Chapter 23. To Be Meeting Once Again

 ‘It looks as if all of Dindale has gathered to greet us,’ Arwen said to her husband as they rode at the head of the file.

 ‘Undoubtedly,’ Elessar said in reply. ‘They’ve dressed the town in her finest, and a most promising fragrance is on the breeze.’

 ‘Remind me to dab a little juice from that flavourful roast behind my ears,’ Arwen said. ‘It seems to have a more salutary effect than attar of roses.’

Elessar laughed and signalled to his standard-bearer. The guardsman rode forward with the trumpeters, who sounded the call. An answering call came from the town. ‘Ah,’ Elessar said in satisfaction. ‘Faramir is there before us.’

 ‘Then all arrangements have undoubtedly been made for our comfort,’ Arwen said. ‘He was an excellent steward before you made him Prince.’

The King’s procession moved between two lines of cheering, waving people, all the way to the gates where the Mayor waited with his councillors. All bowed low as the King and Queen dismounted.

 ‘Welcome, my lord and my king,’ the Mayor intoned as he straightened again.

 ‘Ulrich?’ Elessar said, stepping forward. ‘Mayor?’

The Mayor laughed, and the councillors grinned. ‘I gave so much valuable advice, all the years I served on the city council, that when old Efram retired they decided I ought to retire to a higher position.’

 ‘Well earned, I’m sure,’ Elessar said. ‘Efram told me himself, when last I visited, that it was your energy and your ideas over the last dozen years that built the town into what she is now.’

 ‘My thanks,’ Ulrich said with another bow. ‘And now, if I may present you the key to our fine city!’

 ‘I’ll add it to the collection,’ Elessar said with a wink, and the Mayor laughed.

 ‘If you fear that your collection might become burdensome, you might always leave the key upon departing. I promise we’ll keep it safe for you.’

 ‘Will you? I had the impression you were in the habit of presenting it to any stranger who passed by,’ the King said.

 ‘Only the well-dressed strangers,’ Ulrich said. Turning to Arwen, he said, ‘My Queen, you are as beautiful as ever.’

 ‘Have you brewed enough of your excellent mead to satisfy the King and all his followers?’ Arwen said in reply.

 ‘The bees have been extra-busy this summer in anticipation of the need,’ Ulrich said. ‘If you will follow me... the feast is laid in the town square, and all is in readiness.’

The parade was a grand affair, with King and Queen, Mayor and councillors at the head. The good townspeople cheered and waved banners as the guardsmen rode past, flanking coaches bearing families of Men and Hobbits.

When they reached the marketplace, the guardsmen dismounted, giving their horses in charge of the stable lads who stepped up to take them. The coach doors opened to disgorge their passengers. The musicians struck up a lively tune, but it was drowned in the cheers of onlookers and the cries of greeting.

Elessar and Arwen were met by Faramir and Eowyn; Beregond was hugged heartily by son Bergil and daughter-in-law and mobbed by his grandchildren, one of whom bore his own son in his arms. Freddy and Estella embraced for a long time while Merry and Melilot shared a satisfied look after their own hug ended. There was much exclaiming and introducing and explaining family relationships amongst the hobbits as they settled to the feast, but soon all was sorted out and they fell to the meal with light hearts and heavy appetite.

The musicians needn’t have bothered, really, with all the happy conversations filling the air. They did their duty, however, and occasionally a scrap of music could be heard floating through the square.

 ‘Boots!’ Freddy exclaimed. ‘Why, cousin Ferdi, have you become a Brandybuck? To see boots on Merry doesn’t surprise me, but on a Took!’

 ‘It’s all the latest fashion,’ Ferdi said. ‘They were gifts from the King of Rohan, and you know how those Men are... we could not insult him by refusing.’

 ‘And found them so comfortable that you continue to wear them?’ Freddy said. ‘Will wonders never cease?’

 ‘It is good to see Freddy looking so well,’ Estella murmured to Melilot.

 ‘You thought he was dying when we left the Shire,’ Melly said, not one to mince words.

Estella nodded wordlessly, her eyes bright with tears. ‘When word came that the healers of Gondor had been able to help him...’ she said. ‘It was bitter, to see him go, thinking I’d never meet him again in this life, but now...’

 ‘Now you forgive me for taking him away,’ Melilot said, patting her hand. ‘Good. I can tell you, then, that it was all Pippin’s doing.’

 ‘What?’ Estella said, laughing in spite of her tears.

 ‘I could not tell you before! Better for you to blame me in absence than to feel resentment towards Pip, whom you see so regularly!’ Melilot said practically. ‘But have no fear. Freddy is better than he’s been in years, and we watch over him carefully; even the Big Folk do.’

 ‘I can see that,’ Estella said, watching Beregond bend over her brother to offer him a small cup of mead, waiting while he drank it before withdrawing with a bow and a smile. ‘The drops?’

 ‘Yes, they steady his heart,’ Melilot said. ‘Even joy can be a strain, you know.’

 ‘But he looks well,’ Estella said, more to reassure herself than Melilot.

Melly laughed and patted her hand a last time before taking up her fork once again. ‘He does, my dear, indeed he does.’

When the feast was half-done, Freddy rose from his place, motioning his wife to stay seated. ‘I need to see a gaffer about a pony,’ he said, and she nodded with a smile.

 ‘I’ll just go with you, if I may,’ Frodovar said, rising from his own seat. ‘I’ve had just enough mead to need to visit that same gaffer.’

Melilot nodded slightly, and her oldest son smiled as he took his father’s arm. ‘I remember the way to the inn where we stayed the last time we were in Dindale,’ Frodovar said conversationally. ‘It’s just around the corner.’ To the others at the table he added, ‘We’ll be back.’

They took care of their business. The innkeeper had made ready for visiting Halflings and so all was made as convenient as might be. On their way back to the feast, Freddy paused. ‘If I might rest a moment, lad, and catch my breath,’ he said.

 ‘Are you well, Father?’ Frodovar asked.

 ‘Never been better,’ Freddy said. ‘The day started earlier than I’m used to, and a heavy meal on top of the long ride... I just want a breath of quiet air before we go back into the storm of celebration.’

They heard a burst of laughter from a side alley. Glancing over, Frodovar saw the Mayor of the town, his robes somewhat askew, lifting a mug in toast with three of his councillors.

 ‘The feast is grand enough for a King, indeed,’ one of the councillors said.

 ‘It ought to be!’ the Mayor retorted, ‘...seeing as how the King has graced us with his presence!’

 ‘Ah, but will the supply of mead hold out, or will we have to breach the storage cellars?’

Another councillor ran up, panting. ‘Indeed,’ he said breathlessly. ‘It is no joke. The mead is running low.’

The Mayor threw his head back and laughed. ‘We’ll have to do something about that!’ he shouted. ‘But no worry. As Mayor I happen to have the keys to the storage cellars!’ He dug under his robes and produced a ring of keys, selecting one. ‘Here you are. Mustn’t let the river run dry!’

The councillor grinned in relief and took himself off.

Frodovar looked back to his father, expecting to share a grin, but Freddy had gone white. ‘Father?’ Frodo said, worriedly.

Freddy’s mouth opened, but no words came. His eyes looked somewhere into the far distance, beyond his firstborn. He raised shaking hands to grab at his chest, and crumpled. Frodovar caught him and shouted for help.

Immediately the Mayor and three councillors surrounded them. ‘What’s happened?’ the Mayor said. ‘What can we do?’

 ‘Fetch the King,’ Frodo panted. ‘Hurry! Please!’