CHAPTER 71

Freddy, Beri and Jolly were sharing the tent of the Gondorians; Rolly, Denny and Mosco were sharing that of the Rohirrim. Merry and Pippin had chosen to sleep outside by the fire, and right now, Pippin was keeping watch with Borondir. Legolas and Gimli were also sleeping under the stars, though right now they were not asleep. Freddy could hear their voices, low, as they talked quietly by the campfire. He turned his head, and could see Artamir and Adrahil, silent in their blankets on the other side of the tent. Just beyond them was the small form of Bergil, who slept hard, as the young often do.

Tomorrow night, they would do this at Frogmorton, and the next night they would camp just the other side of the Brandywine Bridge. He knew what was keeping him awake. It was his fear of disgracing himself when they crossed the bridge. He wondered why he had offered to do this, but a movement of his hand, and he touched Folco’s flute.

That was why he had to leave the Shire for a while. He had to deal with his grief for Folco.

Especially if he ever wanted to offer Angelica anything like a normal life.

He turned over again. This was ridiculous. He could stay here pretending to sleep. Or he could get up, go outside, and have a pipe.

Pippin and Legolas turned quickly the instant he set foot from the tent, and Borondir already had his hand on his sword. Freddy shook his head, as he padded over to them. “I wish my reflexes had been that swift during the Troubles. Sharkey’s Men might never have caught us and put us in the Lockholes,” he said, speaking softly.

“Can’t sleep?” asked Pippin.

“No. I’m afraid I never really got used to camping, even when I had to.” Freddie’s voice was rueful. He envied Pippin and Merry the hardness and skills they had learned while away. He really had been unprepared for what he had needed to do during the Rebellion. Maybe he’d learn a bit of that himself now, though hopefully there‘d be no need for it ever again.

Merry rolled over; he had not yet gone to sleep either, he’d been listening to his comrades’ quiet voices, and remembering the Quest, the early days, in Hollin, before things had become quite so dire, when they still had Gandalf by their side, and they were all alive and together. He felt a little knot of unaccustomed misery in the pit of his stomach. He knew what the problem was: he didn’t want them to leave.

Especially Legolas and Gimli.

This was ridiculous. He was no seven-year-old, to cry and carry on as though the world were coming to an end because his favorite cousin was abandoning him. With a frustrated sigh he sat up.

Pippin glanced his way. “Are we keeping you awake, Mer?”

“No,” he said, “I’m keeping me awake. I’d rather be talking than sleeping.”

So he sat there also, and took out his pipe. And they talked. They talked of Rivendell and Hollin and Caradhras, but not of Moria. They talked of the Golden Wood, and the great river Anduin, but not of Parth Galen. And they talked of Ents and Fangorn and Helm’s Deep, and a picnic in the ruins of Orthanc, but not of a palantír, nor the Paths of the Dead, nor the Witch-King. And they spoke of Aragorn and Boromir and Gandalf and Éowyn and Théoden and Faramir--but not of Denethor. And sometimes they laughed softly, and sometimes their voices were wistful.

Freddy and Borondir listened, and asked the occasional question. Finally, Borondir looked at the sky.

“It is past time that I wake Leodwald for his watch,” he said, getting stiffly to his feet. No one told him that it was not necessary, since they were all awake. This was the way of things, and it was time for the watch to change. Freddy yawned, and so did Merry. Pippin’s head had begun to droop.

And so all finally sought their rest, save Legolas, who simply sat and looked at the stars, and Leodwald, who came out to take his watch.

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Freddy surprised himself by waking early. Of course, in the small tent, it would have been difficult to sleep anyway, once everyone had begun to stir. He went out to find everyone moving about; at the campfire, Danulf was preparing breakfast: porridge, tea, fruit, bread. It was meager enough by hobbit standards, but quite good enough for a first breakfast.

Knowing they would be traveling now with as many as a dozen hobbits, Targon and Éothain had consulted with Merry, Pippin and Frodo about the best way to deal with the matter of meals.

The truth was, they were going to need a great deal of provender to adequately feed that many hobbits, and there was no way to keep stopping for meals every two hours, or they would never get to Gondor.

Merry had suggested they purchase extra pack ponies, and carry a great deal of extra food; he had also mentioned the idea of storing up on food that could be eaten in the hand, and carried on the saddle for easy access, such things as fruit and bread and dried meat, so that the hobbits could simply snack as they rode. It was a method that Merry and Pippin had used frequently to speed their own journey on the way home, and also when they traveled about the Shire clearing out the ruffians after they had returned home. This would work fine for the delegation and the healers. The prisoners, who would be riding pillion with the Men, would simply have to make do with three meals a day. Pippin felt sorry for them; Merry did not, but there was no practical way to feed them extra.

Of course, before they left the Shire, there was no problem--local hobbits felt honored to gift the visitors with various foodstuffs.

Saradoc had sent a message to Buckland, and extra ponies and provisions had been purchased. They would pick them up at the Brandywine Bridge.

In next to no time the Men had broken camp. They were careful to leave everything as they had found it, even to replacing the turves of grass they had cut away to build the fire.

Soon they were all mounted and ready to set forth. The prisoners were brought forward and placed behind the Men they were riding with. All four of them looked wan and fearful. As before, Merry and Pippin placed themselves at the forefront of the procession. Several other hobbits heading homeward would be joining them for the ride to Frogmorton, which was as far as they planned to go for today. This included Merry’s and Pippin’s parents and Frodo , and Mosco’s father Milo, and Odovocar Bolger-- but not Rosemary and Estella, who would be riding home in a carriage, and had doubtless left already. Rosemary wished to get to Budgeford first, as Paladin, Eglantine and Frodo would be staying with the Bolgers at Brock Hall. Saradoc and Esmeralda would be staying with Milo and Peony in Frogmorton.

Soon they rode down the Hill, and as they did, they were surrounded by crowds of well-wishing local hobbits.

The procession came to the gate where the path led up from the Road to Bag End, and they were surprised to see Sam and Rose standing there, so early in the morning the day after the wedding. But they came forward, greeting Frodo, Merry and Pippin, and the others in turn. Rose stopped by her brother Jolly’s pony, and he reached down to squeeze her hands.

“I’ll be home in a year, Rosie-lass,” he said.

“See that you are, little brother.” This was her tease of him, as she was some five minutes the elder. She kissed his hand.

Their real destination was Arod. Legolas and Gimli dismounted. Sam threw himself against them with a sob, and Rose herself had tears in her eyes.

“I’m that sorry to see you go, Mr. Legolas and Mr. Gimli,” said Sam, finally drawing back and wiping his eyes. “We’ll miss you sorely.”

Gimli squeezed Sam back sturdily and patted him on the back. “I know, laddie, as we will you. But we will return for other visits.”

“See that you do,” said Rose.

Legolas enfolded both the newlyweds in his long arms. “I wish you all the happiness you deserve, mellon nin,” he said. Looking Sam in the eye, the Elf said “Watch out for Frodo, Sam, though I do not need to say it to you of all people. And watch out for yourself as well.” He looked at Rose. “Mistress Rose, I know that you will take good care of our Samwise.” He dropped a kiss on her brow. “I name you also elf-friend, Rose.”

Her eyes widened in wonder, and speechless, she watched the two of them mount once more.

They stood by the gate and waved until the procession had moved out of sight.

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The ride to Frogmorton did not take too long. They arrived in time for luncheon, and discovered that the local hobbitry had prepared the area for them to set up camp, and had prepared a fine picnic as well.

There was a great deal of booing and hissing as the prisoners were handed down. Ill-feeling ran high in the Frogmorton-Budgeford area against them, as this was where Folco Boffin had been murdered. Lacking Lotho or Sandyman to take out their ire on, these collaborators were considered the next best thing.

Targon ordered a tent erected immediately, for the prisoners to be placed in, so they would be out of sight. As had been the case ever since Clovis had attacked Cado, the older Banks brother was tied and placed away from the other three. Remembering the gag of the day before, he kept his mouth shut. Adrahil and Anwynd drew guard duty.

The rest of the campsite was quickly erected, and the festive luncheon began. Peony Burrows had organized it and she soon had everyone well situated.

Peony sought out Poppy, who was finishing her tea, along with a strawberry tart.

“Poppy,” she said, quietly “are you sure you cannot be persuaded out of this?”

“Perfectly sure, dear. The chance to bring back new healing knowledge to the Shire cannot be passed up. But you know, Mosco did not have to offer to come along and keep an eye on me. I shall do perfectly well among all these strong Men, and with our other hobbits as well.”

Peony shook her head. “You gave my lad the excuse he needed. But he’s craved a bit of excitement ever since he saw Meriadoc and Peregrin toss the ruffians out. He’s eager to see some of the things they saw.”

Poppy laughed ruefully. “Let us hope that he does not see even half the things they saw. Some of their experiences will lay heavily on them for the rest of their lives. But there is no need now to fear that for Mosco; we have a King now, who keeps the peace.”

After the meal ended, Merry decided to escort his aunt, uncle, and Frodo to Brock Hall; Odovocar and Freddy also rode with them. It would give Freddy one more visit with his parents, and Merry another chance to be with Estella.

Merry and Estella had talked with Freddy, and promised not to set their betrothal until he came home. He felt a bit guilty about that, as he could see how much in love they were. But Merry thought that Estella would feel sad if her beloved brother couldn’t be at her side for such an important event in her life. And so even though it made him feel guilty, it also made him feel gratified as well. For he should be sorry to miss it.

Merry pulled Stybba back to fall in alongside Freddy. “Are you going to stay the night with your parents?”

“No,” he answered, “I’ll return to camp after tea, I think. I started last night as I’m meant to go forward. If I spend a night in my own bed, I’m not sure I could be tempted to sleep on the ground again.” He laughed ruefully.

“Are you very worried about crossing the River tomorrow?” Merry asked, concern on his face. He knew that the River had panicked Freddy before.

Freddy nodded. “A bit. But I think that I will skip breakfast in the morning. If I don’t have anything in my stomach, I can’t disgrace myself by losing it.”

“Maybe Poppy can give you a calming draught?”

“No!” Freddy’s tone was sharp. “Sorry. But I had enough of those after--” he took a deep breath “--after Folco. I’d rather suffer the River than have that numb feeling again.”

“I’ll ride with you as we cross.” Merry still felt troubled. The Brandywine was only the first and most familiar of the waters his friend would have to cross over the next few months. He hoped, and believed, that Freddy had the strength to endure it, but he could not help but worry some.

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Saradoc had enjoyed his luncheon, and was now sitting with the envoys, talking a bit about the King, and what the embassy could expect at court in Gondor. The Master was amused to hear of some of the formalities of the Gondorian court, when he thought of the things he had heard from his son and his nephew about the King. He thought that much of that would sit ill with the Man who had once been called Strider, though obviously he was up to coping with it. A shame. Being a King did not sound like much fun.

“Master Brandybuck?”

Saradoc was surprised at the familiar voice, and looked up to see old Chico Chubb there. Standing next to him with his eyes on the ground stood Gil Chubb. Well, well, well.

Saradoc stood to face the head of the Chubb clan. “Yes, Chico, how may I help you?”

The elderly hobbit gave a glare to the younger one alongside him. “Gil here has something he wishes to say to you.” He elbowed him sharply.

“Uh, Master Brandybuck, it seems that I spoke out of turn the last time you was here. I--uh--I have to apologize for what I said.” He looked down at his toes, humiliated at being treated like an insolent tweenager.

Saradoc nodded magnanimously. “It seems so, Mr. Chubb. Shall I also convey your apologies to the Thain and the Deputy Mayor?”

“Yes, sir, if you would, sir.” That was a relief. Since Thain Paladin and Frodo Baggins were not here, he was afraid old Cousin Chico was going to make him apologize twice over. He looked up at his cousin, who gave him a nod of dismissal.

Chico gave a little laugh. “I have told him to put a curb on his tongue, and since it will not stay there when it is lubricated, I have also told his cousins to stand him no more ales. He can’t afford to get tipsy very often on his own.”

Saradoc chuckled. As Master of Buckland and head of the Brandybucks, he’d had to take similar measures himself from time to time, and said so. Targon and Éothain stared.

The Gondorian shook his head. “You hobbits are amazing. On the one hand you hardly seem to govern yourselves at all, and yet on the other, you wield even more authority over some things than a king.”

“It’s part of being family,” said Saradoc. “A king, if I understand aright, has some limits as to what he can ask folk to do. A father does not. And the head of the family is the father of the family.”

Saradoc invited Chico to sit with them, and they began to chat once more.

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After tea, Merry and Estella were walking in the back garden at Brock Hall. Rosamunda sat on a bench by the door, pretending to read a book.

“Are you going to tell her?” asked Merry.

“That we’ve agree to a betrothal when Fatty comes home?” She nodded. “Do you want to be with me when I do?”

Merry thought of Rosamunda’s sharp and calculating gaze, and quailed inside, but he gamely said, “If you want me too.”

Estella laughed. “Poor Merry! I’ll spare you my mother’s inquisition!”

Just then, Merry heard Freddy calling him. “Are you and your parents coming to see Freddy off in the morning?”

Estella nodded. “It will be our last chance to see him for a year. And it would only be polite to escort our cousins back, as well.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, then.” He lifted her hand, and gave the back of it a kiss, before they headed to join Fredegar.

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No hobbits among the delegation had more studiously ignored the prisoners than Denny and Rolly Banks. The two young hobbits had been quiet, listening to the talk of the other members of the embassy, and they had more or less attached themselves to Berilac, who was familiar to them as Master Brandybuck’s nephew.

Clodio, as the former head of their family, was all too aware of who they were, and why they were a part of all this. That a family of *bridgetenders* would be replacing his line as head of the Bankses was humiliating. But perhaps, knowing them, he could use it to his advantage.

As the brothers strolled past the prisoners, Clodio called out: “You know, you are going to make fools of yourselves among your betters if you do not take my advice!”

The two paused very briefly, their backs stiffened. Rolly’s head almost turned, but Denny gave a pull on his younger brother’s arm, and they moved on.

Clodio smiled. At least he had seen a reaction.

His satisfaction was short lived. Dago elbowed him. “What do you think you’re playing at? Nothing you do is going to erase these Marks on our hands, or get us back to the Shire any sooner. And you’ll never be head of your family again.”

Banks deflated. Bracegirdle was right. Nothing was of any use at all.

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