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Where the Merlin Cries  by Lindelea

Chapter 3. Prepare the Way, Prepare the Course

Fastred had spent two fuming days after the festival at the Great Smials, two frustrating days, waiting for the Thain to make some kind of decision. What was taking so long? Either call a muster of hobbits, ride out onto the Westmarch, roust the ruffians, and ride home again, or pat him on the head and send him home with empty sympathy. It should not be that difficult or time-consuming to come to a decision. What was Thain Peregrin waiting for?

He ate in the great room with the crowd of Tooks, seated at one of the lower tables, of course. His eyes strayed often to the head table, where the Thain and his family and the Mayor and his family were seated, and sometimes watching eyes caught him staring, and he dropped his own eyes, furious at the discovery. The Mayor's eldest daughters held a fascination for him, but until they were introduced (and that hardly seemed likely), all he could do was gaze from afar.

He noticed there were others who did not share his problem. The Mayor's daughters were always surrounded by a cloud of Tooks from the Great Smials, dancing attendance with the annoying persistence of midges, though the lasses seemed to tolerate the attention. Not so their brother Frodo, evidently. Fastred could not help smiling at Frodo's protective stance, his cool looks at prospective suitors, his way of turning aside a lovesick probe with a jab of humour.

On the third evening he noticed an addition to the Mayor's family, not a hobbit at all, but a tall Man in the black and silver uniform he recognised as that of the King's guardsmen. What was a guardsman doing here? At the moment, he was sitting on the floor to be at proper height for eating, enjoying dinner and trading jokes with the Thain...

That evening, as he sat listening to the singing by the great room's hearth, a servant bowed to him, saying his presence was requested in the Thain's study. He nodded and rose, noting that one of the bright-haired Mayor's daughters waved farewell to him with a saucy smile from the midst of the Tookish midges, then laughed at her brother's scolding.

He smiled in spite of himself, inclined his head to her, and followed the servant from the room.

The tall guardsman was in the Thain's study along with the Thain and the Mayor. The chancellor sat at his desk, pen at the ready, though Fastred had the idea that the pen was not really necessary; all pertinent information would be filed away behind those intent eyes. He nodded at Ferdibrand and received a nod in return.

'Ah, Fastred, come in,' the Thain said, rising from his desk to gesture to a chair next to the guardsman, who was seated on the floor by the desk. 'I'd like you to meet the Mayor's eldest son, Bergil.'*

'At your service,' the guardsman said correctly.

'And at your family's,' Fastred answered, barely concealing his astonishment. He met the eye of the chancellor again and saw amusement there.

'So the Mayor has a guardsman in the family. Tooks come in all shapes and sizes,' Ferdibrand said. 'Some of our relatives even resemble the Fair Folk.'

The Thain shot him a quelling glance and he smiled and subsided.

'I've been telling Bergil about your problem,' the Thain continued. 'He has had reports from the western outposts, but without a change in the standing orders the King left, they have felt that their hands were tied. The Rangers have rather more latitude, and have done a bit of ruffian hunting outside the borders of the Shire. I have sent a message to the Watchers that they might want to turn some attention to our Western side.'

'That would be nice,' Fastred said dryly. 'Inviting more Men into the Westmarch? They ought to have a lovely party.'

'King's Men,' the Thain emphasised. 'The Rangers serve the King as well.'

'As we must serve him, to earn his protection?' Fastred asked bleakly, all his father's talk of freedom haunting him. Perhaps hobbits were too small and weak to dream of freedom, and needed to be protected, like children, from the big, bad world around them.

'Nothing in this world comes free,' the Mayor said softly. 'Everything comes at a price, whether you are the one who pays it or not. Even your first breath came at a great price to the one who bore you.'

Fastred frowned. What did the Mayor know of "price"? When had he ever not been able to pay for whatever he wanted? What a life he led, travelling from town to town, opening festivals and celebrations. What did he know of hardship, after all, and sacrifice?

He met the chancellor's watching eyes again, saw the faint rope scars on Ferdibrand's neck, caught the slight nod. Somehow he had the feeling Ferdi was trying to tell him something. He knows, the eyes said. He knows very well, indeed.

'In any event,' the Thain continued, 'I am sending a group of hobbits to Greenholm, to look into your situation at first hand. I need more information before I can try to help you.' He added almost as if to himself, 'I'd like to come, but cannot get away, of course.'

'Of course,' Fastred said politely. Too attached to his comforts, likely. Not willing to put up with the inconveniences to be found in a town on the far border, in the least settled area of the Shire.

A soft knock came on the door, and the inevitable head appeared, with the usual, 'Sorry to disturb, Sir, but...' At his hesitation, Fastred became aware of a peculiar tension in the air, and looking to the Thain he saw the colour drain from the other's face.

'Yes, Sandy,' Thain Peregrin said quietly.

'Something's come up, Sir,' Sandy said. 'You'd better come.'

It was the fastest he'd seen the Thain move yet, quickly up out of his chair and out the door without a word to anyone.

Fastred was speechless with surprise, but looking around he saw the faces of the others were grave. There was something here he did not understand, some knowledge he did not share. In the short silence that followed the Thain's departure,his thoughts were busy... and he suddenly realised that while the Mistress of Tookland was often mentioned, he'd never seen her, not even at the ceremonies opening the festival.

'What has happened to his wife?' he blurted out without thinking.

'How did you know?' the steward said slowly, but the chancellor was nodding in satisfaction.

'Nicely done,' Ferdi said. Looking to Regi, he signalled, This is no fool we're dealing with.

'Indeed,' Regi said. He paused to consider and when he spoke again, he was obviously weighing his words. 'The Thain's wife is... very ill,' he said. 'He cannot leave the Smials at this time.'

'But you will not be riding back to Greenholm alone,' the Mayor reminded. 'I'll be coming with you.'

'And I, as well,' Regi said. 'And I do believe that the chancellor had expressed some interest.'

'I've never been past Michel Delving before,' Ferdi admitted. 'I must say I find the idea of seeing the Western Bounds most intriguing. And the thought of ruffians simply adds spice to the stew.' A gleam was in his eye as he spoke, albeit not a pleasant one.

'Besides,' he added. 'I'm about due for a holiday.'

***

That evening by the fireside in the great room, the Tooks were more subdued than they had been. There was no singing, no boisterous laughter, only a murmur of voices in low conversation. Fastred had just about decided to go off to his room, have an early night before the morrow's journey, when Ferdi spoke up from the hearthside.

The chancellor was speaking to one of the younger hobbits, and his eyes were wide with astonishment. 'You fell asleep before the end of the Story!' he exclaimed. 'However did that happen?'

'Please!' several other little hobbits clamoured. 'Please tell it again, please, will you?'

Ferdi shook his head. 'I do not know,' he said. 'It is an awfully long story.'

'I can tell it!' a young voice piped up. 'Frodo got a ring from his cousin Bilbo, who got it from a dragon's hoard...'

There was a chorus of 'No! That's not right!' from several others, and then a melodious voice spoke, one of the Mayor's golden-haired daughters.

'You were close,' she said to the little one, who appeared crushed by the mistake. 'There was a dragon's hoard in Bilbo's story, but he got the Ring before he ever reached the dragon's hoard, remember?'

Fastred had a vague memory of having heard the story before as a small lad: a hobbit, a dozen or so dwarves, a wizard, and a grand adventure. He'd often wished adventure would come to him...

'And he found it was the Ruling Ring!' a lad shouted, only to be hushed by the rest.

'That's right, Hilly,' Ferdibrand said quietly, 'the One Ring that would cover all Middle-earth with everlasting Darkness, should its Master ever find it.'

Fastred leaned forward. He'd not heard this story before, in faraway Greenholm, almost a separate country from the Shire, separated as it was from the rest by the wide, unsettled space of the Westfarthing.

'I want to hear the part about the fiery mountain,' little Hilly said stubbornly, refusing to be hushed.

'Do you know why they went to the fiery mountain in the first place?' Ferdibrand said sternly. Hilly shuffled his feet and dropped his eyes. The chancellor met Fastred's watching eyes, and nodded to himself.

He proceeded to tell about the great Quest, a shortened version, necessarily, for there was another journey to be started on the morrow and they must needs seek their beds before the middle night. But he told enough, and well enough, that Fastred was drawn into the story.

In his imagination, he crawled up the ash-covered slopes of the fiery mountain, his tongue cleaving in his mouth for the overpowering thirst that wracked him, driven by a terrible purpose, an urgent need, all the while hunted by winged terrors and creeping death.

He fought a final battle with the ghoulish creature that had shadowed him for leagues, saw the Ring cast into the fire, staggered down the side of the mountain to collapse in despair...

...and awakened in a fair land of cool grass, sunshine, and birdsong, honoured by a great host raising their swords and shouting to the heavens in glad acclamation, for the Darkness had been rolled away, and the Dark Lord defeated.

There was a general sigh as the story ended, and a log popped as it cracked asunder, clearly heard through the silent hall.

'But how did you get from the fiery mountain to the fair land, Mayor Sam?' one of the little ones asked sleepily.

Mayor Sam? Fastred thought in shock, only to meet the chancellor's knowing eyes, to see Ferdibrand's slight nod.

'On the wings of an eagle,' Sam replied with a smile. 'Or that's what they tell me. You see, I was asleep at the time.'

There was a murmur of empathy for the disappointment he must have felt, amongst the little ones who could only imagine how it must feel to be borne upon the wings of a great eagle...

'That's the part I like best,' yawned a sleepy little one.

'Well, then,' the steward said, getting up from his chair, 'Here's an eagle come to take you off to your rest, now.'

'Awww, Da! Can I not stay up awhile longer?' the little one protested.

'No, lass,' Regi said gently. 'For this weary eagle is about to seek his own bed.' He picked up his little daughter in his arms, and she snuggled against his shoulder, asleep before he had carried her half a dozen steps towards the door.

***

* Author's Note: This is a reference to the story "At the End of His Rope", wherein Sam and Rose "adopt" Bergil during their year in Gondor, after he has been daily in their company, having been assigned to guard them during their stay in the White City.





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