Chapter 40. Interlude

I waken and stretch luxuriously, wondering when I have felt so well. Why, it is as if a dozen--even a score of years have fallen away! That ache in my left knee, now, and the nagging stiffness in my wrists and elbows that has plagued me upon awakening the past few years, these are gone. I take a deep breath, in the still, dark air, and wonder aloud at the time. But no one is there to answer me. No doubt my beloved is about his business, having left me to sleep myself out after watching me drink Fennel's draught.

I rise and dress and turn up the lamp from watch-lamp dim to full brightness. Looking in the mirror I see my face, as always, but I do not need to force a smile to hide the weariness that has haunted me these past anxious days. The weariness has fallen away and I am so fresh I feel I could run a race, or dance through the day and night at the very least.

'How long have I slept?' I wonder aloud, but leaving the bedroom and moving to the sitting room I am reassured by the clock on the mantle. Barely noon. A cold luncheon has been laid out for my benefit: sliced cold meats and cheese, breads, mixed fruits, pickled vegetables. I fall to with a will, delighting in taste, and in the feeling of hunger, and the pleasure of satisfying such... only to pull myself up short. Noon of what day? I wonder. Is it possible... Did I sleep more than those few hours? Did I sleep, instead, into tomorrow? And what has happened in the meantime?

But the diary on the desk is turned to today's date, and my beloved has made note of this morning's happenings, and no more. According to the diary, he is at this moment in Tuckborough, meeting with the head of the weavers' guild, negotiating next year's blankets and bolts of fabric for the Great Smials.

I go back to my meal and finish, eating all that was laid out, without any effort on my part, and blessing my beloved for his hopefulness, expressed in generous portions.

Mayor and Master ought to be asleep, still; they ought to sleep until teatime, wakening in time to eat a light meal and have a bath in preparation for the grand feast the Tooks intend to welcome Mayor and Mistress Gamgee back from the Southlands.

I might go to the infirmary, to check on things there that I have neglected of late, but I have trained a competent staff over the years. There is really nothing for it but to go back to the Thain's quarters, just to put my head in at the door, to see if there has been any change. Yet Diamond would no doubt have sent a message to me, to be left upon the table for me to discover upon awakening, if I were needed. If it were urgent enough, no doubt Fennel would have shaken me awake, draught or no.

And so I go off to the Thain's quarters. The corridors are nearly deserted, for everyone is likely at luncheon in the great room or in the middle of preparations for the grand feast.

Tolibold, head of the Thain's escort, opens the door to the Thain's suite for me, his face expressionless. 'Is there any news?' I ask.

'I thought you'd be the one to tell me,' he mutters.

I smile and pat his arm. 'I've been asleep,' I say. 'My assistant saw fit to give me a sleeping draught.'

He snorts. 'Healers,' he says, shaking his head. 'Can't be trusted.'

I laugh. 'Indeed not!' I agree.

He gives me an odd look, but for the life of me I cannot seem to wipe the smile from my face.

Sandy greets me gravely as I enter the receiving room. 'All's quiet,' he says. 'The Mistress is in the nursery, at luncheon with the children.' He lowers his voice and adds, 'They're having a picnic on the nursery floor, I believe.'

'As good a place as any for a picnic, on a rainy day,' I say cheerily. 'And the Thain?'

'Still asleep,' Sandy says. 'The chancellor is sitting with him at the moment.'

'Ferdibrand? And what of Fennel?'

'He told me you'd given the order, "No healers",' Sandy says with a questioning look. 'Mistress Diamond sat with Thain Peregrin all through the morning, until Ferdi arrived and told her to go and have luncheon with the children, that they might not grow too anxious.'

I nod. 'Very good, Sandy. I'll just look in...'

The hobbitservant gives a sigh of relief. 'Thank you, Woodruff,' he says. 'I'd be that obliged if you did.'

I have the distinct impression that the hobbit thinks I am neglecting my duty, though I doubt he would ever say so, in so many words. He expresses himself more eloquently with a look and a raised eyebrow than any other hobbit I know, save perhaps Reginard. It is obvious to me that Sandy cannot understand why I would not dance attendance upon the Thain until that hobbit either gives up the ghost or rises, healed, from his deathbed.

I suppose I ought to be annoyed. But instead I am touched by his devotion to his master. I think if it had been Pippin, who'd walked into the Fire... the Thain talks in his sleep, and I've learned much more than the average Took about his time in the Outlands. The average Took would hardly believe the story, were I to indulge in gossip, I'm afraid. I scarcely believe it myself. And yet, a sleeper does not tell falsehood...

In any event, if Pippin had been the one to walk into the Fire, to destroy That which threatened all we Shire-folk hold dear, I firmly believe that Sandy would have been behind him every step of the way, or at his side, or even, at the last stretch, carrying his master up that desolate slope. An excellent hobbit is Sandy, though he'd never allow himself to think he was better than any other.

'Will you be sitting with him now?' Sandy asks. It is not a question, really, so much as a subtle reminder to do my duty as he sees it.

I ought to be annoyed. But I only say, mildly, 'I'm just going to look in on him, to see if there's any change.'

And still I cannot seem to keep from smiling.