A Healer's Tale

Author's Note: Thanks to those who previewed this on LJ and convinced me that this story was worth pursuing.

Prelude: Deathwatch

Why would anyone want to be a healer to the Tooks? It is the question I find myself asking more often than not, especially in the depths of the night when sleep is elusive and my love is deep in dream—“sawing logs” as he puts it, but “rolling thunder” would be more like.

Often my ruminations go on... healer to the Bankses, now there’s a fine and solid Shire family. The Burrowses, they’re a sensible lot. The Bracegirdles, now, they’re rather sour and liverish and likely to refuse to pay anything if they don’t like what a healer tells them. And should the patient die—O my! Well then, it’s worth your own life to ask them to pay anything for your time or medicines!

A sigh from my patient brings me back to the matter at hand, poor lad, poor ruined lad, a shadow of what he once was. Sunken eyes blink open, a bony hand gropes for mine, gives a squeeze of comfort—Him! Offering comfort to me!

 ‘Is there anything you be needing, Sir?’ I ask, trying for a matter-of-fact tone, and I see the ghost of a smile cross his face.

 ‘Sweet Woodruff,’ he whispers.

 ‘None of your nonsense, now, lad,’ I say automatically, and the smile brightens.

 ‘Diamond?’ he breathes, and I move my hand to take up his, giving a gentle squeeze. Brittle as bird bones, it feels, and as likely to crumble in my grasp.

 ‘She’s sleeping, Sir,’ I say. ‘I sent her off to her bed some hours ago, and young Farry as well. I don’t want them making themselves sick with worry, and the Mistress with that new life growing inside her...’

His look grows far away, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Of course, it’s not too long before he tells me. Tooks and their Talk. If you don’t know what’s what, just wait and listen and soon you’ll know more than you ever bargained for.

 ‘A son, I wonder,’ he says, and his smile dims, though his eyes are dry. His face brightens again as he adds, ‘perhaps a little daughter. I do hope it is, for my darling’s sake.’

A son who’ll never know his father, I think. That’s the dimming of the smile. A daughter to remember him by, and to give comfort to her mother. But what I say is, and in the briskest tone I can manage, ‘As you’re awake now, Sir, let us make good use of the time. A little sip of something, a little sup?’

He makes a face and I remember the little imp I once knew, seeing them as if they were there in the room, my Mistress trying to coax a draught into a young lad who’d been dragged from the icy grasp of a well. I know there’s little point in it; he gave up eating some days ago and simply waits now, the release that death will bring.

He has fought long and hard, and bravely too. But in the end the pain had the victory; it gnawed away at his strength until strength of body was gone and he continued on will alone, and then it ate up his will until there was nothing left, save those eyes, looking into a place I cannot see.

I squeeze his hand to call him back once more. ‘A little sip,’ I say more firmly. ‘At least a little water. You promised Master Meriadoc that you would greet him on his return.’

 ‘I told him I’d try,’ he whispers, his head moving restless on the pillow before he stills again. ‘Told him...’

I give his hand another squeeze and release it. He is already propped up with cushions to ease his breathing—what little breathing he’s allowed by his ruined lungs. I pour out half a cup of pure, cold water, drawn fresh less than an hour ago. I’ve given orders for fresh water to be brought on an hourly basis, you see. I let it trickle into the cup, hoping the sound will entice him.

It seems my hopes will be answered this time, for he does not turn his face away as I lift the cup to his lips. But then, neither does he sip.

 ‘Drink,’ I say, and hope my voice does not reflect my desperation, nor my sorrow.

He closes his eyes wearily.

 ‘Drink,’ I say, ‘for Merry’s sake, if not for your own.’

I’d say “for Diamond’s sake” but for the fact that she’s already given him up. Heart-sick for watching his suffering, she has fought down her own need, her own sorrow, her own desire, and given him leave to be leaving her. No longer will she plead with him to fight on, to stay. The price he’s paying is too high.

And with his wife, the last bastion of the Tooks, fallen, it seems a hush has descended upon the Great Smials, a dreadful waiting where scarcely any dares to draw breath, as we await the passing of the Thain.

Chapter 1. New Life from the Ashes of the Old

The tween stared in dismay, pestle hanging unnoticed from her fingers.

 ‘O no you don’t!’ old Rosie Bracegirdle snapped, and darting forward she snatched the pestle away before it could fall.

 ‘I—I’m sorry,’ the tween stammered, making no effort to keep her voice steady. In fact, it was all she could do to stop herself bursting into tears.

 ‘Sit yourself down afore you fall down,’ the old healer grumbled, pushing the tween into a chair. Her face softened slightly for a moment before she fixed her frown in place once more. ‘Now, then,’ she said. ‘It’s not as if the world is ending or the king’s come back. Sweetbriar is a good healer, they say, for all she’s a Took, and she’ll give you a good home.’

 ‘You’re selling me,’ the tween said, blinking away the treacherous tears. ‘Seven years...’

 ‘That’s the usual arrangement for apprentices,’ Rosie said, turning away and busying herself with the teakettle. She was busy for quite awhile, turning back only to offer a clean handkerchief, taking up mortar in return, briskly grinding up the herbs there, pouring and stirring and adding a dollop of honey and stirring again, finally presenting the tween with a steaming cup. ‘Drink that down, now!’

 ‘But—’ the tween said desperately. ‘Seven years—’ She pushed away the cup, nearly spilling it. ‘I’m nearly of an age to marry—’

 ‘I don’t see any suitors beating a path to the door,’ Rosie said with asperity. ‘Perhaps one of them daft Tooks will take a fancy to you and buy you free of your agreement.’

 ‘But—’ the tween said again.

 ‘Drink up, lass!’ Rosie snapped. ‘I didn’t make that up for my health, and if’n you waste it you’ll have a beating to mind you to do better in future.’

  ‘Yes’m,’ the tween murmured, dropping her hot eyes. She drank up all the mixture, and it was soothing indeed, as she well knew it would be. After all, hadn’t she sought out the herbs herself, per the old healer’s orders?

So it was, next day, the tween found herself walking alongside the sway-backed pony as fat old Rosie rode and lectured her on her responsibilities and blessings.

 ‘...took you in, I did, when no one else would have you,’ she said self-importantly, wagging a finger. The old pony twitched an ear and shook his head; many’s the time he’d heard this speech before.

 ‘Family dead of the fever, and you and your littlest brother and sister half-dead,’ she muttered, ‘and who’s to take you all in? The littlest found homes easy enough, but a great teen, who’d want a great teen, eating up all there is in the pantry! No living relations close by—your father ought to have had the good sense to have brothers and sisters, he ought, and as for marrying a hobbit he met in Michel Delving when he went to vote for the Mayor! Hmph! It’s no wonder no good came of it all. Who knows anything about your mother’s relations? Bad blood, I warrant!’

The old healer’s snort came at the same time as the pony’s and the tween might have laughed at such a thing had she not been feeling so miserable.

It was a long way to Whitwell, and they slept that night and the next under the stars, for old Rosie wouldn’t pay to stay at an inn and the weather was mild enough that she didn’t have to ask for lodging at a farm house and be beholden to anyone therefore.

Rosie reminded the tween that the blanket was just for "now", borrowed, so to speak, even though it was the same blanket as had been on her bed for the past ten years or so, since Rosie had taken her in.

She had come to Rosie Bracegirdle with nothing but the clothes on her back, and she’d leave with the same wealth as she’d brought with her. She supposed it was a mercy that the old healer had cut up her old clothes for rags when she’d outgrown them or she’d likely be forced to stuff herself into those clothes again and leave the newer clothes she now wore, for Rosie to sell or trade.

Though she’d thought her feet toughened by all the walking she did in serving the old healer, errands and herb-gathering and such, the tween was foot-sore when they entered Whitwell near elevenses of the third day.

 ‘We’re here?’ she said in surprise.

Rosie snorted and reached out to clout the tween on the head. ‘Of course we’re here,’ she said. ‘We’ve been walking through Tookish lands since yestidday, or didn’t you know? Of course you didn’t, you ignorant chit!’

A pair of passing teens chortled, likely at an unrelated joke they shared, but the tween ducked her head. Though she’d grown used to the old hobbit’s grumbling, she now saw herself as those tidy Tooks around her must see her: dusty, dishevelled, unkempt. She brushed at an old stain on her dress and kept her eyes on her toes.

Thus she didn’t see the little smial until they’d pulled up in front of it. She heard the clucking of hens and looked up, a cautious glance to take in her surroundings, before dropping her head once more. Hens scratched in the dust, a weathered bench stood beside the freshly-painted door, flowerboxes in front of the shining windows spilled a riot of colour.

 ‘Well? What’re you waiting for? Knock at the door and then come and help me down!’ old Rosie grumbled.

Before she could knock, a pleasant and plump hobbit, wisps of white hair flying free from her tightly-braided curls opened the door, bubbling over with welcome. ‘Good, you’ve come!’ she said. ‘Tea’s a-brewing! I’ve been expecting you!’

She put an arm about the tween’s shoulders, turning her towards Rosie and the old pony, chattering away about the weather and the teacakes and how was their journey and what did they think about Mayor Will being buried and the Mistress sent Tooks to dig him out again?

She helped Rosie down, telling the tween where to take the pony (“Round the back, just tie him up, there’s hay and oats a-waiting for his elevenses! Don’t worry yourself none about unsaddling, my lad’ll be here soon enough. Baked his favourite berry tarts for him, and he knows it!”)

When the tween had tied up the pony as directed, she returned to the front of the smial and hovered on the mat, unsure. Vigorous splashing sounded from within, along with Rosie’s loud tones, expounding on this or that as the two healers exchanged tidbits of gossip.

Catching sight of the tween as she crossed the hallway from kitchen to parlour, Mrs. Took hailed her. ‘Come in! Come in and freshen yourself. Change out of those dusty things, if you’ve a mind to! Straight back to the bath room, and there’s water and soap and towels already set out...’ Her cheery voice followed the tween down the hallway. Rosie met her at the door to the bath room, warning her to clean up after herself.

This meant, of course, cleaning up after Rosie as well, who’d left splashes of water on sink and floor. The tween washed herself, wiped up the spills and soap foam, carefully hung up the towels and made her way to the parlour, where she didn’t have to wait—Mrs. Took came up behind her and escorted her to a seat, whereupon she poured out tea for herself and guests.

Old Rosie held up a peremptory hand. ‘I wouldn’t give her one of them fancy china cups,’ she warned. ‘A tin cup is good enough for her, and if’n she drops it, at least it won’t suffer too much harm.’ She whispered behind her hand, clear for all to hear, ‘The lass is woefully clumsy.’

 ‘Tweens often don’t know where their arms and legs end, after growing so fast,’ Mrs. Took said equably. ‘Would you like a tin cup, lass?’

 ‘Please, Missus,’ the tween whispered, keeping her eyes on her hands in her lap.

 ‘She’s your new mistress now, and don’t you forget it!’ Rosie rapped out.

 ‘No, Mistress,’ the tween said.

Though she did her best, she managed to drop the second biscuit she was offered, and after that she kept both hands around the metal cup and refused any more food, though her stomach threatened to tie itself in knots for lack of sustenance.

Whistling was heard outside and a cheery voice called, ‘Pony’s unsaddled, Gran!’

 ‘Wash, then, and come and eat up this cake before it goes stale!’ Mrs. Took called back.

A youth bustled past the parlour and soon splashing was heard in the bath room. The tween kept her eyes on her cup, expecting at any moment to be ordered from the room, to wipe up the bath room once more.

But no, the youth entered, was introduced as “Ted, the best grand a gammer could ever hope for,” was served an enormous helping of berry tart and an oversized slice of iced cake, and for all Rosie’s sharp intake of breath, was given one of the delicate china cups filled with steaming sweet and milky tea. Happily no mishaps resulted, and the meal was a merry affair, on the part of three of the hobbits anyhow.

At last Rosie slurped the last of her tea and arose, wiping crumbs from her mouth.

 ‘Won’t you be staying?’ Mrs. Took asked politely.

 ‘No, thankee kindly,’ Rosie said graciously, inclining her head. ‘But I’m invited to stay with my cousin Lobelia—of the Sackville-Bagginses, you know,’ she added in an important tone. ‘I’ll stay the night in Waymeet and be in Bywater on the morrow. It’ll be a quick enough ride without a tween dragging along in the dust.’

The look young Ted turned on the tween might have been full of sympathy, but she didn’t look up to see it.

 ‘Well then, we’ll walk you to the door, won’t we, lass, before we tackle the washing up,’ Mrs. Took said.

 ‘Washing up!’ Rosie said in alarm. ‘Washing up! Mind, she’s a good hard worker, and she’ll gather herbs for you the daylong, but don’t let her near your china or breakables!’

 ‘We’ll manage,’ Mrs. Took said smoothly. ‘Come along, lass,’ she added, and the tween rose abruptly, upsetting the last of the tea in her tin cup, sorry to say.

 ‘Isn’t that you all over again,’ Rosie tched, and the tween blushed and stammered.

 ‘No harm done,’ Mrs. Took said. ‘Ted’ll put all to rights, won’t you, my dear.’

 ‘O’ course, Gran!’ Ted said, flourishing a cloth. ‘See? All wiped up already, and I’ll have that pony saddled in three shakes, see if I don’t!’

Mrs. Took put a gentle hand on the tween’s elbow to steer her towards the door.

They stood in the yard talking until Ted brought the pony around. The beast seemed to be freshly curried, and if she weren’t mistaken the tween would have thought the hoofs gleamed with polish. ‘Here we are!’ Ted said.

Rosie patted her pocket, and a faint jingle of coin was to be heard. ‘Pleasure doing business with you,’ she said, shaking Mrs. Took’s hand. ‘If she gives any trouble...’

 ‘She won’t give any trouble,’ Mrs. Took said. ‘Safe journey to you, now.’

Rosie grunted, hauling herself into the saddle, and turned the pony’s head into the street. ‘You be good for your new mistress, now,’ she called to the tween, ‘or she’ll give you what for!’

The tween didn’t answer, or lift her gaze from her toes. She didn’t watch her recent benefactress ride away. She simply stood, still as a lump, listening to the hoofbeats fading.

 ‘Well now,’ Mrs. Took said, taking her hand. ‘I forgot to ask your name, child.’

 As she started to answer, she was interrupted by a hobbit on ponyback, clattering down the street and shouting for the healer.

 ‘Yes?’ Mrs. Took said, stepping forward. ‘What is it?’

 ‘It’s the Missus!’ the hobbit shouted. ‘Mr. Paladin sent me—Mrs. Eglantine’s having the babe and she’s having the babe now!’

 ‘O my word,’ Mrs. Took said. ‘That one has always given trouble... well, lass, it seems you’re to be my helper today, without even a chance to change out of your travel things.’

It didn’t seem the right time to tell the healer that she had nothing to change into, not even a blanket to call her own. Mrs. Took was sending Ted into the smial for her bag, telling the farm hobbit that they’d ride his pony if he wanted them to make haste.

 ‘I can walk back,’ the farm hobbit said obligingly. ‘They sent the children on a picnic, and Mistress Esmeralda’s awful worried... she said to tell you to hurry.’

 ‘We will!’ Mrs. Took said, taking her bag and shawl from Ted’s eager hand. ‘Come along, lass!’

She mounted the pony and pulled the tween up behind her. ‘Three lasses born alive, and four still-born,’ she said as they cantered down the street and out of Whitwell. ‘I don’t know if she’ll live, if she loses this one...’

They were out of the town, green fields speeding by them, and the healer called over her shoulder. ‘By the way!’

 ‘What?’ the tween called back.

 ‘What am I to call you? Old Rosie didn’t even tell me your name!’

The tween smiled in spite of herself. Old Rosie hardly ever called her by name. She was “lass” or “clumsy” or “ignorant chit” for the most part. But it occurred to her that this might be a new beginning.

 ‘Woodruff!’ she called forward. ‘Woodruff Bankstone!’

She heard the healer’s laughter, and, ‘Sweet Woodruff!’ floated back to her, followed by, ‘I think I’ll call you “Sweetie!” ’

You go right ahead, the tween thought to herself. I’ve answered to worse. Much worse. She tightened her hold on the healer’s waist, hoping that somehow she might make good in this next endeavour, and prove to herself and Mrs. Took that the money spent to "apprentice" her had not been wasted.

Author's Notes:

Apprenticeship in the Shire, as it is written here, is not so much like "slavery" as it might sound. A family with too many mouths to feed, or a farmer with younger sons and not enough land to divide, might "sell" a child to a Master of some vocation for a period of up to seven years' apprenticeship. At the end of this time, the apprentice would have acquired a valuable skill, the Master would have had the benefit of labour without having to pay wages (room and board, of course, were provided, and often the apprentice became like one of the Master's family) and the apprentice's family would have a welcome infusion of coin, not to mention one less mouth to feed--it is well known that a tween can put a considerable strain on a family's food supply. This coin might help to pay a debt, or was often used for a dowry or "nest egg" to set another child up when it reached its majority. There was, after all, no retirement plan in the Shire, or rather, one's children *were* one's retirement plan.

A Master would likely "buy" an apprentice only if he had no sons to train and to carry on his trade after his passing. It would be worth it to him to pay some of his savings towards the future of his business. He would likely keep an eye out for a bright and/or biddable child in the neighbourhood, perhaps one that often hangs around, watching him ply his trade with obvious interest.

A Master might "sell" the remainder of an apprentice's service, so long as the total years of servitude did not exceed seven years. Also, a hobbit-child could not be sold until reaching the age of twenty, as well as no later than the age of thirty.

A lazy "master" might take advantage of the situation, though having paid for the apprentice this is less likely, especially when one considers how hobbits value life and especially children. A badly-used apprentice could be released from a Master if charges cruelty or neglect could be substantiated.

Rosie Bracegirdle is something of an exception, having taken in an orphan under the guise of charity. She thus benefited from free labour and no seven-year limitation on her demands. While she might have *been* charitable, taking a teen--and everyone *knows* how difficult it is to provide during the teen-tween years--her grasping ways might have overcome her charitable impulse. In any event, she saw an opportunity to "regain" some of what the orphan had "cost" her, by selling Woodruff as an apprentice shortly before the lass turned thirty.

"Master" and "son" could also be written "Mistress" and "daughter", depending upon the trade. Healers, for example, might be male or female, though it was more likely (but not inevitable) for a female to take on a female assistant, or a male to take on a male assistant, for practical reasons.

Thanks to Marigold for insightful questions and comments! 

p.s. "Sweetbriar Took" is a character first found in "Cousins and Other Nuisances", which is somewhat related to the early part of this story.  

(3/30/05)

Chapter 2. Interlude

The door opens slowly, silently, no warning tap that might waken the Thain from hard-won slumber. It is the Thain’s personal hobbitservant, Sandy, face sober as always for that hobbit is ever on his dignity, but there is a difference from his customary mien. His eyes are red and swollen, and he blinks in the dim light.

At my inquiring look, he jerks his head towards the sitting-room beyond; someone or something awaits me there.

With a glance for the Thain, whose eyes are closed—he makes no sign of hearing—I rise from my chair as Sandy takes up the watcher’s post, and the Thain’s hand, on the other side of the bed. I creep from the room, overcome by the urge to walk a-tiptoe.

A meal is waiting on the table. Too late for late supper, much too early for early breakfast, I suppose it could be called midnight supper. I seat myself and though I know better, I bolt my food. I do not want to be away, in the event—

In any event, I clear the plate without noticing what it contained, or even if the contents had a pleasing flavour. I’ve left the door open, and rising to return to the bedroom I see the two of them, Thain and servant, sitting as if they are statues carved from stone. But no, there is one sign of life. A tear falls from Sandy’s eye, coming to rest on the back of the hand that holds the Thain’s, and he rubs it gently away with his free hand.

Without speaking, I resume my seat, and Pippin’s hand. It is cold, colder than it was before? ...but difficult to determine, as I have just warmed my hands on a steaming mug of tea, brewed strong that I might continue alert into the depths of the night. As if I could sleep...

Sandy rises, laying down the hand he holds with infinite tenderness. How he loves Pippin and his family, as if they were his own. He would lay down his life for them; he would exchange places, even now, if it would save the hobbit gasping on the bed.

When the door has shut behind the hobbitservant with the faintest of clicks, the sunken eyes open wearily.

 ‘So,’ he says, and the fingers twitch in my grasp. ‘Was it good?’

 ‘Sir?’ I say.

 ‘Midnight supper,’ he whispers. ‘Many’s the time, Sandy’s heard us talking in the night, over a nightmare or a thorny piece of business or somewhat, and laid the table with a light meal fit for a king and laden with foods that encourage sleep.’

His breathing is somewhat better for the moment, and I gather that some of his rest was indeed sleep, just now. But he was aware enough, to know that I left, and when I returned. It has always been difficult to put anything past the hobbit.

 ‘It was good,’ I answer, forcing a smile.

 ‘Was it tasty?’ he asks, and there is something in his eyes that prompts me to honesty.

 ‘I don’t know,’ I say, and he smiles, even nods, a feeble jerk of the chin reminiscent of better times.

 ‘It is good to know you are ever truthful,’ he says.

 ‘What do you mean?’ I say, stirred to curiosity by his tone.

He hesitates, but time is pressing, so little of it is left to him now. ‘Do you think—?’ he says, and stops.

I give his hand a gentle squeeze, though my finger remains on the pulse point from long years of habit.

 ‘Do I think?’ I prompt. He closes his eyes, and I think he is drifting into sleep once more.

At last he speaks again. ‘Do you think me a coward?’ he asks.

Startled, I lean forward. ‘A coward?’ I say, louder than I intended, perhaps, for he opens his eyes.

 ‘Aye,’ he breathes.

 ‘I’ve never known a braver or bonnier—’ I begin, but he shakes his head slightly.

 ‘Frodo was braver,’ he says. ‘Much braver than any hobbit I’ve ever known.’ His eyes bore into mine for a moment and then he continues. ‘Am I a coward, to give up the fight this way? I feel as if...’

 ‘As if...?’

He swallows, making a face at the dryness of his mouth, and I pick up the cup of water to lift it his lips for a sip. When I put the cup down, he continues, though for the moment he seems ashamed to meet my eyes. ‘I am a great coward,’ he says, ‘to lay down the fight. It is only that I am so very weary...’ His mouth twists, and he raises his eyes to mine once more. ‘If I could but rest...’

Every breath a knife’s thrust.

 ‘Your lungs are filling with fluid,’ I say softly. ‘And the only thing to keep you from drowning is to cough it out. But you’ve already broken a rib with coughing...’

 ‘But I might live,’ he says. ‘Merry asked me to keep on fighting, before he was called away.’ He closes his eyes. ‘To keep fighting,’ he whispers.

 ‘Do you want to try and cough?’ I say. ‘Perhaps a meal, first. A little broth, to strengthen you?’

He smiles without humour. ‘You do think me a coward,’ he says, ‘to have given over so easily.’

 ‘You have fought long and hard,’ I answer. ‘And death takes us all, in the end.’ I dare not betray the hope that rises in me, hope, and dread with it, having watched his valiant fight these past years against encroaching death. Can he yet hold it off...?

Fennel, my chief assistant, helps in this, holding Pippin on one side while Sandy, clearly hoping against hope, supports him on the other. I’ve given him something that, rather than soothing the cough as we’ve endeavoured since he began to turn his face from life, will instead stir up the stuff in his pipes and encourage coughing.

When, during our preparations, I would send for his wife, he stays my hand. ‘Wait,’ he says. ‘I would not have her suffer...’ Of course he would not have her watch his painful effort to gain more breath, for her sake if not his own.

...but the coughing, in the end, is a dismal failure. When at last we lay him back upon the pillows, his ashen face betrays the depth of his exhaustion. Rather than gaining him some ground in the fight, I fear we have sent him skidding ever closer to the edge.

Chapter 3. Just a Breath Away from Life

This was the Green Hill country, and the tween noticed now the swelling mounds, rising ever higher to the East. The largest hills in the Shire stood between Tookbank and Tuckborough, she’d heard. Coming from the flatlands of the South Farthing, she couldn’t imagine mountains being larger than the hills looming in the distance. Faintly-remembered tales of travel and adventure rose and were quickly brushed away in view of the more practical matter at hand.

Whittacres was a well-kept, prosperous-looking farm. Workers in the fields stopped long enough to wave and shout as the healer’s pony cantered by. The smial was set back from the Whitwell-Waymoot road, the farm lane running between stone walls. Sheep grazed to one side, cows on the other with a few ponies mixed in. Two of the younger ponies in the field threw up their heads and snorted, galloping to the fence to race alongside.

They pulled up before the smial, a sprawling affair, long and low, looking solid and cool under the smile of the Sun, just past her zenith. Bright flowers nodded in the windowboxes, and two hobbits stood where the wide roof had been extended to make a shady place to sit, a sheltered place to hang laundry of a rainy day.

One of the hobbits, a Took from the look of him, stepped forward to take the reins. ‘Well come, cousin!’ he said. ‘You’re in good time. Babe’s not born yet, from what we’ve heard.’

The other hobbit, a gentlehobbit by his clothing, gave the tween a hand down and then helped the old healer from the saddle. ‘Mr. Brandybuck,’ Sweetbriar said, making a courtesy which the tween immediately copied before the inevitable reprimand could be issued. Sometimes old Rosie had reprimanded her anyhow, just to show the important personage who was Mistress and who was not.

But Sweetbriar merely patted her new apprentice on the arm and said, ‘This is my assistant, sir... so anything she tells you, you may consider as coming from myself.’

 ‘Very well,’ the Brandybuck said with a bow and a smile, gesturing towards the smial.

The healer handed her bag to the tween as they entered the large, pleasant kitchen, the Brandybuck following. ‘You’ve put water on to heat already, that’s good,’ she said. ‘We’re going to need lots more.’

 ‘The fire is going here and in the summer kitchen as well,’ the gentlehobbit said.

 ‘Good. Now Sweetie, when the teakettle boils, I want you to take the yellow-flowered bag, two heaping palmfuls to a pint of water, let it steep covered...’

The tween nodded, pulling at the loop on the bag, but the healer stayed her hand.

 ‘Listen all the way through and your questions will be few,’ Sweetbriar said cheerily.

Flushing, the tween nodded and fixed her eyes on the healer’s face.

 ‘I want the biggest tub, standing ready before the fire,’ Sweetbriar said. ‘Fill it with nice, hot water.’

Though the tween was nodding, the gentlehobbit was the one who answered. ‘You’ll have it!’ he said. ‘Just as soon as the water’s hot enough. Steaming bath, I take it.’

 ‘And the blue bag,’ Sweetbriar said. ‘Take three of the muslin bags of herbs in the blue bag and steep them in the tub, will you dear?’ The tween listened attentively until the healer was done.

 ‘Some food?’ the gentlehobbit said when the healer finished cataloguing her instructions.

 ‘None for me,’ Sweetbriar said, ‘but my assistant would be all the better for some sustenance, I’m thinking.’ Turning to the tween, she said, ‘Now, tell it back to me.’

 ‘Yellow bag, two heaping palmfuls, pint of boiling water, steep covered,’ the tween recited. ‘Blue bag, biggest tub half-full of steaming water, three bags of herbs to steep.’

 ‘I didn’t say half-full,’ Sweetbriar said, ‘but I see you’ve done this before, my lass. Very well. If you need anything else, you ask this sorry hobbit here.’

The tween choked slightly at such disrespect, but then she’d heard the Tooks were outspoken, forthright to the point of rudeness. Still...

And in the next moment Sweetbriar was gone, and the teakettle was whistling, and the Brandybuck had left and returned again with a large tub, suitable for a week’s washing or a fairly comfortable bath, placing it before the kitchen hearth and kneeling to build up a fire there. ‘O but Sir!’ the tween said, and the Brandybuck smiled, not turning from the hearth.

 ‘You have your orders, lass,’ he said mildly. ‘Sweetbriar’s as sweet as her name, but she’s a Tookish temper on her as well, and I’d do as I was told, if I were you.’ He finished sweeping the ashes into the skip. ‘These hands will wash,’ he added. ‘They have every time up until now, anyhow.’

The tween washed her own hands, pulled the kettle from the fire, found a mug—she knew her way around kitchens, she did!—and set the potion to brewing. Sweetbriar hadn’t told her what herbs would be used, but her nose and eyes and fingers told her what was in the mix, and she gave a little nod to herself. This healer knew her business.

Unpacking the healer’s bag upon the kitchen table, in search of the elusive “blue bag”, she found two voluminous aprons and immediately put one on. Made for a plump, elderly hobbit, it wrapped well around and rather neatly covered her dusty and dishevelled state. She opened each bag for a brief survey of the contents—yellow-flowered, red-flowered, blue-flowered, green vines, blue, ah there it was! ...and laid them in the order they’d be wanted.

The gentlehobbit was entering from the yard, a steaming bucket in each hand.

 ‘O Sir!’ the tween said, jumping forward.

He intercepted her intention with a shake of his head. ‘These’re hot,’ he warned. ‘Stand back.’

 ‘But you oughtn’t...’ she said.

 ‘No more than a young one like you,’ he retorted cheerily. ‘Imagine me, standing around with my hands in my pockets, letting a lass tote heavy buckets of boiling water! I’d be a sorry hobbit, I would!’

 ‘Pony’s put away, Sorry,’ the Took said, sticking his head in at the door. ‘How about a game of “shoes” whilst we’re waiting?’

 ‘Let us get this tub filled up—water’s boiling in the copper out in the summer kitchen,’ the Brandybuck said, ‘and you’re on!’

 ‘Right-ho!’ the Took said, ducking out again. The Brandybuck poured out his buckets and turned to the door and the tween gently laid the three muslin bags with their soothing herbs in the tub to steep, just as Sweetbriar appeared again in the hallway leading into the depths of the smial.

 ‘Nearly there?’ she said. ‘It’s time to make yourselves scarce until wanted.’

 ‘Just a few more buckets,’ the gentlehobbit said.

 ‘Good!’ Sweetbriar answered. Catching sight of her supplies, neatly laid out on the table, she gave an approving nod as she caught up the other apron. ‘Come along, lass!’

 ‘This-here’s my helper,’ she announced as the tween followed her into the bedroom, at the moment brightly lit. ‘Sweetie will get the bed ready, won’t you, dearie, whilst we take a turn about the place.’

Eglantine Took looked much too small to be carrying such a great burden. Her husband sat beside her on the bed, his arm about her, while two other hobbit mums hovered. Both of these wore the simple-but-elegant clothing of the truly well-to-do, those whose wealth is hardly a matter for a second thought, and so they’ve no need to be ostentatious about it. The tween wondered about this... gentlehobbits, here in a farmer’s smial!

Eglantine herself wore a simple linen shift of the sort common to childbirth. It covered all that needed covering but would not get in the way of the healer.

 ‘Come along, lovie, up we come!’ Sweetbriar said, moving to Eglantine’s other side.

 ‘Wait,’ Eglantine gasped, a hand to her bulging abdomen. They waited out the contraction, and then helped her to rise.

 ‘That’s it,’ Sweetbriar encouraged. ‘A little walking, that’s much better for you than tossing on the bed. Makes the babe come quicker, I warrant, and a nice hot bath...’

One of the gentlehobbits had begun to strip the sheets from the mattress, and the tween jumped to help. Soon the bed was freshly made up with sun-scented linens, covered with oil-cloth, and another soft layer over all. Through it all the gentlehobbits talked in low voices.

 ‘...didn’t sleep at all last night, I think.’

 ‘Well, you know how it is with our Aggie. False pangs... she probably thought it was just more false pangs. If Dinny hadn’t noticed her biting her lip, likely the healer wouldn’t be here now.’

 ‘Don’t want to be a bother! Don’t want to be a bother! I wish we could get it into her head that she’s no bother at all, except when she worries about being one!’

 ‘Hush now,’ the older of the two said, with a glance at the tween, and raising her voice she said pleasantly, ‘There now, lass, you may tell your Mistress that the bed’s all made up and ready.’

Seeing the birthing stool in the corner, waiting to be called into service, the tween nodded, sketched a courtesy, and slipped from the room.

Sweetbriar and the hobbit, “Dinny” as the tween surmised, were escorting Eglantine up and down the corridor, stopping when she stopped, supporting her as she bent and panted.

 ‘Bed made up?’ the healer said. ‘That’s fine. Now go and chase those hobbits from the kitchen, if they’re still there, and shut the door!’

 ‘Yes’m,’ the tween murmured, slipping by them. The kitchen was empty, the fire bright on the hearth, the tub half-full of steaming water and the copper by the stove was full, the flames keeping the contents near the boil peeping through the grating. Someone had left the door propped open to let out some of the heat from the fires, and Woodruff closed it.

Sweetbriar entered shortly after with her charge, and while she clucked like an old hen, lifting away the linen shift, Dinny eased his wife into the tub. ‘There now, all comfy!’ the healer said. ‘Sweetie, you know what to do...?’

The tween took up a dipper, and as she saw Eglantine’s face change—another contraction starting—she dipped up warm water from the tub and trickled it onto the distended abdomen.

 ‘Tha—that’s better!’ the labouring hobbit gasped. Her husband settled to his knees beside her, tenderly brushing her curls away from her face.

She wasn’t close, not at all, the tween mused. She would scarcely be greeting her husband’s attentions with a smile if she were. More likely she’d be scowling at him and offering insults...

Eglantine laboured in the tub until the water cooled, and then they helped her out of the water, robed her, began the walking again. The tween dipped one bucket of water out of the tub, then another, and hauled them to the door to the yard. When the door opened, the two hobbits looked up from their pipes and jumped to their feet. ‘Here now,’ the Brandybuck said. ‘You ought to have called us... we’ll empty the tub! ...and fill it fresh, as well. No need for you to be carrying heavy buckets and scalding yourself into the bargain!’

Walking, alternated with baths, took up the next few hours, with the occasional “check” by the healer to report on progress. The first time she checked, the tween heard her say cheerily, ‘That’s just fine! Head’s down, and babe’s heart sounds bonnie and strong!’

The next time the healer seemed to take a little longer about her business, but kept the smile on her face and said only, ‘My, this is a lively one! Seems to be moving all about! A wanderer, this one is!’

With each examination, Sweetbriar reported “good progress” and a “lively babe”.

At one point, she eased Eglantine into the rocking chair while they were awaiting more hot water, encouraging her to sip at yet another mug of brewed herbs, whereupon she knelt to take one of the expectant mother’s feet.

Seeing this, the tween at once knelt to take the other foot, rubbing as she’d been taught, digging her thumbs in at one place, gently stroking, watching Eglantine’s face to time the contractions. They were coming oftener, she thought, and harder.

At last the tub was filled and the hobbits gone back to their post outside the kitchen door. They eased Eglantine into the tub once more. She’d started cheerful enough, though unable to mask her underlying anxiety, but now she was growing restless and fretful. The contractions seized her at ever-diminishing intervals until it seemed that one scarcely ended before another began.

Through it all, Sweetbriar murmured comfort, and the husband did all he could to ease his wife, though he couldn’t keep the worry from his own face, when he stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders.

Three born alive, and four still-born, echoed in the tween’s thoughts.

The well-dressed hobbit mums were in and out, doing what needed doing, even cooking up meals—the late nooning, which they took outside in the yard with their husbands, a sort of picnic, and then tea. There was some discussion as to what to do when the children returned from their picnic. It seemed the Brandybuck and Took “uncles” would escort them to neighbouring relatives to spend the night, if need be.

But no, that wouldn’t be needed after all, it seemed. Eglantine gave a sudden wordless exclamation and Sweetbriar dove her hands under the water, making an examination by feel right then and there. The tween, watching closely, saw the healer’s face change.

What is it? she wanted to ask, but knew better.

 ‘Well now,’ Sweetbriar said, rising. ‘Let us get her out of the tub, and quickly, too. Lift her up, now, Dinny.’

They lifted Eglantine from the tub, but the healer was saying, ‘Don’t bear down, now, Aggie... not quite time yet, lovie; don’t bear down, now...’

She snatched up one towel, draping it over Eglantine’s shoulders. ‘Good thing it’s so warm in here,’ she said, impatiently wiping away the sweat on her own brow. She snatched up another towel, handing it to the tween. ‘Be ready,’ she said crisply.

 ‘Ready?’ the tween said, dumbfounded. Sweetbriar pushed her down before Eglantine, and she automatically took her position.

 ‘Aye,’ the healer nodded, and to the husband, ‘Hold her up, Dinny.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘Upright, I said.’ She stood behind Eglantine, hands coming around the distended abdomen as if she would push the babe downwards.

Reaching upwards, the tween understood the healer’s sudden crispness. A tiny foot was protruding—a footling breech! One of the worst things that could happen, in her experience...

 ‘We’re ready now, Aggie,’ the healer said. ‘Bear down, love, softly now.’

 ‘Softly!’ Eglantine gasped. ‘I’d like to see you try “softly”!’

 ‘Now love,’ the husband remonstrated gently, but his wife turned on him.

 ‘This is all your doing!’ she snapped. ‘You know so much about it, you have the babe!’

 ‘Softly,’ the healer chanted, pushing along with the contraction. ‘Softly, dearie.’

The tween knew better than to pull at the foot; she merely took gentle hold of the appendage, guiding, ready...

 ‘It’s a boy!’ she gasped.

Dinny laughed, an incongruous sound in the tension. ‘A lad, you hear, Aggie?’ he said joyously. ‘So many lasses, and a lad to bring up the tail!’

But the babe dangled in the tween’s grasp, only half-born, for long and frustrating moments whilst Sweetbriar plied all the tricks of her trade, and then some.

Eglantine was moaning, and the healer’s nerves were fraying. ‘Bear down, Aggie,’ she said. ‘Push, love, push like you’ve never pushed before in your life! You’ve got to get his head and shoulders out, just do that much and you’re done, I promise!’

Beyond words, the beleaguered hobbit strained, then slumped in her husband’s grasp. ‘Aggie!’ he cried, his face white.

 ‘We’ll lose them both at this rate,’ Sweetbriar whispered. ‘Hold her, now, Dinny; I’m going to try...’

The tween didn’t see what the healer tried, for in the next moment the rest of the babe emerged with an issue of blood and water. She caught him, praying that she wouldn’t drop him on his head or anything else. Meanwhile, Sweetbriar had left Eglantine in her husband’s grasp and was attempting to deal with a worrisome amount of bleeding on the new mother’s part.

Still kneeling between Eglantine's knees, the tween cleaned out the tiny mouth, and when the babe took no first breath, she struck him sharply as she’d been taught. To no avail. ‘Not breathing!’ she gasped.

Sweetbriar looked over her shoulder, her hands never leaving off their business. ‘Turn him over your arm,’ she said. ‘Hang him downside-up, give him a gentle rap between his shoulders.’

 ‘Done that,’ the tween said, doing it again for good measure.

The father’s face was a terrible study of grief and fear... his son, born dead to all appearances, and his wife bleeding out her life in his arms, there upon the kitchen floor. The two gentlehobbit mums hovered in the door, one wringing her hands whilst the other whispered calm to her, keeping her from jumping into the fray, into the healers' way.

 ‘Then,’ Sweetbriar said, her eyes on Eglantine, ‘puff a very tiny breath into him, as if you’re blowing up a pig’s bladder. We have got to get the air into him somehow.’

The tween had never heard of such a thing. A babe born dead was dead, and no remedy for it. But the intensity in the healer’s tone moved her from her frantic-frozen state, and she cradled the babe in her arms, breathed a tiny puff of air into him, and another, and suddenly...

 ‘He’s breathing!’ she cried, tears coming to her eyes even as she laughed in wonder. ‘He’s breathing, he’s moving, he’s—’

A thin wail arose, growing stronger, settling into a steady rhythm. The hobbit father held his wife tighter. ‘Hear that, Aggie,’ he gasped. ‘Hear that! ‘Tis our son, my love. Our son...!’ The hand-twisting gentlehobbit gave a cry and began to weep, the other embraced her, tears of joy and relief running down her own face.

 ‘Hold fast, Aggie,’ the healer said. ‘Don’t you be slipping away on me now.’ At her directions, the tween laid the babe on his mother’s breast, and after a moment Eglantine’s eyes opened and she gazed down, dazed at first, and then in growing wonder and joy.

 ‘Son,’ she whispered.

 ‘So,’ Sweetbriar said, once the afterbirth had been safely delivered, the cord tied and cut, and the mother's bleeding slowed to her satisfaction. The tween, in the meantime, had brewed a restorative pot of tea for everyone in the meantime, and a mug of the healer’s herbs for Eglantine. ‘What’ll you be naming this one, Dinny? “Primrose” or "Periwinkle" might’ve seemed a good fit at one time, but...’

 ‘You said more than once that this one was restless, a wanderer,’ the father said, not taking his eyes from the wife he cradled, now wrapped in blankets and nearly ready to carry back to her bed, and the wide-eyed son in her arms.

 ‘That I did,’ the old healer said, straightening with a sigh and rubbing at her back. ‘Started out head-down, he did, as he ought, but would he stay that way? I ask you...? No, he wandered all about, dancing and turning as his mother was about her serious business.’

 ‘My little love,’ Eglantine whispered, scarcely attending to the conversation.

 ‘Peregrin, then, for "wanderer",’ the proud father said, with a squeeze for his wife. ‘I think that "Peregrin" will fit him just fine.’

Chapter 4. Interlude

Time takes on a fluid quality, flowing as a river, racing while at the same time it moves in slow eddies. The Thain’s life is hurrying to its close even as the agony of his dying stretches, seeming unending, measured by his gasping breaths.

The night lasts forever, but dawn comes all too quickly. We cannot see the dawn, here in this inward room. I feel a pang of regret, that he will spend his last hours without a glimpse of the sky, but it would cause him too much pain to move him now, I think. Indeed, I fear the effort of being moved might cause him to expire on the litter in the corridor, certainly an undignified passing for a Thain, and an undesirable death for any hobbit. Conventional Shire wisdom says that a hobbit should die peacefully, asleep in his bed, after a fine meal and a satisfying smoke. If passing quietly in the night is not an option, then the next best is to be surrounded by loved ones singing until your ears are past hearing.

But I know when dawn has come, for his wife enters. The sleeping draught I ordered for her would have worn off an hour or two ago. I see that she has taken the time to bathe, to freshen herself, to present a shining face and waves of soft, fragrant curls cascading upon her shoulders—she has not bothered to pull her hair back, to have it braided or constrained in a net.

There was a day some years ago, in a quiet moment of an early morning, when I came upon them in a secluded corner of the Thain’s garden. I saw how he delighted to play in her unbound curls, to wind his fingers in her hair, lifting it away from her neck to plant a kiss upon the sheltered skin. I crept away again before they saw me, and stood where I could shoo away other intruders, pretending to select just the perfect roses for the tables in the infirmary. How the infirm hobbits there delight to see the fresh blooms still bedecked with dew!

When they came out of the bower some time later, his eyes were sparkling, and she was flushed and laughing (though she sobered when she saw me, smiled politely and nodded; whilst the corners of his eyes crinkled in a grin), and her hair was properly pinned up, their clothing straight, their appearance as staid as if they’d just come from tea with Mistress Eglantine.

Their early-morning walks came to an end when he was crippled in a coach accident some time ago, but their early-morning love went on, so far as I know. At least, Sandy allowed no visitors to disturb them until an hour or so past dawn... and I know from long acquaintance that our Thain has never been one to lie slug-abed in the dawning.

Not even this dawning... I half-expect his spirit to rise with the Sun, to leave his useless shell behind and fly to the Feast. But no. He has promised his cousin, and he will do all in his power to keep his promise.

Diamond bends to kiss him and he stirs, reaching feebly. Carefully she embraces him, whispering in his ear. When at last his hands sink to the bedcovers, she rises, seats herself carefully on the bed, eases a hand behind him and rests her head upon his shoulder. He turns his face slightly to bury his nose in her hair, and sighs, the smallest ghost of a sigh.

Fennel enters. He raises an eyebrow, I shake my head. Not yet.

I relinquish the Thain’s hand and rise from my chair, drained and weary. Fennel takes my place, takes the Thain’s hand, his fingers on the pulse point. Not a sound passes between us; we will not disturb their silent communion. Fennel nods to me. He will call me if the Thain’s condition changes—when it becomes apparent that it is time for Pippin’s loved ones to gather to bid him farewell.

I move as quietly as I can, creeping from the room to seek a few hours’ rest, if so much time remains...

Chapter 5. A Merry Meeting

It didn’t take long for Sweetbriar to settle everything to her satisfaction. The new mother was tucked up in her bed, babe beside her, both having a “nice little nap” after their endeavours. The proud father kissed his wife, pulled back the swaddling blanket once more to marvel at perfect little fingers, four of which (plus a thumb) he blessed with a kiss before carefully tucking the blanket around the scrap of a son once more.

 ‘Go on with ye, now,’ Sweeetbriar scolded softly. ‘Let these ones have their sleep whilst the children are still on their picnic and all’s quiet and peaceful.’

The farmer nodded and made a point of tip-toeing from the room.

Sweetbriar turned to the tween. ‘Here now,’ she said. ‘You’ve put in a good day’s work, and that after walking half-way across the Shire! You sit down here—’ she pulled a chair closer to the bed, ‘—and keep watch. Our Aggie’s so exhausted, she just might roll in her sleep, right onto the babe!’

The tween nodded. She’d heard of such happening. Evidently Sweetbriar wasn’t the sort of healer to pack up and leave the moment she’d taken care of the most pressing duties.

The healer confirmed these thoughts in a whisper. ‘Should I be called away, I’ll leave you here until I can arrange for a mother’s helper, the first week. Pearl’s a fine helper to her mum, indeed, but the lass is only fifteen and needs her growing sleep!’

One of the gentlehobbit mums spoke from the doorway. ‘No need for that. We’ll be staying on, and Stelliana and I know well enough what sort of help a mother needs!’

 ‘Mistress Esmeralda...’ began the old healer, but the gentlehobbit put up her hand, and the Tookish lilt thickened in her whisper as she spoke.

 ‘Don’t you “Mistress” me, Sweetbriar! For the heart of a farmer’s daughter still beats beneath this fancy stitchery, and don’t you forget it! These hands...’ and the tween stared at the lily-white hands Esmeralda held out, suitable for fancy embroidery, perhaps, and writing letters, but... ‘these hands have gathered eggs, and slopped hogs, and milked, and dug in the dirt...’

 ‘Mistress...’ said the old healer again, but Esmeralda was having none of it.

 ‘You might be able to talk to Stellie that way, she doesn’t know any better, poor dear, but if you “Mistress” me again I’ll complain to the heir of Buckland that you’re abusing his wife in an intolerably rude way!’ (The tween was glad the other gentlehobbit wasn't in evidence, hearing Esmeralda's opinion of her!)

 ‘But Mis—’ the healer caught herself and flushed, biting her lip. Esmeralda crossed from the doorway to bestow a hug.

 ‘Come now, Sweetbriar,’ she said. ‘My mum and your husband's mum were lasses together. Don’t set me apart, even if I did marry a Brandybuck of the Hall in a weak moment.’

 ‘Allie,’ the old healer said, flashing a glance at the tween. ‘ ‘Tisn’t proper...’

 ‘She won’t spill, will you, lass?’ Esmeralda whispered with a bright smile. ‘You said she’s your helper, after all, and are you not training her to a healer’s discretion?’

There was a flurry of movement and voices in the hallway and Eglantine’s eyelids fluttered. ‘What is it?’ she said sleepily.

 ‘Now Aggie,’ Esmeralda said, releasing the healer and bending to the bed. ‘You just rest. Everything’s taken care of...’

 ‘Allie!’ came a hiss from the doorway; it was "Stellie", the younger of the two gentlehobbit wives. ‘Allie, it’s Merry!’

Esmeralda’s face changed at once from reassurance to alarm. ‘Merry!’ she whispered, a hand at her heart.

 ‘Broke his arm at the least,’ Stelliana said tearfully. She was wringing her hands again, the tween saw. If she kept up that habit, likely she’d have painful fingers when she grew old... ‘Broke his crown more’n likely, falling from his pony as he did... bruises all over his face...’

 ‘Go, Allie,’ the new mother said, pushing at Esmeralda. ‘Go to him. I’ll be fine, just so long as someone brings me news as soon as there’s any news to be had!’

The healer returned some time later to reassure the anxious aunt that it was a “clean break, ought to heal just fine and leave only a weather-ache behind. He'll likely sleep the rest of the night, and his mum is watching over him e'en now.” And after looking over the new mother and administering yet another cup of fortifying tea, Sweetbriar allowed herself and her helper to be sent out to the kitchen for supper whilst Stelliana took a turn sitting at the bedside.

It was a pandemonium of young hobbits—the farmer’s three daughters, his Tookish cousin’s daughter and son—and the three fathers (two Tooks and a Brandybuck, for all their differences seeming as merry and easy as the tween remembered her own father), eating amidst a flood of talk and laughter. The tween sat quiet and shy, memories of her own noisy and happy family tumbling over in her thoughts.

They were introduced to her in a jumble of names: Saradoc, Ferdinand, Rosemary, Pearl, Pimpernel, Ferdibrand, Pervinca, and of course the farmer, Paladin. But then the names they used didn’t match the introductions at all! Sorry, Dinny, and Dinny, Rosie, Pearlie, Nell, Vinca, and Ferdi... For fear of using the wrong name, the tween simply passed the plates as they were passed to her, took what she could as it was handy, and refrained from asking for anything.

 ‘So, Sweetbriar, this is a different helper than brought Vinca into the world,’ Saradoc said with a smile, ladling gravy over the tween’s taters before attending to his own. ‘How did you come by this one?’ Woodruff thought to herself that she’d like to have heard that for herself.

 ‘Well,’ the old healer said with a laugh. ‘You know how hard it is to find a Took who wants to be a healer! Either a healer has to travel out of Tookland to seek out an apprentice, or the Thain sends a Took off into foreign parts to persuade a healer to enter into marriage... and then it’s often a struggle to bring the newlyweds back to the Tookland! If it weren’t for the Thain and his gold...’

The tween listened, scandalised, as the Tooks around the table laughed.

 ‘So who’s to marry this one, then?’ Ferdinand said with a guffaw. ‘She looks as if she’s been picked a little green!’

 ‘Dinny!’ the Bucklander remonstrated, and laid his hand on the tween’s. Though it wasn’t hard-callused as a farmer’s would be, neither was it soft, as she’d expected. ‘She hasn’t been amongst the Tooks long enough yet to bear such heavy portions. You give her a light plateful, first, or you’ll risk upsetting her digestion!’

 ‘Ferdinand, I’m surprised at you!’ Sweetbriar said sternly, all laughter gone.

The children were watching, wide-eyed, and little Nell said, ‘Are you going to send Uncle from the table?’

 ‘I might!’ the old healer said, laying her fork down.

 ‘It was but a jest!’ the hobbit protested.

 ‘Tell me, am I laughing?’ the healer said. The tween felt warmth, something different than the hot flush that burned in her cheeks, but warmth deep down inside somewhere at the healer’s defence.

 ‘You’ve laughed about it before,’ Paladin said quietly, and then to Ferdinand, ‘I do believe you owe our healer and her assistant an apology, Dinny. I owe them a great deal, no less than the lives of my wife and son.’

 ‘ ‘Tis true, I’ve laughed about my own lot before,’ the healer allowed. ‘Swept off my feet by a dashing Took who offered to take me away from my drudgery in the cold of the North Farthing... only to find ten times worse the drudgery, trying to get draughts into Tooks!’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘So you may dispense with apologising on my behalf...’

Ferdinand rose from the table, and for a dreadful moment the tween feared that the Took was taking himself off in a huff. She’d heard much about Tookish pride and Tookish temper. But no, he swept around the table to stand before her, offering a bow and saying, ‘I do humbly offer my apologies, Miss.’

 ‘I accept your apologies, sir,’ the tween whispered, and the Took smiled, patted her hand, and resumed his seat.

Mercifully the attention was turned from her and she was left to eat in peace as the talk continued.

 ‘Well,’ Sweetbriar said, ‘you know that Bittersweet was wanting a new assistant at the Great Smials, and here I had Viola all trained to my satisfaction...’

 ‘And so Mistress Lalia sent for her,’ Paladin said sourly. ‘Thinking that gold is the answer to any and all objections...’

 ‘Hush, Brother,’ the Brandybuck said, while the rest attended strictly to their food for a silent moment.

 ‘It would be difficult to say “No” to the Thain,’ Ferdinand said at last. ‘The trick is holding out just long enough to gain the highest price, without offending.’

 ‘And you know a great deal about not causing offence, do you, cousin?’ Paladin said dryly.

Ferdinand laughed, and the Bucklander said, ‘Not to worry about him! Lalia thinks his bread is buttered on both sides!’

 ‘In any event,’ Sweetbriar said, cutting through the laughter, ‘I found myself in need of a competent assistant, and me not getting any younger!’

 ‘Well she’s not from roundabouts,’ Ferdinand said, ‘or she’d be used to Tooks and our boisterous ways.’ He lowered his voice, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. ‘Don’t mind us, none, lass, our woof is worse than our worry.’

 ‘He’s more likely to chew your leg off than go for the throat,’ Paladin said, helping himself to more potatoes. ‘But he means no harm by it. He’s a fool of a Took, that’s all.’

 ‘In any event,’ Sweetbriar repeated, firmly bringing the attention away from the tween again, even though she was the topic of discussion. ‘My son travels, you know, to do the Thain’s business.’

 ‘Where was it this time?’ Paladin said. He eyed the helper. ‘South Farthing,’ he guessed. ‘She’s not as pale as if she came out of the North, though I’d have guessed that, first, thinking you’d sent for one of your relations...’

 ‘Pipe-weed and wine,’ Sweetbriar affirmed.

 ‘Ah, those delightful Bracegirdles!’ Ferdinand shouted, lowering his voice as the others hushed him, reminding him of those sleeping, the broken-armed Brandybuck and the newborn Took.

 ‘Well, he had a little mishap along the way,’ Sweetbriar said. ‘Cut himself rather badly, and didn’t wash it as quick as he ought, nor as thorough, neither, for all he’s a healer’s son.’

 ‘Well he is a Took, after all,’ the Bucklander said blandly.

 ‘It suppurated,’ Sweetbriar said. ‘Mister Honourius Bradgirdle himself drove him to the local healer, to have it looked to. And just in time, as he told me later! The angry red lines were beginning to creep up the arm...’

The Tooks nodded, all looking slightly queasy, though the healer and helper kept eating without seeming upset.

 ‘The healer herself was out to tea, and they were going to drive in search of her when my lad swooned, there in the coach!’

 ‘O my,’ the oldest lass said. All the children were following the story with wide eyes.

The tween remembered suddenly, Mr. Bracegirdle at the door, asking in more than his usual sharp manner for her Mistress, turning away angrily, a shout of alarm from the driver of the coach...

 ‘Well, the helper rushed out to the coach and took charge as if she were fully a healer herself! Ordered old Mr. Honourius and the driver to bear the hobbit in, made up a hot poultice for the arm and coaxed a draught into the fainting hobbit, opened the wound to clean it out... why, by the time her Mistress returned from tea, all was done! Of course, they unbandaged the arm for her to be sure her assistant hadn’t murdered the Tookish visitor, but all was in order.’

 ‘And so,’ the Brandybuck said, dabbing at his mouth with his serviette, his eyes dancing with amusement. His Tookish friends looked rather “green about the gills”, at least to his eyes.

 ‘And so he told me all about it when he returned, and I determined that he would return to the South Farthing with another “little commission for the Thain”—this time, the getting of another helper for the healer of Whitwell!’

 ‘So that is how you come to be here, lass,’ Saradoc said, piling two more chops on the tween’s plate. ‘And well come, it seems!’

 ‘Old Rosie Bracegirdle drove a hard bargain,’ Sweetbriar said from the other side, spooning cabbage “sprouts” to join the chops. ‘But I think I got the better end of the deal!’

The tween blushed and ducked her head, but it was a happy blush this time, made up of pleasure and approval on the part of her elders, and wide-eyed admiration on the part of the young hobbits.

***

Late that night, after Eglantine had fed her new son, Woodruff took the babe into the kitchen, to sing and rock, allowing his parents some rest.

She looked up abruptly at a movement in the doorway. A young hobbit stood there, head tousled, face pillow-creased, one arm splinted and supported in a sling.

 ‘Young Master!’ she gasped. ‘What are you doing out of bed?’

 ‘I’m hungry,’ he said simply. ‘Didn’t get any supper.’ No, of course he hadn’t. Sweetbriar had dosed him to set his arm and he’d slept right through the meal. Woodruff, had she had charge of the matter, would not have dosed the lad, what with the knock he’d had on his head, but who was she to gainsay her Mistress?

 ‘Well,’ she said briskly, rising from the rocking chair and shifting the babe to one arm. ‘You sit down here, and we’ll rustle something together, your cousin and I.’

 ‘That’s my cousin?’ the lad said, curious.

 ‘He is!’ the tween said. There was fresh bread in the pantry, and cheese and butter. There might even be some chops left over, in the cold box... She’d have to put the baby down to slice the bread and the cheese, however.

 ‘That’s not my cousin!’ the lad announced.

 ‘He’s not?’ the tween said, bemused. She was poking about in the pantry, loading things onto a tray. Here were several little pork pies, some evidently intended for the farmer’s luncheon out in the field on the morrow, and with the bread-and-cheese and a few cut up apples... ‘Why ever not?’

 ‘My cousins are all lasses,’ the lad said, ‘at least my Took cousins are.’

 ‘Well this Took cousin’s a lad,’ Woodruff said, emerging from the pantry. ‘Here now,’ she said to the babe. ‘I need to set you in the cradle for just a moment.’

The babe did not like this turn of affairs at all; he began at once to voice his indignation and the tween must needs snatch him up again. ‘Now, then,’ she whispered, jiggling him gently until he quieted. ‘Your Brandybuck cousin must have a meal; you wouldn’t have him go hungry on your account?’

 ‘Let me hold him,’ the Brandybuck cousin said suddenly.

The tween gave him a sharp glance. ‘How old are you?’ she said.

He drew himself up, splinted arm and all, against the wide back of the rocking chair. ‘Eight,’ he said.

Well, he was sitting, and he could prop the babe on his lap and one arm on the arm of the chair, she supposed. ‘Make a lap,’ she said, and he put his “good” arm on the chair’s arm and nodded that he was “ready”.

Woodruff laid the baby down and stood hovering, holding her breath. No heart-felt wails arose. Deep-blue baby eyes stared into serious grey ones. (The tween found herself wondering just what colour the babe’s eyes would be when they settled. Tookish-green, like his father’s, hazel-brown like his mother’s, grey like his Brandybuck cousin’s?)

 ‘Why is he so wide awake in the middle night?’ the lad asked.

 ‘He has his days and nights mixed up, as does any baby new-come into the world,’ the tween said comfortably.

 ‘Did I?’

 ‘Well I wasn’t there,’ the tween admitted, ‘but every babe I’ve ever had the pleasure to make the acquaintance has been that way.’ She thought wistfully of her younger sister and brother. Why, her brother, when their family had been shattered, was the same age as this one, sitting there, regarding her so thoughtfully before locking eyes with the babe once more.

 ‘He really is my cousin?’ the lad said in wonder, and nodded to himself. ‘He really is, just as Frodo said.’

 ‘Frodo?’ the tween said. It didn’t sound like a Took name, nor a Brandybuck.

The lad nodded. ‘Frodo went away,’ he said. ‘He didn’t want to go,’ he gulped. ‘I mean, I didn’t want him to. He was my bestest cousin.’

 ‘Ah,’ the tween said, for want of something better. Seeing a glimmer of tears in the grey eyes, she turned away and began to slice the bread, alert for the slightest sound that might turn into baby fussing that would waken the smial.

 ‘But he had to go, he said, for old Bilbo was lonely, living all alone in Bag End as he did, and miserable and sad, too. Though I never saw him look miserable. I never did.’ There was wonder in the young voice, and an echo of hurt, of loss still privately grieved.

Bilbo! Now that was a name she recognised. She’d heard the Bracegirdles go on about him, and some adoption or other, and some insult to their cousin Lobelia Sackville-Baggins...

 ‘But he said,’ the young voice went on, and stopped. When it resumed, it had a cooing quality, probably picked up from hobbits crowding around new arrivals at Brandy Hall. ‘Aren’t you a fine lad, then? Look at you, taking it all in! What are you thinking, I wonder?’

Woodruff had cut the cheese, nice, thin, even slices, and was buttering the bread.

 ‘But he said,’ the young Brandybuck resumed. ‘He said that I was big enough, I didn’t need so much watching over any more, and soon a special cousin would be born for me to watch over. And I’ve been waiting, ever so long, but all the cousins born already have older brothers to watch over them...’

The tween made an encouraging sound as she assembled the sandwiches.

 ‘I didn’t have any older brothers, so Frodo watched over me,’ the young hobbit went on. ‘And,’ his voice held a growing excitement. ‘And—he doesn’t have any older brothers to watch over him! He must be the one!’

 ‘Well,’ said Woodruff briskly, placing the nicely-arranged plate on the table and turning to take the baby, ‘that makes perfect sense to me.’

She ate a few sandwiches and half a pie herself as they sat together, chatting companionably, and then she walked the lad back to the guest room and managed to tuck him up without wakening his slumbering parents.

At last the babe fell asleep, and Woodruff laid him in the cradle, cleared away the remnants of the midnight supper, washed up the knife and the forks they'd used and the few dishes, and restored the bread and cheese and uneaten pies to the pantry.

Sitting down again at the table, she laid her head upon her arms and gave herself up to sleep.

Chapter 6. Interlude

A touch on my cheek rouses me; I come fully awake as a gentle kiss brushes my forehead. I jerk awake despite the tenderness of my beloved, shreds of dreams dissolving into the retreating mists of sleep. Yes, sleep. Even in the midst of grief and pending loss, I have learned over the years to snatch sleep where I may. But sleep snatched does not always confer the alertness I strive after... and one must be alert when one is dealing with Tooks.

 ‘Is Master Meriadoc come?’ I blurt.

 ‘Master Merry?’ he says in surprise.

I draw a shaky breath and swallow hard. I don’t know what to feel, actually, nearing the end of the long fight. So many sleepless watches, so inexorable the weakening of the body, as if the Thain’s life is water cupped in my hand, as desperate, I hold on, to keep it from slipping through my fingers. One might as well try to stop a river from flowing away to the Sea.

I know that once Master Merry comes, Pippin will let go with little more than a look and a sigh. He came to the end of his rope some time ago, has held on through sheer strength of will, and though he has cheated death on previous occasions, now I sense Death hovering nearby, ready to take him so soon as he lets go of his life. He lingers with us for a little while, yet. But once Master Merry comes...

And perhaps that strength of will shall not be sufficient to keep him, even so. I know not what to dread more: greeting Merry and bringing him to Pippin’s side, to watch their last parting; or greeting him with the news that he is come too late, and his cousin has already gone.

 ‘A dream,’ I say. ‘I must have dreamed about him. He’s not here, yet?’

 ‘Even if he rode through the night, he’d have come to Buckland only this morning,’ my beloved chides me. He turns away, and when he turns back to me he bears a steaming cup.

I sit up, swing my legs over, take the cup and sip, cautiously, for it is an herbal mixture, but at the taste I nod and down it as quickly as possible. A bitter taste for a bitter time, it will help me gather my wits for the last long haul.

 ‘Fennel?’ I say, and my beloved nods.

 ‘He sent word just now,’ he says. ‘It’s time.’

I rise from the bed and he tucks my shawl about my shoulders. The bedroom is chilly, the fire banked. He knows I sleep better in a cool room. I don’t remember him coming in to bank the fire, but sudden tears come to my eyes at this reminder of his care.

 ‘Thank you,’ I whisper.

 ‘I love you,’ he whispers in return and rises with me as I rise from my bed. ‘I will come,’ he adds.

 ‘You will?’ I say.

He nods. ‘Thain’s orders,’ he says, bringing me back in thought and memory to another time of grief and loss. Surely a healer will know more of these times than any other hobbit, but we do not grow calloused or unconcerned for all that. Truly we put on a face of calm, a serenity of manner, but that, too, comes from the head and not from the heart.

I remember... Faramir’s first brother, born too early to live. O the battle we fought, Diamond and I, the war we waged and yet in the end the babe came too early into the world. Seeing the battle turn against us in the waning of the night, the Thain sent for my beloved, to be summoned from his bed, from his sleep, to wait for me to stumble away from the defeat when I’d done all I could, and there was no more need for me to attend Diamond.

So I left them, grieving over a child born to die, and came to the sitting room, to be enfolded in the arms of my love. I gave myself up to weeping, too exhausted to do more, and he held me through it all, and led me back to our own little hole, tucking me up and singing me lullabies as if I were one of our grands...

So like that lad, to think of my comfort in his dying.

I strive for a light tone, though my heart feels as if it is shattering. ‘Who then am I, to gainsay the Thain’s orders?’

His arm around me squeezes tighter, and he nods. ‘Who indeed?’ he says lightly, and then in silence we make our way to the Thain’s apartments.

Chapter 7. Home Again, Home Again

 ‘Home again, home again, jiggety-jig!’ sang Sweetbriar in a high, cracked voice as the waggon drove along the street that ran through Whitwell. It was a far cry from their lickety-split gallop to Whittacres Farm the previous day.

Paladin had braided ribbons into the ponies’ manes and tails, and used his best harness, the one with silver bells sewn along the length of leather so that the ponies made music as they jigged along. Now driving the healer and her helper home in the grandest style, he raised an arm to return greetings, a broad smile on his face. ‘Aye!’ he shouted once again, in answer to a query. ‘A lad!’

He pulled up in front of the healer’s neat little dwelling and hopped down to help Sweetbriar from the waggon. Next he held out his hand to the tween, and Woodruff, arrested in the act of jumping down, flushed scarlet at the courtesy that had never before been extended to her. He squeezed her hand in reassurance before releasing it, once she was safely on the ground. ‘My thanks, again, Miss,’ he said, ‘for all you’ve done.’

 ‘O but it was the Mistress,’ she said breathlessly, before biting her lip and dropping her eyes. ‘Beg pardon,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to contradict, sir.’

 ‘You don’t have to “sir” me, lass,’ the farmer said kindly. ‘Most everyone round here calls me “Dinny”, and if that seems too forward to you, then just call me “Paladin”. You start handing out “sirs” hereabouts and everyone’ll jump and look round for the Thain!’

 ‘Yes, si—Dinny,’ she said shyly, and the farmer’s grin brightened.

 ‘That’s the lass!’ he said approvingly. Turning to the healer, he added, ‘Our thanks to you, Sweetbriar, and—’ he dug in a pocket, ‘—a little something extra from the heir to Buckland...’

 ‘O now Dinny,’ she said, holding up a restraining hand, but he seized it and placed a gold coin there.

 ‘Not my gold,’ he said jovially. ‘...as if I had any gold! It’s no skin off my teeth! Sorry “Scattergold”, he’s the one, gave me this to give to you. He said you wouldn’t take it from him, earlier.’

 ‘He paid me the two silver pennies he owed for setting his son’s arm,’ Sweetbriar said.

 ‘And he thought you ought to have a little extra,’ the farmer said, closing her fingers around the coin, ‘as do I. Let me tell you, if I had a gold piece to spare, which I do not, so you needn’t worry, well, I wouldn’t have it, if you know what I’m saying.’

 ‘Go on with you!’ Sweetbriar scolded. ‘None of your nonsense, Dinny! Now you take this right back where it came from!’

The farmer stepped back, throwing his hands up in the air. ‘Can’t take it back!’ he said. ‘ ‘Tisn’t mine!’ He gave a bow, turned, jumped back into the waggon, and chirruped to the ponies. ‘Get on laddie; get on lass! Let us come home in time for tea!’

Sweetbriar hmphed, blowing the curls from her forehead. She shook her head and took her helper’s arm. ‘Speaking of tea,’ she said, ‘we had better put the kettle on, hadn’t we?’

Entering the smial, she placed the gold coin and the four silver ones she’d earned—two from Paladin and two from the Bucklander—in a little cracked sugar bowl on one end of the mantel, replacing the cover with a rattle. ‘There,’ she said briskly. ‘And there it’ll stay, for I’ll not have need to buy another assistant anytime soon! Now then, Sweetie...’

She assigned tasks to Woodruff, seeming busy about her own tasks, but watching the tween all the while. An absent-minded frown settled on her good-natured face at the tween’s slow, careful movements. Woodruff could move quick enough, the old healer allowed, when she wasn’t thinking about what she was doing, but now, handling the china teapot and cups and plates the tween was slow as honey in wintertime.

They passed a pleasant teatime, and after the washing up there was time for Sweetbriar to take the tween around to introduce her to her chores: caring for the chickens, pulling weeds in the little garden, watering the window boxes, and all the other little things that need attention.

While the tween was shutting up the chickens for the evening, Ted came whistling through the little gate. ‘Ah, you’re back!’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure how long you’d be, so I just came to see to the chickens.’

 ‘You care for them when my Mistress is away?’ the tween said.

  ‘I do!’ Ted said. He jumped into the work then, helping her shoo the chickens into their little house, safe from foxes and owls, telling her the name of each and their little ways. ‘And that spotted one there, she thinks she’s queen of the flock, so we call her Queenie, of course. Look how she struts, all proud!’

Woodruff was laughing when old Sweetbriar came out of the smial. ‘Supper’s on,’ the old healer said. ‘Will you be staying, Ted-my-lad?’

Ted laughed. ‘I would love to,’ he said, ‘but for the fact that Mum gave me strict orders to be back home for supper. She said it’s hard enough, you having one great tween to feed, without making it two!’

 ‘You tell your Mum...’ Sweetbriar began, shaking her cooking spoon at the lad, but he laughed again and ducked around the spoon to peck a kiss upon her cheek.

 ‘I’ll tell her!’ he said. ‘And she’ll send me to supper one of these days, so long as I come with a basket on my arm to make up for the harm I’ll do your pantry!’

 ‘Rascal!’ Sweetbriar said, but he was off before she could add any more, for the Sun was nuzzling the horizon, ready for her own supper and bed, and the practical hobbits living in farm communities followed her lead.

Over the next days, Sweetbriar set her new apprentice a number of tasks to test her. The tween proved to own a sound knowledge of herbs and their uses, she gathered what she was sent for, she prepared tinctures and decoctions and set bunches of herbs to dry, she cleaned and dressed wounds, soothed injured hobbits and their families, helped set a broken leg, even delivered two more babies. She was willing, but puzzlingly slow whenever called to work with her hands. Whether it was employing mortar and pestle or washing up after a meal, Woodruff’s slow, careful pace tasked the patience of her Mistress, but Sweetbriar bit her tongue and kept watching.

 One thing the tween did not do well, and that was dealing with pen and ink. Her handwriting was reprehensible, a scrawl that she admittedly read with difficulty herself. Sweetbriar refrained from scolding, for it was clear that Woodruff was working very hard at it—O but she made hard work of it, she did!

The lass was not dull-witted, but she was cack-handed, to be sure. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Rosie Bracegirdle had dispensed with an otherwise competent assistant. Still, there was something... Sweetbriar couldn’t put a finger on it, so she kept her eye on the lass. And then came the day when the mystery was solved.

Woodruff was washing up after tea, and Sweetbriar was drying, and she noticed the tween wasn’t paying strict attention to her work... indeed, the way she was handling the precious old teapot that had been passed down in Sweetbriar’s family...

 ‘Sweetie,’ she said in surprise, and the tween started, the teapot slipping through her soapy hands with a rattle and an ominous crack as it dropped upon its own lid, reclining amongst the saucers in the dishpan.

 ‘Oh!’ the two cried at the same moment, Sweetbriar moving to catch the teapot, though of course the damage was done.

Woodruff’s cheeks were very pale as she stammered apologies. She looked down at her hands, and quickly snatched the dishcloth from left to right. Then her shoulders slumped in defeat. She’d cracked the pot, and she’d also broken one of Rosie’s cardinal rules.

She held out her left hand and tried to steady her voice. ‘I’m ready,’ she said.

 ‘Ready?’ Bittersweet said. She’d taken up the teapot, biting back reproof though she wanted to weep at the large crack she saw running through the thistle-flowered china, and seeing the lid in several pieces still in the dishpan. Now looking at the tween, she said again, ‘Ready? Ready for what?’

Woodruff swallowed hard and her hand trembled. ‘Would you like me to fetch the switch, Mistress?’

 ‘The switch...?’ Sweetbriar said. Comprehension dawned slowly as she stared at the tween’s face, and then down at the extended hand. She set the pot down in the dishpan, absently wiped her hands upon the towel, and reached for the tween, who flinched though she was obviously trying to stand firm.

Taking the trembling hand in hers, Sweetbriar looked down, rearing back slightly to bring the flesh into focus. ‘What...?’ she said, and took a deep breath at the fine white lines criss-crossing the palm. ‘What...?’ she repeated, beginning to tremble herself, though her emotion was outrage rather than fear like the tween’s. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ she demanded, clearly furious.

 ‘I’m sorry, Mistress,’ Woodruff whispered, her eyes on her hand. ‘I’ll try to keep still, really I will. Please don’t double the blows...?’

 ‘Double the blows?’ Sweeetbriar gasped, and in the next moment she had pulled the tween against her breast and was holding her very tight. ‘She beat you, lass? Beat you for using your off-hand?’

The tween’s head nodded against her, and tears of fury, outrage and shared hurt filled the old healer’s eyes. ‘Well I never,’ she whispered, and feeling the tween’s trembling she began patting and stroking Woodruff’s back. ‘There-there, lass, there’ll be none of that, not anymore!’

At last the trembling eased and Sweetbriar released her from the tight embrace, draping one arm about Woodruff’s shoulder and urging her away from the half-washed dishes towards the hallway, and then out into the afternoon sunshine. Seating them both on the weathered bench, taking the tween’s insulted left hand in hers, she said in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘Now, lass, tell me what it’s all about.’

 ‘She said it was “unnatural”,’ the tween replied in a low tone, keeping her eyes on her hand. ‘She tried to nag me out of it, and when that didn’t work she scolded, and then when I kept forgetting she would beat me. She said if it were painful I’d be better at remembering not to use it.’

 ‘She beat you bloody,’ the healer murmured, tracing one of the fine white scars with a gentle finger. ‘O Sweetie, how many times...?’ Looking up into the tween’s bewildered face, she added, ‘No. I do not want to know. Even once was one time too many. But hear me, lass...’ she said earnestly, and waited until the tween looked up to meet her eyes.

 ‘Hear me well,’ she said. ‘I want to see you using that hand right as it was meant to be used...’

 ‘But it’s not my right hand,’ Woodruff said, and gulped, dropping her eyes once more. ‘I’m sorry, Mistress, I didn’t mean to contradict.’

 ‘She beat you for that as well, I gather,’ Sweetbriar said, her lips pulled thin in disgust. ‘Well you’ll have no beatings from me, lass, on that you can rest! And if that Rosie Bracegirdle has the nerve to stick her nose in at my door, I’ll be tempted to flatten it for her! Imagine!’ But coming back to the topic at hand, the old healer added in a calmer voice, ‘Your off-hand is your “right” hand, lovie. It’s how you were made, and it’s “unnatural”, as you call it, to try to force you to use your right hand instead. It’s no wonder...’

She had been about to say that you’re so clumsy, but caught the words just in time, instead choosing to repeat, ‘It’s no wonder.’

But the tween's head drooped again, as if she'd heard the unspoken words. ‘Mistress?’ she whispered.

Sweetbriar cupped Woodruff’s chin in her hand, raising the young face.

 ‘You hold your head up, missy,’ she said. ‘You’ve naught to be ashamed of. Why, you’ve more of healing in your little finger than most healers I know have in their whole being! That Bracegirdle may have been a fool, but you learned well the healer’s arts in spite of her.’

Not long after, they returned to the neglected washing-up. Silently the tween lifted the cracked teapot from the water and began to carry it away.

 ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Sweetbriar said.

 ‘It’s broken—useless,’ the tween said miserably. ‘It’ll never hold tea anymore. I was just going to put it on the rubbish heap.’

 ‘Just put it on the table until we’re done here,’ Sweetbriar said, and the tween nodded and obeyed.

But when the washing-up was done, instead of ordering the tween to cast off the teapot, Sweetbriar herself took up the pot and beckoned to Woodruff to follow. They went out to the garden, where the healer set the pot down and then directed the tween to fill it, first with the pieces of the broken lid, then little pebbles, and finally dirt. At the last she had Woodruff dig up a clump of pansies growing in the flowerbed and tenderly nestle them in the teapot, peeping out where the lid would have gone.

 ‘There,’ she said in satisfaction. ‘Now you set that by the front door, a nice little pot of heart’s-ease to brighten the eyes of passers-by.’

 ‘O Mistress,’ the tween said tearfully, and instead of taking up the pot she jumped to her feet and flung her dirty hands around the healer in a heart-felt hug.

 ‘There-there, lass,’ the healer said. It was the first hug she’d received, not given, in the company of this tween, and a precious thing, dirty hands or no. She returned the hug heartily. ‘There-there,’ she said. ‘It’s a nice, homely touch, it is. Just right for our home.’

 ‘Our home,’ the tween echoed, barely in a whisper, but the old healer heard the words right enough, and she smiled.

Chapter 8. Interlude

The Great Hill that contains the Great Smials is always a lively place, the corridors bustling with Tooks and servants and workers and Tooklanders busy about one thing or another, the good smells of cooking wafting through the corridors—there is almost always something cooking somewhere in the Smials, either over the fire in a family’s apartments or in the infirmary kitchen or in the main kitchens that serve any who care to eat in the great room, which holds all the Tooks in the Smials and then some, when there’s a feast. On a pleasant day like this, the great room would likely be only half-full at one of the set mealtimes, with Tooks out picnicking or somewhat, but today the room is likely full at set meals and nearly full the rest of the time, the hobbits of the Smials leaving off their duties, those that may, and instinctively gathering to hear the worst, when it happens, and talking and speculating over who will follow Peregrin as Thain. For Faramir is much too young...

The corridors are nearly empty, and the few hobbits we meet are hurrying about their business in rather a furtive manner. They meet us with an anxious look, no smile, no greeting, only a sort of question in their eyes, a question they will not ask, obviously, from the accompanying look of dread on their faces. But seeing the head healer, obviously summoned to return to the Thain’s apartments, and worse, with my beloved by my side... how the Talk will fly in the great room, not so long from now!

We reach the Thain’s apartments. One of the hobbits of the Thain’s escort stands at the door, to turn away inquiries, to guard from well-meaning intrusion. Without a word he opens to us, holds the door as we pass in, closes it softly but firmly behind us.

Sandy is moving about the large sitting room just inside the main entrance to the Thain’s apartments, laying out a cold luncheon on the side table for any who might come to wait, and for afterwards. It is a part of life, after singing one out of it, to sit down, to tell fond or funny stories, to eat and laugh (and weep) together. He meets my eye and looks away again; he knows why I have been called from my rest.

My beloved stops, his arm around me tightens, he drops a kiss upon my forehead and steps away, immediately moving to help Sandy. He will remain here, waiting for me, and true to his nature, he will make himself helpful while he does.

I move down the corridor to the small sitting room, just outside the Thain’s bedroom. All is in perfect order; there is a hint of beeswax in the air, the furniture gleams with care, the rug is freshly brushed, and a fire is laid ready on the hearth—Sandy has been assuaging his woes in the only way he knows. If only it were so easy to clean and tidy away the pains that tarnish life as the dust that mars a gleaming table!

Fennel looks up as I pause in the doorway to take in the scene. Diamond sits as I last saw her, one arm about her husband, her head leaning upon his shoulder and his face turned towards her. Faramir has joined them, crowding close to his father’s other side. The twins, of course, are too young to bear a long and anxious wait, too lively to sit still for very long, and might likely trouble their father in all innocence. Their minder waits to fetch them at a moment’s notice.

Fennel rises, lays down the hand he holds, steps quickly to the door to whisper in my ear. ‘I do hope I haven’t left it until too late,’ he says, worried. I nod and move to the bed, taking up the hand. The pulse is galloping now, faster and weaker than before, and I can feel the heart miss its step, like a pony stumbling near the end of a long race. The Thain’s breaths come at longer intervals, and he moves not at my greeting, nor shows any sign of noticing the change in healer.

I give a nod. Fennel has been watching for this; he is gone from the doorway in the next moment, gone to send forth word, to gather the waiting family for the final song.

Chapter 9. Family Matters

One morning the tween was feeding the chickens when the old healer called from the kitchen. ‘Sweetie! Sweetie!’

 ‘Coming!’ she called back, flinging the last handful wide and laughing to see the hens scatter to collect all the bounty before going back to pecking bugs out of the dirt.

She replaced the bucket on its hook, washed her hands, and danced into the smial, declaring, ‘It’s a delicious day—the Sun is smiling and there’s not a cloud to be seen! It’s the perfect day for a picnic!’

She stopped short to see Ted in the kitchen, holding up a bright dress against himself whilst his grandmother eyed him critically. Sweetbriar turned to her helper with a thoughtful look, though a twinkle was in her eye. ‘What d’you think, Sweetie?’ she said. ‘I don’t think it does a thing for the lad, really! What was his mum thinking, to sew such a thing and no daughter old enough to wear it!’

 ‘Well if it’s not suited we’ll have to find it a new home,’ Ted said practically, and then as if the idea had just occurred to him he added, brightening, ‘Say, Sweetie, perhaps you’d have a spare peg free to hang this on...?’

The tween blushed, looking down at the “new” dress she already wore. When she’d arrived with only her patched, worn dress to her name, Sweetbriar had said nothing about the lack of baggage. That first night back in the little smial Woodruff had slipped out of her old dress and hung it carefully from one of the pegs on the wall of her room—her very own room! (She’d slept in Rosie’s guestroom, banished to the byre whenever a guest came to stay.)

When she’d wakened the next day, her old dress was gone and two had taken its place, neither new but better than what she’d had. She’d heard later that they were contributed by townsfolk with tweens who’d heard of her arrival from the South Farthing, empty-handed, and her subsequent help with the birth at Whittacres Farm. Tooks must be the most gossipy hobbits in the Shire... but to her mind, they were also the kindest, save perhaps the Brandybucks she’d met at Whittacres Farm.

A new dress! She stood as if rooted to the spot. ‘For me?’ she said softly.

 ‘For you!’ Sweetbriar said, taking the dress from Ted and crossing to hold it up against Woodruff. ‘It looks to be a perfect fit,’ she added in satisfaction. ‘Every tween ought to have a new dress to dance in, after all, and there is to be dancing, and feasting, this day...’

 ‘Da says the Thain might even come, what with Paladin being directly descended from the Old Took, and now his son...’ Ted said. ‘Mum thought Sweetie ought to have a new frock for the occasion.’

 ‘Not that we want the Thain to take note of my new assistant!’ Sweetbriar said thoughtfully. ‘If he asks you to dance, lovie, just don’t tell him you’re my helper, will you dear? Tell him you’re my newly adopted grand, that’d be better.’

Woodruff nodded with a grin. Adopted! The word still had a sparkling newness, shining bright like the yellow flowers that sprinkled the spring-green dress. She was a “Took” now, whether or not she chose to keep the name “Bankstone”. For the first time in nearly a dozen years she relished the feeling of belonging. And she’d signed her own signature to the papers, using her left hand, and no one had lifted so much as an eyebrow (not to mention, a switch). 

 ‘Well, “cousin”,’ Ted said. ‘You had better try on that dress so that I may take a good report back to Mum!’

The dress fit Woodruff as if it had been made specially for her (as it had) and Ted took back the “good report” as well as the news that Sweetbriar and Woodruff were ready for the Naming Day celebration at Whittacres Farm. Difficult to believe that it was already a month-and-a-day since she’d arrived!

Ted’s father had borrowed a waggon—he rode a pony for his travels on the Thain’s behalf, and living in town the family had no need of waggon or coach—and Woodruff was invited to sit up on the driving bench with Ted’s mother and Sweetbriar whilst the rest of the family rode in the bed of the waggon.

They sang all the way to the farm, joining a procession of Tooks who’d come to celebrate the “official” arrival of Paladin’s son and heir. Tables were set up in the yard—good thing it was a sunny day!—and music of pipes and fiddle, flute and drum was already skirling as hobbits danced and twirled, bright ribbons flying.

Woodruff’s hair was done up with yellow and green ribbons to match her dress, that Sweetbriar just “happened” to find rolled up and stuck away in the linen press. ‘I wonder how long these have been languishing here?’ she’d said, after her first exclamation of surprise. Well, they hadn’t been there a few days ago when Woodruff had changed the bed linens...

Ted helped his younger brothers and sisters out of the waggon and then helped his grandmother and mother down. (Ted’s father had jumped down from his pony and disappeared after a quiet word to his oldest son.) He handed Woodruff down last, retaining his grasp on her hand. ‘A dance, perhaps, to start?’ he said, and then, ‘May I, Mum?’

 ‘Of course you may,’ his mother said. ‘Just keep an eye on Sweetie, will you? With the roses in her cheeks some young hobbit might decide it’s time to pluck a pretty bouquet, and I don’t think your gran is quite ready to let her go yet!’

 ‘I will lead her into the dance and keep an eye out for marriage proposals,’ Ted said solemnly, before leading Woodruff away.

 It was all nonsense, of course. Being bound as an apprentice, she couldn’t even think about marrying for nearly seven years, unless a prospective husband was also prosperous enough to pay off her contract. But she laughed and blushed further and threw herself into the dance with a heart as light as her feet.

It was a whirl of faces, old and young, familiar and new to her. At one point in the dance, as she passed from partner to partner, she found herself dancing with the young Brandybuck, arm freed from its sling, and a few moments later with his father, and then a procession of Tooks (including the Thain whom she recognised from his painted portrait on the parlour wall), a tween she didn’t know who was somewhat younger than herself but taller and fairer than most, the celebrated Bilbo Baggins (!) who laughed and called her “my dear”, and even Lotho Sackville-Baggins with his blotchy face.

She did wonder what the Sackville-Bagginses were doing at the party... but then, practically everyone in the Shire was related to everyone else, or so the saying went. Why, even she was related now, by adoption, to all these Tooks!

Not everyone danced. Quite a few sat down at tables, eating and drinking, or moved about chatting with one another, or clapped along in time with the music as they watched the dancers, as they waited for their first glimpse of the new Took, who’d make his appearance when the welcoming ceremony started.

Sweetbriar was sitting at a table exchanging gossip with a few other older Tooks when she paused in surprise. ‘Rosie?’ she said. ‘Rosie Bracegirdle?’ She hadn’t been aware that the old healer from the South Farthing knew the family.

Rosie cleared her throat. ‘I was travelling to Longbottom in the company of my cousins, the Sackville-Bagginses, you know.’

 ‘I know,’ Sweetbriar said politely.

 ‘Well, they stopped for the celebration, and they couldn’t very well leave me to wait at the gate, now could they? So they kindly invited me to accompany them... What a fine and festive occasion!’

 ‘Ah, yes,’ Sweetbriar said, and the conversation ought to have ended there. She wasn’t about to invite Rosie to sit down with them.

But Rosie hesitated, her put-on smile fading and a serious expression taking its place. ‘It’s quite convenient, finding you here,’ she said.

Sweetbriar didn’t like the sound of this. ‘Is it?’ she said, wary of what might follow.

 ‘It has been a month and a day since we finalised our agreement,’ Rosie went on, pushing ahead, obviously not relishing the task she had set for herself, but grimly determined to do what she perceived as her duty. She was ever one to do her duty, no matter how unpleasant.

 ‘It has,’ Sweetbriar said, her uneasiness sprung to full-bloom at the reminder. “Month-and-a-day” was a standard time of measure for Shire-folk in the purchase of durable goods. Even if Shire-folk were tempted to cheat on a bargain (and hobbits as a rule do not follow such practices), the “month-and-a-day” clause in most contracts allowed the terms of a contract to be reversed on or before the final day. This made for honest dealings on the parts of both parties to the contract, for the most part, and high quality of goods offered, unless neglect could be proven on the buyer’s side, leading to failure or breakage of what he’d purchased.

 ‘I find I was premature in offering you my dear lass,’ Rosie said, fishing her pocket-handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at her eyes. ‘I simply cannot do without her.’

Sweetbriar sat, mouth half-open in surprise, as she tried to think of a suitable rejoinder.

Rosie fished a jingling bag from under her shawl and plonked it on the table. ‘There you are,’ she said quickly, though she was slow to disengage her fingers from the top of the bag, reluctant to let the coins go. ‘All that you paid, and an additional ten percent, the penalty for breaking off our agreement.’

Sweetbriar was finding it difficult to breathe. ‘You cannot...’ she gasped.

 ‘Sweetbriar?’ Eusephonia Banks, from the next farm over, bent near in concern. ‘Sweetbriar, are you well?’ The obvious question would be “Shall I fetch a healer?” but for the fact that Sweetbriar was the healer!

Rosie smiled, a patently false smile, affecting sympathy. She patted Sweetbriar’s shoulder. ‘I quite apologise,’ she said. ‘I do wish it might have worked out otherwise.’ She turned and melted into the crowd, just as the call went up to stop the dance and gather for the welcoming ceremony.

Paladin came out of the smial, carrying little Peregrin, Eglantine by his side, and their three young daughters close at hand. They moved to stand before the crowd, and as all eyes turned to him, the farmer raised his voice to speak the traditional words.

'It has been a month and a day since this new hobbit graced the Shire with his presence,' he said, 'and we gather now to welcome him to the family and to write his name down, to be sent to the Great Smials to be written in the Book.' He shared a smile with Eglantine.

There was a soft murmur of "welcome", and then Ferdinand Took stepped forward, wife and children with him, bearing a bottle of wine. 'Welcome to the family,' he said. 'We give the gift of wine, that he may know joy.'

Adelard Took, steward to Thain Ferumbras, moved forward next, bearing a loaf of bread. 'Welcome to the family,' he repeated the greeting, and added, 'I bring bread, that he may never know hunger.'

Adelard’s sons Reginard and Everard came forward together each carrying a bowl of honeycomb. Evidently they’d recently raided a bee tree; in any event both bore fading evidence of an encounter with angered bees. ‘Welcome to the family, cousin,’ Reginard said, and Everard echoed the words, adding, ‘We bring honey, that life might be ever sweet.’

 One by one the relations and friends stepped up with their greeting and their gifts, ale for heartiness, flowers for beauty, oil that the new arrival might live off the fat of the land, and more. Many of the gifts were clever, and laughter was sprinkled amongst the more serious presents.

Young Meriadoc Brandybuck caused a stir of smothered laughter when he stepped forward with his gift. He was suffering an attack of hiccoughs, as so often happens to young hobbits that gobble their food against their elders’ warnings. ‘Weh—hic! –lcome,’ he said. ‘Welcome, P—hic! –pin,’ he said, trying again. He cleared his throat, stood a little taller, and repeated determinedly, ‘P—hic! –pin.’ He caught Frodo’s eye, his older cousin’s reassuring nod, and abandoned the effort to say “Peregrin” in order to forge ahead. ‘I bring,’ he said, spacing his words so that they were not interrupted by hiccoughs. ‘feather... that his heart... may ever be... light!’ Triumphantly he brandished the striped bright feather he’d found on a walk in the woods, and Pearl accepted it with appropriate solemnity.

Bilbo offered a bottle of old Winyards, more wine for joy, but the duplication didn’t matter, it merely doubled the blessing. Frodo, for his own part, offered an intricate drawing of a butterfly hovering over a garden, each line inked with precision and the whole carefully tinted in a profusion of colour, ‘...that he might know wonder.’

Woodruff stepped forward shyly, saying, ‘Welcome,’ and holding out a smooth stone she’d found at the edge of a stream on a picnic with Ted’s family. Ted’s da, who’d told her to call him “Uncle Tru”, had gathered the children round to admire the stone while he told how it had started, all rough and sharp-edged, and been slowly worn down to a pleasing smoothness by the work of the water over years’ time. And if it were to lie there long enough, he’d ended, it would wear away to nothing at all, but it wouldn’t be wasted, O no! It’d be broken down to silt and sand and soil where the plants can find footing, helping to make the Green Hills even greener!

Eglantine whispered encouragement, and the tween went on, stumbling over her words slightly with so many eyes upon her. ‘I give him this stone, smooth and weighty, that could bring down a bird or squirrel for the pot, or sit in your pocket for a worry-stone, or set in a vase with other stones to hold flowers upright, or even be laid down in a stream again to see it turn from dull to shining black...’ she said, and Paladin nodded appreciatively. Beauty as well as practicality, that certainly met his approval. ‘...that he might grow to be solid and steady,’ she concluded. Just like the rest of the Tooks, she thought. Folk you can depend upon, even in difficulty.

She stepped back to make way for other givers, looking about for Sweetbriar—who at the moment was surrounded by concerned hobbits, fanning the old healer and discussing what ought to be done. As a matter of fact, someone had just resolved to find Woodruff... except that Rosie Bracegirdle found her first.

 ‘There you are!’ came an unpleasantly familiar voice as a clawlike hand fastened around her upper arm. ‘Don’t you look nice! Just fine for a wedding...’

 ‘This isn’t a wedding,’ Woodruff said without thinking, and gasped as the claws tightened.

 ‘Don’t contradict!’ Rosie hissed, propelling her through the crowd. To the hobbits craning to see the gift-giving, it appeared as if a hobbit mum was giving her misbehaving tween a no-nonsense talking-to, probably over loading her plate too high or tweenish mischief or the like, and so none interfered, but stood aside to let them pass as Rosie continued to scold. ‘You ought to know better than to correct your betters! Well, it doesn’t matter, any road. You get uppity with your husband, he’ll give you what for!’

 ‘Husband?’ the tween gasped.

 ‘Here we are!’ Rosie said, voice bright with false cheer. ‘I told you, Lobelia-dear, that I’d get her back. Really, if you’d told me that Lotho had his eye upon her, I’d never have sold her for an apprentice in the first place...’

Lotho! Woodruff thought desperately. He’d made improper advances to her once or twice, safe in his position as son of a pillar of society, and she’d rebuffed him firmly. He was of an age to marry, but no one would have him, from what she’d heard. No one who had a choice, anyhow...

 ‘Well I cannot imagine what he sees in the lass, but he has his heart set on winning her, and I simply cannot seem to refuse him his slightest request,’ Lobelia said sourly. She looked Woodruff over. ‘Though in a fine new frock I must say she’s almost passable.’

 ‘Here you are,’ Lotho said, his customary scowl turned to a sneer by the smile he was attempting. ‘Father’s in the coach already, though he was put out to miss the rest of the feast...’

 ‘We’ll have a feast of our own when we reach the inn,’ Lobelia said with a fond smile for her only son. Seeing several hobbits nearby watching out of curiosity, she reached to pat Woodruff on the cheek, a perfunctory tap, no more than that, and only because that was the sort of affectionate gesture that would be expected of a future mother-in-love not in the privacy of hearth and home. They were still in a crowd of hobbits, after all, and Lobelia was ever-conscious of the proprieties. ‘A celebration of the nuptials, I think—I’m sure we can find enough witnesses at the inn to sign the wedding documents. We’ll have the wedding then and there, before the Sun rises on another day!’

Scandalised, several of the nearby hobbits who’d overheard began at once to whisper amongst themselves. Such a rushed wedding could mean only one thing... They directed dark looks at the little group, and Lobelia decided it was high time to make their retreat, while trying to repair the social damage at the same time. ‘Yes, we’ve been planning this wedding for such a long time, it’s a joy to have it finally come about! Come now, dear!’

 ‘Wedding!’ Woodruff said faintly, resisting the hands pulling her towards the lane where she could see a coach waiting, driver opening the door as they approached.

 ‘What’s this about a wedding?’ Ted said from behind her, and he took her arm. ‘Sweetie, it’s Gran, she’s been taken with some sort of fainting fit...’

 ‘I...’ Woodruff said. Her words were drowned by a shout as the ceremony concluded; relatives and friends raised a cheer and called greetings and welcome to the babe (who, though he couldn’t be seen this far back in the crowd, stared wide-eyed and wondering at the noise, and broke into a toothless grin at seeing Merry jumping up and down at the front of the throng).

 ‘I am sorry about your gran,’ Lobelia said briskly, so soon as the noise began to wane, ‘but we have paid our respects to the happy family and we are behind our time... really must be going now...’ As she spoke she pressed forward once more, pulling Woodruff along with her. Ted followed, not leaving off his grasp on Woodruff’s arm.

 ‘But you’re not taking Sweetie with you!’ Ted said, shocked and resisting the pull.

 ‘Of course I am,’ Rosie snapped, renewing her iron grip and adding her pull to Lobelia's. ‘She is my responsibility, after all, and I’m not about to leave her here, amongst a lot of wild Tooks, unprotected. You take your hands off, young hobbit, if you know what’s good for you!’

Ted stared, and Lotho gave him a carefully-timed shove behind one knee that sent him sprawling. ‘So sorry,’ Lotho said. ‘I seem to have lost my balance. Come along, Mother!’ And they began moving towards the coach again, through the crowd of celebrating hobbits who didn’t seem to notice what was happening...

Ted, behind them, was calling out for his father at the top of his voice, and Woodruff felt a moment’s disgust. What would be the good of that?

However, as they were pushing her into the coach, a number of brawny Tooks were suddenly there, and the clutching hands fell away suddenly, and Woodruff was standing, bewildered, looking about for any way of escape. They were surrounded, however, and Ferdinand Took was there, firmly holding the lead ponies’ bridles, and a Bucklander (brother to the "sorry" hobbit, in point of fact) had the driver by the arm, and Paladin himself was holding Lotho’s arm and shaking him as a terrier might shake a rat.

 ‘Too much sun, eh, lad?’ the farmer said. ‘What brings you to steal away from the celebration when the grand feast is just about to start?’

Tru Took approached, parting the crowd to make way for the hobbits following him. ‘Here we are, Sir,’ he said over his shoulder.

Lobelia stiffened and glared, then hooded her eyes and dropped the barest of courtesies to the approaching Thain, while shooting a poisonous glare at Bilbo Baggins, at the Thain’s left elbow, and Saradoc Brandybuck on the Thain’s right.

 ‘Ferumbras,’ she said with false cheer. ‘Why, I do hope these hobbits haven’t pulled you away from the feast!’

Thain Ferumbras harrumphed, but Lobelia had already turned to Bilbo. ‘Why, cousin!’ she said brightly. ‘I was just about to seek you out! We have a wedding to perform, that has been long in the planning, and we were going to travel to the South Farthing that Honourius Bracegirdle might do the honours, but my dear lad is so very impatient, you know, to possess his long-awaited bride at last...!’ And she gave a brittle laugh, taking one of her hands from Woodruff’s arm to pull her son to her other side. ‘Don’t they make a lovely couple?’ she added.

Ignoring Lobelia, the Thain turned to Ted’s father. ‘Tru?’ he said.

 ‘It’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ Ted’s father said. ‘Long in the planning? Then why was she sold for an apprentice?’

 ‘It was an oversight on my cousin’s part,’ Lobelia said. ‘A misunderstanding, as it were. It’s all been put right now. The contract has been reversed, payment restored with the ten percent penalty as custom.’ (She’d provided the extra ten percent to buy the lass free, though she didn’t mention that.)

 ‘My mother has taken her in, Sir,’ Tru said. ‘You signed the adoption papers yourself, Sir. They take effect at noon today, a month-and-a-day exactly from the time she came into Mum’s possession.’ The Thain had signed the papers, as one of seven witnesses, in gracious response to his travelling agent’s special request. Tru Took was often away from hearth, home and kin on the Thain’s business, yet he seldom asked much for himself beyond his remuneration. It had been Ferumbras’ pleasure to do this favour for the loyal Took.

 ‘I am so sorry,’ Lobelia said smoothly. ‘It cannot be. We have a previous claim.’

 ‘This “long-planned wedding”?’ Ferumbras said, raising an eyebrow.

 ‘Did you know of it, lass?’ Tru asked Woodruff.

She felt the warning tightening of Rosie’s clawlike grip. ‘What-for...’ the old healer breathed in her ear, and she knew that the worst beating of her life had just been promised. And then Rosie turned with a smile, though her grip did not ease one whit. ‘Of course she knew,’ she simpered. ‘Why, we’ve talked of nothing else for months! And then I’d heard Lotho had married, and I thought he’d lost interest in the lass, wretched clumsy thing that she is, but it wasn’t dear Lotho Sackville-Baggins who’d married at all, it was Lotho Sand-Banks. You can see the confusion, to receive a note about the wedding of Lotho S.-B. and...’

Ferumbras cut her off with a sharp gesture. ‘There’s a pony of a different colour,’ he rumbled, and eyed Woodruff from under his eyebrows.

She stood paralysed, her arm aching from Rosie’s grip. She wasn’t really adopted, they’d said. It wouldn’t take effect until noon, perhaps an hour away, and by then she’d be an hour away from the farm and moving ever farther as the trotting ponies pulled them southwards...

A sob escaped her, but somehow she couldn’t find the words to say, feeling as if it were all a dreadful nightmare from which she could not awaken.

 ‘O my dear!’ Lobelia said again, pulling Lotho to stand next to Woodruff and joining the hands of the young couple together. ‘The time for tears is past, now you’re together again! As I said, they have been planning this just about forever, and how broken-hearted they were at the terrible mix-up, and now we have them together again, and Lotho can scarcely wait to call the lass his very own...’

Lotho’s hand squeezed Woodruff’s convulsively and he gave her a triumphant look, as if to say, Try to put me off, did you? Well, you won’t be able to do so in future!

Lobelia was continuing, ‘And so, Bilbo-dear, you may perform the ceremony yourself, if you’d be so kind, as head of the Baggins family, and the happy couple don’t have to wait until we reach Longbottom after all...!’

The jaws of the trap had closed on her and she could scarcely breathe for fear, but the Thain was eyeing her thoughtfully and Tru Took was murmuring in his master’s ear.

 ‘That’s a pony of a different colour,’ Ferumbras repeated, and hesitated, looking from the growing triumph in Lobelia’s face to the bird-in-a-trap expression of the lass. At last he made up his mind. ‘If it’s true,’ he said firmly.

Lobelia sputtered, but the Thain continued, gaining momentum as he spoke. ‘If it’s true,’ he repeated. ‘You’ve had a lot of fine words to say about long-held understandings and miscommunications and misunderstandings and such. I want to make sure that there are no more of these miscommunications and misunderstandings, that everything stands clear and that there are no miscarriages of what’s proper taking place here today. This ought to be a joyous occasion...’

 ‘Of course!’ Lobelia interjected. ‘And there’s already such a lovely party taking place, we could just join our wedding celebration to it,’—saving the expense of the wedding themselves, what a good idea!—‘or not,’ she said hastily, at the look on the faces of the surrounding hobbits. ‘No,’ she said, pulling at Lotho and Woodruff, ‘as a matter of fact, we’ll just be on our way, as we’d originally planned...’

 ‘What do you want, lass?’ Ferumbras rumbled, as if Lobelia hadn’t spoken, fixing Woodruff with a hawklike stare.

Woodruff was breathing rapidly, and feeling giddy. She shook herself mentally, though with Rosie gripping her from the one side and Lotho on the other she couldn’t shake herself physically. Should she faint, they’d bundle her into the coach without further ado and she’d be lost!

Forcing herself to take several deep breaths while she met the Thain’s gaze, she gasped out, ‘No!’

 ‘You see,’ Lobelia said. ‘She’s eager to go, indeed she is, the little darling, and means to say she doesn’t need any well-meaning interference... So come along, dears, and we’ll...’

 ‘No!’ Woodruff cried louder, trying to pull away.

The Thain stepped forward, to lay one hand on Rosie’s arm and the other on Lotho’s. ‘Let her go,’ he said, and there was that note of command in his voice that could not be denied. Ferumbras might seem a sleepy-eyed, fat old hobbit tied to his mother’s apron-strings, most of the time, but he was Thain, and descended directly from the Old Took himself, with some of the fire of that hobbit running in his veins.

As if of their own volition and not that of their owners, the hands released Woodruff and she pulled away at last.

 ‘Speak for yourself, lass,’ the Thain said.

 ‘She is but a heedless tween,’ Rosie said indignantly, ‘with scarcely a brain in her head, ignorant chit!’ Into Woodruff’s ear, she hissed, ‘This is your chance, you witless thing! Why, you’re to marry into one of the great families, you are, to make something of yourself! Would you throw that away to live amongst the daft Tooks?’ It was a good thing the murmuring crowd didn’t catch the words...

 ‘I choose—!’ Woodruff said breathlessly, and the crowd fell silent.

Bilbo spoke for the first time. ‘Lass,’ he said kindly. ‘You don’t have to...’

 ‘I choose!’ Woodruff said, stronger. ‘I won’t go with you,’ she said, looking from Lotho to his furious mother. ‘I won’t! I don’t care if you think me ignorant, or daft, or a fool or any of those other things... perhaps you think only fools belong in Tookland! If that’s the case, then you have my leave to think me a fool, so long as you leave me here amongst the Tooks!’

A cheer arose from the crowd, and Bilbo broke into a beaming smile. ‘You tell ‘em, lass!’ he said, but there was no more to tell, really. Lobelia, seeing victory snatched from her grasp, had already seized Lotho and was propelling him into the coach, and Rosie, seeing discretion as the better part of valour, was right behind them.

Otho’s voice was heard, then, evidently just awakened from sleep. ‘At last! Are we to be off, then? I thought we’d be halfway to the South Farthing by now... What took you so long, was it such a fine party after all?’

In the meantime, the driver, released by Merimac Brandybuck, had climbed up on the box and taken up the reins. He saluted the Thain and crowd with his whip and clucked to the ponies. Ferdinand jumped out of the way, slapping one of the lead ponies on the rump to lend him speed, and the coach was off down the lane, raising a cloud of dust to sprinkle the hobbits left behind.

 ‘Well then,’ Ferumbras said. ‘I find I’ve worked up quite an appetite. Come, Tru, we’ve more business to discuss...’ He turned to walk with his special assistant towards the laden tables.

A tightness in Woodruff's heart eased as she saw Sweetbriar heading towards them, face set and grim, surrounded by a bevy of indignant hobbit mums.

Paladin put an arm around Woodruff’s shoulders, and Saradoc came up on her other side. ‘Well then, lass,’ Paladin said. ‘The adoption takes effect when the Sun reaches her zenith this day, does it?’ He squinted at the sky. ‘I may be a bit premature, or I may not, but in any event...’ He grinned. ‘Welcome to the family!’

Chapter 10. Interlude

One by one the family have filed in, gathering around the bed. They’ve all been on the spot, in a manner of speaking, since the day before yesterday: Pearl summoned from the family farm, Vinca from Buckland, where she was visiting her husband’s family. Nell has lived here at the Smials since the year her brother became Thain.

Now they stand hesitating, as if unsure what to do next. I rise from the chair, releasing the cold hand, to make way for the mourners, and stand back. Pearl, as eldest, moves to the bed, sinking down, leaning forward to embrace her brother for a long and silent moment. At last she whispers, ‘I would not say goodbye, even now, brother...’ Her voice breaks, and the only word I can make out afterwards is “love”.

Like Fennel, I had feared we’d left things until too late, but as Pearl straightens I see the Thain’s eyes are open and aware. His lips form her name, though there is no sound.

Next Pimpernel bends to her brother. ‘You gave me my life back,’ she whispers. ‘I’ll never, ever forget.’

It’s true. She nearly died, a widow with five young children, after her husband was taken from her suddenly. But Pippin would not let her follow; he and Eglantine set watchers on her, making sure she ate, that she was cared for, until the first wave of grief had passed, and eventually he was instrumental in bringing her together with the love of her childhood, Ferdibrand, though it is almost unheard-of for hobbits to remarry.

And then Pervinca lays her cheek against her brother’s. ‘I forgive you,’ she says softly, pulling back to smile at him though the tears glimmer in her eyes. It has been a family jest, for all of Pippin’s life, that he took Vinca’s place as the pet of the family, and she never reconciled herself to her loss. He smiles in return.

The husbands stand clustered, Pearl’s Isumbold supported between Ferdibrand and Meliloc Brandybuck. He was the head of Thain Ferumbras’ escort, until the day he threw himself between the Thain and the charge of a wild boar. Now he supervises the workers on the farm that belongs to Pippin’s family.

Ferdi and Meliloc ease Isum onto the bed. The latter’s arms are heavily muscled, as if to make up for his near-useless legs, but he gathers Pippin into his arms as gently as a mother with a babe new-born. ‘Brother,’ he says. ‘Don’t eat all the seed-cake before I come to the Feast.’

 ‘Isum,’ Pippin whispers, and then, haltingly, he adds, ‘I’ll be sure to save my share of liver for you as well.’

No one chides, or tells him to save his strength.

Isum eases him back against the pillows once more, but sits a moment longer to lock gazes with the dying hobbit. ‘I promise,’ he says, ‘that Diamond and your children will always have a home at the farm, and Farry will inherit a portion of the land.’ It is a generous offering back of what Pippin has given; some time after Pippin received the deed to Whittacres Farm on the death of his father, he deeded the land to Pearl and her family, saying she ought to have inherited it in any event, being the eldest.

Pippin nods, a feeble gesture, and closes his eyes as if even this small exchange has wearied him beyond bearing.

Meliloc helps Isum rise from the bed, and Ferdi sinks to his knees. ‘Cousin,’ he says, as always, but further words fail him and instead he seizes Pippin’s hand and bows his forehead to their entwined fingers. And so they remain, as I remember how the older cousin watched over the younger as a brother might, on his family’s summer visits to the farm, how a young and thoughtless Pippin caused the ruin of this cousin, and how, years later, on taking up the office of Thain, he raised Ferdi up again, restoring to him all he had lost, and more.

At last Ferdi lifts his head, rises to lay a brother’s kiss against the wasted cheek, whispers something that only the Thain hears, and turns away to seek the comfort of his beloved Nell’s arms.

Fennel has fetched a chair for Isum and now Meliloc steps forward to take his leave. He takes Pippin by the hand, says a few broken words, and steps back.

Fennel summons Reginard, Steward of Tookland, from the outer room where he waits with the others gathering to sing the Thain out of this life. He enters and stands just inside the doorway, stiff with dread. I can almost see the weight of the Shire descending upon his shoulders; Farry is much too young to be Thain.

I step forward to take up Pippin’s hand once more. ‘Thain Peregrin, are you with us?’ I say, as clearly as I can. ‘It is time to name your successor.’

We have spoken of this, in the watches of the night. I know his intentions, though they are far from the dictates of custom. Will he be strong enough to carry through on his resolve? Or has he used the last of his strength already?

Chapter 11. Into Deep Waters

Woodruff was cutting leaves in the little wood not far from Whittacres Farm. She had wandered a good way from Whitwell in her search for the plants Sweetbriar had specified for the gathering (nettles were common, but Lady’s Mantle had proven shy), moving from copse to copse in search of shade-loving plants, but it was a lovely day, the old healer had packed a hearty second breakfast of bread and cheese and dried-apple pockets, and elevenses would be waiting when she came home. Home! After six years, the word still brought a thrill of comfort to the healer’s apprentice and adopted granddaughter.

Carefully harvesting young nettles, she gave a start as something crashed through the thicket behind her, and a sharp exclamation as stinging leaves brushed her exposed skin, above the glove she wore. Hastily she grabbed a dock leaf and scrubbed at the burning sensation, even as she scurried towards the nearest tree. She didn’t know what it was, boar or dog perhaps, but it was as big as she was, from the sound of it.

The brambles behind her thrashed wildly and stilled and she froze, having pulled herself onto the lowest branch. She stared gloomily at the overturned basket of freshly-harvested Lady’s Mantel and nettles—a proper mess of all her morning’s work. Listening, she heard panting, and then a groan that sounded more human than hog. It had made enough noise to be a wandering Man, perhaps.

 ‘Is someone there?’ she called, ready to spring for the next higher branch.

A young and breathless voice answered. ‘Help... please... help!’

That didn’t sound like a Man, she thought. The wandering conjuror who’d passed through Whitwell had spoken... differently somehow, though he’d adopted the Shirefolks’ way of speaking. The hooded stranger who’d startled her in an isolated copse, on an earlier gathering expedition, why, he’d given her a courtly bow, a whispered apology, and then he’d melted into the trees so quickly she’d doubted what her own eyes had seen. Yet even the whisper had not sounded exactly... hobbity. This was definitely a hobbit’s voice. ‘What is it?’ she called, looking all about as she let herself down from the branch. If stray dogs had chased the young hobbit into the copse, she wouldn’t do him any good if she were savaged herself. But no, she hadn’t heard any barking. ‘Who’s there?’

 ‘Help! Please!’

Caught in the brambles, but that didn’t explain the note of despairing panic in the young voice, that made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

Blessing the thick leather gloves, she cautiously pulled bramble branches aside. The young hobbit had crashed into the middle of the tangle and was trapped. Whichever way he turned, wicked thorns jabbed into him, and he could scarcely move for the thorns that grasped at his clothing.

 ‘Keep still!’ Woodruff ordered as she began to disengage the tenacious thorns. She bit off an exclamation as the young hobbit thrashed. Barely a tween, she imagined, from the look of him. She had seen him in Whitwell a time or two with Frodo Baggins when the latter had been visiting his Tookish cousins. Now she wracked her brains for the name... ‘Young Master Boffin! Master Folco! Hold yourself still, or I won’t answer for the consequences.’

 ‘Drowning...’ the tween sobbed. ‘Help... Get help...!’ He broke off with a yelp as a thorn penetrated tender flesh.

 ‘Drowning!’ Woodruff said, now tearing recklessly at the brambles to free the tween. ‘Who’s drowning? Where?’

 ‘Pip—well—old smial,’ Folco panted.

 ‘Pip?’ she said. ‘Peregrin Took? Young Pippin?’ Merry Brandybuck’s hiccoughs had spawned a smaller name for the lad whose proper name was “longer than he was”, or so old Mister Baggins was fond of saying. She pulled the tween free of the brambles with a final yelp on his part, and they both went sprawling on the damp ground, adding dirt to the small rents in Woodruff’s frock. ‘Where?’

 ‘Old smial—nobody lives there now,’ Folco answered, pointing vaguely behind him.

 ‘Come along!’ Woodruff said, pushing him off so that she could climb to her feet. She grabbed at his wrist and pulled him to his, and then they were running, or rather she was half-dragging him, towards Whittacres Farm. This copse was just at the edge of Paladin’s land... across two fields and they’d find help, indeed, sooner perhaps, if there were any workers out on the Whitwell side of Paladin’s holdings. But no, the fields they crossed were empty of hobbits, the first neatly ploughed, with well-ordered rows of plants marching along, and the other filled only with cows placidly grazing.

But there was quite a gathering of hobbits in the farmyard. Tables and benches were set up, and hobbit mums and daughters were bustling about with serving bowls and dishes, and hobbit dads and sons stood about talking merrily, whilst two fiddlers tuned their instruments preparatory to playing. Woodruff remembered: Today was Paladin’s birthday, and his friends and close relations would be gathering to feast and frolic!

Sweetbriar was not a close relation, and was feeling poorly in the bargain, so she and Woodruff were to have stayed at home this day, once Woodruff returned from her gathering. Still, the healer’s apprentice would have been welcomed warmly, had her wanderings taken her through Paladin’s fields, for there is always room for another guest, even an uninvited one, at a birthday-party, and another mathom can always be found to give away.

The two breathless hobbits were received with cries of sympathy and alarm, supported to a bench, fanned, their cuts and scratches exclaimed over, presented with cool drinks and solicitous comments while they tried to get a word in edgewise, difficult enough under any circumstances but more so when out of breath, especially when so many were talking at once..

 ‘Folco! Look at the state you’re in! I imagine young Pippin’s worse off, the little imp!  Led you a merry chase, did he? What did he do, duck through a bramble-bush, leaving you to blunder through after him?’

At the same time another was saying, ‘Drawing the healer’s lass into the chase—a merry chase indeed! Has he gone to ground yet? Did you chase him back here, clever lad?’

 ‘Where is Pippin? It is time to get him cleaned up for the party!’ Pippin’s eldest sister dabbed at a scratch on Woodruff’s arm, tch-tching, even as she muttered about how fortunate the sturdy leather gloves had preserved Woodruff’s hands and wrists in her evident struggle with brambles.

Woodruff seized the ministering hand, gasping. ‘Pearl! Stop! He’s—’

 ‘Drowning!’ Folco put in.

 ‘What a joke! He always complains he’s drowning when Da dunks his head in the bucket to get at the dirt behind his ears. Did you do the favours this morning, for a birthday present? But where is he now? You take your eyes off him, he’ll be rolling with the pigs in the pen to recover his dirt...’

 ‘Drowning!’ Woodruff said sharply, and ‘There’s been an accident, I fear,’ while at the same time the recovering Folco shouted the news.

 ‘He fell in the well! He’s in the well, I tell you!’ Sudden silence fell as the desperate tween shouted a last time, ‘Pippin’s fallen in a well!’

Young Merry Brandybuck was there, even before Pippin’s parents reached them, grasping at Folco’s shirt with such force several buttons popped off. ‘Where?’

Folco half-sobbed, waving towards the fields. ‘Old smial, I don’t know whose...’ He wasn’t from around Whitwell, after all, and didn’t know the environs.

 ‘An abandoned smial,’ Woodruff put in. ‘He said nobody’s living there now.’ Eglantine gasped as the enormity of the news struck her; Pearl, who'd stopped short, now wrenched from Woodruff's grip and whirled to throw her arms around her mother, sobbing in sudden fear. Eglantine returned the embrace, staring at Folco, while more hobbits hurried toward them, calling questions to each other.

 ‘He’s drowning!’ Folco yelped desperately, and Woodruff, looking up, saw the young hobbit now standing behind Merry turn pale and sway.

 ‘Now lad,’ a hearty voice said, though the sober note in it seemed ill-suited to the owner as Bilbo caught the swaying tween and steadied him.

The tween swallowed hard and mastered himself with an effort of will, and Bilbo nodded and eased his grip now that imminent danger of fainting seemed to be past. Some distant part of Woodruff’s memory, detached from the terror of the present moment, reminded her that Frodo’s parents had drowned, somehow, an unnatural death for any hobbit.

 ‘What are we waiting for?’ Bilbo said, his arm still steadying Frodo for the moment before he turned to shout towards the hired hobbits near the barn. ‘Fetch ponies! Ropes! Fetch the healer!’

 ‘Healer’s here,’ Merry said, nodding at Woodruff. His hands were clenched into fists still holding Folco's shirt, but he spoke with forced calm much older than his years. Though he was little more than a child himself, he was steadier than many of the excited adults surrounding them. ‘Now, where is he? What smial?’ Folco sat motionless, his eyes darting about as if he'd point the way if he only knew which way to point.

Ferdinand Took ran into the barn and soon emerged with a coil of rope over his shoulder and three fine ponies, his own and Saradoc and Merry Brandybucks’. Saradoc pushed Paladin, frozen in horror, forwards.

 ‘Ride my pony,’ he said tersely. ‘I’ll follow on another.’ Paladin’s plough ponies were strong and steady, but built to pull a plough the daylong and a waggon to market, not to race over uneven ground at top speed. Paladin nodded, a sharp jerk of the chin, and ran to where the excited ponies, having caught the hobbits’ feverish mood, plunged in Ferdinand’s grasp.

Saradoc hesitated and turned to his son. ‘Your aunt,’ he said. ‘She needs...’ He broke Merry’s grip on Folco, levered the latter to his feet and gave him a shake. ‘Come along; we need you to tell us the way to go!’ Together they ran to the barn, Merry to claim his pony from Ferdinand, his father shoving Folco towards Paladin and then plunging into the darkness of the barn to help haul out saddles for the visitors’ ponies grazing in the paddock. Frodo was right behind them, claiming a pony from one of the hired hobbits for Bilbo and himself to share, for they’d walked over the fields from Bag End the day before.

 ‘Come, lass!’ Ferdinand shouted as he leapt to his pony’s back, waving to Woodruff. She took his meaning immediately and stood up from the bench. Her legs were no longer wobbling under her, and she had caught her second wind. He rode towards her, scattering hobbits to the right and left, held out his hand, and hoisted her up behind him.

Paladin mounted and took Folco up behind him. ‘Which way, lad?’ he shouted.

 ‘Broken windows, grey door,’ Folco said, even as Woodruff waved in the direction they’d come.

 ‘Grey!’ someone said, startled, but Paladin nodded.

 ‘I know the place,’ he said. ‘Been empty so long all the paint’s peeled away and the wood weathered.’ Turning the pony, he urged it down the lane that ran alongside the cow-pasture. Ferdinand, his pony faster, caught him soon. Paladin waved him past. Someone had to get there, and quickly! 

Merry led his pony at a trot to the little knot made up of Paladin’s wife and daughters, fixed together in fear and dread. He caught Eglantine’s arm. ‘Auntie!’ he said. ‘Ride with me! We’ll fly on the wind of their passing!’

In less time than it takes to tell of it, hobbits had claimed all the ponies to be had and were riding out, followed by a great body on foot hurrying past the astonished cows and then over the cabbage field and around the little copse where Woodruff’s abandoned basket likely still lay.

Folco was explaining, loudly above the sound of the galloping hoofs, the wind snatching away half the words, how he’d hauled branches to the well and dropped them down to give young Pippin something to climb onto, to keep him out of the water’s icy grip.

Woodruff, riding behind Ferdinand Took, her arms clasped firmly round his middle as they raced along faster than she’d ever gone on a pony before, heard Bilbo shout to Paladin, ‘Then the lad’ll be fine! The way he climbs trees...!’

They clattered into the yard of the abandoned smial, where the arriving rescuers provided the only sign of life. Ferdinand flung himself from the pony’s back, not even stopping to help Woodruff down, unslinging the rope he carried as he reached the well... and stopped, staring into the depths.

 ‘Pippin!’ Paladin shouted, sliding from his own pony’s back. ‘Why don’t you—’ he said to Ferdinand, only to stop, gaping.

Woodruff closed her eyes, imagining the child, dead, white face floating just below the water’s surface, curls gently fanned out to frame his countenance. But the pony pranced beneath her, and she slid off just in time to keep from falling off.

Frodo Baggins sat stiff and straight behind Bilbo, his face bleak, and Bilbo’s customary smile was gone as he patted his pony’s neck and murmured something inaudible, drowned out by the clatter of Merry and Eglantine’s arrival. He had gone round a longer way, not trusting himself to hurtle the low dry-stone fence, as the others had, with his aunt in his care.

Woodruff forced herself to move forward. Perhaps, if they got the little lad out in time, they could force the water out of him. Perhaps, if it wasn’t too late, they could get him breathing somehow, rolling him over a log. She joined the growing crowd of silent watchers staring down into the well.

It was nearly noontide, and the Sun shone her light helpfully down the shaft sunk into the earth, to make it easier for the craning hobbits to see, and just as well, for nobody’d thought to bring a lantern.

The waters stood, dark, still... and empty.

Chapter 12. Interlude

 ‘Thain Peregrin?’ I repeat. The Mistress meets my eyes, dread in her own, before her eyes drop to his chest, to watch for the next breath. Some of the tension leaves her as the breaths continue, spaced apart, certainly, but they continue.

I crouch close, place my lips to his ear, whisper, ‘You’ve changed your mind, then? Regi is to follow you, as the succession would demand?’

The cold fingers twitch in mine, he hitches an extra breath, I hear Diamond whisper his name and when I straighten I see he is struggling to open heavy lids. He blinks; his eyes stare into mine, he gasps, ‘Tell.’

 ‘As you wish, Sir,’ I say. It was all a part of his scheming, this. He left it to the last, to give his plan more chance to succeed. They could scarcely argue him out of it, him with so few breaths left to him. How can they gainsay him his dying wish? In the emotion of the moment, they very well may bind themselves to set aside the succession and honour his final request.

...which is exactly what he hopes will happen.

His eyes continue to stare into mine, and I nod and take a deep breath of my own.

 ‘Thain Peregrin offers you a choice,’ I say. ‘He has charged me to speak for him, but the words are his, not mine. If you wish to argue, you must argue with him.’

The corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. I think he would wink, if the gazes of all in the room were not riveted to his face.

 ‘Who would argue with the succession?’ Ferdi says huskily. He clears his throat and looks to Reginard. ‘The Tooks will accept Regi as Thain without argument.’

 ‘What “choice” do you speak of?’ Isum says, eyeing us shrewdly. He alone seems to have grasped that the succession is not to be the smooth, expected process set by custom and tradition. ‘A choice implies two or more options.’

Pippin nods slightly, to the wonder of all. Not to name Reginard, the next in line, but someone else? Unheard of! I wonder what they will make of the rest of the plan.

Reginard steps forward to kneel by the bed. ‘I’m ready, cousin,’ he says. Creature of duty and tradition that he is, he is lacking only imagination. He will bravely take on the task, even though it break him. He bows his head.

Pippin pulls his hand from mine and lays it on his cousin’s salt-sprinkled head for a long moment. At last, he whispers, ‘I’m sorry, cousin.’

Regi nods, and Pippin’s hand falls away.

 ‘He doesn’t apologise because he lays the burden of the Shire upon your shoulders, Regi,’ I say softly. ‘But because he fears you will misunderstand his intention.’

Regi lifts his head, to look in puzzlement from Pippin to myself. Yes, lacking imagination. A fine follower he is, loyal, steady, brave, he’ll carry out orders with precision and insight. But he cannot see beyond the nose upon his face.

I raise my voice to address all. ‘You have three choices before you,’ I say. ‘None of them to your liking, I warrant. But Thain Peregrin thought it important that you have some choice in the matter. A little sweetening to help you down the bitter draught.’

 ‘Three... choices,’ Regi says carefully. ‘I do not understand.’

 ‘First,’ I say, taking up Pippin’s hand once more, ‘first, for your consideration, is for Faramir to follow his father as Thain. That would be the logical and customary succession, father to son...’

 ‘Aye, if the lad were a score of years older,’ Ferdi says in annoyance. ‘Have you lost your wits? Farry’s much too young to be Thain!’

 ‘Reginard and Ferdibrand would act as his regents until he comes into his majority,’ I continue.

 ‘Unheard of!’ Ferdi sputters, traditionalist that he is, while Regi looks troubled. Isum’s eyes sparkle with grim amusement. Pip has managed to upset the cart of apples, even as he draws his last breath! Farry sits a little straighter; his father has been preparing him for this moment.

 ‘It is how we do things in Buckland,’ Meliloc blurts. Not the most quick-witted of hobbits, that one, though he manages mercurial Pervinca wonderfully. It would have been better not to mention such.

 ‘Buckland!’ Ferdi snorts. ‘Did anything good ever come out of Buckland?’ Impetuous, that one is. He has imagination, fire, and energy, but is lacking in other areas. Together, he and Reginard could prosper Tookland. They complement each other, filling up the corners, or so Pippin observed to me as we talked through the long and wearying nights.

 ‘Ferdi!’ Regi says under his breath, but that hobbit is already apologising to Meliloc, who waves aside the words with a wry smile. As a Brandybuck living amongst the Tooks, his hard work, good humour and ready laugh have brought him gradual acceptance and accolades such as “the lad is practically a Took himself, you know!”

 ‘Or, if you prefer to follow tradition, the succession could be honoured,’ I continue. Regi nods, ready once again to shoulder the burden. ‘However,’ I say, ‘the next Thain would not be Reginard. He is more suited to be Steward than Thain, in Peregrin’s estimation. He has given this much thought, and would have Reginard remain as Steward.’

Stunned, Regi looks to Pippin, who nods once more with a sad smile. Now the reason for the apology comes clear. Pippin fears that Regi will think himself lacking, to be so excluded. ‘...to save you,’ he whispers, and looks to me to explain.

 ‘Thain Peregrin has expressed to me, on more than one occasion, that to saddle you with the Thainship would run you into the ground, Regi,’ I say. ‘And I must add, in my own opinion, speaking from my knowledge of illness and healing, that I believe he has the right of it. You can bear up under the burden of carrying out orders and decisions, but seeing your way clearly, looking ahead,’ somehow I am fumbling for the words to explain as his guileless eyes stare into mine, ‘trying to see ahead through the murk that is the future... you are not suited to the task.’

He looks as if he would argue, for a moment only, and then his shoulders slump. ‘I’m sorry, cousin,’ he whispers. It is grievous to be measured and found wanting.

 ‘Reg,’ Pippin whispers, and a tear spills down one cheek. ‘Forgive.’

Reginard rises swiftly to embrace Pippin, and so he remains for a time, until he can master himself. Sitting back, he says, ‘So Ev’ard is to be the next Thain.’

 ‘Not Everard,’ I say. ‘Thain Peregrin is interested in keeping competent hobbits in the place they fill best. You as Steward, Everard as chief engineer, for surely he is the finest excavator in the history of the Shire since Isengrim II.’

 ‘Who, then?’ Meliloc says, and falls silent as all eyes turn to Ferdibrand.

That hobbit stands, stunned to silence, one hand half-lifted as if to ward off a blow. Quick of wit, he is, and not lacking in imagination. ‘Impossible!’ he says. ‘The Tooks have never forgotten...’

 ‘Pippin was a part of the prank, and yet they allowed the succession to pass to him at Paladin’s behest.’

 ‘But I was the older,’ Ferdi argues. ‘They held me to blame for old Ferumbras’ death...’

 ‘They held you to blame for the stable fire,’ Regi says quietly. ‘It might have been short-sighted of you to put the lantern on the ground, but ‘twas the pony kicked it over, not you.’

 ‘Pippin stayed to fight the fire,’ Ferdi says, dropping his eyes. ‘I ran... like a coward.’

 ‘After your exploits against the ruffians, keeping Tookland free, I think none here would call you a coward, Ferdi,’ Regi says.

 ‘A fool, perhaps,’ Ferdi mutters.

 ‘Fool of a Took,’ Diamond whispers. ‘You’re in good company.’ Tears glitter in her eyes, but her arms about Pippin tighten and she smiles bravely.

 ‘With Regi as your steward, the Tooks might accept the succession,’ I say. Yoke a wild young ox together with a steady older companion and you can harness his energy to pull the plough while keeping him on a straight path.

 ‘And if not?’ he says, his eyes challenging.

 ‘There is always the third choice,’ I say. ‘Peregrin would not want you to choke down more than you can swallow.’

 ‘And what is the third choice?’ Isum says.

 ‘Elect a new Thain, just as Bucca was first chosen,’ I say. ‘There wasn’t always a succession, after all, and if Ferdibrand refuses, or the Tooks refuse him, you’ve reached the end of the line of Gerontius.’

They all stare at me in shock, and I fight an absurd desire to laugh. All is proceeding exactly as Pippin said it would.

Chapter 13. A Pony of a Different Colour 

Merry slid from his pony’s back and turned to help his aunt down. When she would have gone to the well, he stopped her, politely but inexorably leading her to a mossy bench in the neglected garden, taking off his jacket and laying it down to guard her clothing, seating her with great courtesy. From the inaction of the hobbits surrounding the well, he knew with terrible, heart-tearing certainty that they were come too late. There was no need for his aunt to haunt her dreams with the sight that awaited her. He’d seen drownings before.

 ‘Stay, Aunt,’ he murmured as she made move to rise. He circled her with his arms, laid his cheek against hers, and added, ‘We’ll bring him to you by and by. But stay here, for now.’

Cheeks wet with tears, she nodded. While everything in her screamed to run to the well and fling herself in, to pull her littlest from the waters’ icy grip, at the same time she felt as if she might never move again. They were come too late. It was too late, and there was nothing to be done.

As Merry, feeling strangely numb and cold as death must be, moved to the well, more ponies pulled up in the yard, though their riders remained in the saddle, seeing Paladin so still and stiff at well’s edge. The sense of urgency was turning into something more solemn and funerary. Merry looked down into the depths, his heart crying out bitterly within him. Again he rued that they had stayed at the inn in Whitwell, to spare Eglantine the worry of putting up her fine and fancy Brandybuck relations in addition to all the others who’d come to celebrate Paladin’s natal day. By the time they’d arrived at the farm (having missed the birthday breakfast because Merry’s mother had awakened with an aching head) Folco had already taken Pippin off, to “keep him out of the cake batter” while noontide preparations were underway. But Merry had been given no other choice; it had not been his choice to make. Now all he could do was to make the best of a bad situation.

Staring down into the blackness, he shuddered. Too late by far, there was no sign of his young cousin at all. Pippin must have sunk to the bottom. ‘We cannot leave him there,’ he whispered, somehow forcing the words past the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him.

No one seemed to heed him.

He heard the sounds of mourning and looked up to see Eglantine, motionless where he’d left her. She’d thrown her apron over her head and was sobbing as several of the hobbits who’d taken ponies gathered awkwardly around her. Pimpernel was there, throwing her arms around her mother to join her in weeping; young Ferdibrand had taken her up behind him on his pony and so she arrived before her sisters. Merry looked to Frodo’s white face and staring eyes, his shaking hands, and repeated, ‘We cannot leave him there.’ His fingers sought the top button of his shirt, and then the next, and the next.

 ‘What’re you doing, lad?’ Ferdinand said. Paladin never moved, nor took his eyes from the waters that had swallowed his son.

 ‘We cannot leave him there,’ Merry said again, divesting himself of his shirt and laying it over the edge of the well. He took the rope from Ferdinand’s slack grip and tied a loop, then stepped into it. ‘If you lower me slowly, it won’t disturb the water so dreadfully as if I just hang over the side and let myself fall in.’

 ‘Your father...’ Ferdinand said.

 ‘We will not leave him there,’ Merry said through his teeth. ‘In any event he’d have to be brought out, and the sooner the better, for his mother’s sake.’ He climbed over the stone surround and Ferdinand hastily grabbed up the rope, divining that the teen would jump into the well if he had to.

Moving as one in a dream, Paladin also grasped the rope, and they began to lower Merry, just as Saradoc’s slow pony jogged into the yard. ‘Merry!’ the teen heard his father cry, but no more than that. Saradoc had seen too many drownings, himself, and likely realised, from the lack of urgency, that this was a recovery and not a rescue.

Merry shuddered as the icy waters touched his feet and the water rose slowly to embrace him, causing him to suck in a gasping breath. At last he was treading water, though quickly numbed. He shouted up at the heads that edged the circle of light above him. ‘Slack!’

Ferdinand nodded and paid out rope, and Merry took a deep breath, let it out again, and dove. Blackness was before his eyes and his heart hammered in his ears before his fingers found the bottom. He felt in every direction, finding nothing for his efforts, before he was forced to seek the surface again. His head broke into the air and he gasped, his chest feeling tight. More heads ringed the circle of light, their features undistinguishable with the bright sun behind them, but his father’s voice called down. ‘Merry?’

He shook his head, blowing out mightily, sucking in air, blowing it out again so that he’d sink quickly to the bottom, and then he dove, to grope around the sides of the well. Nothing.

His father called out when he surfaced again, but he had no answer to give, or rather, his answer was to dive a third time. This time when he surfaced, they gave him no choice. While he was still taking in air, they pulled up on the rope. First the slack was gone, and then he was rising, though he grasped at the slippery stones to stop himself. He would have slipped out of the loop to continue his search, but he couldn’t, now that it had tightened around him to bear his weight, bearing him indeed, out of the darkness and into the light.

 ‘No!’ he gasped in protest as the hands reached out to haul him over the side. ‘We cannot—’

 ‘No use drowning yourself, my lad,’ Saradoc murmured in his ear. Esmeralda was there, wrapping a blanket around him, and Paladin was sitting slumped against the stones of the well, his face buried in his hands.

 ‘How will we get him out?’ Ferdinand said.

 ‘We’ll send down a tween,’ Saradoc responded, ‘with a long pole. We won’t put him in the water, mind, but hold him suspended just above. He can poke about in the depths until he finds... and then we’ll know where... and we’ll be able to...’

 ‘I’ll do it!’ Frodo said tersely, and though Bilbo would have protested he was already stepping into the loop of rope they’d removed from Merry. Though his face was deathly pale, his jaw was set and his eyes flashed fire. ‘Where’s a pole?’

They wrenched loose a rail from the fence and with this in hand, Frodo was lowered into the well. The hobbits afoot had arrived by this time, and Pearl and Pervinca had joined the group of wailing hobbit mums and lasses surrounding Eglantine.

Merry had recovered enough from his efforts to stand, and clutching his blanket around him, he leaned on the stone surround, looking over, to watch Frodo’s efforts. Frodo, from living in Buckland for a goodly part of his first score of years, knew the drill for probing the depths.

Folco was blathering to the hobbits near him, how it all had come about. They’d been playing “fox and hare”, with Folco chasing his young cousin over hill and down dale, a game that delighted young Pippin and kept him nicely occupied and out of the kitchen when cakes were baking. They’d run into the yard, and Pippin had been thirsty. Folco’d been thirsty as well, and after they’d hauled a bucketful of water from the well, one of them had had the bright idea of throwing a stone down to see the splash.

One thing led to another, and soon they were competing to see whose splashes were the largest. Pippin had dragged a large and heavy stone to the edge of the well, lifted it up (with a little help from Folco), balanced it on the edge... But as he looked over, the stone overbalanced before he was ready to let it go—and it pulled him down into the well with a great and terrifying splash. Folco had tried to haul Pippin up again with the bucket, but the rotted rope had given way, and so he'd picked up fallen branches and dropped them in the well while Pippin clung close to the side... 

At a nearby gasp, Merry looked up in surprise, for Frodo hadn’t found anything as of yet. The healer’s apprentice had a look of shock on her face; perhaps she was about to faint? As he moved to support her, Woodruff murmured, ‘Branches.’

No one seemed to notice. Louder, she said, ‘Branches! Master Folco said he shoved branches down... where are the branches?’

The realisation struck Merry like a thunderclap. There had been no branches in the well!

 ‘He’s not there!’ he gasped.

 ‘What’re you talking about?’ Ferdinand said irritably, his eyes still fixed on Frodo.

Merry seized Ferdinand’s arm, his warming blanket slipping unnoticed to the ground. He shivered without feeling the cold. ‘He’s not there!’ he said more forcefully this time. ‘I don’t know how it comes to be, but this is not the well! There are no branches! Not even under the water!’

 ‘What?’ Ferdinand said, leaving the care of the rope to Saradoc and the others, taking Merry by the shoulders and giving him an unconscious shake. ‘Speak sense, now, young hobbit!’

 ‘I felt all about,’ Merry said, his words tumbling over each other in his eagerness. ‘Surely I would have noticed branches! But there was naught, just water and cold stone!’

 ‘Dinny!’ Ferdinand shouted, loosing Merry and taking Paladin by the arm, hauling him bodily to his feet. ‘Dinny, he’s not there!’

Paladin blinked, his wits slowed by grief. ‘Not there,’ he whispered. ‘Did someone haul him out already?’

 ‘Listen to me, ye daft Took,’ Ferdinand shouted. ‘He’s not there! ‘Tis the wrong well, I tell you!’

 ‘What?’ Paladin said, staring over the edge at Frodo, still probing the depths though he’d looked up momentarily at the jerk on the rope.

 ‘Folco!’ Ferdinand shouted, forgetting the careful, proper speech he practiced among his wife’s Bolger relations and lapsing into nearly unintelligible Tookish, as was still spoken in the high Green Hills. ‘Folco, tha benichted tween, hie thasel’ he’e, an’ noo, I wot thae!’

Folco, bewildered, had no idea what was required of him, until Paladin advanced on him, seized him by the arms, and bellowed, ‘Folco! ‘Tis the wrong well! What smial, now? Stir yer addled brains to thought, young hobbit, and stir them well!’

 ‘The door was grey, I tell you,’ Folco quavered, ‘and the garden overgrown, the fence broken down and...’

 ‘Grey,’ Merry said in sudden realisation. ‘That could be blue or green, then...’

Paladin and the others stared at him. Vigo Boffin, Folco’s father, said slowly, ‘So I’m told. It’s all grey to me...’

Woodruff said sharply, ‘Colour-blind? You’re colour-blind, and your son after you?’

 ‘I am,’ Vigo said. ‘We are.’

 ‘The old Goodenough Farm,’ Woodruff said breathlessly. ‘That’s been abandoned these past five years, for the Thain’s not yet found a tenant who can pay the lease. The smial’s door is green!’

Ferdinand grabbed up another rope someone had dropped nearby, and ran to his pony, Paladin right behind him to grab the pony tied up next to Ferdinand’s. They vaulted into the saddles in the same breath, galloped out of the yard, hurtling the broken-down fence in their haste.

Saradoc took Woodruff’s hand and they ran to claim the nearest pony and were soon pounding after. No doubt all the rest would follow on their heels.

When they reached the Goodenough Farm, Ferdinand and Paladin were already bending over the lip of the well, and Paladin was shouting encouragement. ‘Hold on, Pippin-lad! We’ll soon have you out of there!’

Saradoc stopped long enough to lift Woodruff down. As she hurried to the well, he took the time to collect the skittering ponies and tie them securely before making his way to the well. From his experience, he figured there was time for such niceties, for it appeared they must wait for a teen or tween to arrive and be lowered down. Pippin, apparently, was too cold and exhausted to slip the loop about his waist to be hauled up, or perhaps too affrighted to let go whatever it was he was clinging.

Merry arrived soon after, and Ferdinand, Paladin and Saradoc carefully lowered him down, that he might not descend too precipitously and injure the child clinging so precariously to the branches and the mossy stones at the bottom of the shaft. By the time more hobbits rode into the yard, Bilbo and Frodo among them, they were already hauling away at the rope to bring the twain out into the warm sunshine.

A cheer arose as they helped a beaming Merry over the lip of the well, shivering Pippin clasped securely in his arms. Immediately blankets were wrapped around the lad and Woodruff began her examination. Merry felt a blanket wrapped around him and was suddenly aware of his mother beside him, her face wet with joyful tears. In that moment the reaction hit him and his knees buckled... it had been so close, so very close. Pippin had been clinging to the slippery stones, buoyed up by the branches Folco had thrown down, but he'd been so cold, so very cold, nearly asleep when Merry had reached him. Had the child lapsed into slumber, he'd have drowned.

 'Don't cry, Mum,' he said as Esmeralda eased him down with his back against the well. He reached out a trembling hand to her cheek.

 'I might say the same to you, son,' she whispered, laying a kiss upon his forehead, and he suddenly realised that tears were leaking from his own eyes. He wiped at his face impatiently.

 'Safe,' Saradoc said, crouching on Merry's other side to embrace his son. He'd seen enough drownings and near-drownings to pronounce his verdict even while Woodruff still thumped and listened to Pippin's chest. 'You brought him out safe, and in good time. I'm so very proud of you, Merry-lad. So very proud.'

Just before Woodruff pronounced the lad's lungs sound, and that Pippin was apparently undrowned and unharmed, Bilbo came up, hard at Frodo's heels, to say, ‘I trust, young Pip, that you made the biggest splash!’

 ‘I did!’ the youngster piped. He got no further than that, however, for seconds later he was enveloped by his weeping mother and sisters, and Paladin’s arms encircled all, and after a long moment the good farmer’s voice rose over the babble of voices that ensued.

 ‘Come now! We have a celebration to be making!’

Chapter 14. Interlude

I find I am holding my breath as I look from face to face. The moment of decision is rapidly approaching. Will they break with tradition? Is Pippin’s plan to succeed? Has he truly trapped them, or will they slip out of the snare he’s laid them? Will he die at peace, at least as much at peace as one could, cut off short, leaving wife and young children to flounder along without him, or will he die with Reginard a trouble on his conscience?

Though the measured breaths continue, his gaze is fixed, his eyes glazing. The end is very near. The time to do the deed is now, while they think he is still aware, for if he expires in this moment they will be released from any obligation to him, promises not yet given.

Diamond, knowing what he intended, stirs. She eases her hand from behind him, stands up from the bed, kneels down and takes his hand between hers. Someone gasps as she slowly slides the heavy ring, seal and signet of the Thain, from his finger. He has named his preference. Will they honour his wishes? Will his spirit hover long enough to see the outcome? Somehow I think it will, even if his body should give up the fight.

Diamond turns from the bed, one hand still holding her husband’s, and holds out her ring-laden palm, sweeping the room with a glance before her eyes settle on the ring. She waits.

After a long and silent moment, Reginard steps forward. Diamond lifts her gaze to his face, her own expressionless, as he takes the ring from her palm. I swallow down a lump in my throat; I wish to weep from sorrow and vexation. It was not enough. It was not enough.

With a glance at Pippin I see that he was aware, for his eyes close and he slumps in defeat. As the breath whistles out, I realize that he, too, was holding his breath in anticipation, despite the knifelike pain that it cost him.

Reginard is turning away, ring still grasped in his palm. He has not put it on; he would not, except to do the Thain’s business of a necessity. No, only after he is confirmed by the Tooks in solemn convocation will he wear the ring at all times. Until then, unless he is conducting business on behalf of the Tooks, the ring will reside on a plate set at the Thain’s place in the great room during mealtimes, and in Reginard’s pocket at other times.

But he does not put the seal of the Thain in his pocket... I catch my breath as he turns to Ferdibrand and holds out the ring. As if not of his will, Ferdi raises his palm to receive the seal of the Thain. I reach out, grasp Pippin’s shoulder with an urgent grip. He must see this!

Wearily he opens his eyes, to meet Ferdi’s penetrating gaze. ‘I take this,’ Ferdi says. ‘D’you hear, Pip? I will take it, but only until Farry comes of age.’

...and Pippin smiles, the sweet smile of the lad I remember as if it were yesterday. And then, as Ferdi pockets the ring, Pippin's eyes close and he relaxes against the pillows.

 ‘Da,’ Farry gasps, throwing his arms around his father, and Diamond rises from her knees to embrace them both, choking back her sobs.

I look to Reginard. ‘The twins,’ I say. ‘Quickly.’

He nods and hurries from the room, and returns with little Merigrin in his arms, followed by his wife Rosamunda carrying Forget-me-not, whom we call “Ruby” for her name is, at present, “longer than she is”, as Merry Brandybuck likes to joke.

Diamond pastes on a smile and says brightly, ‘Here we are, children! ‘Tis time for sleepy-byes, and Da wants a kiss and a cuddle before you go to your beds, lovies!’

Fed, washed and freshly nappied, the twins are laid down on either side of their father, sleepy and snuggling close.

 ‘Nigh-night, Da,’ lisps Meri, and his sister adds, ‘Me ha’ jammy-bwead fo’ tea, Da. But they wash off all me jammy-kisses!’ Pippin’s smile brightens, and though he does not open his eyes, he kisses each tousled head as Diamond lifts the twins, one at a time, to lay a smacking kiss upon his cheek, and then down again to burrow against his sides, warm and loving.

Tears come to my eyes with memories of happier days, not so long ago, of Meri and Ruby toddling, jam-smeared to their father with their flannel-laden mother in hot pursuit, and of Pippin protesting that he lived for “jammy-kisses”! (And needing the flannel as much as the twins did, after their kisses were tendered...)

And a song arises in the outer room, a song of cool sunlight and green grass, as is found high in the Green Hills of a fine springtide day. Before long the twins are sleeping sweetly, with smiles on their faces. How they’ve missed their da, these past few days when their time with him was short, visits few and far between. How they shall miss him...

Regi and Rosa, Pearl and Isum, Nell and Ferdi, Vinca and Meliloc, all steal quietly from the room to give the little family privacy in their last farewell. I’d take myself off, too, but for the Tooks and their records. I keep hold, counting the heartbeats, ready to make note, for the record, when they cease.

The twins are asleep, and knowing that even thunder would scarcely rouse them, Diamond at last gives vent to her emotions. She embraces him and lays her head down upon his chest, thinking he is beyond hearing, beyond being grieved at her sorrow. ‘O my love,’ she sobs, ‘my own, heart of my heart...’

Farry too weeps bitterly. He has held up bravely for days, but the last time they spoke, his father told him of the final parting with Frodo and Bilbo, and Gandalf... Not all tears are evil.

When the song breaks off in the other room, I want to protest. He is not yet dead! And then Fennel appears in the doorway, beckoning urgently.

I rise as slowly and carefully as I may, not wanting to disturb their grief. Does it truly matter, the exact time of death? When the time comes to write it down in the Book, I am sure I can find in my head or my heart a suitable figure... I lay down his hand, and though it does not befit me as a healer, I place a kiss there before I leave him to answer the summons.

Chapter 15. Another Apprenticeship

The reading of the Will had concluded, most of the friends and relations had taken their leave, declining Woodruff’s offer of tea and cake, and only Trured and Mira Took remained, having sent their children home ahead of them.

The sitting room had gone from overflowing-into-the-hall to silent and near-empty, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the mantel.

 ‘So,’ Tru said for the third or fourth time since his arrival, ‘are you sure you’ll be all right then, lass?'

Summoned back from her far-away thoughts, Woodruff blinked and essayed a smile. ‘Of course, Uncle,’ she answered, and rising from her chair she moved to him to bestow a gentle hug. He had lost his mother, after all, and Woodruff had lost only her Mistress, her adopted Gran, her whole world, in other words. And now, upon the reading of the Will, the little smial and all it contained belonged to her. Her very own home... it made her head spin to think of it... and yet she’d give it all away, to have Sweetbriar sitting in the comfortable chair by the hearth, talking over the events of the day.

Tru returned the hug and then sat Woodruff down between himself and his wife. ‘I don’t like you staying here alone,’ he said. ‘We’ll send one of the lads twice a day, of course, to feed the chickens and do whatever other tasks need doing, weeding the garden, and...’

 ‘But we could spare one of the lasses, for certain! ...to sleep in the spare room, and keep hole for you while you’re busy about healing. And the evenings won’t be so lonely, then... unless you’d like to close up the smial and move in with us?’ Mira said yet again. It was unnatural to her, for a hobbit to live alone, unless eccentric. Why, even old Bilbo Baggins up Hobbiton-way had taken in an orphan some years back!

 ‘Yes—perhaps—in a few days. I’d like to be by myself to think, just a bit. It’s all been so sudden...’ Woodruff said.

A knock came at the door and she jumped up from her seat as she always had, for a moment the healer’s apprentice once more, answering an inquiry for her Mistress... for her adopted grandmum...

She didn’t know the hobbit at the door, well-dressed, a Took by the look of him, but a stranger in these parts.

 ‘Yes?’ she said politely. ‘May I help you?’

He gave a sweeping bow and said, ‘Mardibold Took, at your service. Is your Mistress at home?’

Woodruff stood hesitating, at a loss for words. Properly she was Mistress now, and healer of Whitwell.

Uncle Tru’s voice sounded behind her, polite but firm, as he put a protective hand on her shoulder. ‘Hullo, Mardi. What brings you so far from Tuckborough?’

 ‘My da’s been talking with Healer Viola, up at the Smials,’ Mardi said. ‘He says he’s taught me all he knows of healing, and Viola could teach me more, but she says the Thain bought her out of her obligation three years before her apprenticeship was finished, and that I’d learn more from her former Mistress. So here I am...’

 ‘You’re looking to apprentice yourself?’ Tru said, a quizzical note in his voice. ‘Aren’t you a little long in the tooth for that?’

 ‘I’m two-and-thirty,’ Mardi said. ‘ ‘Tis true, I’m over thirty, and too old for my father to bind me as an apprentice. But I’m not too old to bind myself, and as I’ve not yet reached my majority, I have a note of permission from my father,’ and he hefted a bag that had gone heretofore unnoticed, ‘and the fee, for the next twelvemonth, and there’ll be more when that’s gone, if my learning is satisfactory to my father and the Mistress.’

Hobbits of the higher classes sometimes “apprenticed” themselves if they wished to explore the work of the hands for one reason or another. It wasn’t “real” apprenticeship, as Woodruff knew it. For one thing, they paid the Master for the privilege of learning, rather than being “bought”. For another, they were not bound for seven years, nor subject to be “re-sold”.

Tru moved to Woodruff’s side, saying formally, ‘Woodruff, if I may present Mardibold son of Hildibold, healer at Tuckborough? Mardibold, this is my niece, Woodruff.’

 ‘At your service,’ Mardi said once again, with a bow. ‘I apologise, I took you for an apprentice, Miss.’

 ‘I was...’ Woodruff began, but Tru spoke again.

 ‘I’m sorry that your journey was wasted.’

 ‘Wasted?’ Mardi said, raising an eyebrow.

 ‘My mother... passed on in her sleep,’ Tru said sadly, and his hand took Woodruff’s in a gentle, comforting squeeze. ‘We had the burial just this morning.’

 ‘O I am so sorry!’ Mardi said. The shock on his face faded to ruefulness. ‘And here I am, intruding on your grief. I ought to...’

 ‘You’ve come a long way,’ Tru said smoothly, ‘all the way from Tuckborough. Surely you don’t mean to turn around and go back again! It’s late, and you ought to eat something... We can put you up until the morrow.’ His eyes narrowed as he regarded the visitor, thinking of all he knew of Mardibold and his family. He made a sudden decision. ‘Unless...’

 ‘Please, don’t put yourself to any trouble on my account,’ Mardi said. He nodded to Woodruff, said, ‘My condolences, miss, and to you, sir,’ and began to turn away.

 ‘A moment, Mardi,’ Tru said.

 ‘Yes?’ Mardi said, turning back politely.

 ‘You were looking for training,’ Tru said. ‘I know your father well; he helped me out of a difficulty once, and I’d like to return the favour now, by helping his son.’

 ‘Sir?’ Mardi said, plainly curious.

 ‘You are looking for first-rate healer’s training, are you not? And the next best thing to being trained by Sweetbriar, would be to be trained by one who had her training, if I’m not mistaken?’

 ‘Aye,’ Mardi said. ‘That’s why I went to Viola at first, but she turned me away. She was sorry, but her time is not her own.’

 ‘Well, we might be able to find you your training after all,’ Tru said. Woodruff, divining his meaning, looked at him in silent astonishment, but he simply patted her hand and continued. ‘My niece, here, is now the healer of Whitwell. She brought quite a bit of healing knowledge with her, and my mother taught her much more.’

 ‘You were trained by Sweetbriar?’ Mardi said. ‘Fully trained?’

I had but a month left of my bounden service, Woodruff thought sadly, but her “uncle” was the one who answered.

 ‘Fully trained,’ he said. ‘My mother spoke very highly of Woodruff. Indeed, she was so ill, these last few months, she trusted her assistant to take over all care of the hobbits of Whitwell and surroundings.’

He looked to Woodruff. ‘Were you in the need of an assistant, Niece? There’s rather more work to be done here than one healer can manage. You were quite run off your feet, as I recall, between the care for your Gran and the needs of the hobbits hereabout.’

 ‘I...’ Woodruff said.

Tru held out his hand for the bag, and Mardi handed it over. The older hobbit hefted it consideringly. ‘More than the usual fee,’ he hazarded.

 ‘My father told me Sweetbriar was known as one of the best in the Shire,’ Mardi said. ‘He said the Thain had pressed her on more than one occasion to remove to the Great Smials, but she always refused him. Most pleasantly, of course. But firm.’

Tru laughed. ‘Aye,’ he said, wiping at one eye. ‘She was that.’ He looked to Woodruff and back to the would-be apprentice. ‘You couldn’t lodge here, of course. ‘Twouldn’t be proper.’

 ‘Of course,’ Mardi said. ‘I’d made inquiries at the livery...’

 ‘The livery!’ Tru said, startled. ‘Why not the inn?’

 ‘My father may have a comfortable living, as one of the healers of Tuckborough and a descendent of the Old Took,’ Mardi said, ‘but he’s not a fool with his gold. He told me if I really wanted this, I’d lodge in the livery, clean stalls and pitch hay for my bed and board, and learn of healing every moment I had to spare...’

 ‘I cannot quarrel with that,’ Tru said. He called back into the smial for his wife, and when Mira emerged, he introduced Mardibold and asked her to take the visitor back to their home for tea. ‘I’ll be along in a bit,’ he added. ‘Woodruff and I have a piece of business to discuss.’

***

Mardi had charmed most of the family (the eldest of Tru’s sons was rather silent, not even warming to the visitor’s exciting account of the most recent Tookland Pony Race in Tuckborough) by the time Tru returned for tea.

 ‘Sweetie not coming?’ Mira said, pouring out his tea and filling his plate.

 ‘Woodruff,’ Tru said, giving his wife a look, ‘was called away to stitch a bad gash. Andy Grubb’s youngest thought he’d show everyone he knew how to swing a scythe... when he didn’t!’

Mira clucked about “Foolish teens” and then said to her middle daughter, ‘Beryl, dear, you be sure to pack up a basket to take with you, then, when you take your things to the smial. I’m sure she’ll not feel like making a proper supper when she returns, poor lass. It’s been a long day.’

Tru took a thoughtful sip of his tea. It had been a long day indeed, starting with the previous morning, when an urgent knock had come at the door as he was sitting down to breakfast with his family, preparatory to another journey to the South Farthing on the Thain’s business. Needless to say, he’d sent a message to the Thain, another to The Bracegirdle, and the business had been put off. Yesterday had been a day of reflection, of preparation, of mutual comfort, and last night Sweetbriar’s loved ones had surrounded what remained of her, telling stories and singing songs through the dark hours and saying their last farewells with the approach of the dawn.

 ‘So,’ Mira said, pouring more tea into Mardi’s cup. ‘Mistress Woodruff has agreed to take you on as her apprentice, my husband says. Tru told me you were a great helper to your father; how can he spare you?’

 ‘He says he cannot,’ Mardi admitted, ‘yet at the same time he urged me to go, saying I would bring much comfort back to Tuckborough when I returned. Healer Viola has a wondrous touch, which is said she learned from Sweetbriar, and yet most of her time is taken up with Mistress Lalia.’

Who likely needs it not as much as she would have folk think, Tru thought darkly to himself. Lalia had her son, the Thain, wound round her little finger, and whenever he showed worrisome signs of independence she’d have palpitations and prostration to distract him until he was once more firmly under her thumb. ‘And you would not be called upon to render your services to the Mistress?’ was all he said, but Mardi looked at him sharply, for all his relative youth.

 ‘My family may live in Tuckborough,’ he answered, ‘and we may be from the line of the Old Took, but we are no longer a part of the succession, and we do not choose to live in the Great Smials, to be a part of...’ he hesitated. ‘To be caught up in family matters,’ he finished lamely.

 ‘I had heard your grandsire bought a measure of peace, withdrawing his family from the succession,’ Tru said mildly. It was said that Mistress Lalia was sharp with any who might conceivably follow her son as Thain, should he continue unmarried and heirless. Ferumbras had been a sickly lad from the start, leading to speculation from his youth that someone from a lower branch of the family would follow Fortinbras II as Thain. Of course Lalia had been furious when the rumour came to her ears...

 ‘As did Hildigrim,’ Mardi said, ‘and Hildifons, wherever he ended.’ Talk turned to hobbits who’d gone off on journeys, especially Bilbo Baggins, who was often seen in Whitwell with his heir, when he wasn’t off to Buckland or somewhere else.

 ‘He travels near as much as you do, Tru,’ Mira said. ‘Perhaps the Thain ought to hire him...’

 ‘He has plenty of his own gold, or so they say,’ Tru said, helping himself to the last of the cucumber sandwiches after offering the plate to their guest. ‘Tunnels stuffed full of treasure, I hear.’

 ‘And young Frodo his sole heir,’ Mira said. ‘Serves those S.-B.’s right, I say.’

***

Woodruff had three days’ grace, time for reflection and remembering, before Mardibold began his duties. She tested him thoroughly in knowledge and patience, setting him to every sort of menial chore, the tedious and tiresome, from washing up all the dusty bottles on the shelves, to culling the old herbs and gathering new. It was pleasant to have another healer to talk to (you could not talk of healing to most Tooks, as a rule), and she found Mardi a quick learner with a lively wit. They prepared tinctures and decoctions, draughts and poultices, made calls together where Mardi stood back and watched or fetched and carried. He tolerated the jokes at the livery remarkably well, for even though he was one of those “fancy Tuckborough Tooks” he merely smiled when someone whistled him up, intimating that he was little more than a trained pup, following at the heels of his Mistress.

One day Ted came humming into the yard. He was a hobbit grown, now, and following in his father’s footsteps of travelling on the Thain’s business. As a matter of fact, he’d journeyed all the way to Bree! It was the farthest anyone from Whitwell had ever gone from home, and he was greeted with awe and respect upon his return, for his courage and loyalty. Shire-folk seldom went outside the Bounds these days, what with rumour of dark things and ruffians along the Road. In any event, everything one might want could be found in the Shire, couldn’t it? Except that Mistress Lalia had developed a taste for coffee, and it was difficult to obtain just lately. The travelling merchants came less often than they had in earlier days.

He quieted as he walked in the open door, hearing Woodruff’s murmur, and grinned. He’d brought her back a special surprise that he’d bought off the Southern trader in Bree, a wondrous kerchief of brightly coloured material, smooth and feather-light; it could crumple into nothing in your fist.

Pausing on the threshold of the kitchen, he blinked. Woodruff and that Mardi-fellow were bending over the table, heads close together, her hand on his, guiding the sharp knife. ‘There now,’ she said. ‘You want to make the cut just so, no more and no less. Then pull the skin back and work your way down, layer by layer... Do you feel...?’

 ‘I do,’ Mardi murmured.

 ‘You shot a chicken?’ Ted blurted.

Woodruff looked up with a smile. ‘Ted!’ she said. ‘You’re back!’

 ‘I am,’ Ted said. ‘You shot a chicken? Why not just have off its head?’

 ‘Well we started out so,’ Woodruff said, colouring prettily. ‘But as we were preparing the bird for stuffing, I was questioning Mardi on removing an arrow. His father taught him to break the shaft, imagine, and push the pyle through to the other side! That might work in some cases, but it’s ruinously damaging in others... So we tied our dinner up in a tree and shot an arrow into it, and now we’re removing the arrow, as delicately as can be.’

 ‘I see,’ Ted said, rather queasily.

Woodruff laughed. ‘O Mardi will wash it well, I promise!’ she said. ‘And then we’ll stuff it, and he’ll sew it up, practising the tiny stitches I taught him, and not those coarse stitches his father uses...’

 ‘They’re quick,’ Mardi protested. ‘Sometimes there’s no time for niceties...’

 ‘If you practice enough, you can do as well and not leave a great and nasty reminder of the wound in later years,’ Woodruff said firmly. ‘Will you be joining us for dinner, Ted?’

Their free and easy air bothered him, and he answered more stiffly than he meant to, ‘I haven’t greeted Mum yet, but I’ll hope to return in good time.’

Woodruff looked sharply at him, but distracted by the work at hand, she looked down and said, ‘Gently, now. Free the pyle gently. You want to inflict as little damage as may be; the arrow’s already done enough.’

When she looked up again, Ted was gone.

Chapter 16. Interlude

In the sitting room some sort of argument is going on. I catch my breath to see Merry Brandybuck there, mud-spattered, his hair wild and wind-blown. Or perhaps I catch my breath at the two hobbits with him: strangers to my eyes, travel-stained and in need of a bath. Merry, I can understand. Master of Buckland, pulled away by news that his steward was mortally injured; his love for one cousin of needs put aside for his duty, though I know he was very close to the other cousin, his steward, as well. Still, he and Peregrin have been closer than brothers from the younger cousin’s birth. How it must have grieved him to leave Pippin’s side; how tempted he must have been, to shirk duty, honour and responsibility. Though he wouldn’t, of course. He would not.

He must have travelled to Buckland without stopping, seen to his steward-cousin, and turned around and travelled back, though he must have used the post ponies, in relay, to travel so quickly. He is swaying with weariness and as dirty as a worker coming in from ploughing or digging, though he doesn’t hold a candle to the other two. How dare they come in here, to disrupt this solemn moment?

My own weariness forgotten, I stride forward, crackling with anger, seizing the dirty stranger who is arguing with Master Merry; I swing him around. ‘You—’ I begin in my indignation. The rest of the words die on my lips as the trembling of my indignation turns to that of shock. ‘Mayor Samwise,’ I breathe. I look to the other mud-stained and rather odiferous traveller, brown as a nut, curls streaked with stronger sun than ours. ‘Mistress Rose?’

She smiles, though tear tracks mark her cheeks. ‘Healer Woodruff,’ she says. ‘We’re back.’

There is no time for welcome or nicety. I move to grasp Merry, to pull him into the bedroom. ‘You’ve barely come in time,’ I say. ‘It is the end, for certain. You might be too late, as it is, if you hesitate now.’

 ‘He has passed on the seal of the Thain,’ Regi affirms, taking Merry’s other arm to add his pull to mine. But the Brandybuck pulls back.

 ‘No,’ he says.

 ‘Merry,’ I say in exasperation. ‘He promised to wait for you, true, but holding back now will not prolong his life, or even prolong his dying. He’s on his last gasp!’

 ‘Sam,’ he says incomprehensibly. ‘You see? You must go in to him, you must, before he hears my voice and lets go his grasp, if he’s even capable of hearing...’ His voice breaks, and yet he pulls his hand from my urgent grasp, to dash away the tears. ‘You must...’

Ferdibrand is scandalised. ‘He’s not even family,’ he snaps. ‘Have you lost your wits, Merry?’

But Reginard...

And we say the steward has no imagination. He turns to the Mayor. ‘You went South, to find a remedy,’ he remembers aloud, scarcely breathing.

I find it hard to catch my breath for the hope that rises in me, swiftly crushed by despair. Samwise is come too late. No remedy could help at this juncture.

 ‘Did the King...’ Ferdi says, pressing forward eagerly. He has little use for Men in general, but he knows something of the healing hands of the King, and of wonders in stoppered flasks that come from the Outlands.

 ‘The Ents,’ Sam says dismissively. He is weary, and his eyes are on the door to the bedroom, his body taut with eagerness. It seems the only thing holding him back is his determination that Merry ought to enter first, ought not to be denied what may be Pippin’s final moment.

And I’ve said myself that the steward has no imagination. While Ferdi rears up, insulted, snorting of nursery tales, Regi leaves hold of Merry to seize Samwise by the arms. ‘The tree folk?’ he whispers.

 ‘Walking trees...’ Ferdi grumbles.

 ‘I don’t care if they are walking bushes or talking rocks,’ I say. ‘He’s breathing his last, even as we speak!’ I seize the Mayor as well, stink forgotten, and between us Reginard and I haul him into the bedroom.

I think the odour of unwashed bodies rouses Diamond from her embrace before anything else does. She rises, turns, her eyes widening. ‘Samwise?’ she gasps. ‘Rose?’ For the Mayor’s wife is behind us, hovering in the doorway; the tiny hobbit she carries before her—Tolman, their last letter said, or so I overheard as Diamond re-read the missive aloud to her husband to distract his mind from his miseries—the little one coos, the joyful sound falling strangely on my ears in this atmosphere of hovering death.

Chapter 17. Rocks and Stones 

Ted did not come to dinner that day, and the next he was “off again”, or so Beryl said, coming from the market with a brace of rabbits for stewing.

 ‘North Farthing, this time,’ she added, and giggled at the face Mardi made.

 ‘And what’s the matter with that?’ Woodruff asked, handing him the gathering basket. ‘Young and tender nettles, now, none of the old and stringy ones, mind!’

 ‘Never been to the North Farthing,’ Mardi admitted, ‘but I hear it’s cold there.’

 ‘In the wintertime, perhaps,’ Beryl told him. ‘The wind sweeps across the land,’ she shivered deliciously, ‘and wolves howl, they say, but Da says it’s just as bad to travel there in the warmer months, with all the bogs...’

 ‘I do hope Ted will take care,’ Woodruff murmured, bending to pluck a few spent pansy blossoms from the cracked teapot by the doorway. ‘I shiver whenever Uncle Tru tells that story of the bog that swallowed the road, and he was caught before he realised... had the North-tooks not heard his cries and pulled him out...’

Beryl shivered, herself, before saying briskly, ‘Well, these won’t stew themselves, now, will they? Will ye be back in time for nuncheon, Mardi?’

 ‘I rather doubt it, with the list of plants the Mistress has asked for,’ the apprentice said, affecting gloom.

 ‘Poor lad!’ Beryl laughed. ‘I’ll keep a plate warm, then...’

 ‘Off wi’ ye,’ Woodruff said, giving Mardi a little push, ‘before I think of more plants to add to the list!’

Laughing, the apprentice took himself off, bowing a greeting to Mira Took who was just approaching. She looked after him thoughtfully before greeting Woodruff and Beryl and getting down to the business of planning for the morrow. Woodruff was invited to Whittacres Farm, for little Peregrin’s seventh birthday, just as she and Sweetbriar had been invited every year previously.

 ‘They always have a birthday breakfast in that family, so they’ll be coming to fetch you early,’ Mira reminded, as if Woodruff hadn’t been to six previous birthday celebrations. ‘Beryl, I want you to come to me, first thing, for we’re all going berrying and then there’ll be the jam-making afterwards.’

 ‘May Mardi come?’ Beryl said, ‘...or will you have set more tasks for him, in your absence, Sweetie?’

 ‘I had thought to leave him, in case a healer is needed,’ Woodruff said. ‘If he were to go berrying, I suppose you could leave a note on the door, that I may be found at Whittacres if the need arises.’

***

When the knock came at the door before the dawning the next day, Woodruff was ready. ‘Don’t you look fine!’ Beryl said, clearing away the half-empty teapot and cups and well-cleared plates she’d laid out, for even if Woodruff were invited to breakfast, she surely could not go out the door without something to go on! ‘That colour brings out your eyes so well, or so Mardi observed to me the last time Mum invited us all to tea...’

 ‘Did he, now?’ Woodruff said, tying the ribbons on her straw hat. She raised her voice to call that she was coming, took a glance in the looking glass, smiled to see the flowers bravely bobbing round the brim, and opened the door to see, not the hired labourer she expected, but Ferdinand Took, wearing a broad grin. Two fine ponies stood tied to the hitching post by the little gate.

 ‘Dinny!’ she said. ‘When did you arrive? I’d heard you were to be delayed...’

 ‘We delivered the latest foursome to the Smials just yesterday,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Mistress Lalia was so very pleased with them that she accepted my excuses for not staying to tea, and so we were able to leave early enough to travel through the Green Hills and not worry about being caught out by nightfall.’

 ‘And so you are at Whittacres for the rest of the summer,’ Woodruff said. ‘And your family?’

 ‘Stelliana’s mother is not well, I’m sorry to say,’ Ferdinand said, sobering. ‘But my beloved would not hear of our staying at home. Dinny has a new crop of ponies to be trained, that he may sell them at the pony market this autumn, and the children would be so dreadfully disappointed to miss their summer on the farm...’

 ‘I’m surprised you did not send your brother instead,’ Beryl said bluntly. If his mother-in-love were that poorly, surely Ferdinand’s place was by his wife’s side.

 ‘He offered,’ Ferdinand said. ‘But in the end it was the children that decided us. With their mother called away, it seemed best that they should come to the farm, where Eglantine and Esmeralda can fuss over them.’ Coming back to the topic at hand, he said, ‘So! Are we ready?’

 ‘Indeed!’ Woodruff said, pulling on her gloves, to protect her hands as she was to be riding pony-back and not on a waggon seat with someone else driving. A healer’s hands, after all, must be carefully kept... She picked up the basket of roses Beryl had cut by lantern-light this morning and said, ‘I’m ready!’

Ferdinand introduced her to the mare, a sweet-faced creature with intelligent eyes and sensitive ears that pricked forward to greet Woodruff. ‘She’s my daughter’s,’ he said proudly. ‘Gentle as a lamb. I was offered a goodly sum for her at the Smials yesterday, but of course I’ll never sell her.’ He helped her into the side-saddle, an awkward way of riding to be sure, but easier to manage than the regular kind of saddle when one was wearing skirts.

The Sun was just rubbing the sleep from her eyes as they rode into the farmyard. Ferdinand helped Woodruff down, to be greeted with hugs by Pearl and Pervinca. Pimpernel was in the kitchen, drizzling icing on the sweet bread whilst her mother finished the eggs and her Aunt Esmeralda fished the last of the bacon from the frying pan.

They’d eat in the formal dining room, this day being a festive event, rather than at the generously-proportioned kitchen table. Snowy linens graced the glowing wood, and all the hobbits paused to admire the feast before bowing to Paladin and then Pippin, who ducked his head with a pleased grin and dug his toe into the polished floorboards, though his eyes were sparkling with delight at being the centre of attention. Woodruff noticed for the grand occasion the lad had been scrubbed within an inch of his life and dressed in clean clothes and his wild crop of curls had been brushed into submission. She wondered how long this state of affairs would last, as she presented her roses to Eglantine, to honour the mother’s contribution to this day. At last, all sat down to eat.

There is not much to tell, save that the talk flew fast and cheerful, comments tumbling over one another like puppies at play, and the food was hot and plentiful and delightful to the eye and palate, and Pippin only spilt his milk twice and dropped three forkfuls upon the snowy tablecloth and one upon his lap. He also spit out a mouthful of milk when his cousin Ferdibrand made him laugh while drinking, but that scarcely bears mentioning. And perhaps it ought to go without saying that Meriadoc Brandybuck bravely and surreptitiously ate the kidneys from his young cousin’s plate, to spare Pippin the trial of doing so himself, while Bilbo distracted all the other grown-ups with a story and Frodo winked at Woodruff. 

In any event, after breakfast was over, Ferdinand excused himself to saddle the ponies, in order to bring the healer safely home. Farewells were said and hugs were given. The birthday lad escorted Woodruff to the yard, and while they were waiting Woodruff dug a small glass jar, containing a beetle, from her pocket and presented it to Pippin.

 ‘Happy birthday, lad,’ she said.

Pippin took the jar with a bright face. ‘Look at the size of him!’ he breathed.

 ‘I thought you’d like him,’ Woodruff said. ‘I thought of you the moment I spotted him in the garden patch.’

 ‘He’s very handsome!’ the lad said, and threw his arms around the healer, though he held tight to the jar.

 ‘You take good care of him, now,’ Woodruff said. ‘Ask your father what to feed him. I’m sure he’ll know.’

 ‘He knows everything!’ Pippin affirmed with enthusiasm. ‘And...’ he said, digging in a pocket, ‘I have a mathom for you!’

 ‘Why, Master Peregrin,’ Woodruff said, touched. ‘You didn’t have to...’

 ‘Yes I did!’ Pippin said firmly. He took a rock from his pocket, just a plain rock, it is true, but Woodruff was wise enough to take it in her hand in a solemn and reverential manner and caress it with a careful finger.

 ‘It’s lovely,’ she said, though of course it was very plain to the eye that cannot see beyond the surface.

 ‘It’s the cream of my collection!’ Pippin said with a nod. ‘I knew you’d like it.’ He lowered his voice and looked about them, before saying earnestly, ‘It comes all the way from the Brandywine River!’

 ‘My goodness!’ Woodruff said, suitably impressed. ‘It is a well-travelled rock, to be sure! I will place it on my windowsill for all to see!’

Just then Ferdinand emerged from the barn with the ponies, and there was only time for another quick hug before the family gathered to sing Woodruff on her way.

***

Merry Brandybuck and Ferdi Took became a common sight around Whitwell, escorting their young cousin Pippin. Sometimes Ferdi’s sister and one or more of Pippin’s sisters would accompany them, and sometimes Frodo Baggins would accompany them. Most often they’d walk from the farm; on market days they’d ride in their father’s or a neighbour’s waggon, helping to unload the waggon at the market square, scattering to sample the wares, to visit friends, to play. They’d gather for the midday meal and scatter again until it was time to load up the waggon and ride homewards, singing.

On one of these days, Ferdi had brought two of his father’s ponies to be shod, and so he and Merry took Pippin to the blacksmith’s. At first the little lad was fascinated, watching, especially when the bellows would coax the fire to red-gold heat. He watched the glowing metal pounded slowly into shape, and jumped when it was plunged, hissing, into the water. Talk was proceeding between the smith and the teens, about the various types of shoes and how they might be shaped to correct a fault in conformation or gait.

The smith put down the shoe he was fashioning and turned away to dig in a chest, pulling out several different samples of his work and beginning a lecture that promised no end, to restless young Pippin’s ears. Merry and Ferdi were riveted...

Three or four little lads Pippin’s age had been hovering in the doorway, watching the smith, and Pippin had exchanged a few pleasantries with them, but now they turned away, seeking diversion. One picked up a stone, tossed it in his palm, and said, ‘Bet I can hit the doorstep, there, right on the corner.’

 ‘Bet you cannot!’ another said promptly, and before Pippin quite realised he was moving down the street with the other urchins, tossing stones at doorsteps and taunting each other’s prowess.

Pippin wasn’t quite sure how it happened, afterwards. He had a good, round stone with a solid heft in his hand, quite satisfactory when his fingers closed around it. He sighted on the latest target, the healer’s doorstep it was, that all the other lads had hit, and drew back his arm.

But as he let fly, one of the lads, pushed by another, jogged against him, spoiling his aim. In the next second a shattering crash was heard, there was a chorus of horrified hisses, and Pippin was left, standing aghast and alone, staring at the damage his stone had done. What had once been a pretty little thistle-flowered teapot with a topping of pansies, standing cheerily at the side of the door, now lay in a ruin of dirt, shattered china and crumpled petals.

 ‘What in the name of...’ he heard from inside the little smial, but something held him rooted to the spot as Woodruff came out of the smial, mortar and pestle in her hands. She looked around, puzzled, before her toe nudged the edge of the little mound of debris.

With an exclamation of grief she crouched, laying down her work, to take up a few shards, dropping them to cradle the battered flowers in her palms.

Seeing tears upon her cheeks, Pippin wanted with all that was in him to run away, to hide in shame, but something forced him forward, step by reluctant step, until he was bending over the healer and the remains of the teapot-planter. He picked up two of the larger shards, trying to puzzle them together, while he whispered, ‘I’m sorry. I’ll fix it. I will!’

Woodruff shook her head, her throat closed with tears.

 ‘I didn’t mean to,’ Pippin said. ‘I was trying to hit the doorstep, and...’ His voice trailed off, for there really was no excuse for what he’d done.

 ‘Go on with you, now, lad,’ Woodruff managed. ‘There’s naught to be done.’

Pippin stood undecided, but she wouldn’t look at him. She was holding the flowers and weeping, and the weeping made him so uncomfortable, and he didn’t know what else to do, and so he backed away and turned to run, arriving back at the stables with the shards still in his hands.

Merry and Ferdi were watching the smith nail shoe to hoof, though Merry turned at Pippin’s step.

 ‘What do you have there, cousin?’ he said.

Pippin flushed and stammered.

 ‘Collecting rubbish?’ Merry said.
 
 ‘It’s not rubbish!’ Pippin cried, and Merry ruffled the little lad’s curls in a friendly manner.

 ‘Of course it’s not,’ he said. ‘But I think you could do better than broken crockery. Tell you what... Ferdi and I will show you how to go birds-nesting tomorrow! You can start a collection of eggs and feathers...’

 ‘Just one of each kind of egg,’ Ferdi warned, his attention drawn from the work of the smith to the conversation. ‘And do throw that rubbish away, Pippin. You cannot be riding behind either of us, clutching broken crockery in hand!’

Pippin turned away as if to do his older cousins’ bidding, but he didn’t throw the shards away; rather he secreted them in his pocket. He’d go back and talk to Woodruff, collect the rest of the teapot, and glue it together somehow.

When he was able to get away from his cousins again for a bit, as they were loading up Paladin’s waggon, he went back to the healer’s smial. The doorstep had been swept clean, and no one answered his knock. Perhaps she was in the back garden... but no one answered his hails, and the back garden was deserted, save the hens picking about in the yard. But there on the rubbish heap...

Pippin collected every shard, tying them up in the overlarge pocket-handkerchief Frodo had tied around his knee, the last time he’d bloodied it; and hearing his father calling his name from the marketplace, he took a secure grip on his guilty treasure and ran to join the others in the waggon.

Chapter 18. Interlude

 ‘Well I’m back,’ Samwise says awkwardly, and then he moves to the bed, shedding weariness and filled to the brim with purpose, putting a hand to the Thain’s shoulder and bending close. ‘Mister Pippin,’ he says, drawing out the words, and then quicker, ‘Mr. Pippin, do you hear me?’

To my surprise, the Thain speaks. ‘Samwise?’ he murmurs. ‘Is it time... to start again... already?’

Behind me I hear Merry’s gasp, but the Mayor himself pales, haunted by a ghost of the past, perhaps. Bravely he forges on. ‘Pippin, it is time! Time to wake up!’

 ‘Is breakfast ready?’ the Thain says, his eyes still closed. ‘Do make sure... Frodo eats something... will you? I... don’t know if... you noticed, but... he’s been putting his... portion... on my plate...’

 ‘Pippin,’ Sam says again, with a gentle shake though from the stiffness of his shoulders I gather he fears he’ll break the frail figure in the bed if he more than breathes upon it. The stink he exudes of sweaty pony, mud, leather and his own unwashed state ought to be enough to waken the dead.

 ‘Dark...’ Pippin whispers. ‘So dark... Moria... hard to breathe...’

Rose pushes past me, to crouch by the Thain’s other side. ‘Pippin,’ she says softly. ‘Is this any way to welcome far travellers home?’

Plain-spoken, she has always been so, since I first met the lass, when Samwise became Mayor and was called to the Smials to discuss matters of business with the Thain. But there is more to it than that; she speaks from long experience, I imagine, of jarring a dreamer gently out of a disturbing dream.

Indeed, the Thain blinks his eyes open, though I would have scarcely credited it, after thinking him only a few breaths from leaving us. He sees Rose and grins weakly.

 ‘Rosie! You are a sight indeed!’

 ‘I’ve no doubt I am,’ she says briskly. ‘And this is Tolman, our littlest, and Sam has brought you a spot of cheer from the Southlands.’

 'Tolman!' Pippin gasps, and he half-lifts his hand from the bed as if to touch the sleeping babe's soft cheek as Rose bends near. 'Fine name... named for a... fine hobbit...' He straightens slightly against his pillows.

 'Steady,' Samwise murmurs, his fingers still resting lightly on Pippin's shoulder.

'It is good... to see you,' Pippin says faintly, between gasps, to Rose and Samwise. 'You... made it back... in time for... the pony races... or are you off... to Southfarthing next week, for the... strawberries?' He has made an obvious effort to rally for his visitors, but he is fading again, all too quickly, and the attempt to speak casually, to put them at ease, is quickly using up what little strength remains to him.

'No, we came for the pony races,' Sam says. Rose kisses the Thain gently on his cheek and turns suddenly to leave the room. Having seen the trembling of her lips, the tears in her eyes, I understand. Reginard follows after, conceivably to give orders for hot baths and hot food and beds to be turned down. He returns quickly, not wanting to be away from Pippin’s side for any length of time.

'Well, what kind of presents... have you brought me?' Pippin says weakly. He seems to draw strength from the work-worn hand that rests on his shoulder, unlikely as it seems to me. In any event, the hobbit has seldom if ever done what was expected of him, so why should I expect him to expire on the spot even though all the signs pointed to his imminent death? 'Did you... give my greetings to... everyone?'

'Everyone who asked about you,' Sam says. 'Not too many. They seemed more interested in that Ernil i Pheriannath fellow, whoever he might be.'

'Ah,' says the Thain.

Sam makes a great show of remembering. 'O yes, I did bring you back a little somewhat,' he says. He brings out a bottle from the sack he carries, over-large, Man-sized, that looks to hold water.

'What's that, then?' Pippin asks. 'It's the wrong colour... to be some of the Hall's... finest.'

'It's a bit of cheer I picked up along the way,' Sam says. 'Supposed to be very rare and special. Would you like to try some?'

'What does it... taste like?' the Thain asks.

'I don't know, I haven't tried it,' Sam says. 'I thought I'd let you taste it first, so if it was bad I'd be forewarned.'

'Everything tastes like... mud, anyhow,' Pippin says. 'The cooks have... lost their touch. What doesn't taste like mud... tastes like dust... and ashes.'

'Then eat dust and ashes,' Sam says darkly. 'At least it would be something.'

The Thain sighs, 'O aye,' he says. 'It's the same old story... I hear it from everyone.'

The Mayor fills a glass with the precious liquid, but I step forward to take the glass before he can give it to the Thain. I take a sip. It is water, as I thought, and anger stirs within me. I have given my share of “cures” in my life, for imaginary complaints and even some real ones. If hobbits think you’re giving them a potion, if you caution them against its overuse because it is so very “potent”, often their thoughts will trick them into healing themselves. But... water!

And yet, not. There is a taste, so very subtle as to elude the naming. And I feel as if life is rushing through my body, life and strength, as if the very hair on my head is crackling with energy, growing and stretching.

'What, do you think... the Mayor would... poison the Thain?' Pippin jokes. How he manages to joke with barely the air to speak is beyond my understanding, but the Mayor only chuckles.

'Perhaps I could hope to become Thain, with you out of the way,' Sam answered, 'but I'd have to get rid of Regi and Ferdi and a lot of other Tooks as well. Too much trouble, I'll just keep on as Mayor, thank you very much.' Scandalous, such an idea, probably born of their time in the Outlands, and yet... Lotho Sackville-Baggins had much the same idea, may his dreams be peaceful ones.

'Tastes like water,' I say bluntly. Surely Samwise doesn’t think Pippin so dull of wit as to mistake water for a healing potion. And yet, the rush of well-feeling is intensifying, and that from just a sip. '...but wait ... there's something else to it.'

I abandon caution and pass the cup to the Thain, steadying his hand as he sips. 'I know this...' he says reflectively. He drinks again, then looks to Sam. 'Ent draught?' he says in wonder. 'Wherever did you get this?' I notice his breathing steadying somewhat. He is no longer speaking in gasps. Diamond beyond him, on the other hand, seems to be having trouble catching her breath, as renewed hope shines in her eyes.

Little Merigrin stirs, disturbed, perhaps, by the overpowering smell of Samwise, though I am growing used to the odour. I leave the Thain cradling the cup against his chest and lift the little one, softly swaying and murmuring soothing nonsense.

'Wherever do you think?' Sam answers. 'Took a little side trip to Isengard, gave your regards to Treebeard.'

He reaches to steady the glass as Pippin takes another swallow. The Thain looks up with a frown. 'It is, but it isn't,' he says.

'Isn't what?' Sam asks.

'I'd swear it isn't the same as I had before...’ O yes! His breathing grows more even, more regular; where he was thinking of every breath before he took it, now he speaks without noticing the natural movement of air in and out! ‘...even though it's been so long. There were different kinds of Ent draughts that Treebeard gave Merry and me. This is yet another.'

Sam urges him to drink again, helping him lift the glass. 'I told Treebeard about your illness. Perhaps he cooked up something special just for you.'

'He's a good cook, then,' Pippin murmurs. 'This is the first thing that hasn't tasted of mud or ashes in weeks.'

Regi reaches a hand out as if to take a taste, but Sam stops him. 'I don't know how much it takes; Treebeard didn't know. He sent three bottles, but only one survived the trip.'

'Drink up, then,' Regi says to Pippin.

Pippin twinkles; the lines of pain seem to be fading from his countenance. 'I might become the tallest Thain in history.'

'You are the tallest Thain in history,' Ferdibrand says. I didn’t hear him come in, but it stands to reason he’d be here. The seal of the Thain must be burning a hole in his pocket, and he’d be all too eager to restore it to Pippin, given half a chance.

'Well, then, I'll beat my own record,' Pippin answers. He finishes the glass, and Sam pours another. After drinking the second, the Thain says, 'That's enough for now. I don't know if I could keep it down, should I have any more.' Sam nods soberly, suddenly reminded how very close we’ve come to the brink before pulling back.

'What do you feel?' I ask, curious. The crackle of energy from that little sip of mine has faded, but the feeling of well-being continues, soft and subtle yet perceptible.

'Tingling,' Pippin says. 'I recognize the stuff. It sends a tingle from your toes up through your body, all the way to your hair. It's almost as if I can feel my hair stretching and curling and growing.'

'Tingling... even in the bad leg?' He’s had no feeling in that leg to speak of, since he was half-crushed beneath an overturned coach, about the time the twins were born. What with the state of his lungs it’s been enough to pull him down, gradually, until he had nothing left with which to cling to life.

Pippin is quiet a moment, as if listening to his body. 'Yes,' he says slowly. 'There's even some tingling there. I'd forgotten how it feels.'

'Can you move the leg?' I say, trying to contain my excitement. Miraculous draughts from legendary beings indeed! Why, I’m tempted to go out and hug a tree in celebration.

Pippin tries, but can do no more than twitch his toes, all he's been able to do since the accident. 'No,' he says. 'It's no better.' He smiles at Diamond then, reassuringly. 'But it's no worse, either.' Still, I’m hopeful. He has feeling in the leg, more than the few “pins and needles” he’s had up until this time. And his breathing is definitely better. Somehow I no longer fear his falling asleep, never to waken in this world again.

He looks at Sam. 'Put the bottle away in a safe place. Perhaps we can try some more tomorrow.' His face shows again his weariness; the temporary lift provided by the Ent draught seems to be evaporating. My own rush of energy is gone; I no longer feel as if I could climb in leaps and bounds the enormous Hill that contains the Great Smials. But that feeling of well-being remains.

Pippin smiles at Diamond and reaches for her hand. 'I think I can sleep now.' He cocks a mischievous eye at Sam. 'Better get a good rest yourself, Mayor. There'll be quite a welcome feast tomorrow, you know. Hopefully the kitchen will turn out something other than dust and ashes.'

His eyes are already closing as the steward shoos everyone out of the room, leaving only myself, Diamond, Farry, and the twins.

Merry thrusts himself forward; he has been hovering in the background, behind the others, hiding himself in the shadow of the opened door. Now he kneels beside the bed. He has yet to speak.

Diamond begins to say his name, but he puts an urgent finger to his lips, the anxiety not leaving his face.

 ‘Fear not, lad,’ I tell him. ‘He is no longer waiting to hear your voice before his spirit takes flight. There was something in that draught, I don’t know what... but it has gained him time. You may go to your bath and your rest. I have every confidence he’ll greet you in the morningtide.’

 ‘You’re sure?’ he whispers, looking from my face to Pippin’s. He swallows hard, as if afraid his cousin will leave him even now, at the sound of his voice.

Indeed, Pippin stirs against the pillow, turning slightly towards his cousin. ‘Merry?’ he murmurs. ‘At last... it seems I’ve been waiting ever so long...’

Merry catches his breath in dread, but his cousin only smiles and relaxes into sleep.

Chapter 19. Tea and Trouble

Woodruff was not in the smial when Pippin knocked; no, indeed she was not. As a matter of fact, she was taking tea in the little tea shop in Whitwell with a solicitous Mardibold. He had come whistling from the livery, having completed his chores for the afternoon, and found her just after Pippin had left her, sitting upon the doorstep with the battered ball of pansies still cradled in her hands.

 ‘Mistress?’ he said, vaulting over the low gate. ‘Mistress, are you ill? Did you fall and turn your ankle?’ He bent at once to make an examination.

The face she raised to him was wet with tears and smudged where she’d wiped a cheek with a dirty hand. ‘I am well,’ she said, but sorrow and forgotten hurt mingled in her eyes.

 ‘O the teapot’s broken!’ Mardi said, realising. ‘What a pity!’

 ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Woodruff said numbly.

 ‘Of course it does!’ Mardi huffed. He took the dirt-and-flowers from the hands of his Mistress and laid them gently down, and then he urged Woodruff to her feet. No use fanning the flames of gossip, having the healer seen weeping on her doorstep.

He walked her in, sat her down in the best chair, patted her arm and told her to stay. He hurried to the kitchen to put on the teakettle, and while waiting for the water to boil he tidied away the mess on the doorstep. Bits of broken teapot went on the rubbish heap, the mortar and pestle were restored to the work-table, and he found a dusty old flowerpot in the shed that would do for the pansies, for the nonce, until he could come up with something better.

The teakettle was just coming on the boil as he entered the kitchen. He warmed the pot, set the tea to brewing, sliced a loaf and brought bread, butter and jam, teapot, plates and cups and all to the sitting room where Woodruff sat, staring at nothing.

Taking a dampened cloth, Mardi began to wipe gently at the dirty hands. Woodruff roused at his touch, taking the cloth from him to wipe away the dirt. ‘Your cheek,’ he said, touching the spot on his own cheek as if he were a mirror. His Mistress smiled and cared for the smudges and put the cloth down.

 ‘Thank you, Mardi, very thoughtful,’ she said. ‘I oughtn’t to have fallen to pieces like that, but...’

 ‘I thought, perhaps, you’d turned your ankle and fallen on the teapot,’ Mardi said.

 ‘No... no,’ Woodruff said vaguely. ‘It was the teapot that met the first mishap,’ she added.

 ‘It was a pretty planter, but I’m sure we can find another at the jumble shop,’ Mardi said, ‘and just as pretty.’

 ‘How silly you must think me, with my tears for a trifle,’ Woodruff said, pulling a clean handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at her eyes.

 ‘Not at all...’ Mardi said, but his Mistress wasn’t finished. He found himself listening to the story of the early days of Woodruff’s apprenticeship, indignant and wondering by turns, and wishing he’d not come too late to know Sweetbriar.

When Woodruff reached the part of the story where Sweetbriar pronounced the pot of flowers a “nice homely touch, just right for our home” she dissolved once more into tears as her loss washed over her again in a great wave of sorrow. ‘O Gran,’ she sobbed, over and again.

Mardi got up from his chair and put his arms around his Mistress. ‘She was a wonderful hobbit,’ he said. ‘Just wonderful. It is no wonder you loved her so...’

 ‘Love...’ sobbed Woodruff from within the circle of his arms. ‘Love...’

It was a real pity that Ted reached the doorway at that moment and heard only the last two words spoken. As Ted hovered undecided in the doorway, Mardi spoke gently.

 ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Love. A thing to celebrate, don’t you think? I tell you what... we’ll go to the Rose and Briar for a proper tea, shall we?’

Ted did not stay to hear the rest; he took himself off again directly, and neither Woodruff nor Mardi knew he’d been there.

 ‘A proper tea?’ Woodruff said, raising her head and straightening her shoulders. Seeing these signs that she was regaining her self-possession, Mardi stepped back.

 ‘Aye,’ he said again. ‘A proper tea! My treat! A token of my regard for the healer... and her apprentice.’

 ‘Go on with ye now, ye daft Took,’ Woodruff said. ‘What ever will Beryl say, you taking me out to tea? It would hardly be proper!’

 ‘Very well then,’ Mardi said amiably, offering Woodruff his arm. ‘Your treat!’ And as she stared at him in astonishment, he laughed. ‘A Mistress may, on occasion, show kindness to a lowly apprentice, after all, if she’s been working his fingers to the bone, and he has not shirked his duty, not one whit...’

 ‘Not one whit?’ Woodruff said.

 ‘Not a one,’ Mardi said. ‘As a matter of fact, I gathered a basket full of the tenderest young nettles you ever saw, and a few fine mushrooms for your dinner, while I was at it, not to mention the watercress that I noticed as I splashed across a little brook...’

 ‘Bless you, Mardi,’ Woodruff laughed, the tears still sparkling on her cheeks. ‘You truly have gone and done a great deal more than you were asked to...’

 ‘Come along, then,’ Mardi said, and rising, Woodruff took his arm. They stopped at the looking glass long enough for her to wipe away all traces of sorrow, and then they had a fine tea, indeed, with all the trimmings, at the Rose and Briar, and toasted with their teacups the healer of Whitwell and her apprentice (and if Woodruff was toasting Sweetbriar, and Mardi was toasting Woodruff, well, no one will ever know for sure).

***

In the meantime, Pippin had tried every means he knew to piece the teapot back together again, to no avail. Even with the glue in the clay jar on a high shelf of the kitchen, and the stronger glue on the high shelf in the barn, he’d have two pieces stuck together, or so he thought, only to have them come apart again as soon as he tried to add a third. In point of fact, there was more glue on his hands and in his lap than in the jar, by the time he gave it up as a bad job all round.

He capped the jar and climbed up on the rickety stool, reaching as far as he could to place the sticky container back in its proper home. He didn’t want his father finding the glue lying about. He was in enough trouble as it was, for having pitched the stone that made the healer cry, whether or not the healer ever told his parents. He figured she wouldn’t, but someone else might. Not that it mattered. He almost wished for punishment, really, if it would only dispel the guilt that haunted him.

He didn’t want to put together the teapot, just to get himself out of a scrape. O no! It was really that... when he thought of Woodruff, just sitting there, her usually cheery countenance washed in tears as she cradled the forlorn pansies in her hands... No, it wasn’t fear of consequences, or even punishment, but something else. Woodruff was his friend, even if she had given him a nasty-tasting draught a time or two, and that because Pippin’s parents had insisted. No, she was his friend, and she’d lost her smile, and it fell to Pippin to find that smile once more. But how...

He was thinking so deeply that when the stool wobbled he was slow in catching his balance. He threw out his arms in a wild attempt to save himself, but there was nothing to catch hold of, to prevent a backwards fall. He felt, for just a moment, as if he were floating on the air. Just for a moment, though, for the ground came up to meet him with bruising force that first knocked the wind from him, and then, as his head cracked against the flagstones, he saw stars dance briefly against the blackness that swallowed him whole.

Merry, brushing his pony, heard something at the other end of the barn, though his pony snorted at the same moment, and so he wasn’t sure just what he’d heard. Putting the brush down, he looked around but saw nothing. ‘Hullo?’ he called. ‘Ferdi, was that you?’

 ‘Was that I—what?’ Ferdi said sleepily, from where he reclined in a pile of straw, his hands comfortably supporting his head.

 ‘I heard something,’ Merry said. ‘A cry, I thought...’

 ‘Most likely one of the cats caught a mouse,’ Ferdi said, but he stretched and sat up.

 ‘Sounded like Pippin,’ Merry said, ‘but he wouldn’t be out here...’

 ‘He’s supposed to be washing the kitchen flagstones,’ Ferdi agreed. ‘After he dropped nearly a full jar of marmalade, while helping clear away. Have you never seen such a mess?’ Why, Pimpernel had been close to tears, for it had been her task that morning to wash the floor, and it had been wondrously clean up until teatime’s aftermath.

 ‘He went to it, easily enough,’ Merry said. ‘Didn’t even put up a fuss as to its being “unfair” and he ought to be able to go out to the barn to “help” us brush the ponies, and all that.’

 ‘You’re surprised?’ Ferdi said, cocking an eye at his older cousin.

 ‘Pippin, and soap?’ Merry countered.

 ‘Pippin? And water?’ Ferdi said, his lifted eyebrow adding emphasis to the last word.

Merry laughed. ‘You have a point,’ he said, picking up his brush again to run it over the pony’s rump. Nearly finished with this side... and then there was the other side yet to go. He sighed.

 ‘What’s that about?’ Ferdi asked with a yawn.

 ‘Come along, you lazy Took,’ Merry said. ‘I’ve still the other side to brush before I’m done. You could take the cloth and polish this side for me...’

 ‘What cloth?’ Ferdi said, looking into the grooming box. ‘I don’t see any here.’

 ‘I suppose you want me to fetch one for you,’ Merry said.

 ‘Very kind of you, Cousin,’ Ferdi replied with a bow.

Merry snorted and patted the pony. ‘Just you wait,’ he said, and then turned to walk down the length of the barn to the supply room, offering strokes and cheerful greetings to the half-dozen ponies, with their out-thrust heads, waiting for their supper in the stalls that lined one side of the barn. It would be Ferdi’s task to feed them, soon, but since his father demanded that all things be done on a strict schedule, due to “ponies' delicate digestions”, he had accompanied Merry to the barn “to help him with the grooming” while waiting for the ponies’ suppertime.

 ‘Help with the grooming, indeed!’ Merry snorted to himself.

 ‘What was that, Cousin?’ Ferdi called after.

But Merry, reaching the storeroom after the last stall, had stopped short at the sight of his young cousin, stretched out on the ground, ominously still. ‘Ferdi!’ he hissed, going to his knees beside the little lad, taking up a hand and chafing it. ‘Ferdi!’

 ‘What is it now, Merry?’ Ferdi began, jogging down the line of stalls. He stopped at seeing fallen Pippin.

 ‘Run!’ Merry cried. ‘Run and fetch Uncle Paladin! Quickly!’ But Ferdi was already out of the barn and halfway across the yard.

***

When Pippin wakened, all was dark and quiet. He looked up to see Woodruff’s sober face.

 ‘What is the time, and where am I?’ he said. To his horror, his voice was thin and quavery.

 ‘You’re in your bed, young master,’ Woodruff said. ‘How are you feeling?’

 ‘My head aches awfully,’ Pippin said, and he could not keep the whine from his voice. ‘What happened? What time is it?’

 ‘You fell, and knocked yourself into tomorrow,’ Woodruff said gently.

 ‘It’s tomorrow?’ Pippin said, confused.

 ‘It is,’ Woodruff said. ‘You’ve slept through supper, and nearly to breakfast, and given us all quite a turn, I might add.’

 ‘I’m sorry,’ Pippin whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to do it.’

 ‘Of course you didn’t, lad.’ Woodruff said. She looked over her shoulder then, and said something that Pippin, with his ringing head, didn’t catch, and in another moment his mother and father were there, beside the bed, speaking in soft voices filled with love and worry.

 ‘Do you think you could eat something?’ Eglantine said, taking her son’s little hand, that had been so frightfully limp and unresponsive through much of the night.

 ‘No,’ Pippin murmured. He tried to shake his head, but that was a bad idea.

 ‘He’s not hungry?’ Eglantine whispered, troubled, her eyes seeking the healer’s face.

Woodruff attempted to smile, but Pippin saw the truth in her face, lines of strain and weariness born of long watching. He couldn’t know she’d slept little, the past few days, what with three babes being born, one after another, and a string of minor mishaps that had kept both Woodruff and Mardi busy, save their brief celebratory tea the previous day. ‘He’s jarred his brains,’ she said, ‘and likely the thought of food is less appealing than sleep at the moment. But I think the danger is passed,’ she added, looking from the farmer to his wife. ‘I’ll watch with him until the dawning, and then Mardi will take my place, at least until the lad regains his appetite.’

Turning back to Pippin, she said, ‘Sleep now, lad. Sleep is the best thing for an aching head.’

 ‘I’m sorry,’ Pippin said again, but looking up at the faces made him dizzy, and so he closed his eyes. His mother began to croon a lullaby, and he felt himself drifting towards sleep.

Even as he relaxed, his resolve was strengthened. He’d had the right of it; Woodruff had lost her smile because of him, and he was honour-bound to bring it back again. And as he slipped into a dream, he smiled, for the thought came to him, how he might make good.

Chapter 20. Interlude

Not quite sleeping, the drooping eyes open for a last look, the thin hand gropes across the bedcovers to find Merry’s; Merry, who kneels there as still as a sun-struck troll turned to stone. No, not quite, for his lips form his cousin’s name, a whisper of sound, and Pippin smiles. It is as I thought it would be: a look, a smile, a sigh... and the weary eyes close, the frail frame settles into the propping pillows... but instead of silence and stillness, as would only be natural to expect, the breaths continue. And not the painful gasps, either, but slow and measured breaths of sleep.

But Merry himself sags, and Regi is only just in time to catch him, to keep him from fainting onto the bed and possibly wakening the Thain from the first restful sleep the hobbit has known in days.

I go to the doorway to call Ferdi back, and he comes, eagerly enough, his hand in his pocket, but seeing the sleeping Thain he pauses almost imperceptibly. Even as he moves to help Regi lift Merry away from the bed, I see his eyes on Pippin, know that he is watching the breaths.

 ‘Bed?’ Regi whispers.

I shake my head. ‘He’s taken nothing for some days now,’ I say, ‘at least, not that I’ve seen. Food, first. Get something into him, some custard, at the very least, or lightly buttered toast and scrambled eggs. Then a bath, I think, and then bed.’ The laundresses would thank us for the saving of the linens, but my main concern is for the Master, having gone without rest and food in his anxiety for his cousin. Surely he’d rest better, scrubbed clean, than mud-caked and rumpled.

And yet... he’ll rest. I want to laugh, and weep, and sing and shout, all to relieve my pent-up feelings. It was all too much as I was anticipating it to be: their last shared look, Pippin’s eyes closing a last time, and Merry’s collapse. Truth be told, I believed both Thain and Master would be laid to rest in the earth on the same day. But the measured, unforced breaths continue...

With the tightest of reins on my composure, I escort them to the door of the bedroom and motion to the nurse who watches over the twins when Diamond is otherwise occupied. She moves to take little Merigrin from me, but I shake my head. ‘Go and take Ruby,’ I say. ‘Little Merry’s in the middle of a fine dream... let us not waken him.’

We carry the twins past the silent, bewildered hobbits in the little sitting room--so much has happened in so short a span of time!--to their bed in the next room, where they curl together. Merigrin, smiling, stirs but doesn’t waken as I lay him down; Ruby pillows her cheek against her brother’s mop of curls, twines her fingers through his hair, and sucks contentedly on her thumb. So, I imagine, they slept upon a time inside their mother, where a new little brother or sister is now growing to greet them in a few months’ time.

I return to the bedroom, to check over Pippin again, and look to Faramir, who still embraces his father as if afraid to let go. ‘Master Farry,’ I say. ‘Come, eat, rest.’

He shakes his head at me. ‘I am well,’ he says stubbornly.

 ‘Go, love,’ Diamond says to her son with one of her smiles, of the sort that will light a darkened room. Her smiles have been all too rare of late, and now my throat aches with joyful tears to see her face. Hearing the smile in her voice, her husband smiles in his sleep, and she rests her head against his and her smile brightens. ‘Go,’ she says. ‘All is well.’

And this time I know that she believes she speaks the truth. It is not the time to speak caution; my healer’s training tells me that while the potion bought him time, the Thain is still on the knife’s edge. Thin and wasted, taking half breaths for all they remain steady and regular, half breaths that tell of the lungs ruined by injury and illness, he will indeed remain with us through another night if I am reading the signs correctly. But as to what the morrow will bring...

 ‘Come, Master Farry,’ I say. ‘Eat, and then take some rest. You won’t do your da any good, making yourself unwell.’

He lays his head against his father, to listen for a moment to Pippin’s breathing, and then he rises from the bed. I place an arm about his shoulders and we walk out of the room together, leaving Diamond and Pippin alone.

Though the others, cousins, nieces and nephews, who had gathered to sing the Thain on his way have left the little sitting room, Pippin’s sisters remain, with Meliloc and Isumbold, and Regi’s Rosamunda, all standing uncertainly (save Isum, who sits on the edge of his chair, as off-balance as the rest). Pearl advances on me. ‘Well?’ she says breathlessly, and though she tries to put on a good face for Farry’s sake, her eyes are dark with emotion.

 ‘He is sleeping peacefully,’ I say.

 ‘Resting comfortably?’ Isum says with a wry twist to his mouth. He has had more to do with healers than any Took would wish on his worst enemy.

 ‘Sleeping...’ I say, slowly and clearly, ‘peacefully.’ I sweep the room with my sternest look. ‘There’s a feast in the receiving room,’ (Mistress Lalia’s grand name for the larger sitting room you enter when you knock on the door to the Thain’s private apartments), ‘and it would be a shame to let it go to waste.’

 ‘A funeral feast,’ Pervinca says, and giggles. She is too tightly wound, her eyes staring from dark hollows, belying the silly grin on her face.

Meliloc draws her closer to himself and steadies her with a few whispered words, and together they turn away, to lead the procession down the corridor.

 ‘Lend me your shoulder, Nephew,’ Isum says to Faramir, and the lad moves to oblige him. With difficulty he rises from the chair, and with Pearl on one side, and leaning heavily upon Farry on the other, he follows Meliloc and Pervinca. Pimpernel and Rosamunda bring up the tail, arm in arm.

I turn back for a last look, and Diamond’s smile continues to shine in the semi-darkness. ‘We’ll be fine here,’ she murmurs, and somehow, I am sure that they will be.

Chapter 21. Too Many Cooks

When Mardi came whistling from his morning’s work at the livery, Beryl greeted him at the doorway to the healer’s little smial, welcome in her eyes and a finger to her lips.

 ‘Elevenses are just on the table,’ she said in a low voice, beckoning him in.

 ‘Why are we whispering?’ Mardi whispered, wiping his feet upon the mat and following her to the kitchen, where three places were set at the well-scrubbed table.

 ‘Sweetie’s asleep,’ Beryl said. ‘Got back from Whittacres an hour ago, looking like something the cat dragged in.’

Mardi had watched with young Pippin from the dawning until second breakfast time, when the lad had sat up with a wince, nostrils flaring, saying, ‘Griddlecakes?’ It appeared his appetite had returned, and so Mardi had summoned his Mistress from the guest bed where she was taking a short rest. They’d shared second breakfast with the family, the healer and her assistant had conducted one more brief examination, and Woodruff decreed that Pippin should rest this day, with Ferdi and Merry to think up quiet amusements to keep him in the bed. Woodruff had released Mardi, to go to his morning chores at the livery, but she had said she’d stay on at Whittacres “for a while longer”, just to be sure the lad was on the mend.

 ‘I doubt the Mistress has slept more than a few hours altogether, the last few days,’ Mardi said with a frown, ‘and those not all together. She’ll be taking ill herself, if she’s not careful.’

‘But what can she do?’ Beryl argued, pouring out tea for the two of them while Mardi buttered the bread. ‘T’little lad fell on his head, the hired hobbit said, who came to fetch her. Why, she'd barely taken off her bonnet, just come back from seeing to Old Widow Goodbody's palpitations, as called her from the tea shop—' she frowned at Mardi, but he only grinned back at her, '—but she couldn’t very well not go! And you were off your own self, setting young Tad’s broken arm—she was just about to follow you, to look over your handiwork, when Lemson came from Whittacres. Good thing you’ve already learned so much of healing from your father, and just need the rough edges smoothed off.’

 'And so she never did come to check my work... and there I was feeling so fine and all about her trust in me, and that she likely would question me over supper since she hadn't come to look over my handiwork. Only to find, when I came to supper, that she'd gone.'

 'At least she left orders that you were to eat your supper,' Beryl said. 'You really ought to have a good supper, you ought, before doing all that heavy work at the livery!'

Mardi smiled at this expression of feminine concern.

 'And then you did all your chores, and walked out to Whittacres, and stayed the night in case you were wanted,' Beryl said huffily, as if Mardi were being put upon.

 'Such is the life of a healer,' Mardi said mildly.

 'I never knew,' Beryl said, 'not until I came to keep hole for Sweetie, that is.' She poured out another cup of tea, setting the pot down with a rattle of the lid that showed her perturbation. 'For folk who can't abide healers and their potions, the Tooks certainly don't stick at calling for you and your Mistress all hours of the day!'

 'It's a healer's lot, and I'd choose no other,' Mardi said.

Beryl peered at him intently. 'You mean that,' she said. 'You wouldn't be a farmer, or a hunter, or work for the Thain...'

 'I wouldn't even be Thain, not if they offered it to me on a silver platter,' Mardi said.

 'Well if that don't beat all...' Beryl said, half to herself, and then apparently decided to change the subject. ‘Whitwell certainly seems to need two healers at the moment, and Sweetie cannot very well split herself in two,’ she said, hesitating between the gooseberry jam and the strawberry preserves. She finally opted for a little of each.

 ‘Not for want of trying. She needs a second assistant, at the very least,’ Mardi said, stirring his tea absently though he’d forgot to add the sugar. He noticed with his first sip and remedied the oversight.

 ‘Which reminds me,’ Beryl said, nodding to a dark, stoppered bottle on the sideboard. ‘You’re to take that remedy to the Grubbses’ and bring yourself right back after you make sure Lilac understands the proper dose.’ Lilac, wife of Andy and Autumn Grubbs’ eldest son, was at her wits’ end with her Little Andy’s teething woes.

Mardi reached for the bottle, uncorked it and took a sniff. ‘Rub it on the gums, I’ve no doubt,’ he said, ‘and it’ll numb the pain and send the little fellow off to sleep... smells as if it’s made of strong spirits!’ His father never used strong spirits in the potions he made up for little ones. But then, Woodruff had taught him a number of things not practiced by the healers of Tuckborough.

 ‘Aye, there’s aught of that,’ Beryl said, ‘and some herbs mixed in, steeped and strained. I helped her to make this batch, and I’m to show you how it’s made, this afternoon, so that you can make up more. But Sweetie says she’s to use it sparingly,’ Mardi nodded at this caution, ‘and only if Little Andy will not be comforted in any other way. No good in having a babe that’s as drunk as a Brandybuck!’

 ‘No, indeed!’ Mardi agreed, helping himself to another slice of bread. He dispatched the rest of his elevenses quickly and efficiently and stood up from the table, but when he started to help clear the dishes, Beryl shooed him away.

 ‘Off wit’ ye, now!’ she said. ‘It’s a good two miles to the Grubbses’ farm, and there’s a list as long as my arm of things you’re to do when you get back, if there’s no urgent knock at the door in the meantime.’

 ‘Indeed, my lady,’ Mardi said with a bow, to be rewarded by a giggle from Beryl. With a grin he took up the bottle, made sure of the stopper, and let himself out, calling greetings left and right to the hobbits who were about their late-morning business, as he set himself an easy jogging pace out of the town.

He waved to the hobbits in the fields as he passed by Whittacres Farm, and at the cheery responses, he gathered the little lad was on the mend.

Reaching his destination, two farms past Whittacres, he jogged up the lane, calling a greeting. Autumn Grubb came out of the smial, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Well come!’ she called. ‘Elevenses will be on the table soon! You’re in good time! We’re eating a little later than we usually do, with Paddy and the lasses having so many extra chores today!’

 ‘My thanks, but I cannot stop long,’ Mardi said, reaching the door. He was breathing hard from running.

 ‘I can only imagine,’ Autumn laughed, as she took the bottle from him and linked her arm through his to draw him in. ‘Did you run all the way here, then? Your Mistress is a demanding one!’

 ‘More, I’d say, that the demands on my Mistress are many,’ Mardi said. ‘Three babes delivered in four days, and still the odd knock on the noggin and broken arm to tend.’

 ‘Well, at least she won’t be called here anytime soon to deliver this babe of mine,’ Fern Grubb, another daughter-in-love, said, taking Mardi’s other arm and guiding him to the table.

 ‘No, this-un’ll likely arrive in the middle of the first storm of autumn,’ Mardi said, ‘and my Mistress will faithfully slog through the mud to greet him.’

 ‘Her,’ Fern said firmly, and Mardi laughed.

The teakettle was steaming, a tray of fresh-baked buns was cooling in the window, a large pot of eggs-in-the-shell was coming to a boil, and a small saucepan of porridge was simmering at the front of the stove.

 ‘Really, I cannot stay, I’m expected back directly...’ Mardi was protesting when he reached the table. He didn’t mention that he’d already eaten elevenses. It’s not the sort of thing that bears mentioning amongst Shire-folk. A meal offered is never scorned, and having already eaten is no excuse. Food is hospitality, more or less, to hobbits. ‘Hullo, Hetty.’

This earned him a smile from the Grubbs’ lame daughter, who was limping to and fro, laying places at the table.

 ‘You must stay; Hetty’s laid an extra place already,’ Autumn said, putting the bottle on a shelf in order to take up the teakettle, to warm the waiting teapot. ‘Paddy called from the byre that he saw you turn in at the lane...’

 ‘I’m that sorry,’ Mardi said. ‘My Mistress...’

 ‘A cup of tea, then, to strengthen you for the return journey,’ Autumn said firmly. ‘You’ll be back in Whitwell all the sooner for stopping long enough to catch your breath.’

Leaf, with an eye for the healer’s assistant, bent gracefully to take another pan of smoking buns from the oven. ‘Don’t they smell wonderful?’ she said, passing by close enough that she did not quite have to wave them under Mardi’s nose. She fixed the pan in the window—Mardi noted that someone, Andy, probably, as he was clever with his hands, had nailed wood blocks to the frame, so that pans of baking could be stacked in the open window to cool.

A wail was heard from one of the inner rooms, soon joined by another, and in a moment a wan and dishevelled hobbit appeared, jiggling a screaming babe whilst a weeping tot clung to her skirts. ‘Off he goes again,’ she said, and then caught sight of the healer’s assistant. ‘Oh,’ she said, flushing scarlet, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know...’

 ‘Now then, Lilac-dear,’ Autumn said, moving forward to take the babe from her desperately tired daughter-in-love, ‘he’s here on this-un’s account, he is, and it don’t matter if he screams whilst you’re holding him, or someone else is...’

Lilac automatically picked up the tearful tot, placing the child on one hip and wiping at the wet little face with a handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve. ‘There-there, Letty, don’t cry anymore. Elevenses are almost ready, come, see?’ She leaned over the stove to give her daughter a view of the porridge.

 ‘Not quite thick enough, yet,’ Hetty said in passing. ‘She’ll want porridge, not gruel!’

 ‘ ‘tir!’ the little one lisped, and her mother obligingly tucked away the handkerchief to take up a long-handled spoon. With her mother’s guiding hand on the spoon, little Violet gleefully sloshed the porridge around the pot, while Mardi washed his hands and examined the babe in Autumn’s arms. The baby screamed when the healer’s assistant took him, but then he’d been screaming anyhow in his grandmother’s loving arms, so it hardly seemed to matter. In the meantime, Autumn hurried to pour out the hot water that had nicely warmed the teapot, spooned the tea in, and added the boiling water, setting the pot on the table to steep.

 ‘O aye,’ Mardi said, seeing the red and swollen gums. ‘That’ll soon put itself right, just as soon as those pearls break through.’ He rubbed gently at the spot, and the babe bit down just as hard as he could, gnawing the probing finger, though of course with no teeth as yet no damage was done. ‘I can feel them, but they’re still a few days away, I’m thinking.’

 ‘A few days,’ Lilac said in dismay, turning away from the stove. ‘He’s been up and crying all hours...’

 ‘Screaming, more like,’ Hetty said under her breath as she passed with a bowl of applesauce.

 ‘...and my Andson was that put out when he left this morning, not in a temper, mind, but that he’d had no sleep and the long drive to Waymeet Market...’

 ‘Waymeet?’ Mardi said, and gave a low whistle. ‘That’s a long way to go!’

 ‘They say cabbages are selling better there,’ Hetty said over her shoulder. ‘Too many round hereabouts raised cabbages this year, but not so many did up North in Waymeet.’

 ‘In any event, Andy and Andson and Garland left early and won’t be back until late,’ Autumn said.

 ‘Probably glad to get away from all the uproar,’ Lilac said.

 ‘Wan’ down!’ Violet demanded, kicking against her mother’s skirts, and Lilac released her with a sigh.

Leaf had piled the buns into a cloth-lined basket for the table and now she went to fetch the pot of porridge from the stove. Frowning, she gave it another stir. ‘Not quite thick enough yet,’ she murmured, and set the pot down again.

The babe had stopped screaming to gnaw on Mardi’s finger; now his face crumpled and he resumed his wailing.

 ‘O now,’ Lilac said, and she sounded as if she were about to weep herself.

 ‘Now,’ Mardi agreed, letting her take her little son, but he picked up the stoppered bottle. ‘Here’s what you do...’ He stuck his finger in the opening and tipped the bottle until his finger was wetted. He put his finger in the babe’s mouth, conveniently open, and rubbed along the lower gums. Little Andy’s wails stopped in mid-scream and he opened his eyes wide at the unexpected taste. ‘There now,’ Mardi said. ‘Doesn’t take much.’

Fern watched in fascination; after all, her own babe would be entering the world in a matter of months, and teeth would likely come along some time after.

Paddy, Andy and Autumn's youngest, entered, hands and face shining clean, placed a bucket of freshly-drawn water by the stove, kissed his mother, and took his place at table.

 'Hullo, Paddy, how's the leg?' Mardi said. He remembered his first sight of the gash that Woodruff had stitched the day he arrived in Whitwell, when he’d gone with her the next day to check on the healing of the wound. The neat and tiny stitches had promised a minimal scar, and from what he saw, when they went back to the farm to take the stitches out again, that promise had been fulfilled.

 'Good as new!' Paddy said, 'And I won't make that same mistake again! Andson's had me practice with the scythe until I could swing it in my sleep!'

 'Don't go and try that!' Mardi said in mock alarm, and the teen laughed.

The babe gave an experimental hiccough, and Mardi wet his finger again and put it in the little mouth. Little Andy sucked greedily at the finger. ‘I think he’s hungry,’ Mardi said.

 ‘He is, at that,’ Lilac said. ‘But every time he’s tried to nurse, lately, he stops himself and starts to scream again.’

 ‘And our own meal is ready,’ Autumn said, pouring out a cup of tea, ‘as is your tea, Mardi, so if you’ll just sit yourself down...’

Hetty had already taken her seat, between her sister Leaf and brother Paddy. Fern excused herself with a pretty blush and a vague murmur of "having to see to something." Everything was ready, the eggs waiting at attention in their egg cups, buns piled high still giving off their promising fragrance, rosy applesauce in a bowl with a pitcher of cream standing by.

 ‘Well, you give him another try,’ Mardi said, handing the babe to his mother once more. ‘We’ve put out the fire in his gums, poor lad, for the nonce. You use the stuff just like I showed you, not more than two finger-fuls, every two hours if he needs it that often. You’ll find he’ll probably go off to sleep as soon as his tummy’s full, poor little lad, if he’s had as little sleep as I think he’s had.’

 ‘Yes, love,’ Autumn said. ‘You give him his elevenses, poor lad, and if he doesn’t drop off I’ll take him and rock him so that you can eat yours, and then Letty will help with the washing up, won’t you my love—’

 ‘ ‘plash!’ said the tot in excitement.

 ‘—whilst your mother lies herself down as well,’ Autumn continued. ‘Come now, love, and sit in your little chair...’ She held out her hands to the little one as Lilac turned away with the baby.

Violet moved to obey, her eyes going over the table, but not finding what she sought, she suddenly turned and darted back to the stove, exclaiming, ‘Porrit!’ as she stood on her tiptoes to grab at the saucepan with its vigorously boiling contents.

Mardi was closest, and quickest to react. As the pan tipped off the stove towards the sweet little face, he jumped to snatch it away. Everything seemed to move with nightmare slowness as the contents of the pan sloshed over his hands and arms; he gave a terrible cry, could not keep his hold, and the pan fell to the floor, even as Autumn dove to pull little Violet out of danger. The toddler shrieked, splattered with boiling droplets as porridge splashed in all directions.

Chapter 22. Interlude

I turn away from the bedroom door, alone in the little sitting room, but before I can make my way after the others, the reaction hits me in the knees. I stagger to a chair and sink down, shaking.

It is not the Ent draught. At least, I think it is not. There is no cry of distress from the bedroom, after all, and if Pippin began to shake all over I do believe that Diamond would call me back immediately.

No, it is the realisation that, had Merry not been called back to Buckland, had he not made Pippin promise to wait for him, or at least to try, had he not brought Mayor Sam from Brandy Hall at a gallop, changing ponies at every inn, Pippin would surely be dead by now, washed and dressed in his best, lying in his shroud, waiting for dawn and burial. This little room would be empty, as it is now, but for a far different reason, and the feast in the receiving room would truly be a funeral feast.

I can scarcely breathe, for the awful thoughts I am thinking, and but for the whisper of well-being that courses in my veins, all no doubt due to that wondrous draught, I’ve no doubt I would faint here and now, for I am certainly light-headed.

It takes some time and effort to master myself, but I force myself to breathe steady breaths. Ironic, that so much of my time in attending Pippin has been to remind him to breathe steadily. The familiar litany returns to me now: In, out, in, out, that’s right, steady breaths...

At last I am able to rise. I creep back to the bedroom door, peeking in to see Diamond, her head resting against her husband’s shoulder, the two of them asleep to all appearances. I hold my breath, but even so I can scarcely hear Pippin’s steady breathing. No longer harsh and forced, but soft and light as any other sleeper’s.

I turn away to follow the others, down the darkened corridor to light and soft talk. There is more wonder than laughter, and uncertainty abounds. Indeed, I have never seen a quieter gathering of Tooks! If it were a funeral feast, there’d be tears, true, but there would also be singing and storytelling and laughter, a way to honour the dead, to keep him alive in memory if not in life. This is the quietest “funeral feast” I’ve ever seen! Indeed, even the small wisps of talk end when they notice me in the doorway, and all seem to hold their breath.

Sandy comes forward, hope and dread mingled in his expression, though all he says is, ‘May I make up a plate for you, Woodruff?’

I smile, reassuringly I hope, take his hand and press it warmly. ‘All is well, Sandy,’ I say. It is the truth, at the moment, anyhow.

 ‘How?’ he says doubtfully. He can recount Bilbo’s tales by the hour, having listened to them as a little lad growing up in Bywater, sitting with his father in the Ivy Bush of a pleasant summer’s eve or by the crackling fire of a rainy night. Yet he cannot credit a real-life wonder taking place in the next room.

 ‘I don’t know,’ I admit, and laugh gaily. ‘Is it not a wonder?’

My beloved steps forward, concern on his face, to take my arm. ‘It is well with me,’ I assure him. ‘Very well, indeed.’

 ‘My love,’ he says, raising my hand to lay a kiss upon my fingertips. ‘Let Fennel watch now, if the draught has gained him a measure of time. Take your rest.’

 ‘I will,’ I promise, rising on my toes to kiss his cheek. ‘I just have a few things to check on...’ I signal to Fennel and he puts down his plate and goes to take up his post in the little sitting room, close enough to hear Diamond’s call, but not sitting at the bedside, for the nature of my signal has indicated to him that he is to respect their privacy.

I will lie myself down in the room set aside for the healer on watch. It is really one of the guest rooms in the Thain’s apartments, but it has been set aside for a healer ever since Lalia, with all her complaints, fancied or otherwise, was Mistress. Fennel will watch from the little sitting room, and call me if aught...

My beloved releases my hand reluctantly, and with a nod to the others I take my leave. The talk starts up again behind me as the hobbit of the Thain’s escort holds the door open for me. Questions are in his face, but he doesn’t voice them. All the others had their questions; I could see them, plain as the noses on their faces, but no one wants to hear the answers, not yet, anyhow. And so they will eat the feast laid out for them, and talk quietly of inconsequential things, and when all remains peaceful, eventually they will all seek their beds, still half-expecting an urgent summons.

Samwise and Rose are much better company when I tap at their door. I know they won’t be sleeping; their children are on their way with the Mistress of Brandy Hall, driving straight through, stopping only to change ponies as needed. In point of fact, they are expecting the coach to arrive at any time. They have bathed and are taking a light meal, and invite me to sit down with them. I do, but only long enough for a cup of tea; I must see about Merry, and of course Samwise understands. He kisses Rose, tells her he’ll return soon, and accompanies me to the Master’s suite of rooms.

Merry is in the bath, more asleep than awake, Regi and Ferdi attending him, to minimize the Talk amongst the servants about his collapse. No need to alarm the Tooks further, with speculation about Pippin’s condition. They’ll have had him dead and ready to be buried five times over before the dawn, as things stand now.

 ‘Here’s Woodruff now,’ Ferdi says, and Merry sits up abruptly, causing water to slosh over the sides of the tub onto Ferdi and Regi.

 ‘Pippin,’ he says, the haunted expression returning. ‘He’s...?’

 ‘Asleep,’ I say, ‘and breathing better than I’ve seen in years. He’ll sleep, and gain strength, and fight another day, or I’m no healer.’

Regi rises, grabs a towel, dabs at his clothing and then holds the towel out to Merry. ‘Sleep,’ he says. ‘An excellent idea. Come along, lad.’

 ‘Don’t “lad” me...’ Merry begins, but Regi looks down his nose at him, as only Regi can.

 ‘Bed,’ he says. ‘And I may “lad” you all I wish... I was changing your nappies before Pippin was born, you know...’ I hear a sound behind me, as if Samwise has suppressed a chuckle.

 ‘Would have had to have been before Pippin was born,’ Ferdi says airily.

 ‘None of your nonsense, now, lad,’ Regi says, and stops short. It is what he so often says to Pippin... He draws a shaking hand across his brow, and I quickly go to him and lead him to a chair.

 ‘Bed, all around, I think,’ I say crisply. ‘It has been a long and wearying watch, but we’ve got a breather now, and we must make the best of it.’

 ‘A breather?’ Merry says from the bath.

Mayor Sam has moved to his side, dipping a ewer into the warm water. ‘Here,’ he says. ‘You still have some soap in your hair. Mind your eyes, now.’ But he, too, is awaiting my answer to Merry’s question, ewer suspended over Merry’s head while the Master neither closes his eyes nor covers them, as all four hobbits stare at me.

 ‘At the very least,’ I say. I won’t lie, as they well know. I won’t say the hobbit is healed, or on his way to complete healing, or even on his way to waking up on the morrow bright-eyed and ready to take on life again. But he is sleeping peacefully, gathering strength, and with that strength he’ll be able to sustain the fight that much longer.

Merry nods and closes his eyes, and Sam looks down at him and pours the water, scooping up another ewerful and pouring it over for good measure.

I pat Regi on the shoulder and take the towel from him, holding it out to the Master. ‘And that goes for you as well. Take a breather while you have it. I’ve no idea what the road ahead holds, whether a long uphill climb, or an easy go.’

Chapter 23. Once Burned 

Hetty was the one to keep her head. Though her movements were slow, due to her straitened gait, her mind was quicker than most. Even as the pot hit the floor, Hetty, staring at Mardi, was pushing Paddy from his seat. ‘Run!’ she cried. ‘Run for the healer, Paddy, run as you’ve never run before!’

 ‘Aye!’ Autumn shouted from the floor, over the shrieks of the tot she cradled, and the wails of the babe as Lilac stood frozen in horror. ‘The healer, lad! Run!’

Leaf sat unmoving, as Hetty used her shoulder to lever herself up. ‘The pot,’ she whispered. ‘The handle, I left the handle sticking out where she could grab at it...’ She burst into a torrent of tears. ‘O Mum!’

Hetty, having gained her balance upon her good leg, gave her sister a shake. ‘That does us no good at all,’ she said fiercely. ‘Make yourself useful! Fetch cloth for dressings, and more water from the well!’

She hobbled around the table to Mardi, grabbing at him as he pawed ineffectually at the steaming porridge that stuck to his hands and arms. It seemed at first that she overbalanced, pulling him down, but her aim was true, and she brought him to his knees where the bucket, brimful of fresh, cold water, reposed beside the stove. ‘Quick,’ she said, forcing his porridge-covered hands and arms into the water. ‘In there! It’s burning you, still.’

Mardi said nothing, not even something to the effect that she was stating the obvious. His face was screwed up in agony, and he gave only a low moan as his knuckles brushed the bottom of the bucket.

 ‘Scrape it off!’ Hetty ordered sharply, to her mother as well as herself, scrubbing at Mardi’s arms underwater. Even with the chill of the water, the hot porridge stung her fingers. Autumn followed suit, scraping the splatters of porridge from her granddaughter and herself, to reveal the white blisters already rising, and Lilac laid the baby down, still screaming, in the cradle in the corner and hurried to help Hetty, after a quick glance to see that Autumn had little Violet well in hand.

Leaf came sloshing in, bucket in hand, plonking it down by her mother, and dipped the end of her apron into the water, to hold it to her mother’s splattered arm. ‘That’s right,’ Autumn said, forcing calm, and dipping her own apron in the bucket with her uninjured arm, she applied the cold, wet compress to her granddaughter’s legs as she began to croon a nursery tune.

Once Violet’s screams had settled to sobs, Autumn called, over the baby’s wails, ‘Take him, Lilac! Feed him! Settle him down! I cannot hear my own thoughts at the moment!’

 ‘First help me sit him down at table,’ Hetty added, pushing back a stray curl with a damp, porridge-smeared hand. ‘Then do, go.’

Together they got Mardi onto his feet and managed to seat him on the bench nearest the stove, leaning his back against the table, and then Lilac picked up the wailing babe and carried him out of the kitchen. The wails continued for several minutes more, while she tried to calm herself sufficiently to nurse him, but it was not long before blessed silence reigned, save Mardi’s harsh breathing. He had yet to say a word. He was probably half out of his wits, from the pain and suddenness of it all, Hetty thought, and locking gazes with her mother, she saw that Autumn was of the same mind.

 ‘It’s a good thing there’s plenty of butter,’ Autumn said. ‘Leaf-love, you fetch the rolls of bandages from the linen closet now...’

 ‘How many?’ Leaf said, still gulping back tears.

 ‘All,’ Autumn said crisply, and her daughter winced as if she’d struck her. No use scolding Leaf for her carelessness—more than likely she’d make herself miserable enough for two as it was. There was nothing of dreaminess about the lass now.

With a grimace, Autumn stood up from the floor, lifting little Violet with her, and sank down on the bench next to Mardi. She dipped her fingers in the butter that waited on the table to grace the freshly-baked buns, and smeared the cool, greasy stuff on Violet’s burns, murmuring soothing words all the while. The tot’s sobs petered out as she stared in surprise.

 ‘You butter me?’ she lisped. ‘Me butter?’

 ‘Yes, lovie, butter you indeed,’ Autumn said, proceeding to lay a series of kisses against Violet’s unburnt knee. ‘Yummy yummy yummy! I could eat you up with kisses, I could, my sweet little crumpet!’

Mardi might have been turned to stone, as Leaf and Hetty applied a thick layer of butter from fingertip to elbow, and then bandaged his hands and arms as gently as they could. Autumn poured out the tea and dosed each cup with a large dollop of honey, ‘To regather our wits about us,’ as she said. Somehow Hetty managed to get the healer’s assistant to take a few sips.

 ‘When will the healer come?’ Leaf fussed, getting up to look out the door.
 
 ‘Healer?’ Mardi said faintly, with a puzzled look. ‘Did someone want a healer?’

***

Paddy Grubb ran faster than he ever had run in his life, ran until he thought his lungs would burst, and yet he was only halfway to Whitwell! A fierce stitch took him in the side, but he did not stop running. He jammed his hands into his side, bent over, put his head down, and kept running, hearing Mardi’s cry echo in his ears. He’d been burned, once, a little burn, years ago it was, yet he remembered the pain of it. And that had been just a little burn, incautiously brushing against the edge of a baking pan fresh from the oven. He couldn’t imagine...

There was a hail behind him, and he looked around, blowing like a bellows, to see the welcome sight of riders on two ponies.

 ‘Where are ye going?’ Pearl Took hailed him. She and Pervinca shared a seat on a sway-backed plough pony, long retired from the fields but, old and gentle, kept for the young ones to ride. Pimpernel and her cousin Rosemary sat upon the latter’s fine mare.

 ‘Healer!’ Paddy gasped. ‘Burns... bad burns...’

 ‘Nell, slide down,’ Pearl ordered at once. ‘Ride with us, as we always do, and Rosie can take Paddy to town.’

 ‘My thanks...’ Paddy gasped, but Pearl silenced him.

 ‘No time for that,’ she said, even as Pimpernel’s feet hit the ground.

Paddy took the hand Rosie held out to him, fumbled his foot into the stirrup she’d kicked free, and hauled himself up into the saddle behind her, one arm about her waist while the other hand kneaded the stitch in his side.

 ‘Go, Windfoot, go!’ she cried, leaning forward, and Paddy’s grip tightened instinctively as the mare put her head down and broke into a fast pace that lengthened into a gallop as the lass called to her again.

It seemed almost no time at all before they were racing through the streets of Whitwell, past outraged hobbits who scattered before them, and then the mare pulled up dancing before the healer’s little smial.

Paddy had caught his breath in the meantime, and he jumped from the pony’s back, bounded over the gate, and ran to the door, shouting for Woodruff.

Beryl came to the door, mortar and pestle in her hands, for she’d been grinding herbs while Woodruff slept. ‘Here now,’ she said sharply. ‘What is it, Paddy Grubb, that has you shouting so? Mardi left for your farm an hour ago, didn’t you know?’

 ‘Just came from the farm,’ Paddy said, craning past Beryl. ‘It’s Mardi—there’s been a terrible accident...’

 ‘Mardi!’ Beryl gasped, clutching mortar to her heart. ‘What sort of accident?’

Paddy had caught sight of Woodruff, emerging from the rear of the smial, hair mussed but eyes bright and aware. ‘Healer Woodruff!’

 ‘I heard,’ Woodruff said, crossing quickly to place a calming hand on Beryl’s shoulder. ‘What accident?’

 ‘Burned,’ Paddy said, ‘and burned bad. The porridge, ‘twas boilin’, and Letty, she was... and Mardi, well, he caught it just as it went over, and...’

Somehow Woodruff followed this excited gabble, and though her face paled, she grabbed up her bag, lying ready by the door, and said, ‘Then we must run!’

 ‘Take my pony!’ Rosemary called from the gate she’d swung open. She’d slid from the saddle and was holding the reins loosely as the excited mare pranced. ‘She’ll get you there faster!’

Woodruff stopped only long enough to turn to Beryl. ‘Tell your mum and da,’ she said. ‘They’ll know what needs doing.’

Beryl stammered a reply, looking as if she were about to faint. Paddy steadied the lass, saying, ‘Don’t worry about anything here. Go!’

Without so much as a nod, Woodruff whirled and ran to the gateway. ‘Good lass,’ she murmured to the pony. Rosemary held the bag while she mounted, and Woodruff, her throat tight with dread, could only nod her thanks as she took the bag and turned the pony’s face back in the direction of the Grubbses’ farm. She needed only to tighten her legs and the pony was off again, racing with a clatter over the cobblestones of Whitwell. Hobbits, seeing the healer on the pony’s back, understood now the reason for haste, and called questions to each other.

Beryl sagged in Paddy’s grasp. ‘Steady,’ the teen said urgently.

 ‘Mardi,’ she whispered, raising tear-filled eyes to his face. ‘How... how bad?’

 ‘Come,’ Paddy said, taking mortar and pestle and laying them upon the doorstep. ‘You’re to tell your parents, so they’ll know what needs to be done.’ And he and Rosemary led her gently to Tru and Mira Took’s smial, not far away.

The pony flew over the two miles of road as if she had wings, passing Paladin’s three daughters on their plough pony before they’d even reached the lane leading to Whittacres Farm, for they’d need another pony before riding to Whitwell to fetch Rosemary again, and their father ought to be informed of the neighbours’ difficulties, in case more help might be needed. “Bad burns” could result from any number of possible disasters, a fire in one of the buildings, even, though no smoke blotted the bright summer sky.

Fern came out the door as Woodruff pulled up on the lathered pony. She had missed the better part of the disaster, as she had been out “seeing a hobbit about a pony” and had heard not a thing, until she returned in time to help butter and dress Mardi’s second arm, though it made her queasy. She was glad for the excuse to go out of doors into the fresh air.

  ‘I’ll take her!’ she called, stepping forward to seize the reins. ‘Go on in,’ she said. ‘This-un’ll need walking to cool her out... we don’t need her to founder, not with all the other trouble of the day.’ The mare, blowing heavily, followed her as she began to walk in circles around the yard. Trying to keep her mind from what was undoubtedly happening within the smial—Woodruff unwrapping the dressings to see the wounds, no doubt—she walked the pony until the little mare was completely cool and breathing slowly, and then Fern tied her to the fence and gave her a thorough grooming.

So long as the healer was in the smial, Fern would remain with the pony. The air was definitely fresher, with a gentle breeze, and there were no upsetting sights to worry about. Though she was glad to be of some help, with this hard-ridden pony that had brought Healer Woodruff so quickly, Fern wished she could be of more help. Still, it wouldn’t do Mardi any good if she were to faint, there in the smial, which is what she’d so nearly come to, before Woodruff’s arrival.

Woodruff entered the smial, where the smell of fresh-baked bread still hung in the air. ‘Mardi?’ she said, seeing her assistant sitting, just sitting, on the bench, his back leaning against the table, with Autumn and Hetty flanking him. Autumn was trying to get him to drink the cooling tea.

 ‘Mistress,’ he said, blinking, and made as if to rise. ‘I... I was supposed to return at once. Beryl said you left a list as long as my arm...’ He looked down at his bandaged arms with a puzzled expression, tried to raise a hand to his muddled head, and grimaced.

 ‘Don’t try to move, lad,’ Woodruff said, as if he were a dozen years her junior instead of only a few. ‘Let us see what is what.’ A quick glance showed her the porridge pan on the floor nearby, spatters radiating out in all directions, and blistered burns on Autumn’s arm, not yet dressed.

 ‘Letty grabbed at the saucepan on the stove,’ Autumn said, following the healer’s glance. ‘Mardi kept it from upsetting onto her head. It would’ve...’ Trembling with reaction, she couldn’t continue.

 ‘You’re burned,’ Woodruff said. ‘You ought to keep a cold compress on that for a while longer.’ She carefully unfastened the bandage wrapping one of Mardi’s arms and began to unwrap it.

 ‘I’m all right,’ Autumn murmured. ‘I’d like you to take a look at little Violet, though. The porridge splattered her legs when it fell... I laid her down with her mama after we dressed the burns, but she’s whimpering with the pain of it.’

Woodruff had bared the skin, and she was breathing shallowly as she tried to contain her alarm. ‘Butter?’ she whispered. ‘You buttered the burns?’

 ‘Aye, that’s right,’ Hetty said. ‘It’s what Gran always did for burns. We used a whole pound—he’s burned from fingertip to elbow, both arms!’

 ‘O Mardi,’ Woodruff said.

 ‘Did we do wrong, then?’ Autumn said, and Hetty stared, open-mouthed, at the dismay in the healer’s tone.

Mardi turned his head slowly toward Woodruff and said only, ‘Meant to come right back... meant to... but for some reason...’ His face was grey and shining with sweat, and he was breathing shallowly.

 ‘Don’t faint on me, now,’ Woodruff said. ‘Tea, plenty of honey...’

 ‘Here,’ Autumn said, proffering Mardi’s cup with a wince as the movement jarred her burned arm.

Woodruff took the cup, sipped at it, reached to spoon another generous helping of honey into the cup and a pinch of salt from the salt cellar for good measure, and stirred it briskly before holding it to Mardi’s lips. ‘Drink, Mardi,’ she said. ‘I brewed it especially for you.’

Mardi sipped and made a face. ‘It’s awful,’ he said faintly.

 ‘Of course it is,’ Woodruff said briskly. ‘That is why you have got to drink it down, right smart.’ Somehow she got it into him, and then she turned to Autumn.

 ‘Not butter,’ she said. ‘Not for burns. Honey is what’s needed.’

 ‘We’ve honey a-plenty,’ Autumn said eagerly, rising to go to the pantry.

Woodruff stopped her. ‘But first,’ she said, ‘we have got to get all this butter off. It’ll fester the wounds, and keep the honey from doing its good.’

 ‘If only I’d known,’ Autumn mourned, but she was not one to cry over milk when it’s already spilt. She raised her voice. ‘Leaf! Leaf!’

Leaf entered from where she’d been helping Lilac soothe Violet. ‘Fetch us pots of honey, there’s a love,’ Autumn said.

 ‘Pots?’ Leaf asked.

 ‘Pots,’ Autumn said firmly. ‘All three pots from the pantry, and then go down to the cellar and fetch up all the rest.’

 ‘Soap and water,’ Woodruff said as she unwrapped more bandage. ‘We’ll use soft soap, if you’ve any—it’s gentler...’ She gulped to see the damage uncovered. ‘O Mardi,’ she said again. ‘If only I had some fine soap...’

 ‘You need fine soap?’ Hetty said at once, struggling to her feet. ‘I’ve got some!’

 ‘I’ll fetch fresh water,’ Autumn said, taking up the buckets though it pained her burned arm.

 ‘You oughtn’t,’ Woodruff began.

 ‘Don’t mind me,’ Autumn said. ‘You tend to Mardi, there. Do you want the water warmed, or cold from the well?’

Warm, soapy water would do a better job of removing the butter, but warm water on burned skin, now...

 ‘Cold,’ Woodruff said firmly.

Hetty returned with remarkable haste, a fine-milled bar in her hand with a pretty flower stamped upon its face. Woodruff took it and lifted it to her nose to sniff, but there was no delicate fragrance, as she expected to find.

 ‘It’s old,’ Hetty said, ‘ever so old. A kind gentlehobbit gave it to me in the market at Waymeet, once, when my leg wouldn’t hold me and I fell down on the stones. She stopped to pick up all the greens that spilled out of my basket, and took this out of a box she was carrying, all nicely tied up with ribbon. I haven’t the faintest notion why, but it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever had, and I’ve kept it to this day.’

 ‘It’s the best I can imagine,’ Woodruff said, running her fingers lightly over the silky surface. ‘Soft and mild; it’ll take the butter off without hurting him as badly as homemade lye soap would.’

 ‘Well then,’ Hetty said. ‘What do we do?’

Woodruff explained; without a quiver Hetty took a sharp blade and sliced her treasure into slivers, and at Woodruff’s instruction poured boiling water over to turn the soap to jelly.

It was slow, cautious and painful work to wash the butter from Mardi’s arms, though he was very brave about the whole affair and managed to keep from fainting by sheer power of will. At last the butter was gone, and most of the remaining skin with it, leaving raw flesh behind. ‘We’d’ve had to take the skin off anyhow,’ Woodruff said quietly as she took a handful of honey and began to smear it generously over Mardi’s arm. He gasped at the touch and steeled himself to endure. ‘You’ll be growing new skin to take its place.’

 ‘Will I?’ Mardi hissed, though it was difficult to form the words.

 ‘You will,’ Woodruff said. She looked up from the work of her hands, to meet his agonised glance. ‘We will save your hands, Mardi. I swear it.’

It was a rash promise for a healer to make, but Woodruff had never been so determined in her life.

Mardi blinked. He’d seen a hobbit in Tuckborough, who’d suffered similar burns. His burns had healed, true, but the flesh of the fingers had grown together, fused, leaving him with useless claws instead of hands. He’d been helpless, unable to do much of anything for himself, dependent upon others for the smallest of actions.

 ‘Trust me,’ Woodruff said, her eyes demanding some response from him.

 ‘I do,’ he found himself saying, even as he began to tremble with a chill. His body was failing him, he realised. He was on the ragged edge, about to fall off.

 ‘Stay with me, just a little longer, Mardi,’ Woodruff said, resuming her work. She coated his arm with the honey, and then his hand, and then each individual finger, and taking fresh linen from her bag, she laid dressings over the coated skin, and then began to wrap the bandages again.

But unlike anything Mardi had seen before—and he’d never seen honey used to treat burns—Woodruff wrapped each finger in a separate dressing, and bandaged them separately, instead of wrapping them all together.

 ‘That’s not how you do it,’ Mardi murmured.

 ‘It’s not?’ Woodruff replied. ‘Fancy that,’ and she proceeded to do the same with his other hand and arm, while Hetty treated Autumn’s burns with honey and then retreated into the bedroom to do the same for little Violet.

 ‘I’ve a bed ready for him,’ Hetty said, coming out into the kitchen again.

 ‘I wouldn’t want to put you out,’ Mardi said, rising unsteadily. ‘I’ve my own bed at the livery.’

 ‘I don’t think you’ll be sleeping on the straw for a while,’ Woodruff said. ‘I’d like to get you back to Whitwell, where I can keep an eye on you, but...’

 ‘My dad will bring him to Whitwell, once he’s back from Waymeet,’ Hetty said. ‘But for now, he’d better lie down before he falls down.’ As if summoned by her words, there was the sound of a pony and waggon pulling up in the yard.

 ‘They’re back early!’ Autumn exclaimed. ‘I wonder if they sold the whole waggonload at once, then...’

But it was Tru Took who appeared in the doorway, to say, ‘Beryl told us what happened, and I borrowed a waggon... Come, Mardi,’ and he stepped forward to take the injured hobbit under the arm, to steady him and help him walk. ‘We’ve come to take you home with us.’

Chapter 24. Interlude

Samwise excuses himself, for Rosie is waiting for him, and their children are due to arrive at any moment. He grips my hand in leaving, his eyes stare into mine, and I nod, understanding the wordless message of thanks, and hope--thanks for keeping Pippin going, over the year he was gone in the South, seeking a remedy, and hope that he tries to stir in me, for I've never met these Tree-folk that he seems to trust.

Merry grasps the sides of the tub and hauls himself from the water, but grabbing at the towel he wobbles and as I catch him, he nearly topples both of us, tall hobbit that he is. Regi jumps to his feet, and he and Ferdi support Merry between them while I take the towel and wrap it around the Master.

The temporary alertness, the spurt of energy that brought him fully awake, the renewed worry for Pippin that seized him at my appearance, these have evaporated as the exhaustion of the long watch claims him once more. Merry, who has just come worrisomely close to fainting, is scarcely aware of my presence; a far cry from the first time he required my professional attention as a tween, no longer a biddable little lad, but feeling the accumulation of years and looking forward to reaching his majority, and quite shy, all of a sudden, when faced with disrobing before me... how his protests ring in my memory, one of my more voluble patients, to be certain (despite being only half-Took)! Though understandable, under the circumstances. I cannot help a smile, which is just as well. The three hobbits seem to find my serenity reassuring.

Regi and Ferdi dress Merry in his nightshirt and move to escort him firmly to his bed, and now he rouses himself to protest.

 ‘I’m not as far gone as all that,’ he says, trying to shake off their helping hands.

 ‘Not quite,’ Ferdi agrees, nodding towards the door, as he puts a comradely arm about Merry's shoulders to push him in that direction. ‘But you’re off to your bed, regardless.’

 Merry protests, but he is dealing with Tooks, and when Tooks get to talking it is difficult to lever a word in edgewise.

 ‘Pippin’s sleeping,’ Regi says firmly, looking to me for confirmation.

 ‘He is,’ I agree, but manage to get in no more than that, for Ferdi, tired as he is, reaches full boil quicker than an unwatched pot, even as he pulls Merry to the door and jerks at the knob.

 ‘The first real sleep the hobbit has managed in days,’ Ferdi says airily, as if observing the chances of a certain pony to triumph in the upcoming races. Regi comes up on Merry's other side as Ferdi pushes the Master into the hallway. Even if Merry wishes to turn back to the bathing room to reclaim his clothes, dress himself and return to Pippin's side, he will find it difficult to regain any of the ground he's already lost in the face of the two determined Tooks. He casts a scathing glance back over his shoulder at me, as I hasten to follow, and I smile sweetly.

Ferdi is still babbling on. ‘And his wife is snuggled up with him, tucked up in the bed together like two peas in a pod, and not likely to welcome any intrusion at all, I should think...’

 ‘Intru—’ Merry manages, but Regi runs right over him, in a manner of speaking, as he forcibly turns them all to the left, the better to propel Merry down the short length of hall, past the sitting room on the right, proceeding to the Master's bedroom, next door to the left-hand side.

 ‘Indeed, they’ve had scarcely a moment to themselves the past few days: people running in and out, healers on watch, messengers coming and going, and all the business of planning... ’

 ‘Pip—’ Merry says, to no avail. He stops, and I have a vision of him escaping into the sitting room and the corridor beyond, clad only in a nightshirt, but Ferdi renews his grip and Regi blocks the escape.

 ‘...and you were supposed to tender a report on the south-western fields yesterday, did you forget, Ferdi?’ Regi continues. ‘Pippin asked most especially, last week, and...’

 ‘It’s on your desk,’ Ferdi says, managing to get the stubborn pony of a hobbit moving forward again, ‘and if you ever bothered to look at the papers I leave there on regular occasions...’

 ‘So it’s you who leaves all those stacks of papers; I’d wondered who the culprit was!’ Regi says in mock astonishment. ‘How many trees have given their lives, I wonder; and considering all the work you cause me...’

 ‘Tell it to the Thain,’ Ferdi says, pushing open the bedroom door. ‘He’s the one, asking for the reports. Perhaps he’s wanting more paper to crumple, to kindle fires with. The Thain’s study has been rather chilly of late...’

As the merciless talk continues, Merry rolls his eyes. I catch his gaze and roll my own, and of a wonder, he smiles. It is a victory of sorts. He has eaten, if Regi has followed my instructions (and of course he has; he hasn’t the imagination not to), and he has bathed, and now he’ll sleep...

Without further struggle Merry is brought to his bed. Ferdi falls abruptly silent, fussing with plumping the pillow until Regi jerks it from his hands and plonks it down. 'Well, cousin,' Ferdi says. 'Sleep yourself out. I'll save you some breakfast.' Light words to cover a full heart; he and Merry were inseparable in their younger days, during their families' summers at Whittacres, and when Pippin came along they naturally brought him into their conspiracy of fun and frolic. Merry and Ferdi were born only a year apart, and balanced each other so well. I grieved to see their estrangement, in later years, when tragedy shattered Ferdi's family and stole his wits for a number of years. He kept his distance from Merry, ever after, but now I see an echo of their old friendship as he rests his hand on the Master's shoulder and the two share a look of relief, and something deeper.

'I'll walk you out,' Regi says at last, worried about the both of them, but characteristically not about himself, though none of them has rested much, these past days. 'I wanted to ask you about...' and he draws Ferdi away, talking of ploughing and seeding.

I sit down by the bed as Merry pulls the covers up. He frowns at me. ‘You don’t have to tuck me in. I’m not a little lad any more,’ he says.

 ‘O really,’ I say softly. ‘Where have the years gone? Seems as if it was just a week or so ago, I was talking to a little lad with his baby cousin in his lap...’

His eyelids are drooping already; how weary he is! I pull the coverlet up to his chin and settle beside him, humming a soothing tune. He resists long enough to pull his hands out from under the coverlet, clasping them firmly together atop the bedcovers. ‘Don’t shroud me,’ he murmurs as his eyes close. ‘Cannot bear...’

Impulsively I rest my hand on his. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean...’ I frown. His left hand is warm, living flesh, but his right hand is as cold as death.

Some years ago, a ruffian’s arrow lost him the use of his right arm for a time, but when the King came to the North the Man restored the arm somehow. What I would have given to be a fly on the wall when that happened! In any event, I wonder if the chilly hand is a remainder of that injury... sometimes I’ve seen him fumble a glass or pen, or use his left hand more than his right, especially when he is tired or troubled. He's always turned aside my questions, as has Estella, and though I've made discreet inquiries, the healers at Brandy Hall have never quite answered my questions. If he were a Took, I'd have it out of him, make a thorough examination, find some reason, determine the cause, and some way of strengthening the hand. But my own hands are tied in the matter...

Regi speaks from the doorway, in a whisper. ‘Asleep?’ he says.

I look, and nod. ‘At last,’ I answer. ‘As you ought to be.’

 ‘Speak for yourself,’ he says, entering the room, to stand over the bed looking down, his face troubled.

I chuckle. ‘I have learned to take my rest in snatches,’ I say. ‘Much as a cat would.’

 ‘A cat can sleep the day away, or so it seems to me,’ Regi answers. He continues to stare down upon Merry.

 ‘What is it?’ I ask, looking from his face to the Master’s.

 ‘I thought...’ he says hesitantly. I wait. Regi is not one to stumble over his words, but he’s weary. So am I. At last he continues. ‘I thought we’d lose the both of them, this day.’

 I nod. I’d had the same thought. No need to say as much.

 ‘You ought to have seen them,’ he continues, and at first I am lost, for I was there, I did see, that heart-wrenching final look, that smile that ought to have been the last... but Regi talks on, as if to himself. ‘You ought to have seen them,’ he repeats. ‘Pippin, riding like a ghost across the fields. Why, we might have shot him out of hand, for we were expecting an army of ruffians. The Talk was, that Sharkey had no more patience with Tookland’s resistance, that he was gathering a body of Men to march upon Tuckborough, to dig the Thain from his den, determined that the fox should not escape the hunt this time, capture him alive if at all possible, and his family with him, and make an example of them all...’ He shudders.

I don’t know what he saw, during the days of the Troubles. Thain Paladin would not let me outside the bounds of Tuckborough, but arranged to have ill or injured hobbits brought to the Great Smials. He even brought my family to Tuckborough, when the ruffians began to menace the hobbits of Whitwell; and after they burned the byre and barn at Whittacres, turned Paladin’s tenants out of the smial, and made the dwelling a storehole for refuse, the Thain offered shelter to any of Whitwell or the other communities on the borders of the Tookland who chose to retreat into the Green Hills rather than live by the ever-increasing Rules imposed by the ruffians in the name of order as they sought to dismantle the well-ordered Shire.

His only regret was that he could not keep the entire Shire free of vermin, but by the time Whittacres was burned the ruffians were too well established, with large groups of them brought in by Lotho, dug in like badgers and twice as nasty. Though he tried to rouse hobbits in other parts of the Shire, they were not yet ready to listen, and by the time they believed his warning, they were too beaten down and made afraid on account of those who'd been made "examples" by the ruffians. It was all he could do to close off the Tookland and keep the Tooks free... May all his dreams be peaceful ones.

But I had heard the rumour of what the ruffians did, when they made examples of hobbits... ‘You might have shot him out of hand,’ I echo. ‘But you didn’t.’

 ‘Ferdi kept a cool head,’ Regi says, ‘as he always did, against the ruffians. I don’t know what we’d’ve done without him, honestly, and the other Tooks who kept the borderland. He ordered our hobbits to stay hidden while he went out, alone, to meet the riders we heard approaching. And to hear Pippin’s laugh ring out, over the field, out of the darkness, his voice... to see him, dressed as if he’d stepped out of a book of old tales, mail coat, sword and shield, straight and tall, one moment laughing in delight at our surprise to see him, and the next, grim and full of purpose...’

I nod. I had seen the same, in the courtyard before the Great Smials, before he led an hundred archers away to the Battle at Bywater.

 ‘And as he rode at the head of the Tooks, I knew...’ Regi says low.

I wait.

 ‘I  knew, right then, that he would be a Thain worth following. He had my heart, that day, my spirit, my strength and my loyalty, to the end of my days, and beyond.’

Merry stirs, turns over, sighs in his sleep.

 ‘And Merry,’ Regi says. ‘You ought to have seen him, when we got to Bywater. He seemed to be everywhere, giving orders, arranging the hobbits, setting up the defences, explaining his plan. Captain Merry freed the Shire, that day, with Pippin at his side. We lost too many hobbits, that day, but we would have lost more, without Merry’s cool head.’

I nod. I’d heard the ballads that sprang up afterwards, and are still sung today. You’d think that Merry and Pippin and a handful of Tooks threw the ruffians out of the Shire. Of course, I know better. There were the stout-hearted folk of Bywater, armed with little more than pitchforks and shovels, and Samwise with his sword, and there was Frodo Baggins, who kept the victory from turning into a shameful slaughter. Sometimes the songs do not tell the full tale.

 ‘The Shire cannot afford to lose two such hobbits,’ Regi says, his voice suddenly intense. He turns to take my arm in a fierce grip. ‘You have to save them, Woodruff! You must!’

 ‘Regi,’ I say gently, laying my free hand upon his. ‘It is not in my power.’ His grip tightens, and I take a deep breath and force a smile. ‘I am more hopeful than I’ve been in a long time,’ I say reassuringly, as my hand tightens on his.

He takes a shuddering breath and gives a start, dropping his hand from my arm and muttering an apology.

 ‘No harm done,’ I say, and though I am sure there will be bruises, at least my sleeve will cover them until they’re gone in a day or two.

 ‘This wondrous draught,’ he says, a question in his voice.

 ‘Wondrous indeed,’ I agree. ‘It has bought him time, Regi, rest and strength. It is as I’ve said all along, if only he could rest and heal from the broken rib, he’d be able to take up the fight once more. The draught has bought him time, Reginard, and with him, it has bought Merry time as well.’

I cannot explain it, how the cords of two lives have become so entwined, that it seems one cannot exist without the other. It is so amongst those in whom the Fallohide strain runs strong. Marcho, hale and hearty, died within a day of the terrible plague claiming Blanco. They were brothers, Peregrin and Meriadoc are not, yet Peregrin and Meriadoc share such a bond and always have. I do not know what experiences knit them even closer together in the Outlands. I cannot even imagine.

All I can say is, ‘It has bought them both time, Regi, and in the morning, if we can get some food into Pippin, we have a good chance of returning to the way things were before he broke the rib.’

Regi looks stricken. ‘And that is all?’ he says. ‘Straitened lungs, crippled leg, what sort of life...?’

 ‘It is the life he has lived, the past few years, and lived to the fullest,’ I say sternly.

Merry stirs at my tone, and I pull the coverlet up again, over his shoulder, and whisper, ‘But now it is time to sleep.’

Chapter 25. Twice Shy

Ted arrived home from yet another journey for the Thain just as Paddy Grubb brought the weeping Beryl to the door. While his head was still spinning from the news, his father sent him to borrow waggon and ponies, and then he joined the bustle of brothers and sisters bringing cushions and bedding out to pad the waggon.

 ‘And we need to have a bed ready...’ his mother was saying.

 ‘Give him mine,’ Ted said quickly. ‘It’s close to the kitchen, and I can share with Tal and Thom.’ He’d earned a room of his own, when he started drawing wages. It would be easier to put Mardi in his bed, than displacing two or more others. Sweetie certainly couldn’t put Mardi up—it wouldn’t be proper. And there was no question of the injured hobbit sleeping at the livery so long as he needed tending. Ted wondered yet again what “bad burns” meant, though from Paddy’s description of the accident it seemed Mardi would surely lose the use of his hands. He only hoped it would be a temporary loss.

At last he helped Rosemary and Beryl onto the waggon seat next to his father, and jumped into the waggon bed with Paddy, and they were off at a smart pace. Even through the cushioning bedding he could feel the jolt, every time a wheel went over a stone. Perhaps it would be better for Mardi to stay at the Grubbs’ for a time, until the burns were healed somewhat... but no. Sweetie would want him under her eye.

They met the hobbits coming from Whittacres to fetch Rosemary; she leapt lightly down from the waggon and hopped up to ride behind her father.

 ‘Burns, the children said,’ Ferdinand Took called. ‘Is there aught the Grubbses be needing?’

 ‘ ‘Twasn’t a fire, but a kitchen accident,’ Paddy called back. ‘But we thank you kindly!’

 ‘Get up, there!’ Tru called to the ponies, and the waggon jerked into motion once more. ‘Nearly there, Beryl-love,’ he said, looking down at his daughter, who had wiped away her tears and stared ahead with her face pale and set.

Ted wasn’t surprised at Beryl’s reaction. She and Sweetie were closer than sisters, and of course she was upset on Sweetie’s behalf, Mardi being so badly injured by Paddy’s account.

When they reached the farm, Ted jumped down to hold the ponies while Tru went into the smial, Beryl just behind him. Though Tru was ready to depart immediately, to get Mardi home and into a bed, Woodruff forestalled him, long enough to get Mardi to swallow a strong draught—half the contents of the dark bottle he’d brought to calm the teething baby. A good swallow or two would have much the same effect on a grown hobbit as two finger-dips on little Andy, relaxing him, dulling pain and perhaps sending him to sleep.

Paddy went at once to Fern, still brushing Rosemary’s mare. ‘Here now,’ he said. ‘You hadn’t ought to be on your feet, doing heavy work!’

 ‘Heavy work!’ Fern scoffed, though her face was pale. ‘This mare’s as gentle as a lamb and twice as sweet! She’s earned a good brushing, she has.’

 ‘Nevertheless,’ the teen said sternly, trying to affect his older brother’s masterful tones, ‘you belong inside, with your feet up, sipping a cooling drink. The day’s warming, and you hadn’t ought to be out in the sun.’

 ‘Sunshine’s good for a body,’ Fern said stubbornly, but just then Tru and Woodruff were bringing Mardi out of the smial, his arms heavily bandaged, burns safely hidden away, and Fern, in sudden surrender, turned the brush over to Paddy. ‘Very well, brother,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

 ‘I’ll finish brushing her,’ Paddy said importantly, ‘though she’s already gleaming...’

 ‘Nothing’s too good for this lass,’ Fern put in.

 ‘...and then I’ll ride her to Whittacres, so that they needn’t fetch her,’ Paddy said, ‘and the healer needn’t stop off along the way to leave the mare.’

 ‘We can drop the mare at Whittacres,’ Ted said from where he held the ponies nearby, as Mardi was helped into the waggon bed. ‘No need for you to ride there and walk back...’

 ‘It’s no trouble!’ Paddy insisted. ‘I can walk, thanks to Healer Woodruff here, and I will!’ And suiting action to words, he put the brush away and saddled the mare, and rode alongside the waggon as far as Whittacres.

Woodruff sat in the waggon bed on one side of Mardi; Ted sat on Mardi’s other side, and the two propped the injured hobbit between them, trying to spare him some of the inevitable jostle.

The strong draught that Woodruff had coaxed into Mardi before leaving the smial took effect, and by the time they were halfway to town his head was drooping against her shoulder, or so Ted noticed. His lips tightened, but he said nothing. There was nothing to be said, after all.

When they reached home, he helped to carry Mardi from waggon to bed, and then as his mother and sisters fussed over the healer’s assistant, Ted took the ponies and waggon back to the livery, and then went to fetch Mardi’s things, explaining about the accident.

 ‘Burned his hands,’ Stoney, the owner of the livery said. ‘Burned bad, I hear tell.’

Ted nodded, not surprised that the gossip had spread so far in so short a time.

 ‘It’s a real pity,’ Stoney said, shaking his head. ‘He’s good with those hands of his... not just healing, neither. Why, he could calm a pony with just the touch of his hand... a real pity,’ he ended.

 ‘Aye, a pity,’ Ted agreed. ‘Well, thanks again,’ he said in farewell, for Stoney had refused any money.

 ‘T’least I could do,’ Stoney said regretfully. ‘If there’s aught else...’

 ‘We’ll let you know,’ Ted said.

When he got back to the smial, Mardi was sound asleep, in Ted’s bed, of course, and Woodruff sat by his side. Of course.

 ‘When was the last time you slept?’ Ted said, stopping in the doorway.

 ‘I had a nap this morning,’ Woodruff said.

 ‘Not much of one,’ Beryl put in from behind Ted, bringing a cup of tea.

 ‘I’ll take that,’ Ted said, and did, and gulped half the cup while the two looked on in amaze.

 ‘You,’ he said to Sweetie, ‘go and lie yourself down. I’ll sit with him for a while; I don’t have to go out again today, after riding halfway round the Shire earlier in the week on the Thain’s behalf. I was to have a few days’ rest anyhow.’

 ‘And rest is what you ought to be doing,’ Woodruff said.

 ‘Speak for yourself!’ Ted said, and gulped the remainder of the tea with a gusty sigh. ‘There,’ he said. ‘I’m well fortified to take the next watch, and since you’ve had no tea to clear your head, you might as well lay it down on a pillow instead.’

 ‘Honestly!’ Woodruff said, but Beryl laughed softly.

 ‘You might as well,’ she said. ‘When Ted takes that tone there’s no moving him, as you well know.’

And so the first of Ted’s “days of rest” was taken up with the nursing of Mardibold, who was helpless to do anything for himself. True to his word, he sat by Mardi’s side for the rest of the afternoon, until the healer’s assistant began to rouse from the effects of the strong draught he’d taken earlier.

 ‘Welcome back to the world,’ he said, seeing Mardi’s eyelids flutter, and the hobbit’s breathing growing more rapid and shallow as he became aware enough to feel the pain of his burns.

 ‘Some welcome,’ Mardi muttered. ‘Feels as if the world is afire, and myself with it.’

 ‘That’s about right,’ Ted said. ‘But you’ve slept through nooning, and nearly past teatime. You ought to take something.’

 ‘Not sure that I could, even if I could manage,’ Mardi said, grimacing as he attempted to lift one of his arms.

 ‘I’ll do the managing,’ Ted said. ‘You just open your mouth at the right time...’

 ‘Are you queasy, Mardi?’ Woodruff said from the doorway, and to Ted she said, ‘Pain’ll oftentimes do such a thing, I find.’

 ‘Do you, now?’ Mardi said.

 ‘A good meal, that’s the first thing,’ Woodruff said, ‘and then another draught...’

 ‘Sleep,’ Mardi whispered, almost a plea, Ted thought.

 ‘And then we’ll change the dressings, once the draught does its work.’

 ‘Sooner than that,’ Mardi said, setting his jaw.

 ‘ ‘Twould be better, my lad...’ Woodruff began, but Mardi shook his head stubbornly.

 ‘I must see the wreck I’ve made,’ he said. ‘Bad enough, just imagining it.’

Beryl entered, then, bearing a laden tray, food enough for Ted and Mardi. But Ted demurred.

 ‘I’ll have my tea later,’ he said.

 ‘Now, Ted...’

 ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’ll need help, changing the dressings, Sweetie. I think I’ve the stomach to manage, but not if I’m recently full of food. I’ll help Mardi get his tea, and I’ll be your assistant, changing the dressings, and then it’ll be Tal’s turn to watch with Mardi, and I’ll take tea.’

There was no contradicting him. He patiently fed Mardi quite as if he’d been caring for an invalid all his life, with very little fuss and bother. Woodruff, watching, said, ‘And how do you know so well, what he wants next, and without him telling you?’

 ‘I just imagine that I’m the one eating,’ Ted said. ‘I’ve been taking tea for some years now, and have an idea of how it’s done.’

 ‘And done well,’ Mardi said through a mouthful of minced chicken sandwich. Ted lifted the teacup to Mardi’s lips to wash the morsel down. ‘Ah,’ Mardi sighed. ‘That was what was wanted.’

Though he spoke lightly, his face was strained, and Woodruff rose from her chair, saying, ‘I’ll just fetch that draught for you now.’

Mardi drank the draught without protest, and Woodruff made the necessary preparations to change the dressings, bringing a serving tray laden with fresh dressings and bandages and a large crock of honey.

As Mardi began to relax from the effects of the draught, Woodruff began. She unwound the bandages from his right arm and gently took hold of the large dressing that covered his forearm. He set his teeth in anticipation, but the dressing peeled back without any difficulty. Ted gathered used bandages and dressings in a bowl: They’d be washed and boiled and made ready for another use.

Ted caught his breath at the sight of the burns, and Mardi, his breathing shallow, stared down at his arm in dismay. Woodruff, however, only nodded. ‘Amazing,’ she said. ‘I still don’t know how it works. I spread the honey on, thick, and it is as if the wounds swallowed it all...’

 ‘But it’s not sticky,’ Mardi said slowly. ‘I mean, the dressing didn’t stick...’

 Sweet and sticky, doesn’t stick;
Heals bad burns, and double quick, Woodruff quoted. ‘So old Rosie taught me.’

 ‘Double quick?’ Mardi said, and yawned.

 ‘It’s already much better than you’ve any right to expect,’ Woodruff said, laying down a thick layer of honey and covering it all with a clean dressing. She re-dressed Mardi’s hand, next, and then each finger—though by the time she reached the fingers, her assistant was already asleep.

Tal, the brother next to Ted in age, watched with Mardi until the night was half spent, and then Thom, the next brother, took over. Beryl flitted in and out with cups of tea, but Woodruff was called away to a birthing and did not return until the dawning.

Ted rose a little before the sun did, to take his turn with Mardi, who was wakeful, slightly feverish, and fretful with the pain of his burns. While it seemed the opportune time to talk about Sweetie, somehow Ted could not bring himself to the task, but limited his words to the here-and-now of what Mardi needed. Eating, drinking, dressing and undressing himself, even the most private and personal acts must be assisted. Ted performed all these services with such patience and good humour that Woodruff looked at him in surprise on her return, after watching from the doorway for some moments as Ted sat Mardi up, propped him as comfortably as possible with pillows, and fed him his breakfast. ‘Perhaps you ought to be studying to be a healer, rather than a traveller.’

 ‘Never,’ Ted said. ‘I’ll leave that to you and Mardi, here; you do it so well.’ Mardi said nothing, looking glumly at his bandaged arms, but Woodruff patted her assistant on the shoulder.

Ted stayed at his post through the morning, helping once more with changing the dressings, and into the afternoon. Shortly after the noontide meal, Beryl came into the room with a beaming smile, though tears were on her cheeks.

 ‘What is it?’ Ted said, starting up from his chair, and Mardi opened his eyes, wakened from his doze.

 ‘O Mardi!’ Beryl said. ‘Ted, it’s wonderful; you wouldn’t believe it...’

 ‘What?’ Mardi said sleepily.

 ‘Somehow word’s got out, how you burned yourself saving little Violet Grubb,’ Beryl said tearfully, ‘and that the burns were bad, and that Sweetie is using quantities of honey... Even though they’ve no idea why quantities of honey are needed...’

Ted snickered, suddenly struck with the picture of Sweetie forcing pints of honey down a hapless Mardi’s throat.

 ‘...they... they...’ Beryl said, and took her pocket-handkerchief out to give her nose a proper blow.

 ‘They? Who? And what?’ Ted said.

 ‘Crocks and crocks of honey,’ Thom said excitedly from behind Beryl. ‘The Chubbses, and the Grubbses, and the Goodbodies, and Uncle Aldi Took, and Uncle Hosparius Took, and Uncle...’

 ‘Crocks of honey?’ Mardi said fuzzily.

 ‘...and Paladin Took, he brought half a barrel-ful of honey, and said there’s plenty more where that came from!’ Thom said. ‘Why, the store-hole’s half-filled with honey pots, so that you can scarcely walk into it!’

 ‘Aren’t Shire-folk wonderful?’ Beryl sobbed. ‘Aren’t they just...?’

 ‘Aye,’ Ted said, getting up to enfold her in a hearty hug. ‘They are, of a certainty.’

That afternoon they were getting ready to change the dressings again when there was a bustle at the front of the smial; Tru’s voice was raised in greeting.

 ‘More honey?’ Woodruff said. ‘We’ll be able to bathe in the stuff, at this rate!’

In another moment Tru Took was leading a stranger into the room, a hobbit not from Whitwell.

 ‘Father!’ Mardi said, sitting up a little against his pillows.

 ‘Mardi!’ the old healer said, pausing in the doorway as if afraid to step into the room. He took in the neat bandages that covered his son from fingertip to elbow and nodded to himself sadly, though he pasted on a smile out of long habit as a healer, and advanced into the room at last. ‘Tru sent word that you’d been injured...’

 ‘It’s nothing,’ Mardi said. ‘A little inconvenience, that’s all.’

 ‘Aye,’ his father whispered.

 ‘And my Mistress was trying to break me of the habit of gnawing at my thumbnail as it was,’ Mardi said. ‘I expect this will all work out for the best.’

 ‘Of course it will,’ Woodruff said. ‘Now hold yourself still,’ as she began to unwind the bandages.

 ‘No basin,’ the old healer muttered to himself, and at Woodruff’s inquiring look, he said, ‘but you’re not quite prepared, I see. Would you like me to fetch the basin?’

 ‘Basin?’ Woodruff said, going back to her work.

 ‘To soak off the dressings,’ Haldibold said.

 ‘But no! We want to keep the wounds as dry as possible,’ Woodruff said, completing the unwrapping of one arm and lifting away the dressing on the arm before tackling those that isolated each digit.

Haldibold started forward. ‘But...’ he hissed, and then added in astonishment. ‘It’s not sticking!’

 ‘Of course it’s not,’ Woodruff said matter-of-factly. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she carefully peeled each finger free.

Mardi was breathing shallowly, but exhibiting much less pain than his father had ever seen in treating burns.

 ‘There we are,’ Woodruff said low, as if to herself. She nodded in satisfaction, and Haldibold leaned closer to look.

 ‘But...’ he said. ‘How long ago...?’

 ‘Yesterday,’ Tru said from the doorway. ‘I sent for you just as soon as we had him settled in the bed here.’

 ‘Such healing...!’ Haldibold said, and for the first time there was more than false hope in his tone. And as Woodruff began to spread honey upon the burns, he said, ‘Honey?’

 ‘Best thing for burns,’ Woodruff said.

 ‘I’ve never heard of such...!’ the old healer said, but he was watching everything Woodruff did as a hawk watches the grasses for sign of a mouse.

At last the burns were dressed and bandaged, and Woodruff began on the other arm.

 ‘You wrapped each finger by itself,’ Haldibold observed.

 ‘Aye, and so they’ll heal,’ Woodruff said, handing him the bandage and peeling away the first dressing. ‘If you wrap them together, the new skin grows together, and you have a terrible muddle.’

 ‘Aye,’ Haldibold whispered, remembering one of his patients, and couldn’t help adding, ‘They said Sweetbriar was the finest healer in the Shire, and now I believe it.’

 ‘It wasn’t Sweetbriar who taught me of honey and burns,’ Woodruff corrected automatically, her eyes on her hands.

 ‘No?’ Haldibold said. ‘It’s nothing I’ve heard of, amongst the healers I’ve known from Tuckborough to Pincup!’

 ‘It’s what they do in the South Farthing,’ Woodruff said. ‘Rosie Bracegirdle taught me in my early years, you know.’

 ‘I’d heard something to that effect,’ Haldibold said. ‘She knew a fair bit about healing, it was said.’

 ‘May her dreams be peaceful ones,’ Woodruff murmured, finishing the delicate work of applying honey and gauze to Mardi’s fingers.

 ‘Bless her soul,’ Haldibold agreed fervently. ‘She’s saved my son’s hands, it looks like.’

 ‘I’d say my Mistress had a little bit to do with that,’ Mardi said through his teeth. The pain-dampening draught had not yet taken full effect, and though he was drowsy, the burns still felt as if a fire had been set in his flesh.

Woodruff smiled. ‘Nearly finished,’ she said soothingly. ‘Perhaps a little,’ she added.

Chapter 26. Interlude

Regi and I leave the Master sleeping peacefully, and I persuade him to seek his own rest. There will be many details needing his attention tomorrow, what with the grand feast required by custom and protocol to welcome the Mayor back from his long journey.

Not that Samwise would require a grand feast, nor would Rosie, but they will go along with the custom of the Tooks with their usual grace and good humour. And it is a comfort that the feast will not be marred by Pippin's passing. I am confident of this fact, for the feeling of well-being still courses through my veins, and I have the strangest feeling that my hair is thicker, somehow, curling more luxuriously. I suppress a chuckle at the thought that I will have to ask my beloved to make a thorough examination of the matter.

There is a commotion in the corridor ahead, just outside the apartments set aside for the Mayor of the Shire, young voices raised in excited murmurs, even as I hear Mayor Samwise both welcoming and hushing in the same breath. The coach from Buckland has arrived!

A cloaked figure breaks away from the group with a rustle of skirts, and Estella Brandybuck, little son asleep in her arms, is hurrying to meet me, breathlessly demanding news of her husband, and Pippin... is Pippin...?

 'He is sleeping,' I say.

 'Pippin is? Or Merry?' she says.

 'Both,' I reply, taking her arm. Her eyes are too wide, her face too pinched, the well-bred mask fallen away for the moment, though I see her pull the mask into place again as several of the children chorus their good-night wishes after her, and she turns to smile and call “Good night, and sweet dreams!” in return.

When she turns back to me, her anxiety is hidden away once more. 'Merry is sleeping?' she says. 'He is well?'

 'He is,' I reply, and add, 'You've had a long journey, driving straight through. Shall I order a bath drawn?'

 'No,' she says distractedly, 'no, I'll just put our little lad to bed and join Merry... unless Diamond...'

 'Diamond is asleep,' I say. 'I am to express her regret that she could not be here to greet you...'

Estella gives a short, sharp twitter of laughter, and her little son stirs.

 'Let me take him,' I say impulsively. 'You go to your husband. What does it matter, with him asleep, if it's you or if I'm the one who tucks him up in his little bed?'

And so we walk together into the Master's suite, through the little sitting room and across the hall into the best bedroom, and I settle the little lad in his bed while Estella bends over Merry. She doesn't kiss him at once, and I wonder if she will at all, light sleeper that he is, but she simply looks deeply into his face for a long moment, before pulling the coverlet down, off his shoulder, as I remember his sleepy protest against being "shrouded".

She barely brushes her lips over his brow, with such tenderness I catch my breath. She moves so that I cannot see exactly what... ah. She touches his right hand, a feather touch, and frowns, though as she turns back to face me, she pulls a smile into place once more. But instead of dismissing me, she asks if I would share a cup of tea?

I am weary, and so is she, but how can I refuse?

We go back into the sitting room, where the fire has been lit and a light meal set out, complete with cosied teapot. Likely the kitchen staff were at the ready, waiting for news of the coach's arrival. It is probable that a stable lad was waiting on the outskirts of Tuckborough, and when he saw the coach, he galloped through the town to the Great Smials to set the Thain's hospitality in motion. Such has been the practice, when guests are expected, ever since Mistress Eglantine took charge of domestic affairs in the Great Smials when her husband became Thain, and Diamond followed in her footsteps.

We sit down at the little table, and Estella serves me from an assortment of breads and cheeses and fruit. I spread a slice of bread with honeyed butter and with my first bite I am reminded how long it has been since my last proper meal; I am ravenous.

Estella pushes a quantity of food upon me, and I scarcely protest. It is a habit of hers, feeding people, that is. I'm told it stems from the days after her brother was brought out of the Lockholes, starved nearly to death. Indeed, his acquaintance with food was so tenuous that he had to be fed hourly, and coaxed to eat, a very unhobbity state of affairs!

Serving food relaxes her; she has seen that her husband is alive and well, when evidently she feared the worst. In any event, the haunted look leaves her eyes, and she is more animated as we talk over recent events.

 '...the bull broke both his legs, and one of his arms, and other bones,' she is saying, telling of Berilac Brandybuck's injuries, the cause of Merry's being called from Pippin's side. 'Half his ribs, the healer said, and his skull as well!'

 'It is a wonder that he survived,' I say, impressed, 'and is expected to recover!'

 'Berilac is wondrously stubborn,' Estella answers. 'Practically a Took!' I laugh, and she smiles mischievously at me. I am a Took by adoption, and by marriage, but not by nature, as she well knows.

 'And the little one, who wandered into the bull's pen?' I ask. 'You say Berilac threw him to safety just as the bull caught him?' I shudder at the image that forms in my mind.

 'A broken arm,' Estella says, 'but no more than that.'

 'That's a mercy,' I say. I sip at my tea, but put my cup down to place a hand on Estella's. 'What is it, child?'

Her lips are trembling. 'You're certain my beloved is well?' she whispers.

 'As well as can be expected,' I return.

 'And Pippin...?' she says.

I shake my head. 'Mayor Sam brought a wondrous draught from the land of the Tree Folk,' I say.

 'Yes,' she nods. 'He was telling us about it, just as Merry's horn sounded from the Ferry.' Her breath comes short, and I pat her hand reassuringly. 'I didn't know...'

 'You didn't know?' I prompt, when she stops and looks at me with those wide eyes.

 'Merry was called away, with news that his cousin the Thain had fallen ill,' she says. 'And no word came... I thought it was merely a cold. No word came to say Pippin was dying... I'd've jumped onto a pony's back and raced to the Smials, had I known...'

Hand at her breast, she seems to have trouble catching her breath.

 'What could you have done?' I say softly.

 'I could have... I could have...' she says, and then she covers her face as her shoulders slump.

 'Their hearts are bound together,' I say, 'as Marcho and Blanco, in the old tales. The one, without the other...'

She nods, wiping away tears. 'He has always had my heart, since our earliest times.' She attempts a watery smile. 'I was such a nuisance, following him about...!'

 'I'd heard,' I say.

 'But I was promised to another,' Estella continues, and it is my turn to nod. So much heartache came from that promise! 'Merry never looked at me, honourable hobbit that he was. He gave his heart to another, and when she died...'

 'And when you were free of your promise,' I say, but she shakes her head.

 'Kicked over the traces, more like,' she corrects. 'Pippin never wanted to marry me, no matter what our parents' plans were; he had eyes only for Diamond.'

 'And when you were free...' I repeat.

 'Merry took me on out of gratitude, more than likely, for saving Pippin from a broken heart,' Estella says, raising her chin in defiance.

 'O no, lass,' I say, my hand tightening on hers.

 'If he truly loved me, would he spend himself so recklessly on his cousin's behalf?' she says.

 'If you truly love him, will you not seek to understand?' I reprove as gently as I may.

 'The bond between them...' she whispers.

 'The bond that began when first he beheld Pippin,' I say. 'Or more properly, when first he held him. Blame Frodo, if you like.'

 'Frodo?' Estella says, tears forgotten in her astonishment.

 'Frodo,' I say firmly. 'He promised Merry a special cousin, charged him solemnly to watch out for this cousin's birth, had him swear an oath to protect and guard and guide...'

 'Why in the world...?' Estella says.

 'To solace him, to distract him from his grief at Frodo's departure to live with old Bilbo Baggins,' I say.

 'How do you know this?' Estella says, her eyes narrowing as she regards me thoughtfully. 'He's never said anything about...'

 'I was there at their first meeting,' I say.

She nods uncertainly. I tell her something of the events of that day, so long ago, and yet so fresh in my memory. Her lips twitch at the description of the tousle-headed lad, awkwardly cradling his newborn cousin, despite his splinted arm, but at my recounting of Frodo's prophecy the slightest of frowns creases her forehead; not that she is displeased, but rather that she understands something that has eluded her until this moment in time.

I pat her hand again, and then withdraw mine to pour us both a last cup of tea. My last, anyhow, for I wish to seek my bed. 'He loves you very much,' I say. 'Pippin has told me that it is your love that has kept Merry from descending into the depths of despair, even madness.'

 'Madness?' she gasps.

 'Pippin spoke of the Dark, haunting his cousin,' I say. 'I have known darkened minds, in my work as a healer. A grievous thing, not often seen among hobbits. Hidden away from sight, and not to be spoken of. Thankfully it is rare amongst our sort.'

 'No,' Estella contradicts. 'Not madness, nor mere fancy, but true Shadow...' She stops, biting her lip.

 'I don't understand,' I say.

She hesitates, and finally says, 'You're not meant to.'

I nod, stirring my tea, sipping, and when I put the cup down again I say slowly, 'Sharkey was a shadow on the face of the Shire...'

I look up to see her expression: a mixture of dread, fear, anger, sorrow, and, curiously, exultation. 'He didn't win,' she says. 'He lost... all.'

 'Meriadoc and Pippin returned from the Outlands with bright mail, swords and shields,' I say. 'Apparently unchanged, to those who did not know them well...'

She watches me warily as I continue.

 'A shadow of evil?' I say slowly. 'Outlanders—Men and Fair Folk, Orcs and Trolls and such, all are greater in stature than Shire-folk. I suppose that Evil, in the Outlands, might be yet greater than evil in the Shire...'

She swallows hard, but says nothing.

 'Not madness,' I say, 'but memory...?'

It must be a close-held family secret. I see truth in her eyes, yet I've heard nothing of this matter, in all my dealings with the Tooks and Brandybucks and Bagginses.

I reach for her hand again, to give a final squeeze. 'Merry loves you very much,' I say. 'Pippin, the brother of his heart, has told me that it is you who keeps Merry firmly in the here-and-now, who keeps him safe in your heart of hearts... it is Pippin who told me that, should Merry ever lose you, he'd be the one lost...'

 'Pippin told you this?' Estella whispers.

 'He did,' I say, 'near the end. He said that you are the shield that stands between Merry and the darkness...' I amend my thought with the new knowledge I have gained in the last few moments, '...the Shadow.' Her hand is very still under mine. 'There are worse things than death. For him to follow Pippin to the Feast, well, you will meet him there, when your time is done. But for him to fall into darkness, trapped in despair, overShadowed by memory...'

She nods, her expression hardening, and I see in her the iron will that Pippin has jested about in better days, and spoke of with respect as we awaited his passing.

'But the Shadow will not take him,' she says, and it is my turn to nod.

My cup is empty, and so I rise and take my leave.

I return to the Thain's quarters and send away the hobbits lingering in the receiving room. It is full night, and time for everyone to seek their beds, myself included. My beloved will join me in the healer's room; we've had so little time together, these past days. It will be a relief to curl together, to fall asleep to the lullaby of his snoring.

But I leave him for a moment, with a kiss, for I wish to look in on the Thain once more before I retire.

Fennel stands to his feet as I enter the little sitting room. At my enquiring look he shakes his head. All has been quiet. I nod and smile, moving to the bedroom door to peep in.

As softly as one of the shadows thrown by the watch-lamp, I glide to the bed.

What a start it gives me as I take Pippin's hand in mine to feel for his heartbeat; his eyes open and he looks into my face with a questioning look.

 'Beg pardon, Sir, I didn't mean to waken you,' I whisper. Diamond doesn't stir, curled against her husband's side.

 'No healers,' he replies.

 'I beg your pardon?' I say, dumbfounded.

He smiles. 'You have it, twice over,' he says. His breathing is unforced, and the words come naturally, without pauses, without effort.

 'I do not understand, Sir... you were saying?'

 'No healers,' he says. 'No sitting bedside watch,' he nods to the empty chair on his side of the bed, 'nor in the sitting room, listening to our murmurs in our sleep. Do not take this in the wrong way, I beg of thee, Woodruff, but... go away.'

 'Sir?' I gasp.

Still smiling, he says, 'If I am to pass from this world in the hours before the dawning, let me be as any other hobbit, passing quietly in my sleep, no fuss, no bother.'

 'I...' I say, but can find no further words to say.

 'All this business of singing one out of the world,' he says, 'it is more for the benefit of those who are staying behind, than for the one leaving.'

 'But...' I say. 'To be dying, and alone...'

He snorts lightly, and there is a wry twist to his mouth as he says, 'But we are alone in death, are we not? You are not going to hold my hand and walk me to the Feast, are you?'

 'To walk into the darkness alone...' I say stubbornly.

He chuckles softly. 'I'm not afraid of the dark,' he says. 'It is only a curtain, and beyond is the white shore of a fair green country, where a feast is spread and waiting... I have only to put out my hand and the curtain will part...'

 'Sir,' I say, and evidently cannot adequately suppress the desperation that rises in me, for he pulls free of my grasp, and takes my hand in his.

 'Not that I plan to be dying this night, mind,' he says. 'Only that, whether or not I am to waken in the morning, let me be just a plain hobbit for once. No fuss, no bother, no hobbits hovering over me...'

 'But,' I say.

 'A hobbit ought to die in his sleep after a fine meal and a satisfying smoke,' Pippin says. 'I haven't had a fine meal in some time, and as for a pipe...' He gave up pipes some years back, what with the state of his lungs. 'So I don't think I'll be leaving this life tonight, in any event.' He yawns. 'Go away, Woodruff. I say that with the utmost affection and admiration, of course.'

 'Of course,' I say, scarcely knowing what to think.

 'Thain's orders,' he adds sleepily, disengaging my hand, and then he turns over in bed, curls his arm around Diamond, nuzzles her hair, and is still, except for the reassuringly steady breathing.

 'Who am I to question Thain's orders?' I whisper, and tiptoe from the room. I dismiss Fennel, and he leaves, no doubt thinking that I will take over watching from the sitting room. When he is well gone, unlikely to return with a question, I take my own leave.

My beloved's snores break off as I creep under the covers, and he turns, much as Pippin did with his Diamond, to drape a loving arm over me as we drift off together into dream.

Chapter 27. Silver Pennies and Showers of Blessing

Haldibold Took stayed on for several days, watching over his son and even taking some of the calls that came in for a healer; he set a broken leg and prescribed hot poultices for an infection, and he dealt with a severe outbreak of indigestion amongst a circle of tweens who’d eaten too many green apples raided from a local orchard. All this, while Woodruff attended to yet another difficult birthing, and checked on young Pippin of Whittacres, pronouncing him “well enough to get up, but keep an eye upon the lad for a few days more”, stitched the gashes of a lad who'd fallen from his uncle's hayloft, sat with a feverish gaffer, and for relaxation, gathered herbs, taking Beryl along with her to keep her from hovering over Mardi, which would not quite be proper since the hobbit had not as of yet spoken to the lass...

It was just as well. Another assistant, or two even, were definitely needed. Woodruff certainly could not keep up with all the demands on her time, not even with Mardi’s father helping to fill the gap left by Mardi’s injury.

At last old Haldibold took his leave, satisfied—no, elated!—at the healing he saw in his son, and quite in awe of the young healer of Whitwell. He was confident that when Mardi returned to Tuckborough, he’d bring a wealth of knowledge with him, and a great deal of comfort to Haldi’s patients.

 ‘And here I thought I’d be bringing him back with me now, to live out the rest of his days a helpless invalid,’ he confided, taking Woodruff’s hands in his own as they stood in the front garden. Tru had gone to fetch their ponies, Haldibold’s and his own, for they’d be riding in company to the Great Smials. ‘Bless you, child. Bless you.’

 ‘It’s his own body that’s doing the healing,’ Woodruff said with a smile and a squeeze of Haldi’s hands. ‘I’m only helping a little.’

Tru brought up the ponies and tied them to the gate, then went into the smial for a few last-minute preparations. Haldi released Woodruff and moved to his pony, to rummage in one of the saddle-bags. He brought out a small leather sack that looked heavy for its size.

 ‘Here,’ he said, thrusting it into Woodruff’s hands. It jingled and settled heavily as she grasped it.

 ‘What...?’ she gasped.

 ‘I thought I’d have to hire a coach and driver,’ he said. ‘There’s no way an armless hobbit could ride the winding, hilly trails through the Green Hills from here to Tuckborough! No,’ he said, ‘I thought we’d have to go the long way round, up to Waymoot and over through Bywater and Frogmorton, down to Stock and then on the Stock-Tuckborough Road. ‘Twould be ruinous, the cost of hiring a coach and driver for that long a journey, and the inns, and the meals along the way, and then to pay his time and travel back to Whitwell!’

 ‘But...’ Woodruff protested.

Haldibold closed his hands around hers, securing the sack in her grip with a shake that made the contents jingle. ‘I fully expected to part with this money,’ he said. ‘It’s already gone, in my mind. You might as well take it; you’ve earned it, and more... and all I have to do is ride my pony back home as the crows would fly. No week-in-a-coach to worry about!’

 ‘I...’ Woodruff said.

The old hobbit leaned closer to lay a kiss against her cheek. ‘Bless you,’ he said again. ‘I’m sure you’ll make good use of it. Buy yourself a pony! Buy yourself another assistant, perhaps! Not as if you don’t need one, even if my son weren’t laid up for the time being... in any event, the money is yours, and I’ll be terribly insulted if you try to offer it back to me. I might even think it necessary to double the amount, which would ruin me!’ Haldibold winked to soften this dire prediction, but he squeezed her hands, and when he released them the sack remained.

 ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Woodruff said hastily, and the old hobbit chuckled.

Tru emerged from the smial, followed by the rest of his family, and even Mardi, who’d been allowed up out of bed since yesterday, though his hands were still bandaged and useless.

 ‘I thought you were a reasonable hobbit,’ Haldibold said in satisfaction. ‘My Mardi is in good hands.’

There was laughter at that, except perhaps on the part of Ted, though as he was busy lifting his littlest brother onto his shoulders, nobody noticed.

 ‘Off again, Tru?’ a passing neighbour called. ‘On another commission for the Thain?’

 ‘Nay,’ Tru called back. ‘A little commission for the healer!’ He winked at Woodruff. She was sending him to Tuckborough to procure the finest gloves a gentlehobbit might buy, for even after the dressings and bandages were off—and they’d be coming off in only two or three days more—Mardi’s hands would still need protection for some time. The new-grown skin would be delicate and must be carefully guarded to prevent further injury, even infection.

But it looked as if the dent in her savings would be more than replenished by Haldibold’s contribution.

In the cool of the morning, a few days later, the healer of Whitwell left a note on the door of her smial and walked the two miles out to the Grubbs’ farm. She found the kitchen a-bustle with table-clearing and washing up from second breakfast, though of course Autumn Grubb greeted her warmly and sat her down in the rocking chair by the hearth with a cup of tea, and Lilac brought little Andy for her inspection.

Woodruff duly admired the bright little tooth that had popped through, and its neighbour that had just broken the skin.

 ‘He’s gnawin’ on everything he can get into his mouth,’ Lilac said proudly, and the babe happily waved his hard biscuit and crowed.

Next Violet was brought forth, for the nearly healed burns on her legs to be examined. To cap off this process, little Letty seized the old cow bell that stood in the windowsill and danced a tot’s rendition of the Springle-ring. Hetty, especially, watched this with satisfaction from the corner where she sat with the mending.

 ‘Very pretty!’ Woodruff laughed, clapping her hands.

 ‘And mine are nearly healed as well,’ Autumn said, displaying her arm as Lilac took her charges away, to the delightful pastime of beating the dust from the rugs that Andson and Paddy had hauled outside and hung up for that purpose.

“Big” Andy came in from the byre, stopping off to wash his hands in the bucket by the entry. ‘No, no, don’t stir yourself,’ he said as Woodruff rose to meet him. He stuck out a hammy hand, large and good-natured and calloused from hard labour, enveloping Woodruff’s small, soft hand, and gave a gentle shake. ‘I cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done,’ he said. ‘The burns, they’re nearly healed, and little Letty won’t even have a scar, or so it looks! And how is Mardi? Had he not been there...’

 ‘Healing,’ Woodruff said, ‘thanks in part to the honey you brought to town for him.’

 ‘If only there were more I could do,’ Andy said, but releasing her hand, he went to the cracked teapot on the mantle that held the family’s fortunes. Lifting the lid, he stirred through the copper there until he found a piece of silver.

 ‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘A silver penny for this visit, and very kind of you to come out this far to see how everyone is healing...’

 ‘But that’s not what I came for,’ Woodruff said.

 ‘Nevertheless, we’d been expecting your visit,’ Andy said. ‘You always check to see that healing is proceeding in a satisfactory manner...’ The rest of the family laughed to hear the long words that rolled so easily from Woodruff or Mardi’s tongues, coming from Andy’s mouth.

 ‘But...’ Woodruff began, and then she took the silver coin in hand. ‘You’re sure you don’t want to make it a chicken instead?’ she said. ‘I know how difficult it is to come by silver...’

 ‘Your larder must be bursting already,’ Andy said with a chuckle. ‘Potatoes and onions, carrots and cabbages, chickens and eggs...’

 ‘It has been a busy time,’ Woodruff admitted, and mustered her courage. ‘Which is why I’ve come to talk to you...’

 ‘To talk to me?’ Andy said in surprise.

 ‘Yes, sir,’ Woodruff said, looking at the hobbits bustling about the kitchen. ‘As head of your family...’

 ‘Sounds like parlour talk,’ Autumn said, putting down the cloth she was using to wipe the dishes. The Grubbs family had no parlour, but in no time Autumn had shooed the rest of the family out-of-doors. When she went to the corner to help Hetty rise, Woodruff forestalled her.

 ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘This concerns Hetty, so she might as well stay.’

 ‘Hetty!’ Andy said, and his wife echoed in alarm. Autumn looked quickly down at her daughter, looking for signs that something might be amiss, something worse than the near to useless leg, that was, that Hetty had lived with since she was about the age of little Violet.

Andy brought the bench from the table, seated his wife, helped Hetty from her corner seat to the bench, and at last seated himself. The three of them sat in a row, looking expectantly at the healer.

Woodruff took a deep breath and plunged in. ‘I’m in need of a second assistant,’ she said.

 ‘A second assistant,’ Autumn echoed politely, her arm about Hetty’s waist as she awaited the healer’s bad news.

 ‘Yes,’ Woodruff said. ‘I need someone with a good head on her shoulders, who can take direction, yet can think for herself. Someone with a good eye for detail, who can tell a weed from an herb, and with a gentle hand and soothing voice...’

Hetty caught her breath; her eyes were shining.

 ‘I don’t understand,’ Andy said slowly. ‘What has this got to do with our Hetty?’

 ‘I’d like to buy your daughter, for my newest assistant,’ Woodruff said. She brought out a little leather sack from her healer’s bag and held it out to the farmer. ‘Seven years’ apprenticeship—this is the standard fee, as custom demands. If you and Hetty agree, that is...’

Hetty looked from father to mother, hope lighting her face.

 ‘But...’ Andy said slowly, and Woodruff could see that it nearly killed him to say the words. ‘But she’s... she has...’

 ‘I’ve arranged to buy a donkey,’ Woodruff said. ‘A small, gentle beast. She can easily climb onto his back, and get down again. He can be her legs, whenever she needs to go somewhere—into the fields and woods to gather herbs and dig roots, or to bind up a wound or set a broken bone or bring a new babe into the world. She has a wonderfully quick mind, a loving heart, and clever hands, and that’s mostly what’s needed in healing.’ She offered the bag again, and the farmer took it in his hands, unconsciously testing the weight of the coins within.

 ‘O Dad!’ Hetty whispered. ‘A dowry for Leaf! A new-thatched roof for the byre! Why...’ her face shone with the thought that her father's burden might be lightened, 'you could hire workers to help with harvest, and next year's ploughing!'

 ‘Is this what you want, Hetty?’ Andy said, turning to his daughter.

 ‘Not for Leaf, but for yourself, lovie,’ Autumn said, holding Hetty a little more tightly. ‘What do you want?’

 ‘O Mum!’ Hetty said with a sparkling smile.

 ‘Hepatica Grubb,’ Woodruff said formally, taking the lass’s hand in hers. ‘Will you bind yourself as an apprentice to me, for the next seven years, to learn the trade of a healer?’

 'Oh,' Hetty breathed. She looked from her father's serious face--but O! the smile in his eyes--to her mother's joyful tears, and then to the waiting healer. Breaking into the widest smile she'd ever known she gave a decisive nod. 'Yes! O yes, Healer Woodruff, gladly I will!'

***

Woodruff's heart was much lighter as she walked the two miles back to Whitwell. Andy had offered to hitch up the waggon and drive her, but she'd demurred. 'You've a celebration to be making,' she'd said, 'and I've work waiting for me, and besides, it's a beautiful day. All too soon the autumn rains will be coming down. I've a mind to enjoy the sun while she's shining.'

It had been arranged that the Grubbs family would drive Hetty to Whitwell two days hence, on market day, hitting two birds with one stone, as it were. This would give Beryl time to ready a bedroom for Hetty, and would give Woodruff time to finalise the purchase of the donkey. Tal and Thom and two younger brothers were already repairing the old fencing behind the smial, that made a small paddock for a grazing beast, whether goat or pony or ass, and on the morrow they'd put a new roof on the shelter that stood in one corner.

Tea that day was a festive affair for Tru Took's family as well, for he was expected back from Tuckborough, and Mardi would be taking tea with the family for the first time since the accident.

Mira laid the best cloth and Almandine, her youngest daughter, cut a wide swath through the flowerbed, making the front room into a garden bower. Beryl set the table with the good china, that was used when the Thain came to tea, and everyone donned their best and wore their happiest faces.

Woodruff was sitting on the little bench in her front garden with Mardi and Ted when Tru rode up. Ted jumped to his feet at once to take the pony to the livery, where Tru boarded him. 'I'll be back in time for tea!' he called over his shoulder.

'Well, Mardi,' Tru said, entering with a paper-wrapped parcel in hand. 'Today is the big day, eh?'

'It is,' Mardi said, having risen in greeting. He looked down at his bandaged hands and up again quickly as he tried to hide his apprehension.

'The bandages come off,' Woodruff agreed, rising to kiss her "uncle" in welcome. 'And you may be my assistant, Uncle Tru!'

They went into the smial, into the little sitting room, where Woodruff sat Mardi down in the best chair. 'Would you like a draught, first?' she asked quietly, looking intently into his face.

He gulped and protested. 'What are you talking about? The new skin's grown, as you said it would! Why, there's scarcely any discomfort at all, any more!'

Tru placed a steadying hand on Mardi's shoulder. 'Here you are,' he said, holding the parcel out to Woodruff. She unwrapped the paper and fingered the three pairs of fine gloves within. 'Lovely,' she breathed. 'Soft and smooth, and nearly as thin as your own skin, Mardi!'

'Hard to believe,' he muttered. The new skin growing over the burns was thinner than tissue and twice as fragile, easily torn.

'Well, let us see...' Woodruff said, handing the gloves to Tru.

Woodruff gently unwrapped the bandages and lifted off the dressings. The new skin shone pink and smooth, in sharp contrast to the brown skin on the undamaged parts of Mardi's arm.

'It appears I'm a brindle,' he said lightly.

'So it appears,' Woodruff said, depositing linen and lint on the table beside them. Tru gathered all, putting the gloves down in their place, and took the used bandages and dressings to the waiting basket in the back room, to await washing and boiling clean. When he returned, Woodruff was smoothing salve over Mardi's fingers, slowly and gently massaging, and feeling the joints and muscles under the skin.

'Yes,' she said in response to the unspoken question. 'Everything seems to be in working order.' She picked up one of the gloves and eased it onto Mardi's hand, gently tugging each finger into place. 'How does that feel?'

Mardi had grimaced, but now his face smoothed and he said. 'A bit ticklish, getting the glove on.'

'Move your fingers,' Woodruff said, and he complied. 'Close your fist,' she said, holding out a finger, and watched as Mardi's hand closed around it. 'Good,' Woodruff said. 'Now, take that book with the blue cover from the shelf.'

The glove was so thin and fine that Mardi had no trouble picking out the indicated book.

'Good,' Woodruff said. 'Now then,' she nodded towards the little writing desk. 'Sign your name for me.'

'Got any red ink?' Mardi said, moving to the desk.

'No contract today, just a signature,' Woodruff said.

Mardi nodded, took the cap from the ink bottle, pulled a piece of paper from the cubby, picked up the pen and dipped it, and wrote his name with a flourish while True and Woodruff looked on.

'Very good,' Woodruff said in satisfaction.

'Why,' Mardi said, hope brightening his face. 'I think...'

Beryl appeared in the doorway, her eyes anxious, but when she saw Mardi writing--writing!--her face lit with relief and delight, though all she said was, 'Mum's just set the tea to brewing, and table's set and ready, and Thom's threatened to eat all the tea cakes if you come late...'

'We cannot have that!' Mardi boomed, beaming. 'Why, your mum makes the best tea cakes...!'

'I made them, today,' Beryl said, putting her hands on her hips.

'Well you make the next-best to your mum's,' Mardi said gallantly.

'We have one more glove to go,' Woodruff said. 'Hold those ponies! Don't let them run off just yet!'

Ted appeared in the doorway as Woodruff was working the salve into the sensitive areas between Mardi's fingers as Tru and Beryl watched. Her head was bent over Mardi's hand, and she had a smile on her face. Ted stood silently and watched the healer's tender ministrations, and he made a private resolve.

'There,' Woodruff said at last. 'The glove...'

Tru offered a second glove, and Woodruff carefully worked it onto Mardi's hand. 'All set,' she said, and Mardi gave a nod as he loosely opened and closed his fists.

'I'm out of a job, am I?' Ted said.

Woodruff looked up with a bright smile. 'It appears that you are, Ted!' she said. 'Mardi'll be feeding himself from now on, I've no doubt in the matter!'

'Fine news,' Ted said. 'I'll just go back to travelling on the Thain's business, then.'

'Plenty of business, to be sure,' Tru said, 'and I cannot say but that I'll welcome your shouldering some of my load once more.' He stretched. 'I have enjoyed being at home when Mira's biscuits come out of the oven! They're not quite the same, eaten cold from a saddlebag!'

'Come along, then,' Beryl said, suddenly recalled to her duty. 'They're not quite the same, eaten cold with cold tea that's been waiting too long for the guest of honour!'

Laughing, the Tooks went to their tea.

Chapter 28. Interlude

I have always been a light sleeper, but of late I have been running short enough on sleep that I am disoriented in the first second or two of wakening, when the hand seizes my shoulder and shakes me lightly, and the breathless voice entreats me to wake. I am sure the tree-draught has something to do with the odd feelings I am experiencing; my skin is warm and tingling from head to foot, a sensation so intense that it borders on pain, distracting me, making it difficult to collect my thoughts.

My beloved sleeps on, his snores soft and steady. I look up, blinking in the dim light of the watch-lamp, to see the nursemaid who watches over the twins when Diamond is otherwise occupied. 'What is it?' I blurt, and my first thought is that one of the little ones is ill.

'The Thain,' she whispers, her eyes wide with fear. She twists her nightgown between her hands in her perturbation.

I am out of bed and halfway to the Thain's bedroom before she has time to say more.

The Thain's room is dark and shadowy, lit only by the watch-lamp, but I see them on the bed: Diamond sitting up, her arms about her husband, and Pippin curled in a ball, his harsh breathing filling the room with agony.

'What do we have here?' I ask, maintaining my calm though my skin is crawling with flashes of fire. 'Thain Peregrin, can you hear me?'

His only answer, a wordless groan.

'Talk to me, Sir, tell me what is happening,' I say, moving to the bedside. Surely not all that difficult, for a Took. Indeed, I usually have to order my patients to silence, to get a word in edgewise, or to have a moment to think. A wordless Took, now that is something to worry over.

'Afire...' he says through gritted teeth. 'Feels as if I'm being roasted alive by orcs.' Sweat is beaded on his forehead. I turn up the lamp to full brightness and light a second lamp for good measure, before making my examination. It is difficult, for he is fighting me. He isn't resisting the healer so much as he is fighting the pain that seizes him in its merciless grasp. He gasps at my touch, wherever I touch him, and I nod in understanding. My body smarts as if I've fallen asleep, unclad, on a sunny day, and slept for hours under the sun's glow until my skin turned red in protest. I had only a sip of the draught, and he drank two tumblerfuls.  

Most worrisome is the leg, long without feeling and nearly unresponsive. We have kept the muscles built up through regular exercise, healers moving the leg for him, as he could not. The only movement he has had, since the coach half-crushed him, was a small twitch of his toes, though he could drag the leg, after a fashion, walking with a stick under one hand and a hobbit supporting his other side. Poor ruined lad, who once roamed the Green Hills. In my mind's eye I can still see him running through the meadows, laughing.

Now the leg is knotted and tightly contracted by muscle spasms, pulled up against his body, and he hugs it to himself in desperation. I cannot get him to straighten the leg.

'I sent for Merry and Sam,' Diamond says, and I nod absently, though my eyes never leave the Thain. I want to wince each time I touch him, and the tears stand in my eyes, for the moans of pain I elicit. My hands are meant to be hands of healing, not torment. 'Ought I...? Regi? And Ferdi?'

'Let them sleep,' I say as I rise from my examination. 'I don't know what they could do here. We'll send for them if...' I think of Pippin's half-jest, earlier, of his plea to be allowed to die in peace as any other hobbit would. What does it matter, if Regi and Ferdi are not here to witness this last agony, if it is his last? The seal of the Thain has already passed on. No. It is better to let them sleep, the more to be clear-headed when the morning light comes, ready to deal with the consequences of whatever comes to pass in the remainder of this night.

I am wracking my brain, turning over all I know of healing, all that Sweetbriar or Rosie might have told me, whether deliberate instruction or casual mention, even gossip. I am that desperate.

I push back the loose sleeve of my nightdress and stand a moment, my eyes closed, body tense.

'Woodruff?' Diamond gasps.

'A moment, Mistress,' I say. Yes, the painful tingling continues. I touch my arm lightly with my other hand, and then I grasp firmly, and then I let go. I lower my arm, allowing the sleeve to slide down once more. My eyes are still closed, I am scarcely breathing, and I am listening with all I have to what my body is trying to say.

At last I think I understand. I open my eyes and move back to the bedside.

I had wrapped the coverlet around the Thain, earlier, and now I pull it away. 'Take off his nightshirt,' I tell his wife, and together we disrobe him. We lay him back on the bed, still hugging his bad leg. 'Is that any better, Sir?' I ask loudly, trying to reach him in his misery.

'Better,' he gasps, but I am not sure if he answers the question, or questions my sanity.

Chapter 29. Tooks, Trees and Tethers

Things were rather back to "usual" at Whittacres Farm. Saradoc had long since returned to Buckland, of course, leaving wife and son at the farm as he usually did. Of course he could not be spared for so long from his duties, but Esmeralda had been a Took before she'd married a Brandybuck, and her husband understood how she missed her family and the land that had given her birth.

Somehow Esmeralda, who was strong in will but not in body, gained in health during her time in Tookland, and so Saradoc made sure of a long visit for his wife's benefit in the pleasant summer months, and he had persuaded her brother Paladin to pass Yuletide at Brandy Hall, at a time when there was little needing attention on the farm. Every year Saradoc would drive his family from Brandy Hall to Whittacres, arriving in time for Pippin's birthday, spend a week at Whittacres and then ride back to Buckland. He'd come for another week at summer's end, scooping up Esmeralda and Merry and driving to Hobbiton for Bilbo and Frodo's birthday celebration, on their way back to Brandy Hall.

Ferdinand and his children remained at the farm as well; the ponies he was training were coming along nicely and would fetch Paladin a tidy sum at the autumn Pony Sale. Young Ferdi and Merry and Pippin were nearly inseparable. Indeed, it was good to have two teens to watch over the mischievous youngster; when Ferdi was called to help his father, Merry could take charge of the lad, and when Frodo came tramping across the fields, Ferdi might take Pippin off to give Merry some undivided time with his beloved older cousin.

Pippin had fully recovered from the knock on his head and was as lively as ever. In point of fact, he'd wandered twice and had to be fetched back; when asked his purpose he'd said he was "going to visit Bilbo".

'I'll have to tell Bilbo to come with me the next time,' Frodo laughed, for he'd come to visit, and now having foiled this second escape was walking back towards the farm with Pippin's hand firmly gripped in his. 'But Pip, you're not big enough, yet, to walk to Bag End by yourself! It's a longer journey than you think, and...'

'I'm a Took!' Pippin said, thumping his chest with his free hand. 'I could walk all the way to the Lonely Mountain, if I had to! Just like Bilbo!'

'But you're not as old as Bilbo was...' Frodo began.

'I'm just as brave and doughty,' Pippin said. 'He told me so himself!' And no matter what anyone said, he remained so determined that Paladin at last told his small son that they'd drive to Bag End at the end of barley harvest, to visit Bilbo, since Pippin evidently could not wait until the Birthday.

Even so, the little lad cried bitter tears when Frodo took his leave early one morning, to walk back to Bag End. 'Take me with you!' he begged, over and again, and even Merry could not comfort him.

At last Frodo was able to leave, but the parting was bittersweet, for one voice was missing from the song that sang him homewards, and a backwards glance showed Pippin's woebegone face in the midst of the crowd of hobbits waving farewell. He resolved that no matter what Bilbo was working on, whether writing a memoir or translating an Elvish lay or drawing yet another intricate map, he'd convince the old hobbit to drop everything and make a journey to Whittacres without delay. Something was bothering his little cousin, and even though he could not guess at the cause, he understood enough to know that Bilbo held the answer.

It seemed a day destined for misfortune. Merry and Ferdi distracted Pippin with the mud in a corner of the yard; Merry had spilled a bucket of water, earlier, fetching it to the kitchen. The two older lads caught the younger one's imagination as they began to retell the story Frodo had recounted the previous evening before they were sent to their beds, and they began to form shapes of mud to play the parts. There were three large lumps, to represent Trolls, and thirteen smaller lumps, which were Thorin and his company of Dwarves, and the smallest lump of all was the burglar, of course, Bilbo Baggins.

They were well into the game when Pimpernel stepped by, nose in the air and a basket of eggs on her arm.

'Hullo, Nell,' Ferdi said, looking up from the generous handful of mud he was shaping into a tall wizard. He was rather proud of the pointy hat that topped the rough figure.

'I should think you were too old to play at mud-pies,' Pimpernel sniffed in disdain. She was still miffed from the morning; Ferdi had salted her tea at early breakfast. 'I can understand Pippin, he's barely more than a babe, but a great lad like you...

'We're not playing at mud-pies,' Merry said, his brow furrowed with concentration as he formed a tree for the wizard to be hiding behind.

Pippin clutched the burglar, tense with expectation. 'Come join us, Nell,' he squeaked. 'They're about to squash the poor dwarves into jelly, or mince them fine and boil them!'

'What a nice lot of rubbish you're filling the babe's head with!' Nell said. 'And look at you. Mud all over yourselves...'

'It's fine Tookish mud; you ought to try it,' Ferdi said, a devilish gleam in his eye. Nell would have taken caution, had she seen it, but her nose was too high in the air for her to be noticing such things.

'Hmph!' she sniffed. 'I've better things to...'

She broke off as Ferdi rose, brandishing his erstwhile wizard, which became a muddy lump in his hand as he reached towards her. 'Try it!' he said. 'It's lovely and cool!'

'Don't you dare!' she threatened, backing away. 'I'll tell your da...'

'Tell away,' Ferdi said coolly. 'But ye won't have to tell him anything, will ye? Your face will tell him all he needs to know...'

Nell stumbled and dropped the basket, cracking the eggs, but quick as a cat she scrambled to her feet and ran, shrieking, across the farmyard with Ferdi in hot pursuit.

Though he was younger and shorter, he was also more determined; before Pimpernel reached the safety of the smial he'd caught her by the back of her bodice and thrust the wet, sticky mud down her back while Merry and Pippin watched, open-mouthed.

'Ferdi!' came a stentorian bellow from the barn.

The teen stood abruptly at attention. 'Yes, Da!' he called back smartly.

'What in the world do you think you're about?' Ferdinand said, advancing on his son.

'We were playing at mud-pies,' Ferdi said, 'and Nell didn't want to play, so I was just showing her how lovely the mud was, just right for making shapes...'

'I hate you, Ferdibrand Took!' Nell raged through her tears, with both hands trying to retrieve the mud from the back of her bodice, though she couldn't reach.

'Nell?' Eglantine said, emerging from the kitchen. 'Do you have the eggs? We're waiting to stir up the cake...'

Pippin jumped to his feet, swooped up the fallen basket and ran to his mother. 'Here they are, Mum,' he said brightly, proffering the cracked and oozing mess.

'I hate you!' Nell was still shouting. 'I wish you'd go back where you came from! I don't care if I never see your face again! I...'

'Nell!' Paladin's voice cracked, whiplike, as he came from the barn behind Ferdinand. It was enough to stop his daughter mid-shout. As she turned her red, tear-blotched face to him, her father added, 'You apologise to Ferdibrand at once, do you hear, Daughter! Such words are not fit for the mouths of hobbits! And then go into the kitchen and have your mouth washed out with soap.'

'But he...' Nell sobbed.

'I'm sorry, Nell,' Ferdi said with a gulp. He hadn't meant...

'Well-spoken,' Paladin said, 'but it's Pimpernel owing the apologies, lad, from what I heard just now.'

Pimpernel clasped her hands into fists and bowed her head, fixing her gaze on her feet. 'I... I apologise,' she whispered, trembling with fury. She wouldn't forgive him, no, she wouldn't, not ever, and she certainly wasn't sorry even though her father forced her to apologise, for the sake of propriety in front of his oldest friend.

'Well, then,' Ferdinand said too heartily. 'That's all right then. I wouldn't make the lass wash her mouth out with soap, Dinny... After all, she took the words back.'

Never, Pimpernel thought bitterly to herself. She marched into the smial without looking at anyone, into the kitchen where Pearl was measuring flour and Pervinca was greasing cake pans, picked up the soap, wetted it, worked up a lather, and washed out her mouth. She hadn't taken the words back, no matter what Uncle Dinny said.

***

Pippin was sent to his bed for a nap after the late noontide meal, and Ferdi and Merry were free to play. Continuing the burglar game, they chased each other over the fields and into the copse of trees that separated the potato field from the cabbage patch. Flopping down in the shade, they stared up through the branches at the bright sky and speculated what would be for tea, since the eggs had been a near-total loss, and without eggs you cannot beat up a light and airy cake, as even lads know!

Ferdi sat up and cocked his head. 'What's that I hear?' he said.

'I didn't hear anything,' Merry answered. He yawned. Truth be told, he was feeling rather sleepy, himself, and almost envied Pippin his enforced nap. It was a warm summer day and the bees were droning in the fields.

'Wolves!' Ferdi shouted, jumping to his feet. 'Quick! Into the trees!' He leapt for the lowest branch and hauled himself up.

'Wolves!' Merry said in amazement.

'Of course, that's the next part of the story,' Ferdi said, and took up the tale once more. 'Quick, into the trees, before they eat you!'

'I'm not climbing any trees,' Merry said stubbornly.

'What shall we do? What shall we do?' Ferdi cried. 'Escaping goblins to be caught by wolves!'

'That's my line!' Merry said. 'I'm Bilbo, and don't you forget it!'

'He'll be eaten if we don't do something,' Ferdi said, in the best "Thorin" voice he could imagine. 'Dori! Be quick and give Mr. Baggins a hand up!' He lowered his hand to Merry.

'I'm not climbing!' Merry said.

'Then the Wargs will eat you,' Ferdi replied practically. 'You've got to climb, or spoil the game.'

'One branch, then,' Merry said, against his better judgment. Brandybucks are as leery of climbing trees as Tooks are of paddling in a river.

Ferdi hauled him up onto the lowest branch, shouting, 'Snap!

'The branch is breaking?' Merry asked uneasily.

'No, that was the teeth of the Warg that jumped for you, y'know, and he nearly got your cloak!' Ferdi said. He had Bilbo's tale by heart. 'We'll have to go higher.'

'Higher!' Merry said in protest, his voice squeaking despite his best effort to control it.

'Higher,' Ferdi said. 'Look how easily you got up one branch. Just one branch at a time, that's all tree-climbing is. Look! Reach up to the next branch, and pull yourself up. Easy as eating pie!' He swung up onto the next-highest branch, and kept climbing.

Merry followed, dubious at best, but not wanting to be outshone by a Took. He found climbing was very easy, as a matter of fact, until he made the mistake of looking down when he was halfway up the tree.

Ferdi was high up now, high enough to make Merry's head spin, looking at him. 'Climb higher!' the mad Took shouted. 'They've set fires! They're trying to roast us!' And he began to sing. 'Fifteen birds in five fir trees...'

'I think I'm going to be sick,' Merry moaned, hugging the tree.

'What's that?' Ferdi called down. Merry didn't answer.

Ferdi climbed down a few branches. 'Are you all right, cousin?' he called. 'You've got a good solid grip, I see. Just don't look down!'

'Too late,' Merry muttered. His eyes were squeezed tight shut.

He heard a rustling and cracking, and it was not long before Ferdi was just above him, talking urgently. 'Come along, now, cousin,' he said. 'The eagles are coming, you know.'

'You go right ahead,' Merry said.

'You cannot stay here,' Ferdi said. 'It's nearly teatime!'

'No,' Merry said.

'What d'ye mean, "no"?' Ferdi demanded. ''Tis, I tell ye!' This thought was punctuated by the sound of a bell on the breeze. They were being called back to the farm, and if they came late, there might be no teacakes for them, or sweets of any kind.

'I can't get down,' Merry said.

'Sure and ye can!' Ferdi countered. 'Just do the same as ye did to climb up, only backwards!'

'Can't,' Merry said.

'O for the love of...' Ferdi swore under his breath, one of his uncle's favourite phrases, though he'd never heard all of it and so didn't know for the love of what. Still, it was a satisfying thing to say in such situations. 'Come along, Merry!' There was no response from the Brandybuck. 'What're ye gonna do when Pip climbs a tree and cannot get down? Ye'll have to climb up to fetch him, if I'm not there to do it!' Merry still did not answer. Ferdi shrugged and muttered to himself, and then said, 'Very well.'

'Very well what?' Merry said, though he hardly sounded interested in the matter. He was hugging the tree trunk for all he was worth, and his eyes were still closed tight.

'I'll show you how it's done,' Ferdi said. 'I'll climb down, and then ye'll do just as I did, and we won't be late for tea.'

'Fine,' Merry said, though it really wasn't.

He gritted his teeth as he felt Ferdi's weight settle onto the branch he was sitting on, and was about to comment when there was a terrifying crack and the branch tilted under him. He heard Ferdi's startled yell, falling away, a crackling of leaves, and then a muffled thump and a terrifying silence.

Holding onto the tree trunk for dear life, Merry forced his eyes open. The branch he was sitting on had cracked and now offered a precarious perch. But looking down...

'Ferdi!' he cried. So far down, the ground was, and his cousin lay there, unmoving. 'Ferdi!

It was perhaps the bravest thing he'd ever done, to slide off that half-broken branch onto the one below, to climb slowly out of the tree that had shed his younger cousin without a second's warning. He held tight with his hands as he eased his feet onto a lower branch, listening with dread for the terrible crack that meant the tree was about to send him hurtling down.

At last he reached the lowest branch, and swinging down from that, he landed with a thud beside Ferdibrand. He half-expected his cousin to jump up, laughing, saying, 'I knew ye could do it! 'Tis easy as eating pie, 'tis!'

But Ferdi lay unmoving.

Ferdinand and Paladin were sitting at the kitchen table, idly speculating on whether the lads would come on time or late to table. Nell, Rosemary, Pearl, Esmeralda and Eglantine were bustling about with the last of the preparations, and Pervinca was just about to waken Pippin from his nap, when Merry flung himself through the door.

'Well, lad, it looks as if...' Ferdinand began.

'Ferdi!' Merry gasped. 'Ferdi!' His face was white and dripping sweat and he swayed, close to collapse. Esmeralda was by her son's side at once, holding him, though her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth as she tried to form the obvious question.

Paladin rose from his seat in concern. 'What is it, Merry-lad?' he said, going quickly to lend Merry his arm in support.

'Fell...' Merry panted, '...out of a... tree...'

'Rosie!' Ferdinand said at once, swinging toward his daughter, who'd stopped with a bowl of berry compote in her hands. 'Take your pony; ride for the healer!'

'Where?' Paladin said, and Rosemary waited for the reply.

'Cabbages,' Merry gasped. 'I think he's dead!'

Rosemary shoved the bowl into Pimpernel's hands and ran out of the kitchen. Eglantine snatched the bowl from her middle daughter before it could fall, to put it down on the table, and then everyone was hurrying out the door, across the fields to the copse by the cabbage field.

***

Pippin wakened from his nap to the good smell of scones baking. He rose from his bed and stretched. Though he always bitterly protested being put to bed for a nap after luncheon, he invariably slept for an hour or two and awakened refreshed and lively.

He emerged into the kitchen to something of a surprise, however. The table was set with all manner of good things (no light cake, but scones and biscuits and berry compote and beaten cream), the teapot was cosied and all was ready.

All would be ready, that is, if there were any hobbits to be seen. But the kitchen was empty.

'Hullo?' he called. No answer.

Very strange. Perhaps they'd been called away. Perhaps the Thain had come to call at the neighbour's, and everyone had gone to greet him.

Pippin ought to have been put out at being forgotten, but he was hungry, and so he sat himself down and helped himself to scones and cream and berries and biscuits, as much as he wanted, and no one scolding him for taking more than his share.

And still there was no one there, and no note to tell him where they'd gone.

Very well. It seemed the perfect time to be setting his plan into motion.

He went back to his room to gather the large pocket-handkerchief containing the pieces of broken teapot. He could hang it rather handily from the end of a slightly crooked stick he'd found in a copse, recently, and claimed for a walking stick. With his burden over his shoulder, and whistling (well, sort of whistling... he'd only just learned how to blow through pursed lips and make a semblance of sound), he walked out of the yard, in the direction Frodo always went when tramping over the fields on his way home to Bag End.

There were no workers in the fields to see him; they'd all gone in to tea.

The only body that saw him depart was a sheepdog, lying in the shade of the barn, for he'd injured a paw and was not working the flock today. The dog sat up and whined, but there was no one to hear him. He tried to follow, but came quickly to the end of his rope.

With the determination of his kind, he began to gnaw at his tether.

Chapter 30. Interlude

'Pippin, love,' Diamond says helplessly, bending over her beloved.

'Don't touch him,' I say, rather more sharply than I meant to, and she looks at me in confusion. Modulating my voice, I add, 'The slightest touch causes him great pain, my dear.'

She takes a shuddering breath, her hands suspended just short of his skin.

The Thain's eyes are screwed tight shut; he has pulled his contorted leg close to his chest, in effect tying himself in a knot of sorts. His breathing comes in gasping moans that tear at the heart.

I think of draughts, strong draughts, draughts that send one off to sleep for hours, days, draughts that must be carefully administered, so powerful that they can slow the breathing, even stop the heart. The prickling of my skin mocks my thoughts, and I think of Mardibold, badly burned some years ago, and how difficult it was to give him relief without inadvertently causing his death.

'Can't you give him something?' Diamond whispers, still hovering, and apparently thinking my thoughts after me. And now the door swings open to admit Sam and Merry-- blurs at the corner of my vision, and I hear, vaguely, through my fierce concentration on the problem, a muffled exclamation from one of them--but my eyes do not leave the Thain, and I am no closer to a solution.

I shake my head. 'No, not with this kind of pain. It's nerve pain, nothing will touch it. I'd have to give him enough to knock him out, and that could stop his heart in the state he's in.'

'That might be an improvement,' Pippin says through gritted teeth before another agonising spasm robs him of speech. It is a heartening sign, actually. He is still with us, still aware of his surroundings. I look up, to see Mayor Sam, his face sleep-creased, hair tousled, eyes filled with confusion and alarm... while fear flashes in Master Merry's eyes, though he quickly wipes all expression from his face and enters the room with confidence in his step. Whatever the battle, he is ready to fight.

A scrap of elusive memory floats in my brain as Master and Mayor move to the bed. Diamond repeats my warning about not touching the Thain.

Merry stops short, and then he places his hands on Diamond's shoulders as she hovers helplessly above her husband, and whispers reassurances in her ear.

I close my eyes, in pursuit of that fleeting memory, and clench my fists in my concentration. Yes, I remember now. The tightly contorted muscles, the agonising spasms... Old Rosie once treated a case of the muscle fever, a very rare malady indeed, and thankfully so! Most die of it, their muscles robbed of function, and their breath fails them. Sometimes one will survive, coming out of the fever at last with a withered leg. But Rosie pulled one young lass through, on instinct alone. She told me herself, later, that there was no known treatment for the malady, and she didn't know what prompted her to take the course of action she'd pursued, except that she could not bear to see the child's suffering.

I may be mad, and yet... Knotted muscle is just that: knotted muscle. I know how to deal with such. I swing to confront the Mayor, grasp his arms to pull his horrified gaze from the tormented figure on the bed, give him a shake to make him look at me. 'Build up the fire.'

Merry looks to me, hope rekindled in his eyes at my decisive tone. 'Fill the kettle with water, get it hot,' I tell him.

He nods, takes up the little teakettle, and gives Sam a jab in the ribs. 'The fire!' he says. 'Quick!'

The twins' minder, Arabella, is still standing frozen, her face twisted in her distress at the scene before her. She might as well make herself useful. I grasp her shoulder and give her a shake. As her eyes turn to meet mine, I snap, 'I want a basin and clean cloths, quickly!' All scatter, and I nod, satisfied.

'And I?' Diamond says, still hovering over her husband. 'What can I do?'

'Talk to him,' I say. 'It may do some good. Sing... something.'

Diamond begins to croon a lullaby, her voice catching in her throat. Sam soon has the fire burning vigorously in the little hearth, and Merry puts the kettle, brimful, on the hob and comes back to the bed, putting his hands gently on Diamond's shoulders. Sam, his face white, stands aghast on the other side of the bed, staring down at Pippin, whose limbs are a-tremble from strain, though otherwise he has not moved.

Diamond reaches the end of her song and sinks down on the chair beside the bed. Looking up, she sees Samwise. 'Sam?' she says. 'Samwise, are you all right?'

He shakes his head, and I see the tears standing in his eyes. 'In the name of all that's good,' he breathes. 'What have I done?'

It seems forever that we stand, waiting. The old song about the watched pot runs incongruously in the back of my mind, a jarring counterpoint to the nursery tune Diamond is crooning.

At last I see steam rising from the spout, and seizing a cloth I lift the teakettle from the hob and pour the steaming water into the basin, adding the cloths that Arabella is holding. When I look up, I see Sam and Merry exchange glances, and I remember Pippin telling me of the King and his healing hands, and something to do with steaming water and steeping leaves. Not tea, though.

'This is something I've used in the muscle sickness, to ease the spasms,' I tell them. I don't tell them that I've only used it once, and that when I was not yet a proper healer, but was working under Rosie's direction. 'It might help here.'

I take up a hot cloth, nearly scalding my fingertips, let some of the excess drip into the basin, gingerly wring it out and turn to the bed. 'What...?' Diamond says, rising from her chair, and she puts out her hand as if to stop me as I begin to wrap the still-steaming wet cloth around the twisted leg. It is difficult, to work around the Thain's tight grasp, and I know that the touch of the cloth and my hand is causing him additional pain, but I repeat my actions until the entire leg is wrapped in hot cloths, from groin to toes.

When finished, I look up to meet staring eyes on every side. 'Put more water on to heat,' I say. These cloths will cool, after all, and we must keep re-soaking them, keep applying heat to the muscles, force them to relax under the onslaught of wet heat. Merry jumps to fill the teakettle with the last of the water in the pitcher, and Arabella goes to waken Sandy--for that hobbit must be asleep, for a wonder--to fetch fresh buckets of water.

'You'll burn him,' Diamond protests.

I chuckle, though I feel no humour, and adjust a loose cloth. For some reason a firm touch is less painful than a light one, or so my own skin tells me. 'He's already burning, he says... we'll fight fire with fire.' I look up to meet her eyes, still staring at me. 'Don't worry, Mistress, I'm being careful. If it's cool enough for my fingers, it won't burn him.'

The little teakettle is steaming again before the cloths are cool. I pour the boiling water into the basin and immerse fresh cloths. I replace the cooling cloths on the leg with these. The revealed skin is fiery-red, as if I am truly scalding the hobbit, and yet I cling to the memory of what was done, once before, in a shadowy kitchen while a mother sobbed and a father, silent and grim, kept the fire bright and the water simmering.

'Keep singing,' I say to Diamond. 'Talk to him. Distract him.'

She sings snatches of old songs as the battle continues.

Chapter 31. Further Developments

Rosemary stopped just long enough to saddle her pony. She had no qualms about flinging herself onto the mare's back and riding straight to Whitwell, riding without saddle or bridle and just lead rope and knees to guide the pony, but she wasn't so sure the healer would be able to ride so.

They made up for the delay in the speed of their passing; instead of proceeding down the long lane to the road and turning the corner, Rosie galloped across the fields, past astonished cows, hurtling fences as boldly as her brother might when engaged in a forbidden race with Merry. Her father was a stickler for "the proper use of ponies" and had punished the lads more than once for riding as Rosemary now rode, flat out, bending over the pony's neck, urging the little mare to ever faster speeds.

She pulled the mare to a slower pace, coming into Whitwell, not just for the sake of the hobbits that might be in the street, but because the cobbles were hard on a pony's legs. It was not long before she pulled up before the healer's little smial. She flung the reins around the top of the gate and ran to the door, calling.

Beryl came to the door. 'What is it?' she said, at the sight of Rosie's face expecting the worst.

'Ferdi!' Rosemary gasped. 'Fell out of a tree.'

Beryl needed to hear no more. A lad, the Goodbodys' second-to-youngest, had died the previous week, after falling from a tree. She grabbed up the healer's bag, standing ready at the door, and took Rosemary's arm, turning her around. 'Sweetie was just stopping over to fetch a cup of sugar,' she said in explanation. They ran to the gate and Rosemary jumped up into the saddle again, taking the bag that Beryl handed up. Beryl took the reins and hurried down two doors and around the corner, where Woodruff was standing at Tru and Mira's front gate, a cup of sugar in her hands, chatting.

She looked up as Beryl called, 'Sweetie!'

'Not Whittacres again!' Woodruff said, shoving the cup into Mira's hands. 'What's that young Pippin been into this time, I wonder!'

She ran to the pony, took Rosemary's outstretched hand and climbed into the saddle behind Rosemary.

'What is it?' Mira asked, extending the sugar to Beryl. The pair were already out of sight, around the corner, the clatter of hoofbeats fading rapidly.

'Fell out of a tree,' Beryl said, taking the cup.

Mira put her hand to her breast. 'That young lad,' she said in shock and grief. 'You'd think he'd learnt a lesson or three about climbing...'

'Not Pippin,' Beryl said, 'but one of his cousins.'

'The Brandybuck?' Mira said, expecting the worst. After all, Bucklanders didn't go in for tree-climbing, much. Still, what would come of it, if the son of the heir to Buckland were seriously injured while visiting his Took cousins?

'No, young Ferdi,' Beryl said.

'That one!' Mira said in surprise. 'He's half-squirrel, I hear, the way he climbs up after young Tooks that've got themselves stuck halfway...'

'Even squirrels can fall,' Beryl said glumly, and sighed. 'I'd best get back before the scones burn.'

'You do that,' Mira said. 'You wouldn't want Mardi to try to take them out of the oven; he's not supposed to bring those hands of his near heat.'

But when Beryl got back with the cup of sugar, the rescued scones were sitting on the table, done to a turn, and the teapot sat under its bright cosy, and Mardi and Hetty were waiting for her.

As she started to scold, Mardi held up his gloved hand. 'I didn't come near the stove,' he said with dignity.

'Then who...' Beryl said, and broke off as Mardi and Hetty exchanged conspiratorial glances, and Hetty giggled. 'Hetty?'

'I'm not an invalid,' Hetty said patiently. Beryl had tried to take the lass under her wing, upon her arrival. She was the motherly type, hen to the chicks under her roof, and so Hetty took no offence. As a matter of fact, Beryl's solicitousness was something of a comfort to her, away from home and mother for the first time in her life, and Hetty quickly saw that Beryl sprinkled her clucks about Woodruff and Mardi as well as Hetty herself. 'I've been taking scones from ovens as long as you have!'

'And doing a bonny job of it, I warrant,' Mardi said gallantly. 'Now, Beryl, sit yourself down and tell us the latest. What's it all about? Who fell from a tree?'

There followed a discussion of Tooks and trees. It is not that they were hard-hearted, but that they had the barest facts of the matter. It was no use fussing over broken eggs until one knew how many eggs had broken. Woodruff would bring them news on her return, or would at the least send word. And in the meantime, they had better take the tea whilst it was hot, for an interruption could come at any time... which, life being what it is, it did.

***

'Don't move him!' Paladin warned as they reached the base of the tree and the still figure that lay there.

Ferdinand fell to his knees by his son, calling his name.

A few moments later, Eglantine came puffing up, to kneel at the lad's other side. Very gently, she laid her fingers against young Ferdi's neck. 'He's cool,' she said with dread. Carefully, so as not to move the lad, she slid her fingers down to find the pulse point. 'His heart's going,' she said, adding a sigh of relief. 'But he's cold...'

Merry, who'd been fully winded, came up with his mother, whom he'd been helping over the furrows, and then came Pearl and Pimpernel, pulling Pervinca between them. 'Is he...?' Merry said in dread.

'You'll be all right, Son,' Ferdinand was crooning.

Paladin removed his jacket and laid it over Ferdi, and Ferdinand added his jacket on top, and Eglantine and Esmeralda covered the lad's feet with their shawls.

Ferdinand kept talking to his son, words of hope and encouragement, though his face was a terrible sight. Merry could scarcely bear to look at him. He felt somehow responsible, being older than Ferdi by a year.

It seemed an eternity before the thud of hoofs was heard, and all looked up to see Rosemary's mare racing across the cabbage field. She pulled the pony to a stop at the edge of the copse, and handed Woodruff the healer's bag as the latter slid from the pony's back. The beast was lathered and blowing hard, and Rosemary began to walk the little mare in circles, though she craned for a view of her younger brother.

Merry immediately went to take the reins. 'I'll walk her,' he said. 'You go to Ferdi.'

'Thanks,' she said breathlessly, and hurried to join the group gathered to watch the healer's examination.

Woodruff had moved Ferdibrand onto his back, after a careful look at his neck and spine, and now she had the lad's shirt open and was probing his abdomen with gentle fingers, her face grave. 'Broken leg, at the least,' she was saying to Ferdinand. 'And I don't know what mischief he might've made to his insides...'

'And if he has...' Ferdinand said, his voice tight with grief.

Woodruff shook her head. 'Only time will tell,' she said soberly. 'If something's broken loose, inside, there's naught I can do. We can only hope the injuries are little ones, and that his body can heal itself. No ribs broken, but I don't like the feel...' She bent her head as she went over the lad's middle section again, front and back. 'We'll carry him back, as gently as may be, and then he'll need absolute quiet...'

'Pippin!' Eglantine said, starting up.

'Probably still asleep,' Paladin said, rising to his feet. 'Nell! Go back to the farm and waken your brother. Take him to the Bankses and tell his Grandma what's happened; ask her to keep Pippin until we send for him.'

Nell stood frozen, staring down at Ferdibrand. 'Nell!' her father said again.

'I'll go,' Pearl said quickly. She gave Pimpernel's hand a squeeze and turned to trot back across the fields to the smial.

***

Pippin squinted at the westering sun. He wondered if his family had returned to the tea table, or if they had simply sat down to tea wherever it was that they'd gone? It would serve them right, for having left without him, the surprise they'd have, coming home to find him gone. Like a grand game of "I hide and you seek me"... but surely it wasn't far, now, to Bag End. He ought to be there and back again before bedtime, hardly enough time for anyone to worry.

He didn't see the fox, creeping through the long grass after him, gathering its courage. Grown hobbits were beyond its hopes, but a little one, now... This one was scarcely the size of a newborn lamb. The fox licked its chops in anticipation, and memory. He had been lucky enough to catch a lamb, once, when the mother ewe had stolen away to give birth and caught her wool in the brambles she'd meant for shelter.

The fox listened keenly for the sound of larger hobbits. He lifted his nose in the air to sample the scents. His own heavy musk had not reached the young hobbit, for he was careful to stay downwind.

Not long, now. He could almost taste the warm blood, bursting forth under his teeth, the delight of fresh meat, and hear the joyful yaps of his kits as he brought the remains of the carcase to his den.

***

'Hulloo!' came a gasping cry from the front garden, and Mardi rose from table, calling, 'Coming!'

'We need a healer,' a hobbit panted, pushing the door wide. He bore a limp young hobbit, foot bound up in bloody cloth.

'Mr. Greenbanks!' Hetty said, startled, scarcely recognising the proprietor of the dry-goods shop in Whitwell. She knew him as a kindly hobbit, who, with a conspiratorial manner and comradely wink always pressed a half-scoop of peppermints into her hand whenever she came shopping with her mother. But at the moment, his good-natured face was tight with worry, his ruddy cheeks washed pale, his habitual smile missing. Indeed, he scarcely seemed to see Hetty, looking wildly about, perhaps in search of Healer Woodruff's reassuring face.

'Bring him right in,' Mardi said. Beryl hurried to the kitchen to give the well-scrubbed table a quick wipe with a damp cloth, and the young hobbit was soon stretched out there while Mardi unbound the cloth around the foot.

'Was chopping wood,' Mr. Greenbanks was panting. 'Axe hit a knot in the log and bounced into his foot...'

'Mmm hmmm,' Mardi said, having uncovered the gaping wound. He squeezed the edges together, hard, and the fainting youth half-roused with a gasping protest. 'Beryl,' Mardi said, without looking up from the wound, and then hearing Hetty's halting step, he said, 'Hetty, wash your hands, now, just like the Mistress showed you.'

Of course Hetty didn't need the reminder, but she only nodded as she went about scrubbing her hands. Mardi's tone, and the reminder, told her how perturbed the hobbit was. As for herself... she squeezed her hands together, hard. Don't you even think of trembling! She had done much stitching over the course of the previous week, much of it on chickens before they went into the pot, but she had sewn together some gashes in hobbits as well, under Woodruff's or Mardi's close supervision. But such a wound, where the white of bones showed... She set her lips tight, and pinched herself hard, and turned to the kitchen table with a calm she didn't feel.

'Woodruff...' the shopkeeper was saying. 'Healer Woodruff...'

'Don't you worry, Mr. Greenbanks,' Mardi said in a bluff and hearty voice. 'We'll have young Toddy put right soon enough. You stand right there, by his head, and keep holding onto his hand.'

Beryl had washed her hands and was threading needles that she'd soaked in strong spirits, and placing them on a clean cloth on a tray. She brought this over to Mardi, who continued to hold the wound together with his now-bloodied gloves.

'Ain't you gonna stitch him back together?' Mr. Greenbanks said, his careful manners forgotten in the crisis. 'Ain't you gonna...'

'Of course,' Mardi said. 'Hetty, here, is the best stitcher I know in these parts, next to Healer Woodruff, that is.'

Though they had hopes, yet, for his full recovery, Mardi could not feel a needle between finger and thumb--not when wearing gloves, at least, and his new-grown skin was not yet strong enough to manage without. He and Hetty, together, made one healer between them. He was the eyes and skill, and she was the hands in the partnership, and together they'd gathered herbs and treated sick and injured hobbits when Woodruff had been called away.

'Hetty!' the shopkeeper said, startled. 'I'd heard the healer took you on, but...'

'Hetty's set lots of stitches,' Mardi said. 'Don't you worry about a thing, Mr. Greenbanks...' He caught the new apprentice's eye and gave her a firm nod, and she took both reassurance and instruction. Go boldly, lass, for fear is your worst foe, and the lad's, and his father's as well.

Hetty hobbled over and leaned against the kitchen table. 'Ready,' she said with a confident nod. Mardi shifted his grip slightly, and Hetty picked up the first of the threaded needles. 'Hold him still,' she added, and Mr. Greenbanks nodded.

'Steady, Toddy,' he said to his son. 'Healer's gonna make everythin' right again.'

***

Pearl paused in confusion at the door to Pippin's room. The bed was empty, the bedcovers tossed carelessly back. The smial was so quiet, she'd thought her little brother still asleep.

'Pippin?' she called, to be answered by silence.

She passed back through the kitchen, only then noticing what she'd been too hurried to see before. The table had been cleared and scrubbed, the dishes washed up, and everything put away. She peeked in the pantry, seeing a few scones remaining on a plate, the cheeses covered, as well as the butter and jam.

'What in the world?' she said. She couldn't imagine Pippin taking care of all this...

Coming out again, she spied a note on the well-scrubbed sideboard, and catching it up, she read rapidly, her tense shoulders relaxing as she sighed in relief.

Her grandmother Banks and two of her aunts had stopped by, and finding the family called away, had washed up for them, and put the food away. It was no use inviting insects and larger nuisances into the kitchen, leaving such a temptation spread out upon the table!

Pippin was in good hands, it seemed. He could stay with the Bankses as long as needed. Her parents would send word, of course, as soon as they knew with any certainty what was what, but for the moment it was a solution tailor-made. Pippin could play with his Banks cousins and be petted by his grandparents, and Ferdi would have the quiet that the healer had ordered.

With a somewhat lighter heart--she remained terribly worried for Ferdi's sake, of course--she turned and hurried back over the fields.

***

Pippin was tired, and hungry, and craning eagerly for a glimpse of Bywater and the Hill rising beyond. The sun was close to the horizon, which meant he'd been walking some four hours or more. Surely he was nearly to Bag End.

He didn't stop to consider that it was an all-day journey by waggon. He was cutting across the fields, after all, and so the distance must be considerably shortened. He remembered Frodo drawing with a stick in the dust, showing Merry triangles, part of explaining distances on a map, and he'd lingered, fascinated that the long line was actually shorter than the two lesser lines, when they were put together. Crossing the fields, he was walking the long line--but it certainly did seem long, at the moment.

The ploughed fields had given way to grassy meadow, dotted with wildflowers that were now closing their eyes, preparing for sleep. Pippin wanted to close his eyes as well, but he really did want to reach Bag End by suppertime. It was probably just over that next rise... He sat himself down suddenly. He'd rest his weary legs for a few moments, no longer than the length of a song, and then he'd get up and walk again.

***

'I don't even want a litter,' Woodruff was saying when Pearl arrived. 'No, we won't carry him on a blanket, or in his father's loving arms--I'm sorry, Dinny.'

'How, then?' Ferdinand said. He stroked a wayward curl back from his son's forehead and with his pocket-handkerchief, wiped away the small trickle of blood that emerged from the corner of the lad's mouth. Woodruff, at first seriously alarmed by this sign, had been reassured on probing Ferdi's mouth to find that he'd bitten his tongue, and that was the source of blood, rather than the internal injuries she feared.

'Can you take a door from its hinges?' Woodruff asked Paladin. 'A door would be ideal; wide and firm, or several boards nailed together.'

'We will!' Paladin said, getting to his feet. He laid a hand on his old friend's shoulder. 'I won't be long, Dinny. Be back in no time.' With a glance at Merry he was trotting over the fields, and Merry, interpreting the glance, followed.

They took down the small side door from the barn and carried it across the fields, putting it down next to Ferdi. Woodruff carefully supervised the easing of the lad onto the door, and then Paladin and Ferdinand lifted either end, while the others walked supporting the sides, not because Paladin and Ferdinand needed their aid, but because they wanted to be of aid, even this little bit of assistance.

***

Ted came in as Hetty was setting the last stitch. Toddy had bravely held on through it all, biting hard on the cloth Beryl gave him. Small, painful noises leaked through, and his father was sweating hard and biting his own lip as he watched, though from time to time he'd force a smile and whisper something soothing to his son.

'Mr. Greenbanks!' Ted said in greeting, and the shopkeeper mumbled a reply, his eyes not leaving his son's foot.

Ted took in the long line of neat stitches and patted the lad on the shoulder. 'Well, Toddy,' he said. 'You're in good hands.'

Mardi nodded. 'He is indeed,' he said.

Ted's eyebrows rose at Mardi's blood-soaked gloves, but he said only, 'Mum's invited you for supper, and Da's come home earlier than expected, so if you're not busy you're to come and sit in the garden and enjoy the waning of the day.'

'We're not busy,' Mardi said, pulling his hands back to allow Beryl to run a damp cloth gently over the wounded foot, cleaning away the worst of the drying blood. 'Just finished, here, as a matter of fact.'

Ted stepped forward, saying impulsively, 'Mardi and I will take care of things here; you lasses go on ahead.' In the meantime, Beryl applied dressing and bandages, and the colour began to return to the shopkeeper's cheeks as the ugly wound, now neatly closed, disappeared under tidy white wrappings.

'You may take him home, Mr. Greenfields,' Mardi said, nodding to Toddy's father. 'Tuck him up in bed, put that foot up on cushions, and make sure he drinks plenty of liquids. Strong beef tea and a few meals of liver would do him a world of good...' He smiled in sympathy at the face young Toddy made.

'Thank you, thank you,' Mr. Greenfields effused, and then he said, 'I'll bring by your payment later, I will.'

'Tomorrow will be fine,' Mardi said. 'Wouldn't want you to miss your supper, or anything.'

'Tomorrow, then,' Mr. Greenfields said, nodding and pulling at his forelock. 'Thankee, sir, misses, thankee. Come along, Toddy, let us get you home.' He picked up his son in his arms, and departed, much less hurriedly than he'd come.

'But the washing up,' Beryl protested. 'What about...?'

'I've washed a plate or two in my time,' Ted said, 'and I'm sure Mardi can dry and put away, can't you, Mardi? But first we'll take care of those gloves. I know how to do it! I've watched you or Sweetie enough times!'

It took a little more persuasion, but eventually Beryl helped Hetty out the door and Ted said, after putting water on to heat for the washing up, 'Well, Mardi? Seems to me that the first thing we ought to do is change those gloves of yours.'

'Can't exactly wash 'em with my hands in 'em,' Mardi agreed. He held out his hands to Ted, and the latter gently worked the gloves off and set them to soak in a basin--he'd scrub them out after Mardi's hands were cared for. Ted then poured water from ewer into washbowl and watched as Mardi carefully washed his hands. After Mardi finished rinsing, Ted took up a clean dishcloth and patted the glistening skin dry, then went to fetch the salve and a clean pair of gloves.

'I can...' Mardi began, but Ted shook his head.

'You aren't to be using your hands, ungloved,' he said. 'Might split the skin, and then what would Sweetie be saying to me?'

'To you?' Mardi said. 'Rather to me, for my foolishness and short-sightedness and all manner of other shortcomings.'

Ted smiled briefly, his eyes on Mardi's hands as he worked the salve between the fingers. 'Well...' he said.

'That's a deep subject,' Mardi said as the silence stretched out.

But Ted didn't smile at the mild witticism, merely repeated himself. 'Well...'

'Deep and dark,' Mardi said helpfully.

Ted looked up, puzzled. 'What did you say?' he said.

'Nothing of import,' Mardi said.

'Mmm,' Ted said, looking down again. He massaged and gloved Mardi's right hand, then began on his left.

Partway through, he repeated, 'Well.' Mardi held his tongue.

At last, safely gloved once more, Mardi cleared away the tea things and put away the food while Ted washed up, and then Ted dried the dishes, to keep Mardi's gloves scrupulously dry and clean, and then handed each clean-and-dry article to Mardi to put away.

'Well,' he said again, hanging up the towel.

'Mmm,' Mardi replied.

Ted stopped, meeting Mardi's eyes squarely. 'Well,' he said bravely, with finality in his tone. 'Don't you think that folk haven't been noticing...'

'Noticing?' Mardi said.

'Noticing,' Ted said firmly. 'Plain as the nose on my face, it is. And I just want to say, I've had my eye on you.'

'Have you now?' Mardi said. 'Sounds a bit painful.'

'Just the same,' Ted forged on, 'I find you to be a fine and upright hobbit, honest and hard-working. I figure you haven't spoken yet, because of the accident, and having your hands so badly burned you thought you might not be a healer anymore, but rather a burden...'

Mardi took a deep breath, but remained silent.

'Sweetie says you ought to expect a full recovery, so long as you don't do something foolish, that is,' Ted said. 'And so "being a burden" doesn't seem so likely now, does it?'

Mardi nodded, but Ted's eyes bored into his and he felt more of an answer was expected. 'No,' he said, 'it doesn't seem so likely as it did.'

'Not likely at all,' Ted said, and held up a hand. 'But even if it were, I don't think it would matter to her. She'd love you all the same.'

Mardi found it difficult to draw breath.

'And so what I'm trying to say is,' Ted said, 'I mean, my whole family feel the same about you, my da, and my mum, and all. What I'm trying to say is, you have my blessing.'

'I do?' Mardi said seriously. He'd noticed Ted's restraint, all this time, in the face of his overtures of friendliness. 'You... approve?'

'I do,' Ted said. 'And so I think you ought to do the right thing, and go and talk to my da about it, to ask his permission and all that sort of thing.'

'I will!' Mardi said, breaking out in a wide grin. 'For sure and for certain, before the sun goes down on this day, I will!'

Chapter 32. Interlude.

Sam silently keeps the fire bright, his jaw set, his hands clenching into fists when not busy adding wood and rearranging the coals. Merry, determinedly cheerful and matter-of-fact for Diamond's sake (and perhaps for Pippin's, though the Thain does not speak again) keeps the teakettle full of water, and when it boils he pours out the cooling water from the basin into a waste bucket, wrings out the cloths, replaces them in the basin, and pours the boiling water over. As soon as I can touch the cloths, I renew Pippin's "dressings", trying to keep them as hot as possible.

The tingling in my skin is easing; I rescind the "don't touch him" order, and Diamond tenderly takes Pippin in her arms. It doesn't seem to cause him any more distress. Diamond holds her husband and sings to him, her voice growing hoarse. I do not know how long the battle has lasted, but at last I think the spasms are easing. Yes, he is not hugging his leg quite so tightly to his chest. As I replenish the cloths, I am able to pull the leg a little straighter with each new application, until at last the leg lies straight upon the bed, next to its partner. Still the muscles are tight under my touch, and I continue to apply the hot compresses.

'Talk to me, Sir,' I say again, wearily wiping sweat from my brow. Sam has gone out to fetch more wood; he comes in with Sandy, both carrying armloads. I'd tell them that I don't think so much is necessary; the tide has turned, I think. But it makes them feel useful, and I am worried about the Mayor, who will not meet my eyes, but looks only at the Thain, grimacing in Diamond's arms.

'What would you have me say?' Pippin grits, and Merry's lips twitch in a genuine smile, not the false cheer he has sustained through these dark hours.

'How are you feeling now?' I ask.

'Just dandy,' Pippin says. 'Is it nearly teatime? Let us take tea on the meadow this day.'

'Is he delirious?' Sam whispers.

'No, Samwise, you ass,' Pippin says. 'I am merely fed up to my chin with healers and their stupid, useless questions.'

'Steady,' Merry says, resting his hand on his cousin's shoulder.

'Easy enough for you to say,' Pippin says.

'The cloths are cooling,' I say, and Merry hastens to refresh them, while Sam adds more wood to the fire. Sandy wipes at his forehead with his pocket-handkerchief as he leaves; the bedroom is overheated, to be sure, but with the Thain dressed only in his underbreeches it is just as well. I would hate for him to catch a chill, after all this.

It is near dawn when the spasms ease yet more, then cease, and there is a general sigh of relief. We are all exhausted. 'Well, Samwise,' Pippin says. 'This has been some welcome home.' His voice trails off; he can scarcely finish the thought before his eyes close and he sighs.

Out of force of habit, my eyes are glued to his chest. Steady breaths. Yes, the breaths are steady, and deeper than I remember seeing before. 'Sir?' I whisper.

'Pippin-love?' Diamond says, brushing hair back from her husband's forehead. He doesn't answer; he is evidently deep in sleep.

Exhausted, if it wouldn't be unseemly I'd be tempted to lie down on the bed myself, but for the urgency that rises in me. Though I scarcely feel as if I have the strength to return to the healer's quarters and my sleeping beloved, I steel myself for what must be done.

Turning to Diamond, I say, 'I think we should take the leg now, whilst he's sleeping.'

'Take the--' Diamond gasps, her face losing all colour as her arms tighten protectively about her beloved. 'You mean... off?'

I nod. 'Aye.' I look down at Pippin, count his breaths, yes, still steady, gather all the calm I can and look up to meet Diamond's eyes. 'I don't know that he could survive another night like the last.'

Diamond looks down into her husband's sleeping face, still etched with pain and exhaustion.

I start to turn away, ready to send for Fennel and all the necessary equipment. The Thain is so very exhausted... While he'll likely waken, on feeling the bite of the blade, in the state he's in he ought to swoon quickly. At least, this is my hope. Better to do it now, than when he is rested and recovered enough to require a roomful of hobbits to hold him down. My hands are trembling, and I rue the fact that I must turn this task over to my assistant. I will watch closely, but I do not trust myself to do what must be done, quickly, with a steady hand, doing the least amount of damage that may be done.

Diamond catches at the sleeve of my nightdress. She shakes her head, her eyes boring into mine. 'No,' she says. 'No, I won't do that to him. It's his leg; it's his decision to make.'

I tense momentarily. My heart tells me that now is the time for action--to wait will cause the Thain unnecessary pain and grief. Added to this is the fact that I do not know when another attack is likely to strike. Perhaps when he has slept himself out, the spasms will return...

I look up to see Samwise staring at me in horror, and Merry beyond him, his mouth open as if he'd protest, yet Diamond has spoken before he could find the words to voice his objection. I see, too, the fear in his eyes, fear that I am right and that his cousin will yet die writhing in agony. On the other hand, he might anyhow, were we to saw away at his leg, and if he came awake in the middle of it all, and did not swoon as I expect, nay, as I hope. Merry could persuade Diamond, I think to myself. He is half-persuaded already; he could convince her that this is the only way to save her husband. I look from Merry to Diamond, back to Merry, and stop. But could he live with himself, after?

I sigh, and feel my shoulders slump. 'Very well, my lady,' I say wearily. 'I will abide by your decision.'

I hear a shuddering sigh from the direction of Samwise, and I turn to him, meeting his shocked eyes, and Merry's grave look. 'You might as well go get some rest now,' I tell them. Merry shakes his head stubbornly, but I insist. 'He'll sleep a while, I think. I will let you know if there's any change.'

Merry protests, but he is swaying with weariness, and I see that he absently rubs at his right hand with his left, as if the hand pains him. I change tactics. 'Samwise,' I say crisply. 'Take Merry to his quarters, and deliver him into the hands of his wife. Tell her that healer's orders are for him to rest, and I shall send along a sleeping draught if need be.'

'No, I...' Merry says, and tries to shake off Sam's hand on his arm. Sam himself looks completely drained; I wonder if he'll have the strength to take himself to his rest. But giving him the job of delivering Merry will at least budge him from the room and start him walking in the right direction.

'Go, Merry,' Diamond says firmly. She holds her sleeping husband a little more tightly. 'Don't you worry,' she adds. 'I will watch over our Pippin while you sleep; he'll have all his parts and pieces when you return from your rest. I swear it.'

Chapter 33. Death, a-Creepin' on Silent Paws

The fox pricked his ears forward as his prey sat down, and he crept closer, ready to spring. He crouched, tensed, and never saw the coming of his death; the sheepdog leaped in the same moment, silent in his fury, grabbing the fox by the scruff of the neck as a mother dog might, but then with a shake and a snap he broke the predator's neck, and tossed the body down, lips wrinkled back in disgust.

Though the dog worked more by sight than by smell, the trail had reeked of fox musk, and so the dog had made haste despite his tender paw. A good thing, too--he'd been barely in time to save the hobbit-lambkin.

Now the dog raised his head to observe the landscape, but seeing no other dangers, he moved forward to where the lad slept in the last of the sunshine, waving his silky flag of a tail. A cool breeze blew, and the little hobbit shivered in his sleep. The dog sat down, regarding his charge. Tired, he judged, too tired to nudge into awareness and manoeuvre homewards. With a sigh, he lay down, curling himself around the mite. Though he put his head down on his paws, there was no sleepiness in his watchful eyes. The lad would be safe until morning light. He'd see to it.

***

Once the broken leg was set and splinted, Woodruff settled Ferdi into his bed as carefully and gently as if he were a piece of cracked porcelain that might fall to pieces in her hands.

'If he wakens,' she said to Ferdinand, who sank into a chair Paladin had set by the bed, 'offer him small sips of boiled water. Eglantine's just put the kettle on, and she'll bring a cup for him soon. But don't you be wakening him to try and get him to drink!'

'Are ye going?' Ferdinand said haltingly, and Woodruff lightly rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.

'There's nothing more I can do for him,' she said, 'now that his leg is set and he's resting comfortably. I have a small obligation, but I'd set it aside if I thought I could do any good here. No, Dinny, but you watch by his side, if you like. Just stay very quiet, and don't distract him from his serious business. I doubt he'll waken, but if he does, I want you to remember. No food, no drink, save small sips of boiled water, until I say otherwise.'

'And when will ye return? In the morning?'

'Well before morning,' Woodruff said. 'I'll return just so soon as I can excuse myself, unless you send for me sooner. Remember! No food, nor drink, even if he asks.'

'I'll see to it,' Ferdinand promised, his eyes on his son's face.

'And absolute quiet,' Woodruff insisted in a low tone. 'Don't sing to him, for the moment, but let him sleep.'

'Don't sing?' Ferdinand said.

Woodruff's hand tightened on his shoulder. 'Absolute quiet,' she whispered. 'He's deeply asleep, from the signs. I've seen this before, with badly injured hobbits. His body is working at healing with all it can muster. We mustn't distract him.'

'Does he know?' Ferdinand said in wonder.

Woodruff forced a smile. 'Not so that he could talk about it,' she said, 'but his body knows.'

'I've known a dog to crawl off,' Paladin said softly from the doorway, 'when ill or injured, hiding himself away to find healing in sleep.' He didn't mention that dogs also crawled into seclusion to seek a quiet death, though the thought was in his mind as he stared in pity at his old friend.

'Yes, it's something like that,' Woodruff murmured. She took her hand from Ferdinand's shoulder to draw the coverlet up to the teen's chin. 'Keep him warm, keep him quiet, and hope for the best.'

She walked softly from the room to the kitchen, where silent supper preparations were underway. Taking up her healer's bag, she said, 'I must be off, but I'll be returning in the night. I'll just let myself in, shall I?'

'You're not walking back?' Eglantine said, turning from the stove. 'And without a meal to sustain you? You had no tea, Rosemary said, and supper's nearly done. Stay to supper, and then one of the hired hobbits will drive you home.'

'I'm expected for supper,' Woodruff said, 'and unless I was tied down I was to come without fail.'

'Mira's birthday!' Eglantine said. 'In all the worry of the day I forgot! Please give her our best.'

'I'll do that,' Woodruff replied with a smile, and turned to the door.

'Let me give you a ride back!' Rosemary cried impulsively, turning away from the bread she was buttering. She cast a pleading look at Eglantine. 'May I, Auntie?'

'Of course you may, lass,' Eglantine said, and to Woodruff added, 'And you'll be riding your donkey, to return, won't you? Slower, but sure-footed in the dark at least.'

'No,' Woodruff said, 'the donkey belongs to my new apprentice. He acts as Hetty's legs; I could no more take him away from her than I'd take a healthy leg off a hobbit! If there's an emergency while I'm here, she'll need the beast to get where she must go. Really, it's no trouble for me to walk...'

'Never!' Rosemary said impulsively, interrupting though she was not even quite in her tween years. She laid an urgent hand on Woodruff's arm. 'You'll take my pony, then, and after the birthday supper you ride her back, and we'll hear no more of walking!'

'Walking's good for a body,' Woodruff said mildly, but she was overruled as Eglantine and Esmeralda threw their support to Rosemary's side. She gave the lass a hug at last, thanking her for the favour, and it was not long after that she found herself in the saddle, on her way back to Whitwell, with a little bread-and-cheese in her hand "to see her there and safe".

She pulled up in front of Tru and Mira's smial, and young Thom ran out of the door, calling over his shoulder, 'Sweetie's come!' He slowed abruptly, approaching the mare, and grasped the reins. 'I'll take her to the livery,' he said as Woodruff dismounted, 'or...?'

'Put her in the little paddock with Patches,' Woodruff said, naming the donkey. 'I'll be riding her back to Whittacres after supper.'

'How is the lad?' Thom said breathlessly, 'Ferdi, was it? Or Merry?'

'It was Ferdibrand,' Woodruff said, tweaking his nose, 'and he's asleep in his bed with a broken leg, and that's all you need to know about it.'

'Broken leg!' Thom said in awe.

'Aye, and let that be a lesson to you, next time you take it into your head to climb a tall tree,' Woodruff said sternly. With a laugh, Thom was off to put the pony away.

Young Tal came out and seized Woodruff's hand. 'I'm to bear you in honour to the feast,' he said, 'and very glad Mum was, too, that you were able to come. How's Ferdi? Or was it Merry Brandybuck?' None of Tru's sons could quite credit the news that Ferdibrand had fallen while tree-climbing; he was known for climbing up after younger Tooks who couldn't remember how to climb down again once they got high in a tree and made the mistake of looking down. Thus Woodruff had to answer this question several times in the next few moments.

Tal discharged his duty, settling Woodruff next to Mira at the table in the dining room rather than the kitchen, and for this auspicious affair, laid with fancy linens and the china usually kept for the Thain's visits. 'We kept a spot empty, hoping you'd be able to come,' Mira said, taking Woodruff's hand.

O but it was a jolly party, and Woodruff did not dampen their spirits any with her concern that young Ferdi might die after all, the way things stood. She put on a gay face, ate quantities of food, laughed and told stories and sang with the rest, but all the while some of her thoughts rested in a quiet bedroom not two miles from where she sat, and the lonely fight that was going on there.

It comforted her to see Mardi there, eating and drinking with the rest, and Hetty with her pale cheeks delicately flushed and her eyes bright as she laughed at one of Thom's jokes. Ted, she saw, was determinedly cheerful, and she wondered if he'd laid whatever was troubling him to rest. Indeed, when Tru rose from table, proposing pipes, and Mardi said he'd join him in the garden, Ted stood up from his chair and began to stack plates. 'Come Thom!' he called. 'Tal! We hobbits will do the washing up this evening and leave Mum to enjoy the company of her daughters!' To his father, he said, 'We'll join you when we're finished in the kitchen.'

'That leaves you out, Mardi,' Thom said with a laugh. 'You had better give Dad some company in the garden!'

'Old Toby,' Tru said, patting his pocket. 'Come along, Mardi. We'll return in time for the Birthday Toast, and the lighting of the candles.'

'Just so long as we don't set the smial afire!' Mira laughed. 'So very many candles!'

'So many candles,' Tru echoed, bending to kiss her cheek, 'in order to reflect the light you bring to my life.' And then, with a rare blush for speaking his feelings so openly, he turned away, saying, 'Coming, Mardi?'

'I'm right behind you,' Mardi said.

Ted stilled, Woodruff noticed, in the act of picking up the serving platter, his face sober, but she might have only imagined it, for in the next moment he was calling cheerfully to his brothers to "make haste before they smoke up all of Old Toby and leave none for me!"

There was a great deal of talk and laughter in the dining room, and a deal more in the kitchen, along with voices raised in harmony, for not only were the lads doing the washing up but they'd decided to serenade their mum while they were at it. And so there was no way that anyone in the smial would have overheard the quiet conversation going on in the garden, though a passer-by might have noticed that the two hobbits smoking there, enjoying the cool of the evening air, shook hands after a time, and then the older put an arm about the shoulders of the younger, and walked him back into the smial, and to the parlour, where both busied themselves pouring out glasses of cordial.

All was ready when the rest of the family gathered, each picking up a glass from the tray. Tru lifted his glass to observe the rich ruby contents, and lowered it again, looking from one face to another.

'I'm so glad to celebrate another year of having Mira by my side,' he said. 'And speaking of having my dear wife by my side, that brings me to mention...' He paused, and that hobbit, who'd spent so many years speaking for the Thain in various parts of the Shire and even as far as Bree, suddenly found himself at a loss for words. He'd never given away a daughter before.

Ted stared into his own glass, and then plastered on a smile. He had a pretty good idea of what was coming; it was why he'd given Mardi some private time with his father, after all.

'Mardi, here, is a fine hobbit,' Tru said, and cleared his throat, while the rest of the family exchanged glances and Mira caught her breath. 'I find, my love,' he said to Mira, 'that you haven't quite had all your birthday presents from the family... and I do hope you'll forgive the breach in etiquette, leaving this one so late in the day...'

'Tru?' Mira said, wonder in her tone.

'I was so sure there'd be no objections that I just said "Aye" when he asked,' Tru said.

Beryl gasped, her face shining, and Woodruff was grinning broadly.

'And so, Mira, for your birthday, I present to you, your newest son!' Tru finally managed.

There were cries of delight, and cheers from the lads, and all raised their glasses in a toast, though it was rather muddled as to whether they were toasting Mira or Mardi, but it didn't seem to matter. Mira drank, and then threw her free arm around Mardi. 'Never could I have too many sons!' she said in satisfaction. 'There's always room for another!'

But to Ted's confusion, Tru was drawing Beryl to Mardi's side, and then he took away their glasses and joined their hands together. 'Next spring,' he said, 'in the time for weddings, we'll have one of our own!'

***

'It's a good thing Pippin's with his grandparents,' Eglantine said later that evening, pouring out tea for herself and Esmeralda. 'I'm of half a mind to send the lasses there as well, but for the fact that Nell pleaded so pitifully to be allowed to stay, and Pervinca wept and promised solemnly to be as quiet as a mouse.'

'Now they're abed, the smial will be quiet anyhow,' Esmeralda said, sipping at her cup. She sighed. Merry had been put to bed early with a sleeping draught, for Woodruff had insisted. 'I only hope...'

Eglantine swallowed hard. She could only hope, too. It wasn't that long ago that she had been the one sitting a vigil over her little son. Life was so uncertain; you got to taking things for granted, only to be brought up short with the reminder that a loved one, even a child, can be taken at any time.

'I only hope...' Esmeralda repeated. 'Merry blames himself completely, though from what I gather it was not his idea to climb the tree in the first place. I don't know what he'll do, should young Ferdi...' She blinked away fresh tears, unable to voice the awful thought, and added softly, 'Ferdi is Dinny's only son... I cannot imagine... If it had been Merry who'd fallen...'

Eglantine dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her apron and sighed. A Brandybuck up a tree was about as unbelievable as a Took in a river. Though she supposed, if the river were to flood, the Brandybucks would join their Tookish cousins perching on tree limbs... She shook her head to dispel the fancy. 'We're all weary,' she said. 'Surely after a night of sleep he'll see things more clearly.'

'I don't know,' Esmeralda said worriedly. 'He's always been one to take responsibility, since he was a tiny tot, following at his father's or grandfather's heels.'

'He'll be a great Master, someday,' Eglantine said.

'O aye,' Esmeralda said, the Tookish lilt very strong indeed, 'if he doesn't worry himself into an early grave. "Merry" he might be, most of the time, for he hides his troubles well, but...'

'Hides them well indeed,' Eglantine said. 'He's one of the jolliest young hobbits of my acquaintance! Sometimes I think his proper name is "Merry", as a matter of fact, and I forget you named him "Meriadoc", and "Merry" is just his love-name.'

She drank the last of her tea, and stretched. 'Well now,' she said, putting away her worries for Ferdi, for all the good they did. Whether she stayed wakeful all the night, or sought sleep, his life would take its course and all the worry in the world would not alter what was to be. 'We'll just wash up and seek our beds, I think. No use sitting up; Ferdinand will need someone to sit by the lad, give him rest, on the morrow...'

Chapter 34. Interlude

Sam speaks to Merry in a low voice, and whatever he says is persuasive. Merry tenderly kisses Diamond's cheek while Samwise pulls the coverlet up over the sleeping Thain, and the two of them tiptoe from the room. I sink into the chair next to the bed, numbed. I ought to send for Fennel, I think to myself. There was something I was going to do... But for the life of me I cannot remember, though I thought of it only a moment or three ago.

And then something pungent, some sharp smell is in my nostrils, and I jerk my head back, and then someone says, 'She's coming round,' and a cup is held to my lips.

I raise my hand to push it away, only to have my hands seized in a firm grip as Fennel says, 'Drink it down, now. Sauce for the gander is as good for the goose...'

Fennel? How did he come to be here?

...not a bitter draught, as I half-expected, but sweetened with honey and somehow refreshing. I cannot help but drink as the cup is tilted; it would be undignified to let the stuff run down my chin and onto my nightdress.

My nightdress?

I open my eyes as memory comes flooding back. 'Fennel?' I say.

'You swooned,' Merry says in my left ear, and indignant and unbelieving I turn my head.

'I sent you off to your bed!' I snap. 'Healer's orders!'

Merry smiles. 'Sam took me there,' he says, 'and left me in the care of my wife, and then after he took himself off to his own bed I remembered something I wanted to ask the healer...'

I remember what I wanted Fennel for. 'You're to make up a sleeping draught for the Master,' I say, turning back to my assistant, who has withdrawn the cup and is standing with a curious expression on his face, one I don't remember seeing before. 'Make sure he takes it all. I want him to sleep at least the morning through.'

'And yourself, Healer Woodruff?' Fennel says carefully.

I shrug, and realising my nightdress is immodestly open I hastily do up the buttons, glaring.

'You were so very still, and white,' Diamond says softly. 'Arabella and I could not rouse you. How glad I was that Merry came--but you didn't stir, not even when he chafed your wrists and patted your face with cool water--and then I sent Arabella for Fennel, and he felt it needful to listen to your heart.'

'My heart is just fine,' I say haughtily, and make to rise, but the room tilts and Merry catches my arm and eases me once more into the chair. 'This is ridiculous!' I say, more to myself than the others.

'How many sleepless nights?' Fennel bends to my ear to ask. 'How many anxious days has it been? And then last night... they've been telling me...'

...and suddenly my beloved is there, hair wild and shirt half-buttoned, dropping to his knees before me and seizing my hands, to kiss them fervently, and then to stare into my face. 'You left me, and I never wakened,' he says, out of breath. 'I meant to be ready, to be there when you needed me, and I slept...'

I smile and pull my hand free to cup his cheek in my palm. 'You've always been a heavy sleeper, love,' I whisper. 'A good thing, too. One of us had to be bright and alert in the morning, for the children's sake.'

'You'll be the one doing the heavy sleeping,' Fennel said. 'I'll take the next watch.'

'No healers,' I say, remembering the Thain's words.

Fennel shakes his head, looking from Master of Buckland to Mistress of Tookland. 'She's off her head,' he says.

'I am not...' I splutter, barely able to form the words in my indignation. '...off ...my...'

My beloved stands to his feet and sweeps me up in his arms. 'You're but a shadow of yourself,' he says worriedly. 'A shadow, and not a proper hobbit at all...'

'She's scarcely eaten for worry and grief,' my assistant says candidly, but I interrupt him with a hiss.

'Fennel!'

'A meal, for certain, and then to bed with you,' Diamond says firmly. 'By order of the Mistress. 'Twould be Thain's orders as well, I suspect, only my husband is too deeply asleep to have noticed aught amiss.'

'At least someone is asleep who ought to be!' I say.

'Off her head,' Fennel mutters again, shaking his head, but catching my scathing glance he adds hastily, in too bright and cheerful a voice, 'I'll just stir up that sleeping draught for Master Merry, then...' and takes himself off. At least Pippin will have his wish for the moment; just so soon as I take my leave there will be no healers here in the Thain's apartments, for the time being.

'And see that you take it!' I order the Master of Buckland, who bows gracefully to me, belying the weariness I see in his face.

'Your least wish is my greatest desire,' he says grandly.

I struggle to turn my head far enough to take stock of the Thain, and my beloved, divining my intention, turns his body to make it easier for me to see without having to crane for a view. Pippin still sleeps, and it seems to me that the lines of pain are fading from his face. He looks very young at the moment, with his cheek pillowed on his hand, looks much like the tween I once knew, shortly before he followed his cousin off the map of "known" lands in and immediately surrounding the Shire, and into adventure.

With a sigh I lay my head against my beloved's shoulder. 'Very well,' I say. 'It looks as if this might be a good time for all of us to have a rest.'

'Take yourself off, Merry,' Diamond says. 'I'll send Fennel and his draught to you in your apartments.'

As she turns to me, I say with as much dignity as I can muster, being borne like a babe in arms, as it is, 'If you won't be needing me for the moment, Mistress, I think I'll take myself off as well.'

Her lips twitch, and she says, 'Very good, Woodruff. I'll send for you if you're needed.'

I cannot help yawning even as I dearly hope I won't be.

Chapter 35. Wanderers Meet

The little hobbit stirred as the Sun was throwing off the bedcovers and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The sheepdog's feathery tail thumped gently, and he raised his head from his paws. Pippin sighed and turned over, throwing his arm over the dog, his cheek against the sheepdog's side, the dog's heartbeat in his ear, and so he slept yet another hour or two as the Sun began her climb and dawn's roses faded from the sky.

Pippin stretched, snuggled into warm fur, and rubbed the sleep from his own eyes. He sat up suddenly, then, and took in his surroundings.

'Lop!' he said accusingly. 'Look at you!' He took hold of the frayed rope and brandished it before the wet, black nose. 'What have you done?'

The tail thumped harder, ingratiatingly, and a wet kiss landed on Pippin's nose and chin. He pushed the hairy face away, standing to his feet, and the dog scrambled to stand, towering over the lad, ready to begin the journey homewards.

'Bad dog!' he scolded. The furry ears flattened against the dog's head, and the dog narrowed his eyes, winking at the hobbit lad, his tail twitching in entreaty.

'You'll be in bad trouble for this,' Pippin said sternly. 'Chewing good rope! You're supposed to be resting today, so that you can go out with the flock tomorrow, and look at you! Traipsing halfway 'cross the Shire! What do you think you're about?' He fended off another tentative doggy-kiss and snapped out, 'Sit, Sir! Sit, I say!'

Lop sat, staring with adoring eyes at the lad. He loved Pippin second-best to working the sheep, and that was saying something. When the flock were in the near field, and no dogs were needed, he'd spend the day dogging the heels of the young hobbit, or lying at Pippin's feet, or acting as a pillow. Many were the childish secrets whispered into his ears, and he never told a soul.

Now, however, the young master was put out with him, and he hunched his shoulders and kept his ears flat against his head while awaiting developments. These were not long in coming.

'Go home!' Pippin ordered.

Lop hunched still more. He knew this command. Pippin used it when he was off with Merry, or Ferdi, or the both of them, and a dog was not wanted.

'Go!' Pippin repeated. 'Home!'

The dog scented the air and scanned the surroundings. He didn't see Merry, or Ferdi for that matter, and he didn't like the idea of leaving the lad alone, prey to any other wandering fox that might happen by, or stray dog, or badger, or any number of dangers.

'Lop!' Pippin said in his most threatening tone. Not knowing that he'd slept the night through, he thought it still afternoon. He stared at the angle of the sun, perplexed. 'I must have got turned around,' he muttered to himself. 'Still, it's not as late as I thought.' His attention going back to the dog, he said again, 'Go home, Lop! You're not wanted!'

With much persuasion, he was able to send Lop off... but not far off. The dog slunk away, only until the lad's scolding stopped when Pippin could no longer see him, and then Lop went to ground once more, keeping an eye out for danger. He didn't know where Merry and Ferdi were, but until one or both of them made an appearance, he was going to keep an eye on Pippin.

In the meantime, the lad picked up his bundle, wondering at the emptiness in his stomach. 'Must be nearly suppertime,' he said to himself. 'I certainly hope Bag End isn't far!' He shouldered the stick and began to march determinedly in the wrong direction.

Lop whined softly to himself, and keeping his belly low, just as if he were using plenty of "eye" to keep the sheep in line, he skulked after Pippin.

***

Ferdi didn't waken with the dawn, but continued sleeping into the morning. Ferdinand sat by his son's side, head nodding as he fought sleep.

He jerked awake at the touch of Healer Woodruff's hand, smelling bacon and eggs, toast and hot apple compote laced with cinnamon, and other good smells. 'Second breakfast,' the healer said, 'and a wash, I think.'

'What about you?' he said. 'You've sat through the night and into the morning as well.'

'It's a healer's lot,' Woodruff said. 'I'm used to going on little sleep. I make up for it between times, believe me.'

'Haven't had all that many "between times" lately, from what I hear,' Ferdinand said.

'The both of you, go on into the kitchen and have something to eat,' Esmeralda said from the doorway. Merry hovered behind her, carrying two plates of food, one for his mother and one for himself, to eat while sitting at watch. The rest of the family were gathered around the kitchen table, and it would be good for Woodruff and Ferdinand to sit at table with the rest, a respite during this quiet time while young Ferdi slept, a time to gather strength for when it might be needed, later. 'We'll watch for a while.'

Woodruff nodded and arose. It would help Merry to feel useful, even if there was nothing to be done. 'Come along, Dinny,' she said, tugging at Ferdinand's arm. 'You won't do young Ferdi any good if you neglect yourself.'

Reluctantly he rose from his chair to follow. As Esmeralda and her son settled on either side of the bed, Woodruff paused. 'If he wakens, call me at once,' she said, 'and don't give him anything to eat or drink.'

'Naught to eat or drink?' Esmeralda said in astonishment. 'But he's already missed tea, and supper, and early breakfast!'

'Nothing!' Woodruff said firmly. 'And be sure to call me.' She would not leave until she received their assurances.

Second breakfast was not the usual jolly affair. Paladin had not gone out to the fields to direct his hired hobbits; instead he'd issued orders to them in the yard, and they'd glumly gone to their work, not singing as usual, but sober, thinking of the bright young lad in the smial, whose light was flickering, perhaps to go out before the sun set on the day, if rumour was to be believed.

The family ate silently, and tears salted Pimpernel's and Pervinca's eggs, though no one remarked on this fact. After the meal, Woodruff poured a last mug of tea to take with her back to the bedroom. She had persuaded Ferdinand to lie himself down for a rest, whereafter he could take up his watch once more.

But rest was forgotten as an excited Merry appeared in the door. 'He's awake!' he said. 'He's hungry!' Ferdinand was up out of his chair and out of the kitchen before anyone could blink.

'You didn't give him any food!' Woodruff said, setting down her mug untasted and turning to the doorway in alarm.

'Not for want of him asking,' Merry said, 'though if I'd had any left on my plate I think he'd have snatched it! He says the smell is driving him to distraction, and he wants eggs, and...'

Eglantine had started to scoop scrambled eggs, keeping warm on the stove, onto a plate, but Woodruff held up her hand, saying, 'No!'

'No food?' Eglantine said, exchanging glances with her husband. Why, food was one of the first things the healer usually prescribed for a recovering hobbit.

'Not yet,' Woodruff said, and attempted a smile. 'You just keep that food covered, so it doesn't dry out while it's warming, and I'll bring him a plate myself, once I've taken a good look at the lad.'

Eglantine nodded, somewhat satisfied, and scraped the eggs back into the warming ceramic bowl, placing the plate on top to keep them moist.

When Woodruff reached the bedroom, she found Ferdi awake, his father preventing him from sitting upright, and arguing with him.

'...but I'm hungry!' the teen said plaintively. 'And...' he looked from Esmeralda to Woodruff in near-despair. It had been bad enough, having one hobbit mum there, but now the healer had joined the party. 'And...'

Ferdinand obligingly lowered his ear to his son's mouth. His face changed as he listened to the desperate whisper, his mouth forming an "O" of surprise, before his lips twitched into an understanding smile. Ah, but what a relief it was, to have his son awake, and asking for breakfast, and... wanting to take care of some private business.

'Shall I help him to the privy?' he said, rising to address Woodruff, while young Ferdi's pale cheeks flushed scarlet in his mortification.

'No!' Woodruff said. 'Not even the chamber pot, Dinny. I want him kept as flat as possible.'

'But...' Ferdi protested in a yelp. He tried to sit up, but found it too painful, and then his father was holding down his shoulders once more, preventing him from continued effort. He swallowed hard. 'But...' he said under his breath, and took a few shallow breaths before the urgency of the situation compelled him to complete the thought. He said just as low as he could, intended for his father's ears alone, '...but I've got to go!'

At any other time it might have been howlingly funny, but at the moment, Ferdinand just stared at Woodruff, perplexed.

'A bedpan,' she said briskly. 'I'll show you how it's done.'

Ferdi paled at this awful pronouncement, but he had no say in the matter. Woodruff sent Esmeralda and Merry, who'd returned and was hovering in the doorway, back to the kitchen, and she and Ferdinand proceeded to take care of business.

Not long after, the healer came to the kitchen in search of Paladin, her face grim.

'What is it?' Paladin said, starting up from his chair.

'I want to send a quick post rider to Bridgefields, to fetch the lad's mother,' Woodruff said.

Eglantine caught her breath, and Esmeralda steadied her as she swayed.

'Why, what is it?' Esmeralda echoed her brother's question, holding tight to Eglantine.

Woodruff took a deep breath and let it out again. 'He's passing blood,' she said. 'It's not a good sign.'

Esmeralda and Eglantine exchanged glances, and Pimpernel burst into fresh tears.

'I'll send you to your Grandmum's,' Eglantine said, turning to her middle daughter, even as Esmeralda grabbed at Merry, standing aghast by her side.

Pimpernel, with difficulty, controlled herself and caught at her mother's arm. 'No,' she said brokenly. 'Please don't send me away. Please don't... I told him I never wanted to see him again, and now...'

'Aw, lass,' Paladin said softly, moving to put a hand on Pimpernel's shoulder. 'It's not your doing...' She turned and flung her arms around her father, burying her face in his chest, and he held her, patting her back awkwardly, before looking to his wife. 'Let her stay,' he said.

Eglantine nodded slowly. 'And Pippin?' she said. 'Shall we send for him?'

Paladin shook his head. 'Too hard, for such a little lad,' he said. 'If his cousin's dying, well, there's naught he could do about it. He might as well stay in blissful ignorance, for as long as may be.' With one more pat for Pimpernel's back, he turned away, took his jacket and cap from the hook, and left the kitchen, to saddle his fastest pony for the ride to Whitwell, to send a quick post rider with the grim news.

Pimpernel turned to Woodruff. 'Is there no hope?' she asked tearfully. 'None at all?'

Woodruff attempted a smile. 'While there's breath, there's life,' she said, quoting the old Shire proverb. 'And if he's only bruised, inside, well, he might pass more blood at first, and less as the bruising heals...' She picked up her abandoned mug and took a long, steadying swig of the now cold, sweet, milky tea. 'But if it's worse than that, and his mother's not here...'

Esmeralda's breath caught in a sob, and she instinctively hugged her Merry to herself. The teen stood stunned at the suddenness of it all: joy turned to despair, and the blame that he had assumed, that had momentarily lifted in his thoughts, now fell heavily once more upon his shoulders.

***

Pippin and his hidden shadow had not gone far when a cheerful voice rang out, startling both of them. 'Well, well, what have we here?'

Lop stiffened and half-whirled, his lips wrinkled back from his teeth as a low growl vibrated in his throat, and stiff-legged he stalked in a direction that would put himself between the interloper and his lambkin.

Pippin, on the other hand, stood rooted to the spot, staring up--up--up to the face of the giant who'd come up to them from the side. He ought to have heard the Man crashing through the grass, except that he'd been singing a walking song to keep his spirits up in the face of his empty tummy. Next time he took himself a-wandering, he'd have to pack some food!

'What brings a hobbit and his dog into the middle of the Shire, with not a smial to be found nearby?' the Man said, crouching down.

Lop relaxed somewhat, and as the wind brought the Man's scent to him he began to wag his tail, very slightly. The Man's scent brought a feeling of friendliness, trustworthiness, and no hint of harm.

'I'm going to see Bilbo!' Pippin said confidently.

'Bilbo?' the Man said. 'The celebrated Bilbo, whose tales are known throughout the Shire?'

'That's the one!' Pippin said. 'He slew a dragon!'

Not quite, the Man thought to himself with a smile, but he said only, 'Ah, yes, I've heard the story of Bilbo and the Dragon. Very exciting!'

Pippin beamed. 'You're nice!' he pronounced, but then he frowned as Lop came out of hiding. 'Lop!' he scolded.

The Man held out his hand, and Lop applied his nose to the serious business of sniffing the stranger, measuring him in a dog's way. The small wag of his tail became a broader sweep before he sat before the Man and offered his paw.

Laughing, the Man shook hands with the dog, and releasing the paw he bowed to the dog and then to the very young hobbit. 'Robin son of Jack, at your service,' he said properly. It wasn't his real name, of course, but the name he used in the Shire. His real name sounded Outlandish, putting off the hobbits who provided his bread and butter, and so he'd adopted a name suited to Man or Hobbit, to ease his path.

'Pippin--Peregrin son of Paladin at yours, and your family's,' Pippin said with a bow of his own, remembering almost too late to use his "proper" name.

'It just so happens that I'm headed to Bywater Market,' Robin said, seating himself so that he wouldn't tower over the hobbit lad. Lop immediately lay down and laid his head on the Man's knee.

'He likes you,' Pippin observed.

'Dogs and children do, I find,' Robin said confidingly. He stroked the silky head. 'And I like them, as well. Not half so stuffy as grown-ups, I find, and more likely to take delight in my tricks.'

'Tricks?' Pippin said in wonder.

The Man laughed and while one hand rubbed at the dog's ears, his other reached out, taking something from Pippin's ear--which turned out to be a copper ha'penny! 'Are you in the habit of keeping your coppers in your ears?' he said, handing the coin to the lad.

'How did you do that?' Pippin said, his eyes wide.

Robin laughed again. 'Robin Tallfellow, wandering conjurer, at your service!' he said. 'I know all sorts of tricks and illusions, guaranteed to make you laugh or gasp in wonder.' He doffed his cap and put it on the ground between them. 'Just toss a coin in the hat and I'll show you a bit of magic!'

'Magic!' Pippin said excitedly, and Lop raised his head from the Man's knee to watch.

Pippin tossed the coin into the cap, and Robin took up the cap and put it back on his head.

'Where's the magic?' Pippin said.

Robin took the cap off, scratching his head as he did so. 'You didn't see any magic?' he asked. 'That's strange. I might have sworn...' He shook his head. 'Hmm. Guess the trick didn't work. I suppose you'll want your coin back...'

Pippin began to demur, but Robin held the cap out to him again and he reached politely, only to gasp. 'It's gone!'

'What?' Robin said, making a great show of looking into the cap. 'What, disappeared?'

'It is magic!' Pippin crowed in delight.

'Well what do you know?' Robin said, setting the cap back on his head, and then he added as if it were an afterthought, 'Say, as I'm going to Bywater, and you're going to see the celebrated Bilbo who lives not far from there, why don't we go together?' The empty fields were no place for a very young hobbit, although he did seem to have a guardian watching over him. One loyal dog might be no match for a pack of stray dogs, for example, and the local Shirriff had warned Robin to watch out for dogs, though he'd never met any to date that had offered him any harm.

'All right!' Pippin said. He took the hand Robin held out, and they began to walk, with Lop falling in beside them. On Robin's part it was rather more creeping along, to walk at the tiny hobbit's best pace and he had to walk slightly bent over, to continue holding the lad's hand.

Pippin stopped. 'Go home!' he said once more to the sheepdog.

Lop fawned and wagged, and the Man laughed. 'I don't think he's listening to you,' he said.

'He's listening, all right,' Pippin said. 'He's just not heeding.' He stared sternly at the dog that crouched before him, trying to make itself small but still eye-to-eye with him. 'You'll be in awful trouble, you will, chewing your rope and all.'

'So Bilbo's not "home" for you,' Robin said. 'Do your folk know you're out and about?'

Pippin shrugged. 'I've not been gone all that long,' he said. 'They probably haven't even missed me.'

Chapter 36. Interlude

My beloved carries me, half-asleep, to the healer's quarters, but when he lays me down upon the bed I come fully awake. Wobbling a little, I get up and go over to the dressing table with its ewer of water, pour some into the bowl and splash my face. The cool water is refreshing, and I undo my nightdress, letting it drop to the floor, moisten a flannel and wash away the fiery flashes and fears left from the long night's struggle.

He is right behind me, lifting my hair away from my shoulders. 'I could order you a bath, my love.'

'No,' I say, 'that won't be necessary. This is all I really wanted.'

Still holding my hair off my skin with one hand, he drops a kiss where neck and shoulder meet--knowing my state of exhaustion, it is benediction rather than invitation--takes the flannel from my hand and washes my neck, shoulders and back. I arch my back; how good it feels! ...and then he puts the flannel down again and gently braids my hair, tucking it out of my way. I close my eyes to savour the sensation of being cosseted.

I take up the flannel once more, wring it out in the bowl, and quickly tend to the rest of me, and immediately as I finish he wraps a bathing sheet around me, holding me for a long moment in the comfort of his embrace. 'There,' he says. 'A fresh nightdress, and...'

'How lovely it sounds,' I say.

'But?' he says, turning me towards himself.

I speak as I reach for the clothes laid out fresh for my arising. ' "No healers," he said.'

'Who is it, that said such a thing?'

'No healers in the bedroom, intruding on their privacy, no healers in the sitting room, listening from afar, no healers in the healer's room, sawing logs and letting them know they're not alone...'

'So...' he guesses, 'you are dressing, only long enough to go back to our apartments, where you will sensibly undress once more and seek your rest.'

I smile. 'Very nearly,' I say.

'Beloved, you swooned, they told me. You're wearied beyond anything I've seen before...'

'The Battle of Bywater was worse,' I say, 'and the aftermath of the fire, when Peregrin first became Thain... all those hobbits on the firelines, who suffered smoke and burns...'

'You worked straight through without rest,' he allows, but places a finger beneath my chin to tilt my face up to meet his worried eyes. 'But you did not neglect yourself... you maintained your distance, you didn't grieve so...'

'I always grieve, to lose a life,' I say softly. 'But sometimes there's no time for tears.'

He shakes his head. 'Perhaps you ought to step down as head healer,' he says. 'Perhaps we should go back to Whitwell. You're too near, in this case.'

I can scarcely draw breath, for his arrow has struck too close to the mark, I fear; but I manage somehow. 'I am well,' I insist.

'My love,' he whispers.

'I am well,' I repeat, and force a smile, '...or I will be, as soon as I've had something to eat. There are just a few matters of business to take care of, first...'

'Matters of business?' he echoes, eyebrow raised.

I tick them off on my fingers. 'Regi,' I say. He nods. 'Ferdi,' and another nod. 'Master and Mayor,' I conclude.

'You ordered a sleeping draught for the Master,' he says.

'I did, and I'm just going to make sure he takes it.'

'And one for yourself,' he says, unexpectedly.

I hesitate, and then I nod. 'Very well,' I say. 'A small one, just enough to sleep until midday. That will just put me right.'

'I'll accompany you,' he says. I have finished dressing, and I hold out my hand to him. We walk together from the room, softly down the corridor, smelling the good smells of breakfast. Yes, I'll take care of business, and then I'll eat, and then I'll sleep.

I do not know where this sudden confidence comes. Surely it is not from a glimpse of the Thain's face, seeing the lines of pain and weariness being smoothed away somehow. Surely it does not stem from that elusive feeling of well-being that still courses through my body, just barely perceptible when I close my eyes and listen.

I may be about to make the worst mistake of my life, if only to prove to my beloved that I am not too "near". I have not lost the necessary capacity to put my feelings away, to deal with a patient with detachment, to distance myself from my own emotion in the matter. I am not too near to the matter at hand.

And if I am mistaken, and Pippin dies while I'm at my rest, then I do not deserve to remain head healer at the Great Smials, anyhow.

***

Reginard and Ferdibrand enter the receiving room of the Thain's quarters from the public corridor just as my beloved and I enter from the private hall--How convenient, my beloved breathes in my ear, and I manage a wry smile, for I have no illusions as to their reaction, not summoned during the emergency, but left to sleep themselves out until the dawning, to be informed only upon arising, per my orders. At least I am spared the necessity of going in search for them, or worse, having to waken them with last night's news myself.

Ferdi is nearly incendiary; his fury is a palpable thing, while Regi is grim, but he holds the younger hobbit in check and he is the one who speaks.

'Why did you not call us?' he says.

'The room was crowded, as it was,' I said. 'We didn't need anyone scalded by hot water or steam, or getting in the way.'

'Sandy said...'

'What if he had died?' Ferdi breaks in, his fists clenched at his side.

I look at him calmly. 'He didn't,' I say.

'But...'

'And even if he did,' I add, 'the seal of the Thain has already passed on. There was no need for you to be there. He wouldn't have wanted you to suffer, watching him.'

'Sandy said...' Regi repeats.

'No matter what Sandy told you,' I say firmly, 'it was a thousand times worse.'

They stare at me in shock. 'He'd try to spare your feelings, that hobbit would,' I say. 'And now what do you intend? To burst in upon the Thain, disturb him from his slumber, now that the ordeal is over?'

'Is it over?' Regi says sceptically.

'It is,' I say. I am taking an awful risk, but frankly, I am past caring. Give Pippin his privacy, my heart cries. Leave him be. Let him die alone, in peace, as he wishes, if that is to be his fate.

'How do you know?' Ferdi demands.

I look at him archly, with all the healer's conceit I can muster. 'When you've been a healer as long as I have, you might begin to answer that question yourself,' I say haughtily. 'Now, if you've quite finished...'

Regi takes a deep breath. 'What are you saying?' he asks, and somehow he is calmer.

'Shoo!' I say, and I shake my hands at them as if I were scattering chickens.

Ferdi jumps in surprise, and glares.

'Get off wit' ye, then,' I say, with the best Tookish lilt I can muster, for it is the language of Ferdi's childhood, the way his father and beloved uncle spoke, long ago in the fair Green Hills, and it is a reassurance to him though he may not even know it. What matters is that I know it, and have used it in dealing with him over the years. 'The hobbit is aslumberin', I tell ye, and ye willna be thankit if ye rouse 'im from his rest.'

Regi knows exactly what I'm doing, but Ferdi blinks, disarmed for the moment. But a moment is all I need, for Regi is swayed, I see, and it won't take much more to turn him around, now that I have got him thinking.

'Breakfast,' I say, holding Regi's eye, 'and then to the business of the Thain. He'll want a full report when he wakens.'

Will he waken? The question is clear in Regi's eyes, but he takes Ferdi's arm and turns away. 'Breakfast,' he echoes. 'And think of the work that's piled up, the past few days...'

Chapter 37. Dog of a Different Colour

The steady rapping at the door was not a hand Frodo recognised. It was not Hamfast Gamgee's businesslike pull at the bell, nor young Samwise's quiet tap-tap-tap, nor the sharp, insistent noise of Lobelia's umbrella denting the paint. It didn't sound like anyone he knew, neighbour or tradesman, relation or friend.

'Frodo!' Bilbo's voice echoed down the tunnel from his study. 'If you would, dear boy...'

'I've got it!' Frodo called back in the same instant, and he jerked the door open. His mouth opened as his head fell back, gazing up... up... up... to the beaming face of a Man, a stranger, and Pippin's face above his, shining with mischief and merriment, his fingers twined through the stranger's hair, his legs wrapped around the stranger's neck like the ends of a short muffler. As if this weren't enough, the Man had a sheepdog at his side, attached to a frayed rope. The dog had scrambled to his feet as the door opened, and now his mouth opened, his tongue lolled out and he panted at Frodo, showing off his wolfish teeth. Only Pippin's presence kept the tween from slamming the door.

'Hullo, Frodo!' Pippin chirped brightly.

'Pippin?' Frodo said hoarsely. He cleared his throat and began again. 'What in the world...?'

'If it's the baker's lad, tell him we want half again as many currant buns!' Bilbo called from the study. 'We ran short, last time.'

'It's not!' Frodo called back, scarcely able to take his eyes off the strange sight before him. Pippin riding a Man as if he sat a very tall pony... or a horse! 'It's Pippin! And a stranger!'

'A Ranger!' Bilbo called back. 'What do you mean, Frodo? A Ranger would hardly be knocking at my door in broad daylight!' His voice approached rapidly, until he was standing just behind Frodo, gaping at the Man. 'You're no Ranger!' he said.

The Man bowed politely, though he winced a little as Pippin crowed and clung more tightly to his hair to keep his balance. 'Robin son of Jack, at your service,' he said. They hadn't walked far before he'd decided he'd never reach Bywater, at the speed Pippin could walk, at least not this week, and so he'd swung the lad up onto his shoulders and made short work of the miles with his long strides.

'I should say so!' Bilbo replied, before making a hasty bow and speaking the proper response.

'Hullo, Uncle Bilbo!' Pippin said.

Robin smiled. He had endured a lengthy discourse on exactly what the relationship was between his wandering young friend and the hobbits who stood before him, and while Bilbo was nowhere near to being the young one's uncle, he appreciated the brevity of the address.

'Hullo yourself, you young rascal!' Bilbo returned the greeting. 'Just what brings you here to our door, and by this mode of conveyance? I thought your mother taught you not to talk to strangers!'

'He's not a stranger!' Pippin said confidently. 'I know his name!'

Bilbo was somewhat taken aback, but on second thought he knew the Man's name as well, and the fellow certainly knew his manners where Shire-folk were concerned.

'So,' he said, addressing this new acquaintance. 'What brings you to my door? Did Paladin hire you to bring his son to me? I had a letter to tell me to expect a visit, for there was something Pippin wanted to talk to me about, but I was expecting the whole family, not just the one young cousin!'

'Pippin himself brings me to your door,' Robin said. 'But not in the way you mention... I stumbled over him in a field, making a beeline for the South Farthing, and determined enough to march all the way there, but for the fact he told me he was intending to go to Hobbiton.' With a wry look he added, 'He told me everything and anything except for where he belonged, for he said he had to see you before he could go back home. I figured I had better help him along, then, in order to bring him sooner back to the bosom of his family. And as I was on my way to the Bywater Market, I told him I'd show him the right way to go.'

'On your way to the market?' Bilbo said shrewdly, looking at the Man's backpack. 'Are you a peddler?'

The Man grinned. 'Robin Tallfellow, wandering conjurer, at your service!' he said with another sweeping bow. 'I know all sorts of tricks and illusions, guaranteed to make you laugh or gasp in wonder.' He reached up to loosen Pippin's hold on his hair. 'If I had my cap handy, I'd pull a rabbit from it, just to make you laugh!'

'He can, too!' Pippin said excitedly. 'He can pull all sorts of things out of his hat, and his pockets, even when they're empty!'

'A rabbit might come in handy at that,' Bilbo said. 'Lovely in a stew...'

'Not this rabbit!' Pippin said in horror. 'Mopsy's a pet! He's very bright, for a bunny. Robin's taught him wonderful tricks!'

'No rabbit, then,' Bilbo said instantly. 'But tell me, young Pip, do your parents know you've gone a-wandering?'

Pippin shrugged. 'They're all off to tea at the neighbour's,' he said. 'They left me sleeping, and probably meant to come back before I wakened.'

'Tea?' Frodo said quizzically. It was barely noon.

'Speaking of tea,' Robin said, reaching up to lift Pippin from his shoulders, 'I must be at Bywater Market soon, or I'll lose the best of my crowd. Folk'll be ready to sit down and watch a few tricks after the better part of their shopping's done...'

'Won't you stay?' Bilbo said hastily. 'Where are my manners? Here you rescue our lad from wandering in the wilderlands, and we leave you standing on the doorstep!'

'Another time, perhaps,' Robin said with a bow. 'I really must be going...' He gave the sheepdog's rope to Pippin, pulled a cap from his pocket and put it on, bowed and pulled at the bill of the cap in a polite manner.

'Come back then, when market's done,' Bilbo said, not to be put off. 'We'll feed you a fine supper for your trouble, and there's even a bed in your size, if you planned to stop over until the morning.'

'I had planned to sleep under the stars, by the Water,' the Man said, 'and then walk on to Waymoot, but... a bed in my size?' He was intrigued. This hobbit had enough Mannish visitors to warrant such a bed?

'Yes,' Bilbo said, sticking his thumbs in his waistcoat and rocking back on his heels. 'You're not the only conjuror to rap upon my door...'

***

As the Man's whistle receded down Bagshot Row, Bilbo bent to address Pippin. 'Are you hungry, lad?'

To his surprise, Pippin put his head on one side as if to consider. 'A little,' the lad said. 'Robin shared his bread with me.' The three large loaves of bread had been the Man's provisions for the next few days, though he hadn't told the young hobbit so. Pippin had eaten his fill... which meant that Robin's "larder" was empty, another reason for his haste to reach the market. If he didn't gather a tidy sum of coin in his hat from an appreciative audience, he might not eat the next day! The Man was doubly grateful for Bilbo's offer of dinner and a place to sleep.

'Well then,' Bilbo said in a hearty tone, taking the sheepdog's rope and pushing Pippin into the smial. 'You go and wash your hands, and I'll meet you in the kitchen!'

Turning back to Frodo, he lowered his voice. 'Who knows what his parents are thinking,' he muttered. 'He thinks it's teatime... perhaps his head is muddled from the sun. But at the pace a Man could walk, Pippin might have left just after second breakfast, and no one's missed him yet.' He started to offer the rope to Frodo, about to tell the tween to shut up the dog in the coach house until they figured out what to do with him, but Frodo interrupted.

'Or perhaps he left yesterday teatime,' Frodo said, watching the dog warily, 'and fell asleep before dark, and woke in daylight not knowing how long he'd slept...'

'Sharp lad!' Bilbo said approvingly, but sobered. 'If that's the case, Eglantine must be beside herself, by now, and I'd imagine there are hobbits crawling over all the hills around Whitwell, shouting Pippin's name and looking for signs of his passing!' He straightened, retaining the rope. 'In that case, I think you had better jog on down to the village, find the quick post rider, and send a message on to Paladin that his son is safe, and we'll be bringing him home on the morrow.' He dug in a pocket, taking out a handful of coins, which he extended to Frodo.

'On the morrow?' Frodo said, taking the handful.

'Well, we've promised his rescuer supper and Gandalf's bed to sleep on,' Bilbo said. 'It would hardly be hospitable to be away from home when he returns for his reward.'

'When he returns?' Frodo said. 'You think he will?'

'I do,' Bilbo said. 'He had a hungry look in his eye, and Pippin said he shared his bread... I wonder just how much bread was left when Pippin was done?'

***

It hardly seemed right, to eat at noontide, knowing that young Ferdi only sipped at a little boiled water in the other room, and plaintively asked for more. But Woodruff had stood firm. 'Small sips,' she said. 'And then we'll see what's what. You may have more water, after you've had a nice little sleep.'

'I don't want to go to sleep,' Ferdi said, and looking to his father, he whispered, 'Is it that I'm dying, then? Will I wake?'

'Och noo, laddie,' Ferdinand said, scarcely able to force out the words. 'Tha willna dee, laddie-my-own. I willna allow the Reaper to ta'e thee... He'll ha' to ta'e me first.' Very carefully, he nestled his son under his arm and began to croon one of the old songs.

Tears spilled from the young hobbit's eyes, but as the song went on his lids grew heavier, finally closing, and he fell into sleep. Rosemary, who'd come from the kitchen to take her place in the other chair by the bed, covered her face and wept silently.

The lullaby wafted to the kitchen, where Nell put down her fork and buried her face in her hands, sobbing, and Eglantine wiped away a tear. 'Come now, dearie,' she said, holding out her arms, and Nell got up from her seat, stumbled over to her mother, and was enveloped in loving arms.

'If he dies it's my fault,' she sobbed. 'If he dies...'

'Hush now,' Eglantine said. 'Hush now.'

Paladin didn't chide his middle daughter for speaking nonsense, he merely drew now-sobbing Vinca to himself, rocking her in silence, while Esmeralda embraced Pearl with one arm and Merry with the other, and all sat in silence while the food grew cold on the serving plates.

***

Bilbo extended the rope once more to Frodo. They could shut the dog up in the unused stables. Bilbo's father had kept a team of ponies, but Bilbo had no need to ride or drive anywhere; if he wanted to wander, he had two good feet, after all, and all his walking kept him young and fit for his years, or so he told himself. 'On your way past the coach house, if you wouldn't mind...' he said, but at the look on the tween's face he pulled back. 'I say, lad, what is the matter?' he demanded. 'You're not sickening with something...'

Just then Hamfast Gamgee came whistling round the corner from the Old Orchard, where he'd been mowing. He stopped short to see the sheepdog.

'Here now,' he said sharply, his good humour evaporating, nearly forgetting himself in his consternation. 'Mr. Bilbo, it's not my place to say something, but you haven't gone and got yourself a dog, to dig in the tater bed and roll on the petunee's?'

Lop's tongue lolled out over his teeth and he tilted his head to one side, one ear pricked up and the other falling over in a clownish way, and even Frodo laughed, cautiously.

'No, Master Hamfast, he's merely an honoured guest, come to visit for the day,' Bilbo said, 'and at the moment we were discussing just where he ought to pass the time, and what to feed him, and that sort of thing.'

'Feed him oliphaunts, I don't wonder,' Hamfast said darkly.

Lop waved his silky tail in apparent appreciation of the joke. Perhaps it was only the repetition of that lovely word that reminded him of dinner. He reached to nudge the hand that held the rope, and Bilbo laughed.

'He said "if you please" just as clear as if he could talk,' he said. 'But there seems to be a dearth of oliphaunts hereabouts, just at present. Will you settle for a bit of bread-and-butter, lad?'

'That's all he had along the way,' Pippin piped up from behind him. He'd been waiting in the kitchen for ever so long, and hearing voices had returned to the front door. 'Robin shared his bread with the both of us, at least until the bread was gone.'

'Ahhhh,' Bilbo said significantly. Yes, he had better cook a hearty dinner for the visiting Man, and pack away a few provisions in the morning, to send him off properly. He stroked a silky ear, and the dog leaned into the touch with a low, groaning sound.

'Well if you'll just keep him out of the garden beds I'll be that obliged,' Hamfast said, touching the bill of his cap, and then Bell Gamgee's voice was heard, calling her family to table, and Hamfast excused himself.

'We'll keep you out of the garden beds, won't we, lad?' Bilbo said to the dog. 'You'll be safe enough, shut up in the stables, I don't wonder, just until we take you home on the morrow...' He brought his hand away and a frown creased his brow. 'Cannot bring you in the smial, reeking as you do...'

'He's a good, clean dog!' Pippin protested, but Bilbo's expression was abstracted as he placed the smell on his fingers. Suddenly he looked to Frodo, and his lips formed the word fox, though he did not say it aloud, not wanting to alarm the young one.

Frodo felt his blood run cold, and he looked at the dog with new eyes. Had he somehow broken free, to guard Frodo's little cousin from foxes and the like? 'There's a good dog,' he said tentatively, and Lop's tail moved gently back and forth, and he reached to lay a whisper of a caress against Frodo's hand with his tongue.

Frodo drew back, but then he forced himself to reach out, to stroke the silky head, and not to quail when the dog leaned towards him.

'A bath is in order, I think,' Bilbo said, 'especially if you're to sit at table.'

'Sit at table?' Frodo said in utter astonishment.

'Not on a chair,' Bilbo said, 'but then, he's tall enough, he doesn't need a chair now, does he? Still, I think our lad here has earned the feast I intend to spread in his honour.'

And so after Frodo returned from his errand, sending out the quick post rider with his reassuring message to Pippin's parents, they bathed the sheepdog. Lop stood still for the bath, but only because Pippin told him he must. And after they'd soaped him and rubbed away as much of the fox musk as they could and then rinsed him with buckets of clear water, he returned the favour, shaking with vigour and soaking Bilbo, Frodo, and Pippin. And so the four of them needed to be rubbed dry, and then they sat down to their luncheon with a good will, Lop at the place of honour to Bilbo's right, enjoying his plate of stew with as much appreciation as the hungriest hobbit.

And after the eating was done, Bilbo and Frodo did the washing up (it was Salsify's half day, and a good thing, too, for she'd have been beside herself to see a dog at table) while Pippin watched over Lop, to keep him out of mischief. As it was, when Bilbo and Frodo returned to the parlour where they'd left the two, they found the dog lying on his side, acting as a pillow. He did not rise to greet them, for that would have disturbed his young master, but his tail quivered gently in greeting.

'Good lad,' Bilbo murmured, rubbing the floppy ear.

'I never knew dogs could be so...' Frodo said.

Bilbo cocked an eye at the tween. 'Didn't you?' he said, and suddenly he remembered a tale or two Rory Brandybuck had told him, when he was considering Frodo's adoption. 'Well, this dog's business runs rather more to guarding lambs than running off young hobbits,' he said. 'I remember on our last visit to Whittacres, Paladin had to shut him up to keep him from following young Pippin everywhere. He noticed that you weren't all that easy when the dog was around.'

'No,' Frodo said. 'I wasn't.' He knelt to stroke the silky coat, that smelled something like the fancy soap found in Bilbo's bath room. The tail thumped softly on the rug.

'Good lad,' Bilbo said, as if to the dog, but there was a gleam of satisfaction in his eye as Frodo sat himself down to give Lop's ears a good rub. 'I'll be in the study if I'm wanted.'

Chapter 38. Interlude

Hand in hand, my beloved and I walk from the Thain's apartments to the corridor nearby where important guests are accommodated. A suite of rooms is kept here for the Master of Buckland, and another for the Mayor of the Shire, and whether or not those worthies are staying at the Great Smials, their apartments are kept always at the ready for their arrival, and never given to other visitors.

I pause outside the Mayor's suite, squeezing my beloved's hand. 'I just want to check...' I say, and he nods with a knowing smile.

I push the door open, softly, and freeze at the sound I hear, my light mood vanished. Turning, I whisper, 'When Fennel comes with the draught for the Master, have him bring it to me here, instead, and make up another.'

His face very sober, he nods, brushes a kiss into the palm of my hand, and turns away, walking towards the infirmary to intercept Fennel. I slip through the door, to see Mistress Rose cradling her husband against her shoulder, and beyond them, the children, standing stricken in the doorway leading from the bedrooms to the sitting room. Mayor Samwise is weeping hopelessly, despairingly, like a lost child, and his Rose holds him, rubs his back, murmurs comfort to one who is beyond comfort.

He who thought to bring Pippin's cure, brought instead torment, agony.

Rose looks up, to see me in the doorway, and I put my finger to my lips. I am not here. She nods. I gesture to the children beyond, to Elanor and Frodo-lad, who hold the littler ones huddled close, and creeping on silent hobbit feet they cross the room to me. I hold the door wide enough to usher them out, and close it behind me so that a servant passing by will not see or hear the Mayor in his indisposition. Such flames of gossip as would be fanned... the word would quickly spread that the Thain had died in the night, and for some reason the news was being suppressed! Or something just as wild, I've no doubt.

The young Gamgees are all troubled, and tears streak several of the faces turned up to me. I smile, cupping little Goldi's face in my hand. 'Your father is very tired,' I say. 'He travelled a long journey, after all, and then from Buckland all the way to the Smials in one long, unbroken ride, and then he was up all night with the Thain...'

'Is...?' young Frodo asks, and gulps.

'Is he...?' Elanor says, but cannot voice her fear, no more than her brother.

'The Thain is sleeping now,' I say. 'He's looking much better than he was, and I'm sure your own father will be all the better for a good sleep. Ah, here's the draught I ordered...' My beloved approaches, carrying a covered cup.

'Now, you children go with Mr. Took, here, and he'll take you to the great hall, for they're serving early breakfast even now, and you must be hungry after all that travelling you did yesterday.'

'I'm hungry!' Pippin-lad announces. He's always been one to speak his mind, much like the hobbit whose name he bears.

'Well then!' My beloved says heartily, handing me the cup and picking up the two youngest Gamgees in his arms. 'I smelled griddlecakes cooking as I went by. How many griddlecakes do you suppose you could eat?' He continues to talk cheerful nonsense as he shepherds them down the corridor.

I must see to my business before he returns to shepherd me, off to breakfast and bed.

I enter, again soundlessly, tiptoe to the table, and lay down the cup with a significant look. Rose nods again, though her soothing talk never ceases. When her husband reaches the end of his strength, the sleeping draught will be there, ready to perform its charitable work.

I let myself out again without a word, shutting the door tightly behind me, and drawing a pocket-handkerchief out I drape it over the doorknob, a gesture the Tooks use to signal the servants, a sort of sign that says "Do not disturb!" It is very handy when a fussy babe is sleeping at last, or a hobbit tosses with fever, or a husband has returned to his wife after too long a journey... and it will keep any from intruding on the Mayor's grief and exhaustion this morning, with the best of intentions, but the worst of timing.

And now the Master... I go down to the next door and listen before tapping, hearing the murmur of voices, but nothing out of the ordinary.

I knock softly, and the voices break off. A moment later Merry opens the door, his expression of polite inquiry turning to surprise. 'Woodruff?' he says. 'Don't tell me; they cannot keep you abed?'

'As a matter of fact, I'm on my way to my bed,' I say with as much dignity as I can muster. 'I just stopped to see if all is well with you, and if you've eaten.'

'I was just telling him he ought to take some breakfast,' Estella says, rising and coming to the door. She glances over her shoulder; their little lad is still asleep, not even stirring at the sound of our voices. 'Breakfast, and then a good nap!'

'Just what the healer ordered,' I say with a smile. 'So, Fennel has not yet come by with his draught?' I know that he most likely has not had time...

'Merry said you were sending a draught,' Estella says, raising an eyebrow. 'I couldn't believe he was going to take it so calmly!'

He places his hands on her shoulders and kisses her cheek. 'Truth be told, I'm weary,' he says, 'but with all the excitement of the night, I'm not sure I could sleep without a draught. And Woodruff threatened to call out the Tooks to sit on me, to keep me in the bed, so I might as well just take the draught and save everyone a lot of trouble!'

'If you wouldn't mind, Mistress,' I say to Estella, 'just stepping down to the great room to order the Master's breakfast... I'd like to look him over and make sure he's taken no ill, riding in the rain, weary as he was from the long watch...'

Merry snorts. 'As if I'd melt!' he says.

But Estella is always eager to feed the hobbits around her, husband most especially, and so she smiles and says it will be her pleasure.

When she's gone, Merry puts out his right hand. 'Well?' he says.

I take the hand in mine, and my eyebrows go up. 'Warm!' I say, startled. 'I don't understand...'

'He's well,' Merry says, looking intently at me. 'Don't you see? He's...'

I'd check for fever but for the fact that he looks so well himself, not flushed and flustered, but calm, solid as a stone.

'After last night...' I begin, and to my astonishment he laughs.

'Yes!' he says, almost gaily. 'After last night!' At my dumbfounded look he takes hold of himself and explains. 'Didn't you hear?'

'Hear what?' I say, at a complete loss.

Merry laughs again, and I begin to wonder if he's lost his wits. 'Pippin, of course!' he says. 'Why, all these fearful days he's been meek as a lamb and twice as gentle, going quietly to his death without complaint, not wanting to grieve us any more in the manner of his passing, than we were to be grieved by its inevitability.'

'Aye,' I say slowly, but he sees that I do not understand.

Putting his hands on my shoulders, he looks into my eyes, and in his own eyes there is a joy, a lightness, that has been missing all too long. He does indeed suit the name "Merry" in this moment. 'Don't you realise...?' he says. 'He was rude, sarcastic; he called Sam an ass! He was hardly sparing our feelings...!'

My intake of breath is sharp in the silence after he stops speaking, and the hope that stabs me is as sharp. It cannot be...

Merry knows his cousin better than any other, true. And Pippin has never spared the sensibilities of the healers who've pestered him over the years, except in these last days, when we stood by helpless, hopeless, impotent, and powerless.

But... It cannot be.

I force a smile. Let him go to his rest, then, with this joyful thought. He'll rest all the easier for it, and be ready to meet whatever waits with renewed strength. 'It never occurred to me,' I admit. 'But that is not why I sent your wife away.'

'You sent Estella away?' he says, and it is his turn to be puzzled.

'I wish to speak plainly,' I say, 'to correct an injustice that has gone on far too long.'

'Injustice?' he says, straightening. 'Who is...? What injustice?'

'Do you love your wife?' I say outright.

He stiffens, looking down at me, but I stand my ground. 'Of course!' he says, indignant and insulted by the question. 'What right have you to...?'

'When was the last time you told her?' I say bluntly, ignoring his protest.

He is taken aback, and his mouth works silently for a moment as if he'd formulate an answer if he could.

'I tell her,' he says at last, rather lamely to my way of thinking.

'Do you, now?' I say coolly.

He flushes at my scepticism. 'Of course I do!' he says. 'Every day... at least, every day that I see her... I've been away from Buckland for some days...'

'Do you say the words?' I insist.

'The words?' he blusters, and I sigh in exasperation.

'When was the last time you said, "I love you, Estella"!' I snap.

His mouth opens in surprise, and a moment later he says, 'I...'

'Well?' I say, planting my hands upon my hips. I'd tap my foot to show my impatience, but I'm weary.

'She knows that I love her,' he says at last.

'Does she?' I challenge. 'Do you tell her? Or do you take her for granted, expect her to somehow divine your love from your actions?'

His blush tells me that I have hit close to home. 'She knows...' he says again.

I shake my head slowly.

'She...' he says again.

'In your worry over your cousin, you've been neglecting your beloved,' I say. 'She has loved you from her beginning, but you loved another...'

A sharp intake of breath, as if I have struck him in his abdomen with my fist.

'She's always had what was left over,' I say softly. 'Left over from Ruby, who died...'

'No,' he whispers, pained.

'Left over from Pippin, who nearly died...'

He shakes his head, half turns from me, but the hobbit is nothing if not courageous. He turns back. 'Why do you say this?' he whispers. 'Why would you...?'

'Because it's true,' I say. 'Many's the heart I've listened to, and some I can fix with a draught or some sage advice, and some stutter and come to a stop even while I'm listening...'

'But I do,' he says, a little louder. 'I love her, more than my own life; she is my life...'

'Then tell her,' I say, but just then there is a tap at the door; Fennel has arrived with the sleeping draught, and my beloved with him, and in another moment Estella returns and breathlessly announces that breakfast is on its way.

'See that he drinks the whole draught after his breakfast,' I tell her.

'I will!' she says, raising her chin to show her determination, but he draws her to his side and drops a kiss on her hair.

'No use resisting, I suppose,' he says lightly.

'No use at all!' she says, laughing up at him. He looks to me, and I see the tears spring to his eyes. He as quickly blinks them away, before Estella should notice.

'Thank you,' he says.

'Yes,' Estella says. 'Thank you for all you've done.'

I smile, my beloved's hand slips around my waist, he tugs me towards the door, I make my excuses. 'Eat well, sleep tight,' I say.

'And you as well,' Merry says as he closes the door behind us.

Chapter 39. A Matter of Business

When Pippin awakened, he made a beeline for the study, Lop at his heels, though the sheepdog sat obediently enough when Pippin ordered him to stay in the hallway.

Thus warned, Bilbo swung around to greet the youngster. 'Well then, laddie,' he said, affecting the Tookish lilt that he remembered from his mother. He patted his knee, and Pippin confidently climbed into Bilbo's lap, rummaging in the drawer where he knew Bilbo kept a few sweets.

Bilbo undid the wrapping and waited until the sweet was popped into the little mouth, and then he said, 'So, Master Pippin, what is it, that brings you here to Bag End? Your father said in his letter that you wished to see me most urgently, on an important matter, but that you wouldn't tell him what it was all about!'

Pippin moved the sweet to his cheek and studied Bilbo with wide eyes. 'You're not s'posed to talk about business on the day someone arrives,' he said.

'Well, well,' Bilbo said heartily, 'what's a little business between friends?' Using his most coaxing tone, he added, 'I'm sure I don't mind hearing your business now, even though you've just arrived.' As Pippin started to protest, he raised a hand. 'I know, I know, "what's proper" and all that, but we're not Sackville-Bagginses to stand on ceremony, are we?'

Pippin earnestly shook his head.

'Well then,' Bilbo said in his most winning tones, 'now that we've put that out of the way... what brings you to my doorstep, young Pippin? I'm about to burst with curiosity.'

'I wouldn't want you to burst!' Pippin said in horror, and looked as if he were about to cry.

It took some reassuring and another sweet, but finally Pippin was persuaded that he would not be intolerably rude, to bring up his business here and now and not have to "sleep on it" and wait until the morning, as is hobbit custom.

'Just a moment,' he said, slipping down from Bilbo's knee. He left the study, ordering the sheepdog to stay. Lop and Bilbo stared solemnly at each other, awaiting his return.

'I don't suppose you know what all this is about?' Bilbo said.

Lop put his head on his paws and sighed.

'I thought not.'

Pippin returned with the cloth-wrapped bundle he'd laid safely under the bench by the front door, to await the proper time of unveiling.

'What's this?' Bilbo said, eyebrows rising as the young hobbit carefully placed the bundle in his lap with a faint chinking noise.

'We'll need the Elf-glue,' Pippin said, watching Bilbo's fingers work at the series of firm knots he'd tied. He hadn't wanted the bundle to come undone and pieces of teapot fall out, doing more damage!

'Mmm,' Bilbo said, scarcely taking note of the youngster's words. At last he had the final knot undone, and he folded back the cloth to reveal the contents. 'What's this?' he repeated.

'I broke it,' Pippin said simply.

'I should say you did!' Bilbo agreed, lifting a shard for a careful look and setting it down again to look over the whole. 'A teapot, was it?'

Pippin nodded. 'I have to fix it!' he said. 'She was weeping, she was!'

'I can imagine,' Bilbo said, stirring the remnants of the shattered pot with a finger. Looking up, he said, 'Glue? I'm afraid glue cannot mend this sorrow.'

'The Elf-glue!' Pippin insisted.

'Elf-glue?' Bilbo echoed, bemused. 'Where did you hear of Elf-glue, lad?'

Pippin huffed an exasperated sigh. 'When Nell broke the teacup,' he reminded. 'When she tripped on my foot, walking back to her seat, and dropped her cup. Da looked O-so-grim, and Mama scolded, but you swooped her up in one hand and the cup in the other, sat her upon her chair, said, "Half a moment!" and left... O but Da was put out, he was, and he glowered at Nell from under his eyebrows for breaking a good china cup, that didn't even belong to us, which made it worse...'

Bilbo managed to interject into the earnest flow of words, ' 'Twas only a cup; as easy to break as a young hobbit's heart, though not half so important...'

Pippin broke into a bright smile. 'That's what you said!' he crowed. 'I remember! Though it was so very long ago...'

'Not all that long ago,' Bilbo murmured, for it had been just before spring planting started. Paladin had driven his family to Bywater Market, for his weary old plough had broken for the last time, unrepairable, and the best ploughs in the Shire were to be had in Bywater, or so it was said. Bilbo, hearing they were coming, invited them as a matter of course to stop over at Bag End, to stay the night before starting the daylong drive to Whittacres.

'And you brought the cup out, good as new! And told us all about the wondrous Elf-glue you had in the cupboard, that mended cracks and breaks so that you couldn't even see them...'

As a matter of fact, Bilbo had simply buried the shards of unfortunate cup in the dustbin, under a few crumpled papers, and taken down another cup from its hook, wiped any dust off with a cloth, and brought it to the parlour, presenting it with a flourish to Pimpernel and rejoicing to see a wondering smile replace the woebegone look. Eglantine's hand on her husband's arm had calmed Paladin, and after a significant glance between them, the parents had dropped the matter completely. It was all they could do, really, for it would have been unconscionably rude to pursue the matter.

'Elf-glue,' Bilbo echoed with a sinking feeling. He looked from the shattered teapot in his lap to the eager young face before him, and down again, fingering the shards. It had been a pretty teapot at one time, with a pattern of thistle flowers delicately hand-painted on the porcelain surface. A dim memory hovered, his mother cautioning him to be careful...

'Elf-glue!' Pippin insisted, dispelling the mists of memory.

'I'm that sorry, lad,' Bilbo said, though he hated to do it. Fetching a cup from a nearly inexhaustible supply (his great-grandmother's tea set would still accommodate a swarm of guests, even now, with half the set gone over the course of time due to the inevitable breakage that delicate china suffers) is a far cry from producing on demand a rare and valuable antique teapot. Staring into the trusting eyes lifted to his, he stumbled over his words a little. 'I'm... I'm afraid I'm fresh out of Elf-glue. Used the last of it a few days ago, and I'm not sure when I'll be making another journey to see the Elves.'

'Why, you just returned from seeing the Elves, Bilbo!' Frodo said from the door, laughing. 'Don't tell me you're off again!'

'But...' Pippin said, his little face crumpling in distress. 'But... she was weeping! And it was all my fault!'

'I'm sorry, lad,' Bilbo said again, and Frodo, instantly repentant in the face of his little cousin's tragic tone, hurried into the room to embrace Pippin, though he didn't know what the trouble was.

Bilbo gently folded the cloth over the shards and placed the whole on his desk. 'Robin's coming for supper,' he said, to change the subject, and standing up from his chair he lifted little Pippin into his arms. 'I'm going to need some help in cooking a supper suitable for a wandering conjuror! It's Sally's half-day, you see, and just as well... I always send her off to her mother's when Gandalf pops up, for she's not easy around Big Folk. But that leaves me to do the cookery! I'm all at a loss! What do you suppose a wandering conjuror likes to eat, anyhow?'

Frodo followed the two to the kitchen, rather at a loss as to the nature of Pippin's difficulty, but ready to play along. Bilbo was perfectly competent in the kitchen. He employed Salsify for several reasons: Frodo, as a growing tween, was invariably hungry; Bilbo was used to spending long hours in his study, or being able to be off at a moment's notice; and Salsify's mother, a widow, had many mouths to feed, and the coin the lass brought home from her cooking and cleaning helped in that respect. However, the old hobbit often played at culinary incompetence when young hobbits were visiting, for it delighted them to tell him his business in the kitchen, and made them feel important as they helped to set the table and carry in the food.

This play, however, did not restore the youngest hobbit's spirits. Pippin was more dutiful than joyous in his assigned tasks, and it was Frodo that kept Bilbo from sugaring the soup, for the youngster hardly noticed. As a matter of fact, once or twice he brushed his sleeve across his eyes, hastily, in a furtive manner, and the two older hobbits exchanged troubled glances.

Pippin, however, put on a good face for the visitor when Robin reappeared at the door. The conjuror kept the conversation lively, with his tales of his travels, and of course Bilbo had much to tell as well, while Frodo and Pippin listened in wonder and delight, scarcely noticing what food was put before them (though the juicy roast, tender potatoes, honeyed carrots and thin-sliced cucumbers, with all the other accompaniments, disappeared from their plates just as magically as if Robin had conjured them away).

***

'Message!' one of the hired hobbits called, trotting up the lane in the late afternoon sunshine.

'A message!' Paladin said in alarm. What could have happened now? 'Quick, Tod, what's it about? Who brought it?'

'Someone I didn't know; he was in haste to return home,' Tod said, 'something about his mother's birthday, but he left this with me, for you, Dinny.' He extended a letter.

Paladin broke the seal on the spot, unfolded the missive, and perused it, giving a sigh of relief. 'It's from Bilbo,' he said, 'though I think it's young Frodo's handwriting. He says he's taken Pippin in hand, and will be bringing the lad home on the morrow.' He scratched his head. 'I didn't know Bilbo was visiting the Bankses, but I'm glad it worked out the way it did. Pippin was troubled in his mind and wanted to talk to the old hobbit anyhow.'

'Do you want me to go to the Bankses, to tell him not to come?' Tod said.

'No,' Paladin answered heavily. 'Truth be told, I was planning to summon the lad in the morning anyhow, to take his leave of his cousin. It didn't seem right, somehow, for him not to have the chance to see young Ferdi while he's still in this life.'

***

It was only after Frodo had shut up Lop in the stables ("He's not used to sleeping indoors," Pippin had told Bilbo earnestly. "Da doesn't hold with dogs indoors, and Lop might forget himself...") that, creeping past the best guest room where Bilbo had tucked up his little cousin before joining the visiting Man for brandy, the tween heard the sound of muffled weeping.

He eased the door open. 'Pip?' he whispered. Bilbo had read a good-night story, and after Pippin dropped off, left the lamp burning brightly for the sake of the little hobbit, so far from home and mother, in case he should waken and be frightened by the dark.

The weeping stopped. Only a lump in the middle of the bed showed that it was occupied.

Frodo stole into the room and drew back the covers, unearthing a small, tear-stained face. He sat down upon the bed and gathered the little one into his arms. 'What's it all about, Pip?' he whispered. 'Do you miss your mum? You'll be seeing her tomorrow, you know. Bilbo and I are going to take you home, and...'

Pippin buried his face in Frodo's shirt and began once more to weep. Frodo held him close, patting his back, unable to make out more than a broken phrase or two.

'My fault,' the little one sobbed. 'My fault... can't be mended...'

Frodo held tight the whole while his young cousin cried himself to sleep, and then drawing the covers over them both, he curled around Pippin, eventually falling into a troubled sleep of his own.

Bilbo, having said "good night" to his guest, saw them still snuggled close together in sleep when he checked on Pippin. He shook his head with a fond smile, lit the watch-lamp and blew out the bright lamp, and took himself off to bed.

Chapter 40. Interlude

I waken and stretch luxuriously, wondering when I have felt so well. Why, it is as if a dozen--even a score of years have fallen away! That ache in my left knee, now, and the nagging stiffness in my wrists and elbows that has plagued me upon awakening the past few years, these are gone. I take a deep breath, in the still, dark air, and wonder aloud at the time. But no one is there to answer me. No doubt my beloved is about his business, having left me to sleep myself out after watching me drink Fennel's draught.

I rise and dress and turn up the lamp from watch-lamp dim to full brightness. Looking in the mirror I see my face, as always, but I do not need to force a smile to hide the weariness that has haunted me these past anxious days. The weariness has fallen away and I am so fresh I feel I could run a race, or dance through the day and night at the very least.

'How long have I slept?' I wonder aloud, but leaving the bedroom and moving to the sitting room I am reassured by the clock on the mantle. Barely noon. A cold luncheon has been laid out for my benefit: sliced cold meats and cheese, breads, mixed fruits, pickled vegetables. I fall to with a will, delighting in taste, and in the feeling of hunger, and the pleasure of satisfying such... only to pull myself up short. Noon of what day? I wonder. Is it possible... Did I sleep more than those few hours? Did I sleep, instead, into tomorrow? And what has happened in the meantime?

But the diary on the desk is turned to today's date, and my beloved has made note of this morning's happenings, and no more. According to the diary, he is at this moment in Tuckborough, meeting with the head of the weavers' guild, negotiating next year's blankets and bolts of fabric for the Great Smials.

I go back to my meal and finish, eating all that was laid out, without any effort on my part, and blessing my beloved for his hopefulness, expressed in generous portions.

Mayor and Master ought to be asleep, still; they ought to sleep until teatime, wakening in time to eat a light meal and have a bath in preparation for the grand feast the Tooks intend to welcome Mayor and Mistress Gamgee back from the Southlands.

I might go to the infirmary, to check on things there that I have neglected of late, but I have trained a competent staff over the years. There is really nothing for it but to go back to the Thain's quarters, just to put my head in at the door, to see if there has been any change. Yet Diamond would no doubt have sent a message to me, to be left upon the table for me to discover upon awakening, if I were needed. If it were urgent enough, no doubt Fennel would have shaken me awake, draught or no.

And so I go off to the Thain's quarters. The corridors are nearly deserted, for everyone is likely at luncheon in the great room or in the middle of preparations for the grand feast.

Tolibold, head of the Thain's escort, opens the door to the Thain's suite for me, his face expressionless. 'Is there any news?' I ask.

'I thought you'd be the one to tell me,' he mutters.

I smile and pat his arm. 'I've been asleep,' I say. 'My assistant saw fit to give me a sleeping draught.'

He snorts. 'Healers,' he says, shaking his head. 'Can't be trusted.'

I laugh. 'Indeed not!' I agree.

He gives me an odd look, but for the life of me I cannot seem to wipe the smile from my face.

Sandy greets me gravely as I enter the receiving room. 'All's quiet,' he says. 'The Mistress is in the nursery, at luncheon with the children.' He lowers his voice and adds, 'They're having a picnic on the nursery floor, I believe.'

'As good a place as any for a picnic, on a rainy day,' I say cheerily. 'And the Thain?'

'Still asleep,' Sandy says. 'The chancellor is sitting with him at the moment.'

'Ferdibrand? And what of Fennel?'

'He told me you'd given the order, "No healers",' Sandy says with a questioning look. 'Mistress Diamond sat with Thain Peregrin all through the morning, until Ferdi arrived and told her to go and have luncheon with the children, that they might not grow too anxious.'

I nod. 'Very good, Sandy. I'll just look in...'

The hobbitservant gives a sigh of relief. 'Thank you, Woodruff,' he says. 'I'd be that obliged if you did.'

I have the distinct impression that the hobbit thinks I am neglecting my duty, though I doubt he would ever say so, in so many words. He expresses himself more eloquently with a look and a raised eyebrow than any other hobbit I know, save perhaps Reginard. It is obvious to me that Sandy cannot understand why I would not dance attendance upon the Thain until that hobbit either gives up the ghost or rises, healed, from his deathbed.

I suppose I ought to be annoyed. But instead I am touched by his devotion to his master. I think if it had been Pippin, who'd walked into the Fire... the Thain talks in his sleep, and I've learned much more than the average Took about his time in the Outlands. The average Took would hardly believe the story, were I to indulge in gossip, I'm afraid. I scarcely believe it myself. And yet, a sleeper does not tell falsehood...

In any event, if Pippin had been the one to walk into the Fire, to destroy That which threatened all we Shire-folk hold dear, I firmly believe that Sandy would have been behind him every step of the way, or at his side, or even, at the last stretch, carrying his master up that desolate slope. An excellent hobbit is Sandy, though he'd never allow himself to think he was better than any other.

'Will you be sitting with him now?' Sandy asks. It is not a question, really, so much as a subtle reminder to do my duty as he sees it.

I ought to be annoyed. But I only say, mildly, 'I'm just going to look in on him, to see if there's any change.'

And still I cannot seem to keep from smiling.

Chapter 41. Breakfast Surprise

Robin Tallfellow awakened before the dawning, as he usually did, but this morning was not usual... he stretched, wondering at the softness of his bed. Of course, once his eyes popped open and he saw the stars peeping in through a round window, rather than directly overhead, he remembered.

It had been so long since he'd slept in a bed--months!

Every autumn, as the weather turned chilly and rainy, he'd make his way to Bree, where Hopman Butterbur would give him a place to sleep and regular meals, in return for his labour. Conjuror's tricks weren't wanted at the Pony, but rather strong arm and strong back and quick wits. Robin would turn his hand to anything: stable mucking, harness mending, wood chopping, roof repairs, even cooking. After several years of this arrangement, in which Robin proved himself satisfactory and trustworthy, Old Butterbur even left the wanderer and his son Barliman in charge of breakfast for the Prancing Pony's guests, snatching a few extra winks after long years of lingering late with those guests who did not seem inclined to seek their beds, and rising early to tend those who wanted breakfast before an early start.

Robin would stay through the winter months, snug as a bear in his bed at night, until the promise of spring came wafting in through his window. He'd give his notice, and not long after, he'd slip away before the dawning, out the Gate, walking Westward, back to the Shire he loved.

Bag End was quiet... Robin rose from his bed and dressed, then pushed his door open to listen. He could hear soft snores from one of the other bedrooms, no doubt his excellent host. Well now, he was up before the household, it seemed.

He had packed up his things last night before retiring, and now, taking up rucksack in one hand and boots in the other, he crept very softly along to the kitchen. He would thank his host by cooking up a proper Prancing Pony breakfast, he would!

He had lived among hobbits long enough to know something of their ways, and so it was short work for him to build up the fire and locate the necessary ingredients in the near pantry. He was used to working at a crouch when in a hobbit hole, and so it was no trouble at all to set the table and stir up a feast. As the sun began to brighten the sky the wakening sleepers were greeted by wondrous smells: bread toasting, bacon crisping, eggs frying, and apple pockets baking.

Robin had warmed the teapot and was measuring tea into the pot as Bilbo appeared in the kitchen doorway. 'Good morning!' the Man said cheerily.

Bilbo blinked. 'What's all this?' he said.

'Breakfast!' Robin answered, gesturing to the table laden with good things. 'Everything's just about ready.'

'Where did you...' Bilbo said, his sleepy gaze sharpening as it fixed on the teapot Robin was filling.

'Ah, it was on a shelf, right at eye-level,' Robin said. 'I couldn't help seeing it. I've seen many like it, in Tookish smials--many's the time I've been asked in to tea, and the tea was poured out of a pot just like this one! There must have been a peddler with a waggonload of these pots who came through the Shire upon a time.'

'Indeed,' Bilbo said, and now he realised why Pippin's shards had stirred old memory. His mother had bought a teapot from a peddler wandering through Tookland, or rather, the Old Took, taken with the thistle design, had bought teapots for his wife and each of his daughters. The peddler had been well-pleased, for when the Thain's appreciation became known, he'd sold all the remainder of his thistle-flowered pots in short order!

The teapot had sat on the highest shelf in the pantry for a dog's age, all but forgotten by Bilbo, though Salsify climbed a step stool every month, to wash and polish all the pieces on the high shelves, just in case they might be wanted.

Before he could say anything, however, he felt a little hand clutch at him, and Pippin was there, staring wide-eyed at the teapot as the Man poured in the steaming water.

'How...?' the little hobbit breathed, and then he flung his arms about Bilbo in an ecstasy of delight. 'You found it! You found some Elf-glue after all! You mended the teapot!'

'I...' Bilbo said, his arms automatically going around the youngster to return the hug. And then straightening, he said, 'Actually, it was Robin who conjured it.'

'Robin!' the little lad said, running to hug the kneeling Man. Robin hastily put the teakettle down and, mystified, looked at Bilbo.

'The pot that was broken has been mended,' Bilbo said, his gaze boring into the Man. They'd talked over brandy about Pippin's purpose, his determination, and Bilbo's regret, and Robin had been a sympathetic listener. 'Ah, if only all our ills were so easily mended,' had been one of his comments.

He had not seen the broken remains; Bilbo had bundled them into his desk, intending to take them down to the jumble shop later, to look for something similar amongst the random offerings there.

'Mended!' Robin said in surprise, and then he seemed to catch on. 'I see...' he said slowly. 'That wondrous Elf-glue you were telling me about...'

'No,' Bilbo said, for he wasn't going to encourage more wanderings on Pippin's part, should the lad have mishaps with more breakables in future. 'No, I don't have any more Elf-glue, and I’m not sure when I'll be able to get any more. That's why I'm so grateful to you for conjuring a new pot as you did, pulling it out of your cap. A marvellous cap it is, to produce rabbits, and teapots the way it does!'

After all, it seemed unlikely that Pippin would go out in search of a wandering conjuror, to mend his troubles in future.

'Marvellous!' Pippin echoed, adding excitedly, 'What else can you pull out of it?'

'Naught, I'm afraid,' Robin said promptly. 'My poor cap is quite exhausted from its endeavours. I fear it will need some days of rest before it conjures aught else.' He brought his hands together with a clap and rubbed them vigorously. 'But our breakfast will go cold!' he said, changing the subject. 'Shall we...?'

'Pippin-lad,' Bilbo said, 'Go and wake your sleepy-headed cousin. I should hate for him to miss this feast! Why, it puts me in mind of a morning at the Prancing Pony in Bree...'

***

Of all the hobbits at Whittacres, young Ferdi, perhaps, had the most restful night. All slept uneasily, and Ferdinand slept not at all, watching by his son. Rosemary refused to be sent to bed, but when she fell asleep on her chair, her father picked her up and laid her gently down on a pallet Eglantine had fixed for Ferdinand, that he might take his rest while watching with his son, for he could not bring himself to carry her out of the room to the bed she shared with Pimpernel while they were visiting, he could not bring himself to leave young Ferdi alone even for a heartbeat. There beside the bed he brooded, watching his children sleep and thinking of how his wife would take the news.

He didn't want breakfast, when the time came, but Woodruff persuaded him that he must keep up his strength.

And poor young Ferdi--how was he to keep up his strength, with naught but sips of boiled water in his brief awakenings? But still Woodruff held fast, refusing the young hobbit any other sustenance, for in her memory was a nightmare vision of a young hobbit with internal injuries, writhing in agony after eating, and going to his death in torment. It had been her mistake, allowing the lad to eat when he insisted he was feeling better... and her Mistress at the time, old Rosie, had never let her forget her error, nor the consequences that followed.

***

Bilbo had planned to hire a sleek two-wheeled cart and ponies for the journey to Whittacres, and the hobbits and their guest walked together down the Hill to the livery in Hobbiton. 'I could hire a waggon, I suppose,' Bilbo said, looking up at Robin. 'You could ride along with us as far as Waymoot...'

Robin laughed. 'Imagine the sight!' he said. 'Me, with my long legs, in a hobbit waggon! Now that would be an entertainment, indeed!' He hefted his pack onto his shoulders, comfortably heavy with comestibles. 'No,' he added. 'You go on. I'm sure you'll be wanting to make haste, to return the lad to his anxious mother!' He touched his cap, shook hands all around, and turned towards the great East Road, waving a hand to acknowledge their farewells.

They had been driving half an hour or so, the ponies were trotting along, the wheels spinning pleasantly, and the hobbits were singing when two fast riders swept around them, leaving them in a cloud of dust.

'I say,' Bilbo said, startled. 'If I didn't know better, I'd think that was Stelliana Took! But who'd think to see that prim and proper hobbit riding astride with her hair streaming behind her?'

'Well, the Tooks from the Green Hills might ride so...' Frodo said. 'I've seen Pearl on a pony, her curls wild and blowing as she ran her pony at a fence...'

'My Pearl?' Pippin said in wonder.

Frodo smiled and squeezed his small cousin. 'The very same,' he said. 'O' course, your mother doesn't let her run so wild any more, now that she's all grown up...'

'She's not grown up! She's but a tween!' Pippin said, indignant.

'In any event,' Frodo said, 'your grandmother Banks saw us riding races, and it wasn't long after that, your sister wasn't allowed anymore.'

'She'd probably heard that Pearl was running with one of the worst young rascals of Buckland,' Bilbo said, 'and of course, she worried that Pearl's reputation might be ruined, and she might never find a proper husband.'

'Guess I'd have to marry her myself, then,' Frodo said lightly, and Pippin choked.

Bilbo laughed. 'You just might!' he said, 'and then you'd have the little brother you always wanted, since leaving Merry behind at Buckland!'

'O yes!' Pippin cried.

'I was only joking!' Frodo protested, and Bilbo laughed again.

'Be careful what you joke about,' he said. 'It might just come true!'

Chapter 42. Interlude

The little sitting room is dark and filled with shadows, a solitary lamp turned low, that the sleeper in the bedroom might not be disturbed by bright light spilling through the doorway. And so Ferdi doesn't see me as I pause to look in. There is something to the quality of his voice that makes me hesitate on the threshold; a private moment between the cousins that somehow I am loath to interrupt.

He sits by the bed, turning something over in his hands as he tells of the morning's work, his eyes never leaving his cousin's face. I watch them: Thain and his successor--for though he's been named regent, Ferdi has a good twenty years before Faramir is old enough to be Thain.

'...and so that matter was taken care of,' he says softly, and sighs. 'I say, Pip, I don't know how you do it, day after day, smiling that smile of yours, and the twinkle never leaves your eye... well, seldom, anyhow. Hobbits are such stubborn, silly creatures! Sometimes I think it would do more good to knock their heads together, to get them to see some sense, as to talk myself hoarse.'

He looks down at his hands, and then up again. 'O' course, they have to listen to the Thain... but the Thain has to live up to their expectations, as well, doesn't he? Turn over their words, fit the pieces together, find a solution that's fair to all... Did ye learn it from that King-friend of yours? For Paladin, he always chose the solution that brought the most profit to the Tooks. No one grumbled, no one dared grumble, after you left the Tookland to become a Bucklander, and they saw how hard and cold he became. But there were hard feelings amongst the Tooklanders that weren't Tooks. They couldn't say much. He'd kept them safe through the Troubles, kept the ruffians away. But you...'

Ferdi leans forward, staring earnestly into his cousin's face. 'In your short time as Thain, you've gained a reputation for fairness, for finding a solution that favours none above another, and yet all live with it, even though none might rejoice in it. You can be hard when need be, but not so hard that we break against you... And the times you take the sting from your words with a well-turned jest. Or bring a smile, even a cheer with the wisdom of your decisions! You build folk up; you do not cut them down. How do I...?'

He leans forward yet more as Pippin takes a deep breath--a deep breath! Not the half-breaths he's taken for years, all that his ruined lungs would allow--and murmurs in his sleep, and then turns slightly on the pillow, settling again to silence and steady breathing.

'Well then, the last case to be judged were two neighbours who'd let a fence get into disrepair. The cow belonging to the one got into the other's garden, and though there's not much more than strawberries and spring greens at the moment, what a mess was made! I think you'd approve of my solution... I told them they must work together to repair the fence, and until it was repaired, the owner of the cow must bring a bucket of milk and another of salad greens to his neighbour daily, and for another week after the repair was finished. So the injured party will have greens and milk that came from the eating of his garden, for a week! For don't you know, the cow's owner will have that fence solid and sturdy by the day's end, if not before...'

He chuckles a little, and then regards his cousin wistfully. 'You are looking better,' he says slowly. 'It's not just my fancy running wild...?'

He takes his cousin's hand between his own. 'I honestly do not know how you manage it,' he says. 'Twenty years...! I think I might be able, with Regi's help. You were wise in that... he's not cut out of the right cloth to be Thain... he'd wear thin pretty quick, I'm thinking... but myself! You'd trust a wild Took like me, to take the reins, to guide the plough? You are a fool, Pip, a fool indeed, to think... and yet you know your hobbits. You know how I love the Tookland, how I nearly died for her, and you know I'll do my poor best for her and for her folk.' He bows his head for a long and silent moment.

When he raises his head and speaks once more, his voice sounds choked. 'But I won't take it on before it is time, cousin. While there's breath, there's life, they say, and you'll be Thain so long as you are breathing... you cannot pass it on so easily. You're the best hobbit for the job, as we've all seen...'

He rises from his seat and I pull back into the sitting room, not wanting him to see I've been eavesdropping.

He is still standing by the bed, looking down at its peaceful occupant as I bustle quietly into the room. 'Ferdibrand,' I say. 'How is he?'

'You're the healer,' he says, his expression wary. He has never trusted healers, not since his early years. 'You tell me.'

He watches as I take up one of the wrists in my hand, looks closely into my face as I count the heartbeats, as I watch the rise and fall of the chest.

I sense that he is holding himself tightly in check; Ferdi, hunter that he was for years, would rather be tramping under the open sky than enclosed within these walls. Impulsive and impatient when dealing with other hobbits, at least the grown ones, yet he has learned over the years to control his impulses, to direct his energy into productive pursuits. At last he cannot wait any longer; with a sharp intake of breath he says, 'Well?'

As for myself, I am flabbergasted. The hand I am holding is solid in my grip, no longer skin stretched thin over brittle bone, but substantial, meaty. I look to the face, cheeks no longer gaunt, eyes no longer sunken. I have seen wasted hobbits fill out after death, or just before, as their bodies fail them and the flesh puffs with retained fluids, a mockery of their former substance.

But this is not that, if you take my meaning. Nor has the Thain had any sustenance to speak of, not that I know of, anyhow.

'Has he eaten?' I blurt. Not that one meal would make this sort of difference.

'What are you about?' Ferdi says, stirred to annoyance. 'He's been asleep since you left him!'

Has he somehow taken nourishment from the very air? There is no sense to it, but I can think of no explanation that makes sense.

'Never mind,' I say. 'I meant to say, he'll likely be hungry when he wakens, and as he's slept the morning away, I'd expect him to waken at any time. Why don't you go and tell Sandy to order a good breakfast for the Thain.'

'A good breakfast?' Ferdi whispers, and I hear the hope in his voice.

'Aye,' I say. 'He can cover the plate and put a warming candle under it...' But Ferdi is gone before I finish the sentiment.

Only then do I notice the heavy ring on the hand that I am holding.

Chapter 43. A Drink with Jam and Bread

It is about thirty miles from Hobbiton to Whitwell, give or take a few, and of course Whittacres farm is to the north of Whitwell, on the road to Waymoot, so the cart had rather less than thirty miles to travel. The ponies were fast, and suited to trot the day long, and since there was just room for Lop to ride at the hobbits' feet, they didn't have to worry about him keeping up, what with his new-healed paw. They ate second breakfast and elevenses in the cart, but even with a stop for luncheon at the Brass Farthing in Waymoot, Bilbo and the lads were well in time for tea as the ponies turned off the road and onto the long farm lane.

Of course Lop had been missed. The chewed rope was much-exclaimed over by the hired hobbit who came out of the byre to greet them, and the dog was in for a good scolding, or would have been, had he not jumped down from the cart and remained in Pippin's company.

'So there you are, you scoundrel!' one of the hired hobbits said. 'Followed young Pip, did you? What're you doin', gallivantin' all o'er the countryside when you're supposed to be restin' that-there foot o' yourn?' He was righter than he knew; he thought the dog had followed the lad to the Bankses' farm, and had he known the truth of the matter he'd have been horrified.

Lop rested his shaggy head on Pippin's shoulder, and the lad reached up to fondle a silky ear as the stream of words continued. 'Good Lop,' he whispered, and the dog sighed gustily.

'Now then, Dack,' Bilbo said, interrupting the scolding, 'Where's Paladin? Did he get my message?'

'Truth be told, he expected you earlier, sir,' the hired hobbit said, snatching his hat belatedly from his head and giving a little bow to the visitors, 'and was going to send a message, but then, the family's been so upset...'

'I can only imagine,' Bilbo said, exchanging glances with Frodo.

'Not much of a tea to welcome you, I'm afraid, Mr. Bilbo,' Dack said, 'what with the lad dyin' and all...'

'Dying!' Bilbo and Frodo exclaimed together, with Pippin's squeak echoing close behind. 'What lad?' Bilbo said quickly, his hand tightening on Frodo's arm. Had something happened to Merry...?

Dack unhappily twisted his hat in his hands. 'That's right, sir,' he said, and gulped. 'I'd forgot that the news might not've spread far, though I imagined everyone knew about it, what with the healer not leavin' the lad's side these past two days...'

'What lad?' Bilbo repeated, stronger.

'Young Ferdi,' Dack said. 'Fell outen a tree, trying to help young Master Brandybuck down when he got stuck up, and...'

Pippin gave a small, distressed chirp, and Lop gently licked his ear in an attempt at comfort.

'Come along, Frodo,' Bilbo said, turning towards the smial. 'Merry must be quite beside himself, and Dinny and Stellie as well... That was Stelliana we saw, riding as if the white wolves were after her, I'm sure of it now...' Turning back to the hired hobbit, he said, 'Thank you, Dack.'

Dack put his cap back on his head and pulled at the brim, then took up Lop's rope. 'Go on in, young Pip, and greet your parents. And you, sir,' he said to the dog, giving a tug on the rope, 'you're for the sheep on the morrow, so you had better take some rest while you may...'

At the lovely word "sheep" the dog stopped straining after his young master and looked up at the hired hobbit with an eager wag of his tail, his eyes dancing with delight. Despite the gravity of the situation, a small smile quirked the corners of Dack's mouth and he reached down to rub at the lop-leaning ear. 'You auld terror,' he said. 'Good thing you're fit enough to work the sheep tomorrow... keep you out of all sorts of trouble, I'd say...'

They walked into the kitchen, to a family sitting at tea that was little more than drink with bread and jam, and at that, no one seemed to be eating or drinking.

Paladin jumped to his feet. 'Bilbo!' he said. 'I meant to send a message...'

'I heard the news,' Bilbo said, waving the rest to stay seated.

Eglantine came in, carrying a tray of bread and jam, meant for those watching in the sickroom, but for the fact that Woodruff had sent her away again. The healer was still denying young Ferdi anything but sips of water, and did not want to torture the teen with the sight and smell of food. Eglantine stopped short in consternation at seeing Bilbo. 'Oh!' she said uncertainly. 'We weren't expecting...' She looked at the table, and back to her visitor, gulped, and added, 'Half a moment, and we'll have things set up properly...'

'No need to sit in the parlour or the dining room for that matter, on our account,' Bilbo said firmly, moving to take the tray from Eglantine. He laid the platter of bread and jam on the table and dealt out three of the plates, saucers, cups, spoons and knives before setting the tray aside. 'There!' he said, and bowed to Paladin. 'We thank you for your hospitality, Dinny.' His nostrils widened as he inhaled, deeply and with obvious appreciation. 'Mmmm,' he said with a blissful expression, though carefully not looking at Eglantine--that would be overdoing it, he deemed, 'fresh-baked bread and homemade strawberry preserves... what a feast for an old bachelor like me! Frodo, I ought to bring you here oftener--fatten you up a bit!' To his satisfaction, out of the corner of his eye, as he took his seat Bilbo saw some of the tension go out of Eglantine.

Frodo bowed hastily and sat himself down beside Bilbo, and Pippin took his place.

Giving in to the inevitable, Eglantine poured tea into their cups and said to Pippin, affecting cheer, 'Did you have a nice visit, dear?'

The sight of food had put worry out of his young head for the moment. Mouth full of jam sandwiches, not seeming to notice that no one else was eating, Pippin enthused, 'Wonderful! Mmph... There was a conjurer! And he pulled a teapot from his hat!'

'That's the Bankses all over again,' Paladin said, taking a sip of his tea. 'Feeding wanderers at the kitchen door... the word's gone round, and who knows what sort of undesirable folk might be hanging about...'

Merry sat beside Eglantine, his eyes on his plate. He'd looked up briefly when Frodo had entered, but spoke no greeting. Even when Frodo kicked him under the table, he remained buried in guilt and grief. Bilbo, noticing, touched Frodo's arm and shook his head ever so slightly. Here at table was not the time to deal with it. Afterwards, now...

'Stelliana's here?' Bilbo said, directing the conversation.

'Yes, she and "Old Ferdibrand" arrived earlier,' Esmeralda said. 'They rode like the wind, to get here from Bridgefields so quickly.'

'We saw them on the road,' Bilbo said.

A younger version of Ferdinand entered, then... his younger brother, for whom he'd named his son. "Old Ferdi", he was called, and Ferdinand's son was called "Young Ferdi", and the nephew copied his uncle in everything: laughter, jest, song and lightness of heart. However, "Old Ferdi" was not light of heart at this moment; in fact, he was so subdued as to be nearly unrecognisable. Trainer of ponies like his brother, and a stickler for their "proper use", he'd pushed his mount and Stelliana's to their limits, racing to Young Ferdi's bedside. For all the good it would do... They'd raced the wind to reach Whittacres, and now all they could do was sit by and listen to the slow ticks of the clock as his precious nephew slipped away.

'More boiled water,' he said quietly, and Eglantine hurried to fill the pitcher he bore.

'How is the lad?' Bilbo asked him.

"Old Ferdi" shook his head, and the glimmer of tears shone in his eyes.

Chapter 44. Interlude

Some time later Sandy peeps in. 'The Thain's breakfast...' he murmurs. Though his face is characteristically bland, his eyes shine with hope.

I nod with a smile. Evidently, though I have heard nothing but the Thain's soft breathing, a plate is now keeping warm in the little sitting room, ready for me to fetch at a moment's notice should Pippin show any signs of wakening. 'Very good, Sandy,' I whisper. 'Go on about your duties; I'm sure there's a great deal to be done before the feast.'

The hobbitservant nods and withdraws. At one point he glides into the room to refresh the water in the ewer, to lay a pristine bar of soap upon a flannel, to hang up a fresh towel. The Thain will be wakening, after all, for the Healer has said it would be so. Though Diamond is practically a Brandybuck, for her love of water--that is, water hot within the confines of a tub--Pippin prefers, on rising, to wash and dress quickly, to jump into the day. Or at least, he used to...

Fennel stops in to apprise me of happenings in the infirmary. I am not at all pleased by his assessment of the Thain's situation. He seems to think the Ent-draught has plunged Pippin into a deep sleep, from which he'll pass quietly, dreaming, into death. 'At least it has brought him a peaceful end, after the storm,' he says gloomily, staring down into the quiet face.

'It has brought him healing,' I insist, but he only shakes his head sadly. 'You've not let your opinions be aired in the tunnels of the Smials?' I say in alarm.

'I know better,' he says, straightening, and reassured, I nod.

'I certainly hope you do,' I say.

Fennel takes his leave as Diamond comes in to say the twins are asleep and Farry is at his riding lesson, though he would have preferred to be at his father's side. 'I must make ready for the feast,' she says, sitting down a moment on the bed and brushing a wayward lock from the smooth and peaceful forehead. Belying her words, she sighs and lays her head beside her husband's.

 'Yes, you must,' I affirm, and rise from my chair. No healers, I remind myself. I will go and order a bath for the Mistress... eventually... and until then they will have some quiet and peaceful time alone together.

Sandy has laid out an enormous tea on the sideboard of the little sitting room. I don't know what he thinks he's about, for surely one healer cannot manage even a tithe of the food on the platters. Perhaps he thinks the Thain will awaken ravenous, from his long fast, and devour the whole. I fill a plate for myself, sandwiches to start, I think, and teacakes to follow. I pour a cup of tea from the pot on its warmer, and sit down for a leisurely meal.

And so the time passes. When Farry's lessons are finished, he returns to take tea and then to bathe for the feast (though I'm sure he'd rather take the tea and leave the bathing). The twins awaken and are brought to their mother to take tea with her--how sweet their little voices, as they so earnestly try to "hush" for their da's sake. And I peep in to see the Thain smiling in his sleep to hear them, but he does not waken.

Master Merry comes in--I hear his brisk step approaching the little sitting room, but seeing me taking my tea at the table there, he stops. 'Has he wakened?' he says eagerly, craning beyond me to the shadowy bedroom beyond.

'He is peacefully sleeping,' I say.

'Resting comfortably?' he counters, one corner of his mouth lifting wryly.

'I should hope so,' I say, 'but peacefully sleeping at the least. I haven't heard so much as a murmur.' Our Thain talks in his sleep, but I've heard nothing from the bedroom for some time. I take a sip from my cup and rise, walking softly to the bedroom doorway. I smile at the sight. Diamond and the twins have fallen asleep, the whole family (even Farry, who is fresh from the bath) cuddled together much as they were yesterday at this time, their soft breathing mingled in the resting silence.

I do not hear Merry come up behind me, but I feel his hand rest on my shoulder as he looks in. 'You see?' I whisper. 'All is well.' I turn from the doorway, pushing him before me. 'Have you had your tea?' I say.

He shakes his head, and so I make him sit himself down, and I serve him and stand over him until he picks up the serviette, shakes it out and puts it in his lap. 'The food will go better if you sit with me rather than stand over me,' he says, and I nod and take my place, and third helpings.

Merry is halfway through eating when the Mayor appears, looking much the worse for wear. I know that he slept, under the draught, but the sleep was evidently not peaceful. I lead him to the bedroom door, let him gaze upon the sweetly sleeping little group, and lead him to the table. 'Tea,' I say firmly, and I will not take "No" for an answer.

Merry talks quietly, encouragingly, but Samwise, stubborn hobbit that he is, will take no comfort. He'll admit, at least, that the Thain has not died as expected, but it is clear that it will be a long time before he forgives himself for being the agent of last night's torment. Pippin knows how to talk him round, and I can only hope I am right, and the Thain will waken again, and not simply slip away in his sleep, as Fennel thinks he will.

Merry and I ply Sam with food and tea, but it is a relief to me, at last, to send them both off. 'It would be a shame for the Mayor to be late for his own welcoming feast!' I say.

No sooner are they gone but Diamond and Farry emerge, each bearing one of the twins. Farry is arguing with his mother in a whisper--he does not want to go to the feast. He wants to stay by his father's side.

'Me 'tay!' little Merigrin lisps, and Diamond says to her oldest, 'Now see what you've done! Of course we must be at the feast, to welcome Mayor Sam and Mistress Rose back again! They've been gone a year, and we must not neglect...'

I know that fretful tone; it is common in a mother expecting who has gone too long without eating, and so I take Merigrin from his mother and guide Diamond to the table, blessing Sandy for the enormous tea he had laid out. Somehow he has anticipated any number of hobbits and their particular likings--apple tarts for Master Merry, currant scones for the Mayor, the cream scones that the Mistress favours, sweet-cheese-mixed-with-jam for the twins, not to mention the sandwiches with cold chicken or potted ham or cheese and bacon or cucumbers or any number of other fillings. There is even seedcake, beloved of the Thain, a silent testimony to the hobbit's faith in his master's recovery. 'Eat, Mistress,' I say.

Farry and I take care of the twins' nappies and bring them back to the little sitting room, dry and freshly clad. I balance Merigrin on my hip and fill a plate for him, choosing each item as he points to it, and then I sit down at table with the tot in my lap and enjoy watching him feast. Farry does the same with his little sister.

Diamond eats heartily, and I smile to see her appetite, and good temper, restored. She, too, is feeling hopeful.

Sandy enters to say that the Mistress' bath is ready, and Farry takes the twins off to play until it is time to take them to the feast. Sandy raises his eyebrow at me as if to say someone ought to be sitting at the Thain's bedside, and I smile sweetly.

'Yes, really, Woodruff, if you'd sit with him for me,' Diamond says, echoing the hobbitservant's unspoken thought.

The Thain has made it clear over the years that the least desire expressed by the Mistress is to be granted. Diamond's request for me to sit with Pippin comes from higher authority, so far as Pippin is concerned, than his request to be left alone. And so I smile and say, 'Of course, Mistress.'

Pippin has moved down in the bed so that he is no longer propped with pillows, and he has turned so that he is sleeping on his side, and yet his breathing continues deep and even.

Rather than perching on one of the watchers' chairs beside the bed, I settle in the comfortable overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, drawing the footrest conveniently near, putting my feet up and my head back. If he wakens and speaks, I'll hear him at once. I shall just close my eyes for a moment...

I waken to a murmur, and am immediately alert, though looking to the bed I see Merry sitting there, bent forward, talking to Pippin. He is talking over serious matters with his cousin... and Pippin is still asleep, I see. I settle back, not wanting to disturb the Master. I would get up and leave, but for the look on Merry's face. He is wrestling with some difficult issue... He has not even noticed me here, in the shadowy corner, and I do not wish to embarrass him by getting up and revealing my presence.

'...Sandy seems hopeful, and Diamond is calm--but she's been calm through all, Pippin, she's been a brick, standing solid though the mortar was crumbling all round. But Fennel... I had it out of him, why he was looking so... sombre. And if Fennel and Woodruff feel this way, and healers they are, knowing more of hobbits and healing than I; I'm no healer... And so... has it all been for naught?'

I nearly speak then, but am galvanized to hear Pippin speak.

'All for naught, Merry? Of course it is not naught. Or naught not. Or something to that effect...' He yawns widely and turns over on the pillow, to face his cousin, though his eyes close again as he gives a sigh.

Merry leans forward eagerly. 'Pippin?' he says, clutching at the hand he holds as a drowning hobbit might.

Pippin's eyes remain closed, and he says, 'I am so very sleepy, cousin. Just five more minutes, I implore you...'

Merry's eyes are brimming, but he smiles. 'Just as at Crickhollow,' he says, 'when I'd try to roust you out of your bed of a beautiful dawning.'

Pippin opens his eyes again, to say, 'You're not going to roll me out of the bed, are you, Cousin?' And he yawns widely once more.

Merry says, stumbling a little over the words, 'You... you sound quite yourself...'

'I'd like to know who else I'd be,' Pippin responds. He blinks and stares into Merry's face. 'So what is it you've done this time?'

It is Merry's turn to blink. 'Done?' he whispers.

'Or rather, not done,' Pippin says. 'You've that look about you.' He hikes himself up on his elbows, and Merry hastens to prop the pillows behind him, muttering that he ought to go and fetch Diamond.

'No you don't,' Pippin says, catching him by the sleeve. 'What is it you're kicking yourself over?' He squints sternly at his older cousin, and Merry, unable to disengage his grasp, sinks back into the watcher's chair, protesting that there's nothing, and it's all nonsense...

'You stayed away,' Pippin says at last, and I can see the arrow strike home. Merry stiffens, takes a sharp breath, and sits as if turned to stone.

'You stayed away,' Pippin says, sitting up a little more, staring at his cousin. 'You silly Brandybuck, did you think you'd keep me in the world a little longer, waiting to say good-bye?'

Merry swallows hard, but he is a hobbit of courage, though he'd never say so himself. 'I...' he says. 'I had the thought. I was relieved when the call came, to go to Buckland, truth be told...'

'How is Berilac, anyhow?' Pippin says, wandering for the moment.

'He has a good chance,' Merry said. 'It appears he's more stubborn than a bull.'

'I could have told you that,' Pippin says, and then brings himself back from the side trail, for it's evident that Merry is not about to leash his younger cousin's straying thoughts. 'You had the thought that I'd live longer, since I'd promised to wait for your return.'

Merry shakes his head, and I see the pent-up tears spill. He wipes at his eyes impatiently and says, 'I had the thought, yes, but I had little hope that you'd still be here on my return...'

'How little faith you have in me,' Pippin says in a light tone, but as Merry tries again to pull away, he recaptures his cousin's hand and gives it a pat. 'Steady, cousin,' he says, in the same tone he'd use to calm a startled pony.

'I knew, you were so very close to parting the curtain, to passing through, that when you once more saw my face or heard my voice, you would let go...' Merry says, the words wrung from him.

'And so you sent Sam in first,' Pippin says, in growing understanding. 'You knew I was but a breath away from dying, for they were already singing the song, and yet you gave up your chance for a last word...'

Merry bows his head.

Pippin yawns again, and I can see that he is fighting to stay awake, but his body is slowing, not answering to his will. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and he has difficulty suppressing a series of yawns, almost as if he's been given a sleeping draught.

'But don't you see, Merry?' he says at last, settling into the pillows without really noticing that sleep is encroaching. Merry's head remains bowed, and Pippin's hold on his hand tightens. 'Do you not see?' he says again, and adds, 'I owe you my life... once again.' His sleepy eyes open wide for a brief moment, filled with wonder. 'I wouldn't be here,' he continues, 'if you had not sent Sam in first, do you realise? I was holding on with all I had, but my grip was slipping. The dark waters were rising about me, and I could do nothing to keep from drowning. I was so very weary, Merry, so very weary...' Another yawn splits his face, and he says in an undertone, 'So very weary... I want nothing more than to close my eyes again.'

I see him fight to keep his eyes open; a losing battle, I think.

'Then sleep, cousin,' Merry says, finding his tongue, but Pippin is not yet finished.

'...so very weary,' he insists, 'and waiting only for sight or sound of you, to fulfil my last promise to you, that I might rest at last.'

'It nearly killed me to send Sam in before me,' Merry says, so low it is difficult to make out the words. 'They were singing the song when we arrived,' he added. 'I knew if you weren't already gone, that you would be at any moment. Sam told me he bore a special draught from Treebeard, and I remembered the feeling of Ent-draught, the life, the growing, and I hoped for the first time in years that perhaps in truth he bore your healing...'

'Ah, Merry,' Pippin breathes, his eyelids closing despite his best efforts. He pulls his cousin's right hand to his face, brushing his lips against Merry's knuckles in a benediction before releasing the hand. 'You know that even if we missed our final goodbye in this life, I'd be waiting for you, saving you a place right beside me at the Feast...' His voice trails off into an indistinguishable murmur, and then he begins to snore lightly.

Merry's head remains bowed for a long moment, but at Diamond's voice he jerks upright.

'Merry? Are you not going to the feast?'

Chapter 45. Starving, as unto Death

They lingered long at table, and young Pippin fell asleep in his plate, it must be told, and was tenderly borne off to bed by his father, who was still none the wiser of his son's wanderings. Paladin's embrace tightened as he passed the guestroom with its silent watchers: Ferdinand, Stelliana, "Old Ferdi", and young Rosemary. How he pitied his old friend, to lose his only son!

Merry sat through it all like a stone, not responding to anything anyone said to him, and Frodo stared at him, troubled, remembering to eat his own bread and jam, or sip at his cup, only when Bilbo nudged his elbow. When at last Eglantine rose from her place, and Esmeralda joined her and her daughters in carrying away the plates and cups, saucers and spoons, knives and serving dishes, Bilbo gave Frodo a final nudge. 'Take Merry out for a breath of air,' he whispered in the tween's ear. 'It's too close in here...'

Frodo nodded and practically jumped to his feet, hurrying round the table to Merry. 'Come along, Cousin,' he said, pulling at the teen's arm. 'It's been ever so long...' The words died on his lips as Merry turned his sorrow-filled gaze upwards. Frodo swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and persisted. 'Come along, Merry,' he said, more gently, and something in his tone, some sympathy, moved the younger cousin to rise and follow. They walked out together into the gathering twilight, Frodo's arm about Merry's shoulders, away from the bustle of clearing away and washing up.

Bilbo made his way along the hallway to the guest room, where he stood hesitating in the doorway. Ferdinand looked up and nodded. Bilbo stepped in, treading as lightly as if he were walking over nests full of eggs. 'How is he?' he asked softly.

'Please, Da,' young Ferdi's voice came in a piteous moan. 'Please... it hurts so... please...'

Stelliana sobbed softly into her handkerchief, and "Old Ferdi" gave a shuddering breath and drew his hand across his eyes.

'Can we not give him something?' Ferdinand said, turning his eyes to the healer, standing silent near the head of the bed. 'Something to let him sleep, at the least?'

Healer Woodruff's young face was troubled, and Bilbo, from his long years of experience, thought he read uncertainty in her eyes. Still, she shook her head firmly enough, answering, 'Boiled water only; that's all that's safe to give him.'

'Boiled water only?' Bilbo said, though he'd heard the full tale told at table. 'That's all he's had in two days?'

'It's all that's safe,' Woodruff repeated. She moved forward, lifted the nightshirt, and gently probed the young hobbit's midsection. "Young Ferdi" cried out and feebly tried to push her away.

'Leave him be,' "Old Ferdi" said sharply. 'Haven't you done enough?'

The healer caught her breath, her eyes shining with sudden tears as she looked from nephew to uncle, and she said, her voice trembling, 'No, I haven't... I mean, I wish there were more... I mean...' And suddenly, with a shudder, she stumbled from the room.

Ferdinand put out a half-hearted hand to stop her, but as he took a step toward the door, Stelliana grasped at his sleeve with a gasping sob, and he turned back to encircle her in his embrace, rocking to and fro and murmuring broken comfort.

And Rosemary poured out a cup of plain water from the pitcher, and held it to her brother's lips. 'Here you are, Ferdi, a feast of water to drink,' she said, desperately keeping her voice steady. 'Let us pretend that it's a magic potion, shall we? It can do anything we wish it to do; carry us to faraway lands, or turn itself into a banquet of elven-bread and wine, or...'

Bilbo gave her an approving nod and turned to follow the young healer. Over-young she was, for such responsibility, he thought, but then it seemed to him the longer he lived, the younger hobbits were getting... She wasn't in the kitchen, taking a belated meal, he discovered, and when he asked, Eglantine nodded at the door leading outside.

Bilbo looked all about, seeing the lads walking near the byre, and then he walked around the side of the sprawling smial and saw a shadowy form by the fence that surrounded the kitchen garden. Walking softly, he found the young healer clinging to the fence, her head bowed, tears glistening from her cheeks in the moonlight.

'Healer... Woodruff, isn't it?' he said. 'Sweetbriar's apprentice, I think?'

'I was,' she whispered, wiping hastily at her face.

'O yes?' Bilbo said politely. 'She discharged you, did she? Finished your obligation, and hung out your own shingle and all that?'

'She... died,' Woodruff said, and Bilbo stepped back. Somehow he hadn't heard this fact, but then he'd been only distantly related to that branch of the Tooks, and news of Sweetbriar's death had not gone very far outside the bounds of Whitwell, save perhaps to a handful of healers who knew her by her reputation, or who'd had some training at her hands.

'I see,' he said gently. 'Died and left you all on your own, did she? And you're the only healer in Whitwell, and none to ask for advice in a difficult case?'

She drew herself up, stung. 'She told me I had the bulk of her knowledge...'

'No doubt,' Bilbo said, 'though rather lacking in experience, I'd venture.'

'I've enough experience,' Woodruff said, scarcely managing the civil tone due this hobbit who was more than twice her age, nearly three times, in actual fact, though he didn't look much over fifty.

'Experience with just this sort of injury?' Bilbo pressed, and some of the stiffness went out of the young healer; her shoulders slumped.

'Just this sort,' she responded bleakly, and he stopped then, and regarded her thoughtfully by the light of the moon.

'There was a lad, a year or so older than Ferdibrand,' she said at last. 'He fell from a roof, and injured his inward parts...'

'And...?' Bilbo said when the silence stretched between them.

'He slept a healing sleep, old Rosie said--she was the healer who first trained me,' Woodruff said. 'She took me on when I was just a worthless teen, she took me in when none other would have me. I came to her door to beg a piece of bread, and perhaps to sleep on the dry straw in her byre, and she made me wash my hands and face and sat me down at her table and gave me bread, and soup to go with it, and then a place to sleep and work that even a clumsy, ignorant chit could do...' She put her hands to her mouth to stop the words spilling out, and then she turned away from Bilbo and bowed her head.

'O my word,' Bilbo said softly, for he remembered the encounter with old Rosie at Pippin's naming day, and he'd heard a thing or two after they'd sent the old harridan away with the Sackville-Bagginses... and then his arms went around the young healer, and he was patting her back, and in another moment he felt her rest her head against his shoulder as she shook with silent sobs.

When at last she stilled, he put her away, pulling a clean pocket-handkerchief from his pocket and extending it to her, and when she had herself in hand again, he asked, almost casually, 'a healing sleep, you said... and...?'

'And when he awakened he was that hungered, being a teen.'

'Ah yes,' Bilbo said. 'They're always hungry, teens are, and they cannot go long without eating.'

'And I gave him to eat, and...' Woodruff gulped, but her eyes were hot and swollen and more tears would not come.

Bilbo waited.

'He died, in the most fearful torment you could imagine,' she said. 'His healing wasn't complete, and I gave him food, and... I killed him.'

'The food killed him, you mean,' Bilbo said, trying to imagine a hobbit dying of eating.

She shook her head, and several dry sobs escaped her.

'Rather,' Bilbo said, his voice firming as he took her by the arms, 'his injuries killed him. From what you say, the healing sleep was not enough, and he'd've died whether he'd eaten or not...'

'Rosie said...'

'What would Sweetbriar have done?' Bilbo asked.

Woodruff shook her head. 'I don't know,' she whispered. 'She talked... O she told me about such, but the few times she dealt with hobbits whose insides were injured, either I was attending another case, or the hobbits died. I never saw her pull one through...'

'They all died so?' Bilbo said soberly, but the young healer shook her head.

'A few lived,' she said, 'but I didn't see what she did, or how she did, I only heard her speak of it after.'

'And what's to keep young Ferdi from dying of hunger while you make sure of his healing?' Bilbo said. 'A hobbit who doesn't eat is soon no hobbit at all...'

'Don't I know it?' Woodruff said bitterly. She took a shuddering breath and looked away from him, her expression that of a fox in a snare. 'I don't know what to do,' she admitted. 'I don't know...'

'You cannot keep him on water rations much longer,' Bilbo said.

'But his middle pains him so... I daren't...'

'Hunger will twist a body as well...'

'No!' Woodruff said, stronger, and Bilbo heard the stubbornness growing; he was strengthening her resolve rather than talking her round to what, to him, was a matter of common sense.

'And he's sleeping for longer stretches,' Woodruff added, 'and has to be pressed to drink, now. I'm afraid he's slipping away...'

Bilbo thought of Bombur in Mirkwood, preferring sleep over labour; left to his own devices he'd have slept the remainder of his life away rather than getting up and continuing the disheartening, foodless trek through the dark wood. 'Sleep is probably a comfort to the lad,' he murmured. 'But why not try... surely a little broth would do no harm, if he's been sipping water all this time...?'

'No,' Woodruff said again, standing straighter. 'We'll see how things look in the morning, perhaps, but...' And Bilbo saw again the flash of uncertainty, the torment of remembered suffering, the guilt that had gnawed at old Rosie's assistant for years after her unwitting error.

'You're wrung out,' Bilbo said gently. 'When was the last time you slept? Or had a decent meal yourself?'

The young healer shook her head. 'I don't remember,' she murmured. 'We've been run off our feet, lately, and there's been precious little rest for myself or my assistants...'

'Well then,' Bilbo said, a plan growing in the back of his head, though his face remained sober and solicitous. 'Is there any more you can do for young Ferdi, at the moment? Any ease you can give him? Any sign you need to watch for?'

'I was watching to see if he'd perhaps pass more blood,' Woodruff said, 'though he's passed nothing at all, these past few hours. It's not a good sign; it may be that his body is giving up the fight...'

More than likely he hasn't taken in enough for anything to come out, Bilbo thought to himself, but he said only, 'Then now would be a good time to take your rest. I gather there might well be a crisis on the morrow, considering the lad has had nothing to eat for two days now, and being a teen...'

'Might well...' she echoed in a whisper, and swayed.

'Now then, none of that!' Bilbo said in alarm, and he put an arm around her and walked her back around to the kitchen door and into the smial. 'Do you have a bed?' he said to Eglantine, who having sent the lasses to bed was sitting at the table with Esmeralda--and it wasn't for himself or Frodo that he was meaning.

The two hobbit mums jumped up from their seats and took charge of the exhausted healer, shepherding her off to one of the extra beds. Bilbo, in the meantime, went out to fetch Frodo and Merry, to send them off to bed, for he knew that the farm family were used to seeking their pillows soon after sunset, but that they'd stay up for the sake of politeness so long as their guests were up and about.

Eglantine returned to the kitchen, shaking her head. 'Poor, exhausted young thing,' she said. 'She fights so valiantly on the side of life, gives of herself without stinting, uses herself up until there's nothing left... and yet there's naught she can do for the poor lad, more's the pity.' She dabbed at her eyes.

'If you wouldn't mind... could you, perhaps, stir up a bowl of broth?' Bilbo said, after making the appropriate sympathetic noises. 'I could use a little bite before I take my rest.'

Of course Eglantine was "happy to oblige" and soon Bilbo had a tray with steaming bowl and several slices of bread besides. He wished his hostess good night and carried the meal toward the guest room that Pearl and Pimpernel had readied for him, stopping at Pippin's door to say a few words to Paladin, who sat watching over his son.

'I've missed the lad, the past few days,' Paladin said quietly, smoothing the coverlet over the sleeping lad before he looked up.

'I can set your mind at rest,' Bilbo began, meaning to add that Pippin was never in any real danger, guarded by faithful Lop and taken up by a good and honest Traveller.

'I nearly sent word to you,' Paladin said, scarcely taking note of Bilbo's words, 'to keep the lad a day or two longer. He's too young to understand. Why, even now he has no idea of the gravity of the situation...' Pippin stirred, and his father smoothed the unruly curls and whispered, 'There, now, time to sleep, lad. Tomorrow is another day...'

'Good night to you then,' Bilbo said, and withdrew.

But he did not go to his own room. No, after checking to see that Frodo was abed and already asleep, tired out from the events of the past two days, he went instead to the room where young Ferdi's family watched their lad slipping away.

'No food,' Ferdinand said ponderously, seeing the tray. 'We'll wait with him. It'd be torture for him to waken and smell the goodly aroma...'

'But the healer sent this especially,' Bilbo said.

'Aggie said she stumbled off to bed for a few hours' rest,' Stelliana said softly. 'Poor thing, she looked all in.'

'Yes, but a teen cannot live for too many days without eating,' Bilbo said. 'At the rate they grow...? Why, they're hungry less than an hour after eating a full meal as it is. No, but half a bowl of broth, and if he keeps it down, perhaps soak some bread in the remainder...'

'But...' Stelliana said helplessly, looking from husband to brother-in-love and back to the cousin who hovered in the doorway. She could smell the broth from where she sat, a rich and satisfying smell, and her stomach rumbled involuntarily.

'Healer's orders,' Bilbo said firmly. Of course, he didn't say what healer.

Chapter 46. Interlude

'I...' Merry says, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

'You must,' Diamond insists, 'you must be there to honour Samwise, not only because he is Mayor, but because he is your friend, your fellow Traveller...'

'Do I have a sign around my neck that says, "Lecture Me"?' Merry says, looking from Mistress to me and back again, sounding for once as full of whimsy as his younger cousin, the Thain.

Diamond is not to be turned from her course. 'Not to mention the fact that he travelled thousands of leagues to bring a marvel...'

But Merry's eyes turn to me, and his troubled look has returned. 'Fennel said,' he begins, and then stops, not wanting to alarm Diamond, who evidently thinks her husband is on the mend and not half in the grave.

'Fennel,' I say, 'is labouring under the weight of worry and sleeplessness.' Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! --but I am feeling wondrously well, indeed, younger than my years. Only the draught can account for it. I am not even weary, and one good stretch of sleep would not be enough to undo all the wakeful nights and weary days. And if one sip of the draught has had this effect on me, what might the Thain be experiencing?

Diamond looks from one to the other of us in puzzlement. 'What is this about Fennel?' she says.

'Naught to trouble yourself about, Mistress,' I say firmly. Pippin's snores grow louder, and I steer her away from the bed, that I need not raise my voice. The hobbit needs his sleep! 'My chief assistant is weary and troubled in his mind; this Ent-draught is beyond his experience, and he has no faith in it.'

'But you...' Diamond says, apprehension returning to her eyes. She has walked with Pippin a long path, one step away from death, and through too many times when one foot has slipped into the grave. Somehow he has managed to pull his foot free, time after time, or we've pulled him through, the fierce love of his wife, not to mention that of his cousin Merry, and the determination of the healers. But in these latter days, neither love nor determination was enough. We came so close to losing him, and even now there is no assurance... but for the steady breaths, perhaps...

'I have some experience with the stuff,' I say. 'I took a sip, do you recall? And it has been working in me ever since. Believe me, I know.'

In Merry's eyes, I can see doubt warring with the knowledge he has of his cousin. How he wants to believe in this healing!

'Go to the feast,' I say. 'Honour the Mayor. Reassure him as well; he was horrified at the effects of the draught, and yet he may still have occasion to rejoice, when the draught has finished its work.'

'It didn't affect you that way,' Merry says, still trying to work through the problem of what to believe.

I laugh, and Pippin stops snoring. We all turn to stare at him, but he merely moves into another position and resumes his soft susurrations. 'Do not be so certain,' I whisper. 'The draught, for all its miraculous healing qualities, is certainly not a comfortable cure.'

Merry stares at this understatement, and Diamond gives him a push.

'Go,' she says. 'Pippin would want you to be there for Sam's sake.'

'Yes,' he answers, looking down at her. 'He would.' Very gently he kisses her on the forehead, and with one more look at the peaceful occupant in the bed, he turns on his heel and leaves the room.

'And you, Mistress?' I say. 'Won't you attend the feast, honour the Mayor and his wife, welcome them home to the Shire?'

'I...' Diamond says, her eyes on her husband. I recognise the look. She is counting his breaths, all unawares. It is a habit we all have fallen into, and I suspect it will take some time to overcome.

'He is deeply asleep; healing is taking all he has in him,' I say.

'Healing,' she echoes.

'It is an exhausting business,' I say. It certainly is! What healer in his right mind would ever choose to be a healer to the Tooks, if he had the choice? Not for the first time, the thought crosses my mind, to be followed now by a whisper, But so I have chosen, and if I had my life to live over, I'd do no different.

I take her elbow and turn her from the bed. When she looks at me in surprise, I say, 'Go and have yourself a proper dinner, Mistress. I'll sit with him until you're done. You've had no rest this day.'

'But I...' she says.

'Go,' I insist. 'If he wakens--which I doubt, considering the woodpile he's sawing on at the moment, I'll send word to you at once. But you need to eat, for your own sake and that of the babe. And the Tooks will be reassured, to see you away from the Thain's side, Fennel's gloom notwithstanding.'

'Fennel...' she says, a frown creasing her forehead.

'Pay him no mind,' I say firmly. 'He has no idea of the power of the draught. If he'd had a sip of his own, I've no doubt he'd be singing a different tune, and a much happier one at that.' It occurs to me that I might slip a sip of the draught into Fennel's tea... but no, I finish the thought regretfully. Such an act would not befit a healer. We do nothing by stealth, no matter how sorely tempted. Certainly I might exaggerate the power of a potion, for the mind can do wondrous things in aiding the healing of the body, but never would I allow myself to sink to the level of outright trickery.

'Perhaps he ought...' Diamond says, echoing my own thought.

'No,' I say with real regret. 'The stuff is precious, if it can bring a hobbit back from the last gasp. Better to save it for a rainy day.'

Diamond nods, and I return to my original point, still holding Diamond's arm, and tugging her towards the door. 'But you need to go to the feast,' I say, 'to reassure the Tooks, and the Mayor...' though nothing will reassure that unfortunate hobbit, not until he sees Pippin standing on his feet again, laughing at some jest. How I hope to see it!

'Pippin,' she says, casting a longing look over her shoulder.

'After the feast is over, you can return and tell him all about it,' I say. 'And in the morning, when he's slept himself out...'

'In the morning?' she says.

'Aye,' I say firmly. 'He'll waken by morningtide, I've no doubt in the matter. He's looking so much better, by the hour. He needs only to sleep, to recover from the healing that the draught forced upon him, but I am certain he'll waken in the morning, if not before. I'd stake my professional reputation on it.'

And somehow, it does not feel as if I am taking such a terrible risk.

Best of all, I am able to convince Diamond to go to the feast, while I return to the bedside and take up the watch once more.

Chapter 47. After All

The young healer awakened with a start, not sure for a moment where she was. Looking about the strange room, dimly lit by the glow of a watch-lamp, she wracked her befuddled brains. A confinement, snatching an hour or two of rest while waiting for a new babe to be born? A serious injury, where she wanted to keep an eye on the hobbit? A deathbed? ...and with that thought, memory returned in a rush.

Young Ferdi had been very weak, moaning deliriously the last time she'd seen him... how long ago was that? The quiet in the smial told her it was still the depths of the night. The farm family would arise several hours before the dawning to begin their daily tasks, but there was no sound in the smial at the moment, not even the scritch of a mouse.

Woodruff sat up, rather too abruptly, and swung her legs out from under the coverlet someone had laid over her--for she certainly did not remember lying herself down. Her head swam, but she forced herself to her feet and staggered a step or two, to the dressing table with its ewer and bowl. She had to steady herself on the solid wood a moment, before taking up the pitcher with shaking hands, to pour out some blessedly chilly water with which to splash herself into wakefulness. How long had it been since she'd enjoyed more than a few hours' sleep at a time?

No matter. People wouldn't stop falling ill or injuring themselves just because the healer was weary. And responsibility weighed ever more heavily... She must look in on young Ferdi, must make some sort of decision, for not to decide was a kind of deciding, after all. Hesitating, waiting, was the same as choosing to starve the teen to death. A growing teen could not go even a week without eating... half that time, perhaps... and young Ferdi was on his third day of water rations.

An easier passing, something whispered in the back of her mind. If she were to wait a few more hours, the hunger pains would ease and the young hobbit would fall into an ever-deepening sleep. His pain would no longer rouse him; it would be increasingly difficult for anyone to rouse him, as a matter of fact.

Whereas, if they were to give him food, and his injuries not sufficiently healed...

'I don't know what to do,' she whispered, raising haunted eyes to meet her own gaze in the looking glass.

This will never do, she heard Sweetbriar's brisk tones somewhere in the back of her memory. The family are distressed enough, without you adding to it with your own maunderings, lass! No, but you must put a brave face on the matter, for their sakes if not your own. Your feelings don't matter at the moment, but theirs do!

'Right,' she muttered, setting her shoulders and giving a nod to the wan face staring back at hers. She tried a smile, but it was more grimace than anything, and so she settled for a calm, collected expression. Not that she felt at all calm, or collected for that matter.

She tidied her hair and turned resolutely to the door. She would see this through...

She walked softly down the hall, hearing only sleepers' breaths from the rooms to either side, even from the room where Ferdi's family watched with him.

Yes, the watchers had all fallen asleep, fallen under the spell of the wee hours, fallen prey to the exhaustion of grief and long, hopeless waiting. Ferdinand and Stelliana leaned together, his arm around her. "Old Ferdi" dozed in his chair, his head back at an angle that would ensure a crick in his neck when he wakened, but left his snores free to rise to the ceiling. Rosemary had not gone to seek her own pillow, but lay huddled in a blanket on the pallet on the floor.

Yes, all in the room were sleeping, without benefit of bed and pillow and coverlet... But the bed itself was empty.

Woodruff stifled her startled exclamation, her hand over her mouth, as her thoughts tumbled over themselves. Where could the youth be? None of his family would have taken him from the bed, and then returned here to sleep! Could Farmer Paladin have spirited the lad out of the smial, to lie under the stars, to watch the sun rise in the morning? She'd heard the hobbit pontificate on occasion of the healing to be found in fresh air, under the open sky, the caress of breeze and starlight and sunlight, the scent of the earth and growing things in the air.

She made her way to the main entrance and threw open the door, to be met by deep silence, and then a whisper of wind that touched her cheek. The moon shone down cold and bright, lending enough light to the garden and the yard beyond to show that no hobbits were abroad, not in the area between smial and byre, at least.

Woodruff's stomach rumbled, loud in the night silence, and she took a deep breath of the cool night air. She doubted the youth was strong enough to wander from his bed, and there was the splinted leg to consider, but she could think of no other explanation. She'd have to rouse the smial.

It was not long before yawning, blinking hobbits were wide awake, shooting questions at one another, pulling on clothes over nightclothes in their haste. Young Ferdi must have wandered in his delirium, and who knew how far he'd managed to drag himself before collapsing?

'Tea,' Eglantine said firmly, taking Woodruff's elbow and steering the young healer towards the kitchen. 'They'll take lanterns and begin the search, and if they don't find him right hereabouts they'll rouse the neighbours. But in the meantime, we'll brew some tea, good and strong and heartening...'

Her voice trailed off in astonishment as they reached the kitchen, for there sat the object of the search! He had evidently dragged himself over the polished floors of the smial to the kitchen, splinted leg and all, and somehow managed to get down loaf and butter and jam, and perhaps some cheese, from the looks of the rind and the butter-smeared plate and pot of jam nearby.

Seeing the grown-ups, the teen hastily stuffed the bread-and-jam he was holding into his mouth.

'Ferdi!' Woodruff cried, but it was obviously too late, from the state of the loaf on the plate beside him, and the smears of jam and butter to be seen on the plate, and on the teen's face. He'd all too evidently consumed half a loaf before they'd found him.

'I just wanted a little more bread,' he said through a mouthful.

'But...' Woodruff spluttered, advancing into the room. Ferdi quailed, as the healer crouched down and reached for his nightshirt, to examine his abdomen. The bruises were still there, but the teen pushed Woodruff's hands away before she could touch him.

'Don't!' he said, swallowing down the overlarge mouthful.

'Ferdi!' Stelliana cried from the doorway.

The teen, mistaking his mother's joy and consternation for rebuke, swivelled slightly with a wince to say, 'But I know what she'll do--she'll poke me and press me where it hurts and then she'll ask me if it hurts, when she knows very well that it hurts!'

Stelliana, scarcely heeding, ran to her son and knelt to swallow him, with a gulp, in her embrace, laughing and crying at one.

Confusion reigned as more hobbits came into the room, all exclaiming at once and surrounding the young hobbit they'd all but given up for lost.

'It's wonderful,' Ferdinand said, hugging wife and son tight from one side while Rosemary hugged from the other. 'He's healed, and you've restored him with food, and...'

'But I didn't...' Woodruff said, the befuddled feeling returning. She put a hand to her aching head.

'After the broth and bread you sent last night, Ferdi-lad fell into a restful sleep,' Stelliana said, beaming. 'And now look at him! Eating Dinny and Aggie out of hole and home!'

'Plenty more where that came from!' Eglantine said with a ringing laugh. 'Have at it, lad! And I'll fry up some sausages and eggs, and griddlecakes and...'

Woodruff tried to smile, amid the general hilarity, but her smile faded as she met Bilbo's knowing eye, and suddenly discerned the truth of the matter.

'Well then,' she said, straightening and somehow putting on a brisk manner, the manner Sweetbriar had taken no matter what, even if she returned to the little smial and burst into tears on closing the door behind her. 'I see I'm not needed here now. Just carry him back to his bed and feed him well, and I'll be on my way...'

'But stay to breakfast!' Eglantine said, and Paladin echoed. 'We're celebrating!'

'Aye, celebrating!' Ferdinand thundered, looking up from the faces of his family. 'You've saved my son, you have, with your healer's skill and knowledge.'

Every word struck as painfully as a blow. It was all Woodruff could do to keep from wincing, and she concentrated on steady breaths, that she might not burst into tears, completing her disgrace.

'No,' she said, 'really, there's much to be done and my time is not my own...'

Her only solace was to see Merry's joy as he pushed past "old Ferdi", Bilbo, and Frodo, to reach young Ferdibrand, to join the embrace. 'You're not dying!' the Brandybuck half-sobbed. 'I haven't murdered you, after all!'

'Merry!' Esmeralda gasped, but young Ferdi only said, 'You silly Brandybuck, what sort of nonsense are ye spouting? Foolishness worthy of a Took, ye river-rat!'

'Ferdi!' Stelliana tried to reprimand, but really she was laughing so hard from joy and relief that the effect was quite spoilt.

While the teens had the attention of all, Woodruff slipped quietly between Bilbo and "old Ferdi", out of the kitchen, scooped up her healer's bag from the corridor outside young Ferdi's room, and let herself out of the main entrance to the smial. She ran down the lane all the way to the road and onward; she stopped, gasping and out of breath, part way to Whitwell, and sank down in the ditch beside the road to have a thorough and private weep in the darkness before the dawning.

Chapter 48. Interlude

It is so peaceful here, watching the Thain sleep. His face is smooth and untroubled; he smiles as he dreams. The cares of the Shire fall away; the deadly struggle is past.

Wakening from a doze, I start forward in alarm. He is so still, so calm and peaceful... is it, perhaps, that Fennel had the right of it, and the Thain has passed, dreaming, into darkness?

With trembling fingers I seize the near wrist, so perturbed that at first I cannot feel the heartbeat--but the flesh is warm and living, and soon I feel a flutter, nay, stronger than that, a steady pulse.

He stirs under my touch, his eyes open halfway, he murmurs, as if continuing a conversation, the start of which I cannot quite recall, 'Frodo was braver. Much braver than any hobbit I've ever known...' His eyes close and his voice trails off, but a frown has taken the place of the smile, and he sighs in his sleep.

Still the breaths continue steady, and unforced, and I can afford my own pent-up breath free release.

And I think back, to the Frodo I once knew.

A wild youth, a Baggins being raised in the wilds of Buckland, and quite wild in his own right, by reputation. There were scandalised whispers the first time he visited Whittacres after his adoption by old Bilbo Baggins, and Miss Pearl rode out with him on picnics. Though the two were only tweens, no, not even that! Frodo was barely into his tween years, and Pearl was still a teen, yet how the talk did fly! Grandmother Banks put a stop to it as soon as it came to her ears, that was for certain, and a good thing, too, before Pearl's reputation was forever ruined.

I do believe that is why they sent Pearl to serve Mistress Lalia, in truth. The local lads of Whitwell still looked at her with a certain speculation, and it was not likely that she'd win a fine husband with the little dowry her father could afford. Likely her parents hoped she'd catch the eye of one of the Great Smials Tooks, and far enough from home that besmirching rumour was not to hurt the lass.

I did have a fond wish that she might marry Mr. Frodo Baggins, heir of the richest hobbit in the Shire, and then richest in his own right when peculiar Mr. Bilbo took himself off, and so she could have laughed in the face of the gossips of Whitwell. They were so lovely together, him so tall and fair, and she, round and rosy, and the two of them always laughing gaily together, as if they shared a delightful secret as they walked through the marketplace, surrounded by cousins to keep them proper, though the damage had already been done years earlier.

But of course it could never be. She returned to the farm in disgrace, in the middle of family troubles--Paladin had offended Mistress Lalia, and the Mistress punished him for it, and while Pearl was attending her, Lalia's chair bumped over the threshold of the Great Door and tipped her down the stairs to her death, and it was whispered...

I take myself firmly in hand. Such is the Talk amongst the Tooks. Years ago it was, and years ago Pearl was safely married off to Isumbold, a fine and upright hobbit, well thought of for nearly giving his life to save Thain Ferumbras, and a hero of the Troubles as well, fighting to keep the ruffians out of Tookland though he barely had a leg to stand on.

I think sometimes that young Mr. Frodo took himself off, in the end, for reason of a broken heart, though of course the gossips would whisper and hint at darker reasons. He and Miss Pearl did look so fine, walking together...

'Frodo,' the sleeper murmurs, and turns over, away from me. And I remember...

'You look troubled, lad, and not at all happy to be visiting at home,' I said, taking his arm and turning towards my little smial, pulling him after me though to passers-by it would appear we are simply strolling companionably, arm-in-arm, two old friends. 'Come to tea, Pippin, and tell me all your troubles as you did in the old days.'

As we entered the front door my beloved greeted us with a smile. 'Tea's just on,' he said, and looking keenly into the tween's face for a moment, he added, 'The children are at their grands' and I was just about to go and fetch them home again. ...but don't wait for us! Go on and pour out; it is always a struggle to separate the littlest two from their gammer's lap.'

'Sit down, lad,' he directed, and so Pippin, not to be rude, sat, and I smiled as I poured out from my special pot, that still has pride of place at my table even now, years later, but he did not return the smile, nor did the worried look leave his eyes.

My beloved patted Pippin's shoulder, kissed my cheek and murmured something about being "back later".

'I'm sorry there's no seedcake; we didn't know to expect you,' I said, pushing the plate of scones toward him. Now tweens are invariably hungry, though not needing food nearly so much as growing teens, yet he paid no heed.

'What is it, Pip-lad?' I said, in as coaxing a tone as I knew how. 'Have you quarrelled with Pearl?' I chuckled and added, 'Certainly not with Isum! He hasn't a quarrelsome bone in his body!'

'No, not with Isum,' Pippin said.

'Your father then, the Thain? I know he's been strict with you, these past few years, but he's had to be, lad, what with the duty laid upon him...'

'Duty,' Pippin said, his tone bleak.

'He's been calling you to your duty, I take it,' I said, patting his hand and pushing his cup closer. 'Drink that up now whilst it's hot, lad, it'll do you good, and I know you don't like cooling tea.'

He sipped at the tea, but I had the impression that it had as little taste to him as water might, in his state.

'Good tea,' I prompted.

He tried to smile.

'What is it, lad?' I said impulsively. 'I shall be vexed, if you visit me with a face as long as January, and tell me lies about how fine the weather and how blue the sky.'

'But the weather is fine,' he said guilelessly, in surprise, 'and the sky as blue as ever I've seen it. Perfect September weather.'

'It is that,' I allowed, but pressed again. 'Duty,' I said, and was rewarded to see him drop his eyes and stare into his cup, before he swallowed hard and looked up again to meet my gaze squarely. Naught of the coward in that lad.

'What is it, lad?' I said softer. 'Does the thought of duty rub so raw as all that?'

'Duty,' he whispered. 'It is not so much that I would leave my duty; I hope my da raised me to be better than that.'

'Then what?' I asked, pouring him more tea as if it was of no import. Sometimes it helps a body, a tween especially, not to be appearing to pay him any mind when he's wrestling with some dilemma.

'It's hard,' he said, so softly that I nearly didn't catch it. 'So hard to choose,' he said a little louder, and I looked up to meet his gaze. Earnest it was, and searching.

'Choose what is right,' I said matter-of-factly.

'Two choices,' he answered. 'Two choices lie before me, and how do I know where the greater duty lies?'

At the time I knew not that he spoke of his duty to his father, not just to his father but to the Tookland, even the Shire, balanced against his duty to follow his cousin Frodo into danger, for the sake of that same Shire. And even, if it is to be believed, for the sake of all of Middle-earth, not just the Shire but the wild and unknown Outlands into the bargain.

Even had I known, I most likely would have urged him to stay by his father's side, as a loyal son, for surely that is where his duty lay, and not to a mere cousin.

But I did not know, and so what I said was, 'You must choose the best, of course...' and at his puzzled look I chuckled at myself and tried again, 'No, I do not mean it as if you are selecting a teacake from a tray. Have you asked Paladin?'

He grimaced and shook his head ever so slightly. 'I know what he would say,' he answered.

'I think you might be doing your da a disservice,' I said gently, but Pippin remained stubbornly silent, about as tractable as a stone, and so I tried again. 'Have you asked Merry for his advice, or Frodo?'

He nodded at the first name, but hesitated at the second, for reasons I only discovered more than a year afterwards.

'And what did Merry say?' I ask.

'That it is my own decision to make,' he said slowly.

'And I am sure that he told you to weigh the consequences,' I said, and he nodded, 'and Frodo, should you ask him, would likely tell you to count the cost...' He nodded again and sipped at his tea with an inward look.

'So it is your own decision to make, and no one else's,' I muse aloud, 'well then, you must weigh both sides as honestly as you can...'

'And if they balance on the scale...?' he said, and from his gravity I sensed it was a momentous decision, indeed.

'Then you must listen to your heart, to tip the balance, and choose the course that seems the rightest. The "right" is always the best choice, even if it is not often the easiest or safest.'

He nodded, sipped again at his tea, and sighed. 'You have the right of it,' he said, looking up at me, and suddenly it was as if a great weight had fallen from his shoulders, and he smiled at me, that sweet smile I remembered from the little lad who was always bringing me handfuls of wildflowers, and stones, and interesting insects and such.

And I smiled back, and pressed scones upon him, and we talked and laughed over inconsequential things, and by the time my family spilled in through the doorway, both Pippin and the scones were gone.

It was not too long after that, I heard he'd been swallowed up by the Old Forest, along with Merry Brandybuck and Frodo Baggins and a gardener, of all people, and spoken by all as forever lost. And then the Troubles descended upon us, and there was not often time to think on those we mourned.

The Ruffians came with their thieving ways and their rules, and their cruelties. Thain Paladin invited all who would come, to join him in the fastness of the Great Smials, to venture out to keep the borders of Tookland free of vermin. My beloved was among those who rode out, who set traps, who risked his life for Thain and family.

And just when things were blackest, when rumour had it that the Ruffians were massing at the borders of the Tookland, to drive their way in past our defences, to slaughter and pillage and burn, to take the Thain and his family and make an example of them for the "benefit" of the Shire-folk... when my beloved and his brothers and all the free Tooks were sharpening their arrows, ready to fight to the death, to hold the Men off so long as might be...

Out of the darkness he came to us then, my wayward lad, grown taller and dressed as a knight out of an old book of tales, come out of fire and death to lead us once more to the light.

My wayward lad, child of my heart, come into this life as my old life was ending, born into the dawning of joy and promise, and claiming a piece of my heart ever after.

Chapter 49. Coming Home

The smell of baking bread, wafting through the little smial, wakened Woodruff. She stretched slowly, wondering at the heaviness that wound her limbs as if with leaden chains. Her head, too, felt heavy as she arose, and not even the thought that she had passed what remained of the night in her own bed, for a change, could cheer her.

She washed her face and arms in the water from the pitcher that Beryl refreshed twice daily, and running her fingers through her hair thought with a grimace that she could use a good, soaking bath, but likely the water would just be heated and poured out when another call came for the healer.

With a sigh she dampened her hair with the water in the basin, soaped it and lathered it as briskly as her aching arms would allow, and then bent over the basin to rinse out the soap with the remainder of the pitcher's contents.

'Aw, now,' Beryl said, bustling into the room. 'If you'd just asked, I could have helped you, Sweetie! Just a moment, then...' and she was gone and back again, in just that moment, with the ewer from her own room, pouring water over Woodruff's bent head as she helped work out the remaining lather.

'There now,' she said briskly, applying towel with enough vigour to bring a glow to the recipient of her attentions. 'A bath would be the thing, I think, but second breakfast is nearly on the table, and...'

'Second breakfast,' Woodruff said dully, turning to take her clothes from the chair where she'd tossed them before crawling into bed. But they weren't there... they had been replaced by clean, fresh and pressed garments, smelling of sunshine and late summer breezes. 'What happened to early breakfast?'

Beryl helped her to do up the buttons, as for some reason her fingers were clumsy and wooden. 'You slept right through early breakfast,' she said, doing her best to sound businesslike, but she also managed to brush the back of her hand against Woodruff's face, unable to suppress a frown at the result. 'And a good thing, too, I warrant, before you wear yourself to a nubbin.'

She took up the comb and gently worked it through Woodruff's tousled, damp curls as the healer finished dressing, finally tucking the hair up in a net to dry further before being braided and pulled out of the way, wound into a bun.

The healer sat down with a sigh at the kitchen table, where three places were set, but only two of the cups were filled with steaming tea. 'Where's Mardi?' she said. 'Ought I to...'

'Mardi is over at the folks' and soon to return with a pot of gooseberry jam, if he discharges his duties satisfactorily,' Beryl said with a push on Woodruff's shoulders to keep her in her chair. 'And Hetty is sitting with old Granny Goodchild whilst the old gammer's son travels to the Great Smials to bring the Thain's share of his crops, to pay the rent on the land, y'know. It's that time of year... half the farmers hereabouts are on their way to the Smials, to pay the year's rent and shop in Tuckborough for what they cannot find in Whitwell. It's been wondrous' quiet this morning, with no calls for a healer. Perhaps the Tooks have left off their foolish ways for the moment.'

'Calm before the storm,' Woodruff said, but Beryl laughed.

'Calm after, you mean,' she said. She refrained from asking what was the matter; it was plain to her that Sweetie was absolutely exhausted after the long stretch of impossibly busy days. Instead she occupied herself buttering toast and taking the top off Sweetie's egg and pouring out a foaming glass of milk and scooping a bowl full of lovely stewed fruits and pouring rich cream over.

Woodruff, however, simply sat staring at the food.

'Word came this morning,' Beryl said nonchalantly, moving the salt cellar a little closer to Woodruff, 'that young Ferdi is out of danger, and all are talking about how you pulled him through in spite of...'

'Don't,' Woodruff said with a shudder, covering her face.

'O now, Sweetie, you're all wrung out,' Beryl said, rising in alarm and going to hug the healer.

But a knock came at the door, and the healer stiffened and half-rose.

'That doesn't sound like a mishap,' Beryl said, cocking a practiced ear. 'More of a social call, I think. I'll send them away.' And she pushed Woodruff back down in her chair. 'Eat something, now, before I take alarm and pop you back into your bed and bring you milk-toast or some other soppy stuff.'

Woodruff picked up her spoon but stared dully at the plate in front of her, and her stomach turned over at the thought of digging into the rich yellow yolk of the waiting egg.

'Eat!' Beryl tossed over her shoulder, on her way to the door, and so in self-defence Woodruff took up a piece of dry toast from the toast rack, bypassing the nicely buttered slice on her plate, and nibbled at the crust.

'I'm eating!' she returned, affecting a mouthful. Truth be told, she detested milk-toast, though she prescribed it without mercy.

At first she paid no mind to the voices at the door; at Beryl's pleasant, calm greeting it was evident that the caller was not tense and panicky at all, but smiling. She heard Beryl make excuses, but the talk went on perhaps longer than customary for a visitor being turned away (which, while not common in hobbit society, was allowed for in circumstances of illness or other indisposition). Woodruff was only half-listening, however, still sunk deep in the miseries of her thoughts.

Perhaps she ought not to be a healer at all... to make such a mistake, starving young Ferdi until he was weak and wandering. It had taken a sensible hobbit, and no healer in the bargain, to set right what had been amiss. And all because Woodruff had lost her nerve, had been lost in the nightmare memory of the past.

And what would the hobbits of Whitwell do for a healer? a part of her mind said, and she shook her head in frustration. Surely they could do better than a half-trained apprentice!

You have the bulk of my knowledge, Sweetbriar's voice echoed in her memory, the gentle tone taking on a mocking edge as Woodruff's remorseless self-judgment continued. All you are lacking is the weight of experience, and that comes in time.

She jumped at Beryl's touch on her shoulder. 'I'm that sorry, Sweetie,' Beryl said, 'but he's most insistent; says he must speak with you this morning, and he won't be put off.' And something in Beryl's tone told Woodruff that this was an important hobbit, one Beryl hesitated to put out.

Pulling herself together, she laid down the nibbled toast. 'Very well,' she said, rising.

As Woodruff turned towards the door, Beryl laid a shawl about her shoulders. 'The morning's brisk,' she said, tucking the shawl in place. 'I don't want you to catch a chill.'

Bilbo Baggins stood at the door. His eyes were bright and keen as he searched the young healer's face, and he nodded to himself as if he found what he expected. 'Healer Woodruff,' he said politely, with a respectful bow, and then with a glance at Beryl, he added, 'If we might take a turn about the garden...'

'We were just sitting down to breakfast,' Beryl said stiffly, divining somehow that this gentlehobbit had something to do with Woodruff's miserable state.

'A breath of fresh air would do me well,' Woodruff answered bravely, though she did not want to hear what Bilbo had to say. Most likely he'd only confirm the doubts she had, and urge her to seek out more training before she threatened the lives of any more of the hobbits of Whitwell.

'It'll go cold...!' Beryl sputtered, but Woodruff patted her arm with a smile she didn't feel.

'You have my egg, then,' she said, 'or give it to Mardi...' for that hobbit was just at the gate, staring curiously at Bilbo, though he greeted him most politely.

'But...' Beryl said.

'You haven't breakfasted, my dear?' Bilbo said. 'I can return later, but really this little matter of business won't take long.'

'Come and join us,' Beryl said, suppressing her reluctance. It was the hospitable thing to do, but what Woodruff needed at the moment was rest and quiet, not to entertain a visitor, no matter how distinguished.

'I just wanted a private word,' Bilbo said. 'Don't let me disturb your breakfast.'

'You start without me,' Woodruff said to Mardi and Beryl, and she deliberately reached to take Bilbo's arm. 'We'll take a turn about the garden, admire the chrysanthemums, and be right in for breakfast...'

Beryl nodded, catching the unspoken message. She was to set another place for the gentlehobbit, as was the proper thing to do. 'Very well,' she said, and tugged at Mardi's arm. 'Come along, Mardi...'

Woodruff and Bilbo walked down the little path to the gate, for all the world appearing to scrutinise the roses climbing both sides of the arbour. They were as private as they might have been in Woodruff's sitting room, once Beryl and Mardi disappeared into the little smial, for the dusty street was deserted.

At last the young healer spoke. 'I ought to thank you...' she began. 'I might've killed young Ferdi with my caution, and you with your common sense...'

'And I came to apologise for interfering, however well-meaning,' Bilbo interrupted, fingering a half-blown rose. He bent to sniff the bloom and examined a few of the leaves, looking for signs of blackspot, perhaps, and nodding absently to find none.

'If not for your interference...' Woodruff said.

'You would have fed the lad in the morning; I've no doubt in the matter,' Bilbo said. 'Admirable caution, considering his injuries. You wanted to wait as long as possible, to allow healing, and put off the agonies that food would bring were his injuries too severe to heal...'

'It was not that at all,' Woodruff said, fighting down the lump in her throat. 'I was in the grip of indecision... and if you hadn't...'

Bilbo shook his head, and his hand tightened on her arm. 'You're young, yet,' he said, 'and have much to learn that only experience can teach you. You'll make your share of mistakes...' and he smiled briefly before continuing, 'believe me, you will. I know I have! But I've been inquiring, and I've found that you're very well thought-of around here, and not just because you've been riding on Sweetbriar's coattails... er... train.'

Woodruff couldn't help smiling as the hobbit switched his metaphor from male apparel to female, stammering a little in the process, and at her smile Bilbo laughed. 'That's better!' he said. 'In any event, you didn't inherit your reputation from Sweetbriar; you earned the good opinion of the hobbits in the area through your hard work, dedication, and good sense.'

'Good sense!' Woodruff protested, only to be interrupted by a halloo as Ferdibrand ("Old Ferdi", that is) Took rode up in the company of his niece Rosemary.

All signs of worry and weariness were gone, and the mischief sparkled in the hobbit's eyes as he jumped down from his saddle and turned to help his niece down from hers, and though young Rosemary didn't need the help, she took the hand and stepped down with all the propriety she hadn't shown earlier.

'Ah, Ferdi,' Bilbo said. 'Young Rosie talked her father round, I take it?'

Ferdibrand laughed and squeezed Rosemary's hand. 'She did!' he said, 'with a little help from all the rest of us... and it didn't take much talk, as it were, for he was something of the same mind himself, save for the fact that he'd promised Rosie the mare would never be sold away from her.'

'And she's not being sold,' Rosemary said.

'Well, then, I'll just take myself off...' Bilbo said.

'But you're invited to breakfast!' Woodruff protested. 'Beryl's set an extra place, and...'

Bilbo laughed. 'She'd have to set a lot of extra places, I fear, for the stream of visitors due to knock upon your door this morning...'

'Stream...' Woodruff said, wondering.

'I left young Pippin at the smith's, in the care of his cousin Frodo,' Bilbo said. 'They were watching a particularly difficult pony having a trim. Quite interesting, too, how a twitch of the lip can subdue such an enormous creature... I must remember that, next time I must deal with dragons...'

Ferdibrand cleared his throat at this piece of whimsy, and Bilbo returned to the point. 'In any event, the lad had something he wanted to say to you as well, so I'll just go and fetch him, shall I, so that you may retire to your breakfast in peace sooner rather than later...?' He bowed and took himself off, leaving Woodruff facing Ferdibrand and Rosemary.

'Well now,' Ferdibrand said, and stopped.

Rosemary stepped forward, her young face very serious, and extended her mare's rein to Woodruff. 'Here,' she said.

'What...?' Woodruff answered, feeling most stupid.

'I want you to have her,' Rosemary said, putting the rein into Woodruff's hand and closing the healer's fingers over it. 'She's fast, and gentle, and you've ridden her already so you know how well she handles, how sensitive she is, how responsive...'

'I... I couldn't...' Woodruff stammered, holding the rein and looking from the pony's wise gaze, to Rosemary's earnest face.

'You need a good pony, being the only healer hereabouts,' Rosemary said.

'I know, and I've been saving towards...' Woodruff said.

'It's not right, that you should have to run when you're sorely needed, and arrive out-of-breath and already weary,' Rosemary said, 'unless someone has a pony to send, to fetch you... but not everybody does!'

'I...' Woodruff said helplessly.

'You saved my brother's life,' Rosemary said, 'and then you left before even accepting any payment. Well, here's your payment...'

Woodruff couldn't answer; of a sudden there seemed to be a lacking in the air around her and she could scarcely catch her breath.

'The mare was never to be sold,' Ferdibrand said ponderously, 'but she is Rosemary's, to give, if that is what she truly wishes.'

'It is,' Rosemary affirmed, patting the sleek neck that bowed towards her.

'But I...' Woodruff stammered. 'The customary fee is a silver penny, two at most...'

'Or that value in trade,' Rosemary said. 'She's worth at least a silver penny, I'd say, or perhaps two.'

Woodruff stared. The mare was worth a great many silver pennies.

Ferdibrand chuckled. 'Perhaps two,' he said.

'You're not serious,' Woodruff said, but Rosemary shook her head.

'I'm quite serious,' she said. 'O I am not a careless lass, and I know very well what the pony would fetch at market, for I've been to market with Father and Uncle, but Windfoot is worth my brother's life, at least, though Ferdi's worth more to me than heaps of silver pennies, and ponies besides!'

And somehow Ted was there, and had been standing there, how long Woodruff did not know, but he stepped forward, took the rein from her unresisting hand, and said, 'I'll just put her away, then.' As if he were making the decision for her! Part of Woodruff stood apart in amazed indignation, but for the most part she stood frozen, unable to take it all in.

'We'll just be going then,' Ferdibrand said, but Beryl called from the smial.

'Will you come in to breakfast? I've set extra places!'

And somehow Woodruff found herself at table once more, with Beryl and Mardi and Ferdibrand and Rosemary and a few empty places.

The egg cups had been taken away--the eggs had sat much too long as it were--but there was plenty of food for the eating, what with little sausages and sliced cheese and fresh-baked bread, and butter, and honey, and gooseberry preserves.

It was not long before Ted came in, washed his hands, and joined them.

Woodruff was rather at a loss for words, but the others carried the conversation in a lively manner, and so she ate rather mechanically, her head still awhirl from recent events.

And when a tap came at the door, Beryl arose hastily to welcome Bilbo and Frodo and Pippin, and there was still food aplenty, and extra places set, for somehow Beryl had either overheard Bilbo's remark about "a stream of visitors" or had come to the same conclusion herself.

Pippin carried a bundle which he placed carefully under his chair when he sat, and when Beryl got up to refresh the teapot, Bilbo rose as well, scooping up the bundle and catching Beryl's arm, whispering in her ear, and sitting down again, well-pleased. Beryl took the bundle into the kitchen with her, and if any of the breakfasters wondered, they most likely thought the package contained more sausages from the butcher, or sweet rolls from the baker, or some similar contribution to the table.

But when Beryl emerged from the kitchen, she bore, not the plain but serviceable brown earthenware teapot, but rather a delicate china vessel, with a pattern of thistles hand-painted upon its creamy sides.

'There you are, Sweetie,' Beryl murmured, pouring the steaming tea from the restored treasure into Woodruff's cup while Pippin and Bilbo both beamed.

'Oh...' the healer gasped, her eyes filling with tears.

'Don't you like it?' Pippin piped anxiously.

'O it's... it's... love...ly...' Woodruff managed, but on the last word her reserves washed completely away under the assault of tears, and she buried her face in her hands and dissolved.

She didn't hear Beryl's whispered explanation (absolutely exhausted, the poor dear) or the scrape of chairs or the soft well-wishes of the departing hobbits. Really, she knew nothing at all of her surroundings, until she gradually became aware that a pair of sheltering arms enveloped her, a hand was stroking her hair, her face rested against a strong shoulder, and a gentle voice was soothing.

At last she lifted her head, noting absently the soggy spot on the snowy linen shirt where her streaming eyes had rested. One of the supporting arms moved away, and a pocket handkerchief appeared before her. Taking it, she wiped at her face and blew her nose, and at last looked up into the face that she loved better than any other. 'Ted?' she whispered.

'I'm here, dearest, and will be for always, if you wish it to be.'

'For always,' she murmured, laying her head against him once more, at last finding her peace.

Chapter 50. Postlude

Sandy's head appears in the doorway, and I break off my remembering. He looks first to the Thain, and then to me. 'Mistress Diamond sent you a plate from the feast,' he whispers. 'Do you want me to put it on a warmer, here?'

My stomach surprises me by rumbling, though I had several helpings of that marvellous array of tea treats laid out in the little sitting room earlier. 'I'll take it now,' I whisper in return, rising, but he waves me back into my chair and disappears.

Within a moment he returns, laying a serviette in my lap with a flourish, and then setting a well-laden plate upon it. 'Wine?' he breathes, and I shake my head, though such a meal would go finer with wine: juicy roast, puffed pudding, fluffy potatoes roasted in their jackets, two kinds of bread, already buttered, vegetables and a dollop of fruit compote; why, large as the plate is, it can hardly hold the bounty!

'Is there aught else you'll be needing, Woodruff?' he says.

'Naught, Sandy,' I say with a smile. 'You go on to the feast, now.'

He shakes his head, but I press on.

'You must, you know, to honour Mayor Sam and Mistress Rose. After all that the Gamgees did for your poor mother, after the Battle of Bywater...' Sandy's father fell there, leaving a large and hungry family, and Sandy, the oldest, but a tween. Samwise, perhaps with Mr. Frodo's help (for how would he have known of a situation at the Great Smials without Mr. Frodo, or perhaps even Pippin's suggestion?) found the lad a place as an underservant, where he worked hard, and learned enough to rise in station until he became the finest hobbitservant to be found in the Shire. And only right! Nothing but the best for our Thain...

In any event, I can see my words strike home in the wry twist of Sandy's mouth. 'I s'pose I ought,' he says.

'Of course you ought,' I say through a mouth full of melting roast.

His smile becomes more genuine, and he bows, more a nod of his head than anything else, and withdraws.

I am halfway through the plateful when the Thain stirs, turns over, and sits up, swinging his legs out of the bed.

'Sir...!' I say, but I choke, and in the next moment he is out of the bed, takes the plate from my lap and lays it aside, and is whacking me sharply on the back. At last the food dislodges, and I lie back in the chair, gasping, as he steadies me.

'Better?' he says.

'Yes,' I gasp, and try to take myself in hand. 'But you...'

'Half a moment,' he says, and steps to the washstand, where he wets a flannel and returns to offer it to me. I take it and while I am wiping my brow, revived by the cool damp, he goes to the washstand, throwing off his nightshirt and wrapping a large towel around his middle, and proceeds to splash and lather and splash again, coming up dripping but clean. He seizes another towel and rubs himself vigorously, gives a cursory wipe to washstand and floor, and tossing the drying towel onto the bedpost he grabs up the clothing Sandy laid out earlier after preparing the fresh wash-water--a touching testimony to the hobbit's hope and faith in his master's healing--and before I know it he's already assumed clean smallclothes, jumped into the fine fawn-coloured trousers and is doing up the buttons of his snowy linen shirt, shrugging into the waistcoat of pale green silk, and then the fine tweed jacket with its deeper greens and browns.

'You...' I manage as he runs his fingers through his damp curls.

'Do I look presentable?' he says, and raises his voice. 'Diamond!'

'She's gone to the feast,' I say faintly. It is a dream, that's what it is. I've fallen asleep while watching, and yet I have no desire to pinch myself awake.

'The feast has started already!' he says. 'I'm late!'

'But Sir--your leg!' I say, rising to catch at his sleeve.

'And why aren't you at the feast, Woodruff? After all Sam's done for the Shire, and now he's returned from a year-long journey, and here you sit...'

'Sit!' I echo, and follow with, 'that's right, you sit yourself down there... your leg...' I want to examine him head-to-toe, not just the glimpse I had while he was washing, of wasted flesh now firm and muscled, of twisted lumps of ribs somehow straighter, like stones washed smooth in a moving stream, and all only emphasised by the quiet, steady breaths, not a wheeze to be heard. A hobbit made new... But this is a dream, I remind myself.

'Yes, my leg,' he says vaguely, looking down for a brief moment as if it is a topic of little interest. He dismisses it with a wave of his hand. 'Everything seems to be in working order,' he says, and grins. 'Or I'd be flat on my nose on the floor at the moment, wouldn't you think?'

I open my mouth to protest, but he takes my arm to urge me from the room. 'We're late,' he says urgently, 'late for the Mayor's welcoming feast! How unconscionably rude...'

He pauses at the door, thoughtfully fingers the heavy walking stick that leans against the wall there, and leaves his former prop in its stand.

And so, not quite knowing how I have come to be on my feet and walking in my befuddled state, I find myself rapidly propelled through the empty corridors of the Great Smials, having to scamper along to keep up with the Thain's long strides. It is difficult to argue when one is out of breath, but I try.

'Really... Sir... you ought... let me... examine...'

'Really, Woodruff,' he says cheerily, as blithe and bonny as ever I remembered him. 'Examine me? I feel... wonderfully well, at the moment, better than I have in... years! Yes, that's it exactly--I haven't felt this well since...' His pauses are not gasps for breath, but rather thoughtful in nature. I wonder if I will be gasping when I waken. It has happened in the past; I've found myself panting for air in a dream and when wakening I am still breathing hard, as if I've been running in truth and not just in dreaming. 'You'll think it foolishness, of course,' he continues with a nod and a smile, 'but I haven't felt this well since the day we left Crickhollow, in the early mist of the morning...'

There were many times they left Crickhollow, I think to myself, and then catch my breath at his meaning. Of course, he is thinking of the day they left the Shire behind, never to return as they were on that day, but coming home to the Shire as hobbits made over by fire, refined into something rather more than they'd left behind.

Approaching the great room, we don't hear the usual noises associated with a feast: There ought to be a babble of voices, a clattering of plates and cups and silver, calls for more wine, a bustle as the servers hurry to replenish platters and such. It is remarkably quiet.

We pause in the entrance as Pippin surveys the room. Most of the hobbits are staring at their plates, pushing the food about, eating without appetite, or not eating, as it were.

Master Merry is the first to look up, as if he has a certain instinct that his cousin is near. His face bleaches with shock, as if he's seen a ghost of the past. Which he has, certainly, if my eyes don't deceive me. The hobbit standing beside me is as strong and healthy and vigorous as the tween who left the Shire, all those years ago, returning with mark of whip and rope, and crushing injury, his spirit undaunted but his body somewhat "dented", as he liked to joke. Rather like the iron bar under the blacksmith's hammer, pulled longer and thinner under the battering force. The mark of whip and rope remain, faded somewhat by time, but evidences of crushing injury are gone away.

Merry reaches past Estella to catch at Mayor Sam's elbow. The Mayor, sunk in his misery, jumps at the sharp pinch, looking first to Merry, and then to us. His face, too, loses all colour, and he stares.

Pippin disengages my arm from his and gives me a gentle nudge towards my empty place, in the midst of my family. I pinch myself discreetly, but all remains as it is, and I am more and more convinced that I am not dreaming, but fully awake. In the meantime, Pippin strides forward, a bounce in his step, and Diamond turns, catching her breath, her eyes shining with tears of joy and wonder; young Faramir stares, not yet able to take it in, and the twins stand up in their chairs and clap their hands with the joy they always express at their father's coming, and then Farry and his mother are too busy settling them safely to run to Pippin in this instant. No matter, for Pippin's long strides are taking him to his place amidst his family at the head table.

'Hullo, everyone, sorry I'm late,' Pippin says cheerfully. 'I seem to have overslept myself.'

All the Tooks sit frozen, save one of the diners: My beloved jumps to his feet as I approach, and pulls out my chair. I seat myself with a smile, and as he sits down I take his hand and give a reassuring squeeze. All is well. It truly is. Ah, Ted, the story I have for you, when the feast is done!

Pulling out his chair, Pippin seats himself next to Diamond. 'What's for dinner? I'm starved!' He takes in the juicy roast, puffed pudding, fluffy potatoes roasted in their jackets, accompanying breads and salads and vegetables and fruit compote, and his eyes sparkle. 'A veritable feast!' he says, rubbing his hands together as a servant replaces the empty plate at his place with a loaded one.

He looks up. 'What's everybody staring at?' he asks, mischief dancing in his eyes. 'Eat! Before all this marvellous food gets cold!' He suits word to action, cutting off a piece of succulent flesh and stuffing it into his mouth, closing his eyes in rapture. 'Mmmmm,' he says. 'Seems as if the cooks have finally got things right.'

'Pippin...' Merry begins, but the younger cousin pays him no mind, except to ask him to pass the butter, which he does with a most peculiar expression on his face, as if he wishes to pinch himself to ascertain if he is dreaming. I know the feeling.

Pippin butters his bread and dives into his meal with as much gusto as a tween, seeming oblivious to the staring silence.

'Pippin...' Merry tries again, and the Thain looks up politely, though his mouth is too full to speak. He raises his hand in an "in a moment" gesture, chewing vigorously. The flash of the green jewel in the seal of the Thain that he wears, all unawares for its familiarity, catches his eye, and he looks down the table to Ferdibrand as he swallows. 'I thought...' he says, and raising an eyebrow, adds, 'Was it but a dream, then?'

'No dream,' Ferdi says, stumbling over the words. 'I... I... The time wasn't right, that's all. I was waiting until the time was right... e'en though 'twould be all wrong...'

'Pippin,' Merry whispers yet once more, and then he rises from his chair, moving forward to embrace this dearest of cousins, restored from the edge of the grave. 'Pippin!' he says, laughing, though the tears sparkle on his cheeks. 'I cannot believe...'

'Silly Brandybuck,' Pippin says, rising to receive the embrace and patting his cousin on the back. 'Did you have so little faith? You sent Sam off for a cure, and he returned with one, just as you expected! And why should it surprise you, that the cure came from the tree-folk? Our esteemed Mayor is first and foremost a gardener, after all!'

'You're making no sense whatsoever, as usual,' Merry says, laughing through his tears.

'And you, Samwise!' Pippin says to the staring Mayor. He breaks from Merry's grasp to move to the Mayor, to pound that hobbit on the back. 'I have a bone to pick with you...'

Samwise gulps. 'I... I'm that sorry,' he whispers, and in the rising murmur of the Tooks' joy-beyond-hope I know what he says only because I read it on his lips. 'I... I never knew it would pain you so...'

'My only complaint,' Pippin interjects, 'was that you came so very belated, Sam! We expected you months earlier! Why, think of all the trouble we'd've been spared, all the needless worry for Ferdibrand--I do believe he's going grey, at his young age! Why, had your pony stumbled on that last stretch from Buckland you'd've arrived a breath too late!'

'But Samwise has always been one to count on,' Merry supplies helpfully, and Pippin throws back his head and laughs.

'Indeed!' he cries, and turning to address the roomful of Tooks and Tooklanders he adds, 'Three cheers for Samwise! Three cheers, I say!'

And he leads the throng in a rousing cheer, and suddenly the Tooks are on their feet, and the Mayor is being hoisted into the air upon the shoulders of sturdy hobbits, Thain and Master first and foremost, and carried round the room while the Tooks continue their thunderous ovation, celebration... and welcome.

At last the pandemonium dies down, everyone returns to their seats, and attack their cooling food with as much enthusiasm as if it were still sizzling from the fire. Wine is poured, songs are sung, stories told, and the room buzzes with conversation.

'Well, Samwise,' the Thain leans to say, and of course I hear it all, for I cannot take my eyes from him, glowing with health and life. 'It seems you ought to go away oftener, if your return engenders such a joyous welcome!'

'Here I've just returned and you're already trying to get rid of me?' Samwise says in a similar vein. It seems he is recovered from his guilt and grief, or perhaps he, like myself a few moments ago, is labouring under the delusion that this is all some sort of dream.

'O aye!' Pippin says with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. I swear he looks no older than he did before he left to follow Frodo into the Wilds.

'Very well,' Sam says, and he rises from his chair and... marches from the room, leaving everyone dumbstruck. The Mayor has left his own Welcome feast? Master and Thain rise from their chairs as well, hesitating...

But not to worry, for the hobbit is gone only long enough for a brisk walk to the main door and back again. He strolls into the rising murmur in the great room and seats himself by the side of his grinning wife, places his serviette back in his lap, and takes a slice of cake simply dripping with icing from a passing tray as the Tooks fall silent once more, wondering what might happen next.

'Well,' he says with a wink. 'I'm back.'

Pippin slaps Merry on the back and laughs, and Merry throws his arms about his cousin, and the two begin a jig, a dance of joy and welcome, while the Mayor looks on, beaming.

Diamond stands nearby, smiling, and Estella on the other side, looking a little lost perhaps, but not for long as the husbands reach out to draw their beloved lasses into the dance.

Belatedly the fiddler strikes up a tune in the corner, joined by flute and pipes and drum, and I feel the hand of my own beloved on my shoulder. 'Would you care for this dance, my sweet?' he murmurs.

'I'd like nothing more,' I say, and we join the growing dance, weaving amongst the tables, as the joyful music swirls to fill the hall with celebration.

***

Coming next: Epilogue

...and now all is over. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things...
-- (Frodo to Sam, from the chapter entitled "Mount Doom").

Thanks to all for taking this journey with me, through scenes from the life of a character who has been a favourite of mine for quite awhile. How interesting it was, to let her say more than a healer usually gets to say in the context of a story. This is not necessarily the last chapter in Woodruff's life, but it is the last chapter of this story.

Thanks, especially to Marigold, who walked the whole way with me. Her beta comments made this a stronger, more cohesive piece, and Hetty and Hetty's family were her characters, graciously loaned to me for this story.

Chapter 51. Epilogue

We call the dreaded lung-fever "Old Gaffer's Friend" because it is a relatively gentle and painless end for an elderly hobbit, most often affecting those, young or old, who are weak, though often enough it carries off one who is young and strong, and so it is rightly to be feared.

But really, it is not so bad as some maladies I have treated, and if it were not for the distress of my loved ones I would be quite comfortable with things as they are. It is only that I am so very weary... so weary... I feel I could sleep for the rest of my days.

'A little water, Mum,' and I open my eyes, to smile at my daughter-in-love, wife of my eldest, who is holding a mug before me. Ah, Holly, but what a fine healer you have become, and your children after you. Seems but a day or two ago that little Thad, your youngest, was toddling about after Hetty, that time we visited her in the little healer's smial in Whitwell, and now he's her apprentice, and making good from all reports.

'Thaddie's in Whitwell, Mum, don't you remember?' Holly says, with that anxious look in  her eye that she has not quite been able to hide, the past day or two.

'I am not wandering in fever,' I say with a smile. 'I was only remembering. A body has the right to remember, at my age. There's so much of it to do...'

'What is there to do?' comes the voice of my beloved, and he enters, bringing a fresh basin of cold water. Holly lifts the cloth from my forehead and wrings it out in the basin; the cool against my brow is refreshing, and I sigh. 'Naught for you to do,' my Ted continues, 'but to gather your strength and be well again, Sweetie.'

'Of course,' I agree, and close my eyes again as he takes my hand, but there is a flurry at the door--the family are all gathered in the next room, it seems from the noises I've been hearing. Whispers from the grown-ups, and overloud exclamations from the little ones, who haven't yet learned how to speak softly.

Why... even Hetty is here, for I hear her halting step.

'Hetty?' I say, but really, my eyelids are so very heavy.

'Mistress,' comes the answer, and I smile as Holly's hand falls away and Hetty's takes its place. I know that hand, so skilled at healing it is, and imbued with a comfort that spreads into my fingers and up my arm somehow, just from her touch.

'You came all the way from Whitwell...?' I say.

Her hand squeezes mine in answer. I open my eyes, to see her cheeks wet with tears. She hastily wipes them away and gives me a watery smile, but neither of us is fooled by the other.

'Mardi sent word that you won't take his medicine,' she says, and swallows hard. 'He said I ought to come and bring a few of my own potions with me... and so Thad brought me safely along the track through the Green Hills.' And yes, there is my grandson, hovering in the doorway, waiting to catch my eye, to flash me a shadow of his usual grin, before he turns back into the outer room, to join the soft conversation there.

'Draughts are for sick folk!' I say stoutly, trying to draw myself up against the pillows. But really, it is too much effort, and I sink back again and close my eyes. 'I'm glad to see you, lovie. It's been too long, really...'

'Perhaps you won't be quite so glad...' Hetty says, and her hand leaves mine, and it is not long before I hear liquid pouring into a cup, and soon enough the cup is placed against my lower lip.

I open my mouth automatically; I swallow the draught, bitter stuff that honey cannot completely conceal; I gag, just a little, but from the tilt of the cup I've reached the end of the draught, and next will come the cup of plain water, sweet and refreshing.

'Yes, that's got it,' I say, after several thirsty swallows.

'That ought to set her right,' Hetty says, and I hear my Ted answer her under his breath.

'Please, may it be...'

I feel her hand grasp my shoulder, those strong fingers which seem to have healing in their very touch. Her breath tickles my cheek as her whisper reaches my ear. 'There now. That'll ease your breathing that you may go to sleep without worrying about whether you'll waken. There may be a little coughing soon, but that's all to the good; and when it has done its work we'll soothe the cough back to sleep again.'

My Ted's hand tightens on mine, and I feel his desperate hope in the gentle grasp.

Another stirring from the direction of the doorway: another arrival. I hear the seated hobbits rustle. They are standing to their feet. A hobbit of rank has entered, by the evidence of my ears.

And so, despite the overwhelming pull of slumber, I open my eyes.

'Thain Peregrin,' I say with the best smile of welcome that I can muster. I am so very weary... but soon enough I shall sleep, either the healing sleep that Hetty has half-promised, or...

Perhaps I dozed indeed before he entered and so I missed the words he might have spoken, or perhaps some unspoken message passed from his eyes to the watchers, but in any event my Ted leans over me to lay a kiss upon my cheek, and Hetty squeezes my hand and releases it, and then Ted moves around the bed to take her arm and help her from the room. She can make her way without help, but accepts his arm with grace, having known my beloved all these years, and the loving heart that infuses all of his actions.

As the door closes behind them, the Thain sits himself down in one of the watchers' chairs and takes my hand between his two good, strong ones. 'Sweet Woodruff,' he says.

'None of your nonsense now, lad,' I say, in automatic response, and his smile brightens, but the pain remains in his eyes. I know that pain of old; many's the time...

'I came to bring you a mathom,' he says, 'and a piece of my birthday cake that Diamond set aside for you before they began to lay the tables in the great room, for you've never missed a piece of my cake, whenever I've passed a birthday in Tookland, and I wasn't going to let you start now, even if it meant cutting the cake before the candles were lit!' But then, he has never hesitated at setting aside convention if it made sense to him, so to do.

'And a very happy birthday to you indeed, young Pip,' I say, as I have said to him every birthday he has passed in Tookland, since the first.

Holding my hand in one of his, he digs in his pocket with the other, at last laying something cool and smooth and weighty in my hot palm.

'A stone?' I say, trying to lift my hand for a look. But it is so very heavy...

He closes my fingers around it. 'A stone, smooth and weighty, that could bring down a bird or squirrel for the pot, or sit in your pocket for a worry-stone, or set in a vase with other stones to hold flowers upright, or even set in a stream to see it turn from dull to shining black...' he says, and I remember, as if it were yesterday.

And I whisper, '...that he might grow to be solid and steady.'

'As he has,' the Thain says, though his voice is husky and he has to clear his throat. 'At least, I hope he has.'

'O aye,' I say, in my best Tookish manner, and his eyes crinkle in silent laughter. It has always been a jest between us, that I am Took only by adoption and marriage. He has always maintained that I never quite get the intonation completely correct. 'He has, at that.'

A tap comes at the door, and it swings open to admit Holly, bearing a tray. 'Tea,' she says rather breathlessly, 'per your order, Sir.'

'Thank you,' Pippin says, rising to meet her. As she sets the tray down he takes up the lovely thistle-graced teapot, setting it on the table beside the bed.

'Just call if you need anything,' Holly says, and pulls the door nearly to behind her.

Next the Thain adds milk to one cup and brings it and a second cup to the bedside, where he proceeds to fill both with hot, strongly brewed tea. I remember as if it were yesterday...

'Don't go casting that stone,' he warns as he pours. 'We wouldn't want to shatter the pot, after all. Bilbo must have taken all his Elf-glue with him when he left, for Frodo told me he couldn't find the glue-pot after the Party.'

And in truth I cannot tell if it is whimsy or not. Does it matter?

'I have a goodly grasp,' I say.

'I should say you do,' he answers.

He adds just the right amount of sugar to mine and stirs thoroughly, but when I would lift my hand he forestalls me. 'You rest, now,' he says. 'Let me...'

I'd smile, but then the tea might spill as he holds the cup to my lips, and so I sip instead, and wait to smile until the cup is pulled back. 'That's good,' I say.

He smiles and puts my cup down, to take a hearty swallow from his own cup, for he likes it strong and hot and will not drink it if it cools appreciably. 'Good tea,' he says. 'Holly's always had a special touch... though it might be the teapot that makes it so good.'

'Undoubtedly the teapot,' I say. 'A very special pot it is.'

And he puts down his cup, and lifts mine to my lips once more, and whether it is the fine tea, or the good company, or some magic in Hetty's potion, I know not. All I know is that the tea tastes better to me than anything has, these past few days, and I guzzle it greedily, and not at all politely, I fear.

'Nothing like a fine cup of tea to heal all ills,' he says briskly as he lays down the empty cup, an echo of something he'd heard me say to his mum over and again, years ago. But as quickly his eyes sober, and he adds, almost as an afterthought, 'Too bad it's not Ent-draught.'

I laugh, though I scarcely have the breath to do so. 'I'm that glad, I am, that you and Regi drank up all the stuff years back,' I say when I can talk again. 'A cure it might be, but my one sip was plenty for me!'

'If it made you well...'

'Ah, yes, and it would be wasted, for all it would do would be to make me the healthiest hundred-year-old hobbit in the Shire!'

'We need you,' he says, putting down the cup and taking my hand. 'You have got to try, Woodruff.'

'I haven't turned my face to the wall yet, lad,' I say, 'and I've no intention of doing so.'

'But Mardi...'

'That one's an old fussbudget,' I say, and chuckle at remembering, for Pippin nearly always observes, when he hears that word, They don't budget their fusses at all, so why call them that?

But the worry does not leave his eyes. 'Mardi...'

'All's well, lad,' I say, rousing myself enough to lay down the smooth stone upon the coverlet so that I may pat his hand. 'Mardi's potions went down with difficulty and wouldn't stay down, in a manner of speaking. There was no point in taking more...'

'But...' he says, and it is all I can do to keep from laughing, this one pressing a healer over a draught!

'But Hetty's done something different to her draught, some herb or other,' I say, 'likely something she found in the woods or a weed growing in the corner of her garden, and she liked the way it smelt, and gave some to her pig to see if it would do any harm, and then tried it herself to see what it would do... she's brewed more new and wondrous potions than any other healer I know, that lass. Best thing I ever did...' And I suddenly come to the end of my rope, and cannot finish, ...was to take her on as my apprentice, all those years ago.

But he understands, and nods, and then fusses with my pillows, and truly, when he finishes propping me just so I feel as if I'm breathing easier. And he pours me another cup, fixing it just the way I like it, and helps me drink it, all the while telling of the preparations for the birthday supper, and how Diamond has invited so many Tooks to the celebration that they'll have to tuck their elbows in if they're all to fit.

Sitting up suddenly, and looking somehow like the young lad who always liked to be the first to bring me news, he said, 'But I bring not just birthday gift and cake, I bring as well a juicy piece of gossip, not yet released in the tunnels and corridors and halls, but soon to spread throughout the Great Smials and Tookland beyond, after the grand announcement that's to be made at supper. I thought you'd like to be the first to chew upon it.'

'Do I have to promise not to tell, at least until after supper?' I whisper. My eyelids are growing heavier as Hetty's potion does its work, not the weariness that made me want to sink down through the mattress earlier, but a good sort of sleepiness, as if I am floating on clouds. I force my eyes wide.

'Tell away!' he says gaily. 'It's good news; indeed, it is!' And he lowers his voice, and adds, 'I'm to have another daughter--what do you think of it?'

For the merest second I am confused--Diamond is well past the age of bearing--but then I grasp his meaning. 'Farry--and Goldi!' I rasp, and then a cough rises in me and invites all its fellows to join in the celebration, and I am quite breathless when the fit is over, dispelled by soothing syrup that Holly brings, and the Thain eases me back against the propping pillows once more.

Holly hesitates, but their eyes meet and with another look from the Thain she makes a courtesy and slips from the room.

'Aye,' he says, 'Faramir--and Goldilocks. They've set the date, and they wanted you to be among the first to know, that you might clear your schedule...'

'When, then?' I say, giving up the struggle to hold my eyelids open. 'Farry's not yet of age...'

'You guessed it,' the Thain says. I feel the warm cloth lifted from my forehead, there is the sound of trickling water and then it is replaced, cool and fresh. 'He'll never have an excuse to forget his wedding anniversary, for they're to be wed on the day he comes of age.'

'A goodly plan,' I say with a smile. His hand regains mine in a firm grip, and I give his fingers a little squeeze. 'But then, Farry has learnt a lot about planning, from his Uncle Merry.'

A chuckle answers me. Pippin has never been much of a planner, though he's learnt something of planning over the years. Still, the lad has good instincts, and they've stood him in good stead. He makes good decisions, including choosing hobbits who are good planners, to work under his direction.

'I'll check my diary,' I say, though the room is fading around me, and the only thing I can feel, really, is that hand that is holding mine. 'If I do not have a previous engagement, I'll be sure to be there...'

'I'll see you at the Feast,' he says softly, and I smile.

'Dear lad,' I say. Child of my heart. My voice is inaudible in my own ears, but I feel the squeeze of his hand as the world fades away. I am sorry to think I will sleep through the birthday supper and the grand announcement, but the wedding feast is some months away, and with time and care I ought to be dancing with the rest of them when the celebration starts.

*******

The End

*******

General Notes
This is a better story for Marigold's insightful questions and comments. Thanks, Marigold, for a marvellous and thorough job of beta-reading!

This story expands on a few chapters in At the End of His Rope. I've included a link for your convenience, if you don't mind spoilers. If you read that story, you will know how this one comes out. It is a long story, but the chapters are short! 

Chapters 3 and 5: Pippin's  birth
This part of the story is closely woven around another, Cousins and Other Nuisances.

Chapter 6. Interlude
The incident Woodruff is remembering takes place in the story FirstBorn, here on Stories of Arda.

Chapter 11. Into Deep Waters
Sorry about the cliffhanger, the chapters just broke naturallly and there's no time to type in more of the story. If you really cannot wait to find out what happens, read "In the Greening of the Year". Will update as soon as possible, but of course, there's an intervening "Interlude" to type in first, and this week I have almost no computer time. Apologies once again.

Chapter 16. Another Apprenticeship
Andy Grubb and his family appear courtesy of Marigold.

Chapter 30. Interlude
The treatment for polio described in this chapter comes from a scrap of memory of my own. I remember reading, a long time ago, the biography or autobiography of a nurse who worked in the wilds of Australia, and how she treated a child in the throes of acute polio. Somehow the child's leg muscles relaxed with the constant application of wet heat, and she was not left crippled when the fever passed. I wish I could remember the name of the book that I read this in!

Chapter 35. Wanderers Meet
Robin Tallfellow appears, wearing a different name, in All that Glisters (set when King Elessar meets his friends at the Brandywine Bridge in S.R. 1436). Lop the sheep dog is the very same who saves Pippin's life in Pearl of Great Price (set when Pippin is about twelve).

The scene with Lop and Pippin is patterned after a true story about an Irish Wolfhound, devoted slave to a three-year-old child a number of years ago.

Just a general note
"Wagon" is spelt "waggon" in my edition of JRRT's LOTR. Thus the seemingly odd spelling in my stories.