Chapter 38. In the wee hours

Berendil, the captain of this particular outpost of Northern Rangers, had placed the hobbits with their backs to the hanging tree, though the Took had resisted—not to the point of protest, for he was constrained by the law of hospitality, not to offend his host, and the Rangers took full advantage of Shire custom, especially this night, when it seemed the Took did not know what he was asking, in the name of his Thain, though the Ring-bearer undoubtedly did.

Berendil had been one of the Rangers who rode to the South, with Halbarad, and in a public house in Minas Tirith, before they rode back to the Northlands again, he’d overheard Samwise discussing child-stealing, sitting at a table full of strangers, outlanders, who’d come to the City to deal with the King and his officers. His attention had been drawn, seeing one of the Ring-bearers without escort or any of the other hobbits, as if he’d slipped away for that very purpose. He’d shadowed the hobbit for the rest of the evening, making sure that Sam returned safely to the guesthouse, before seeking his own rest.

In any event, he was sure that the Mayor had known exactly what the Took was asking for, and yet Sam had not tried to stop matters from proceding, nor had he interefered at all, though he had sat himself solidly down with his back to the hanging tree and pulled the Took down to sit beside him, had taken the well-filled plate Berendil extended to him and shoved it into the Tookish archer’s lap, hissed to him to eat up before their hosts noticed that somewhat was amiss and took offence.

And the archer ate, and the Mayor ate as well, forcing himself, Berendil thought, but eating, nonetheless, clearing his plate and asking for more, for himself and for the archer as well.

And all the while Berendil sat and talked of old times, of the Coronation and the feasting that followed, cheerful topics, though perhaps the Paths of the Dead might have been more appropriate, considering. His ear was attuned to the wretches behind them, and no doubt the hobbits could hear the pleading of the scrawny ruffian, though his voice had grown hoarse over the hour or two he’d hung there, thus far. And dawn was still some hours away.

The Tookish archer was chewing slowly, looking as if the food had turned to sawdust in his mouth. ‘Enough?’ the Mayor said.

Tolly looked at him, misery in his eyes. ‘The Thain’s orders,’ he said, with a shuddering breath.

‘His orders were that the ruffians be suitably punished for the sufferings they’d inflicted,’ Sam said. ‘Wouldn’t you say they’ve suffered? Wouldn’t you say that the terrors they’re imagining, that they’ve been anticipating all the long ride, and into the night, would be enough?’

He bent close, to whisper in Tolly’s ear. ‘Would you stain the noble souls of these Watchers with the horror that will come in the dawning? Such blood on their hands, that will never wash away...’

Tolly looked at him, wide-eyed.

‘They’re to die anyhow,’ Sam said aloud. ‘It’s no kindness to prolong their lives this way. Let the King’s justice be done, and done quickly.’

‘Kindness!’ Tolly said. ‘It’s not kindness, prolonging their lives this way! If only...’

‘What are you waiting for, then?’ Sam said, for Tolly’s shoulders were stiff, and he could tell the archer had been listening to the near-constant begging of the red-headed one.

‘He’s never yet said he was sorry for what he’s done,’ Tolly said incongruously. ‘Nor has the other.’

‘You expect them to apologise?’ Sam said, and it was Berendil’s turn to stare. ‘And would you let them off, then? Would you believe them?’

‘Why ever not?’ Tolly said. ‘They wouldn’t say it, if they didn’t mean it!’

And Sam’s lips tightened in a mirthless smile, and he bowed his head, taking a deep breath, before looking up again to meet the Ranger captain’s eyes. Tolly might have been affected by rogue Men, but he’d not yet been tainted by his exposure to them. He still thought as a hobbit did, and though he struggled to carry out his Thain’s orders, he did not understand, completely, and perhaps he never would, the evil to be found in the hearts of some Men.

‘It’s too late, Tolly,’ Sam said now, very quietly. ‘They’ve had their chances.’

Tolly breathed shallowly, and then he nodded. ‘Aye,’ he whispered.

Sam nodded to Berendil, and the Ranger arose and left the fire, while the hobbits sat unmoving. Another Ranger stirred up the fire and added several more split logs, and the crackle and roar of the flames drowned out other noises. They could barely hear the ruffian’s pleas... and then, suddenly, his voice was stilled.

‘Some beer?’ the fire-tending Ranger said, pulling earthen bottles from a bag that sat among a pile of supplies.

‘Yes, Bargalad, I think so,’ Sam said, and he took the bottle, cold it was, icy cold and better suited to a hot summer day, but he upended the bottle and let the beer pour down his throat, and from the corner of his eye he saw Tolly follow suit. The drink steadied his nerves, and he picked up his fork once more. ‘Eat,’ he said to Tolly. ‘Your food’s gone cold, and it would be an insult to waste any.’

Tolly ate.

***

Pippin had been ready to ride back to Tuckborough as soon as they’d finished their meal, but Elessar persuaded him to take a few hours’ rest.

‘Just so long as we leave in time,’ Pippin said. ‘We must arrive before the dawning; it’s most important.’

Elessar agreed, for over late supper Farry had told how the young ruffian had risked his own life to save him from Red’s knife, by taking the eyes and tongue of a strayed lamb and bandaging Farry to disguise the trick. ‘He saved you from Red more than once,’ Pippin had said, when his son fell silent. ‘In point of fact, he took his death-wound, trying to take you away from that madman.’

‘But I thought...’ Farry had said, and Merry had broken in.

‘The arrows of the Tooks merely hastened his passing. It was a mercy, really, considering the wound the madman dealt. He’d’ve died in agonies, with the best we could do for him, and as it was he passed quickly and in relative peace, before the pain could seize him.’

‘Uncle Merry,’ Farry had whispered, and then he’d knuckled away his tears.

‘In any event, we must be there for his burial, to see that things are done properly,’ Pippin had said, and all there at the table had agreed.

Farry was himself again, and though tired for being up hours past his usual bedtime, he was excited at the prospect of riding the post ponies at a gallop all the way home. His eyes sparkled at the brave sight they’d make, clattering through the streets of Tuckborough and into the yard of the Great Smials.

Still, his father was able to tuck him into one of the guest beds, and lay down beside him, and both were quickly asleep. Merry crawled into a bed of his own, lying awake only a few moments more, before succumbing to exhaustion. Bergil dozed in one corner, his long legs stretched out along the floor; the rest of the King’s guards were bedded down in the hay of the stables attached to the gatehouse, and only Elessar remained awake, smoking his pipe and staring into the fire.

***

Nell wakened from her doze, feeling her husband stir. ‘Ferdi, my own?’ she whispered, but there was no answer. She turned over on the bed, to see him gazing at her by the light of the watch-lamp, a puzzled look on his face. ‘What is it, my love?’ she asked.

He opened his mouth to answer, and she felt a moment’s hope, but no words came, and he blinked in frustration. ‘It is well, love,’ she hastened to reassure him, resting a hand on his cheek. ‘It will be, anyhow. You’ve hurt your head, and the healers say you’ll heal, you’ll talk again.’

How do they know? Ferdi’s eyes said, and his face was troubled.

‘Is your head hurting you, my love?’ Pimpernel said. ‘I’m sure it must be aching abominably.’

‘How...?’ Ferdi whispered, almost without thinking, and he and Pimpernel gasped at the same instant, but then no more words came, and he slumped back on the pillows in defeat.

‘I told you,’ Pimpernel said, stroking his face gently. ‘I told you... it’ll come back to you. I know it will. You’ve not lost the use of your tongue, after all...’ and she bent close, laying her lips against his, and they shared a long and tender kiss. Ferdi’s hand rose from his side, to cup her head, pulling her closer, and his other hand touched her cheek, moving ever downwards, slowly traversing the curve of her neck, pushing aside the folds of her dressing gown to caress her shoulder with his long and sensitive fingers, and then...

And then there was the sound of a babe making hunger hiccoughs, and Meadowsweet was clearing her throat in the doorway, saying unnecessarily, ‘She’s awake, and hungry,’ and Pimpernel was rising from her husband’s embrace, a flush on her cheeks but her eyes bright, to take the little lass. She returned to sit beside Ferdi on the bed, and he pulled the babe’s covering aside, the better to see the tiny sweet face as Nell opened her wrapper to allow the little one to latch on.

Meadowsweet smiled at the picture they presented, the parents embracing the tiny babe between them, Ferdi stroking the downy curls on the little head, Nell looking from one to the other, the babe whimpering in her eagerness and then settling down to suckle, her little fist opening and closing against her mother’s breast.

When Pimpernel looked up, Meadowsweet mouthed, ‘I’ll be back later!’ and Pimpernel nodded, looking down again, the image of contentment.