Chapter 22. Interlude

I turn away from the bedroom door, alone in the little sitting room, but before I can make my way after the others, the reaction hits me in the knees. I stagger to a chair and sink down, shaking.

It is not the Ent draught. At least, I think it is not. There is no cry of distress from the bedroom, after all, and if Pippin began to shake all over I do believe that Diamond would call me back immediately.

No, it is the realisation that, had Merry not been called back to Buckland, had he not made Pippin promise to wait for him, or at least to try, had he not brought Mayor Sam from Brandy Hall at a gallop, changing ponies at every inn, Pippin would surely be dead by now, washed and dressed in his best, lying in his shroud, waiting for dawn and burial. This little room would be empty, as it is now, but for a far different reason, and the feast in the receiving room would truly be a funeral feast.

I can scarcely breathe, for the awful thoughts I am thinking, and but for the whisper of well-being that courses in my veins, all no doubt due to that wondrous draught, I’ve no doubt I would faint here and now, for I am certainly light-headed.

It takes some time and effort to master myself, but I force myself to breathe steady breaths. Ironic, that so much of my time in attending Pippin has been to remind him to breathe steadily. The familiar litany returns to me now: In, out, in, out, that’s right, steady breaths...

At last I am able to rise. I creep back to the bedroom door, peeking in to see Diamond, her head resting against her husband’s shoulder, the two of them asleep to all appearances. I hold my breath, but even so I can scarcely hear Pippin’s steady breathing. No longer harsh and forced, but soft and light as any other sleeper’s.

I turn away to follow the others, down the darkened corridor to light and soft talk. There is more wonder than laughter, and uncertainty abounds. Indeed, I have never seen a quieter gathering of Tooks! If it were a funeral feast, there’d be tears, true, but there would also be singing and storytelling and laughter, a way to honour the dead, to keep him alive in memory if not in life. This is the quietest “funeral feast” I’ve ever seen! Indeed, even the small wisps of talk end when they notice me in the doorway, and all seem to hold their breath.

Sandy comes forward, hope and dread mingled in his expression, though all he says is, ‘May I make up a plate for you, Woodruff?’

I smile, reassuringly I hope, take his hand and press it warmly. ‘All is well, Sandy,’ I say. It is the truth, at the moment, anyhow.

 ‘How?’ he says doubtfully. He can recount Bilbo’s tales by the hour, having listened to them as a little lad growing up in Bywater, sitting with his father in the Ivy Bush of a pleasant summer’s eve or by the crackling fire of a rainy night. Yet he cannot credit a real-life wonder taking place in the next room.

 ‘I don’t know,’ I admit, and laugh gaily. ‘Is it not a wonder?’

My beloved steps forward, concern on his face, to take my arm. ‘It is well with me,’ I assure him. ‘Very well, indeed.’

 ‘My love,’ he says, raising my hand to lay a kiss upon my fingertips. ‘Let Fennel watch now, if the draught has gained him a measure of time. Take your rest.’

 ‘I will,’ I promise, rising on my toes to kiss his cheek. ‘I just have a few things to check on...’ I signal to Fennel and he puts down his plate and goes to take up his post in the little sitting room, close enough to hear Diamond’s call, but not sitting at the bedside, for the nature of my signal has indicated to him that he is to respect their privacy.

I will lie myself down in the room set aside for the healer on watch. It is really one of the guest rooms in the Thain’s apartments, but it has been set aside for a healer ever since Lalia, with all her complaints, fancied or otherwise, was Mistress. Fennel will watch from the little sitting room, and call me if aught...

My beloved releases my hand reluctantly, and with a nod to the others I take my leave. The talk starts up again behind me as the hobbit of the Thain’s escort holds the door open for me. Questions are in his face, but he doesn’t voice them. All the others had their questions; I could see them, plain as the noses on their faces, but no one wants to hear the answers, not yet, anyhow. And so they will eat the feast laid out for them, and talk quietly of inconsequential things, and when all remains peaceful, eventually they will all seek their beds, still half-expecting an urgent summons.

Samwise and Rose are much better company when I tap at their door. I know they won’t be sleeping; their children are on their way with the Mistress of Brandy Hall, driving straight through, stopping only to change ponies as needed. In point of fact, they are expecting the coach to arrive at any time. They have bathed and are taking a light meal, and invite me to sit down with them. I do, but only long enough for a cup of tea; I must see about Merry, and of course Samwise understands. He kisses Rose, tells her he’ll return soon, and accompanies me to the Master’s suite of rooms.

Merry is in the bath, more asleep than awake, Regi and Ferdi attending him, to minimize the Talk amongst the servants about his collapse. No need to alarm the Tooks further, with speculation about Pippin’s condition. They’ll have had him dead and ready to be buried five times over before the dawn, as things stand now.

 ‘Here’s Woodruff now,’ Ferdi says, and Merry sits up abruptly, causing water to slosh over the sides of the tub onto Ferdi and Regi.

 ‘Pippin,’ he says, the haunted expression returning. ‘He’s...?’

 ‘Asleep,’ I say, ‘and breathing better than I’ve seen in years. He’ll sleep, and gain strength, and fight another day, or I’m no healer.’

Regi rises, grabs a towel, dabs at his clothing and then holds the towel out to Merry. ‘Sleep,’ he says. ‘An excellent idea. Come along, lad.’

 ‘Don’t “lad” me...’ Merry begins, but Regi looks down his nose at him, as only Regi can.

 ‘Bed,’ he says. ‘And I may “lad” you all I wish... I was changing your nappies before Pippin was born, you know...’ I hear a sound behind me, as if Samwise has suppressed a chuckle.

 ‘Would have had to have been before Pippin was born,’ Ferdi says airily.

 ‘None of your nonsense, now, lad,’ Regi says, and stops short. It is what he so often says to Pippin... He draws a shaking hand across his brow, and I quickly go to him and lead him to a chair.

 ‘Bed, all around, I think,’ I say crisply. ‘It has been a long and wearying watch, but we’ve got a breather now, and we must make the best of it.’

 ‘A breather?’ Merry says from the bath.

Mayor Sam has moved to his side, dipping a ewer into the warm water. ‘Here,’ he says. ‘You still have some soap in your hair. Mind your eyes, now.’ But he, too, is awaiting my answer to Merry’s question, ewer suspended over Merry’s head while the Master neither closes his eyes nor covers them, as all four hobbits stare at me.

 ‘At the very least,’ I say. I won’t lie, as they well know. I won’t say the hobbit is healed, or on his way to complete healing, or even on his way to waking up on the morrow bright-eyed and ready to take on life again. But he is sleeping peacefully, gathering strength, and with that strength he’ll be able to sustain the fight that much longer.

Merry nods and closes his eyes, and Sam looks down at him and pours the water, scooping up another ewerful and pouring it over for good measure.

I pat Regi on the shoulder and take the towel from him, holding it out to the Master. ‘And that goes for you as well. Take a breather while you have it. I’ve no idea what the road ahead holds, whether a long uphill climb, or an easy go.’