Chapter 33. Fireside Conversations

Woodruff was dozing when Pimpernel’s panicked Ferdi! brought her to abrupt wakefulness. She jerked upright, taking in the situation at once. Her patient remained unconscious, but writhed, choking, on the bed.

 ‘Fennel!’ she called sharply as she leapt to her feet, to take Ferdi’s shoulders and bend him forward and to the side. Fennel jumped up from where he was curled near the little bedroom hearth, looked about wildly, and shook his head to clear it before hurrying to the bedside.

The choking resolved into deep coughing. Fennel took Ferdi from Woodruff’s grasp and Woodruff barely had time to thrust a basin in place.

Pimpernel clung to Ferdi’s hand. ‘My love,’ she whispered, staring in horror.

Woodruff looked up. ‘It’s a good sign, Nell,’ she said firmly. ‘He’s coughing out the poison that was drowning him.’

 ‘Coughing his lungs out,’ Nell whispered, but Woodruff shook her head.

 ‘No, Nell, this is the stuff that was killing him,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t able to get it out in that coughing fit yesterday, and broke a rib trying, and then the pain kept him from coughing deep enough, but under the draught...’

The basin was half-full when the fit ended and Fennel eased Ferdi back on the bed. ‘He’s breathing easier,’ he said.

 ‘You see, Nell?’ Woodruff said. ‘I’ll just dispose of this and be right back.’ She covered the basin with a cloth and left the room.

 ‘He is breathing more easily,’ Pimpernel said, sinking down beside Ferdi and stroking the straggling curls back from his forehead. ‘Ferdi, love?’

Fennel soaked a cloth in water, wrung it out, and gently wiped Ferdi’s face. ‘Still sleeping,’ he said quietly. He lifted a lid with his thumb and gazed into the dreaming eye. ‘No sign of wakening. It’s just as well. That rib would be quite painful at the moment, but the draught is sparing him that and letting him rest and recover his strength.’

***

At about that same time, Mardi was sitting by his fireside with Hilly and Posey, drinking brandy and staring into the flames. ‘The King himself invited you to the Lake,’ he said in wonder.

 ‘He did indeed, and Posey too,’ Hilly said, taking his beloved’s hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze before he rose to refill her glass, blessing her cheek with a kiss as he regained his chair.

 ‘The King himself,’ Posey murmured, her eyes wide.

Mardi shook his head. ‘My baby brother,’ he said. ‘An invited guest of the King of all the free peoples of the West.’

 ‘He’s not so terrible once you get to know him,’ Hilly said. ‘Quite hobbity, as a matter of fact.’ The other two stared at him in astonishment, and he shrugged. ‘Just as the Thain himself is so fond of saying. He calls him “Strider”, you know.’

 ‘I just thought that a bit of Pippin’s charming eccentricity,’ Mardi said, sitting back and swirling the brandy in his glass. ‘He’s always turned rather a blind eye on differences.’

 ‘He was raised that way,’ Posey said softly. ‘Paladin may have been a simple farmer, but he was descended from the Old Took. I've heard how his grandfather left the Smials to escape the pretension and posturing he saw arising under Mistress Lalia; he learned how to work hard, and taught his sons and grandchildren to respect a hobbit’s achievements rather than his position.’

 ‘Grandson, perhaps,’ Mardi said. ‘Paladin’s sisters married “Smials Tooks” and learnt their lessons well.’ He shook his head, once again glad for his own grandfather's decision to leave the society of the Great Smials.

 ‘But Paladin’s Pearl married a “Smials Took”,’ Posey protested, ‘and she’s just as sweet as can be... and Nell... and Pippin never distinguished between great family and common hobbit... He was always as polite to a kitchen maid as to a grand lady... sometimes politer, even.’

Hilly snorted. Pippin had little use for put-on airs. As a tween his plain-speaking had got him into trouble more than once. As Thain, of course, he could say what he liked, though he’d learnt a bit more restraint over the years. 'Pearl married well enough to put on airs, but her husband would hardly put up with her if she did!' he said.

 ‘Pearl has a sensible husband,’ Mardi said. ‘ "Smials Took" or no. As does my Rosamunda, or I’d never have consented to her marrying Regi.’ He puffed broodingly on his pipe, and said, ‘and of course, it’s a good thing for my baby brother that he has a sensible wife!’

Posey coloured prettily and looked down at her clasped hands. ‘I should hope so!’ she said.

Hilly put an arm around her and hugged her close. ‘More sensible than I might deserve, perhaps,’ he said.

 ‘O no, Hilly,’ she said, nestling against him. ‘You deserve a great deal.’

 ‘Posey needs a great deal of sense, just to make up for what you lack, brother,’ Mardi said, but the hand he placed on Hilly’s shoulder told a different tale. How glad I am to have you here, it said, and not at the bottom of a bog halfway to Pincup.

***

Merry was staring into the flames of the watch-fire when he felt an arm steal about his waist. He covered the arm with his own, pulling Estella close and dropping a kiss on her fragrant hair. ‘It’s late,’ he said. ‘What are you doing out of your blankets?’

 ‘I might have said the same to you,’ Estella said.

The guardsmen sitting at the fire rose to their feet with bows for the hobbits and then walked off into the darkness.

 ‘I didn’t mean to scare them away,’ Estella said.

 ‘Changing of the guard,’ Merry said with a reassuring squeeze. ‘We are well-watched-over, my love. Ruffians might be attracted by such a rich procession, but for the guardsmen who ring us about.’ He pulled her a little closer. ‘But do not wander from the centre of the camp, love.’

 ‘Me, wander?’ Estella said.

 ‘This is not like Buckland, where you can walk on the soft grass by the River and count the stars without any worries.’

 ‘Only when you’re away, beloved,’ Estella said, ‘for the same stars shine on the Shire and Rohan alike... and who’s been telling tales about me?’

 ‘A little bird,’ Merry said, and sighed.

Estella rested her head against her husband. ‘Are you very sure about this healing business, beloved?’ she said softly. Merry had told her all of what was involved, answered all her questions to the best of his ability, even brought her to the King for explanations. After all, he couldn't very well disappear for a week without Estella knowing something was amiss, though he had thought a bit about pretending to go off on a hunt with the King—she'd be very put out with him if he kept this from her, much as he'd like to spare her worry.

 ‘Very sure,’ Merry said. ‘It seems the only solution.’ He looked away from Estella, down at the useless arm. ‘A dead weight it is,’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘A drag. I’d be better off without it, if Strider cannot bring life back to the limb.’

He forced a smile. ‘Just think, my love: you would never again have to hold an ice-cold hand in yours. Why, perhaps I wouldn’t have to fight off memory of the Shadow anymore, if the arm that stabbed him were gone.’

Estella forced back a sob and said bravely, ‘I would love you if you were only half the hobbit you are... but we will give your Strider his chance. You say he brought Frodo and Sam back from the brink of death, and put Pippin back together when he was shattered to pieces... surely one lame arm cannot be that much more difficult than a cousin crushed to crumbles.’

 ‘I saw many terrible things in the Houses of Healing,’ Merry said, ‘and many wonders. Their way of healing is not ours, Estella. I do not want you to watch...’

 ‘Not to be by your side, beloved?’ Estella said in shock. ‘Not to hold your good hand through it all?’

 ‘I’ll be asleep, and won’t know if you’re there or not,’ Merry said sensibly.

 ‘But I will know,’ Estella said decisively. ‘You won’t keep me from your side that easily, Master Holdwine!’

 ‘But Estella—’ Merry said.

 ‘You think I’ll swoon at a little blood?’ Estella said. ‘Who was it, stitched young Merilac’s head wound last month when he fell from the tree?’

 ‘My love—’ Merry said.

 ‘Who was it, held little Essie as they set her leg, Merry? Her screams would have caused a wraith to pale, but I held her until the task was done.’

 ‘My dear—’ Merry said, but Estella wasn’t through.

 ‘I doubt you’ll be screaming, anyhow,’ Estella said matter-of-factly. ‘The King is going to give you a sleeping draught, you know.’

 ‘Love, you’re as bad as Pippin,’ Merry managed to get in.

 ‘I am not as bad as Pippin,’ Estella said huffily. ‘I’m making perfect sense, which is more than you can say about him much of the time.’

 ‘But when he wants to argue, you can’t get a word in edge—’

 ‘I am not arguing,’ Estella said, ‘I am simply telling you how things are going to be.’

 ‘The way things are going to—?’ Merry said.

 ‘They’ll have to give me a sleeping draught to pry me from your side,’ Estella pronounced.

 ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Merry said.

 ‘Good,’ Estella answered, mistaking his meaning. ‘I’m sure you can make Strider understand that I intend to be at your side from the time you fall asleep until you waken again, whole and renewed.’

 ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Merry repeated, with another squeeze, and then he turned away from the fire. ‘Come love,’ he said. ‘In any event, it is past time now for both of us to sleep.’