Chapter 41. Into the Dawn

Grendil and his young grandson were having the feast of their lives. The Queen herself had served them, not even wrinkling her nose at their unwashed state. She had brought them laden plates and sat down with them to talk quietly as they feasted, and she beckoned to a hovering guardsman and sent word to Grendil’s granddaughter, who was a nursemaid for a wealthy family. Otherwise the girl would still be waiting by the tradesmen's entrance of her employer’s great house with a plate of leftover food for Grendil and Nordhil, and worrying when they did not appear for their daily meal.

It did not escape the Queen's attention that Nordhil was stifling yawns, or that the old Man was dropping with weariness. Rag-picking is a hard life, after all, and one must be early to bed if one is to rise early enough to find the best cast-offs before someone else does.

 ‘Would you care to stay in the palace tonight?’ Arwen asked delicately. ‘I’m sure the King would like to speak with you on the morrow, to offer you suitable thanks...’

 ‘Already been thanked,’ Grendil said through a mouthful, waving a hand in dismissal. ‘Begging your pardon, my lady.’

 ‘Your grandson is tired,’ Arwen whispered, and the old Man looked over and nodded. Nordhil’s head was drooping lower, and he was in great danger of falling asleep in his plate. ‘Please, I have ordered quarters prepared for your convenience.'

Grendil nodded reluctantly. ‘If it please the Queen,’ he said. He wanted nothing that smacked of charity. Still, the thought of a bed instead of crawling into a barrel tipped on its side was tempting.

 ‘It would please me,’ she said with a smile. ‘Thank you again.’ She rose smoothly, made a graceful courtesy to the old rag-picker, patted the sleepy boy on the shoulder, and exited.

Not long after, Bergil came in. He sat down opposite the two, took an apple from the bowl, and began to munch. ‘You here to escort us?’ Grendil said shrewdly. ‘Make sure we don’t steal anything?’

 ‘Here to ask a question or two,’ Bergil said casually. ‘I want to know all you can tell me about the guardsman you saw.’

Grendil nodded, launching once more into the story of the finding of the Halflings. Bergil was able to determine that the guardsman had been alone, that his face had been hidden by his helm, that he’d worn a black armband, and that was about all. It was the madman, he was sure of it. All the guardsmen of the City had been working in pairs by the time Grendil encountered his single guardsman.

 ‘Very well,’ Bergil said. ‘I thank you for your courtesy.’ He rose, bidding them good night.

A deferential servant showed them to a finely appointed room, complete with steaming bath by a cheerful fire, and fresh nightclothes laid out upon the large bed and the smaller cot set up nearby.

Young Nordhil fell asleep nearly at once, curled up in the big bed. His grandfather stayed awake a little longer, sitting before the hearth with a borrowed blanket wrapped around him, before he too dropped off. Sleeping on a floor in the palace was quite a bit more comfortable than in a barrel in an alley, he decided.

***

Pippin wakened feeling much better, and then as he saw the growing light outside the window, much worse. Dawn, already! Ulrich’s time had run out, and the hobbits hadn’t been able to find a way to stay the execution. At least, Pippin had no recollection of anyone saying such. Thinking back, he realised he’d seen no hobbits, not even Diamond, since suppertime. Even more astonishing, he’d slept through supper. He felt ravenous, even as his stomach gave a lurch at the thought of Ulrich’s passing.

Another watcher was sitting by the bed, plying her needle. She smiled at him to see him awake. ‘Are we feeling better?’ she said brightly.

Pippin gave her a wary look. ‘You’re a healer, aren’t you,’ he said.

 ‘Why I am,’ she responded warmly.

 ‘You talk the same way the healers back home do,’ he said.

 ‘Well, I’m glad to able to make you feel more at home,’ she said. ‘Would you like some breakfast?’

 ‘Where’s Diamond and the rest?’ Pippin said. ‘Am I that bad off, you sent them away?’

 ‘If you were that bad off, old friend, they’d be settled about you, singing,’ Elessar said from the doorway.

 ‘Strider!’ Pippin said, sitting up. The King crossed into the room with a few swift strides and pushed him back against the pillows. ‘I’m well, honestly, Strider. I feel a whole new hobbit!’

 ‘Let me be the judge of that,’ the King said. Pippin sighed with exasperation but submitted to the inevitable examination. ‘Well,’ Elessar said in satisfaction, ‘your fever seems to have broken. Are you hungry?’

 ‘Starving,’ Pippin admitted, ‘though I’m not sure I could eat a bite, knowing...’ He looked out the window at the bright morning sky.

 ‘There was no hanging this morning,’ Elessar said, divining his thoughts.

 ‘No hanging! You found a way to...’ Pippin said.

 ‘Actually, it was Ferdi who found a way,’ Elessar said.

 ‘Ferdi! I thought it might be Merry. He said he was going to spend the entire afternoon and night searching through those dusty records of yours,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Pippin...’ Elessar said, and the smile left the hobbit’s face.

 ‘What is it, Strider?’ he said. ‘You’ve got that look on your face, the one you had in Cormallen when you popped Frodo back into bed two days after the feast and dosed him to sleep for another three days.’

 ‘It’s Ferdi,’ Elessar said, and went on to explain what had happened in the marketplace, omitting the disappearance of Pippin’s littlest daughters for the nonce. 'The jurors granted my petition to allow Ulrich to stay by Ferdi until the end, for good or ill.' It seemed strange to hear the King talk about making petitions, but Elessar was a wise and just King and had truly set himself apart from Ulrich's case.

 ‘How badly was he injured?’ Pippin demanded. ‘How is Nell taking the news?’ His eyes narrowed as the King hesitated. ‘I know you too well, Strider, for you to withhold news from me! What’s happened to Nell?’

 ‘We’re searching the City for her,’ Elessar said.

Pippin’s hand tightened convulsively in his, and then the hobbit nodded. ‘How do you know he hasn’t spirited her out of the City already?’ he asked slowly.

 ‘As soon as Bergil knew she was missing, he sent word to shut the Gate,’ Elessar said. ‘No one went out of the City after that without a thorough search. We’re sure that he must be hiding somewhere in the City, and we mean to find him if we have to take Minas Tirith apart stone by stone.’

 ‘Make an awful mess, it would,’ Pippin murmured, but his face was white. ‘I want to see Ferdi.’

Elessar nodded. ‘I’ll take you to him,’ he said, and wrapping a blanket about the hobbit he lifted him and carried him to Ferdi’s room.

 ‘Ulrich!’ Pippin said, to see the ruffian there.

 ‘I seem to be late for my own hanging,’ the ruffian said.

 ‘And here you always prided yourself on your punctuality,’ the hobbit said chidingly. ‘What am I to think of you now?’

Elessar laid him upon the bed, and Pippin took up Ferdi’s free hand. ‘Ferdi, do you hear me?’ he said. He did not mention Nell, for Elessar had told him that Ferdi did not know of her disappearance and he did not want to distress the King. Pippin would beg to differ. Nell was not by his side, and if Ferdi were aware of anything at all, he’d know...

The King laid a hand upon Ferdibrand’s brow, seeming to listen for a space. He sighed as he withdrew his hand. ‘No change,’ he said.

 ‘Will you call in his family?’ Pippin said. ‘They ought to be here with him.’

 ‘We’d hoped to have news by now,’ Elessar said obliquely. He shook his head. ‘I suppose you have the right of it.’

***

In the dusty Hall of Records, the keeper brought another stack of papers to the small knight of the Mark. Merry scooted over on the table to make room, thanked him absently, rubbed his weary eyes, and continued to read.

 ‘Hail, Master Holdwine!’ a voice called from the stairs leading down into the cavernous room.

 ‘Elfwine?’ Merry said, starting to his feet.

 ‘The same!’ the prince of Rohan cried, running lightly down the last of the stairs and striding across to the table where Merry laboured. ‘But what is this? It is a glorious morning! Why do you bury yourself here with these dusty tomes?’

 ‘Morning?’ Merry said bleakly, sinking down upon the table. ‘No one came to fetch me.’ Had he missed the hanging? Forbidden from joining the search ("Too dangerous"), he had buried himself in the bowels of the earth since Ferdi had been brought back from the marketplace. Evidently no one had thought to send for him as dawn approached, and he had not heard the latest news.

Nor had Elfwine, newly arrived. Had Merry asked, he could have told the hobbit that no body was hanging from the scaffold as he rode up to the great Gate, but Merry did not ask, of course. He merely pushed the nearest stack of papers away, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

 ‘But come,’ the young Rider said, ‘you are weary, and if I’m not mistaken, you look as if you hadn’t eaten in hours!’

 ‘I don’t think I have,’ Merry admitted, running his fingers through his tousled hair. There was a cup, half full of tea, beside him, a scum of milk floating unappetisingly on the cold surface.

 ‘Come then!’ Elfwine said. ‘Come away from this place, into the sunshine, and we shall break our fast together.’

 ‘I suppose,’ Merry said gloomily, and sighed. What use in perusing old records now? ‘I’m sure Estella will be glad to see us both.’

 ‘Glad to see her husband, perhaps,’ Elfwine said with a laugh. ‘Glad to see one of the Rohirrim? That is another matter!’ He clapped the hobbit on the shoulder. ‘She suspects us of plotting to abduct you and keep you in the Mark.’

 ‘Well, aren’t you?’ Merry said.

Elfwine dropped his voice and looked about before saying conspiratorially, ‘Well, we are, but don’t tell her that! We want her to think it’s her own idea, to make Edoras your permanent abode.’

 ‘A wise thought,’ Merry said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his heavy heart. ‘I wish you all success.’

***

Brant sat watching the hobbit mum sleep. Pilgrim had left him on watch and gone away somewhere, perhaps to sleep; Brant didn’t know and frankly, he didn’t care. He was sick of the whole affair. They’d moved several times already, to stay ahead of the spreading search. He’d argued with Pilgrim about leaving the hobbit, changing their guise, slipping out of the City amidst the uproar that would surely result when the missing hobbit was found.

Pilgrim would not be moved. ‘Just you wait,’ he said. ‘We’ll slip past the searchers, see if we don’t. I’ll find a way! We’ll slip into a part that has been already searched, and in some dark cellar we’ll let the flames feast. They’re restless, you know, very restless. They might break out against us if they do not feast soon. Why, they might seek to burn the City above our heads!’

 ‘We cannot have that,’ Brant agreed, but secretly, he began to lay plans for his escape. He’d tried to get away before, but the Pilgrim always found him and brought him back. Pilgrim and the flames were growing worse, always hungering these days. Brant wanted no more of it. Half of him wished he had the courage to slip away and give himself up to the searching guardsmen. They’d hang him quick enough; he’d heard much about the legendary justice of the King of Gondor. Perhaps if the justice was quick as it was reputed, he’d escape the flames after all.

Pilgrim returned and Brant stiffened as he bent to caress the hobbit mum’s face. ‘I hope she wakens soon,’ Pilgrim crooned. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve had a proper dance.’

 ‘Why not have your way and be done with it?’ Brant said. He didn’t care one way or another. Hobbits were a bit small for his taste; give him a full-sized woman any day.

 ‘Not while she’s sleeping!’ Pilgrim said, sounding shocked. ‘Why, it wouldn’t be proper, to take advantage of her in her sleep!’

 ‘We must be proper,’ Brant muttered.

 ‘Indeed we must,’ Pilgrim said. ‘The searchers will be getting close; it’s time to wrap up our beauty and move again.’

 ‘Why not leave her here and make our escape?’ Brant said.

 ‘No!’ the Pilgrim hissed. ‘No,’ he said, more calmly. ‘We’ll scout about a bit, try to find a way past them. I think I saw a way when we found this place. There’s a wall, and a rooftop... if we climb at just the right time, throw ourselves flat as they pass below, well, they might just pass us by. Then we’ll go back to that last hidey-hole, and let the dancing and feasting begin!’ He chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

 ‘Fine,’ Brant said. He’d go along with Pilgrim for the nonce; it wasn’t as if he had any choice in the matter. The last time he’d defied the old Man, he’d burned himself starting a fire to cook a simple supper, and the Pilgrim had smiled significantly. See? The flames are just waiting to take you. You had better do their bidding...

Brant would wait until the flames were satiated with this latest offering, and then surely he would take himself off, lose himself in the wide world. He hoped Pilgrim would never find him again.