Chapter 5. This is Certainly the Truth  

'What did you mean?' the Thain asked of the healer upon his return to Diamond's side, kissing his wife's hand as he took it up again, murmuring a loving plea into her ear before he sat again by her side. 'I thought you said there was nothing to be done but wait.'

He sternly eyed Healer Woodruff, a grandmotherly hobbit, plump, comfortable, whose greying curls attested to her lifetime of experience in dealing with difficult situations.

She seemed strangely reluctant to speak, but finally took a deep breath and began. 'You know this condition is caused by the fact that she's expecting.'

'You said it happens more often with mums who are older than the usual, and when they are expecting more than one babe,' the Thain affirmed.

'Aye,' Woodruff said, 'and Diamond fits both of those.'

'You were watching for this,' Pippin said.

'We always watch for it,' Woodruff amended. 'I've lost more mums to this than to any other problem, in all the time I've been a healer.'

The Thain's expression was bleak; they'd gone over all this ground before. 'From the first headache, you were worried, and then when the swelling started...'

'We know what to watch for,' she said quietly. 'I had hoped, when we popped her into bed at the first signs...' she sighed.

'You said there's something else to be done,' Pippin said.

'I said nothing of the sort,' Woodruff bristled.

'You said we'd talk,' Pippin persisted. 'Right, then, talk! I'm listening.' Unconsciously his hand tightened on his wife's, but she made no sign.

'The only cure I know of, is for her to deliver the babes.'

'It is too soon, you said,' Pippin answered slowly.

'Aye,' Woodruff nodded slowly. 'Another week, I think, before it would be safe for them to come into the world. Were they to come forth this day, I doubt they'd draw breath, not for long, at least.'

'You're saying, that if the babes were to be born this day, they would die, but Diamond might live?'

She nodded slowly. 'And if we keep waiting, you'll most likely lose all three of them, mother, and babes. There are ways...' she said. ‘I’ve learned a few things of the healers in Fornost on our visits to King Elessar.’

Pippin’s dawning understanding was replaced by horror. The Thain began to shake his head, slowly. 'Nay, Woodruff,' he whispered. 'Do not place such a choice before me. You know what the answer must be.' He looked back to his wife and blinked as tears spilled over, to run unheeded down his cheeks. Frodo’s voice echoed in his ears. No hobbit has ever killed another on purpose in the Shire, and it is not to begin now.

 ‘I’m sorry, Diamond,’ he sobbed, suddenly burying his face in the hand he held. When he had control of himself again, he spoke so softly that the healer had to strain to hear the words. ‘I’m so very sorry, but I cannot... cannot do this thing. Forgive me. Forgive me.’

 ‘Peregrin,’ Woodruff said gently, laying a hand upon his shoulder.

 ‘You cannot take life, to give life,' he said brokenly.

'I know,' the healer said softly. 'I just wanted you to know the choice was there.'

'No choice at all,' Pippin whispered. 'Are we Hobbits? Or are we Men?'

'Hobbits,' Woodruff said firmly, and giving him a squeeze upon his shoulder, she left him alone with his wife.

***

Greenholm was a small community, not all that different from Hobbiton, really, though the accents fell slightly strange on the ear, slower, broader, perhaps. Many of the hobbits had delved their dwellings into the steep face of the cliff where the Far Downs looked onto the Westmarch, and very comfortable they were, too, for all their relative newness, compared to the long-settled interior of the Shire.

The travellers were warmly welcomed, even Bergil, though he noticed many a sidelong glance thrown his way. As was customary amongst hobbits, no business was discussed upon their arrival. Instead, they were shown to their quarters, to freshen up and put away their gear, and then fed well, offered pipeweed and small talk, and finally, wished a good night on their way to their rest. The morrow would be time enough to discuss the reason for their coming.

On the morrow they were fed a good breakfast, and then the discussion began. A large hall had been carved out of the hillside for community gatherings, and many gathered here now. The travellers heard a recitation of events, no surprises, all in line with the news Fastred had brought to the Smials.

'And so we are at a standstill, now,' one farmer ended.

'But you did harvest some of your crops,' Mayor Sam said.

'Yes,' the same farmer said, putting a finger to the side of his nose and glancing askance at Bergil.

'Go ahead,' the Mayor encouraged. 'My son is here as an observer at the moment.'

The farmer nodded, blinked, still not used to the idea of a guardsman being part of a hobbit family, but taking a deep breath, he continued in a low voice. 'Some of the guardsmen...' he said, glancing again at Bergil, '...in their own time, when they were off duty, mind...'

'Yes?' the Mayor said encouragingly.

'They went out with the waggons, sort of... stood guard on the harvesters, not really stood guard, mind, but...'

'Yes?' the Mayor repeated when the other faltered.

'They rode back with the loaded waggons, just to keep us company, mind, nothing official at all...'

'I see,' Sam said. 'Very neighbourly of them.'

'That's it,' the farmer said, relieved. 'Neighbourly. Just a neighbourly visit, you know, a chance to chat.'

'Very neighbourly,' Bergil said dryly. 'I'm glad to hear the King's Men are getting along so well with their... neighbours.'

Rose made a sound suspiciously like a giggle, and Frodo was having trouble containing his own laughter. 'Next thing you know, they'll be adopting guardsmen into their own families,' he whispered to Elanor, who gave him a quelling glance.

'The Thain has asked the Rangers to pay some heed to the land West of the Shire,' Reginard said smoothly. 'They do not have the same... constraints, as the guardsmen, whose orders are fairly specific.'

'Rangers?' one of the hobbits of Greenholm said sharply. 'More Men in the Westmarch?'

'King's Men,' Fastred answered. 'And I'm told these have been quite efficient in guarding the stretch between Buckland and Bree against Ruffians and other nuisances, Reddy.'

'Ah,' Reddy said, though he did not seem completely reassured.

'Officially, the Westmarch belongs to the King,' Bergil said at last. The hobbits bristled at this. What need had the King for all that land? It lay there, unused, after all, until the hobbits began to work it, to coax it to bring forth its riches. 'However,' he added, 'it would not be unheard of for the King to make a grant of land to Hobbits. It's been done before, as I recall.'

The Shire had not always been, after all, but had been given to the People long ago, by another King. The inhabitants of Greenholm absorbed this information.

'You're saying, he'd give the Westmarch to the Thain?' one of them said.

'He'd give it to the Shire,' the Mayor corrected.

'The Thain rules the Shire,' someone said sharply.

'The Thain watches over the Shire,' Reginard said. 'The only thing he owns is his family's farmstead, back in Tookland. He doesn't own the Shire, at all.'

'How would we do this?' someone asked slowly, 'should we decide that this is what we wish to be done?'

'You can send a message to the King in Gondor,' Bergil said, 'or speak to him, face to face, when he returns in May.'

'May is too late for spring planting,' someone grumbled.

'Then we'll send him a message,' another answered.

'Have we decided to do such a thing?'

The Mayor held up his hands. 'This is a matter for you all to discuss,' he said. 'I think we'll take ourselves off for a walk. You can let us know of the result, and we will take your decision back to the Thain.'

Fastred stood, representing his family, and though he was young, his father had commanded such respect in the community that none could gainsay his right to have his say. 'Thank you,' he said. 'We will let you know as soon as we come to a decision.'

***

Hidden in the woods, camped by the stream that issued from the Downs near Greenholm, a small band of ruffians were debating their course.

'If we hadn't tipped our hand by raiding their crops, they wouldn't even be on their guard now,' one of them said.

'Yes, but how were we to know of this bounty? The news just came. The timing's rotten, I know, but it is not too late to make our fortune. And I'm not just talking stinking cabbages and potatoes...' One-eye, the leader of this band of ruffians, looked down at the paper he held, squinting in the firelight with his remaining eye, the other covered by a patch of cloth to keep out the dust more than to spare his fellows' feelings.

'The ruler of Harad wants unusual pets for his collection,' he reiterated, 'and he's heard of these... "little people". He'd pay a great bounty in gold for any we might be able to supply.'

'It would have to be the women, or the children,' one of his band said. 'The men fight much too hard.'

'They're not Men,' he said absently, 'but you're right, they'd be too much trouble to capture, and to transport safely.'

'The children are too well guarded,' another grumbled. 'And none of them is venturing outside their Bounds at the moment.'

'So we have to go within the Bounds,' One-eye said. 'How much trouble is that? We just pick a spot when the guardsmen have already ridden along the Bounds and turned back towards their outpost, once they pass we strike behind their backs, and they don't even know aught is amiss until their next pass, by which time we'll be well away.'

'Seems as if we ought to be able to pick up a lass or two that way,' someone said.

'And one or two is all we need to make our fortune,' One-eye said.

'When do we strike?'

'Well, now,' One-eye answered. 'I've already laid the groundwork. Red is out watching the patrols as we speak; he'll signal when they start back towards their outpost, and we'll just take us a nice little hike along the stream, hide in the edge of the wood until dusk, and then strike.'

'The early owl catches the mouse?' one of the ruffians laughed.

'Ah, yes, but in this case, we'll do much better than a mouse, I'd think,' One-eye answered in satisfaction. From the amount of gold the Haradrim were offering, he'd be able to retire for life...