Chapter 8. In which a Took at last makes an appearance

‘Blood,’ Tolly was muttering when Sam and Pippin reached him. He wiped at his face with a shaking, blood-smeared hand, which did not improve his appearance any. ‘So much blood...’

Pippin fell to his knees with a cry of grief. ‘Ferdi...!’ He reached out, impotent, seeing in the lantern-light the dark head, curls matted with drying blood, the pool of blood under Ferdi’s head, enough of the stuff that some had spilled from the pool and flowed a short distance in a small stream, with a clear hobbit footprint horridly imposed, disturbing the uneven line.

Sam controlled himself with an effort. Though he’d seen terrible sights in the past, much as Pippin had, still, the sight of a hobbit lying in his own blood, in the heart of the Shire, was enough to shake him, to roil his innards with nausea. He was glad he hadn’t taken more than a bite or two of teacake, in the bustle to get ready to ride out.

Fennel, coming up behind them, said sharply, ‘Don’t move him!’ as Pippin gave evidence of taking his cousin up. The healer added with forced confidence, ‘Head wounds are notorious for bleeding... it’s likely much worse than it looks...’ He knelt next to Pippin, reaching to rest his hand against Ferdi’s neck, sliding his fingers gently down, feeling for the throat. His breath came short and he blinked, his expression growing anxious.

‘Poor lad,’ Flam said softly. ‘Never knew what hit him...’

‘Never made it to Whitwell,’ Tolly said brokenly. He’d noticed the blood on his hands and was scrubbing them against his jacket in a frenzied effort to wipe away the sticky stuff.

‘Never made it to Whitwell?’ Pippin whispered, blinking away his grief at this thought. ‘How...?’

‘Look at the way he’s lying,’ Tolly said, and gestured in unconscious illustration of his words. ‘He was facing towards Tookbank, leading the ponies, I’d think—Farry and I had to lead ours, going through the rock-fall—and when the first of the rock-slide hit him he fell face-forward.’

‘Not got to Whitwell yet,’ Pippin said, taking hold of himself. He cleared his throat. ‘Tolly!’ he said sharply, and the head of escort jumped as if he’d cracked a whip. ‘Make all speed to Whittacres! They’ll be wondering why Farry’s escort never arrived. Take him home the long way round, by way of Waymeet and Bywater, and...’

But in that moment Merry was there, violently contradicting. ‘No!’

Pippin looked up at him in surprise, and Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Merry gave him no chance.

‘No, Tolly!’ he said, quite as if it were his place to address orders to Tooks. ‘No, you’ll go to Whittacres and tell them to keep him tight inside, safe, until the ruffians have been dealt with...!’

‘Ruffians!’ burst from Pippin, Sam and Tolly together, while Flamismond stared in consternation and Fennel continued his careful search for signs of life, with dwindling hope.

‘We found a boot-mark, twice the size of a hobbit’s foot,’ Merry said grimly, ‘and worse...’

‘Worse...’ Pippin echoed faintly, looking back to Ferdi. He took off his gloves, took the cold hand in his, and began to chafe it. ‘Ferdi,’ he said, ‘did the ruffians do this?’

‘Ev’ard and Dinny found signs of large rocks, boulders, pried loose,’ Merry said, ‘though the rogues brushed away all evidence of their footprints, and tried to hide the pry-marks as well. The first rock-fall might well have been a natural one – we’ve no reason to believe it wasn’t – but this last was brought about on purpose.’

‘They brought this down on Ferdi?’ Pippin said, his eyes flashing with anger.

‘I don’t think so,’ Fennel said quietly, not raising his eyes from his task. He went over Ferdi’s skull now, no longer seeking life, but rather the injury itself, to ascertain its origins. ‘If I were to hazard a guess, I’d think he’d be crushed by the rocks, if they’d sent the hillside down upon him. But no, he’s not been buried. Brushed away the evidence they’d been there?’

Merry nodded, though of course Fennel did not see, for he was scrutinising the work of his hands.

‘A club, I’d say,’ Fennel said. ‘We saw plenty of this sort of injury after Bywater.’ He shook his head. ‘A rock, falling from the hillside above, would have left more of an impression, I think, to be of a size of the ones we see lying nearby. There aren’t any smaller rocks at hand.’

‘And where are his ponies?’ Tolly said suddenly. ‘They ought to have run back to the Great Smials; they’re not much more than an hour from stables and home.’

‘Ruffians waylaid him,’ Merry said slowly. ‘With the boulders from the earlier fall to hide behind, it wouldn’t have been so difficult. He might have been wary, though it seems he had no warning, seeing how his bow is not even strung...’

‘Waylaid him, and took his ponies,’ Sam said, nodding. ‘Set the rock-slide to cover their tracks, but they left traces.’

‘Now who’s leaping to conclusions?’ Pippin said, looking from one to the other and then down to Ferdi once more, and bending close he said, ‘Is that how it happened, Ferdi?’

‘He doesn’t hear you,’ Fennel said woodenly, wiping his bloody hands on his breeches.

‘Yes,’ Pippin said, galvanised to action. ‘Of course! We’ve got to get him warm, and in a bed, so soon as possible. No offence to you, Fennel, but I’d like for Woodruff to have a look at that head just as soon as may be.’

‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ Fennel said, and he had to clear his throat before he could say more. ‘Sorrier than I can say...’

‘We’ll rig a litter,’ Pippin said. ‘We can carry him in a blanket as far as Hammersmiths’ – We could even put him in a bed there, better than carrying him all the way to the Smials in his condition...’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Fennel said dully. ‘No need for a litter... just wrap him in a blanket and lay him gently over a saddle...’

Sam was the first to catch what the healer was saying, but Merry was the first to speak. ‘You’re not saying...’

‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ Fennel repeated, looking to Pippin. ‘He’s gone. He’s cold – you can feel it yourself, his hand is cold –’

‘No!’ was wrung from the Thain, his face disbelieving, even as he squeezed the cool, unresponsive flesh that rested between his hands.

Fennel forged steadily on. ‘I cannot find his heart’s beat, not a flutter,’ he said. ‘And no steam a-risin’ from his breathing...’

‘How can there be?’ Tolly demanded, ‘with him lying with his face to the ground, and all?’

Fennel’s shoulders slumped. ‘Help me to turn him over,’ he said to the Thain, and Pippin released Ferdi’s hand to aid in the gentle manoeuvre.

While the healer opened Ferdi’s coat and shirt, to lay a hand upon the silent breast, Tolly soaked his pocket-handkerchief with his water bottle and bent to wipe away the blood from the fallen hobbit’s face, that had run down from the wound. No breath puffed against his fingers as he worked, none that he could feel, even though a cloud of mist emerged at each of his own exhalations.

‘I cannot feel his heart beating,’ Fennel said. He was about to bend his ear to Ferdi’s bared breast when he was distracted by the harsh sound of the Thain’s own breathing. ‘Sir,’ he said, straightening in alarm, and Merry, catching his meaning, took Pippin’s arm.

‘Pippin, this night air isn’t good for your lungs,’ he said. ‘If anyone’s to be taken back to Hammersmiths’ it’s you.’

As the healer rose to argue with the Thain, Flam bent to button Ferdi’s shirt once more, pulling his coat closed and buttoning that for good measure, though of course the hobbit would not be bothered any further by the cold of the air.

tbc

***
Note to the Reader: No, this is not AU, and yes, it does fit into the timeline I have used to set the majority of my stories. That is all the hint I can give you, but I hope it helps somewhat.

Oh, and if you object to such hints, let me know and I will endeavour to be more circumspect in future.