A/N: Apologies. This was supposed to be *all* of the final chapter, but have reached the 3,000 word limit, beyond which uploading and editing assume nightmarish proportions, and so, I regret to say that this will not *quite* be the ending to the story. Look for another chapter, entitled "Teatime", sometime soon. (I hope. Think good thoughts.)

Chapter 42. After noon

Ferdi was settled back in his bed, and not clad in his fancy togs, either, but suitably attired in a fresh nightshirt, when Merry entered bearing a laden tray.

‘Merry! It’s enough to feed a muster!’ Pimpernel said, rising quickly to her feet.

‘Exactly, all the choicest bits from the feast, as ordered!’ Merry replied, laying the tray down upon the dressing table and turning to the bed to help prop Ferdi into a sitting position. He was gentle and deft, jarring the aching head remarkably little. ‘There we are.’

As he turned away to fetch one of the loaded plates, he wiped a little suspicious moisture from his eyes. He’d been half-tempted to repeat Sam’s question to Gandalf, on awakening at Cormallen. Could everything sad be coming untrue? Of course, the young ruffian remained still and cold in the grave, so not quite everything sad had been undone. Just as in the past, for Boromir had never returned, and Frodo had been for ever altered, so changed that he could no longer stay in the Shire he’d sacrificed so much to save.

But Ferdi, whom they’d mourned as dead, and Farry, as they thought had been cut to pieces, were alive and well and whole. Relatively whole, anyhow. Ferdi, Merry had been told, had lost his speech, and the healers were cautious about his recovery. He ought to regain his faculties, over the next weeks, as the swelling inside his head went down.

(Merry wondered how healers knew, without seeing, that there was swelling inside one’s head. One of those questions he’d never quite had the stomach to ask. He remembered, however, an incident in Minas Tirith, before they returned home, when Strider had told him that he had swelling inside his head, and that he’d be himself again, given time. And Strider’s words had come true. He could only hope that Ferdi would be so blessed as himself.)

 ‘Almost as good as a Buckland breakfast,’ Merry said, laying a cloth in Ferdi’s lap, and the plate atop. ‘Rashers of bacon, and eggs fried in the fat, and fried tomato preserves, and beans, and good farm-fresh sausage that you fetched down from the North-farthing for the Thain’s table not long ago, so you know it’s the finest to be had in the Shire, and...’

‘Almost as good!’ Pimpernel said, laughing. ‘I cannot see how a Buckland breakfast could be any better!’

‘It’s in Buckland, for starters,’ Merry said, bringing Pimpernel’s plate. ‘Now you eat this, Nell, whilst I take care of your dear husband. Eh, Ferdi?’ And he scooped beans onto a piece of fried bread, cut off a piece and forked the whole into the air, floating the morsel in front of Ferdi’s face. ‘Here’s the Old Owl,’ he said cheerily, ‘bringing a fat mouse to his hole in the Old Oak tree.’

Ferdi half-raised one hand to intercept the fork, but really, it was too much trouble, and much easier just to open his mouth to accept the bite. He closed his eyes in appreciation at the taste, now that was what was wanted! ...and quickly popped his mouth open again when he felt the fork touch his lower lip, loaded again with a bite of egg-and-bacon.

Nell, seeing Ferdi so well cared for, applied herself to her own meal with a will. ‘O but it’s good!’ she said with her mouth full, chewing quickly and swallowing, accepting the cup of tea that Rosamunda held out to her, and drinking with a sigh.

Rosa smiled, glad to see Nell eating heartily. She needed to, in order to keep up her milk supply for the babe. Speaking of which...

‘What are you going to name her?’ she said without thinking.

‘Name her?’ Pimpernel said, her blank look echoing her husband’s.

‘You mean, you don’t have a name for the babe yet?’ Merry said in astonishment. ‘But her Naming’s today!’

Don't I know it! said Ferdi’s rueful expression.

‘It’ll be a wonder if she has a name at all, by the end of the day,’ Meadowsweet said from the doorway. She stifled a yawn. Though it was barely time for second breakfast, she was exhausted from her long vigil, for the last two nights and a day in-between, watching over Pimpernel and the babe. It was more draining than having a newborn of her own! ...although, Little Lass was so very sweet, that Tolly’s wife was feeling more amenable to adding another to their family, as her husband had been hinting lately.

‘It has been a day of wonders,’ Pimpernel said softly, laying down her fork to take Ferdi’s hand. He returned the squeeze in a meaningful way.

‘It has indeed,’ Rosamunda said. ‘It’s a wonder that your husband is here, eating and drinking, enjoying a funeral feast, after...’ She swallowed hard and rushed on, changing what she’d been about to say. ‘...after all that’s happened, these past two days.’

‘And a wonder that Farry is whole and sound in body and mind,’ Meadowsweet said with a shudder. ‘And that the ruffians, what’s left of them, are surely dead by now, and Tolly will be back by teatime.’

And several times during these observations, Ferdi squeezed Pimpernel’s hand, until she looked to him, understanding dawning in her eyes. ‘You mean...?’ she said, with a little gasp.

He smiled and nodded.

‘What is it?’ Merry said, curious. ‘Come now, Ferdi, finish these tomatoes. They’re fat, crimson and lovely, and altogether delicious, and I’m looking forward to my own plateful once you’ve finished.’

‘But it’s... it’s so... unusual,’ Pimpernel said, seeming to find talking nearly so difficult as her husband did at the moment. ‘Not that I’ve ever heard such a name in the Shire before...’

Ferdi’s mouth crooked in a smile, before opening to accept more of the “lovely tomatoes”, and a bit of his old mischief shone from his eye.

Rosamunda and Meadowsweet exchanged glances. Ferdi and Nell were so well-suited that for years they’d finished each other’s sentences, even seemed to think each other’s thoughts at times.

‘So you do in fact have a name for the babe?’ Merry said.

Pimpernel absently picked up her fork in her left hand, since the right was occupied, and forked up the last of her egg. ‘It appears that we do.’

‘Well,’ Meadowsweet said briskly, washing her hands together in the air. ‘If it’s an unusual name you’re worried about, you can always call her by a love-name, you know, when you’re out and among people. A jewel, or any number of flowers...’

‘That’s what started this whole trouble in the first place,’ Pimpernel said. ‘We couldn’t quite decide “which” flower.’

‘Then name her “Flora” for all of them!’ Merry said in his brightest tone. He was fairly sure that this little one wouldn’t be saddled with a Gondorian name, as young Faramir had. The hobbits had adapted by shortening his name to a more pronounceable  “Farry”, but really...

‘Flora,’ Pimpernel said, turning hopefully to her husband. ‘It’s a pretty name...’

Ferdi smiled in a way that made her heart sink, and he squeezed her hand gently.

She swallowed hard. ‘It is what you really want?’ she said. Privately she was thinking that if, perhaps, Ferdi was in that moment not in his right mind, he (traditionalist that he was) might be horrified, later, at what he’d done. She’d talk to Pippin, ask him not to write the name in the Book just yet, not until Ferdi was recovered, just to make sure.

‘It’s a pretty name...’ she repeated, then in a complete change of mood she sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Really, Ferdi, it’s a wonder that I put up with you at all!’

He grinned and squeezed her hand again.

‘Go on with you!’ Pimpernel mock-scolded. ‘None of your sweet talk, now!’

Meadowsweet rubbed her eyes and yawned. ‘I think I’ll be taking myself off for a nap,’ she said.

‘You do that,’ Pimpernel said. ‘You wouldn’t want to fall asleep and miss the Naming.’

‘Not for the world!’ Meadowsweet agreed. She had no idea, yet, what her friends were about to name the child, but it promised to be an interesting novelty.
 
‘So tell me, cousin, what’s the name to be?’ Merry said, chasing the last of the beans around Ferdi’s plate.

‘Really, Merry, I thought you were quicker than that,’ Pimpernel said. ‘Why, if you don’t know after all the words that were flying about, then there’s no use in telling you.’

Merry scooped the last of the beans into Ferdi’s smirk and gathered up the plate. ‘Well, then,’ he said. ‘If that’s the case, I’m going to take myself off for a nap! I do seem to be a bit slow in my uptake, at that.’

‘What about your Buckland breakfast?’ Pimpernel wanted to know, and Ferdi raised an enquiring eyebrow, while Rosamunda stifled a grin.

‘Well, that goes without saying, of course,’ Merry shot back. ‘You of all people ought to know that.’

***

‘The ruffians’ escort is in,’ Regi said from the doorway.

Pippin looked up, half-rose from where he sat with Diamond, Farry nestled between them. Diamond had a handkerchief clenched in one fist, but the “filling up the corners” seemed otherwise to be proceeding well. At least the Mistress was calm, neither weeping nor scolding. ‘Send Tolly to the study. I want to hear his report.’

‘Not Tolly,’ Regi said, ‘that is, I ought to have said, most of the escort have returned. It seems that Tolly remained to see that your orders were carried out, and Mayor Samwise remained to keep Tolly company on the journey home again.’

Pippin pinned his steward with a keen glance. Sam seldom did anything without a reason. ‘Keep him company...’ he said slowly. ‘What, exactly, did the returning hobbits say?’

‘They said,’ Regi reported in his wryest tone, ‘that a Ranger met them at the stream, before they crossed, even, and Tolly sent them all homewards, and he would’ve sent the Mayor as well, but that they Mayor wasn’t having any.’

‘Sam was expecting the worst, then,’ Pippin said. ‘I wonder what put it into his head? I gave Tolly only the vaguest of orders...’

‘The worst?’ Regi echoed. ‘What do you mean, cousin?’

Diamond was looking a little green, and it might have been her expectant state, which upset the digestion at times (“Why do they call it morning sickness?” she’d often been heard to moan. “It ought to be all-day sickness, at the least!”), or it might have been something she’d learned on an earlier visit to the Southlands.

In any event, Pippin did not elaborate. ‘I’m not going to tell you, for your own good, Regi,’ he said, and seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment, tapping his finger on the side of his brow. ‘Very well,’ he said, coming to a decision. ‘I don’t want to hear Tolly’s report, when they return—and it ought not to be long, for the Rangers are usually very quick and efficient in dispatching their duty.’

Diamond shuddered, pulling Farry a little closer, and the little lad worked his arm around behind his mother and hugged her tight. ‘It’s all right, Mum,’ he said. ‘It was needful.’

‘I know, lovie,’ she whispered into his close-cropped curls—for they’d nearly shaved his head, to achieve an even appearance, but better that than the obvious lacking of two fistfuls. ‘I know.’

‘Something like shooting a sheep-worrying dog,’ Regi said, and Pippin nodded.

‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘In any event, I’ll talk to Tolly later. Send him at once to his wife, when he returns, and tell him he may take the rest of the day. I won’t call for him until the morrow.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ Regi said.

‘But I’d like to see the Mayor, just so soon as he arrives, so when he’s finished greeting his wife and family, if you’d extend my warmest regards and request that he come at his earliest convenience, to share a pitcher of ale in my study?’

Pippin never ordered the Mayor to do anything, Regi mused, as he acknowledged this and withdrew from the sitting room, and yet he was sure that Samwise would not delay overlong after his return, but would give his wife and children a quick embrace and hasten to the Thain’s study, to fill Pippin in on happenings. And he’d give every evidence of being happy to do so.

But it was several hours before Samwise showed himself into the study, where Pippin was catching up on the work that had been neglected, the past two days. ‘Sam!’ he said, rising. ‘You just got here?’

As if the Mayor had dallied along the way, or perhaps languished in the bath, or sat down to a many-course meal with his family upon arrival, instead of having a hasty wash and change into fresh clothing... but Sam simply said, ‘Yes, we’ve just arrived, and Tolly was told to go immediately to his quarters, where his wife was waiting for him. He wasn’t sure if he was in trouble with the Thain, or with his wife, but...’

‘Ah,’ Pippin said, ‘Regi, did you not make it clear that Tolly was to be released from his duty for the rest of the day, in gratitude for his devotion to his duty, serving where I was by necessity lacking? By no means was he to take the inference that he was under discipline for some lack of his own!’

‘He was beyond wearied,’ Regi said quietly. ‘If the message went awry it was in his own mind that it strayed from the track.’

‘Beyond wearied,’ Sam agreed with a sigh.

‘Just what were the two of you up to, out there?’ Pippin demanded, eyeing Sam narrowly. ‘You ought to have been back shortly after the others. A simple hanging takes very little time.’ Just throw the rope over the limb, tell the ruffian to step up unless he wants to be hauled into the air, not at all pleasant for anyone involved; make the rope fast and kick the prop out from under... he thought, a little sick at his stomach from memory of seeing just that thing, on an earlier visit to the Rangers outside of the Bounds.

‘Perhaps it wasn’t a simple hanging,’ Sam said.

‘Perhaps...’ Pippin echoed, nonplussed. He blinked at Sam, and then suddenly took a gasping breath. ‘You... you didn’t consider letting the wretches go free! After what they’d done! I know that Tolly let two wanderers off earlier, even led them safely past where the Rangers were watching, but...’

‘Did he?’ Sam said, struck by a sudden thought. ‘Do the Rangers know this? Those Men might have told others, how to avoid the Watchers, coming into the Shire, and out again...’

Pippin’s face turned white, and he seemed to have trouble breathing for a moment. Regi stood for a frozen second as if turned to stone, and then he said, the words tumbling out in a rush, ‘I’ll find out which way Tolly took those others, and send a messenger to the Rangers at once!’ He hurried from the study.

Sam poured out a glass of water and pressed it on Pippin, watching to see that he drank it, relaxing only when he saw a little colour return to the latter’s countenance.

‘Perhaps Tolly ought to be under discipline,’ Pippin said slowly.

‘You’d punish him for being merciful?’ Sam said.

‘If his mercy nearly led to my son’s slaughter...’ Pippin said.

‘Just as Mr. Bilbo’s mercy led to Gollum’s wandering free,’ Sam said, measuring each word. ‘Just think. Gollum would never have gone to Mordor, where the name of “Baggins” was first heard from his lips. He would never have followed us through Moria, down the Anduin, into Shelob’s lair...’

‘Sam, I...’ Pippin said.

‘He’d not have been there, at the Crack of Doom,’ Sam went on inexorably. ‘And where would we all be now, I ask you?’

Pippin threw up his hands, and then brought them down flat on the desk. ‘Are you saying that Tolly doesn’t deserve to be punished for his lapse in judgment?’

‘He’s been punished a-plenty already, Pippin,’ Sam said, ‘and the fault is partly mine. I thought to give the ruffians some bad moments, as we travelled to their doom, some bitter food for thought to chew upon, impossible to swallow, and Tolly took things a step further and nearly had them hung up for the carrion birds’ feasting.’

‘Certainly the birds feast upon the hanged men,’ Pippin said. ‘But the Rangers take them down to bury them, by sun’s set at the latest.’

‘He mentioned the Easterlings to the Rangers who greeted us,’ Sam said. ‘And they’d had word from the King that they were to obey your every wish, and since Tolly was representing you...’

Pippin had paled again. ‘And you let it go on?’

Sam spread his hands helplessly. ‘You’re Thain, Pippin, and I’m only Mayor. How could I gainsay Tolibold?’

‘Did you not even try?’ Pippin said. ‘The Rangers, they hung those men up, living, to await the dawning?’ He shook his head to dispel the vision that arose before his eyes, and passed a shaking hand over his face. ‘But,’ he said, lowering his hand once more and looking up. ‘But... I saw it in the Palantir. They were dead, stone dead, hanging by their necks, and as I watched a Ranger thrust a sword into one heart, and then the other.’

‘They passed two... or was it three? ...bad hours,’ Sam said, too tired to be much astonished at mention of the Seeing Stone. ‘Less than they deserved, perhaps, after all they’d done, to Farry, and to others. But in the end they had Strider’s justice, and not the Easterlings’.’