This story is an exploration of sorts, triggered in part by readers' reactions to A Matter of Appearances and in part by a recent re-reading of FirstBorn. It seemed a strange coincidence that the character of Ferdibrand Took was thought dead in each of these stories, set two and a half years apart, in the first by drowning and in the second at the hands of ruffians.

(Sequence of stories: 1438 "FirstBorn"; about two years goes by, and in autumn (October?) of 1440 Tolly escorts two ruffians safely out of the Shire, and a month later (end of November? very late in the year) he's accused of being in league with ruffians ("Runaway"), and then early in 1441 ruffians actually do manage to capture the son of the Thain ("Appearances"). And then this story follows on the heels of that.)

Bear with me. This author is not only mathematically challenged, but chronologically also. Am always reading the wrong week in the calendar, for instance. Hopefully the sequence above is now accurate.

Ferdi is interesting to write, and my friend EF has a habit of asking for Ferdi-angst when her own life is full of stress--perhaps she finds it cathartic. I tend to write Pippin-angst, for my own part, when stressed, so I'm no better, I'm afraid.

In any event, between us we've put Ferdi through an awful lot. That poor hobbit must have as many lives as a cat. Perhaps more.

Anyhow, even though this story is going to sound an awful lot like Ferdi-angst, it is actually Tolly-angst, cleverly disguised. Ferdi's already survived the difficulties recounted here, and is actually recovering from the "latest" as of the start of this story. However, Tolly's journey has just begun.

In addition to (titles are clickable, for sake of convenience) A Matter of Appearances and FirstBorn, this story also references events in Runaway and In the Greening of the Year, and may run concurrently with While There's Breath and At the End of His Rope if it runs long enough. Don't know yet. I shouldn't even be writing this story, now that busy days are starting up again, but the Muse has seized the bit in her teeth, in a manner of speaking, and as long as the writing flows who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

So if you share my curiosity about the repercussions of all Tolly has been through, you're welcome to come along for the ride, and if not, well, thanks for stopping by, and I'll still be posting chapters of Thain and Tenth Walker as I get them semi-polished. (And during the very busy weeks, edited chapters of Jewels and Merlin and other "finished" and beta'd stories will appear instead. Hope that's not too confusing. Variety is the spice of life, they say.)

Background: from A Matter of Appearances, final chapter:

A/N: Some of Meadowsweet's character, and her eldest son's name, are courtesy of Jodancingtree, who first wrote them in Runaway. Thanks, Jo!

Chapter 43. Teatime, and a little before

Meadowsweet became slowly aware that her husband was lying beside her, holding her tightly. He smelt of soap, and when she turned to embrace him, to run her fingers through his hair, the curls were still damp, as if he’d come fresh from the bath.

‘Tolly-love!’ she said, half-sitting up in surprise, but he pulled her closer, burying his face in her bosom, shaking with... with fear? With grief?

‘Tolly,’ she said gently, stroking the damp head. ‘Tolly, what is it?’

‘I cannot...’ he sobbed. ‘I cannot wash it away. I’ve scrubbed, and scrubbed...’ And truly, his skin was reddened from scrubbing, she saw, though he shook as if with a chill. His skin was cold to the touch, she felt, and so she pulled the coverlet up over them both, and twined her arms and legs around him, to share her warmth, fresh from sleeping.

‘What is it that you cannot scrub away, my love?’ she said, her voice very soft. ‘How can I help?’

He shook his head, and very hopelessness filled his tone as he answered, ‘Naught. There’s naught you can do, my love. It is my own burden to bear.’

‘But it seems to be something that cannot be borne,’ she pressed, and when he did not answer, she sharpened her tone, just a bit. ‘Tolly, I begin to lose patience with you! Certainly, you’re a very sober hobbit in the winter months, when the sun hardly shows her face, but this is more than just that!’

‘I let them go,’ he whispered.

Meadowsweet sat up and froze, stock still. ‘You let the ruffians go?’ she hissed, and looked to see that the bedroom door was well-shut. ‘You let them go?’ she said in growing outrage, ‘after what they did—they nearly did—to young Farry?’

‘No, not those,’ Tolly said. ‘I am well and truly mortified, Sweetie, for watching them die, and horrible deaths. Nay—some time ago, when the leaves were turning... in autumn last, before Farry ran away and Ferdi meant to fetch him back and we both were accused of child-stealing—I found some wanderers in the Shire, and led them out again, past the Rangers. I let them go, and it’s likely they told the others, how to sneak into the Shire... I never thought, at the time... I only meant to spare them a shameful death... and then these ruffians, mine was the hand, mine the tongue that pronounced sentence upon them, and such a terrible judgment it was, I can scarce draw breath for the horror of it.’

‘It was the Thain’s judgment,’ Meadowsweet urged. ‘The Thain’s...’

Tolly shook his head. ‘Nay,’ he said. ‘The Thain never said... he said only... and I was the one, told the Rangers...’

‘You’re not making sense, my love,’ Meadowsweet said, pulling him to her breast and caressing him once more.

‘I almost feel I brought them to it,’ he whispered.

‘But you did bring them to it,’ Meadowsweet said, desperately trying to understand. ‘You and the Mayor and the rest of the escort...’

‘Nay!’ Tolly said again, brokenly. ‘I showed those other Men a safe way past the Rangers... These ruffians were evil Men,’ and under his breath he repeated, ‘evil Men, but had they not found their way into the Shire, unmolested...’ He stopped, buried his head once more, and lay shuddering with silent sobs of horror.

‘And so,’ Meadowsweet said, feeling her way, ‘and so you are the one to blame, both for what happened to Ferdi, and for Farry, and even, for the ruffians themselves...?’

And Tolly lay very still in her embrace, while she wracked her brains. What to say? She’d heard how the King’s healing hands had opened young Farry’s eyes to life again, and wiped away the horrors he’d beheld, but what was to be done for Tolibold?

‘My love,’ she said at last, working her hand under his chin, raising his head by main force when he did not seem able to look her in the face. ‘My own love,’ she said again, and kissed him, tasting the salt of his tears on his cheeks, even on his lips, and then she pressed herself against him, mouth to mouth, eye to eye, stretching her body over his, breathing her love into him, breath by breath, kiss by kiss, until he began to respond to her life and warmth.

And yes, a thought of hers, very deep and private, murmured in the back of her head. She’d cast her lot, sealed her fate, for it was the time for quickening, or so her body told her. Likely some time, some months hence, in the time of falling leaves Tolly would have his wish.

***

When they wakened, still entwined, it was to a gentle rapping at the bedroom door, and the voice of their eldest, calling. ‘Mum? Dad? It’s time—the Naming is about to begin... and you’re supposed to begin it!’

Meadowsweet sat up with a gasp, pulling the bed linens around herself just in case he should open the door. ‘All right, Gorbi!’ she called. ‘We’ll come, just as quick as we can!’

‘I’ll tell them,’ Gorbibold answered through the door. ‘Shall we meet you in the great room?’

‘That’s right,’ Meadowsweet said, hastily arising and seeking out her best gown, that she’d left ready, draped over a chair, when she’d sought her pillow. ‘That’s right, lovie—take the rest of the childer with you, will you, dear? And your father and I will be right there!’

Tolly groaned himself upright, dark circles still visible under his eyes, and he blinked as if having trouble awakening.

‘Come, my love,’ Meadowsweet said. ‘It’s time for the Naming, and you promised to be first...’

Tolly squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head, grieving. Yes, before all this mess, Ferdi'd wrung a promise from him, in jest, that he’d be the first to bring a gift to the new lass, a bottle of wine “for joy, and make sure it’s a good one, finest that money can buy! After all, the Thain gave you quite a bonus, last month...!”

‘Aye,’ he whispered voicelessly. ‘Aye.’ And he arose abruptly from the bed, grabbing at his “fancy togs” that Meadowsweet had left hanging on a convenient hook, for just this occasion.

He pulled the clothes on, while Meadowsweet silently worried. This was worse than any winter-sadness she’d seen in her husband before. Usually, after... he’d waken refreshed, stretching like a cat, and give her a wink and a nuzzle before tossing on his clothing and going to his duties, suitably cheered despite the dreary weather.

‘Stand there,’ she said, adjusting the lace at his throat, smoothing the collar of his jacket, sneaking a quick kiss on his chin, but even that did not bring a smile. ‘All ready now, I think.’

‘Fine,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Let’s get this over with as best we can.’

‘Aren’t you even curious as to her naming?’ Meadowsweet said.

Tolly sighed again. ‘Ferdi didn’t know, the last time we spoke,’ he said. ‘I’m sure that Nell has picked something suitable.’

‘I’m sure she’d like to,’ Meadowsweet said, rather cryptically, but Tolly wasn’t paying much attention. She watched him search through the cupboard, finally coming up with a promising bottle, gracefully formed of dark glass. ‘Careful! Don’t shake it!’

‘I know better,’ Tolly said, ‘though I’m half-tempted to sit down and drink it, and drown my sorrows.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ Meadowsweet said. ‘Now, love, come along, or we’ll find that we’ve kept them all waiting!’

The soft chiming of the clock in the sitting room gave emphasis to her words. ‘Four o’clock!’ she said. ‘Why, tea ought to be starting! You’re keeping the Thain waiting!’

‘What more can he do to me, than he’s already done?’ Tolly muttered, but he squared his shoulders, took up the bottle in one hand and offered the other to Meadowsweet. And so they hurried to the great room, arm-in-arm, if the term “hurried” may be used to describe their progress. They could not go so quickly as to jar the fine wine, after all. Even though it’s not as if Ferdi will be enjoying it, this evening, Meadowsweet whispered, for the injured hobbit would not be allowed spirits for some days yet. Tolly blinked his eyes fiercely and nodded agreement.

The great room was full to bursting as Smials Tooks and Tuckborough residents and friends and relations from far and near gathered to honour Ferdibrand and Nell’s youngest.

Ferdi was seated by the great hearth, in a chair made comfortable with cushions and soft knitted blankets, his feet elevated on a stool. He was thinking privately that he might as well have stayed in bed, but he looked up at Pimpernel, standing with the baby in her arms, with a smile and a wink to let her know that all was well. Their children were clustered near at hand, all grinning broadly.

Regi was watching the door. ‘Do you want me to go and fetch him myself?’ he said.

Pippin shook his head. ‘I already took care of it. I saw Gorbi, hovering about the tables of sweets, and sent him off to tell his parents that we cannot start without them.’ His eyes lighted. ‘Ah,’ he said in satisfaction. ‘Here they are now. Tolly’s a sight, but Sweetie looks like the cat that’s been in the cream.’

Diamond gave him a sharp nudge with her elbow and he subsided, putting on a properly dignified face. ‘Ahem,’ he said, and the nearest hobbits in the crowd began to subside, silence spreading from the front of the room to the back, until everyone was as quiet as Ferdibrand himself.

As head of the family, the Thain moved to stand by the proud parents and raised his voice to speak the traditional words.

'It has been a month and a day since this new hobbit graced the Shire with her presence,' he said, 'and we gather now to welcome her to the family and to write her name in the Book.'

Little Lass gave a sort of hiccough, and a ripple of amusement ran through the crowed, and then a soft murmur of "welcome".

An expectant hush fell, and the crowd parted so that Tolly and Meadowsweet could make their way to the head of the room, their children falling in to either side. Tolly kept his eyes on his toes as he walked, right to where Pimpernel stood, and stopped.

Meadowsweet nudged him, but he seemed to have lost the use of his tongue.

A lot of that going round, Ferdi thought to himself. He wanted to say something, opened his mouth, in fact, groped for a word, and fastened on about the only word he’d been able to manage, this morning. ‘What?’

Tolly looked up, slowly, his eyes widening to see Ferdi, in the life, sitting before him. ‘F-Ferdi?’ he said, unbelieving.

Ferdi grinned just as widely as he could manage. Sweetie didn’t bother to tell you? Reports of my burial were... well... only slightly exaggerated, but they were exaggerated, all the same.

‘W-w-w,’ was all Tolly could manage.

Meadowsweet, stricken with remorse, for she hadn’t realised... she’d thought... in any event, she tried to save the situation. ‘Welcome to the family,’ she said in a high, clear tone. ‘We give the gift of wine, for joy...’

‘Joy, indeed!’ Nell said, and Ferdi put out a hand to take the symbolic gift, and then Regi took it from him, to leave his hands free for the next. Usually it was the father holding the babe, and the mother accepting the gifts, but the general consensus was, with Ferdi still so very shaky, ‘twould be better for him to drop a gift than to drop the babe.

Joy, indeed! Tolly allowed the tears to flow freely as he fell forward, to grasp Ferdi’s hand in his and pump it vigorously. He was becoming quite a leaky sieve, he was, tears here and tears there and yet he cared not a whit.

And Ferdi was grinning like an idiot, and nodding, and squeezing Tolly’s hand in return with as much strength as he could manage.

And when Tolly could pull himself away, he embraced Nell and the babe, leaving a kiss upon each of their foreheads, and he whispered his blessing to the sweet and wondering face that stared into his. ‘Welcome to the family, little love!’

Reginard and Rosa came forward with a loaf of bread. ‘Welcome to the family,’ Regi said, and Rosamunda added, ‘We bring bread, that she may never know hunger.’

Meliloc Brandybuck stepped forward with a small bowl filled with white crystals. 'Salt,' he said, after his greeting, a twinkle in his eye. 'That she would never be spoiled.' There were a few soft snorts here, a few discreet eye-rollings there, but on the whole the crowd of Tooks kept their composure from long practice. Meliloc, Pervinca’s husband, always gave the same gift. Some said it was the fruit of wisdom gained by being married to a difficult wife, though he managed her beautifully and appeared to adore and revere Pippin’s mercurial sister.

Faramir stepped forward, carrying a butterfly he’d netted, and with his uncle Ferdi’s help, mounted, though he’d been unable to stick the pin through the velvet-soft body. Ferdi’d had to do that part. ‘Welcome to the family,’ he said. ‘I give the gift of wonder, that the world might always hold a little magic in her eyes.’

Merry smiled and swallowed hard, remembering a similar gift at Pippin’s Naming celebration, given by their beloved cousin Frodo.

One by one the relations and friends stepped up with their greeting and their gifts, a flute to bring music to her heart, flowers for beauty, honey that life might be ever sweet, oil that she might live off the fat of the land, and more. Many of the gifts were clever, and laughter was sprinkled amongst the more serious presents. Some of the gifts were duplicated, of course, but in hobbit eyes this merely multiplied the blessing.

After the last gift was given, Reginard stepped forward again with a sparkling crystal glass filled with water. 'Welcome to the family,' he repeated. 'I bring water, that she may never know thirst, or drought, that the rain that falls into her life may be ever sweet and refreshing, that all her sorrows may be quickly washed away.'

He moved to stand at Ferdi's side, as Pimpernel turned to lay the tiny lass in her father’s lap. Ferdi dipped his thumb into the water that Regi extended to him, stroked it gently over the babe's forehead, and kissed the wet spot tenderly.

He looked up at Nell, for he was unable to speak the traditional greeting. Mischief, however, sparkled in his eyes, and she gave an answering grin, though she gave a soft snort before speaking.

'Welcome to the family, my lass,' she murmured, and laid a hand on either side of their little daughter, to help Ferdi to lift her as high as he could manage. Together they held the little one up, for everyone to see, and Nell raised her voice to announce, at last, the Name. 'We welcome...’ she said, and paused, a smile that fully matched Ferdi’s for mischief playing about her lips. And she took a deep breath, meeting Ferdi’s eyes, and then looking to the crowd. ‘...Wonder!’

There was a wondering murmur, as if in answer to this novel address, surprised laughter chuckling forth from more than one hobbit, a gasp of surprise from others. What sort of name was that?

And yet, with all the strange happenings of the past few days, the marvels, the unheard-of goings-on, well... somehow it seemed fitting, if extremely unTookish.

‘Wonder,’ Diamond said softly to her husband. ‘I’m surprised they thought of it before you did!’

Pippin laid a gentle hand on her swelling abdomen. ‘There’s time yet,’ he said. ‘Just you wait. I’ll figure out a way to outdo them.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Diamond said, and shook her head. ‘It’s a good thing we have love-names to fall back on, don’t you agree, Farry?’

Farry laughed out loud, a high peal of pure joy, and many of the hobbits standing close by stopped to savour the sound.

‘Wonder,’ Merry said to Sam, and Sam nodded, and being Mayor, he always knew the right thing to say, and he said it.

‘Indeed.’

But Pippin was speaking in a voice that carried over the crowd, shouting his greeting, and indicating the beginning of the festive tea, though there was something rather more festive than tea in the glass he was brandishing aloft, for the servants were circulating through the crowd with trays full of “cheer” as the Tooks call it. The Thain, as tradition demanded, gave the first toast of the evening.

‘Welcome, Wonder!’

There was a cheer and a chorus of welcome as other glasses were raised, and the musicians struck up the first tune, with many more to come.

****

If the reader finds the first chapter of this story confusing, let us lay a little ground work. If you'd rather read it "cold" without spoilers and hints, please disregard the rest of this note.

Spoiler spaces follow.

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There is a nasty fever going around. Healer Woodruff has been laid low, after nursing her husband through three days of delirium.

Tolly has just returned from seeing to the execution of a pair of nasty ruffians who had struck down Ferdibrand, leaving him for dead, and taken young Faramir, intending the young hobbit grievous harm in their quest for gold. The Thain called a Shire-muster to deal with the ruffians, and they were caught, after one of their number blew up Tookland's supply of black powder (accidentally). The mustered hobbits left the Smials after Ferdibrand was mistakenly declared dead, and only found out he was actually alive, upon their return.

Tolly, traumatised by the "death" of his closest friend, by what he saw of the ruffians' deeds and of their end, and by guilt at his possible contributions to the ruffians being able to gain access to the Shire; and having been in the saddle, more or less, for two days in bitter winter temperatures during this time, comes down with the fever, and in his delirium he confuses current events with something that happened two years and some months ago.

And so the story begins.

Chapter 1. For All the Wrong Reasons

He’d had too much drink, last night, and even though it was a-purpose he rued the pain in his head, the awful pain, as if Dwarves had somehow shrunk themselves pin-sized and were plying their hammers inside his skull. They were making a din that would waken the dead, Tolly thought, though Sweetie slept peacefully beside him, even a smile on her face, as if she danced in pleasant dreams.

Might as well leave her there, and not waken her to the cold light of reality. Blearily, he raised himself up, blinking at the clock in the light of the watch-lamp. Four? No, nearer five, he’d overslept himself, and no wonder, with all he’d had to drink. But they’d been toasting a fellow hobbit of the Thain’s escort out of the world, and there ought to be no stinting on the drink, in such case.

But dawn would be coming soon, and time to seek the body, drowned the previous day, saving the life of the son of the Thain and all but one of his trouble-making cousins, who’d gone on a lark along with Farry, a lark that had turned deadly serious before the day was out.

The lads had thought to betake themselves fishing—fishing! ...to celebrate the coming of the Spring. Fishing! This time of year, when the streams were running high and fast. The days might be warming, growing longer, but there’d be no proper fishing for some weeks yet. There had been a rope across the path leading to the best fishing place near Tuckborough, for the path led up along a bluff, overlooking the Tuckbourn, and with the water running so high and fast, the path was deemed unsafe.

The lads, however, thought they knew better than the grown-ups, and they’d slipped past the warnings and gone up the path, and as they walked along the top of the bluff the bank crumpled, throwing one of them into the wild waters, leaving two others clinging to tree roots, a temporary refuge at best, with the bank crumbling away under their weight and the assault of the rampaging stream.

One of the lads, thankfully, had lagged a little behind, and going for help, he’d found Ferdibrand, Farry’s uncle, former head of the Thain’s escort and now the Thain’s special assistant, spotting birds with his adopted son Rudi. Ferdibrand had sent Rudi running back to the Smials for help, and he’d gone with a panting Palangrim, one of the worst young troublemakers in the Smials, to do what he could, for it would be more than an hour before rescuers would arrive with ropes.

Ferdi had managed to get Odobard to safety, using a broken branch for a ladder of sorts, and had fastened his own belt around Farry, securing the son of the Thain to thick tree roots that were protruding from the bank, as they waited for Odo to top the lip of the bank. Farry was to climb up next, and then Ferdi... but the bank crumbled away, throwing Farry’s uncle into the wild waters.

Ferdi could swim—the Thain insisted that all hobbits of the escort must acquire this unTookish skill—but the roaring stream devoured him hungrily, closing over his head, sweeping him away as if he’d never been, and the rescuers had arrived to find only Farry clinging to the bank, with Ferdi’s belt—all that was left of him.

The hobbits of escort had begun the search at once, not that they expected to find aught but lifeless bodies. The drowned lad they found two miles downstream, but there’d been no sign of Ferdibrand at all.

When darkness fell, the escort took themselves off to the Spotted Duck in Tuckborough, drowning themselves in drink, as it were. They’d have to take up the search again on the morrow, but frankly, none of them had cared a fig.

And now, the morrow was here.

Tolly’s eyes felt like peeled eggs, and the room seemed clothed in mist, but he blinked the mist away as best he could, rose from the bed, cursing the dizziness that seized him, and pulled on his clothing.

With a last look at sleeping Meadowsweet, he walked unsteadily from the room, as softly as only a hobbit may go, down the little hall to the sitting room, letting himself out into the corridor. No one was about. The dairymaids would have gone to the milking already, and the bakers would be in the kitchens, at work on the breakfast breads, but it was that in-between time when the early risers were already at their tasks and the rest of the Smials inhabitants were still in their slumbers.

Tolly ought to summon the other hobbits of escort—his brother Hilly, Adelard, Haldegrim, and Isenard—but really, why rouse all of them from their drunken state, when one would do just as well. He could ride down one side of the stream and up the other, looking for Ferdi’s remains, just as easily as anyone else. And with all they’d had at the Spotted Duck, last night, how well would their eyes be working, anyhow?

He didn’t stop to ask himself how well his own eyes were working. He owed this to Ferdi, who’d stood up with him at his wedding, who’d been first to bring a present at each of his children’s Naming celebrations, who’d stuck to him like a cockle-burr, even when the threat of banishment hung over their heads...

He shook his head at the last thought, which didn’t make sense. Must have been a dream, poured out of one of the bottles they’d emptied last night. In any event, he and Ferdi were closer than brothers, though they were only cousins, and he’d search until he found the hobbit, no matter how long it took.

The stones of the courtyard were icy underfoot, heavy frost lying over everything as if it were a light coating of snow; and he could see his breath in the night air. But spring nights could be frosty, and dawn would be coming soon. He was glad to duck into the relative warmth of the stables, where the ponies were still sleeping, for the most part. There was no sound except the snoring of the stable hobbit who had the night duty, lying on a pile of straw in the first stall, and the isolated thud of a hoof against the boards.

The jingle of bit and bridle seemed loud in the silence, as Tolly carried his tack to Wren’s stall. His favourite pony was smaller than most, but had a larger heart, or so he liked to brag. The sleepy gelding lifted his head in surprise at Tolly’s advent, at this hour, and then lowered it again to snuffle at the hobbit’s pockets. Tolly always carried broken bits of carrot, refreshed daily, but for some reason his pockets were empty, and he stroked the soft neck in silent apology before saddling and bridling the beast.

He stopped to lean his pounding head on the cool, smooth neck, and closed his eyes. His thoughts were slow and muddled—all to be blamed on the drink, he supposed. He’d never quite drowned his sorrows so prodigiously, before.

He led Wren from the stall to the yard, mounted, and rode at a walk across the stones, until he reached the soft turf, and then he leaned forward to urge the pony to a little faster pace—not too fast in the darkness—setting their course for the fishing path on the Tuckbourn, perhaps an hour away, at an easy pace. He’d start near where Ferdi had fallen in, just in case they’d missed the hobbit, and work his way downstream from there.

One of the dairymaids emerged from the barn, hearing the clopping of hoofs, and stared after the departing pony, and another behind her said, ‘Who was that, Blossom?’

‘I don’t know,’ Blossom said. ‘Messenger, going out for the Thain, perhaps? It looked like the head of escort—his Wren’s a bit smaller than most.’

‘What would Tolly be doing, going out again so soon? Why, he just got back yesterday afternoon, not long before teatime, and he’d been riding all night for two nights before!’

‘And all day, in between,’ Blossom agreed. ‘You’d think the Thain would give him more than just the afternoon and evening.’

‘I’d say! He ought to have a week of rest, after riding to the Bounds and back, and...’ the other dairymaid dropped her voice to a whisper, though they were they only ones there in the doorway, ‘and seeing what the Rangers do to ruffians caught in the Shire...’

‘What do they do, anyhow?’ Blossom hissed.

‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ came the answer, ‘but it’s something awful, you can be sure of it.’

‘Blossom! Poppy! Come along, or we’ll never get all these mums milked!’

The two gossipers gave a guilty start and turned back into the barn.

Chapter 2. Better Late Than Never

Meadowsweet turned over in the bed, uneasy without knowing quite why. And then her hand hit the empty pillow beside her, and she came to full wakefulness.

‘Tolly...?’

She sat up, stretching languorously and blinking as she stared around the little bedroom. No, he wasn’t up to use the chamber pot, and he wasn’t splashing at the washbasin, though the ewer was half-empty and the waste-water bucket had a bowl’s worth in it, as she found when she got up to investigate. She hadn’t heard him pouring the water from the ewer into the bowl, nor from the bowl into the bucket... which were usually the sounds that wakened her, when he arose before she did.

...which he did, about half the time. The other half of the time, she was the first one up, washing and dressing, grabbing a hasty bite before getting breakfast for her young ones, settling them to their early lessons with the minder, and going to dance attendance on Mistress Diamond. Tolly would breakfast in the second parlour with the other hobbits of escort, and the lot of them would take turns standing outside the Thain’s study, ready to take a message, or walk or ride with the Thain or one of his family.

Pippin was not keen to be escorted everywhere, but the hobbits of his escort took their job seriously. Their predecessors had watched over Thain Paladin, during the time of the ruffians, and one of the escort had given his life to save the previous Thain, Ferumbras, from a wild boar. The wild Green Hills were full of surprises, not all of them pleasant.

But the clock said five o’ the morning, barely that, and there was no call to be out of the bed until six, for Meadowsweet was no dairymaid, nor baker, either, though she’d been working in the kitchens when she’d met her love in the first place. After last night’s celebration, there was additional reason to lie in, just so long as might be. Ferdi and Nell’s littlest had been named yesterday—her name had been written in the Book, that is, and there’d been a proper tea that had gone on well into the night, with much heartier food and drink than “tea” implies.

Tolly had been positively tipsy, by night’s end, though Meadowsweet had been cautious, barely sipping the celebratory glass of wine provided for the toasting, for they’d been talking about adding to their family, and so she’d not be drinking any heady beverages for some months to come. As a matter of fact, returning to their apartments from the celebration, once they’d seen the childer to bed, they’d retreated to their own room, firmly closing the door, and loved one another deeply once more—for the second time in a day. Really, that was one of the niceties of adding to the family...

In any event, to all appearances Tolly had been summoned, and earlier than usual. Perhaps the Thain had a message to go out, concerning the recent muster, or perhaps Pippin could wait no longer to question Tolly about the deaths of the ruffians he’d turned over to the Rangers. He’d shown remarkable restraint, letting Tolly off for the afternoon and evening, but it would be business as usual this morning, Sweetie was sure.

She laid herself back down on the bed, pulled up the coverlet, and hugged the pillow, falling into an uneasy sleep. She slept in fits and starts until the dwarf-made clock in the sitting room chimed six, and then she rose to begin her day.

***

‘He’s late,’ Haldi said, pouring himself a cup of tea from the fresh pot on the side table.

‘He ought to be,’ Hilly said. ‘Did you see how much of that fancy Buckland brandy he put away before Meadowsweet persuaded him to say his good-nights?’ He shook his head. While he admired his older brother, there were times when Tolly’s fey Tookishness came out and got him in trouble. Last year, when he’d wagered an astonishing amount on the pony races, for example: It had been a “sure thing” but the pony had pulled up lame. And helping Ferdi with his hare-brained scheme to save the Thain from the knowledge that his young Farry had tried to run away... ‘Twould have been better, all around, to tell the truth right off and not try to out-clever the Thain.

Of course, after all Tolly’d been through the past two days, Hilly didn’t suppose he could blame the hobbit for making very merry, after he’d seen Ferdi alive and in the flesh after thinking him buried and gone.

Ferdi himself had been bundled off to bed early, not able to celebrate as heartily as he might have, had a ruffian’s club not struck him down only two days ago. Still, one had to look at the bright side. Better abed than cold in the grave, and he’d be able to hoist a glass again, in a few weeks, when his head had healed and the healers were no longer watching his every move.

‘Now that was the Tolly I remember from the old days,’ Haldi said with a reflective sip of his tea.

‘Got any more where that came from?’ Adelard said, entering.

‘You’re late,’ Hilly said.

‘What are you, the Late-Shirriff?’ Adel said. He helped himself to breakfast from the chafing dishes and sat down with a sigh. ‘That’s what I call breakfast,’ he said. ‘Kippers and apple pud.’

‘Give me eggs and bacon any day,’ Haldi said, proceeding to load his plate with second helpings. ‘Toast isn’t bad, today... either the new apprentices have caught the trick of it, or one of the journeymen baked the bread this morning.’

‘Forgot to salt the butter,’ Isenard said with his mouth full.

‘I happen to like my butter unsalted,’ Hilly said with dignity.

‘Where’s Tolly?’ Adel said, pouring cream over his apple pudding and tucking a cloth into his collar, preparatory to taking up his fork.

‘He’s late,’ Haldi said. ‘No, wait, it’s Hilly’s place to say so.’

‘Well, he is,’ Hilly said. ‘You’d think the head of escort would set a good example for his hobbits.’

‘Well, he has us so well trained that he doesn’t need to be here, watching the door to see that we all arrive in good time,’ Adel quipped. ‘Pass the salt, will you, Isen?’

Just then Reginard, Steward to Thain Peregrin, stuck his head in at the door. ‘Where’s Tolly?’ he said. ‘The Thain wants to see him, first thing.’

‘Do I look as if I keep him in my pockets?’ Hilly said sourly. ‘He’s late.’

‘So I see,’ Regi said. ‘Well, when he drags himself in, will you send him to the Thain’s study?’

There was a general chorus of assent, and the steward took himself off again.

But when it was time for the first of them to take up his post outside the study door, Tolly had not yet arrived.

Inside the study, Tolly was the topic of discussion.

‘...not like him to come belated,’ Pippin said, nodding in thanks as Regi poured him a cup of scalding tea.

The steward shuddered, as he always did, to see Pippin take up the cup and sip at once, without adding any cooling milk, or waiting for the tea to reach a reasonable temperature. But then, the contrary hobbit liked his tea scalding, and would drink it only reluctantly once it cooled appreciably.

‘Well, the way Merry was pressing the Hall’s finest on the hobbit, I’m not surprised,’ Pippin said, sitting back and putting his hands behind his neck, leaning his head back for a good stretch.

‘The Mayor put him up to it,’ Regi said. ‘I overheard...’

‘What?’ Pippin said, leaning forward.

‘The... disposing of the ruffians was not at all pleasant,’ Regi said.

‘I wouldn’t expect it to be,’ Pippin observed.

‘No, but this was worse than usual,’ Regi said.

‘Regi,’ Pippin said, eyeing his steward. ‘Do you even know what “usual” is?’

‘No,’ Reginard said, ‘but I’ve some ideas on the matter.’

Pippin nodded. ‘Sometimes the imagining is worse than the reality,’ he said reflectively, taking a good gulp of tea, to rescue as much as possible before it grew too cool.

‘In this case, I don’t think so,’ Regi said. ‘I cannot see Mayor Sam making free with the Hall’s finest, but he certainly encouraged Merry to keep Tolly’s glass well filled. I heard him say so.’

‘And that’s why I want to hear his report,’ Pippin said. ‘Mustn’t let it fester, got to draw the sting and let the poison out. I’d thought to let him see how the Rangers do things, that he might see the ruffians die quickly and without suffering, that he not be too reluctant in future to turn wandering Men over to them, rather than escorting them safely past the Bounds. Men in the Shire are up to no good; can he not understand that?’

‘He kept the ruffians out of Tookland during the Troubles,’ Regi said. ‘I think he understands just fine.’

‘But he let those other Men go, not so long ago,’ Pippin said. ‘He’d not so easily have been accused of child-stealing, had he done his duty that day.’

‘He didn’t let these Men go,’ Regi said. ‘In point of fact, he went so far as to watch them die, Pippin, though your orders usually run contrary to such a thing. Mayor Sam has seen such, in the Southlands, but...’

‘But it was too much to expect of Tolly,’ Pippin said. ‘Is that what you’re saying, Reg? You haven’t much faith in the hobbit this morning, it seems... Do you still blame him for that unpleasantness, before the turning of the year? Or is it the fact that it was your own brother who falsely accused him, and nearly ended by being banished himself?’

‘I thought you were trying to shield the hobbits of the Shire from certain... unpleasantries to do with the ways of Men,’ Regi said stiffly. ‘Sending Tolly to watch them put an end to ruffians seems to go against what you’ve done in the past.’

‘No worse than shooting a sheep-worrying dog,’ Pippin said. ‘Which, as I recall, Tolly’s done. He’s killed any number of foxes, that would menace baby animals and little hobbits. Why, a cat must do away with rats, or they’ll overtake the grain...!’

‘Is that what they do to the ruffians, shoot them?’ Regi said. ‘Shoot them while they’re standing there, tied up? Not even able to defend themselves?’

‘That’s what you do with a sheep-worrier, once you identify him, if you don’t catch him in the act,’ Pippin said sternly. ‘You tie the dog up, and you put an end to him.’

‘But they’re Men,’ Regi said, looking queasy.

‘Exactly,’ said Pippin. ‘And when Men go so badly wrong, there’s naught else to be done, Regi. Those ruffians, that struck down Ferdi, meaning to kill him, and took Farry, meaning to do worse than that... there’s no remedy for what ails them. The King has the right of it, but there’s no need to darken the hearts of hobbits, who cannot imagine such evil, with the knowledge.’

‘So as far as most Shire-folk are concerned, the Men are just escorted out of the Shire and slapped on the hand, and made to promise never to return,’ Regi said.

Pippin sighed, pushing away his cup of cooling tea. ‘I wish it might be so, Regi,’ he said. ‘I really do. But I suppose most hobbits are not such fools. Still, there’s no need for them to know the hows of it all. They just need to know that Men are barred from the Shire, and any who’d mean harm to Shire-folk are taken care of by the King’s order or by the Kingsmen.’

‘Perhaps it’s kinder just to shoot them while we’re chasing them out,’ Regi said.

‘And that, so often, is what the Tooks do,’ Pippin said with a shake of his head. ‘That is often what they’ve done, Regi. Better to know the ruffian’s fate, than to wonder, I suppose.’

‘All the same,’ Regi began, and stopped.

‘All the same, what?’ Pippin wanted to know.

‘Never mind,’ the steward said. ‘It doesn’t matter all that much, I suppose. Men will enter the Shire, for one reason or another—usually seeking gold. And when they do, in violation of the King’s Edict, I suppose they show exactly where they stand on the matter of good and ill.’

‘That they do, Regi,’ Pippin said. ‘That they do.’ He peered at the clock. ‘Just where is Tolly, anyhow?’

Chapter 3. Look Before You Leap

It was still full dark when Tolly reached the fishing path, and he wondered if Wren had sped faster than his wont, early as it was, and carefully as they’d gone in the darkness, with only a lantern to light their way. On a spring day the Sun ought to be peeking over the horizon by six, and so he could only imagine that the bedroom clock had been wrong, or why would it be as dark and cold as any winter morn?

The path was slippery with snow, and he dismounted, tying Wren to a nearby tree before he struggled up the hill. He didn’t want to lead the pony up, and down again, and risk a fall. It did not occur to him to wonder at the snow on the ground; it seemed to him an unusually heavy spring frost, perhaps, for he’d never known it to snow at this time of year.

Reaching the top of the bluff, he cautiously made his way along the path. Strangely enough, the path was intact, well back from the edge. Perhaps the engineers had been here, after the rescuers left, and the whole time the hobbits of the escort were combing the banks of the Tuckbourn for the bodies, they’d been carving a new path to take the place of the one fallen in.

He got down on his belly and inched toward the edge, holding the lantern over and peering down, though it made his head swim. It was a good thing he was lying down, dizzy as he was. The wild water had gone down since the previous day, quite a way down, but there was no sign of Ferdi’s body caught anywhere directly below the bluff.

Tolly nodded to himself, and lifted the lantern up again, though it seemed to have gained tenfold in weight, and he inched his way back to the path. His front was covered in mud when he stood to his feet again, but what did it matter? He’d probably look worse before the search was over, and mud would wash... though he thought he’d take a cold bath, rather than hot. The snow and mud had felt cool and refreshing, as a matter of fact.

He started down the hill to his waiting pony, but part way down his feet slipped out from under him and he ended by sliding down on his back, and he lost his grip on the lantern, and couldn’t see it anywhere, when he fetched up at the bottom of the trail. At least he was now evenly coated in mud, head to toe and on all sides.

Wren threw up his head at the apparition his rider presented in the dawning light—a mud-hobbit, to all appearances. The gelding calmed, however, when Tolly spoke, for the pony recognised the familiar voice, and he allowed his master to mount without much more than a snort.

Tolly guided him along the hill until they reached the stream. He craned upstream, blessing the receding of the waters that left the banks exposed, banks that had been hobbit-high in water the last time he’d seen them. He expected, however, that since Ferdi’s body was not hung up on any of the branches, on either side, that his old friend had been pulled downstream for some way.

They’d gone a mile, or maybe two? ...the previous evening, before they lost the light. He’d cover the same ground and beyond if need be, now with the water so much lower, and hope that he’d find Ferdi sooner than later. He was beginning to wish for that hot bath, now, as a chill seized him, rattling his teeth.

There was a mist in the air, or perhaps before Tolly’s eyes, and no matter how many times he wiped his hand across his eyes, the mist did not clear. They paced slowly along the bank of the stream, while Tolly scanned ahead on both banks, to no avail.

And then... heat coursed through his veins, as suddenly as if he’d been struck by lightning, and almost by reflex he loosened the clasp of his cloak, throwing the garment down without thinking much about it, peeled his leather gloves from his hands and dropped them as well, for what did a sweltering hobbit need with gloves? He opened his shirt buttons to let the cool morning air bless his burning flesh as they walked along, and sighed. He was so heated! The air must be warming. Of course it was, for it was springtide, was it not?

The plumes of mist from his pony’s nostrils must be steam, for surely Wren was as heated as Tolly himself on this furnace of a day. It did not occur to the head of escort that he could see his own breath, or if it did, it was with the merest interest—he was so overwarmed, he too was breathing steam.

He didn't know how far they'd gone when all thought of his own discomfort fled, in the sight he beheld. There was something dark in the streambed! A dark lump, that might have been a rock... The shape resolved itself in his fevered brain as his old friend, lying face-down in the water, drowned.

With a cry of grief, he flung himself from Wren’s back, not bothering to secure the reins, and floundered into the stream. The freezing water felt uncommonly good, bracing even, though he regarded streams with as much suspicion as most other Tooks. His younger brother Hilly had a fascination for water, and Tolly’d had to wade into the stuff often enough to pull him out, when both were little lads. But he’d never known water to feel so refreshing before!

If it weren’t for the fact that Ferdi had drowned in this water, Tolly would have blessed the stream for its effect on him. He no longer felt as if he were being boiled alive in his own sweat.

He wallowed to his knees, and a little past, before he reached the dark form, calling Ferdi’s name, for all the good it would do. And reaching his goal, he stopped, putting out a trembling hand, just short of touching the hunched figure. He did not want to grab Ferdi’s shoulder; he did not want to turn his friend over; he did not want to gaze upon the drowned face.

And yet he could not just leave the hobbit here, in the stream. No, he must do what was needful, and so he reached out a trembling hand.

Ferdi’s shoulder under his cloak was hard as rock, and ice would be less cold, Tolly thought, and the cloak was roughened by the tumbling of the water. Tolly grasped the shoulder firmly with both hands and gave a mighty heave, but instead of turning his old friend, lifting Ferdi to his shoulder, to haul him from the stream, he found himself overcome by dizziness. ‘Come along, Ferdi,’ he muttered. ‘I need to bear you back to Nell. She’ll be wondering what’s become of you...’

He seemed to hear his old friend’s infectious laughter. What are you about, Tolly, hugging river-rocks? I could say the same about your Sweetie! What would she say, if she were to see you at this moment?

River rocks. River rocks. The words tumbled in Tolly’s fevered brain, mixing with the chuckling of the stream. He blinked and when he forced his eyes open again, as wide as he could manage, it seemed to him that he was indeed draped over a large boulder in the middle of an icy stream, with rills of frost encrusted around its edges.

He wondered for a vague moment how he had come to be here, and then the chuckling of the water filled his senses, and the black of the rock expanded to envelop him and he knew no more.

Chapter 4. Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Regi looked in at the doorway to the second parlour, nodding to the hobbits of escort waiting there. At the moment Hilly was standing at the door to the Thain’s study, and he hadn’t known where Tolly had got himself to—most likely he was in the parlour by this time of the morning, seeing as how it was nearly second breakfast!

But Tolly was not in the parlour, nor had his hobbits seen him. ‘The stables, perhaps?’ Isenard suggested.

It was a possibility. Tolly, as head of escort, was on duty from early breakfast until teatime, unless specifically relieved of his duties by the Thain, or directly given a task lasting past teatime, or starting after, though he’d be given time off in compensation as soon as was practical. If he weren’t trailing the Thain or Mistress or their son, or carrying a message for the Thain, he ought to be found standing duty outside the Thain’s study, or waiting in the second parlour where there was invariably a game of Kings going, or in the stables, checking on one of his ponies, or the ponies belonging to the Thain, so that they could be ready to ride out at any moment, on the Thain’s order.

However, when Regi checked the stables, all he could find out was that one of Tolly’s ponies was gone.

As Tolly was gone, without leave, and without explanation.

With an uneasy feeling growing, Regi next sought out Meadowsweet, who spent her mornings dancing attendance upon Diamond. Usually Haldi’s Laura made herself available to the Mistress in the afternoons, and either the wives of the escort or minders took turns watching their children while they were occupied with business.

‘Tolly?’ Meadowsweet said, putting down the tablecloth she was mending. ‘Why, he’s...’ she stopped to think. ‘He was gone when I wakened, sent on some errand or other by the Thain, I thought...’ Her voice trailed off at sight of Regi’s face. ‘He’s not?’ she said, and she thought of Tolly’s worries, the previous afternoon, that they’d blame him for the ruffians who’d taken the son of the Thain. He’d shown a pair of ruffians safely out of the Shire, some time earlier, and what if they’d told others how to slip by the Rangers?

He’d known, when they left last night’s celebration, that the Thain would be wanting him first thing, “to hear his report”. Pieces began to fall into place, pieces of uneasy, scattered dreams that had troubled her when she wakened so early, to find him gone, and as her thoughts swirled, the colour drained from her face. She blinked, swallowed hard, said carefully, ‘He’s... he’s not in trouble with the Thain, I hope?’

‘Why would you think such a thing?’ Regi said, while Diamond rose from her comfortable chair and settled on the settee next to Meadowsweet, a comforting hand on Sweetie’s arm.

‘It’s only,’ Meadowsweet began, and the waking nightmare of some weeks earlier returned in full force, Tolly being taken away against his will, accused of child-stealing, and she might never see him again... She burst into tears, hiding her face in the mending.

Diamond tried to soothe her, and heard her moan something to the effect that she’d put her foot in it, but proper.

Regi’s suspicion had been stirred, however, by Meadowsweet’s reactions, and he stared sternly down at the weeping wife. ‘What do you know of this?’ he asked.

‘Naught!’ Meadowsweet sobbed into the tablecloth, and she shook her head, but Tolly’s gentle, loving manner last night now took on an ominous shade of meaning, coupled with his despair on returning from the Bounds, and his almost desperate grasping at hilarity in the celebration afterwards. Had he, perhaps, let the murderous ruffians go?

But no, Mayor Sam had gone with him, to witness their end.

‘What do you know?’ Regi demanded.

‘Naught!’ Meadowsweet repeated, bringing the tablecloth down to stare at him with reddened eyes.

Regi found this difficult to believe. He drew a deep breath, preparatory to launching into a flurry of questions.

But Diamond put him off, rising from where she sat beside Meadowsweet, to address young Faramir who'd been perched on Diamond's footstool, laying a staying hand on her son’s shoulder. ‘You work those sums, as I showed you,’ she said, ‘and if there’s anything you need, Sandy’s in the little sitting room, polishing the andirons.’

‘Yes, Mum,’ Farry said, looking up from his slate of sums with wide, startled eyes, and if anything brought home the seriousness of this situation to Meadowsweet, it was this: Diamond was leaving her son, who’d been as recently as yesterday in the clutches of ruffians, leaving Farry to go with Meadowsweet to the Thain’s study, where undoubtedly the ruffians would be the topic of discussion. Diamond, willing to leave her son—albeit, deep in the fastness of the Great Smials, with servants nearby—and ruffians, and Tolly who knew where...

‘Come along, Sweetie,’ Diamond said, putting out a hand to Meadowsweet. Tolly’s wife had no choice but to take it, and rise to her feet, and suffer Diamond’s arm slipped around her waist, subtly guiding her to the Thain’s study. Regi fell in at her other side, and Sweetie felt like nothing so much as a prisoner under escort.

She stifled a sob, and Diamond murmured something meant to be soothing.

‘Yes?’ Pippin said, looking up from the papers he was perusing as they entered, and seeing Meadowsweet, he rose from his chair. ‘But what about Tolly?’

Meadowsweet managed to keep hold of herself as Diamond explained. ‘Tolly left the Smials, early this morning, to all appearances. He’s nowhere to be found, at least, and one of his ponies is gone.’

Diamond guided her to a chair, and both wives sat themselves down.

Pippin resumed his own seat and gestured to Reginard to pour out cups of tea. ‘Perhaps he’s exercising the beast,’ he said, ‘and lost track of the time.’

‘Tolly?’ Regi said, pausing in mid-pour. ‘In the dark of a winter morn? If it were the summer, perhaps, but in the winter months he pays one of the stable lads to exercise his ponies for him. The gloom troubles him, as you know...’

‘I know,’ Pippin said, ‘but it’s never affected his ability to satisfactorily perform his duties. He’s a very loyal and devoted hobbit.’

Diamond spoke her fear. ‘Pippin,’ she said, hesitating, and her husband turned to her with an inquiring look. She cleared her throat. ‘Are you certain...?’ she said.

‘Certain,’ he prompted, when she stopped.

‘Are you certain the ruffians are dead?’ she said in a rush, and accepted the cup of tea Regi held out to her with a gasp of gratitude.

‘Why, of course!’ Pippin said, rising again from his seat to go to his wife, to envelop her (carefully, of course, minding the tea) in comforting arms. ‘Of course they’re dead. I saw them myself!’

‘Is that where you came back from?’ Regi said. ‘I had the impression you’d been in Buckland.’

‘We went to meet the King by the Bridge, true,’ Pippin said. ‘But he has ways of seeing things afar off, and he showed us the ruffians, dead.’

‘You saw them afar off,’ Regi said slowly. ‘But not in the flesh?’ He had difficulty imagining such a thing, but then it was generally said of Regi that what he lacked in imagination he made up for in energy and attention to detail.

‘What are you saying, Reg?’ Pippin said, but Diamond spoke at the same time.

‘But Mayor Sam was there as well, with Tolly, and surely he wouldn’t...’

‘And Mayor Sam is well-known for his emphasis on the quality of mercy,’ Regi said ponderously, his tone heavy with irony. 

Meadowsweet could scarcely breathe for the fear that rose in her, like bitter bile in her throat, but the Thain’s calm, measured tones helped her to keep control of herself.

‘They were dead, I can assure you of that, Regi,’ he said. ‘Elessar said as much, and I trust him implicitly.’

‘But was he there?’ Reginard said, frustrated. He had trouble believing what he’d not seen with his own eyes, what he could not reach out and touch with his hands, and he had not yet heard the full tale of Pippin’s time in the Outlands, to know of the wonders as well as terrors beyond the Bounds of the Shire.

‘Sam was there,’ Pippin said, and when the steward would speak again, he stepped away from Diamond and raised a staying hand. ‘Nay, Regi, I will not jump to conclusions nor borrow trouble, not this time!’

‘But...’

‘Nay, I said,’ Pippin repeated, and Meadowsweet felt the return of hope at his insistence. ‘Tolly has ever been an upright and honourable hobbit, with years of faithful and loyal service behind him. I will not begin to believe anything less of him on such scanty evidence.’

‘Why would he leave the Smials like that, not a word to anyone, not even his wife?’ Diamond said, putting down her teacup to lay a hand on Meadowsweet’s fists, clenched together in her lap.

Pippin spread his hands. ‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘I must admit, it’s unlike the hobbit to do such a thing. At least we know he’s not in league with Ferdi, this time, in some hare-brained scheme to save the Thain from worry by worrying him half to death...’

Regi snorted. ‘Ferdi’s in no condition to be in league with anyone.’

Pippin shook his head. ‘I halfway wish that he were,’ he said. ‘He’s the best tracker in the Tookland, but I cannot ask him to take up Tolly’s trail from the stables this morning...’

‘I’ll send for the chief hunter,’ Regi said. ‘I doubt the healers will even let anyone talk to Ferdi, much less worry him about Tolly’s unusual behaviour this morning.’

‘No,’ Pippin said. ‘He’s too recently come from his deathbed, to be bothered about anything.’

He seemed to think a moment, and then nodded to himself. ‘Yes, Regi, send the chief of the hunters to me at once, and we’ll set him on Tolly’s trail. Surely there’s some sort of reasonable explanation for him taking himself off in the dark of a winter morning...’ he considered, and added, ‘...especially knowing he was wanted, first thing.’

Meadowsweet swallowed down her fear. She wished she could feel as confident as the Thain sounded.

Chapter 5. Every Dog Has His Day

It has been said, enough times to become something of a watchword, that a hobbit does not go willingly into the water. Of course, Brandybucks are an exception to this rule, and a few daft Tooks, but everyone knows what is said about Brandybucks, though not in their hearing and certainly not in polite company.

In any event, it is something of a novelty to find a hobbit in water. O a gaffer might fall into a brimming ditch, on his way home of a rainy evening after half a pint too many, or a young hobbit playing at ditch-jumping might drown for having misjudged the distance. There are even young Tooks who’ve been known to splash in the shallows of a chuckling stream of a hot summer’s day. But you wouldn’t find them in the stream, say, amid the snows of winter. You won’t find Tooks who’ve grown into their sense in a stream at all, as a rule; even when hunting, if their prey jumps or falls into a stream, they’ll whistle a dog to the task of dragging their intended dinner out again.

A good hunting dog, thus, is essential in the wild Green Hills with their streams running through the bottomland and tumbling down the hillsides. The water spaniel sniffing along the Tuckbourn a few miles from the aforementioned fishing path was one of these, well trained, well seasoned, and enthusiastic about his line of work.

He was tramping with his master on this icy morning. The animals had been fed, the cows milked, the eggs gathered, the pigs slopped, and all was in order. The harnesses were all mended, the plough was oiled, the roofs and buildings were in good repair, and thanks to the farmer’s sons, plenty of firewood had been split for the foreseeable future. And so the farmer accompanied his eager dog, walking through the tall, frosted wire-grass towards the Tuckbourn, running water that would not be iced over, a likely place to find a few wintering waterfowl.

The dog lifted his nose as he caught an elusive scent. He whined in his eagerness, but obeyed when shushed by his master. He was much better trained than he had been, two years and some months earlier, when he’d run ahead to find a half-drowned hobbit lying partway in the water, not far from here. Still, he quivered, straining forward with every fibre of his being, while his master smiled and fitted an arrow to his bow. ‘Steady now,’ the farmer whispered to the dog. ‘You’ll be at ‘im soon enough.’

Not soon enough for the dog’s taste; had he his way he’d have raced ahead, barking furiously, but he must content himself with another whine, his eyes fixed ahead, his nose scenting the chill breeze coming off the stream.

The quacking of ducks came to them on the breeze, and the farmer grinned. His wife had thought the temperatures too bitter, for any success at hunting this morning. But surely the fowl had sought the shelter of the tall weeds where the stream eddied... He released the dog from his side with the smallest gesture, and the dog sped towards the weeds as if he were an arrow shot from the bow. There was a flurry, and several ducks broke from cover, and the farmer was ready.

His arrow bolted through the sky, true, skewering one of the ducks mid-air, bringing it down with a splash into the stream, and the dog was ploughing through the water after, fetching the duck before the current could carry it too far. He brought the bird back to his master, his head held high, lips drawn back, and so soft was his mouth that there was not a mark on the feathers when he gave his prize into his master’s hand, his tail gyrating wildly.

‘Good lad,’ the farmer said, turning to walk downstream, to the next spot of cover he knew about. They ought to be able to shoot at least one more, a nice brace of ducks to roast for elevenses. He could almost hear the sizzle of the fat dripping down, could almost smell that heady aroma...

But the dog turned back upstream, resolute, stiffening in the way that meant he’d scented something nearby, and so the farmer turned as well, to follow. Could it be that not all the fowl had broken at the dog’s advance rush? Were some still hiding in the reeds?

The dog whined again, and this time the sound did not indicate his eagerness for the hunt, but rather something of worry, even anxiety. Something was amiss.

A fox, perhaps? the farmer wondered, pulling another arrow from his quiver and fitting it to the bow. The dog plunged into the stream, running against the current in the shallows, nose working furiously, but before he reached his aim the farmer had seen the figure in the river, draped over the rock, the incongruous sight of a hobbit, wet and muddy, in the midst of the current!

Good thing the water was low, this time of year. With the melting of snow atop the high hills, to come in a month or two, and the spring rains, the current would be too dangerous for a hobbit on foot to brave. But now the water ran low, sluggish but deadly cold, and the farmer thought he might be able to wade out, at least to the rock where the hobbit lay.

What was a hobbit doing in the stream, anyhow?

No matter. The farmer set down his bow and quiver, threw off his cloak, and waded into the freezing water. The current pushed against him, but he was well able to withstand it, and within a few steps he’d reached the rock.

He thought perhaps the hobbit might be dead, but no, the fellow blinked his eyes and muttered something incomprehensible when the farmer reached him. Covered with mud he was, from hatless head to where the water came up, just above his knees.

‘Halloo,’ the farmer said, grasping the muddy shoulder firmly and giving a shake. ‘Do you hear me, lad?’

‘I hear,’ the hobbit said faintly. ‘But do not shout so very loudly. What if the ruffians should hear?’

‘Ruffians!’ the farmer said. He’d just returned from the muster, himself, late the previous night. ‘Ain’t none of those round here abouts any more. They’re gone, all gone, and good riddance!’

‘Ruffians,’ the hobbit whispered, and said no more, though the farmer shook his shoulder, with the admonition that this was no place to be sleeping, and was he looking to freeze himself to death?

The farmer managed to roll the hobbit, just enough to get a good grip on him, and then he eased him over one shoulder. It was a tricky business to turn around on the slippery stones, with the current trying to push him over, but he managed, and carefully feeling his way, not wanting to lose his balance, he shuffled back to the bank where his dog waited, eyeing him as if he’d lost his wits, which in any other circumstances, he’d’ve agreed whole-heartedly.

If not for this hobbit, here—heavy fellow, he was, too, well-muscled and evidently well-fed—he’d not be caught dead in a stream, not he!

He laid the fellow down on his cloak, mud and all, and considered. He might blow his horn to fetch his sons... but they’d returned from the muster as late as he had, and were all too likely still abed and sawing logs into the bargain. The morning chores had been done by the farmer’s wife and daughters, in point of fact, to allow the weary hobbits to catch up on their sleep.

But he didn’t want to leave the fellow here, long enough to fetch one of the plough ponies.

Just then the dog whined again, his nose pointing towards the cover, and following his line of sight the farmer saw a smallish pony grazing nearby, saddle on its back and reins trailing. Well now. If he were a wagering hobbit, he’d bet that hobbit and pony went together. He still didn’t know why the hobbit had gone into the stream, but he’d wager a packet that this was a hobbit who’d been returning from the Thain’s muster, when he’d gone wrong.

‘Well now,’ he said aloud, and to the dog, ‘Sit, sir! Lie down! Stay!’ He didn’t need the dog frightening the strange pony, now, did he?

The dog lay beside the half-frozen hobbit, panting with excitement. First he’d gone into the stream to fetch a fat fowl, and then his master had got into the spirit of the game and gone in to fetch a greater! His tail quivered and his eyes shone with approbation.

‘Good lad,’ the farmer said, and turned to the pony, walking slowly, one hand held before him.

The beast snorted and lifted its head high, rolling a wary eye, but he just smiled and spoke soothing nonsense. ‘Aren’t you the beauty, then, my little friend. Is that your master, I found? And you stayed close by, my fine lad, you stuck close as you could without going into the stream yoursel’, for you’ve much more wit than the hobbit, to all appearances...’

He was able to catch a trailing rein as the pony turned away at the last moment, and in a moment he was soothing the velvet neck. ‘Steady now,’ he said. ‘Steady, and we’ll have thy master warming in a tub, and yoursel’ out o’ this wind and cold, and eating a good warm mash for your breakfast, much better for your innards than frosted grass, I’ll warrant!’

He led the pony to the unconscious hobbit and managed to lift the fellow up, laying him across the saddle. He whistled the dog up from its “stay” and commanded him to “Go home! Go home, lad!” He picked up his cloak and laid it over the cold figure, and secured the duck, still intended for elevenses, to the saddle. Then taking the reins and walking on the near side of the beast, he guided the pony, with one hand on the hobbit that he should not fall on his head, back towards home, and help.

He wondered about the mention of “ruffians”. Was the hobbit out of his head?—the farmer was inclined so to think, after finding the fellow in the stream. But perhaps it was possible that there were more ruffians than those the muster had found, and dispatched. He’d see this fellow warmed and tucked up in a bed, seen to by his wife, who knew something of the healing arts, and fed, if they could manage it, and then he’d consider sending one of his sons to the Great Smials, to inform the Thain.

***
A/N: Thanks to Sulriel for advice on pony behaviour.

If you are familiar with FirstBorn, yes, this is the same dog as appeared in that story. He loves his work.

Chapter 6. Misery Loves Company

Renilard, chief hunter to the Thain, whose father and grandfather before him had been chiefs as well, stood creditably straight in the Thain’s study, though his head was pounding, his tongue felt fuzzy and swollen to twice its size, and his eyes seemed to have been pulled out of his head and put back not quite right.

He’d run half the length of Tookland, or so it seemed to him, following the trail of the ruffians that had taken the son of the Thain before the Shire-folk ran the wretches to ground. His legs were aching fiercely, and he’d looked forward to at least one day of rest, for surely the Thain wouldn’t send him out after game the morning after the muster returned. Surely they’d have a day to restore their energies.

It did not help that he’d drunk his fill at the Naming celebration for Ferdi’s new daughter the previous evening. That Buckland brandy was potent stuff, and it had flowed freely at the command of the Master of Buckland, who’d brought a waggonload of the stuff, in barrels no less, with him as a New Year’s present for the Thain.

The Thain had protested that he could not drink such a quantity, not if he had a whole year to do it in, and it seemed a waste to bathe in the stuff, and so he’d planned to serve it at the belated New Year’s feast, to welcome Yule in finest fashion with Mayor and Master... but then the news had come that Farry and Ferdi were missing, and after a small party went out and found traces of ruffians, the muster had been called, and things had rather precipitously proceeded from that point. No matter. Ferdi’s little lass had been in the world a month and a day on the day the emergency was officially ended, and so they’d rather rolled the two celebrations into one: the birth of a New Year, and the welcome of a new Took.

But it was indeed potent stuff, much stronger than the fine Tookish ale the hunter was used to quaffing. He felt like something the cat would sniff at, but not bother to drag in. It was difficult to concentrate, until he realised just what it was the Thain wanted him to do.

‘The head of escort?’ he said. ‘Tolly’s gone missing?’

Pippin sat back and eyed him narrowly. ‘Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you?’

‘Beg pardon, Sir,’ Renilard said hastily, taking out his handkerchief to wipe at his face. ‘I made rather merry yester eve, and this morning I’m paying the price.’

Pippin was disarmed by this candid admission. He nodded. ‘All of us did, rather,’ he said. ‘We had a great deal to be thankful for.’

‘Still do,’ Renilard said stoutly, tucking away his handkerchief once more, and standing straight. ‘So, let me begin again, if you please, Sir. You said, about Tolibold...’

‘He arose before the dawning,’ Pippin said, repeating what Regi had said a few moments earlier. ‘He went to the stables without stopping in at the kitchens for a bite, or speaking to anyone, saddled his pony...’

‘Which one?’ Renilard said. ‘If you please, Sir.’

Pippin looked to Regi. ‘Wren,’ the steward said.

Pippin looked back to the hunter. ‘Aye, sir,’ Renilard said. ‘I know the look of his hoof. D’ye know which way he might’ve gone, at least starting off?’

‘He turned away from Tuckborough,’ Regi said, ‘or so two dairymaids said, when they were asked if they’d seen anything of his departure.’

‘Away from Tuckborough,’ Renilard said. ‘Well, at least there’s a chance his tracks ought to be somewhat clear... if he’d gone through the town they’d be all trampled over by this time o’ the day. I’ll get right on it.’

‘Very well,’ Pippin said in dismissal, and the hunter turned on his heel and left the study. He’d take his chief assistant along. Two pairs of eyes would be better than one. Of course, if Raolf had been celebrating as heartily as Renilard, last night—and he had a sinking feeling that the hobbit had—then between them they’d be lucky if they had one good eye, much less two.

***

‘What is it, auld hobbit?’ Aster said, hurrying from the smial. She’d been watching from the kitchen window for her husband’s return, ready to put the scones into the hot oven just as soon as she saw him trudging up the lane, so that they’d come out smoking as he walked in the door. She’d already laid out the sweet butter and cherry preserves, “a little taste of sunshine” as he liked to say, a promise of the warmer weather still some months away.

‘Where did you come by that pony? And what is it, lyin’ on him, under your cloak? And why in the world, in this bitter weather, are ye not wearing your cloak, I’d like to know? Tryin’ to catch your death, like as not!’

‘Nay, lass,’ the farmer said, handing the reins to her and turning to the pony’s burden.

Aster sucked in her breath as he eased the burden onto his shoulder. ‘A hobbit!’ she whispered. ‘Is he... is he dead? Was it... more ruffians?’

‘More ruffians?’ Ted said behind his mother, pulling his cloak from the row of pegs near the door. ‘Shall I ride for the Smials, to tell the Thain?’

‘Don’t know yet,’ the farmer said.

‘But Langred,’ his wife said, ‘how did you come upon this poor fellow...? Was he struck down, and left to die, like that other poor hobbit?’

‘Don’t know yet, how he come to be where I found ‘im,’ the farmer said. ‘All I know is this; I found him in the stream...’

‘I’ the stream!’ Aster and Ted exclaimed together.

The farmer nodded, continuing, ‘...and he’s half-frozen, and first thing we need to do is fill up the bath and pop him in...’

‘He was in the stream,’ Ted said, hurrying to get the tub down from its hook, ‘like that other fellow, some years back?’

‘Bobtail found ‘im,’ the farmer said, carrying Tolly into the smial. ‘Just like ‘e found that other fellow, aye.’

His wife had shut the door as he entered, for they’d already let in an awful lot of the cold, and now she stood with just a shawl thrown over her shoulders in the chill of the day and shivered, looking at the pony. ‘Well, you’re a little one,’ she said, and Wren snorted, nuzzling at the hand she held out to him.

‘Too cold to stand out here passing the time o’ day,’ she said, and so she led the pony to the barn and put him into an empty stall, kept for the convenience of visitors. She removed the bridle and hung it up on the nail outside the stall, and put a scoop of oats into the feed box. ‘Ned’ll be in, soon, to take that saddle off,’ she promised. ‘He’ll bring tha a bucket of water, as well, poor lad, though I s’pose you could’ve drunk your fill at the stream had you the mind to.’

It was a good thing for the unfortunate fellow that this was washday, for Aster already had the copper boiler full of water and the fire roaring. It didn’t take long to warm up the smial once more, and the water meant for the wash was hot already, and more than half-filled the tub that Ted had placed on the hearthrug.  By the time Aster returned from the barn her husband and sons had the hobbit undressed and soaking in the water, and more water heating, and by the time the teakettle boiled and the tea had brewed they’d topped off the tub, and the rescued hobbit was soaking in hot water up to his chin, and that would, as they hoped, thaw him enough to bring him around, that Aster might coax some of the fresh-brewed tea into him.

Ned went out to the stables to care for the pony, and Ted and his father hauled more water to fill the boiler once more, and then the farmer went to pluck the duck, for surely the aroma of roasting duck would bring the stranger to his senses if the warm water did not. 

***

The hunters had found the trail quickly once they left the stones of the yard. Not a lot of snow had fallen, but there was enough for them to find Wren’s tracks and follow, even with their bleary eyes.

The trail was clear enough for them to follow from pony-back, which was a mercy, for neither felt much like walking, even though the icy air was bracing, helping them to come more thoroughly awake than they had been before setting out.

‘What in the world d’you think Tolly was about, anyhow?’ Raolf asked.

His chief shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perhaps he wanted a bit of a ride to clear his head,’ he said. ‘I know my head is clearer than it was.’

Raolf closed his eyes tight, and opened them again. His head wasn’t any clearer, at least. He swore under his breath, and determined that he’d never touch that liquid Buckland fire again in his life, not even if they held his nose and poured the stuff into his mouth. He felt worse this morning than he’d ever, before, in his life.

‘Why didn’t he come back, then?’ he said stupidly.

‘Now if I knew that, we wouldn’t be freezing our backsides off following his trail, now, would we?’ Renilard said bad-temperedly. Truth be told, he’d rather be in bed.

But the head of escort had gone and rode away and lost himself, and when the Thain was wanting him, and so the hunters had to go out and pull his chestnuts out of the fire for him. And what thanks would they have for all their trouble?

The way Renilard’s luck seemed to be going, this morning, the Thain would probably present him with a bottle of Buckland’s finest, in token of his gratitude.

‘No, but thank you very much, Sir,’ he said under his breath.

‘What was that?’ Raolf asked, rubbing at his pounding head as he blinked at the hoofprints in the snow ahead.

‘Naught,’ Renilard said. ‘Now keep your eyes peeled.’

Raolf winced at the image that rose in his mind’s eye. Peeled was just what his eyes felt like, at the moment, though he didn’t want to admit it.

‘Aye,’ he said, and nudged his pony into a faster walk.

Chapter 7. Two's Company

He was cold, chilled to the bone, so very cold, and though he knew he ought not to sleep, he felt as if clouds enveloped him. There were voices in his ears, but perhaps they were only his imagination. He was lost, lost in the icy fog that surrounded him, and he tried to cry out, but he could not hear his own voice in his ears...

At the ripe old age of twenty-nine, Tolibold son of Haldibold the healer, chief healer of Tuckborough, in point of fact (if you didn’t count the healers at the Great Smials, the best the Thain's money could buy), thought himself quite mature and ready to face the world.

He had nearly convinced his father that, with Mardi to take on the healer’s business from their father, when Haldibold wished to sit down and toast his toes by the fire, it wouldn’t really be necessary for Tolly to master the healer’s arts. Tolly had a natural eye for shooting, and he’d won the Tournament in his age class for three years running. He had a good chance of serving on the Thain’s escort, which paid well, for starters, and was high in prestige amongst Tooks, especially amongst the pretty young Tooks and Tooklanders who gazed in admiration at the dashing hobbits who swore to protect the Thain with their lives, if necessary.

Not that it had ever come to such but the one time, at least so far as Tolly knew. Yes, there were occasionally renegade Men to be found in the Shire, but if they did not respect the sharp tongues of the Tooks, they respected their sharp arrows, and stayed clear of the Tookland, for the most part. Wolves had not been seen in the Green Hills in years, and while stray dogs and wild swine were an occasional nuisance, the hunters and Shirriffs kept these in check. Wild swine had attacked the Thain during a hunt, and one hobbit of the escort had given his life, and another had been crippled for life, but such a thing could never happen to Tolibold. He was certain of it.

As a hobbit of the Thain’s escort, Tolly would be provided with a pony belonging to the Thain, but he could soon own two or three ponies of his own, with the pay he’d earn, both for his duty and for additional tasks (his friend Ferdibrand, for example, fletched arrows which an ironmonger fitted with pyles and sold in the marketplace, giving Ferdi a portion of his earnings).

Hobbits of the escort dressed well; the Thain issued them one suit of clothing and they earned enough to afford several. Thain Ferumbras expected them to look well when they carried a message on his part. And sometimes the Thain would send hobbits of the escort out hunting, to keep their shooting in practice, and Tolly certainly enjoyed the hunt—the stalking, the thrill of bagging his prey, the satisfaction in the meal that followed.

Riding and shooting for a living, having his pick of the lasses, could anything be finer?

But Haldibold had insisted that his sons all accompany him to the Woody End, this trip, for the gathering of herbs. It wasn’t that Tolly had any difficulty identifying what herbs to gather, and what to leave... it was just that he’d rather be... riding, or hunting, or sitting back and trading stories with the other tweens at the Smials.

He didn’t understand why his father insisted on maintaining a house in Tuckborough. Haldi might have accepted a position with Thain Ferumbras at any time, why, Mardi might’ve all by himself, at three times what father and son earned, put together, allowing Haldibold to retire! But no, the old hobbit stubbornly maintained his independence, and Mardi followed him. Tolly spent much of his time at the Smials, since Thain Ferumbras had noticed him at the tournament and had asked his father if Tolly could join the other tweens in their learning. And Hilly, though seven years younger, had tagged along after Tolly as he always did, even though the invitation had not been specifically extended to him.

The tweens of the Great Smials were a jolly set, indeed, and Tolly was in a fair way to having his head turned at their attentions. His father was a descendent of the Old Took, after all, and Tolly himself was known for his prowess at archery. He did not do as well in the lessons requiring reading and writing, but that hardly seemed to matter. He could tell a good joke, and he could hold his beer (the half-pint allowed a tween, at least), and when he threw back his head to laugh, he could set a room to laughing with him.

And here he was, stuck in the Woody End, closer to Stock than Tuckborough, gathering herbs for his father’s stores before winter should set in.

...but it seemed that winter had set in, and unexpectedly. He’d half-filled his basket in the warm and lazy autumn sunshine, and seeing a mossy log bathed in sun he’d sat himself down to enjoy the bread-and-cheese he’d brought to sustain himself through his arduous labours. He’d fallen asleep there, in the sunny patch, in clear sight of the Stock Road, but he’d wakened in the fog, scarce able to see his hand before his face, and cold it was, an icy wet cold that pierced him to the skin, made his bones ache, as a matter of fact, and though he’d walked and called, broken into a run and shouted in panic... He never did come upon the Road.

He was lost in the woods, in the fog, and now the dark was coming down.

‘Help!’ he shouted, but the fog swallowed his voice and his shoulders slumped.

He felt as if he wanted to weep, to wail like a babe, and then for a wild moment he thought he’d given voice to his fear and desperation...

But no. There was a babe, and somewhere nearby, and sounding as lost as he himself was.

‘Hulloo!’ he cried, and listened.

No, not a babe, but a small child. A faunt, perhaps. A small child meant adults nearby, and adults meant a house or smial, and safety.

‘Hulloo!’ he cried again, and followed the sound, though the fog made it trickier. He worked his way, turning this way and that, taking note of when the sound faded and when it grew stronger.

His nose was dripping with more than the fog, and he sneezed. There was an answering sneeze nearby; he was getting closer!

‘Where are you?’ he cried, to be answered with a whimper.

As it was he nearly stumbled over the little one... “little” being a relative term. Something akin to a faunt, he judged, though about twice the size of a hobbit of three years. Old enough to whimper for its “Mama”, young enough yet to be wearing a gown, dirty and torn.

‘Hullo,’ he said, instinctively lowering his voice. He held out his hand slowly, carefully, as if to a wild creature. He didn’t want to frighten it into a screaming fit, especially if there were grown ones anywhere nearby, who might come to the babe’s defence, and might have the wrong idea about Tolly.

‘Mama...’ sobbed the little one again, and looking at Tolly with wide eyes, repeated, ‘Ma... ma?’

‘Is your Mama nearby?’ Tolly asked, moving a step closer. It was growing colder, he thought, and it seemed to him that the light was beginning to fade, though with the fog it was difficult to tell. And here this little one was, bare of foot (‘twouldn’t have mattered, were it a hobbit, but it wasn’t), and wearing only a thin gown... all that would have been needed, in the earlier warmth of the afternoon. Poor little thing might take its death of cold.

He raised his voice. ‘Halloo? Is anyone there?’

‘Dere,’ echoed the little one tearfully, and then it raised fat little arms in pleading. ‘Up?’ it said. ‘Up?’

‘Aw, now, you’d like to be friends?’ Tolly said, greatly relieved that it wasn’t about to burst out screaming at his nearness. ‘Come now, little thing, you must be so very cold!’

And he wrapped his arms around the little one, and sat himself down, and drew the damp and smelly child of Man into his lap, to share what warmth he could.

He was in a pickle, and no mistake about the matter.

***

A/N: Just in case this was confusing... Tolly's gone back in his mind to a time before the Troubles, before Men were banned from the Shire.

Chapter 8. So Close, and Yet So Far Away

They’d followed Wren’s track to the fishing trail, though it was hardly the time of year for fishing! Certainly from the signs, Tolly’d had trouble with the slippery slope.

Renilard was in something of an ill humour, for on top of the after-effects of last night’s celebration, he’d nearly fallen from the top of the bluff into the stream, saved only by a lucky grab at protruding tree roots, and then he’d slipped on his way down the hill again, rolling to the bottom and ending mud-covered, damp, and shivering.

‘We ought to get you back to the Smials,’ said his assistant, who’d waited at the bottom while he followed Tolly’s trail to the top, but the chief hunter shook off Raolf’s helping hands, once he’d regained his feet.

He gave Raolf a sharp look. Mud and all, he thought he might look better than Raolf, who was definitely showing signs of having had one over the top, the previous night. Or perhaps two. Or ten.

‘I still don’t know what is what,’ he snapped. ‘Did Tolly find signs of ruffians, this close to the Smials, and decide to investigate? I cannot imagine any other reason for him to climb the bluff this time of year.’

‘If he did, then he wiped out the signs in his passing, and you’ve put the icing on the cake,’ Raolf grumbled, wiping at his brow. ‘But while you were larking about on the bluff I was going over the ground here, and it looks as if he made his way along the bank of the stream from here, heading downstream.’

‘Of course he’d have to head downstream,’ Renilard muttered. ‘Couldn’t very well head upstream along the bank here, where the stream has cut such a deep bed for itself.’ And he thought to himself that bed was just where he’d like to be at this moment, his own bed, alongside the warm lump of his wife, and no thought of such shuddery things as streams and muddy descents.

Raolf grunted and the hunters mounted their ponies, turning to follow the trail of Wren’s passing. The sun was climbing the sky, making the air less icy, and the snow was softening somewhat, the pony’s tracks no longer crisp and clean-edged, though still fairly easy to follow.

They’d gone some way along the stream, a mile perhaps, with no sign of Tolly ahead, just the trail of pony tracks leading away from the Great Smials. They’d gone slowly, and the morning was half-gone, and no sign of Tolly.

‘Likely he didn’t ride back this way,’ Renilard had said along the way, and more than once, ‘but is already at the Smials, reporting to the Thain and sipping something hot into the bargain.’ It sounded wonderful to him, but he couldn’t very well report to the Thain until he came to the end of this trail, now, could he?

Renilard had got down from his pony once or twice, to see if there might be sign of ruffians underlying Tolly’s trail, but he didn’t find anything. They were following a trail alongside the Tuckbourn of an icy morn, with no good reason, save that Tolly had gone that way first. And then...

‘What’s that?’ Renilard said, pulling up his pony. Raolf didn't answer; the hobbit seemed to be deep in thought, his head down as if he scrutinised the ground with more than his usual care.

Renilard had seen something dark ahead, spread on the snow, and he kneed his pony forward once more, pulling up a few strides before reaching the dark object, which resolved itself into Tolly’s cloak, a small dark blot lying off-centre and another to the side, an overlarge black spider spreading itself on the whiteness of the snow.

He blinked his eyes and shook his head, and the spider became a glove, cast aside for whatever reason. ‘No cloak?’ he said, his words issuing in little puffs of steam on the icy air, ‘...in this weather? No gloves?’

He turned his head to order Raolf to gather up cloak and gloves, just in time to see his assistant, face devoid of colour, slump in his saddle and then slide off to the side, falling to the ground with a thump.

‘What in the world is the matter with you?’ he said, jumping from his own saddle (though it jarred his aching head) and hurrying to his assistant, who lay in a crumpled heap. The sight of a cloak and gloves ought not to make a grown hobbit, a hunter no less, swoon!

But as he picked up his assistant in his arms and turned the hobbit over, he could feel the heat coming from the body, even through the sweat-soaked woollen jacket and cloak. He swore under his breath and called his assistant’s name.

Raolf’s face was deathly pale and little rivulets of sweat trickled from under his hairline. At Renilard’s repeated summons, he blinked and stirred, hugging himself. ‘C-c-c-c-old,’ he chattered, and then, looking up into his chief’s face, he said, ‘What’s happened?’

‘You swooned,’ Renilard said grimly. ‘You’re not fit to be out here. Come along, let’s get you into the saddle.’

And he helped his assistant to his feet, and with Raolf leaning heavily against him, staggered the step or two to Raolf’s waiting pony. The beast had been trained to stand when his rider left him, but seemed mildly astonished at his rider’s manner of dismounting in this instance, and turned its head to watch the struggle to re-mount.

‘You’re going to have to help me a little,’ Renilard grunted. His assistant was quite a bit heavier than he was himself.

‘Help you,’ Raolf said stupidly. ‘Help you do what?’

‘Get on the benighted pony!’ Renilard snapped.

Raolf nodded wisely. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You have the right of it.’ But then he slumped once again, and Renilard nearly dropped him.

Somehow the chief hunter managed to fix Raolf’s foot in the stirrup, and somehow he managed to get himself under his assistant’s weight and boost Raolf into the saddle. He could feel the hobbit shivering, and so he took off his own cloak and wrapped it round. Then, taking his own pony’s reins in hand, he mounted behind Raolf, holding the hobbit steady, and clucked to the ponies to move out.

And so, in a slow and careful walk, they made their way back to the Great Smials, leaving Tolly’s cloak and gloves to mark the place where they’d left off following his trail.

Chapter 9. Babe in the Woods

‘Mum? I think he’s coming round.’

‘Good! I want to try to get something hot into him.’ Aster bustled to check the steeping herbs, pouring the result through a tea strainer into a tall mug and stirring a dollop of honey in for good measure.

The hobbit in the tub stirred and murmured. ‘What’s that he’s saying?’ said the farmer, coming closer. Ted looked up from where he cradled the chin of the ailing hobbit, to keep him from slipping under the water and drowning himself. ‘Need more wood for the fire,’ the farmer added with a meaningful nod for his son, and he sat himself down to take Ted’s place by the tub.

The younger hobbit stood up from his cramped position and stretched. ‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Something about “Tod” or “Toddy” perhaps.’

‘Asking for a hot drink, I don’t wonder,’ Aster said, bringing the steaming cup over. ‘Finding ‘im half-froze in the stream, and such. What’re things coming to?’ She held the cup to the ailing hobbit’s chin. ‘Here now, you, drink up whilst it’s still hot.’

***

Tolly sipped at the cup, and then his eyes opened wide. He was in a large tub, large enough for two grown hobbits, and nearly up to his chin in hot water. Hot water indeed! For the faces surrounding him were much larger than hobbit faces.

Giants! He’d been taken by giants!

Scraps of half-forgotten tales floated in his head, and he froze, afraid to move a muscle. The water in the tub steamed around him, and he wondered, sickly, if he was in the process of being stewed for the giants’ dinner.

‘He’s coming round,’ one of the giants said.

Tolly stared from one face to another, wondering if pleading would do any good. But then two of the giants parted, and his father’s face shone over the side of the tub. ‘Tolly!’

‘Da!’ he cried, going limp with relief. A large hand kept him from sliding under the water... and suddenly the giants resolved into Men—larger than hobbits, certainly, but no longer fearsome. He’d seen Men before, woodcutters, and tinkers, and wanderers, though as a rule the Thain frowned on Men in the Tookland, and levied a heavy toll on those who passed through Tuckborough.

‘Taw?’ said a little voice, and Tolly looked up to see the babe from the wood, nestled securely in a woman’s arms, pointing at him and looking up into his mother’s face for confirmation. ‘Taw, Ma-ma?’

‘That’s right, my love, that’s Tolibold, my brave lad...’

‘Taw!’ the little one shouted in delight, clenching a chubby fist in his mother’s hair and kicking his fat legs with vigour.

‘He can say your name already, Toddy-lad can,’ a beaming Man said.

‘Are ye feeling warmer, Tolly?’ Haldibold said, reaching into the tub to take his son’s hand. ‘You were half-frozen when they found the two of you...’

‘I’m fine,’ Tolly said, blinking in surprise. He didn’t feel half-frozen. He’d been sleepy, for certain, and he remembered shivering, and then growing warmer as sleep overcame him. And then the words penetrated, and he looked up sharply at the little one. ‘Half-frozen!’ he said, starting up out of the water. ‘How is he, then?’

‘My little Tod is just fine, thanks to you,’ Toddy’s mother said. ‘He took no harm, not even a chill, I think, what with your taking off your own cloak to wrap around him, and keeping him in your lap, off the ground...’

‘Risked your life to save our boy, and we cannot thank you enough for it,’ the Man said, and suddenly Tolly realised that there was only one of them, one Man that is, and a wife, and the other three faces were those of children, two boys and a girl, and then the baby of course, in his mother’s arms. A family of Men, it was, here in the Woody End.

‘Da?’ he said, blushing a little now to find himself in the bath, and a woman and girl in the group surrounding him.

As if she understood, the woman put out a hand to touch the girl on the shoulder. ‘Let’s us see if the fire has dried his clothes, shall we, lovie?’

It wasn’t long before large hands were lifting him out of the oversized tub, much as if he were a very young hobbit, though they released him just so soon as his feet were on the floor while his father wrapped a bedsheet-sized towel around him, rubbing briskly, muttering about restoring the flow of blood. And when Tolly was dry, his clothes were at hand, warm as toast, and he slipped them on as quickly as he could and then was seated on a Man’s footstool before a “low” bench that served well as a hobbit-sized table, a well-filled plate set before him.

His father didn’t need to urge him to eat; Haldi stood on the far side of the bench-table nibbling at a portion of food to keep Tolly company, for he’d already eaten heartily. He’d been sick with worry, with Tolly lost in the woods in the cold fog, and when the body of torch-bearing searchers had come upon the woodcutter’s cot, to discover his son not only being warmed in a tub, but honoured for saving the woodcutter’s baby son from the cold, well, his appetite had returned in a rush and he’d eaten everything they’d pressed upon him, without much noticing, as he sat on a footstool beside the tub.

The other hobbits had groped their way back to their homes through the thick fog that was turning rosy with the sunrise. Tolly and the babe had spent the better part of the night in the icy chill, and it was a wonder that he hadn’t taken his death, they all agreed, what with wrapping his cloak around the babe and sitting on the ground in fog-dampened clothing much of the night. Still, Good was said to watch out for fools and babes, and it seemed that Something or Someone, at least, had been watching over the tween and the tot through the shivery night.

Second helpings were provided, and thirds, and the Big Folk built up the fire and began to sing, strange songs and familiar ones, while the breakfast washing-up proceeded and the fog shone white outside the windows.

Tolly became aware of a little voice demanding, ‘Dow!’ and a ripple of amusement from the Big family, and then little... Toddy, was it? ...was toddling over, a drunken stagger, or the gait of one who’d just mastered taking steps, reaching the bench with a squeal of triumph.

‘Hullo, Toddy,’ Tolly said, rising from his stool. Sitting down he’d been eye-to-eye with the tot, but standing he was not quite twice as tall. Of course, judging from the size of the lad’s father, Toddy would be a tall Man someday. At least the Man-folk here were careful to treat Tolly and his father as adults (as his father was and Tolly would be, in four years more) and not as children.

‘Taw!’ crowed the tot, and Tolly smiled and bowed.

‘At your service, and your family’s,’ he said, and then the door opened and another Man entered with an armload of wood that he proceeded to lay in the woodbox by the hearth.

‘I’d say you’ve already done us a great deal of service,’ the woodcutter said, and proceeded to bow to Tolly. ‘And at yours, and your family’s service, what ever we might be able to do,’ he said. ‘I’m Barad Woodsman, o’ the Greenwood, here by the Thain’s grace and favour...’

‘For so long as we pay him half our cutting,’ the second Man, younger, Tolly thought, said behind his hand with a wink, only to be hushed by the woodman and his wife.

‘Beg pardon,’ Barad said with a bow to Haldibold and another to Tolly for good measure. ‘Please, sirs, he don’t mean anything by it, naught against the Tooks, not at all...’

Haldi nodded in return with a very small smile. ‘I am, perhaps, one of the few Tooks in whose hearing it would be safe to air such a sentiment,’ he said. ‘I am a descendant of the Old Took who chooses not to live in the Great Smials, under the thumb of the Thain, so to speak, and yet... if one wishes to remain in the Tookland, it is perhaps best to be circumspect.’

He snorted lightly, ‘And yet,’ he said, lifting a finger, ‘I suspect you are well-off, giving up only half the wood you cut to the Thain. I believe the last woodman who rented this house gave up two thirds, before he decided to pack up and go back to the Breeland, and the Chetwood.’

‘I cut more than he did, I’m told,’ Barad said proudly, slapping the younger Man on the shoulder. ‘With the help of my good brother, we can satisfy the Thain’s demands and still cut enough to sell and trade to the hobbits of the Yale, and Stock, to live on, and put a little by.’

There was a pounding at the door, and Tolly’s brothers spilled in, Mardibold, his older brother, who was already a healer in his own right, and Fredebold, next oldest, and Hildibold, their younger brother, who broke into a grin at seeing him safe. The younger tween had been tense and silent through the night hours, waiting by his father’s order, safe in a warm, dry smial while the search for Tolly proceeded, unable to relax even when word came that his brother was safe, not until he saw the hobbit with his own eyes.

‘Tolly!’ Hilly said now. ‘I thought you had more sense than to spend the night out in the cold and damp!’

‘He seems none the worse for it,’ Mardi said dryly, looking at Tolly’s well-loaded plate, his fourth helpings, actually, but then these Big Folk seemed to understand the way hobbits eat.

Hilly’s eyes lighted, but old Haldi said, ‘If you’re nearly done, Tolly, we do need to be taking our leave... I had promised to be returning to Tuckborough this day, and patients will be waiting.’

‘And I’ve tinctures to be making,’ Mardi said. ‘You did manage to do some gathering, I hope, little brother, before you lost yourself in the fog?’ Freddy grinned to think he might have gathered more than Tolly, this once.

Tolly stammered a little, but then Barad was brandishing Tolly’s gathering-basket in one ham-like fist, and it was more than half-full of plants, and these had been tied in neat bundles for drying by some competent hand, and Barad’s wife had a wink and a smile for the tween, and a bound-up cloth that bulged with promising bounty—fresh-baked bread, Tolly thought from the aroma in the air, and cheese and nuts and fruit into the bargain, to see them on their way.

‘I’ll lead you to the Stock Road,’ the woodcutter was saying, ‘and from there you’ll be able to find your way, fog or no.’

‘We will,’ Haldi said, ‘and thanks for all you’ve done for us!’

‘We’re the ones owing thanks!’ Barad said stoutly, holding up a stern hand, but then he smiled. ‘Any time you’re in the Woody End, please consider our cot to be your own...’

‘A bit overlarge for my taste,’ Hilly whispered into Tolly’s ear, to be rewarded with a sharp elbow, though he spoke the perfect truth! All the furnishings were twice as large as they ought, and it would be a sore trial to climb up onto one of the benches, and after all that work, still be sitting too short to reach the tabletop!

‘And the same, if you’re ever in Tuckborough,’ Haldi said, though Barad and his brother would likely have to crawl through the front door. The children, perhaps, might feel at home...

And so they parted, on short acquaintance, but firm friends for all that.

(9/26/06)

Chapter 10. If You Can't Stand the Heat...

Hilly fought down nightmare memory—summoned by the Thain, he was being questioned about his older brother, Tolly.

‘...why he would go to Fisher’s Bluff?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea, no, he does not confide his every thought in me...’ Hilly said, remembering to add, ‘...Sir,’ though it was somewhat belated in his irritation. ‘Today is not his half-day, and even if it were, he’d have checked with Regi first, before taking himself off somewhere or other.’

And in the back of his mind, he was remembering that other occasion, when the Thain’s son had gone missing, and Tolly had seemed in the thick of it (though what he’d really been doing was trying to prevent a scandal, for Farry had run away and Ferdi had gone after the lad), and the circle of suspicion was widening. Ferdi and Tolly had nearly ended the affair banished from the Shire, before the lad in question popped onto the scene and cleared things up.

He was not feeling his best, as it was. He’d been a little under the weather last night, feeling chilled from the long riding with the muster in the icy cold, and the brandy, courtesy of the Thain, that had been poured out at last night’s celebration had not warmed him as much as he’d hoped. It had been too strong for his liking, actually, and he’d sipped only so long as the toasts went on, putting his glass down half-drunk when he and Posey took their early leave.

But the hunter who stood there before the Thain’s desk to make his report looked worse than Hilly, though it was cold comfort. He’d obviously taken in too much of the golden fire that was the finest Brandy Hall had to offer, and no doubt he’d be cursing the Brandybucks more than usual for the next day or two.

Hilly hadn’t heard the report; a mud-covered Renilard had been standing there when the hobbit of escort had arrived, summoned from his mug of tea and half-hearted game of Kings in the second parlour, to attend the Thain. He’d thought to himself that it wouldn’t be his first choice, to jump on his pony and ride out again into the winter chill, and if he could manage it he’d pass the task on to Haldi.

But it was no matter of a message to be run. The moment Hilly set foot in the study, Pippin rose to his feet and pounced. ‘Ah, Hilly. Why would Tolly ride to Fisher’s Bluff, knowing he was wanted this morning?’

‘Fisher’s Bluff?’ Hilly had said, goggling stupidly. ‘In this weather?’

Pippin looked to the hunter, and Renilard shrugged, little pieces of drying mud falling to the rug with the gesture. ‘He was there,’ the hunter said. ‘Followed his trail up, and then down again.’

‘Did he say anything to you?’ Reginard had said to Hilly.

Hilly’d had to shake his head. ‘Not to me,’ he said. ‘Have you tried Meadowsweet?’ And hearing a throat-clearing behind him, he swung around to see Diamond and Sweetie in the overstuffed chairs in the corner. How he’d missed their presence on his entrance, he didn’t know, but it might have something to do with the growing fog in his head. He shook his head to clear it, but he couldn’t shake away the bitter memory of Tolly, accused of child-stealing, and suspicion licking at Hilly’s own heels.

And so he was fighting a mix of fear and irritation as he answered the Thain’s persistent “Why?”

‘I haven’t the faintest idea, no, he does not confide his every thought in me, ...Sir. Today is not his half-day, and even if it were, he’d have checked with Regi first, before taking himself off somewhere or other.’

‘Somewhere or other,’ Reginard echoed, ‘or perhaps Fisher’s Bluff, and then along the Tuckbourn for more than a mile,’ looking to the hunter to confirm, nodding, and returning his puzzled gaze to Hildibold, ‘and then leaving his cloak and gloves, as if in sign.’

‘But you say there was no sign of ruffians,’ Pippin broke in.

‘No, Sir, not that I saw,’ Renilard said, ‘but then I was rather occupied with my assistant after he swooned.’

‘What, swooned?’ Hilly said in astonishment.

‘It’s that fever, going around,’ the hunter said apologetically. ‘Raolf’s not one for swooning, not usually.’

‘Left his cloak and gloves?’ Hilly said, his irritation turning to worry. ‘But it’s freezing out there!’ He’d been out to exercise his ponies before early breakfast, and had cut the sessions short. The icy breeze, slight as it was, had made his bones ache. Tolly was out in the weather without his cloak?

‘Just about,’ the hunter affirmed. ‘Sun’s doing her best to warm the air, but I think she’s feeling puny.’ He certainly knew the feeling. All he wanted was to crawl back into his bed and warm up his icy feet on his toasty wife... though of course it was just a fancy in his mind. At this time of day Anise would have been up for several hours, for she’d not made so free of Buckland’s brandy as her husband had. Matter of fact, she’d said a few rather smug “Told you so’s” when Renny had risen, groaning, from the bed at the Thain’s summons. ‘We found the cloak and gloves along the bank, but I didn’t get a chance to look further into the matter. Raolf toppled from his pony, right about then, and I had to get him back to the Smials quick as I could.’

‘But why would he drop his cloak?’ Hilly said, still stuck on the matter. He turned to the wives again. ‘Sweetie?’

Meadowsweet held an abused handkerchief in her hands, and at Hilly’s question she twisted it anew. ‘He left while I was still sleeping,’ she said incongruously, her red-rimmed eyes wide.

‘But he knew he was to see the Thain, first thing,’ the steward maintained.

‘We’ve been over this ground already,’ the Thain said, cutting Regi off with a sharp gesture. ‘Yes, Tolly was to report to me first thing, no, he seems to have taken a short-cut on his way to see me...’

Hilly saw the hunter roll his eyes at the whimsy, but he was too worried, now, about his brother. ‘Is Tolly in some sort of trouble, Sir?’ he asked carefully, and heard Meadowsweet gasp behind him, and then Diamond’s soothing murmur.

‘That was what I was about to ask you,’ Pippin said. ‘Is there some reason he would turn away from making his report?’

Hilly’s mouth opened to reply, but nothing came out, and a chill seized him, whether of dread or some other origin, he did not know.

‘He was sent with the ruffians caught by the muster,’ Regi said now, spacing his words to emphasize their weight. ‘Sent to deliver the ruffians to the Rangers.’

To their doom, hung unspoken in the air.

Hilly stood a moment, mouth still open, and then understanding dawned and he looked from Thain to steward to hunter, mopping with his hand at the sweat that had broken out on his brow. ‘You think...’ he managed, and could scarcely get the words out in his perturbation. ‘You think he let this pair go like that other lot...!’ His voice shook, and as he took hold of himself he realised that he was trembling all over.

‘Worse,’ Meadowsweet said, and he turned to see her rising from her seat. ‘O Hilly, they think these ruffians knew how to get into the Shire, how to get by the Rangers, because of the others that Tolly let go...!’

Hilly’s Tookish temper flared then, beyond his commanding, and he swung to the Thain, eyes sparking righteous fire, even though the icy cold clenched his heart, for Tolly was missing without leave, without word to anyone...

‘And after all your fine words of a little while ago, of how you’d honour the loyalty of those who served you...’ he spat, hardly knowing what he said.

‘Hilly,’ Regi said in warning, putting out a restraining hand, but the hobbit of escort shook the hand away, swinging to confront the steward.

‘Why are you doing this to Tolly?’ he demanded.

‘We’re not doing anything to Tolly,’ Pippin said mildly. ‘We only want to know where he went, and why.’

‘And now he’s out in the weather in his shirt-sleeves,’ Hilly said, the alarm growing in him even as his thoughts grew more disjointed, ‘and you don’t even have anyone trying to find him?’ He thought he’d got that part right, that Renilard and another hunter had gone out to follow Tolly’s trail, but had stopped when they’d found the cloak.

‘Hilly,’ Regi said again, reaching to grab at his sleeve.

The hobbit of escort tried to pull away, but the crackling of the cheery fire on the hearth was rising to a roar in his head even as the fire itself swelled to encompass the room. He was sweating, sweat was pouring down his face in point of fact, though he was too disturbed to pull out his handkerchief to wipe away the sudden onslaught.

The Thain, too, was talking, but the words made no sense as Pippin rose from his chair and skirted the desk to take Hilly’s other side. The hunter was protesting the slur on his character, and his assistant’s, and all the words mixed together to make a meaningless gabble.

Hilly tried to pull away from all the restraining hands, whose, he couldn’t now say, for before his eyes the hobbits surrounding him were turning to gibbering creatures that moved and shifted with the flames that inexplicably filled the room.

They held him fast, no matter which way he turned, and driven to desperation by a sudden vision of Tolly, lying frozen in a dusting of snow, he shouted, ‘Let me go! That’s my brother, out there!’

And then the roaring flames rose to engulf him, and they burned him all away, and he turned to blackened ash that sifted to the floor; all was darkness, and no more thought was left to him.

Chapter 11. Don’t Put All Your Herbs in One Basket

‘Here now, Ted-lad, he’s slipping down—he’ll be drowning himself if you don’t pay better heed. Ned! You, lad, take your brother’s place, and Ted, you may go out in the cold and chop more wood for the fire if you’re going to fall asleep, sitting on watch!’

‘I was watching!’

‘Aye, watching ‘im drown, more likely than not. That’s it, Ned, just cradle his chin, lift his face well above the water, lad—aye, pull his head back, aye, more. He’s not comin’ round as I thought, a little bit ago, but at least he’s warming nicely.’

***

Tolly did not smile as a childish hand—large as his own, actually, though it belonged to a child—cupped his chin and gently pulled upwards, to raise his head from its bowed position. ‘Here now!’ the young voice said. ‘What’s all this? The woods are dark, 'tis true, but dappled with sunshine and laced with trails, as my dad likes to say, and deep, just asking for our feet to trace their paths...’

‘ ‘Tis true,’ Tolly agreed, forcing a smile. ‘Perfect for a warm and lazy day.’ He looked down at his gathering basket, only half-full.

‘Would you like me to help you fill it, then?’ the boy said, sitting down. Though he was only nine, his eyes were on a level with the hobbit’s. ‘Then we can take time to play.’ He sobered. ‘This’ll be the last time, my dad says. You’ll come of age soon, and have no more time for play, he said. You ought to have seen little Toddy’s face...’ His own face was sober, remembering his smaller brother’s sorrow at the prospect of losing Tolly’s companionship.

‘I’ll still come to visit you on occasion,’ Tolly said, his smile more genuine at the mention of young Toddy, who’d become his firm friend and shadow, whenever he came to the Woody End. ‘More than likely I’ll be gathering with my da for years to come, and then when Mardi takes over I’ll be helping him.’

‘Will the Thain spare you so oft?’ the boy said in astonishment. ‘Riding with the escort, and all...’

Tolly shook his head, gloom descending once more. ‘I won’t be riding escort,’ he said, and then he could sit there no longer. Restlessness drove him to his feet, and he scooped up the basket and moved to a patch of coltsfoot growing by the verge of the road, kneeling to collect the leaves as his father had tasked him.

‘But wait! Isn’t that Butterbur?’ the lad said in alarm.

Tolly shook his head. ‘Don’t you remember, I showed you the difference last summer,’ he said. ‘There is the difference in the leaves... and then there is the fact that Butterbur grows in marshy ground, while Coltsfoot...’

The boy listened politely, nodding, though he was more interested in trees than herbs. His younger brother, Toddy, of course, would hang on every word the Took cared to speak, and sometimes surprised his mother with his knowledge of herbs.

And the boy began to harvest the leaves, and added to Tolly’s basket, so that it was not long before the basket was full.

‘...and now you have time to play,’ the boy said, well pleased, ‘for I know your father won’t expect you back before elevenses!’

‘Teddy,’ Tolibold said, ‘I’m growing too old for games...’

‘But I have a new bow,’ the boy said, nearly dancing in his eagerness. ‘And you said you’d teach me to shoot, if I got a bow of my own! My dad traded with old Sandybank for a hobbit bow and arrows, and I’ve been watching out for you to come harvesting, for neither Dad nor Uncle can hit a mark. They can aim axes, just fine, but they’ve no use for arrows.’

‘Then why’d your dad trade for such?’ Tolly wanted to know.

‘He says I can learn to hunt, and bring home fresh meat for the pot,’ the boy said importantly. ‘You’ve already taught me to snare rabbits, and Mum’s glad for the extra meat, that we don’t have to trade for, when we’ve eaten up all of this year’s pigs, and the chickens are laying and ‘twould be a shame to be eating any of them...’

‘A fine idea,’ Tolly said, breaking into the flow of words.

The woodcutters' cottage was not too far away, and Teddy seized Tolibold’s hand and drew him along home, where the smell of baking wafted on the air.

Tolly received a warm greeting from the woodcutter’s wife and daughter, and their young son Tod, rescued by Tolly when he’d wandered in the chill fog some years earlier.

‘Tolly!’ little Toddy cried, running from the doorway where he’d been playing in the sun. He bestowed an enthusiastic hug, thumped the hobbit on the back, and pushed himself away, to measure himself against the visitor. ‘Look!’ he crowed. ‘I’m up to your shoulder! Soon I’ll be a hobbit grown!’

‘Toddy!’ his mother remonstrated. ‘Sorry, Master Took, he means no disrespect...’

‘No offence taken,’ Tolly said, reaching up to ruffle little Toddy’s curls. ‘He does look a bit like a hobbit, at that—all he needs is curls on his feet to match his head, and he could be a tween!’

‘D’you hear, Mum?’ little Toddy said in excitement. ‘I could be a tween!’

‘Youngest “tween” in the history of the Shire,’ his mother said dryly. ‘Well, Master Tolibold, if you’ve time to stop, the baking’s about to come out of the oven...’

‘I’ve time,’ Tolly said with a grin, and Teddy laughed outright, and the two shared a wink.

The bread was good, indeed, warm out of the oven and slathered with melting butter. Tolly remembered his manners and ate only as many slices as one of the family might, though he could have eaten thrice the amount, or even four times, without any trouble at all. Still, he didn’t want to put a strain on the woodcutters’ larder.

The woodcutter’s wife sat herself down with a sigh, to sip at a cup of tea, though she ate none of the bread. She smiled on occasion as her sons and daughter chattered, but when young Teddy announced he was going out to the shed to fetch his bow, she immediately suggested that he take brother and sister with him, to set up a target for shooting, and she’d send Tolly right out as soon as he’d had one more slice.

‘And would you like honey, this time?’ she asked as the children were leaving, and then seeing them well gone, she turned her back to the door and went to one knee before the hobbit, who sat on the low footstool, using one of the benches for his table as was his custom when visiting the woodcutters. ‘Tolly,’ she said, adopting the familiar name for the moment.

‘What is it, Missus?’ Tolly said, putting down his bread-and-butter, for there was a serious look in the honest eyes that gazed into his. ‘Is there something the matter?’

‘We—we heard, about the Thain,’ she said, stumbling a little on her words. ‘About Thain Ferumbras, that is, and the new Thain...’

‘Thain Paladin,’ Tolly said, nodding.

‘I’m very sorry to hear about Thain Ferumbras,’ she said. ‘He was always fair in his dealings with my husband.’

Tolly nodded again.

‘This new Thain,’ she said. ‘It’s said he has little use for Men, and we fear...’

‘He wouldn’t turn you out, Missus!’ Tolly said. ‘Why, your husband and his brother cut more wood than...’

‘He might,’ she said. ‘From what we hear, he might very well.’ She leaned forward. ‘But I thought, if perhaps you put in a good word for us...’

‘Good word!’ Tolly said, startled. ‘I don’t understand...’

‘You’ll surely win the Tournament again, this year,’ she said, ‘from what we’ve heard, you’ve won every year, shooting with the tweens the last few years, and earned the right to serve on the Thain’s escort—but if you win this year, having come of age, you’ll become “head”! At your tender age, it’s a wonder...’

For while Tolly would turn three-and-thirty this year, if he won the Tooks’ archery tournament, he’d supplant a well-seasoned hobbit who was current head of escort. It was nearly unheard of! —but it was also custom for the winner of the Tournament to be rewarded with responsibility and status, in addition to the purse he’d carry away.

‘Anyhow,’ the woman said, licking dry lips in her nervousness, ‘I wanted—we wanted, that is, to ask if you’d put in a good word with your Master, for us. He’d listen to his head of escort, he would, and...’

But Tolly was shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

The woodcutter’s wife stopped mid-plea and swallowed hard. ‘I—I was afraid it might be too much to ask,’ she said tremulously. ‘It’s only that—this has been our home, since the dark dread drove us out of the Greenwood. “Mirkwood” they call it now, but we called it home, until it became too dreadful and dangerous...’

Tolly shook his head. He didn’t know Greenwood—or Mirkwood—from the Chetwood in the Breeland, never having been farther from Tuckborough than the Woody End. But he’d given the wrong impression, that he was unwilling to help the Big Folk, when reality was that he’d be unable. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, putting a hand on the woman’s arm. ‘Missus Anemone, I’d like to help you, I really would...’

‘Too much trouble,’ Anemone whispered, brushing at her eyes.

‘It’s not that,’ Tolly said desperately. ‘It’s just that...’ And his own despair rolled over him like a wave, so that he had to put a hand to his face to shield his eyes for a moment, as if the light pouring in through the doorway troubled him. ‘It’s just that...’

‘Why, what is it, lad?’ she said, arrested by the misery in the hobbit’s expression.

‘It’s just that I won’t be serving the new Thain, Missus,’ Tolly said low. He cleared his throat, tried to assume a matter-of-fact air. ‘You see, Thain Paladin sees no use for the escort, at all. He’s discharged the lot of them, even the head, who served Ferumbras faithfully for years, first as a member of the escort, and then as head, when Isumbold was struck down by the wild boar.’

‘Sees no use...’ Anemone stuttered, ‘when Isumbold nearly gave his life, defending Thain Ferumbras?’

‘Thain Paladin’s a farmer, not a hunter,’ Tolly said. ‘And as he’ll be sitting behind a great desk, and not even walking behind a plough any more, he sees no need for an escort to be watching over him.’

‘But what about messages?’ Anemone said. ‘The escort have always...’

‘There’s the Shirepost,’ Tolly said. ‘And Thain Paladin says that anything more urgent than a letter, or quick post, well, the hobbit might as well come to speak to him in person.’

‘O Tolly,’ the woman breathed, laying a sympathetic hand on his. ‘I’m that sorry...’

‘It’s all right,’ Tolly said stoutly, straightening his shoulders. ‘I’ll win a nice little purse, shooting in the Tournament. It’ll be good pocket money. And of course I’ll keep busy, helping my da and my brother with their healing. I can run messages for them, or take potions to patients in the outlying farms, or even gather herbs and roots...’

He’d never be a healer himself, of course. His mind was not tuned to such an endeavour. He’d held a hapless hobbit, pinned under a tree, as his father and brother had sawed off the miserable fellow’s legs, and he’d barely kept from swooning. In point of fact, he’d lost the contents of his stomach shortly after, and hadn’t been able to eat anything for the rest of the day. No, healing was not for him. But he could, as he’d said, run messages. At least he could do that, if not for the Thain, then for his father.

It was a living, anyhow.

Teddy returned, beaming, and ushered Tolly to the yard, where they’d set up a target in a stack of hay-bales, and he proceeded to teach the young boys, and their sister into the bargain, how to shoot.

And then it was nooning, though he didn’t have to eat the food packed away in his bag, for the woodcutter’s family invited him to stay to the noontide meal, of course, and afterwards he went out to cut nettles with a full stomach to work on.

Toddy and Teddy accompanied him, though they did not have heavy leather gloves like he did, and so they only sat and watched and chattered away.

At last his basket was again full, this time of nettles, and he was expected for tea at the inn where they were staying while herb-gathering in the area, and so he took up his basket after walking the boys back to their home.

‘How long will you be staying?’ Toddy wanted to know. ‘Will you come every day?’

‘Every day,’ Tolly promised. ‘For the better part of a week, it’ll be, just like always.’

‘Hoorah!’ the boys shouted, and Tolly had to smile.

At least there was a silver lining to the cloud. If he wasn’t serving on the Thain’s escort, if he was working for his father, he’d be coming to the Woody End several times a year, for the rest of his life, to gather herbs.

The glow of friendship served to warm the dismal prospect of living his life out as a healer’s assistant, and he was almost resigned to his lot, though not quite cheerful, as he took his leave.

Chapter 12. From Bad to Worse

Things went from bad to worst in a matter of moments.

Certainly it was understandable that Hilly would be concerned to hear that his older brother was out in the elements without explanation, without leave... without cloak, as if he’d had very urgent business that could not wait... or as if he’d taken leave of his senses.

But to shout in the Thain’s face! ...not that Hilly hadn’t shouted at Pippin before, but never in the presence of others, and never in such a fury of panic.

Water rations, at the least, Regi was thinking as he grabbed the hobbit’s sleeve, but when Pippin came around the desk, to place an arm about the distraught Hilly’s shoulders, the hobbit twisted and struck out, shouting, ‘Let me go! That’s my brother out there!’

‘He’s gone off his head!’ Renilard said in sudden understanding, and he moved to join the fray, only to be rewarded by being slammed into the wall as Hilly fought off restraint. He threw himself back into the fight again at once, shaking the stars from his sight.

‘Hold him!’ Pippin gritted. He had both arms around the thrashing Took and had pressed his head tight against Hilly’s torso, to avoid Hilly’s fists. One of his eyes was closed and watering, victim of an earlier blow. ‘Mustn’t let him get out... into the cold... Be his death...’

Diamond had rushed from the room, to summon a healer, and Meadowsweet stood frozen in horror. Her husband was missing, and now her brother-in-love appeared to have gone mad!

Hilly gave a mighty heave, lifting all three of the restraining hobbits into the air, reminding Meadowsweet of an old picture she’d seen in a book once, of a fighting bear, dogs clinging on all sides...

...and then Hilly slumped to the floor, the others atop him, taken by surprise in the suddenness of it all.

‘What’s all this?’ Healer Fennel said, entering. He went at once to lift the Thain to his feet, exclaiming over the blackening eye. ‘But Sir, you’re injured...’

‘Never mind me,’ Pippin said, shaking off the helping hands and absently straightening his clothing. ‘It’s Hilly, here. Something’s dreadfully wrong.’

Renilard was breathing in painful gasps. He thought he might have cracked a rib, but he rolled aside and got to his feet with a little help from the steward. ‘Gone off his head,’ he repeated.

‘Burning with fever,’ Fennel said, looking up. ‘Dangerously high, Sir. Delirium, I warrant.’

‘Not completely delirious,’ Pippin said. ‘He’s honestly worried about his brother.’

‘I’d heard Tolly went missing this morning,’ Fennel said. ‘Didn’t think much about it, though, what with Woodruff going down with the fever, among others. I think we need to bring the fevered hobbits into the infirmary and institute a quarantine, Sir... I was just coming to discuss the matter with you, when the Mistress came to hurry me along.’

‘Quarantine!’ Regi said.

‘Aye,’ Fennel said. ‘Bring the fevered hobbits together, and those who’ve been close to them; they can tend the sick, at least until they come down with the fever or this thing runs its course. Woodruff’s notes—I was looking through them after she fell ill—say that it seems to be anywhere from two to five days in duration.’

Quarantine! Renilard thought to himself. Well, he could use a little peace and quiet. He rubbed at his aching ribcage. ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘but we cannot simply leave Tolibold out in the cold, without his cloak, even!’

‘Raolf collapsed in your presence just this morning,’ Pippin said, straightening. ‘And Hilly, just now, in ours... So I think that the danger of our going off our heads this day, at least, is fairly small. The morrow, of course, is another matter...’

‘Quarantine is also to keep from spreading the fever,’ Fennel began, but the Thain put him off with an upraised hand.

‘So we’ll keep our distance from anyone we meet,’ Pippin said.

‘We!’ Diamond said, starting forward, but her husband warned her away.

‘You haven’t been too close to Hilly,’ he said. ‘Keep away, love. Farry needs you, and not in quarantine, either.’

‘I’ve been close to Meadowsweet, and she’s been close to Tolly,’ Diamond countered.

‘You—you’ll need help in the infirmary,’ Meadowsweet said bravely. ‘I—I’ll go there, help out, until they bring Tolly in—’ she turned to the Thain, blinking back her tears. ‘They will bring him in, will they not?’

‘We will,’ Pippin said, moving to embrace her. ‘We’ll find Tolly, Sweetie—why, I’m taking charge of the search myself, just to see that it’s properly done...’

‘Sir, to go out again into the cold, after the exertions of the past few days...’ Fennel began. He might as well have saved his breath to cool his porridge.

‘Are you well enough to ride?’ Pippin said to Renilard, releasing Meadowsweet.

The hunter suppressed a wince as he straightened. ‘Well enough,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll go and make sure your pony’s ready, Sir.’

‘Call together a small party of searchers,’ Pippin said in dismissal. ‘That way, at least, if someone swoons the search can go on.’

‘Aye, Sir,’ Renilard said, and with only the slightest of bows (and it hurt, so it did!) he took his leave.

***

Lay that wood neatly, Ted-lad, neatly, I say! Don’t just toss it all over everywhere...

A long line of waggons stood in the clearing, being loaded with firewood, the woodcutters’ payment for the year on the Thain’s land. The trees had been cut the previous year and had seasoned, drying out, going from green and sap-filled to ready-to-burn, and then they’d been sawed into stove- and fireplace-lengths and then split and stacked high and wide, awaiting transport.

Tolly stood straight and tall as he could, considering, for this was his first commission for the Thain and he meant to do well, though his heart was sick within him. For three years, since coming of age, he’d worked for his father, but now with Pippin gone and threats from Lotho Sackville-Baggins, who’d been thrown out of the Great Smials not long ago, Tolly’s cousin Reginard had reinstated the Thain’s escort, to protect Paladin and to run the Thain’s messages.

And so Tolly was here, on the Thain’s business, as the Thain’s messenger, instead of his father’s. No herb-gathering this trip, no, he was here to collect the year’s firewood for the Great Smials, and to deliver the Thain’s message.

He’d not even been able to summon a smile at the lads’ greeting—Teddy, who towered over him now, and Toddy, who was at eye-level. Their mother, seeing his seriousness, had shooed the lads away to help in the loading of the waggons. Hush now, look, Tolly’s here on the Thain’s business and cannot pass the time... he’ll have more time to talk when the waggons are loaded and on their way... How he wished it were true!

The loading went more quickly than in previous years, for the woodcutters had several other Men working with them, strangers that Tolly had not seen before, but polite enough, though they ignored the hobbit drivers standing at the ponies’ heads.

And when the last waggon was loaded at last, and Ferdibrand came to Tolly’s side to report the fact, Tolly swallowed hard and stood a little straighter. It was time.

‘There, that’s all of it,’ Barad said, stepping away from the last waggon. ‘We’ve filled the Thain’s waggons, paid all of the rent for the year, and a good year it was, to be sure...’

‘Not so good,’ his brother Beriad muttered, plucking at his sleeve, and the woodsman’s satisfied smile faded.

‘Of course not,’ he said hastily, staring at the stony-faced hobbits. ‘We’re that sorry to hear of the Thain’s loss, his only son...’

‘Yes, well,’ Tolly broke in sharply, his voice unnaturally harsh. ‘I’m sorry to say I have worse news to bring you, at least as it concerns yourselves.’

‘Concerning ourselves?’ Barad said, exchanging a glance with his brother.

‘Well, that’ll make a nice fit with the bad news we have to send back to the Thain,’ one of the stranger Men said, coming up to them, wiping at his brow. ‘Waggons well-filled—the Boss will be pleased.’

‘The B-boss?’ Ferdi said, stammering a little, in the face of questioning one of the Big Folk.

‘Yes, the B-boss,’ the Man said, pleasantly mocking Ferdi’s stammer.

Ferdi blushed and dropped his eyes, but looked up again as Tolly spoke.

‘I don’t know what “Boss” you’d be referring to,’ he said. ‘Thain Paladin doesn’t merit such a disrespectful term of address.’

‘I wasn’t talking about your rat-chief,’ the Man said, less pleasantly.

‘But, you said you had word for us from the Thain,’ Barad broke in hastily. ‘What is it? Does he wish to alter our agreement?’

‘You might say that,’ Tolly said, and took a deep breath. ‘He’s—he’s—he no longer requires your services.’

‘Handy, that,’ the stranger began, but Barad spoke over him.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘We’re free of the rent? The wood we cut is our own? He no longer requires waggons-full of wood from us each year when the leaves fall?’

‘You’re free of the rent,’ Tolly said, swallowing down nausea, ‘but only because he’s turning you out.’

‘Turning us out?’ Barad said, horror-struck. ‘Winter’s coming on! Where would we go? There’s no settlements of Men from here to Breeland, and that way is dark and dangerous these days...’

‘There’re settlements closer than that,’ the strange Man said with a smirk. ‘Bywater, Waymeet, Michel Delving—but that’s a way to go...’

‘Turning us out!’ Beriad said. ‘He cannot—!’

‘And why not?’ Ferdi put in, his face still red with anger. ‘The land belongs to the Thain...’

‘Beg to differ,’ the stranger said, before either of the woodcutters could speak. ‘Your Thain’s waggons had to pass through lands belonging to the Boss, just now, and so you owe a toll for the privilege...’

‘Toll!’ Tolly and Ferdi said together.

‘...and as I don’t see any bags of gold forthcoming, well, we’ll just seize this land and cottage for Master Lotho, we will, and so, Barad-my-friend, you may just consider yourself as working for the Boss from here on out!’

From the look on Barad’s face, he was thinking I’m not your friend, by any means! but he had his family to consider.

‘And while we’re at it,’ the strange Man said in his jolliest tone, ‘we’ll just “gather” these waggons of wood—a nice little profit, indeed.’

Barad found his tongue. ‘You won’t,’ he said tightly.

‘Eh?’ the Man said, frankly astonished.

‘This wood is to pay for the past year’s rent on the land and cot,’ Barad said. ‘You won’t cheat the Thain out of his due gain...’

‘You’d let him turn you out? Now? With winter coming on?’ the Man said, and shrugged. ‘Ah well, I’m sure some or other of us can use the cot for lodging, to keep an eye on the Woody End for the Boss.’

‘I—’ Barad began, and his shoulders slumped. ‘I have my family to consider,’ he said, his eyes turning to Tolly and Ferdi. ‘Go,’ he added. ‘Move them out. Quick!’

‘Yea, quick! Before I change my mind!’ the strange Man said with a bark of coarse laughter.

Tolly waved to the driver of the first waggon in the line, and something of his urgency was transmitted to the other hobbits. They whipped their ponies into motion, faster than need be, for a long journey drawing heavy-loaded waggons, and the Men laughed to see them go.

‘So, you’ll stay? And take up tree-cutting at the command of the Boss?’ the strange Man was saying.

The woodcutters nodded, seeming reluctant but resigned. What other choice did they have in the matter?

‘Well, get on with you, little rats,’ the strange Man said suddenly. ‘You’re trespassing! Get off Lotho’s land!’

‘It’s not Lotho’s—’ Ferdi began heatedly, but Tolly pulled him away, seeing the strange Men gathering to surround them. He had a bad feeling about this. He was glad to see the last of the wood-laden waggons turn into the road, beyond. It seemed a good time to bring up the rear.

‘Come away, Ferdi,’ he said in an urgent undertone, and the Men’s coarse laughter surrounded them as they moved to mount their ponies.

‘But!’ Toddy was calling. ‘But, Tolly!’ He broke free from his mother’s hand and ran to them, breaking through the wall of threatening Men, skidding to a stop by Tolly’s pony.

‘Leave hold,’ Tolly said through gritted teeth. ‘Let us go, Toddy!’

‘But!’ Toddy said again, ‘but Mum’s baked lots of apple cake, and Teddy shot a deer, and it’s roasting now and ready for feasting, and...’

‘Let go, Toddy,’ Tolly said again, and the little lad faltered, tears coming to his eyes.

‘But we’re friends,’ he said desperately. ‘We’re friends, Tolly, are we not? No matter what happens...’

Tolly shook his head and turned his pony’s head to the road, kicking the gelding into motion, Ferdi falling in beside him.

And the boy’s voice rose to follow him, haunting, ‘...but you said! You promised!’

And the leader of the strangers shouted with laughter, and the last thing the departing hobbits heard was Toddy’s sobbing, and the Man’s derisive, ‘Surely you don’t expect rats to keep their word...!’

Chapter 13. An Ounce of Prevention

Tolly crouched low outside the little cottage, half-undecided whether to turn and worm his way out of the vicinity, or to wait and see if he could overhear any of the conversation. One ruffian leaned against the doorway, a slab of rabbit pie in his hand, and more were inside. There was much talk and laughter, to be sure, but the words were hard to distinguish. Even the closest ruffian spoke incomprehensibly, what with his mouth overstuffed, and crumbs issuing in little puffs as he talked.

But the Thain had sent Tolly to find out what had happened to Ferdibrand, who'd not returned from his latest excursion outside the Tookland, and Tolly'd had no luck up to this point. Most of the hobbit holes in this part of the Woody End were deserted, as if the families had fled to some hiding more secure, and those still occupied would not open to his cautious knocking.

He'd had to duck into cover more than once, in his searching, for there were a number of Big Men about. Happily for a hobbit's sake, their boots made a great tromping noise as they walked. Why, Tolly could hear them yards away. But walking and talking were two different matters, and he'd still not found someone to answer his questions.

He'd had hopes of the woodcutters, or at least the wife, though he'd not been back to the cottage since the Tooks had hauled the wood away. He'd been all around the border of the land the Tooks claimed for their own, working under Reginard's direction, and later Ferdibrand's, setting traps to keep ruffians out of the Tookland. He had not gone far outside of Tookland's bounds, however, and had not ventured far into the Woody End, not any further than the ruins of the Crowing Cockerel, an inn the ruffians had burnt not long after Yule, and that far only when Ferdi was later than he'd expected, returning from one of his scouting expeditions.

Ferdi, who had a sister living in the Woody End, often crept out of the Tookland to gather news from the outer Shire. He'd even met with a renegade Bucklander who crossed the River on a regular basis to send news to the Thain, or to bring messages from the Thain to the Master of Buckland, who was officially cooperating with the ruffians, but unofficially supporting those who worked to make the ruffians' lot less comfortable and easy.

Ferdi had passed by the woodcutters' cottage on more than one occasion, and he'd told Tolly the family were still there, though the Men went out to cut trees at Lotho's behest. Tolly had turned away from the news, for he could not think of the boys, of Toddy's look of betrayal, without a pang. He'd not seen Toddy, or Teddy, or their mum or dad or uncle since that dismal day, not even when the Thain had thought to send him back to the cottage with a second eviction notice, some months later.

Word had reached the Thain that the ruffians were ruthlessly cutting trees, without regard to wise forestry or even need -- for they cut the trees and left many to rot, not even taking the wood for use -- and that the lovely Avenue on the Bywater Road had been cut down, nearly to the last tree. Paladin, hearing the report, and that his former woodcutters had done a great deal of the cutting, had raged, and fretted, and sent Tolly to evict the woodcutters from the cottage.

But Regi had stopped him, outside the stables. 'You've already evicted them,' he said. 'Going again won't do any good, and it might do you a great deal of harm.'

Tolly'd had the same thought, but answered, 'But the Thain...'

'You're to go off with Hilly, check the border-posts,' Regi said.

Tolly stared, open-mouthed. 'But...' he said when he could find his voice again. Then his face cleared. 'The Thain changed his orders?'

'No,' Regi said. 'And when you return, and he questions you, all you need to tell him is that you evicted them, but they wouldn't go.' He gave the younger hobbit a stern glance. 'It's the truth, isn't it?'

'But...' Tolly said again, his head whirling. 'You're telling me to go against what the Thain said I should do? And to lie to the Thain?' His voice rose in his consternation, and Regi grabbed at his arm and shook him, hard, returning his answer in a voice that was little more than a hiss.

'I'm telling you that you've already carried out this order of the Thain's, and it's time to move on to the next task,' he said. 'What good will it do, to go to the woodcutters' cot, and to be taken by ruffians to the Lockholes? For Lotho has claimed the cot and the Woody End and the trees for his own, and the woodcutters are working for him now!'

'I'm not afraid...' Tolly said, standing straighter, but Regi gave him another shake, while glaring at a curious stable lad who'd ventured near, such that the hobbit decided it might be better to see what other chores were wanting.

'More fool, you,' Regi said. 'They've started beating the hobbits that they take to the Lockholes, from the word Verilard brought from Bywater; he saw several of them being dragged along the Bywater Road, and from what Verilard said they were not treated at all gently or kindly.'

Tolly snorted at this, but Regi's stare demanded his attention. 'They were beaten, Tolly,' he said. 'They've started beating the hobbits they're taking in, and bad will only come to worse, the way things are going.'

'But the Thain...' Tolly said stubbornly.

'We cannot afford to lose an archer of your skill,' Regi said. 'There's a battle to come; I feel it in my bones. We'll need all the archers we've got.' He took a deep breath. 'If you insist on carrying out this commission for the Thain, I've no choice but to send your brother Fredebold in your place.'

'He'd fall all over his feet!' Tolly protested, thinking of his next-older brother, fine at making tunes and holding his drink but having little skill in any other area, and something of an embarrassment to his family and seldom mentioned. As a matter of fact, Tolly doubted his brother had stirred from the Spotted Duck since the borders had been closed, and now Regi was proposing... 'If anyone would be likely to stumble into a ruffian, he would.'

'Aye, likely,' Regi said, 'but at least he can be spared, and you, yourself, Tolly, and Hilly cannot, nor any of the other archers.'

'But,' Tolly said again.

'They were evicted,' Regi said again, 'and if they were honourable Men, they'd have gone the first time the Thain told them to go, and not stayed under Lotho.'

'With winter coming on, and little children,' Tolly argued.

'You're taking the part of renegade Men?' Regi said, his jaw tight with anger.

'If I were Thain I'd've invited them to come into the Tookland, to continue working for the Thain, with honour, as they always had -- they were always true, Regi, and what reward did they receive?'

'Tolly!' Regi said, grabbing at both of Tolly's arms to shake him again, as if he'd shake reason into the hobbit. He dropped his voice to a bare whisper. 'That sort of talk is... you know what it is!'

Treason is what it was, Tolly knew, and he himself was aghast. One did not question the Thain's orders, especially now, with the borders sealed and who knew what sort of battles were lurking on the horizon. He straightened, then, for didn't this conversation start with Regi countermanding a direct order of the Thain?

'If Paladin thought you were in league with ruffians...' Regi whispered.

Tolly shook his head wearily. 'Since when has it been treasonous to argue on behalf of those who've done no wrong?' he said.

'He has already banished...' Regi began.

'Aye, a trouble-maker, working under Pimple Baggins' direction,' Tolly said. 'If he wishes to draw the brand across my cheek and fling me out of the Tookland, for standing up for my friends -- who are only ruffians because they had no other choice, Regi...'

'Enough of this!' Reginard spat. 'You're to do as you're told -- as I tell you, that is, and whether or not you understand that it's for your own good! And if you do not wish to obey a direct order, I suppose I can have you locked up until you do see reason, or your brother has been sent to evict the woodcutters and Verilard brings back news that he's on his way to the Lockholes for his troubles!'

Tolly stared, and Regi released his hold, his shoulders slumping, before passing a hand over his forehead. Silence stretched between them, and then Regi said, with a bitter laugh, 'A fine Thain I'll be making, losing my temper and ruling by threat and imprecation.' His gaze caught Tolly's again, and his mouth twisted. 'Tolly,' he said. 'How can I reach you? It is a fool's errand, and while I cannot say so to Paladin's face, I can try to undo the harm before it's done.'

'Just who is ruling the Tookland, anyhow?' Tolly said low. 'Who is it, issuing orders? Is it you? Or is it Paladin?'

'Thain Paladin, for the most part,' Regi said, adding in a mutter, 'I only step in when he loses his temper and doesn't think things through.'

'Fool of a Took,' Tolly whispered. 'You just mind yourself, Regi, lest you find yourself thrown out of the Tookland for your doings.'

And now, here he was, once again by Paladin's orders -- and Regi had been out, checking the southern border of the Tookland, and so not on the spot, as it were, to countermand this particular visit to the cottage. At least there was no eviction notice folded away in his pocket. He was here to find out what had happened to Ferdibrand, preferably to find Ferdi, if he'd been injured on his latest foray, and to bring the both of them safely home to the Great Smials once more.

The ruffian in the doorway threw back his head and laughed, an unlovely sight with his mouthful of food. Tolly hoped he'd choke, but no such luck. The Man swallowed what was left of the bite and said his first clear words of the conversation. 'Serves the Fox right, I say!'

Tolly stiffened, for "Fox" was the name that Ferdi was known by, in the Woody End, the name printed on the papers nailed to trees along the Stock Road, with Ferdi's likeness and the promise of a rich reward for his capture. Straining his ears to catch the answer from inside the cottage, he crept forward, to the edge of his concealment.

A twig snapped behind him, and he dove to one side, understanding that somehow he'd been discovered, but the hunter was quick enough to grab Tolly's foot before he could quite get away, and the hobbit felt himself inexorably drawn back, his trailing arms and body scraped over low brambles even as he kicked and fought to free himself.

Laughter boomed behind him. 'Caught a rabbit in the brambles!' his captor cried in a jolly voice. 'You said we were running short of pie -- what say, we bake us another?'

Tolly twisted desperately, but the Man had a good grasp, and a club, besides, which he used with skill. He poked the hobbit in the stomach with enough force to send Tolly retching, and then tapped the side of the hobbit's head, just hard enough to stun. Tolly felt himself lifted, while stars danced before his eyes, and he struggled feebly.

***

Steady now, don't drop him!

That's all he needs, on top of everything, to be dropped on his head!

Easy, easy, fellow, it's all right, naught here to hurt you...

Ruffians, Tolly managed to gasp, but the darkness swallowed first the dancing stars, and then Tolly himself, and the answer, meant to reassure, mingled with the raucous laughter of memory.

What, ruffians? No ruffians here...

Chapter 14. Better Safe than Sorry

Pippin clenched his fist in the cloak that lay before him on the saddle, Tolly’s cloak, retrieved from the snowy path. They’d examined the cloak closely before picking it up and bundling it together; and the gloves, too, to see if they’d been laid down with deliberation, perhaps to point the way to followers.

But no footprints were in evidence, where one of the fallen gloves might have pointed, were it laid down with some deliberation. The tracks of Tolly’s pony continued along the bank of the stream, and the searchers followed, until Renilard held up a commanding hand. ‘He dismounted here,’ the hunter said unnecessarily, with a sweeping gesture, ‘floundered through this bank of blown snow towards the stream, and...’

‘Any sign of ruffians?’ Regi said, and to Pippin muttered, ‘I cannot imagine Tolly going into a stream for any reason, not in these temperatures at the least!’

Pippin was leaning forward, watching Renilard’s cautious progress, all the way to the edge of the stream with its rime of ice along the edges. ‘He went in here!’

‘In! But what about coming out again!’ Pippin called.

Renilard gave a dismissive wave as he moved downstream. ‘Pony went on without him,’ Adelgrim said from Regi’s other side, indicating Wren’s tracks. ‘See, here, the hoofprints wander, and turn away from the stream... you can see, he pawed the snow away from the grass on that little rise, there...’

Renilard had quickened his steps, and his voice floated back to the rest of the searchers. ‘Dog!’

‘Might he have been driven into the stream by a pack of stray dogs?’ Pippin said, and then shook his head, answering his own question. ‘No, for they’d have worried the pony, and Wren would scarcely be wandering and grazing if dogs were menacing his master.’ He loosened his reins and nudged his pony forward as Renilard waved a beckoning arm.

‘Came out here,’ the hunter said as they rode up, stopping short of the marks on the bank. ‘Something was dragged out, I think; rather, carried—see the depth of the footmarks. Carried, laid down—you can see the snow pressed down, and the mud. He walked away from the stream—you say the pony was grazing there?’

‘Pawed away the snow,’ Adelgrim said with a nod. ‘I could see the green shining through the frost, even without leaving the track.’

‘Aye, verily,’ Renilard said, turning to follow the tracks leading from the stream. ‘He walked to the pony, fetched him back to the bank, and then he led the pony away... and a dog with him.’

‘Well,’ Pippin said. ‘It seems we’re making progress.’ He lifted his head and stretched tired muscles that had been too long in the saddle, over the past three days. ‘What’s that?’

‘What’s what?’ Adelgrim said, following his gaze, and then he called to the hunter. ‘Reni! More tracks! Downstream!’

Renilard grumbled to himself, turning back. He was following the tracks of Tolly’s pony, wasn’t he? And wasn’t that the most likely course to lead them to Tolly?

Not necessarily, a part of his brain argued, but then for all his sharp hunter’s skills his brain was not serving him well this morn, not after the long chase followed by last night’s revelry.

He shook his head to clear it, gave up on the matter, and trudged downstream, stopping short to survey the new find. At last he turned back to address the Thain.

‘Well?’ Pippin said.

‘Hobbit,’ Verilard said. ‘At least we know where the dog came from, now. Dog went into the stream, and hobbit did, too, and while the dog came out again, and ran down alongside the stream to where Tolly came out...’

‘You said he carried something out, from the depth of the footprints in the mud on the bank,’ Pippin said, ‘and laid it down, before fetching the pony to bear it away...’ His brow was knit in thought. ‘Perhaps the hobbit went into the stream and got into difficulty, and Tolly went in after?’

‘From the marks Tolly left, he plunged into the stream—no cautious wading,’ Adelgrim said.

‘That would be like Tolly,’ Regi said. ‘He pulled young Hilly out of enough watery peril, when they were lads, that he wouldn’t think twice about pulling someone out of a stream, if he didn’t have to swim to do it.’

‘So we have a hobbit with a dog—hunting waterfowl, perhaps,’ Pippin said. ‘He went into the water, for some reason—a fat duck caught among the rocks, that the dog couldn’t retrieve, perhaps? And was overcome with the chill of the water?’

‘Something like that,’ Renilard said. ‘Two hobbits went into the water on their own feet, and only one came out again, and carrying something heavy...’ He looked to the grassy rise. ‘...fetched the pony, and bore his burden away, dog following...’

‘Well then, Tolly’s a hero,’ Adelgrim said, ‘and it was good fortune that he was riding along the bank; in the right place at the right time, as it were...’

‘Yes,’ Regi said. ‘But why was he riding along the bank, when he was supposed to be in the Thain’s study, tendering a report?’

‘That’s why we’re here ourselves,’ Pippin answered. ‘We’ll ask the hobbit when we find him. At least we know he’s not out of his head... there was a reason he dropped his cloak, it must have been some sign. Perhaps he saw a ruffian wading along the stream, to leave no tracks.’

‘Then how does the hunter figure in to it?’ Regi said, puzzled.

‘Dog went for ruffian, perhaps, and hunter shot an arrow to save the dog and then plunged in...’ Pippin said, feeling his way. He shook his head. ‘Such speculation is pointless,’ he concluded. ‘But I’ll be very interested in hearing Tolly’s report when we finally catch up with him.’

***

The hobbit had fought them, albeit weakly, as they lifted him from the cooling water. Aster wrapped him well, and they laid him down on a makeshift bed before the hearth, that being the warmest place in the smial.

The duck was already roasting on its spit, the fat sizzling down into the catch-pan, and the aroma ought to be enough to waken the dead. As it was, the half-drowned hobbit blinked a little, nostrils flaring.

‘Are you hungry?’ Aster said, bending to tuck more blankets around him. ‘That’s a good sign.’ She brushed a hand across his forehead and nodded in satisfaction. He’d been cold as death when they’d brought him in, but the tub had warmed him nicely.

‘Rabbit pie,’ he muttered.

‘We do have some pie left from early breakfast,’ Aster said, well pleased to be able to offer what was requested. She looked to her eldest daughter, laying out plates for the next meal. ‘Ammy, cut a piece of pie for our guest, to tide him over until the duck’s done roasting!’

The guest moved his head restlessly and muttered something Aster couldn’t quite make out...

***

‘Have a piece of pie?’ a ruffian was roaring in his ear. ‘Little rats are always hungry...’

‘They ought to be used to it by now,’ another growled. ‘They don’t need half the food they’ve grown in their fields. Think of what would be wasted, did we not take it off their hands! Why, the Boss has gathered waggons-full...’

‘This one scarcely looks as if he’s missed a meal,’ one said. ‘Why, he’s a fat little coney, plump for the roasting.’

Tolly could hear the sizzle of roasting fat, and smell the heady aroma of the roasting, and his horror must have shown in his face, for there was a burst of coarse laughter around him. Were these truly Men? Or had Orcs invaded the Shire?

And then a feminine voice was heard, soothing and pleading in one. ‘Let be, please let him be; he’s done you no harm.’

‘No harm? Skulking about in the bushes and spying?’

The familiar feminine voice persisted. ‘He’s an old friend; likely came to visit but was too timid to come out when he saw strangers. You know how shy the little folk are around big folk...’

‘You have a kind heart, Annie, to speak up for one of the little rat-folk, but the Boss wouldn’t like it...’

‘He’s a spy, I tell you.’

‘Please...’ and Tolly realised it was the woodcutter’s wife, Anemone, who pleaded for him. Of course it was. He tried to put a hand to his muddled head, but his arms were restrained somehow.

‘Now, now, Annie, don’t you trouble your heart about this little one; he’s in good hands...’

‘An old friend, is he? What’s his name?’

‘Tol—Tolly,’ Anemone said, close at hand, and Tolly blessed her for using the familiar name rather than his full name, damning in its Tookishness. He felt a dampened cloth, then, laid against his aching head where the club had struck.

‘Tolly,’ said one of the men. ‘Tolly – what? Grubb? Chubb?’

‘Took?’ another said, less pleasantly.

‘Just Tolly,’ Anemone said, a quaver in her voice. ‘He lives around here, somewhere, and my lads often encounter him gathering herbs in the woods.’

‘I’ve never seen him,’ one of the men said, but another broke in.

‘No Tooks living around here – but he could be a Took, from the look of him.’

‘No,’ Anemone protested. ‘I’m sure he’d’ve said so, if he were...’ She was getting bolder in her desperation, telling outright lies now, and Tolly moved uncomfortably against the restraining hands, his fear for his friends growing and drawing him back to full wakefulness.

‘Come to think of it, he does look familiar. I have seen him before, somewhere.’

‘There now, you see?’ Anemone said. ‘The neighbours have become shy and wary, with so many Men in the woods these days, so of course he would have hid himself if he heard any of you coming... he’s not so wary of our little lads, of course...’

Tolly was privately glad that the “little lads” were evidently not present, for one of them, speaking without thinking, might have let slip the fact that he was a Took – and that would mean the Lockholes, without a doubt. The woodcutter’s wife was obviously trying to save him... though at what risk to herself and her children, he didn’t know. Would they throw Big Folk into the Lockholes for working against Lotho? Would they burn the cottage?

‘Lucky for him that he’s not a Took,’ the booming-voiced ruffian said. ‘Now that Sharkey’s said we’ll have a rich reward if we hang them up from trees along the road as a warning to the rest of the rats.’

‘Ha, just like the Fox!’ another said with a laugh.

‘Only that one didn’t stay hanged up for very long,’ one grumbled. ‘Rat-folk cut him down and buried him before he was properly ripe.’

‘Denied the birds their rightful feast.’

Anemone made small sounds of distress as the ruffians spoke jovially and at some length—for Tolly’s benefit, no doubt—of the sport of watching the carrion birds at their work. In the meantime hands were going through Tolly’s pockets and the rest of his clothing, and he blessed the fact that he had no papers from the Thain on his person.

‘Carrying nothing,’ one said, dissatisfied.

‘I still think we ought to send him off to the Lockholes, for lurking about.’

‘Lockholes?’ Anemone interposed. ‘But he’s done nothing! Please,’ she said, ‘Just let the little fellow go home again. I doubt he’ll stir foot outside his garden again, after this...’ A warning, it was; but Tolly’s head was spinning with more than the stunning blow of the club. Ferdi was dead! Dead at the hands of the ruffians, and buried; and somehow he must win free to bring the news to the Thain, that Sharkey, whoever he might be, had declared a bounty on dead Tooks.

‘Lockholes is a long way to walk from here,’ one said slowly. ‘I don’t want to walk all that way; don’t know about you, Wort.’

The ruffian thus addressed answered, with a tug at Tolly’s bonds, ‘No, we’ll just put him to work – Barad told us to bury the refuse and not to throw it about his yard.’

‘And since Barad’s yard belongs to the Boss, well, we’re obliged, are we not, fellows?’ There was a sharp poke in Tolly’s ribs, and he winced away before he could catch himself. ‘We’ll put this one to work, digging and burying, and when he goes back home he’ll tell all his fellows what happens to skulkers.’

As Anemone whispered breathless thanks for Tolly’s impending release, Tolly was suddenly placed on his feet. His knees buckled, and he was given a shake and a growled admonition to “Stand up, I say!”

Dizzy, he opened his eyes to see himself surrounded by tall, dirty figures. Anemone shone, half-hidden between two of them. The rest of the family were evidently not at home. The woodcutter’s wife was twisting a cloth between her fingers, and her face was anxious. ‘Tolly?’ she said.

‘Missus,’ he gasped, head whirling. There was a jab at his back and he staggered.

‘Who are you? What’s your name?’

‘Tolly,’ he said, wavering, grasping for a name that would satisfy without endangering the woodcutter’s wife. ‘Tolly Brackenbeater.’ Well, he had been in the occupation of herb-gathering for his father, so it wasn’t untruth.

‘Brackenbeater,’ someone grumbled. ‘Don’t know any of them.’

Tolly was swung halfway around to meet the demand, ‘Where do you live?’

He blinked, affecting that he’d been more muddled by the earlier blow of the club than he truly was. ‘Live?’ he said stupidly.

‘Where’s your hole, rat?’

‘My hole,’ Tolly echoed, and a shove came that sent him sprawling.

‘A half-wit, to all appearances,’ said the booming voice. ‘Ah, well, he’ll dig well enough. You’ve those small spades, I saw them leaning against the shed.’

‘For the lads to work the garden,’ Anenome said. ‘You’ll just have him dig a hole for the refuse...? And then let him go?’ She swallowed hard, but her face showed some relief at the assent she heard.

‘Lot o’ refuse,’ the booming ruffian said in a jovial tone. ‘Hours of diversion for the little fellow, I should say. Keep him out of trouble for a day or two, I warrant, and a good thing, too. You know what they say about idle hands...’

Shouts of laughter answered this sentiment, and hands took hold of Tolly’s shoulders and shoved him roughly out of the cottage. He stumbled over the threshold and measured his length in the gravel spread before the door, ending bruised and scraped, hearing Anemone’s plea from inside. ‘O please! Don’t hurt him!’

‘We won’t hurt him, Annie, to be sure,’ Tolly heard, through the roaring in his ears. ‘We’re just going to make him pay his due, that’s all.’

Chapter 15. Out of the Frying Pan

Ted stared at the approaching riders and dropped the armload of wood he bore, narrowly missing his toes. ‘Dad!’ he shouted, turning to run to the smial. ‘Dad! A muster! Another muster!’

‘What’s that lad on about now?’ Langred grumbled, watching his wife fuss over their unexpected guest. Honestly, if the hobbit didn’t waken soon he’d have to send for the healer, and who was to pay the fee? Who knew if the fellow had any coin to his name? While he looked familiar, the farmer couldn't put a name to him. His clothes were cut well. He might even be one of the Great Smials Tooks. But you couldn't always tell from clothes.

Though the farm was less than five miles from Tuckborough proper, Langred was not one to leave home any oftener than need be, even sending Aster with the occasional waggonload of goods for the market. The last time he'd been to the Smials was two years previous, when he'd hauled a half-drowned "Smials Took" from the stream and brought him home. Too bad he'd short-sightedly asked a barrel of the Thain's private stock for his reward, rather than the bag of coin the Thain had tried to present him.

He’d just spent most of his hard-earned hoard to buy a new plough, to replace the old one, faithful friend for years. He'd hated to do it, but the old plough had met with one rock too many a month or so before Yuletide. Good thing they’d been nearly done readying the field for winter wheat. They’d used hand tools to finish the task, and a heavy job it had been, too.

‘A muster!’ Ned said, starting up from the table. He threw open the door, earning a rebuke from his mother, who crouched by the hearth. Aster’s sharp words died quickly, however, at the sound of ponies’ hoofs.

Langred rose ponderously and rubbed at his backside as he crossed to the door. Two days in the saddle, he’d been, following Mayor Sam’s part of the Shiremuster, and his sons had shared the other plough pony for two days, when they hadn’t been walking and leading the ponies. It was a great relief that the Thain’s son had been recovered relatively unharmed, and the remaining ruffians escorted to the Bounds. Langred didn’t know what the Rangers beyond the Bounds did with ruffians taken alive in the Shire, and he didn’t want to know. His slower-witted son had asked a few questions, but he’d soon put a stop to it, and his quicker-witted son had the sense not to ask.

No further sign of Men had been found, and the hobbits of the muster were finally released to their homes.

But now it looked as if further sign of ruffians had been found elsewhere, and perhaps the mutterings of their unexpected guest had some basis in truth.

The farmer pulled the door closed behind him, his sons flanking him, as the mounted hobbits rode up—the Thain at their head!

‘Sir!’ he said, standing a little straighter. ‘Is it more ruffians, as that poor fellow tried to tell us?’

‘Poor fellow!’ Pippin exclaimed, sliding out of the saddle. He swayed a little, and the farmer reached quickly to steady him. There’d been rumour among the muster, before the hobbits were sent home, that the Thain and Master had set off at a gallop for the Brandywine Bridge, where the King was waiting for them, or so the messenger had said. Langred could hardly credit that the hobbit could have got there and back again since wresting his son from the ruffians' grasp, but it seemed obvious the Thain had not had much rest.

‘He’s in here,’ Langred said, turning to the door. ‘Pulled him out o’ the stream, and...’

Renilard rolled his eyes at this. They’d read the tracks backwards, evidently. Tolly hadn’t been the rescuer so much as rescued. He wiped a sudden sweat from his brow, feeling a flush of heat that belied the chill of the wintry day. His assistant, Hilly, a dozen others he knew of at the Great Smials, and now himself... The pieces fell together, muddled as his brain was, and he understood that Tolly had been out of his head with fever, and that’s what this whole miserable business was about.

‘We saw no sign of ruffians,’ he muttered to nobody. ‘Out of his head, I wager.’

Adelgrim shot him a sharp look. ‘You don’t look so well yourself.’ He hurried to tie the ponies, the Thain’s, his own, and Reni’s, to the ring on the post before the farmer’s door.

‘Very sharp of you to notice,’ Renilard said sourly. He did not resist as Adelgrim took his arm, for it suddenly felt good to lean into the support, and he let himself be led to the door of the smial. He lost a moment or two, then; when he came to himself again, he was sitting on a bench, and a lass was holding a mug before him and urging him to drink. He sipped; bitter stuff, but it cleared his head somewhat.

‘Fever!’ he heard the farmer’s wife say. ‘No, we’ve not been troubled... you say there’s fever about?’

‘Tolly,’ Pippin said, going to his knees beside the blanket-wrapped figure. ‘You’ve led us a merry chase.’

‘Ruffians,’ Tolly whispered. ‘They took Ferdibrand...’

Pippin patted his shoulder. ‘That they did, Tolly, but we got him back again, did we not?’ He removed a glove, to lay his hand against the hobbit’s cheek. ‘Not fevered,’ he said, looking up in puzzlement. ‘I thought...’

‘He was as cold as death when I found him,’ Langred said.

‘In the stream?’ Renilard put in, beginning to put things properly in their places.

‘Aye, in the stream, draped over a rock as if he’d fallen asleep there.’

The hunter nodded, looking to the Thain. ‘Like Raolf,’ he said. ‘Like Hilly.’ He grabbed at his mug and took a fair-sized swig of the steadying bitter stuff. Like myself. Aloud, he added. ‘Taken of a sudden, with a rush of fever heat, he might’ve sought the cool of the stream, or seen a thing that wasn’t there and gone in after.’

‘But he’s not fevered now,’ Pippin said, and shook his head at himself. ‘Stream cooled him, much as you’d put a fevered hobbit in a bath to bring the fire under control.’ He gave the blanketed shoulder a gentle shake. ‘Tolly? Do you hear me?’

‘Dead,’ Tolly half-sobbed, and then his eyes opened and he seemed to see the Thain. Erupting from his blankets, he grabbed at Pippin’s arm. ‘You have to get out,’ he said urgently. ‘Mustn’t stay here. They’ll find you... Hang you up ‘til you’re dead.’ He looked around wildly. ‘Dead!’

Pippin and the farmer’s wife soothed the delirious hobbit as well as could be, and they managed with vague promises to get Tolly to lie back in his blankets. His eyes closed once more, and his grip loosened. Pippin gently pulled free and drew the blanket around the head of escort again. ‘We need to get him to a healer,’ he said.

Aster drew herself up. ‘In this chilly weather?’ she said. ‘In his state? You’ll kill him, sure as if you struck him with arrows.’

Pippin looked at the hobbits who’d accompanied him. Renilard was pale and sweating, shivering, huddled in his cloak, not a good sign. Adelgrim and Regi stood just inside the door. The rest waited outside with the ponies. ‘Regi,’ he said. ‘Send two hobbits to fetch a healer. Fennel, if he can be pulled away. Or Fescue, at the very least.’

Regi nodded and slipped out the door as quickly as possible, to keep the heat in the smial.

Tolly half-roused at the chilly draught of Regi’s leaving. ‘Got to get out,’ he muttered.

Pippin patted his shoulder. ‘All’s well, cousin,’ he said.

But Tolly seemed not to hear; he only shook his head weakly, and then he was still.

Chapter 16. Sick as a Dog

Renilard wakened to a curious sound, one he hadn’t heard in years... not since the children had grown and married and removed to holes of their own, that is. It sounded suspiciously like his wife, humming a lullaby.

Yer ol’ da’s gone a hunting.
He’s gone to find a soft rabbit skin
To wrap a baby fauntling in,
By-o...

Though a part of him simply wanted to go back to sleep, he forced an eyelid open to see if his eldest daughter might be there, rocking the new grandbabe.

‘Renny!’ Soft, but bright with joy and relief, and there was his wife’s face leaning over him.

‘Annie,’ he whispered, and coughed a little at the dryness of his mouth.

‘Here, now, laddie,’ Anise said, more gently than he’d heard her speak in a long time. And then she was lifting his head, as if he couldn’t lift it himself, and holding a cup to his lips. Water, it was, and he gulped thirstily, heedless of the bitter tang.

‘Fever’s broken,’ and here was Buttercup, one of Woodruff’s assistants, kneeling down beside them—for Renny felt the hardness of solid floor under him. He might have thought himself sleeping under the stars, save that a whitewashed ceiling curved above him.

No, Annie, don’t tell them... he heard as his wife eased his head back down onto its soft cushion. Turning his head to the side, he saw Meadowsweet sitting on the floor, speaking soft, soothing words to her husband.

‘The fever,’ Renilard said.

‘Aye,’ Buttercup answered. ‘A goodly part of the Smials has been swept with it, mostly hobbits who went out on the muster, two days riding in the chill, without sleep, and the good farmer and his elder son as well.’

‘You and Tolly and Adel, to start,’ Anise nodded. ‘Six of you, and two of Aster's family, laid out before the hearth. Warmest part of the smial, for there’s no fires in the bedrooms.’

‘We allus meant to dig the smial a little deeper into the hill, build more hearths,’ a hobbit mum bearing a tray of steaming mugs said apologetically. ‘What with working the farm and all, we just never had the chance. And it doesn’t seem so very bad, snuggled up in a featherbed with plenty of covers.’

‘But not all that cosy for sitting,’ Anise said, and to soften what might seem to be criticism she added, ‘but we thank you for all your hospitality!’

The hobbit mum chuckled at that, shaking her head wearily. ‘Hospitality,’ she echoed. ‘Making up beds before the fire, and cooking up the victuals the Thain was so kind as to send...’

‘Well, with all these extra mouths to feed,’ Anise said stoutly, and took a mug, from the tray the hobbit mum extended, with a word of thanks. ‘Come now, Renny,’ she said, turning her attention to her husband. ‘We’ll sit you up again, and get some of this good beef tea into you.’

‘And yourself, missus?’ the hobbit mum said, moving to Meadowsweet. ‘Shall we see if we can get some of this good sustaining stuff into your husband?’

‘Thank you, Mrs. Aster,’ Meadowsweet said, taking a mug. She immediately began coaxing Tolly to take a sip, though he didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes, half open, looked on some other scene, and he whispered again, some nonsensical warning.

‘Come, Tolly,’ Meadowsweet said.

‘He was taken before I was,’ Renilard said, allowing himself to be propped up by the healer’s assistant, though he ached in every muscle, and felt as weak as a kitten. The beef tea was hot and heartening, however. ‘He’s still fevered?’

‘The fever can last from three to five days, for most, or so we’re finding,’ Buttercup said, folding the blanket down to seize Renilard’s wrist in her hand. She settled beside him, counting silently, while Anise held the mug for her husband to sip and spoke inconsequentialities in her relief, about the grandchild’s birthday, several months away, and ought they to picnic on the meadow or climb the great hill to bask in the sunshine at the top?

‘How long,’ Renny said at last, when he could get a word in edgewise, for he’d been watching Meadowsweet and Tolly. ‘How long was I out of my head?’ For he had only brief snatches of impressions, of the past hours... days? ...of being laid before the hearth, of a splitting head and cool cloths, being urged to sip sweetened bitter coolness from a mug, his head spinning when they propped him to drink, of wild dreams, confusing noises, swirling colours, nightmares of hunts gone wrong and being lost in thick fogs, and ruffians...

‘Well, now, Renny,’ Anise said. ‘Don’t trouble your head about none of that. Your fever’s broken now, and...’

‘But Tolly wasn’t fevered when we found him here,’ he protested. ‘Why’s he still laid so low?’

‘The chill of the water cooled the fires, some,’ Buttercup said, laying his wrist down again and tucking the blanket chinward. ‘But the fever returned, and a stubborn fever it is, too. He’s been out of his head since... The Thain’s come every day to sit with him, a bit, and...’

‘Thain Peregrin, not down with the fever?’ Renilard said, relaxing into his blankets.

‘Not for want of trying,’ Buttercup muttered. ‘Don’t know how he manages, what with the muster, and riding to the Bridge and back.’

‘He makes me feel tired,’ Anise whispered, with a wink for her husband. ‘So much spirit, that hobbit has! Why, getting his son back from the ruffians has waked him up, it has! And not a cough or wheeze to be heard from him.’

‘And a good thing, too,’ Buttercup said with a nod. ‘Healer Woodruff's been ill enough, without having to rise from her sickbed to chase down the Thain and tie him to his bed!’

‘Word is, he wanted to bring Tolly back to the Smials,’ Anise whispered, with a glance to Meadowsweet, still coaxing Tolly to take the now-cool beef tea. ‘But Missus Aster put her foot down, she did, and said it would kill him, in the state he was in. And then, she told me when I got here, well, then you were taken, and hardly had they got a mug of willow-bark tea into you but you collapsed entirely, and Adelgrim next, and the next thing she knew they were hauling pale and staggering hobbits into the smial from the yard, and Thain Peregrin sent a message to the Great Smials to fetch a healer, and double quick!’

‘Woodruff’s down with the fever,’ Renilard murmured, feeling as if he were in a dream.

‘Not any more,’ Buttercup said. ‘When I left the Smials last night she was up and about, though of course her Ted wanted her to keep to her bed for at least another day... she wasn’t having any, not with more than half the muster taken with fever! And the Mayor...’

‘The Mayor!’ Renilard said, sitting up a little.

‘None of that, now,’ Anise said, setting the empty mug aside and pressing her husband down with a firm hand to each shoulder. ‘Aye, Mayor Sam was taken, and his Rosie is nursing him there in the Smials, for Fennel wouldn’t let her take him home, and Thain Peregrin insisted that the Mayor’s whole family stay until he was fully recovered.’

‘And the Master,’ Renilard prompted, happy to lie still just so long as the gossip continued to flow.

‘O he went back to the wilds of Buckland days ago, he did,’ Buttercup said. ‘None the worse for wear. Said he had to get ready for the King and Queen, they’re to meet Thain, Mayor and Master at the Bridge, as you know, on their way to the Southlands from the Lake.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And Mayor Sam, well, you know how he is. Said he’d be at the Bridge to honour the King, visiting, if they had to haul him there in the back of a waggon!’

‘And he would, too,’ Renilard said approvingly. ‘He’s a wonder, our Mayor Sam.’ And even though he was a Took, and looked first to the Thain, he meant every word.

But then it occurred to him that none had answered his question. ‘How long was I out of my head?’ he insisted.

Buttercup and Anise exchanged a glance over him. ‘How long?’ he said again.

‘Hold on, I’m not deaf,’ Anise said, smoothing the blanket. ‘You had a bad bout of it, auld love, the full five days it was, and not a day less, though young Raolf is up and about already. Why, he was here yesterday, shaky as a new lamb, just to look in on you. I chased him home again, I did, and told him he’d better marry a sweet lass who’d have the sense to keep him in his bed when he’s been ill.’

‘Five days,’ Renilard said. ‘It’s no wonder I feel like death warmed over... You needn’t tie me in the bed, I’ve enough sense to go back to sleep until the ache leaves my bones... just another mug of that fine beef tea... and if you’d put a spot of meat in’t, and perhaps a few vegetables, well, I wouldn’t turn my face away.’

‘You’re hungry!’ Anise said brightly, a genuine smile lighting her tired features. ‘Well, then,’ she said, ‘I know just where to find some good food.’ She hauled herself to her feet, leaving the healer’s assistant to watch over her husband, just in case.

But Buttercup had taken Renilard’s words to heart. ‘You’re showing a great deal of sense, for a Took,’ she said, with a pat for his shoulder. ‘That’s it, just rest your bones, and eat a little something, and sleep, and on the morrow I think you’ll be well on the mend.’

She got up then, and moved to Tolly’s side, talking quietly with Meadowsweet, who’d tucked Tolly’s blankets around him again and sat crooning a quiet tune to soothe the restless hobbit.

Five days, Renilard mused, and then he wanted to call Buttercup back, to ask her... Five days, he’d been fevered, and Tolly longer...

He looked over to Meadowsweet’s face, lines of worry pulling down the corners of her mouth, and he wanted to speak words of reassurance to the lass. Why, it had been at least five days that Tolly’d been fevered, then, for he’d been taken on the morning of the day the fever had struck Renilard down.

‘All will be well, Sweetie,’ he said, but he could scarcely hear his own voice in his ears. Really, he thought he’d just close his eyes until Anise returned to his side. A bite to eat, and a nap, just what was wanted.

And Tolly moaned, wrestling his hand free of the blanket, and Meadowsweet seized it between her cool palms. ‘Shhh,’ she soothed. ‘Shhhh, now, my love, my own, all’s well...’

‘Got to get out,’ Tolly whispered, ‘Cannot stay,’ over and again, and, ‘For your little-uns’ sake, Annie, don't,’ while she soothed him, seemingly in vain. Then he stilled, and seemed to sleep.

‘I know, my love, I know,’ Meadowsweet said, and she kissed his hand, and pressed it to her cheek, bathing it with her tears.

***

A/N: Thanks to Dreamflower for her listening ear and sensible suggestions.

4/26/07

Chapter 17. Measure Twice, Cut Once

‘Healer Woodruff!’

Renilard wakened to Meadowsweet’s exclamation, in conjunction with a blast of cold air that sent the flames dancing on the hearth and caused his wife to utter an exclamation of her own, one of dismay as she pulled the blanket up over him.

The door slammed shut, the cold wind stopped though the temperature was perceptibly lower in the smial. Another time Renny might have been annoyed at Anise’s fussing, but now he welcomed the warmth of her bulk, pressed over him as if to shield him from harm. There was a stamping of feet behind him then, and then murmured apologies in several voices. Rather than basking in his wife’s closeness, he pushed at her to gain enough room to roll over.

The Thain was there, as he’d thought from what he'd heard. The Thain's own healer leaned on his arm as they wiped the snow from their feet. Snowflakes decorated their cloaks and sprinkled their heads in feathery clumps. The farmer's middle daughter stepped in to take their cloaks, hoods and gloves.

‘At least it’s not ice,’ the Thain was saying, in answer to Farmer Langred’s observation. The good farmer was wrapped up in a blanket, before the hearth, though he’d hastily stood up to offer his chair to one or the other new arrival. ‘But too cold, by half! I apologise for the cold air we brought in with us. It won’t be a bother to you in future, I’m glad to say.’

‘Won’t be a bother?’ Langred said fuzzily, sinking back into his chair at the Thain’s staying gesture. Meanwhile, Woodruff disengaged her arm and lowered herself to the floor between Renilard and Tolly.

‘Well now,’ she said. ‘Hobbits laid out before the fire like a tin of sardines!’

‘No fires in the bedrooms,’ Aster said apologetically, twisting her apron in her hands. She knew enough of Healer Woodruff to be in awe of the hobbit. When her daughter-in-love had laboured long to bring forth her first child, to no avail, and showed signs of failing, the worried midwife had sent to the Great Smials for the Thain’s own healer, who had a knack with difficult births. Woodruff had come at a gallop—and saved both young mother and new babe. Though Woodruff had sat down at table after the birthing was done, sipping a mug of tea and nibbling at a biscuit just like any other hobbit, Aster could not forget the way she’d taken charge and snapped out her orders as she’d waded into the battle to save two lives. She was a hard and fierce fighter, that one. No telling what she might say to Aster’s makeshift arrangements.

‘Very cosy, and easier to keep an eye on all together,’ Woodruff said with a nod and a twitch of her lips that might have been a smile in other circumstances. ‘Now then, Renny,’ she said, laying the back of her hand against his forehead. ‘Fever’s broken, from the look of you.’

‘Yes,’ Anise spoke up. ‘Yesterday, near teatime. He wanted to get up this morning, but I argued with him until he went back to sleep.’

‘You ought to listen better to your wife, Renny, for what are wives for if not to keep their hobbits on the right path? Now, what’s this I hear of you—you were out of your head for a good five days?’

‘I wouldn’t know—I’ve been out of my head, as you say,’ the hunter grumbled. He avoided healers like the plague, in better days, but it seemed he was well and truly trapped at the moment.

‘Five days,’ Woodruff said with another nod, folding back the blankets that cocooned him in warmth. He shivered as she seized his hand and ordered him to ‘be still, that a hobbit might think a thought or two in the meantime.’

She held his hand for a long moment before her fingers moved to his wrist and she turned her eyes to the flames roaring on the hearth. A dew of melted snowflakes glittered in her hoary curls, he noted absently, as he set himself to be as still as possible. She was likely to stir up an awful-tasting draught if he annoyed her.

Done with her counting, she laid his hand down upon the blankets and peered into his face, bending close to sniff at his breath, to peer into his eyes, even pulling his lids wide with her fingers for a better look.

‘Did ye want to see my teeth as well?’ he muttered in spite of himself.

‘No fever on your breath,’ she said, ‘but let me see your gums, anyhow, and stick out your tongue whilst you’re at it.’ As he obliged, she said, ‘Say “ah” now, do. I’ve been near breathless with the anticipation, all the way here, for you never visit me in the infirmary for some reason.’

Anise snorted, and Woodruff’s lips twitched again as she examined Renny’s mouth.

At last the healer sat back. ‘No sore throat?’ she said.

‘None,’ the hunter said, and added, pulling himself to an upright position. ‘So, does that mean I can get up?’

‘I think it means that you may sit up, in a chair, when the good farmer seeks to lay his head down once more,’ Woodruff said, ‘at least for today. If you eat all you’re given, and rest today, then you may get up on the morrow, and walk a few steps around the smial.’ She lifted a peremptory finger and added, ‘No going out-of-doors until the next day, however!’

At that moment a great racket of hammering erupted outside, and half the hobbits started up from their places.

Thain Peregrin, however, commanded them back to their rest, and when all were settled to his satisfaction, he said to the farmer, ‘I beg your pardon.’

‘You have it,’ Langred said at once, with a bow that nearly spun him out of his chair. ‘And aught else you might need, Sir...’

For along with the waggonload of supplies, sent by the Thain some days earlier and just before Langred himself had been laid low, had come a bag of coin, “in thanks for your hospitality and apologies for the inconvenience to your family.”

‘No, I beg your pardon for taking the liberty of adding to your smial without consulting you,’ Pippin said, a little diffidently. ‘You see,’ he said, having to raise his voice somewhat above the hammering, ‘you were out of your head the last time I came, and I couldn’t very well ask you... and your wife was run off her feet, what with all the unexpected hospitality required of her...’

Langred waited patiently.

Pippin shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. Woodruff looked up sharply at the sound, reassured herself that he wasn’t sickening on the spot, and turned her attentions to examining Tolly.

‘Well, you see,’ Pippin said, ‘it doesn’t seem right that we’ve brought trouble and fever to your smial, where you were managing very well up until now, until everyone must lie here in the main room, before the hearth, rather than snug in their beds.’

Langred inclined his head in a gracious manner, though he wasn’t quite sure what the Thain was driving at, nor what role the hammering played.

‘Well,’ Pippin said, blinking a little in his earnestness, ‘I took the liberty of engaging workers and lumber and bricks and tools, to build an entryway, that when the door is open you don’t have all the heat escaping the room and all of outdoors coming in, so to speak.’

‘It was a great liberty,’ Woodruff said dryly, and under her breath. ‘Not asking permission of a hobbit out of his wits with fever.’

‘Building on to the smial...?’ Langred said in a befuddled manner.

‘Aye,’ the Thain said, reddening. ‘It is a great liberty, I know, and...’

Langred blinked. It was something he’d been planning himself, one of the improvements he’d wanted to make “one of these days” when the weather was better. However, when the better weather arrived, it never seemed so urgent a matter as all the other things that called to be done during the warmer months on the farm.

He wondered if they’d be digging chimneys next, and laying down stone for bedroom hearths.

Woodruff was frowning now. ‘But I thought he was taken with fever the same day as Hilly, and Renny,’ she said, ‘and a host of others.’

‘He was,’ Meadowsweet said. ‘Early in the morning of that day, it must have been, for he took his pony and rode out of the Smials without a word to anyone, long before early breakfast, and they said from the signs on the trail they thought he was out of his head even then.’

Woodruff counted silently, nodding to herself, and then she counted on her fingers for good measure. ‘This is the seventh day,’ she said, staring down at the hobbit who moaned and turned his face restlessly from side to side, even as his hands moved together to some unfathomable purpose, pushing out from his body and pulling back again, only to push away once more. He gasped for breath, and rivulets of sweat ran from his temples, but he did not seem to hear anything said to him, by wife or healer or farmer’s daughter, leaning down to hand a freshly brewed mug of tea to Meadowsweet.

It was difficult to count his heartbeats, moving as he was, and Woodruff had to give up and find the pulse point on his throat, in order to get an accurate reading. His flesh burned under her fingers, and his heart galloped faster than she could count.

‘Well?’ Meadowsweet whispered, ‘is it close to running its course, do you think?’ Her eyes were bright with hope, a desperate hope perhaps, but Healer Woodruff wasn’t head healer of the Tooks for no reason. Even the Thain broke off his continued apologies to Langred and Aster to bend close, to hear the answer.

‘Close to running its course,’ Woodruff echoed absently, lifting an eyelid to peer into Tolly’s bloodshot eye, while she sniffed delicately at his faint exhalation. Her lips tightened at the odour—sickness, deadly sickness perhaps, a wasting, with a hint of death's corruption clear to her healer's perception.

Tolly was very close to the end of his course, indeed.

Chapter 18. Digging Himself into a Hole

Two ruffians tied a rope about Tolly’s ankle, “just so as we can keep track of the little fellow; wouldn’t want him to disappear down a rat-hole, now, would we?” One of them held the end of a rope much as someone might a dog’s lead, and another prodded at Tolly’s back with the sharp end of a broken off stick. ‘Get along with you, now.’

He was directed towards the shed, where tools hung under the overhanging roof, safe from rain, and ordered to take down one of the small shovels there, crafted for the woodcutter’s sons. His guards prodded him out of the yard, then. He caught a glimpse of Anemone in the doorway of the house, twisting her apron in her hands, worry plain on her face though she tried to smile as she called to the guards to take good care of Tolly.

‘We’ll take good care of him, you can count on that, Annie!’ one of his guards answered with a cheery wave, and then the prod caught Tolly in the small of his back again and he had to mind his footing lest he stumble on the uneven ground.

They left the clearing and walked a little way into the wood. The stick-bearing ruffian scratched a rough outline in the dirt, saying, ‘Not too many tree-roots here. You’ll do well enough, I think.’

The other ruffian shoved Tolly forward with his booted foot and growled, ‘Start digging. We don’t have all day.’

‘O but we do!’ his companion countered with a chuckle, and he proceeded to settle himself comfortably at the base of a tree. ‘Just sit yourself down, Heath, and let the hobbit work.’

Tolly, seeing no choice in the matter, began to shovel dirt out as indicated. He shook his head to rid himself of the fancy that the outline was the right shape to be the beginnings of a grave. A hobbit-sized grave. After all, they’d threatened him only with making his life unpleasant for the conceivable future, unpleasant enough to tell other hobbits, and that implied that they’d let him go at the end of it all.

But as he dug himself deeper into the ground, his misgivings grew. Surely they didn’t need such a deep pit as this, simply to bury refuse...! Still, whenever he paused, the rope-holder would growl, or the stick-bearer would threaten in a cheerful tone, and as he bore a stout stick, Tolly heeded him. He didn’t need a beating on top of everything else.

He was sweating, now, and his tongue was dry in his mouth, but the ruffians didn’t offer him water, even after he’d asked. The soil had started out loose and loamy, with its years of leaves deposited over many seasons, but by the time the hole was knee-deep he began having to work around rocks, and the labour grew more demanding the deeper he dug. His shoulders ached as he had to throw the dirt higher, and higher. Raw spots developed on his palms, and he had to stop for a moment, to take off his shirt that he might tear some protective strips to wrap his hands.

He’d dug himself deep, indeed, the pit rising over his head. He looked up at a growl above him, to see a large, dark head silhouetted against the afternoon sky. ‘Why are you stopping?’

He held up a bloodied hand, half-wrapped up, and the ruffian nodded without interest. ‘Get on with the digging,’ the Man muttered, and Tolly wondered if they intended him to dig his way to the Sunlands. Or was it truly his own grave that he was digging?

***

Tolly’s brothers came two days after Renilard's fever broke, at Woodruff’s summons. They’d have come days earlier, but for the fact that no one had told them the seriousness of Tolly’s condition. They’d been ill of the fever themselves, Hilly worrisomely so, and Mardibold, the eldest, had sat by his youngest brother’s side through the worst of the delirium though he himself was scarcely fit to sit in a chair.

Fredebold, next brother after Mardi, had suffered only a slight case of the fever, but it had been enough to confine him to his favourite haunt, where he consoled himself with healing draughts of good beer and food. It was difficult, indeed, to pry him from his comfortable seat by the fire in the common room of the Spotted Duck, but Mardi managed it though his hand was shaking and his head buzzed.

‘You ought to have a draught of beer, Brother,’ Freddy said, turning to the landlord to order another glass, but Hilly forestalled him.

‘We’re called to bring Tolly home to the Smials.’

‘Home to the Smials?’ Freddy said in astonishment. ‘Where’s he been, then? I thought he was sick, just like everybody else in this benighted farthing!’

‘He fell ill while riding out on a pony,’ Mardi answered, ‘and so he’s not been at home, but was taken in by a kind farm family some miles outside of Tuckborough.’

‘Some miles! And how d’ye expect me to go some miles, in my condition?’ Freddy said, scandalised.

‘The Thain’s sending us there in a waggon,’ Mardi said. ‘And his waggon is waiting now, before the inn, and so, little brother, I’d suggest you wrap yourself well, and now, unless you’d like us to haul you into the cold in your shirt-sleeves!’

‘Bother,’ Freddy said. ‘Can’t you just fetch him home yourselves, and I’ll come to the Smials when I’ve finished this lovely bit of steak and kidney pie? I’m not at all well, you know. I’ve had this fever that’s going around.’

‘Aye,’ Mardi said, holding up a hand to prevent Hilly from rousing their indolent brother by force and perhaps incurring some penalty thereby. Certainly, that hobbit had blackened the Thain’s eye for him and paid no price for the act, but he’d been out of his head at the time. He had no such excuse at this moment, save aggravation, and that was no excuse for doing someone more or less harm. ‘And I’m a healer, and if I say a little fresh air’ll do you good, my dear brother, then you have no reason to turn a deaf ear. Come along.’ And he put a firm hand under one of Freddy’s arms, and Hilly hastened to lift Freddy from the other side, and before Freddy knew it, he was halfway to the door, and not even a cloak to keep him from his death of cold!

However, quick orders on Mardi’s part saved Freddy from such an uncomfortable demise—the serving lass threw Freddy’s coat about his shoulders and topped it off with a warm cloak before they reached the door.

The cold air slapped Freddy in the face as they exited, bringing him to unwelcome alertness. All the good he’d done himself, sipping spirits to warm himself, evaporated in the chill, and he grumbled accordingly.

Mardi and Hilly paid him no mind, helping him into the back of the waggon and being helped in on their own account, weakened as they were by their own bout of fever, and soon they were bouncing along over the frozen ground.

It was an uncomfortable, interminable journey, but at last they arrived.

Freddy was glad to leave the waggon; he felt as if his bones had turned to jelly, but there was smoke coming from the chimney of the little smial dug into the hillside before him, and such was usually a good sign.

The entryway was made of boards that shone with newness, so new they were not even painted over, and the brickwork was only half-done, or so Freddy observed. What sort of establishment was this, anyhow? However, the tantalising smells that surrounded them as they stepped from entryway into the smial proper more than made up for his disgust with his first impression.

Mardi dropped Freddy’s arm and stumbled to the hearth, with its laid-out, blanketed figure, with an exclamation of dismay, which he bit off quickly on seeing Meadowsweet’s face.

Fredebold staggered, bereft of his older brother’s support, and gratefully allowed a younger hobbit, dressed in farmer’s togs, to take his arm and escort him to the table, where a cosied teapot waited. Not quite Freddy’s beverage of choice, but it would do in a pinch. His nostrils flared at the fragrant steam that arose as the tea was poured. ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he muttered, wrapping his stiff, cold hand around the comforting mug.

‘Mardi,’ Woodruff said, looking up from her seat on a folded blanket. ‘Thank you for coming so quickly.’

‘I came as soon as I could,’ Mardi said, leaning to embrace Meadowsweet on Tolly’s other side, and then sinking down, plucking at the blankets enveloping Tolly, his eyes taking in every detail, his hand going to Tolly’s forehead. He frowned at the heat he found there. ‘I had no idea... why didn’t you...?’”

Tolly moved his head restlessly, muttering disjointed words, as he tried to avoid the contact, and he pushed against the blankets that trapped his hands.

‘You had enough troubles of your own,’ Woodruff said with a sigh. ‘With Hilly so dangerously ill, Fennel thought it best not to call you away from one brother to tend to another, and I agreed with him...’

‘He wouldn’t even tend to me,’ Freddy mumbled through a mouthful of bread-and-butter, which went nicely with the tea. Actually, some preserves would just suit, and so he applied himself to spreading what was needed where it would do the most good. ‘And I was at death’s door, I was.’

‘Indeed,’ Woodruff said dryly. ‘A good thing that you were able to nurse yourself through, with the help of good food and beer...’

‘And a little spirit to lift the spirits,’ Freddy said stoutly, raising his mug in a toast. ‘Speaking of... perhaps you might warm up my tea, m’dear, if you wouldn’t mind...’

The farmer’s daughter, misunderstanding, simply poured more steaming tea into the mug, and Freddy sighed and settled for what was available, though a little brandy would not at all have gone amiss. Perhaps the farmer could not afford brandy, considering the state of the brickwork surrounding the entryway. Who’d have guests with his smial in such an unfinished, untidy state?

Hilly, who’d been so dangerously ill, had not moved from the doorway after the door was pulled closed behind him. He stared in dismay at Tolly, feeling as if one of his fevered nightmares had become truth.

‘Hilly?’ Woodruff said, looking up, her eyes narrowing.

‘He’s... he’s...’ Hilly said, blinking, his breathing shallow. ‘He was taken before I was, and oughtn’t he to be sitting up, at least, by now? Why are you keeping him wrapped up so that he cannot move?’

‘It’s...’ Meadowsweet began, but Woodruff pulled herself to her feet, using Meadowsweet’s shoulder as a lever, and crossed to where Hilly stood. He flinched away as she reached for him. ‘You’re not fevering again, are you?’ she asked, her eyes intent.

‘I—I’m well,’ Hilly maintained, fending her away. ‘But Tolly,’ he said huskily, and gave a shallow cough. ‘I thought...’

‘We were called to fetch him home,’ Mardi said, and added, ‘Come, Hilly, sit yourself down at table before you fall down, and have yourself some tea to steady your nerves. Tolly’s ill, and would rest better in a bed, I’m thinking...’ He looked to Woodruff. ‘That’s why you called us, I take it? He’s been on the floor, here, since he was first taken? It’s no wonder he’s no better.’

‘No fires in the bedrooms,’ the farmer’s wife said apologetically, entering from one of the bedrooms where she’d been setting things to rights. ‘We thought he’d do better where we could keep him warm.’

‘You’ll hardly keep him warm in a waggon,’ Freddy said, his mouth full. Good bread, it was, fresh-baked. He wouldn’t mind staying here for a bit, at least until dinnertime, for if the bread was any indication, someone around here was a dab hand at cookery.

‘He’s the last to bring back to the Smials,’ Woodruff said. ‘Renilard was carried home this morning, after early breakfast.’ She smiled faintly. ‘He wanted to ride his pony, but the Thain wasn’t taking any chances of his chief hunter falling on his head.’

‘It was Renny’s wife who insisted,’ Meadowsweet said.

‘As any good wife would,’ Mardi said. ‘So, Sweetie, we’re to do the same for Tolly, eh? Carry him home where he may rest and recover in his own bed, in comfort?’

‘We’ve been very comfortable here,’ Meadowsweet said hastily, looking to the farmer’s wife in apology.

‘O aye,’ Freddy said, buttering another piece of bread. ‘I’m quite sure you have.’

Chapter 19. Stuff and Rubbish

Sorry to say this chapter contains some rather unpleasant detail. Not gratuitous, simply couldn't figure out a subtler tack.

Ferdibrand thought the bed might just, possibly, swallow him up with little more than a belch and a smacking of lips, after so long a time. Why, he couldn’t remember being forced to lie abed for an entire week or more, save the time he'd been rescued from strangling at the end of a ruffian's rope during the Troubles, and then again, after the Battle of Bywater, of which in strictest truth, he had no memory thanks to another ruffian’s club.

They kept telling him he’d been at death’s door, with one foot in the grave—nay, more than one foot—if they were to be believed, he’d been taken for dead, shrouded and laid in the grave and saved only by Healer Woodruff’s frenzied action during the burial. Woodruff had been driven by fever delirium to jump down into Ferdi’s grave, and it was frightening to think what might have become of Ferdi had the healer been in her right mind.

In any event, he’d be fit for the grave if he had to lie here another hour, much less another day. Sitting up, propped with pillows was all very well and good. It hadn’t been so bad so long as his Nell, in her gratitude at his restoration and in her fear that he might still slip away from her, stayed close by. But after the healers at last pronounced him “out of danger” and “on the mend” she allowed herself to be coaxed away, at longer intervals, to give her children much needed attention and reassurance. At first he knew only some unfocused uneasiness, for she made sure he was sleeping before she’d leave his side. But when he wakened, in one of these times, to find her gone... and not to be able to follow, but ordered by the healer on watch to stay in the bed for his own good, until Woodruff released him! It was like rubbing salt in the wound to see the head healer so pale and weak herself a day or two later, evidently just arisen from her own sickbed to check on Ferdi.

There wasn’t much of anything he could do but bide his time, eat what was put before him, sleep or feign sleep to put off the watchers by the bedside, turn over in his mind the elusive words that came so reluctantly to his tongue after this latest acquaintance with a ruffian’s club, open and close the fingers of his curiously weakened hand and flex the toes, the ankle, the knee as the healers worked the leg on the affected side.

He was relieved to perceive that healing was taking place; unlike Thain Paladin, who’d suffered a brain seizure in his latter years with a similar weakening of one side of his body, Ferdi was a little better able to move and control his weak limbs as the days passed. His speech progressed as well, from barely managing one word, to putting several together, though he had to work to suppress a stammer. Nell reminded him that in his youth, he’d conquered stammering by singing his words... it had made him feel ridiculous then, and so it made him feel now, but at least he could make himself understood, and that was the important thing.

Not understood enough, however, to persuade them to let him up from the bed. Dratted healers.

However, opportunity was at hand. Nell had kissed him, a while ago, saying she was going to spend the afternoon with the little ones, tell a bedtime story at the last and then come back to him to share late supper. His head had troubled him at the time, and it had been truth when he’d told her, halting though the words had come, that he’d likely sleep the time away until she returned.

He had slept in fact, but not for long it seemed. Nell was not there, the clock on the mantel in the sitting room could be heard softly chiming the hour, early yet, halfway between teatime and eventides, and no watcher sat at Ferdi’s bedside.

Something had disturbed him, something out of place, something that did not belong in their cosy apartments... a burbling sound... the low moans of a wounded animal? Within the Great Smials?

His head did not always work as it should, these days, though he thought he was improving. Still, that sound was there, that should not be, whether or not he could identify it.

Slowly, carefully he rolled to his side, sat himself up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing a little at the giddy feeling. It was different from sitting, propped with pillows, or being lifted to a chair and having his feet eased onto a footstool to rest. Such a nasty and inconvenient state, that of an invalid!

When the room’s spin grew less, he eased himself to his feet. Grasping at the bedpost, reaching for the dressing table, he limped toward the door, to stand listening. It was not his imagination; some mournful creature inhabited the sitting room, not possessing a familiar voice so far as he could tell.

He managed to make his way down the short passage to the sitting room. Nell wasn’t there, nor were any of the children. She’d said something about tea in the Thain’s apartments? He thought he remembered so, though the recollection of what she’d said echoed distortedly in his head.

Someone was hunched in a chair drawn up to the table, someone large and of considerable bulk, reminding Ferdi of Fatty Bolger in the old days, before the Troubles. The hobbit had his hands over his face and was blubbering into them, without even a pocket handkerchief in evidence.

Ferdi limped over to place a hand on the grieving hobbit’s shoulder. Oddly enough, the fellow didn’t jump at the unexpected contact; he merely shook his head and moaned all the louder into his hands.

Ferdi blinked and tentatively put a name to the hobbit. ‘Fer... Fre... Freddy?’

‘Go... way...’ he was told. Dismissed from his own sitting room. Dismissed by a cousin who did not even reside in the Smials, but kept rooms at the Spotted Duck in Tuckborough, paid for by his family as he couldn’t very well keep himself, unfortunate fellow.

‘Fred,’ Ferdi said as firmly as he could manage. ‘What’s... hap... happened?’

Fredebold merely shook his head again, evidently beyond speech.

Well then. Ferdi could think of nothing better than to step over to Tolly’s, to let the head of escort know that his wayward brother had strayed into Ferdi’s apartments and seemed to be in some difficulty or distress.

***

There was a tugging on the rope tied to his ankle, and a ruffian’s head appeared above him, dark against the bright sky. ‘That’s deep enough.’

Tolly looked up, half in dread, imagining a descending club, or an arrow, perhaps, and then the rain of clods of dirt upon him, shutting out light and air and life. But no, the ruffian was bending at the edge of the hole, pulling at the rope and telling Tolly to “take hold, little rat, and don’t be all day about it or we might just leave you in this hole you’ve dug.”

He dropped the shovel to grasp at the rope and was rewarded with a blow to the head from the ruffian’s fist. ‘No!’ the Man growled. ‘Don’t you go leaving that good shovel at the bottom, little thief! It don’t belong to you, but to the woodcutter’s brat! Pick it up, and bring it!’

The other ruffian laughed unpleasantly and added that Tolly would undoubtedly need the shovel for more digging, unless he’d rather make do with his bare hands.

Tolly grabbed up the shovel with one hand and held the rope as well as he could with the other—it was difficult, painful, even with the broken, blistered flesh wrapped up in the makeshift bandage he’d torn from his shirt.

He was hauled up—the ruffians were kind enough to catch him under his arms as the rope slipped in his grasp, and they lifted him out of the hole.

Then he began the weary task of gathering refuse, in various forms. There were broken toys and household items obviously taken from neighbouring hobbit holes for the ruffians’ amusement, pointless destruction evidently a popular pastime. There were mouldering half-gnawed bones, and other spoiled food, and of course Tolly’s guards encouraged him to help himself, if he were feeling at all peckish.

There was a quantity of torn and smelly hobbit clothing, likely used by the visiting Men after relieving themselves, or so Tolly gathered from the stains and stench. Tolly’s gorge rose at the thought of handling such, but he didn’t have much choice, with one watching man tapping at his boot with his club, and the other fingering a whip as he smirked. The hobbit found a wadded-up blanket that had seen better times, and with a stick he poked and prodded the more disgusting trash onto the blanket. Once loaded, he dragged his makeshift conveyance to the hole and tipped its contents in, only to have to go back for more.

It was no wonder the woodmen had complained to the ruffians about their filth and litter, and insisted that the visiting men clean up after themselves. Only it fell to Tolly, to be the one to clear the horrid rubbish away.

Numbly he trudged back and forth, his exhaustion growing as he slowly filled the hole he’d dug, He wondered if he’d have the strength to dig another if need be, and how long they would keep him digging holes and filling them up again—perhaps they’d find him a convenient dogsbody and never let him go, keeping him just for such “little tasks” as this; and he wondered whether, just perhaps, Ferdi’d had the better part of the bargain after all.

Chapter 20. Food for Thought

Ferdi could think of nothing better than to step over to Tolly’s, to let the head of escort know that his wayward brother had strayed into Ferdi’s apartments and seemed to be in some difficulty or distress.

It was easier said than done—or in Ferdi’s case, not easily said nor done, considering the reluctance of his traitor tongue these days. How he would make them understand, he was not sure. Perhaps he’d have to sing the news to them, undignified as it might be.

First, though, he had to move himself there... across the sitting room to the door, and then across the corridor and a little to the left, where Tolly’s door stood part way between Ferdi’s apartments and the Thain’s.

He gave Freddy another pat on the shoulder. ‘Sure you d-don’t...’ he managed, and took a deep breath, and added, ‘w-want t-to c-c-come...’

But Fredebold gave no sign of heeding, merely moaning into his hands. Ferdi remembered then, something from the dim past, when he’d found Freddy sobbing over a scraped knee, grown hobbit that he was... but then, it was unlikely Freddy ever would be a grown hobbit, now, was it? Though his body was grown, older than Ferdi in point of fact, he had only a childlike understanding. His brothers were protective of him, and exasperated with him, by turns.

Ferdi had lifted the sobbing hobbit up, shooing away the fascinated tots who’d gathered to stare, and helped him into the nearest public hole. He’d sat Freddy down, bought him a beer with some of his own precious coin, talked quietly of the birds and animals he’d been hunting that day, much as he’d talk to a small child (though he wouldn’t have bought beer for a child... sweetmeats, more likely, but they didn’t have sweetmeats handy in the Addled Fox...)

He tottered over to the sideboard and pulled the second drawer open, yes, there was the box where Nell kept boiled sweets for the little ones. A goodly handful, now... he forced the stiff fingers of his weaker hand to close upon the treat—he needed his strong hand for support, or to catch himself should he lose his balance.

He made it back to the table and laid the sweets down by Fredebold’s hand. Freddy had laid his arms down on the table by this point, and buried his face to weep. ‘Here you are,’ he said, pleased that it came out so clearly. He lifted Freddy’s hand, slid the sweets under.

Astonishingly, the hobbit took no notice. Ferdi patted the heaving shoulders once more, resolve strengthened. Something dreadful must have happened to the dull-witted fellow, and Tolly ought to be informed at once. Surely between them, Tolly and the eldest brother Mardibold ought to be able to take Freddy in hand.

At the very least, if Ferdi tried to leave the suite it seemed certain there’d be a healer hovering nearby, or somebody, who’d try to guide him back to his bed, and on the way he could point out the quivering mass of mournful hobbit occupying his sitting room.

He gave a cautious nod, so as not to jar his head. Yes, that’s what he’d do.

Unfortunately, when he opened his door he found the corridor empty. He snorted a little. Healers! Never there when wanted.

He’d have to make the journey then, and really, the way he was feeling it seemed as epic a journey as the one Pippin’d made down to the Sunlands, or Bilbo’s to the Lonely Mountain and back. But he had a duty to Tolly, to let him know his needy brother was in some sort of difficulty.

Speaking of difficulty, he’d never realised how far it was, to walk across the corridor, such wide corridors as they had here in the Smials, and he’d never noticed it until now! But at last he reached the far wall and leaned a long moment, trembling with weariness. How lovely it would be for Nell, or Healer Woodruff, or Healer Fennel, or Thain Pip himself or any number of hobbits to come along, scold him roundly, and bundle him back to his bed.

No such luck, however.

With a sigh, Ferdi moved along the wall toward Tolly’s door, which seemed to move away nearly as fast as his progress. He was blinking away sweat, now, and wobbling rather more than less, but after a century or so of creeping along he made it at last, and was fumbling at the knob in the centre of the door.

The door opened, finally, and Ferdi stumbled into Tolly’s entryway, opening onto a distressing scene taking place in the sitting room. Ferdi’s initial relief at seeing not one, but two healers turned to annoyance, as they stood with their backs to the door, arms about Meadowsweet, Tolly’s wife, who was weeping and protesting all in one.

‘But... I cannot leave him,’ she was sobbing. ‘I cannot... what if...?’

‘You must rest, my dear,’ Mardibold said, patting and stroking her back, his own voice perilously close to breaking, not at all the calm and competent healer Ferdi knew. ‘You must... it won’t do any good if the fever takes you now, and he...’ And for some reason, he seemed to have difficulty going on with whatever it was he meant to say.

And Woodruff, the other healer in that three-cornered embrace, said sadly, ‘I doubt he even knows if you’re there beside him, or not, lovie. Nothing seems to reach him in his... dark dream.’

Meadowsweet sobbed again at this, and Ferdi started forward, wanting to demand an explanation. Where was Tolly? Surely he ought to be informed of his wife’s distress, at the very least! And then there was Freddy, usurping Ferdi’s sitting room...

But his balance was not what it was before descent of the ruffian’s club, and the toes of his weaker leg caught in the edge of the rug, bringing him heavily to the floor.

That got the healers’ attention, at least, and in less time than it takes to tell, Meadowsweet, Mardi and Woodruff were kneeling all around Ferdi, and Woodruff was scolding, while Meadowsweet gulped back her tears to ask if Ferdi was all right.

‘No of course he’s not all right!’ Woodruff snapped. ‘And I’d like to know what you think you’re about, Master Ferdibrand, when I left you sleeping not an hour ago, and orders to stay abed until...’

‘Fer...’ Ferdi managed, and then, ‘Fred,’ but that was about all.

Mardi started. ‘Freddy!’ he said. ‘Freddy came to roust you from your bed?’

It wasn’t quite that way, but Ferdi didn’t have the words to say so. It didn’t matter much; Mardi at least was spurred to action by this news, false as it might be, and with a brief apology he was gone.

In the meantime, Woodruff and Meadowsweet helped Ferdi up and to an easy chair by the hearth.

The table was spread, he saw, with a variety of cold food: platters of sliced bread, meats, cheeses, various pickled vegetables, a bowl of fruit, the sort of thing that could wait some hours and serve people who were coming and going. There was no cake, no evidence of sweets: The spread was not festive, but practical, reminding Ferdi of a deathwatch, perhaps, or some other disaster—flood, or wildfire, when workers would be coming in for a bite of sustenance and going out again to fight whatever threatened.

Difficult to believe that Fredebold, with his hearty appetite, would have missed such an opportunity.

‘It’s all very well,’ Woodruff was saying in more soothing than sense, ‘and thoughtful of you, Ferdi, but you really ought not to have made the effort to come just now. There’s time yet, and at the moment we’re making him as comfortable as we possibly can...’

Ferdi glared, annoyed, for the healer was not making any sense at all. Ought not to have made the effort to come just now. What in all the Tookland did she mean?

There was a sharp cry, then, from one of the bedrooms, or so Ferdi gathered, for Meadowsweet started up and hurried away.

Woodruff would have, as well, but Ferdi got a good grasp on the healer. ‘What?’ he demanded. It was his best word; the first he’d been able to speak, when he came to himself, and so his most practiced utterance.

‘Ferdi, I...’ the healer said, trying to push him down onto his chair once more, trying to disengage her arm from his grip. ‘Sit yourself down now, lad, and let me go to my duty!’

‘What?!’ Ferdi insisted, turning toward the back hall of the suite. If Woodruff was going back there, well, she’d have to drag him along with her. Or perhaps he’d drag her. Or at the very least, he’d lean on her. It seemed a good plan.

‘Ferdi...!’ Woodruff said in exasperation, but meeting his eye she gave a sharp sigh and a nod. ‘O very well,’ she grumbled, as she eased her shoulder under his arm to support him, and her muttering continued as they made halting progress to the back hallway and down to the open door of the bedroom, where Meadowsweet could be heard pleading pitifully with someone. ‘If Fredebold has you worked up to this degree, you’ll never rest until you have the chance to see him yourself... But I’d hoped to spare you the grief of it all, with you only half-healed as you are... Still, perhaps it’s better for you to see him now, while he’s still in the world...’

Ferdi hadn’t the faintest idea what in the world the healer was on about as he grimly stalked alongside her. He was grateful for the support, and that she was helping and not hindering him, but he wished she’d stop nattering away at him so that he could think a coherent thought. There was something wrong about the situation; he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but... There was something not quite right about walking into Tolly’s apartments and seeing Meadowsweet in tears, and then going back to the bedrooms, the most private of the rooms...

And then they reached the doorway, and there was Hilly, on one side of the bed, wrestling with a thrashing form, and Meadowsweet on the other, holding on and begging, ‘Stop, please stop, dearest! All’s well, truly it is!’

And it was a night-shirted Tolly, there, on the bed, struggling to free himself, muttering. Ruffians came to Ferdi’s ears, and a few other disjointed words.

‘Tolly!’ burst from Ferdi, to his own surprise at forming the word so quickly, without effort.

Tolly stilled on the bed, half-sobbing, ‘Ferdi?’ And then he shook his head, and muttered, something about “dead” and “no” and “cannot be”. But at least he lay still, panting shallowly for breath.

Ferdi looked to Woodruff. At the moment he thought he might be in better straits than Tolly, injured as he was.

Hilly was white and drawn, but he kept a firm grip on his now quietened brother. ‘Tried to throw himself out of the bed,’ he said between gritted teeth. ‘I thought he’d do himself an injury.’

‘Good, Hilly,’ Woodruff said. ‘Now, Ferdi, you’ve seen him, and now let us remove you from the room. We don’t want you to catch this fever that’s going round, not if we can help it.’

‘B-b-b...’ Ferdi said, and ground his teeth in irritation. But Woodruff was hauling away at his arm, and for such a short and elderly hobbit she had surprising strength of arm and will, and though Ferdi towered a head above her, being amongst the taller of the Tooks, she prevailed. It was not long before she had him back in the sitting room again, and had pushed him into an easy chair, shoved a low footstool in place and lifted his feet to rest there.

‘There,’ she panted. ‘We’ll just get you a plate of something to sustain you until I can have someone carry you back to your bed, and call your Nell to tuck you up, and...’

But Ferdi wasn’t listening. He’d stopped resisting halfway between bedroom and final resting place, and his gaze was turned inward as he turned over this whole bewildering situation in his aching brain. Tolly... Tolly was in the bed, out of his head, evidently.

Ferdi remembered dim, as if it were long ago and far away, that Tolly had been at the Naming Day celebration for their littlest, Ferdi’s and Nell’s. He wasn’t sure how long ago that had been, what with all the sleeping he’d been doing, but it had been shortly after he’d been rescued from the grave, he thought, not more than a few days after.

Tolly had been hale and hearty, had fallen upon Ferdi to shake his hand in glad welcome and congratulation, and afterward he’d made free with the brandy that the Thain provided for the celebration, Brandy Hall’s finest and a part of the Thain’s private stock of potables, a Yuletide gift of his illustrious cousin the Master of the Hall, and even with the generous quantities poured out that evening, there’d been “plenty more where that came from!”

Tolly had been lifting his glass with the rest of the jolly crowd and bellowing out the chorus of a song, at Ferdi’s last glimpse. Ferdi had been borne away from the celebration fairly early, considering his delicate state, and so far as he knew he’d slept the better part of two or three days after, without even benefit of brandy.

So what had happened to Tolly in the meantime?

And what was this talk, as if they’d given him up?

Woodruff, still talking, set a well-stocked plate in Ferdi’s lap.

Ferdi, still not listening, absently applied himself to the food, chewing slowly and considering what his next course ought to be.

Tolly was in trouble, no doubt about it. And it seemed the healers were doing precious little about the situation. Perhaps they felt they’d done all they could. But had they?

There was something nagging at the back of Ferdi’s brain... something...

Chapter 21. Well Begun is Half Done

Tolly dragged load after load of rubbish to the hole he’d dug. He got quite practiced at hauling the blanket nearly to the edge, stepping round the top of the hole, and pulling the blanket over so that the contents fell nicely into the hole without any more handling on his part.

The day seemed to last a week as he trudged back and forth, back to the yard to pick up more debris, then to the hole to discard his load. It seemed the ruffian in charge had been a good judge of volume, for the hole was only a little over half full when Tolly straightened from dumping his last load and stopped, half bent, rubbing at his aching back.

‘Well?’ the growler said. ‘What’s stopping you?’

Tolly lifted his head to meet the ruffian’s gaze. ‘That’s all of it,’ he said wearily. ‘Done.’ At last this wearisome task would end, at last he’d be released, to stumble away into the golden afternoon. Despite the urgency of the news he bore, he’d have to find a resting place, to gather his strength until darkness fell, welcome dark that would cloak his travel homewards.

‘Done!’ the rope holder said, his tone incredulous.

There was a sharp poke at Tolly’s back. ‘We’ll be the ones to say when you’re done.’ Tolly’s heart sank, but he bolstered his courage with the thought that there was nothing more to pick up, unless they put him to digging protruding rocks out of the ground, or some other some such nonsense.

He wouldn’t put it past them.

‘Say when he’s done!’ the stick bearer growled. ‘O’ course we’ll say when he’s done... if it takes a fortnight!’

‘A month!’

‘A year, p’rhaps!’ Coarse laughter washed over him, and the stick poked him again, sharp enough to leave a fair bruise on his ribs as he stumbled forward.

With a hopeless, nightmare feeling, Tolly turned back towards the little house, dragging the blanket, searching the ground, but he’d done a thorough job.

Still, the ruffians had him picking up sticks for want of anything else, and eventually he had a blanket-full and the yard was scoured clean as if Anemone had swept it with her twig broom.

Slowly Tolly dragged this, his final load, back to the hole. The sun was westering in the sky, and good smells wafted on the breeze, cooking smells, some savoury supper roasting over a fire. Tolly’s stomach protested audibly, and the stick-bearing ruffian rewarded him with another sharp poke and a “Get along, now!”

Another ruffian sauntered to intercept them. Tolly stopped when his captors did. He had to; it was that or fall when he reached the end of his tether. He stood waiting, head down, listening, but hardly caring what was said, at first.

And then his head came up, as dark despair took him in the pit of his stomach.

His keepers were arguing with the messenger. ‘...Lockholes! But that’s a long way! A full day, or even two, for walking...!’

‘More like four days, at the pace he’ll be able to manage,’ came with another prod to Tolly’s back. It wasn’t a prompt to move so much as a way of making a point.

‘Then you’ll have a nice little walking holiday,’ the messenger jeered. ‘Chief decided it were better not to let the little blighter go, but to make an example of him.’

‘I thought that’s what we were doing all day!’ the growler said. ‘We made an example, all right, worked his hands bloody and his back bent until he can hardly stand! He’ll go back and tell his fellows what happens to skulkers, and they’ll stay tight indoors after this, and out of our way.’

‘Unless we want to collect them from their holes for a little honest work,’ the stick bearer said. ‘They’re so close to the ground, they do a real good job clearing away.’

‘Rubbish is clear, all right, all in the hole,’ the growler said. ‘Why don’t we tether him like a dog, keep him round to pick up the grounds? That’d be better than having to drag him all the way to the Lockholes.’

‘Just might gnaw through his tether,’ the messenger said with a sneer for the exhausted hobbit. ‘Besides, is it really all that clean? Swept, maybe, but not washed. How about you have him give the ground a good all around washing?’

‘Washing the ground? With a bucket and rag?’ the stick holder said, amazed. ‘Have you gone round the bend?’

‘No, with his tongue,’ the messenger said, giving Tolly a nudge with his boot that nearly unbalanced the hobbit. ‘Let him lick up the dust, like a good little doggie.’ He laughed at his own joke while Tolly swallowed hard, or tried to, considering the dryness of his mouth. He could nearly taste the dirt, wondered if the ruffians would truly implement this newest torment.

But when the messenger was done laughing, he said, ‘More’s the pity, for I’d dearly love to see him so clean the forest floor, but you’re to be off as soon as the hole’s filled in. Annie’s packed you something to eat, even now, so that you can be right off.’

‘Not even supper!’ the growler said in outrage.

‘O you’ll have your supper, all right, out of the bag,’ the messenger said. There was a heavy thudding noise, and Tolly saw from the corner of his eye a sack on the ground, filled with food, evidently. His stomach growled audibly, and the messenger looked at him with a laugh. ‘S’pose you’ll have to feed at least a handful of it to the rat, to keep him walking.’

‘Or just hold it in front of his nose, just out of reach, keep him moving along,’ the stick bearer said thoughtfully.

‘Make him carry it, any road,’ the rope holder said. ‘Make himself useful.’

‘There’s a good thought. Anyhow, chief says you take him to the Lockholes and come back, however long it takes, and he’ll expect you back in a week.’

‘Right,’ the growler said, sounding more cheerful all of a sudden. ‘A week, that’s plenty of time, even if he crawls all the way.’

‘I’d like to see that,’ the messenger said, with real regret in his tone at missing such a spectacle. ‘Well, see to it that the hole’s filled in, and we’ll be looking for you in a week’s time.’

‘Right,’ the growler said again, and the messenger took his leave. He turned to the exhausted, disheartened hobbit. ‘Throw that blanket in, atop the sticks, unless you want it for your bedding at the Lockholes.’

Tolly shuddered, thinking of such a thing, pushed the sticks into the hole, and dropped the blanket onto the tangled pile the sticks made.

The growler picked up the shovel, lying by the hole. ‘Now to fill it in.’

But instead of extending the tool to Tolly, he brought it down sharply on the hobbit’s head. Tolly staggered, seeing stars, and as he feebly lifted his hands in defence the shovel descended again with greater force, striking him to the ground. Dimly he felt a boot plant itself in his ribs, and then he was rolling, and falling...

He came to rest face down in the noisome mess, sharp ends of sticks poking him through the blanket, just another limp, torn doll among the hobbity detritus. Stunned, he lay still, hearing the voices above.

‘What...!’

‘I don’t know about you, but I’m not walking all the way to the Lockholes!’

‘But the chief...’

‘He said to fill in the hole, didn’t he? He said to be back in a week, didn’t he?’

‘He said...’

‘Well, I’ve a mind to do some fishing, see? And I’m not about to waste half a week dragging a little scum-sucker halfway across the land!’

‘Well...’

Sensing the other wavering, the murderous ruffian changed his tack. ‘You see, I’m right. No point in dragging him along such a long journey; he’s likely to die of exhaustion along the way. This is quicker, kinder for the little fellow.’

And something hard began to rain down on Tolly, and though he tried to move, to raise himself, the rain increased, and with both ruffians working away, one whistling cheerily and the other grunting with effort, soon the brightness of the sky disappeared, the weight that pressed him down grew ever heavier, and he was left in stifling darkness and silence.

His last regret was that he'd been sent off so hastily by the Thain, this trip, that he hadn't had the chance to kiss his mum goodbye.

Chapter 22. A Word to the Wise

Woodruff left Ferdi with a pat to the shoulder and a soft word to the effect that he was to “sit there and take your time with that good food... Don’t you worry that head of yours about a thing, d’you hear? I’ll have your Nell come here to you, and we’ll have you carried back to the comfort of your bed once Mardi’s dealt with that brother of his, in your sitting room...”

The words washed over him, making more or less sense, but he nodded slightly and lifted a goodly bite to his mouth, and chewed, still nodding as Woodruff turned away.

There was something nagging at him, and if folk would just leave him in peace he might be able to catch hold.

He didn’t take much note of goings on around him. There was a stir and murmur of voices, Woodruff’s, and Meadowsweet’s, he thought, and the opening and closing of a door. Some time later Mardibold was at his side, offering to fill his plate up again if he desired, or would he like some help back to his bed?

He shook his head at that. Nell would be coming, he remembered Woodruff saying something to that effect. He’d wait here until she came. He tried to say as much, though his brain, his whole body indeed, was exhausted by his recent exertions, and one word at a time was about all he could manage. Forget sentences, even of only two words. He concentrated on the most important word he could think of. ‘N-Nell.’

‘Would you like me to fetch your Nell?’ Mardi said. What was it about healers, and their pats to one’s shoulder? ‘Let me look in on Tolly once more, and then I’ll go and find your Nell.’

‘W-w-w,’ Ferdi said, trying to tell him that Woodruff was already going to go and bring Nell here, but it hardly seemed worth the trouble, and so he took another bite of cold roast beef instead.

Mardi nodded as if Ferdi had made perfect sense. ‘Well then,’ he said. ‘We’ll bring you your Nell, just as soon as I’ve seen to Hilly and Tolly. And apologies, for Freddy’s rousing you the way he did... He’ll have an apology of his own, when you’re feeling better.’

‘Fred?’ Ferdi managed, looking up.

Mardi smiled briefly. ‘I’ve taken him down to the kitchens,’ he said. ‘He’s helping with the baking of sweet biscuits. Not a lot of help, I fear, but the cooks are kind and it’ll keep him from thinking dark thoughts.’

Dark thoughts. That niggling at the back of Ferdi’s brain jumped for a moment, without bringing clarity, and he frowned and shook his head.

‘Aye,’ Mardi said. ‘He’d have Tolly dead and buried, he would, and I don’t know how he got that notion in his head. He was sitting quietly enough by Tolly’s side, a little while ago, and I went to fetch some herbs, and when I came back he’d wandered. I thought, perhaps, he’d taken himself back to the Duck, having forgot why he was here... It’s something he’d do, after all.’

‘T-t-tolly,’ Ferdi said, putting down a piece of buttered bread without biting into it, and looking up at Mardi, suddenly intent.

Another annoying pat on the shoulder. ‘It’s just this fever,’ Mardi said. ‘Tolly will be well, we just have to bring him through until the fever breaks, that’s all.’

The shadows around the eldest brother’s eyes rather belied the cheery sentiment, and Ferdi mustered all his concentration to read in the healer’s face what Mardi was not putting in words.

Mardi smiled—was that a tightness around his mouth?—and gave a final pat to Ferdi’s shoulder. ‘You’re doing a fine job,’ he said. ‘Eat up, and I’ll see how Hilly’s managing, and be back before you can say, “Jack, Robin’s son”.’

At the rate I’m talking, you may stay away an awfully long time, Ferdi thought at him, and Mardi chuckled dryly at his wry expression before turning towards the back hallway.

Left in silence to think his own thoughts, Ferdi turned his attention to that niggling at the back of his brain. It was something important, he thought, something to do with Tolly, and Mardi held the key. What was it?

Ferdi had cleared his plate and was holding it, useless on his lap (what good is an empty plate, unless one fills it again?) when there was a tap on the door leading to the corridor. He didn’t have to worry about answering, for the door opened a few seconds later and hobbits filled the entryway.

And then Nell was at his side, exclaiming breathlessly, and throwing her arms around him, and someone took his empty plate, and Pippin was there, too, saying, ‘Well now, cousin, I think you’ve set a new record! I do believe you’re out of the bed more than a week before the healers said they’d let you up!’

‘None of your nonsense, now,’ Woodruff said, sparing Ferdi the effort, and then to Ferdi she said, ‘Haldi’s coming, and bringing half the escort with him, so you’ll have a proper escort to your bed, Ferdi, and I’ve half a mind to have them sit on you to keep you there...’

‘Not his fault,’ Mardi said, emerging from the back hallway. ‘Fredebold likely sought him out and filled his head with all manner of alarm, and for no reason...’

Ferdi, looking at Pippin, saw a grave look come over his cousin’s face. Pippin, at least, was very worried over Tolly, and unlike the healers, he wasn’t thinking about concealing his dark thoughts from Ferdi.

Dark thoughts, Ferdi thought, and looking at Pippin, he had it at last.

He’d heard bits and pieces of recent events, from Nell and from Pippin himself. Farry, driven deep into himself by the terror of the ruffians’ threats and doings, had been drawn out by some magic of the King’s.

He could almost see it in his mind’s eye, as Pippin had described it: Merry and Pippin, riding at a gallop through the long miles to the Bridge where the King awaited them, changing ponies at every inn, taking turns bearing Farry in their arms. The King meeting them, taking Farry, casting aromatic leaves into steaming water...

Ferdi had heard something of the King’s methods before from Pippin and even Merry, but even this most recent recitation had given him the absurd notion that the King was brewing tea. “A little cup of tea, that soother of all ills,” as his grandmother used to say...

Nell continued to talk, though Ferdi was paying little heed. Pippin was making noises about paying Tolly a visit to see if he was any better this day, and Ferdi remembered Nell having said something about Pippin going to see Tolly every day, even when it meant riding out to the farm where the fever'd had several hobbits from the Great Smials confined.

He shook his head cautiously to clear it, decided it was about as clear as it would ever get, and grabbed at Pippin’s sleeve.

The Thain looked down in surprise. ‘Yes, cousin?’ he said brightly. ‘Is there aught I could be doing for you?’

‘H-hands,’ Ferdi said.

Pippin blinked a little at this. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said in regretful tones. ‘I mean, I beg your pardon, Ferdi.’

‘K-k-k,’ Ferdi said, but could not get the rest of the word out.

Pippin patted his hand—at least it wasn’t his shoulder!—and smiled. ‘You’re getting a little better every day, Ferdi. It’ll come; I mean, it’ll keep, whatever it is, especially if it’s important. You go to your rest, and perhaps we’ll be able to talk on the morrow.’

‘No,’ Ferdi said, shaking his head rather more vigorously than was prudent. Pippin started to turn away, but Ferdi still had his sleeve, and he tugged. It was important!

Nell started to soothe. ‘Ferdi, darling, it’s all right.’

He frowned at her. It most certainly wasn’t. Tolly was seriously ill, ill enough that Fredebold, with the dullest wits of the whole family, had been able to perceive the danger. And Pippin had told him of another time, another fever that gripped and would not let go...

In desperation, he began to sing.

Chapter 23. Whistling in the Dark

Lift your voices, gladly sing

Everyone was looking at him as if he’d lost his wits, but Ferdi locked eyes with Pippin as he sang, willing that canny hobbit to take his meaning.

When you see the sign of the coming King:
With his pow’r true self revealing;

Pippin blinked in surprise, and then his eyes narrowed as he considered, and with the next line of the song they widened in understanding, as he joined in to sing, under his breath, the last three words with Ferdi.

The hands of the King are hands of healing.

‘That’s it, isn’t it, Ferdi?’ he said, falling to one knee before Ferdi’s chair, taking his cousin’s hands, the strong one and the weakened one, in his own firm grasp. ‘That’s what you were trying to say. “The hands of the King...”’

Ferdi nodded, eager, heartened by being so quickly understood, and to emphasize his point he launched into the chorus of the simple song he’d heard Pippin sing to young Farry, but now it was much more than a nursery song.

O the hands of the King are healing hands!
Spread the news throughout all the lands...

His voice petered out as he glanced about the others. Nell was blinking away tears, Mardi was solemn, and Woodruff was positively grim, though her face softened when Ferdi’s gaze met hers.

‘Healing hands,’ Pippin said, still kneeling before Ferdi. He nodded to himself, and then looked up to the healers. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘I’m due to meet the King a few days hence, at the Bridge, to bid him fair journey on his way to the Southlands. Shall I take Ferdi with me?’

Nell caught her breath in wonder, and even Ferdi felt his heart leap within him, if only for a moment. Certainly he was recovering from his injuries, but that recovery was slow, painfully slow, and the healers couldn’t tell him if he’d have all his faculties again when healing was done. Hovering in the back of his mind was the image of Thain Paladin, in that hobbit’s last year, with his near-useless arm and leg and halting speech.

Woodruff stepped in. ‘I’m afraid it’s not possible,’ she said.

Pippin mistook her meaning. He let Ferdi’s hands go and rose to his feet. ‘Certainly, the King cannot heal all ills,’ he said, measuring the healer with a serious look. ‘He cannot restore legs shattered on the battlefield, nor arms chopped away with a sword; and a soldier whose legs will never again move at his command sits on guard outside the Hall of Kings when his name comes up on the duty roster.’

Nell swallowed hard at this recitation, but Mardi and Ferdi had seen battle, and Woodruff had treated battle damage in the Troubles and after the Battle of Bywater.

‘What would he do for Ferdi?’ Mardi asked, curiosity overcoming his healer’s good sense.

Pippin shrugged. ‘I’m no healer,’ he said. ‘There was much that I saw, that I did not understand, when I was healing after the battle before the Black Gate, and while visiting soldiers of the Guard in the Houses of Healing after our return to the White City. But athelas is a wonderful thing, in the hands of the King. Frodo, at one point in our journey, had ribs bruised and battered, perhaps even broken, and Strider bathed them with athelas water, giving him relief from pain and making his breathing easier.’

He looked from Mardi to Woodruff. ‘Who knows what sort of relief it might give Ferdi? Perhaps at the least he could have his speech back.’

And looking down at Ferdibrand once more, taking Ferdi’s good hand, he said, ‘I know that your mind is not affected, Ferdi, that you’re taking it all in, even if you cannot respond as you would.’

Tears of gratitude came to Ferdi’s eyes; he squeezed Pippin’s hand in response. Then, remembering, he shook his head and stared into the eyes of the Thain, willing that hobbit to divine his meaning. It’s not for myself I’m asking...

But the head healer was also shaking her head. ‘It cannot be,’ she said. ‘Not unless you were to bring him to the Great Smials, and from what you’ve said of the Man he would not trespass his own Edict.’

‘I don’t take your meaning,’ Pippin said, turing his attention to Woodruff.

The head healer moved to Ferdi’s side, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, speaking earnestly. ‘It sounds a wonderful thing, laddie, indeed it does,’ she said gently, ‘but I fear you’d not live to reach the Brandywine Bridge...’

Ferdi heard Nell take a shaking breath in distress, but he was thinking about Woodruff’s words, trying to make sense of them.

‘Not live?’ Pippin said. ‘But he’s so much better already!’

‘He’s been balanced on the knife’s edge,’ Woodruff said, and swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry, Nell. It’s not my way to speak so plainly, for I’d rather speak words of hope—they give themselves better to hearing and to healing. If you tell a hobbit he’s about to die, chances are he will! If you tell him he’ll live, well then, sometimes the words alone are enough to make him hold on and heal...’

‘You said he was out of danger,’ Nell whispered, and she sank to her knees at Ferdi’s other side, easing her arms around him as if he were made of delicate glass. ‘You said...’

‘Aye, lass, out of danger,’ Woodruff said. ‘If he keeps to his bed, rests and eats and sleeps, allows himself to be lifted from bed to chair and back again, does not try to stand and walk before what’s inside his head is healed enough...’

She looked to Pippin. ‘He was talking just fine, when they took him out of the grave. Rosamunda told me it was so.’ Woodruff herself had been deep in the throes of fever delirium at the time, but she’d had a full report from the healers who’d tended Ferdi after his release from the shroud. ‘But a few hours later, he’d lost his speech.’

She looked down at Ferdibrand, her hand tightening on his shoulder. ‘Something broke loose inside that head of yours,’ she said. ‘It was likely set off by the ruffian’s blow, earlier, but that it happened a day after the blow is worrying... I want to keep you as still as possible, to let your head heal, and in hopes nothing more will break loose...’

‘Not that it would do all that much damage, if you’re worried about the workings of his brains,’ Pippin said lightly. ‘He’s always been daft, as it is...’ He squeezed Ferdi’s hand in silent apology at offering hope and then having it taken away again.

Ferdi was almost afraid to shake his head, after hearing Woodruff’s concern, but it wasn’t for himself he was asking. Somehow he had to make them understand.

‘N-no,’ he said, but he retained Pippin’s hand, squeezing with all his might.

‘What is it, my love?’ Nell said softly at his ear. He could feel her sustaining arms around him, and her nearness lent him strength.

He tried, but he couldn’t make the words come, and his face twisted in his frustration. Pimpernel tried to soothe him, and it was her crooning tones that gave him inspiration.

He couldn’t speak, not enough to make them understand, but perhaps he could sing!

There was an old children’s game, where one would take the name of a friend and make a song of it...

There once was a hobbit named Tolly,
A beer in each hand made him jolly...

They stared at him again as if he’d lost his wits.

Pippin—he had the sharpest wits of them all, if he couldn’t take Ferdi’s meaning then there was no hope at all.

Ferdi loosened his grip on Pippin’s hand and squeezed again, locking gazes with the Thain. He began again, willing that hobbit to understand.

There once was a hobbit named Tolly,
A beer in each hand made him jolly
But then a dark dream
Made his eyes lose their gleam...

His voice petered to nothing as inspiration faded, and the energy that had sustained him to this point deserted him. He slumped in his chair, fighting the swimming of his head, and a bitter taste was in his mouth. He’d failed, and they had not understood him. Likely thought him daft, not thinking right after the damage from the blow to the head.

Nell coddled him, Woodruff had been humouring him these past days—which was not like her—Pippin had been unusually polite and kind.

Perhaps he truly was lost to himself. He couldn’t even make them understand Tolly’s desperate need for a healing hand.

Chapter 24. A Stitch in Time

There was a tap on the door to the corridor, and without waiting for acknowledgment Haldegrim opened the door and stepped in, followed by Isenard and two younger hobbits, recently appointed to the Thain's escort. Pippin was bent over Ferdi, patting and chafing his hand and calling his name. Pimpernel still embraced her husband, and Woodruff stood by, for there was really nothing to do, she deemed, short of getting the hobbit back to his bed to rest and recover from his recent exertions.

‘He’s fainted, I think,’ Pippin said.

‘I’m not surprised,’ Woodruff said. ‘Well no, I am surprised, that he was able to walk this far and still have enough left to try and talk. He belongs in his bed, healing in sleep, and awake only long enough to eat a little before sleeping again.’

‘We’re here to bring Ferdi home,’ Haldi said, looking from Pimpernel to Healer Woodruff.

Pippin looked up. ‘You’re in good time,’ he said, and stepped back to defer to the healers.

Woodruff took hold of Pimpernel, raising her up. ‘Come now, my dear, you may cozen him all you wish when he’s back in his bed...’

‘Take him, chair and all,’ Mardi directed the hobbits of the escort. ‘The less he’s troubled, the better. You can lift him from chair to bed when he’s home.’

Isenard moved to one side of Ferdi's chair, and Haldegrim to the other, and Pippin took a hand in the carrying, dismissing the rest of the escort, and Pimpernel hastened to open doors to speed their passing. It was not long before Ferdi was tucked up, his battered head laid on soft pillows, the coverlet drawn up and Nell settled beside him.

‘Thank you, Haldi,’ she said, ‘and you, Isen.’ The hobbits of the escort left with a murmured farewell and a bow of respect for Ferdibrand.

Pippin bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Sit on him, if you have to, Nelly-my lass,’ he said. ‘Up more than a week before the healers would’ve allowed, I swear.’

Pimpernel smiled faintly, but all she said was, ‘Don’t you “Nelly-my-lass me, Pip-lad!’

Pippin’s eyes crinkled in a smile. ‘Bless you, lass, I feel the years fall away when you call me that...’

‘You’re no older than Bilbo was, when he went on his adventure, or Frodo, for that matter!’

Pippin, still smiling, shook his head and sighed. With a little shrug he said, ‘I’ll tell you now, Nell, it’s days like this that make me feel as old as an Ent. But,’ he said, infusing his tone with as much encouragement as possible, ‘Ferdi is improving! Why, to have walked as far as he did, and still have the heart and nerve to sing... I wish I could take him to the King, or bring the King to the Smials, but I fear neither course can be accomplished, not as things stand.’

‘Stubborn King of yours,’ Pimpernel said, smoothing the coverlet over her sleeping husband. ‘You’re Thain! You could invite him into the Shire, you know; it’s your right, I should say!’

‘Aye, but knowing how raw the nerves of the Tooks are, even this many years after the Troubles ended, he’d likely be shot out of hand as he rode the Stock Road, King or no king!’ Pippin said. ‘The Tookland is not a healthy place for men, ruffians or no.’

‘At least you wouldn’t have to escort him to the Bounds,’ Pimpernel said, making a wry mouth.

‘Well I would,’ Pippin countered.

‘You know perfectly well what I mean, Pippin Took,’ Pimpernel said, not looking at him. She stared instead into her husband’s face and stroked a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

Pippin’s mouth tightened in a mirthless grin. ‘I do,’ he said shortly. ‘But what else would you have me do, Nell?’

‘Can’t exactly invite them to take up residence when they’re found within the Bounds,’ Nell said quietly. ‘But Tolly, one of your most loyal Tooks, couldn’t stomach what ought to have happened to the ruffians he took, a few weeks ago, and let them go... and the latest ruffians...’

‘He didn’t let them go,’ Pippin said. ‘He stayed and witnessed their deaths, that he might bring the news back to the Smials.’

‘Aye,’ Pimpernel whispered. ‘As has proved too much for the hobbit... he wanders, as Ferdi said, in dark dream, burning with a desperate fever that will not abate... and how much of it came on because of this dark task you laid upon him, I ask?’

Pippin sighed, his shoulders slumped, and then he straightened them again. ‘It had to be done,’ he said. ‘Ferdi, I would fain have sent, but Ferdi was dead, or so I thought, and in any event even had I known he lived, he was in no state to escort prisoners to the Bounds. Someone had to witness their end, and Merry and I were summoned to bring Farry to the King at the Brandywine Bridge, for Elessar knew of the lad’s state when we reclaimed him from the ruffians, and of his need for healing.’

‘My Ferdi,’ Nell half-sobbed. ‘You’d do that to him...’

‘He’d’ve been the first to insist,’ Pippin maintained, standing a little straighter. ‘You know how he feels about Men in the Shire, nay, in the Tookland itself! He’d’ve insisted on being the one to escort the scoundrels to the Bounds, to deliver them into the Rangers’ hands, and to witness their end, making sure they were dead before he rode back again!’

Pimpernel looked back to her husband and nodded sadly. ‘Aye,’ she said again. ‘That he would’ve.’

‘In any event,’ Pippin said, ‘I go now to Tolly, to see how he is today. Surely this fever must break soon!’

‘Surely,’ Pimpernel said, her voice quavering a little.

‘But you’re tired,’ Pippin said, at once solicitous. ‘Lie yourself down, Nelly, do, and I will leave you and Ferdi to yourselves. Restore yourself with sleep, even as your beloved.’ And with a kiss for her forehead, he was gone.

Pimpernel laid herself down, twining one arm over her sleeping husband’s chest, but sleep eluded her.

***

Pippin moved quickly down the short hall and through the sitting room, absently plucking a boiled sweet from the table as he passed, secreting this in his pocket for young Faramir. He ducked across the corridor, through Tolly’s door, and at Mardi’s nod proceeded down to the bedroom where his head of escort lay.

Tolly lay as Pippin had seen him the previous day, his face pale and deathlike, his breast rising and falling in uneven gasps, and the hand Pippin took between his own burned with fever. He looked to Woodruff, on the other side of the bed, standing by an exhausted Hilly, who was slumped in a chair. ‘He’s no better,’ he said.

‘He is not,’ the healer nodded, and blinked away sorrow. ‘I’m sorry, Thain. We’ve done all we know. Even tepid baths have had no effect.’

‘I should think not, when even the icy Tuckbourne couldn’t bring his fever down for more than a few hours,’ Pippin said. He sank to the chair on this side of the bed, still holding Tolly’s hand, and the next words were for the fevered hobbit. ‘Fight, cousin,’ he said. ‘It’s not like you, to give over, to let yourself slip away this way. Fight!’

Tolly blinked and turned his head toward the Thain, and Pippin felt a moment’s hope as the glazed eyes sought him.

But there was no recognition in the burning gaze. The chest rose and fell again, erratically, while Tolly half-raised himself, and stared imploring into Pippin’s face. And then his eyelids fluttered; he fell back on the pillows with a gasp.

‘Steady, Tolly,’ Pippin said, but he was startled speechless by the hobbit’s next words.

‘You’re not going to bury me!’ Tolly said with a sobbing breath. ‘Please... are you going to bury me?’

Pippin was taken back to a narrow lane in Minas Tirith, another cousin who swayed and murmured as one in sleep, who’d asked of him the same question, who... who was saved only by...

‘The healing hands of the King!’ Pippin said in sudden realisation.

***

At Ferdi’s murmur, Pimpernel raised herself to look upon him. ‘Yes, love,’ she soothed. ‘All’s well. All’s well, dearest. Do not stir yourself.’

‘Tolly,’ he muttered. ‘King.’

Pimpernel caught her breath in a gasp as she suddenly understood.

‘Tolly,’ he said again. ‘Best... cousin... best... friend...’

‘Yes, love,’ Nell soothed, stroking his forehead. ‘I understand. All’s well, truly it is...’

‘...hobbit... could... have...’ Ferdi said, the words widely spaced, but clear. Nell’s thoughts were spinning too fast to muse on how he could speak so clearly in sleep and not in waking, in singing but not in speech.

‘Shh, love,’ Nell soothed urgently. ‘Sleep, beloved, sleep, and I will tell the Thain.’

‘Tell... Thain...?’ Ferdi said, and then his eyes half-opened, to gaze dreamily into her face.

‘Yes, love, Pip will take care of it. He will,’ Pimpernel promised. ‘You sleep now.’

‘S-s-sleep,’ Ferdi agreed, closing his eyes again with a sigh, and within a breath or two he was snoring softly.

Pimpernel rose carefully from the bed, so as not to jar the sleeper into possible wakefulness, and hastened from the room.

***

‘Woodruff,’ Pippin barked, ‘Hilly!’

‘Sir,’ the healer said. ‘We’ve done all we...’

‘Not quite,’ Pippin said, decision in his tone. He stood to his feet and laid Tolly’s hand gently on the bed. ‘I want you to bundle him well, Woodruff, and prepare him for a journey—and you, Hilly, call for the best coach to be readied, with plenty of padding and cushions and warmers...’

Hilly, at once fully awake, jumped up from his chair. ‘Sir,’ he said, desperate hope lighting his countenance. ‘Cousin, I...’

Abandoning speech he darted from the room, exhaustion forgotten.

‘Thain Peregrin,’ Woodruff began. ‘I know that your heart is in the right place... This ill-considered scheme...’

‘Not at all, Woodruff,’ Pippin said, drawing himself to his full height and adopting his Thainliest air. ‘You’ve been saying, every day, that if he can just outlast the fever...’ He stopped, meeting her warning look with an earnest expression of his own. ‘Do you really think he can outlast the fever, now, in all honesty?’

Woodruff drew a deep breath, opened her mouth as if to speak, and after a long moment let the breath out again, shoulders slumping in defeat. ‘I cannot say,’ she admitted in a low voice, her eyes dropping to the figure on the bed.

‘Bundle him well, and we’ll carry him, bed and all, gently along,’ Pippin said, though a part of him was cold and still, as memory of another time stirred. He added under his breath, ‘At least we seek to heal him and not to give him to the flames.’

‘Sir?’ Woodruff said, startled, not sure she’d heard aright.

‘Bundle him well, Woodruff. I’ll see to the other details,’ Pippin said, and was gone.

***

In the corridor the two of them met, breathless sister and determined brother.

‘Wait, Pip!’ Pimpernel called.

‘I have no time...’ Pippin began.

‘But you must hear me!’ Nell insisted. ‘The King will be in Buckland, if he is not there already—you’re to meet him there day after the morrow, anyhow. Tolly’s dying—so says the Talk, I’ve heard it—and...’

‘Capital idea, Nell!’ Pippin said, seizing her by the hands and giving a good shake. ‘I’ll see to it immediately! You go back to your Ferdi, now, and if he wakes, tell him Tolly’s on his way to benefit from the healing hands of the King.’

And with a last squeeze of the hands he departed, to set his part of the preparations in motion.

Pimpernel stood blinking a moment, and then gave a decisive nod. Her brother was Thain, after all, and used to rendering quick decisions. She was impressed at his taking her counsel so quickly, without argument, and thought with satisfaction how reasonable her brother was these days, compared to his younger years.

With a lighter heart, she turned back to her own door, returned to the bed where Ferdibrand dozed. She lay down beside him, easing her arms around him, and whispered the hopeful news.

Chapter 25. Too Little, Too Late

They bundled Tolly warmly against the icy fingers of wind that prowled the courtyard of the Great Smials, and carried him as gently as might be managed, through the corridors to one of the lesser doors, so as not to trouble the fevered hobbit with the stairs leading down from the Great Door.

Meadowsweet walked alongside her husband, holding his hand, and Mardi, as the eldest of Tolly’s brothers and a healer into the bargain, on the other, Woodruff walking beside him giving low-voiced orders and advice. Hilly followed, guiding Freddy along. The dull-witted Freddy was wide-eyed with wonder at the prospect of a journey to see a fabled King, and he seemed quite to have forgotten his grief over Tolly’s state.

Hilly’s wife Posey was shepherding Tolly’s and Meadowsweet’s children, and Pippin brought up the rear with Diamond on one side of him and Reginard, his steward, on the other. The Thain was giving quiet instructions regarding the journey to the Bridge, to meet the King and Queen and bless them on their way to the Southlands, a journey that was supposed to begin on the morrow. Diamond and Farry would be leaving the next day, as planned, in the Thain's second-best coach. Pippin planned to go now, with Tolly and Tolly's family, for he thought it best that he be the one to urge Elessar to use his healing arts on behalf of his cousin.

When they reached the outer door, the bearers stopped, by unspoken agreement, and lowered the litter; Posey urged the children forward, to gather around their father and mother. Meadowsweet kissed each one, with a few murmured instructions to “mind your auntie, now, and I’ll be back--we’ll be back, just as soon as may be.”

She surveyed her eldest son, who straightened under her scrutiny. ‘I’m counting on you, Gorbi,’ she said, and he nodded, and put out his arms to gather the younger ones under his wings.

Meadowsweet gulped and fought for control. She was going away from her little ones, further away than she’d ever imagined, and even though she was going with Tolly, there was no assurance that he’d be coming back again, at least not living and breathing. This might be her childers’ last sight of their father, as they knew him.

‘Coach is pulling up,’ Haldi reported, unnecessarily, for they could all see the dark form looming in the thick, round glass panes on either side of the doorframe.

On sudden impulse, Meadowsweet moved forward, to grasp Gorbi’s shoulder. ‘Kiss your da, now,’ she said. ‘Send your love along with him, your wishes...’ Her voice broke and she could say no more, but her wide-eyed eldest nodded, as if he understood; and he took up the youngest to lift her to pat her father’s face with soft little hands, to croon, ‘Nigh-night, Da. Nigh-night!’

‘I love you, Da,’ the next smallest said shyly, leaving a cool kiss on the fevered cheek.

Tolly struggled to open heavy eyelids, without success, and then he sighed and seemed to sleep again.

The two lads nearest in age to Gorbi bent over their father, blinking back tears, pecked their own kisses against cheek and forehead, and whispered something.

Haldi nodded to the bearers, and they lifted the litter. Meadowsweet tucked the blankets a little more securely around her husband as Haldi opened the door and held it for the travellers to pass through. Posey held the children back, out of the chill, and Hilly, escorting Freddy, nodded and looked his love at her. They’d shared a long embrace earlier, before the procession had been set in motion, and that would have to be enough to hold them until he returned.

Winter days are short, and the westering sun cast long shadows before them as the coach passed through Tuckborough and turned onto the Stock road. Two riders went before, both bearing lanterns, as yet unlit. They’d not be stopping at an inn as darkness fell, but would drive through the night and into the morning at the best pace they could manage without troubling the fevered hobbit.

Mardi, who almost never travelled far from the borders of the Tookland, sat at Tolly’s side, and Meadowsweet at her husband’s other side. The litter, stretched across the coach, took up two seats, supported at its head and foot. Hilly sat in one of the remaining seats, and Freddy in the other. If there was any way to bring Tolly to the healing hands of the King, his brothers would make the attempt. Pippin, too, was travelling with them, though his family were not scheduled to depart for the Bridge until the next day. The Thain insisted on taking a seat beside the driver, atop the coach, that Tolly’s brothers and wife might ride inside.

Mardi had lit the lamps inside the coach; their cheerful light under the red pleated shades cast a false glow on Tolly’s face, as of returning health and strength.

Freddy ran an appreciative hand over the velvet interior. ‘Posh,’ he said. ‘Quite the adventure, riding in the Thain’s best coach! Tolly ought to go to visit the King more often, don’t you think?’

Meadowsweet gulped back the sharp words she wanted to say; poor Freddy hadn’t the wit to understand the gravity of the situation. He’d wept earlier, thinking Tolly dead after overhearing something-or-other, but on finding that his brother was alive, and to be sent to the Brandywine Bridge, to meet the King, well... he’d forgotten his grief in childlike wonder and excitement. He had complete faith in the magic of the King’s hands, while to the others—save perhaps the Thain—the promise of healing seemed more a fairy tale than a real possibility.

Still, what choice did they have? The fever went on, and on, burning Tolly’s life away, with no sign of ending. He’d burn out well before the fever did, the way things were looking. He’d not opened his eyes nor spoken again after that anguished appeal to the Thain; through all the preparations he’d lain quiet, the coverlet scarcely rising and falling to show that he still breathed.

They stopped at intervals, at inns, to change ponies, to replenish the warmers with fresh coals, to have hampers of food and drink handed in. Freddy was in raptures at one point, where the bread was so fresh out of the oven that it steamed when they lifted the cloth away, and he pronounced the chicken “delectable” and tucked in with enthusiasm, while the others pecked at their portions out of duty and Mardi’s urgings to keep their strength up, rather than appetite. Tolly, of course, neither ate nor drank. Even the aroma of fresh-baked bread and toothsome apple tarts could not rouse him.

Mardi held Tolly’s hand in his for much of the journey, his finger on the pulse point, his attention on the galloping heartbeats. At several points along the journey, he’d rap at the ceiling of the coach with his walking stick, for when they travelled along rougher stretches, he fancied that Tolly’s heart stumbled a bit in its frantic race.

‘Whoa,’ Pippin said to the driver, hearing yet another bout of tapping. ‘Steady the ponies, Ned,’ and Ned nodded, pulling his charges down to a walk. The Thain had a few choice words to say about the hobbits in charge of keeping this stretch of road repaired, and Ned was glad he wasn’t one of them. He wouldn’t want to be wearing one of their hats when the Thain got around to telling them their duty!

The lanterns held by the riders ahead of the coach cast a lonely light there under the trees. They’d left the open country well behind them, had passed the Crowing Cockerel just outside the bounds of Tookland and the Rock and a Hard Place an hour or two afterwards, followed by the Dancing Duckling and then the Black Pony Inn.

The road was rougher, now, rutted, washed by a heavy storm that had blown across the Shire some time earlier, and it was that dark hour between middle night and winter's dawning, when the knocking from within the coach sounded more urgently than ever. ‘Steady, Ned,’ Pippin said again, and began to climb down even before the ponies had been pulled to a stop.

He opened the door, to see Meadowsweet leaning over her husband, weeping and pleading. ‘Mardi?’ he said. Hilly gripped Tolly’s blanketed legs, his face stricken. Freddy, mercifully, was asleep, his head back against the seat, rich snores proceeding from his mouth.

The healer looked up, his face old and deeply carved with the knowledge of his calling. ‘He’s sinking fast,’ he whispered. ‘I doubt he’ll last an hour or two, at this rate. How far is the next inn? Can he at least die decently, in a bed?’

‘We’re nearly to the Goose,’ Pippin said as the news took him in the pit of his stomach. He’d known the situation was grave, but he’d hoped... ‘I’ll send Haldi ahead, to ready a room, and we’ll bring him there as gently as this dratted road will allow. Perhaps an hour, Mardi, can he manage that long?’

‘I don’t know,’ Mardi said, troubled, and then he straightened his shoulders. ‘Well, we’d best get on,’ he said. ‘No use sitting here.’

Hilly got up abruptly from his seat, nearly hitting his head in the process. ‘You ride inside, Thain,’ he said. ‘It’s been cold enough, I dare say, atop the coach, and no use your taking a chill. It was a good effort, even if it was a vain one, and I thank you for your courtesy.’

Pippin protested, but Hilly shouldered past him without apology, climbing up onto the box without another word, and sitting down next to the driver, stared stonily ahead.

The Thain had no reprimand for the hobbit. He knew very well what was the matter. Hilly idolised Tolly, and couldn’t bear to sit by helplessly, to watch his brother die.

Pippin waved to the lantern bearers, waiting a little ahead of them. Haldi pulled his pony around and moved to the coach. ‘Haldi,’ Pippin said. ‘Ride ahead to the Goose. We’ll be stopping over there.’

‘But I thought,’ the hobbit said, and then nodded as if in sudden understanding. ‘Very well, sir.’ He turned his pony’s head and dug his heels into its sides, sending it into the darkness at a smart pace. The light of his lantern diminished and soon was lost in the foggy gloom.

Pippin looked after him for a moment, gripping the door tightly in his perturbation. They’d come so close! Another two hours to the Ferry, at the slow pace they’d been managing, if he could persuade the Tooks to use the Ferry; or six to the Bridge... Another six hours, to bring Tolly to the King and his healing hands... might as well be six days, or six weeks, or months, for all the good the relative nearness did them. He took a deep breath, letting it out again in an explosive sigh. ‘Very well, Ned,’ he called softly to the driver. ‘Drive on, as gently as may be.’

Ned saluted with his whip, and as the Thain climbed into the coach and pulled the door shut behind him, he chirruped to the ponies and with the slightest of jerks, the coach eased into motion.

Chapter 26. We'll Cross that Bridge When We Come to It

Pippin sat watching Tolly’s face as they rumbled on, scarcely heeding Meadowsweet’s low-voiced pleading, punctuated at intervals by a word or two from Mardi, while Freddy’s snores provided a steady counterpoint. Tolibold, who’d faithfully served three Thains, Pippin and his father among them. As a tween he’d run messages for old Thain Ferumbras; he’d been sent out by Paladin on dangerous information-gathering forays during the Troubles; he’d served as a member of Pippin’s escort and then as the head of escort since Pippin had become Thain. Tolibold, who’d sworn an oath to protect the Thain and his family. Tolibold, to whom Pippin had sworn an oath in return.

The hobbit was dying, far from his home and children, and it was Pippin who had brought him to this end. It was not just the desperate journey, to bring Tolly to the King, but more. It was the accumulation of recent events: false accusation, the apparent death of Ferdibrand, a cousin but closer than a brother to Tolly, seeking the ruffians who’d struck down Ferdi and taken Farry and threatened horrific damage to the lad, and then escorting those ruffians who remained to their deaths.

Tolly, who struggled to hold up against dark moods during the winter months in the best of times, had been pulled down, and when claimed by fever, had not had the strength to fight his way back to health. Pippin had the feeling that even now something nagged at the hobbit, something to do with the ruffians he’d escorted to their deaths, or the earlier ruffians that he hadn’t turned over to the Rangers patrolling outside the Bounds.

Not quite an hour had passed when the steady motion of the coach lessened. The coach turned, and there was the sound of cobblestones under the wheels. They had arrived at the Blue Goose, and somehow, Tolly still breathed. Pippin’s resolve grew within him. He would not just sit helplessly by and watch this cousin slip away. He wasn’t sure just what he could do, but he’d do something!

No point in sending for a healer as they settled Tolly in a bed. Mardi was a healer, and Woodruff, before they’d set out upon this desperate journey, had done her best, and she was the finest healer in the Shire.

Haldi was waiting with the landlord in the foggy courtyard between inn and stables, as Ned drew the ponies to a standstill. It was the work of a few moments to carry Tolly’s litter into the inn, down a corridor to his bed, warmed and waiting for him.

Meadowsweet walked alongside the litter, holding Tolly’s hand, her face streaked with silent tears. Hilly helped to carry the litter, helped to settle his brother in the bed, and then turned to the door. Mardi called his name, but, head bowed, he simply shook his head and slipped out of the room.

‘I’ll talk to him,’ Pippin said, rising from the bed. He took Tolly’s hand, to press it, and looked to Mardi in surprise. ‘But... his fever’s broken!’

Mardi shook his head. ‘His body’s failing,’ he said. ‘His hands, his feet... they’ve grown cold. It’s Death’s chill, moving slowly from the extremities, inward. When the chill reaches his heart...’

Pippin nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said, and his resolved hardened suddenly into desperate decision. Impulsively he grabbed at Mardi’s arm. ‘Keep him going, as long as you can,’ he said. ‘I’m going for help.’

‘Help...?’ Mardi said, looking up in puzzlement and not a little annoyance. ‘What help? There’s no help to be found, anywhere in the Shire, with Death so close at hand... I’ve done all I know. Woodruff...’

‘Even Woodruff could not help,’ Meadowsweet whispered, ‘and her, with all her healing and skill...’ She caught her breath in a sob and could say no more.

‘Don’t give him up,’ Pippin said, as urgently as he knew. ‘Don’t give him up, Sweetie; don’t let him give himself up. Keep talking to him.’

Her head was bowed, but she nodded, and he hurried away. He half thought to find Hilly in the common room, drowning his sorrow, but that hobbit was not there. The innkeeper was, however, and a good thing, Pippin thought privately, that he didn’t have to waste time searching for him.

‘Landlord!’ he said, catching at the innkeeper’s sleeve. That hobbit was busy, of course, seeing that the tables were properly set for breakfast, for any travellers who wished an early start, while one of his sons laid a good fire in the great hearth.

‘Aye, sor,’ the innkeeper said. ‘You were wanting something otherwise?’

‘One of the post ponies,’ Pippin said, ‘fastest you’ve got, and ready to go just so soon as you can have the beast saddled and bridled!’

‘Right-ho!’ the innkeeper said, for he was not one to question the Thain, of all people, especially as the post ponies were owned by Thain and Master together, placed at inns all along the way between the Tookland and the Ferry.

The innkeeper’s wife insisted on pouring Pippin a mug of tea before letting him go out into the freezing, predawn fog, and he gulped it down as she’d fixed it, with plenty of milk and sweetening, though he preferred his tea plain. At least it was steaming hot.

‘Thanks!’ he said, slamming down the mug and turning to the door.

He found Hilly just outside, staring towards the stables, bright with lantern-light. ‘Hilly,’ he said, touching a stiff shoulder.

His cousin started at the touch, half-swung-round, his fear and grief shining in his eyes. ‘Is it over already?’ he said, taking hold of Pippin’s forearm. He swallowed hard. ‘I saw... they brought out one of the post ponies...’

‘Not for a message back to Regi, no,’ Pippin said. ‘But for a message to go forward...’

‘Where...’ Hilly said, and his shoulders slumped, and he spoke the next words in a dull tone. ‘Where would you send me, Sir?’ For it was clear to him that the Thain had seen his cowardice, and recognised it for what it was, and was sending him away to spare him the pain of watching Tolly die.

‘Not sending you, Hilly, at least, not a-ponyback.’ Pippin said, taking hold of the hand that grasped his arm and swinging Hilly back towards the entrance. ‘I’m sending you to Tolly’s side, old lad, to talk to him, sing to him, what ever you must do to keep him going until I return.’

‘Return—!’ Hilly gasped, turning to the Thain. But Pippin pushed him once again toward the entrance, even as he spluttered something about the need for escort.

‘Aye,’ Pippin said, ‘that’s a direct order, and I’ve no time for fools. Go to Tolly, Hildibold, and hold on to him just as hard as you can! You’re his only hope! Mardi’s given him over, and even Sweetie, but you’re the stubbornest Took I’ve had the good fortune to know, and I know I can count on you...!’

Pippin pulled the door to the entryway open and pushed Hilly through on the last words, and the dumbfounded hobbit found himself stumbling into the inn, even as the door boomed shut behind him.

A lad had led the pony out into the courtyard, and Pippin ran lightly to the side of the prancing beast, thrust foot into stirrup, and was off at a gallop quite before he’d settled into the saddle, as Hilly emerged once more from the inn, shouting after him.

‘Another post pony!’ Hilly said, advancing on the open-mouthed lad who stood staring after the Thain.

‘Aye, sor,’ the lad said, and they went into the stables together, to fetch another of the fast ponies, and saddle and bridle.

And yet, by the time he pulled up the girth, though he’d worked at top speed, Hilly shook his head, knowing defeat. He didn’t even know where the Thain had gone haring off to. How could he expect to follow the hobbit, to provide the proper escort?

A direct order, Pippin had said, and Hilly bowed his head.

‘Sor?’ the lad said, holding the pony’s reins that Hilly might mount.

‘Yes, lad, sorry, lad, put him away,’ Hilly said, turning away to run a sleeve across his eyes. A direct order. ‘It’s too late,’ he muttered. ‘Too late.’

***

Had the situation not been so desperate, Pippin might have revelled in the solid feel of the well-muscled pony between his knees, the sting of the wind-whipped mane on his cheeks, the exuberance of the fast-galloping rhythm of hoofs and breaths and nodding head. He had the illusion of flying over the road, a sense of freedom as he’d seldom known in the years since he’d been sworn in as Thain. He was unencumbered by escort or paperwork or pressing decisions; he had but one thought in mind, and that was speed.

It seemed no time at all before he was pulling up before the Smiling Smelt on the outskirts of Stock, near the crossroads where the Stock Road ran on to the Ferry landing, and the Dike Road ran north and south—north, to the Brandywine Bridge, was where Pippin was bound, for the Ferry would not be running this time of year. It was still dark, as a matter of fact, and not the slightest promise of dawn-light brightened the dark and icy fog that enshrouded the Marish, though lantern-light shone from the stables, where early chores had begun, and lamp-light shone out from the inn’s kitchen, and a smell of baking issuing from the chimneys teased the nose in the chilly air.

‘Post pony!’ he gasped to the blinking stable hobbit who’d trotted out at the sound of dancing hoofs on the cobbles of the courtyard.

‘Yessir, at once!’ that hobbit said, snapping round to ready one of the fast ponies kept for that special purpose.

Another stable hobbit poured out steaming tea from the kettle on the hob, and Pippin sipped it gratefully, for the first time aware that his face was numb and stinging with the cold. He pulled up his muffler as he put down the mug, settled his cloak more closely about his shoulders, and nodded his thanks.

And so it was that the stable hobbits never realised that it was the Thain himself, riding as if his life depended on it, who carried an urgent message to the Bridge, and beyond.

Chapter 27. A Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed

Pippin's pony thundered across the Bridge of Stone Bows, between the guiding lines of lamps that were smears of light looming to either side, seeming to hang in the dark fog without foundation or support. So thick was the fog that the River itself could not be seen, ice-laced, dark and brooding as it slipped beneath the arches. Pippin shuddered at the sudden memory of standing stones and fog on the Barrow Downs, not long enough ago, and he bent to the neck of his pony to urge the tiring beast to a final effort.

There was a shout at the Buckland side of the Bridge, and bodies tall and half-tall moving to meet him. Guardsmen from the King’s encampment, hands on their swords, and a Shiriff from the gatehouse with his bow strung and ready, had been called to action by the sound of the galloping pony. Anyone riding so recklessly in the dark and fog must be either mad or desperate, and it was the sort of night where one could easily imagine dark things afoot. There were still wolves and such in Middle-earth, even these days in the peace that followed the ascension of the returned King.

But when Pippin pulled down his muffler to speak, the Shirriff gave a shout of welcome and lowered his bow. ‘Thain Peregrin!’ He turned towards the near pavilions and raised his voice, heedless of those who might not yet be stirring in the early-morning winter darkness. After all, the cooks were building up the watchfires into proper cooking fires, and a breakfast fit for the King and Queen, and the hobbits here to greet them, was in the making. Five o’ the clock it was, and the farmers would have long been at their milking already, and the smell of morning bread baking was on the air.

(He suspected the King himself, and some of the hobbits, had not been to bed at all, from the light and laughter that had glowed all night from the King's own pavilion in the middle of the camp, bright through the encroaching fog. And indeed, following on the heels of his shout, he heard, ‘Pippin!’ from that pavilion, as light shone out through the looped-up entrance, and bodies spilled forth.)

‘Pippin!’ Merry shouted again, hurrying to join the guardsmen and Shirriff surrounding the blowing pony and its rider. ‘You got my message, then, and rode straight through! How like yourself!’

‘But really,’ said the long-legged man striding at the Master’s side to add his greeting. ‘There was no need to put yourself out so; we would not have left the North-lands without saying goodbye.’

Merry added, ‘Sam’s family is not yet here, though he borrowed a pony to respond to my summons and arrived in time for late supper. I was surprised to see him here before you!’

‘The messenger did not find me at home,’ Pippin said, Merry’s bright face and cheery manner making him feel as one walking in dream, ‘though doubtless Diamond welcomed him in my stead. We’ve been awaiting your message for some time and I’d imagine my family are on their way to the Bridge as we speak.’

But then he was recalled to himself, and reached out to grasp the man’s hand extended to him, gasping, ‘Strider!’ He slid from his saddle, glad of the support, for his knees were suddenly weak beneath him. ‘There’s need...!’

‘Steady on, Pip,’ Merry said in sudden alarm, and he moved close to support his swaying cousin.

The next thing he knew, Pippin was no longer standing in the icy fog, blinking in the light of torches, but he lay on a couch, supported with pillows at his back and a coverlet drawn over him, and someone was holding a steaming mug to his lips. He sipped, to be polite, and then pushed the mug away as he strove to sit up. Hands pressed him down again, and he protested.

‘You’re not well, cousin,’ came Merry’s protest in turn. ‘From the look of you, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends, robbing yourself of sleep. Indeed, have you been eating properly? The emergency is over, is it not; the mustered hobbits sent back to their farms and crofts...?’

‘Half the muster is down with fever,’ Pippin muttered, having immediately after to fend off a seeking hand. ‘No, I’m not fevered,’ he added irritably, ‘but you are correct, there’s been precious little time for rest at the Smials, this past week, what with anxiety over Ferdibrand, and others...’

‘Ferdi’s fevered?’ Merry said in dismay. ‘But, with his injury...’

‘No,’ Pippin said, trying to marshal his thoughts. ‘He’s been kept clear of the fever, thus far, though his healing is still in doubt...’ He looked from Merry, to Sam’s expression of concern, his own face lightening to see the Man who knelt behind them. ‘Strider!’

‘You mentioned need,’ Elessar said, leaning forward. ‘Not your own need, I take it.’

‘Not myself, but Tolibold,’ Pippin said, ‘as brave a Took as you might ever come to know, and one I owe my life.’

The King nodded and arose. ‘He’s being brought here?’ he said, ‘...to the Bridge, and you rode before him to seek me on my way to the Bridge, had I not yet arrived, to hurry my steps?’

‘Yes,’ Pippin said, and then shook his muddled head, ‘I mean: no, not exactly.’

‘An answer worthy of Bilbo and the Trolls,’ Merry said. ‘What is it you mean, exactly?’

Pippin hesitated, for now his plan seemed to him more folly than feat. ‘I...’ he said, took a deep breath, and plunged in. ‘I was bringing him to the Bridge, to seek hope and help of your healing hands,’ he said.

‘You were,’ Elessar said gravely, bending close again with an inquiring look.

‘He’s sinking fast,’ Pippin said, all in a rush, and he threw back the covers and reached for the King’s hand, pressing it between his two hands in urgent entreaty. ‘They say he will not likely see the dawning... I came to bring you to him!’

The King’s face went very still at this, and his hand between Pippins’ fisted tight.

‘I’m very sorry,’ he said after a long breath. ‘He is in the Shire, I take it, on the other side of the Brandywine.’

‘You must come!’ Pippin insisted, but Elessar bowed his head. ‘Strider!’

‘I cannot transgress my own Edict,’ the Man said, raising his eyes once more to meet Pippin’s. ‘You know this, Pippin; you know why I will not set foot in the Shire, why I have decreed that no man shall knowingly transgress that boundary, and live.’

‘I know very well the whys of it,’ Pippin said between his teeth, swinging his feet over the side of the bed and pushing himself upright. ‘Have I not lived the nightmare, this very month? And yet,’ he said, pressing the hand he held, ‘and yet, I am the Thain, the Lord of the muster as Eomer so quaintly called my father, when we explained to him the workings of the Shire all those years ago, and as Thain may I not invite whomever I please, set aside the grim penalty?’ With another look at the King’s face, he added hastily, ‘You know that I would not do any such thing on a whim!’

‘I know this,’ Elessar said slowly.

‘For the sake of the friendship between us...’ Pippin whispered, but there was little of hope in him now, at the King's tone... sorrow, regret...

Merry had been watching Pippin’s face as he spoke, and now he put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. ‘It appears to me that you are in some kind of trouble,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t know what it has to do with Tolly, but...’

Sam broke in, then, in his sudden understanding. ‘It has everything to do with Tolibold,’ he said, and then added, ‘begging your pardon, Master Merry, but...’

He blushed as all eyes turned to him, and stammered a little, but forged determinedly ahead. ‘It—it was a ghastly business,’ he said, ‘a terrible business, indeed, to witness the deaths of the remaining ruffians.’ He took a shuddering breath and wiped at his brow. ‘Tolly was not suited to such a task, stalwart though he might be, and the fault was partly mine.’

Pippin blinked at this and protested. ‘I was the one to put such dark thoughts into his head,’ he said. ‘It was I, in the midst of my grief for my son, whom I thought had been cut to pieces by those villains. My words, my unguarded tongue...’

But Sam shook his head. ‘I was the one to speak to the ruffians, in Tolly’s hearing, of the Easterlings and their dealings with child-stealers,’ he said. ‘I was the one who put it into his head, that you were wanting the same punishment for these wretches, and so he told the Rangers...’

‘Enough of blaming,’ Merry said, breaking into the argument. ‘It’s the doing that needs deciding at the moment.’ He looked to the King. ‘What if, Strider...’ he began, feeling his way as he spoke. He straightened his shoulders with sudden resolve. ‘What if no one ever knew that you’d entered the Shire?’

‘I don’t take your meaning,’ Elessar said, though his eyes narrowed as he regarded Merry.

‘It’s dark,’ Pippin said, catching at the idea, ‘and the fog is thick enough to choke a dragon. No one need see you, if you enter the Shire and speed to Tolly’s bedside...’

‘And if I were to help, to make it seem as if you never left the camp...’ Sam added, and Elessar looked at him in astonishment before breaking into a dry chuckle.

‘Another conspiracy, I think, is your meaning,’ he said to the three hobbits, but his expression turned stern once more.

It took a great deal more argument than that, perhaps a quarter of an hour, before the King agreed to the hastily construed plan, and it was not the hobbits’ words that convinced him so much as the look of strain on Pippin’s face, the guilt that obviously gnawed at the hobbit, the conviction on the Thain’s part that he was in great part responsible for the imminent peril to his kinsman.

Elessar was never quite sure how it came about, that he agreed to wrap himself in his Elven cloak and mount a dark horse, with Pippin behind him on the saddle. It might have had something to do with Arwen coming in, in the midst of the debate, and taking the hobbits’ side. It might have had something to do with Sam’s plan, to play that Pippin had arrived and immediately plunged into a long discussion with the King and the two other Counsellors to the North-Kingdom, not to be disturbed. Sam would emerge at intervals from the small pavilion to fetch trays, himself, that servants should not interrupt the conversation; and he and Merry would extend themselves to clear the plates meant for three hobbits and a man in order to fend off any suspicion. The King’s guards would stand far enough away not to hear any of the ongoing discussion, and to intercept visitors, save Arwen, of course, who would bring word of happenings to Elessar, and come away to convey “his” orders.

They’d muffle the hoofs of the horse with cloths. Arwen would create a diversion, away from the Bridge. They’d lead the horse over the Bridge, stopping long enough to take away the muffling cloths, and then ride as if the Nine were pursuing them, through the dark and the thick fog, hoping to arrive before the late winter’s dawning.

Someone was sure to notice something or other, as Pippin said, but if things went as they were intended, any overly curious Shire-folk would see the Elven-cloaked figure in the company of and under the protection of the Thain of the Shire, an unusual messenger, to be sure, on the business of the King. If he could manage it, Pippin hoped to pass Elessar as one of the Fair Folk in the face of questioning. ‘It’s not entirely a falsehood, after all,’ he said, as they laid their hasty plans.

‘Not entirely,’ Arwen agreed, her eyes alight though her mouth remained sober. She laid the Elven cloak on Elessar’s shoulders, kissed her husband and pulled the concealing hood in place. ‘Stand tall,’ she whispered, ‘and imagine you are back in the “old days” when you used to follow my brothers all over Imladris, believing you would grow to be exactly like them if you only copied every little thing they did...’

She was rewarded with her husband’s chuckle. ‘Annoyed them no end,’ he whispered back, and sought her lips once more, for strength, perhaps, or even reassurance that he was not becoming something less with this difficult compromise.

A life is at stake, he told himself. Surely in future there would be other lives at stake, and what was he to do then?

Arwen, as so often happened, seemed to know his thoughts. She put her cheek against his and whispered, While we may have to ride that horse, let us wait at least until it’s wearing a saddle.

‘My Lady Undomiel,’ he murmured, and pulled himself away, that they might begin to put this mad plan into action, to arrive before Tolly was beyond help, if indeed the King could help him...

Chapter 28. Will Wonders Never Cease?

They rode, not one of Elessar’s fine war-horses, but a horse from the messengers’ post established not far from the Buckland Gate, for the convenience of the King’s Counsellors, that they might send off a message at need to their King, whether he was at the Lake or in Gondor or somewhere else. The horse was trim, swift and tireless, and Pippin had the feeling they were flying somewhere above the land, in the clouds, though the fog didn’t trouble him, with his face pressed close to the King’s cloak. The elven cloak tickled his nose, and when he inhaled sharply, to sneeze, he was reminded of the scent of Lorien, and his sneeze drained away. A good thing, probably, for if Elessar suspected he was coming down with a cold or fever, he’d pop Pippin into a bed upon arrival, and that didn’t suit Pippin at all.

He tightened his hold on the Man’s back and let his head droop until it rested against Elessar’s cloak once more. Really, at this pace they ought to arrive well before the sunrise. On such a swift steed, the twenty-some miles to the Blue Goose would speed by in an hour, or less.

Wearied by the events of the past fortnight, he found himself half in a dream as they rode along. He was riding behind Gandalf once more, speeding across the plains on an urgent errand... He took no notice when they turned off the dike road, away from the Brandywine, across the fields and into the woods, but he awakened with a jerk as the horse’s gait changed from smooth gallop to prancing walk. He was pressed hard against Elessar’s back at their abrupt slowing, as if his body meant to fly on, and then he sat up, regaining his hold.

‘Wha—what’s the matter?’ he shouted. ‘Lost? Horse lamed?’

‘We’re here,’ Elessar answered over his shoulder, in a tone just loud enough for Pippin to hear. He pointed to the lamp-illuminated painted sign, looming ahead in the fog.

They turned into the yard, and Elessar slid from the saddle and lifted Pippin down. The hobbit gave a sharp glance at the Man to make sure he was well muffled in the cloak, before turning to the gaping stable hobbits who’d left their chores on hearing the dancing hoofs on the stones. ‘Take him,’ Pippin said to the nearest, seizing the reins and thrusting them out. That hobbit gulped and took hold, standing as tall as he could and addressing the beast with all the authority of one accustomed to dealing with ponies.

‘Steady, lad! You’ve had a good run, it looks like, and now it’s time to walk about, just a bit, before you have your bucket of water and your hay...’

‘There’s a good lad,’ Pippin said, perhaps to the horse but more likely to the stable lad, but his next words left no doubt. ‘Take good care of him, now, for the Fair Folk wouldn’t be at all pleased if he’s neglected.’

The other two stable hobbits sprang forward at this, eager to share in the care of this wondrous beast.

Pippin felt Elessar’s sharp gaze upon him as they turned and walked to the inn; he looked up and said brightly, ‘Well, you know they wouldn’t! And neither would the Rohirrim, for that matter, though that’s neither here nor there.’

‘Pippin...’

‘If the King is not to violate his own Edict, at least to the knowledge of some of the greatest gossips in his Kingdom, well, we have to...’

They’d reached the door of the Inn, and the innkeeper himself met them, for his youngest son, watching from one of the windows of the common room at Hilly’s order, had shouted the news of the arrival.

‘Sirs, I—I welcome you to my humble establishment...’ he was saying, washing his hands together, staring from the Thain to his cloaked companion.

‘Yes, of course,’ Pippin said, and with a casual gesture towards the tall, indistinguishable companion he lowered his voice and said in a conspiratorial manner, ‘If I might present a son of Elrond...’

The innkeeper gawked at this and then mastered himself, managing a deep bow, stammering in his eagerness to welcome this distinguished visitor, for he had heard of the Lord Elrond of Rivendell, King of the Elves or so it was said in the Shire, who’d sailed forever away into the uttermost West. He wasn’t sure just how many sons that lord had left behind him in Middle Earth, but for one of them to stop at his inn was an honour greater than he’d ever imagined. Fair Folk, indeed!

The distinguished visitor bowed in return, and then he bowed lower, for he had to bend nearly in half to enter through the round door, and he had to walk bent-over as he followed Pippin to the room where Tolly lay.

Pippin walked quickly, but his steps slowed, nearing the room, as sudden dread seized his heart. What if they were come too late?

He opened the door, hearing nothing but Freddy’s snores. Startled faces looked up, and Hilly jumped to his feet, laying down the hand of the sick hobbit. ‘Pip!’ he said. ‘You’ve come back!’

‘Well of course I’ve come back,’ Pippin said. ‘I went for help, after all, and what good is help if you don’t bring it back with you, I might ask?’

He took Elessar’s arm and drew him into the room, bent nearly double to manage the doorway, and then the latter sank to his knees that he might be upright.

‘If you please,’ Pippin said to the hobbits gathered there. ‘I have brought a son of Elrond with me, but there is a difficulty. He’s supposed to be elsewhere, and I wish to spare him a great deal of trouble in being seen here. I must ask you to leave us here alone, whilst he gives Tolly what aid he may.’

Elessar bowed, but did not speak, for Hilly had met him on a visit with Pippin to the Lake, and might well know his voice. So long as Pippin was embarked on this mad scheme to conceal his identity, he’d play along as best he could.

‘But,’ Meadowsweet protested, her hold on her husband’s hand tightening until her knuckles whitened. They wanted to pull her away, when her husband was at his last gasp! But what if he were to die, and his wife not at his side? What if he opened his eyes at the last, not to find her there?

Mardi looked from Pippin, to the visitor, to Meadowsweet, and finally to Tolly who made no sign of discomfort at Meadowsweet’s knuckle-pinching grasp. ‘A son of Elrond,’ he said, and rose from his chair to bow. ‘The Thain has told me of the Lord Elrond and his healing powers,’ he said. ‘Greatest of his race, it was said of him...’

‘O aye,’ Pippin said, ‘and a son of his would have much of healing in him, I’m sure you’d agree.’

Mardi nodded, adding, ‘Aye, even as my brother has told me.’ He skirted around the bed and raised Meadowsweet from her chair, pulling gently at her arm to disengage her hand. ‘Please, Sweetie,’ he said. ‘Our Thain’s methods may be... unconventional... but he does seem to know people in high places... There’s naught more I can do for Tolly, but if he can...’

Hilly had moved to Freddy’s side. Though he knew Elladan and Elrohir from his time at the Lake, he could not tell which the cloaked figure might be. Still, if one of them was supposed to be elsewhere, perhaps at the King’s order, he wasn’t going to raise any difficulty for the fellow. He had a hearty respect for the sons and daughter of Elrond, and owed them a debt of gratitude for the present well-being of his beloved. He shook his snoring brother.

Freddy snorted, coming half awake. ‘Come now, Freddy,’ Hilly said, bending to lift his older brother’s arm over his shoulders, and straightening to raise him out of his chair. ‘Early breakfast’s on in the common room. Shall we see if there are any kippers?’

‘I dearly love kippers,’ Freddy murmured in return, and it was the work of a moment for Hilly to guide him, still half-asleep, from the room. He didn’t even seem to notice the kneeling visitor, for Hilly was careful to steer him around the feet and legs of the son of Elrond.

‘If you’d wait outside,’ Pippin said to Mardi. ‘We’ll call you at need... and we’ll need steaming water, and a basin, just so soon as can be managed.’

Meadowsweet swallowed hard, her tears spilling afresh. Steaming water, and a basin, she thought, to wash him before we lay him in his shroud... to take him back home to bury him... She raised Tolly’s unresponsive hand to her lips, to press a parting kiss against the cold and clammy skin. If not for the flush of fever on his cheeks, she’d think him dead already. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘I shall always love you, though we must be parted until we meet again at the Feast...’

A sob took her in the throat, and she bowed her head, allowing Mardi to lift her from her chair, though she held on to Tolly’s hand as he pulled her away, releasing it only when she must, or begin to pull him out of the bed.

Tolly’s hand flopped, hanging limp over the side of the bed, and the cloaked figure shuffled forward, quickly for someone on his knees, to seize the hand in one of his. Another hand emerged from under the cloak to rest on the dying hobbit’s forehead, and the hooded head bowed.

‘He has begun his work,’ Pippin whispered, taking Meadowsweet from the other side and urging her and Mardi towards the door. ‘Now, the steaming water, and quickly, and be sure to knock at the door, and wait until I open to you...!’

‘To be sure,’ Mardi said, and though the situation seemed hopeless, he felt hope rising in him. Somehow Pippin had found one of the Fair Folk and brought him to Tolly’s side, while Tolly still breathed. While there’s breath, there’s life was an old Shire adage. It was a wonder, indeed, to have a son of Elrond here in this place. Could it be that more wonders might be in store?

***

A/N: Hilly's visit to the lake is detailed in All that Glisters, here on SoA.

Chapter 29. While There’s Breath, There’s Life

As Pippin watched silently from the door, Elessar bent closer to Tolly, so still and pale, the colour once more gone from his cheeks. Pippin held his breath for a long moment, until he saw the slightest stir of the coverlet, to show that his cousin still breathed.

‘He is nearly spent,’ Elessar murmured, ‘but we are come in time, I think. It is not the Black Breath that we contend with here, though there is the mark of great evil upon his spirit, overlaid with weariness, and grief.’ He sighed, and shook his head. ‘We’ll make the best of the time before the athelas, that we can manage.’

‘A watched pot never boils,’ Pippin muttered incongruously.

Elessar’s lips tightened slightly as he lifted his head and turned to meet Pippin’s anxious look. ‘He is as stubborn a Took as any I’ve known,’ he said, and releasing Tolly’s hand he threw back his hood and turned back once more to bend to his work, softly calling Tolly’s name, one hand still overlapping the hobbit’s fevered brow.

***

Dark. Still. Cold.

Struggle had been useless, with the weight of earth pressing down on him, and at last, Tolly had ceased his efforts, rested his tormented muscles, and lay quiet, waiting for death to take him, wishing, almost, for the relief that release would bring.

He was exhausted, and now he realised that his eyes were wide and staring into the darkness, and so he closed his eyes. One last sleep, to waken at the Feast...

As he felt himself slipping away he felt the burden of weight become lighter, somehow, and he thought he heard his father’s voice calling to him...

Only to feel the urgent grasp of hands pulling at him, rolling him over—to his body’s protest, as they pressed upon scrapes and bruises fresh and raw and painful. It was not his father calling his name, but two boyish voices, low and filled with fear and grief.

Tolly!

He groaned and blinked, feeling trickles of dirt on his face, falling from his hair as they pulled at him to sit him upright in the hole they’d made, digging frantically without benefit of spade or shovel. He blinked... and saw the light of day, and faces, dim in his sight. ‘Tod—Toddy?’

And one of them clutched him close, burying his head against Tolly’s filthy shirt, sobbing, and the other patted his brother’s shoulder, awkward, but blinking back his own tears of relief. ‘Steady, Toddy, he’s all right. He’s all right.’

‘Teddy?’ Tolly managed. It was torture to bring his arms around the sobbing child, but he did.

‘We watched... we hid...’ young Ted whispered. ‘We saw...’

‘I thought—I thought they’d killed you!’ Toddy sobbed.

‘I thought they did, too,’ Tolly answered, but Ted spoke over him.

‘We waited until they’d gone, and then we had to get you out of there—we had to! We couldn’t leave you, buried with all the rubbish, as if you were no more than rubbish yourself!’

But Tolly wasn’t listening; he was thinking of the boys, and what the ruffians might do, to find them there. ‘We have to get away from here,’ he said. ‘We have to hide all traces you’ve been here, and get you away, lest they find you.’

The older boy nodded at once, though his concern was more for what they’d do to Tolly. He took firm hold of Toddy’s shoulder and shook him a little. ‘Come now, Toddy,’ he said, ‘no time for it now, unless you want to bury your head in Mam’s apron and leave the men to do the work!’

His words had their intended effect. The younger boy pulled away from Tolly, sniffling and protesting.

Tolly tried to raise himself and groaned. The boys took him from either side, dragging him from the hole, and further—into a patch of brambles to one side, and then on Teddy’s orders they went back to fill the hole again, to smooth over the dirt so that it looked as it did before they’d unearthed their friend.

Tolly must have slept again, or swooned, for they had a hard time rousing him when they’d finished. ‘You’re bleeding,’ the older boy said, gently touching Tolly’s head. He took a handkerchief from his pocket—his mother insisted that he carry a clean one, for some reason or other, and now he was glad of it!—and bound it about the hobbit’s brow.

‘They hit you,’ Toddy whispered, his eyes wide.

‘Twas a kindness,’ Tolly said lamely, ‘or so they thought, on their part, to spare me the agonies of stifling...’

‘Hardly kindness,’ Teddy said, his eyes flashing and his tone fierce. ‘I’d like to stifle them!’

‘Ted-lad!’ Tolly rebuked, in as stern a tone as he could manage, for though he felt much the same, it was hardly a proper sentiment to plant, water, and nurture in a tender soul.

The boy flushed and dropped his eyes, and after a steadying breath he looked up again to say, ‘Tolly, we’ve got to find you a better hiding than this...’

‘Allium’s smial!’ his younger brother said, excited, but remembering to keep his voice low.

‘Yes, Toddy, just the thing!’ Ted said, slapping Tod’s shoulder in approval, and immediately the boys seized Tolly between them, dragging him out from under the brambles. He suppressed his groans as best he could as they helped him along to the little play-place their sisters had constructed—a hollow log from what had been a tall and stately tree, made homely with a carpet of leaves, and dishes made from flat pieces of bark, and cups made of hollowed halves of nutshells.

They made him comfortable, or as comfortable as could be, concealing the opening with a drift of fallen leaves, and promising to return so soon as they might, with food.

He warned them to be careful, not to tell their mother or father or uncle, or sisters or older brother, for that matter. It was a good thing that Allium and her younger sisters were too busy helping their mother with preparations for the winter, to have time for play. The lads had been out in the woods, gathering nuts and berries for the larder, and had come back to the sight of Tolly dragging the blanket of sticks to the hole he’d dug, with whip- and club-wielding ruffians attending him. They’d secreted their harvest and hidden themselves to watch, and a good thing for Tolly it had been, too.

It was not long before Teddy was back, with a cloth full of bread and cheese, and Toddy behind him carrying a handkerchief gently tied up with berries inside. ‘We gave the sackful to our mum,’ Teddy said, ‘but saved out some for you, and she gave us leave to play until eventides.’

Tolly hungrily devoured the food, stopping to offer some to the boys, and though boys are invariably hungry they declined, sitting at their ease and conversing in whispers while watching the hobbit stuff himself. ‘O my,’ Teddy said, for he’d been thinking the food would be enough to carry Tolly back to the Great Smials. But then, he hadn’t thought of the effects of the work the hobbit had done, digging that great hole and then having to fill it in again.

When Tolly finished, all he was lacking was a draught of water, though the berries had helped somewhat to slake his thirst. His eyes were closing of themselves, and Teddy hushed his younger brother in the middle of a long story. ‘But you need to sleep, and heal,’ he said, and cocking his head he added, ‘And I hear Mum calling to us! We’ll be back so soon as we can, with more food, and water if we can manage it.’

‘Don’t let the ruffians catch you at it,’ Tolly wakened enough to say.

Young Ted shook his head earnestly. ‘We’ll be ever so careful,’ he promised, and if the boys were thinking of the danger to Tolly, and Tolly was thinking of the danger to the boys, well, they were in full agreement in any event.

They returned as promised, the next day, with more bread and cheese, and apples, and a skin of water of the sort their father and uncle carried into the woods filled with refreshing drink. The water had an odd taste to Tolly’s tongue, but he was thirsty enough that it didn’t matter. He slept most of that day, and when he wasn’t sleeping he was cautiously exercising his arms and legs, easing the stiffness from his muscles, getting ready for the long trek.

The boys came early the next day, when they were supposed to be hunting eggs from the hens that scratched about their yard, for it was a day of grey and rain and it was likely they wouldn’t be sent out to hunt berries this day. Once again they brought a sack of bread and cheese, only it was in much greater quantity than they’d been able to coax out of their mother the previous two days. ‘She knows something, I think,’ Teddy whispered as he handed the sack to Tolly. ‘She didn’t say anything, but when Dad’s back was turned she stuffed the sack full.’

‘Bless her,’ Tolly said, bowing first to the boys before he took up a handful of cheese sandwich.

He offered it to Teddy, but the boy declined, saying they’d breakfasted before being sent out to gather eggs. ‘And gather eggs, we must,’ Teddy added, rising from his sitting position to his knees, having to bend slightly to remain upright beneath the curving roof. ‘We don’t want to be gone too long, with three ruffians at home, toasting their heels at our hearth and grumbling of the rain.’

‘No, they might begin to wonder,’ Toddy said, too solemn for a boy of his age. He threw his arms around Tolly then, to the hobbit’s surprise, and sat back after a fervent hug, with a grave look.

‘What is it, laddie?’ Tolly said gently.

‘We’re friends again, are we not?’ Toddy said, a quaver in his voice. ‘I mean, I know you shouted at us, and everything, but...’

‘O Toddy,’ the hobbit said, grieved, and he reached to hug the boy once more. ‘We were never not friends, laddie-mine. That was my poor attempt to protect you, to protect your mum, your family...’

‘I knew it,’ the older boy said staunchly, and as his younger brother sat back again he held out a hand to Tolly, who took it, and the boy gave the hobbit’s hand a firm shake. ‘We’ll always be friends, shan’t we, Tolly?’

‘Always,’ the hobbit whispered, a lump in his throat. ‘Though surely I don’t deserve such friendship.’

‘Always!’ Toddy insisted, holding out his own hand for a shake. ‘Always and forever!’

‘Aye,’ Tolly affirmed, blinking a little, and then nodding with a grin. ‘For ever and a day, and a fortnight more than that, into the bargain!’

***

When the boys returned the next day, the hobbit was gone.

***

A/N: Some turns of phrase borrowed from “The Houses of Healing” in The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter 30. A Sight for Sore Eyes

As Pippin watched, he saw Elessar’s head droop lower, until his forehead was nearly to Tolly’s, though his hand remained in place. The Man was quiet, now, as if listening intently.

Pippin listened as well, though for what he strained to hear, he did not know. It was much too soon for them to bring the steaming water, he thought, unless the teakettle was already on the boil in the kitchen. More likely, however, that it had boiled, and been steeped into tea for the workers, and the kettle wouldn’t be put on again until the first yawning guest appeared in the common room. On such a dark, foggy winter morn there’d be little reason to be up aforetimes, if one was travelling. One wanted good eyes and a clear head, driving the Stock Road in this part of the Woody End, and not many cared to drive that road in darkness, much less darkness and thick mist.

So quiet was it, that he could hear the King’s soft breathing, to his ears loud as an Oliphaunt’s, in that silent room. He could not hear Tolly breathing, and stared once more at the blanketed chest, willing its rise and fall, and not relaxing until rewarded with the sight.

And always his ear strained to hear footsteps in the corridor...

***

Tolly slept that night in a hidey-hole not far from the blackened ruin of the Crowing Cockerel. It had been slow, cautious going, with his nerves on edge. Thankfully he could hear a ruffian blundering through the woods loud enough to give him enough warning to go to ground in good time, but there seemed to be a fair number of the Big Men skulking about the borderland, just outside the land the Tooks called their own. They were wise in that, for enough of them had stepped over the bounds and been caught in one of the many traps the Tooks had laid to catch intruders, to make them cautious.

He made better time once he’d safely crossed the no-Man’s-land guarding the Tookland. Perhaps an army of ruffians might break through and continue on to the Great Smials, but the traps would cut down their numbers, and the arrows of the Tooks would damage more of them, and knowing that, Lotho’s wretches had not yet tried to take the Tookland by brute force.

But Tolly had a sense of urgency he couldn’t explain, as of some greater evil that had entered the Shire with the advent of the mysterious Sharkey. The Thain must be informed, and so soon as possible!

He came to the outlying broken-down smial where he’d left his pony, and thanked the hobbit placed there by the Thain to receive and speed messengers on their way. He was an old shepherd, not worried by isolation by reason of his occupation, but under his commonplace and rather ramshackle appearance beat a courageous heart, for if the ruffians broke through, he’d be the first to fall.

‘Any signs of ruffians?’ Tolly asked.

‘Not this side o’ the borderland,’ the old hobbit answered, his faded eyes taking note of the healing injury to Tolly’s head--he’d taken off the white handkerchief and tucked it away in a pocket upon abandoning the hollow log. ‘Did ye ha’ a spot o’ trouble, in the outlands?’

‘Nothing to write home about,’ Tolly said, though doubtless the old shepherd didn’t know how to write.

‘Aye,’ the old hobbit said. He patted the neck of Tolly’s pony as Tolly mounted. ‘Well, now, don’t fall on that head o’ yours on yer way back t’ the Thain. May the wind fly a’ yer back!’

‘Keep safe, yourself,’ Tolly said, taking up the reins and turning his pony to the road, clear of traps from this point, open and beckoning him homeward.

They flew over the road, galloping and trotting by turns, and it was a relief to be driving ever deeper into the Tookish homeland, where the trees in the copses rose high and living, not cut down for folly or fancy or spite, and the fields were stubble after a rich harvest gathered into barns and not into the waggons of Lotho’s ruffians and taken away. He fancied the air was fresher; he certainly breathed easier...

***

As Pippin watched, Tolly’s breaths, at first only the slightest stirring of the coverlet at intervals that were too long, became closer together, and more regular, and soon he was breathing almost as a sleeper would. Pippin felt a little dizzy, and clutching at the knob of the door he realised he’d been holding his own breath. Chiding himself for his foolishness, he took a deep breath of his own.

***

Tolly went from the yard, where he left his lathered pony, directly to the Thain without taking the time to change his clothes or even splash his face with water.

Paladin jumped up as he plunged through the door to the Thain’s study. ‘Tolly!’ he growled. ‘You come so very belated--we’d begun to fear you’d been taken...’

‘I was,’ he said, stunning the older hobbit to silence, the intended rebuke dying on Paladin’s lips. ‘I was taken--and woe to any Took taken by those rogues, from this day forward.’

‘What is it?’ the steward said quietly, rising from his own chair.

‘The Chief has given orders, that any Took they find is to be killed and hung up on a tree for the carrion birds,’ he said.

Paladin swore a dreadful oath. ‘They were taking them to the Lockholes,’ he said, ‘and now... Lotho would dare...?’

‘I don’t think Lotho’s the Chief any more,’ Tolly said. ‘There’s someone name of Sharkey come to the Shire, and I don’t like the sound of him at all, from what the ruffians said of him whilst I was in their clutches.’

He swayed, then, and put out a hand to catch himself on the Thain’s desk.

‘You’re filthy,’ Paladin said, though his tone was more of concern than reproach. ‘A bath is the thing, I think, and a bite to eat, and some rest. Adelard,’ he added, turning to the steward, ‘send for Healer Woodruff...’

‘I am well,’ Tolly protested, straightening again.

‘You can scarce keep your feet,’ Paladin snapped. ‘You were taken,’ he said, his eyes moving from the blood that matted Tolly’s hair to the filthy rags wrapping his hands, seeming to note every bruise and abrasion whether visible or covered by Tolly’s clothing. ‘And while you were taken, you were treated none too well, I warrant.’

He sat back in his chair once more, recalled to Tolly’s purpose in venturing into the outlying Shire. ‘Did you see or hear anything of Ferdibrand?’

‘He’s dead,’ Tolly said, and steward and Thain uttered stunned exclamations.

‘Dead!’ Paladin said, after a muttered oath. ‘How? What do you know?’

‘Betrayed to the ruffians by some hobbit or other for bounty, I don’t know exactly who it might have been,’ Tolly said. ‘They boasted of it, made coarse jests that he’d been hung up to feed the carrion birds, but hobbits cut him down again and buried him before the birds could have their proper feast.’

‘They’d’ve found me hard to swallow in any event,’ a husky voice, not sounding at all like Ferdi, said from the doorway.

Tolly spun, nearly falling in his surprise and sudden joy, for there stood Ferdibrand himself!

‘Ferdi!’

‘I bring you ill news, Thain Paladin,’ Ferdi husked, advancing to the desk. ‘There’s a new wind blowing in the Shire, an ill wind indeed, and it looks to be blowing nobody any good at all.’

‘Sharkey,’ Tolly said, and Ferdi nodded. And then Tolly seized Ferdi by the arm, to say, ‘But you were dead! The ruffians said...’

‘Tis true,’ Ferdi whispered, ‘they hanged me from a tree limb and laughed to see my dying dance, but then they suffered a sudden attack of heart trouble--sharp are the arrows of the Bucklander, and of those he gathered to cut me down from the tree.’

‘The Bucklander?’ Paladin said sharply, leaning forward.

‘Aye,’ Ferdi said, putting his hand inside his jacket and drawing out a folded paper. ‘Here is his message to you, Sir--he pressed it upon me at our parting, and bade you good hunting.’

Paladin took the paper and his eyes ran at first rapidly down the page, but slowed partway. He read the last part carefully, rubbing the back of his neck, and then nodded, laying the paper down gently, as if he controlled himself with difficulty.

‘Aye,’ he said, ‘an ill wind.’ And turning to the steward he said, ‘It looks as if they’ll be trying to overrun the Tookland by brute force, some time in near future. The Master of the Hall, from what his spies have overheard, sends word to say that he thinks they’ll force hobbits to march before them, to spring our traps, and that Men will follow, armed and in a killing mood.’

‘Burning and slaughtering as they come,’ Adelard whispered. ‘It is as we feared; the worst has come.’

‘Not yet, and not if the Tooks have anything to say about it,’ Paladin said. ‘We’ll go down fighting, and if worse comes to worst, we’ll retreat to the Smials, and they’ll pay a ruinous price to hunt us down in our tunnels...’ He smiled a wintry smile. ‘Even rats will fight, and fiercely too, when cornered.’

Tolly felt a surge of pride, and stood straighter. But Paladin looked at him keenly, and then looked to Ferdi. ‘Baths and a meal, the two of you, I deem,’ he said, ‘and then a rest, or a beer first, if that’s more to your liking. Take the rest of the day, unless there’s more to be told.’

Healer Woodruff came to inspect Tolly while he was still in the bath, annoying him with questions, inspecting the healing wound on his head, helping him to get the worst of the dirt and matted blood out of his hair, and leaving him with a jar of arnica balm to apply to his bruises. When he emerged, dressed and feeling refreshed and ravenous, he was held up by a healer’s assistant who insisted on dressing and bandaging his hands. ‘Mending nicely,’ was the unsolicited verdict. ‘You won’t need any bandages on the morrow, but have these on just to keep the palms clean and protected this evening.’

Tolly rolled his eyes at such solicitude, but knew better than to protest. They’d have him sleeping in a bed in the infirmary, should he give them any trouble, and he had no intentions of being cooped within the walls of the Great Smials at present. Time enough for that when the besieging ruffians arrived.

He drew on gloves, so that the white of the bandages would not draw comment or attention, and eschewing the evening meal in the crowded great room, he elected to take himself for a stroll, to enjoy the colours the Sun was painting in the sky on this fine autumnal evening.

He ventured out into the town of Tuckborough, looking deceptively peaceful with the dusk falling and lamps shining through the windows of the smials dug into the side of the great Hill, on the one side of the main street, and the houses on the other. He turned into the Spotted Duck, breathing in a fine smell of roasting meat, bubbling stew and baking bread, responding to the hails of the hobbits already gathered there. He was glad his brother Freddy was not in evidence--he'd probably gone home to take the eventide meal at his father's table, and so Tolly would not have to suffer his cheerful nattering.

The Bucklander thought they might have a week or two, before the invasion. On the morrow the Duck would be empty; Tooks and Tooklanders would be moving their goods into the Smials proper, and the Thain would be sorting the muster into companies, to march out in all directions to hold the borders, for who knew whence the worst of the incursion would come? There were settlements of Men on all sides. Bywater seemed a likely source of trouble, but there were Men to the South and West and yes, in the Woody End as well.

Ferdi’d had the same idea, Tolly saw--he was sitting at a shadowy table, away from the door, nursing a beer. A serving lass put down a plate of stew, then, and a fresh-baked loaf. Tolly caught her as he moved towards the table, gesturing to Ferdi’s serving. ‘Same for me, if you please.’

‘Blessings on you, sir,’ she said with a bob, and Tolly took the empty chair by Ferdi, who nodded, his mouth full.

Though a cheery fire was crackling on the hearth, Ferdi remained well-muffled, and when he cleared his mouth with a swig of beer, he greeted Tolly in a near-whisper.

Tolly found himself whispering in reply, though he wasn’t sure why. No one was paying them any heed. ‘I’m glad to see you in the life,’ he said.

‘You’re not the only one,’ Ferdi said. ‘What a shock it would have been, for you to see me feeding the birds, as the ruffians intended.’ He shuddered, and determinedly forked up a hearty portion, filled his mouth, and chewed with vigour, as if to defy the ruffians who’d tried to take his life. His sleeves pulled short of his wrists, and Tolly saw the fading marks of healing abrasions, rope marks, he thought.

‘Aye,’ he said, feeling queasy, but the smell of the good food on the plate that was soon put before him served to remedy that, and he fell to with a will. ‘I would have missed that sight, in any event, for they had their own plans for me.’

‘They found out you were a Took?’ Ferdi whispered, looking up sharply. ‘I must convince Paladin somehow that it’s too much risk to send anyone out again... we know the attack is coming within the month, and we know to prepare, and I doubt the riffraff stumbling about outside our borders know any more than that, themselves.’

‘No,’ Tolly said, ‘they didn’t mark me as a Took. But they had their sport, and they were supposed to march me off to the Lockholes...’

‘And you got away from them?’ Ferdi rasped. ‘Good show!’

‘I had a little help,’ Tolly said, thinking of the boys. He had tucked the bloodstained handkerchief away in an inner pocket--a sort of good-luck charm, that gave him a feeling of warmth whenever he thought of them. Not all Men were evil. Not every hand was turned against them.

There was little enough the woodcutters could do, to stand against Lotho’s--now Sharkey’s--ruffians, but their little had meant a great deal to Tolly. He vowed he would never forget them.

Chapter 31. Paved with Good Intentions

It was with a strange sense of having been there before that Tolly sat, at that table, a pint of beer half-raised to his lips, Ferdi across the table from him, the latter staring into his own beer as if to find the solution to all the problems he might imagine.

Of course they had sat there, many a time. The Duck was a favourite gathering place for the hobbits of the Thain’s escort, during the hours when they were not required to be on the spot, as it were, awaiting a message to carry, or escorting to be done, or some other order of the Thain’s to carry out.

It seemed only a moment ago that they’d been sitting and licking their ruffian-inflicted wounds, trying for some semblance of normalcy, not talking about the imminent attack that Thain Paladin would announce on the morrow, that the Tooks and Tooklanders might prepare for Sharkey’s attempt to overrun the borders. It would happen soon, by the end of October, the Master of Buckland thought, or the middle of November at the latest...

...or not at all, Ferdi had said, as they sat there in their quiet corner, that it might be that this was just the latest rumour started with the intent of wearing on the nerves of the Tooks, making them jump at shadows, blunting the keen edge of caution with an eye towards the future. The rest of the Shire was a lost cause, the hobbits resigned to living quietly under the thumb of the Boss, whether Lotho or Sharkey, and it seemed nothing would stir them from their apathy and quiet despair.

But wait, Tolly thought, mentally shaking himself. That was years ago, now, and Peregrin, not Paladin, is Thain. The topic of the hour, at that quiet table, was still ruffians, only the scoundrels came in small numbers, now, or not at all, for the Shire belonged to hobbits again with the return of the King… no, not the King, Tolly thought, for he’d not seen hide nor hair of the Man, himself (though his brother Hilly would tell him a great deal after a visit to the Lake with Pippin--but that thought did not make sense to him, and he dismissed it and went on with his ruminations). Rather, after the return of Captains Merry and Pippin, and Sam--who later became Mayor Sam. O aye, and Frodo Baggins, that’s right, though his name came as an afterthought when it came at all--he was seldom spoken of and hardly remembered, these days, except perhaps by his closest cousins, and most noteworthy because he'd sailed away in a boat, somewhat of a disgraceful thing in the eyes of Shirefolk.

But all he said now, to Ferdi, was, ‘That’s your fourth... It’s not like you, cousin. Drowning your sorrows?’ Truly, Ferdi usually ordered a beer and nursed it through the evening, seldom finishing even one, much less three-and-starting-another.

Ferdi grunted in answer, and Tolly shook his head. ‘I’ve not heard more than two words from you, since we came back from the Bounds,’ he said. ‘Just what is it, those Ranger fellows told you, anyhow? What did they do to you, when you sent us on home without you, and you went back to their wood?’

‘S’not their wood,’ Ferdi said, slurring his words, and he punctuated the sentiment with another gulp of his beer.

‘It’s outside the Bounds, so it’s not ours, either,’ Tolly said, and went back to the point. ‘What did they do to you? You were riding as if Sharkey himself were after you, when you rejoined us, and then you said nary a word... except mayhap to the Thain, after we got back, and you came out of his study even more sour than you’d been before, if possible.’

Ferdi took another slurping gulp of his beer, nearly upsetting the mug as he set it down again. Not much of a drinker, he was nearly in his cups at the end of a fourth pint, and yet signalling for a fifth. As the serving lass took his empty mug away, he rubbed absently at the faded scars under his chin and then reached for the new, full mug--but Tolly intercepted his hand. ‘What is it, Ferdi, brings you here, to drink yourself into a stupor, when you have your own Nell warming the bed, waiting for you at home?’

‘Gi’ me that!’ Ferdi said truculently, grabbing at the mug, but Tolly held firm.

‘Not until you tell me what’s gnawing at your innards,’ he said. ‘I’ll drink it myself, before your face, if you like...’

‘I don’t!’ Ferdi growled.

‘Or I could pour it out... waste of good beer, but...’

‘Gi’ it here, I say!’

‘Or you could tell me what’s troubling you, and I could hand it over,’ Tolly said, maintaining a tone of pleasant reason though he’d really rather bash Ferdi over the head with the mug, throw the hobbit over his shoulder and carry him home.

Ferdi blinked at him. ‘You really wanna know?’ he said.

‘Really.’

‘You’re no’ serious,’ Ferdi said.

‘Try me,’ Tolly said, striving to keep his tone even, leaning forward in an inviting manner.

‘You know wha’ the Ran... Rang... what those ruffians do with ruffians?’ Ferdi slurred, reaching for the mug. Tolly easily eluded his fumbling grasp.

‘Ah-ah, not yet,’ he said. ‘You haven’t told me all, not quite.’

‘They hang ‘em,’ Ferdi said, dropping his voice to a whisper, nodding, eyes wide and solemn.

‘Hang them,’ Tolly said, thinking back to the Troubles, when Sharkey had decreed that Tooks be killed and hung from tree branches to provide food for carrion birds.

Ferdi lifted his chin, pointing to the scars that most hobbits were too polite to notice. ‘Put ropes ‘round their necks,’ he said, speaking slowly, the words clear and terrible. ‘Haul them into the air, or kick a log out from under to leave ‘em dangling...’

‘But...’ Tolly said, suddenly losing his appetite for beer and food and anything else, for that matter. He swallowed hard, hoping not to lose the contents of his stomach there and then.

In that moment, he understood why Ferdi had spoken in whispers, or a rasping voice, when he’d returned from his encounter with ruffians, in the time of Thain Paladin, and why he’d kept his throat wrapped up for months after, even when it was mild. He wasn’t guarding his voice after a particularly bad cold, but... he’d had a rope around his neck, had been hauled into the air... and been cut down, rescued before death had been able to claim him.

‘I... I see,’ Tolly said, when he was able to speak again.

But to his surprise, Ferdi began to laugh, albeit a harsh and horrid-sounding laugh, not at all jolly. ‘You don’t see,’ Ferdi said, shaking his head in ghastly drunken glee. ‘You don’t see at all! You didn’t see them...’

Tolly swallowed down his gorge once more, and when he had it firmly in place, he pushed the mug back to Ferdi, watched the drunken hobbit take a deep draught, and when the mug was safely resting on the table once more, he said in a soft and persuasive tone, ‘What was it, I didn’t see, Ferdi?’

‘Well I’ll tell you,’ Ferdi said, leaning forward, breathing beer-laden fumes into Tolly’s face. ‘They leave them there, old friend. Leave them for bird food, though of course they’re not minding it, them being dead of course.’

‘Leave them?’ Tolly said, not understanding.

‘Aye,’ Ferdi whispered, his eyes haunted. ‘Leave them, ‘til they rot enough to fall and moulder in piles of bones on the ground.’ He began to chuckle again, a dreadful sound, made more terrible for the tears that started from his eyes. ‘A warning, you see? That wood is the best cover a Man might find, trying to sneak across the Bounds of the Shire. The country is open to either side, until you come to the western wood, to the west of Harbottle and... and Longbottom,’ he said. ‘And there, where a ruffian might try to sneak through, they have another hanging wood. Ah, those Ranger-ruffians have been busy, they have, with their murdering ways.’

Tolly just sat, mouth half-open as he imagined.

Ferdi laughed on a moment more, and then said, ‘Well, how did you think they kept ruffians out of the Shire? How did you think they kept them from coming back again, once they’d been? Nicely asked them?’

Tolly wordlessly shook his head and signalled to the serving lass to bring them both more beer.

***

He’d almost dreaded encountering Men in the Shire, after that. He’d thought about what he ought to do. Best thing, he thought, would be to shoot them on sight, to throw their lifeless carcases over ponies’ backs and carry them to the Rangers outside the Bounds, to be hung up as warning flags.

The one Man he’d caught, after that conversation, he’d carried out his plan, though to shoot in cold blood, an unarmed fellow offering no harm, caused his guts to twist inside him, and left him sleepless for several days. He wasn’t innocent, he had to keep telling himself. He was deep inside the Shire, up to no good, and the King’s Edict... But it was little comfort.

And now report had come from the Shirriff in the Woody End, brought by an urgent messenger on a galloping pony, that skulking Men had been seen, and with Ferdi on an errand to the North Farthing, Pippin had sent Tolly out with Renilard, to try and pick up their tracks and bring them to justice.

They’d found the Men’s trail, all right, near Woodhall, making their way on foot through the thick tangle of woods, and because the Men were moving with extreme caution and the hobbits with as much haste as they could manage, they caught them up not long after.

Tolly motioned to the hunter to stand fast, while he, the Shirriff, and two other hunters worked their way around to surrounding positions. They’d catch the Men in a vise, make short work of them, and bring their bodies to the Bounds.

These Men were quieter than most, almost hobbitlike in their movement, surprising the Shirriff, who’d stumbled in a hole, before all the hobbits were set and causing Renilard to bark, ‘Hands where we can see them! Don’t try and run, we have you ringed in!’

‘Please, don’t shoot,’ one of the Men shouted, and Tolly hesitated in the act of drawing his bowstring, for there was something familiar...

‘Steady!’ he shouted, seeing the Shirriff’s peril. ‘Don’t let them get close to you! Robby, get out of there!’

But the ruffians made no move to grab hold of the lamed hobbit; they just stood with their hands spread out.

‘Please,’ repeated the ruffian who’d spoken. ‘Do what you wish with me, but let my brother go.’

‘You’re in the Shire, in violation of the King’s Edict, and up to no good,’ Tolly said, moving into sight, his bow taut, arrow ready. He sighted on the speaker’s heart and drew a steadying breath. He’d make it quick; that was all the mercy he could show them.

But the other ruffian stumbled forward, lowering his arms, before coming to an awkward halt and raising them again. ‘Tolly?’ he said incredulously. ‘Tolly, is it really you?’

Chapter 32. Shoot First, Ask Questions Later

Renilard stared from the two ruffians to the head of the Thain’s escort in surprise. Of course, he’d known a Man or two in past times himself, back before the time of the Troubles. There’d been a conjuror-fellow, wandering the Shire with just a pack upon his back, earning his bread by astonishing hobbits young and old with simple tricks. Not a bad fellow at all; Paladin had granted him a pass, that he might tramp the lanes and fields of the Tookland, long after Men in general had been banned by the Thain’s order. Renilard had seen him in the marketplace of Tuckborough a time or two, had even flipped a few coppers into the upturned hat resting on the cobbles after laughing at the man’s jokes.

There’d also been a tinker of his acquaintance, who’d sold and repaired metal items, and carried teapots and other goods for sale, though after Paladin took a disliking to Men in the Tookland, the Tooks had to travel to Bywater to treat with him. Most of the travellers passing through the Shire were dwarves, at any rate. There never had been many Men in the Shire so far as the history of the Shirefolk went back, when a long-dead king had granted the land to hobbits to hold; at least, there hadn't been until Lotho began hiring his oafs and the Troubles began.

Keeping his arrow ready and centred on the heart of the spokesman, he worked his way over to Tolly, who’d let his bow droop somewhat--he’d be sending an arrow into the ground at the feet of the ruffians, at this rate. ‘They know you?’ he said. ‘You know them?’

Tolly seemed to be at a loss for an answer; his jaw worked, he swallowed, and then he raised his chin and shouted to the other hunters. ‘Bind them!’

‘Not going to shoot this lot, are we?’ Renilard said. ‘I thought the general idea, lately, was to shoot first and ask later.’

Tolly paid him no mind, watching as one of the other hunters, Joliard by name--a close cousin of Renny’s--approached the Men with care. ‘Robby!’ he called. ‘Is it well with you?’

‘Turned my ankle,’ the Shirriff said in chagrin. ‘I ought to know better than that...’

‘Renny,’ Tolly said, turning to the Thain’s chief hunter, but not to answer his questions. ‘Go and help him; see if his ankle needs to be bound up.’

‘Aye,’ Renilard said, and though he was dissatisfied, he thought he’d ask his questions later, after they’d disposed of the wretches to the Rangers.

...which, as it turned out, he had no part in, for Robby’s ankle turned out to be badly sprained if not broken, swelling in an alarming fashion and turning several shades of violent hue. Someone had to help the hobbit hobble along to the nearest habitation, and Tolly elected Renilard for that honour, accompanied by his cousin, while the other hunter, Mugwort Grubb, went with Tolly.

Four of the ponies were gone when Renilard and his cousin, supporting Robby between them, reached the spot where they’d left the beasts tethered, and he nodded his head. Tolly would have reached this spot long before the injured Shirriff and his escort could, for they'd been moving very slowly of necessity, what with the roughness of the ground. Robby had made the best of things, and they'd done what they could to spare him, but he'd been sweating profusely and pale with pain and exhaustion long before they came to the ponies and lifted him up.

It was clear to the hunter that Tolly had got up the nerve to put an end to the wretches, as was only right; for finding them this deep in the Shire meant they were up to no good, and it was a long trek to the southern Bounds, and they might try and make mischief along the way if they saw their way to escaping. Two ponies for Tolly and Mugwort to ride, and two to carry the bodies of the late ruffians to the waiting Rangers, that would be about what would be needed. There’d be no reason to take the pack-ponies if the Men were walking on their own feet.

He made a full report to the Thain upon his return to the Smials. Tolly wasn’t back yet, which was not surprising. It was a long way to the Bounds, after all, and then he'd have to make his way back again.

***

Once the greater part of the hobbits who’d captured them were well behind them, Ted ventured to speak again, even though this Tolly who confronted him, grim-faced and silent, was so different from the hobbit who had sworn everlasting friendship with the woodcutter’s boys. ‘Do what you must,’ he said, ‘but I have a last request to make of you, before we go to our doom.’

‘A last request?’ the second hobbit said, and laughed incredulously. ‘Did you hear that, Tolibold? This lot of ruffians thinks we might grant them a last request!’

‘Master Grubb,’ Tolly said stiffly. ‘They go to their deaths, and understand that fact very well, for reasons you may not be privy to knowing.’ He did not look at the prisoners, and his heart inside him was a stone, if stones could be said to ache.

‘O and I suppose you are “privy” to knowing such?’ Mugwort said, nettled, and then his good nature reasserted itself as he jumped from his saddle to help up one of the ruffians, who’d stumbled. ‘Steady now! Lots of holes in this part of the wood, little creatures digging under the ground. Wouldn’t want you to turn your ankle like the good Shirriff did, and have to carry you!’

‘He’d have to drag himself along, at least until we reached the ponies,’ Tolly muttered. He was trying to think of them as just another pair of ruffians, two more in a series of men in the Shire for no legitimate purpose, up to no good, but he was having little success.

‘Hard to walk along with hands bound behind you,’ Mugwort said in the manner of one making polite conversation, and he pointed ahead in his most helpful manner. ‘Mind that rough ground, there.’

‘My thanks,’ Tod said--not little Toddy any more, but a Man grown--and old enough, Tolly told himself fiercely, to know better than to be where he was now.

‘If you please,’ Ted said. ‘It’s not all that much out of the way, if you’re taking us to the southern Bounds.’

‘He wants to see the sights, he does!’ Mugwort crowed in astonishment. ‘Why,’ he said, shaking a wise finger, ‘I suppose you’d be asking for the grand tour, would you?’

‘We just... we’d like to see our old home once more, just once more, before our ending,’ Ted said unsteadily, and if his hands had not been bound behind him, he’d have wiped a trickle of moisture from the corner of one eye. He had no illusions about the situation; how ironic to run into an old friend at this juncture, one whose hands were as bound as Ted’s in this situation, bound by his duty to his Thain, and the King’s Edict banning Men from the Shire. They’d known... but confident in their knowing of the ways of the Shire and Shirefolk, they’d thought themselves safer than other men.

‘Not all that much out of the way,’ Tod echoed. ‘By the blood that’s between us...’

Tolly felt a burning pain in his heart, almost as if the old handkerchief with its faded brown stain were a fiery dart, smouldering inward from his pocket.

Mugwort misunderstood. ‘You’re brothers, you said,’ he responded. ‘What would bring brothers this far into the Shire, I ask?’

‘We meant no harm,’ Ted said, ‘though you won’t believe it. We simply came to reclaim what was ours, our family’s, by rights.’

‘Men lost all rights in the Shire after Bywater,’ Mugwort said firmly, though he maintained a pleasant tone. ‘They ran you lot out of the Shire, and good riddance, I say. My old dad fell in that battle, struck down though he was bearing only a pitchfork to defend himself.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Tod said. ‘It wasn’t my father, or my uncle, or my brother that struck him. They didn’t go to Bywater, but the hobbits came after the battle and burned our cottage and drove us from the land, ushered us down the Stock Road and out of the Shire, and no time to gather our belongings.’

‘Belongings!’ Mugwort snorted. ‘Gatherings, more like.’

‘They didn’t gather,’ Tolly said belatedly, pricked by his conscience. ‘They were honest woodmen, working for what they held.’

‘Woodmen!’ Mugwort said. ‘If they were in the Shire they were working for Lotho, cutting down trees willy-nilly with no regard nor consideration! Good riddance, I say!’

Though the talk continued in that vein, with Mugwort carrying the major part of the conversation with his remembrances and observations, the Men noticed a slight change in direction--the westering Sun was no longer directly to their right. Instead of moving southwards, they’d taken a slight turn towards the West. Without saying yea or nay to their request, Tolly had adjusted their course.

Though there was no future for them, Ted hoped that at least their journey would not be in vain. Tolly was an honourable hobbit, and he might see his way to finishing on their behalf what they’d set out to do.

Chapter 33. Like Lambs to the Slaughter

They struck the Stock Road and now Tolly turned them to follow the road southwards. Along the way they met fellow travellers who paused and, if they could, drew off to the side of the road at the sight of two Men walking along, armed hobbits riding behind them, as if to drive them on their way.

‘More ruffians!’ cried one of the bolder among those they met, an old farmer with a faded scar over one eye.

‘Aye,’ Tolly answered.

‘I don’t like it; I don’t like it at all,’ the farmer said, shaking a hoary head.

‘What would you like, then?’ Mugwort said cheerily. ‘Would you rather we leave them to run free?’

‘I’d ruther they don’t cross the Bounds at all, at all,’ the farmer said with a scowl.

‘We’ll be sure to tell the Thain your sentiments, won’t we, Tolly?’ Mugwort said, nodding in a wise manner.

Tolly grunted, which the farmer took for agreement, and he cleared his throat in a satisfied manner and clucked to his pony, pulling a cart full of firewood back to his farm on the Marish.

When the road turned to the West, Tolly made to follow, but Mugwort pulled up short and called to him. ‘What’re you thinking? To bring them to Tuckborough, that the Thain might have a better look at them?’

‘Nay,’ Tolly said, but he only added, ‘Get along there, you!’ to the two Men, who’d stopped when Mugwort did, since he held the ropes tied to their bound hands, while Tolly led the two extra ponies.

‘Then, what?’ Mugwort said, but getting no answer for his pains, he shrugged and muttered something or other to his pony.

A little while later, he thought he knew the answer. ‘Ye’re heading to the Cockerel, eh, to take the track to Pincup? Instead of striking directly southward?’

Tolly made no answer, but Mugwort whistled a cheery little tune as they went along, thinking of the good beer to be had at the Crowing Cockerel, and in between choruses he said to the Men, ‘Your lot burnt down the Cockerel, as you well know, but hobbits built it up again!’

For some reason the Men had nothing to say to this sentiment, and Mugwort whistled to the end of his tune and struck up another. He waved cheerily to the astonished hobbits they met along the way. He proposed stopping at the Blue Goose, to whet their whistles, but Tolly led on without pausing, and after a moment Mugwort shrugged and followed.

He was no ruffian, after all, marching prisoners off to the Lockholes, stopping to eat and drink without offering any to the wretches he escorted. He wouldn’t have minded buying a pint for the condemned men, a parting gift, a small grace. He had no doubt that they were condemned. The Tooks of late had taken to shooting trespassing Men and bringing them, dead, to the Bounds, to the waiting Rangers. He figured that if the Rangers meant to keep intruders alive, they’d have raised some objection to this practice.

The Green Hills were rising to their south, their crowns visible above and beyond the tall trees. They'd passed two more inns without stopping, and Mugwort was counting off in his head the miles to the Cockerel, when Tolly halted their progression.

‘What is it?’ Mugwort said, peering about them. There was nothing along this stretch of the Stock Road save trees and brambles and a few rocks sticking out of the mossy ground, so far as he could tell.

Tolly indicated a faint track, branching off to the south. ‘We turn south here,’ he said.

Mugwort suffered a stab of momentary disappointment. He had been looking forward to the beer at the Cockerel, after all. Ah, well. Plenty of time on the way back from the Bounds, and delivering ruffians to their death was thirsty work, needing a fair amount of beer to salve a troubled conscience. O’ course, they couldn’t let the Men wander the Shire, not when they were plainly troublemakers and lawbreakers, not after what Men had done in the time of the Troubles.

But Tolly did not proceed; instead he dismounted. ‘Here, you,’ he said to the ruffians. ‘The country is rougher than the road, and we don't need the trouble of picking you up when you fall on your faces. You’ll ride from here on.’

The Men nodded and moved toward the ponies, though their faces were puzzled, for certainly, they’d make a comical sight, riding with their legs hanging halfway to the ground. Of course, turning off the road onto this seldom-used track, no one was likely to see them.

However, Tolly had a different idea, as his companions soon learned. He tied up the ponies to a nearby tree and took up his bow once more, nocking an arrow and holding it ready to shoot. ‘Lean over the pony’s back,’ he growled when the prisoners reached the ponies' sides, and then to Mugwort he said, ‘They’ll be riding, as sacks of barley might ride.’

‘O aye,’ Mugwort said, understanding, and he felt a little sick before he took hold of himself. ‘Twas the safest way to transport ruffians to the Bounds, after all, dead, and tied a-ponyback. No trying to wriggle out of their bindings, no endless wheedling to try and convince the escort to let them go free, to give them a sporting chance to elude the Rangers, rather than turning them over as if they were sheep or pigs to be slaughtered.

It was a drain on the conscience, a weary, disheartening task, and of course Tolly was only being practical. Still, to take a man’s life, in cold blood...

He thought at first that Tolly would shoot them, and then they’d work together to wrestle them into place on the ponies' backs and secure the bodies with ropes, but instead he found himself grasping at each ruffian’s shoulders in turn and dragging him over until he was balanced on the pony’s broad back, head and feet hanging on opposite sides, and then lashing him in place.

‘Good,’ Tolly said when the task was completed, and he lowered his bow, eased the strain on the string, and shrugged his shoulders as if to release his own tension.

When he raised his head again, he pierced Mugwort with his gaze. ‘Take yourself off,’ he said. ‘Go home, laddie.’

Mugwort started at him, open-mouthed. ‘Take...’ he echoed, when he was able to speak.

‘Aye,’ Tolly said. ‘Mount your pony and go on back to Tuckborough. Report to the Thain, tell him I took this lot o’ ruffians to the Bounds.’

‘You’re taking them...’ Mugwort said, looking from Tolly to the ruffians, hanging over the ponies’ sides like so much baggage. ‘You’re not...’

‘I’m asking,’ Tolly broke in to interrupt his fumbling effort. ‘Nay, I’m telling you, lad, for your own good. Go.’

‘But you...’

‘I’ll be in no danger from these,’ Tolly said with but a glance for the ruffians. ‘Go, Mugwort. There’s sights not fit for your eyes.’

‘Well, if they’re not fit for my eyes, how can they be...?’

Tolly made an impatient gesture with his bow. ‘Ferdi and I’ve escorted more ruffians to the Bounds than you can count on your fingers,’ he said.

‘But,’ Mugwort said. ‘You told me we’d shoot them and then take them to the Bounds...’

‘I told you that it didn’t matter how they came to the Bounds, dead, or living, so long as they came there,’ Tolly corrected.

‘But you can’t shoot them, tied to ponies! What if the arrows go through...?’

‘There’s more than one way to take care of such as these,’ Tolly said, and held up a commanding hand to forestall any more argument on Mugwort’s part. ‘Don’t ask, laddie, for I won’t tell you; but these won’t come living to the Bounds a-ponyback, I swear that much.’

With a distinctly queasy feeling, Mugwort nodded and turned to his pony. He remounted, gulped a little, and raised a hand in farewell. He tried to say Grace go with you but the words stuck in his throat.

As if Tolly guessed his thoughts, he smiled grimly. ‘Aye,’ he repeated. ‘And tell the Thain I’ll be back, soon’s I’ve done my duty by them.’

Mugwort nodded, reined his pony around, and touched the beast with his heels, heading along the Stock Road at a brisk pace, glad to be heading back to the solid and steady ground of the Tookland.

Chapter 34. All Trussed Up and Nowhere to Go

Tolly tied the reins of his pony to the pack saddle of one of the laden ponies, with a gentle stroke for the pony’s jaw and a few soft words. ‘There’s the lad, Wren, there’s the lad. You’ll follow, and rest yoursel’ a bit. It’s a long way to the Bounds.’

He moved to untie the lead lines of the pack ponies and walked between their heads, leading them along the faint track, little more than a hunter’s trail.

‘Tolly!’

He paid no heed to the whispered summons, nor to the louder one that followed, but his lips tightened in irritation. It was a long way to the Bounds, indeed, and he was making it longer by taking the liberty of granting Ted’s--the ruffian’s, he reminded himself fiercely--last request.

At last he turned his head and snapped, ‘Hold your tongue!’

Far from holding his tongue, Ted seemed instead encouraged by the response. ‘Please, Tolly,’ he said, ‘not for me, but for Tod...’

‘You don’t seem to understand,’ Tolly said, seemingly to the ponies walking to either side of him. ‘I swore an oath, to serve and protect the Thain, and he swore an oath to protect the Shire, and in particular, the Tookland...’

‘We are no threat to the Shire, or even the Tookland in particular,’ Ted said, though he found it dizzying to be riding with his head hanging down, and he found it difficult to marshal his thoughts.

Tolly snorted and muttered something under his breath about ruffians, but Ted persisted. ‘Please, Tolly, I’ll pay the penalty, as demanded by the King, but don’t leave our mother alone in the world...’

‘What of your brother? Your sisters?’ Tolly said, half swinging to stare at Ted before biting his lip and resolutely facing forward again.

‘Our older sister married a Breelander,’ Ted said, his words disjointed as his pony stumbled over a patch of rough ground. ‘Our mother would return to the home of her childhood, but who will take her?’

‘Your father? Your uncle? Your older brother?’ Tolly said.

‘All dead,’ Ted replied. ‘A woodman’s life... over the years a deadfall took my father, and a snag my brother, and we lost Uncle early on--he was set upon in the Chetwood by ruffians, before the King’s Rangers cleared them out of the Breeland.’

Tolly’s lips tightened in a mirthless smile and he muttered again about the company one keeps.

‘They were not ruffians!’ Tod said hotly, following the conversation as best he could.

‘Oh aye,’ Tolly responded, heavy with irony, and said no more for a mile or two, though Ted continued in his attempts to persuade the hobbit that they meant no harm.

At last Tolly spoke again. ‘Why, then, did you trespass the King’s Edict?’ he said. ‘Surely you knew the penalty... you saw the penalty if you passed through the wood outside of the Bounds.’

Ted shuddered, and Tod gagged at the memory, and if he’d eaten more recently he’d’ve lost his last meal, what with riding face-down and the thought of what he’d seen a day or two before.

But Ted gulped as best he could, because Tolly had asked a question! ...which was more than he’d done, since their capture, and Ted meant to make the most of the opportunity. ‘We came only to reclaim what was ours,’ he said.

‘The land was the Thain’s,’ Tolly said, ‘though I suppose you might say it was Lotho’s, after he stole it away.’

‘Not the land,’ Ted said eagerly, ‘but what we left behind... buried in the land, you see...’

Tolly frowned. ‘Buried,’ he said, and added, ‘in the land,’ and his thoughts went back to the day he was nearly buried there, in that place they were soon to reach.

‘When the ruffians came from Lotho,’ Ted said, ‘and Dad decided to stay, at least through the winter months, for our little sister had never been strong...’

‘Aye,’ Tolly acknowledged, when Ted’s narrative stopped.

The Man blinked hard and sniffed, thinking of his little sister, gone these many years, for all the good staying in the Shire under Lotho and then Sharkey had done. He must persist, for he had Tolly listening, at least, and that was more than he’d hoped.

‘Uncle took me out in the dark of the moon,’ he went on. ‘There were always ruffians, always, coming and going and some staying. Our cot was a convenient place for them to cadge a home-cooked meal and exchange news with those others who went about frightening and gathering. Two were snoring on the hearth as we eased ourselves out, that night...’

Tolly remained silent, but craning his head, Ted could see the hobbit’s shoulders stiff, taut with listening.

‘We buried our valuables,’ he said, ‘for fear the ruffians would gather from us as well as hobbits--we were Shirefolk, after a fashion...’

‘Valuables,’ Tolly prompted, when Ted faltered again, dizzy with the shaking of riding face-down over a rough stretch of trail.

‘A few coins, a silver cup, and... a bit of jewellery,’ Ted said at last.

‘Jewellery,’ Tolly echoed, and for some reason to his mind came a scrap of memory, a glimpse of delicate filigree around her neck as Anemone bent over him, when he was in the tub, being warmed from the chill he’d taken the day he found little Toddy wandering in the wood.

‘Just a few trifles,’ Ted said.

‘Worth risking your necks?’

‘It meant something to our mother,’ Ted said after a long pause, where the ponies’ hoofs seemed loud in the silence. He swallowed again, thinking how to proceed, to snatch some measure of gain from his loss. ‘If you would but swear to return these things to our mother in Bree, we’d go quietly to our doom without protest or reproach.’

‘You’ve no grounds for reproach, any road,’ Tolly said sourly, and he walked on in silence after that, not heeding anything else the brothers might have to say.

At long last they stopped, and Tolly stretched, and then he said, ‘We’re here.’

‘Here?’ Ted said, and Tod added fearfully, ‘The Bounds?’

‘Your old home,’ Tolly said, and from their awkward positions the Men craned to see what they could... thick brambles, with the stonework of a crumbled chimney rising above the ruins of the foundation. ‘Not much left, I fear.’

Part of the shed was still standing, grey-weathered boards leaning together though the roof had long since gone. Tolly tied up the ponies and went to poke around in the shed, coming out with a battered spade. ‘Don’t fancy digging with my hands,’ he said, hefting the tool. ‘Now, where are these “valuables” of yours?’ For in truth, he only half-believed their tale.

It was awkward, for he had to fight his way through the encroaching brambles to reach the old crumbling chimney, and then he had to concentrate on counting his paces, for everything looked different from what he remembered. His paces weren’t all that different from Ted’s, at least the man’s boyhood stride, but he stretched his legs just in case, and when he’d counted off the right number of steps, taking him out of the glade, he began to dig.

He was glad of the fine leather gloves that protected his hands--this time. A prickle on the back of his neck told him of watching eyes, and he half-turned to see the men’s heads lifted, straining to see. How odd, he thought, that events should bring him back to this place, to this occupation, even to the detail of the two watching ruffians.

He took a deep breath and turned back to his digging. He only half-believed their tale--in his experience, ruffians would tell any lie to try and win his sympathy, in attempt to evade their doom. He’d been friends with Teddy and Toddy, two boys, still young enough to believe in everlasting friendship. But times changed, Tolly told himself, and Men did, as well, or so it seemed. The pleasant tinker, the wandering conjuror, the trader who brought coffee from far places, these had all been replaced with thieving, murderous ruffians.

O aye, Pippin might vouch for the King and his friends the guardsmen of Gondor, but the Thain was fond of telling all sort of outlandish tales, about walking trees and enormous delvings and trolls the size of a byre.

His anger returned in a rush as the hole grew deeper. What, did they expect him to dig himself in over his head once again? He threw a suspicious look behind him, half-expecting to find them worrying at their bonds. But no, Tod’s head drooped against his pony’s side, and Ted lifted his head at Tolly’s turning.

‘What is it? Did you find it?’ the man called eagerly.

‘Naught,’ Tolly said in disgust. ‘A fine prank you’ve pulled. What were you hoping to gain?’

‘No,’ Ted said, straining to lift his head higher. ‘It’s there! It must be there!’

Tolly threw the shovel down and walked back to the ponies. ‘I don’t know what you were up to,’ he said. ‘Are there more ruffians, then, coming to meet you here? And you thought to busy me about some wearying task, that I might not hear them as they come, until they knock my head in and throw me into my own hole?’

‘No,’ Ted said, and Tod added his protest.

Tolly began to untie the lead lines. ‘Please,’ Ted said. ‘If you’d untie me, I could pace it off, I could do the digging...’

‘You think me such a great fool as all that?’ Tolly said, a sneer on his face to hide the pain in his heart. ‘That’s what this is about, a way to get me to untie you? After I’ve done what you asked, brought you to your old home...?’

‘Please, Tolly, by the blood that’s between us,’ Ted said, but Tod interrupted, his gaze piercing the hobbit.

‘By the friendship you swore,’ the younger man said softly. ‘For ever and a day, and a fortnight more...’

To Tolly, it felt as if a great fist had clenched itself round his heart, and his breath shuddered within him. They’re ruffians! he told himself. They’ll say aught, to win free, and murder me into the bargain...

But seeming of their own volition, his hands were tying up the ponies again, and then he turned to Ted, untied the bindings holding him to the pony, gave a push to unbalance the load so that the man fell sprawling.

Tolly stepped back, stringing his bow and fitting an arrow. ‘Free yourself,’ he said, his tone unfriendly. ‘If you work hard enough at it, you ought to be able.’

It took several tries, but Ted was at last able to draw his bound wrists behind him, over his heels, to his front, and while the hobbit watched, stony-faced, he worked his hands free at last, and then unbound his ankles.

The hobbits had taken his boots away when they’d captured him--they’d be sent to the King, a record of sorts of Men caught in the Shire--but he braved the brambles, wincing as he minced his way to the chimney, at last resting his back against the stone. His face was pale as he lifted his eyes to meet Tolly’s. ‘That wasn’t so difficult as it might have looked.’

‘I’m that happy for you,’ Tolly said, and nodded towards the place where he’d dug his empty hole.

Tod had lifted his head as high as he could, the tendons standing out in his neck, and he was whispering something under his breath.

‘Go on,’ Tolly said, holding his arrow steady.

‘You might rest your arm,’ Ted answered, drawing a deep breath. He closed his eyes, the better to imagine the clearing as it had looked, one midnight all those years ago.

‘You’re not going to go to sleep on me, now, are you?’ Tolly said. It was as he’d thought--a play for time, a distraction, a way to escape.

‘Somehow I think you’d make a poor mattress,’ Ted said, not opening his eyes. ‘Ours, we always stuffed with bracken, very sweet and comfortable.’

Tolly did not want to smile, but his lips twitched. How could the man...? But of course, he was trying to put Tolly at his ease. It was a good thing, the hobbit thought, that Tod could not loose himself while tied a-ponyback. ‘None of your nonsense, now,’ he said, and it was an echo of golden days in this very wood.

‘Come along,’ he added, raising his bow a little. ‘Count your steps, and dig where you fetch up, and if you come up empty I’ll have to shoot you where you stand, for I won’t trust you to be still and let yourself be trussed for delivery to the Rangers.’

The man drew another deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped off, though brambles twined their thorny vines all around him. He grunted as the thorns pierced his feet, but he dared not falter. Tolly's arrow would pierce further, should he fail.

Chapter 35. For Old Times' Sake

Ted’s steps took him a little further than Tolly’s had, and he ended near the decaying stump of what had once been a tall tree. ‘I remember now!’ he said, his face lighting, and he moved to the site of Tolly’s recent excavations and scooped up the little spade. ‘Between the roots, it was; Uncle told the tree to guard our treasure--‘twas still standing, then, an old grandfather with a lightning-blasted crown.’ He continued to speak as he pushed the blade into the soil and lifted it out. It was a bit awkward, barefoot, to push down upon the spade with his foot torn and bleeding from the thorns, but he managed. ‘Must’ve come down in a storm, some years back, and been scavenged for the firewood.’

‘Aye,’ Tolly said, though his arrow did not waver. ‘Fallen wood is free to any who’d cut it up and haul it away, as it ever was.’

‘Not under Lotho, it wasn’t,’ Ted said, digging away, and then he stopped, realising his mistake. ‘But of course, you’ll have gone back to the sensible ways of the Shire before Lotho.’

‘For the most part,’ Tolly said, though his jaw had tightened at the reminder of the Troubles.

Ted resumed his digging, but his words were slow, as if he were thinking through them as he spoke. ‘So you see, it isn’t just Men who can be ruffians, but Hobbits as well.’

Tolly blinked at this--he might’ve bristled, but for the mention of Lotho Sackville-Baggins, who had been just as much a ruffian as any of the Men he hired, in truth if not in stature. Tolly had to admit this fact, though he'd never thought of it in just that way before.

‘We talked about it, about hiring one of the Shirefolk to retrieve our valuables for us,’ Ted went on.

‘Talked about it,’ Tolly prompted, when only the sound of the spade had been heard for a few moments.

‘Talked about it,’ Ted affirmed, ‘but then we didn’t know as we could trust just any hobbit...’

Had he not been holding his arrow steady, Tolly would have scratched his head at this. As it was, he furrowed his brow. ‘You might’ve sent me a message,’ he said at last. ‘You must’ve known that I’d’ve helped you, any way I could.’

‘Well, we might’ve,’ Ted said, ‘only we didn’t know where you were to be found, or even if, if you take my meaning. The hobbits who drove us from the Shire were Bolgers, and they didn’t know you from a Baggins... They told us of the Battle of Bywater, and how an hundred Tooks marched to the defence of the Shire, and some fell there, dead or badly wounded, but they couldn’t tell us if you were one of them... Uncle asked in particular, and Dad did, but they couldn’t name any of the Tooks there, save Captain Peregrin, the son of the Thain.’

Tolly shifted uneasily, but all he said was, ‘You might’ve sent word to the Great Smials, any road, and asked, at least.’

‘But your father told us in particular that his family were not of the Great Smials,’ Ted said, ‘and surely there be many Tollys amongst the Tooks.’

‘More than one,’ Tolly acknowledged. ‘Tis a common enough name, though Tolibold might’ve brought you better result.’

‘So,’ Ted said, and then he stopped, and bent to the hole, dropping the shovel, and swept away the dirt with his hands, with care, and lifted a box of rough-carved wood, half-rotted but still whole, and cradled it to his breast.

Tolly lowered his bow. ‘Truth,’ he whispered. There really was something buried on the land, though what the box contained was still to be seen.

When Ted made no further move, Tolly cleared his throat. ‘Open it,’ he said.

The man started, for he’d been a world away in his thoughts, thinking of an uncle long dead, a mother waiting in Bree without knowledge of her sons’ journey, having been told only that they’d gone a-journey to do some trading, a wife who knew that her husband walked into danger, though she didn’t know exactly what that danger was, but all for the sake of his mother, and the promise of a better life.

Slowly, Ted lifted the lid of the box. First he brought out a cloth-wrapped object, and from a rent in the cloth there was a dull gleam, as of badly tarnished silver. When the man took the cloth away, Tolly saw that indeed, it was a silver cup, one he remembered standing proudly on the mantel, polished until it shone. A leather bag was next. Tolly walked forward, bow at his side, and held out his hand. Ted poured out a few coins into the hobbit’s hand, and Tolly nodded, closing his fist. ‘It is as you said,’ he murmured. He lifted his hand, and Ted held the mouth of the bag open, that Tolly might pour the coins back into their resting place. ‘And the jewellery?’

For Ted still clasped the box to his breast, and Tolly could not see into it. ‘It is here,’ the Man said, stirring the contents with the fingers of his free hand.

‘I would see,’ Tolly said.

Ted hesitated, but then he suddenly lowered the box, holding the lid open. Tolly looked into the depths and was transfixed at the sight. Yes, it was the chain of silver filigree that the hobbit remembered, even from the small glimpse he'd had, and somehow it was wondrously untarnished, like that mailcoat of Bilbo Baggins that he’d seen once, shining as if light itself had been captured within the intricately worked metal. But the jewel...

He was aware that he’d been holding his breath when specks swam before his eyes, and his head swam. He took a shaking breath, reaching a tentative hand into the box to touch that marvellous jewel...

It was with difficulty that he withdrew his hand again, after cupping the jewel in his palm for a long moment. ‘If your father and his family were not ruffians,’ he whispered, ‘then how did poor woodcutters come to own such a treasure?’

‘It’s a long story. But... You can see how we feared to trust anyone with this commission,’ Ted said.

‘Aye,’ Tolly agreed, his bow hanging forgotten at his side. ‘It would be hard to dig up such a treasure, and give it up after holding it... and the Shire custom says that legendary treasure belongs to the finder. That jewel... it must be something of legend.’ He raised his eyes from the necklace in the bottom of the wooden box, to gaze into Ted’s face. ‘I’d like to hear the story of it.’

‘If you’ll untie my brother,’ Ted said, ‘we can make a fire, for the darkness is falling, and dig some wild roots for roasting, and gather a few mushrooms and berries, and then...’ he took a deep breath, ‘and then, we’ll suffer ourselves to be tied up again, and delivered to the Bounds, if only you will swear to us that you’ll deliver this box and all it contains to our mother in Bree, that you’ll deliver it yourself and trust no one else to do so.’

‘I’ll not promise any such thing,’ Tolly said, and the man’s shoulders slumped. ‘But I’ll think on it, this night, while I listen to your tale, and if I find that the jewel indeed belongs to your family, I’ll see what I can do for you.’

Chapter 36. A Tale Oft Told

Tolly unstrung his bow and put it away with the unneeded arrow, and he went over to where Tod hung over the second pack-pony’s back.

‘Come here and help me,’ he said to the older brother, ‘lest I drop him on his head.’

Ted came in limping haste, and when he reached them he put the box down and rested one of his feet safely on it, as if to reassure himself. He gave Tod’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘Found it,’ he whispered.

‘Aye,’ said Tod in a cracked whisper, and Tolly said, ‘Let’s get him down.’

Ted eased Tod from the pony’s back as Tolly loosed the binding ties, and he half-carried and half-dragged his brother to a spot clear of brambles. Together man and hobbit untied the bindings around the younger man’s wrists and ankles, and then Tolly said with a frown, ‘But sit yourself down, and let me see to those feet of yours.’

‘Hobbit feet they are not, sad to say,’ Ted said with a wince, while Tod sat rubbing at his wrists and then his feet, to get the blood moving once more, for he’d been bound more tightly than his brother.

‘I’m afraid our days of going bare of foot in the woods are long past,’ Tod said, and coughed, for his mouth was very dry.

Tolly went to Wren, bringing back his own water bottle, which he pressed upon both of his prisoners.

‘Yes,’ Ted said. ‘Boots are a good thing, when you’re a woodman, just in case of the slip of an axe...’

‘Helps with brambles, too,’ Tod said, and even though they were speaking nearly in whispers, the flow of conversation warmed the hobbit with memories of past times, as he bathed Ted’s feet with the last of his water and bound them up with strips of cloth he’d carried in his saddle bags, in case of injury to someone in the muster sent to seize the trespassers. It seemed the preventative measure would come in handy after all. In the meantime, Tod busied himself gathering wood and dry moss for a fire.

The stars were beginning to peep through the canopy above when Tolly finished, and he improvised a torch for himself and another for Tod. Tolly found roots in the patch of ground that had once been Anemone’s kitchen garden, and Tod remembered where to find mushrooms growing nearby--he could find them in the gloom by the rich smell, as a matter of fact--and the brambles held berries in abundance, as if to atone for their thorny ways. Ted, by the others’ orders, remained seated, laying the wood for a small fire, just big enough to warm their hands and roast a mushroom or three.

It wasn’t long before they were roasting mushrooms on the ends of sticks while waiting for the coals to be ready for the wild roots they’d gathered. Ted sat with the box under his elbow, and Tolly could not blame him for his caution, not after holding that jewel in his hand. His caution seemed to be catching: At one point the hobbit even took out his bow once more, stringing the weapon and making several arrows ready.

‘What is it?’ Tod hissed.

‘Thought I heard somewhat,’ Tolly whispered in reply. The three listened for a few long moments, but nothing was to be heard, and soon the mushrooms were ready for the eating, and Tod moved to bury the roots in the coals.

Waiting for the roots to roast, there was time for talking, and Tolly said--though he was careful yet, to keep his voice low, ‘So... you promised me a fine tale.’

‘I don’t know how fine the tale,’ Ted said, and Tod hitched a little closer, the better to hear.

‘That’s for me to say,’ Tolly said, ‘and you to tell, as it were.’

‘Well, then,’ Ted said. ‘Let us begin with a family of woodcutters, living a long time ago, before my time, anyhow, and far away from this place.’

‘A wood, it must’ve been, if they were woodcutters,’ Tolly said.

Ted nodded, the firelight playing on his face in fingers of flickering light. ‘A wood it was,’ he said, ‘a great wood, Greenwood they called it, and a man could walk for days and find no ending of trees.’

‘Greenwood,’ Tolly said. ‘Sounds a pleasant enough place. There are old hobbit tales about a Green Wood... a place where the Fair Folk dwell...’

‘Yes!’ Tod said, excited. ‘Fair folk dwell there still!’

Tolly smiled faintly at such a fancy, that the Green Wood of old hobbit lore might be the same as Ted meant--for that fabled wood was the stuff of legend, tales old uncles told by the fireside to while away a stormy winter evening. But all he said was, ‘Go on.’

‘The woodcutter had a little daughter, sweet she was, singing and dancing and bringing joy to his life. She was all he had in the world, his only child, for his wife had died not long after the little one was born.

‘Now he was wise in the way of the Wood, and the Fair Folk let him be, for he took wood only as had blown down in storms, or was standing dead, or ridden with insects and disease, and never did he cut a healthy, living tree. While he worked, his daughter would wander nearby, singing and gathering flowers or wild fruit in the clearings, but her father was careful to tie one end of a long rope around her waist, and the other to a tree beside the path, for to lose the path was to be lost indeed, in that great, green Wood.’

‘Did he do the same?’ Tolly wanted to know.

‘As a matter of fact, he did,’ Ted said, and Tod nodded wisely. ‘In that Wood, a wise man did not stray from the path, lest he be forever lost, and he made sure to be within his own doors before dark. ‘Twas a strange and magical place, that Wood...’

Tolly nodded, sceptical but still willing to listen. He munched on a mushroom and spiked another on the end of his stick for roasting.

Ted spoke slowly, as if testing the thread he spun. ‘One day, the woodman took less note of his surroundings than he usually did; so intent was he on his work that he did not notice the shadows growing and the gathering twilight. His little daughter had laid herself down after their daymeal, and he thought her safely asleep. But he did not know that in her dream, she heard singing, wonderful song, and she arose, slipped out of her safekeeping rope, and wandered away from the path, into the Wood. How worried the woodman was, when he looked up to see the darkening sky as if nightfall were nearly upon them. He was beside himself then, when he'd gone back to where he’d left his little one asleep, to find the loop at the end of her rope empty! He forgot all in his frenzy; frantic, he ran and called...’

Tolly shuddered at the thought, and burnt his fingers taking the roasted mushroom from his stick again. ‘How old was the lass?’ he said. ‘As old as Toddy, when I found him wandering?’

‘Older,’ Ted said. ‘Perhaps twice Toddy’s age, when you found him. Four, I think she was, or five.’

‘Ah,’ Tolly said. A five-year-old, alone in a trackless Wood, a strange and magical place, as Ted had called it. In the father’s place, he’d’ve been frantic, too.

‘A terrible storm came crashing down upon the Wood,’ Ted went on, ‘rain, and wind, and though it was not yet time for the Sun to seek her bed, the forest was as dark as a moonless night, except for when flashes of lightning would split the sky and give a second or two of light. The rain came down, and hail that pounded like hammers, until the woodman fell senseless beneath the onslaught.’

‘And what of the little girl?’ Tolly asked, his insides clenched tight, hunger forgotten.

‘She’d found refuge in a hollow log,’ Ted said, wonder in his voice. ‘She followed a rabbit there, and it was as if the beast were sent to bring her to safety, for it ran into the hollow and disappeared out the other side, just as the storm broke. She huddled there in childish terror, weeping for her father, as the wind howled and the rain bucketed down, until at last, exhausted, she fell asleep.’

‘Poor mite,’ Tolly whispered. ‘What happened then?’

‘When she awoke, all was still and the new day was dawning,’ Ted said softly. ‘The storm had ended, but a mist hung in the air, and the Wood was very still. The little girl crawled from her hiding and stood upright, rubbing her eyes, for how the forest was changed! Great trees had been torn from their places, lying with their roots in the air, as if a giant had walked through the Wood with shattering strides, flattening the trees wherever his steps fell.

‘She crept along, afraid even to whisper, wondering how she’d ever find her home again, or even if that home were standing after so terrible a storm.’

‘And yet, somehow, she had faith that her father would find her,’ Tod put in. ‘She never doubted...’

‘No, she never doubted,’ Ted said, ‘though she’d no idea how he’d find her, when she didn’t even know where she was! But she stumbled along as best she could, looking all about her and lifting her little nose to sniff the air, smelling for wood smoke, listening for the sound of her father calling to her. But what should she hear...’

‘A moaning, a groaning,’ Tod said, and gave a realistic groan, for that was how he’d always heard the story.

‘She was afraid, but then the rabbit appeared once more, either her little saviour friend, or another exactly like, she never knew, but she thought him a friend, and approached him as he sat up on his haunches and sniffed the air. And then he turned around and began to hop slowly, and she heard the groaning again, but the rabbit didn’t seem to be afraid, and so she wasn’t, either.’

‘Was it her father?’ Tolly wanted to know. ‘Had she found him?’

‘She’d found someone, all right, but it wasn’t her father,’ Tod said, licking his fingers after his final mushroom, and then shoving his stick into the coals to retrieve roasted roots.

Tolly joined him in pulling out the roots. He picked up a large one, juggling it back and forth from hand to hand until it was cool enough to hold, and then he broke it open and scooped the fluffy, steaming contents into his mouth. ‘Mmm,’ he said, and with his mouth full, added, ‘So who was it?’

‘One of the Fair Folk,’ Tod whispered, his eyes alight.

‘It was one of the Fair Folk,’ Ted said at the same time, and he took a bite of roasted root and followed with a handful of berries, and when he’d swallowed he went on. ‘One of the Fair Folk had been caught by a falling tree, and though he was not crushed, he was trapped, and unable to free himself. He lay helpless, and the little girl took pity and sat down beside him, and smoothed his hair back from his face and patted his face with her little hands and sang to soothe his ills.’

Tolly swallowed hard at the picture that arose in his mind, a tiny mite of a girl soothing one of the wondrous Fair Folk.

‘Through the day and into the following darkness she sang,’ Ted said, ‘such songs as her father had taught her, and others that came into her head on the breeze, and when she grew thirsty she licked the dew from the leaves, and she sopped up water in her kerchief and brought it to the helpless Elf and squeezed the liquid into his mouth, and still she sang, through the darkness and into the following morn...’

‘It was her singing that brought her father to her,’ Tod said. ‘She had a beautiful voice...’

‘Still has,’ Ted said with a nod.

‘I don’t take your meaning,’ Tolly said, but Ted was not finished with his story.

‘Her father found them, and he used his axe to free the fellow,’ he said. ‘As I said, the Wood Elf was not badly hurt, for it seems the tree in its falling twisted somehow, for it did not wish him harm...’

‘I don’t understand,’ Tolly said.

‘I don’t, either, but that is how she’s always told the story,’ Ted said. ‘The tree was ripped from its growing place by the force of the wind, but it knew the Wood Elf was there, and turned aside from crushing him, though its limbs caught him a glancing blow and pinned him to the earth... The woodman cut him free again, and he bowed--a little stiffly, perhaps--and led the twain to their own little cottage in the wood, by some wonder spared though trees had fallen all around, and he left them there with a quiet word of thanks.’

‘He bowed to them at their doorway, and the woodman bowed in return, and when he looked up, the fellow was gone,’ Tod said.

Tolly sighed. ‘And that is your tale?’ he said, for a moment forgetting the jewel.

‘Not quite,’ Tod said, his lips twitching. ‘Go on, Ted, tell the rest of it!’

Chapter 37. To Sing a Song of Joy

‘Well now,’ Ted said, idly stirring up the coals with his roasting stick, ‘I don’t know that you’ll believe the rest of the tale, wondrous as it is...’

‘I’d scarce believe the first part of it,’ Tolly said, ‘were it not that I held that marvellous jewel in the palm of my hand... so, try me.’

‘Well now,’ Ted said again, and he broke his roasting stick and laid the pieces on the coals to burn away. Tod soberly followed suit, and after a moment Tolly, his brow furrowed with thought, did the same.

‘The little girl and her father rested well that night, in their snug little home, just as they might’ve on any other night. Indeed, the great wood around them seemed quieter than usual, no nightly noises to disturb them, nothing to make their dog get up and walk to the door to sniff and whine, nor to make the woodman rise from his rest to check the fastenings on the shutters and the door to make sure all was secure. There was not even cause for the little one to cry out in her sleep.

‘And the next day, they went out again, and they did not need to go far--the father cut up a largish tree that had fallen for all practical purposes in their yard, and a great deal of good wood it would provide, why, it would make several cartloads by itself, and it was of the sort of wood that sold well in Laketown.’

‘Laketown,’ Tolly echoed, remembering old mad Baggins and his tales that had gone round the Tookland after the fellow disappeared.

‘Aye,’ Ted said, spreading out the coals of the fire. As he continued his tale, the three watched the bright glowing embers wink out, one by one. ‘And another peaceful night followed, or most of a peaceful night, anyhow, for sometime in the wee hours of the morning...’

‘There came a knock at the door!’ Tod said, excitement in his tone.

‘A knock! At that hour! No woodman would choose to go outside his door between dusk and dawning, not in that place,’ Ted went on with a shadowy nod. ‘Now for some reason the woodman felt no fear, yet he started up, feeling as if he were still half in dream; but his little daughter ran to the door, laughing, and pushed at the heavy bar. And before her father could stop her, she had the door open...’

‘And a great shining figure stood in the doorway, tall and proud, his golden hair crowned with leaves,’ Tod added eagerly, ‘and he laughed, and caught her up, and lifted her high as her father gazed in wonder.’

‘It was the Elvenking himself,’ Ted whispered, ‘and a host of fair folk arrayed behind him.’

‘The woodman had often heard the Fair Folk passing by, their horns blowing and dogs baying as they hunted, sometimes by moonlight and sometimes by day, though he’d never seen them...’ Tod said.

‘And he’d heard from his father about the great woodland feasts the Elves would hold, and though he sometimes fancied he could see the glow of fires and the glimmer of torches afar off and even smell savoury meat roasting, as he was returning belated to his home, he always hurried his steps, for he feared the Elves and their enchantments,’ Ted said. ‘And yet, here they were, ringed about his little house, and the Elvenking himself at his door!

‘The woodman rubbed his eyes, thinking he was still dreaming, but the Elvenking smiled and bowed to him, saying, “We are greatly indebted to you, and to your little flower, and would humbly ask that you come with us, for though it is not our custom, we would take you into our wood, that you shall feast with us tonight, if you will...”

‘ “If I will...” the woodman murmured, but the little girl clapped her hands in delight, and whispered something in the Elvenking’s ear that brought another smile to his fair face. “It is decided, then,” he said, and turning away from the door he lifted the girl to his shoulder, as if she weighed no more than thistledown. And though he was but in his nightshirt, the woodman followed, as one walking in his sleep.

‘On they walked, deep into the wood, until they came to a green glade where the turf was fine and soft as moss and torches fastened to the surrounding trees gave bright light to a festive scene. There many elvish-looking folk were sitting round a splendid fire, eating and drinking and singing and laughing merrily. Dressed in green and brown they were, with flowers twined in their gleaming hair and gems of white and green glinting from their collars and their belts, and many of them sat upon sawn rings of felled trees; though none of it was the work of the woodman--he was sure that he’d never been there before.’

Tolly felt dizzy--belatedly he realised that he was holding his breath, and he remembered to breathe. Nearly all the embers had gone out, and the sky above brightened as the Moon smiled down upon the storyteller and his listeners. The hobbit could almost see, in his mind’s eye, the leaf-crowned Elvenking, the nightclad woodman and his daughter, the merry feasters; it seemed to him a scrap of elusive melody floated upon the breeze...

‘The Elvenking sat the child upon his lap, and he served her from his very own plate of silver with gems embedded all round the rim, and he gave her of his own jewelled cup to drink, golden nectar sweet as honey and refreshing as the waters of an icy spring on a sweltering day. Her father drank the wine of the Elves and soon made very merry, indeed, eating and laughing and singing along with his hosts.

‘And then a hush fell, as a fair figure, young and somehow old at once, approached the Elvenking and fell to one knee before him, bowing his head. And the Elvenking stretched forth his hand, and laid it on the golden head before him in blessing, and then he spoke to the guests. “This is my son, greatly beloved, whom you succoured in his time of need. Far from our halls, he was, and unlikely to be found by one of our folk for many a day... I am deeply thankful for your...” ’

‘The wine had filled the woodman’s head and heart, and made him bolder to speak than his usual mien, and he interrupted the fair King! ...to say, “Forgive me, my lord, but I did naught more than any other...” ’

‘The Elvenking but smiled, and turned the child to face his son, and she gladly reached out and was taken into a gentle embrace, and then the son of the Elvenking arose and called for a dance, and bearing the child in his arms he led in a merry revel that made the woods ring with music.

‘And when the dance was done, he brought her back to her father, and there was a jewel hanging from a silvery chain about her neck, and the woodman gaped to see such riches. And when he turned to the Elvenking, the Lord of the Wood said, “It is only a token of our friendship and protection; she may wander in our wood at will and know no harm, and will ever be welcome in our halls. Elf-friend I name her, and when she sits among us she will wear a crown of windflowers as fair as her name.” ’

And Ted fell silent at last, while Tolly sat in silent marvel. When the hobbit spoke, his words came slowly, as if he were more than half lost in wonder. ‘Windflowers,’ he whispered, ‘as anemones that nod and blow on the breeze.’ He swallowed hard, and felt the tears spring to his eyes. ‘Your mother,’ he said, ‘not only friend to such small and insignificant folk as myself, but to kings and their sons...’ And his heart too full to speak further, he sat quiet, listening to the rustling of the leaves on the night breeze, the lonely hooting of the owl somewhere beyond them.

‘Our mother’s heart pines; she would return to Greenwood the Great, to the home of her childhood and youth and early married years,’ Tod said low, ‘but she will not go, bearing not the Elvenking’s gift as if she carelessly lost the treasure.’

‘And so you came to retrieve the jewel,’ Tolly said.

‘Aye,’ Ted whispered, and in the darkness he bowed his head. ‘Do what you will with us, but take the jewel to her, that she may return at last to her first home.’

***

A/N: Though Gildor Inglorion is not of the Wood Elves, the Elvenking’s invitation is modelled on the former’s fair speech to Frodo and Sam in “Three is Company,” in Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien. The Wood Elves’ feast is taken from descriptions in “Flies and Spiders” from The Hobbit by J.R.R.Tolkien. Got to give credit where due.

Chapter 38. If a Thing is Worth Doing

Pippin, still watching the corridor for the approach of steaming water, jerked around at the sudden soft exclamation. Legolas!

‘Strider?’ he whispered.

But Elessar, upright, bent back to the silent figure on the bed, his brow furrowing in concentration as if he’d been interrupted in some important task.

***

It seemed forever that the three sat in silence, though in reality it must have been but minutes. At last Tolly spoke. ‘Get on your ponies. We must ride fast and far, if we are to come to the Bounds before the dawning.’

Ted gulped. Dawning. It was the traditional time for execution of common criminals.

Tolly heard the small sound; he put a hand on Ted's arm, firm and reassuring. ‘Nay,’ Tolly said. ‘We ride to your saving, and not to your destruction, at least, if it is at all possible.’ He rose abruptly, shuffling his feet through the area where the fire had been, making sure all the coals were out. It wouldn’t do to leave a fire burning unattended, and they must be on their way. There was no time to lose.

His ears caught the soft sound of the men moving to the ponies; when he joined them, he could see by moonlight that they’d brought the ends of the lead ropes round the ponies’ necks and back to the halters again, to make reins of a rough sort, and he nodded approval.

He mounted Wren, and the men mounted their own ponies, their legs hanging ridiculously long, but the ponies were sturdy beasts, if small, and would make good time even heavily burdened--and in truth, a man’s weight would be about the same as two hobbits riding together.

Suddenly confident, sure of his course, he kneed his pony into motion, and his two companions followed.

Through the night they rode, through the forest, winding their way between the great hills, the start of the Green Hill country, following the hunters’ trails that Tolly knew, ever southward, but not to the Rangers, no, not to the charnel wood. Desperate times call for desperate measures, but Tolly was something of a gambler at heart, and he thought he could beat the odds, with Wren’s help.

Down the Shire they rode, splashing across the Shirebourne at a low fording place, into the South Farthing. They galloped and trotted by turns across the fields, a ghostly parade, a short figure with two taller ones following, and if any hobbit, robbed of sleep, saw them he might have thought them ghosts of departed ruffians, from the time of the Troubles.

They rode their ponies hard, racing the Moon across the sky, for before he sought his bed, even, the Sun would be rubbing the sleep from her eyes and anyone seeing them would know them for what they truly were. An hour before the dawning, they’d gone some fifty miles, but Tolly’s heart leapt, for in the silvery half-light he saw they’d made good; they splashed their way across a small stream and he turned Wren’s head to follow the water to the southeast, towards the great but unseen Brandywine beyond.

Straight ahead as the crow flies, would be Sarn Ford, though only crows flew across this stretch of land. This part of the Bounds was avoided by travellers whether on legitimate business or not, and for good reason. Wren snorted and tossed his head in disgust.

‘It’s a bog!’ Ted said, riding up beside Tolly. ‘Tolly, you don’t mean...?’

‘I do,’ Tolly said, and grinned. He patted Wren’s neck. ‘This’un is a bog-pony, born and bred in the country round Needlehole, near the Rushock Bog. ‘Tis said his mam wandered too close to the bog, grazing, and he followed her in. A passing hobbit saw him, nearly up to his ears, and lucky for Wren he had a rope and was able to pull the baby colt out... They fostered him on goat’s milk, and while he grew to be smaller than most ponies, his heart was as great as any, and he has a nose for a bog...’

‘So we’ll go round, and he’ll keep us out of danger?’ Tod said from Tolly’s other side.

The hobbit laughed softly. ‘There are Bounders and Rangers to either side,’ he said, ‘but if our luck holds, there’ll be none in the bog itself. And aye, he’ll keep us out of danger, though I warrant he doesn’t care for the path.’

He pressed the pony with his knees, and Wren jogged in place for a moment or two, arguing with his rider, but at last Tolly had his way and the pony moved reluctantly forward. Tolly threw over his shoulder an urgent, ‘Keep right behind me; don’t stray a foot from the path we’re making. Do you know how Longbottom, to the west, got its name? They say there's no bottom to this particular piece of boggy ground...’

‘Aye,’ Ted said under his breath, motioning his younger brother to go before him. ‘You can lay a safe bet, I won’t stray.’ He opened the box to slip the necklace over his head, tucking it safely away under his shirt, and he crammed the bag of coins under his belt. The silver cup he grasped tightly in his hand for a moment, before buttoning it under his shirt beside the necklace, and he tucked the box under his arm again, for no good reason; he could have dropped by the way and let it sink into the bog, but then again, it might float, and draw a curious hobbit to his death.

The Sun rose upon them there in the bog, sparkling from the wet places. It was late in the year, but this far south the weather had remained mild, the flowering plants still bloomed bright, and there were still enough midges to be a nuisance and a bother. Tolly gave Wren his head, maintaining a loose rein, and let the pony pick his way, wandering in search of safe footing. He had full confidence in Wren, and it helped that the men rode pack ponies, used to following nose-to-tail, and not likely to step out of line, even when their leader stopped for long moments, sniffing at the ground before him and to either side.

In that flat country only the birds saw them; there was no vantage where someone could stand to overlook the marshes. So treacherous was that bog that the Rangers left it alone; any renegade man foolish enough to try to enter the Shire that way would find a terrible, lonely death. But the Rangers had not reckoned on a faithful, clever bog pony, or his determined rider.

It took much longer to cross the few miles of bog than the previous fifty of hill, wood and field. They stopped several times on islands of firm ground, to give Wren a long rest each time, and the going itself was very slow, and so it was the Sun had nearly finished her task for the day when at last they emerged onto solid ground.

Wren was trembling with weariness, and his flanks were soaked with sweat. Tolly dismounted and patted the lowered head. ‘Good lad,’ he said softly. ‘Good lad.’

‘And now?’ Ted said, slipping from his own mount’s back, and wincing a little as he regained his feet. The grass was soft, but his feet would be tender for a day or two more. There were likely still bramble thorns broken off beneath the skin, and he’d have to soak his feet, and have Tod try and extract as many of the slivers as he could. But that was a small enough matter, considering.

Tolly swept his arm to the south. ‘Sarn lies that way,’ he said. ‘You can cross the Brandywine there, buy some boots for yourselves, and make your way home to Bree.’

‘Bree’s not home,’ Ted said, ‘not for long, anyhow. We’re bound for Greenwood in the springtide, when the mountain passes are open again.’

‘And blessings on your journey,’ Tolly said, ‘and my best regards to your mother.’

‘Aye,’ Ted said, but his voice was suddenly husky, and though he swallowed hard he couldn’t say anything more for the moment. He made do by putting out a hand, and the hobbit grasped it, and they shared a long look.

Withdrawing his hand, Ted dug inside his shirt and brought out the old silver cup. He thrust it at Tolly. ‘Here,’ he said.

Tolly was taken aback. ‘What’s this?’ he said, and his Tookish temper stirred. ‘You don’t mean to offer me payment for what I’ve done!’

‘Not payment,’ Ted said, ‘though mercy knows we owe our lives to you.’

‘No more than I owe you,’ Tolly said, a stubborn glint in his eye. ‘So call us even.’

‘Not payment,’ Ted insisted. ‘Rather, something to remember us by.’

‘You think I’d forget you?’ Tolly said in astonishment.

‘Please,’ Ted said, ‘take it, for our mother’s sake. You can polish it up if you like, put it on your mantel, and remember the old days.’ And Tolly found himself taking the cup in hand, and tucking it away inside his own shirt, though he didn’t quite know why.

And then Tod spoke behind Tolly, and the hobbit turned to find the younger man on one knee, crouching a bit to see eye-to-eye. ‘We’re friends, then?’ Tod said, and one side of his mouth quirked as if he heard an echo of a childish voice. We’re friends again, are we not?

‘O Toddy,’ Tolly whispered, and a lump rose in his throat.

Tod threw his arms around the hobbit, and Tolly matched the embrace, his heart full, as he murmured, ‘Always.’

‘Though surely we don’t deserve such friendship,’ Ted said huskily, sinking to his own knees and shading his eyes as if from the quick-sinking sun. ‘What’ll they do to you if they find out, Tolly?’

‘Not as bad as they’d’ve done to you,’ Tolly said, and as Tod pulled back to gaze earnestly into his face in the old boyish way he shrugged. ‘Water rations, perhaps,’ he said, and cocked a thoughtful head. ‘A heavy fine, most likely. At worst the Thain will sack me, and I’ll end up following a plough on the land my father-in-love farms.’

Seeing the stricken look on his friends’ faces, he held out his hands to them. ‘We’ll always be friends, so long as the Green Hills are green.’

Taking Tolly’s right hand, Ted said, ‘Always! So long as the trees of the Greenwood are green, though we never meet again.’

Tolly took a steadying breath and said, ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that. After all, you lads are as much Shirefolk as I--why, Toddy was born in the Woody End... Perhaps when all is over you’ll find yourselves at the Feast in spite of it all...’

‘Save us a place, just in case,’ Ted said, with a hint of his old mischief.

‘I’ll say to the Master of the Feast, “O but you have to let them in, you cannot send them away to that gloomy place where Men sit and stew over their deeds, as Pip told me... why, we’ve been friends for ever!” ’

And Tod, taking hold of Tolly’s other hand, affirmed with a decided nod, ‘Always and forever!’ And he smiled through his tears.

‘For ever and a day,’ Ted whispered, remembering their last parting.

‘...and a fortnight into the bargain,’ Tolly said, and he squeezed their hands. ‘Now off with you! You’ve talked the Sun into her bed, and it’s a long way to walk to Sarn without boots on your feet! You’ll want to be far from the Bounds by the dawning!’

Tod nodded. ‘Come, Ted,’ he said, offering his shoulder.

Ted leaned upon his brother, but he had a last word for Tolly. ‘We’ll never forget you.’

‘See that you don’t!’ Tolly said.

The brothers walked up the long sloping ground, Tod helping Ted along, and Tolly stood a long time, holding the ponies, watching them until they passed out of his sight.

***

A/N: The bog mentioned here is not the Overbourne Marshes, but another bog lying outside the scope of the detailed Shire Map JRRT included in Fellowship of the Ring

Chapter 39. Still Waters Run Deep

Tolly walked slowly away from their parting place, leading Wren and the other ponies. Suddenly he felt as drained as the last mug of beer at the end of a long evening at the Spotted Duck, and twice as heavy. It was no wonder--he’d not slept since... His head felt muzzy as he reckoned over the hours. A day of tracking and hunting, a night of galloping and trotting, another day of nerve-wracking picking and plodding over treacherous ground... It was no wonder he was spent. And he doubted Wren would carry him much further, in any event.

And so he led his ponies slowly, along the Bounds but some miles to the south. He’d never been out of the Shire before. He’d known about the dangerous bog from the map of the Shire that graced one wall of the Thain’s study. He hadn’t known for certain that Wren could pick a path across the quaking ground, and yet it seemed the only way to save his old friends, He could not have lived with his conscience, had he turned them over to the Rangers, even if he had been able to nerve himself to travel the long, uncertain miles to Bree, to bring the jewel to their mother.

It amused him, in his exhausted state, that the land outside the Bounds seemed little different from the Shire itself. There was no boundary marker inside the confines of the bog. He knew they’d crossed over, when the bog ended, if only because on the map it was so; the bog extended into the Shire, and some way beyond the Bounds. One would half-expect to see an inked line, running along the ground, but of course there was none in truth. The Bounds were indicated, instead, by small stone markers at intervals along the border.

At last he came to the Road leading into the South Farthing from Sarn, and he turned northward, plodding along stubbornly through the darkness. He’d not stop until he was safe on hobbit soil. What sort of Men might be skulking about in the darkness, here outside the borders?

He thought once he saw lurking shadows, but Wren took no alarm, and so he shrugged and trudged on, and not long after he saw the stone on the verge marking the Bounds.

He hadn’t known it, but the shadows were Kingsmen, their duty to patrol the borderland. They had no reason to stop a hobbit leading three ponies... though of course he was duly noted in the report later sent to the King, a minor item easy to skim over in the reading and dismiss, only to be brought to mind now, as Elessar read the hobbit’s heart and mind.

There was a stir at the door, and Pippin murmured, ‘Strider?’

Surfacing as a swimmer from deep water, Elessar shook his head and half-raised the hand that was not resting on Tolly’s forehead. ‘A moment,’ he said. As he dove once again, he heard Pippin order the teakettle hung over the fire in the little bedroom hearth…

Tolly slept that night in a haystack, burrowing deep against the chill, having hobbled the ponies and loosed them in the nearby field, and he was up before the dawning, summoning Wren with a low whistle. He wondered if the woodcutter’s sons had yet reached Sarn. Once Wren was saddled it was quick work to gather the other two ponies, and soon he was on his way, his stomach grumbling. He breakfasted a few miles northward, and paid the innkeeper to wrap up food for travelling, and after that he made good time to Whitwell, and then he rode through the Green Hills to come once more to Tuckborough and the Great Smials.

It was a very long day’s journey, and he might’ve made it two days, but that home-longing was upon him and he was eager to embrace his wife once more. Wren was agreeable--they were travelling in the proper direction to bring him to his stables, after all, and the ground was solid under them. In the middle night they came at last to the Smials.

Tolly saw first to the comfort of the ponies, grooming them himself, with especial care for gallant little Wren, who’d earned a thorough rubdown as he greedily gulped his oats. It was not far from dawn when Tolly stumbled across the torch-lit yard to the Great Smials. There was already a smell of baking in the air, and the dairymaids were emerging from one of the lesser doors, on their way to the early milking.

He contemplated a bath, but he’d have to rouse someone, and then wait for the water to heat, more than likely, for while bath water was usually ready at six of the clock, for any gentlehobbit who wished to bathe at the start of the day, the fires under the great coppers would have been lit only recently and their contents would require some time to grow hot. There'd be no convenient hot water in the wee hours for a weary traveller's arrival. No, it was baths in the morning for the gentlehobbits, and baths in the evening for the rest. The servants and workers were more practical, in Tolly’s opinion, bathing at the end of the workday when one truly appreciated water hot.

He settled for stripping his clothes off in the bedroom, a quick cold bath employing sponge, ewer and basin, after which he slipped into the bed without wakening his slumbering Meadowsweet. She was surpised, on wakening an hour or two later, to find him there. ‘Tolly!’

‘My love?’ he bleared, blinking at her and then at the clock. He threw back the bedcovers with a groan.

‘What time did you get in?’ she said. ‘Were there really ruffians? How many...?’

‘There were no ruffians,’ he said. ‘It was a false report.’

‘I’m that glad to hear it,’ Meadowsweet said, ‘but to keep you out, looking for a trail all this time, or following a false trail... You must be exhausted! Go on back to sleep, my love, and I’ll...’

Tolly smiled at this expression of feminine concern. Really, his wife treated him as if he might melt in the morning dew. He felt remarkably well, considering the circumstances. The woodcutter's sons were well beyond the Bounds by now, and the need for worry was diminishing with every passing moment, with every step they put between themselves and the Shire. ‘I am well, my love, and the Thain will be expecting my report, first thing...’ He saw with alarm that she bent to gather his piled clothing, remembering too late the silver cup. ‘Please, dear, don’t bother yourself... I’ll take care of that...!’

It took a fair amount of protest and at that he had to feign an alarmed look at the clock, causing Meadowsweet to yelp and dash to her duties, but at last he was left alone with his discarded clothing. He secreted the cup, wrapping it up in an old cloth and burying it in the deepest corner of the linen press, safe until he could figure out what to do with it. To polish it and put it on the mantel might bring questions, even speculation.

He put on his spare clothing and carried the bundle of dirty, sweat-crusted, woodsmoke-smelling clothing out to the parlour, where Rusty was polishing the andirons. ‘Laundry, Rus,’ he said.

‘Aye, sirrah,’ the hobbitservant said, straightening with a jaunty salute. ‘Right away!’ He nodded toward the table. ‘Children have et already, and left you a crust or two.’

‘My thanks,’ Tolly said, sitting himself down to more than a crust, or even two. He ate rapidly, for he thought he’d bypass the usual breakfast in the Second Parlour with the rest of the hobbits of escort. Fewer questions to consider, to have to answer or avoid, especially his brother Hilly’s. He needed to gather his thoughts, as best he could, for the Thain would be expecting him first thing. And it was already first thing, and growing later by the minute.

Despite the possibility of problems for himself, Tolly felt like whistling as he made his way to the Thain’s study. Ted and his younger brother were likely in Sarn at this moment, making plans to set out for Bree, and no one the wiser.

He knocked and entered the Thain’s study, standing at attention once he was inside and the door had closed behind him.

‘Ah, Tolly,’ Pippin said, looking up from the paper he was already perusing. ‘Back at last?’

‘Aye, Sir,’ Tolly said.

‘Ruffians give you any trouble?’ Reginard said, pouring out another cup of tea. He nodded to Tolly, and the head of escort obediently moved forward to take up the cup, though he didn’t sip at it, merely held it somewhat awkwardly in his hand as he tried to figure out what to say.

‘They weren’t ruffians,’ he blurted, and winced. Perhaps not the best beginning.

‘Not ruffians,’ Pippin said, fixing him with a piercing look. ‘Go on, drink that before it cools.’

Tolly started to sip, and then put the cup down again. He drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. ‘I expect you’ll be putting me on water rations,’ he said.

Regi exclaimed in surprise, but the Thain’s eyes narrowed; Pippin said nothing, but continued to bore through his head of escort with his gaze.

‘I--I’ Tolly said, unnerved by that regard.

‘Water rations?’ Regi said, raising an eyebrow.

Tolly dropped his eyes. ‘I let them go,’ he said.

Pippin half-rose from his chair. ‘You--’ he said, incredulous.

‘You let ruffians go?’ Regi said.

Tolly looked up to meet his eye, his jaw set. ‘They weren’t ruffians,’ he insisted.

‘I want to hear your report,’ Pippin said, sitting back down, taking up his tea, and draining the cup. When Tolly hesitated, he added, ‘Now would be a good time.’

Tolly drew another deep breath and launched into the narrative, though of course he did not mention the jewel or the silver cup, not in specific, anyhow. ‘They used to live in the Shire,’ he said, ‘and came only to reclaim their own, what they’d buried to hide from Lotho’s ruffians, or Sharkey’s, and they were hounded out of the Shire with just the clothes they were wearing, and no time to dig...’

‘Used to live in the Shire?’ Pippin said, puzzled, but surprisingly it was Regi, that hobbit of little imagination, who put the pieces together.

‘The woodman and his brother?’ he said. ‘The ones Paladin evicted?’

Tolly nodded, and if he could have, he’d’ve crossed his fingers behind his back. It wasn’t exactly a lie, after all. Ted was a woodman, and Tod was his brother. However, if the Thain were to send word to the Rangers, and these went looking for Barad and Beriad, if they found them at all they’d find them cold in the grave.

Pippin steepled his fingers, tapping forefingers together as he thought about this. At last he said, ‘And you let them go.’

‘Aye,’ Tolly said. Water rations for sure, he was certain. It was a good thing he’d eaten a hearty breakfast... likely to be his last for several days.

‘Did they pay you?’ Regi wanted to know. ‘Did they offer you some sort of reward, to help them?’

Tolly hesitated just for a moment, thinking of the silver cup, but it was no bribe nor reward; they’d pressed it upon him after he’d brought them to safety. ‘Nay,’ he said firmly. ‘Nor would I have taken any, were they truly ruffians.’

Pippin considered him for a long moment before nodding slowly. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘And you’d do the same, if you had it to do all over again?’

Tolly and Regi stared at him in astonishment, but then Tolly said staunchly, ‘Aye. That I would.’

‘Well,’ Pippin said, while Regi stared holes in the head of escort. Water rations, he was sure, and a heavy fine that he couldn’t afford, already being in debt. He supposed he’d have to work it off, give up a part of his pay and tell Meadowsweet they’d have to live more carefully than they were already.

And then the Thain said something that completely astounded him. ‘I’m glad that your honesty remains untarnished, at the least.’

Tolly thought of the tarnished cup, and wondered how Pippin would know... ‘Sir?’ he said carefully.

With a stern finger, Pippin tapped the paper he’d laid down upon the desk. ‘I have a report here,’ he said. ‘A hobbit meeting your description and two ruffians were seen, conferring around a campfire in the Woody End, on good terms with one another and up to no good, the hunter thought, and he sent to the Smials for a muster, but by the time the muster arrived they’d taken their leave, and could not be tracked through the darkness.’

It hit him like a fist in the stomach. That rustling in the bushes! They’d been seen!

Pippin had been watching him closely, and now he nodded again. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Had you tried to tell me some tale about taking the ruffians you’d caught to the Bounds, tied hand and foot, and turning them over to the Rangers, I’d’ve sacked you at the very least, and if I’d found enough cause, you’d be banished from the Shire yourself for conspiring with ruffians.’

Tolly’s mouth opened, but he had no words to say.

Pippin wasn’t going to give him opportunity to say anything, anyhow. ‘Go,’ he said abruptly. ‘You’re dismissed.’

Sacked? But no, he’d misunderstood, as he realised with the Thain's next words.

‘Take the rest of the day, to think over what you’ve been told,’ Pippin continued, fixing him with a steely glance. ‘And don’t let me catch you flinging your orders to the wind again! It will not go so well with you the next time.’

‘N-no, Sir,’ Tolly stammered, and somehow he managed to make his way from the study.

One thing he knew for certain. No one would ever believe he’d let the Men go because they were old friends. Such an admission would only bring suspicion down on his head, and the Thain was already clearly thinking ill of his head of escort’s judgment. No, let it stand that he’d found them to be in the Shire on what he considered legitimate business, retrieving that which had not been gathered, as by the ruffians of the Troubles, but had been theirs to begin with.

And the silver cup must stay hidden.

Chapter 40. And Wake Me with the Morning Light

For long moments Pippin had watched the silent healer-King bending over his cousin.

For long moments Elessar had crouched close, one hand on Tolly’s forehead, the other for the most part enveloping Tolly’s hand in his. He’d roused only slightly when the teakettle of near-boiling water had arrived, but had quickly bent back to his task.

Now he lifted his head; he breathed deeply, opened his eyes, and turned to meet Pippin’s hopeful look. ‘It is Tolly who was nearly banished from the Shire, along with Ferdibrand, for conspiring to keep your son from you.’ It was not a question.

‘Aye,’ Pippin said, grieved anew at his own foolish, unthinking anger. ‘I nearly banished them, when all they were doing was trying to prevent a scandal.’

‘And Tolly whom you sent to escort the murderous ruffians to the Bounds, the ones who took Farry and meant him grievous harm.’

‘Aye,’ Pippin said again. ‘And he misunderstood his orders, and so he knew great horror at witnessing their deaths, when it was supposed to be but a simple hanging, quickly over with.’ He struck at his thigh with his fist. ‘Again, because of my anger...’

‘But not unthinking anger, that time,’ Elessar said. ‘You had a very real reason for grief, believing your son tormented and torn to pieces by those... wargs of men. And Mayor Sam had a hand in what happened to the ruffians. He thought only to give them bitter food for thought to chew over on the long journey to the Bounds, and did not realise the potential harm to Tolly, even unto my faithful Rangers...’

‘How do you know this?’ Pippin breathed, leaning against the door.

Elessar smiled faintly. ‘I have read deeply,’ he said. ‘I saw, first, in Tolly’s dreaming the most recent ruffians, the malefactors who were rightly brought to their doom, and long may they sit in the Halls of Mandos, contemplating their evil deeds! ...but that was not the root of the trouble to his spirit. No, it was that some other Men with whom he had dealings, that he led safely out of the Shire, might have shown the ruffians safe passage into the Shire. I had to delve deeply in his heart and memory to find those others, to know and understand their story... He had the right of it, you know.’

‘The right of it?’ Pippin said, blinking, striving to understand and follow this rather remarkable conversation.

‘They were not ruffians, those two he led safely out of the Shire,’ Elessar said.

‘He is ever truthful,’ Pippin said with a nod. ‘If he determined that they were not ruffians, then I would be obliged to believe him, as I did.’

‘But not when your son was directly involved,’ Elessar reminded, and the Thain had the grace to blush and mutter low, ‘No.’

‘Not only is Tolibold truthful, but he is intensely loyal,’ Elessar said, looking back to the still face on the pillow.

‘He is a loyal Took,’ Pippin agreed.

‘So much so, that when he perceived that injustice would be done, should he follow orders, he took matters into his own hands...’

Pippin wrinkled his nose in puzzlement. ‘That scarce sounds loyal,’ he pointed out.

‘Ah, but he was, and continues so,’ Elessar said. ‘Loyal to those who were his friends, and more--he owed them his life.’

‘Loyal to the Men he set free?’ Pippin said. ‘Not to the Tooks?’

‘Or the Thain?’ Elessar said, divining his thoughts. ‘Ah, but had he determined that they meant any harm, he’d have turned them over to be hanged without more than regret over what had been, and old friendship gone to ashes. Yes, his loyalty to you is still strong; strong enough to save you from having the deaths of innocents laid at your feet... and mine.’

Pippin’s head was spinning, and Elessar gave him time to chew over his thoughts by shuffling to the hearth where the teakettle steamed, and bringing it and a basin to the bedside. He poured water into the basin and laid it aside. He then brought out a pouch from under his cloak, and from that pouch two leaves.

He breathed upon these, and then he crushed them, and though they were some hours from having been cut, their fragrance was released in sudden freshness. Casting these into the water, he lifted the basin and held it before the dreaming hobbit.

Pippin straightened as the living essence filled the room, a freshness as of newly mown, dewy grass sparkling under cool sunlight. Closing his eyes, Pippin could almost hear the droning of bees in the flowers... and then he heard the King speak again.

‘Awake, Tolibold, son of Haldibold,’ Elessar said. ‘Walk no more in dreams, but awaken once more to life, to duty, and yes, even to joy...’

Holding his own breath, Pippin saw Tolly’s breast rise, fall, and rise again in deepening breaths.

The King nodded and turned towards Pippin, holding out the basin, and the hobbit hurried forward to take it. Elessar drew his hood over his head, shrouding his face in deep gloom, and rose from his knees to a crouch. ‘Call in his loved ones,’ he said. ‘He will be rousing soon. Have them feed him well, and let him rest, and on the morrow they may carry him home again.’

Pippin nodded. ‘Wait for me in the stables,’ he said, and Elessar chuckled.

‘Of course. You and I are supposed to be elsewhere, are we not? We must lurk in hiding until darkness falls once more, and then spirit ourselves to where they suppose us to be!’

‘O aye,’ Pippin said, ‘but we shall feast well; and at least in the stables you may hold your head up high!’

Elessar chuckled again, and opening the door he started to slip out, only to be arrested by Tolly’s wife and brothers. ‘Please,’ Meadowsweet said, pulling at his sleeve. ‘Please, let me see him...’

The cloaked figure bowed silently, gesturing to the room, where Pippin still stood holding the basin.

‘Er, ah, come in!’ Pippin said. ‘He’ll be wakening shortly.’

‘Shortly!’ Mardi said, striding into the room and hurrying to Tolly’s bedside, to take up a hand. ‘Why,’ he said, his face lightening, ‘his hand is warm again...!’ And brushing the back of his hand against Tolly's forehead, he added in wonder, ‘The fever’s broken!’

‘Tolly?’ Meadowsweet said, right behind Mardi, and taking her husband’s hand from Mardi’s, she pressed her lips to Tolly’s fingers. ‘Tolly, dearest?’

‘What is that lovely aroma?’ Freddy said, coming in with Hilly. ‘Like fresh-baked bread, and honey...’

But Hilly was silent, struck with a sudden recognition. He knew that freshness, that living fragrance, from his time at the Lake. ‘Athelas,’ he whispered. ‘But I thought...’ He looked at Pippin consideringly, but thought the better of speaking his suspicion. A son of Elrond, indeed...

Tolly moved his head on the pillow, and opened his eyes. ‘But it is late,’ he said, his eyes going from Meadowsweet to the window, ‘and surely you have let me sleep through second breakfast!’

And Meadowsweet gave a cry of joy and threw herself on him, kissing him and weeping and hugging all at once, and his brothers’ voices rose in a babble; but looking from Tolly to the doorway, Hilly saw that the cloaked figure was gone.

‘But we--we would offer our thanks,’ he said to Pippin.

‘Here,’ Pippin said, handing him the basin with its still steaming contents. ‘I’ll carry your thanks to him, personally, and if you’d have a grand feast sent out to the stables, I’ll see to it that he eats before he goes back to where he is supposed to be.’

‘And no one the wiser, I hope,’ Hilly said.

‘Aye, exactly that,’ Pippin said with a keen look, followed by a nod of satisfaction. Hilly might have guessed the healer’s identity, but he wasn’t going to tell anyone about it.

Chapter 41. The Next Best Thing

Hilly sent a feast indeed to the stables, trays and platters, and it was fit for a King, or so Pippin maintained. The two of them, Thain and King, sat at their ease on piles of hay, and though Elessar remained cloaked and hooded in the event some hobbit might stumble upon them, as far back as they were, in the last stall at the end of the corridor, the extra clothing did not seem to encumber him when it came to eating. The stable hobbits had all gone to their own breakfast, and the travellers were free to talk and laugh over their meal.

‘Ah, such a breakfast,’ the Man sighed at last, as he sat back, replete with good food. ‘I have not had such a fine Shire breakfast since...’

And Pippin laughed in sheer delight, and began to count on his fingers. ‘Well, there’s the breakfast that Bilbo cooked for you, when he arrived at Rivendell to stay,’ he said, ‘and the time we turned the royal kitchens in Minas Tirith upside-down...’

‘That was Frodo’s doing,’ Elessar said, with a smile of fond remembrance, ‘and glad I was to see him in the midst of the mischief.’

‘Yes,’ Pippin said. ‘It was a little of the old Frodo, come back again for a time.’ He sighed himself, and then sat up straighter and ticked off another finger, ‘and then when Merry and I went South, and taught your cooks how to do it up properly, for they’d got it all wrong...’ He chuckled and added, ‘and then of course when I brought Diamond, and she undertook to teach them her mother’s way of doing things...’

‘And a very fine cook her mother must be,’ Elessar said. ‘I’ve never tasted lighter biscuits.’

‘We’ll make a proper hobbit of you yet, Strider, just wait and see,’ came a voice from the doorway.

‘Merry!’ Pippin jumped to his feet. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I am at Brandy Hall, as a matter of fact, arranging the shipment of a waggonload of brandy for the grand fare-well feast,’ Merry said. ‘You only think you see me here.’

‘You left Samwise alone?’ Pippin said.

‘He’s holding up his end of the conversation remarkably well,’ Merry said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Just so long as the pipe-weed holds out, he’ll be fine.’ He put a finger to the side of his nose and winked. ‘I’ve ordered a fresh pony saddled for my quick return to the Hall, where they are loading the waggon as we speak. As for Samwise... as a matter of fact, it was his idea. You know how he loves his brandy...’

‘Hah,’ Pippin said critically. ‘Brandy! I can see that it was his idea to send you off, but not for brandy!’

‘You’re right,’ Merry said, closing the distance and seizing a slice of buttered bread from Pippin’s plate. ‘It was not the brandy he was thinking of, but Ferdibrand.’

‘Ferdi!’ Pippin said, taking several more pieces of bread from the platter and buttering them for Merry’s convenience, adding marmalade to half of them for good measure, and pouring more tea into his own cup and fixing it to Merry’s taste.

‘Thanks,’ Merry said, taking up the cup and following with a grateful sip, ‘yes, Ferdi. You know how fond the Gamgees are of that hobbit for some reason; must be the fine birthday-presents he always gives to the children, or something, but in any event, Sam thought to send me to the King, to ask on Ferdi’s behalf...’

Pippin raised a hand to stop him. ‘Out of the question,’ he said flatly. ‘Why, the Tooks would shoot any tallish figure out of hand, without asking questions first or afterwards.’ His eyes flashed. ‘Have you already forgotten the muster? The Tooklanders certainly will have not.’

But Merry, abandoning light speech, seized the King’s hand in his. ‘Is there no way to save my old friend?’ he pleaded. ‘Is there nothing you can send to succour him, Strider, if you cannot go?’ And turning to Pippin, he added, ‘You said, yourself, that his healing is still in doubt; for you to admit as much tells me that his condition is grave indeed.’

‘Not yet in the grave,’ Pippin said, trying for a light note, for there was no way to bring the King further into the Shire, and guarantee his safety. Why, to bring him this far had been a risk, had their path crossed that of a Shirriff or Bounder watching for ruffians, as well as a danger to the King’s reputation, his very integrity in the eyes of Men and Hobbits. He’d sworn to uphold his Edict himself, and up until this point he’d been scrupulous to observe its terms.

‘You said he was rescued from the grave, as the clods were falling,’ Elessar said quietly.

‘He was,’ Merry said, and turning his look to Pippin, he added, ‘and I’d’ve expected you to bring him to the healing hands of the King, and here you’ve brought Tolly instead...?’

‘Tolly was dying,’ Pippin said shortly.

‘And Ferdi isn’t?’ Merry said. ‘But Fennel gave me to understand, that day we buried the young ruffian who saved Farry from the others, that Ferdi was still very ill from the blow to the head; that he must keep to his bed, and be kept from excitement, indeed, to be kept off his feet--as if anything could keep that one off his feet for long... Why do you not bring him to the King, when he is your right hand, and his healing is in doubt?’

‘Precisely for that reason,’ Pippin said heavily, sitting himself down and feeling suddenly very tired. ‘The healers thought that he would not survive such a journey. You know how he lost his speech, the evening after they took him up out of the grave?’

‘I remember,’ Merry said.

Pippin looked to the King. ‘The healers said that something broke loose, inside, and they’re hoping against hope that he will heal enough that nothing worse will happen.’

‘Inside--’ Elessar said, and then, ‘inside--his head?’

‘That’s right,’ Pippin answered with a nod.

‘Mmm,’ Elessar said, grasping his knees and bowing his head in concentration. Merry and Pippin waited.

At last the Man raised his head once more. ‘The healers are hoping for healing,’ he said. ‘Healing of what was broken, inside his skull...’

‘That thick skull of his, yes,’ Pippin muttered.

‘It is a race against time, then,’ Elessar said slowly, measuring his words as if they held some key to Ferdibrand’s well-being. ‘Healing, to repair the damage done, and prevent further damage from the blood vessels inside his brain leaking, or even rupturing...’

Pippin looked wide-eyed to Merry--he’d never thought about what was inside one’s skull before, not in any detail at least, and now he found himself gulping down nausea at the image the King’s words conjured in his imagination.

Elessar picked up his hands and slapped them down on his knees once more in a decisive gesture. Both hobbits jumped.

‘What is it?’ Pippin said, and at the same time Merry was saying, ‘You’ve thought of something!’

‘The healing hands of the King,’ Elessar said, holding his hands out to them. ‘We cannot bring them to Ferdibrand, neither can we bring Ferdibrand to the hands of the King, but there is something that we can do...’ He looked keenly to Merry. ‘Pippin is very weary,’ he said. ‘How are you feeling, Merry?’

‘I’m very well, thank you,’ Merry said politely, and then he blinked. ‘You don’t mean that the way it sounds, I take it.’

‘No,’ Elessar said. ‘For what I am about to propose requires the utmost speed and care.’

‘I’m well!’ Pippin protested belatedly. His concentration had lapsed a moment, and he was just now rejoining the conversation.

‘Of course you’re well,’ Merry said in his most reasonable tone. ‘That’s why you’re dropping on your feet.’ To the King he said, ‘What is it that I must do, Strider?’

In answer, the King reached under his cloak, bringing out the pouch he carried there, and carefully extracted a pair of leaves. ‘I culled them only this morning,’ he said, ‘happening upon them in a thicket as I was... no, it would have been yesterday morning, now. In any event, they are fresher than the leaves that brought Faramir, the Lady Eowyn, and indeed, you, yourself, Merry, back from the brink of death.’

‘But what good--without the hands of the King...?’ Pippin said in confusion.

Elessar laughed. ‘But here are the healing hands!’ he said, almost gaily. He put the leaves gently down and took up the small box of salt reposing on the breakfast tray, removed the lid, and dumped out the contents on a plate. ‘Tightly made, to keep the damp in the air away,’ he said approvingly, shaking out the last grains and laying the box down again on the tray, yawning open, lid beside it. ‘Now,’ he said, taking up the leaves once more.

He lifted the leaves in upraised palms and bowed his head to breathe gently upon them. The fresh and living scent of athelas arose, and both hobbits breathed deeply of the lovely, heartening aroma.

Of course there was no steaming water at hand to complete the deed; Elessar laid the leaves gently in the little salt-box, rolling them a little that they might fit, though he was careful not to bend or crease their surface. He fitted the lid with something close to a sigh of satisfaction, and then he held the box out to Merry. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Ride hard, ride fast, Meriadoc, and bring these as quickly as can be to Ferdibrand. With every passing moment they lose a little of their power, but if you ride as if the Witch King himself is after you, you might come in time for them to have a good effect on your old friend.’

Merry took the box and hesitated. ‘And just what do I do, when I get there?’ he said, at something of a loss.

‘Crumple them and cast them into steaming water,’ Elessar said simply. ‘Let Ferdibrand breathe the steam, and bathe his injured head.’

‘But...’ Merry said.

‘I have already blessed them,’ Elessar said. ‘The minutes are wasting... Go! Ride!’

‘Grace go with you,’ Pippin said urgently as Merry turned away, ready to jump into the saddle of the fresh pony he’d so fortuitously ordered, albeit for a different reason. 'And Merry...!'

Merry, a few steps past the stall entrance already, paused and swung round, quivering with impatience, but at least he did stop.

'Tell Tolly's little ones--' Pippin said, for some reason feeling breathless. He mustn't delay Merry! But... Catching his breath, he forced out, 'Tell them he's well!'

Merry grinned broadly. Now that was news worth the carrying!

'And,' Pippin said, but could say no more, though his hope and fear for Ferdi shone in his eyes.

‘I’ll give Ferdi your greeting,’ Merry said in answer, ‘and rejoin you when my errand is complete!’

‘Go!’ Elessar said again, half-rising.

But Merry was already gone, and the immediate clatter of hoofs on the stones of the courtyard heralded his hasty departure.

Chapter 42. Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Tolly ate, surrounded by his relieved, laughing brothers, cozened by his doting wife. Meadowsweet was at times sharp with him, it must be admitted, but at this moment he might have tried to drink his tea standing on his head and she’d not have murmured a word against it or even given him one of her looks, of the kind usually reserved for erring young sons, but not unknown to her husband.

Tolly could have anything he asked for, that was in the pantry, and as much of it as he wanted. The Thain was paying all. Just the sight of the seal of the Thain had been enough to open every door, figuratively and literally. After all, the Thain had more gold than the King, or so the Shirefolk maintained. And as fast as he tried to spend it, somehow he managed to accumulate it even faster. The proprietor was wondering if, perhaps, he might earn enough with this one commission for the roof repairs due on the stables... And so not only did he fulfil every order, but he thought up and sent a great many delicacies and comforts, not only to Tolly’s room, but to the Thain and his mysterious guest in the stables.

Tolly, long lost in delirium, found himself ravenous upon awakening. His family pressed food upon him, and he happily obliged, and asked for more. At last he’d filled up every corner he possessed--he thumped his protruding stomach and proclaimed he’d burst with another mouthful, and then he yawned widely.

‘There now,’ Mardi said, still beaming with joy at this unexpected recovery. ‘I think you’ll do.’

‘That I will,’ Tolly said with another yawn.

‘Sleep now, love,’ Meadowsweet said, picking up the tray from his lap and handing it to Hilly. Mardi pulled out the extra pillows that had propped Tolly in a sitting position, for eating, and Meadowsweet pulled up the coverlet and settled on the bed beside him, putting her arms around him and snuggling her face into the crook between his neck and shoulder with a sigh.

‘Well then, I suppose we could all take a page out of that book,’ Mardi said, draping an extra blanket over Meadowsweet. ‘It has been a long and wearying journey.’

‘Long?’ Freddy said, who’d sensibly slept when he was tired, and so was much brighter than the others.

‘Long,’ Mardi said with decision. ‘I’m going to seek a little snooze, myself, and I’ll see you at the noontide meal.’ He made good on his words by moving to the adjacent bed and lying himself down, and from one moment to the next he was asleep. He was a healer after all, and healers learn the trick of falling asleep quickly, and wakening just as quicky when needed.

Freddy stared, and Hilly put down the tray on the little table by the door, and pulled at Freddy's arm. ‘Come, brother,’ he said. ‘I think they’re serving elevenses in the common room.’

‘Well, oughtn’t we to waken them, then, if they’re missing elevenses?’ Freddy said, disregarding the fact that Mardi had only just fallen asleep, and Meadowsweet was drowsing, not quite asleep, but not far from sleeping, either.

Hilly smiled and answered, keeping his voice low. ‘We’ve been eating from second breakfast until now, to keep Tolly company,’ he said. ‘I think they need sleep more than food, at the moment.’

Freddy shook his head in wonderment, but he allowed Hilly to escort him to the common room, sit him down, and order him a generous platter of sustenance.

Haldi came up then from a corner, where he’d been slowly emptying one pot of tea after another. ‘What’s the word on Tolly?’

Hilly slapped him on the shoulder with a chuckle. ‘That’s right,’ he said, ‘you didn’t know...’

‘I know that some outlandish fellow came in, brought by the Thain from who-knows-where,’ Haldi said, leading Hilly back to his table, and the half-emptied teapot waiting there under its warming cosy, ‘and that they called for boiling water, as if poor Tolibold were about to give birth or some such fantastic thing.’

Hilly stared at this, fatigue forgotten for the moment.

Haldi pulled out a chair for Hilly's convenience, sat down in his own, and went on, ‘and I brought the teakettle myself, only to have the door closed in my face... Did you not see me there, waiting, with the rest of you?’ He snorted. ‘No, of course you didn’t! You had eyes only for the door, ears only to listen for some hint of what was happening within... and then the Thain opened the door that the family might come in, and he slipped out with that mysterious giant...’

Haldi had never seen a giant, of course, but to him any Man or Elf would seem to be one.

Hilly sank into the chair, and now was nodding, being carried along by the narrative, but Haldi shocked him into wakefulness awith his next words.

‘I followed them to the stables...’

‘You followed them...!’

‘Aye,’ Haldi answered, his irritation plain. ‘I’m the Thain’s escort, am I not? And him going off with some overtall fellow who keeps his face hid... I don’t like the look of it, don’t like it at all! Now,’ he said, reaching across the table to seize Hilly’s shirt, ‘How is Tolly? He must be still in the world, or you’d be drowning your sorrows about now, rather than listening to me maunder on.’

‘He’s well,’ Hilly said, grabbing Haldi’s sleeve to pull his hand away.

‘Well?’ Haldi said suspiciously. ‘Not dead yet, in any event.’

‘Well!’ Hilly insisted, feeling giddy. ‘Fever’s broken, and he’s been eating since he wakened, and he wakened not long after we were called into the room...’

Haldi had been nodding through this recitation, but not taking it in, it seems, for his eyes widened at the last and he echoed, ‘Eating... wakened...’ His face broke into a broad grin, and he slopped some tea into his mug and started to gulp it down, but then slammed the mug onto the table and waved his arm to signal to the serving maid. ‘Well!’ he said. ‘This calls for something more than tea, I’d say!’

And when the server came to see what was the matter, with a timid “More tea, sir?” Haldi’s answer was to pick up the cosied pot and shove it into her hands. ‘Tea?’ he bellowed. ‘Tea? Why, we’re celebrating! Sit yourself down, Hilly! My dear,’ (this last to the server once more), ‘two of your best... finest... what ever you have going!’ he finished, not sure of the time of day, for he’d been sitting there, he didn’t know how long, after riding deep into the night. ‘And the best beer you have in the house!’ he called after her.

Turning back to Hilly, he said, ‘Tolly’s well! Eating, you say! That is good news!’

‘It is indeed,’ Hilly said, answering Haldi’s grin with one of his own. ‘And now, if you’ll just excuse me, cousin,’ he said.

‘Don’t want the food to get cold,’ Haldi warned.

‘I won’t,’ Hilly said. ‘I mean, I’ll be right back. I just want to look in on the Thain, you know. Escort, and all that.’

‘They’re in the last stall at the end of the row,’ Haldi said. ‘Quiet, and out of the way, and less likely to have hobbits coming in to gawk, if you take my meaning.’

Hilly nodded.

‘Strange place to have breakfast,’ Haldi said. ‘You sent a feast out to them, didn’t you? The Thain said so, anyhow, and then he sent me back here to wait, after the food arrived. Said he didn’t need any escorting at the moment, but if he thought of any messages to send, he wanted to know where to find me.’

‘Ah,’ Hilly said.

‘By then you were back in Tolly’s room, and the door was shut, and I couldn’t find anyone who’d tell me anything,’ Haldi grumbled. ‘And so I came here, and here I’ve remained, drinking a Sea of tea until I thought I might float away...!’

‘I’m sorry, cousin,’ Hilly said, ‘I wasn’t thinking at all of you, I’m afraid. I was so overjoyed...’

‘O’ course you were,’ Haldi said gruffly. ‘Think nothing of it.’ He stood and gave Hilly a little shove. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘if you’re not about to fall asleep on your feet, you were going out to the stables to look in on the Thain. Or would you rather mind the table here, until the food arrives, and I be the one to go out to the stables?’

‘No, no,’ Hilly said hastily. ‘I’ll go.’

‘Don’t let the food get cold,’ Haldi said in parting.

“If I’m overlong, you eat my portion for me, and I’ll just order more when I come back in,’ Hilly said. ‘The Thain told old Barlow that cost is no object.’ And he left Haldi muttering, That he did; bless his generous soul...

***

Hilly found the stable workers going about their business of cleaning stalls, working cheerily but without the usual hobbity chatter and song. He received nods, and hushing fingers laid to silent lips when he tried to ask a question. Shaking his head in wonderment, he made his way to the back of the stables, last stall at the end of the row, to find...

A sleeping Thain, cushioned on a pile of straw, and the mysterious tall figure sitting quietly nearby, as if on guard, pipe in his mouth.

Hilly started forward--a pipe, in a stable!--realising almost at once that there was no smell of smoke, that the pipe was empty and cold.

He’d chewed on the stem of his pipe often enough, while spying on encroaching ruffians during the Troubles, when the smell of pipe-weed would have given the presence of the watchers away. A sudden kindred feeling sprang up in his breast, a strange thing, perhaps, for one of his stature to feel for a King, but...

‘I came to see if you needed aught,’ he said softly.

All is well, the visitor whispered, taking the pipe from his mouth.

A smile crooked the corners of Hilly’s mouth. As if the disguise were needed, at this point in time... but the visitor was still playing the game that the Thain had set in motion. Hilly could play along, after a fashion.

‘It is, indeed,’ he murmured. ‘But I think he might grow chilled, even if there are healing hands nearby... so if you’ll excuse me...’

The hooded head inclined slightly in assent, and perhaps tacit recognition of Hilly’s perceptiveness.

The hobbit left the stall and took hold of the nearest hobbit--a young lad who looked like a younger copy of the innkeeper. ‘Blankets?’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘The... guests in the furthest stall are weary, and as there is no room in the inn for such...’

The lad looked at him, wide-eyed, before nodding and responding, ‘We’ll have to fetch a double-armful then, for the tall one, he’ll take twice as many just to cover him once over!’

‘Go, then, lad,’ Hilly said with a smile, and the lad hurried off.

Hilly went back to the stall and waited by the door. When the hooded head moved upward, he made a staying gesture. ‘Blankets coming,’ he said, with a gesture at Pippin. ‘Wouldn’t want him to take cold.’

Certainly not, the visitor whispered.

Hilly, who was used to talk, and lots of it, somehow managed to stand in silence until the blankets arrived. He thanked the lad and gave him a coin for his troubles, and then he brought the blankets into the stall and proceeded to tuck a couple around Pippin without disturbing his rest.

‘Poor fellow,’ Hilly said. ‘Absolutely exhausted.’

‘It has been a difficult time,’ the visitor murmured. ‘His son taken by ruffians, a close cousin all but slain, and then the fever descending upon the Tookland... He’s had much to worry him.’

‘I hope that the athelas you brewed for Tolly will do Pip some good as well,’ Hilly said. He had the feeling that the hidden eyes were boring into him, measuring his words, and he hid a grin.

But the visitor only said, ‘He held the basin and breathed the steam, was still breathing the steam when I left the room.’

‘That athelas is marvellous stuff,’ Hilly said, sitting himself down on a convenient pile of straw in one of the vacant corners. He yawned and stretched. ‘Too bad that run-of-the-mill healers cannot tap its essence so well as the healing hands can.’

‘It is a pity,’ the visitor agreed. His tone, low-voiced as it was, might have reflected a wry smile.

Hilly stifled another yawn and apologised. ‘I cannot thank you enough,’ he said, and for some reason he was struggling to keep his eyes open. He’d just rest here a moment, and then he’d go back to the common room, for surely the food would be arriving at Haldi’s table at any moment...

‘No thanks needed.’

‘No,’ Hilly insisted. ‘For I am sure it would have been a very different morning, if Pip had not fetched you here from the Outlands...’ He blinked, and now it was not only hovering sleep but tears of remembered fear and grief that hampered his vision. ‘Tolly... he... he would have...’ He could not speak the dreadful word.

The visitor held up a staying hand. ‘All is well,’ he said again.

‘I cannot thank you enough,’ Hilly whispered, wiping furtively at his eyes.

‘I am well-thanked,’ the visitor said, and Hilly could almost picture the smile on the noble face that he had come to know during his summer at the Lake. How could he ever have thought all Men to be such clumsy, ungainly, unlovely fellows?

He yawned again and slid down a little in the straw. ‘I take it you’re waiting for cover of darkness, to slip out of the Shire again,’ he said, and had to stop again to make way for another yawn.

The visitor did not answer, simply returned the cold pipe to his mouth and began to hum a quiet tune. Hilly’s head was nodding, but it didn’t seem to matter. The tune was pleasant to hear, one he’d heard the children of Elrond sing often at the Lake. Pippin had liked to joke that the Elves of Rivendell sang it in the evenings to lull Bilbo to sleep, when they thought the old hobbit needed the rest.

Pippin smiled in his sleep, and Hilly slumped a little lower against the wall. He’d just listen to the end of the tune, and then...

***

When Haldi came in search, some time later, he found the visitor sitting quietly, as if on guard. Pippin lay in one corner of the vacant stall, sound asleep, and Hilly in another corner, his soft snores blending gently with those of the Thain. Both were warmly covered with blankets.

‘Ah,’ Haldi said. ‘I see.’

All is well, the cloaked figure whispered.

Haldi nodded. ‘No doubt about it,’ he said. ‘My thanks to you, stranger, for saving the life of my good friend.’

The visitor nodded, and Haldi, finding no more words needing to be said, withdrew once more, to take up his assigned post at the table in the common room, until the Thain should tell him otherwise.

Chapter 43. Of Travellers and Trouble

Merry pushed the pony hard, learning into the streaming mane and, when the beast's speed slackened over a rough spot of road, he spoke encouragement into the laid-back ears. Soon the road ran smooth again, and they galloped at break-neck pace. He blessed Pippin's attention to the road-maintenance scheme that he'd inherited from a long line of Thains before him, all the way to the first Thain who swore to keep the roads for the King until the King should return.

He let the pony have its head, slowing the pace only to rest the beast before pressing forward again at speed. An hour along the way, just as the pony started to lag in earnest, they reached an inn—perhaps not an “inn” in the same manner after the Green Dragon, but the home of a woodcarver who loved company, and so built onto his smial a large common room where neighbouring hobbits could gather of an evening to hoist a mug. As his wife loved to cook, they welcomed hungry travellers; the menu of the day was whatever Buttercup wanted to cook that day. And if any traveller was benighted, they might always use one of the guest rooms the woodcarver kept for relatives and visitors, and pay him a little something for his trouble. But there was no sign hanging in welcome. The place was really not an inn, after all.

Still, the woodcarver pocketed a little extra coin from appreciative guests, and also from stabling a few ponies for Thain and Master, changes for those bearing urgent messages between Smials and Hall. His establishment was just one in a string that stretched from Tuckborough to the Ferry landing near Stock, speeding messages along the distance in a few hours, that would take the usual traveller two days, stopping overnight half-way, or one very long day of steady travel.

Hearing Merry's silver horn, the woodcarver's middle son laid his pitchfork safely aside and moved quickly to saddle and bridle one of the Thain's ponies. The youngest son skidded into the little stable, stopping when he saw his brother's progress. 'Good,' he said. 'Post rider coming,' he added, unnecessarily.

'Right,' his older brother said, turning the pony's head to the doorway with a light slap to the well-groomed haunch. 'Take him out to the road,' he added.

'That I will,' and he led the pony forth, prancing, eager for a run. It wasn't long before the figure of the hurrying rider rapidly grew larger, bent over his pony's neck, cloak blowing behind him on the wind of their passing, the flash of silver in his hand.

And suddenly he was there, slipping from one saddle to fling himself into the next, with only a breathless word of thanks, and then he was away in a flurry of hoofbeats, and the young hobbit stood dumbstruck, holding the reins of a trembling, foam-flecked pony.

At last he found his tongue, patting the sweat-soaked neck with a murmur of “Steady, lad. Good run.” He began to walk the pony in slow circles, making small talk of how they'd cool him out and then give him a good brushing, and food, and drink, all in good time, o' course, all in good time.

'What was it all about?' the older brother wanted to know, coming out of the stable.

'Life and death, I don't wonder,' said younger brother, only to be scolded for his nonsense.

***

The Thain's fancy coach rolled at a steady pace down the Stock Road, the ponies trotting decorously along. They were making good time, and would have a good rest at noontide, when the coach's occupants would stop for a hot meal, and at teatime they'd stop again, to break their journey at the Crowing Cockerel, halfway along the Stock Road between Tuckborough and Stock.

It was not theirs to wonder where they were going, or how long they'd be gone. Living in the moment, all they knew was the touch of a trusted driver's hand on the reins, the pleasure of a solid, well-kept road under their feet, the satisfaction of trotting in time with one another, of throwing one's weight into the collar to pull uphill, working in perfect harmony with the other three.

This enjoyable rhythm was disrupted as they crested a hill, to meet a rider pelting along the road at top speed. He swung smoothly round them, avoiding a collision, raising a hand in passing to the driver and the two hobbits of escort following the coach on ponyback. The lead-ponies pulling the coach were put off their pace, one rearing and the other plunging in the traces, while the two wheel-ponies danced in place and snorted their distress.

The driver managed to recall them to their business, swearing under his breath at the recklessness of post-riders, only to be hailed by young Faramir, hanging half out the coach window to call to him. 'What was it, Cappy?'

'Some bl—blessed Pony Post rider, thinks he owns the road...!' Cappy called back, managing not to swear aloud in the presence of the Thain's son, though his hands were full with indignant ponies, not quite settled. There was an unnerving amount of head-tossing going on at present, and if a bird had flown suddenly under the noses of the leaders at that moment, why, he'd have a runaway on his hands. And him responsible for the Mistress and son of the Thain, too!

'Pony Post, Mum,' Faramir said, ducking back inside the coach, to his mother's relief.

'Pony Post!' Diamond exclaimed to herself. 'Well, perhaps your father's sent news back to Tolly's little ones...'

'News?' Farry said with a gulp.

His mother smiled, reading his expression correctly, and patted his knee. 'Good news, from the look of it,' she said in reassurance.

'Good news?' Farry said, his eyes wide and wondering. 'How can you tell?' Why, his mother hadn't even seen the rider, nor had he! They had only the driver's word that it was a Pony Post rider of his father's, or perhaps Uncle Merry's.

Diamond patted his knee again, and then re-settled herself on the cushioned seat, closing her eyes to resume an interrupted nap. 'Good news,' she said, and yawned. Blinking her eyes open to smile into her son's inquiring eyes, she added, 'Has to be! Only good news would be travelling so quickly from the Brandywine to the Smials on this day of days!'

She settled her shawl more closely around her shoulders, for the interior of the coach had been chilled when Farry threw open the window to shout his question to the driver, and even though the window was firmly shut again, it would take some time for the brazier's warmth to take effect once more.

'Besides,' she added, at Farry's quizzical look (for she, too, had been thinking about Tolibold, and hoping against hope that the faithful hobbit might be brought safely to the healing hands of the King), 'if it were bad news about Tolly, there'd be no need to bring the news to his children at a break-neck gallop. They're already fearing the worst... No, no; bad news will keep, I'm afraid, but good news...! I can see your father or Uncle Merry telling the rider not to spare the ponies, to bring good news to Tolly's little ones!'

Farry nodded, reassured on this point, but then a new worry occurred to him.

'But... what if something's happened to Father?' Farry wanted to know.

Diamond smiled at his grown-up air. Not the familiar “Da” but the more formal “Father”, as if the lad were sitting in a meeting of family heads. Secure in the knowledge given by greater age and experience, she had no worries. 'If something had happened to your da,' she said, sitting up a little straighter for a moment, 'and Uncle Merry had sent to tell us, don't you think the rider would have pulled up when he saw the coach?'

Farry sat taking this in, from his expression not quite convinced.

'They knew we'd be following them,' Diamond continued, 'for after all, we are to be meeting the King and Queen at the Bridge.'

Farry nodded slowly.

'Besides,' Diamond said, 'your father was travelling in company with Hilly and Haldi, two of his most responsible hobbits of the escort...' she had trouble not laughing at Faramir's expression—Pippin's word might have been interfering or even annoyingly attentive as well his son knew, '...not to mention, he's under the eye of the canniest healer in the Smials, next to Woodruff.'

Faramir thought this over, and then nodded, though he didn't look completely convinced. 'Uncle Merry says...' he began, and stopped.

'What does Uncle Merry say?' Diamond wanted to know.

Faramir squirmed a little, but when Diamond raised an insistent eyebrow he sighed. 'He says,' he went on, and paused, then ploughed ahead resolutely. 'He says if there's any trouble to be found, Da will be the one to find it.'

Diamond threw back her head and laughed, so heartily that the tears came to her eyes. At last she caught her breath and wiped her face, leftover chuckles still escaping in occasional ripples.

'Mum?' Farry said, but he looked more hopeful and less worried now, more like a little lad ought to look, and not like one too-soon grown up by the terrifying circumstances of recent events.

'Trust your Uncle Merry to have exactly the right word,' she said, shaking her finger at Farry (though perhaps she was really shaking it at her absent husband). 'He knows your father all too well, I fear.'

Farry smiled at this, and chuckled a little himself.

Wide awake now, Diamond plunged into the first of a string of stories about Farry's father, and his capacity for finding trouble.

It was a lovely way to pass the time, and Diamond had more than enough stories to fill the day's journey, so that when they arrived at the Cockerel at teatime, it seemed as if the journey had taken no time at all.

Chapter 44. Healing Hands

The Great Smials' courtyard was deserted when Merry galloped in, his pony dark with sweat, its flanks flecked with foam despite the chill of the winter air. A lone stable lad emerged on hearing the clatter of pony hoofs on the stones, huddled in his cloak, breath emerging in a white plume.

'Message to go back?' he said, shivers evident in his voice. 'Need a pony ready?'

'Yes!' Merry said, leaping out of the saddle and racing to one of the lesser entrances, from his experience faster than mounting the wide stone steps to the main entrance. He slammed the door open, startling the Took who watched by that door (prudently inside)--but the fellow recognised an urgent messenger when he saw one, and didn't try to hinder him. He only hoped that the message was good news, after all the bad news of recent days.

The corridors were deserted. It was the time of the late noontide meal, and Merry guessed rightly that most of the Tooks were gathered in the great room for the meal, where the gossip would be at its juiciest. He ran lightly through the hallways right to Ferdi's apartments, almost colliding with the door in his haste, and panting, tapped at the door.

No answer.

He pushed the door open, calling. 'Hullo?' He heard only silence in reply.

His heart hammered in his ears, not just from the strenuous ride and run, but from sudden fear. What if Ferdi had suddenly taken a turn for the worse? What if...?

But no. The windows had not been hung with mourning when he'd arrived, and he'd not met another rider along the way, pelting towards Buckland with grim news for the Thain. He'd seen a fine coach, probably Pippin's second-best (considering he'd used the best coach in the Smials to transport Tolly to the King), though he hadn't paused to be sure. It was most likely the coach carrying Diamond and Farry to the King's farewell from the Northlands, however. Quite handy, as a matter of fact, that Strider and his retinue had been preparing to depart southwards to reach Gondor in time for the New Year celebration. Put him in just the right place at the right time.

Merry shuddered to think how things might have been if Farry's abduction had taken place a few weeks later, after the King was well on his way to the South. Would the lad have survived the ordeal? If he'd succumbed, would Pip have survived losing his son?

He took himself in hand, giving himself a good shake as he entered the silent apartments and closed the door softly behind him. Silent, yes. Silent as...

Impatiently he pulled the hood back from his head as he crept into the sitting room, where a kettle steamed gently on the fire, and on to the hall leading to the bedrooms, marvelling at the silence in the middle of the day. Not even a servant was there, polishing the andirons. But of course, he reminded himself, the gossip will be flying thick in the great room this day, after all the recent excitement...

Reaching Nell and Ferdi's bedroom, he found the door ajar, and hearing the sound of gentle snoring, he peeped in.

Ferdi lay in the bed, face as white as the pillows, and Nell was curled by his side, her arms around him as if afraid to let him go. Neither stirred at Merry's soft greeting. No healer was in evidence (Running an errand? Ferdi was better, and didn't need watching? No, to Merry's eyes he looked somehow worse than at their last meeting, his eyes darkly shadowed, his face so very pale...), and someone had likely taken the children off to the great room for the meal.

'Well then,' he muttered to himself, shedding his cloak. 'No need to argue anyone into anything.' For he knew how Nell might protest outlandish things such as leaves from outside the Bounds, even leaves sent by a healer-King, and if not Nell, than certainly any healer returning from an errand might waste precious time and lingering essence of athelas wanting to know what the leaves were and why they were supposed to be used in just such a way, and why this or why that until all the virtue of Elessar's breath was dissipated...

He took the basin from the dresser and went back to the sitting room. Putting the basin down upon the sideboard beside a waiting teapot, he turned to the hearth to take up the teakettle. 'Lovely,' he whispered. 'It's as if they were waiting for me to come.'

The kettle was heavy with simmering water, so he filled the teapot first—the fast, hard ride had been exhilarating, but now he began to feel damp and chilled, and a cup of tea would go well once he'd done what he'd come for. Perhaps he'd lift a cup with Ferdi, wouldn't that be something?

He filled the basin next, not so full that it would slop over onto his hands, but full enough for his purpose. His hands trembled as he took the salt box from its safekeeping in an inner pocket, and he had to stop and remove his gloves before he could get it open. He removed the leaves with reverent care, holding them in his hands a moment as if he could feel power emanating from them, the power of Strider's breath, not Strider, but Elessar, even grander, come into the fullness of his power with his ascent to the throne.

Breathless, he crumpled the leaves between his palms and cast them into the steaming water. For a second he thought it had all been for naught, until he remembered that he was holding his breath. Expelling the breath and breathing in again—he'd been breathing shallowly in his apprehension, but at the living freshness that arose from the basin he couldn't help taking a deep breath, brought back for a moment to the Houses of Healing on a long-ago spring day, before the urgency of his errand returned to him.

He took up the basin and made his way as quickly as he could to the bedroom where Ferdi and Nell slept unaware of the healing he brought, and reaching the bed, held the basin before Ferdi's face.

'Breathe deep, Ferdi,' he whispered. 'Take it all in. I bring healing from the Healing Hands themselves.'

Indeed, his hopeful eyes saw Ferdi's chest, heretofore rising and falling in uneven, shallow breaths, stop and suddenly rise in a slow, deep inhalation.

Pimpernel sighed and snuggled closer to her husband, a smile appearing on her face, the little frown lines gone from her forehead as if wiped away by a gentle hand.

Ferdi breathed again, another deep breath, and his lips twitched. His eyelids fluttered, though he did not wake, and a real smile bloomed faintly on his lips. 'Violets,' he whispered, and then was still, save for the steady, deep breaths, as if he savoured the perfumed steam rising from the basin.

Shifting the basin to one arm, Merry pulled out a pocket-handkerchief and steeped it in the fragrant water, then laid it gently on Ferdi's brow, bathing the injured head with the King's healing potion, and hoping against hope. Had he come in good time?

Merry didn't know how long he stood there, breathing the steam, feeling peace steal over him, watching the sleepers dreaming, lost in his thoughts and hopes. At last he blinked, coming back to himself. The water in the basin steamed no longer. He touched it with a cautious finger—barely warm it was, but he could hope it had accomplished its purpose.

He poured out the contents of the basin into the container meant for discarded wash water and replaced the basin under its matching ewer.

'Ferdi?' he said. 'Nell?'

The sleepers made no answer, and perhaps it was just as well. He wasn't supposed to be here, after all, but in Buckland, arranging a shipment of brandy for the King's farewell banquet.

This chapter is dedicated to Larner, who did not drop off her message and then leave before I had a chance to get back from an errand, but waited long enough for me to return and greet her. *hugs*, my friend, and a very blessed Christmas to you and those you love.

Chapter 45. Sweet Dreams, Good News, and Hope to Come

Reginard, Steward of the Tookland under Thain Paladin and then Thain Peregrin, was not a fanciful fellow. Indeed, the Tooks prided themselves on his lack, fine and sensible hobbit that he was. Thus, when he returned from the noontide meal in the great room to find a hastily scribbled message laid upon his desk, a message written—as he recognised, from long acquaintance—by the hand of the Master of Buckland, he thought nothing of it, save to send a message boy (all the escort being engaged at present in other duties) to the stables, to inquire after the messenger.

The lad returned, panting, with cheeks glowing red from the chill of the courtyard. 'Gone already, sir!'

'Gone!' Regi said in patent surprise, sitting down upon his chair. 'Didn't even wait to see if there was a return message!'

And then that unimaginative hobbit nodded to himself. 'Ah, of course,' he said. 'The King's at the North Gate and all of Buckland must be there to see him and his travelling party, on their way to the Sunlands...' It really did not take any imagination on his part to realise that the messenger would hurry back so as not to miss the festivities.

As a matter of fact, he had the right of it.

He stood suddenly to his feet, scooping up the message once more, back to the business at hand. This was good news, and deserved immediate action! (In the back of his mind he chastised that careless messenger, for simply dashing in and leaving the paper upon the desk instead of seeking out the Steward at his nuncheon.)

He hurried to Tolly's apartments, where Hilly's Posey and his own Rosa were looking after Tolly's youngsters. He burst through the door into the sitting room, waving the paper. Startled faces turned to greet him from the ring that children and watchers had formed, sitting on the floor, some sort of game or other amusement. The youngest actually burst into tears at his entrance! Regi stopped in his tracks, nonplussed, his hand with the all-important message falling to his side.

Rosamunda was the first to respond. 'Yes, Regi?' she said brightly, pushing herself to her feet and crossing to meet him.

Regi blinked, then raised the paper as he remembered his errand. 'Don't cry,' he said urgently to the little one sobbing in Posey's arms. 'Don't cry; it's good news!'

'Good news!' Rosa said, taking the paper from him. Poor Regi was rather tongue-tied in the presence of small-hobbit tears, even though he was himself a father of little ones, and she'd better take on the business of proclaiming whatever news it was, before the tears began to spread to the others, their children as well as Tolly's.

A frown creased her forehead as she began to peruse the page, but it was not long before she'd broken into a little caper of joy, waving her hands—message still firmly in her clasp—over her head. 'Good news, indeed!' she chortled, belying the tears that had sprung to her eyes. She blinked them away and sat herself quickly down, beckoning to the youngsters as she smoothed the page upon her lap and pointed an eager finger. 'Look, darlings! He's well! He's really well!'

Tolly's children clustered in hope and bewilderment. They'd heard the whispers. They'd seen the heads shaking, the pitying looks as they were ushered from one place to another in the Smials. They'd realised the desperation of the healers, for it was unheard of to send a sick hobbit upon a journey—sick hobbits belonged in bed, even Tooks who were ever ready to speak their disdain of lolling about on a bed, healer's orders or no. 'W-well?' Gorbi, Tolly's eldest said, after taking a shaky breath.

Rosa astonished them by throwing back her head to laugh, but she quickly recovered and flung out her arms as if to gather them under her wings. 'Come!' she said in her gayest tones, for she was one of the healers who'd given Tolly up, even though they'd never allow themselves to say so, not in so many words. How light her heart! It was as if she'd been given her own miracle this day, new hope from the ashes of despair.

The children leaned closer, all eyes on the page. Rosa brought down her hand, to point to each word as she read aloud, for the benefit of the littlest ones, and to steady her pounding heart. 'From the hand of the Master—they've reached Buckland, and the King, evidently—To the family of Tolibold and Meadowsweet Took, and he names each of you, children, Gorbibold, and—'

'There's my name!' exclaimed little Jasper, Tolly's by adoption rather than birth, but as beloved of his father as any of the others, and perhaps even a little more, for the trials he'd cost the head of escort.

'Yes, all your names are there,' Rosa said, ready to begin reading the list again, but Gorbi broke in, his expression anxious, more demand than question.

'But what does it say?' He took another shuddery breath, his eyes wide with worry. 'And what of Mum?'

Rosa sighed, but it was a happy sigh. There would be time to go over the whole of the letter again, properly, from initial greeting to final signature, all the time in the world as it seemed now, and no need to keep them in suspense any longer. 'Oh children,' she said. 'Your father is well, healed by a son of Elrond!'

'Not the King?' Flambold broke in eagerly.

'The King is a son of Elrond...' Regi said slowly, and then shook his head. 'I do wish Master Merry would refrain from couching his messages in fancy phrases. It makes his meaning all the harder to manage.'

'O he manages just fine, a little further along,' Rosa countered. 'Look children! Her finger moved on the page. 'Completely healed it says, Completely! Just a day or two for the party to rest, after the strain of driving through the night...' She cleared her throat and squinted at the page, trying to read between the lines. “Completely healed” the message said, but did Merry really mean such? Was the delay part of Tolly's recovery? You didn't, after all, put a sick hobbit into a coach, nor even a recovering one, lest a recurrence strike, and worse than the first malady.

'And Mum?' Gorbi insisted.

'The Master doesn't say,' Rosa had to admit, adding quickly, 'but I'm sure that if aught were amiss, he'd have said so.'

One of Tolly's older children muttered something about how “bad news keeps” but Rosa managed not to hear it. She smiled brightly, saying, 'They'll be on their way back within the week. What shall we do to make ready to welcome them home?'

Immediately the children were deep in details, and Regi met his wife's eye and raised an eloquent eyebrow in wry congratulation. How Rosa managed them so well, he'd no idea, but he had other fish to fry at the moment in any event. Ferdi would certainly welcome the news of Tolly's recovery, and perhaps it would help his own along. He extended a hand, and as if she read his intention—and she probably did, intuitive healer that she was—she slipped the message to him without missing a single word of excited planning going on around her.

Regi nodded to Hilly's Posey, his lips twitching in reaction to her radiant smile. How relieved she was, that her beloved was spared this bitter loss!

For that matter, how relieved he was, himself! But of course, as Steward to the Tookland he was on his dignity, easing himself out of Tolly's apartments, and so he merely contented himself with a smile and a nod for the servant he met just outside the entry: Rusty, who served Ferdi's and Tolly's families. Rusty had evidently overheard the news, for his grin was broad enough to split his face and bright enough to light a darkened corridor. 'Good news!' that hobbit whispered, and Regi answered low as well, though he'd no idea why they were whispering. 'Good news indeed!'

It was not far to Ferdi's apartments, so distance was no impediment, but the healer's assistant in the sitting room was such, rising to meet the steward with an urgent shushing gesture. 'They're both asleep!' he said, his manner as important as if he had not sneaked out to partake of the late noontide meal and gossip, after seeing that both Ferdi and Nell were deep in sleep and unlikely to waken soon. It had been something of a breach of his professional ethic, but he'd been reassured upon his return, bare moments ago, to see them lying as if they hadn't moved a muscle in all his absence.

'I have good news, Wort!' Regi said, shaking the paper. 'Ferdi will want to know, so soon as possible!'

'I don't know...' Wort said. 'I have my orders. Fennel said...'

Regi put on his most official tone. 'Do I have to go and fetch Fennel here, to tell you to let me bring this news to Ferdi?' He nearly spoilt it by adding, 'Tolly's well!'

'Well...' Wort said, and he wasn't considering, but merely echoing Regi's last word in disbelief. 'What kind of...? Well, you say? How could that be, when Woodruff plainly thought he was dying, plain as the nose on my face...'

Regi had to admit that Wort's nose was as plain as that, and perhaps plainer, even, but it wouldn't help the situation to say so. 'Well,' he temporised, 'she didn't take into account the healing hands of the King now, did she?'

Wort shook his head. 'I can scarcely credit that there is a King,' he said candidly, 'but I suppose there must be such a thing...' His voice trailed off, his tone dubious, rather of the I'll believe it when I see it variety.

Regi wasn't about to spoil things further by saying that the message said nothing about the King after all, but rather “a son of Elrond.” Wort would likely give little credence to Elves or the Half-elven either. Instead he pressed his point. 'I won't waken them,' he promised. 'If they are truly still asleep, I'll just look in, and come back later with the news.'

'Well...' Wort said, and this time he was considering. 'Very well.' He sketched a bow to the steward in dismissal, and Regi nodded in return. Wort was, after all, a healer, and somewhat insulated from reprimand by that fact. Tooks walked softly around such hobbits, who could stir up a vile draught and conveniently forget the sweetening if they were so inclined, or keep a recovering Took in bed days longer than strictly needed. Though few healers would deliberately stir up a barely drinkable draught, it was best not to offend them.

Regi tiptoed from the sitting room, down the short corridor to the large bedroom where Ferdi and Pimpernel were sleeping. The door was ajar, and he pushed it open, his nostrils twitching unconsciously at the hint of freshness in the air. Some half-forgotten pleasant memory stirred in the back of his mind before he turned his attention to the slumbering figures curled together in the bed, shadowy in the half-light of the turned down lamp.

'Ferdi?' he whispered, crossing to the bed. He took a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. Ah, good, Wort had remained in the sitting room and wasn't hovering to make sure Regi didn't disturb the sleepers. He pursed his lips. Wort ought to have shadowed him. Perhaps he ought to take Wort's dereliction up with Woodruff. Though he had little enough imagination, he began to wonder what other neglect the hobbit might have practiced. Regi'd seen him in the great room, deep in gossip, at the late noontide meal. He wondered if Wort had just come on duty, or if he'd been the watcher assigned...? And if so, what had he been doing, leaving his post?

In any event, Woodruff's dealings with assistants could wait. Good news, however, should be delivered as soon as possible.

'Ferdi?' he whispered again. 'Nell?'

Pimpernel sighed and nestled her head on Ferdi's shoulder, her arms briefly tightening around her husband before she relaxed again. Ferdi's breathing continued deep and even. An air of peace pervaded the room, and again Regi had an inkling of an elusive scent.

He shook his head to dispel the fancy and bent down after another furtive glance behind him. 'Ferdi,' he murmured in that hobbit's ear. 'Ferdi, I've good news! Tolly's well! He's healed, Ferdi, and he'll greet you himself in just a few days' time.'

Ferdi smiled in his sleep, and to Regi's thinking he looked better for having heard the news, even without wakening. Satisfied, he nodded, and lightly patted Ferdi's shoulder. 'You just keep sleeping, lad, and mending,' he added in his most encouraging tone, 'that you might greet him as well.'

Chapter 46. Six of One

Merry saw the Thain's second-best coach drawn up in the courtyard of the Crowing Cockerel when he turned in at the entrance. His travels were beginning to tell on him, and it was a temptation to stop, just long enough to lift a steaming cup of tea, to take a quick meal, to share a laugh with Diamond and her little son... but for the fact (as he belatedly remembered) that he was travelling in secret, as well as the fact that the ostler had his remount ready, in response to the song of his silver horn as he'd approached. Really, it was enough to be able to tell Pippin that his wife and son had obviously arrived safely at their half-way point, in time for tea, and would undoubtedly rest well before commencing the journey once more, next day.

It would be enough, he told himself as he hauled himself into the fresh mount's saddle. It will be enough, he repeated to himself, swaying a bit in the saddle before he determinedly leaned forward and nudged the dancing pony into a gallop. It had better...

He chanted the words in time with the rapid hoofbeats, but found his eyes closing of themselves. 'None of that, now!' he shouted into the wind, raising his face to let the cold rush of air blast him to wakefulness. It helped, and at the next change they had a mug of strong, hot tea ready for him along with the fresh pony, and he took the time to gulp it down, though he burned his tongue in his haste.

'My thanks!' he gasped, shoving the mug back into the hands of the lass who'd held it out to him, and then he leapt to the saddle, reinvigorated, and was gone. Not... long... now... he gasped, in time to the galloping hoofs. Not... long... now... Six changes of pony, to gallop the fifty miles between Great Smials and the Ferry. Six changes... how many did this make?

He honestly could not remember.

***

To Haldi's astonishment, Pippin and Hilly continued asleep, as each hour he visited the stables to check on them, even when he checked to see if they were wakeful enough to eat the noontide meal, which they weren't. Each time he found the tall, silent figure sitting quietly, as if watching over the slumbering hobbits, and apparently not wanting anything, neither food nor drink, though a wakeful hobbit would likely have been hungered in the same amount of time. Still, Pippin had told his wondering relatives stories of how the Men of Minas Tirith ate only two meals in a day, and sometimes one meal a day, during the time of the War when Pippin had been in the Southlands, in the service of the King (they never quite grasped that he wasn't King, at the time). Haldi supposed it was not all that surprising if this giant ate as sparingly, though it hardly made sense. A larger body ought to need more food, at least to his way of thinking.

Still, the mysterious figure declined his every offer of food and drink, with gracious enough thanks, but still a clear refusal. Very strange. He'd heard that the fellow was a son of Elrond. Perhaps Elvish folk ate even less than the Big Men of Gondor.

It wasn't until teatime that he found the two of them, Thain and fellow escort, stretching and sitting up, obviously only just awakened, and glad to welcome him and his offer to fetch food.

'And plenty of it!' Pippin said, but Hilly also wanted to know about his brother.

'Tolly's well,' Haldi could tell him. 'Woke again, at half-past two, and ate another cartload of food before he fell asleep again.'

'Half-past two!' Pippin said. 'What time is it now, I ask you?'

'Teatime,' Haldi said. 'Four o' the clock, or it will be in five minutes or so, and I came to see if you were ready for something or other.'

'Something hearty, for certain,' Pippin said, 'and enough for all of us, and more. I could eat a horse!' and at a whicker from the stall next to theirs, he added, 'Present company excepted, of course.'

Hilly and Haldi laughed, and there was even a low chuckle from the cloaked one.

'Right away, sir!' Haldi said smartly, and turned on his heel to order another feast, to be sent to the stable, much to the cook's dismay, but as no complaints had followed breakfast in the stable, it must be all right, somehow.

Hearty it was, more of a midday meal than a tea tray, what with the thick, meaty stew that had been kept warming over a low fire after the noontide meal had been served to the rest of the guests in the common room, with chunks of fresh-baked bread, assortment of cheeses and cut up fruit and more, followed an hour or so later with a proper tea of sandwiches and cakes.

They made a merry meal, the Thain and two of his hobbits of escort, and the hooded stranger who managed to eat without once revealing his face.

And so teatime came, and teatime went, and the early winter darkness fell, but Merry did not come. Haldi went back to the common room to wait, and Pippin dismissed Hilly to join his family, 'and don't come back until I send word to summon you, for a hobbit cannot think his own thoughts with escort here, and escort there, dogging his heels.'

Hilly went with good humour, as he suspected that the cloaked stranger made a more than adequate escort for the Thain, and he was right.

Pippin started up at every sound of hoofs in the courtyard, as other travellers broke their journey for the evening, and still Merry did not come. His companion could offer little comfort, save to say that such a journey must take so much time, and then there was the time to be spent administering the athelas added to that, and it might be some hours yet...

'Well if he is not here before middle night, I'm going out in search,' Pippin said stubbornly, and the hooded head nodded in resignation, though Elessar pointedly did not offer to company him.

As is the way of things, it was only after Pippin had given up looking out at the sound of every arrival, that a shout of alarm sounded in the courtyard, and a few moments later a stable worker led a staggering, cloaked figure to the back of the stables. 'Here he is, sirs,' he said. 'You told us to look out for a post rider, and this is the first one to come along, and so I figure this is the one...?'

'Yes, thank you,' Pippin said, jumping to his feet to take his cloak-wrapped cousin in hand.

'He rode his pony awfully hard,' the stable worker said disapprovingly. 'I hope you'll have a word with him...'

'I will,' Pippin promised. 'I'll have more than one word for him, I can promise you that.'

'Very well,' the stable worker said, somewhat mollified, and went back to make sure the hard-ridden pony was properly cared for.

'So, Merry,' Pippin said, as he eased Merry down and Elessar bent to examine the exhausted hobbit.

'That was two words,' Merry said faintly. 'I'd call it enough said.'

'Where have you been?' Pippin demanded, taking up a mug of no-longer-warm tea and holding it to Merry's lips. He ought to have ordered a fresh pot from the stable worker. He would order a fresh pot, and more, just so soon as he satisfied himself that his cousin had taken no ill from his efforts.

'I'd think you know that already,' Merry said, after a gulp and a sigh. 'Ah, but that's what was needed.'

Chapter 47. Half a Dozen of Another

Not long after Merry’s arrival came Haldi, followed by servitors bearing trays of eventides. Though Merry quickly pulled the hood of his cloak up to hide his face and scrambled back into a shadowy corner, it is possible the hobbit of escort recognised the Master of Buckland. If so, he was wise enough to scent a conspiracy, and to know that gossip would not be productive, but likely harmful. Thus he only nodded to the two cloaked and hooded figures, large and small, and turned his attentions to the Thain as the servitors laid down their trays on a bench that had been brought to the stall for just such a contingency. At a gesture from the Thain, the servers withdrew, not without a curious glance for the anonymous lurkers in the shadows.

‘Tolly’s awake again, if you’d like to speak with him,’ the escort said.

‘How is he?’ Pippin wanted to know.

Haldi shrugged. ‘Seems himself again, only much thinner than he was, of course. He’ll soon make up lost ground, the way Mardi and Meadowsweet keep thrusting food upon him.’

‘But he’s eating with good appetite?’ Pippin asked. ‘They don’t have to force him to eat?’

Haldi shuddered at the thought of having to force anyone to eat. ‘Not at all – but let the same not be said for yourself, and your… guests,’ he said, gesturing to the trays.

‘Quite right. Wouldn’t want this good food to go cold,’ Pippin said, sniffing in appreciation at the lovely aromas of hot, hearty soup and fresh-baked bread, rising from under the coverings. ‘You go on back to the common room, Haldi, but send Hilly to me once you’ve finished your meal, and he’s finished his.’

‘Aye, sir,’ Haldi answered, and with a nod for the Thain, and one for each of the Thain’s companions, he took his leave.

‘Plenty enough for an army!’ Pippin said, removing the covering from one tray. ‘Strider?’

‘Merry may have my share, and welcome,’ the King said, remaining comfortably seated in his shadowy corner, leaning back against a pile of hay. He stretched his long legs out before him and sighed. ‘All the comforts of home.’

‘Were you born in a barn?’ Pippin inquired, and followed with, ‘No matter. Merry, come and eat while it’s still hot!’

‘Ah, hot food,’ Merry said, his strength evidently restored by the cold tea, or perhaps the good smells filling the stall. ‘You won’t have to ask me twice.’ He moved forward, stopping to peer into the corridor.

‘You needn’t worry about being seen and recognised by the workers here,’ Pippin said. ‘They’ll all be off at their own eventides. There’s a watcher in the doorway to the courtyard, in case any traveller should arrive, but we ought to remain undisturbed here.’ He waved in Elessar’s direction. ‘They’re of the opinion that our companion here is the shy and retiring type.’

‘Ah,’ Merry repeated, turning to the food. He pushed back his hood, though he retained his cloak (the stables were a bit chilly, in truth, and the finer ponies, whose coats had been clipped for show, wore blankets). He removed the covering from the other tray. ‘Wonderful!’

Piling half a dozen breadrolls atop a steaming tureen of soup, he took up tureen in one hand and spoon in the other and said, ‘This will just suit.’

‘Help yourself, cousin,’ Pippin said. ‘Did you, perhaps, not see the bowl they provided?’

‘There’s plenty more where that came from,’ Merry said. ‘Another tureen awaits your pleasure on the second tray, and another basket of bread into the bargain, and look – crocks of butter, jam, and marmalade! They know how to do things properly here. And Strider, if he wishes, may use my bowl to sup on a little of your soup, cousin.’

‘Very generous of you,’ Pippin said. ‘Strider?’

Elessar held up a staying hand. ‘Truly,’ he said. ‘Tea was sufficient. I shall not feel a need for sustenance until the dawning, at the very earliest.’

Pippin shook his head. ‘These Men of Gondor and Arnor,’ he said. ‘Eat like birds.’

‘Hah,’ the King answered. ‘That is a better description of hobbits, I should say, considering how quickly the birds empty the feeders in the royal gardens, and the cost in the household budget for bird seed…’

With hot food, and plenty of it, Merry was soon restored.

Pippin managed half the contents of his tureen, and persuaded the Man to take a bowl or two, simply to taste the cookery to be had in a Shirish inn, ‘for your royal cooks could take a page out of this inn’s cookbook, they could – now this is what I call soup!’

‘I’ll make a note of it,’ Elessar said, and Pippin eyed him closely.

‘Be sure that you do,’ he said. ‘’Twill make visits so much pleasanter, not to anticipate starving at royal banquets.’

‘You always eat a full meal before a banquet as it is,’ the King pointed out.

‘Ah yes, but think of all your other guests!’ Pippin said.

The King inclined his head, in a nod to show he would consider the matter.

Merry sighed, a satisfied sigh, and rose to replace his tureen on the tray. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘to discuss how to spirit you out of here, and myself as well, and no one the wiser.’ He moved back into the shadows and tugged his hood into place once more, in case a stable worker returning from the eventide meal should look in.

‘I have an idea,’ Pippin said.

‘That’s what I appreciate about you, cousin, your wealth of ideas…’ Merry said with a grin that the others heard, rather than saw.

‘We have that fine messenger horse, as you recall,’ Pippin said. Elessar nodded. ‘And you, Merry, must have brought the Ferry over to the Stock landing, in coming here.’ Merry nodded. ‘And what about the Ferry hobbits?’

‘I told them I’d be taking it back again to the Hall myself, and no need to stir themselves,’ Merry said. ‘They are labouring under the impression that I am one of my Brandybuck cousins, on an errand for the Master, and besides, no one but a Brandybuck would take the Ferry into the River at this time of year.’

‘Ah,’ Pippin said. ‘No one is so daft as a Brandybuck, when it comes to water.’

‘Hah,’ Merry barked. ‘I resemble that remark… Unless you might be talking about a certain mad Took of my acquaintance, whose Brandybuck relations taught him how to swim, and how to manage a boat.’

‘Perhaps an error on their part,’ Pippin said.

‘Perhaps, or perhaps not. I do believe they took on the task as a matter of self-preservation, in order to cut down on the numbers of rescues of impetuous hobbits that would otherwise be necessary…’

‘You had a plan,’ Elessar interjected at this point, perceiving that the cousins’ chaffing might go on for some time otherwise.

‘Yes. What if I happened to wager you, Strider, that I could sneak one of your messenger horses from the picket line, without your guards noticing, and ride the beast as my illustrious relation Bandobras is said to have done?’

‘How much are we wagering?’ the King wanted to know.

‘The price of a mug,’ Pippin said with a shrug. ‘It’s all my dear wife will allow me to risk.’

Elessar nodded. ‘Wagering can be thirsty work,’ he said. ‘I accept.’

‘And if he falls on his head?’ Merry demanded.

‘I’m so tall as Bandobras was,’ Pippin insisted, ‘which gives me a good chance, if I do say so myself, and I do. But if I fall on my head, well, Strider wins his wager.’

‘Thirsty work,’ the King repeated. ‘Healing is thirsty work, as well, as I recall. Two mugs might be necessary.’

‘One mug is all my dear wife will allow,’ Pippin maintained. ‘In any event, if I am successful, you shall be providing me the mug, remember?’

‘And I shall have to have one myself, to keep you company,’ Elessar said.

‘Very good,’ Pippin said with a nod. ‘I can see why they made you King. So, I shall have wagered you that I could sneak a fine messenger horse from the picket line, lead the beast across the Bridge – last night’s fog was quite a boon for such an endeavour! – fetch my escort back to the Bridge (for it was quite a scandal, for me to have ridden off without an escort to seek you, er, a son of Elrond, and I should hate to cut Hilly’s celebrating short by imposing three days of water rations on him, Tolly, and Haldi…)’

‘You wouldn’t,’ Merry said.

Pippin shrugged. ‘I’d have to!’ he said. ‘It’s the penalty for neglecting one’s duty, and I certainly slipped the escort, riding all the way to the Bridge as I did, and leaving Hilly in the courtyard, poor fellow.’

‘Pippin…’ Merry said in warning.

Pippin held up a staying hand. ‘However,’ he said, ‘with my wager and its consequences, I am redressing my wrongs to my hobbits of escort,’ he said. ‘I have returned for Hilly, and we shall return to the Bridge and make a great deal of commotion in our arrival. And Strider,’ he peered sternly into the shadowy face hidden in the hood, ‘I do hope you can arrange some appropriate consequences for the guardsman in charge of the picket line.’

‘Not quite fair, with the Queen and King, Thain, Master, and Mayor all participating in the conspiracy,’ Merry muttered.

‘Have no fear, my friend,’ Elessar said. ‘I am allowed to be wise and merciful, after all, and this is his first offence, if I am not mistaken.’

‘As I doubt you are,’ Pippin said. ‘Mistaken, that is.’ He rose and stretched. ‘So, as soon as Hilly comes, he’ll saddle his pony, and you’ll boost me onto the horse’s back, and we’ll set off at an easy pace to the Bridge. It should take us some four or five hours at the walk – six or seven, perhaps, if we manage things properly, and that will give you time to reach the Ferry, cross over to Buckland, hide yourself away amidst the barrels of brandy that Merry’s relations have loaded onto a waggon, if they have proceeded with their usual Brandybuck efficiency…’

‘They are nothing if not efficient,’ Merry agreed.

‘Thanks in great part to your wife’s efforts, I should think,’ Pippin said, and smiled at his cousin’s feigned splutters. ‘In any event, you ought to reach the King’s encampment an hour or two before I arrive to claim my wager, and in my generosity I shall insist on a mug of fine ale for everyone, Hilly included (so you see, being a hobbit of the Thain’s escort has its good points as well as its trials), and we’ll drink a toast to the sons of Elrond, and the Queen’s beauty, and anything else we can think of.’

‘I cannot imagine a better plan,’ Elessar said, inclining his head in agreement.

‘Ah,’ Pippin said, seeing movement in the corridor outside their secluded stall. ‘Here’s Hilly now. Shall we explain the plan to him, and put it into motion?’

‘Let us, do,’ Merry said, ‘before Samwise loses his voice from doing all the talking at our expense. He’s been holding forth for hours, I imagine!’

‘That’s why we made him Mayor,’ Pippin said. ‘We ought to expect no less.’

Chapter 48. Caught between a Rock and a Hard Place

‘My Lord King,’ Bergil said deferentially, drawing the flap slightly to the side, only enough to speak through. He’d been given strict orders by the guardsman he’d relieved, when he took over the post of guarding the entrance to the King’s pavilion, that the King’s conference with his Counsellors was not to be disturbed, for any reason, by any means.

‘Yes?’ the quiet voice of the King came in reply. Too quiet. Bergil quailed within, though outwardly he gave no sign. He was too well-disciplined for that. But… Flogging, at the very least, he thought dismally. Reduction in grade, perhaps? He found a sort of morbid pleasure in imagining the consequences of disobeying a direct order. And yet… What could he do? He was caught between two difficult decisions, neither of them palatable.

‘Sir,’ he said, straightening further to attention, though he’d already been at muscle-straining, near-to-quivering attention before. ‘The missing Messenger mount has returned…’

‘Ah,’ the King said, unhelpfully, but Bergil repressed a shudder at the mild tone. He couldn’t see Elessar’s face, as he’d opened the flap only wide enough for his voice to carry within, and not enough to see the inside of the pavilion. He wondered what sort of secret dealings had been going on within. Whatever the business was, it must be serious. They’d been at it since the previous night, throughout the day, and into the middle of this night.

‘The guard at the Bridge have urgently requested the King’s presence,’ Bergil went on. He’d already disturbed the conference, earning some dire but unspoken punishment. How bad could it be, if doubled?

‘Urgently?’ the King said. Monosyllables were bad, Bergil knew that much, though he’d only been assigned as part of Elessar’s personal guard for a relatively short time, and perhaps not very much longer, as matters stood. He summoned a deep breath, unsure of what to say next, when he was (gladly!) interrupted by the Queen’s gentle tones.

‘Perhaps you ought to go out, my dear, to see what is the matter? Perhaps they’ve found evidence of Orcs, or wolves, or some such? Perhaps the beast has returned with serious injuries, and requires your attention…?’

‘If one of my Messengers’ horses Is seriously injured, there’s going to be the king of the Easterlings to pay,’ Elessar responded. His voice grew louder as he approached the entrance, warning Bergil to jump back and assume his previous position as guard, his back to the entrance and a few feet away, that he might not hear the conversation within.

The King emerged from the tent and stalked past Bergil, his face grim. Had the guardsman not been standing at strict attention, he’d have let out a pent-up breath once Elessar was past. As it was, he felt himself growing dizzy a moment or so later, and had to force himself to breathe.

***

Elessar suppressed a grin as he made his way to the Bridge. He was sure the guardsman on duty would spread the word of his attitude at being interrupted, thus reinforcing the general idea that he had been in an important conference with his Counsellors of the North Kingdom, one so important that it had lasted more than a day without apparent rest or respite. (Except, perhaps, for the evidence provided by denuded platters that were piled inside the tent, obvious proof that the hobbits had replenished their energies at regular intervals.)

The guards assigned to the Bridge snapped to attention at his approach. They, too, had heard the decree that the King was not to be disturbed, under any circumstances. (It had been a matter of discreet talk in the mess, speculating on the important matters under discussion.)

‘As you were,’ he said. ‘Berion. Hador,’ he added, looking from one guard to the other. ‘Now, why have you disturbed our discussions?’

‘Sir,’ Berion said uneasily. ‘The Ernil i Pheriannath charged us most urgently to summon you.’

‘The Ernil i Pheriannath,’ the King said slowly.

‘Sir,’ Berion said, exchanging glances with his companion. He didn’t want to add that the Prince of the Halflings outranked the two guards, but he didn’t have to, for the King – to the surprise of the two guardsmen – began to smile.

‘The Ernil i Pheriannath,’ he repeated, and paused to scrutinise the two guardsmen, until they had a difficult time resisting the urge to fidget. At last, he said, ‘Does he happen to be riding a horse?’

Hador’s mouth opened in surprise, and then he shut it with a snap. He wanted to ask how the King had divined such information, but he restricted himself to a mere, ‘Yes, my Lord King.’

Berion, having nothing better to say, stood mute.

‘Would it be the missing Messenger?’ the King added.

The guards did not have to answer this question – though they had identified the beast by the light of the lamps on the Bridge when the Ernil rode forward to identify himself, and called for the King.

The King forestalled any answer as he strode past, onto the Bridge, and stopped mid-span. ‘Peregrin!’ he called.

‘Strider!’ came the ringing reply from the Shire end of the Bridge. The clopping of hoofs was the next sound, and Pippin moved into the light from the first of the lamps on the Shire side of the Bridge, atop a tall horse, Hilly riding at his side on a pony.

‘I see you found yourself a horse.’

‘And I’m riding it, as well!’ Pippin said with a laugh.

‘I can see that,’ Elessar said drily.

‘And I did not fall off,’ Pippin added.

‘He did not,’ Hilly felt the need to put in. ‘I was a bit concerned that he might, but it appears the old stories about Bandobras the Bullroarer were true.’

‘Of course they were true!’ Pippin said. ‘Every word, including the part about the goblin chieftain's head…’ He bowed on the saddle. ‘And thanks to your fine Messenger mount, I was able to fetch my errant escort…’

‘Hi!’ Hilly said, startled. ‘As to errant, I think it is the pot calling the teapot “black”.’

‘That’s “kettle”,’ Pippin said.

‘I think not,’ retorted Hilly.

‘I think I agree with Hilly, here,’ Elessar said, and the two shared a look.

‘I only borrowed him,’ Pippin said. ‘I brought him back!’

***

The talk in the guardsmen's mess was lively for the rest of that night, if hushed, as guardsmen came from their duty or prepared to go on duty. There was much laughter, and many stories of Pippin's exploits some years earlier in Minas Tirith.

In the King's pavilion, in the meantime, before they finished their discussion and sought their beds, the King and his Counsellors enjoyed the fine ale ordered by the King, and despite the terms of the wager, more than one mug each.

A good time was had by all.

Chapter 49. Between You, Me, and the Bedpost

The next morning, the King and his Counsellors solemnly shook hands in the presence of the nobles and guardsmen who were travelling with the royal party, and announced that their deliberations had concluded, with success for all. The guardsmen who’d been assigned to keep intruders away from the King’s pavilion drew deep breaths of relief at this, though of course they didn’t show it, standing at attention in ranks as they were. Nothing had been said about punishment for anyone, not even Bergil, who’d pulled aside the tent flap enough to speak to those within.

Of course, it helped that the Ernil i Pheriannath had slipped out of the tent; had been the one to “borrow” the Messenger horse – and insisted that no fault be assigned to those guarding the horses. He’d had a sudden pang of conscience, it was said, for being so eager to see the King again that he rode off without waiting for his escort. Somehow the word had been spread (no one quite knew where the information came from in the first place, though perhaps Hilly had talked about such on his earlier visit to the Lake while acting as escort by Tookish custom) that the Thain travelled almost invariably with an escort, and that an escort found in neglect of his duties would suffer severe consequences.

The Men shuddered to imagine what “severe consequences” might be. They knew what the phrase meant in Gondor and Arnor, especially for a guardsman found in neglect of his duties. An escort was a guard of sorts, as it were.

After that, there was time for the hobbits to bathe and dress in anticipation of the arrival of the Mistresses of Tookland and Buckland, as well as the Mayor's family. Then there was the celebration itself, a combination of welcome and farewell. The hobbits welcomed the King and his retinue in the journey from the Lake to the Gate of Buckland, but also wished them safe travel on their return to Gondor.

With such a lot of celebrating to do, it’s not surprising that three days were set aside to fit everything in: the feasting, the exhibitions by hobbit archers and wrestlers and dancers, and of swordsmanship and unarmed combat by the guardsmen, and riding exploits by the knights who accompanied their King. And more feasting, of course.

***

At the same time King and Counsellors of the North Kingdom were sealing their agreements, Tolly was stretching in his bed, and looking about with greater consciousness. ‘An inn!’ he said in surprise. ‘What are we doing in an inn? Last I remember…’

‘What is the last you remember?’ Mardi said, moving immediately to his brother’s bedside with a frown, that he quickly replaced with a bland healer’s smile.

‘Why, I…’ Tolly said in confusion, blinking at him. ‘Have I been ill? Why are you here? Where is Meadowsweet?’

‘Your wife,’ Mardi said, ‘is taking a bath. A nice, hot, steaming, long, soaking bath. Healer’s orders.’

‘Has she been ill?’ Tolly said, sitting up in alarm and making as if he would jump out of the bed and go in search of his beloved.

‘No, but you have,’ Mardi said.

Tolly screwed up his face in puzzlement. ‘But I’ve never felt better!’ he insisted. ‘Not even a muzzy head, as if I’d had too much to drink last night! I feel as if… as if…’

‘What do you feel?’ Mardi said, taking his brother’s hand to find the pulse. ‘Hold still!’

Tolly held still, but it was more because he was thinking hard, than that he was obeying his older brother. At last he said in a soft voice, full of wonder, ‘As if I’ve been on holiday,’ he said. ‘A long holiday, filled with feasting, and joy, and sunlight…’ And he looked to his brother, clearly bemused. ‘But if I had been on holiday, such a holiday, wouldn’t I remember it?’

‘You would,’ Mardi said, gently releasing his brother and sinking down on the bed. ‘If there had been such a holiday, I’m sure that you would remember it.’

‘And if I’d drunk enough to forget,’ Tolly forged on, ‘well then, I’d have the big head this morning, which I don’t.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Mardi said, ‘that your head is not aching, that is.’ He reached out a hand, which Tolly (out of reflex) tried to fend away. ‘Now then,’ Mardi said firmly. ‘Let the healer work.’

‘Healer?’ Tolly said, allowing Mardi to test his forehead for fever. ‘What do I need a healer for? I feel… I feel… well! No, better than that!’

‘You sound well,’ Mardi said, suddenly shot through with gladness. ‘You look well, you feel well – why, even your breath is fresh and sweet, where before…’

‘Before?’ Tolly interrupted, with a keen look as if to discern the unspoken words.

Mardi drew a deep breath and let it out again. ‘Let us simply say that you were not well, and leave it at that.’

‘Not well?’ Tolly said.  ‘What ever do you mean?’

Mardi’s explanation was put off, however, by the advent of Meadowsweet, fresh from the bath, flushed and rosy, smelling of sweet soap, her curls still damp and falling over her shoulders. ‘Tolly!’ she cried, running to the bed and falling on her husband, holding him as tight as might be. ‘O Tolly! You’re awake!’

‘I am at that,’ Tolly said, rather muffled, but his arms went around his wife and he hugged her gently. ‘I should make a practice of going to sleep and awakening again, quite often, if it’s to cause so much joy to those that I love!’

‘None of your nonsense, now, lad,’ Mardi said, and then he began to laugh, and also to weep at the same time, in his joy.

And then Meadowsweet was hugging her brother in love, and whispering comfort, and Tolly sat up to hug them both, and all laughed and wept together, even though Tolly really had not a notion why.

Freddy, sharing early breakfast in the common room with Haldi, missed all the emotion, but it didn’t matter, really. He’d never had any doubt that Tolly would recover. He’d had a comfortable journey, and had travelled farther than ever before in his life, quite beyond the borders of the Tookland – such an adventure! He was sure he’d be able to dine out on the story for some days to come.

He was quite looking forward to the journey homeward in the luxury of the Thain’s best coach, into the bargain.

***

Ferdi awakened feeling better than he had in… he couldn’t quite remember. Days? The aching in his head had subsided, and the difficulty in moving the limbs on one side of his body seemed to be improving.

Nell kissed him quite tenderly when he opened his eyes. He had the impression that she’d been sitting by the bedside, watching him sleep, for some time.

He didn’t try to form words – there was no need for him to talk, really, for Nell anticipated his every want, propping him with pillows and feeding him a delicious breakfast, such that he didn’t have to lift a finger. Actually, floating on a cloud of well-being as he was, he didn’t even object to being fed, simply accepted each mouthful with a smile and nod.

A small frown of worry appeared between Nell’s eyebrows when Ferdi greeted Healer Woodruff’s arrival with a slight nod and tranquil smile. Surely something was wrong with her husband? Woodruff, too, seemed to pause a moment in uncertainty, but quickly resumed her brisk, cheerful manner. She extended both hands to him, taking his hands in hers, wrapping his hands around her fingers.

‘Now, then, Ferdi, I want you to squeeze my fingers, just so hard as you can!’

Nell watched the healer closely, saw her eyebrows rise in surprise; and a real smile took the place of the healer’s usual calm and cheerful expression. ‘Very good!’ Woodruff said, blinking. ‘That’s very good indeed!’ And Nell began to feel less worry, and more hope.

Woodruff pulled the bedcovers down to test the reflexes in Ferdi’s legs and feet, and seemed more than satisfied with the results. ‘Well now,’ she said, pulling the covers up again and smoothing them over her patient. ‘A good night’s sleep, and a few good meals… that’s what I always say!’

‘He’s healing?’ Nell ventured.

‘O’ course he’s healing!’ Woodruff said. ‘More, even!’

What she meant by “more”, Ferdi was too sleepy to ask. In point of fact, he was yawning widely, full of good food, floating on clouds, if you could say such a thing about warm, soft bedding, and drifting into a healing state of slumber once more.

‘But…’ Nell protested. ‘He’s only been awake long enough to eat a little, and now…’

‘Look,’ Woodruff whispered, as Ferdi’s eyelids fluttered and closed, and he drew a deep breath and sighed it out again, followed by regular, even breaths. ‘Just look at him! He’s got colour in his face, and the shadows are gone from under his eyes! He’s better, Nell, so much better than…’ she hesitated, and gulped, for it was hardly a sentiment that a healer should express. But she’d given up hope for the hobbit, she could admit it now, and how glad she was, to be proved wrong!

‘He’s so much better than I could hope, or imagine,’ she said, and gave Pimpernel a glad hug. ‘O my dear! I have such hope, that I never would have dreamed of!’

Pimpernel returned the hug, and then sat back. ‘You’d given him up,’ she said in wonder and sudden realisation.

Woodruff shook her head, but she wasn't negating Nell's statement. ‘It’s as Mardi said, when they pulled him out of the grave,’ she admitted. ‘He said, He’s had such a blow to the head as to send him to the Feast, and he had the right of it.’ She shook her head again. ‘I for the life of me could not see what was keeping him here, in this life, save his love for you – and love is not enough, not with such serious injury, and yet…’

She suddenly shook a finger in Pimpernel’s face, but the grin on her own belied the gesture. ‘Don’t you ever tell!’

‘Tell what?’ Nell said, befuddled.

‘Don’t you ever tell that I have no idea how this could have happened, no way to explain his recovery! Why, the Tooks will never listen to me again!’

And then the two of them, Nell and Healer Woodruff, were laughing, and hugging, laughing hilariously until the tears poured down their cheeks, quite unlike the staid healer’s usual mien.

And Ferdi simply smiled in his sleep to hear them, heaved a sigh, turned over, and pillowed his cheek on his hand.

Chapter 50. (Almost) As Fit as a Butcher's Dog

As Tolly stood up from the bed at last, ready to dress himself and begin the day, Mardi insisted on a thorough examination of his brother.

‘Before breakfast?’ Tolly protested.

‘Before anything!’ Mardi insisted. He shooed Freddy and Meadowsweet from the room. ‘Go and have early breakfast with Haldi, and have Ned see to the coach and ponies, that we may set out soon after!’ With just Freddy, the message might be garbled, but Meadowsweet would be eager to see home and children once more, and would be a faithful messenger.

Mardi conducted his examination with all the solemnity of a healer whose patient’s recovery is half-suspect. At intervals he muttered under his breath; at one point he shook his head, and several of the thumps and listenings were repeated more than once before he was satisfied. At last he sat back, shaking his head once more.

‘Well?’ said Tolly. ‘I’m half afraid to ask!’

‘I’m half afraid to tell,’ Mardi said, feeling as if he were in a dream. ‘There’s naught wrong that I can tell, save the fact you look like a survivor of the Long Winter – half-starved, that is, and in need of a steady routine of rest and feeding up until you regain the good health you enjoyed before the fever’s onset.’

‘I feel completely well!’ Tolly said. ‘Never better – not even weakened from lack of feeding, though…’ he looked down at himself, ‘…truth be told, I feel as if I’m wearing someone else’s nightshirt, for this one doesn’t fit me at all! Now, where are my clothes? I’ll see just how “half-starved” I may be, if my clothes are overlarge as well…’

And at this, Mardi stared suddenly, and slapped his hand to his forehead. ‘Clothes!’ he said.

‘Yes, brother,’ Tolly said. ‘You know, shirt and breeches, jacket, cloak – for it is still winter, I deem…’

‘We didn’t pack anything,’ Mardi said in chagrin. ‘We carried you out to the coach on a litter, bundled in blankets, and carried you in here from the coach…’

‘Don’t tell me, let me guess,’ Tolly said. ‘Bundled in blankets!’

‘And not a piece of luggage amongst the lot of us,’ Mardi admitted.

‘Let me try to understand,’ Tolly said slowly. ‘You set out on a journey, without any luggage?’

‘Shades of Bilbo Baggins,’ Mardi said ruefully. ‘Though I do happen to have a handkerchief in my pocket, which is one better than himself.’

Tolly folded his arms and stood before Mardi with a stern look. ‘D’you expect me to walk through the corridors of this inn to the front door in naught but my nightshirt? D’you expect me to brave the winter chill to cross from inn to coach, and from coach to Smials once we arrive? And is it night-clad that I’m to arrive at the Smials?’

When Mardi did not answer, he added as if to himself, ‘I suppose I might always wrap myself in blankets!’

‘We’ll borrow a suit of clothing, from the tallest hobbit here at the inn, and send it back by pony post with a handsome payment,’ Mardi said at last.

Tolly grinned. ‘Very well, brother! Trust you to solve any problem!’

‘Not any, sadly,’ Mardi said. ‘But this one, at least I think I can manage.’ He did not explain further at that moment, though on the long ride back to the Great Smials, he would make clearer Tolly’s peril, as it had been before this wondrous healing, and the Shire healers’ helplessness, including his own.

They made an easy journey back to the Great Smials, Tolly and those who loved him, for Mardi insisted, and Meadowsweet backed him up, and Freddy certainly didn’t mind, and the Thain’s best coach certainly was comfortable to travel in. Haldi tied his pony on behind the coach and sat next to Ned, the driver, up on the box. He directed Ned to steer for the smoothest part of the road, and hold the ponies down to a slow pace, that the occupants might be shaken as little as possible. He still remembered – though Tolly might hardly be able to credit it – how very close the race against death had been, and how only the luck and pluck of the Thain had been enough to secure the win.

Tolly may seem to have his wit and his strength back, but he was still dangerously thin, to Haldi’s way of thinking. ‘No cushion to him at all,’ he muttered to himself, nudging Ned to steer to the middle of the road when the verge ahead appeared overly rough. ‘All bone!’

Meadowsweet and Mardi were doing their best to remedy the situation. Baskets of food had been handed in before the coach had departed, and they were doing their very best to feed the better part of the food to Tolly, along with taking a bit themselves.

‘And so, Woodruff had given you up,’ Mardi was explaining to his wide-eyed brother, to the accompaniment of Freddy snoring in the far corner seat, his head comfortably pillowed.

‘Given me up!’ Tolly echoed, looking to Meadowsweet as if he expected her to deny his brother’s overly dramatic rendering of the tale. Not that Mardi was given to dramatics, he reminded himself – for Meadowsweet hastily wiped at her face and gave him a watery smile. ‘For a mere fever!’

‘A fever that burned for more than a week, and showed no signs of abating,’ Mardi said. ‘A fever that ran its course in five days, in the worst of cases – and yours ran longer, and we’d lost hope that you might outlast it…’

Tolly shook his head in bewilderment. ‘I’m never ill,’ he said. ‘I cannot remember the last time…’

‘Well then, you’ve made up for all the times you didn’t fall ill in the past,’ Mardi said.

Tolly fixed him with a severe look. ‘Now you’re the one spouting nonsense,’ he warned.

But Mardi only laughed, and pulled his brother into yet another hug, and said, ‘And glad to have the opportunity to spout such, to you of all people! Glad I am, indeed!’

Tolly pushed him away, but he was smiling, and he slipped his arm around Meadowsweet and laid a kiss against her hair. ‘Ah, my love,’ he said. ‘You ought to know that nothing could ever take me away from you…’

Meadowsweet gulped and smiled, but the look in her eye spoke a wealth of words that she could not, or would not voice.

‘And so you came up with a mad plan, to shove me in a coach and carry me who-knows-where for who-knows-what reason!’ Tolly said. ‘As if you could outrun Death himself!’

‘We tried, we did indeed, but as it was he very nearly caught us,’ Mardi said. ‘And it wasn’t my “mad plan”, but…’

‘The Thain’s, I imagine?’ Tolly said.

Mardi shook his head, and then nodded, ‘Well, he put the plan into motion, but it was actually Ferdi’s plan in the first place…’

‘Ferdi!’ Tolly said. ‘But… how in the world? How could that hobbit, with his brains half-scrambled, and no ability to speak – isn’t that right?’ Mardi nodded. ‘He’d no words,’ Tolly said, and stopped to swallow hard, grief hitting him once more for his good friend’s straitened circumstances… and would Ferdi remain an invalid for the rest of his life? Would he even still be in the world to greet them on their return to the Smials? Mardi had sounded doubtful, when he’d earlier described Ferdi’s condition, on his rescue from the grave.

‘He’d no words,’ Mardi agreed, ‘but he made his wishes plain somehow, anyhow, and the next I knew the Thain had ordered his best coach made ready, and we were to wrap you warmly against the winter chill, and carry you to the King…’

‘To the King!’ Tolly said in wonder. ‘But, surely, I should remember such a thing!’ His look turned inward, and he said as if to himself, ‘But then, perhaps… I dreamed… But…’

He looked back to Mardi. ‘But we came just this morning from the Goose,’ he said. ‘I recognised the place. We did not begin on the far side of the Brandywine Bridge, where the King might be found – where the Thain and his family, Master and Mayor are to meet the King, or met him already, or…’ He still wasn’t sure of the day or date, having by all accounts lost many days wandering in fever delirium.

‘Are meeting him,’ Mardi said. ‘Today, and on the morrow, and the morrow after, or so the Thain said, three days of hailing and farewelling and then back to planning for the spring ploughing and planting and other everyday concerns…’

Hilly had been there when he’d first awakened, that much Tolly knew, though the events of the previous day were rather misty in his mind, and he wasn’t with them now because he’d escorted the Thain to the Bridge, to the ordained meeting with the King and Queen and their party.

‘So I got better all on my own, without any need of the King,’ Tolly said, ‘and all this desperate journey for naught! What foolishness!’ But his look turned uncertain as Meadowsweet nestled closer and stifled a sob.

‘We stopped at the Goose,’ Mardi said quietly, and then seemed to find it necessary to pause for several breaths. ‘We stopped,’ he said again, and had Tolly’s full attention for the remembered anguish in his face, ‘stopped so that you could die, decently in bed, and not jostling along in a coach on a vain errand.’

‘The same bed where I awoke?’ Tolly said, only half believing. But Mardi had never had reason to use falsehood with him before.

‘The very same,’ Mardi said. ‘And the Thain went haring off, who knows where, as you were sinking. O my dear brother, but you were sinking, your hands and feet gone cold, the chill of Death slowly creeping inward towards your heart…’ He had to stop, to breathe deeply again, and Tolly found himself in the position of comforting his older brother, taking Mardi’s hands in his own and chafing them gently.

‘But I didn’t die,’ he said at last, when it seemed that neither Mardi nor Meadowsweet could go on. ‘And I can only assume it had something to do with the Thain haring off, as you put it…’

At last Mardi mastered himself with a shudder, and took hold of Tolly’s hands, squeezing them a little to add emphasis to his words. ‘He returned with a son of Elrond,’ he said at last, as if this explained everything, and perhaps it did.

Tolly was speechless for a long moment, and then whispered, ‘One of the fair folk! Even as Hilly and Posey have told us…!’ For his younger brother, and Hilly’s wife, had met the children of Elrond on an earlier visit to the Lake with the Thain. He could scarcely credit it, but for the improvement he had seen in Posey on her return. There had been colour in her pale cheeks, and she’d gained weight and health, and she laughed again, after a long and solemn time of grief. Tolly had feared, before that visit, that Hilly would lose his beloved sooner than later, and choose to follow her in death, but no! Both had returned from the Lake renewed somehow.

He looked to Meadowsweet, and she nodded solemnly. ‘A giant, he was,’ she said. ‘Wrapped in a cloak. He knelt by your bed, and took up your hand, and the Thain shooed us all from the room, sent us away that we might not disturb the Healer’s work…’

They all looked up as the coach slowed and began to turn. ‘Ah!’ Mardi said brightly, letting go of Tolly’s hands to sit up, all brisk business once more, tender older brother put away – for Tolly was well! And looking better by the moment… ‘Here we are at the Cockerel, already! And just in time for tea!’

Chapter 51. A Tale that Grows in the Telling

The travellers set out from the Crowing Cockerel after elevenses the next day, again going very slowly. ‘At this rate the Thain will return before we do!’ Tolly fussed.

‘What of it, if he does?’ Mardi asked. ‘Where’s the harm of making a two-day journey into three?’

‘Where, indeed?’ Freddy said, adding his opinion. He was quite enjoying himself: a moving coach, lovely scenery going by outside, slowly enough to appreciate the sights, and all the food he could wish for – though Mardi and Meadowsweet seemed determined to feed the better part of it to Tolly. Still, inside the coach it was raining drink and snowing food, and there was little cause for him to complain.

‘Why – I –‘ Tolly said, and stopped. ‘I have duties…’

‘You’re on holiday,’ Mardi said firmly. ‘At least until you’ve gained back a stone, preferably two! Now, eat!’

Tolly refrained from pointing out that he’d been eating, nearly continually -- at least, when he was awake. The Thain’s best coach was so very comfortable… Often, during that journey, his snores blended with Freddy’s, though Mardi (and Meadowsweet, to tell the truth, though she’d never before found music in Tolly’s snoring) stayed wakeful and savoured the sound as he watched over his brother, snatched so recently from the jaws of death.

‘The children!’ Tolly said, for his next argument.

‘…will be waiting eagerly for your return. Indeed, I send a message to the Smials that they should expect you just before teatime on the morrow.’

‘The morrow!’ Tolly said.

‘That should give you plenty of time to win back some of your strength,’ Mardi said, thrusting a freshly filled plate at him.

‘Eat, my love, do!’ Meadowsweet put in, and Freddy said through a mouthful that the bread that had been packed in the hampers was quite good, and Tolly ought to stop fussing – it was quite enough to put a hobbit off his appetite -- and eat.

At last, Tolly gave in to the inevitable and ate, and drank, and slept, and awakened to repeat the cycle.

They spent the night at a small inn, halfway between the Cockerel and the Great Smials and a little off the beaten track, simply signed Home Away from Home. It was indeed homely, with all the comforts one might wish. It was one of Pippin’s favourite places to bring Diamond, when he felt she’d been working too hard at managing all the details that fell to her lot as Mistress, and as it also gave Pippin a breather, it was one of Diamond’s favourites, as well. The innkeeper, seeing the Thain’s best coach pull into the yard, was all smiles to greet them. It didn’t seem to matter that Pippin and Diamond were not with them; the keeper seemed to think they’d be coming along at any time, (and perhaps they would be, grumbled Tolly, we’ve been so long about our journeys) and so he provided all his best for the travellers, and many things they didn’t even think to ask for.

‘Yes, yes,’ Mardi told the innkeeper, next morning, as they prepared to undertake the last stretch of road. ‘The Thain and Mistress will be along, undoubtedly, later today or tomorrow, but we cannot wait any longer for them. We must be back to the Smials on very important business…’

The innkeeper was all bows and smiles. It was good to have a little warning that Thain and Mistress were due. Ofttimes they showed up on his doorstep without warning, sometimes in the Thain’s best coach, and other times riding ponies, just as if they were any other travellers. With a little warning, his wife could bake her best recipes, and he could kill the fatted calf and have it roasting on a spit when the Thain and Mistress arrived.

‘Important business?’ Tolly wanted to know, when they were well on their way.

‘Very important business,’ Mardi insisted. ‘Your children are expecting you at teatime!’

Tolly smiled and settled back in his cushions at this. ‘Home,’ he breathed. ‘It’ll be so good to see them again.’

‘They’ll be so glad to see you,’ Meadowsweet said softly. ‘They didn’t know…’

‘You didn’t tell them,’ he said, turning to her, comfort evaporating.

‘We didn’t,’ Mardi said, to spare Meadowsweet. ‘But you’re not raising any fools, Tolibold. They knew what was what. They have eyes, and they know how to use them… Now, sit back, and have a bite of this lovely beef…’

‘But you sent word ahead of us,’ Tolly said, leaning forward, his gaze intent.

‘We did!’ Meadowsweet said gladly. ‘The Thain did, that is – he said he sent a Pony Post rider galloping with the news, just so soon as the son of Elrond told him you’d be well.’

‘Bless his thoughtful heart,’ Tolly said, allowing himself to be pressed back against the pillows, and a cloth tied around his neck, and a plate full of good food settled in his lap.

‘I’ll have some of the same!’ Freddy said, not to be left out.

‘We all will!’ Mardi said with a chuckle.

‘It’s like a party on wheels!’ Meadowsweet said in wonder, and her husband laughed.

‘Indeed, it is,’ he said. ‘I’ve never known the like. It’s a far cry from eating cold food in the saddle, while riding to deliver messages…’ He did not sound a bit wistful, however, and the others understood that he was looking forward to being pronounced “well and whole” once more, so that he could take up his duties. Life in the lap of luxury might be well and fine for a holiday – a relatively short one – but it wouldn’t do to go on. Tolly liked to be busy; he liked variety, and change, and challenge. Head of escort to the Thain provided all of these, and more.

At long last the coach was rolling through the streets of Tuckborough, pulling up in front of the Spotted Duck, where Ned got down and opened the door for Freddy to leave the coach.

Freddy got down and stretched. ‘Well, then, that’s a journey well made,’ he said. ‘I suppose you’ll let me know, when next you wish to travel to the ends of the Shire in the Thain’s best coach…’

‘We’ll be sure to let you know,’ Tolly said from the window, as Ned secured the door and climbed back up to the driver’s seat. Haldi saluted, from his place beside the driver, and Freddy waved languidly back at him, then turned into the Duck, his thoughts already on the mug of beer he intended to enjoy, and sooner than later if he had any say in the matter. Which, of course, he did.

The coach continued on through Tuckborough, around Great Hill and into the yard of the Great Smials.

‘Right on time!’ Mardi said, consulting his pocket watch. ‘In twenty minutes it’ll be teatime, and… just enough time to freshen ourselves…’

‘Where are the children?’ Tolly wanted to know, and Meadowsweet was craning to look for them out the window.

‘There!’ Mardi said with a laugh, pointing, as a number of small bodies spilled out one of the lesser doors, tumbling like puppies in their eagerness to greet their parents.

Ned pulled the coach to a stop, but before he could get down, open the coach door, and set the step in place, Tolly was thrusting the door open and jumping down, his arms wide to embrace his burgeoning brood. ‘O my loves!’ he cried. ‘How glad I am to see you!’

Such a babble of voices came in reply, and such a bevy of hugs surrounded him on all sides!

Meadowsweet followed close behind, though she waited for the step, and Ned’s hand to help her down, and she joined the embrace, weeping tears of joy.

‘Don’t cry, Mama!’ one small voice piped above the others, and she wiped hastily at her eyes and protested that she was happy, not sad at all, and all was well. It is one of those things that mystifies young hobbits, but as she was laughing through her tears, they were content to surround mother and father and heap hugs and kisses on them, without further distress.

‘I hardly feel the need to freshen up, after such a short hop,’ Tolly said to his wife, as the children drew them forward, towards the door they’d spilled out of, Mardi following in their wake.

Haldi had hopped down to untie his pony from the back of the coach; he handed the reins to a waiting stable hobbit, with his thanks.

‘Tolly’s all well, then!’ that hobbit said, staring after the little family, as if he could scarcely credit the idea. He’d been the one holding the ponies’ heads, when they’d carried the stricken hobbit out to the coach, that cold, grim day not so many days in the past. He’d heard the Talk. He’d known what was what… and here was the head of escort, returned from the dead.

‘And not the only one,’ he added under his breath.

But Haldi didn’t hear; he’d already turned to the Smials, with a wave to Ned. ‘Take the rest of the day,’ he called, ‘and all of the morrow!’

‘I will!’ Ned called back with a grin. He happily turned over ponies and coach to the stable workers, and headed to his quarters, whistling a jaunty tune. Slow and steady had won the race, so to speak. Apparently he’d driven to Haldi’s satisfaction, keeping the ponies at a slow pace and steering all over the road to find the smoothest ride, something a drunken hobbit might do, though he’d been stone, cold sober.

That was something he intended to remedy! He’d lift a mug in celebration of Tolly’s recovery, and his part in it, and perhaps someone might buy him a second mug while he told the story of what he’d seen. He'd actually not seen much, but he knew how to embroider a tale to shine in the telling… By the end of the day, the son of Elrond would be known to have been wearing mithril mail and jewels under his dark, enveloping cloak, and his eyes would shine with inner fire and his face would be so fair that a body could scarcely bear even a glimpse of it, within the depths of the Half-elven’s hood.

He nodded to himself in satisfaction. That ought to be worth the price of the mug, and perhaps two or three more into the bargain.

He might have a big head in the morning, but he was celebrating. He had a feeling the whole Smials would be celebrating as well, upon the Thain's return, anyhow, with the King safely seen off to the Southlands and all the recent troubles firmly in the past. It had been a long, grim time, and he looked forward to drinking, and singing, talking and dancing. He was quite sure he'd have a lot of company, as well.

There's a time for weeping, and a time for joy, or so the old saying went, and he had every intention of enjoying the next few days, before things settled back to everyday dullness...

... just as they ought to be.

A blessed Resurrection Day to all! Here's to the celebration of life...

Chapter 52. East, West, Home's Best

‘I am not an invalid!’ Tolly protested under his breath, so as not to distress the children – who had abandoned their escorting of himself and Meadowsweet, to run ahead to the quarters belonging to the head of escort and his family. (Though, strictly speaking, running in the corridors of the Great Smials was frowned upon, no one would be frowning at Tolly’s children for breaking the rules, not on this day, at least.)

But Mardi and Meadowsweet seemed to have another idea, for they’d taken him firmly between themselves, each holding one of his arms, and were walking along at a slow and solicitous pace. Tolly not only had to put up with this ill treatment, but he had to continually acknowledge the greetings and congratulations that were being showered upon him from all sides, from Tooks and servants lining the corridor between the lesser entrance door and the door of his apartments.

Truth be told, to Tolly’s senses it was uncomfortably like a burial procession in reverse. Instead of silent hobbits lining the corridor from the shrouded hobbit’s quarters to an outside door, marking the passage of the departed on a last journey with sorrow and quiet respect, the head of escort was being cheered on his way home, and showered with smiles, cheers, and good wishes.

What had happened to decorum? What about the unspoken rule against shouting in the corridors? It seemed as if all propriety had flown out the windows!

Mardi and Meadowsweet, too, were uncomfortably struck with the similarities, though in their case, it simply caused a deepening of the sense of thankfulness that had taken hold from the moment Tolly had first opened his eyes and spoken, after the son of Elrond had completed his work. Both Tolly’s wife and his older brother had seen Ferdi’s final journey – or what was to have been his final journey – not so long ago, when Ferdi had been mistakenly declared dead by the healer in the group of hobbits who’d found him after ruffians struck him down, and Tolly had been out on the Muster that was attempting to recover the kidnapped son of the Thain. Ferdi had been carried through all the corridors in the Smials, not just the direct route from his apartments to the courtyard – an honour reserved for a hero of the Tookland, which of course he was – and out to the family graveyard, and nearly buried, save for Woodruff’s interference, and that based on a fever dream of her husband’s. Lucky rescue, indeed.

Still, all three set aside personal discomfort and walked along slowly, smiling and nodding to either side, quite as if they were returning heroes of some terrible battle.

And in a way, that is what it had been.

It was a relief to reach the door to the head of escort’s suite of rooms. Mardi opened the door and waved Tolly and Meadowsweet in, and was as happy to follow them inside, stick his head out of the doorway to shout his thanks and of course Tolly’s, and then slip out himself with a quick, 'I'll see you on the morrow!', closing the door on the welcoming clamour, and though Tolly and Meadowsweet did not see it, dusting his hands after his efforts.

‘Welcome home, sir!’ said Rusty, the hobbitservant who divided his time between Tolly’s and Ferdi’s families, coming forward to take Tolly’s borrowed cloak. ‘It is so good to see you at home!’

‘It is so good to be home, Rusty-good-fellow,’ Tolly said fervently, and then he stopped short, for there, sitting in the best chair with his feet elevated on a stool, sat Ferdibrand! …of whom, it must be said, Mardi had been cautious in answering Tolly’s queries about prospects for healing and health.

Nell stood beside him, with as big a smile as Tolly had ever seen her smile. Indeed, it was less than a week ago she’d feared that the two friends, closer than cousins, might go hand-in-hand to the Feast, and leave their wives and families grieving.

‘Ferdi?’ he whispered.

‘Tolly!’ Ferdi said – and he could speak! And he lifted both hands in greeting, and held them out to his dearest friend, and Tolly stumbled forward to grasp the hands in his own and to revel in the strength of the returning squeeze. ‘Welcome home! The… the P-pony Post message said you were healed, and I see that you are!’

‘And we had no message to say the same about you,’ Tolly said, bending to embrace Ferdi, and then rising to hug Pimpernel, looking for a long moment into her sparkling eyes before a grin spread over his face to match hers.

She nodded, an emphatic nod. Healing! He’s healing! Aloud she said, ‘Woodruff says she doesn’t know what Tookish heads are made from – something quite a lot thicker than bone, she said…’

‘Well, then, we can no longer call you “bone-head”,’ Tolly said to Ferdi, and the latter shook his head with a grin of his own.

‘I w-was growing quite fond of the term,’ Ferdi said. ‘And now you say you’re l-laying it aside?’

Pimpernel laid a restraining hand on her husband’s shoulder. ‘Don’t tire yourself, my love,’ she said. ‘Remember what Woodruff said! Make haste a little more slowly…!’

‘What nonsense!’ Ferdi said, but he was smiling. ‘Very w-well, then, bring on the food! If something’s going in, I w-won’t have to w-worry about w—‘ he stopped, as if to concentrate, and then finished in a triumphant rush, ‘what’s to come out!’ Being able to speak once more was a great comfort, and the stammer a minor inconvenience, manifesting itself toward the end of the day when he began to tire, and growing less every day as his strength returned.

‘An excellent notion,’ Rusty said. ‘If I may make up a plate for you, Ferdi-sir? And yourself, Tolly-sir? And Mistresses?’

‘No, Rusty!’ Meadowsweet said gaily. ‘This is a celebration, for everyone! You make up a plate for yourself, and join us – just this once!’ she added, seeing the hobbitservant’s scandalised expression. ‘Nell and I will take care of the rest, and glad to do it!’

There was a celebration for the two families, for a veritable feast was laid out on the sideboard, and the drink flowed freely – though the recovering hobbits were limited to juice and tea – and the Great Smials' cooks and their assistants had gone all-out in their efforts, with sandwiches cut into fancy shapes, several kinds of teacakes, and heaping plates of sweet biscuits of every description.

At last Rusty stopped putting out fresh platters, and began to clear away denuded plates and cups. Other servants were at the door with a trolley to take the dishes away, and working quickly, Rusty and the others soon had the room set to rights, all but a last pot of tea for anyone who wanted some. The wives took the hint, Nell saying, ‘But Ferdi, you promised a story for the little ones after eventides, and I think it would be best if you were to take a rest first, and allow this good food to settle.’

Meadowsweet affected a yawn. ‘And we are just come from a journey,’ she said. ‘Bath and bed – for myself at least…’

Rusty took this moment to marshal his forces. ‘Children!’ he said. ‘Come, there are to be games in the great room before eventides, by order of the Steward…’ He looked to Meadowsweet with a nod, and shooing the children before him, bigger ones carrying the littlest ones, he departed with a quiet closing of the door.

Suddenly the sitting room seemed much bigger, and enormously quiet.

Ferdi yawned himself. ‘Silent as the grave,’ he said. ‘Dull as ditchwater, I mean. Such a lot of noise as the children make…’ He grinned. ‘Isn’t it d-delightful?’ (And he might have been talking about the silence, but I expect he wasn't.)

‘Completely,’ Tolly said, sharing his grin. ‘Come, old friend, let me help you up.’

‘I’m well!’ Ferdi protested, but he allowed Nell to steady him as he got up from his chair, and he walked slowly to the door on her arm – but he was walking! Where one leg had been lame, before – the entire side of his body had been all but unresponsive, and now he was whole, and evidently well on the mend, if not completely well.

Tolly and Meadowsweet saw them out, and then closed the door, and Tolly took a deep breath and let it out with a whoosh. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘What now?’ He circled Meadowsweet with his arms and kissed her forehead. ‘The Thain is not here, needing any escorting, nor is his family – I seem to be at loose ends.’

Meadowsweet shook her head. ‘Oh, you,’ she said. ‘Do you never leave off?’

‘What?’ Tolly asked in an injured tone, rather spoilt by the grin on his face.

Meadowsweet stepped back and put her hands on her hips, tapping one foot, as she looked him up and down. ‘We’ve just come from a long journey…’

Tolly refrained from pointing out that this last leg had taken less than half a day.

‘…and if Rusty knows his business, as I expect he does, someone’s just finished filling a large tub with steaming water, and…’

‘Large enough for two?’ Tolly asked, putting his head on one side as if to consider, though he never lost his grin.

‘We’ll just have to go and look, I suppose,’ Meadowsweet said, affecting a sigh.

Tolly slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, and then the two of them began to walk in the direction of the bath room, conveniently shared between the two suites. It was a very near thing, for the outer door was just closing (there was no knob on the public corridor side, so once that door closed behind someone who exited that way, one would have to enter again through one of the apartments), and the steaming water in the large tub was evidently very freshly poured indeed.

Instead of lamps, the room was lit with a multitude of candles, and the water was pleasantly scented, and thick towels hung warming by the fire on the little hearth that warmed the room, and fresh soap and flannels and even a new back-scrubbing brush were laid ready.

Rusty certainly knew his business.

Chapter 52. No Time Like the Present

When visitors were expected at the Great Smials, it was customary for the Steward to place a messenger – usually a stable lad, but for more important guests it might be a Pony Post rider – on the on the outskirts of Tuckborough, to watch for the approach of the coach or rider and to gallop back to the Great Smials to set the Thain’s hospitality in motion. The return of the Thain and Mistress was no exception; Regi had a Pony Post rider watching for the Thain’s second-best coach, beginning two days after the scheduled departure of the royal party for the Southlands.

It seemed as if the Thain and Mistress must have stopped over at the Home Away From Home, and as the Master of the inn had warning this time, he must have made things so very comfortable, and been so very obliging, that the Thain and his family took an extra day there. Or so Regi surmised, for if there had been any kind of accident, they’d have had a message.

At the fall of darkness, the Pony Post rider returned, without news, and Regi told him to go out again mid-morning, next day, and sit his post until dark – and to do so each day until he brought news of the Thain’s approach. The rider was philosophical about it all – yes, it was uncomfortable, sitting in the shelter of an outlying barn, wrapped up against the chilly temperatures while his pony munched on hay provided by the obliging farmer. However, he was being paid well for the privilege of waiting, and he could sleep at home in his own bed at night, which he might not be able to do, say, if he were to carry a message to Buckland as was his usual duty on ponyback.

Another day passed to its close, with no message, and no Thain, but Regi was not worried. That morning, he had sent one of the escort to the Home Away inn to see if there was any news, and the hobbit had returned with the word that he’d met Hilly in the stable there, sitting upon an upturned bucket and swapping stories with the ostler, and that Thain and family were within the inn proper, being waited on hand and foot by the proprietor and his family, and recovering from their exertions at the Farewell.  

‘That must have been some celebration at the Bridge,’ Ferdi said to Regi that afternoon, when Regi apprised him of the situation. Ferdi was still recovering rapidly, so much so that he’d made his slow way to the Thain’s study after the noontide meal and sat at his desk until teatime, catching up more on gossip than paperwork. He was keenly interested in all that had happened since the ruffians had left him for dead. (The full story, mind, and none of this pap of pre-digested bits and pieces that are all the healers have allowed me up until this point in time...)

‘…and they blew up Hoard Hill?’ he said incredulously, when Regi reached that point in his narrative. He leaned back in his chair and stretched, still a bit cautious in his movements, but revelling in the full response from every limb. ‘Blew it up?’

‘Yes, well,’ Regi said, and cleared his throat. ‘Apparently they were working from some old information, from when Ferumbras was still Thain, before the treasury of the Tooks was removed from Hoard Hill for safekeeping,’ he directed a stern look at Ferdi from under his eyebrows, ‘as you might remember…’ For it had been Ferdi, along with young Faramir, who had rediscovered the treasure after it had been “lost” after the death of Ferumbras, hidden behind a secret dwarf-made door.

‘But… blew up the entire hill?’ Ferdi said.

‘Blew the entire crown off the hill,’ Regi said. He spread his hands and shrugged. ‘The Tookland's entire supply of black powder was stored there, after all.’ He cocked his head, considering. ‘I suppose that the barrels and barrels of powder might resemble treasure, up until the moment the torch-bearing ruffian removed the top of a barrel and bent to look more closely at the contents.’

Ferdi shuddered, closed his eyes, and held out a staying hand.

Regi was immediately apologetic. ‘I’m that sorry, Ferdi, I oughtn’t…’

‘No,’ the other said, drawing a deep breath and swallowing hard. ‘It was just the image of it, in my head, the momentary imagination, and the horror of it, had they had young Farry with them at the time they broached the barrels…’

For Faramir, though in the possession of the ruffians, and threatened with a terrible fate at their hands, had been secreted in a cavern at the base of the great hill while the ruffian leader and his blood-thirsty brother went up to scout out the treasure cave at the top.

‘I’m just glad the whole hill didn’t come down on Farry, for it might’ve, you know.’

‘I know,’ Regi said, with a shudder of his own.

And then Ferdi's hobbitservant Rusty was at the study door, bowing and saying, ‘The Chancellor’s wife is expecting him to tea…’

‘And you’ve come to fetch him?’ Regi said, though “escort” was the more likely word. Nell wasn’t taking any chances with her healing husband. ‘Very good, Rusty.’ And to Ferdi, he said, ‘Very well, you may be excused, Ferdibrand.’

Ferdi blinked a little at this formal dismissal, but had no time to protest, as Rusty had quickly crossed the room to his side, ready to help him up from his chair and saying, ‘If you please, Master, I would not want to keep the Missus waiting…’

‘Never!’ Ferdi said, and suffered himself to be assisted, though Rusty knew to let him be just so soon as he’d gained his balance. ‘Well, then, Regi, I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘I’ll be here,’ Reginard said, with a nod of dismissal.

‘Good,’ Ferdi said, refraining from asking the hobbit if he intended to spend the night, indeed, sleep upon the hearthrug. ‘For there is still much to be told… all that happened after Hoard Hill had its crown blown away, up until I awakened – I mean, fully awakened – only a few days ago. So much seems like a dream, and at that, a distorted dream, in my memory. I’m not sure what I know, and what I only surmise…’

‘We cannot have that,’ Regi said, and then made a shooing motion. ‘But go! You’re in danger of keeping the fair Nell waiting!’

Ferdi smiled suddenly, and to Regi’s surprise, laughed as he crossed the room to the door, Rusty by his side. He did not explain to the Steward why he found it so comical, to keep his wife waiting, but he was thinking within himself that his beloved Nell had told him that he could do nothing to cause her disgruntlement, not ever again, not since he’d had the grace to rise from the grave (though he’d never been quite dead) and return to her once more.

Though he did not doubt her sincerity, neither did he want to test her resolve. All he said, just before he exited the study, was, ‘I would not want to keep my fair Nell waiting…’

Next day, two hours or so before teatime, the Pony Post rider galloped to the Smials, flung himself from the saddle, and ran through the corridors to the Thain’s study. Because he had a wide grin on his face, the inhabitants took no alarm from his haste, but the word spread rapidly that the Thain’s arrival was imminent, and so everyone left off what they were doing (or hurried to complete some preparation or other) and hastened to the courtyard.

Thus nearly the entire population of the Great Smials were on hand to cheer the arrival of the Thain’s second-best coach. (Ferdi was napping after his morning in the Thain's study, and so he was not there, but just about everyone else was, saving those who were bedridden and their attendants.)

Regi opened the door of the coach while a stable worker placed the step just so. Pippin hopped down and turned, but Regi was already handing Diamond out of the coach, leaving it to the Thain to catch up his young son, lifting him high, to “fly” him to the ground. All the while the Tooks and servants made a great hullaballoo of welcome and celebration.

Still holding his young son’s hand, Pippin waved his other arm exuberantly at the crowd. He shouted to Regi, ‘Ah, but it’s good to be home!’

‘Indeed, and good to have you here,’ Regi returned, extending his arm to Diamond. At his nod, the crowd parted to allow them to proceed to the Great Stairs that led to the official entrance. In triumph they mounted the stair, to near-deafening cheers. At the top, Pippin turned, and the crowd subsided, for it was evident that he had something to say.

‘Thank you!’ His voice rang clear on the winter air. ‘Thank you very much! And now, please, do come inside before you all catch your deaths! We shall see you in the Great Room at teatime!’

And with a final wave, he turned and entered the Great Smials with Farry, and Regi and Diamond close behind, and the Great Door shut behind them, diminishing the murmur and noise of the crowd considerably.

‘Teatime in the Great Room?’ Regi said, as Pippin stopped to transfer Diamond’s hand to his own arm. ‘I thought – after all the recent endeavours that you might prefer to restore yourselves with a quiet tea in your apartments, and perhaps a grand welcoming tea on the morrow or the day after…’

‘Hard knocks on the kitchen staff, I know,’ Pippin said, starting to walk again, setting his course for the Thain’s apartments, and the others following as a matter of course, ‘but I’m sure they’re able. I pay them well enough, anyhow, to be ready for any contingency. And so, yes, I’m ordering a grand welcoming tea, to be ready at four o’ the clock, punctually, mind, and everyone in the Smials is to attend.’

‘Everyone?’ Regi said.

Pippin laughed. ‘The more, the merrier!’ he said. Suddenly sobering, he added, ‘Even Ferdi, I hope…? Is he any better?’

Regi shook his head. ‘It’s not to be believed,’ he said. ‘Little more than a week ago we took him up from the grave, mind you, unwrapped him from his shroud – though Mardi said it was premature, he gave me to understand it was not premature by much and he did not expect the hobbit to survive his injuries, even so…’

‘Even so,’ Pippin said, the brightness dimming in his eyes.

Farry clung tighter to his father’s hand, his young face distressed, and Diamond gave a little sob and said, ‘So he’s… gone?’

The Steward hastened to reassure them. ‘No, no! Not at all! He’s well!’

‘Well?’ Pippin said, beginning to brighten again. ‘Better?’

‘Better than “better”!’ Regi said, and grimaced a little at the wording. Had it come from Pippin or Ferdi, he’d have felt the need to chide, None of your nonsense, now! ‘He’s well, or very nearly so: on his feet, thinking clearly, talking…’

‘Talking!’ Pippin said. ‘On his feet!’ He broke into a wide grin. ‘I’d say that’s much better than “better”!’ (And Regi couldn’t chide him for nonsense, as he was merely quoting the Steward himself, after all.)

Regi could not know of the influence of the Healing Hands on Ferdi’s recovery, not yet, at least, and not until Pippin told him a slightly embroidered version (as they walked slowly through the corridors, nodding in response to greetings), where the King gave Merry the athelas leaves he’d blessed, to ride at all speed to the Great Smials to apply their benefit to Ferdibrand. He left out of the narrative exactly where the King had been when he’d given the leaves to Merry, and so Regi assumed (just as Pippin intended) that the transfer must have happened just outside the Gate of Buckland, and went right to what he considered the pertinent point. ‘So the Master himself was here, bearing the magical cure?’ he said. ‘But none of us saw him!’

‘He was in a hurry to return to the Bridge, seeing how the King and royal party were already there, and he didn’t want to keep the celebration waiting, for he knew we’d not start without him,’ Pippin said, at his most reasonable.

‘But he ought to have made himself known,’ Regi countered, still somewhat aggrieved at this breach of manners. ‘We might have offered him a mug of hot tea, at the least…’

‘He left you a message on your desk, to tell of Tolly’s healing,’ Pippin said. ‘Did you not see it?’

‘Of course,’ Regi said. ‘It was in his handwriting, and signed by himself – but I thought perhaps a messenger had brought it. When I inquired in the stables, I was told that a Pony Post rider had come and gone again.’ He shook his head and repeated, ‘He ought to have made himself known.’

‘He made himself known to Ferdi, at least, and helped himself to tea in Ferdi’s quarters,’ Pippin said. ‘He told me someone had left the kettle on the hob…’

‘Probably the healer on duty,’ Regi said, suddenly grim. ‘And if I received no report of the Master’s arrival at Ferdi’s quarters, then Woodruff – or one of her assistants – has some explaining to do…’

‘See to it,’ Pippin agreed, his own smile momentarily gone. ‘If Ferdi was neglected in any way… and in such a precarious state, as you say…’

‘I will certainly get to the bottom of it,’ Regi said, and his tone boded no good for the errant healer, whoever it might be, even Woodruff herself, though he could not imagine her neglecting her duties, nor Fennel. No, it must have been one of her assistants.

‘Good,’ Pippin said, and his smile was back, as if he had dismissed the matter from his mind.

And he most likely had, for when Regi said he’d get to the bottom of a matter, Regi did. In any event, Pippin went on to the next matter of business. ‘I want to see Rusty Stubbletoes in my quarters, just so soon as you can send the hobbit to me. If he’s attending to the needs of Ferdi’s or Tolly’s families, of course, he may finish his task and then come to me.’

Regi nodded. He didn’t stop to wonder what Pippin might want of the hobbitservant. It was enough that Pippin had issued the order. ‘I’ll see to it,’ he said.

‘Tell Ferdi and Tolly that I’ll greet them at the grand tea,’ Pippin said. ‘I think we’ll take the next hour or two to freshen up from our journey,’ (though it really was not that far from the Home Away to the Great Smials, it was still a journey, in a coach, for more than an hour, and so could qualify for freshening up), ‘and so there’s no need for either of them to attend us in our quarters. Rusty, however, I do want to see before teatime, just so soon as he’s able.’

‘I’ll send him to you,’ Regi said, and lifted a hand before Pippin could speak, ‘just so soon as he’s able. I won’t interrupt him in the middle of his duties.’

‘Good,’ Pippin said. ‘I want the hobbit able to give me his full attention, after all, and not be thinking about what he’s left undone, and what he feels he needs to accomplish before joining the rest of the crowd at the great tea.’

At Regi’s look of astonishment, he laughed and nodded. ‘Yes, Regi, that’s right! Tooks, Tooklanders, and servants, all! I want the great room crammed just as full as it can be – everyone who is not confined to a bed – and their watchers, of course – and do arrange for heaping plates of good things to be sent to all who cannot attend…’

‘I’ll see to it,’ Regi said, adding another item to his mental list. He turned away as they reached the Thain’s apartments, to see to the first item on his list: Rusty, who was likely to be found in either Ferdi or Tolly’s rooms – at this time of day, no doubt dusting or polishing one family’s sitting room and then the other, preparatory to laying tea for the two families, if he hadn't gone out to join the welcoming throng in the courtyard. Knowing that hobbit, and his devotion to his duty, Regi rather doubted that he had. He might not even know, yet, about the grand celebratory tea the Thain had ordered.

Adelard, of the escort, was on duty at the door to the Thain’s apartments. He smiled to greet the arrivals and opened the door with a sweeping bow. ‘Good to have you back, Sir, Mistress, young Master,’ he said. ‘I hope you’ll find everything to your satisfaction. Sandy’s been polishing everything that can take a polish, and brushing all the rest.’

‘Barely escaped polishing yourself, I dare say,’ Pippin said, looking the escort up and down and noting Adelard was wearing his finest clothes, as if prepared for a celebration. The hobbit went up a notch in his estimation – he had imagination, something not always found in Shirefolk, or even Tooks for that matter. ‘I do hope being brushed wasn’t too much of a trial.’

The escort allowed himself a chuckle – it was a joyous occasion, and somehow he could not maintain the dignity he usually showed when on duty – and gestured to the entryway. ‘Tea’s just on,’ he said, ‘and Sandy awaits your least request.’

‘I’m sure that he does,’ Pippin said, waving wife and son through the doorway. He stopped and turned to the escort. ‘That will be all, Adel,’ he said. ‘We’ll be accepting no visitors nor messages until teatime – which we’ll be taking in the great room, by the way, and I expect yourself to be there, with all your family. You may wish to let them know yourself, and then return here to turn away visitors until teatime, though I’m sure the Talk will have reached them sooner than you may, yourself, though you run like the wind.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ Adelard said. Since there was an unspoken Rule against running in the corridors, with only the most urgent messenger excepted, he left his post at a walk, brisk though it might have been, and he’d return at a walk.

Knowing Rusty, Pippin figured the hobbitservant would leave off whatever he was doing (regardless of the wording of Regi’s message) to attend the Thain’s wishes, and so would arrive before the hobbit of escort came to take up his station once more. He gladly took the cup Sandy poured for him, strong and steaming hot, just off the boil, as he preferred it, and nodded in response to the hobbitservant's quiet word of welcome. Then, ‘Diamond, love,’ he said with a smile and a meaning look, ‘Do take yourself and Farry off for a little rest before teatime... I have a small matter of business, and then I'll join you.’

‘Of course, my dear,’ Diamond said, taking up her own cup and saucer and standing to her feet, with a nod for her little son. ‘Come, Farry,’ she said.

‘But I'm not tired!’ Farry protested.

‘This is one of those times we've talked about,’ Pippin said to his son with a fond smile. ‘Remember? If Mum feels a chill, you must...’

‘Put on a jacket,’ Faramir said with a sigh.

‘And if Mum is a little weary...’ Pippin prompted.

‘I know, I know,’ Farry said, in a tone beyond his years. ‘You don't have to tell me.’

And so Pippin didn't. He merely watched his wife and son walk into the more private rooms of the Thain's apartments, smiled, and sipped his tea.

Chapter 54. The Truth Will Out

The great room of the Great Smials was packed to capacity, hobbits crowded around the tables so tight that elbows had to be tucked close to bodies for them all to fit, and that certainly made it challenging to pour out the tea and reach for the food on the platters, much less bring a teacup or morsel to one’s lips. Though he didn’t know quite how such things were worked out, Regi, preceding Pippin, saw from the doorway that a number of hobbitservants and maids assigned to private quarters (such as Sandy) were serving tables now, to supplement the usual kitchen staff. That way they’d be on the spot for what ever grand announcement was in the making, but the almost overwhelming numbers would not overwhelm the cooks and servers.

There was an audible whoosh as everyone stood up from their chairs at the Thain’s entrance with his family, Diamond on his arm, her other hand clasping young Farry’s. He pulled out Diamond’s chair and saw her seated, settled Farry in his own chair between them, and then stood behind his chair to receive the assembly’s bow, customary thanks for the host of the meal, which he as the head of the Tooks and the Tookland merited. He nodded to the crowd, smiled briefly and said, ‘I thank you in turn, and welcome you to the feast. Please, take your seats.’

His businesslike mien was not lost on those assembled there. There was a short silence, broken by the scraping of chairs as everyone took their seats, and then the whispers began. What do you suppose…?

‘Regi,’ Pippin acknowledged the Steward, seated to his other side. ‘It appears the cooks have outdone themselves…’ Diamond was filling Farry’s plate from the platters of sandwiches and teacakes before serving herself, and Pippin gladly heaped his own plate – subtle reassurance for the diners there, looking to him at the head table, that this was more a festive occasion than a solemn one – and took up the teacup that Diamond filled for him, sipping the scalding liquid and sighing his contentment. ‘Just as I like it.’

‘I think the Thain’s teapot must be the last one of all the teapots filled and brought to table, just so it’ll be hot enough to suit your taste,’ Regi said, and Diamond smiled a private smile, confirming his suspicion. So the Mistress had an arrangement with the head server, did she…? He’d never really considered the matter before, but it made sense. Pippin’s response gave the Steward a new appreciation for the Mistress’ subtlety.

‘Nonsense, Regi,’ Pippin said. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! The kitchen staff is very efficient, of course, but the teapots aren’t brought out one by one, or hodge-podge… If you’re looking closely, you’ll see they’re all brought out at nearly the same time, just so soon as the kitchen staff have word that the Thain has left his quarters and is on his way to the great room…’

This was true, of course, but Regi still suspected that the Thain’s teapot was left to the last, in the matter of adding the water just off the boil, immediately before bringing it to table. He marveled to himself once more, at this smallest of signs of Diamond’s loving care.

Hobbits were eating and drinking and talking together, filling the enormous room with happy sound. The hobbits at the head table (Pippin and his family, Regi and his Rosa and their little ones, in the absence of distinguished visitors such as the Mayor or Master of Buckland or heads of other great families) were no exception. Ferdi, as the Thain’s special assistant, might have had a place there if he’d wished, but he usually chose to sit at one of the lower tables with his wife and children; or sometimes, as a former head of escort, he took a place at the escorts’ table, not far from the head tables, where by custom the hobbits of escort and their wives sat to formal meals together, their children relegated to the nursery tables watched over by minders, that the hobbits might attend to any business at hand. He was at the escorts’ table this day, Nell by his side, Regi saw. It was one of the few tables not elbow-to-elbow in hobbits, as only an escort to the Thain, or the wife of one, was allowed there by custom. The tone at the escorts’ table appeared joyful, with frequent bursts of laughter, and not surprising, with both Ferdi and Tolly apparently snatched from the jaws of death so recently, and their friends and fellow hobbits of escort celebrating the fact.

Pippin’s hobbitservant Sandy was serving the head table himself, and made certain of a steady supply of piping-hot tea. At last, after several cups of tea, more than one plateful of food, and animated conversation, Pippin held his hand over his cup when Sandy would have refreshed it. ‘That will be as much as I need, Sandy, with my thanks.’ The hobbitservant nodded, poured tea into Rosa’s cup (Regi’s was still mostly full from being refilled a few moments earlier), put down the teapot, and excused himself to the Thain. Regi thought perhaps he’d gone to order fresh platters of teacakes, for those at the head table were depleted by half, but no… Sandy’s errand appeared otherwise.

Soon after he disappeared into the kitchen, servers began to emerge with trays of glasses, both of wine and ale, and a sprinkling of fruit juice as well, that the diners might have some choice in the matter. A murmur of speculation arose and as quickly died out again, for this custom dictated some sort of announcement or other, requiring a toast on the part of the assembly, and so a hush of anticipation fell. Of course no one sipped from his or her glass. That would have been a breach of etiquette, to drink before the formal toast was presented.

Sandy brought his tray to the head table, of course, with the right number and manner of vessels. He knew ahead of time that Pippin and Regi would prefer ale, and their wives would take wine, and freshly pressed cider from the apple cellars for the children. There was one curious thing, however. Instead of the usual ale glass, the Thain’s ale was in a silver cup, polished to gleaming perfection, rich jewels glinting from its surface, a thing of beauty and delicate craftsmanship. And yet... Sandy provided the Thain with two drinks, setting down an ale glass beside the silver cup, as if the Thain might wish to drink twice as much as any other there. But the silver cup – the Steward had never seen anything to match it.

‘Elvish make?’ Regi said, nodding at the cup. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘All will become clear shortly,’ Pippin said. ‘It is, as a matter of fact, a gift worthy of an Elven King, and all the more precious for the story behind it.’

As if propelled to his feet by this thought, Pippin stood up from his chair and surveyed the hobbits in the room. The servers had finished handing out the glasses, and now stood lined against the walls of the room with their own glasses in hand, for they’d had their tea before everyone else, that they might not be required to serve food while themselves hungry. Evidently someone – Pippin? Diamond? – had given orders that even the servers and servants were to drink this toast, what ever it might be, that was anticipated.

The hush intensified to silence, and if one of the seamstresses or tailors there had brought a pin into the room, and dropped it at that moment, the sound would have echoed clearly. Regi felt as if he could almost hear his heart beating, so quiet was the room.

The Thain raised his glass – not the silver cup, which he left on the table before him. ‘To loyal Tooks!’ he proclaimed.

The crowd gave a cheer and happily stood and drank the toast, the Tooks at the tables raising their glasses to each other as well before quaffing. There was a murmur of surprise, which Regi understood when he tasted the contents of his glass. It was the Thain’s private stock, the best of the ale produced in the Tookland – and to serve such a crowd, the Thain must have reduced the supply by a significant number of barrels!

He raised his own glass, to pronounce the answering toast to the Thain, but Pippin placed a restraining hand on his arm. ‘A moment, Regi,’ he said. ‘We’ll get to that in time.’

The hobbits crowding the room had their glasses raised in anticipation as well, and their expressions subsided from joyful celebration to puzzlement as their Thain turned back to them with a quiet, ‘Please, take your seats. I have a tale to tell you, before the next toast…’ The hall was filled with the scraping of chairs and a general murmur, and then quiet reigned once more.

Pippin gently put his glass down again on the table, beside the silver cup, and began to speak. He spoke no words of welcome, or, apparently, explanation, but launched into a story with the finest of Tookish skill. ‘In a wood Green and Great, Terrible and Fair, there lived upon a time, a woodcutter and his little daughter. Now the wood was an enchanted one, such that a mortal being must watch his way at all times, for it was a place of lightness and darkness both, and the lightness was ruled by the King of the Woodland Realm…’

Regi gave a start, and saw some of the older heads in the crowd nodding, those who’d heard Bilbo telling his tales before the old hobbit had disappeared from the Shire for the final time. King of the Woodland Realm meant that this story was set in the Mirkwood, now called by an older name, the Greenwood, since the defeat of the Dark Lord and the driving out of giant spiders and other ills that Regi could scarcely credit. Pippin’s silver cup, however, fit the story he was telling. It looked fully worthy of coming from Thranduil, or his son Legolas, who had been Pippin’s companion and remained the Thain’s friend. Imagine, an Elf for a friend! Regi thought. He couldn’t really, and it would be some years before he met Legolas, and began to understand for himself.

For a part of the time, Pippin’s eyes swept the crowd, and for a part of the time, he fixed his gaze on one particular part of the room. Regi, following his gaze, saw the hobbits of escort listening intently. Indeed, Tolly, their head, seemed transfixed by the story, sitting stiff and unmoving, a look of amazement on his face.

Pippin told a story of wonder, about how a small, mortal child, little more than a faunt by hobbit reckoning, succored an injured Elven prince, beloved son of the Wood King, in his time of need, and how the King of the Woodland Realm named her elf-friend to the end of her days. He told how the Wood darkened in time, how the woodcutter removed himself and his daughter, now nearly grown, to the Breeland and the Chetwood, how she met and married another woodcutter who removed to the Shire, to land owned by the Thain and the Tooks, to supply wood to the Tooks of the Great Smials in return for a cottage and the use of a little piece of land. He told of the son of a Tookish healer, a tween, who rescued the toddling son of the woodcutter, lost in the woods… and at this juncture, Regi happened to be looking idly at the rapt faces of the listening hobbits at the lower tables. A sudden motion drew his eye, and he saw Hilly, at the escorts’ table, gaping at Tolly, whose eyes were fixed on the Thain’s face, his expression one of wonder. The Steward, suddenly suspicious, sought out Mardi, seated with his family amongst a crowd of Tuckborough residents, and Mardi, too, was staring at his younger brother as if suddenly realising that Tolly had some part in this incredible tale. To have saved the tiny son of an Elf-friend! Here, in the Shire! It was nearly inconceivable.

…but he’d missed part of the tale in his speculations. Regi took up the thread once more, his brow creased in thought. Ah, yes, it was the time of the Troubles now, and Ferdi had disappeared, and the old Thain had sent Tolly to find word of him.

He listened in horror to Tolly’s capture and subsequent ill treatment, to the point of being left for dead…! Meadowsweet’s gasp was clearly heard in the brief silence that fell then, before the Thain’s voice resumed, just loud enough to reach the far corners of the great room, yet soft enough that the listeners leaned forward in their seats so as not to miss one word. Though the Tooks often spoke with pride about their Steward’s lacking of imagination, the Thain’s tale-spinning was so skilled that Regi saw plainly, in his mind’s eye, the two boys, hiding and watching, waiting for the ruffians to depart, creeping from their hiding place to dig Tolly free of his premature grave, helping the dazed and injured hobbit to a safe hideaway, bringing him food and comfort until he was well enough to make his way back to the free Tookland.

And then…

Understanding bloomed slowly as the Thain continued, moving the tale to cover more recent events. Two Men were found in the Shire, to be bound and brought to the border, to the King’s Men. Tolly took charge, dismissing the others, saying he’d see to the unpleasant business himself.

Two Men… Tolly… It took no imagination at all for Regi to realise that the two Men here were the same two boys, now grown, to whom Tolly owed his life. And yet, the escort had sworn an oath to Thain and Tooks, and was honour-bound to carry them to their appointed doom. He agreed to provide them a last boon, to grant them a last request, to see their old home, to reclaim some family heirloom, hidden on the property they had leased from the Tooks, not something gathered from hobbits, not a thing of the Shire at all, but brought into the Shire by the family, something wondrous…

‘…and because it is a byword, here in the Shire, that legendary treasure is the possession of the finder,’ Pippin was saying, and the listeners nodded almost as one. Regi snorted, remembering Frodo setting old Paladin and Eglantine to laughter, over tea during a visit to the Great Smials, telling of the young hobbits he’d found knocking holes in the walls of one of Bag End’s cellars after Bilbo’s departure.

‘But this was no legendary treasure, waiting to be stumbled upon,’ the Thain continued. ‘This was a treasure of another sort, a precious gift, given in thanks by a grateful Elven King to those who aided his beloved son, helpless, trapped beneath a fallen tree, and if the woodman had not been seeking his little daughter, had he not come upon the son of the Woodland King, had Legolas remained trapped, unaided… What might have come to pass?’

He paused and looked from face to face, and at last he added, a little lower, so that his listeners leaned forward to hear, but still audible to the far ends of the room. ‘Legolas accompanied the Ring-bearer in the Quest to save Middle-earth (and, as a part of that, the Shire itself) from darkness complete and everlasting, as some of you have heard, and all of you ought to know… but that is a story for another time. Suffice it to say, he is a mighty archer, and slew many evil creatures, not least of these, a Messenger of the Dark Lord, winging high in the sky with a message that might have brought great harm to our cause, had it reached its destination.’

Regi saw him smile briefly at the mix of wonder and confusion on the listening faces, and heard him say under his breath, ‘Yes, that tale must be told, in full I deem, that they might know the danger…’ And at last give Frodo the honour he is due, and may he live long and blessed and healed there, and know that we love him and think often of him, he did not say aloud, not at that time, though Regi had heard him say so much, and more, in quiet discussions with the Mayor, when they thought the Steward absorbed in the papers on his own desk.

‘As I’ve told you, the Woodland King gave the little girl to drink from his own cup at the feast,’ Pippin said, and he reached then, picked up the silver cup, and lifted it high to catch the light. ‘And the Men unearthed it from where it had slept for years, buried secretly in the dark of night to keep it safe. And, just as you brought it away from that encounter – shining now, and restored as is only right to beauty and light – here is that cup…!’ There was a gasp from the crowd. Regi happened to be looking at Tolly at that moment, and saw the escort’s gulp. How wondrous a thing, that Tolly had come into possession of the cup – the only explanation was that the ruffians, er, Men had presented it to him – and perhaps without his realising its origin, even then, past seeing it on the mantel above the hearth in the woodcutters’ cottage.

‘There was also a necklace of Elven make, a stone beyond price, hung on a chain of delicate filigree, wrought of mithril. The King had hung it around the little girl’s neck with his own hands, a token of his friendship and his people’s protection, and these—‘ he paused, his face stern, his tone forbidding, ‘—these were buried in Tookish soil – but they were not the property of the Tooks! Nor were they spoil, to be possessed by the finder. And yet,’ his face softened somewhat, ‘what hobbit in his right mind would give up such treasure, even had the Men commissioned him well outside the Bounds, paid him a handsome sum, given him a map, hired him to find the treasure and bring it back to their mother – the little girl I have told you about.’

There was a stir in the crowd as the listeners put these facts together – a little girl, barely older than a faunt, grown to maturity, grown old, and her sons, on a quest to retrieve something precious to her, at the risk of their own lives. There was also indignation on more than one face, that the Thain could think hobbits so dishonorable.

Pippin saw the look as well, and shook his head sadly. ‘I can see the cup before me,’ he said. ‘I hold it in my hand. You will have the chance, over the coming years, to take it in your hand, to examine the intricate workmanship – it is obviously the work of a master smith. A hobbit of honour and integrity might be able to unearth this cup and bring it to its owners, without too difficult a time resisting temptation. But the necklace…’ His own look grew faraway, and Regi wished he could see what the Thain was seeing in his memory. ‘I saw it.’

In the silence in the great room, Tolly’s choked off, How…? was clearly heard, before that hobbit slapped his hand over his mouth to stifle any other sound.

Pippin smiled, locking gazes with Tolly. ‘I saw it,’ he said. ‘The King has a way of seeing things afar off…’ and the Tooks nodded, having heard of this wondrous quality on the part of the King, on more than one occasion. As a matter of fact, it was becoming common practice amongst Tookish parents to warn their children to mind themselves and their behaviour, as the King might well see their deeds, good or bad. ‘He showed me the necklace, in the hands of its owner, and the joy and hope shining in her eyes…’

Regi felt a sudden pricking of tears in his own eyes, to his surprise. And yet, on second thought, he understood. To be exiled from the place one knew as home, and to feel unable to return, and then to have the token returned to her, that spoke of welcome, well, yes. He could understand.

Pippin need not tell the tale all the way to the end. The listeners understood now, could take the pieces cut from whole cloth and sew them all together, in a manner of speaking – the story told by the Thain, together with bits and pieces of whispered Talk, rumour, that the head of escort had led a pair of ruffians to the Bounds and let them go, and for what reason…? And yet the Thain had not sacked him, so there must be more to the story… And yet, Men in the Shire in defiance of the King’s Edict were up to no good, and so…

Alas, poor Tolly.

Pippin’s voice rang out, clear and commanding. ‘Tolibold Took! Stand forth!’

Tolly blinked and trembled as he stood slowly to his feet, and Regi saw Ferdi rise and move to his elbow, in support, and whisper something in the hobbit’s ear, some encouragement, he thought, for the head of escort straightened, and allowed his old friend to escort him to stand before the Thain at the head table, the two of them facing the Thain together. It seemed fitting, somehow. These were the two who had been accused of being in league with ruffians and nearly banished from the Shire, after all, and in good part because of Tolly’s releasing the two Men, his old friends, and innocent of wrongdoing, Regi thought soberly.

‘Tolibold, by your actions, you restored a priceless possession to an elf-friend, and I honour you for it,’ Pippin said. ‘I think that I, myself, had I been able to hold that necklace in my hand as you did, and not simply see it from afar – I would have been tempted to keep it. As you must have been, and you’d have been able to do so, as you had those Men in your power, and held the power of life and death over them…’

Tolly stood before them, close enough to touch over the table, and his mouth gaped slightly in surprise. Regi could almost hear him thinking, …How did you know…? He saw Ferdi’s hand tighten on Tolly’s arm in silent support.

‘Tolibold, by your actions,’ the Thain went on, as if repeating a ceremonial incantation, ‘you preserved the King, and the Thain as well, from having the blood of innocents laid at our feet, and for this, I honour you.’

The head of escort’s throat worked, he swallowed hard, and then he gave a small nod, looking into the Thain’s intent gaze. Regi was distracted by a gasp – he looked beyond Tolly and Ferdi to the escorts’ table, to see Meadowsweet weeping freely, her face shining with tears.

‘Tolibold, by your actions,’ the Thain concluded, ‘you have proven your loyalty, to friendship, to the King, to the Thain, to the Tooks and the Tookland…’ He held out the silver cup, and Ferdi took it, as Tolly seemed incapable of motion, and Ferdi pressed it into Tolly’s hand and closed Tolly’s fingers around it.

‘Don’t you drop it now,’ Regi heard Ferdi whisper, and had to fight down a smile as the hobbit continued, ‘wouldn’t want to waste a drop of the Thain’s private stock, after all!’

The Thain picked up the glass before him, the ale likely flat after sitting through his long tale, but what did it matter? ‘To loyal Tooks!’ he thundered, lifted his glass high, and then drank.

The crowd roared in response, stood as one, and drank the toast.

Tolly looked to the Steward, who by custom should speak the answering toast, but Regi only smiled and gave a significant nod.

The head of escort was breathing shallowly, his expression dazed, but then understanding flashed in his eyes, and lifting the silver cup, he turned to face the rest of the room. ‘To the Thain!’ he shouted, raised the cup high, brought it down and drank, as the room echoed with the response from all the Tooks, Tooklanders, and servants gathered there, loud enough that the bedridden hobbits in the far reaches of the Smials, and their watchers, heard the tumult and wondered.

To the Thain!

Chapter 55. As Keen as Mustard

Rusty gave the silver cup a last careful rub, though it was still gleaming from Sandy’s loving attention before the high tea to welcome the Thain… and not incidentally, to honour Tolibold, the head of escort, for his loyalty, integrity, and discretion. The drinking cup of an Elvish King – fancy! So that he would not mar the shining surface with marks from his own fingers, he used the polishing cloth to hold the cup as he lifted it to pride of place on Tolibold and Meadowsweet’s mantel. He stepped back to admire the effect. Quite so.

He still marvelled that the Thain should have known to tell him where to find the cup, hidden away… wrapped up in an old cloth and buried at the bottom of the linen press, in the deepest corner, beneath a never-used set of bed linens hideously embroidered by Meadowsweet’s well-meaning but half-blind great aunts as a wedding gift. How in the world had the hobbit known?

…and then to hear that story at the grand tea. Yes, Rusty had been there, at Sandy’s insistence – Sandy had told him (as he brought the cup after finding it, to the Thain’s personal hobbitservant, per the Thain’s orders), that all the servants in the Smials except for bedside watchers, were summoned by Mistress Diamond to attend the welcoming tea, to help with serving the tables. He’d been astonished at the number of Tooks in attendance, from babes to gaffers. He’d thought he’d understood why all available servants had been required to serve in the great room. He’d been somewhat bemused to be handed a tall glass of the Thain’s private stock as teatime seemed to be concluding. And then, the Thain had told the story – and such a story…!

Rusty’s chest swelled with pride at the thought that he was serving the families of two of the most illustrious Tooks in the Tookland. He’d known about Ferdi’s exploits, of course – who hadn’t? He’d been the old Thain’s – and Regi’s – right hand in the business of keeping ruffians out of the Tookland in the time of the Troubles. But Tolly had been able to keep his own deeds much quieter, somehow. No songs had been written about his exploits… yet.

Ferdi always seemed able to make himself scarce when stories about the Troubles were told before the hearth in the great room. Rusty had an inkling that Tolly would quickly learn to disappear in much the same way.

***

At that same moment – though it was rare to find the Thain in his study after teatime – Healer Woodruff was in the middle of an uncomfortable interview – uncomfortable for everyone involved – with the Thain and Steward.

‘A messenger came to Ferdibrand, from Master Merry, and found him unattended?’ she said, rearing up to her full diminutive height in her indignation, puffed up like a small, ruffled hen.

‘Master Merry himself was that messenger,’ Pippin said. ‘He told me all that he did and saw in his brief time here.’ As the head healer opened her mouth again to speak, her cheeks flushed with emotion, he added, mildly, ‘He wished to return to the Bridge just so quickly as might be, in order to open the grand celebration of the King’s and Queen’s leave-taking.’ Seeing Woodruff take a breath, he said, ‘We could not start without him, of course, what with the Brandybucks hosting the feast.’

Woodruff took several rapid breaths, slowly deflating. ‘I cannot believe…’ she said, struggling for words, ‘…that any of my healers… could be guilty of such…’ She stopped and breathed a few more breaths, at a loss for words to express her consternation.

‘That is what we are here to determine,’ Regi said quietly.

It was almost with an air of relief the healer turned to him. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Which?’ And her tone boded ill for the errant healer or assistant. ‘How are we to determine that?’

‘His message – about Tolly’s wondrous recovery at the hands of the King – was waiting on my desk when I returned from the noontide meal,’ Regi said.

‘Hilly checked with the stable hobbits, on arrivals and departures,’ Pippin added. ‘The only arrival that day was a Pony Post messenger – or so the hobbit on duty at noontide thought – and the messenger said he needed a pony readied against an immediate return. As he was well-muffled against the cold, the worker did not recognise the Master of Brandy Hall.’

‘Noontide,’ Woodruff said. ‘Noontide, the day before Ferdi arose and spoke clearly for the first time since he’d lost his words?’

Regi thought back, and then nodded. ‘That would be the day,’ he said.

Woodruff consulted her hand, counting silently on her fingers. Pippin thought he could almost perceive steam coming from the head hobbit’s ears as she huffed on reaching the fourth finger.

Sudden realisation struck Regi at about the same time. ‘I went to Ferdi’s quarters to bring to him and to Nell the good news of Tolly’s healing, and Wort tried to turn me away…’

‘Wort, yes,’ Woodruff nearly spat. ‘I’ve had my eye on that one… He seems too good to be true at times. Always has the right thing to say, always in the right place at the right time – at least if Fennel or myself is present.’

‘Sometimes “too good to be true” can be the truth,’ Pippin said, in the healer’s defence. He had jumped to a conclusion on more than one previous occasion, to sometimes great harm. Why, Ferdi and Tolly themselves had nearly been banished, because Pippin moved hastily to act, without considering his course, much less taking the time to uncover all the facts.

‘Sometimes it can,’ Woodruff allowed. ‘But I am heartily ashamed, Thain, mortified, more like, to think that one of my healers might have neglected someone in such serious condition as Ferdibrand was that day…’

Pippin’s face grew grim. ‘How serious?’ he said slowly.

‘While Nell might have sent him away, that she and Ferdi might rest without the intrusion of a healer, he ought to have gone no further than the sitting room,’ Woodruff said, ‘for easy recall, if Ferdi were to show any distress, any change at all…!’ She shook her head. ‘Wort is a gifted healer,’ she said in a lower tone. ‘He learned the healer’s art quickly, always knows the right thing to say, almost seems to have an innate sense of what needs to be done in an emergency… and so I trusted him with that delicate situation, and now to hear…’ She fell silent, clenching her fists at her sides, her jaw tight.

‘He was not in the sitting room when the Master arrived,’ Pippin said. ‘We have the Master’s word for that. And Nell and Ferdi were both asleep.’

‘It doesn’t matter where he went, I suppose,’ Woodruff said heavily. ‘Even if he had to see to some – personal need, he’d properly have wakened Nell before taking himself off, however briefly.’

‘The Master’s visit was not brief,’ Pippin emphasized. ‘He was there above an hour, administering the healing herbs sent by the King, before he took himself off to my study to pen a note to Regi, for Tolly’s family.’

‘Above an hour…’ Woodruff echoed. She straightened, pulled back her shoulders, a picture of determination. ‘I will take the matter from here, Thain Peregrin, you can be sure of that.’

After the door had closed behind the head healer, Regi said softly, ‘I wouldn’t want to be Wort, if she finds he neglected his duties…’

Pippin shook his head. He was in full agreement.

***

It was the brothers’ custom at the end of a week of cutting in the Chetwood, to stop for a pint at the Prancing Pony. They were greeted warmly by old Butterbur, the innkeeper, who remarked that he hadn’t seen them in some weeks, and had someone been injured? ill?

Tod excused himself, plainly uncomfortable. ‘I’ll just go and see to Mum,’ he said. ‘And you’ll be late, won’t you? You said…’

‘I’ll be late,’ Ted said hastily. He was going to have supper with the miller's family, a bit later; was to meet the miller here at the Pony, as a matter of fact, some time in the next hour. He and the miller's eldest daughter’d had an understanding for more than a year, though he had been unable to speak, not while he and Tod were contemplating how to recover the necklace that the Elven king had presented to their mother, so many years before. They had considered their friends among the Bree-hobbits, but had finally made the difficult decision that they must make the effort themselves. Not only was there the challenge of finding a hobbit willing to travel the long way to the Shire, across the Brandywine, into the heart of the wilds of the Woody End. No, but there was also the worry that, no matter how honest the hobbit, the lure of the treasure would prove too much for any courier to bear.

But now… he could see his way clearly. Whether she agreed to go with him to the Greenwood, or merely agreed to wait for him to escort his mother there, and return, or agreed to nothing at all, he was at last free to ask her to marry him.

But he didn’t need the entire Prancing Pony to cheer him on his way. He gave his younger brother a meaningful look, and Tod’s face suddenly cleared, his eyes lighting in realisation. ‘O’ course, o’ course, you’ll be late,’ he said. ‘I’ll…’

‘You go,’ Ted said, and Tod grinned.

‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘I’m going! G’night, Barliman! G’night, all!’ There was a chorus of farewells from the others there, and Tod took his leave.

‘Give Annie my best!’ Barliman Butterbur called after Tod.

‘I will!’ the young Man called over his shoulder with a wave, and then he was gone.

Ted took the pint Butterbur brought him, raised it in a toast to the innkeeper, and enjoyed a throat-soothing mouthful. Ah, but it went down well after a long day of chopping and cutting. It was said the old wizard Gandalf had blessed the beer at the Prancing Pony before he’d gone away – sailed away, some said, over the Sea, forever and never to be seen again.  Bless the old fellow, where ever it was he’d gone.

Someone pulled at his elbow, and he looked over, his habitual smile fading as he beheld the scruffy looking fellow, one eye covered with a patch and a rough scar crossing his cheek, beside him. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, and moved a little to one side, away.

But the ruffianly looking Man pressed closer. ‘I’ve news for ye,’ he said in a guttural whisper.

‘News?’ Ted said in astonishment. ‘For me?’

‘Here now, Burdock, clear off!’ Butterbur said. ‘We don’t need trouble here…’

The Man sneered and said, ‘My gold’s as good as any.’

‘Be sure you see the gold before you hand him the glass!’ one wit shouted.

‘Be sure you hold the gold…’

The Man snarled, but threw a coin on the bar. ‘Beer,’ he said, ‘for me, and my friend, here.’

‘I have one already,’ Ted said, lifting his mug.

‘Have another,’ Burdock said.

‘No, but I thank you, stranger,’ Ted said, caution warring with curiosity. What message could this stranger have for him?

Mollified by the show of money, Butterbur scooped up the coin and turned away. Soon he returned with a pint and a promise. ‘I have my eye on you,’ he said sternly. ‘Any trouble, and I’ll have the Rangers on you, see if I don’t.’

Burdock gave a grimace that might have been meant for a smile, and pulled at Ted’s arm. ‘I’ve news,’ he said. ‘For my friend here. A message.’

‘Deliver it, and drink up, and be off with you,’ Butterbur said, with the bravery that comes from having a Ranger eating a solitary meal in one of your quieter corners, out of the notice of the common observer.

The stranger, Burdock, was known to the innkeeper as a trouble-maker, that much was clear. But old Butterbur had not immediately escorted him from the premises – had even taken his money and given him a drink in exchange. He’d not even tried to warn Ted against associating with the fellow, implying the innkeeper feared neither direct harm to Ted (which would be bad for business), nor that Ted might be corrupted by association. Curiosity growing stronger, Ted followed the stranger into the shadows, despite the prickling at the back of his neck that warned him that all was not as it seemed.

‘Here,’ Burdock muttered, indicating a small table in a darkened corner of the common room. One other solitary diner was nearby, leaning against the wall, to all appearances asleep after polishing off most of a hearty meal. Ted took the chair facing the entryway – he was waiting for someone else, after all – and sipped at his beer. Burdock scrutinised their near neighbour and then proceeded to ignore him, pulling out his chair as quietly as could be, seating himself with a show of stretching out his long legs, and taking a hearty swig of beer, followed by a gusty sigh. ‘Ah, that just suits!’

‘You said you’ve news,’ Ted reminded him, his eyes moving between the entry and the stranger.

‘Nervous about somewhat?’ Burdock said.

‘Waiting for someone,’ Ted said. ‘I’ll be happy to drink with you, str—Burdock, until he arrives, but when he does, my time will no longer be my own.’

Burdock threw his head back as if to laugh, but settled for another swig of his beer.

‘You said you’ve news,’ Ted repeated.

‘Impatient, aren’t we?’ Burdock sneered. When Ted began to rise from his chair, he grabbed at his arm to stay him. ‘It’ll be worth your while to hear me out.’

‘Then tell on, and don’t waste my time,’ Ted said, sitting back down despite his growing reluctance. He was beginning to think that the innkeeper had the right of it, and this Burdock fellow was merely here to make trouble.

Burdock dropped his voice. ‘My boss…’ he began, and looking around furtively, grew even softer – whispering, as if he were the possessor of a great and valuable secret. ‘It’s said round hereabouts, that you and your brother were born in the Shire.’

‘Leave my brother out of it,’ Ted said, frowning.

Burdock made a placating gesture. ‘Certainly, certainly,’ he said. ‘But you were born in the Shire – it’s common knowledge.’

‘I’ve no need to deny the fact,’ Ted said. ‘My father was a woodsman, and worked for the Thain, but that was years ago… long before the King issued his Edict and closed the borders. We’ve been here in the Breeland just as long, now…’

‘But you were born there,’ the stranger insisted. ‘Born there, lived there long enough to learn the lay of the land, cutting wood with your father.’

Ted shook his head. ‘I was but a boy when the Shire-folk threw all the Men out,’ he said. ‘And my brother is even younger than I, and remembers less.’

‘But you might remember enough,’ Burdock said. The back of Ted’s neck prickled again, a warning of danger, though he couldn’t imagine what that danger might be.

And then Burdock went on. ‘My boss…’ he hissed. ‘He hears things. He’s very good at hearing things, my boss is. He’s heard that you and your brother…’

‘I told you to leave my brother…’

‘He’s heard that you,’ Burdock went on inexorably, his eyes boring into Ted’s, holding the latter there in his seat somehow with the strength of his will, ‘know a secret way into the Shire, and out again, a way to get past the King’s Men…’

‘There’s no way to get past the King’s Men,’ Ted said lamely. It was a lie, and he was not a good liar, but he put every scrap of himself into the lie, such that he, himself, almost could believe it.

Burdock sat back, smiling, almost as if he heard the lie in Ted’s voice despite the woodcutter’s best efforts. ‘No way to get past the King’s Men?’ he whispered. He pulled something from his pocket and laid it on the table. ‘Here.’

Ted wrapped his hands around his mug, refusing to reach out, to touch the heavy-looking bag that had clinked as it had been laid down; more gold than he’d ever seen in one place, some practical part of his mind told him. ‘I don’t take your meaning,’ he said, unsteadily.

‘Plenty more where this came from,’ Burdock whispered. ‘All you have to do is show us…’

‘I don’t know the way…’ Ted said, desperate now. He was not a good liar.

Burdock cocked his head to regard the woodcutter with a keen eye.

Gathering the shreds of his courage, Ted burst out, ‘I won’t show you! I won’t show anyone!’ That much rang true, anyhow, truer than the previous words, or the ones that followed. ‘I’ve nothing to show… I don’t know…’ He pressed his lips shut. Better to remain silent and be thought a liar, than to speak and prove himself.

A soft snore came from their neighbour as the two Men locked gazes, tense, the woodcutter leaning away as if he would flee, the stranger pressing forward as a predator might regard his prey.

At last Burdock relaxed with a chuckle. ‘No need to show anyone anything,’ he said, affecting a friendly smile that seemed more threatening than anything. ‘Why, that bag there, it’s yours for nothing more than a little service, the smallest of services…’

Ted did not relax. He was breathing rapidly, shallowly, looking longingly at the entrance, to the snoring Man nearby, towards the sound of Butterbur’s voice, talking to a pair of hobbits who worked in the stables, anywhere but at Burdock.

Burdock touched Ted’s hand, still gripping the mug, and the woodcutter jumped, spilling his beer. ‘I… I must go,’ Ted said.

‘No one has come in,’ Burdock said, glancing towards the entry. ‘You were waiting for someone, you said. Now, as I was saying, my boss, he has this interest in the Shire…’

Ted swallowed hard. The stranger’s eyes were hawklike, and Ted knew just how a songbird felt, or a mouse perhaps, pinned by that keen and merciless regard. ‘I—I—I,’ was all he could manage.

‘An interest,’ Burdock insisted. ‘Simply… draw me a map, for his collection. Yes, that’s just what’s wanted. A map… A little thing. A Man cannot obtain a map for love nor for money in this day – but you’ve been in the Shire. You know the Shire…’

‘I—I—I—’ Ted managed, and then somehow he was able to break free, to get up from the table, upsetting his chair all unknowing behind him, to flee without looking behind him…

As if one of those Black Men were after him, as Butterbur told Master Mallow, when the miller asked after Ted, nearly an hour later.

‘We’d arranged to meet,’ Mallow insisted. ‘I cannot believe he’s not here, waiting for me. I do come a little belated, but…’

Butterbur shook his head. ‘He was here earlier,’ he said. ‘That much I can tell you. As to where he’s gone…’

‘Perhaps he thought there was a misunderstanding, and has gone on to my house, where we were to sup together,’ Master Mallow said after a moment’s thought. ‘Good day to you, Barliman, and should Ted return in search of me, tell him I’ll see him at supper…’

However, Master Mallow and his pretty daughter missed Ted at supper that night.

After deep thought, wandering aimlessly, pondering, as the afternoon passed to evening and the sky darkened above, the woodcutter decided the best course was to go to the Kingsmen’s post, just outside the town, to let them know that Burdock and his mysterious “boss” were up to no good.

He gave his report to a Ranger who, he might have noticed, had he paid closer attention in the darkened interior of the inn, bore some resemblance to the snoring diner at the next table to where he’d had his strange interview with Burdock. He’d have been even more surprised, after he’d left – forgetting all about his promise to the Mallows, and thinking only to warn Toddy about the ruffians in the vicinity, and to make sure their mother was well guarded – to have seen a clean, well-dressed “Burdock”, now lacking eye-patch and scar, come out of the back room where he’d listened to all.

‘Somehow I don’t think we have to worry about those two brothers,’ said the King's Man, sometimes known as "Burdock" though his own name was much different.

The Ranger nodded, and sealed the report.

Chapter 28.
The speed of the messenger horse was calculated from the following fascinating web pages:

http://www.ultimatehorsesite.com/info/horsespeedmph.htm
http://www.ultimatehorsesite.com/info/farandfast.html

Chapter 31.
The conversation that takes place early in the chapter is set right after the first chapter of All that Glisters.

Chapter 52.
Ferdi and Farry finding the Thain's treasure is recounted in StarFire.

Chapter 54.
Frodo and Merry evicted "three young hobbits (two Boffins and a Bolger) who were knocking holes in the walls of one of the cellars" and Frodo "had a tussle with young Sancho Proudfoot ... who had begun an excavation in the larger pantry, where he thought there was an echo" after Bilbo's departure in "A Long-Expected Party" in The Fellowship of the Ring.

Final Note.
The earlier story, A Matter of Appearances, was taken offline for some months for editing. It has now been restored.