Flowers, Gems And Estella - Chapter II
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It was another week at least before Estella saw anyone but the minion who brought down the food. She was laying down for a rest after a small, minuscule meal, when she heard a loud, metallic crash – then she remembered the door to the catacombs in which she resided was heavy iron. Footsteps resounded down the corridor, but they were not the steps of an Outsider. Those belonged to Men, who wore heavy boots that reverberated off the walls. Normally, with every clunky sound of those boots, Estella could feel her heart drop farther and farther – the sound put shivers up her spine and a cold throughout her veins. But these steps were soft – shoe-less feet on hard stone floor. Were they bringing down another prisoner?
“Ah, the Boffins – yes, yes, very nice,” she heard someone speak, and then she realized that they must have been examining the cells, “Hello, Ms. Proudfoot – didn’t think I’d be the one to lock you up, did you?” She had heard rumors of a Sharkey character, supposedly the chief of the ruffians – a man, they said, from the outside world, more powerful than any, and a wizard to boot. His right-hand man was said to be a fellow hobbit of theirs, though she couldn’t believe it to be Lotho Sackville-Baggins. Or at least it sounded like him.
She heard the voice several times more before it came to her and Fredegar’s cell. “I don’t believe I know you two – what are your names?” the arrogant voice said. Estella did not answer back. Fredegar slept on.
“You, girl. I said, what is your name? Answer me, now!”
“My name, you piece of trash, is Estella Bolger! And this is my brother, Fredegar! His nickname used to be Fatty, but as you can see, he’s no longer worthy of that!” she spat at him.
He blanched before her, even though his height was no rival for hers. “I’ll have your tongue for that, useless wench!” he said, unsheathing a knife from his belt, “Hold still, so I can cut it right out of your dirty mouth!”
Lotho never got a chance to do such a thing, as he was interrupted by furious footsteps resounding down the corridor. A man, another minion Estella assumed, stopped in front of their cell and whispered into his ear. She caught bits and pieces of the message, hurried words of peril. “Trouble – at the gate – four of them – Frodo, they say –”
Frodo? As in Frodo Baggins? Perhaps he would put a stop to his cousin’s madness. “I’ll be there,” Lotho hissed at the subordinate, and turned back to Estella, “I’ll take care of you later.” And with that, he disappeared down the corridor. She heard the door slam with a heavy thud some seconds later.
“Fatty – Fatty wake up!” She nudged her brother out of slumber.
“Umm. S’ food here?” he said sleepily.
“No, but – Lotho! Lotho Sackville-Baggins, he was down here! He must be Sharkey’s right-hand man – and someone came down and said there was trouble at the gate, the one at the Brandywine. There’s four of them down there – and they said that one of them was named Frodo!”
“Frodo Baggins? He’s alive?” He arose in surprise.
“Yes – and the other four, they might be Merry and Pippin, and Sam as well. They might be alive Fatty!”
It was some hours later, and still they had seen no one come down – it was already past time for their food, she imagined. Maybe the disturbance at the gate was more than the ruffians could handle. Oh, how she hoped so!
It was like waiting for the end of the world, or at least her end. She didn’t know how the ruffians would deal against such an uprising as the one she felt was happening – they seemed to reign with fear and threats, very few of which were actually gone through with. Why, she could fight against one of them – two of them, even! Surely Frodo and his companions would be able to handle the ordeal – wouldn’t they?
Then she heard muffled voices – not the low-pitched scraggly kind the ruffians possessed – these were more high-pitched, almost childish. Are they here? The hobbits that’ve come to save us? “Down here, Merry! And bring the keys!” shouted a faraway voice that sounded an awful lot like Pippin Took’s.
Estella heard the rattling noises of keys being put into the thick lock on the iron door, and recognized the squeak of rusting hinges as it came open. “They’re all down here!” she heard someone else shout with a voice she thought she’d never hear again, and – if she had to be honest with herself – never wanted to hear again.
But there he was, struggling with the keys to their cell. Meriadoc Brandybuck. He seemed obviously older – but older in such a way that time could not accomplish. It must have had something to do with his absence – had something happened to him?
He didn’t seem to know she and Fatty were in the cell – of course, he was busy trying to open the cell. And already, Estella could sense Merry seemed a bit – wiser, almost. What a foolish thought. Merry, acting wise? As if, she dismissed in her head.
Then the cell door was open, and she was carrying Fatty out into the corridor. He was weak and ravaged – starving for both sunlight and food. Looking nothing like Merry and Pippin, who stood before her, taller, and – she had to admit – more handsome since when she last saw them.
“Fatty!” they both exclaimed at once, “Well, fat you are no longer! We’ll have to find a new nickname for you!”
A light of recognition came alive in Fredegar’s eyes when they looked upon Pippin’s form. “Why, who might this be?” he said weakly, but gladly, “This wouldn’t be young Peregrin Took, now would it? What’s your size in hats, lad?”
Merry and Pippin issued a short hello to Estella and continued to release the rest of the prisoners. Estella escorted her brother out of the corridor, up several stairways, until they were out in the bright sunlight, seeing for the first time in months the fate of the land.
It was her Shire, she was sure of that – the one she awoke to every morning and said good night to every evening – but she couldn’t remember seeing such destruction about it. The hills and trees – it was autumn, and they were supposed to be painted with hues of orange and red, vivid in the sunlight.
But most everything was charred-black and gray, as if ravaged by cruel fires. It all looked gloomy and depressing, except the sky, bright blue with brilliant sunlight. Looking upon it reminded Estella that perhaps the Shire was not beyond repair – the trees and grass would grow back soon, and homes could be rebuilt.
But could their lives be rebuilt? Could she ever forget the suffering and death she’d seen in the Lockholes, and before then even? Could any of them forget it? And – she shuddered as this last thought came unbidden to her mind – would they be forever reminded and saddened by the memory of those who had died?
She couldn’t really answer those questions now – but she sure would try her best. She had to at this point. They all did.