4. Iodaith

The lads did not feel up to another day on their own with Big People so near, and the next morning, they made their way back to Brandy Hall. Before even shedding his cloak, Frodo went to see Saradoc; he knew that the news of their narrow escape would reach the Master of Buckland’s ears soon enough, and he preferred that he be the one to tell him. Merry accompanied his cousin, ready to give support if Saradoc grew upset.

They found the Master of Buckland in his private study, and Merry went in first to notify him of their presence. Frodo waited outside the door, and heard Merry and Saradoc speaking to one another, though he could not make out the words. After a moment, Merry motioned for him to come in.

Frodo stepped inside the study, shutting the door behind him, and stood beside Merry in front of the desk where Saradoc sat, untidy stacks of papers spilling all over it.

“Welcome back, Frodo-lad,” asked the Master of Buckland cheerfully. “Merry tells me that you would like to discuss something that happened on your camping trip?”

“Yes sir,” Frodo answered quietly, bracing himself for the worst. Briefly, he told of their encounter with the Rangers, with Merry adding an occasional remark.

When he’d finished, Frodo watched Saradoc anxiously, wondering how he would react. Merry reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly. The Master of Buckland was silent a long while, head bowed, staring down at the desk, brows furrowed in deep thought. His thick brown curls, streaked slightly with grey, fell over his eyes and hid them from Frodo and Merry’s view.

“So,” he said at last, slowly. His voice was low, which never boded well for whomever he spoke to, “you stumbled upon a Mens’ camp and they… shot at you.”

“Yes sir,” said Frodo softly, wincing. He remembered his childhood in Brandy Hall, and being frequently reproved by Saradoc (among others) for raiding Farmer Maggot’s crops and other mischief. He felt like a boy now, waiting anxiously for his uncle’s judgement.

Finally Saradoc spoke again, and the tone of his voice had changed. It was still somber, but Frodo thought he could almost sense his uncle… smiling? Saradoc's head was still lowered, so he could not tell.

“And everyone was all right?” asked Saradoc. “Were any of you were injured?”

“No sir.”

“Did you encounter the Men after that?”

“No sir.”

“Then heavens above, lad! what are you so distraught about?”

Saradoc raised his head at last, and Frodo saw that his uncle was smiling broadly at him. “Then you're... not angry?” he asked in surprise, inwardly rebuking himself for not being able to come up with anything better to say.

“My dear Frodo,” chuckled Saradoc. “Whyever should I be angry?”

“B-but,” Frodo stammered, blushing at the amusement he saw on his uncle’s face, “I promised you that I’d look after them –”

“And you did,” Saradoc said with a laugh, standing up and coming over to place a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “No one was injured, and you got away safely – that’s all that matters.” He winked at Merry, who was grinning, relieved that his father was not upset.

Saradoc put one hand on his son’s shoulder and kept the other on Frodo’s, and drew them both close, lowering his voice as though to share a great secret. “But if you two show up at the table looking the way you do, I don’t think you’ll find Zinnia so merciful.”

Frodo laughed with relief. “Thank you, Uncle,” he said sincerely.

Saradoc fondly ruffled his nephew’s curls, a gesture Frodo had always detested as a boy. He was rewarded by a playful glare as Frodo quickly patted his hair back into place. 

“Now be off with you two," Saradoc laughed, "and go wash up – it smells as though supper’s nearly done!”

Giving his father a parting wave, Merry grabbed Frodo’s arm and pulled his cousin out the door, where they collided with a young hobbit who’d been standing in the doorway. Disentangling himself from the small pile of hobbits, Merry glared at the intruder.

“Peregrin Took!” he scolded. “Were you eavesdropping?”

Pippin folded his arms across his chest and pursed his lips. “I just wanted to make sure Cousin Frodo didn’t get in trouble,” he defended himself. “I was going to go in there and help if he did.”

Frodo couldn’t help but smile, and he patted Pippin’s shoulder. “I appreciate your support, Pip,” he said truthfully. “But it wasn’t necessary. Uncle Saradoc was very understanding.”

A familiar voice rang shrilly up the hall. "Suppertime!"

“Lawks,” Frodo groaned, uncovering his ears. “I keep forgetting what an earsplitting voice Zinnia’s got.”

“Come on,” said Merry quickly, jumping to his feet. "She'll have our heads if we don’t wash up before we eat!”

Pippin grinned mischievously. “For your information, I’ve already washed,” he said with a smirk. “So I’ll be seeing you at the table.” He strolled leisurely down the hall, then paused and turned around again. “I’m starving – you’d better hurry,” he warned ominously, before continuing down the hall and disappearing around a corner.

Merry’s eyes widened in horror. “Come on!” he cried, pulling Frodo up by the arm. “Hurry, before Pippin eats everything!”

Frodo pulled his arm out of Merry’s grip and brushed the dust off his shirt. “You actually think that Pippin could finish an entire meal in Brandy Hall by himself?” he teased. But Merry had already vanished down the hall.

***

Frodo stayed at Brandy Hall for several days, but at last, he decided that he couldn’t take the noise and bustle any longer, and announced that he was leaving. “Of course Pippin and I are coming with you,” said Merry matter-of-factly when Frodo had given the news to him. "We haven't visited Bag End in months."

“I thought you might say that,” said Frodo with a smile. “And I’ve already asked Uncle Saradoc if you can come, Merry. He said that you can stay for as long as I allow – which may not be long,” he threatened teasingly. Merry gave him a playful cuff on the arm, and he turned to Pippin. “But Pip, I couldn’t find your father to ask him. He didn’t leave already, did he?” The Thain and his family had been staying in Brandy Hall for the past week, as Paladin had business to discuss with Saradoc.

“No,” said Pippin with a small frown. “Maybe he just went outside for a bit. I’ll go find him.” 

A few minutes later he returned, wearing a beaming smile. “He said it’s all right!” he whooped happily. “He said I can stay as long as you let me, Frodo!”

Merry grinned and clapped his cousin on the back. “Just think of all the fun we’ll have, Pip,” he said excitedly. “Especially now that Daisy’s moved to Hobbiton!”

“And Dickon can help us plan our next prank,” Pippin added. Dickon Broadbelt was Daisy’s younger brother, now nearly five years old. He was rather meek and quiet by nature, but he adored Merry, Frodo and Pippin, wishing to do everything they did. His older sister, Daisy, just turned eight years old, had been quite attached to Merry ever since she was two, and still referred to him as her ‘big brother.’ As for Merry himself, he did not object to a lass eleven years his junior tagging along at his heels and hanging onto his every word – in fact, having no siblings of his own, secretly he enjoyed it immensely.

So it was decided that Frodo would leave the next day, with Pippin and Merry accompanying him. They left early, much to the younger travelers’ dismay, and despite their frequent pauses for meals, they made good time. That evening, they reached a small, thick forest, and Frodo led them down a small dirt path through the middle of it. The sides of the little road were overgrown with ivy, which curled and climbed up the trees, covering the trailing beards of lichen which already hung from the branches. The road was shaded by the thick green roof of leaves, almost unpenetrated by sunlight, and a peaceful silence was over the entire wood, broken only by a soft bird’s song and the quiet gurgling of a small brook nearby.

They made camp beneath a large oak tree with spreading branches whose leaves formed a green canopy above them. They laid out their sleeping rolls in between its great, thick roots, and Frodo sent Merry and Pippin off to get firewood.

Merry and Pippin dutifully walked away, and Frodo refilled their water bottles in the stream. When he returned to the campsite, he caught sight of a figure coming down the path towards him. It was a Big Person, he realized with a shock and a bit of fear. But this was no Ranger. As the figure neared, he saw that it was a bent, old woman, her head bowed and her face shadowed by her hood, which was black like the rest of her trailing robes. She leaned heavily on a knarled walking stick, and made slow progress in approaching.

“Good day,” Frodo called, courtesy winning over fear. The woman looked up, and even from several yards away, Frodo could see the many lines in her ancient face, and the fiery brightness of her clear blue eyes, which were youthful and piercing.

“Would you like to sit and eat with my companions and I?” Frodo added, a little hesitantly. The woman did not answer, but hobbled closer, until she stood only little more than two feet away from Frodo, who, standing, was nearly as tall as she.

“A hobbit,” she said at last, in an aged, crackled voice. “A young hobbit, too. What are you about, here in the woods alone, fair one?” Evidently she had not heard Frodo’s earlier offer of a meal.

“I’m not alone,” Frodo said, giving her a smile. “My cousins, Merry and Pippin are with me. Would you like to eat with us?”

The old woman stared at him intently for a moment, her gaze so fierce and penetrating that he felt a little uneasy beneath it. “Very well,” she said at last. “But I am not hungry. I shall just sit here and talk with you. It is long indeed since I’ve spoken with a hobbit.”

Frodo helped her sit down on one of the thick roots of the oak tree, and then sat down himself on the ground and busied himself around the fire, making some soup for supper. “What’s your name, lad?” asked the woman suddenly, after a long while of silence.

“I’m sorry, I’d quite forgotten!” Frodo said, standing up again and bowing. “Frodo Baggins, at your service.” He paused. “Might I ask what your name is?”

“I am called Iodaith,” answered the woman.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Iodaith,” said Frodo respectfully, going back to his work around the campsite.

A smile brightened the woman’s face, and for a moment, Frodo caught a glimpse, as it seemed, of how she must have looked in youth: fair and beautiful, with soft rosy lips and long golden hair, skin white and smooth… But then it was gone, and before him was the old, wrinkled woman again, bent with age, whose thin grey hair fell in tangled wisps. “Just Iodaith,” she said quietly.

Frodo returned her smile. “Iodaith then, if you wish. What brings you here to the Shire, if I may ask, and where are you from?”

Iodaith still smiled. “I have no home,” she said. “Except the place where I was born, in the Hills of Evendium in the Lost Realm of Arnor, long ago.” Her smile seemed to fade for a moment, but then she brightened again. “I am simply passing through your land; it is fair and peaceful, and almost I wish that I could stay here.”

“What keeps you?” asked Frodo after a moment of silence.

“I… have other matters that I must see to ere I die,” Iodaith answered evasively. “But I will stay in this land for as long as I may. It is beautiful.”

Frodo nodded thoughtfully and they lapsed into silence once more. Just then, Merry and Pippin returned, both with arms full of firewood. “Look how much we found!” said Pippin proudly. “There was a lot over by the -- oh,” he ended softly, noticing for the first time the old woman sitting quietly by the fire.

“Merry, Pippin, this is Iodaith,” Frodo explained. “Iodaith, may I introduce you to my cousins, Meriadoc Brandybuck –” Merry bowed, recovering his manners. “—and Peregrin Took.” Pippin bowed as well, still staring wide-eyed.

“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” said Iodaith with a soft smile. “Pray, do not be alarmed. I shall not stay long; I am simply passing through this wood.”

Recovering from their initial shock, Merry and Pippin smiled, their natural hobbit-friendliness taking over. “Do you live near here?” asked Merry as he helped Frodo prepare their supper.

Iodaith shook her head. “No, I do not,” she replied. “But I used to live north of this land, in Arnor.”

They lapsed into silence for a while, and Iodaith simply stared into the flames of the campfire, as though in deep thought. At last, Frodo broke it, as he served Merry and Pippin their soup. “Are you sure you would not like to eat with us?” he offered. “There’s plenty to spare.”

Iodaith looked at the soup for a moment, and then smiled. “Very well,” she said. “I will have a bit, if it is no trouble. It does look delicious – what kind is it?”

“Mushroom soup,” said Frodo with a smile, handing her a bowl-full.

Merry licked his lips. “My favorite!” he said happily. “You do make the best mushroom soup, Frodo.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Pippin thoughtfully. “Mistress Smallburrow makes some good mushroom soup, too. Remember it at the – ow!” He suddenly received a sharp elbow in the ribs from Merry. “But yes, Frodo, yours is the best!” he added hastily.

Frodo smirked. “Why, I’m glad you like it, Pippin," he said sarcastically. "Would you like some more, Iodaith?”

Iodaith shook her head. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’m quite full. But it was delicious.”

Frodo’s expression in response to her compliment was a great deal different than it had been in response to Merry and Pippin’s. “Thank you!” he said with bright smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. It’s an old recipe I learned from my uncle.”

“He taught you well,” said Iodaith.

***

After supper, the travelers sat around the campfire, and Iodaith told them strange and wonderful tales that even Frodo had never heard before. They stayed up late, enthralled by them; but at last, Pippin crawled into his sleeping roll and fell asleep, leaving Frodo and Merry alone to listen. Some of Iodaith’s tales were frightening and full of dark deeds, while others were light-hearted and brought a smile to the lads’ faces. Some were strange and beautiful, sending shivers up their spines.

“…and the instant Ar-Pharazôn set his foot upon the shores of the Blessed Realm, the Valar laid down their Guardianship, calling upon the One, and the world was changed. Númenor was thrown down and swallowed in the Sea, and the Undying Lands were removed for ever from the circles of the world. So ended the glory of Númenor,” Iodaith finished, smiling as Merry yawned. “And so end my tales for tonight. If I keep you up much longer, you will both fall asleep where you sit.”

Frodo smiled, realizing that she was right. “Very well,” he said reluctantly. “Will you join us for breakfast in the morning?”

Iodaith frowned in thought for a moment. “No, I do not think so,” she said at last. “I will leave at first light; there are many places I must go. But if you do not mind, I will stay here for the night, with the warmth of the fire. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Frodo’s face fell a little, but he did not try to persuade her to stay. “If you feel you must go,” he said, tucking the blankets warmly around Merry, “then I’m glad you at least stopped to have supper with us. And your stories were wonderful – I don’t know much about Númenor and its history.”

“Don’t you?” said Iodaith. “Well, then I am glad that I was able to teach you, a little.” She smiled as Frodo nestled down in his sleeping roll. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Frodo answered sleepily, closing his eyes.

Iodaith sat and watched as Frodo soon joined Merry and Pippin in sleep. She stayed there by the fire for several hours, and the moon was beginning to set in the west when she moved at last. She slowly moved over to the hobbits’ packs and opened them.

Noiselessly rummaging through them, she took out several apples and other fruits, as well as an empty water bottle, and stored them in a knapsack she had tied around her girdle, hidden in one of the many folds of her robes.

Then she searched the outer pockets of the packs, and found some silver coins. She put a few of them in the pocket that was also worn on her belt, and as she refastened the packs and turned to look at the sleeping hobbits, she whispered, “Forgive me, my friends. But I have need of these things. I hope to repay the favor someday.” As she turned away, a glimmer of gold suddenly caught her eye.

Frodo had been sleeping restlessly, and was now on top of his blankets. In the pocket of his waistcoat, there was something gold, just barely visible. Iodaith crept noiselessly over and slipped her hand inside the pocket, drawing out the object.

It was a plain gold ring, hanging on a fine silver chain; beautiful and perfectly formed. But at the sight, Iodaith stumbled back a step and averted her eyes, before hastily replacing the ring in Frodo’s pocket.

Frodo sighed and turned over in his sleep. Iodaith, breathing heavily, stepped closer again and kneeling, covered him warmly with the blankets. “I do not know where you came by that evil thing,” she whispered, gently stroking Frodo's face. “But I pray that it will not take power over you.” Looking fondly down at the sleeping hobbit, she stooped, and kissed him on the forehead.

“Nai khilye Eruman, nîn mellon, ar nailmet enomentielvo. Namárië,*” she said softly. Then, she stood, leaning heavily upon her walking stick, and slowly hobbled away into the darkness.

TBC...

* ‘May the blessing of Eru follow you, my friend, and may we meet again. Farewell.’ No, I did not translate that myself. I got it from a wonderful vignette posted on fanfiction.net by Galadriel Gryffindor, called "Amon Hen". I changed the words a bit (‘my friend’ instead of ‘Champion of Halflings’), so that translation might not be perfect.