Chapter 33. In the Bargain

Every dark cloud has its silver lining, and so it was with that momentous race. For one thing, the Steward declared all wagers void, due to the confusion of the pony of Rohan putting himself into the last part of the race. Though he’d crossed the finish line first, he was disqualified, of course, for having no rider and jumping the fence to join the runners. Socks was declared the winner and Penny the second place finisher.

There was some talk of running the final race over again, but in the end all agreed that it could be no more exciting than the race they’d already seen. The grey pony of Rohan was made much of by admiring hobbits (“Jumped the fence! Came from behind the rest and caught them as if they were standing still! Won the race, and don’t let anybody tell you different! Don’t care what the judges say!”) and in a fair way of being thoroughly spoilt by followers bearing carrots.

Tolly was fit to be tied, for he’d bet a fair packet on Socks winning and stood to gain much by the posted results. He didn’t know until some time after that his own brother Hilly was saved from debt and disgrace by the same circumstances. Hilly, shaken by his narrow escape, swore to wager no more than the price of a mug at the Spotted Duck, and he kept his vow for years after.

Hilly was put on three days’ water rations for his part in the affair, and so he missed the race day feast. He didn’t mind much; he’d had no appetite before the wagers were cancelled, and he’d felt terrible about the risk to Ferdibrand in any event. As the Thain told him in no uncertain terms, had Ferdi fallen during the race, Hilly would be no better than a murderer. The Talk gave Ferdi some leeway in the matter, for he’d been under the influence of powerful pain-reducing draughts for some days preceding the race and was therefore considered not to be in his right mind.

Even so, Rosemary was heartily grieved at her brother’s perfidy. ‘How could you?’ she asked more than once.

Ferdi had no answer for her. To tell her why would be to spill the whole mess, and he wasn’t quite ready for that, yet. Soon enough he’d have to confess his deeds before a body of Tooks, and the Talk would carry the news far and wide, and he might as well remove to Woody End for the shame it would cause him. But for now he closed his eyes and ignored the future, choosing to live in the present moment. It was all he had to cling to.

He wasn't even allowed the comfort of the little hobbits. His Bolger nieces and nephews and his adopted Gamgee relations were kept from him, that he might "rest".

Hally was quietly troubled. He’d known Ferdi to be high-spirited, but never such a fool. Ferdi’s exploits against the ruffians during the Troubles had raised him high in the woodcarver’s esteem, and this scrape was so unlike the Ferdi he knew. He spoke little, but listened carefully and watched Ferdi closely. His brother-in-love was hiding something, and it was something serious to Hally’s way of thinking. He didn’t want to worry Rosemary so he said nothing to her of his suspicions.

After the dust settled and Woodruff stopped guarding Ferdibrand like a dragon standing over her hoard, Pippin came to see his head of escort. He was clearly still furious over the whole mess, though his anger blew cold rather than hot like his father Paladin’s. Ferdi shivered and drew up the blanket as his cousin stared him down.

At last Pippin spoke. ‘I’d like to know just what you were thinking,’ he said. ‘We had a bargain.’

 ‘Bargain,’ Ferdi said bleakly.

 ‘How do you expect to train and ride the stallion at Michel Delving if you won’t follow healers’ orders?’ Pippin said tightly. ‘Woodruff was ready to let you up within a few days, you know. Mercy knows how long she’ll tie you to that bed now, and all the while the time is passing.’

He glared. ‘And for what?’ he demanded. ‘For a purse? I’ve half a mind to confiscate that second-place purse as a fine for your shenanigans!’

 ‘It’s yours anyhow,’ Ferdi managed, before falling dumb once more in the face of Pippin’s fury.

 ‘Mine...’ Pippin grated. It took him a moment to grasp Ferdi’s meaning. ‘This was all about...’ he said slowly.

 ‘I’d hoped to save one of the mares at least,’ Ferdi said numbly, not meeting Pippin’s eyes, for he feared to find pity replacing anger as he forced out his confession. ‘O Penny’s too valuable, I know, especially with her nearly winning the Pony Races, but Dapple...’ He had to stop and clear his throat, and a mist surprised him by rising to obscure his vision. ‘Dapple was my uncle’s gift, the day I came of age, out of my father’s lines, the first thing I could call my own after the fire.’ His voice failed entirely on the last word, and he lay back against the pillows in exhaustion, blinking hard.

Pippin was silent a long time. There was a knock at the door, a cheerful voice calling out, ‘Was there anything you be needing, Sir? Time for Ferdi’s sleeping draught, but if you’re not quite finished...’

 ‘Not quite,’ Pippin said, and the healer’s assistant withdrew.

Pippin turned back toward the bed. ‘This was all about the purse?’ he said. Ferdi would not look at him. ‘You risked your leg, your neck, your very life for gold?’

Ferdi stared stubbornly at the wall, not even deigning to look out on the sunset colours brightening the sky through the large round window.

 ‘For Dapple,’ Pippin corrected himself, and saw Ferdi close his eyes and turn his face further away.

Pippin remembered a fox with its paw caught in a trap. Foxes were usually too clever to be caught, but this one had somehow managed to step into a snare, chasing a rabbit, perhaps. The wire loop had pulled tighter with the poor beast’s struggles in the time between being caught and being found and he’d crouched, too far gone to snarl defiance, staring without hope before the Shirriff’s club had come down to finish him. Pippin had looked in fascinated horror at the foot, caught and nearly gnawed away in the fox’s desperation to win free.

It occurred to Pippin then that Ferdi had stepped into a trap of Pippin’s making, and instead of loosing his cousin in understanding that it was too much for Ferdi to contemplate the pony’s death, Pippin had pulled the snare tighter, too tight for the bearing. The fox had gnawed at his own leg in desperation. How could he blame Ferdibrand for doing the same?

 ‘Ferdi,’ he said quietly, but Ferdi still turned away. ‘Ferdibrand,’ he repeated, more intensity in his voice, but his cousin would not hear him. ‘I release you from our agreement.’

That got Ferdi’s attention. He looked around, but the misery did not leave his expression. ‘How can you?’ he asked. ‘You rendered judgment, remember? You cannot take the words back.’

Pippin wanted to protest that it was a private matter, that the judgment had not been written down, recorded in the records, and that he could change his mind if he wanted. But the Thain cannot change his mind so easily. He does not rule on a whim, or his judgments would lose their value and become as changeable as the wind, and about as trustworthy. His shoulders slumped, but he forced them straight again.

 ‘No,’ he said, placing a hand on Ferdi’s shoulder. ‘No, I suppose I cannot. But we will find a way out of this mess, together,’ he said. How, he wasn’t sure. He would not take Ferdi’s ponies away, however. That much was for certain.