Chapter 49. Captured

One moment Elfwine’s horse was running at full speed away, bright flapping Southron robes seeming to taunt the watchers, and then the prince of Rohan raised his fingers to his lips and blew a whistled signal. The bright Southron robes tumbled through the air as the horse abruptly reversed course, running unburdened back to his master.

 ‘Nell,’ Ferdi gasped.

Bergil, sword in hand, leapt aboard his horse and sped over the plain to the crumpled pile of orange and yellow shining from the grass. Elessar was not far behind, taking only enough time to lift down Diamond and lift up Pippin and Ferdi to the saddle before him.

Cuillon fell to his knees beside Ulrich, fumbling in the bag that hung from his shoulder. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Keep your hand there until I tell you...’ To the anxious hobbits hovering close by, he said, ‘Not as much bleeding as there might be; it’s a good sign.’

Forget-me-not nodded absently, her eyes on Frodovar’s face as her hands tightened on his. ‘Breathe, Fro,’ she said. ‘Keep breathing.’

Bergil had reached the fallen and catapulted from the saddle before his horse had completely stopped. He approached warily, sword at the ready, but the old ruffian lay quite still, Nell still loosely clasped in his arms. ‘Nell,’ he said. ‘Pimpernel, do you hear me? Can you roll away?’

 ‘I...’ she murmured groggily, and said no more.

 ‘Nell,’ Bergil said again. Elessar rode up and swung down, unsheathing his sword. While he stood guard, Bergil moved behind the ruffian and with a quick movement stooped, pulled the madman’s arms behind him and tied them firmly. He reached around to remove the Southron blade from its sheath, even as Elessar lifted Nell in his arms.

Ferdi had slid from the King’s horse, biting off a cry as he jarred the tender soles of his feet. ‘Nell,’ he said. ‘Nell?’

She opened her eyes and smiled. ‘I knew you’d come,’ she said dreamily, and looking past him to her brother, still on the horse, she said, ‘I told you he wouldn’t harm me.’

 ‘You did at that,’ Pippin said. To Elessar he added, ‘Is she hurt?’

 ‘Nothing seems to be broken,’ the King answered.

 ‘I am well,’ Nell said vaguely. ‘Put me down.’ Elessar hesitated, and she pushed at him, her tone growing more insistent. ‘Put me down. Ferdi? Tell this great ruffian of a king to put me down!’

 ‘Nell,’ Ferdi said, and it seemed to be the only word he was able to form for the nonce. Elessar gently lowered Pimpernel into Ferdi’s waiting arms, and the two hobbits shared a long, fervent embrace.

 ‘It’s over,’ Nell whispered. ‘Finally over.’

Elessar lifted Nell and Ferdi to his saddle and began to lead his horse back to the Gate. They met in passing a group of guardsmen, trotting to Bergil’s support. When they were nearly to the Gate, a wild keening cry rose behind them. Looking around, the hobbits saw two guardsmen lifting the ruffian to his feet between them, urging him to walk towards the City Gate. He was struggling, fighting against them, and two more joined the fray, forcing him along.

Bergil mounted and rode beside them, sword held ready in the unlikely event the ruffian might break free.

Frodovar, Freddy, Melilot, Diamond and Forget-me-not were not in the crowd that awaited them, neither were Ulrich and Cuillon. ‘They took Fro to the Houses of Healing,’ Merry explained. ‘Cuillon seemed to think he had a good chance.’

Elessar lifted Pimpernel down that she might receive the relieved hugs and kisses from her children and other relations while he passed orders to the guardsmen to disperse the crowd and escort the hobbits back to the Houses of Healing. There would be no banquet this day. Then he restored her to the saddle and led his horse, bearing Pippin, Ferdi, and Nell, up the winding way to the Houses of Healing.

***

Cuillon emerged from Frodovar’s room wiping his hands on a soft cloth. ‘A good chance,’ he repeated. Ulrich sagged against the wall where he’d waited, out of the way. He would have had an excellent opportunity to make his escape in all the excitement, were he inclined to do so. No guardsman watched him; they were all occupied elsewhere. He’d waited, alone, outside the room where the healers and hobbits had gathered, waiting to hear if the young hobbit would live or succumb to the wound. Now that he’d heard the news, he wondered if he could gather enough energy to stir from the spot.

The head healer frowned. ‘You’re bleeding,’ he said.

 ‘Am I?’ Ulrich responded faintly. As Cuillon took his arm he found his legs did not seem to want to hold him. The healer was ready for a collapse, however, having read the signs in Ulrich’s face, and took Ulrich’s arm over his shoulders, supporting him to a nearby bench where he eased him down.

 ‘Let us take a look, shall we?’ Cuillon said. He opened Ulrich’s shirt and whistled low. ‘Glanced off a rib, and lucky thing, I think, or you wouldn’t have made it halfway up the hill.’ He raised his voice, calling to an assistant, and soon the shallow wound was washed and dressed.

Ulrich was sipping at a restorative cup of wine when the King arrived, escorting Pippin, Ferdi and Nell. Cuillon was quick to reassure them as to Frodovar’s condition. ‘He’ll be in bed for a week or two, but the wound is a small one—the knife blade was narrow and went straight in and out again, fairly straightforward...’

 ‘Yes, yes,’ Pippin interrupted, seeing his sister pale. ‘You expect a full recovery.’

 ‘Barring any complications,’ Cuillon cautioned.

 ‘Of course,’ Pippin said, thinking privately that the healers of Gondor were just as difficult to pin down as healers of the Shire. He sighed in relief for Forget-me-not’s sake. His daughter had formed a firm attachment of the heart with Frodovar in just the few weeks they’d been together; he doubted she’d even look at another hobbit were she to lose Fro now, even at her tender age.

Cuillon’s gaze sharpened; he’d heard the sigh. ‘You ought to be back in bed,’ he said. ‘We do not want that fever to recur.’

 ‘No indeed,’ Diamond said. ‘Ruby will be fine, she’ll stay by Fro’s side. They’ll soon be sending Freddy off to his bed. All the excitement is over for the day.’

 ‘You ought to seek your rest as well,’ Cuillon said to Ferdi and Nell. ‘Your testimony will be needed at the trial on the morrow.’

 ‘Trial?’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Of course,’ Nell said at the same time. There would be a trial for the record, though the outcome already be written. Someone needed to be there, to tell Brant’s story, for Brant himself might not be able. She found it in herself to pity the Man, especially now that he was safely captured and soon to be locked away.

Pippin turned to Ulrich. ‘I thank you,’ he said formally, with a little bow.

 ‘Thank me?’ Ulrich said.

 ‘For saving my daughter’s beloved,’ Pippin said. ‘I saw what you did; without your quick action he might have died where he lay.’

 ‘No...’ Ulrich protested, but Cuillon was nodding.

 ‘Undoubtedly,’ the healer said. ‘It was a close thing, but you did just what was needed, and in good time.’

 ‘Anyone could have done the same,’ Ulrich said.

 ‘But they didn’t; it was you,’ Ferdi said. ‘So say, “You’re welcome” and be done with it.’

 ‘You’re welcome,’ Ulrich said obediently.

 ‘Nice polite fellow, that Ulrich is,’ Ferdi said conversationally to all and no one. ‘I told you he was no ruffian.’

Ulrich snorted.

 ‘Another cup of wine?’ Cuillon said.

 ‘Thank you, but no,’ Ulrich said. ‘You’ll have me swimming away.’

 ‘Food, then,’ the head healer said. ‘I’ll have a plate made up for you.’ He surveyed the assembled hobbits with a stern eye. ‘I do believe that a meal would be in order for all. It is my understanding that hobbits need regular feeding.’

 ‘We can get along without it,’ Ferdi said, and Pippin poked him.

 ‘But we’d rather not,’ Pippin put in. ‘The rest of the hobbits walking up the hill will be all the better if a meal is readied against their arrival.’

 ‘A feast was promised, but I fear we must defer it for a week or so, until Frodovar is on his feet again,’ Cuillon said.

Ulrich said nothing. He did not have a week, after all.

An assistant brought Ulrich a well-laden plate, and he managed to eat about half of it before he found himself nodding. The excitement of the day, the wound, the wine, all combined to make him drowsy. The hobbits had settled in their various rooms in the Houses of Healing, conversing quietly, and the murmur of their voices, the harmony of the occasional song that rose, brought a calm and peaceful feeling to the stately halls.

Ulrich was debating whether to stretch out on the bench or on the floor alongside it when Bergil cleared his throat beside him. Ulrich looked up in surprise. He must have been dozing, for he hadn’t heard the guardsman’s boots on the stone floor.

When Ferdi came in search after seeing Nell settled with a plate of supper, Ulrich was already gone.