All Work and No Play (or The Thrum of Tookish Bowstrings, Part 2)
(formerly known as Farry and Ferdi Go to Gondor)

At age 16, Faramir Took aims to follow his father’s footsteps on the Quest to learn more about his family history
as well as Hobbits’ involvement in the Outlands during the War of the Ring.

Prologue

From Just Desserts, Chapter 33. All Work and No Play

~ In the Houses of Healing, New Annuminas, Arnor (the Northern Kingdom), S.R. 1446, about six weeks before Midyear's Day ~

‘I was almost forgetting what I meant to say,’ Ferdi said, turning to the King. ‘You told me the Steward would be wakening soon, and that I should send for Pippin, and so I did; but he looks as deeply asleep as ever he was...’

‘He will waken soon,’ Elessar said, and as if in answer there was a groan from the bed, and the masked man moved to the bedside.

‘Ah, Haldoron,’ he said. ‘What foolishness have you done now?’

‘A great foolishness,’ Haldoron muttered, forcing one eye open and peering up over his shoulder at his brother. ‘As you so kindly informed the King in your letters to him while he was still in the Southlands.’

‘Someone had to make you see reason,’ Halbadhor said, ‘and if you wouldn’t heed my warning, whom would you heed?’

‘I have been blinded by grief,’ Haldoron said. ‘Anger, and despair... Not fit...’

‘...and that is why I’m here,’ Halbadhor said. ‘Come to bear my share of the burden. I’ve been hunting and fishing long enough, and it is time to take up the sword once more.’

‘Battle?’ Haldoron said, confused.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Halbadhor said, and the King chuckled.

‘It is a battle, of sorts,’ he said. ‘You’re stale, old friend, and worn down, and...’

‘In need of a holiday?’ Pippin said helpfully from the doorway.

‘Ah, the Thain has arrived,’ Elessar said.

‘A holiday...?’ Haldoron said, forcing himself up with his hands and rolling to a seated position. He shook his head to clear it of the lingering effects of the draught, and winced at the pain of his back, though it was healing in a remarkable manner thanks to the application of athelas. ‘What sort of nonsense...?’

‘My cousin is famed for his nonsense,’ Ferdi said lightly, ‘though in this case I’d agree. When he’s been too long indoors, listening to complaints, and I notice that he’s stopped listening, I put a stop to things.’

‘He does,’ Pippin said ruefully. ‘Sometimes I wonder just who is in charge of things...’

‘It helps,’ Ferdi said in a lofty tone, ‘that he is the younger cousin.’

‘Helps very much indeed,’ Elessar agreed, and turned once more to Haldoron. ‘Your brother has agreed to take your place while you are elsewhere occupied...’

‘Elsewhere,’ Haldoron interrupted. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound...’

‘The Prince of the Halflings,’ Elessar began, and the other two men snorted, for having guarded the Shire and the Breeland for the better part of their lives, they knew how the Shire-folk themselves would have reacted to such an epithet, ‘has made a request of the King, that...’

‘Are you to set me to guarding the Bounds of the Shire?’ Haldoron said. ‘Is that to be the consequences of my failing to listen to the advice of hobbits?’

‘I had considered the notion,’ Elessar said with a thoughtful air. ‘However, Peregrin’s request came as I was considering, and I am of a mind to grant his petition.’

‘His petition,’ Haldoron said, when the King stopped.

‘He wishes to send his son to the Southlands, to Gondor, for a time of learning,’ Elessar said. ‘As you know, young Faramir Took would be seen as a prize by renegade Men seeking the Thain’s gold. His escort must be carefully chosen.’

Ferdibrand barely suppressed himself from rolling his eyes. Carefully chosen, aye, and for more reasons than one. Headstrong, the lad was, for starters.

‘I’ll be sending Ferdibrand along, of course,’ Pippin said with a nod for his cousin (and ignoring Ferdi’s hastily concealed shock), ‘but I was discussing the need for an experienced Captain to lead the escort, one somewhat familiar with hobbits, but also well-versed with travel in the Wilderlands.’

Ferdi definitely did not like the sounds of this. Nor did Haldoron. It seemed that the two were in complete agreement on this matter, at least, from the glance that they exchanged before Haldoron spoke.

‘Wilderlands?’ he said.

‘My son would like to retrace the journey of the Nine,’ Pippin said. ‘Insofar as it is possible, of course.’ He sighed. ‘I would love to accompany him myself, but am much encumbered by matters of business at present.’

‘Retrace...’ Ferdi said.

‘Yes, Ferdi,’ Pippin said briskly. ‘Isn’t this a stroke of luck? Here you were just saying the other day that you wished you’d seen even half the wonders I’d told you of, and...’

‘Wishing and wanting are two different matters entirely, cousin,’ Ferdi began, but Pippin laughed and spoke over his protest.

‘Well here is your chance!’ he said gaily. ‘The King has offered to provide a seasoned escort for the journey, and...’

The rest of his speech was lost on Ferdibrand, and Haldoron, who had locked glances once more. It seemed they were going on a journey together, whether they wanted to, or no.

***

Chapter 1. The King’s Authority

~ a few hours earlier in the guest quarters set aside for hobbits visiting New Annúminas ~

‘So, the children are safely under Estella’s eye,’ Pimpernel said, pouring a cup of tea for her brother and then for herself. ‘Just what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?’ 

Uncharacteristically, instead of answering at once, Pippin peered earnestly into his teacup and cleared his throat. 

‘Yes?’ said Pimpernel, and then as the silence stretched out, her polite attention became annoyance, and then annoyance turned to alarm. ‘What is it you’re afraid to tell me?’ 

At this, her brother looked up, in that instant his expression seeming less “Thain” and more “little brother”, though “Thain” quickly overtook his countenance. ‘I’m not afraid to tell you anything, Nell, you ought to know that…’ 

‘Be that as it may,’ she said, setting her cup aside and leaning forward. ‘There’s something you’re not saying. You don’t usually invite me for a silent cup of tea…’ 

‘Though I ought to, and more often than not,’ Pippin said, his whimsical nature stirred by the thought. ‘You’re a sensible hobbit, sister that you may be, and know how to hold your tongue when idle chatter isn’t wanted.’ 

‘My thanks... I think,’ Pimpernel said, and added, ‘But none of your nonsense, now, Pip! Just what is it, you called me here to discuss?’ 

Pippin sighed. He sipped at his tea, but it was no longer scalding as he preferred it. With a grimace, he set his own cup aside, and looking up again, he said, ‘Nell, it’s about your husband.’ 

‘Is something the matter with Ferdi?’ Nell said, though she did not rise from her seat to go in immediate search, for her brother seemed much too calm for some emergency to have happened. She knew only that Ferdi had gone to the public square to observe some punishment or other, “the King’s justice” as Diamond had called it, with a sober face. Though Nell had pressed her for more details, Diamond had refused to say more. Come to think on it, Nell not seen her beloved since. Instead of Ferdi returning with an account of what he’d witnessed, Pippin had sent a maidservant with a message for Pimpernel to meet him here, in one of the parlours specially made over to Arwen’s specifications, with every accommodation and comfort imaginable, for the use of visiting hobbits. 

‘No,’ Pippin began, but then he shook his head and amended his answer. ‘Yes.’ 

‘No, there isn’t something the matter, or yes, there is?’ Pimpernel said. Her brother was being rather more obscure than usual. 

‘Yes,’ Pippin said. 

Pimpernel managed not to sigh in exasperation, but persisted. ‘Yes, both, or yes, something is the matter?’ she said. 

Pippin fixed her with a stern eye. ‘You’re not making sense,’ he said, and then as his sister began to splutter, he held up a placating hand. ‘A moment, Nell,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to figure out how to tell you this…’ 

‘Just start at the beginning, and work your way along to the end,’ she said. ‘Or start in the middle, if you must, and I’ll ask questions if I feel the need to do so.’ 

‘Or I could start at the end,’ Pippin mused, looking into the distance, but then his eyes returned to meet hers once more and he nodded. ‘That’s it, then. I want to send Ferdi to Gondor.’ 

Pimpernel nodded – they were getting somewhere at last – and then the significance of his words hit her and she gasped, one hand going to her heart. ‘To Gondor! You’re sending Ferdi…!’ 

‘Yes, Nell,’ Pippin said. ‘I think it’s for the best, all round, save perhaps for yourself and the children, but I think…’ 

‘You want us to go to Gondor? But the little ones…’ 

‘Not you, Nell dear,’ Pippin said, pointing to her and shaking his head. ‘Nor you and the children, even. Just Ferdi.’ 

Nell closed her mouth with a snap, once she realised it was open. ‘Just Ferdi,’ she said, feeling numb. ‘Just Ferdi,’ she repeated, blinking. She tilted her head to one side in her effort to understand. ‘But why? You nearly banished him upon a time, I know… but that was all a mistake...’ As the import of her own words washed over her, she began to feel short of breath, felt the need to pant for air, squelched it down. ‘Why?’ she managed to gasp. 

Pippin reached out to take her hand between his, then patted her hand gently, and she could clearly read the sympathy and concern in his face. Somehow that made it worse. ‘Steady, Nell,’ he said. ‘It’s not like that…’ 

‘Not like what?’ she said. ‘To send a hobbit to Gondor… if not banishment, it’s all but banishment! And to send him without me… to send him away, for months… away…’ She was having trouble breathing and gasped out the last words in consternation.

‘I don’t know about that,’ Pippin said, maintaining his calm demeanor in the face of her dismay. ‘I’ve been to Gondor a number of times already, and I’ve always managed to find my way home again.’ 

‘But…!’ Pimpernel said. ‘I forbid it! Do you hear? You cannot do this to us…! To me!’ 

‘Hear me out, Nell,’ Pippin said. 

‘Hear you out!’ 

He nodded, ‘For I fear the alternative might be worse,’ he said. 

‘Worse! What could be worse than…?’ 

‘I feel I have no choice,’ Pippin said. 

Nell sat back, her head reeling as she fought for coherent thought. ‘No choice,’ she said faintly. ‘But—’ she said, seizing on a word he’d used but a moment earlier, ‘but you spoke of an alternative…’ 

Pippin nodded, his expression unhappy. ‘There is an alternative,’ he said. ‘I could send him to Fredregar at Budgeford instead. He could help oversee young Rudi’s holdings, since Freddy’s health prevents him from assuming the title of The Bolger, until your son comes of age…’ 

‘Send Ferdi to Freddy…’ Pimpernel said slowly. And then, ‘But why? You would exile him to Bridgefields, if not Gondor? But you know how he loves the Tookland! He nearly gave his life for her!’ 

Pippin nodded sadly. ‘Indeed, he did,’ he agreed. ‘But it marked him, Nell, and not only outwardly.’ 

Pimpernel fought down rising indignation. ‘And you think it should not have? You think it’s merely something he can… can set aside on a whim? Those ruffians…!’ 

Pippin put his hand on his sister’s once more, with a firm squeeze. ‘I know very well what the ruffians did, to him, to Tolly, to Freddy… to any number of hobbits who had the misfortune to run afoul of them. To Lotho! And Mayor Will! And Lobelia…’ 

‘Enough!’ Pimpernel said. ‘It wasn’t only the ruffians who overran the Shire during the time of the Troubles. There were the ones that came after your gold, or have you forgot? The ones who took young Farry and would’ve sent him back to you in... in little pieces! Not to mention the one that would have pulled Ferdi’s arm off with no more thought than he’d have given to pulling the wings off a fly – or the one that tried to spit you on his sword for the gold he thought you were escorting, if not for that mithril shirt of Frodo’s that Sam insisted you wear!’ 

Like their father’s anger, her fury ran cold. She pulled her hand from his grasp and stared at him icily for a few breaths. At last, she concluded, ‘I think perhaps your friendship with Men has turned your head, has melted your brains like butter on an overwarm day! Those ruffians…’ 

But her younger brother remained eerily calm. ‘Not you, too, Nell,’ he said, his tone grieved. 

‘Not “myself, too...” – what?’ Pimpernel demanded. 

‘Ferdi regards all Men as ruffians,’ Pippin said. ‘And that is the problem.’ His eyes grew darker as his gaze poured into hers. ‘Even the King, and his loyal guardsmen…’ 

‘Have you already forgot how difficult it is sometimes to tell a ruffian from a “loyal guardsman”?’ Pimpernel reminded. ‘Especially ruffians who have murdered the King’s own guardsmen, and assumed their guise – the dead guardsmen’s uniforms – for their own nefarious purposes!’ 

‘Enough!’ Pippin said in his turn, cutting off his sister’s protests with the single sharply spoken word. After taking a deep breath, he went on. ‘Nell, Ferdi is my right hand, as you heard me introduce him at the welcoming banquet after our arrival, and I am the Thain of the Shire. Do you know what that means?’ 

Pimpernel stared at her brother, opened her mouth to answer, and closed it again. ‘I thought I knew,’ she admitted at last. ‘But I think you mean to say something else, entirely.’ 

‘You would have the right of it,’ Pippin said, nodding slowly. He drew a deep breath. 

‘So… then… what does it mean?’ Pimpernel said at last. ‘And what does it have to do with my Ferdi?’ 

‘As Thain,’ Pippin began, and sat up straighter. ‘Do you know why the Shire has a Thain in the first place? What the Thain’s duties are? How it all started in the beginning?’ 

Pimpernel started to answer, closed her mouth to think again...  

Her brother was wonderfully patient, waiting for her to speak, watching her face, an earnest expression on his own.  

At last, she said slowly, ‘He… he is the master of the Shire-moot…’ and at Pippin’s nod, she added, more confidently, remembering their childhood lessons, ‘and Captain of the Shire-muster and the Hobbitry-in-arms…’ 

When she hesitated, he nodded again and made an encouraging gesture. ‘Go on,’ he said, and when she looked at him, puzzled, he prompted, ‘The roads…’ 

Her face cleared. ‘Ah, yes, he was – and still is – to speed the King’s messengers, by seeing to it that the roads were – are – kept in good repair. How could I forget that?’ 

‘Perhaps because the King’s messengers were so few and far between, after the fall of the North Kingdom,’ Pippin said lightly. ‘At least until the return of the King in the person of Elessar. And…?’ 

‘And…’ Pimpernel said, drawing a blank. 

At last, Pippin said quietly, ‘to hold the authority of the King, until his return…’ 

‘To hold the authority…’ Pimpernel echoed, and brightened. ‘That’s right. I remember hearing old Sandbuck mention that in passing, upon a time, though he rather dismissed it, seeing as how the King hadn’t ever come back in all that time and wasn’t likely to do so…’ 

‘It’s a pity our old tutor didn’t live to see the day…’ Pippin said meditatively. ‘How surprised and delighted he would have been, to see legends come to life…’ 

Pimpernel sighed, but Pippin brought them back from the side trail that had threatened to take them far from the main point. 

‘To hold the authority of the King,’ he repeated. ‘Who is the King, I ask you?’ 

Surprised, she answered, ‘Why, Elessar, of course! You said it yourself just now when speaking of the return of the King.’ 

‘Perhaps a better question might be, what is he?’ 

Confused, she stared at him in perplexity. 

At last, he said with quiet emphasis, ‘He is a Man, Nell.’ 

‘Of course he is,’ she said, but the significance escaped her. And then her brother seemed to change the subject, confusing her further. 

‘Ferdi is to be Thain after me, as you know, should something happen to me before Farry comes of age. The Tooks have finally accepted the Succession as I have set it forth for them.’ 

It had taken Pippin’s brush with death to accomplish this feat: to pass over Reginard, who by the dictates of tradition ought to have been the next in line to be Thain. Regi was currently the Steward of Tookland, and in not taking on the Thainship, he would remain Steward, for there was none better who could fill that position as capably as Regi had proven himself to perform. In a further departure from tradition, Pippin had vowed to bypass Regi’s brother Everard, who would remain Chief Engineer and Delver (for Pippin had a knack for recognising people’s strengths and moving them into the position that best suited themselves and the Shire), ultimately settling the Thainship upon Ferdi’s capable shoulders. During the dark days when his death had seemed both imminent and inevitable, Pippin had actually passed the Seal of the Thain on to Ferdi, reasoning that the Tooks could hardly argue with him after he was dead. 

And then, just as Thain Peregrin seemed to be at his last gasp, Samwise Gamgee had appeared out of the Wilderland, bearing a magical potion – well, the good Mayor insisted it was not magical, but it might as well have been – that proved itself, in the end, a cure for what was killing the Thain. 

Ferdi had been overjoyed to return the heavy ring to Pippin, but the cat was well and truly out of the bag. The Succession, as Pippin saw it – which upset tradition, and which Pippin had foisted off on the Tooks by some trickery, counting on the confusion and grief that would result from his death – soon became common knowledge. And nowadays, though it was only a few years later, now that the Tooks had had a certain amount of time to discuss and wrangle and debate the issue, they were fairly resigned to the notion. Even Reginard, who was competent and happy as Steward and would have been miserable as Thain, out of his element, had come to terms with the idea. Somehow Pippin had worked it out to be a compliment to the Steward – “No one else could fill Regi’s place…” – instead of disgrace. 

‘May that day never come,’ Pimpernel murmured fervently. Ferdi had no desire to follow Pippin as Thain, not even for a limited time, holding the position as regent for young Faramir until Pippin’s eldest son should come of age. 

The corners of Pippin’s mouth tightened, a smile without humour, and he patted her hand once more. ‘It’s a dirty job, rather like keeping the stalls mucked out in the King’s stables, but somebody’s got to do it,’ he said lightly. And then he sobered once more, leaning forward to emphasise the seriousness of what he was about to say. 

‘As Thain, Ferdi would be the King’s representative,’ he said. 

Pimpernel nodded. 

‘He would hold the authority of the King.’ 

Somehow she had the feeling that, whatever it was Pippin was getting at, she was not completely understanding. 

‘The King is a Man, Nell!’ 

‘Well, yes, we’ve been over that already…’ 

‘Ferdi would have to meet with other representatives of the King on occasion,’ Pippin went on, inexorably pounding his message home. ‘He would have to trust, not only Elessar…’ 

Pimpernel caught her breath as understanding swept over her. 

‘…but also those representatives that the King trusted enough to deal with Shire-folk,’ Pippin said, and nodded at the expression dawning on his sister’s face. Soberly, he concluded, ‘We must all pull together, or risk being pulled to pieces, Nell.’ 

There was a long silence as Pippin allowed his sister time to consider all the implications. 

‘And so, you want to send Ferdi to Gondor,’ she said, her heart sinking, for in the light of her new understanding, the separation seemed inevitable. 

‘Yes,’ Pippin said, sitting back again, satisfied though obviously not happy with what he saw as a necessary – no, essential – duty, that would cause distress to those he loved. ‘Farry… he wants to trace the journeys of the Fellowship, as a part of his study of History, and I thought… What a good idea! …You remember how dull and boring History was, under old Sandbuck…’ 

‘Names and dates,’ she murmured, ‘all to be learnt by heart…’ 

‘But when Da would spin his tales after teatime,’ Pippin went on. ‘How he’d bring the people, the stories, History! …to life.’ 

‘I remember,’ said Pimpernel. ‘But… you were gone for more than a year! Surely you don’t mean to keep us apart for so very long!’ 

‘It should not take them a year,’ Pippin said, and counted on his fingers. ‘It took us nearly a month to reach Rivendell, but ‘twon’t take them half that long… Frodo was wounded, and there was Strider’s disastrous “short cut”… And then, of course, they won’t be spending weeks and weeks at Rivendell. They’ll be travelling in summer weather, much faster than it was for the Fellowship in the dead of winter, and not stopping at any one place for very long. The same for Lórien, a few days only, and Minas Tirith, as well. A few days only, for the guardsmen know their duty, and their duty is to ensure the walking party will arrive well before Ring Day, that they may meet me in Gondor for the grand occasion…’ 

‘You’re going to Gondor?’ Pimpernel said. 

‘Well don’t look at me as if I have grown another head, Nell,’ Pippin said in exasperation. ‘The King has invited me to journey southward with him in the last days of summer, to celebrate this year’s Ring Day – Frodo’s and Bilbo’s birthday, as you ought to remember – in Minas Tirith, and so I will meet our own Travellers there and then. And then we shall all travel back together, by the most direct route, along the Kingsway, swift and safe, and be home and safe in the Tookland well before the weather turns.’ 

‘Travellers?’ Pimpernel said, her head spinning with new thoughts and speculations. 

‘Well, I’m of a mind to indulge my son in his wish to learn more of our family history in terms of Hobbits’ experiences in the Outlands during the War of the Ring, as his own father and cousins lived it,’ Pippin said. ‘Along with any sons of the Mayor or Master who’d like to trace their fathers’ journeys as well…’ 

‘That could be quite a pandemonium of young hobbits,’ Pimpernel said, tilting her head to one side and trying to speak calmly. ‘Pity the poor escort…’ 

‘Yes, well,’ Pippin said. He eyed her closely. ‘Do keep in mind, dear sister, that I am not punishing Ferdi for any lacking on his part…’ 

‘I don’t know…’ Pimpernel said slowly. ‘It might seem to him like a punishment…’ 

‘Think of it more as a shared endeavour,’ Pippin said. ‘Ferdi will be working together with Men, good, solid, upright Men of the King’s choosing, Men that Elessar would trust with his own life, or the life of his own son.’ 

‘Shared endeavour,’ Pimpernel echoed. 

‘It is amazing, how people can come to respect one another, when working together on a shared quest or other,’ Pippin said. ‘Why, I watched a Wood Elf and a Dwarf, whose people were not on the best of terms, come to an understanding, once upon a time.’ 

‘Firm friendship, you mean,’ Pimpernel said, ‘unless your stories are highly exaggerated…’ 

‘Why, Nell!’ Pippin reproved. ‘You know I am committed to tell the absolute truth! I never exaggerate!’ 

At her look, he relented slightly. ‘Well, hardly ever…’ 

Laughing together made a good ending for a difficult interview, and brother and sister parted with a heartfelt hug. Though Pimpernel’s heart was heavy at the thought of several months’ separation from her beloved, at least he wouldn’t be as long away as Pippin had been, when her brother had followed Frodo all those years ago. And this time, she’d know where the Travellers were going, and why, and even when to expect them back. At least, that was the plan. 

*** 

Author’s Notes:

Some phrases taken from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, “Prologue: Concerning Hobbits”. I don’t know where the notion of the Thain keeping the roads to speed the messengers of the King came from. I thought it was “canon” but couldn’t find mention of it while writing this story. The only mention I found was when Marcho and Blanco were given land to dwell in by the high king at Fornost, which led to the founding of the Shire.

Pippin’s near-fatal illness and Sam’s miraculous cure are detailed in A Healer’s Tale and At the End of His Rope. 

***

Cautionary note: This chapter has some discussion of the ruthlessness of kidnappers. The details have been left deliberately vague.

Chapter 2. Laying the Groundwork

~ Two weeks later; about one month before Midyear's Day and departure ~

At the tap on the door, Haldoron, former Steward to Elessar’s Northern kingdom, raised his head from his contemplation of the empty desktop in this borrowed room on a lower level of the Citadel of New Annúminas. He’d left the trappings of Steward behind him on the day he’d tendered his resignation to the King. ‘Enter!’ he rapped out.

The door opened. Although the Man who entered wore no uniform, he might easily be taken for a guardsman simply from the polish on his boots and belt and the upright way he carried himself. Indeed, the former Steward saw the fingers of the Man’s right hand twitch as he came to a stop before the desk; he wondered wryly if the fellow had suppressed an almost-instinctive salute.

‘Come in, Denethor, and sit yourself down,’ he said, indicating the chair to one side of his borrowed desk.

‘Sir,’ Denethor said. He nodded and seated himself as ordered, though the impression he gave of a guardsman at attention remained. Denethor’s parents had named him after the Steward of Gondor, a Man both noble and grim, before the latter’s descent into madness. In this moment, he bore an uncanny resemblance to his namesake in older days.

‘At your ease.’ 

‘Sir,’ Denethor repeated, sitting as straight as before, though he raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Haldoron suppressed a sigh as he studied the former guardsman. He supposed the raised eyebrow was something, at least. Might as well launch into the business at hand.

‘I called for you because I am in need of help,’ he said. ‘Your help,’ he amended.

He could swear the former guardsman sat more stiffly, if such were possible. ‘My help, sir?’

The fellow’s caution was understandable, even laudable in light of recent events, but irritation – aimed at himself, mainly – led Haldoron to snap, ‘I’m not about to consign you to the stocks or a cell in the dungeons, Man!’

Something cold and hard replaced the wariness in the former guardsman’s eyes as Denethor lifted his chin and drawled, ‘Nor the gallows, my Lord? Or do the gallows remain an option?’ 

Immediately after the words left Denethor’s mouth, Haldoron had the impression that the former guardsman braced himself then in readiness for the repercussions of what might easily be taken as insolence. Haldoron’s reputation, built up over the past two years of increasing bitterness from his unresolved grief, along with the Steward’s self-imposed isolation, easily justified the Man’s wariness. And so, quite deliberately, the Steward responded with a hearty laugh.

At Haldoron’s answering laughter, the visitor betrayed his surprise with the merest blink of astonishment – honest laughter, it was, seasoned with a tinge of self-derision and... regret? Yes, Haldoron decided. Regret was a part of it. There were past decisions that could not be changed, such as the death warrant he’d signed, condemning this Man’s kinsmen to the gallows. Only the desperate intervention of hobbits and Elessar’s timely return had prevented the deaths of those innocents from being laid at Haldoron’s feet. 

But the past was the past, and he must come to terms with that. Indeed, he must keep his focus on the future decisions yet to be made, and future events that were yet to confront him – along with the others soon to be entrusted to his care.

Sobering abruptly, Haldoron retracted the finger he’d pointed at Denethor, then took hold of himself. ‘Bold as ever, I see. It’s all too clear why the King appointed you to his special bodyguard.’

‘As punishment for not watching my words?’ Denethor queried. 

Though to the casual eye the Man sat as stiffly as before, Haldoron thought he might have relaxed slightly. Truth be told, even when he’d held the position of Steward, Haldoron’s power over this Man had been limited. Denethor was well-known and well-respected in the City, not only for his reputation as a tradesman over the past decade but for his past courage and dedication to duty that had ended his career as a guardsman and nearly taken his life. While following Elessar’s orders to guard the visiting hobbits from all harm, he’d thrown himself between the Mayor of the Shire and a murderous ruffian when Samwise Gamgee had tried to interrupt the abduction of two young hobbits: one of his young lads and the Thain’s oldest son. Shot through at close range, close enough to the archer for the arrow to punch through any protection offered by his mail coat, Denethor had barely survived and had never fully recovered from his wounds.

But Denethor was waiting for a response. The erstwhile Steward wrenched his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

‘O you watched your words, of that I’ve no doubt. Watched them as they came unchecked out of your mouth...’ A smile quirked at his mouth, and his next words sounded more like they came from the Northern Ranger he’d been, a lifetime ago, than the Steward of Elessar’s North-kingdom. ‘You remind me of a few Shire-folk I’ve known in that respect.’

Haldoron saw the corners of the former guardsman’s mouth tighten, though Denethor refrained from smiling as he answered. ‘Perhaps that’s why the Shire-folk have embraced me so heartily... I remind them somehow of some of the Shire-folk they’ve known.’

At this point, one of the hobbits currently visiting New Annúminas would likely have said, ‘None of your nonsense, now, Denny!’ But there were no hobbits in the room. And that was the crux of the matter, was it not?

*** 

Hildibold Took entered the King’s stables rather more cautiously than he might’ve under any other circumstances, such as arranging for ponies for Thain Peregrin or his family members, that they might ride out with the King or Queen on some excursion or other. His frequent visits to see to his own pony’s comfort, as well as ensuring the proper treatment of the other Shire steeds, had brought him into regular contact with the grooms and handlers, so much so that he’d lost much of his shyness and suspicion of them. These Men, at least, he could almost see as people, like himself, rather than potential ruffians. Almost.

In sharp contrast to his Thain, the Tookish archer accepted very few Men as trustworthy. Only Denny, as the hobbits had dubbed the Man in the earliest days of their acquaintance, and Bergil, whose understanding of Shire-folks’ customs and sensibilities had grown out of his friendship with Pippin from the time of their youth, had won Hildibold’s respect, perhaps grudging at first, but later whole-hearted in his acceptance of the two Men. Despite their unnatural height (by hobbit standards), they might be hobbits themselves, in his estimation, with their courage under extreme pressure, demonstrated generosity of spirit, and companionability coupled with an uncannily hobbit-like appreciation of simple pleasures.

And despite the inhibiting factor of the high esteem he had for the King and Queen, he was sometimes able to set aside his reserve in their presence. Not only had these two august beings seen into his very heart and soul, early on in their acquaintance, and accepted him for who he was, but they had never made him feel small or inadequate or less than. And he had seen Elessar lay aside his kingly grandeur for hunter’s clothes, sitting at his ease with a pipe in his mouth. 

Moreover, from his experience, he could look beyond the King and perceive the healer. Although the Tooks gave their own healers a great deal of trouble, as a matter of course, they also (privately, of course) held all healers in high esteem. The Tookish archers, especially, honoured healers in their heart of hearts – for unlike themselves, regretting the lives they’d taken in the past yet knowing they’d all too probably be forced to do so again in future, so long as rogue Men would insist on crossing the Bounds of the Shire, healers restored life to the ill and injured.

The lives he had taken during the Troubles, culminating in the Battle of Bywater, would haunt Hildibold Took to the end of his days. Nor was he ever likely to forget the cruelties of the ruffians who had infested the Outer Shire under Pimple Baggins and, later, Sharkey. Who had besieged the Tookland and threatened dire retribution against Thain Paladin and the Thain’s immediate family and all Tooks in response to the Tookish resistance. Who had beaten and tormented Tooks captured outside of the Tookland, even left some of them – his cousin Ferdibrand and Hilly’s brother Tolibold among them – for dead. Those two, and a few others amongst the rebels captured by ruffians, had survived, but not all had not been so lucky.

What was it, made some men choose to walk the upright path, and others to lead lives that, spilling over onto others, resulted in harm – even death – to those they deemed smaller or weaker? Until he knew the answer, Hildibold would never quite be able to let down his guard completely in the presence of Men.

Ruffians all, as he’d heard Ferdibrand mutter under his breath when Men were the topic of discussion.

Even that King fellow? his cousins would tease, and Ferdi would glower at them from under knitted eyebrows before issuing his inevitable retort.

I haven’t quite made my mind up about him yet. (Hilly could differ with Ferdi on that point, at least.)

The Thain had instructed Hildibold to enter the King’s stables by a particular side door and then wait. For what? he’d wanted to know. You’ll understand when it’s time, Pippin had replied.

But here he was. And he had yet to understand. He reached over his shoulder to finger the arrows in his quiver, an old habit carried forward from the Troubles that offered comfort of sorts, the knowledge that he was ready for whatever situation might arise.

And what’re you going to do, then? he asked himself wryly. Bring down the King’s favourite war horse with a well-placed shot?

The corridor was dark and cool after the bright morning sunlight. Dust motes floated lazily on the air. Hilly stood and listened. Most if not all of the stable’s equine inhabitants were out in the pastures, he deemed. On such a glorious day, the grass would be sweet and still fresh from the early-morning dew. Only the injured or invalids and the mounts kept ready for the King’s Messengers would be in their stalls. At this time of day, with the heavy work of stall-cleaning already completed and the stalls made ready for the return of their occupants, few if any groomsmen would be about. Very early, before the dawning, or this time of day, or late at night were Hildibold’s favourite times to visit his pony or check on the visiting beasts from the Shire.

The hobbit scarcely felt comfortable at this moment, however, feeling the back of his neck prickle with apprehension. It was too quiet, he thought. Uncannily quiet, in fact. To Hilly’s senses, the stables felt all too much like the jaws of a trap set to spring. If anyone other than the Thain had sent him on this errand, he’d’ve retreated silently, cautiously, peering around corners and on highest alert for danger.

Even so, he was alert for the sudden appearance of an unforeseen threat, any road. So alert, his senses tingling, that up until this moment he’d missed the soft sounds a few stalls further along: a rhythmic whisk, punctuated by an occasional grunt. At least one groomsman was still at work. He shook his head at himself. Fool of a Took!

He crept towards the sound, fighting the impulse to draw his bow from his back and string it, ready for trouble. 

The door to the occupied stall was ajar. Cautiously, he peeped through the crack to see a Man at work, forking soiled straw into a wheelbarrow.

Seeming to become aware of the silent watcher, the Man straightened from his labour and turned to face the doorway. ‘Hullo, Hilly,’ the former Steward of the North-kingdom said in welcome, adopting the casual term of reference the escort’s friends and relations used to address him. ‘Denny advised me to meet you in the stables rather than the Citadel. He seemed to think you’d be more comfortable in this setting.’

At a loss for words, Hildibold fisted his hands and then forced them to relax, though he remained poised for flight.

‘All is well,’ the Man said in a low tone, much as he might have spoken to a skittish horse.

The Thain’s archer cocked his head. ‘Is it?’ he said, clearly sceptical.

‘It is,’ the former Steward said. ‘The Thain,’ he carefully and deliberately did not refer to Pippin as the Ernil i Pheriannath, Denny’s having informed him of Hilly’s disdain for the epithet, ‘sent you to meet with me in the utmost secrecy on a delicate matter.’ 

‘Delicate matter...’ the escort echoed, but he stood straighter, more squarely on his feet. He even met Haldoron’s gaze momentarily before looking away, a concession of sorts. 

From what the former Steward knew of the fellow, this hobbit avoided contact with most Men, with the exception of Bergil and Denny and – most of the time – the King. That said, Denny had told him of Hildibold’s tolerance towards the stable workers, suggesting that the stables could serve as neutral ground for a meeting.

Had the Thain directed his escort to meet Haldoron at the Citadel, the Man now suspected that Denny’s prediction – that Hilly would maintain a stubborn silence or speak in monosyllables, at best – would have come to pass.

Even on this “neutral” ground, he sensed that he must proceed slowly and carefully.

From what Denny and Bergil had told him, Hildibold was renowned not only amongst the Tooks but also many of those who lived in the Outer Shire as one of the top archers in the Shire, having never finished lower than tenth in the annual Shire-wide Tournament since he’d first competed as a tween. He was also acknowledged in the Tookland, at least, as one of the Heroes of the Tookish Resistance who had played a large role in keeping the Tookland free during the time of the Troubles. However, uncomfortable with fame or notoriety, if asked about his accomplishments, he would merely have said that he served as one of the hobbits of escort to the Thain. This small group of elite archers, having sworn an oath to guard those they served with their own lives, if need be, would have snorted to hear a Man call them bodyguards. As it was, the escort were more likely to talk about their other duties, such as carrying messages, than the more demanding responsibility for which their position in Tookish society was named.

‘You serve the Thain and his family as a hobbit of the Thain’s escort,’ Haldoron said now, avoiding the term bodyguard that came more naturally to a Man’s mind.

‘I do,’ the Took responded warily.

‘Because of your position, the Thain will have informed you of his plans for his son.’

The small archer lifted his head higher, resembling a deer sampling the breeze for a whiff of danger. Perhaps a deer was the wrong image, however, for his reply sounded more like the snarl of a hunting dog or a wolf, perhaps. ‘What is that to you?’ Hildibold demanded.

‘As a hobbit of the escort,’ Haldoron persisted, ‘you are experienced in safeguarding the Thain and his family, even his oldest son.’ He held up a staying hand, anticipating the archer’s protest. ‘I am not trying to winkle secrets out of you, that I might threaten or harm the Thain...’

‘...or his son,’ the hobbit said, seeming to challenge more than confirm, but he lifted his head to meet Haldoron’s gaze firmly as he responded, and some dark knowledge stirred behind his eyes, darker than the former Steward might have credited in one of the relatively sheltered Shire-folk.

Haldoron clenched his teeth in sudden fury at the subtle but shrewd conclusion that sprang to mind. ‘Who has threatened Thain Peregrin’s son?’ he hissed. As a Northern Ranger, one who had dedicated his life to guarding the Shire and the Breeland, he was outraged at the suggestion of peril to any of the Pheriannath.

Then the Man drew a deep breath and forced himself to relax. His angry, unthinking response to the news of endangerment to Halflings was what had landed him in this mess, after all. By their unselfish, even heroic actions after transgressing the King’s edict by entering the Shire, the Men he’d condemned had won pardon – no, more than that – acclaim and favour from the King and the most powerful leaders amongst the Shire-folk.

More calmly, he said, ‘The Thain sent you to me that I might gain all the information I need in order to carry out the task he has set before me.’

The archer seemed rather nonplussed by this news. ‘The task he... the Thain? ...has set before you?’ he said.

‘That task exactly,’ the former Steward said, sketching a bow to the escort. ‘Which has to do with his plans for his son.’ Though he knew this part of the stables was empty – he had made sure of it before beginning his stall-cleaning efforts – Haldoron glanced about them in tacit warning before returning his gaze to the Thain’s escort.

Hilly nodded at this exercise of caution. ‘I see,’ he said. And then, seeming to change the subject, he added, ‘Not all that long ago, perhaps half-a-dozen years...’

Haldoron waited.

‘Word of the treasure-hoard of the Thain has gone far and wide into the world, it seems,’ the hobbit seemed to interrupt himself. ‘...and since the rediscovery of the lost treasure, our engineers have discovered more silver, and more gold to add to it.’

Haldoron nodded, refraining from asking questions to direct or focus the narrative, but letting the archer follow his own path in the telling.

‘You know how Elessar directed the Northern Rangers to deal with the Men who crossed the Bounds,’ Hilly said now. ‘Hung them up from trees, they did, and left them hanging, at least, until the Thain ordered them to cut them all down again.’ By the King’s decree, the lives of Men who entered the Shire in defiance of Elessar’s edict were forfeit. And yet... though the matter seemed straightforward enough, Haldoron had misstepped in carrying out the terms of the Edict rigidly, enforcing the letter of the law though perhaps not the spirit of the King and the Shire-folk themselves.

As the Man waited for him to say more, the archer levelled a challenging look that seemed to demand an answer, so Haldoron nodded and said, ‘I know of the orders issued to the Watchers, as well as the changes the Thain demanded.’

‘Even so,’ the archer continued, ‘Men would intrude upon the Shire, some with better motives than others...’

Haldoron’s brow wrinkled briefly at the idea that law-breakers might have anything other than the worst of motives, but he nodded for the other to go on.

‘When Farry was not much more than a faunt, a lad of but ten years of age,’ Hildibold said, suddenly switching the topic again, or so it seemed.

Half-a-dozen years ago Haldoron thought. The escort had circled back to the beginning of his tale.

The archer was having difficulty with the telling, Haldoron could see, and his years as a Ranger and subsequent experience as Steward had more than adequately equipped him to guess at the ordeal that undoubtedly lay behind the struggle. He said nothing, only waited and listened.

Hildibold fixed his eyes on a knot in the wall of the stall where they stood and continued, as if he were reciting events that had taken place long ago and far away. ‘A band of ruffians found their way past the Watchers and Bounders,’ he said. ‘The dead of Winter, it was, when most Shire-folk would be cosy in their holes, having just finished their Yuletide celebrations and unlikely to be out and about. Thus, the Men could have more confidence of their ability to go quietly about their foul business without their presence being reported, and a muster of hobbits called to deal with them.’

‘It sounds as if their incursion was carefully planned,’ Haldoron hazarded.

The hobbit looked at him. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘They planned much more carefully than most of the miscreants we have dealt with. They were well-guided into the bargain.’

At the former Steward’s questioning look, he added, ‘One of the band had wandered the Shire in his youth, a long time before the King’s edict. He knew the land, and what’s more,’ he blinked, ‘as a youth, he’d seen the treasury at first hand – had held a gold coin or three or four in his hands, had cupped a handful of jewels in his palm and then, at the insistence of his Master, who’d shared with him the secret, poured them back into the casket where they rested, in a hidden hole deep in the high Green Hills...’

‘So they came to rob the treasury,’ Haldoron prompted when the hobbit fell silent.

But Hildibold flushed, and his hands closed into fists, and he squarely met the former Steward’s gaze once more, his eyes snapping with fury. But he was not insulted because of the Man’s prompting, as it turned out. ‘Two of my cousins were travelling along the track between Tuckborough and Tookbank,’ he said through his teeth. ‘The son of the Thain was one of them, and his escort was the other.’

Haldoron waited.

‘Seeking to avoid discovery, the ruffians struck the escort down and left him to lie in his blood... worse, they talked of burying him alive and prying the rocks loose on the hillside above to make his death look accidental. They would have murdered young Faramir as easily, only one of them recognised him for who he was...’ Hildibold swallowed on an obviously dry throat; his eyes were hot and accusing. ‘There are certain practices that child-stealers follow,’ he added, the words simple but chilling.

How in the world would simple Shire-folk know about child-stealing? Haldoron thought to himself, stunned. He felt his own hands tighten into fists.

Hildibold seemed to confirm the thought. ‘Before my cousins and Samwise travelled to the Southlands and back again, Shire-folk had never heard of such a thing. Mayor Sam learned of the practice while they were recovering from their endeavours, but he saw fit not to tell the others about it until years later.’

The archer’s next words betrayed a horrifying degree of familiarity with the ghastly practices of certain outlaw Men despite the efforts of the Northern and Southern Stewards, acting on the King’s decree to hunt such men down and eliminate them. ‘They cut hanks of Farry’s hair and enclosed them in a note, with dreadful threats of the harm they intended to the little lad,’ Hilly said. The eyes the archer turned to meet Haldoron’s shocked gaze were haunted with the grim memories he still carried. ‘I read that note myself, at the place where the ruffians left it to be found, and I carried it to the Thain. I watched him die a little death as he read it, before he pulled himself together and ordered the muster to ride out, even though it seemed more likely we’d be exacting vengeance rather than managing a rescue. And from what I saw when we recovered the lad, they had inked on his body the guiding lines they intended to follow in dividing him into pieces, to move the Tooks to their will...’

Haldoron, jaw tightly clenched, held up a staying hand.

Both stood silent, breathing, for long moments, before the Man spoke. ‘But Faramir is here with his father,’ he said. ‘And he appears to be whole, and well.’ Better than most victims of child-stealers ended up, at least in Haldoron’s experience. It was enough to make him appreciate the Easterlings’ ruthlessness in dealing with such criminals.

The archer’s mouth twisted in something resembling a grin, though it was more of a grimace. ‘He has all his parts and pieces,’ he affirmed. ‘The muster got to him in time... but we’d’ve been too late if not for one of the ruffians, aye, one of the band that struck Ferdi down and threatened unthinkable harm to Farry. For one of them, a youth, secretly turned against the others and took the lad’s part. He was ordered to take Farry’s eyes and tongue, to be sent in yet another message to the Thain, but he didn’t. As I heard it told, he took instead the eyes and tongue of a young deer, or perhaps a wandering sheep, and he sought to hide from the others the fact that Farry remained unharmed.’ He drew a shaking breath. ‘When the muster arrived, we were expecting the worst. The Talk had gone up and down the ranks of the note and “tokens” the Thain carried next to his heart. It was – it was like a miracle, when they took the bandages off him, and he looked out at us, and spoke...’

Haldoron swallowed down sickness. ‘I understand now,’ he said.

‘Understand?’ Hildibold said thickly.

‘I understand why your Thain sent you to talk to me – to tell me this tale,’ he said. ‘But – wait.’ He thought back. ‘You said struck Ferdi down, did you not? Was he young Farry’s escort? The one they left for dead?’ Clarifying, he added, ‘Ferdibrand, the Thain’s chancellor?’

‘Aye,’ Hildibold answered. ‘Left him for dead. But Tooks aren’t quite so easy to kill as rogue Men might imagine, it seems...’

*** 

Author’s note: The story of young Faramir Took’s abduction in the heart of the Shire can be found in A Matter of Appearances.

***

Chapter 3. Stuff and Nonsense...

‘Why, what’s the matter, Pip? You look terrible!’

Obviously startled, the Thain raised his face from his hands, instantly assuming a bland expression, though he ought to have known by now that Merry knew him too well and would see right through him. ‘Why, Merry!’ he said, all too brightly. ‘You’re already back from your picnic with ‘Stella and the children...?’ His eyes moved to gaze out of the wide, oddly-shaped windows to be found in the dwellings of Men. ‘Did the weather turn? I know Sam was predicting rain on the morrow, but he did say he thought today would remain fair...’

‘Don’t try and put me off with talk of the weather, Cousin,’ Merry said in his sternest tone. 

Ferdi, who’d met the Master of Buckland in the corridor outside the Thain’s guest apartments and entered with him, cleared his throat. ‘He excels at changing the subject,’ he said, almost conversationally. 

Instead of protesting, Pippin ignored his cousins, picked up his cup of obviously cold tea and took a gulp.

The two older cousins exchanged a significant glance, and then Ferdi said, ‘What is it that you don’t want to tell us?’

‘I—’ Pippin said, looking up again, and stopped, looking from one older cousin to the other.

Merry turned to Ferdi and said, ‘It must be worse than I thought.’

‘Much worse,’ Ferdi agreed, then stared down the Thain. When Pippin dropped his eyes to the cup in his hands, Ferdi’s eyes narrowed, and then he said slowly, ‘What... what is it, you don’t want to tell me, in particular?’

Pippin blinked. ‘I look terrible, do I?’ he said.

‘Don’t change the subject!’ both older cousins said in the same breath.

‘Who’s changing the subject?’ Pippin asked. ‘It was the first thing you said as you came in the door, Merry! ...and if I’m doing so badly in your eyes, and Ferdi’s, then how am I ever going to face Diamond?’

‘What is it you’ve done?’ Ferdi said, after an awkward pause. ‘Or haven’t done, perhaps?’

‘It’s so oft what I haven’t done, gets me in the most trouble,’ Merry said, as if he and Ferdi were the only ones in the room.

And then the older cousins fell silent, and waited.

Pippin blinked at them, took another gulp from his cup and shuddered. ‘You’re still here,’ he observed, rather lamely.

No answer.

He tried again. ‘It’s not what I’ve done – or haven’t done, this time.’ He waited for one of his older cousins to jump in with something like Aha! This time!, providing him an opening to build upon more distractions ...but they simply stood before him, presenting a united front, a wall of silence that grew more discomfiting as the moments passed.

Weakly, he gestured to the cosied pot. ‘Will you have some tea, perhaps?’ he suggested.

That, at least, drew a response from Ferdibrand. ‘None of your nonsense, now, Pip.’

‘We can see you’ve been sitting here stewing long enough for that pot to go stone-cold,’ Merry added. ‘How you can drink those dregs...’ He shook his head and added in a lower voice, ‘It’s all too obvious, you’re in some sort of trouble.’

‘I look terrible, and it’s that obvious, is it?’ Pippin said, and laughed, but his expression was bleak.

‘A moment, Cousin,’ Ferdi said to Merry, and then he turned abruptly and exited. True to his word, he returned a moment later, murmuring that a fresh pot was on its way.

‘They train the teapots very well here in New Annúminas,’ Pippin quipped, but his heart obviously wasn’t in it.

‘Amazingly enough,’ Ferdi replied, ‘considering they’re Man-sized and difficult to rein in, once they get the bit between their teeth.’

Since Ferdi was the older cousin, at least where Pippin was concerned, no one told him to rein in his whimsy. And though Merry was older than Ferdi by a year or so, he was too distracted by concern for their younger cousin to take any notice of nonsense in this moment. Instead, he tugged at Ferdi’s arm. ‘Come and sit down.’

Pippin sighed as his older cousins seated themselves to either side. ‘No hope of escape now, I suppose.’

‘Just what is it, you’d like to escape?’ Ferdi said. ‘Things have settled down nicely in the Shire since your miraculous cure, and the famine...’

‘...and the fever...’ Merry put in.

‘...and the troubles with the false guardsmen...’ Ferdi added.

‘Enough!’ Pippin said, his voice suddenly sharp, and he made a cutting gesture that sloshed the last of the tea out of the cup he held.

‘I beg your pardon, Sir,’ a deferential voice said from the doorway, and the three hobbits fell silent as a Man-servant and two similarly tall assistants took away the cosied teapot, bent to wipe invisible crumbs and drips from the table, and laid out platters of food (tea sandwiches cut to fit a hobbit’s hand, teacakes and biscuits baked to the proper size, and all the necessary accompaniments) along with hobbit-sized cups, plates and cutlery for three and, lastly, a large and steaming pot of tea that had obviously just come off the boil. Along with providing comfortable hobbit-sized furnishings, Queen Arwen had carefully trained those who served in the guest quarters set aside for hobbits.

Thus, teatime was usually a pleasant occasion. Not this day, however.

‘That’s torn it,’ Pippin said, after the servers were safely away, taking his soiled teacup and saucer with them and closing the door behind themselves. ‘They’ll be reporting to Elessar all too soon, and then...’

‘And then?’ Merry said, pouring out for the three of them.

But instead of taking up the cup of strong, steaming black tea, just as he preferred that particular drink, Pippin sank his face into his hands once more. ‘And then I have to face him, as well,’ he said, the words muffled but still discernible.

Ferdi took some time in creaming and sugaring his tea, staring into the depths as he stirred thoroughly. 

Meanwhile, Merry absently sipped from his cup, shuddered, and added milk and sugar. ‘Drink whilst it’s still hot, Pip,’ he said. ‘You look as if you need it.’

Pippin dropped his hands from his face, though he could not seem to bring himself to meet either older cousin’s eyes, swallowed hard, and shook himself. Then he took up his teacup and sipped.

‘That’s better,’ Merry said.

But Pippin surprised him with a bitter, ‘Is it, Merry? Is it really?’

Ferdi placed a hand over Pippin’s free hand. ‘You’ve got me badly worried at this point, Pip,’ he said, speaking cousin-to-cousin rather than Chancellor-to-Thain or even Took-to-The Took.

Pippin turned from Merry to Ferdi and said, ‘I’m more worried for you, as things stand, Ferdi. Ah, but I’m sorry that I ever allowed this wretched business to go forward... and now I see no way of stopping it, and...’

Merry was faster to take his meaning than Ferdi, perhaps because the latter was so intimately involved in the “wretched business”. ‘The journey?’ he hazarded, and then nodded to himself. He looked across Pippin to meet Ferdi’s inquiring look and said, ‘Not my journey to Rohan with Merry-lad Gamgee, that we’ve been discussing for the past week, but yours.’

‘My journey,’ Ferdi affirmed uneasily, and breaking away from Merry’s gaze, he looked to Pippin. ‘As I said before, what is it you’re keeping from me now, Cousin?’

‘He’s a stubborn Took,’ Pippin said.

Ferdi missed the significance, however, saying, ‘That I am, Pip, and I know I’ve not given you much joy over the planning.’ He raised his eyes to the high, flat ceiling, which gave him no comfort. ‘To be honest, I am not looking forward to travelling with a body of Guardsmen, whether afoot or in the saddle, for league after league, just so you can assure yourself that I can conduct myself properly in the company of Men!’

At seeing Pippin’s eyes widen, he snapped, ‘I’m not such a fool as all that, Cousin! I know why you’ve consigned me to this duty!’

‘Did Nell...?’ Pippin began.

‘My Nell did not have to say anything to me!’ Ferdi said hotly. ‘It was I, who told her, the reason we must be parted, at least until Remembering Day.’ Lower, he added, ‘I hope I will be back in the Shire by Remembering Day... according to the plans you described, to set out at Mid-year, travel through the summer weather, arrive in Minas Tirith in time for their celebration of the Ring-bearers’ birthdays, and then home again...’ He sighed in spite of himself. How good it would feel to be home again. But he must get through the journey first.

‘How did you...?’ Pippin said haltingly.

Ferdi took a page out of Reginard’s book and looked down his nose at the younger cousin. ‘The Thain has an escort, a body of hobbits who watch over himself and his family,’ he said, quoting from one of the lessons set for young Tooks to learn. ‘The practice was established long ago, when the wild Green Hills were wilder yet, when bears and wolves and Men still roamed the land, not to mention the wild swine and packs of dogs and natural hazards that are still to be found in the back-country.’

Even though he’d argued for years against the need to have one or more archers ride with him everywhere he went in the Shire, much less the Tookland, Pippin nodded. He could hardly refute the Tooks’ historical records and the facts that every young Took was required to memorise. 

Ferdi went on, no longer quoting, but speaking matter-of-factly. ‘Though Paladin disbanded the escort in his time, for he thought it had served its time, he put up with Regi re-forming the escort when the heirs to Tookland and Buckland disappeared on the same day as Bilbo’s heir, and Lotho’s ruffians began to encroach on the Tookland.’

‘You don’t have to lecture me on the history and the duties of the Thain’s escort...’ Pippin began, but Ferdi stared him down.

‘It seems that, perhaps, I do,’ the older cousin answered. 

Merry had nothing to add to this peculiarly Tookish conversation, and so he merely listened as he sipped his tea and nibbled absently at a biscuit, looking from one cousin to the other.

Now Ferdi said, ‘I was confused, at first, when you said you were sending me along with Farry on this journey.’ He looked away, selected a tea sandwich with some care, took a bite, chewed, and washed the mouthful down. ‘Drink your tea!’ he barked.

Pippin drank... and waited (rather uncharacteristically, Merry thought) for the rest of what Ferdi had to say.

‘After all,’ Ferdi resumed, ‘you have half-a-dozen archers you could send along with your son, and still leave one or two to dog your heels at Regi’s insistence.’

Pippin’s mouth twisted at this reminder that the escort did not serve at his pleasure but under the direction of his Steward. Or he’d’ve disbanded the escort himself at the earliest opportunity, as Paladin had done before him.

‘Certainly, it seemed fitting for me to guide your son in our recent retracing of his family history within the Bounds of the Shire,’ Ferdi went on. ‘For I was only sharing my own experience with him, my travels to the Woody End and back again, retracing my steps as a Tookish scout who was gathering information for the Thain to use in shaping the defence of the Tookland. And because the Borderers and Watchers have been doing their job, these past two years, once the false guardsmen were rooted out, it seemed that I’d be enough to keep young Farry safe during our little excursion, with my experience and my ability to shoot – at least a few arrows before my old injury should trouble me and spoil my aim.’

Merry nodded. Yet unforeseen circumstances had arisen, putting both Ferdibrand and Faramir in peril in the midst of what ought to have been an uneventful walking party. 

But Ferdi wasn’t finished. ‘As things turned out, ‘twould have been better if we’d had a hobbit of the escort, or two or three, along for the journey.’

Merry sipped his tea thoughtfully, then refreshed his cup with the warmer liquid in the cosied pot. His cousin had the right of it. He’d been there in The Crowing Cockerel with Pippin when the panting forester had burst through the door, to announce the shocking news that the son of the Thain had been found alone in the depths of the Woody End after his “escort” had fallen into one of the old ruffian traps from the time of the Troubles. Had there been two or three hobbits of escort in the walking party along with Farry and his uncle, the incident might have been a mere inconvenience, an amusing anecdote to be told in future years, rather than the near-disaster that had occurred.

Ferdi cocked his head and regarded his Thain. ‘And of course, there is the fact that I’ve not qualified as a member of the Thain’s escort for nearly a dozen years now,’ he said quietly. ‘O, when I was no longer fit to bend a bow, you had pity on me and made me your special assistant...’

‘Pity had nothing to do with it!’ Pippin said sharply.

‘...and later, it amused you to designate me your chancellor,’ Ferdi went on as if the Thain had not spoken.

Merry seemed to remember that Ferdi had been the first to jest about assuming the title, perhaps after hearing Pippin mention the King’s chancellor in conversation, though the details were murky now. But now was not the time to interject himself into this conversation, he deemed. On second thought, he was lucky they hadn’t banished him from the room whilst they discussed Tookish matters, even though he was half-Took himself. 

‘So why would you send me, your “chancellor” but no longer fit to be an escort, along with your son on this mad endeavour, travelling well outside the relative safety of the Shire?’ Ferdi mused aloud, contemplating the half-sandwich in his hand. Looking up again to meet Pippin’s eyes, he said, ‘I could only conclude it was either meant, misguidedly, as some sort of honour...’ He was silent for a moment, perhaps considering the circumstances one more time, and then he shook his head. ‘...or to address some failing on my part.’

‘Ferdi...’ Pippin said under his breath.

Ferdibrand put his sandwich down and pointed his finger at Pippin’s face. ‘You cannot lie to me,’ he said. ‘As you know very well.’

‘I know it,’ Pippin said wryly. ‘As you know it,’ he continued, looking from one older cousin to the other. ‘And even Merry knows it.’

‘I was there when the truth was revealed to us,’ Merry said quietly. ‘Of course I know it.’

‘The lad is a stubborn Took,’ Pippin said, and Ferdi started.

‘You weren’t talking about me, then,’ he said, a question in his tone.

Pippin sighed, sipped at his cooling tea, shuddered, and placed the cup on its saucer with careful precision before turning back to face Ferdibrand. ‘You have the right of it,’ he said. When Ferdi would have answered, he held up his hand. ‘No,’ he said, heading off the inevitable question. ‘You have the right of it in many things. I cannot lie to you, for you have the curious talent of hearing a lie when it is spoken and recognising it for what it is.’ He ticked off one finger, and then the finger next to it, saying, ‘I am sending you to Gondor for your own good, Ferdi, and for the sake of the Tookland.’

‘My own good...’ Ferdi echoed. ‘How...?’

‘You are to be Thain after me, should anything happen to me,’ Pippin said.

‘And the Thain is one of the Counsellors to the King,’ Merry said in sudden realisation. ‘Is that what this is all about, Pip?’ Worry rose in him again. ‘But I thought the Ent-draught cured you! Is it that...?’

‘I could fall from my pony and die this very day,’ Pippin snapped. ‘...not that I’m planning on doing so,’ he added, looking from one stunned face to the other. ‘But accidents happen. Illnesses... happen. Ruffians happen, even, as both of you’ve found in your own experience, cousins. Escort or no escort.’

And now it was Pippin staring Ferdi down. ‘The King – and many of those who serve him and do his bidding and represent him when he cannot be present – is a Man. And if you cannot tolerate the company of Men, Ferdi... cannot work with Men for the good of the Kingdom... the Shire... the Tookland herself... then not only the Tooks... but all Shire-folk will suffer. And I refuse to die with that on my conscience!’

And neither older cousin chided him for his whimsy or tried to override his argument with the simple fact that he was very much alive in this moment. For accidents... illnesses... and yes, even ruffians... could happen at any time, and anywhere, even deep in the centre of the land called the Shire.

‘So I must go to Gondor,’ Ferdi said. ‘And in the company of Men, that I might get used to them somehow. Or that is your hope, anyhow.’

Pippin nodded and ticked off a third finger. ‘As to the stubborn Took... I wasn’t talking about you, though you might be the first person to come to mind when anyone mentions stubborn Tooks! But no... as I said but a few moments ago, I was talking about my son.’ 

‘And what does this have to do with Farry?’ Ferdi said, his tone subdued. ‘For you might have sent me – just me – to Gondor, and spared your son.’

‘It was Farry’s idea to go to Gondor in the first place,’ Pippin said.

Ferdi nodded.

‘And so,’ Pippin said, ‘I thought it might all work out for the best, and no need to trouble you with my doubts about your ability to serve as Thain, should the need arise...’

‘There’s a “but” in there somewhere,’ Merry said lightly, to cut the tension between these two beloved cousins of his.

Pippin threw him a pained look. ‘There is,’ he said. ‘For my son has decided to trace the journey of the Fellowship as you and I lived it.’

‘We’ve already been over that ground,’ Ferdi said.

‘No,’ Pippin shook his head. ‘We haven’t.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Merry said. ‘Nor do I,’ Ferdi agreed.

Pippin rose from his chair, propelled by his perturbation, strode to the closed door, and turned to confront his astonished cousins. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t understand! My son wishes to retrace the journeys of the Fellowship! ...to retrace...’ He broke off, clenched his fists, and hissed, ‘No escort, do you take my meaning now? No body of guardsmen, no protection, save perhaps what Haldoron can offer, and yourself, Ferdi, despite your ”old injury”, and...’ he swallowed hard and dropped his voice, ‘and perhaps a Man of Gondor, and an Elf and a Dwarf, should fortune favour us somehow and they answer my appeal to them, sent off with a messenger this very morning...’

The Thain took a shuddering breath and added haltingly, ‘and perhaps I can send a pair of hobbits of escort with you. Surely he could not object to that? There were four hobbits in the Fellowship after all...’

‘Call it off!’ Merry objected. ‘There’s no need for...’

But Pippin interrupted him. ‘The lad is a stubborn Took,’ he repeated. ‘Have you already forgot the trial we lived through in the Woody End? And he was only ten at the time!’

To Ferdi, he added, ‘I remember, all too well, the bargain you had to make with him! I remember, like a dagger in my heart, hearing you tell how the lad said he would run away, again and again, no matter how many times someone found him and brought him back home...’ He took a sobbing breath.

‘...because of the Talk of the Tooks, and not any failing on his parents’ part,’ Ferdi said urgently, rising and crossing to Pippin and taking him by the arm. ‘But we settled all that!’

Pippin shook his head. ‘You made a bargain with him, that you’d stay with him for a week in the Woody End, and if he said not a word to the hobbits sheltering you, you’d take him on to Gondor. And I nearly banished you for that! For I would not listen to the rest of the bargain: that if he spoke, even one word, he was bound to give up his plans to run away to Gondor but would return to the Tookland and not trouble his parents any more... as if he troubled us in the first place!’

‘It was all the Talk of the Tooks,’ Ferdi repeated.

‘And you claimed that if Farry had triumphed in your bargain with him, obliging you to take him to Gondor, or at least to set out on the journey... you claimed that you’d have sent for me, to let me know, that I might follow you and catch up to you and my son... to try to heal the hurt that had driven him to seek after such a desperate solution.’

‘And we didn’t believe you,’ Merry said. ‘I am at as much fault as Pippin, here, for that.’

‘And for your loyalty and service, for your trying to talk sense into my stubborn, hurting son, you’d have been rewarded with banishment from the Shire, you and Tolibold together!’

‘But it was your “stubborn, hurting” son who saved us in the end,’ Ferdi said quietly. ‘For he spoke the truth and cleared us from the charges of being in league with child-stealing ruffians.’

‘That is not the point!’ Pippin shouted, stunning his older cousins all over again. With obvious difficulty, he took hold of himself. ‘If he ran away to Gondor by himself, when he was only ten...’

‘I doubt he’d do the same now,’ Merry said. ‘He’s learned much since then of the ways of the world. After all, while he was still only ten, and not all that long after he was persuaded that running away was no solution to any childish problems, he was thrown into the company of evil Men. I doubt he’s forgotten...’

‘No!’ Pippin said, slicing his hand through the air to cut off Merry’s thought. ‘But I cannot shake the fear that, should I forbid him this journey, he would see fit to gather companions – a cousin or two, perhaps a gardener of his acquaintance – and set off on a misguided Quest of some sort.’

He looked helplessly at his older cousins and finished, simply, ‘He is a stubborn Took.’

‘And a fool of one,’ Ferdi said, shaken. He knew Tookish stubbornness all too well, having lived with it all his life. Some Tooks outgrew this quality with time and weathering. Some did not. He had great hopes for Faramir, but the lad had some way to go, so far as Ferdibrand could see. And even as the stubbornness of Tooks was so well known as to be legend amongst the Shire-folk, Fool of a Took was a byword in the Tookland.

‘Just as his father before him,’ Merry said, ‘as Gandalf observed, and more than once, as I recall.’

‘Comfort me not with wizards!’ Pippin said bitterly. ‘Or fools, for that matter. What ever am I to say to Diamond? Much less Strider?’ 

*** 

Author’s notes: More details about Faramir’s attempt to run away to Gondor and the repercussions of that decision, as well as other incidents mentioned here, can be found in the following stories: Runaway (co-author JoDancingTree), A Matter of Appearances, One Who Sticks Closer than a Brother and The Thrum of Tookish Bowstrings, Part 1.

‘Comfort me not with wizards!’ was spoken by Denethor in “The Siege of Gondor” in The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien, when Pippin tried to reason with him during the dark hours as they watched over a stricken Faramir.

*** 

Chapter 4. ...And Serious Business into the Bargain

~ on the banks of a fishing stream near New Annúminas, a few days later ~

Elessar cast his line and moved the hook with its life-like lure through the water in a series of practised jerks. Before long, he had landed another fat trout which he added to the string of fish he’d caught already. ‘Not long before we have enough for breakfast!’ he said. ‘Even if the hobbits should decide to join us at table.’

‘I might as well set aside my rod and sit down at my ease,’ Haldoron said, ‘for all the luck seems to be with you this day, cousin.’

‘Quite possibly,’ Elessar said. ‘It certainly is not with you, as I regret to have to inform you.’

Haldoron retrieved his line and lure, moved to set his pole aside, and turned to confront his cousin. ‘You are talking about more than the fish story you’ll be telling when we return to the lodge with our catch, I think.’

‘Plans have changed,’ Elessar said.

‘Are you going to tell me just which plans have changed, or did you want it to be a surprise?’ Haldoron said sourly.

‘A surprise might be diverting,’ Elessar said, ‘and a good test of how adept you are at landing on your feet—’

‘If I were a cat, perhaps,’ Haldoron said.

Elessar cast his line again and spoke to the lure as he moved it gently through the water. ‘Think of it as your first lesson in learning to understand and appreciate Hobbits.’

‘I should think I’d already had that lesson,’ Haldoron said with a wry twist of his mouth.

Elessar looked over at him, his expression matching his kinsman’s. ‘You might think that,’ he said. ‘But as an old friend of mine once observed, “Hobbits really are amazing creatures. You can learn all that there is to know about their ways in a month, and yet after a hundred years they can still surprise you at a pinch.”’

Haldoron raised an eyebrow. ‘A hundred years?’ he echoed. ‘Who was your friend, a Dwarf? For I cannot imagine Elves bothering to learn “all that there is to know” about the ways of hobbits.’

‘A wizard, rather.’

Haldoron nodded. ‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘I remember... he tasked you to hunt for the creature Gollum...’

Elessar raised a staying hand. ‘I counselled him, rather, when he came to me in calling for help from the Dúnedain...’

‘He asked us to double the Watch on the Shire,’ Haldoron remembered. ‘But then you went off with him on that hare-brained quest... at least, it seemed hare-brained at the time, considering how long it had been since the creature had last been seen. I wasn’t the only one who thought it was too late, and that you ought to fix your attention instead on the deteriorating situation in the North-lands.’

The former Steward shook his head. ‘A long and hopeless search it seemed – and turned out to be. Travelling in the wizard’s company the whole length of the Wilderland, down even to the Mountains of Shadow and the fences of Mordor, at intervals over the span of eight years, and all in vain. As I’ve said, you’d have done better had you stayed in the North-lands and directed the defence of the Shire and the lands around Bree.’

‘Halbarad was a competent Captain.’

‘And then instead of sending you back to the North-lands when he abandoned the search, he went to Gondor...’

‘And you still blame me for not returning immediately, staying, and not going out again,’ Elessar said quietly.

‘We were hard-pressed!’ Haldoron protested. ‘With all my brother could do...’

‘The Dúnedain would have been equally hard-pressed had I returned instead of continuing the search alone,’ Elessar countered. ‘But that is neither here nor there.’

‘Do you mean because you found Gollum at last? ...in the Dead Marshes, as I recall. For what it was worth. For the Wood Elves failed in their trust...’

‘At least Gandalf was able to question him before he escaped,’ Elessar said. ‘And, tragically, the Wood Elves paid for their error with the lives of his guards.’ He raised his pole in a sudden motion but missed the trout that had lunged for the lure, revealing the depth of his perturbation. ‘And that was not what I meant.’

‘Then speak more plainly, cousin, if you wish me to follow your thought. For I may be many things, a fool included, but I am not yet (and will likely never be) a mind-reader.’

Elessar retrieved his line and turned away from the stream, holding pole and line in one hand. ‘The hobbits have surprised me,’ he said.

‘Have they?’ Rich irony dripped from the simple words.

‘The journey before you is no longer a simple matter.’

‘I never imagined it would be,’ Haldoron said. ‘Not after—’

‘The Thain, Master and Mayor did rather confound your application of the law,’ Elessar agreed. ‘But rightly so. In point of fact, their interference – or intervention, for a politer term – ought to have been no surprise at all. In hindsight, it wasn’t.’

‘In hindsight,’ Haldoron echoed, and sighed heavily. ‘Would that hindsight were as clear as... but no. If I’d had the gift of foresight, I’d never have signed that death warrant, the one that spurred the Shire-folk to go to desperate lengths to save those Men.’ He met Elessar’s gaze and scrutinised the King’s face. ‘Why is it, you are trying to salvage your erring cousin, again?’

But Elessar set aside the question as if Haldoron had not spoken. ‘Instead of a full complement of Guardsmen, as the Thain originally requested, the party will now recreate the journey of the Fellowship of the Ring.’

‘That, I thought, was the point of the entire exercise,’ Haldoron said, gritting his teeth.

‘You need neither foresight nor hindsight to perceive the path before you clearly,’ Elessar replied, but at the sternness in his tone, his cousin straightened and looked up in surprise. The King met his quizzical gaze squarely, allowing his annoyance to show. ‘No,’ he said forcefully. ‘All you need do is listen – which is exactly what you did not do in your earlier dealings with hobbits, which has landed you in the spot you are in.’

Haldoron was brought up short. He took a deep breath and let it out again, thinking through all that Elessar had said. At last, he said, ‘The word you used was “recreate”, I think.’

‘Don’t be so modest,’ Elessar snapped. ‘You obviously heard me. And I would assume you were also listening to what I said.’

‘I heard you,’ Haldoron affirmed. ‘But as to my capacity for listening...’ one side of his mouth tightened, ‘I have been informed that my listening skills require refinement.’

Elessar maintained silence.

Haldoron continued. ‘We are not taking an adequate body of Guardsmen to discourage ruffians from attempting to capture the valuable hostages I am to be escorting... the son of the Thain, as well as his sister’s husband.’ He thought further. ‘Guardsmen that the Thain himself requested. And yet, I am certain that you are well-practised in listening to hobbits, so I would deem that you were not the one who set aside the Guard detail.’

From his cousin’s expression, he thought he might be following the right track. ‘And yet, it makes no sense that the Thain would remove the protection he originally requested for his son – unless he were calling off the entire expedition.’ He narrowed his eyes at Elessar. ‘But that is not what he has done, I take it, for you said that we will be recreating the journey of the Fellowship...’

The implications hit him like a punch in the gut, and he gasped.

Elessar nodded slowly. ‘One Man and four Hobbits will travel from Bree to Rivendell. You may be joined by an Elf sometime after you descend from the hills, some days after taking in the view from the summit of Amon Sûl, but there is no guarantee. One of the sons of Elrond may oblige us in this since Glorfindel is no longer to be found in Middle-earth.’ But his face was troubled, and he shook his head. ‘My foster brothers are neither in New Annúminas nor Imladris at this time, and so I do not know if or when my message requesting their aid in this matter will reach them.’

‘And one young hobbit is worth so much trouble?’ Haldoron said under his breath.

‘He is the son of the Thain. And Peregrin is said to be the finest Thain in a hundred years – maybe two. Not only Tooks and Tooklanders, but all Shire-folk, the Bucklanders included, are prospering under his watchful eye.’

‘I’m happy for them,’ Haldoron said. ‘What does that have to do with—?’

‘Peregrin will not survive should he lose his son,’ Elessar said starkly. ‘I saw this in his heart and mind, on a previous occasion when young Faramir’s life hung in the balance.’

‘Something new you’ve learned about hobbits?’ Haldoron said.

‘It is a quality of the Fallohides, especially, among all the Little Folk,’ Elessar said, deliberately employing the Mannish term. ‘Under ordinary and extraordinary circumstances, they form soul-ties. Before their People came to the Bree-land in the first place, it was generally known that a Fallohide did not usually survive the death of a mate.’ He met Haldoron’s curious gaze. ‘In these modern times, the blending of the bloodlines of Fallohides, Stoors and Harfoots means that hobbits, as a rule, do not remarry after losing a spouse even though they are more likely to survive such a loss these days. Ferdibrand, your travelling companion-to-be, is a rare exception. Or more properly, his wife is.’

Haldoron nodded, cataloguing this information for future reference.

‘Such a tie exists between the Master of Buckland and the Thain of the Shire,’ Elessar continued, ‘which I might attribute to the ordeal they lived through together. However, Frodo told me once that they were extraordinarily close from the time of Peregrin’s birth, so it may not be quite that simple.’

‘Nothing seems to be “quite that simple” when it comes to hobbits,’ Haldoron responded. ‘And so there is such a tie between Peregrin’s heart, and that of his son...’

‘The Fallohide strain runs nearly pure in some of the Tooks,’ Elessar said softly. ‘And the ties that form between hearts are not simple or easily explained. I have discerned that Faramir is likely to survive his father’s death (which is all to the good since the lad is supposed to be Thain after his father) though unlikely to survive the death of his wife, whoever she may turn out to be. And Pippin will have the strength to survive the death of Diamond, should she pre-decease him, but only because of Merry’s hold upon his heart.’

‘And if the Thain should die, Buckland would lose her Master.’

‘Neither neat nor tidy,’ Elessar agreed. ‘But it is information that we must take into account. I would not care to lose two of my three Counsellors of the North-kingdom in the Shire at one throw.’

‘Very well then. Cancel the – the re-enactment,’ Haldoron said.

Holding Haldoron’s gaze, Elessar slowly shook his head. ‘Have you not yet learned that hobbits are not such simple folk as they might appear?’

‘I am a slow learner, it seems,’ Haldoron said, looking away.

‘You’ll have time to learn,’ Elessar said. ‘Going on with the journey... At Rivendell, Bergil, son of Beregond and, strictly speaking, a Man of Gondor, will join you. He has been my liaison to the Shire for the past two years, and before he was appointed to that role, he had much experience in the way of dealing with hobbits.’

‘He is the Mayor’s adopted son, someone said,’ Haldoron replied, though his tone implied it was more a question than a statement.

‘And Peregrin hopes that Legolas and Gimli will agree to aid him in this,’ Elessar went on.

‘But why not simply stop—?’

‘When Peregrin was still the son of the Thain and not the Thain himself, when he was still but a tween,’ and Elessar studied Haldoron’s face as if to ascertain the other Man’s understanding, ‘he left the Shire without his father’s knowledge or permission because he felt strongly about the matter he had chosen to undertake. And Faramir...’ he concluded, ‘is his father’s son. In every sense of the word.’

Haldoron took a sharp breath.

Elessar nodded soberly. ‘I think you begin to see,’ he said. ‘Hobbits are not the simple folk they may appear, at casual acquaintance. And in dealing with hobbits, one can never take for granted that the process will be either simple or straightforward.’

‘I’m beginning to grasp that idea.’ 

Elessar looked to see that the string of trout he’d caught were solidly fastened to their lines and safely immersed in the stream, then gestured to the grassy bank. ‘Come, sit down. I think you might benefit from hearing, from my perspective, the full story of the journey you will be retracing...’

*** 

Author’s note: Some phrases and ideas in this chapter were drawn from “The Shadow of the Past” and “The Council of Elrond” in The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

*** 

Chapter 5. Preparations

‘It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door. 
You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet,
there is no knowing where you might be swept off to...’

—Bilbo Baggins

‘I always like to keep a bit o’ rope handy.’

—Mayor Samwise Gamgee

~ in the Thain’s guest quarters in New Annúminas, about a month before Midyear’s Day and departure ~

‘Midyear’s Day will arrive before you know it,’ Ferdibrand warned his young nephew.

Faramir threw up his arms and plopped himself back down in his chair, rolling his eyes. ‘I’m sick nearly to death of planning!’ he said. Thankfully, this time at least, the lad refrained from pointing out that all the grown-ups’ planning had not been sufficient to stave off a near-disaster while he’d been retracing Tookish history with his Uncle Ferdi earlier that spring. 

Which circumstance, to Ferdi’s mind, scarcely rendered planning a useless activity. Who knew what else might have happened had the Thain and his advisors not planned for every contingency they could think of? It wasn’t Ferdibrand’s fault that an unforeseen contingency had arisen, after all. It had been no one’s fault – save perhaps the engineers whose carelessness immediately after the Troubles ended, years ago though it had been, for not accounting for all the traps the Tooks had set to deter Lotho’s ruffians, had nearly meant the end of certain travellers – meaning Ferdi and the son of the Thain – in that recent mishap.

He firmly jerked his mind back to Faramir’s continued complaints. ‘Why, we’re missing...’

Some market day or other, or a picnic with the King and Queen, perhaps, Ferdi thought to himself, barely refraining from rolling his own eyes at his young nephew’s impatience. Keeping his voice even, he said, ‘We’ll miss the plans we didn’t make even more, young master, in the middle of the Wilderlands, when something unforeseen happens.’

How can someone miss a plan he didn’t make? he heard the teen grumble under his breath before subsiding under the influence of “young master”, the term of address that hobbits of a lower station used with him when he was making their work more difficult, a fact that the youth had somehow worked out for himself. Young Faramir was a sharp one, Ferdi reminded himself, and not for the first time. But let us hope he is not so sharp that he ends up wounding himself – and others who have the misfortune to be walking in his train.

He cleared his throat and took up his quill once more. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘Thain and Master and Mayor have worked out the roster of walkers...’

‘Four hobbits and a Man as we leave Bree,’ Farry reminded his uncle. The size of the travelling party was a point the youth had established at the start and defended fiercely against all onslaughts of adult arguments. 

Ferdi couldn’t help sighing. He’d originally anticipated riding ponies, with Elessar’s Big Men on horses, in sufficient numbers to discourage any ruffians who might catch wind as to the identity of the travelling Hobbits in the group. There and back again, as old Bilbo Baggins might have said, relatively quickly and as uneventfully as possible. But that was not to be the case. Nor had he been able to persuade Faramir that they should take along a full score of Tookish archers, with everyone riding ponies. Haldoron could walk along with them, or he could ride a horse for all Ferdi cared. 

But no. For the sake of authenticity (and he was beginning to detest the very sound of the word), there must be Nine Walkers, at least after they reached Rivendell, and Walkers must necessarily walk. For his part, he was not looking forward to walking the length and breadth of Middle Earth, as it were, but then, what was he but merely a glorified hired hobbit?

Faramir broke into his thoughts. ‘Are you listening, Uncle?’

‘I am,’ Ferdi said, returning to the conversation.

Faramir nodded in satisfaction and continued, ‘And then, after reaching Rivendell, when we set out again we’ll have two Men instead of one, in addition to the Hobbits, along with a Dwarf and an Elf. It has to be that way, or it won’t be right!’ He sighed and bit his lip, blinking a little in consternation. ‘I just don’t know what to do about the Wizard...’

‘Four hobbits,’ Ferdi confirmed, and he touched each name on his list with his quill as he reviewed them. ‘You will be one of them, of course, and it seems that I must be another, whether I will or no.’

Farry sat up straighter at his uncle’s wry tone. ‘I’m sorry, Uncle,’ he said in a complete change of mood, and he placed an apologetic hand on Ferdibrand’s arm. ‘If you truly wish, I can ask my da...’

Ferdi wanted to laugh, though the whole situation wasn’t at all laughable. He patted Farry’s hand and said, ‘No need for that, lad. The Thain has ordered me to make this journey for my own good, he tells me, and so I have no choice but to go – even if you wished to exclude me from the walking party.’ His eyes met Farry’s for a brief glance before he looked away, shrugged, and added, ‘And so, it seems, we must make the best of it.’

As he so often tried to do, as he had done from their first acquaintance when Farry had been but a faunt, he was setting an example for the lad to follow, for Ferdi himself hated lectures. Indeed, he had learnt his most deeply engrained lessons from the lumps he’d been dealt by hard experience.

Well, part of his job was to protect his young charge from too-hard experience, he supposed. Nevertheless, he always had done (and in this situation he would endeavour to continue to do) his best to guide the process in a way that life, as they would experience it in the upcoming weeks, would give Farry the requisite lumps without breaking the young Took altogether. He tapped the list of names with the point of his quill and continued, ‘Merry’s son is too young to represent the Brandybucks, and so the Master of Buckland has suggested that Robin Bolger should travel with us in his stead.’ 

Robin, another of Ferdi’s nephews, being his sister’s eldest son, was about the same age now as Ferdi had been during the Year of the Troubles. Before the Thain’s recent summons, the fellow had been training under Steward Reginard Took and learning the duties of a steward for one of the Great Families. Pippin’s intention, or so Ferdibrand surmised, was that Robin would be able to replace both himself and Reginard, when the time came, in serving Faramir as Thain in later years. With his diligent acquisition of Regi’s accumulated knowledge and experience, paired with the same knack that his mother and uncle Ferdi had for knowing truth – and falsehood – simply from the tone of a speaker’s voice, Robin would be an invaluable asset to the future Thain Faramir in the necessary decision-making and action required of the Thain, not to mention the judgements that Farry as Thain would be required to render.

Ferdi went on, ‘And then, representing the Mayor, the Gamgees are sending Pippin-lad, since young Frodo is unable to go. Samwise and Rose might’ve sent more of their sons along with us to retrace your da’s – er, the Fellowship’s journey...’ Ferdi had not yet become used to thinking, much less speaking, of the Nine Walkers as “the Fellowship”, but Pippin had insisted on using the term, and as a loyal Took, he must obey his Thain to the best of his ability.

‘...but that Uncle Merry is taking Merry-lad to Rohan, as he promised some time ago,’ Farry continued the thought, not seeming to notice his uncle’s stumble, ‘and Frodo, who properly ought to be going, that he might properly represent the Traveller he was named for, must not undertake any such long journey afoot...’ he sighed and shook his head. ‘But then, of course, had he been able to come with us, the Party might have had more than four hobbits, and that wouldn’t do at all, even if he hadn’t broken his ankle badly enough to prevent his walking “halfway across Middle Earth this summer, at least”,’ the youth added, capturing Mistress Rose’s phrasing and intonation with impressive accuracy.

‘As to “the Elf and the Dwarf”, Ferdi said, fixing his nephew with a stern look, ‘I feel the need to repeat that it’s quite presumptuous of you to insist on that particular detail, and there is no guarantee that either or both of them will be at leisure to accompany our contemplated excursion.’ He saw Faramir’s wince, quickly controlled, at the impact of the chancellor’s deliberately pompous choice of expression. But then, the son of the Thain had put his father in a difficult position with his insistence, and one of Ferdi’s duties was to smooth the Thain’s path forward to the best of his ability to ease the burden on the hobbit. The Thainship was difficult enough as it was.

As a stubborn Took and his father’s son, Farry set aside Ferdi’s warning of “presumption”, saying only, ‘It won’t hurt to send each of them a letter, inviting them to meet us at Rivendell. They’re free to decline, of course.’ For Pippin had told only Merry and Ferdi about the letters he’d sent to Gimli and Legolas. He didn't want to get Farry’s hopes up if one or both had to decline for some reason or another.

‘And who’s to send these letters, pray tell?’ Ferdi said. ‘Your father would hardly presume to do so,’ (since he has already, Ferdi thought to himself), ‘nor has he instructed me to do so.’ (And adding my pleas to the Thain’s will scarcely move them to set aside their own plans and duties and responsibilities!)

‘No worries,’ Farry said, and Ferdibrand ought to have been set on his guard at the lad’s light tone, but unfortunately, he took from the teen’s words the meaning that Faramir had conceded this point, at least, in recognising the imposition it would be to ask the Elf and the Dwarf to join the expedition. In point of fact, he was mistaken, as he would discover at a later date.

For his part, Pippin had listened intently as Farry had originally presented his proposal to the Thain and his advisors, back in the Tookland, before they had even come to the Lake for the first half of the summer. Farry’s father had sat quietly, his hands resting on his desk, fingers steepled, nodding occasionally to encourage the lad to speak further. Despite the Thain’s mild manner, however, Ferdi had seen Farry’s father blink at the thought of interrupting the labours of Gimli and Legolas. Pippin might consider inconveniencing any number of hobbits, especially if they were Tooks or Tooklanders, if it suited his purposes – and he invariably had a good reason for doing so whenever he did choose to impose his will on those who looked to him as Thain. Nevertheless, though nominally he was the Thain of the Shire as well as The Took of the Took clan, the hobbit observed strict boundaries and avoided imposing his will upon those residing outside the borders of the Tookland unless his assistance or guidance was explicitly solicited by one or more hobbits from the Outer Shire (as they all too often were) or, more rarely, outside the Bounds. In short, Pippin was no Lotho; he had to this point evidenced no desire to be Chief over all Shire-folk, and there was no indication that he had any such ambitious for the future, either.

Inconveniencing folk outside the Tookland, as opposed to issuing orders and expecting them to be obeyed, was another matter entirely for the current Thain. Asking Gimli and Legolas to leave their labours for a lark, at worst, or set aside their duties at the whim of his young son, to state the matter in a better (though brutally honest) light, was not something Pippin could consider lightly.

As for Haldoron, Elessar’s kinsman and the steward of the Northern Kingdom when the King was away, now disgraced and relieved of his post? As things had worked out, Elessar had pronounced the Northern Steward’s doom not long after Pippin had come to a decision regarding his son’s fascination with historical events. 

Pippin had not explicitly asked for the erstwhile steward’s help in the matter. However, it seemed that Faramir’s desire to retrace the paths of the Fellowship fit well into the King’s plan to acquaint his kinsman more closely with Hobbits and their ways, in hopes that Haldoron might become suited to take up his steward’s duties again in future with a better understanding of a large portion of the Northern population. Oddly enough, the King’s goals paralleled Pippin’s wish to place Ferdi in circumstances where the latter would be forced to work closely with one or more Men, that he might gain some understanding of their ways and, it was to be hoped, might learn – at the very least – to tolerate them. Satisfying young Faramir’s curiosity concurrently with the two leaders, Man and Hobbit, learning the intended lessons set before them would be, as a hobbit might say, “gravy on the taters” or “icing on the cake”.

Kingsmen, of course, had to answer to Elessar’s orders as well as those of officers in the chain of command. For his part, as a Guardsman of the King as well as a Counsellor of the North-kingdom, the Thain’s conscience was clear when it came to making demands of them if circumstances required such. As the Ernil i Pheriannath, he could – and had when he had deemed it necessary – issue orders to various Kingsmen, for example, those guarding the borders of the Shire. 

Pippin also knew that Elessar would grant him any reasonable request, but he typically held back from asking for royal favours, choosing instead to maintain the Shire’s autonomy and not become entangled in Men’s affairs. Moreover, despite their friendly relations with certain Men, Merry and Sam were in accord with Pippin. In fact, the Thain’s resolve, along with that of the Master of Buckland and the Mayor of the Shire, had only been strengthened in the wake of extraordinary circumstances (a compilation of disasters: drought, pestilence, and threatened famine) that had led Elessar’s Counsellors of the North-kingdom to beg the King for aid a few years earlier. 

During that terrible time, the Shire-folk had seen both the worst and the best of Men. When Elessar had lifted his Edict so that his Guardsmen could render aid within the Shire, rogue Men had seized the opportunity to cross the Bounds in their greed to help themselves to the Thain’s gold. Their murderous actions had seriously injured Pippin and might even have killed him, if not for Mayor Sam’s insistence that he should wear Frodo’s mithril shirt “with Men loose in the Shire”, as the Mayor had persuasively argued. The Tooks, who were suspicious of Men in any event and had barred all Men from their homeland during the Troubles, had been incensed at the peril to their Thain. In their eyes, the ruffians’ crimes outweighed all the efforts on the part of other Men working on the side of good. There was no convincing them otherwise, no matter how great the friendship between the Thain and the Men of his close acquaintance, including the King, might be. 

On the side of good, Gondor, Rohan and Ithilien had sent aid in the form of enough food to carry the Shire through the next year’s harvest, and even offered promises of land where the Shire-folk could relocate if necessary, though such a move would have required them to intermingle with the Men already in place. The idea was not as Outlandish as the Tooks made it out to be, considering the Men and Hobbits living in harmony in the Breeland already. 

While such an outcome would undoubtedly have led to the interspersing of the Shire-folk among the other peoples under Elessar’s reign, in the end, it was not to be. Instead, the rains returned to the Shire on the heels of the food shipments from the South, and Elessar reinstated his Edict banning Men from the Shire once the emergency had been resolved. In the days and months that followed, the fierce independence of the Tooks seemed to spill over into the rest of the Shire, increasing the distance between Hobbits and Men, in general, though certain individuals of both races were at pains to maintain friendships across the divide.

In any event, Ferdibrand saw no other alternatives open to him, not even removal to Bridgefields to act as regent to the next Bolger for a few years until young Rudivar should come into his inheritance. He had sworn an oath to serve the Thain and his family in Paladin’s time, and by Tookish tradition, nothing and no one could release him from his oath save the Thain – or Ferdi’s death. Asking the Thain to release him was unthinkable. No, but he was well and truly trapped by circumstances in this case, for the sake of honour and because of the ties of friendship that certain individuals – including the Thain of the Shire and the King of the Western Lands – were at pains to maintain.

‘Uncle?’ 

Ferdi became aware that Farry was staring at him, that his nephew had spoken – had asked a question? He shook himself free of his gloomy consideration and gave a wave of dismissal. ‘Off wit’ ye now,’ he said, leaving off his polished, careful speech for the more lilting tones of the wild Green Hill country. For some reason, he suddenly felt as weary of planning as his nephew. ‘Tomorrow is another day.’

Haldoron, after all, was in charge of organising their supplies and planning their route, in consultation with Elessar, who had walked the entire journey with the original Fellowship. At least Ferdi was spared the necessity of hammering out those details with the stubborn son of the Thain. He wouldn’t put it past Faramir, however, to have spoken to the King about authenticity in all details to the greatest possible extent, however. He could only hope it wouldn’t mean they’d be on short rations along the way.

It was bad enough to contemplate travelling with a ruffian, much less to have to manage it on an empty stomach.

*** 

Chapter 6. At the Sign of the Prancing Pony

~ in Bree, the day after Midyear’s Day ~ 

Ferdi had to admit that the beer here at The Prancing Pony in Bree was passable. More than passable. Perhaps Gandalf’s blessing, as Pippin – or was it Merry? – had recounted, had persisted, long after the Wizard himself had sailed away on an Elven ship, leaving Middle-earth behind him forever. 

He shuddered at the thought of it – sailing away on a ship. What madness! 

‘I do hope you’re not taking cold, cousin,’ Pippin said helpfully, and he laughed as Ferdi glared at him in response. ‘If you are to leave on schedule, that would be on the morrow. In the morning.’  

The two of them were the only remaining wakeful members of the party of Shire-folk staying at The Prancing Pony, all of whom would be departing in the morning, some returning to the Shire and others bound to travel somewhat farther, according to the plans made earlier. Everyone else had sought their pillows, even the Thain's escort, whom Pippin had ordered to bed an hour or two ago, stating that he didn’t see “any need for escorting until after the Sun kicks off her bedcovers, at the very earliest”. 

‘I’m quite aware of that,’ Ferdi said. ‘At ten o’ the clock, I do believe, if we are to be precise about the matter.’ 

‘My son is quite a stickler for detail,’ Pippin said, leaning back in his chair in front of a crackling fire in the private parlour old Butterbur had set aside for the visiting hobbits. He sipped appreciatively at his beer, then stared a moment at the bubbles rising in his glass before adding, ‘It will stand him in good stead when he’s Thain after me.’ 

‘Should he survive to become Thain,’ Ferdi said acidly. ‘He has perhaps the most unhobbity taste for adventure of anyone I know.’ He took a swallow from his own glass – ah, but he was going to miss this sort of thing, sitting at his ease in a chair by a fireside, relaxing, sipping a mug, unconcerned by nightly noises happening outside the circle of firelight. ‘Present company included,’ he added. 

Pippin said with a chuckle, ‘Don’t sell yourself short, cousin,’ then threw back his head and laughed. At last, he wiped his mouth and said, ‘I fear we have been a bad influence on the lad... Merry and I – and Gimli, and Legolas—’ 

‘Don’t forget that ruffian King of yours,’ Ferdi put in. ‘And I’m glad to hear you’ve left Mayor Sam out of it altogether. He probably has more sense in his little finger than all the rest of the remaining Nine Walkers, put together.’ He sipped contemplatively but put his glass down at the sudden thought that occurred to him. ‘That lad...’ 

‘Yes?’ Pippin said, eyes alight with curiosity and, it must be admitted, amusement. 

‘That stickler for detail, as you so eloquently put it,’ Ferdi continued. He cocked a suspicious eye at his cousin. ‘He’s not hired old Butterbur and his workers to rouse a clamour in the night, to waken us from the last good sleep in a bed I expect to be able to enjoy, at least until we reach Imlad—, er, Rivendell (these Outlandish Elvish names!), all in the name of authenticity!’ 

He picked up his glass once more and stared gloomily into its depths as he waited for Pippin to stop laughing again. 

At last, sobering, the Thain shook his head. ‘Authenticity,’ he said ruefully. ‘Perhaps you'll be glad to know, cousin, that – although cousin Frodo dreamed of galloping hoofs and the wind shaking the inn, Butterbur said the next morning that he hadn’t heard a thing. Not a single sound.’ He sighed and muttered under his breath, ‘Authenticity.’

‘Indeed,’ Ferdi said. ‘I’m beginning to detest the very sound of the word. Can you not ban its use from the Tookland, at the very least, as a personal favour to me? For I’m sure I’ll have no patience with hearing the word after we return – if we return, that is!’ And he fixed his younger cousin, Thain or no Thain, with a jaundiced eye. 

‘Ferdi...’ 

‘Why, if I hear someone say the word to my face, I’ll be tempted to flatten his nose for him, and you’ll have no choice but to put me on water rations for the rest of the day. What sort of justice would that be, after all I must suffer in the upcoming weeks?’ 

‘Indeed,’ Pippin said, and topped off both their glasses from the half-filled pitcher of beer on the table between them. 

The minutes passed all too quickly, and Ferdi could scarcely credit it when the dwarf-made clock in the parlour struck midnight, but there it was. And somehow the pitcher had been emptied of beer. He sipped as slowly as he might to make the most of the last of the beer in his glass. 

At the corner of his eye, he saw his cousin upend his own glass to savour the last drops and then set it down beside the empty pitcher. ‘Well then, cousin,’ Pippin said awkwardly, and Ferdi turned towards him, politely attentive. ‘Tomorrow is another day.’ 

‘Tomorrow is upon us even now,’ Ferdi countered. ‘Though it seemed as if Farry and Pippin-lad would never fall asleep for excitement, they actually did fall asleep some hours ago, according to Robbie.’ And no doubt young-but-sensible Robin Bolger had sought his pillow not long after. Ferdi had persuaded Pippin to add him to the party for his sense as well as his good influence over Faramir; he was one of few hobbits Faramir might listen to when one of the lad’s stubborn fits took hold of him. 

‘I suppose we ought to do the same,’ Pippin said, quite as if he were as reluctant as Ferdi to recognise the ending of this day and the beginning of the next, with its anticipated partings. 

‘I suppose we ought,’ Ferdi echoed. ‘Lest that kinsman of Elessar’s should take it into his head to come by and scold us into our beds.’ He shook his head. ‘And it would be too much to hope, I suspect, for him to leave in the morning without us.’ He looked over at his younger cousin and clarified, ‘Faramir and myself, that is. Though he’d have a much easier time of it shepherding just young Pippin-lad and Robin all along the journey without the complication of keeping two stubborn Tooks in line.’ 

‘I’d imagine he’s asleep, himself, seeing as it’s his last night for some time in a bed, snug inside four walls and a roof over his head,’ Pippin said, stretching his arms high in the air before rising from his chair. ‘If he’s anything like the other Rangers of my acquaintance, he’ll scarcely sleep whilst traipsing across the Wilderlands.’ 

‘Is that supposed to be reassuring?’ Ferdi said sourly. He drained the dregs in his glass, placed the glass carefully on the table (he’d had rather more to drink this evening than was his usual custom), and stood to his own feet. Turning to face his cousin, he said, ‘In other words, you’re telling me his senses will be dulled from lack of sleep. What sort of bodyguard can he be under such circumstances, I ask you!’ 

‘He is to serve as guide, not bodyguard,’ Pippin answered, suddenly stern. Fixing Ferdi with his gaze, he added, ‘He has sworn no oath to defend the Thain and his family... nor even an oath to the Ring-bearer to save him by life or death as Strider promised my cousin Frodo a lifetime ago.’ 

Shaken, Ferdi said, ‘I—’ 

‘Indeed,’ Pippin said implacably. ‘But, you. You have sworn such an oath, as I do not need to remind you.’ 

Ferdi bowed his head. ‘If that is how it is to be...’ he fumbled. He felt Pippin’s hand come to rest on his shoulder. 

‘That is how it must be,’ the Thain said. ‘I am counting on you – your good sense, your skills, your talents and instincts – to bring my precious son safely through. 

‘Even as Strider guided us through the Wilderlands, half my lifetime ago, I had no illusions,’ Pippin added more quietly, with a squeeze for Ferdi’s shoulder. ‘He persuaded us to take him on in order to safeguard Frodo and what my cousin carried – certainly not me, nor Merry, nor Sam. O, I was fairly certain the Man would do what he could for the rest of us should danger come upon us, but as Merry and I knew full well, Frodo was his chief concern, at least until the Breaking of the Fellowship happened. He took the decision to save Merry and me from the dreadful Orcs that had captured us only after realising the fate of the Bearer was no longer in his hands. Had he determined, instead, that his duty was to search for Frodo in the wilderness, then guide my unfortunate cousin to Mordor, Merry and I would have been abandoned to torment and death.’ 

Ferdi raised his head to meet his cousin’s steady, sombre gaze. Pippin looked long and searchingly into his eyes, then nodded. 

‘You understand now, I think,’ he said. ‘Elessar has charged his kinsman to guide the New Fellowship through the Wilderness all the way to the White City, yet my own son has tied Haldoron’s hands – or hobbled him, in a manner of speaking. Though the King has alerted his outposts to watch out for us along the way, provide resupply and an occasional well-guarded place to sleep, your guide will not have the benefit of a full complement of Guardsmen travelling along with you all in order to vouchsafe the Party’s well-being. Should any ruffians seeking after the Thain’s gold catch a whiff of it...’ Pippin dropped his eyes and shuddered, then looked up again and continued, ‘By my own son’s insistence, you’ll have to walk softly, trying to escape all notice, whether curious or malicious – thus ironically making the journey more “authentic” into the bargain.’ 

‘That ought to warm the cockles of Farry’s heart,’ Ferdi said with a wry grimace. 

‘I’m sure he’ll be gratified – should he survive the journey,’ Pippin said. He was not joking this time, as Ferdi thought at first. In point of fact, he was deadly serious about the matter, the older cousin realised belatedly, as the Thain continued,  ‘I am counting on you to bring my much-beloved son safely there and back again. In other words, in order to better guarantee the outcome, I am making you, not Haldoron, responsible for his safety.’ 

‘The Wilderlands are not so wild as they were half your lifetime ago,’ Ferdi said, at the same time wondering in the back of his mind whether he was trying more to reassure Pippin or himself. ‘The King’s paths through his lands have been cleared and made straight again, and he has established guardposts along the way. Not to mention the extent to which so much of the formerly forsaken and empty land has been settled since the War ended...’ 

‘In the very midst of the quiet, well-guarded Shire,’ Pippin said low, his eyes suddenly intense. ‘Rogue Men captured my precious son whilst inside – not just the Bounds of the Shire, but the bounds of the Tookland, deep in the Shire.’ He broke his gaze away then, staring fiercely into the dying fire on the hearth. ‘That is the only reason I have granted him permission to make this journey.’ 

‘I don’t understand, cousin,’ Ferdi said humbly, his head a-whirl from the evident contradiction his cousin had just presented him, and that on top of the beer he had recently quaffed. 

‘There is no guarantee of safety for my son anywhere in Middle Earth,’ Pippin said, ‘much less in the Shire. To wrap Farry up in cotton wool, to lock him away, deep inside the Shire, would be his ruin, and to what end—?’ He swallowed hard. ‘For I cannot keep him safe – and no one really can, not even deep inside the Bounds of the Shire.’ 

Ferdibrand himself, riding as escort to the young son of the Thain some years earlier, had been struck down and left for dead by the very rogues who had seized little Farry and threatened unthinkable harm to the child, hoping to move the Thain and the Tooks to their will in their greed for the gold the Thain was rumoured to hold. Fortunately, Ferdi had survived and even recovered from his injuries, and Faramir had been rescued, though it had been a near thing. Had the Muster been delayed even a handful of moments in tracking the ruffians to their hiding place, Pippin and Merry and the Tookish archers with them would have come too late to save the tiny lad from death – or worse. 

‘Pip, I—’ Ferdi said, then stopped, at a loss for words. 

‘What sort of life would that be? What sort of Thain would he become?’ Pippin persisted. ‘Why, I’d be as bad as Mistress Lalia – worse, even – who tried her best to protect her precious son, and ruined him instead.’ 

Ferdi nodded in spite of unspoken but rigid Shire tradition to honour the dead and avoid speaking ill of anyone after their passing. 

‘And so, Ferdi, with no illusions, and fully realising the enormity of the task I lay upon you, I ask you to do your best to bring my son safely through,’ Pippin said solemnly. 

‘I will do my best,’ Ferdi said. 

‘I know that you will,’ Pippin said, and finally released him with a clout on his shoulder. In a complete change of mood that signaled the end of serious discussion, he added, ‘But what are you doing, staying up so late when you know you are to be off soon after breakfast!’  

‘Is it so very late?’ Ferdi said, shaking off the solemn moment that had just passed by affecting astonishment. ‘Why, I must have lost track of the time!’ 

‘Indeed!’ Pippin said in his Thainliest tones. ‘Now be off with you!’ 

After sending Ferdibrand off to his rest, Pippin did not follow suit. Instead, he sank into the chair before the hearth, stirred up the fire, added another log, and stared, brooding, into the flames. Long did he sit there, adding another stick or two of wood whenever the fire began to falter, until the dark behind the windows began to lighten, heralding the approach of dawn. 

***  

A/N: Some turns of phrase may have been borrowed from the chapters “Strider”  and “A Knife in the Dark” in Fellowship of the Ring and “The Departure of Boromir” in The Two Towers.   

***

Chapter 7. Strider

Over the past few days and stretching into this newly-dawning day, the very air in the town of Bree carried celebration on every breeze – sights, sounds and smells. Bright bunting and floral garlands criss-crossed the streets and hung from the windows, and blooming planters and window boxes added a note of freshness to the good smells of cooking, baking and roasting. Music, along with laughter and cheerful conversation, sounded from cocks'-crow until late into the short summer night. The Prancing Pony, as Bree's chief inn, was full to the rafters with celebrants – Men and Hobbits and even a few Dwarves.

The Bree-land's Summerdays celebration, which had already been in force for three days, continued for an extra day, having been extended by the presence of the King and Queen and nobles, visiting from their summer at the Lake, as well as the Counsellors of the North-kingdom from the Shire (three Hobbits, comprising the Thain of the Shire along with the Mayor of the Shire-folk and the Master of Buckland) and two from the Bree-land (a Man and a Hobbit, both of excellent reputation and known for their common sense). 

The town had doubled in size since the return of the King, and it showed not only in the numerous new buildings that had sprung up but also in the crowds of Hobbits and Men thronging the streets on this festive day. Truly, the streets were crowded with cheerful celebrants, though due to this day's schedule, they were concentrated most in the area between The Prancing Pony and the West-gate.

A large body of Men and Hobbits, King Elessar and Queen Arwen at the fore, flanked by Thain Peregrin, Master Meriadoc and Mayor Samwise, with their families ranged behind them, emerged into the courtyard of the inn to a deafening ovation. The King raised his arm and waved it in the air, and eventually the clamour died to the point where a Man's bellow could be heard, perhaps...

Elessar had no need to bellow, however, for when he began to speak, his voice held a quality that penetrated the crowd noise, drawing everyone's attention from oldest gaffer to tiniest babe. Tall and kingly, he stood before them, taller than all who were near him – Men as well as Hobbits – and the Travellers were reminded of Frodo's description of him at his Coronation, years earlier: ancient of days he seemed and yet in the flower of manhood; and wisdom sat upon his brow, and strength and healing were in his hands, and a light was about him.

'People of the Bree-land and the Shire,' he spoke, and though he addressed the multitude, yet each individual in the crowd felt as if he directed his remarks individually and personally to them. 'Ye have lived through fire and peril, pestilence and drought, famine and fortune, dark days and dire winters... yet throughout, ye have held on to the Good – survived the onslaught of evil – rebuilt from the ruin of War – and prospered!'

A great cheer arose when he paused.

'There is much to celebrate!' Elessar continued. The Hobbit-folk in his audience, with their preference for short, plain speech, were especially appreciative of this sentiment.

'I commend you for your courage, your perseverance, and your kindliness towards strangers. Though some of these did not merit your friendship, and sought to do harm, there are many more who bless you for your open-heartedness and generosity.'

Among those who stood behind the King were several Rangers, swords at their sides and bow-cases and quivers on their backs. They were taller and darker than the Men of Bree, and their faces were pale and stern, with keen grey eyes. And though they seemed to have been at some pains of making themselves presentable, for their high boots of supple leather were clean and not mud-caked, and their heavy dark-green cloaks showed no signs of travel stains, they remained rough and grim of appearance, looking more like shadows of the kingly Man who stood before them than the nobles and knights of the North-lands they truly were.

Although the Bree-folk listened eagerly to the tales they could tell and the news they brought from afar, these Men had maintained their distance from the Bree-landers over the centuries, and the Bree-folk, in their turn, had tolerated their presence and had never seen fit to extend the hand of friendship to the wanderers. Even today, they were regarded with awe and some fear.

And yet Butterbur had considered their coin to be as good as any other Man's, had served them the same quality of drink and fine, fresh viands as he gave the locals. No crusts of stale bread or overripe stew had been offered to them over the years, not even during the darker times when food and drink ran short in Bree. Indeed, the innkeeper and his father before him (and his grandfather, and his grandfather) had provided food and sanctuary to injured Rangers in the past, even when they had no coin to pay for the bed and board. (Not that the innkeepers ever went unrewarded; for haunches of venison and braces of waterfowl would appear suddenly and unexpectedly just outside the kitchen door some time after the inn had sheltered one of these mysterious Men until he recovered enough from his wounds or illness to disappear into the surrounding country once more.)

'And so, we thank you for your hospitality and cheer, commend you for your faithfulness, and look forward in hope for many years of prosperity to come!' Elessar concluded.

When the noisy acclaim began to die down to the point where words might be heard when exchanged between onlookers, Mayor Sam said to the Thain, and the Master beyond him, 'I couldn't have said it better myself.'

Pippin laughed and clouted Sam on the shoulder. 'High praise indeed, coming from you, O excellent Mayor!' He was joined in his merriment by all the Shire-hobbits surrounding him. And as the cheers and applause subsided further, Pippin saw fit to stoke the flames of celebration once more by raising his sword high in the air, gleaming in the sunlight and catching everyone's attention, and shouting, 'Three cheers for the Bree-landers!' With great vigour and enthusiasm, he led the Shire-folk and all those in the royal party – King and Queen and nobles and guardsmen – in a rousing set of cheers.

Not to be outdone, the Bree-land's Counsellors of the North-kingdom commanded three cheers for the Shire-folk, and then more cheers for the King and Queen. A distinct possibility of hoarseness on the part of many throats arose and was – fortuitously – headed off by the advent of Elessar's Captain of the Guard, who emerged from the stables leading several horses by the reins, followed by other Men and Hobbits leading more horses and ponies.

'And now!' Elessar said, raising his hand and his voice once more. 'We must bid you fare-well! For it is a long way back to the Lake, and to the Shire, and so we must begin before the morning advances any further, lest we be tempted to shirk our duties and stay over another day!' For the Sun was more than halfway on her journey to her highest point in the sky before she would once more begin the long glide down towards evening. 

A mixed response greeted this sentiment, with many apparently considering extending the festivities a valid option, while others (many of whom most likely had work waiting for them on their farms or work-benches) applauded the wisdom and practicality of their King.

The large group of notables standing before the inn broke apart then. The King and Queen and others of their party from the Lake mounted their horses, whilst the Thain and Mayor and Master and the Hobbits with them mounted their ponies. For their part, the Rangers simply seemed to melt away, for they moved backwards, vanishing into the crowd of fare-welling folk until even their tall forms were somehow indistinguishable from the nobles and guardsmen surrounding the King and Queen. By the time all the visitors were in their saddles, ready to depart, the Rangers were long gone.

King and Queen nudged their beasts into motion, heading towards the West-gate, and the Counsellors of the North-kingdom representing the Shire rode immediately behind them. A long parade of visitors followed in their train, and the Bree-landers separated to either side of the broad street to make way for the departure, cheering wildly, waving bright cloths and throwing flowers to strew the travellers' path.

*** 

By this point in the morning, the crowd on the street before them was thinning considerably, drawn, perhaps, by the cheers resounding from the western side of the town. It was not long before the street was empty, for all practical purposes. Together, Ferdibrand and Haldoron peeped around the corner of the building where the New Fellowship had concealed themselves in the dark before dawn early this morning, and considering the earliness of the summer dawn, they had sought their hiding place early indeed.

'All clear, I deem,' Haldoron said. 'A few stragglers, perhaps, but they aren't likely to mark a Man and a few Hobbits walking quietly away from the celebration and out the opposite gate. It is a day of business, after all, and everyone will be returning to business not long after fare-welling the royal party, in all likelihood.'

'Work never waits,' Robin Bolger muttered. As a working hobbit, he was all too familiar with the old adage, Not enough hours in the day... which even held, in his experience, for long summer days.

'Ten o' the clock,' Ferdi said, consulting his pocket watch and tucking it away once more. To his nephew, he said, 'I think that's about as authentic as we can manage, on this day.'

'Except for the crowds,' Faramir said, being a stickler for detail, 'and there are no inquisitive heads peeping out of doors or popped over walls and fences. All the Bree-folk, more or less, are watching travellers who are departing from the wrong gate.' Just as his father had planned, to provide a diversion from his departure with his Companions as they began their epic journey.

'For when the original party left, all those years ago – or so it says in the Red Book,' Pippin-lad Gamgee affirmed, 'most of the inhabitants of Bree and Staddle, and many even from Combe and Archet, were crowded in the road to see the travellers off on their journey. Including all the other guests in the inn, who were at the doors or hanging out of the windows, as I recall.'

'Perish the thought,' said Robin Bolger under his breath, for he knew all too well the peril to his Uncle Ferdibrand and cousin Faramir should word of their expedition get out and spread widely until it reached the ears of unscrupulous Men.

But Pippin-lad Gamgee hadn't finished speaking. 'Well, besides not having a crowd of people watching us as we leave town, to be any more "authentic",' he mused, shrugging his backpack into a more comfortable position, 'we'd have to wait until October! ...or, more properly, the day before.'

Ferdi gave him a withering look. 'Let us not do just that,' he said coolly, 'even if we should, at a later date, say that we did.'

Pippin-lad and Faramir Took exchanged a glance, and the latter shrugged. 'We must make do, the best we can, with what we have to work with,' the son of the Thain said.

Their Ranger-guide, Haldoron, barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Had he had charge of the matter, rather than this youth, they'd have departed in the middle night and completely avoided any and all notice from bystanders. 

Bad enough, it was, that Hobbits seemed inclined to discuss every detail of what they were doing, rather than actually doing it and getting on with the plan. Was this one of the lessons Elessar intended him to learn?

He cleared his throat softly to end all discussion – for the moment, anyway – and draw his fellow travellers' attention to himself. 'Very well, then,' he said. 'Let us go whilst the way is clear before us.'

*** 

Author's note: Some text taken from "At the Sign of the Prancing Pony", "Strider", "A Knife in the Dark", and "The Steward and the King" in The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.

*** 

Chapter 8. Differences of Opinion

'...and so Strider asked the Hobbits how much they could carry on their backs.' As the party wended their way through the Bree-land, following a seemingly random course set by their Ranger-guide, Pippin-lad continued his quiet narration of the previous journey. The Man walked lightly in his soft leather boots, making almost as little noise as a Hobbit walking normally (not trying to be quiet, that is) and leaving almost as little sign. He'd also shortened and slowed his long strides to accommodate his shorter-legged companions. 

Ferdibrand walked at Haldoron's side, occasionally marking their changes of direction in a low voice that did not interrupt the young Gamgee's storytelling. South south-east now. The Man nodded to acknowledge the hunter's keen sense of direction. Perhaps Rangers, Orcs and wolves were not the only creatures able to forge paths through trackless wilderness...

They had kept on the Road for some miles after leaving the town before leaving the open and taking to cover by following a narrow track that led off towards the North. 'Regarding this part of my kinsman's path I am certain, at least,' Haldoron had told his companions as they left the Road. 'We'll go towards Archet at first but bear right and pass it on the east, and then steer as straight as we may over the wild lands to Weathertop Hill and, thus, as they did, cut off a great loop of the Road.' To Ferdibrand, he'd added, 'Our path will twist and turn through the Chetwood, just as theirs did in order to confound that ruffian Ferny and leave him well behind them.' And Ferdi had nodded and begun marking the changes in direction that followed, as if by force of habit.

Even if Elessar had not set him the task of learning all he could about Hobbits and their ways, Haldoron would have been fascinated and would have listened as closely to Pippin-lad's stories as he'd already been listening since they'd left the town well behind and Robin Bolger had asked to hear more about the events that had taken place in Bree when the earlier travellers had set out for Rivendell. The former Steward of the North-kingdom had heard his kinsman's version of events numerous times, both over the years since Aragorn had been crowned King and again more recently, during the weeks of intense preparation for this endeavour, but he'd never had the chance to read the record set down in the Red Book by Bilbo and Frodo before they had sailed to the West. And while he'd shared a campfire with Bilbo once or twice, after the old fellow had left the Shire for the last time, he'd dismissed the elderly Hobbit's stories as highly-embroidered, fantastical imaginings, for the most part, told with an eye to eliciting certain responses from his listeners.

But the account as Mayor Sam's son had recounted it so far sounded matter-of-fact enough to be a report written by a Ranger for the eyes of the King.

Pippin-lad turned from Robin, on his left, to Faramir, on his other side, to say, 'And so your da, the Thain (though o' course he wasn't the Thain at the time) said, "As much as we must", though it made his heart sink to say so. O' course, being the youngest of the Hobbits – still only a tween, remember! – he wished to show the Man as well as his cousins that he was tougher than he was. But my dad could see through him fairly well, as he suspected the older cousins did, as well. And so the only one the tween might be fooling would've been the Man ...but even there, luck was against him. For the Ranger'd had a seemingly long acquaintance with Bilbo, and so Strider saw right through him.'

'And your dad said, "I can carry enough for two!",' Farry retorted. 'As my da always likes to say, that was the moment old Bill recognised Mayor Sam as a fellow pack beast and began to follow him like a dog at heel...'

Then Farry raised his voice slightly to address his uncle, walking ahead with the Man, 'And I still don't understand why we could not take a pack pony!'

Ferdi turned his head to the side and said only, 'Here and now is neither the place nor the time for such a discussion.' He added under his breath, South now. Almost directly southwards, I'd hazard to guess... Louder, he said, 'So what happened next, Pip-lad?'

The Mayor's son continued his narrative up to the point that matched their current travel. '...and the woods seemed peaceful and wholesome to them, even then,' he said. 'The Sun was smiling, and her light was clear but not hot...'

'I wish we might say as much,' Farry interrupted, wiping at his brow. 'There's something to be said for starting out on the last day of September!'

'You'll be thankful enough when we come to Caradhras,' Pippin-lad argued. 'Traversing the Pass ought to be much less trouble in summer, I should think!'

'And if Caradhras should defeat us, as it did them,' Robin put in, for he'd heard the Thain tell this part of the Story by a roaring fire on the hearth in the great room of a stormy evening, 'why, then, our attempts to retrace their Journey would suffer a severe setback in any event! For the way through Moria is still closed, even all these years later!'

Haldoron couldn't quite contain his shudder of relief. At the same time, he overheard Ferdi's muttered, Bless us! The two adults leading this expedition couldn't be more in agreement on this point, at least.

'We'd have to go 'round by way of Rohan,' Pippin-lad agreed. 'Might as well proceed directly to Minas Tirith, should that occur, and plan to see Lórien on the journey homewards.'

'You ought to be contented enough with this day's wanderings, Cousin,' Robin said to Faramir. 'I should think we've taken as many "turns and doublings among the many criss-crossing paths" as your fathers did!'

'And all we've seen is birds and a few squirrels, as they did, though no foxes have shown themselves,' Pippin-lad added.

'Foxes are generally too sly to show themselves by day,' Ferdi said to Haldoron, and the Man nodded. One side of his mouth lifted in a wry smile as he remembered that "The Fox" was the name Ferdi had been given by the rogue Men who'd infested the Shire during the time the Hobbits termed "the Troubles". Lotho's (and later, Sharkey's) Men had even nailed posters with the name and Ferdi's likeness to trees in the Woody End and all around the borders of the Tookland, along with the promise of a rich reward for his capture. His fate, had he been taken early on, would have been to be thrown into the Lockholes. Later, as the Tookish Resistance strengthened and the Troubles dragged on, the Tookish archer had continued to pursue his risky business under the threat of a death sentence.

At the end of a day of walking, which had been pleasant overall though perhaps uncomfortably warm during the afternoon hours of that lovely summer day, they camped by a cold, clear spring in the Chetwood. The three younger Hobbits were obviously glad to lay out their bedrolls and sit down, though Pippin-lad quickly hopped up and began meal preparations just as his father would have during the earlier journey. Differently this time, Robin got up to help him, poking Faramir as he rose, and soon all of the Travellers were sitting at their ease in a small circle, munching bread and cheese, along with last-year's apples from one of The Prancing Pony's storeholes.

It was too warm to light a fire, 'and they wouldn't have had a fire in any event,' Pippin-lad had said, settling to his bedroll with the cloth containing his somewhat scanty meal in his hand. The springwater was icy and refreshing to the sweaty travellers, 'almost as good as a glass of the Pony's beer,' Ferdi observed to Haldoron.

'Almost,' the Man agreed, and the two older adults toasted the thought and each other with their cups and drank several more swallows of the bracing beverage.

'And so why could we not bring a pack-pony with us?' Faramir resumed his earlier argument.

'For numerous reasons,' Ferdi said. He took a large bite of his bread-and-cheese that filled his mouth, staving off discussion for the moment, but after he'd washed it down with more of the wondrously cold water, he continued. 'There's no need for us to be accurate in every detail – as a matter of fact, we've stretched so many of the details for the sake of necessity already, that nailing ourselves to the boards of unnecessarily burdensome details would be foolish, to say the least!'

Their exit from the town being a major point in his argument.

Ferdi put his food and drink down to tick off the points on his fingers. 'There are outposts of Kingsmen along our way, so that we do not need to carry food for three or four weeks' journeying, as they did. We can replenish our food at regular intervals, which lessens the load each must carry.' His nephew Farry would have preferred to bypass the outposts in the interest of authenticity, as he knew all too well, but he said nothing about that.

'Heavier clothing has been sent ahead to the last outpost we'll pass before beginning to climb Caradhras,' he said, ticking off the second finger. 'And it's the height of Summer! So there's no need to bring along a pony to carry extra clothing so that we may be prepared for various weather conditions. What we carry on our backs should suffice us all the way to Rivendell, and further.'

'There's a mercy,' Robin said under his breath.

'And...' Ferdi said, ticking off the third finger, 'if you truly mean to follow the paths they wandered, Nephew...'

'I do!' Farry said, stung.

'Then I would object to bringing a pony with us by any means,' Ferdi said. 'My father and uncle were known as the best pony-trainers in the Shire...'

'Aye,' Robin said low, remembering the stories his Uncle Ferdi and his mother had told about his grandfather and great-uncle. The good stories, that is. The happy stories. The ones whose endings were both instructive and satisfying.

Ferdi shook his head, also obviously remembering. 'They were sticklers for "the proper use of a pony", as Merry and I found to our sorrow – and all too many times, and too often, until we'd learnt our lessons in that regard!' Looking to the Man, he clarified, 'The Master of Buckland. He and I were young together, upon a time.'

'Hard to believe,' Robin said aside to the younger Hobbits, who chortled.

Ferdi, on his dignity, continued. 'From what your da and Mayor Sam have said about their experiences after Weathertop...' From the corner of his eye, he saw the Man stiffen in recognition of the name. '...it'd be downright cruel to drag a pony, even one unburdened, through the country they described.' He shook his head. 'I won't have it,' he said. 'Not even if it means breaking my oath, defying the Thain, and calling off the rest of this endeavour.'

These emphatic words wiped the smiles from the younger Hobbit's faces.

Ferdi looked from one face to another before he added softly, 'And no. I am not exaggerating for effect, or to make my point.' He closed the hand whose fingers he'd been ticking off into a fist and laid it against his breast to illustrate his next words. 'I hold my oath to the Thain very close to my heart, indeed,' he said quietly, 'and only death or the Thain himself can release me from it.'

His gaze returned to Faramir and remained there as he concluded, 'But ponies are not merely beasts, given us to bear us or our burdens. They are living, breathing, feeling creatures. If you cut them, they bleed. You may starve them, deny them water and sunshine, whip them mercilessly, and they will work themselves faithfully to death for you, though you might suffer a bite or kick along the way.' He looked at Pippin-lad then, and added, 'Why, even Bill, as the Mayor told me in recent days, returned to Bree and the broken-down shed – where he'd known only hunger and thirst, fear and abuse from Ferny – after that remarkable pony was separated from the Company at the West-door of Moria.' And then he looked back at Faramir, seeming more sorrowful than angry.

Faramir, transfixed, could not seem to look away.

In a tone of quiet intensity, Farry's uncle added, 'They are not toys, nor are they pieces in a game, to be moved around according to the player's whims.'

'I would never...' the son of the Thain began, but Ferdi rode right over him, in a manner of speaking.

'I have tried to explain this point to you before, Young Master,' he said, 'to no avail, as you continue to air your discontent with this "minor deviation" from the historical record. If it is so minor, then let it go!' Ferdi drew a deep breath. 'For be assured, ponies are not and never will be a minor point to me. I will never let it go.'

Silence fell on the circle of travellers, which lasted until the meal was done and the weary younger hobbits laid themselves down atop their bedrolls (for it was much too warm, even after darkness fell, to slip between their covers). But some time later, as the Ranger-guide and oldest Hobbit remained wakeful, smoking their pipes companionably before taking turns at watching and seeking at least some rest for their own part, Haldoron caught Ferdibrand's eye and tendered a respectful nod.

*** 

Author's note: Some turns of phrase were drawn from 'A Knife in the Dark' in The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

***

Chapter 9. Bogged Down

'I thought I'd be glad to finally leave the Chetwood behind,' Pippin-lad said, running his sleeve over his forehead to wipe away the drops of sweat that threatened to run into his eyes.

'P'rhaps the marshland will be cooler, with all that water surrounding us,' Robin Bolger said, though I rather doubt it, his thoughts continued, unspoken. He remembered how hot a sultry day could feel on the Buckland side of the Brandywine. Though the Woody End, which he still considered "home", could feel hot and airless on such a day, at least the shade under the trees provided some relief from an angered Sun. 

The land had fallen steadily since they'd turned away from the Road, and though they did not have to worry, as the original Travellers had, about detection by the Enemy's spies in the wide flat expanse of country they were crossing, the adults leading the group were all too aware of the danger posed by the Sun and summer heat. The younger Walkers did not seem to appreciate stopping to fill up the water bottles the party carried when they'd only drunk less than half, even with the frequent water breaks the Ranger decreed. For his part, Ferdi required all the hobbits to wear floppy felt hats, of the kind the hobbits of the Thain's escort wore when travelling in sweltering weather to deliver messages. 

'I'd always wondered how the escort could endure them,' Pippin-lad mused to himself after he'd put on the hat Ferdi provided and walked a mile or two under the Sun. 'How is it that wool can keep one cool as well as warm?' He resolved to ask his dad after they returned home again, for Sam seemed to know everything that was worth knowing, at least in the eyes of his children.

The headgear was hardly "authentic", as Farry grumbled, but then Frodo Baggins had left Hobbiton in late September and had thus welcomed opportunities for warmth rather than guarded against it.

'It's not too late to cut straight South to the Road,' Haldoron said as the ground became damp and boggy places appeared more frequently. 'We will soon be in the marshes, but the Road bends southward and avoids them.'

'It would mean more miles of travel,' Faramir said, 'keeping us baking longer in the Sun's oven, I should think. For the Road itself can grow uncomfortably hot underfoot when the Sun has argued with her husband, the Moon, and is venting her fury upon the Earth.'

'I think my mum is the wiser,' Pippin-lad muttered. 'For when she's argued with my dad, she vents her displeasure in kneading dough or beating cream...'

'Don't make me hungry,' Robin, walking beside him, answered.

The Gamgee lad glanced at him in astonishment. 'How can you be hungry in this heat?' he said. 'Why, I'm a teen, and supposed to be hungry nearly so often as a tween, and yet I feel more queasy than hungered...'

Robin immediately called to the leaders, walking ahead of them. 'Water stop!' he called, and to Pippin-lad, 'Sit yourself down. Here,' he directed, 'on this rock, not in that puddle. Your head is more muddled than you think.'

To Pippin-lad's chagrin, the others gathered around him. 'Everyone drink,' Haldoron ordered. 'Several swallows, at least, unless your stomach is rebelling.' 

'In that case, small sips,' Ferdi added. 'Roll the water in your mouth for a bit before you swallow it.'

'That means you, too, Farry,' Haldoron said. He'd stationed himself as close as possible to Pippin-lad, instructing the teen to lean back against his legs, and he lifted his cloak on his arms over the Gamgee lad's head, an impromptu shelter. 'Or are you, too, feeling sick from the strength of the Sun? Ferdi, can you shade him?'

'I am well,' Farry protested, but Robin insisted on easing him down on a dry spot, and their uncle Ferdibrand moved to provide shade for them both as they rested and sipped.

Once the sun-sick teens seemed to be recovering, Haldoron decreed that they would camp that night where they had stopped. 'We've still plenty of dry ground here to choose from,' he said. 'Even keeping just our feet dry will only grow more difficult as we go on from here...'

'You make the morrow sound so enticing,' Ferdi said. 'I can hardly wait.'

'We'll want clear heads as we go,' the Ranger-guide warned. 'The marshes are both bewildering and treacherous, and their quagmires are ever-shifting.'

'But you know the path through the marshes,' Ferdi said, a question in his voice.

Haldoron chuckled softly, but there was no humour in it. 'Not even Rangers know of a permanent trail through the marshes of Midgewater,' he said.

'Then they must be dangerous indeed,' Ferdi said. 'Would that they were not so "authentic".'

*** 

Next morning, they arose early along with the summer Sun, who kept farmers' hours, as they said in the Shire. Summertime laid extra burdens on farmers, and so the Sun obligingly provided longer hours for their labours, rising early and setting late. The night had been somewhat warm and humid, promising furnace heat when the Sun climbed high in the sky once more.

'We'll make an early start in the cool of the day,' said Haldoron, 'and rest during the hours when the Sun is at her highest.' He looked around the little group. 'Do you each have your staffs?'

The young hobbits brandished the long walking sticks he'd provided them before they'd set out, while Ferdi grinned at him, leaning upon the heavy, well-worn prop that had served him well for more years than Faramir or Pippin-lad had been in the world.

'Good,' Haldoron said. 'They'll be even more important to you for the next day or two.' He'd already shown them how to make their own shade with a stick and their cloak, but now he instructed them further. 'It would serve you well to test the ground ahead before each step. If the stick sinks in more than an inch or two, don't step there.'

Dry ground grew ever more elusive as they went, replaced by boggy ground and spreading pools of water and ever-wider stretches of rushes and reeds. In addition to the biting, crawling midges that gave the marshes their name, flies began to torment the Walkers.

'Well now I know what my dad was thinking when he asked what the midges live on when they can't get hobbits!' Pippin-lad cried, smashing a handful of midges against his neck with a single slap.

'Eaten alive!' Faramir said. 'That's what my da called it! And he had the right of it!'

'Perhaps authenticity isn't always the best course to follow...' Ferdi said grimly.

'Hah,' Farry said. 'That's the closest I've ever heard you come to "I told you so"!'

'I'll be happy to come closer,' Ferdi retorted. 'I told you so.'

In the middle of that miserable day, Haldoron called a halt when he found a small patch of fairly solid ground. 'Shade!' he ordered, crouching and using his staff like a tent pole to lift his cloak above his head. 

The hobbits followed suit, though Pippin-lad overbalanced and sat down on the boggy ground with a small splash. 'It's wet!' he cried.

'So it is,' the Man said.

The young Gamgee scrambled onto his knees, then regained his feet and crouched, shivering despite the heat of the day since he was now wet to the waist. 'The water's cold!' he said.

'Fancy that,' Ferdi said, exchanging a glance with the Ranger. Both adults seemed to share the same thought... that if the younger hobbits insisted on following this course, then they deserved the consequences. 'Do Men say, "you made your bed..."?' he asked conversationally.

'Indeed they do,' Haldoron replied.

'Common ground,' Ferdi said under his breath.

'Eh?' said the Man.

'That's what Pip wanted me to see,' Ferdi said. 'I think my cousin may have had a point.'

'Only time will tell,' Haldoron said.

'Men say that, too, do they?' Ferdi asked, cocking his head to one side.

'I just did,' the Man answered.

'So you did.'

*** 

When the Sun had slipped down the sky from her nooning, Haldoron announced the end of the rest period. The young hobbits seemed almost glad to stand upright again, stretching muscles cramped from crouching for so long. 'Keep right behind me,' the Ranger reminded the hobbits. Just as they had during the first half of the day, Robin followed Haldoron, Pip-lad followed Robin, Farry came next, and Ferdibrand brought up the rear.

Unfortunately, though the Sun was no longer beating directly down upon their heads, the afternoon heat continued to intensify, made more miserable by the dampness of the air in the wetlands and the merciless onslaughts of biting insects. Though the Walkers were sweating, their perspiration persisted on their skin rather than evaporating and cooling them.

Although Ferdi and Haldoron reminded the younger hobbits at intervals to drink a few swallows from their water bottles, it is quite possible that heat-sickness was once more afflicting Pippin-lad, making him less careful than he would have been otherwise. For instead of following in Robin's footsteps, he'd drifted a little to one side, and after prodding the ground directly in front of him and seeing – or perhaps not seeing – his stick sink several inches into the boggy ground, he stepped forward anyhow.

He threw up his hands with a yell as the quagmire seized him, pulling him down with terrible rapidity that might have proved fatal had Faramir not kept his head and launched himself belly-first upon the surface of the bog, grabbing at Pip-lad's curls as the young Gamgee's head went under.

Haldoron, who had whirled at the yell and splash, shouted, 'Rope!'

'No time!' Ferdi gasped, even as he laid himself down beside Faramir's lower legs and grabbed hold of his nephew's knees. 'Hold, lads!' (Though likely only Farry could hear him, for Pip-lad's head was under the water.) 'Don't move!' And to Robin, he shouted, 'Grab my feet!'

Haldoron quickly understood and grabbed hold of Robin as the Hobbits formed a chain of sorts, with Farry holding tightly to Pip-lad's curls, gasping, 'Don't fight! Stay still!' as the young Gamgee's struggles threatened to pull both of them deeper. He hoped his friend could hear him even as he feared the worst. At least he knew Pip-lad was still alive and fighting – but how long could he last with his head under the water?!

And then as the sucking bog pulled Pippin-lad deeper, and Farry with him, Farry's thought changed to How long can I last with my head underwater?! To his horror, he felt Pip-lad's struggles cease; his friend, though still sinking slowly, was no longer resisting the pull of the quagmire.

Meanwhile, Haldoron was testing the ground on all sides of him with a series of rapid pokes of his staff. Then, 'Heave!' he shouted, and 'Hold fast!' to those on the far end of the chain. He pulled Robin backwards with all his strength, for he was dragging not only Robin but the combined weight of all the Hobbits forming the fragile chain connecting Pip-lad to stable ground.

The Ranger slid one foot back onto the ground he'd tested to gain better leverage. 'Again!' he yelled. 'Pull! Pull back with all you've got!'

Once he could reach Ferdi's ankles, Haldoron took hold of Ferdi with one hand and guided Robin to a safe piece of ground with his other. Together, he and Robin Bolger hauled Ferdi to safety. Ferdi held grimly to Farry's legs, not noticing himself growing dizzy until Farry's head broke the surface of the water and Ferdi let out the breath he was holding and gasped for air.

'I've got him!' Farry sobbed. 'I've still got him! Pull!'

Somehow, with all of them pulling together, they were able to draw Pippin-lad from the watery embrace of the quaking ground. Haldoron immediately picked up the teen and hung him over his forearm, smacking his back roughly. 'Breathe, lad!' he commanded. 'Breathe!' 

None of them was breathing, it seemed, for there was a general gasp when the Gamgee teen suddenly vomited a small amount of water and then began to cough and choke.

And then everyone was sitting on the boggy ground, limp with relief, unmindful of the water soaking into their clothes.

Pip-lad's walking stick floated to one side, just out of reach. 'No you don't,' Ferdi said, grabbing hold of Robin by the shoulder. 'We're not going through that again!' In the end, he used the Man's walking stick, slightly longer than his own, to retrieve Pip-lad's prop.

After they'd rested and all had got their breath back, Haldoron stood up and removed his pack, which he opened, retrieving a coil of rope. 'I know they had no rope,' he said dryly, 'and so we are throwing authenticity out the window! – but frankly, I don't give a fig at this point.'

Nor do I, for that matter, Ferdi said under his breath. Haldoron gave him a nod.

The Man then tied each of the younger hobbits to the rope in turn and handed the end of the rope to Ferdi with a flourish.

'Don't mind if I do,' Ferdi said, taking the rope's end and tying it to his belt.

At Haldoron's wry expression, he added, 'Don't tell me: Men also use that expression?'

'Very well,' the Ranger-guide replied. 'I won't.'

***  

Author's note: Some turns of phrase were drawn from 'A Knife in the Dark' in The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien. 

***

Chapter 10. Of Time and Change

For the rest of the day, Haldoron carried Pip-lad on his shoulders, as he had upon a time carried his own son a lifetime ago. They camped at last on a patch of ground that was damp and uncomfortable but large enough for them to stretch out and rest, though they did not unroll their bedrolls. Their clothes, dampened from lying on the soggy ground, would dry much more quickly than the bedding would once they began moving again in the morning.

Before they'd left the Chetwood, Haldoron had insisted that everyone should collect as much firewood as they could carry. Since they would be refreshing their food supply on the far side of the Midgewater marshes, that meant they could carry a fair amount, even without the help of a pack-pony – enough for two nights' worth of fires when they were in the marshes. 'Though the days are warm, the waters in the marshes are always chilly,' Haldoron said. 'You'll be happy we carried wood with us in the damp cold that is night-time in the marshes.'

The younger hobbits hadn't believed him, of course, and Farry had protested that the addition of firewood was hardly "authentic" at this point in the journey, for hadn't Boromir made his suggestion when the Fellowship were preparing to climb Caradhras's snowy sides?

Ferdi blessed the Man's foresight. When they'd stopped, the Ranger had built a fire and then brewed medicinal herbs into warm drinks for the two teens, whose heads had been pulled under the marshy water. 'For if the lung fever should arise,' Haldoron had told them, encouraging them to sip despite the bitter taste of the draught, 'there'll be no more journey after we leave the marshes. For at the next outpost, we'll send the two of you in the arms of fast Messengers to the King's healing hands at the Lake.' He laughed and added, 'Perhaps a larger packet than they're used to carrying, but I have perfect confidence in them! My own son was a Messenger...'

He sobered then as suddenly as he'd laughed, but covered his feelings by saying, 'The Shire-folk have their own term for the lung fever, I think? But I cannot quite remember...'

'The Old Gaffer's Friend,' Ferdi said quietly. 'You might've heard the name mentioned in the same breath as the Thain.'

'Oh?' the Man said quietly.

'O aye,' the Hobbit answered. 'Not long after he came of age, when he had not yet outgrown tweenish foolishness, it nearly carried him off. So badly, it near to ripped the lungs right out o' him. If not for the Tree Folk o' legend, I doubt he'd be in the world today.' The creeping of the back-country Tookish lilt into Ferdi's usually careful speech spoke to his discomfiture.

'Tweenish foolishness?' Haldoron echoed, changing the subject by seizing on a more neutral-sounding point, for he suspected that deep waters lay beneath the Hobbit's calm surface, at least related to this topic in some way. He might learn more about the Ernil i Pheriannath's lung fever at some point, but he might not, either. 'What is the difference between a Hobbit tween and one who has come of age, then?'

'It's a matter of time – of growth and change,' Ferdi said, laying aside his spent pipe to draw his knees up and circle them with his arms. 'I take it you're not all that familiar with young Hobbits.'

'I'm not all that familiar with Hobbits, as it works out,' the Man said. 'And that is why I have been sent upon this journey with the rest of you... that I might gain the familiarity my kinsmen think I need before I can be of any further use to them in the North-lands.' He picked up a fallen twig and scratched in the dirt, though Ferdi could make little sense of the pictures, if he was even drawing any. 'I'm not even sure of what a faunt might be, though I've heard the term tossed about in casual conversation.'

'Faunts are... like toddlers, as I've heard Men call their very young ones, a bit younger than tots,' Ferdi said. He might as well put to use some of the Mannish terms he'd learnt from Pippin and Merry over the years, listening to them talk about the lives and customs of Men as they'd come to know them in their time in the South-lands, not only in the War but in visits afterward. He'd also been at some pains to learn as much as he could for the remainder of his time at the Lake, though it wouldn't have been his first choice to do so. He much preferred the company of Shire-folk.

'Two or three years of age, then?' Haldoron asked, and Ferdi had the feeling the Man was paying close attention and filing away the facts he was learning in that cold but keen mind of his.

'They're babes from before the time they're born until they turn three,' he corrected. 'O some may learn to say a few words at two, and most begin crawling and climbing from two to three years of age...' He smiled then, remembering a maidservant in New Annúminas saying in dismay, 'Climbing! They start climbing before they can even take a step, walking!'

'So faunts are... how old?' the Man said, drawing on his pipe until the light from the coals lit his curious expression.

'At three, the parents and grands have a little ceremony,' Ferdi said. 'A small celebration, it is, to welcome the child to the ranks of walking hobbits. No longer are they little crawling creatures, going about on four legs as all the other beasts do.'

'Uncle Ferdi!' Robin reproved, but the older Hobbit only chuckled.

'Three, then, until what age?' the Man persisted.

'At five, we begin calling them "children" Ferdi said, 'though other terms are not unknown.' He smiled at Robbie's warning glance and went on, avoiding some of the more pejorative terms that parents might apply to mischievous little ones, 'tots, for example.'

'I've heard you use the term,' Haldoron agreed.

'In the wild Green Hills, folk may say "childer" or "bairns" up to and even to the end of a child's teen years,' Ferdi said. 'Faunts are, as my dear wife would put it, "adorable", and children are "charming". Both faunts and children are innocent and trusting – and they want a good deal of looking after.'

'By a Man's reckoning, they are incredibly small of size, too, o' course,' Robin added. 'Being Hobbits as they are. Even a ten- or eleven-year-old can be killed by a fox or snatched up by one of the larger types of owls.'

The Hobbits saw the Man shudder at this idea, and the same thought crossed both their minds at that moment. What if this Man was not quite so cold and unfeeling as he made himself out to be?

But Ferdi continued the lecture as if he'd seen naught. 'Teens, now,' he said, wiggling his toes in the warmth coming off the fire. 'That's the point where young Hobbits begin growing ever more quickly. They eat and sleep a lot!' he added, sharing a grin with his companions, even as his eyes went over the sleeping teens they had bedded down close to the fire on the other side, though not so close that the young Walkers might roll over in their sleep into harm. 'They're soon beyond the reach of foxes and owls which, I must say, comes as quite a relief to their loved ones!' He glanced at Robin and then back at the fire. 'Though they're still inordinately innocent and trusting at that age. As a point in fact, we try to keep them that way as long as may be.'

'Keep them that way?' Haldoron said, his astonishment clear in his tone.

'O aye,' Ferdi nodded. 'A body is only a child once in their life, and for such a short time, at that. The time goes quickly...'

'It does,' the Man said quietly, and was that a note of sorrow in his voice?

'O course, as I understand it, the very old among Men can grow withered and witless, becoming childlike once more as the end of life draws near. That is why, as your kinsman Elessar has told me, the wise among Men call Death "the gift of Men" and not their Doom.'

Haldoron sat straighter. 'And this is not the case for Hobbits?' he asked.

Ferdi shook his head, wondering at the Man's sudden and seemingly intense interest. 'Nay,' he replied. 'Barring illness or injury, Hobbits remain clear-headed and vigorous to the end of our days. It's a proverb in the Shire that the perfect end is to pass on quietly in your sleep after a fine meal and a good pipe.' He smiled and amended, '...or a well-brewed cup o' tea for those who never took up with pipe-weed.'

He heard Haldoron murmur under his breath, Would that the Númenóreans had lived by such tenets... But he knew too little of Men to understand the words behind the sentiment. For the first time in his life, perhaps, he felt the stirring of curiosity about Men and their histories.

But Haldoron wasn't finished learning about young and youthful Hobbits.

'So teens are growing in height, while keeping the innocence of children,' he said. 'And what of knowledge and wisdom?'

'O aye,' Ferdi said, 'there is some of that. For at the age of ten, young Tooks begin to learn to shoot and ride – and read! I cannot tell you much about how the other Shire-folk live,' he added honestly, 'for I've spent little enough time in the Outer Shire, except to visit my sister – Robbie's mum – and she's a Took!'

'Outside the Tookland,' Robin said, filling in for his uncle's deficiencies, 'teens begin to help their parents on the farm or in the workshop. Only in the Great Families—'

'The gentry,' Ferdi clarified for the Man's sake.

'—do the children begin formal lessons in reading and history and more than simple maths and the workings of the world. Amongst common hobbits, learning to read is unusual, and those common hobbits who do know their letters tend to keep their knowledge to themselves lest they be accused of "putting on airs".'

At the Man's subtle jerk of surprise, Ferdi queried, 'Is it not so amongst your folk?'

'Every child amongst my People learns to read and write,' Haldoron said. 'Unless, of course, the child is unable. For example, a dangerously high fever at a very young age...'

'O aye,' Ferdi said softly. His cousin Tolly, who was closer than a brother to him, actually had an older brother who'd suffered fever convulsions as a faunt when a deadly fever had swept the Tookland. Although he was older than Ferdi by several years, Freddy had never grown past the understanding of a child. O' course, other adults treated him with gentleness and kindness, for his limitations were not the unfortunate Hobbit's fault.

He thought it best to go on with his narrative. 'And then you have tweens,' he said, mock-glaring at Robin from under knitted eyebrows.

But Robin only laughed. 'You cannot level such an accusation against me any more!' he said. 'I reached my majority three years ago, now, as you well know!'

'Be that as it may... At the age of twenty,' Ferdi went on smoothly, 'one leaves childhood behind and is no longer called a child.'

'You said tween but a moment ago,' Haldoron assented.

'Aye,' Ferdi nodded. He stretched and changed his position, now sitting tailor-style. For the stable ground Haldoron had chosen for their resting place was as hard as he remembered from his earlier years, and sitting in one position for too long could lead to feelings of stiffness in his joints and muscles, though he wasn't even close to being considered elderly in Hobbit years. 'Then you have tweens.' He sighed. 'And watch out for your pantry during the tween years, I can tell you!'

'Don't tell me,' the Man said, a question in his voice. 'Tweens eat more than teens?'

The talk stopped as young Faramir stirred and murmured in his sleep. As the teen settled again, Ferdi resumed. 'I cannot tell you how much more tweens eat,' he said, 'for I don't know if anyone has actually ever taken measurements and recorded them for posterity. What I can tell you is...' he paused as if considering and then went on, 'they seem to need to eat every hour or two! And they're growing so fast, it makes them restless and their muscles twitchy, and so (unless they are labouring away on a farm or chopping trees, as Robin did with his father, or whatnot, which uses up their energy quite effectively) you'll often see tweens walking about the Shire, visiting relatives...'

'And encouraged by their parents to do so,' Robin said. 'To save the family pantry from their depredations.'

'Tweens commonly walk about the Shire?' Haldoron said. He seemed puzzled about something, though he did not ask further questions.

'Not tweens from the ranks of common Hobbits,' Robin amended, 'or "working" Hobbits, as they're often called, though some of the gentry do work for a living, present company included.'

Ferdi inclined his head towards his nephew in acknowledgement, then went on to describe typical tweens among Shire-folk. 'Long on legs and short on sense, is a byword amongst Shire-folk,' he said. 'It is commonly believed that they are growing so fast in terms of muscle and bone that the blood scarcely reaches their brains. 'Empty-headed tween is another byword.'

The Man finally asked the question that had been hovering at his lips. 'Then how in the world did Peregrin – Pippin – manage to keep up with the others in the Fellowship, much less accomplish all he is renowned for?'

'He was nearing the end of the tween years,' Ferdi said, 'and that is all I can think might account for it. He'd reached nearly his full growth – he'd've been shorter than the average Took, if not for those Ent-draughts he talks about – and so he did not have the same need to eat every waking hour and sleep half the day.' He shook his head. 'Still,' he said, 'eating such scanty portions as the rest of the Company – Men and grown Hobbits and an Elf and a Dwarf – and walking all night long could not have been good for him. I can only credit the Ent-draughts for the fact that he turned out as well as he did.' And of course, though he did not add this latter thought aloud, an Ent-draught had brought the Thain back from the edge of the grave, not so many years ago, when none of the healers' efforts – not even Elessar's healing hands! – had been able to do the same.

'So I should consider it a mercy that Faramir and Pippin-lad are only teens and not yet tweens, I suppose?' Haldoron said, sounding bemused.

'You might say that,' Ferdi nodded. 'You just might.' He picked up his pipe, gently knocked out the now-cold ashes, and tucked it away in the bag that hung from his neck. 'When one reaches the age of twenty, it is the custom to hold a special party for a young one who is passing from the teen years into the tweens. A tween, moreover, is of an age to be apprenticed, at least amongst the common Hobbits.'

'And a Hobbit is considered an adult when...?' Haldoron asked, perhaps intending to put away the topic of apprenticeship in the Shire for another time.

'At three-and-thirty,' Ferdi answered. 'Robbie, here, is six-and-thirty, as you heard him say a little while ago. And I was Robbie's age when I did what I could to keep the ruffians out of the Tookland during the time of the Troubles, first under Lotho and then under that dratted wizard.' By common consent, Shire-folk almost never spoke the name "Saruman", and "Sharkey" was used as an expletive more than an epithet.

'And by then they have grown into their sense, as I heard you put it while we were still in New Annúminas?' the Man enquired.

The older Hobbit surprised him by chuckling. 'Wouldn't that be ideal?' Ferdi said wryly. 'But no...'

'Hoi!' Robin said in startlement.

Ferdi reached over and patted his nephew on the arm. 'I'm sorry, my lad,' he said. 'But you've a ways to go yet.' And to the Man, he said, 'When they reach their majority, they are treated as adults, and they are considered adults for legal purposes – for example, a Hobbit who has passed his thirty-third year cannot be apprenticed unless he, himself, requests such.' He shook his head and added, 'But they are still in the time of life where they are acquiring wisdom and experience, and will remain so for quite a number of years afterwards. No,' he said, shaking his head, 'I would say that your typical Hobbits don't grow into their sense until age fifty, or perhaps a year or three – or as many as five! – after that.'

'Bilbo Baggins was only fifty when he set off on his adventure,' Robin affirmed. 

'O aye,' Ferdi said, 'but then, that hobbit never did grow into his sense, or did he? For "mad Baggins" became a byword in the Shire in his later years, as I seem to recall.

'No, but,' he said, returning to the topic at hand, 'Hobbits in their thirties and forties are considered adults... but they've got more growing to do. Their bodies may be grown, true... And once past the awkward tween stage, where they don't know where their arms and legs end, and they've become familiar with the way their bones and muscles work, they are no longer clumsy and likely to stumble over nothing and drop things but dextrous, at last, and as strong as they'll ever be, and even graceful!'

'I thank you, Uncle,' Robin said, inclining his head. 'Dextrous, strong and graceful... I cannot see the disadvantages in that description.'

'Having left the awkward, empty-headed tween years behind,' Ferdi said, 'with their thinking clearer than they've ever known, once the fog of unending hunger lifts, it is unfortunate but true that most hobbits, on reaching their majority, enjoy a feeling of well-being and revel in the power of being able to accomplish much more than they ever dreamed as children.'

'And what's so bad about that?' Robin demanded.

Ferdi ploughed on doggedly. 'They're likely to feel invincible,' he said, catching his Bolger nephew's eyes and holding them fast with an intense gaze. 'As if naught can touch them. Almost as if they're... immortals, like Elves, and nothing can harm or kill them. Blithe and bright and bonny are they... Long may they live, such Hobbits...'

'I don't...' the Man said, and stopped as if unsure how to complete the thought. I don't understand. I don't see.

'Merry and Sam suffered such shortcomings when they followed Frodo to the ends of Middle-earth,' Ferdi said. 'Pip, to a smaller degree. He combined a tween's foolishness with the foolhardiness of a hobbit who's recently come of age.'

'But you—' Robin protested.

'But I, too,' Ferdi affirmed.

'You're a hero of the Tookland!' Robin objected. 'If not for you, and others like you, the entire Shire would have fallen! And the Master...'

'What about Master Merry?' Ferdi asked quietly.

Robin took a few sharp breaths before answering. 'I heard him say, on more than one occasion, that if the Tookland had fallen, there'd've been no Shire when the Travellers got back!' he said, obviously upset.

'I only did what had to be done,' Ferdi said. 'And believe me, Robbie...' he sighed. 'There are things I'd've done differently, had I the knowledge I've gained in the years since then.'

'To be honest, Ferdi,' Robin said earnestly, 'I don't see what you might have done differently!'

'Aye, and there's the rub,' Ferdi said, rubbing the back of his neck with a rueful hand. He looked up and met the Man's eye and then looked over at his Bolger nephew. 'You're about the same age as I was at the time we were keeping Lotho's Men out of the Tookland.' He shook his head. 'Just wait 'til you're older; you may see some things differently then.'

The Ranger surprised him then, saying quietly, 'But rogue Men are just that... rogue Men. You might think to change your approach to them, but I think you'd agree with me that they never change.'

But young Robbie shook his head vigorously. 'I must disagree,' he said. 'We saw all sorts of rogues in the Troubles...' He poked a stick in the fire and stirred the coals. 'I was only a young hobbit then,' he admitted, 'younger than these two miscreants...'

'And you played a major role in our ability to keep the Tookland free,' Ferdi said.

'A child?' Haldoron said, intrigued. 'How could a small Hobbit child...?' But before either Robin or Ferdi could answer, he said slowly, 'Faunts are adorable, you said, and children are charming... as well as innocent and trusting.' He nodded, 'I can see how even rogue Men, if they have not given themselves completely over to evil, might be disarmed by such.'

'Robbie-here,' affirmed Ferdi, 'and his littler sister were among the best of the Thain's information-gatherers. Lotho's ruffians felt no need to guard their tongues in front of such small and innocent children. And the children, young as they were, made the Men feel welcome, as valued guests, whenever they entered the clearing or knocked upon the door.'

'They even thought we named my younger brother after one of them,' Robin said, seeming lost in the past. 'As if to honour them for coming to succour my mum in her time of greatest need.'

'My sister nearly died in childbirth, in part because the ruffians had descended upon her smial and were in the middle of gathering all there was to gather when her pangs came upon her,' Ferdi said quietly. 'And yet, that murderer, Scar...' he seemed to have some difficulty before going on, 'he immediately took charge – sent one of his men for the midwife, another for her husband Hally who was cutting wood a little way away, told others to watch over the children and keep them occupied, and carried Rosie to her bed and sat with her until Hally and the midwife came.'

He shook his head. 'I cannot understand it still,' he said. 'For whilst Rosie was in the midst of her travail, he also ordered his Men to restore all they'd gathered – the foodstuffs, the tools, the firewood, the goats... and more. And then they cared for Rosie's other little ones, children and faunts, cooked and cleaned and told stories and cradled the little ones in their laps and sang what passed for lullabies...' he shuddered whilst Robin snickered at some memory. 'They left, their waggon empty, only after the babe was safely born and Rosie was out of danger.' 

He met Haldoron's quizzical gaze and added, 'They left the larder full to overflowing – Hally told me they put back more than they'd taken away! And more... they returned several times between that time and the Battle of Bywater and replenished the pantry with foodstuffs they'd gathered from other Hobbits. O' course, that was not what they were supposed to do, according to their orders! Gathered stuffs were never shared with Shire-folk; most of their gatherings were shipped away south, out of the Shire completely, and the rest were stored away.'

'But that was in part because Mum fed them,' Robin said.

Ferdi grinned and stretched. 'Aye, Robbie,' he said. 'You ha' the right of it! Rosie is a dab hand at cooking!'

'She welcomed them, and pitied them for being "so far from mother and home",' Robin said. 'She baked extra on her baking day, just for them to come and eat, and more for them to take away. When ever they came around, she fed them ­– or offered to – and she did their mending. Sewed on buttons, mended tears, darned holes. She knitted them mufflers and mittens that winter, I remember...'

'And so they came around often, and spoke openly before the children,' Haldoron said, nodding. 'And you came to visit your sister—'

'Secretly,' Ferdi broke in.

'—secretly,' Haldoron agreed, 'and you took all the news the children had gathered and brought it back to the Tooks.'

'O aye,' Ferdi said.

'Your sister was either foolish or very clever,' Haldoron said. 'To trust those rogues!'

'But they protected us from others,' Robin said. 'I suppose we could say we were their Hobbits, in that they seemed to adopt us almost the way we had adopted them.'

The Walkers sat quietly, pondering the paradox of ruffians and Shire-folk adopting one another. 

'And Mum was neither foolish nor trusting,' Robin said.

'She knew the deadly danger; she and Hally both knew it,' Ferdi said quietly. 'But o' course the children could not know. To remain safe, they had to remain innocent.'

'And so they made it a game,' Robin said. 'We were always laughing and playing, and the ruffians were our "great friends", and talking with them and asking childish questions and listening and laughing were all part of the game, and I never knew until I was much older how deadly serious my parents' play-acting was...'

'Your parents put you in grave danger,' Haldoron said slowly.

Robin Bolger nodded. 'I know it!' he said. 'I didn't know it then, but I know it now.'

'But why?' the Man said.

'Why did the Northern Rangers stay in the North-lands after the old kingdoms fell to Shadow?' Ferdi challenged. 'Why did your people cling to a land where they knew at any moment dark things might issue from the houseless hills or creep from sunless woods, to menace and murder their loved ones as well as those they guarded? Why did they long endure the scowls and scornful names of travellers and countrymen? Why did they choose to ceaselessly guard simple folk from terror and ruin when they might have marched to the Southlands and joined the cause of Gondor and enjoyed her protection – at least as much protection as any Gondorian?'

'I thought you knew little of Men, and wished to know less,' Haldoron said.

'I know enough,' Ferdi answered, but then he deflated. After a moment, he added, 'And yet, it seems I do not know enough, or why would I even be here now?'

*** 

Author's note: Some thoughts and phrasing in this chapter were drawn from "The Council of Elrond" in The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.

p.s. My former editor-beta reader used to excise large sections of long, expository conversations like the discussion in this chapter of Hobbit developmental stages because she thought they slowed down the story progression too much. Would you agree with her? Should I restrain from thinking aloud so much and "just get on with the story" as she used to say?

*** 

Chapter 11. 'Nothing further happened...'

The rest of their time in the marshes was uneventful by comparison.

Of course, young Faramir chaffed Pippin-lad good-naturedly about having fallen into the bog. 'I mean, you may be named for my da, but that doesn't mean you have to follow in his footsteps quite so thoroughly...' 

'Do you mean to say I cannot hope to become Thain someday, even though I bear the same name – or almost the same name?' Pippin-lad said with a laugh. 'Pity, that! I don't know what my parents were thinking... P'rhaps they ought to have called me "Peregrin" instead! It seems they fell short in calling me "Pippin"!'

'Well,' Farry said, lifting his hand to his face and speaking behind it, as if he might be telling a secret. 'You never know... For all we know, I might end up in Ithilien with my Mannish counterpart! And if the Thain and Master decide to remove to Gondor, why, then you and your brother Merry may find yourselves asked to step in, considering the similarity of names...'

Ferdi snorted softly, and Haldoron suppressed a grin at the young hobbits' nonsense. At least the byplay was keeping the teens awake and alert and paying attention to every step they took.

Nevertheless, both Ferdibrand and Haldoron breathed sighs of relief as they left the last straggling pools and reed-beds behind them and the ground under their feet began to rise once more, signalling the end of the marshes.

'If you were to write an account of our travels,' Pip-lad said to Faramir, now walking side-by-side rather than in a file now that the party had left the boggy ground behind and were treading a satisfyingly solid surface, 'as Mister Frodo did, you might say, "Nothing further happened in the marshes..." – just as he wrote in his account telling about the journey after the Shadow flew over them on their way from Hollin to Caradhras the Cruel.'

'Nothing further happened that night,' Faramir murmured. 'I remember the time we visited, and your dad read to us from that page, and I saw my da wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. It startled me so, I've never forgotten.'

'It was because of a conversation they'd had that day, I think,' Robin said. 

The two teens gaped at him. 'What?' Farry said. 'You weren't even there!'

'Not that day in the Gamgee's parlour or kitchen or wherever it was you took tea,' Robin said, for he'd heard gossip at the Great Smials that the Mayor did not always honour the Thain's high position but served him tea in the kitchen! It had made him laugh at the time, for he was fairly sure from hearing his parents and his Uncle Ferdi talk about the Thain that serving tea in the kitchen had not been the Gamgees' idea at all.

'That night, rather, as they walked on,' Robin continued. 'It was something I overheard the Master tell the Mistress once, when Master Merry had asked for my help in hearing his cases. My parents brought me to the Hall and left me for a week, and then they came and took me home again, though the Master did his best to convince them to remove from the Woody End to Buckland, or even leave me there and let the Brandybucks foster me, since I was too young to be apprenticed.'

'Ah,' the two youngsters said, though the Man walking ahead of them (and also listening quietly) was puzzled. The Master of Buckland had asked for the help of a child, not old enough to leave his parents, in hearing and judging cases? Having served as Elessar's Steward of the North-kingdom, Haldoron was wearyingly familiar with hearing cases. As a matter of fact, it had been his failure to properly judge a case he'd heard that had landed him on this remedial journey. He wondered if Ferdibrand might explain if he were to later ask the Hobbit walking by his side.

Perhaps if I'd asked a child to help me, justice would have been done that day, and I would not have sentenced three innocents to hang, he thought bleakly. If not for the Hobbits' interference, those deaths would have taken place as ordered. More and more as they travelled (and they'd not even reached Weathertop yet), he was thinking that this enforced journey might turn out to be a blessing of some sort.

'What was it you overheard?' Farry wanted to know.

'Well, Master Merry was talking about how lovely Hollin was, and that he thought that once Elves have lived in a land and loved it, the land will be long in forgetting them. He described Hollin as having a wholesome air. And then he talked about leaving the valley by way of an ancient road, and wondering about the people who had built the road. But as they were walking through the darkness, the Shadow passed overhead...'

'That's right,' Pip-lad confirmed. 'That's what it says in the Red Book. Though it was Gandalf who talked about a "wholesome air", if I'm remembering right.'

'That sounds promising,' Ferdi said aside to Haldoron. 'I might actually be looking forward to seeing Hollin, if that's the case.'

'You probably are,' Faramir said wryly, though he was responding to Pip-lad rather than his uncle. 'Your dad reads a little aloud from the Red Book every evening, doesn't he? And when he reaches the end, he simply starts over again!'

'He doesn't want hobbits to forget what Mister Frodo did,' Pip-lad said low. 'Even if it's only Gamgees that keep the memories from fading away.'

'Well, anyhow,' Robin said, to spare Pip-lad's feelings, 'Master Merry talked about how his younger cousin started asking Frodo about writing a book, and how Frodo – who was almost invariably the soul of patience with the tween – humoured him, though he'd not shown any sign of writing a book before that moment.'

'Except, of course, when they were at The Prancing Pony in Bree,' Pip-lad said. 'For that was the reason Mister Frodo gave for visiting the Bree-land; to gather information about Hobbits living outside the Shire.'

'And they might have believed him if he had not slipped the Ring onto his finger there in the common room,' Haldoron muttered. But only Ferdibrand, walking at his side, heard him, and wondered.

'Exactly!' Robin said. 'But Pippin somehow got Frodo to agree to write a book, and then he very earnestly suggested that the older cousin write, Nothing further happened that night, when he reached that part in the narrative... the part where they were, currently, in the story, as it were.'

'He did just that!' Pip-lad explained.

'But he didn't mean it at the time,' Robin said.

'I don't take your meaning,' Faramir said.

'The older cousin was simply humouring the younger, to reassure the tween and lighten his mood after the Shadow had passed over earlier.'

'How do you know that?' Pip-lad wanted to know.

'It was what Master Merry said,' Robin replied. 'He knew that Frodo was humouring their younger cousin, but he also knew what the younger cousin was thinking, for the two of them... I've heard my mother say the two of them are "joined at the soul".'

After that pronouncement, the Hobbits walked in silence for a time, and so did the Man.

At last, Farry prompted, '...he knew what the youngest cousin was thinking...?'

Robin went on, 'Master Merry knew that young Pippin was thinking that if Frodo were to resolve to write, Nothing further happened that night, then nothing further would happen that night!'

Ferdi turned his head and spoke then. 'It's a common phenomenon with Hobbits when they're young,' he said. 'Magical thinking, I've heard it called.'

'I suppose that makes sense,' Faramir said quizzically. 'Wizards use words to make magical things happen. Like Gandalf and the Moria Door.' One side of his mouth twisted as he added, 'But I gave up on magical thinking years ago, for it never seemed to make any difference.'

'Speak friend and enter,' Pip-lad said softly.

But Haldoron was thinking of Farry's rejection of the idea of magical thinking. The lad was only a teen! By Ferdi's and Robin's accounting of Hobbit ages, as they'd explained to the Man, the son of the Thain should still be well within the bounds of innocence and trust. Was his lack of wonder due to his experience with the child-stealing ruffians, or was there more to the lad's jaded view? There's a story here that I do not know, the Man thought to himself. I wonder how I might find it out? He'd discovered that when the Hobbits got to telling stories, he almost always learned much more than if he asked them direct questions.

'But he did!' Pip-lad said. 'He did write just that in the Red Book!'

'And that was the point of the story Master Merry was telling Mistress Estella that evening,' Robin said. 'For he was talking about the first time they returned to Bag End after Frodo Baggins sailed away with the Elves. They found his study just as he'd left it – a bit tidier, perhaps – and young Pippin opened up the Red Book and paged through it as if he were looking for something, and he didn't stop until he found it. Nothing further happened that night.'

'And it didn't!' Pip-lad said stoutly. 'Or, at least, that's what my dad told us when he read that part aloud to us...'

'Then perhaps there really was some magic in the tween's thinking after all,' Faramir said, but then he shook his head. 'No,' he added. 'I'm sure it was only a matter of coincidence.'

I'm not so sure of that, Haldoron thought to himself. For they were travelling with a Wizard, after all. But he kept his thoughts to himself. 

'O' course,' Pip-lad Gamgee said, 'they had that conversation – about writing a book I mean – whilst they were still in the middle of that night, the one where the tween was hoping nothing more would happen...'

'If you have a point, it sped right by my head,' Faramir said.

'That empty head of yours?' Robin said, playfully cuffing Faramir's curly top. 'Why am I not surprised?'

'We're having this conversation now, after we've already left the marshes behind!' Pip-lad said. 'To do any good, we should have talked about writing a book with magical words while we were still in the marshes!'

Ferdi caught Haldoron's eye. You see? his glance said. Magical thinking. The Took then nodded, somehow conveying the thought, Relatively common in a Hobbit child and even a tween.

'P'rhaps we ought to have had this conversation before you stepped in over your head!' Faramir said sourly.

'P'rhaps we should have!' Pip-lad said, but his tone was more thoughtful than sceptical or joking.

'No doubt,' Robin said, and then as if to divert the younger Hobbits, he went on, 'So tell me, Pippin, what happens after that point in the Red Book? For Master Merry went no further in the story he was telling the Mistress...'

*** 

Author's note: Pippin fell in at the Midgewater Marshes in my version of the journey found in The Tenth Walker here on SoA. This chapter also draws from an earlier short story, 'Nothing further happened that night...' in the short-story collection This and That here on SoA.

*** 

Chapter 12. What Makes a Hobbit a Hobbit?

'Look!' young Faramir shouted, raising a hand to point to the line of distant hills rising ahead of them in the East.

'Hush!' Pippin-lad Gamgee chided him. 'Don't you remember? You are supposed to be escaping in secret, as your illustrious father said at least once to his cousin Frodo. Or perhaps he even said so more than once!'

'Did Frodo write of such a warning in the Red Book more than once?' Faramir asked in a lower voice. 'For you're the only one of us who has heard the book all the way through!'

Pippin-lad shook his head. 'It's an awfully long book,' he said. 'D'you expect me to remember every word?'

'At least you've heard every word,' Faramir grumbled. 'I think we ought to have a copy in the library at the Great Smials, but who listens to a teen, I ask you?'

'Or perhaps the book also tells of the older cousins reminding the younger to keep his voice down,' Ferdi contributed while keeping his thoughts to himself about how Pippin had listened too carefully to his young son. Else why were they on this long, tiresome (and, frankly, dangerous) journey?

'I must brush up my toes, I think,' Robin said. 'For that was a hint if I ever heard one!'

'That hill on the far right, standing a little separate from the rest, is Weathertop,' Pippin-lad said.

Haldoron was surprised. The Gamgee teen had not sat in on the planning sessions with his father and the others. But then, from what he'd overheard since leaving Bree, it seemed that Mayor Samwise had taken pains to familiarise his family with the events that took place during the War of the Ring. Aragorn had told him of Bilbo's fascination with maps. Perhaps the Gamgees had inherited the old hobbit's maps along with the Red Book left behind when two of the three Ring-bearers had sailed to the West.

'The Road passes near the foot of Weathertop on its south side, and that is where we will spend the night and refresh our supplies, two nights hence,' the Ranger-guide contributed.

'It seems so odd to think of outposts of Kingsmen where they walked through wilderness,' Faramir said in a low voice.

'But remember, Farry,' Pippin-lad objected, 'what Mister Bilbo taught my dad... not only is the Road "like a great river: its springs are at every doorstep, and every path is its tributary", but history runs deep as well as wide, with more layers than you can imagine!'

Robin Bolger spoke aloud the question that the Man was thinking. 'What d'you mean by that, Pip?'

The Gamgee lad tilted his head as he talked, as if forming a picture in his mind and then describing what he saw. 'We're walking in one of the layers, even now,' he said. 'And the Road, if we were walking it at this moment, would run along the same surface, with outposts of soldiers and messengers placed by the orders of the King; they – and we – would all be found in the same layer, if history were an onion and we were peeling it back to look at the layers...'

Trust Hobbits to turn any subject to food, Haldoron thought as he listened. Even layers of history and the years and Ages those layers represent!

'And those earlier Travellers, they walked upon another layer, laid down earlier (so we have to dig deeper to see them),' Pippin-lad continued. 'And on that layer, Gandalf fought the Ringwraiths atop Weathertop, amidst the ruins, and no settlements could be found between The Forsaken Inn and Rivendell, and Men no longer occupied the old kingdoms...'

'There were Men in the lands, still,' Haldoron felt prompted to say, even as he fought down a shiver at the mention of Ringwraiths at this late date.

The teen flashed him a bright smile. 'O' course!' he said. 'Rangers and ruffians! Let us not forget either... but what I meant to say was that on that layer of the onion, historically speaking, the farms and fortresses were abandoned, the buildings gone or reduced to tumbled stones. Mister Frodo even wrote about how, after crossing the Last Bridge, they walked beneath ridges bearing ancient walls of stone and the ruins of towers...'

'Built long before by Men who eventually fell under the shadow of Angmar,' said Haldoron, lost in remembering some of the legends and stories his Chief had recounted by a crackling fire in the wilderlands.

'And if you were to peel away another layer or three, you'd see those proud Men and the kingdoms they built and later threw away, and there, you might see the great watch-tower of Amon Sûl standing tall and fair...'

Haldoron stared in renewed surprise at this son of the Mayor's. Though he talked like a young scholar, Pippin-lad looked like an ordinary "common" hobbit of Bree or the Shire, as set apart by the Shire-folks' reckoning from the Great Families (by which the Shire-hobbits usually meant those who still evidenced strong ties to the Fallohides, such as the Tooks and Brandybucks and Boffins and Bagginses – and were more likely to be found among the higher ranks of Shire society).

In point of fact, the Gamgees were ordinary or "common" hobbits, though Elessar (and Haldoron himself) would have argued against applying such a label to one of the Ring-bearers. It occurred to the Ranger-guide that he knew so little of Shire society and history, including possible reasons why the Shire's upper classes comprised mostly descendants of the Fallohides! What had made that group stand apart from the others? Why had Stoors and Harfoots so often chosen Fallohides to lead them down through the years?

Was it any coincidence that the original party of Travellers had comprised mostly gentry and only one common hobbit? Were the Fallohides' successors bolder or more adventurous than other hobbits and thus more likely to accumulate fame and fortune? Were the Harfoots, wherein Haldoron suspected the Gamgees' roots lay, more inclined to loyalty and stubbornness and common sense than their more exalted counterparts among the gentry?

Was Pippin-lad both literate and knowledgeable because his father had been elevated in society to the position of Mayor of Michel Delving? Or was it because old Bilbo had taken an interest in a gardener's young son and taught him his letters? Had Samwise's travels outside the Shire awakened curiosity and wonder and a hunger for learning that he had taken pains to pass on to his children after him? Or had the ordeal of carrying the Ring somehow transformed him into something greater?

He glanced from one of his companions to another: the teens, almost bouncing along in high humour, and Robin, trotting along just behind the younger Hobbits at an easy pace that he'd proven himself able to sustain for hours, and Ferdibrand, trotting at his side.

'Is the pace too fast?' the Man asked suddenly.

'We're fine,' Ferdi answered. 'Just so long as the teens can converse without being out of breath.' He shook his head. 'Thus far today, they've managed to converse without ceasing! One might wish for a moment or two of peace and quiet, but I doubt such a wish will be granted, at least, not until the teens finally fall asleep when the day is done...'

Haldoron nodded to himself, though he continued to wonder. Pippin-lad was markedly shorter than the others in the party, all of whom were clearly descended mostly from the Fallohide clan. Yet if the Man were to close his eyes (a nonsensical thought when hiking on uneven ground), he'd be hard-pressed to tell the difference between his companions except, perhaps, that both teens spoke in higher voices than their elders.

What made one hobbit different from another? And how and why had Shire society become divided into different classes, while the Bree-hobbits had not?

In the back of his mind, Haldoron heard old Bilbo's laughter – he could see the hobbit's face shining with merriment, the finger pointing at him as the old fellow rocked back and forth, lost in delight. 'You know nothing of hobbits!' he'd accused, though he'd still been laughing when he'd said it.

You know nothing of hobbits, Aragorn had said to him before assigning Haldoron to guide these hobbits on this journey.

I know too little of hobbits and their history and their ways, Haldoron thought to himself. I'm not sure it would be accurate to say I know nothing!

But as they walked (or trotted or bounced) on, and young Pip-lad continued his discourse on the nature of history and the passage of time, the Man revised his estimate of himself. It's true, he thought in surprise. I know nothing of hobbits. And so Aragorn has the right of it: I must learn more.

*** 

Author's note: This chapter reflects ideas drawn from 'Concerning Hobbits' and 'Flight to the Ford' in The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien, as well as various musings about hobbits found in Tolkien's letters.

*** 

Chapter 13. And What D'you Think He Saw?

'We are a little ahead of ourselves,' Pippin-lad observed, 'for the hills are already drawing nearer, see?' He lifted his hand and pointed. 'I think that yesterday, we must have walked well past the spot where they camped by that stream that "wandered down from the hills" and ended in the marshes.'

'The days are longer this time of year, remember,' Robin Bolger said. 'You told us that in Frodo's account, they camped when evening descended upon them.'

'But we did the same, yesterday,' Faramir said. 'As the Sun was painting her colours in the sky, we made our camp for the night.'

'Yes, cousin,' Robin said, 'but we did the "same as they" but a few days after Mid-Year's day, and we had arisen with the Sun in the morning. We had hours more walking than they did in a single day...'

'No wonder my legs hurt,' Pippin-lad muttered under his breath, so low that Faramir was probably the only one who heard him. 

But the latter said nothing, for his legs were hurting, too. The price you pay to grow stronger, he thought stubbornly. He did not think to ask to cut today's walking short or to slow the pace, both of which sounded like an admission of weakness to him, rather than common sense as it would have seemed to his elders, though he did not realise it.

They walked on in silence for a few more moments before Faramir resumed the conversation. 'So even though we've no pony to lighten our load, we've gone faster?' he said, his brow wrinkled in thought. He had not considered the difference that the longer summer days would impose on their journey. 'Or farther, anyhow,' he amended.

'The latter, I think,' Robin answered. 'Even if they might have gone a little faster than we have, what with "Longshanks" and his ability to stride at a ground-eating pace, while we are much cumbered by travelling with a pair of teens...'

'Hoi!' Pippin-lad protested.

'Well it's true,' Faramir told him. 'We are teens, and that is the truth, and though I'm told I'm tall for my age, my legs are still shorter than a tween's would be. And my da, though the shortest of the Company, was in the latter part of his tween years at the time they were walking this trail...'

'He would have had most of his growing years behind him,' Ferdi agreed. 'He might have grown another inch or two before he reached his majority, had he left such things as Ent-draughts alone...'

'Are you saying my da would've been short for a Took?' Faramir asked, turning to look at his uncle and nearly tripping over his feet as a result, such that Ferdi hurried forward a step or two to steady him and save him from falling.

'Watch where you're walking, lad, or walk where you're watching,' Ferdi told him, still holding Farry's arm as they walked along together, leaving Haldoron to bring up the rear. 'And yes. Your da's head came up as far as my chin, that last time I saw him before he disappeared, and he would've grown only an inch or two more if things had been left to run a natural course – which they were not, as was quite evident when he returned a year later and an inch or two taller than I am or ever will be!'

'You might always try an Ent-draught yourself, you know,' Robin said, and smirked.

Ferdi glowered at his Bolger nephew. 'I am already tall enough,' he said. 'As it is, I have to duck to enter most people's doorways. Being taller would be most inconvenient, I deem!' He dropped back to take up his station by the Ranger's side once more, as if the two of them were herding the others before them.

'All the Hobbits of the Thain's escort are tall,' Robin observed. 'Why is that? Is it one of the requirements, besides shooting, riding, and running?'

'Don't forget swimming,' Faramir said behind his hand. Both Robin and Pippin-lad choked at this idea.

'Swimming?' Haldoron said. 'But I thought only Bucklanders learned how to swim!' 

'Brandybucks, in particular,' Ferdi said shortly.

'But you're not one of them,' Haldoron said. 'I know very well that you're a Took!'

'I thank you for that,' Ferdi said. 'Some Tooks have learnt how to swim, though not all of them voluntarily.'

'I don't understand,' the Man admitted.

'The Thain was the first one I know of,' Ferdi said. 'Frodo's parents drowned, and Merry's a Brandybuck, and between the two of them, they made sure to teach Pippin the art of not-drowning, if you take my meaning.'

'Ah,' the Man said, considering this information. 'And the other Tooks?'

'Thain Peregrin, in his infinite wisdom, has decreed that all of the hobbits of his escort must be able to swim, including knowing how to escape the clutches of a bog or the swift current of a tumbling stream, in addition to being able to shoot accurately, ride skilfully, and run far.' He blew out a breath in seeming disgust and added, 'And, o' course, when Farry was just a wee faunt, his da taught him how to swim like a fish. Unnatural as it might seem.'

'And that is why you knew what to do when Pip fell into the bog?' Haldoron said.

'I suppose the knowledge does have its uses from time to time,' Ferdi admitted. 'But it's still totally unnatural for a Hobbit. Unless, of course, one is a Brandybuck.'

'And everyone knows what is said about Brandybucks!' Robin said with a laugh.

'I don't!' Haldoron retorted. 'I suppose that is one of the things about Hobbits I am meant to be learning?'

'Perhaps,' Ferdi said thoughtfully, and he cocked his head. 'But then again, perhaps not... For it is not something that is said in polite company! And even Farry and Pip-lad don't know it, at their tender ages. And when they ask—'

'You just say we'll know when we're older,' Faramir finished the thought in a world-weary tone. 'But how much older, is what I'd like to know?'

'Older,' Ferdibrand answered. 'And that's all you need to know at this point.'

Haldoron's lips quirked, though he managed to keep himself from smirking.

'So I think we should reach the foot of the westward slopes by the time the Sun reaches her nooning,' Pippin-lad continued the line of conversation he'd begun earlier since there was no point in asking, being only a teen, what was said about Brandybucks when not in polite company. 'We are ahead of our time! Or theirs, anyhow.'

'A brief stop for a rest and a bite to eat, and then...' Faramir said.

'And then we'll follow the trail at the base of the hills, southwards, to Weathertop,' Pippin-lad said.

Behind his hand, Haldoron observed wryly to Ferdi, 'I begin to wonder if the lad knows the land better than a Ranger!'

The Hobbit shook his head. 'It's all head knowledge,' he said. 'He knows it in his head, well enough; he even knows what the maps show... but he's never walked on this ground before today, nor has he stood atop Weathertop, within the tumbled ring of stone that my cousins have described to me, and looked out upon the surrounding country.' He walked a few more steps in silence and then said, 'I imagine it might be something like standing atop one of the high Green Hills, would it not be?'

'A little,' the Man said. 'Except that from Weathertop, one can see snowy mountains, high white peaks peeping over lower grey ones, and the foothills at their feet.'

Ferdi shuddered. 'Mountains!' he said. 'I've never seen a mountain.' He shook his head. 'Never have had the desire to see one, but it seems I've little choice in the matter now, as things stand...'

The Man stared at him in astonishment but said nothing. 

*** 

Yet as the New Company stood within the broken ring of stone after struggling up the steep trail to the top of Amon Sûl, Ferdi stared in wonder at the view to be had in all directions. 'I can see why they put a tower here,' he said. 'What an astounding vantage!'

But when he turned to look to the East, he stood for a long time, gazing in silence. It was mid-afternoon; the Sun was behind them, and the mountains that rose in the distance glistened in her light and seemed to beckon to the beholder, promising even more wondrous sights beyond their slopes. And Ferdi's companions heard him whisper, 'I begin to understand...'

*** 

Author's note: This chapter may reflect phrases and descriptions from 'A Knife in the Dark' in The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Also, to the earliest readers: Oops, sorry if you noticed the title change. I put the wrong title in at first (one that belongs with a later chapter). It has been replaced with the correct title.

*** 

Chapter 14. Weathertop

After gazing raptly at the mountains rising in the distance, Pippin-lad walked around the perimeter of Amon Sûl, speaking as if to himself. But Haldoron was listening closely, and since he possessed the keen senses of one of the Northern Dúnedain, he heard every word. It was interesting to compare the account in the Red Book as the Ring-bearer had written it with Aragorn's narrative of events at Weathertop.

Pausing where the hilltop overlooked the Road in both directions, Pip-lad extended his hand to the West, sighting along the Road as if he were placing figures on a game board. 'Three of them were travelling eastward towards Weathertop,' he murmured, and then turned to face the East while extending his other hand. 'And at the same time, two were travelling westward to meet them. Mister Frodo said they looked like black specks, creeping inexorably towards the middle – as if to catch him between pincers.' The teen slowly brought his hands together and then knelt, clasping the jagged stone before him, leaning a little to look through the cleft between that stone and its neighbour.

Looking over the lad's shoulder gave Haldoron a clear picture of what Aragorn and the hobbits atop the hill had seen. When Merry asked me who or what they were, I had no answer to give him. But I feared the worst, his kinsman whispered in the Ranger's memory. It would have been too much to hope they were mere travellers upon the Road, who would pass us by without looking up to see us watching them. And at last, as the Sun began her descent, her face obscured by clouds from the East, they met on the Road beyond the foot of the hill, met, and stopped, and now they were close enough for me to see that the Enemy had caught us at last.

Pip-lad suddenly jumped up and walked to the centre of the ring, scuffling his feet in the dust. 'I wonder what happened to the cairn?' he said to all and no one.

'Cairn?' Robin said, and the others turned from their perusal of the surrounding vistas to listen.

The Gamgee teen gestured towards the dusty ground. 'A pile of rocks,' he said. 'Broken stones that had been blackened, as if by fire.'

'Gandalf!' Faramir said in excitement. 'That's right! He drove off the Black Riders – by himself – and left a flat stone with some scratches that a friendly eye might be able to decipher...'

'There are certain codes that the Dúnedain use to communicate to others – Rangers, patrolling Elves from Rivendell, and yes, even the occasional Wizard,' Haldoron said dryly. 'And so Elessar was able to work out that Gandalf had been at Weathertop on the third of October from the runes scratched on that small stone.'

'They saw the echoes of his fire in the sky!' Robin said, wonder in his voice. 'You told us about that, Pip, as we were walking...'

'Old Gandalf managed to draw off four of them,' Faramir remembered, 'so that there were only five in the group that attacked the Walkers here.'

'Only five,' Haldoron snorted.

Ferdibrand studied him curiously. 'You seem to know something of them,' he said.

'More than I ever wanted to know,' the Man said shortly. 'My Chief knew them better than any of us, but we had a taste of their darkness... I lost a good friend to the Black Breath.'

Faramir thought of his Uncle Merry and shuddered. To distract himself from the thought, he said the first thing off the top of his head. 'So where were they when the Ringwraiths attacked? I don't see how they could expect to find any cover on this windswept height!'

'They were in the dell at the foot of the hill,' Pippin-lad corrected. 'In fact, I don't think your da – or mine – ever stood atop this hill! Just Strider, Mister Frodo, and Master Merry. Our fathers stayed in the dell with Bill, and explored... and spoiled the ground for Strider to read the signs of who had been there.' The teen shook his head.

'I want to see it,' Faramir said. 'For a great part of this endeavour is to walk in my da's footsteps, after all...'

'The dell is on the western flank at the bottom of a sheltered hollow,' Pip-lad said. 'We didn't see it because we climbed up the north side of the hill rather than beginning the climb from the dell.' He rubbed the back of his neck. 'Handy, that,' he said.

'What's handy?' Faramir asked.

'Well, if we go back down by the same way we came up, we'll be walking in your da's footsteps,' the Gamgee teen told his friend. 'Except we won't, since he never stood upon the hilltop, at least the way the Red Book tells it.'

For some reason, Haldoron felt the need to stifle a chuckle. Had that been a gentle gibe on the Gamgee lad's part, or was it simply a coincidence of words? As he looked over at Ferdibrand, that hobbit rolled his eyes, leading the Man to have to swallow down another chuckle. This was hardly the place and time to explore Hobbits' ideas about humour.

'This way,' Pip-lad said to the others.

'After you!' Robin Bolger said, extending his hand as politely as if he were inviting the teen to be the first to go through a doorway.

'O no, after you!' the Gamgee teen grinned.

'I quite insist!' Robin said grandly, and he gave a sweeping bow that might have been suitable for honouring the King and Queen of Arnor and Gondor in the eyes of the courtiers and nobles at a grand court occasion. 

The teens both bowed to him in return and, together, they stepped out of the circle of stones. Talking without ceasing about the wonders of Weathertop, the high tower that had stood here in times past, the paltry ruins that remained (along with nothing remaining of the cairn Gandalf had left), and what it must have been like when Elendil stood there, watching for Gil-galad to come out of the West, they led the descent, slipping down the north side of the hill as Frodo and Merry and Strider had done, while (not) following in their fathers' footsteps.

Haldoron noticed that Ferdibrand lingered a moment behind the others, drinking in the sight of the mountains beyond them as if he were trying to memorise the view.

*** 

Chapter 15. Down in the Dell

The Sun was still high in the sky when the New Walkers reached the little dell where the original Travellers had made their stand against five of the Black Riders sent to reclaim the Ring for their dread master. Thus, even though they had explored the hilltop in the middle of the afternoon, the length of the summer day meant that they still had plenty of sunlight left before darkness fell.

'O' course, darkness doesn't mean the same thing to us,' Pip-lad said to Robin as they reached the bowl-shaped dell at the bottom of the sheltered hollow on the western flank of the great hill. 'They came to the dell a little earlier in the day than we have now. "Mid-day", I think Mister Frodo wrote, and he also said that they decided to climb the hill while the daylight was still strong or broad or something of the sort.'

'But your dad stayed in the dell, with Farry's da?' Robin said.

'That's right,' Pip replied. 'They explored the dell while the others climbed to the top. They found—'

'—Firewood, and the marks of booted feet,' Haldoron put in, for he'd been listening. 'The firewood and some of the footprints were left by Rangers, my kinsman thought. But he also saw newer tracks, made by heavy boots, though he could not tell how many had left those marks, whether one or many. And he was anxious, for he realised he'd already made a grievous error on the hilltop, perhaps drawing unwanted attention as they stood there looking out upon the land.'

'Elessar?' Ferdi said in astonishment. 'Made a grievous error?'

Haldoron chuckled without humour. 'O you'll learn of many grievous errors as we make our way...'

'Do tell,' Ferdi said.

Haldoron shook his head. 'It would not be the same if I merely recounted what my kinsman told me, as we stand here in this place,' he said. 'As I have been learning, myself, on our journey. Aragorn told me how it was to travel with Hobbits, but the experience is still markedly different from the expectations I formed as I listened to his stories.' 

'What do you mean when you say "how it is to travel with Hobbits"?' Faramir demanded. 'As... as if it would be some sort of trial or ordeal or...'

'I mean no disrespect, Master Faramir,' Haldoron said quickly, bowing to the young son of the Thain. 'And I did not say that travelling with Hobbits was difficult or challenging or even a negative thing! It's simply... different.'

'In what way?' Faramir challenged, not completely mollified by this answer.

Haldoron found himself in the novel position of explaining himself to a young Hobbit, a child, moreover, according to Ferdibrand's earlier explanation, along with insights Elessar had shared with him before their departure. You might compare Faramir and Pip-lad to your own son when he was at about ten or eleven years of age, he'd said, and then with a sly grin, he'd punched Haldoron on the arm with a loose fist and added, if you can remember that far back, that is.

How would he have explained this point to his young son? He would have used something familiar, drawn a parallel to what his boy had observed in nature. He remembered, for instance, the time they had discussed combat tactics while watching two ant colonies engaged in battle. Bolstered by the memory, he opened his mouth, but then – it was as if Elessar whispered in his ear, They're hobbits, remember! – and he shut it again and thought further.

He had the attention of all four of his Hobbit companions now, he realised, for Pip and Robin had broken off their conversation to listen as well.

'Take, for example, the matter of food,' Haldoron said. 

His companions nodded, and was that an approving glance from Ferdibrand?

'Men who are travelling without Hobbits are much less likely to kindle fire,' the Ranger-guide said. 'There are no hot drinks, no stews or soups, not even freshly killed meat or caught fish roasting over the flames, or roots dug from the ground and buried in the coals of a fire to bake... for there is no fire unless the Men encounter special circumstances.'

'What sort of circumstances?' Farry asked, having been drawn in by the word-picture the Man was painting for his listeners. 'A celebration, perhaps?'

Haldoron managed not to laugh at this exceptional idea, for he knew the young hobbit would take umbrage, and he was trying to build bridges and not tear them down. Not only that, but casual celebrations were common amongst Hobbits, the Man was learning from walking and listening to the talk that flowed between his companions. It would not be an exaggeration, he thought, to say that Life was a celebration for Hobbits, in general terms.

'Sadly, no,' he answered. 'More like life and death, I must confess. If one of your companions should fall through the ice while crossing a lake in the middle of Winter, not stripping him down, dressing him in warm, dry clothing, and kindling fire would be likely to sound his death knell! O there are other ways to warm a freezing Man without a fire, but...'

'What ways?' Pip-lad spoke up, reminding Haldoron of the bright curiosity that drove this young one to soak up learning as a cloth might soak up liquid.

'Well,' he said, allowing himself to be drawn from the path he was pursuing, 'There was a time when Aragorn – Elessar was off hunting for that Gollum-creature, and a small party of us were hunting in the wintertime, for the snows had fallen more heavily than usual, and our food supplies were running low. We had followed the tracks of a large herd of deer out of our own usual territory, drawn by the promise of a good harvest. As we crossed a lake, my young kinsman fell through the ice near the shore at a spot where a spring fed into the lake, and so the ice was thinner there – but we could not see the danger because snow covered everything.'

'And you did not kindle fire?' a wide-eyed Faramir asked.

'We were in troll country,' Haldoron explained, 'and the smoke might have drawn unwanted attention. And so we stripped the clothes not only from our young cousin, but also from our own bodies, that is, Halbarad and myself, and we rolled ourselves together with our kinsman in a blanket and then wrapped ourselves in layers of blankets as we huddled, skin-on-skin.' He shuddered. 'Ah, but he was so cold!' And then the Man gave a wry grin and said, 'Think of it as the opposite to tucking up under the covers where a bedwarmer has prepared the way for you!'

'But did you not take a deathly chill?' Pip asked.

'While one of us was chilled to the bone, the others started out warm and dry, and the blankets also captured the heat of our bodies and kept it from escaping,' Haldoron said. 'And so we warmed our young kinsman with our own natural heat. And as soon as he stopped shivering and his teeth stopped chattering, we unrolled from our huddle, dressed in dry clothing, and continued the hunt.'

Drawing his mind back from the past, Haldoron went on with his point. 'Travelling Men of my acquaintance tend to carry dried rations – dried meat and fruit, hard biscuits, nutmeats – and drink water. No fires means no hot drinks...'

'No tea,' Pip whispered to Robin with a shudder.

'...and Men carry no heavy cookpots with them, for there's no cooking! You bite off a piece of meat or fruit and fill your mouth with water to soften it until you can chew it, or you might soak a hard biscuit in a cup of water to make it edible...'

'No cooking!' Robin whispered back in dismay.

'And so, you see, I might as well be stopping at an inn each night as I travel with you,' Haldoron said, spreading his arms expressively. 'For we've hot tea to drink, and a hearty stew to eat at night, and the leftovers in the morning...'

'And that's because we Hobbits are travelling with a Man,' Ferdi said dryly.

'What's that?' Haldoron said.

'Leftovers saved for the morning,' Ferdi clarified. 'For if we were not travelling with a Man, the youngsters would eat everything up, like a horde of locusts, leaving nothing for the morning. But Pip told me that Men have little patience for cooking up a meal when it's time to start travelling again. They're much more amenable to meal preparations when one has stopped for the day.'

'Hmmm,' Haldoron said thoughtfully.

'And so, I've reminded the youngsters every night that if they eat everything we cook in the evening, they'll have to chew on dried meat and dried fruit in the morning, and likely as they're walking, rather than making a sit-down meal of it.' Ferdi shook his head. 'And for some reason, they would rather not.'

'We could always begin walking again without stopping to take a meal before we begin,' Haldoron said, seemingly trying to be helpful, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. 'Indeed, not only would that save time, but then we'd be "beginning as we meant to continue", as they say...'

'Starving, you mean?' Faramir said.

'Putting the miles behind us, rather,' Haldoron said, hiding a smile. 'But, Master Faramir, that is one example I can think of to show how travelling with Hobbits is different from travelling only with Men.' He looked at the angle of the Sun. 'But it is growing later, and I know you wanted to explore the dell and build a fire, as they did – and I sent a message ahead to ensure that a small store of firewood should be left for us – and "prepare a frugal meal" as darkness falls, and talk about the coming of the Black Riders, and Frodo's astounding courage...'

'Prepare a frugal meal?' Faramir said in dismay.

'That's what it says in the Red Book,' Pip said. 'And they hadn't eaten since breakfast! While we've had plenty of travel rations to munch on as we walked through the morning and climbed yon hill above us – and even as we walked down again!'

'Who's the stickler for authenticity now?' Robin quietly teased his younger cousin.

'Hmph!' Farry responded.

But Haldoron soothed the ruffled feathers of the son of the Thain by saying, 'A frugal meal this evening, and a night of telling tales, and sleep – and a fine breakfast in the morning at the outpost of King's Men waiting for us where the Road passes this great hill.'

'I'll drink to that!' Ferdi said, raising his water bottle and tilting it to swallow a mouthful or two. 'Give me hot breakfast any day over cold! Why, starting with no breakfast at all sounds quite pleasant compared to eating cold food for breakfast!'

'That's very un-Hobbity of you, Uncle!' Faramir said.

Ferdi bowed in his direction. 'Not at all,' he said. 'Cold food for breakfast would be the un-Hobbity thing, in my book.'

'And this from one who was known to sleep in hollow logs or the deserted dens of animals, not all that long ago,' Robin said behind his hand to Haldoron.

The Ranger-guide smiled at Ferdibrand. 'It appears we may have a great deal more in common than we first imagined.'

'I wouldn't be too sure,' Ferdi warned. 'After all, you've admitted that Men eat cold food more often than hot when they're travelling. Picnics are fine and good! ...in moderation! And not for days on end...'

'Then I suppose we will simply have to keep searching for that elusive common ground my King and your Thain have tasked us to discover,' Haldoron said.

'Unfortunately, I believe you have the right of it,' Ferdi said, and sighed. And then he changed his tone completely, and rubbing his hands together, he said, 'Well then, where is that store of firewood, that we may begin preparing our "scanty meal"? I can hardly wait! For at least it will be hot...'

*** 

Author's notes: 

Some turns of phrase were drawn from "A Knife in the Dark" in The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

I actually wanted to title this chapter "The Far'mir in the Dell", which is even worse than one of my usual puns, but I managed to resist. More or less. Puns do at times run rampant in our household, and they're a hard habit to break, it seems.

*** 

Chapter 16. A Knife in the Dark

'There's plenty of grass here for a pony,' Robin Bolger said, studying the grassy sides of the bowl-shaped dell. 'That could be one reason why they chose to stop here.'

Ever since his uncle had spoken so strongly about why the New Company had not taken a pony with them, Faramir had avoided the subject, and he did so now, saying only, 'I think it also had to do with the firewood they found, indicating that Rangers had been there, as well as the spring nearby.'

'Rangers had been there, or so Strider thought from the few footprints he found unspoilt, and seeing the "neatly stacked" firewood gave my dad the impression that whoever had put it there intended to come back,' Pippin-lad Gamgee confirmed from his familiarity with the account in the Red Book. 'But the greatest benefit, or so Strider said, was that they'd be out of sight for the moment.' He surveyed the bowl and then pointed. 'There,' he said. 'I'd say that is the lowest and most sheltered corner. Let us build our fire where Mr Frodo wrote that they lit theirs.'

The travellers found the firewood lately left by the Rangers – but this time in accordance with Haldoron's explicit request for such aid in advance – and carried armloads to the designated place. But as the son of the Thain laid his armful of wood down, Faramir said, 'But we have neglected to explore the dell, as they did! We don't even know where the spring is as of yet!' 

'That was supposed to be your task, as I recall – yours and Pip-lads', wasn't it?' Robin said dryly. 'Whilst the rest of the party climbed to the hilltop and "exposed ourselves" to the Enemies pursuing the Ring-bearer?'

Faramir's mouth twisted, but he did not deign to answer.

And so, before laying and sparking a fire – without which their meal preparations would not go very far at all, or so logic insisted – it seemed necessary (for the sake of "authenticity") to locate the spring, which was not far away in the hillside, according to the Red Book. At least, Ferdi thought to himself, the lad is not insisting that some of us climb to the top again whilst he and Pippin-lad go through the motions of exploring the dell! In truth, he was more than heartily sick of authenticity and the unreasonable demands it was imposing on this present venture.

But there seemed no way of discarding authenticity by the wayside, at least not at this juncture, no matter how cumbersome or, perhaps, endangering young Faramir's insistence might turn out to be. 

At least in this case, authenticity meant that the spring was, indeed, not very far from the sheltered spot where they'd eventually – and sooner rather than later, as more than one of the travellers were privately hoping – lay down their packs, spread their blankets, and kindle fire. Which, of course, was almost certain to lead to the pleasant prospect of eating a hot meal, however sparing the portions might turn out to be.

Looking at the soft ground surrounding the spring, Ferdi said, 'No footprints! Not even your Rangers were here when they brought and stacked the wood, it seems.'

'Let me oblige you,' Haldoron said, and walked across the space several times, leaving criss-crossing trails of boot prints. 'There,' he said at last. 'Will that suffice?'

'Admirably,' Ferdi said. 'Not "many booted feet", but many prints of (albeit the same) booted feet, which is as close as I'd care to come to those Black Riderish fellows in any event.'

To Faramir, he said, 'Would you care to trample the soft ground and spoil the tracks as your father did?'

'Uncle Ferdi!' Faramir groaned. But Ferdi and Haldoron exchanged a wry smile.

'Well,' Robin said briskly. 'Our frugal supper won't cook itself! I say we should light the fire!'

By the time they'd prepared their meal, the shades of evening were beginning to fall, though the summer night was mild and not particularly chilly. As they sat down to eat, they remembered earlier conversations about the previous travellers, how Aragorn had estimated at least another fortnight's journey, and how Frodo had worried about their dwindling supplies, even though they'd been careful.

'And this supper has used up the last of the food we carried with us!' Robin said. 'Even with the pony, I'm not sure how they managed...'

'They went hungry more often than not, or so the Thain told me. And I doubt his memories merely reflect the recollections of an ever-hungered tween who, as is the way with tweens in general, might be likely to consider himself on the brink of starvation after having stuffed himself full at a feast! ...for my young cousin also spoke of the older cousins sneaking some of their portions onto his plate when one or the other of them thought nobody else in the Company was paying heed,' Ferdi said. 'Needs must...'

On that happy thought, they fell silent and finished their meal. It was Robin's and Pippin-lad's turn to clean up and pack away the cook pot and dishes, but Faramir jumped up to help, leaving Ferdi and Haldoron quietly smoking their pipes as the sky faded to paleness and then stars began to appear, one by one, ultimately filling the darkening sky with myriad points of light. As it turned out, because the cook pot was still half-full of tea, they left the pot and mugs for later. Even cooling tea could be something of a comfort so far from the remembered amenities of civilisation they'd left behind them. As their elders enjoyed the relative silence, the younger hobbits lay upon their backs on the grass and stared at the sky, quietly pointing to various bodies and constellations and naming them.

'Can you tell us the tale of Tinúviel?' Pippin-lad said suddenly. 'Strider told that tale to them that night...'

'Master Merry said he'd asked to hear more about Gil-galad, but Aragorn did not want to talk about Mordor, knowing what they were up against,' Robin said in a subdued tone.

'And my kinsman would have had the right of it,' Haldoron asserted. 'When one is in fear that the servants of the Enemy are creeping all about, it would seem sheer foolishness to risk summoning them by telling stories about their dark Master...' 

'That's just what Strider said!' Pip-lad agreed.

'Tinúviel, on the other hand,' Haldoron said, drawing thoughtfully on his pipe. 'I can see where telling that tale would bring my kinsman comfort and hope...' He paused for a long moment to consider, and said, 'I am not quite so skilled as he when it comes to rendering Elven songs in the Common Speech, but I will do my poor best.'

Haldoron's poor best was enough to keep his listeners transfixed as he chanted stanza after stanza of the song, ending with the two lovers passing away, singing sorrowless as they walked beneath the surrounding trees with the stars shining above them.

A general sigh was heard, and then Faramir asked, 'But why that particular tale?'

'I beg your pardon, young master?' Haldoron said.

'You said that tale was one to bring Aragorn comfort and hope as he waited there, knowing the net was drawing ever tighter around them, facing five Black Riders alone...'

'He wasn't alone!' Pippin-lad protested.

'For all practical purposes,' Faramir countered. 'For none of the hobbits understood even dimly what they were facing at that time, but he knew all too clearly...'

'He did,' Haldoron said. 'But in that tale... you see, he could see himself and Arwen Evenstar in the meeting of Beren and Lúthien. For it was many years before that night when he serenaded his companions on the slopes of Weathertop, that he was walking alone in the woods near Rivendell, singing of Lúthien Tinúviel, full of hope and seeing the world as a fair place after learning his true name and lineage, and there he saw Elrond's daughter for the first time, walking in the twilight, and thought her a vision...'

He fell silent, and the young hobbits could get nothing more from him for several minutes.

At last, taking pity on the Man, Ferdi sought to distract them. 'Look!' he said, pointing upward to the pale light crowning the hill above them. 'The Moon is rising over Weathertop.'

'They saw something "small and dark" against the brightening sky above them,' Pip-lad said. 'I wonder if it was one of the Black Riders looking down at them.'

'That gives me a shiver,' Faramir protested.

'Though my dad and Master Merry got up and walked away from the fire, they soon came running back, and Master Merry said he'd also seen shapes coming towards them... and they all felt the fear creeping closer...'

'They sat with their backs to the fire,' Faramir said, 'as Strider told them to do. And each held a long stick at the ready – though at the ready for what, they did not know.'

Ferdi nodded approvingly. 'Facing the fire would spoil their night-vision,' he said. Half amused and half sober, he watched the younger hobbits each pull a long stick from the wood-fire and then sit down again facing away from the flames.

'There!' Pippin-lad hissed, and Ferdi couldn't help looking in the direction the teen was pointing his stick, towards the lip of the little dell, on the side away from the hill. 'That's where they saw the shadows rising...'

Ferdi let out a pent-up breath, feeling rather foolish, but his nerves were suddenly and unaccountably taut, his muscles tight with tension.

'As the shadows, darker than the blackness behind them, began to advance, Pippin and Merry dropped their sticks and threw themselves flat, overcome by the waves of terror that washed over them,' Pippin-lad recited, as if he knew this passage from the Red Book by heart. And perhaps he did, for he went on, saying "Sam" rather than "my dad" as he described the happenings there in the bowl where they now sat in the darkness, 'Sam shrank closer to Frodo, who was quaking as if with bitter cold, but then Mister Frodo forgot everything but the thought of putting the Ring on his finger, even though he knew he should not do so! And when he did, five cold, glittering figures suddenly became terribly clear to his eyes...'

Though the mild night air was far from cold, Ferdi shuddered.

But Pippin-lad went on, the words tumbling faster as he continued, 'Keen and merciless eyes burned in their white faces, and he could see long grey robes under their mantles and silver helms upon their grey hairs and gleaming swords in their haggard hands. They rushed towards him, but all he could see in that moment was their piercing eyes, seeming to freeze his heart and mind. But Frodo did not freeze! Instead, he drew his sword in desperate defiance – I remember he thought it resembled a firebrand flickering in his hand. But the tall, dread king, a crown on his helm, was undaunted. The fell figure sprang forward, a long sword in one hand and in the other a knife that glowed with a pale light as he bore down on Frodo.'

Ferdi could see the scene all too clearly in his mind's eye; it seemed as if he could not draw breath, no matter how hard he tried. Through the ringing in his ears, he dimly heard Pippin-lad still speaking.

'...and Frodo threw himself forward on the ground and struck at the feet of his enemy, crying aloud – though he knew not where the words came from – O Elbereth! Gilthoniel! All of them heard a shrill cry ring out in the night, and Sam looked for his master and could not find him. 'Mister Frodo! Mister Frodo!' he cried, even as Strider leapt out of the darkness with a flaming brand of wood in either hand. And then the Shadows rushed past them and vanished!'

But Faramir was no longer listening to the story; instead, he had hold of Ferdi's shoulder and was shaking his uncle and pleading. 'Uncle Ferdi! Uncle!'

'What is it?' Haldoron was there almost as instantly as a Black Rider drawn to the Ring-bearer, or so it seemed.

'I don't know!' Faramir sounded frantic. Ferdi wanted to reassure him, but the world seemed to be fading around him.

'Ease him down,' Haldoron said. He had no idea what kind of fit had taken the Hobbit; he would not have put Ferdi down as one who was subject to imagined fears, but Ferdi's face, ghostly pale in the firelight, along with his darkened lips that the Man suspected would be blue or even purple under the light of the Sun, had him seriously worried. 

'What is it?' Robin echoed, but Haldoron only shook his head. 'Why can't he breathe?' Ferdi's Bolger nephew demanded, having seized Ferdi from the other side.

'Get back!' Haldoron ordered the younger hobbits crowding close. 'Give him air!' Perhaps it was a seizure of the heart? But the hobbit seemed too young for heart trouble, especially if he'd never shown evidence of such a problem previously. If he had, surely the Thain (and the King) would never have sent him on this journey!

He bent over the stricken hobbit and loosened Ferdi's collar, for all the good it might do. But then, as he laid his hand on the stricken Hobbit's forehead, his face changed.

'The Black Breath,' he muttered. 'How...?'

Robin Bolger gasped. 'O no!' he cried. 'I thought...'

'What did you think?' Haldoron rapped out.

'When the Black Riders were searching the Shire for "Baggins", they waylaid two Tookish hunters and questioned them,' Robin said.

'I remember...' Farry began, but Robin ran over him.

'Uncle Ferdi was one of them, and Tolibold was the other, and they almost died!' he said.

And then Haldoron remembered Halmir, another Ranger, not a close kinsman, more of an acquaintance, telling of how he and one of the sons of Elrond had found two Hobbits near death atop one of the high Green Hills, and how Elladan had drawn them back from the brink of death. Halmir had not known of their ultimate fate, but he'd had hopes...

...and it seemed his kinsman's hopes had been granted, for here was one of those hobbits! Ferdi had survived and, up to this point, had seemed to have fully recovered from that earlier encounter. Haldoron had not had even an inkling of the Took's previous experience with the Black Breath.

At the moment, however, the hobbit's survival seemed far from a sure thing. The storytelling, the circumstances, the setting... had triggered some lingering shadow. Elessar had told Haldoron of Meriadoc's "anniversaries", and so the idea was not beyond the Ranger-guide's imagining now.

And yet... Haldoron knew all too well that his healing skills fell far short of those possessed by a son of Elrond, nor was his power even close to that of Elessar. But there was nothing for it; he must exert himself to his utmost. The alternative might be to stand helplessly by, watching the Hobbit overcome by his lingering memory of Shadow before their eyes and dying of the despair he would be unable to resist. 'Quick!' the Man rapped out. 'Dump out the tea you brewed and fill the cookpot with fresh water! We need steaming water!'

The Man didn't know if tea would interfere with the effectiveness of athelas, but he wasn't willing to take the chance, not even if a quicker response could offset his lack of healing skill and gifting.

His orders had the benefit of scattering the hovering hobbits. As he closed his eyes and strove to reach Ferdi's essence, he heard one of the youngsters calling to another, 'Don't fill it full! It'll come to a boil faster that way!' The teens had good heads on their shoulders, he thought, and then he blotted out his surroundings and his companions with the intensity of his effort.

Haldoron jerked at a touch on his arm. 'We have the water here,' he heard Robin say.

The Man lifted his head and opened his eyes. The young hobbits had built up the fire, casting extra brightness on the scene. 'Good,' he said. 'Set the pot down – there,' he indicated the spot, 'and lift your uncle into a sitting position.'

As Robin and Faramir hurried to obey, and Pip-lad looked on with wide eyes and face blanched with shock and consternation, Haldoron drew out the pouch that hung around his neck – not the one that held his pipe, but another. 'Athelas,' he said, removing two of the leaves he'd plucked fresh and saved only the day before. 'We must hope it's enough without the Healing Hands or a son of Elrond to apply it.'

Asserting the greatest degree of intention he was capable of summoning, Haldoron closed his eyes and breathed upon the leaves. Then he crumpled them and cast them into the steaming pot. Please, his thought pleaded within him. Had I known, I would have prevented the young hobbit from telling the tale. Please, let him not suffer from my error. His intention was enough, it seemed, for a refreshing fragrance arose into the still night air around them.

Haldoron shielded his hands with thick-folded cloth that a shaking Pip-lad handed him – a shirt, he thought, or perhaps folded trousers from someone's pack – and picked up the pot, then held it before Ferdi's face. He was heartened to see the hobbit gasp, taking in some of the fragrant steam. 'Breathe, my friend,' he urged, almost unaware that he spoke.

After what seemed an eternity, he heard one of the hobbits whisper, 'He's breathing!'

'That's it,' the Man encouraged, closing his eyes once more to add as much power to the intent behind his voice and words as he might have the will and bodily strength to yield up, despite the danger to himself should he persist beyond his own strength. 'Take in the steam, feel the power of the athelas spreading through you... the Shadow has no power in the here and now!' he added. 'What troubles you is only the memory of Shadow! Remember the Light that is in you! Walk not in darkness, but seek the Light!'

As the night deepened around them, the younger hobbits fed the flames of their wood-fire. Haldoron held the pot close to Ferdi's face until it was no longer steaming, then ordered the others – someone, anyhow, he knew not who took the pot from him in truth, blinded as the Man was at this point as the result of expending his energies so recklessly – to dump out the cooling dregs and fill the pot once more. Before they – whoever – put the freshly scooped-up water on the fire, Haldoron stayed them long enough to dip a cloth in the icy water from the spring and wiped Ferdi's face. At least the hobbit's lips had lost their blue colour, Haldoron could see as through a heavy fog surrounding him, and Ferdi seemed to be breathing, shallow but steady breaths. Nonetheless, with all his remaining strength, heart and will and sinew and intent, Haldoron repeated his earlier effort, adding fresh leaves to the water, just off the boil, and making sure Ferdi breathed the steam so long as it lasted. 

The steam had the added benefit of soothing and calming the frantic youngsters, as well; and perhaps by its virtue, Haldoron's muscles held him upright even when darkness nibbled around the edges of his vision and he thought he must, inevitably, collapse upon the ground and never move again.

By the time the Sun threw her promise into the sky, portending the early summer dawning, Haldoron deemed that Ferdi was sleeping naturally, and he wearily laid the now-cold pot aside and somehow raised his chin high enough to look around the circle of anxious faces, though his head was pounding and felt as heavy as if it were filled with lead. 'It was enough,' he said, barely hearing his own voice in his ears. 'Thanks be.'

They – all of the young Hobbits, the Man thought, though his dimming eyes could not see them clearly – echoed that last thought, and then young Faramir crumpled together, weeping. Pip-lad and Robin enclosed him between them and murmured what comfort they could until the teen had wept himself to exhaustion, and then the three lay themselves down together – wilted might be a more accurate term – on the grass and gave themselves up to sleep.

Haldoron covered them with one of the blankets and sat down again at Ferdi's side. They'd already wrapped Ferdi in a blanket during the battle for the Hobbit's life and mind. Almost absently, feeling limp and spent from the effort he had applied, the Man pulled his cloak a little closer around his shoulders in the early-dawn chill and settled himself to keep watch over his charges.

*** 

Author's notes: 

Some turns of phrase in this chapter were drawn from 'A Knife in the Dark' in The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

The idea that Ferdibrand and Tolibold Took were overcome by one of the Black Riders who were searching the Shire for Frodo is found in The Farmer's Son, a WIP on SoA that is on the schedule to be published in full in the coming months. In that story, Halmir, a Northern Ranger, and Elladan found the two friends and cousins near death and laid out for burial in a cruel act of mockery on their assailant's part; however, the rescuers were able to counter the effects of the Black Breath and revive them, and they continued to watch over them until their searching friends and relations found them and took them home to recover from their ordeal.

***