CHAPTER 13

Freddy was embarrassed at the way he had broken down before everyone, but Mistress Poppy was very matter-of-fact about it, briskly telling him that it was only to be expected, after being confronted by such a shock; and Legolas and Gimli had seen him at less than his best before. He blushed to remember how he had broken down in front of them in Hobbiton, in his grief for Folco.

Mistress Poppy made some soothing tea for him--he could taste some chamomile as well as a couple of other herbs--and shortly, except for being a bit pale, he was quite himself again.

“We have to decide what to do now,” he said. “I do not think it would be wise to try and send his body back to the Shire. None of his remaining family wish to have anything to do with him, and the sight of it would only be distressing once they realized how he had died.”

Poppy nodded. “I do not think it would be easy to send the body back anyway, with the condition it is in.”

So Mosco and Gimli went with Targon, Mellor and Eradan, to chose a less vulnerable burial spot in which to re-inter the body.

Legolas sat next to Freddy, close enough that the hobbit could seek his comfort if he wished, but leaving the matter up to him. When he yawned and leaned into the Elf’s side, Legolas placed an arm around him. Poppy watched approvingly as Freddy dozed off. Chamomile had not been the only calming herb in that tea.

“Master Legolas,” she said, “you seem to know well how to comfort a hobbit.”

He smiled fondly. “Months of travelling with Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin showed me that much. Hobbits seem to need touch and physical comfort more than most other races.”

She shook her head. “I would not know about that, as I have always dealt with hobbits. But I observe this group, and it seems to me that Men could benefit from seeking that sort of comfort more often. Young Bergil seems fond enough of hugs.”

“Perhaps, but he is still very young for his kind. Perhaps it is living in a more dangerous world that make Men and Elves and Dwarves warier and less open.”

“Perhaps.” But the hobbit healer looked doubtful. To her mind, any being could benefit from a show of affection and comfort. The Big Folk, however, seemed determined to deny that fact.

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The Rangers carefully took up the battered body, and enshrouded it in the blanket they had used to cover it earlier. Mosco turned pale, and quickly turned his back. But he was too late, and noisily lost his breakfast. Gimli patted him on the back and took out a kerchief, which he wet from his waterskin, and handed it to the hobbit so he could wash his face.

The Dwarf looked about. This area was clearly prone to erosion, which was why the body had come to light in the first place. He stood silently for a moment, his eyes closed, as he felt the earth and stone beneath his feet. Then he walked a short distance away, and cast his eye on a small hillock topped with two evergreen trees. Legolas would probably know what kind of tree those were, he thought. He headed in that direction, and the others followed, Mellor carrying the enshrouded body, and Eradan carrying a couple of small spades. Targon kept watch.

Gimli stopped beneath the shade of the trees, and said “The body should remain undisturbed here from any instability of the earth. And if it is buried deeply enough, it should also remain untouched by carrion creatures.”

Mosco felt sick again, and wiped his brow with the wet cloth. But though his gorge rose, there was nothing left in his belly to bring up.

The Men began to dig.

It did not take long to lay the dead miller in the ground and cover him over, and then the five of them headed back down to the campsite.

Freddy had wakened from the draught induced sleep, a bit chagrined to find himself snuggled up to an Elf as though he were one of his cousins, but Legolas did not seem to have minded. His head was quite a bit clearer now, and though he should have been cross at Mistress Poppy for dosing him up like that, he found himself rather grateful instead.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose it is time for us to return to the others.”

Legolas shook his head. “We will not get far, for I sense that we are in for another summer storm this afternoon. I do not think it will last long, but it will be difficult to travel in through this terrain.”

Mellor nodded. “It seemed to me that we are in for some rain as well. We are only a couple of hours, however, from one of our base camps. We have a crude shelter there which should keep us dryer than nothing at all. We can then move on in the morning, that much closer to Tharbad.”

Targon agreed that this was a good plan, so they began to set things to rights, obliterating all traces of their presence, save for the new-made mound of dirt upon the hill. There was nothing there to mark the place; in a few weeks it would be overgrown, and it would be as if Ted Sandyman had never existed.

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The newly built inn at Tharbad had dubbed itself The Eagle’s Nest, a rather grand name for such a simple structure. The hobbits and Men who crowded in there just before the rain broke were welcomed by a grinning Man who had only one arm. He was clearly a former soldier.

Éothain spoke to him, explaining their numbers. “We should all like a meal, and all but four of the hobbits will be taking rooms. My Men and I shall be staying at the Ranger waystation, however. Sometime tomorrow or the next day we will be expecting others to join us--three more hobbits, and three more Men, one Dwarf and one Elf. The Men will also be staying at the waystation.”

The Man introduced himself as Valacar, a former soldier of Gondor. “I am afraid I do not have rooms especially built for the small folk. Will they object to the larger beds such as Men use?”

Berilac spoke up. “I think that we will be glad of such beds as we may find. Show them to us that we might better judge.”

The hobbits were dismayed to find that they must go upstairs, but they followed the Man, who showed them into a room with two-- what appeared to hobbit eyes--immense beds. Berilac nodded. “There is more than sufficient room for all of us, including those who will come later. Save only that Miss Viola will need a room and bed to herself. Another hobbitess will also be joining her later.”

Viola was shown to another room, somewhat smaller, and with only one bed. But it still appeared huge to her. She gazed at it wide eyed, and wondered would she be able to sleep in such immensity. She hoped her mistress would arrive soon.

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They had reached the small campsite shortly before the storm broke. It was a lean-to, built of closely woven branches up against an outcropping of stone; a area near the back had been hollowed out for the stowing of supplies. That was large enough for the three hobbits and Gimli to huddle into. The rest of the shelter was barely large enough, however for three Men and an Elf. Legolas sat with his back to the opening. He did not mind the weather.

He caught Gimli’s eye. The Dwarf was grinning. “And what, pray tell, Master Dwarf, do you find so amusing?” he asked.

“I was remembering that one stormy afternoon in Hollin. The closest thing to a shelter we could find was to stand huddled beneath that totally inadequate overhang of rock. We had the four hobbits in the middle, and were using poor Bill the pony to keep the worst of the wind off.”

Legolas laughed. “We might as well have kept going. We were all getting drenched by the water-filled gusts of wind. Samwise kept muttering about how he didn’t think much of this idea of shelter, and Merry and Frodo had begun to be cross with him.”

“And then,” said Gimli, “Pippin began to sing. What was it? Something about hot water?”

Legolas closed his eyes, and his clear Elvish voice sang out in that most hobbity of tunes:

“Sing hey! for the bath at the close of the day
that washes the weary mud away!
A loon is he that will not sing:
O! Water Hot is a noble thing!”

Freddy laughed and lent his voice to the second verse:

“O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain, 
And the brook that leaps from hill to plain;
But better than rain or rippling streams
Is Water Hot that smokes and steams.” *

The two of them sang on, Mosco joining in on the last two verses, chuckling as he finished. “I had forgotten all about that song! That was one of old Cousin Bilbo’s compositions!”

“At any rate, all the hobbits joined in with the singing and it seemed to cheer them, but when it finished, young Merry says, ‘Well, Pip, that’s all well and good, but you’ve seem to be confused. This water is anything but Hot.’ And Pippin lowered his voice to a whisper and replied  through chattering teeth--”

Here Legolas joined in with Gimli as they quoted together: “--‘Shh--don’t tell me. If I don’t know, then maybe I won’t notice.’”

All of them burst out into laughter at this sally, and Freddy shook his head, still chuckling. “That sounds *just* like Pippin! And I am quite sure it made perfect sense to him!”

The rain cleared away before sunset, and there was enough dry wood that had been stowed in the shelter for a small fire. It was barely large enough to make some hot tea, so they were reduced to the trail rations they had brought with them for their supper.

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The Men and hobbits had remained in the common room of the inn until the rain slacked off, and then Éothain took the Men and prisoners with him to the waystation on the outskirts of the settlement.

The hobbits remained there, ordering food and drink when it neared teatime, and again for supper. It was the first time since leaving the Shire that they were all merely hobbits together, without the presence of any of the Men or the prisoners. There were no other guests at the inn, so save for the occasional query from their host as to whether they needed anything, they were left on their own.

None of them wished to confess that they were not eager to go upstairs to sleep.

However, as the evening drew on, Men began to drift into the inn for drinks, and the hobbits decided they might as well face their fears and go to their rooms.

Viola said farewell to the lads at the door to their room, and with trepidation entered her own. Someone had brought fresh water; the ewer and basin were huge, and she could barely manage to pour out enough water to wash in without spilling it. She took a flannel and a soap out of her pack and washed up, and then changed into her nightdress. This was the first time since leaving home that she had used it. She and Mistress Poppy had been sleeping in their shifts and petticoats in case they needed to dress hurriedly in an emergency.

She had to climb up the footboard to get into the bed. If they stayed another night, she was going to ask for a stool or something to climb on. Finding herself in the middle of a huge expanse of white linen, she pulled the large pillows all around her to make a nest. She left the candle to burn itself out, for she was awake long after it had guttered and gone out. But she did not weep.

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*From The Fellowship of the Ring, Book I, Chapter V, "A Conspiracy Unmasked"