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A Healer's Tale  by Lindelea

Chapter 29. Tooks, Trees and Tethers

Things were rather back to "usual" at Whittacres Farm. Saradoc had long since returned to Buckland, of course, leaving wife and son at the farm as he usually did. Of course he could not be spared for so long from his duties, but Esmeralda had been a Took before she'd married a Brandybuck, and her husband understood how she missed her family and the land that had given her birth.

Somehow Esmeralda, who was strong in will but not in body, gained in health during her time in Tookland, and so Saradoc made sure of a long visit for his wife's benefit in the pleasant summer months, and he had persuaded her brother Paladin to pass Yuletide at Brandy Hall, at a time when there was little needing attention on the farm. Every year Saradoc would drive his family from Brandy Hall to Whittacres, arriving in time for Pippin's birthday, spend a week at Whittacres and then ride back to Buckland. He'd come for another week at summer's end, scooping up Esmeralda and Merry and driving to Hobbiton for Bilbo and Frodo's birthday celebration, on their way back to Brandy Hall.

Ferdinand and his children remained at the farm as well; the ponies he was training were coming along nicely and would fetch Paladin a tidy sum at the autumn Pony Sale. Young Ferdi and Merry and Pippin were nearly inseparable. Indeed, it was good to have two teens to watch over the mischievous youngster; when Ferdi was called to help his father, Merry could take charge of the lad, and when Frodo came tramping across the fields, Ferdi might take Pippin off to give Merry some undivided time with his beloved older cousin.

Pippin had fully recovered from the knock on his head and was as lively as ever. In point of fact, he'd wandered twice and had to be fetched back; when asked his purpose he'd said he was "going to visit Bilbo".

'I'll have to tell Bilbo to come with me the next time,' Frodo laughed, for he'd come to visit, and now having foiled this second escape was walking back towards the farm with Pippin's hand firmly gripped in his. 'But Pip, you're not big enough, yet, to walk to Bag End by yourself! It's a longer journey than you think, and...'

'I'm a Took!' Pippin said, thumping his chest with his free hand. 'I could walk all the way to the Lonely Mountain, if I had to! Just like Bilbo!'

'But you're not as old as Bilbo was...' Frodo began.

'I'm just as brave and doughty,' Pippin said. 'He told me so himself!' And no matter what anyone said, he remained so determined that Paladin at last told his small son that they'd drive to Bag End at the end of barley harvest, to visit Bilbo, since Pippin evidently could not wait until the Birthday.

Even so, the little lad cried bitter tears when Frodo took his leave early one morning, to walk back to Bag End. 'Take me with you!' he begged, over and again, and even Merry could not comfort him.

At last Frodo was able to leave, but the parting was bittersweet, for one voice was missing from the song that sang him homewards, and a backwards glance showed Pippin's woebegone face in the midst of the crowd of hobbits waving farewell. He resolved that no matter what Bilbo was working on, whether writing a memoir or translating an Elvish lay or drawing yet another intricate map, he'd convince the old hobbit to drop everything and make a journey to Whittacres without delay. Something was bothering his little cousin, and even though he could not guess at the cause, he understood enough to know that Bilbo held the answer.

It seemed a day destined for misfortune. Merry and Ferdi distracted Pippin with the mud in a corner of the yard; Merry had spilled a bucket of water, earlier, fetching it to the kitchen. The two older lads caught the younger one's imagination as they began to retell the story Frodo had recounted the previous evening before they were sent to their beds, and they began to form shapes of mud to play the parts. There were three large lumps, to represent Trolls, and thirteen smaller lumps, which were Thorin and his company of Dwarves, and the smallest lump of all was the burglar, of course, Bilbo Baggins.

They were well into the game when Pimpernel stepped by, nose in the air and a basket of eggs on her arm.

'Hullo, Nell,' Ferdi said, looking up from the generous handful of mud he was shaping into a tall wizard. He was rather proud of the pointy hat that topped the rough figure.

'I should think you were too old to play at mud-pies,' Pimpernel sniffed in disdain. She was still miffed from the morning; Ferdi had salted her tea at early breakfast. 'I can understand Pippin, he's barely more than a babe, but a great lad like you...

'We're not playing at mud-pies,' Merry said, his brow furrowed with concentration as he formed a tree for the wizard to be hiding behind.

Pippin clutched the burglar, tense with expectation. 'Come join us, Nell,' he squeaked. 'They're about to squash the poor dwarves into jelly, or mince them fine and boil them!'

'What a nice lot of rubbish you're filling the babe's head with!' Nell said. 'And look at you. Mud all over yourselves...'

'It's fine Tookish mud; you ought to try it,' Ferdi said, a devilish gleam in his eye. Nell would have taken caution, had she seen it, but her nose was too high in the air for her to be noticing such things.

'Hmph!' she sniffed. 'I've better things to...'

She broke off as Ferdi rose, brandishing his erstwhile wizard, which became a muddy lump in his hand as he reached towards her. 'Try it!' he said. 'It's lovely and cool!'

'Don't you dare!' she threatened, backing away. 'I'll tell your da...'

'Tell away,' Ferdi said coolly. 'But ye won't have to tell him anything, will ye? Your face will tell him all he needs to know...'

Nell stumbled and dropped the basket, cracking the eggs, but quick as a cat she scrambled to her feet and ran, shrieking, across the farmyard with Ferdi in hot pursuit.

Though he was younger and shorter, he was also more determined; before Pimpernel reached the safety of the smial he'd caught her by the back of her bodice and thrust the wet, sticky mud down her back while Merry and Pippin watched, open-mouthed.

'Ferdi!' came a stentorian bellow from the barn.

The teen stood abruptly at attention. 'Yes, Da!' he called back smartly.

'What in the world do you think you're about?' Ferdinand said, advancing on his son.

'We were playing at mud-pies,' Ferdi said, 'and Nell didn't want to play, so I was just showing her how lovely the mud was, just right for making shapes...'

'I hate you, Ferdibrand Took!' Nell raged through her tears, with both hands trying to retrieve the mud from the back of her bodice, though she couldn't reach.

'Nell?' Eglantine said, emerging from the kitchen. 'Do you have the eggs? We're waiting to stir up the cake...'

Pippin jumped to his feet, swooped up the fallen basket and ran to his mother. 'Here they are, Mum,' he said brightly, proffering the cracked and oozing mess.

'I hate you!' Nell was still shouting. 'I wish you'd go back where you came from! I don't care if I never see your face again! I...'

'Nell!' Paladin's voice cracked, whiplike, as he came from the barn behind Ferdinand. It was enough to stop his daughter mid-shout. As she turned her red, tear-blotched face to him, her father added, 'You apologise to Ferdibrand at once, do you hear, Daughter! Such words are not fit for the mouths of hobbits! And then go into the kitchen and have your mouth washed out with soap.'

'But he...' Nell sobbed.

'I'm sorry, Nell,' Ferdi said with a gulp. He hadn't meant...

'Well-spoken,' Paladin said, 'but it's Pimpernel owing the apologies, lad, from what I heard just now.'

Pimpernel clasped her hands into fists and bowed her head, fixing her gaze on her feet. 'I... I apologise,' she whispered, trembling with fury. She wouldn't forgive him, no, she wouldn't, not ever, and she certainly wasn't sorry even though her father forced her to apologise, for the sake of propriety in front of his oldest friend.

'Well, then,' Ferdinand said too heartily. 'That's all right then. I wouldn't make the lass wash her mouth out with soap, Dinny... After all, she took the words back.'

Never, Pimpernel thought bitterly to herself. She marched into the smial without looking at anyone, into the kitchen where Pearl was measuring flour and Pervinca was greasing cake pans, picked up the soap, wetted it, worked up a lather, and washed out her mouth. She hadn't taken the words back, no matter what Uncle Dinny said.

***

Pippin was sent to his bed for a nap after the late noontide meal, and Ferdi and Merry were free to play. Continuing the burglar game, they chased each other over the fields and into the copse of trees that separated the potato field from the cabbage patch. Flopping down in the shade, they stared up through the branches at the bright sky and speculated what would be for tea, since the eggs had been a near-total loss, and without eggs you cannot beat up a light and airy cake, as even lads know!

Ferdi sat up and cocked his head. 'What's that I hear?' he said.

'I didn't hear anything,' Merry answered. He yawned. Truth be told, he was feeling rather sleepy, himself, and almost envied Pippin his enforced nap. It was a warm summer day and the bees were droning in the fields.

'Wolves!' Ferdi shouted, jumping to his feet. 'Quick! Into the trees!' He leapt for the lowest branch and hauled himself up.

'Wolves!' Merry said in amazement.

'Of course, that's the next part of the story,' Ferdi said, and took up the tale once more. 'Quick, into the trees, before they eat you!'

'I'm not climbing any trees,' Merry said stubbornly.

'What shall we do? What shall we do?' Ferdi cried. 'Escaping goblins to be caught by wolves!'

'That's my line!' Merry said. 'I'm Bilbo, and don't you forget it!'

'He'll be eaten if we don't do something,' Ferdi said, in the best "Thorin" voice he could imagine. 'Dori! Be quick and give Mr. Baggins a hand up!' He lowered his hand to Merry.

'I'm not climbing!' Merry said.

'Then the Wargs will eat you,' Ferdi replied practically. 'You've got to climb, or spoil the game.'

'One branch, then,' Merry said, against his better judgment. Brandybucks are as leery of climbing trees as Tooks are of paddling in a river.

Ferdi hauled him up onto the lowest branch, shouting, 'Snap!

'The branch is breaking?' Merry asked uneasily.

'No, that was the teeth of the Warg that jumped for you, y'know, and he nearly got your cloak!' Ferdi said. He had Bilbo's tale by heart. 'We'll have to go higher.'

'Higher!' Merry said in protest, his voice squeaking despite his best effort to control it.

'Higher,' Ferdi said. 'Look how easily you got up one branch. Just one branch at a time, that's all tree-climbing is. Look! Reach up to the next branch, and pull yourself up. Easy as eating pie!' He swung up onto the next-highest branch, and kept climbing.

Merry followed, dubious at best, but not wanting to be outshone by a Took. He found climbing was very easy, as a matter of fact, until he made the mistake of looking down when he was halfway up the tree.

Ferdi was high up now, high enough to make Merry's head spin, looking at him. 'Climb higher!' the mad Took shouted. 'They've set fires! They're trying to roast us!' And he began to sing. 'Fifteen birds in five fir trees...'

'I think I'm going to be sick,' Merry moaned, hugging the tree.

'What's that?' Ferdi called down. Merry didn't answer.

Ferdi climbed down a few branches. 'Are you all right, cousin?' he called. 'You've got a good solid grip, I see. Just don't look down!'

'Too late,' Merry muttered. His eyes were squeezed tight shut.

He heard a rustling and cracking, and it was not long before Ferdi was just above him, talking urgently. 'Come along, now, cousin,' he said. 'The eagles are coming, you know.'

'You go right ahead,' Merry said.

'You cannot stay here,' Ferdi said. 'It's nearly teatime!'

'No,' Merry said.

'What d'ye mean, "no"?' Ferdi demanded. ''Tis, I tell ye!' This thought was punctuated by the sound of a bell on the breeze. They were being called back to the farm, and if they came late, there might be no teacakes for them, or sweets of any kind.

'I can't get down,' Merry said.

'Sure and ye can!' Ferdi countered. 'Just do the same as ye did to climb up, only backwards!'

'Can't,' Merry said.

'O for the love of...' Ferdi swore under his breath, one of his uncle's favourite phrases, though he'd never heard all of it and so didn't know for the love of what. Still, it was a satisfying thing to say in such situations. 'Come along, Merry!' There was no response from the Brandybuck. 'What're ye gonna do when Pip climbs a tree and cannot get down? Ye'll have to climb up to fetch him, if I'm not there to do it!' Merry still did not answer. Ferdi shrugged and muttered to himself, and then said, 'Very well.'

'Very well what?' Merry said, though he hardly sounded interested in the matter. He was hugging the tree trunk for all he was worth, and his eyes were still closed tight.

'I'll show you how it's done,' Ferdi said. 'I'll climb down, and then ye'll do just as I did, and we won't be late for tea.'

'Fine,' Merry said, though it really wasn't.

He gritted his teeth as he felt Ferdi's weight settle onto the branch he was sitting on, and was about to comment when there was a terrifying crack and the branch tilted under him. He heard Ferdi's startled yell, falling away, a crackling of leaves, and then a muffled thump and a terrifying silence.

Holding onto the tree trunk for dear life, Merry forced his eyes open. The branch he was sitting on had cracked and now offered a precarious perch. But looking down...

'Ferdi!' he cried. So far down, the ground was, and his cousin lay there, unmoving. 'Ferdi!

It was perhaps the bravest thing he'd ever done, to slide off that half-broken branch onto the one below, to climb slowly out of the tree that had shed his younger cousin without a second's warning. He held tight with his hands as he eased his feet onto a lower branch, listening with dread for the terrible crack that meant the tree was about to send him hurtling down.

At last he reached the lowest branch, and swinging down from that, he landed with a thud beside Ferdibrand. He half-expected his cousin to jump up, laughing, saying, 'I knew ye could do it! 'Tis easy as eating pie, 'tis!'

But Ferdi lay unmoving.

Ferdinand and Paladin were sitting at the kitchen table, idly speculating on whether the lads would come on time or late to table. Nell, Rosemary, Pearl, Esmeralda and Eglantine were bustling about with the last of the preparations, and Pervinca was just about to waken Pippin from his nap, when Merry flung himself through the door.

'Well, lad, it looks as if...' Ferdinand began.

'Ferdi!' Merry gasped. 'Ferdi!' His face was white and dripping sweat and he swayed, close to collapse. Esmeralda was by her son's side at once, holding him, though her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth as she tried to form the obvious question.

Paladin rose from his seat in concern. 'What is it, Merry-lad?' he said, going quickly to lend Merry his arm in support.

'Fell...' Merry panted, '...out of a... tree...'

'Rosie!' Ferdinand said at once, swinging toward his daughter, who'd stopped with a bowl of berry compote in her hands. 'Take your pony; ride for the healer!'

'Where?' Paladin said, and Rosemary waited for the reply.

'Cabbages,' Merry gasped. 'I think he's dead!'

Rosemary shoved the bowl into Pimpernel's hands and ran out of the kitchen. Eglantine snatched the bowl from her middle daughter before it could fall, to put it down on the table, and then everyone was hurrying out the door, across the fields to the copse by the cabbage field.

***

Pippin wakened from his nap to the good smell of scones baking. He rose from his bed and stretched. Though he always bitterly protested being put to bed for a nap after luncheon, he invariably slept for an hour or two and awakened refreshed and lively.

He emerged into the kitchen to something of a surprise, however. The table was set with all manner of good things (no light cake, but scones and biscuits and berry compote and beaten cream), the teapot was cosied and all was ready.

All would be ready, that is, if there were any hobbits to be seen. But the kitchen was empty.

'Hullo?' he called. No answer.

Very strange. Perhaps they'd been called away. Perhaps the Thain had come to call at the neighbour's, and everyone had gone to greet him.

Pippin ought to have been put out at being forgotten, but he was hungry, and so he sat himself down and helped himself to scones and cream and berries and biscuits, as much as he wanted, and no one scolding him for taking more than his share.

And still there was no one there, and no note to tell him where they'd gone.

Very well. It seemed the perfect time to be setting his plan into motion.

He went back to his room to gather the large pocket-handkerchief containing the pieces of broken teapot. He could hang it rather handily from the end of a slightly crooked stick he'd found in a copse, recently, and claimed for a walking stick. With his burden over his shoulder, and whistling (well, sort of whistling... he'd only just learned how to blow through pursed lips and make a semblance of sound), he walked out of the yard, in the direction Frodo always went when tramping over the fields on his way home to Bag End.

There were no workers in the fields to see him; they'd all gone in to tea.

The only body that saw him depart was a sheepdog, lying in the shade of the barn, for he'd injured a paw and was not working the flock today. The dog sat up and whined, but there was no one to hear him. He tried to follow, but came quickly to the end of his rope.

With the determination of his kind, he began to gnaw at his tether.





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