Chapter 79. Things seem to be returning to normal – or what passes for normal these days

~ S.R. 1419, 15 March ~

I waken suddenly from a dream that dissipates as quickly as the mists of sleep. Somehow I seem to hear a fast-fading echo of shouting voices and pounding hoofs. Though hampered by my restraints, I half-rear and whistle a challenge, prompted by the urge to run alongside those dream-horses... but they are far ahead of me now, and growing ever more distant with every stride. From the yard outside the inn's stables comes the sound of the cock, crowing, and the joyful splutters of several hens announcing their new-laid eggs.

'That sounds like breakfast!' exclaims young Bert, yawning and stretching as he rises from his bed of straw to one side of my box stall. But then his eyes open wide and he rushes to my head, petting and stroking my neck and face and speaking soothing nonsense. I confess that he appears to feel the need to dodge my prancing feet. 'Whoa, lad! Steady, now!'

'...much better!' his companion is saying, though my vigorous snort covered the first part of his thought. The Man comes closer, his eyes keen and bright despite the weariness I perceive as I meet his gaze. He and Bert have been my watchers from sometime in the depths of the night until this morning's dawning, I surmise. 

There is something familiar about this Man, though I cannot put my nose upon it in this moment. As I toss my head and widen my nostrils to take in his scent, he says, 'I'd venture to say that he's wide awake and chompin' at the bit, sure as Bob's your uncle!'

'As he is,' Bert replies, laughing, even in the midst of retreating to safeguard his feet from my restless hoofs.

The Man, risking his booted feet, stands firm. For good measure, he reaches out to me and lays his flat hand against my neck. 

I still momentarily, but not for long. I cannot seem to contain myself, and so I toss my head again and paw at the straw below me with a front hoof, which sets me swinging in my "cradle".

'Go, run, and fetch old Underhill and both o' your uncles and some helpers from their breakfast,' the Man says, withdrawing his hand and moving back a step as he addresses the tween. 'I think we had better free our friend from his restraints before he does himself some mischief and undoes all the good that's been done!' But before he's finished speaking, Bert is already out the door and on his way.

'Easy, now, my beauty,' the Man says with a chuckle, taking my head in his hands – yet more comforting than confining is the gesture, and I take it that he's familiar with my kind in an understanding way, not like Ferny and Vervain, who were familiar with ways to force beasts to their will and compel the last dregs of strength to their demands. No, but he seems the sort of two-legged creature a pony or horse would want to work for, would give our all for, would work out our hearts for, as I once heard my old woman of Archet tell my old Man as the two of them leaned on the fence surrounding our pasture and passed the time with my dam and me.

That was before the hobbit came and led me away, to the pony sale in the market square.

But the Man is still speaking to me, his gaze meeting mine with a certain earnestness now. '...and how I wish he could see you now,' he is saying.

I wonder. Who might he be? My Sam? I prick my ears forward to show I'm listening.

He chuckles and rubs that certain place under my jaw, where my old Man of Archet used to rub with his palm and laugh as I relaxed and my jaw hung loose, so long as the pleasurable sensation lasted. 'He'd be so proud o' you,' he adds, more softly. 'Galloping all the way to Archet and part-way back, and then holding off that great tree from crushing the other woodmen, and the archers, as we sought to rescue our fellow and friend; somehow doing the work of four ponies, though you were only one...'

Who would be proud? I wonder. My Sam? Our dear Master? Someone else – perhaps my Friend the brown wizard, or even Mithrandir the white one?

But the Man smiles at me. 'My old Man,' he says simply, leading me to wonder if he somehow heard my questions?

I raise my head in surprise and stare at him, scarcely breathing. My old Man!

As if he has understood the thought, he nods, and lifts his hand to push my forelock aside, the better to see my face, I think. We lock gazes for a long moment. 'My old dad,' he says at last. 'Best pony breeder and trainer in the Breelands... and nobody can tell me otherwise! For I'm standing here with the living proof!' ...and more such things, but the words run together, and I am distracted to see him wipe at his eyes as he speaks.

I lower my head and thrust my nose at him, taking a good sniff. His smell does remind me of my old Man! How curious!

And here is my old woman of Archet, coming in from the stable yard! Am I dreaming still?

But she comes up to my half-door, and through – for in his hasty departure, young Bert left my stall door wide open. And she walks right up to me, smiling, extending her hand to me.

Her hand is empty, as I discover when I nuzzle at her palm, but no matter. I am overjoyed to see her safe and well after the horror that was Archet, and I try my best to tell her so with soft snorts and mumblings.

'Ah, sweet lad!' she whispers, and next thing I know, her arms are about my neck, and we are hugging. I say we, for I press my lower jaw gently against her shoulder and back and plant my feet firmly despite their desire to prance and dance and dig at my bedding.

Following soon after come a bevy of Men and Hobbits, this-Bob and Nob and Master Underhill among them.

My old woman steps back and is soon lost behind the crowd that gathers on all sides of me. Soon I am free of my restraints and standing squarely in my stall as my two-footed helpers file out, some bearing canvas and cushioning lambskin and others with pieces of harness in their hands, the hubbub of their mingled voices diminishing as they take their burdens to the tack-room and then take their leave.

This-Bob and Nob and Master Underhill remain, running their hands over my legs and neck and ribs and flanks and belly, talking softly to each other, voicing serious words but sounding, in general, cheerful.

The grooms also linger, clustered outside my stall: Bert, Ham and Pepper, along with three Hobbits of my recent acquaintance, hired to help provide the extra care and grooming needed of late, what with nearly every beast in The Prancing Pony's stables being sent out to plough from dawn until dusk, at least when they are not pulling waggons full of supplies for the relief of unfortunate Archet. In any event, coming back to the stables, weary and crusted with dried sweat, heads drooping and feet dragging. 

That-Bob and two relatively unfamiliar Men loom behind their shorter counterparts, looking over the Hobbits' heads and beaming at me. The additional tall figures are, like the newer Hobbits, also recently hired "extra" hands, I think, for I've seen them only in passing, coming in the early hours to feed and groom and harness the plough-horses sheltered here within the protection of Hedge and Dyke, and cleaning stalls and then breakfasting at the inn, then returning at dusk for the unharnessing and grooming before taking themselves off again.

'He looks well – even better than he did as we waved farewell and safe return home to him and Bert when Master Butterbur sent them on their way to Archet!' says one of the new Men.

That-Bob slaps him on the back with a broad smile. 'That he does, Jack!' he answers. 'Between Master Underhill's tonic and balm, and a good night or two o' rest, I should say he's good as new!'

'Better, even!' says the other new Man, not to be left out of the conversation.

'That's what I just said!' Jack interjects with a grin. But then he adds, 'Those stalls won't clean themselves, I warrant! Let us get to the work, that I might get back to the kitchen before the bread dough I set out to rise reaches the rafters... and as for you, Bob, I should think you'd want to set out with the ponies on their "constitutional" before the morning's half-gone!'

'I should think you have the right of it!' Tall-Bob replies. Then turning to the other new Man, he adds, 'Come along, Mat! Time to earn your keep...'

'I should think that's what I've been doing all this time,' Mat says boldly as he takes up the hayfork someone has leaned against the wall and turns away, whistling.

Their banter reminds me of my own hobbits... I cannot help sighing.

This-Bob and Nob and old Master Underhill have finished their examination, it seems, and stand in a cluster at my head. 'No need for that, young fellow,' the old Hobbit says to me. 'A bite of breakfast, now that's the thing! And then a nice, slow and gentle walk about town... You may even escort me to the South-gate and see me off on my way home to Staddle, if you wish, and many thanks for your courtesy!'

But Nob is giving his brother the ostler a stern look. 'And now that you've seen he's well-recovered...'

'Recovering,' this-Bob corrects.

'Our Bill's in fine shape, and nearly back to what he was before he left for Archet,' the younger brother counters, for Nob is not easily quashed. 'And now that all is as it ought to be,' he adds, 'there's record-keeping as has been rather neglected over the past few days, just as the Master reminded you only this morning...'

'The pen is heavier than the shovel and wheelbarrow,' this-Bob says with a sigh of his own, 'or so I finds.' But his face brightens as he reaches to stroke my nose. 'It does me good to see you in such fine fettle, Bill.' Looking from Nob to me, he adds, 'Somehow, knowing that, it makes it easier to sit indoors and help Barliman by figuring out how we might keep the Pony afloat, even in these times of almost no guests to speak of, and hardly any visitors.'

'Well then...' Nob says, seemingly at a loss for words.

Old Master Underhill speaks at the same time as he drapes his arm over this-Bob's shoulders. 'I'll walk you to the inn,' he says. Looking to Nob, he adds, 'I must say, 'twon't take long for me to pack my kit, for I brought little enough with me to Bree... 'twill likely take longer for young Barliman to assemble a group of sturdy Men with prodigious frowns to frighten away any encroaching ruffians as they march me safely to Staddle.' As he speaks, he turns away from me and guides the stable master from my stall and out the door to the stable yard.

Nob looks after them for a moment, then sighs and shakes his head. Turning back to me, he says cheerily, 'Well now, how about that bite o' breakfast?'

His grin becomes more genuine at seeing me nod my head in enthusiastic agreement. I paw lightly at my straw bedding – though I am careful to avoid his feet. And so he raises his voice, calling, 'Bill should like to know where his breakfast is!'

'Coming right up!' sounds Tall-Bob's voice from the feed room. A lovely sentiment, indeed, and altogether fitting for what is looking to be a fine day.

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Author's note: Some readers may have recognised "Jack", Butterbur's kitchen and stable helper, as the itinerant wanderer described in other stories as having spent the warmer months in the Shire before the War of the Ring, delighting the Shire-folk with his "cheap tricks" – in the words of Gandalf to Bilbo in the film The Fellowship of the Ring – and having endured the harsher weather of wintertime in Bree, earning his room and board by working at The Prancing Pony. During the Troubles, after running afoul of "Lotto's louts", he changed his name from "Robin" to "Jack" and retreated to the safety of Bree to avoid being targeted by ruffians bent on "teaching him a lesson". And yes, that's exactly who this particular Man, as mentioned in this chapter, would be. After the return of the Rangers, he resumed his wandering ways... but felt unwelcome in the Shire in the years immediately following the Scouring of the Shire. He was a Man, after all, and so he thought it best to allow some time to pass before venturing to return. And then King Elessar imposed his Edict banning Men from the Shire. As an old man, Jack receives Elessar's pardon for transgressing the King's Edict due to his heroic actions in saving the lives of Pippin's wife, son and cousin. In addition, the Thain, Master and Mayor proclaim Jack a hero of the Shire, giving him and his adopted sons the gift of "the freedom of the Shire" – permission to wander within the Bounds, that is, and visit Shire-folk without risking the dire penalty imposed by Elessar's Edict.   

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