Chapter 53. Homecoming

Cuillon was demonstrating the preparation of a decoction to the new apprentices when old Eregeth cleared her throat in the doorway. ‘A moment,’ he said, and then continued. ‘Now that the mixture has been reduced by about a third, we’ll strain it...’ He suited action to word. ‘And now it is ready for the Ernil i Pheriannath to sip,’ he concluded. ‘Best taken hot, of course.’

 ‘Oughtn’t we to add honey?’ one of the apprentices asked.

 ‘He will not drink it, should it be sweetened,’ Cuillon said. ‘One of your tasks is to work out the best way to get the medicines into your patient. It won’t do them any good if they don’t take it.’ He gave the apprentices a stern look and added, ‘Now see to it that he drinks every drop of this. Enlist the aid of his wife, if need be.’

He turned away and addressed Eregeth. ‘Yes? What is it?’

 ‘Visitors,’ she said. ‘Won’t state their business. They say they’ll speak only to you, sir. They’re waiting in your study.’

 ‘Ah,’ Cuillon said. ‘Thank you, Eregeth.’ She nodded, bobbed a courtesy and went about her interrupted business.

In his study he found three sober-faced Men dressed in the colours of mourning. Two of them looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place them. He couldn’t recall losing a patient in the last day or two... ‘How may I be of service?’ he asked.

The oldest of the group stepped forward. ‘We’ve come to bring Ulrich home,’ he said quietly. ‘The guardsman at the Gate sent us to you.’

Given this context Cuillon recognised Heledir, one of the councillors of the town of Dindale, though his face was pulled longer than usual, the lines deep and sorrowful. Yes, and that was Arasfaron to one side of him. Both had testified on Ulrich’s behalf at the first trial. He did not know the third Man, but assumed him to be a town councillor as well.

 ‘We’re not too late, are we?’ the third said anxiously. ‘The hanging was yesterday, we know, but we were told after the trial to come to claim his body the day after, seeing as how it wouldn’t be cut down until sunset...’

Understanding dawned, and Cuillon stepped forward. ‘You don’t understand,’ he said, taking Heledir’s arm and steering him out into the corridor, the other councillors falling into step behind him. ‘There was no hanging yesterday.’

 ‘There was a hanging,’ Arasfaron protested. ‘We heard all about it in the inn last night. They cut the body down instead of letting it hang as customary. We’re not too late, I hope.’

 ‘Mercy,’ Heledir muttered. ‘He’s not already been buried on the Pelennor, has he? How will I ever face my niece? Can we somehow locate the grave and dig him up again?’

 ‘I told you we should have ridden through the night,’ the third Man mourned. ‘We’re too late.’

A burst of laughter came from the room that housed Ferdibrand and Nell and their family, and Heledir passed a hand over his eyes as he heard a laugh that reminded him of Ulrich.

On the heels of the laughter, Ulrich himself came out of the room, stopping short to see his councillors, who gasped his name more or less in unison and stood rooted.

 ‘Heledir, Arasfaron,’ Ulrich said, embracing each in turn, and, ‘Thulion.’

 ‘How is it possible?’ the latter gasped. ‘The hanging...’

 ‘Was interrupted. There was a new trial,’ Ulrich said, ‘only this morning, and word went out to Dindale shortly after.’

 ‘Passed us on the road, more likely than not,’ Heledir said, wiping hastily at his wrinkled cheeks. He took Ulrich’s hand and wrung it heartily. ‘I never thought to see you again in this life,’ he said. ‘You didn’t want us to attend the hanging...’

Ferdi appeared in the doorway and grasped the situation at once. Before they knew what was happening, the three councillors of Dindale had been drawn into the celebration in Ferdi’s room, where it was raining drink and snowing food and festivity.

The talk and song and feasting lasted well into the evening hours, when the healers shooed everyone back to their own rooms to rest, including Ulrich. ‘He’ll be ready to travel on the morrow,’ Cuillon assured the councillors.

 ‘We brought an extra horse, but no saddle,’ Arasfaron said in chagrin. They’d planned to lay the shrouded body over the horse’s back and lash it in place for the long ride home.

 ‘Who needs a saddle, or even a horse for that matter?’ Ulrich said, laughing. He spread his hands wide. ‘I feel so light I could sprout feathers and fly home!’

 ‘Not necessary,’ Pippin said. ‘I do have a bit of pull with the King, you know. I think I might be able to convince him to give you a saddle, if only the loan of one.’

 ‘Very kind,’ Ulrich said with a bow.

 ‘Don’t mention it,’ Pippin said with a bow of his own. ‘I’ll just go and...’

 ‘You’ll just go and tuck yourself up in bed,’ Cuillon said sternly. ‘I’ll be happy to have a message carried to the King for you, or... no doubt he’ll be stopping in this evening.’

 ‘If I’m still awake,’ Pippin said. ‘Perhaps you could hold off on any more of your decoctions or infusions until after he comes.’

 ‘I will consider your request,’ Cuillon said with a bow, ‘if you will take yourself off at once, Master Ernil.’ And so Pippin did.

Next morning, Ferdi walked down the steps with Ulrich to see the Man off. ‘As I promised,’ he said.

 ‘A happier parting,’ Ulrich said, and the hobbit laughed his infectious laugh. The Mayor of Dindale held out his hand. ‘Stop in our fair town anytime you be passing by,’ he said. ‘We’ll roll out the best carpet for you.’

 ‘Not the red one, I hope,’ Ferdi said, taking the larger hand in a firm grip to meet Ulrich’s gentle squeeze. ‘Fades so badly in the sun, you know.’

 ‘Blue fades as badly, and the lighter colours show the dirt,’ Ulrich said. ‘What are we to do?’

 ‘Close our eyes,’ Ferdi said. ‘The mead will taste as well with eyes closed as with eyes open.’

 ‘Better, even,’ Ulrich said, ‘for we can concentrate on the fine flavour if we’re not distracted with other things.’

 ‘You two are peas in a pod,’ Nell said, slipping her arm about Ferdi’s waist. ‘If you’re ever in the Northland, send word. We’ll be happy to meet you on the shores of Lake Evendim. You might even do some fishing together.’

 ‘No boats!’ Ferdi said stoutly. ‘I do my fishing from solid ground, thank you.’

 ‘No boats,’ Ulrich said. ‘I’m sure we can manage somehow.’

After a pleasant two days of journeying, for the borrowed saddle was comfortable indeed, they came to the town of Dindale on an afternoon of misting rain. Mourning was everywhere, draped even over the gateway.

 ‘My,’ Ulrich said softly, pulling his horse to a stop to see this silent tribute of the townsmen.

 ‘My brother often said you’d make a fine Mayor,’ Heledir said. ‘Even finer a Mayor than he was, and as usual he had the right of it.’

 ‘He was a fine Man,’ Ulrich said.

 ‘It takes one, to know one,’ Heledir said. ‘Come, let us turn mourning to joy.’ He squeezed his legs to urge his mount forward.

A sober crowd waited to welcome their Mayor home, to escort him to the resting place already prepared for him, a canvas-draped hole in the burial yard on the far side of the town. ‘But where is the pack-horse?’ Merewyn whispered to her aunt, who hovered protectively at her side. She stiffened in dread. ‘Were they too late?’ She thought of her beloved in an unmarked grave upon the Pelennor, not even flowers to mark his passing.

 ‘Who is that with them?’ her aunt said in return, straining her eyes.

Merewyn held the baby tighter as her children pressed close in dread and confusion.

The gateman stepped forward to welcome the travellers and shouted suddenly.

 ‘What was that?’ Merewyn whispered, but the people around her were murmuring and she heard not.

 ‘The Mayor, I think he said,’ her oldest son answered, standing as tall as he could to crane for a view.

 ‘Mayor?’ Merewyn said, but rising cheers from the crowd drowned the puzzled query. She stood on her tiptoes to try to see over the tall Men surrounding them, but it was only as the riders pushed close that she saw... but could not comprehend... not until her beloved swung down from his saddle to gather her in his arms, chanting her name. The Sun might have broken through the clouds at that moment, or perhaps it was only Merewyn’s joy, as her eyes filled with tears of another sort and the world turned to sparkling jewels around her.

***

 ‘Two months late,’ Pippin said as they rode into the yard of the Great Smials.

 ‘And not the fault of the Rohirrim, this time,’ Diamond said.

 ‘No, but of the weather,’ Pippin returned. He’d been busy all through the long ride from the end of Woody End, observing the fields they passed, making note of the progress of the crops. ‘Planted late,’ he’d said repeatedly. ‘They ought to be knee-high by now. What was Farry thinking?’

It had been a harsh winter, they’d heard. They’d experienced a bit of it themselves, with that October blizzard on the plains of Rohan. After Yule snow had blanketed Gondor, even as far south as the White City, truly white in its freezing cloak. Their departure for the Shire had been delayed until the King determined the roads fit for travelling. As a result, the ill or injured hobbits had a longer rest-cure than they might have, and all were fit and fair once more when the King set out to return to the North-kingdom.

 Merry and Ferdi had retained their boots, however. ‘I’ve grown used to the feel of them,’ Ferdi confessed. ‘Perhaps in the sweet summertime I may toughen my feet again, beginning with walks in the caressing grass, but for now...’

 Merry had not been quite so apologetic. After all, Bucklanders were known to have worn boots on occasion. He was not so likely to be regarded with suspicion or ridicule as Ferdibrand. Indeed, when he rode through the North Gate no one even remarked on the boots he wore. Of course, Ferdi was generally known to be daft, so the Tooks might not say aught about the matter.

 ‘It’s good to be home,’ Diamond said. ‘Even if we bring back much less than we took with us.’

 ‘I told you,’ Pippin said, and laughed. ‘I hope the next time we journey you’ll fill no more than saddlebags.’

 ‘I’ll take a page from Goldi’s book,’ Diamond said. She looked at each of the entrances to the Great Smials in turn. ‘Where are the children? They ought to be at hand to greet us!’

Reginard Took walked forward stiffly to greet them, leaning on his heavy walking stick. ‘Well come!’ he shouted. ‘Glad to see you back where you belong!’ He greeted the Mayor and Mistress Rose in turn and welcomed them to the Great Smials, telling them that the Mayor’s suite was ready for them: tea was on the table, the fires were lit, the baths were steaming and the beds were turned down.

 ‘Where’s Farry?’ Pippin said, sliding from his saddle. The stones of the yard felt quite homey under his feet.

Ferdi’s boots made a bit more noise than hobbit feet as he jumped down from his own saddle, and Regi frowned absently at him before turning back to the Thain. ‘Abed,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you to him.’

 ‘Abed?’ Diamond said, taking Pippin’s arm. ‘Is he injured? Sick?’

 ‘Weary,’ Regi said, hiding a grin.

 ‘Weary is all?’ Pippin said severely. ‘From what I’ve seen he’s not been all that busy about the business of running Tookland.’

 ‘I’ll let him answer to you,’ Regi said, thinking that Pippin was in for a pleasant surprise. More than one, actually. Farry’s diligence and foresight had saved the Shire from hungering, as Pippin would soon hear. But why spoil the anticipation?

Pippin and Sam set their children to seeing to the baggage and followed Reginard, at his bidding, into the Great Smials.

Regi was full of questions and kept Pippin and Diamond, Sam and Rose busy answering his various queries about the journey as they walked through the winding tunnels to the Thain’s family quarters. Outside Farry and Goldi’s apartments he stopped, putting a finger to his lips. ‘Shhh,’ he said. ‘The healers have warned me in no uncertain terms to be quiet.’

 ‘Healers?’ Diamond whispered, alarmed all over again.

 ‘Come along,’ Regi whispered, without further explanation. He tapped at the door, which was opened by a beaming Dobby.

 ‘Welcome back, Sir and Mistress,’ the hobbitservant whispered. ‘You are in good time!’ He looked past them to the Mayor and his wife, and then that staid hobbitservant actually winked. Pippin wondered just how far etiquette and propriety had slipped in his absence...?

 ‘In good time?’ Pippin said, his irritation (and, truth be told, worry) growing.

Regi and Dobby actually tip-toed across the sitting room to the corridor and on to the largest of the bedrooms. ‘Shhh,’ Regi said at the door. ‘I think they may have just dropped off.’

 ‘What in the world,’ Pippin began in irritation, but the door opened and he automatically followed Regi into the room, stopping short to see Farry and Goldi together in the big bed—and here it was, just after teatime!

 ‘Sir?’ Dobby said softly.

Farry jerked awake, to see a crowd of hobbits spilling through the doorway.

 ‘Da?’ he said incredulously.

 ‘Farry, what in the world...?’ Pippin said striding forward, but he stopped to see the blanketed bundle cradled in his son’s arms.

 ‘We were just having a bit of a rest,’ Farry said, looking down, his face bright with joy and wonder. ‘It was a busy morning, you see...’

 ‘Ohhh,’ Diamond breathed, moving forward to take the bundle, gazing down into the tiny, curl-crowned face.

 ‘Greet your grandson,’ Regi said softly, beaming.

 ‘Grandson,’ Pippin said, sinking down upon the bed. Diamond sat herself on the bed beside him, sharing the bundle.

 ‘And grand-daughter,’ Goldi said sleepily, pulling back the coverlet to reveal a bundle of her own.

 ‘Grand-daughter!’ Rose said, stepping forward to hug her daughter and peer into another sweet, curl-topped face.

Samwise, who always had something to say, seeing as how it was his duty to open so many festivities in every part of the Shire, was struck speechless. ‘Come along, Sam,’ Pippin said, looking up, his face shining with joy. ‘This is no time to stand with your hands in your pockets! We’ve grands to be greeting!’

***

Some months later, after a harvest that was surprisingly bountiful given the late planting, hobbits gathered on the banks of rivers throughout the Shire to remember those who’d passed from life over the past year.

In Buckland, Merry sounded the silver horn of Rohan as he always did, for this night of remembering coincided with the throwing out of the ruffians so many years before.

In Hobbiton, Samwise stood surrounded by his family, those who’d stayed behind, and those who’d gone on the journey, stood remembering those who’d gone before, in silent thankfulness that none of his loved ones had been lost while he journeyed to far parts and back again.

On the banks of the Tuckbourne, Nell stood with an ornately carven boat, the centre hollowed out, a wick fixed within and melted wax poured to fill the hollow. A floating boat-candle, it was, and hobbits all over the Shire who were remembering the departed bore such boats, waiting for sunset.

 ‘Do you think his own family mourns him?’ she said, leaning her head back against Ferdi’s shoulder.

 ‘From what I saw,’ Ferdi began, and fell silent. After a few breaths, he said, ‘They claimed the body, buried him, marked the grave. In truth, they mourned him years ago when they thought him lost.’

 ‘He was lost,’ Nell said. She quieted with the rest to hear her brother speak the ritual words as he lifted high the torch he bore.

We gather together for remembering, as is our custom on this day. We remember those who have been lost to us since the last time we gathered so. We are here to celebrate their lives, their memory, our love which can never be lost, and the hope we share.

Tooks and Tooklanders moved forward a few at a time, each little group with a small candle-boat bearing the name of a loved one lost. The wick would be lit from the torch the Thain held, and with cupped hands guarding the flickering flame from a stray breeze, the rememberers would walk slowly to the water's edge, to speak the lost one's name once more and then set the boat upon the waters to be carried into the night.

Nell cradled her boat, thinking, remembering, and putting the past behind her, while Ferdi waited at her side. At last she stepped forward, holding out the little boat, a name etched in its side. The torch dipped and the wick was lighted. Ferdi walked with her to the water, his arm around her waist as she stood quietly for a moment before laying the boat upon the water, to join a shining armada of flickering lights borne upon the dark waters on their way to the Sea.

 ‘Brant,’ she said at last. ‘He was a life,’ she added. ‘A living, breathing person, who had kin, a mother, sisters...’ She had met the sisters. She shook her head and said lower, ‘His was not my life to take, and yet take it, I must, by my words to the King.’ She swallowed her tears and whispered. ‘I hope he found his peace at last.’

 ‘They call it the “gift of Eru”,’ Ferdi said, his arm tightening around her waist. ‘I cannot imagine but that he did find his peace, and healing...’

 ‘Brant,’ Pimpernel said once more. She stooped and laid the little boat upon the water, stood again to watch it join the floating lights already passing from gatherings upstream, and sighed.

 ‘Come, love,’ Ferdi said, tugging her away. She allowed him to lead her from the water’s edge. When they were in the darkness under the stars, behind the bulk of the crowd, he stopped, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

 ‘My Nell, my own,’ Ferdi whispered. ‘Have I told you how much I love you?’

 ‘Not since teatime, at least,’ Nell whispered in reply, tilting her face upwards to gaze into his eyes.

 ‘Nell, my Nell,’ Ferdi said, tightening his arms around her. ‘I love you more than my own life: as the Moon loves the stars, as the River loves the Sea, as the grass loves the dew and the forest loves the tree...’

 ‘My love,’ Nell said, but he interrupted her with a kiss, and no more words were needed between them.