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A Healer's Tale  by Lindelea

Chapter 12. Interlude

 ‘Thain Peregrin?’ I repeat. The Mistress meets my eyes, dread in her own, before her eyes drop to his chest, to watch for the next breath. Some of the tension leaves her as the breaths continue, spaced apart, certainly, but they continue.

I crouch close, place my lips to his ear, whisper, ‘You’ve changed your mind, then? Regi is to follow you, as the succession would demand?’

The cold fingers twitch in mine, he hitches an extra breath, I hear Diamond whisper his name and when I straighten I see he is struggling to open heavy lids. He blinks; his eyes stare into mine, he gasps, ‘Tell.’

 ‘As you wish, Sir,’ I say. It was all a part of his scheming, this. He left it to the last, to give his plan more chance to succeed. They could scarcely argue him out of it, him with so few breaths left to him. How can they gainsay him his dying wish? In the emotion of the moment, they very well may bind themselves to set aside the succession and honour his final request.

...which is exactly what he hopes will happen.

His eyes continue to stare into mine, and I nod and take a deep breath of my own.

 ‘Thain Peregrin offers you a choice,’ I say. ‘He has charged me to speak for him, but the words are his, not mine. If you wish to argue, you must argue with him.’

The corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. I think he would wink, if the gazes of all in the room were not riveted to his face.

 ‘Who would argue with the succession?’ Ferdi says huskily. He clears his throat and looks to Reginard. ‘The Tooks will accept Regi as Thain without argument.’

 ‘What “choice” do you speak of?’ Isum says, eyeing us shrewdly. He alone seems to have grasped that the succession is not to be the smooth, expected process set by custom and tradition. ‘A choice implies two or more options.’

Pippin nods slightly, to the wonder of all. Not to name Reginard, the next in line, but someone else? Unheard of! I wonder what they will make of the rest of the plan.

Reginard steps forward to kneel by the bed. ‘I’m ready, cousin,’ he says. Creature of duty and tradition that he is, he is lacking only imagination. He will bravely take on the task, even though it break him. He bows his head.

Pippin pulls his hand from mine and lays it on his cousin’s salt-sprinkled head for a long moment. At last, he whispers, ‘I’m sorry, cousin.’

Regi nods, and Pippin’s hand falls away.

 ‘He doesn’t apologise because he lays the burden of the Shire upon your shoulders, Regi,’ I say softly. ‘But because he fears you will misunderstand his intention.’

Regi lifts his head, to look in puzzlement from Pippin to myself. Yes, lacking imagination. A fine follower he is, loyal, steady, brave, he’ll carry out orders with precision and insight. But he cannot see beyond the nose upon his face.

I raise my voice to address all. ‘You have three choices before you,’ I say. ‘None of them to your liking, I warrant. But Thain Peregrin thought it important that you have some choice in the matter. A little sweetening to help you down the bitter draught.’

 ‘Three... choices,’ Regi says carefully. ‘I do not understand.’

 ‘First,’ I say, taking up Pippin’s hand once more, ‘first, for your consideration, is for Faramir to follow his father as Thain. That would be the logical and customary succession, father to son...’

 ‘Aye, if the lad were a score of years older,’ Ferdi says in annoyance. ‘Have you lost your wits? Farry’s much too young to be Thain!’

 ‘Reginard and Ferdibrand would act as his regents until he comes into his majority,’ I continue.

 ‘Unheard of!’ Ferdi sputters, traditionalist that he is, while Regi looks troubled. Isum’s eyes sparkle with grim amusement. Pip has managed to upset the cart of apples, even as he draws his last breath! Farry sits a little straighter; his father has been preparing him for this moment.

 ‘It is how we do things in Buckland,’ Meliloc blurts. Not the most quick-witted of hobbits, that one, though he manages mercurial Pervinca wonderfully. It would have been better not to mention such.

 ‘Buckland!’ Ferdi snorts. ‘Did anything good ever come out of Buckland?’ Impetuous, that one is. He has imagination, fire, and energy, but is lacking in other areas. Together, he and Reginard could prosper Tookland. They complement each other, filling up the corners, or so Pippin observed to me as we talked through the long and wearying nights.

 ‘Ferdi!’ Regi says under his breath, but that hobbit is already apologising to Meliloc, who waves aside the words with a wry smile. As a Brandybuck living amongst the Tooks, his hard work, good humour and ready laugh have brought him gradual acceptance and accolades such as “the lad is practically a Took himself, you know!”

 ‘Or, if you prefer to follow tradition, the succession could be honoured,’ I continue. Regi nods, ready once again to shoulder the burden. ‘However,’ I say, ‘the next Thain would not be Reginard. He is more suited to be Steward than Thain, in Peregrin’s estimation. He has given this much thought, and would have Reginard remain as Steward.’

Stunned, Regi looks to Pippin, who nods once more with a sad smile. Now the reason for the apology comes clear. Pippin fears that Regi will think himself lacking, to be so excluded. ‘...to save you,’ he whispers, and looks to me to explain.

 ‘Thain Peregrin has expressed to me, on more than one occasion, that to saddle you with the Thainship would run you into the ground, Regi,’ I say. ‘And I must add, in my own opinion, speaking from my knowledge of illness and healing, that I believe he has the right of it. You can bear up under the burden of carrying out orders and decisions, but seeing your way clearly, looking ahead,’ somehow I am fumbling for the words to explain as his guileless eyes stare into mine, ‘trying to see ahead through the murk that is the future... you are not suited to the task.’

He looks as if he would argue, for a moment only, and then his shoulders slump. ‘I’m sorry, cousin,’ he whispers. It is grievous to be measured and found wanting.

 ‘Reg,’ Pippin whispers, and a tear spills down one cheek. ‘Forgive.’

Reginard rises swiftly to embrace Pippin, and so he remains for a time, until he can master himself. Sitting back, he says, ‘So Ev’ard is to be the next Thain.’

 ‘Not Everard,’ I say. ‘Thain Peregrin is interested in keeping competent hobbits in the place they fill best. You as Steward, Everard as chief engineer, for surely he is the finest excavator in the history of the Shire since Isengrim II.’

 ‘Who, then?’ Meliloc says, and falls silent as all eyes turn to Ferdibrand.

That hobbit stands, stunned to silence, one hand half-lifted as if to ward off a blow. Quick of wit, he is, and not lacking in imagination. ‘Impossible!’ he says. ‘The Tooks have never forgotten...’

 ‘Pippin was a part of the prank, and yet they allowed the succession to pass to him at Paladin’s behest.’

 ‘But I was the older,’ Ferdi argues. ‘They held me to blame for old Ferumbras’ death...’

 ‘They held you to blame for the stable fire,’ Regi says quietly. ‘It might have been short-sighted of you to put the lantern on the ground, but ‘twas the pony kicked it over, not you.’

 ‘Pippin stayed to fight the fire,’ Ferdi says, dropping his eyes. ‘I ran... like a coward.’

 ‘After your exploits against the ruffians, keeping Tookland free, I think none here would call you a coward, Ferdi,’ Regi says.

 ‘A fool, perhaps,’ Ferdi mutters.

 ‘Fool of a Took,’ Diamond whispers. ‘You’re in good company.’ Tears glitter in her eyes, but her arms about Pippin tighten and she smiles bravely.

 ‘With Regi as your steward, the Tooks might accept the succession,’ I say. Yoke a wild young ox together with a steady older companion and you can harness his energy to pull the plough while keeping him on a straight path.

 ‘And if not?’ he says, his eyes challenging.

 ‘There is always the third choice,’ I say. ‘Peregrin would not want you to choke down more than you can swallow.’

 ‘And what is the third choice?’ Isum says.

 ‘Elect a new Thain, just as Bucca was first chosen,’ I say. ‘There wasn’t always a succession, after all, and if Ferdibrand refuses, or the Tooks refuse him, you’ve reached the end of the line of Gerontius.’

They all stare at me in shock, and I fight an absurd desire to laugh. All is proceeding exactly as Pippin said it would.





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