My apologies for taking so long to update! I've had some RL stress, plus some other fandom duties that cut into my writing time. Things are better now, and I hope to get back on schedule!

Chapter 16: Beware the Wolf in Darkness Born

Second Yule, S.R. 1312

His headache was not gone before breakfast. In point of fact, it was worse. And he had begun sneezing and coughing. Aunt Citrine confirmed it: he had finally come down with the catarrh himself, and he was thoroughly miserable.

Citrine and Sage discussed whether to use the special Elvish medicine on him. But his case was not yet severe. "We have a limited supply, Miss Sage," said Citrine, and it's best to save it for more serious cases. It's to be hoped that Bilbo's bout will not become that serious."

Indeed, that first day he did not even run much of a fever. And once he'd been dosed with willow-bark and other more common herbs, he slept most of the day, waking occasionally to comforting hands smoothing back the hair on his brow. Once he opened his eyes to see that it was his mother, and he choked back a sob of joy."

"Oh my lad! What's the matter?" Belladonna asked, wondering if he were in pain.

"Oh, Mama! I feared you'd never do this again. I was so worried."

She leaned over and placed a kiss on his brow. "You took such good care of your Papa and me, my love. You rest now, your worries are over."

Over the next few days, his fever and his aches grew, and Citrine and Miss Sage watched carefully lest the illness enter his lungs, for if it did that would indeed be a sign that the medicine Gandalf brought was called for. But the congestion seemed to remain in his head, which was a good sign, the healers thought. Still, he felt too sore and tired to even be bored, and he slept much of the time, save when the fever grew and made him restless. But all through that time, he felt contentment to have his mother and father hovering over him and taking care of him, feeding him broth and bringing him his tea and toast, singing to him and sitting with him when his aunt was not there. Both his parents were still very pale and weak, and both of them still had a lingering cough that troubled him. But they told him they felt much better and spoke cheerfully and lightly to him, his mother singing songs of the Tooklands, his father telling him amusing stories of long ago.

Miss Sage had returned to her mistress once they were certain she was no longer needed at Bag End, for there were still many others who were ill in Hobbiton in need of healers, and sometimes Aunt Citrine would join Miss Sage and Mistress Rose (who had recovered) when they were seeing their many patients.

Then one night Bilbo's fever grew worse; he was burning up, and he kept dreaming, this time of flames roaring at his heels, and the mocking laughter of a deep and rumbling voice. He could scarcely hear the voices of his parents, and he was throwing off the blankets which they sought to keep him under, lest he take a chill as well.

Then he felt his aching head lifted, and a cool spoon slipped between his lips. The taste was indescribable, the scent was of spring flowers and fresh breezes and a salty tang he had never smelled before--yet somehow, he knew it was the Sea...

He woke the next morning with no headache for the first time in days. His mother came in just then, bringing tea and toast. "Mama, could I have some jam with my toast?" he asked.

Indeed, she was overjoyed to bring him some strawberry jam, and even an extra piece of toast--it was the first sign of interest he had taken in his food since becoming ill.

Over the next few days, Bilbo was still not allowed out of bed, save for his father helping him take a bath--for he found he was still weak and light-headed when he tried to get up. But he was eating more, and sleeping less. And he was beginning to get very weary of his bed and the walls of his room.

11 Afteryule, S.R. 1312

Since he had begun to feel better, he'd been reading. And today his father had come to sit with him, and told him he needed to take up his lessons once more. And that if he did not run a fever tonight, he would be allowed to come into the parlour tomorrow and sit by the hearth.

Bungo had gone out to the kitchen to fetch them both a tray for their luncheon. His father was still breathing very heavily, and he moved so slowly now. Bilbo was worried. His mother and father should be much better by now, shouldn't they? He knew that both of them had been so very much more ill than he, that he had come dreadfully close to losing them both. He glanced out his window--things were still white as far as he could see.

He heard his door open--perhaps it was Papa with their luncheon? He turned and gave a gasp of surprise. It was not his Papa who stood there holding the tray, but his cousin Adalgrim.

"Chop!" he exclaimed, "you're back! And safe! Are the wolves gone? What happened? Is everyone all right?"

Adalgrim laughed. "Slow down, Bilbo! I'll answer all your questions and tell you the whole story! But let's do some justice to this fine food while it's still hot--I've ridden for hours in the snow and I could use the warmth!"

Once they had disposed of the hot vegetable soup, the bread and cheese, and were beginning to make inroads on the stewed dried fruit, Bilbo leaned back against his pillows. "So tell me what happened, Chop!"

His cousin's face sobered. "It really was not much fun; I was scared spitless, Bilbo, if you want to know the truth. But here is how it happened...

...They'd ridden out of Hobbiton, the local hobbits adding to their number; the muster now had a full forty. The road was almost clear to the edge of town, and they could ride two or three abreast until they came to the outskirts. But the road that led to Bywater was no more than ruts in the snow; they turned east, and just as they had they heard hoofbeats behind them. Isumbras raised his arm for them to halt and they'd looked back to see the tall figure of a Big Person following them on a great horse. It was Gandalf. The wizard slowed as he approached, and then his horse passed the line of ponies until he came alongside Isumbras.

"Your father thought I could be of more use with you than at the Great Smials," he said.

"How is he?" Isumbras asked.

"Grieving still, but he will heal. For now he is more worried about the wolves. He does not want to lose anyone else."

Isumbras nodded, and they moved on, forty ponies and one horse, plodding mostly single file along the road. The Sun was fully up, and she shone brightly down upon the snow-covered Shire. The sky was clear today. It was to be hoped there would be no more snow for a while.

Normally they would have reached Frogmorton by noon, but it was closer to teatime when the first signs of the village came into sight, and they were freezing and exhausted. As in Hobbiton, the main part of the road was clear, more or less, but sidestreets were still piled with snow. The cottages and smials had their front doors clear, but many of the windows were still blocked. Thin streams of smoke rose from the chimneys, but that was the only sign of life. Not a soul was to be seen outside...

The Floating Log and its stable were the only buildings completely clear of snow. The muster rode up to the front of the inn, and Isumbras dismounted, signalling the others to wait. The inn door was shut fast, and he raised a gloved hand and knocked hard on it. He waited. Then he knocked again, much harder. "Is anybody in there?" he yelled.

After another long moment, and just as he was getting ready to knock again, the door opened. It was an elderly gammer, her white hair tucked up under her cap. Her eyes and nose were red, and she looked weary.

She peered out near-sightedly. "T' inn's closed. My son is laid up sick, and we've no provisions."

"I am sorry about that, Mistress. But I am Isumbras Took, and" he gestured behind him, "the Shire muster has been called. There are wolves in the Shire and we must deal with them."

"Mercy!" she exclaimed, going even whiter than she was.

"We've brought food with us, but we could use a night in out of the cold, and drink if you have it. And," he gestured again, "we have with us Gandalf the Wizard, who brought some Elvish medicine to our aid. If your son is suffering from the catarrh, he may be able to help."

She nodded, and stepped back. "I'm that sorry, sir; come in, of course," she said. "We've ale and beer a-plenty in the cellar though some of your folk must fetch it up, for my joints won't go down the steps no more. And we've firewood as well, thanks to the ice storm, but someone will have to bring that in as well from the back. And you'll have to stable your own ponies. It's only my son and me. My grandson was a-helping us--my daughter's son, he lives in the cottage across the way--but he's laid up sick too, now. 'Most the whole village is either sick or getting over sick or tending the sick. We've had no custom to speak of since the middle of Foreyule..."

"Do not fret, Mistress! As I said, my people have brought their own food, and don't worry, the Thain will pay you well for putting us up." He turned back and gave the order for the hobbits to dismount.

Adalgrim, his cousin Hildibold, and Herry Bolger found themselves assigned to stabling the ponies. Although anxious to get into the inn where they could get warm and rest, it was a relief simply to be in out of the wind and blocked from the worst of the cold. Gandalf brought his big horse into the stable himself, and the young hobbits were amazed as he helped them groom and feed the ponies after he had finished with his horse. Between the four of them they made relatively quick work of it and then braved the cold once more for the few dozen steps to the inn.

The difference between the cold outside and the warm inside was much more than it had been in the stable, and Adalgrim found his face burning and tingling as he began to warm up--he had not until this moment realized just how cold he was.

Once he had an ale inside him, and a warm meal--stew made from the dried vegetables and meat they had brought along--he soon found himself drowsing. The hobbits did not disturb any of the rooms of the inn. All of them made themselves comfortable with their blankets upon the floor round the hearth. Adalgrim and Hildibold talked quietly for a while before drifting off to sleep.

The next morning the muster rose early while it was still dark. After talking with Isumbras, it was decided that Gandalf would spend part of the day checking on those who were still ill, to see if he could help them. The innkeeper was already beginning to recover and had not needed the Elvish medicine, but there were others in the village who might benefit.

It was also decided that Isengar would remain as well, since unlike the Tooks, the villagers of Frogmorton did not have the long acquaintance with the wizard. The presence of one of the Thain's sons might reassure them. Isumbras had to lead the muster, so his younger brother took on that duty.

The hobbits were mounting, and Isengar and Gandalf watched them leave. Gandalf was certain they would catch up with them by the end of the day. "This is a small village, and many of those who have been ill have already begun to recover. There are only a few who are seriously ill. We should be able to leave after luncheon, and should have no problem following you all."

"Take care, big brother!" said Isengar.

There were flurries of snow as the ponies rode out of the village, and Adalgrim feared that they might be in for more, but the snow remained light and by the time the sun was fully up it had ceased altogether, though the sky remained overcast and the air was damp.

In Whitfurrows they had received word of the wolves--several Brandybucks had come with warning and remained there yet. So far however, no sign had been seen of the creatures. The Brandybucks determined to join the muster, and so they had half a dozen more added to the muster when they left.

But it was just beyond there that they found the first traces--a farmer hailed them, with the information that the wolves had been howling round his place the night before. "Thanks to the Brandybucks for the warning--me sons and me made sure that all the animals was shut up good and tight in the barn! But the howls spooked 'em something awful--they was bellowing and kicking at the stalls most of the night!" He showed them the tracks that encircled the barn and even came up by the doors of the house. They led away cross-country to a slightly southwestern direction.

A few of the hobbits who were good trackers examined the signs.

Matt Brockhouse, whose father ran The Leaping Hare in Tuckborough, had been checking the tracks. "Mr. Isumbras, it looks like there are twenty in the pack, give or take one or two. The signs indicate two went ahead of the pack, the others all followed behind. Nothing to show any of them turned away. They're headed to the Green Hills country and the Woody End."

Orgulas Brandybuck had been speaking to his kin who had brought the warning to Whitfurrows. He came over to tell them that a large number of Brandybucks had crossed over the Brandywine and managed to muster up a several hobbits in the Marish. "They plan to try and scare the wolves back towards the north."

Isumbras nodded. "If we can we want to drive them north of the Bridge before we allow them to cross back over the River. They will be much less of a threat there. How firm is the ice?"

Orgulas shook his head. "It's hard to say. It is so rare for it to freeze over like this, but I am sure it's firm enough to allow them to pass back across."

"But will they stay on the other side, is the question?" He looked at the tracks, and thought for a moment. "We need to divide our force. Half of us will follow the tracks on the west side, half on the east.  If the Brandybucks are able to turn them back to the north, we can keep them from venturing further into the Shire, or from crossing back over into Buckland. Then we can close in together once we are north of the Bridge and begin driving them over the River once more."

Adalgrim found himself in the group on the west of the tracks. They were not that far from one another--each group was still within sight of the other, but they kept far to each side of the wolf sign.  Matt and a couple of others who were good trackers rode following the tracks, keeping an eye out for any sign the wolves had separated or changed their course.

It was a cold, long ride. Adalgrim was tired and hungry, and wondered when they would stop. From the determined look on Uncle Isumbras' face, it would probably not be before supper. And it was already beginning to get dusky. Once the Sun went down, they would have to stop, or risk losing the trail.

Just then, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold in an entirely different way. The howls of the wolves could clearly be heard...

(A/N: This chapter's title comes from the song "Beware the Wolf" by Jon Anderson, and featured on the CD In Elven Lands.)