Chapter 7. Meanwhile

Merimac strode confidently down the tunnels of the Great Smials to the Thain’s private apartments. It was after teatime, and he knew that Paladin almost never worked past teatime, giving the late afternoon hours to his beloved wife and remaining unmarried daughter, retiring early to arise early in order to meet the myriad problems and duties of the Thain in the freshness of the morning, just as if he were ploughing the fields he’d left behind to become Thain.

The doorward trotted along at his heels, spluttering ineffectually about guest quarters and supper and Merimac could have one of the early appointments in the morning, but...

Reaching the Thain’s apartments, in the innermost part of the Smials, Merimac rapped sharply on the door. ‘Come!’ boomed from within.

He pushed the door open. Paladin looked up, in the act of taking up his teacup. He put it down again at once and rose to his feet. ‘Merimac?’ he said. ‘What brings you here?’ Without invitation, his tone said. He looked to his daughter, Pervinca, and said, ‘Go and tell Reginard we have visitors.’ Unwelcome visitors. At best, uninvited.

He looked back to Merimac. ‘How many?’ he said. ‘And will you be staying long?’ It was the polite thing to say, anyhow.

 ‘There are a score of us,’ Merimac answered with a bow, and the Thain’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed.

 ‘Vinca! Tell Regi!’ he snapped.

 ‘Yes, Da,’ Pervinca said, and with a quick bob to the Bucklander she was gone.

Eglantine rose smoothly, extending a gracious hand. ‘Merry,’ she said. ‘I trust all is well with Ally and her husband.’

 ‘The Master of the Hall sent me to you,’ Merimac said formally, ‘with news of the gravest nature.’

Eglantine paused, and her hand went to her heart. ‘Pippin,’ she breathed.

Paladin paid her no mind, though anyone but his wife would have earned a swift and harsh reprimand at naming his banished son. O he had no doubt that Pippin would come crawling back one day, begging forgiveness, and Paladin had every intention of granting such, after an appropriate measure of frowns and glares. But until then, he had no intention of owning the wayward lad.

 ‘And what is this news, that you deem of sufficient gravity to interrupt our tea?’ he said.

 ‘Orcs,’ Merimac said shortly, and Eglantine gasped.

 ‘Come now,’ Paladin said. ‘We’re not in the days of Bandobras, after all. What is this all about?’

 ‘Orcs,’ Merimac said stubbornly. ‘Orcs... goblins if you prefer old Bilbo’s term, were coming out of the Old Forest, stealing livestock, trying to get in at the windows of isolated smials...’

Eglantine took Paladin’s arm and clung tightly, undone by the news. By the look on her face, Merimac suspected she somehow divined the rest.

Paladin snorted, though he was clearly made uneasy. ‘Naught more than you Bucklanders ought to expect,’ he muttered, ‘living up against that unnatural place, with naught but a hedgerow between.’

 ‘Of three hobbits who went into the Forest, one was foully murdered,’ Merimac continued, ‘one was struck down with arrows; his recovery remains in doubt, and the third was brutally...’

Eglantine took a sharp breath, her face white. Paladin held up a hand to stop Merimac, and looked to his wife. His ruddy face had also lost colour. ‘My love,’ he said. ‘I think you ought...’

 ‘Nae,’ she said. ‘I ought, but I shan’t. Tell me, was it... was it Pippin? Merry?’

 ‘Meriadoc was injured by a falling branch early on. The forester who was with him was not so fortunate—he was taken by the Orcs and murdered,’ Merimac said, and hesitated.

 ‘Pippin,’ Paladin grated, the name forced from him. He was breathing shallowly, and sweat started on his brow.

 ‘You said three went in,’ Eglantine said.

 ‘Many more than three went in,’ Merimac amended. ‘I was speaking of the three most grievously injured.’

 ‘Struck by arrows...?’ Eglantine said, groping her way.

 ‘Another forester,’ Merimac said, ‘who’d accompanied our steward on an errand.’

Paladin nodded, a sharp jerk of his chin. ‘The third,’ he said carefully. ‘He lives?’

Eglantine was holding her breath, Merimac saw, and trembling in her perturbation. Having pity on the grieving mother, he said, ‘He lives, and looks to be recovering; at least old Ossilan is cautiously optimistic.’

 ‘Thanks be,’ Eglantine said faintly, and Paladin frowned down at her a moment before raising his voice to call sharply.

 ‘Buttercup!’

An old serving-hobbit entered the sitting room, a cosied teapot in her hands. ‘Were you ready for more tea, then?’

 ‘The Mistress is unwell,’ Paladin said. ‘Settle her in bed and see to it she’s properly warm. Hot-water bottles and a nice mug of tea, I don’t wonder, and an extra coverlet or two.’

 ‘I’m well,’ Eglantine protested, but Paladin patted her hand.

 ‘You lie yourself down, love,’ he said, and for a moment Merimac saw in his face the Paladin he’d once known, kind and wise, loved and loving, content with his lot as an humble farmer. That Paladin had been scoured away by the cares and demands on the Thain over the past dozen years. ‘Here, Buttercup, I’ll take that.’ Paladin lifted the teapot away from the old hobbit and set it on the table, gesturing Merimac to be seated.

Relieved of her burden, Buttercup took Eglantine’s arm, clucking like an old hen, and with an imploring look at her husband, Eglantine allowed herself to be led away.

Paladin poured out a cup of tea for the Brandybuck while questioning him closely about recent events.

 ‘Fifty!’ he said.

 ‘Some fifty,’ Merimac confirmed. ‘We think we slaughtered all that there were in the Old Forest, but how do we know if others crossed into the Shire? We haven’t yet had word from the Rangers...’

A cloud crossed the Thain’s brow. ‘Men!’ he huffed, and then he continued his questioning.

At last he settled back in his chair, noisily slurping his tea before speaking. ‘I’ve not heard of any missing livestock,’ he said, ‘and the Shirriffs would be sure to inform me of such.’

 ‘Missing hobbits?’ Merimac asked.

 ‘An old gaffer went missing a week ago,’ Paladin said, and his lips twitched in a wintry smile at Merimac’s reaction. ‘But he’d only had a pint too many, and fell in a ditch on his way home. Lucky thing for him we hadn’t had a heavy rain at the time.’

 ‘So, no missing hobbits or livestock in the Tookland,’ Merimac said, feeling relieved, ‘and none in the Marish. If only the news is so in the rest of the Shire, it’ll appear we’ve pulled the weed before it was able to establish roots.’

 ‘Do you want me to send a troop to the aid of Buckland?’ Paladin said grudgingly.

Merimac blinked at the offer. ‘Very generous of you,’ he said, and meant it. Paladin had stuck tight inside his borders in the Troubles, after all. He’d kept the ruffians out of Tookland, but he’d offered precious little help to the rest of the Shire until the Travellers’ return. But that was a sore point, touching rather close to his family troubles, and it would be better not to mention such. ‘If there were sign of the creatures in the Shire proper, a troop of Tooks would be welcome, certainly, but the Master has Buckland and the Marish well in hand. He suggests you patrol the Southern reaches...’

 ‘Aye,’ Paladin said, ‘and what about the North?’

 ‘The North-Tooks have dealt with Orcs before,’ Merimac said, paying no heed to the shadow that crossed the Thain’s face at the mention of Diamond’s relations. ‘We sent warning to them, same’s I’m bringing it to you.’

 ‘Very well, then,’ Paladin said. ‘You may take word back to Saradoc that he has my full cooperation.’ He rose and extended a hand, and startled, Merimac rose as well, taking the hand and receiving a firm handshake. ‘Now then,’ Paladin said, ‘you’ve ridden fast and far, from your account, eating in the saddle!’ He shuddered. ‘We’ll have baths and food and beds for you all tonight; I take it you’ll wish to start back on the morrow?’

 ‘I do,’ Merimac said, ‘seeing as there’s been no sign of Orcs in the Shire proper. It’ll be good news to take back to the Master.’ And after a bath and change of clothing, no doubt he’d be refreshed and ready to greet a few old friends amongst the Tooks. Why, he hadn’t seen some of them in years, not since Pippin’s handfasting to Diamond of the North-Tooks...