Chapter 57. Bolt from the Blue

Life at the Great Smials settled more or less into routine over the weeks that followed. The fever that had swept through the mustered hobbits eventually became little more than an unpleasant memory. With plenty of food and rest, Ferdi and Tolly recovered to Woodruff’s satisfaction and were allowed to return to their duties. This they did as if no Convocation had taken place that had ultimately catapulted them to the dizzying heights of ranking amongst the wealthiest of the Shire-folk. Instead, they sensibly tried their best to live the same lives they’d lived before incredible fortune had changed their lot. Into the bargain, they could pay as little heed to their newly bestowed wealth as they wished, for the Councillors had appointed responsible, well-respected Tooks to manage the two archers’ finances. 

They had no wish to lord it over their fellows, nor did they desire to join into the activities pursued by those who mingled in the heady circles of the Tookish gentry. Simple pleasures, as they’d enjoyed all their lives, were enough for them. They had no need to put on fancy trappings, drink tea from a delicate cup with their littlest finger crooked in an affected manner, or try to impress someone who couldn’t even shoot a shaft into the side of a byre, much less a target. They had no need to ride out with sport hunters when they were accustomed to hunting for the pot. They also had the good fortune to have married sensible wives who had no patience with putting on airs.

In short, although Ferdibrand and Tolibold might easily have bought themselves large properties and hired hobbits to work the land whilst they enjoyed more leisurely pursuits, not even having to manage their holdings, they preferred to continue to present themselves in society as well as in private as they always had: as Tookish archers. Since most hobbits would have been too polite to bring up such points, and the Councillors had threatened harsh consequences for any Talk concerning the topic of the recent Convocation, the furore died down relatively quickly, and folk treated the two Tooks no differently than when they’d merely been renowned archers and Heroes of the Tookish resistance.

The beginning of March saw Tolly summoned to the Thain’s study. Such a summons was hardly out of the ordinary for the head of escort or any of the hobbits serving under him. The reason for the summons, however, was not routine, as Tolly was able to discern upon entering.

If an escort were needed to travel with the Thain or his family, he’d enter and, standing just inside the doorway, receive his orders, then immediately exit to see to travel details, such as saddling ponies. If a message was to be delivered within the Bounds of the Tookland, it would be handed to him just inside the door, and again, unless the Thain or Steward felt the need to issue additional instructions, he’d turn on his heel and exit the study.

But if the Thain waved him to a chair, and the Steward brought him a cup of tea, it would not be a simple matter of protection or acting as a messenger. Some kind of difficulty might have arisen, a need for disciplinary action or to address a complaint. Or the Thain might have a “special commission” to be carried out. Though Tolly was both skilled and competent, having satisfactorily carried out almost all of the commissions he’d been tasked with, it was the exceptions, extraordinary circumstances he’d encountered, that could still spawn nightmares to interrupt his sleep.

And so this day, he moved smoothly to the indicated chair and seated himself, accepted the cup the Steward extended to him with a murmur of thanks, and took the requisite sip before setting the cup aside, just as if this were any other day. Nevertheless, all his senses were at full alert from the moment the Thain said, ‘Ah, Tolibold. Please, sit yourself down.’

‘Sir?’ he said in his coolest tone, striving to avoid the impression of sitting on the edge of his seat. Though the Thain had honoured him for his actions in aid of an elf-friend, and the Convocation had awarded him unimaginable wealth through no merit of his own, he still did not feel comfortable sitting at his ease with his betters, as he still thought of certain Tooks, including Steward and Thain.

‘I have a commission requiring a special messenger,’ Thain Peregrin said, fixing the head of escort with a keen eye. ‘It is a delicate matter.’

Tolly managed, barely, to contain the shiver that went down his back at the words. A previous “delicate matter”, as he had lived it, had nearly proved fatal. ‘Aye,’ he said, reached to pick up his teacup, and took a steadying sip. ‘A delicate matter...?’ he probed.

‘I’ll be travelling to Buckland next week,’ Pippin said, and Tolly nodded. Since assuming the Thainship, Peregrin had spent a week or two in Buckland every March, celebrating with Master Merry some battle or other that had taken place in the Wilderlands, or so the Talk ran. The least charitable amongst the gossipers also whispered that it was “common knowledge” that the Brandybuck drank himself into a stupor on these anniversaries, and the Thain felt an obligation to attend him, that he might not do himself some kind of harm.

But the Thain was still talking. ‘I’ll be taking you and Ferdi for my escorts,’ he was saying. ‘Ferdi will drive the coach as far as the Woody End, where he’ll stop with his sister for a well-earned – and overdue! – holiday whilst we’re in Buckland. And he’ll drive us home again when my business in Buckland is concluded.’

‘And who is to drive from the Woody End to the North-gate?’ Tolly said, to show he’d been attending to the details.

‘You’ll drive us from the Woody End to the Gate,’ the Thain said, while the Steward gave Tolly an approving look for his perceptiveness. ‘There’s no need for one of the Great Smials’ drivers to cool his heels in Buckland for two weeks, which is why I’ve planned for my escort to double as coach-hobbits. The Brandybucks will meet the coach and provide a driver from the North-gate to Brandy Hall. And then, rather than you cooling your heels in Buckland for two weeks, or returning immediately to the Tookland, you’ll be accompanying another messenger headed in the same direction, and going onward together, each of you carrying a few messages...’ He picked up the paper in front of him and muttered to himself, ‘Yes, the dates will suit, even if he has to wait a day or three at the North-gate. I’m sure he’ll be fine.’

‘You’re sure he’ll be fine waiting three days?’ the Steward echoed dryly, eyebrow lifted.

‘Sir?’ Tolly said, confused. Who was he? And who was Tolly, to keep him (whoever he was) waiting? And where would he – they, rather, considering his as yet unnamed companion – where would they be “going on” to from Buckland?

Pippin put the paper down on the desk again and said to Regi, ‘Of course he’ll be fine! He can hold long conversations with the trees in the Old Forest, or some such, and should time hang heavy on his hands (Though why should it? Time has no hold over him!), he can argue with the brambles to his heart’s content. I’m sure he’ll be delighted at the opportunity!’

Tolly cleared his throat, and the Thain turned his attention back to the head of escort. ‘Ah yes,’ he said breezily. ‘And then,’ he repeated, only this time he added the rest of the thought, ‘you’ll meet the King’s messenger at the North-gate, and accompany him to Bree...’

‘Bree!’ Tolly said in spite of himself, unable to contain his startlement.

‘O aye,’ Pippin said. ‘You’ll carry my messages, and he’ll carry the King’s messages, and he’ll escort you safely to the Breeland – for though the Road is much safer than it was before the King returned to take up his responsibilities, there are still lonely stretches, and my messages – the ones I’ll be sending with you – are critically important and must not be lost or go astray.’

‘Sir,’ Tolly said again, his head whirling.

The Thain smiled kindly, ‘Not to mention the messenger,’ he added. ‘I would hate to lose you, cousin, should you wander outside the Shire and not find your way home again.’

‘Not to mention his wife,’ Regi said dryly. ‘She nearly cooked your goose just a few months ago, Thain Peregrin, as you ought to bear in mind when you’re tempted to push your head of escort too far,’ – thus demonstrating by his easy manner that although Tolly had not yet left hold of the relatively lowly social distinctions he’d always known, Regi had accepted his change in status and would, no doubt, continue to acknowledge it.

Tolly blinked, but managed to find an appropriate answer to Pippin’s surprising addendum. ‘Thank you, cousin.’

***