Chapter 10. Until the Morning Light

Ferdibrand’s burns were not as terrible as Pimernel had at first feared. The heavy woollen jacket and waistcoat, of good Tookish wool from the hardy sheep that grazed the Green Hills, had resisted the flames. The wool had kindled reluctantly and snuffed quickly once Ferdi rolled out of the hearth.

She carefully pulled scorched linen and charred wool away from the skin, working as slowly and gently as possible, though Ferdi did not stir under her cautious ministrations. When his wounded back was as clean as she could manage, she folded a clean sheet from the store of linens to fit and bound it in place with strips of bandage.

She took a bucket from the storage room and went out to the porch to scrub it clean and scoop it full of fresh clean snow, then placed it near the fire to melt. She no longer trusted the half-full bucket that had been there when they’d arrived. The blizzard was blowing as hard as ever, and she wondered just how long they’d be shut up with the madman before they could escape this terrible place.

Next she dressed and bandaged Ferdi’s and Merry’s feet. When this was done, she brought mugs from the storage room, scrubbing them well before filling them with melted snow. She trusted nothing in this place, as a matter of fact, walking a wide path around the fallen ruffian as if he might reach out to snare her, thoroughly shaking out or washing everything she touched, avoiding the furry rug by the hearth although it would offer a warmer seat than the boards of the floor.

 ‘Can you drink?’ she said, lifting Merry’s head into her lap and holding the mug of water for him. He closed his eyes as if to gather his strength and then nodded, the barest movement, but Nell took this as assent and began to tip the water into his mouth, waited for him to swallow, and then tipped more in. ‘You ought to drink as much as possible,’ she said. ‘It can’t but help.’

She nearly dropped the mug as Merry finished it, seeing Ferdi blink and open his eyes! ‘My love,’ she whispered, settling Merry gently to the floorboards and scooting over to her husband. He did not look at her but remained staring fixedly at the flames of the mended fire. The storm outside howled like an injured beast and shook the shutters in its fury, but they were warm and snug in this haunted place, if not exactly cosy.

Nell dipped a mug in the melted snow and coaxed Ferdi to drink, talking softly the entire time. He drank obediently enough but never raised his eyes from the fire to acknowledge her. Indeed, when she got between him and the flames, thinking to ease him, he stiffened as best as he was able, until she moved to dip the mug in the bucket and he could see the hearth again. She felt him relax as he resumed his wary watch.

Merry had been watching Ferdi. Now he summoned strength enough to say, ‘Fire.’ Nell looked to him and he locked gazes with her, willing her to understand. ‘Out,’ he said with the smallest of nods.

She stared at him and then the hearth. ‘Put the fire out?’ she asked slowly. ‘But it’s freezing outside!’

 ‘Out,’ he confirmed, and to clinch the matter he repeated, ‘Fire.’

She laid her husband gently upon the floor and rose to fetch his and Merry’s cloaks from the hooks where the madman had hung them. It was a bit of a struggle to get them down but at last she managed. Returning to the hearthside she rolled Merry up against Ferdi’s side, saying, ‘We’ll have to huddle for warmth,’ then threw all three of the cloaks over them. She thought of adding blankets from the linen store and shook her head. Truly she trusted nothing of this place. She’d only used Their dressings and lint because the hobbits had brought nothing of the sort with them.

Using her skirt to shield her hands from possible contigen, she poured half the contents of the ruffian’s bucket over the fire on the hearth, sending a hiss of smoke and sparks and flying ash upwards. She stirred the resulting mass of wet ash and charred wood with a stick and poured the rest of the bucket over. There. That was done, and done well. No coals were banked towards the start of a new fire later. Only a candle burned on the table now, to give light to the room.

Pimpernel put the bucket down, shook out her skirts, and stepped lightly to Ferdi’s other side. His eyes had closed again; he no longer stared hopelessly at the hearth. She settled herself beside him, pulling a corner of the mounded cloaks over her, and carefully put her arms around him. ‘There, Ferdi-love,’ she whispered. ‘You’re safe now. Sleep.’

She crooned a lullaby, an old song she’d sung to the children when nightmare intruded, and his breathing which had been fast and short now settled slower, more even. Pillowing her head upon one arm, Nell fought to stay awake, to guard them from any lingering malice, but sleep conquered at last. Her last thoughts were of Pippin. Where was her brother? Had he met a kinder fate? Freezing to death did not hold the terror it once had.

***

The Golden Hall was lit up as if for a banquet, and in truth a banquet of sorts was being served. The cooks had been roused, and in a remarkably short time they were serving up food and hot drink to the shivering, blanket-wrapped travellers.

The hobbits huddled together at one table. King Eomer had ordered the legs of table and benches sawn short enough for comfort. A servant was still sweeping away the sawdust as Queen Lothiriel held the cup for Diamond, whose hands were stiff from the long cold. She pushed the warming drink away at last, saying, ‘I certainly hope Pip is getting some of this.’

‘Merry too,’ Estella said. ‘You’d think those kings would have enough sense to let their guests warm themselves before hauling them off to wherever it is they go.’

‘Card-playing, more than likely,’ Sam’s Rose said. King Elessar had called Samwise aside as they entered the Golden Hall and she hadn’t seen him since.

‘Or swapping stories, or listening to Eomer’s plans of how he intends to entertain us until we abandon all thought of leaving,’ Estella said.

‘Exactly,’ Lothiriel said smugly. ‘You never stay long enough, you know. Why, last time you left before Windwalker’s foal was born! You missed a wonderful celebration, and if you’d only stayed a few days longer...’

Estella politely refrained from sputtering. She put on a serene smile, and adding just a touch of regret to her tone, replied, ‘What a pity! I know that foal was eagerly anticipated... but we really did have to get back, you know.’

Pippin’s sister was missing along with her husband; presumably she was keeping an eye on Ferdibrand, or Pippin, or conveniently, both at the same time. Rose and Estella made sure Nell and Ferdi’s children ate well and did not worry.

At last warmed through, Diamond grasped the cup herself and drained the cooling dregs. ‘My thanks,’ she said to the queen of Rohan. ‘Do you know when our husbands will return? I’m afraid we’re already losing some of the children.’ Her own youngest set of twins, Lapis and Lazuli, had eaten only half of what was set before them. Their heads lay upon the table, and they were fast asleep.

Having had a quick whispered conversation with Arwen in the bustle of arrival, Lothiriel had a smile and smooth answer ready. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said truthfully. ‘But we have beds warming and ready for all. You must be exhausted! Come, now.’ She took up Lapis in one arm and Lazuli in the other and rose gracefully from the table, escorting her guests to their waiting beds. It took a little skilled persuasion, but at last the hobbit mums were tucked up with their children. Though each had privately resolved to wait up until her husband’s return, sleep won.

***

Halfway between middle night and dawn a tap came at the door to the king’s study. ‘Enter!’ Eomer called.

A guard poked his head through the doorway. ‘The snow has stopped, and the wind is dying,’ he said. ‘Stars are appearing. It seems the storm has spent its fury.’

 ‘A short storm,’ Elessar commented.

 ‘It is only October, after all,’ Eomer reminded him. ‘Very good!’ he said to the waiting guard. ‘Inform me at once if there is any change.’

 ‘Yes, Sire,’ the guard said and withdrew.

The kings bent once more over the maps they’d spread out. ‘Good,’ Eomer said. ‘With a fair day dawning, snow or no snow we will be able to mount the search. Now,’ he said straightening, ‘Master Holdwine was riding Cloudracer, was he not?’

 ‘He was,’ Bergil confirmed. ‘Pippin was jesting with him about how he ought to trade his pony of Rohan for a horse of the Mark, seeing as he’d grown so tall on Ent draughts...’

 ‘And his answer was that his pony had the heart of a horse,’ Elessar said absently. ‘You’re thinking...?’

 ‘The pony left the grazing lands less than a year ago,’ Eomer said. ‘He might remember, and take them to shelter.’

 ‘Ponies are great ones for remembering home and bed,’ Sam said practically.

 ‘Where was he grazed?’ Elessar asked, looking at the map more hopefully. He nodded as Eomer touched several widespread points.

 ‘The ponies go to summer pasture here, or here,’ the King of Rohan said, ‘but we can rule those out as too distant. In spring and fall they graze closer to Edoras. There’s one hut here,’ his finger touched a spot to the North of the city, ‘where the ponies are to be found now, and in the spring they’ll be moved here.’ He touched another spot, not far from their line of travel.

 ‘Cloudracer would know this shelter?’ Elessar said.

 ‘Yes, though there’s no one there at present. The hut is empty, the herdsmen occupied elsewhere.’

 ‘Father,’ Elfwine broke in, and Eomer turned to him politely. At the king’s nod, the prince continued. ‘The hut is not empty. A wanderer lodges there by your leave, through the winter months. I delivered supplies there but a few days ago.’

 ‘Ah,’ Eomer nodded. Wanderers were welcome to stay in empty herders’ huts in return for their labours. The herdsmen appreciated returning to polished floors and furniture that wasn’t heaped with dust, and the wanderers had shelter through the winter storms. It was a good bargain, all around. ‘We’ll ride there, first thing, and see if he’s seen any sign of them.’

***

Halfway between middle night and dawn, Nell woke abruptly to Ferdi calling her name. She felt stiff and cold, half-uncovered as she was. The candle on the table had burned itself out and the room was dark and freezing, but the wind no longer howled outside. That was a mercy.

 ‘Ferdi!’ she whispered, feeling his arms tighten around her. He’d turned from his stomach to his side in order to hold her. ‘O my love.’ She buried her head against his shoulder and returned the embrace, careful not to put pressure on his bandaged back. He sighed but did not relax. She moved again, manoeuvering until his head rested upon the softness of her breast, thinking that hearing her heartbeat would soothe him.

 He lay quietly for a time, then, ‘Sick...’ he said, and then, ‘Dark.’

 ‘Yes, my love,’ she answered, but she felt him shake his head.

 ‘Dark,’ he insisted. ‘Cannot see.’ She remembered his fear of blindness, that the stars might be extinguished for him once again.

 ‘All is well, Ferdi. The candle’s gone out, is all. It’s dark.’

 ‘Candle?’

 ‘Yes, my love. Now sleep. I’ll see you in the morning light,’ she said, stroking his hair and drawing his head once more onto her breast. ‘Sleep,’ she repeated softly. Merry snored beyond.

 ‘Morning...’ Ferdi whispered, then, ‘light...’ and then he, too, slept once more.

Pimpernel thought she’d never sleep again, chilled as she was, her feet like blocks of ice, but she did.