Since it has been quite some time since I finished posting “A New Reckoning”, and since many might not care to re-read such a lengthy story, I am providing here a brief summary of what has gone before, as well as a list of the characters, to help those who might need their memory refreshed.

I hope that this will prove useful.

Thank you.

RECAP:

In “A New Reckoning”, King Elessar and King Éomer had sent delegations to the Shire, in the spring, one year after the destruction of the One Ring.

The delegation from Rohan brought with it the news that a great store of gold and treasure had been discovered in Isengard, and a portion of it had been set aside to give the Shire as weregild for the damage Saruman had done. The delegation from King Elessar brought with it the King’s edicts for the Shire, which he wished to have ratified by the Shire’s leaders.

One of the King’s requests was to investigate Saruman’s dealings with the Shire. This caused fear among certain hobbits who had collaborated with the enemy during the Occupation, most especially for Eglantine Took’s brother Clodio Banks and his business partner, Dago Bracegirdle. In an effort to stop the ratification, Clodio’s sons vandalized the Men’s campsite, causing injury to one of the Men, and also to another hobbit. The malefactors were caught, and turned over to the Men for King’s justice. Since the Man who was injured was from Rohan, it was decided to take the prisoners first to Edoras.

Another of King Elessar’s wishes was for a group of hobbits to come and spend six months at the court of the King in Gondor. Fredegar Bolger was chosen to lead this embassy, with Berilac Brandybuck as his second in charge. Also part of the group were Jolly Cotton, Mosco Burrows, and young Denham and Rollin Banks--whose father had been chosen to replace Clodio as head of the Banks family.

Choosing to accompany the group on her own was the Took’s family healer, Mistress Poppy Burrows. She brought along her apprentice, Viola Harfoot. Mistress Poppy hoped to learn new methods of healing from the healers in Gondor.

The group left the Shire, and began the journey south immediately after the wedding of Sam and Rose Gamgee.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:

HOBBIT EMBASSY:

Fredegar Bolger

Berilac Brandybuck

Denham “Denny” Banks

Rollin “Rolly” Banks

Wilcom “Jolly” Cotton

Mosco Burrows

In addition:

Mistress Poppy Burrows--healer

Miss Viola Harfoot--apprentice healer

HOBBIT PRISONERS:

Clodio Banks

Clovis Banks

Cado Banks

Dago Bracegirdle

GONDORIANS:

Targon, son of Cirion--Captain

Borondir, son of Berehil--Man-at-arms

Artamir, son of Mardil--Man-at-arms

Adrahil, son of Mardil--Man-at-arms

Bergil, son of Beregond--Page

ROHIRRIM:

Éothain, Éodred’s son--Leader, and cousin to the King of Rohan

Anwynd, Anfrith’s son--Rider

Leodwald, Leodric’s son--Rider

Danulf, Danhelm’s son--Rider

IN ADDITION:

Legolas Greenleaf--Elf, Prince of the Greenwood and one of the Nine Walkers

Gimli Gloin’s son--Dwarf, Lord of Aglarond, and one of the Nine Walkers

Haldad, son of Hathol--A King’s Messenger

Mellor, son of Meneldil--a Ranger

Eradan, son of Erellont--a Ranger

(This list is not comprehensive, and more characters may be added as the story progresses.)

THE ROAD TO EDORAS

CHAPTER 1

Fredegar sat down by the fire, and drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around his legs, and putting his chin on his knees. The rest of the hobbits had already sought their bedrolls, and most of the Men as well. Éothain, however, was awake. He had taken a turn on watch--he and Targon did so from time to time, even though they were the captains of their respective small companies--and had just been relieved by Danulf, who was pacing about the perimeter of the encampment. Tomorrow, they would be in Bree, and Freddy found himself a bit nervous. He was in charge of this embassy of hobbits, and they would for the first time be encountering Men who were not sworn to the service of one of the Kings.

He’d had several conversations with Targon, King Elessar’s envoy, but he had not really spent much time yet getting to know the emissary of the King of Rohan.

“Are you having trouble sleeping, Master Fredegar?” Éothain inquired politely.

“A little,” he replied. “Please, do call me ‘Freddy’. We will be travelling together for many long miles.” He took out his pipe to light it.

“When we are alone, or perhaps together with Targon. But you are the head of the embassy, and it would not be proper to be familiar with you in public.”

Freddy nodded; he’d had much the same answer from Targon. These Men were just as much sticklers for what was “proper” as Sam Gamgee ever had been. Thinking of Sam gave him a stab of homesickness. Sam was back in the Shire along with almost everyone else he really cared about. To distract himself he asked Éothain “Well, now that you have seen hobbits in their own land, what do you think of us?”

Éothain smiled. “I think that I am going to miss your fair land and its people. The first time I saw holbyltlan, I wondered if I had lost my mind. I realize now just how ignorant I was. But to those of us in Rohan, the little people who lived away north were always nothing more than nursery tales, and not much believed by anyone old enough to ride.”

“Tell me about it.”

The rider lit his own pipe--a gift from Holdwine Meriadoc, when he had recently taught the Man to smoke--and drew his legs up tailor fashion.

“We had seen many marvels in only a few days, we Rohirrim of my lord and cousin Éomer’s éored. It had, in fact been only six days since we had seen Lord Aragorn, with Legolas and Gimli, spring like magic out of the grass to challenge, it seemed, our passing. I was amazed to see them: strangers as they were in a land that brooked no strangers, and I did not believe their words that they had travelled so many leagues afoot in so short a time as they said. And, as I saw it, they were less than courteous to Lord Éomer--though I realize now that they were simply defending themselves against our suspicion. And I laughed at the declaration that they sought among the Orc band we had fought for two “hobbits” as Master Gimli proclaimed them-- “halflings”-- No offense meant, Freddy, for that is the term most people of the South use for your people.”

Freddy nodded. “I realize that, Éothain, and would not dream of taking offense.”

The rider nodded, and continued his tale.

“I was brash, impatient, and a bit discourteous. My cousin Éomer however, was impressed with their claims, most fortunately for all of us; he rebuked my scorn, and loaned two of our horses to the strangers, and we were soon on our way again.

We returned to Edoras, where of course we found Gríma Wormtongue still firmly established at the king’s side. My lord cousin feared trouble; he dismissed his é ored before entering Meduseld. As well for me he did so, for I am sure I would have done something rash when Éomer was arrested.

It was only three days since we had seen them upon the plains that Lord Aragorn and his companions, accompanied by Gandalf Greyhame upon the Lord of the Mearas, arrived at Meduseld. I was not there to see the way that the Wizard freed my Lord King from his ensorcellment, but I saw my king afterward, as he ordered the mustering of the Eorlingas!

‘Arise now, Riders of Théoden!

Dire deeds awake, dark it is eastward.

Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded!

Forth Eorlingas!’*

It was a stirring moment, a shining moment, to see our King once more his own self, sturdy and brave!

I shall not describe for you the battle of the Hornburg. Helm’s Deep was a difficult and harrowing fight, and I am sure you have heard enough of what occurred already from the Elf and the Dwarf.”

“Yes,” said Freddy, “Legolas and Gimli have told me just a bit about it. I think, they, like you do not think it fit for hobbit ears. I cannot say as they are wrong.”

“You holbyltlan are a peaceful people, and though you have learned to defend yourselves well, peaceful you remain for the most part.”

Freddy nodded. “For the most part,” he agreed.

Éothain sighed. As with any race, there were to be found hobbits who did not fit the mold of the rest of their people--some to the good, as with the Travellers and all that they had accomplished to save the world; and some to the bad, as with those renegade hobbits who had collaborated with the enemy during the Troubles, as the hobbits called the Occupation of the Shire.

“Afterwards, my Lord King Théoden chose several of us to accompany him on the road to Isengard. Again, I was confronted by tales out of the nursery, as we passed through the wood of the Huorns, and encountered the Ents.

When we rode into view of Orthanc, I got my first glimpse of the creatures that Wingfoot, Legolas and Gimli had pursued across the plains of my land in the hopes of rescuing. At this point I had thought myself immune to amazement, but the sight of smoke curling from their mouths was astonishing.

There, for the first time I beheld them: your small and valiant kindred. Meriadoc stood forth, and with a grin, called out ‘Welcome my lords to Isengard!’ I was utterly astonished, for in spite of all the marvels I had seen in the last few days, to see the small people I had always thought of as children’s tales with mine own eyes was the last thing I expected. And--” Éothain took his pipe from his mouth and looked at it in amusement, “I most certainly did not expect to see them breathing smoke!”

Freddy laughed at the wry expression on Éothain’s face. “No, I don’t much imagine you did.”

“I know how pleased the Three Hunters were to finally see their friends, though it was hidden of course, amid much jesting. This I have come to see is the way of your people. But I also recall the bleakness on Meriadoc’s face after Gandalf took his cousin away on Shadowfax. To have been so sundered from his kin, and left alone among strangers was hard. And it was even more difficult when the last of his friends went away on the Paths of the Dead.

When the muster rode from Dunharrow, many of us were aware that the King’s neice and the holbyltla were among us, but we feigned ignorance. Better they should die among us in battle, fighting for those they cared for, than to be left behind in despair. And well for us they did so, for the battle would have gone ill had they not slain that foul Dwimmerlaik.”

Freddy nodded. He was among the few who had been entrusted with the full story of what had gone on while the Travellers were away; Merry felt they owed it to him, for the part he had played in staying behind.

“Freddy, tomorrow we must get an early start if we are to be in Bree by noon, as Targon has hopes of catching the King’s Messenger there before he leaves. I suggest we seek our bedrolls.”

“Yes. I am beginning, finally, to get sleepy. Thank you for talking to me.” It had been fascinating to hear the first impression hobbits had made on the envoy from Rohan. He went thoughtfully to his bedroll. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

___________________________________________________

He woke to birdsong the next morning, and the sounds of the Men preparing to break camp. He was beginning to get used to this, though he did not fancy he would ever really *like* camping out. He rose and began to take up his bedroll.

“Captain Freddy?” Jolly Cotton handed him a steaming cup of tea. Jolly had been in Fredegar’s band of rebels during the Troubles, and had taken to calling him “Captain” then.

“Thank you, Jolly. How soon do you think we will be moving on?”

“Well, Captain Targon thinks that we should be ready to leave as soon as breakfast is finished.”

“And what’s for breakfast this morning?”

“Porridge. As usual.” Jolly made a face. The Men were not very imaginative when it came to meals.

Freddy went over by the fire, where the rest of his party had gathered, including Mistress Poppy and her apprentice Viola. He took the rather full bowl of porridge that Rolly Banks dished out for him, and then one of the apples that Mosco offered him. They all ate companionably in silence, concentrating even on the rather boring meal as only hobbits can. Freddy noticed that Denny and Rolly Banks kept shooting glances over to the side of the camp, where the prisoners were taking their own meal under the careful and watchful eye of Leodwald, one of the Rohirrim.

Berilac noticed as well. “Denny, Rolly, you really must not let them get to you.”

Denny ducked his head, abashed. “Sorry, Mister Beri. But I just can’t get over that the one who used to be head of my family was a traitor.”

Freddy cocked his head. “But he is no longer. Now your father is head of the Bankses. And you do not need to say ‘Mister’ to Berilac or me. You yourself are next in line to be head of your family.”

Denny nodded, and looked at his brother. They still looked a bit disturbed as they went back to their food. Their sudden rise in status had caught the Buckland branch of the Banks family off guard.

__________________________________________________

On the other side of the camp, the prisoners ate sullenly under the watchful eye of their guard. They would be afforded no chance for conversation, for as soon as the meal was finished, their hands would be tied, and they would be put in the saddle in front of one of the Men, to ride until they stopped. All four of them were suffering saddle sores, unused as they were, to the broad backs of the horses. Mistress Poppy had provided a salve, but it did not completely alleviate the problem. They found no sympathy for their difficulties among any of the others travelling with them.

_____________________________________________

The other hobbits finished their breakfasts and saw to packing up their ponies for the day’s travel.

“Freddy?” The mellifluous voice could only belong to Legolas.

Freddy looked up.

“Targon wanted to know if you are ready.”

He glanced around; it looked as though his entire party was ready to mount their ponies, so he nodded, and swung himself into the saddle. Legolas mounted Arod, and took Gimli up behind him as was their custom.

With Borondir bearing the sable banner of the White Tree, and Anwynd that of the running horse of Rohan, the small cavalcade moved out.

Freddy brought his pony up alongside Targon’s large horse. “How long will we travel today?”

The Captain of the Gondorians looked down at him. “I think that we should be in Bree by mid-day. I just hope that the King’s Messenger is still there when we arrive.”

_________________________________________________

Haldad son of Hathol wondered when he should take his leave. He had thought to wait until noon of the seventh day before he took leave of The Prancing Pony. But there had been no one here this week. Still, he was aware that the delegation that had come through earlier in the spring would be returning soon.

He went down to the common room, and ordered a luncheon of bread, cheese, pickles and ale. The Bree-landers had learned over the last few months to be courteous to the King’s Messengers who came to wait at the Pony. Big Folk and Little gave him smiles and greetings as he sat to his meal. The food was good, and the beer even better. He had heard from Old Butterbur the innkeeper that the beer had been blessed by the Wizard Gandalf, and Haldad found himself quite believing it. No, it would not hurt to have lunch first.

He had just finished his meal when there was a bustle at the entrance. He looked up to see what he had been hoping for all along: the sight of a Man dressed in the armor and livery of the White Tree, accompanied by one of the Rohirrim, and two gentlehobbits. The Gondorian was carrying a flat leather pouch.

At last he would have a worthwhile message to take south.

______________________________________________________

*Taken from The Two Towers, Book III, Chapter VI, "The King of the Golden Hall"

CHAPTER 2

Just outside the gates of Bree, Mosco Burrows, Jolly Cotton and Denny and Rolly Banks assisted the Men in setting up an encampment. Tonight it would not just be bedrolls around a campfire. They would set up the tents as well, for they planned to remain here for three days.

Targon wanted to replenish supplies. True, they had not used that much in the short journey from the Shire to Bree, but he wanted to start the journey south completely supplied. And Éothain wanted the mounts, both horses and ponies, checked by a farrier, to make sure that all were well shod. Smithys would be scarce in the lands they proposed to travel through.

Mistress Poppy and her apprentice had decided to take on the cooking for the day. The hobbits had agreed among themselves that they were better cooks than the Men, and had informed Targon that the Little Folk would now be taking it in turns to do all the camp cooking. Éothain was slightly taken aback, but Targon, remembering the King’s tales of how Samwise Gamgee had taken over the camp cooking for the Fellowship, was not surprised.

Denny and Rolly had taken it on themselves to fetch the firewood. As they returned from a small wooded copse, arms laden with kindling, they passed by the prisoners.

Clovis Banks voice came after them. “No one is ever going to mistake you for gentlehobbits as long as you are willing to fetch and carry!”

Rolly stiffened slightly, but otherwise the brothers took no outward notice.

Clovis sniggered. His brother Cado gave him a slight kick on the shin, and gestured with his chin. Clovis looked to where Cado had indicated, and blanched.

Gimli, the Dwarf, was watching them speculatively, as he fingered the blade of his axe. And the Elf, Legolas was staring at them with those cool Elven eyes that seemed to see right through to the other side.

Clovis squirmed. Cado flushed and averted his eyes.

Clodio Banks watched his sons with dull and apathetic eyes. When they had finally left the Shire, he had grown quieter and quieter. His fear had begun to give way to a numb despair as he realized his life was gone forever. His sons were young, and perhaps thought to find something to hope for. But he knew they would never be able to return to the Shire, never see their home again, never again hold the position of status and respect that had been so important to him. Beryl, his wife, had not disavowed him--though she had been given the opportunity. But she had refused to accompany them into exile, and had not so much as come to bid her husband and sons good-bye. He was only just now beginning to realize that he missed her. She had always been such a shadowy presence, with no more than a wisp of her own personality, but she had, nevertheless always been there. It had never occurred to him that she would *not* be there. That she had chosen not only to stay, but to make her home with his sister Eglantine--how that rankled. He looked down at his hand, at the tattoo that proclaimed him “traitor”. How could he be a traitor? He was only trying to advance his family in the world, after all, wasn’t he? And now it was all for nothing. The Bankses had come down to this: that the head of the family was a *bridgetender*!

He sighed, and his mind drifted away again.

Dago Bracegirdle watched his former partner. Clodio had no stamina, that’s what. Dago had lately come to realize that both of them had never understood what was really at stake. They had made the mistake of thinking that the Shire was all there was, and the wide world did not matter. They had made the mistake of believing Lotho, with his grandiose plans for wealth and power--that they would supplant the Tooks and the Brandybucks as the premier families of the Shire. And they had helped Lotho bring the wide world into the Shire. Dago realized now what a mistake it all had been, but the profits to be made had blinded him at the time. Now they were in the wide world themselves, no chance of a life in the Shire ever again. Somehow, thought Dago, he had to find a way to survive in this world. One way or another.

“Here is the water, Mistress Poppy.”

“Thank you, Bergil.” She allowed him to place the bucket on the ground next to the cooking pot, so that she could ladle out what she needed. Using the tools and cooking gear sized for Big Folk was a bit awkward. Bergil helped to steady the pot for her. Viola brought over the dried vegetables they had prepared.

“Tomorrow we shall go into the town and purchase some fresh fruits and vegetables to use while we are here. They will not only be more tasty, but more healthful as well.”

Viola’s eyes grew wide. She looked over at the wall of the town with, as it seemed to hobbit eyes, its very imposing gate. “We will go into the town?” she asked.

“Yes, lass, we will. I am quite certain that one of the lads, and perhaps even one of the Men will accompany us. But this is Bree--there are hobbits here as well as Big Folk. It should not prove too dreadful.”

“It’s all right, Miss Viola,” said Bergil. “I will go with you, anyway, whether anyone else does or not.”

The apprentice smiled at the child. He seemed so serious and grown up. It was hard to realize he was only eleven years old, though she reminded herself that eleven was older for his kind than for hobbits. “We‘ll be glad of your company, Bergil.”

He nodded, and moved on to find out what other task needed doing. He knew that probably the hobbits thought of him as a very young child, but he was going to do his best to help take care of them. They were the friends and kin of his beloved Sir Pippin, after all.

He saw Borondir and Adrahil putting up the captains’ tent, and hurried over to help with the stakes.

Even though it was broad daylight, Artamir and Anwynd were on watch. As long as they were in close proximity to the town, their captains had called for a doubled watch both day and night. Though it might seem rather pointless in such a place as Bree, they had learned their lesson on complacency in the heart of the Shire, when Clovis and Cado had vandalized their camp and driven off the horses, in the vain hope that it would prevent the ratification of the King’s edict, and the investigation into their father’s activities during the Occupation of the Shire.

_______________________________________________

Haldad stood, as the four approached. The Gondorian spoke first.

“King’s Messenger?”

Haldad nodded, and introduced himself.

“I am Targon, son of Cirion; this is Éothain, Éodred’s son, of Rohan. Master Fredegar Bolger, and Master Berilac Brandybuck, of the Shire, envoys of the hobbits to the King.”

“You came upon me timely, Captain Targon,” said the messenger. “I had planned to leave Bree right after I had finished my meal.”

“I am glad then, that we got here as quickly as we could.” The four were seated at the table with Haldad, and Butterbur bustled over to take their orders, soon returning with tankards of beer for them all.

Targon passed over the diplomatic pouch, containing the official reports for the King of all that had passed in the Shire. Éothain gave him also a sealed document for the King of Rohan, and Freddy had a less official report as well as personal letters for King Elessar from Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin.

There was a verbal report from Targon as well.

“Please let them know that our party is of necessity, a very large one, and our travel is bound to be slow. We do not expect to be in Edoras sooner than two months from now. There is, of necessity some business to be conducted there as well, before we go on to the White City.”

Haldad nodded. “You are going down the Greenway, then, to the Gap of Rohan?”

They nodded, so he continued. “That’s the route I take myself, though I will be going as swiftly as I can. I anticipate getting a fresh mount at Tharbad.”

They spoke for a while about the road conditions and the weather for travelling, and then Haldad said “Well, I shall take my leave of you now. The sooner I get on my way, the better, and it is as well these messages arrive in advance of your party.”

After Haldad left, Freddy and Beri persuaded Targon and Éothain that it was not too late to order luncheon.

Freddy found himself looking about the place with curiosity. So, this was The Prancing Pony, where Frodo had sung upon a table, and where his friends had their first encounter with the future King, all unknowing. Berilac caught his eye and grinned. “It could have been this very table, couldn’t it?”

Mr. Butterbur brought their meal at that moment. “No, sir, little master, it were that one right over there--” he pointed a thumb toward a slightly larger table nearer the center of the room. “I must say, it flummoxed a lot of folk that night. But what happened later” the old innkeeper gave a shudder, “it more or less made that seem mild, if you know what I mean.”

Freddy nodded somberly. He did, indeed, know. Butterbur was talking about the later raid of the Black Riders.

After the innkeeper left, he saw Targon and É othain looking at them with inquisitive expressions. “This is a portion of the tale with which I am not familiar,” said Targon.

So between them, Freddy and Beri filled Targon and Éothain in on the story of what had happened when Frodo had come to The Prancing Pony. The two Men were both shocked and amused at the tale. Targon found himself wondering what could have happened had not “Strider” been there. All would have been lost before the Quest had ever properly started!

Before the four prepared to return to the encampment, Freddy and Beri had letters for their families to entrust to Butterbur.

“And you’ve no need to fear me forgetting them, little masters! I put them in a special box, and whenever young Mr. Took and Mr. Brandybuck come over to meet the King’s Messengers, they know to ask me if I’ve got aught to send to the Shire! For some reason, they think I might not remember!”

“That’s very good to know, Mr. Butterbur!” laughed Freddy, as they took their leave.

______________________________________________________

They soon were back in camp.

“Is everything going all right, Mosco?” asked Freddy, for he had put Mosco in charge while both he and Beri were gone. He and Berilac had discussed it, and decided that they would rotate the position of “third” in line of authority among the remaining hobbits, and Mosco had received the honor of the first turn.

“Not really any problems,” said Mosco, giving a look toward the prisoners. “But they are still trying to get under Denny’s and Rolly’s skins. The *one*--” he used the particularly nasty tone of voice that indicated Clovis, “--is just determined to get some kind of notice from them.”

Freddy sighed. He had not realized before they started how difficult it was going to be for the Buckland Bankses to be forced to travel with the Underhill Bankses. “I will have a word with Captain Targon about it. But we’ve got *months* of travel ahead. This situation cannot be allowed to get out of hand.”

“As long as we are here at Bree, I will confine the prisoners to one of the tents. But, as you say, we’ve months of travel ahead.” He shook his head. This was not a situation he could have envisioned in his wildest dreams when he had left Gondor.

Éothain shook his head. He had been listening to the conversation. “You are making this far too complicated. Each time he opens his mouth to speak to one of them, use the solution the Shirriffs used the day Samwise was wed: gag him, for an hour to start. Then the next time, for two hours. For every offense, add an extra hour to the punishment. He’ll soon learn to keep his mouth shut if he does not want us to shut it for him.”

Targon stared. Such an idea would never have occurred to him. But the Rohirrim were a far more direct people.

“That could work.”

“I know it could,” grinned the young horse-lord. “You Gondorians always want to make things so complicated.”

The three laughed, and Freddy went his way rather relishing the idea of seeing Clovis’ mouth stopped.

CHAPTER 3

The following morning, Freddy and Jolly offered to take the cooking chores. Poppy informed Freddy that she and Viola would be going into town to check out the market, and bring back some fresh fruits and vegetables.

Freddy pursed his lips. He really had no authority over Poppy, he knew it, and she did as well--Poppy and Viola were not officially with the hobbit embassy, but were travelling as private individuals. “Who is going with you, Mistress Poppy?” he asked.

“Mosco insists on coming along, and the lad Bergil.”

Targon overheard the discussion. “Anwynd shall also accompany you,” he said firmly.

Poppy looked as if she would protest, but instead snapped her mouth closed and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Further, Mistress Poppy, as you plan on purchasing foodstuffs to be used by this company--” he held out a small pouch, which she took, and looked within.

“What are these?” she asked curiously, taking out one of the small pieces of paper it held.

“Those are chits on the King’s funds. The merchants may bring them and redeem them for coin ere we depart.”

She nodded. These Men had some very strange customs. Why not just use coin to begin with? Ah, well. Perhaps that was too simple.

Just then, a large waggon rolled into the camp. When they had been in the town the day before, É othain had made arrangements for a blacksmith to visit the encampment and check the horses and ponies. Three Men and one hobbit got out of the waggon, which held a small anvil. It was the smith and his three apprentices. They would spend most of the day checking over the animals.

______________________________________________

As they entered the gate, standing open as it was day, Viola was very nearly treading on her mistress’ heels. Mosco walked alongside his cousin, who was gazing about her with frank curiosity. Anwynd and Bergil walked behind, Bergil excited simply to be doing something a bit different than the usual campside chores, Anwynd keeping an alert and careful watch over his small charges. Bree was known as a pleasant and peaceful town, but there was no accounting for what some people might do.

Poppy stopped. “Where, I wonder, will we find the market stalls and shops?”

Bergil went forward to her side. “Oh, I know! I remember from when we came through here before, Mistress Poppy!”

“Well, then, lead the way, lad!” she said briskly.

“Yes, ma’am!” he grinned. The others followed him as he turned onto the main thoroughfare and led them past The Prancing Pony. Viola moved even closer to her mistress, if that were possible, gazing about with wide eyes at the tall buildings looming over them, with their great doors and many square windows. A party of Big Folk walked past them, and though they smiled and nodded pleasantly, she found herself holding her breath until they had gone by.

They came to a cross-street, and there running up and down it, were a number of shops, as well as carts and barrows of fruits and vegetables being sold. “Here we are,” said Bergil, unnecessarily.

“I can see that,” said Poppy dryly.

She wandered up and down the area at first, simply looking over what was on offer, and not getting close enough to draw the attention of the sellers. She wanted a chance to see what was available before she actually began to make purchases. Mosco walked by her side, and Viola on her other side, with Anwynd and Bergil trailing silently behind. Most of the merchants were engaged in business, and did not pay close attention to one who was seemingly not interested in buying.

She turned and went back a few feet to a large stand overflowing with some lovely vegetables and fruits. It was tended by a cheerful looking hobbit matron.

“Good day to you,” said Poppy.

“And good day to *you* Mistress! You are from the Shire, from the sound of your words!”

“Indeed I am,” she answered.

“You are a healer?” for the vegetable seller had spotted Poppy’s pendulum.

“Yes, I am Mistress Poppy Burrows. This is my apprentice, Miss Viola Harfoot, and Mosco Burrows of Frogmorton, my first cousin once removed. And these are our friends from among the King’s people, Anwynd of Rohan, and Bergil of Gondor.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, Mistress, it is unusual to see Shire-folk traveling with Big Folk.”

Poppy grinned. “It is unusual, I daresay, but I hope with time it will become more usual. These are some uncommonly nice looking vegetables. Surely it is early in the season for peaches and tomatoes!”

“Why, I thank you! My family has a glass house, where we are able to get an early start on many things that otherwise would need to wait for longer days and warmer weather!”

Poppy picked up a lovely ripe tomato, and held it to her nose. “Very nice indeed, I should say.” She took out the pouch with the chits, and showed one to the vendor. “Are you familiar with these?”

The other hobbit smiled. “I am familiar with what they are--we have seen a few of them since the King’s messengers began to come through last fall. But I have never had occasion to take any. How do they work?”

Anwynd cleared his throat, and Poppy gestured for him to speak. “Little mistress, you will indicate the value of the purchases here--” he pointed to a spot on the chit where an amount was to be written-- “and you take them to the encampment to exchange for an equal amount in coin.”

“I thought” said Poppy, “that you could deliver the purchases at the same time that you redeem the chits?”

“That sounds fair,” she replied. The two of them set to haggling. It was amicable, in the way of hobbits, as they established whether there was any family connection between them, and as was usual with hobbits found one, though very distant indeed.

“We will need enough of everything to feed nine Big Folks and eight--no, twelve--hobbits…” Poppy shook her head; she had nearly forgot about the prisoners. But after all, they needed to eat as well.

They finally agreed on the amount, and the vendor produced a quill and ink from one of her capacious apron pockets, and it was written on the chit. “I’ve one of the Big Folk whom I hire as a carter from time to time. We will deliver the produce to the camp this afternoon.”

“Thank you very much, Mistress Sandheaver,” said Poppy. “We also need to see about some dried vegetables--especially mushrooms--and some staples, such as flour and molasses. Do you have anyone you might recommend?”

The little group went on their way, and soon, Mistress Poppy was satisfied with the purchases she had made. All the vendors were to deliver their goods and redeem their chips.

“Aunt Poppy,” said Mosco, “It is past time for elevenses.” His stomach gave a rumble, as if to punctuate the sentence.

“So it is,” laughed his cousin. “I daresay we could take a late elevenses or an early luncheon, if you please.” She looked at Bergil and Anwynd. “You have been here before. Where is this famous inn of The Prancing Pony, of which I have heard so very much.”

Viola had grown a bit less timid, as they had passed down the streets of Bree without incident, but she felt very small indeed as the group entered in the doors of the inn.

There were some tables and chairs sized for hobbits, of course, but the party wanted to stay together, so Butterbur himself led them to a Man-sized table near the center of the room, and brought cushions for the hobbits to sit upon.

They lunched upon a freshly baked chicken pie, with cheese and bread and blackberry tart for afters. A pot of tea was brought to the table, though Anwynd and Mosco both ordered some of the Pony’s famous beer. Anwynd and Bergil had finished their meal long before Poppy, Viola and Mosco even began to slow down. Bergil entertained the group by telling them all that Pippin had recounted of the hobbits’ stay at The Prancing Pony, and their meeting with the mysterious “Strider”.

“Sir Pippin said they’d no idea who this scruffy person was, and none of them were much inclined to trust him until they finally got the letter that Mithrandir--Gandalf--had left for them.” Bergil shook his head in amazement, as this part of the tale always seemed so unbelievable to him. He’d never seen his King in anything but majestic splendor, and had a most difficult time imagining him as “scruffy”.

When they finally finished their meal, Poppy decided that it might be a good idea to return to the encampment, so that they would be present when the merchants began to deliver the produce and other goods they had purchased that morning.

The streets were even busier now after luncheon than they had been before, and Viola found herself once more crowding to her mistress’ side. Poppy turned at one point to reprove her, but on seeing the expression on her apprentice’s face, thought better of it. The lass was clearly doing her best to contain her fearfulness, and a rebuke might do more harm than good. Still, Poppy did not regret bringing her--this experience should be very good for her in the long run. And in the short run, Poppy might have to have a few talks with her.

When they returned to the encampment, it was just in time to see Mistress Sandheaver arrive with the delivery of foodstuffs. Freddy was delighted to see them, and immediately began to make new plans for the evening’s supper.

Poppy looked about the encampment. The two captains were in earnest conversation about the journey, and Berilac was listening intently. Leodwald of Rohan and the Dwarf, Gimli, were assisting the blacksmith and his apprentices as they were shoeing one of the horses and checking over one of the ponies. Artamir appeared to be on watch, Adrahil and Borondir were busily inspecting some of the tack. Rolly and Denny were helping Freddy and Jolly clean up after luncheon. Danulf was watching the prisoners, who sat sullenly outside their tent. Poppy grinned as she noticed a rag stuffed in Clovis’ mouth. Couldn’t happen to a more deserving hobbit, she thought wryly. She looked about. Where, she wondered, was the Elf?

Targon came over to speak to Mistress Sandheaver, who showed him the chit. He smiled, and taking out a pouch, counted over the coin that had been agreed upon. Poppy watched as the hobbitess grinned, and stowed the coin in one of her pockets.

Mistress Sandheaver turned and saw Poppy, and came up to her. She had been looking about the encampment curiously. She looked rather taken aback at the sight of the prisoners. “What is the story, there?” she asked curiously.

Poppy glanced over at them. “They were collaborators and traitors during the Troubles. We found out about them when the King’s Men came through. The two younger ones were foolish enough to attack the Men’s encampment while they were in the Shire. They are being taken to the King to be judged.”

Mistress Sandheaver’s eyebrows climbed at this news. *That* was going to be an eye-opening bit of gossip! “So who are they?”

Poppy’s face took on an expression of disapproval, but she reminded herself that this was Bree-land, not the Shire. Perhaps they did not understand about not naming those who were banished. “They *used* to be the head of the Banks family, his two sons, and the head of the Bracegirdle family.” She shut her mouth with a snap, and the hobbit from Bree realized she would not get any more information.

“Well, Mistress Poppy, it has been both pleasurable and profitable doing business with you. I hope I will see you again.”

“Thank you, Mistress Sandheaver. I am sure we will be passing this way again.”

The merchant took her leave, and Poppy noticed that some of the other vendors she had done business had arrived with their deliveries. She turned and saw Targon coming to deal with them. Where was Viola? Ah, talking to young Berilac. She summoned her apprentice to her side. She was going to have a talk with her.

Just then Legolas entered the camp, and was greeted with joy, as he presented Freddy with a brace of nice plump pheasants.

________________________________________________

In the small tent that the two healers shared, Viola seated herself apprehensively. She thought perhaps her mistress might be angry with her.

“Viola,” said Poppy gently, “are you still frightened? I noticed that you kept very close to me in the town.”

“It’s so very *big*,” answered the apprentice. “I never really understood how *big* it all would be.”

“If you do not think you can overcome your timidity, I am sure I can find some hobbits here in Bree who would be willing to escort you back home to the Shire, if that is what you wish.”

Viola’s brown eyes grew wide. It had never even occurred to her that her mistress might offer to let her go home. But--

“No,” she sighed. “I will try very hard to be less timid, Mistress Poppy. I do not wish to leave you.”

Poppy smiled and gave the lass a hug. “There’s my brave lass! This will be very worthwhile to your future, you know, for us to learn all we can of the Outlands way of healing.”

“I know, Mistress. Thank you.”

____________________________________________

Dinner at the encampment that evening was a festive affair, with succulent roasted pheasant, a large salad Freddy had made with the fresh vegetables that had been delivered, potatoes roasted in the coals, and griddlebread. Jolly had also made a peach cobbler.

Afterwards, the group sat about and listened to Anwynd and Bergil play their flutes, until the stars were all out and the Moon was high. Then one by one, they drifted off to their bedrolls, leaving only Leodwald and  Adrahil to keep the first watch.

Chapter 4

The next day, Rolly and Denny offered to take on the cooking chores. They made breakfast, using the everpresent porridge to make some oat griddlecakes, which they served with blackberries on top; and they fried up some sausages, mushrooms, and potatoes to go with them. The lovely smells wafting over the encampment drew everyone out, eager to partake, Big Folk as well as Little.

Poppy and Viola planned to remain in the encampment, after their busy day in town the day before. Poppy brought out her herbal, and set Viola to studying, while she herself sorted through and organized her medical satchel. She warned Viola that she would quiz her on what she had studied after luncheon.

Gimli had decided to go into town and sample some of Barliman’s beer, and Leodwald and Danulf, having no other duties scheduled for the day, decided to accompany him.

Legolas planned to once more return to the nearby woods, and do some more hunting. To his surprise, Freddy, Beri, Mosco and Jolly all offered to come along. Jolly had brought his bow, and the others were all skilled with their slings. The Elf readily agreed. He knew that hobbits could be quite as silent as Elves if they put their minds to it.

It was Borondir’s turn to watch the prisoners. The older Banks son had been silent since he had been gagged the day before, but he was staring daggers at Rolly and Denny. Finally, the frustration was too much, and he opened his mouth to say something. Not a word got out, as he found his mouth stuffed once more by the vigilant Borondir. It did not help that Cado sniggered at the sight, or that Rolly and Denny grinned at one another as they passed him. Tears of pure fury stung his eyes. Somehow, someday, someone would pay for his humiliation!

_________________________________________________

Shortly before luncheon, Legolas and the hobbits who had accompanied him returned. Legolas had another pheasant, and the hobbits all had contributions as well of squirrels and coneys, and Beri had brought in half a dozen quail.

Except for Freddy and Beri, the hunters all set to cleaning the catch, with Rolly’s and Denny’s assistance.

Fredigar and Berilac went to the captains’ tent to talk to Targon and É othain about the morrow’s journey.

“We shall be travelling down the Greenway towards Tharbad,” said Targon. “It should take about two weeks, give or take a day or two.”

Freddy nodded. “So we will not return by way of Rivendell?” He felt a bit disappointed about that, as he would have dearly loved to see that place. He knew that Poppy had also hoped to go that way. She hoped very much to have an opportunity to speak to the Lord Elrond.

“No, we came by way of Imladris--or Rivendell, as you Northerners call it--because we had messages and dispatches to leave there. It will be faster to journey down the Greenway. On our return next year, however, it is likely that we *will* stop there, for we will probably have the same reason.”

“What is at Tharbad?” asked Berilac, diffidently. He still felt a bit of awe around these two, who were the leaders of the groups, though he had long ago lost his shyness around the other Men.

“There is a small settlement there, though it is growing. And there is a Ranger way-station there as well.”

“What kind of weather should we expect?” asked Freddy.

“We are coming into summer,” said Éothain, “and the weather should be pleasant and mild, though the occasional storm is not to be dismissed. Last winter, the snowfall in the Misty Mountains was fairly heavy, and so there are likely to be some streams to be forded that will be much higher and swifter than normal.”

“Are there any dangers we might encounter on this first part of the journey?” asked Freddy.

Targon pursed his lips. “There are always unexpected dangers, Master Fredegar, but without making any promises, I will tell you that it is unlikely. Our group is large, heavily armed and travelling as emissaries of two kings, which our banners proclaim. Brigands and ruffians will try to avoid us. As far as Orcs go, their presence in the mountains has been curtailed. There still exist roving bands of Orcs, but most of them are small. We’ve heard no reports of any of them troubling travellers on the Greenway so far. And any group as large as this one should have no fear from wild animals either.”

“That is good to know.” This pretty much went along with information he had gathered from Merry and Pippin before they had left the Shire, but it did not hurt to go over it again.

After a little more discussion, Freddy and Beri left the captains and went to check on the other hobbits.

Given the variety of meat that the hunters had brought back, it had been decided to smoke some of it, and to make the rest into a hearty stew for supper. Rolly and Denny were discussing their proposed recipe with Jolly and Mosco, and since talk of food was always interesting, Freddy also joined the conversation.

Berilac noticed that Viola was sitting on her own, near the healer’s tent, reading a book. He went over to her.

“Where is Mistress Poppy?”

“She’s taking a nap. She said we’ll get few enough chances for that once we start again tomorrow, and she wants to take advantage of it,” laughed Viola.

Berilac chuckled. “Your mistress is nothing if not practical.”

“Oh, I know!” Viola grinned. “There are those, of course, who think this trip is not practical, though. Some of them have gone so far as to say that my mistress is as cracked as old Bilbo Baggins.”

Now Beri laughed outright. “Well, it’s quite possible, since we know now that Bilbo wasn’t cracked at all, and that his stories were all quite true!”

The apprentice’s brown eyes widened. “I never thought of it that way,” she said. “ ‘Mad Baggins’ has just always been a saying that everyone took for granted as long as *I* can remember.”

“So was the old saying ‘when the King comes back’ for something that would never happen,” Berilac responded.

Viola laughed again, and tossed her curls back.

Berilac lowered his head, and looked up at her. She really was quite a pretty lass, he thought, as well as intelligent. But he had heard-- “So, what do you think of our Merry and Pippin?” he asked trying for a casual tone.

“They are quite amazing. I cannot believe how much they grew while they were gone! And my mistress is completely obsessed with finding out how Peregrin Took managed to survive his horrible injuries.”

“Have you talked much with Pippin?” He wasn’t getting the information he was after.

Viola gave him a sideways glance, and smiled. “We did talk a good deal at the Ball between dances. He’s a marvelous dancer, and he enjoys talking about more things than the weather.” She cocked her head. “But it was just friendly conversation. We never spent any time together besides at the Ball, though I know there is always speculation whenever the son of the Thain dances with anyone.”

“Ah.” Berilac tried to keep his voice level, but his heart lifted. At least he would not be trying to compete with the heroic Sir Peregrin.

From his vantage point near the prisoner’s tent, Cado watched the two having their conversation, and scowled. Another Brandybuck, he thought with disgust.

___________________________________________________

The group at the encampment ate heartily that night. The Gondorians and the Rohirrim were beginning to see the advantages of having hobbits to do all the cooking.

That night, Gimli coaxed Legolas into singing.

____________________________________________________

The next morning, preparations were made to move out; Targon wished to be on the road before the time that the hobbits would have called ‘second breakfast’. The hobbits were resigned to the fact that second breakfast, elevenses and tea would all be nothing more than what they could eat in hand from the saddle. They would stop only for luncheon. Berilac volunteered to prepare that meal, as well as supper when they finally stopped to camp.

Targon explained that they would not be pitching tents for the night, except for Poppy’s and Viola’s small one, but instead would be sleeping under the stars in their bedrolls.

As the Sun began her climb into the sky, the entire group was mounted, and moved out, passing through the north gate of the town, where they attracted a cheering crowd, and out through the southeast gate.

Soon they were on the Road.

CHAPTER 5

The group soon established a pattern for their travel: up with the Sun, a hearty first breakfast prepared by one or two of the hobbits, in which porridge only played a part. Then they would mount up and ride out, the banner bearers to the fore. At first the hobbits found themselves riding in the middle, with some of the Men ahead and some behind, but by the second day, the hobbits were often riding alongside the Men or Legolas and Gimli, so they could chat with them as they rode. They had to pace the horses to the ponies’ shorter legs anyway, so it was not difficult to carry on such conversations.

They would travel until lunchtime, when all would stop for a meal, quite aside from the constant nibbling most of the hobbits had been doing in the saddle; they would rest briefly for about an hour, and then once more they would continue the journey, riding along until about an hour before sunset, when they would stop once more to make camp for the night, and another hobbit-cooked meal.

The third day, Mosco was riding alongside Adrahil, who had Cado on the saddle in front of him, and Bergil.

“Bergil,” said Mosco, “I know that you were a good friend to Pippin while he was in the South. I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about what it was like for him there.”

Bergil grinned. There was nothing he liked better than to talk of his beloved Sir Pippin.

Cado scowled. Pippin. His cousin Pippin was the cause of all this trouble. He knew Clovis blamed the Brandybuck, but Cado never forgot that it was Pippin’s falling for their dare all those years ago that had started everything that happened to them since.

As usual, the rest of them acted as though he were not there.

“Well,” said Bergil, “the first time I met him” he blushed to remember “I offered to stand him on his head or lay him on his back. I thought, you know that he was just another lad. He told me he was ‘a halfling, hard, bold and wicked…”

His face shining with pride, he told of the first day he spent in Pippin’s company, and how they had gone out to watch the levies from the Outlands coming in for the defense of the City. Then, more hesitantly, and though still with pride, there was some restraint and a bit of pain in the young voice, as he recounted how Pippin had sought to save Faramir from his father’s madness.

“He asked my father to hinder the Steward if he could, little knowing what that would mean. He did not know what it would cost my father if he left his post.” There was a catch in Bergil’s voice, and he reached a hand up to dash away unwelcome tears.

Somberly he continued with the story of Faramir’s rescue, and the breaking of the siege by the Rohirrim. Occasionally, Adrahil interjected an observation. “I do not think I ever saw Sir Pippin look so sad and frightened as he did in the Houses of Healing, when he thought his cousin was dying. Poor Sir Meriadoc; he was so pale, and his arm was icy cold, and he scarcely breathed. But then Mithrandir brought the King, and the King’s hands were the hands of a healer.” Bergil gave a shy proud smile. “I was the one who finally found the athelas. I remembered that one of my friends had a grandfather who used it to when he had a headache…”

For a while the conversation lapsed. Mosco had a lot to think about. He knew that Freddy and Beri had heard a good deal of the story first-hand from Merry, but he did not know Merry or Pippin that well, and had not been one of their confidantes. He thought, though of the day he had watched them march Sharkey’s shirriffs through Frogmorton, sitting so proud and easy upon their ponies in their gleaming armor, with swords hanging at their hips. That day had been one of the highlights of his young life.

Cado, too, found himself uncharacteristically thoughtful.

After a while, Mosco said, “But you said it was Merry who was wounded in the fighting! When and how was Pippin injured?”

Bergil sighed. The last time he had recounted that tale, Pippin had gently rebuked him. But that was because the hobbit lads and lasses he was telling were so young. Still, he was not sure if he should tell it again. His dilemma was solved when Adrahil spoke up.

“Sir Peregrin was injured nigh unto death when he saved Bergil’s father, my brother and me during the Last Battle.”

“The day that we marched out of the White City to go to war, Pippin marched among us. There we were, those of us in the Third Company who were going--for some were left behind for defense of the City. We drew lots for who would stay and who would go, all except Bergil’s father Beregond, who must needs go, as he could not remain in the City as a Guard, and Pippin, who must needs go to represent the Shire. He stood on one of our outside ranks, for if he had been elsewhere, he might have been trodden on if he fell, ere anyone would see him. It so happened that he was alongside my brother, and I was on my brother’s other side. Beregond was in the file immediately behind us.

We were silent as we advanced, all of us feeling grim, for we were sure that we were going to our deaths. None of us expected to survive, for we knew that there was no way to defeat the Enemy. Only Peregrin of all our company, knew of the secret hope being carried into the heart of the Black Land, and he kept that secret well. But I am not sure that even he had much hope.

We did not talk until we came to Osgiliath, at noon. Pippin simply collapsed upon the ground, too weary even, to seek the noonday meal. Beregond brought him some of the rations, and sat with him, insisting that he eat. The rest of us did not know very much of your race then, or we too might have been alarmed at his lack of appetite. He ate a bit, and drank a bit, and stood with determination when it was time once more to set out. When he started to put his helm back on, I noticed he was very pale. Some of the others in the company were amused. I do not think they realized that he was not a child, and that he was as determined as the rest of us to see it through.

By the time we made the next five miles, to the Crossroads near Minas Morgul, he was stumbling. Several times my brother had reached a hand to him. The first few times, he had angrily shrugged it off, and fresh determination strengthened his stride for a short time. But soon he did not even seem to notice my brother steadying him. Once more, he collapsed where we stopped, and this time none of the three of us could rouse him to take more than a few sips of water. Worst of all was the sight of his feet which were sore and swollen. We had not been able to find any boots that would fit him, and he had disdained them anyway, saying that hobbits did not wear such things. This was most worrisome, and I am not sure what we would have done, had not the Elf Legolas with the Dwarf Gimli come at that point to check on their small friend.

They were very alarmed at the state they found him in; Legolas made some sort of Elvish oath, and Gimli rounded on all of us angrily. But they realized soon that we had not known what to do. Legolas took him up on his white horse, and rode off to seek the King.

He was not returned to us that night, and finally, Beregond, worried, went to the tents of the great captains to seek information.

He came back looking more cheerful. ‘The King himself has tended our valiant Ernil i Pheriannath. He is mostly exhausted. After today he will ride pillion with Mithrandir, for his short legs cannot hope to keep up with us at the pace we are setting, and we do not have the time to shorten our strides to accommodate him. When we come to do battle, he will once more stand among us.’ 

The next morning, our young friend came back among us as we sat to our meager breakfast rations. He said that though he would be riding with ‘Gandalf’ as he called the Wizard, he nevertheless would come and camp with us when we halted.

And so he did, leaving us each morning to mount up behind the Wizard, and returning to us each evening at sunset. Finally, the fifth night out of Morgul Vale, when he came to us, he was looking far more hale and cheerful. He had endeared himself to us all with his courage, and that night he also cheered us with songs and stories of his home, the Shire. I could tell that somehow he had recovered his hope.

But the next morning, the Captains of the West set all our host up in great array, and sent forth heralds to challenge the might of the Dark Lord, and call him to account for his evil. We were too far away to hear what was said, but it was clear that Sauron’s emissary had brought ill news.

Mithrandir rode back with the rest, and put Peregrin down. He gave a pat to his head, and then rode off on his magnificent horse. The hobbit came back among us, and all the cheer and hope we had seen in him the night before was dead. His face was white and grim, and tears rolled unheeded down his cheeks. He put his helm upon his head, and drew the small sword he carried.

Then the first assault of that foul host came pouring in upon us. I briefly lost sight of him, but then I saw him--he was as a small fury, cutting off the feet, stabbing the knees and legs, of orc after orc. Those of us who were in his wake had only to finish off the fallen enemies he left. Beregond, Artamir and myself were still trying somewhat to keep him in sight. Then suddenly came a company of trolls--as much bigger than we, as we were to the halfling. One of them came in our direction, swinging their clubs, Artamir was overborne and then Beregond. Then I was struck in the shoulder and borne to the ground. The troll was reaching for Beregond, when I saw Pippin once more. He went behind the creature and with his blade, he hamstrung it. Then ere it could fall, he darted back between its legs and holding up his sword, he stabbed upwards as it fell. I was sure then that it was the end of him.

Just as I myself swooned, I noticed his foot, protruding from beneath that foul creature.

When I wakened the next day, it was to the news that not only did my brother and Beregond yet live, so did our valiant Peregrin. All of us were astonished to have survived, and to learn that the War was won.

And then the rumor began to circulate of *how* the War had been won, that our battle had been a feint, to allow two small halflings to creep alone into the Enemy’s stronghold and put an end to his Ring, and therefore to him.

There were many who did not believe this, thinking that so great a victory could not possibly have been accomplished by such small hands, but those of us who had seen Peregrin in action could easily believe it, especially when we heard that one of the twain was his kindred, for after all, had not his other cousin helped to slay the Chief of the Nazgûl upon the Pelennor?

It was some days before Artamir and I were able to be up and about, but we were able to be there when the Kings honored both the halflings by making them Knights." He stopped speaking, and all were silent for a few moments.The Man took a sip from his waterskin, and shook his head when Mosco offered him an apple.

Then all of us went out in great ranks, to honor the Ringbearers, and my brother put Sir Peregrin upon his shoulders, that he might be able to see his cousin and his friend receive their honors and become Lords of the realm. That is a sight I will treasure the rest of my days.”

Mosco was deep in thought, wondering if he would have ever been able to do the kinds of things that Pippin and Merry had done, and wondering how they had survived such dreadfulness.

Bergil was remembering how close he had come to losing his father.

Cado was thinking that perhaps he did not envy Pippin quite so much as he had always done.

_____________________________________________

CHAPTER 6

A couple of days later, as Freddy was making his morning toilet in the basin of warm water the hobbits shared, he got ready to change his shirt and put his jacket back on. He came across Folco’s flute, and took it out to look at, before stowing it away once more. His breath hitched, and he felt tears threaten, but he blinked them away. The pain subsided into a mere ache of longing. He missed his best friend still, every single day. But the hurting was less than it once was.

Bergil had been standing nearby, and noticed. That day as they rode, he rode alongside Freddy.

“Mr. Freddy?” Bergil had finally settled on the hobbity form of address as most appropriate. Freddy had laughed at being called “Master Fredegar” all the time, and he said “Mr. Bolger” was his father.

“Yes, Bergil?” He was quite willing to pass the time of day with the lad.

“Do you play the flute? I have never heard you, but I saw--” he stopped, confused by the look on Freddy’s face. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no, lad, nothing wrong at all. The flute belonged to my friend Folco. He was killed during the Troubles, and it reminds me of him.”

“Oh.” Bergil had heard something of the sort mentioned. “Did he play well?”

“Very well indeed, Bergil. It was my delight to have him play for me, as he often did. We sometimes had to coax him to play for others--he was a bit shy about it--though once the music began he would get over it. But he would always play for me, even without being asked.”

“He liked music, then, like Sir Pippin?”

Freddy grinned. With Bergil, it always came back to his “Sir Pippin” at some point. “Yes, he liked music in very much the same way, though he only played the flute. He also liked to sing, as well.”

“I’m learning to play,” Bergil offered shyly.

“I know you are. I have heard much improvement in your playing since we began. You take lessons from Anwynd, do you not?”

“Well, I heard him play after the Rohirrim joined us at Edoras. I loved to listen to him and to watch him. After we got started on our journey, one day when he was playing, he asked would I like to learn how. He helped me carve mine, and began giving me lessons. I was pretty bad at first,” he confided.

Freddy laughed. “Even Folco was pretty bad to begin with! But his parents put up with it, for they wanted him to play very badly indeed.”

“Were they musical?” asked Bergil, puzzled.

“Not at all. There were much more practical reasons for Folco to play.” Freddy felt a lightness speaking of his friend in this way that he had never thought would be his again.

“I don’t understand?”

“Let me tell you about Folco, Bergil my lad!”

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When Folco Boffin was a faunt he was a bit slow in learning to talk. But once he did start talking, he chattered non-stop. However, most of what he said made little sense to anyone except his best friend Freddy Bolger, who always understood what he was trying to say. It was not that he used baby talk, or nonsense words, but he simply talked about everything he thought or saw or heard as soon as it came into his head, and never waited for that thought to be finished before he forgot it and was talking about something else entirely.

Most adults thought he was funny and cute with the unexpected things he would say, but as he grew a bit older, he did not seem to outgrow the tendency, and it began to become embarrassing.

“Mummy, what happened to Uncle Blanco’s hair? It’s going away--doesn’t that look funny?” spoken in a rather shrill voice by a rather vocal seven-year-old. “There’s not much left on his feet either!”

The object of this statement flushed bright red with both embarrassment and anger. Baldness was almost unheard of in hobbits, and for poor Blanco Chubb-Baggins, it was a sore trial, for not only was the hair on his head afflicted, to the point where even growing it long on the sides and combing it over did not help, but it had begun to affect his feet as well. The healers had told him that it occasionally cropped up in his branch of the family and they could do nothing about it. He rapped the end of his walking stick upon the floor and to Daisy Boffin’s everlasting shame said “Madam, have you taught that child no manners?”

And then when he was eight, there was the occasion of the wedding of Betony Proudfoot to Togo Banks. “Papa, Cousin Betony is awfully fat, like Freddy’s mum was before he got a baby sister!”

This rather loud proclamation drew a number of shocked stares, not a few muffled sniggers, and caused the bride-to-be to burst into tears. Griffo Boffin’s own face flamed, as he groaned, and heard once more Folco’s plaintive question: “Did I say something wrong again, Papa?”

Griffo just moaned and placed his palm over his face.

Folco was beginning to realize that when his parents made that gesture, it meant “yes” in answer to his question. But he was never sure exactly *what* he had said to cause the reaction, because by then his attention had been caught by something else.

When he was nine, he had drawn the ire of the Sackville-Bagginses at a family picnic, when first he had said Cousin Lobelia’s new hat looked like a fruit basket, and then when he had said that Lotho’s face looked like a pig’s. Both of those statements had drawn tirades from Lobelia, who would have used her umbrella on the frightened lad if he had not had the sudden presence of mind to hide behind Cousin Bilbo’s legs. Cousin Bilbo just gave Cousin Lobelia a Look, and told her “Be off! You cannot punish a lad for speaking the truth!” Lobelia, Otho and Lotho had all left in a huff, and Cousin Bilbo had patted him on the head and given him a sweet. Nevertheless, his parents were not pleased.

By the time Folco was ten, the task of keeping his friend busy and away from anyone he might offend had largely fallen on his friend Fatty--for Freddy had become Fatty soon after his little sister Estella learned to talk.

She could not quite get her little tongue around “Freddy” and it came out “Fatty” instead, and since he was rather rounder than most lads, it stuck. Fatty often thought it rather unfair that his sister’s embarrassing baby-talk was thought cute, while poor Folco just got in trouble for that kind of thing.

It wasn’t easy. Folco simply opened his mouth and said whatever passed through his mind. It grew worse about then, as he had discovered jokes. He would take up any joke he heard someone else tell and repeat it, usually getting the point of it wrong. Or failing that, he would tell it to entirely the wrong sort of person.

One day Fatty and Folco overheard some tween lads telling some rather rude jokes that should never have been spoken near young ears. Fatty by this time knew what would happen. Sure enough, the next day, when Daisy Boffin was entertaining some hobbit matrons at tea, including Iris Whitfoot, the wife of the Mayor, Folco decided to repeat one of the jokes.

It was a major mistake. His mother washed his mouth out with soap and sent him to bed without supper.

He was heart-broken. He had only meant to be funny, after all.

Yet Folco was very kind-hearted. Once they had gone for a ramble, and they came across two of the Goold cousins tormenting a kitten. Fatty was upset, but knew that if they said anything, the lads would just do worse things to it later.

Folco, on the other hand, turned out his pockets, and traded half a copper, two toffees, his best marble, and the spinning top Estella had given him for her birthday for the kitten. It was a scruffy, ill-favored half-starved little thing, and the two lads went off chortling at having made such a deal. When they returned to Fatty’s house where his mother was having tea with Folco’s mother, Folco made known his intention to give the kitten to Estella to make up for having traded her gift away.

Rosamunda was horrified, but she could not say much, as Estella was thrilled, and she did not want to offend Daisy. So the kitten, whom Estella named “Topsy” joined the Bolger family. It actually turned out to be an attractive little creature once it was fattened up, and was rather a good mouser as well. Fatty was amazed at Folco’s practical solution for rescuing the kitten; such a thing would never have occurred to him.

Folco could always be counted on to give something away if a friend admired it. He never really thought twice about it. His friends learned not to give empty compliments, or they might end up stuck with some mathom they really didn’t want.

And he loved to sing. When he and Fatty would go out on rambles, he loved to listen to Folco sing to him.

After the joke incident, Griffo and Daisy were at their wits end. It really did no good to rebuke Folco, for though he’d never repeat the exact same thing if he were told not to, it didn’t stop him from saying something else equally unsuitable on another occasion.

Finally they went to Daisy’s Aunt Dora. She was famous for giving advice, much of it good.

“He’s not a bad lad, Aunt Dora,” said Daisy, “he never really means any harm, but he just does not seem to understand that there are things one should *not* say out loud.”

“A problem to be sure,” said Dora sagely. “The world cannot get along if folks constantly go around speaking their minds willy-nilly. I think what Folco needs is a distraction. He needs something to put in his mouth, so that he doesn’t have to talk.”

Griffo blinked. “Aunt Dora, we can’t be popping food into his mouth all the time. He eats as well as any young hobbit, but--”

“I don’t mean food. And he is far too young for a pipe--which wouldn‘t keep him from talking anyway. But I have heard the lad sing, he has a pleasant voice. Perhaps he could learn to play a horn or a flute--something he has to put in his mouth to play. It would be a social asset to him as he grows older, and goodness knows, it would keep him from talking.”

Since Griffo’s second cousin twice removed, Fern Boffin, played the flute, it was decided that would be the instrument, and Folco went to her for lessons. At first he was pretty dreadful, as beginners usually are, but soon he picked it up wonderfully well, and Fern was very pleased with her student, in spite of the fact that on meeting her he had asked if it was very uncomfortable for her with her two front teeth sticking out like that. She certainly understood why his parents preferred him to have his flute in his mouth instead of his foot.

From then on, Folco was never without his flute. He could not always be stopped from saying something unsuitable, but he could be coaxed to play, and that kept him from saying anything else. And his playing was so lovely that his listeners soon forgot to be insulted for whatever it was he said in the first place. As Eglantine Took said, one could forgive any number of unconscious insults to hear music like that.

Of course, there were some exceptions. The Sackville-Bagginses had never forgiven his childhood observations, and he had managed to run afoul of Lotho again over the years. And he managed to also offend Ted Sandyman.

And it was those offenses that eventually led to his murder at the hands of the Ruffians.

_________________________________________________

Bergil and Freddy were very quiet for a while. Freddy was amazed at himself; he had never talked about his friend like that. Before he lost Folco, he took him for granted, rather like he took his arms and legs for granted. And immediately afterwards it had been far too painful. Even at Folco’s hasty funeral, Freddy had been too distraught and too full of calming draughts to say anything when the time came.

He felt like he had just spent time in Folco’s company, and though he was still a bit melancholy, it was a sweet feeling, not agony. He glanced at Bergil, and saw unshed tears glistening in his grey eyes.

“Mr. Freddy, I think that I would have liked your friend Folco.”

Freddy smiled. “I do not know. I am sure he would have found some way to offend you at first. But I do know one thing: he would have liked *you* lad!”

Bergil looked at him in surprise, and grinned. “Thank you, Mr. Freddy. That’s a very nice thing to say!”

“It’s the truth, Bergil.”

CHAPTER 7

On the sixth day out of Bree, after the group had stopped for luncheon, which was prepared by Freddy and Jolly that day, Poppy noticed Legolas having a word with Targon and Éothain. It looked like a fairly serious conversation, especially after the two commanders summoned Freddy, Beri and Leodwald (who was the oldest of the Riders) to join them.

Poppy looked at Gimli, who was enjoying a pipe as they waited to move on. “Master Gimli, do you know what is going on?”

He nodded, and looked over at them. “Yes. The Elf seems certain that we are in for a spell of rather rough weather. I have discovered that it’s as well to listen to him on that score. He usually knows what he’s talking about.”

So far, the travelling party had not encountered difficult weather. Any rain they had experienced so far had consisted of nothing worse than brief afternoon showers, rather pleasant actually, for cooling off during the heat of the summer. But there had been no gales or thunderstorms to plague them.

After a few moments, Freddy came back over to the group of hobbits. “It looks as though we could be in for a storm this evening. Targon and Éothain want us to stop about an hour early, and we will set up all the tents tonight, instead of just Mistress Poppy’s. And from the way Legolas and Leodwald spoke, we will probably not travel at all tomorrow, for they expect that the rain will last through the night and perhaps all day tomorrow. Legolas seems to think we are in for a deluge.”

They mounted up, and set as brisk a pace as possible for the rest of the afternoon, but they stopped two hours before sunset, and unloaded the tents from the pack animals. They very quickly had a snug little campsite set up. There was the small tent, shared by Mistress Poppy and Viola, and a large one, shared by the two captains, and two more large ones, shared in one by the Rohirrim, with Mosco, Rolly and Denny, as well as Clovis and Cado, and in the other by the Gondorians, with Freddy, Beri and Jolly, along with Clodio and Dago. Legolas and Gimli, who never bothered with a tent had been invited to ride out the nasty weather in the tent with the captains.

Freddy and Jolly hurried to prepare the evening meal, and it was as well that they had, for the group had barely finished eating when out of the darkening sky, the wind picked up briskly and the first large patters of raindrops began to hit.

Everyone rushed to get under cover of the tents, except poor Borondir, who had watch, and so had to huddle outside, beneath his oiled cloak.

There in the Gondorian tent, the hobbits huddled together, Freddy, Beri and Jolly, and in a miserable corner, Clodio and Dago. Clodio was trembling, and started at every clap of thunder. The sound of the rain on the canvas was a thunder of its own. It was really too loud for conversation.

Adrahil had lit a lantern and he and Artamir busied themselves with their weapons and armor, cleaning, sharpening and repairing any small thing that needed it. Bergil was mending one of Captain Targon’s surcoats. Jolly took out a shirt that needed mending, and Freddy wrote in a journal, while Beri worked on a letter to his father. He hoped to be able to send it when they reached Tharbad.

Clodio was too miserable to do anything but shiver, but Dago watched the Men. He had noticed that every time there was nothing else to do, all of the Men occupied themselves with their weapons and armor, as though those things were the most important things in the world to them. And he had begun to realize it was just about true. Soldiers depended on their weapons and armor to keep them alive, and so they took utmost care of them.

The only weapon a hobbit had was his wits.

________________________________________________

In their small tent, Mistress Poppy distracted the trembling Viola with questions, choosing to quiz her on the signs and symptoms of various illnesses. At first it had been difficult to keep her mind on the questions, but now the little apprentice began to answer a bit more confidently.

Poppy was pleased. A healer needed to be able to think under stress.

________________________________________________

As early as it was, the Rohirrim had chosen to sleep. Leodwald, Anwynd and Danulf had all stretched out in their bedrolls. The three hobbits of the embassy had huddled together in one little nest, more for comfort than warmth. Clovis and Cado were huddled together as well, but they were decidedly *uncomfortable*, and could not sleep. They never spoke together in the presence of any of their captors, Clovis out of fear of the gag, and Cado out of caution and uncertainty.

Cado’s mind was awhirl with so many of the things he had begun to hear since the journey began. The world was a much bigger and far more perilous place than he had ever imagined it to be.

___________________________________________________

In the captain’s tent, Gimli’s snores were drowned out by the drumming of the rain on the canvas. Éothain was sharpening his sword by the light of a lantern, and Targon was attempting to work on his report of their mission so far.

Legolas sat cross-legged by the tent opening, watching the storm, and singing to himself. The storm would not have worried him--he had been out in worse, but he knew his companions would have fretted if he had not accepted their offer of shelter for the night.

Whether he could see them or not, he knew where the stars were.

____________________________________________________

It was hard to judge the time in weather such as this, but when Borondir began to flag, he went to wake Anwynd for his watch, and then made his way to the Gondorian tent.

He was surprised to find the others yet awake and the lantern lit as late as it was, but he realized they had waited for him to finish his watch. Coming in wet, he would need to get into something dry before retiring, and that would waken everyone anyway.

Thankful, he peeled out of his armor and his sopping wet surcoat and tunic, laying them out flat in a corner to dry as best they could.

“Here,” said Artamir, handing him a dry tunic. “I dug it out for you.”

“Thank you,” Borondir responded.

Dago stared, fascinated.

On the Man’s upper arm was a picture of the tree that was on his surcoat.

Tattooed.

Interesting.

CHAPTER 8

The following day was fairly miserable. For the first time since leaving the Shire, the hobbits were having experience of a “cold camp”--no fire, as it was still pouring down rain steadily, and nothing to eat except the trail rations: journeybread--although very *good* journeybread--purchased in Bree, along with rather leathery dried meat, and the last of the fresh fruit purchased by Mistress Poppy. There was nothing to drink but water or watered down ale, for there was no fire to brew tea.

They spent the day huddled in their respective tents, and if there was a bit of grumbling and some short tempers, it was only to be expected.

Freddy remembered something he had often heard old Bilbo say: “Adventures are not always pony-rides in May-sunshine, my lad.”* He had suspected for some time now that this was true, but this was the first time that *this* adventure was proving so miserable.

By late afternoon, however, the deluge finally began to slacken, and then to stop. That evening, they were able, after much effort with the dampened fuel to get a fire started, and Rolly and Denny put together a rather hasty meal, consisting of soup and griddlebread. But finally being able to have tea made the world of difference to the hobbits, and the group sat around the fire for quite a while, singing and telling tales. None of them were that eager to go to the tents in which they had been cooped up all day.

The prisoners, however, once the meal had finished, were once more cooped up. They had all been placed for the time being into the Gondorian tent, so that only one guard would be needed, and Artamir stood outside the opening.

For the first time in many days, the prisoners were able to converse with one another.

“This is just miserable,” complained Clovis. “They are out there with the fire, and we are stuck shivering in here.”

Cado glared at his brother. “What did you expect? That they’d invite *us* to their little songfest?”

Clodio made a half-hearted protest. “Don’t quarrel. We’ll have that Man in here.”

Dago nodded. “At least we have a few moments privacy.” He pursed his lips. “I noticed that one Man--Borondir--he has a tattoo.”

The other three gaped at him. “What do you mean?” said Clovis. “I’ve never seen it.”

“It’s on his upper arm, near his shoulder--it’s a rendering of that tree they all wear. It’s been covered by his tunic and his armor all this time.”

“So, he’s a criminal!” said Clovis with a sneer.

Cado shook his head. “I don’t think so. If he were marked for a crime it’d be somewhere it would show.” He gave a grimace of distaste at the tattoo disfiguring the back of his own hand. Traitor. He’d never be rid of that word.

Clovis turned his sneer on Dago. “So what do you think it means?”

Dago shrugged. “It could mean anything or nothing. But I find it very interesting, that’s all.”

_________________________________________________________

Around the campfire, the group listened to Éothain as he told the long and heroic story of Eorl the Young and how he had led his people to a new land.

None of the hobbits, not even Freddy, had heard any of the tale before--

how originally the word of Gondor’s plight had come to the Men of the North, and they had ridden to the rescue of the hard-pressed Gondorians on the Field of Celebrant, all unlooked for; how in gratitude for their succor, the Steward of those days had granted the Men of Eorl those lands as their own--and they hung on every word, learning of the mighty deeds that had led to the beginnings of Rohan and the kings of the Horse-lords. To the court of his descendants they were first bound, and they felt very small indeed as they thought of all those doughty warriors.

“And sometimes I think on our ride to the Pelennor, and our charge upon the enemy there, and remember that first time the Rohirrim had done such. I wonder then, at how some things seem fated to happen again,”

Éothain said pensively.

Targon smiled at him. “I do not know about ‘fated’, my friend, but Cirion was wise, if not foresighted, in granting those lands to your people. We have ever been friends and allies, and I am glad that the enemy failed in sundering our alliance.”

Éothain nodded. Through Saruman, the enemy had very nearly succeeded in doing just that, yet thanks to Gandalf and two hobbits, he had failed miserably. He looked at the little people who sat before him, once creatures of legend, and thought how many alliances might seem unlikely, yet prove to be the strongest. He hoped that would be true of the alliance with the Shire.

There was no sign that night of moon or stars to be seen, as the clouds still hung in the air, but it was late, very late, when all finally sought their beds.

___________________________________________

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Still, it was going to take longer than usual to break camp, with the tents all so wet. Mistress Poppy and Viola took on the meals for the day, and soon served up the ubiquitous porridge, but made hobbit-style: sweetened with some honey purchased in Bree, and filled with chunks of dried fruit and nuts. In addition, they made some griddlecakes and spitted some sausages over the fire.

It was just before what would have been second breakfast if they had been home, when the group finally mounted up and began to ride for the day.

The day proved to be an uncomfortable one. Because of the rain, the road was muddy and mucky, and the heat was oppressive with all the water still in the air. Their progress was slow, and Targon began to think they would need to add a day or so to their estimate of how long it would take to reach Tharbad.

Freddy and Berilac rode alongside Legolas and Gimli. Gimli was full of humorous stories of things that the hobbits, Merry and Pippin in particular, had done while away on their travels. This was no surprise to their cousins, who had their own store of anecdotes to contribute. Legolas mostly listened in amusement, but did not have much to say.

It was after Fredegar had told of a particularly outrageous prank the two had pulled at the wedding of Pippin’s sister Pearl, that Legolas asked something he had been curious about since their visit to the Shire.

“Freddy, I know when we planned our gifts to Sam and Rose, that Frodo most particularly told us we *must* give them before the wedding. This is quite contrary to the customs of my own people, as well, I believe of those of Men. I was wondering what was behind it?”

Freddy thought for a moment. The gift-giving customs of hobbits were intricate and bound up in tradition, but they were also taken more or less for granted in the Shire, where there was no notion things would ever be done any differently.

“I’m not certain, exactly. It is thought of as being in terribly poor taste and bad manners to do so, just as displaying the gifts is also thought of in that way. Among many of my people it is also thought of as being dreadfully bad luck to have a gift given at the wedding. Yet a hobbit cannot refuse a gift without giving mortal offense to the giver. So if someone *does* show up with one, then there is no choice but to receive the gift, and the bad luck, if such exists, along with it. The truth is, though, that I have never seen it happen. If a friend or family member somehow misses taking the gift to the couple ahead of time, they simply wait a week or so *after* the wedding.”

Berilac nodded. “I can tell you though, it’s well known in Buckland of one occasion when a gift was deliberately given at a wedding; an obvious attempt to ill-wish the couple.”

Freddy stared. “You’re not serious! Who would do such a thing?”

“Why, Lobelia of course. I often heard my Grandmother Menegilda rave on the subject of how Lobelia brought a gift to the wedding of Primula Brandybuck and Drogo Baggins. My grandmother maintained to her dying day that it was Lobelia’s fault that Primula and Drogo eventually drowned, and no one was ever able to convince her differently. She felt it was entirely the fault of that absolutely hideous lamp…

______________________________________________

“Oh, Primula!” Her friend stood back, hold her at arm’s length by the shoulders. “You are such a beautiful bride!”

Primula Brandybuck grinned, bringing out her dimples. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Primrose Took!” Both girls laughed and embraced.

Menegilda Brandybuck smiled fondly at the scene before her: the “two Primmies” as they were called, inseparable friends since they were faunts, along with Primrose’s younger sister Peridot. The three went everywhere and did everything together. But Primula was leading the way, this time, the first of them to wed. Menegilda, like all the Brandybucks, was very fond of her young sister-in-law, the adored baby of the family. Primula was always lovely, but today, on her wedding day, she was breathtaking.

Her raven locks, something which cropped up from time to time among the Tooks, though not as commonly as the coppery chestnut curls like Primrose’s, had been brushed to glossy perfection, the curls cascading down her shoulders. Her face and form were quite Tookish--she definitely was Mirabella’s daughter, but her eyes--well the Brandybucks tended to blue or grey eyes, but seldom even among them were seen eyes so blue as to put the very sky to shame. And the ice-blue gown she was wearing, embroidered in the bodice and on the hem with her namesake flowers, made those eyes seem bluer yet. In Primula, the very best traits of both Took and Brandybuck had come together to make near perfection. Yet she took little notice of her own beauty, and in spite of the attention she had always been given was not in the least spoiled.

Primula had been the center of a swarm of suitors from the time she entered her tweens, dashing and handsome young hobbits, vying for her time, her attention, and possibly her hand. Yet none of them had ever stood a chance, for she had set her mind on one particular hobbit when she was just a young lass of twenty, and Drogo Baggins had paid his first visit to Brandy Hall.

He seemed such an unlikely hobbit for her to love. He was much older than she--he had already come of age when first she met him, and he was not especially handsome, though his looks were striking. He was portly, even for a Baggins, and he was quiet and unassuming--a far cry, for example, from Primula’s dashing brothers. But he had a keen intelligence and a kind heart that had quickly endeared him to the young lass. He himself had said nothing of his own love to her, however, until she began to get close to coming of age.

Now she had been of age for a year, and they had been betrothed for the better part of a year.

Menegilda was so pleased that this patient wait had paid off for him. He would be a steadying influence on the impulsive Primula, and her gay spirit would spark his own.

The door opened and Peridot Took stuck her head in. “Primula, are you nearly ready?”

The bride turned to her other dearest friend. “Very nearly. Gilda, are you finished yet?”

Menegilda looked up from the floral wreath for the bride’s head, baby’s breath and ivy, entwined with her namesake flowers, with silk ribbons of all the colors of the rainbow hanging down the back. She added one last ribbon, of pale lavender, securing it swiftly with a quick knot. “Yes, your bridal wreath is finished, sister. Let us see how it looks.” She rose and went across the room, to place the garland carefully upon her sister-in-law’s head. “There, dear, how does that look?”

“Oh, it’s perfect, Gilda!” she exclaimed, impulsively embracing her oldest brother’s wife.

“Primula?” called a voice from the hallway.

“I am ready, Mother,” she called. She turned, and gripped Primrose’s hand hard, and the two lasses went out into the passage, and began to make their way through Brandy Hall to the front garden, where Primula’s father Gorbadoc, the Master of Buckland, waited to officiate at her wedding.

Her heart shone out from her blue eyes, as she beheld her groom, standing so straight, next to her father, his brother Dudo next to him.

They stood beneath a small open pavilion, a table next to Gorbadoc, holding the marriage contract, weighted down with the bottle of red ink.

The guests stood all about, but the crowd parted to make way for the bride and her friend. There were gasps of appreciation for her beauty, and not a few sentimental sniffs.

Menegilda stepped back herself into the ranks of guests, and found herself standing near the Sackville-Bagginses. Otho’s expression was neutral, but Lobelia had a very nasty look on her face indeed. Menegilda imagined this was not a pleasant occasion for the former Bracegirdle--by all accounts she had once set her cap for Drogo herself, even though he was younger than she. It seemed that she had merely settled for Otho.

Gilda moved away a bit. The Sackville-Bagginses were not her favorite people. She turned her attention to the wedding, as Gorbadoc began the ritual:

“I have before me two hobbits who have come with a petition of marriage. Who will vouch for them?”

Drogo’s brother Dudo, who was standing for him, stepped forward and spoke the answer “I am Dudo Baggins, a hobbit of Hobbiton. I present Drogo Baggins a hobbit of Hobbiton, known to me as a hobbit of good character, who is of age, with no reasons why he should not be wed.” He gave a glance at his brother, and then stepped back again.

Now it was Primrose’s turn. “I am Primrose Took, a hobbitess of Whitwell. I present Primula Brandybuck, a hobbitess of Buckland, known to me as a hobbitess of good character, who is of age, with no reasons why she should not be wed.” She grinned out at the crowd cheekily, as if daring someone to contradict her, and then stepped back.

“Drogo Baggins, is it your intent to wed Primula Brandybuck, of your own free will?”

Drogo looked at his bride, tears in his eyes. He had waited for so long for this moment. “Yes, it is my intent,” he said firmly and clearly.

Primula Brandybuck, is it your intent to wed Drogo Baggins, of your own free will?”

With a radiant smile, she answered “Yes, it is!”

“Drogo Baggins and Primula Brandybuck, you have declared before witnesses your intent to wed. The duties of marriage are to honor and support one another; the blessings of marriage are to love and respect one another. These duties and these blessings are meant to last for a lifetime. Are you prepared to take on these tasks, through such joys and sorrows as may in time come to you?”

“Yes, we are!” they said together.

Gorbadoc turned to the crowd.

“This is the third time and the last, that I have married off a daughter. No father ever thinks a hobbit is good enough for his lass, but I will say this: I do not think any other hobbit than stands before you now comes even close. Drogo is steadfast and true, and I am glad to welcome my new son into this family.

Primula and Drogo, you are beginning a new life together, and starting a new family in the Shire. But as long as the road ahead may be, it will be a good one as you travel it together. May your joys be many, may your sorrows be few.”

“And now, if the designated witnesses will come forward: Rorimac Brandybuck; Saradas Brandybuck; Adalgrim Took; Bilbo Baggins; Fosco Baggins; Rufus Burrows; Fredegund Bolger.”

The seven came forward to the table where the contract lay, Bilbo supporting old Fosco. Drogo’s father had never been in good health since the death of his wife Ruby. One at a time, they placed their signatures on the document. Then Drogo signed, and Primula, and finally Gorbadoc himself.

Turning once more to the assembled guests, he said “On my authority as Master of Buckland, and as the head of the Brandybucks, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Drogo Baggins.”

The couple exchanged their first kiss as a married couple, to the loud cheers of the guests.

While they waited for the wedding luncheon to be announced, the two stood with close family nearby, to receive the well-wishes of their guests.

Gilda slipped her hand into Rory’s. Her young sons Saradoc and Merimac had also come to stand nearby, and Drogo’s sister Dora was also there.

The line of well-wishers passed by, and then there were the Sackville-Bagginses, Otho and Lobelia.

Lobelia had a package!

Menegilda felt a wave of fury, as she realized what was about to happen, but her start was checked by her husband’s squeezing of her hand. There would be enough of a scene without her making it worse.

Lobelia stood before the couple and held the package out. There was a stunned silence as those assembled realized what was happening.

“Primula, my dear,” Lobelia said in a voice dripping with honey and venom in equal amounts, “we had no opportunity to bring our gift before the wedding.” She pressed the package into reluctant arms. Primula was as pale as snow, but Drogo’s face was red with fury.

“Th-thank you,” whispered Primula forlornly. She could do no other. Hobbits were not allowed to refuse gifts. With trembling hands, she peeled away the paper, revealing a stunningly ugly lamp, painted bright red and covered with gilt flowers.

Gorbadoc stepped forward, his own face white except for two bright red spots on his cheeks. His grey eyes were fairly blazing. “How dare you?” he said.

Lobelia gave a horsy laugh. “Oh, come now! I should not have thought even you Bucklanders would be so superstitious! It’s just a little token of esteem.”

Mirabella snatched the lamp from her daughter’s unresisting hands. “I think you know very well what you have done. Perhaps you should leave now.”

“Leave? Before the wedding feast?” Lobelia sounded offended, but the expression on her face showed that this was exactly what she hoped would have happened. “I think now I know what they mean about the wild and uncouth ways of Brandybucks! Come, Otho, we are no longer welcome! But you may keep the gift all the same!” She snapped her fingers, and sailed off, Otho following, but not before he gave his own triumphant grin to Drogo. There was no love lost there either.

Mirabella turned to Menegilda, and handed her the lamp. “Dispose of this rubbish, please.”

Gilda took it away, and found great pleasure in smashing it to bits before summoning a servant to tip its remains into a rubbish pile.

______________________________________________

Berilac shook his head as the tale came to an end. “My grandmother laid every bit of bad fortune Frodo’s parents had after that to Lobelia’s doorstep. Primula had two miscarriages before she bore Frodo, and grandmother always thought it was Lobelia’s fault. And when the two of them drowned, she said ever after that Lobelia had murdered them. However poisonous the gossip Lobelia started about that in Hobbiton, in Buckland, no one dared to say that it was a mere accident. They always felt it was because of that cursed gift. And forever after that, my grandmother refused to go anywhere she might have chance to encounter Lobelia. Grandfather Rory always felt that might be for the best, as he was not certain what might have happened in such a case.”

Freddy shook his head. Lobelia had tried to make up for things at the end, but a few weeks of remorse could not undo years of malice.

“You surprise me, Berilac,” said Legolas, “I had not thought to hear of such goings on in the peaceful Shire.”

“Well, it’s only to be expected when there were Sackville-Bagginses involved. And it just goes to show that in Lotho’s case the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“From what I have heard,” said the Elf, “this Lotho was pretty bad.”

Berilac nodded.

Freddy thought of Lotho’s malice. It was just as well things had turned out as they did. Frodo had wished to forgive Lotho, but Freddy was not sure that was possible for the Hobbits who had suffered under his regime to do so. If Wormtongue had not already slain him, Freddy wondered if the Shire might have seen its first execution.

And if Lotho had lived until Freddy had regained his health, he might have continued to seek vengeance for Folco. Perhaps it was just as well he had not.

________________________________________________

* Taken from The Hobbit, Chapter II, "Roast Mutton"

CHAPTER 9

The group rode south for three more days, before nasty weather again threatened. Once more they made and early camp. This storm, however, wore itself out before morning, and they woke to a clear sky.

“This is going to make the streams and rivers flow swift and swollen,” said Éothain.

“True,” said Targon. “Still it should not make things impassible.”

But Fredegar noticed a doubtful note to the Gondorian captain’s voice.

He could not help but shudder at the thought of a swift and swollen river. The placid Brandywine was enough of a terror. Still, it would have to be faced. If Merry, with his fear of heights, could climb a mountain, jump over an abyss, and climb up into trees with Elves, then he could manage somehow to cross a couple of streams and a river without disgracing himself too much. He just had to keep telling himself that. Just remember, Freddy, he told himself, you are, after all half Took.

_______________________________________________

Near a rushed and risen stream, many leagues to the south and west of where the party rode on the Greenway, a rockfall had partially blocked the water, and was diverting the stream. Three Men stood near the slope from which the stone had tumbled, gazing at the sight which had been uncovered when the storms had dislodged the boulders.

Haldad, the King’s Messenger, shook his head. “I am sorry,” he said to the other two Men, who wore the cloaks and stars of Rangers, “but I cannot stay to investigate this. I have urgent dispatches to the South, for both our own King and the King of Rohan. I will, of course take word of the finding to King Elessar.”

Mellor sighed. He had been afraid of that. But Haldad was the first authority of the King who had come in their direction since the rain had revealed what lay buried there.

Eradan shook his head. “There are only the two of us for all this area. And I am certain that this is important.”

“I’ve an idea,” said Haldad. “There is a party coming this way--they should arrive in Tharbad in only two or three days. There is a group of Guards of the Citadel among them. Perhaps their captain could be of assistance to you.”

“Are they escorting the embassy of hobbits?” asked Mellor. For he had heard about the King’s edicts being ratified in the Shire, and knew that hobbits would be journeying to the South.

“Yes, they are.”

“In that case, it is a very good idea indeed. For I think that this is something of which the hobbits also need to be made aware.”

“I agree.” Mellor shook his head sadly. “We need to let them know as soon as possible. Eradan, would you ride forth and meet them. Perhaps news of this finding might cause them to hurry along a bit.”

“I shall do that.” He turned to mount up. “Will you remain here until I return?”

“I think that is best, do you not?”

Eradan nodded.

Haldad mounted as well. “I shall ride with Eradan as far as the Greenway, and then continue on. Farewell, Mellor son of Meneldil.”

“Farewell, Haldad. Eradan, return as swiftly and safely as you may.”

Both of them nodded and rode off.

Mellor looked once more at what they had found, and gave a shudder.

_________________________________________________

For a couple of days, Berilac had ridden beside Viola and her Mistress. Mistress Poppy often rode next to one of the Men, so that she could interrogate them about life in their homelands. She had discovered that one of Artamir’s and Adrahil’s uncles was a healer, and so they had come in for more of their share of her attention.

Beri and Viola rode quietly alongside, Viola listening sometimes to the conversation, and Beri watching Viola. Occasionally the two of them talked for a while, Viola’s Mistress oblivious in her eagerness to soak up knowledge.

______________________________________

Rolly, Denny and Jolly had gradually begun to make the acquaintance of the Dwarf and the Elf. Gimli did not intimidate them in the least--he was a Dwarf, and something of a known quantity. However, it was very hard *not* to be in awe of one of the Fair Folk.

Yet Legolas was merry and cheerful as they rode, and told them stories of his childhood in the Great Wood far to the East, that had at one time been called Mirkwood. He soon had them laughing at the mischief he had done as a child.

They did not entirely lose their awe of him, but they began to be a bit more easy in his presence.

______________________________________

Mosco liked to ride next to Bergil. The lad was a font of information about Gondor, though he knew little of Rohan or other lands they would pass through. And he loved to talk about Pippin. Mosco was learning more about Pippin, and also Merry, than he had known of them while still dwelling in the Shire. Bergil even knew stories of their childhood that they had told him, that Mosco had never heard before.

Bergil had less to say about Frodo and Sam. He was obviously in awe of them, and he referred to Sam as Master Samwise, and to Frodo at all times reverently as the Ringbearer. That more than anything else, gave Mosco pause.

He had of course heard some of the story, but he had discounted a good deal of what he had heard as improbable. He had *seen* what Merry and Pippin had done to dispel the Ruffians, but what part Frodo had played he could not tell.

Yet it was clear that all these Men held Frodo Baggins in the utmost esteem. He had not been at the great Ball that Spring when honor had been shown to Frodo and Samwise, but he was beginning to have at least the glimmering of an idea of how important their parts had been. Hopefully, he would eventually hear the whole story. He was sure that Freddy and Beri already had.

______________________________________________

The prisoners were riding with Leodwald, Anwynd and Borondir. Cado, who was the one riding with Borondir, was hoping to get a glimpse of the tattoo that Dago had mentioned. He was not really in a position to do so; yet when Danulf rode up alongside for a moment, he suddenly realized that what he had taken for a bracelet on the Rider from Rohan was actually also a tattoo, although it looked like a braided chain of knots.

Another tattoo. Dago was right. This was very interesting indeed.

______________________________________________

They were still about a day out from Tharbad, when they heard the sound of hooves coming up the road in their direction. Targon signaled for the group to halt, and Legolas rode forward, having the sharpest eyes.

He quickly trotted back. “It appears to be one of the Dúnadain, a Ranger from his dress, and the star upon his breast.”

“We will wait for him to approach us,” said Targon.

The party halted, the hobbits feeling a bit tense, unsure what to expect. Yet they knew they should be safe if this was indeed a Ranger, and even if it were not--unlikely given the Elf’s sharp eyes--they were surrounded by *their* Men.

The lone rider rapidly approached them. “I am seeking Targon, the captain of the company of Guardsmen here.”

Targon rode forward.

“I am Eradan son of Erellont, a Ranger. My partner and I patrol the area between Sarn Ford and Tharbad. After the last rain, we made a discovery some leagues to the west of here, one which will need to be reported.”

“And what sort of discovery might that be?” asked Targon, thoroughly perplexed, and beginning to feel a sense of foreboding.

“We found a body. It has been dead for some time, apparently of violence.”

Targon nodded. “And?” for he was sure from the Ranger’s attitude that there was more to be said.

“I am very sorry to say that it appears to be the body of one of the pheriannath, a hobbit.”

There was a stunned silence.

CHAPTER 10

After a moment, Targon turned. “Master Fredegar, Lord Éothain, if you please?”

Freddy and Éothain rode up to join Targon.

“I think that this is something that does indeed bear investigating. Éothain, if you would not mind leading the rest of the company on from here, I will go aside with you, Master Fredegar, and perhaps another of the hobbits, and we shall see what we may discover about this unfortunate discovery. We shall met with the rest of the party again in Tharbad.”

Freddy nodded solemnly. This was unexpected and unsettling. “I think that I shall take Mosco with me, and leave Berilac in charge of the hobbit embassy.”

Éothain also agreed to the plan, and they went to present it to the rest of the company.

“I will accompany you as well,” said Mistress Poppy. “As a healer, I should be able to determine something about the cause of death. It is possible that it may have been an accident of some kind--I think I would be able to tell.”

Targon agreed to the sense of this. Legolas and Gimli also wished to accompany them. So the six of them turned aside from the main body of the company, and followed Eradan.

As they rode off, Viola looked anxiously after her mistress. She felt uncomfortable being left on her own this way, but she was glad she needn’t go to view the body. It was not squeamishness, exactly--after all, she was used to gruesomeness as an apprentice healer, and had seen her share of dead bodies. It was, instead, the awful idea of *murder*. That was simply something hobbits were not equipped to deal with.

Beri rode up to her. “Are you all right, Viola?”

She blinked and looked at him gratefully. “Yes; I just hope my mistress will be all right.”

Beri nodded. “I am sure she will. If you don’t mind my saying it, and I mean it in the nicest way possible, but Mistress Poppy seems like a tough old bird.”

Viola giggled. “In the nicest way possible?”

“Well, I do mean it as a compliment!” He grinned. “Face it, there are very few hobbitesses of her age and station who would even have considered coming away from the Shire like this. I do not think there is very much at all that would daunt *her*.”

The apprentice laughed. “I have never seen anything daunt her yet.”

“There,” said Beri, “you see?”

“Thank you, Beri. I do feel much better.”

“You are most welcome, Viola.” He gave her one of those lopsided Brandybuck grins that reminded her a good deal of his cousin Merry. He was not nearly so imposing as his cousin, but she thought he was every bit as nice-looking…

Just then Éothain gave a call, and the group moved out once more, a smaller company for now, by six.

__________________________________________________

Eradan led them off the road and onto a little used path. He had only come up the road so as to meet their party, for he wanted to make sure that he would not miss them. But it would be far quicker to strike across country and get back to where Mellor awaited them.

For awhile, they had to ride single file, as the path wound its way among some brush and copses of trees, but the country soon opened out into a more or less exposed area, and they were able to ride abreast again.

Targon rode up alongside Eradan. “If you do not mind my saying so, Eradan, your accents are not those of the North. In fact, I would daresay you are as Gondorian as I am.”

“You are correct, Captain Targon. I am from Gondor, from the White City originally, in point of fact. I was a Ranger in Ithilien, in Prince Faramir’s own company. When volunteers were called for, to go North and help keep watch over the land of the Ringbearer until the depleted ranks of the Northern Dúnadain would once again be filled out enough to properly undertake the duty, I was eager to come.”

Freddy had come up alongside as well, and he now asked “What made you so eager to come and help guard the Shire?”

Eradan looked down at the earnest young hobbit on his sturdy pony, and smiled. “As I said, I was of Captain Faramir’s company in Ithilien. We actually saw the Ringbearer while he was on the Quest, and his companion Samwise. In fact, our Company *captured* him.”

Mosco, riding just behind, with Legolas, Gimli and Mistress Poppy, perked up his ears. Perhaps this would be an opportunity to hear more of what Frodo and Sam had done while they were gone.

Freddy’s eyebrows rose. Merry had told him a good deal, but this was new to him. “Captured him?”

“Yes, we had orders from the Steward to capture any who were found wandering in the land without his leave.” Eradan looked a bit uncomfortable, but he thought he might as well tell it all. “Their lives should have been forfeit for their trespass. I was not among those who actually took them, I was back at our headquarters in Henneth Annûn, but I saw them as they were brought in, bound and blindfolded. All of us were amazed at them, and had no idea what they were. We thought halflings--hobbits--a mere myth. I am not sure what we thought they actually were.” He stopped speaking for a moment, as they navigated a particularly stony bit of path.

“I am sure we expected that after being interrogated, they would be slain, as the Lord Denethor had ordered. Yet Faramir spoke with them for a long time, and I for one, observing them, did not think they were spies of the Enemy. In fact, I found myself feeling sorry for them, for I began to like what I was seeing. They were so trusting and open, and courteous. I truly felt badly that their lives would be forfeit.” He stopped briefly and looked about, and then took a slight turn to the left.

"Still, my captain treated them as guests and gave them at least as comfortable a bed as we knew ourselves. I, along with three of my comrades, was on watch at the Forbidden Pool. While there, a strange creature, small and dark, came. We sent word to my Lord Faramir. He came forth, observing, and set archers to watch. Then he wakened the Ringbearer (though we knew not that it was he). It was with his coaxing that we were able to lay hands on the creature, and we were not gentle. It shrieked and cursed and writhed with a strength that was surprising. It took three of us to hold him, and he bit my friend Beren on the shield-arm so hard that it tore the flesh and drew blood.” He shook his head at the memory. “We knew not what it was then, but of course it was the creature Gollum, a tricky and treacherous thing, cunning and cruel, but quite insane to judge from its rantings.”

He paused briefly, as if remembering, and then continued his tale. “Imagine our shock the next day, when Captain Faramir released all three of them; not only released them, but provided them with some provisions, and gave Lord Frodo leave of the land for a year and a day, him and any who traveled with him.”

They began to pick their way along a stony trail that led towards a copse of trees. “In the days after that, we speculated about these strange travellers, and what they might mean. I must confess we were all quite wide of the mark. Most of us believed they had come on the orders of Lord Denethor, on a secret errand, and with secret orders for our captain. We could not begin to imagine why else he would have flouted the order to execute any trespassers, for though he might feel sorrow and pity, he certainly had always followed his duty. Yet it turned out that we were wrong all around. And well for us that our captain did *not* follow his orders that time, for it would have spelled disaster for all of Middle-earth, and we would now all be in the Dark Lord’s thrall.”

“I think that our Lord Faramir has a wisdom beyond that of most men,” said Targon, “and perhaps a sort of foresight was upon him. That is something that comes to him, it is said, from time to time. He is not of the lineage of the King, but he is nevertheless a true son of Númenor.”

“Aye, that he is,” said Eradan. “The next time I saw the Ringbearer was as I stood with rank upon rank, on the field of Cormallen.” Tears sprang to his eyes. “I shall never forget that as long as I live, the sight of those two brave, small persons--still clothed in the rags in which they had been clad when they were saved from the destruction of the Black Land. When I had seen them before, it was clear they had journeyed through many sorrows and hardships, but on that day, seeing their emaciated forms, the bruises and cuts barely healed--what they went through to carry out their purpose--my heart was fairly wrung with admiration and pity.”

Targon nodded solemnly. He had not the good fortune to be among those who had battled before the Black Gate, and were there to welcome the Ringbearers with praise, for he had been among those whose lot was to defend the City when the worst had come to pass. That the worst never came was solely due to Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee. He said so.

Mosco listened in amazement. It was clear there was a good deal he had yet to learn, but this was more than he had known before.

Eradan stopped briefly once more, and again, the path bore just slightly more to the left. “At any rate, after the King had returned, and Captain Faramir was Steward of the City, and Prince of Ithilien, he called for some who had been Rangers there to volunteer to come North, to fill out the ranks of the lost Rangers here, and to guard the land of the Shire. Only those who had families to take care of did not volunteer. Lest he strip Ithilien of its own defenses, he chose our number by lot. I was lucky enough to be one of those who could go. I am very glad that I did. I have been privileged to meet more hobbits--even the Ringbearer’s cousins, Sir Peregrin and Sir Meriadoc, and my partner, Mellor, is by way of becoming a very dear friend.”

He halted and held up a hand. “Listen. That is the sound of the streamlet near which we made our discovery. We shall follow its course until nightfall. Then in the morning it should only be a couple of hours until we come to where Mellor awaits us with our sad discovery.”

________________________________________________________

They made a small campfire, and got out their bedrolls, all except Legolas, who said he was going for a stroll.

Gimli watched him go. “He’ll probably spend the night in the nearest tree looking at the stars,” he chuckled.

They did not try to cook, except for Mistress Poppy making some tea, but instead ate cold trail rations. As they chewed the leathery strips of meat, Freddy caught Mosco’s eye, and they both shook their heads ruefully. Mistress Poppy grumbled that this was unhealthy, and that a body could not survive forever on such a diet.

“We are not meant to survive on it forever, Mistress,” said Targon, chuckling. “Just for tonight, and in the morning--”

“And doubtless on our way back to meet the others, and whenever it rains, and whenever we run out of anything else to make. No, I am sure it is not forever.” But her tone was wry, and she was only half-serious in her complaints. After a while, the three hobbits, Gimli and Eradan settled in to sleep, while Targon took the first watch.

The next morning they rose early with the first light, and taking their meal as they rode, made their way down the stream, which was indeed rushing very fast and was swollen with the recent rains. Freddy was happy to learn that the other Ranger awaited them on *this* side of the stream and that they would not be obliged to ford it.

The Sun was well up when they approached the place where Mellor awaited. Eradan gave a whistle like a thrush, and got another in response. They came around a curve, and saw there another Man, older, a bit more grizzled and shabby than Eradan, sitting by a small campfire, leaning back against a rock, his long legs stretched before him. He had apparently been whittling. He put down the knife and small piece of wood and rose to greet them.

“Well met, Eradan!” he said. “I am glad that you have returned safely and swiftly.”

Eradan dismounted, and the others did the same. “Mellor, these are Targon, son of Cirion, and Captain of the envoys sent to the Shire; Prince Legolas Thranduilion and Gimli son of Gloín, of the Nine Walkers. And Master Fredegar Bolger and Master Mosco Burrows, ambassadors from the Shire, and close kin to the Ringbearer. And this is Mistress Poppy Burrows, a Healer from the Shire. Everyone, this is my partner, Mellor son of Meneldil.”

There were of course the usual courtesies, and then Mellor said, “I suppose that we should see to the errand that brought you here. Follow me.”

He led them a short way down the stream, where it cut through a shallow gully. There a number of small boulders had slid down and partially blocked the stream, causing it to flow around the other side. If the boulders remained, the stream would eventually cut itself a new watercourse there. But where the rocks had fallen away lay a blanket, obviously covering something.

Freddy and Mosco took deep breaths, steeling themselves for the unpleasant task of seeing this body. Mistress Poppy walked over to the blanket briskly. “Well, let us see.”

Mellor somberly pulled the blanket away, and the hobbits, even Mistress Poppy gasped in horror. The body was mostly decayed away, but it was clear that the skeleton had been subjected to violence. Still enough of the garments were left to be able to tell that this was definitely a Shire hobbit.

Freddy had no doubt whatsoever, nor did Mosco, that they were looking at the remains of Ted Sandyman.

CHAPTER 11

Fatty began to have a bad feeling--he dare not go in search of his friend, as he could not leave the girls alone in the house. Something had to be wrong. He had not had a feeling like this in the pit of his stomach since the night those Black Riders had come to Crickhollow.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise near the front door, a thud, a commotion, and the sound as of many footsteps running away.

The girls gasped and clutched at one another.

Fatty grabbed a poker from the fireplace, and cautiously made his way to the front hall.

Suddenly there was an urgent rapping on the door. “Fatty, please, open up!” The voice was that of Milo Burrows, who lived in Frogmorton.

Fatty flung open the door to a horrifying sight.

Standing there with Milo was his older son Mosco; lying on the doorstep was a battered and bloody form, that it took Fatty a few moments to recognize as his dear Folco.

“We must get him inside quickly, Fatty. I’ve sent Moro for a healer.”

Fatty and Mosco gently took up Folco, and brought him in, to lay him carefully on the settee in the front room. Estella and Meli began to sob hysterically. “What--” Fatty’s voice croaked, and he tried again. “What happened?”

Milo shook his head. “It was some of Lotho’s Men, with Ted Sandyman. They surrounded him--there must have been half a dozen at least. They--they beat him until he went down; then they kicked him, and--and stepped on him.” Milo’s voice broke at the last words, and he sobbed in horror.

Mosco’s voice was tight with anger. “None of us could get near him. After they finished tormenting him, Sandyman had them pick him up and bring him here. He said ’Let’s leave a little present for his friend Fatty. That’ll teach’em to upset the Chief.’ They brought him and dumped him on your doorstep; we followed as best we could without being seen, and that’s when I sent Moro for the healer.”

Fatty knelt by his friend, tears running unchecked down his face. “Oh, Folco, what have they done to you?” Folco’s breathing was shallow, and his eyes were glazed. His face was a bloody pulp. His left arm hung at an unnatural angle, and his left hand was completely crushed. Both his legs seemed to be broken. Blood was coming from his mouth.

Just then, Moro came rushing in, accompanied by Lavender Bunce, the healer. She flung her satchel down and got on her knees to examine her patient. She turned to the sobbing Estella. “Go get me some hot water, immediately.” Estella and Melilot fled to the kitchen.

She began to examine him with competent hands, but after only a few moments, she sat back sadly, and shook her head.

“His broken ribs have pierced his lungs. He will never make it.”

“No!” Fatty cried out furiously, “you have to do something!”

But it was already too late. The young hobbit had breathed his last.

“No! Folco!”

Milo and his sons restrained the hysterical Fredegar. Lavender turned to the girls who had come in with the hot water. It was too late for poor Folco, but she had herbs she could mix to make a sleeping draught for Fredegar. “Someone needs to go for the lad’s parents.”

The Boffins lived at the other end of Budgeford. Moro nodded, and slipped out on the unpleasant errand.

Fatty knelt weeping on his friend’s broken body. He felt something hard in Folco’s jacket, and reached in to take it out--it was the flute, bloodstained but undamaged.

“I’m going to make them pay, Folco,” he whispered, “for you, they will pay.” *

Freddy swayed where he stood, his face stark white.

“Catch him,” cried Poppy, “he is about to swoon!”

Eradan was standing closest, and caught him.

Poppy went over to him, concern on her broad face. “Fredegar Bolger! Bend over, put your head down, and take some deep breaths.”

Freddy heard her voice as if from a far distance. It took him an instant to understand what her words meant; he slowly followed her instructions, breathing deeply. For a moment, he had been transported back to that horrible moment when he realized his dearest friend was torn from him forever, and that the blame belonged to Lotho Sackville-Baggins and Ted Sandyman.

For many months after that night, his life had been one long nightmare after another.

He had hoped to get revenge for his friend. Instead, he had ended up in the dark of the Lockholes, despair his only companion, and darkness his dwelling place. Even when he had been rescued, a pitiful remnant of his former self, he could only summon up a semblance of the joking half-wit he had long disguised himself as. But his words had no meaning to him.

The news of Lotho’s murder had felt like ashes in his mouth. All he could feel was cheated. He had sought to make Lotho suffer, but had not been able to do so, and now someone else had cheated him of his revenge. He was emaciated and sick, as well. After a long convalescence in Michel Delving, he had gone back to Brock Hall, and his parents and his sister, and he had barricaded himself into his room, with no interest in life.

It was not until much later, when Merry had come to him with news of the Men from the South, that he had begun to once more feel a bit of interest in his life. Meeting Legolas and Gimli had done a good deal for him, and reacquainting himself with Angelica Baggins had done even more. Still, thoughts of how Folco had died, and how he had failed to get any satisfaction from the malefactors continued to haunt him from time to time. But he comforted himself with the idea that Sandyman was still at large, and that someday he might make him pay.

And he had thought getting out of the Shire altogether for a while would help him to overcome his melancholy and get on with his life, as Folco most assuredly would have wanted him to do.

Now he was faced with *this*. Sandyman, too, had eluded him, and would never pay for what he had been responsible for.

Mosco, on realizing what they saw, felt his gorge rise. He very likely would have found himself retching away his breakfast, if the sudden worry about Freddy had not gained his attention. He and Gimli assisted Freddy to sit upon the ground, and Mistress Poppy took his pulse.

“It’s very rapid.” She looked up at Mosco. “I am surprised at his strong reaction! I certainly would not have thought him to be fond of that one.”

Her refusal to use his name was a reflection of the general consensus in the Shire about Ted Sandyman. He had never been officially condemned as he had escaped justice, but in the eyes of his fellow hobbits he might as well have been.

“I take it,” said Mellor, “that you know who this unfortunate hobbit is?”

Mosco nodded. Freddy was quite pale, his breathing shallow, and he was in no shape to speak. “It was Ted Sandyman. He was foremost among those hobbits who collaborated with Lotho during the Troubles. He stood by and watched, laughing,--” Mosco’s voice caught, as his own memories threatened to overwhelm him “--as Lotho’s Ruffians beat Folco Boffin to death. Folco was Freddy’s best friend.”

There were looks of sympathy from Mellor, Eradan and Targon, and one of understanding from Legolas and Gimli, who knew the whole story.

“I am sure,” said Mosco, “that this has brought it all back to him.” He put a protective arm around Freddy’s shoulders.

Mistress Poppy nodded. She had suspected as much. Her friend Lavender Bunce had attended Folco when he died, and had told her of Freddy’s hysteria when it happened. Satisfied that Freddy’s pulse and breathing were beginning to return to normal, she left him and walked over to the body. She looked at it dispassionately.

“I would say he has probably been dead at least since the turn of the year--our year, not yours--” she added to the Men, “probably right after Yule.” She squatted down next to the body, which was almost nothing but a skeleton. “He has any number of broken bones--all his ribs, both arms, both legs. I see no head injury to the skull,” she reached over, and took the edge of his tattered weskit, “but there are several cuts here and bloodstains on his clothing. However, there is no sign that he bled enough for any of the cuts to be mortal.” Drawing out a handkerchief, she shifted the body slightly. “As I thought. His spine appears to be broken as well.”

She stood up with a deep sigh. “I am sorry to say, that it appears he was tortured to death.” She did not think much of Sandyman, but this was a fate far worse than any decent hobbit would wish on anyone.

As she spoke, Freddy had been listening. Tortured to death, beaten to death--just like Folco. He *ought* to be glad, and he wondered at himself that he was not. And it wasn’t merely that he’d been cheated of his own revenge. This was appalling, appalling to hear and to think of. Folco had not deserved what happened to him--he was a good hobbit, with a large and kind heart, in spite of his loose tongue. But Ted Sandyman, who had been a rogue and a renegade--he had not really deserved this either.

No one did.

He finally began to understand Frodo. Frodo in his wisdom, had forbidden vengeance on the collaborating hobbits--justice, yes, banishment if deserved, but not vengeance. Frodo, he remembered Merry telling him, had even felt sorry for Gollum, and for Sharkey and Worm as well.

He still felt sick at heart; but he realized now that the reason he had never achieved his vengeance was that he knew deep down how wrong it was.

Mosco had risen, and gone over by Mistress Poppy. Many of the same thoughts were occurring to him as well.

“I am sure,” said Mellor, “that we can tell what happened. He escaped the Shire, and either travelled with or caught up to, some of his former confederates, and they turned on him, as their sort will do. They seem to have amused themselves in a very Orcish manner.”

“It was the King’s opinion,” said Targon, “that many of the Ruffians Saruman used to occupy the Shire, were in fact at least partially Orcs. I shudder to think how such a thing must have come to be.”

Legolas helped Freddy to his feet. “Let us go away from the sight of this sad thing,” he said. “We will need to decide what is to be done about it.”

Everyone else nodded. Mellor replaced the blanket on the mutilated body, and the group moved away, back to the small campsite.

 _________________________________________________

 * From my story "For Folco" here on Stories of Arda at http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterlistview.asp?SID=1935

CHAPTER 12

Berilac rode alongside Éothain. “How much further do we have until we reach Tharbad?”

The leader of the Rohirrim glanced down to Beri on his pony. “We can do one of two things: we can continue riding into the night, and arrive sometime in the middle of the night, or we can make camp this evening as we usually do, and arrive tomorrow, noontide at the latest.”

“Which do you recommend?” the hobbit asked.

Éothain shrugged. “It does not matter to me, Master Berilac. We shall have to wait for the others to rejoin us at any rate. So we will be waiting a day or so at the settlement no matter what.”

Berilac looked back at the others. He did not suppose the lads would mind riding through the night, but Viola was a different matter. He knew that she was far more timid than the rest of them, nor was she as experienced a rider. And then, too, there was the matter of meals. Denny and Rolly were cooking today. If they rode into the night, that meant supper in the saddle, after eating in the saddle all day. And Rolly had promised to make griddlecakes for supper.

“As you are leaving it up to me, then Éothain, I believe that we shall stop as usual. There is no need to change the routine.”

“Very well. And as Legolas and Gimli went with the others--” he broke off and called out “--Leodwald!”

The Rider trotted up; he was the one who had the job of riding with Cado today.

“Leodwald, give the prisoner to me; I would like you to scout for our campsite this evening, as the Elf is not here.” For that had been Legolas’ self-appointed task--to locate the evening’s campsites, and as he was so very good at it, the captains had seen no reason for him not to do so.

There was a brief halt, as Cado was transferred to É othain’s horse. The captains did not usually carry the prisoners, but in this case an exception was being made.

Cado scowled. It was bad enough being carried like so much baggage, with no consideration for his own wishes at all, but it was even worse to be shuffled off like that, like a sack of potatoes. He glared at the Riders and at Berilac Brandybuck, and was of course, totally ignored.

Leodwald trotted off ahead, and the rest of the group resumed their journey. Cado was miserably hot, and had come to detest the mingled stink of horse, sweat, leather and rust, that he was forced to endure for hour after hour. He could only think that Men must have less sensitive noses than hobbits, to be able to stand that particular smell. Éothain took a swig from the water flask he carried on his saddle. “Here.” He offered it to Cado, who took it, and wiped the lip of it off before taking a swallow himself.

Berilac looked over in surprise as Viola moved up to ride beside him. “Hullo,” he said with a smile. She smiled back, and they rode in silence for a while.

Cado glared. It was becoming obvious that the Brandybuck was enamored of the comely young healer’s apprentice. And now it looked like she was returning his regard. That was hardly fair; Brandybucks had all the luck. He could still remember Merry’s face and his fierce grin when he had laid both the brothers out at the Ball. If things had not moved so quickly, his father could have placed an action at law against Meriadoc Brandybuck for assault, that could have beggared the Brandybucks. But no, it would never have worked out that way, not with the Thain in charge. Sure, Paladin was his uncle, too, but Cado knew that he and his brother had never been forgiven for what they had done to Pippin long ago, and with Frodo Baggins as the acting Mayor, the Bankses would never have been able to pursue that line. Merry Brandybuck had powerful family and friends.

It just wasn’t fair that the Tooks and the Brandybucks and even the Bagginses had so much power, just because their families were old. The Bankses were very nearly as old a family line as the Bagginses, and there were certainly more of them. And the Tooks had that strange hankering for adventure and far places, and the Brandybucks were just wild and queer. Why couldn’t a *respectable* family be in charge of the Shire?

That had always been what he had heard from his father, who had never been happy with his sister’s marriage to Paladin Took--until he became Thain.

When Lotho had approached his father and Dago Bracegirdle it had seemed like such a good opportunity to grab a rise in status. But they should never have trusted a Baggins, even if he did have Sackville and Bracegirdle connections. It had all come to naught, and then his father had to try and keep his dealings with Lotho secret.

And of course, his brother’s stupid idea to attack the Men’s camp was what had ruined it all. If there was *one* lesson Cado had learned, it was *never* again to listen to any of Clovis’ ideas.

Clovis was bumping along miserably in front of Borondir. He kept remembering what Dago had said about that tattoo, and wondered if there were any way to get the Man to speak of it. Probably not; the Men followed the hobbits’ lead in not speaking to the prisoners any more than they could help.

Bergil was riding alongside. The lad was worried. “Borondir, do you think the others are in any danger? I mean, what if whoever killed that hobbit are still about?”

“That sounds unlikely, Bergil,” he replied. “From what the Ranger said, whoever it was had been killed quite some time ago--months and months, at least.”

“Oh.” But he still looked concerned.

“Do not let it fret you, Bergil,” said the Man. “I am sure they will all be well. And they have Captain Targon with them, as well as the Ranger and Legolas and Gimli.”

“That’s true.” Bergil brightened up. “I am going to have *so* much to tell Father when I get home.”

“You are indeed,” chuckled the Man affectionately. He had become very fond of Bergil on this journey. Of course, all the Men of the Third Company thought of themselves as the boy’s “uncles“, but since he had been in the Shire, he had absorbed some of the hobbits’ views of kinship. He was only a very distant cousin to Beregond in the way Men reckoned these things, but he had begun to count that blood closer than he once had. He supposed it was about time to return, as he thought, amused, that he was in some danger of being turned into a hobbit.

“I will be glad to get home and see Father,” Bergil said, “but it’s funny, Borondir, I rather miss the Shire already, also. It was a wonderful place.”

“Aye, Bergil, it was. I shall always count my journey to the Ringbearer’s homeland as one of the most wondrous experiences of my life.”

“The Ringbearer still seems very sad, doesn’t he?” asked Bergil.

“He does. But he went through so much, Bergil. I do not imagine it can be easy to forget his peril in the Black Land.”

There they go again, thought Clovis sourly. If they are not going on about how wonderful Pippin was or how brave the Brandybuck was or how great that gardener Gamgee was, they would be praising the “Ringbearer”. As though Frodo Baggins had hung the moon. As far as he could tell from his involuntary eavesdropping, all he’d done was to carry a little ring. Apparently Frodo had not even thrown it into the Fire on his own, if what he heard was correct. Yet they could not praise him enough. It was disgusting. If I could have put *my* hands on that Ring they’re always on about, things would certainly have been different, he thought.

He lost himself in a pleasurable fantasy about what he would have done with that kind of power. The first thing would have been to put that wretched Merry Brandybuck in his place…

As the afternoon was drawing in, Leodwald returned with the news that he had found them an ideal campsite, only a few more miles away. There was water and a pleasant glade on the east side of the Road. It would make a very nice spot to stop for the evening, although they would be stopping just a bit sooner than usual to take advantage of it.

It was most certainly a lovely camping spot. A small streamlet ran nearby, and a fallen tree had created a small natural dam, behind which a little pond had formed.

Jolly looked at the pond appraisingly. “I’ll bet there are some fish to be had there!” he exclaimed.

As soon as the campsite had been prepared, Jolly, Danulf and Borondir cut some willow branches for poles to which they could attach their lines.

Berilac and Viola decided to go mushrooming in a promising shady copse of trees, and Bergil came along. The two hobbits soon found some, and began to educate the boy in how to tell which ones were safe.

“Look! Here are some!”

Viola shuddered. “Bergil, I’m sorry, but those are very poisonous! We should all be sick, maybe even die, if we ate those!”

His face fell. “I gave Sir Pippin some just like this one time! He didn’t say anything!” He sighed. “I guess he just didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

“That’s probably true, Bergil. But now you will learn how to tell the safe ones, and will have a useful skill,” put in Berilac.

When the three of them returned, with a number of lovely and perfectly edible mushrooms, they saw that the anglers had good fortune as well.

They supped on fresh fish rolled in meal and fried in a bit of bacon fat, mushrooms and griddlecakes served with the last of the honey that Mistress Poppy had purchased in Bree. Afterward, Bergil and Anwynd brought out their flutes, and they had music until the moon was high. Then they all sought their bedrolls.

Viola had thought she might have trouble sleeping, missing her mistress, and being alone in the small tent that the healers used. However, she was asleep almost as soon as she had settled into her bedroll.

_________________________________________

The next morning they all arose early, and Berilac started on breakfast, with Viola’s and Jolly’s assistance.

When all had eaten they broke camp, and were once more on the road.

This morning, Dago rode with Leodwald, Clovis with Adrahil, Cado with Danulf, and Clodio with Artamir. Borondir and Anwynd were the banner bearers, and Éothain rode right behind them with Berilac at his side. The morning was hot and oppressive, and it seemed likely that there would be another storm that afternoon. But by then they hoped to already be in Tharbad.

“What is Tharbad like?” Berilac asked Éothain. “Is it similar to Bree?”

“No, Bree is an old town. Tharbad is just a settlement. It has only a few businesses--an inn, a smithy, a small shop selling dry goods, a few others. But more are coming in each week, and I believe that someday it will be a town just as prosperous as Bree.”

“It has an inn?”

Éothain smiled. “Yes, it does; a good sized inn. In addition there is a waystation there for Rangers and King’s Messengers. It is Targon’s plan that we, with the prisoners, stay at the waystation, and that you hobbits might stay at the inn. There is little enough chance of such a thing on this journey, and we thought to take advantage of it while we could.”

Berilac brightened considerably at this news. Camping was all very well and good; he didn’t mind it, as he knew Freddy did, but there was nothing like four walls and a bed. “Do you think the others will be there when we arrive?”

“No, I am quite sure that we will have to wait at least a day for them to return to us. Perhaps longer.”

Berilac was silent for a moment before he spoke again. “Do you have any idea as to why they would have found a dead hobbit?”

With a shake of his head, Éothain replied, “No, I am myself most puzzled. It is a mystery to me.”

Viola, riding behind with Jolly, Denny and Rolly, was hot and miserable. She took another swallow from her waterskin and looked at the others. One of the things that she knew she should watch out for in this sort of weather were signs of heat exhaustion. Most of them seemed to be all right, but--

She trotted over to Artamir. “I beg your pardon, Artamir, but *that one* is not looking any too well.”

Artamir pulled up and looked down at his charge. Clodio was quite red in the face, and seemed very listless. “You are right, Miss Viola; I should have been paying more attention. I offered him some water, but he refused it, and I did not insist.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m going to insist.”

“Lord Éothain!” Artamir called out.

Éothain signaled a halt, and trotted back. He looked disturbed when Viola explained that Clodio was suffering from the heat. They decided to take a short break, in the shade of some nearby trees, and the listless hobbit was coaxed, finally, into taking some water. Viola wet a cloth and bathed his face.

“He’s not all that badly off. I noticed before it became serious.” She looked up crossly at everyone. “Don’t you realize that you need to be drinking a lot of water in this heat? I don’t want to have to answer to Mistress Poppy if she returns and finds you’ve all dropped like flies to the heat!” As Clodio began to stir, she finally spoke to him. She didn’t much like it, but she was a healer, and that made it in the line of duty.

“Now, the next time you are offered water, you will take it, or you will have it poured down your throat! Do you understand me?”

Shocked both at being addressed at all, as well as the tone of her voice, he nodded numbly.

“Well, shall we get on with it then?” She noticed that everyone was gaping at her. “What?” she snapped.

Éothain hid a smile, and ordered the group to move out once more.

Berilac was grinning as he rode alongside É othain. “She’s pretty impressive when she gets angry, isn’t she?”

The Man studied the young hobbit’s expression, and then grinned himself. It appeared that Master Berilac was smitten with the young healer. He wondered how her mistress would take to that development. Out loud, he merely said “I have noticed that most healers are impressive when they are angry. And even the meekest and most timid of them will speak out when they think that others are not heeding their wise advice. I have seen King Elessar both as warrior and as healer, and I can tell you now, I would far prefer to offend the warrior than I would the healer!”

Berilac laughed. “The worst a warrior can do is to kill you. But with a healer you have to deal with their brews and potions and orders to stay abed.”

“Exactly!” They both laughed at this.

It was shortly afterwards that they began to notice the occasional small farm to one side of the road or the other. The little farmhouses were roughly built, of logs or new-cut wood, or even mud and wattle. The land around them still looked a bit raw from being cleared, but crops were growing in the little gardens and small fields.

Every now and then a farmer in his field would look up with a friendly wave, or a child would run in to tell his parents of the travellers.

Finally, they came around a bend in the road, and saw ahead of them the cluster of new buildings that indicated a settlement.

They had arrived at Tharbad.

And just in time for lunch, too.

CHAPTER 13

Freddy was embarrassed at the way he had broken down before everyone, but Mistress Poppy was very matter-of-fact about it, briskly telling him that it was only to be expected, after being confronted by such a shock; and Legolas and Gimli had seen him at less than his best before. He blushed to remember how he had broken down in front of them in Hobbiton, in his grief for Folco.

Mistress Poppy made some soothing tea for him--he could taste some chamomile as well as a couple of other herbs--and shortly, except for being a bit pale, he was quite himself again.

“We have to decide what to do now,” he said. “I do not think it would be wise to try and send his body back to the Shire. None of his remaining family wish to have anything to do with him, and the sight of it would only be distressing once they realized how he had died.”

Poppy nodded. “I do not think it would be easy to send the body back anyway, with the condition it is in.”

So Mosco and Gimli went with Targon, Mellor and Eradan, to chose a less vulnerable burial spot in which to re-inter the body.

Legolas sat next to Freddy, close enough that the hobbit could seek his comfort if he wished, but leaving the matter up to him. When he yawned and leaned into the Elf’s side, Legolas placed an arm around him. Poppy watched approvingly as Freddy dozed off. Chamomile had not been the only calming herb in that tea.

“Master Legolas,” she said, “you seem to know well how to comfort a hobbit.”

He smiled fondly. “Months of travelling with Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin showed me that much. Hobbits seem to need touch and physical comfort more than most other races.”

She shook her head. “I would not know about that, as I have always dealt with hobbits. But I observe this group, and it seems to me that Men could benefit from seeking that sort of comfort more often. Young Bergil seems fond enough of hugs.”

“Perhaps, but he is still very young for his kind. Perhaps it is living in a more dangerous world that make Men and Elves and Dwarves warier and less open.”

“Perhaps.” But the hobbit healer looked doubtful. To her mind, any being could benefit from a show of affection and comfort. The Big Folk, however, seemed determined to deny that fact.

_______________________________________________

The Rangers carefully took up the battered body, and enshrouded it in the blanket they had used to cover it earlier. Mosco turned pale, and quickly turned his back. But he was too late, and noisily lost his breakfast. Gimli patted him on the back and took out a kerchief, which he wet from his waterskin, and handed it to the hobbit so he could wash his face.

The Dwarf looked about. This area was clearly prone to erosion, which was why the body had come to light in the first place. He stood silently for a moment, his eyes closed, as he felt the earth and stone beneath his feet. Then he walked a short distance away, and cast his eye on a small hillock topped with two evergreen trees. Legolas would probably know what kind of tree those were, he thought. He headed in that direction, and the others followed, Mellor carrying the enshrouded body, and Eradan carrying a couple of small spades. Targon kept watch.

Gimli stopped beneath the shade of the trees, and said “The body should remain undisturbed here from any instability of the earth. And if it is buried deeply enough, it should also remain untouched by carrion creatures.”

Mosco felt sick again, and wiped his brow with the wet cloth. But though his gorge rose, there was nothing left in his belly to bring up.

The Men began to dig.

It did not take long to lay the dead miller in the ground and cover him over, and then the five of them headed back down to the campsite.

Freddy had wakened from the draught induced sleep, a bit chagrined to find himself snuggled up to an Elf as though he were one of his cousins, but Legolas did not seem to have minded. His head was quite a bit clearer now, and though he should have been cross at Mistress Poppy for dosing him up like that, he found himself rather grateful instead.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose it is time for us to return to the others.”

Legolas shook his head. “We will not get far, for I sense that we are in for another summer storm this afternoon. I do not think it will last long, but it will be difficult to travel in through this terrain.”

Mellor nodded. “It seemed to me that we are in for some rain as well. We are only a couple of hours, however, from one of our base camps. We have a crude shelter there which should keep us dryer than nothing at all. We can then move on in the morning, that much closer to Tharbad.”

Targon agreed that this was a good plan, so they began to set things to rights, obliterating all traces of their presence, save for the new-made mound of dirt upon the hill. There was nothing there to mark the place; in a few weeks it would be overgrown, and it would be as if Ted Sandyman had never existed.

_____________________________________________

The newly built inn at Tharbad had dubbed itself The Eagle’s Nest, a rather grand name for such a simple structure. The hobbits and Men who crowded in there just before the rain broke were welcomed by a grinning Man who had only one arm. He was clearly a former soldier.

Éothain spoke to him, explaining their numbers. “We should all like a meal, and all but four of the hobbits will be taking rooms. My Men and I shall be staying at the Ranger waystation, however. Sometime tomorrow or the next day we will be expecting others to join us--three more hobbits, and three more Men, one Dwarf and one Elf. The Men will also be staying at the waystation.”

The Man introduced himself as Valacar, a former soldier of Gondor. “I am afraid I do not have rooms especially built for the small folk. Will they object to the larger beds such as Men use?”

Berilac spoke up. “I think that we will be glad of such beds as we may find. Show them to us that we might better judge.”

The hobbits were dismayed to find that they must go upstairs, but they followed the Man, who showed them into a room with two-- what appeared to hobbit eyes--immense beds. Berilac nodded. “There is more than sufficient room for all of us, including those who will come later. Save only that Miss Viola will need a room and bed to herself. Another hobbitess will also be joining her later.”

Viola was shown to another room, somewhat smaller, and with only one bed. But it still appeared huge to her. She gazed at it wide eyed, and wondered would she be able to sleep in such immensity. She hoped her mistress would arrive soon.

__________________________________________________

They had reached the small campsite shortly before the storm broke. It was a lean-to, built of closely woven branches up against an outcropping of stone; a area near the back had been hollowed out for the stowing of supplies. That was large enough for the three hobbits and Gimli to huddle into. The rest of the shelter was barely large enough, however for three Men and an Elf. Legolas sat with his back to the opening. He did not mind the weather.

He caught Gimli’s eye. The Dwarf was grinning. “And what, pray tell, Master Dwarf, do you find so amusing?” he asked.

“I was remembering that one stormy afternoon in Hollin. The closest thing to a shelter we could find was to stand huddled beneath that totally inadequate overhang of rock. We had the four hobbits in the middle, and were using poor Bill the pony to keep the worst of the wind off.”

Legolas laughed. “We might as well have kept going. We were all getting drenched by the water-filled gusts of wind. Samwise kept muttering about how he didn’t think much of this idea of shelter, and Merry and Frodo had begun to be cross with him.”

“And then,” said Gimli, “Pippin began to sing. What was it? Something about hot water?”

Legolas closed his eyes, and his clear Elvish voice sang out in that most hobbity of tunes:

“Sing hey! for the bath at the close of the day
that washes the weary mud away!
A loon is he that will not sing:
O! Water Hot is a noble thing!”

Freddy laughed and lent his voice to the second verse:

“O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain, 
And the brook that leaps from hill to plain;
But better than rain or rippling streams
Is Water Hot that smokes and steams.” *

The two of them sang on, Mosco joining in on the last two verses, chuckling as he finished. “I had forgotten all about that song! That was one of old Cousin Bilbo’s compositions!”

“At any rate, all the hobbits joined in with the singing and it seemed to cheer them, but when it finished, young Merry says, ‘Well, Pip, that’s all well and good, but you’ve seem to be confused. This water is anything but Hot.’ And Pippin lowered his voice to a whisper and replied  through chattering teeth--”

Here Legolas joined in with Gimli as they quoted together: “--‘Shh--don’t tell me. If I don’t know, then maybe I won’t notice.’”

All of them burst out into laughter at this sally, and Freddy shook his head, still chuckling. “That sounds *just* like Pippin! And I am quite sure it made perfect sense to him!”

The rain cleared away before sunset, and there was enough dry wood that had been stowed in the shelter for a small fire. It was barely large enough to make some hot tea, so they were reduced to the trail rations they had brought with them for their supper.

______________________________________________

The Men and hobbits had remained in the common room of the inn until the rain slacked off, and then Éothain took the Men and prisoners with him to the waystation on the outskirts of the settlement.

The hobbits remained there, ordering food and drink when it neared teatime, and again for supper. It was the first time since leaving the Shire that they were all merely hobbits together, without the presence of any of the Men or the prisoners. There were no other guests at the inn, so save for the occasional query from their host as to whether they needed anything, they were left on their own.

None of them wished to confess that they were not eager to go upstairs to sleep.

However, as the evening drew on, Men began to drift into the inn for drinks, and the hobbits decided they might as well face their fears and go to their rooms.

Viola said farewell to the lads at the door to their room, and with trepidation entered her own. Someone had brought fresh water; the ewer and basin were huge, and she could barely manage to pour out enough water to wash in without spilling it. She took a flannel and a soap out of her pack and washed up, and then changed into her nightdress. This was the first time since leaving home that she had used it. She and Mistress Poppy had been sleeping in their shifts and petticoats in case they needed to dress hurriedly in an emergency.

She had to climb up the footboard to get into the bed. If they stayed another night, she was going to ask for a stool or something to climb on. Finding herself in the middle of a huge expanse of white linen, she pulled the large pillows all around her to make a nest. She left the candle to burn itself out, for she was awake long after it had guttered and gone out. But she did not weep.

________________________________

*From The Fellowship of the Ring, Book I, Chapter V, "A Conspiracy Unmasked"

CHAPTER 14

Two days later in the common room of The Eagle’s Nest, which was usually deserted of a morning , several hobbits sat at various points in the room, some of them on cushions and with their toes dangling. They were taking an opportunity to write letters home, for Eradan was going to catch up with the last King’s Messenger to ride through in order to send a report to the Thain, while Mellor was going to see if he could find any traces of the Ruffians who had slain Sandyman.

Freddy dipped the quill into the inkpot and began to write:

“ Thain Paladin Took

From Fredegar Bolger, ambassador of the Shire to Rohan and Gondor

I am writing this message from the settlement of Tharbad on the Greenway. All is going well in our journey, and all the hobbits who have accompanied us are all safe and sound. But there is a situation of which you need to be made aware.

Two Rangers made a startling discovery: they found the body of a hobbit, obviously killed by violence. They sought us out to learn what they should do about this find. Captain Targon, Mosco Burrows, Mistress Poppy Burrows, Prince Legolas and Lord Gimli and I accompanied one of the Rangers to the place where the body lay.

We were able to positively identify the murdered hobbit as Ted Sandyman. As you were still seeking information as to his whereabouts, I feel it important to send you this message. It will be entrusted to a King’s Messenger, who passed through here only a day or so ago, headed for Bree.

I am very sorry to say that it appears the miller was murdered by the Men with whom he had thrown in his lot, and that his end was not a gentle one. He was cruelly and foully mistreated before they made an end of him, and I will attach a report from Mistress Poppy detailing his injuries.

We did not think it wise to attempt to send his body back to the Shire, considering the condition it was in, but have seen to it that it has been buried where it will remain undisturbed.

Knowing that you wish to put all that occurred in the Shire during the Occupation behind us, the information that one of Lotho Sackville-Baggins’ chief collaborators is dead should help immensely.

We are resting here at Tharbad for a couple of days, until we resume our journey. We expect that if all goes well, we shall be at the Gap of Rohan in about two weeks or so.

In service to the Shire,

Fredegar Bolger.”

“Dear Cousin Paladin--

I hope that you did not find the official news I sent to be too distressing. But it was a shock to us all to realize just how Ted Sandyman had met his end. I suppose that I should be glad that he received the same treatment he had given to Folco, but I find that I am not. No one should be subjected to that sort of cruelty.

I will be writing to my father, but as I know my mother and sister will be reading that letter as well, I shall not say anything of this distasteful news. I would be most grateful, however, if you would have a private word with my father and with Folco’s father Griffo. They both deserve to know the truth.

All of us are faring well, though we find the heat a bit oppressive. I am very pleased with the behavior and demeanor of the hobbits who have come with us. Mistress Poppy and Miss Viola have already proven their usefulness. Even the prisoners are well, though they remain sullen.

Please give my regards to Cousin Tina, your daughters, and to Pippin as well. Tell Pippin that I will have a great store of tales about him when I return home--Legolas and Gimli have been most forthcoming, as have Bergil and some of the Men.

I am quite looking forward to seeing the great Realms of Men, but I have to say that I still find myself missing the green hills and rolling meadows of home.

With fond affection,

Your cousin,

Freddy”

“Dear Father, Mother and Estella,

I write to you from Tharbad, where we are breaking our journey for a few days. Our journey has been for the most part, uneventful, save for the weather.

We have endured a few summer storms, as well as some very unpleasant heat. I hope that summer in the Shire is not proving such a scorcher as it is on the road.

I am enjoying the opportunity to get to know these Men much better. It has been fascinating to hear what they have to say about Frodo, Merry, Pippin and Samwise. I think that the Travellers have been much under-appreciated. The honors accorded them at the Ball were only the very tip of things.

Estella, you are right to be so proud of your Merry. I have learned of many amazing things that he accomplished, and these Men among whom I travel have the highest regard for him, especially the Rohirrim, whose name for him is ‘Holdwine’. I thought at first that this was a title of some sort, but I was told that it was a name, meaning ‘loyal friend’. I will be so very glad to witness your betrothal to him when I return home.

I am so far enjoying the journey, although when we leave here, I do not look forward to the river crossing. Thank goodness there is a bridge here now, instead of merely a ford! But I will confess to sometimes being a bit homesick.

Father, you may wish to approach the Thain about the official report I sent to him. It contains a far fuller account of our trip.

I look forward to seeing all of you again next spring.

Love,

Freddy”

“Dear Angelica,

I am taking this opportunity to send you a few lines. I must confess to missing you sorely, though it seemed we scarcely had time to renew our acquaintance.

It was my hope that this journey might help me to lay to rest my grief for Folco, and in some most unexpected ways, it has proven true so far. I know that I will miss my dearest friend to the end of my days, yet the grief now is tender, and not a raw and gaping wound.

I have found that grief was not the only thing I needed to lay aside, and I have made the discovery that it was needful for me to also lay aside my most unhobbity feelings of hatred and desire for vengeance. I have come to learn that those feelings were holding me back from healing my sorrow.

I am growing very fond of all my travelling companions, most especially Legolas and Gimli, who have proven staunch friends, and young Bergil, who is such an open and likeable child. I am also coming to a greater appreciation of the other hobbits with whom I am travelling. Berilac is turning out to be a very reliable second, and I am becoming friends with the others as well. Of course, Jolly and I are old friends, but we had not seen much of one another after I went to the Lockholes, so it is good to renew that friendship as well.

I do miss the Shire, and I most especially miss the time we could be spending together, yet I think in the long run, this absence will be beneficial to us both.

With warmest regards,

Freddy”

Berilac signed a short letter to his father, and pulled forward another sheet of parchment:

“Dear Merry--

This journey has been an amazing experience so far. I often find myself wondering if we were anywhere near the places where you travelled on your far more perilous trip. But Gimli tells me that you and your companions travelled through the abandoned lands to the east of here.

He said that here in Tharbad we are due west of the mines of Moria, through which you went into so much danger. He and Legolas have told a good many tales on you and Pippin. I plan to tweak your noses unmercifully when I return.

There is another good thing about this journey. I am making the acquaintance of Miss Viola Harfoot, Mistress Poppy’s apprentice. She is a remarkable lass. In some ways she is very timid, but that does not sway her determination to do what she needs to do, and to be a help and not a burden to us.

You may remember meeting her at the Great Smials. She’s quite lovely, with a tip-tilted nose, warm brown eyes, and her curls are just the color of autumn leaves. She has a beautiful smile as well. But when she is busy at being a healer, she is quite formidable!

Stop laughing at me. I have listened to you gush about Estella often enough!

I think that she may return my regard, but of course she is still an apprentice, and she is only thirty-one. At least Mistress Poppy does not seem to object to our friendship.

Please give my love to Pip, to Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esme, and everyone else. I have to admit to an occasional twinge of homesickness. But things are far too interesting for me to wish myself home yet.

I’ve written Da separately.

Love,

Your cousin,

Berilac”

Near the fireplace at another table, Poppy and Viola shared an inkpot. Poppy had finished her official report on her findings on Sandyman’s death. Now she pulled a sheet of paper out of the little stationer’s chest she carried.

“Dear Lavender,

I trust that you are not finding your time among the Tooks too difficult. I very well know what kind of patients they make! But I am quite sure you will not put up with their nonsense, or I would not have asked you to fill in for me.

I hope that Pimpernel’s pregnancy is progressing with no troubles. I suspected before I left that she might be carrying twins, but as they are such a rarity and as it was too soon to be certain, I said nothing to her. I am sure that by now you know for sure if that is the case.

Our journey is progressing well. We have had few difficulties--though I find I must constantly warn our companions against the heat, and remind them that they must drink more water. The oldest of the prisoners gives me a twinge of worry. He appears to be slipping into melancholy; of course, melancholy would only be expected after the troubles he has made, and if it came with a guilty conscience I should think it well-deserved. But I am afraid he simply feels himself ill-used, which is ridiculous.

I am quite proud of Viola. Although she is far more timid than I expected her to be in the presence of Big Folk, she is beginning to overcome it well, and it has not shaken her determination nor her common sense. And I believe that by the time we come into more settled lands and larger groups of Big Folk, she will be so used to ours that it will not dismay her.

It has not escaped my attention that she has attracted the regard of young Berilac Brandybuck. He’s a likely lad, a long-thinker like most Brandybucks, and responsible. Of course, Viola will not be of age for a couple of years yet, but I am keeping my eye on them. I think it possible he may be worthy of her. Since she has no parents, I am her sole guardian, so that means I have a duty in such a situation. At any rate, she is progressing well in her apprenticeship.

I hope that young Opal is doing well. I look forward to taking her on when we return. Please give her my fondest regard, and let her know that I did not forget my promise.

The journey itself is interesting enough, but I am anxious to get to Gondor and begin to learn the things I left the Shire to find out about.

Love,

Your friend,

Poppy”

Viola dipped her pen into the inkpot she was sharing with her mistress, and after a brief nibble at its tip, began to write:

“Dear Verbena,

We have stopped here at Tharbad for a few days. We are staying in an inn of the Big Folk, and oh my! it is ever so big! The bed they gave to Mistress Poppy and me is so large I feel lost in it! This world is so much larger than anything I had ever imagined, and it just makes my heart go pit-a-pat when I think of how immense it all is!

But Mistress says I am doing well, and that she is proud of me, so I will not say anything of my fears, and hope I may soon overcome them. I already feel much more at ease among *our* Men--they are so kind, and jolly, and solemn, and brave! And when I hear them speak of how grateful they are to hobbits for the things that the Travellers did, I just want to weep! If anyone ever scoffs to you about what the four of them did while they were gone, or doubts how brave they all were, you just tell them from me to jump in a lake! No one could ever listen to what these Men say and doubt their word!

And I quite like our Elf, Legolas, and our Dwarf, Gimli. They say the drollest things to one another, and argue all the time, but no one could ever doubt that they are very fond of one another. And when I hear the Elf sing, as he does for us some nights, my heart just soars out to the heavens!

But the one I really want to tell you about, Verbena, is Berilac Brandybuck! He is so sweet and considerate! He has those rugged Brandybuck good looks, but he is not at all conceited! And he has made it quite plain to me that I have attracted his notice! I do not really know what to think. Of course I must finish my apprenticeship, and I won’t be of age for a while, so there’s no rush. I think Mistress Poppy has noticed, but she must approve, or she would have said something.

The only thing that disturbs me is that sometimes I find the youngest prisoner positively staring holes in me, in that most uncomfortable way, if you know what I mean! However, he never says anything, and I am not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I have noticed.

Well, dear sister, I do not expect that I will get an answer from you to this message anytime soon. It is still weeks and weeks until we get to the capitol of the Horse-people in Rohan, Edoras, and I am not sure if you would be able to send a letter to me there. But you could send one on to Minas Tirith--except Captain Targon says they are going to start calling it Minas Anor sometime soon--for we will be there some months once we arrive.

I hope that things are going well for you. Aunt Rhody is an excellent seamstress, and I know that you are doing well in your own apprenticeship with her. Please give her my love, and stay safe and well.

Your loving sister,

Viola

In the large window-sill at the front of the room, Rolly and Denny sat with their heads together as they composed a letter to their father. Denny wielded the quill, while Rolly held the inkpot steady.

“Dear Da and Mum,

We are like to be here in Tharbad for a day or two. We are staying in an inn of the Big Folk right now. So far all is going well, but seeing as you are the head of the family now, you will soon be hearing some news about one as was in with the Ruffians. I won’t say no more on that subject, as it’s the Thain’s part to tell you about it.

The trip has been interesting. Everything is so much bigger and wilder than the Shire. East Farthing folk call Buckland wild, but they don’t know what wild is.

Our Men are all right nice. We have not run into any of the worse sort so far, though that will probably happen sooner or later.

The only thing is, those as used to be in our family seem determined to give us a hard time. The Men don’t put up with any sauce from them, but you can’t stop them looking holes in a body. But Mr. Freddy tells us to keep our heads up and remember that we are better than them because we did not call down any disgrace on our name, like that lot did.

Please give our love to our sisters and all the family. We miss you ever so much, and will be glad to get home next spring.

Love,

Denny

and

Rolly“

Jolly Cotton sat at the bar; he had a half-pint at his elbow, and his tongue was peeking out one side of his mouth as he concentrated on the letter he was writing.

“Dear Sam and Rosie

I know you will show this letter to the family. I’d send one to Dad, but his reading isn’t so good anymore, now his eyes are older, so please tell him everything I say.

I hope all is well with you. I am feeling awful lonesome for Tom right now, knowing I’ll be missing his and Mari’s wedding, and not being able to stand with him. I’m sure glad you are going to, Sam, and that Mr. Frodo’s going to do the wedding. Rosie, you be sure to remember every little detail to tell me when I get home.

The trip is going well so far; I know Ma was worrited about all kinds of dreadful things happening, but none of them have come true yet. I’m getting to be pretty good friends with them Banks brothers Denny and Rolly, and it’s right nice to spend more time with Captain Freddy. He’s starting to come out of his grief for poor Mr. Folco somewhat, and is not nearly so sad and grim as he was. I know that Tom will be glad to hear that, and you too, Sam. You tell Mr. Frodo also, seeing as Captain Freddy is his cousin, that he’s doing well.

And you might want to tell Captain Merry that his cousin Mr. Berilac has eyes for that little apprentice healer, Miss Viola. I don’t suppose Mistress Poppy minds because if she did, she’d not stop at tearing a strip off him, Brandybuck or no. But she kind of smiles when she sees them together.

We’ve heard a store of tales from our Elf and our Dwarf, Samwise Gamgee. You didn’t tell us the half of what all you did when you was gone. Rosie, you are wed to a real life hero, and don’t you let him tell you no different!

Well, I just want to say I miss everyone, and you give everyone my love. Tell Ma I will be just fine, with all these strong Men about to protect me, and Captain Freddy as well.

Hope that all of you are safe and well.

Love,

Your brother,

Jolly”

Mosco Burrows sat on the lowest step of the staircase, his little traveling desk on his knee.

“Dear Papa and Mama

I am pleased to tell you that everything is going quite well. I am safe, and Aunt Poppy is in her element. You should see how she bosses our Men around if she thinks they are not drinking enough water or getting enough rest! And little Viola is beginning to take after her, though you would still think the lass was too timid to say boo! to a mouse, the other day, she halted the whole party because she thought one of the prisoners was too hot.

So far we have suffered nothing more dangerous than some unpleasant weather. I do have to say that enduring a thunderstorm in a flimsy canvas tent is not nearly so cozy as listening to one outside, while tucked up safe by the hearth with a cup of tea at hand.

I am getting a good deal of enjoyment in getting to know the Men, and I have also learned a lot about what the Travellers did while they were gone. I am beginning to realize that what Cousin Frodo did was a good deal more important than what Cousins Merry and Pippin did, though it would be hard to get folks in the Shire, who only saw the Scouring, to believe. They fought in battles and came back with skills to drive the Ruffians out, but Frodo and Samwise had a much harder and darker road to travel, and if they had not succeeded, Merry and Pippin would never have been able to come home.

It has given me a lot to think about.

On the other hand, I have something most amusing to tell you: when Freddy saw the huge bed we are sleeping in, he laughed. He said it reminded him of how, before they left the Shire, Pippin coaxed Merry and Frodo into jumping on the bed that Gandalf uses when he comes to Bag End. Then he said ‘I’ve sometimes wished that I had tried it, too!’ and he climbed up and gave a few bounces. Berilac laughed and joined him, but I am afraid I was too timid, and Jolly, Denny and Rolly just stared at them as though they were daft.

I am very glad to see Freddy coming out of his grief and able to jest and play like that. After that horrible night that none of us will forget, I thought he would never smile again.

I told Aunt Poppy I was writing, and she said to be sure to send her love. I am enjoying this journey more than I thought I would, but I will still be glad to get home.

Your loving son,

Mosco”

CHAPTER 15

It was called a Ranger waystation. And that had been its original function. But as the settlement grew, it began to take on more uses. The Rangers kept supplies there, true, and used it when they were in the immediate area, as a base. There were sleeping quarters, and a small stable, and a small armory. The Rangers were often in and out; Mellor and Eradan were not the only ones who patrolled that part of Eregion. Still, there were not that many Rangers, and much of the time the place was unused.

Valacar, owner of The Eagle’s Nest, and a few others who had settled in the area were former guardsmen and soldiers. They were quite capable of keeping the peace in their businesses when some of the coarser sorts of travellers came through; but they lacked a place to keep the malefactors, so they had sought permission to build a small cell at the back of the building, and when no Rangers were there, some of them took it in turns to sleep there if anyone were locked up. So far, it had only consisted of the occasional petty thief or obstreperous drunk, but now it was inhabited by four sullen hobbits.

There were no Rangers now, for Mellor had gone out to try and find a trace of the Ruffians who had slain Sandyman, and Eradan had ridden out to catch up with the King’s Messenger, who was on his way to Bree.*

There were only two small beds--of course those went to Targon and É othain; the rest of the Men had placed their bedrolls upon the floor.

The Men made themselves at ease; Leodwald and Adrahil drew the short straws for the first watch. The rest of them sat about and talked among themselves, less constrained in their demeanor and language than they had been among the hobbits. They did not, of course, count the prisoners, who were sitting silently enough and unnoticed. The Men had long ago fallen into the way of the other hobbits of ignoring the prisoners as much as possible.

The cell was really a section about seven or eight feet square, divided off the rest of the one large room by a wall of planks on one side, and “bars” made of sturdy poles lashed together. The bars opened in the center rather like a gate, and when closed, were secured by a chain and sturdy padlock. It was a rather flimsy cell, if it had ever been intended to hold a violent and determined Man, but it was certainly more than adequate to keep the four hobbits who now inhabited it.

When they had been placed there, Clodio had whimpered “They’re putting us in a cage like animals.”

“Oh, do hush, Father!” snapped Clovis, who had no sympathy for his father--after all, if they had not been trying to cover for their father, he and Cado would not be in this fix.

Cado shook his head and allowed his father to lean on him. He was worried about the old hobbit. Granted, he’d never been the kindest of parents, but he was family, after all. He sighed, and wished, not for the first time that he had a different family altogether. He bet things would have been different if Paladin Took had been *his* father. He sure would have had more sense than to run off out of the Shire after that crackpot Baggins if *he* were heir to the Thain.

Dago just leaned against the back wall and pursed his lips. Once they left here, they would be gone far enough away from the Shire that perhaps an escape would not be impossible. The question was, did he want to find himself saddled with the Bankses when he made his move? And did he want to get away, only to find himself wandering in a perhaps dangerous wilderness, or to fall in with dangerous Men? The discovery of Ted Sandyman’s body had shaken the prisoners as well as the other hobbits, when they heard about it. The fool had gone to take up with those he thought of as allies, and been slain for it--in a blood-curdling manner, if what they overheard was correct. Dago thought he needed still a good deal more information.

Targon and Éothain were not there; they were over at the inn talking to Fredegar and Berilac about tomorrow’s journey, for it was now about time for them to move on. The rest of the Men were taking the opportunity to finish up with some necessary personal chores. Artamir had decided to wash the tunic he had been wearing, and mend the one in his pack. As he sat tailor fashion and shirtless, sewing up the tear in his spare one, Borondir gave a laugh.

“Ho! Artamir! What happened to Morwen?”

The other Men turned to look as Artamir displayed his upper arm, where a high-prowed ship crested a wave beneath a stormy sky. It was an impressive and elaborate piece of art.

He laughed. “She’s still there somewhere, but now I need not be reminded of her every time I take my shirt off. I was lucky enough to come across a travelling needle artist in Bree. So skillful was he that even I cannot tell where her name once was.” For when he was seventeen, Artamir had decided to show his undying love for his childhood sweetheart by having her name tattooed on his arm. She rewarded his devotion by throwing him over not a month later, for someone with more wealth and prospects than a young soldier.

In the cell, Dago suddenly perked up his ears. He crept forward, so that he could see as well as hear. The other three looked puzzled, but then Cado’s eyebrows rose, and he, too, listened more carefully.

Artamir continued. “I got a bargain as well. For some reason the Northerners are not so fond of tattoos. Especially the pheriannath, who think they are only for criminals. So he was quite glad to get a customer at all.”

Borondir nodded. “So, the faithless chit is no more then?” he laughed.

Artamir chuckled. “In name at least. I did see her not long before we left, walking behind her merchant husband, with three children at her skirts, one in her arms, and from the evidence of my eyes a fifth on the way--unless she has merely become fat. I fancy she cast me a look of regret, but I did not let her catch my eye.”

“I daresay!” was Borondir’s reply. “Well, you’ll have far less trouble now finding a new love now the evidence of the old one is gone!”

Danulf was looking at the ship. “I have a bit of skill with needles and ink, but I could never attempt anything that elaborate. That is beautiful work.”

“Ow!” said Artamir, as he pricked his finger. “I could wish I had more skill with *this* sort of needle!”

The conversation drifted on to other things, but the hobbits in the cell were looking very thoughtful.

_________________________________________________

At The Eagle’s Nest, Targon and Éothain sat at a table with Freddy and Beri. The two hobbits found themselves sitting upon cushions, and had begun to realize that this was going to be the state of things from here on out. They had left the lands where hobbits were known, and accommodation would not be to their scale any longer.

“Once we cross the Greyflood, there will be no more rivers until we come to the Isen at the Gap of Rohan,” said Targon. “But there are several larger streams to ford. The waters will be high after all the summer rain we have had.”

Freddy’s relief at discovering that they would not be crossing any more rivers for a good while was tempered by that news. A stream could be just as bad as a river if the water were high and swift. Well, as the saying went, he would just cross them as he came to them. Still, it gave him a fluttery feeling to think about it.

“We’ll be drawing nearer the Misty Mountains, as well, won’t we?” asked Berilac.

“We will be skirting the edges of them, to be sure,” replied Éothain, “yet we will not be climbing so much as the foothills. We will pass through just south of the Wizard’s Vale when we come to the Gap of Rohan. We may perhaps make a stop near there. We shall need to let the Ents know of what the Shire decided about the Wizard’s treasure.”

“We might see Orthanc?” asked Freddy, “where Saruman lived?”

“It is quite possible,” replied Targon. “It will depend on the Ents.”

Berilac shook his head. “Ents. I should very much like to see one of those creatures. Merry swears that they are the reason he and Pippin grew so much!”

Éothain grinned. “If they so wish you to see them, you will, otherwise not--or if you do, you might take them for naught but trees. But I fancy that Treebeard may wish to look upon you. He was quite taken with your kin. I think that hobbits were something altogether new to him.”

Across the room there was a burst of hobbity laughter. Jolly, Rolly and Denny were all playing at dice; apparently Jolly had found himself very lucky indeed, and the others were twitting him, and jokingly accusing him of unfair advantage. Targon’s eyebrows rose, as he listened, but there was only more laughter. He shook his head.

“What is it?” asked Freddy.

“Among Men, such a remark, even in fun, would certainly lead to a quarrel and perhaps violence--especially if there had been much ale consumed.”

Freddy chuckled. “I can think of perhaps a few hobbits who might take offense at such a thing--remember Gil Chubb, Beri? He takes offense at everything. Lotho was another. But it is very unusual for hobbits to take such a thing seriously, and certainly never among friends.”

Beri’s attention had been caught by another scene. Mistress Poppy and Viola had finished their tea with Mosco, and were rising. Beri figured that the healers might be going to their room. He stood up and excused himself, and headed over to their table.

“Pardon me, Mistress Poppy,” he said, “would you object if I asked Miss Viola to take the air with me?”

Viola looked up at him and smiled. Poppy chuckled. “Not at all, young Berilac. Please be cautious, though, we are not in the Shire.”

Mosco looked at his Aunt Poppy, as if he were going to offer to go with the pair, but Poppy shook her head before he said anything. Berilac offered his arm, and he and Viola left the inn.

“Aunt Poppy, are you sure that it is wise to encourage them? After all Miss Viola *is* going to be a healer.”

“And healers seldom wed. But it is not unheard of. I do not object to his suit, nor does my apprentice seem to. I am keeping my eyes open, lad, and I think that it will be all right.”

As the pair went out, Legolas and Gimli entered the inn, holding the door for them as they passed. They exchanged amused glances.

“They make a nice couple, do they not?” said the Elf speculatively.

“I daresay they do. But you should keep your pointy Elven nose out of it. They are managing just fine without your help. Don’t forget what happened when you tried to ’help’ Merry and Estella a few months ago.”

Legolas flushed. That had not been one of his better ideas. He sniffed, and said haughtily “That was different.”

Gimli guffawed. “I suppose it was at that. Come now, my friend, are you going to have an ale with me before you go out to hug your trees for the night?”

The Elf grinned, and followed the Dwarf to a nearby table. Gimli was staying at the inn. Legolas was not; nor was he staying in the waystation with the men. Instead, he had found a grove of beeches just south of the town, and had been spending his nights there.

Berilac and Viola strolled down the side of the road. There really were no streets to speak of yet in Tharbad, but the Greenway ran right through the center of the little town.

Viola looked about her with wide eyes. “This is not as big as Bree, yet these buildings still seem to loom over me.”

Berilac stared up at some of them. Most of them were only a couple of stories, and there were a few that were only one story, yet to hobbit eyes they were still intimidating. He placed his other hand over hers, that rested on his arm, and gave it a comforting pat. “I keep thinking of what Merry and Pippin have told me of the places we are going to in the South. They will make even Bree seem very small indeed.”

“I do not know very much of where we are going,” she said. “Mistress Poppy doesn’t really seem much interested in the surroundings if she can only find some healers that know things she doesn’t, and so of course, she has not thought to find out and tell me,” she added with a rueful chuckle.

Beri laughed. “Mistress Poppy does seem to be a bit single-minded at times. Let me see--what has Merry told me of Edoras? He said that the King there has a fair golden Hall. It is a tall building such as are found in Bree, built of timbers, but large, very large--he said that it is larger even than Brandy Hall. There are long steps leading up to it, and guards who stand at the doors even in times of peace, and allow no one to bear weapons within. From what he says, the Hall is bright with carvings and tapestries. There is a dais with a large throne where the King holds court.

He is full of praise for their king, Éomer. From what he has told me, the King is a year younger than Pippin, if you can imagine that, and he has a golden beard. He is first cousin to our Éothain, by the way, on their fathers’ sides; and he was nephew to the late king by way of his mother.”

Viola nodded thoughtfully. Why, she had known their Éothain was close kin to the King of Rohan, but she had not realized just how close.

“The thing that most impressed Merry were the Royal Stables--don’t laugh!” he said to her incredulous snort. “Truly, he told me that the stables are as well built if not more so, than the houses! And he said that grooms and stable hands are held in high esteem there--it is not a job just anyone is allowed to do. Among the high-born folk and the gentry, younger sons will often try to get a position in the Royal Stables. He said young Rohirrim who can prove their skill in caring for horses, and can learn to train them well, often gain great wealth and honor.”

She shook her head. “It is not that I don’t believe you, Beri, but I find it hard to imagine. This Rohan sounds like a stranger place than I had ever thought it might be.”

_______________________________________________

Éomer had finished with the morning audiences, and was quite ready to get away from his throne and the Hall. He turned to his guest, who stood on his right. “Well, brother, will you come ride with me this afternoon?”

“I should like that above all else, if my lady wife, your sister, will be joining us,” replied Faramir courteously. They *were* still in the Hall after all, and a certain formality was only proper.

“Keep Éowyn off a horse when the chance presents itself? I am not such a fool as that,” her fond brother chuckled.

But before he could act on dismissing the court for the day--not that there was much to dismiss, these days of peace--the doorwarden entered the Hall. “My Lord!” he called, “a messenger of Gondor has arrived, bearing word from the North!”

Éomer sat back, “Well, Hending, show him in!”

Hending stepped back and spoke to the one who waited outside the door, and then went in to announce: “Éomer King! Haldad of Gondor, messenger of King Elessar of Gondor and Arnor, High King of the West.”

Haldad entered the Golden Hall briskly, stopping midway to bow to the king of Rohan; his eyes took in the sight of the Steward of Gondor, and he also sketched a little half-bow in his direction. Aragorn’s messengers were accustomed to stopping in Meduseld to deliver messages there and to receive others. It was a good arrangement between the two kingdoms.

He was dusty and travel-stained, and had not stopped to clean up on his arrival. He knew that the King of Rohan appreciated promptness more than a nice appearance.

“My Lord, I bring word to you from Sir Meriadoc of Buckland, and from your cousin Lord Éothain!” He fished in the pouch, and drew forth two thick letters, which he stepped forward to place in the king’s hand.

Éomer looked at them and sighed. It was good to have word, but it would be hard work to read the letters. Still, Faramir and Éowyn were here. “Was there any other message?” he asked.

“Lord Éothain wished me to give you his fond greeting; he is looking forward to seeing you.”

“Very well, thank you, Haldad. Please refresh yourself and take your ease before you resume your journey. Will you stay for the noon meal?”

“Thank you, my Lord, I will do so, though I must be on my way soon afterward.” Dismissed, the messenger retreated from the Hall, and was made welcome by one of the servants, who would see to finding him a bath and a room to rest in until time to dine.

The King picked open the letter from his cousin first, his brow furrowed as he read. He stopped, and began again, and then shook his head. “Faramir,” he said “does this letter say that my cousin is bringing hobbits here to me for *judgment*?”

Faramir took the letter from his brother-in-law and scanned it quickly. “Indeed it does. This is going to be very interesting.”

Éomer groaned. “You could not see your way to staying until they arrive, could you?”

Faramir laughed ruefully. “I fear not. My presence will be needed in the City soon, and then I must also return to Ithilien for a while.”

“I was afraid of that.”

____________________________________

* You can find out about Mellor's and Eradan's errands in my story "An Unexpected Guest" also on Stories of Arda. 

CHAPTER 16

Beri and Viola had strolled to the edge of the settlement, and had turned around to head back to the inn; it was beginning to get dark, and they realized they had been out longer than they had meant to be. They did not wish to be late for supper, after all.

Viola was telling Beri of a bit of mischief that little Flora Goodbody, Pippin’s neice had done recently, and how Pippin had tried to take the blame for her. “And what was so funny was that if Lady Eglantine had not already *known* it was little Flora who had spilled the water and broken the vase, everyone would have been perfectly ready to believe that Pippin had done it. He actually seemed a bit chagrined when it came out that he had not.” She shook her head, remembering Pippin’s vexation and embarrassment when his mother had revealed the true culprit. “His mother told him that just because Frodo and Merry had always covered up for him, he did not need to be spoiling his neice by covering up for her. I think he was more upset at everyone realizing he had *not* done it.”

Beri laughed. “Well, Pip’s reputation was justly earned over a lifetime of accidents and mischief, mostly aided and abetted by Merry, I have to add. Merry was only too happy to take the credit and the blame for Pippin‘s mishaps--and half the time, the trouble Pip got into was started by Merry in the first place.”

Viola giggled, but suddenly gave a gasp of fear as a huge hand landed on her shoulder. Beri whirled around as the same thing happened to him.

“What are you children doing out on the street at this time of evening?” proclaimed a stentorian female voice. “Where are your parents? What are they thinking?”

They stared up into the red face of a rather large woman, obviously older. Her iron grey hair was pulled to the back of her head, and she wore a large ruffled cap and a dress in a rather lurid shade of purple. Her eyes pierced like gimlets. Beri was reminded very uncomfortably of Lobelia.

“We are not children!” he exclaimed helplessly, as she sank her fingers into their arms. “We are simply hobbits!”

“Don’t be absurd!” She propelled them along in her firm grip. “My son is the blacksmith. He is also one of the town council. I will take you to him, and then we shall find your parents! The very idea of you running about unsupervised this way! You could get into all sorts of mischief! I heard you laughing and plotting!”

“But, please, Mistress!” cried Viola, “really we are *not* children!”

“You are most certainly impertinent! Come along, now! Whatever would possess your parents to allow you to roam around like this!”

The two hobbits gave one another panicked looks. This ought to be funny, but it most certainly was not.

“Excuse me, Mistress,” said a calm and welcome and very beautiful voice. “These are not children.” The tall figure was regal, and very faintly seemed to glow.

“Legolas!” cried Berilac. The way Legolas looked now reminded him very much of how the Elf had appeared when he was announced at the Ball, even though he was dressed in his usual attire.

She gaped. “You are an Elf,” she said, in a shocked tone of voice. Her gulp was audible.

“Yes, Mistress. Legolas Greenleaf of the Great Greenwood, at your service. These young people are most definitely *not* children, they are hobbits, halflings, who are journeying to the court of the High King in Gondor, and my companions.”

His calm and authoritative voice and his majestic appearance had the desired effect. She looked at Beri and Viola more carefully, and noted the pointed ears and the furry feet.

“Why, I never!” She was very clearly flustered and over-awed by the appearance of this unearthly creature. She jerked her hands off them, and said roughly “I beg your pardon.”

Legolas inclined his head ever so slightly. “I bid you good day, Mistress. I shall see my friends back to the inn.”

The three walked off, and Beri risked a backwards glance. “She’s still standing there gawping,” he chuckled. “Thank you for rescuing us, Legolas. That was very embarrassing. I’m sure we could have made it right eventually, but it might have taken a while. She did not seem inclined to listen to a word we said.” He shook his head. That had to have been one of his strangest experiences ever.

Legolas smiled down at the hobbit, who had placed an arm around the shaken Viola’s shoulders. “That is often a failing of some people, especially adults who think they are dealing with children.”

Viola gave a shudder, and shook her head with a rueful laugh. “I am glad you came along when you did! At least she listened to *you*!”

The Elf laughed his clear and musical laugh, and said “Well, I am sure she felt like a child herself at that moment. My people can have that effect on mortals sometimes. You see, to us, everyone else *is* a child!”

“You don’t look like that very often,” said Beri, somewhat dazed himself at how the Elven prince had appeared. He tended to forget, since the Elf himself made little of it, that they were travelling with a Prince. Not to mention the fact that Beri could not even begin to imagine how old he was.

Legolas shook his head. “It is not often necessary to show myself. I do not need to impress my friends, after all.”

Viola laughed, and Beri grinned. “I’m glad you think we are your friends, then. I do not think I could find much to talk about with you if you looked like that all the time!”

He looked down at them fondly as they approached the inn. “How could I not think you are my friends?” He laughed, clear as a bell. “You are hobbits, after all.”

The two of them were puzzled. What did *that* have to do with it? But then they entered the inn.

Mistress Poppy, who had planned a scolding for their lateness took in the manner of their arrival. “What has happened?” she asked.

The others began to gather round as they told of what had happened. Beri said “I think I would have found her intimidating even had she not been so very large. She was that sort of person. But I am ever so grateful that Legolas came along when he did, or we might, even now, be trying to convince her son the blacksmith, that we are not children.”

Everyone was amused at their story, but somewhat annoyed as well. It was not hard for each to imagine himself in a similar situation.

“I am afraid,” said Freddy, “that this kind of thing may happen to us from time to time. Merry and Pippin, and Frodo as well, warned us often enough that some of the Big Folk see us as children--although I am sure it is not often quite so literally! We shall have to brush up our toes and be alert from here on out.”

Legolas slipped back out, and resumed his interrupted trip to the beech grove, leaving the cheerful sounds of hobbit laughter behind him. He was glad to be having the chance to travel with hobbits once more. He had become quite accustomed to having them around.

The next morning there was a bustle as the group made ready to leave; Freddy had taken only toast and a bit of stomach settling tea for his breakfast, mindful of his passage along the Brandywine Bridge, and anticipating much the same as they crossed the Greyflood, or Gwathlo, as it was also called. Beri and Legolas and Gimli made sure to stick close by his side.

The Men came up and joined them, Borondir and Anwynd were acting as the banner bearers today, and the prisoners were riding with Leodwald, Danulf, Artamir and Adrahil. Targon gave the signal and the party moved out, watched by some of the people of the town. Viola noticed the big woman who had accosted them the night before pointing them out to one of her friends, whispering no doubt of their strange appearance and of the Elf who had come to their rescue.

They had resupplied all their provisions again, and were ready to begin one of the longer legs of their journey, towards the Gap of Rohan. From what the Men had told them, there were no more settlements of any size between here and there.

As they came in sight of the river and the bridge, Freddy gave a gasp. He had been expecting something like the Stonebow Bridge at the Brandywine, broad and sturdy and built of stones and mortar. What he saw was a wooden bridge not even so wide as the roadway. Furthermore, the planks of the bridge seemed to be suspended on thick ropes, and hung just above the churning, roiling water, which had risen to within less than a foot of the bottom of the bridge. He felt dizzy, and swayed slightly on his pony. Beri looked at him.

“Freddy, are you all right?”

Freddy just nodded. He was going to *do* this.

Legolas glanced over at him. worried. “Freddy, give me your reins.” He reached over and took them, and Freddy did not resist. Instead he put both hands on the pommel, and concentrated only on staying in the saddle and keeping from passing out. He took deep breaths.

As the pony’s hooves set down upon the planks of the bridge, he closed his eyes, and tried his best to ignore the slight swaying motion underfoot.

Clip-clop! Clip clop! Clip-clop!

Breathe, Freddy, he told himself.

It seemed to take forever before he felt the pony stepping once more on solid ground, and realized they were now back upon the roadway. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

“Well done, laddie!” exclaimed Gimli.

Legolas nodded, and handed the pony’s reins back to him. On his other side, Beri heaved a deep sigh of relief. Merry had told him of Freddy’s aversion to crossing water, and had made him promise to watch out for their cousin. He saw now what Merry had meant. He felt a good deal of admiration for Freddy for what he had just accomplished. He wondered if there were anything he feared as much, and whether or not he could face it so well.

As Freddy felt his stomach settle itself, he took a large drink from his waterskin, and helped himself to an apple from the sack on his saddle.

Now that Tharbad was behind them, their journey fell once more into the rhythm of the road. They rode along talking and enjoying the scenery. They would not stop until luncheon, and today the cooking chores belonged to Mistress Poppy and Viola.

CHAPTER 17

It only took a couple of days until they were once more into the routine they had established before they had stopped at Tharbad.

The third day, Freddy was riding with Targon, talking about Gondor, and how it had changed since the return of the King. Jolly was watching, thinking about how well Captain Freddy seemed to be doing.

Mosco rode up alongside. “Good morning, Jolly.”

“ ‘Morning, Mr. Mosco.” He inclined his head a bit at the greeting.

“You know, you are a part of this embassy, Jolly. You do not have to say ‘Mr.’ to me.”

Jolly laughed. “That’s what Captain Freddy and Mr. Beri have said, too. But it’s hard to change the way I’ve spoke all my life. Now I know how poor Sam feels. Mr. Frodo and Captain Merry and Captain Pippin been trying to get him to stop saying ‘Mr.’ for years now.”

“Well, whatever makes you comfortable, Jolly. But remember that it is all right--you *are* part of this mission.” Mosco was quiet for a moment. “I know you were part of the Rebels--those who were are the only ones who call Freddy ‘Captain’. I still find it amazing that Freddy Bolger was a leader of the Rebellion, even though I was there when--when they killed Folco.”

“Aye,” said Jolly, “that were really the start of it, them Ruffians murdering poor Mr. Folco. But there’s always been more to Captain Freddy than met the eye to my way of thinking.”

“I wish that I had been able to do something. But my parents--my mother especially, wouldn’t have it. They were too frightened after--after that. It was a breath of fresh air when Merry and Pippin and the others came back, and drove the Ruffians out.”

“That it was. But Captain Freddy, he did as much as he could before they caught ‘em, locked ‘em up in the Lockholes. Tom and me was lucky not to be caught with ‘em. We’d taken some foodstuffs back to Bywater, to our old Dad--he was seeing to it that it got to them as needed it--and stayed on a day or two. Then word came the band had been captured and marched to Michel Delving. Not much else to be done after that.”

“Some of your exploits are quite famous--I do think ‘How Fatty Popped the Pimple’ is one of the most popular songs in the Shire.”

Jolly laughed. “That song is not very truthful, Mr. Mosco. We did raid that leaf shipment, and it upset old Pimple no end, but it never happened the way the song said it did.”

“So, what *did* happen, then?”

Jolly thought a moment, back to that day when they struck one of their most successful blows against the so-called Chief…

Tom and Jolly Cotton, Noddy Brownlock, Diccon Hayward, Sparrow Tunnelly and Barley Harfoot crouched behind the shrubbery on the hill overlooking the road from Harcot to Longbottom. It was nearly noon, and the Forelithe Sun was at her peak. It would be a long day.

There was a tiny whistle--one of their own signals, and suddenly they were joined by their Captain. Freddy Bolger was looking grim and determined.

“Look lively lads. I’ve had the signal that the waggons are on their way. The word we had from old Farmer Goold is that there are six of them. They are being driven by hobbits, but there are four of the Men riding with them. From what the *miller*” and Freddy stopped and spat after that word, though all knew whom he meant, but the name of ’Sandyman’ seldom passed Freddy’s lips-- “had to say in his bragging, this shipment of leaf is very important to the Pimple. Apparently his main customer in the South has personally ordered this leaf, and already paid a premium price. The Pimple is going to be in a good deal of trouble with that customer if the leaf never arrives.”

The others nodded. They knew most of this already, though they were pleased to discover that there would only be four Men guarding the shipment.

Bows and slings were readied.

It was less than a quarter hour before they saw the dust of the approaching waggons, and soon they were within sight.

Captain Freddy, Tom, Diccon and Sparrow stood up slowly, notching arrows to their bows, while the others readied stones in their slings.

“Make sure every arrow finds its mark,” whispered Freddy. “We’ll not get another chance.”

The caravan stopped as they came upon the log which lay across the road. One of the Men harshly yanked one of the hobbit drivers down and ordered him to move the log out of the way. They looked about warily, but never saw the hobbits where they had hidden.

Four arrows were loosed and found their marks. The Men dropped where they stood. The hobbits who had been driving the waggons looked about in confusion for an instant, when suddenly the stones found their targets. Three of the hobbits slumped where they sat, two jerked back as they were struck elsewhere than their heads. The last one jumped from the waggon and attempted to hide beneath it.

Freddy and the others scrambled down the hill and approached the waggons, bows drawn, arrows nocked. Tom and Jolly went to look at the bodies of the Men they had shot…

Jolly stopped for a moment, shuddering. “Are you all right, Jolly?” Mosco asked, concerned.

He drew a deep breath. “Aye, that I am. But it was just thinking about it, you see…”

“Captain Freddy!” called Tom. “Look at this!”

Jolly was quietly being sick on the verge.

Three of the dead Men were no surprise, but the fourth, somewhat shorter and more ill-favored--Freddy gasped at the sight of the blood--it was not red like the others, but black. He gulped, as he looked at it.

“What do you suppose that means, Captain Freddy?”

Freddy shook his head. “All I can suppose is that this Man is not like the others. He does not look ugly enough to be a goblin, nor would he be out in the daylight if he were, but I think it may mean that he is at least part goblin. The old stories say goblins and orcs and other creatures of the Dark Lord have black blood.”

Meanwhile the others of the band had rounded up the hobbit drivers. Most of them were as pleased as not to have been stopped. They had been coerced into working for Lotho by threats of violence to themselves or their families. But there were two, a pair of Bracegirdles, who were loud in their protestations.

“You won’t get away with this! The Chief’ll soon put an end to this outrage!” shouted one.

Freddy leaned in until he was almost nose to nose with the other hobbit. The smile he wore was more feral than anything else. In a low, almost pleasant voice, he said “Your Chief *is* the outrage. And sooner or later, someone will put an end to it.”

The Bracegirdle quailed under the glitter in Freddy’s eyes.

Freddy turned around to the others. “Bind these two.”

They soon had their hands tied behind them, none too gently.

“Sparrow!” Freddy called.

“Yes, sir?”

“You know what to do with the waggons, and these other hobbits?”

“I’ll be seeing ‘em into Tookland, unless any of ‘em wish to stay with us?”

Two of the four wished to join up with the Rebels, but two of them were worried about their families.

“We’ll see to your families for you, and they can join you in Tookland. You go ahead with them and see them to Isembold; he’ll get them into the Took’s bounds where they will be safe, and the Thain’ll make good use of the leaf.”

He turned to the Bracegirdles, who quailed beneath his gaze. “These two will make a nice present for their Chief.”

The rest of the hobbits busied themselves with removing the Men’s bodies, and then Sparrow, the other four drivers, and Noddy drove off with the waggons of leaf.

He turned his attention to the prisoners. “Blindfold them. They will be with us for a few days. We need to make our way back to Hobbiton.”

Jolly laughed. “Them two Bracegirdles was none too happy with their lot for the next little while. We was all on short rations by then, and they got what was left *after* the rest of us. And we never let ‘em take off their blindfolds. It took us nigh on ten days to make our way back, having to hide as we did. Finally…”

What in the world was that thumping at the door to Bag End? thought Lotho irritably. The Sun was barely peeping her way over the horizon. If those insolent Men thought he was going to put up with this sort of thing…

There was another loud thump, just before he opened the door.

No one stood there, but there were clods of dirt all over the front step. Also on the front step, trussed up like fowls for the roasting, with gags in their mouths and naked as the day they were born, were the two Bracegirdles who had been in charge of the leaf delivery in the South Farthing. There was a note tucked into the ropes binding one of them.

Lotho’s eyes popped. Bending down, he snatched the note.

“Lotho--

Here’s a little present for you.

By the way, the Thain sends his thanks for the six waggon-loads of Longbottom Leaf.

Until we finally get a chance to meet face to face,

I remain

Your Enemy,

F. Bolger”

From their hidden vantage point, Freddy, Tom and Jolly had a good view of Lotho screaming his curses. He relieved his feelings by kicking at the two hobbits bound at his feet, until his mother came to the door behind him, and yanked him by the ear.

“We took off then, and went back to Dad’s place, hid up in the barn for a while, before we headed back out to our place in the Woody End.”

“Well,” said Mosco, “it’s interesting to hear how it really happened. The song had at least a dozen Men, and Lotho himself driving one of the waggons.”

Jolly shook his head. “No, the Pimple would never have done such a thing, too much like work. And it’s as well he didn’t. If Captain Freddy had caught *him*, it wouldn’t have been pretty. No hobbit’s ever killed another a-purpose since the Shire began, but I think if he ever had got his hands on either Sandyman or the Pimple, that would have changed. And I don’t think it would have been good for him. As it was, both of ‘em got their comeuppance at the hands of the very Men they thought they was bossing, which to my mind seems right fitting.”

“It happened just before they got caught, right?”

Jolly pursed his lips and thought a moment. “Nigh on a month. It were a week or so before Sharkey came. The band took a waggon-load of foodstuffs--flour and ‘taters and such--that had been ‘gathered’ but not shared. We killed three more of the Men that time. Tom and me, we took it home to our old Dad--he was seeing to it that it really *was* getting shared with them as it was *supposed* to get shared with. But one of the hobbit drivers, he pretended to want to join up with us, and he turned traitor on us instead. The day Tom and me was supposed to meet back up with Captain Freddy and them, that was the day we got word as they’d been caught, and was being marched to the Lockholes.”

Jolly sighed. “You know, they was treated so bad, starved and beaten; we never saw Diccon Hayward again, and Sparrow Tunnelly, his health never been the same since. Tom and me, we sometimes felt kind of guilty that we didn’t get caught with the rest of ‘em.”

Mosco nodded. “I know word of what Freddy did put heart in a lot of us, but when he was caught, it rather took the wind out of everyone who’d been hoping. And all my mother could do was say ‘See, I told you so. Aren’t you glad you didn’t get mixed up in that business,’ and all I could think was ‘No, mother, I’m not in the least glad’, for I felt terrible that I’d been of no use at all.” He sighed. “Of course, it didn’t do to say so, for mothers never seem to understand that kind of thing. She meant well, after all.”

They looked ahead, to where Freddy rode alongside Targon, talking and laughing, with Legolas and Gimli on the other side.

“Well, I’m right glad to see Captain Freddy doing better. He was so grim and full of sorrow, and though he would joke with us, it was always bitter jokes with a sting to ‘em.” Jolly smiled. “But now he seems as though a weight’s been lifted.”

“I think it has,” said Mosco. “When I saw him grieving over poor Folco’s body, I wasn’t sure he’d live through that grief.”

“Well, he has,” answered Jolly, “and he’s doing right well. I’m proud to say I know him.”

CHAPTER 18

It was nearly a week after they had left Tharbad, and they had made fairly good time. There had been one more summer storm, the fifth day out, but it had not lasted long, and they had simply ridden through it, glad to be refreshed from the oppressive heat.

It was late afternoon, and Legolas and Gimli had ridden ahead to scout the evening’s campsite.

Beri and Viola were riding side by side and chatting about any number of things.

“So,” asked Beri, “what made you think you wanted to be a healer?”

She smiled at his interest. “My sister Verbena and I were living with my Aunt Rhododendron. She’s a seamstress.” Berilac did not ask about why they were living with the aunt. Viola had already confided how her mother had died bearing a little brother, who also did not live, and then the young girls had lost their father to a wasting sickness. “Anyway, she would have apprenticed both of us, but I really am not that fond of sewing and needlework. Mistress Poppy is a good friend of Aunt Rhody’s, and when her last apprentice was almost ready to leave, she asked me if I were interested. I truly had not given it much thought, though I had often been told I was good in a sick room, so I agreed. I soon found that I really like the work--not only helping folk when they are sick or hurt, but learning about *why* they get sick and *how* to help them--it’s interesting to be sure. I especially like to learn about the different herbs and plants and how they work, and I find that I have a knack with the pendulum as well, so it has been very good for me.”

“Well,” said Beri diffidently, “I am no expert, but I think that you will make a wonderful healer. You have a gentle manner, but you also can be firm as well. I was very impressed the day you stopped everyone because *that* one was getting too hot.”

She laughed. “That was not a hard call to make. And my mistress would certainly have done the same thing if she had been with us. I had to act in her stead.”

Cado glance over at the two of them riding together from his place in front of Leodwald. The Brandybuck was certainly lucky. They always talked about the “luck of the Brandybucks”, and Cado thought it must be true. Merry had always been the lucky one, favored by Uncle Paladin, and an only child to boot, and then when they’d heard that he and Pippin had vanished out of the Shire and were probably dead, he and Clovis had thought maybe their troubles were over, and they wouldn’t have him to worry about any more, but no, he comes back with Pippin, luckier than ever. Taller, stronger, and a hero, of all things. And now Merry’s cousin Berilac looked to be getting lucky with the pretty little healer. He watched how Viola smiled back at the Brandybuck, and scowled. Suddenly, he had a feeling of being watched, and he noticed Mistress Poppy regarding him intently from her pony where she rode just ahead of Viola and Beri. She seemed to see right through him. He gave a shudder. That was almost as bad as having the Elf stare at him.

Mistress Poppy pursed her lips. She had noticed more than once the looks that the youngest prisoner kept giving her apprentice. She was sure Viola had noticed as well, but the lass had said nothing, so she would not either. After all, he was young and at the age to notice a pretty lass no matter what the circumstances. It was sure to come to nothing--he was kept in check mighty well by the Men, and probably would not ever even dare to speak to Viola. And if he ever had the temerity to do so, Berilac Brandybuck would probably very quickly put him down. But she would keep an eye on him anyway.

Freddy was having an enjoyable conversation with Éothain. The Rider was telling him a few stories about his cousin Éowyn, sister to the King.

“Before their parents died, she and I were pretty close playmates--we are very nearly the same age, after all. She was a good deal of fun for a girl, and we would often get into mischief together. I remember one day in particular, we went down to a stream and spent an afternoon catching turtles and trying to race them--a futile exercise at best,” he laughed. “We went back muddy from head to toe. É omer saw us and was horrified, and did his best to sneak us in to get cleaned up before we were caught by an adult. We actually *did* get caught by Uncle Éomund, but he winked and pretended not to see us.”

Freddy chuckled. “Sounds like a few older relatives I can think of. Cousin Bilbo often just winked at that kind of mischief.”

“I daresay. But after their parents died, they were sent off to Edoras. Éomer came back to Aldburg often during the summers--it would one day be his charge, after all, but I did not see Éowyn again until she was fifteen, and was sent with him one summer. We spent a good deal of that summer sparring with one another and beating each other black and blue. It was good fun, and she was as dear a companion and friend as any boy.”

The hobbit shook his head. “Now that’s one thing I don’t understand: that you would let your lasses learn how to be warriors, and let her go to battle.”

Éothain shrugged. “It is not something the Gondorians understand either. But among the Rohirrim, if a high-born woman wishes to become a shield-maiden, she is not denied. However, it is considered to be training to use in a last resort when the enemy has overcome all else. It is not usual for the shield-maidens to actually ride to war, though I daresay Éowyn was not the first or only to do so. But in her case, she was not *supposed* to go. She and Meriadoc had been ordered to remain behind. By all rights, I should have betrayed her presence to the King as soon as I was aware of it. But childhood habits die hard, and I would have found it difficult to do that to her. And, too, she and Meriadoc had a good purpose to be there--we all thought the world was ending anyway, and no hope of victory against the odds we faced. Why should they remain behind to die in worry and despair, when they could come along and at least strike a blow or two against the enemy? At least that was my reason for not saying anything. If things had turned out differently, I do not doubt that those of us who failed to speak would have been in a good deal of trouble. If, of course, any of us had survived without them there to fulfill the prophecy and slay that Dwimmerlaik.”

“Did you know that Merry did not realize who she was until they faced the Sorcerer on the battlefield?”

The Rider turned to him and gaped. “Did he not?” He laughed. “That is funny! But I suppose that it would have been because he still was not well accustomed to the ways of Men. And I don’t believe he had spent much time with her before we left.”

Freddy shook his head. “And I don’t think he would have realized that she would have the knowledge or training. Hobbits mostly don’t learn anything about weapons and fighting anyway, except for the bow, but even so, we certainly would never expect the lasses to learn.” Freddy tried and failed to imagine his little sister Estella learning to use a sword or even a bow.

Just then Legolas and Gimli rode up.

“I have found us an excellent campsite about a mile from here,” said the Elf. “There is a stream flowing across the road that will have to be forded. It’s running rather high from all the recent rains and the melt off the mountains. There is a glade this side of the stream where we can camp tonight, and take the ford tomorrow when all are fresh and rested.”

Targon and Éothain agreed to this, but Freddy gave a shudder. He had known that sooner or later, he would have to ford running water. He might take Poppy’s standing offer of a calming draught in the morning.

He took a deep breath. If Merry could face the Mountains, he could certainly face a stream. It’s not like it’s the Brandywine, he told himself.

The glade was definitely a pleasant spot to camp. They quickly set up the small tent for the healers, and began to start a fire. It was Beri’s and Mosco’s day to do the cooking, and they had begun to look through the stores in order to start a soup. Mosco thought he might make some griddle bread as well.

Mustering up his nerve, Freddy wandered over to the bank of the stream. It was not all that wide, but it was deep, and running swiftly. Just looking at it was not so bad; it was the thought of having to ride across without so much as a bridge that felt a bit unnerving. But if he got used to the look of it, maybe it would not be so bad…

The Men were busy seeing to the ponies and horses, and securing the prisoners, and left the more mundane aspects of setting up camp to the hobbits, who had rather taken over those tasks.

Bergil had taken up his usual chores without being told. He and Jolly had already brought the firewood, and Rolly and Denny had set about making the fire. Now he took up the waterskins and walked down to the stream to fill them. There was a spot there where he could crouch down and lean over the bank. It was a bit of a reach, but it seemed the easiest place to get the water.

Freddy glanced upstream to his left, and saw the lad as he took the waterskins and held them in the water. And he was watching as the ground beneath Bergil suddenly seemed to give way in a slide of mud and rocks, toppling the lad into the stream with a yelp. Horrified, he suddenly realized that Bergil was struggling weakly, not trying to swim. The child was swiftly being carried towards him.

Without even thinking much about it, he grabbed a nearby fallen limb and held it out over the stream. He could hear the others all shouting and running up behind him, but the boy was having trouble trying to grasp the branch. He waded out a few feet, and tried to pull Bergil in.

Suddenly he felt his own feet slip from under him, and before he knew it, he too was under the water…

CHAPTER 19

Freddy kept a firm grip on Bergil’s surcoat, even as he quickly felt several strong hands grasping him. Soon they both were lifted from the water. Freddy was shaking and spluttering. It had been a terrifying moment, but luckily had not lasted long. He realized it was Legolas who was carrying him to the bank of the stream, while Targon had Bergil in his arms.

As they got to the bank, where everyone had crowded round, Freddy noticed that Bergil did not seem to be coming out of it as quickly as he had.

Mistress Poppy stood there with Viola. “Put him down,” she ordered Targon. Then she and Viola rolled the child onto his stomach, and began to press on his back. He gave a weak cough, and water came out of his mouth. As she pressed again, he whimpered softly.

“I do not understand this,” said Targon. “He knows how to swim, and the stream was not that deep?”

Mistress Poppy lifted the surcoat and undertunic, to reveal discolored areas on his back, one near the right side of his upper back, and another, lower down. She began to probe, and Bergil whimpered again. “It probably is because it was so shallow; he tumbled in quickly, and it seems hit his back hard enough on the stones of the stream bed to knock the breath out of him. I suspect a cracked rib or two.” She lifted the pendulum over her head, turning to Viola. “Get some water on to boil, and steep the contents of one of the blue packets.” She looked up at Freddy, who was shivering in spite of the warm day. “And also of the yellow, for Master Fredegar.”

Viola nodded and got up quickly to do her mistress’s bidding. The healer had prepared a number of packets of herbs for various purposes, color coded them, for emergency use during their travel.

She looked at Targon. “I suspect he’s still got a lot of water in his lungs; the cracked rib will make it difficult for him to cough it all out. He runs a definite risk of lung fever. We should probably not try to travel for at least three days.”

The Gondorian captain was pale, as he thought of what he might have to say to Beregond if anything happened to his son while in his care. He looked up, and Éothain nodded.

Orders were quickly given, and the tents brought out to set up for a more prolonged stay.

Freddy had not spoken since they had been pulled from the water. He gave a start when Legolas gave him a squeeze of the shoulder. “Are you all right, my friend? Knowing how you feel about the water, that was most brave of you!”

Freddy glanced up at the Elf in astonishment. “I didn’t even think about that part of it, I just knew I had to get Bergil.” He felt a bit shocked that it had *not* occurred to him just what he was doing. Amazing.

He felt a blanket being draped around his shoulders, and murmured his thanks to Beri. Then he gratefully took the cup of steaming tea from Viola.

The herbal taste was strong, but he could not distinguish any particular one. It put a bit of heart into him, and he could feel himself warming up.

He watched as the healers carefully tended Bergil, using the warm liquid to carefully bathe the reddened areas on his back. The red was already beginning to fade into the black and blue of bruises.

“Once we have him in a tent, I will strap up his ribs,” said Poppy, as she put her pendulum back around her neck. “He has two cracked, but none are broken badly enough to fear piercing a lung.” She reached up and took a blanket being handed her by Borondir, and lay it over him carefully.

The tents were quickly set up, and Targon carefully gathered the boy up. Bergil stirred and whimpered a bit, but did not otherwise react, as he was carried into the captain’s tent and lain down upon his stomach on his bedroll. With Targon’s and Borondir’s assistance they removed his wet clothing. Freddy had rummaged in the child’s pack, and handed out a dry tunic, but they did not put it on him yet.

Freddy, Targon and Borondir stayed in the tent, as Mistress Poppy and Viola tended him.

“Viola, have you the bruise juice?” Viola handed her mistress a stoppered bottle, containing the infusion of arnica, witch-hazel, comfrey root, goat weed and black willow-bark, and watched as Poppy carefully massaged it onto his sore back. Then she handed Poppy the rolled bandages, and helped her turn the child over. He was a bit large for Viola to support him sitting up, so Targon knelt down to help. He coughed wetly, and whispered, “hurts.”

“I know it hurts, lad,” said Poppy gently. “This will help.” She and Viola strapped his ribs firmly. Borondir gently pulled on the dry tunic, and they lay him back on the bedroll.

Viola had been preparing a cup of tea, with willow-bark and boneset and other soothing herbs, which she handed to her mistress. Poppy held the cup, and Bergil sipped at it. He made a face at the bitter taste, but otherwise drank it down. Then he lay his head back, exhausted.

He started to cry, just a little. “I--I’m sorry,” he whispered. “D-didn’t mean to--”

Targon smoothed his hair back. “Shush, child! You did nothing wrong. It was an accident.” He watched as the grey eyes grew heavy, and Bergil drifted into sleep.

Poppy stood up. “He’ll sleep for a few hours. When he wakes, we’ll give him some soup, and see how he’s doing.” Her brow was furrowed. She would like to have been able to press more of the water out of him, but his injury had made that inadvisable.

She turned her attention to Freddy. “Now you, Master Fredegar, need to go get into some dry things as well. Don’t need *you* sick on top of it all.”

Freddy nodded, and went to find his pack and some dry clothes.

He was in the Gondorian tent, nearly finished dressing, when Berilac entered.

“Hullo, Beri.”

The Brandybuck gave him an intent look. “You know, you don’t swim. That was a brave but foolish thing you did.”

“I’m sure it was foolish, but I didn’t even think about it to be honest. He was being carried downstream so quickly, and I didn’t know how soon help would reach us.” He shook his head. “To be truthful, I still can’t believe I did it.”

Beri pursed his lips, and set his face. “I am not sure how you will take this, since you are the one in charge, but this has made me very sure of something.”

Freddy looked puzzled. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“It was all well and good in the Shire, but there are too many dangers out here to not do all we can to prepare for something like this. As soon as we find a spot where the water is deep enough, but not too rapid, I think it is time all the hobbits had swimming lessons.” He sounded very firm.

“Swim? On purpose?” Freddy gaped at him.

Beri laughed at his expression. “Yes. On purpose. One can hardly learn to swim by accident. When it is by accident that one goes into the water, one can only drown or be rescued if one can’t swim. I’m perfectly serious.”

“It didn’t help Bergil. I know he can swim, I watched him once with Merry and Pippin.”

“No, he had the breath knocked out of him, and was injured. You on the other hand could not swim at all, and if help had not already been on the way, you would have assuredly drowned.”

Freddy stared. The Brandybuck had a point.

“Swimming lessons?” He sounded more speculative now than appalled.

Berilac nodded. “*I* can swim, and I believe Rolly and Denny also know how, being Bucklanders also, though I don‘t know how well. I am perfectly certain that most of the Men know how. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

“Swimming lessons.” He sighed. “The hard part is going to be convincing Mosco and Jolly,--and I don’t know *what* Mistress Poppy and Viola will say.”

“Mistress Poppy has some sense. She’ll know it’s the right thing to do.”

Freddy nodded. And sighed. He was not at *all* sure he wanted to do this.

But it looked like he was going to, will-he or nill-he.

________________________________________________

CHAPTER 20

It was a somewhat subdued group that sat about the campfire and had the soup and griddlebread that had been prepared. Bergil still slept restlessly, with Targon at his side. The others could hear the child’s occasional cough.

Poppy frowned to herself, and glancing up, saw an anxious look on Viola’s face as well. The sound of the coughs was worrisome. Targon came out of the tent.

“He is stirring, and beginning to wake. I thought I would take him a mug of soup?” He looked at Poppy.

She nodded. “Mostly broth,” she said. “Viola, will you take him another cup of the willow-bark tea? And add a bit of cherry-bark and horehound as well.”

The apprentice nodded, and quickly rose to obey her mistress’ instructions. She and Targon went into the tent, and the others could hear the murmurs, as they coaxed the child into drinking the broth and the medicine. After a few moments, she returned with the empty cup.

Leodwald, who had been standing watch, came over to the fire, and Artamir rose to take his place without a word.

The others began to stir as well. There seemed no point in sitting about the fire this night. There would be no songs or stories as long as all were so worried about Bergil.

But before they could get ready to go their ways to their bedrolls, Berilac gave Freddy a look from under lowered brows, and cleared his throat.

Freddy gave him a sharp look, and sighed. Beri was right. “Just a moment. Before we go to bed, there is something I wish to say to all the hobbits.”

The rest of the Men looked curious, but politely rose and went on their own way, prodding the prisoners ahead of them. They already knew that the prisoners did not count. But Freddy said “Wait a minute. Leave them here.”

The Men looked surprised, and turned them back to their places by the fire. Éothain said “Master Fredegar, do you wish one of us to remain here?”

He shook his head. “They’re tied up. You can take them away in a few minutes.”

Legolas and Gimli had also started to leave, but Legolas now thought to linger--his curiosity was aroused.

Gimli yanked on his sleeve. “Come along, Master Elf. It’s none of our business.”

“But Gimli--”

“Do I have to remind you what happened the last time you meddled with hobbits’ business?”

“That was entirely different!” Nevertheless, he allowed the Dwarf to lead him away.

“What is all this about, Captain Freddy?” asked Jolly, after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

Freddy cleared his throat. “Erm, it has been brought to my attention that what happened today could have had a much worse outcome than it did. There are any number of bodies of water between here and our destination. Therefore, as soon as is practical, we, uh, we’re going to learn how to--swim.” He glanced over at the prisoners. “*All* of us, who do not already know.”

There was an immediate clamor, Mosco and Jolly objecting, Clovis yelling “You can’t make us!” while Rolly and Denny laughingly tried to say that it wasn’t all that bad.

Berilac stood up. “That’s enough!” There was a sudden silence. “I am going to tell you what I told Fredegar this afternoon: if you do not know how to swim and you go into the water, your only choice is to drown or be rescued. And if no one is near enough, then you have no choice at all. I know most hobbits don’t like the idea. But most Bucklanders do know how to swim, and it not only makes life safer, but it *can* be fun. At any rate, I know how; Rolly and Denny know how. And I am quite sure that we will have some help from the Men.”

The four bound hobbits looked pale and frightened. Clovis looked belligerent. He glared. “You’d just love the chance to drown us, wouldn’t you, Brandybuck?” he sneered.

The hobbits all stared, dumbstruck at this statement. Finally, Beri burst out into laughter. “I’ve never heard anything funnier! As if any of you were worth the trouble. But you will at least learn how *not* to drown.”

Freddy looked disgusted. “Borondir!” he called, “you can take them away now.”

Amused, for the Man had heard some of the exchange, he came and led the four off.

The others looked at one another. Finally Poppy said, “Well, it does make sense. I do not know that I could ever find something so unnatural *fun*, but it is as well to be prepared for danger.”

Viola’s eyes were huge. She would do as her mistress did, but--*swim*? Then she looked at Beri, as he grinned and joked with Rolly and Denny. It was clear that *he* at least would enjoy this thoroughly. That was part of being one of those “wild Brandybucks” she had heard about all her life. She had never really believed it before. *Swim*? She shuddered.

Poppy patted her on the back. “It will be all right, dear. Just think of it as medicine.”

She gulped. Yes, like medicine, something that was good for you, even if it tasted nasty.

Just then Targon came out of the tent. “Mistress Poppy? I am worried about Bergil.”

Moving quickly, healer and apprentice went into the tent.

Bergil was coughing again, and his skin was clammy. Poppy felt his brow. “He’s been running a fever, and it has broken. We need to make sure he doesn’t chill.” She took off her pendulum, and began to hold it over the child, studying the way it moved with a scowl.  It looked like the water in his lungs was having its effects.

He started to cough again, and then to cry. “I want my father,” he sobbed, and then was wracked by more coughing, interspersed with whimpers of pain.

Targon shook his head sadly, and sat down by the bedroll. “Bergil, I know you miss your father,” he began to stroke the dark hair. “Mistress Poppy, will he be all right? I do not know how I would face Beregond if--”

Poppy spoke up briskly. “We shall do all we can,” she said. “I certainly would not care to return to the Shire and tell Peregrin Took that I had allowed his dear friend to slip through my fingers. And I’m not about to. But we may be in for a rough few days.”

CHAPTER 21

The next morning was a quiet one. No one had rested well, with the worry over young Bergil and the fright of the day before. The only ones awake were Danulf, who was on watch, Rolly and Denny, who had risen to prepare a light breakfast, Poppy, who was watching by Bergil’s side, and Legolas who had gone for his usual morning walk.

Bergil finally had slept, though through much of the night he had been kept awake by painful coughing, and a fever which came and went. Now, soothed by herbs, he was deeply asleep. Targon and Éothain snored gently in their own bedrolls, also kept awake until the wee hours by the sick child in their tent.

“Mistress Poppy?” a voice softly called from the tent opening.

She glanced up. “Yes, Rolly?”

“Would you care for a bit of breakfast?”

“Thank you, yes I would. Just one moment.” She tried to speak softly and avoid waking the Men, but Targon sat up. “It’s all right, Captain Targon,” she said, and carefully made her way from the tent. Bergil would be fine for a few moments anyway.

She stretched to the popping of her joints, and walked with Rolly over by the fire, where he served her tea, and porridge, and griddlecakes topped with stewed dried fruit. The food put some heart into her, but made her quite sleepy. She was going to have to wake Viola to tend to Bergil, while she got some rest.

The smell of the food had begun to wake the other hobbits, who began to come out one by one, still yawning and tired.

“Don’t forget to leave some for the Men,” said Denny, as he watched Jolly fill his bowl with porridge.

“Your porridge is good, Denny,” he smiled.

“It’s the cinnamon as does the trick,” Denny replied.

“I’ll have to remember that.”

Fredegar stood over Poppy with his cup of tea. “How is Bergil this morning, Mistress Poppy?”

“He’s resting more or less comfortably at the moment.”

“Will he be all right?”

“I think so, as long as there are no complications. But we will still need to give him a few days to recover.”

Freddy sighed. “I am so relieved that he will be all right. I think we can live with a few delays. I am sure that the captains will agree.”

Viola came over to her mistress and sat down with her own breakfast. “Will you want me to watch over the patient while you get some sleep, Mistress Poppy?”

“Yes, please, Viola. I think that he will sleep through mid-morning; I dosed him last just before dawn. If he should waken, make sure he drinks water, and come fetch me if his fever should return once more.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The apprentice nodded, and went to the captains’ tent, just as Targon and É othain came out, yawning. The two Men came over and helped themselves to some of the griddlecakes and fruit, declining the porridge.

“It does smell delicious, Master Denny,” said É othain, “but the griddlecakes are a treat; I am afraid I have not the capacity to eat both.” He chuckled; the hobbits were always trying to make them eat more than they really wanted.

Berilac had come out, and was serving himself. “That’s quite all right,” he said. “That much more for the rest of us.” He sniffed appreciatively. “There’s cinnamon in it!”

When the breakfast was done, Jolly and Mosco decided to clean up. Cleaning up after the meal was usually Bergil’s job, and they did it silently, without a lot of the joking and songs that hobbits often engaged in while doing such chores. They felt too keenly the absence of the child whose task it was.

Freddy and Berilac approached Targon and É othain, who were yawning after their short sleep.

Targon glanced up. “What is it, Master Fredegar?”

“We are going to be here for a few days, aren’t we?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Berilac has suggested that this would be a good time for those of us who cannot swim to learn.”

“I think that is an excellent idea! You gave us quite a fright yesterday, going into the water like that. I would not have been half so alarmed had I not known that you could not swim.”

Freddy blushed. “I am afraid it did not even occur to me,” he shrugged.

Berilac spoke up. “The stream is too swift and swollen here, but I am thinking that there may be a less turbulent spot nearby where lessons could be given. Also, perhaps one of your Men could give the prisoners their lessons. I fear they do not trust me overmuch.”

The captains nodded. “I am sure that would be acceptable,” said Targon.

Éothain said “Anwynd is an excellent swimmer, I have reason to know.”

He glanced at Targon.

The Gondorian thought for a second. “All my Men know how to swim, but I think for your purposes, Borondir would be the best one to take such a task. We shall speak to both of them.”

Legolas had returned to the campsite, and wandered over to the discussion. “Freddy, I believe that I may have found an appropriate spot for your people to learn to swim.”

Legolas led Freddy, Berilac, Anwynd and Borondir downstream for a while. Soon they came to a grove of alders, and there the stream broadened into a large pond.

“Why, it’s a beaver pond!” said Berilac.

“Indeed,” replied the Elf. “It is a rather good sized beaver pond, shallow at the edges, and deepening towards the center. The water here is clean and clear. I do believe it would make an excellent spot for beginners to safely learn to swim.”

Freddy eyed the water suspiciously. It wasn’t like the swift running stream into which he had fallen the day before, but it was considerably larger than a bathtub, which was the most water he’d ever immersed himself in before. He gave a shudder. Still, he had agreed to Berilac’s suggestion, and as the leader of the group of hobbits, he was going to have to set an example. He was going to have to get over it. It did after all, make sense, and it was, after all for safety’s sake. He sighed.

Berilac clapped him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Freddy. It could be worse. You could be having to learn in the River.”

“Or,” said Borondir, “in the sea.”

The hobbits stared at him. “The sea?”

“Aye. That’s where I learned to swim, visiting my kinfolk in Belfalas, I played upon the sands there, and swam in the salt sea.”

Legolas had gone very quiet and still.

Freddy shook his head. “I cannot imagine--I have heard stories of the sea--but so much water seems unnatural to me.”

“Believe me, Master Fredegar, it is very natural. Perhaps while you are in Gondor, you might get a chance to see it.”

“Perhaps.” To Freddy the sea seemed very perilous. He recalled the stories of drowned Nú menor--any body of water large enough to drown an entire kingdom seemed fraught with danger.

Berilac took a few steps closer to the pond, and cast an eye over the water. “Well, lacking a sea, or the river, this will do very well for hobbits to learn how to swim.”

Anwynd nodded. “They said you wished Borondir and I to teach the prisoners?”

“Yes,” said Beri. “They don’t really trust me, and I cannot see them cooperating with Rolly and Denny, so if you do not mind it, it would be a great help.”

Borondir chuckled. “I don’t know how well they will like it.”

“They don’t have to like it,” said Freddy. “If the rest of us have to learn this, so do they.” Actually, he felt a grim satisfaction thinking of the discomfiture of Bracegirdle and the Bankses.

The little group strolled back to camp, little noticing the quietness of the Elf. When they came in view of the camp, he said briefly “Excuse me,” and vanished up a tree.

Freddy was a bit puzzled. But, he reminded himself, Legolas is not a hobbit. He sometimes felt himself in danger of forgetting that, as he was such a good friend and companion.

Perched on the limb of a mighty oak, Legolas leaned against the trunk, and tried to ride the wave of longing that had overtaken him all unbidden. The sound of surf, that he had never heard, and the sound of gulls that he had heard only once and briefly, washed through his mind. Slowly the sound of the tree in which he sat began to override them.

Gimli stood up from where he sat by the campfire. “Where’s the Elf?” he asked.

Freddy shrugged. “He went up a tree, over there, as we walked back.”

The Dwarf walked in that direction. He glanced about, and noticed the oak tree. He looked up, but could see no sign of Legolas, nevertheless he was certain he must be up there as it was the largest tree around. He sat down beneath its bole, and pulled out a knife and a whetstone. Pretty soon his Elf would come down, and Gimli would be waiting for him.

CHAPTER 22

Bergil was miserable. It was hot in the tent, and he *hurt*, and he kept coughing, and that hurt even more.

For the very first time since leaving Gondor, Bergil found himself wishing he had never come. Always before, he had missed his father, but he wanted his father to have come with him. But today, he wished he were at *home* in his very own bed, and his father there to take care of him. It would be different if Sir Pippin were here. But Sir Pippin was back in the Shire, and his father was weeks away--a lump of misery rose in his throat, and he wanted to cry. He remembered crying before, though, and felt too embarrassed to give way; Miss Viola was sitting by him, reading in a book. She was a nice enough hobbit lass, but he did not know her well enough to cry in front of her.

And then another spasm of coughing hit him, and the tears fell whether he would or no. It was so hard to draw a breath, it felt like knives stabbing him.

Miss Viola leaned over and help him sit up, and spit out the fluid into a basin; that was so nasty and embarrassing. He whimpered in spite of himself.

“It’s all right, Bergil-lad,” she said quietly. “We need you to cough that out. I know it hurts.”

She slipped off her own pendulum, a bit of amber mounted in copper, on a silken cord, and held it over him. He was clearly in a good deal of distress. Mistress Poppy had been guessing at the doses she was using for him. He was larger than a hobbit, but still he was a child, so she had felt better to err on the side of caution. It seemed that they had been underestimating the amount of draught it would take to keep him comfortable. Viola thought perhaps it was time for more, but she did not wish to make that decision on her own; she would have to ask her Mistress.

She poked her head out, and caught the eye of the Gondorian, Adrahil, who was passing by. He stopped, an anxious expression on his face.

“Is something wrong, Miss Viola? Is the boy worse?”

“Not seriously worse, but his medicine is wearing off. I should like to speak to my mistress about giving him another draught; not something I should care to do on my own account. Could you sit with him a few moments, until I return?”

Adrahil nodded, and entered the tent, going to sit next to the boy. Bergil looked thoroughly wretched.

“Good day, Bergil,” Adrahil said. “I will not ask how you are, for it is clear that you do not feel well at all.”

Bergil shook his head sadly. “I am sorry for being such a baby. I am in the service of Gondor, and I should bear up with this better.”

Adrahil suppressed a smile. “You have broken ribs and water in your lungs. Even a seasoned soldier is going to be unhappy in like circumstance.”

“But I have slowed the company down. I know that we are staying here on my account.”

“This is true. But you do not think our captain would have done the same if one of us were injured? This journey is important, but we are not at war and there is no urgency. And your tumble into the water was not your fault. The ground was unstable and gave way.”

Bergil looked up hopefully, though his features were still pinched with pain. “You really think so?”

“I do.” The Gondorian soldier looked thoughtful for a moment, and then smiled. “Ah, and now, you know, you’ve something in common with Sir Peregrin--both of you have suffered broken ribs! You can boast of that in your next letter to him!”

Bergil smiled slightly. “Why, you’re right, Adrahil!”

Adrahil grinned. “I know. Is that not amazing.”

Bergil gave a little chuckle, which he quickly suppressed. “It hurts to laugh,” he complained mildly.

Just then Viola returned, with a draught of medicine. She gave it to Bergil, and he drank it down dutifully, only slightly making a face.

“You should be able to rest and sleep now, Bergil,” she said. She turned to the soldier. “Thank you for watching him, Adrahil.”

“I do not mind. All of us are very fond of the boy, as well as of his father.”

____________________________________________________

At the beaver pond, Berilac, Rolly and Denny looked at Freddy, Jolly and Mosco. All of them were stripped down to their small clothes. The Bucklanders were used to swimming unclad, but Beri thought that the others might balk at that. He knew very well that hobbits from the rest of the Shire would find that to be improper.

“We will go out into the water, and you will wade out to us. We will start in water that is only waist deep to begin with. Try to relax; we won’t let anything happen to any of you.” Beri tried to keep his voice confident and cheerful. He had taught swimming before, but only to young Buckland hobbits, to whom the idea was perfectly normal. He had never had to teach anyone before who was terrified just at the idea of going into the water.

The three Bucklanders waded out into the pond about waist deep, and felt with their feet along the bottom to make sure there were no sudden drop offs. They stood there, arms extended. “Come on, now!” they encouraged.

Freddy looked at Jolly and Mosco, who were both trembling a bit. Clearly, it was up to him to set an example. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, he took a few steps. When he was ankle deep, he stopped and looked back at the other two, who reluctantly followed. Then he looked Beri in the eye, and received a nod, so he took a few more steps. As the water rose up to his knees and then his thighs, he felt a moment of panic and froze.

“It’s all right, Freddy,” said Beri in a soothing tone of voice. Berilac took a few steps forward and took both Freddy’s hands, and then began to step back, drawing him along slowly. Next to him, the others were doing the same.

Berilac left the other two Bucklanders to their own methods of teaching, and concentrated on Freddy. He knew that for the Bolger, this was far more terrifying than he was letting on.

“Watch me, Freddy,” he said. Taking a deep breath and holding it, he bent over and put his face in the water for a few seconds, blowing out a few bubbles. Then he stood back up, the water running down his face.

“Now you try it.”

Summoning every ounce of courage he had, Freddy drew in his breath.

_____________________________________________________

When Mistress Poppy had spoken to Viola about giving Bergil more of the draught, she decided she had slept enough, and came out of the tent.

She had something she needed to take care of. She and Viola were going to have to take these swimming lessons, too. But there were certain proprieties to be observed.

Legolas was seated to one side of the encampment, carefully examining his arrows. His fit of sea-longing had passed, and as it often did, it left him feeling in need of doing something mundane. He felt the presence of the hobbit healer as she approached. Without looking up, he said “May I be of help to you, Mistress Poppy?” He finished his examination of the arrow he held, replaced it in his quiver, and gave her his full attention.

She hesitated briefly. “Master Legolas--” she still felt a bit uncomfortable with that form of address, knowing he was a prince, but it was what he insisted on--”I was wondering: do you swim?”

His eyes went wide. That was the last thing he was expecting. “Why, yes, Mistress Poppy, I do.”

She nodded. “I thought you probably did. It seemed very likely. The reason I ask is this: I have agreed for my apprentice and myself to learn. But I do not think it would be appropriate for us to have our lessons with the others, and I especially think, in light of certain things, that it would not be proper for Berilac Brandybuck to be teaching Viola. I have no problems with his paying court to her, but spending time together when he is clad in naught but wet smallclothes, and she in a wet shift, does not seem wise to me.”

Legolas suppressed a smile. Mistress Poppy was very practical and down to earth about a lot of things, but in some ways she was very hobbity indeed. Her concern over what was proper reminded him of Sam.

“You would like me to teach you?” he asked.

“If it would not be an imposition. The Men will have their hands full teaching the prisoners.”

He thought briefly, and then nodded. “I would be honored,” he said. When she left, he found himself chuckling, and remembering Gandalf’s saying about how you could think you knew everything about hobbits, yet they could still surprise you.

___________________________________________________

The six hobbits dried themselves off and donned their clothing before heading back to the campsite. Jolly had made the most progress so far. He was already treading water and dog paddling a bit. Mosco had finally been persuaded to lift his feet from the bottom and do a bit of kicking as long as Denny retained hold of his hands. Freddy had barely managed to keep his face in the water for more than a few seconds, however, and he was feeling very frustrated. He would start out feeling that he could do it, but as soon as his head was in the water, he began to feel an urgent need for breath, even though he could hold his breath out of the water far longer than that.

Berilac was also frustrated with Freddy’s lack of progress, but he did his best not to let it show. He knew that Fredegar had further to go and more fear to lose than the others.

When they arrived back at the encampment it was mid-afternoon. Rolly and Denny went to the stores to see about what needed to be done about making supper.

Borondir and Anwynd now took the reluctant prisoners, and began herding them towards the beaver pond for their lesson. It was very clear that all four of the hobbit prisoners were very reluctant indeed. Berilac was exceedingly grateful that he was not going to be having to try to teach any of them.

_______________________________________________

Poppy had gone to relieve Viola of her watch over the ill Bergil. She told her about her decision to have Legolas give them their own swimming lessons on the morrow. It was clear that Viola was disappointed, for she had looked forward to spending the time with Beri.

She sat down next to the child, and took out a bit of mending. He was still sleeping heavily from his last dose of medicine.

She was a bit worried about his condition. She had hoped to see more improvement than had so far been evident. She was very much afraid he was going to take a turn for the worse.

She looked up as Fredegar entered. “How is he?” he asked.

“He is not doing so well as I had hoped,” she answered candidly.

He went over and sat down, taking the child’s limp sweaty hand in his own. “I have become very fond of him,” he said.

“I know,” answered Poppy, “as have we all.”

CHAPTER 23

While Poppy watched Bergil, Viola sat in the shade of a tree resting. It was cooler than in the small tent she shared with the healer. She was tired, but she was used to being tired--it was all a part of learning to be a healer after all.

She was worried about their young patient. Because they had been unable to get all the water out of his lungs, due to the broken ribs, this infection had set in. And unfortunately, it did not seem to be getting better as quickly as Poppy expected. Yet the Captains did not seem unduly alarmed, and Fredegar had told the healers that according to what Merry, Pippin and Frodo revealed, it seemed hobbits tended to heal more quickly of such things than Men did. So they were keeping watch, and trying not to be panic-stricken over the seeming lack of progress.

Berilac came over and sat next to her. “How are you doing, Viola?”

She sighed, and leaned back against the tree. “I’m tired, of course, and concerned about Bergil, but otherwise I am fine. How did the swimming lessons go?”

Beri gave a rueful chuckle. “Better than I expected in some ways, not as well in others. Jolly took to it like it was second breakfast--he is learning very quickly. Mosco is doing as well as the usual beginner. But Freddy is having a struggle. He is trying very hard, though, and I think if he can just stop *thinking* so much, he will do well.” He sighed. “I wish I could be teaching you,” he said softly.

Viola gave him a shy smile. “Well, Mistress Poppy has decreed that as Master Legolas is the oldest member of the company, he is the only proper one to teach the two of us, since there are no other females who can teach us.”

Berilac nodded. “That’s the way it’s normally done in Buckland, I must confess, unless the lasses are very young. If they are younger than their mid-teens, then usually any sibling or cousin can teach them to swim. But if they are older than that, then it must either be another female or the senior male of their family. Or their husbands,” he added. “Because mostly the Bucklanders do learn to swim early, and it’s the lasses who marry into the family who have to learn as adults.” He laughed. “I remember my parents telling the stories of my mother’s learning to swim. She’s a Proudfoot by birth, and was scandalized to find out that anyone living in Brandy Hall is expected to learn how to swim. She thought up all kinds of excuses to postpone the lessons from my father. And then when she finally did learn how, discovered she enjoyed it very much. After that, he was hard put to keep her *out* of the water. When my Grandmother Proudfoot came to visit, she nearly fainted when my mother told her she went swimming almost every day in the summer!”

“Everyone in Brandy Hall must learn to swim?”

Berilac nodded. “Yes. That started in Grandfather Rory’s day.” He looked solemn. “At one time, those who married into the family from the Shire were not really expected to learn how to swim, but after Frodo’s parents drowned, Grandfather decided to change that. He always believed that if Drogo had known how to swim, then he might have saved both himself and Primula. The evidence showed that she probably struck her head on the boat, and was unconscious. Drogo could not swim at all, and…”

Viola shuddered. The tale of the Bagginses' untimely end was usually held up as a reason for *avoiding* swimming and boating and any bodies of water larger than a bathing tub.

“I have seen Frodo Baggins at the Great Smials from time to time, ever since I became Mistress Poppy’s apprentice. He has always had an air of melancholy.”

“Yes,” said Beri. “I can remember when he still lived at Brandy Hall. He could be lively and full of mischief, and got into his share of scrapes, like most lads; but the least little reminder of his parents, and he would go all quiet, and try to get off by himself. I don’t remember when Merry was born--I was only a babe of two at the time. But I do remember when Merry was a faunt and old enough to toddle about. You seldom saw him far from Frodo’s side. And as long as he had Merry with him, then he’d be his lively and cheerful self. But I also remember the grown-ups watching him like a hawk; he was never allowed anywhere near the River alone.”

Viola suddenly realized what Beri meant. “His melancholy was *that* severe?”

“I suppose it must have been, looking back. Of course, I didn’t really understand it myself. But I remember overhearing my Da and Uncle Sara talking once, about how it was just as well that Bilbo took him away from Buckland and the River.”

The young healer sighed. “It’s so sad.”

“It is. But he’s turned out a remarkable hobbit. And I think that all the pain he went through when he was young helped him later on.”

________________________________________________________

Borondir and Anwynd exchanged a heartfelt sigh. The four prisoners had sulkily balked at every turn.

“Strip down to our smallclothes?” Dago had yelled indignantly.

“Would you rather go into the water fully clothed, and then have to stay in wet clothing the rest of the day?” asked Borondir.

Clovis cursed, and then bit his tongue as Anwynd held up a rather soiled handkerchief and waved it in front of him.

Clodio said nothing, but wrapped his arms tightly about himself.

The Men stared at the hobbits, and the hobbits stared stubbornly back.

Finally, with an exasperated shrug, Anwynd said “We *could* just throw them in the middle, to see if they will sink or swim. It is not the best way to teach, but has been known to work every once in a while.”

Borondir shrugged. “I don’t suppose we want to drown them. That’s the whole idea behind teaching them. Still if they won’t cooperate…”

Dago spluttered indignantly, Clodio turned even paler, Clovis even redder. Finally, Cado began to unbutton his shirt. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “We might as well do it and get it over with. I don’t suppose they will actually drown us, as they want us alive to give to their king.”

Dago looked briefly startled, then he too, began to remove his shirt. Soon enough, the other two followed suit, though with obvious reluctance.

The two Men gave one another an eloquent glance. If it had been so much trouble getting them to disrobe, how difficult was it going to be to actually get them into the water?

A few hours later, the Men allowed them to dry off and get dressed.

“Do you think they will need another lesson?” Borondir asked Anwynd.

The Rider shrugged. “They can now tread water and keep themselves afloat for a while if they should happen to fall in deep water. I suppose that’s the best we can hope for.”

The Gondorian nodded. It was the bare minimum, and could scarcely be called swimming, but it would have to do, for the two soldiers had no intention of putting up with the sullen prisoners for a second time.

They gladly herded them back toward the campsite.

_________________________________________________

Mosco had brought down several squirrels with his sling that afternoon, so Rolly and Denny decided on squirrel stew for supper. Seasoned with herbs and cooked with some dried vegetables, as well as some fresh mushrooms and wild onions that had been found earlier in the day, when the swimmers were returning from their first lesson, it smelled wonderful. Rolly used some of the flour in their stores to make dumplings for the stew, and Denny had found some wild watercress to make a salad.

Poppy was coaxed from Bergil’s side to take supper with the others; Anwynd offered to sit with the child.

“It is no trouble to me, little Mistress, for I am fond of him, and I miss my pupil.” Poppy nodded. All the Men were very fond of the child. The Gondorians, of course, had known him from infancy and were good friends with his father, but the Rohirrim had traveled with him for many months, and had come to appreciate the child’s earnestness and good cheer. And Anwynd of course, had been teaching him to play the flute.

Anwynd took a bowl of the stew for himself, and another with mostly broth for Bergil. The others gathered round the fire, and ate. Again the atmosphere was subdued. Worry for Bergil had made all of them solemn, and the lack of his cheerful presence among them was keenly felt. Everyone had begun to realize just how much the child had done to keep spirits up among them.

The meal was soon finished, and the company sat around quietly, with only the occasional remark passing for conversation.

But as the Sun began her final descent into the west, they heard the notes of Anwynd’s flute coming from the tent. He was playing the melody of a sweet lullaby well-known in the South. All stopped to listen, and there was silence as they allowed the music to direct their thoughts.

Freddy could not help but think of Folco, especially as when that lullaby finished, the player began another, this one of the Shire, taught to Anwynd by Pippin. He felt the tears well up, but the ache, though deep, was not piercing. He thought of Bergil, now as well. For the first time in several days, he took out Folco’s flute, and began to examine it.

The tears then fell, and they were as much his worry for Bergil as they were grief for Folco.

He laid his head on his knees, and did not look up as he heard and felt someone sitting down on each side of him in silent companionship. He didn’t need to look to know that it was Legolas and Gimli.

CHAPTER 24

After a while, the flute was silenced. The encampment was quiet, as it had been since Bergil took ill.

Poppy had finished her meal, and was about to go check on her patient, when Anwynd came out.

“Little Mistress!” he called, “I think the boy’s fever is worse!”

The healer rose with alacrity, and with Viola at her heels, went at once into the tent. Bergil was weeping, though he seemed to be deeply asleep. She went over and put a hand to his brow.

“He’s burning up!” She shook her head. “Viola, we need some more willow-bark.” The apprentice hurried to prepare it, and was soon back with a cup.

“I made certain it is not too hot, Mistress.”

“Good lass, for we’ll have to be spooning it down him.”

She looked up to see that Targon and Freddy had followed Viola into the tent. “You may stay,” she said, “if you promise to keep out of the way.”

They both nodded.

Suddenly, Bergil began to writhe and moan, making desperate whimpers.

It was dark, but it was dark all the time now, Bergil had no idea of the hour--the Sun had not shown her face since he could not remember when. He ran, down corridors, and down stairs and up ramps and through streets and along walls, running endlessly. He knew he had a mission of some importance for the healers, if he could only remember what it was.

He was so hot, he was so very hot. He could see ahead of him flames, and he knew the whole City was on fire. If only he could find his father. Suddenly, he found himself in the Courtyard of the White Tree. His father should be there, he would know what to do! But where was his father--he was nowhere to be seen, and Bergil was suddenly frantic.

Why was his father not at his post? His father could get in terrible trouble for not being at his post. “Father!” he called, or tried to, but for some reason his voice would not work, he could not seem to make any noise.

Suddenly, he heard a sound that froze him to his very marrow; an unearthly screech from overhead. Nazgûl! He had to hide! But there was no where--he was in the middle of the courtyard, all exposed to the winged wraith--it was coming for him. He cowered down, and tried once more to cry out, but still his voice would not work. He could feel its shadow, coming over him, he was lost, lost. Lost forever.

Then, without warning, he felt his arm yanked. He looked up into the stern face of Lord Denethor! Lord Denethor had saved him! He tried to thank him, but all that came out was a whisper, and the Steward paid him no mind, but pulled him along, yanking his arm.

They were headed to the Hallows.

“Now, boy” said the Steward grimly, “you can join your father and these other traitors.

The wide doors to the tomb of the Stewards stood open, and on the steps there lay his father, sightless eyes staring up into the darkest of skies. Bergil pulled and tried to yank himself away, yet still the Steward was unrelenting.

Inside a fire raged, and there--there were Captain Faramir and Sir Pippin--they were going to burn up! Pleading, they called out, “Bergil, help us! Help us!”

With a maniacal laugh, Denethor flung Bergil towards the raging fire. He could feel it burning him, and he screamed out, finding his voice at last.

And as he screamed, he could feel himself begin to fall--

With a gasp, he opened his eyes, drawing great heaving breaths.

“They’re all dead, all burned,” he wept, “I’ll burn, too!”

But instead, he felt cool gentle hands holding him.

“Easy lad, it was just a fever dream,” and he felt a cold wet cloth placed upon his brow. “Here, take a bit of this tea, child. It will help you.”

With a good deal of care, Poppy and Viola drew down the blankets, and Bergil began to shudder as though chilled. Poppy gestured, and Targon came over to help the two hobbits remove the lad’s sweat drenched tunic. Then came the application of more cold wet cloths, as they bathed him to bring down his fever.

Freddy watched with wide and dry eyes, thinking of all the young boy had come to mean to him in recent weeks, and wondering what he would find to say to Pippin and the others if Bergil did not make it. He could not bear to think of the grief that would bring to his young Took cousin--one more bit of awful pain on top of all he’d already borne. And he knew the other Travellers would take it almost as hard.

As for he, himself, the thought of losing another friend was unthinkable. He’d do anything to keep it from happening.

He took the flute out of his pocket, and looked at it again, in the dimness of the tent, and a sudden and irrational resolution came to him. Yet, somehow, it seemed utterly right. Yes. It was right.

It seemed that hours must have passed. At one point, Berilac came in to check on things, and at another point, it was Jolly, who worried to see the intent look on Freddy’s face, and the fear on the healers’. Targon also wore a look of near desperation.

It was shortly after the middle of the night, Bergil broke out into a sweat, and the wet cloths were wrung out. Poppy took off her pendulum for the third time that night, and watched it for a few moments, an expression of satisfaction beginning to appear on her broad face, while one of hope began to dawn on Viola’s.

Poppy gave a deep sigh. Then she turned with a smile. “The fever has broken, and I believe the crisis has passed. I think that by morning we shall see a marked improvement in young Master Bergil.”

Targon stood up, and bowed to the healer. “Mistress Poppy, you have my deepest gratitude. The thought of what I should have to say, how I could face his father--I--” He stopped for a moment, nearly choking with emotion.

“Captain Targon, I think that he will begin to recover well, now, and so we’ve no need now to worry over might have beens.” She turned to Viola. “Come now, we must get our own rest, as tomorrow we are supposed to have those swimming lessons.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The apprentice was nearly stumbling with exhaustion.

Targon turned to Freddy. “I will be watching over him tonight.”

Freddy looked at the sleeping child, peacefully resting for the first time that night not wracked with nightmares and coughing. He felt an immense wave of relief wash over him. He gave a nod to Targon, and passed out of the tent, where he saw most of the others gathered about, in a mood of subdued jubilation, for Mistress Poppy had delivered the good news.

Jolly came up to him. “It’s a wonderful thing, Mr. Freddy, that the lad will be all right now!” He took Freddy’s arm and began to lead him to the tent they shared with the Gondorians. “But you need to come along now and get some sleep, sir.”

He nodded. Everything was going to be all right. And tomorrow, he would have a few quiet words with young Bergil.

CHAPTER 25

The next morning after breakfast, Berilac decreed that another swimming lesson was in order. He, Rolly and Denny coaxed and chivvied their reluctant students down to the beaver pond. Freddy was tired, all of them were, having been up so late to watch and worry over Bergil, but now the child was out of danger, and sleeping. Mistress Poppy and Viola were also finally getting a bit of well-deserved rest this morning. They had agreed that they would have their own lesson with Legolas after luncheon that afternoon.

They arrived at the pond and stripped down to their smalls.

While Rolly and Denny worked with Jolly and Mosco, who both had begun to get the hang of actually swimming, Beri took Freddy a slight distance away.

They repeated some of the exercises of the first lesson, and then Berilac stood back in slightly deeper water.

He held out his hands and taking Freddy’s in his own, said “Now, Freddy, kick!”

This had been the sticking point. Freddy had a hard time with the notion of letting his feet leave the security of the sandy bottom of the pond.

Squinting his face with determination, he flung backwards with his feet, which now flailed wildly splashing everywhere. Still, at least he was not standing on the bottom. In spite of his amusement at the expression on Freddy’s face, Berilac kindly refrained from laughing. “That’s good! Now, don’t kick quite so hard; try not to splash.”

“Sorry,” Freddy spluttered, and his feet slowed down.

“Well,” said Beri encouragingly, “we are getting somewhere at last…”

___________________________________________________

Back at the encampment, the two captains were having a conversation.

“This has put us back quite a bit,” said Éothain. “And we shall not be able to hasten when we do get underway, for I feel that the healers will wish us to travel slowly at first, for the boy’s sake.”

“Mistress Poppy indicated that it might be another day or so before she’d even begin to guess when Bergil might travel. I do not know how we will make up the lost time. We shall probably be at least a week longer on the road, perhaps two.”

Éothain nodded. “I agree. I do not grudge the time spent to help the lad heal--we are all fond of him. But I do fear that if we are overlate in arriving at Edoras, the King will be worried.”

Targon nodded. A few days either way was only to be expected, but a week or more would be cause for definite alarm. The King of Rohan would be more than a little concerned if they were that late. And of course, one of the first things he would do would be to inform the High King in Gondor. That would alarm everyone. He pursed his lips and took a deep breath through his nose.

“What do you think we should do?” he asked, deferring to Éothain, as it would be his King in Meduseld they would need to worry about first.

The Rider sat quietly for a few moments, obviously thinking furiously. Finally, he nodded, as though coming to a decision. “I think that what I shall do is send one of my Men ahead--perhaps Leodwald--to inform my lord cousin that we have been delayed, and why. But I think it best to wait upon Mistress Poppy’s verdict on Bergil’s health, so that he will be able to tell Éomer King just *how* much delayed we are.”

Targon nodded. “That sounds like an excellent plan. I can also send written messages to Gondor, and let them know as well of what has occurred. And since Bergil is on the mend, I shall have him send a letter to his father then, so that Beregond may be assured of his son’s health.”

Then he continued. “We’ll be having another problem caused by our delay as well.”

“Stores.”

“Yes. The delay here will cause us to use up a considerable amount of our supplies.”

“There are no more settlements along the Greenway between here and the Gap, are there?”

“No, however they told me in Tharbad that there may be found the occasional isolated homestead, set back off the road. Perhaps we could send a couple of the Men to scout, see if they could purchase some supplies--”

“Danulf,“ said É othain.

“And Adrahil, I think,” said Targon. “And I shall give them coin rather than chits, for I do not believe that any so solitary will be able to make use of the chits.”

“I hope they will be able to find something.”

“As do I. However, I do not wish them to go further than they may return by this time tomorrow.”

_________________________________________________________

Berilac and Rolly and Denny stood back and watched their pupils, as they tried to swim towards them. It was clear that Freddy and Mosco would probably never be graceful in the water, but they had managed to learn how to propel themselves, how to float, and how to tread water. Jolly was doing quite well--he seemed to be a natural.

Freddy still splashed a great deal more than he needed to, and Mosco found he had to keep moving or he’d start to sink. Fortunately, he’d learned enough to keep from panicking when that started to happen.

Jolly swam right up to the three teachers, a big grin on his face. “Wait until I get home!” he laughed. “I can’t wait to see my Dad’s and Ma’s faces when I tell them I’ve learned how to swim like a Brandybuck!”

Berilac laughed, and clapped him on the back. “We might just have to turn you into a riverhobbit!”

Freddy and Mosco put their feet down as soon as they came to where they could touch the bottom.

“Do you think we know enough yet?” asked Freddy hopefully.

Beri shook his head. “I think perhaps at least one more lesson, to be safe.”

Freddy and Mosco looked at one another in dismay. “Oh.”

“Come now, fellows, it hasn’t been *that* bad, has it?”

The two looked at one another and sighed. Mosco shrugged, and Freddy said grudgingly, “Oh, I suppose not.”

They came up on the bank, to dry off and get dressed, for all of them were very hungry, and Mosco still had to make lunch when they got back.

_______________________________________________

Imagine their surprise on arriving at the campsite, to find that for once, lunch had *not* been prepared by a hobbit.

Instead, Gimli had prepared the meal, making up what seemed to be a very thick stew of dried meat and vegetables. He had also made some flatbread on the griddle--but much thinner than what the hobbits were used to. He showed them how to put a scoop full of the stew on the bread and fold it up to eat.

It was very different to what the hobbits were used to, yet they found it tasty enough, and filling, though there was less variety than one would find in a hobbit-cooked meal. Mosco, however, looked at the thickness of the stew with dismay, for he and Berilac were to prepare supper, and it looked as though Gimli had used up a lot of the day’s stores for luncheon. Still, he said nothing; much as he enjoyed cooking, he was grateful not to have to after the exertion of the swimming lesson.

Poppy and Viola had awakened, and had their meal.

Legolas went over to them. “Mistress Poppy, Miss Viola, are you sufficiently rested, that we might go and have the swimming lessons you asked of me?”

Poppy put the last bite of her food into her mouth, and nodded. After a brief moment to swallow, she said “Yes, I think it would be good to go and get it over with, if we can, this afternoon. Bergil is doing well, and getting the rest he needs. His cousin Borondir is watching over him, and can send word if he has a setback.”

Legolas suppressed a smile. Borondir’s relationship to Bergil would hardly have counted at home in Gondor, but the hobbits counted it as quite close indeed. He nodded gravely. “Very well, then Mistress Poppy. I suggest you bring towels and a change of garments with you.”

Poppy blinked, but nodded, and then turned to Viola. “Go and fetch them, dear.” Viola did as instructed, and Poppy rose, and went over to the basin kept for such a purpose, and washed her face and hands.

Berilac had been listening to the conversation with interest, but he sighed. It would have been nice to teach Viola, but he could certainly see Mistress Poppy’s point. Still, even if Legolas *was* the oldest person in the company, he hardly looked it. Legolas caught his eye, and gave him a reassuring smile.

“I shall take very good care of Miss Viola for you, Berilac,” he said quietly, “for I should hate to answer to your cousins if I did not.”

Beri blushed bright red.

Legolas went over to some of the bundles which had been unloaded from the pack animals, and retrieved a spare blanket, which he draped over one arm. He turned to see the two hobbitesses returning, and greeting them with a smile, led them off.

Mosco came over to Berilac, as he stood watching them walk away. “Beri--do you want to fish with Rolly, Denny and Leodwald, or would you rather go foraging with Jolly and I?”

“What’s Freddy up to?” he asked.

“Oh, he’s going to go sit with poor Bergil for a while. I think he wants to talk to him.”

__________________________________________________

When they reached the beaver pond, Legolas took the blanket and draped it over the lower limb of one of the alders, so that it hung down and created a little screen. He smiled at Poppy and Viola reassuringly.

“If you ladies would care to attire yourselves for the lesson?” He was trying to be as gentle as he possibly could. He was very well aware of hobbit sensibilities about certain things after the time he had spent in the Shire.

Poppy nodded, and Viola blushed. They went behind the blanket for a few moments and removed their outer garments. When they emerged a few minutes later attired only in their shifts, their eyes went wide to see that Legolas had removed his tunic and boots.

He stood at the edge of the water, and held a hand out to either side.

“Shall we?”

Viola took his hand trustingly, and after a moment’s hesitation, during which her face went white, so did Poppy. The healer had agreed to this as being a reasonable issue of safety, but now it came to actually entering the water, she felt a good deal of trepidation. For the first time since leaving the Shire, she felt her age.

“Perhaps,” she said tremulously, “I am too old to learn such tricks.”

Legolas twitched a smile at her. “You most assuredly are not too old, my child,” he said.

Startled, she looked up at him, and then giving a weak chuckle, she took his hand, and allowed him to lead them into the water.

______________________________________________________

Freddy had assisted Gimli with the clean-up after lunch, and then had taken a few words with the captains. He nodded at their decision to send two of the Men scouting for extra supplies--it was something he had been wondering about himself. Reassured, he watched them send the two Men off on their errand, and then turned to the tent where Bergil was.

He wanted to see and talk to the child.

Borondir was sitting by Bergil, telling him a story of some mischief he had been into himself as a boy. Bergil was sitting propped up by means of a pack padded with a blanket, placed at his back, and was sipping at some tea--one of his medicines, by the herbal smell of it.

The child was pale, and had circles of weariness beneath his eyes, but his expression was alert, and he smiled to see Freddy.

“Hullo Bergil, Borondir.”

“Hullo, Mr. Freddy!” replied Bergil. The Man nodded pleasantly.

“Borondir, I would be glad to stay with Bergil for a while. I--I wished to talk to him.”

“Certainly, Master Fredegar.” He stood, and then bent down to ruffled Bergil’s head. “I will see you later,” he said, and went out.

Freddy sat down beside Bergil, who gave him a puzzled look.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Freddy?”

Freddy smiled. “Not now. But we were very worried about you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Anyway, I am very glad you are going to get well. And I have something for you. Close your eyes.”

Bergil did so, surprising himself with how easy it was to close them and want to keep them closed. He had slept for hours; he shouldn’t still be tired, he thought. Then he felt Freddy placing something in his hand.

“Open your eyes.”

Bergil looked down at the object in his hand, and his jaw dropped. “But--but--Mr. Freddy! That’s--”

“That’s Folco’s flute, lad. I want you to have it.”

CHAPTER 26

Danulf and Adrahil made themselves as presentable as they possibly could before setting out. They did not want to frighten any possible cotholders with the sight of what might appear to be brigands or ruffians.

Adrahil bore a small pouch with a goodly amount of coin, silver and coppers mainly, for a small holder would have little use for gold.

“Shall we scout to the north or the south?” asked Danulf.

“To the south, I think,” said Adrahil. “It seems it would be well if we could find someplace that will be in the direction which the company will travel.”

Danulf nodded. That seemed reasonable to him as well.

“It is good that young Bergil is getting better,” he said.

“Yes, I was fearful last night, when his fever was raging, and we could hear his cries of terror from his fever dreams. I have known him, all we of the Third Company, have known him since he was but a babe of two years. I cannot begin to say how the thought of seeing his father should we have lost him unmanned me.” Adrahil gave a shudder.

“It would indeed have been a tragedy. But the worst is past. And we must find some provisions, or we shall have a camp full of hungry hobbits. The thought of *that* unmans *me*.”

Adrahil laughed, and the two Men picked up their paces.

_______________________________________________

Legolas had kept a keen eye on his students, and when they began to tire and get chilled, he brought them from the water. He was pleased with their progress. Both Poppy and Viola had overcome their trepidation at being in the water, and at one point, Viola had remarked that it was pleasant to be in cool water on a hot day, and that perhaps there was something to be said for swimming after all. Poppy had said little, but had concentrated on doing each exercise Legolas gave them. By the time they seemed tired out, even Poppy was beginning to relax.

The two hobbitesses went behind the blanket screen, to dry off and change into dry clothing. When they emerged, Legolas had donned his own tunic. “You did very well,” he said pleasantly. “But I think perhaps at least one more lesson tomorrow is in order.”

As the three were heading back to the encampment, their paths crossed with Berilac, Mosco and Jolly.

“We’re foraging,” Beri explained. “We found a bush of brambleberries, and look--” he held out a sack, and both Poppy’s and Viola’s eyes grew wide.

“Oh, my!” said Viola.

“Those are lovely!” added Poppy.

“Yes,” said Mosco. “We found Penny Buns, Summer Truffles, and Dwarve’s Ears!”*

Legolas suppressed a chuckle. Hobbits and mushrooms--they made the greed of Dwarves for gold a pale and dim thing in comparison.

Poppy looked up at Legolas, her weariness a thing of the past. “Master Legolas, you may go on to the camp without us. I think that we shall join these lads. They could probably use some extra hands.”

Legolas nodded politely. “Very well, Mistress Poppy, Miss Viola! I will see you later.”

____________________________________________________

Since Danulf and Adrahil had gone to scout for provisions, it had left the Men short handed. The prisoners found themselves once again having a rare moment alone and unobserved.

“We might not get another chance like this. They are stuck here for a few days while the child is sick, and they are short of Men until this time tomorrow at least.” Dago was emphatic.

“Can we get free and slip out, though, is the question?” said Clovis avidly.

“What’s the use?” asked Clodio. “We have been marked. We can’t go home. We’re out in the middle of the Wild. You heard what happened to Sandyman! There’s no place to go where we won’t be in danger!”

Dago nodded. “It’s true, there is a good deal more danger than I had expected. But I’ve been giving this some thought. If we can get away to some populated area in the South, and disguise *these*--” he held out his hand, with its telltale tattoo, “--we can play upon being hobbits. You’ve heard the stories. The people gave the Travellers anything they wanted. As long as we avoid the City of the King, we could play up you being related to Peregrin Took. That’s not even a lie! We would just have to stay ahead of any stories of hobbits that have been banished.”

Clovis looked at the Bracegirdle with admiration. What a splendid idea! And it would be even more delicious knowing that in a way, they would be putting one over on Pippin.

Clodio shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. We don’t even know how far we’d have to go to find a place where that would work.”

“Father, I think we should take the chance while we’ve got it.”

Cado had said nothing. He noticed his brother staring at him, willing him to go along, as he always had. He shook his head. “No. I am not going with you. I won’t give you away if you make a break for it, but I’m not coming along. I find myself highly suspicious of *any* idea that you think is a good one.” He gave a bitter snort. “Or don’t you recall just how well your *last* good idea ended up?”

Clovis’ face turned red with fury. “Why you! If I weren’t tied, I’d make you eat those words!”

“Sshh.” Dago shushed them frantically, as Artamir approached.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Cado replied smoothly, giving his brother a smirk, and feeling tempted to stick out his tongue. The Man standing over him made him refrain. But he meant it. His days of following his brother blindly were over.

________________________________________________________

The afternoon was drawing in, and though they had been riding slowly, keeping their eyes open for any signs that a habitation might be nearby, the two Men had still gone a number of miles, and were beginning to be a bit discouraged. So far, they had seen no sign that any small hamlet or homestead was anywhere to be found.

And then Danulf pulled up.

“Look!” he said, pointing towards the verge on the East side of the Road.

Adrahil looked, and after a moment realized that he was seeing a track, as of a cart or waggon passing that way on a regular basis. He stared off in that direction, squinting.

“I think I detect some smoke, as from a chimney, perhaps.”

Encouraged, they grinned at one another, and turned aside.

___________________________________________________________

Aednoth was hoeing the row of vegetables when his younger son came running up.

“Father! Father! There are two Men coming up the track! They look to be armed!”

Aednoth flung the hoe down and raced back towards his house.

_____________________________________________________________

Danulf and Adrahil topped a small rise, and could see the place now. Danulf grinned at the sight. Three small wooden houses, built of logs in the Rohirric style, a couple of very small outbuildings, and one larger building that appeared to be a stable.

“We should approach cautiously,” he told Adrahil. “We do not wish to be taken for brigands.”

Adrahil nodded, and they made their way down. As they drew closer, they saw four Men. Two of them were older, and one bore a sword, the other a pitchfork. There were two younger Men, one of them a mere beardless youth, the other appeared to be in his mid-twenties. The youth held a scythe, the other also bore a sword.

Danulf and Adrahil stopped about twenty feet away.

“Greetings!” called Adrahil. “We are emissaries of the High King, and of the King of Rohan! We mean you no harm!”

The older Man sheathed his sword, and made a gesture to the other Men to stand their ground. He walked forward to speak to them.

“Greetings,” he said in heavily accented Westron. “I am Beorhthelm, Beorhtnoth’s son. What do you here?”

________________________________________________________

* This is a most useful site for what kinds of mushrooms are available in the wild in the UK, and when. For obvious reasons I changed the name of one type:

  http://www.gigaflop.demon.co.uk/mushcook/tables.htm

CHAPTER 27

Freddy poked his head into the tent. Bergil lay there with his hands locked behind his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. He turned and saw Freddy.

“Mr. Freddy? Are you coming to see me, or were you looking for one of the captains?”

“I thought I’d come sit with you a bit, if you don’t mind my company.” Freddy had been surprised that Bergil had been left alone, but apparently, among Men, once someone was on the mend, it was not customary to have someone attend the sickbed all the time. Freddy thought that seemed awfully lonesome, but then he had begun to realize that in some things Hobbits were very different.

“Mr. Freddy?” Bergil asked shyly, “Are you sure that you want to give me your friend’s flute? I know that you had it to remember him by.”

Freddy smiled at the boy, so earnest and concerned. “Bergil, I do not need the flute to remember my best friend. Folco will always be with me, no matter what. And remembering how generous he was, I cannot imagine that he would not give it to you, knowing that you could actually use and play it and make music with it, whereas for me--well, I can make no use of it at all.”

“Then I thank you. And I will try my best to learn to play as well as possible, to be worthy of such a wonderful gift.”

“Even if you never play any better than you did the first day I heard you, Bergil, you would be worthy. But I know that you have a lot of talent, and I am confident that you will do justice to this gift. And I think that it would please Frodo as well.”

“The Ringbearer?”

“Why yes, for it was he who gave it to Folco in the first place. It was his once as a child, though he says he never learned to play it.”

Bergil held the flute up and looked at it in awe, and then held it to his lips and played a few hesitant notes.

_________________________________________________

Adrahil and Danulf dismounted.

“Our captains sent us out as scouts to see if we could find a place to buy some food. We have coin to pay,” said Adrahil.

They looked at the four Men who stood there. Beorhthelm nodded at each as he introduced the others. “This,” he said, “is my brother, Aednoth, and his older son Aedwine, and this is my son, Beorhtstan. If you are from the Kings in the South, then what is your mission here?”

Danulf answered. “We were part of an embassy, emissaries to the land of the Shire. We carried the edicts of the High King there, as well as gifs. We return now, escorting a number of the Shirelings, who are now sending their own embassy, first to Edoras, and then to the court of the High King in Mundburg.”

Beorhthelm’s eyes grew round with astonishment. “The little holbyltla? Holdwine, who with the White Lady, slew the foul sorcerer? His kin, who felled the Dark Lord themselves?”

“Nay, they remain in their own land for now; yet these are for the most part, their close kin and friends. Three of them are cousins of our Holdwine, and of the Ringbearer, and one is brother-in-law to the Ringbearer’s Companion. There are four others as well, two of them are females, a healer and her apprentice, who wish to learn the healing arts of Gondor.”

“And also,” said Adrahil, “are four who are prisoners, traitors to their own people, who are being sent to the King for judgment.”

Beorhthelm studied the two before him for a long moment, before he spoke. “I can see there are many tales here, yet as astonishing as is your news, I fain you tell the truth. Come with me, up to our home, that we may talk more fully, and see how we may be of aid.” He sheathed his sword, and gestured to his son to do the same, and turned to walk up the path.

The two soldiers nodded at one another, and followed.

_______________________________________________________

Cado was worried. He was certain that Clovis and Dago were going to try something foolish. He hoped that Clovis would not try to browbeat their father and himself into joining them in their mad venture, for he was certain that any attempt to escape would be fruitless. While it was true that the Men were somewhat short-handed right now, Cado felt no confidence in the Bracegirdle’s ability to get away, and Clovis was bound to disaster whatever he did.

For his part, he wanted nothing to do with it, but he hoped that their father would feel the same way. He would not report them--he had said he wouldn’t, and he didn’t feel his place was to warn the Men, but he was not going to help either.

He glanced over at the two of them, taking the opportunity of being unobserved to whisper together. The four of them had been deposited in the shade of a tree, and only Artamir to watch over them at the moment. The Man stood, looking vigilant, not at the hobbits, but at their surroundings, thinking more apparently of threats from without, than of anything the hobbits might try.

And why should he? Realistically, what would Bracegirdle and Clovis accomplish if they ran off? Even assuming they were not caught immediately and brought back, and even assuming that Bracegirdle’s plan of disguising their tattoos and taking advantage of being Pippin’s cousin worked, it could not last long. Sooner or later they would be caught, and it would go that much harder on them when they did get punished. And Cado had been observing and thinking. He did not believe that they would be punished as severely as Men would for the same crime. He had noticed the way these Men treated hobbits in general, and even through the obvious contempt they had for those whom they considered traitors, they had taken good care of them. Since there was no future in the Shire, it was as well to be as cooperative as possible. Maybe their lives would not be so dreadful, if never as good as it could have been at home.

He felt a wave of homesickness for the Shire. For the first time he began to wonder--had his father actually been a traitor? And not just out to do some profitable business? Did his father know what Lotho would get up to? He glanced over at Clovis once more with resentment. Every bit of bad luck he’d ever had could be laid at his older brother’s foot.

He gave a frustrated sigh. Life was not good, and was not going to be good for the foreseeable future.

But it could be worse.

_____________________________________________

They approached the farmstead, consisting of a large and well-built stable, a couple of smaller outbuildings, and a large and sturdy house, built in the Rohirric fashion, long and low, with a high-pitched roof. Beorhthelm called out as they approached, letting those within know that all was well, and the door was opened by a fair-haired woman, with a boy, equally fair-haired, who seemed to be just entering his teens standing behind her.

“This is my wife, Derehild, and my brother‘s younger son, Aedberht,” said Beorhthelm.

He introduced the two soldiers, and her eyes went wide. “Welcome,” she said carefully, her Westron even more heavily accented than her husband’s. She held the door widely open, and stood back for them to enter.

They entered, and Danulf felt for a moment that he had returned to the home of his father. Inside, they saw there a long table, at which sat an elderly woman holding a drop spindle, her silver hair in a long braid over her shoulder. A younger woman, very fair, but with long dark hair, was bending over a cradle, and on a stool next to the fire-pit sat a younger man, also dark-haired. He was honing a long knife. Danulf and Adrahil noted with sympathy that he had but one leg--his left leg was missing from the knee down, and a crutch lay next to him. His eyes flicked to the uniform that Adrahil wore, and he straightened up, sitting rather proudly.

Beorhthelm introduced the others. “This is she who is my mother, Bertrade widow of Beorhtnoth.” He spoke to the old woman softly in Rohirric, and she gave a nod to the strangers. Beorhthelm looked up. “She does not speak the Western tongue.”

Danulf gave her a small bow, and spoke briefly in Rohirric to her. She looked up at him, and her old blue eyes crinkled. She said something back to him and laughed softly.

Beorhtstan had gone over to the young woman’s side, and bending to the cradle took forth a sturdy baby of about six months of age.

Beorhthelm turned to them. “She who is wife to my son, Merewen, daughter of Menethor.”

She blushed prettily, and leaning slightly into her husband’s side, said “I am most pleased to meet you.” She spoke so softly and shyly that she could scarce be heard. Her husband smiled down at her, and placed the arm not holding the child about her waist.

“And the babe is my grandson, Elfstan.” said Beorhthelm proudly.

Danulf’s eyebrows climbed. “They named the babe for the High King?”

“Aye,” said the grandfather, “for my son and I were both at Helm’s Deep, and also at the Pelennor.”

Adrahil looked puzzled. Danulf glanced at him, amused, “ ‘Elfstan’ in Rohirric signifies ‘Elf-stone’.”

“Ah. I see.”

The dark-haired young Man had picked up the crutch and struggled to stand upright. Beorhthelm turned to him. “This is Mardil, brother to Merewen. He also fought at the great battle before Mundberg.”

Both Danulf and Adrahil inclined their heads to him respectfully, and they did not ask how he had lost his leg.

But Mardil replied as though they had. “I took a poisoned Orcish arrow in the calf. It was the only way to keep the poison from spreading.”

“Many there were,” said Adrahil, “who suffered such a fate. And some took the poisoned arrows where there was no remedy.”

“You have a thriving household, Beorhthelm,” said Danulf to their host, “yet I find I am surprised to see a Man of the Westfold here.” For traveling south of the Greyflood had brought them into Dunland.

“There are few enough Dunlendings about,” he replied, “and these empty lands are now open to be settled. Please, be seated at my table, and I shall tell you of our story.”
__________________________________________________

CHAPTER 28

Beneath the tree, Dago and Clovis laid their plans in furtive whispers. “If I pick an argument with your father, they are likely to separate us for tonight, and put you in with me. We’ll wait until everyone’s asleep, and slip under the back of the tent. They aren’t expecting the scouts back before noon tomorrow, and they won’t be able to spare more than one or two of the Men to search for us. We’ll be quiet and lay low--these Men are noisy enough, and not as canny as those Rangers.” Dago still had uncomfortable memories of the ease with which the Rangers had captured him when he first tried to slip out of the Shire.

Clovis shook his head. “What about *these*?” He lifted his tied hands in front of himself.

“They haven’t hampered us that much, have they? Once we’re out, you can slip into the cooking box and get us a knife.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re younger and quicker.”

“Don’t you think they might find us?”

“Maybe. But this is likely to be our last chance for a good long while. If we don’t take it now, we’re not going to see another one any time soon. They are two Men short, the other hobbits are all tired out from swimming lessons, and everyone is worn out from worry about the child.”

Clovis nodded. He looked up to see his younger brother staring at them, and gave him a glare. If Cado was too much of a coward to come along, it was his loss. He flicked a contemptuous glance at his father. His father had proven useless. Why had he ever thought his father was so wonderful? Bracegirdle was no prize, but at least he did not lay down like a lamb to the slaughter.

He started to say something more, when they noticed Berilac coming up to Artamir.

The Gondorian guard turned to the prisoners. “Supper time,” he said tersely. “Come along.”

In a few moments, the shade beneath the tree was empty, and then a lithe form dropped from the canopy.

As the little group had their evening meal, Legolas went over to Targon.

“Captain,” he said “a word with you, if you please.”

________________________________________________________

After a pleasant meal, Adrahil and Danulf relaxed at the table with their host, and he told them of how a family of Rohan found itself on a steading in the wilds of Dunland.

“My son and I,” began Beorhthelm, “were in the éored of Grimbold of the Westfold. We were fortunate enough to win free at the Fords of Isen,” His face grew solemn, as he recalled his prince, Théodred, cut down in the prime of his life. “At any rate, when Gandalf Greyhame came upon us, he sent us to the Hornburg, to the aid of our King. Joyous was the news that our King’s spirit had been renewed, and he had thrown off the yoke put upon him by Gríma son of Galmod.” Beorhthelm spat at the mention of the cursed name. “We rode with the muster of the Rohirrim to the great battle before the gates of Mundberg. There, my son took a blow to the head from an Easterling, and his days would have ended, but at that very moment, the death cries of the accursed Dwimmerlaik sent our enemies into confusion. So it was that his life was spared by the blows struck by our Lady Éowyn and the holbytla Meriadoc of the North.”

Danulf and Adrahil exchanged glances. “The death of that foul Sorceror was the salvation of many upon the Pelennor,” said Adrahil.

Beorhthelm nodded. “My son was taken to the Houses of Healing, and I followed. In the cot next to him was young Mardil, and the we struck up a friendship. Merewen was among the healers, and when she was not attending the other wounded, she was by her brother’s side.” He smiled at his daughter-in-law, who was nursing the baby with a blanket thrown over for modesty. She looked up briefly, and smiled back fondly.

“It soon became clear to me that my son had grown fond of her. I smiled upon the match, as did her brother, and they were wed not long after the coronation of the High King.”

Mardil spoke up. “My sister and I had no parents. Our father had died long ago when we were yet children, and our mother died not long after. We were taken in by friends of our parents, yet never did we truly feel part of their family.”

“Mardil and Merewen accompanied us as we returned to the Westfold, but there we found that our steading had been burned out by Saruman’s forces; my wife and younger children, and my brother’s children had been taken to safety at Dunharrow. My brother, though he is a farmer, not a warrior, had joined with the defenders there.”

“Then word came several months ago: the empty lands in the north of Dunland would be open to any who wished to settle there. We decided to leave behind the sad memories of what had been, and to start a new life here.”

Danulf looked around. “You have done much in a small amount of time, Beorhthelm. I am impressed with this farm of yours.”

“Much of the credit goes to my brother. As I am a warrior, he is a farmer, and knows how to make the land yield up its bounty.”

“And it is the bounty of your land that brings us here,” said Adrahil. “As we said, we’ve coin to buy provisions. We cannot take much, as it is just the two of us, but--”

Beorhthelm held up his hand. “I will be glad to sell you some of our provision. I am thinking that if your Company would care to stop here with us for a time, then we may be able to spare a good deal more. And tomorrow, Beorhstan can ride back with you, leading a packhorse.”

The two soldiers grinned at one another. “That is most generous of you, Beorhthelm!” said Danulf.

“We cannot speak for our captains,” put in Adrahil, “but I think it is likely that they would be willing to take you up on your hospitality. I cannot be certain, though. Part of the delay has been caused by the illness of a member of our Company.”

For the first time Derehild spoke up, “Surely not one of the holbytlan?” she asked.

“No, goodwife,” said Adrahil, “it is a child, the page of our Company, a lad from Gondor. He took ill after a tumble into a stream. But he is on the mend now. Our Bergil is a sturdy youth, and not easily kept down.”

Merewen leaned forward, the baby over her shoulder, where she had been patting him. “Bergil, son of Beregond?” Her shyness seemed forgotten.

“Aye, Mistress Merewen,” said Adrahil. “Do you know of him?”

“He was one of the lads who ran errands for us in the Houses of Healing, during the siege. He truly is on the mend?”

“Yes, he is. One of the hobbits is a healer, and another her apprentice. He has had excellent care.”

She leaned back. “That is good then. He is a very dear boy.”

“He is, indeed,” Adrahil nodded.

___________________________________________________

In the Captain’s tent, Bergil sat up, as Freddy came in with his supper and Bergil’s.

“I thought I’d keep you company while you ate, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, Mr. Freddy!”

They sat back companionably, and attended to the food, Freddy in the businesslike manner of hobbits, and Bergil like any growing boy. Freddy was glad to see the boy’s appetite had improved.

After a while, as they sat sipping their tea, Bergil said, “I was wondering, you have known Sir Pippin for a long time.”

“Since he was only a faunt.” At Bergil’s puzzled look, he added, “since he was about three years old. Would you like to hear a story about him?”

The delighted grin on the child’s face was answer enough.

“One spring, when he and Merry were visiting Frodo at Bag End, my father had business to discuss with old Cousin Bilbo, and he took Folco and me along for the ride. Pippin was about eight years old then, and Merry was sixteen or so--”

____________________________________________

“You’re just useless,” snarled Dago to Clodio. Clodio looked at him in confusion at this attack seemingly out of nowhere.

“What brought that on?” he whined.

“I’m just sick of looking at you,” the Bracegirdle yelled.

“Leave my father alone!” shouted Cado.

“That’s enough of that!” Borondir walked over and snatched Dago up. “I still have the gag,” he said.

Targon shook his head. “Separate them tonight. Put him and the older cub together in your tent. Put the other two in with the Rohirrim.”

Dago could not quite suppress a flash of exultation in his eyes. So far, so good.

Cado watched as Borondir hauled Dago and Clovis off. He shook his head. Nothing good would come of this, he was sure.

CHAPTER 29

Freddy, Beri and Jolly were curled up, sound asleep when Borondir came in to wake Artamir for his watch.

Artamir got up as quietly as he could, picking up his helm and sword as carefully as he could, to avoid clinking, and slipped out of the tent. Borondir put his sword and helm down by his bedroll, and slipped into it as quietly as he could. In only a few moments, he was softly snoring.

“Hsst,” Dago elbowed Clovis.

Clovis nodded and sat up.

They carefully crawled to the edge of the tent. Awkwardly with their tied hands pushing the canvas up, they scooted on their backs beneath the tent wall.

Borondir turned over, and leaned up on one arm. His teeth gleamed in the darkness as he watched two pairs of furry feet vanish. With a soundless chuckle, he lay back down, and soon was snoring again, this time in earnest.

Once the two hobbits were outside, they crawled on elbows and knees around the side of the tent. They could see Artamir at the outer edge of the encampment, his back to the tents, as he peered alertly into the darkness beyond.

Near the banked campfire, they could see the form of the Dwarf, whose snores were quite loud. Next to the captain’s tent was the chest of cooking utensils and kitchen supplies.

“Now!” hissed Dago.

Clovis crawled over, and with as little noise as he could manage, lifted the lid. With a bit of difficulty, he was able to extract one of the cooking knives, which he thrust into the waistband of his breeches. He pulled out a sack and looked within: journeybread. Carrying it in his teeth, he crawled back over to where Dago waited. Then they cautiously crawled away from the camp and into a large tangle of shrubbery. There, with a good deal of trouble, and many whispered curses, they cut the ropes on their hands. Throwing them down with relief they were able now to move more freely. Still, they continued to crawl for a good distance, before they stood up and began to walk away from the campsite.

“We did it.” Clovis was exultant.

“We did. Now we just have to keep moving until morning. They won’t be able to send many searchers after us. If we can get far enough away, they’ll have to give up.”

Moving silently on hobbit feet, they made their way east towards the road.

Even if it had occurred to them to look up, they would not have seen anything.

_________________________________________

Gimli sat up. “They are gone, Master Artamir.”

The guardsman turned around. “And you are certain the Elf is following them? You do not think he will lose them?”

Gimli gave a sharp bark of laughter. “He *is* an Elf.”

“I’ll let the captains know, then.”

He went into the captain’s tent briefly, and then came back out to renew his watch. It seemed a bit cruel to him to allow the hobbits to think they had escaped, and to then dash their hopes. Still, those two had been so intractable. It seemed that to dash their hopes altogether would be the only way to make them give over their behavior.

___________________________________________

Cado lay next to his father, sleep eluding him. Knowing what his brother and Bracegirdle had planned, he found himself in two minds about it.

On the one hand, he found himself hoping that perhaps they would get away--not, he thought, because he wished them well, but because it would mean he was relieved of their company. In their weeks of travel, Clovis had become worse-tempered than ever. And Dago’s constant expressions of contempt for their father was tiring. If they got away, the journey would be a good deal more pleasant on that score at least.

On the other hand, he didn’t think the Men would be very happy at losing two of their prisoners--they were likely to be harder and more watchful after this. And truth be told, Cado didn’t want Clovis or Bracegirdle to escape whatever punishment awaited them when they reached their destination. Those two deserved to get a full share of whatever the Kings decided to dish out, and it would not be fair if they got away.

He glanced over at his father. How would his father stand up to the punishment? His health seemed to be getting worse the farther they went.

Finally, he flopped over on his side in frustration, and tried to put all thoughts out of his mind, and seek the oblivion of sleep.

_____________________________________________

The two fugitives halted briefly at a small stream. They knelt down and drank deeply.

“How about we have some of this?” asked Clovis.

“We might need it worse later.” Dago sighed. “Maybe just a little bit.”

Clovis broke off a piece of the bread for each of them. It was tough, chewy and tasteless, but at least it would still the grumbling of an empty belly.

After a few moments, they got up, and followed the course of the stream until they came to the road. Looking carefully up and down the way, they darted across.

Dago and Clovis breathed a sigh of relief. They had made it into the woods on the other side of the Road. Perhaps they would get clean away after all. It would be hard for the captains to send anyone after them until the other two returned from their scouting expedition.

“Let’s get a bit further into the woods, and then find a spot to hole up in for the day,” said Dago. For from the position of the Moon, he thought morning could not be far off.

“That sounds like a good plan,” said Clovis.

They walked for about another half mile, and then found a hollow beneath the roots of a great oak. Exhausted, they fell into a deep slumber. They never noticed the tall figure as it came and leaned over them, and deftly extracted the sack of journeybread from Clovis’ limp hand.

______________________________________________

Freddy stirred and wakened, sat up, and rubbed his eyes. Berilac rolled over muttering “It can’t be morning already?” While Jolly stretched and ran a hand through his tousled curls.

Borondir was still snoring softly.

“Captain Freddy!” Jolly exclaimed. “Where’s *them* two got to?”

This brought the other two hobbits to full alertness. “They aren’t in here!”

“Borondir!” Freddy shook the guardsman. “Where are the prisoners?”

The Man sat up, and looked at them in brief confusion, and then gave them a wolfish grin. “Master Fredegar, they *think* they’ve escaped.”

“What do you mean?”

He chuckled. “You’ll need to get Captain Targon to explain it to you.”

___________________________________________

Freddy shook his head ruefully as he listened to the Captain’s explanation.

“Lord Legolas overheard their plotting, and told me of it. We discussed it for a bit. I wanted to confront them, and then tie them more securely. However, the Elf felt that if we gave them a bit of rope, he could keep track of them, and foil their escape. He thought that might take some of the wind out of them, and perhaps prevent future trouble. It seemed a good plan when he presented it. Do you have any doubts of his ability to bring them in whenever he chooses?”

Freddy thought for a few moments. He was a bit chagrinned that the Captain had not confided in him, but still, if Legolas was so confident, it might indeed prevent unpleasantness in the future.

“You say it is only the older son, and that *other* one?”

“Yes. According to Legolas, the younger son and the father wanted no part of it.”

It disturbed Freddy more than the other news did, the idea that Clovis would be willing to abandon his father and brother. If even the ties of family could not hold him, he was most definitely an unnatural hobbit.

“Well, I shall be interested in seeing what they have to say for themselves when Legolas brings them back.”

_______________________________________________

The two hobbits wakened, confused at first at their surroundings. Then Clovis went to put his hand on the sack with the journey bread. It was gone!

“Dago! The food’s gone missing!”

The two stood up and looked about in confusion, then--there it lay, about four yards away. They darted over and picked it up.

“Naught but crumbs!” said Dago angrily. “An animal must have got to it!”

They looked at one another in alarm. They had not thought of wild animals when they slept, and had set no watch.

There was nothing for it but to trudge on with empty bellies. At one point they thought they spotted some mushrooms, but close inspection showed they were not an edible variety.

With sinking hearts, they continued on.

Dago tried to occupy the time by talking of what they would do when they reached populated lands.

“The first thing we do is find a needle artist that will disguise these tattoos.”

“How will we do that without coin?” asked Clovis.

“Haven’t you been listening to the stories? These Southerners love hobbits. They gave the Travellers anything they wanted without asking payment. And you are first cousin to Peregrin Took--that has to count for something! Once we’ve got that settled, we’ll be able to relax. As long as we keep away from the big City and the palace of Rohan, where they will have been warned about us, we should have no problems. We’ll just stay in the smaller villages and towns.”

“So it will finally be worth something to me to be related to Pippin. How that Took always manages to land in clover is beyond me. He’s so gullible. If it weren’t for that Brandybuck--” Clovis spat to one side, “Pippin wouldn’t know which way is up--”

Suddenly they felt rather than heard, something drop from the tree behind them. Whirling in fright, they found themselves staring into the face of a very angry Elf.

CHAPTER 30

Before either of them could so much as squawk, they each found an ear was being held in a firm and no-compromising grip, as though they were errant teens caught in a prank.

Legolas led them to a fallen tree, and plunked them down upon it, hard. He held their gaze with his own, as he towered over them.

“I think perhaps you failed to take into account Elven ears, when you planned your flight,” he said, his voice very soft. “I have been following you ever since you left.”

Dago tried to speak, and all that came out was a tiny squeak. Legolas ignored it. He turned his eyes full on Clovis, who cringed as though he had been struck.

“You have the privilege of sharing blood and kinship with one of the finest people it has been my honor to know. Instead of appreciating him, you have allowed jealousy to poison your soul. You would do well to remember that the one you slander is the sworn knight of the High King. Moreover, he is *my* dear friend.” And now Legolas gave a mirthless and implacable smile that somehow reminded Clovis of the smile Merry Brandybuck had given him just before he drove his knee--now Clovis squeaked, and crossed his legs as he remembered.

Legolas turned his gaze on Dago. “And you--greed is your undoing. Do you really believe you could get away with such a scheme as you thought? Men are mortal, but there are not many who are such fools as to be cozened by the likes of you.”

Dago gulped.

Legolas reached into his pouch and took out rope. “I do not believe you will escape me so easily.”

He took Dago’s left hand and Clovis’ right hand and bound the two of them together, leaving enough free rope at one end for him to hold on to.

The two hobbits looked at the grey rope in surprise. It was finer and thinner than the rope with which they had been previously bound, and they could scarcely feel it. It was almost as though they were not bound at all. Yet when Clovis tried to pull his hand away, both of them could feel it tighten perceptibly. Their eyes grew wide, and they quickly dropped their hands to their sides. Legolas glanced at them and his lips twitched in amusement. Hithlain rope was very useful.

Legolas turned, keeping the other end of the rope in one hand, started walking. The rope tightened, and the two prisoners suddenly had to trot to keep up.

_______________________________________________

Cado could not understand it. It was clear by their absence from breakfast that Dago and Clovis seemed to have made their escape. Yet there was no hue and cry, no signs of a search party. No one was questioning him as to their whereabouts. It did not seem logical that the Men would take the escape of two of their prisoners so lightly. Clodio looked at his younger son.

“He left me.”

Cado nodded. Why weren’t they trying to find them?

“I wouldn’t have gone,” said his father quietly, “but they didn’t even ask.”

His son shook his head in answer. Something wasn’t right. He wanted badly to ask where the other two were, but he was afraid to draw attention to himself.

“You didn’t leave.”

Cado finally looked at his father, whose face was drawn and strangely expressionless. “No, no I didn’t.”

Clodio sighed and nodded, and fell silent.

Cado still scanned the campsite for any sign that something out of the ordinary was going on, and failing once more to see any sign of it.

__________________________________________

Danulf and Adrahil finished saddling their own horses, as their hosts saw to loading a packhorse with bread, vegetables and smoked meat, enough to feed the camp for a couple of days. Beorhstan was saddling his own horse.

Beorhthelm came over. “Be sure to let your Captains know you will all be welcome to camp here for a day or two, and purchase what surplus we still have to spare.”

Danulf nodded, and placed his right hand on the former Rider’s shoulder. “Westu Beorhthelm hal” he said.

“Westu hal,” Beorhthelm responded. He looked up at his son who had mounted. “Be careful my son, especially on your return!”

Beorhstan inclined his head. “I will, my father!”

They rode off, the little family waving farewell after them.

___________________________________________

Freddy had been watching Cado and Clodio all morning. The older one seemed downcast, the younger seemed perplexed. He wondered how much of the other two had revealed of their plans. He could tell that Cado, especially, wished to ask questions.

“I’m worried.”

Freddy started. He had not heard Mistress Poppy come up behind him. “Has Bergil taken a turn for the worse?” he asked, alarmed.

“No. He’s mending very well. I am concerned for the older one.” She gestured with her chin to where Clodio and Cado sat. “He seems to be falling further and further into melancholy. I shall have to keep an eye on him.”

“I can’t help but wonder how much the two of them knew of the others' escape plans. I may have to speak with them.”

Poppy raised an eyebrow. Freddy shrugged. “I know. It’s distasteful, but it has to be done. For one thing it seems unkind to keep them in the dark all these hours.”

Poppy raised a sardonic eyebrow at him “Unkind? After what they did? You worry about being ‘unkind’?”

Freddy shrugged, and walked over to where they sat.

Without addressing them, he said, “Do you two wonder where the others have got to?”

Clodio did not at first respond. Cado’s head shot up with a snap, and his eyes grew wide. After a brief moment Clodio looked up as well.

Cado nodded.

“They had decided to attempt to escape. However their plans were overheard, and it was decided to allow them to try it. They have been followed since they left by the Elf, Prince Legolas. He will bring them back when he’s ready.”

Two pairs of eyes grew huge and round. Cado gulped and nodded, and after a second, his father did as well.

Freddy looked at Cado. “Did you know they were going to do that?”

“Y-yes,” Cado said hesitantly.

“Why didn’t they take you along?” Freddy sounded perplexed, not angry.

Cado blushed red, and swallowed. “I told them it was a bad idea. And--they didn’t want to take my father.”

Freddy looked at him quizzically. “You were quite right. It was a very bad idea.” With another nod, he walked away.

Cado stared after him. He had spoken to them without absolute necessity. And it didn’t look as though there would be repercussions for the two of them from the others’ folly. Most unnerving of all was the knowledge that they had felt secure enough and certain enough of the Elf’s ability to allow Dago and Clovis the illusion of freedom. He thought of the occasional implacable stare he received from Legolas. He was glad he had not gone. He wouldn’t want the Elf coming after him.

__________________________________________________________

They had been moving steadily for a couple of hours, and Legolas could tell from the drag on the rope that his prisoners were flagging. He stopped abruptly.

“Sit down,” he said.

They immediately plopped themselves on the dirt. Legolas took from his pouch the journey bread he had pilfered from them the night before, and gave each of them a piece. They devoured it ravenously. He handed them his waterskin, and allowed them each a few swallows before he took it back.

He squatted down in front of them and held them with his gaze. They stared back in horror, but unable to look away, as though he were a dragon entrancing them. “Why?” he said.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Finally Dago croaked, “W-why what?”

“Why did you try to escape *now*?”

“B-because th-they were short of Men…”

“Did you not think of Master Gimli and myself?”

Dago shook his head. “Y-you’re not part of them. They’re guards and soldiers, uh, and you aren’t…” his voice trailed off.

“Ah.” Legolas nodded. “I see. It was not that you discounted our abilities, but that you misunderstood our roles. It’s true that the Dwarf and I are not attached to this embassy in any official way. But both of us are warriors, and we respect our companions. Moreover, we respect our friend the King, and would not see his reign flouted. And we very much respect our good friends Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, and look with a good deal of disfavor at anyone who does not respect them in turn. I do hope you will keep that fact in mind the next time it occurs to you to speak rudely of any of them.” His voice as he said this was almost amiable, but the glint in his ancient eyes was not.

His two prisoners nodded, their heads bobbing up and down vigorously.

“Good. Let us be on our way.” He stood up, and gave a little tug on the rope, and continued, moving just a bit more slowly this time. It would not do to tire them so much he had to carry them.

They stopped briefly about once an hour. He did not speak to them again, although he did allow them a bit more food and water. It was mid afternoon when they approached the Road, which they would need to cross, and only a few minutes’ walk from there to the encampment.

When they arrived, Legolas was pleased to see that Danulf and Adrahil had returned--and with them was another Man, and two more horses.

CHAPTER 31

Danulf and Adrahil introduced Beorhstan, and gave him and the supplies into the hands of the hobbits, and the two of them went aside with their captains to report on their mission.

Beorhstan stared about him, amazed at these small people, who were most interested in him and in the foodstuffs he had brought.

It was not his first sight of holbytlan, for he had seen them from a distance on a few occasions. Once, when he had come back to the Houses of Healing to visit with Mardil, and, incidentally, Merewen, one of them had come to visit the wounded, along with a bard. The halfling had seemed most concerned about them all, and when the bard had finished his song, the small one had planted both feet firmly, with his hands behind his back, and had recited a humorous poem about a cat that had most of the patients laughing. He had later been told that this had been the Companion of the Ringbearer, and that he had been in the Black Land himself, and assisted in throwing down the Enemy.

He looked at these now, as they clamored for his attention.

“Yes, there is some bread, baked by my mother, and some smoked pork. And a good many vegetables, Master-- ” he stopped, embarrassed. Although Danulf had given him their names, he could not for the life of him remember them all.

“Bolger, Fredegar Bolger. I am in charge, more or less, of this unruly bunch.”

“I thank you, then, Master Bolger. I am afraid I cannot remember all these names--”

The hobbit grinned at him, such a friendly and open smile that Beorhstan felt joy at the sight of it. “We are rather a lot to take in at once, I am afraid.” Freddy shook his head. He repeated the introductions once more, this time a bit more slowly than Danulf had done. All of them grinned up at Beorhstan, and offered him their service. The young Man was grateful, for now he had their names.

Just then everyone’s attention was drawn by the approach of three more figures, on foot.

Beorhstan’s eyes widened. This was his first good look at an Elf. He gulped. There was no mistaking one of the Fair Folk for anything else. He stared for a moment at the beautiful face, and then his attention was drawn to the two holbytlan behind him, hands bound, and one end of the rope being held by the Elf. Those must be two of the prisoners Danulf and Adrahil had told him about.

He looked at them from lowered brows. The two were rather unprepossessing in appearance. The older one had grey sprinkled through his hair, which was a muddy brown, as were his eyes. He had a pinched and sour expression on his face. The other younger one was not ill-looking, but he too had a dissatisfied countenance. They were quite a contrast to the open and friendly faces of the other little folk.

He stared after them as Legolas led them to the Captain’s tent, and then turned his attention back to the other “hobbits” as Danulf had said they preferred to be called. Hobbits. It sounded much like holbytlan. He noticed that all of them were studiously *not* looking at the prisoners.

He watched them as they sorted through the foodstuffs, exclaiming over this or that, as though they were looking at a great treasure. He found himself smiling at their enthusiasm.

Master Bolger was a handsome enough fellow. His brown hair just a little darker than those of some of the others, and with a touch of chestnut to it. His eyes were hazel, and he seemed a bit thinner than most of the other hobbits. Master Brandybuck bore a distinct resemblance to Sir Meriadoc, whom Beorhstan had seen riding next to É omer King on more than one occasion. He certainly had the same sandy hair and grey eyes. Master Burrows was a bit shorter than the other two, and a bit rounder as well. He had light brown hair and light blue eyes, and seemed somewhat shy.

He studied the other three. Their clothing was not quite so fine as that of the others. Two of them were clearly brothers and looked a good deal alike. The older one, introduced as “Denny”, was slightly taller and his ears seemed to be more pointed than the other hobbits. The younger, “Rolly”, had a mischievous glint in his eye, that made Beorhstan think he might be fond of jokes. The third, called “Jolly” seemed to live up to his name--his broad face was good natured and sprinkled with freckles, and he had a dimple in his left cheek when he grinned, which was often. He had sandy hair and his brown eyes were so dark as to be nearly black. He seemed to have more and thicker hair on his feet than the others.

And then he looked at the hobbit--women? Did hobbits call their females “women” or something else? he wondered. The older one was stout. She had grey sprinkled through her curls, and there were pleasant laugh lines etched next to her eyes, which were hazel. She was a bit stout, and he noticed her air of authority--Mistress Poppy, the healer, as she had been introduced. The younger one, her apprentice Miss Viola, was very attractive. In fact, if she had been twice as tall, and her feet smaller and not so hairy, she might have been very nearly as pretty as his Merewen. Her light brown curls had streaks of gold from the sun running through them, and she had a pert little nose and large brown eyes, which he noticed with some amusement, were often turned to Master Brandybuck.

The two brothers had taken charge of the foodstuffs once they had all been sorted, and began talking rapidly of the meal they would prepare.

“Beorhstan?”

He turned to see Adrahil standing behind him. “The captains wondered if you would stay with us tonight? Or if you feel the need to return today, if you would at least take luncheon with us?”

Beorhstan’s gaze flicked once more in fascination to the little folk, before he answered. “I do not think my father will take it amiss if I stay until morning.”

“I see you are much taken with our hobbits,” the Gondorian grinned.

“Well, they are interesting…” Beorhstan blushed.

“Interesting indeed!” He smiled. “Come, let me introduce you to the rest of the company.”

He led them to the captains who stood outside their tent with Legolas, and introduced each of them. Beorhstan found himself blushing when the Elf acknowledged the introduction--not only and Elf, but a Prince! And even more amazing, one of the Nine Walkers!

Then Adrahil took him into the tent, where he saw a child, a boy of about ten or eleven years, laying in a cot and laughing. Another Man and a Dwarf sat by him.

“Beorhstan, this is our page, Bergil son of Beregond, and with him are Anwynd Anfrith’s son, and Lord Gimli, son of Gloí n, who was also one of the Ringbearer’s Companions when they set out on their journey.”

The three acknowledged the introductions, and once more Beorhstan found himself in the presence of a legend. That he should have the privilege of meeting not one, but two, of the Nine Walkers was almost more than he could comprehend.

They exited the tent, and Adrahil led him over to meet another Man, one who resembled him greatly, and who stood at the perimeter of the camp, conversing with Danulf. This Man was introduced as Artamir, Adrahil’s brother.

Finally, he led him to another tent, where two Men, one in Gondorian livery, and one a Rider of the Mark sat with four holbytlan or rather, hobbits, all of them bound. Adrahil introduced them as Borondir and Leodwald.

Just then, they heard a call from the hobbits outside.

“Luncheon is ready!”

And indeed, there were some most appetizing smells issuing from the cookfire. Beorhstan found his mouth watering at the thought.

CHAPTER 32

Beorhstan took the plate and mug proffered to him by Miss Viola, blushing as he thanked her. The food smelled wonderful. The hobbits had taken some of the cheese and smoked pork, which they had placed between slices of his mother’s bread, and toasted until the cheese had melted. There were also some mushrooms which had been fried with what smelled like onion and garlic, and some potatoes, which had also been sliced and fried. In the mug was some soup--he wondered at how quickly they had made soup.

Master Brandybuck sat down next to him. “That’s some of the soup Jolly made last night with the last of our dried vegetables. We are so glad you brought some fresh ones, thank you!”

“You are most welcome, Master Brandybuck,” he replied. He saw Miss Viola move to sit next to the hobbit on his other side, and noted the fond look that was turned on her. He smiled to himself.

Master Bolger came and sat on his other side, his own plate laden, and he gave a glance at the food Beorhstan had barely tasted yet. “I do hope we gave you enough!”

“Oh yes, Master Bolger! Indeed, I am not certain I can eat *all* of it.” But he broke off a bit of the toasted sandwich and took a bite. Delicious, he thought.

By now the rest of the hobbits and the others in the camp had settled in to eat, and there was some silence, broken at first by only comments upon the food itself.

“Mister Mosco,” said Jolly, “you added somewhat to the soup here, didn’t you?” He took a sip from the mug, “Bit of thyme?”

Mosco grinned. “Yes, Jolly, I did add some thyme to it!”

There were comments on the mushrooms as well, as the hobbits seemed to be able to identify the different sorts by taste. Beorhstan came to the conclusion that hobbits must have a keener sense of taste than Men, for though he found everything quite delicious, he really could not identify the separate flavors that way.

As the Men began to flag, for the portions upon the plates were truly huge, the hobbits kept eating, but the conversation gradually moved away from food to more general subjects of conversation.

Master Bolger turned to Beorhstan and asked him how his family had come to be farming in Dunland, and the young Man explained. The hobbit nodded, as Beorhstan told of his injuries at the Battle of Pelennor, and how he had come to meet his wife and her brother.

“I must say to you, I shall ever be grateful to Holdwine, Sir Meriadoc, for his actions then. For had he and the Lady Éowyn between them not slain the foul sorcerer, we should never have gained the victory there, nor even come away with our lives.”

There was a brief silence, as the hobbits thought once more of the amazing things the Travellers had done, which they were only now beginning to understand. Then Berilac turned to Beorhstan.

“Master Beorhstan, I kept meaning to ask Merry, but I never got around to it--what is this ‘Holdwine’ that you and the Rohirrim call him? Is it a title?”

“Nay, it is not a title, but a name. In Westron it signifies ‘loyal friend’, and I am quite sure it was well-given, but I know not how he came by it.”

Éothain had been listening from across the campfire, where he and Targon sat a little apart. “The name was bestowed upon him by my cousin the Lady Éowyn, and confirmed by our Lord Éomer King. She it was who asked that he be made a Knight of the Riddermark, though I think it was an honor the King was of a mind to give anyway.”

Berilac chuckled. “It seems only right that Merry become a Rider of Rohan--he’s always been one for the ponies, ever since he was a little lad. I think that riding was the only thing he did not learn from our Cousin Frodo. In fact, in a roundabout way you might say that Merry taught Frodo to ride.”

Fredegar leaned around Beorhstan. “Now this is something I never heard.”

Berilac grinned and took out his pipe, as he’d finished his meal. Beorhstan watched in wonder as not only did the other male hobbits do the same, but Lord Éothain, Danulf, Anwynd, Leodwald, and Borondir did as well. He watched in fascination as they put crumbled bits of leaves in the bowls of the pipes, and used bits of tinder from the campfire to light them. He watched the smoke come out of their mouths in amazement, though the scent was a bit pungent and made his eyes water, it was fascinating.

Berilac blew out a perfect smoke ring, and leaned back a bit. “Yes, Merry was just out of faunthood, which is to say he was five years old--which I daresay would have seemed a bit younger to you Big Folk--”

Mistress Poppy nodded. “I daresay he would have been like a three year old in comparison.”

“At any rate, Merry had begun to learn his letters from Frodo--he was pretty bright. I’m two years older, and had just begun to do so myself. But, as I said, Merry was a very bright child. At any rate, he was enjoying his lessons with Frodo very much, but there was something else he wanted to learn--

“Frodo, when are you going to teach me how to ride a pony?”

Frodo blushed. “We shouldn’t be worrying about ponies right now, Merry. Now can you write this word on your slate?” The two cousins were sitting at a table in the main dining hall, as Frodo gave Merry his lessons. Around them, other little hobbits were doing the same with parents or older brothers or sisters.

The little tongue poked out of the side of his mouth, as Merry laboriously traced out the letters, saying “Oh-nah-ee. Oh-nah-ee? No, you said some ‘Ees’ aren’t heard.” He concentrated for a moment. “Oh-nah? Own?”

Frodo smiled. “No, Merry, this is a word that breaks the rules. It is pronounced ‘one’.”

The grey eyes went wide and skeptical. “One? Frodo, are you sure?”

Frodo chuckled. “Yes, sprout, I’m sure. The next one breaks the rules as well.”

Merry squinted. “Ta-woe? No--that’s silly.” He looked at the first word again. “Frodo, is that ‘two’?” His tone was incredulous.

“Yes, it is.”

“But I learned that word, it’s ‘T-O’, which ought to be ‘toe’.” He looked highly indignant.

“Well, this has a different meaning, so it is spelled differently.”

Merry pursed his lips, and stared down at the words on his slate. “Well, I don’t think that’s *fair*! What is the use of rules if you have to keep breaking them? And we have numbers. Why do we have number *words* as well?”

His older cousin rolled his eyes, and took a deep breath, and tried to remember his own frustration when his father and mother had been teaching *him* to read. But thinking of them made him feel sad.

Merry quickly picked up his change in mood. “I’m sorry, Frodo,” he exclaimed, distressed.

“Oh, no, Merry, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was just remembering, that’s all.”

Merry didn’t ask what. He knew that for some reason Frodo had been reminded of his parents. He decided not to ask any more awkward questions that might make Frodo feel sad. He looked up for an instant at the other end of the table, where Berilac was having lessons with his mother. She seemed cross. Berilac looked up too, at that instant, and met Merry’s eyes, and they both smiled for a moment, before they returned to their respective slates.

For a little while, there was just the sound of chalk scratching on slate, and the occasional murmur of a word being sounded out. Then both lads heard footsteps, and looked up to see Merimac enter the room. He went over to where Berilac and his mother sat, gave her a quick kiss, and turned to his son.

“Well, Beri, are you ready to come outside now for your riding lesson?”

Berilac gave a little yelp of joy, and putting his slate aside, scrambled out of the chair to follow his father outside to the stables.

Merry looked after him wistfully.

Frodo noticed, and sighed. How could he bring himself to tell Merry that he couldn’t teach him to ride?

That evening after supper in the main hall--for it was Highday, and the Master and all his kin dined together--when Merry’s nursemaid Dahlia took him up to bed, and Saradoc and Esmeralda were still talking to various family members, Frodo slipped out of the smial, and headed for the stables.

In he went, and after lighting a lantern, walked over to the stalls. He looked quietly at the different ponies. He took a deep breath. Dapple, named for his dapple grey coat, would be perfect. The gelding was docile, and was usually used to loan various aunties who had a notion to ride, or for novice riders. His main fault was that sometimes he was too placid.

Frodo swallowed, and took an apple out of his pocket and offered it to the pony. Dapple whuffed at his hand agreeably as he quickly crunched down the treat.

Frodo looked at the saddle and the tack. How hard could it be? He had watched the ponies being saddled dozens of times. Surely, if he took it slowly, he could figure it out. He took down the blanket that hung next to the stall, and started to lift the latch.

“Frodo!”

He nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned apprehensively. “Uncle Sara!”

Saradoc came over, puzzled. This was *not* where he had expected his ward to go when he had followed him from the Hall. In a way, he had been relieved, but now he was confused. “What are you up to, lad?”

In the lantern-light, Frodo blushed and bit his lip. “Er, I thought that it was time I learned to ride.”

Saradoc’s jaw dropped. “By yourself? In the dark?”

Suddenly Frodo realized perhaps his idea was not such a good one after all. “Well, I’ve watched other people for years. I didn’t think it could be that hard. And--and I didn’t want Merry to know.”

“You didn’t want Merry to know? Frodo, I don’t understand.” Saradoc privately was berating himself--he should have seen to this long ago. Most Brandybucks were excellent riders, though they didn’t spend as much time ponyback as Tooks did, but Drogo had been a Baggins, and most Bagginses weren’t much for riding. Old Bilbo had known how, though he seldom did so, but Drogo never rode, preferring a pony-trap or carriage. And Primula could have taught her son--she had taught him to swim after all--but she had not ridden since her dear friend Pearl Took had been killed by being thrown from her pony years ago.*

Frodo stood silent, with his head hanging down. Saradoc moved to put his arm around the lad’s shoulders. “Frodo, why don’t you want Merry to know?”

“Merry wants me to teach him to ride, Uncle Sara. I can’t let him down. He doesn’t know I don’t know how.” The rest remained unspoken, but Saradoc understood. As far as Merry was concerned, his cousin had hung the moon. There was nothing Frodo did not know, or could not do. Frodo had no intention of allowing that illusion to be shattered. Meriadoc considered Frodo the ultimate expert on everything.

“Merry’s still a bit young to learn how to ride, Frodo.”

“Yes, but--I just don’t want him to know.” Tears stood in the blue eyes, which Saradoc had never been able to resist. “And he’s being so good about learning his letters.”

Saradoc squeezed the lad’s shoulders, and stood in silent thought for a moment. Then he smiled. “I have an idea, Frodo. Do you mind if I talk to Mac about this? I will need his help, but I think you know he won’t be indiscreet.”

Frodo looked up at his cousin with dawning hope.

A couple of mornings later, as the family of the Son of the Hall sat at breakfast, Saradoc said “Merry, I understand that you want to learn how to ride a pony.”

Merry’s grey eyes went wide with delight.

“You are a bit young to begin to learn to ride by yourself. And I know that you asked Frodo to teach you. But I’m your Da, and I would like to teach you myself. Now since you are a little too young to ride alone quite yet, what we will do is this: you will ride in front of me, and, so you can learn what it is like to ride alone, Frodo will also ride with us, and I will talk him through it as though he is taking lessons. That way, you will learn from watching him until you get just a bit bigger. And we will join your Uncle Merimac and your cousin Berilac when Beri has his lessons, so you can watch him as well.”

Frodo stared at Saradoc in admiration for his cousin’s clever solution. He would be taking lessons himself, but Merry would just think that he was showing him what to do.

“When can I ride alone, Da?” Merry asked, feeling just a little disappointment that he would not be able to ride by himself yet.

“Well, Berilac started last spring. So when you are as tall as he was then, you may begin to ride by yourself.”

Frodo grinned. “When can we start, Uncle Sara?” he asked excitedly.

“I believe we shall meet Merimac and Beri at the stables right after elevenses.”

Berilac grinned at his audience, who had listened in fascination to this story of the Ringbearer’s youth. “Of course, my da and Uncle Sara never said anything to anyone else, but I heard them talking to one another from time to time, and pieced the story out. I knew better than to say anything to Merry though. If I had so much as hinted that Frodo did not know everything, I would have been in big trouble. But several years later, when Pippin was learning to ride, Frodo told Merry the whole story himself. And by that time of course, Merry found it highly amusing.”

Freddy chuckled. “Bolgers weren’t much for riding either. But my father learned to ride so that he could court my mother. Riding was one of the few Tookish activities my mother enjoyed. Of course, she saw to it that my sister and I learned how.”

Éothain chuckled. “Most children of the Rohirrim ride in front of their parents before they are given their first pony. But I remember how jealous I was of my cousins--they were both give horses--small horses, it is true--but horses instead of ponies.”

Targon shook his head. “Horses are few and far between in the White City,” he said. “Especially before the War. I did not learn to ride until I was a cadet in the Guard--and even then, I did not have my own horse. We shared the horses of the Steward’s stables, and rode them at need.”

“Well,” growled Gimli, “Dwarves will ride ponies at need. But I never rode on the back of so great a beast as a horse until that day on Rohan’s plains when Aragorn, Legolas and I were challenged by É omer, as we hunted down the Orcs that had stolen Merry and Pippin.”

Legolas chuckled. “And you do not ‘ride’ now, Master Dwarf,” he teased. “you bump along behind me like a sack of potatoes.”

Everyone laughed, including Beorhstan, who was amazed to hear the fond banter of this group of strangely assorted friends.

“Well,” said Jolly, “this has all been very interesting, but I think that we need to see to the washing up, now!”

________________________________________

*This Pearl Took is not Pippin's sister, but Paladin's oldest sister, for whom his daughter was named.

Well, it's been a long hiatus (eleven months, actually) and I do apologize to the Gentle Readers for making them wait so long.  But for some reason, my muses did *not* want to tell me what happened next--they kept insisting on skipping over to the ending.  So I've been having to write more-or-less backwards.  It has taken me this long to get back to where I left off.

The upside is, I will now be able to finish without too many more delays (unless caused by RL--we are in the process of selling a house and then moving).  I'm planning to update at least once a week from here on out, and perhaps twice a week if I can manage it.

Thanks for your patience!

DF

CHAPTER 33

Beorhstan spent the rest of the afternoon in somewhat of a daze, watching the holbytlan--or hobbits, as they called themselves--bustling about their various tasks, and talking to their friends and comrades. Even the Elf was not so interesting to him as the small people with their long clever fingers and their quiet way of moving about, so at odds with the chattering of their voices.

They seemed so cheerful and friendly, and he wondered once more in amazement at what their kin-folk had accomplished during the War.

As he sat staring at Mosco and the Banks brothers, who were busy going through the stores Beorhstan had brought with him, he shook his head. “How?”

“How what, lad?” said a pleasantly gruff voice at his elbow.

He turned to see Master Gimli standing next to him.

“They seem so peaceable, Master Gimli, and so friendly and innocent. I find it so hard to understand how the four who aided us during the War were able to do so. Are they so different than these?”

Gimli chuckled and shook his head. “Yes and no. Frodo, Merry and Pippin are of the noblest blood in the Shire, and it’s said among them that the Tooks--which is the name of that family--are strange and different. But Sam Gamgee has not a drop of that blood. And up until they left the Shire, all four of them had led a life just as peaceable, and they were just as friendly and innocent. But look over yonder at Master Fredegar--he did not leave the Shire, yet he led a band of rebels to fight against the Ruffians that Saruman had sent to the Shire.”

Beorhstan stared at Freddy, who with Berilac, was talking to Targon. “He doesn’t seem fierce enough to be a warrior,” he said.

Gimli chuckled and shook his head. “My father told me that Gandalf had once described old Bilbo as ‘fierce as a dragon in a pinch’. I remember how surprised I was when I finally met the old fellow: polite, well-mannered and soft-spoken, and a sense of humor most often turned upon himself. Yet, though he freely confesses to the sort of utter terror that most of those of us who *are* warriors will refuse to admit that we feel, his courage never faltered. He used his wits to protect my father and the other Dwarves whom he considered his friends. That, I think, is the key to hobbit courage--they do not seek a fight, they do not, as a rule even seek thrills or adventures--indeed, that is considered most disreputable in their society--they do not even consider themselves especially brave. But threaten that which they love, and there is nothing they will not attempt in order to protect it. And once they set forth on such a course of action, nothing will deter them from accomplishing it, or dying in the process.”

“Our tales,” said the Man, “describe them as a mischievous little folk, who sing like birds, and can disappear at will.”

Now Gimli laughed heartily. “Indeed, they have very pleasant singing voices--you should hear young Pippin sing some time! Very nearly as good as an Elf! As for disappearing at will, only Master Bilbo ever did that, and it is not a thing that will ever be repeated.” For a moment, Gimli’s brows drew down, remembering all the trouble that had come from that little trinket. On the other hand It had saved his father’s life. He shook the confusing thoughts away. “But they do know how to vanish from sight in a twinkling, if there is nothing more than a bit of long grass to hide in.”

Beorhstan gestured towards the small group of prisoners, well-guarded by Borondir. “What about those four? How are they so different?”

“Alas,” said Gimli, shaking his head sadly, “every race has a few who are poor representatives. Hobbits have fewer than most. But those four seem to be afflicted with both stupidity and greed--and so they caused not a little trouble in the Shire. One of the dilemmas that poor Captains Targon and É othain had to face was that the most severe punishment Shire hobbits have is banishment. This meant that those four would have been free to take their trouble-making elsewhere.”

At that moment, Legolas joined them, and he and Gimli began to regale Beorhstan with stories of their friends among the hobbits.

Laughing, Legolas told of the night he had assisted Pippin, Merry and Bergil to play pranks upon the whole of Brandy Hall.*

Gimli shook his head. “Fool Elf! You are as bad as those two! And you risked getting poor young Bergil into trouble!”

The Elf just shrugged. “It seemed like the thing to do at the time.” There was a glint of amusement in the ancient eyes that startled Beorhstan. What odd creatures he had fallen in with here. A being thousands of years old, playing pranks as though he were a young boy!

The afternoon passed, as they chatted, joined after a while by Fredegar, Mosco and Jolly, while Rolly and Denny were seeing to the evening meal. The hobbits had decided to call it that, as it wasn’t tea, and couldn’t properly be called supper or dinner. Beorhstan listened in amazement to a rather long and involved discussion as to whether it was closer to supper or dinner. Somehow he could not follow the subtleties of the differences they were making. Six meals a day! And yet they were so small!

“Where is Berilac?” asked Legolas, though he quirked an eyebrow in amusement as he asked.

“Mistress Poppy and Miss Viola are going through all their store of healing herbs and supplies before we go on the road once more,” said Freddy, “and Beri thought perhaps he could help them with the inventory.” He grinned.

All of them shared a hearty laugh. Obviously, Berilac was taking the chance to spend time with the pretty little apprentice.

________________________________________________

Cado sat silently, eyeing his brother and Dago, who were equally silent. Clovis kept casting looks of resentment in the direction of the Elf, but Dago’s looks in the same direction were filled with fear. They had not spoken at all to Cado, or to Clodio, since they had been returned. Indeed, Clovis was making a point of not looking at his brother or father at all.

Cado tried to swallow down the lump of misery that kept trying to rise up and overwhelm him. He had been angry and resentful himself on this trip, and he had been unhappy enough at their plight. But this was the first time he really felt like huddling up and weeping--yet he knew he could not even give himself that much comfort, for he had no privacy at all, and he was certainly not about to allow his brother or Bracegirdle the chance to scorn him for his tears. He risked a worried glance at his father. Clodio looked just as miserable as himself. There was no comfort there--Clodio had never been the sort of father who embraced his children or praised them. Yet at least he had always taken up for his sons, even when they had done some singularly stupid things.

And for the first time, Cado found himself missing his mother. He swallowed the sob that threatened to burst forth. He had seldom given her much thought since he entered his tweens, save to ignore any of her mild protests at her sons’ behavior. But he remembered as a small lad how she had always had hugs for her sons, until her husband rebuked her for “spoiling” them. And he suddenly clearly remembered the first time he and Clovis had defied her, and their father had amusedly supported them against her, with the old saying “Lads will be lads.”

They had been paying one of their infrequent visits to Whitwell. Cado had only been about five or six, and Clovis was about eight. Their little cousin Pippin was still only a  faunt

Aunt Eglantine had given the children a picnic luncheon, to take outside in the front garden, so that the adults could enjoy a quiet visit together. The children had eaten their fill mostly, though Merry (who was also visiting at the time) and Pippin’s sisters were still filling up their corners, Pippin had run off to play with his favorite toy: a gift from Frodo Baggins of a wooden duck. It was pulled by a string, and had wheels that were deliberately uneven, so that it wobbled back and forth as though the duck were waddling. The wheels also turned a little mechanism that made the duck’s beak open and close in a rather annoying clatter. He was walking back and forth, pulling it along behind him, and turning to look at it and laugh in glee.

After watching Pippin for a few minutes, Clovis had gone over and snatched the toy away from him, holding it high in the air over his head.

Pippin let out a shriek of frustration that instantly drew the attention of Merry and his sisters. Merry and Pearl both yelled “Give it back to him!” at almost the same moment, and Merry made as if to charge to Pippin’s rescue. But Pearl grabbed him by both arms and would not let go. Cado supposed now that even then Pearl knew what kind of reprisals Merry might inflict on Pippin’s behalf.

Crying, Pippin had tried to reach his toy, and Clovis pretended that he would give it to him, but just as Pippin reached for it he snatched it up and threw it in Cado’s direction. Startled, Cado barely managed to catch it, and Pippin turned, and ran in his direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Pimpernel and Pervinca dashing for the house, and then his attention was on Pippin once more, as the faunt had almost reached him. His chubby little hands were stretched out, and he was screaming “Mine!”

Clovis reached his arms up, so just as Pippin reached him, Cado drew back and threw it once more in his brother’s direction. Clovis laughed at the frustrated expression on Pippin’s face when he caught the toy by one of its wheels.

Merry was yelling at Pearl to let go of him, and Pearl was still yelling at Clovis to give Pippin’s toy back. Pippin, determined, had run back to Clovis, who once more held it up out of his reach.

Just then, Aunt Eglantine and their mother had come out, with Pimpernel and Pervinca right behind them.

“Clovis!” their mother had called. “Give it back to your cousin, right now!”

Clovis had stopped, for an instant, and he turned his eyes on his mother. For a second he looked dismayed, and then he grinned at her, and very deliberately threw the toy back to his brother.

But Cado was not paying attention, and the toy flew right over his head, to land several feet away in a dismal smash.

Pippin began to shriek in earnest now, for it was clearly broken beyond repair. Eglantine went over and picked up her little lad, giving both Clovis and Cado very dirty looks.

In the meantime, Paladin and Clodio had also come out, and were standing near the door.

Beryl’s face was white with fury. “Clovis! Cado! Come here right now!” She pointed to the ground in front of her, and Cado moved reluctantly towards her. But Clovis had stayed where he was, still giving her a cocky grin. Before she could say anything, Clodio had moved to her side, and put his hand on her shoulder.

“Now, now, Beryl! They were only playing! Lads will be lads, after all.”

As Cado watched, his mother’s face first went even whiter than it already was, and then it flushed with embarrassment. Her eyes were filled with an expression Cado had never seen before, but that he now realized was a deep hurt, and she hung her head. “Very well, husband. I shall leave it to you to deal with,” she had said in a singularly flat voice. And she had followed Eglantine back into the house. Aunt Eglantine was still trying to sooth her distraught son.

Cado had stared after her, puzzled. For a moment he thought of running after her and giving her a hug and apologizing, but then he dismissed the thought when his father spoke his name.

Their father had given them a half-hearted lecture on remembering that “babies” were too young to understand such games. Paladin had taken over Pearl’s grip on Merry’s arm--he was still glaring at them with an expression of loathing--and shepherded Merry and the lasses back inside.

The atmosphere surrounding their visit had turned decidedly chilly. It was obvious that Uncle Paladin and Aunt Eglantine were angry, but their father only seemed amused. For some reason they had not seen Merry again, and the visit was cut short--they had planned to stay over, but instead left after a rather uncomfortable tea.

And their mother had rarely reprimanded them after that.

Cado sighed. It was no wonder their mother had washed her hands of the lot of them. He hoped she might be a little more happy now, staying with Aunt Eglantine and Uncle Paladin. She deserved a little happiness. He supposed that his parents had at some time been happy enough--he knew they were fond of one another in a quiet way. But his father was so proud. He did not ever want to admit that his sons could do anything really wrong. And Clodio also resented the Tooks--he felt that the Banks deserved to be much higher up in status than they were.

Perhaps, thought Cado, if he had not tried to be like Clovis, perhaps, if he had been a little nicer to his mother, he would not be in this situation now.

________________________________________________

All the company dined heartily on the meal prepared by Rolly and Denny: A thick stew of ham, vegetables and beans, and a huge dish of fried wild mushrooms, served with more of the bread Beorhstan had brought, and cheese as well.

Beorhstan was invited to share the tent of the Rohirrim for the night, and the next morning, after a hearty breakfast, the group broke camp and took to the road once more, as Beorhstan led them back to his family’s homestead.

Éothain summoned Leodwald to the front of the line. “Leodwald, “ he said, “I shall have a task for you. After we arrive at this farm, I want you to leave us--ride ahead to Edoras, as swiftly as you may, to explain to É omer King why we were delayed, and to let him know we are once more on the road.”

“Do you then wish me to return?” asked the Rider.

“Not unless my royal cousin wishes you to bring back a message of some sort. If the King has no task for you, then you are free to take leave and visit your family until we arrive at Edoras ourselves.”

Leodwald grinned. While he would be sorry to leave his comrades, and especially the holbytlan, he had not seen his wife and children in many months. It would be a welcome chance to spend time with them.

The weather was pleasant, though warm--they were travelling south and through high summer, after all--and they rode at leisurely pace. They broke briefly for luncheon, and Beorhstan was amused to hear the one called Rolly complaining that “a drink and a bite standing weren’t what he’d call a proper lunch.”

As they rode along in the afternoon sunshine, the hobbits began to sing. Beorhstan was delighted to listen to them sing: first a rollicking little song called “Nob o’ the Lea” and then several others that all of them seemed to know.

Then Berilac began to sing on his own, casting a smile in the direction of the little healer’s apprentice as he did so:

When I was a lad so free
I had no cares to worry me,
Save what to drink and when to dine,
On the banks of the Brandywine!
On the banks of the Brandywine!
Save what to drink and when to dine,
On the banks of the Brandywine!

Once I spied a lass so fair,
Plaiting violets in her hair,
Her eyes so bright, her cheeks so fine,
On the banks of the Brandywine!
On the banks of the Brandywine!
Her eyes so bright, her cheeks so fine,
On the banks of the Brandywine!

I asked her could I sit a while,
And she gave to me a winning smile,
Her heart was true, her heart was kind,
On the banks of the Brandywine!
On the banks of the Brandywine!
Her heart was true, her heart was kind,
On the banks of the Brandywine!

I looked at her and then I said
If she thought we two could wed,
She told me that she would be mine,
On the banks of the Brandywine!
On the banks of the Brandywine!
She told me that she would be mine,
On the banks of the Brandywine!

We sealed our troth with a kiss!
Her two lips, ah! They were bliss!
I never knew true love I’d find,
On the banks of the Brandywine!
On the banks of the Brandywine!
I never knew true love I’d find,
On the banks of the Brandywine!

I asked her father for her hand,
And on the shore we did stand--
And I was hers and she was mine,
On the banks of the Brandywine!
On the banks of the Brandywine!
And I was hers and she was mine,
On the banks of the Brandywine!

And now we are a happy three,
My sweet wife, my fauntling and me
In our smial with roses entwined,
On the banks of the Brandywine!
On the banks of the Brandywine!
In our smial with roses entwined,
On the banks of the Brandywine!

By the time he finished the song, the other hobbits were joining in the chorus. All except Viola, who was blushing fiery red.

It was mid-afternoon when they turned off the road and onto the lane leading to the homestead.

__________________________________

*Chapter 19 of my story "A New Reckoning" "A Little Bit of Fun"

CHAPTER 34

Beorhstan’s family made the group welcome, although Targon and Éothain declined the offer to stay in the house, and instead the group set up camp in the farmyard.

There was bustle in the yard as the menfolk set up trestle tables and Derehild, assisted by Bertrade and Merewen brought food for their guests.

The family was pleased to meet the Rohirrim, and were somewhat overawed by the Gondorians, while Legolas and Gimli left them briefly speechless.

But they were fascinated by the holbyltlan and could not get enough of watching them. And soon young Aedberht was chatting amiably to Bergil and to Jolly, Rolly and Denny, who had set up a cookfire and were preparing some fruit dumplings as a sweet and as a gift for their hosts.

“I am pleased to get a chance to meet holbyltlan at last. When we heard of the ones who had come to the War, we were amazed.” The boy said. “I had heard the tales all my life from my grandmother--” he nodded towards Bertrade, who was placing some dishes upon the long table. “who knows a great store of tales.” He paused and looked once more at the hobbits, bustling about their task. “I have to say, you do not look at all like I had imagined.”

Jolly grinned at him. “And what, young sir, did you think us hobbits looked like?”

He flushed, bit his lip and frowned. “Well, you are a bit taller than I had thought, by about a head. And the tales say nothing of pointed ears, nor of the hair upon your feet. I suppose I thought you looked much like us, only smaller.”

Jolly fished a dumpling from the pot and blew on it, pinching a bit of it off, and taking a taste. He looked thoughtful, and held the ladle out to his companions. “I think they are about done; what do you think?”

Aedberht found his fingers and tongue nearly burnt from the heat of the dumplings, which did not seem to bother the hobbits, but they were delicious. The consensus was that they were indeed done, and Jolly carefully removed the cookpot from the fire.

He glanced at the boy. “I’d most dearly love to hear what sort of tales might be told by your folk about ours,” he said curiously.

“Yes,” said Bergil, “what do they say of hobbits in Rohan?” For there were even fewer tales of the Pheriannath in Gondor.

The boy blushed. “Are you sure you wish to hear the stories? For now I see you, you don’t seem much like the little folk in the tales.”

Denny laughed. “I think it’d be kind of funny-like to hear such stories, myself.”

“Well…” Aedberht bit his lip and glanced over at his grandmother, and then he went over to where Bertrade had finished laying the table, and spoke softly to her in Rohirric. She looked up briefly, and glanced over at the hobbits and Bergil, who were watching with anticipation. For a moment she studied them, and then nodded, speaking once more to her grandson.

Aedberht gestured for Jolly, Rolly, Denny and Bergil to join him. “She shall tell the tale in the Rohirric tongue, and I shall translate for you, if you still wish to hear it?”

They nodded their assent, and sat down upon the ground about her feet. Aedberht stood behind her at her shoulder. She gave a smile that lit her wizened face, and then spoke out in the rolling cadences of the Rohirric tongue. Though her listeners could not understand her words, her tone was dramatic. After a moment, she stopped and looked at her grandson.

Aedberht closed his eyes, for a moment, and then spoke:

“Long ago, when our people dwelt still to the East of the Great River, many long generations before the Longfathers of Eorl the Young became the chiefs of our peoples, there dwelt upon a farm in the low hills between the Wood and the River, and old farmer and his wife.

When he stopped and looked up, he saw the other hobbits had joined them, listening intently. He also saw his uncle watching and listening at the back of the gathering. Beorhstan gave him a smile of approval, and a nod. Then Bertrade spoke again, and he listened intently, so that when she stopped he could repeat her words. She would speak for a moment, and then stop and look at him, and this is the tale as he repeated it:

Now this farmer and his wife had three daughters, but no sons. Yet their daughters were all great beauties. When the oldest daughter came of an age to marry, a wealthy trader asked for her hand. Her parents were pleased with this match, and so she was wed. But her husband was a haughty man who looked down upon his wife’s parents, and he took her far away to dwell among his own family, where they would not have to see her family, for they were embarrassed by them.

A few years later, the second daughter was of an age, and her hand was sought in marriage by a great warrior. Once more her parents consented to the match, for he was a brave hero of renown. But he cared not for the farm on which his wife was raised, thinking such was beneath his notice, and he too took his wife away.

The farmer and his wife were very saddened by this, for they missed their older daughters a great deal. But they were consoled by the presence of their youngest daughter. She it was who was the most beautiful of the three, and she had a kind and gentle nature. She loved her parents very much, and told them she would never wed if it would take her from their side. Her name was Bridd.

The three lived well enough for some years, though as the farmer grew old, his farm became less prosperous, for he had no sons to help him. His wife and daughter did what they could, but much of the work was beyond their strength, and his own strength was waning.

One day, Bridd went out to pick berries. She was sadly lost in thought, for she was worried about her parents, who were getting older, and she was fretful herself, for she had turned away many suitors for her hand, drawn by her beauty, because they did not care for her family’s farm, and now she worried that she would never wed. She also missed her sisters, who had not visited in many years.

But then she heard a cry, as of something in pain. Turning aside from the path to look, she was surprised to see, caught in a rabbit snare, a small person. He was struggling weakly, but looked up at her in fear as she approached. He dangled several inches above the path, his small arms trapped by the snare, and his struggles only served to make the snare tighten about him.

“Oh, you poor dear!” she exclaimed. And in spite of his obvious fear, she carefully took hold of him and removed the snare.

She put him down, and he stood for a moment looking up at her, and then said, “You have surely saved my life! My name is Tûkka,”

As Aedberht repeated that, several of the hobbits gasped and looked at one another.

“…and I am ever at your service and that of your family.” And he gave a little bow.

At this kind speech, she stared a moment, and then burst into tears.

“What troubles you, fair maiden?” asked Tûkka.

Encouraged by his kindly manner, Bridd told Tûkka of her worries and fears. “I am sorry to have troubled you so, Master Tûkka, for I do not think there is aught you may do to help me with these sorrows.”

“Dry your tears, and do not despair, for a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved. You may find that the help of such a small person is of value after all.” He gave a call, a whistle like that of a thrush’s song, and Bridd saw that they were suddenly surrounded by many small people, who appeared from behind the bushes and trees. Tûkka stood and said “This is my friend Bridd. She has saved my life; if ever she is in any need, I ask you, my people, to come to her aid.” And by this, Bridd knew he was the chieftain of his people. He turned to her and bowed, “If ever you are in need, call my name three times, and I or one of my people, will respond.” And then, suddenly, and to her astonishment, he and all the other small people vanished.

Bertrade paused in her telling, and then her daughter-in-law handed her a cup. The elderly woman gave her thanks, and then after taking a few sips, took up the tale again. As his grandmother spoke, Aedberht’s mother handed him a cup as well, and by the time Bertrade paused again for him to translate, he had drained it.

After a few days, Bridd began to wonder if she had dreamed the encounter with the strange little person. She had much on her mind, for it was spring, and her father was having difficulty with the plowing. When he was too tired to go on, she tried to do it for him, but she had not the strength nor skill to do it properly, and all too soon she had to quit. As the Sun went down and the Moon came up, she returned to the cottage weary and discouraged. “Ah,” she sighed, “Tûkka, Tûkka, Tûkka! Would that you were real, and could be of help to me!”

The next day, the farmer and his weary family arose, and he went out to try once more to finish the plowing. But he soon came running back--

“All the fields are plowed!” he exclaimed. “I do not understand it!”

His wife and daughter stared in amazement. And then Bridd remembered her words the night before. “Tûkka!” she exclaimed.

Her parents looked at her, puzzled at her words, so she recounted what had happened. “I had thought perhaps I dreamed it all--but now, I think not!”

His flagging strength renewed by this amazing event, the farmer and his wife and daughter immediately set to with the planting. They could not, of course, finish it all in one day, yet the next morning, they found that what they had not done had been completed in the night.

Throughout the season, the farmer, with Bridd and his wife at his side, worked as hard as they might, yet each morn, any task they had left unfinished at evening, was found to have been done already by the dawn.

The farmer’s family was very grateful for the help of Tûkka’s small people, and after a few weeks, Bridd took to leaving food and drink outside the door. It was always gone at morn.

The crops grew more bountifully that year than ever before, and when harvest-time approached, the farmer realized he would never be able to get it all in.

“I think, Bridd,” he told his daughter, “that we may need more help than your small friend and his people may give--they are after all, quite small, and this is a great harvest.”

That night, as Bridd placed the food and drink outside the door, she looked out into the darkness. “Tûkka! Tûkka! Tûkka!” she called softly, “you have my thanks for all your help, but I do not think that you will be able to help with this much harvest!”

The next morn, as the farmer and his family were at breakfast, there came a knocking upon the door.

He rose, and went to answer. There stood a sturdy young man, and six young men behind him.

“My name sir, is Aldor, and these are my brothers. Last night, we came upon an old woman carrying a great load of firewood, and we helped her carry it to her cottage in the forest. We told her that we were wandering in search of work, and she sent us here to this place, saying that you had need of help with your harvest.”

The farmer nodded sadly, “So I have, but I have no coin with which to pay wages.”

The young man looked at his brothers, and then back at the farmer. “We would be glad to work for our board, and for a place to sleep in your stable. Our old master, a merchant, turned us out without our wages, for he found workers who would take less than we. And the only other person we have spoken to was a warrior, who disdained us as we are not fighting men.”

And so it was agreed, and the seven brothers were hard workers indeed, and soon the harvest was well and truly in. The farm became indeed the most prosperous in the area, and word began to spread of how profitable the farm had become.

One day, as the farmer and his workers were repairing a fence, there came the sound of horses and waggons. The farmer looked up the road to see a well appointed wain, and in it rode his oldest daughter and her husband.

He and his wife and Bridd were overjoyed to see them, but when they stopped and alighted from their seats, she embraced them rather formally. Her husband looked about him with a calculating eye.

As they yet stood in by the road, they heard the sound of horses, and looking up, they saw their second daughter and her husband, at the head of an é ored of riders. The warrior signaled for his men to wait, and the two of them rode forward. They looked at the elder sister and her husband in dismay, as they dismounted.

The husband of the older daughter puffed himself up, and addressed the farmer. “We have been thinking of you lately, Father and Mother,” he said in an oily voice. “And it seems to me that you are getting on in years, and perhaps keeping up the farm is too much for you. And my sister-in-law is yet unwed. We offer you all a home with us. We will put someone in charge of the farm, and I have a cousin who has been looking for a wife…”

At this, the farmer and his wife looked dismayed, but before they could say anything, the warrior spoke up. “Nay! I say they should come with us!”

Soon the new arrivals were arguing in the road, and poor Bridd watched in distress at the quarreling. “Oh, Tûkka! Tûkka! Tûkka!” she exclaimed sadly to herself, “if only there were something you could do about this! I have no wish to leave my home, nor to see my parents living on the charity of my brothers-in-law! But alas, I think this may be beyond you.”

Just then, she heard a sound like a bird, as of a thrush’s song, and the next thing she knew, Tûkka stood by her side. The quarreling stopped as all of the people stared at him in amazement.

Finally the warrior found his voice. “Who and what is this little manikin?” he said in a haughty tone.

Tûkka gave another call, and soon all were surrounded by the little people, and from a copse of trees beyond the road, came an old woman. She walked over and stood by Tû kka’s side. She stared at the merchant and his wife, and at the warrior and his wife. “What is all this uproar?” she said sternly. “You row in the roadway like greedy children!”

The merchant’s face went red. “And who are *you*, old woman, to take us to task? You have no authority here!”

“Do I not?” she asked. And her voice no longer sounded old, yet neither did it sound young--rather it sounded like a fresh wind off the plain after a thunderstorm. The air about her shimmered, and there stood before them a tall women of unearthly beauty. She seemed to glow. The merchant and the warrior cowered before her. She turned her glance upon their wives. “You are your parent’s daughters! It is time that you acted like it!” she said sternly. They turned very pale, and then a flush of shame spread over their faces. They looked at their parents, abashed.

And suddenly, the strange woman shrank down, until she was no taller than Tûkka. She stood beside him, and took his hand, and looked upon him fondly.

Tûkka looked up at the others. “Bridd’s family is under my protection and that of my people,” he said, “and you will do well to remember that!”

And then in the blinking of an eye, they were gone.

All gaped for a moment, and then the merchant blinked. “This changes nothing!” he said. “It’s for the best if they come with us!”

His wife turned and looked him in the eye. “I think not, husband, if they’ve no wish to! If you insist on this, then I suppose I shall have to tell the Guild Master of your habit of putting your thumb on the scales when you are weighing out your coin!”

He gaped at her for a moment, and then swallowed, and nodded.

The warrior chuckled, and said “Well, I suppose that means they must come with us…”

But his wife shook her head, and then smiled at him. “How would your men feel if they knew that their mighty leader is deathly afraid of spiders?”

He blanched. “Very well, wife,” he said meekly.

“Now,” said the oldest daughter, “let us have a proper visit with our family!”

And into the cottage they went, but as Bridd started to go, Aldor stopped her. “Bridd, if you would have me, I will wed with you, and I will stay upon this farm with my brothers, and we will take care of your parents in their own home for the rest of their days.”

And so it was, and Bridd and Aldor were happy together, and her sisters visited more often than they had before, their eyes opened to their shameful neglect. And their husbands soon grew used to the new way of things.

And Bridd had no more need to call upon Tû kka, yet one day, she went out to the path where first she had found him. “Tûkka, Tûkka, Tûkka!” she called softly.

And the next thing she knew, he stood beside her. “Do you need my help once more, Bridd?” he asked.

“Nay,” she said, “for I’ve all I ever wanted. Yet I would that you would meet someone.” And she held down a bundle she carried, and, lo! It was a babe. “Here is my son. Without the help of you and your lady, he would never have been born.”

And Tûkka smiled, and placed kiss upon the babe’s brow, and vanished once more.

Bertade’s voice had ceased, and she watched as her grandson translated the last few words. She reached up, and gave him a proud pat on the arm.

He smiled at her, and said "Ic þancie þe, Ieldracennicge"*

The hobbits were all staring at one another in amazement.

“Tûkka?” said Berilac.

“I know,” said Freddy. “It’s almost unbelievable.” He wondered what Pippin would say when he heard this tale.

And then Merewen announced that the food was ready to be served, and strange tales were put aside for the moment.

But not forgotten.

________________________________

*My thanks to Marta and to Rhapsody on the SoA e-list for their help with the “Rohirric”.

CHAPTER 35

The travellers stayed with Beorhthelm’s family for two more days, except for Leodwald, who had left immediately after they all had dined the day they arrived. The family made sure they had plenty of provisions, and were sorely sorry to see them all finally leave.

But it was time to get back on the road, as all realized they had been delayed long enough.

Freddy was glad to be once more on the way. They would be nearing the Gap of Rohan in only a week, and it would be another five or six days beyond that until they arrived at Edoras. Soon he would be doing what he had left the Shire to do: represent his people before the Kings of the South. He was thinking over the various things he had gleaned, from Merry, Pippin, Frodo, and from the Men with whom he travelled. Frodo had been quite confident that Éomer would be fair and just with Clovis and Cado, and that he would find a punishment worthy of their treachery while yet being something that hobbits could live with. They had felt equally certain of the justice that Clodio and Dago would find before King Elessar. He glanced over at the various prisoners. Clodio was riding with Danulf today. They never allowed Clovis or Cado to ride with the Man they had injured.

Clodio slumped before the Man, feeling wearier than ever. The stop at the homestead of that farming family had been a pleasant respite, and he was sorry they were on the way again. He felt heavily that every step forward was taking him to a fate he could not begin to understand. While travelling with these Men had shown him that they were not the sort of stupid and brutish Ruffians that Lotho had dealt with, he still found himself rather appalled at the ease with which they carried their weapons, and their rather light talk of battles and killing they’d seen. This Man he rode with was the one his sons had struck down. Would he demand some sort of harsh penalty for the injury they had caused him?

Why on earth had Clovis thought his rash action would be of help? Clodio sighed. He knew that it was Clovis who’d initiated the vandalism, who had thrown the stone that struck the Man. Cado never thought of things like that on his own. But he’d never gainsaid his brother, either.

Not until now. Not until it was too late to help.

He felt a deep despair come over him. Clovis had been only too willing to run off with Dago and leave his father and brother behind. His older son thought of himself even before ties of family--something that ran counter to hobbit nature.said a small voice in his head, one he had not heard in many years before he found himself on this horrible journey. But since leaving the Shire he’d heard it more and more.

And where did he come by such an attitude?There was no turning off that voice now. It was true. Clodio had always found himself jealous of his younger sister; she had an easy way with people that he’d envied. And then she’d attached herself to Paladin Took. At the time, Clodio had thought her a fool--most hobbits at that time still thought Ferumbras would probably wed and sire an heir, and Paladin, while prosperous would be nought more than a farmer--though one with the Took name. Time had proven him wrong, and Paladin *had* become Thain, but what had raised Clodio’s hackles was the knowledge that to Eglantine that had never even entered the equation. She’d never cared about her husband’s position.

Where did he learn his contempt for his aunt, and his cousin? And how far is that from contempt for his own father and brother?

He had himself thought to court Primrose Took. She was several years older than he, but still very attractive. It would have brought him into the Took family, after all. But she seemed not to understand his hints, and he couldn’t bring himself to be bolder, and press his courtship. He was already in love with Beryl, and finally had admitted to himself that he could not see himself truly wed with another.

And yet, when he and Beryl *had* wed, he’d often wondered--if it had not been for her, perhaps he *could* have married into the Thain’s family, and he sometimes found himself resenting her.

He realized now how appallingly he’d treated her over the years. It was no wonder she had not chosen to accompany him into exile. The truth was, she was better off without him.No, no he couldn’t blame her. He’d no life left now. He glanced over to where his younger son was riding with Borondir. Perhaps Cado would not be punished as harshly as Clovis; after all, he had not attempted escape.

Yes, she is. And do you blame her?

He glanced further up the line to where Fredegar Bolger and Berilac Brandybuck rode close to the captains. He wondered what they were talking about.

“How long, Éothain, will it take Leodwald to reach the King?” Freddy asked.

“He will ride swiftly, though I do not believe he will ride without stopping. Still he should be there within three to four days. As he left two days ago, he could be there as soon as tomorrow. But it will take us at least another ten days to arrive.”

Freddy was quiet for a few moments, and then asked, “What do you think the King will do with--with the two younger ones?”

Éothain’s brows arched in surprise. If he were not mistaken, it sounded as though Master Fredegar had been about to speak their names. But he did not say anything about that, instead replying, “I do not know the exact penalty he will seek. But he will set a weregild. It will be a greater amount than would be usual, since Danulf was on an official embassy, and was representing his King.”

Freddy looked troubled. “But those two have no money. They are still not of age, and all their father’s property was forfeit to the remaining Bankses, since he was Banished.”

Éothain nodded. “That is sometimes the case. If an offender has no money or property to recompense his victim, he is usually sentenced to a period of servitude. In the case of a murder, it could be the rest of his life, but in a case of injury, it depends on the circumstances. Danulf recovered quickly, and normally I should say his attackers would only have to serve a year or less. But as I said, their offense was also against the King. It could be a good deal longer.”

“What kind of servitude?” asked Freddy. He’d heard of slavery--how the Men of the far off lands to the South and East would sometimes buy and sell other people.

“As a rule the offender spends the time doing menial tasks. He is not confined nor chained as long as there are no attempts to escape.”

“And if there are?”

“Then measures are taken to ensure that the lawbreaker cannot do so.”

Freddy looked thoughtful, and fell silent.

Berilac had been silent, listening to Freddy and É othain, and he knew that Freddy wondered what those measures might be, as did he. But they were hesitant to ask--not sure they wanted to know the reasons. And Berilac knew also why Freddy did not ask. He was sure his friend was remembering his time in the Lockholes. No hobbit should ever have to be locked up that way, away from sunlight and fresh air and other hobbits. Both of them dreaded the idea that might be the fate in store for the captives. And yet they deserved to be punished.

He sighed. Life had been much easier when all the Shirefolk had to do was banish their wrongdoers. But as Frodo, Merry and Pippin had frequently pointed out, all that did was foist their problems on the rest of the world.

Dropping back, he let himself fall alongside Mistress Poppy and Viola. Viola favored him with a dimpled smile, and he put aside his thoughts of what might happen to the prisoners. The two rode side by side, in a happy silence, observed with fond amusement by Viola’s mistress.

Mistress Poppy shook her head, and chuckled. More and more, she was pleased with the idea that her apprentice looked to be making a match with young Berilac. While it was unusual for healers to wed, it was not unheard of. Her dear friend Lavender Bunce had a very happy marriage. And Berilac was a Brandybuck, a clan well-known for thinking things through and making very thorough plans. True, they also had a reputation for wildness, but some of that was overstated. Much of it simply had to do with living on the other side of the River.

She cast an eye over the rest of her travelling companions. She was keeping an eagle eye on young Bergil, for she was unsure as to how well he would do riding all day, so soon after his illness. She would not have been as worried about a young hobbit of the equivalent age, but she had noticed that Men did not seem quite so resilient as hobbits. She recalled young Peregrin telling her how surprised at the rate of his recovery the King had been. Still, so far Bergil did not seem to be faltering, and if he should show signs of weariness, she’d very soon be calling the company to a halt. Right now he was riding alongside Legolas and Gimli, laughing with them over some tale they were telling him, each of them interrupting the other with droll insults.

Further up, she glanced at the criminals, each riding with a different Man. The older brother and the one from Hardbottle were quiet and subdued, as they had been since they had failed to escape. She saw the scowls they cast from time to time at various members of the company--but the glances they shot in the Elf’s direction were filled with not only malice but fear. Once the Elf allowed himself to meet the eyes of the one from Hardbottle, who paled and turned away quickly. Legolas’ lips twitched in amusement, before he returned to his three way conversation with Gimli and Bergil.

She looked at the younger of the brothers, who rode with Anwynd today. He seemed to be more or less resigned, except when he looked at his father, when his gaze would grow troubled.

The father. He’d already been falling into melancholy before the escape attempt, and since he had realized that his older son had been perfectly willing to abandon him, he seemed to have gone from melancholy to despair. She was not happy with his pallor, and she feared that his health was deteriorating. Still, there was not much she could do about it at the moment except to watch him closely.

Her stomach gave a rumble, and she reached into her saddlebag for one of the cheese pastries the farm family had given them. Elevenses. She looked up at the sky. At least another hour, or maybe two, until they stopped for luncheon. How she missed a civilized meal schedule.

She caught the eye of her cousin Mosco. The two of them were doing the cooking duties today, and thanks to their stop at the farm, they would be able to put forth a fairly substantial repast for luncheon. There was a cabbage and some apples they could chop into a slaw, and bread, smoked meat and cheese to make sandwiches. Perhaps they could fry up some potatoes as well.

Mosco smiled at his Aunt Poppy. He knew she must be thinking of lunch.

He had to admit, it wasn’t far from his mind as well. They spoken briefly at breakfast, so he knew they’d be making slaw and sandwiches. Perhaps they could fry some taters, too. And there was a box of eggs packed in straw. Maybe they could boil some--after all, they would not keep forever in this heat. He wondered when the captains would call a halt for lunch.

Targon and Éothain exchanged a look. They had noticed most of the hobbits taking food from their saddlebags.

“ ‘Elevenses’!” chuckled Éothain.

Targon smiled. “It’s still a bit early to stop.” He glanced at the sky. “Another hour of riding I think, and then we will halt for luncheon.”

Éothain nodded. “That sounds like a good plan.”

The Gondorian looked at his companion. “Do you really think that Leodwald will arrive so soon in Edoras?”

“Yes, I do. He should already be through the Gap of Rohan by now.”

____________________________________________

Leodwald pulled up, and gave his mount a fond pat on the neck. “You’ve done well, Grishild. The Gap is behind us now--do you know, I think you may sleep in a stable at Meduseld ere sunset tomorrow.

CHAPTER 36

Three days later, the group was approaching the Fords of Isen. As the River drew into view, they slowed. Targon and the Gondorians drew back, and Anwynd, who now bore the standard of Rohan moved to the front. Éothain gestured, and Freddy and Berilac came up to ride beside him. The young captain had explained this the night before: they would be crossing the Fords to enter Rohan.

Freddy was pale, but he was managing to keep his trepidation under control. Berilac looked at him, concerned. “Are you all right, Freddy?” he asked.

“I rather have to be, don’t I?” was the wry reply. “I didn’t have anything to eat this morning but dry bread and ginger tea. I don’t believe I will disgrace myself.” But his knuckles were white on his pony’s reins.

Beri drew a deep breath in sympathy, but all he said was “At least you know how to keep afloat now.” He spoke lightly and smiled at Freddy.

Freddy raised an eyebrow. “You are quite right, I do! But pardon me if I try *not* to fall in and put your lessons to the test.”

It wasn’t much of a joke, but it reassured his companion.

There on the near side of the Ford were two guards. Éothain called the company to a halt, and then he alone rode forward to speak to the guards.

It was too far for the hobbits to hear much of what was said, but it would have made little difference, as the few words they did hear were Rohirric. After a few moments, Éothain gestured once more, and they all rode forward towards the Ford.

Freddy felt a bit light-headed, and it was with gratitude that he noticed Legolas and Gimli ride up to his other side. He concentrated on his pony, as it entered the water.

The Fords here really were very shallow; the water scarcely came above his pony’s hocks, and it should have been reassuring. After all, he’d played in puddles as deep as this as a child. But the back of his mind kept reminding him this was not a puddle, but part of a swift-running river. He swallowed and ignored it, fixing his gaze on the other side, where more Rohirric guards and a small campsite awaited. Curiously he noticed to his right, in the middle of the River a tiny island, an eyot, no more, on which was a mound, and above which flew the standard of Rohan, whipping in the wind.

And then he was once more on solid ground, and he felt his world coming back to him.

“Good show, Freddy,” Beri muttered.

“You did well, my friend,” said Legolas.

Freddy shot them grateful looks, and then felt a brief moment of pride. He’d done it. He had ridden across a ford, on his own. And while it had been difficult, it had not been as bad as he had feared.

The four guards on that side of the Fords came forward, and once more Éothain spoke with them in their own tongue. He led one of them forward. “This is Yric, son of Wulfgar, who commands this outpost. Yric, this is Fredegar Odovocar’s son, and Berilac Merimac’s son, close kin to the Ringbearer and to our Holdwine Meriadoc and to Sir Peregrin of the Tower Guard.”

Yric bowed. “It is an honor to meet you,” he said, in accented Westron. His eyes had grown wide at the sight of the hobbits, and at the introductions.

Freddy and Beri bowed from their ponies’ backs. “At your service and your family’s,” they replied.

Yric looked up at Éothain. “Will you be staying to make camp with us tonight, my lord?”

Éothain nodded, and Yric turned to give brisk orders to the others. At a signal from Éothain, the company dismounted, and preparations to set up camp began.

Targon, who had been with Éothain when they had stopped here on the journey north, came forward. “It is a bit early to be stopping for the day,” he said.

“It is. But this is the best place to camp tonight.”

The Gondorian nodded. They were on the soil of Rohan now, and that meant É othain was now in charge.

With practiced ease, the travellers soon had their own campsite set up next to that of the guards. Rolly and Denny were in charge of the meals that day, and somewhat diffidently asked Éothain if he thought the other Rohirrim who were there would like to join them for the evening meal.

Since the smells emanating from the hobbits’ cookfire were enticing, Yric and his Men accepted the invitation eagerly.

Of the six guards stationed there--including the two who had been on the other side of the Fords when they crossed, only Yric spoke Westron. But he conveyed their thanks as they sat among the group, enjoying the thick stew, grilled bread, and dumplings made of dried fruit.

They spoke companionably, Éothain translating for the hobbits and the Rohirrim, and Rolly and Denny were smugly pleased at the compliments they received on their cooking.

When the meal was finished, and Bergil had cleaned everything up, Éothain stood, and looked towards the Entwash, and the tiny islet in the river. He bit his lip, and turned to his companions. “I am going to pay my respects to the Prince. Any there are who would, may accompany me.”

At once the Anwynd and Danulf stood, nodding. The Rohirrim went over to the pickets to get their horses. Legolas and Gimli stood up as well, as did the Gondorians.

Éothain had a brief word with Yric, giving orders that his Men keep an eye on the prisoners.

The hobbits looked curiously at their companions. “The Prince?” asked Berilac. Freddy was eyeing the river apprehensively.

Targon nodded. “Yes, Théodred, son of King Théoden was slain here in battle, and here he lies.” He nodded towards the eyot.

Freddy looked troubled. He felt that as leader of the delegation, it would be only right to offer his respect; yet he was not sure he could face the river again. Targon noticed his discomfort.

“Master Fredegar, rather than getting the ponies again, I am sure that any of you hobbits who wish to do so may ride with us Men.”

Freddy nodded gratefully. In the end, Freddy, Beri, Mosco and Jolly decided to go, and each of them were lifted into the saddles before the Men. Freddy sat before Targon, and felt himself quite secure. Following the Rohirrim, the others came behind, and they passed into the Fords.

The eyot was almost like a stony little hillock in the middle of the water, and after the horses stepped onto the island, they all dismounted.

The Gondorians and the hobbits stood respectfully, as the Rohirrim moved closer to the mound, and as one, gave a warrior’s salute of a fist to the heart.

In a low voice Éothain began to speak. “It was a trap of course. We all should have realized it was a trap when Wormtongue did not speak against the expedition. It was not so much a battle, as it was an assassination. Saruman had managed to keep secret the extent of his forces, and allowed Théodred’s scouts to see only so much as he wished them to see. Even when our Prince realized they were outmanned and outflanked, he kept his forces together, and they were retreating in good order, though much delayed by the enemy.

Finally, they gained the Fords, and Théodred and his men tried to hold the Fords for the retreat of Grimbold and his men. But disaster struck, as another force came from the east.

It soon became clear that the chief aim of the enemy was to kill the King’s son. Grimbold could see the axe-men of the Dunlendings driving Théodred’s from the shores of the eyot towards the low knoll in its centre, and he heard Théodred’s great voice crying “To me Eorlingas!” At once Grimbold, taking a few men that stood near him, ran back to the eyot. So fierce was his onset from the rear of the attackers that Grimbold, a man of great strength and stature, clove his way through, till with two others he reached Théodred standing at bay on the knoll. Too late. As he came to his side Théodred fell, hewn down by a great Orc-man. Grimbold slew him and stood over the body of Théodred, thinking him dead; and there he himself would have been slain but for the coming of Elfhelm.

It was the turn of the Isengarders to be surprised. Elfhelm had been riding in haste, leading four companies, headed for Helm's Deep.  But the reports of his outriders that two wolf-riders had been seen caused him to turn aside to the Fords. It was well he had done so. Elfhelm’s arrival put them to rout, and alongside Grimbold, he fought two Dunlending warriors to save Théodred’s body. One Elfhelm at once slew, and the other fell before Grimbold.

They stooped then to lift the body, and found that Théodred still breathed; but he lived only long enough to speak his last words;  "Let me lie here--to keep the Fords till Éomer comes!" Night fell. A harsh horn sounded, and then all was silent. As Théodred was at last slain, Saruman’s commander (no doubt under orders) seemed satisfied for the time being.*  The wizard's forces withdrew."

Éothain fell briefly silent, and the hobbits stood looking at the mound, with the banner flying out proudly, and thought of the sacrifice of the proud and brave Man who was buried there. Freddy thought with a shudder of all that Sharkey--Saruman, that was--had done in the world before he had come to inflict himself on the Shire. Tears stung his eyes, and it came to him once more how protected the Shire had been, not only by Rangers at its borders, but by these Men far in the South, who had been fighting the evil for so many generations.

He’d known all along what the Ring had meant, from the first time Merry had told him of Gandalf’s news. He’d known that to keep the Shire safe, it had been necessary for Frodo to leave. He’d never expected to see his friends again, once they had vanished into the Old Forest, and doubly so once the Black Riders had shown up at Crickhollow. But now, it truly began to dawn on him: Frodo, and Sam, had saved the *world*. Not just the Shire--the *world*! Because of Frodo, this land they now were going to visit was also free and safe, and the sacrifices of people like this brave Prince could have meaning.

Éothain sighed, and then drew himself up with a deep breath. “Deep was Éomer’s anger when he heard of his cousin’s death, and he pled with his uncle to ride out with our éored and avenge Théodred’s death. But Wormtongue’s poisonous treachery held sway, and there was no pursuit. I later heard the account of Théodred’s last stand from Grimbold himself.”

They stood for a few moments in silence, and then they mounted up, and returned to the campsite.

__________________________________________

* Quotations in italics are from Unfinished Tales Part Three, “The Third Age”, Chapter V, “The Battles of the Fords of Isen”

CHAPTER 37

The next morning as the hobbits were preparing a breakfast--it was Freddy and Jolly’s turn to cook--they noticed a rider they had not seen before come into the camp and speak to Yric. Yric summoned Éothain and Targon to listen to the rider’s words, and then Éothain called out:

“Master Fredegar! A word with you please?”

Curious, Freddy left Jolly to see to the sausages and griddlecakes, and went over to see what they wanted.

Éothain said “This rider has just come from Orthanc. It seems as if somehow word of your presence has come to the Ents--the Tree-shepherds. It seems that Treebeard himself would like to see you. He will be arriving in only a very short while. He thought it well that you had some warning of his coming.”

Freddy gazed wide-eyed back at Éothain. “An Ent? One of the tree-people who gave Merry and Pippin the draught that made them grow?”

“Yes, Master Fredegar. They are an amazing sight.”

“How did he know we were here?”

“We have probably been observed from the time we approached near to the Fords. From a distance, we would never know an Ent from another tree.”

Freddy went back to the cookfire, to help Jolly finish making breakfast, and as the hobbits ate, he gave them the news. There was a good deal of excitement and trepidation among them.

The meal had been consumed, and Bergil had only just finished clearing up after, when there came an expectant silence at the sound of a distant rumble.

Poppy gazed at the sight that met her eyes. So *that* was an Ent! Amazing, in spite of the description she had from Peregrin Took, they looked nothing like she had imagined.

Striding with great long steps, that seemed to move *through* the very earth came a great being. It seemed to be singing or humming to itself--they could hear its deep voice--”Hoom! Hmm!” It was huge: fourteen feet tall at the very least. And while from a very great distance it might have passed as a tree, seen as it drew closer, it was clearly nothing of the sort. And its eyes were intelligent and penetrating--brown, shot with a green light, and as full of ancient wisdom as Elves’ eyes.

He stopped at the edge of the campsite, and all, Men and hobbits alike, gazed up at him in respectful awe. “Hoom! Hmm! Hungry as hunters, the Hobbit children, the laughing folk, the little people!" He turned his gaze upon them, and the deep eyes seemed filled with both amusement and fond respect. “I was most pleased to hear I would have a chance to see some of the kinfolk of my small friends, Merry and Pippin!”

Freddy stepped forward, prepared to introduce his party to this ancient being when they were suddenly stopped by a strangled cry from the direction of the tents.

“Help!”

Turning, they saw that Clodio had apparently fallen in a swoon. It was Cado who had called out. Poppy and Viola immediately ran to the older hobbit’s side.

He was already beginning to recover from his faint, but he was pale and clammy. Poppy reached for his wrist, to take his pulse. She bit her lip, and then took off her pendulum. She held it over him, and after a brief moment of studying its patterns, she turned to Viola. “Viola--bring me the tincture of foxglove. Also a small amount of willow-bark powder…”

Cado sat looking worried. “What is wrong with my father?”

Poppy looked at him as though she would prefer not to answer, but she did not hesitate to say, “It is possible he’s had a small seizure of the heart. It does not appear to have been a serious one, but we should dose him, and he should rest for a few hours.”

She looked at her patient. “Do you have any pain?”

He shook his head, and answered in a whisper. “No, only as though I couldn’t breathe. I felt as though a great weight was upon me. That-that creature--what is that monster?” His breath caught in his throat.

Éothain and Targon stood over them. “That is no monster. He is an Ent, the chief of the Ents of Fangorn, and a good friend to the free peoples of the world,” said Éothain.

Clodio gazed in the Ent’s direction, and giving a little moan, averted his gaze. Poppy nodded to Éothain, who picked Clodio up, and carried him back into the tent. Viola came rushing back with the items her mistress had sent her for, and the two healers went into the tent to attend their patient. Cado, with a fearful glance at some of the Men, turned and followed. Dago and Clovis stared apprehensively, but made no move.

Freddy looked up at Treebeard, who had been watching all this with an unfathomable expression in his dark eyes. “I am sorry,” said the hobbit, “for this interruption.” But his own gaze was worried as he too glanced over at the tent.

The Ent blinked slowly. “Hoom-hum,” he said. “I think it is I who should apologize. It seems to me as though he was stricken by my appearance.”

Freddy could not deny this. “Perhaps,” he replied. “But I do not think he had any need for fear.” He cast one more glance at the tent, and then shook his head. Mistress Poppy was a good healer, and whatever was wrong with the elder Banks, he was certain she could handle it. He cast his gaze up at Treebeard once more. “I was charged with messages to you, should I encounter you on this journey--messages of greetings from my cousins Pippin and Merry.”

“Indeed! Har-room!” The Ent made a rumbling noise which Freddy realized must be laughter. “And what do my small friends have to say for themselves?”

Freddy delivered Merry’s and Pippin’s greetings, and soon was cautiously joined by the other hobbits of the delegation. Mosco, Rolly and Denny rather kept in the background, but Beri and Jolly were not so cautious, once they had noted the being’s friendliness towards Freddy.

They had been listening in some fascination for a while to Treebeard’s slow sonorous words, as he told of his encounter in Fangorn with the two hobbits--his first inkling that such creatures existed in the world. It was the first that Mosco, Rolly and Denny had heard about it, save in passing reference, and they slowly approached closer and closer as the Ent spoke. Freddy and Beri had heard about it from Merry, of course, and Jolly had heard some of it from Sam, but not in the sort of detail as they heard now. It was an eye-opener for all of them, to hear of this first encounter between Ent-kind and hobbit-kind.

Still, as amazing as it was to speak to this creature, immeasurably old and wise, Freddy could not help but cast glances from time to time at the tent, and wonder what was unfolding there. He hoped that the prisoner was not so ill as to cause them another major delay--not when they were so close to their destination.

However, soon he saw Mistress Poppy come out of the tent and approach them.

“How is he?” asked Freddy.

She sighed. “I thought at first it was a seizure of the heart, but now I think it was somewhat less than that--his heart has been strained, however, by all that has happened. It is gradually failing him. However, with caution, he should be all right. I do not anticipate more than a day‘s delay.” She looked up at the Ent with a bright and curious eye. “Fredegar, I do not believe you have yet had a chance to introduce me to this remarkable person.”

Freddy shook his head in both relief and amusement. “Treebeard, this is Mistress Poppy Burrows, a healer of the Shire. Mistress Poppy, this is Treebeard, the Master of Fangorn Forest, and a friend of Merry and Pippin.”

She looked up at him astutely. “I am *very* pleased to meet you. I have a number of questions for you.”

The Ent rumbled deep in his chest, and replied “I am pleased also to meet you, harroom! I will be glad to answer any questions that I am able to answer, though the answers may be very long and tiring to listen to.”

“I do not think so.” She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I’d like to talk to you about a certain draught that you gave to our lads when they met you.”

Freddy looked shocked, and Mosco hissed “Aunt Poppy!” but she ignored them.

There was a long silence, and then it seemed that Treebeard bent ever so slightly. “I shall be glad to tell you what I can, though the answer may not be what you wish to hear.” He looked at the other hobbits. “May I speak with her alone?”

Freddy swallowed and nodded. He hoped the being would not be offended by the blunt little healer’s prying; yet he could not blame her for asking--to learn about this sort of thing was exactly why Poppy Burrows had made this journey, after all. He gestured to the others and they walked away, though Mosco seemed a bit reluctant.

When the other hobbits were out of earshot, Poppy repeated her question, adding “Pippin told me that their remarkable growth and their quickness in healing after their injuries was due to the draught you gave them. Could it not be beneficial to others?”

“Hoom-hararum! Little Mistress, it is true that my draughts had a great effect upon Merry and Pippin, but I must tell you that it was exceptional. Our draughts were never meant for beings such as yourselves, and I did not realize what would happen. Yet there was more to it than just the Ent-draughts. Our small friends had also been eating of the waybread of the Elves, lembas, and they had bathed directly in the waters of the Ent-wash as well. Furthermore, the draught of which they partook was of a special vintage no longer possible, for it was brewed long ago. I am sorry to dash your hopes.”

She sighed. “I was afraid of something like that. Still, I had to know.”

“Merry and Pippin had tasks to fulfill. There was more than chance that led them to me in Fangorn, and more than chance that brought together all the circumstances that made the Ent-draught so effective for them.”

“So, then, I don’t suppose that a bit of your draught would cure my patient after all.”

Again there was a deep rumble, and Treebeard said “While Ent-draught would no doubt be beneficial to him, it would not completely cure him. And I am afraid I have none with me--it is deep within the forest at my home in Wellinghall-- many days journey for your people.”

There was a brief silence, and then the little healer nodded. “I do understand, but it would be nice--”

“It would,” replied the Ent. “And yet if it were so, we would be beset by mortals seeking to alleviate all their ills with our draughts, so that we’d not even have time to see to their brewing, and the trees would suffer from the hordes who would make their way into the forest.”

“I thank you for being so honest with me, Master Treebeard,” she said sadly.

_____________________________________________

Cado sat by his father, worried. Mistress Poppy and Miss Viola had said that it was not so serious as it had first seemed, still what they had to say was disturbing. His father had not had a seizure of the heart, yet his heart was failing none the less. The healer had told Clodio to worry less, to not allow himself to get agitated or distressed. And how, pray tell, was his father to do that in such circumstances as these? They faced an uncertain future in a world peopled by stranger creatures than he could begin to imagine--like that tree-like giant outside. Cado shuddered at the thought.

Clodio was sleeping now, after the draught that Mistress Poppy had given him. But Cado could not help but wonder at what she had said--that they’d be able to travel on the morrow.

He glanced across the tent, where Dago and Clovis sat. Clovis was avoiding meeting his brother’s eyes. That was another thing that had distressed his father: the way Clovis seemed to have turned his back on his father and brother, and had taken up with the Bracegirdle.

What was going to happen to them? The question loomed larger and larger, the closer they came to the destination of Edoras. Now they were only about five or six days from there, from what he had overheard the captains saying to Freddy Bolger and Berilac Brandybuck.

Cado shuddered again. He felt as though he had a lump of lead in his stomach, that was just getting heavier and heavier.

___________________________________________________

After Treebeard had taken his leave, Éothain and Targon spoke to Mistress Poppy.

“Are you certain that he will be able to travel tomorrow?” asked Éothain.

“Yes, he should be able to do so. We may have to stop and rest more often than usual, but I don’t think we will have any other problems.”

“Well,” said Targon, “I had hoped to be on our way today. Still, if it is as you say, we should not be long delayed.”

Mistress Poppy nodded. “I do think that it is as well for him that we reach our destination. I think that an end to journeying for a while will be beneficial to him.”

_____________________________________________

Freddy had been thinking it over for a while. In the Shire, the custom of pretending banished people did not exist any longer was not very difficult to follow. One simply did not speak of them, or, if circumstances made it necessary, one did not refer to them by name.

But travelling with these four had been difficult, and ignoring them did not help matters. The elder Banks might not have collapsed if he’d had some idea ahead of time what sort of creature he might see. And if they had been speaking to the prisoners from time to time, perhaps Bracegirdle and Clovis would not have tried to escape--although he doubted that. He’d spoken to Clodio and Cado then. He could not, in justice, do less than that now.

Clodio had been resting fitfully through the day under the influence of Mistress Poppy’s draughts, but he was more awake now, as he sipped the broth which Viola had brought to him. She took his pulse, and dangled her pendulum over him, and with a nod to Freddy went off to report to her mistress. Cado still remained by his father’s side, but when Freddy approached, he stood up and moved away slightly. Freddy sat down by Clodio’s pallet.

The elder Banks looked at him in surprise. Freddy gave him a nod.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked, in as neutral a voice as he could manage.

Clodio nodded warily, but did not speak. He knew that the protocol was being broken here, but he did not wish for Freddy to leave without saying whatever it was he’d come to say.

“Perhaps we should have told you what to expect this morning. I apologize that no one thought to do so. The creature that you saw here this morning was no dreadful monster, but was a friend to Merry and Pippin when they were caught up here in a dreadful war. He took care of them for a while, and was of help in defeating the evil wizard Saruman. Saruman, as you may or may not know, was Sharkey’s real name.”

“I--I’d overheard a little of that. But I didn’t really believe it could have happened that way…” Clodio’s reply was barely a whisper.

“Well, now you know that the truth is even stranger than you could have imagined.” Freddy stood up, and before he left the tent, turned and spoke to Cado. “You and your father should get plenty of rest tonight. We will be on the road again in the morning. If it looks likely that we are going to encounter anything else out of the way, I will see that you are informed ahead of time.” He nodded once more, a bit curtly, and left.

“He spoke to us, father,” said Cado, as he stared at the tent’s flap.

“I know.” Clodio’s voice was puzzled and disturbed.

CHAPTER 38

The next morning the company prepared to start rather earlier than usual. There was no need to worry about the campsite--Yric and his Men would deal with that.

Clodio was riding with Danulf that day. Mistress Poppy would make it a point to ride nearby, so that she could keep an eye on him, and call a halt whenever she deemed it necessary for him to rest.

The land around them had changed greatly. They had left far behind the rocky foothills of the Misty Mountains, and were passing south along the West Emnet. Berilac looked around with interest at the wide grassy plains that stretched before him, covered with lush grass, and dotted here and there with the odd copse of trees. There were a number of small streamlets--in a season of rainy weather, he deemed that it could become fen-like and marshy--but right now, all the little brooks flowed neatly within their banks. To the east of their course could the occasional steading be spied in the far distance, but their journey did not take them near any of those habitations.

It was a wide land, opening out beneath an immense sky of the clearest blue, and one could see for miles. Berilac could easily imagine how much this sort of land would be suited the herds of the Rohirrim. A horse or a pony could gallop to its heart’s content. He remembered hearing Merry wax poetic about Rohan, and he began to understand how this land had stolen his cousin’s heart.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Freddy, riding up alongside him.

“It is,” replied Beri. “I think I understand why Merry came to love it so much.”

“I think that it was the people and the friends he made here, though, more than anything else.”

Beri nodded. “I know that he often speaks of the Lady Éowyn in the fondest terms. He calls her ‘sister’, you know.”

“Well, by the customs of these people, they are rather like adopted brother and sister, for as you know, they went to battle together, which apparently made her his ‘sword-sister’ and he is her ‘shield-brother‘.”

Beri agreed with this; he’d heard Merry on the subject before.

They travelled more slowly than they had been--Mistress Poppy insisted on stopping every couple of hours, to allow Clodio to rest a bit, and so that she could check on him. He was pale and wan, but seemed to be holding up well enough.

When they stopped for luncheon, Viola called to Berilac--they were preparing the meals together that day--and Beri started the fire, while Viola saw to making tea and the two of them took meat, cheese and bread from the stores. After everyone had eaten their fill, and Bergil was cleaning up, the two of them strolled together a little ways from the rest. Mistress Poppy was adamant that the company take longer at mid-day to have a respite from riding, and from the summer warmth.

“Look!” said Viola. Her sharp healer’s eye, always on the lookout for herbs and other useful plants, had been caught by a patch somewhat greener and wider-leaved than the waving grasses, growing near one of the many tiny streams that ran through the emnet.

“Sorrel!” said Berilac. He grinned at her. “Perhaps we could have salad at supper this evening.

They returned with armloads of not only sorrel, but also of dandelion greens, and, from near the stream, watercress. Viola carefully and loosely bundled their bounty into a cloth bag. “I hope it doesn’t wilt too much,” she said with a slight frown.

“Some of it probably will,” said Beri, “but what’s in the center may stay fresh enough. And we might be able to find some more greens between now and the time we stop.”

They managed to add a few other greens to their hoard, and when É othain finally called a halt for the evening, near a somewhat larger stream, where a small copse of trees grew, they were excited to discover a patch of salsify. The roots were tender and creamy.

There was much praise that evening for the meal: a salad of wild greens, and salsify soup, with griddlebread. It made a welcome change from the usual stews of dried vegetables and meats.

Anwynd sat back in contentment with his second dish of the soup. “I have travelled often through this part of Rohan,” he said in amazement, “and have never thought to eat anything but stale journeybread and leathery dried meat. It exercises the jaw, but does not much fill the belly.”

Gimli grinned. “An advantage of travelling with hobbits. They are very clever foragers.” He turned to Berilac and Viola, who were rather basking in the praise. “I have to say this is as good a meal as any that Sam Gamgee made for us on our journey! My father says that Bilbo was a very good forager as well, though he did not have very much opportunity to show it on their Adventure--once they entered the fastness of Mirkwood, there was little that was safe to forage.”

Legolas chuckled. “At least for those travellers who stayed upon the path!”

Targon leaned forward. “I have been curious about something, yet I did not think to ask it of the Ringbearer when we were yet in the Shire. I know that he had the Ring of his kinsman Bilbo as an inheritance, when none knew what it was. And I know that Bilbo Baggins came by it on that Adventure to Erebor. But I do not know *how* he came by such a thing!”

Berilac nodded. “It wasn’t something anyone knew about. Cousin Bilbo told the story often enough, but he always left the Ring clean out of it. I remember as a child thinking sometimes that he wasn’t telling us everything--but I never guessed what the true answer to his last riddle with Gollum was.”

“Neither did I,” said Freddy. “I remember actually, Folco asked once: ‘Cousin Bilbo, what *did* you have in your pocket that the Gollum-creature couldn’t guess?’ and Bilbo looked a bit uncomfortable, and responded ‘What do *you* think, children?’ and all of us got distracted and began making our own wild guesses.” He sighed. “I finally got the true story out of Merry and Pippin after they all returned--Frodo and Sam do not like to speak of Gollum at all…”

He pursed his lips, as he tried to remember all he’d been told. “It seems that during the Dwarves’ escape from the goblins, Bilbo had been knocked unconscious and was separated from the others…” He went on, gaining confidence as he moved into the familiar tale, including all the riddles, which most children of Bilbo’s acquaintance had by heart by the time they were in their mid-tweens. “…he finally burst through the door, leaving most of his buttons behind him.”

“It was very clever of him to ask what he had in his pockets,” said Bergil, admiringly. “And those were some very good riddles! I like the one about the fish.

Alive without breath
As cold as death,
Never thirsty, ever drinking,All in mail, never clinking. ⁽¹⁾

That’s perfect for a fish! I shall have to tell my father that one!”

Éothain laughed. “The Rohirrim have a riddle about fish, but it is far longer than that one:

My house is not quiet, I am not loud,
But for us was fashioned our fate together.
I am the swifter, at times the stronger,
My house more enduring, longer to last
At times I rest; my dwelling still runs;
Within I lodge as long as I live.
Should we two be severed, my death is sure.” ⁽²⁾

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” said Jolly. “Do your folk have many riddles?”

Danulf nodded. “Here is one I learned from my old grandfather. See if you can guess it:

I am valued by Men, fetched from afar,
Gleaned in the hill-slopes, gathered in groves,
In dale and on down. All day through the air
Wings bore me aloft, and brought me with cunning
Safe under roof. Men steeped me in vats.
Now I have power to pummel and bind,
To cast to the earth, old men and young.
Soon he shall find who reaches to seize me,
Pits force against force, that he’s flat on the ground,
Stripped of his strength if he cease not his folly,
Loud in his speech, but of power despoiled
To manage his mind, his hands or his feet.
Now ask me my name who can bind men on earth
And lay fools low in the light of day.” ⁽²⁾

The other Rohirrim laughed at this, and Berilac pondered the answer. “gathered in groves” and “lay fools low”? Cider, perhaps? He was about to make that guess when Borondir did so.

“Nay,” said Danulf, “though you are close to the mark.”

Beri looked at the other hobbits, who were also puzzling at this. No, cider would not account for “wings bore me aloft.” He was quite surprised to hear Mistress Poppy make the next guess.

“Mead,” she said, “It has to be mead!”

The Rohirrim all chuckled at this. “Indeed, little mistress,” said Anwynd, “that *is* the answer. Now, you should pose to us a riddle.”

She raised her eyebrows at this, but her dark eyes sparkled. “Very well:

A hill full, a hole full,
Yet you cannot catch a bowl full.” ⁽³⁾

Berilac caught Viola’s eye, and suppressed a chuckle. This was quite an old chestnut in the Shire.

“Dirt!” exclaimed Bergil eagerly. He looked crestfallen when Mistress Poppy shook her head.

Targon looked down at the boy, who sat at his side. “Bergil, how could you have a hole full of dirt--if it were full, it would not be a hole. And you could easily fill a bowl with dirt.”

He looked thoughtful, but then shook his head.

The Men made several guesses, but the hobbits were all grinning and telling them ‘no’. Finally Éothain threw up his hands. “Very well, we yield to you holbyltlan.”

Mistress Poppy laughed as all the hobbits chorused “Fog!” Then she added, “ ‘mist’ is also considered a good answer.”

“I believe,” said Freddy, “that we hobbits get another chance. Do you wish to pose another, Mistress Poppy?”

She shook her head. “Why don’t you ask the next one?”

Freddy thought for a moment, and then said:

“As soft as silk, as white as milk,
As bitter as gall, a strong wall,
And a green coat covers me all.” ⁽³⁾

This time Bergil’s grin was wide. “Walnut!” he exclaimed. “I heard that one from Sir Pippin!”

“It’s your turn, then, Bergil,” said Freddy good-naturedly.

The child pursed his lips in thought for a moment, and then recited:

“Sometimes I go before you, sometimes I go behind,
Your boon companion, you will find,
so long as you are walking in the light:
I follow you not into darkness or night.” 

The hobbits looked at one another, mystified. Such a solemn riddle! Yet, looking at the expectant expression on Bergil’s face, Beri was sure that the answer was something very simple.

Before any of the hobbits could answer, Éothain sat forward. “Ah! I have it! Bergil, is it my shadow?”

“Yes, it is!” Bergil was pleased that his riddle had been a hard one. “It’s your turn now, Lord Éothain.”

“This is a very old riddle in the Mark,” he said,

My beak is bent downward, I burrow below,
I grub in the ground and go as he guides,
My grey old master, foe of the forest.
Stoop-shouldered my warder walks at my back,
Fares through the field, urges and drives me,
Sows in my track as I sniff along.
Fetched from the wood, cunningly fitted,
Brought in a waggon, I have wondrous skill.
As I go my way, one side is green;
On the other side plain is my dark path.
Set through my back hangs a cunning spike,
Another fixed forward is fast to my head.
What I tear with my teeth falls to one side,
If he handles me right who is my ruler.” ⁽²⁾   

The hobbits had listened intently to this, as well as the other Men. Targon shook his head, as did Borondir and Artamir. Adrahil was standing watch. Danulf and Anwynd looked a bit smug--of course they knew the answer.

“That’s a poser, that is!” exclaimed Rolly.

Berilac was still puzzling over as much of it as he could recall. He was sure he should know the answer. Freddy was muttering and shaking his head.

“ ‘Go as he guides--go as he guides’…could you please say that again, Lord Éothain?” asked Jolly.

Éothain obligingly repeated the riddle, a bit slower this time.

Jolly’s face lit up and he looked quite like his nickname. “I know. It’s a plow!”

“Why, yes it is, Master Jolly! That was well done!”

The other hobbits all looked chagrined, for now the answer seemed obvious.

“Let us have a riddle from you, then, Master Jolly, to end the evening!”

Jolly blushed to be the center of attention, but closed his eyes, tipped his head back and took a large draw of his pipe as he thought. “Ah!” he said.

“Lives in winter,
Dies in summer,
And grows with its root upwards.” ⁽³⁾

Gimli gave a bark of laughter. “An icicle!” he said triumphantly. “And that is one for the Dwarves!”

On that note, it was time for Mistress Poppy and Viola to retreat to their small tent, while the others sought their bedrolls.

_____________________________________________

(1) From The Hobbit, Chapter V, “Riddles in the Dark”
(2) From An Anthology of Old English Poetry translated by Charles W. Kennedy
(3) Traditional nursery rhymes

CHAPTER 39

The next four days were much like the first since they had crossed into the Westfold. They travelled slowly but steadily, and stopped long enough at noon so that they could rest in the hottest part of the day for a couple of hours. On the fifth day, however, Mistress Poppy was worried about the heat, and they did not journey on after luncheon, but made camp where they were.

They had not gone far the following morning before they began to see signs of Edoras in the distance, just the Sun occasionally glinting off the golden Hall of Meduseld. Yet as much as they rode, for some reason, it did not seem they were really getting any nearer.

“There are many miles yet to go, Fredegar,“ said Éothain. “We will not arrive this day, but will camp one more night. We will not reach our destination before tomorrow around noon.

Freddy nodded his thanks for the information, and dropped back to ride alongside Berilac and Mosco. Beri kept glancing back to where Viola and Mistress Poppy rode closely alongside Artamir, who bore Clodio Banks before him. Mistress Poppy was very concerned for him.

_____________________________________________________

Viola allowed her mind to wander a bit. She was riding to the left of Artamir and Clodio, while Mistress Poppy rode on the right. In spite of the steady pace of their travel, she and Berilac had found some time to be together over the last few days.

She’d be very foolish, she thought, if she had no idea of where their friendship was going. But she still had some learning to do from Mistress Poppy; she’d never give up her determination to be a healer. Would Berilac be willing to wait for her to finish? And how would he feel about her practicing her profession? Would there even be a place for her in Buckland to do so? She knew his cousin Dodinas was training up a very competent apprentice, Thorn Mugwort. How would they feel about her turning up there?

She wished she had her sister Verbena to talk to; Verbena would understand, and always had good advice.

Berilac, riding up ahead, turned to look at her again.

And riding to her other side was Borondir, with Cado. And she was very aware that Cado Banks was watching her as well.

_________________________________________________________

Cado, secure in front of Borondir had been trying to watch his father, but his attention often wandered to the little apprentice healer who trotted at his side.

It was obvious to him, as it had become to everyone else in their company, that the two of them seemed destined to make a match. Clovis, when he deigned to say anything at all, tended to sneer at it, as one more example of how Brandybucks had all the luck. That’s what Cado himself had thought at first.

Now it just made him sad. If he had not been so stupid as to follow along with all of Clovis’ daft plans, he might have had a chance with a lass like Viola.

He noticed the Brandybuck was looking back again. He very quickly averted his gaze. He had no idea if Berilac’s temper was as volatile as Meriadoc’s, but he did not want to put it to the test.

______________________________________________________________

Freddy’s lips twitched in a smile. Berilac Brandybuck was very likely to go home betrothed, the way things were going. He was rather surprised that the shy Viola seemed to return the brash Brandybuck’s regard, but it seemed clear they were getting on well together.

They’d be arriving in Edoras soon, and he’d be able to send more letters back to the Shire. Perhaps he could write to Angelica again.

Beri was twisting around to look at Viola once more.

“So,” Freddy asked mischievously, “do you think she would like living in Buckland?”

“I hope so, I--” Berilac stopped abruptly, and blushed furiously. “Fredegar Bolger, that was hardly fair of you.”

Freddy grinned at him, and then his expression sobered a bit. “Truly, Beri, I do think that you could not do better--she is a very intelligent and attractive lass.”

Berilac smiled. “She is, that.” He tossed his head, and trotted up to ride beside her for a while.

Freddy bit his lip and rolled his eyes. He wondered what Berilac’s father would say if his son came home already betrothed.

By the time they stopped for luncheon, it finally seemed as though they were getting somewhere--Edoras did seem just a bit closer. But the plains about them did not change; they remained a seemingly never-ending sea of grass.

They kept their noontide halt this day a briefer one than the day before. Soon they mounted and rode on.

After what seemed several more hours they topped a small rise, and a few miles distant, they spotted a small copse of trees, which stood out starkly on the vast plain; they could see the glitter of water--a small stream ran through the copse.

“There,” said Éothain, “is our campsite for the night. We should be there in about an hour or so.”

The shade was very welcome, and there were still a few hours of daylight left when they reached their destination. Camp was soon set, in a practiced and efficient manner. Mistress Poppy saw to Clodio--making certain he was in the shade, with plenty of water to drink. She nodded approvingly at Cado, who helped his father to a drink. From their vantage point several yards away, where they sat trussed up, Dago and Clovis glared.

Fredegar and Mosco were seeing to supper. As they prepared the meal, several of the others decided to cool off with a swim in the nearby stream. Jolly, Rolly and Denny, Bergil, Legolas, Borondir and Anwynd were all soon splashing away. Berilac sat on the bank and watched wistfully.

“I’m surprised,” said a soft voice behind him. Viola.

He turned with a smile. “That I’m not swimming with them? It *would* be fun. But I was hoping even more for a talk with you.”

She sat down next to him. “Here I am.”

He nodded, and grinned at her, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just gazed at her until she began to flush.

She bit her lip. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

Now he blushed. “Oh. Well, I don’t really seem to remember what I was going to say.”

She wet her lips, and smiled again. His hand came over to lay atop her own, and her eyes widened, but she didn’t move her hand.

They sat and watched the others silently for a while, and then Viola said “It’s good to see that Bergil seems to have fully recovered.”

Beri nodded. “I know I was very worried for a while. But I was sure that you and Mistress Poppy knew how to take care of him.”

“He’s such a sweet lad.”

“I know. He reminds me a lot of Pippin at that age, except Bergil is far more serious.”

She did not reply to this. It distressed her to think about why such a young child would learn to be so solemn. She turned to Beri once more and their eyes locked. Beri wet his lips, and started to move toward her.

Just then there was a great splashing from the stream, as Legolas tossed Jolly from his shoulders, and Beri and Viola found themselves drenched.

“Oi!” Beri exclaimed. “Watch out!”

“My pardon!” called Legolas, with ill-concealed mirth. “I did not mean to splash you!”

“I’ll just *bet* you didn’t,” muttered Beri under his breath. He had come to understand that the Elf was sometimes possessed of a spirit of mischief quite as bad as any Took. But he could not really be angry, and Viola was grinning at him.

And then came the voice of Mistress Poppy calling from the camp--”Viola? Come along! I need your help!”

Beri stood up and offered Viola his hand, and they wandered back to camp. Mistress Poppy raised her brows at their sodden condition, and Gimli, who was doing something to the haft of a knife, chuckled.

“Don’t ask,” said Beri.

“I don’t have to,” replied the Dwarf. “I know how that Elf gets when he’s in the water. Why do you think I stayed here?”

Beri laughed outright, and went to fetch some dry clothing, more than a little disgruntled at missing an opportunity to kiss Viola. He would have to find some way to get back at Legolas. He sighed. He wished he had Merry and Pippin along--they were much better at such things. Freddy would just tell him to forget about it.

Gimli suppressed a smirk as he watched Berilac walk off. He’d seen that expression on the faces of both Merry and Pippin before. It looked like their cousin was cut from the same mold. Well, he wasn’t about to warn Legolas. This could be amusing.

Beri thought things over as he put on his dry clothing. He’d have to wait for the right opportunity, but he wouldn’t forget this. Newly dressed, he took in a deep breath of his clean shirt, smelling of the Longbottom Leaf he kept in his pack. He grinned.

He had an idea. He’d just have to wait for the right opportunity.

CHAPTER 40

The king of Rohan had completed his morning ablutions, and was prepared to go down and seek his breakfast, when there was a rap at his door.

“Enter!”

It was Bedwig, one of the many servants. “My Lord King, I was bidden to bring you news. Riders have been spotted approaching Edoras. I am to say that it appears to be Lord Éothain, returning with the embassy from the North. They should arrive at Meduseld shortly before noontide.”

Éomer smiled grimly. He had been looking forward to this meeting, and yet dreading it, ever since Leodwald had returned with the message of their delay. It would be good to meet these hobbits, kin to his Holdwine. But he was not so sure about having to pass judgement upon some of them.

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Perched in front of Borondir this morning, Cado watched the landscape fall around him with a leaden feeling in his stomach. For the first time, their destination began to loom larger and larger upon the horizon. It was much larger than Bree, and though in his heart he had known this would be so, it filled him with dread.

He looked at the gleaming roof atop the immense hill. There was the king who would decide his fate. He’d kept his ears open. He knew that these Men respected this king, that he was accounted “just” and “fair”. But he was also admired for his fierceness--he recalled the relish with which Éothain had spoken of a battle, in which this Éomer had slain many enemies. He’d described vividly the way an Orc-warrior’s head had gone flying, stricken off by Éomer’s sword. It had made Cado feel more than a little queasy. What *would* such a Man think was “just” and “fair” for his and Clovis’ stupid actions that fateful night? And yet, he knew it unlikely that they’d be executed--that had been the very reason they were being sent to Rohan instead of Gondor, where there would have been no choice in their sentence. For the first time, he wondered what their fate would have been if the guard Clovis’ stone had struck had been one of the Gondorians instead? He shuddered.

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Denny’s eyes grew wide at the sight of their destination, growing ever greater as they rode closer. This was Edoras, where they were to meet Mr. Merry’s King! What would a king be like? he wondered, and not for the first time. But for the first time he truly pondered the question. He glanced over at Lord Éothain. The King was his first cousin on the King’s father’s side, though it was through his mother the King's sister, he’d become King. Rolly had paid very close attention to such details. He remembered Mr. Merry telling him that Men didn’t set as much store to cousinship as Hobbits did, but it seemed to him that blood would tell. And, as the saying in Buckland went, blood’s a good deal thicker than water. And Lord Éothain was a right nice fellow.

As to looks, well, all the Men from Rohan seemed to favor one another, with that yellow hair worn long, and them great yellow beards. He supposed the King would look much the same, only maybe grander. And he heard tell the King was a year younger than Mr. Pippin, though that didn’t signify much. After all, young Bergil was eleven, and saving for his height, he looked more like a hobbit-lad of seventeen! All these Men were much younger than he’d ever’ve taken them for.

He glanced down at himself. He’d dressed a bit finer than usual today--all the hobbits had, what with arriving there. He hoped he’d prove a credit to his family, and Denny, too. They had a lot to live up to--and a lot to live down, as well, with them others what had disgraced their name being along. He cast a surreptitious look at Clodio. The old fellow weren’t looking too well. This being banished hadn’t done him much good.

Too bad. He should’ve thought of that before he disgraced the family.

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Mistress Poppy’s eyes grew round as she began to realize the size of their destination. She could see afar the glint of water--a stream, or river, or some such. And there beyond the water rose a mighty dike, topped with a large enclosure. Although the occasional rooftop she could glimpse rising up the hill that it enclosed seemed to be similar to those in Bree--mostly thatch--there were far more of them, and they were much larger.

And atop it all, crowning the hill was another house, a huge one, far bigger than The Prancing Pony, which up until now had been the largest building she had ever laid eyes on. It seemed to glitter golden in the high summer Sun.

So, that was Meduseld, Hall of the King of Rohan.

She hoped that there would be comfortable beds for weary hobbits, and a good meal and a hot bath ahead.

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Mosco glanced over at his Aunt Poppy. She had an anticipatory gleam in her eye. She was clearly enjoying herself immensely. He sighed. He sometimes wondered why he had come; although he enjoyed the company, and was finding the Wide World a more marvelous place than he could ever have anticipated, he felt somewhat superfluous--rather like an afterthought to the embassy. He had, after all, been the last of the volunteers, and they’d’ve done just fine without him.

Now they were arriving, and they’d have to begin doing their job. He knew what Freddy’s job was--he was their leader. And Beri, well, he did just fine as Freddy’s second. Rolly and Denny were there to learn the ways of not only Men, but of being gentlehobbits. And Jolly, he was sure, had come mostly to support Freddy, and perhaps to see the places where his brother-in-law was considered a hero.

But what would his own job be? When he’d first come, he’d thought it would be to keep an eye on Aunt Poppy. But she really didn’t need anyone to take care of her. He knew that now.

Would he be able to find his own place in this group? Would he ever be of any use at all?

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Freddy gazed upward at the gleaming Golden Hall. He was elated that they were finally arriving, but he felt no small amount of trepidation. They rode now between the barrow mounds of the Kings, dotted over with thousands of tiny white flowers. He felt very solemn and inadequate.

Would he really be a good representative of the Shire? The only hobbits these people had known before were heroes: Frodo, Samwise, Meriadoc and Peregrin--all of them had accomplished mighty deeds, the like of which other hobbits, safe in the Shire, had little knowledge of. Would the King expect him to be like them? A mighty warrior, like Merry or Pippin? A brave adventurer, like Frodo or Sam? Would he be disappointed in Fredegar Bolger, a hobbit who’d been too timid to venture out when the others did?

He thought back to a conversation in the Spring, one he’d had with Frodo at Bag End. Merry and Pippin had gone to Bywater, with a last minute gift for Sam and Rose, who were sitting for their gifts at the Cotton farm. Legolas, Gimli and Bergil had all been up at the Men’s encampment. He had talked to Frodo about his fears.

“Frodo, I know I need to do this for myself. But--am I the best person to be in charge? To represent the Shire? I’m such a failure.”

Frodo had turned to look at him sharply. They were in the kitchen having tea, as they were alone in the smial. “Whatever do you mean, ‘failure’, Fredegar Bolger?” he had exclaimed. There was almost a note of anger in his usually soft-spoken voice.

Freddy took a deep breath. “I am. I failed you at Crickhollow--I ran away like a coward! I failed to keep Folco safe! I failed to stop Lotho from his stupid and dangerous takeover of the Shire! I failed to keep my band of ‘rebels’ safe from the Lockholes! I failed at all of that!”

Shaking his head, Frodo had poured the tea, and put down the teapot, before sitting down next to Freddy. “Freddy,” he said, “look at me.”

There was no denying him when he used that tone of voice. Freddy swallowed, and did his best to meet the stern gaze.

Very deliberately, Frodo held up his right hand and spread his fingers in front of Freddy’s face. Never before had Freddy had so close a look at that gap in his cousin’s hand. He blinked, and then sought Frodo’s eyes.

“You are not a failure. I know that Merry has explained to you that you could never have resisted the Black Riders. Running was the only thing you could do. As to the rest, you only did the best you could, and things would have been far worse for the Shire if you had done nothing.” He wet his lips. “If you want to see true failure, look at this.” He moved his hand back and forth. “There’s the evidence of true failure. I know that you know what happened; you of all people in the Shire had the right to know. My failure nearly lost the world.” Abruptly, he put the hand down. He had grown very white, but the color returned gradually to his face. He looked up once more, and his blue eyes were filled with love. “I am very proud of you, cousin. You did much more than you realize, and you will do more.” He smiled. “Now, do you want some of those biscuits that Marigold sent up with Sam yesterday?”

Freddy had known the subject was closed. He felt warmed by Frodo’s confidence in him, and worried that Frodo did not seem to see his own success in the same way that he could see Freddy’s.

Freddy blinked away the memories. He hoped he would do Frodo proud.

Suddenly, the group halted, and Freddy realized they had reached the gate of the town. There before the gates stood a line of Men, clad in mail. One of them stepped forward. “Welcome, Éothain Éodred’s son, kinsman of Éomer King! And welcome and greetings to you as well, Men of Gondor, and to you, Legolas and Gimli, heroes of Helm’s Deep, and to you Holbytlan of the Shire! You are expected!”

The gates were flung open, and the company began to ride up, through streets lined with cheering throngs.

Viola moved her pony a bit closer to Berilac’s. “Oh my!” she breathed.

He smiled at her reassuringly, but to himself, he thought “Oh my, indeed!”

They had arrived in Edoras at last.

CHAPTER 41

Éomer had assembled his court, and was awaiting the company as they arrived.  Although the messages had told him of how many they were, and who, it still was startling to see so many hobbits.  They looked about them with expressions varying from frank curiousity, to wariness, to downright apprehension. 

At his king's gesture, Éothain stepped forward, and made a brief bow. The Rohirrim were not much for the sort of obeisance used in the Gondorian court.

“My Lord Éomer King, I have the honor to bring into your presence these hobbits of the Shire, friends and kin of the Ringbearer Frodo Baggins, who journey to Mundberg to represent their people before the court of the High King.”

“It is my privilege to greet them,” Éomer responded. “Please present them to me.”

At a gesture from Éothain, Freddy stepped forward.

“The leader of this embassy, Master Fredegar Bolger, cousin to the Ringbearer and to Sir Peregrin Took, and soon to be brother-in-law of our Holdwine, Sir Meriadoc.” Freddy inclined his head in the way that Éothain had.

“It is an honor to greet you, Éomer King.” He turned and gestured for the others to come forward. “This is Berilac Brandybuck, first cousin to Sir Meriadoc Brandybuck and first cousin once removed to Frodo Baggins. This is Mosco Burrows, first cousin once removed on his mother’s side, and third cousin on his father’s side to Frodo Baggins, and first cousin once removed to Sir Meriadoc. This is Wilcome Cotton, brother-in-law to Samwise Gamgee. And these are Denham Banks and Rollin Banks, brothers, of Buckland.” Each hobbit as he was introduced, came forward and gave the same sort of courteous half-bow as Freddy had.

“These are the hobbits of our embassy. In addition we have travelling with us Mistress Poppy Burrows, Healer, and aunt of Mosco Burrows, and her apprentice, Miss Viola Harfoot.”

Poppy and Viola came up, and each made a graceful curtsey before the King. Viola blushed becomingly.

Éomer looked at the group which stood before him, and cast an eye over the hobbits he saw. In the leader, Fredegar, he could see a certain resemblance to the Ringbearer. The one who had been introduced second, Berilac, bore a very strong resemblance to his dear Holdwine Meriadoc. As to the others, he could not say that he could see any marked resemblance to anyone. He glanced curiously at the little healer and her apprentice--it was his first look at female hobbits, and he studied them briefly. The healer had a no-nonsense look about her, common to most healers, he found, whatever their race. She had a glint of curiosity in her brown eyes, and an air of eager anticipation. Her apprentice, who stood next to her was an attractive hobbitess, but she looked nervous and apprehensive next to her mistress. He judged her rather young for her kind.

His glance travelled further back to land on the four bound hobbits standing in sullen attitudes before his cousin Éothain. So those were the traitors…Two of them older by far than any hobbits he had seen before, two of them quite young, younger than Meriadoc, perhaps even as young as Peregrin. And he was going to have to decide their fate.

Although he already knew the answer, he looked at the prisoner hobbits. “And who are these?”

Freddy’s face became perfectly blank. “Those four are prisoners. They were adjudged traitors to the Shire and banished from our land. But they were brought South to be adjudged for their crimes against the embassies of Gondor and Rohan.” He carefully did not look at the prisoners as he spoke.

Éomer allowed his gaze to rest on the four. The one who appeared to be the oldest looked ill and listless. The other older hobbit was very pale, and there was a look of fearful defiance in his expression. But he could not hold Éomer’s gaze, and his eyes shifted away. One of the younger prisoners fidgeted, and kept turning a hate-filled look upon the hobbits of the embassy. Only the youngest attempted to present any sort of dignity, though he could not bear the king’s scrutiny for long either.

It fell to Éothain to introduce the prisoners. His hands fell upon the shoulders of the two older hobbits, who flinched at his touch. “These two, Éomer King, are Clodio Banks and Dago Bracegirdle, charged with collaborating with the traitor Saruman during the War, and bound to Gondor, to answer for their crimes to the High King Elessar.” He moved his hands to the younger hobbits. “These two are the sons of Clodio Banks, Clovis and Cado. They are accused of attacking the embassy, and of inflicting bodily harm upon Danulf, Danhelm’s son, a Rider of the Mark and part of our peaceful embassy to the Shire. It is for that reason they have been brought to you for judgment.”

Éomer nodded. This much he knew from Éothain’s dispatches. He would, of course, need a far fuller report and more information before he could render any sort of judgment. He turned his eyes once more upon the hapless prisoners. “Let the accused be taken below and imprisoned. See that they receive all care. Tomorrow they will be brought forth to me and I will render my decision regarding their fate.”

The four went even paler than before, if that were possible, and then suddenly the oldest one swayed and swooned, to be caught before he fell by Éothain’s quick hands. Mistress Poppy rushed to his side, her little apprentice at her heels. She placed a hand against the pulse in Clodio’s throat, and gave a nod, then turning to her apprentice, murmured something. Her apprentice reached into a pouch at her side, and gave her mistress a small vial. Mistress Poppy opened it, and administered a drop to the semi-conscious hobbit.

Éomer leaned forward. “What is wrong with him, Mistress Healer?”

She looked up at the king. “The journey here has weakened his heart. I believe this is just an effect of his weariness and the shock of realizing his fate is nearly upon him. I administered some tincture of foxglove, to steady the beat of his heart. I believe it would be best, however, if someone watched over him.”

“Very well. He will be lodged in one of the guest rooms. Will you or your apprentice watch him? I will place a guard outside his room.”

“That sounds like a sensible plan, my Lord.” She sounded not in the least intimidated at addressing a king.

“Éothain, I should like to speak with you privily.”

“Yes, my Lord King.” He passed the burden of Clodio to Anwynd.

Several guards escorted the other three prisoners away.

Now Éomer gestured towards an older woman, her golden hair shot with silver, who stood straight as a spear beside the throne. “This is the Lady Éormangilda Thengel’s daughter, and my aunt. She it is who is chatelaine of Meduseld. She will show all of you to the rooms where you shall be lodged. I look forward to seeing and speaking to all of you this evening, when we shall have a feast in your honor.”

Éormangilda stepped down from the dais, and went to the remaining hobbits, to whom she spoke in heavily accented Westron: “It is an honor to meet you. I shall take you to your chambers now?”

They followed her, though not without a backward glance at Éothain, who seemed to be a bit apprehensive.

Standing up, Éomer dismissed the rest of the court, and in two long strides came down from the dais. This was Meduseld, not the Citadel in Minas Tirith, and he came forward to greet and embrace his cousin, and to exchange warm greetings with Legolas and Gimli, who had stood back and tried to look inconspicuous while the hobbits were being introduced. Éothain looked relieved at his king’s friendly welcome--he had feared that

Éomer might be unhappy at the problem they had brought with them.

“Witlaf!” Éomer called to one of the servants.

The man came over immediately. “Yes, my lord king?”

“Bring ale and light refreshments to the small room behind the throne in a few minutes.”

Witlaf nodded, and scurried off, as Éomer led the other three through a small door in the wall behind the throne. It was sparsely furnished with a table and six chairs. “Be seated and be comfortable,” said Éomer, setting the example.

The other three took him at his word. Scarcely had they done so, than the door opened again, and Witlaf entered, placing a tray with a pitcher of ale, four goblets and a platter of sliced cold meats and cheeses on the table. He bowed silently and retreated.

Éomer poured himself a goblet of ale, and then said amiably, “Now, Éothain, explain yourself. Why have you saddled *me* with these two? Why are they not going on to Aragorn with the others?”

Éothain shifted uncomfortably. “At the time, it seemed the best way out of a dilemma. In Gondor at present, there is only one penalty for violently attacking a peaceful embassy from the High King. They would have been subject to death. And Targon and I honestly did not believe their actions warranted such--they are young, not quite of age in their own land, and they acted impulsively, in the misguided notion that they would somehow save their father’s honor. It was stupid. But stupidity does not deserve death.” He paused to take a pull at his own ale. “The hobbits of the Shire would have been appalled at the notion--to banish wrongdoers is one thing, but to knowingly send them to death quite another. We of Rohan are far more sensible in our laws.” For the weregild system allowed many ways of paying for a crime other than imprisonment or death.

Éomer gazed at his cousin for a moment, and then looked over at Legolas and Gimli. “What did you think of this whole disaster?”

The Dwarf barked a laugh. “Young É othain is quite right on one thing. Those two lads are stupid--at least the older one is, and the younger one follows his lead, which amounts to the same thing.”

“I think that both captains did the only possible thing,” said Legolas. “The older hobbits, being accused merely of collaboration *could* be subject to the death penalty *if* King Elessar determines that their complicity is deeper than we think it is. But truly, they were merely the pawns of Frodo’s kinsman Lotho, who was in his own turn a pawn of Saruman. They deserve punishment, but not death, and that will be the outcome of it, I am sure. As to the sons--in Gondor, accused of such violence, there would be no choice. And there are no mitigating circumstances such as those surrounding the Guardsman Beregond, which allowed the King to be merciful.”

Éomer sighed. “And why could not the Shirefolk deal with this in their own fashion?”

“They did,” said Éothain. “They put Marks on their criminals and banish them.”

“Ah, I see--so their only method of punishment is to send troublemakers elsewhere?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Tell me of these two young hobbits, that I might render a just sentence upon them.”

Éothain pursed his lips. “The younger of the two, I deem, might be weaned away from his behavior, if he is no longer under the influence of his older brother. Cado is actually the brighter of the two, and he is no longer so easily swayed. The trouble his brother brought down on them with his ill-thought out scheme has seemed to open his eyes.”

“Tell me, Éothain, how is it that two hobbits were able to inflict injury on a Rider of Rohan?” While Merry and Pippin had proved to be able warriors, they had been trained by Boromir and Aragorn. É omer was under the impression that most hobbits were unskilled with weapons and were peaceful folk.

So, between them, Éothain, Legolas and Gimli recounted that ill-fated night of the Ball, when Danulf was guarding the camp alone, and of the stone that rendered him unconscious, and the other even more dire results of the Banks lads’ actions.

“I daresay,” said Éothain, “that Danulf will *never* put his helm aside on duty again!”

Legolas sat forward. “One thing you should know, ere you render judgment: Cado may, I think, be trusted to a certain extent. But not Clovis. He and Dago Bracegirdle were foiled in an attempt to escape on the journey--recapture only fueled the resentment Clovis holds. And he was the ringleader of any trouble that the two brothers have ever been in.”

“Remember what Sam told us?” put in Gimli, “About the incident with Pippin?” He looked at Éomer. “When Pippin was still a young lad, and those two not much older, they dared him into a foolish stunt and Pippin nearly died of it. That also was all the idea of Clovis Banks.”

“Have they the means to pay weregild?” Éomer asked.

“No,” replied Éothain. “All the property of their father was forfeit to the Shire when he was deemed a traitor, and the lads are under age and have no property of their own.”

“So. Servitude, then. I shall have to give some thought as to what form that will take. I know all of you are tired now. Legolas and Gimli, guest chambers have been prepared for you. Éothain, I know you wish to see your family. I will see all of you at the feast this evening.”

CHAPTER 42

Jolly trailed along with the others, following the tall lady. She seemed very stern and formal. So, that was the king’s aunt. He tried to remember what Captain Freddy had told them of the king’s family, that he‘d had from Mr. Merry. Éomer King’s uncle, the king that was, had four sisters--the youngest one was this king’s mother. Of the other aunts, they had birthed only daughters, except for the oldest, and her son had been killed many years ago, afore he wed. He wasn’t sure which aunt this one was. He hoped he’d be able to wrap his tongue about her name. He could not for the life of him, remember it now.

She did not take them up the wide staircase, but led the hobbits down a wide, short corridor on the south side of the great hall, and flung open a door.

Whatever Jolly had been expecting, it was not this. It was a very large room surrounded on three sides by wide banks of windows. A large fireplace was between the windows in the center of the south side, and soft rugs covered the flagstone floor. The room was oddly furnished, obviously with the hobbits in mind: there were two beds, such as they had used at the inn in Tharbad, but the legs had been sawn down to make them easier for the hobbits to clamber onto the beds. On the right side of the room was a large carved screen. Their packs and belongings had been piled there in front of the screen. Jolly could glimpse another bed behind it. In the center of the room was a wide table, also with the legs sawn down; it was surrounded by what were clearly a number of footstools, though they were of just the right height for hobbits to sit.

Most importantly, the table was laid with a lavish luncheon, and the most marvelous smells were coming from it!

He heard the lady speaking, and turned his attention to her.

“This room was once the solar of my mother, Morwen Queen. As Sir Meriadoc told us that your people are uncomfortable on upper floors, it has been outfitted for your use while you are here. He also wrote to us that you would prefer to stay together if you could. I hope that you do not mind sleeping three to a bed?”

Captain Freddy shook his head. “No we don’t mind at all.”

“The bed behind the screen is for your womenfolk--the healer and her apprentice. But if you would prefer them to have a separate room, that may be arranged. It would however, have to be on an upper floor.”

“No,” said Freddy. “This is a good arrangement.”

“Very well.” She pointed to the wall beside the door, where low tables were placed holding basins and ewers of water. “Warm water has been provided for you to wash the dust of travel. After your luncheon, if you so choose, baths may be arranged before the feast tonight.”

“My lady, this is most hospitable of you! We shall be very comfortable here.”

Her stern face relaxed just a little into the barest hint of a smile. “That is good. I shall leave you to your daymeal. There is a servant at the end of the passage if you need anything else.”

She turned to leave, and then turned back to them, smiling just a little more. “Welcome to Meduseld.”

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Dago felt his heart sink, as the barred door slammed, and the key was turned in the lock. A prison.

He was in a prison. It was definitely underground; as a hobbit he knew the feel of being beneath the earth. The massive door had a window at the top, covered with iron bars, at the height a Man could have looked out, but far above the eye-level of a hobbit; the floor and walls were of stone. The only light came from torches in sconces outside the cell where the guards stood.

He had felt a moment’s panic, as the door had slammed behind him, and he’d heard the key turning in the lock, for unlike the flimsy cell at Tharbad, he had been put in here alone--completely alone. He heard two other doors slam as well. They had separated the Banks brothers. He looked about him. There was a huge cot, obviously meant for a Man. It had only one thin blanket and no pillow. Beneath the cot was a brass chamber pot. There was nothing else in the room.

How long would he be kept here? Not permanently, for he knew he was meant to go on, and journey to the High King’s City, where he would receive his punishment. He thought of the Lockholes, and how hobbits of the Shire had been locked up this way. At least, they’d been together, he supposed, for there had been so many of them.

What would be his fate? He remembered long, long ago, as a lad, hearing stories of Men, and how they would sometimes lock one another up this way for punishment for years on end.

He climbed upon the cot and curled in upon himself, trying to escape the gloomy thoughts in sleep, but sleep eluded him, and all he could feel was the tight ball of fear in his belly.

Silently he called down every curse he could think of on Lotho Sackville-Baggins.

_______________________________________

Poppy and Viola had at first followed the Lady, the King’s aunt, but she had gestured to a servant, and Anwynd had followed him up a long wide flight of stone stairs to an upper floor.

Poppy grunted with effort, and not a little twinge of pain in her knees. She had a bit of joint ill in her knees, and found herself not a little stiff at having to climb those stairs. They followed Anwynd and the servant down a corridor to a chamber where a bed had been prepared--it was a large bed for a sick hobbit, though it was probably not much more than a cot for a Man. But the room was clean and airy, if plain, and there was a large chair next to the bed.

Anwynd assisted Poppy and Viola to settle Clodio into the bed. He had begun to stir and Poppy checked his pulse before the Man placed him in the bed.  It was a bit thready, and she said as much to Viola. The servant looked to be sure that there was water in the ewer, and then turned to Poppy.

In very heavily accented Westron, she said “Lady Holbytla, I am Hiltrude. Lady Eormangilda said I serve you. What need you?” She gave a rather hesitant and shy, but nevertheless warm smile.

Poppy smiled back. “Thank you, Hiltrude. Would it be possible for my apprentice and myself to have a little something to eat? And perhaps some clear broth for my patient?”

The serving woman smiled broadly, and nodded vigorously. “I see to it at once, Mistress,” she said as she went out.

Anwynd said, “I will stand as guard for now, Mistress Poppy. If you need me for anything at all, I shall be just outside the door of this chamber.”

“Thank you, Anwynd. You’ve been a great help.” Poppy turned to Viola, who had climbed upon the large bed and taken the patient’s wrist in a very competent manner. She gave her apprentice a look of inquiry.

“His pulse is growing stronger, Mistress.”

“Thank you, Viola.” She smiled at the lass. “Since you are already up there, you may save your Mistress’ old bones, and tell me how he is doing.”

Viola nodded, and lifted her pendulum over her head. She got up on her knees, and swung it over the patient, beginning at his feet and working up slowly towards his head. His eyes were fully opened now, and he watched her work with trepidation.

“He is weak still, Mistress Poppy, but otherwise seems to be improving.”

Poppy walked over to the bed. Her chin just barely looked over the edge. “Excellent work, Viola,” she said.

Viola blushed at the praise.

The patient turned his head to her. “What happened? Where are my sons?”

Poppy pursed her lips. “You fainted, and thereby escaped from having to be imprisoned, like your sons.”

Clodio moaned. “What’s to become of us?” he whispered.

Poppy found herself feeling unaccountably sorry for him. Even though he had brought all this on himself with his greed and treachery, she pitied him. Perhaps he was finally beginning to realize what he had done. “I shouldn’t worry too much on that at present,” she said briskly. “This King seems a practical and careful sort. I am quite sure your fate will be less than you deserve.” As reassurance, it was not much, but it seemed to satisfy him for the moment. He closed his eyes.

Just then the door opened, and Hiltrude entered, bearing a large tray, from which the tantalizing smells of food could be detected. Poppy could not help a chuckle as Viola’s stomach responded with a rumble.

______________________________________

After leaving the King with Éothain, Legolas and Gimli followed Witlaf to an upper floor, where they were shown to their guest chambers. They passed Anwynd, standing outside one door, and gave him a polite nod.

Gimli said, “That must be where they put the prisoner.”

“Clodio Banks,” said Legolas reproachfully.

Gimli simply raised his brows and pursed his lips.

Legolas shook his head at his companion. “Do not look at me that way, Master Dwarf. We are not Hobbits of the Shire, constrained to pretend that he no longer has a name.”

“Disapproval?” asked Gimli. “I thought that you *liked* the Shire!”

“I liked it very much. But that does not mean I liked everything about it. They are going to have to change their ways of dealing with their wrong-doers. Turning them out of the Shire and pretending they do not exist is not going to work any more, if it ever did.”

Gimli nodded. “You do have a point. But I think that Frodo, Merry, Pippin and Sam will not allow that to stand much longer. And they are in a position to do something about it.”

Just then Witlaf stopped. “This is the guest chamber assigned for you, Lord Gimli. And the door on the other side of the passage is your chamber, Lord Legolas. Your belongings have already been placed there, and baths have been drawn.”

Gimli made a face. Legolas smiled. “Thank you, Witlaf.”

________________________________________

After dismissing his cousin, Éomer opened the diplomatic pouch which had been brought to him. He put aside the letter from the Thain. There was one from the Ringbearer as well, but what he was looking forward to was the rather thick letter from Merry…

My Liege and Lord King,

Greetings to you from your Holdwine, Meriadoc of Buckland. Your Knight thanks you most gratefully for your gifts of coin and especially for the ponies, which are much admired by my father the Master.

Now that formality is over with, you are a deceitful Man, my Lord, sending all that bounty to me, when I had made it plain I wanted no such gifts! However, my father’s made it clear as to your reasons, so I suppose I must accept them with grace. But it rankles that both my father and Frodo find the whole thing funny. My only consolation is that Pippin was even more shocked by his gifts from the High King! I could hear the thud when his jaw hit the ground. At least I had some warning from the letter you sent my father.

I know that you’ve had reports of the state of things here in the Shire, and your other little joke has everyone a-buzz from one end of the Shire to the other. Most hobbits still have no idea who “Sharkey”, as they called Saruman here, was--but they have quite taken to the idea that we deserve a share in his plunder. I know that Éothain will have reported to you the results of the decision to accept your offer, so I’ll say no more on it now.

I believe you will be very pleased to know how wonderfully well the horn of the Mark works. I do believe it was the clear notes of that horn which put heart in our hobbits, and enabled us to rouse the Shire. Silver and ponies aside, that still remains a treasured keepsake, and I will always hold it close to my heart.

I know that you will have given a warm welcome to the Hobbits we’ve sent your way. Freddy Bolger is a stout fellow, with far more courage than he gives himself credit for; he roused Buckland to the Black Riders, and led rebels against the Ruffians. He’s a good friend and I trust him to lead this embassy with honor. ( By the way, I look to make a match with his sister Estella soon. We are only awaiting his return to announce our betrothal! She’s a wonderful lass, and I could take pages and pages to sing her praises, but I don’t wish to be tedious.)

My cousins Berilac and Mosco are also along on the expedition. Beri’s a first cousin, son of my Uncle Merimac, and a couple of years older than I. He’s very sharp and observant. Well, he’s a Brandybuck, after all! I am quite sure he’ll do us all proud.

Mosco is my second cousin twice removed, and is rather young, having just come of age--though he is older than Pippin was when we came away from the Shire. He says his reason for going is to look after his Aunt Poppy Burrows (she’s actually a cousin, but he calls her “Aunt” out of courtesy) but I don’t know of any hobbitess that needs less looking after than Mistress Poppy! I look forward to hearing what you make of her and her apprentice, Miss Viola Harfoot.

Jolly--his given name is Wilcome--is Sam’s brother-in-law, brother of Sam’s wife Rose, and it will be easy enough for you to see how he came by that name, after all. He’s also a very stout fellow, and was among those who fought the Ruffians alongside Freddy.

Rolly and Denny Banks have the misfortune to be related to three of those prisoners. That’s actually the reason they’ve gone along, a way of redeeming the family name so to speak, for they’ve suddenly found that they have risen in the world due to the misdeeds of their kinfolk. They are Bucklanders, though, and I expect they will do well.

As to those prisoners, well, I don’t doubt that Éothain’s made a full report to you, and I am sure that Frodo has written as well as my Uncle Paladin. But I do think that I should put my two farthings in, as the saying goes (that being the price of delivering the post here in the Shire) and tell you not to trust them as far as you can throw them. The two older ones are greedy traitors, cut from much the same cloth as Frodo’s late and unlamented cousin Lotho, though I think them even bigger fools which is saying something.

The two younger have made Pippin’s life miserable for as long as I can remember them, and the way they endangered his life when he was only twenty still makes my blood boil to think on! They are bullies, though I think the older one the worse--it’s possible his younger brother might not have been so vile without his brother’s influence, I suppose. Pippin would say they’ve got their just deserts and to let it go, and I think Frodo would tell me I should forgive them, but I’m still mistrustful of them.

On to pleasanter subjects: Sam’s wedding was wonderful. His Rose is a lovely lass, who’s waited years for him. They make a perfect couple, and I was honored when Sam asked me to stand witness for him. Frodo officiated at the ceremony, of course. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Frodo happier than at Sam’s wedding, though Strider’s Aragorn’s wedding comes close. Pippin was in his element playing and singing, and I got to dance with my Estella. I wish you could have been there!

I would say that this is looking to be a good year for the Shire--not least because of your sending Saruman’s weregild--but also because of the blessing of the Lady of Lórien. She gave Sam some earth from the Golden Wood, along with the seed of a mallorn tree, and he has spread her bounty far and wide across the Shire, healing the hurts Saruman made.

I am very glad to be once more home among my family. It’s good to be in Buckland once more, and to wander the banks of the Brandywine again. I dreamed of home so often while I was gone.

But happy as I am, sometimes I find myself also dreaming of Rohan: the wide plains and the fair Golden Hall of Meduseld, and riding like the wind with my sword-sister. And I miss you as well, my liege lord and friend. Perhaps the time may come when I can visit you once more, and sit at your feet, and exchange tales. And you shall tell me to my face what you think of my kin that you have now met. I will hope that Berilac keeps himself out of trouble while there; he can be quite as fiendish as Pippin sometimes, when it comes to jests. (While *I* of course would never indulge in such things! Well, perhaps not “never“.)

Fondly I remain
your Knight and sword-thain,
Holdwine
Meriadoc Brandybuck

 Éomer smiled.  He could just hear Merry's droll voice. Putting the letter aside to re-read later, he took forth the more official reports from the Thain and Frodo.

CHAPTER 43

Mistress Poppy dozed lightly at the foot of the patient’s bed. Viola sat in the large chair, watching over him, and studying the notes she had been taking on his illness. She knew her mistress would be quizzing her about some of the things she had observed.

There was a tap at the door, and Viola gave a start, and Mistress Poppy sat up instantly, conditioned by her many years as a healer to sleep only lightly. The door opened, and it was the King’s aunt, Lady Eormangilda. Viola had seen her only briefly, and thought her very imposing. There was another woman behind her, looking hesitantly over the lady’s shoulder.

The Lady looked at Mistress Poppy. “Mistress Poppy, this is Gertrude. She has some experience in watching over the ill and injured. If you will it, she shall stay here. Then you and your apprentice may go to your chambers, where baths have been prepared, so that you will be able to get ready for the feast tonight. The--menfolk--of your party, they have bathed and dressed already.”

Menfolk? Viola was puzzled, and glanced at her mistress, who simply shook her head briefly. Suddenly, Viola realized that Lady Eormangilda had meant the male hobbits of their company; she put a hand up to her mouth to suppress a giggle.

Mistress Poppy said to Lady Eormangilda “That is very thoughtful of you.” Then she looked at Gertrude. “Do you speak Westron?”

Gertrude gave a tiny bob of her head. “Yes, my lady holbytla, I so speak it a little.”

“Very well,” said Mistress Poppy. “It will be nice to have a real bath. Come along, Viola.”

Lady Eormangilda led them back down the staircase, and Viola was relieved to realize they would not be sleeping on an upper floor, as they had in Tharbad. She was quite impressed with the arrangements that had been made in the solar; apparently Mistress Poppy was pleased as well, for she was quite effusive in her thanks.

There was only a maidservant in the room. She was putting water into two copper tubs that seemed perfectly enormous to Viola.

And, oh bliss! The water smelled of lavender!

___________________________________________

Berilac took a deep draw of his pipe, and looked around him. He and the others had already bathed and dressed for the evening’s feast, and in order to leave the chamber free for Mistress Poppy and Viola, had come out to the front steps of Meduseld to enjoy their pipes. Gimli had joined them, although Legolas was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, Beri,” said Freddy at his elbow, “we are here at last. What do you think of it all so far?”

Beri looked out over the rooftops below--a rather dizzying sight for hobbits--and at the busy streets, narrow and cobbled. Bree had been much as he expected; he’d heard firsthand accounts of Bree from both his father and those of his uncles who had been there. While outwardly there were many similarities in the buildings and streets, Edoras seemed more open to the sky. It was windy--he’d had a time lighting his pipe, and even now the wind whipped through his hair and clothing more briskly than he was accustomed to.

He grinned at Freddy. “I scarcely know what to think,” he said.

Freddy shook his head, smiling. “It is a bit overwhelming. I’ve read many tales of Men and Elves, and I’ve listened to Merry, and the others since their return. And even our long talks with our Men on the journey here, still it’s quite different than I imagined. And the City of the High King where we shall head next is said to be even more imposing. I get the feeling from what we’ve been told, that it shall be so much grander than Edoras, as Edoras is grander than Bree.”

Mosco, who’d been standing silently at Freddy’s elbow, burst out “Mercy!”, his eyes wide.

Berilac took a deep breath. “Well, this is what we came for.” He meant more than just seeing the cities, of course, but the realization that they must return to the Shire and try to convey what they had seen and experienced to the rest of the Shire. How would they ever accomplish that? He glanced at Rolly and Denny, who were sitting a few steps down, talking to one another earnestly, and pointing out various sights to one another, and Jolly, who was talking to Gimli and laughing at something the Dwarf was telling him. All of them were changing by this journey.

“I’m beginning to understand a bit about Merry and Pippin and Frodo and Sam,” he said to Freddy. “I know that we’ll never begin to realize how difficult the dangers and horrors they went through were; but it’s not only the bad things they can’t really explain. It’s the good things as well. Can anyone who’s never been out of the Shire *ever* understand how big the world is?”

Freddy looked at him. “It will be our job to try and make them understand, not only how big it is, but how small it is as well.” He blew a smoke ring, and shook his head with a rueful smile.

“What do you mean?” asked Mosco, in a puzzled tone.

But Beri understood. “We see now how vast the world is, Mosco. But the Shire was affected by events that took place far from it, from here and even further away, in Gondor and…and Mordor” he added in a low tone, feeling even now that it was a word filled with dread. “That’s what Freddy means by ‘small’--it’s all connected, one way or the other.”

Mosco nodded thoughtfully. “I see…”

Suddenly Berilac had another thought, and laughed. “And just think, our Men are going to have to explain the *Shire*! Imagine that!

___________________________________________

It was lovely to be all clean again. Viola sat at the edge of the large bed, which had the legs cut down, so that her feet reached the floor, and brushed her curls thoughtfully, and contemplated what she was to wear.

She had only time, when they came away from the Shire, to make a brief visit to her home in Overhill. Her sister and aunt had been appalled at first at the idea that she would be leaving the Shire. After she had calmed her Aunt Rhody’s anger and Verbena’s tears, they had come to understand that she was doing what she needed to as Mistress Poppy’s apprentice.

And after she had talked them round, and explained where she would be going and what she would be doing, both of them had the same reaction:

“You will be meeting kings? What will you wear?”

Viola had to admit that she’d not thought of that. Most of her clothing was serviceable enough, sturdy linen and wool, bodices and skirts in practical colors such as green or brown. “I do have the gown I wore to the Ball,” she said.

“You will need more than one good dress, Viola, if you are to be among kings and queens,” said her sister.

“But I’ve no time to make new frocks!” she had exclaimed in dismay.

Aunt Rhody and Verbena had given one another sly smiles. “Leave that up to us, Viola dear,” said her aunt.

So Viola looked now at the lovely garments, taken from their wrappings among her baggage--there was the nice frock of pale green, given to her by Mistress Poppy when first she had arrived at the Great Smials--“for you never know when the Thain will want us to waste our time at a party”. That was the one she had worn to the Ball, where she had danced with Pippin. And two more, a high-waisted gown of rich blue, with a deep neckline trimmed in creamy lace, and a sash of an even darker blue. The dress had been ordered by a customer of Aunt Rhody’s, who had failed to pay for it when it was finished. It had needed only a little taking in at the shoulders to fit beautifully. It was very elegant and expensive, and Viola thought perhaps she should save it for when they got to Minas Tirith.

The last was a bodice and skirt of dark rose, with a blouse of white lawn. Her sister had embroidered the front panel of the bodice with a spray of Viola’s nameflowers. Viola felt a prick of homesickness, and wished she could see her sister. That was a dress Verbena had been making for herself, but she had finished it for Viola, staying up all through the night, the last night before Viola had left, to do the embroidery. Yes, that was what she would wear tonight.

She smiled over at her mistress, who had brought with her exactly two good dresses, differing only from her usual attire in being of somewhat finer material, and the fact that the blouse had a bit of lace at the sleeves and throat. That and the fact that the one she had chosen to wear this evening was of a rich wine color, rather than her usual dark green attire--and, like Viola’s bodice, it laced at the side, rather than the front. Mistress Poppy was grumbling and muttering as she struggled with the laces.

With an indulgent chuckle, Viola stood and went over to her. “Here, Mistress, let me help you with that…”

___________________________

Berilac and the others had gone into the Hall, where the tables were being set out for the Feast. As the other guests began to arrive, the hobbits clustered together, somewhat apprehensively.

It was with a collective sigh of relief that they noticed É othain approach, a young woman, whose pale hair was nearer to white than to yellow, on his arm. Beri noticed that though she was certainly tall enough, she was a good deal shorter than Éothain.

“My friends,” the Man said, grinning, “I would like you to meet my wife, Grissell.”

She greeted the hobbits graciously, in flawless Westron. Berilac found himself quite surprised. They had traveled with É othain for weeks, and never realized he was married!

Then Targon joined them, bringing with him another Man, an older Rohirrim whom Berilac had noticed in the King’s court earlier. He introduced him as Elfhelm.

The Man gave a grin on being introduced to Berilac. “So you are a cousin of our Holdwine?”

Beri chuckled. “Well, most of us are, to one degree or another. I’m somewhat closer in blood--we share the Brandybuck name, and are first cousins on our father’s sides.”

The Man laughed heartily, shaking his head. “You hobbits are so precise in figuring your kinships! We do not reckon ours to nearly the same degree! Perhaps when you see your cousin again, you will tell him that Elfhelm sends ‘Master Baggage’ his greetings!”

Berilac agreed with amusement, wondering what was behind the jest, but suddenly his attention was caught. Lady Eormangilda was leading Mistress Poppy and Viola into the Hall.

Beri was stunned. He’d known all along that Viola was a lovely lass, but tonight in her fine dress, and her glossy curls worn down, rather than out of the way for convenience’s sake--

She was looking around, and he suddenly realized she was looking for him. His heart gave a decided leap. “Excuse me,” he said distractedly, and headed in her direction.

_______________________________________

Viola was content. Someone--perhaps Mistress Poppy--had clued Lady Eormangilda in, and she had seated Viola and Berilac together at the High Table. She smiled to herself, remembering how he had quickly come to her side, as soon as they had entered.

Now she sat by him. On her other side was a large and jolly Man, whose name she could not now recall. Next to Berilac’s other side was Éothain and his wife, and to the other side of them was Fredegar, seated next to the King. The King was listening intently to Freddy, and laughed heartily at something Freddy said.

Berilac had been talking to Éothain during the meal, but Viola had been quiet, content to listen to him, and to watch him, and to enjoy the food, which had been excellent.

There had been much food--a good deal of it unfamiliar in form, but quite delicious nonetheless. There had been some sort of savory pottage, thick with barley; bread and butter; fresh trout, stuffed with herbs--Viola identified rosemary, sage and thyme; stewed quail, cooked with bacon, mushrooms, hazelnuts and garlic among other things; there had been a salad of fresh greens as well. And for afters they had brought out a lovely dish of berries and hazelnuts, topped with breadcrumbs and served with cream. All through the meal, their goblets had been kept filled with mead--a sort of wine made from honey, which Viola had never tasted before. It warmed her all over, and made her feel a bit flown. She hoped that she’d not overindulged--she was not used to wine.

Every once in a while, Beri would turn to her, and their eyes would lock, and Viola would find herself blushing.

Suddenly, there was a call for attention. A bard was stepping up before the High Table. He bowed, and said something to the King in Rohirric. Éomer King nodded. The bard raised his voice to address the room at large:

“For the sake of our guests from the land of the Shire, I will now proclaim this in their honor, the tale of how one of their own came to the aid of Rohan!

Hearken now and hear of the holbyltlan, little people out of legend,
Small in stature yet stout-hearted , they rode to the rescue of Rohan.
In the darkest of days, war was wont to loom upon the land;
Now from the North came Meriadoc Saradoc’s son, strong and sturdy.
For love of the lord of the land, Théoden, kind and kingly,
He promised and pledged his faith and fealty.
With Éowyn Éomund’s daughter who bore him to battle,
He followed his lord through death and destruction,
And with his sword-sister, shield-maiden most valiant,
He helped her to fell the foul dwimmerlaik with his blade bespelled
Striking the sorcerer to save his sword-sister
Upon the bloody battlefield before the great gates of Mundberg
In the last desperate defense of his liege and lord.
His sword shattered, his heart heavy with woe
To the side of his stricken sovreign he came to hear last hope
Théoden King, found him faithful, and breathed his last.
In deep despair and the clutches of the Black Breath
Forgotten and failing, footsore he trudged…"

Viola was caught up in hearing this tribute to Merry, as the tears welled up, all unknowing her hand sought Berilac’s. His hand closed about hers, though his own tears were falling at this tribute to his cousin. They listened to the bard tell of how, following those who bore Théoden and Éowyn off the battlefield he had become lost, sad and dying, until he was found by his kin Peregrin, and taken to the healing hands of the High King.

There was silence as the bard finished, and then Freddy rose, and made a toast, to all the Travellers. This was graciously returned by the King, and soon enough, the bard began to sing a somewhat more cheerful song, this one in Rohirric, which of course none of the hobbits could understand.

Beri let go of her hand, but not before giving her an unapologetic look. She blushed and took another sip of her mead.

Just then, Mistress Poppy came to collect her. “Come along, Viola dear! I think you have had as much wine as is good for you! We need to check on our patient, and then to make our way to bed. Good evening, Mr. Brandybuck!”

Beri chuckled, and told Viola good night, as she walked off with her mistress.

CHAPTER 44

Éomer sat on his throne, looking far more serious than the amiable young Man who had been jesting and exchanging tales with the hobbits at the feast the night before.

Freddy standing at one side with the other hobbits of the embassy felt apprehensive. While he considered that the King would be both fair and just, he had no idea how this situation would be resolved. Berilac reached up and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He caught Freddy’s eye. “Merry trusts him, you know.”

And that *was* great reassurance, as was the knowledge that *Frodo* trusted Éomer as well. Still, it was largely an unknown situation. He glanced across the Hall, where all the Rohirrim who had gone on the embassy were lined up, including Danulf. Behind them stood the Gondorians. Legolas and Gimli stood there as well. Here and there were other Rohirrim--the Lady Eormangilda stood near the dais today, but not beside the throne as she had when they were welcomed.

Éomer cast his gaze toward the great door at the end of the Hall. “Hending!” he called to the doorwarden, “have the prisoners brought forth.”

Hending turned and opened the door, and two burly guards came in, escorting Clovis and Cado between them. The two looked like small children between the tall Men. Their hands were bound, their eyes downcast, their faces white with fear. The guards brought them halfway up the Hall and halted.

There was a long silence, as É omer studied them. “Clovis and Cado, sons of Clodio Banks, you stand accused of offering violence and harm to one of my Riders, who was in your land as part of a peaceful delegation, there to treat with your own people. For your actions, you have been cast out of the Shire, and are no longer under the protection of your people. You are here to answer for that crime before me.”

The King drew in a breath and sat back in the throne, his eyes never leaving the two hobbits. “Let us now hear what happened on that night.” He looked at É othain.

Éothain stepped forward. “By your leave, Éomer King. On the night which this happened, the Thain of the Shire was holding a great Ball, to honor the Ringbearers, Sir Meriadoc and Sir Peregrin, and to introduce those of us who had come to treat with the leaders of the Shire. We did not wish to leave our encampment completely unguarded, and therefore lots were drawn, between our Men and those of the High King, to see who would stand that duty. The lot was drawn by Danulf, Danhelm’s son, one of our Riders. He it was who remained to take that duty, while the rest of us went to do honor to the Ringbearers and their kin.

While at the Ball, young Bergil, Beregond’s son, of Gondor, was sent to take Danulf some of the party fare. He returned quickly with the word that he had found Danulf unconscious and all the horses gone.”

At this point, Éomer interrupted, and asked Bergil to come forward and tell what he had seen and done. The lad looked up apprehensively at Targon who gave him a nod, and then wiped his hands on his surcoat and straightening up he stepped forward. He had been told he would have to do this, but it still made him feel nervous. In a clear steady voice he told of how he had discovered Danulf on the ground by the fire, and how he had run for help.

“Thank you, Bergil.” When Bergil stepped back, Éomer cast his gaze on the Riders. “Danulf, Danhelm’s son, tell us how you came to be injured.”

Danulf blushed, for he was still embarrassed over having been caught off-guard by hobbits, but he told of how he had been alerted by the nervousness of the horses. “I stood to draw my sword, my Lord King, and then knew no more, until I wakened in a tent with my brains rattled and a headache.”

Legolas then told of how he and Frodo had found the stones, which had been thrown to knock Danulf out and spook the horses. And he told of the button, clearly torn from a jacket, found near the scene. And Gimli told of the search which had led to the finding of the injured Opal Took.

At this point, Éomer drew forth a letter. “We have here a report, written by the Ringbearer himself. He states that the missing button was discovered to have come from the jacket of the prisoner Clovis Banks. The prisoners were confronted and subdued by Sir Meriadoc, Holdwine of the Mark. Upon being questioned by the Ringbearer Frodo Baggins, both of the young hobbits confessed to their ill deeds. They hoped by their attack on the embassy to disrupt the good will between the Men and the Shire, and thereby prevent any investigation that would bring to light the treachery of their father Clodio Banks, who had aligned himself with enemies of both the Shire and the High King.” He glanced at the letter once more, and then cast his gaze at the accused. “Do either of you deny any part of what has been spoken here today?”

Clovis shot a look up at the King, and then back down, without saying anything. Cado glanced up briefly, his face white, and said in a low, but clear voice, “N-no, sir.”

There was silence, as Éomer studied the two hobbits intently. Then he nodded as if to himself.

“Clovis and Cado, sons of Clodio, you are members of a race whom we hold in high esteem. Moreover by the reckoning of your own people and in your own land, you are mere youths. Furthermore, we have seen that you acted out of misguided loyalty to your own father, whose own honor was in question. Still, your crimes must be punished.

“As you have no property with which to pay a weregild, which would be owed both to Danulf Danhelm’s son, who was injured by your actions, and to myself, for he is one of my Riders and was representing me in your land, this is my judgement:

“Clovis, Clodio’s son, you will be bound over to this court at Meduseld to serve me and my people for one year and one day. You will be put to work in the scullery of the kitchen, and will answer to the head cook, Grimhild, and after her, to the Lady Eormangilda, my aunt and chatelaine. Your day will be spent in the scullery, and in the beginning, your nights will be spent in your cell. If after three months you have performed your tasks well and willingly, you may be given room with the other servants at night. Any attempt to escape will add another month to your sentence, for each attempt that you make. At the end of one year and one day, you will be free to do as you will, and go where you will, save only that you may not return to your own land, from which you have been forever banished.”

Now Clovis did look up, pale and terrified. He looked around wildly, and cast a glance of appeal towards the other hobbits. The looks he received in return ranged from sadly sympathetic from Freddy, who shook his head, to frankly satisfied, from Denny and Rolly. With a choked sob, he burst into tears.

Cado looked at his brother briefly, but his attention was caught as Éomer continued.

“Cado, Clodio’s son, you will be bound over to Danulf Danhelm’s son, to live with him and serve him and his family in whatever way seems best to them, for one year and one day. He will bear responsibility for you and answer for your actions. Any attempt to escape will add another month to your sentence, for each attempt that you make. At the end of one year and one day, you will be free to do as you will, and go where you will, save only that you may not return to your own land, from which you have been forever banished.”

Cado became even paler, but he drew in a deep breath. “Y-yes, sir,” he said quietly. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he bit his lip.

“Danulf, Danhelm’s son,” É omer said, “you have said that you will accept the responsibility and service of this holbytla. Do you still hold to that?”

“Yes, my Lord King,” the Man said with a brief nod.

“Very well. Let it be done.”

The guards escorted the two young hobbits out, and É omer indicated that the court was at an end.

He stepped down from his throne and went over to where the other hobbits had waited. “I hope,” he said “that you found my judgement fair.”

Freddy nodded. “It’s harsher in the short run than what was done to them in the Shire, but far more just in the long run. But, do you think that the younger brother will be well in Danulf’s care? What sort of situation will he find there?”

Éomer smiled. “You have come to know Danulf in your travels--what do you think?”

“He is a kind Man indeed. But what of his family? Where does he live?”

“As a member of my personal é ored he lives here in Edoras. He has a small house, where he lives with his wife, his father and his three children. I think that he will take good care of Cado.”

“And Clovis?”

“Following the advice of several people, I am keeping him where he can be kept under close watch. I have been told he is not trustworthy.”

Freddy nodded. “I am afraid that’s wise. I am sorry to say, I do not think that Clovis has really learned much from his situation. I have hopes that Cado may.”

Poppy who had been standing nearby and nodding, cleared her throat.

Éomer glanced at her. “Have you something to say, Mistress Poppy?” he asked courteously.

“My patient has been fretting about his sons. I think he would rest easier if he could see them at least briefly.”

The King nodded. “That can be arranged. In the meanwhile, it is nearly time for the daymeal. I hope that you all will join me, and afterwards we may go to the stables. I thought that you would like to see the horses--and the ponies as well, for you will see the stock from which the ponies I have sent to Buckland have sprung.”

This proposal was agreed to with varying degrees of enthusiasm; lunch at any rate would be welcome. The people of Rohan did not have the customs of second breakfast or of elevenses, and though the Lady Eormangilda had arranged for fruit, bread and other such things to be kept in the hobbits’ chamber to assuage their between-meals appetites, there had been no chance to avail themselves of it on this morning.

___________________________________

Cado stood by the side of the Man into whose care he’d been given. He still felt a bit stunned. What was he to think of this? On the one hand, it sounded a better fate than his brother’s--nothing had been said of his sleeping for three months in a dungeon every night, for one thing. Even the one night, in that cell, alone, had been more than enough for him. But what would he do with Danulf? To what uses would he be put? He was to be the Man’s servant for a whole year!

He took a few deep breaths, to steady himself, and to unravel the knot in his stomach. Then, with a good deal of apprehension, he stole a look upward to the face of the Man at his side.

Danulf gave him a smile; it was the first smile the Man had ever actually directed his way, and Cado felt the knot unravel just a little. Maybe this year would not be so dreadful as he feared.

_____________________________________

Clovis followed the tall stern-looking Woman sullenly, not raising his eyes from his toes.

A year--a year and a day of scrubbing pots and slaving away In a kitchen!

And--he shuddered--three months of sleeping every night in that horrible dungeon, dark and alone.

Would he be able to endure it for a whole year? And yet--if he tried to escape, a whole month would be added to his sentence. He couldn’t stand that. What would he do?

She led him into a kitchen--a huge room, with many Men and Women bustling about. He felt like a small child, and wished he could simply sit down and scream like a faunt. But somehow he had the feeling that such antics would do him not a bit of good here.

The stern Woman snapped her fingers at him, and pointed to her side; he knew what that meant. His father had used the gesture often enough. He stepped up to where she pointed.

She summoned another Woman. “Mistress Grimhild, this is your new charge. You may put him to work as he is needed.”

“Yes, my Lady Eormangilda.” She gave a small bow of the head.

The stern-looking Woman cast a gimlet eye on Clovis. “Give no trouble here. It will not be tolerated.”

He gulped and nodded.

The stern-looking Woman swept out of the kitchen, and Clovis looked up at Mistress Grimhild.

She frowned down at him. “You look a child, but I’m told that you are almost an adult of your kind. Still, I suppose there are many tasks here you cannot do. You *can* however, scrub pots.

CHAPTER 45

“Stay near me, Cado, lest you lose your way,” Danulf said, as he strode off down the winding street.

Cado had to trot to keep up, but he was not about to complain. The Man--Master Danulf, he should remember to call him now--had spoken his name. He was no longer bumping along atop a horse, nor was he tied up, nor was he locked up in a cell. In spite of the fact that he was beginning a year of servitude, he felt freer than he had since the awful night of the Ball.

He hoped that Clovis would use a bit of common hobbit-sense in their new situation, but considering his brother’s demeanor when they had been allowed to see their father, he rather doubted it.

They had seen one another briefly in the passage in front of the room where Clodio was recuperating. Clovis was being ushered out by a rather large and imposing Rohirric woman.

“How is he?” Cado asked anxiously.

Clovis sneered at him, and shrugged. “He’ll live,” Clovis said in a flat voice. Then he added, “I don’t suppose we’ll see each other much now we’re *slaves*. Looks like *you* landed in clover.” The look he gave Cado was envious.

Now Cado shrugged. He looked down a moment to blink away the threat of tears, and then looked up at his brother. “Good luck, Clovis,” he said.

Clovis did not respond, and the large woman led him away, and Cado went in to see his father, as Danulf stood outside the door.

Clodio was sitting up in bed, and though thinner than he should have been, and pale, he looked otherwise well enough. Cado noticed that Mistress Poppy and Miss Viola were in the room, though they were at the other side of the room, their heads together over some book, giving Cado the illusion of privacy with his father.

His father’s face was sad and somber, not an expression Cado was accustomed to seeing there. He had often seen his father look proud and gloating when they had been still in the Shire; he had seen him often enough disdainful and angry, or cross and fretful, and on their journey here, he had often seen him look bewildered and confused--but never this rather solemn thoughtfulness.

“Do you blame me as well, Cado?” he asked.

Cado shrugged. To be honest, he did feel much of their current situation was his father’s fault. Yet it wasn’t blame--if he blamed anyone it was Clovis, but--

“I don’t think blame matters anymore, father, if it ever did.” He looked at his father closely. “I never tried hard enough to talk Clovis out of anything he wanted to do, even when I thought it a bad idea. Part of me was always curious to see what might happen, and to be part of the excitement.” This was something he had thought about over the last couple of nights, alone in his cell in the dungeon. Even when he had known his brother’s ideas could lead to disaster, he’d felt a bit of excitement over them as well. Following his brother’s lead had often taken him into trouble of one sort or another, but he had never been bored. He realized now that he had his own share of blame to carry.

“I was a poor father, Cado. I have ruined your lives. I do not think Clovis will ever forgive me.”

His father looked so sad as he said this that Cado was moved to embrace him. “You are still our father,” he said, “and I hope they will allow me to see you again, before you have to leave.” Moved by a sudden impulse, he did something he had not done since he was a very small child, and kissed his father’s cheek. He drew back and swallowed the lump in his throat. Clodio returned his embrace awkwardly, and then Cado had to leave. He turned and looked back briefly, and then had followed Danulf.

He was getting a bit out of breath, when Danulf stopped briefly to speak to a friend who called his name out as they passed. While the two Men spoke in Rohirric, he panted a bit and caught his breath. He overheard his name, and the Rohirric word for hobbits--holbyltlan. He supposed he would have to learn the language, and he felt a bit panicked, as the thought occurred to him that perhaps Danulf was the only one in his family who spoke Westron. He guessed that Danulf was telling the Man about him--he wondered what other people would think, of Danulf having to take someone who had injured him into his household.

Danulf and his friend clasped hands briefly, and then the other Man moved off. He looked down at Cado. “I think that I need to remember your legs are not so long as mine, Cado. Do not hesitate to remind me if I am moving too quickly for you.”

Cado blinked and nodded, they went on at a slower pace. The hobbit looked about him in amazement at the tall buildings. He had not entered Bree, and Tharbad had been only a small settlement; he had never seen so many buildings in one place in his life.

Soon they stopped in front of a small half-timbered house. There was a small courtyard before it. Danulf paused for a moment, and then suddenly three children flew from the doorway, calling, “Fa! Fa!” Danulf laughed and bent to accept their embraces. Feeling a bit awkward, Cado stepped back.

Suddenly the eldest spoke to his father in Rohirric, as he stared in the hobbit’s direction. Cado blushed as three pairs of wide blue eyes turned in his direction.

“Danwine, speak in Westron. Cado does not know our tongue,” said Danulf. He stood, with the lass in his arms.

“Yes, Fa,” said the boy.

Cado studied the children; all three were fair-haired. The eldest had hair of a golden-red, much like his father, while the hair of the younger two was fine as silk and nearly white. Danwine was perhaps a head taller than Cado, and looked to be of much the same age--or perhaps a bit younger--as Bergil. The younger lad was about half a head shorter than his brother, while the lass was almost the same size as Cado himself. She smiled at him, and then put the first two fingers of her right hand in her mouth, and shyly hid her face in her father’s shoulder. In spite of her alarming size, Cado thought she looked barely out of faunthood. Danulf gave her a fond smile and dropped a kiss on top of her head.

The Man turned to Cado. “Cado, these are my older children--Danwine, who is ten, Edric, who is eight, and this little maiden is my Gerde--who is only three. Children, this is Cado, about whom I told you. He will be staying with us for a while.”

Cado gave them a brief bow, and took refuge in Shire manners. “Cado Banks, at your service and your family’s,” and even as he said it, he thought how ironically appropriate the old formula was. No doubt Pippin Took would have thought it a fine joke.

The three children gazed at him, and then suddenly the younger boy blurted, “Were you so very bad?” he asked.

“Edric!” Danulf spoke sharply.

Cado blushed to the tips of his ears, and swallowed. “Yes,” he said faintly, “yes, I was very, very bad, my brother and I, and we hurt your father. I am heartily sorry for it now that I know him.”

“Well, then,” said Edric, “if you are sorry then that is all right! Can you play with us?”

“Goose!” said Danwine scornfully. “A holbyltla is not a child, to play games with. The King said he was to do work!”

“Well,” said Danulf, “who is to say that some of that work may not be playing with my unruly children?”

“Fa!” both boys chorused at once, indignant at his jest.

“Come,” said Danulf. “I would go greet your mother and brother, and your grandfather as well, if he is to home.”

They went within, and Cado looked about, appraisingly. This would be his home for a whole year. It certainly had none of the amenities one would find in a well-appointed smial like the one the Bankses had lived in in Underhill; but it did not look any the less comfortable than many of the cottages in which the working class hobbits lived. They were in a large room that reminded him of the home of the farm family from Rohan that they had met in their travels. But he had only had the merest glimpse of that house; he studied this one closely. There was a large hearth, and in spite of the heat outside, it was ablaze, for a pot hung there with toothsome smells that awakened his appetite. A woman, with hair as pale as the younger children was stirring the pot. She had a babe in a sling, much like the ones hobbit mothers used in the Shire. A large table dominated the room, and an older Man sat there honing a knife. The Man much resembled Danulf, save for the eye-patch and a scar on his brow that reminded Cado of the scar Merry Brandybuck had sported when he had returned from his journey. For the first time, Cado wondered just *how* Merry had come by that scar.

The woman straightened up and gave her husband a smile. Danulf nodded. “Estrith, this is the holbyltla the King has placed in our care. Cado, this is she who is my wife, Estrith, daughter of Fréawine.”

“Greetings, Cado,” she said, her words heavily accented.

Cado nodded, and then turned, as Danulf said, “And this is my father, Danhelm Speararm, former armsmaster to Éomer King, from the time the king was yet the Third Marshal of the Mark.”

The hobbit bowed once more, to both of them, and once more offered his service. He noticed a twinkle in old Danhelm’s one eye that told him the older Man also understood the irony in his courtesy. Cado blushed and bit his lip.

Danhelm chuckled. “I understand you did me a favor, young one,” he said.

Cado’s eyes grew wide. What on earth was he talking about?

“I do believe that you and your brother taught my son the value of his helm.”

Cado couldn’t help it--once he was able to close his mouth, which had dropped in astonishment. He laughed as well, and then he laughed some more. Had it been *months* since he had found anything to laugh at? Good heavens, perhaps his life had finally taken a real turn for the better.

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I have done it, and gotten this chapter posted before I leave for Scotland for the Moot.  I have to say, it is not quite in the form it was originally--a particularly persistant bunny more or less hijacked it, and insisted I put that part in.  I will be leaving tomorrow, and I don't know what sort of internet access I will have, so I may be a while in answering any feedback.  Thank you all for your patience!)

CHAPTER 46

Éomer stuck his tongue between his teeth, and regarded the parchment before him. He needed advice, and not the sort of advice he would get from his counsellors. No, for this, he needed the sort of advice he could get from a friend, and since the hobbits had arrived, he knew just the friend he could ask. He sighed. Writing was not his favorite task, and he usually delegated it to one of the royal scribes. But not *this* letter.

"Greetings to my dear Knight and Esquire Holdwine of the Mark and Meriadoc of the Shire,

I am pleased to learn you have earned the heart of a maiden of your kind, and that a betrothal is soon to be announced when her brother Master Fredegar returns to the Shire. I offer to you my congratulations and good wishes.

I am most impressed with your kin and friends. Master Fredegar and Master Berilac are astute people--I very nearly wrote 'men', but I do not wish to offend!

I find myself in need of advice, and as you may recall that is one of your duties as my knight. Yet the advice I need is not about any matter of state, but has to do with a more personal and delicate matter.

Since I became king, my counsellors have been pressing me to wed, and have proposed many maidens of the Mark as my future queen. To be honest, I was not much troubled by their suggestions. I supposed that one maiden would do as well as the next so long as she was comely and of sufficient intelligence to serve as queen. I have spent so much time as a warrior that I have never perfected many of the courtly graces that would win a maiden's heart, and I was perfectly willing at first, to be guided by them.

I rashly promised them that I would wed within the year, supposing they would settle among themselves on an appropriate bride for me. I know this must sound dreadful to you, whose people are accustomed to wedding only for love, but it is not uncommon among Men of high estate.

Then, just prior to Mid-summer, I travelled to Mundberg for the Gondorian wedding of my sister and Faramir.

It was there I met the daughter of Prince Imrahil, Lothíriel.

Merry there are no words that I could write or even say, to describe the effect she had on me. Never in my life have I ever seen a maiden who stirs my heart the way she does! She is very nearly as beautiful as the High King's Queen Arwen, but to my eyes she is a far more welcome sight. I knew at once that no other woman would ever have such a hold on me.

Of course, I at once approached her father. Prince Imrahil has been a friend to me, ever since the day we first met, when he revealed to me that my sister still lived after the Battle of the Pelennor. I have spent much time with him and with his sons, and they have been good comrades. It did not enter my mind that he would not welcome me as a potential son-in-law.

I was quite taken aback at his answer. He told me that I was most certainly worthy in every worldly way of his daughter, but that he would not see her Queen of Rohan unless such was truly her own desire. He told me that since the War was won, and Lord Denethor no more, he had sworn to himself that she would not be forced to make a marriage of state.

In short, I must win her heart, and win it quickly.

I had little time to spend with her then. Scarcely enough to make her acquaintance. However, her father and King Elessar have taken pity on me. She will be accompanying her brother Lord Amrothos with the escort to take your friends to Mundberg. She has agreed to stay here for a while once they leave, to get to know Rohan, and to decide if she can love me.

I beg of you Merry, lend me a bit of your wisdom, for the sake of your liege's happiness!

I will send this missive by one of our swiftest riders. I may hope that your answer will arrive in time to do me some good. In the meanwhile I will try to possess my soul in patience.

I sign this not as your liege and king, but as your friend,

Éomer Éomund's son"

Two weeks to get there. He was certain Merry would write back immediately--a month then, till he could see what his small friend had to say. But he could not trust anyone else with the secrets of his heart--Faramir, who would understand, was far off now and it was his own cousin that Éomer purposed to wed; his counsellors would have their own interests in mind; and most of his friends among his éored would find in his dilemma a matter for rough jests. It was only two weeks until the escort arrived. He would be on his own until Merry's answer could arrive. That his small friend would have the answer to his troubles he never doubted.

He summoned Witlaf. "I need one of the fastest riders in my éored to deliver a message to the Shire. He is to leave within the next two hours. Also, ask the holbyltlan if any of them wish to send messages home."

Witlaf nodded, and rushed to do his king's bidding.

___________________________________________

Viola sat at the small table and chair that had been placed in the room for the hobbit healers' use. She cast a glance at her napping patient, and then, dipping her quill, turned her attention to the parchment in front of her.

Dear Verbena,

Well, the embassy has accomplished its main purpose in Rohan, and seen the two younger traitors to judgement. They have to work for a year as servants. It doesn't seem so dreadful a fate to me as having been banished.

Their father is our patient right now. He has a weak heart, but he seems to be recovering well. As soon as our escort arrives from Gondor, we shall take him and the other older prisoner on to the big City.

I cannot begin to imagine a city larger than Edoras; but then, before I went to Bree, I could not imagine any place that large either. Men are amazing creatures, Verbena. Everything they build is so huge, and there is always so much of it.

I am very impressed with the King of Rohan. He is, of course, very large. But he is quite handsome if one can overlook his size and all that hair! He seems to be just and merciful, and his people seem to love him a good deal. I can quite understand Captain Merry's loyalty to him. They call Captain Merry 'Sir Meriadoc' or 'Holdwine' here, and they speak very highly of him and of his courage and bravery.

I think it is wonderful to see how Berilac looks when he hears them praising his cousin! He looks so proud and thoughtful! I know that he has always been very fond of his cousin, but I think now he has gained a deeper respect for him. He often speaks of what a good Master of Buckland Meriadoc will make one day.

Mistress Poppy and I spend most of our days here with our patient, though the Lady Eormangilda sometimes sends servants to relieve us, so that we can take meals with the other hobbits, or attend the feasting in the evenings. Still, we've had a bit of time to look about Edoras and see some of the sights here.

I must say it is a very horsey sort of place! Why, the King's stables are every bit as nice as many of the people's houses!

I miss you, sister. A letter is all well and good, but it's not nearly the same thing as speaking with you! I hope that if you have written to me, the letter will catch up soon! I long to know how you are faring!

Please give my love to Aunt Rhody, and tell her I miss her as well! I would write more, but the king announced that a messenger will be leaving for the Shire in just a couple of hours, and so I am taking this opportunity to write to you.

Love,

Your sister,

Viola"

________________________________________

Freddy and Berilac had been working for some time on a report for the Thain. It only remained to gather it up, and make certain they had left nothing out.

Freddy wished they had time to write more personal letters, but there would just be time for him to write one. He knew Berilac was writing his father, but Freddy was writing to someone else.

"Dear Frodo,

We have arrived safely in Edoras, and the Banks lads have come beneath the King's justice. They have been sentenced to a year of servitude--nothing terribly onerous to the average hobbit, though I think that to these two, brought up to believe they were privileged, it may seem more difficult than it is. I am of the opinion that Cado will take things more sensibly than Clovis. Cado will be acting as servant to the family of the Man they injured, and Clovis will be serving his sentence in the kitchens of the King's house.

You may be reading this with your eyebrows raised, to see me write of them by name, who were Banished. But I think that you alone will understand when I say that keeping up the pretence they are no longer people is pointless now. They will never return to the Shire, but they will be making new lives for themselves in the Wide World.

I have been doing a lot of thinking, and it seems to me that some changes may be needed in how the Shire deals with those who break the law. Banishment is not the best solution any longer. I have a feeling you will agree with me, and perhaps, with Merry's and Pippin's help, we may be able to come up with a better solution.

And Frodo, I want to thank you. Because of you, I have taken a chance. Perhaps I should have gone with you when you left; danger would have found me either way. It scarcely matters now, though. I have begun to understand.

I hope this finds you well. Give my regards to Sam and Rose, and to Merry and Pippin as well when you see them.

Fondly,

your friend,

F. Bolger"

Freddy gave the letter a quick look, before sealing it with a bit of wax from the candle on the table; then he gathered up the report he and Beri had made for the Thain and tying it together with a cord, he placed it in the leather diplomatic pouch.

He glanced over at Berilac. "Did you want to write a personal letter, Beri?"

Beri shook his head. "No time now. I will wait and send my letters with the next messengers." He stood up. "Would you like me to take these to Witlaf?"

Freddy nodded. "Yes, thank you, Beri."

Beri quickly found Witlaf and delivering the dispatch to the servant, asked "By the way, have you seen Master Gimli?"

"Yes, Master Berilac, he's out on the front steps making smoke."

Beri grinned, and headed that way. He thought perhaps he felt like a smoke himself.

Gimli glanced up, as Berilac joined him. The smokers among the party of travellers had taken to going out on the front steps of Meduseld to indulge their habit.

The two smoked silently for a few moments, and then Berilac said, “I went by last night to see if Legolas wished to stroll down to the stables with me. He was not in his guest chamber.” He blew out a smoke ring, and looked sideways at the Dwarf.

Gimli suppressed a smile. He was quite sure that Berilac remembered owing the Elf a bit of payback for splashing him on the journey. Gimli blew a smoke ring of his own, slightly larger, but not quite so perfectly round as the hobbit’s. “Legolas never sleeps in his chamber. He usually spends his nights here at Meduseld upon the rooftop, star-gazing. He says the stars seem closer and brighter here in Rohan than in many places. He only uses his chamber to change his clothing and keep his things.” Gimli looked at Berilac again, and was unsurprised to see a brief gleam of triumph in the hobbit’s eyes.

“Is that so?” Berilac asked casually. “Imagine that.”

Gimli shrugged. “That’s an Elf for you,” he said lightly. He wondered just what form Berilac’s revenge would take. Merry and Pippin had been quite inventive when it came to planning japes, and he expected that Merry’s cousin would not be far different. This could be very amusing. He wondered what Berilac would do, and briefly considered whether he should warn Legolas, before chuckling and dismissing the idea. Let the Elf fend for himself.

CHAPTER 47

Merry shook his head and sighed. The rocket had gone bitter in the Wedmath heat--well, rocket was supposed to be a little bitter and have a bite to it, but this was well nigh inedible. No salad tonight then; the lettuces had gone off the week before--bolted overnight. Sam had warned him it was too late to plant them, but he’d tried anyway. He should have known to listen; Samwise Gamgee was never wrong about things like that. But Merry did love a nice crisp salad.

On the other hand the runner beans looked to be doing quite well, he thought, as he began to pull them and put them in his basket, only occasionally nibbling on them.

He hoped next spring to put two more beds in, here at Crickhollow. His herb bed was doing splendidly as it was. He could put a smaller one next to the one he had now, and another long one next to the vegetable beds. And Sam had promised him some starts of asparagus. Perhaps Sam could spare him some two-year old plants, so he would not have to wait so long for a harvest. Bag End had the best asparagus.

Well, Bag End had the best of just about any vegetable, thanks to Sam…

“Merry!” Merry heard the sound of Pippin’s pony at the same time he heard the excited call. Pippin’s voice sounded urgent, but not upset. He wondered what could possible have his younger cousin all stirred up so, and dusting his hands on his breeches, he made his way around the corner of the little house just in time to see Pippin flinging himself from Sable’s back.

It was the sight of the green leather dispatch case that Pippin drew from his saddlebag that clued him in.

“Word from Rohan!” he exclaimed, hurrying up the path to take the case from his cousin.

Pippin handed it over. “Yes, well, you know I’d gone up to the Bridge to discuss the building of the new Ranger waystation with Mellor, and suddenly we heard a horse pounding up the road. It was one of the Riders from Rohan, and he had several messages. There were a couple of personal letters to some of the embassy’s family--including one from Freddy to Frodo, and an official report to Father. But this one’s for you, from Éomer King!” He pulled a face. “There wasn’t anything for me!”

Merry fumbled at the case, and then drew forth the folded and sealed message.

“What’s it say?” asked Pippin impatiently.

Merry shook his head. “I haven’t even opened it yet. And depending upon what my king has to say, I may not tell you. What about the Rider? Is he being taken care of?”

“Yes, he is! Mrs. Banks is feeding him, and he is going to share Mellor’s campsite. But he says he must hurry back to Rohan--he is to take an answer from you back with him as soon as possible!”

Merry took the missive into the house, and went into the little study, where he pulled it out, and put his thumb under the seal. He glanced briefly out the window--Pippin was taking Sable to their small stable. Good. He unfolded the letter, and began to read, his eyebrows climbing, and the smile on his face gradually spreading into a grin.

And then he became serious again. This was unexpected, as well as a big responsibility. It was possible that the future of Rohan depended on his answer. More importantly Éomer’s happiness and that of the woman he loved depended upon his answer. What could he say? He cast his mind back to his early courtship of Estella, and began to smile once more. He drew forth a sheet of notepaper and took up a quill, and dipped it into the inkwell.

He heard Pippin come in, and he could hear him bustling about in the kitchen. After a few minutes, he heard the teakettle whistle cheerily, and he knew what was coming next. He chuckled to himself and shook his head in amusement.

Sure enough, only a few moments later, Pippin came into the room with a tray--tea and sandwiches, and a few savoury biscuits their housekeeper Bluebell had baked the day before, and a bit of the seedcake Merry‘s mother had sent home with them when they had dined at Brandy Hall.

He sat back, and very carefully put the refolded letter atop the one he himself had begun, before reaching out to take the cup Pippin proffered.

“Well?” said Pippin.

“That’s a deep subject,” Merry retorted with the old childhood saw, meeting Pippin‘s eyes over the rim of his teacup.

Pippin cast his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, and his face fell. “Merry?” He gave Merry his pleading look, but Merry shook his head.

“It’s not my place to tell you, Pippin. He has not given me leave to do so, and it’s private. I wouldn’t press you, if Strider wrote to you in confidence.” Merry used a firm and no-nonsense tone.

Pippin sighed. “I know. But you can’t blame a Took for being curious.”

“No,” chuckled Merry, “it would be like trying to blame a bird for flying or a fish for swimming or a squirrel for climbing trees.” He relented just a bit. “It’s not bad news, at any rate. And if he gives me leave later, I will tell you about it. Now, why don’t you go along, and allow me to finish my reply. He is in a bit of a hurry to receive my answer, Pip.”

Pippin shrugged, and then he grinned, his face lighting up as though he had a sudden idea. “I think I shall go up to Brandy Hall and pester Uncle Merimac.”

Merry laughed. “Whatever for, Pippin?”

“Well, it’s closer than Bag End. And he got a letter from Beri.”

“You do that, then! And I am sure you will wheedle every last detail out of my poor uncle.” He hid his look of triumph--there was no way that Éomer would have confided the subject of *this* letter to anyone. And with Pippin gone down to the Hall for the rest of the afternoon, he could finish his answer in peace.

He could not resist once last jibe. “And if Uncle Merimac fails to deliver, you may go try your luck in Hobbiton and Frodo-wheedle all you like. If Freddie revealed anything to him, I wish you luck in getting it out of him!”

Pippin made a face and stuck out his tongue saucily, before leaving the room, laughing ruefully.

When it came to being close-mouthed, even Gandalf could not compete with Frodo Baggins, as Pippin knew all too well.

Merry watched out the window in front of the desk, as Pippin’s figure walked down the path to the little gate. Then he pulled forth the letter he had begun, and looked at it.  

“My dear liege and friend, Éomer King ,

Greetings from your knight and esquire, Holdwine of the Mark--and your friend Merry, as well!

I am more honoured than you can begin to imagine that you are seeking my advice on a matter like this.

You are a brave warrior, and you are courteous and kind and generous. I cannot but think that this Princess Lothí riel will fall in love with you if she spends much time with you. I can recall from our time in Minas Tirith the swooning glances you received from many a Gondorian maiden--and not merely because you were a king and a hero. In spite of the fact, that being a Man, you carry your extra hair upon your chin and not upon your feet, you seem to be regarded as a comely specimen of your race.

Merry put the letter back down on the desk, and dipped his quill into the inkwell once more. The best he could do, he supposed, was to recount his own courtship of Estella. He smiled to himself at the thought of her, and began to write.

Still, if you are concerned with catching her attention, you could do worse than to tell her stories…”

___________________________________________

Éomer stood at his window, and gazed down at a sleeping Edoras. He could not sleep. It was past midnight, and all was dark. He cast his eyes further, to the starlit plain spread before him, and he wondered. Where was she? The messenger said the party of Gondorians had set out at the same time he had, and he had arrived this very day.

But a single messenger riding in haste could make that journey in only four days--É omer knew very well that a larger company, consisting of not only riders, but wains and waggons as well, could take a good deal longer to travel that same distance. It had taken twenty days to reach Edoras when they had brought the body of his uncle home.

Today, his letter should have reached Meriadoc, if all had gone well. And if Merry answered as quickly as he hoped, he would soon have his answer. But would the answer come before Lothíriel arrived? It would be a very close thing--and all depended on his messenger riding with all the haste he could muster, with no delays or troubles on the way. Éomer knew better than to count on that.

He sighed deeply and gave a rueful chuckle. What would the men on his council think, or the warriors of his éored, if they knew that he was placing so much store by the advice of one little holbytla. They would think him foolish. Yet in matters of the heart, he thought, Merry would be very wise, and being in love himself, would understand his liege‘s desperation. His people seemed to understand such things so easily. He was sure he could trust Meriadoc’s counsel.

If only it would arrive in time.

CHAPTER 48

Clovis scowled at Bredwyn and Frealiss who sat across from him, as the three of them worked at their assigned task of polishing up the silver. The two girls were chattering away in Rohirric, and though he’d begun to pick up some of the language simply from being around it so much, he still could not understand one word in twenty, especially as fast as they were speaking.

The two young scullery maids were far younger than he in actual years, though they were probably not that much younger in the way that Men reckoned these things. If they had been hobbit lasses, he thought they’d be in their mid-tweens judging from their appearance and behaviour. Both of them were fair--Bredwyn had hair the colour of wheat, while Frealiss had pale hair, nearly white. Bredwyn was plump, and Frealiss was slender. And though both of them towered over Clovis, Frealiss was a bit taller than the other maid. He found both of them very annoying. They never stopped talking.

He picked up another piece of the silver cutlery, and began to polish. While this task was not as onerous as pot-scrubbing, it was a good deal more boring. Though that wasn’t to say that pot-scrubbing was not boring as well, but at least it was not as boring as polishing the silver. On the other hand, the silver weighed a lot less than the pots.

While he did not understand the words the maids were saying, he knew the gist of their conversation simply by the expressions on their faces. The whole of Meduseld was all a-twitter with gossip about the visitors that would be arriving in only a couple of days. Apparently some princess or other would be coming, and she was expected to possibly marry the King. The maidens of Meduseld seemed divided into two camps: those who cherished hopeless infatuations with the young King, and so were jealous over the coming of the princess; and those who thought the idea of a foreign princess was wonderfully romantic.

But it didn’t matter, just as it didn’t matter that he could not understand most of what they said. They all had the same sort of moony-faced look about them, only the infatuated ones pined and sighed miserably, and the romantic ones smiled and sighed happily. Either way, it was a very soppy way to behave.

But then their tone of voice changed, and they glanced at him. One of them said the Rohirric word for “hobbits”--holbytlan.

“Klah-vess?” Bredwyn said to him. The girls could speak Westron when they wanted to--all the servants at Meduseld had to be able to speak Westron at least a little bit, as the court would often have foreign visitors.

Clovis looked up. “What?” he asked sullenly.

In heavily accented Westron, Frealiss said “Your people, the holbytlan, will leave soon to Mundberg to the High King far away. Will you farewell them?”

Clovis shrugged. “I dunno,” he mumbled.

“But, Klah-vess, your fa, he too is leaving. He is, how do you say--ill. Will you not be sorry to see him go?”

He glared at her angrily. “ It’s *his* fault I’m here! It’s all his fault I’m not back at home instead of stuck in this pile doing servant’s work!”

Both of them stared at him in shock, and then Frealiss pursed her lips. “It is in my mind, Klah-vess, that sorry you will be someday.”

The two girls returned to their own polishing angrily. But at least the confrontation had stilled their tongues for a while.

Clovis would have liked to stamp off and leave them, and leave the boring task as well. But Mistress Grimhild would simply make him go back, or set him to another job he did not want to do. The last time he’d refused to finish a job, she had told him he would not get his supper until the task was completed--however long it took.

He was a hobbit. He knew better than to jeopardize his next meal.

With a fierce scowl, he rubbed the goblet before him angrily. If only there was some way out of his predicament.

_____________________________________

Mistress Poppy smiled in triumph as she watched Viola guiding their patient in a slow stroll of the small garden. She had been quite emphatic in her conversation with the King.

“Mistress Poppy, if he is well enough to walk about, he should be put in the dungeon with the other prisoner.”

“My Lord, he may be well enough to be walking for brief distances. I do not want him to tire so easily on the rest of our journey. But if you put him in there, he will most assuredly sicken again. I will not be responsible for the consequences.”

“Very well, then, you are the healer.”

“That’s right. I am. My Lord.”

He had laughed at her then, but she had her way. Now twice a day they were bringing him out to get some fresh air and exercise. It was a good thing, too. They’d had word that the escort to Minas Tirith would be arriving in less than three days. Presumably, their escort would rest for at least a day or two, before they all set out again. It would be a much shorter journey this time, but it would still be physically taxing.

Not for the first time she wondered what would become of their patient when they reached this great city for which they were destined. Éomer King had impressed her with his sensible and fair solutions to the problem the younger traitors had posed. And she had heard enough to feel fairly certain that the High King was at least as fair and sensible, if not more so.

But she was no fool. She had gathered early on that Gondorian law was a good deal less flexible in certain things than it was elsewhere--that was, after all the reason the young stone-throwers had been brought here for judgement instead of there. While it was unlikely, it was within the realm of possibility that the High King might find himself constrained to be harsher than he would want to be.

She watched the patient as he walked with Viola, who was pacing him just right--enough to stretch his limits somewhat, but not enough to overtire him--and wondered. He was a broken hobbit; he had lost his position, his wife, his home, his name and his sons. She was sure that he had learned his lesson, but it was too little, too late.

What *would* come of him?

“There now, sir,” she heard Viola saying, “let’s sit down now on this step for a few moments, and then we will return to your chambers.”

Viola was proving to be an excellent healer. The lass had gained confidence over the course of their journey, and was not nearly so timid as she had once been. It was quite likely that her charge might soon be ready for her mastery, though she was still a year and a half from coming-of-age.

And what then? Would she wed Berilac Brandybuck?

To Poppy’s astute eye, the attachment between the two appeared to be a real and steady one. While Poppy herself had never wished to wed, she knew that her friend Lavender had made a very successful marriage in spite of her career.

Master Dodinas Brandybuck’s apprentice, Thistle Applewood, was nearly ready to go out on her own--and from what she’d heard, Thistle wished to concentrate on midwifery. Perhaps when they returned, she could transfer the small remainder of Viola’s apprenticeship to Master Dodinas. Then the lass could be near Berilac.

She wondered if young Opal would still be interested in apprenticing to her when she returned.

Ah well! She still had much to learn for herself before they went back to the Shire. Poppy was quite ready to move on to the next stage of the journey. She was very keen to meet the Healer-King of the West.

_________________________________________________

Dago put the spoon back on the tray, and shoved the tray to the edge of the door. He gazed at the emptiness of the bowl with wistfulness. These Men did not stint him with the meals. They were always abundant when they came. But even so, they were very far between. Three meals. How did such huge hulking creatures get by on a meagre three meals a day? And he’d seen the portions they took for themselves. Why, in the Shire, even an elderly Gaffer with no teeth left and a bad stomach would eat more at a meal than these big Men did. They fed him twice as much as they ate themselves--but still, he longed for Shire-type meals--three or four generous helpings, and six times a day, if you please!

He got up and paced the edges of the tiny cell, and gazed up at the far off little square of blue, to be seen through the distant and barred window many feet above his head, which had it not been barred, was still too small for even a hobbit to squeeze through, even if one could climb so high, up the bare and stony wall.

Then he flung himself upon the immense and rather hard cot, and rolled himself into a blanket. He would never see the Shire again. He would never be a part of hobbit society again.

For years he’d thought most of his fellow hobbits too tedious for words. They had no ambition, they were content with whatever they had. He knew that he’d been unpopular for his own inclination to amass more wealth. That was one reason he had been drawn to Cousin Lotho. Lotho had, it seemed, more vision than the average hobbit.

But Lotho had bitten off more than he could chew. It was one thing to try and gain more prestige within the families of the Shire--the Bracegirdles, after all, were nearly as old a name as the Bagginses and the Boffins--but Lotho’s reach had exceeded his grasp when he’d brought in all those Men from beyond the Shire.

And then Lotho got what he deserved. Dago shuddered. He did not believe the rumours that Sharkey’s lackey Worm. had eaten Lotho--but dead was dead.

He wasn’t dead yet.

And from what he’d learned, at least he’d be out of here in a few more days.

It might even be worth riding on top of one of those huge horses again, if he could see more of the sky than this little square, and feel the fresh air on his face again.

But he stopped his thoughts before they reached as far as his destination. He most certainly did not want to think about what that other king might do to him.

No, indeed.

______________________________________________

“And then Merry goes marching in, carrying his smelly chamberpot, in front of Bilbo and Miss Dora, of all people, and says ’Look, Fwo, I did it all by myself!’” Berilac threw his head back and laughed heartily, and was joined by chuckles from Freddy, who had heard various versions of this story himself several times over the years, and snickers from Mosco, who had not. Jolly, Rolly and Denny all looked a little scandalized. Of course, everybody did embarrassing things when they were faunts, but it didn’t seem proper to be telling such things about gentlehobbits. Especially to a king!

Éomer, however, appeared to enjoy the story immensely, and gave a roar of laughter. “I can see that among your folk, a cousin is a fair target for japes, no matter how high his standing as a hero!” He shook his head. “I am quite thankful that my older kinsmen are careful of my dignity, and have told no such embarrassing stories about me.”

Freddy’s eyes twinkled as he looked at the king. “Are there any?”

Éomer grinned, and took refuge in his goblet of ale. Instead of answering, he said “Ah, I am going to miss you all when you leave my halls, my friends! I have enjoyed your presence here so much. Hobbits do a good deal to lighten the heart and the spirit of a place!”

Berilac smiled. “We shall miss you as well.” The hobbits had entertained the king to “tea” most of the last few afternoons, though it was actually ale rather than tea which had been consumed.

Just then, there was a tap at the door of the solar. “Come in,” Freddy called.

The door opened. It was Witlaf. “My pardon, sire, for interrupting. But you did say that you wished to be informed the moment the messenger from the north arrived.”

Éomer rose with alacrity. He turned to the hobbits. “I must go.”

“Certainly!” Freddy said, and rose with the other hobbits to give their guest a polite farewell bow.

They watched the king leave in haste, and Freddy wondered what important message could be coming from the north, since they were here now, and the expected guests would be coming from the south?

CHAPTER 49

“Your grace?”

Prince Amrothos reined in his horse, and turned his head. “Yes, Captain Meneldor?”

“We can reach Edoras today, if we do not stop. But it will be a long day, and we would not arrive well after sunset.”

There was a brief movement at his other side. The prince turned his head to look at his companion, who was clad in the grey and white livery of Ithilien. “What is it, Captain Beregond?”

Beregond shook his head. “I am anxious to arrive as quickly as we can. But I am afraid my reasons are selfish ones.” He shrugged and smiled ruefully.

Amrothos shook his head. “If we push hard, we will arrive bedraggled and weary. My sister would not thank me for making her enter Edoras in such a state. We will stop today, mid-afternoon. This will give everyone an opportunity to rest. And then we can enter Edoras tomorrow morning, refreshed and in state.” He glanced over at the sturdy small figure approaching on a shaggy pony.

“Master Gloín, I was just telling Captain Meneldor that we shall be stopping early this afternoon, in order to give us the chance to enter the city properly tomorrow morning.”

The Dwarf nodded. “Yes, that would be best. It will also give our host the chance to give us a proper welcome, as well.”

Meneldor looked thoughtful. “Your grace, I have a suggestion--perhaps we could send an outrider ahead, to inform Éomer King of our plan. I am sure that he has scouts watching for us, but I believe it would be a courtesy to let him know.”

Beregond grinned. “That sounds like an excellent plan, Captain Meneldor. Perhaps…”

Amrothos chuckled. “Are you volunteering to be that messenger, Captain?”

He shrugged, and smiled ruefully. “It has been a very long time since I have seen my son.”

The Prince reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know that. But you are representing the Prince of Ithilien, and you owe it to your liege to enter Edoras in state. It is only one more day, Captain Beregond. Besides if we arrived too late tonight, you would probably not see him until the morrow anyway.”

Beregond sighed. “That is true, your Grace.”

Menelcar nodded. “I will choose one of the Guardsmen--Eldil, I think. He is a swift rider when he needs to be.”

_______________________________________

Riding somewhat further back, Lothíriel watched the brief consultation of her brother with the Captains.

“What was that about, do you suppose, my Lady?”

Lothíriel turned to her companion. “I am not sure, Lady Arien, but if it is important, I am sure that my brother will let me know. I am supposing it is something to do with how long we will travel today.”

“Are you not anxious about it, my Lady?”

“Why should I be anxious?” Lothíriel was very grateful to Lady Arien for accompanying her to Rohan. Lady Arien was not a close friend, but having lost her husband on the Pelennor, she had nothing to keep her in Dol Amroth, and Lothíriel needed another companion besides her chambermaid. But Lady Arien persisted in thinking that it was to be taken for granted that Lothí riel would accept the King of Rohan’s suit. And while Lothíriel had to admit to herself that she was seriously considering it, her father had made it clear that she was not to accept just because it would be practical or a good political match. “Do not say ‘yea’, my daughter, unless your heart is truly and fully engaged. For I believed our lives were forfeit and the world ending--yet now we walk beneath a clear sky and the Kingdom is restored. I promised myself that if you had a future I would not have you throw that future away for mere political advantage. I would have you choose love over duty, and happiness over practicality.”

Lothíriel had met Éomer King at the Gondorian wedding of her cousin Faramir to his sister the Lady Éowyn--they had already wed in Rohan. He was comely--very comely--and kind and courteous. He seemed very sad and grave to her, but then it had been a sad and grave year. He had lost his beloved uncle the King, and while he seemed to be glad to see his sister wed, still it would leave him without any close family at hand. His sombre mood amidst the festivity was understandable, She had been incredibly lucky during the War; unlike most, all of her family remained intact--her father and brothers had survived relatively unscathed. Éomer had been less fortunate, and she felt pity for him.

But pity was not love, nor was mere attraction. She hoped to get to know him. And perhaps her feelings would blossom into love.

“My Lady?”

She had been silent too long. “I am sorry, Lady Arien. I was wool-gathering.”

__________________________________

Gloín rode his pony back to the wain where most of his people were travelling. Nuri and Borin, long-time close friends of Gimli’s, were riding ponies alongside the wain.

“Master Gloín, is there a problem?” asked Nuri.

“No, not at all. We were merely discussing our arrival time; we should enter Edoras sometime late tomorrow morning.” Gloí n spoke brusquely. He did not wish to encourage conversation. He was trying to think how he would be greeted by his son on the morrow.

His scowl discouraged Nuri and Borin, and they dropped back, leaving him with his thoughts. Truly they were thoughts he’d been having ever since he had last seen his son, when Gimli and Legolas had returned from the War and the Quest.

Thorin Stonehelm, now King Under the Mountain, had greeted the son of Thranduil with great courtesy, but Gloín had not been pleased to see such a firm friendship between his son and the son of the Elf who had imprisoned him. Gloín--and indeed most of the Dwarves of his generation, and especially those who had survived the quest to overthrow Smaug--were more than a little unhappy to see the Elf within their halls. He would not disgrace his King nor dishonour his son by insulting a guest, but he had been as coldly formal and distantly polite as he could manage.

And he had rebuked Gimli for allowing himself such familiarity with the Elf. Gimli had waxed angry, and made it clear that his friendship with Legolas meant more to him than his father’s good opinion.

Then the Queen Mother had made an unprecedented request, and Legolas had been escorted to the women’s quarters to meet her and also Gimli’s mother and sister. He had created quite a stir there.

Gloín’s temper had not been helped when his wife and daughter took the Elf’s side. Apparently the Elf had made an extremely favourable impression in the women’s quarters.

The next day he had once more argued with his son, and then Gimli and Legolas had taken their leave.

Unfortunately for Gloín, King Thorin had not been pleased. Legolas was to have stayed far longer, and Thorin had been hoping to strengthen ties between the Mountain and the Wood.

And Gerd, his wife had not been pleased. Nor Frigg, his precious daughter, who had actually shouted at him--something she had never done before!

Then one more blow, and quite unexpected: a few weeks later, he had received a letter from his old friend Bilbo. Apparently after leaving the Lonely Mountain, the two companions had passed through Rivendell.

“My dear friend, I am gravely disappointed in you. Your son told me of your cold greeting of his friend Legolas.

How could you be so inhospitable to one who was your son’s companion on that horrible and dangerous journey? Gimli and Legolas were among that Company which set out from here on a desperate mission which no one expected to succeed. They braved dangers along the way, trying to protect my beloved Frodo! And along with Aragorn, they tried to rescue my young cousins Meriadoc and Peregrin from foul captivity among the orcs! They fought in battles together and saved one another’s lives. You are a warrior, you must know what sort of bond that forges between comrades-at-arms!

I do hope that you will seek to make amends, and that you will try to reconcile with your son. I know that he feels this estrangement deeply.

I am sure that once you give the matter some thought, you will realize that it is the right thing to do. You are an honourable Dwarf even though you are nearly as stubborn as a hobbit.”

 The old Dwarf sighed. He had been in the wrong, and he knew it. When King Thorin decided to send a group of Dwarves South, to fulfil the promise of help in rebuilding Minas Tirith, and to assist Gimli in the building of Aglarond, Gloí n realized that he had to accompany them, and try to make things right again.

But he wondered what sort of greeting his son would give him. Would he be welcomed? Or would Gimli remember only his father’s bitter words?

And would he be able to put aside his old prejudices when he was faced once more with his son‘s Elven friend?

_______________________________________

Beregond had not really expected the Prince to accede to his request to be the messenger, but he could not help the little leap of hope that came to his heart when the idea occurred to him.

He had missed his son more than he had ever expected to do. They had, after all, been separated by war or duty many times. But it was quite different when it was Bergil who went away and he who had stayed “home”.

And Ithilien was really beginning to feel like home. He hoped Bergil would come to feel that way as well--though somehow he was certain his son would choose to join the Tower Guard when he was old enough, and not the White Company.

He thought of Prince Faramir, and smiled. His liege could have chosen any of his men to deliver this message to Legolas. But Faramir had known how anxious Beregond had been, and had allowed him to volunteer.

Bergil’s letters had been erratic and curiously uninformative. They were often quite long and rambling, but they were filled with the sights the lad had seen and the people he had been among, and precious little about his son’s own self. Yet he also knew from the letter he had received from Targon that his boy had been ill--it had delayed their travel.

Still, he seemed to be well. And one thing his son had been proud of enough to boast about was learning to play the flute! He chuckled, and imagined the two of them together, as Bergil displayed his new skill.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, he would embrace his child again.

CHAPTER 50

Bergil woke abruptly. It was not quite morning, but he was wide awake. How could he sleep? He would see his father today!

Oh, how he had missed his father! He had not thought he would miss him so much. He was, after all almost twelve now, and quite grown--a page to the Tower Guard, in service to the King! He’d travelled with the Guardsmen all the way to the Shire, and most of the way back. Why, even his father himself had never travelled so far as Bergil had!

But still there had been those nights when he missed his father, and could not keep the tears from flowing. And now, from what the messenger had said last night, his father would be arriving with the others today!

Bergil glanced around the room. It was a common sleeping room, set aside for visiting foreign soldiery. None of the others were yet awake, and he did not wish to disturb anyone, but he just could not stay quietly abed. The others would probably sleep until the morning horn blew. He sat up carefully in his cot, and took his clothes and boots from beneath it. He dressed very silently, and then putting his boots and his stockings under his arm, he padded from the room.

Quietly, he closed the door to the chamber behind him, and sat down on the cold flagstones to put on his stockings and boots. He glanced up, after lacing his second boot, and flashed a smile at the Rohirric guard who stood at the end of the corridor.

The guard smiled back, and as Bergil passed him with a whispered “Good morning,” he said, “You are up early today, Master Bergil.”

Bergil grinned. “The messenger who came last night said my father will be here today, Bedwig!”

“So I have heard,” was the quiet reply. “I am sure that if you make your way to the kitchen, you might be able to break your fast early.”

“Thank you,” Bergil nodded, and darted off.

Meduseld was not nearly so large as the Citadel, so it did not take him long to make his way to the kitchen. The only ones abroad at this hour were a few servants and an occasional guard. All of them smiled and greeted him by name. In the few weeks that he had been there, he had come to know many of them.

He found Mistress Grimhild overseeing the preparations of the trays which would be taken to the King and the more important guests in their chambers, while she also kept an eye upon the preparations for the meal which would be served in the Hall for everyone else.

But when she saw him, she said, “There is bread and fruit on the table, boy, and there is frumenty* on the hearth. Clovis, give the child a clean bowl.”

Clovis, whom Bergil had not seen at first, left the pile of dirty pots, and grabbed a wooden bowl from a stack of clean ones on a table. He handed it to Bergil. They avoided looking each other in the eye, and Clovis turned abruptly back to his pots. Bergil flushed. He was not sure why, but Clovis and Cado made him feel vaguely guilty for some reason. Yet he had never done anything to them. Maybe he felt like it was his fault they got caught. He was the one who had found Danulf after all.

“Master Bergil!”

“Jolly!” The hobbit sat alone at the table, and it was clear he had already been eating for a while. But his bowl was nearly full of frumenty, so Bergil thought it must be the hobbit’s second serving. He filled his own bowl with the fragrant porridge and went to sit next to him.

“You’re up early, Master Bergil,” said Jolly.

“So are you,” said Bergil.

Jolly chuckled. “I’m a farmer. I’m always up early.” He gave Bergil a conspiratorial wink and said, “Besides, this way, I get first and second breakfast.”

Bergil giggled, and then applied himself to his own food.

“So, I heard your dad’s coming along with them others from Gondor, who’re coming to fetch us the rest of the way?”

Bergil nodded. “I will be very pleased to see him again, Jolly. I have not seen him in a very long time.”

The hobbit nodded. “I miss my own dad, and it’s not been nearly so long for me!” He leaned closer, and said “Did you hear about the Dwarves?”

“Dwarves?” asked Bergil, puzzled.

“Seems as if there’s Dwarves coming along; some o’ Mr. Gimli’s kinfolk from the Mountain, come down to help with some building and such.”

Bergil shook his head. Once he had heard the momentous news that his father was among those coming, he had ceased to listen to the rest of the messenger’s report.

“Mr. Gimli’s not so pleased as he ought to be, by my way o’ thinking. His own dad’s a-coming with ‘em, and seems as how they two had a bit of a row afore Mr. Gimli come to the Shire.”

This was news to Bergil, and he and Jolly gossiped for a bit. Jolly asked him questions about what it would be like in Minas Tirith, but soon enough they had finished their meal. Bergil noticed that the trays were ready to be taken away. “Mistress Grimhild?” he asked.

“Yes, Bergil?”

“Might I take Captain Targon’s tray to him?”

“Now, a thoughtful child you are! Yes, yes you may do that!”

Bergil blushed. He did not think it was all that thoughtful--it was part of his duty after all, though he had not been needed for it here in Meduseld.

He excused himself to Jolly, who was polishing off the last few bites of a pear, and took the tray that Mistress Grimhild indicated.

Captain Targon had been given a small chamber to himself, apart from his men, as he was the ranking Gondorian of the group. Bergil paused as he reached the door to balance the tray, so that he could open the door. He tapped lightly.

"Enter," came the Captain's voice. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed, and was pulling on his boots. "Bergil?" he said in surprise. Usually it was one of Meduseld's servants who brought his morning tray.

Yes, sir," Bergil said. "I was in the kitchen finishing my own breakfast, and asked to bring your tray."

"Thank you, lad." He gestured at the small table that sat beneath a window, and Bergil put his burden down there. "Are you excited about seeing your father today?" he asked.

Bergil grinned. "I am. It has been so long, Captain."

"I know it has. And while I know that you have enjoyed the experience, I also know that there were some parts of it that were not very pleasant. You have done an excellent job, Bergil, seeing to our needs, and I will be very pleased to tell your father what an wonderful page you have been."

"Oh, thank you, sir!"

Soon Targon had finished his breakfast. He stood up. "Shall we go find the others, then, Bergil?"

They soon found the other Gondorian soldiers having their breakfast in the common dining room--along with all of the hobbits, including Jolly, who had a full dish before him. He gave Bergil a wink. Captain Targon went over to speak to his Men, and Freddy gestured to Bergil to join them.

“I’ve already had my breakfast, Mr. Freddy,” he said politely. He looked pointedly at Jolly, who just grinned.

“Well, I won’t press you. But you could sit and keep us company for a few minutes, until you are needed for your duties.”

He sat down between Mr. Fredegar and Mr. Berilac. “Have you heard yet what time they will arrive?” he asked.

“Not yet; we were told that a watch is being kept, and we’ll be told when they come within sight of Edoras. Then it will only be a short time until they enter the City.”

“We’ll be setting off for Minas Tirith the day after tomorrow,” said Berilac.

Bergil nodded. “Are you pleased to be going?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Freddy, “although we’ll be sorry to leave Edoras behind. We have made some good friends here.”

“I know.” Bergil thought of the Rohirrim who had ridden with them to the Shire: Danulf, Leodwald and Anwynd, and Lord Éothain. He had served them as much as he had served the Guardsmen. And he was especially going to miss Anwynd and his flute lessons.

Just then there was a stir at the other end of the table. It was Lord Éothain, who had come in and bent to have a word in Captain Targon’s ear. The Captain stood, as did his Men. He came over to the hobbits and Bergil. “Word has come. The escort is about an hour from entering Edoras. We will need to make ready. We will await them in the Great Hall.”

A short time later, the Guardsmen stood together at one side of the Hall. Next to them stood the hobbits, and Legolas and Gimli. There were many Rohirrim as well. Éomer King sat upon his throne, and behind him stood his cousin, Lord Éothain, the Second Marshall of the Riddermark, Lord Elfhelm, and his aunt, the Lady Eormangilda.

Bergil was beginning to feel restless inside, but he had already learned one of the more important lessons of being a page: standing still and appearing alert, no matter what thoughts were going through one’s mind. Borondir had told him once that it was a lesson a Guardsman needed as well. So he stood straight, his posture perfect, his hands behind his back, while his eyes roamed over the Hall. Anwynd was among the Rohirrim who were also standing guard, and he caught Bergil’s gaze briefly, and allowed him a very tiny smile. Bergil did the same, briefly, and composed his face once more.

He had so much to tell his father--he had not told him everything in his letters home. For one thing, he had never mentioned his near-drowning and his subsequent illness. When he had been sick, he could not have done so, and to bring it up once he was well again would only have worried his father pointlessly. But he was going to have to tell him now, for he wanted his father to realize how Mr. Freddy had saved him. Perhaps it would not be necessary--maybe Targon had already mentioned it in one of *his* letters.

As he was beginning to wonder how he would bring the subject up, the huge doors to the Hall opened, and the doorward, Hending, entered, followed by a group of people--Bergil noticed several Dwarves among them, and he heard a soft and quickly stifled exclamation from Gimli. And there--there was his father! He was clad in the grey and white livery of Ithilien! Bergil wanted to shout a greeting, but he knew that he could not do so.

“My Lord Éomer King, Lord Amrothos son of Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth.” Hending announced. It was the custom in the court at Meduseld to allow the leader of a company introduce those whom he had brought with him. Bergil saw Lord Amrothos standing at the forefront of the group, looking splendid in his blue and silver livery. There was a beautiful young woman standing next to him, her hand upon his arm. That must be the princess.

Lord Amrothos inclined his head in a slight bow. “My Lord Éomer King, may I have the honour to present my sister, the Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth.”

Lothíriel made a graceful curtsey, and in a low musical voice said “It is an honour to meet you, my Lord King.”

Bergil thought she was nearly as beautiful as Queen Arwen, with her long dark hair and fair skin. She was clad in a gown of blue, girdled with silver, and on her brow was bound a silver circlet set with a blue stone.

The King nodded gravely. “Our Hall is all the lighter for your presence, my Lady,” he said. Bergil noticed that the King’s voice seemed a bit hoarse.

The Princess stepped back, and Imrahil turned and said, “My Lord, Captain Beregond of Ithilien, who brings word to you.”

Bergil held his breath a moment, as he saw his father step forward and bow deeply. “Éomer King, I bring you fond greetings from your brother, Prince Faramir of Ithilien, and from his Lady your sister, the Princess Éowyn.

They sorrow that their duties did not allow them to make a visit to you at this time, but hope that they will be able to do so at the turning of the year. I bring also a message for Prince Legolas Thranduilion of Eryn Lasgalen, whom I have been told is among you?”

There was a stir, then, and Legolas took a step forth from his place. “I am,” he said.

“My Lord Prince has bid me to tell you that word has been sent: a group of your people are travelling to Ithilien, and are expected to arrive at any day.”

A slight widening of the Elf’s eyes was all the indication of surprise that he gave. Legolas nodded, and said “I thank your Lord for these tidings, and will journey at once to Ithilien.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Beregond said. His eyes flicked to Bergil, and their glances met for a moment. Bergil wanted to run to him, but restrained himself.

And then Lord Amrothos was introducing “Master Gloín son of Groín, and Master Nuri son of Nain.”

Bergil barely listened to the explanations of the Dwarves’ presence--apparently they’d come to help Gimli as he settled the Glittering Caves. But all Bergil could think about was the moment when the official business would be over with and he could embrace his father once more.

Several of the lesser members of the party were now introduced, and Éomer King gave the travellers over to his aunt, the Lady Eormangilda, to show them to their chambers and to offer them refreshment. As soon as the court was dismissed, Bergil saw his father turn to him.

With a glad cry, he dashed into his father’s arms. “Ada!” he cried, “I am so glad to see you.”

CHAPTER 51

As Gloín came in their direction, Legolas started to move away. But Gimli stayed him with a gesture. “Bide with me, Legolas, until I know why he is here.” Since the messenger had brought word the evening before of his father’s presence in the company that would arrive, Gimli had been torn between hope and suspicion.

But when Gloín stood before them, he spoke first not to his son, but to the Elf. The old Dwarf cleared his throat, and then said firmly, “Prince Legolas, I fear that I was less than hospitable during your visit to the Lonely Mountain. I apologize for my churlish behaviour and --” he hesitated briefly before continuing, “--an I would like to better my acquaintance with one was so staunch a companion to my son.”

Legolas inclined his head briefly. “Master Gloín, that was handsomely spoken. I will consider that our acquaintance begins from this moment.” He smiled. “It is an honour to meet the father of my good friend. Legolas Greenleaf at your service, and your family’s.”

Gloín’s eyebrows rose in pleased surprise. He gave a polite bow. “Gloín son of Groín at yours, and” he hesitated only an instant, “your family’s.” He gave a sharp nod, and fixed his gaze upon his son.

Legolas graced him with another smile, and said, “If you will pardon me, I must speak with Captain Beregond about his message. I will speak with you later, Master Gloín.” He slipped away silently and gracefully, leaving Gimli alone with his father.

Gloín stood silently, apprehension in every line of his stance. He did not know if Gimli would accept his gesture.

But Gimli held out his hands, and they clasped one another’s forearms briefly--for Dwarves do not embrace in the presence of others--and Gimli said “That was well done, Father.”

“Am I forgiven for my wilfulness, my son?”

“Aye.” Gimli chuckled. “Was this journey Mother’s idea?”

“Nay,” Gloín shook his head. “Not hers, nor Frigg’s nor young King Thorin’s, though I doubt not that they one and all wished to urge it on me. But you had not been gone a day when I realised I had behaved badly and foolishly. An old friend helped me to understand what I must do.”

“I am glad, Father. Legolas has been a boon companion to me, and he is a brave and doughty warrior.”

“I do not doubt it, my son.” Gloín gazed over to the other Dwarves, who had waited at a discreet distance for father and son to greet one another. “Look what Nuri has brought to you! They will be accompanying you to those Glittering Caverns of yours, to help with planning the colony. And there are twice that number with Borin in Minas Tirith, already beginning their work there to help restore the city, and then will come to join you.” The old Dwarf grinned proudly. “And I am myself looking forward to seeing your new domain, Lord of Aglarond!”

Gimli’s eyes glowed. “Oh, Father, wait until you see…

______________________________________________

Lady Arien had been most impressed by the king of Rohan. His manner had been lordly, but kind, and his greeting to the Lady Lothíriel had been very gallant and courtly. The Hall of Meduseld was not so grand nor imposing as the Citadel of course, nor even so much as the castle at Dol Amroth. But it was imposing in its own way, with the gilded carvings and colourful tapestries that spoke of the arts of the Rohirrim.

After his greeting, the king had introduced them to his aunt. Now she and the princess followed the Lady Eormangilda to their new quarters, trailed by their own chambermaids, and a couple of Rohirric servants bearing their luggage. Arien glanced back for an instant, to make certain the maids were keeping up. Lady Lothíriel’s chambermaid, Tiriel, was an older woman, who had been with the princess ever since Lothíriel had left the nursery. But her own chambermaid was young. Niella was barely fifteen, and Arien had engaged her especially to bring with her on this journey.

Not for the first time, she wondered if this would be the beginning of a new life. She knew the princess was not yet certain that she would accept the king’s suit, but Arien very much hoped so. There was nothing left for her to return to in Dol Amroth.

She was, of course, not the only woman to be widowed by the War with Sauron. But she was the highest ranking widow who had no other ties. Her father had died many years earlier, her brother was killed in the Battle at the Black Gates that had also claimed her husband’s life. And she and her husband had not been blessed with children. They had only been married less than two years, and most of that had been spent apart, due to the war. Her husband’s estates went to one of his cousins, whom she had never known. When Prince Imrahil had asked her if she would bear the princess company, she had been glad to take the offer.

Here there would be no reminders of all she had lost.

As they went down a wide passageway, Arien noticed one of the side doors open, and a small figure came out, going in the opposite direction.

At first, Arien thought it was a little girl, until she got a better look at the face, and saw the feet beneath the skirts. She was young, but no child.

One of the pheriannath? She knew that some were going to the court of the High King, but she had not known there would be women among their number. She wondered if she would get to meet any of the halflings before they left.

Just then, Lady Eormangilda stopped, and threw open a wide door at the very end of the corridor.

“Here are your quarters, my Lady,” she said to the princess. “I hope that you will find all to your comfort.”

“I am sure that we will, my Lady,” answered Lothí riel.

Arien followed the princess into the spacious rooms. Perhaps this was where her new life would begin.

____________________________________________

Beregond smiled as the Elf approached. He straightened up, and so did Bergil.

“Prince Legolas,” he said, with a small bow. He turned to his son. “Bergil, I must speak with him.”

Bergil looked disappointed, and started to turn away, but Legolas stopped him.

“You may stay, Bergil. I know that you will be discreet.” He looked at Beregond, who nodded, relieved. He had not wanted to send his son away from his side so soon after their reunion.

“In truth, my Lord, the message from my prince is a simple one. By now, three-score Elves, from your homeland in the Greenwood, led by one named Galion will have arrived in Ithilien, where Prince Faramir will make them welcome until your arrival. I am to accompany you back there, as soon as you are ready to go.”

Legolas nodded. “We will leave Edoras with the others, and then strike across country, to travel at all speed.” He turned a smile upon Bergil, who watched, wide-eyed and questioning. “Is Bergil to accompany us?”

Beregond placed an arm around his son’s shoulders. “Yes, he is. He will be coming back to Ithilien with us, by the High King’s leave.”

Bergil flashed a grin at his father, and it was all to clear to both Elf and Man that it was only with effort that the boy was suppressing a loud cheer.

_______________________________________________

Prince Amrothos and Captain Menildor were having a quiet word with Targon. “We will leave the day after tomorrow, if you think that the halflings--I mean the hobbits--will be ready so soon,” said the Prince.

Targon nodded. “Fredegar has told me they are eager to come to their destination. The only thing that may delay us is the health of one of the prisoner hobbits. However, their healer, Mistress Poppy, has told me he is much stronger now, and should be able to travel without any danger.”

Menildor said, “I find it hard to imagine any of their folk being so treacherous. Did you not say in your report that one of them is actually Sir Peregrin’s uncle?”

“Yes. Clodio Banks is brother to Sir Peregrin’s mother. I fear that all races are occasionally prone to greed and envy. Hobbits far less than the others, yet even among them there are sometimes to be found a few.” Targon arched a brow. “Ah, here are Fredegar and Berilac now.”

Freddy approached the group diffidently. He was beginning to feel his way through the manners of Men, and he knew that the Gondorians were much more formal than the Rohirrim.

Targon turned to the Prince. “Your Grace, may I present Fredegar son of Odovocar of the Shire, and Berilac son of Merimac of Buckland?” He looked at the hobbits. “Fredegar and Berilac, this is Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth, and Captain Menildor of the Tower Guard.”

The hobbits bowed, and offered their service, in the way of the North.

“You are kin to the Ring-bearer?” asked the Prince.

Freddy nodded. “I am Frodo Baggins’ second cousin once removed on both sides of the family.”

And Berilac added “I’m Frodo’s first cousin once removed on the Brandybuck side, and second cousin twice removed on my mother’s side.”

The Prince blinked, but he remembered his father telling him to be wary of getting hobbits into a discussion of genealogy, so he merely said, “Indeed. It is an honour to meet you. I look forward to furthering our acquaintance on the road to Minas Tirith.”

_______________________________________________

Viola cast a curious glance back at the ladies who were following Lady Eormangilda down the passage. She did not know, but she suspected that the taller one, who strode at Lady Eormangilda’s side was the Princess Lothíriel--she was so beautiful with her dark hair in her blue gown. The other lady might have dark hair as well, but it was bound up in a sort of cloth bag. She looked older and sadder than the princess. “I wonder will I get to meet them?” she muttered to herself. But she was on her way to fetch up the patient’s tray, and there was no time for that now.

In only a couple of days, they would be on the road once more, leaving Edoras behind.

What wonders awaited them in the High King’s City? And most of all, what would she and Mistress Poppy learn, to bring back to the Shire?

CHAPTER 52

Word had come to the hobbits that there was to be another feast that evening, a feast of welcoming for the Prince and Princess from Dol Amroth. They were discussing it over a luncheon in their quarters.

Viola was pleased. There would be another chance to wear her pretty gown, and perhaps she would be seated next to Berilac again. They had not much time together since they had arrived in Edoras. Mistress Poppy had kept her quite busy with their patient, and Berilac had been much in Freddy’s company as they tried to find out as much as they could about Rohan. Berilac had said it was his duty as a Brandybuck, seeing as how the future Master of Buckland was a Knight of Rohan. But perhaps they would have another chance to talk this evening. She cast a glance in his direction, and then blushed and smiled as she caught him doing the same to her. He lifted his hand slightly, and waggled his fingers at her in a comic wave, and she giggled.

The rest of the hobbits pretended not to notice, though Mistress Poppy cast her eyes to the ceiling.

Berilac hid his grin of triumph by taking a drink of his ale. He glanced at his cousin Mosco on his other side, and said, “I think I may try to run a little errand this afternoon before the feast. Would you like to come with me?”

Intrigued, Mosco nodded.

A short while later, he followed Berilac as the Brandybuck sought out Wiglaf. When he told the servant what he was searching for, Mosco’s eyes grew wide. He wondered what the Brandybucks back home would think of *this*!

Wiglaf stood thoughtfully for a moment, one finger to his chin, and then he said, “I am not sure that I know anywhere that you can get *exactly* what you are looking for, but I know that in the Street of Weavers there is a spinster to whom my wife often goes for similar things. I will have one of the underservants accompany you, for it may be that she does not speak Westron.”

Berilac nodded, and he and Mosco waited, while Wiglaf went to find a servant to go with them.

Mosco looked at his cousin. “Are you altogether certain about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure in my life,” said Berilac, “and I don’t wish to wait any longer.”

“Well, I cannot say that it is really a surprise to me.”

Berilac just grinned.

_______________________________________

Clovis muttered imprecations beneath his breath as one of the undercooks piled another huge pot on the stack next to his dishpan. There was already a mountain of ironmongery and crockery there, and it was all he could do to keep it from tumbling over. His hands were rough from the scrubbing and his fingers were wrinkled from the hot water. His clothing was greasy and stained. He was wet, hot, and dirty.

He had thought himself ill-used before this, but the flurry of activity in the kitchen this day made all he had experienced before seem as nothing. This princess was likely to become the new queen, and the whole kitchen was a-buzz. Mistress Grimhild was determined that there would be nothing for this foreign lady to complain of, and that all would be perfect at the feast.

There was no denying it was going to be delicious. The smells had been tormenting Clovis the livelong day. Both pork and lamb had been roasting, and fish and fowl were also being prepared. The yeasty smell of rising bread, and the scent of a marvellous golden leek and onion pottage, redolent of saffron teased his nose and made his mouth water. All around him were huge people chopping vegetables and mixing things.

True, he and the others working in the kitchens would probably get their share of all this bounty--at least of what was left *after* the feast was ended! But that would not be until much later, and in the meantime, they made do with day-old bread, bean soup and cheese, washed down with watered ale.

With an sigh, he hefted the huge crockery bowl he had been washing out of the water, and placed it on the table to the side. Then he turned to take another from the stack of dirty ones. But he was moving jerkily in his anger, and he overbalanced on the stool he stood upon; as he grasped the dirty bowl with his wet hands, he began to fall. The next thing he knew, he was deposited on his backside with a thump, on the hard stone flags of the floor.

And the mountain of dirty dishes began an avalanche. Amid the clatter and crash, and the sound of breaking dishes, all of the bustle and hubbub of the kitchen came to a sudden silent standstill.

Clovis looked up, to find himself staring into the angry eyes of Mistress Grimhild.

____________________________________________

Jolly, Rolly and Denny had often occupied their afternoons in Edoras by exploring the town. Usually they would go about in company with any one of the Riders who were not busy with their own tasks, but sometimes they would go out on their own, asking their questions through gestures, or occasionally finding a townsman who spoke a bit of Westron. They had been stood to drinks in nearly every tavern in Edoras at least once, and they had, on more than one occasion, gone to the homes of their Rohirric friends to meet parents or wives and children.

Everywhere they went, they were the objects of curiousity. Jolly had found it quite amusing, though in the beginning, it had intimidated Rolly and Denny. But they had soon realised that there was no malice in it, and that the people were genuinely interested in the “holbytlan”, as they called them. Often they were told some story or other about Merry, and sometimes about the other hobbits--though they were unsure as to how true they were. The idea that Frodo was a great wizard who blasted the Dark Lord’s Tower to bits with his magic they found more than a little silly, but they were too polite to say so. They’d heard enough on this trip to have put together most of the truth of the matter.

And they discovered that however far off the mark the stories about Frodo, Sam and Pippin might be, the stories about Merry all seemed to be in line with what they knew of the matter.

They had wondered about that, but finally had come to the conclusion that since the people of Rohan felt as though Merry *belonged* to them, they made more of an effort to keep things straight.

Jolly broached the question to Anwynd, in whose company they now strolled the streets of Edoras. They were on their way to a tavern kept by the Rider’s brother-in-law.

Anwynd chuckled. “Nay, Master Jolly, that may be a part of it, but not the whole! Most of the Riders who lived through the War were *there* when our White Lady and our Holdwine, Sir Meriadoc, struck down that foul enemy--true, none were close enough to see and hear *all*, but there was no mistaking later as to what had passed. Further, though the song of Gléowine the skald made of Théoden King was the last he ever made as the King’s bard, his sister-son Gléomund made his *first* song of the ride of the Lady Éowyn and of Meriadoc son of Saradoc and their defeat of the foul Sorcerer on the Pelennor. And our White Lady made certain that the tale he sang was the true one!”

“Was that the song we heard on our first night here?” asked Denny.

“Aye; and it was rendered both in Rohirric and in the Common Tongue, so that Sir Meriadoc and his kin could understand it.” Anwynd smiled. “I believe our valiant Holdwine was quite embarrassed the first time he heard it. But his kin who were with him seemed to enjoy it greatly. I remember very well the look of pride he received from the Ringbearer!”

Jolly nodded. “Mr. Frodo was always right proud of his cousin, anyhow. They are more like brothers than cousins, what with them being brung up together when Mr. Merry was small.”

Anwynd nodded. “I noticed that during our time in the Shire--ah, here is Leodred’s tavern! Wait until you taste the ale my sister brews--it is, I ween, every bit as good as that in your famous Green Dragon!”

________________________________________

Clovis wielded the mop slowly. He had never been this tired before in his entire life. He had been terrified by the look on Mistress Grimhild’s face, but more than a little relieved when the only punishment he received was to clean up his mess. He had taken away the shards of broken pottery--thankfully, they had not included any of the more valuable dishes, but only the heavy stuff used for cooking. He had restacked the pots. Two of them had serious dents, and he was going to have to haul them to the blacksmith when he finished mopping.

She had railed at him a bit, but she was so angry it was all in Rohirric, and he could not understand enough of it yet to know what she had said. When her rant was finished, she had stood silently for a moment, glaring at the mess. Then she sighed, and shrugged.

“Well, holbytla, you will take care of this mess! And I shall see to it that you have something sturdier to stand upon in future.” And then she had turned her wrath on the other workers who were standing about gawping. “Do you not all have something more important to do than to stare at a few broken dishes?”

Soon the kitchen was bustling once more--there was a feast to prepare, after all!

_________________________________________

Cado suddenly ducked behind the corner of a nearby shop. Danwine and Edric looked at him in surprise, but quickly joined him.

“What is wrong, Cado?” asked Danwine.

“I just saw some of the other hobbits. I didn’t want them to see me.”

“Why not?” asked Edric. “I would think you would be glad to see them.”

Cado sighed. “They would not be glad to see *me*. Two of them are distant kin of mine. They don’t think much of me now that I’ve disgraced the family name.”

“Oh.” Edric looked disappointed. He would have liked to meet the other holbytlan.

Danwine peered down the street. “They are gone into the tavern now, Cado. Come, Granfa is waiting on us at the cobbler’s shop.”

Both of the boys were being fitted for new boots, and Cado had come with them and Danhelm to the cobblers. Once the boys’ feet had been measured, they had gone to show Cado some of the town, while their grandfather visited with his old friend the cobbler.

Cado sighed. He wished he could tell Rolly and Denny how sorry he was for what he’d done. But he doubted they’d ever want to hear it.

________________________________________________

Berilac had been very pleased with his purchase from the spinster. True, it was not *exactly* what he’d been looking for, but it was close enough.

They returned to Meduseld to ready themselves for the evening’s feast. They had missed the “teatime” the hobbits had among themselves in their quarters, and Mosco was vocal in his complaints on that score. But Berilac was cheerful enough for both of them. “All the more room in your belly for the feast!” he laughed, getting a glare in return. It only made him grin the more.

He whistled cheerfully as he went to don his finery for the evening. And he hoped that he’d be seated next to Viola again.

_____________________________________

Viola twirled about. Truly her sister and aunt had outdone themselves with this outfit.

“Are you sure that you do not wish to come to the feast, Mistress Poppy?” she asked, as the healer watched her apprentice. “I am sure that Hiltrude would stay with the patient.”

“No, lass. I’m in no mood for all this frippery tonight, and I don‘t wish to dress up; I will dine just as heartily at the patient’s side. And Hiltrude would stay, I am sure, but she has a new grandchild she wishes to see, and I already told her we didn‘t need her tonight. But you behave yourself, my lass! No more than a cup of that mead, and drink plenty of water with it! Come and relieve me when the feasting is ended.”

“He really is well, Mistress Poppy,” said Viola diffidently.

“Yes, he *is* mostly well, my child. But I will keep him company anyway. He remains my responsibility until we get him to Minas Tirith.” She kissed her apprentice on top of her head, and gave her a little shake. “Now, along with you! And don’t let that Brandybuck cozen you into doing aught that you shouldn’t!”

Viola gasped and blushed. “Mistress!”

But Mistress Poppy just laughed. “Go, child. Go.”

CHAPTER 53

The Great Hall of Meduseld gleamed in the light of candles and torches and the fire in the mighty hearth at the center of the room.  It was a welcome warmth, for the evening had begun to be chill, although it was likely to become too warm for comfort by the evening's end.

At the high table, Eómer King sat in his accustomed place in the centre.  At his right hand sat the Lady Lothíriel and on his left, her brother Amrothos.  He had spoken at length with Amrothos before the feast began, for he had become fast friends with all three of the sons of Imrahil after the Battle of the Black Gate and during the time the Armies of the West spent at Cormallen.  It had been pleasant conversation, as they spoke of their time after the War was ended, but Amrothos had sturdily and steadily evaded any questions about his sister.  When Eómer had ventured to press the issue, Amrothos had laughed and said, "It's better if you and my sister get to know one another without any interference on my part.  I told her little enough about you when she asked.  But I have confidence in your ability to win her heart, my friend!"

Eómer wished he had that same confidence.  He peered at her sidewise, where she was speaking with his Aunt Eormangilda, who sat to *her* right.  They did seem to be getting on well, which was a relief.  Eómer knew his aunt hoped to see him wed soon.  She wished to return to her own home as soon as she honourably could.  On his left,  Amrothos had turned his conversation to Legolas, who sat next to him, and Eómer realised he was going to have to speak toLothíriel soon, or risk appearing rude.  He placed a hand to the pouch at his side, and patted it, feeling the rustle of the letter within.  He had asked his friend Holdwine for advice, and now was the time to take it. 

He leaned towardsLothíriel  and took a breath to steady himself.  "Tell me, Lady Lothíriel , have you ever heard the tale of how my grandfather Thengel won the heart of my grandmother Morwen?"

She gave him a smile that made his heart turn over.  "No, I do not believe that I ever have, although I know that she was a kinswoman on my mother's side of the family."

This made him grin.  "Now you sound like a hobbit!"

Her laughter made him send a silent thanks to his friend.  Bless you, Merry, he thought.  Aloud, he said "This is how they met, then, as I used to hear the story from my cousin Théodred..."

Soon she was engrossed in the tale as he spoke.

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Freddy sat between the Elf and Gimli.  Gimli and his father Glóin had been telling him some of Bilbo's adventures that sounded quite different than the versions he had often heard from the old hobbit's own lips.

"Do you mean to say, you could not understand the speech or the songs of the goblins who captured you?" he asked Glóin.

"Save for that of the Goblin King himself-- who spoke roughly, but well, in the Common Tongue.  But among themselves the speech they used was quite unintelligible.  I've always thought it must have been some form of the Black Speech it was so dreadful to listen to, harsh and foul."

"But--" Freddy paused.  "There was this song--"Clap, snap! the black crack!...down, down to goblin-town". I don't remember it all right now, though I daresay I could in time.  I haven't heard it since I was a small child." 

Gimli nodded.  "I remember that.  It was quite popular among the younger Dwarves!  Bilbo always said that's what he thought they were singing, but of course he was making up his own interpretation.  I daresay it was a good deal milder than what the foul creatures were actually meaning."

Glóin chuckled. "Still, it sounded close enough, all that "whip! crack!" and "grip, grab!" caught the sound of it well enough, I should think.  Bilbo always did have a knack for languages-- not only could he learn them easily, but he had a good sense of the sound of them!  He could somehow capture the spirit of the meaning, even without really understanding the words."

Freddy darted a quick glance over at Legolas, and then back to Gimli and Glóin.  "What about that song of the Elves in Rivendell?" he asked quietly.  That particular song had always struck him as a bit silly for the Elves of whom he had heard so many solemn and tragic tales.

Glóin burst out laughing, and then cleared his throat.  "It was not all that far off the mark.  I am sure it was something they were making up on the spot to discomfit us Dwarves, though I believe Bilbo was guessing at the 'tra-la-lally' part.  It was very silly of them, and I have heard that a few of those Elven merry-makers were rather embarrassed to find their silly verses had been immortalized by our Mr. Baggins!"

"So, *that* was what happened!"  Freddy shook his head.  "I know as I was growing up, there was much debate among young hobbits as to how true Cousin Bilbo's stories were!  A very few of us staunchly believed every word, though many who believed when they were small outgrew it.  But he certainly knew how to spin a tale.  Sometimes he would as much as admit he was pulling our foot hair, but I always thought that the stories he told most often must have happened, for he would get such a faraway look on his face sometimes, as though he was remembering.  Yet I never could understand how he had accomplished so many of his feats, for he never once mentioned or hinted at, the existence of the Ring."

"That does not surprise me," said Glóin.  "It was long before he told us about it, and when he did, the tale did not exactly match the one he told at the Council of Elrond."

Freddy nodded.  "Well, it's just as well he kept it secret while he was in the Shire.  While I have no doubt that most hobbits would have dismissed a magic Ring that could make one invisible as so much moonshine from 'Cracked' Baggins, it would certainly have gained credence after his vanishment at the Party!  And I shudder to think what might have happened if Lotho had somehow managed to get his greedy hands on it."

The three briefly paused to imagine such an appalling thing, and when they continued, it was on a completely different subject.

"So," asked Freddy, "did Beorn's animals actually serve the meals at his table?"

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Lady Arien sat farther away from the Lady Lothíriel than she would have liked.  But as she had pheriannath on one side of her, she was glad enough that the conversation would be in Westron.  She understood not a word of Rohirric, though if her lady did decide to accept the King's offer, she supposed she would have to learn.

On her right was the young woman hobbit she had seen earlier. She was quiet, mostly casting shy glances at her other companion.  He was just as engrossed in her, the two of them smiling at one another, looking away, blushing and laughing at things that had not been said.  It was quite clear they were courting, and Arien thought it charming to watch.  She wondered at the courtship customs of this small people, and she wondered at what it had seemed like to the girl to have come so far from her own home.  She had been told that pherriannath were not a well-travelled  race, and that the four who had come to Gondor during the War were quite exceptional.

Just then, it must have occurred to the young hobbit that she was neglecting her manners.  She looked up at Arien, and said, "I do not believe we have been introduced, my lady.  I am Viola Harfoot at your service."

Lady Arien was charmed at her artless informality, and gave a gracious nod.  "I am Arien of Dol Amroth, at yours.  I have come here as companion to the Princess Lothíriel ."

Viola's face lit up in a sweet smile.  "Oh! The Princess is ever so beautiful, isn't she?  I do hope she falls in love with the King!  He is a very dear Man!"

Arien could not help but chuckle.  "It is good to hear your opinion of him.  I would hope that the two of them do make a match of it.  It would be very suitable, and I have a feeling that he might make my Lady very happy."

"Well, you only have to look at his face to know *she'd* make *him* happy!"  At this, she cast a sidelong glance at the hobbit on her other side,  and blushed prettily.

Arien laughed, and  lowered her voice.  "And is there one that would make you happy?"

Viola's face flamed, and she bit her lip.  "Is it that obvious?" she whispered.

"I think that it is clear to see," was Arien's response.  "I hope I have not embarrassed you." 

Viola giggled. "Well it probably should embarrass me, but it doesn't-- or at least not very much."

Arien smiled.  "Why are you so far from your home?  I have seen no other women of your people."

"My Mistress Poppy did not come to the feast tonight.  She is watching our patient.  We are healers-- at least, she is a healer, and I am her apprentice."

"You are an apprentice healer?" asked Arien in amazement.  This little one looked so young. 

"Yes, that's why we came.  Mistress Poppy heard all about the new King being a healer, and some of the amazing things he could do, how he saved Mr. Pippin, and Mr. Frodo and Mr. Merry and Mr. Sam as well, from certain death.  And she wants to learn all about it, and bring such ideas to the Shire."

"I do not know that the 'healing hands of the King' are a thing that can be taught," Arien said.

"We know that now, but there are other things to be learned, and Mistress Poppy is quite determined that we *shall* learn them.  Oh!  Look! *Mushrooms!*"  Viola grinned widely as one of the servants put a large dish before them, of mushrooms that had been battered and fried.  "I really like them this way!  Look, Beri!"  And her attention was turned away from Arien.

Berilac had noticed Viola's conversation with the lady who had come with the Princess and he turned his attention to the food, which was excellent.  He was nervous about later in the evening, for he planned to have a few words with Viola.  He fingered the object in his pocket, and hoped she would not find him foolish or old-fashioned.  Just as the aroma of mushrooms reached his nose,  Viola turned to him to draw them to his attention.

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Mosco sat next to Captain Meneldor.  The Captain had been speaking to Eothain, who sat on his other side, but now he had turned his attention to the food, so Mosco felt it would not be rude to talk to him.  He had soon learned that Men were not so interested in talking about food as Hobbits were.

But the Captain spoke first to him.  "Master Mosco? Do I understand correctly that you also are related to the Ringbearer and the others who came with him?"

"Yes, I am first cousin once removed to Frodo.  My grandmother Asphodel was sister to his mother Primula.  I am also second cousin to Merry, through the same grandmother-- she was sister to his grandfather Rorimac*.  I'm a bit more distantly related to Pippin, through his grandfather Adalgrim, who was nephew to both my grandmother and my Great-Aunt Mirabella through his father Hildigrim. And the three of us are also related in varying degrees on the Baggins side through my Great-Great-Aunt Rosa.  However, so far as I can recall, I am not related in any way to Samwise Gamgee. The only one related to him in the delegation is Jolly Cotton. He's Jolly's brother-in-law, Jolly is the twin brother of Sam's wife Rose. I also think that Sam and Jolly are cousins in some degree." Mosco frowned. "I'm sorry I can't recall the exact relationship. The Gamgees and the Cottons are more recent names in the Shire."

Meneldor blinked.  Amrothos had dared him to ask one of the hobbits about his relatives, and now he knew why.  He cast a glance at the Prince, further up the table, beyond the King of Rohan.  "That's very fascinating..." he said.

Mosco chuckled, and then blushed.  "Truly?  Because I have been warned by all and sundry that Men are not so interested in hobbit family trees as are we.  Still, it is hard to remember that once I've begun.  Why, the first thing any hobbit wants to know about another is to whom he is related!"

"Well, perhaps not interested in quite such detail as that." Meneldor confessed ruefully.  "Yet I do find it amazing how easily it all comes from your lips!"

Mosco grinned, and picked up another of the lovely mushrooms from his plate.  After he had eaten it with every expression of delight upon his face, he said "Well, it is one of the first things a young hobbit learns when he is out of faunthood.  We learn our families and all our relations, and we learn to cook.  We learn the basics of those things even before we learn to read or do sums."

"Your people sound very content and peaceful!"  He stole another glance at Amrothos, who was laughing at something Legolas had said to him, and an idea came to him.  "But there are a few of Gondor, most especially those of high and noble families, who are also very interested in genealogy.  I am sure that if you ever get the chance to speak to him, you will find that Prince Amrothos is *very* interested indeed!  Why, he told me himself that he found the knowledge of pheriannath family histories to be quite amazing!"

Mosco smiled.  "Thank you for telling me!  I was wondering what on earth I should ever find to talk about with the Prince!  Now, perhaps, you will tell me a bit of Gondor.  Since we are going there next, I'd really like to know more about it all."

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Bergil and his father sat at one of the lower tables, with Jolly on one side and Rolly and Denny on the other side. Bergil had been regaling his father with stories of his visit in the Shire. His letters, while dutiful enough, had never seemed to him quite the way to tell his father of all the amazing things he had done there.  "And Sir Pippin's aunt, Sir Merry's mum-- I mean, mother-- but Sir Merry calls her 'mum' all the time-- she is so very kind!  Do you know, Father, I ate too much my first night there, and was quite sick, but she was very nice to me.  She gave me ginger tea, and sat up with me!  I quite like her, and I promised to write to her when I got home.  Oh, and father! I am Sir Merry's and Sir Pippin's honorary cousin!"

" 'Honorary cousin'?" Beregond asked.  "And how did that happen to come about?"

"Oh--er, they just asked me.  They said they wished it."  Bergil suddenly turned his attention to his food with a concentration that would have done a hobbit proud.  Beregond shook his head; clearly there was more to this 'honorary cousin' business than his son wished to say.  Likely one of Pippin Took's ideas, if he were any judge of things.  But Beregond could not help but feel grateful.  While in many ways his son had grown, and his sense of duty and responsibility was as great as ever, somehow Bergil seemed *younger* than he had in the years before the War, or even in the months immediately after.  It felt as if his time among the hobbits had given Bergil some of his childhood back.  And for that, Beregond was very thankful.

Jolly, who sat next to Beregond said "What can you tell us of this Minas Tirith we are going to?  We've heard somewhat from Captain Merry and Captain Pippin and Mr. Frodo, and from Sam too.  But they wasn't there all that long.  What's it like to live there?"

"Well, I do not live there any longer, as I am now dwelling in Ithilien, as one of Prince Faramir's guards."

"You are a captain, Father!" Beregond interrupted stoutly.

"So I am.  At any rate, I lived in the City all my life, save for about two years when I was sent as a soldier to Lossarnoch.  They had suffered some raids there, and asked protection of the Steward.  It was there I met Bergil's mother."

The three hobbits nodded, but asked no questions-- they already knew poor Bergil's mother had died.

"But the City I grew up in was a solemn place, under the Shadow of the Enemy, and the Lord Steward was a stern ruler.  He tried to be just, but he was rarely merciful.  He felt there was no room for such, pressed about as we were by foes, and in all fairness I should add he was as stern with himself and with his family as he was with the people of the City.  I hear that now the White City is different-- that the King and his fair Queen are trying to make it once more a place for joy and music and beauty." 

"Why do they call it 'the White City'" asked Rolly. "Is that what Minas Tirith means?"

"No, 'Minas Tirith' means "Tower of Guard'.  But it is called the White City because it is built almost entirely of white stones, and sits in the embrace of Mount Mindolluin, against the White Mountains.  In the distance, the City gleams as white as snow."

"You will not believe how tall it is," said Bergil. "Why it is far larger than Edoras!"

The three hobbits exchanged glances.  They had been hearing this for weeks, but it did not seem possible to imagine.

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Gléomund had sung a number of songs as the feast went on.  He had sung in both Rohirric and the Common Tongue, and now as the evening drew to a close, he finished with the last song his uncle Gléowine had made, of the Ride of the Rohirrim and the last battle of Theoden King.  When the song was ended, Eómer declared the feast at an end, and servants came to clear away the tables.  The guests broke up into groups to talk more, and musicians set up to play for the dancing.

Beri approached Viola.  "Viola, would you like to take the air with me for a few minutes?  The Hall has grown very stuffy."

She nodded, and he offered her his arm.  There were no gardens here as there were at the Great Smials or Brandy Hall, but he led her out, and they went down the steps to sit on the bottom one.  They sat silently for several minutes, enjoying the breeze and the cool night, the stars and the quiet.  Berilac turned his gaze to her, and reached for her hand with one of his.

She gave it to him readily.  Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she was sure he could hear it beating.

"Viola, I don't suppose it is any surprise to you to say that I am in love with you."

She shook her head, and her eyes met his. 

"In Buckland, we have an old-fashioned custom.  It used to be rather commonplace in the rest of the Shire as well."  He reached in his pocket with his other hand and drew it forth, clenched.  "I'm not sure you will know what this means..." His face flamed, and he held his hand out.  "It's not silk, but..."

Viola reached out and took the length of yellow, and held it up.  It was finely woven, of two shades of yellow, a design of intertwined knots making its way down the center.  It was more a narrow braid than a ribbon, but Viola had no doubt of the meaning.  Still, she found herself breathless as she looked at it.

Beri swallowed.  She'd said nothing; perhaps he had been mistaken all along..."Er, in Buckland, if a lad gives a lass yellow hair ribbons it means they are officially courting..." But anything else he would have said was cut off, as her two lips met his.

She drew back quickly, red-faced. "I do know what it means! And yes, I do return your feelings! And..."

And now she was the one cut off, as he leaned in towards her.  This time the kiss lingered briefly, and they drew apart more slowly.  Then Viola took the ribbon and tied it about her curls.  She stood up with a laugh, and held her hand down to him.  "Shall we go see if the others notice?"

Berilac laughed, and hand in hand they raced back up the steps.

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*My thanks to GamgeeFest, who caught a couple of small boo-boos here in my family tree recital, and assisted me to fix them.

CHAPTER 54

Clovis had never been so exhausted in his life.  He had been up late the night before as they cleared away the feast and washed pots far into the wee hours of the morning.  A scant few hours of sleep in his cell, and now he was once more in the kitchen, clearing away the breakfast dishes.  He was so tired he could not even summon up his usual anger and resentment.  Tomorrow his father and Dago would be gone.  Cado was already gone to that family he was serving.  And here he would be, alone among all these Big Folk, with nothing to do except scrub dishes. He wished he could find the courage to try running away, but that was hopeless.  He was alone. No one would go with him.  He would surely be caught, and it would just add to his sentence. And then when the year was up, he still had nowhere to go. Heaving a great sigh, and fighting off this unaccustomed sadness, he concentrated on the large pot in front of him.  Perhaps after he got some rest, he could get angry again. Time passed much more quickly when he was angry.

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Mistress Poppy watched as her apprentice completed her morning ablutions and tied up her hair. "Is that a new hair ribbon, Viola?" she asked, knowing the answer perfectly well.

"Oh, Mistress Poppy," Viola turned, her brown eyes shining.  "Beri asked if he could court me!  And he gave me this!"

"Bucklanders have kept up a good many of the old customs that have fallen out of fashion in the rest of the Shire.  And did you give him a family receipt in return? Perhaps your barley-and-mushroom stew?  That's one of your best dishes."

Viola's face flamed.  "There was no chance last night.  Do you suppose I should?"

"Ah! *Now* you see fit to ask my advice!  And did you tell him you had to consult me before accepting his offer of courtship?"

"Oh! Oh, Mistress Poppy!  I'm sorry!  I didn't even think of asking, and that should have been my very first thought after all you have done for me!"  Now Viola was quite distressed, and tears stood in her eyes.

"There now, child!  I did not mean to rebuke you-- or at least not harshly.  Yes, you should have given some thought to your old Mistress, but you are young and in love and I understand.  But you are nearly to the end of your service with me. By the time we get back, you will have only a few months until you come of age and your apprenticeship is up.  Of course I do not mind if he pays court to you.  But let me ask you: are you still of a mind to become a healer?"

"Oh, yes, Mistress! I wouldn't give that up! And Beri would not ask me to!"

"Well then, so long as his courting doesn't interfere with your studies and your duties, I have no problems with him paying respectable suit to you.  Mind you use some hobbit-sense, and don't put the dessert before the main course!"

"Mistress Poppy! I would *never*!"

"You are a good lass then, dear." She gave Viola a peck on the cheek.  "Now you go and see if our patient is awake.  I doubt he really needs our tending any longer, but it will give you something to do.  You can write to your sister and your aunt with your news while you sit with him, and perhaps write out that receipt as well.  Show your young swain that you can keep up the old customs as well as he can!"

Viola laughed, hugged her Mistress and rushed off.

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The day was a busy one, as the hobbits gathered their possessions-- of which there seemed to be many more than when they had arrived.  For some, packing was a methodical and unremarkable necessity, and for others it was a difficult task, as they crammed belongings and gifts into packs that suddenly seemed far too small. 

By luncheon, the hobbits had finished any preparations they could make before the morning. Mistress Poppy and Viola had been directed to a local apothecary, where they could replenish their stores of healing herbs and medicines.  Mosco and Anwynd as well as Hiltrude accompanied them. Rolly and Denny decided to check on the foodstuffs that would be going with them on the trip.

Freddy decided to write one more report to the Shire before they left.  There would be no opportunity to send any more messages before they arrived in Minas Tirith.

Beri wanted a word with Jolly, and suggested that the two of them go to the stables to check on their ponies.  Jolly readily agreed, although he thought it unnecessary-- these Rohirrim took fine care of the ponies and horses.  He reckoned his own Dapple would be spoilt rotten when they left. 

The stables were as busy as usual, and they were greeted cordially by Helgor, the stablemaster.  "Good day," he said. "Have you come to look on your ponies?"  Berilac nodded, and the two of them went over to the stalls where they could see the ponies, sleek and well-fed and content, but not growing fat, because the Rohirrim had regularly seen to their exercise.  Jolly looked about, once more admiring the clean and airy stables.  He remembered his first sight of them, and thinking they were better cared for and as finely appointed in their own way as many a fancy home in the Shire.  He'd never met a folk so much for their horses as the Rohirrim.  He turned, and noticed that Mr. Beri was studying him, as though he wanted to ask him something.

"What is it, Mr. Berilac?" he asked.

Berilac chuckled.  "How would you like to help me out with a little venture this evening?  I don't need much-- just someone to stand lookout for me."

Jolly blinked.  "What do you have in mind?"

When Berilac told him, he grinned. "Now, that's right clever, sir, and I think he'll find it mighty bothersome. I suppose I could keep watch for you."

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Freddy put aside the finished report for the Thain, and decided he had time to write a letter.  He pulled forth another sheet of parchment, and dipped the pen.

"Dear Frodo,

Tomorrow we depart Edoras for Minas Tirith.  I must say I have decidedly mixed feelings about this; on the one hand, I am eager to come to our destination at last, and to meet the High King, of whom you have spoken so highly and so fondly.  And yet I am loathe to leave my friends among the Rohirrim.

It has not even been a full year since I found myself in bitter despair in the Lockholes, grieving for Folco, worrying about my family and the hobbits who had been captured with me, feeling only hatred for the Men who had captured us, and loathing for Lotho and Sandyman.  All that had kept me going was my thoughts of revenge. I had no idea that I even had a future, much less any idea of what that future would hold. I was filled with guilt that I had not gone with you and the others-- at one time, I even felt that the ravaging of the Shire was a punishment on me for my cowardice.  Of course, I realize that now for folly, but alone in the dark at the mercy of those who would torment me, it is easy to fall prey to dark thoughts.  But then you know that only too well.

And now all I feel for Lotho and Sandyman is pity for the horrible ends they came to, and I find myself with any number of new friends, most of whom are Men, though I've grown very fond of an Elf and a Dwarf as well.  Life has changed for me in many ways, and I know that I will be glad of this opportunity when I return to the Shire.

I know how you feel about gratitude, cousin. So I will not burden you with my effusive thanks for all you've done. I hope that you are doing well, and that Sam and Rose have settled happily into Bag End with you.  It does my heart good to know you are no longer alone.  You may want to pass along a bit of news to Merry and Pippin: your cousin Berilac has offered suit to Mistress Poppy's apprentice Viola Harfoot.  They returned from taking a bit of fresh air after the feast last night, and Viola was sporting a new yellow hair ribbon!  I am certain that as one who's spent much time in Buckland you know what that means!

Please give my regards to Sam, Merry and Pippin, and, if you get the opportunity, to your cousin Angelica, of whom I think about a good deal.  I will write to all of them and to my father when we arrive at last in Minas Tirith. It is nearly teatime now, and we are entertaining the King one last time ere we leave.

Your fond cousin,

F. Bolger"

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Lady Arien followed the Princess as they returned to their rooms.  Tea, as they called it, with the pheriannath had certainly been an interesting occasion.  The guests and their small hosts had not sat together at a table; instead, they had all sat about informally, as the cups were passed, as well as the plates of biscuits (both savoury and sweet), very small slices of bread with cucumbers or watercress or cheese between them (which they called "tea sandwiches"), stuffed eggs and cake.  Master Fredegar had explained that in their homeland this was just one meal among six, or on special occasions, seven, of which they partook each day.  It was clear that the little people had prodigious appetites! 

The Princess sat at the King's side, and she was clearly very happy in his company.  Arien remembered when she had come in the night before, and they had spoken as they readied themselves before sleep. "He told me stories, Arien.  And not the sorts of stories you would expect from a warrior like him!  He told me of how his grandfather Thengel wooed and won Morwen of Lossarnach, whom the Rohirrim called Morwen Steelsheen.  And he told me an ancient story of his people from the years before Eorl the Young came to the aid of Gondor, how King Valacar of Gondor came among the people of Rhovannion, and lost his heart to the Princess Vidumavi.  It is told quite differently in Rohan than it is in Gondor. You would think that so mighty a warrior would have more interest in stories of fierce battles, than in those of love!"

Arien herself had thought it quite clever of the King, to try and win a lady with tales of love, rather than of bloody tales of battle.  Clearly he was a man of many talents, and she found herself hoping more than ever that her lady would accept his suit.  He seemed very worthy quite aside from his bravery and skill in battle.  And she watched him with the pheriannath and saw the fondness he held for them, and decided he had a worthy heart as well.  Indeed, the Princess would do far worse, should she not accept him.

But remembering her lady's smiles, she somehow felt he would not be rejected.

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The evening meal had not been so festive or lavish as the feast the evening before, and there had been no dancing after, for tomorrow's farewell would begin early.  Berilac had not even had the consolation of Viola's presence, as she had stayed with the patient while her Mistress took supper with the rest.  Perhaps it was just as well.  She might have distracted him from his business.

When the food had been cleared away and folk began to drift off, Berilac signaled to Jolly.  The two of them made their way through the corridors until they came near the place where the rooms that had been assigned to Legolas were.  They stood back and watched, and before long heard his voice and that of Gimli.  They halted briefly as Gimli reached his own quarters.

"Well, be off to your star-gazing then!  I shall see you in the morning!"

Legolas chuckled.  "And you be off to your own dreaming.  At least you will keep no one awake with your snores!"

Gimli just laughed at this sally  and went into his room.  Legolas went into his own room, and Berilac felt a sting of disappointment-- was the Elf going to stay in there tonight after all?  But no, the door quickly opened again, and moving lightly and silently, Legolas went down the passageway.  Berilac knew it led to a stairwell that went up to the roof.  He and Jolly heaved sighs of relief, and Beri turned to Jolly.  "I shall only be a couple of hours!  Here is my pocketwatch.  If I do not come out, it may be that I've fallen asleep, so knock on the door and wake me.  And if you see him coming back before then, let me know as well."

"I will, Master Beri!  But you take care *not* to fall asleep if you can-- that would be a bad thing."

"Wish me luck," he said, and he slipped into Legolas' room.  It was a large room, with two windows, shutters wide open to the clear night sky.  He looked around him at the large bed, and laying at the foot of it, Legolas' pack, already filled and ready for the morrow's journey.

Berilac smiled and hummed "Roll on, Brandywine" beneath his breath as he carefully and methodically opened Legolas' kit, and in an equally careful fashion, began to unfold the clothing and lay it all out on the large bed.  He resisted the temptation to examine anything else.  He was not sure he could repack it all exactly as it had been.  But it wasn't as if Legolas would not know, after all.  The key to success was the timing.

Since tomorrow was the departure, there was nothing to be done about it.  Legolas would be on his way to Ithilien with Beregond and Bergil, while Berilac would be going to Minas Tirith with the others.  He grinned.  There would be no chance for the Elf to retaliate, which was only fair, after all. It would put them even, although Beri was feeling rather forgiving.  After all, he had finally achieved his kiss with Viola!

But not forgiving enough to forgo his prank.  Merry and Pippin would be quite proud of this one when he told them about it after returning home.

He looked over the clothes, and then went to each of the windows and pulled the shutters closed. Not an easy task for a hobbit-- they were rather large.  But he managed.  Then he went over and clambered up to the bed, making himself comfortable as he pulled out his pipe and filled it.  This had to be the easiest jape ever.

All he had to do was sit here and smoke for a couple of hours-- long enough for the smoke to permeate all of Legolas' clothing.  It would probably be scarcely perceptible to a hobbit, but Beri had no doubt whatsoever that the Elf's sensitive nose was going to be highly offended!  He grinned to himself.  This would be perfect.  He leaned back against the pillows, placed his hands behind his head, and gave himself over to thoughts of Viola.  But he would have to be careful not to fall asleep. It would be poor return for Eómer King's hospitality if he should accidentally burn Meduseld down by falling asleep with a lit pipe in his hand.

He really was on the verge of dozing off and had sat up to clear his head, when he heard a soft tapping at the door.  He slid down from the bed and opened the door to see Jolly waiting.  Jolly sniffed and grinned, and then the two of them left for their own quarters. 

 CHAPTER 55

Legolas wondered if he would miss Rohan.  The stars were clearer in this land than any place else he had been.  He made his way down from the roof to the room which had been assigned to him. He had not truly used it for anything except storing his belongings and changing his clothing.  However, he had no sooner opened the door than he realised the room had most certainly been used for something else last night. For a very brief instant, he thought of Gimli.  But while Gimli was not above playing a jest on him, this was not the Dwarf's sort of jest.  And the scarcely noticeable indentation on his bed had a definite hobbityness about it.  He pursed his lips, not sure whether to be angry or amused.  The smell of galenas was unpleasant at best, and now the room was permeated with it.  His pack was on the bed, and bulged a bit more than when he had packed it the night before.  He picked it up, gave a sniff and made a face.  His clothes reeked of pipe-weed!

He threw open the shutters, which he knew he had left open the evening before, and drew in a deep breath of fresh air.  They were leaving in only a few hours, and there would be no time to have his clothes cleaned.  Which hobbit?  Not Fredegar.  Freddy was not the sort to go in for this sort of game, especially as he took his position as head of the delegation seriously; besides, Legolas knew he had not offended Freddy.  Mosco and the Banks brothers were far too much in awe of him.  Jolly had a puckish sense of humour, but no motive that Legolas could think of. Of course, it would have had to be Berilac Brandybuck. 

Legolas chuckled ruefully.  He should have known that any kinsman of Meriadoc would not forget about his own little jest, when he had playfully interrupted Beri's wooing of the fair Viola.  He had expected that Berilac would try to repay him in kind, but when nothing happened, he had put it out of his mind-- obviously too soon.

And the hobbit had very cleverly assured he would not be able to return the prank.  Definitely a well-thought out jest, full worthy of a Brandybuck.  He was quite sure that Merry would have a good laugh over this when he heard about it.

He sniffed. But it was annoying all the same.

________________________________________________

Eómer King had held a formal leave-taking of his guests in the Great Hall.  Now he and some members of the court were gathered upon the steps of Meduseld to say their more heartfelt farewells to their friends.  

Gimli and the Dwarves were the first to leave, as they headed to Aglarond, to found the colony there.  The Dwarf suffered the embraces of the hobbits, who were sorry to see him go.  Viola was sniffling a bit, and she allowed Beri to put his arm around her.  Mistress Poppy glanced over with a lift of her brow, and Berilac returned her gaze coolly and without removing his arm.  He grinned when Mistress Poppy let a smile twitch her lips and turned away.

Bergil, too, was sad to see Gimli leave and embraced him as fervently as had the hobbits.  

Eómer placed a hand on Gimli's shoulder.  "My friend, we shall be neighbours.  I trust that you will often be a guest here at Edoras?"

"I am certain," the Dwarf replied with a grin, "that I shall be a frequent visitor!  And I expect to host you and your court soon-- as soon as we have established ourselves."

The King turned to Glóin.  "It has been a pleasure to meet the father of my friend.  I hope that you know how remarkable your son is?"

Gloin flicked his gaze to his son, who was now taking leave of that Elf-- of Legolas.  "Aye," he answered. "I know."

Legolas was standing upon a lower step than the Dwarf, and they stood eye-to-eye.  Gimli made a great show of sniffing the air.  "Have you finally seen the light, and taken up smoking pipe-weed?"

"Never.  Tell me, did you assist Berilac in ruining my clothing?"

"Ruined? I think not.  It is nothing that a good cleaning will not mend.  And I have no idea why you are asking me about Berilac."  Gimli raised one shaggy eyebrow, and there was a twinkle in his eye.

"Nay, I do not think that you assisted him.  But you are certainly enjoying it."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Elf. I suppose it will take me a while to get used to riding a proper pony again, after bumping along behind you on that great beast all this time..."

"Take care that you do not fall off."

Gimli snorted, but did not otherwise respond to this sally.  Instead he said, "I trust you will not be a stranger to my new Halls?"

"No more will I, as long as you are no stranger to my new home in Ithilien."

Gimli gave a satisfied nod. "I do not think either of us will ever be strangers to one another again.  I will be seeing you again soon."

Legolas placed a hand on Gimli's shoulder. "And I, you."

If the eyes of both of them glittered with moisture, it was short-lived, as Gimli leaned toward Legolas, gave another sniff and said, "Old Toby, not Longbottom Leaf, I should say."  Then he chuckled at Legolas' expression  and went down the steps to join his father and the other Dwarves where they waited by the ponies.

Those who had gathered to bid farewell watched as the company of Dwarves trotted off on their sturdy ponies.  Now it was time for Legolas, Beregond and Bergil to leave.

Bergil was loathe to leave Freddy. Since his father's arrival, he had been much on his dignity, but Freddy saw tears in the boy's eyes and was moved.  "I am going to miss you, Mr. Freddy," Bergil said wistfully.

"I'll miss you as well, Bergil. But you are going to be glad to be making a new life with your father, and I know you have missed him sorely."

"I know. But I just want you to know, I am going to learn to practice my flute every chance I get."

Freddy was touched and he felt tears gather in his own eyes. He blinked them away.  "That would be the best gift I can imagine. And someday, I am sure we well meet again, and you can play for me then."

Bergil briefly reached out to embrace Freddy, and then straightened up and offered his hand to shake instead.  Freddy took it and shook it firmly.  "Farewell for now, Bergil."

After saying farewell to Eómer , Legolas went over to the hobbits.  He took a warm farewell from Fredegar, respectful ones from the other hobbits, save Berilac, who hung back sheepishly, looking just a little apprehensive.  Legolas turned and looked at him directly.  "I am sure, Master Brandybuck, that it will be quite sometime before I can forget you." He allowed himself the merest twitch of a smile.  "Please give my greetings to Merry when next you see him."

Berilac relaxed. Apparently there were to be no hard feelings over his joke. "I most certainly will, Legolas. And I will miss you."

All too soon, the three travellers were mounted and riding away, accompanied by a small honour escort of Rohirrim, who would be with them to the borders of the land.

____________________________________

Dago had been awake for hours, for he kept thinking about the fact that they would be leaving this day, making their way to the High King's City.  There had been many hints dropped that he could actually face execution; at first he had doubted this, but having heard the conversations between the Men of Gondor and those of Rohan, it seemed that there were rules and laws about punishments that the High King could not simply set aside. He was spoken of as firm and just, but also as merciful when he could be.  Somehow that was not as reassuring as it ought to be. 

 The door to the cell swung open with a rusty clang, and Dago sat up. and blinked as Borondir entered.  "It is time," he said.

Dago slid his feet to the floor, and went reluctantly to the door.  He glanced up to ask the Man a question, but then changed his mind at the last moment.  He went down the corridor, followed closely by his guard.  He supposed that he would be riding with Borondir once they were on the road.

As they left the dungeons behind, they were joined by Adrahil and Clodio. Dago looked at his fellow hobbit.  It was now just the two of them.  Clodio looked much better than he had the last time Dago had seen him; his face was pale, but not grey, and his breathing seemed much easier. They were led out by a back way, not up the front steps as they had arrived.  They found themselves in the courtyard near the stables, where they saw the other hobbits preparing to mount.  There were many new people apparently also preparing to mount. None of them were Rohirrim.  Dago saw no sign of the frightening Elf or his Dwarf friend.  He saw a tall and elegantly dressed young Man with dark hair taking farewell of a young woman who looked so much like him she must be a sister or cousin.  The King stood very close to her.  He saw many more warriors clad in that uniform of black and silver.  Once more he gave a shudder.  What fate awaited him?

And now they were hauled up on the horses, Dago in front of Borondir, and Clodio in front of Adrahil.  The tall young Man and two others took the lead.  Dago glanced back and saw the other hobbits on their ponies in the center of the group, and then they were moving.  He had nearly forgotten the strange feeling of being so high up on a horse over which he had no control.  He wondered how long it would take to arrive in the big City of the High King, not sure if he wanted it to be soon and over with, or take as long as possible, to delay the inevitable.

__________________________________________

Crowds had lined the street to see the procession and to farewell the holbytlan.  Among the crowd were Danulf, his father Danhelm, and the boys, Danwine and Edric.  Little Gerde was perched on her father's shoulders. And Cado stood by their side.  He had been of two minds about going.  He had said his farewells to his father days before, and he did not want the other hobbits, especially Rolly and Denny, to see him.  But in the end, it was family that won out.  Perhaps his father would see him and take heart. 

And here came the group, led by the two captains and by that Prince whom all said was brother to the Princess who might wed the King.  And there!  There was his father!  He started to step forward and wave, when another Big Man moved as well and stepped right in front of him.  By the time the Man moved, all Cado could see was the back of the procession, as the rest of the crowd made to follow, Danulf decided to take his little family home.

__________________________________________

Down the streets of Edoras, and out the gates, the cheering crowd was left behind. Freddy turned and looked back at the city of Edoras as it grew smaller in the distance.  Then he looked forward once more, straightening up on his pony and taking a deep breath.  What wonders awaited them all now, in the court of the High King?

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

When I finished "A New Reckoning", I knew that I was eventually going to write two sequels to the story: the first would be the hobbits' journey from the Shire to Edoras and their stay there, and the other would be of their time in Minas Tirith.  

I also knew certain things that would take place in the first sequel before I ever finished the first story-- the discovery of Ted Sandyman's fate and Freddy's reaction to it was the most important event; I knew also, that I wanted Freddy to save Bergil from some sort of peril ( my thanks to Marigold for the idea of the poor lad's near-drowning). I knew that at least some of the prisoners would escape and that they would be recaptured by Legolas.  And I had certain scenes set in my mind-- Beri and Viola's encounter with the nosy woman in Tharbad, the non-Buckland hobbits learning to swim, and the meeting with Treebeard were all set in my mind long before I began to write "The Road to Edoras".  However, a good deal of it was not, and perhaps I made an error in beginning the story too soon, for I have never before had so much difficulty getting a story completed.

Still, things began well, and I started the story in March of 2005.  I posted updates fairly regularly to begin with.  Then there was the interruption of Hurricane Katrina and the recovery from that storm resulted in the first hiatus.  When I got back to it, I found my momentum was gone, and that some of the things I'd planned no longer seemed to fit the story.  New characters intruded, and the characters I had seemed to want to skip ahead to the other sequel.  Finally, I managed to get things going again.  The delegation had been stuck at their little encampment in Dunland for months, it seemed, and I was sure that if I could only get them to Meduseld, all would be right.

The time had not been wasted, for I was able to decide which of three possible fates were going to befall Cado Banks, and which of two fates would befall his father. (The fate of Clovis had long before been decided, and I shall say no more now of Dago.)  As far as Cado is concerned, I have to say the delay was good for him, and he owes a lot to my readers, most of whom found him sympathetic.  The other two fates would have been a lot more angsty!

Then came our move from Mississippi to Oklahoma, and I found myself losing track again.

New elements came into play that I had not foreseen at all: Beri's prank on Legolas presented itself to me, and I noticed that his courtship of Viola was moving more quickly than I had anticipated (they weren't to become an official "courting couple" until Minas Tirith, but alas, love is impatient and does not like to wait on the plans of authors!)   I got completely blindsided one night, when I suddenly realized Cado's story of what would happen to him after the others left.  Cado was very excited about the prospect of a story of his own, and for quite a while he would not leave me alone.  And then Merry and Pippin started to bug me (well, mostly Merry).  Merry was insistent that the world know of the part he played in the courtship of  Eómer and Lothíriel.  I reminded him that he had plenty of stories of his own, and that this would wreak havoc with my timeline.  He crossed his stubborn Brandybuck arms and said "Too bad", and then Pippin put his two cents in.  This resulted in my having to make some major changes to the ending of the story, and I had to scrap several already written scenes to accommodate the new material.

I got completely frustrated at this point, and when I saw the announcement of the Finishathon on LiveJournal, I thought "Aha! I always work better with the pressure of a deadline!  I will put up 'Road to Edoras' as one of the stories, and I'm sure that everyone will vote for me to finish that!"  Wrong.  Instead, "Trotter" won the poll, and I had to finish that story, of which I had nothing at all except the prologue, in eight weeks!  "Road to Edoras" had to go on the back burner once again!  However, I was determined, so once "Trotter" was finished, I turned to another LiveJournal community, "Ficfinishing", and this time I was able to push ahead and complete those last three chapters!  In addition to the Ficfinishing community, I also made use of another tool, Write or Die: Dr. Wicked's Writing Lab ( http://lab.drwicked.com/writeordie.html ), which I would used to jumpstart my writing each day.  Once I got started, I could continue in a more conventional manner.

I'd very much like to thank the many people who helped me with this story; all of my faithful reviewers of course--too many of you to mention without the fear of leaving one of you out!  Of course, I'd like to thank Marigold for some of the important plot points, and Dana, who brainstormed with me over the phone.  SurgicalSteel who helped me avoid any major medical blunders.   Motherskadi who was my "first reader" for Ficfinishing, and Emmademarias who is the mod there.  And finally, my thanks to Claudia603, who beta'd those last three chapters for me!

It was a very long haul getting this story done.  But of course, the adventures of Freddy, Berilac and the others are not over.  And neither is Cado's fate all told.

My thanks to all of you who stuck with me over the very long dry spells!  Your encouragement meant the world to me!