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The Farmer's Son  by Lindelea


Chapter 12. Watchers Keep Watch

Halmir was not ready, however, when they reached the top of the hill, to find... nothing, apparently. No black-cloaked horseman awaited them, no ominous feeling haunted him, growing fear did not pluck at his nerves as they neared the top, terror did not assail his determination.

The hilltop lay bathed in pleasant autumn sunshine; as a matter of fact, the afternoon was warm and fine. There was a sound of birds, and small insects, and wind rippling in the grass.

Elladan gave a sudden exclamation, slipping from his horse's back to run lightly across the grass. Halmir, following, saw at last what drew his companion: two small cloaks, it seemed, laid out upon the ground. He dismounted and took the reins of both horses, and waited, as dread sprung up anew from somewhere within his soul.

The son of Elrond knelt by the cloaks, gingerly drawing back a fold of fabric—the hood, Halmir thought in a corner of his mind, and he gave an absent nod as the hood gave way to a face, pale and still. He swore under his breath at the sight, the flat rocks placed over the eyes in the manner of some of the barrows found upon Deadman's Dike, meant to shut out any vestige of light from the eyes of the dying, a final torment for one too weak to resist.

Stand, he whispered to the horses, and one whickered softly while the other tossed its head, uneasy, but both stood still as ordered, and did not move from the spot where he dropped the reins. He moved forward, to fall to his knees on the other side of the bodies, for bodies they were, he deemed. He removed a glove to test the skin of the nearest, and it was cold to the touch, unpleasantly clammy.

But Elladan was lifting away the flat stones one at a time, holding them between thumb and forefinger as if they were accursed things, flinging them away with a grimace before bending his ear close to the near hobbit's mouth and nose. 'Alive,' he breathed, and then sitting back on his heels, he looked at Halmir with haunted eyes. 'They were meant to be found thus,' he whispered, and made a face as if he swallowed down sickness.

Halmir's stomach jolted as well; how well he knew the cruelty of those under Shadow. 'A jest,' he muttered, 'a mockery—prepared for burial, for though they yet live...'

Elladan's hand went to his breast. 'The hobbits would have no hope of reviving them,' he said.

'Here,' Halmir said, reaching under his own clothing, to bring forth a handful of leaves. 'These are fresher—I culled them just outside the camp by the Ford, for I thought they might be needed, considering what had driven the watchers away.'

Elladan nodded, but his attention remained on the still faces before them. 'Wood,' he said, 'and water.' He removed his cloak and smoothed it over the hobbits laid out so close together, then reached out his hands, laid them one on each forehead, and bowed his head.

Halmir jumped to his feet, rested a hand on Elladan's shoulder briefly, and felt the tension there as the son of Elrond strove to steady the dying hobbits, to lend them his strength. 'Walk with care,' he murmured. Removing his cloak, he laid it over the two still forms for added warmth against the chill of the Black Breath.

Elladan did not acknowledge him, but simply closed his eyes, the better to concentrate.

Halmir nodded, turned to the horses standing a little way away, untied a bag fastened to his saddle and returned to drop it at Elladan's side. He walked away again, took up the reins of both horses, mounted his own, and sat a moment to survey the country around them. A small copse and gleam of water drew his eye, and when he had followed the track to hill's foot he turned his horse's head that way.

He rode into the copse, well under the shelter of the trees, dismounted, and tied the horses. 'Wait here,' he said, with a pat to each of the sweating necks. He took down the waterskin tied to his saddle, and as he trotted to the little stream he gathered fallen branches until he had a good armload, enough for a fire to boil a pot of water, perhaps. He'd have to gather more, to keep a fire going, but that was a concern for a later time. He fretted over the time he was spending, time the Shirefolk could ill afford, even with Elladan sustaining them with his own strength. He scarcely noted the beauty of the country around him, green and gold and brown, peaceful beneath the golden sunshine of an autumn afternoon, showing little sign that Fear had passed this way. Little sign but for the grim finding on the hilltop, at least.

The stream sparkled in the sunshine and chuckled lazily to welcome him, moving quickly over rocks and more sluggishly in the deeper places, where shadowy bodies loomed, gills gently waving, promise of good fishing for one whose work was done. The Ranger's waterskin was half-full; he scooped it in the stream as he crossed over, to fill it full, and continued at a steady jog to the hillside, and up. The way was a little easier, more gradual, than the track they'd followed up, but of course he hadn't known and had descended by the trodden path rather than risk the horses on an unknown descent that might end in a sudden drop.

At the top of the hill he found Elladan as he'd left him, head bowed, tendons in his neck straining as he strove to stay the flickering sparks of life within the still forms. Indeed, it seemed that he was having some success at drawing the nameless hobbits back, or one of them at least, for the near hobbit drew a shallow breath and whispered, as one dreaming.

'Frodo...'

Ranger and son of Elrond stiffened at the name, and Halmir leaned forward eagerly, to hear what could be heard of the half-choked words.

'I... tried... Frodo, I did, but he... “Baggins,” he said, “Where is Baggins?” ...it was all I could do, to tell him only “Hobbiton”.'

Elladan raised his head, to exchange a glance of alarm with Halmir.

The broken whisper went on. 'Hobbiton,' the hobbit repeated, ' 'twon't be long before they find out... I don't think Buckland is far enough...' He turned his head, for but a moment restless, and was once again still.

'Buckland,' Halmir breathed. 'He's left Hobbiton, then...'

'And will soon have Black Riders on his trail, if not already,' Elladan answered, his voice grim. 'But it would be like hunting for... what is it they say in Bree? ...a needle in a haystack, to try to find Frodo Baggins somewhere between Hobbiton and Buckland.' His eyes swept to the east, over the Green Hill country surrounding them, the stately hills marching on toward the Woody End and Buckland beyond, their western sides bathed in late afternoon sunshine, their eastern sides drowned in shadow.

Halmir nodded, and scraped away the turf to make a firepit, to begin the makings of a hastily kindled fire. 'We must trust to luck,' he said. 'At least they did not find the Baggins at home.'

It was not long before the fire was burning brightly. While waiting for the flames to grow, Halmir dug the little cookpot from the bag and filled it with water. He knelt to place the pot on the fire and sat back on his heels. 'A watched pot never boils,' he said, with a mirthless smile.

'So Bilbo maintains,' Elladan said. 'I hope that we can bring his heir safely to him, or he'll have a few more choice words for us.'

'Once word gets out that Frodo has gone from the Shire, all of the Watchers will be seeking him,' Halmir said, 'my chief not the least.'

Elladan nodded at this and withdrew his hands from the hobbits' foreheads. 'A goodly thought,' he said, and rose swiftly, to stand facing the westering sun, dipping ever lower in the sky. He raised his hands, and a few moments later a small bird came to him, to light upon his finger.

Halmir shook his head in wonder, though he'd seen such a thing before. The Fair Folk talked to all sorts of living things, trees, animals, birds, and the son of Elrond was half-Elven, after all.

After but a few brief moments of quiet communion, the bird flitted away towards the distant Brandywine, and the Wilds beyond, carrying its critical message.

When Halmir looked back to the little pot, it was beginning to steam.

The sun dipped lower, her golden afternoon rays shading to the roses of evening, casting a false flush of life upon the faces of the hobbits, as if health and strength returned.

But now the water was boiling merrily. Elladan, returning from watching the small messenger on its way, took up two of the leaves that Halmir had laid down, life-giving athelas, that grew wild in the Northlands near the places where the Dúnedain had made their camps over the long years since the fall of the North kingdom. The outpost at Sarn Ford was one of these places.

Halmir looked on in hope; for while he could draw some of the power from athelas leaves, indeed, as many of his kindred could, he was nowhere near as proficient as his chief, leader of the Dúnedain. However, his companion Elladan was a son of Elrond, perhaps the most powerful healer to be found in Middle-earth, and a competent healer in his own right, though he chose oftener errantry—and dealing out death to those who followed Shadow—than pursuing the healer's arts. Surely if anyone besides the chief of the Dúnedain or the Lord Elrond could save these flickering lives, it would be one of Elrond's sons.

Elladan breathed upon the leaves, and then he crushed them, and cast them into the pot that Halmir held between hands protected by folds of his cloak. A living freshness rose from the water, and Halmir knelt himself down between the hobbits, to bring the steaming pot close to the quiet faces, grown grey once more with the falling of twilight and the fading of the sun.

Elladan watched the hobbits' faces for a moment, and then he called softly. 'Return, my friends, awake!' His voice grew in sound and urgency as he leaned closer. 'Walk no more in darkness. Let the shadow be washed away, and evil haunt you no longer.'

In growing hope and wonder, Halmir saw the hobbits' chests rise, and fall once more, a much deeper breath than the barely perceptible life signs they had showed heretofore.

Elladan sat back and lifted his voice in song, softly, perhaps that it not be carried on the wind to adversaries, for he was engaged in battle of another sort, and all his faculties were taken up in the fight. He closed his eyes to concentrate; but Halmir kept his own eyes open, his senses alert to their surroundings, ready to put the pot down safely away from the dreaming faces, that he might draw his sword at need.

Thus he saw the hobbit's eyes open—the hobbit that had spoken of Frodo—gleaming in the growing darkness, and wondering, gazing from side to side in confusion, finally to fix his eyes upon Halmir's face, lit more now by the light of the little fire than any remainder of light from the day. The hobbit frowned. 'I...' he stammered. 'I... don't know you.'

'All is well,' Halmir replied. 'Breathe deeply of the steam, and be well.'

The accusing eyes held the Ranger's as the hobbit drew a deeper breath, as if against his will, and breathing the steam from the little pot the hobbit relaxed once more, his features taking on a dreamy look. His eyes unfocused, he continued to gaze upon the Ranger's face until he blinked and his gaze sharpened again. 'I don't know you,' he repeated. 'Who are you? And what do you do here?'

'We are here to help you,' Halmir said. 'Have no worries on that account...'

The hobbit made a wry face, even as he breathed the athelas-laden air. 'I' truth,' he said, ' 'twould be difficult, I deem.' He moved his head then, this way and that, obviously seeking, though his eyelids were drooping, closing of themselves despite his best efforts to remain awake. 'Tolly?'

The other hobbit stirred slightly at hearing his name, but did not wake. Instead he turned upon his side, bringing up his arm for a pillow, and began to snore. It was difficult for Halmir to suppress a chuckle, but he did, even as relief washed over him. Elladan's skill had been enough. The stricken hobbits would live. They might be weakened, needing rest and nursing for a day or two, but their strength would soon return.

'Watch them, and I will go down to gather more wood,' Elladan said, rising to his feet. Halmir nodded, loosening his sword and peering out over the shadowy hilltops, soon to be bathed in starlight. The first stars were already appearing in the heavens above them. It would be a fine, clear night, though cold here on the heights. Not as cold as it might have been, some corner of his mind replied.

Without the merest rustle of grass, the son of Elrond was gone.

Halmir stood up, the better to survey their surroundings, and then fell to work. The hobbits, though rescued from death, must be kept warm until their folk came to claim them. He broke up the last of the sticks he'd brought and fed them to the fire, taking cheer from the crackling warmth. He took up the cloaks, then, wrapping one around each hobbit in turn, and lifted the hobbits, to position them close to the fire, on either side, to warm them, yet not close enough that they might roll into the flames. He didn't think it likely, limp as they were with sleep, dead to the world, as Shirefolk might say of one deeply asleep, but he took the precaution anyway.

The fire was dying when Elladan returned, but they soon had it burning brightly again, and there were fish as well, caught fresh in the stream below, soon set to frying and sending a good smell into the air. 'No sign,' he said to Halmir's inquiring look. 'They are gone from this district, I deem, gone north and east in their pursuit.'

'May their hunting go ill,' Halmir muttered, and he hitched his cloak a little higher on the hobbit it cocooned—not-Tolly, that was—right up to the fellow's chin, to protect him from the night's chill. 'And the horses? You found them well?'

But Elladan's attention was elsewhere. 'Look,' he said. 'The searchers come at last.' A line of torches was advancing along the track from Whitwell.

'You left a clear trail for them to follow, I trust,' Halmir said.

'That, and they'll have seen the firelight atop this hill from afar,' Elladan assented. He'd made sure the dropped arrows pointed up the hill, and examined the tracks made by the horses and ponies in turning off the trail to mount the heights. The tracks were clear enough, he deemed, and with the arrow's silent message he thought it would be enough. 'Build up the fire,' he added, 'to keep them warm until they're found.' He added, almost absently, 'And yes, the horses are well, and ready to travel so soon as we are.'

'On to Buckland, and then...?' Halmir said, but the son of Elrond had no answer.

Together they watched the torches of the searchers grow ever closer. They ate the fish when the meal was ready, with a sprinkling of herbs. Halmir licked the juices from fingers burned by an overeager grab, but the flesh was succulent, and his stomach rejoiced in the treat after so many days of travel and watching.

When at last faint exclamations rang through the night, from the foot of the hill below them, they took up their cloaks and supplies. The first searchers topped the hill at last, and calling eagerly, ran to where the fire burned brightly, seized the slumbering hobbits who lay there, and their half-welcoming, half-exasperated cries fell to bewildered mumbling. The lost-now-found hobbits did not waken, not even with a firm shaking or a shout, but slept on as if bewitched.

'Their hearts are beating,' one of the searchers, and by his actions a healer, said, 'and their breathing—yes, their breathing is strong.' He lifted his face from the open shirt of the second hobbit, for he'd checked both of the sleepers before making this pronouncement, and the relief on his face was plain to see even by the flicker of the torchlight and the little fire.

'While there's breath, there's life,' another said, in a hopeful tone.

'Come, we'll carry them down to proper beds,' the healer said. 'I can't really get a good look at 'em, here in the dark, in the wild, with naught but a fire and a few torches for light...'

Elladan touched Halmir's sleeve, where they watched from the shadows, and the two Watchers turned away, and melted into the night.

***

A/N: (sorry, got interrupted and accidentally left this off) Some turns of phrase inspired by "The Houses of Healing" in Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien.





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