Chapter 8. In the Middle Night

Though little Pip wanted to sleep in his nest of blankets on the kitchen floor, his mother insisted that he sleep in a proper bed – in his bed, as the most proper bed for him, and his only comfort was that Frodo would sleep in the extra bed, the one where Merry would sleep when the Brandybucks arrived a week later. Of course, then Frodo would move to share the guest bedroom that Bilbo occupied, unless Pip was able to persuade Paladin to move another bed into his room, for the duration of the visit, as he had the year before, so that the three cousins could sleep in the same room. If you could call it sleeping… Often they’d end up talking late into the night, but Pip didn’t seem to need much sleep, and hearing Frodo and Merry engage in thoughtful conversation at least kept him abed, which gave Eglantine some peace in the evenings for a change.

At any rate, Frodo slept in the extra bed in Pippin’s room, and Pippin slept in his own bed – or at least he started out there. When Paladin looked in on his way to his own bed, he saw his little son curled tight against Frodo’s back, and the both of them sound asleep. He smiled and shook his head, and taking up the blanket from Pippin’s bed, he laid it over the two sleepers.

Pippin did not stay abed that night, however, not even with Frodo’s company. Sometime between middle night and early breakfast (four o’ the clock, on the farm, a quick cup of tea and a bite of buttered bread and jam before milking the cows), he crept into the shadowy kitchen, where Mardi still dozed by Robin’s side. As the healer had also sent Eglantine to bed – No use your taking ill, Mistress! Believe me, if he has a fever convulsion or goes off his head and starts thrashing, I’ll shout for help! – no one was there to forbid the little lad’s close approach.

Mardi awakened with a start; someone was shaking his shoulder. ‘Huh! What? I…?’ His eyes focused. ‘Pip! Master Pippin, what are you…’

‘He’s all wet,’ Pippin said in distress. ‘Why is he all wet? Did you dunk him in the stream again? What are we to do for blankets?’

Mardi looked from the sad, wondering little face to his patient, laid a hand on the blanket, and gave a wordless exclamation. Then he looked to the lad. ‘Just step back now, lad, whilst I make sure…’

‘Sure of what?’ Pippin wanted to know, but the healer interrupted him with a glad cry.

‘Praise be! The fever’s broken!’

‘He’s well?’ Pippin said, starting forward, but stopping as Mardi held out his hand.

‘Well… not quite well,’ the healer said. ‘But much better, and on the mend. Woodruff’s potion worked as it’s meant to… he’s wet because his body sweated all the fever miasma out of his blood… and now I must stir up the fire, heat water, and bathe him…’

Pippin shook his head. ‘He’ll never fit in the bath,’ he said in all seriousness.

Mardi laughed softly. ‘That he wouldn’t!’ he said. ‘What I’m going to do is give him a bed bath. However, he’s going to need clean, dry bedding…’

‘I have another set of bedding all ready,’ Eglantine said from the doorway, in her nightdress, wrapped in a shawl. Her son’s piping tones had roused her from sleep – a mother’s ear is tuned to listen for such, even in the deepest dream. She moved forward to stand behind her son, putting her hands on his shoulders, kneeling down and wrapping her shawl around the two of them, for the little one was shivering from the night chill, what with the fire burning low on the hearth.

‘Well then,’ Mardi said. ‘I’ll need you to waken a few more hobbits to help me… We’ll get him bathed, and then into clean bedding, and then a bite to eat, I deem. Some broth, with a little bread soaked in it to start, I think… But first, let us waken some helpers, that they may get quickly back to their beds and have a few hours left to sleep…’

‘No need…’ a weak voice breathed, and for a moment everyone was confused as to who had spoken.

And then Pippin gave a glad cry and started forward again, only to be restrained by his mother’s embrace. ‘Robin!’

‘Young Pip,’ the Man whispered, trying to smile. ‘I did come to your home after all… I wanted to, though I wasn’t sure I would be able to find it. Everything was so turned around, I didn’t know if I was going to Gondor or Michel Delving…’

‘What’s Gondor?’ Pippin said curiously, but the healer was saying, ‘Don’t try and get up, sir, for you’ve been dangerously ill. We’ll take care of…’

‘No need to waken anyone else,’ the Man insisted. ‘I’m sure the farmer and his hobbits work very hard and have earned their rest. I need a bath? And fresh bedding? I may be weak as water…’

‘And wet as water!’ Pippin put in.

‘But I can roll off the pallet I’m on,’ the Man said, ‘and if you’ve another blanket or some bed linens handy – though I’m amazed to find something in my size in a Tookish abode…’

‘Your own bedroll is nicely dried,’ Eglantine said, ‘and once you’re clean and comfortable we can certainly get you into it.’

The Man seemed alarmed at the prospect of being bathed, at least with Eglantine in the room, but Mardi soon reassured him that with a little help from Robin himself, the healer would manage just fine.

‘I want to help, too!’ Pippin said.

‘You’re for bed, young hobbit!’ Eglantine said, and to the healer, ‘I’ll just fetch his bedroll and his pack, and he can dress, or you can help him dress, if he wishes, and then slip into his covers and go back to sleep.’

‘But I want to help!’ Pippin protested.

Eglantine was ready to scold, but Robin forestalled her, holding up a hand that shook with weakness. ‘You can be a great help to me, indeed, young master,’ he said.

Pippin was all smiles and eagerness. ‘Just tell me, and I’ll do it!’ he said.

Robin closed his eyes for a moment, though his smile remained, and then he opened them and his gaze sought the young hobbit. ‘I’m very weary,’ he whispered. ‘I think… sleep will be the best healer now. If you could creep to your bed, very quietly, and slip beneath your covers, and let yourself fall asleep, so that I am not tempted to engage you in conversation, it would be a great boon to me… I…’ here he yawned, ‘I… seem to have a great deal of trouble, myself, not talking, as you know… There’s always a story that seems to want telling…’

‘You need quiet and sleep to regain your strength,’ Mardi said to the Man.

‘Ah, but…’ Robin said.

Pippin put his finger to his lips. ‘Shhhhh!’ he said. ‘Stop your talking!’

‘That’s just it,’ Robin murmured. ‘So much to tell…’

Pippin shook his finger at the Man. ‘Hush!’ he said. ‘What ever it is you have to say will keep until the morning! Now…’ he pulled free of his mother’s grasp, ‘I’m off to bed!’

‘Yes, dearling!’ Eglantine said, in complete startlement.

Pippin marched to the kitchen doorway, that opened to the hall leading to the rest of the smial, stopped and turned. ‘No more talking now,’ he ordered sternly.

The three adults all nodded, and Mardi put a finger to his own lips.

Satisfied, the little one nodded and took himself off.

Eglantine built up the fire and readied a pot of broth, as well as filling the teakettle full of water, and set these both to heat, then sliced a loaf of bread and set out bowl, spoon, and ladle for the healer’s convenience. Meanwhile Mardi, after Eglantine told him where to find what was needed, brought out the Man’s bedding – dried on the clothesline and smelling of bright sunshine and fresh wind – and then went back and got the neatly folded clothes that had been quickly scrubbed and also hung out to dry, and then a goodly supply of flannels and towels.

‘There we are,’ he whispered.

‘No talking!’ came Pippin’s voice, floating down the hallway.

Eglantine gave a wry smile, and mouthed, ‘He has very sharp hearing, that little lad!’

Mardi nodded and made a shooing gesture. We’ll take it from here! You go on, Mistress, sleep the rest of the night away, and we’ll see you when it’s time to make morning tea…

Robin added a nod and smile of his own, and the last thing Eglantine saw, looking over her shoulder as she left the kitchen, was the healer, pouring the steaming water into a basin, while Robin rested against the cushions and bolsters propping him. The Man, seeing her look, raised a hand to his forehead as if he were fingering the brim of a cap.

Eglantine, not wanting him to tire himself, simply nodded, smiled, mouthed, Good night! …and took herself off, back to her bed.

Looking in on her little son, she saw Frodo still soundly sleeping in the extra bed, and Pippin in his own bed, but the little lad wasn’t asleep, but sitting up in bed, obviously listening. When she opened his mouth to wish him sweet dreams, he held his finger to his lips.

She nodded, and put her own finger to her lips in agreement.

He smiled a sweet smile, snuggled into his bedcovers, laid his head on his pillow, and closed his eyes with a sigh.

For some reason, Eglantine felt she must tiptoe the rest of the way to her bedroom. She lay a long time listening, but heard nothing, not from Pip, and not from the kitchen. Mardi must be working very silently indeed, even with the little bit of help the Man was able to give.

At last, she fell asleep… as did everyone else in the smial: hobbits, and otherwise.