Chapter 26. Interlude

Regi and I leave the Master sleeping peacefully, and I persuade him to seek his own rest. There will be many details needing his attention tomorrow, what with the grand feast required by custom and protocol to welcome the Mayor back from his long journey.

Not that Samwise would require a grand feast, nor would Rosie, but they will go along with the custom of the Tooks with their usual grace and good humour. And it is a comfort that the feast will not be marred by Pippin's passing. I am confident of this fact, for the feeling of well-being still courses through my veins, and I have the strangest feeling that my hair is thicker, somehow, curling more luxuriously. I suppress a chuckle at the thought that I will have to ask my beloved to make a thorough examination of the matter.

There is a commotion in the corridor ahead, just outside the apartments set aside for the Mayor of the Shire, young voices raised in excited murmurs, even as I hear Mayor Samwise both welcoming and hushing in the same breath. The coach from Buckland has arrived!

A cloaked figure breaks away from the group with a rustle of skirts, and Estella Brandybuck, little son asleep in her arms, is hurrying to meet me, breathlessly demanding news of her husband, and Pippin... is Pippin...?

 'He is sleeping,' I say.

 'Pippin is? Or Merry?' she says.

 'Both,' I reply, taking her arm. Her eyes are too wide, her face too pinched, the well-bred mask fallen away for the moment, though I see her pull the mask into place again as several of the children chorus their good-night wishes after her, and she turns to smile and call “Good night, and sweet dreams!” in return.

When she turns back to me, her anxiety is hidden away once more. 'Merry is sleeping?' she says. 'He is well?'

 'He is,' I reply, and add, 'You've had a long journey, driving straight through. Shall I order a bath drawn?'

 'No,' she says distractedly, 'no, I'll just put our little lad to bed and join Merry... unless Diamond...'

 'Diamond is asleep,' I say. 'I am to express her regret that she could not be here to greet you...'

Estella gives a short, sharp twitter of laughter, and her little son stirs.

 'Let me take him,' I say impulsively. 'You go to your husband. What does it matter, with him asleep, if it's you or if I'm the one who tucks him up in his little bed?'

And so we walk together into the Master's suite, through the little sitting room and across the hall into the best bedroom, and I settle the little lad in his bed while Estella bends over Merry. She doesn't kiss him at once, and I wonder if she will at all, light sleeper that he is, but she simply looks deeply into his face for a long moment, before pulling the coverlet down, off his shoulder, as I remember his sleepy protest against being "shrouded".

She barely brushes her lips over his brow, with such tenderness I catch my breath. She moves so that I cannot see exactly what... ah. She touches his right hand, a feather touch, and frowns, though as she turns back to face me, she pulls a smile into place once more. But instead of dismissing me, she asks if I would share a cup of tea?

I am weary, and so is she, but how can I refuse?

We go back into the sitting room, where the fire has been lit and a light meal set out, complete with cosied teapot. Likely the kitchen staff were at the ready, waiting for news of the coach's arrival. It is probable that a stable lad was waiting on the outskirts of Tuckborough, and when he saw the coach, he galloped through the town to the Great Smials to set the Thain's hospitality in motion. Such has been the practice, when guests are expected, ever since Mistress Eglantine took charge of domestic affairs in the Great Smials when her husband became Thain, and Diamond followed in her footsteps.

We sit down at the little table, and Estella serves me from an assortment of breads and cheeses and fruit. I spread a slice of bread with honeyed butter and with my first bite I am reminded how long it has been since my last proper meal; I am ravenous.

Estella pushes a quantity of food upon me, and I scarcely protest. It is a habit of hers, feeding people, that is. I'm told it stems from the days after her brother was brought out of the Lockholes, starved nearly to death. Indeed, his acquaintance with food was so tenuous that he had to be fed hourly, and coaxed to eat, a very unhobbity state of affairs!

Serving food relaxes her; she has seen that her husband is alive and well, when evidently she feared the worst. In any event, the haunted look leaves her eyes, and she is more animated as we talk over recent events.

 '...the bull broke both his legs, and one of his arms, and other bones,' she is saying, telling of Berilac Brandybuck's injuries, the cause of Merry's being called from Pippin's side. 'Half his ribs, the healer said, and his skull as well!'

 'It is a wonder that he survived,' I say, impressed, 'and is expected to recover!'

 'Berilac is wondrously stubborn,' Estella answers. 'Practically a Took!' I laugh, and she smiles mischievously at me. I am a Took by adoption, and by marriage, but not by nature, as she well knows.

 'And the little one, who wandered into the bull's pen?' I ask. 'You say Berilac threw him to safety just as the bull caught him?' I shudder at the image that forms in my mind.

 'A broken arm,' Estella says, 'but no more than that.'

 'That's a mercy,' I say. I sip at my tea, but put my cup down to place a hand on Estella's. 'What is it, child?'

Her lips are trembling. 'You're certain my beloved is well?' she whispers.

 'As well as can be expected,' I return.

 'And Pippin...?' she says.

I shake my head. 'Mayor Sam brought a wondrous draught from the land of the Tree Folk,' I say.

 'Yes,' she nods. 'He was telling us about it, just as Merry's horn sounded from the Ferry.' Her breath comes short, and I pat her hand reassuringly. 'I didn't know...'

 'You didn't know?' I prompt, when she stops and looks at me with those wide eyes.

 'Merry was called away, with news that his cousin the Thain had fallen ill,' she says. 'And no word came... I thought it was merely a cold. No word came to say Pippin was dying... I'd've jumped onto a pony's back and raced to the Smials, had I known...'

Hand at her breast, she seems to have trouble catching her breath.

 'What could you have done?' I say softly.

 'I could have... I could have...' she says, and then she covers her face as her shoulders slump.

 'Their hearts are bound together,' I say, 'as Marcho and Blanco, in the old tales. The one, without the other...'

She nods, wiping away tears. 'He has always had my heart, since our earliest times.' She attempts a watery smile. 'I was such a nuisance, following him about...!'

 'I'd heard,' I say.

 'But I was promised to another,' Estella continues, and it is my turn to nod. So much heartache came from that promise! 'Merry never looked at me, honourable hobbit that he was. He gave his heart to another, and when she died...'

 'And when you were free of your promise,' I say, but she shakes her head.

 'Kicked over the traces, more like,' she corrects. 'Pippin never wanted to marry me, no matter what our parents' plans were; he had eyes only for Diamond.'

 'And when you were free...' I repeat.

 'Merry took me on out of gratitude, more than likely, for saving Pippin from a broken heart,' Estella says, raising her chin in defiance.

 'O no, lass,' I say, my hand tightening on hers.

 'If he truly loved me, would he spend himself so recklessly on his cousin's behalf?' she says.

 'If you truly love him, will you not seek to understand?' I reprove as gently as I may.

 'The bond between them...' she whispers.

 'The bond that began when first he beheld Pippin,' I say. 'Or more properly, when first he held him. Blame Frodo, if you like.'

 'Frodo?' Estella says, tears forgotten in her astonishment.

 'Frodo,' I say firmly. 'He promised Merry a special cousin, charged him solemnly to watch out for this cousin's birth, had him swear an oath to protect and guard and guide...'

 'Why in the world...?' Estella says.

 'To solace him, to distract him from his grief at Frodo's departure to live with old Bilbo Baggins,' I say.

 'How do you know this?' Estella says, her eyes narrowing as she regards me thoughtfully. 'He's never said anything about...'

 'I was there at their first meeting,' I say.

She nods uncertainly. I tell her something of the events of that day, so long ago, and yet so fresh in my memory. Her lips twitch at the description of the tousle-headed lad, awkwardly cradling his newborn cousin, despite his splinted arm, but at my recounting of Frodo's prophecy the slightest of frowns creases her forehead; not that she is displeased, but rather that she understands something that has eluded her until this moment in time.

I pat her hand again, and then withdraw mine to pour us both a last cup of tea. My last, anyhow, for I wish to seek my bed. 'He loves you very much,' I say. 'Pippin has told me that it is your love that has kept Merry from descending into the depths of despair, even madness.'

 'Madness?' she gasps.

 'Pippin spoke of the Dark, haunting his cousin,' I say. 'I have known darkened minds, in my work as a healer. A grievous thing, not often seen among hobbits. Hidden away from sight, and not to be spoken of. Thankfully it is rare amongst our sort.'

 'No,' Estella contradicts. 'Not madness, nor mere fancy, but true Shadow...' She stops, biting her lip.

 'I don't understand,' I say.

She hesitates, and finally says, 'You're not meant to.'

I nod, stirring my tea, sipping, and when I put the cup down again I say slowly, 'Sharkey was a shadow on the face of the Shire...'

I look up to see her expression: a mixture of dread, fear, anger, sorrow, and, curiously, exultation. 'He didn't win,' she says. 'He lost... all.'

 'Meriadoc and Pippin returned from the Outlands with bright mail, swords and shields,' I say. 'Apparently unchanged, to those who did not know them well...'

She watches me warily as I continue.

 'A shadow of evil?' I say slowly. 'Outlanders—Men and Fair Folk, Orcs and Trolls and such, all are greater in stature than Shire-folk. I suppose that Evil, in the Outlands, might be yet greater than evil in the Shire...'

She swallows hard, but says nothing.

 'Not madness,' I say, 'but memory...?'

It must be a close-held family secret. I see truth in her eyes, yet I've heard nothing of this matter, in all my dealings with the Tooks and Brandybucks and Bagginses.

I reach for her hand again, to give a final squeeze. 'Merry loves you very much,' I say. 'Pippin, the brother of his heart, has told me that it is you who keeps Merry firmly in the here-and-now, who keeps him safe in your heart of hearts... it is Pippin who told me that, should Merry ever lose you, he'd be the one lost...'

 'Pippin told you this?' Estella whispers.

 'He did,' I say, 'near the end. He said that you are the shield that stands between Merry and the darkness...' I amend my thought with the new knowledge I have gained in the last few moments, '...the Shadow.' Her hand is very still under mine. 'There are worse things than death. For him to follow Pippin to the Feast, well, you will meet him there, when your time is done. But for him to fall into darkness, trapped in despair, overShadowed by memory...'

She nods, her expression hardening, and I see in her the iron will that Pippin has jested about in better days, and spoke of with respect as we awaited his passing.

'But the Shadow will not take him,' she says, and it is my turn to nod.

My cup is empty, and so I rise and take my leave.

I return to the Thain's quarters and send away the hobbits lingering in the receiving room. It is full night, and time for everyone to seek their beds, myself included. My beloved will join me in the healer's room; we've had so little time together, these past days. It will be a relief to curl together, to fall asleep to the lullaby of his snoring.

But I leave him for a moment, with a kiss, for I wish to look in on the Thain once more before I retire.

Fennel stands to his feet as I enter the little sitting room. At my enquiring look he shakes his head. All has been quiet. I nod and smile, moving to the bedroom door to peep in.

As softly as one of the shadows thrown by the watch-lamp, I glide to the bed.

What a start it gives me as I take Pippin's hand in mine to feel for his heartbeat; his eyes open and he looks into my face with a questioning look.

 'Beg pardon, Sir, I didn't mean to waken you,' I whisper. Diamond doesn't stir, curled against her husband's side.

 'No healers,' he replies.

 'I beg your pardon?' I say, dumbfounded.

He smiles. 'You have it, twice over,' he says. His breathing is unforced, and the words come naturally, without pauses, without effort.

 'I do not understand, Sir... you were saying?'

 'No healers,' he says. 'No sitting bedside watch,' he nods to the empty chair on his side of the bed, 'nor in the sitting room, listening to our murmurs in our sleep. Do not take this in the wrong way, I beg of thee, Woodruff, but... go away.'

 'Sir?' I gasp.

Still smiling, he says, 'If I am to pass from this world in the hours before the dawning, let me be as any other hobbit, passing quietly in my sleep, no fuss, no bother.'

 'I...' I say, but can find no further words to say.

 'All this business of singing one out of the world,' he says, 'it is more for the benefit of those who are staying behind, than for the one leaving.'

 'But...' I say. 'To be dying, and alone...'

He snorts lightly, and there is a wry twist to his mouth as he says, 'But we are alone in death, are we not? You are not going to hold my hand and walk me to the Feast, are you?'

 'To walk into the darkness alone...' I say stubbornly.

He chuckles softly. 'I'm not afraid of the dark,' he says. 'It is only a curtain, and beyond is the white shore of a fair green country, where a feast is spread and waiting... I have only to put out my hand and the curtain will part...'

 'Sir,' I say, and evidently cannot adequately suppress the desperation that rises in me, for he pulls free of my grasp, and takes my hand in his.

 'Not that I plan to be dying this night, mind,' he says. 'Only that, whether or not I am to waken in the morning, let me be just a plain hobbit for once. No fuss, no bother, no hobbits hovering over me...'

 'But,' I say.

 'A hobbit ought to die in his sleep after a fine meal and a satisfying smoke,' Pippin says. 'I haven't had a fine meal in some time, and as for a pipe...' He gave up pipes some years back, what with the state of his lungs. 'So I don't think I'll be leaving this life tonight, in any event.' He yawns. 'Go away, Woodruff. I say that with the utmost affection and admiration, of course.'

 'Of course,' I say, scarcely knowing what to think.

 'Thain's orders,' he adds sleepily, disengaging my hand, and then he turns over in bed, curls his arm around Diamond, nuzzles her hair, and is still, except for the reassuringly steady breathing.

 'Who am I to question Thain's orders?' I whisper, and tiptoe from the room. I dismiss Fennel, and he leaves, no doubt thinking that I will take over watching from the sitting room. When he is well gone, unlikely to return with a question, I take my own leave.

My beloved's snores break off as I creep under the covers, and he turns, much as Pippin did with his Diamond, to drape a loving arm over me as we drift off together into dream.