Chapter 24. I meet a new Friend

I waken confused. I did not know I was asleep!

On second thought, I seem to remember dreaming that the Company is walking a narrow path that wends its way through tangled, thorny growth.

Thorns indeed! Youngest yelps.

The not-Merry older cousin scolds. Stay on the path!

I am on the path! Youngest protests. The only way I could be more on the path would be if the path were wider ­– much wider! ...and I was walking in the middle of it! Which I am now. Walking in the middle, I mean.

At Master's Hush, Pip! Youngest falls silent, or mostly so. From the hitching of his breathing, I think he must be grumbling under his breath.

Another sharp stab assaults my shoulder. I say "another" because in my dream, I have not been able to avoid walking into the long, wickedly pointed thorns encroaching on the path despite my best efforts not to brush against the unfriendly vegetation on either side. Even those leaves that remain attached to the thorny branches are brown and shrivelled, posing no temptation to browse. 

I half-raise my head – but how can I be walking a winding path, stretched out on the ground as I am? – and half-squeal a protest of my own.

A velvet nose nuzzles my face. Steady, my young friend. The great horse looms above me as if he is standing guard.

Steady! I gasp, and thrash my head on the ground at another thorny bite at my shoulder.

We have almost finished, a low voice reassures.

I know this voice! At least, I think I do...

Tall Hat...? I whisper.

The seemingly familiar voice snorts and then answers, A tall hat would be most inconvenient, I deem, though my cousin does appear to be attached to his.

Even as I ponder the words, it occurs to me that I have never seen Tall Hat without his hat. Perhaps it is attached to his head in truth? As if by nails driven into his skull, or needle and thread that stitched the hat to his skin. The thought is odd and disturbing.

I startle and feebly flail at another sharp bite on my shoulder. O' course, lying on the ground on my side, as I found myself upon awakening, I am as helpless as a kitten young enough to be carried in its mother's mouth, and twice as weak.

Lie as still as you can, dear child. Loving concern permeates the words – subtly, like the smell of sunshine and sweetly-scented breezes that wafted from the clothes my hobbits wore while we rested in that marvellous Valley. Steady now. All will be well.

The familiar-seeming voice adds, My good Sceadufæx, you are standing in my light...

The velvet nose that a moment ago rested near the top of my neck lifts away, and the silvery blur from close proximity resolves into the head of my companion on this part of my journey, the great horse who, if I am not mistaken, has not left my side since the wolves attacked.

Just one more stitch, the newcomer says. Hold quite still... If he is not Tall Hat, he could be the wizard's brother from the similarity in their voices.

Though I hold as still as I am able, I cannot help a twitch followed by a shudder and a gasp of pain. As I regain control, I feel an odd pulling sensation, followed by a small snapping sound, as of a thread breaking. I know that sound from watching my Sam sewing up a tear in Youngest's breeches; at the end, he tied a knot and bit at the thread to break it, then said in satisfaction, There you are, Mr Pippin! Almost as good as new!

And even though a patched and mended garment is not the same thing as a piece of new clothing, Youngest bowed to my Sam, then thanked him and praised him to the skies, until my hobbit blushed to his ears and ducked his head, and Master pulled Youngest away and set him some task or other to keep him busy.

And then Master said quietly to my hobbit, You don't have to take on extra work, Samwise! You have enough on your plate already, or so I should think! Pip can do his own mending...

Though my hobbit's chin was still tucked firmly into his chest, he answered, 'Tweren't no trouble at all, Mr Frodo, sir! And he'd already mended the tear – and tore it out again when we walked through that patch of thorns last night!

But Sam... Master began.

Beggin' your pardon, Mr Frodo, but I only thought to do it up proper, so as not to waste any more thread for repairs...

You have it – my pardon, that is – even though you've no call to apologise, Master Samwise. It just seems to me that my young cousin should be doing his share...

If I may be so bold, Mr Frodo, my hobbit says stubbornly, raising his chin (though the blush has not completely faded away), there's a time and a place for everythin', and the time for Mr Pippin to mend his own britches ought to come when there's thread to spare, lest we should run short along the way. He's... And then the blush returns to flood his face again.

He's a tween, Master says under his breath, and claps my hobbit on the shoulder. You have the right of it, Sam, and so I beg your pardon for interfering.

You're begging my pardon, sir... my hobbit responds, as if flummoxed by the idea.

He's a tween, Master repeats, a little louder this time.

My hobbit nods. He is, he agrees.

We'll leave it at that, Master says in his kindest tone.

And that is what they do. But I notice after this conversation that my Sam no longer holds back from assigning chores to Youngest, such as gathering wood or fetching water or stirring the pot, and Master says nothing about my hobbit quietly taking it upon himself to mend tears and sew on buttons for the youngest cousin.

There you are, dear child, the strange-but-familiar voice says to me. Now we'll smear it well with salve and help you to your feet, that you may keep the wound clean.

Apparently talking to my companion, the newcomer adds, It is a good thing that last ford you crossed, difficult and dangerous as it might have been, washed away the mud and clay you packed onto the injury. Now that we have lanced the wound to let out the infection, and stitched it up again, it ought to heal properly.

Oddly enough, I do not seem to remember a dangerous and difficult ford. But then I have a flash of memory: swimming for all I am worth with only three good legs and a nearly-useless one dragging along. The great horse swims beside me. Lightning spikes across the sky, and my stalwart companion's head disappears beneath the churning waters! ...only to rise, snorting, at my side once more as he gasps, Swim on! Keep swimming!

As the fragment of memory fades again, I blow out a long breath to dispel the nightmare vision.

All is well, children, the newcomer says. Truly enough, before I was able to reach you, the two of you forded the Greyflood at Tharbad, a treacherous crossing even at the best of times. But no more fords lie in your immediate future, I should imagine.

As he speaks, I feel the touch of a gentle hand on my injured shoulder – warmth flows from the fingers and palm, warmth, and healing with it, much like the warmth and courage I remember pouring into me from Tall Hat's hand some time ago when I stood shivering and dejected.

I lift my head, the better to see, and perceive a Tall-Hat-shaped figure, though more brown than grey, crouching at my belly, his hands extended over my shoulder. There now, he says. I am sure that feels better.

It does! I snort in surprise, craning to look at my shoulder, where some glistening substance peeks through a layer of...

Cobwebs, not-Tall Hat says. A little extra protection to keep the balm from wearing away too quickly. And if you should start to bleed again, we'll pack more cobwebs in the wound to stop the bleeding. Spiders can be quite obliging if one asks nicely.

He rises to his feet and moves around from my belly to my back. Though he has the appearance of an Old Man, his movements are deft and sure.

I feel his hands touch my back. Now then, my child, let us get you back on your feet again. I want you to graze yourself full of good grass, and drink plenty of water from the nearby stream.

At the sound of water that has likely been running behind us all this time (but that I only now have noticed), I become aware of how very thirsty I am.

All you have to do is stand up, the Voices urge. When Sceadufæx realised you were on your last legs, he asked Radagast what we should do, and the brown wizard told him to lead us to the next stream along the way and stop there.

Radagast? I ask, confused.

Well, yes, They say, and quite matter-of-factly at that. He was once known as Aiwendil, but since he's become a friend to all beasts and not only birds, Radagast is a better name for him. Or so Mithrandir asserts.

Something (or Someone, rather) is pushing at my back, and the great horse has moved to nudge at my hindquarters, and the Voices tell me I must rise. And so I roll from my side to my belly, thrust my legs out and push myself up to stand.

Well done! The Voices blend with those of the great horse and the newcomer.

Not-Tall Hat moves to my nose and rubs at my jaw. There, now, he says. I do not expect you to remember such a cumbersome name as "Radagast"... However, "not-Tall Hat" rather sticks in my craw, in a manner of speaking...

Brown One? I venture humbly, dipping my head. 

The Old-Man-who-is-something-more chuckles and lifts my head in his hand to look me in the eye. Brown One will be fine. Or you may simply call me Friend and I will not object.

My Friend? I say. The fingers recommence their marvellous rubbing under my jaw.

I sigh at the pleasurable sensation, and my lower lip droops in appreciation.

I will stay with you for another day or two, that we may make certain your shoulder is healing as it should, my Friend says to me and my companion.

How did you come...? I begin, and stop. I am not sure how to ask the question.

Sceadufæx – your companion – called to me for help. Since I was already on this side of the Mountains, it was not all that much trouble to meet you here at this stream.

Called...?

But my Friend leaves off scratching my jaw and pushes at my neck to turn me towards the nearby stream. Speaking of the stream... he adds meaningfully.

I am nothing if not obedient, I say, echoing Youngest at his smirkiest, even as I turn away. For there is a light in the wizard's eye, and a lilt in his voice, and he is in the same moment both very young and very old. Perhaps he remembers what it is to be young? Or perhaps he has never aged (despite his appearance of age) at all?

My Friend has a delightful laugh, and it chimes softly as he slaps my haunch to speed me on my way. Eat! he says. Drink! You may ask all the questions you can think of later!

My companion falls in beside me, and we amble to the stream and lower our heads as one. How sweet the water tastes! I turn to grazing. The grass is also sweet and juicy, more refreshing than any grass I can remember save perhaps the meadow and pasture in that marvellous Valley where Merrylegs grazes still, if all is well.

As I pull mouthfuls of grass and chew them contentedly, I find myself wondering if this wizard has laid an enchantment on the grass, for it tastes as fresh as spring and not like winter grass at all.

The trick is, my companion mumbles as he grazes nearby, getting him to answer them.

What's that? I say, raising my head to look at him.

You may ask all the questions you can think of later, my companion says. Getting him to answer all your questions, well, that is quite another matter.

As I shake my head and then lower it to graze again, my new Friend's laughter washes over me like a benediction.

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Author's notes: 

According to the sources I found, the brown wizard was originally called Aiwendil, a Quenya word meaning "friend to birds". One of Tolkien's essays states that "Radagast" means "tender of beasts", making it sound (to me, anyway) as if the brown wizard's name change came about, in part, because he extended his attention from birds to include other creatures. Though his home, Rhosgobel, was located on the borders of Mirkwood and Gandalf described him as "never a traveller, unless at great need", Radagast met Gandalf "not far from Bree" at Midsummer. Also, at the time the Council of Elrond took place, scouts were sent to Rhosgobel, but found the brown wizard was not at home. Thus, at this point in time, he could plausibly still have been somewhere near the Greenway when Shadowfax called for help. Though the great horse might have been calling to his Rider, Gandalf was rather busy at this time – in the middle of battling the Balrog – and so the call went out to Radagast, rather fittingly since he's the "tender of beasts", after all.

While Gandalf calls Radagast his cousin in an early version of The Hobbit, the relationship does not seem to reflect the word in a literal sense.

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