Chapter 7 - Far and Wide

26 Rethe

Pippin’s appetite returned just in time for breakfast. He was famished and would have torn into his meal if not for Merry. His friend was only picking at his food now, not even pretending to eat. There were also bags under his eyes and Pippin knew his friend had not slept much during the night. He tried to get Merry to eat something, even offered to let him win if they raced to see who could finish first. Merry only ate a couple of small nibbles to humor his friend before picking at his food once more, and he didn’t speak a single word throughout the meal.

Pippin was at a loss of what to do. There were no happy anecdotes or silly songs to remedy their current situation, and Merry’s despair was starting to wear on the young Took. He relied on Merry’s practicality and good humor to get them through nearly every bad situation they have ever been landed in the past. To now see his cousin wearied with fear made Pippin’s own fears come to the surface and they were nearly suffocating. Pippin tried to be hopeful for the both of them, but he simply did not have Merry’s tenacity.

He looked up from his own half-full plate and caught his uncle watching them. Saradoc nodded his acknowledgement of the problem, but he would have to wait to speak to Merry. Right now, he was busy finalizing the search route for today with Milo and Porto.

They were entering land they had not searched before, and they would have to pay closer attention. They would keep the line to a mile wide; Saradoc did not want any possible clues overlooked. Now that the sun was up and the water was receding, it would make footprints and other such clues easier to find, should any remain. This should help speed up their search somewhat, and he figured they would be able to reach their halfway mark by late afternoon and travel a few miles further before stopping for the evening. On top of that, the lands in this part of Buckland were largely flat, open plains and would cause no hang ups, unlike yesterday when they were searching through homesteads, groves and hillsides.

After breakfast, they broke camp and set out once more. Saradoc convinced Merry to drive the pony trap for the morning. It was a testament to Merry’s exhaustion that he didn’t protest or insist on walking. Pippin took the position closest to him on his right, and Berilac walked on his left. They were both worried about Merry and wanted to stay as close to him as possible throughout the day should he nod off or need assistance.

They had camped near Frodo’s boulder on Hay Field and within half an hour they came upon the Hedge. They turned south and continued on for another half hour before finally coming upon a solitary bounder, who was riding slowly north. The bounder greeted them pleasantly and the group took a brief break while Saradoc spoke with him.

The bounder confirmed that he had heard word of the search at midday yesterday, and he had already passed the word on to the southern bounders. In fact, he was just coming back from that very task.

“What about the increase in numbers that was ordered?” Saradoc asked. He was concerned that they had camped all night within sight of the Hedge and marched so long this morning before coming across this lone guard. That his brother was the one who actually ordered the increase made little difference to him. Merimac’s orders were as good as his own in this regard and he wanted to know why they weren’t being followed.

The bounder bowed his head apologetically. “We put the call out, Master Saradoc, but volunteers are in short supply right now, as you can imagine. Folk are busy looking to their own affairs due to the storm. We are making sure everyone knows about your cousin though. I reckon they know clear down in Haysend by now, sir.”

“Thank you,” Saradoc said and dismissed the bounder back to his duties.

Unfortunately, the bounder had a point about hobbits not volunteering as readily as they normally would, but Saradoc was not discouraged. The word had gone out and that was the main thing, for in the Shire there was nothing more powerful than a juicy rumor. He would not be surprised to reach Haysend and find the town already searched three times over.

They pushed forward another mile before turning west, back towards the farmlands. They figured the best way to search their section was to zigzag back and forth until they reached their destination. That way, they would leave no area unchecked by accident or check the same area more than once. Saradoc wanted to avoid all possible delays.  

They rested at noon to take luncheon, and Saradoc chose this moment to speak with Merry. He found his son tending to the ponies, giving them food and water. Saradoc handed him a water skin and Merry accepted it gratefully. When Merry was handed a plate of food, however, he refused it.

“I’m not hungry,” he insisted. He picked up a currycomb and began brushing the first pony’s mane.

“Yes you are, Merry,” Saradoc replied sternly. “I know your appetite, and more than that I know you.” He reached over and stayed his son’s hand. Gently, he turned his son to face him and regarded him with worried eyes. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

Merry shrugged, avoiding his father’s gaze as best he could. “An hour, maybe two.”

“You must rest Merry. We cannot afford to have you falling asleep on your feet,” Saradoc said. He lifted his son’s face. When Merry at last met his gaze, Saradoc saw there the same worry and fear he had seen so many times when Merry was but a child and Frodo would disappear. He remembered that Merry would have difficulty sleeping then as well.

“How can I rest, Father?” Merry asked. “Frodo’s out there somewhere. He needs our help.”

“And what help will you be to him if you cannot even keep your eyes open?” Saradoc reasoned. “Frodo is not the only one who needs you now, and he may not even need you at all. But Pippin does. He depends on you, son. He looks to you for strength and courage. You must set the example. If he sees you fall apart, he’ll lose heart, and I know you do not want that to happen.”

Merry nodded. “Of course I don’t. It’s just every time I close my eyes I see my worst nightmares come to life.” His face went even paler than it was already, but whatever his nightmares were he kept them to himself. Saradoc thought he could guess anyway.

Then something flickered in his son’s face, a sudden dawning or realization. He kept this to himself also, but he looked at his father with a scrutiny Saradoc knew only too well. Merry had put something together, or was beginning to, and he did not like what he saw. Saradoc prepared himself for an argument, but disagreement was not what Merry had in mind.

“We must find him, Father. Tell me we’ll find him,” he said and it sounded almost like a challenge.

“We will leave no inch of Buckland unturned,” Saradoc replied. He regretted he could make no better promise than that. He desperately wanted to reassure Merry that he could give him what was asked for, but he could not.

Merry accepted this with a heavy heart. Long ago when he was still a child, he thought his father capable of anything. He even fancied him more powerful than the wizard Gandalf. Only when he reached his tweens did he come to the humbling realization that his father was merely mortal and limited in his abilities. Yet now, as he stood exhausted against the pony trap with a search party surrounding him and sitting to a meager meal, he wished he was again just a child whose father could always make everything right as it should be.

Merry knew he could never go back to that blind innocence and it pained him. That he now suspected there was something his father was not telling him did not help him to feel any less adrift. What had his father meant that Frodo may not need their help? How could he not assure him that Frodo would be found? Unless his father didn’t believe Frodo to be in Buckland. Then why were they searching here at all? And why send Merimac over the River? He lowered his gaze to the ground again while he puzzled over these questions.

Saradoc, mistaking the gesture for renewed despair, placed a supportive hand upon his son’s shoulder and squeezed it briefly. He had an example of his own to set. “Only those who know what the future holds have right to despair. We do not know what may come, and so we shall continue to hope. You will have something to eat, whether you’re hungry or not, and you will continue to drive the cart for the rest of today. Tonight, you will sleep. Your nightmares only chase you because you run away from them. We will face them together if need be.”

“Yes Father,” Merry said complacently as a way to end the conversation. He stepped out of his father’s grasp and took the proffered plate, then went to sit with Pippin and the other lads. He greeted them pleasantly and asked Berilac how he was faring. His cousin must be worrying about his own father.

Saradoc watched his son, glad to see him eating at last, yet he worried now about something else. He knew that look Merry had given him earlier and he had heard that appeasing tone before. His son was planning something. Saradoc would have to watch him carefully.  

They continued their march after their meal. When they reached the proximity of the farmlands, they turned about, back toward the Hedge again. They ate a midday snack while traveling and did not stop again until nightfall. Camping again within sight of the Hedge, the lads set up camp and left the ponies free to graze as the elders cooked some meat and vegetables for supper.

During the meal, they speculated on how the other groups were doing in their searches. Many believed that Frodo did not come this way at all. Either that, or all traces had been washed away by the rain. Porto was certain one of the other groups, most possibly one of the northern parties, had already found him and a messenger would be waiting with the good news when they reached Haysend.

Merry was not so hopeful. He put on a brave face for Pippin’s sake, but he was beginning to suspect that Frodo would not be found, not anywhere they were looking at any rate, nor anywhere else in the Shire. He suspected his father knew this also but was refraining from saying so. His father did not want him to worry more than was necessary. Merry shook his head, infuriated that his father still tended to treat him like a child when things became serious. Well, if Saradoc would not speak, there was one other person he could turn to who would tell him the truth if he knew it.

Merry waited until after supper to make his move. The lads were sitting around the campfire telling stories of other happier expeditions while the elders stood over the map by the cart. Merry finished cleaning the cookware and walked over to his cousins.

“Berilac,” he said, interrupting his friend who was in the middle of describing a fishing trip he and his father had taken down the Brandywine last year.

Berilac looked up, surprised to hear his cousin address him by his proper name. “Yes, Merry? What do you need?”

“May I have a word with you?” Merry said. Without waiting for an answer, he strolled from the fire and stopped near the grazing ponies. Berilac had no choice but to follow.

“What’s this about, Merry?” he asked once he caught up.

Merry turned to him, a determined look on his pale face. “You spoke with Uncle Mac before he left?” Merry asked.

“I did,” Berilac answered cautiously, suddenly suspecting where this was going.

“He told you what he, Mother and Father talked about?” Merry continued.

“Only briefly. He was in a hurry to leave.”

“But you know what they spoke of, what was said between them,” Merry pressed. “Please Berilac, what did he say? I must know.”

Berilac looked at him doubtfully. His father had not forbidden him from sharing the information he had heard the other night, but Berilac knew instinctively not to go blabbing. Folk would come up with their own decisions and opinions in their own time. When they did start whispering, it would do no good to have them support those opinions with self-righteous edicts of ‘and the Master agrees with me.’

He was surprised though to discover that Merry did not know what had been spoken of that night, and this made him reluctant to say anything. If Saradoc had wanted Merry to know, then his uncle would have told him. Berilac said something similar to this now. “Maybe you should ask Uncle Sara first.”

Merry shook his head in agitation. “He would have already told me if he was intending to. Please Berry, you’re the only one I can rely on.”

Berilac still looked hesitant and cast a glance over his shoulder to where Saradoc was standing with the other fellows. He looked back at Merry and shook his head ever so slightly. Merry gritted his teeth, feeling he might snap at any moment if he didn’t learn something soon.

He tried a different approach. “Come on, ole Ber, how many secrets have I stolen for you? How many times have we helped each other out of a tight spot? Are you going to tell me that now, when it matters most, you’re going to turn away from me?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Berilac said, wounded by his cousin’s words.

It was true that they spent much of their time together, though they were nowhere near as close as Merry was to Pippin or Frodo. Still, Berilac was next in line after Merry for the Mastership of Buckland, and he saw it as his duty to back up Merry and help him in any way he could. Usually, this meant collaborating with him one of his many pranks (unless Pippin was around to preoccupy him), but it also meant they were tutored together and went on rounds of the farm fields together and spent many hours discussing how they would do things differently when they ran the Hall.

He looked at Merry and tried again to state his reasoning. “I meant that if Uncle didn’t tell you yet, there is a reason.”

“Berilac, you’re far too practical. Sometimes, you have to throw reason to the wind and go with your heart,” Merry said. “You won’t let me stumble around in the dark, will you?”

So Berilac at last told him of their parents’ debate and his father’s verdict. He went through his father’s analysis of Frodo’s disappearance with perfect accuracy. Merry nodded, taking it all in, as a sickening feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. He looked back over the last few days with Frodo, scrutinizing them from every possible angle. In a strange way, Merimac’s conclusion made incredible sense. It made much more sense than Frodo simply running out in a rainstorm and getting lost at any rate.

When Berilac concluded his recount, he returned to the lads and resumed his story, but Merry stayed with the ponies. He was thinking hard, making his plans. He knew now what he must do and he would not be swayed.  

27 Rethe

Merry managed to sleep, if somewhat fitfully, between Pippin and Saradoc. His dreams troubled him even more than the previous night. While the news he learned from Berilac may have spurred him into action, it also aggravated his fears for Frodo and he dreamed many horrible things about his cousin’s fate. At some point during the night he woke to find that Pippin had reached out in his own sleep and taken Merry’s hand. Merry squeezed his friend’s hand gratefully and itched a little closer to Pippin for the comfort his young cousin provided. He closed his eyes and regretfully drifted back to dark dreams.

He woke in the morning to find the camp already awake. His father was standing with Milo and Marmadas, once again pointing at his map. Porto, Mosco and Merimas were cooking while Berilac and Gordibrand readied the ponies. Pippin still lay next to him, but he was awake now and was watching him thoughtfully. Merry smiled weakly and tiredly. “Good morning, Pip.”

“What did you talk to Berry about last night?” Pippin asked, cutting straight to the point. He had watched their conversation from the campfire and could tell that the exchange had been serious. He had tried to get Berilac to tell him last night what they had spoken of, but Berilac had refused to say anything and turned in early. Merry had also avoided him when he had lain down to sleep, but Pippin was not going to let his cousin evade him any longer.

“Nothing,” Merry lied after an obvious hesitation. He was caught off guard by Pippin’s question, though he really should have seen it coming. He sat up now and stretched his arms, avoiding any further eye contact.

“Don’t lie to me Merry,” Pippin said. “What did you talk about? It was about Frodo, I’m certain. Do I have to remind you that you’re honor-bound to include me whenever it involves Frodo?”

“Of course not,” Merry said, irritated. Why did Pippin always have to remember everything he said? He looked up and saw his father beckoning them to the campfire; breakfast was ready. He stood up and helped Pippin to stand as well. “A pact is a pact after all. I’ll explain later.”

They sat to the simple meal and Pippin was relieved to see his friend eat without any prodding. He noticed also that Merry had a strange mixture of resigned acceptance and stubborn determination in his expression and posture, where yesterday had been only despair. This lifted Pippin’s spirits immeasurably, but he wondered what the change meant.

He had first noticed a change in Merry after his talk with Saradoc, but then there had been only contemplation, confusion and a hint of anger. Not until Merry spoke with Berilac did the determination show in the set of his shoulders. Now Merry sat munching thoughtfully on his breakfast and staring into the fire with a calculating expression. Pippin could almost see the wheels turning in his friend’s head and he knew that Merry was planning something drastic, though what or why he did not know. He would have to keep a close eye and make sure Merry kept to his word about telling him what this was all about.  

The farmlands that made up the western border of their section grew in number and size the further south they traveled. As such, the lands they were searching narrowed to a couple of miles wide where it ran along the Hedge towards the river. Even with the decreasing width of the open plains, they still had another ten square miles to search before reaching Haysend at nightfall.

Time passed slowly and quietly under clear blue skies. The sun was warm and by mid-day they were obliged to remove their cloaks and overcoats to remain comfortable. The ground beneath their feet was still damp, though thankfully no longer muddy. The water had receded, in these lands at any rate, claimed by the earth. New sprouts of wildflowers dotted the fields in a brilliant array of color, and for a while the company forgot their purpose as they appreciated the beauty surrounding them. Merimas and Gordibrand even found a raspberry bush and plucked several handfuls of the sweet, juicy fruit to share with everyone.

Pippin marched, lost in thoughts of his own. As far as he was concerned, Frodo was still in the Shire somewhere. The way he understood it, Frodo had run from the Hall, for a currently unknown reason, and somehow became lost in the storm. Or hurt. Or both. Even if they did not find him, someone else would. They were searching Buckland high and low after all; there was little fear that Frodo would not eventually be discovered in whatever ditch he had inadvertently fallen into. With any luck they would reach Haysend and find Frodo waiting for them there, picked up by one of the other groups. Or most likely, he would have been taken back to Brandy Hall immediately, since he would be injured and possibly ill. In which case, there would be a messenger waiting in town for them when they arrived. Assuming this would be the outcome, he could not even fathom what it was Merry could possibly be planning.

Unless Saradoc and Berilac had told Merry something different. Pippin knew that Merimac had crossed the River to raise the alarm over there. Perhaps Merry now believed that Frodo may have gone home after all and he was planning to go to Bag End once they returned to Brandy Hall. No, Pippin shook his head. That didn’t make any sense at all. Why would Frodo go home and not tell them? They could have gone with him to spend the rest of their visit in Hobbiton if Frodo had truly been that miserable at the Hall.

Maybe Merry thought that Frodo had just played a prank on them? But that didn’t sound like something Frodo would do. Frodo was more likely to hide in a storage closet and jump out at them when they were walking past or, he remembered with a grin, pretend to overstuff your traveling pack and watch you struggle under the imagined extra weight. Not only that, but Frodo’s mild pranks had nothing to do with Saradoc and Berilac. Pippin shook his head again; he would give himself a headache at this rate.

To add to his frustration, his stomach chose that moment to start grumbling softly for something to digest. Pippin popped the last of his raspberries into his mouth, but this did little to help. They soon passed another bush, this one of blueberries, but no fruit yet grew upon it, or else it had been plucked bare already. His stomach was not pleased to see this and grumbled, unsatisfied. He placed an impatient hand over his belly to silence it. He couldn’t count the number of times in the last few days he had been hungry, but he never complained. If anything, it made him more determined to find Frodo as quickly as possible. His friend needed food more urgently than did any of them.

Pippin took a long drink from his water skin, hoping that would be enough to satisfy his hunger until luncheon, then went back to watching Merry from the corner of his eye.  

They stopped for luncheon in the shade of the Hedge. The land here started slopping downward at a shallow angle to a valley below. Far into the distance they could see the Road, and just beyond that they could glimpse the Brandywine River as it snaked its way south through the land. Just a short distance to the south sat the town of Haysend, from here no more than a cluster of tiny dots on the land. Their journey was almost over.

Marmadas and Milo took their turn to cook while Merry and Pippin refilled the water skins at a small creek created by the rain water. Merry took this opportunity to speak in hushed whispers with Pippin. He knew better than to try to exclude Pippin from his plans and he would need his friend’s help at any rate if he wanted to succeed.

He looked around to make sure no one was standing close enough to overhear them, then leaned toward his friend in confidence. “I’m going after Frodo,” he said.

Pippin paused, a look of utter confusion on his face. “What do you mean?” he asked. Isn’t that what they were doing already?

“I mean, we’re never going to find Frodo where we’ve been looking. Father knows it, though he doesn’t want to admit it. Berry explained it all to me last night. Frodo’s left the Shire. When we get to Haysend, I’m leaving the group. I’m going after him.”

“You’re not making any sense, Merry,” Pippin said, his mind whirling from what he had just heard. How could Merry entertain such thoughts? This was much worse than Pippin had imagined.

Merry went over everything Berilac had told him, and brought up some other evidence of his own. “Those rocks he gave us. Why would he give them to us now, of all times? They were a parting gift, don’t you see? He knows how much I like chess and that I’ve been teaching you to play. He wanted to give us something to remember him by. Well, I for one am not letting him slip away that easily. We’ll have to leave as soon as we reach the town if we are to have any hope of catching him. We’ve already lost four days.”

Pippin stared bewilderedly at his cousin, trying to take everything in. Merry was talking like a mad hobbit. He shook his head. “But Merry, what if Frodo’s at Brandy Hall already? We can’t leave until we know for certain. You know your father will stop us if we leave now anyway. He’ll never give us permission. And we can’t just sneak off, not after doing all this to look for Frodo,” he reasoned. He was desperate to keep Merry from riding past the Hedge into unknown territory. Men, wolves and trolls lived out there somewhere, and he didn’t want anything to happen to Merry just because his friend had some silly notion that Frodo had taken off on purpose.

The way Pippin saw it, there were two holes in Merimac’s conclusion. The first was the one Esmeralda had pointed out. Frodo would have told someone, plain and simple, if he was intending to leave. The second was the thought that Frodo had somehow managed to pack a travel bag and stow it somewhere. Pippin had peeked very briefly into the bedroom window at Bag End while Frodo was packing the morning they left for Buckland. The sight had been extremely comical. He had no doubt that they would still be at Bag End this very moment if Sam had not gone inside to help. He told this to Merry now.

Merry nodded distractedly. He admired Pippin’s innocence and hopefulness, but those would not help them now. Frodo was gone, that could be the only explanation. The more time they wasted, the further out of their reach he would get. Merry knew it would take some convincing to get his father to let them go, but he would go without permission if need be. He noted that Pippin had said ‘we’ which encouraged him, for he was terribly frightened about leaving the Shire. Knowing that his friend would be there with him no matter what helped him to feel brave.

“How can you be certain he left from here anyway, assuming he did leave?” Pippin asked suddenly, breaking into Merry’s thoughts.

Merry had a perfectly logical answer for this. “He would have been seen for certain if he had gone through the Bridge Gate, so he didn’t go north. He couldn’t have gone east because of the High Hay, and he wouldn’t want to go through the Old Forest by himself. That leaves south. It would also be the way we would be less likely to assume he had gone. He doesn’t know the southern regions at all.”

“Where do we look? How do we catch up with him?” Pippin asked, trying again to dissuade Merry at least long enough to go back to Brandy Hall. Why did Merry always have to have an answer to everything?

“Unless Father physically restrains us, he can’t prevent us from going. He’ll see the reason in that. We can restock our supplies in Haysend and we can borrow a couple of the ponies. These carts only require two ponies to haul them. We brought three in case we needed to send a messenger back to the Hall for some reason. That leaves three ponies free once all the groups come together, one for each of us and one for Frodo when we find him. He’ll be on foot, so it will only be a matter of time before we catch up with him,” Merry explained. “As for where Frodo went, I think that would be east. He always felt that was the way Bilbo went and he would want to follow the old rascal if he can,” Merry finished.

He noticed Porto motioning for them to come and eat. Their break was almost over. They finished filling the water skins and stood up. “We’ll work everything out once we get to Haysend,” he promised in a quiet whisper as he picked up his half of the skins and started walking back towards the group.  

Only as soon as they reached the outskirts of Haysend in the early twilight hours, they were immediately approached by one of the leaders of the other two search parties. Both companies were present and camping already and it didn’t take them long to notice the arrival of Saradoc’s group.

“Master Saradoc,” the hobbit called. He was a Greenbanks by name and a fisherhobbit by occupation. His group had searched between the banks of the Brandywine and Buckland Road, and had been the first to arrive at the town this morning. “We were hoping you would show up today.”

“What have you found?” Saradoc asked, too tired to bother with pleasantries.

The group waited anxiously, suddenly hopeful, and Pippin said a silent thanks. This sounded promising, and now he and Merry would not have to go traipsing through all of Middle-earth on a reckless errand.

But Greenbanks shook his head and lowered his voice. “Will you come with me, sir?” he said quietly, so that only Saradoc could hear. “I have someone who wishes to speak with you.” Greenbaks led Saradoc past the center camp and towards his own. At the edge of this camp stood a hobbit, unknown to them all.

“He must be a local,” Marmadas said, and the others nodded, perplexed.

They watched as Saradoc approached the hobbit and shook his hand. The hobbit was twisting a hat in his right hand and he kept bowing nervously as he spoke. Every once in a while, Greenbanks would jump in to say something, then Saradoc would say something, then the nervous hobbit would start twisting his hat and bowing again. This went on for some time. Finally, Saradoc himself bowed and the nervous hobbit left the camp in the direction of the lane leading into town. Saradoc stayed and spoke with Greenbanks for several minutes, then the leader of the third group joined them and they all spoke some more. At long last, Saradoc took his leave and returned to his own group, his face grave and ashen.

“What’s going on, Sara?” asked Milo. “Did they have word of Frodo?”

Saradoc said nothing for many long moments. Then he breathed deeply and said in a hoarse voice, “Set up camp. We leave for Brandy Hall at daybreak.”

The company exchanged many furtive and confused glances amongst themselves. Saradoc rarely evaded answering a direct question, or even an indirect one. Many of them could never remember him ever doing so before. “Sara?” Milo asked again, somewhat reluctantly now.

They waited breathless for several moments before Saradoc answered. “Neither of them found him.”

“But what did that hobbit want, Father?” Merry asked, concerned. He did not like any of this and knew it could not be good news. If his father refused to report the news now, he would have no choice but to return to the Hall with the others to find out what was going on.

Saradoc shook his head. “Get some rest. We will know more when we return to Brandy Hall and hear what the others have to report.” With that, he turned silently and walked alone into the darkness of the night.

To be continued…