Introduction:

Someone asked me once if there was more to the story of Estella taking on the identity of a boy and being hidden amongst the Tooks during the Troubles. There was, and is.

This is most likely set in the “new” version of the Shire I've begun writing, in case anyone wanted to know. Thain Paladin and his family live near Whitwell, not too far from Tuckborough, where he farms “the lands around Whitwell.” It has its roots in The Rebel and A Small and Passing Thing. The Rebel could fit with either version, while A Small and Passing Thing contains an irritable, fault-finding Paladin. However, Estella's adventures from that story scarcely involve Paladin at all, and so I find myself mixing metaphors, so to speak. The two versions find a touchpoint here, in this story.

Prologue

(From The Rebel, Chapter 7.)

‘Quiet!’ Fatty hissed again in frustration. Honestly, sometimes he wondered why he even bothered. But Estella was his sister, and he loved her, when she wasn’t being so irksome.

He put his hand over her mouth for good measure, and she bit him. He managed not to cry out, but gave her a good shake, and somehow the seriousness of the situation reached her at last.

He crouched lower in the underbrush, forcing Estella down beneath him, until the heavy footsteps passed. When he was sure they were well gone, he eased himself off of his sister and carefully took his hand away.

Gasping, she rounded on him. ‘You nearly crushed me, you great oaf!’ she whispered.

‘You nearly gave us away to that ruffian!’ he whispered back. ‘Do you know what he’d do, finding us out after curfew?’ She didn’t, of course. He didn’t either, as a matter of fact, but he’d heard rumours...

Since he’d returned from Crickhollow, things had gone from bad to worse. As if it weren’t bad enough to have those... things come after him; he’d sweated out many a bad hour under the combined questioning of Saradoc, Master of Buckland and Thain Paladin, who wanted, quite reasonably, to know where their sons were. His repeated denials sounded hollow to himself, and when they finally released him to the care of his exasperated father, he was glad to shut himself in his room, and didn’t even mind being on water rations as punishment for this evident prank.

The onset of the Troubles was so gradual that the hobbits didn’t even realise what was happening to their Shire until it was too late, and the ruffians too many to cast out again, except in Tookland, with the ever-suspicious and vigilant Tooks discouraging trespassing on principle. Even hobbits who weren’t Tooks were questioned when they dared to set foot in Tookland. Men were flatly denied access, and as things got worse in the Shire, the determination of the Tooks grew rather than diminished.

Fatty’s father took the view that if they all just sat tight, the storm would blow over and things would be as they always had been. The closing of the inns and Mayor Will’s arrest just after the New Year changed all that. Ever-lengthening lists of new rules and regulations were being imposed on the bewildered hobbits, and pretty lasses were being bothered, even accosted as the ruffians grew bolder.

Fatty, who’d seen evil creeping into the garden at Crickhollow, recognised its grip growing ever stronger on the Shire. He was the one who told his parents that it wasn’t safe for Estella any more, not even if she kept tight indoors.

‘Ruffians are going about gathering,’ he said, ‘and they can knock on any door, and knock down any door where they’re refused admission.’ He looked from his mother to his father. ‘If one of them takes a fancy to Estella...’

His father nodded. When the first tales of “gathering” came to his ears, he’d had the servants do a little of their own gathering. Family heirlooms, the silver, the jewels, and other treasures that could be spirited away under cover of darkness were taken out and buried or hidden in caves up in the hills of Scary. It was on one of these expeditions that Fatty discovered the ruffians were using caves in the area themselves, to store gathered food and supplies. He filed away that knowledge for future reference.

The grand smial had a forlorn look now, with so much of its finery stripped away. The last batch of ruffians had been turned from the door with an explanation, but the next group might not be so easy to satisfy.

‘We have to get her to safety,’ Odovacar said, ‘if there is any place of safety left, these days.’

‘There are no ruffians in Tookland,’ Rosamunda said proudly.

‘Yes, but no one gets in or out of Tookland these days, what with the ruffians keeping watch on the one hand, and the Tooks on the other,’ her husband said glumly.

‘Am I a slice of cake, that you can sit there and discuss my disposition so calmly?’ Estella flared.

‘Hush, daughter, we are concerned for your well-being,’ her father said sternly.

In shock at her father being stern – to her! – a thing that had never happened before to that spoiled only daughter of a rich hobbit, Estella hushed. For the moment.

So it was that Fatty found himself escorting his sister through the dark of the night, through the forest of the Woody End, on his way to Hally the woodcarver’s house. Hally had married a Took, Fatty's cousin Rosemary as a matter of fact. To be truthful, she wasn't exactly a Took anymore, having been disowned by Ferdinand her father for having the temerity to marry a hobbit of her own choosing. Took or not, she was the one to help Fatty. Her brother Ferdibrand was rumoured to be “the Fox”, a Took who was able to get in and out of Tookland on a regular basis, gathering news for the Thain.

After several more close calls, they found the little house in the clearing. ‘Stay here,’ Fatty breathed, secreting Estella behind a fallen log. He crept to the door of the house, light on his feet despite his bulk (though thinner than he used to be, what with the difficulty getting food these days), scratched lightly on the door.

‘Who is it?’ came the call from within.

‘A Bolger,’ he answered. On earlier visits he’d said he was a Took, which was true – his mother was a Took, after all – but the way things were nowadays if any skulking ruffians heard, they’d haul him off to the Lockholes without delay.

The door opened slightly, and Hally Bolger peered out, then the door widened enough for him to draw Fatty – and Estella – within.

‘I thought I told you to stay put!’ Fatty hissed. ‘What if there were ruffians visiting?’ For all he knew, the ruffians bothered the inhabitants of the Woody End just as often as they bothered the hobbits of Bridgefields, which was often, these days.

‘That’s a real worry,’ Hally said. ‘Ruffians often come to share a cup of tea and a bit of news.’ He looked Fatty up and down. ‘So the rich Bolger comes to call in the middle of the night, and brings his sister for a change,’ he said frankly.

He added sourly, ‘What brings you to visit your poor relations, and it not even teatime?’

Fatty looked to Estella, and the woodcarver nodded. ‘I see,’ he said, and Fatty had the feeling that he really did see.

‘What are you doing out after curfew, cousin?’ Rosemary said, coming out of the bedroom with a shawl thrown over her nightdress.

‘It’s too dangerous for my sister to walk about in daylight,’ Fatty said.

Rosemary looked at Estella and sighed. ‘Indeed,’ she said dryly. ‘You are much too pretty for your own good, my dear. A ruffian would eat you for dessert, and not bother with the main course at all.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Estella said haughtily, but her eyes were wide and Fatty could see that she was frightened.

‘In any event,’ Hally said, ‘if a ruffian passes by and sees the lamp burning, he’ll want to know why.’

Rosemary obediently turned the lamp down again, setting it in the window as was custom, a watch lamp to drive away the night and beckon to lost travellers looking for refuge. ‘I’m tired,’ she said, ‘as I’m sure these children are.’

Fatty stiffened at being called a “child” – he was nearly forty, after all!

Rosemary noticed and said gently, ‘I meant no disrespect, it’s only that you’re about my baby brother’s age is all.’

Fatty nodded. It still amazed him that his cousin Ferdibrand could be “the Fox”. Not for the first time, Fatty wondered if he could be brave and bold and do daring deeds, strike a blow against the ruffians.  He wondered yet again what kind of ruffians his cousins and that gardener-fellow faced, if indeed they still lived at all.

‘Let us all seek our beds,’ Hally agreed.

They made up a bed for Estella in their daughters’ room, and tried to give Fatty, as a “rich Bolger” their own bed, protesting that they could sleep easily enough rolled in blankets before the hearth. Fatty would not hear of displacing them, however, and soon persuaded them to allow him to roll up in a blanket before the kitchen fire. Feeling the hard floor against his back, he wondered why he’d done such a stupid thing, but his fatigue from the nerve-wracking journey soon caught up with him. He slept deeply and awakened refreshed, to tuck into the finest breakfast he’d enjoyed since the day his cousins had disappeared into the Old Forest. He gave Rosemary his mother's greeting, and her request that Estella be safely conveyed into Tookland.

After breakfast, Rosemary surveyed Estella once more, and sighed. ‘Entirely too pretty, my dear,’ she said.

‘What am I supposed to say to that?’ Estella snapped. She hated the helpless feeling of being considered “baggage”, to be lugged around by other people without regard to her abilities or feelings.

Rosemary fingered Estella's hair, and Estella jerked away. ‘Still,’ Rosemary said slowly, ‘I think we can manage something.’ She looked to Hally. ‘Why don’t you take our cousin out in the woods and show him how to fell a tree.’

‘I’m sure you’d find it very interesting,’ Hally said promptly. ‘Come along, Fredegar.’

Fatty started to protest, but Rosemary put a hand on his arm.

‘We’re going to be quite busy, Estella and I,’ she said, ‘and cannot abide having you hobbits underfoot.’

He nodded, and after hugging his sister, followed Hally into the woods.

When they returned later, Estella was nowhere to be seen, and a strange boy was sitting at the table, sipping tea. His clothes were a little too big for him; the sleeves were rolled up, the trousers were a little baggy and hastily hemmed. He wore a hat over his short-cropped curls, and he evidently didn’t know much about washing his face.

‘I’d like you to meet my eldest son, Twig,’ Rosemary said. She gave the lad a nudge. ‘Mind your manners, lad, this here’s a gentlehobbit. Don’t act like you’ve never seen one before.’

The lad rose from the bench, giving an awkward bow. ‘At your service,’ he said in a husky voice.

‘At yours, and at your family’s service,’ Fatty returned.

The lad dissolved into laughter – Estella’s laughter, and Rosemary smiled.

‘You’ll do,’ she said.

‘You cut your hair?’ Fatty said to Estella in outrage.

She smiled complacently. ‘I always wanted to,’ she said. ‘I’m tired of tripping over gowns and having my hair come tumbling down at the awkwardest times.’ Maddeningly, her smile brightened. ‘I think this is going to be quite diverting!’

‘You may leave her with us,’ Rosemary said. ‘Go back to Budge Hall, and tell your parents all will be well.’

‘Leave her?’ Fatty protested.

‘My brother will not come around as long as you are here,’ Rosemary said practically. ‘He won’t fear Estella, she’s no more than a lad half-grown, but you, he’ll distrust.’

‘But—’ Fatty said.

‘One day soon, he’ll slip out of the Tookland and stop by for a bite and a bit of news,’ Rosemary said. ‘When he leaves, he’ll take... Twig... back with him. I have every confidence.’

‘Can you let me know when she’s safe?’ Fatty asked slowly.

Regretfully, Rosemary shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, lad,’ she said. ‘That would be too dangerous. If something goes wrong, I’ll try to get word to your parents. Otherwise, just consider that no news is good news.’

That night, Fatty left just after middle night. He managed to evade ruffians, though he had to hide once in the hollow of a tree, and another time in a ditch half-filled with water. When he arrived home, he reported success to his parents.

Not long after that, he gathered some hobbits he trusted, and they began to raid the ruffians’ caves in the hills of Scary, bringing back foodstuffs to the hungry hobbits of Bridgefields. He was betrayed by a hobbit in the employ of the ruffians, one who’d been discharged by his father for negligent work, and escaped by the skin of his teeth, staging a bitter shouting match with Odovacar before storming out of the house, for the benefit of his parents in the eyes of the watching neighbours, some of whom might be informants working for the favour of the ruffians.

Word went about that Fatty Bolger had been disowned by his father for his scurrilous, law-breaking activities, and Lotho Baggins chose to believe the lie, for the time being. He could afford to wait before taking over Budge Hall, and in the meantime, the Bolgers would take good care of it. Once his Big Men were able to seize Fatty and his band of rebels, there would be time to see if Odovacar would save himself by denouncing his son, or if he would try to save his son and forfeit his fortune. Either way, Odovacar would lose his heir, and Lotho would gain the Bolger fortune...

***

Chapter 1. So it begins

The younger children were playing happily on the hearthrug while their mother bustled from cooking fire to table and back again. Estella sat upon the floor with them, glorying in the freedom conferred by boyish attire. No need to worry about getting her skirts dusty, or even tearing the delicate fabric her mother and grandmother preferred.

She pushed her small carven rabbit across the floor, squeaking mischief, to the little ones' delight. The naughty rabbit ate himself full from the farmer's garden, and had to go to bed with an aching tummy, a dose of camomile tea, and could only listen to his well-behaved sisters feasting on currant buns.

Freddy sat at table nursing a mug of tea, a thoughtful look on his face as he watched his nearly grown-up sister play the part of a much younger lad. She certainly seemed at ease. Memory stirred, then, of Frodo's visits to Budge Hall, sometimes with Merry at his side, and Estella dogging their footsteps... at least, until her grandmother decreed that she'd grown too old for such pursuits, and convinced their mother that Estella must exchange her shorter skirts for long, lace-trimmed dresses, and learn to sit and move gracefully, to converse with reserved elegance, to hold her hands just so and any number of other little constraints. He'd pitied her at first, her bright, blithe spirit confined like a pony chafing under a bearing rein, but he'd grown used to it, as she had. Or so he'd thought.

The older children spilled into the little smial, full of laughter and news. '...and then Scar said...'

Freddy shivered as he realized their casual references involved a pair of lurking ruffians, set to watch and worry at the hobbits living in the area. '...and we told them...'

'And they'll stay away, you think?' Rosemary said, her spoon arrested mid-stir, though she kept a light and playful tone as if she and the children were playing at a game.

A dangerous game, Freddy thought to himself.

'Oh yes!' the little lass laughed. 'They won't come near so long as they think Buckthorn is fevered!'

'We must be sure he plays his part,' Rosemary said, half to herself, but then she smiled and laid down her spoon. She crossed to the rocking chair and took up the shawl draped there, and then to the hearth to wrap a squirming little Buckthorn well. 'Now, now,' she said, 'should a ruffian look in the window, you'll be warmly covered. And...' she added, holding the little lad by the shoulders and stilling him with a serious look. 'Should Scar or Three-Fingers knock upon the door, what will you do?'

Buckthorn broke into a paroxysm of coughs, very convincing, and Rosemary nodded satisfaction. 'That'll drive them away quicker than midges in the Marish,' she said, and rose with a pat for the little lad's shoulder. 'Fine work, my lad. You'll find a little something extra in your pay packet, I'm sure...'

Freddy looked up at this, surprised, but Rosemary was smiling. In truth, it was something one of the gentry might say to a working hobbit, something that Hally had recounted at table more than once, imitating a pompous tone and shaking his head at the airs some of the gentry assumed, when a simple “thanks” would be enough. Freddy, being of the gentry, would likely miss the jest.

'Now you lads go out and fetch more wood for the fire!' Rosemary said. 'You too, Twig!'

Estella rose from the hearth, brushing at her clothes, only to be corrected. 'A boy wouldn't brush off the dust,' Rosemary said, staying Estella's hand. Pretending insult, she added, 'As if there's any dust on that hearth...!'

'I beg your pardon...' Estella began in her usual well-bred tones, but at Rosemary's stern look she blushed, and stammering a little, began again in lower tones. 'B-beg pardon, Mistress.'

'Better,' Rosemary said with a nod, then raised her voice. 'Now, Robin, the wood...!'

'Come along, Twig,' the oldest lad said, moving to the door. His mother had corrected him earlier, when he'd bowed to Estella out of habit as he took his leave. Hally had sent older son and daughter out, ostensibly to hunt for tender greens near the smial. Their real mission had been to run into some of the ruffians who infested the neighbourhood and drop the hint that their cousin Twig had come to visit, and seemed to have brought fever with him. Estella's not here, Rosemary had said as she stopped her eldest son mid-bow, laughing though her eyes were deadly serious. Remember? She was never here –she was but a dream in the night. Twig is here, come just as darkness was falling, and wouldn't he laugh to be thought a girl!

And so Freddy sat at table, nursing his tea, and said not a word as his sister went out with Robin to do boys' work. Poor boys' labour at that; Freddy hadn't lifted a hand in “honest labour” that he could remember, at least not while visiting his Bolger relatives, and certainly not at home where there were servants to do the work. He'd found visits to Bilbo in his earlier years, and to Frodo later, curiously refreshing. He'd felt a different hobbit altogether, having to turn his hand at carrying wood and water, laying the table, cooking a meal – and strangely restless, upon returning home and having to be idle whilst others worked.

But after Robin and Twig were well gone and the door closed after them, Freddy cleared his throat.

'Yes, cousin?' Rosemary said brightly.

'Why the play?' Freddy said. 'Ferdi's not even here yet, and Estella's only a “boy” while they travel through the occupied country. Once they reach the Tooks, she'll be herself again.' He shook his head, adding under his breath, 'I cannot believe you cut off all her hair for the journey... how she'll look, in a gown again, with her head shorn!'

'Too easy for hair tucked up under a cap to come tumbling down,' Rosemary said. 'And they'll be travelling near a week as it is.'

'A week!' Freddy said, startled.

Rosemary fixed him with a stern look. 'How long did it take you to make your way here from Bridgefields?' she said.

'I... well...' Freddy stammered, and then said, '...but there were ruffians about, and we must travel by dark!' He took a sip of his tea and added, 'It is but two days' walk to Tuckborough from here!' It had taken Frodo, Pippin and Sam two days to walk from Bag End to the Woody End, at the start of their journey. He wondered where they might be now, and Merry with them.

'Two days' walk, in good weather, with no ruffians about,' Rosemary said. 'And walking a straight line, not a round about way.'

'I...' Freddy said, but Rosemary wasn't done.

'Estella must be Twig, not merely play the part,' she said intently, sinking down on the opposite bench to stare into Freddy's eyes. 'Do you understand? They will likely encounter ruffians on their way, and the closer to the Tookland the thicker the rotters swarm.'

'I thought the Fox was adept at avoiding ruffians,' Freddy said, challenge in his tone.

Rosemary shook her head, but her gaze never left Freddy's. 'A hobbit travelling alone,' she said. 'A hobbit who knows the country as well as the fur atop his foot. Aye,' she said, a little of the Tookish lilt that she'd learnt to suppress showing through for a moment in her irritation. 'A hobbit who can scurry up a tree fast as a squirrel when he hears ruffians blundering towards him, or into a hollow log without so much as a rustle of leaves.' She shook her head again, and now she looked away, as if avoiding Freddy's gaze as much as she had commanded it a moment ago. 'Not encumbered by a lass unused to walking on anything but smooth floors, or anywhere wilder than a garden path.'

Freddy found himself holding his breath. He wondered if he could ever do the same as Ferdi was said to be doing, and on a regular basis. Playing “I hide and you seek me” with ruffians!

He let his breath out in a sigh. 'Of course,' he said. 'And it's for Estella's own good. For her protection...'

'Oh no,' Rosemary corrected him as she rose from her seat to tend to the bubbling stew. 'True, it will protect her, to be Twig so convincingly that no ruffian will suspect otherwise. But it's my own brother's safety I'm thinking of...'

Chapter 2. Into the Darkness

Freddy left just after middle night. The little Bolgers had long been a-bed by then, but Rosemary and Hally sat up with their guest until Hally deemed it time for him to be going. They sat in near-darkness, with only a small fire on the hearth to warm them and give light. The lamp was turned down and placed in the window, a watch-lamp to guide the lost to shelter, as was custom in the deeps of the Woody End, and other places in the Shire.

Of course, most Shirefolk these days could not keep the practice, not with the shortage of lamp oil, the way things were with the ruffians in charge of everything. Hally and Rosemary did not seem concerned, however with conserving their oil. Estella was glad for this. It might have been much harder for Freddy and herself to find the woodcarver's humble cot the previous night, groping through the wood in utter darkness, the stars hidden by clouds, without that light shining from the window.

The hobbits sat quietly, for the most part. If a passing ruffian were to hear talk or song or laughter coming from the little smial, he'd want to know why.

They'd exhausted most of the family news as they'd sat at table before the little ones were put to bed, anyhow. There wasn't much left to tell, and the near-darkness made them sleepy. At least, it made Estella sleepy.

She was half in a doze when Hally rose to his feet, startling her awake.

'Middle night,' he said. 'Or just past. The moon has set, and it won't get any darker than it is now.'

'I'd best make my way, then,' Freddy answered.

'You won't lose your way?' Rosemary whispered. 'The sky's clear above the treetops, of a mercy, and if you know your stars...'

'I know them,' Freddy answered. 'Frodo showed me...' His voice grew a little husky, and he cleared his throat and said no more.

Estella swallowed down a hard lump in her throat. Frodo, gone now, gone into the Old Forest with Merry and the others. All of them, vanished, as if the forest had swallowed them up. The general feeling from what she'd heard was that they'd never come back, though Freddy always set his lips in a thin line when the subject was brought up, and his look would grow distant, for a moment or two, and then he'd begin to speak briskly of something else.

She saw Freddy looking at her with that sober expression he'd worn all too often lately, but instead of feeling annoyance she felt now grief, and a fear that went all the way to her bones. He'd been planning something; she knew the signs – for the past fortnight he'd been making plans and preparations, though he wouldn't admit to anything, and she'd been seriously put out when he'd suggested sending her off to Tookland “for safety” as he'd said. She'd thought perhaps he was simply trying to keep his private business private, just as in the old days when he and Frodo or Merry had planned mischief together, and he'd sent her, trusting little sister that she'd been before growing wise to his ways, to the parlour with a question for Mother, and of course their mother had always found some task for Estella, to keep her out of the lads' way.

But lads' mischief it wasn't, not any more, but serious business, perhaps deadly serious.

She flew to him as he rose from his seat, throwing her arms around his bulk and burying her face in his shirt with a wordless sob.

She felt his arms encircle her; he patted her back, murmuring soothing-sounding nonsense. 'There-there, Stell, there-there...' At least he didn't think her so young and stupid that he mouthed the old platitude that everything would be all right. Of course it wouldn't. Why else was he sending her away to find safety?

She managed to put words to her fear, lifting her head to gaze earnestly into his face. 'O Freddy,' she sobbed. 'Will I ever see you again?'

He hesitated, and that hesitation spoke more than a plethora of promises.

She gasped, and then steadied herself, leaning her head against his shirt to wipe away the tears; and then she looked up with a trembling smile. 'Go carefully,' she whispered, and winked her eyes hard to forestall more tears.

His arms tightened a moment and then he kissed her tenderly on her forehead before pulling away to offer final thanks to Hally and Rosemary, and then he had slipped out the door, silent for all his bulk. He was gone.

Estella caught her breath, forcing a fist against her mouth and biting her knuckles hard. He was going into danger, she knew that for certain now, and he didn't know if he'd return. Perhaps he was going after Frodo... but she couldn't call after him, she couldn't alert lurking ruffians to his going, her parting gift must be to let him go in silence.

'Come, lass,' Rosemary said, slipping an arm about her shoulders, and then with a rare blush corrected herself. 'Lad. It's time to sleep.' She'd been more affected by the brother and sister's parting than she wanted to admit. Every time Ferdi visited, every time he slipped out the door into the dark wood, and no telling if the ruffians were nearby, only the darkness for cover, darkness that could hide murderous ruffians as well as her brother...

'Time to sleep,' Hally echoed. He shoved the heavy bar into place. Bucklanders might be peculiar folk, but the hobbits of the Woody End had begun to imitate them in the way of barring and locking doors. Hally had no lock, and no way to make or buy one, not the sort that worked with a key; but being a woodcarver he'd fashioned a workable bar since the coming of the ruffians, and he employed it at night, and only wished the ruffians could be locked out of the Shire quite as effectively and completely.

He turned away as Rosemary guided the lass – lad, he corrected himself – to the waiting roll of blankets before the hearth, and went to his and Rosemary's bed to punch up the pillows and turn down the covers for his wife, to welcome her when she should finish what ever it was she was whispering to the la... lad. He was asleep before she joined him.

If anyone heard Estella crying herself to sleep (and they might not've, for she buried her face well in her pillow to stifle any sound), well, no one remarked upon it when the morning light came creeping through the window and it was time to start the tasks of the day.

Chapter 3. Visitors

The ruffians came when Estella and Robin were gathering sticks that had fallen in last night's wind. A week now, she'd been at the forest Bolgers', waiting for the Fox to come and fetch her, and no knowing how much longer it might be. A week of ceaseless practice, until she began to feel she really was Robin's boy cousin. She'd made no careless errors this morning, anyhow, from rising through breakfast time and chores.

'Hoi, little Rob!' came a rough voice, and in spite of herself Estella startled, but Robin grabbed at her sleeve and stood firm, looking up without apparent fear, a smile on his grimy face, for he'd recently wiped away the sweat generated when they'd run a few foot races after pulling weeds from the little kitchen garden, and before starting their wood gathering task.

Estella's face was dirty, too, for she'd pulled weeds and run races with Robin and sweated – actually sweated! ...something that would have appalled her grandmother no end, and the scolding that would have followed! Her grandmother's voice rang in her ears, even as Robin greeted the three ruffians who'd entered the clearing, in his most cheerful and enthusiastic tones.

Ponies sweat, gentlehobbits perspire, and ladies glow...

A trickle of sweat threatened now to run into her eyes, and she lifted her arm to wipe her sleeve across her forehead, further smearing the dirt on her face.

'...and this is my cousin Twig,' Robin was saying, and he gave Estella a theatrical nudge with his elbow.

Estella gave a creditable bow, cleared her throat, and said in as husky a voice as she could manage, 'At yer service, sirs, and yer families' into the bargain.'

'Knows his manners, does he?' one of the ruffians said with a guffaw.

'Mum taught him,' Robin said, lifting his chin in a superior manner. 'His folk, they live back in the back of the Woody End, and they don't know much.'

'Do too!' Estella protested with a sniff. She drew her sleeve across her nose for good measure, and glared at the little lad, though of course she wasn't really put out at all. As a matter of fact, she was rather impressed with the way he stood up to the ruffians, looking them straight in the eye as if they didn't tower more than twice the lad's height.

'Better pick on someone your own size,' the ruffian advised Robin. 'If looks were fit to kill...'

Robin looked shocked at this, and Estella blinked a little at the wording, but she had her reputation to keep up, and so she cleared her throat again, turned her head, and spat. A week's practice had done her some good – she could spit as well as Robin, and nearly so well as Hally.

'Twig! Mum says don't spit in the yard!'

Estella merely humphed, standing a little straighter, though what she really wished was to find a good hiding place and use it.

The three ruffians laughed. 'I can see you've got your hands full, Rob!' another of the ruffians said.

'Hullo!' Rosemary's voice came from the doorway of the smial, and all turned to see her. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, a smile upon her face, and not even an anxious smile, but seeming genuine, to Estella's eyes. 'Scar, Three-fingers, Mossy... what brings you to my door this fine day?' She nodded to each in turn, then gestured toward the depths of the woods. 'Hally's not here, if you were hoping for some carving or other...?'

It wouldn't be too hard to remember their names. Scar had a great red mark on one cheek, Three-fingers was missing two digits on his left hand, and Mossy? Well, there was no moss growing on him. It was probably some sort of mannish name, after the manner of the Big Folk who lived in the Breeland, such as she'd heard from a travelling tinker when he'd stopped at the Manse to repair a pot or two.

'Well now,' said the ruffian Rosemary had addressed as "Scar". 'Mossy here remembered...' he cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, and Estella stared in wonder before hurriedly resuming her truculent expression, '...that this would be your baking day, and...'

Rosemary took a deep breath, and her face assumed a look of distress.

Estella had heard her talking with Hally the previous evening, their voices low that the sleeping children might not awaken, but Estella had been awake, and had heard. Eating us out of smial and home. She'd wondered if she were putting a strain on the forest Bolgers' pantry, and resolved to restrain herself. At breakfast that morning, she'd said she wasn't very hungry... even though she was...

'I – I'm that sorry,' Rosemary stammered. 'But you see...' She stopped and blushed.

The ruffians' pleasant expressions were not quite so pleasant, Estella saw, anticipating refusal. They were used to having their way, after all, and who was Rosemary to refuse them?

'I – I don't have anything made,' Rosemary confessed, her face falling, cheeks flushed with evident embarrassment. She looked up, holding up a staying hand. 'But you – you wait right there, and I'll stir up some griddle cakes for you...'

The Men began to smile at this, only to frown as she added, '...we've still some acorn flour to fall back on, though when that's gone I don't know what we'll do...' She twisted her hands in her apron, now with an anxious look. 'Acorn flour cakes are a bit bitter,' she said, her eyes large with concern. 'I wish we had some sweetening or jam or honey for sweetening, but we've run short on everything and food is so dear these days, even if we could find someone to trade with, 'twould take all the wood Hally's cut, and more...'

It was true, breakfast had been somewhat scanty that morning. Estella wondered if her visit, and Freddy's, had strained their cousins' hospitality. They ought to have brought a sack of food with them, in accord with the trying times in the Shire at present...

Scar held up a staying hand of his own. 'You're that short?' he said in an officious tone.

Rosemary dropped her eyes to her apron, which she continued to twist in her hands. 'I – I'm sorry,' she said in low tones. 'I've always shared freely of my baking, and you've every right to expect it, but truth be told, there won't be any more baking, as things stand...'

Estella clenched her fists at her sides in fury to see Rosemary grovel so, and when she glanced at Robin she saw that he, too, had lost his smile and was biting his lip and blinking hard.

'Well!' Mossy said in disgust. 'What'd we make the hike all the way out here for, then? Surely they've something we can...'

Scar hushed him roughly, and then turned with elaborate politeness to Rosemary. 'I'm that sorry to have bothered you, Missus,' he said, and Estella caught her breath in astonishment, and then bit her lip hard that she might not show it in front of these ruffians. Who knew what they might do?

Rosemary made a courtesy. 'It's no bother,' she said as if breathless. 'Why, with Hally so often away, cutting wood, I would be the first to say it's a pleasure to have company, someone to talk to, besides the little ones, all the day long...'

Scar chuckled. 'You can say that again,' he said. 'You've never turned us away hungry before, Rosie, and you've always been right welcoming and kind... sort of like a little bit of home.'

Rosemary made another courtesy. 'I hate to think of you all, so far from your homes,' she said, 'and lonely for your mothers, I've no doubt.'

Mossy started to snicker at this, but Three-fingers elbowed him hard and gave Rosemary a sketchy bow. 'Very kind, Missus, I'm sure.'

'We'll just be taking our leave,' Scar said.

Rosemary started up from the doorway. 'I – I can offer you a refreshing drink of cold water from the spring,' she said, her face hopeful at the sudden thought that she would not have to send the Men away completely unsatisfied.

'No – no,' Scar said, shaking his head, 'very kind of you, Rosie, but we'll manage, I'm sure.' And cuffing Mossy along the side of his head, he said, 'Come along, you louts. We've other fish to be frying.'

Estella exchanged glances with Robin, and held her breath, but the other two Men followed Scar's lead, muttering good-byes and turning to walk out of the clearing the way they had come.

When they were well gone, Robin moved from his frozen stance at last, running to his mother and throwing his arms around her waist. 'Mum! Mum, is it well with you?'

Rosemary had slumped against the doorway, shaking, after the ruffians were gone, but now she straightened to embrace her young son. 'I am well, Robin-lad, well indeed,' she said, and she gestured to Estella to join them, drawing an arm around the boy-clad girl's shoulders and hugging them both. 'You did well, the both of you! They know that Twig, our cousin, is visiting, probably because "his" family is poorer than ours, and they didn't have time or the inclination to ask any more questions... and likely they won't think of it later, now that they've seen him hauling wood with you, Robin. Well done, Twig!'

She took a deep, shuddering breath and then thrust them away again. 'Now, children,' she said briskly, 'I do believe there's wood to be gathering!'

Chapter 4. An Un-Expected Party

Hally came home not long after the midday meal (which was, as Rosemary had told the ruffians, made chiefly of acorn-flour griddle cakes), whistling as usual, bearing several rabbits he'd snared. Robin and Parsley ran to greet him, chattering about the ruffians' visit. He met Rosemary's eye with a lifted brow; she gave a quick nod and dismissive gesture, and he nodded in return, turning his attention back to the children.

Estella had seen the whole exchange, reading it accurately as "catch you up on the news when the children are asleep," and she resolved not to sleep, but rather pretend she was sleeping, for she had the feeling that there was more here than met the eye.

'...and Twig spat, ever so well as you'd taught him,' Robin was saying. 'I'd be hard pressed to spit as well, but do you know what I did instead?'

'What did you do?' Hally said, with apparently deep interest.

'I scolded him! I told him Mum don't let us spit in the yard,' Robin said proudly.

'As is true,' Rosemary said firmly. 'You're only to spit in the yard when I'm not there, and your dad is teaching the fine points of spitting to visiting relations!'

'But Twig would have known spitting already, having come from so deep in the woods where they don't have any manners.'

'O we have manners,' Estella interjected in her well-practiced husky, low-pitched voice, and she brandished a clenched fist. 'We knows how to keep a civil tongue in the heads of younger cousins, we does!'

'You tell him, Twig,' Hally said with a wink. 'And now that I think on it, I think it's time you learnt to skin and gut rabbits, for our dinner won't cook itself, and my Rosie won't cook the rabbits until we've made them ready!'

Estella barely held back a gulp, but forced her chin high. 'Don't see why you have to skin them first,' she said in her best churlish tone. 'We never do!'

'Well, we're a bit more civilised here, closer to the Stock Road, than you are deep in the woods,' Hally said. 'You'll have to make allowances.'

Estella grudged that she'd try, though it was a lot of bother, and then she bravely went to her lessons. She watched as Hally beheaded, skinned and cleaned the first rabbit, and then he turned the knife over to her. She took the knife and took up the second rabbit with a disdainful sniff, to cover the roiling in her innards, but soon was so interested in what she was doing – why, the skin came off almost as a glove might, of a piece – that she forgot to be sick.

Robin clamoured to try next, and soon he was holding up his rabbit's carcase as if it were a prize, his face beaming.

'Very good, lads!' Hally said. 'Now let's get this last rabbit taken care of, and soon supper will be on.' He handed the task over to Estella, and she managed without a quiver, nearly so quickly and efficiently as he'd been when he'd demonstrated the technique.

They washed the carcases and brought them to Rosemary, and she and little Parsley soon had them bubbling away in a pot, seasoned with herbs and some new onions from the kitchen garden.

'Mmm, herbs and stewed rabbit!' Robin shouted, only to be hushed by his mother.

'We don't want any lurking ruffians to hear,' she said as Hally turned towards her, and sobering he nodded, before deliberately grinning once more and picking up young Buckthorn, to throw him in the air and catch him again, a game the faunt seemed to relish. Estella scowled as she understood. The forest Bolgers were on the edge of hungering, and ruffians coming to share their meal, or steal it altogether, would be a terrible end to the day.

That night after the children were put to bed, Estella feigned weariness, though she was only half-pretending. 'All that gathering wood,' she said, 'and milking the two goats, and running races with Robin, and weeding, and skinning, and chopping–' for Hally had taught her how to chop wood the day after Freddy left, and she'd been chopping each day. Her sore muscles were hardening nicely, and she went to bed tired each night, a good sort of tired, and slept well.

This night she turned herself on her pallet before the kitchen fire until she found a comfortable position, and soon she had fallen into deep and even breathing.

The doors to the bedrooms were left open, and there was no hallway, but the bedrooms opened directly onto the main room, a sort of combination of sitting room and kitchen with a large hearth for warmth and cooking. Three bedrooms there were, Hally and Rosemary's (the babe slept there as well), a room for the two older boys, and one for the two girls. Estella didn't quite fit either, really, and there was no guest room, but she'd told them she didn't mind sleeping in front of the kitchen fire. It had been good enough for Freddy, after all! ...not to mention, as a backwoods cousin she was used to sleeping upon the floor... or ought to be used to such.

The doors were left open, as mentioned, so that Rosemary could hear if any of the children cried out in the middle of the night. Thus Estella, if she listened hard, was able to hear the parents' low-voiced conversation, at least the better part of it.

She nodded as Rosemary recounted the ruffians' visit, and held her breath to hear Hally's questions, and then his comment when his wife was done. 'You did well, Rosie,' he said. 'Well, indeed, and I thank you for your courage. I'd not have done half so well.'

'No need for you to swallow your pride,' Rosemary said. ' 'Twould be that hard, I think, to admit to the ruffians that you couldn't feed your family... though feed us you did, a fine meal indeed, what with no flour or meal to be had in the market.'

'No market,' Hally said, and Estella imagined him shaking his head. 'Not with the ruffians having gathered all the foodstuffs they could, and who'd be fool enough to display what they'd hidden away from those thieving Men? No, but we'll have to live off the land, unless...'

'So long as the rabbits keep putting their heads in your snares,' Rosemary said.

'And there are mushrooms,' Hally said, 'and wild roots, and soon the wild strawberries will be ripe, and I ought to be able to find a bee tree again this year, and then there are squirrels, and if we're lucky, perhaps a deer...'

'You'll have to be very careful if you're thinking of that,' Rosemary said. 'Lotho's claimed all the deer, and it's worth a hobbit's life to shoot one...'

'I'm rather hoping they'd turn the blind eye,' Hally said, 'especially after all of our flour you've fed them, in cakes and bread.'

'Ha.'

'...in any event, if they stick their noses in, we'll just feed them on venison and then they won't have anything to report to their precious Boss, now, will they?'

'A goodly thought,' Rosemary answered, and yawned, and soon the talk petered out, and all was quiet, until Hally began to snore. It didn't take Estella long to fall asleep, for the day's exercise had tired her in truth, and even snoring could not keep her wakeful for long, once she had relaxed her will to stay awake.

Breakfast next morning was acorn cakes again, with leftover rabbit gravy spooned over, and the young hobbits ate it all up and would have asked for more, had there been any point in it.

They had just finished the washing up, and Hally had not yet shouldered his ax, when there was a loud, gruff hail from the yard.

Rosemary's head jerked up and she paused in her sweeping, her eyes wide with alarm. 'They never come two days running!' she gasped.

Hally took a deep, steadying breath. 'Perhaps they're wanting me to carve them whistles, or whatnot,' he said, but Estella could see he was worried. He took another deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and went to the door, pulling it open, shouting a cheerful greeting.

'Scar! What brings you here? I mean, what can we do for you? Welcome!' He stepped through the door, pulling it nearly closed behind him (as if that would keep his loved ones safe from the ruffians' ire, Estella thought to herself), but a moment later he was calling for Rosemary to "come quick!"

Rosemary hurried to the door, broom still in her hand, the older children crowding close to her skirts, Estella in their midst, and as the door swung open all of them gasped in unison at the sight that met their eyes.

Ruffians! Half a dozen or so, bearing burdens, and a waggon behind them with more.

'Where do you want these?' Scar said, indicating the Men behind him, heavy flour sacks on their shoulders.

'I–' Hally said, but could not manage any more.

Rosemary jumped into action. 'Here,' she said, stepping back through the door and pushing the children aside. 'The pantry, just off this way...!' Though her head was spinning at this unexpected visit, and accompaniment, she rose to the occasion. (And if it were a ruffians' trick, to see if she'd been truthful the previous day, well, they'd see for themselves that the pantry was empty save a few hanging sprigs of dried spices and half a sack of acorns. There was more food, an emergency supply, hidden behind the wood in the shed, but even that was dwindling.)

Open-mouthed, the hobbits watched the Men duck into the doorway, each bearing a heavy sack. 'Flour,' Scar said, and half a dozen sacks of flour were deposited in a neat pile in the pantry. This was fine-sifted wheat flour, and the next round brought barley flour, and then sacks of meal and grain. There were dried apples and sultanas, casks of lard, butter, and pickled vegetables, a side of bacon, several large hams, a generous supply of salteratus, yeast, salt, pepper, and other spices, tea, and even several large sacks of sugar!

Rosemary began to blink away tears as a large wheel of cheese was brought in, but it was the crates of chickens that really made her tears begin to flow. She held her apron to her streaming eyes and sobbed.

Scar, not understanding, said, 'Not to worry, Missus! We brought the grain to feed them; it's already in your pantry. 'Twon't take your Hally long to build them a pen, after all.'

'Oh,' Rosemary sobbed, getting hold of herself. 'But no, Scar, it's that... I don't know what to say to such kindness...!'

'Just say "thank you" and be done with it,' Mossy growled, for he was one of the burden bearers, and rather disgruntled with the whole affair. He was used to loading up a waggon from hobbits' stores, not the other way around! But Scar had assured them that it was not the Bolgers they were benefiting, but themselves. Rosemary was a dab hand at baking and cooking, and the ruffians had grown used to coming around and cadging a meal whenever they could get away from their regular duties of bullying and bothering the hobbits of Stock and its surroundings.

When they were only halfway done, Rosemary stirred up the fire, opened one of the sacks of flour, and began the makings of sweet cakes, fried quickly in hot fat and sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. Smelling the good smell of baking, the ruffians grew cheerier, and several even began to sing as they worked. (Rosemary quickly sent the children out to gather sticks, that they might not hear some of the words in the songs.)

When the unloading was finished, the pantry was bulging with good things and the chickens squawked in their crates, stacked out of the direct sun and awaiting Hally's coop. Everyone sat down together to feast upon Rosemary's cakes, and a merry time was had by all.

Estella could almost believe that Men were not so bad as she'd thought, until Rosemary had put the little ones down for a nap, and the Men began to tell the stories of how they'd gathered all this food, and more, in the first place. A bite of sweet cake turned to dust in her mouth, and she wished she could spit it out, but that the Men would notice.

Hally noticed first, and it was a good thing, for he scowled at her, then popped a large bite of cake into his mouth, then grinned – more grimace than grin, but Estella got the message. The cake stuck in her throat when she tried to swallow, and she choked. A solicitous Scar thumped her on the back.

'Sorry!' she gasped, hating him nevertheless. 'Went down wrong.'

'I should say,' Scar acknowledged, and then he rose. 'But the day's a wasting, and the Sun's at her zenith! We must away, we've other fish to be frying...'

With a chorus of gruff thanks, the ruffians piled into the waggon and were on their way.

Chapter 5. A Busy Day

After quickly putting together a shelter for the chickens, Hally went to the woods that day, "as usual" – for, as Rosemary explained to Estella after the littlest children had been put to bed for their afternoon nap, it was not a good thing to depart from "usual" with ruffians always about. However, once Parsley, Buckthorn, little Lavvy and the babe were safely asleep, she gestured to Robin and Estella to follow her to the storeroom, and to sit themselves down in the small space that was left after the ruffians had stowed away the ill-gotten gains, er, bounty.

Wondering, Estella obeyed. Rosemary turned about again, leaving the door ajar, and left them. Estella looked a question at Robin, but the lad only shrugged, and then leaned back against a stack of grain sacks and closed his eyes. Very economical, Robin was. If he was not to be sent to bed to nap with the others, he'd take his rest while he could, for his mother obviously had some employment or other in mind, just so soon as she returned.

...and return she did, with a stack of folded empty sacks draped over one arm, and carrying her sewing basket in the other hand. She put a finger to her lips and whispered, 'I've made forms in the beds; if any lurking ruffian should peek in at the windows, they'll think all of us asleep, as usual.'

Estella nodded. "As usual" had reared its head once again, and yes, if she stayed with Rosemary and the children and did not accompany Hally into the woods, the custom in the little house was for everyone to lie down after the noontide meal, for a good hour or two of rest. The pantry was windowless, and pulling the door half-shut ensured that they could not be seen from any of the windows; yet Rosemary would hear at once if one of the little ones awakened or cried out in their sleep.

Now she held up a sack, and Estella realised a demonstration was at hand. She nudged Robin with her elbow and he sat up straight and opened his eyes wide. Rosemary cut the sacking into pieces, took up a piece and folded it in half, matching the sides. She threaded a needle and proceeded to sew up the two sides, then hemmed around the mouth and held up the finished article to view. Estella gasped as she realised that the larger piece of sacking, that had in its time held perhaps an hundredweight, had yielded a small sack to begin, and a fair number by the time it had yielded up all its fabric. Robin nodded to show his understanding, reached into the sewing basket and retrieved a needle and threaded it. He nudged Estella with an elbow of his own and nodded at the sewing basket. Estella followed his example, cheeks burning that the much younger hobbit should have grasped his mother's intent so much more quickly than she had.

Rosemary cut the sacking into more pieces, handing a piece each to Robin and Estella. While they sewed, she made quick work with her shears, cutting more pieces, until quite a tidy pile sat before them, and then she threaded her own needle and began to sew. If Estella had been surprised at a lad being asked to sew, it didn't last long. She was hard pressed to keep up with Robin's quick, neat stitches; and he sewed them tiny and closely spaced into the bargain, well suited to the seam of a flour-bag, as a matter of fact. Estella had not enjoyed the sewing her grandmama had insisted on, silly things like samplers and handkerchiefs and fancy stitching, but this – for some reason this more practical sewing gave her the feeling of contributing to the welfare of Hally and Rosemary's family, and so she bent to her work with a will. It was not too long before she was setting straight, even stitches as fine as Robin's, and not often pricking her fingers or breaking the thread.

By the time the little ones awakened, they'd accumulated a fair number of small sacks. At little Lavender's wakening cry, Rosemary rose, put her needle and thread away, and took up the newly-sewed bags, rolling them together and secreting them in a small space between the grain sacks and the wall. Estella hurried to finish her final seam, and soon she and Robin had put away their needles, secreted their sacks with the others, packed the thread back in the sewing basket, and put the basket back on its shelf near the hearth, out of reach of little fingers.

The rest of the day went "as usual", filled with chores and games and baking. It was not Rosemary's usual baking day, but she'd had so little to work with, the past two weeks, and now such bounty, it seemed a good day for catching up the larder, so to speak, and so they baked, and how they baked! There was bread, with a fine, yeasty smell – both wholemeal and fine-sifted loaves – and apple and cherry hand-pies made with dried fruit from the ruffians' bounty, and scones, fairy cakes, gingerbread, shortbread and other biscuits, until the table was spread full of cooling loaves and whatnot, and good smells filled the little smial.

Eventides was a jolly meal, with much feasting, and surprisingly, no ruffians appeared though the smell of baking perfumed the air outside as well as in. Hally returned to say he'd seen one or two of the fellows in the woods, but for whatever reason they hadn't returned to sample Rosie's baking, and all the better for him!

The little ones ate to their hearts' content, as did Estella, now that she knew that there was plenty in the storeroom and no one would go hungry on her account. At last the small ones were put to bed, and Rosemary returned to her baking, enough for an army of ruffians, or the entire neighbourhood, or both – or so it seemed to Estella. Yet Hally made no comment, simply blew out the lamps, all but the watchlamps in each bedroom and in a window of the main room, before walking softly to the storeroom. He lit no lamp but set to work, from the subdued sound of it, in near darkness. Rosemary, too, worked by the dim light of hearth fire and watchlamp, and though she yawned once or twice her hands were deft as she rolled out more dough and cut shapes, and soon more good smells arose to enrich the already fragrant air.

Estella got up from her pallet before the hearth and crept to the storeroom, where it sounded as if more than one mouse were scritching amongst the grain sacks. Her eyes had adjusted well to the dim light, for she'd kept her back to the fire, and so she could see Hally in the near darkness. He was busy filling one of the smaller sacks they'd sewn that day, taking from a larger sack – barley, she thought.

He looked up as her shadow fell over his work. 'Bed!' he whispered, even as he tied the sack shut and reached for another.

'Can I help?' Estella said in as low a tone.

Hally considered a moment, then she heard him breathe, 'Make a form of yourself with a bolster or two – that a ruffian peering in at the window would see "you" sleeping before the hearth as you have done since your arrival, and you may help me...'

She did.

They must have filled sacks until midnight, or so Estella thought, but at last the smaller sacks she and Robin and Rosemary had sewn were all full of good things, barley, wheat, flour, sugar, salt, dried fruit, a variety of foodstuffs, and stacked carefully to one side. Hally stood up and straightened his back, stretching, and Estella did, too. He stepped close to whisper in her ear.

'I'm sure Scar expected us to give the better part away to the neighbours, or he'd not've brought so much at one go, but if a ruffian should ask...'

Estella nodded, her head spinning with new thoughts, as Hally finished, 'The big sacks are too heavy for Rosemary to manage, and so I've divided some of the things for her.'

'Very handy,' she managed to murmur, and with the ghost of a chuckle he slapped her gently on the back.

'Very!' he said in return, and then, 'You'll see how handy on the morrow, I think.'

Rosemary had left off her work some time earlier, but stacks of baking on the table testified to her efforts, and the wonderful smells persisted though the smial was dark and quiet.

Estella returned the bolster and extra pillow to their proper place and rolled herself in her blankets, dropping quickly to sleep, to dream of Bilbo's farewell feast and all the variety of baking that she'd enjoyed there, on that long-ago day.

Yet there was a disquieting note, comforting as the dream festivities might be, for in the dream she followed her brother Freddy about the party, and he was following Merry, who was following Frodo, whilst ruffians lurked in the shadows with leering eyes.

Chapter 6. Gathering and Sharing

“As usual” was more difficult than usual, when the morning light crept in through the windows. ‘Up, lads!’ called Hally with his usual cheerful tones. It took all of Estella’s considerable will to throw off her blankets and rise from her pallet by the fire. She had slept right through breakfast preparations, Hally stirring up the fire, putting the kettle on, and even his taking it off again.

‘Come along, sleepyheads!’ Rosemary carolled, belying the circles under her eyes that bespoke long effort into the wee hours. Enticing scents still hung in the air, but the table held only dishes and food enough for the family’s breakfast, and not the piles of fresh-baked goods that had been there when Estella sought her pillow.

The children, having splashed their hands and faces, took their places at table with wide and wondering eyes. There was ham! …and freshly fried hens’ eggs! …as well as a variety of breads (barley, sweet, and wholemeal) for the feasting. Rosemary kept urging them to ‘Eat up! It’s been a long, lean time, and there’s much work to be done… and who knows how long the food will remain here, before they come to gather it away?’ She laughed, as if it were a jest, but her eyes did not match her smile, to Estella’s thinking.

Estella felt a chill at this, but she ate heartily all the same, for this was the most food she’d seen since arriving at the forest Bolgers’ home, and Rosemary was certainly an inspired cook.

Just as they finished, there was a rapping at the door, and Hally jumped up from his place and hurried to the door. ‘Ah, Scar,’ they heard him say, and then Rosemary was on her feet, grabbing up several heavy-laden bags that rested near the door, and joining her husband.

‘My thanks, Scar,’ she said in a breathless way. ‘Why, it’s the first full meal we’ve had since…’

The ruffian’s gruff tones were to be heard, though he was hidden by the partly opened door. ‘Just wanted to check and see…’

‘Oh, yes,’ Rosemary broke in. ‘Quite! And for your kindness, if you would please accept just this small token, for you and for your men…?’ She thrust the bags through the door, evidently into the ruffian’s grasp, for she continued with, ‘Take care! Don’t drop them!’

‘Why, Missus,’ Scar was heard to say. ‘Smells delicious, I must say…’

‘Just a bit of baking,’ Rosemary said. ‘I had to try out all the new things, after all, give them a try and see how well they worked, for I’d hardly want to feed such to honoured guests if they didn’t work, if you take my meaning?’

Somehow, it seemed that Scar did.

‘That ought to hold you over until my regular baking day,’ Rosemary said. ‘At least, I hope that it will. Today is washing day, and tomorrow ironing, and after that the mending,’ she ticked each day off on a finger, but on the next, which would have been "market" she said only, "er" and then continued, ‘and the next day cleaning, and little enough time for baking until the morrow after, and I’d hate to have you come to the door, and me empty-handed as it were, so I did a little extra last night,’ – a little, Estella thought with a twist to her mouth, that thankfully the ruffian did not see – ‘and I do hope it’ll suit.’

Market day under the ruffians had gone by the wayside, at least so far as the forest Bolgers were concerned. There was not much on offer at what passed for a market in Stock, and Rosemary faced only scowling faces and hostile looks when she did force herself to go, and so "market day" had become just another day in the week, a day for the usual household tasks, caring for smial and yard, animals and garden.

‘I’m sure that it will,’ Scar said, his voice even gruffer than it had been. As a matter of fact, he cleared his throat, as if Rosemary’s efforts had touched him somehow.

Hally seemed to find his tongue. ‘Well, then,’ the hobbit said. ‘I’m glad to hear that. It’s time for me to ply my axe, for the work’s never done, I find.’

Scar guffawed. ‘Never,’ he said. ‘Would you like us to keep an eye on your Missus and little’uns whilst you’re in the woods?’

‘You may if you like,’ Hally said in an offhanded tone, as if he cared little either way, ‘though it’s not really needful this day. I’ll be staying close by, to haul water for the washing as it needs hauling. I’ve dragged enough wood here that I’ll have plenty of chopping-up to do over the next day or two, no need to go far into the woods for more…’

Estella found she was holding her breath as Scar replied, ‘Well, that’s fine. We’ve a few other fish to fry, as it were, what with spending so much time in this neck o’ the woods the past few days. I’ll wish ye and yours a good day, and we’ll see you when baking day comes around, if not before.’

‘If not before,’ Hally said pleasantly, and Rosemary added her farewells. They stood in the doorway a while longer, as if watching the ruffian stalk away, and each raised a hand in farewell, as if the ruffian might have turned his head in his passing, for a final look or remark.

At last, Hally eased the door closed, and Rosemary slumped against him with a sigh.

‘Gone,’ he said. ‘A good morning’s work.’

‘A good middle night’s work, you mean,’ Rosemary said, straightening. She put her hands to her back and stretched.

‘That, too,’ Hally said. ‘They might sniff around a bit this morning, but I’ll wager they’ll be gone by noontide, and not back again until baking day, as usual.’

Suddenly “as usual” had a beautiful sound to Estella’s ears. She got up from her place, where she’d been frozen through the entire conversation, along with the little Bolgers, and began to clear the dishes away. What a difference a hearty breakfast made!

She threw herself into the morning chores with Robin, both of them using small hatchets to make kindling, tending the fire that Hally started under the great kettle used to heat water for bathing and washing, stirring laundry in the tub under Rosemary’s direction; and at the last Robin and Estella together carried each basket of washed and wrung-out laundry to the lines Hally had strung between nearby trees, ready for pegging out.

All the while, they could hear Hally’s cheerful whistling as he worked, whether hauling water or chopping wood, and Rosemary’s humming often harmonized with the tunes he chose. Altogether it was a happy, productive domestic scene. In between tasks, there was time for races, and spitting contests, while taking turns watching over the littlest Bolgers when their mother was occupied.

At last it was time to sit down to the noontide meal, another hearty meal of fresh-baked bread and bubbling hot stew, and no rush this time on Rosemary’s part, for the parents exchanged a look as they sat down, and Hally gave his wife a reassuring nod and whispered, ‘Been gone an hour or so already, or so I deem…’ (Which Estella took to mean that watching ruffians had taken themselves off an hour before, though she hadn’t seen them watching, and she certainly hadn’t seen them go. It seemed that Hally had developed a certain faculty for discerning ruffians’ hovering presence, perhaps because they visited on a regular basis, or something to do with their “as usual” practices and routines in bothering the local hobbits.)

In any event, after the noontide meal was over, but before they all lay themselves down for the nap that inevitably followed, Hally brought the cart he’d partly filled with neatly cut firewood before the door and dumped out the contents. Everyone, from largest to smallest Bolger (Estella included), who could carry the small sacks they’d filled in the night, one or more at a time, did. They brought the sacks from storeroom to cart, working as quickly as might be, and then they arranged the pieces of wood over all, with Hally making artistic adjustments until the cart looked as if it contained only firewood and nothing more.

‘Come, lads,’ he said then to Estella and Robin, as he moved between the poles of the cart and took them up. ‘You’ll push, and I’ll pull.’

‘But what about Nan?’ Estella said, before she thought.

Hally laughed. ‘It’s much too heavy for the goat!’ he said, ‘…all this firewood that I plan to trade to my brother, for a bit of his help in felling the next few trees, as usual.' (And it seemed that Hally winked, or perhaps he wiped at a speck in his eye.) 'Why risk poor Nan, when we’ve two fine, strong lads to push, and a woodcarver to pull it along, I ask you!’

Estella knew, from the whispered conversation at noontide, that Hally's brother Gundy would be able to distribute the foodstuffs to the more desperate of the neighbours, and no one the wiser, on Rosemary’s next baking day, when the ruffians would be clustered around Rosie’s door, greedily eating up the fruits of her labours.

And no one the wiser. The neighbours, while not knowing where Gundy obtained the supplies, would never think of Hally and Rosemary, who to all appearances were in league with the ruffians. That was all to the good. They’d maintain their hostile attitudes towards Hally and Rosemary, and the ruffians would continue to consider the Bolgers as friendly collaborators, making them free in their conversations and not wary of who might hear them, or what they might divulge, as they gobbled Rosie’s good cooking.

And one day soon, Ferdibrand would come to the Bolgers’ door in the dark of the night, to collect whatever news the Bolgers had gathered, to bring the same to the Thain. Only this next time, he’d collect somewhat more.

Estella hoped that he’d come soon. She was well-practiced, and ready. At least, she thought she must be. While she was growing used to "as usual" among the forest Bolgers, she looked forward to finding out what "usual" might be in the Tookland.

Would it feel odd, or natural, to resume her skirts and girlish ways once more?

And what would Merry Brandybuck think of her, to see her in her current guise?

Chapter 7. Midnight Arrival

Estella woke suddenly. It was middle night, and she ought to be soundly asleep, especially with as much exercise as she’d had, and as much food as she’d taken in that day, soothing her to somnolence as she hadn’t known since arriving at the forest Bolgers’ a little more than a week earlier. Why was she awake?

Without moving her body in its blankets, she allowed her slitted eyes to roam the shadowy room. No ruffian’s face pressed against the one window that looked on to the main room, weirdly lit by the turned-down lamp Rosemary had placed there, as had happened early on in her stay. Only her iron will had kept her from jumping up and shrieking – she had pinched herself, hard, under her covers, squeezed her eyes shut, pretended sleep, and fiercely willed the ruffian away. When she’d cracked one eyelid, a little while later, the window framed only darkness.

…as was the case now. All was darkness beyond the flickering lamp in the window. Wind moaned in the treetops outside, and she shivered, though she was plenty warm in her multiple coverings, some of fur and some of woven wool, before the banked fire. But it was not the wind that had wakened her, she was sure of that.

The scratching sound came again, and she recognised it as something she’d heard in her dream, and she just managed to keep from sitting upright. It might be a ruffian’s trick, though she rather doubted such a thing, this time of the night. Ruffians appeared to her to be inclined to laziness, and what reason would they have to skulk about, this late? The earlier vision, the frightful face peering in at the window, had not been quite so late at night as this. She was certain that it must be very late, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, very early. However, Hally and Rosemary had warned solemnly against ruffians’ tricks, along with their insistence on “as always” and their frequent practice with the children, that the little ones would know what words were safe to use in conversing – whether the ruffians were in front of them, or not. They always assumed Mens’ unseen presence, seeming almost never to relax, even for an instant. The game they played was too deadly for that, and their little ones’ lives depended upon the parents’ skill, preparation, and performance.

On second thought, what if a ruffian had seen them dragging the cart to Gundy’s smial, had hidden himself until after Hally and the “lads” had returned home, had seen Gundy’s family unpack the cart, with its secreted foodstuffs? What if the ruffians had grown suspicious of Hally and Rosemary, and were trying to catch the Bolgers in some other clandestine action on their part?

She had half a mind to creep from her covers to rouse Hally or Rosemary, but then she saw their bedroom door move, just a bit (no creaking, for the hinges were of well softened leather), and a figure stole so cautiously from bedroom door to smial door that she scarcely noted the movement. It was hobbit-creeping at its quietest, and at the sight, or half-sight, rather, Estella held her breath, peering from beneath her covers for all she was worth.

Hally (for the shadow was Hally, in truth) eased the crossbar from its place and opened the door a crack, just wide enough to peep through, and then a little wider, just enough to admit another shadowy figure, and then the door was quickly closed again, the crossbar was slipped silently back into place. Not a word was exchanged between the two who crouched now before the door, not any that Estella heard, at least. The two moved as one shadow from the door to the parents’ bedroom, and disappeared inside. Dizzy, Estella let go her long-held breath in as quiet a sigh as she could manage.

She lay pondering for a long while, all sleep forgotten. Suddenly she caught her breath in understanding. Ferdibrand Took was come!

She realised that she’d been listening, scarcely breathing in her effort to hear, only when Hally’s whistling snore sounded from the bedroom. She was of two minds, as to whether or not he was faking. It must be difficult to feign sleep – for how did you know exactly how you slept, what sort of noises you might make, what sort of movements – turning over, or lying a certain way – if the only time you had to study yourself was when you were asleep! The forest Bolgers were just devious enough, however, to Estella’s mind, that she wouldn’t put it past them for Rosemary to have studied Hally while he was sleeping, in order to coach him in “as usual” behaviour, and vice versa.

Still, they might have fallen back to sleep, that is, Hally and the mysterious visitor (and likely Rosemary as well), and even if they hadn’t, Estella had heard nothing at all in the way of voices from the bedroom. She yawned widely. Oh, but she was sleepy herself!

She listened a while longer, not noticing when at last she slipped into sleep.

***

Next morning all was “as usual” with Hally making up the fire and putting on the teakettle, the children setting the table, Rosemary frying bacon and stirring up batter for griddle cakes, and Robin and Estella making numerous trips to fetch water and wood. The morning was misty and cool, but Estella hardly noticed, or at least she told herself not to notice. Shivering and wrapping up in a shawl was a girlish thing to do, and feeling the cold (or at the very least, noticing it) and insisting that others (such as husbands, sons, or nephews) wrap themselves in something warm, a cloak or jacket or some such, was a motherish thing. Thus when Rosemary noticed that Robin and Estella were going in and out in their shirtsleeves, of all things, she insisted that each don a cloak sewn together of warm rabbit skins, "at the very least!" As a matter of course, Estella grumbled just as much as Robin did, at this motherly nonsense.

‘I’m not cold!’

‘Well you ought to be! I can feel the draught every time you open the door…!’

At last the family sat down at table, and if Estella had not been watching very closely indeed, while arranging firewood in a neat pile by the hearth, she’d not even have noticed Rosemary, in her bustles about the room, taking her sewing basket into the parents’ bedroom, neatly covered with a cloth. It was only the good smells that emanated from the basket as Rosemary passed close to Estella, that alerted her as to its contents. And when Rosemary emerged from the bedroom without the basket, Estella’s insides clenched tight. Last night had not been a dream!

She wondered when the Bolgers would let her know of Ferdibrand’s arrival, or even if, for Rosemary had told Freddy plainly that if Ferdi distrusted Estella, on his arrival, then he would come and go without Estella ever knowing he’d been there. And then what would they do? Estella did not want to add to the forest Bolgers’ danger by staying any longer than necessary.

Still, though everything within her itched to find an excuse to enter the bedroom, to confirm her suspicions, she disciplined herself to play this new game of the Bolgers’, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the night, that no midnight visitor was hidden away behind a half-closed door, eating Rosemary’s delicious cookery in secret, unacknowledged by the family. Perhaps the children hadn’t even noticed his arrival while they were sleeping, and didn’t even know of his lurking presence now!

Yesterday’s washing lay folded in baskets, ready for today’s ironing, and after breakfast was over and the washing up was proceeding (with Rosemary’s eldest daughter “helping” as much as a tot might be able), Hally set the flatirons to heat by the hearth and then called the older lads to their outdoor chores, milking the goats and pegging them out to forage, feeding the chickens and gathering eggs, picking up sticks in the yard that had blown down in last night’s wind, and more.

Rosemary laid a heavy cloth over the freshly scrubbed table, sprinkled the first piece of linen (a shirt of Hally’s, it was), and commenced her ironing whilst the littlest ones played about on the floor. The first few times Estella came in from outside, bringing a bucket of milk that she placed in the cold room, and the next time fetching grain, and carrying a basket of eggs the next, she thought that Rosemary was telling stories to keep the little ones amused as she ironed and as she went back and forth to lay one iron to heat while fetching another from the hearth, freshly warmed.

At first Estella hardly listened, busy with her own thoughts and speculations, to the continuing, almost monotonous murmuring, until (as she knelt before the hearth to refresh the fire) some familiar words caught her attention. ‘…and then Mossy said, “Those Tooks! They’ll have their comeuppance, see if they don’t, the little rats…!” and Three-fingers answered, “But not for some time, yet. Did we tell you, Rosie, of the traps they set, just past where the old Crowing Cockerel used to stand?” And Scar shook his head, and muttered, “Best beer this side of the Tookland. Why’d we have to burn it, anyhow?” And…’

Suddenly she realised that Rosemary was recounting, word for word, the conversations of the ruffians on that day they’d brought a waggonload of supplies to the Bolgers’ smial, and had stayed after filling the pantry, to enjoy Rosie’s freshly baked cakes. How did she manage it? The hobbit must have perfect recall! Why, she even imitated the voices of the ruffians, such that Estella could clearly recognise each one.

She understood now, or thought she did, how the scheme worked, and marvelled at its cleverness. There was nothing in writing, to damn them in the ruffians’ eyes, no written message to betray them if dropped or discovered. Rosemary, and presumably her brother, enjoyed perfect recall. Rosemary, into the bargain, could discern truth from untruth, and thus all that she told her brother, and all that he carried on to the Thain, information that might be used in the defence of the Tookland, was based in truth – at least what the ruffians saw as truth. Still, Rosemary would be able to discount any evasions they might make to try and mislead or deceive the Bolgers. If the ruffians believed something that was a lie, and told such information to the Bolgers, well, that might be a problem. But somehow, from listening to her parents and Freddy talking about Lotho, Estella didn’t think the ruffians or their Boss were clever enough for such a ploy.

She burned to know if Ferdibrand had found her trustworthy, if he would take her with him when he went away again, or if he’d leave her here. There was another possibility, Rosemary had told her. He might not be able to take her with him this time, might leave her because he’d have to make preparations to bring her safely through the occupied territory to the free Tookland. She wasn’t sure if she preferred the nerve-wracking play-acting needed here, day and night, without respite, or the dangerous journey to come, with freedom at its finish.

Still, it was out of her hands. There was nothing that she could do to affect the outcome. Her duty was to continue “as usual”, just as everyone else did, and hope, and wait for Ferdibrand to make up his mind.

Chapter 8. Left Behind

The rest of the afternoon went “as usual” so far as Estella could tell. There seemed to be no difference from the ironing day of the previous week, except of course for the hidden visitor in the parents’ bedroom. Estella marvelled more than once at how Rosemary managed to keep Ferdi’s presence a secret, even from the children. In point of fact, she did not see elevenses or the noontide meal or tea delivered, though she was certain Rosemary would not let her brother go hungry.

Though she would have liked some time to think, to ponder quietly, “as usual” would not allow for such. No, she must do whatever chores Rosemary assigned, she must chaff Robin and be chaffed in her turn, she must play and run races and tickle the little ones and haul wood and water and take her turn at holding the baby or soothing a weeping Parsley when the little lass scraped her knee. She must greet Hally with a cheerful shout, along with the other children, when he came home for midday dinner. She must lie herself down for a nap after the meal, and help to set the table for tea, and feed and shut up the chickens, and milk one of the goats while Robin milked the other…

In short, it was a busy, “usual” day, except for a visit by Scar and Three-fingers, shortly after Hally took himself off, whistling, with his axe on his shoulder. They brought another waggonload of supplies, this time sacks of onions, potatoes, dried beans and rice, barrels of carrots in sand, and dried beef and smoked fish.

Halloo the house! came Scar’s rough call, which Estella had learned was his usual greeting when he visited on a day other than Rosemary’s baking day. Of course, it was more properly a smial and not a house, but none of the hobbits was about to correct him.

Rosemary started up, flatiron in hand, with a quickly stifled exclamation. She assumed a smile and carolled, ‘Visitors!’ She moved to put the flatiron safely on its stand, picked up little Lavender from the floor, settling her on her hip, and took little Buckthorn’s hand, for she did not dare leave the little ones unguarded with a fire burning on the hearth. ‘Come, let us greet them!’

Estella, Robin, and Parsley arose from the simple game they’d been playing, involving pebbles and a game board scratched on the hearthstones with the blackened end of a stick. It wasn’t baking day, not yet, and yet the ruffians were here again! Of course, Rosemary and Hally played the “as usual” game at all times, recognising that the ruffians could come at any time. But knowing and seeing were two very different things, indeed.

‘Rosie,’ Scar said, with a casual bow and tip of his hat. ‘We brought you a lot of supplies, we did, the other day, but we found we had a bit of “extra” after this day’s work, and… seeing as how you never hesitate to share what’s in the pot, well, we thought we’d bring something for the pot, if you take my meaning…’

‘O Scar!’ Rosemary said, clapping her hands in evident delight. ‘You didn’t have to! You shouldn’t have!’ Perhaps Estella was the only one to catch the well-concealed dismay and the truth in the words.

‘Well,’ the ruffian said, shuffling his feet. ‘Well, we… we’ve eaten enough o’ your good cookery…’

‘And plenty more where that came from!’ Rosemary said brightly, and Estella marvelled at her bravery.

‘We’ll just put these away for you,’ Scar said, hefting a heavy-laden sack onto his shoulder. ‘Taters, we brought, and onions and carrots, and more, for some more of that good soup you make…’

‘And fresh-baked bread to go along with it, that’ll be just the thing,’ Three-fingers said, lifting another bag.

Belatedly recalled to herself, Rosemary swung the front door wide. ‘Come in, come in!’ she said, and lifted a corner of her apron to her eye, to wipe away a tear, and if her hand shook a little, the Men merely thought it was more emotion than anything else.

Scar didn’t say anything about the pantry being slightly less full than he’d left it. He was no fool; though Rosemary had gifted the ruffians with several bags of fresh-baked goods, he knew she would not have used up quite so many supplies as were missing from the lot. He simply nodded to himself. They’d already given a part of it away to their relatives, he figured, maybe even that poor family, far back in the back of the Woody End, who had sent Twig to Hally and Rosemary to relieve themselves of another mouth to feed.

Scar and Three-fingers manhandled the barrels of carrots, salted beef, and fish, rolling them in through the door and across the floor to the pantry, and carried in the sacks of other supplies. When they were done, the pantry was full to near-bursting. Rosemary thanked them over and again as they worked, and pressed sweet biscuits and mugs of tea on both when they were finished.

Estella did not look at the bedroom door, which remained ajar, though she was sorely tempted. She elected to go outside instead, stand by the heads of the ponies hitched to the waggon, and feed them wisps of grass that she pulled in the yard, patting their noses in apology when they stretched out their necks for more. She did not want to take any chances of one of the ruffians following a stray glance, and deciding to investigate the bedroom.

She noticed that Rosemary stayed busy shepherding the ruffians back and forth, and holding tight to the little ones that they might not get underfoot. Robin and Parsley, not knowing their uncle was hiding in the bedroom, could not betray him by action or word, and so they helped by holding the doors open, Robin on the door into the smial, and Parsley holding the pantry door. Scar gravely thanked the little lass each time he came through, a fact Estella found strangely touching.

At last the waggon was unloaded, the ruffians finished the last of their tea and biscuits, and they bade Rosemary and the children farewell. ‘And our best to Hally!’ Three-fingers shouted.

‘I’ll be sure to tell him,’ Rosemary said. ‘And thanks, thanks, and more thanks for your kindness and care!’

Gathered from some poor hobbit family, Estella grumbled to herself, but she kept a smile fixed on her face and waved as wildly as Robin. The two “lads” had a waving contest, as it were, waving both hands, and Robin lifting one foot to wave it as well. The ruffians chuckled as they drove away, and that was a good thing, or so Rosemary told the children when the Men were well away.

***

Hally laughed aloud at his children’s cheers and shouts, as he emerged from the Wood at teatime. As a matter of course, the children were waiting and watching at his “usual” times for returning. Estella wondered if he looked at her rather searchingly on his second return this day, though the look was but momentary, gone so quickly as he laid down his axe to catch up Buckthorn and throw the tot up into the air, shrieking with delight.

He sobered slightly when Robin and Parsley excitedly told him of the ruffians’ visit, caught Rosemary’s glance, and chuckled. ‘Well, now,’ he said. ‘That’s fine! D’you think it was Three-fingers’ birthday, that he should shower us with such presents?’

‘And p’rhaps it was Scar’s, the last time?’ Robin said.

‘Or Mossy’s,’ Parsley added, not to be left out.

They drank their tea accompanied by delicious biscuits, they did the washing up, the aforementioned “after tea but before eventides” chores were completed, and the family sat down to the eventide meal. While the ruffians’ visit was a favourite topic at that meal, Estella knew there would be no discussion of their other visitor, but she rather hoped the parents would say something to prepare the children for her departure, some plausible explanation. From what Estella had been able to observe, Rosemary had imparted all the news and gossip of the past few weeks over the course of the day, in the guise of keeping the little ones occupied.

Ferdi had gathered all the news fit to gather this time, she thought, and likely would be departing this very night. Would he take her with him? Would the parents explain her departure? No explanation was forthcoming, neither at the meal, nor as they sat around the hearth after washing-up, while Hally told the bedtime story. Estella felt a shock of disappointment as the children were tucked up in their beds, and still no explanation.

‘And to bed with you, young Twig,’ Rosemary said with a meaningful look. ‘Growing lads need their sleep!’

‘But—‘ Estella started to say, and then her shoulders slumped with a sigh, and she picked up her bedding and spread it before the hearth. She would play the game by the rules the Bolgers had set forth, she would show Ferdi that she was trustworthy, even if he had determined to leave her behind.

She would, even if it meant she must play the role of Twig to perfection for the remainder of her life, to the end of her days.

Which, considering the danger inherent in the task Hally and Rosemary had chosen, might come sooner rather than later. She could only hope for the best, and play the game to the best of her ability, and always be braced for the worst...

And perhaps, next time Ferdibrand came, or the time after, or some time after, he'd find her worthy.

In the meantime, she'd do what she could to lighten Rosemary's load. It was the least she could do.

Chapter 9.  Surprises

Hally banked the fire, hitched the covers higher on Estella, all the way to her chin, and gave her a pat on the shoulder. ‘Sleep well, Twig,’ he said, as he always did, last thing before seeking his own pillow. ‘And may you dream pleasant dreams of your family, for I’m sure they’re missing you as much as you miss them.’

She blinked a little at the last part – usually he only said the “pleasant dreams of your family” part. She wondered what he might mean.

‘Does Twig miss his family so very much, Mama?’ Parsley’s sleepy voice was heard from the girls’ room.

‘Very much,’ Rosemary said. ‘That is why we must be extra kind to him, as you know.’

‘Extra kind,’ Parsley lisped, with a yawn somewhere in the middle of the words. She raised her sweet little voice to call, ‘G’night, Twig!’

‘G’night, Dumpling!’ Estella called back. She didn’t have to try to make her voice husky – Hally’s words about missing her family, and their missing her, had affected her throat and caused her eyes to sting.

She settled herself in her blankets, groaned a little as she sought the most comfortable position (it was a sleepy sound to make, she thought), allowed her breathing to gradually grow deeper and more even. All the while she listened hard to the sounds around her. Rosemary brought Parsley a drink of water, as requested, and another one to Buckthorn (evidently Lavvy and Robin had fallen asleep quickly). There were a few murmurs between Hally and Rose, but the words Estella could discern just sounded like “usual” words, sleepy bedtime blessings. There was no sound indicating a secret visitor, and she wondered if Ferdi had somehow already departed without being seen… perhaps when she’d gone out to relieve herself in the privy, in the growing darkness before the bedtime story?

To her surprise – well, she would have been surprised, had she been wakeful – she fell asleep.

Hally’s grip upon her shoulder woke her, that, and a sharp whisper from near the door to the parents’ bedroom.

‘But what are you doing, brother?!’

She opened her eyes to darkness. The main room of the smial was dimly lit by the turned-down lamp in the window. Even the banked fire showed no glowing coals.

Brother? She came suddenly wide awake. No one, at least no adult, would address someone else in the little smial, at this time of night, as “brother”! Unless…

She sat up abruptly, and Hally straightened and moved out of the way just in time to avoid her head connecting painfully with his chin. ‘What…?’ she breathed.

‘We have to talk,’ Hally whispered. ‘Before you make your way, brother, we have to…’

‘Why did you waken the lad?’ Rose’s voice came, soft but alarmed, and Estella saw the rather large shadow by the bedroom door break apart into two pieces. Two hobbits, one nearly a head taller than the other, but both obviously adults.

Rose and Ferdi had been sharing a farewell embrace, she thought, and Hally was supposed to be staring out the window, to see if the way was clear of ruffians – as he had when Freddy departed. Except he hadn’t, this time. He’d awakened Estella instead.

‘Come, Twig, make a form of yourself in the blankets, and join us in the pantry.’

The pantry was full to bursting, she remembered, and wondered. But of course they did not want to risk wakening the children with their whispers…

When she reached the pantry, she found Hally, Rosemary, and another shadowy hobbit, each perched upon a barrel, or stack of bulging sacks. Hally indicated a seat, and Estella entered (leaving the door ajar, as usual, which allowed the faint light of the watch-lamp to enter, at least a little) and climbed the nearest sacks to settle herself.

‘Hally, I—‘ Rosemary began, but her husband hushed her, holding up his hand. They sat quietly for a number of breaths, listening to the nightly noises.

‘There,’ Hally said. ‘I think it’s safe to talk. We hadn’t the chance to talk earlier, as things were, but there’s things that must be said, ‘ere you leave us, brother.’

‘Hally, what in the world…?’ Rosemary said. ‘Why did you waken he—?’ (she’d been about to say “her”, a rare slip on her part, but changed just in time), ‘—Twig?’

Hally hesitated.

The visitor sat in stony silence.

‘You must take Twig with you when you go,’ Hally said.

Ferdi spoke then, annoyance plain even in his whispered tone. ‘I thought we’d already been over this ground,’ he said. ‘You know my counsel in the matter…’

‘Send her back,’ Rosemary said bleakly, ‘though I'd rather keep her here, if it is not an option to take her to the Tookland.’

Hally shook his head. ‘No, that’s much too dangerous. The game is hard enough to play, without adding something else that we must constantly keep in mind, that we not let slip, to our visitors, that all is not as they think it to be.’ He took a deep breath and added, ‘And if they somehow discovered that she is really Estella Bolger, and not the lad “Twig”…’

‘Then send her back,’ Ferdi said. ‘As I told you, when we talked things over after my arrival, I’ll even escort her as far as Budge Ford, though it is far out of my way. At least I might gather some information for the Took while I’m there, so it won’t be a complete waste of effort.’

Estella might have bridled at being called “a waste” had she not been feeling so anxious. Still, it would be good to see her family again, mother, father, Freddy…

‘A waste of effort is right,’ Rosemary agreed with her brother, ‘though I’m rather thinking more of Freddy’s time, bringing her here, and ours…’ She put a warm hand on Estella’s cold one. ‘Not that I have considered a moment of your time here to be wasted. You’ve been more help than you’ll ever know.’ Estella found a little comfort in this.

Really, the idea of going home was growing more delightful in her imagination…

But Hally made a sharp gesture. ‘It’s out of the question,’ he said, directing his words mostly to Ferdi.

It was Rosemary who answered him. ‘But why?’ she said. ‘What is the matter, Hally? You’ve not been yourself all the evening.’

Hally made a rueful noise. ‘So much for “as usual”,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d been doing remarkably well, considering the circumstances.’

‘What circumstances?’ Ferdi and Rosemary asked in the same breath.

Hally took Rosemary’s free hand in his and drew it to his lips. Retaining his hold on her hand, he said earnestly. ‘Dearest to my heart, I would spare you this if I only could.’

‘Spare me what?’ Rosemary whispered, her grip on Estella’s hand tightening, while Ferdi leaned forward, as if to hear better.

‘Freddy came to me today,’ Hally said. He waited out Estella’s gasp, and Rosemary’s soft exclamation.

‘He’s here? Well then, that solves all our problems. He could bring his sister home…’ Ferdi said, and some of the tension went out of his stance.

‘No,’ Hally said. ‘But he came to find me in the Wood; he remembered where I like to make my cuttings, and waited for me there these past two days.’ He smiled grimly. ‘He did not dare approach the house, seeing the ruffians come and go. He has learnt much of travelling quietly, avoiding ruffians, waiting and watching without being seen in turn…’

‘But I can go to where he is,’ Estella said eagerly. ‘I could go out with you to the cutting, as Rob and I sometimes do, and…’

Hally was shaking his head. ‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I imagine he’s already gone, back to the hills of Scary…’

‘Hills of Scary?’ Estella said, puzzled.

‘Much has happened in the time you’ve been with us, Twig,’ Hally said, emphasizing the last word. Ferdi leaned forward, as if to hear better, though he said nothing, only waited in silence to hear what more Hally might say.

‘Go on,’ Rosemary finally said, when the silence had stretched for some breaths.

‘Lotho has sent his Men to your parents’ home more than once…’

Estella’s eyes widened. It was bad enough to see them here, in the Woody End, but far worse, somehow, to imagine them bullying her parents and their servants.

‘Lotho has turned all his power to force your father to his will,’ Hally went on, grimly.

Ferdi shook his head. ‘And he has a fair amount of power these days, curse him,’ he muttered.

‘He would have had Freddy in the Lockholes on trumped-up charges if he could have,’ Hally said, and nodded at Estella’s gasp. ‘Save that it turned out he wouldn’t have to. Your brother has gathered together a group of hobbits from Budgeford, and it seems they’ve been raiding the ruffians’ storeholes, gathering from the ruffians what Lotho’s Men had gathered from hobbits…’

Estella said, ‘O Freddy!’ And to Hally, ‘Why would he do such a thing? Why wouldn’t he stay at home, and protect our parents?’

‘He’d’ve been thrown into the Lockholes on false charges for certain, had he done just that thing,’ Hally said. ‘It was leaving home that saved him.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Estella said, and Rosemary was looking as confused as she felt.

‘As it was, he was betrayed by a hobbit in the pay of the ruffians,’ Hally said. ‘Someone we didn’t know had turned against us…’ and Estella divined that he was speaking of a larger “we”, comprised of all the hobbits who were working individually or together to confound Lotho’s schemes. ‘He staged a shouting match with your father, and ran out of the Manse in a fury – he hoped it would convince Lotho and Lobelia that your father was innocent of any “wrongdoing” – against Lotho, that is – and spare him and your mother from a visit to the Lockholes themselves.’

‘He wouldn’t dare!’ Estella said in outrage.

‘He would,’ Ferdi said, very quietly, and when she looked to him, his gaze bored into her, filled with sorrow, and anger, and knowledge of others dragged to the Lockholes on charges, real or otherwise. ‘Go on, Hally.’

‘Had he stayed quietly at home, Lotho’s louts would have had him,’ Hally went on. As Estella started to speak, he held up his hand. ‘The Manse is empty; your parents are gone,’ he said. ‘You’d find no one at home, were you to go there now.’

‘Gone,’ Estella gasped. ‘Gone – to the Lockholes?’

‘Gone into hiding,’ Hally said. ‘And Freddy, with his band, live in hiding as well. I fear if the ruffians were to catch him, he would fare ill.’

Ferdi nodded, closing his hands into fists and opening them again, several times, as if he must dispel some nervous energy born of uncomfortable knowledge. ‘So she cannot go home,’ he said. ‘And if she stays here, she is a danger to you.’

‘More than you know,’ Hally said, and to Rose he added, ‘More than she knows, herself. It is very bad, Rose-my-love, very bad indeed. Freddy bore ill news with him when he came.’

‘What can be worse than you’ve already said?’ Rose answered.

‘Ah, Rose, it pains me to tell you this… I’d rather you went into the bedroom, shut yourself up with the babe, cuddle close and find comfort…’

‘Now Hally,’ Rose whisper-scolded. ‘You know me better than that!’

Hally nodded, but he looked very sad. ‘I do know you,’ he said. ‘Very well, my love. Take a deep breath.’

To her credit, Rosemary complied, and Estella did as well, though she wasn’t sure why.

Hally looked from one face to another, finally settling on Ferdi’s. ‘Lotho has decided,’ he said at last. ‘He apparently will not be moved, not even by his mother, or by any practical considerations…’

‘When has that hobbit ever been practical, I’d like to know?’ Ferdi said to no one in particular. ‘Ah, he’s pragmatic when it comes to business, as in acquiring what he wishes at the lowest possible price, and taking what he cannot buy, should someone try and resist him…’ He shook his head at himself; he was supposed to be gathering information, not airing his own opinions. ‘But forgive me, Hally. You were saying...’

‘You have the right of it, brother,’ Hally said soberly.

‘But what has he decided?’ Rosemary said, cutting to the heart of the matter. She could tell when her husband was talking around a subject, avoiding having to say something that pained him, or might cause her pain.

‘He has heard the talk, that Estella Bolger is the fairest young maid in the Shire,’ he said, every word weighted with reluctance. ‘He’s seen her beauty for himself, in the past. And lately his fascination with the lass has only grown. He sent his louts knocking on the door of the Manse, and forcing their way in, refusing to be denied, in order to take away any likeness of her that could be found hanging on its walls…’

Estella gasped in horror as the implications became clearer in her mind.

‘O Hally,’ Rosemary breathed.

‘And he has decided that he, as Chief of all in the Shire…’ Hally hesitated and, obviously steeling himself, went on, ‘…that he deserves only the best, and that Estella must be his to possess. He sought to buy her hand at first, a matter of good business, by currying favour with her father…’

Estella remembered several social visits from the Sackville-Bagginses, and how uncomfortable Lotho’s fixed gaze – perilously close to the rudeness of a stare – had made her feel. She remembered Lotho offering to do her father favours in business, of recommending stone from the Bolger’s quarries for various building schemes in the past few years. And it was all because…? She felt a wave of illness, but stifled it firmly.

‘And then he thought to threaten Freddy, that his parents might offer her up, to buy their only son’s freedom…’

‘They’d never!’ Estella burst out, though she managed to keep her voice to a near-whisper. Rosemary squeezed her hand, and she subsided into silence once more, though she had to breathe shallowly to restrain her nausea.

‘So you see, my dearest,’ Hally said, turning to Rosemary, his distress plain on his face, ‘you see, Lotho’s Men have been given orders to hunt her down, to turn over every rock where she might be hiding, in order to find her and return her to “safety” – to the bosom of a family that will love her and care for her, seeing as her own brother and parents have abandoned her. O’ course, as the “loving family” happens to be the Sackville-Bagginses, that leaves her completely vulnerable…’

‘To… to…’ Rosemary gasped, and Hally nodded slowly.

‘To a forced marriage with Lotho,’ he said. ‘A hobbit more than a score of years older – not quite old enough to be her father, but…’

‘Near enough,’ Ferdi said grimly.

Rosemary was still gasping, and then she pulled her hands free of Hally’s and Estella’s, covered her face, and began to weep wildly, though she did her best to stifle her sobs.

Before a shame-faced Hally could move to comfort her, Ferdi was hugging his sister tight, murmuring broken comfort. While Estella watched, frozen, Hally slowly put his arms around them both, brother and sister, and bowed his head on their shoulders.

It seemed to last an eternity, but at last Rosemary’s weeping stilled, and Hally lifted his head. ‘I know, my beloved,’ he whispered. ‘I know.’

‘She cannot go home,’ Ferdi said, his voice rough. ‘And she cannot stay here.’ He squared his shoulders and lifted his head. ‘She must go to a place where she will be safely beyond Lotho’s reach, out of his grasp…’

‘Forced marriage,’ Rosemary sobbed, and was still.

‘No, my love, my best beloved, heart of my own heart, breath of my lungs,’ Hally said. ‘No forced marriages, not then,’ and he put his arms around his wife once more and looked from Ferdi to Estella. ‘And certainly not now.’

*** 

Author's notes: The story of the forced marriage Rosemary escaped, with the help of several resourceful and courageous conspirators, can be found in Pearl of Great Price here on Stories of Arda.

Thanks go to Dreamflower for her valuable assistance.

***

Chapter 10. Departure

Preparations went quickly, for Hally and Rosemary worked efficiently together gathering supplies for Estella. As they worked, Ferdi sat with Estella in the pantry, describing their journey and the difficulties he anticipated.

‘Honestly, I’d like to leave you here until my next visit,’ he said. ‘My pony threw a shoe before I crossed out of the Tookland, and so I left her there.' The old shepherd, who watched over the border at the point where Ferdi and a few other Tooks slipped in and out of the Tookland, was to lead her to the nearest smith and have the problem remedied, '...by the time I return. It would be faster, safer and easier to bring you through the Wood on ponyback…’

‘So why not?’ Estella said.

Ferdi looked intently at her. ‘You may be willing to take the risk, but I am not,’ he said. ‘I should rather risk myself, than my sister and her family.’

And he might rather risk herself than his sister, Estella thought privately. As she was in complete agreement with Ferdi, she felt no need to say the words aloud, but simply nodded. She was the reason they were all risking their freedom, perhaps their very lives. Whether it would be more of a risk to herself to go now, or to stay, she could not say. But if worse came to worst, she imagined Ferdi could look after himself. Hally and Rosemary, on the other hand, had the children to consider. Estella did not want to cause further risk to the little ones in the interest of an easier journey.

Ferdi went on. ‘Lotho’s louts will be eager for the reward they can gain from their Boss, by finding you. A sharp one among them might begin to wonder about any newcomers in the area, and the name “Bolger” might stir someone’s imagination…’

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Estella said low. ‘Look for a Bolger amongst other Bolgers. It makes sense that my parents might have sent me to safety with relatives… seeing how that is the very thing they did.’

‘That is why I do not want to delay, even another day,’ Ferdi said. ‘All this belated talk might have cost us an hour, but we’ll still reach our first hiding before the dawning, so long as you can keep up a good pace.’

‘I can keep up,’ Estella said, clenching her fists with determination. She was not the delicate, pampered maiden who had left her father’s house some weeks ago. She had been chopping wood, hauling water, pushing a cart, milking a goat, and more. Didn’t she have muscles to show it?

‘We’ll be on very short commons,’ Ferdi said. ‘We’ll carry as much food as is practical, and a water bottle each, and we must be sparing, for it will take the better part of a week or more to reach the borderland.’

Though Estella did not know it, at that moment Rosemary was doubling the amount of food in the bag she’d already packed for Ferdi, while preparing a similar bag for Estella, for her brother calculated it would take him twice as long with the encumbrance of bringing Estella with him. These bags were of simple make, flour sacks dyed a dark colour, with shoulder straps sewn on, the tops folded down over the contents and tied in place, something that could be worn under a cloak and leave the hands free.

Quickly Ferdi sketched out the route they would take, the hiding places along the way, how he would find their way by stars (if the skies were clear), the Stock Road, and the course of a stream they’d follow for some way. The last stretch would be the most dangerous, for the ruffians kept a closer watch on the borderland than anywhere within the Woody End, and while the going might be easier in the open Green Hill country, after the Woods ended, there was also less opportunity for concealment. The Tooks had constructed traps both in the wooded portion and on the paths that wound through the Green Hills, which complicated the journey as well.

They would travel in the dark of night for the first part, though Ferdi maintained he could make his way through the Woody End with his eyes closed, he’d made the journey so often. On one difficult section, where the Wood gave way to heather and grassland and they'd pass through a boggy area, they would have to risk travelling in the light, though they’d try for late afternoon shading into evening.

When Estella asked if he might sketch her a map to go by, in case they were somehow separated, Ferdi shook his head. ‘Too dangerous, if you're taken by ruffians with a map on your person. There are landmarks, if you know what to look for,’ he said. ‘You will not, so keep tight hold on my cloak and stay close. Place your feet with care that you might neither stumble nor tread upon a dry stick. We’ll go quick as we can, and quietly as well.’

‘I understand,’ Estella said. ‘I’ll do my best.’

Ferdi looked long into her eyes. ‘I’m counting on it, lass,’ he said. ‘Rose gave a good account of you, which is why I’m giving you this chance.’

‘I thank you,’ Estella said, for it seemed the proper response, but Ferdi shook his head once more.

‘No thanks are due me,’ he said, ‘at least, not until you’re safe over the border, breathing the free air.’ And from something in his tone, she knew he was making no guarantees as to their success.

She took a deep breath and said, ‘Perhaps. But I’ll thank you all the same, at least for making the attempt.’

And then Rosemary was at the pantry door, and she slipped inside, to take Estella in a hug. ‘Everything is ready,’ she said, ‘and Hally saw to it that you had a farewell of sorts, with the littles, with his talk of missing home. It will be easy to tell them in the morning that you slipped away while they were sleeping, to seek your home once more…’

‘Hug them for me!’ Estella cried impulsively, blinking away tears. ‘And may they be safe, may you all be kept safe, until the Shire is free again one day.’

‘Or perhaps we’ll join you in… my homeland, when my brother brings me leave to come home at last,’ Rosemary said, stepping back again and turning to Ferdi. ‘He keeps trying, you know.’

Her brother smiled down at her and took her in his arms for a hug of his own, and Estella saw the two of them, brother and sister, hold each other tightly as if this might be their final farewell. As it well might be, considering how dangerous Ferdi’s business was.

‘I’ll put in a good word for you as well,’ Estella said, holding up her hand in pledge as Rosemary and Ferdi parted once more. ‘I promise.’

‘Bless you, lass,’ Rosemary whispered, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Now, then, Hally’s watching, and he says there’s nothing stirring without, and the clouds have thickened to cover the moon, and the children are deep asleep…’ She put a hand to her mouth to still her nervous chatter, and when she put it down again, she merely smiled, though her lips trembled and her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

The travellers stole across the floor to the door, where Ferdi helped Estella into her pack and cloak, settled a hood on her head, and then took up his own burden and covering. Hally looked to them from where he stood beside the window and gave a nod. That was all, but there was a wealth of love, hope and good wishes in his look, and the travellers returned the gesture with nods of their own.

Ferdi lifted the heavy bar to free the door, opened the door a handbreadth, and peered for a long moment into the darkness. He held out a corner of his cloak to Estella; she took it, and as one they slipped from the smial, into the darkness, and before Hally had closed and barred the door once more, they were gone as if they’d never been, beyond sight or imagination, swallowed by the shadows of the forest.

Chapter 11. Journey in the Dark

Estella was never really sure how Ferdi found his way. The forest was a dark blur around her, damp and chill. Though she couldn’t see the mist, she could feel it, clammy on her skin, and as they proceeded her cloak grew heavy with the damp. She was working too hard to feel the chill, however. In truth, she was overheated from the effort of following at the pace Ferdi set, holding grimly to his cloak, stumbling over the rough ground until her toes protested and all her muscles clenched tight.

Sometimes she could hear the sound of moving water, a stream chuckling to one side. Sometimes it grew louder, then softer again as they made their way. At one point, it grew very loud indeed, and then they were making their way down, and into the icy water, which thankfully was not very deep at this point, and up again on the other side, and then angling away from the gurgling sound.

Just when she thought she could not take another step, Ferdi stopped altogether. She gave a soft Oomph at running into him, but stifled it in his cloak – very handy, to run into him, as her mouth ended up pressed against his back, his heavy cloak of wool muffling the sound quite conveniently. His hand reached around behind him, to grasp at her in urgent, though silent, message.

She stood still, trembling from fatigue and effort, and as they did not move, but stood as still as the trees that surrounded them, soon her trembling also reflected the growing chill that she felt. She wanted to breathe a question, she wanted to pull at Ferdi’s cloak in inquiry, but after her time with Hally and Rosemary, she was wiser than the girl who’d set out from Budge Hall with her brother, a lifetime ago.

At last Ferdi squeezed her arm and released her, pulled forward slowly (as if to make sure she had a firm hold on his cloak), and began to move swiftly, tirelessly once more.

They never moved in a straight line, she thought, but dodged this way and that, brushing past trees to one side or the other. She learned by hard experience to tread lightly, to lift her feet a little higher than she might on level ground, walking across the lawns of Budge Hall, feeling her way as she went. She could tell a little about the lie of the land, she discovered, simply by the feel of Ferdi’s cloak in her hand – whether he was toiling uphill or down, or stepping over some obstacle, or moving to one side or the other.

When he stopped again, though it was once more without warning, she’d grown so used to anticipating his next move that this time she did not run into his back, but stopped just short, the two of them breathing softly, almost as one. Again she listened, and this time she heard the crashing of a heavy body, passing nearby. A deer, she wondered?

A rough curse, uttered in a low voice, told her that Men were near, and she froze, scarcely breathing. And suddenly, Ferdi turned and pushed her down, throwing himself over her. She willed herself to lie very still on the damp ground, but peering from under her hood, she could see a small circle of light on the ground, not far away, that moved and then stopped. A voice growled, ‘What’s that? Is someone there?’

‘What are you about, Ferny?’

‘I heard something, in the brush there…’

‘Rabbit, most likely, or fox. I heard nought. Not large enough to be a deer, I allow, or I’d’ve heard it as well.’

‘What if it’s one of them blasted Tooks?’

A muted shout of laughter. ‘What? Tooks? Here? Don’t be daft! Now, if we’re at the woodcutters’ by the dawning, Annie’ll have breakfast ready and waiting for us…’

From the name “Annie”, Estella gathered that they weren’t talking about Hally and Rosemary, but some other woodcutter. Her stomach chose that moment to growl, at the mention of breakfast, and she shut her eyes tight in dread that those Men might have heard.

Thankfully they didn’t, however, for the crashing sounds came again, heavy tromping of boots, and when she opened her eyes, fearing discovery, she saw the circle of light on the ground moving away, until they were left once more in the darkness.

Ferdi squeezed her shoulder, and she felt him shift his weight, pushing himself upright, rolling off her, and then his hand slid down her arm from her shoulder until he found her hand, and helped her to her feet. Without a word, he moved her hand to his cloak, squeezing her fingers into place, and gave a little shake for emphasis.

She nodded, though she knew he could not see the gesture, and gave his cloak a small tug, and they were off again.

The night was an endless ordeal of stops and starts, quick movement and quiet, cold waiting for whatever had alarmed her guide into stillness, before he decided it was safe to move again. Estella was stumbling along in a fog of weariness, and not just the night mist, when Ferdi stopped once more, though there was a different quality to this change of pace.

He turned and put one arm around her, guiding her forward, and then he pressed down on her shoulder in a silent command; understanding came slowly, but at last she crouched, then went to her hands and knees, as he guided her into some confined place, she wasn’t sure where – not the cold damp of a cave or burrow under the earth, she thought.

Something dry rustled under her hands and knees, and crawling forward, she bumped her head on something hard, yet crumbling, hard enough that she saw stars for a moment in the darkness. And then Ferdi was tugging at her hands, and she divined somehow that she was to lie down in this confined space, scarcely large enough to curl up in. She heard more rustlings behind her – Ferdi was doing something, she wasn’t sure just what – and then he was there, pressed up against her, curling around her, his breath warm on the back of her neck. He pulled his cloak to cover the both of them and circled her with his arms.

Sleep now. It was the barest whisper, less than a breath, but she nodded.

She couldn’t help thinking of her mother’s and grandmother’s horror, to see her here, in this wild place (wherever it might be, she shuddered to think – the den of some wild creature?), snuggled together with a hobbit only a year or two older than herself. Scandalous!

Stifling the sudden but ridiculous impulse to giggle, she took a few deep breaths, still feeling Ferdi’s warm exhalations against the back of her neck, his lips close to her ear, as intimate an embrace as two married hobbits might share.

…which brought Lotho Sackville-Baggins to mind. She shuddered involuntarily, and felt Ferdi’s arms tighten for a few moments, before he pulled his cloak a little further over her and then was still once more, his breathing grown more even, as if he slept.

Somehow, sleep found Estella as well.

Chapter 12. Progress

Estella woke suddenly, feeling cramped, as if she’d slept an entire night without moving, curled into a ball. She stretched, or tried to, finding her movements restricted, her feet fetching up against a rough surface though her knees were still bent. She ached all over, most especially her legs, and she reached down to rub at a cramp in the calf of one of her legs, and with her other hand she threw off her covering. Memory came in a rush, then – she saw that she lay within a confined space, dim light revealing rough walls of decaying wood that surrounded her on all sides. She was inside the hollow trunk of a still-standing tree! Her covering had been Ferdi’s cloak, she discovered, and under her was a bed of dry leaves.

Ferdi, himself, was a warm spot against her hip. He was sitting up, eating some of Rosemary’s good bread smeared with fresh goats-milk cheese. He nodded in greeting and pointed to her pack – which she suddenly realised had been on her back when she fell asleep, and now served as a pillow of sorts, though she didn’t remember the transition. Ferdi’s doing, she gathered. Her stomach grumbled then, and she sat up – there was just enough room for the two of them to sit a little apart – and dug in her pack for her own portion of food, wrapped in a flour-sack cloth. It didn’t take long to devour one day’s ration, though she picked crumbs off the cloth until it was clean, and used it to wrap another portion, as Ferdi had instructed her before they’d left the Bolgers’. ‘They may not be able to tell how many days you’ve travelled, if you re-wrap the cloths each time you use one.’ It was all in defence of his sister and her family – that any ruffians who caught them and searched their possessions would not be able to tell how many days they had travelled from where they’d found their supply of travel rations.

Dim light filtered through an opening stuffed full of old leaves and bracken fronds, and she realised that outside their refuge, it was full daylight.

…which presented certain problems in itself. She was becoming aware of growing discomfort, but without any idea of how to deal with it. She shifted uncomfortably – she’d have to do something, as they still had five days or so of travel ahead of them, and she certainly could not wait until they reached the safety of the Tookland…

Before she had given much thought to how to frame the question, Ferdi seemed to divine her need. ‘Quiet,’ he whispered, and she looked at him in surprise, for she hadn’t said anything, or even moved, really, since finishing her meal. He nodded towards the entrance. ‘Quiet, out-of-the-way place,’ he clarified. ‘I’ll unblock the entrance and look out, though I haven’t heard anyone or anything – and believe me, I’ve been listening – and you may go and find a bit of cover, scratch a hole with a stick, do what you need to do…’ He was not looking at her, but fixedly at the entrance, and so he did not see the rush of hot blood to Estella’s cheeks – nor did she see his own discomfort, for her part, as she, too, was staring at the entrance, at least until a touch on her arm brought her gaze back to meet his. ‘Be sure and cover up any sign you’ve been there,’ he said, nodding for emphasis, and she nodded in return, to show her understanding.

He leaned towards the entrance then, nearly resting his head on the concealing leaf pile, taut with listening once more, and then nodded. ‘If I say to run, then you run until you can find a place to hide, and don’t look back, no matter what; d’you understand?’

Tense, she managed a nod.

Ferdi pushed his way out, letting a flood of light into their sanctuary, and she followed, though her limbs cramped from the unaccustomed freedom. She looked around quickly to mark the spot and saw some leafy brambles nearby, tall enough to shield her from Ferdi’s eyes. She hurried to take care of her necessary business, not really heeding that Ferdi was doing the same, concealed by another bramble patch on the far side of the hollowed tree. All she knew was that it was a dreary day, and the sky was grey above them, making the leaves around her more intensely green, while the flowers of the wild strawberry plants at her feet glowed bright pink and white in contrast.

Birds sang in the canopy above, and somewhere a squirrel scolded, but there were no alarm cries, on the part of the wild things. Estella felt a certain peace, here in the depths of the Woody End. It was quiet, with no noise of Man or Hobbit, not even a tang of smoke in the air from someone’s fire.

Ferdi was waiting by the entrance when she returned. He gestured for her to enter first, and followed her into the hollow, turning to wipe out any trace of their passing, before he pushed the drift of leaves in place once more, to conceal the hollow. ‘Sleep,’ he said now, gesturing at her pack-pillow. ‘We’ll eat a bit more when we waken, and leave at dusk.’

***

Stiff as she was, the first mile or so of their travel was painful, but soon she fell into a sort of rhythm of walking – and walk they did, in this stretch of the journey, for Ferdi crooked his arm and tucked Estella’s hand into place at his elbow, and they strolled along quite as if they were hobbits on a walking holiday – if hobbits on a walking holiday should walk at night, through uninhabited forest, without even stars above to explain their wakefulness. She wondered if this stretch of forest was where Twig’s family might live, in the “back of the back Woods” as Hally had put it, that is, if Twig’s family existed, a point she’d never been quite sure about, from hearing Hally and Rose talk about Twig’s family.

At one point they stopped where a spring rose from the ground and poured out to make a tiny stream that trickled away into the forest. The water was icy cold and refreshing to drink, and Ferdi had Estella refill her water bottle in the small pool where the spring water welled up. She splashed her face as well, and felt more wakeful for the rest of the night.

It was a pleasant night’s journey, and Estella felt as if she could keep on like this for days, if need be, though she was very hungry, and all the exercise made her hungrier. They were eating less than half of what she’d enjoy at home, or even at Hally and Rosemary’s little smial. She looked forward to arriving at the Great Smials – when last she’d attended a feast there, the tables had nearly groaned with food.

She stopped to consider – well, not literally, for of course she kept walking, keeping to the pace Ferdi set – and wondered how the Tooks were faring in these Troubled times. Of course, they’d kept the ruffians out of the Tookland, and so their crops had not been gathered. On the other hand, they would not have been able to trade with the rest of the Shire, even if the Shire-folk had retained enough food to trade, what with the gathering done by Lotho’s ruffians. She wasn’t sure what grew in the Tookland, besides barley and sheep, though of course each smial-holder would have a kitchen garden for vegetables. Still, what would a feast at the Great Smials look like, these days? And would they even hold a feast for any reason?

A memorial feast, for a death, a little voice said deep inside. She shuddered and pulled her cloak closer about herself with her free hand, remembering the memorial feast for Pippin, not long before Yuletide… Yuletide ought to be a time for joy, for looking forward to Yuletide celebrations, not a fitting time for mourning one lost too early, though the Tooks had left the Thain little choice in the matter, demanding that he honour his son – lost in the attack on Crickhollow, it was said, by mysterious creatures that came out of the Old Forest and bore away the hobbits there. Her own brother Freddy had narrowly escaped death – he had fled the attack, run for help, but help had come too late. The Thain had not wanted to admit his son was gone, but in the end he'd been overruled by the Tooks, shamed, forced to honour Pippin's memory in the proper manner and name a successor.

***

They had walked for most of the night – and even though the days were growing longer, all night was long enough to be walking, or so Estella’s muscles told her – and the trees around them were now discernable in the increasing light, when Ferdi stopped at a large outcropping of rock on the wooded hillside they had been traversing, and seemed to be hunting about for something. At last, he found what he was looking for. Pushing aside some low growth, he bent down, and disappeared. His hand appeared, beckoning, and Estella bent down and followed.

They were in a dry cave, some sort of den, she guessed, though thankfully no animal was there, only a lingering scent of old musk. ‘I’m never sure I’ll find this place empty when I come,’ Ferdi said in a low voice, ‘but I’m that grateful that it remains empty. Hopefully any fox or badger that sought this place would smell “hobbit” here and decide not to stay.’

This place was roomier than their previous hidey-hole, and Estella welcomed the notion of being able to turn over in her sleep, to stretch out her weary legs if the day’s exercise should bring on cramping in the night – even to sleep a little separate from Ferdibrand, now that would be a luxury indeed!

They ate their supper – or would it be breakfast? Estella wondered, went out cautiously to take care of their personal needs, and then sat companionably in the shadowy den, neither ready to sleep, and watched the day brighten outside.

‘We ought not to be disturbed here,’ Ferdi whispered, ‘for there are no smials nearby, and we are well off the beaten track as the old saying goes – though the wild Green Hills grow even wilder beyond this point, and there are streams too deep for us to cross, that bar our way. We’ll have to make our way back towards the Stock Road, eventually, and that will be the time of greatest danger, half a day or less before we cross the borderland into the free Tookland.’

‘How long?’ Estella whispered back.

Ferdi considered, tilting his head. ‘We’ve made very good time,’ he said, ‘better than I’d hoped, in fact. I think, instead of six days, we might well be able to reach Tuckborough in five…’

Estella thought to herself, Two days to this place, and three more… She asked aloud, ‘How many days to the borderland, then? Will we be a full day in the Tookland, on our way to the Smials?’

Ferdi laughed silently and patted her shoulder, as if she really were a lad instead of a troublesome girl that he must escort for her own safety. ‘Two more days to the borderland; you have the right of it, if that’s what you are figuring…’

She smiled in return, but her smile faded when he sobered and said, ‘Ah, but not so easy as this day was. Ah, the morrow will be – at least the first part, while we remain deep in the wild country, though the second part of tomorrow’s journey will be more like yesterday – more chance of ruffians, and Lotho’s Shirriffs, looking for hobbits who are out and about after curfew.’

‘Curfew?’ Estella said. It was an unfamiliar word.

‘They’ve set times, do you see? …when hobbits mayn’t stir foot outside their doors. They think it helps them to keep order. For, of course, bands like the one your brother leads would hardly do their raiding under the light of the Sun, now would they? Not unless they were foolhardy…’

Or desperate, Estella thought to herself. Rather like ourselves, having to skirt the bog, not tomorrow but the day after.

Still, this day’s (or night’s, rather) travel had been easy enough, she could hope for more of the same. Could she not?

Hope costs naught, she remembered Frodo saying once, when she had tagged after himself, Merry, and Freddy, and hid behind a tree to listen to their conversation. But hope, misplaced, can cost you everything. Unaccountably, she shivered.

‘But you’re taking cold,’ Ferdi said, unfastening his cloak, and despite Estella’s attempt to wave away his gallantry, he pulled it around her shoulders, with a firm, ‘We can’t have you sneezing, just at the wrong time, and a ruffian hearing and discovering us!’

‘I suppose not,’ she said grudgingly.

‘Well then,’ Ferdi said. ‘Full daylight is here, and dusk will come all too soon. We had better seek our pillows, such as they are.’ He suited action to word, plumping up his pack as best he could, and lying down with his head on the pack, his back to Estella.

Estella followed suit, lying herself down and listening for a long time, until his breathing changed and grew even. She sat up, cautiously, making as little noise as possible, but he didn’t move or make a sound. She turned to see him curled together, as if to keep himself warm. With great care and stealth, she took up his cloak and laid it over him, and then she laid herself down once more, her back turned to his, and gave herself up to sleep.

Chapter 13. A Shortcut to Mushrooms*

She awakened, somehow aware of scrutiny – the hair prickling on the back of her neck – and turned over suddenly, to see Ferdibrand sitting up beside her, with a thoughtful look on his face. He indicated his cloak. ‘When did this happen?’ he said, one side of his mouth quirking in a half-smile.

‘You looked cold,’ Estella said with a little of her old haughtiness, sitting upright and stretching to get out the kinks. Wakening was getting easier, she thought. She wasn’t half as sore as she’d felt at the start of their previous march.

He merely smiled and shook his head, then dug another serving of bread from his pack, adding some dried meat and fruit to complete the meal. ‘The goats’ cheese grows in smell as it ages,’ he said in explanation. ‘That’s why Rosie packed it in the outer layer of wrappings. We wouldn’t want the ruffians or their dogs to catch a whiff of us in passing and feel compelled to follow the scent to its source.’

Estella suppressed a shiver at the mention of dogs. She’d heard Frodo tell Freddy about Maggots’ dogs at Bamfurlong Farm, and his vivid description had made an impression on her mind, one that had her looking at every large dog with suspicion for months afterward. To cover her thoughts, she opened her own pack to retrieve the next meal. The bread was beginning to stale, but still edible; the fruit was sweet and toothsome; the meat, on the other hand...

‘Bite off a piece and then take a mouthful of water to help soften it whilst you chew,’ Ferdi said with a smile. ‘Better than trying to choke it down, dry.’ And as his smile said more of his understanding than condescension, she didn’t take offence.

She nodded and complied, looking out upon the day through the leafy screen that covered the mouth of the cave. It was bright outside, mid-day, she thought. Likely they’d eat and lie down again until dusk, and then get up and walk.

…but no, as it turned out. When he was finished with his meal, Ferdi turned to her. ‘This deep in the Wood, we’re not likely to encounter anyone, ruffian or hobbit,’ he said. ‘Well, perhaps hobbits, though in this day even that’s unlikely, as it’s getting harder and harder to get a Pass to leave one’s home or community.’

Estella nodded. The addition of Passes to the ever-lengthening list of Rules had been one reason why Freddy had spirited her from their home to the forest Bolgers’ in the middle of the night.

‘In any event,’ Ferdi said, ‘my usual travel route is shorter and more dangerous – paralleling the Stock Road, for the most part. I don’t often travel this deep into the Wood, not having the luxury of time.’

Estella nodded, wondering when he would get to the point.

‘Good lad,’ Ferdi said, approving her obvious show of attention. A part of her mind wondered at that – he called her “Twig” or “lad” even when there was no chance of someone overhearing. The hobbit was a study in caution – as was his sister. ‘Any road, I deem ‘twould be much more difficult for two to pass the most dangerous stretch, than one – I have any number of disguises and schemes – sometimes it suffices to throw myself down in a ditch, but not always! And two – in a ditch – would be much more noticeable than one, I should think.’

‘As do I,’ Estella affirmed wryly at the mental image this presented.

‘So we shall spend the rest of the day harvesting mushrooms as we go,’ Ferdi said. ‘We came this way, longer though it might be – is, actually – so that we could go through some of the best mushroom-hunting land to be found in the Wood between Stock and Tuckborough.’

‘Mushrooms!’ Estella said in surprise.

Ferdi laughed at her expression. ‘Aye,’ he said, a rare Tookish slip on his part, for he quickly amended his speech. ‘Yes, I mean, and we will go as quick and quiet through the dangerous part as we can, and if we manage to go without ruffians catching us it will be all well and good – for the Thain will certainly welcome what we bring with us…’

‘And if not?’ Estella said.

‘Well then,’ Ferdi said. ‘Here is our story. You are my son,’ Estella wondered how he'd pull that off, being only a year or two older than herself, ‘or nephew – in any event, you are the Youngster in any speech I might have with a ruffian – and you are to be shy and awkward and let me do all the talking…’

‘The Fox with the Silver Tongue,’ Estella said, and Ferdi nodded with a grin.

‘Just as in that old story,’ he said. ‘We have been sent by Shirriff Tallow,’ and at Estella’s quickly suppressed gasp he nodded and added, ‘even so.’

Shirriff Tallow was one of Lotho’s hobbits, a two-feather Shirriff whose fame – or perhaps infamy – had spread beyond Bywater and Hobbiton, his usual haunts. He had thrown his lot in completely with Lotho and Lotho’s Men, enjoying the sense of power and the wealth – gathered from Shire-folk, but what was that to him? – afforded by his position. He hadn’t even been a Shirriff, to start, but had quickly risen in the ranks to a place of prominence with his bullying ways, and ability to curry favour with his superiors.

‘The good Shirriff has sent us to gather mushrooms for the Chief,’ Ferdi went on, ‘and so, of course, we must have a goodly supply of mushrooms in our packs if we should have to tell our story. It’s worked once, at least,’ he said. ‘We simply surrender our packs to the ruffians, who will bypass Tallow (and never find that we did not have orders) and bring the mushrooms to Lotho themselves, as if it were their own idea, and he’ll give them all the credit and reward.’

‘And since Tallow,’ Estella grimaced at having to pronounce the name, ‘never sent us, he won’t know to lodge a protest,’ she said, ‘or seek to punish the poor hobbits that he never actually sent out.’

‘Exactly,’ Ferdi said. ‘It’s a dangerous business, but less of a gamble than trying to sneak by unseen – which we will be doing, or attempting, at least. This is simply braces to add to our belts.’

Estella smiled at the picture. ‘Well, then,’ she said. ‘Shall we get started?’

Ferdi looked intently at her. ‘What do you know about gathering mushrooms?’ he said. ‘Brought up as you were, how do I know you’ll gather good and not ill?’

Estella laughed softly. ‘I’m the tagalong little sister of Fatty Bolger!’ she said. ‘Surely in your youth you heard him complain about it!’

Ferdi laughed his silent laugh.

‘I was there, when Frodo took him mushrooming – not at Bamfurlong, of course, but in the woods near Budge Hall, for when old Bilbo adopted him, he no longer raided Maggots’ fields…’

‘No, I heard he changed after the old hobbit took him in, from one of the worst young rascals of Buckland, to quite a fine and upstanding hobbit of Hobbiton,’ Ferdi said.

‘Yes, but he had quite a talent for mushrooms, even so,’ Estella said. ‘He let me learn alongside Freddy, though Freddy would have sent me home. He said something to the effect that everyone ought to learn the difference between good mushrooms and deadly ones, for their own protection. Even if I were to become a fine lady in a Hall of my own, and not a mushroom hunter by trade, I should want to be able to look through a basket of mushrooms brought to my door by a hopeful seller…’ A sudden tear surprised her in the midst of this practical sentiment, and a lump came to her throat, so that she blinked and faltered.

Ferdi nodded and patted her shoulder. ‘He was a fine hobbit,’ he said, ‘though I didn’t know him as well as you and Freddy did. I knew him as someone kind and thoughtful, and generous into the bargain.’ When he saw that his words were only causing the tears to flow more rapidly, he changed direction. ‘I wish I had the opportunity to know him better – now, that is,’ and at his wry tone Estella looked up in surprise. He nodded at her expression. ‘Ah, yes, I admit I found him to be quite dull, you know – I didn’t have much appreciation for books and reading. Still don’t, as a matter of fact. I can read, practical things, but all those tales of his, and Elvish translations of Bilbo’s – people and places too far and away to be of any use or good.’

Estella’s expression turned to pity, and she shook her head at him, but he only laughed silently again, and said, ‘Well, those mushrooms won’t gather themselves! Let us be about our business…’

As they emerged from the cave, he looked about them carefully, eyed the sky, listened – and Estella found herself holding her breath and listening, herself, though she hadn’t the faintest idea what they might be listening for. At last Ferdi drew a deep breath and said, ‘Just smell that fresh air! Not even the smallest taint of smoke. No wood fires, or coal or peat, this deep in the Wood. No ruffians camping nearby, I should think, for they seldom go without a fire and cooked food – why, I’ve seen them drag a hobbit along with them on their travels, just to do the cooking for them! Still, we’ll keep our voices down, speak more with our hands than our lips, just to keep in practice.’

Estella nodded.

Ferdi drew another deep breath and cocked an eye at the sky. ‘Noonish,’ he said. ‘Clear weather for the next day or two at least – we’ll have a full moon this night for our walking.’

‘Gather mushrooms all the afternoon, walk all the night?’ Estella wanted to know. This would be the longest day of her experience, if so.

‘Most of the night,’ Ferdi said. ‘As I said, once we’re through this stretch of Wood we’ll be coming closer to habitation once more, and it’ll be safer to walk in darkness and silence. The next hidey-hole is a good way off, and will take us that long to reach, as we won’t be covering ground so quickly, at least until we’ve each gathered a full load of mushrooms.’ He smiled at her attempt to conceal her dismay. ‘If not for the mushrooms, it would be a night’s walk, perhaps a little less…’

‘But the shrooms buy us safety, or at least, braces,’ Estella said bravely.

Ferdi’s smile broadened in approval. ‘At the very least,’ he said.

***

A/N: Title is a nod to JRRT, of course, especially as this is not really a shortcut, though mushrooms are involved.

Chapter 14. The Luck of the Tooks

It was a fine afternoon. The Sun, high above, teased them in speckles of light that crept through the heavy canopy of trees that sheltered them from the sky, and danced in a light breeze. Estella pulled her rabbit-skin cloak closer about her and shivered when the wind ruffled her hair.

‘A bit brisk,’ Ferdi said. ‘The wind will be high atop the Green Hills, bowling the clouds along…’

Estella peered upward. ‘Not a cloud in the sky!’ she protested.

‘Dry today,’ Ferdi agreed, ‘and the wind is sweeping away the mist and fog. But this time of year the weather is changeable. There might be sun, there might be rain or mist, and it’s not beyond the realm of possibility for hail or snow to fall, all in one spring day.’

‘Snow!’ Estella said, looking at him suspiciously.

But he only laughed and pointed ahead. ‘That looks like a fair specimen or three!’ And while Estella went to gather the mushrooms there, he walked at a tangent to another small colony and began to gather, examining each cap with care before stowing it gently in his bag. If not for Ferdi’s evident caution, his constant vigilance, watching about them and listening, they might have been on a casual ramble, a walking party, as in the old days when Frodo had kindly invited Estella to join him and Freddy, and sometimes Merry, when the latter was visiting from Buckland during one of Bilbo and Frodo’s stays at Budge Hall.

The first of the wild strawberries gleamed like rubies amongst the green leaves on the forest floor, and though they were tiny, more a matter of a burst of flavour than any sort of sustenance, they added spice to the exercise as the two walked along. At one point they stopped and sat down to rest, reaching into their packs for yet another portion of bread from their dwindling supply, supplemented by some of the specimens they’d been gathering, that were good when eaten raw. The mushrooms were delicious, of course, ‘though they’d be better sautéed with butter and a little good wine,’ Estella said through a mouthful.

‘Ah, but my sister’s bread makes up a great deal for what may be lacking,’ Ferdi said, smacking his lips. ‘Rosie’s bread, going stale, is still better than anyone else’s, fresh out of the oven.’

‘Really?’ Estella said, and shook her head with mock seriousness. ‘I don’t know… our Cook was an artist when it came to food…’

‘And you ought to know, when it comes to art,’ Ferdi said. At her raised eyebrow, he shrugged. ‘Your father showed us a roomful of paintings and sketches, on one of our visits.’ He chuckled at her expression of horror. ‘You were on a visit, some Bolger aunt or another… You didn’t know? He’s very proud of your talent.’

‘I never let him show off my work when I’m at home,’ Estella said in a small voice, looking fixedly down at her lap. ‘Poor as it is…’

Ferdi laughed aloud, albeit very softly, and patted her arm. ‘Poor in your eyes, perhaps,’ he said. ‘I know when I try to sketch or carve, it never comes out exactly as I see it in my head. But your “work” as you call it – you’ve nothing to apologise for, there. The works are pleasing to the eye, well laid-out, very life-like: I thought the squirrel, for example, was about to twitch his tail and scold!’

Estella coloured in chagrin and said hastily, ‘I wasn’t fishing for compliments.’

Ferdi was silent in reply, and the silence stretched out until at last she looked up, reluctantly, only to find him wearing a sympathetic expression. ‘I know that you weren’t,’ he said. ‘You’re about as far from “false and frivolous” as the Misty Mountains are from the Sea, as old Bilbo used to put it.’ A long, long way, he meant, though he had little idea of either Misty Mountains to the East or Western Sea, for the maps he’d pored over and committed to heart did not go beyond the Bounds of the Shire.

Now Ferdi picked the last of the crumbs from the cloth that wound together his food supply, and wrapped and tied the cloth carefully to conserve the rest. ‘Ah, well,’ he said. ‘Sun’s half-way down the sky, and we’re only half-way through the mushroom-gathering part of our journey… Our packs ought to be mostly full before we leave this part of the Wood and parallel the Stock Road once more.’

Estella nodded and followed suit, and soon they were about the business of gathering once more, walking together some of the time, going off in different directions to investigate some likely growths and harvest the best, and coming together again. When walking together, they alternated between soft talk and companionable silence.

Estella’s eyes were intent on her task, but Ferdi divided his time between mushroom hunting and his surroundings, always watching for movement or some sign of others. He had told Estella that he was fairly confident they’d encounter no other hobbits gathering here, what with the growing difficulty to obtain a pass to leave one’s immediate environs. There were no hobbit settlements in this part of the Wood, and little reason for Lotho to send his Men here – no hobbits to bully, or with goods to gather. Estella observed aloud that they might have been walking in the Shire before hobbits came at all, before Marcho and Blanco led their people to a new life in a new land, under a long-dead King’s protection.

‘We could use a good King!’ Ferdi said in an undertone, ‘if only there were such a person, to keep order and see justice done.’

‘Bilbo used to talk about Kings,’ Estella answered softly. ‘The stories he could tell… I remember Merry begging the old hobbit to take him to see the King, for he sounded so grand, and Bilbo always answered, “P’rhaps I will… just so soon as the fellow comes back…” He always made it sound as if the King had just stepped out for a moment, to smoke a pipe or somewhat, and would be back in a moment or two.’

Ferdi laughed at this, for “When the King comes back” was a common proverb among Shirefolk, when talking about something that would never happen. ‘I miss his stories,’ he said. ‘Fantastic things! Elves and warriors, dragons and Dwarves…’

‘Wolves and wizards,’ Estella agreed. She added several more carefully selected caps to her pack and said in surprise, ‘I’ve nearly filled my bag.’ It seemed as if they’d spent but a few moments searching and picking, walking slowly and talking as if it were just any spring day, before the Troubles had descended on the Shire.

‘And I,’ Ferdi said. ‘And a good thing, too! We’ll be losing the light soon – how quickly the time passes, and it’ll be harder to distinguish the good from the deadly, so we might as well pack up and walk on.’

They secured their packs so that no toothsome treats would fall out, and slipped the straps over their shoulders. Ferdi began to walk more purposefully, in the general direction of the setting Sun, but a little to the right of a straight course. Estella, walking beside him, said, ‘West, and a little North, I think.’

Well-pleased, he slapped her on the shoulder. ‘Well done, lad!’ (And with this, she understood that they had left Ferdi-and-Estella behind and were once more play-acting “uncle and lad” for the ruffians’ sake.) ‘We’ll make a hunter of you yet.’

‘Back toward the Road,’ she said.

‘And closer to civilisation,’ Ferdi agreed, ‘or what used to be. I’d say the Shire is growing less civilised instead of more, lately…’

They had walked some distance, and were picking their way down a hillside, and perhaps Estella ought to have paid closer heed to her footing, but basking in Ferdi’s recent approval, or the dimming light, or any number of reasons prevented her. In any event, a loose stone turned under her foot. With a startled cry, she threw out her hands to try and catch her balance, felt Ferdi grab at her sleeve, only to have it pull loose from his grip almost immediately, and then she was tumbling down the hill until she fetched up hard against a tree, dazed and hurting.

It seemed only a moment and then Ferdi was there, breathing hard, his hands grasping her shoulders as he gasped, ‘Estella! Are you hurt? Do you hear me?’ His hands were feeling her neck and head, as if probing for injury.

She wanted to weep in vexation and pain, but she remembered Rosemary’s lessons. She swallowed hard, took a careful breath, and grumbled, ‘I’ve ears enough, haven’t I?’

Hearing her speak, and evidently in her right mind, he picked her up from her crumpled ball and eased her back against the tree in a sitting position.

A little dizzy, Estella closed her eyes. She heard Ferdi’s relieved chuckle, though his hands were careful and gentle, feeling her limbs for injuries.

‘You’ve two, at the least,’ he answered, ‘and two eyes into the bargain, and glad I am to see them open and aware.’

‘Two eyes ought to be enough, I trow, though they weren’t, enough I mean, to see that the blasted rock would turn when I stepped on it,’ she said, and couldn’t suppress a yelp when he touched her ankle. Ferdi did not reprimand her for her strong language as Freddy would have; they were fully in character as “uncle” and “nephew” once more.

He frowned and explored with more care. ‘Turned your ankle.’

‘You noticed,’ Estella said sourly.

‘Not broken, I think,’ Ferdi said, manipulating it carefully while Estella gritted her teeth and winked away tears of pain and frustration. ‘Might not even be a sprain, but just a strain. In any event, it would be best not to walk on it for a day.’

‘What will we do?’ Estella demanded in dismay. ‘We can’t just stop here! Unless you know of a convenient hollow tree in these parts…’

But Ferdi was shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve no hidey-holes in this part of the Wood. We’re about halfway between our last rest, and our next.’

‘But if I’m not to walk, then what? Fly?’

Ferdi laughed at her acerbic tone. ‘That would be good, but I suspect you’ve left your wings at home, as have I, and there are no eagles hereabouts to offer us a lift.’ He was scanning their surroundings as they spoke, and now he handed her his sturdy walking stick. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘If any foxes menace you, just tap them on the nose with this.’ He got up from his crouch and began to pick his way to the bottom of the hillside.

Estella watched anxiously until he was out of sight, and then taking a firmer grip on the walking stick, she drew a deep breath. Twig might be fearful, but he’d never show his fear. Twig could split a sturdy log with a well-aimed blow of an axe, while helping Hally chop and stack wood. Twig could split the skull of a fox or stray dog as easily, with the hardened knob on the top of the walking stick – an elegant club, so to speak. Though Ferdi hadn’t used it as a weapon during their journey, having used it more to prod the path ahead of them as they walked through the darkness, or to thrust brambles aside from the path, Estella could now feel the possibilities in the fine balance of the stick in her hands.

Twig might only be a lad, but he’d wait bravely, weapon at the ready, and he wouldn’t quiver at the least sound rustling in the underbrush nearby. He wouldn’t hunch together like a fearful girl, lost in the little wood near Budgeford after following her brother and cousins, and falling behind, and realising she didn’t know her way home again, waiting for rescue and fearing the searchers might never find her in time, before some wild animal came upon her, or darkness fell, or both together.

“Twig”, Rosemary had named her. “Twig”, Rosemary and Hally had taught her to be.

Estella firmly put away all girlish thoughts of weakness and needing protection, as she’d been taught, as she’d been brought up to, from her earliest memories as a well-brought-up lass from one of the Great Families, and became fully Twig.

Chapter 15. Of Comfrey and Comfort

The shapes of the surrounding trees faded into shadow as the light dimmed, and soon Twig could not see her hand before her face, and Ferdi was gone somewhere, and what would she do if he did not return – for there was always the possibility of his capture by ruffians. He’d drilled into her the thought that if they should be accosted by ruffians, he’d create some sort of diversion, and she should run – run as far as she might, and not look back, no matter what she might hear behind her. She was to run, and find a hiding place, and hide until all was quiet, and then it would be up to her to rescue herself – to keep travelling to the West, until she reached the free Tookland.

She understood some of his reasoning; his purpose, after all, was to get her to safety. On the other hand, should he be caught with her in his possession, and the ruffians were able to positively identify her, the consequences for Ferdi would be all the worse. Or so Rosemary had told her, in discussing the scheme early on, before Ferdi had even made his appearance at the woodcarver’s little cottage. She must run and successfully hide, not just in her own defence, but to protect Ferdi.

With that thought, she tried to rise, to find a better hiding place, less exposed to a lantern-bearing traveller. Sharp pain flared in her foot, and she sank down again, fighting the impulse to be sick. She was not quite desperate enough to force herself to move in the face of pain. Perhaps if she heard the voices of Men nearby… and perhaps she’d still be unable to move far enough. She resolved within herself, that if by ill luck ruffians should come upon her now, she’d say nothing about how she’d come to be here. No, she thought, she must make up a convincing tale, of cutting her hair and stealing some boy’s clothes from a clothesline, and running away from home on her own idea, and no one else’s suggestion or aid.

So busy laying her plans was she, that she did not hear Ferdi’s approach until he spoke near at hand. She jumped, and his hand touched her arm in reassurance as he apologised.

‘Sorry, my lad,’ he said. ‘Tis only myself.’

‘Ah, Uncle,’ she answered. ‘I thought it might be a fox, at the least, but as it’s only yourself, I’ll take no alarm.’

She could almost feel the warmth of his smile in the darkness, Fox that he was, to hobbits and ruffians alike, and a smile was in his voice as he said, ‘I have found us a place where we can shelter, and more important, some leaves that will give you relief, hopefully enough that we may move from here to that shelter without too much difficulty…’

His hands went unerringly to the calf of her injured leg, as if he could see in the darkness (and maybe he could, Twig thought to herself, for he’d certainly led them through the darkness with only his ears, toes, and walking stick for a guide). She shivered as his hands slid down her calf to her ankle and foot. He whistled low. ‘Swelled up a bit while I was gone.’ She was certain from his tone that the swelling was more than ‘a bit’ but as it was dark, and she hadn’t wanted to touch the area and cause more pain, she had no idea… On second thought, the skin felt tight. She could almost imagine the swelling, now.

And then something cool against her skin, and she gasped involuntarily again at the suddenness, and he apologised under his breath.

‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I was just startled, that’s all, and really…’ She took a deep breath, and another, and added, ‘I do think it’s beginning to help. Already!’

‘Comfrey,’ he said. ‘Grows here in the Wood, one just needs to know what to look for, and where. Bruise the leaves, apply them, and in an hour you won’t believe the difference…’

‘An hour,’ she murmured, thinking of wandering ruffians.

‘We’ll hear them before they see us,’ Ferdi said quietly. ‘If that’s the case, I can bear you up in my arms, at least away from their direction of travel, enough that they don’t stumble over us.’ As if he could read her mood he added, in a pompous voice, ‘I cannot carry you to the ends of the Earth, of course!’

Laughter bubbled up in her, as he’d intended. Nervous laughter it might be, but he chuckled to hear her giggle, and though his hands never ceased their work on her injured foot and ankle, he said, ‘That’s better.’

He added, ‘In an hour, the Moon will be high enough in the sky to lend his light to our endeavours. It makes it easier for a passing ruffian to see us, perhaps, but I doubt their eyes are as sharp as a hobbit’s, at least in the dark Wood. We’ll be cautious in our going, and they won’t be, most likely.’

‘Full moon tonight?’ Twig said, remembering something he’d said earlier.

‘Yes, and clear sky,’ he said. ‘Just enough light to do us good. If it were an August moon, it might be light enough to read by.’

‘Folk in the back of the Wood don’t read,’ Twig said with a sniff. ‘Too much bother to learn, and what is the use of it, I ask you? Waste of good wood, to grind it up for paper, anyhow, or so my pap always said.’

‘Paper twists make for good fire-starting,’ Ferdi countered. He’d plastered wet leaves of comfrey over her entire foot and ankle, and was now winding a long cloth – one of the food wrapping cloths? – over all.

‘Only a careless fellow would let his fire go out,’ Twig said in a righteous tone, nose high in the air. ‘And who needs something as fancy as paper – useless stuff that it is – when there’s moss, and shredded bark?’

‘You have me there,’ Ferdi said. ‘Far be it from me to ask you to put on airs…’

Twig hmphed in satisfaction at having bested him in the argument, just as if she were a hobbit from back in the Back of the Woods, arguing with one less wood-wise. Paper, after all, would be hard to come by, but there was plenty of fire-starting material to be found for those who knew where to find it. And of course, any hobbit worth his salt would carry flint and steel to start a fire with.

‘Not that you even need an old fire,’ Twig said, to continue the thought. ‘Oft-times we just eat the meat without cooking, anyhow. It’s fresher that way, somehow.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Ferdi said, and from the fumbling she felt at her ankle, he was tying the end of the cloth in some kind of knot to keep the whole affair in place. ‘There,’ he said, sitting back. ‘How does that feel?’

‘Better,’ she said in surprise. ‘No, honestly, it does feel better! I think the swelling might even be subsiding, for the skin doesn’t feel so tight, and,’ she gave an experimental twitch, and winced, ‘it only hurts when I move it now, but not when I keep it quite still.’

‘Then keep it quite still,’ Ferdi said, ‘or at least as still as may be.’

‘How might that be?’ Twig asked acidly. ‘We cannot stay here.’

‘But we can,’ Ferdi said, ‘and I deem it prudent that we must, at least until the Moon is high enough that I don’t fall over my own feet on our way down this blasted hillside…’

‘I brought us quite a way down this blasted hillside by myself, thank you very much – or perhaps I ought to say no thanks to you!’ Twig said, matching him vulgarism for vulgarism, as a boy of her upbringing ought.

‘That you did, my lad, that you did,’ Ferdi agreed. ‘However, I think we shall go the rest of the way my way, if you don’t mind…’

‘I’ll take it under consideration,’ Twig said, lifting her chin again.

‘I thank you, Nephew,’ Ferdi said formally, and then he moved to sit down beside her, huddling quite close (though not remarking aloud on her shivering), and drawing his cloak over the two of them.

The two settled to a watchful silence, listening to the sounds in the night. They’d have enough warning of approaching Men to get out of the ruffians’ path, the way Men have of blundering along, but Twig certainly hoped they wouldn’t have to do so.

Chapter 16. 'It's all downhill...'

Twig wanted to jump at every sound, near or far, but she steadied herself by main force of will, drawing deep, deliberate breaths and listening for Ferdi’s quiet breathing beside her, though she felt more than she heard from the silent figure, clasped as she was to his side, sharing the warmth of his body and his cloak, feeling his inhalations and exhalations and somehow prompted to breathe in harmony with him, though she couldn’t have said why.

Fleetingly she thought once more of her oh-so-proper Grandmama Bolger, who would either squawk like an outraged hen or draw herself up, cold and haughty (Estella had seen both reactions). In either event, she’d be insisting on drawing up the wedding contract, no doubt. Estella sighed at the thought. As a matter of fact, she was pledged to marry – though she didn’t yet know who the lucky hobbit might be. It was an arrangement made in her early childhood, or even before her birth, and she would be told the details when the time was right. It didn't occur to her to be indignant over the situation, though in her later years, she would be. In the great families, such arrangements were not unknown, especially when fortunes or family influence were involved. Such an intimate embrace as she now found herself, well, it would be unthinkable under any other circumstances.

At her sigh, Ferdi moved slightly, turning his head to bring his lips close to her ear. She shivered a little at his warm breath on her neck as he whispered, ‘Is it troubling you so badly, still?’

Estella deliberately held her ground, grandmother or no grandmother, and shook her head. ‘No,’ she lied, refusing to think about the various things that were troubling her, though there were enough of them. And of course, as if because of her effort to shut them away, they all came flooding: her grandmother’s horror, the ache in her ankle (better than the earlier throbbing), the certain knowledge that she was bringing more peril to the courageous hobbit at her side, than the usual dangers he faced, and it was her fault for not minding her step better…

Ferdi’s arm tightened about her, pulling her a little closer. ‘You’re shivering,’ he whispered. ‘Can’t have you taking cold.’

Tears pricked her eyes, she knew not why, as she nestled under his arm. She could do worse than such a hobbit, she knew. Ferdi might even be the one to whom she was pledged, now wouldn’t that be an irony? She was likely to be joined with a Took descended from the Old Took, and Ferdibrand certainly fit the bill. Freddy was pledged to a Brandybuck, and so she knew a Brandybuck was out of the question for herself, according to her family’s tradition, and in any event Merry Brandybuck had disappeared off the face of the earth last autumn, so her half-formed idea of pleading for her own choice of husband was moot. And yet… The Brandybuck byword, There are always more fish in the River began to make more sense to her. Perhaps marriage to a hobbit other than the one she had yearned after, from her childhood, would not be such a trial after all.

She leaned her head on Ferdi’s shoulder, rested there, must have fallen asleep, for she wakened suddenly at his movement, as he sat up straighter, his hand closing on her shoulder in a gentle squeeze.

‘Awake?’ he breathed, his breath tickling her ear.

She nodded against his chin as she took in their surroundings, ghostly in the moonlight – which, for travelling purposes, was preferable to black as pitch.

And then the warmth of his cloak, surrounding her, and of his body, against her side, was gone as he rose to his feet. She took hold of his reaching hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet – her foot, she amended rapidly, as her injured foot gave a twinge.

‘Right, then,’ he whispered, easing an arm around her waist and pulling her arm around himself in the same way. ‘Take the stick in your other hand, use it and myself for support, and between us, we’ll get you down the rest of this hillside, at least. There are better hiding places in the valley, where we may go to ground for a day or two, and a whole host of ruffians would be hard-pressed to discover us.’

‘That would be a mercy,’ she murmured as they began a slow and careful descent. ‘But… what about food?’

He chuckled and ruffled the curls on her head with the knuckles of his free hand. ‘Trust a growing lad to think of such things,’ he said. ‘We’ve shrooms a-plenty, and a lad such as yourself, from the Back of the End of the Woods, should be able to forage for more…’

She forbore to point out the obvious, gritting her teeth together in concentration as they negotiated a rocky stretch of terrain. It would certainly not do to turn her other ankle, leaving her, so to speak, without a foot to stand on.

‘…and I might not be so woodly wise as yourself or your Back o’ the Wood kin,’ Ferdi was continuing, as if his whispering might strengthen her to the difficult task – and perhaps it did. At least, it distracted her from the inevitable discomfort of moving, though she avoided putting any weight on the injured foot. ‘But I know a little about foraging…’

‘Very little,’ she hissed, as her good foot slipped and her injured foot touched the ground briefly. ‘But I suppose it’ll have to do. Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, at any rate.’

She shuddered briefly, remembering that earlier time in the little wood near the Manse, when she’d lost herself following Frodo, Freddy, and Merry…

‘Still cold?’ he said in concern, his arm tightening around her.

‘Naw,’ she shook her head. ‘Getting warmer by the moment.’

‘Exercise will do that, I find. Gets the blood moving,’ Ferdi said.

‘Much better than bothering about a fire,’ she answered in the same vein, planting the walking stick and tightening her hold on both the stick and the hobbit beside her, to ease herself over a fallen tree in their path. ‘One can keep much warmer walking, or trotting about, than lying down to sleep…’

‘ ‘Twas the deep-Wood Bolgers who invented the idea of sleep-walking, I should imagine,’ Ferdi said. ‘Just think on it… you can stay warm, and catch your breakfast all ready for the eating when the Sun kicks off her bedcovers, and all in one…’

‘Aye,’ she said. ‘ ‘Tis a wonder more hobbits ha’ no’ discovered the trick.’

‘They are scarcely practical folk,’ Ferdi said. ‘Why, they keep cows and goats in sheds, and chickens in coops…’

‘Scarcely practical of them,’ she agreed. ‘Why, you gather all your birds together in one place, and they’re easy pickings for a fox! Nay, let them scatter to the trees when the Sun seeks her bed, and have a grand hunt for eggs in the mists of the morning – diverting and warming, all in one!’

‘That’s what I like about you, Twig,’ Ferdi said, and she could hear the grin in his voice, though she could not see his face – her eyes were fixed on the task of finding the best ground ahead for her walking stick and her one good foot. ‘You know how to enjoy life!’

Chapter 17. Lessons in Shelter-Finding

For the most part, Ferdi and Estella maintained silence as they made their way down the hillside into the valley through the sheltering darkness. At one point, he stopped and stooped to the ground, coming up with a long, straight stick of about the same thickness as his walking stick, though it was longer, about as tall as a staff. He tapped his heavy walking stick in Estella's hand, then tapped the "staff", and she quickly understood that he wished to exchange sticks with her, that he might have his old familiar prop (and weapon?) in his hand once more.

As before, Estella wasn't quite sure how the Fox managed it, but he seemed able to find the best footing on the most stable part of the slope, or so it appeared to her. Leaning on him as she was, limping along with her staff in her other hand, instead of following close behind while grasping his cloak (rather like walking a dog on a lead, some irreverent part of her mind whispered), she had a clearer sense of her companion's use of his sturdy walking stick, prodding the ground before them.

She began to notice subtle sounds; she'd feel Ferdi reach forwards, and divined even through the darkness that he tapped gently to the left, straight ahead, and to the right of them, adjusting their course according to whatever it was he discerned with his probing. The ground underfoot was relatively even, she realised. Her guide must be avoiding holes and large rocks and stumps. When he detected tree roots or fallen trees, he'd stop, take her arm, and help her hobble over the obstacle with the aid of her stick. Then he'd slip his arm around her again and they'd proceed along the path he chose, at least until the next obstacle presented itself.

Thankfully, they encountered no ruffians as they made their cautious way down the hillside. But Estella began to notice she could now see the shapes of trees looming around them as the slope began to level out, indicating they'd reached the valley.

Ferdi turned his head and whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. 'Dawn will be here soon.' 

'And shelter?' she whispered back.

It had grown light enough for her to see him shake his head. 'No shelter,' he whispered, reminding her that he'd established no hiding places in this part of the Wood, and his next secure place of concealment was too far to reach before full daylight was upon them, just as she remembered him mentioning earlier. 'We'll have to make our own luck.'

There were many questions she wanted to ask, but that would only slow them down, and who knew how well sound might carry in this part of the Woody End, bringing unwanted attention from wandering Men? So, instead, Estella concentrated on scanning their surroundings, looking for... she wasn't quite sure what they were looking for, but at least when Ferdi indicated that they'd found it, what ever it might be, she'd know what to look for in future if she ever found herself alone and in similar straits.

Before the first shafts of sunlight pierced through the trees, she felt more than heard her companion take a deep breath, and then Ferdi's arm squeezed briefly tighter. 'Here we are,' he murmured. Though he spoke so low it was difficult to hear any emotion in his voice, she had the impression he was relieved to have found what ever it was they had found.

'Here...?' she whispered.

He nodded. 'What's good for rabbits...' he quoted.

Estella frowned, for she'd heard the rest of the saying often enough from Cook: ...is good for the pot! Something to do with the seasoning, she thought, though no one had ever explained the matter to her.

But Ferdi was tugging at her arm. 'Get down,' he whispered. There was no urgency in his tone or actions, which Estella took to mean a ruffian wasn't about to blunder into them, so she crouched down rather than throwing herself to the ground.

Ferdi moved ahead of her, making small rustling sounds. Peering through the shadows ahead, Estella realised they'd nearly blundered into a sizeable bramble patch, and she shuddered, thinking of the scratching, stabbing thorns they'd avoided.

On second thought, Ferdi did not seem to be finding a path around the brambles but was addressing the thorny undergrowth directly, his walking stick in one hand, lifting the nearest thorny vines, and his knife in the other, and he was doing something... She wasn't quite sure what it was...

And then he paused and beckoned her forward, and seeing the gesture, she realised how quickly the forest was lightening around them. 'Get out your knife,' he said as she ducked under the vines he was bracing over their heads, making a tunnel of sorts. He gestured with the blade in his hand. 'Pull your hood up! Now, trim the thorns on the low branches, so...' He also had her lay down her staff, for the long stick was a little too long for convenience at the moment.

With them both working to trim away the thorns, they penetrated quickly into the briar patch. Astonishingly, Estella found that even when she missed some thorns, they glided over her rabbit-fur cloak and hood without penetrating. And now Ferdi's What's good for rabbits... began to make sense to her.

Ferdi did not signal a rest until they had worked their way deep into the brambles, whereupon he cleared a small space of ground, just large enough for a hobbit (maybe two) to sit or curl up in sleep. 'There,' he whispered. He sat down and patted his lap. 'Close quarters, but it cannot be helped,' he said. 'We don't want to clear away too many vines and make ourselves visible to someone passing by. But take your pack off first and set it to the side.' 

Estella sat down and drew up her feet to keep them from the thorns pressing in all around them. She noticed Ferdi gently extricating his cloak from some nearby thorns. 'What's good for rabbits...' he repeated, and she clearly saw the wry twist of his mouth since the dawn had fully arrived as they worked and she was sitting sideways on his lap. (What ever would her grandmother say to that? A wedding on the morrow! Sooner, if at all possible! no doubt.)

Shhhh... His warning was more of a sibilance than an actual shushing noise. As Estella stilled, she was aware of Ferdi hurriedly pulling his hood over his head and then wrapping his dark-green cloak around the two of them, even taking pains to cover their feet. Then he laid his walking stick down beside him, and the brambles overhead settled over and around them, offering extra motivation to keep completely still.

She heard the Men's voices, then, approaching, and soon their heavy footsteps were audible. Estella held her breath, but as she might have anticipated, the ruffians gave the thorny brambles a wide berth – though Ferdi would likely have said "steered clear of" instead of using a Brandybuck term more suited to sailing, for Tooks were, as a rule, suspicious of water in its untamed state.

At last, the footsteps and voices had faded completely away, and Estella relaxed.

Ferdi relaxed too, but quickly stiffened again as she heard a quickly suppressed Oooch! from him.

'Is aught amiss, "Uncle"?' she whispered.

'Naught, only a thorn or three,' he answered low. 'I'll have to get me a rabbit-fur cloak before I venture into the Wood a second time.'

'Frankly I'm astonished you ventured into the Wood a first time so unprepared!' she answered, staying in character.

Instead of the typical Tookish O aye! – which Rosemary Bolger had been at some pains to eliminate from her children's vocabulary, Ferdi sounded rather like a hobbit from Bywater or perhaps Hobbiton as he said, 'Isn't that the truth!'

And then he said, 'Let me have your hood, if you wouldn't mind too much, Nephew...'

'Indeed I would mind, Uncle!' Estella said, untying the loop that held the hood secure. 'Yet I am a good-hearted sort, and so I will have pity on you, poor creature that you are, this time at least. But do not let me catch you so unprepared again!' she added as she pulled the hood from her head and put it in his hand.

'You are a good-hearted sort,' Ferdi agreed, easing the rabbit-skin hood over his head and shoulders, 'even if you must say so yourself.'

Since he was taller than Estella, it made good sense for him to protect his head and neck and the top of his shoulders from the thorns pressing down on them from above. Estella suppressed a giggle at the thought that the brambles were their shelter, the hood was his shelter, and his head was her shelter!

'That's better,' Ferdi murmured with a sigh. He rested his chin on the top of her head, and his arms tightened around her. 'Are you warm enough?'

'Plenty warm!' Estella assured him.

'Good,' he said, loosening his hold. And then one hand fell away, and she realised he'd laid his pack down beside him as he'd sat down, even before telling her to take off her pack and sit herself in his lap. 'Here,' he said, reaching up towards her face.

At the smell of food, Estella realised she was ravenously hungry. She'd have liked to snatch the food from Ferdi's hand and cram it in her mouth! But mindful of the thorns all around them, she eased her hand out of her lap, took hold of the bread-and-dried meat he'd dug out of the pack, and brought it slowly to her mouth, lest an incautious action should result in a painful scratch.

'Mmm,' she said. 'That just suits.'

'Mmm-hmm,' he answered, for he'd dipped into the pack again and brought up another serving of travel rations for himself, and was now applying it where it would do the most good.

As they ate, Ferdi whispered to her of the necessary change in their plans. 'We'll hide here like wise little rabbits until your ankle is fully healed.' She did not interrupt him to debate the wisdom of rabbits. Though the little creatures were certainly wary and elusive, she wouldn't exactly call them wise! But Ferdi was, after all, a hunter, and so he might have a broader perspective of the creatures. 'I can forage for more food – there will be a few roots to be found, and some spring greens, and maybe even mushrooms should fortune favour us.'

'Pity it's not the season for bramble-berries,' Estella said. 'I deem 'twould be like sleeping in the larder!'

'I thought your folk didn't have larders!' Ferdi whispered, pretending surprise.

'O' course we don't have larders, are ye daft? ...But we do know what they are! Such an impractical, inconvenient idea, to dig a hole and keep yer food innit rather than carry your victuals with you and have them handy when ever hunger should strike!'

'Well I never claimed to be practical,' Ferdi defended himself.

Estella allowed herself a soft snort. 'Good thing, too, or I'd have to call you a liar!' 

They also indulged themselves with a few of the mushrooms they'd gathered. Estella was much less fastidious than in the past in terms of brushing off every speck of dirt; she found the shrooms delicious in spite of that fact. Finally, Ferdi allowed them each a few sips of water, and then he said, 'I cannot keep my eyelids open much longer.'

'Old gaffers need their sleep,' Estella answered, though her own eyelids felt heavy, and her body was relaxing after the long, difficult – dare she say harrowing? – descent with only three good feet between them. She was rewarded by his chuckle.

'Very well,' Ferdi said. 'I'm going to ease us over and down now...'

Estella helped as much as she could, considering her cloak kept her relatively intact, whilst Ferdi's cloak provided only concealment and cover from casual discovery by passing Men.

When they were resting on their sides at last, still curled uncomfortably close together, or so it felt to her, Ferdi whispered. 'We can dare to sleep now, just so long as we don't snore...'

'I'll be sure to waken you when your snoring starts, old Uncle,' Estella murmured.

'Be sure that you do, my young grub,' Ferdi replied. 'I'm sorry we cannot stretch out more comfortably, but rabbits is as rabbits does...'

'So rabbits must,' she agreed. 'G'night.'

'Good morning, you mean.'

'Whatever.'

*** 

Chapter 18. Skulking into Danger

When Estella awakened, in part from the painful intrusion of a thorn in her foot when she'd unconsciously tried to adjust her cramped position, she could still see daylight shining through the leaves, though it had a quality to it that spoke to her of late afternoon. Ferdi was still breathing slowly and evenly – not snoring, but genuinely asleep, she thought, and wondered curiously if he'd trained himself not to snore, somehow, or if he were naturally not a snorer? 

Cautiously, she tested her sore ankle, prompting a twinge that made her bite her lip, hard, in her effort not to make a noise. She lay unmoving on her side for what felt like forever but was probably less than an hour. Just when she thought she might try to change position to gain some relief, she heard the sound of voices – Big Men, she deemed, from the noise of their passage, snapping twigs and swishing branches. Luckily, the sounds faded away without coming any nearer. Now she was twice as stiff as she'd started, once from lying without moving and twice from stiffening at the sound of ruffians so close by their hiding place.

Estella's strong will had been the despair of her mother, had secretly impressed her father, and had frustrated her brother Freddy no end when she insisted on tagging along after him and visiting cousins like Frodo Baggins and Merry Brandybuck and even Pippin Took who, though a bit younger than the others, was equally skilled at making mischief. Now she employed that will in helping her continue to lie absolutely still, listening to her companion's soft breathing, the sounds of birdsong, the rustles of passing animals, and the crashing of heavy bodies nearby. They must have gone to ground close to a path that Lotho's louts frequented.

She might have dozed at some point, for she became aware that she could no longer hear Ferdi's soft breathing. She started at the thought of being alone here, where Lotho's Men might stumble over her at any time. As her good sense reasserted itself (Don't be a ninny! What Man, however clumsy, is going to stroll through the middle of a bramble patch?), she felt Ferdi's arms tighten around her briefly in reassurance and then release her again. She hadn't heard him breathing because he was awake and listening to their surroundings, just as she had been.

'If I'd known we were so close to the path, I might have chosen differently,' he breathed in her ear. 'But then, I simply guided us to the first brambles I found, hoping to reach cover before the dawning.'

She turned her head to be able to use as low a voice as possible. 'And we almost did,' she said. 'But I've listened to several passers-by, and none have seen us...'

'Thus far,' he whispered.

She made a loose fist and hit him on the arm. 'Don't borrow trouble!'

'No,' he agreed. 'We've brought plenty with us, as it is.'

But more trouble was on the way. They heard barking, rapidly approaching, and Men's shouts, and a frantic rustling – and a rabbit ran right into their hiding place. The dog was not far behind. He yelped as he collided with the outermost layer of thorns and then barked and (from the sounds of it) began digging. Paralysed by fright and surprise, the rabbit cowered against Estella, its soft fur brushing against her hand.

'Come now, Killer!' a Man's voice said close behind the dog – too close!

Both hobbits froze. Estella even stopped breathing and closed her eyes. Would the Man see them?

'Come now!' the Man repeated. 'So he ran into the brambles, did he? How d'you expect to fetch your little friend out of there again? I'm not going to get myself all scratched to smidges for a morsel! Pah!' He spat in evident disgust.

'What is it, Ferny?' another voice said.

'Ran that rabbit to ground in the brambles,' the first voice said. 'Not worth the bother. If we go after it, it'll just run out the other end and be on its merry way.' He spat again. 'Useless cur!'

The outer edge of brambles jerked as the dog dodged his kick, but luckily, those hiding within remained well hidden.

When the heavy footsteps had died away, the rabbit's trembling stopped. Estella felt the tickle of its whiskers on her hand, and then it jerked in consternation and launched itself out of the brambles at top speed. She couldn't help laughing.

Ferdi must have felt her shaking, for his whisper came again. 'Is aught amiss?'

'Just a poor wee creature... p'rhaps it thought I was a fellow rabbit, from the fur I'm wearing, but then it got a whiff of you and bolted!'

She felt more than heard him chuckle. 'A whiff of me?' he whispered.

'Of a certain!' she said, using a backwoods Bolger's expression rather than a Tookish "Aye". 'I hate to tell you this, Uncle, but you're in sore need of a bath!'

'Am I?' Ferdi said. 'And what about you?'

'I smell like a rabbit!' Estella said, somehow injecting haughtiness into her whisper.

As twilight began to draw its shadows over the Wood, traffic on the path dwindled. Once darkness had fallen, they listened a long time but heard no more men. 'How's your nerve?' Ferdi said at last.

'My nerve?' Estella asked, confused.

'We can resume our travels if your ankle gives you no twinges.'

'Can we?'

'But you must be honest with me! You'll need two sound legs for some of the country we'll be crossing...'

Estella took some satisfaction from his use of "legs" instead of "limbs" as if she were a lad or a pony rather than a cumbersome lass who was putting him in danger.

'So – how is it?'

'My nerve, or my ankle?' she asked. He remained silent, waiting. At last, she said, 'It's better.'

'But not sound,' he pressed, correctly divining that she spoke of her ankle.

'Not quite.'

'Thank you for being truthful,' he said, 'and not giving in to the temptation to give me the answer you think I want to hear.'

'I think you want to hear the truth, actually,' Estella said. 'For 'tis my ankle that's weak, not my will... nor my nerve, either.'

'Very well,' he answered. 'We can go and look for another bramble patch, but there's no guarantee we'll find one nearby. A number of Men have walked right by us and not seen us, even the ones whose dog chased a rabbit into our midst. Although...'

'Although?'

'Although,' he said. 'Seeing as how we may have run out of food – if we preserve the shrooms for the daytime stretch of walking as we'd originally planned – and have to forage, I'm surprised you didn't catch our supper when you had the chance!'

'Catch my own little cousin for supper!' she said, pretending dismay. 'Why, we're wearing the same coat, we are!' She paused to listen, but it was only the breeze rustling the leaves above them. 'You go and forage all the foodstuffs you like, but leave my relations out of it!' And she subsided to a grumble while feeling his silent laughter surrounding her.

'Very well,' he repeated. 'If you've enough nerve to endure another day like this one, with noisy Men interrupting our well-earned rest, then I think we should stay here and call well enough "good".'

'Good,' she said, nodding against his arm.

'The Man in the Moon has already risen to begin his day,' he said. 'Just off the full... he should begin to light the sky, a little, soon even though the trees are hiding him. I think...' he paused and went on, '...if you have any personal business to take care of, now would be the best time. Once the Moon climbs higher in the sky, some Men might be inclined to tramp along the path once more. Just listen – hard! – for movement before you move, yourself.'

'I will,' she nodded. 

She felt more than saw him pick up his walking stick from the ground and lift it over their heads, recreating the tunnel they had burrowed under. As he was making a path out of the brambles, she was already moving – loosening the strings fastening her cloak and lifting it over her head. Her legs were more vulnerable, but the rabbit skin protected the rest of her, and her hood could continue to offer Ferdi some protection, at least.

It was such a relief to be free of the thorny, scratchy, grabby brambles! Both hobbits exited to the left – away from the path – and then separated. Estella found a small stick, dug a hole under some ferns, relieved herself, and took care to cover the results.

When she returned to the "entrance" to their hideaway, Ferdi was waiting. He lifted the brambles with his stick and waited while she crawled under, then let the brambles down again. 'I'll be back soon with some roots and spring greens, I hope,' he said. 'Perhaps even a few strawberries to sweeten the pot.' 

When he'd pressed a handful of bread-and-meat into her palm earlier, he'd told her it was the last. Apparently their journey had taken longer than he'd anticipated. They ought to have reached the borderland tomorrow, but they'd be resting an extra day for the sake of her dratted ankle. 'And we wouldn't want to put too much of a dent in our supply of mushrooms for the excellent Shirriff Tallow by eating too many of them...' she said in answer. 'For I don't fancy having to go back and gather more – and come down that hill a second time!'

'We certainly would not,' he answered. 'And you can breathe easy, for that hill is out of our way in any event!'

He did not warn her to stay as quiet as possible; nor did she warn him. She simply crawled into the middle of the bramble patch, made a small nest of bare ground, and curled herself small under her rabbit-fur cloak, the better to warm herself as the night's chill deepened. She did not ask for her hood, for she knew it would help Ferdi burrow more quickly into their shelter when he returned, which ought to add a small measure of safety to his efforts.

Despite her long sleep throughout the daylight hours (interrupted by noisy ruffians as it had been), she soon fell asleep. When she awakened again, the Moon was high in the sky, peeping down through the leaves, and Ferdi was easing himself into their hiding place. He froze, half-in and half-out, at the crashing approach of several Big Men on the nearby path, but luckily, the ruffians were relying on the Moon to light their way rather than carrying lanterns.

And grumbling about it! Estella stopped her mouth with her fist so they wouldn't hear her laugh. It wasn't funny, but somehow it was!

At last the Men were gone, and Ferdi wormed his way into the middle of the brambles where Estella waited, though he sat down close to her rather than in her lap. 'Success!' he said. 'Our feast awaits! And I took some time to scout a bit, and we're closer than I'd realised... and I was able to gather enough for tomorrow, and after tomorrow there'll be no need to gather more...' Late tomorrow or sometime the day after they should reach their destination, he meant, and her heart leapt within her.

'Then what are we waiting for?' she said.

'Indeed,' he answered, and she felt him fumble a cloth about the size of a large pocket-handkerchief into her lap, the four corners tied together. 'One for you,' he said, 'another for me, and two for the morrow.' She heard the soft rustle of her backpack as he tucked the remainder away.

She untied the corners of the cloth and surveyed the riches within with the help of her fingers and her nose. Roots there were; she wasn't sure what kind, but they were juicy and crunched between her teeth almost alarmingly, and so she made a conscious effort to chew as quietly as she might. There were several kinds of roots, one of which was somewhat sharp, one had a hint of sweetness, and another was spicy. The leafy greens were also a mix of flavours, some sweet and others tangy or sour. Some long, thin plants turned out to be wild onions. There was even a handful of wild strawberries, tiny but flavourful. Estella thought she might never have tasted such a wonderful, rich, abundant feast before, not even the one she remembered from old Bilbo's birthday party! Ferdibrand had also been one of the guests that night, one of the "gross" of hobbits invited to fill up Bilbo's whimsical number of guests. She wondered what he might be thinking... but she was soon to find out.

About halfway through her portion, she thought Ferdi said something about a wedding feast. 'I'm sorry?' she said. 'I didn't quite hear...'

'Today was the day,' Ferdi said. 'As I was out and about, digging for roots, I whiled away the time contemplating the calendar. Do you know what day it is?'

Estella shook her head. 'I've lost track,' she admitted. 'I don't even know if it's washing or ironing or mending or some other day!'

'Of course,' Ferdi answered. 'Rosie doesn't keep a calendar these days... no point in it. The Boss doesn't allow celebrations – he seems to find satisfaction in making Shire-folk as miserable as possible. And inside our borders,' (and she realised he meant the free Tookland), 'we must practise constant vigilance. Lotho's Men test our defences nearly every day, and we must keep on our toes and be ready for them. And in the Outer Shire, just as it is in the Woody End, no gatherings are allowed, so that means no birthday parties or other celebrations. No highdays. No feasts or remembrances.' She heard him sigh. He didn't start eating again, but he didn't speak, either. Just sat quietly, as if he were immersed in thought.

Estella listened to him not-eating and not-speaking for a long time. 'So what day is today on the calendar?' she asked at last.

'My wedding day,' Ferdi said, and Estella thought he suppressed a sigh. 'Last summer, we began our planning. What a grand affair it would have been! Nothing is too good for my sweet Nell...'

'But...' Estella said, her head a-whirl. Had she made him miss his own wedding by delaying his return to Tookland? She was horrified at the thought.

'But...' he echoed. 'Nobody's getting married these days. No celebrations are possible – have been possible – since Lotho closed all the inns and then closed down the borders,' he said. 'Himself is rather occupied with matters of safety and working out the answers to future problems ahead of time. He'd hardly take time away to marry off one of his daughters, now would he?'  

Somehow she understood that he had refrained from speaking the name or title of the Thain, a name and title that were damningly Tookish in the midst of hostile territory where it was decidedly unhealthy to be a Took.

'I suppose he wouldn't,' she whispered. 'I'm sorry.'

She heard him huff very softly. 'Not half as sorry as I am,' he said. 'Ah well, it cannot be helped, I suppose. We can always hope... sometimes that's all we can do. That, and work towards the future...' She looked over at him and saw his teeth gleaming in the darkness as he grinned at her. 'And be a thorn in the Boss's side so much as possible.'

'We'll just chuck him into the middle of a bramble patch without a rabbit-skin cloak, shall we, Uncle?' she said.

'I like the way you think, lad,' Ferdi said. 'Keep it up, and I've no doubt you'll go far.' 

*** 

Chapter 19. 'Rabbits is as rabbits does...'

After a day of rest, Estella's ankle was not all it should be, perhaps, but better than it was. At least Ferdibrand was able to manipulate the joint gently without bringing a gasp or wince as dusk began to settle over the Woody End. 'You'll turn it more easily in the state it's in,' he warned, 'until it's had time to heal completely.'

'I'll walk carefully,' Estella said.

'I hope so!'

The sound of heavy bodies moving carelessly along the nearby path prevented any further conversation, but when the Men were well away, Ferdi whispered, 'We'll sleep a few hours more and rise in the middle night, and eat what food we have left, and then depart our rabbits' nest, walking only for part of the night – for the last portion of this stretch of the journey must be made in daylight.'

'Shirriff Tallow's mushrooms,' Estella breathed.

'Exactly,' Ferdi said. 'But we're prepared, and will play our parts, and I have every confidence you'll be able to convince them as well as I hope to...'

'And then we'll reach the borderlands?' Estella said, for that was her understanding.

'That is correct,' Ferdi said. 'This night we'll see the last of the Wood before we reach the open country, and we'll have to cross a boggy area on the road, for going around the bog would have us walking out in the open with little cover to speak of for twice or even three times as long. There are copses sprinkled over and around the Green Hills, and trees growing in the valleys where streams are flowing. We'll try to work our way from cover to cover once we're past the bog.'

'And we must walk the Road in daylight,' Estella said.

'Because of the curfew,' Ferdi said. 'To be found on the Road at night is a certain invitation to the ruffians to march you off to the Lockholes.'

Estella shivered. Or worse, she thought. But "worse" was the whole reason Ferdi was risking the Lockholes for her sake. 'But to be found on the Road, even in daylight, without a Pass...' she said.

Though the sky above the trees was pale, darkness had already claimed their hiding place beneath the broad leaves of the bramble patch. Estella could hear the smile in Ferdi's voice as he said, 'That's what the mushrooms are for.' He adjusted his position for a more comfortable one, from the sound of it, and said, 'But sleep now. For tomorrow will be the longest day of our journey, as well as the most dangerous one...'

Estella stretched cautiously and then curled under her cloak and tried to relax into sleep. It took some effort of will, but she managed, somehow, for when Ferdi gently shook her shoulder to awaken her again, she felt as if she hadn't slept at all.

At least their scanty meal wasn't interrupted by passing Men. The path was much less-travelled this night. Estella hoped that fact boded well for the rest of this day. Begin as you mean to go on, her grandmother was fond of saying. 

'There we are,' Ferdi said. 'Now, shake any and all crumbs out of the wrapping, and roll it tight like a bandage – for that's what it is, a bandage that you're carrying in case you have a mishap. Which you have,' he added.

'P'rhaps it would go better wrapped around my ankle?' she asked dryly.

'Not unless you are playing a game with the ruffians, trying to make them think you're weaker than you are,' Ferdi warned. 'For if they sense weakness, they'll go after you! ...and you must have a good hiding place where you can go to ground before they catch you, or a trap that will catch them as you lead them into it!'

It sounded like a very dangerous game to Estella. She also had the impression that Ferdi was not only familiar with the game but played it all too often in the cat-and-mouse gamble the Tooks had been playing with Lotho's Men for some months now. She could only hope their luck would not run out.

She ran her hand the length of the cloth wrapping to ensure no crumbs remained, and then she rolled it tightly and stuck it down the side of her pack, pushing it all the way to the bottom, under the mushrooms she'd gathered. Her stomach roiled at the rich smell of the mushrooms, and she firmly commanded it to behave properly. To her surprise, it did.

With a sniff and a nod, she shouldered her pack. The Moon, now high in the sky, was not far off the full, and the faint light filtering through the leaves gave her an idea of Ferdi's shape. Thus, she was aware when he raised his arm. The quiet rustle told her that he'd made a roof with his walking stick, lifting the briars above their heads to make it easier for her to crawl out of their hiding place.

He emerged immediately behind her, handing Estella her staff as he straightened. In return, she took hold of his cloak as she had at the beginning and gave a tug to indicate her readiness. And then they were moving through the darkness, perhaps a little slower than before (sparing her ankle? she wondered).

Their luck held through the rest of the night, for they encountered no ruffians during the dark hours. First light, a little before sunrise, found them at the edge of the Wood, where they paused to rest before leaving the cover provided by the sheltering leaves.

'I'll miss the Wood,' she murmured.

Ferdi smiled. 'I always do,' he said. 'There's something about a Wood... brambles, hollow logs, the (hopefully empty) dens of wild animals...'

'O you silver-tongued Fox, you,' she said, punching him lightly on the arm.

Shhh, he said, only half-joking, and she sobered at once. Then he lifted his hand to point. 'See the great hills rising in the distance beyond the grass-land,' he said. 'There lies freedom.'

Heartened, she nodded.

'But just one moment,' he said, staying her when she would have stepped out of the shadow of the trees.

As she watched in astonishment, he dug to the bottom of his pack, beneath the mushrooms, and brought out a small bag. 'Which way's the wind blowing?' he asked himself aloud as he undid the knot tying the bag shut. He turned himself to put the wind at his back, then bent over with his head pointing downwind and dumped the contents of the bag over his head. The breeze carried away a white cloud as fine as dust, though much of it settled on his head. He proceeded to work the dust into his curls. When he straightened again, taking care to brush any traces of dust from his clothing, he resembled a much older, white-haired gaffer!

'Flour,' he said succinctly, tucking the small bag inside his shirt. 'As long as they don't get too close...' Then he bent down and picked up a handful of dirt, which he rubbed into his face and neck, nodding to her to do the same. When Estella had finished, she looked at Ferdi and scarcely recognised him. He'd also, apparently, rubbed some dust into his eyes, making them red and watery, giving him a bleary look. He looked her over as well. 'Nicely grubby,' he said. 'Now, do you remember your part in our play?'

'Keep my mouth shut,' Estella said. 'Awkward and shy, a back-woods hobbit who's not comfortable with strangers – especially Big ones.'

'And?' he prompted. 

'Let you do the talking,' she said, and as he opened his mouth to prompt her further, she held up her hand to stop him. 'And if all goes awry, run.' Though it went against the grain. She took a deep breath and let it out again. 'Run,' she said reluctantly, 'and don't look back, no matter what.'

'You'll do,' he said with a nod of approval.

As if of one mind, they stole together out from under the verge of the Wood, walking softly – though of course, all the stealth in the world could not hide them from spying eyes so long as they were walking out in the open. Ferdi zig-zagged them from copse to copse, spending as little time as possible in plain sight.

The ribbon of road he was aiming for came into sight; some time earlier, Estella had noticed it curving away into the hills. 'Just up ahead, we'll cross the wetlands,' Ferdi said. 'Not far beyond, we'll join with the road that runs between Stock and Tuckborough, where we'll find some cover as the road begins to wind over the skirts of the Green Hills. The track is deeply cloven, hardly fit for carts these days, so little of travellers does it see, but trees line the sides of the track, and hollows and hiding places abound.'

'And bramble patches?' Estella asked.

He grinned. 'Some, here and there,' he said. 'Or where would the rabbits make their homes? Rabbits is as rabbits does, as you know.'

'I do!' she said.

No ruffians accosted them as they crossed the open grass-land, and they saw no tall figures as they reached the little side-branch leading to the Stock Road and walked along the narrow track through increasingly damp and boggy ground. Estella pointed to the clumps of reeds of reeds and rushes, but Ferdi shook his head. 'Should you try to find hiding there,' he said in a bare whisper, 'you'd be hidden all right! At the bottom of the bog!'

They encountered some thin clouds of small, annoying biting insects, but Ferdi told her they were lucky, for though midges swarmed thick and hungry in the summer and fall months, they were hardly noticeable this time of year.

Hardly noticeable, Estella hmphed to herself, slapping at her neck. At least her newly acquired covering of dirt provided a little protection. Perhaps it was more than merely disguise.

Just after the side-road left the bog and just before they reached the little-used road leading to Stock, their luck ran out.

*** 

Chapter 20. 'So rabbits must...'

Estella breathed a little easier as they reached the verge of another small wood, comprising downy birch and alder, providing some cover, at least after crossing the marshy area. She'd felt especially exposed as they'd crossed the open marshlands, for the path stood above the surrounding land, having been built up on a dike of sorts, or so she imagined. In her mind's eye, she could see a parade of hobbits trundling wheelbarrows of rock and dirt that they'd used to fill in the path across the bog. She wondered if it might be as simple as that, or if a previous Thain's engineers had devised some sort of structure to stabilise the land? Perhaps with the help of the Brandybucks, who knew much about dealing with water in their delvings and other construction, such as the causeway that ran along the Brandywine on the Marish side of the River. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Ferdi's squeeze on her arm. Truly, she'd not have known him to see him in his present guise: white-haired, bent as of with age, holding her arm and leaning on his stick as he walked. 'Yes, old Uncle?' she said.

'Left,' Ferdi said in a high, cracked voice. 'Up ahead, where this path joins in.'

Once they reached the Stock Road, they would cross the road into the trees and brush on the far side and travel parallel to the road rather than on the track itself. The going would be rough, but no rougher than travelling through the wilder parts of the Woody End had been. She knew from the description he'd provided earlier that the road between Stock and Tuckborough was a narrow, deeply-cloven track as it passed to the south of Hobbiton and Bywater and wound over the skirts of the Green Hills. 'It was a decent little road at one time,' Ferdi had told her, 'but after the breach with Brandy Hall under Mistress Lalia, the Tooks' road maintenance efforts went by the wayside,' he'd smiled at her wrinkled-nose reaction to his punning, 'and Thain Ferumbras saw no need to "send good coin after bad" in order to "keep" that particular road for a "king" who was never going to come...'

'Who still hasn't come,' Estella had corrected, 'and probably never will!'

'Never is further down the road than I can see,' Ferdi had chided. Estella hadn't been certain whether he actually believed in the eventual coming of some legendary king or if he'd merely been objecting to her sweeping statement. When she'd asked him, he'd merely remarked, 'I'm keeping an open mind. Or trying to, at least.' And then he'd grinned and added, 'I've always been contrary that way! Tell me something's never going to happen, and I'll do my best to argue all the ways it might!'

'You mean, you think Merry... and Pippin and Frodo and that other fellow,' she'd quickly added, lest he might think she was somehow more interested in Merry than the others, 'might come back to us someday?' And then she'd had to shove down the hope that tried to rise in her at the thought.

But his response had been simply to repeat what he'd said a moment ago: 'I'm keeping an open mind. Or trying to, at least.' He'd said nothing about hope, not even when she'd asked him more specifically about his hopes.

As they walked, she'd watched for hiding places, a habit she'd half-formed playing I-hide-and-you-seek-me with Robin in the Wood near Hally and Rosie's home – and with real ruffians lurking in the vicinity to add spice to the game! After hiding in the brambles with Ferdi, she'd paid even closer attention.

And now her alertness paid for itself. For, quite suddenly, half-a-dozen Men rose out of the trees to either side of the little path, catching the travellers between them.

'Hoi! What have we here?' one rogue shouted cheerily. 'I told you I'd seen signs of the little folk travelling along this path to evade the Toll...'

Toll? Estella thought, stunned. Surprise had also momentarily shown on Ferdi's face before he wiped it blank again, and now he craned upward at the tall figures around them with a bland look as he slipped his pack from his back, struggling a bit, making it look as if his joints were stiff with age.

'We have your Toll right here!' he creaked. 'And our Pass, into the bargain! Mushrooms gathered for the Boss, on the orders of the Shirriff!'

'Well now,' said another of the Men. 'There's a different kettle of fish.'

'No,' Ferdi said, blinking in confusion. 'We've not been fishing...'

'Shut yer mouth, old-timer,' the first ruffian said nastily. From his air of command, he seemed to be the leader of this motley pack of rogues. 'Speak when you're spoken to, and not before!'

Ferdi ducked his head in apparent fear and confusion.

'And you, lad, what have you to say for yourself?' the third ruffian bent to address Estella.

She did her best to speak in a low, husky voice. 'Gathered shrooms, sir,' she muttered, staring at her dirty toes. 'With my old uncle-here.'

For some reasons, the ruffians found this answer comical. Their derisive laughter tore at her nerves, but she held tightly to Ferdi's arm and kept her eyes on the ground.

'You've mushrooms, have you?' another of the Men said. 'Well, you can set your tiny minds at ease, then. I think we can take them from here...'

'Now,' the first ruffian spoke over him, and Estella fought the instinct to stiffen at the ominous tone in his voice, 'I want to see your Pass...'

'Shirriff said the shrooms would be our Pass,' Ferdi quavered. 'He said, 'twould be too much trouble to write so many places on one Pass, for we had to travel deep into the Wood...'

'Did he now?' the first ruffian said. 'Well, he'll miss his mushrooms next time he wants 'em, I guess, for being out and about with no Pass means the Lockholes for you two!'

The moment "Lockholes" left the Man's lips, Ferdi stood straight and shoved Estella away, into the small space separating two of the Men surrounding them, yelling, 'Twig, run!'

Estella stumbled but regained her feet, evaded the Men's grasping hands, and dove into the underbrush, then made a sharp turn and went to ground with all the skill of a hobbit, disappearing swiftly and silently. Only a few steps away from the path, she cowered against the bole of a tree where the searching Men were unlikely to blunder into her or trip over her.

Behind her as she fled, she'd had a confused impression of Ferdi pushing against the nearest Man, sweeping his walking stick under the legs of two others to trip them, and then twisting to elude a ruffian's grasp and trying to run the other way. She thought she heard him cry out, and then a smothered Ooof! followed by other painful sounds. Pulling her rabbit-fur cloak over her, she ducked her head and covered her ears as she tried not to listen. Tears leaked from her eyes. Run! he'd drilled into her on the long journey there. Run! And don't look behind you! No matter what you may see or hear!

'You! Harry! Ned! Find the boy!' Large bodies immediately crashed through the undergrowth, following Estella's path. Though they missed where she'd turned, and thus they kept going straight, right past her hiding place, she froze where she was, lest some movement draw their attention at just the wrong time. All the while, she listened helplessly to the Men on the other side of the tree where she'd hidden herself.

'Hoi! That's enough! Don't kill 'im!' one of the Men said sharply.

'Lotho don't care if we beat 'em before we take 'em to the Lockholes!' another protested.

'He's no good if he's dead! As it is, we'll have to carry him there...'

'I'm not carryin' no stinkin' rat anywhere! Might as well finish the job and bury him!'

Estella bit down hard on her hand to stifle any noise she might make. Not for herself but for Ferdi. And if they caught her and found out she was no lad...

'Get up you!' was followed by a low moan from Estella's guide and companion. 'Get up!' Silence.

'That's torn it! Like I said, we don't get no reward for dead hobbits—'

'Pity, that.'

'—but the Boss will only pay for the ones we bring living and "relatively intact" to the Lockholes, you blockheads! They're supposed to walk there on their own two feet, or drag themselves along if need be, as an example to all the hobbits along the way who might be thinking of making trouble!'

'He don't look all that intact,' one of the Men muttered.

'Well then, you'll nurse him better, Musty, won't you – since you're the one, decided to play too free with your fists and kicks! C'mon now, pick him up.'

'If you think I'm going to carry him to the ends of Middle-earth...!'

'No, but we'll take him to our camp nearby. Make a fire, cook some food, bind up his wounds – if they need them – let him sleep the night through and then, if all's well – meaning he can stumble along after a fashion on his own two feet, two of you will march him off to the Lockholes in the morning, collect the reward, and return here!'

'What's this?' Estella stiffened at the note of surprise in the Man's voice.

'What?' the leader said.

'He's no gaffer! Look! Flour!'

'Could he be one of them Tooks, disguised as a gaffer to move about outside the Took-land?'

'Hmmm,' the leader said. 'Change of plan. We'll drag him up Hobbiton-way, bring him to the Boss. I'm sure he'll have ideas for how we can make an example of a Took caught outside the Tookland.'

What if Lotho recognises him? Estella wondered wildly. What if they find out he's the Fox? He might not be content simply to throw him in the Lockholes!

She could not even begin to imagine what horrible things they might do to Ferdibrand, but she was sure that Lotho would have no such trouble. And if he were to recognise Ferdi and connect him to the Bolgers in the Woody End...! What would they do to Hally! to Rosemary? to the children?

And then Estella's mind was distracted by worries that suddenly hit closer to home. She became one with the tree where she crouched, scarcely breathing as the heavy bodies of those searching for her doubled back, passing almost close enough to her to reach out and touch. From what Hally and young Robin had taught her in their games of I-hide-and-you-seek-me, they'd be unlikely to look for her in the shadow of the tree where she crouched, so close to the main body of Men, and their line of travel would take them around the tree – and right around her hiding place.

But the two searchers blundered past either side of her saviour tree without pausing. They hadn't seen her!

'Well?' the leader barked.

'No sign of the lad,' one of the Men said. 'He's probably long gone by now.'

'D'you suppose he's a Took, too?' another said.

The leader snorted. 'He looked petrified,' he said. 'This hobbit probably picked up a local lad and forced him to guide him to the mushrooms. Greedy beggar. No use chasing him. I doubt he'll have anything useful he can tell us.'

'Right then,' the leader said. 'Pick up the prisoner and sling him over your shoulder. We'll take him back to our camp and bind him well.'

'At least he brought us some supper,' someone joked, and a couple others guffawed in response.

Their voices were receding now. Estella stole from tree to tree as she followed them towards the Stock Road and then along the track towards the West, in the direction of the Tookland.

Towards freedom, she thought. But then something inside her stiffened her spine and caused her hands to close into fists. But I'm not going without Ferdi!

She listened carefully to their talk and movements, for she had no intentions of blundering into them (or into a guard left to watch over their camp). At last, from the sounds, she determined that the Men had stopped moving, and she went to ground again, crawling cautiously closer, watching on all sides – and above! ...in case there might be one or more sentries in the trees.

She smelled smoke before she saw their fire. Peeping through the undergrowth, she saw the Man carrying Ferdi throw the hobbit down on the ground, drawing another protest from the leader that the hobbit had to be well enough to drag himself to Hobbiton, if not the Lockholes, on the morrow.

Estella picked up a handful of dirt and rubbed it into her face and hair, covering the skin of her neck and hands as well to help her blend into the shadows of the trees. She crawled to the base of a tree and slowly eased herself upright, becoming part of the trunk, then coolly surveyed the area around the ruffians' camp, from which they evidently watched the Stock Road and intercepted any Shire-folk who might dare to travel from Bywater and Hobbiton towards the Woody End. There were plenty of good hiding places, she thought. If she could somehow free Ferdi and distract the ruffians, and they could escape the camp and dive into cover...

Her eyes lighted as she saw, on the far side of the camp, a large patch of brambles. (In fact, she inadvertently closed her eyelids in case the gleam of discovery might somehow flash from her eyes and give her away to these dangerous intruders. When she opened them again, she allowed herself the merest slits to look through, and when she was quite sure none of them was looking in her direction, she eased herself around to the back of the tree that hid her and then slowly crouched down at its base. Only then did she allow her eyes to open wide again and take in her surroundings.) While the ruffians might search all around the prickly vines, she rather doubted they would stomp their way into the middle, so long as the hobbits therein were completely hidden from view. It was a gamble, but if Ferdi were injured and needed rest for a day or three, it seemed to her the best solution.

She'd strike in the darkness of middle night, she decided. Hopefully, the ruffians would grow sleepy. If they thought her "long gone", and if they'd tied up their prisoner – and she'd heard the leader mention it – then they might not be so diligent and alert for trouble when trouble came sniffing around.

Foot by foot, she thought, something she'd heard Frodo Baggins say to younger cousins who'd complained they were too tired to walk home from where ever they'd been exploring with him. Step by step. One step at a time. The plan had to be carefully crafted and perfectly executed. Otherwise, she and Ferdibrand might end up worse off than they were now.

*** 

Author's note: The mentioned "breach" between the Tooks and Brandybucks is described in more detail in Pearl of Great Price, here on SoA.

*** 

Chapter 21. The Rescue

After darkness fell, Estella made her cautious way around the outside of the small clearing where Lotho's Men had set up their camp, scouting the ground and formulating her plans. A pot hung on a tripod over the small fire that burned near the centre of the space, sending savoury smells into the air; meat, Estella knew from watching the ruffians' meal preparations from her hidden station, and root vegetables, likely gathered from local farms or foresters' kitchen gardens. But spices were lacking, in her estimation. She'd seen the cook – if you could call him that – pour a palmful of salt into the pot. Perhaps they meant to torment Ferdi by feeding him the result!

But her good sense reasserted itself quickly. The pot was large enough to feed six or eight Big Men, from what she'd seen at Hally and Rosie's, and still have enough leftover stew for breakfast. They'd hardly be making such a large pot of stew for Ferdi's benefit – or affliction.

Following the sound of trickling water, she found where a spring issued from the hillside not far from the "road" between Stock and Tuckborough and ran under the overgrown track. Listening to the Men, keeping track of their movements from the sound of their voices and rustling progress, she stooped long enough to fill her water bottle, guzzle half the contents, revelling in the sweet, icy water, and then fill it again. The soil on the hillside near the spring was rocky and uneven, forcing her to take extra care so as not to reinjure her healing ankle. On the bright side, she filled her pockets with round, heavy stones that fit satisfyingly in her fist and would make for good, accurate throwing.

She blinked a little at the memory of secretly watching Frodo teach young Merry and Estella's brother Freddy to cast stones accurately at a target. After he'd sent his younger cousins back to the Manse with the promise he'd follow as soon as he'd taken down the targets he'd fixed to several trees to restore the grow to its natural state, he'd beckoned to Estella, who'd tagged behind them... again. And instead of scolding her for following them, or calling Freddy back to escort his little sister home again, he'd simply asked her what she'd thought of the lesson. As if he'd been aware of her watching the entire time! In hindsight, he probably had.

'You're a good teacher,' she'd answered.

And then he'd suddenly asked her if she'd like to try to hit the targets herself? Had she been paying attention?

And she'd nodded vigorously, and accepted the stones he'd dug out of a pocket, and taken her place where Merry and Freddy had taken turns standing, and cast her first stone...

...and when it had missed, Frodo had not laughed at her but had simply told her to try again. He'd also said, almost casually, that one could choose a knot in a tree as a target, should one wish to practice one's aim without drawing attention to oneself and one's activities...

Bless him, where ever he may be, Estella thought, selecting just one more stone, smooth and round in her hand and heavy in her pocket, before turning back to the ruffians' camp.

Her stomach grumbled, but she distracted herself with speculation of how such a stew should best be seasoned. Thyme, she thought. I know he's already added salt in distressing quantities. Though potatoes – taters, she reminded herself, would be the term someone like Twig would use – would be a useful component with their ability to absorb an over-excess of salt. Besides the mushrooms in Ferdi's pack, dumped into the pot without even an attempt to brush them clean, the cook had added a good-sized bag of potatoes, not bothering to wash them or peel them first! ...perhaps he was used to compensating for an excess amount of salt.

What worried her most was the sight of Ferdibrand, lying face-down on the ground where the ruffian had tossed him, halfway between the crackling fire and the perimeter of the ruffian's camp, his hands tied behind him and his ankles bound together. Throughout the afternoon hours, as she had watched the ruffians come and go, she hadn't seen him move, not even when the stewpot had begun to exude its promising smells. But when the ruffians began to settle around the fire, she was heartened to see that only one of them sat himself down on a decaying log near the perimeter, placing himself between the prisoner and the trees. The rest gathered around the fire. She also noticed that they took turns sitting on the log, and that some of them grumbled at having to leave the fireside as the darkness deepened and the warmth of the pleasant spring day faded from the air.

And still Ferdi never moved! Even as the Men talked and laughed coarsely and bolted their stew, salty though it might be, he lay in the grass like a lesser twin to the crumbling log where his guard sat. Estella couldn't even see him shiver, there on the cold ground without his cloak, which the first Man to sit guard over him had taken and folded over the log to soften his seat.

At last, she reached the tangle of brambles that lay to the west of the ruffians' camp. Working as silently as she might, she lifted the thorny branches, blessing the rabbit-fur cloak for its help, and more by feel than sight began to trim away the thorns just past the entrance to the hideaway she was creating. Once she reached the middle of the bramble patch, she cleared a space on the ground, pushing thorny vines to the sides, and then lay down on her back, eyes wide, surveying the leaves and vines surrounding her. They should be enough, she thought. These brambles looked very much like the ones by the path where they'd hidden so recently, and no Men had seen them there! Not even the rabbit-chasing dog had penetrated their fortress.

The Men were still talking, and at one point, she heard them hooting with laughter, and one yelled, 'That'll show the rats! We'll soon overrun their precious bounds and beard the Thain in his den!'

'Hobbits have no beards,' she heard another say clearly, and made a mental note that sound carried here, perhaps echoed or reflected by some trick of the rocky hillsides nearby. They'd have to keep their voices down while hidden, for certain!

She'd rest until the Men's voices quieted. She wanted them to be good and sleepy – or surprised out of sleep, that would be even better! – when she struck.

*** 

The Moon shining overhead awakened Estella from a light doze. She hadn't meant to fall asleep herself! ...though it had been an incredibly long day of travel and fear and strain and worry. It had happened, and she forced herself to shrug away the tension in her shoulders, silently reminding herself that "there are no do-overs", as Rosie Bolger had repeatedly told her when teaching Estella the rules of the dangerous game the forest Bolgers played with the ruffians in the Woody End. There are no do-overs rang in her memory and her present thoughts. The stakes were so terribly high, both for Ferdi and for herself should she fail. I have to get this right the first time I try it!

Since the Moon was not much past full, she knew she had some hours of darkness yet, and breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn't fallen deeply asleep in her exhaustion, to awaken to the light of morning. In the morning, not so many hours from now, the ruffians planned to march (or drag) Ferdibrand to Bag End, where Lotho would no doubt recognise him for who he was and punish him for the figure he'd become – the clever Fox that had seemingly easily eluded Lotho's rogues and frustrated all attempts to capture him.

Estella checked her pockets full of stones and then eased her way out of her improvised hiding place as quietly and surreptitiously as possible. In addition to minimising noise, she also avoided disturbing the briars, as well as the ground outside the briar patch, trying to confine any marks she might leave to a small area, to be easily swept away with a pine-bough broom when she returned, hopefully with Ferdi. A few steps away from the bramble patch, she stopped and listened to the silence of the trees surrounding her. All she heard when she held her breath was the crackling of the small fire, still burning at the centre of the ruffians' nearby camp. At last, she took a deep breath to initiate setting her plan in motion and then moved cautiously to the first point she'd marked on her mental map, on the northern side of the ruffians' camp.

Not too close, but not too far outside the circle of clear ground, she must be. Close enough to goad the ruffians to chase after her, but far enough away to elude capture and go to ground successfully without any of the Men seeing her.

Once situated, she took another deep breath, steeled herself, and raised her hands to her mouth, cupping them to achieve a hollow sound. As she bellowed out the words as loud as possible, her voice sounded strange in her own ears. Hopefully Ferdibrand would hear and understand.

Tomnoddy! Tomnoddy!
Sittin' on a tree!
Blind, fat tomnoddy!
Can't see me!
Tomnoddy! Tomnoddy!
Catch me if you can!
You'll try and fall, failing,
Stupid Man!

Her rhyming was lame, she admitted it as she moved to her next location, slightly east of her first spot, but she'd never claimed a talent for poetry, then. She'd taken a scrap of one of old Bilbo's stories and reworked it for her own purposes. Now to see if it worked!

By the dim firelight in the clearing, she saw that two of the sleeping Men had jumped to their feet, along with Ferdi's guard. The sound of their voices came to her – they were conferring, she thought, and their tone sounded both annoyed and a little muddled from being wakened out of a sound sleep. She saw one of the Men move over to a lump on the grass and kick it, and soon the rogue who'd slept through Estella's little serenade sprang up and took a swing at the comrade who'd kicked him! Things were shaping up.

She could see one of the Men moving cautiously in the direction where she'd first stood. Time for another chorus of her song.

Tomnoddy! Tomnoddy!
Lyin' on the grass!
Can't see me, tomnoddy?
Get yer eyeglass!
Tomnoddy! Tomnoddy!
How fast can you run?
Wake yerself! Shake yerself!
For we've just begun!

As she sang, distorting her voice as weirdly as possible, she chucked rocks at the standing figures and was rewarded with their cries of pain. More Men gained their feet, and Estella stopped long enough to aim several of her rocks at the new targets, smiling grimly at the howls that arose. But the ruffians were wider awake now and thinking faster, for several left the clearing and were moving in her direction. Estella didn't wait any longer but scurried further away from the camp along the line she'd determined lay in the direction of Bywater, then stopped and shouted again.

Tomnoddy! Tomnoddy!
Catch me if you can!
Slow coach! Go coach!
Stupid Man!

Immediately, she dove to the side, rolled, and came up on her feet, running towards the Woody End. She could both see and hear the Men crashing through the underbrush, for a couple of them bore torches. They were moving to the North and the North-East, where her first two songs had sounded. 

Slow, fat and complacent, she thought. P'rhaps they could use a little more exercise?

Tomnoddy! Old doddy!
Slow and fat and lazy!
You think you're big and strong!
We think you're crazy!
Think you can catch us now,
Tomnoddy-fools?
You'll find us slipp'ry fish
Sliding through the pools!

Estella almost laughed aloud when one of the Men shouted, 'It's the Brandybucks!' But she was too busy cutting across the empty space where no Men were searching.

'Get 'em!' She thought she recognised the leader's rough voice. 'They've joined up with the rats from Bywater to attack us!' He detached two of the Men to 'run as fast as you can to Hobbiton! Let the Boss know there's an uprising, and we need reinforcements!'

Part of her worried; more Men meant more searchers who might stumble across them as they hid in the brambles, but it was too late to change the plan now. In the back of her mind, wry laughter sounded at Lotho's probable reaction to sending Men to quell an uprising... only to find no hobbits, not even the prisoner who, if all went well, would be out of the ruffians' clutches well before any reinforcements should arrive.

Her hand was on her pocket-knife as she reached the edge of the clearing, but she took a rock out of her pocket instead, for a lone Man remained – Ferdi's guard. He wasn't sitting on the log now, but standing, tense, his back to the fire so as not to spoil his night vision.

Estella stiffened her spine. It would not do to simply annoy this Man; no, she had to hit his head – had to risk a killing blow! ...though the thought made her sick at her stomach – had to make sure he could neither raise the alarm nor interfere with her plans at this point in the process.

She aimed carefully and put all of her recently-formed muscles into the throw – saw the stone strike its target – saw the tall form crumple, and was running into the clearing before the Man hit the ground.

When she reached the log, she took out another stone and peeped carefully over it at the still forms lying before her. Still form, rather, for the smaller one was writhing, moving, curling himself into a knot... and as she scrambled over the log and then froze, knowing she was now visible to any watcher, the firelight revealed Ferdi, chin tucked to his knees and drawing his hands over his feet so that they were now in front of him rather than bound behind his back.

The Man might be playing dead, or he might not, but some instinct told Estella that now was the time to move! Without delay! Seize the moment, she told herself, shaking free of her momentary hesitation. She scooped up Ferdi's cloak from the log and his walking stick and pack lying nearby, then hurried to Ferdi's side.

Exchanging the stone for her pocket-knife, Estella quickly cut the rope binding his ankles together and then seized his arm to draw him in another direction than the one she'd come from. 

Ferdi followed her unspoken guidance without question or pause. To the background music of the ruffians' shouts and crashes through the undergrowth, both near the clearing and farther away in the general direction of Bywater and the Woody End, the two fugitives moved almost as one – almost as smoothly, Estella thought absurdly, as if they were gliding together through a figure in a formal dance at a fancy ball in happier times.

As she led him unerringly through the darkness towards the brambles, Estella almost belatedly realised that she'd achieved her aim! At least to this point... Now if only the rest of her plan should work as well...

*** 

Author's note: Estella's taunts were inspired by Bilbo's strategy to confuse the giant spiders of Mirkwood in the chapter 'Flies and Spiders' in The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. 

***  

Content warning: This chapter is firmly PG; for those with vivid imaginations, it's PG-13 or worse. If you wish to skip this chapter, a milder summary will be included at the beginning of Chapter 23 so you don't miss any vital plot threads.

Chapter 22. Under Cover

Halfway to the bramble patch by the somewhat-less-than-direct route Estella was taking, she felt Ferdi stumble. She stopped in her tracks to steady him, listening to the sounds of the Men around them – how close were they?

She was momentarily distracted as her guide sagged against her. She stiffened her spine and pulled his arm over her shoulders to support him and heard with dismay his gasp of pain, though he quickly stifled the sound and accepted her help, leaning heavily on her. They stood rooted a moment longer as Estella resumed listening: Men shouting to each other, crashing through the underbrush, and more difficult to hear but still clear were more stealthy movements, as of Men who thought they'd found some sign of their harassers and were trying to sneak up on them. Luckily, none of the latter noises were anywhere nearby. 

Estella took a tentative step and felt Ferdi move with her. She nodded and turned her head towards him, breathing, 'Foot by foot,' and felt him nod in return. Together, they took another step, and then another, their progress no longer smooth – but at least it was steady.

At last, Estella discerned with a little help from the westering Moon that they were nearing the bramble patch – never having made a direct approach, but zigging and zagging ever closer since leaving the ruffians' nearby camp, even circling and retracing their steps to confuse any trail they might be leaving. On top of the circuitous route Estella had followed, as soon as she'd deposited Ferdi safely within the brambles' encompassing vines, she planned to emerge once more with a pine-bough broom and sweep away any traces they'd left near their temporary shelter.

Though Ferdi, in a healthy state, stood head-and-shoulders above her, she'd been fooled by his grace – as lithe as a cat, or perhaps a fox – and had never realised how heavy a burden the hobbit might be... could be... was, actually, in his current state. She was sweating heavily from her exertions by the time they reached the entrance she'd created, enough so that she worried about leaving a trail of droplets for the ruffians to follow.

She chased that gloomy thought away with, The morning dew will be coming down soon enough! The Moon has already disappeared behind the Western hills, and the sky above is not so dark as it was an hour ago... As she crouched down, it felt to her as if Ferdi grew even heavier; as if the ground beneath their feet was pulling him down, eager to welcome him. Not yet! she silently told the dirt. We've got to get him under cover first!

If she hadn't been so exhausted, she might have shaken her head at her nonsense. Talking to the earth beneath my feet as if we're working together! Honestly, Twig! What kind of talk is that? Are ye losing your wits?

But no, her wit seemed to argue. We of the Wood are part of the earth; the earth underfoot is our friend and protector! The ground gives us roots and greens, whilst the dirt helps us hide the gleam of skin from the ruffians that lurk and hunt hobbits for sport!

That's all very well, she answered the thought, but let us save philosophical conversations for after we're well hidden from these particular hobbit-hunting ruffians!

I cannot argue with that, her hidden thought whispered in response.

Estella found her voice, soft as it had to be. With her lips close to Ferdi's ear, she whispered. 'Here! I just need you to help me a little... I'm going to let you down now, and I'll hold up the vines with your sturdy stick. I just need you to drag yourself under cover. Can you do that for me?' She felt the tickle of his hair on her nose as he nodded. 'Good,' she breathed. 'Downsy-daisy!'

He lay a moment after she eased him to the ground, and she feared he'd swooned. Then she felt him reach forward with his hands and arms, and she hastily grabbed the walking stick that had hung from its strap on her wrist since she'd scooped it up what felt like a lifetime ago as they'd left the ruffians' camp. Thrusting the stick into the nearest brambles, she lifted them so that Ferdi could crawl under them without the threat of scratching or hampering thorns.

It seemed to take hours before Ferdi's feet disappeared, but of course it had only felt that way. Estella's nerves had jangled ever louder as she heard the ruffians' voices change direction, coming closer again, heading back towards the nearby clearing. She wanted to be undercover before any of them might stumble past this spot, whether deliberately searching or simply by chance!

But at last, under the faint light of the rapidly paling sky, she could see nothing of her companion. It was as if the tangle of vines had swallowed him whole. Quickly, she grabbed up the pine bough she'd left by the entrance and swept the ground in front of her and to both sides. On hearing Men's voices approaching too close for comfort, she shoved her branch-broom and Ferdi's walking stick deep under the sheltering leaves, dove to safety herself, and pulled her feet in – just in time! For the Men walked right over the ground she'd just swept, right past the entrance she'd created, right past their hidden quarry!

Past, her wit hissed at her as she remained frozen where she'd landed. They walked past! It's working!

Thus far, she argued. She worried briefly if she'd lost her wits like an old Mad Baggins, with these imaginary conversations, but her wits seemed to have a sense of humour, for an answer was whispered back to her, We're not lost! We're right here with you.

Now, her wit – if that's what it was – continued. Skoosh yourself deeper under cover! You know what to do! Pull Ferdi's cloak over the both of you, that the green may meld with the green of the leaves and cover anything that's not green!

Estella decided that her wit just might have more wit than she, herself, currently possessed. Even as she shook her head at the thought, she followed the order she'd been given – or had given herself? At this point, she was too exhausted to care.

Her eyes closed of themselves the moment she'd pulled Ferdi's cloak over to conceal both of them, but encroaching sleep was interrupted by an outcry from the nearby camp. The prisoner! Where'd he go! What've you done with him?!

With immense relief, she worked out from the argument that followed that the returning ruffians had found Ferdi's guard and thrown a bucket of water over him to rouse him. I didn't kill him, she thought, and drew a sobbing breath. Thanks to all that's good in the world, I didn't take his life!

The ruffians raised another hue and cry again, and soon large feet were trampling through the vicinity, and Men were beating the underbrush with clubs and sticks – but they left the brambles alone! Perhaps they thought that hobbits – even desperate ones – would not care to brave the wicked thorns.

Estella snuggled a little closer to Ferdi, for the dampness left by the sweat generated by her night-time endeavours now felt more chilling than warming. He lay unresponsive, neither moved nor tried to speak, and that was just as well. So long as the Men were searching so intently, with such grim purpose, it would be best to remain silent and motionless.

*** 

She wasn't aware that she'd slept – or swooned herself, perhaps – until she was awakened by the sound of many more Men arriving, both stomping booted feet and voices loud and coarse. And so she did not know if the ruffians who'd caught – and lost – Ferdi had continued searching until mid-day (for the Sun was smiling down through the leaves from high in the sky) or if they'd tired and quieted before now. In any event, they hadn't found the hidden hobbits.

Estella felt Ferdi move against her, and she raised her chin – she'd tucked her head under his chin as they'd slept – until she could look him in the eye. His eyes were open and aware! She hastily lifted a finger to his lips, urging silence, and he responded with the merest suggestion of a nod.

With nothing to do but listen to their surroundings, Estella listened with all her might. Some of what she heard was even amusing... or might have been, under other circumstances.

Someday you'll tell the story and laugh, her wit whispered deep within.

I rather doubt that, she retorted.

And you'll make your listeners laugh with you, even as they look at you with eyes filled with wonder, her wit persisted.

Don't think so highly of yourself, Estella warned. We're not out of this yet, not by a far cry.

Shhh, her wit cautioned. You're thinking too loudly.

Hah, she said to herself. That's just because you're losing the argument! She really had gone mad, she thought, or at the very least, she was in the process of becoming a smaller, younger, female version of a Mad Baggins. A Mad Bolger. Whatever.

The resident ruffians were talking over each other, describing their ordeal in the night. 

'Dozens of them!'

'At least a score of Brandybucks, all chanting nonsense and throwing rocks!'

'Are ye daft! It was the Tooks! The Tooks, I tell ye!'

'They threw rocks, not arrows! D'you see any shafts quivering in the ground or the trees?'

'They would've recovered their arrows. Tooks always do! The only shafts they leave are those sticking out of the Men they've shot!'

'No one's been shot,' a cooler voice overrode the others. 'Is anyone missing?' Apparently not. The voice continued, rather sardonically. 'I see no holes in any of you,' it said. 'Bruises abound! So I think your attackers used only rocks to subdue the lot of you. Eight tall, strong Men,' and the speaker's tone dripped with sarcasm at this point, 'against – how many?'

'A dozen! Two, perhaps!'

'A score!' insisted another.

The voice of reason resumed. 'Tooks, I should think. Not Brandybucks. Use your heads, Men! (If you have any among you, that is...) Ben, here, thought the prisoner you lost was a Tookish spy, disguised as an old gaffer. So it stands to reason that it was a party of Tooks who rescued him out of your clutches. We're almost on the Tooks' doorstep, as it stands, while Buckland lies forty miles from here!'

A general grumble followed this speech.

'And so,' the newly come leader said in a scathing tone, 'you've routed us out for nothing! For the Tooks will be long gone by now, having stolen back across their borders under cover of night whilst the lot of you were tramping uselessly about, searching for a rabbit that's already in his burrow.'

Rabbits is as rabbits does, Estella thought. So rabbits must. Bless my little friends and relations. She thought she might never be able to force herself to eat another bite of rabbit stew, no matter how delicious it might smell, as long as she might live.

'All right, you louts,' the voice of authority said. 'We'll take a meal here – I see you've stew in the pot from last night? And we brought marching rations. And then we're to take you with us, back to Bywater.'

There was some protest from the resident ruffians, who'd apparently had it soft here, lying in wait for hobbits to pass by, but the new-come leader overruled them.

'You've served your purpose – outlasted your usefulness here. Why, you haven't sent more'n three rats to the Lockholes over the past fortnight! The word's gone out that Lotho's set a trap here, at least, so you're to return to the Boss for new orders.'

'New orders?' someone said. 'What new orders?'

'I don't have to tell you naught!' the leader snapped, but then he chuckled. 'But it's really too delicious, as our little rat-friends would say. Everything's food with them! Too bad we've gathered most of their harvest from last year, and are continuing to gather almost all they're growing or foraging now!'

Someone chuckled and said something about 'mushrooms in the stew'. At that, the talk broke off for the moment, and there was a general movement of large bodies. From the sound of it, the leader appointed guards to stand at various spots around the clearing, and a few to climb trees to watch for encroaching hobbits who might try to listen in on their talk.

Estella blessed the leafy vines that covered them from above as well as on all sides, along with Ferdi's deep-green cloak that made the hobbits under it, if they were visible at all through the leaves, resemble harmless shadows under the thorny vines.

The talk resumed. The Men who sat around the clearing were eating now, from the sound of it. Some spoke with their mouths full, and a few belches sounded here and there. Someone muttered that the stew was even better on the second day, and they ought to confiscate mushrooms oftener for the savour they added.

The talk was general, mostly concerning the "score of Tooks" that had attacked the ruffians' camp in the night and reclaimed their spy, who someone speculated "might even have been the Fox himself!"

You don't know the half of it, Estella thought to herself, and saw a faint grin briefly twist Ferdi's lips.

But then the new leader, evidently having finished his meal, called for attention. 'Now then,' he said. 'There's a new plan in the making... and it just might pull the Tooks down a peg or two... or better yet – I wonder just how many Tooks would fit into the Lockholes if we were to cram them in tight?' He paused and added, 'O' course, any that don't fit, we'll simply bury.'

A general laugh, coarse and raucous, answered these thoughts.

'O' course,' the leader said again, 'the Lockholes is too good for the Thain and his wife and daughters... I think the plan for them is a bit more sinister. Let us say they'll wish they were allowed to enjoy the hospitality of the Lockholes, with the fine quarters and toothsome food we provide our guests...'

'Dark, damp, bare cells, stale or mouldy bread, and soup made of mostly water and a few vegetable peels for flavour,' the hidden hobbits heard the ruffian sitting in a tree above their heads mutter.

Estella blinked at Ferdi's bleak expression. Evidently the description rang true to him, and she wondered what he knew, and how he knew it. And then, quite suddenly, she didn't want to know.

'Let us simply say that the Boss plans to make an example of the Thain and his family,' the leader said. 'A few half-Orcs have arrived from the South-lands, sent to bolster our efforts, and I believe the plan is to turn the chief rat and his wife and daughters over to them in the middle of the Bywater Market square, with as many Shire-rats as will fit herded into the space to watch the entertainment...' His laugh was chilling. 'Standing room only!' he said. 

Estella wanted to hurl at the thoughts he was painting in her head, but luckily her stomach was echoingly empty. She hadn't ever thought of the lack of food as a boon before this moment, but now she blessed her hungry state, that she might not give their location away by being noisily sick.

Ferdi's teeth were clenched, and a muscle jumped in his jaw, but his eyes were tight shut as if to block out all vision. This was his nightmare, what he was risking his life to prevent, and now Estella knew with terrible clarity why he kept returning into danger to gather information for the Thain, and why Rosie and Hally continued to put their children at risk when they might otherwise have sought safety inside the Tookland.

But the ruffian leader had resumed speaking. 'You all know about the traps the Tooks have set all around their homeland,' he said. 'I'm sure that some of those here have even fallen into the pits they've dug, or stepped into the nooses and snares they've set. I've had the amusement of watching more than one of my companions suddenly hoisted into the air after springing a trap, hanging there upside down, bouncing at the end of the noose that reached out to grab their ankles, yelling!' He chuckled. 'Sometimes, I've even left them to dangle a day or two, just to encourage them to be more careful the next time!'

He paused, and his listeners either laughed or shouted acknowledgement.

'So here's the plan...' the leader said.

Ferdi was stiff, tense, listening hard. So was Estella, even though a large part of her wanted to put her hands over her ears to shut out the words.

'You know how disgustingly soft these Shire-rats are,' the leader said. 'Why, I remember how a Shirriff told me, not long after I arrived in this benighted country, that no Shire-rat had ever murdered another rat in the history of the Shire!'

'Bet he wasn't a Shirriff much longer!' some wit cried from the crowd.

'He wasn't, as a matter of fact,' the leader said. 'He was one of the first I sent to the Lockholes as a potential rebel, as I recall.'

A general laugh followed. 'Has he starved to death yet?' someone called.

'No, the vermin are quite tough, it seems,' the leader answered. 'I do believe he's managed to survive on the food we so generously provide, supplemented by gnawing at candle ends, if I'm not mistaken. At least, we've had to beat some of the prisoners because candle ends keep disappearing after the candles have burned out...'

'Thieving rats,' someone said.

'And so,' the leader resumed, 'we'll round up the good citizens of Bywater – or as many as we can, anyhow, and we'll pull more from Hobbiton and even Overhill if we must, and we'll march them before us to the borderland. We'll march them right into the Tookish traps! ...now won't that be an amusing sight, rat after rat stepping into snares and being thrown into the air, to bounce and dangle! And unlike our comrades, we can simply leave them there! No need to cut them down!'

Over the general chuckle that resulted at this mental picture, someone shouted, 'And leave the ones that fall into the pits too, I suppose!'

The leader affected such a reasonable tone that Estella could picture him spreading his hands to the sides. 'Why not, I ask you? I mean, o' course we'll throw down a rope to a poor wretch – one of our own, that is – who's fallen into one of the Tookish pits – though like their dangling fellows, sometimes I'll leave a Man in the pit for a day or three, to give him time to ponder his error – but I see no need to extend the same courtesy to vermin! ...if they should even survive the fall, that is, for the Tooks have dug their pits twice as deep as the height of one of us, to make it difficult for a Man to climb out. I should think such a fall would be likely to kill any of their fellow rats that stumbles in!'

Cold fury was replacing the sickness in Estella's stomach. She clenched her fists, finding the fierce gesture somehow satisfying.

'So we'll march the rat-folk of Bywater ahead of us to spring the Tooks' traps! Brilliant! I'd imagine those rebels never thought of that when they dug the pits and set their snares...'

'And once we're past the "no-Man's-land" they think will keep them safe, it's a clear shot to Tuckborough,' the leader concluded. 'Some of us will be on some of the larger ponies we've gathered, and we'll race to the Great Smials before the Thain even knows we're attacking, and gather him up – him and those dearest to his heart – and carry them to Bywater to await their fate as the witnesses are gathered up and brought to Bywater Market square...'

'Don't you think we ought to cut down the dangling rats and haul up the ones who survive falling into the pits, then?' someone said. 'For they could be witnesses...'

'No need,' the leader said. 'They'll be witnesses to their own deaths, after all, left to hang by their feet or moulder in a pit in the wild Green Hill country. No need for them to watch our Orkish friends at work when they'll have plenty of troubles of their own...'

'But when?' someone shouted. 'How soon?'

'Soon,' the leader promised grimly. 'By the end of the week, it seems. I'm told we're to await the arrival of a few more half-Orcs from the South who are eager to take part in the sport. Meanwhile, our little conquering force is forming in Bywater even as we speak...'

*** 

Summary of Chapter 22: Though Ferdi's strength runs out half-way to the hiding place Estella has constructed, she manages to help him the rest of the way and get him under cover. The local ruffians discover that the prisoner is missing and search the area but do not find the hidden hobbits. When the ruffian reinforcements arrive at midday, their leader informs them of the plan to march hobbits from Bywater ahead of them in a bold plan to overrun the border defences and capture the Thain and his immediate family. His description of the planned disposal of the Tookish prisoners is bone-chilling. The attack is set to take place by the end of the week. The Tooks must be warned!

Chapter 23. Warning the Tooks

By common consent, Estella and Ferdibrand stayed still and quiet after the Men packed up the ruffian camp and, at last, stomped off – marching, she thought, though from the sound of it, their steps were poorly coordinated, almost as if they were determined to disrupt the peaceful countryside as much as possible in terms of both noise and damage left from their trampling feet. Though the hobbits had listened to the Man in the tree above them descend and join the others, they had no way of telling if the leader might have left others behind, hidden and lying in wait. 

I suppose I would do that if I were a ruffian chief, Estella thought to herself, in case the prisoner had gone to ground rather than being carried off. Which he did. And in case the number of "rescuers" was smaller than the ruffians here reported. Which it was.

Although Ferdi did not try to share his thoughts with her – in the silence left by the departed ruffians, a whisper would have sounded loud – Estella figured he'd probably agree with her assessment. Either that, or he was trying to rest and recover his strength while daylight lasted. Whether they'd move on again when darkness fell, she had no idea. Her guide had moved quickly enough when they'd left the clearing, but then, hadn't Merry walked on a badly sprained ankle for quite a long way when he and Frodo and Freddy had gone tramping over the Marish together and even into the Woody End?  

Frodo had explained to her how Merry's body – without Merry even knowing it! – had numbed the pain of the injury when he'd tripped and fallen as he and his cousins had fled the charge of a rutting stag that thought they were encroaching on his territory. Only when the terror and excitement, which had lent the lads wings, had worn off had he collapsed. Frodo'd had to leave Freddy guarding him while he went in search of help. Estella still remembered the hullaballoo at the Manse when darkness had fallen and the lads were declared "missing". 

Perhaps something similar had happened when Ferdi'd seen his guard fall unconscious. His body had dimmed the pain of his injuries when the hope of escaping had burst upon him. But it had not lasted... 

As twilight began to settle upon the land, the hidden hobbits heard rustling noises from several places near the clearing where the ruffians had camped, including a sliding sound and then a muffled Oomph! from a nearby tree as a lurking ruffian descended. 

'Not a sign,' one Man muttered to the others. 'I saw movements in the trees, but they turned out to be birds flitting from branch to branch, and one squirrel chasing another.' 

'Nothing moved on the ground,' another said. 'Not even a rabbit.' 

'They could probably smell you lurking, Mossy! ...and gave you a wide berth!' Mingled chuckles followed as the one called "Mossy" snarled a resentful reply. 

'You had better take care, Mossy, or we'll throw you into the Water when we get there,' another said. 'Come along, you louts. We're supposed to be back by dawn, with or without prisoners for the Lockholes.' 

'Without, it seems.' 

'Ah well. Sounds as if there'll be plenty of prisoners soon enough.' From the receding sound of their voices, the Men were moving away! 

Nevertheless, Estella waited until she could no longer hear them, and then she waited a little longer for Ferdi to move or say something, even in a whisper. 

At last, she poked him. 

He jerked, gasped, and then spoke so low she strained to hear him. 'They're gone?' 

'Well gone,' she whispered. 

'You're certain?' 

'As certain as can be. There were watchers in some of the trees, and others on the ground, but I heard them depart.' 

'Let's hope so,' he muttered. 'Is there any water?' 

She uncorked her water bottle and placed it in his hands. In the fading light, she saw him raise his head slightly and lift it to his lips, dribbling more than he swallowed. But he only swallowed a little. 

'Are you hungry?' she said. 'Can you eat something?' 

'No,' he answered. 'But please, if you have anything, help yourself. Don't worry about me.' 

But she did worry about him, even as she fished several handfuls of mushrooms out of her bag, crammed them into her mouth, and chewed and swallowed as quickly as she could. 

'We've got to go,' he said as soon as she fastened her pack closed, as if he'd only been waiting for her to be ready. 

'Another sip?' she said, but he shook his head. 

'You ought to drink, to keep up your strength for the journey ahead of us,' he said.  

Estella might have said the same thing to him, but instead, she said only, 'Let's go,' and wormed her way out of their hiding place, then turned to reach for Ferdi's stick to lift the vines and ease his passage as best she could. 

He grunted as he dragged himself free, then pushed himself to his hands and knees, and then stopped. 

Estella hurried to whisper, 'Let me help you!' that he might not need to beg her for help. She crouched and lifted one of his arms over her shoulders, then pushed herself upright with all her strength, dragging him up with her. 'Here,' she panted. 'Take your stick, and I'll be your prop on the other side...'  

'Indeed,' he breathed. 

Ferdi did not straighten but remained bent, though it might have been because Estella was much shorter. Hers was the strength, and his was the knowledge as they made their way ever further into the Green Hill country, the bulk of the hills rising before them, dark against the night sky. For the most part, Estella forged straight ahead with all the stubbornness that had made her mother despair in her younger years, but Ferdi occasionally adjusted their course in a whisper. 'A little left' or 'Sharp right, cross the stream, then left again.' 

Their stumbling flight lasted an eternity, or so it seemed to Estella. They stopped only twice, when her legs trembled under her and she sobbed for breath, and Ferdi insisted that she eat and drink. She refused the food, saying, 'I don't think I can keep anything down.' But she did take a few swallows of water at each stop. Worrisomely, Ferdi did not eat or even drink but simply waited for her to cork the bottle and pull his arm over her shoulders once more, ready to go on. 

Estella was once again in a bad way, but there was no point in stopping, was there? Her water bottle was empty and... and she could now somehow see the hills in front of them and surrounding them, and copses of trees, and... and a gruff voice challenged them, though she could not see the speaker. 'Halt! Who goes there?' 

She shook her head. 'Can't... cannot...' she gasped. If she halted, the both of them would go sprawling. The only thing keeping Ferdi upright was Estella, and the only thing keeping Estella upright was leaning forward and placing one foot in front of the other. Stopping would mean falling on her face and taking Ferdi to the ground with her. 

'Halt!' another voice shouted, but then the speaker said, 'It's hobbits!' 

'Refugees?' said the first. 'Spies?' 

'I...' said the second, and then, with obvious dismay, 'It's the Fox! Hilly! Help!' 

Hilly, whispered Ferdibrand. 

Well, yes, the Green Hill country was hilly, Estella thought absurdly, but... 

Hilly turned out to be the name of an archer who came from nowhere, or so it seemed, and took hold of Ferdi from the other side, lifting the bulk of his weight from Estella's shoulders. She sagged to the ground. 'Lad?' the archer said. 'Are you hurt?' 

'Ferdi's hurt,' Estella gasped. 'The ruffians...' 

Ferdi lifted his drooping head and tried to straighten. 'Need a pony,' he said. 'Get me a fast pony. Got to... got to warn the Thain.' 

Estella thought she heard someone running from the spot, then, but hobbits can move so quietly, she wasn't certain. 

'Tell me,' Hilly said to Estella's guide. 'I'll take word. You're in no shape...' 

Ferdi shook his head. 'No time,' he said. 'Just... ride.' 

'How did you get through the traps?' the first voice said. 

Annoyance seemed to lend Ferdi strength, for there was more life in his voice as he said, 'Don't be daft, Dobby!' 

'He laid them out on the map in the first place!' Hilly hissed. 'O' course he knows where they are!' 

And then a hobbit was there, pulling a pony behind him. 'Fast messenger,' the fellow said. 

'Good,' Ferdi answered, and he pushed at the archer, commanding Hilly to help him over to the pony and then into the saddle. But he hadn't forgotten Estella, even with everything else on his mind. 'Lad comes with me,' he said. 'Twig... up, behind me. And hold tight.' 

The next thing Estella knew, one of the border guards had seized her and was lifting her to sit behind Ferdibrand. She slipped her arms around him, heard him grunt in pain, and loosened her hold as much as possible, holding fistfuls of his shirt and gripping the pony with her legs instead. 

She half expected Ferdi to kick the pony into a run, with the way clear before them and the Sun brightening the sky above though the hills still hid her face and cast great shadows on the land. But he held the reins in his hand and looked down at the three archers staring up at them. 'New orders,' he said, his voice grim and somehow stronger, perhaps from the horror of what he felt must be said. 

'What orders?' the one called "Hilly" asked, halted in the middle of turning away, back to the duties of a border guard. 

'Shoot to kill,' Ferdi said. At the shocked exclamations that rose from the archers, he repeated the order. 'Mark your targets, and shoot to kill! The life of any Man who crosses into no-Man's-land is forfeit! Spread the word all around the bounds of the Tookland. No more games... no more taunting... Kill them. Kill them all.' He took a gasping breath and added, 'The Thain will issue further orders soon...' 

And then he reined the pony around and touched his heels to its sides, and it stepped out into a walk. He must have given it a further signal that Estella didn't see, for only a few steps beyond, they were galloping, and she was holding on to him as loosely as she could and gripping the pony with her legs and praying that she would not fall off at the pace he'd set. How far was it to the Great Smials? And were they going to gallop all the way? 

Estella straightened to her full height and raised her chin to shout in the direction of Ferdi’s ear. ‘How far?’  

‘An hour,’ she heard in reply, not shouted, but the same wind of their passing, that carried Estella’s voice backwards, away from Ferdi, also helpfully conveyed her guide’s words to her, sitting behind him. 

An hour. We’re almost there! she thought to herself, her fingers tightening into fists on Feridi’s shirt. It’s almost over!

Don’t relax quite yet, that other voice inside her head warned. Estella wanted to ask it Why? except she saw no good in encouraging any further development of the Mad Bolger that had emerged while she was fighting to rescue Ferdi (rather than the other way around; wasn’t he supposed to rescue you? the wry voice, not so easily quashed, whispered). 

...but it turned out that the Mad Bolger’s premonition or caution or what ever Estella might call it had been correct.  

Estella wasn’t sure where they were, merely that every stride of the racing pony took them deeper into the Tookland, when the pony’s steady gallop seemed to falter. Immediately after, the beast slowed further and then dropped into a bone-shaking trot. Worse, Ferdi lolled in Estella’s arms... Who was guiding the pony? 

Estella loosed her left hand’s hold on Ferdi’s shirt and groped her way down his arm to find he still held the reins in his clenched hand. A death grip muttered that perverse voice deep inside that would not be silenced. No! He’s not dead! she silently screamed in reply. She scooted her fingers past his fist to take the reins in her own hand. Her technique wasn’t elegant – she wasn’t sure she’d established contact with the pony’s mouth, as her old riding instructor had emphasised, but as they bounced along, she pulled back on the reins, steadily, gently, not too sudden or sharp. Pull and relax, pull and relax... and the pony dropped into a fast walk, nodding its head, ears back. 

The ears weren’t pinned back, Estella noted, but turned back as if awaiting further instructions. So she obliged. ‘Whoa!’ she called. 

The pony stopped. Estella shook her head to clear it; the jolting trot had made it difficult to think. What to do now? She certainly didn’t know the way to the Great Smials! Could she trust that this pony came from the stables there, and not from an outlying community or isolated farm? 

...speaking of isolated farms, movement at the corner of her eye caught Estella’s attention. She turned her head and saw a hobbit with a two-pony plough working the lower slope of the towering Hill they were skirting. 

On impulse, she began to shout, Hoi! Help! Help!

The pony startled, but she gently tightened the reins – Don’t jerk his mouth! Master Fairmeadow’s voice warned in her head – and the beast stood steady once more, one ear swivelled forward and the other back towards the riders. Estella let go of Ferdi’s shirt with her right hand, making sure her left hand maintained a secure hold on the reins, continuing her communication with the pony’s mouth. She lifted her right arm and waved at the distant figure with all her remaining strength. Hoi! Help us! Help! 

It seemed the motion caught the farmer’s attention, for he stopped and looked. Estella took the deepest breath she could – the free air of the Tookland smelled sweet to her, like sunshine and growing things and turned earth – and shaking off the momentary distraction, she waved and screamed at the top of her lungs, Help!

A helpful puff of wind obligingly carried her appeal for aid towards the hillside, at least that was how it seemed to her, for a moment later, the distant hobbit was unhitching one of the ponies from the plough, and then he’d jumped upon its back, leaving the other pony standing, and then he and the pony were rapidly descending the hillside, not directly but on an angle, slower than a direct approach but certainly surer in the long run. 

‘Help is coming, old Uncle,’ Estella said to Ferdi, not sure if it was Twig or Estella speaking. At this point, she was too exhausted to care. How long since she’d last eaten anything of substance? How many hours ago had she drained the last of the water from her bottle? 

She wasn’t sure how long they waited, for her head seemed to be swimming, but suddenly someone – the farmer? – was there. A deep voice was speaking, but it was the deep voice of a Hobbit, not a Man, and the voice spoke with the lilt of the Tookish back-country dwellers and not a Man’s harsh tones. ‘Hullo,’ it said. ‘What ha' we here?’ 

‘Help,’ Estella whispered, bowing her head to rest against Ferdi’s back, slumped over the pony’s neck. She was aware of movement; she felt a pull on the reins, but somehow divined that it was neither Ferdi reclaiming control nor the pony’s attempt to seize the bit between its teeth. She thought it might be the farmer...? 

Her thought was confirmed when a loud horn blast assaulted her ears, blown close at hand, causing the pony to startle, but no more than that. The bass voice spoke in soothing tones, first to the pony, seeming nonsense that steadied the beast beneath Estella nonetheless, and then seeming to address the riders. ‘Hullo,’ the voice repeated. ‘Lad? D’you hear me?’ 

She perceived with other senses than her eyes rather than saw the farmer reach to her companion then... followed by a gasp. ‘Fox! How d’ye come to be here? And in this state?’ 

And then his voice came from a lower place; he’d dismounted and was standing beside them, and Estella felt a hand slide around her back so that the farmer’s arm was supporting her in the saddle. ‘Can ye slip down, lad?’ 

Confused, she shook her head. There was something they were supposed to be doing, she knew. Some reason they were in the saddle, riding somewhere in particular... 

***  

The next thing Estella knew, she was lying on a soft surface, and the bright Sun no longer shone above. She sat up with a gasp! ...and the deep-voiced farmer was there beside her, catching her, supporting her, easing her down again. ‘Steady, lad,’ the hobbit said. 

‘Ferdi!’ she gulped. ‘He’s hurt!’ 

‘Mum?’ the farmer said. ‘The Fox? T’lad’s askin’ about him.’ 

‘Club or clubs and fists, I fear,’ a female voice answered. ‘And they’ve left him in a bad way, Harley. He ought to be in a bed.’ 

‘Well he’s in a bed now,’ the farmer said. 

‘I mean, he’d no business on pony-back!’ Mum snapped. Ferdi apparently stirred then, for her next words were ‘Hold still, you! Are ye tryin’ to dig your grave, or were ye just not payin’ attention a moment ago?’ 

‘Got to...’ Ferdi gasped. ‘Got to warn the Tooks...’ 

‘Well you can start with us, then, from the comfort and convenience of your pillows,’ Harley rumbled from Estella’s side. Then he said, ‘D’you think ye can drink somethin’, laddie?’ 

‘Thirsty,’ Estella whispered, licking lips that felt surprisingly dry and cracked. Even her tongue felt dry. 

A strong arm eased itself behind her back and lifted her, and she felt the coolness of a tin mug touch her bottom lip. Her nostrils flared at the smell of water, and she gulped so eagerly that some of the water went down the wrong way, and she choked. 

‘Steady, lad, steady!’ Harley said in distress. ‘Plenty more where that come from.’ 

But Ferdi was speaking at the same time, or trying to. ‘Got to...’ he said. ‘Got to warn the Thain...’ 

‘No – don’t get up!’ Mum spluttered, adding sharply, ‘Harley!’ 

The cup was gone and the strong supporting arm deposited Estella back on her pillows so quickly that she lay disoriented a moment, trying to understand what was happening. Then she heard Harley’s voice coming from where Mum had spoken, both of them speaking together, effort lacing their tones as if they were wrestling... 

‘Got to...’ That was Ferdi, protesting. 

‘Lie thasel’ doon, I tell ye!’ Mum snapped, her Tookish lilt thickening. ‘Or I’ll no’ answer for the consequences!’ 

By sheer force of will, Estella managed to achieve a sitting position and then swung her legs to the side, finding the floor beneath her feet. 

‘Mum!’ more than one young voice cried, and suddenly other hands were restraining her. 

‘Help!’ Estella gasped. 

‘All’s well, lad,’ Harley said, though he was no longer sitting by Estella’s bed at the moment. His reassurance came from near where Ferdi’s protests were still sounding, though the latter’s voice was growing discernibly weaker as he babbled about ruffians “all around us” and “no help for it” and more. 

‘Lie back down,’ one of the younger voices said close to Estella’s ear. ‘Look at me, now!’ She opened her eyes to behold a tween’s face close to her own, frowning with concern. ‘Lie back down,’ the tween repeated. ‘We’re here to help.’ When she allowed him to ease her back onto the bed, he smiled, the smile lighting his face and sparkling in his eyes, reminding her of her cousin Pippin. ‘There, now,’ he said. ‘That’s better. What’s your name, then? For we know the Fox, but we don’t know you...’ 

‘Twig,’ she answered, not quite knowing why. 

‘Twig,’ he echoed, then a little louder, ‘He says his name is Twig.’ 

‘Not from round hereabouts, I don’t think,’ the farmer said. ‘Leastways, sounds more like the Woody End than the Green Hills.’ 

‘But there’s Took in his face,’ Mum said. ‘I don’t think he’s a spy from the Outer Shire, sent to bring back word to Pimple Baggins.’ 

Estella stiffened. ‘I’m not a spy!’ she protested. ‘But the Thain must be warned!’ 

‘So you are a spy?’ the tween said quizzically. ‘Only... you were spying for the Tooks?’ 

But Ferdi was still trying to get up. Estella reached out to grasp the tween’s arm. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Let me try and speak to the Fox...’ 

Mum said something too low for Estella to catch, and then the tween – two tweens, it was, leaning close, while other young faces clustered behind them. One on either side, and like enough to be twins, the tweens helped her sit up and then stand, and between them, they supported her the few steps to the next bed where Ferdi lay, or rather, half-sat, propped up with pillows. 

‘On the bed there,’ Mum directed, and the tweens eased Estella onto the bed.  

She reached to take both of Ferdi’s hands in hers. Shhh, she shushed. ‘No ruffians here.’ 

He opened his eyes and stared into her face. ‘Twig,’ he said. ‘Got to get away. Got to warn...’ 

The gulps of water she’d managed before choking, cool and sweet and reviving, were clarifying Estella’s thinking. Shhhh, she said again, squeezing Ferdi’s hands, and then she looked up and around the circle of faces. ‘He’s right,’ she said. ‘We have to go. We have to warn...’ 

‘Let me up,’ Ferdi said, his eyes moving from the farmer to his wife. 

‘You belong in a bed, keeping so still as possible so as to allow your body to heal,’ Mum said implacably. ‘To my mind, for at least a week! Maybe two!’ She added, ‘I’ve bound your broken ribs, but it’s the other injuries that I can see – and cannot – that worry me just as much.’ 

‘You’re a healer!’ Estella said in sudden recognition. Mum only laughed in reply, but there was little of humour in the sound. 

‘I’ll rest when I get to the Smials,’ Ferdi said dismissively. 

‘If you even get to the Smials,’ Mum said. ‘Fox, you’re in grave danger of dying along the way!’ 

‘No,’ Ferdi shook his head. ‘Got to warn the Thain. By the oath I swore...’ 

‘You swore an oath to protect the Thain with your life...’ Harley said, but Mum overrode him. 

‘...and it’s with your life you’ll be payin’ if you don’t start listening to me!’ 

‘We’re wasting time,’ Ferdi said as if Mum’s dire pronouncement held little meaning for him. 

‘Give me the message,’ the farmer said. ‘I’ll take it on at top speed.’ 

Ferdi shook his head against the pillow. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You weren’t there... and you don’t know the strategy... got to...’ 

‘You’re likely to fall on your head should you try to ride any further,’ Harley predicted. ‘You’re in no shape to ride, not even so far as the Smials, though we’re but five miles from there.’ 

‘I’m well enough,’ Ferdi insisted. ‘I’ll ride those five miles because I must.’ 

'We healers have a word for it,’ Mum interrupted. ‘Internal injuries.' 

'That's two words,' Ferdi pointed out, raising sounds of exasperation all around him. But he reached out and took hold of the farmer’s arm. ‘Ride with me, then, Harliburt,’ he said. ‘You can keep me from falling on my head, and guide the pony to the Smials if I falter. But I must come there without delay, lest disaster fall upon us all!’ 

Estella saw the farmer look to the healer – his wife, she thought. Rather handy to have a healer right there on the premises in case of emergency, her wit muttered to her absurdly. Not for a Took, she answered. From all I’ve heard, Tooks avoid healers like a plague!

That hardly sounds reasonable, her wit said, sounding unusually reasonable. And then one of the tweens was exclaiming, though his voice seemed to echo in Estella’s ears, while the room was tilting oddly just before everything went dark. 

Estella opened her eyes and found herself looking at the whitewashed, curved ceiling she’d noticed on first awakening in this place. What had just happened? 

Harley’s voice drew her attention, and she turned her head to see him standing by the door, supporting Ferdi even as he argued with the hobbit. 'I don’t know about this, Fox! I fear the Piper is knocking upon your door already, seeking his payment!' 

'So if I die along the way, leave me to lie and come back for the lad. He also heard the ruffians' plans!' 

‘The lad is sensibly in a bed!’ Mum said. And then she was bending over Estella, muttering, ‘...a few more sips of water, I think... and then broth...’ 

‘Uncle?’ she quavered, locking her eyes with Ferdi’s. What if he really did die and left her here? What would become of her? 

Ferdibrand closed his eyes and stood quite still in the farmer’s grasp, then opened them again. ‘Just a quick matter of business,’ he said. 

‘You’re getting back in the bed?’ Mum said, but without hope. 

‘Send your lads away,’ Ferdi said. ‘Just for the moment. They can saddle fresh ponies, or somewhat, but there’s Took family business that must be spoken ere I depart. But hurry, please. Time runs short...’ 

At a nod from the farmer, the tweens and younger hobbits filed quickly out the door to the yard where, to Estella’s relief, the Sun shone brightly through the open doorway. Ferdi’s collapse hadn’t delayed them that long then... unless she herself had been unconscious for more than a day? How much time had passed since they’d left the border? 

‘Your time runs short, you mean,’ Mum grumbled under her breath, increasing Estella’s worry. 

‘All in Tookland are running out of time,’ Ferdi countered. But he nodded as the door closed behind the last youth. ‘In the saddlebags of the pony we rode,’ he said, ‘there’s a bag of gold coins. Take it. And take her.’ 

‘Her?’ Harley and Mum said together, and then, after a moment of startled realisation, they both looked at Estella. 

‘This is Estella Bolger,’ Ferdi said. ‘Lotho’s Men are hunting her by his order. They’re to hunt her down and bring her back to him, tied hand and foot if need be, so that he may claim her as his own, even to forcing her to bear his heirs should she prove unwilling.’ 

Mum’s gasp was clearly heard, and Harley’s hands closed into fists whilst the eyes of both sparked with fury. 

‘My dying wish—’ Ferdi continued, and his revulsion at the fate Lotho intended for Estella seemed to give him a rush of strength that fuelled the rest of what he had to say, ‘if I am to die, that is – is for you to keep her safe in any way you can. I was to take her to the Smials, but the ruffians are planning to march upon the Smials and kill or imprison everyone there. And so I cannot in good conscience fulfil the promise I made to her kin. It’s her father's gold, offered to help those who protect her from that monster who calls himself Chief. Take it. But take her in, please. I beg this of you...’ 

But Mum stopped the flow of words with a sharp gesture. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘that if Pimple is looking for a lass, this one had better remain a lad, just as you brought him to us. Wouldn’t you agree?’ 

Ferdi took a shaking breath, and his eyes shone as he nodded to convey his gratitude. ‘At least I can die without this one on my conscience,’ he said honestly, and then straightened. ‘But we must go, and go now.’ 

Estella tried to rise from the bed, but her body failed her. Staring into Ferdi’s eyes, she caught her breath and winked away the tears that threatened. ‘I...’ she faltered. 

‘Grace go with you, my lad,’ Ferdi whispered. 

‘Take care of yourself, old Uncle,’ she answered. 

As if satisfied, the Fox nodded, then turned to the door, leaning on the farmer, who helped him out of the smial to the waiting ponies. 

*** 

Author's notes: Chrysanthemum (Mum) and Harliburt Took first appeared in A Small and Passing Thing. Only three chapters remaining! Yet another WIP almost finished.

Medical note: "Strapping up" broken ribs is not recommended these days.

*** 

Chapter 24. Change in Plans

Two riders pulled up in the courtyard of the Great Smials, one leaning heavily on the other. Rollo, the doorward assigned to watch for arrivals turned and jerked open the minor door where he stood and shouted down the corridor, 'Injured arriving!' He nodded at hearing the order echoed, carried ever deeper into the Smials all the way to the infirmary.

Stable lads had already stepped up to take the newcomers' reins by the time Rollo reached them. 'Healer's on the way,' he said.

The uninjured rider, a farmer from his clothing, bore a quiver and bow, the unstrung weapon carried in his quiver rather than in its bow case, allowing the archer to reach over his shoulder, grab and string it and, with another quick movement, seize an arrow, nock and shoot – and all without the pony missing a step, even at a gallop. In other words, the archer had been expecting trouble, and was prepared to meet it.

At the moment, however, he was fully occupied with holding his companion in the saddle. His voice was laced with relief as he answered Rollo. 'He's still with us,' he said, and then, 'Good! But as you value your life, call for a stretcher and the Thain into the bargain!' And when Rollo hesitated – the Thain? – he boomed, 'Now!' loudly enough to make the doorward and the ponies jump.

...and then the archer was too busy soothing the ponies to pay Rollo further heed. But Rollo could take a hint – "as you value your life" meant the situation was serious, perhaps even critical. He spun and sprinted to the door, jerked it open, and bellowed down the corridor. 'The Thain! Summon the Thain!'

He didn't need to call for a stretcher; one of those would come with the healer per protocol.

On returning to the riders, still in their saddles, understanding bloomed as he recognised the slumping figure. 'Ferdi!' he cried. 'Is it well with you?'

'I don't know what makes you think that...' Ferdi slurred. 'Thain...'

'Steady, Fox,' the farmer said. 'Help is on its way.'

'I'll help you get him down,' Rollo said, moving to Ferdi's side, but the farmer forestalled him.

'No!' he said sharply. 'Don't move him, not until the healer comes.'

'It's all the same,' Ferdi mumbled, 'in the saddle or on the stones...'

'Save your breath,' the farmer scolded.

Ferdi lifted his head. Blearily, he countered, 'What breath?' He was taking short, shallow gulps of air, Rollo saw. 'If there was any to be had... then p'rhaps... I might have some... to save...'

The farmer hushed him, and whether it was a matter of weakness or obedience, Ferdi's head drooped again and came to rest on the farmer's shoulder.

'What's happened?' Rollo demanded, adding his support to the farmer's.

'Ruffians,' the farmer said succinctly, then, 'Steady, Fox, they're coming.'

'I know they're coming,' Ferdi mumbled into the farmer's shoulder. 'That's why we're here.'

Hurrying figures burst from two of the lower outer doors into the Smials – from one, healers and stretcher-bearers, and from the other, a little slower and more ponderously, Thain Paladin, flanked by Reginard, his heir since young Peregrin had disappeared and been declared dead, along with several archers who shadowed Paladin everywhere he went, no matter how inconvenient or aggravating it might be. Well, perhaps not quite everywhere. But almost.

Rollo shook himself free of his wool-gathering and shouted to the on-comers, 'It's the Fox!' Rather unnecessarily, he added, 'He's injured! And he's urgent news for the Thain!' 

'Don't move him!' the first healer to reach them snapped. The farmer nodded firmly as if feeling vindicated by the order.

'I should say he has,' Paladin panted as he reached them next. 'What news?' He glowered at the slumping figure in the saddle, Fox or no Fox. 'This had better be good,' he growled. 'A fast messenger came in just moments ago and said you'd changed my orders to "Shoot to kill"!'

'Kill,' echoed the slumped figure of the Thain's Chief Scout. 'Death,' he whispered. 'Plans...'

The others gathering there froze for a second at the Thain's words, and Ferdi's reply, and then returned to their grim business: stretcher bearers at the ready, three healers swarming around the two riders, exchanging rapid words and phrases as they conducted an examination on the spot, the stable lads soothing the hard-ridden but still excited ponies, and Rollo helping support the injured hobbit in the saddle.

'All right,' Healer Mardibold said. 'We'll ease him down – keep him upright, and we'll lay him on his side to carry him...'

'Thain...' Ferdi moaned as the healers and helpers began to lift him.

But as they laid him on the stretcher, he resisted, fighting – not to get up, Rollo realised, but fighting just to take in a breath!

Mardi saw it too. 'Sit him up!' he snapped. 'We'll carry him in a "lady chair", sitting up, that he may get some air.' And to Paladin, he said, 'I dunno, Thain... Not only is he in no shape to be in a saddle, but I'm not even sure we'll get him inside, at this rate...'

Rollo and one of the stretcher bearers lifted Ferdi between them, locking arms to form a living chair, and someone else pulled the stretcher out of their way.

'Report!' Paladin said, leaning in close as they turned to bear the gasping figure into the Smials.

Mardi was murmuring, to the effect of Slow and steady, now... easy, lad. ...but the healer did not, Rollo noticed uneasily, try to forestall the Thain or insist that Ferdi keep his breath to cool his porridge. And so the doorward was privy to the terrible news the Fox had brought from the Outer Shire as they moved slowly and carefully as a group to avoid jarring the injured hobbit.

'Ruffians...' that hobbit wheezed.

'O aye,' Paladin said under his breath.

'March...' Ferdi managed. 'Gather hobbits... Bywater... Hobbiton...'

'Gather hobbits,' Paladin echoed, squeezing Ferdi's shoulder. 'Not gather from hobbits, I take it?'

Ferdi nodded. 'March ahead of... Men,' he panted. 'Spring traps. Men... on fast ponies... race to Smials... kill... capture you, Sir, and your family...' Somehow, the injured hobbit rallied at the last part, straightening in his bearers' arms and turning his head towards the Thain, his gaze sharp and demanding.

'They might have some trouble...' Paladin began, but Ferdi shook his head.

'Orcs!' he gasped. 'Lotho's brought in half-orcs! Capture the Thain... give you and... Mistress... Pearl... her children! ...Vinca... Nell!' He fought for air before adding the rest. 'Give you all to the orcs... public spectacle... Bywater... Market square... make an example...'

He got the message across, not only to Paladin, but to the hobbits bearing him and the hovering healers, for the little group stopped still, just inside the lesser door to the Smials that provided the fastest route to the infirmary.

'The fool!' Paladin swore, and lower, he said, revealing his shock and dismay at Ferdi's news, 'By all that's green... by all that's green and growing...' And then he renewed his grasp on Ferdi's shoulder and gave the injured hobbit a shake, 'When?' he demanded.

Ferdi had slumped again, his eyes glazing, but he tried to lift his head, turned towards Paladin and winked as if he had difficulty seeing the Thain's face.

'When?' Paladin repeated. 'How soon, Ferdi? How much time do we have?'

'No time,' Ferdi whispered. 'No...' and then his eyes closed and he lolled in his bearers' arms.

'Mardi!' the Thain snapped.

'Still with us,' Mardi said, 'though I'm not sure how.'

'Regi,' Paladin said succinctly, 'call all the Captains of companies and Captain-seconds to the great room! The heads of the guilds and all areas of the Smials! Assemble as quick as we can!'

'Order the Muster, Sir?' Regi asked, poised to carry out his orders.

'Not yet,' Paladin said, 'but likely within the hour we'll be sending out riders to all corners o' the Land.' 

*** 

A muttering crowd filled the great room as Paladin entered with Eglantine. None had taken a seat, but all were standing, as if they anticipated marching from the room immediately after receiving their orders. The Talk had already started circulating about the unbelievable "shoot to kill" order issued to the border guards earlier in the morning, and the abrupt summons calling them to this assembly only confirmed their impression of dire tidings.

Silence fell when Paladin and Eglantine mounted the dais that usually hosted the head tables at mealtimes and feasts. There was no need to call the hobbits to order; something portentous was in the air.

Quietly – and yet somehow the Thain's voice carried to the far edges of the assembly – Paladin outlined Lotho's plan. 'The so-called Boss has wearied of the Tookish resistance,' he began. 'So much so, the fool has sought help from Outsiders...' he paused at the enormity of the next words he must voice, and then forged ahead. 'Half-Orcs,' he said heavily. 'If we found ruffians – rogue Men – something of a challenge as we worked out out strategies to keep them out of our land, then just think about Men who are not Men, as we've become accustomed to dealing with, but Orc-Men. Men whose blood, in part, has been somehow mingled with that of goblins – the flesh-eaters of Hobbit legend and nightmare...'

A murmur arose from his listeners, and horror haunted every face. Goblins were fine and well when telling stories by the fireside, but... real goblins? Coming into the Shire on Lotho's invitation?

The murmur quickly died as Paladin resumed telling the terrible news. 'And so the order has been issued to all border guards to "shoot to kill",' he said. 'The life of any Man who enters no-Man's land is, from this day forward, forfeit!'

'Hear-hear!' arose from scattered voices in the crowd.

'Moreover,' Paladin said. 'Any day now, Men and their Orkish comrades will march upon our borders. I've had word from one of our scouts that Lotho's Men were already rounding up Shire-folk from Overhill and Hobbiton and herding them to Bywater, though it wasn't clear what their purpose might be. But the news the Fox brought back uncovered their fell purpose...!'

He surveyed his listeners grimly. 'The invaders will force the Shire-folk to march before them, to spring the traps that guard our borders... That is the first part of the plan to rid the Shire of its "vermin" – for they'll leave the hobbits hanging by their ankles or trapped in the deep pits, simply leave them there to let nature take its course...'

A few exclamations burst out at the picture he painted, and then they quieted, for there was obviously more.

'While some are engaging the border guards, others will mount swift ponies to race to the Smials – to take the Tooks by surprise!' The Thain accompanied this thought with a wintry smile. 'And in surprising us, their aim is to kill as many Tooks here in Tuckborough as they can manage, and march the few survivors to the Lockholes. Once they've taken the heart of our land, they can work outwards to the rest of the Tookland and exterminate more of us vermin at their leisure...'

As if the news weren't chilling enough, Paladin swept his listeners with a cold glare and finished, 'The Fox confirmed the rumours that some half-Orcs are already in the Shire, working for Lotho. We also have reliable information that more such monsters are on their way to the Shire, even now, to swell their ranks. And, combining history and legend with rumour and speculation... Orkish folk do not work for the sort of wages hobbits are used to paying and earning.'

Eglantine, at his side, closed her hands into fists. Her jaw, too, was clenched, and her face was set in grim lines.

Paladin received nods from his listeners; he nodded in return and said, 'No, but along with or perhaps in lieu of coin... for Lotho is a grasping, greedy fellow, and he will no doubt see paying his workers in other forms than silver, copper or gold as a boon... the Orkish ruffians are very likely anticipating their pay will come in the form of hobbits.' He swallowed hard, then, as if swallowing down sickness that surprised him at its advent since he'd been steeling himself to deliver this news since the moment he'd grasped the gist of Ferdi's desperate warning. He concluded quietly, 'I don't think I have to spell that out for you.' 

And then the Thain did a curious thing: he reached to the side and took Eglantine's hand, and then he looked to the Mistress and nodded.

Mistress Eglantine raised her voice. 'We've already sent out messengers to the Outer Shire,' she said. 'Their task is dangerous but vital. They will be starting a rumour in all parts of the Shire we can reach.' Her lips twisted in an icy smile. 'We made it as simple as we possibly could in order to encourage it to spread widely and rapidly, even amongst those Shire-folk who are already being "mustered" in Bywater.'

To their unspoken consternation, her listeners understood that at least one rumour-monger planned to slip into the throng of captive hobbits in Bywater, become one with them, risk the same fate, in fulfilling his mission.

'The rumour is, quite simply, this catchy rhyme,' Eglantine stated, and she lifted her voice to sing a nursery tune with decidedly altered lyrics.

When the Tooks give a shout,
Throw yourself to the ground,
Lest their arrows hit you,
Not the Men all around.

'And so,' Paladin said, 'I'm calling the Muster! I'm calling the farmers from the fields, even though it is seedtime, the hunters from the woods and meadows, the weavers from their looms, the woodworkers from their lathes, the shepherds from their flocks... All Tooks and Tooklanders able to draw a bow are called to the borders, to await the assault that is to come before the end of this week, or so Lotho's ruffians themselves believe...'

'How do we know it isn't a trick?' Verilard, the Thain's Chief Hunter called out. 'To wear us down, to blunt our edges with useless alarums? To pull us from our crops and grindstones again and again, until none answer the Muster when the real assault comes?'

'A valid concern,' Paladin acknowledged. 'However, the ruffian who shared this plan was unaware he was overheard. He took precautions, so the Fox told me after they settled him in a bed, still among the living I'm glad to say... and yet, the Man also made assumptions, and his carelessness is to our advantage in this case.'

He swept the crowd with his gaze. 'You see,' he said, 'the Fox was their prisoner, but somehow he escaped... And the ruffians swept the area thoroughly, or so they thought, and concluded that he'd not stuck around to risk recapture and further ill treatment but had fled to the safety of the Tookland.'

A murmur arose at the word prisoner but changed to a chuckle at thoroughly.

Paladin smiled grimly. 'O aye,' he said. 'A hobbit overhearing the news was not something the ruffian chief was worried about. And so, Lotho's Men, and the monsters among them, still believe that the element of surprise is on their side. But I think we can show them differently...'

The Thain met Verilard's gaze then, and he said, 'We'll call Tooks and Tooklanders away from their usual business for the coming week only, while we're setting up a warning system. In future days, we'll be placing lads and lasses, along with our fastest ponies, on likely approaches that a body of marching Men, driving Hobbits before them, could be expected to take. On first sight of such a body, they'll ride and sound the alarm, and the alarm will spread, and archers will drop everything and grab up their weapons and dash at their best speed into danger!

'From the nature of the news the Fox brought, this attack, at least, will come from the direction of Bywater, and so we will mass the bulk of the Muster in that quarter for this next week while distributing the rest strategically in other places as my advisors see fit,' Paladin concluded. 'Are there any questions?' 

At the general shaking of heads in the crowd before him, the Thain turned to Reginard and said, 'Sound the Muster!'

*** 

Chapter 25. Aftermath

Years afterwards, Estella's memories of her earliest hours after being taken in by the back-country Tooks remained misty and fragmented, and many of them, she suspected, she had pieced together from hearing others' accounts at a later date. Not long after the door had closed behind Ferdi and Harley, it slammed open again with a bang that briefly startled Estella out of the haze that surrounded her, and she heard Mum raise her voice to scold, sounding remarkably like Grandmama Bolger at her most indignant.

Grand... she murmured.

'Steady, laddie-mine,' Mum soothed, stroking Estella's hair back from her forehead. 'All is well.'

'I know,' Estella said dreamily.

'They're gone!' a young voice was shouting. 'Off at a gallop! Da and the Fox...'

'But they left the lad here?' an older young voice said, not quite as loud.

'They left the lad,' Mum confirmed. 'And use your indoor voice, Hardy! A ruffian halfway to the Brandywine River can probably hear you blathering!'

And then the hobbit mum began to issue a stream of orders, and a mad scramble erupted, or so it sounded to Estella, whose eyes had closed again as if of their own mind. Feet, she thought, but they're hobbit feet, not Men. And... but she was unable to name all the other accompanying sounds, clinking and clanking and softer sounds, as of fabric or perhaps leather being taken down from hooks, and was that the lid of a trunk opening and, after a few moments, banging shut again? 

Occasional bursts of speech rang out, sounding like statements or questions. Most of the questions were answered by Mum, who still sat on the bed beside Estella. But all the words ran together in a blur. Is it called a blur when you hear it, or does one only see a blur? Estella wondered idly.

And then a gentle hand was lifting one of Estella's eyelids, confirming that one does, indeed, see a blur (whether one might also hear a blur remained a matter of debate). And then Mum said, 'Herry, put down that wax and bowstring and help me with the lad! I ought to have realised how ill he is, but my mind has been rather preoccupied with the Fox up to this moment...'

'I'm here, Mum.' Estella thought it might be the tween who'd helped her earlier.

'Help me sit him up,' Mum said. 'We'll prop the pillows at his back. Build up the fire and swing the soup kettle over it to warm. I'm going to try to get some more water into him, and then broth...'

Estella seemed to be floating away on a cloud... that suddenly dissolved as she felt her earlobe squeezed in a painful pinch. 'Ow!' she protested, half-opening her eyes to see Mum's face, quite close, and smiling at her.

'That's better, lad,' Mum said. 'Now, I want you to drink more of this good water from our spring. Sweet and fresh, it is, and icy cold when it issues from the rocks on the hillside... Slowly, now. Plenty more where this come from...' Estella drank as ordered, though her eyelids drifted closed again. The water was sweet and refreshing, somehow anchoring her to the earth so that she no longer had the sensation of floating away on a breeze. But she was so weary! Why would they not let her sleep?

The young voice suddenly spoke close at hand, jarring Estella awake again. 'They left the lad here?' His voice was still loud, but not as loud as before. Perhaps he was using his "indoor voice" now.

'O aye,' Mum answered, her voice properly quiet and soothing. 'The Fox left his nephew here... from a family of Tooks in the Woody End, I think he said.'

'There are Tooks in the Woody End?' the young voice said in wonder.

'There may be,' Mum amended cautiously. 'But keep your voice down, Hardy! And no more talk about Tooks who might be outside of the Tookland! For should a passing ruffian hear you, such talk would put them in danger!'

'There are no ruffians inside the borders!' Hardy said confidently but, perhaps, foolishly.

'Hush, lad, and none of your nonsense now. Go and pick up the bowstrings Herry was waxing, and apply the wax as your da showed you.' She raised her voice. 'And Gerry! Check his work when he's done!'

'Aye, Mum!' Estella thought the answer might have come from the other tween. Twin tweens, she thought absurdly. Tween twins. Any road, the both of them are easy on the eyes... They may break a few hearts when they're older...

But the owner of the young voice lingered. 'What's his name, Mum? And how old is he?'

'His name's Twig,' Mum answered. 'And he's about the same age as you, I think. Eighteen? Nineteen, perhaps? Not a tween yet, for he obviously hasn't started growing into his full Tookishness. And now, Hardy – those bowstrings!'

Estella understood, somehow, that "full Tookishness" was a reference to Tooks being taller, on average, than the typical common hobbit. For her own part, Estella had chafed at her own lack of height – for at her age, any further growth spurt was improbable and probably impossible – and her delicate bone structure. What a trial it was to be the shortest one in her family! Her mother, a Took, had tried to comfort her with the notion that she was the image of her Tookish great-great-grandmama, small and slight, fair and graceful, such that whispers of "faerie blood" followed in her wake. It had always puzzled her – how could Tooks be both taller and fairer than average hobbits and shorter and fairer due to the faerie blood coursing through their veins?

Still, when Freddy had taunted her for being so short in their younger days, the idea that she was part faerie had provided a shield of sorts against the thoughtless darts her brother had tossed in her direction.

And, it seemed, Estella's "faerie blood" was providing another sort of protection in these latter days... for it had made her small and slight enough to pass for a lad... a teen, even... someone who'd hardly draw a second glance from a passing ruffian. If there were any, that is, wandering about inside the borders of the Tookland.

After a mug of broth had followed the mug of water, Estella was feeling better, and she was more alert. She was able to keep her eyes open now, and she watched with some astonishment the bustle of the young hobbits around the main room of the smial. Preparations, she thought. Blankets rolled tight and tied, food stuffed in sacks, weapons taken down from hooks on the wall and inspected and serviced... Occasionally one of the youth would look her way, catch her eye, and smile or wink, a sort of welcome when there seemed to be no time for a proper welcome.

Golden late-afternoon sunlight was streaming through the west-facing window, and Estella's thoughts turned to Ferdi. She swallowed hard, remembering Mum's warnings and her own fears for the resolute hobbit.

And then the door slammed open again, but Mum delivered no rebuke, for it was her husband Harley. 'The Muster's been sounded!' he said. 'We must march to the bounds at our best speed!'

He surveyed the room and the staring youth, who'd frozen upon his entrance, and nodded. 'Good,' he said. 'You've saved us a cartload of time!'

'From what the Fox said,' Mum answered, 'little as it was, I figured as much.'

'Right!' Harley said. 'All you tweens, take up your packs and bows!'

'But Da!' Hardy, evidently the youngest of the bunch, protested. 'I can shoot as well as any of my brothers!'

'Nae, lad,' Harley said, crossing the room to lay his hands on the youngster's shoulders and look down into his son's earnest face. 'Tweens only. I need you to stay here and watch o'er your mum.'

'But she can shoot as well as any of us!' Hardy said.

'She can,' Harley answered. 'But if you're attacked in force, two bows are always better than one. And you haven't started your tween growth yet; your legs are still too short to keep up with us.'

'But—!' Hardy protested, tears in his eyes, and then all the resistance went out of him. He stood straighter and saluted in the Tookish manner, touching his nocking fingers to his brow. 'Aye sir!' he said smartly. 'Have no worries about the missus and childer!'

...by which he meant Mum and herself, Estella thought, and despite the seriousness of the situation, she couldn't help smiling at being called one of the "childer" of this stalwart family.

Harliburt moved to Estella's side and crouched down to address her. 'I bring you greetings from your uncle, Twig,' he said.

'He's...?' Estella said, almost afraid to ask.

'Still i' the world, stubborn as the hobbit is,' Harley said. 'And the healers there at the Smials have tied him to a bed with extra windings of rope, or so the Talk says...'

'Why didn't I think o' that?' Mum said. 'No matter! I will, the next time!'

Harley smiled at his wife and rose from his crouch to bend over Mum and administer a lingering kiss. 'Be safe,' he told her when the kiss ended. 'You and the lads.'

'And you and the lads,' she answered in kind, 'Go with grace.'

Estella saw the archer swallow hard, and then Harley nodded, turned away, scooped up the pack waiting by the door, and walked out of the smial, followed by a line of tweens.

After a long pause, Mum cleared her throat and said, 'Close the door, Hardy.'

'Yes'm,' said the youngest Took, and complied, but not with his usual bang. Instead, he closed the door softly, slowly, with the barest snick of the latch at the end.

*** 

Mum and Hardy moved the bed that had recently held Ferdibrand back into the bedroom where it usually resided. The little smial had three bedrooms: one for the parents, and two holding four hobbits each, meaning the seven tweens and one teen belonging to the family. 'We'll leave Twig's bed here by the fire for a day or two, until the lad is himself again,' Mum told Hardy.

'Twig's bed!' Hardy said. 'Then where is Gerry supposed to sleep?'

'Well Gerry's not here right now, so I don't think he'll mind,' Mum answered. (Nonetheless, Estella made a private resolve to follow healer's orders to the letter, eat and drink all she was given, and make the rapidest recovery in the history of the Shire so that Gerry would have his bed back in good time.) 

'Any road,' Mum added, 'the bedrooms are full up, they are! So what I'm thinkin' is, when Twig is better, we'll make up a pallet by the kitchen fire. Twig can sleep by night on the hearth before the banked fire and have a little warmth e'en though he's sleeping on the floor, and by day he can roll up his blankets and set them aside, out o' the way, until bedtime comes rollin' round once more.'

'That sounds right grand,' Estella said. 'Why, imagine it! A pallet on the floor before the hearth! For in the Wood, as I'm sure you know, we sleep upon stacks of pine boughs or ferns, and we almost never light a fire, for we'd only have to put it out again in the morning!'

Hardy seemed startled, as if he'd never before thought about life anywhere else but in a little smial dug into one of the great Green Hills of the Tookland. But Mum smiled at Estella and tweaked her nose. 'That's the spirit, lad,' she said. 'Always be ready to try something new, for ye never know what ye'll discover!'

Whether it was due to Mum's skill as a healer or Estella's determination, the latter was on her feet the next day. She helped the others carry Gerry's bed back to its proper place, and then she dove into the details of daily living. Thanks to her fortnight with the forest Bolgers, she was already a competent worker when it came to farm chores in the Green Hill country. She could milk goats, skin rabbits (though she found it difficult to eat when rabbit was on the menu, and Mum did not scold her for it but offered bread and cheese to her instead), build and bank a fire, and chop wood with the best of them.

From Chrysanthemum, she also began to learn about herb-gathering – though they never went far from the smial, not with the emergency happening at the border – and what to do with the medicinal plants they gathered, whether tying them in bunches to dry them or making up decoctions or teas or tinctures or creams or poultices or other preparations. She enjoyed sitting around the well-scrubbed table by the kitchen fire after a day of chores and gathering, all of them working together at a task. Sometimes they'd talk, and sometimes they'd sing, and sometimes they'd work in silence, all of them thinking of the Mustered hobbits waiting at the border; and Estella was also haunted by the idea of the gathered, hopeless hobbits awaiting their doom in Bywater, though she said nothing to the others. 

'May grace go with them,' Mum would murmur, and the two lads would bow their heads, wink away tears, and answer in a whisper. 'O aye.'

*** 

About ten days after the archers had departed, Mum stood up from the chair where she was mending at sounds in the yard, voices and shouts, farewells and halloos. 'They're back!' she said, hope and dread mingled in her tone. She hurried to the door and threw it open (though not with a bang, of course). 'Darlings, dears, and loves!' she cried. 'Well come! You're all here!'

Hardy and Twig jumped up from the hearth, where they'd sketched a game board to play at "Kings" with pebbles and sticks for pieces.

'O' course we're all here!' Harley said with a laugh, seizing Mum in his arms right there in the doorway and engaging in a lengthy kiss.

He released her but kept a steadying hand on her arm as Mum swayed and put a hand to her head. 'O but you always leave me breathless when you do that...' she mock-scolded.

'I know!' he laughed, and added, 'All's well!'

'All's well?' Mum echoed, staring into her husband's eyes.

In answer, Harley put his hands under her arms and whirled Mum around in circles until she was laughing and gasping in protest, whilst the lads followed their da in from the yard and gathered around their parents, raising a cheer.

When at last he put her down again, Harley said, 'All's well, I tell you! Not a single casualty – at least amongst the hobbits of the Muster!'

'O!' Mum gasped, her hand at her throat. 'O but that's the finest news a hobbit's ever told me...'

Harley put his arm around her waist and turned to Estella, still standing by the hearth, watching the joyous homecoming. 'Come here, lad,' he said, beckoning, and when Estella crossed the room to them, he gave her a brief hug, just as he had given to Hardy a moment before, and said, 'I've a message for you fro' your uncle!'

'My uncle!' Estella exclaimed.

'O aye,' Harley said. 'He's in fine fettle, he is.' He turned his head towards Mum and explained, 'The Muster marched to the Great Smials before we were dismissed to our homes, and so I lingered there just long enough to look in on the Fox...'

'Did you?' Mum said coolly. 'And so you found him still in the world, I take it, despite all the foolish risks that hobbit insists on taking!'

'Naught of the fool in that hobbit!' Harley disagreed.

'I beg to differ,' his wife said with dignity, raising her chin in the air. 'So did he march with the Muster?'

Harley laughed. 'You think he'd do that?' he asked, his tone incredulous.

'I wouldn't put it past him, not at all,' Mum said grimly.

With a broad grin, Harley said, 'Nae, but he's been tied to a bed these past ten days... When he began wheedling to get up after only a few days, Healer Woodruff, that harridan, told him she meant to keep him i' the bed a week, and when he protested a week, she made it two!'

Mum laughed and pushed at Harley. 'Don't you dare call that fine healer a "harridan"!' she scolded.

'Well she is when it comes to draughts and keeping Tooks in bed,' Harley countered.

'Call her a vixen, then ­– it means much the same thing, but in this case, I'd say the Fox has met his match!'

'Very well, a vixen,' Harley conceded. 'O but you ought to have seen it, my love! It was glorious!'

'What, keepin' the Fox in his bed?' Mum asked.

'Nae!' Harley said. 'The battle! Though it was more of a rout.' He gestured to the lads to gather round, then said, 'We went to ground well in front of the traps, you see.'

'Before the traps!' Mum said in dismay. 'Ye didn't have the traps to protect you?'

'Nae,' Harley repeated, 'for you see, the Thain aimed to protect the hobbits of the Outer Shire from the ruffians' dastardly intentions, e'en though the Shire-folk wouldn't listen to him in the first place and so landed themselves in this muckle of a mess!'

'And so he aimed to protect them and not you?' Mum demanded. 'What sort of Thain is he, then?'

'Thain of all the Shire,' Harley said quietly. 'As he was always meant to be.'

'I don't...' Mum said, and Estella knew exactly what she'd meant to say, for she didn't understand herself.

'The ruffians' plan, as our Captain explained to us,' Harley said, 'was to march the hobbits of Bywater and Hobbiton and Overhill before them, to absorb the arrows of the Tooks and spring our traps, to be hauled into the air by our snares and to fall to their deaths in our pits...' He dropped his voice and said grimly, 'And they would have left them there, had they been able to overrun us, to bleed and starve and thirst until they died...'

This was not news to those who had just returned from the Muster, but the three who had guarded the home front stood aghast.

'We could not let them be marched to their doom!' Harley said, 'And so Thain Paladin, he told the Captains and Seconds to arrange a good portion of our forces beyond the start of no-Man's land.'

'But wouldn't they trample you underfoot and give your positions away to the Men following them?' Mum asked. 'Or...' her eyes widened with horror, and she gulped. 'Or did ye have to shoot them? The hobbits?'

'There was the matter of a rumour,' Harley said gently, squeezing his wife reassuringly and smiling into her upturned face. 'The Mistress organised the spreading of a rumour amongst the folk living in the Outlands – as she has many times since this whole miserable situation began – and it went something like this...' And he began to sing, a simple child's tune, quite familiar to Estella,

When the Tooks give a shout,
Throw yourself to the ground,
Lest their arrows hit you,
Not the Men all around.

And he grinned. 'And so, when the Thain – who'd climbed up a tree to watch the assault, imagine it, at his age! – gave the signal, his messenger blew a great blast on the horn, and the entire Muster shouted! And those marching hobbits threw themselves to the earth as quick as lightning falls from the heavens. And those of us lying in the grass rose up and started shooting, along with the archers who were up in the trees – mostly the younger ones, like our tweens,' he said aside.

'And as soon as our arrows started to fly, those Men, they turned tail and ran at the top of their speed,' Harley said triumphantly. '...and they may be running still, for all I know!'

'How many fell?' Mum asked quietly.

Harley sobered. 'That, I cannot say,' he said. 'For they scooped up their wounded as they went, and there may have been some dying among those...' But he put on a determined smile and said, 'But no hobbits were harmed, not even the ones who were marched to the border, to what the ruffians intended to be their deaths...'

'And what'll happen to them?' Mum asked. 'What'll happen to the families they left behind?'

'The Thain and Mistress planned that for them, as well,' Harley said. 'Our spies will sneak them back to their homes, a few at a time, that the ruffians might not intercept them and march them off to the Lockholes. And so, they'll just gradually and mysteriously appear, and go back to their daily lives...'

Mum and Estella both sighed.

But Harley wasn't quite finished. 'And I hope that the word will spread, and the Hobbits of the Outer Shire will think more kindly of the Tooks from this day forward,' he said. 'For we've not abandoned them, even though it was them who abandoned us first.'

'O aye,' Mum whispered, and Estella echoed the words in her heart. 'Grace go with them.'

*** 

Author's note: Almost finished! One more chapter remaining.

Chapter 26. Epilogue

'Your first visit to the Great Smials,' Pippin said to the Mistress of Buckland as he and Diamond, along with young Faramir, escorted Merry and Estella to the great room for the welcoming feast.

Estella wrinkled her nose and gave him a searching look. 'Is it well with you, cousin?' she asked, honest concern in her tone. 'Did you take in too much Sun, earlier, when you were riding the fields to check on the progress of ploughing and planting?'

Pippin laughed, and Estella smiled uncertainly. For – of course! – this was by far not her first visit to the Great Smials, but the latest of many... including that time, during the Scouring of the Shire to drive out the remainder of Lotho's ruffians, when a small force of archers led by Pippin himself (and Merry, who at the time was not leading anything but rather being carried along, having been wounded in an earlier skirmish) had swooped upon Harley and Mum's holding to reclaim Estella and return her to her previous life as the treasured and doted-upon daughter of Odovacar Bolger.

Her life as "Twig" had changed her in many ways, however, both overtly (as in her close-cropped curls, which she kept that way until her brother Freddy was fully recovered from his time in the Lockholes) and more subtly. Her iron will had been forged to fine steel; her wit had been sharpened and was now keenly focused, and her eyes saw more clearly than they had before, stripping away assumptions to lay the truth bare before her and everyone around her when it seemed the right course of action to her. And considering the sound judgement and common sense that her life with the back-country Tooks had cultivated, her steering on whatever course of action she might choose was usually shrewd and accurate.

'Your first visit since the Tooks confirmed me as Thain,' Pippin clarified, mischief glinting in his eyes. In fact, Estella thought, he seemed quite pleased to have her there, a fellow mischief-maker in their younger days, and a small part of her, that sometimes spoke with a voice of its own, surprised her by pitying him. Hood and jesses, like a wild hawk taken captive, her thought whispered deep within.

And so she replied brightly, her face clearing, 'Ah! And you want us to see the place before you pull it down about everyone's ears!'

'My love,' Merry hissed in her ear, and she subsided. He'd explained to her before they'd left Buckland that Pippin's confirmation as Thain was a matter of controversy and by no means a settled matter. Though it went against the grain to act as if all was as it should be, for the sake of Merry's love for his cousin, Estella would do her best to rein herself in. Still, the thought rankled. It seemed better to her to have it out in the open and counter every argument with sound logic than to play the kind of politics the Tooks were likely to engage in.

That she could prevail against a host of Tooks was a matter of little doubt to her. Only her love for her husband could constrain her to hold her peace. At least for now.

Eglantine was already in her place at the head table when Pippin entered with his wife and child and the guests of honour. In fact, most of the tables in the great room were full today, filled with Tooks and Tooklanders. Perhaps the only exception was the table reserved for hobbits of the Thain's escort, according to tradition, both those currently serving and those who had retired, along with their wives. When the escort chose to gather at that table, they sent their children to the nursery tables and the minders assigned there. This arrangement allowed them to talk freely during the meal without distraction or interruption.

Everyone stood up from their chairs at the Thain's entry, per protocol, and waited for Pippin to greet the assembly. Once that was done, they could all bow to him as the host of the feast, and then he'd invite them to take their seats, and then the feasting could begin! 

The festive gathering began as usual. Pippin asked Merry and Estella to pause while he seated Diamond with great courtesy, and of course he placed Faramir in the chair between his and Diamond's, though he did not, himself, sit down. But then, instead of inviting Merry to take the chair next to his, as would be expected for the guest of honour, Pippin beckoned to the visiting Master and Mistress of Buckland to follow him off the dais where the head tables stood, to the first table on the lower level: the escorts' privileged space.

On seeing the Thain approach, the hobbits of his escort turned to face the oncoming group and then bowed to the Brandybucks when the little party reached them. 

'What's this?' Merry asked out of the corner of his mouth, for the rest of the diners in the room were staring at this unusual procedure, and Pippin had, to this point, offered no explanation.

'The hobbits of the Thain's escort request the honour of your company at their table this evening,' Pippin said formally.

The Head of the Thain's escort, Ferdibrand, pulled out the chair next to him, saying to Estella, 'Mistress? If you would grace us with your presence?'

Estella sat down in the chair as requested, though she didn't quite know what to make of the current happenings. She was glad when Ferdi seated Merry beside her before returning to his own seat and standing behind it.

Pippin, smiling as if he hadn't noticed the staring hobbits filling the room, quickly mounted the steps of the raised platform and went to stand at his place. 'Welcome to the feast!' he called.

The assembled hobbits bowed as one to the Thain. As they straightened, the Thain said, 'Please, take your seats!'

Pippin then seated himself, saying aside to Diamond, 'I wonder what they would do should I forget to tell them to sit themselves down?'

'Eat standing up, I suppose,' she answered. 'For it would be such a shame to let this good food go to waste!'

Reginard, on Diamond's far side, managed to restrain himself from chiding the young Thain's nonsense in this very public gathering. But only just.

'You have the right of it, my dear,' Pippin answered as a hovering server lowered his tray to allow Pippin to fork slices of succulent meat onto Diamond's plate and then Farry's, and finally, his own. The server went on to Reginard next while another offered the Thain a divided dish holding several kinds of vegetables. Behind him, a third waited with a dish of potatoes and a pitcher of gravy.

At the lower tables, the diners were serving themselves and passing the serving platters around the tables, each of which had two assigned servers whose duty was to replenish any platters when their contents ran low. Ferdibrand courteously served Estella, beside him, before passing each platter on to Merry. The Brandybucks supposed this to be the proper procedure when invited to sit at the escorts' table since Ferdi was the Head, though they didn't know for certain. After all, Buckland did not keep the same traditions as the Tookland, including the tradition of an escort: while archers could be found throughout the Shire, the Brandybucks did not employ any specifically to follow the Master and Mistress around as an honour guard of sorts. Thankfully.

The meal continued uneventfully through several courses. Finally, at the same time the sweet course was being distributed to all the tables, servants began to circulate with trays of assorted beverages: wine, ale and fruit juices. The diners nodded to each other wisely and did not drink from the glasses they chose but simply set them on the table, ready and waiting for the proper time. After all, this practice in the Great Smials always preceded the toast which the Thain, by tradition, offered at the end of a festive meal.

Since the purpose of the banquet was, ostensibly, to welcome the Master and Mistress of Buckland to the Great Smials for the first time since Peregrin had become Thain, the nature of the upcoming toast was obvious to all. And though the Tooks generally held a dim view of Buckland and Bucklanders in general, they were resigned to drinking whatever toast the Thain might proclaim, as was only good manners in the case of invited guests.

At last, Pippin stood up from his chair and lifted his glass, and the assembly followed his lead, glasses held at the ready. He smiled as his gaze went around the expectant faces filling the room. They're all ready to repeat after me, "to the Master and Mistress of Buckland", or some such, he thought. A quick, meaningless phrase, a polite sip, and then they can sit down and enjoy the rest of the glass at their leisure, over their gossip and gab and assorted cheeses. 

His glance at Reginard revealed the Steward's wariness. O' course, Pippin thought to himself, maintaining his smile – though there was no humour in it now, for his thoughts were hardly amusing. If he should, this moment, choose to end the meal by setting in motion the Thain's toast, toasting "to loyal Tooks!", then Regi would be obliged to voice the answering toast, "to the Thain!" Tradition required this exact observance, of course, before the assembly could be dismissed. But let us not rush into the dragon's mouth, the young Thain thought, remembering a favourite phrase of Bilbo's, if we can put off the awful moment for a bit longer.

It would certainly be embarrassing if less than half the room were to toast the Thain... especially in the presence of the guests who were attending, Merry and Estella among them. And yet, considering the opposition to Pippin's succession to the Thainship, he wasn't sure even the Tooks' deep respect for Eglantine would suffice – unless she, and not Regi, spoke the answering toast. 

But for anyone but the Steward to propose the toast to the Thain would defy tradition.

...and that's the problem, Pippin thought. The Tooks are so bound by tradition, it's a wonder they can lift their forks to their mouths!

Still, there was naught he could do but bake that bread when it was risen.

He was about to turn tradition on its head, anyhow, giving the Tooks more fuel for the fire. What's the worst they can do? he thought. Turn me off? And then I'm free to make my way to Gondor – with Diamond and Farry, of course, and... live happily ever after?

The thought returned genuine mirth to his smile. And from the corner of his eye, he saw Regi stiffen. It's not what you're thinking, old fellow... Will I surprise you? Somehow, Pippin was sure his Steward would, indeed, be surprised. Hopefully it would turn out to be a pleasant surprise.

Pippin's plan involved not following the established convention, and since he controlled the narrative here, he intended to make the most of the opportunity. Better still, he might shake up a few stolid Tooks and give them food for thought, while reminding the rest of the incredible debt they owed to a relatively small number of courageous hobbits.

Eglantine, of course, knew his intention, as did Diamond, as well as the hobbits of the escort and some of the guests in attendance. The rest of the Tooks and Tooklanders filling the room, well... As Sam might put it, they were in for an eye-opener, and no mistake.

One benefit from pausing after he'd stood and raised his glass was that Pippin now had the attention of everyone in the room, even the children sitting at the nursery tables with minders.

'I thank you for your kind attention!' Pippin began. Good, obvious stuff, though not the toast everyone was expecting. Go on now, lad, they're waiting, he told himself.

'You see,' he went on, lowering his glass as he spoke, 'since I assumed the position of Thain and began to go through the records, that I might better understand Tookland's needs and the Tooks' accustomed way of doing things, a grave oversight has come to light.'

Some of his listeners had lifted their glasses higher, as if to signal, Get on with it! Others had lowered their glasses as Pippin had, with some going so far as to rest their glass on the table to wait until he finished talking. The different expressions on the faces before him were interesting, as well: some looked mutinous, others curious, and still more were passively waiting or obviously going through the motions for the sake of tradition.

'Thain Paladin was relatively new at the job,' Pippin continued, 'for he had been Thain for only about three years, thus facing much opposition from various factions of Tooks who thought he shouldn't have become Thain in the first place,' – quite a familiar feeling, actually! – 'because his grandfather had claimed he had withdrawn our branch of the family from the Succession.'

Pippin studied the faces before him. Curiosity had overtaken annoyance, he thought. 'Please, take your seats,' he said. 'For I have a little more to say before we drink our toast.' 

He waited through the chair-scraping that followed, and then resumed. 'When he had been Thain for only about three years, as I meant to say, the Tooks were faced with a crisis the likes of which had not been seen in nearly an hundred years, since the Fell Winter when White Wolves invaded the Shire. But this more recent invasion involved Wolves of a different sort – who walked upright on two feet, who were invited in, not merely taking advantage of an opportunity (such as the rivers freezing over), but invited by a Shire hobbit to cross the Bounds and take up residence and, indeed, begin stealing and bullying under the guise of "gathering and sharing"!'

More of the hostility in the room had faded, though wariness remained. Did his listeners think he was going to launch into a story of his adventures (how disgusting! his thought laughed within him) in foreign parts during the time frame he was describing? Pippin's face brightened at the thought. The idea was tempting, he had to admit, but it would hardly serve his purpose and would likely result in a great deal of harm to the Tookland, should he antagonise the Tooks enough to remove him as Thain, probably – nay, inevitably – leading to chaos and confusion.

'Paladin saw the danger,' Pippin said, 'but none in the Outer Shire heeded his warnings. What he could do, he did; he closed the borders of the Tookland to Men after Tooks had shot three for prowling and thieving. No,' he corrected himself. 'Not thieving, which can simply mean stealing by stealth. Robbing,' he said. 'Taking someone else's property by force or threat. Tooks shot three of Lotho's Men for prowling and robbing.'

He nodded at the indignation in the faces before him. 'Ultimately, Paladin and his advisors realised that they couldn't keep Men out of the Tookland with threats alone. But the idea of shooting every Man who tried to trespass on Tookish land was distasteful, at best, and so they made a plan, and carried it out! Tookland's engineers turned from delving smials and mines and quarries and wells to digging Man-sized traps, while the hunters set nooses and snares large enough for Men to step in – and regret their choices!'

A chuckle answered this thought, and many of the faces Pippin saw now reflected pride.

'Several times, Lotho – and after him, Sharkey – planned and set in motion attacks on our borders, but every one of these attacks failed, and the Tookland remained free!'

A cheer actually resulted! Feeling encouraged at this sign, Pippin thought, Keep on as you're going, lad. You seem to have their attention now.

'An hundred Tooks marched to the Battle at Bywater, when the Shire-folk arose to throw the ruffians out at last. And the bows of Tookish archers, as well as those of other Tooklanders, were a major factor in persuading any Men who thought they'd linger, that the Shire proper, just like the Tookland, would no longer be a healthy place for them! And so all Shire-folk were set free of their oppressors!'

Another rousing cheer erupted from Pippin's listeners. Though he maintained his stern (Thainly, Diamond called it) expression, privately, he was thinking wryly, Well done, lad. If this Thain business doesn't work out, perhaps you can go for Mayor, or simply travel around the Shire giving speeches for your living...

Pippin dropped his voice slightly to invite his listeners' closer attention, rather like tugging gently at the line when a fish was mouthing the hook but the hook had not quite been set. 'And afterwards, there was a grand celebration – deservedly so! – and Thain Paladin acknowledged the contributions of all those who'd defended our homeland – not only our spies, our border guards, our archers who kept Men from entering the land, but also the farmers who grew enough food to feed everyone and the craftshobbits who provided what hobbits needed for daily living in the absence of trade with the Outer Shire, the mums and dads who continued to raise the children in safety and security, and the loyalty of the Tooks and Tooklanders who protected the land and the people from the ruffians that sought to invade and conquer!'

He thought he might have risked the Thain's toast at this point and received a satisfactory response rather than an embarrassing one. What a pity it was that he was not quite finished!

A little more quietly, Pippin said, 'But there were some whom Thain Paladin wished to honour above the rest, for their ceaseless vigilance, the dangers they regularly risked, the sacrifices they made,' and he dropped his voice further, but it didn't matter, for there was no other sound in the great room now. He thought the hobbits before him all might even be holding their breaths. '...and some of whom gave up their lives.'

Into the hush, he dropped words like pebbles, sending ripples through the room. 'And on the Mid-year's Day that followed the Battle of Bywater and the Scouring of the Shire, Thain Paladin convened a solemn convocation on the fields outside Michael Delving, where all the Shire-folk attending the Free Faire might hear about everything that went into the struggle and the victory that set them free at last. There before the multitude, he read a long list of the names of Shire-folk who had stood against the ruffians and proclaimed them "heroes of the Shire".' Pippin saw many in the crowd nodding at the memory. 

'And then the Thain recited the names of certain Tooks and Tooklanders, and he proclaimed them "heroes of the Tookland"!' Pippin grinned as he added, '...including the Mistress of the Tooks, Eglantine, who devised and arranged the delivery of many rumours to be spread throughout the Outer Shire to confuse and confound Lotho and his Men!'

He waited out the cheers for "the Mistress" but did not miss the ironic glances passing between particular hobbits among his listeners – those sitting at the escorts' table and more, especially the archers and border guards who had never quite become reconciled to being labelled as heroes.

'I know that you know all this,' Pippin said to his listeners. 'For most of you lived it! Saw it. Heard the words of Thain Paladin, there at the Free Faire's closing ceremonies, when Frodo Baggins formally resigned as Mayor of Michel Delving, and Will Whitfoot was restored to the office. But there is something I warrant you do not know...'

The curiosity was back.

'Do you remember the first time Lotho's Men marched against the Tookland in force?' Pippin asked. 'Do you remember the Muster?' He saw many nodding in the crowd. 'You who were border guards at the time, do you remember the orders, "Taunt Lotho's Men and lead them into the traps; warn them, but if you must shoot them, aim to wound"?' More nods.

But the young Thain had another question for his listeners. 'Do you remember when those orders were changed to "shoot to kill"?' he asked. He heard gasps from various quarters of the room, from hobbits who had not heard this part of the story before. He also had to suppress a sigh at Merry's suddenly grim expression, for they'd argued about which details would be better "lost" when the official histories were told and written. 

'Do you know why?' Pippin asked at last. The nods were few and far between in response to this last question. 'Just as I thought,' he said lower, and then raised his voice again, speaking as clearly as possible. 'I think you ought to be told.' His gaze swept the assembly, deliberately pausing to meet Merry's glare and then moving on, giving every listener the feeling he was speaking personally to each one in the room. 

For despite his dearest cousin's disapproval, Pippin felt confident of his chosen course. 'For it is not in the nature of Hobbits to take life lightly,' he said soberly. 'And so I have come to the conclusion that you should know the truth about Lotho Sackville-Baggins: he was only a puppet, and there was someone behind him in the shadows, pulling his strings.' Pippin smiled grimly then and added, 'And no, I'm not talking about Lobelia.'

Into the sprinkling of chuckles that resulted, he said, 'To be fair to Mistress Lobelia, she was – at first – quite pleased with her son's "success" and growing wealth and influence! But then she saw Lotho's Men multiplying and growing bolder and ever more destructive, and Lotho would not listen to her concerns – because he could not, as she came to realise. And when she stood up to the ruffians, they hauled her off to the Lockholes. Would Lotho have allowed that, had he been the one truly in control?'

Pippin stopped speaking and watched his listeners murmur and shuffle their feet as they began to come to the same conclusion Farmer Cotton had voiced to the Travellers upon their return.

Pippin resumed speaking when he thought most of his listeners were "on the same page" with him, as Bilbo had been fond of saying. 'Although, at first, he might have thought that accumulating wealth and power was his own idea, he'd actually been cleverly manipulated. Even as he welcomed the first of "his" Men to the Shire, he was really following the orders of the real Master of the ruffians, the one you knew as Sharkey. The wizard Saruman, in fact.'

Any lingering confusion and disbelief gave way to increasing conviction as Pippin went on. 'I know this, you see, because shortly before that first assault was launched against our borders, half-Orcs were arriving in the Shire, ostensibly to work for Lotho.' He paused and looked an apology at Merry before informing the assembly, 'You may not know, and so I feel I must tell you, that Saruman saw Men and Orcs as animals to be cross-bred for his purposes; thus, he created half-orcs and goblin-men to serve him – ravening, fierce and pitiless creatures which he bred with an eye to "improving" the Hobbit-hunters of history and legend. The blood of Men simply made them larger and stronger than goblins, as well as able to tolerate the light of the Sun.'

Every face ranged before Pippin now displayed horror. Including Merry's, of course.

'Even before the wizard arrived in the Shire, the Tooks and Tooklanders, by their resistance, were disrupting his ultimate goal – to destroy the Shire and Shire-folk,' Pippin went on inexorably. 'And so, he formed a new plan to overrun the borders, to capture Paladin and his family to make an example of them, to kill all the other leaders in the Tookland, and to kill or enslave or imprison all the rest. And he sent, for this purpose, his creatures that were more vile and cunning than his ruffians who were already in the Shire. For some of the Shire-folk had, before that time, been able to befriend Lotho's Men! Such a possibility did not suit the wizard's evil purposes.'

Shock and anger were slowly replacing horror.

'You may not know,' Pippin said, looking to Merry once more and seeing grudging acceptance, 'but I deem you ought to know, that the wizard's plan to conquer the Tookland and destroy the Tooks had a good chance of succeeding, in part because the Tooks were used to repulsing Men and would not be expecting the kind of vicious fighters that were about to assault the border. Thus, the element of surprise was one of the weapons the invaders were counting upon.'

Pippin smiled at his listeners. 'But best-laid plans go oft awry,' he said. 'And by chance, the wizard's plans were overheard.' His smile widened. 'I'm sure you remember the exploits of a particular Took known as the Fox.' While he'd known Ferdi would not be happy with this turn of events, there was no helping it. Pippin's cousin would simply have to live with the discomfort.

'At the time,' Pippin went on, 'he was escorting a young Took who lived outside the Tookland, whose parents had recognised the danger. Ruffians had already been hunting Tooks and marching them to the Lockholes for some months; then they began beating them... and worse. And so the parents asked the Fox to take their child to the safety of the Free Tookland.

'But on this occasion, ruffians captured the Fox, and unlike other times when he was able to elude or escape his captors, they injured him so badly, he had no hopes of escaping,' Pippin said. The faces before him went quite still.

'He had told the young Took to run if they should encounter ruffians, to run, and not look back!' By this time, Estella had gone rigid in her seat, in contrast to the hobbits of escort around her who'd known this story would be told, who sat alert but relaxed. Of course, Merry did not yet know the rest of the story. But he'd soon find out.

'But the young Took did not run far, as it turned out; instead, the hobbit hid nearby, and when darkness fell, formulated and carried out a plan to rescue the Fox from the ruffians' clutches! The plan included finding a secure hiding place nearby, for the ruffians had severely beaten their prisoner in their fury at his companion's escape. And that hiding place had been chosen so well that though the Men searched for hours, they did not find the Hobbits and conjectured they had not stayed in the area but had gone on to the safety of the Tookland. There, the two Tooks lay quiet and – quite by chance – listened to a ruffian leader lay out the plan to his followers to overrun the border!'

Soft sounds of approbation arose from the crowd but were quickly hushed, for it was clear the story was not over.

Pippin continued. 'After the ruffians marched away, the hidden hobbits made sure they were well gone. They knew there was no time to waste: The Tooks must be warned! ...but the Fox was badly injured, so badly, both he and the young Took thought he might be dying. And yet, if Paladin did not receive the information he critically needed, many more would die, including the Thain and his family! And so, with no thought for himself – and with a great deal of help from the young Took with him – the Fox made his way to the border, where he could find a pony.'

Relief was beginning to spread over the faces of his listeners; Pippin put his glass down on the table and held up his hand. 'But that was not the end of it.'

A murmur arose but quickly died. Pippin nodded. 'You see, part way to the Great Smials, the Fox collapsed, overcome by his injuries. But the young Took with him knew that the warning must be delivered, and as soon as possible, even were the Fox to die! And so the young Took found help, and the message went onwards, until it reached the Thain! ...who called a Muster, and the Muster repelled the attack successfully because of the details the Fox had provided, at risk of his own life; and afterwards, the Thain and his advisers were able to adjust their plans for the defence of the Tookland to prevent or defeat similar attacks!'

A general sigh filled the room. Pippin paused, then said, 'I'm happy to report that the Fox did not die but recovered from his injuries, though he did not appreciate Healer Woodruff's decree that he must spend two weeks abed!' As he'd intended, the resulting chuckle released some of the tension in the assembly.

'I'm sorry to have to inform you,' Pippin added, and saw his listeners stiffen again, 'that the young Took who ensured that critical information reached the Thain never did receive recognition as a hero of the Tookland.'

He heard indignant murmurs of What? and Never? from several listeners – not, however, those who already bore the appellation and who probably were reluctant to inflict such a burden on someone else.

'Therefore, as my first official public act,' Pippin said, standing straighter, 'I intend to rectify this oversight.' 

Estella seemed to be shrinking in her chair, and the young Thain sighed. It couldn't be helped. And, he argued with himself, it's probably for her own good. For Estella's reputation amongst the Tooks was that of a trickster and mischief-maker, lingering long after she'd grown up and assumed the serious responsibilities of the Mistress of Buckland. 

She deserved better. Merry, of course, remained oblivious, but the time was quickly approaching when he'd have yet another reason to appreciate the hobbit he'd married.

Accordingly, Pippin snapped out, 'Heroes of the Tookland, stand tall!' He had every confidence the hobbits would obey, for Eglantine had gone to every one of them in the days before the banquet had been scheduled and informed them of her expectations regarding their behaviour at this juncture. Throughout the room, Tooks and Tooklanders stood, some more reluctantly than others, but under Eglantine's stern gaze, none of the heroes Paladin had recognised remained seated.

Pippin nodded at Ferdibrand. 'Fox,' he said. 'If you would do the honours?'

Ferdi was already standing; now he turned to Estella and offered her his arm. Pippin saw Merry object, saw Ferdi counter him, saw Estella, though her face was white, take Ferdi's arm defiantly (defying not Merry but the staring Tooks around her).

With great courtesy, the Fox escorted Estella to stand before Pippin at the head table. 'You snake!' she hissed as she made a graceful courtesy to the Thain.

'Not at all,' Pippin answered in an undertone as he bowed in response. And then he reached to remove the finely-crafted gold chain he'd put on earlier, which had remained hidden, tucked beneath his shirt, until this moment. He then lifted the chain and its green jewel, of the same kind of stone as the one found in the Seal of the Thain of the Tooks, over Estella's head.

'Estella Took-Bolger Brandybuck, I name you Hero of the Tookland!' he grandly proclaimed, and all the other hobbits standing in the great room raised a cheer, including Hally and Rosemary Bolger, who'd come from the Woody End with their children upon receiving the Thain's invitation, and Harliburt and Chrysanthemum Took and their large family, and all the hobbits of the Thain's escort, among others.

If looks could kill, Pippin might be in fear of his life, standing eye to eye with Estella. But then she put on a sweet smile and turned to face the crowd, and rendered a deep courtesy to everyone in general and her wide-eyed husband in particular.

'And now, I would like to propose a toast,' Pippin said. The standing Heroes picked up their glasses, while the rest of the crowd stood up from their seats, holding their glasses in hand, and Pippin took up the two "extra" glasses he'd ordered ahead of time and handed one to Ferdi and one to Estella.

Pippin reclaimed his own glass and, smiling broadly, lifted it to the assembly. 'To the Heroes of the Tookland!' he cried.

A hearty echo answered him, and to his satisfaction, Pippin saw Merry shouting with the rest, and everyone drank the toast. (And if Estella raised her glass to Ferdi, and the Fox raised his glass to Twig, well, that was their own business.)

Dared he risk the ritual toast that concluded every festive occasion at the Great Smials?

Pippin raised his glass again, commanding the attention of the crowd. 'To loyal Tooks!' he shouted. As with one voice, the crowd roared, 'To loyal Tooks!' And all, including the Thain, drank the toast.

Then it was time for the Steward to give the response, and silence fell once more as Regi lifted his glass. 'To the Thain!' he proclaimed, lifting his glass higher.

And the new Thain breathed a private sigh of relief at the thundering response. To the Thain!

When the last toast had been drunk, Ferdi put his glass back down on the table and offered his arm to Estella once more. 'My good Twig?' he said, cocking an eyebrow.

'Old Uncle!' Estella answered. But as the Fox began to escort the newly recognised hero back to her table, she paused and looked back at Pippin. 'I may never forgive you for this!' she whispered.

Pippin spread his arms and shrugged. 'I was taking a risk, I know,' he answered.

But Estella was determined to have the last word. 'It's properly Heroine!' she said. And then she smiled at Ferdi and gestured to the steps leading from the dais to the lower tables. 'If you please, Fox...'

'It's my pleasure,' Ferdi responded in kind. And as they moved away, Pippin heard his head of escort whisper, 'And anytime in future you might need rescuing, just let me know.'

And Estella answered him simply enough. 'Likewise!'

~ * ~ * ~ THE END ~ * ~ * ~