Chapter 14: Tidings: An Interlude

24 Foreyule, S.R. 1311

Gandalf looked with a sense of urgent foreboding at the frozen ford. He could recall only too well the last time the Brandywine had been iced over, and this was not a good sign.

Carefully he stepped onto the ice and walked out to the middle. It was solid, as solid as could be. He returned and led the two horses across-- the one he was riding and the one carrying vital supplies, provided for him by Galadriel and her healers; then, instead of waiting and resting as he had thought he might, he set off at as goodly a pace as possible in the snow. The minute he had entered the Shire he had felt more urgency than ever. He needed to get to Tuckborough and the Great Smials as soon as he could. There was great trouble in the Shire, and they needed what he had.

He had been abiding in Lothlórien with Galadriel and Celeborn when the rumours of trouble in Eriador came to them. The first concerns of his hosts had been Imladris, of course, but the Lady had suffered him a glimpse of her mirror.

There was a brief glimpse of Two Rivers, the townspeople huddled in a large room. He saw Arador and Arathorn tending the ill…and there was Hildifons in the same room, holding a baby half his own size, trying to feed her…there were the walls of Bree, snow halfway up, the gate closed fast…there was the Shire, as covered in snow as it had been on his first journey there… there was a young hobbit curled up on a bed, weeping bitterly… he saw himself briefly approaching the Great Smials on horseback…and there was Elrond in his stillroom, seemingly giving urgent instructions to someone—he glanced up briefly, puzzled, as though aware of the unseen eyes upon him…and there he was again, mounted, his sons and many of his household behind him, riding across the Ford of the Bruinen… there were wolf prints in the snow…there was a dark cavern filled with orcs, quarreling over the places nearest a fire… there was the face of his friend Gerontius, twisted with anguish…

It had been enough to understand that while succour would be coming to the Dúnedain and the Angle, the Shire was in dire peril. Celeborn had provided the horses, and Elves to accompany him as far as West of the mountains. It had been a journey slowed by necessity and the winter that was already pouring its fury on the hapless North and making its way South, but once he had the mountains at his back, he had travelled more swiftly.  Now he was in the Shire, and he feared he was too late; he rode as quickly as he could without harming the horses.

And as he rode, he thought he heard the faint sound of horns behind him...

***** 

Isengrim looked at the letter that had arrived for his father. The post-rider from Hobbiton had been the first one to come in for weeks from anywhere in the Shire. The handwriting was clearly that of a young hobbit; it was in fact, from his nephew, Bilbo. Should he read it before giving it to his father? Gerontius had taken no interest in anything in three days-- ever since his beloved Adamanta had breathed her last. Isengrim forced back the choking sob that threatened to overwhelm him; until his father was able to think clearly once more, he was in charge, and he could not afford to grieve for his mother yet. His time would come.

Perhaps there would be something in the letter that would arouse his father from his apathy. He ran his finger under the seal and opened the letter.

"22 Foreyule, S.R. 1311
Bag End
Hobbiton

Dear Grandfather,

I am writing this letter to you because Mama and Papa are both very sick, and Miss Sage the healer's apprentice said you needed to know about it. They had catarrh and then the lung sickness and they are still very, very sick.

I am so worried about them, Grandfather. I do not know what to do. Can you help us?

I hope that things are better at the Great Smials than they are here in Hobbiton.

Your loving grandson,
Bilbo"

His heart dropped to his toes. Bella! His beloved little sister and her jolly Baggins husband were laid low; yet what help was there for them in Hobbiton when they were so beset here? It was almost more than he could bear. And poor young Bilbo, to have such a burden on his shoulders at his tender age!

Suddenly, there was a rapping at his door. "Mr. Isengrim!"

"What is it?" he asked wearily. Doubtless more bad news, he was sure.

"Mr. Isengrim! That Gandalf is here! He's here!"

And for the first time in days hope dared to enter Isengrim's heart.

***
Gerontius paid no heed to the persistent knocking at the door of his study. Whoever it was would go away eventually-- unless it was his daughter-in-law Rosa trying to make him eat again. When the door opened anyway, he thought perhaps it was her, but then...

"Oh, my old friend! I am so sorry I could not come sooner!"

The Old Took's head whipped round at the sound of his best friend's voice. "Gandalf?" he stood shakily, and stared in disbelief, for Gandalf almost always came in the summer. What was he doing here now?

In three swift strides, the wizard had crossed the room. He held out his arms, and Gerontius fell into them weeping bitterly, pouring all his grief out onto the heart strong enough to bear it. He did not resist when Gandalf sat down in the chair reserved for him, cradling Gerontius like a child.

"Weep, my old friend, for your tears will help to heal your heart."

And weep Gerontius did, until he fell asleep with weariness. But Gandalf simply held him for hours. Time enough when his friend wakened refreshed, to give him the other news, the news that Isengrim had told him of on his arrival.

He had brought the Elvish medicine too late for sweet Adamanta, but not, he hoped, to help the many others who needed it.

***** 

"FEAR! FIRE! FOES! AWAKE! AWAKE! FEAR! FIRE! FOES! AWAKE! AWAKE!"

The Horncall blasted across Buckland, picked up by one horn only to be echoed by another, the horncall to action that had not been heard in Buckland since the Old Forest had threatened the hedge so long ago!

Brandybucks came boiling out of Brandy Hall into the frosty air, Gorbadoc at their head. What could the danger be? It was winter. The wild trees of the Old Forest should be deep in slumber.

Then, faintly at first, but more gradually sounding louder between the blasts of the horns, they heard it: not the howling of the wind.

Wolves. Wolves in Buckland, and with the Brandywine frozen over, wolves headed for the heart of the Shire...