Chapter 8. Casting About

Eglantine had taken up the thread of the never-ending story, once the hail ended its assault and she could, albeit painfully, raise herself to a sitting position again. It was for her own benefit, more than Tolly’s, now. She feared that if she slept now, she might never waken again on This Side. Not that it mattered, for she welcomed the anticipated reunion with her beloved Paladin. The sticking point was that she’d ruin Pimpernel’s birthday forever more if she were to die this day. So, stubborn to the last, in a cracked whisper, she doggedly told the tale.

 ‘...and so Folco, with all the wit he possessed—that not being much at the time, what with him being a great tween and all, or was he just a teen? For the life of me, I'm that muddled! ...and more interested in filling his stomach with food than his brains with wisdom—proposed that they have a contest, and cast stones in the well to see whose splash was the biggest.’

Tolly’s hand squeezed hers reassuringly as she paused.

 ‘They were never allowed to throw things into a well at home, y’know, or anyone else’s home for that matter, and for very good reason! But this smial was abandoned, no one living there to shoo them away or invite them in for tea and cakes. Folco, knowing his manners at least, allowed that Pippin as youngest ought to cast the first stone. Which he did, with a respectable splash for he put some muscle into it. I never saw such a lad for splashing! When he was in the bath...’

Her eyes were closing in spite of herself, and she heard her own voice trailing off in a drunken slur though she’d had no benefit of drink to put her in such a state. She jerked herself awake and resumed the story.

 ‘Folco laughed and said, ‘Is that all you can do? Why a pollywog could do better, but you’re not much bigger than a pollywog, are you, little cousin?’ He proceeded to throw a much bigger stone into the well, still laughing fit to drive little Pippin to distraction—ah but he were a heedless tween, Folco, for all he’s grown into a fine figure of a hobbit now...’

She stopped to cough shallowly. She’d welcome some of that rain again, but it had stopped and there was no more drinking of the bounty of the sky.

 ‘A great splash his stone did make, but little Pippin, he wasn’t having any! His cousins teased him, sometimes, that he was short for his age—I think it was because he was busier getting into mischief than growing, myself, but they meant no harm by it, really. Well, he lugged a stone that was near as big as himself from the falling-down garden wall, dragged it all the way to the edge of the well, and somehow he lifted it up, for he was going to use his muscles to give it more oomph! ...but he overbalanced, and into the well he went, stone and all!’

She continued to tell of Folco’s running back to Whittacres Farm, full of visitors for Paladin’s birthday, yes, even the famous Bilbo Baggins, and the ensuing panic when Folco led them to the wrong smial.

 ‘That lad never had a sense of direction,’ Eglantine said. ‘I understand he wanted to go along with Frodo, but Merry wouldn’t let him, fearing he’d have a fit of stubbornness and insist on leading—and lead them to the Lonely Mountain instead of the other way!’

On and on she told, chuckling a little to herself at times, and feeling the occasional squeeze of Tolly’s hand, until she reached the end of the tale. She had the feeling that it would be her last, and so she ended with an exhausted flourish.

 ‘And so Merry came up, at the end of the rope, clutching little Pippin, cold, wet, half-frozen—a bit like you’re feeling at the moment, I’ve no doubt, for I feel the same!—but alive!’ She stopped to savour the memory. ‘Ah, he were alive, my stubborn little lamb. I thought Merry’d be bringing him up that we might lay him out for his burial, but he’d clung to those cold, slippery rocks the whole time we were sending Merry down into the wrong well to dredge him up from the bottom... held on until we discovered our mistake and ran to the right well—how my sides ached from running, and the tears I wept that day...’

She wiped away a trace of a tear, echoing the tears of remembering, and straightened again. ‘And that old Bilbo Baggins! Why, the first thing he said when he saw the lad alive and looking about from the circle of Merry’s arms...’

 ‘What did he say?’ It was the barest whisper, but a whisper it was, and sign that Tolly was still fighting his own battle.

At that moment, Eglantine’s eyes were drawn by bobbing lights. She blinked and peered into the darkness, fearing that her eyes were playing her tricks, or that a will-o’-the-wisp had come out to play, but, no! Lights they were!

 ‘Lanterns, Tolly!’ she hissed. ‘They’ve come!’

She heard his sharp intake of breath a second before the vibration of the hill below them caught her attention. She took hold of Tolly’s arm with both her hands, holding with as tight a grip as she could manage. She wouldn’t let herself be separated from him again, not even if the new slide took them down into the flood-formed lake below to drown at last. She only wished she might have seen her dear childrens’ faces once more.

***

 ‘Did you hear something?’ Ferdi said, reining his pony to a stop. He looked behind, and up; the Thain’s party was well behind them now. Perhaps they ought to wait a bit, to let them catch up. They had a much harder road, as it was.

 ‘Hear something?’ Aldi said. ‘No, but then you’ve the ears of a fox and I’m just an old badger who tunnels deep. What do you hear?’

 ‘I thought I heard voices,’ Ferdi began, but then Aldebrand interrupted.

 ‘Not voices, but earth moving!’ he said, and urged his pony forward, towards the sound!

 ‘Are ye daft?’ Ferdi demanded, but he followed automatically.

The sound died away before they reached the fall. Aldi dismounted and threw his reins to Ferdi, scrambling excitedly up the mound, as nimble as any hobbit-child. He reached the top and Ferdi heard a low whistle as he watched Aldi’s lantern swing this way and that.

 ‘What is it?’ he called.

 ‘Come and see!’ the engineer called back. ‘It’s a sight worth seeing!’

Ferdi knew his own pony would stand without tying, but would Aldi’s? He solved this problem by tying Aldi’s reins to his own saddle, and with a pat and soft word to his pony, he hung his lantern at his belt and toiled up the slope after Aldi. Reaching the top, he understood. A shining lake spread before them in the lantern light, the little ripples on its surface astonishingly higher than the trail they’d ridden in the valley below.

 ‘It’s deep,’ Ferdi said.

 Aldi laughed. ‘Aye,’ he returned. ‘No doubt this is the cause of all that flooding that’s going round. What shall we name it? Lake Peregrin?’

 ‘How about Bilbo Lake,’ Ferdi said, ‘seeing as how it’ll be vanishing, if you do your job properly.’ He cast his light as far as he could, but there was no sign of Tolly, or of Eglantine. He hadn’t expected there to be. Likely their bodies would be found after the lake was drained, if they were to be found at all.