lifted his hand to her lips, nuzzling his knuckles, and it seemed as if life and warmth sparkled upon his skin wherever she left a kiss.

 ‘Real or not, it will drag you down into darkness if you do not fight,’ she said, sliding her arms around him. Unbidden, his left arm encompassed her as she pressed against him.

 ‘Beloved,’ she murmured, her embrace tightening. ‘Do not push me away...’

 ‘Push you away?’ Merry said dryly. ‘I’d say we’re about as far from that as...’

She reared back to look up at him, and he was startled to see a tear glistening upon her cheek. ‘You pretend all is well, even when drowning in your memories,’ she said softly. ‘You lie down as if to sleep, and rise up when you think I’m sleeping—did you think I wouldn’t notice, beloved? Did you think I sleep through the night with an empty spot beside me, only wakening in the morning after you’ve returned to the bed an hour before dawn?’

He was drawn to kiss the tears from her face, but they were flowing faster than he could remedy them. ‘Do not weep, my love,’ he murmured.

 ‘I am weeping for you,’ she said fiercely. ‘For the lonely walk you have chosen, just as Frodo did before you. He’d’ve gone to that terrible Mountain by himself, had he been able to leave his faithful Samwise behind, but I ask you... would there be a Shire today? Would not Middle-earth lie under Shadow even now, had his selfish choice been allowed to stand?’

 ‘Selfish—’ was wrung from Merry in protest.

 ‘Selfish!’ Estella said. ‘Sam was the wiser.’

Merry swallowed hard, his head shaking ever so slightly in denial. ‘Frodo was the bravest...’

 ‘He was a fool,’ Estella said, ‘as he, himself, admitted to me, in the dark of one middle night while we watched by Freddy’s side and you and Pippin were off scouring the Shire. He was a fool to try to walk alone into the Dark Land! And you know it, Merry Brandybuck. No one can stand alone against the Shadow. Even the Lady Eowyn had a champion to stand at her side.’

 ‘To crawl, rather, sick and shaking,’ Merry said. ‘No more than a dog, or an ant in the dust...’

 ‘An ant with a sting,’ Estella said stoutly. She slowly withdrew her embrace, reaching for his right hand once more, kneading it between her warm and living hands. ‘I would stand beside you now, as you face your fear,’ she said, ‘and do not fear for me, beloved. There’s more to hobbits than you give us credit for!’

 ‘Beloved,’ Merry whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. His right hand was painful, as if pins or sharp needles were being stabbed into the flesh as life and feeling returned, but he welcomed the sensation. It was better than a hand that seemed carven of cold stone, or ice.

 ‘Or do I have to dress in armour to stand beside my lord?’ Estella pressed. ‘Hide my hair under a bright helm, and wear a sword at my side... how you ever manage to walk with a sword hanging from your belt is beyond my comprehension...’

Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep within as the last of the ice melted away, and Merry swept Estella up in his arms. ‘Beloved,’ he said again, firmly this time, and his lips sought hers.

It was a long kiss, and a satisfying one, and when it ended Estella smiled and sighed, casting a sidelong glance at the sleeping hobbit in the bed. ‘A promise,’ she whispered, ‘of good things to come.’

 ‘A promise,’ Merry whispered in accord, lowering her gently to the floor.

 ‘But you have to come to bed to collect it!’ Estella warned.

Merry laughed. Estella took him then by the hand and led him to one of the chairs, perching upon his lap and sharing her loving warmth with him until, relaxing, he allowed sleep to take him at last.

***

Merry sat watching the two hobbits he loved best, peacefully sleeping, until Pippin moved restlessly and began to breathe rapid, shallow breaths. Estella raised her head, untangling her hair from Pippin’s fingers and taking his hand between hers. ‘Pippin?’ she said. ‘Pippin-love...’ It was what Diamond so often called him, when they were alone together.

Merry sat forward, taking Pippin’s left hand. ‘Pippin,’ he said in his most reassuring tone. ‘All’s well. You’re safe, cousin. The Orcs are all dead.’

Pippin became rigid and his lips moved soundlessly. Estella looked to Merry and back to their stricken cousin; she chafed the bruised hand gently, calling him to waken, but he did not seem to hear her. He gave a sudden strangled cry and was ominously still.

 ‘Merry,’ Estella gasped. ‘I cannot see him breathing!’

Merry half-rose from his chair, ready to go in search of old Ossilan, but he was arrested as Pippin shuddered, cried out, and sat fully upright, crying in a shrill and toneless voice, ‘It is not for you Saruman! I will send for it at once. Do you understand? Say just that!’

Merry knew what to expect, now, and he threw himself forward to hold Pippin on the bed as his injured cousin struggled to get up and escape. Through it all, Estella clung desperately to Pippin’s hand.

At last the struggle calmed, and Pippin lay still once more, Merry still pressing him to the bed.

 ‘Merry?’ Estella said, to be echoed by Pippin. ‘Merry? What is it?’

Merry rose slowly, cautiously, to find Pippin blinking up at him. ‘What’s this all about, Merry?’ Pippin said in a reasonable tone. ‘First your wife mistakes me for you, and then you...’

 ‘Another dream, it was,’ Estella said briskly, though her cheeks were very pale. ‘Don’t you remember?’

 ‘No,’ Pippin said slowly, shaking his head. ‘It was something terrifying, I’m sure, just from the pounding of my heart, now,’ he added, ‘but it was gone the moment I wakened, as the dreams so often do.’

Merry’s cheeks twitched; he seemed to be trying to smile, though it was a poor attempt. ‘At least they do not haunt your waking hours,’ he said.

 ‘Unlike some folk I could name,’ Estella said with asperity. ‘There are some who are so bothered at the mere thought of dreaming that they avoid sleep altogether.’

 ‘There’s foolishness for you,’ Pippin said. ‘Worrying about something that might not even come to pass...’

 ‘Enough of you,’ Merry said, standing up again. ‘I’m famished! How about some breakfast?’

 ‘Mmm, breakfast,’ Pippin said, slowly raising a hand to rub gingerly at his jaw. ‘Coddled eggs, perhaps? Or shirred?’

 ‘Both!’ Merry said with a decisive nod, ‘if that’s what you have a taste for.’

Estella rose abruptly to her feet, laid Pippin’s hand down, and skimmed around the bed to Merry. Standing on tiptoe and seizing him firmly by the ears she drew his head down for a thorough and lingering kiss while Pippin politely averted his gaze, though a mischievous smile played about his lips.

 ‘There!’ Estella said in satisfaction as she pulled away at last. ‘That’s better!’

 ‘I should say so,’ Merry said in fervent agreement.

 ‘What, naught for me?’ Pippin said, a twinkle in his eye.

 ‘Only if you’re in the depths of nightmare and cannot be wakened any other way,’ Estella said. ‘And even so, it was not my kiss you had...’

 ‘You might have fooled me,’ Pippin began, but Estella put her hands on her hips and tapped one foot in indignation.

 ‘It was Diamond’s kiss,’ she said. ‘She gave it into my charge, and I was only the messenger!’

Turning on her heel, she flounced from the room, pausing only to fling over her shoulder, ‘I’ll order the breakfast, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll eat every bite!’

 ‘She’s taking Diamond’s role much too much to heart,’ Pippin said. ‘Next thing you know she’ll be stuffing me with food...’

 ‘Since Diamond cannot be with you, she’s told my mother and Estella how best to soothe your dreams,’ Merry said.

 ‘What, kissing me?’ Pippin said in horror. ‘Not your mother...!’ He broke off and eyed Merry suspiciously. ‘Don’t you get any ideas in your head,’ he warned.

Merry laughed heartily, and Pippin smiled, well-satisfied at the fruit borne of his jest.

 ‘There are also nursery songs,’ Merry said at last, ‘and lullabies. You might as well get used to those; you’ll be hearing a lot of them in the coming months.’

 ‘Ah now,’ Pippin said with a sigh. ‘It ought to be fairly difficult for a nightmare to intrude, if I have a babe cradled in my arms.’

 ‘If you get any sleep at all,’ Merry said. ‘I’m told your father walked the floors with you for nights on end, to allow your mother some rest and sleep.’

 ‘I’ll just call upon you to provide that service,’ Pippin said airily. ‘After all, you’re not one to spend much time in your bed...’

 ‘I fear I may not be... available... so much as you might think,’ Merry said, his chin in the air. ‘You’ll have to do most of your own babe-walking, I imagine.’

 ‘Is that so?’ Pippin said in astonishment.

 ‘It is,’ Merry said firmly, and Pippin threw back his head with a hearty laugh, despite the pain it caused his battered ribs.

 ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,’ he said at last, wiping at his eyes. ‘I’d hate to think of Estella’s kisses going wanting...’

***

Merimac Brandybuck slept little these days—he was getting on in years, after all, and older hobbits don’t seem to sleep as long or deeply as younger hobbits do, though he hoped he did not yet deserve the appellation “gaffer”!

It was still dark when he emerged from the Smials and crossed the yard to the stables. He’d just check on the ponies—they’d ridden hard and fast, straight through from the Ferry to the Smials, and they’d be riding straight through on the return journey, though perhaps not at as fast a pace, now that it seemed that the Shire was clear of Orcs.

In the middle night, he’d been summoned by Paladin, who’d been receiving the reports of messengers for the better part of the evening. No hobbits were missing, and no livestock had disappeared from the environs. The hobbits of the surrounding communities were on their guard, and the Thain would call a muster at the least alarm. However, with spring planting in full swing, Paladin had decided, instead of calling a muster now, to send out a body of armed hobbits, hunters and such, to scout the wild Green Hills. They’d scour the Tookland in the direction of the Woody End, meeting up somewhere between Tuckborough and the Ferry with Saradoc’s hobbits that were scouring the Marish even now.

He’d seen a few giggling dairymaids, shawls over their heads as they crossed the yard to the byre, but no one else seemed to be about in the shadowy stables. He lit a lantern and began his inspection, one pony after another, running his hands down the legs to feel for swellings or lumps, checking for signs of chafing where harness or saddle pad would go.

Halfway through, he was startled to see a shawl-clad figure hovering at the door of the stall. He straightened, giving the sleepy pony a pat in parting, and turned to the door, wondering what a dairymaid was doing in the stables. ‘Can I help you with somewhat, miss?’

Opening the door, the figure slipped inside and closed both half-doors to shut them off from the corridor completely.

Merimac’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but beetled in concern as the hobbit let fall the shawl clutched over her head.

 ‘Aggie?’ he breathed. ‘What’re you doing here...?’

 ‘Dinny said you’d be leaving before the convocation,’ Eglantine said. ‘Since you already know the news to be shared, there’s no reason for you to stay...’

Merimac nodded.

 ‘I wanted...’ Eglantine said. By the light of the lantern he saw her swallow hard. ‘O Merry...’

 ‘Aggie,’ he said softly in acknowledgment, and waited.

 ‘I want you to take word to my son,’ she said. ‘He’s sent no reply to any of our letters, and...’

 ‘I doubt he’s read any,’ Merimac said. Perhaps Paladin had not told his wife that Pippin sent back, unopened, all correspondence from the Great Smials.

Eglantine took a sharp breath at this, but nodded. ‘I see,’ she said. After a long pause, she added, ‘He is well?’

 ‘Well is a relative term,’ Merimac said cautiously.

Eglantine smiled without humour. ‘Is he happy? Will he recover from his injuries? Is his wife good to him?’

 ‘He is well,’ Merimac said.

Eglantine’s smile was more genuine, though her eyes sparkled with tears. ‘Tell him...’ She hesitated, for there was so much to be said, and so little time. She had to return to the Smials before someone saw her, here with a Brandybuck, and stirred up the Talk.

Merimac nodded. ‘I’ll tell him,’ he said.

Stepping swiftly to his side, she laid a kiss upon his cheek, murmuring, ‘Dear Merry.’ In another moment she was gone.

Note to the Reader: Thank you for your patience. It is very difficult to type in anything on the old dinosaur. The rest of this story reposes on a yellow pad, and we have great hopes that the "working" computer will be made to work again soon. We've been promised repair some time this week. Let us hope.

Chapter 12. Cream and Honeycomb

After the early-morning dip so common in fevers, Pippin’s temperature began to climb with the sun. Though he tried to affect his usual cheer, by second breakfast his head was growing heavy once more, and by the time elevenses were brought he thought he might perhaps do better without a head altogether.

His Aunt Esmeralda watched him with well-concealed concern that grew nearly to alarm as he meekly drank the bitter potion of willow-bark, meant to give him ease and reduce the fever. ‘Peregrin-lad,’ she said softly, lifting away the cup that she’d thought would take a fight to administer. ‘Why don’t you close your eyes? Sleep would be the best thing for you, now.’

He shook his head, attempting to smile, but she saw the effort it cost him. ‘I am well, Auntie,’ he said. ‘Don’t you trouble yourself on my account!’

He didn’t want to sleep, she saw, and so she looked down at her knitting and began to croon, as if absent-minded, an old tune to be heard in the Green Hills of a starry summer night, when the flocks are in the field enjoying the mild temperatures. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his eyelids drooping, and the jerk of his head as he fought slumber. She smiled, but a moment later the white of bandages flashed under her chin and Pippin’s hand stayed her knitting.

 ‘Really, Aunt,’ he said. ‘Don’t trouble yourself.’

 ‘It is no trouble, Nephew,’ she answered, and shaking off his hand she knitted to the end of the row and stopped. ‘Now, then,’ she said, setting the work safely in her lap and leaning forward. ‘Why is it you won’t sleep, this time?’ Her tone held an echo of long-ago times when little Pip-lad would not stay in the bed, would not give in to conquering sleep, until his elders despaired of sleep themselves. She locked gazes with this wayward nephew of hers, a second son, more like, and best-beloved of all her nephews though she’d never tell anyone so.

He held her gaze as he always had, from his earliest times, though his look was somewhat more serious now. ‘Tell me,’ she urged softly.

 ‘I am well, Auntie,’ he said, and she was reminded of a stubborn lad, recovering from illness, who wanted to go out to play by the River with his cousins. She tried to look stern, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

Pip-lad would have seen the signs of impending victory and laughed, setting Esmeralda laughing with him, but this grown hobbit who lay before her, bruised and battered by creatures she shuddered to imagine, this stalwart knight laughed not, nor even smiled. He continued to look grave, and she sobered.

 ‘What is it, lad?’ she said, taking his hand gently between hers. ‘Is it the dreams? You’re safe, now, and we know how to manage those phantoms that would haunt your sleep...’

 ‘It is that, in part,’ he admitted after a pause. ‘But more, Merry...’

 ‘What about Merry?’ that hobbit’s mother asked.

 ‘He is supposed to meet Merimac in the Woody End this evening,’ Pippin said, ‘yet he has made no sign of stirring. He ought to be in the thick of the preparations! He’s the most—the most—preparingest hobbit I ever knew!’

Esmeralda laughed at this most apt description of her son. ‘Aye, lad,’ she said when she’d mastered herself once more. ‘ ‘Tis the Brandybuck in him! But I don’t hold it against him, or his father for that matter.’

Pippin looked astonished before he realised the joke, and then he smiled, a grimace rather, and gave a little cough.

 ‘Now then, lad,’ Esmeralda pressed. ‘It’s that he’s not preparing to meet old Merry in the Woody End, that you find troubling?’

Pippin leaned forward, dropping his voice though they were alone in the room. ‘Is it that I’m dying, Auntie, and no one will tell me?’ he said low.

 ‘Dying!’ she said in surprise.

 ‘For Merry to shirk his duty,’ Pippin said, ‘Merry, mind!’

Esmeralda patted the hand she held. ‘And what makes you think he’s to meet Merimac in the Woody End this evening?’ she asked.

 ‘When Uncle was here to see how I was faring,’ Pippin said, ‘Old Merry stepped in for a word, on his way to the stables the day he left Buckland, and I heard the plans.’ He moved restlessly. ‘If I haven’t lost track of the count of days, with this dratted fever, it’s tonight the old hobbit is due back from the Tookland.’

 ‘You haven’t lost count,’ Esmeralda said, ‘though I wonder, seeing as you’ve been out of your head more than you’ve been in it, of late. And yes, a Merry meeting is planned for this evening. Meriadoc is trusting to his cousin Doderic to make the preparations for the troop.’

 ‘I thought he rode down to Hay’s End,’ Pippin said.

 ‘You have been paying heed,’ Esmeralda said in surprise. ‘Well, Doderic returned from Hay’s End early this morning, took a few hours’ rest, and is organising the troop to go to the Woody End even as we speak. There’s been no more trouble in Buckland, though Merimas is directing the scouring just to make sure. They are saying the Old Forest is quiet and watchful, but not menacing as it was when your Orcs were out and about.’

Pippin shuddered at “your Orcs” and his aunt patted his hand again. ‘The Orcs are gone from the Old Forest,’ she said. ‘Merimas met Old Bombadil in the Forest just yesterday; evidently word had come to him that things were amiss. He’d walked from the Barrow Downs nearly to the Gate, and somehow the Forest bore the news to him that the Brandybucks wanted a word. He was pleased, it seems, that Merimas had ordered all sign of the creatures cleared away: holes filled in, gear swept up, ashes from their fires scattered, splintered branches trimmed, shattered trees bound up, trash carted away...’

 ‘All sign,’ Pippin murmured, his eyes hooded.

 ‘All sign,’ Esmeralda said briskly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. ‘Spring cleaning, and then some! In any event, Old Bombadil said that the horrid creatures were gone from the Forest, and that the trees, though watchful, were growing sleepy once more, which they wouldn’t, if any such filth remained.’

 ‘So Merry may go to join his Uncle Merry,’ Pippin said, opening his eyes again. ‘Or... does he stay out of fear for me?’

 ‘You are not dying,’ Esmeralda said. ‘And I’m sure my son will be in to see you this afternoon, before he rides off to the Woody End to join his uncle.’  She tilted her chin down, the better to regard him sternly from under her lowered eyebrows. ‘And so you, dearie, have no excuse but to go to sleep!’ Raising her chin slightly, she added, ‘Unless, of course, you were wanting some more of that lovely custard...’

 ‘I’ll be turning into a “lovely custard” if I eat any more of the stuff,’ Pippin declared.

 ‘Some porridge instead, then?’ Esmeralda persisted. ‘I can have them lace it with honey as well as cream...’

 ‘Honey!’ Pippin said with a shudder. He detested the stuff, as his aunt knew very well.

 ‘Aye,’ his aunt said implacably. ‘Wouldn’t that be a lovely treat! But of course, if you’re feeling sleepy...’

 ‘Indeed, Auntie, I do feel a nap coming on,’ Pippin said, relaxing back into his cushions and allowing his eyelids to close.

 ‘I thought you might,’ Esmeralda said softly. She watched as Pippin’s breathing grew more even, watched until he passed from feigned sleep to genuine slumber, gently laid his hand down and took up her knitting once more.

As it turned out, Merry did not lead the troop of Brandybucks across the Marish and into the Woody End to meet Merimac. By the time they departed, with Merimas at their head, he was again at Pippin’s side as his cousin’s fever rose precipitously and delirium claimed Pippin once more.

Chapter 13. Supper and Bed

Merimac reined in his weary pony, peering about the shadowy clearing as half a score of Brandybucks pulled up around him. They had eschewed the Stock Road, staying to less-frequented trails, but this meeting place had been pre-determined and he’d expected to find his nephew waiting instead of an obviously deserted clearing.

 ‘Late!’ Berilac muttered to the cousin riding at his side. ‘He’s for it now... he knows better than to come late to a meeting with my father!’

 ‘He ought to, anyhow,’ the cousin muttered back. ‘After the last time, he’s always been the one to be early to any meeting...’

 ‘Hush, there!’ Merimac hissed, and the younger hobbits fell silent.

The old Badger slid from his saddle, tossing the reins to his son, and hauled his bulk into the fork of a nearby tree for a better view of their surroundings. ‘Quiet,’ he said, and the others looked at one another, wondering who’d had the temerity to make noise, until he added, ‘Very quiet,’ and they knew he spoke of the woods and not themselves.

Grunting as he descended again, he quickly organised the camp. Soon ponies were tied in a hidden glen and blanket rolls were set out in the shelter of a thicket, though no fire was laid, and some of the party munched cold bread-and-cheese or sausage rolls while several others, grumbling to themselves, were climbing trees. Though they did not like heights, as a rule, they recognised the advantage of far sight.

Merimac was consulting with Berilac and Marmadic when a squirrel scolded from the branches above them. Instantly they fell silent and slipped into shadow as hoofbeats approached: a clattering of ponies. Merimac relaxed slightly; from listening to stories he knew that Orcs would rather eat ponies than ride such.

He stepped forth, recognising Merimas Brandybuck leading the troop.

 ‘Well?’ he barked softly. ‘What’s happened? Why is my nephew not come?’

 ‘Sorry,’ Merimas said, jumping from the saddle. A cousin took the reins of his pony and melted away with the others into the growing shadows surrounding them. ‘He was unavoidably detained, and the Master sent me instead.’

 ‘Detained?’ Merimac growled. ‘More of the creatures?’

 ‘No, none of that!’ Merimas said hastily. ‘As a matter of fact, Buckland appears to be clear, and the Old Forest has quite settled down again. Old Bombadil said...’

 ‘You spoke with Tom Bombadil?’ Merimac said, arching his eyebrows.

Merimas smiled and his eyes lit with wonder. ‘He is all you said he was, and more!’ he whispered. ‘Halfway to a Man in height, and his walk is a dance and his very speech is song!’

 ‘Never mind that, what did he say?’ Merimac said.

 ‘The filth has been cleansed from the Old Forest,’ Merimas answered, straightening. ‘I gave the orders myself, to clear away all sign of their being there... and we buried what was left after we burned the carcases, and salted the ground, and piled a cairn of stones over it.’

 ‘And the Rangers?’ Merimac said.

 ‘Our messengers are not yet returned from Bree,’ Merimas said, and the old Badger nodded, muttering under his breath. Fine thing it was not, to have to go all the way to Bree to contact the Watchers. Good beer or no, the Prancing Pony was an inconvenient meeting place. They ought to arrange some nearer place, a message “drop” or some such. ‘But the Master will send his son to meet them at the Bridge when word comes... if...’

 ‘If...’ echoed Merimac. ‘What has happened?’

 ‘It’s Pippin,’ Merimas said. ‘Merry fears to leave his side, for worry that the Took won’t greet him on his return...’

 ‘That bad?’ Merimac said, startled. ‘He was on the mend, when last I...’

The younger hobbit made a face. ‘That fever going around,’ he said. ‘He’s picked the worst possible time to come down with it, already weakened by his time amongst those vile creatures, and...’

 ‘And?’ Merimac said.

Merimas looked about them at the hobbits settling on their bedrolls, chewing their cold rations, and dropped his voice. ‘Old Ossilan fears his heart might fail him,’ he whispered. ‘In the throes of the delirium, you know. Why, it takes half a dozen hobbits, more even! ...just to keep him in the bed!’

Merimac snorted. ‘That hobbit has the stoutest heart of anyone I know,’ he said, ‘saving my nephew, perhaps.’

But Merimas only shook his head. ‘Out of his head he was, when I went to fetch Merry,’ he said, his countenance troubled. Of course Merry could not leave his cousin; he’d been in the thick of things when Merimas last saw him, holding Pippin’s face between his hands and pleading with his cousin to recognise him, to no avail. Pippin knew him not.  Estella, in the glimpse Merimas’d had of her before a grim-faced Saradoc had turned him out of the room, had nursed a blackening eye from her own attempts to calm the frenzied hobbit while others clung to Pippin’s arms and legs or laid themselves across his torso in an attempt to keep the delirious hobbit from throwing himself out of the bed. Saradoc had told Merimas to take the troop to the Woody End to meet his brother. Merry could not be spared.

 ‘Out of his head,’ Merimac echoed. ‘Well, Ossilan has dealt with such before. A sleeping draught, to get the hobbit past the worst of the fever...’

 The younger hobbit swallowed hard, shaking his head again. ‘You ought to have seen him… it’ll haunt my dreams for nights to come, I’ve no doubt. Shouting and screaming, fighting as if an hundred devils held him in their claws. ‘Tis not an easy death he’s having, not an easy way of dying at all, even though he’s in his own bed surrounded by those who love him...’

Merimac turned abruptly, gesturing to his son. When Berilac came up to them, he said, ‘Saddle our ponies! We’ll be riding on to the Hall this evening.’

 ‘Riding to the Hall?’ Berilac said. While part of him was happy at the thought of bath and hot supper at the end of their long ride from the Smials, he hadn’t anticipated the comforts of home for days, even weeks, yet.

 ‘Young Peregrin seems to have taken a turn for the worse,’ Merimac said, ‘and I’ve promised to deliver a message to him.’

Berilac nodded. His father had skulked about the Great Smials for half the night and into the wee hours of the morning, and when he’d returned at last to the guest quarters he had sat staring into the fire on the hearth for a long time, deep in thought, though what he was thinking he kept to himself.

 ‘How many?’ Berilac said, coming back to the point at hand.

 ‘Just yourself and your father,’ Merimac answered. ‘The Shire seems to have escaped the touch of foul Orcs’ feet, but we’ll leave the troop here in the Woody End nonetheless. They can warn the woodcutters to be on their guard and look for signs of the monsters, though I doubt they’ll find any. Organise parties to ride all the way around the Woody End. It’ll take the better part of the month, but when we’re done we’ll have been thorough and hobbits will sleep all the better for our effort.’ This last was directed to Merimas, who nodded smartly.

 ‘We’ll scour the Woody End,’ he said. ‘Here’s hoping for a long and boring time of it.’

 ‘Best of luck to you,’ Merimac said. ‘Come along, Son! Look lively!’

Berilac stepped into the thicket and snapped orders, and soon two hobbits were rolling up his bedding, and his father’s, and two others were saddling their ponies. The beasts were rather disgusted at this turn of events, rolling their eyes and grabbing for a final bite as their feedbags were taken away, but there was nothing for it. Their ill humour would disappear quick enough when their riders turned their faces homewards once more, and their pace, which had grown weary as the afternoon proceeded, would hasten at the call of stable and manger.

It was perhaps an hour’s ride to the Ferry landing, and the light of day was not yet faded from the sky as the softness of twilight descended on the Woody End. Why, though they’d have to cross the broad expanse of moon-lustered water by lantern-light, they’d be home not too terribly long after the Sun kissed the horizon, on her way to her pillow and the night’s rest.

Chapter 14. Homecoming

Quiet reigned in the sickroom, though not the silence of death, not yet, anyhow. Pippin slept in seeming peace, Merry at his side. Estella stood behind her husband, the better to hide her bruised face, her hands upon his shoulders. The Master of the Hall sat nearby, his wife beside him, their duties neglected or rather delegated to others whilst they waited for the next crisis. The healer had decreed that the next would be the last, for good or ill. Either the fever would break, or Pippin’s heart would...

Healer Ossilan did not know how the Took had survived the struggle for as long as he had. Sheer stubbornness, most likely. Much like that Baggins cousin of his, who’d had more than a drop of Tookish blood in his veins. On his final visit to the Hall, why it was nearly ten years ago now! – he’d looked to be on his last legs, and yet they’d had word some months later that he’d taken ship and sailed away with the Elves. Who’d’ve thought it?

Outside a fresh flock of watchers hovered, sitting or standing as they awaited summons. The last batch had been dismissed, wearied by their efforts and shaken by the dreams they’d unwillingly witnessed. The young master was even more of a hero in their eyes, after what they’d overheard of Pippin’s Orc-dreams: Merry had led a muster of Brandybucks against those terrifying creatures, and destroyed them!

Diamond had come twice, only to be turned away, gently but firmly. Now, watching Pippin’s peaceful face, Estella whispered, ‘We ought...’

Saradoc looked up. ‘Eh? What was that, my dear?’ he said kindly.

 ‘She ought to see him now,’ Estella said. ‘She ought to say her good-byes now, while he’s at peace. Might he not even hear her? Might he not speak a word of comfort, even as he is sleeping?’

Ossilan shook his head. ‘Pippin would be the first to insist on Diamond’s safety, and the babe’s,’ he said. ‘The fever, at this time...’

 ‘But...’ Estella argued, breaking off as her husband stiffened under her hands. Pippin was moving his head on the pillow, craning as if for a view, his eyes half open.

Ossilan stepped to the door to summon the watchers. They filed in, taking their places around the bed, though there was no need for restraint at the moment. Esmeralda leaned forward in her chair, grasping her husband’s hand more tightly as murmured words came from the bed, breaking off in a wild cry.

Gandalf! Gandalf! He always turns up when things are darkest. Go on! Go on, White Rider! Gandalf, Gandalf!

 ‘Hold,’ Ossilan hissed. ‘Not yet,’ he warned the watchers. ‘Wait... if he shows any sign of trying to throw off the bedclothes...’ He received a series of nods in reply as Pippin fell to murmuring once more.

They’ll come at once to the Tower and the Steward, I’d guess. Perhaps I can catch a glimpse if I hurry to the citadel! O but there is such a throng! What a trial it is, to be but a hobbit in a city of so many tall Men!’

Merry leaned forward, holding his cousin’s hand, while Ossilan soaked the cooling cloth and sponged the furnace heat that was Pippin’s skin. ‘Pippin,’ he whispered. ‘It is but a dream, Pippin. Come back to us, now.’

For a moment he had hopes that Pippin heard him, for his cousin sat up a little from his pillows, his eyes coming more fully open as his head turned in Merry’s direction, and he caught his breath sharply.

 ‘Pippin?’ Merry said, hope stirring.

His face! Did ever any hobbit look upon such; like unto the Kings of old he is, pale as if carven of stone, set in expression as one who has been assailed by a great fear or anguish, but has mastered it. How proud he looks, and grave! ...and how like unto his brother he is. O Merry, he looks so much like Boromir, I wish you were here to see him!

Merry’s lips moved silently as if he wished to protest that he was there indeed; but then he swallowed hard and said nothing, merely pressed his cousin’s hand.

I see now, why Beregond speaks his Captain’s name with love, why he would follow his Captain into the very fires of Doom and never quail. O Merry, he is a Man among Men; why, he is one I would follow, yea, even under the shadow of the black wings. Faramir! Faramir!

The murmur rose to a cry, and Pippin pulled his hand from Merry’s to wave as he shouted acclaim.

Ossilan put down the dampened cloth to ease the delirious hobbit back against the pillows, murmuring agreement. ‘Yes, yes, he is quite the noble figure, your Captain,’ he said, remembering the tales of the Quest he’d overheard, as the Travellers had told them to Saradoc and Esmeralda, ‘but now that he has returned to the City it is time to take your rest. Not yet time to stand to arms, but to rest...’

Pippin sank back into his cushions and sighed. ‘Rest,’ he said, ‘to rest, to sleep, in a world where there will be no dawning. Ah, Merry... will you come?’

 ‘I am coming,’ Merry said brokenly, leaning forward once more. ‘Do you hear me, Pippin? Even now I am riding to your side. The city will not fall, and the Rohirrim are riding to join the battle. Hold fast, cousin.’

 ‘Hold fast,’ Pippin murmured, his eyes closing as he relaxed into the pillows. ‘Yes, that is right. I must hold fast. Merry will come, and Frodo... he saw Frodo, you know. Frodo’s alive, still, and so long as he is doing his part we must help in whatever small way we may...’ His voice faded and he seemed to sleep again.

Merimac entered the room then, to be greeted by his surprised relations. ‘I heard,’ he said, nodding towards the bed. ‘How is he?’

He frowned at Ossilan’s whispered report, and with a nod said, ‘I think the lad’ll surprise us yet! He still has work to do before he’s done...’

He kissed Esmeralda’s cheek and straightened. ‘I go to greet my own wife,’ he said, ‘and then I’ll seek a bath, and change out of these rumpled and ill-smelling clothes, stained as they are by two long and full days of travel. When I return I’ll hope to find the lad awake, for I’ve brought messages back from the Smials for him, love from his mother and a challenge he can sink his teeth into...’

 ‘And what news of the Shire proper?’ Saradoc said, mindful of why his brother had ridden so far and so long.

 ‘News that’ll keep,’ Merimac said, and the Master nodded, relieved. Bad news would be told at once; “keeping news” could only mean that no sign of Orcs had been reported.

 ‘Good,’ he said, rising to hug his brother. ‘Have a bath and change, and make a good meal whilst you’re at it. And if the lad is still sleeping when you’re done, seek your own bed. You’ll be all the better for it in the morning, and hopefully he’ll be better, as well.’

Merimac nodded and crossed to the bed. Taking up Pippin’s hand, he said, ‘You had better be, if you know what’s good for you, young Took! Your work is just beginning, you know!’

 ‘I know,’ Pippin said unexpectedly, and Merimac leaned forward, his eyes intent. Pippin opened his eyes and said, ‘Why Uncle Badger, you’re a sight! Have you been out chasing ruffians again?’

Merimac opened his lips to reply, but Pippin’s eyes closed again and with a sigh and a smile he was once more asleep.

The old Badger put a gentle hand upon his forehead, frowning at the heat he found there, and called his name, but Pippin did not stir again.

 ‘Go, brother,’ Saradoc urged, having risen to stand behind his brother, a hand on Merimac’s shoulder. ‘Ossilan thinks the fever must break tonight; it’s run as long a course as anyone’s who’s had this particular fever that’s going round.’

 ‘Did you hear that, Pippin-lad?’ Merimac said, stroking the sweat-damp curls back from the forehead. ‘I’ll hold you to it! We’ll breakfast together on the morrow, and I’ll tell you all the news...’

***

Some hours later, Paladin wakened to soft murmurs; Eglantine invariably spoke her dreams, and he was used to such, sleeping through much of it, but this was different. His beloved wife was weeping; her breathing was ragged and tears glistened from her cheeks.

He rolled to encompass her in his arms, shushing and soothing, hoping to ease her into a better dream, but instead she wakened.

 ‘O Dinny,’ she said, wiping at her face with the bedclothes. ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to waken...’

 ‘I was already wakening,’ he said. ‘Why look at the time! ‘Twill be dawn in just a few hours more! Back on the farm you’d be stirring round the kitchen and I’d be chiding the children to hurry up their early breakfast and get to milking afore the day was half gone...’

 ‘O Dinny,’ she said again, and buried her face in his shoulder.

 ‘There-there, lass,’ he soothed, rubbing and patting her back. From the soft murmurs he’d overheard, he had a good idea of what troubled his wife. ‘He’ll come back to us someday, I know he will.’

She shook her head against him, and he felt a shudder run through her as she fought fresh sobs.

 ‘Now-then, lass,’ he said. ‘ ‘Tis truly I’m speaking. I’ve had a “seeing” about it. I know he’ll come, for I’ve “seen” him.’

Eglantine pulled back, sniffling, to peer earnestly into his face. ‘You’ve seen him?’ she said. She knew that amongst the Tooks some were given the gift of seeing things that had not yet come to pass, some more than others, but in any event it was never at will but only, seemingly, by chance. It was little spoken of, for it made other hobbits uneasy and gave credence to that old nonsense about “fairy blood”. Paladin had always been a sturdy and solid hobbit, not given to fancy.

Paladin sat up against the headboard and pulled Eglantine to his side, nestling her under his arm. ‘I have,’ he whispered stoutly, not wanting to alert any hovering servants to the fact that Thain and Mistress were awake. ‘I’ve seen him, here in the Smials.’

 ‘A dream...?’ Eglantine said softly, sniffing again. ‘I know I dream of him often, and wish for him...’

 ‘I’ve seen him, love,’ Paladin insisted. ‘Like as if I could touch him! You, you’re sitting in your chair by the hearth, stitching away, and he’s sprawled on the hearthrug at your feet, all grown up with a little child on his knee, and they’re telling the Tale, just as we did in the old days...’

Eglantine’s lips twitched in a smile as she remembered, little Pippin on Paladin’s knee, the two of them immersed in storytelling, passing the story back and forth between them, embroidering on the tale just as her fingers worked the needle in and out of the fabric she held while she listened.

 ‘And what makes me know it’s a “seeing” and not just a dream,’ Paladin said, leaning forward in his eagerness as if the vision rose even now in his mind’s eye, ‘is that he calls the lad by name, and not any name I’d have thought up...’

 ‘What name?’ Eglantine whispered, staring into the darkness as if she could conjure the same vision.

 ‘Farry! Have you ever heard such?’ Paladin said with a chuckle. ‘All I can think is that he named the lad for old Ferumbras. Ferumbrin, perhaps? In any event, I am sure that it’s no name out of my own imaginings. He’ll come back to the Smials, Aggie.’ He hugged her a little closer. ‘You’ll see. He’ll come back someday, to be Thain after me. I might not see it, myself,’ he added lower, but then Paladin was always one to acknowledge hard truths, as long as he wasn’t looking into his own faults. ‘But he will return, and his son with him. A handsome lad, Aggie! He looks so like Pippin did at that age...’

His voice had risen in his joy, and a discreet tap came at the door, and the door opened cautiously, just enough for a head to look in. ‘Would you be needing anything, Sir, Mistress?’

 ‘Naught,’ Paladin said, settling back against his pillows again, and pulling up the bedcovers more snugly over his wife. ‘Not a thing.’ He looked down at Eglantine. ‘Go back to sleep, love. And dream good dreams of hope.’

 ‘G’night, Sir,’ the old hobbitservant whispered, and was dismissed with a wave and a whispered “Good night.”

Chapter 15. The Rising Flames

Pippin had sat for hours, watching the face of the Lord Steward of Minas Tirith settle into deeply carven lines. Denethor seemed more statue than human, and he had not spoken since returning from the secret room beneath the summit of the White Tower. He sat without moving, his eyes fixed on the face of his remaining son. All the while Faramir wandered in a desperate fever.

Seeing tears glittering from the stern cheeks, the hobbit timidly ventured comfort.

Merry stirred and dragged a sleeve across his eyes as Pippin spoke. It was that darkest hour before the promise of the dawning.

Do not weep, lord. Perhaps he will get well. Have you asked Gandalf?

 ‘Pippin,’ he whispered, without much hope. Delirium was a far cry from plain, everyday nightmare.

His cousin’s voice dropped to a low, stern tone, cold as the marble walls and floors in the Houses of the Dead.

Comfort me not with wizards! The fool’s hope has failed.

  ‘No, Pippin,’ Merry said, contradicting.

 The Enemy has found it, and now his power waxes...

 ‘No, Pippin,’ Merry said, more strongly than before, leaning forward to hold his cousin’s hand more firmly. ‘He never did find it, you know, until it was too late! Frodo and Sam crept right under his nose...’ he paused, for always in this particular conversation, Pippin would put in, from the depths of his dream, He had a nose? Fancy that, I thought it was just a great Eye at the end... and then he would settle into a more peaceful sleep. But not this time.

I sent my son forth, unthanked, unblessed... Nay, nay, whatever may now betide in war, my line too is ending... And the bitter words trailed off into muttering, until Pippin started up suddenly, shouting.

Nay, I will not come down... Better to burn sooner than late, for burn we must. And I? I will go now to my pyre. To my pyre!

The watchers wrestled the delirious hobbit back down on the bed and Ossilan and an assistant tried to sponge him with cool, wet cloths, but with the strength of delirium Pippin pulled his arm from two watchers’ grasp and swept the cloths away, saying, He is burning, already burning.

 ‘Fight, Pippin,’ Merry said. ‘You wander in a fever-dream. Waken from despair into the joy of the morning!’

Pippin looked at him sadly and said, ‘The house of his spirit crumbles. Farewell!’ And he closed his eyes and turned his head away, deaf to any more of Merry’s pleas.

In his dream, Pippin knelt, wanting to say, “I will not say farewell, my lord,” but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth and he stood to his feet again, dumb. There were more words to be said, but somehow he could not say them. He had to find Gandalf, to make him understand the horror that was about to happen. Yet how could he, robbed of the power of speech?

Servants, six men of the household, came at Denethor’s hail, strong and fair; yet they trembled at the summons. But reasonable was the Lord Steward’s tone, low and gentle, trembling slightly with grief, yet nothing in it to put his servants on their guard, to alert them to the madness within. Pippin watched helplessly as they laid warm coverlets on Faramir’s bed, took up the bed and bore it from the chamber. Slowly they paced to trouble the fevered man as little as might be. Denethor, now so reduced in stature as to be leaning on a staff—somehow he reminded Pippin of Theoden as Legolas had described their first meeting, before his healing by Gandalf, but there was no time for such fancies! —and Pippin followed last of all, his mouth working silently as he tried to speak out.

Out from the White Tower they walked, as if they marched to the beat of a funeral drum, out into the courtyard, halting by the dead Tree at Denethor’s low-voiced command. They stood a moment in silent mourning, and then the Steward led them once more, out through the Citadel gate, past the guard, silent in his dismay and grief. Turning westward, they marched slowly until they came to a door in the rearward wall of the sixth circle, the locked entryway to the tombs and houses of the dead.

Pippin followed as if in a dream, down the dark and winding road by the light of the porter’s lantern, down to the House of Stewards where the servants set down their burden. Pippin watched dumbly as they lifted Faramir’s blanket-shrouded body and laid it on a table of stone, to sleep amongst the effigies on nearby tables. Denethor laid himself down beside his son, and the servants covered them both with one covering and stepped back, to bow their heads as mourners.

 What are you thinking? This is madness! Pippin wanted to shout, but silence claimed him still. His rasping breath echoed in the silent House as he desperately looked from one face to the other. He listened in horror to the Steward’s further orders: to bring wood quick to burn, and to lay it all about and beneath the recumbent bodies, to pour oil over all, and, horribly, to thrust in a torch!

He was released from Denethor’s service; had the Steward not said as much? He must find Gandalf! He turned away, and at the door encountered one of the servants who had remained on guard there. He grasped the man’s sleeves and shook him, desperately trying to form words, and defeated by silence, released the man and sped, as swiftly as his feet would carry him, back and up the winding way. All the while in the back of his mind he heard the crackling of fire, saw the hungry tongues leap up to bite and consume... What if he reached Gandalf and could not make him understand in time?

The sentinel standing near the gate of the Citadel hailed him as he went by, and he recognised the voice of Beregond. ‘Whither do you run, Master Peregrin?’

Peregrin tried to answer, but could only shake his head in frustration.

 ‘Do you have a message from the Lord of the City for Mithrandir? I have just come on duty, but I heard that he passed towards the Closed Door, following men bearing Faramir. Is it true? The Captain is dead?’

Pippin shook his head again, desperately, but Beregond said only, ‘Let me not turn you from your task. You must go down to the battle.’

Pippin pulled at his arm, trying to summon him to prevent the burning of Faramir, but he resisted, saying ‘The Lord does not permit those who wear the black and silver to leave their post for any cause, save at his own command.’

 ‘No,’ Pippin whispered, and encouraged, he tried to say more, but that word was the only one allowed him, it seemed.

The watchers surrounding the bed were fully involved, now, in keeping the sick hobbit from throwing himself down. A strange and writhing dance, it was, as the Master and Mistress of the Hall clung to each other, watching in despair. He seemed to run, and then, pulling free, he’d grasped one of the watchers, sagged for a moment, and moved his legs again as if running, his breath coming now in tortured gasps.

All the while Merry called his name, and Estella, despite the danger of flailing limbs, soothed and comforted.

And the threatening flames burned ever higher, until it seemed to Pippin that they must rise to consume him as well.

Caution: Cliffhanger ahead. If you are horrified by such, please refrain from reading until Chapter 17 is added. This chapter split itself, for reasons of length, and there's no time to type in more at the moment. Those who thrive on cliffhangers, however, are welcome to read on and "enjoy".

Technical Note: Immersing a patient with a high fever in cold water is not recommended.

Chapter 16. Drowning in Fire

The ring of watchers relaxed slowly, maintaining a loose grip, though Pippin had not moved in several moments. Quiet he lay, though not peaceful, his head thrown back until the cords stood out in his neck, his harsh gasps filling the silent room.

Ossilan raised his head from his examination. ‘He cannot continue thus,’ he said to the Master, as though there might be any question about the matter. ‘It’s dangerous, but we have got to get his temperature down.’

 ‘What is the danger?’ Saradoc said quietly, his arm tightening around his wife.

 ‘What will you do?’ Merry asked at the same time. He thought of Faramir, dying of fever during the battle for Minas Tirith, and athelas... but of course there was no hope for a miracle. Not this time. The King was far away, in Gondor.

 ‘Immerse him in cool water,’ Ossilan said.

 ‘You’ve done that,’ Merry said. ‘It made little difference... simply brought his temperature down a little before it climbed again.’

 ‘It gave him ease,’ Ossilan said. ‘Allowed him to gather strength to fight on. This fever has nearly run its course, if the others I’ve treated are any indication. But we have to bring him through to the end, and at the moment it’s burning him up.’

 ‘Burning,’ Pippin murmured, as if in agreement. The watchers cautiously tightened their hold, but he did not move.

 ‘Then what is the danger...?’ Saradoc said.

 ‘His fever is much higher than it was,’ Ossilan said. ‘The shock of the cool water could stop his heart.’

 ‘Start with warmer water,’ Esmeralda urged. ‘Allow it to cool gradually...’

 ‘I don’t think he has the luxury of time, Mistress,’ Ossilan said gravely.

 ‘Dunk him in the River if you have to,’ Merry said. ‘You’ve said his heart will fail, or burst, if the delirium continues so violent... as it has.’

 ‘The water I intend will be nearly so cold, young master,’ Ossilan said. ‘However I have no intention of drowning the lad, if I can help it.’

 ‘What are we waiting for?’ Merry said.

 ‘Merry, beloved,’ Estella said, laying a hand on his arm.

He turned to her, anger and loss clear on his face. ‘Ossilan says he’ll die anyhow, if this goes on,’ he said. ‘At least it’s a chance, my love.’

 ‘Very well,’ Saradoc said. ‘Make the arrangements.’

 ‘The large bath in the Master’s suite...’ Ossilan began.

 ‘Go ahead,’ Saradoc said at once. ‘We’ll bring him there.’

Ossilan nodded, and then he was gone.

Pippin realised slowly that he had been confused; it was not Faramir on the bed, being borne along, but himself. Yes, he could definitely feel the motion, slow and careful, so as not to trouble one so fevered.

He opened his eyes, to see Ferdibrand looking down at him, walking along, guiding the litter.

 ‘Hullo there, cousin,’ Ferdi greeted him cheerily. ‘Thought you’d slipped the escort, did you? Well, I’m wise to your tricks. You won’t escape me so easily this time.’

 ‘Ferdi,’ Pippin tried to say, but though his lips moved he was still unable to make a sound.

Ferdibrand patted him on the shoulder. ‘All is well, Pippin,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about a thing.’

Pippin had thought it was Denethor following the litter, but as he blinked to clear his vision, he realised that it was his own father and not Faramir’s that he saw. Paladin seemed much older than the last time Pippin had seen him, diminished, somehow, pressed down by the weight of his duties, perhaps.

Now Merry stepped forward, taking Pippin’s hand. ‘You cannot do this,’ he said.

 ‘On the contrary,’ Ferdi said. ‘We must! The Thain has ordered it!’ He looked to Pippin, adding, ‘I’m sorry, cousin, but you know I’ve always been one to do my duty.’

 ‘Hold!’ Merry said, but those bearing the litter did not stop or even slow their steady progress.

 ‘He’s burning,’ Paladin muttered. ‘Already burning.’ Merry’s hand closed tighter around Pippin’s.

 ‘Do not take my son from me,’ Paladin said sharply.

 ‘Da,’ Pippin whispered.

Paladin started as one waking from a trance, and the flame died from his eyes, and he wept, saying in a voice strangely like Denethor’s, ‘He calls for me!’

 ‘And you shall have your way in this, at least, Thain,’ Ferdi said. ‘At last your son shall follow the path of your choosing.’

 ‘He will not wake again,’ Paladin said. ‘He’s burning; we shall burn together, my son and I. All is dust and ashes.’

 ‘All is ready for the bonfire, Sir,’ one of the other hobbits said. ‘We need only to lie him down, and yourself beside him if you wish, and thrust in the torch.’

The litter’s motion slowed, and then stopped, and Pippin was lowered gently to the floor. It seemed to Pippin that he was lifted from the litter and laid upon icy stone that rose up to encompass him; even so he could feel the flames rising, hear the crackle of the fire...

***

As they left the room, Diamond fell in beside Merry, who held Pippin’s hand. ‘You ought not to be here,’ he said.

 ‘I’ve been standing outside,’ she said. ‘A body can bake only so much seedcake to while away the hours.’ Merry looked at her oddly, but she continued to speak. ‘Ossilan said either the fever would break, or he’d not last the night... it’s nearly dawn. Which way has it turned?’

 ‘Estella,’ Merry said, and Estella took Diamond’s arm.

 ‘Let me walk with him,’ Diamond said. ‘If these are his last hours, let me be by his side.’ She raised her voice slightly to say, ‘Pippin-love, I’m here.’

 ‘You cannot do this,’ Merry said.

 ‘I am doing this,’ Diamond countered with a cool look. ‘You go ahead, hold his hand for me, and I’ll hold your other hand, and somehow may he feel my love moving from me to him through you.’

 ‘Hold...’ Merry said, flabbergasted, but Estella nodded.

 ‘You do that,’ she said firmly, and scooting around the litter bearers she took up Pippin’s other hand. ‘Diamond’s here, cousin,’ she said. ‘She’s here with you now, do you know?’

 ‘Da...’ Pippin whispered.

Estella whispered and soothed, but he did not seem to hear her. They turned into the Master’s suite and on through to the bath room where a freshly-kindled fire crackled on the hearth and the tub of cold water stood waiting. The watchers laid the litter carefully on the floor and unwrapped Pippin from the blankets, disrobed him, and lifted him up and over the tub, easing him into the water.

He stiffened as he was immersed, nearly drowning himself as he threw his head back, and his body shook in a mighty convulsion as Merry called his name.

 ‘What is it, Ossilan?’ Saradoc demanded.

Diamond, held in Estella’s firm grip, started forward, her face white.

The old healer bent over Pippin, and time seemed to stand still. At last he whispered, ‘I cannot feel his heart beating...’

 ‘No!’ Merry cried, falling to his knees beside the tub. Diamond would have crumpled as well, but Estella held her up.

 ‘Pippin,’ Diamond sobbed. ‘Please, no...’

Chapter 17. Heart-to-Heart with an Old Badger

Pippin arose from the bath feeling remarkably well, refreshed, and clear-headed, for the first time since... he frowned. Dark thoughts did not fit the brilliant light that flooded the room, the incredible sense of lightness he felt, almost as if he could float... or fly.

‘That was exactly what was wanted, Ossilan old fellow,’ he said to the healer, who was still bent over the tub. ‘I do believe you’ve managed it, this time.’

Ossilan didn’t answer; perhaps he was weary after the long fight. In any event, he didn’t lift his head. Odd place for a nap, bending over a tub. No, wait, he wasn’t napping, but bending over a hobbit so bruised and battered as to be nearly unrecognisable. Pippin wondered who else had suffered capture by the horrible Orcs; undoubtedly they’d kept the news from him, ill as he’d been. Pippin bent closer, the better to distinguish the battered hobbit’s features, but found himself pulled away, dark thoughts dissipating as a mist might, under the assault of the bright sun.

He looked to Merry, standing beside him, and said, ‘What’s it all about, Merry? I’m feeling much better... tell me what I’ve missed.’

Merry, however, was intent on the drama playing out in the tub, the healer desperately searching for signs of life, and from the look of it, finding none.

A comforting arm slid about Pippin’s shoulders, and a rumbling voice said, ‘Steady, lad.’

He turned. ‘Uncle Badger!’ he cried. ‘You have come back! I thought you were but a fever dream, but now I see...’

‘I have,’ Merimac said cheerfully. ‘I am happy to report that the Shire proper seems to be free of vermin.’

‘Ah, that’s good news!’ Pippin cried. Turning to Merry, he said, ‘Did you hear, Merry? No more Orcs!’

Merry paid no heed. He was breathing shallowly, staring at Ossilan and the still figure in the tub, undoubtedly one of his cousins. His hands were clenched into tight fists.

‘Pippin-lad,’ Merimac said. ‘I’m afraid my time is short.’

Pippin turned back to him. ‘That’s right,’ he said, wrinkling his forehead in recollection. ‘I seem to remember you saying you had a message for me, or I had a task to do, or somewhat...’

Merimac laughed. ‘That you do, lad,’ he said, his eyes sparkling with humour.

‘I’ll get right on’t,’ Pippin promised, standing a little straighter. That was life with the Brandybucks; they loaded him down with tasks to do, gave him his head to succeed or fail on his own merit, and lavished him with praise—well, not exactly, the latter. A quiet nod on Saradoc’s part, a wink from Merimac, but from them, such was high praise indeed, and they never failed to bestow it, and refrained from pointing out every mistake he’d made along the way. Instead, they’d ask Pippin for his opinion, drawing out his thoughts on the matter, nodding as he reviewed his actions and considerations, raising an eyebrow to stop him in his narrative and spur him to deeper reflection.

Subtle, these Brandybucks, and slow to anger. They spurred the impulsive young Took to greater effort and set an example of thought before action, a deliberation in all they accomplished.

‘First things first,’ Merimac said ponderously, trying to frown, but soon giving up the effort he laughed again.

‘First things first,’ Pippin said agreeably. ‘Let us not start in the middle, for mercy’s sake!’

‘Your mother sends her love,’ Merimac said abruptly. ‘She misses you very much, though she understands why you refuse to return.’

‘Is she well?’ Pippin said.

‘Is she happy? Will she recover from her sorrow? Is her husband good to her?’ Merimac said, and paused before giving a nod. ‘She is well.’

‘What is it, Ossilan?’ Saradoc demanded.

Pippin and Merimac looked towards the tub, but the old healer did not answer. Time seemed to stand still.

‘You said you had a task for me,’ Pippin said. Somehow the tableau in the room seemed unimportant, though he ought to be feeling more concern for the bruised hobbit. The room crackled with tension, but Pippin could not shake a feeling of peace and well-being.

Merimac laughed again. ‘I do!’ he said, ‘though rather a different task than it would have been, had we breakfasted together this morning as I’d planned...’

‘Is it time for breakfast?’ Pippin said. ‘Fancy, I’m not a bit hungry.’ He stretched. ‘I feel full, and satisfied, and...’

‘Well,’ Merimac said, his smile brightening as if he knew a delightful secret. ‘You feel very well, do you, lad?’

‘I do,’ Pippin said, beaming. ‘Why, that last draught Ossilan forced down must have done wonders, for all the objectionable taste!’

‘In any event, the news I thought I must share with you would have sent you out of your bed and off to the Tookland, before you were half-healed,’ Merimac said.

‘Such news! I cannot imagine it,’ Pippin said, and added anxiously, ‘But you said my mother is well?’

‘She is,’ Merimac said, and the anxiety dissipated at once. Really, Pippin could not sustain such an unsettling emotion, in the state he currently inhabited.

‘Then what is the news?’ Pippin said.

‘I cannot feel his heart beating...’ Ossilan said gravely.

‘That I cannot tell you now,’ Merimac said. ‘I said I would have told you, and you’d’ve hauled yourself from the bed, impulsive Took that you are, listening to no one who tried to argue you out of it, and dressed yourself, kissed your wife, and flung yourself on your pony and been off on the Ferry, with no thought for the consequences.’

‘What is the news?’ Pippin said again, more urgently.

‘Of course, Merry would have followed you, that nephew of mine... always has it in his head that he’s your guardian and must look out for you, and you have indeed needed looking after, over the years, with your Tookish capacity for leaping before you look...’

‘What was the news?’ Pippin insisted.

‘And halfway across the River,’ Merimac continued, unperturbed, ‘you’d have fainted, still weak from the fever, and fallen in, and Merry, grabbing for you, would have missed his footing and fallen as well, hitting his head as he went over, and...’

‘What?’ Pippin demanded.

‘No!’ Merry cried, falling to his knees beside the tub.

‘And you’d both have drowned,’ Merimac said. ‘I was given the grace to see that, just now, and so I’ve changed my mind about telling you.’

‘So what is the task?’ Pippin said. Merimac's mind was made up about not telling the news; Pippin could tell, and from long years of experience he knew the Brandybuck would not be budged. Stubborn as a badger, old Merimac was. Might as well move on to the next topic of conversation: the task Merimac had mentioned.

Merry gave a moan, burying his face in his hands.

Pippin was torn between wanting to hear what Merimac had to say, and comforting Merry on the death of his cousin, but Merimac's arm tightened about Pippin's shoulders, commanding his attention. ‘You said there was work for me yet to do, Uncle Badger?’

‘There is work,’ Merimac said gaily. ‘You are to return to the Tookland, true, when the time is right, but before that there is a great deal of work to be done!’

‘And what is the work?’ Pippin said, trying to speak in an even tone despite his frustration. It was also nagging at him that he and Merimac both ought to be more concerned about the hobbit in the tub, but the matter seemed somehow unimportant and unrelated to the matter under discussion.

‘That’s it, young Took!’ Merimac said. ‘Curb that Tookish temper and impulsiveness! Master yourself, that you might Master the Tooks someday, or rather, be Thain to the Tooks, and even the Shire!’

‘I gave that up,’ Pippin argued, but Merimac wasn’t finished.

‘My time grows short,’ he said. ‘My work here is done. This Badger will delve no more in the dark earth, ‘tis time to burst the cocoon and try my wings!’

‘You’re making less sense than I usually do,’ Pippin said with a frown, but the old hobbit laughed, removing his sustaining arm and clapping Pippin on the shoulder.

‘Use the time well,’ he said. ‘Use it profitably. When the time comes, you’ll know it.’

‘When the time comes...’ Pippin said, confused.

‘Fine steel, that’s what you’re made up of, Pippin-lad. Fine steel, but it wants a bit more of tempering. Use the time well. Learn from my brother, and his son. But my time is nearly gone... I have no regrets. I’ve kissed my wife every morning and every evening and told her how I love her; as well as many times in between! And my sons know how I love them, and how proud I am, and my daughter as well...’ Merimac broke off to wipe a tear from his eye, but his face was strangely radiant.

‘Uncle Badger,’ Pippin said, wondering.

‘We’ll be together again at the Feast, of course,’ Merimac said briskly. ‘Bless you, lad, and that fine family of yours,’ he added. ‘Faramir, Forget-me-not and Merigrin, Jonquil with her head of bright hair as if the Sun herself had been laid in the cradle, Borogrin and Beregrin, and let us not forget little Lapis and Lazuli!’

‘I don’t understand,’ Pippin said. ‘We’d joked about the name “Faramir”, but...’

‘A fine name, for a fine Man,’ Merimac said. ‘A Prince among Men, as a matter of fact, as I’ve been given to understand!’

‘I have told you about him, I suppose...’ Pippin mused, but the old hobbit laughed.

‘A little, perhaps,’ Merimac said, ‘but only a little. I’ve been given to see much; much more than you’ve told! What a role he played, what wisdom he exercised, and mercy, and restraint; what courage he showed in the face of despair, and how wisely he rules his people, even now...’

‘How...?’ Pippin said in wonder.

‘You’ll understand someday,’ Merimac said, ‘when your days are full and the time is right. But I am called away...’ He embraced Pippin, pulling the taller hobbit’s face down that he might lay his cheek against Pippin’s in a moment of blessing.

‘Be well, lad,’ he whispered. Straightening, he stepped away, the twinkle back in his eye. ‘I’ll see you at the Feast!’

‘The feast?’ Pippin said dumbly.

‘When the time is full,’ Merimac said, but he seemed to be fading, receding. In any event, Pippin could not see him clearly, and his voice came as if from far away.

‘Pippin,’ Diamond sobbed. ‘Please, no...’

For the first time, Pippin noticed that Diamond was in the room. How could he have overlooked her? True, he’d been distracted by the injured Brandybuck cousin in the tub—who was it? And Merry’s distress, and then old Merimac had rather usurped his attention...

Now he saw his Aunt Esmeralda clinging to his Uncle Saradoc, weeping bitterly. Saradoc’s face looked suddenly old, grey with grief and long hours of watching. He held his wife close, whispering broken words of comfort.

Other Brandybucks, evidently those who’d borne the bruised hobbit to the Master’s suite and the large tub that resided there, stood about in a solemn cluster, several surreptitiously wiping away tears.

‘Diamond,’ Pippin said, ‘all’s well...’ But of course all was not well. Ossilan had said the battered hobbit’s heart had stopped beating. He tried to go to her, then, to take her from Estella, but he was feeling a strange heaviness of spirit and body, a sinking feeling, as if he might faint right through the floor and down into the depths of the earth.

Putting a hand to his suddenly-aching head, he closed his eyes, just for a moment, to see if he could muster enough strength to fight the dizziness that assailed him. And then...

Diamond stumbled forward, pulling free of Estella’s nerveless grasp. ‘Pippin,’ she sobbed. She reached the tub, bending awkwardly over her beloved, and no one tried to pull her away. She gently closed the staring eyes, then took Pippin’s face between her hands, laying her forehead against his, nose to nose, mouth to mouth, eye to eye, and there she remained, frozen in grief.

Estella moved to Merry’s side, leaning over to embrace him, her tears mingling with his.

Ossilan rose slowly, stiffly, shoulders slumping in defeat. He placed a heavy hand upon Merry’s shoulder as that hobbit wept, his hands covering his face. ‘I’m sorry, young master,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I had the wrong of it...’

Berilac thrust himself into the room. There were tears on his face; how had he heard the news so quickly?

Making his way to the Master and Mistress, he seized Saradoc’s hand, gulping. ‘My father,’ he stammered, ‘your brother...’

‘Merimac!’ Saradoc said. ‘What is it?’

‘Died...’ Berilac said brokenly. ‘Died in his sleep. My mother started up, thinking he’d called her name, and found him, still warm, but gone...’

‘Ossilan!’ Saradoc snapped, and the healer hurried from the room. Perhaps it was not too late... Perhaps there was something...

Diamond felt the faintest puff of air against her lips, and started up, exclaiming. ‘A breath!’

‘Not possible,’ Saradoc said, turning from the doorway; he’d been going to his stricken brother.

Diamond stared intently into Pippin’s face, taut with dread and hope. ‘He’s breathing!’ she insisted. ‘He is! Pippin-love, speak to me!’

Pippin’s eyelids fluttered, and his mouth opened as he began to take deeper breaths.

‘Pippin!’ Diamond said again. Estella raised her head from Merry’s to look, and then she began to whisper urgently in her husband’s ear. Merry looked up slowly, his face ravaged by grief and self-blame, not daring to hope.

‘Di—Diamond?’ Pippin whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again as the Brandybuck cousins gathered round. Esmeralda moved to the tub, Saradoc close behind.

‘Pippin,’ Merry whispered, while Diamond, speechless with joy, laid her face against Pippin’s curls and gave a shudder of relief.

Pippin straightened in the tub as he took in his surroundings, and all the staring faces ringing the tub. His head ached abominably, his body, too; he felt as if he'd been beaten against the rocks of the river like so much dirty laundry, wrung well, and plunged back into the chilly water to be rinsed. He gathered the shreds of strength remaining to him, grasped at a lingering feeling of well-being, looked from face to face.

‘Honestly!’ he said in his perturbation, not much caring that exhaustion slurred his words. ‘Can’t a fellow have a bath in decent privacy? What is the matter with all you folk?’

(3/7/05)

Chapter 18. Bed and Breakfast

Pandemonium reigned when Ossilan returned from Merimac’s apartments. He’d been surprised that Saradoc had not followed, and not a little concerned, knowing the Master’s troublesome heart. Truly he feared to find yet another stricken hobbit, but no, Saradoc was standing in the group of hobbits ringing the tub, all apparently trying to speak at once.

 ‘What is going on here?’ the old healer bellowed, when a more temperate query went unanswered.

The Master turned, his face a mixture of joy and grief. He raised his own voice to shout for silence, and was rewarded.

 ‘Saradoc, is it well with you?’ Ossilan said, stepping forward. ‘When you didn’t follow...’

 ‘Merimac?’ Saradoc said in reply. Receiving Ossilan’s head-shake, he nodded sadly. ‘He had his mother’s heart,’ he said, ‘as I do, and yet he lived a full life in spite of it.’

 ‘He did at that,’ Ossilan said, coming forward to take his arm. ‘Now, Master, if you please...’ He caught a glimpse of Pippin, sitting up in the tub, and staggered. It was Saradoc who took the healer’s arm, escorted him to a nearby chair, sat him down and called for a glass of water.

 ‘He’s—he’s—not—’

 ‘No,’ Saradoc said simply. ‘He’s not.’

Pippin resumed his plaint, which had gone unheard in the babble. ‘I’m freezing,’ he said. ‘Is this some sort of jest? The bath is stone cold!’

 ‘We had to bring your fever down, cousin,’ Estella said practically.

Pippin turned a sceptical eye on her. ‘This is exactly the sort of joke you perpetrated on Frodo, that time he visited Budge Hall,’ he said. ‘He told me all about it.’

 ‘All about it?’ Estella said, affecting surprise. To her relief and gratification, Merry began to chuckle, and the chuckle grew into a laugh.

 ‘The cold bath!’ he gasped. ‘I remember!’ On a winter visit to Budge Hall, after a strenuous afternoon of building snow-smials and throwing snowballs, Frodo had fallen asleep while reading in a tub half-full of steaming water, and when Freddy had told Estella, she’d persuaded him to add several buckets of snow to the water. Very quietly, of course. And then they had pretended that he’d slept in the tub so very long, and that was why the water had gone cold. ‘It wasn’t funny!’

 ‘Of course it wasn’t,’ Estella said primly. ‘Why, he nearly caught his death of cold... but he didn’t fall asleep in the bath ever again, and spoil one of Father’s books!’

 ‘So you added ice to my bath?’ Pippin said. Ossilan had got up from his chair and crossed the room and was now conducting an examination, or trying to, what with Pippin brushing him away as best he could.

 ‘Just well-water,’ Estella replied. ‘Quite cold enough, I think, to do the trick, wouldn’t you say, Ossilan?’

 ‘The fever’s broken,’ Ossilan answered. ‘At last!’

 ‘Then either add boiling water, or get out of the room and let me climb out of this ice-cold spring,’ Pippin said. ‘I’ve drunk water bubbling from the ground that was warmer than this!’

 ‘We’ll draw you out of the well, cousin,’ Estella said. ‘You know, you really ought to stop falling into wells; it’s not good for your health!’

 ‘Estella,’ Merry said, pulling her away and pushing her towards the door.

Esmeralda took the hint, and seeing that her husband wasn’t about to expire from all the excitement and difficulty of the night and early morning, said, ‘Come along, my dear. We’ll see what sort of breakfast we can find for all these wide-awake hobbits.’ Still talking, she escorted Estella from the room.

 ‘I’m absolutely starving!’ Pippin called after them. ‘I want a proper breakfast, mind! No custard, no gruel! Eggs, and toast, and bacon, and potatoes—’

 ‘They’re gone,’ Merry said.

 ‘I hope they heard me,’ Pippin grumbled.

 ‘If they didn’t, I’ll give you my breakfast and eat yours,’ Merry said.

 ‘I’ll hold you to it,’ Pippin warned.

Merry laughed again, falling to his knees beside the tub to hug his cousin. ‘I know you will,’ he said. ‘And welcome.’

Saradoc, ever practical, had taken up a large towel and was holding it near the tub. ‘Let us get him out of there,’ he said, ‘and bundle him back into the bed.’

 ‘Bed!’ Pippin protested.

 ‘Bed,’ his uncle said firmly. As the others lifted Pippin from the tub, he wrapped the towel around his nephew and stepped back so they could ease him down on the litter and cover him with blankets.

 ‘A litter!’ Pippin said. ‘What do you think I am? I can walk...’

 ‘You can,’ Ossilan said, ‘but you mayn’t.’

 ‘Diamond!’ Pippin said, to no avail.

 ‘O Pippin,’ Diamond said, wiping at her eyes. ‘We thought we’d lost you!’

 ‘Lost me? In a tub?’ Pippin said, amazed. ‘You weren’t looking very hard, then.’

 ‘O Pippin,’ Diamond said again.

Ossilan took her by the elbow. ‘Come along, lass,’ he said. ‘No pangs, I hope?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s astonishing, but no. All’s well.’

 ‘I could have told you that!’ Pippin said. ‘Of course all’s well!’ His voice subsided to grumbles as the watchers lifted him, something about “litter” and “perfectly all right” and “lot of nonsense” and “bother”.

 ‘I must see to Merimac and his family,’ Saradoc said.

 ‘That’s right, I thought Merry was to meet Merimac in the Woody End,’ Pippin said. ‘Did he decide to come to the Hall in search of his errant nephew?’

 ‘Something like that,’ Merry said lightly, though his heart was hollow with grief at losing his beloved uncle. He clung to the fact that he hadn’t lost his cousin as well, in the same night.

 ‘Well,’ Pippin said, ‘Give him my best!’

 ‘I will,’ Saradoc said, whereupon he made a hasty exit. He did not want to burden Pippin with the news of Merimac’s passing until the lad was a bit stronger.

 ‘Do you know, Merry, I had the oddest dream,’ Pippin said when they had settled him in the bed again, and Diamond had gone to see why breakfast had not yet arrived. Merry dismissed the watchers, who went off to their own breakfasts in amazement mingled together of joy at Pippin’s miraculous recovery and sorrow at the sudden loss of Merimac.

 ‘What? I thought you never remember your dreams,’ Merry said.

 ‘Well, almost never,’ Pippin said.

 ‘So what was special about this one, that you remember it?’

 ‘Since I don’t remember the others, I cannot tell you how this one was special,’ Pippin said, ‘but it was troubling, to say the least.’

 ‘Troubling?’ Merry said, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. ‘Well, tell “Uncle Merry” all about it then, and let him sort it out, lad.’ He swallowed hard, thinking of Merimac, but Pippin was busy rolling down the coverlet to his satisfaction (why did folk think they had to cover you up to your chin?) and didn’t see.

 ‘It was,’ Pippin said, and hesitated.

 ‘Tell away, cousin,’ Merry said. ‘Perhaps I’ll match you, dream for dream.’

 ‘Well, you were in the dream,’ Pippin said at last.

 ‘Was I?’ Merry said. ‘A voice of calm reason, I hope, and a shoulder you could lean on.’

Pippin’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace and he fell silent for the moment.

 ‘So you’ve forgot the dream after all,’ Merry observed, settling back. ‘Ah, well, breakfast ought to be arriving at any moment to entertain us instead.’

 ‘No...’ Pippin said slowly. ‘It’s just very odd, that is all. I was on my way to Tookland...’

 ‘That is odd!’ Merry said, ‘...seeing as how you swore you’d never darken the Great Door again...’

 ‘...and you were with me,’ Pippin said, his eyes seeing something far away. ‘You were arguing with me about something, I don’t remember what it was, saying I wasn’t fit or some such, and we were on the Ferry...’

 ‘Seeing how you ran the Ferry aground the last time you steered it, I’m not surprised,’ Merry observed, crossing his arms.

 ‘But the Ferry hit a floating log,’ Pippin said, ‘and for some reason I lost my balance, and fell, and...’

 ‘And?’ Merry said after a pause.

 ‘You grabbed for me, of course,’ Pippin went on.

 ‘Of course,’ Merry said. ‘One of us has got to keep a cool head in an emergency.’

 ‘And you fell,’ Pippin said, ‘and you hit your head in going over, and there we were, the both of us, in the River... and the Ferry floating out of reach with our ponies staring at us in astonishment, and...’

 ‘And...?’ Merry prompted again. ‘Sounds quite exciting.’

 ‘I grabbed at your collar and started to swim,’ Pippin went on, slower, ‘but the bank kept getting farther away.’

 ‘You were probably swimming for the wrong bank, then,’ Merry said lightly, for he could see that his cousin was troubled.

 ‘It was so real, Merry! I couldn’t tell I was dreaming; it felt as if it were really happening. My arms and legs were like lead, and the water was so dreadfully cold...’

 ‘Must have been the bath water,’ Merry said reasonably. ‘You weren’t aware of much of anything when we put you in, drowning in delirium as you were, and hot as a furnace—’

 ‘Drowning, yes, that was it,’ Pippin said. ‘I was drowning, and that meant that you’d drown too, knocked on the noggin as you’d been, and...’

 ‘It didn’t happen, Pippin,’ Merry said, uncrossing his arms to put a reassuring hand on Pippin’s arm. ‘It was just a dream.’

 ‘But it was so real,’ Pippin insisted. ‘I wonder what it means?’

 ‘Does it have to mean something?’ Merry asked.

 ‘If it’s the one dream I’ve remembered, in all my years of dreaming—and you say I dream, you and Diamond both have told me that I talk in my sleep...’

 ‘Almost as incessantly as you chatter in your waking hours,’ Merry said agreeably.

 ‘So I wonder...’ Pippin said. He rubbed at his head, and Merry could see that an ache was settling in there.

 ‘It means that you’re not to go back to the Tookland any time soon, I guess,’ he said, keeping his tone light. ‘Which is a good thing, seeing as you’re resolved not to go back there.’

 ‘I could go back...’ Pippin said. ‘I could... I’m doing well as steward, or so your father and Uncle Badger say... but then Uncle Badger says I need more tempering before I go back to face my father and his demands.’

 ‘And he’s right,’ Merry said. ‘You’ve managed your temper remarkably well, but then you’ve been among Brandybucks and not stubborn Tooks...’

Pippin’s mouth twisted again. ‘Uncle Badger caught me last week, having acted without thinking and losing my temper at the consequences,’ he said.

 ‘You see?’ Merry asked. ‘He was right. You could use a bit more tempering. If you lose your temper, dealing with old Paladin, you’ll lose yourself.’

 ‘Aye,’ Pippin said softly, the lilt of Tookland stronger in his voice. ‘He seeks to make me over, to drum all the dreams out of me, that I might be all practical and prudent.’

 ‘Nothing wrong with prudence,’ Merry said.

Pippin sighed. ‘Naught,’ he agreed. ‘But to be a solid and serious, unimaginative hobbit... to leave all dreams and imagination behind... ‘twould take all the joy out of life.’

 ‘You, serious?’ Merry said. ‘I cannot imagine.’

 ‘Nor can my father... imagine, that is, and that is all the trouble,’ Pippin said. ‘He used to tell such stories, Merry! He used to dream, but the Thainship drummed all that out of him. Now he’s like an old plough-pony, walking with his head down in the furrows, too bowed down to see the sun on the daisies.’

 ‘Pippin...’ Merry said.

 ‘Probably would plough the daisies under, as a matter of fact,’ Pippin said, ‘useless bits of brightness; why not, when the field could better grow barley instead?’ He looked up in one of his lightning changes of mood, with a laugh, saying, ‘So I’d better not go back to the Tookland, at least not right away! Too many daisies in Buckland, and not enough barley! I’ll have to remedy that before I go.’

 ‘Mercy,’ Merry said under his breath, but he chuckled as he realised Pippin was joking.

 ‘Breakfast!’ Estella caroled from the doorway, Diamond on her arm. ‘We have worked our fingers to the bone, slaving over a hot stove, to bring you such a breakfast as you’ve never seen!’

Behind them servants carried loaded trays, enough for six hobbits, for Master and Mistress would join them for breakfast.

 ‘Seedcake!’ Pippin said, his eyes lighting with joy. ‘Who ever heard of seedcake for breakfast!’

 ‘And eggs, and bacon, and potatoes, as ordered,’ Estella said. ‘The seedcake is compliments of your wife, who knows you adore the awful stuff.’

 ‘Stayed up half the night baking it for you, my love,’ Diamond said with a blush.

 ‘My darling!’ Pippin said. ‘Now I know all over again why I married you and not that other wench my father picked out for me to marry!’

 ‘Hmph!’ Estella (as “the other wench”) said. ‘At least I have a sensible husband who likes apple tart as much as I do!’

 ‘Apple tart for breakfast?’ Merry said.

 ‘Well, it was to be for tea,’ Estella said, sobering slightly. Apple tart, being Merimac’s favourite, had been planned for teatime to welcome him home. Brightening determinedly, she said, ‘but it’s always best when still warm! So when we saw some on the cooling trays, we just added it to the breakfast plates!’

 ‘Eminently sensible,’ Merry said, getting up to put an arm around his wife. ‘I can see I married the right lass.’

 ‘And I,’ Pippin said, holding out his hand to Diamond. ‘And I.’

Epilogue

S.R. 1434, The Great Smials, Tookland

It would be the talk of the Tooks for years to come. Pippin had returned to Tookland upon the death of his father, to take up the position of Thain. Ferdibrand, released from the Ban, had not left the Great Smials, as many predicted, but rather had become the head of Pippin’s escort. Ferdi had not chosen the post but had been ordered to it by the Steward, or so the talk went, but he was a loyal Took and would do his duty, no matter how distasteful. In one sense it was fitting. Ferdi had been restored to the position he’d held the day Pippin left Tookland, just as Pippin had been restored to his place amongst the Tooks.

Now the new Thain reclined on the hearthrug, small son in his lap, and the two were passing a tale back and forth while Diamond sat to one side, mending a tear in the knee of Farry’s breeches, and Eglantine sat at the other side of the hearth, working at a piece of intricate embroidery.

 ‘And the hobbit pulled aside the bushes, and he saw...’ Pippin said with a grin.

 ‘An Elf, sleeping!’ Farry shouted.

 ‘An Elf? Sleeping?’ Pippin said. ‘Do they sleep, truly?’

 ‘This one was,’ Farry said with a decided nod. ‘He was sleeping, and there was a feast on a blanket beside him. And the hobbit...’ He stopped and looked expectantly at his father.

 ‘And the hobbit said, “Excuse me, Sir, but I was wandering, lost, and I haven’t had anything to eat in so very long. Might I...?’

 ‘But the Elf didn’t waken,’ Farry said. ‘He was very tired, you see, for he’d stayed awake past his bedtime the night before. So the hobbit...’

 ‘...walked all around the blanket, his mouth watering at what he saw there.’

 ‘How polite he was,’ Eglantine said. ‘He didn’t think of helping himself, did he?’

Pippin smiled, leaning back against his mother’s chair. ‘He thought about it, of course,’ Pippin said, ‘but he knew that it wouldn’t be right. Why, it would be stealing, wouldn’t it, Farry?’

 ‘Speaking of staying awake past someone’s bedtime...’ Diamond said with meaning, tucking her mending neatly away in the basket.

 ‘Aw, Mum! We were just...’

 ‘We were just getting to the good part,’ Pippin agreed. ‘But it’ll be even better on the morrow, lad, you see if it’s not! Why, I’ll spend half the night thinking up what sort of food was in the feast...’

Diamond rose and held out her hand. Farry jumped up from his father’s knee and swarmed over his grandmother’s lap, laying a hasty kiss upon her cheek. ‘G’night, Gran!’ he said.

 ‘G’night, lovie,’ Eglantine answered, her eyes bright. Pippin started to say something, but waited until Diamond had borne their son out of the room.

 ‘What is it, Mum?’ he said gently as Eglantine dabbed at the corner of one eye.

 ‘It’s naught,’ she said, ‘just that...’ She swallowed down tears and gave a sigh. ‘Your da dreamed of this moment, years before your return.’

 ‘Dreamed?’ Pippin said, puzzled. ‘He knew I’d never come back, to live under him as Thain.’

 ‘So it might have been,’ Eglantine agreed slowly, ‘and yet he saw you there, by the hearth, Farry on your knee. He even knew the lad’s name, though he thought it was shortened from Ferumbrin or some such. How ever did he know?’

The fire popped, and Pippin picked up the poker and jabbed at the logs, stirring up the flames to fresh brightness. ‘We sent word back when Farry was born,’ he said.

 ‘No, this was before he was born,’ Eglantine said.

 ‘Before we’d even named him?’ Pippin said, astonished. He thought back to Frodo, and one of the dreams his cousin had related, a dream of Gandalf, walking atop a tall Tower...

 ‘Such things are not unheard of, amongst the Tooks,’ Eglantine said, her eyes strictly on her stitchery. Her mother had warned her against marrying into the Took family, after all, and it was difficult to talk about such strange and unhobbity things. But then a smile tugged at the side of her mouth, remembering Paladin’s joy, before she said thoughtfully, ‘Farry. Faramir. How ever did you come up with such a name?’

 ‘Faramir is a great Prince in the Southlands,’ Pippin said. ‘I’ve told you about him, I’m sure.’

 ‘The Captain,’ Eglantine said slowly. ‘I remember, just a bit. And Frodo spoke of him as well, that he’d taken him prisoner and let him go again.’

 ‘Frodo told you that?’ Pippin said.

Eglantine smiled. ‘It was after one of your nightmares,’ she said softly. ‘You were sleeping in, after a restless night, and I asked Frodo what it all meant. He told me something of the Man you’d been dreaming of... I suppose I can understand your naming a son in his honour, though a more unhobbity name I’m sure I couldn’t imagine.’

 ‘We had joked about that,’ Pippin said, ‘when we were choosing names. If it had been a girl, Diamond wanted the name “Estella”, but we couldn’t agree on a lad’s name...’

 ‘And so how did you decide?’ Eglantine said.

 ‘It was something Uncle Badger said,’ Pippin said. ‘Oddly enough, he was the first to treat the name seriously, not as a jest. “A fine name, for a fine Man. A Prince among Men, as a matter of fact!” I thought he was having me on, but he was perfectly serious.’

 ‘When was that?’ Eglantine said. ‘I was given to understand he passed away some days before the babe was born.’ They hadn’t been able to attend the memorial, as it was during that Orc trouble, when travel was restricted for the duration of the emergency. It was a good month before Paladin was confident that the Shire was entirely clear. But it would be better not to mention Orcs to her son...

Pippin looked puzzled. ‘You know, I don’t quite remember,’ he admitted. ‘It would have had to have been...’ He thought back, and shook his head. ‘Probably over tea,’ he said, ‘or when I visited him at the diggings. I don’t remember, exactly, only that he seemed to find nothing amiss in such a name.’

 ‘Ah,’ Eglantine said. She had come to the end of her thread and now laid down her needle. ‘I believe I’ll take myself off to bed as well.’

Pippin scrambled to his feet, leaning to kiss her cheek. ‘Rest well, Mother,’ he said. ‘Pleasant dreams, and I hope to see you bright and early!’

He never said “I’ll see you,” but always “I hope,” or so Eglantine had noticed. Her son had grown in sorrow as well as wisdom over the years, though he still turned a countenance of cheerful whimsy to the world. He never took a new day for granted. Each day was a new gift.

***

After checking in on Faramir, now washed and tucked up, Pippin told Diamond, ‘I’ll just take a walk about the Smials, see that everything is in order.’

 ‘Don’t be late for late supper,’ Diamond said with a smile.

 ‘Why do they call it “late supper”, then?’ Pippin asked in a reasonable tone.

 ‘Go on with you!’ Diamond said, and laughed.

 ‘I’ll meet you in the great room,’ Pippin said, taking her hand to kiss her fingertips; and releasing her he was off.

Pippin walked down one tunnel after another, acknowledging the greetings of the hobbits he met. No one was astonished to see him as they had been in the beginning; by now the Tooks and servants were growing used to his evening wanderings.

He found himself near the infirmary, and on an impulse turned in there. A few elderly Tooks sat at the tables in the sitting room, playing at draughts or other quiet games, reading or knitting or talking or just sitting and enjoying the fire on the hearth.

 ‘Yes, Sir, were you wanting anything?’ an assistant said, standing up quickly and crossing the sitting room to meet him.

 ‘Just checking in,’ Pippin said. ‘How’s Uncle Ferdinand this evening?’

 ‘Just as he ever was,’ the assistant said. ‘I’ll tell him you asked after him...’

 ‘No need,’ Pippin said. ‘I’ll tell him myself.’ He smiled and walked past, dismissing the assistant with a nod. No need for escort; he knew the way. He’d been there only a night or two earlier, after all, on the evening of the day his family had arrived from Buckland.

He’d wanted to talk to old Ferdinand about Ferdi, but Ferdi had been present at the time. Pippin had since learned that Ferdi always spent late supper with his father. This would be a good time to talk to the old hobbit, an hour or two before Ferdi was due to arrive.

He settled into the chair by the little hearth in old Ferdinand’s room, accepted the mug of tea the minder brought him, and dismissed her politely. ‘We’ll call if we need anything,’ he said. ‘Close the door as you leave.’

After the door closed, Ferdinand snorted. ‘They’re sure to listen at the door, now,’ he said.

 ‘Then let us give “them” an earful, shall we?’ Pippin said, and the old hobbit chuckled.

 ‘What did you want?’ Ferdinand said. ‘Am I to expect a visit every other evening? Are you making up for long neglect, having stayed in Buckland so long?’

 ‘I tried to talk with you, the other evening,’ Pippin said, getting right to the point. Ferdinand had always been plain-spoken, much like Paladin. Perhaps that’s why the two had become such fast friends, in the old days.

 ‘Seemed to me you were talking just fine,’ Ferdinand said unexpectedly.

 ‘Nine years,’ Pippin said bluntly. ‘Nine years, Ferdi was under the Ban. The Tooks must think—’

 ‘When did you ever worry about what the Tooks think?’ Ferdinand said.

Pippin hesitated. ‘My da...’ he said.

 ‘Your da did a lot of things,’ Ferdinand said, ‘mostly good, as a matter of fact. He kept the Tookland free when the rest of the Shire was in chains to that Sharkey and his louts. He took over Tookland from Ferumbras, took it over shabby and dusty and overgrown and full of cobwebs, and it was no easy task for him to restore the pride of the Tooks, let me tell you! Why, they’d got so lazy and sloppy under Ferumbras, it was...’

 ‘But he put folk under the Ban as didn’t deserve it,’ Pippin argued, ‘and he...’

 ‘Ferdi's Ban was the worst injustice,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Not my son's fault, not all—you tricked him, and Paladin punished him for it. And then something happened to the hobbit, after you swore you’d never return. He changed, somehow. He wasn’t the hobbit I’d known...’

 ‘He changed after he became Thain,’ Pippin said, but the old hobbit shook his head.

 ‘He still came to see me,’ Ferdinand said. ‘He’d visit me, regular, every few days, talk over old times, offer comfort. But after you left, he was hard as stone and twice as cold, and I could probably count the number of times he came to see me on the fingers of one hand... had I a hand anymore, that is.’

 ‘So it’s all my doing,’ Pippin said with a frown.

 ‘Nay, lad,’ Ferdinand said, ‘though he blamed you. Something happened to him when you left. He had one of his rages, and fainted in the middle, and took to his bed for a few days, and when he got up...’ Though he still looked at Pippin, he was, rather, looking through the young Thain, looking into the past, perhaps, looking for a friend who’d been long lost to him. ‘It was as if a part of him were gone.’

 ‘A part of him...’ Pippin echoed, puzzled.

Ferdinand nodded. Still looking far-away, he murmured, ‘Sorry and Merry, Dinny and Dinny... what’s become of us? We swore naught would ever part us. Now I’m the only one left, I, who looked to be the first to leave.’

Pippin sat silently, until the old hobbit shook himself slightly, swallowed, and looked up. ‘How about another sip of that tea?’ Ferdinand said.

Pippin immediately lifted Ferdinand’s mug to his lips.

After a sip, Ferdinand said, ‘But then, I always knew you’d be back. I was that surprised when you didn’t return after Merry came to me, but then I heard Merry had passed on in his sleep...’

Pippin realised, after the first shock, that Ferdinand was referring to Merimac.

 ‘I figure that you never got my message, or your mother’s.’

 ‘My mother’s?’ Pippin said numbly.

 ‘To come home,’ Ferdinand said quietly. ‘To release my son from his... If you’d heard of Paladin’s doings, you’d have come home, you’d have taken the blame, you’d have seen Ferdi set free.’

 ‘You seem to have a lot of confidence in me,’ Pippin said wryly.

 ‘Not my confidence,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Merry’s.’

 ‘Merry’s?’ Pippin said.

 ‘Aye,’ the old hobbit said. ‘I can still hear him, as if he were here in the room with us, and had just spoken. “You ought to see the hobbit he's grown into: upright, honest, reliable and conscientious. He'll probably drag me back by my collar, before I've even changed into a fresh shirt for the return journey...”.' Ferdinand's voice sounded eerily like Merimac's as he spoke Merimac's words, and then he resumed his own voice. 'But of course, you didn’t drag him back...’

 ‘I didn’t know,’ Pippin whispered.

 ‘Of course you didn’t, lad,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Don’t you understand, I realised what had happened, as soon as Aggie brought me the news that Merry was dead.’

Again Pippin felt a shock, but he nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Uncle Badger died in his sleep the same night he arrived in Buckland. We were to have breakfasted together.’

 ‘And so the message went amiss, by just a few hours,’ Ferdinand said. ‘It would ha' made four years’ difference, to Ferdi. But it cannot be helped.’

Pippin remained silent.

 ‘It cannot,’ Ferdinand said more strongly.

 ‘Can it not?’ Pippin said.

 ‘You won’t do yourself nor any other any bit of good, wallowing in blame,’ Ferdinand said pointedly.

 ‘How do I—’ Pippin said, but the old hobbit wasn’t finished.

 ‘You go on,’ Ferdinand said. ‘You cannot plough a straight furrow, looking behind you. You don’t put a saddle on a pony backwards, unless you’re a foolish tween, that is...’

Pippin smiled faintly at this reminder. ‘You heard about that,’ he said.

 ‘Tooks like to talk,’ Ferdinand said. ‘So I say, give them something to talk about! Give them a future to look forward to, and something to build on! Paladin gave them back their pride, and you...’

 ‘And I?’ Pippin said.

 ‘I’m sure you’ll work it out,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Now how about another sip of that tea before it cools so as to be undrinkable?’

***

Before Ferdibrand arrived to feed late supper to his father, Pippin said his good-nights and wandered the tunnels of the Smials awhile longer. He found his steps turning to the Thain’s study once more. The room was cold, the hearth cleaned and a fire laid fresh for the morning, one lamp left burning, turned down so that shadows loomed huge on the walls.

A large book with a finely-tooled cover of yellow leather lay in solitary splendour upon the Thain’s desk, and he nodded. Several births had occurred over the course of the week, and it would be the Thain’s task to record the names of the newest additions to the Took family.

He turned up the lamp and sat down at the desk, opening the Book, idly turning the pages, smiling at familiar names as they brought long-told stories to mind. He sobered, seeing a name crossed out of the Book, and pages later, another: Tooks who’d been exiled, cast out of the family for some serious reason and banished, much as Smeagol’s grandmother had banished him. In one case a name written in Ferumbras' hand had been crossed off, but then Paladin had written him back into the Book. An outcast, hired by Lotho, who'd saved Pippin's life in the Battle of Bywater, mortally wounded in the deed. He'd been welcomed back into the family of the Tooks shortly before he breathed his last. Pippin stopped a moment in remembering, tracing the name with a thoughtful finger. Perhaps his father had crossed him out... and written him in once again?

He came to the year and month of his own birth, the lines written in Ferumbras’ hand. Turning the last leaf over to find his own entry, his hand trembled. He fully expected to see a black line drawn through his name, as his father had threatened, the last time he had defied the old hobbit. He had never returned to Tookland, after all, and Paladin’s bitterness against his son had been spoken of as far as Buckland.

With the recent thaw... Certainly they’d reached an understanding of sorts, when Paladin had visited Buckland about two years ago, to beg his son to return, rather than ordering him—such a change!

But Pippin, grown into his confidence, had stayed in Buckland. No longer afraid of losing himself in his father’s demands, he’d stayed because he was valued, nay, needed. He filled an important position, he made a contribution, and he owed something to the Brandybucks for the time they’d invested in him, and their faith that he’d turn out well, all those years when the Tooks thought him a fool and wastrel.

He blinked to see his name, in Ferumbras' writing. Born to Eglantine Banks and Paladin Took, son, Peregrin. For all his father's threats and bluster, the name stood. His father had not blotted him out of the Book.

He’d embraced his father on Paladin’s departure from Buckland, that last time he’d seen his father, true. There had been healing, and love, and forgiveness between them. But he’d never planned to go back to Tookland. He still wasn’t sure what he was doing here, but he’d do the best he could for the hobbits of the Shire. If Frodo could go all the way to the fiery Mountain, surely Pippin could do this little bit.

At last he came to the pages filled four years previously. He noticed the spacing between lines, and thought to himself that there might be room, there, to squeeze Farry’s name in. He was a proper Took, after all, whether or not he bore a Tookish name. His name belonged in the Book.

Reaching the page he sought, he ran his finger lightly down the lines, noting the Tooks born in the same span of days as Farry, all written in his father’s familiar hand. His breath failed him as his finger stopped.

Faramir, he whispered. He swallowed hard, and tears stung his eyes as he read his father’s careful scribing.

1. April 1430, born to Diamond north-Took and Peregrin Took, son, Faramir.

Story taken offline for editing.

Prologue
The background to this story is Seeing the Forest for the Trees. It shouldn't be necessary to read that before reading this, but if you're interested in reading more, here's the link:

http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterlistview.asp?SID=342

Seeing the Forest for the Trees by Lindelea
Merry and Pippin investigate strange doings in the Old Forest after they return to the Shire. Darker than the usual "Young Steward" story. Extreme angst.

This story takes place concurrently with events in "Jewels" (in draft form on fanfiction.net under authorname "Lindelea1") and "Flames" (here at SoA). The stable fire referred to in this story is described in detail in "Jewels".

Chapter 4. Just in Time for Tea
Pippin's dream draws heavily from "The Uruk-Hai" in The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter 11. Merry Meetings
Pippin's dream, of course, includes text drawn from the original chapter "The Palantir" in The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter 14. Homecoming
Some material in this chapter is taken from "The Siege of Gondor" in The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Paladin's "vision" draws from JRRT's accounts of Frodo's prophetic dreams (and vision of Samwise in the future, after he's gone from Middle-earth), and is influenced by Pearl Took's marvellous story "While We Dwelt in Fear", also found here on SoA(http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterlistview.asp?SID=586), in which she explores Tolkien's mention of the Tooks' "fairy blood".

Chapter 15. The Rising Flames
Material in this chapter is taken from "The Siege of Gondor" in The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Paladin makes his peace with Pippin in Chapter 48 of "Jewels", found here:
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/1275709/48/

Chapter 16. Drowning in Fire
Material in this chapter is taken from "The Pyre of Denethor" in The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter 18. Bed and Breakfast
The story of how Pippin nearly married Estella is found in "Jewels". (Click the link for Chapter 1, on fanfic.net in draft form.)

(3/7/05)