Luster of Snow 2/2
Dec. 31st, 2007 10:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
auntiemeeshChapter Six
It was a long night for Paladin and Eglantine. Pippin was restless, the pain in his leg keeping him from settling into deep sleep but the sedatives preventing him from real wakefulness. Just shy of dawn there was a soft knock at the door. Eglantine had just given Pippin his latest dose of medicine and was crooning softly to him, easing him back into whatever rest he could get, so Pal went to see who it was.
Answering the summons, Paladin was surprised to find his cousin Reginard outside the room, looking rather pale. Stepping into the hall so as not to disturb Pippin, he waited to hear the news.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Pal, but it’s Ferumbras. He took a turn for the worse a few hours ago. Dag’s with him now, but it doesn’t look good. I doubt he’ll live out the day. The others have begun to gather.”
Paladin sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before nodding. “Thank you for letting me know, Reggie. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be right along.”
“Aye,” Reggie answered solemnly, “I’ll let the family know you’re on the way.”
Cursing the timing of this, Pal returned to the room quietly. Inside the door, he just stood for a moment, looking at his youngest child, wrapped in blankets except for the bandaged and splinted leg which lay atop the covers. The lad looked alarmingly fragile and Pal didn’t want to leave his side. He had no choice, however, and felt an unexpected flash of anger that Ferumbras couldn’t have held on just another day or two. Shaking those thoughts away, he approached the bed. Eglantine looked up as he walked over to her, face softening into sorrow as she read his body language.
“Ferumbras?” she asked quietly.
“Aye. I’m sorry, love, but I have to go and I don’t expect I’ll be able to get away again any time soon.” Bending, he pressed a light kiss to her temple, lingering just a moment before pulling away. “I’ll make sure Dag’s apprentice comes by shortly to check on Pippin.”
A few minutes later, Paladin stood at the side of another sickbed, this one surrounded by grim, sorrowing faces. Ferumbras was struggling for each breath, eyes closed, skin yellow and papery, lying in folds over a frame that had shrunk considerably in these last few months of illness. The room was hushed, the Thain’s gasping breaths the only sound.
Ferumbras had no immediate family left to him, having no siblings or children, but several cousins had gathered to ease his passing. Reginard and his father, Adelard, stood to one side of the bed, while Rosamunda and Oldovacar Bolger stood at the foot. Ferdinand Took stood on the opposite side of the bed, leaving a space beside him, near the head of the bed. Paladin nodded to each of his cousins as he moved into the space left for him. In this way they provided a guard of honor for their cousin and head of family. Although they moved aside for Dag as the healer moved about the room, checking his patient, mixing and measuring medicines by the fire and administering doses, they never left Ferumbras’ side.
It was nearly noon when Ferumbras awoke, looking around him through clouded eyes. “Paladin?” he rasped weakly.
“I’m here,” Paladin answered, moving closer to the bed and gently clasping the Thain’s age-spotted and gnarled hand.
“Now…is your…turn,” Ferumbras said, pausing to breathe between words. “You…will make…good…Thain and…Took. Have…my…” there was a long pause while he struggled to find the strength to continue. “Have…my…approval.” The old hobbit smiled, just a slight hint of curving lips, and then closed his eyes with a sigh.
Paladin set Ferumbras’ hand back down upon the coverlet gently and stepped back slightly, allowing Dag to move closer. The healer fussed around the dying hobbit for several minutes before settling at his side, fingers pressed lightly to the pulse point on Ferumbras’ wrist.
They waited another half hour like this, listening to each harsh, rattling breath, waiting for the next, until inevitably there came a silence, a moment when the awaited breath did not come. Finally, Dag stood and turned to Paladin. “He is gone.”
***
Pippin woke to enticing smells curling about his nose, teasing him. Opening his eyes, he blinked groggily in the dimness of the room, trying to determine the time and where that delicious smell was coming from. It was only when he shifted slightly in the bed and pain flooded through him that he remembered the events of the previous day.
Shifting again, but much more cautiously this time, he turned his head to see his mother sitting in a rocking chair that had been pulled up next to his bed. She must have been knitting earlier, but now the needles were held loosely in slack hands as she slept.
The previous evening and night were mostly a blur of exhaustion and discomfort for Pippin, but he did remember that every time he awoke during the long night, his mum had been sitting at his side. Da had been there most of the night as well, he thought, although he was no longer here.
“Mum?” he whispered, torn between a desire to let her sleep and a pressing need to use the privy.
“What is it, Pippin, dear?” Eglantine asked, leaning forward and placing a hand on his forehead, instantly awake.
The next few minutes were very uncomfortable for Pippin, both from the pain in his leg, and from embarrassment at requiring assistance in tending to private needs. Unexpectedly, although his mother clucked soothingly over him every time he was unable to bite back a moan of pain, she gave him very little sympathy for his embarrassment.
“You’re going to be abed for several weeks, at the least, Pippin, my lad, so you might as well get used to it.” She spoke firmly over his complaints, although her hands remained gentle as she helped him settle back against a pile of pillows, after.
Pippin thought to protest that ‘several weeks’ but he was already tired again, and hungry, and he could still smell something good drifting on the air so he decided to let it go, for now. There would be plenty of time later for arguments.
Seeming to read his thoughts, Eglantine smiled. “Are you hungry? Cook made you a nice lamb stew.”
“Will I be allowed to feed myself?” Pippin couldn’t refrain from asking, trying to joke but sounding a bit sullen even to his own ears.
“I don’t know, are your arms broken?” Eglantine asked in return, bringing the tray over and placing it on the bed. In addition to the stew there were also, it turned out, split rolls, still warm from the oven, with toasted cheese.
Pippin’s eyes lit up as he surveyed the meal, but he found, much to his surprise, that he was only able to eat a small portion of the food. Pushing the rest away, he closed his eyes against the growing pain in his leg.
“Here, my lad. Drink this up and then you may sleep.” His mother placed a mug in his hands and he obediently brought it to his lips, wrinkling his nose at the smell. The taste was no better and he swallowed it down as quickly as he could.
“Gah!” he protested as he handed the mug back. “That’s awful, that is.”
“I know, love, but it will ease the pain and help you rest. Have a sip of tea now, to clear out your mouth. There,” she crooned as Pippin drank, “you’ll soon feel much better.”
Pippin was weary and the tonic strong so it was not long before he was half-asleep, but before he could slide away entirely, he reached out and grabbed Eglantine’s hand. “Love you,” he murmured before closing his eyes and giving in to the pull of sleep.
***
Although the weather had held clear over night and the road was passable, Merry had decided that the better part of valor might be to rent a pony from the inn and ride the rest of the way to Bag End. He wasn’t a fool, after all, and even with the roads cleared, there would still be enough snow to trek through that he didn’t fancy the idea. A brief word with the innkeeper was sufficient to arrange things and he set out with little delay.
Singing softly to himself, he quickly settled into the rhythm of travel and lost himself in thoughts of bonny shop lasses (or at least one in particular). He saw few other travelers during the day, other than a post rider galloping east in great haste, sometime past noon. He entertained himself for a short while wondering who had sent such an urgent message, who was to receive it, and what it might be, but his thoughts soon drifted back to twinkling eyes and rosy cheeks.
It was late afternoon when Merry reached Bywater and he gave thought to stopping at the Ivy Bush for a half pint before continuing. He was already a day late to Bag End, however, and decided to push on through. Frodo always had excellent stock on hand and if they were in the mood, they could always go down to the Green Dragon after supper. Nodding to himself in satisfaction at this plan, he clucked at the pony and continued on.
A short time later Merry pulled up at the gate in front of Bag End. Dismounting, he tied the pony to the gatepost, slipped the latch and swung the gate open. Pack slung over his shoulder, he strode up the muddy path to the bright green front door.
***
“Hello, cousin. Did you forget I was coming?”
Frodo jumped in his seat at the sudden sound. Turning, he spied Merry lounging in the doorway of his study, pack slung over one shoulder and muddy feet just shy of the carpet.
“My goodness, Meriadoc, do you no longer knock before entering another hobbit’s smial?” he scolded to cover his fright.
“I’ll have you know, cousin Frodo,” Merry replied without a trace of apology, “that I’ve been standing on your doorstep for the past ten minutes, knocking. It’s not my fault if you’ve been too absorbed in your work to notice.” He leaned forward slightly, as though attempting to see what Frodo was working on without stepping onto the carpet.
Frodo sighed and set down his quill. “I’m sorry, Merry. I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m also sorry to keep you waiting out in the cold. I’m being a terribly bad host.” Pushing back from his desk, he stood. “Come. You look as though you could use a bath. I’ve got water heating.”
Leading the way to the bathing room, he asked after Merry’s travels and smiled over the younger hobbit as Merry lingered in his description of Estella Bolger and skimmed over the rest of the account with an unusual brevity.
“Here,” he said as they reached the bathing room, “you get cleaned up and I’ll prepare you a snack. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Leaving Merry to freshen up, he set tea to steep and gathered bread, honey, strawberry jam and cheese onto a tray, which he carried into the parlor. When Merry rejoined him a short time later, dressed in clean clothes but with his hair still damp, Frodo poured the tea.
“Now, what had you so absorbed, Frodo my lad, that you didn’t even hear the knocking on your door?” Merry asked after eating a generous portion of the ‘snack’ Frodo had set out.
“I was working on a speech – a eulogy, rather.” Frodo paused for a moment, thinking upon the letter sitting on his desk. “Thain Ferumbras died today, I’m afraid. I received word shortly before you arrived. I know you were planning a visit to the Great Smials anyway, but it seems it will be happening sooner than you expected. We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning.”
Chapter Seven
Frodo filled Merry in on the details, including Pippin’s injury, while Merry finished up the last of the bread and jam. “Paladin didn’t go into much detail but it seems that on top of everything else, our young cousin has got himself a badly bashed up leg.” His smile was half amusement, half pained sympathy. “I would guess that within a few days, Pal and Teenie are going to have their hands full with a very bored and restless Pippin.”
Merry smirked. “I’m trying, but I can’t even imagine him lying still long enough to let a broken leg heal.” The smile slipped away, then. “Poor lad. I remember how frustrating it was when I broke my leg. I was lucky, too. It was a clean break that healed quickly. I only had to stay abed for about three weeks and even that seemed an eternity to me.”
“Then you won’t mind helping to entertain him? With everything else going on right now, I’m sure Pal and Teenie would be grateful for any help we can offer.”
“I suppose I could take a turn or two at Pippin-watch,” Merry conceded. Although he and Pippin had fought like cats and dogs when they were younger, the two had become fast friends in the last five or six years, bonding over their mutual love of adventure and mischief, as well as their shared affection for a certain bookishly inclined cousin.
“Good.” With that decided, Frodo turned the conversation to other things, inquiring about Merry’s parents, who would be coming to the Great Smials as well. Shortly thereafter, the two friends decided to brave the chill air and wandered down to the Green Dragon for a meal and a beer or two. Most of the conversation there that evening was of the passing of the Thain and what folks thought of his heir. While very few people had been close to Ferumbras, he’d been an important figure in the Shire and his death would be a subject of much conversation for the next few weeks or months, until something else came along to distract gossipy farmers and townsfolk.
The next morning they were up early. While Frodo finished packing for the trip, Merry raided the pantry and made a passably decent breakfast. Or at least, he thought it was passably decent. Frodo grimaced after the first bite and pushed his plate away in disgust. “I think maybe I’m not as hungry as I thought I was,” he muttered.
“What’s wrong with it?” Merry asked, hurt showing on every inch of his face.
Frodo refused to be taken in by that expression, he knew his younger cousin far too well. “Merry, the eggs are burnt, the seedcake is bitter, and I’m not even going to dignify that, that liquid,” he gestured towards the teapot, “as tea.”
“Fine. More for me, then, if you don’t want any.” Squaring his chin, Merry filled his plate with said burnt eggs and bitter seedcake, and choked down every bite, refusing to acknowledge that the food did, indeed, taste remarkably awful.
An hour later he was regretting his stubbornness, as the food sat like lead in his stomach, lurching about unpleasantly as he rode his borrowed pony along the rutted and uneven road from Hobbiton to Tuckborough. “How could you let me eat that?” he whined pitifully as he rode alongside Frodo, feeling dreadfully sorry for himself.
Frodo looked at Merry searchingly, then pulled his pony up, dismounting and moving to the side of the road. “Come on then, a bit of peppermint tea will help,” he said, taking pity on his suffering cousin.
Merry gathered an armful of branches and twigs while Frodo cleared a small patch of ground, gathered some rocks and carefully constructed a small fire circle. A short while later, they were back on the road, Merry’s water bag filled with an aromatic tea that he sipped gratefully.
“Honestly, Merry, how you can have reached your age without having acquired even the most basic cooking skills, I cannot imagine,” Frodo teased gently, once Merry was looking a bit more steady. He did understand, however. Brandy Hall was a large community and most meals were communal, prepared in a large kitchen by a fearsome staff that looked less than kindly on young hobbit lads intruding on their domain. Frodo himself hadn’t learned how to do much more than boil water and fry the occasional freshly-caught fish on camping trips, before moving in with Bilbo, and it had been quite a shock to his system to learn that he would be expected to prepare his fair share of the meals, once there. As the son and heir to the Master of Buckland, Merry had been even more pampered in some respects. Not that the lad was in any way spoiled or lazy. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was very intelligent and loyal, hardworking and willing to do pretty much whatever task was asked of him, but he had some odd holes in his education.
They traveled slowly throughout the morning, stopping occasionally to rest the ponies or pull a snack out of one bag or another. By lunchtime, Merry’s stomach had recovered from its shock and was vigorously demanding that something more substantial than small wedges of cheese or bites of apple be put in it. He was about to say something when Frodo cocked an eye at him and twisted around to open his pack. Pulling out a neatly wrapped bundle, he tossed it to Merry before pulling another out for himself.
“It’s not as good as Sam’s cooking, but a far sight better than what we had for breakfast,” Frodo said cheekily.
Opening the cloth-wrapped bundle, Merry forgave Frodo his smugness. There were several pieces of fried chicken, slices of thick, hearty bread, and some well-scrubbed carrots. “You’re right,” he admitted after a few bites, “it isn’t as good as Sam’s.” Laughing, he dodged the bit of carrot Frodo threw at him.
The two hobbits sobered as they approached Tuckborough later that afternoon. The isolated farmers they had passed earlier in the day had been quietly going about their own business, greeting the two with a respectful nod or a smile, but as they grew closer to the main village of the Tooklands, signs of mourning became more and more apparent. Whatever folks had thought of Ferumbras personally, and Frodo and Merry both knew that he hadn’t been the most popular Thain ever, they were still facing a major change in their lives and they faced this change by following traditions that had been set down so long ago they might as well have been carved in stone.
Despite the chill in the air, windows and doors were thrown open as lasses and matrons swept their smials clean, scrubbing doorsteps, wiping windows, airing bedding and rugs. The husbands, fathers and sons had all retreated, to the Sheaf and Shears most likely, Merry supposed, where they could discuss the state of the Shire over a pipe and a beer, while staying out of the womenfolk’s way.
Soon after passing through Tuckborough, they reached the Great Smials. Handing the ponies off to a scrawny lad in the yard, they shouldered their packs and entered the huge, interconnected series of smials that made up the heart of the Tooklands.
***
They were greeted at the entrance by a wizened old hobbit leaning on a walking stick.
“Well, if it isn’t young Frodo Baggins,” the old hobbit greeted them warmly.
“Hullo, Cado,” Frodo answered with a hug. “How are you faring?”
“Ah, well, you know how these things go,” Cado answered ruefully. “The knees don’t bend so well as they used to and I can’t hold a quill anymore,” he held up gnarled fingers as proof of his incapacity, “but I still find ways to keep myself useful.”
The old hobbit had once been Ferumbras’ assistant and secretary but had been forced to give the post up to someone younger some twenty years ago. Ferumbras had kept him on at the Smials, however, finding jobs that his advancing age and pride allowed him to take on.
“Come on then,” Cado said, hobbling away from them, “I’ll show you to your rooms and let you get settled. Once you’ve recovered from your trip, Paladin would like to see you in his study.” Despite the somber times, the old hobbit grinned.
Frodo smiled back, knowing Cado meant nothing disrespectful to the late Thain with his cheerful good humor. Cado had served Ferumbras for many years and had cared for the Thain, but he also loved Paladin like a son and couldn’t disguise his pride that the younger hobbit was finally going to be acknowledged for the job he’d been doing anyway for the past two years.
Once in his room, Frodo dropped his pack onto the floor and dropped onto the bed. It had been a long, cold ride and all he wanted to do now was soak in the warmth from the fire and take a nap. Well, maybe have a bath first, considering the state of the roads and consequently the state of him, as well. Biting back a yawn, he dug out a change of clothes and headed for the bathing room, grabbing Merry, in the next room over, on his way.
Ten minutes later, reclining in a large tub of almost too hot water, he gave in to the yawn that was threatening to crack his jaw in two. Merry seemed a bit subdued as well, quietly humming to himself while letting sore, tense muscles ease.
“Do you want to meet with Paladin before or after the nap?” Merry asked sleepily a few minutes later, startling Frodo from his own doze.
“Before, I suppose,” Frodo mumbled before sighing and sitting up. Steeling himself, he slipped out of the steamy water into the much colder air of the room and quickly dried off and dressed. A minute later Merry was ready as well. Dropping their dirty things back at their rooms, they made their way through the warren of passageways until they finally found themselves in the heart of the Smials, at the door to the Thain’s offices.
***
Paladin looked up from the papers covering his desk at the knock on the door, suppressing a brief flash of irritation. There was much he needed to do as he prepared to move all his work from his small space to the Thain’s much larger office next door and he’d been interrupted every few minutes, thus the current mess on his desk. Sighing, he smoothed his face and called out his permission to enter. With an effort, he kept his face open and welcoming as his cousin Ferdinand entered.
“What brings you down here, Ferdi?” he asked, motioning the other hobbit to a stiff-backed chair placed across the desk from his own chair. He carefully hid his satisfaction as Ferdinand glanced once at the deep, soft arm chairs in front of the small hearth before sitting on the edge of the seat he’d been offered. There was no love lost between the cousins, had been none since they were teens. Pal had been an adventurous spirit and Ferdi, several years younger and resentful of not being included in the fun, was the one to squeal every time Pal stepped even an inch outside of approved behavior. In more recent times, Ferdi was one of the staunchest opponents of every move Paladin made.
“I wanted to go over a few of the details for the funeral,” Ferdinand finally said, not quite meeting Paladin’s eyes.
“Very well,” Pal resisted the urge to throw something at the other hobbit. “Which details in particular?”
“I have some concerns about the procession. Some very fine old families are being supplanted in the order by families that don’t even live in the Tooklands. Take that Baggins’ lad now.” Ferdinand delicately wrinkled his nose as though he’d smelled something distasteful. “You have him right behind the Brandybucks, although the Baggins family is much smaller than, say, the Overbanks, who’ve been placed well back, almost amongst the commoners.”
“Overbanks,” Paladin mused, pretending he hadn’t caught the significance of the name. “Ah, yes,” he finally said, “your wife’s family, I believe?”
Ferdi’s lip twitched upward into a snarl that was quickly suppressed. “As a matter of fact, yes, my lovely Hyacinth is an Overbank by birth.”
Before either hobbit could say more, there was another knock upon the door, followed before Paladin could say anything by the appearance of Cado’s wizened head.
“Your pardon, Mr. Paladin, sir, but young Frodo’s arrived. I’ve shown him to his room and I’d imagine he’ll be along shortly to pay his respects.”
“Thank you, Cado,” Paladin replied before returning his attention to his visitor. “I’m sorry, Ferdi, it seems we’ll have to discuss this at another time. Please excuse me.”
Ferdinand opened his mouth, closed it again, turned a pale red and left the room in a huff. He would be back, Pal knew, but not today. At the moment, that was good enough.
Paladin attempted to bring some order to the chaos that was his half-packed desk, while he waited for Frodo’s visit. This time he welcomed the knock at the door when it came. At a word from him the door opened and not one but two road-weary hobbits entered the room.
“Frodo,” Pal stood and moved around his desk, “it’s good to see you. And Merry, this is a welcome surprise. Cado failed to mention that you were here.”
Pal had intended to have a quiet drink in front of the fire, but with the addition of Merry there wasn’t enough seating, so he decided the best option would be to move them somewhere less formal and more accommodating.
“How were the roads?” he inquired politely as he motioned them back through the door.
“Passable,” Frodo replied, “as long as one avoids a heavy meal beforehand.”
Paladin quirked an eyebrow at Frodo’s grin and the fleeting look of discomfort on Merry’s face. He hoped he would have time to get that story at some point. It promised to be entertaining.
“I thought we’d go find Eglantine,” he said instead of digging for the story immediately. “She’s most likely in with Pippin and I’m sure he’d welcome a diversion.”
“How is Pip?” It was Frodo that asked but Pal knew his nephew well enough to know that Merry was anxious for information as well.
“He’s well enough,” he replied with a slight frown. “That leg of his is a mess, he’s in quite a bit of pain still, and he’s got a rotten cold on top of everything, but he’s been very brave about it all.”
“What happened, exactly?” Merry asked quietly. “Your letter didn’t go into much detail.”
“He gave us all quite a scare, is what happened,” Pal answered grimly, remembering the fear he’d felt on seeing his son half buried under several large branches. Speaking in broad strokes, he filled the others in on the events of two days ago. “We were up with him most of the night, and then the word came early yesterday morning about Ferumbras. The timing could have been worse, I suppose, but not by much. It’s been hard on Eglantine.” That was an understatement. The poor lass had barely slept the past two nights and had only left Pippin’s side for an hour or two at a time. When he’d managed to join them for a few minutes at luncheon, he’d been alarmed by how pale and exhausted she looked. A distraction would be good for her as well.
Outside Pippin’s room, he paused. “Just give me a moment to see how Pippin’s doing,” he said before opening the door. If his son was resting, he didn’t want to disturb him any more than necessary. His concern was needless, however, as the lad was propped up on a pile of pillows reading a small book. Eglantine was in the rocker by the fire, mending in her lap. They both looked up as he entered.
“Hullo, luv.” He walked over and stole a sweet kiss before moving on to Pippin’s bed.
“Are you feeling up to some visitors, Pippin?” he asked, trying to judge his son’s true condition. He’d had a bit of a fever yesterday afternoon and into the night, but by this morning it had settled out as an unpleasant but not dangerous cold. His nose was red, there were dark shadows under eyes that were just a little glassy and Pal guessed he’d just had a dose of medicine, but overall, he seemed in good spirits.
“Please!” Pippin exclaimed eagerly, setting his book aside.
“All right, but they can only stay for a few minutes.” With a nod he indicated it was fine for the others to enter.
“Merry, Frodo!” Pippin’s eyes brightened at the sight of his two favorite cousins.
“Pip,” Merry greeted, settling into the chair placed by the bed. “I hear you’ve been off having adventures without me. That hardly seems fair.”
That brought a grimace to the younger hobbit’s face. “If this is what all adventures are like, I think I’ll do without from now on.”
Frodo joined them, laughing gently. “If you hadn’t already figured out that adventures come with a heavy dose of danger and pain as well as high excitement, then you haven’t listened well enough to all of Bilbo’s stories.”
“But in the stories, the hero always rises above the danger and pain in order to save the day. I didn’t manage to do anything even remotely heroic on my ‘adventure,’” he protested disparagingly.
“Poor Pip,” Merry soothed just as Pippin sneezed ferociously and blotted his already red nose with a sodden handkerchief. “You’re wrong, you know. Uncle Pal told us how brave you were, that you didn’t panic or lose your head. You may not have saved a fair lass from a fire breathing dragon, but you behaved heroically, none the less.”
Paladin had been content to sit beside his wife and let Frodo and Merry visit, but he could see that Pippin was getting tired, his eyes looking more glazed and his head laying heavily against the pillows. The medicine he had taken just before they arrived made him drowsy and he would probably sleep if they left him alone for a little while.
“Pippin,” he said, interrupting their conversation. “I think it’s time you got some rest. Merry and Frodo will be here for several days and I’m sure they’ll find a few spare minutes to visit now and again before they leave.”
“I’ll join you in a few minutes,” Eglantine said, giving his hand a squeeze as she stood. “I’ll just make sure he’s settled and then find someone to stay with him for a half hour or so.”
Nodding his agreement, Pal ushered the visitors out of the room and down the hall to his and Eglantine’s private parlor. He had a lot of work to do still tonight, but he would take a short time to eat and visit with his guests while he was still able. In the next few days time to relax would be rare indeed.
Chapter eight
Pippin slept for several hours, waking in the late afternoon feeling cranky and restless. Unfortunately, even slight movements caused the dull ache in his leg to spike into hot pain, and his head felt sloshy and slow from the cold he’d picked up and from the truly foul tonic Dag insisted he drink every few hours. Best to just lay still, then, of which fact he reminded himself every time he moved injudiciously.
There was a plate of food on the bedside table and Pippin noticed for the first time that he was alone. Up till now, if Mum had to leave his side, she made sure that someone else was sitting with him, in case he should need anything. While he appreciated the care, it was a relief to have a few moments to himself. Very carefully pushing himself higher on his pillows and grimacing at the resultant spasm of complaint from his leg, he pulled the plate to his bed and happily nibbled at the thick slices of ham, apples and cheese. He dutifully drank the tea that was waiting, as well, noting absently that it tasted slightly different than what he’d been given before. When he was still awake a few minutes later, he decided that he must have been given a lighter dose than previously. This time, while the pain had receded to a reasonable distance, he only felt a calm mellowness descend on him, rather than inexorable sleep.
However, just lying in bed, staring at the walls, didn’t much suit Pippin’s temperament, even with the mild sedation, and he was soon bored. It was with great relief, therefore, that he heard the quiet knock on his door. A moment later, the door opened and a curly head poked through.
“Merry!” he cried, pleased to see his cousin.
Merry entered the room, but instead of returning the greeting immediately, he prowled around, touching a finger to a smooth river rock Pippin had found the previous summer, the bit of gnarled wood that he kept on his shelf (it looked like a sleeping cat and had caught his fancy several years ago), idly opening a book Frodo had left behind on his last visit, before settling in the chair pulled up beside Pippin’s bed.
“So, the mighty Pippin was felled by a mere tree,” he finally commented, smile light on his lips and worry lurking in his eyes.
Pippin wanted to answer back with a wild tale of derring-do and high adventure, but his thoughts were just a bit muffled by the tonic and all he could do was shrug in embarrassment. “At least I wasn’t trying to swing on a rotted vine,” he muttered.
“There’s always time, Pippin, my lad.” Merry’s smile reached his eyes this time and he reached out to nab a thick slice of cheese, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied sigh.
“Oi!” Pippin swatted at his cousin, “That’s my food. Go get your own.” He grabbed the plate and pulled it close, wrapping an arm around it to ward off any attempts by Merry to eat more of his mid-afternoon snack.
“Don’t worry, Cousin,” Merry said in what Pippin supposed was meant to be reassuring tones, “I’ve already eaten. Where did you think that plate came from, anyway?”
Before he could answer, Pippin was overcome by several sneezes in a row, leaving his head throbbing unpleasantly. “Ugh,” he complained elegantly, after wiping his nose and disgustedly throwing the damp handkerchief to one side.
“Fine, have the food,” Pippin grumped, setting the plate down. “Just do me a favor and eat it somewhere else. I think I’m ready for another nap.”
All traces of teasing gone, Merry helped him get comfortable, moving away some of the pillows so he could lie down a little more. Pippin wanted, more than anything, to roll over onto his side, but the mere thought drew a twinge of pain from his leg and he forced himself to stay on his back. Sighing, he thought to apologize to Merry for his ill-humor, but was asleep before he could put the thought into words.
Merry sank back into the chair once Pippin was settled and asleep. Aunt Teenie had looked exhausted earlier and he’d volunteered to sit a spell with Pippin so she could get some rest. After only a token protest, she had taken his offered gift and had allowed Uncle Pad to lead her away. Now he had several hours, at least, before she would be back. Most likely, Pippin would sleep the entire time. Merry picked up the book he’d seen on Pippin’s desk and settled himself more comfortably in front of the fire. The book was a slim volume of Elvish lore and poetry, and as he read, Merry tried to picture the beautiful, laughing elves Uncle Bilbo had described from his travels. For some reason, his imagination was giving him difficulties, however, and he kept seeing the teasing smile of Estella Bolger, instead. Lost in pleasant daydreams, it was only a few moments later that Merry was fast asleep, as well.
***
The following day was cold and grey, with a steady, soaking rain sheeting outside the windows. Great Smials was filling up with hobbits from near and far, come to see the old Thain off and the new Thain in. The newest arrivals included Saradoc and Esmeralda Brandybuck. Merry waited until they’d had time to wash away the mud of travel before making his way to the suite of rooms they always occupied when visiting the Tooklands.
“Merry-mine,” Esmeralda said, greeting Merry with a warm hug. “I trust you’ve been behaving yourself since you got here?”
Merry sighed, resolutely refusing to squirm under his mother’s gaze. The incident she was referring to had taken place almost two years previously, shortly after Pippin’s family arrived from Whitwell. The two of them had got up to a bit of mischief that involved a number of cabbages, a goat and Hyacinth Overbank’s second best dress (unfortunately while she was still wearing it). Shortly thereafter, Pippin’s time was taken up by some work for his father, and Merry was dragging home with his tail between his legs and his ears still ringing from Uncle Pal’s dissertation on the expected behavior of the heir of Brandy Hall. His parents had announced themselves appalled at his behavior but given their own low regard for the Overbanks, Merry suspected they’d had a good laugh in the privacy of their own rooms.
That was in the past, however, and certainly not the sort of behavior he would get up to while attending to business as serious as this. Before he could say so, however, his father clapped him on the shoulder with a wink and directed his attention to other matters.
“How is young Peregrin doing?” Saradoc asked solicitiously.
Merry spent the next half hour talking with his parents, describing his less than successful attempt at walking from Brandy Hall to Bag End in mid winter with a fair amount of self-deprecating humor, and reassuring them that Pippin was in no danger of losing life or limb, although he was in danger of losing his mind from discomfort and enforced idleness.
“Poor lad,” Esme commiserated. “He’s never been one for sitting still, that’s certain. I’d imagine he’ll have a far rougher time of it than you did.”
“Well, luckily, he has me to entertain him. No one could ask better than that.” Merry grinned as he answered, knowing full well that his mother was speaking nothing but the truth and the coming weeks would not be easy at all for the young Took.
Frodo arrived to greet his cousins then, and the conversation turned to the more serious matters of Ferumbras’ death and the work ahead for Paladin as he took on the mantle of Thain.
***
Pippin gritted his teeth as Dag poked and prodded at his leg, muttering under his breath all the while.
“The puncture wound is healing well, young lad,” the healer commented as he pulled back from the leg. “I do believe you’ve escaped without any permanent damage as far as that goes.” Dag looked up with a twinkle in his eye. “You’ll have to have considerable patience, however, if you want this bone to heal properly. I know it’s a trial for young ones to be stuck abed, and not terribly comfortable for you, but it will take some time for the bones to knit together well enough to withstand much movement. The stitches are holding nicely, and there’s no signs of infection, so I believe I’ll just wrap the wound well and let it heal. Then we can go about immobilizing your leg a bit more thoroughly, which should make things slightly more bearable for you.”
Pippin said nothing in reply, simply tightening his jaw and bracing himself as best he could while Dag followed through on his words. By the time the healer was done, Pippin felt as limp as a wet cloth and too tired to care much that everyone else was currently preparing to attend Ferumbras’ funeral. It was, of course, out of the question that he attend, but he’d been feeling badly about it, none the less. Now he just wanted to sleep until the newly stirred fire in his leg had faded back down to the dull, achy pain it had been hovering at before.
He drifted for a while, floating on the thin edge of sleep, only distantly aware when Dag packed up his things and left the room, and when his mother came in to sit by his side for a few minutes before kissing him on the brow and leaving to take her place in the funeral procession. Eventually, he slipped off the edge and fell into a deeper sleep where he no longer felt the pain in his leg and the discomfort of lying in the same position for hours on end.
When he woke, several hours later, he was surprised to find Frodo sitting at his side, lap desk across his legs and brow furrowed as he concentrated on whatever he was writing. Yawning and coughing slightly, he shifted enough to reach the pile of handkerchiefs his mother had left by his bedside.
Frodo looked up and put his work aside as Pippin blew his nose. “Cold any better?” he asked solicitously.
Pippin considered for a moment, waking up more thoroughly. He shrugged slightly. “Not any worse, at least,” he answered. He didn’t say anything more for a bit, looking out the window. It was still raining, the sky a dark, forbidding grey that made it hard to judge the time. “Is it…How…” he trailed off, finding it difficult to phrase what he wanted to say, without sounding like a child left out of the fun, which the day had definitely not been, for anyone.
Frodo seemed to understand what he was trying to ask, though. “It was all very decorous,” he answered, “in spite of the rain. The Sackville-Bagginses showed up at the last minute, demanding a prominent place in the procession. Cado slipped them in right behind the Overbanks. They were so indignant at being forced to walk on a muddy path in the rain that they never even noticed they were amongst the common folk.”
Pippin laughed at the satisfaction on Frodo’s face. He really had no feelings towards the Sackville-Bagginses one way or the other, but he knew Frodo’s history with them, and Merry had told the story of Lobelia’s outrageous gall the day after Bilbo’s party often enough he almost felt he’d been there.
Frodo went on to describe the ceremony officially marking Paladin as the new Thain. “It was very simple, really. Saradoc and I, and a few others, went with Paladin to the Thain’s office and signed the new seal. Then we all had a drink, and in about an hour there will be a feast in the grand hall, so that everyone can meet their new Thain.”
Pippin sighed, disappointed to miss the ceremony and the feast, although he wasn’t so sad about not having been out in the rain. Still, even if he couldn’t go to the feast, he knew someone would find a way to bring part of the feast to him. That thought was enough to brighten his mood. He and Frodo talked for a few more minutes before Paladin slipped into the room. Frodo gave the older hobbit a clap on the shoulder and left the two of them alone.
“I saw Dag just before the ceremony,” Paladin began as he sat in the chair Frodo had just vacated. “He tells me your leg is healing nicely.
His Da seemed strangely ill at ease and Pippin wondered what was wrong. “Are you mad at me?” he asked bluntly, deciding to get the worst out as quickly as possible.
“Of course not!” Paladin seemed truly surprised that he would even think so, and Pippin relaxed slightly. “No, I’m not mad at you. I was, frankly, worried half out of my mind when I found you under those branches.” Pal ran a hand through his hair. “You could have died out there before we found you. You most likely would have, if your mother hadn’t got a bit of a feeling and sent me off.”
Pippin didn’t say anything to that. It was completely true and he’d been kicking himself for having got into such a situation. He wasn’t ready, however, to voluntarily promise to stay out of the woods, or whatever dire consequence he was sure his Da was about to set down on him.
“I’m not going to do anything as foolish as asking you to stay close to home,” Paladin continued, as if he’d read his son’s mind. “You’re far too old to be tied to apron strings like that. But,” he paused a moment, leveling a measuring gaze upon Pippin, “I am going to ask that if you’re planning to go walking, you let someone know where you’ve gone, and that you take someone with you.”
“Of course, Da,” Pippin agreed readily, swallowing the bitter knowledge that it would be weeks if not months before he was able to do any walking about at all, let alone adventuring in the woods.
“I hate the timing of this, Pippin,” Paladin burst out, seeming to surprise even himself. “I’m going to be dreadfully busy the next few weeks. And once you’re feeling up to it, I’m going to need your help even more than I did before. Ferumbras’ records are in a shambles, there’s no order to them at all and half of them are almost completely illegible. I’m afraid I’m going to have to put your eyes to work while your leg heals.”
Before Pippin could answer, Eglantine entered the room, looking tired but beautiful in a new dress, with her hair pulled up in loose cascades of curls. “Go on, Pal, you need to get ready,” she murmured, greeting her husband with a kiss to the cheek. “Pippin, how are you feeling?” she asked, turning her attention to her son. “I’m going to brew up some tonic for you, and I believe Merry’s going to bring up a plate of food later, once the feast is under way.”
Pal squeezed Pippin’s hand and slipped out of the room, leaving Eglantine to bustle about, fixing Pippin’s pillows, laying a fresh stack of handkerchiefs by his side and scooping up the old ones. Pippin drank his tonic when it was handed to him, and then settled back with a book. It was going to be a long winter, make no mistake about that.
Epilogue
Pippin stamped his feet in satisfaction as he stood on Bag End’s doorstep, six months later. He’d spent two full months in bed, letting the bone heal, and months after that rebuilding his strength, but now he felt good. He’d walked all the way to Bag End, and while his leg ached a bit, he had only limped a little, and only for the last few miles.
The door opened to reveal the cheerful countenance of Fatty Bolger, who ushered Pippin in with a grin. “You’re just in time,” he said as he followed Pippin down the hall. Merry’s here already and Frodo’s been fending him off, but there wouldn’t have been any food left if you’d been much later.”
It was much later, as the four hobbits pushed back from the table, feeling full and content, that Merry turned to Pippin. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually make it,” he said with a knowing look. “Uncle Pal’s been keeping you pretty busy, hasn’t he”?
Pippin scowled at his cousin. “I’ve been helping him, yes. But that was mainly just to get the records all in order, and now that’s done, he doesn’t really need much help anymore.”
The truth of the matter was, in the beginning Pippin had been ridiculously glad to have something to do, anything to take his mind of the discomfort and boredom of being confined to his bed. And with the transition of leadership so new, Paladin really had needed the help in searching out old ledgers, reports, etc. Pippin, while not able to physically retrieve the materials, had certainly been more than up to the task of marshalling a host of young lads and lasses with nothing better to do. He was also able to decipher the text and copy it in the cases of the most deteriorated or illegible works.
By now, however, he’d brought a fairly rudimentary level of control to the records, and his father was no longer so overwhelmed with the business of being Thain, that Pippin wasn’t truly needed for the job anymore. Not that Paladin saw it that way. He saw it as Pippin suddenly and inexplicably shirking his duties. Which made things a little unpleasant around home right now, one of the reasons Pippin had been so glad to receive an invitation to this little gathering.
Although he couldn’t possibly know all that was passing through Pippin’s head, Merry gave a slow, understanding nod, and pulled out his pipe. “Well, come on,” he said, gesturing with the unlit pipe. “Let’s get down to the business of this meeting. Frodo, you have a Birthday Party to plan, and only a month in which to do it. Your faithful friends and cousins are here to help.”
With that, the foursome moved to the drawing room and settled down to hash out the plans for Frodo’s party. When, several hours later, Frodo asked Pippin if he could help him find something in the study, Pippin waved him off. “Oh, really Frodo, books give me a headache. If you need help finding something, Merry’s your hobbit. Now, if you need a bit of mischief planned, then I’m the one to turn to.”
“Is that so?” Merry growled, mock angry. “I do believe I was the one who planned that little incident with the soap and the chickens, was I not?”
“I never said I didn’t learn from the best,” Pippin replied smugly. “But you’re getting on in years, now. You’re no longer an irresponsible tween like myself. You’re an adult, with adult responsibilities. It’s best if you let youthful pranks stay in the hands of youth.” He smiled sweetly at his cousin, for a fleeting moment before being tackled by Merry and soon they were both rolling around the floor, each trying to pin the other.
“Oh yes,” Fatty said to Frodo with a gleam in his eye, “Merry looks very responsible down there, doesn’t he?”
Frodo snorted. “Very.” A long moment later, as Pippin nearly got pinned by Merry but escaped by what appeared to be unsportsmanlike use of pinching, Frodo stood. “Well, my dear Fatty, shall we adjourn to the kitchen? I have a lovely berry tart and some fresh cream waiting.”
“Ah, yes, that sounds like just the thing.” The two hobbits wandered off, discussing the summer’s berry crop and leaving Merry and Pippin to their struggle.
Much later, after the signs of battle had been cleaned up and berry tart found for the combatants, the four hobbits climbed the hill to sit under a clear, starry sky and smoke their pipes. Stretched out in the grass, finding patterns amongst the stars, Pippin spared a single moment to regret his father’s displeasure, but couldn’t regret the decision he’d made. All too soon, adult responsibilities would weigh him down, but for now, he was going to milk as much fun and joy from life as he could.
It was a long night for Paladin and Eglantine. Pippin was restless, the pain in his leg keeping him from settling into deep sleep but the sedatives preventing him from real wakefulness. Just shy of dawn there was a soft knock at the door. Eglantine had just given Pippin his latest dose of medicine and was crooning softly to him, easing him back into whatever rest he could get, so Pal went to see who it was.
Answering the summons, Paladin was surprised to find his cousin Reginard outside the room, looking rather pale. Stepping into the hall so as not to disturb Pippin, he waited to hear the news.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Pal, but it’s Ferumbras. He took a turn for the worse a few hours ago. Dag’s with him now, but it doesn’t look good. I doubt he’ll live out the day. The others have begun to gather.”
Paladin sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before nodding. “Thank you for letting me know, Reggie. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be right along.”
“Aye,” Reggie answered solemnly, “I’ll let the family know you’re on the way.”
Cursing the timing of this, Pal returned to the room quietly. Inside the door, he just stood for a moment, looking at his youngest child, wrapped in blankets except for the bandaged and splinted leg which lay atop the covers. The lad looked alarmingly fragile and Pal didn’t want to leave his side. He had no choice, however, and felt an unexpected flash of anger that Ferumbras couldn’t have held on just another day or two. Shaking those thoughts away, he approached the bed. Eglantine looked up as he walked over to her, face softening into sorrow as she read his body language.
“Ferumbras?” she asked quietly.
“Aye. I’m sorry, love, but I have to go and I don’t expect I’ll be able to get away again any time soon.” Bending, he pressed a light kiss to her temple, lingering just a moment before pulling away. “I’ll make sure Dag’s apprentice comes by shortly to check on Pippin.”
A few minutes later, Paladin stood at the side of another sickbed, this one surrounded by grim, sorrowing faces. Ferumbras was struggling for each breath, eyes closed, skin yellow and papery, lying in folds over a frame that had shrunk considerably in these last few months of illness. The room was hushed, the Thain’s gasping breaths the only sound.
Ferumbras had no immediate family left to him, having no siblings or children, but several cousins had gathered to ease his passing. Reginard and his father, Adelard, stood to one side of the bed, while Rosamunda and Oldovacar Bolger stood at the foot. Ferdinand Took stood on the opposite side of the bed, leaving a space beside him, near the head of the bed. Paladin nodded to each of his cousins as he moved into the space left for him. In this way they provided a guard of honor for their cousin and head of family. Although they moved aside for Dag as the healer moved about the room, checking his patient, mixing and measuring medicines by the fire and administering doses, they never left Ferumbras’ side.
It was nearly noon when Ferumbras awoke, looking around him through clouded eyes. “Paladin?” he rasped weakly.
“I’m here,” Paladin answered, moving closer to the bed and gently clasping the Thain’s age-spotted and gnarled hand.
“Now…is your…turn,” Ferumbras said, pausing to breathe between words. “You…will make…good…Thain and…Took. Have…my…” there was a long pause while he struggled to find the strength to continue. “Have…my…approval.” The old hobbit smiled, just a slight hint of curving lips, and then closed his eyes with a sigh.
Paladin set Ferumbras’ hand back down upon the coverlet gently and stepped back slightly, allowing Dag to move closer. The healer fussed around the dying hobbit for several minutes before settling at his side, fingers pressed lightly to the pulse point on Ferumbras’ wrist.
They waited another half hour like this, listening to each harsh, rattling breath, waiting for the next, until inevitably there came a silence, a moment when the awaited breath did not come. Finally, Dag stood and turned to Paladin. “He is gone.”
***
Pippin woke to enticing smells curling about his nose, teasing him. Opening his eyes, he blinked groggily in the dimness of the room, trying to determine the time and where that delicious smell was coming from. It was only when he shifted slightly in the bed and pain flooded through him that he remembered the events of the previous day.
Shifting again, but much more cautiously this time, he turned his head to see his mother sitting in a rocking chair that had been pulled up next to his bed. She must have been knitting earlier, but now the needles were held loosely in slack hands as she slept.
The previous evening and night were mostly a blur of exhaustion and discomfort for Pippin, but he did remember that every time he awoke during the long night, his mum had been sitting at his side. Da had been there most of the night as well, he thought, although he was no longer here.
“Mum?” he whispered, torn between a desire to let her sleep and a pressing need to use the privy.
“What is it, Pippin, dear?” Eglantine asked, leaning forward and placing a hand on his forehead, instantly awake.
The next few minutes were very uncomfortable for Pippin, both from the pain in his leg, and from embarrassment at requiring assistance in tending to private needs. Unexpectedly, although his mother clucked soothingly over him every time he was unable to bite back a moan of pain, she gave him very little sympathy for his embarrassment.
“You’re going to be abed for several weeks, at the least, Pippin, my lad, so you might as well get used to it.” She spoke firmly over his complaints, although her hands remained gentle as she helped him settle back against a pile of pillows, after.
Pippin thought to protest that ‘several weeks’ but he was already tired again, and hungry, and he could still smell something good drifting on the air so he decided to let it go, for now. There would be plenty of time later for arguments.
Seeming to read his thoughts, Eglantine smiled. “Are you hungry? Cook made you a nice lamb stew.”
“Will I be allowed to feed myself?” Pippin couldn’t refrain from asking, trying to joke but sounding a bit sullen even to his own ears.
“I don’t know, are your arms broken?” Eglantine asked in return, bringing the tray over and placing it on the bed. In addition to the stew there were also, it turned out, split rolls, still warm from the oven, with toasted cheese.
Pippin’s eyes lit up as he surveyed the meal, but he found, much to his surprise, that he was only able to eat a small portion of the food. Pushing the rest away, he closed his eyes against the growing pain in his leg.
“Here, my lad. Drink this up and then you may sleep.” His mother placed a mug in his hands and he obediently brought it to his lips, wrinkling his nose at the smell. The taste was no better and he swallowed it down as quickly as he could.
“Gah!” he protested as he handed the mug back. “That’s awful, that is.”
“I know, love, but it will ease the pain and help you rest. Have a sip of tea now, to clear out your mouth. There,” she crooned as Pippin drank, “you’ll soon feel much better.”
Pippin was weary and the tonic strong so it was not long before he was half-asleep, but before he could slide away entirely, he reached out and grabbed Eglantine’s hand. “Love you,” he murmured before closing his eyes and giving in to the pull of sleep.
***
Although the weather had held clear over night and the road was passable, Merry had decided that the better part of valor might be to rent a pony from the inn and ride the rest of the way to Bag End. He wasn’t a fool, after all, and even with the roads cleared, there would still be enough snow to trek through that he didn’t fancy the idea. A brief word with the innkeeper was sufficient to arrange things and he set out with little delay.
Singing softly to himself, he quickly settled into the rhythm of travel and lost himself in thoughts of bonny shop lasses (or at least one in particular). He saw few other travelers during the day, other than a post rider galloping east in great haste, sometime past noon. He entertained himself for a short while wondering who had sent such an urgent message, who was to receive it, and what it might be, but his thoughts soon drifted back to twinkling eyes and rosy cheeks.
It was late afternoon when Merry reached Bywater and he gave thought to stopping at the Ivy Bush for a half pint before continuing. He was already a day late to Bag End, however, and decided to push on through. Frodo always had excellent stock on hand and if they were in the mood, they could always go down to the Green Dragon after supper. Nodding to himself in satisfaction at this plan, he clucked at the pony and continued on.
A short time later Merry pulled up at the gate in front of Bag End. Dismounting, he tied the pony to the gatepost, slipped the latch and swung the gate open. Pack slung over his shoulder, he strode up the muddy path to the bright green front door.
***
“Hello, cousin. Did you forget I was coming?”
Frodo jumped in his seat at the sudden sound. Turning, he spied Merry lounging in the doorway of his study, pack slung over one shoulder and muddy feet just shy of the carpet.
“My goodness, Meriadoc, do you no longer knock before entering another hobbit’s smial?” he scolded to cover his fright.
“I’ll have you know, cousin Frodo,” Merry replied without a trace of apology, “that I’ve been standing on your doorstep for the past ten minutes, knocking. It’s not my fault if you’ve been too absorbed in your work to notice.” He leaned forward slightly, as though attempting to see what Frodo was working on without stepping onto the carpet.
Frodo sighed and set down his quill. “I’m sorry, Merry. I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m also sorry to keep you waiting out in the cold. I’m being a terribly bad host.” Pushing back from his desk, he stood. “Come. You look as though you could use a bath. I’ve got water heating.”
Leading the way to the bathing room, he asked after Merry’s travels and smiled over the younger hobbit as Merry lingered in his description of Estella Bolger and skimmed over the rest of the account with an unusual brevity.
“Here,” he said as they reached the bathing room, “you get cleaned up and I’ll prepare you a snack. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Leaving Merry to freshen up, he set tea to steep and gathered bread, honey, strawberry jam and cheese onto a tray, which he carried into the parlor. When Merry rejoined him a short time later, dressed in clean clothes but with his hair still damp, Frodo poured the tea.
“Now, what had you so absorbed, Frodo my lad, that you didn’t even hear the knocking on your door?” Merry asked after eating a generous portion of the ‘snack’ Frodo had set out.
“I was working on a speech – a eulogy, rather.” Frodo paused for a moment, thinking upon the letter sitting on his desk. “Thain Ferumbras died today, I’m afraid. I received word shortly before you arrived. I know you were planning a visit to the Great Smials anyway, but it seems it will be happening sooner than you expected. We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning.”
Chapter Seven
Frodo filled Merry in on the details, including Pippin’s injury, while Merry finished up the last of the bread and jam. “Paladin didn’t go into much detail but it seems that on top of everything else, our young cousin has got himself a badly bashed up leg.” His smile was half amusement, half pained sympathy. “I would guess that within a few days, Pal and Teenie are going to have their hands full with a very bored and restless Pippin.”
Merry smirked. “I’m trying, but I can’t even imagine him lying still long enough to let a broken leg heal.” The smile slipped away, then. “Poor lad. I remember how frustrating it was when I broke my leg. I was lucky, too. It was a clean break that healed quickly. I only had to stay abed for about three weeks and even that seemed an eternity to me.”
“Then you won’t mind helping to entertain him? With everything else going on right now, I’m sure Pal and Teenie would be grateful for any help we can offer.”
“I suppose I could take a turn or two at Pippin-watch,” Merry conceded. Although he and Pippin had fought like cats and dogs when they were younger, the two had become fast friends in the last five or six years, bonding over their mutual love of adventure and mischief, as well as their shared affection for a certain bookishly inclined cousin.
“Good.” With that decided, Frodo turned the conversation to other things, inquiring about Merry’s parents, who would be coming to the Great Smials as well. Shortly thereafter, the two friends decided to brave the chill air and wandered down to the Green Dragon for a meal and a beer or two. Most of the conversation there that evening was of the passing of the Thain and what folks thought of his heir. While very few people had been close to Ferumbras, he’d been an important figure in the Shire and his death would be a subject of much conversation for the next few weeks or months, until something else came along to distract gossipy farmers and townsfolk.
The next morning they were up early. While Frodo finished packing for the trip, Merry raided the pantry and made a passably decent breakfast. Or at least, he thought it was passably decent. Frodo grimaced after the first bite and pushed his plate away in disgust. “I think maybe I’m not as hungry as I thought I was,” he muttered.
“What’s wrong with it?” Merry asked, hurt showing on every inch of his face.
Frodo refused to be taken in by that expression, he knew his younger cousin far too well. “Merry, the eggs are burnt, the seedcake is bitter, and I’m not even going to dignify that, that liquid,” he gestured towards the teapot, “as tea.”
“Fine. More for me, then, if you don’t want any.” Squaring his chin, Merry filled his plate with said burnt eggs and bitter seedcake, and choked down every bite, refusing to acknowledge that the food did, indeed, taste remarkably awful.
An hour later he was regretting his stubbornness, as the food sat like lead in his stomach, lurching about unpleasantly as he rode his borrowed pony along the rutted and uneven road from Hobbiton to Tuckborough. “How could you let me eat that?” he whined pitifully as he rode alongside Frodo, feeling dreadfully sorry for himself.
Frodo looked at Merry searchingly, then pulled his pony up, dismounting and moving to the side of the road. “Come on then, a bit of peppermint tea will help,” he said, taking pity on his suffering cousin.
Merry gathered an armful of branches and twigs while Frodo cleared a small patch of ground, gathered some rocks and carefully constructed a small fire circle. A short while later, they were back on the road, Merry’s water bag filled with an aromatic tea that he sipped gratefully.
“Honestly, Merry, how you can have reached your age without having acquired even the most basic cooking skills, I cannot imagine,” Frodo teased gently, once Merry was looking a bit more steady. He did understand, however. Brandy Hall was a large community and most meals were communal, prepared in a large kitchen by a fearsome staff that looked less than kindly on young hobbit lads intruding on their domain. Frodo himself hadn’t learned how to do much more than boil water and fry the occasional freshly-caught fish on camping trips, before moving in with Bilbo, and it had been quite a shock to his system to learn that he would be expected to prepare his fair share of the meals, once there. As the son and heir to the Master of Buckland, Merry had been even more pampered in some respects. Not that the lad was in any way spoiled or lazy. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was very intelligent and loyal, hardworking and willing to do pretty much whatever task was asked of him, but he had some odd holes in his education.
They traveled slowly throughout the morning, stopping occasionally to rest the ponies or pull a snack out of one bag or another. By lunchtime, Merry’s stomach had recovered from its shock and was vigorously demanding that something more substantial than small wedges of cheese or bites of apple be put in it. He was about to say something when Frodo cocked an eye at him and twisted around to open his pack. Pulling out a neatly wrapped bundle, he tossed it to Merry before pulling another out for himself.
“It’s not as good as Sam’s cooking, but a far sight better than what we had for breakfast,” Frodo said cheekily.
Opening the cloth-wrapped bundle, Merry forgave Frodo his smugness. There were several pieces of fried chicken, slices of thick, hearty bread, and some well-scrubbed carrots. “You’re right,” he admitted after a few bites, “it isn’t as good as Sam’s.” Laughing, he dodged the bit of carrot Frodo threw at him.
The two hobbits sobered as they approached Tuckborough later that afternoon. The isolated farmers they had passed earlier in the day had been quietly going about their own business, greeting the two with a respectful nod or a smile, but as they grew closer to the main village of the Tooklands, signs of mourning became more and more apparent. Whatever folks had thought of Ferumbras personally, and Frodo and Merry both knew that he hadn’t been the most popular Thain ever, they were still facing a major change in their lives and they faced this change by following traditions that had been set down so long ago they might as well have been carved in stone.
Despite the chill in the air, windows and doors were thrown open as lasses and matrons swept their smials clean, scrubbing doorsteps, wiping windows, airing bedding and rugs. The husbands, fathers and sons had all retreated, to the Sheaf and Shears most likely, Merry supposed, where they could discuss the state of the Shire over a pipe and a beer, while staying out of the womenfolk’s way.
Soon after passing through Tuckborough, they reached the Great Smials. Handing the ponies off to a scrawny lad in the yard, they shouldered their packs and entered the huge, interconnected series of smials that made up the heart of the Tooklands.
***
They were greeted at the entrance by a wizened old hobbit leaning on a walking stick.
“Well, if it isn’t young Frodo Baggins,” the old hobbit greeted them warmly.
“Hullo, Cado,” Frodo answered with a hug. “How are you faring?”
“Ah, well, you know how these things go,” Cado answered ruefully. “The knees don’t bend so well as they used to and I can’t hold a quill anymore,” he held up gnarled fingers as proof of his incapacity, “but I still find ways to keep myself useful.”
The old hobbit had once been Ferumbras’ assistant and secretary but had been forced to give the post up to someone younger some twenty years ago. Ferumbras had kept him on at the Smials, however, finding jobs that his advancing age and pride allowed him to take on.
“Come on then,” Cado said, hobbling away from them, “I’ll show you to your rooms and let you get settled. Once you’ve recovered from your trip, Paladin would like to see you in his study.” Despite the somber times, the old hobbit grinned.
Frodo smiled back, knowing Cado meant nothing disrespectful to the late Thain with his cheerful good humor. Cado had served Ferumbras for many years and had cared for the Thain, but he also loved Paladin like a son and couldn’t disguise his pride that the younger hobbit was finally going to be acknowledged for the job he’d been doing anyway for the past two years.
Once in his room, Frodo dropped his pack onto the floor and dropped onto the bed. It had been a long, cold ride and all he wanted to do now was soak in the warmth from the fire and take a nap. Well, maybe have a bath first, considering the state of the roads and consequently the state of him, as well. Biting back a yawn, he dug out a change of clothes and headed for the bathing room, grabbing Merry, in the next room over, on his way.
Ten minutes later, reclining in a large tub of almost too hot water, he gave in to the yawn that was threatening to crack his jaw in two. Merry seemed a bit subdued as well, quietly humming to himself while letting sore, tense muscles ease.
“Do you want to meet with Paladin before or after the nap?” Merry asked sleepily a few minutes later, startling Frodo from his own doze.
“Before, I suppose,” Frodo mumbled before sighing and sitting up. Steeling himself, he slipped out of the steamy water into the much colder air of the room and quickly dried off and dressed. A minute later Merry was ready as well. Dropping their dirty things back at their rooms, they made their way through the warren of passageways until they finally found themselves in the heart of the Smials, at the door to the Thain’s offices.
***
Paladin looked up from the papers covering his desk at the knock on the door, suppressing a brief flash of irritation. There was much he needed to do as he prepared to move all his work from his small space to the Thain’s much larger office next door and he’d been interrupted every few minutes, thus the current mess on his desk. Sighing, he smoothed his face and called out his permission to enter. With an effort, he kept his face open and welcoming as his cousin Ferdinand entered.
“What brings you down here, Ferdi?” he asked, motioning the other hobbit to a stiff-backed chair placed across the desk from his own chair. He carefully hid his satisfaction as Ferdinand glanced once at the deep, soft arm chairs in front of the small hearth before sitting on the edge of the seat he’d been offered. There was no love lost between the cousins, had been none since they were teens. Pal had been an adventurous spirit and Ferdi, several years younger and resentful of not being included in the fun, was the one to squeal every time Pal stepped even an inch outside of approved behavior. In more recent times, Ferdi was one of the staunchest opponents of every move Paladin made.
“I wanted to go over a few of the details for the funeral,” Ferdinand finally said, not quite meeting Paladin’s eyes.
“Very well,” Pal resisted the urge to throw something at the other hobbit. “Which details in particular?”
“I have some concerns about the procession. Some very fine old families are being supplanted in the order by families that don’t even live in the Tooklands. Take that Baggins’ lad now.” Ferdinand delicately wrinkled his nose as though he’d smelled something distasteful. “You have him right behind the Brandybucks, although the Baggins family is much smaller than, say, the Overbanks, who’ve been placed well back, almost amongst the commoners.”
“Overbanks,” Paladin mused, pretending he hadn’t caught the significance of the name. “Ah, yes,” he finally said, “your wife’s family, I believe?”
Ferdi’s lip twitched upward into a snarl that was quickly suppressed. “As a matter of fact, yes, my lovely Hyacinth is an Overbank by birth.”
Before either hobbit could say more, there was another knock upon the door, followed before Paladin could say anything by the appearance of Cado’s wizened head.
“Your pardon, Mr. Paladin, sir, but young Frodo’s arrived. I’ve shown him to his room and I’d imagine he’ll be along shortly to pay his respects.”
“Thank you, Cado,” Paladin replied before returning his attention to his visitor. “I’m sorry, Ferdi, it seems we’ll have to discuss this at another time. Please excuse me.”
Ferdinand opened his mouth, closed it again, turned a pale red and left the room in a huff. He would be back, Pal knew, but not today. At the moment, that was good enough.
Paladin attempted to bring some order to the chaos that was his half-packed desk, while he waited for Frodo’s visit. This time he welcomed the knock at the door when it came. At a word from him the door opened and not one but two road-weary hobbits entered the room.
“Frodo,” Pal stood and moved around his desk, “it’s good to see you. And Merry, this is a welcome surprise. Cado failed to mention that you were here.”
Pal had intended to have a quiet drink in front of the fire, but with the addition of Merry there wasn’t enough seating, so he decided the best option would be to move them somewhere less formal and more accommodating.
“How were the roads?” he inquired politely as he motioned them back through the door.
“Passable,” Frodo replied, “as long as one avoids a heavy meal beforehand.”
Paladin quirked an eyebrow at Frodo’s grin and the fleeting look of discomfort on Merry’s face. He hoped he would have time to get that story at some point. It promised to be entertaining.
“I thought we’d go find Eglantine,” he said instead of digging for the story immediately. “She’s most likely in with Pippin and I’m sure he’d welcome a diversion.”
“How is Pip?” It was Frodo that asked but Pal knew his nephew well enough to know that Merry was anxious for information as well.
“He’s well enough,” he replied with a slight frown. “That leg of his is a mess, he’s in quite a bit of pain still, and he’s got a rotten cold on top of everything, but he’s been very brave about it all.”
“What happened, exactly?” Merry asked quietly. “Your letter didn’t go into much detail.”
“He gave us all quite a scare, is what happened,” Pal answered grimly, remembering the fear he’d felt on seeing his son half buried under several large branches. Speaking in broad strokes, he filled the others in on the events of two days ago. “We were up with him most of the night, and then the word came early yesterday morning about Ferumbras. The timing could have been worse, I suppose, but not by much. It’s been hard on Eglantine.” That was an understatement. The poor lass had barely slept the past two nights and had only left Pippin’s side for an hour or two at a time. When he’d managed to join them for a few minutes at luncheon, he’d been alarmed by how pale and exhausted she looked. A distraction would be good for her as well.
Outside Pippin’s room, he paused. “Just give me a moment to see how Pippin’s doing,” he said before opening the door. If his son was resting, he didn’t want to disturb him any more than necessary. His concern was needless, however, as the lad was propped up on a pile of pillows reading a small book. Eglantine was in the rocker by the fire, mending in her lap. They both looked up as he entered.
“Hullo, luv.” He walked over and stole a sweet kiss before moving on to Pippin’s bed.
“Are you feeling up to some visitors, Pippin?” he asked, trying to judge his son’s true condition. He’d had a bit of a fever yesterday afternoon and into the night, but by this morning it had settled out as an unpleasant but not dangerous cold. His nose was red, there were dark shadows under eyes that were just a little glassy and Pal guessed he’d just had a dose of medicine, but overall, he seemed in good spirits.
“Please!” Pippin exclaimed eagerly, setting his book aside.
“All right, but they can only stay for a few minutes.” With a nod he indicated it was fine for the others to enter.
“Merry, Frodo!” Pippin’s eyes brightened at the sight of his two favorite cousins.
“Pip,” Merry greeted, settling into the chair placed by the bed. “I hear you’ve been off having adventures without me. That hardly seems fair.”
That brought a grimace to the younger hobbit’s face. “If this is what all adventures are like, I think I’ll do without from now on.”
Frodo joined them, laughing gently. “If you hadn’t already figured out that adventures come with a heavy dose of danger and pain as well as high excitement, then you haven’t listened well enough to all of Bilbo’s stories.”
“But in the stories, the hero always rises above the danger and pain in order to save the day. I didn’t manage to do anything even remotely heroic on my ‘adventure,’” he protested disparagingly.
“Poor Pip,” Merry soothed just as Pippin sneezed ferociously and blotted his already red nose with a sodden handkerchief. “You’re wrong, you know. Uncle Pal told us how brave you were, that you didn’t panic or lose your head. You may not have saved a fair lass from a fire breathing dragon, but you behaved heroically, none the less.”
Paladin had been content to sit beside his wife and let Frodo and Merry visit, but he could see that Pippin was getting tired, his eyes looking more glazed and his head laying heavily against the pillows. The medicine he had taken just before they arrived made him drowsy and he would probably sleep if they left him alone for a little while.
“Pippin,” he said, interrupting their conversation. “I think it’s time you got some rest. Merry and Frodo will be here for several days and I’m sure they’ll find a few spare minutes to visit now and again before they leave.”
“I’ll join you in a few minutes,” Eglantine said, giving his hand a squeeze as she stood. “I’ll just make sure he’s settled and then find someone to stay with him for a half hour or so.”
Nodding his agreement, Pal ushered the visitors out of the room and down the hall to his and Eglantine’s private parlor. He had a lot of work to do still tonight, but he would take a short time to eat and visit with his guests while he was still able. In the next few days time to relax would be rare indeed.
Chapter eight
Pippin slept for several hours, waking in the late afternoon feeling cranky and restless. Unfortunately, even slight movements caused the dull ache in his leg to spike into hot pain, and his head felt sloshy and slow from the cold he’d picked up and from the truly foul tonic Dag insisted he drink every few hours. Best to just lay still, then, of which fact he reminded himself every time he moved injudiciously.
There was a plate of food on the bedside table and Pippin noticed for the first time that he was alone. Up till now, if Mum had to leave his side, she made sure that someone else was sitting with him, in case he should need anything. While he appreciated the care, it was a relief to have a few moments to himself. Very carefully pushing himself higher on his pillows and grimacing at the resultant spasm of complaint from his leg, he pulled the plate to his bed and happily nibbled at the thick slices of ham, apples and cheese. He dutifully drank the tea that was waiting, as well, noting absently that it tasted slightly different than what he’d been given before. When he was still awake a few minutes later, he decided that he must have been given a lighter dose than previously. This time, while the pain had receded to a reasonable distance, he only felt a calm mellowness descend on him, rather than inexorable sleep.
However, just lying in bed, staring at the walls, didn’t much suit Pippin’s temperament, even with the mild sedation, and he was soon bored. It was with great relief, therefore, that he heard the quiet knock on his door. A moment later, the door opened and a curly head poked through.
“Merry!” he cried, pleased to see his cousin.
Merry entered the room, but instead of returning the greeting immediately, he prowled around, touching a finger to a smooth river rock Pippin had found the previous summer, the bit of gnarled wood that he kept on his shelf (it looked like a sleeping cat and had caught his fancy several years ago), idly opening a book Frodo had left behind on his last visit, before settling in the chair pulled up beside Pippin’s bed.
“So, the mighty Pippin was felled by a mere tree,” he finally commented, smile light on his lips and worry lurking in his eyes.
Pippin wanted to answer back with a wild tale of derring-do and high adventure, but his thoughts were just a bit muffled by the tonic and all he could do was shrug in embarrassment. “At least I wasn’t trying to swing on a rotted vine,” he muttered.
“There’s always time, Pippin, my lad.” Merry’s smile reached his eyes this time and he reached out to nab a thick slice of cheese, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied sigh.
“Oi!” Pippin swatted at his cousin, “That’s my food. Go get your own.” He grabbed the plate and pulled it close, wrapping an arm around it to ward off any attempts by Merry to eat more of his mid-afternoon snack.
“Don’t worry, Cousin,” Merry said in what Pippin supposed was meant to be reassuring tones, “I’ve already eaten. Where did you think that plate came from, anyway?”
Before he could answer, Pippin was overcome by several sneezes in a row, leaving his head throbbing unpleasantly. “Ugh,” he complained elegantly, after wiping his nose and disgustedly throwing the damp handkerchief to one side.
“Fine, have the food,” Pippin grumped, setting the plate down. “Just do me a favor and eat it somewhere else. I think I’m ready for another nap.”
All traces of teasing gone, Merry helped him get comfortable, moving away some of the pillows so he could lie down a little more. Pippin wanted, more than anything, to roll over onto his side, but the mere thought drew a twinge of pain from his leg and he forced himself to stay on his back. Sighing, he thought to apologize to Merry for his ill-humor, but was asleep before he could put the thought into words.
Merry sank back into the chair once Pippin was settled and asleep. Aunt Teenie had looked exhausted earlier and he’d volunteered to sit a spell with Pippin so she could get some rest. After only a token protest, she had taken his offered gift and had allowed Uncle Pad to lead her away. Now he had several hours, at least, before she would be back. Most likely, Pippin would sleep the entire time. Merry picked up the book he’d seen on Pippin’s desk and settled himself more comfortably in front of the fire. The book was a slim volume of Elvish lore and poetry, and as he read, Merry tried to picture the beautiful, laughing elves Uncle Bilbo had described from his travels. For some reason, his imagination was giving him difficulties, however, and he kept seeing the teasing smile of Estella Bolger, instead. Lost in pleasant daydreams, it was only a few moments later that Merry was fast asleep, as well.
***
The following day was cold and grey, with a steady, soaking rain sheeting outside the windows. Great Smials was filling up with hobbits from near and far, come to see the old Thain off and the new Thain in. The newest arrivals included Saradoc and Esmeralda Brandybuck. Merry waited until they’d had time to wash away the mud of travel before making his way to the suite of rooms they always occupied when visiting the Tooklands.
“Merry-mine,” Esmeralda said, greeting Merry with a warm hug. “I trust you’ve been behaving yourself since you got here?”
Merry sighed, resolutely refusing to squirm under his mother’s gaze. The incident she was referring to had taken place almost two years previously, shortly after Pippin’s family arrived from Whitwell. The two of them had got up to a bit of mischief that involved a number of cabbages, a goat and Hyacinth Overbank’s second best dress (unfortunately while she was still wearing it). Shortly thereafter, Pippin’s time was taken up by some work for his father, and Merry was dragging home with his tail between his legs and his ears still ringing from Uncle Pal’s dissertation on the expected behavior of the heir of Brandy Hall. His parents had announced themselves appalled at his behavior but given their own low regard for the Overbanks, Merry suspected they’d had a good laugh in the privacy of their own rooms.
That was in the past, however, and certainly not the sort of behavior he would get up to while attending to business as serious as this. Before he could say so, however, his father clapped him on the shoulder with a wink and directed his attention to other matters.
“How is young Peregrin doing?” Saradoc asked solicitiously.
Merry spent the next half hour talking with his parents, describing his less than successful attempt at walking from Brandy Hall to Bag End in mid winter with a fair amount of self-deprecating humor, and reassuring them that Pippin was in no danger of losing life or limb, although he was in danger of losing his mind from discomfort and enforced idleness.
“Poor lad,” Esme commiserated. “He’s never been one for sitting still, that’s certain. I’d imagine he’ll have a far rougher time of it than you did.”
“Well, luckily, he has me to entertain him. No one could ask better than that.” Merry grinned as he answered, knowing full well that his mother was speaking nothing but the truth and the coming weeks would not be easy at all for the young Took.
Frodo arrived to greet his cousins then, and the conversation turned to the more serious matters of Ferumbras’ death and the work ahead for Paladin as he took on the mantle of Thain.
***
Pippin gritted his teeth as Dag poked and prodded at his leg, muttering under his breath all the while.
“The puncture wound is healing well, young lad,” the healer commented as he pulled back from the leg. “I do believe you’ve escaped without any permanent damage as far as that goes.” Dag looked up with a twinkle in his eye. “You’ll have to have considerable patience, however, if you want this bone to heal properly. I know it’s a trial for young ones to be stuck abed, and not terribly comfortable for you, but it will take some time for the bones to knit together well enough to withstand much movement. The stitches are holding nicely, and there’s no signs of infection, so I believe I’ll just wrap the wound well and let it heal. Then we can go about immobilizing your leg a bit more thoroughly, which should make things slightly more bearable for you.”
Pippin said nothing in reply, simply tightening his jaw and bracing himself as best he could while Dag followed through on his words. By the time the healer was done, Pippin felt as limp as a wet cloth and too tired to care much that everyone else was currently preparing to attend Ferumbras’ funeral. It was, of course, out of the question that he attend, but he’d been feeling badly about it, none the less. Now he just wanted to sleep until the newly stirred fire in his leg had faded back down to the dull, achy pain it had been hovering at before.
He drifted for a while, floating on the thin edge of sleep, only distantly aware when Dag packed up his things and left the room, and when his mother came in to sit by his side for a few minutes before kissing him on the brow and leaving to take her place in the funeral procession. Eventually, he slipped off the edge and fell into a deeper sleep where he no longer felt the pain in his leg and the discomfort of lying in the same position for hours on end.
When he woke, several hours later, he was surprised to find Frodo sitting at his side, lap desk across his legs and brow furrowed as he concentrated on whatever he was writing. Yawning and coughing slightly, he shifted enough to reach the pile of handkerchiefs his mother had left by his bedside.
Frodo looked up and put his work aside as Pippin blew his nose. “Cold any better?” he asked solicitously.
Pippin considered for a moment, waking up more thoroughly. He shrugged slightly. “Not any worse, at least,” he answered. He didn’t say anything more for a bit, looking out the window. It was still raining, the sky a dark, forbidding grey that made it hard to judge the time. “Is it…How…” he trailed off, finding it difficult to phrase what he wanted to say, without sounding like a child left out of the fun, which the day had definitely not been, for anyone.
Frodo seemed to understand what he was trying to ask, though. “It was all very decorous,” he answered, “in spite of the rain. The Sackville-Bagginses showed up at the last minute, demanding a prominent place in the procession. Cado slipped them in right behind the Overbanks. They were so indignant at being forced to walk on a muddy path in the rain that they never even noticed they were amongst the common folk.”
Pippin laughed at the satisfaction on Frodo’s face. He really had no feelings towards the Sackville-Bagginses one way or the other, but he knew Frodo’s history with them, and Merry had told the story of Lobelia’s outrageous gall the day after Bilbo’s party often enough he almost felt he’d been there.
Frodo went on to describe the ceremony officially marking Paladin as the new Thain. “It was very simple, really. Saradoc and I, and a few others, went with Paladin to the Thain’s office and signed the new seal. Then we all had a drink, and in about an hour there will be a feast in the grand hall, so that everyone can meet their new Thain.”
Pippin sighed, disappointed to miss the ceremony and the feast, although he wasn’t so sad about not having been out in the rain. Still, even if he couldn’t go to the feast, he knew someone would find a way to bring part of the feast to him. That thought was enough to brighten his mood. He and Frodo talked for a few more minutes before Paladin slipped into the room. Frodo gave the older hobbit a clap on the shoulder and left the two of them alone.
“I saw Dag just before the ceremony,” Paladin began as he sat in the chair Frodo had just vacated. “He tells me your leg is healing nicely.
His Da seemed strangely ill at ease and Pippin wondered what was wrong. “Are you mad at me?” he asked bluntly, deciding to get the worst out as quickly as possible.
“Of course not!” Paladin seemed truly surprised that he would even think so, and Pippin relaxed slightly. “No, I’m not mad at you. I was, frankly, worried half out of my mind when I found you under those branches.” Pal ran a hand through his hair. “You could have died out there before we found you. You most likely would have, if your mother hadn’t got a bit of a feeling and sent me off.”
Pippin didn’t say anything to that. It was completely true and he’d been kicking himself for having got into such a situation. He wasn’t ready, however, to voluntarily promise to stay out of the woods, or whatever dire consequence he was sure his Da was about to set down on him.
“I’m not going to do anything as foolish as asking you to stay close to home,” Paladin continued, as if he’d read his son’s mind. “You’re far too old to be tied to apron strings like that. But,” he paused a moment, leveling a measuring gaze upon Pippin, “I am going to ask that if you’re planning to go walking, you let someone know where you’ve gone, and that you take someone with you.”
“Of course, Da,” Pippin agreed readily, swallowing the bitter knowledge that it would be weeks if not months before he was able to do any walking about at all, let alone adventuring in the woods.
“I hate the timing of this, Pippin,” Paladin burst out, seeming to surprise even himself. “I’m going to be dreadfully busy the next few weeks. And once you’re feeling up to it, I’m going to need your help even more than I did before. Ferumbras’ records are in a shambles, there’s no order to them at all and half of them are almost completely illegible. I’m afraid I’m going to have to put your eyes to work while your leg heals.”
Before Pippin could answer, Eglantine entered the room, looking tired but beautiful in a new dress, with her hair pulled up in loose cascades of curls. “Go on, Pal, you need to get ready,” she murmured, greeting her husband with a kiss to the cheek. “Pippin, how are you feeling?” she asked, turning her attention to her son. “I’m going to brew up some tonic for you, and I believe Merry’s going to bring up a plate of food later, once the feast is under way.”
Pal squeezed Pippin’s hand and slipped out of the room, leaving Eglantine to bustle about, fixing Pippin’s pillows, laying a fresh stack of handkerchiefs by his side and scooping up the old ones. Pippin drank his tonic when it was handed to him, and then settled back with a book. It was going to be a long winter, make no mistake about that.
Epilogue
Pippin stamped his feet in satisfaction as he stood on Bag End’s doorstep, six months later. He’d spent two full months in bed, letting the bone heal, and months after that rebuilding his strength, but now he felt good. He’d walked all the way to Bag End, and while his leg ached a bit, he had only limped a little, and only for the last few miles.
The door opened to reveal the cheerful countenance of Fatty Bolger, who ushered Pippin in with a grin. “You’re just in time,” he said as he followed Pippin down the hall. Merry’s here already and Frodo’s been fending him off, but there wouldn’t have been any food left if you’d been much later.”
It was much later, as the four hobbits pushed back from the table, feeling full and content, that Merry turned to Pippin. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually make it,” he said with a knowing look. “Uncle Pal’s been keeping you pretty busy, hasn’t he”?
Pippin scowled at his cousin. “I’ve been helping him, yes. But that was mainly just to get the records all in order, and now that’s done, he doesn’t really need much help anymore.”
The truth of the matter was, in the beginning Pippin had been ridiculously glad to have something to do, anything to take his mind of the discomfort and boredom of being confined to his bed. And with the transition of leadership so new, Paladin really had needed the help in searching out old ledgers, reports, etc. Pippin, while not able to physically retrieve the materials, had certainly been more than up to the task of marshalling a host of young lads and lasses with nothing better to do. He was also able to decipher the text and copy it in the cases of the most deteriorated or illegible works.
By now, however, he’d brought a fairly rudimentary level of control to the records, and his father was no longer so overwhelmed with the business of being Thain, that Pippin wasn’t truly needed for the job anymore. Not that Paladin saw it that way. He saw it as Pippin suddenly and inexplicably shirking his duties. Which made things a little unpleasant around home right now, one of the reasons Pippin had been so glad to receive an invitation to this little gathering.
Although he couldn’t possibly know all that was passing through Pippin’s head, Merry gave a slow, understanding nod, and pulled out his pipe. “Well, come on,” he said, gesturing with the unlit pipe. “Let’s get down to the business of this meeting. Frodo, you have a Birthday Party to plan, and only a month in which to do it. Your faithful friends and cousins are here to help.”
With that, the foursome moved to the drawing room and settled down to hash out the plans for Frodo’s party. When, several hours later, Frodo asked Pippin if he could help him find something in the study, Pippin waved him off. “Oh, really Frodo, books give me a headache. If you need help finding something, Merry’s your hobbit. Now, if you need a bit of mischief planned, then I’m the one to turn to.”
“Is that so?” Merry growled, mock angry. “I do believe I was the one who planned that little incident with the soap and the chickens, was I not?”
“I never said I didn’t learn from the best,” Pippin replied smugly. “But you’re getting on in years, now. You’re no longer an irresponsible tween like myself. You’re an adult, with adult responsibilities. It’s best if you let youthful pranks stay in the hands of youth.” He smiled sweetly at his cousin, for a fleeting moment before being tackled by Merry and soon they were both rolling around the floor, each trying to pin the other.
“Oh yes,” Fatty said to Frodo with a gleam in his eye, “Merry looks very responsible down there, doesn’t he?”
Frodo snorted. “Very.” A long moment later, as Pippin nearly got pinned by Merry but escaped by what appeared to be unsportsmanlike use of pinching, Frodo stood. “Well, my dear Fatty, shall we adjourn to the kitchen? I have a lovely berry tart and some fresh cream waiting.”
“Ah, yes, that sounds like just the thing.” The two hobbits wandered off, discussing the summer’s berry crop and leaving Merry and Pippin to their struggle.
Much later, after the signs of battle had been cleaned up and berry tart found for the combatants, the four hobbits climbed the hill to sit under a clear, starry sky and smoke their pipes. Stretched out in the grass, finding patterns amongst the stars, Pippin spared a single moment to regret his father’s displeasure, but couldn’t regret the decision he’d made. All too soon, adult responsibilities would weigh him down, but for now, he was going to milk as much fun and joy from life as he could.
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Date: 2008-01-01 04:58 am (UTC)Well done!
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Date: 2008-01-01 05:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-01 05:39 am (UTC)“Is that so?” Merry growled, mock angry. “I do believe I was the one who planned that little incident with the soap and the chickens, was I not?”
“I never said I didn’t learn from the best,” Pippin replied smugly. “But you’re getting on in years, now. You’re no longer an irresponsible tween like myself. You’re an adult, with adult responsibilities. It’s best if you let youthful pranks stay in the hands of youth.” He smiled sweetly at his cousin, for a fleeting moment before being tackled by Merry and soon they were both rolling around the floor, each trying to pin the other.
Love it. A wonderful ending, and congratulations! I'm so proud of you for finishing this story.
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Date: 2008-01-01 03:03 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2008-01-05 03:43 pm (UTC)And it's a great ending too. I especially loved this bit:
“I never said I didn’t learn from the best,” Pippin replied smugly. “But you’re getting on in years, now. You’re no longer an irresponsible tween like myself. You’re an adult, with adult responsibilities. It’s best if you let youthful pranks stay in the hands of youth.” He smiled sweetly at his cousin, for a fleeting moment before being tackled by Merry and soon they were both rolling around the floor, each trying to pin the other.
“Oh yes,” Fatty said to Frodo with a gleam in his eye, “Merry looks very responsible down there, doesn’t he?”
LOL!