CHAPTER 3

Dody put his pendulum back around his neck, and nodded at the Man. “I do believe that you may well be up and around, today. Do take things slowly, however, and if you feel any dizziness or faintness at all, please sit down immediately and send someone for me.” He moved to put things away into his medical satchel.

“Yes, Master Dodinas,” the ranger responded. He hesitated. “I am most grateful for your attentive care, but I have not the means--”

The healer shook his head. “You are a guest of Brandy Hall. I answer to the Master, and Cousin Saradoc sees to my fees. Do not let it worry you.”

“Very well.” Mellor was relieved. “I would not wish to be taking advantage, however.”

“Rest assured that you are not,” Dody responded. “And I must say, you have been a most reasonable patient. I appreciate not having to argue you into doing what is in your own best interest. Brandybucks are second only to Tooks as obstreperous patients.”

The Ranger chuckled. “Having been under the care of my Chief before he was King, I soon learned the futility of arguing with healers.”

Dody smiled. “I must confess myself curious about him. Young Merry and Pippin sing his praises highly, and say that he saved their lives as well as that of their cousin Frodo and their friend Samwise. Yet I think that it must be a difficult thing for him to be a warrior and a king as well as a healer.”

“I am sure you are right. I think that if he could have chosen his own road in life, he would have *been* only a healer; yet he could not deny his duty or his destiny. One of these days, he will return to his Northern realm; perhaps then you might be able to meet him yourself.”

The healer laughed. “I think I should like that. Now, you take yourself out of here, find some food, and get a bit of fresh air.”
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In the kitchen at Bag End with Sam and Rose, Frodo looked again at the letters he had received. There were four of them: one from the Thain, one from Saradoc, another from Merry, and finally one from Will Whitfoot.

He sighed, and read the letter from Merry again. His cousin was hinting that he would welcome his presence in Brandy Hall while they were trying to clear up the mystery of the injured Ranger.

Rose poured him a cup of tea. “Is anything amiss, Mr. Frodo?”

“Is it aught to do with that Sandyman business?” asked Sam.

“In a roundabout way.” He pushed the letter from Merry over for Sam to read.

Sam pursed his lips in a brief whistle as he read. “An injured Ranger! Are you going to go to Buckland?”

Frodo was silent for a moment. Sam waited patiently for the answer. He truthfully was not sure what he wanted Frodo to say. He was not sure that Frodo would be well enough for such a trip right now. And Sam could not just up and go with him this time. He had a wife to consider. On the other hand, it would be good if Mr. Frodo had something to take him out of himself.

Frodo blew out a deep breath, and shook his head. “No; no, I don’t believe that I will go. I am not sure I want to make the trip that far, and I have already told Will Whitfoot that I will be giving over my office after Marigold’s and Tom’s wedding at Midsummer; this is not something I should be meddling in right now.” But he gave the letter a regretful look all the same. He hated letting Merry down.
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Eradan picked his way over the stony ground, once more looking for traces of his friend. If their situations were reversed, he was sure Mellor would have found *him* by now. He just was not as good a tracker as the Northern Ranger.

As he came up a small hill, off in the distance to the west, he could see the dark line of the Baranduin--the Brandywine, as the pheriannath called it. Further ahead, as the river curved back to the east the ground had become somewhat marshy. He would have to be careful of his footing there. He paused to take a drink from his waterskin, and then looked about him closely.

Then he noticed it: five small stones, carefully stacked--they would never occur that way in nature. He walked over to them. A stick lay alongside, pointing north, with the “M” rune carved into it. He gave a sigh of relief.

He continued on his way for another hour, watching the ground closely for any further signs. Then he saw it, half buried, it looked like a very small wooden bucket. It was nearly rotted out. From the size of it, it had to either belong to a child--or a hobbit. He looked about, and saw a place off to his right, nearly overgrown with weeds, but he could discern the remains of a chimney. Close inspection told him that it had once been a tiny house, now burned down and overgrown. There was a booted footprint near what would have been the door. It was only a few days old. Mellor had been here. What had he found? Eradan looked about, and saw the small charred bones.

So, a hobbit or hobbits, had for some reason made a small home here outside the protection of the Shire. And of course, the Ruffians had despoiled it and burned it down. This was the kind of thing his partner had been searching for--signs of the Ruffians who had killed Sandyman. Soon he spotted another footprint, and he realized that his partner was heading from here in the direction of the River. Not to mention the Old Forest.

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Merry and Pippin had slept late that morning, and now sat on the steps of Crickhollow, enjoying an after-elevenses smoke. They heard a cheery whistling coming up the lane, and looked up to see Ilberic approaching the gate.

“Hullo, cousins!” he called.

“Good morning, Ilbie,” responded Merry.

“Come for your lesson, have you?” asked Pippin.

Ilbie nodded as he approached, his shepherd’s pipes in his hand. Merry managed to refrain from groaning. Pippin had learned to play from Legolas while on the Quest, and of course like every other instrument he had tried, he took to it instantly. Ilberic’s talent was not on a level with Pippin’s, and though Pippin was a competent teacher, his student was still patently a beginner. It could have been worse, thought Merry, he could have asked Pip to teach him the Tookland pipes instead. Then they could have heard the flat notes all over Buckland.

He stood up with what he hoped was a nonchalant manner, and said, “Well, I shall leave you two to the lesson then. I think I’ll walk down to the Hall, and beg luncheon from Mum, and see how our Ranger is doing.”

Pippin grinned at him with a twinkle in his eye. He knew Merry just wanted to get away from Ilbie’s inevitable shrill notes. Out loud he said, “You do that, then, Merry. And we’ll be back down there after the lesson as well.”

As Merry strolled off he could hear Pippin’s patient voice--”Now Ilbie, about your fingering…”

When Merry arrived at Brandy Hall, he saw Mellor sitting on the ground under the huge oak in the front garden, surrounded by several teens and tweens. Apparently they had inveigled the Ranger into telling a story. As he drew closer, he realized that he was telling a tale of Aragorn when he was young.

“Our cousin Halbarad was most perplexed to find that Aragorn had gone off on his own to hunt, especially as his foster brothers Elladan and Elrohir had arrived to check up on him. They were berating Halbarad for allowing their younger brother out of his sight, when Aragorn strolls back into the camp with a fully grown bear slung across his shoulders. He dropped it onto the ground and looked at all of us and said ‘Here’s supper.’ And of course then our wager with him came out. That was the last time in my life I ever wagered *against* his hunting skills; and Halbarad had us to clean and skin the bear as well.”

Some of the tweens looked amazed, and there was a look of disgust on a couple of the lasses’ faces. One of them made a face. “Bear?” she said in a tone of loathing.

Merry strode forward. “Yes, bear. It’s not bad when cooked properly. Samwise Gamgee made us some excellent bear stew once. Aragorn and Boromir brought that one down.” He approached the Ranger, and the young people scattered. “How are you doing today?”

“I’m doing much better,” he said. “Young hobbits are almost as insatiable for tales as they are for food.”

Merry laughed. “That is quite true. Have you remembered anything further?”

“Nothing coherent,” the Man responded. “I have some flashes of memory, but I do not know what they mean.”

“Shall we go see my mother, and have some luncheon?” The two went into Brandy Hall, the Ranger having to duck to enter. But the ceilings there were high enough that he did not need to worry about bumping his sore head. They went to the small private dining room in the Master’s apartment.

“Hullo, Mum,” said Merry, giving his mother a buss on the cheek. “Where’s Da?”

“Oh, he’s gone across to the Marish this morning to talk to Farmer Maggot. And where is my scapegrace nephew?”

“Pip’s giving Ilbie a lesson.” He made a face.

“Now, be nice, Merry! Not everyone can be as quick to learn as Pippin is. And you are a fine one to complain when you wouldn’t even try to learn.” Merry opened his mouth to protest, but his mother turned to Mellor. “I am glad that you are up and around now, Mellor. Do have a seat.”

She had placed a cushion by the table, and the Man took his seat there. Merry and his mother took their accustomed places, and the three of them had a light summer lunch of soup, salad, sandwiches and fruit.
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Eradan almost missed it, hidden as it was by overgrowth. It was an abandoned smial. But the small hobbit door had been thrown aside, and a larger rectangular door, rather crudely constructed, had taken its place. But it hung crazily from the frayed leather hinges, and the doorway itself was blocked by a pile of large rocks. He looked more closely. A ragged bit of rotten sacking poked from beneath the pile. A bit of broken rope was hanging in the doorway.

And one of the rocks had blood on it.

He looked about carefully, and found a couple of footprints leading away. They appeared to be staggering.

It was clear what had happened: someone had arranged a deadfall trap above the door of what must have been used as a hideout for the Ruffians. It appeared as though Mellor must have been injured, but was able to walk away from it. Yet where could he have gone? His wits would have been addled after such a blow; he could not have gone far.

Well, the few footprints he came across led him in the direction of the Brandywine, as well as further north. He’d soon be in those marshes, and nearly up against the Old Forest. And now he had the urgency of knowing that his friend was injured.

No delay now. He had to find Mellor.