CHAPTER 66

“Ermm--Captain Targon?”

Targon turned to see an unfamiliar hobbit being ushered toward him by an amused Artamir.

“Yes, little master, how may I help you?” he asked courteously.

“Uh--well, it’s a matter of maybe how we can help you, in a manner of speaking. I’m Robin Smallburrow at your service. I’m one of the Shirriffs here. We--we been talking about it, and knowing as how things turned out at the Ball, with your Man getting hurt that was on guard, well, what I’m trying to say is that if you and all your Men want to go to Samwise’s wedding tomorrow, we’ll be glad to provide several sturdy lads to guard your camp and *them*--” he turned and spat, as he mentioned the prisoners--”so’s you can do that without worrying. That’s if you care to, anyway. So to speak.” Robin’s voice trailed off, as he nervously tried to think of what else he could say. This Man was listening to him very politely, but he certainly wasn’t giving anything away with his expression. Maybe they wouldn’t think that hobbits would make very good guards, not like these big strong soldiers he had.

Targon nodded gravely. “I thank you very much for the offer, Mr. Smallburrow, and I will take it under serious consideration. I do have to consult with my fellow envoy from Rohan. It is most generous of your Shirriffs to do this.”

Now the hobbit beamed at him. “Well, as I said, we feel bad about what happened at the Ball. And we are all right fond of Sam, after all the work he did for the Shire, fixing it up after the troubles. We know it would make him right glad of the chance to have all you folk come to his wedding.”

“But that means that some of your people will have to miss it,” said Targon.

“Well, we have six sturdy hobbits who don’t really know Sam, as has already offered, and then we’ll draw lots for six more. Do you think twelve will be enough of a guard?” he asked anxiously. “We’ll have bows and slings.”

Targon nodded. “I think that twelve would be more than sufficient. After I have spoken with Éothain, I will let you know. How may I reach you?”

“You can leave a message at the Post Office in Hobbiton.” Robin felt relieved. The Man seemed to take them seriously, and had not laughed at him, as some of the other hobbits had thought he might do.

Targon started to say farewell to the hobbit, and then thought of something. “Oh, Mr. Smallburrow, I do have one question--I hope that you will not be offended by it, but I know that there is a great deal of ill-feeling towards the prisoners. Can you assure me that they will not be accosted, unless they cause trouble or try to escape?”

Robin looked thoughtful. “Oh, aye,” he finally said. “They been Marked and are on their way out of the Shire. Probably won’t nobody even so much as speak to them, unless they try to get clever.”

The Gondorian nodded, and said farewell. He had noticed that the other hobbits would not even use the names of the prisoners, saying “they” and “them” in a tone of contempt. It was as though by their transgressions they were no longer hobbits any more. A very harsh punishment indeed for a people as social as the Shirelings. And he certainly thought that a guard of twelve of these doughty little people would be sufficient to protect the encampment. Not to mention the fact that turning them down might offend them. He was fairly sure that Éothain would agree.

__________________________________________________

“I agree.” Paladin kept his eyes down, lest Eglantine see the amusement in them. She had been marshalling her arguments in the expectation that he would disagree. He didn’t often catch her out this way, and he might as well enjoy it while he could.

“It’s the least we can do for poor Frodo--you said you *agreed*?” She looked at him suspiciously.

“Why, yes, dear. We will be travelling in that direction anyway, and Sara and Esme will be going. Why shouldn’t we attend Sam’s wedding?”

She burst out laughing. “You old fox. You’ve been planning for us to go all along!”

“Why, yes, dear. Meriadoc asked his father and I to be witnesses on the marriage document. We can’t very well do that if we are not there. Ow!”

He rubbed the back of his head ruefully.

She laughed, and then looked thoughtful. “Why do you suppose Merry would do that?”

“Simple, my dear, it reinforces the idea that Sam is a person of importance, and not simply Frodo’s gardener.”

“I believe that Pearl and Pervinca are also planning to attend. Unfortunately, Pimpernel is not feeling up to travelling. She is having a more difficult time, this time around.” Eglantine sighed. She was worried about her middle daughter.

“I had noticed that. Milo told me that he thinks it means it might be a lad this time. But he says that Pimmie won’t guess at it any longer. And he said that she has told him she decided on names for a lad and a lass, but she won’t tell him what they are yet.”

Eglantine smiled. “Lasses can get some strange notions when they are with child. I had a few of them myself, in the past.”

“I wish now, though, that I could have persuaded Poppy to stay,” he said worriedly.

“It will be all right, dear. I have met and talked with Mistress Lavender. She is a most capable healer, and I think that Poppy chose wisely in asking her to take her place this year. She is already going about and seeing the patients with Poppy, and has begun to work with poor little Opal. She has sent word to have her apprentice join her after Poppy leaves. You might find it interesting to know that her apprentice is one of the North-tooks.”

“Ah,” said Paladin. “That is interesting.” The North-tooks for the most part tended to disdain their distant Southern kin. He wondered how a daughter of that line would find it, being in Tookland, and working in the Great Smials.

Eglantine stood up. “If we are going to the wedding, then I had better begin making the preparations to leave.” She dropped a kiss on her husband’s brow, and headed out to her duties for the day.

_________________________________________________

Nine hobbits sat in a corner at the Green Dragon. Six of them were looking a bit apprehensively at the other three.

Frodo smiled to put them at their ease. “You know,” he said, “that Fredegar here asked us to meet with you this morning. He thought it would be a good idea for you to be able to ask any questions you might have.”

Merry grinned, and glanced over at Pippin. His younger cousin seemed to be over his melancholy of the day before. “We won’t bite, I promise. Feel free to ask whatever you wish. If we can answer, we will; if we can’t we’ll tell you we don’t know.”

Jolly glanced over at Fredegar. His leader was sitting back, waiting for the rest of them to speak. He knew that Captain Freddy had probably asked all kinds of questions already, before he ever even thought of taking this on. Mr. Berilac was a gentlehobbit, and should by rights go first, but he wasn’t saying anything, just looking up at Captain Merry, and then looking back down to the wet circle his ale was leaving on the table. Jolly didn’t think it was shyness, but he obviously wasn’t going to speak yet. Mr. Mosco was also being quiet. He kept looking at Captain Freddy. And Rolly and Denny Banks clearly weren’t going to speak first either.

He cleared his throat. “Um--not to be speaking out of turn here, but I just want to know what we can expect with Men. I mean ours that came here have been real fair-spoken and polite, I mean to say, it seems clear that they must be gentry where they come from; but we all saw the other kind of Men here last year, and I just wonder, which kind we’ll see the most of, and what the other Men will do to us.”

Merry glanced at Frodo, who nodded, so he answered. “Jolly, you might be surprised to know that except for Éothain, who is close kin to my King in Rohan, none of these Men are what we’d call gentry in the Shire. All of them are common Men, who are soldiers in their lands. They have attained their positions by hard work and bravery. But you are right about them being uncommonly fair-spoken. They have been trained to discipline themselves, for their very lives may depend upon that. And in Gondor, most of the people are much more formal than we are here.”

Pippin laughed. “In fact, the folk in Minas Tirith insisted on giving me the rank of ‘prince’, if you can believe it, because I spoke informally to their Steward. They thought that only one of high rank would dare to be so intimate. And I had not a clue of why until later. But I couldn’t change my way of speaking that much, so the idea persisted.”

Merry chuckled. “Yes, when you hear the phrase Ernil i Pheriannath you’ll know they are talking about our Pip.”

All the others, except for Freddy, who had heard all this before, looked at Pippin in amazement.

Frodo spoke up then. “You ask what kind most Men are. They are not all so courteous, or so kind. But you will be well protected from the rougher sort of Men by this escort. And I hate to say this, but it is the sorrowful truth, there are more wicked Men about than there are wicked hobbits. Yet the Men who are good and great are so much better and greater than hobbits, as well.”

Merry looked at Frodo. He wanted to point out that the best and greatest person of all *was* a hobbit, but that would only distress his cousin, who never at any time could be brought to admit how great he was.

Pippin spoke up now. “You will be traveling among Men, and living among them for months. You will soon know yourselves what you think of them.”

Berilac looked up at Merry again; his eyes flicked down to Merry’s wrist, which just barely peeked out from his shirt cuff, and back up to Merry’s face, where they rested on his scar. “How much danger will we really find Outside? Are there still Orcs and other wicked people laying in wait?”

Merry nodded seriously. “I won’t tell you that all danger is gone. Certainly not all the Orcs were slain, and some bands of them roam the wild yet; and there are bands of ruffians still. We ran them out of the Shire, but we did not destroy them, except for a few.”

They all nodded, thinking of the Battle of Bywater.

“Still,” he continued, “you will be traveling in a large and well armed party. You’ll not be taking any shortcuts through Orc-infested mines, nor be chased by Black Riders, and the King’s protection is not to be taken lightly. I would say my best advice for avoiding danger is to stick together like glue while travelling, and stick to your Men the same way. Don’t allow yourselves to become separated, and you should do just fine.”

Frodo nodded, but surprisingly, Pippin shook his head.

“That’s all good advice,” said Pippin, “but remember this: if you should find yourself alone, you are a hobbit, and we hobbits have proved tougher than anyone could have imagined. Keep your hobbit sense about you, and never forget the Shire, or those you love, and you will manage to land on your feet. Try, however, if you can, to keep out from under falling trolls.”

Merry and Freddy laughed, and Frodo smiled. The smiles of the others, however, were slightly apprehensive.

Now Mosco leaned forward. “Do you really think that it will be all right for Aunt Poppy and Miss Viola?”

Pippin laughed. “Mosco, I daresay I have seen more of your cousin over the years than you have. I do not believe that there is anything that could face her down! She has hobbit sense in abundance, and knows how to use it. And I am sure any apprentice of hers will have learned to do the same. I wish I could see when she meets old Strider--I mean the King--as a healer. She will pick his brains until he hasn’t any left!”

Merry chuckled. “Pip, she had to be a dragon. How else was she going to get tonic down you all those years?”

Pippin stuck his tongue out at his older cousin. Everyone else laughed.

__________________________________________________

In the small tent near the center of the Men’s encampment, Poppy and Viola sat, looking through their medical satchels, making sure of what they carried.

“Mistress,” asked Viola hesitantly, “aren’t you frightened at all about leaving the Shire?”

“No.”

Viola kept looking at her. Sometimes she had to stare her mistress into giving more of an answer. Left to her own devices, Poppy could be very taciturn.

Poppy sighed. Her apprentice was so persistant. “No, I am not frightened for several reasons. First, nothing has happened yet to be frightened of. There’s no danger, so I shouldn’t like to waste perfectly good fright over mere fretting and worrying. Second, I’m quite looking forward to seeing new things and places and people. Third, it will all be worth it to learn some of the things that the healers of the South know, and bring it back to the Shire. I think that is my purpose, to do this, so obviously nothing is going to happen to prevent that,” she said calmly.

Viola looked at her with wide eyes. She wondered if she would ever develop that confidence that just shone from Poppy. Truth be told, she was less frightened over this trip than she was of the idea that she would soon be on her own as a healer. Would she ever be as good as her mistress?

___________________________________________________

The Gaffer looked around his little hole. It was snug and cozy, well-appointed, better in fact, than it had been before the Troubles. “It’s an ill-wind,” he thought, and not for the first time, “as blows nobody any good!”

But after tomorrow, it would be just him and Marigold. And come Lithe, his little Marigold would wed her Tom. They’d asked him to come make his home with them; he had yet to decide if he would.

He supposed there was some as would be angered at Mr. Frodo, taking his Sammy away for so long, and now they was back, asking him and Rosie to live up at Bag End, leaving the Gaffer again. But Mr. Frodo had always been kind; he wouldn’t of gone off like that with Sam if he hadn’t of had to. And the Gaffer could see what Sam couldn’t--that Mr. Frodo wanted for Sam to have a better life than to just be a servant. Some folks might think Mr. Frodo was having Sam and Rosie there to do for him, but the Gaffer knew better. He knew what was in Mr. Frodo’s heart.

All those years trying to teach Samwise not to get above his station, and he’d gone and done it anyway, without any trying, just by being his own sweet self, and being loyal to his master. “It’s an ill-wind as blows nobody any good--but the ill wind that had blown on Mr. Frodo, now, that was a sad one. And it was going to blow a lot of good Sam’s way, and Sam would rue every bit of it, if it lost him his master. A good and fitting thing that he had Rosie. She’d make him a good wife, and sooth away the sorrow sure to come.