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As the Gentle Rain  by Lindelea


Chapter 29. Food by Firelight

That night they camped in a meadow beside the Road, near an outpost of guardsmen of Gondor. Arwen thought it best to avoid inns for the present, and the King agreed.

Bergil silently shackled Ulrich’s ankles and fastened his chains to a stake driven into the ground. ‘Just in case,’ he said in response to the prisoner’s questioning look. ‘If you have friends out there—’ he gestured to the darkness outside the circles of firelight, ‘who cause a disturbance, we wouldn’t want you to slip away.’

 ‘Such friends as I keep these days would not,’ Ulrich said.

Bergil shrugged. ‘Someone set fire to the inn,’ he replied.

All about him, guardsmen were settling to the evening meal, or laying out bedrolls, or taking up the watch. The pavilions of the travellers were set up a little ways away from where Ulrich reposed in the midst of the guard. He heard quiet talk from that direction, and then the rising of a song in the gathering gloom. Homey, it sounded. Merewyn should be singing to the little ones at this hour, while Ulrich walked the town with one of the councillors, making sure that all was well.

Some of the guardsmen settled to their bedrolls, for they would take the midnight watch. Ulrich sat listening to the singing, huddled in his cloak, chained like an animal a little ways from one of the watchfires. He wondered if they would bother to feed him. Elessar had been his friend... no. Elessar had been friend to Ulrich, the man he thought he knew. Not to Reinadan, scribe and ruffian.

His stomach gave a lurch. Odd, that he could be hungry in the midst of personal ruin. The body paid little heed to circumstances. It was humbling to have to request of a guardsman the privilege of taking care of the smallest personal need, and to suffer the presence of one or more watching guards as the need was satisfied. They did not leave him alone for a second. Did they hold ruffians in such high esteem?

It never occurred to him that Elessar had decreed a suicide watch, for such an action was not in him. He’d become a new Man, of honour and duty, and had learned courage, somehow, along the way.

A small figure, not quite the height of Ulrich’s eldest son, walked up to Bergil and spoke in low tones. Bergil answered something, and the small one stepped past the guardsmen, bearing something in his hands. What was so small a lad doing, so near a “dangerous” prisoner?

Suddenly Ulrich realised it was one of the booted Halflings from the earlier hearing. He wasn’t sure which; they hadn’t been introduced, and he had trouble telling one Halfling from another. He’d seen only two wearing boots, however.

 ‘Here you are,’ that one said, holding out a bowl that smelled of meat and spice.

Ulrich’s chains rattled as he reached for the bowl. He could not stand, of course, but he faced the West a moment before diving hungrily into the food.

The Halfling stood watching. After the first few bites, Ulrich raised his head. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I’d thank you, but I do not know your name.’

The Halfling gave an ironic bow. ‘Ferdibrand Took,’ he said pleasantly, adding, ‘not at your service, nor that of your family.’

Ulrich nodded. ‘A Took,’ he said conversationally. ‘I cannot say I’ve had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a Took before.’

 ‘Ah, but you have,’ Ferdi said, settling to the ground nearby for a chat. It wouldn’t have been his first choice, but that he was doing a favour for the Thain. Why Pippin would make such a request of him was beyond his ken.

 ‘Have I?’ Ulrich said, taking a large spoonful of stew.

 ‘My cousin, Fredegar Bolger, the hobbit whose heart nearly failed him when he heard your voice,’ Ferdi said, drawing up his booted feet and circling his knees with his arms. ‘You knew him quite well, from all accounts.’

Ferdi sat with his back to the fire, and Ulrich could not see the Halfling’s face. He wondered what Ferdi was doing here. Ferreting out more lies? No need for that. The truth was out, and with a curious feeling of relief, Ulrich put all lies behind him. ‘Fredegar...’ he said slowly, thinking back. Had there been a Fredegar in the Lockholes?

 ‘Also called “Fatty” Bolger,’ Ferdi went on, ‘though I imagine he did not live up to his name while enjoying your hospitality.’ Seeing confusion on Ulrich’s face, he added, ‘His mother was a Took.’

 ‘Fatty Bolger was in the Lockholes?’ Ulrich said, his mouth full. ‘But he...’ He swallowed, and added, ‘I’d have remembered his arrival, surely.’ Thinking back, he added more slowly, ‘I remember the day they marched in his band, and he was not among them. They said he’d been slain in an earlier raid, or they’d have hanged him from a tree along the way to make an example of him for the Shirefolk.’

 ‘Yes,’ Ferdi said. ‘It was not healthy to be a Took outside of Tookland in those days.’ He rubbed contemplatively at his chin.

Ulrich was only half-listening. Ferdibrand Took, he was thinking. He’d heard that name before... Wait! ‘You’re the Fox!’ he blurted.

Ferdi bowed his head and raised it again, his voice ironic though Ulrich could not see his expression. ‘Not at your service,’ he said again.

 ‘But... I’d heard you were dead! Sharkey was quite put out,’ he said. ‘He wanted you in the Lockholes for some reason...’

 ‘Most likely to make me one of his special “pets”,’ Ferdi said dryly. ‘I’m sure he had reserved one of the deepest, darkest unpleasant and stinking pits to throw me into, where he could toss me a mouldy crust whenever he liked... or not, as it were.’

 ‘You kept us out of Tookland,’ Ulrich said.

 ‘I had quite a bit of help,’ Ferdi corrected. ‘One Took does not a battle make.’

 ‘But they hanged you!’ Ulrich said, laying his spoon in the empty bowl.

The Halfling rose and with a swift gesture took the bowl from Ulrich and stepped back out of reach. ‘I didn’t stay hanged,’ he said, and turned away. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back to say, ‘Which is not a fate that you ought to anticipate.’ He half-bowed once more, then turned and walked away into the darkness.





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