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As the Gentle Rain  by Lindelea


Chapter 2. News from the Northland

 ‘Freddy-darling, are you finished with your thinking?’ came a fond whisper in his ear.

Fredegar Bolger opened one eye with a smile. ‘Quite,’ he said. ‘Quite finished with my nap as well.’

After laying a kiss upon her husband’s cheek, Melilot straightened and said briskly, ‘Then I will tell our visitor you are ready to receive him.’

 ‘Visitor? Did we invite someone for tea?’ Freddy asked.

 ‘No, but the Big Folk all know that teatime is at four, and all are welcome,’ Melly said. ‘The Captain has come.’ She stirred sugar into the cup on the table and said, ‘Now drink up, and I’ll show him in.’ Freddy shot her a sharp glance and she tapped the cup saying, ‘Tea first, then news.’

 ‘Very well, dear,’ he said meekly, taking up the cup as she turned away. There’d be no news until the cup was drunk; Melly’d see to that.

The sitting room was built with an especially high ceiling to accommodate Big guests, and so the tall old soldier merely had to duck his head to enter before standing comfortably upright once more.

 ‘Beregond,’ Freddy said, rising, but the Captain of Ithilien waved him back down.

 ‘My lord,’ he said in answer, a term of respect for the nominal head of the hobbit colony in the South.

Freddy pulled a face at the term and scolded, ‘ “Freddy”, or “Fatty” if you like, but “my lord” is too grand for a simple fellow like me.’ He glared in mock anger and added, ‘As I have told you all too many times!’

Beregond smiled. ‘Hard to break old habits,’ he said, and sat himself down on the oversized low chair intended for special visitors. He accepted with thanks the tea Melly poured out, selected a few sandwiches from the tray, and settled back.

 ‘What news do you bring to startle and astonish me?’ Freddy said after drinking the last of his special tea, with the drops that steadied his heart. He accepted a fresh cup of blessedly regular tea from his wife and sipped.

 ‘A large body of hobbits is coming South for the Winter,’ Beregond said, ‘in company with the King.’

 ‘In company with the King, you say,’ Freddy said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Then they are not ordinary hobbits... of course, ordinary hobbits would hardly travel five miles from the door. One of my cousins, perhaps?’

At Beregond’s smile he continued. ‘It is easier for Merry to get away from his duties than young Pip, but with Farry safely of age and married off, he might be able to steal away from the Tooks. I don’t see him giving up the Thainship quite yet. He might give the lad a chance to try driving the waggon a bit...’ As the Captain’s smile brightened, Freddy cocked an eye at him and said, ‘Don’t tell me. Both of my illustrious cousins are coming... but a large body of hobbits, you say? Who else? They’re bringing their families along?’

Despite the special drops his heart skipped a beat. ‘Estella?’ he whispered. When they’d removed to the Southlands in search of milder winters he’d not hoped to see his sister again. Ithilien was a long way from the Shire.

 ‘Yes, my dear, she’s coming, and the children as well,’ Melly said, watching him narrowly.

Freddy took a deep breath as his heart steadied itself. With a broad smile he said, ‘Well, this is a piece of news and no mistake! Melly, why is there no cake on the tray? We must celebrate!’

 ‘At once, my darling,’ she answered, rising with a smile.

Though Freddy pressed cake upon his visitor he did not take any himself. In truth, he was not as heavy as in earlier days when he’d deserved the appellation “Fatty”, and under his healer’s constant watch he was slowly losing another stone or two, to lessen the strain on his damaged and aging heart.

 ‘Prince Faramir plans to ride to meet them at the border,’ Beregond said, ‘and wondered if any hobbits of Ithilien might care to join in the welcome? The mayor of Dindale plans a grand celebration as the Travellers pass through.’

 ‘Dindale?’ Freddy said. ‘Ah, yes, the little town that sprang up at the foot of Amon Din after the War.’ He prided himself on his study of the geography of his adopted homeland. ‘They are famous for the fine honey their bees produce from the wildflowers growing on the slopes.’

 ‘Exactly right,’ Beregond said, accepting another piece of cake from the plate.

 ‘Well, we might have to go, if only to replenish the supply of honey in the pantry,’ Freddy said, and Melly hit him on the arm in gentle admonishment.

 ‘My son Bergil and his family are coming as well,’ Beregond said, ‘and the Mayor.’

 ‘Mayor Sam?’ Freddy said. ‘I’m surprised they could pry him out of the garden bed.’ He twinkled at his wife. ‘You see my dear, we did not have to fret about leaving the Shire behind. I told you we’d always take a little piece of the Shire with us wherever we went.’

 ‘Rather more than a little piece,’ Melly said dryly, but her eyes were shining at the thought of seeing her cousins again. ‘Now, Captain, I know you can manage another piece of cake!’

*** 

 ‘I’m afraid it’s the tendon,’ Elfwine said ruefully, running gentle hands down the cannon bone of the injured leg. ‘He’ll have to be walked slowly.’

 ‘But the news!’ Elfalas protested. ‘You had better ride my horse, to take the news to your father the King, and I shall walk Eaglewing back to Edoras.’

Elfwine hesitated, torn between his duty to his horse and his duty to bring the momentous news to King Eomer. The Knight of the Mark, Master Holdwine, was coming with his entire family, to visit Edoras on his way to Gondor! He was on his way, rather, making time for preparation short. ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘I will ride Shadowmane to bring the news to Edoras, and then come back to meet you.’ He knew he could trust his kinsman to care well for Eaglewing until his return.

 ‘We’ll walk slowly, stopping often for rest,’ Elfalas promised. ‘I’ll treat him as carefully as I would my own infant son.’

Elfwine nodded, vaulted onto Shadowmane’s back, and leaned into a canter. It was only an hour or two to Edoras at this pace, and he expected to return to Elfalas and Eaglewing before the setting of the sun.

Partway to Edoras a walking scarecrow hailed him and he pulled his mount to a stop. ‘Can I help you, Ancient One?’ he asked. ‘Are you in need of supplies?’ There were no beggars in the Mark, for the Rohirrim shared generously with the aged and infirm whenever one of these crossed their path. The Mad Pilgrim was well known in the area, for he’d wandered this part of the Westfold for years. None knew whence he came or where he spent most of his time, but they treated him with kindness. Undoubtedly he was a Man of the South who’d been injured in the War; an old scar crossed his face, giving him a permanent grin.

 ‘More in need of company,’ the Pilgrim rasped in reply, his voice creaky with disuse. ‘Would you care to join me? There’ll be plenty for all.’ He gestured. ‘I have found an abandoned herdsman’s hut and taken it for my dwelling, if it please the King’s son.’

 ‘You may have it for your use, and welcome,’ Elfwine said politely. This part of the range lay fallow at present, and the herds grazed in another part of the Westfold.

 ‘You are too kind,’ the Pilgrim muttered. His mad grin widened. ‘Will you bless my dwelling with your presence? Join me for a meal?’

 ‘I am sorry, Ancient One,’ the King’s son replied. ‘I have an urgent message for the King.’

 ‘A pity,’ the Pilgrim said, shaking his head, his grin undimmed. ‘Another time perhaps?’

 ‘Another time,’ Elfwine promised. He made a mental note to have firewood and winter supplies delivered to the herdsman’s hut for the old one’s comfort through the winter months. Perhaps he’d deliver them himself, just to make sure the hut was in good repair before the onset of winter’s storms.

 ‘Another time,’ the old one said, and cackled. ‘I’ll hold you to that, young prince!’





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