Chapter 4. Interlude

Time takes on a fluid quality, flowing as a river, racing while at the same time it moves in slow eddies. The Thain’s life is hurrying to its close even as the agony of his dying stretches, seeming unending, measured by his gasping breaths.

The night lasts forever, but dawn comes all too quickly. We cannot see the dawn, here in this inward room. I feel a pang of regret, that he will spend his last hours without a glimpse of the sky, but it would cause him too much pain to move him now, I think. Indeed, I fear the effort of being moved might cause him to expire on the litter in the corridor, certainly an undignified passing for a Thain, and an undesirable death for any hobbit. Conventional Shire wisdom says that a hobbit should die peacefully, asleep in his bed, after a fine meal and a satisfying smoke. If passing quietly in the night is not an option, then the next best is to be surrounded by loved ones singing until your ears are past hearing.

But I know when dawn has come, for his wife enters. The sleeping draught I ordered for her would have worn off an hour or two ago. I see that she has taken the time to bathe, to freshen herself, to present a shining face and waves of soft, fragrant curls cascading upon her shoulders—she has not bothered to pull her hair back, to have it braided or constrained in a net.

There was a day some years ago, in a quiet moment of an early morning, when I came upon them in a secluded corner of the Thain’s garden. I saw how he delighted to play in her unbound curls, to wind his fingers in her hair, lifting it away from her neck to plant a kiss upon the sheltered skin. I crept away again before they saw me, and stood where I could shoo away other intruders, pretending to select just the perfect roses for the tables in the infirmary. How the infirm hobbits there delight to see the fresh blooms still bedecked with dew!

When they came out of the bower some time later, his eyes were sparkling, and she was flushed and laughing (though she sobered when she saw me, smiled politely and nodded; whilst the corners of his eyes crinkled in a grin), and her hair was properly pinned up, their clothing straight, their appearance as staid as if they’d just come from tea with Mistress Eglantine.

Their early-morning walks came to an end when he was crippled in a coach accident some time ago, but their early-morning love went on, so far as I know. At least, Sandy allowed no visitors to disturb them until an hour or so past dawn... and I know from long acquaintance that our Thain has never been one to lie slug-abed in the dawning.

Not even this dawning... I half-expect his spirit to rise with the Sun, to leave his useless shell behind and fly to the Feast. But no. He has promised his cousin, and he will do all in his power to keep his promise.

Diamond bends to kiss him and he stirs, reaching feebly. Carefully she embraces him, whispering in his ear. When at last his hands sink to the bedcovers, she rises, seats herself carefully on the bed, eases a hand behind him and rests her head upon his shoulder. He turns his face slightly to bury his nose in her hair, and sighs, the smallest ghost of a sigh.

Fennel enters. He raises an eyebrow, I shake my head. Not yet.

I relinquish the Thain’s hand and rise from my chair, drained and weary. Fennel takes my place, takes the Thain’s hand, his fingers on the pulse point. Not a sound passes between us; we will not disturb their silent communion. Fennel nods to me. He will call me if the Thain’s condition changes—when it becomes apparent that it is time for Pippin’s loved ones to gather to bid him farewell.

I move as quietly as I can, creeping from the room to seek a few hours’ rest, if so much time remains...