Chapter 4. With Peace and Joy I Journey Thither

'They're ready to depart, Sir,' Sandy said softly. Thain Peregrin jerked awake in the chair by Diamond's bed, her hand still clasped firmly within his.

Healer Woodruff cleared her throat. 'It's all right, lad,' she said. 'You go and see them off. There's naught much you could be doing here, anyhow. I'll keep watch and call you if anything...' He nodded, and after tenderly kissing the palm of the hand he held, laid it gently on the bed and arose from the chair.

'We'll talk when you return,' the healer added.

He looked at her sharply. 'You mean there's something to be done?' he asked. 'You told me there was nothing...'

'We will talk when you return. They're waiting for you now, and my news will keep,' Woodruff said firmly, as if he were still the wayward lad she'd treated for a broken arm after he'd tried to jump his pony while sitting backwards in the saddle.

He gave a jerk of his chin and, after a long glance at his wife, left the room.

***

Outside the Smials the pack-ponies were loaded and the riders were ready to mount, just waiting for the Thain to see them off. Fastred was not impatient now, knowing what the hobbit was going through, though he burned to return to Greenholm, to find out if any of the crops had been salvaged.

There were hugs and good wishes all around as the Tooks took leave of their families. It was quite the event for Reginard and Ferdibrand to be travelling all the way to the western Bounds. Most Tooks never went any further than Michel Delving, and that far only because the great Overlithe fair was held there every four years, with the Shire-wide pony races and four-day fair.

Regi's wife Rosa patted her swollen belly and said, 'You'd better be quick about your business or the babe will arrive here before you do.'

Ferdi laughed and said, 'And then you'll be in the biggest trouble with your wife you ever saw, believe you me!'

His own wife laughed and blushed, but said, 'And for good reason!'

'Don't I know it,' Ferdi said wryly, and everyone laughed.

Sam turned to Rose. 'You'll stay here with Diamond?' he asked.

She nodded. 'For all the good I can do,' she said soberly. 'But I'll stay here. They did the same for us when we were down.' She looked up at her tall "son". 'And you be good, Bergil, and stay out of trouble,' she said.

'Yes, Rosie-mum,' he said obediently.

Casting about for some other scrap of motherly advice, she added, 'And eat your vegetables.'

'Always,' Bergil said, giving her a hug.

Rose looked to her three eldest, who were accompanying their father. 'I know you'll be a help and not a hindrance,' she said. They often rode with Samwise on his travels about the Shire, even when the rest of the family stayed at Bag End. They were able to collect much more news, and unguarded thoughts, from the tweens in the places they visited, than their elders were able to gather from the more cautious grown-ups, and so provided the Mayor and Thain an invaluable barometer of public opinion.

'Yes'm,' Frodo answered, and his two sisters echoed him.

Ferdi looked up then, from his own conversation with his wife and little ones. 'I don't believe you've been properly introduced,' he said to Fastred. 'A bit awkward when travelling in company.'

Grabbing the other by the arm, he hauled Fastred over to the Mayor's family. 'Mistress Rose, Miss Elanor, Miss Rose, may I present Fastred of Greenholm.'

'At your service,' Fastred said with a bow.

Frodo returned the bow, saying, 'And your family's service.'

Elanor made a graceful courtesy, but Rose giggled. Her mother shot her a sharp glance. 'Rosie,' she said sternly. 'Perhaps you are not old enough...'

Young Rose sobered abruptly. 'I'm sorry, Mum,' she said, and standing stiff and proper, extended a hand to Fastred, saying, 'Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.'

Thain Peregrin appeared at the main entrance, calm as ever, and conferred for a few moments with the Mayor and Steward before turning to Fastred. 'We'll find a way,' he said. 'We've dealt with ruffians before.'

'Yes, Sir,' Fastred said.

The Thain turned to Ferdibrand. 'I want a full report,' he said.

The chancellor smiled faintly. 'Don't I always deliver?' he answered.

The Thain gave him a hard look. 'You left a few things out, the last time we dealt with ruffians,' he said sternly. Ferdi shrugged and rolled his eyes at Reginard, who was shaking his head. The Thain lifted a stern finger. 'A full report, I said.'

'Yes, Sir,' Ferdi answered, 'though several trees die to sustain the paperwork.'

'Ferdi,' Reginard said, and the other subsided, but not before muttering, 'I thought I was on holiday.'

At Fastred's startled glance, Ferdi gave him a wink, then sobered. 'Give Diamond our best, when she wakens.'

The Thain nodded soberly. 'When she wakens,' he said softly. 'Grace go with you.' Abruptly he turned away and walked into the Smials.

***

They rode across the countryside, following faint tracks that wound around the hillsides, to Tookbank, where they picked up the road to Whitwell. There they took the road North, to meet the Great Eastern Road at Waymeet, where they stayed the first night, and then turned their ponies' heads towards the Sea.

Fastred overheard quiet conversation between the Mayor and the steward of Tookland as they rode past the empty fields, the harvest over now, crops gathered in, hobbits getting ready for the next celebration to come, Remembering Day on November the Second. He wondered how much of their harvest, if any, the hobbits of Greenholm had managed to gather.

This year on Remembering Day, he would act as head of the family, instead of his father. His father... this year it was his father they'd be honouring the memory of, rather than some old gaffer of the village who'd died in his bed after a fine meal and satisfying pipe, or an old gammer who'd fallen asleep in her rocking chair after taking the last pan of biscuits out of the oven for the expected visit of her grands, never to awaken again in this world. His father had been taken young, too young, still full of plans and dreams. Now it was up to his sons to carry them out. Fastred wondered if he was old enough, wise enough, strong enough.

They passed farmers breaking ground for the planting of the winter wheat and winter barley. Fastred thought of the rich fields to the west of Greenholm, lying fallow now. No one would venture past the Bounds, not until the ruffians were taken care of. The Downs themselves were more suited to grazing sheep than raising crops.

They stayed the next night in Michel Delving, where the Mayor was welcomed warmly (it was the seat of his office, after all) and hospitality was showered upon his party. After a hearty breakfast they set out for the last leg of their journey, descending the cleft through the White Downs. Looking back, Fastred could see the Downs' dazzling face, a wall between Shire civilisation and the wilds of the Western reaches.

Now the land became wilder, more desolate, the farmsteads fewer and further between. No towns rose between Michel Delving and Greenholm; the land was untamed, somehow, windswept moors rising on either side of the road.

'No watercourses,' the Mayor commented. 'Makes growing crops rather difficult.'

'Rather,' Fastred agreed. The next water was to be found at Greenholm, and the community owed its existence to the stream that emerged from under the Downs and ran away towards the River Lune.

Riding next to Frodo, Fastred suddenly pointed. Following the indicated direction, the younger hobbit saw, finally, two small aerial figures flying at great speed, twisting, dodging in erratic flight until the pursuer finally rose above the other and stooped, striking the larger bird it was pursuing with its talons, and settling to the ground.

'Merlin,' he said succinctly in explanation.

'Hawks? Here?' Frodo said, looking out on the wild moorland. 'Where would they nest?'

'On the ground,' Fastred answered. 'Where else?' He gestured to the grassy hills. 'See any trees around here?'

Frodo chuckled. 'I suppose you have a point.' He considered a moment. 'They're the smallest of the hawks, aren't they?'

'Hobbit hawks,' Fastred said, and laughed.

'Hobbit hawks?' Frodo asked, patting his pony's neck as the beast tossed its head. 'Those words don't go together, do they?'

'I dunno,' Fastred answered, scratching his head. 'Hobbits hunt for the pot, after all, same's merlins do. And from some of the stories I heard in the Smials, they can be bold hunters indeed.'

Frodo followed his gaze to the chancellor, riding ahead, and he shook his head with a chuckle. 'I suppose you have a point,' he said again.

'My brother tamed a merlin once,' Fastred continued. 'I'd've said it couldn't be done, but he found one with a damaged wing upon the moor and nursed it. That lad has more patience in his little finger than I have in my whole being.'

'I don't doubt that,' Frodo said with a sidelong glance, but Fastred only laughed. He was getting used to these Gamgees, finding that they were just regular hobbits, like those he knew in Greenholm, for all their father was Mayor of the Shire.

They had been climbing gradually, up one long slope, down somewhat on the far side, only to climb the next rise, and near evening they came out on the edge of the Far Downs, which fell away steeply to the West. A great cleft had been cut somehow, and through it the road descended to the plain below.

They paused a moment at the top before descending and looked over the Westmarch, flooded with sunset light. A meandering silver line emerged from the cliffs, the stream on which Greenholm based its existence, wandering until it slipped into the embrace of a little wood that followed its course into the distance. The Tower Hills were just discernible, a dark smudge against the horizon, behind which the Sun was soon to hide her face.

'There,' Fastred said. 'The Bounds are perhaps five miles from where we stand, and beyond are the fields we planted, the dreams we watered, the hopes the ruffians stole from us, at the cost of our sweat and our blood.' They stood in silence, looking over the plain, where well-ordered fields could still be remarked, with their neat stone walls, but no farmers ploughed, preparing the ground for winter barley and winter wheat there. The fields lay empty, abandoned.

'A land full of promise,' the Mayor murmured. 'Fine for growing things.' Fastred recalled that he'd been a gardener before becoming Mayor. Now Sam sat upright in his saddle, said, 'Just need to pull the weeds out of the beds,' and squeezed his pony's sides, to start the long descent into the valley and the little settlement of Greenholm.