CHAPTER 4

Eradan picked his way through the marshy ground, wondering if he would ever find another sign of his partner. He was very close to the River on the one hand, now, and to the eaves of the Old Forest on the other. He headed more in the direction of the River. He came to the riverbank and made his way slowly northward along it, when he came to a spot where the reeds and marsh plants growing down to the bank were flattened and crushed.

He sped up and began to closely look the area over. It seemed clear that a heavy weight had at some point fallen here.

To all appearances, it looked as though Mellor had collapsed on the riverbank. Yet he was no longer there, and there were no footprints on any indications that he had risen and walked away. Still something told Eradan to continue his way northward. He looked up at the looming shadows ahead of him, and taking a deep breath of trepidation, headed in that direction, still following the banks of the Brandywine.

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Merry and Pippin found Mellor sitting under the tree again, smoking his pipe. He was looking very thoughtful. They made their way to him, and sat down by him.

“Is something wrong, Mellor?” asked Merry.

The Ranger nodded. “I am certain that my partner Eradan is searching for me. I am worried about what he might discover. He is an adequate tracker, but he is no Aragorn. And with my memory so undependable, I do not know if I left the usual signs and blazons for him to follow. And if he should happen to find my trail, it leads into Buckland and the Shire. I should not wish for him to fall into trouble for entering in his search for me.”

Merry shook his head. “That won’t happen, Mellor. As soon as Da realized someone might be searching for you, he sent word to the southern reaches of Buckland, to Haysend and Standelf, and to the Marish in the Shire, to the Bounders there, that any Ranger was to be permitted to enter. He’s already extended the permission granted to you to include your partner.”

Pippin lit his pipe, and offered his pouch to Merry. “I am surprised that you say Eradan is not a very good tracker?”

“He was not trained in the North. He is a Southern Ranger from Ithilien.”

Pippin’s brows rose. “One of Faramir’s people?”

“Aye,” said the Ranger. “After the War, there were very few of us Northern Dúnadain left. Volunteers from the South came north to fill out our ranks somewhat, for a while. Eradan is one of those.”

“Ah,” said Merry. “I don’t suppose tracking was quite so important in Ithilien.”

Mellor shook his head. “No, setting ambushes and stealth were far more important skills. Not that we did not need those skills ourselves, but not to the same extent.”

Merry nodded. “You know, Aragorn is the most amazing tracker. His search for Pippin and me on the plains of Rohan is legendary. You should have heard Legolas and Gimli describe his discovery that we were alive near the eaves of Fangorn…”

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It was nearing dusk. Eradan looked at the Old Forest doubtfully. It had been emphasized to him over and over that all the tales of it were true, and that it was a very dangerous place to enter.

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Saradoc was relieved as he made his way back to Bucklebury Ferry; his conversation with Farmer Maggot had been very helpful.

“No sir, Master Brandybuck. My dogs have caught no whiff of any strangers nor even any adventurous lads these last seven days. I’ll keep my eyes open in case any of them Ruffians is of a mind to return. I am sorry to hear of the King’s Ranger being hurt, though. But I’ve a mind of *who* might know a bit about that. *He* knows most everything goes on in this part of the world. Mayhap I’ll have a word with him.”

The name was never spoken out loud, but the Masters of Buckland had long known--well before Merry and the other lads had ventured into the Old Forest--that the Bombadil of story and song was a real person. The Maggots of the Marish had a long acquaintance with that mysterious personage.

“Everything else is going well, Master Brandybuck. The crops are a-growing apace, and like to be a harvest such as we’ve not seen for years, thanks to that Samwise Gamgee coming round. He sprinkled some of that dust he said was given him by an Elven queen. My sons were wont to snicker over that--they thought he was either cracked from going out of the Shire or having them on--but not anymore! I’m thinking that must’ve been some Elven magic, the way everything is shooting up. Things are growing almost twice as fast as usual, and mayhap we’ll be having an early harvest and time to put another crop in the ground.”

Saradoc was pleased to hear this. It had been a lean year and a difficult one last year, in spite of a bountiful harvest, for Lotho’s Ruffians had despoiled the Shire of its bounty. In spite of the fact that much of it had been recovered, a good deal of last year’s harvest had been lost. This year’s bountiful harvest looked to go a good deal towards mending that hurt.

Well, the day was drawing on, and there was the Ferry. He’d be home in Brandy Hall very soon.

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Eradan decided to make a cold camp, and wait until morning to enter the Forest. It would do no good going in there at night, when he could not see any signs that Mellor might have left. But his heart sank at the delay, though no help for it could he find.

Suddenly he gave a start, as he heard a cheerful voice singing:

Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!
Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!
Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!*
Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! O Ranger!
Do not fret, do not fear, Tom is not a danger-”

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Mellor had retired early to his pallet, after taking a good sized draught of willow-bark tea to ease his head, which was aching again. He had soon drifted into a sounder sleep than he usually knew when out in the wild. Something about being among these hobbits enabled him to relax and to be off his guard somewhat.

It was the middle of the night, when he heard a commotion in the passageway outside his room.

Saradoc got up to answer the urgent knocking at the door to the Master’s quarters. A servant handed him a message.

“Sara?” asked Esmeralda sleepily. “What is it?”

“Go back to sleep, Esme dear. It’s just a message from Haysend.”

He moved away, closing the door behind him, and moved into the sitting room, where he lit a lamp. Opening the message, he scanned it and smiled.

Just then, he looked up to see his guest, standing in the door of the room he was using, looking alert and dangerous. “Is there a problem, Master Brandybuck?” He asked.

Saradoc had no doubt that if there had been, injured and unarmed as he was, this Man would have yet tried to defend him. “No, Mellor. Quite the contrary. I have just received a message from Haysend; your partner is there. He will be guested there for the night, and he should be here tomorrow before elevenses.”

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Eradan sat on the floor in the Master’s study, Mellor by his side. Merry and Pippin were there, as well as Saradoc and Master Dodinas.

“You were found by Tom Bombadil,” said Eradan. “He realized that you needed a different sort of healing than he was equipped to provide, so he put you where you would be immediately found and tended. You *were* injured by some of the Ruffians in a way--they had been gone from that smial they were using as a hideout for months, but they set the trap before they left.”

Mellor narrowed his eyes in concentration. “I do remember hazily, approaching what appeared to be an abandoned hobbit smial that appeared to have been altered for the use of Men; I thought I was being cautious, but I am afraid I was looking for live enemies, rather than traps they might have set.”

“Well, you must have realized at the last second, and leapt back. Otherwise you would have not merely received a glancing blow, but you would have been killed outright. Those were good-sized rocks, and there were a number of them. If one had directly landed on your skull--”

Saradoc gave a shudder; he noticed, however that Merry and Pippin, although somewhat distressed to hear of how Mellor had come by his injury, did not look either especially appalled or surprised. It was one more thing to be laid to their experiences of War.

“What I do not understand,” he said, “is what hobbit dwellings were doing *outside* the Shire like that, so close, and yet beyond the protection of our borders?”

Eradan looked thoughtful. He had a message to deliver. Yet he did not wish to offend this hobbit, who was one of the Shire’s three worthies, and Master of his own small land. He cast about in his mind what to say, and then realized that there was no way to sweeten the news.

“From what Tom Bombadil told me, those were the dwelling places of hobbits who had been banished. Some of them took their families with them--I understand that is a choice their families are given--and were unwilling to settle any further away than they could help. They built crude dwellings for themselves where they could still look across and see their homeland, though they might never return. When Saruman’s Men were driven out, they were vulnerable. I am afraid the Men slew them and took what they wanted, using their homes for their hideouts.”

Saradoc blanched. Hobbits who were banished from the Shire altogether were considered as good as dead, yet the Shirefolk would never have wished it on them in reality. They were banished for such things as chronic thievery, or perhaps if they were violent when drunk; there were a few other crimes where it would be imposed, such as the treachery of the Bankses and Dago Bracegirdle. Yet none of them deserved death. And the wives who chose to follow their hobbits into exile, along with any children they might have, were completely innocent of any wrongdoing.

He glanced over at Merry and Pippin, who were looking back at him with implacable expressions. He did not need to be a mind reader to see the “I told you so” in their faces.

He nodded. “I can see that this is information the Thain will need to consider. We may have to make some changes in the future.”

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Two days later Master Dodinas had pronounced Mellor fit enough to travel again. “Do not overdo it, Master Mellor. You will still tire more easily and be prone to headaches for a little while.” He handed him a small pouch. “Here is powder for willow-bark tea.”

There was a good sized crowd standing about to see them off, and Merry and Pippin were going to escort them as far as the Brandywine Bridge, and they waited patiently for the farewells.

“I thank you,” said Saradoc, “for all you have done for our people.”

“It is our privilege as well as our duty, Master Brandybuck,” said Mellor, as he knelt down to shake the small hand.

Esmeralda came over. “Now you take care of yourself, Mellor. And the two of you hold on to those permissions you have. You are welcome in Buckland anytime, as far as we are concerned,” and she leaned over to plant a motherly kiss on Mellor’s rough chin.

“Come along,” grinned Pippin. “We are burning daylight.”

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*From The Fellowship of the Ring Book I, Chapter VI, “The Old Forest”