Chapter 1. Message from the King

It was teatime, and the Mayor’s family (at least, all those who had stayed behind when Sam travelled to Gondor with his wife and eldest daughter) were to take tea in the Thain’s private apartments. They had said goodbye to their parents at the Gate of Buckland. Their sojourn, while parents were away, started with a month at Brandy Hall, and then they moved on to visit the Thain and his family at the Great Smials. They’d been at the Great Smials for nearly a month now. The plan was for them to spend the next month at Cottons’ farm, and then go on to Buckland to await the travellers’ return.

But word had come from Buckland just a little earlier, a message from Gondor!

Young Faramir Took imagined the passage of that message, all the way from the hand of the King to the hand of the Thain. It helped that he had travelled to Gondor himself, and more than once, in his young life. He had actually seen the hand-off of one urgent message just as his family had arrived at one of the King’s outposts along the Greenway. How thrilling it had been! The call of a silver horn, floating on the breeze; the sudden flurry of action on the part of the guardsmen who’d been greeting the arriving hobbits; the powerful horse coming quickly into sight, surging up the Road; the hand-off of the leather bag to the next Messenger, waiting and ready; and at last, the thrilling gallop away, at top speed!

Farry had wondered long at the contents of that message pouch, on its way to the Lake, to the Steward of the Northern Kingdom, as the King was at that time in Gondor. His father had made a jest about the difficulties of a united divided Kingdom – but Farry had thought only of the thrill of riding fast, fast as the wind, bearing important news. For some time after, he’d dreamed of being a Pony Post rider. The reality of it was that he’d follow his father as Thain… if only his father should live long enough for Farry to reach his three-and-thirtieth year.

Farry would give up all his dreams, and take on the Thainship, and happily, if it only meant long life for his father. He’d lived all his life in the shadow of the fear of death – thanks, or perhaps no thanks, to the gossip he’d overheard at a young and tender age. Pippin, nearly crushed by a troll in the Outlands, his breathing further compromised by a bad bout of the Old Gaffer’s Friend* and lingering injury from an accident, lived life as fully as his constrained lungs would allow – more fully than a lot of hobbits of the Shire, Farry thought (even at his young age, but he had the right of it).

But the simplest thing could carry his father off, or so he’d heard. A lungful of smoke or dust, or even something as minor to most hobbits as a cold in the head that became a cold in the chest… Farry had watched the healers closely watching his father, even though they might think they were being circumspect. He’d seen a few of his father’s frightening bouts with breathlessness, and heard of more, though never directly – more from lurking quietly and listening to the grown-ups talk. Even though they were fond of saying Little pitchers have big ears! they were not always so careful about observing caution in their Talk.

…but little Forget-me-not was regarding him with serious eyes and a quivering lip, as if she could sense his distressing thoughts. Farry put on as big a grin as he could and tickled her until she squealed, and then he hugged her tight to quieten her, so that Thain and Steward would have no need to hush them.

The Message had come from Gondor at top speed, borne by King’s Messengers all the way to the Gate of Buckland and Brandywine Bridge, and from thence to the Great Smials by Pony Post. Farry had been playing on the hearthrug before the fire in the Thain’s study, amusing his younger brother and sister. They’d come to escort their father to tea, but Pippin had a matter of business to finish before he won free of his desk, and so he was in quiet discussion with Regi, his Steward, when a sharp rap sounded on the door and the escort on duty opened the door to say, ‘Pony Post, sir! Directly from the hand of the King, he says!’

‘Well then!’ Regi said, getting up from his seat to take the message from the Post rider’s hand and bring it to Pippin. ‘Direct from the hand of the King! What could it mean?’

Pippin slit the fancy-looking envelope and shook the message out of its folds, scanning quickly down the page, with the eyes of everyone on the room on him. He quickly relaxed, and somehow it was as if everyone exhaled at the same time to see it. Not bad news, then…

Looking up, he said, ‘Well, Regi, it seems the Mayor will be staying in the Southlands for some time longer than he’d originally planned.’

‘Not bad news, I hope,’ Regi said. ‘He hasn’t broken his other leg, or anything?’

Pippin laughed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Seeing how he broke his leg on my account, earlier, and how I’m not there in Gondor with him,’ and he looked hard at Regi from under his eyebrows, as if to say it was the Steward’s fault that he had not travelled to Gondor in the Mayor’s company, ‘why, he has no good reason to break his other leg, now, does he?’

‘None of your nonsense, now, lad,’ Regi said automatically, and Pippin laughed again, and Farry smiled and tickled young Merigrin until that little one chortled with glee.

‘No, but it’s good news, and I’ll be happy to share it at tea. Would you and Rosa like to join us?’

‘You’ll have a table full already, with the Mayor’s family,’ Regi demurred.

‘The more, the merrier, that’s what I always say! I’ve always wanted to make up one gross at tea in the best parlour, or even second-best, as Bilbo did at his infamous Party,’ Pippin said, and held up a finger in the face of Regi’s anticipated, “None of your nonsense!” ‘Well, I have! Still,’ he said with a sigh, ‘I suppose I’ll have to give up on that dream at least, seeing how a gross of hobbits would have to be stacked like cordwood to fit into any of the parlours. They’d fit in the Great Room, of course, but what would be the fun of that?’

Regi took a deep breath, obviously suppressing the sentiment he wished to express. Three none-of-your-nonsenses in a row would be two too many. It was obvious that the news, whatever it might be, had put the Thain into high good spirits, and far be it from him to squelch the hobbit. As it was, he really did want to know what good news could keep the Mayor longer in the Southlands. Four or five months (two months there, and two back, with a month or so in the White City itself) was more than long enough for Mistress Gamgee to be away from her younger children, as it was.

‘Very well,’ was all he said. ‘We’ll be happy to join you.’

***

*Author's Note: "Old Gaffer's Friend" is a Shire term for pneumonia.

Chapter 2. Taking the Good with the Bad

On good days, Farry’s father would walk from his study to the Thain’s apartments, with the help of his sturdy Stick, and with two cousins flanking him, to steady him if necessary. The Thain’s study had once been connected to the Thain’s apartments, but some time ago, the Steward had arranged for one of the best parlours, with a panoramic view of the Green Hills, to be made over into a study for the Thain. This was inconvenient, in that the Thain or his family members had to walk from the depths of the Great Smials, where the Thain’s apartments were kept, to the face of the great cliff that overlooked the Smials courtyard, to reach the study, or vice versa.

But Pippin was fond of saying that the view was worth any amount of inconvenience, and as Diamond could deny him nothing (or practically nothing), she did not begrudge the exercise necessary to consult her husband on the smallest matter, during the hours he was to be found at his desk.

On days of dreary rain, or bone-chilling cold (the damp kind, that makes a body feel chilled and achy all over), the Thain suffered his servants or cousins to carry him from one place to another. Not for him was a wheeled conveyance, the likes of the kind that Mistress Lalia had used in her time. No, not with his own sister accused of neglect, or worse, in the matter of Lalia’s death, when her wheeled chair had somehow bumped over the threshold of the Great Door, causing the old hobbit to tumble down the steps to her death. Pearl had been her attendant at the time, and the Talk had assigned the blame to her, ever afterward. For the world, Pippin would not remind his beloved Pearl of that terrible time.

On this day, Pippin laid aside his pen, which he’d been using to scratch figures and calculations as he and Regi had talked, and stretched. ‘That’s a good day’s work,’ he said. ‘Come now, Regi, it’s time for tea. The work will still be there on the morrow, whether we work past teatime, or no.’

‘I vote no,’ Ferdibrand said from the doorway. ‘I was just coming to fetch you away, cousin. Diamond charged me most earnestly to separate you from your desk in time for tea.’

‘Well then,’ Pippin said. ‘Who am I to stop you? I would hate for you to run afoul of my dear wife!’

‘As would I,’ Ferdi said. ‘Your Diamond is not one to run afoul of. Or do I mean, “of whom to run afoul?” Or…’

‘Not one of whom to run afoul, rather!’ Pippin said, seeming pleased at the wordplay.

‘Be that as it may,’ Ferdi said severely, with a significant glance at the clock. ‘We are running the risk of running afoul, the longer we discuss the matter.’

Pippin threw up his hands. ‘Spare me!’ he said, and then put his hands down, to brace himself as he rose from his chair with an effort. The adults in the room – Regi and Ferdi – took care not to notice how much it cost him, but the children, of course, cheered this sign that the work day was ended and family time about to begin.

‘Hurrah!’ Farry said. ‘Teatime at last!’ The twins, for their part, chortled and clapped their fat little hands.

‘At last, is it?’ I suppose you’re hungry!’ Pippin grunted, and then he sighed in relief as he gained his balance on his one good leg.

‘Always!’ Farry said with a laugh, gaining his own feet and extending his hands downward, one for each twin, that he might help them toddle along, at least until some larger hobbit in the corridor succumbed to their charm and picked them up, to carry them homeward.

‘Aw-ways!’ echoed little Forget-me-not, and Merigrin gave an emphatic nod while adding his own, ‘Uh-huh!’

Regi moved quickly to Pippin’s side, without appearing to hurry, and Ferdi just as casually took his place on the other side, proffering Pippin’s heavy walking stick. Pippin took his stick in hand and leaned heavily on it, while Regi moved the Thain’s chair out of his way. Farry watched, without appearing to watch, and breathed a little easier as his father slowly began to make his way to the door, Regi and Ferdi flanking him in case he should falter.

It was one of the good days.

Chapter 3. Momentous News

Tea in the Thain’s sitting room with eleven Gamgee children, along with the Thain’s family and the Steward and his wife and children, was something of an organised bedlam. Of course the older were used to helping the younger, and Diamond delighted to hold little Robin on her lap, and was his delighted slave as he pointed to the various items of food on their shared plate. Pippin and Diamond’s twins sat in high chairs between Pippin and Farry, since Diamond was fully occupied, and little Ruby Gamgee sat on a high chair between Frodo and Rosie-lass Gamgee. Regi the Steward and Rosa, his healer-wife, had their littlest one in between them, and a small child to each side, and though they were rather crowded, with so many around the table, they were used to managing their own little ones, not relying (like so many in the Great Smials) on nurses or minders, except in extraordinary circumstances when both were called away at the same time. The rest of the Gamgee children were old enough to manage themselves without much worse than an upset teacup or dropped biscuit.

Still, it was a noisy, happy crowd – and, it seemed, a hungry one as well, for platter after platter was emptied and replaced by the efficient servers, without even the necessity of a word from the Thain or nod from Mistress Diamond. There was much food going in, and much talk and laughter coming out, and quite a festive occasion – for it was something of a farewell party, with the removal to the Cottons’ looming over them.

Merry-lad and Pippin-lad were deep in plans with Farry for the latter to make a visit to the farm during their stay there. This was such a pleasant occupation that Farry had quite forgotten the message from Gondor – and even if he had remembered, he knew better than to hint at such a thing. It was not his news to tell, but his father’s, after all!

Goldi and Hamfast were in a contest to see who could eat the most dried-cherry tarts, and Frodo-lad and Rosie-lass were quite occupied with little Ruby, who was cutting a new tooth and thus off her feed, needing a fair amount of coaxing and tempting. Daisy and Primrose were busy dividing each scone they took from the platter into tiny pieces and carefully buttering each one, and young Bilbo was quite taken with Regi and Rosa’s six-year-old Rue, sitting beside him.

‘Good thing Ferdi’s not here this afternoon,’ Pippin said behind his hand to Diamond, with a wink. ‘He’d be making a match for certain!’

‘They’re much too young!’ Diamond protested under her breath.

Pippin twinkled. ‘That's never stopped him before,’ he said with a meaningful look from Faramir to Goldilocks, and then to his wife.

Diamond kicked him under the table. ‘Stop that!’ she said.

Pippin merely smiled and sipped his tea.

At last, when he determined that everyone was starting to slow down – the latest platters of tea sandwiches and teacakes and sweet biscuits had remained at half-full for some moments, rather than rapidly diminishing as they had been up to this point – the Thain cleared his throat. As Farry and Pip-lad and Merry-lad were laughing uproariously over some planned prank, the sound went rather lost in the hubbub. Pippin cleared his throat again, rather louder, and as there was a short burst of silence in the same moment, Rosa looked up sharply, her healer’s instincts roused.

She relaxed again, as the Thain said, ‘Ah, then. Now that I have your attention…’

‘A speech! A speech!’ cried several of the young Gamgees, tapping on their teacups with their spoons – for they’d seen this sort of thing, every time they accompanied their father to a festival or gathering where he was asked to open the festivities.

Pippin beamed on them all, and cleared his throat again, though it was much softer this time, something of a thought-gathering gesture, more than anything. ‘Well, then,’ he said. ‘I’m not so fine at speechmaking as some hobbits you may know – the Mayor comes to mind…’

The young Gamgees cheered for their father.

Pippin seemed to suddenly remember something, and dug inside his waistcoat, where he had an inside pocket for necessary things like hastily scribbled reminders of things needing to be done, or the names of hobbits he was about to meet with on official business. ‘O yes,’ he said, pulling forth a folded paper and shaking it out. ‘I have news from the Southlands…’

There was another cheer from the Gamgee children, and the rest of the children joined in just for the delight of it.

Pippin looked around the table. ‘It’s both good news, and perhaps news that might not be quite as welcome, but is really good for all that,’ he said.

There was a sudden silence as everyone, grown-ups and children alike, tried to work out the meaning of this statement. Regi had an impulse to say, None of your nonsense, now, but of course he tried not to say such things to the Thain in public, especially around young ones who might innocently repeat the sentiment at an awkward time. Somehow he managed to remain silent, but raised an eyebrow in a questioning manner and tilted his head, the better to listen.

‘Which do you want to hear first?’ Pippin asked into the general silence.

‘We want to hear all the news, of course!’ Rosie-lass said. ‘That is, if it’s about our parents, and Ellie…’

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Frodo-lad put in, quite sensibly, but then he was a sensible lad, even for a tween. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t be telling it to us, I should think.’

‘Well then, I hardly know where to start,’ Pippin said, looking down at the letter and then sweeping the hobbits around the table with his glance. They were all ears.

‘Well then,’ he said again. ‘I suppose I will start with the presents.’

‘Presents!’ little Daisy squealed, clapping her hands in glee.

‘Where are they?’ Hamfast wanted to know. He looked under the cloth covering the table, but there was nothing there except for hobbit laps and limbs.

‘They are on their way,’ Pippin answered with a grin for the little ones’ excitement. ‘This letter was sent by courier, you see, and while a courier can carry an envelope at a very fast clip indeed, over a long distance, well, now, he wouldn’t be able to manage a heap of presents quite so handily, so those are being sent separately.’

Farry mimed a rider trying to hold the reins while juggling a toppling pile of packages, and Pip-lad, Merry-lad, and even Goldi chortled at the picture he made.

His father smiled fondly. ‘Be that as it may,’ he said. ‘Your parents are sending presents, because…’ here he hesitated, for he knew that the rest of the news would not be so welcome. Taking a deep breath, he bravely plunged on. ‘…because they’ll be staying in the Southlands a little longer than they’d originally planned.’

As he’d anticipated, the hilarity vanished and the young Gamgees sat staring solemnly. ‘Longer?’ Frodo-lad eventually managed. ‘How much longer?’

‘You see,’ Pippin said, feeling his way, ‘You’re to have another brother, or perhaps a sister, and they mayn’t travel until the little one is big enough to travel safely…’

‘Another baby!’ Primrose said in happy astonishment, and began to clap her hands, but then she stopped and her face fell. ‘But…’ she said in sudden understanding. ‘But babies take ever so long to be born…’

‘There was no baby when they left us,’ Daisy said, sounding bewildered. ‘Mama would have told us!’

‘And babies take ever so long,’ Primrose said again, this time in a tragic tone. ‘Most a year, isn’t it?’

Daisy burst into tears, and Bilbo set up a howl, and Goldi lost all colour and simply sat as if she’d been turned to stone.

It took quite some time to calm the teary tumult, but at last Pippin had them on an even keel once more (so to speak), and was talking cheerfully about plans for the next months – for of course they’d have two months at Cottons’ now, and then two months in Buckland, and then be able to return to the Great Smials for another whole two months, and so forth, until they received word that their parents were on their way home, and then they’d go to the Buckland to await their arrival.

‘Such a lovely welcoming celebration as we’ll have!’ Diamond said in her most cheerful tone. ‘Why, it’s a good thing we’ve a few months for the planning… What shall we do? Shall we have a feast, do you think? An enormous picnic by the banks of the Brandywine? Or atop the Hill in Hobbiton, so that all your neighbours may come?’

Most of the Gamgee children began to offer their suggestions to add to the plan, and soon many voices were all speaking at once, tumbling over each other with ideas and proposed surprises.

Only Goldi sat, pale and silent, and a single tear trickled down her little cheek. Before anyone noticed, she impatiently dashed it away, grabbed a currant scone from the platter, and for the rest of the meal she slowly broke the small baked treat into smaller pieces and pushed them around her plate, pretending great interest in the conversation (and if she winked her eyes a bit, as if they bothered her, and her lips were trembling, these signs were lost to all but young Farry in the excitement of the plan-making), but contributing not a word of her own.

Chapter 4. A Conspiracy is Formed

Farry woke suddenly, some premonition of disaster tickling at the back of his neck. He did not move; he did not even open his eyes, but lay quiet in his bed, listening to the darkness around him. Hard lessons in caution had been drilled into him, in his short life. Taken by murderous ruffians intent on his father’s gold, somehow his body had learnt to transition from sleep to wakening without a jerk or snort or sudden sitting up or any of the other normal awakening behaviours. He could move from dream to full alertness in the blink of an eye – though his eyes did not actually blink, not unless he willed them to do so.

There was only the soft breathing of his minder. No sound came from a wakeful younger brother or sister. Farry breathed as softly as possible, stretching his ears to their limits. There was no whispery sound of a servant moving in the little sitting room off the bedrooms, to light a fire or lay breakfast ready for the sleeping family. No murmur was to be heard from his parents’ room. It must be very late.

He arose, creeping as softly as a hobbit could through the shadowy suite of rooms. It was indeed very late – glancing into his parents’ room, he saw them curled together, making one mound in the bed, his mother’s head on his father’s breast, his father’s arm holding her close, his mother snoring softly and his father – like Farry, body having learnt caution through hard experience – breathing silently, and slumbering so deeply that he was not even murmuring in his sleep as he did when restless for some reason or other, something Diamond liked to tease him about.

He went back to his room to retrieve the clothing his minder had laid out for him, ready for morning, though he took these into the sitting room to slip them on. Minders were notoriously light sleepers, and he didn’t want to be stopped with questions, sent back to bed, not even if it meant a treat of warmed milk with honey and a little nutmeg to sip upon, and a biscuit or two to nibble.

For the warning thrummed in him still, urging him to hurry about his business – and what would that business be?

At least he was fairly confident that no ruffian could penetrate the Great Smials. They’d have to get past the King’s Men who guarded the Bounds, and then the Bounders, and then the Tooks… No, he shook his head at himself. He felt in no danger of being taken by ruffians again. Though he drew a deep breath of relief, the tense feeling did not resolve.

Dressed now, he ghosted down the corridor to the public sitting room, past the guest rooms and Sandy’s room and the room set aside for a healer on watch, in times when his father was ill or his mum was expecting; past the little kitchen, pantry, and butler’s pantry, through the large sitting room and entryway, and still the thread of inexplicable tension drew him on.

He eased open the door to the main corridor. No hobbit of escort stood on duty there, so it was before six o’ the clock. In the time of the Troubles, of course, there had been a messenger standing there no matter what time of day or night, but in these peaceful times, Farry’s father had decreed that the hobbits of escort deserved to sleep at night just as much as the Thain did, and so there'd be one of them to be found outside the Thain’s quarters early in the morning until after late supper (not the same one the whole time, of course), and another would stand outside the Thain’s study when Pippin or one of his helpers was working there.

His sense of urgency was growing, as if he raced against time. He closed his eyes and listened with all that was in him, then shook his head, opened his eyes again, and began to walk through the dimly lit corridors, though he didn’t know where he was going, or why it might be important. It occurred to him that he might be sleep-walking, as he’d heard Uncle Merry talk about with his Da; he’d seemed to find it a great joke, though Cousin Berilac had not laughed with the rest at the time.

No hobbits were about; it was very early. Why, there wasn’t even the good smell of baking in the air, which meant that it was not yet two o’ the clock, when the bakers would begin the business of baking the breads for early breakfast. It must be just past middle night (as there had not been a feast or fancy dance, there would have been late supper but no midnight supper), but not quite bakers’ rising.

Farry realised that he was nearly to one of the lesser outer doors (not the Great Door, of course) when he felt a draught and a smell of rain washed over him. What could it be?

Something prompted him to hurry forward, to the doorway itself. The door stood open, and peeping around the frame he saw a small figure, somewhat smaller than himself, hesitating under the overhang.

‘Goldi!’ he breathed, and the figure jumped and turned on him, eyes blazing in the light of the torches in the courtyard, not yet quenched in the soft falling mist.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I might ask you the same,’ Farry answered.

‘Keep your voice down!’

‘Or what?’

‘Someone might hear!’

‘And that would be a bad thing? What are you doing?’

Goldi drew herself up as tall as she could – which was still half a head shorter than Faramir, but she still managed to look down her nose at him, remarkably like Reginard the Steward. ‘I can’t tell,’ she said.

‘Can’t?’ Farry said. ‘Is aught amiss with your memory? Were you walking in your sleep, and wakened to find yourself here?’

‘You think you’re so smart,’ she said haughtily.

‘Then it’s more won’t than can’t, I gather,’ Farry said, ‘and you’re out here a-purpose, and not on accident,’ and she seemed taken aback, and then looked at him with growing respect.

‘You know more than I gave you credit for,’ she said.

Farry shrugged. ‘I know little enough,’ he said, ‘but I’m good at guessing.’

‘I suppose you might be,’ she allowed.

‘And I’m guessing…’ he looked at her more closely: fully dressed, like himself, and hood and cloak over all, and a muffler wrapped around her neck for good measure, against the chill of middle night. ‘You’re running away?’

‘To, rather,’ she said.

‘To,’ he echoed, squinting his eyes, the better to think. ‘To… ‘ and the truth struck him, and his mouth opened in astonishment for a moment, and then he stammered the rest. ‘To… to Gondor?’

She put her hands on her hips and looked him up and down. ‘Well, now,’ she said. ‘You are, as you said, a good guesser. And now I think you can guess what I’ll say to you next…’

He nodded. ‘You’ll ask me to go back to bed, and pretend I never saw you, for it’s for the best.’

She nodded back at him, but he shook his head. ‘More fool you, if I do.’

She frowned. ‘I don’t take your meaning.’ She looked out into the dark, falling mist and said, ‘But time is wasting. The bakers will be up soon enough, and after that the dairymaids, and I must be well away before any of them come along…’

Farry reared back to scrutinise the lass, and then when she would have turned away he grabbed at her arm. ‘Speaking of bakers,’ he said in a meaningful tone.

She rolled her eyes and tried to pull free. ‘I’ve no time for this!’ she hissed.

Farry held firm and insisted that she hear him out. ‘I’ve done a bit of running away… running to, in my day,’ he said, and that was enough to stop her, and she cocked her head, and he could tell she was listening now, and not just impatient to get away.

‘You don’t have any food with you,’ he went on. ‘Not that I can see, anyhow.’

Goldi’s mouth opened in astonishment of her own, and her expression changed from impatience to chagrin. ‘I…’ she said, and gulped, suddenly deflating. ‘I hadn’t thought of that…’

Farry was thinking furiously. He knew Goldi all too well… If she were to manage to secure a loaf or a few breadrolls, she’d be off for certain, and no one the wiser until the morning, when she’d be missed, and who knew what might befall her in the dark hours before a search could even be mounted?

He knew very well that if he told the grown-ups and they intervened, she would desist for a time… but she’d bide her time, and slip away at the first opportunity. She was that stubborn. Just as he had been, upon a time.

Someone needed to take charge of this situation, and now.

‘You had better go back to bed,’ he said, and held up a staying hand as she bridled. ‘No, hear me out. Running away is a serious business, as I can tell you from bitter experience. It’s clear to me that you don’t know much about such matters. You need help.’

‘Help?’ she said, bewildered. Then her eyes flashed in understanding, and she repeated, challenge in her tone, ‘Help? Whose help? Yours, I suppose?’

‘Someone with intelligence is needed in the party,’ Faramir said, echoing something his da had said upon a time.

‘That leaves you out, I’m sure,’ Goldi snapped.

‘No,’ Faramir said. ‘I know how this kind of thing works. You can afford to wait a day or two, at least for dry weather…’ He was encouraged to see her nod. ‘And in the meantime, you can be collecting foodstuffs to take along with you…’ He wondered if Goldi realised just how far it was to Gondor, and how quickly she’d go through any amount of food she’d be able to spirit away and carry.

‘Ye – es,’ she said slowly, nodding as she considered.

‘And I think you ought to take a travelling companion,’ Farry went on. ‘Someone to keep watch while you’re sleeping.’

‘And who would keep watch while you’re sleeping, pray tell?’

And Farry drew a quick breath at the speed and depth of her understanding. ‘Why,’ he said with a grin. ‘You will, of course!’

Chapter 5. Caught!

Farry saw Goldi to the door of the apartments kept for the Mayor and his family, opening the door with well-practiced stealth, just a hands-width, and listening for all he was worth for the stirring of a minder or servant. Luck was with them, it seemed. They’d met no one in the corridors, on their way from the outer door, and the Mayor’s apartments were silent as a barrow in the Barrow Downs. More so, even, for Farry’s Da, and Goldi’s Dad, in telling of their youthful adventures, had described the hissing and growling of the wight they had encountered, though properly they had been asleep, and only Frodo had been awake at the time to hear it.

In any event, the air was quiet and still within. Farry’s hand tightened on Goldi’s arm for a moment, in silent signal. Then he nodded, opened the door a little wider, and released her, to slip within. No outcry came, no indignation at such a young one being dressed for the out-of-doors and out and about at such an hour, no concern or surprise – evidently everyone within was still deep in dream, and Goldi was lucky, in that she could lay her outer garments under their hooks, as if they’d merely fallen after careless hanging. She could slip into bed and get up again in the morning with none the wiser.

Elanor, had she been there might well have noticed Goldi arising from her rest fully dressed under the bedcovers, but Rose was a more careless lass, who did not rise easily herself, and was not likely to be alert until her eyes had been open and she’d been moving about for some minutes. Thus, no one – not the minder, who slept in a room with the littlest Gamgees, nor the other Gamgee girls, would be the wiser, or be able to guess at Goldi’s activity in the night. Or so Farry hoped.

He congratulated himself on the lateness – or the earliness – of the hour, seeing no hobbit of the escort standing before the door to his family’s apartments on his return. No, though the smell of baking bread was beginning to waft through the corridors, which meant the bakers were well started at their tasks for the day; though the dairymaids were still an hour or so from arising, it was still well short of six o’ the clock, when a messenger would take up his post. He opened the main door to the suite, listened intently to the quality of the silence (to hear only the ticking of the dwarf-made clock in the larger, public sitting room, somehow louder in the shadowy darkness than full light of day), and slipped inside. A single watch lamp burned low on the table, and the room was filled with shadows that moved with the flickering of the flame. A fire was laid ready for lighting on the grate, but the room itself was cool with the chill of night. Farry crept across the room, the thick carpet muffling even the softest whisper of hobbit footsteps.

He hesitated as he passed the table. The usual bowl of fruit resided upon its polished surface, and he was suddenly hungry. Grabbing up an apple, he lifted it to his mouth – and hesitated. Somehow the thought came to him that the soft crunch of his teeth biting into the juicy orb would, like the clock, sound as loud as a thunderclap in the shadowy darkness. He put the apple into his pocket, instead. Perhaps if he ate it, far underneath his bedcovers, no one would ever know, not even the light-sleeping minder. At least until the time came to change the linens.

Nothing moved, not even a mouse – if any mice were to be found in Sandy’s well-maintained environs. Thus far, things seemed to be going well. Goldi was by now safely in bed, and Farry…

But the son of the Thain was not to be so lucky.

He tiptoed, soft as a cat on the hunt, deeper into the suite, listening for all he was worth, but still, all that could be heard was the ticking of the clock receding behind him. Down the corridor, towards the pantry, butler’s pantry, and little kitchen he went, every step slow and cautious, scarcely drawing breath, though of course no one ought to be about at this early hour, not even to fetch fresh-baked bread from the Smials kitchens for breakfast, as the bread was in the middle of baking and would not be fetchable for at least an hour, if not more.

As he passed the partly open door of the butler’s pantry, it occurred – rather belatedly – to him that the door had been firmly closed when last he passed that way. The thought was not enough warning, however, to keep him from jumping, startled, at the soft clearing of a throat.

His first wild thought was that it was his father – who had shown on many previous occasions, an alarming tendency to know when Farry was at mischief – but no. The soft, misting rain hissing on the guttering torches in the courtyard had signaled a change in the weather from the previous day’s bright sunshine. Today would be one of his father’s bad days, he feared, where Pippin would allow himself to be carried from place to place, unable even to stand to his feet unassisted.

Uncle Ferdi, then…? But what would Ferdi be doing in the Thain’s apartments at this hour?

Still, Uncle Ferdi had a knack for showing up at the most inopportune – or perhaps lucky for Farry, in hindsight – times, when mischief reached its height and danger was not far behind.

But what danger could be found in the Thain’s apartments, in the early hours of the morning?

Farry had a wild impulse to dash the rest of the way to the inner recesses of the suite, past the guest rooms, through the little, private sitting room, directly to his bed – or better yet, his parents’ bed, to dive under the covers and huddle there, shivering, but safe. However, that would be a childish thing to do, fauntly in truth, and beneath a son of the Thain. He drew himself up to his grandest twelve-year-old height – which, admittedly, was taller than many Tooks of his age. Still, he found himself holding his breath, looking upward as the door to the butler’s pantry swung wide, to meet the composed, serious gaze of the Thain’s personal hobbitservant, silver serving fork in one hand, polishing cloth in the other.

Farry had overheard his father say to his mother that Sandy’s duties did not include sleep, but he’d always thought it was but a jest… until this moment.

‘S-sandy,’ he managed, trying to sound nonchalant, as if it were common practice for a young hobbit to be wandering the corridors of the Smials in the very early morning.

‘Sleep wandering, were we?’ that worthy answered, with a lift to his eyebrow that gave the question emphasis and weight. ‘On our way back from the Smials’ kitchens, perhaps, after a night of switching the salt and sugar labels?’

Farry’s lips twitched in spite of himself. Such an excursion was rare, but not unknown, and might have occurred in retribution for a sore ear after being caught lifting fresh-baked biscuits from the cooling racks. ‘N-no,’ he replied truthfully, though on reflection perhaps it might have been wiser to stand mute. The grown-ups must not learn of Goldi’s intentions, and try to prevent her carrying out her plan. That would only cause her to be more cautious, so cautious that Farry himself might miss her leave-taking. Frantically he cast about for a plausible explanation.

‘I – I was hungry,’ he said, putting his hand in his pocket and drawing forth the glossy apple. ‘See? I thought I smelled bread baking…’ And he had, though it had been in the outer corridor. ‘Or… perhaps I only dreamed I smelled it, and I got up to look for it, but I came to myself in the main parlour, opening the door – and there was a smell of good baking, actually,’ he added, warming to his subject, and managing to tell mostly truth, if not its entirety. He tried to look young and pitiful, then, and said, ‘but it was all dark, dark it was, and not even Tolly or Hilly or Haldi there, to ask if they might go and fetch a platter of fresh-baked rolls for the Thain and his family…’

Sandy’s mouth tightened at this, for it was hardly an escort’s duty to be escorting breadstuffs, no matter how winsome the requester. (Though, truth be told, all the hobbits of escort were in danger of becoming devoted slaves to the Thain’s young daughter, Forget-me-not. If Faramir were to ask for anything in his younger sister’s name, why, he’d likely have it.) But all he said was, ‘So you thought you’d bring an apple back to your bed, to stave off starvation until early breakfast, I presume?’

This, too, was something that Farry could confess, and with absolute sincerity, and so he did.

‘Very well, then,’ the hobbitservant said, in a tone that implied it was not at all “very well”, but beneath his dignity to say so. ‘Off to bed with you.’

Scarcely believing his luck, Farry complied, with such speed and willingness that Sandy smiled in spite of himself, as he returned to polishing the silver. The hobbitservant propped fully open the door to the butler’s pantry, and stationed himself to have full view of the hallway, however.

Just in case any young hobbit might take it into his head to wander any more that night.

...but Sandy needn’t have worried. Farry fell into his bed without bothering to undress, and managed to fall asleep so quickly that his apple was still in his hand, and nearly whole, when his mystified minder awakened him, performing her duty to ready the children for breakfast.