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All That Glisters  by Lindelea

Chapter 2. Old Enemies, and New

The leader of this particular band of ruffians grinned unpleasantly into Ferdi’s face. ‘Well, well,’ he said thoughtfully, the scar that crossed his cheek moving with his jaw as he looked back down at the business of his hands. ‘Looks as if we’re just in time. The Fox would’ve worked his way loose in a few moments more.’

 ‘We’ll see you back in Stock!’ one of the departing band shouted, and Bill, the other ruffian remaining “to see to a little business”, waved a hand and laughed.

“Scar” gave a grunt as he pulled the rope knots as tight as might be, and Ferdi gasped as the bonds bit deep into his wrists. ‘Not to worry,’ the ruffian said cheerily, tying off the last knot. ‘It might be a little too tight for comfort at the moment, but you’ll have other worries soon enough.’

He gave the knot a little pat, much as a storekeeper might after tying up goods in a brown paper parcel with a neatly knotted length of twine. ‘There,’ he said in satisfaction. ‘All nice and snug again.’

As the ruffian stepped away, the pony moved uneasily under Ferdi. Scar patted the dark neck. ‘Steady, lad,’ he said. ‘Just a few moments more and you may run all you please.’

Ferdi certainly hoped the pony would stay steady. His own Dapple would have stood like a rock. Had he ridden his own Dapple out of the Tookland in the first place, he’d not be in this quandary. She’d have stood in the thicket where he’d secreted her. This pony had pulled his reins free and trailed into the open, for whatever reason, and so the ruffians had found him.

But Dapple was back at the Great Smials, for she’d been limping slightly, favouring one of her front legs when Ferdi had set out on this information-gathering foray for Thain Paladin. A sharp stone had penetrated the soft frog of her foot; she’d have a day or two of rest while he went out of Tookland on one of the Thain’s ponies. He hadn’t wanted to risk riding her if speed might be needed.

Scar whistled cheerily as he checked the other end of the rope, knotted to the tree. ‘All secure,’ he said. ‘This one won’t come loose when he hits the end of the rope.’

Everything seemed somehow unreal to the hobbit. He saw the bright leaves around him, felt the tickle of the cool breeze on his face, the warm pony hide beneath him. He smelled the earthy scent of the surrounding wood, a tang of smoke on the air, and heard the warning cry of a bird. It did not seem possible that the next breath or the one after that would be his last.

 ‘Are you really the Fox?’ Bill asked curiously as he adjusted the noose. ‘You look over-young to dance at rope's end.’

 ‘Tooks tend to look younger than they are,’ Ferdi answered quietly, the feeling of unreality growing. ‘I passed my majority three years ago.’

 ‘And it seems you won't be getting any older,’ Scar said, returning to remove the pony's bridle.  ‘Take yourself a good breath, Master Fox, for it'll be your last.’ He stepped to the pony's side and, with a sudden yell, gave the beast a sharp slap on the rump.

The pony bolted out from under Ferdibrand, and suddenly there was no way to breathe as the rope jerked tight and he walked upon the air. The biting cords about his wrists burned and flared in fresh agonies as his hands twitched in an ineffectual effort to reach up and pull the strangling rope loose.

 ‘Lookit ‘im dance!’ Bill crowed, and Scar guffawed, slapping his knee. ‘That’ll learn him!’

His senses dimming, Ferdi heard the pony’s galloping hoofbeats fading, heard the creaking of the rope as he swayed, heard the thunder of his heart in his ears growing to a roar that overwhelmed all other sounds. Swinging at the end of the rope, he swayed and twisted with the motion given him when the pony bolted. At the last he saw the face of the boy hanging beside him, terror and reproach fading into a blank, bulging stare as the strangling rope fulfilled its function.

He’s scarcely breathing! a voice said, and another hissed as if in answer, Breathe, Ferdi!

Ropes held him tight as he tried to raise his hands to his constricted throat... but they no longer bit and tore at his flesh. No, they felt more like hands, restraining him. Instinctively he fought for air, even as his sense told him there was no point in it. His heartbeats hammered in his ears.

A beloved voice reached him through the mist of confusion. Ferdi my love!

Called back out of the roaring blackness, he gasped, ‘Nell, my own?’ and heard her sob, a sound of fear and relief.

 ‘Ferdi!’

He opened his eyes, to find himself in his own bed, Pippin on one side of him, Tolly on the other, and Healer Woodruff kneeling before him, staring into his face. ‘Breathe, Ferdibrand,’ she ordered. ‘Steady, slow breaths, as deep as you can manage. Yes, that’s it.’

Nell stood just behind the head healer, supported between Diamond and Tolly's Meadowsweet, tears upon her cheeks and her hands wrung together in her all-too-evident distress. Ferdi wanted to arise, to go to her, but his limbs were weak for some reason, refusing to answer his promptings, and Pippin and Tolly held him firmly.

He smelled the pungent odour of the stuff that was used when Pippin had one of his bad spells; had the Thain strangled on dust? But no, Pippin was beside him, and strong, not weakened by the betrayal of his damaged lungs, but holding Ferdi in a tight grip, his face filled with colour and life and concern for... for Ferdi?

Ferdi felt a tingle on the skin of his throat, chest and back. ‘It’s working,’ the healer muttered. ‘The air passages are not as constricted. There’s air getting in and out now.’

Diamond patted Pimpernel's arm and murmured something in her ear. Pimpernel's eyes closed and Ferdi saw her swallow hard, regaining control of her emotions.

 ‘Here’s the draught,’ Fescue, a healer’s assistant panted, entering the sleeping chamber with a covered cup in hand. Ferdi closed his eyes. Ah, yes, when Pippin had one of his bad spells, where he could not draw breath, first they’d smear smelly stuff all over his torso and then they’d force a relaxing draught down his throat, to ease the muscle spasms and send him off to sleep.

To his surprise, he felt a mug seated against his lips, and heard Woodruff’s voice urging him to drink. When he opened his mouth to protest, the draught went in, and he choked and spluttered.

The mug was taken away, his back was slapped vigorously, and when he stopped choking, Woodruff said firmly, ‘Drink now, Ferdi, and no more of your nonsense!’

 ‘But Pip...!’ Ferdi tried to protest. It was Pippin who had the bad spells, not Ferdibrand!

 ‘Drink!’ Woodruff said, her tone brooking no contradiction, and Ferdi drank. The strong arms holding him eased him back against pillows that had been placed to prop him half-sitting.

He felt well-loved fingers stroking his cheek, and opened his eyes again to see Pimpernel bending over him. ‘What a fright you gave us, Ferdi-love,’ she whispered. Beyond her he could see the older lads hovering, eyes huge. They reminded him of something, the face of the hanging boy... he gasped for breath once more, but the muscles of his throat and chest were relaxing from the balm and the draught and Woodruff’s tone was soothing, reassuring now, where it had been sharp a few moments before.

 ‘He’ll sleep,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll stay to watch through the rest of the night.’

But I was sleeping! Ferdi wanted to protest. Though the draught was stealing his senses away from him, he was now aware of the truth. It had all been a dream, the hanging of the past, when ruffians caught him during the Troubles, mixed up in the way of dreams with the memory of the boy. He shivered, and Nell pulled the coverlet up to his chin, but Ferdi didn't notice. He was thinking of the boy, caught with the Men who'd entered the Shire just after the New Year, in search of the Thain's gold. Just a dream...?





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