Much thanks to my wonderful beta reader, who has taken time from her too-busy life to beta this for me. And thanks to all my readers! Bless each and every one of you!

chapter 21

What Grows in the Old Forest

Something seemed to be happening just outside the livery where Lady Grey, Dapplegrim and Stybba had been stabled. A small crowd formed a knot in the street where a narrow alley led to the back of the livery. “Dapplegrim!” Pippin muttered, and bolted forward with Merry and Boromir at his heels. As the three companions approached, the crowd of men and hobbits that had gathered there parted to let someone through. Leading this procession, Bree’s resident healer strode forth purposefully, and behind him came two men carrying a third, the latter being tightly wound in a horse-blanket.

“Bob Ferny!” Pippin gasped. He turned to a hobbit——Nob, himself, in fact, now grown older, but the very same hobbit Merry and Pippin had met those many years ago——and asked, “What has happened to him?”

“Nothin’, from what I gather,” answered Nob. “Tom Brock seen him stumble back there a while back. Said he offered t’awd rascal a drink, and Ferny turned ’im down cold. Who’d a-thought, I asks ye? Bob Ferny, turnin’ down a drink, and it free, at that!”

“I seen it happen to him before,” added a man nearby. “That happens sometimes, when a man is so accustomed to drink he cannot live without it, and suddenly stops drinking. If they don’t get some spirits in his belly, he’s like to die of it.” The man frowned and shook his head, pity written across his florid face. “It were awful to see. Old Ferny was taken with the fits. Right foamin’ at the mouth, he was. Pitiful, just pitiful. He will die if he keeps drinking, and he will die if he stops.”

“What shall be done with him, then?” Boromir asked.

“Oh, he’ll be seen through it, though who is to pay the healer will be sorted out later.” The man shook his head yet again. “After he’s got through the shakes and the visions, and he’s not out o’ his head still, they’ll turn him loose. He will be filled with remorse a while, and then he shall find a bottle again. I should rather say the bottle shall find him, for that seems the way of it.”

The crowd, having lost the object of all the excitement, began to break apart and drift away. Merry, ever the worrier, watched Boromir’s face. Plainly, Boromir had become distressed, probably about how this event might impinge on Saro and his budding relationship with her. Merry nudged Pippin and indicated Boromir with a nod of his head. Pippin gave Merry a subtle nod, tapping the side of his nose; a gesture long familiar to Merry.

Pippin gave Boromir’s sleeve a twitch to get his attention. “Come, let us talk in our room,” he said.

Boromir nodded and followed his friends back to their room. He said nothing, but busied himself adding wood to the fireplace. Merry busied himself observing Pippin watching Boromir. He found Pippin’s abilities to manipulate Boromir fascinating. He never understood the mechanics of the relationship completely, and would not have recognized this behavior mirrored in himself. Nonetheless, Pippin never failed to astonish Merry with his skills in handling Boromir, who could be as stubborn as a bull. Pippin possessed a bag full of tricks for this purpose, and Merry wanted to see what trick Pippin might use this time. He was not disappointed.

When Boromir stood up, brushed his hands together and turned to take a seat in the one man-sized chair in the room, he found Pippin had taken up residence in it, leaving Boromir either to sit on the floor or squat upon the hobbit-sized chair. Boromir’s somber expression cracked, and the man found himself laughing in spite of his worries.

“Now Boromir,” Pippin reproached. “Did I not find a way to get Saro to go to Harvestmath dance?”

“Aye, that you did.”

“I want you to listen to me,” Pippin continued. “This unfortunate turn of events changes little, if anything at all. You are not to worry. If you do, and I catch you at it, I shall pluck a whisker from your beard.”

Boromir regarded Pippin with a look of surprise. “You would, would you not? You truly would commit such an act!”

“I would and I shall.” Pippin rose to give Boromir his chair, and waited for the man to sit before he continued. “Now, I think it best that you speak to the healer tomorrow and learn as much as you may about old Bob. Find out what, if anything, may be done. After that, you shall go and speak with Saro, and find out what her wishes are, if indeed she has any. Only then can we decide on a course of action, if any action is even possible. Bob may be bent on his own destruction. This is often the case with people like himself. However…”

“Are you suggesting there may be hope for him?”

“I am,” Pippin nodded. “And I should think that you, too, should know this.”

“I have learned the good of hope.” Boromir smiled. “You are, of course, right. I had only forgotten the lesson for a moment. We must understand, however, that all too often, men like Bob Ferny have but one destination, and that being the grave.”

“And Saro is not a foolish lass,” Merry added. “Surely she has lived long enough to have an understanding of her uncle’s malady, for malady it is, else so many shouldn’t have died of it.”

“And if you are willing to stand by her during this horrible time,” Pippin said, “It shall stand you in good stead with her, all the more. Now, tomorrow is another day, and the hour is late. If we are to handle this situation tomorrow, we had best get our heads upon our pillows, and that right soon.”

“My friends,” Boromir said warmly, “Where in all the wide world could I find more goodly companions? You are both right, of course. And I thank you both with all my heart.”

“Nonsense!” Pippin grinned. “And what shall befall you if I see you are worrying?”

“Shall you pluck my face bare, then?” Boromir laughed.

“As smooth as a maiden’s cheek,” Pippin said, saucy as ever. “Who better to tug at the whiskers of the lion than a favored cub?”

“I thought you were a kit,” Boromir countered.

“Kit or cub, it shan’t matter a whit once I have snatched out your whiskers!”

Merry grinned. Amazing, he thought. I wish I knew how he does it. Why, it’s much like the way he handled Dapplegrim, taming him into such a gentle creature when he was so wild as a colt! “Well, I’m for bed,” he yawned. “The night has been a long one, and I fancy we’ve much to see to before we can return to our wives and sons.”

“Indeed,” Boromir agreed. “I shall not worry, I promise you that. I would as soon keep my beard! At any rate, I am too tired to worry tonight.”

“While you are about tomorrow,” Pippin said, “Merry and I shall make ready to have your purchases loaded on the wagon, so that we may be off as soon as the matter of Saro’s uncle is settled.”

“An excellent plan,” Merry nodded. “And Pippin is right. You mustn’t worry, just you do what you feel you must tomorrow morning, and leave the rest to us.”

“I shall, and I thank you both,” Boromir said.

The three of them settled comfortably in their beds. Pippin could not forget the sound of Boromir’s heart beating so oddly, and he meant to not let his friend worry himself into a state in which his heart might fail him. Lying awake, he listened for the sound of Boromir’s breathing to even out into the rhythm of one sleeping. He didn’t have long to wait. Satisfied with the sound of his friend breathing in peaceful slumber, he rolled over to let himself drift off to sleep, but before he could, he heard Merry whisper to him.

“Pippin, you would never employ such antics to get me to do what you want, would you?”

Pippin grinned a fox-like grin in the dark, and answered in a most sober tone, “Of course not, Merry! I would never do that to you!”

“Didn’t think so,” Merry whispered. “It would never work on me, anyway.”

“Of course not,” Pippin said, struggling to keep from laughing. “Good night, Merry.”

“Good night,” Merry said, then his breathing, too, evened out in sleep.

Pippin lay quiet a while longer in his bed, smiling to himself as he fell asleep.

Boromir woke just before dawn. He did not wish to disturb his friends, so he dressed quietly and quickly and slipped out of their room. He walked to the healer’s home swiftly, shivering slightly with the chill of winter’s approach in the morning air.

He pounded on the healer’s door. The housekeeper, a wizened and venerable gammer with an easy smile even at this early hour, let him in, raising an age-crooked finger to her lips, bidding Boromir to enter quietly. She led him past a long room where an open door revealed a sickroom. Inside it were six beds, empty now, save the one in which Bob Ferny lay. Boromir managed a glimpse of him as they passed on their way to a sitting room to await the healer’s presence. He had not long to wait, and soon the door silently swung on well-oiled hinges as the healer, Linden Fennel, slipped in on surprisingly quiet steps for so heavy a one as he. He poured tea for Boromir and himself, and took a seat in a chair near the fire.

“How fare you, Beeman?” Fennel smiled, eyes flitting across Boromir in a longtime healer’s disciplined search for something awry. “Does the herbal tea help you? Have you come for more?”

“I am well, sir,” Boromir said. “The herbs have worked wonders, sir, and I thank you for your help, but no, I have not come for more just yet. I have come to inquire about Bob Ferny. You see, his niece——”

“Say no more, say no more, I have two good ears, and these old eyes can see a barn by daylight just yet!” Fennel laughed at the expression on Boromir’s face. “Oh, I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Beeman! You must forgive me, I am accustomed to speaking too frankly, I fear. Comes with the profession, I suppose.”

“You must have attended the dance last night.” Boromir paused to gather his thoughts a moment, and then said, “I should like to pay you for his treatment, and ask your advice. Can he not be saved from himself?”

“If he can, it must be by his own hand, I fear,” Fennel said. “For my part, I should warn you, his chances are not good. Some men uncork their first bottle at their peril. For those like Ferny, it would be better if the arts of wine making, distilling and brewing had never been discovered. If he can be persuaded to foreswear any wines or spirits, he may stand some chance. If he does not choose to eschew these things, he will die as surely as if he drank poison, for poison it is for men like him.”

“Aye, to be sure,” Boromir nodded. “The demon at the bottom of the bottle lies unseen until too late, and the drink consumes him who sees not the danger, instead of the other way around. Is there nothing you can give him that would ease his cravings?”

“None, sir,” Fennel wagged his head sadly. “I can give him a potion which will help him to sleep, but nothing more, I fear. Are you sure you wish to take on this expense, Beeman? You shall be throwing good money after bad, I fear.”

“I do wish that,” Boromir nodded. He gazed blankly at his now-empty teacup, looking up only when Fennel took the cup and refilled it. Boromir sipped his fresh tea, and asked, “Tell me, have you known of any who may have defeated this malady?”

“Defeated? Nay, that is too strong a word, sir, too strong a word by far.” Fennel uncovered a platter holding fresh bread with butter and honey and a wedge of cheese, offering Boromir something to go with his tea. “This is a demon that cannot be forever defeated, but it may be held at bay. And I do know a few which have done just that. Shall I speak with them, and seek their wisdom in the matter?”

“I should be in your debt, sir.” Boromir took a little bread and chewed thoughtfully. “May I assume, then, that all is not lost?”

“You may, yet do not cling to the foolish hope that there is anything you yourself can do, good Beeman.”

“Shall I go to Saro, and ask if she wishes to speak with you, then? Perhaps your words will comfort her and give her counsel.”

“You do that,” Fennel smiled. “And no matter how it all turns out, I am glad you and Saro have found one another, if I may make so bold. She is a good lass, and deserves a little happiness.”

“She deserves more than a little happiness, I should think. She deserves all the happiness it is in my power to give her. I shall go to her now. I shall see you shortly, if Saro wishes to speak with you, good healer.” Boromir rose, and doing the healer the courtesy of a quick bow, and took his leave with the promise to pay Fennel for his troubles.

Boromir walked to the little boarding house that Saro and her friends called home. He sat on the low steps, took a deep breath, and, closing his eyes, cleared his mind. With head bowed, he spoke softly, “Release him now from the bondage of self, that he may better do Thy will. Strengthen him in difficulties, that victory over them may bear witness to those he would serve of Thy Power, Thy Love, and Thy path of life. May he do Thy will always! Set his feet upon the path of Your choosing.” He sat quietly and patiently then, and counted his many blessings, understanding that he needed to be ever grateful for all the good and wonderful things in his life. Always did this habit instill in him a sense of peace, along with a sensation that for a few moments he stood at the center of all things, and with him stood the Source of All Light.

“Good morning, Beeman! What are you doing here, and so early in the day?” came a small voice just behind him. So wrapped up in his thoughts, Boromir hadn’t heard the door behind him open, and startled, he jumped.

“Hol-ly!” This was, of course, Lily Thornbush. “Dear, dear, what are you about, child? There you are. Why, Master Beeman! You are out and about early. What brings you here at this hour, and will you come in from the chill?”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Boromir stood and saluted the Thornbushes with a quick bow. “I should wait outside, lest my visit appear unseemly, though your offer is a kind one. I have come to see Saro. Her uncle is… ill. I would rather she not have the news given to her carelessly, and so I have come to give it to her, myself. Do not wake her if she is still sleeping, I am content to wait.”

“Well, you shan’t have a long while to wait,” Lily said, eyes shining. “She shall be down presently. She shall be happy to see you, I am sure.”

Boromir laughed. “Shall I assume, then, she has spoken of me to you?”

“Yes, you may,” Holly answered, as chipper as a sparrow. “She quite fancies you.”

“Oh, Holly!” Lily moaned.

“Have I got it wrong?” Holly said, all wide eyes and curiosity, “I thought she said she fancies him quite a lot.”

“Oh, dear, I am so very, very sorry, Master Beeman, you must forgive—”

“Nay, Mistress Thornbush, you worry yourself needlessly,” Boromir smiled. “She is but a little child, and only repeats what she has heard.”

They heard the light tread of Saro’s feet before they saw her. She sang as she descended the stairs, humming the tune to Bird and Berry when she couldn’t remember the words. Holly, seeing the way Boromir’s face lit up, giggled. “Well, what a lovely way to begin the day,” Saro smiled. “When I said you may call on me, I did not expect such promptness.”

Boromir looked through the open doorway and saw Saro. She was dressed in her working clothes and her old shoes, but she walked differently, now, as though her feet scarce felt the floor beneath them. For a brief moment Boromir forgot what he had come here for, then, remembering himself, he bade Saro good morning, and asked her to walk with him a while. They wished a good day to the hobbits, and as they walked Boromir gave Saro the news.

“Well, I cannot say I am surprised,” she said thoughtfully and without a trace of bitterness. “I have come to terms with this curse long ago. I hope he shall do better, but I know I cannot count on it. I used to blame myself, for I felt I was a great burden on him. After I grew older, I remembered my father, and his father before him. They, too, walked the same sad path as my uncle. My father has been gone for many years, and I do not expect I shall ever see him again. His father could never stop his tippling, and died as a result. As it stands, I know I must go on with my life. If he does better, I shall be very happy, but I shall not live another day with the misery he has made for himself. I shall speak with Master Fennel, of course, but…” She shrugged.

“I feared the news would cause you distress,” Boromir said. “I see now my thinking was wrong. I see now that you are as wise and strong as you are pretty.”

Saro only smiled up at him and took his arm. Boromir escorted her to the healer’s home, and there they took counsel together. Fennel allowed them to look in on Bob, and they found him in the deep drowse of the sleeping potion.

“Poor, wretched thing,” Saro said. She shook her head, clucking her tongue.

“You will notice his arms are bound to the bed. This is to keep him from harming himself, for he shall be out of his head for a day or so, knowing not where is or what he is doing. It shall pass after a while. I expect he shall be confined to bed for a week, perhaps longer, depending upon the extent of the harm his tippling has done. If he does not die of a flux of the liver, he may yet have a chance,” Fennel said. “There has been no black vomit, nor have his eyes gone yellow. Had it been so, I should be advising you to bid him farewell and look to his burial. There is hope for him yet, dear girl.”

“We shall see,” Saro said. “I shall look in on him again before I go home. I really must be about my work for now. Send word to my room, should the need arise, if you would be so kind.”

“I will do so,” Fennel said, walking them to the door himself. He watched the pair stroll away in the direction of the public ovens, where Saro often earned a coin or two doing baking for those who could not or did not wish to do their own. “Well, well, my girl,” he said. “I dare say you have found your champion, and about time, I say.” He nodded his approval, and went back inside.

Boromir bade Saro farewell in the street that ran by the common where the public ovens already burned in the hustle and bustle of a new day. They stood silently for long moments, simply gazing into each other’s eyes. After some time, Boromir kissed her, holding her gently, as if she were a butterfly that had lit in his open hand. Then, kissing her hand, he departed. Saro stood in the street, watching him walk back to the Prancing Pony.

After second breakfast, Boromir, Merry and Pippin were on their way. As it turned out, an additional wagon had to be hired, along with a pair of burly farm boys to help with the loading and unloading of all the purchases they had made.

The two families stayed with Boromir two days more before departing for their homes. Diamond and Estella were well impressed with their choices, and quite enjoyed showing off their own handiwork. Boromir’s home now looked exactly as it should: like a home. Curtains and cushions lent it just the right homey touch, and with Boromir’s furnishings installed, the ladies pronounced it a proper home, and no longer the den of a bear with furniture, though Faro and Theo bemoaned the loss of its rough-hewn charm, declaring that it looked “like lasses have been here.”

“Well, lads,” Estella laughed, “Lasses have been here, and at least one more may show up before all is said and done!”

“She sounds like a lovely lass, Boromir,” Diamond added. “We shall look forward to meeting her. A lady can always use a new friend or two, and I am quite sure Estella and I shall make her feel a part of our little mismatched family.”

“Now, Diamond,” Pippin clucked his tongue. “Don’t count the chicks until the eggs have hatched.”

“In case you have not noticed, cousin,” Merry said, digging into Pippin’s ribs with an elbow, “This is one egg which has begun to crack already!”

“Poor, poor Uncle Bom,” Faro muttered. Theo only shook his head sadly.

As Boromir saw his friends off in the chill of morning, he hopped up in the wagon and sat by Faro and Theo. Gathering the pair of youngsters in his arms, he reassured them that nothing, not even a new wife and a houseful of his own children could ever make his favorite hobbit lads less important to him. “Besides, it is too soon just yet to say which way my wooing will go. Perhaps she will not have me.”

“Papa says she will,” Faro said. “Do you think she will like us, Uncle Bom?”

“How not? A handsome pair of strong young hobbits such as you two!” Boromir smiled. “Besides, she is already the best of friends to quite a few hobbits, and already sees your fathers as her friends. I am sure you two will win her heart, as well. I only hope that I can do so!”

“I hope she can cook,” Theo said. “Not that you are a bad cook, Uncle Bom, but it would be nice to have meals more like the ones we have at home when we come to visit.”

“A lady’s touch does add a little something special, doesn’t it?” Boromir agreed. “But we shall see what we shall see.”

“She would make you very happy, wouldn’t she, if she should become your wife?” Faro said thoughtfully.

“Aye, she would,” Boromir said gravely, schooling his voice to hide his amusement.

“Then I’m sure Theo and I will like her, and we want you to be happy, don’t we, Theo?”

“Very much,” Theo nodded.

“Your words ease my mind,” Boromir said. “I would not wish to lose the companionship of my favorite pair of hobbit lads.”

“That will never happen,” Faro said, giving Boromir a fierce hug, soon joined by Theo.

“Well, then,” Boromir said, “I should let you go, for the day is not growing any longer, and the Took half of you all have a way to travel. In a month or so, you must come with your fathers for a visit, and we shall go hunting for deer. I should like a Midwinter’s Day feast, and venison would go wonderfully with it.”

“Oh, that sounds splendid,” Pippin said over his shoulder. “Let us do that, the lads are very good with a bow. I shall bring my nets, and we can lay aside some partridge as well.”

Boromir climbed down from the wagon and bid them all farewell. He stood watching as the wagon rolled away into the morning mist. His home would feel terribly empty for the next few days, but this would pass with his next market day.

When Boromir returned to Bree, he learned from Saro that Bob Ferny was doing quite well. He had taken a job mucking out the stables at the livery. He took a noon meal with Saro and Boromir, and Boromir found him to be a completely different person than the wastrel drunkard he had first met.

“It were seeing you with Saro that did it,” he told Boromir. “I seen the way of it, and I knew I had to do better, or I would lose my last blood kin, and I would have deserved it, too. I’ve much to put to rights, sir, and I should like to start by telling you how sorry I am I was such a beastly rascal. I behaved like a scoundrel to you and your friends, and I shamed my niece, as no kin ever should do. I mean to do better, and I will do all I can to put things as right as I may.”

With each visit to Bree, Boromir saw Bob slowly coming into his own, sometimes with difficulty, but still doing his best. Fennel gave him work helping to dry herbs, roots and cresses, and with grinding them for potions, poultices and ointments. When Merry and Pippin next accompanied Boromir to Bree, Bob invited them to dine with him, and they accepted the invitation, along with a great many penitent words and gestures. Saro had not moved back to Bob’s home, but she would visit him, and she attended this meal. After they had eaten, Bob stood and spoke. “I asked you all here for a reason,” he said, his voice tremulous with emotion. “I have something important I’d like to say. And I have a token of my love and gratitude for my Saro-girl. It ain’t near what I’d like to give, but… Well, I had it put away all these years. Many a time I thought to sell it to buy my drink. I’m glad now that I didn’t.” He dipped his hand in a deep pocket and retrieved a small cloth bag, emptying its contents in his hand, and held it out to Boromir. “I had a lass, once. I loved her so, but… I lost her, for she could not bear the thought of a life with a drunkard, and she married another. I bought this ring to give to her, in promise to wed. But it were too late. It were my own fault, and none of hers, but it did break my heart. I want Saro to have it. Would you be so kind as to let me give it to you? Folk speak mighty high of you, Master Beeman. I know you’ll take the best care of her, so you will; better than I ever did.”

Saro looked at Boromir and nodded her consent.

Boromir took the ring. It was a gold band set with a tiny pearl. “We had a kinswoman what took a sea voyage, once,” Bob said. “Our great, great, great grandmother, she was. She brought back the pearl. It were in the family for generations, but when I decided I wanted to marry my lass, I had the goldsmith put it in that there ring. Many a family tale has sprung up around that pearl. It were said she got it as a gift from a fellow what took a fancy to her, and asked her to marry him. Which she did, right on the ship, they say. But her husband was lost at sea before the voyage ended. They said a great wave rocked the ship, and he was in the crow’s nest. He was flung out in the water, but it was night, and nobody knew he was gone until too late. She never did remarry. She must have loved him something dear, for the tale goes that she grieved his loss all her life. You was named after her, Saro. It ought to go to you, and I hope it makes you happy, my girl.”

Boromir looked at the ring for a moment. Seemingly acting on impulse, he knelt by Saro and took her hand. “The perfect time for this, to my mind,” he said. “Saro, I offer you my hand and heart, with my love and devotion. Will you give me yours in return? Marry me, Saro, my pretty Saro. Be my sweetheart and my wife, and walk with me all the days of our lives. Say you will, Saro, say you shall be my wife.”

Saro, robbed of speech, only nodded. Boromir slipped the ring on her finger, then rising, scooped her into his arms and kissed her tenderly as Saro laughed and wept with joy. Merry, Pippin and Bob all cheered loudly. The cups raised were filled with tea, not wine, but this did not make the celebration any less joyous.

Diamond and Estella met the news with equal happiness, arranging a trip with their families to visit Boromir so that they could meet Saro. The occasion fell on Boromir’s birthday two weeks before Yule. In the manner of hobbits, Boromir handed out gifts to his dear ones. The lads were given new quivers filled with arrows. Diamond received a set of books filled with old tales from the south. Estella got a new coffee grinder and a large bag of coffee beans. Merry was given a rare book on herb lore. To Pippin Boromir gave a necklace with a fox kit engraved on a small pendant. To Saro he gave a fine wool coat and a pair of fur-lined boots. They feasted throughout the day and late into the night. Whilst passing around afters, Saro brought out a box and placed it carefully on the table.

“Uncle Bob found this in the trunk with my ring,” she said. “We think it is a record of our family history. I can read a little, yet not well enough to muddle through it, and Uncle Bob cannot read at all. I was wondering if perhaps…”

“Your family history?” Merry and Pippin said at once, squeezing in on either side of Saro like bookends.

“Shall we take them and write out your family tree?” Pippin asked.

“Oh, do, please!” Saro said. “So long have I wanted to know more about that sea-voyage. Perhaps now we shall know to tale in full.”

“We shall be more than happy to help,” Diamond said.

“Oh, don’t let Diamond fool you, Saro!” Estella laughed. “Diamond wants to help you learn to read a little better. It is her passion! She would have everyone able to read and write as well as any scholar.”

Saro blinked hard as her eyes filled with mist. Theo and Faro took her hands, patting them gently. “Don’t worry, Saro, we shan’t let her make you spend all your time learning your letters!”

Boromir sat quietly, watching Saro and his friends. A deep contentment filled him, like nothing he had ever known. Only one thought disturbed this perfect moment for him, for he wished with all his heart that Faramir could share this moment with him.

The following day the ladies spent setting a date for the wedding, designing a dress for Saro and making plans while Boromir took Merry and Pippin with their sons hunting for deer and partridge as promised. Saro found, to her delight, that she was accepted as though they had always known her, and she began to understand the close relationship her betrothed shared with these two families. And though winter’s chill now held sway, as she watched the Tooks and Brandybucks drive away, she found herself thinking that wonderful things grew in the Old Forest.

Now, in the Old Forest, there is an ancient magic, and not all of it is goodly, but around the little cabin, the magic must have decided it would be wholesome. Perhaps it was because the Man who dwelt in the sprawling little cabin there was careful to listen to the Light. We do not know whether this is true or not, but it is of very little consequence. All that mattered was the pleasant peace that wove itself into the very airs about his little kingdom. The little cabin——if, indeed, it still could be named as such, for now it was more house than cabin—— had grown, and resembled an old hen with smaller chicks spread out underneath her wings. It was altogether a humble but cozy home. There was a beauty about the simplicity of the place.

Saro visited Boromir again, on the day before Yule, to be exact, that wonderful season the Shire so loved.

A rare dusting of snow had painted the little home and barn with a sparkling white enchantment, the trees seemed to be decked out in white finery, like great lords and ladies. Inside, a fire blazed in the hearth. At the back of the cabin a little kitchen now sat. Inside, a man and a woman talked in low, soft voices. They were quietly but enjoyably engaged in making sweets of every kind. These were put into little parcels, each one including a little animal carved in wood, or a doll or wooden sword.

The man and the woman had conspired to leave that night and secretly drop off each parcel at the homes of several hobbit children, as well as at the homes of several children of men in Bree. Later, the man would take the woman back to her own home.

A spring wedding had been planned, to take place at Great Smials. Pippin Took and Merry Brandybuck would stand beside the Man, Bluebell Fox, Diamond Took and Estella Brandybuck would stand by the woman. Elanor Gamgee and Holly Thornbush would bear armloads of fragrant blooms to perfume the scene; Faro Took and Theo Brandybuck would seat the guests. Mayor Sam Gamgee would perform the wedding.

Saro had come to understand that these good folk had become a mismatched family, indeed, and family was one of the things she and Boromir most needed, especially Boromir, for he had told her his story in full, and her heart ached for the separation of Boromir and Faramir. Perhaps, she thought, it is not so strange, after all, that members of the same family may be born of completely different parents and even races. Perhaps this is one of the greater lessons the Author of All Things and Creation Unfinished wishes us to learn.

A strong but quiet contentment lived in the little home in the Old Forest. The man who lived there had made a remarkable inner journey, but one that was not yet at its end. The Light still called to him, yet was patient, knowing that some things cannot be rushed. Like a seed sleeping in the earth, mortal creatures imbued with immortal souls must be allowed to quicken. The spirit of the man quickened still, but was not yet ready to reach its final stage of growth, and, in so doing, become complete.

The man’s journey was a journey unfinished, like Creation itself. He had a sense of this; his time in the Light had given him that, among many other gifts. Once he had been dead, and then reborn. Like the caterpillar and the cocoon; the transformation was not yet ready to finish itself. He no longer felt guilty for things he’d never done, nor was he unrepentant for his very real wrongdoing. He had made his amends as much and as well as he could for now, and, free and clear of the inner torment that had so been a part of him, he became aware of the deep happiness that comes from a simple life and a giving heart. All false shame had been scourged and soothed out of him, and his heart was no longer heavy, nor his spirit weary. His was a life of balance, now, and he meant to maintain it at any and all cost. He was, in short, a man at peace in the greater sense of the word. This peace would only be complete when his time to return to the Light had come, but until then, I dare say few of the living could say that they had found this kind of happiness.

The woman, too, had found a measure of peace. She had learned much from the man, and had much more to learn, but she found that she, too, could gain from their long talks about life and what goes after. He was to her in one a friend, a brother and a lover. And as she had had no father to speak of, one might also say she was, again in a spiritual sense, his daughter as well. This was the great lesson of the Wild Folk at work, and it had its own kind of magic, and she found this a great and wondrous healer. She was also, yet again, in a spiritual sense, his mother. And this was well, as he had lost his mother as a boy. She comforted him when he missed his brother, and listened quietly when he told her the story of his life, understanding he would not wed her without her knowing everything about him. She was his greatest treasure and his best beloved; all things a woman may be to a man all rolled up in one. He had always loved women, as his Ruby could have told. Women had always seemed to him to be almost magical creatures, mysterious and immutable and mutable all at once, like the sea.

With the kitchen work done and the parcels all packed and loaded, the pair set off in the dark, bundled against the cold and looking in quiet wonder at the magically white world they traveled through. This was one of the happiest times the Man had ever known. His still, small voice whispered a little secret to him, and it said he was about to enter into his fifth life, and this life was going to be a very, very good one.