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As the Gentle Rain  by Lindelea

Angst Warning. The story turns considerably darker from this point on. Buckle your seatbelt, it's going to be a rough ride.


Chapter 7. Stirring the Embers

Just as Ferdibrand reached up for the latch, heavy boots sounded on the porch outside the door. Pimpernel grabbed up her cloak and scooted into the unused sleeping room. She positioned herself out of sight from the door, but where she could dive under a bed if necessary, should the Man need to fetch something in this room. Safely out of sight, she sighed and shook her head. Huddling in an empty room, when there was a perfectly cheerful fire on the hearth! She certainly hoped Ferdi would quickly form a good opinion of this Man and not be all night about it!

She heard Merry’s voice, then Ferdi’s, and a rumbling response, but could not quite make out the words. Very well, then, she’d choose to burrow sooner rather than later. Lying herself down on the polished floor, she slid under the nearest bed and snaked her way to lie concealed beneath the bed nearest the doorway. There, that was better; she could hear what they were saying quite clearly now.

 ‘...poor weather, to be travelling in,’ the Man said.

 ‘Don’t I know it,’ Ferdi answered wryly. ‘But who would have known we’d have a blizzard in October! As a matter of fact, Merry here told me that winters in the Mark were much milder than what we know in the Northlands.’

 ‘But you’re still shivering, Master Merry! Let me fetch something warming. The King himself provided a case of wine to help an old pilgrim to while away the long cold.’

 ‘King Eomer is kind indeed!’ Ferdi said. ‘Our own Thain insures that gaffers and widows have food and firewood in the winter months, but I don’t think he provides any bottled cheer!’ There was a clinking of glass, a pouring sound, and Pimpernel suppressed another sigh. She could do with a bit of cheer herself. At least the polished floor was not dusty, and there was no danger a sneeze would give her away. The Man left here to take care of the shelter must take his duties seriously.

The pouring sound ended, and the Man said, ‘Well, that bottle’s done. Let me open another... no, my honoured guests, I will drink from the old and give you the new!’ Pimpernel heard movement in the other room and quiet talk until the pouring recommenced, comments from the hobbits on the rich ruby colour of the wine, the heady aroma, the heavy swirl of the stuff in the glass.

Another clink, as of glasses touching in toast, and a loud sigh from the Man. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Now I call that warming.’

 ‘Very nice,’ Ferdi agreed. ‘As good as the best from the South Farthing, I’d say.’

 ‘Brandy Hall could do no better,’ Merry said politely. ‘There’s an unexpected sweetness to this, and something else that makes the flavour quite unique, and fascinating on the tongue.’

 ‘Brandy Hall?’ the Man said. ‘There was no chance to speak as we tended your ponies,’ he added, ‘with the wind singing such a song! You Shirelings are from Buckland?’

 ‘Why yes,’ Merry said, ‘at least, I am a Bucklander.’

 ‘A Bucklander!’ Ferdi snorted. ‘He’s only the Master of Buckland, is all.’

 ‘But your glasses are empty,’ the Man said. ‘Let me give you more. I poured only a little, at first, to see if you liked it. ‘Twould be a shame to waste the King’s gift.’

There were more pouring noises and then silence in the other room, finally broken by the Man.

 ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Drink up, there’s plenty more! And supper yet to come. I’ll put the roast on the fire soon, and we shall be merry indeed.’

 ‘Indeed,’ Ferdi said, slurring the word a bit. It must be strong wine, that came from the King of Rohan, or perhaps drinking from a Man-sized glass had deceived the hobbits into drinking more than they could usually manage.

 ‘You’re the Master of Buckland,’ the Man said, coming back to the earlier topic. ‘Don’t tell me you are Master Holdwine, knight of the Mark, esquire to King Theoden and great friend of King Eomer!’

 ‘No need to bow to me,’ Merry said, plainly discomfited.

 ‘Indeed, I am honoured to have you grace my humble abode!’ the Man protested. ‘I have welcomed a lord of Rohan to my table, and so I hope I know my manners well enough to receive the King’s friend.’

 ‘And friend of the King’s friend,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘You are his friend only, and not a hero in your own right?’ the Man said jestingly. ‘I cannot believe it, for you are a doughty Halfling, after all, who bears a finely-crafted bow and quiver full of shafts, not just a farmer who hides behind his door when danger comes a knocking.’

 ‘Hero of Tookland, is all,’ Merry said in the same vein, and Pimpernel was startled, for he, like Ferdi, was having trouble with his words. Merry, of whom Pippin had shared many a tale, who had drunk more than one knight of Rohan or soldier of Gondor under the table.

 ‘Go on with you,’ Ferdi said, but Merry continued without mercy.

 ‘He’s the Fox, you know, helped the Thain keep the ruffians out of Tookland during the time of the Troubles, though you’d never know it to look at him now.’

 ‘The Fox...’ the Man said thoughtfully.

 ‘Yes, but that was only until you came to throw the ruffians out of the Shire completely,’ Ferdi said. ‘That was something we could not manage, but you and Pip, Sam and Frodo did, just the four of you against all those Big Men!’

 ‘We had a fair amount of help,’ Merry demurred.

 ‘More?’ the Man said hospitably.

 ‘No... no...’ Merry answered vaguely. ‘I think I’ve had...’

 ‘...Enough,’ Ferdi agreed. There was the sound of a glass shattering on the floor. ‘I beg your pardon!’ Ferdi added. ‘Just slipped out of my hand... I’ll clean it up.’

 ‘Never you mind; it’s no trouble at all. That’s right, rest yourself, Little Took, for you are weary from your labours.’ To Merry the Man said, ‘Let me take your glass, Little Master.’ The hobbit’s thanks trailed off into unintelligibility.

Pimpernel felt the hairs on the back of her neck stirring at this abundance of hospitality. Something was amiss, though she could not have said just what was bothering her. She had known Ferdi to drink more than was good for him, out of politeness to an overly accommodating host, but...

She held her breath, listening closely to the sounds in the next room. The Man muttered to himself as he moved about. Pimpernel wished she could find the courage to creep from under the bed and peep through the doorway, but unaccountably she found herself frozen, unwilling to leave the safety of her hiding place. She tried to give herself a stern talking-to but her fear increased... and then suddenly the Man’s words came clearly to her once more.

 ‘Aha, Little Took,’ he said, dark satisfaction in his tone. ‘You are the Fox indeed! The years have been kinder to you than to an old ruffian, I warrant.’

With a great effort, Pimpernel pushed herself out from under the bed, crawling to the doorway and peeping around the edge.

The Man was bent over her Ferdi. He’d pulled the hobbit’s collar open and was tracing the old, faded scar under his chin. ‘Sharkey’s men put a rope around your neck and hanged you from a tree,’ he said softly, ‘but you didn’t stay there long enough to feed the birds, it seems! Ah well, their loss is my gain.’

Pimpernel watched in silence, wondering at his meaning. How did he know about the ruffians hanging any of the troublemakers amongst the Shirefolk that they could put their hands on?

She caught her breath to hear the Man’s next words, muttered as they were. ‘You and I go back a ways, don’t you remember? There was a little matter of a shed, and a nice warming fire... We propped you inside, with your leg nicely broken, and fired the roof above you. I was betting that you’d crawl out at least once, and Gimp was betting you wouldn’t. I was all set to win my wager, seeing you crawling... I was ready to pick you up and throw you back in, so you wouldn’t cheat the flames of their sport, and then an arrow took me from behind, and one took Gimp as well.’

Pimpernel felt faint. She squeezed her eyes tight shut and forced them open again. This was one of the ruffians from the Tower Hills, before the Westmarch became a part of the Shire.

 ‘They left me for dead, they did,’ the Man’s voice rose in triumph, ‘but I wasn’t dead! O no, but I was ill for a long time. I missed the great battle afterwards, when those poor fools tried to take the Havens. Your friend did me a favour, whoever he was, shooting me, making me useless to fight. I’d like to thank him!’

He gathered Ferdi in his arms and rose. ‘You cheated the flames that time, but you won’t cheat them so easily this day. No, they’ve waited for you all these years and now they’ll claim you at last!’ So saying, he walked to the hearth and laid the limp hobbit upon the fire!





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