Chapter 27. Live and Let Liver

Ferdi wakened suddenly with a jerk, not sure where he was. He’d been dreaming that he was trapped under Dapple, hearing her screams as the dogs tore at her... but he wakened to a soothing voice. ‘Steady, Ferdi, all is well.’

 ‘Well?’ he gasped. ‘Dapple...’ He realised now that he had not seen her in the stables on his arrival.

 ‘Old Tom put her in the quarantine barn; he thought it would be quieter for her, better for the rest she needs,’ Tolly said, for it was Tolly who sat beside him.

 ‘Where...?’ Ferdi began, but looking around he realised he was in one of the infirmary beds, his bandaged leg propped on pillows.  ‘Not bad enough to be sent to my own bed to die,’ he said wryly, ‘but not well enough to be sent to my own bed to recover, either.’

Tolly chuckled. ‘You have the right of it,’ he said. ‘Woodruff wants to keep an eye on you for the nonce.’

Ferdi realised that there was no light coming through the drawn curtains. ‘Dark,’ he whispered, and in the next moment he was trying to sit up, and Tolly was forcing him back down with equal determination and much more strength that Ferdi possessed. Of course Tolly won.

 ‘Steady on, Ferdi, what’s all this about?’ Tolly asked sternly.

 ‘Dark—night—late supper!’ Ferdi gasped, and Tolly relaxed his grip, understanding coming into his face.

 ‘I thought you were out of your head there a moment,’ he said.

 ‘My da,’ Ferdi said, trying once more to sit up.

 ‘You’re not to stir from the bed,’ Tolly said sternly, ‘even if I have to sit on you to keep you there.’

 ‘If I don’t join my da for late supper, he’ll think something terrible’s happened,’ Ferdi protested.

 ‘Something terrible has happened,’ Tolly said. ‘You’re weak as a kitten and twice the trouble. Now stay.’

 ‘But my da,’ Ferdi said. For some reason he was having trouble catching his breath.

 ‘Look at you,’ Tolly said. ‘White as the sheets that tuck you up. You’ve lost more blood than is good for you, and...’

 ‘How can you lose less blood than is good for you?’ Ferdi interjected, but Tolly gave him a stern look.

 ‘Don’t change the subject,’ Tolly said.

 ‘And how are we doing?’ Woodruff said from the doorway.

Ferdi levelled a glare at her. He hated healers’ way with words. ‘I don’t know how you are doing,’ he said scathingly, ‘but this hobbit has had enough of the infirmary.’ He made as if to throw back the blankets, but really, he was so warm and comfortable... perhaps he’d wait just a moment, just until the flannel-wrapped bricks lost their glow.

Before he knew what was happening, his eyelids had closed once more.

When he wakened again, there was a savoury smell in the air. Late supper must be at hand. He lay a moment gathering his strength. He had to join Ferdinand for late supper, he had to. He hadn’t missed a night in... he wasn’t sure quite how long, but he’d been there for his father every night, even the night he lost the Thain’s pony.

Ferdinand was not going to miss him this night. Woodruff herself had said he wasn’t dying! There was no need to cosset him as if he were. He breathed as deeply as he could, trying to rid himself of an odd breathless feeling. Breathless or no, he’d take the watcher by surprise, even if it were Tolly still sitting by the bed, and be out the door and on his way to Ferdinand’s little room while the watcher was still scrambling by his bedside.

A sweet soprano voice spoke softly nearby, sounding strangely like Tansy, his father’s night-minder. Perhaps she had come to take a message back to Ferdinand. No matter. The old hobbit would never believe Ferdi was well unless he saw with his own eyes.

The rumbling response, though, in his father’s voice, caused Ferdi’s eyes to blink open in surprise. ‘Da!’ he gasped. Old Ferdinand was propped in a comfortable chair beside Ferdi’s bed.

 ‘There you are, son. I thought you might sleep through late supper,’ Ferdinand said. He turned his head towards Tansy for another bite, chewed, swallowed, and nodded. ‘Good liver,’ he said, ‘and plenty more where that came from.’

He laughed at the face his son made. ‘You need to eat lots of liver, to build up your blood once more,’ old Ferdinand said, and then in a more coaxing tone he added, ‘Come now, it is not all that bad. Why, liver can be quite tasty when it’s properly cooked.’

 ‘I guess I’ve never had it properly cooked, then,’ Ferdi said sourly.

To his surprise, his father threw back his head and laughed. When the laughter ended, and Tansy had wiped away a tear that surprised them all by dropping from the old hobbit’s eye, Ferdinand said, ‘Ah, son, I know they call me the “grumbliest” Took of the Smials Tooks, but it’s hard to find a grumble when I’m sitting here beside you, seeing you alive and mending, after hearing the worst.’

 ‘They told you?’ Ferdi said indignantly, forgetting himself and sitting up so quickly that his head swam. Tansy quickly eased him back against the pillows and offered him water to sip.

Ferdinand waited until his son was resting again before he nodded. ‘They didn’t mean to tell me,’ he said soberly. ‘There was idle talk, and I overheard it. Seems my hearing is sharper than they think,’ he said, and Ferdi chuckled in spite of himself. Old Ferdinand had a way of playing deaf when he didn’t want to cooperate with his minders.

 ‘Disgraceful!’ Tansy muttered indignantly. ‘Why, they ought to be...’

 ‘The Mistress came to tell me what had happened, but that you were alive and well, and found me mourning your death,’ Ferdinand said somberly. ‘She was fit to be tied, I’ll tell you, and those gossipers were on water rations for the rest of the day. They missed Diamond's birthday feast...’

 ‘Serves them right,’ Tansy said, as ruffled as a mother hen with a chick in distress.

 ‘Eaten by dogs,’ Ferdinand said in an undertone, and shuddered.

 ‘But no,’ Ferdi said, even as Tansy finished feeding his father and propped him up on his pillows preparatory to feeding him his own portion. ‘They took a bite, ‘tis true, but couldn’t stomach me, it seems.’

 ‘You probably tasted to them like liver,’ Ferdinand said, and roared with laughter once more.

 ‘That’s a hopeful sound,’ Pippin said, entering with a stoneware pitcher. ‘Here, now, Ferdi, I brought something to sweeten that liver.’

Tansy was hovering a forkful of the detested stuff in front of Ferdi’s mouth, singing the nursery song about the old owl flying to his hole with a fat mouse. ‘Give me that,’ Ferdi said in irritation, grabbing at the fork. He made a face and popped the forkful in, swallowing without chewing. To Pippin he said, ‘What is it?’

 ‘The Thain’s private stock,’ Pippin said. ‘Brought enough for visitors, and a good thing from the looks of it.’ He poured out several mugs of ale and raised his mug in a toast. ‘Here’s to bad taste!’

 ‘I’ll drink to that,’ Ferdi said. It was not often that he was treated to the Thain’s private reserve, after all. He sipped appreciatively and his face changed from the sour expression engendered by the lingering taste of the liver. A sip of this after each bite of liver and he might just live through this meal...