Chapter 43. Never Judge a Flask by its Cover

Perhaps the best part of the healing draught, as Estella observed to Diamond about a week later, was that they were able to pour the most disgusting concoctions down a tube into Merry’s throat and he never lost his dreaming smile.

 ‘He doesn’t even allow the cooking of liver when he’s in the Hall,’ she said. ‘Any Brandybuck with a fondness for such meat has to go somewhere else to eat it, an inn, or an outlying smial.’

 ‘We’re making up for all the liver he’s missed in his life,’ Elladan said as he seated the feeding tube so that Merry would not choke on the liver, finely ground and mixed with broth and other strengthening ingredients, about to be bestowed.

Diamond wrinkled her nose at the smell. ‘I admit I never cared for liver, myself, though I eat it.’ 

 ‘It’s good for you!’ Estella said in her best old-auntie voice. ‘Thickens the blood! Have another helping, dearie, do!’

 ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Elladan said, slowly pouring the noisome mess into the funnel at the top of the tube. ‘And plenty more where that came from.’ He gave the hobbity sentiment with a bright smile, adding a chuckle of his own to Estella’s following laughter.

‘He’s looking better already,’ she said, watching closely.

 ‘The healing draught is speeding his recovery,’ Elladan said. ‘His hand is warm, and that’s a good sign.’

 ‘And of course the liver is doing something for him,’ Diamond said. ‘Thickening his blood, or whatever it is that it is supposed to do.’

 ‘Yes,’ Estella said. ‘His colour is much better than it was a few days ago.’

 ‘Perhaps we ought to dose my husband and give him a few courses of liver-broth in his sleep,’ Diamond said thoughtfully. Pippin had left momentarily with a question for Elessar and so he was not there to defend himself.

 ‘Mistress?’ sounded from the doorway, and Diamond looked up to see Hilly hovering.

 ‘Hildibold!’ she cried, rising. ‘You’ve arrived at last!’

 ‘They told me I’d find the Thain here, and yourself, Mistress,’ Hilly said, on his stiffest behaviour in the presence of a stranger—one of the Fair Folk at that! He couldn’t help stealing an awed glance at the son of Elrond, and blushed to find Elladan looking back at him in a friendly manner.

 ‘You’re Hilly,’ Elladan said. ‘Pippin’s told me a great deal about you.’ He shifted his grip on the feeding tube to bow to the hobbit. A hobbit or man would have appeared awkward to bow while managing a feeding tube, but the son of Elrond made it a gesture full of grace. ‘Elladan, son of Elrond, at your service.’

Hilly was more tongue-tied than ever. Son of Elrond! Even he, Tookland-locked Took that he was, knew that august name. Somehow he managed to bow and mutter some sort of answer.

 ‘It’s all right, cousin,’ Diamond said fondly. ‘He doesn’t bite.’

 ‘And if I do, I don’t sink my teeth in very far,’ Elladan said smoothly, turning his attention back to Merry, for he could see how Hilly was disconcerted by his gaze.

 ‘Pony draughts!’ Hilly said. ‘But more fitted to a hobbit’s throat, I see. Just like what we gave Ferdi!’

 ‘You gave Ferdi pony draughts?’ Diamond said. ‘What in the world? Is all well with Pimpernel?’ Surely Pippin’s sister must have been fit to be tied if people had been sticking tubes down her husband’s throat.

 ‘She is now,’ Hilly said. ‘Ferdi’s made a full recovery, for all they gave him up early on.’

 ‘What’re you talking about?’ Pippin demanded from behind him. ‘Gave Ferdi up?’ He took Hilly by the shoulder and swung him partway around in his perturbation.

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly said, standing firm in the Thain’s grasp. ‘Gave him up; and from what I saw he seemed about to gasp his last, but the draught...’

 ‘What draught?’ Pippin said.

 ‘The healing draught, the one that Jack gave me,’ Hilly said. ‘Diamond packed it in her saddle bag and...’

 ‘Why, that’s right!’ Diamond exclaimed, stepping forward.  ‘I’d forgotten that I did. It was in my bag, and my pony was sent back to the Smials when we reached the Cockerel. I’d thought the bags were empty.’

 ‘I brought it with me,’ Hilly said, bringing out the battered flask that he’d secreted safely inside his shirt. ‘Woodruff wanted me to ask the healer-King if he knew what the stuff was, that it should heal a hobbit who was near to death.’

 ‘May I see that?’ Elladan said. He’d withdrawn the tube from Merry’s throat, and wrapping it in a cloth he set it aside.

 ‘Sir?’ Hilly said, looking to Pippin. One of the Fair Folk might be asking, but he answered to the Thain first and foremost.

 ‘It’s all right, Hilly,’ Pippin said, taking his hand from the escort’s shoulder to accept the flask. He carried it to Elladan, who bent to examine it as Pippin held it up.

 ‘May I?’ the son of Elrond said politely.

Pippin nodded and put the flask into the extended hand. Elladan pulled the stopper and sniffed delicately. His face changed as he said, ‘Where did you get this?’

 ‘A Man who blundered into the Shire,’ Pippin said. ‘Hilly, here, had fallen into a bog and was showing signs of lung fever, and the Man dosed him with some of this stuff. It put him to sleep for two days, more...! And when he awakened his lungs were clear, his fever was gone and he was refreshed and had no remaining traces of illness.’

He bent a severe look on the escort. ‘And now you tell me that someone used it on Ferdibrand?’

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly said, ‘Pimpernel herself! The healers had given Ferdi up, for in his case the Old Gaffer's...' he stopped to recall the term Pippin had used, '...the lung fever was advanced and responded to none of their efforts; they were making him as comfortable as possible, but they were waiting for his death.’

 ‘Someone must have put her up to it,’ Pippin said sternly.

Hilly sighed and his eyes sought his feet. ‘I did,’ he admitted, but then looking up he added, ‘I tried to make them see reason, Pippin; I tried... they wouldn’t listen, Woodruff wouldn’t, nor Fennel, and I knew none of Woodruff’s other assistants would listen if she wouldn't. I went to Mardi, and he said he’d try, and while he was arguing with Woodruff Nell heard and took the flask and coaxed it into Ferdi before the healers could stir foot...’

 ‘A story I think I’d like to hear at length, over a glass or three of ale,’ Pippin said, ‘but that will suffice for the moment. What is it, Elladan?’

The son of Elrond had taken his knife from his belt and was carefully applying it to the weathered leather covering the flask. As the leather fell away the hobbits gasped, for under the rough covering was a silver sheen as if light itself resided there.

 ‘Mithril,’ Pippin whispered.

 ‘Yes,’ Elladan said quietly. He held the revealed flask, a thing of beauty with intricate patterns worked into the metal, with reverence and not a little awe.

 ‘What is it, Elladan?’ Pippin said again, but the son of Elrond was tracing the runes worked into the design and did not seem to hear him.

Elladan straightened abruptly and bowed to the hobbits. ‘If you will excuse me,’ he said, and taking up the feeding tube and cup that had held the liver-broth he left the room.