Chapter 16. In which a Took makes an appalling discovery

Caution: Some material in this chapter may upset the Reader as well. Proceed with care. PG.

‘It’s time.’

The quiet words struck to Pimpernel’s heart, wrenching her cruelly out of her dreams, wherein she snuggled, as was her custom, head on Ferdi’s breast, listening to the reassuring sound of his heartbeat, the soft rushing of his slow breathing. She sat up with a jerk, to see Meadowsweet holding a steaming mug.

‘I thought... some tea...’ Meadowsweet said uncertainly.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Pimpernel said, though she was not very thankful, not at all, contemplating what the morning held: a final farewell to her beloved, the beginning of a separation that would last the rest of her days, for as long as there was breath left to her. Acute pain stabbed her, making it difficult to draw breath, and she bowed her head.

‘Nell?’

‘A moment, Sweetie,’ she answered, pressing her hands to her heart. She knew the feeling; her heart was breaking. She’d survived it, once before, healed even, blossoming under the light of Ferdi’s love. But now the future stretched dark and bleak before her. She loved her children, oh how she loved them. She’d chosen to lay her life down for them, rather than for her husband, but how it pained her to continue, even in the joy of her love for them, and their love and need for her.

At last she raised her head and stretched out her hands for the mug. Her hands were shaking, and she spilled a little on the fine skirt of her best frock, but it hardly seemed to matter.

‘How long?’ she said.

‘They’re waiting outside,’ Meadowsweet answered softly.

Pimpernel nodded sadly. It was time, indeed. The dawn had come quietly, as was its wont. Whether one remained wakeful, or lost in dream, the dawn would come in any event. The tide of rushing minutes could not be held back.

She sipped at the tea, feeling the warmth go down into her frozen middle, and then gulped, welcoming the burning of her tongue. At least it was some sensation, something to feel. She handed the mug, still half full, back to Meadowsweet. They were waiting.

‘Rudi,’ she said softly, putting a hand on her eldest’s shoulder. ‘Rudi, time to wake.’

He groaned himself upright; his eyes opened wide again as he realised where he was and why he must waken, and he threw his arms around Pimpernel, great lad that he was, and sobbed into her bodice. She stroked his tousled head gently and murmured soothing nonsense, for there was no real comfort. None at all.

Between them, Pimpernel and Meadowsweet managed to rouse all the little ones, save the faunt and the babe who were deep in the sleep of the littlest of hobbits. They’d be carried to the graveside in any event, so there was no need to shake them into wakefulness.

None of the children had any hunger to speak of. They all turned away from Meadowsweet’s offer of bread-and-jam to strengthen them for the coming hour. Pimpernel did not press them. There would be a feast, of sorts, when the burial was done and the grave filled in, when the last song was sung and the mourners turned back to the Great Smials.

‘It is time to take our leave,’ Pimpernel said. Her eldest two, who still remembered their father Rudivacar Bolger, gulped back tears and nodded. Pimpernel arose, looking down into her beloved’s face, and then she bent to lay a kiss. Befuddled as she was with lack of sleep common to all new mothers, as well as the restless sleep this night had held, she scarcely knew what she was doing as she brushed her lips across Ferdi’s forehead. ‘Good night, my love,’ she whispered. ‘May your dreams all be of peace, until we meet again at the Feast.’

At Rudi’s shuddering breath she forced a smile. ‘It’ll be a long time, yet,’ she said to reassure him, and wide-eyed, not quite reassured, he nodded.

‘Will Ferdi-da miss us?’ little Coreopsis said, clinging to her mother’s skirts.

‘No, lass,’ Pimpernel said, reaching to hug her. ‘For there is no time where he is, and it’ll seem like no time at all before we’re all sitting down to rejoice together.’

‘But we’ll miss him,’ Corry’s sister Mignonette sobbed, burying her face in her hands. Rudy bravely put away his grief to hug his sister, holding her close, whispering to her until her sobs died away.

And then each of the children, save the littlest in their sweet and peaceful sleep, took leave of their father.

When all was said and done, Nell looked long on Ferdi’s face, a last time, and then she drew a deep breath, steeled herself, and took up the edges of the shroud, folding them gently in place. Meadowsweet was ready to set the final stitches, and then while the children clustered about Pimpernel, stifling their sobs in her skirts, she went to the door to fetch the bearers.

Apologetic cousins entered, and quietly and quickly they folded the blankets back and took up the shrouded figure. Pimpernel and the children fell into line behind them. Tooks, most of them old or infirm or not yet tweens or mums or lasses, lined the corridor in silent witness. Hats came off as Ferdi was borne past on his final journey, and handkerchiefs were in evidence everywhere about them.

Nell’s eyes were full of tears, but she managed to nod her thanks as they made their way. Of course, all of Ferdi’s closest cousins and friends could not be there, having been called out with the Shire-muster, but the Tooks would do the best they could to honour him, even under these difficult circumstances.

***

The first thing Ferdi had been aware of, after the flash of bright pain that plunged him into silence and darkness, was a sudden and almost unbearable agony that was as quickly gone, leaving him with a floating feeling, as if he might be lighter than air.

And was it truly dark? Surely the moon shone down, and all the stars, but he could see as if it were daylight, why, there was Tolly on the ground, fallen heavily onto another hobbit who lay face down. And there was Flam just behind him, trying to light a lantern, though the first striker died before firing the wick.

And now Tolly had rolled to one side, which was probably an improvement for the hobbit under him, though he’d begun to retch, which was scarcely profitable, in Ferdi’s estimation.

And then Pippin was there, falling to his knees on the frosty ground. (Ferdi was neither warm nor chilled, and yet somehow he knew the ground was frosty.) ‘Ferdi...’ he cried.

‘I’m here, cousin,’ Ferdi said, troubled somehow, and he tried to make Pippin hear him, so that he missed the next few words that were spoken.

But when he heard them conclude that Farry was safe in Whitwell, he stiffened. ‘No! That’s not the way of it!’ he cried, wanting to shake someone, if only he could get a grip. ‘He’s not safe... the ruffians must have...’ The horror of it struck him then, that the ruffians had clubbed him down, that they must have taken Farry with them, and who knew what sort of danger the lad faced?

He’d been drifting, feeling a pull away (though just where away he could not have told), but the fear for Farry, the anguish, the fury at his own failure and the lad’s peril, served somehow as a tether, and as he watched, Healer Fennel rolled the fallen hobbit to his back, and Tolly bent to wipe away the blood that had run down over the hobbit’s face, and Fennel opened the hobbit’s jacket and shirt, laid a hand against the exposed breast, pale in the moonlight, and then took his hand away and shook his head.

And just as the healer bowed to place an ear against the fallen hobbit’s skin, a last effort to hear the heart beating, Pippin swayed, his breathing harsh in the night silence.

It’ll be the death of him if anything happens to Farry, Ferdi thought desperately, and the fault will be mine! I swore to protect...

And then things grew dark, for they were wrapping him in blankets, and he felt himself lifted, and he was heavy now, earth-bound, no longer floating, and there was a crushing pain in his head that worsened as they laid him face down, folding him over a saddle, and then he knew no more.

He came to himself once more, finding himself lying on his back, no longer face-down and draped over a saddle, and he wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but somehow he couldn’t quite catch the trick. He could hear, he could even see, a little, for his eyes were not completely closed—they were open the merest crack, but he got used to seeing through them in a short time. He could feel the warmth of the water they were using, the luxurious feeling of slow and gentle washing, someone was washing him, perhaps he was dreaming he was but a babe once more, and the gentle hands were his mother’s...?

And then someone else came into the room, another murmur, and sharp pain assailed Ferdi, as if someone were jabbing steel into his flesh, and he wanted to stir, to pull away, to voice his protest. But he could not seem to make his muscles obey him. He could hear, but not make a sound. He could feel, but movement was denied him. He could see, but no one seemed to see that he was there, attending all that was happening. They spoke about him as one who was absent, and that was not right! He was there! He was right there! Why could they not see when he lay there before them, not even a blanket to conceal his nakedness?

At last the agony was done, replaced by the sensation of cool water and gentle fingers working his hair into a lather, and then the pleasant feeling of rinsing, and careful towelling, and then a brush that moved slowly, tenderly, and he knew somehow Nell’s touch.

And then the hands—not Nell’s, for they continued to caress his hair, a most languorous feeling indeed—began to dress him. He could feel every stitch as it went on, a strange sensation to be sure, seeing as how he’d been dressing himself these many years. Nell might undress him, in a time when they were loving one another, but he had to admit she’d never pulled his under-breeches up his legs before. What a curious sensation. And then the breeches, and then they dressed his upper body, and from the feel of it these were his fancy togs. Perhaps there was a celebration about to happen. What would they be celebrating? he wondered. O yes, the safe recovery of the son of the Thain. Ferdi didn’t remember it happening; it must have been while he slept. But that was the only reasonable explanation. They surely would not be celebrating anything, if they hadn’t recovered Farry safe.

Reassured in this knowledge, he slipped again into dreamless sleep.

Several times he woke, still unable to move or speak, though he twice heard the soft fussing of the babe, and if he could have smiled, he would have, to hear the homey sound of her suckling. Ah, yes, Nell’s lush and blossoming breasts... he was glad to share them with the babes, the fruit of their, his and Nell’s, labours. He said something to that effect, or he would have, could he but move his lips, could he but form a sound.

Other times he woke to the comfort of Nell, nestled against him, and he quickly slept again, reassured by her very closeness.

They must have gone ahead and had the celebration without him, he thought, for he didn’t remember undressing and going to bed, but here he was, unmistakably in his own bed. He knew the delicate violet scent that Nell sprinkled on the bed linens and pillows. He knew the softness of the featherbed she favoured, as if he were sleeping on warm clouds. He knew the light yet warm weight of the bedcovers, pulled up as they were to his chest. There was no chance that a chill would trouble him.

He slept again, and then...

‘It’s time.’

What was Meadowsweet doing here?

Rudi was sobbing; something had hurt Ferdi’s adopted son, hurt him deeply. Indignation stirred, but really, he was almost too comfortable to move. And when he tried to move, he couldn’t, in any event. So much for comforting his son. He’d have to leave it to Nell at the moment, at least until he was able to recover his faculties.

The other children were weeping, now; distress reigned all around. Ferdi wondered what in mercy’s name could be the matter? No one had told him anything. He wanted to sigh with vexation at being the last to know.

But Nell brushed a sweet kiss across his forehead, and then there was some talk that went on, but Ferdi was hardly attending, so stunned was he by his wife’s greeting. Good night? In the dawning? And what was this talk of a feast? Ah, yes, it must be the celebration they’d been getting ready for, last night. Altogether curious, to dress for a celebration and then go to bed, and then the celebration in the morning. Convenient, perhaps, to awaken dressed and ready for a breakfast feast. Perhaps it was one of Pippin’s innovations.

And then sweet kisses rained upon him, along with drops of moisture. Absurd, to dream of rain, in his own bed, deep in the Smials. Though he’d welcome the feel of rain on his face. Perhaps it would help to clear his head, which was aching abominably. If only he could speak, he could tell Nell, and she could get one of those dratted healers to fetch a draught to ease the pain. He felt a faint sensation of annoyance. Of course, he’d have to be able to swallow a draught for it to be of any use. His mouth was so dry... he’d had no need of swallowing for some time now, and a good thing, too, since his body seemed to be paying him no heed.

But what was this? Something white was impeding his vision... Straining his eyes to their utmost, straining to see through the small crack his lids allowed him, he realised that Nell was pulling up the bed linens to cover him. No, not bed linens, this fabric felt stiffer, somehow, settling on the skin of his face, almost like the material used to shroud the dead...

He wanted to protest, to throw off the covering, but his body lay unresponsive. He was not even able to draw a deep breath—his shallow, almost imperceptible breathing continued without his willing it. He could neither stop breathing, nor could he take in enough air to clear his swirling thoughts.

I’m here! he was shouting inside. I’m here! he screamed, he shrieked with the growing panic that was in him, he whimpered.

He felt himself taken on all sides and lifted; he realised soon that he was being carried, at a slow pace, away... He heard the sounds of voices around him, broken in sorrow.

‘Bless you, Nell.’

‘Bless him, we’ll never forget him.’

‘Rest easy, Ferdi.’

‘Bless you all.’

He gathered himself for a mighty effort—or he would have, could he but move a muscle.

Help me! Why does no one hear me? I’m... HERE!