Chapter 20. Defence

Though the fire was both cheering and warming, it didn’t solve their other pressing problem: water. The son of the Thain stared up at the heavy clouds covering the sky, thinking about Mayor Sam’s request to the Lady. ‘A little water,’ he whispered. Might it fall from the sky? Could he contrive some way to catch such bounty? Now that he had a good fire going, the thought of rain, snow – even sleet – spurred more hope and longing than dread.

Farry slumped, exhausted by his labours and thirstier than he had been, but he surveyed the satisfying quantity of fallen and dead wood he’d been able scrounge from his surroundings with a feeling of pride. From his experience cutting wood with Ferdi’s Bolger relations, he estimated that it would last more than a day, even two. Come to think of it, the supply of wood for burning might outlast Farry himself, and his uncle, considering their lack of water for drinking.

How would he catch it, if water were to fall from the sky?

He shook his head at himself. He’d have to cross that bridge when he came to it. Too bad it was only a saying and not reality. He could use a bridge – and the water it spanned – right about now. In any event, if and when water fell from the sky, he’d think of something. Or perhaps Ferdi might have an idea to offer.

‘Uncle?’ he said now. It had seemed wise to him to check on Ferdibrand at intervals during his labours, and he had always received a prompt answer – until this moment.

When no answer came from the pit, he started up in alarm from his comfortable place where he was being warmed by the fire. ‘Uncle Ferdi?’ he called louder, leaning over the edge of the pit to stare downward, into darkness. ‘Ferdi!’

‘I’m here, lad,’ came the reply, sounding inestimably weary. ‘Where else would I be?’

‘I – I just,’ Farry said, feeling foolish as he stammered in his relief. ‘I’ve got a fire going, Uncle.’

‘That’s good,’ Ferdi answered. ‘Good, lad.’ There was a lengthening pause, and then his uncle spoke again. ‘Farry, lad.’

‘Uncle?’

‘Is it well with you?’

Farry’s hands were somewhat raw from hauling wood from the surrounding forest and breaking what pieces he could into manageable lengths, and his arms and shoulders were aching from the unaccustomed exercise. His legs were so tired that he could feel their muscles twitching, and his mouth felt as dry as Mordor, or so he imagined. So of course he answered, ‘I can scarcely think of a time when I’ve been better!’

His ears were sharp enough to catch a soft snort from the pit. But then Ferdi spoke again. ‘I have a favour to ask of you, lad.’

‘I’m all ears,’ Farry said obligingly. ‘Ask away.’

He listened to silence from the pit for the space of a few breaths. Then, quietly, so quietly that Farry had to lean towards the pit to hear, the older hobbit said, ‘It’s all closed-in, like, here, lad... so... close... the walls...’ He could hear the strain in his uncle’s voice as Ferdi spoke, and he caught his breath in sudden understanding. Ferdibrand was a hunter, more comfortable under the open sky than in a hobbit hole. Indeed, he’d heard the hobbit joking about feeling closed-in while in the Thain’s study, and wouldn’t the Thain like to take a nice ride with an escort somewhere, or perhaps Pippin might have a message for Ferdi to carry to a farm in the wild Green Hills?

And often, in response, Pippin would laugh and send him off on a "little commission for the Thain", or he might agree that it was a beautiful day for a ride, and he was certain that Socks or Cloudtail would be obliging.

Silence stretched between them. Too long, Farry thought. Too quiet. ‘I’m here, Uncle,’ he said urgently, and some quality of sympathy in his voice must have reached Ferdi in his dark prison, for the older hobbit spoke again. ‘It’s why I’d rather the ruffians had killed me than that they’d take me to the Lockholes, lad. To be shut in –!’ There was a pause, and he said, lower, ‘Had they marched me to the Lockholes in truth, I would have done my best to break free, if only to have them shoot me down to stop me, if I could not win my freedom...’

Farry was struck by sudden memory of the quick friendship that had sprung up between Ferdibrand and the Man Faramir and his wife Eowyn, when the two had come to the Northlands in a bleak time of drought and famine, helping to escort wains heaped with supplies from the lands to the South for the hard-pressed Northerners. As a Southern Ranger, Prince Faramir could, and did, talk for hours with the Tookish archers about traps and strategies for defying foes that were both numerous and deadly – and he had often had been found in Ferdibrand's company, walking and talking about hunting and shooting during the time the King lifted his Edict in the interest of providing aid to Shire-folk, when Buckland had hosted the visiting Big Folk. Meanwhile, the Lady of Ithilien shared Ferdi's appreciation of fine equines and open sky – feelings so keen that they approached the level of physical need in the both of them. Prince Faramir had called them kindred spirits, making the Lady throw back her head and laugh and Ferdi duck his head with a blush before shooting a jest of his own in return. Ferdi had even idly mentioned travelling to Ithilien someday to return the favour, shocking the sensibilities of most of his Tookish cousins. With the exception of the Thain, of course.

‘I’m here,’ Farry repeated when it seemed his uncle had no more to say on that matter.

‘So if you could talk,’ Ferdi said low, as if ashamed to admit his weakness, ‘– if we could talk, ‘twould be a comfort.’

Farry swallowed on a dry throat. He had no doubt that Ferdi’s throat was equally dry. But then the teen had a bright thought. ‘Of course, Uncle!’ he said. ‘But I must see a hobbit about a pony first, and then we can talk until the cows come home, if you wish.’

Of a wonder he heard a chuckle from the darkness below. ‘O’ course, lad. Take your time.’

Taking up his bow and quiver for protection away from the fire, Farry skirted the pit to the crumbling stump that had begun this wearisome business in the first place. ‘Scarlet elf cups,’ he said to himself as he knelt to touch the crimson fungi growing in profusion there.

He broke off a small sample, lifted it to his nose and sniffed its subtle earthy smell. He nibbled at one edge, nodding at the mild flavour. Perhaps a hint of beetroot. He wrinkled his nose and popped the mushroom into his mouth. It was a bit chewy, but even uncooked, it was remarkably palatable, and best of all, chewing seemed to bring moisture to his mouth, easing the torment of his thirst.

He broke off a larger specimen but found it not quite as agreeable. Tough, it was, and a bit stringy. ‘All right, then,’ he said to himself. He dug out his pocket handkerchief – still clean, as he hadn’t felt the need to wipe his nose along their journeys, and even if he had, his sleeve would have been more handy, not being in polite company – and harvested a goodly quantity of the bright little mushrooms, leaving the larger ones. Early on in the process, he popped the first one he'd picked into his mouth and chewed it as he worked.

Returning to the pit, he carolled, ‘Half-past teatime!’

‘Eh, laddie?’ Ferdi answered, sounding understandably befuddled.

Farry took up a piece of bark from his woodpile and dumped about half of his bounty on it. He tied the corners of his handkerchief together to safeguard the rest and moved to the edge of the ruffian trap. Holding out the bundle over the pit, he called, ‘Here, Ferdi, I’ve got somewhat for you. Are you ready to catch it?’

‘Ready?’ Ferdi said, half question and half confirmation. Farry let go and next heard the older hobbit say, ‘Got it,’ followed not long after by, ‘Farry! You’re a wonder! I’d forgotten all about...’

‘Easy enough to do,’ he replied. ‘I only just remembered them myself.’ He settled down between the fire and the edge of the pit and took up a small handful of sustenance from his improvised platter.

‘You cannot see it, of course, but I am bowing to you, the founder of our feast,’ came Ferdi’s voice from the dark depths.

‘As I bow to you in return. Tuck in!’ Farry answered.

‘You won’t have to tell me twice,’ Ferdi said. His voice sounded stronger.

Perhaps if he could find more scarlet elf cups nearby, it might be enough to sustain them until rescuers found them, even without water? He could only hope. ‘So what did you want to talk about?’ he asked, his mouth full. He would chew these mushrooms thoroughly before taking more, and perhaps fool his body into thinking it was feasting.

‘Tell me of the sky,’ Ferdi said. ‘I can see but a small circle above me.’

So Farry shoved his mouthful of mushrooms into his cheek and launched into a description of last night’s sunset clouds, the ever-changing colours of the mare’s tails against the fading sky, the moon playing I-hide-and-you-seek-me, the darkness of the middle night, and the heavy, sullen sky above them now. Finishing, he said, ‘Very well, then, your turn to talk whilst I chew a mouthful or two.’

‘We would certainly not want you to choke, eating and talking at the same time,’ Ferdi said acidly. ‘Very well...’ He definitely sounded stronger, and Farry’s eyes prickled with what might have been grateful tears, were he not too dry to shed them. ‘I do have a question.’

‘Ask away,’ Farry said gaily, ‘and I will do my best not to choke on my answer. Or on these excellent elf cups.’

But of all that his uncle might have said, the teen wasn’t expecting Ferdi’s next words. ‘How is it, young hobbit, that you chanced that shot? You might have killed me.’

‘I –‘ Farry said, nonplussed.

Ferdi continued. ‘I’ve been giving it some thought, you see. It helped me to pass the dark hours of the night, working out the angles and the distance, the movements of my furry companion here, the timing, the distraction offered by the other dogs...’

‘Uh-huh,’ Farry said noncommittally. 

‘And so, what I’d like to know,’ the older hobbit said, ‘is – were you out of your wits? To chance such a shot? Why, it’s not one that I’m sure I would have taken, in your position.’

Stung, Farry answered, ‘I always hit the mark I aim at, Uncle.’

‘Always?’ Ferdi scoffed. In his mind’s eye, Farry could see his uncle scrutinizing him. ‘Always? When on the shooting range, you hit the third or fourth circle?’

‘Always,’ Farry affirmed.

His uncle was silent for a long moment after that, but then he said, an echo of the past, ‘Help me to understand, lad.’

Farry swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. So had Ferdi spoken, gently, empathetically, when Farry had been a mere faunt, aiming to take up the bow like a real Took, but finding to his disappointment a child’s bow wanting, with its impotent twang.

‘I –‘ he began.

‘I’m listening.’

I know that you are. You’ve always listened to me, even when others didn’t, Farry thought to himself. Perhaps Ferdi might actually understand.

He took a deep breath, and at last, he found the words. ‘When I was little,’ he said. ‘It was right after we returned from Buckland that time,’ he said. ‘The time that the Ferry broke loose as we were crossing over to Buckland, and Haldi fell in the River trying to prevent us floating off down-River, and Da saved him, but he couldn’t save us... and the Brandybucks couldn’t figure out how to get a rope to us, for the current was too strong for a boat, and so we tied the end of Mum's yarn to an arrow, and my da drew Haldi’s bow for me, and I aimed it...’

Their adventure was not common knowledge amongst the Tooks, though it had become something of a tale of wonder to be told amongst the Brandybucks. And the Thain had sworn Haldi to secrecy, lest the Tooks find out about the matter and be scandalised at how close their Thain and Mistress and small son and their escort – all Tooks – had come to drowning, a disgraceful end, so far as the Tooks were concerned. And so the teen could almost feel the consternation rolling off Ferdibrand in waves, and for some reason, it struck him as comical. It took him a moment to stifle and settle down the ripples of laughter that came over him, before he could speak calmly again.

‘Anyhow, we got back to the Tookland after that visit was over, and the next day, Regi told my da that I wasn’t to learn archery anymore, not until I was ten, which would be the proper time for a young Took to learn such. And my da, knowing I’d saved our lives with my shooting, he wasn’t having any of that! But then –‘ and a lump came into his throat, and he had to swallow it down.

‘Then,’ echoed Ferdi, as if he’d heard the lad’s tone change from indignation to grief at the same time as Farry's feelings.

‘But then... they kept on talking... and... and I knew my da was going to die... and leave me... they said... he said...’ And if there had been any tears left to Farry, they would have been pouring down his cheeks in that moment. All he could do, however, was gulp a dry sob.

‘And then,’ Ferdi repeated gently.

‘And my da said, with my shooting, I could someday care for myself, I could support myself on the wages of a hobbit of the Thain’s escort, or even be head of escort for Regi someday,’ Farry said, gulping back more sobs. ‘So I decided I wouldn’t.’

‘You – wouldn’t...?’

‘I wouldn’t shoot like an escort,’ Farry said, and shaking his head, he chuckled grimly at his own childish foolishness. ‘If I didn’t shoot like an escort, perhaps my da wouldn’t die, you see.’

‘O Farry,’ came his uncle’s response, sounding grieved. Not at Farry, but for that little child he had been, and trying so desperately to make everything come out right.

‘So, after the fever, I just started aiming at a different spot,’ Farry said. ‘The third ring of the target, or just off to one side of the target, or the wrong tree, when we were shooting in the woods, or...’

‘I take your meaning,’ Ferdi said. ‘And so your aim was true, e’en so.’ After a pause, he added, ‘And so, you didn’t shoot to kill my furry friend, here, or even to wound?’

‘How did you –?’ Farry began.

‘The arrow glanced from a rib,’ Ferdi said, ‘Oh, it was caught up in the dog’s thick pelt, and penetrated the skin a little, a flesh wound, but it didn’t go through to his heart.’

Farry sighed in relief at this confirmation of his hitting the mark he’d chosen and admitted, ‘I only meant to drive him away.’

*** 

Author's note: Much of what I know about scarlet elf cups came from this link.