Chapter 42. Thoughts of Hearth and Home

Cuillon himself entered Ferdi’s room with a breakfast tray for Pippin. An assistant bore a tray intended for the King, but Elessar passed the tray on to Ulrich, saying, ‘I have other business to attend; but I shall return.’

 ‘Indeed, we will wait with bated breath for the return of the King,’ Pippin said sombrely, and Elessar chuckled. The assistant bowed his way out of the room, but the head healer lingered.

Looking to Ulrich, Elessar said, ‘It was always a byword in the Shire, until after the War of the Ring: To say “when the King returns” was the same as saying “never”.’

Ulrich smiled and bent to address Ferdibrand. ‘You hadn’t told me that! There is so much, yet, that you said you had to tell... but you’ll have to waken to do so.’

Pippin took a forkful of bacon and waved it under Ferdi’s nose. ‘Remember, Ferdi? This was how I always used to waken you, when your family visited the farm. Your nose would twitch, and you’d murmur in your sleep, “Is it hot?” Even then you hated cold food...’

Ferdi’s nose did not twitch on this occasion, however, and Pippin sighed and absently ate the forkful of bacon. ‘Strider,’ he said, putting the fork down and rubbing at the healing scar on his face. ‘Couldn’t you do for Ferdi what you did for me?’

 ‘What?’ the King said, arrested in the act of leaving by this startling request.

 ‘You know,’ Pippin said. ‘Your bloody torture that frightened my loved ones out of their wits. They really thought you were murdering me... but I wakened again, in my right senses. Couldn’t you help Ferdi in that way?’

 ‘His injury is different from yours, Pippin,’ Elessar said quietly. ‘In the first place, he has suffered such an injury on more than one occasion: the ruffian’s club at the Battle of Bywater, the fall during the pony races you told me about, the incident during the survey of the Westmarch...’

 ‘Aye, he is a battered fellow,’ Pippin said. ‘The luck of the Tooks didn’t do much for him, I fear.’

 ‘He mentioned that,’ Ulrich said, ‘but blamed it on being half Bolger.’

 ‘Ah,’ Pippin said. ‘I always wondered.’

 ‘He said it was truth, and that your own luck was due to being half Banks,’ Ulrich said.

The King hid a grin.

 ‘Ferdi!’ Pippin remonstrated. ‘I cannot believe it! You... gossiping with a ruffian!’ He turned back to the King. ‘Couldn’t you help him, Strider?’

Elessar approached the bed once more, kneeling to see eye-to-eye with the hobbit. ‘I cannot, Pippin,’ he said. ‘He has been injured, in truth, and a blow to the head is no laughing matter. But it is fear and sorrow that are pulling him down, and the athelas has no effect.’

 ‘Why is that?’ Pippin asked, setting his tray aside and leaning forward.

 ‘It is not remembered sorrow or imagined fear that assails him,’ Elessar said quietly. ‘Somehow he knows...’ He did not finish the thought, but all in the room knew his meaning. ‘But you,’ he said, his voice growing firm, ‘had better eat that breakfast before it goes cold.’

 ‘Ferdi’s the one who hates cold food,’ Pippin said. ‘I grew quite used to it on our journeys, you know.’ Nevertheless, he applied himself once more to his breakfast.

 ‘As I was saying, I shall return,’ Elessar said, rising once more.

Cuillon and Ulrich bowed their heads as he left them, and then the healer said to the ruffian, ‘Don’t let that good food go to waste.’

 ‘No, sir, thank you,’ Ulrich said, and began to eat.

The healer performed a quick examination of Ferdibrand, sighed and shook his head. ‘No change,’ he said. ‘I think that part of the business Elessar was referring to was gathering the chancellor’s family and preparing them for what seems inevitable at this point.’

 ‘How long?’ Ulrich said.

 ‘Difficult to say,’ Cuillon replied. ‘He could linger another day... longer than that, I doubt.’

Ulrich nodded soberly. His own time would run out not long after Ferdibrand’s did.

Cuillon rose from the bed and bowed to the Thain. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘I wish it were better news.’

 ‘Ferdi may yet surprise you,’ Pippin said stoutly. ‘He takes great pleasure in confounding healers, you know.’

 ‘I for one would be happy to be confounded,’ Cuillon said, and took his leave.

Some time later, Bergil entered. He nodded to Pippin, took out a key, and began to unfasten the shackles binding Ulrich’s wrists.

 ‘What’s this?’ Ulrich said, wondering. Had he been reprieved?

 ‘Master Cuillon’s orders,’ Bergil said. ‘He says it upsets the hobbits to see you in chains. He also told me that one of the hobbits had offered his life in return for yours, should you attempt to escape.’

 ‘Which?’ Ulrich said in astonishment.

Bergil shook his head. ‘I don’t know...’ He looked at Pippin, but the Thain had fallen asleep with his head on the pillow next to Ferdi’s bandaged head.

 ‘They wouldn’t...’ Ulrich said, but Bergil interrupted.

 ‘You don’t know hobbits well, if you say that,’ he said. ‘Should you escape, that hobbit, whoever he is, would insist on paying the penalty. They are creatures of honour and duty.’

 ‘I don’t know hobbits well,’ Ulrich admitted. ‘I saw them through the wizard Saruman’s veil of hatred and scorn, and have only begun to know them in general and Ferdibrand in particular.’

 ‘I have lived amongst them for years,’ Bergil said. ‘It has been part of my duty to the King to come to know them, and yet they still can surprise me.’

 ‘How is it that you’ve lived amongst them, when the King has banned Men from the Shire?’ Ulrich said. ‘Were you living in Bree?’

Bergil laughed softly. ‘I was adopted by the Mayor and his wife, years ago when they visited Minas Tirith,’ he said. ‘I am an honorary hobbit of sorts.’

The shackles fell away from Ulrich’s wrists and Bergil caught them before they could fall to the floor and waken Pippin. He then bent to unlock the shackles about Ulrich’s ankles. ‘There,’ he said, rising. ‘I’ll just take these away.’

 ‘You do that,’ Ulrich said. ‘And don’t worry about any of the Halflings having to give up his life. I know something about duty and honour, too.’

***

Noontide came, and the hunt pressed close. The Pilgrim grumbled about each move made necessary by the spreading search, for it was needful to drug the hobbit into deeper sleep, to ensure she kept quiet in her sack, flung over the ruffian’s shoulder, as he crept from one hiding place to another. He knew the shadowy parts of Minas Tirith well, the cellars, the alleys, the hiding places for rats of all sorts. The guardsmen were constantly rounding up stray Men and evicting them from the City. Pilgrim had learned much about hiding from the patrols, in earlier days.

 ‘When will she waken?’ he fussed. ‘It’s past time to eat!’

 ‘Did you forget the dance?’ Brant said sardonically. He was gnawing on some bread he’d taken from the baker’s stand in the marketplace, just before seeing the little hobbits enter the alley.

 ‘Dance, dance,’ Pilgrim fretted. ‘It is a waste and a shame, but the flames clamour for a dance of their own, and they demand music to accompany them.’

 ‘A bit hard, that,’ Brant said. ‘How can she sing through the gag?’

Pilgrim only muttered and rocked back and forth, hugging his knees. ‘Past time to eat,’ he said again.

 ‘Have some bread,’ Brant replied. With a snarl, Pilgrim broke off a piece and stuffed it in his mouth.

Before long it was time to move again.

***

Ferdi’s family was gathered on and about the bed, telling stories in turn and singing songs, as is the hobbit way. They wanted to remind Ferdi of all the good memories before he slipped away.

Merry, seeking Pippin, was told that his cousin was with Ferdibrand. Entering the room, he stopped short to see Ulrich, an unshackled Ulrich at that!

 ‘You’re not—’ he began.

 ‘No,’ Ulrich said hastily.

 ‘But—’ Merry said. The Man caught his eye and shook his head significantly, looking quickly about the room before meeting Merry’s eye once more. Merry understood. Ulrich had not been hanged, it was true, but he was not exactly reprieved, either. What he was, Merry would have to find out, but evidently this was not the time and place to do so. Something stirred then, deep in memory. Merry stood quite still, but it was an itch he could not scratch. There was a thought niggling at him...

 ‘Come, cousin,’ Pippin said. ‘We were wanting someone to tell the story of Ferdi daring you to jump a stile, and breaking your arm in the bargain.’

The thought was gone. Hopefully it would return at a quieter time. Merry had the feeling it was important.

Pippin was looking expectantly at him, and he straightened, replying, ‘He did not dare me to break my arm, cousin!’

Pippin poked Ferdi’s shoulder. ‘Hear that?’ he said. ‘At least with you sleeping he’ll get to tell the whole story without interruption this time!’

And so the story was told, and more followed as the Sun turned her face towards evening. Pippin found his thoughts turning often to the Shire, and wondering if those he loved were watching the same sunset, at peace at the end of the day...

***

 ‘Watch out! Here comes another!’ Farry shouted, taking a tighter grip on his sword as Adelbrim launched one of a dwindling number of arrows into the throat of another snarling wolf.

 ‘I’m running low on arrows,’ the escort said. ‘What’ll we do when we run out?’

 ‘Goldi!’ Farry called behind him, where his wife sought to kindle fire.

 ‘Nearly got it,’ she gasped, even as a finger of wind found its way through the makeshift shelter and extinguished her latest effort.