Chapter 8. Interlude

The Great Hill that contains the Great Smials is always a lively place, the corridors bustling with Tooks and servants and workers and Tooklanders busy about one thing or another, the good smells of cooking wafting through the corridors—there is almost always something cooking somewhere in the Smials, either over the fire in a family’s apartments or in the infirmary kitchen or in the main kitchens that serve any who care to eat in the great room, which holds all the Tooks in the Smials and then some, when there’s a feast. On a pleasant day like this, the great room would likely be only half-full at one of the set mealtimes, with Tooks out picnicking or somewhat, but today the room is likely full at set meals and nearly full the rest of the time, the hobbits of the Smials leaving off their duties, those that may, and instinctively gathering to hear the worst, when it happens, and talking and speculating over who will follow Peregrin as Thain. For Faramir is much too young...

The corridors are nearly empty, and the few hobbits we meet are hurrying about their business in rather a furtive manner. They meet us with an anxious look, no smile, no greeting, only a sort of question in their eyes, a question they will not ask, obviously, from the accompanying look of dread on their faces. But seeing the head healer, obviously summoned to return to the Thain’s apartments, and worse, with my beloved by my side... how the Talk will fly in the great room, not so long from now!

We reach the Thain’s apartments. One of the hobbits of the Thain’s escort stands at the door, to turn away inquiries, to guard from well-meaning intrusion. Without a word he opens to us, holds the door as we pass in, closes it softly but firmly behind us.

Sandy is moving about the large sitting room just inside the main entrance to the Thain’s apartments, laying out a cold luncheon on the side table for any who might come to wait, and for afterwards. It is a part of life, after singing one out of it, to sit down, to tell fond or funny stories, to eat and laugh (and weep) together. He meets my eye and looks away again; he knows why I have been called from my rest.

My beloved stops, his arm around me tightens, he drops a kiss upon my forehead and steps away, immediately moving to help Sandy. He will remain here, waiting for me, and true to his nature, he will make himself helpful while he does.

I move down the corridor to the small sitting room, just outside the Thain’s bedroom. All is in perfect order; there is a hint of beeswax in the air, the furniture gleams with care, the rug is freshly brushed, and a fire is laid ready on the hearth—Sandy has been assuaging his woes in the only way he knows. If only it were so easy to clean and tidy away the pains that tarnish life as the dust that mars a gleaming table!

Fennel looks up as I pause in the doorway to take in the scene. Diamond sits as I last saw her, one arm about her husband, her head leaning upon his shoulder and his face turned towards her. Faramir has joined them, crowding close to his father’s other side. The twins, of course, are too young to bear a long and anxious wait, too lively to sit still for very long, and might likely trouble their father in all innocence. Their minder waits to fetch them at a moment’s notice.

Fennel rises, lays down the hand he holds, steps quickly to the door to whisper in my ear. ‘I do hope I haven’t left it until too late,’ he says, worried. I nod and move to the bed, taking up the hand. The pulse is galloping now, faster and weaker than before, and I can feel the heart miss its step, like a pony stumbling near the end of a long race. The Thain’s breaths come at longer intervals, and he moves not at my greeting, nor shows any sign of noticing the change in healer.

I give a nod. Fennel has been watching for this; he is gone from the doorway in the next moment, gone to send forth word, to gather the waiting family for the final song.