Setting the Captives Free

4 Blotmath, 1419, S.R.

The day after the battle Frodo rode to Michel Delving and released the prisoners from the Lockholes.  One of the first that they found was poor Fredegar Bolger. Fatty no longer.  He had been taken when the ruffians smoked out a band of rebels that he led from their hidings up in the Brockenbores by the hills of Scary. - The Return of the King, Chapter IX, The Grey Havens

With much waving and fond farewells from friends and neighbours in Bywater, Pippin mounted his pony, as did Frodo, Merry, and Sam, and then all set out on their errand to the Shire’s chief town.  The Travellers headed a score of lads that had family or close friends held against their will in Michel Delving.   Most of these accompanying lads had fought in the Battle of Bywater the day before, and a small number of them had sustained minor injuries but were able enough to accompany the procession.  

Pippin surveyed the well-wishers standing along the road, observing the various arms in a sling or a few young lads leaning on sticks or rude crutches, yet their faces bore proud smiles as if they were boldly following the young captains into yet another victory.  Pippin heard the whistles and cheers grow louder from the crowd of hobbits lining the road as the group headed towards the East Road.  Once upon a time, Pippin would have revelled in the attention.  Now, however, his thoughts were elsewhere. 

The tweenager’s mind had wandered on to other things nearer to his heart.  Pippin had been to Michel Delving countless times on business as the Thain’s Heir prior to leaving the Shire, thus Pippin wondered how those who dwelt there had fared this past year.  Pippin, his cousins and Sam had been told that Michel Delving had been one of the principal locations the Ruffians used as a hub to do their ‘gathering’ and bullying.  Sadly, it was also where a makeshift prison had been made from the old storage tunnels to confine hobbits that didn‘t cave in to the whims of their tormentors.  This was the Traveller’s errand: to set the prisoners free.

“Then, Master Elrond, you will have to lock me up in prison or send me home tied up in a sack...”   It saddened Pippin to know that his impulsive remark to Lord Elrond at the start of the Quest had actually happened to hobbits in the Shire.

The sky was overcast all morning and a gentle breeze came from the south when the group stopped for a late lunch.  They were about halfway to Waymeet when they found a clearing off of the north-side of the road where they could comfortably eat their meagre provisions.  Pippin could tell by the many roughly hewn stumps strewn about the area that this hadn’t always been a ‘clearing’.  There were one or two trees that had not been cut down by the Ruffians that still remained and had colourful leaves growing.  And as he half-expected, Pippin heard Sam venting his anger over the plight of the trees as he organised lunch.  For their meal, each hobbit had brought a little of something that they could share, and with Sam as the chief cook, there was soon ample hot stew of sausage bits, potatoes, and carrots put together that would assuage everyone’s hunger.

Once served, Pippin took his bowl and sat upon a large log that had been chopped down not long ago, as the wood still appeared green.  He settled beside Merry yet neither cousin spoke; both were quietly engaged in their meal.  When he finished, Pippin became aware of a lad nearby about his own age although not nearly as robust as he remembered him.  Looking intently, Pippin saw that the lad had a bloodstained bandage clumsily wrapped round his right hand and wrist.  As the poor unfortunate was right-handed, he was having difficulties managing his bowl and spoon simultaneously. 

In previous years, Pippin had scrapped with this lad about everything from missing marbles to defending Pervinca’s honour.  Before the Quest, Pippin imagined nothing could ever bring them together as acquaintances, much less friends, however, there was now something about Sancho‘s demeanour that told Pippin there had been a change in this young hobbit. 

In the midst of his contemplation, Pippin noticed that Sancho’s shirt was discoloured and tattered at the cuffs; the buttons on his knee-breeches were gone.  Pippin understood that the lad had obviously done without certain things in recent months, however, Pippin mused on exactly what sacrifices the lad had truly made, for no Proudfoot had ever ‘done without’ in Pippin’s memory. 

“I can’t be thinking like this!”  Pippin chided himself, “We’ve all been touched by the evil spread by Sauron in one fashion or another.”  Pippin set aside his own empty plate and his feud with Sancho, then walked over to the lad.

“Here Sancho,” Pippin kindly offered, “I’ll hold your bowl while you eat.”  

Sancho hesitated only for a moment then slowly lifted his eyes to the kind hobbit, contrite and filled with profound sorrow.  “They’ve got Marcho and Blancho,” Sancho whispered to his old nemesis, his statement referring to his two eldest brothers.  “And I know they beat Marcho senseless before hauling him off the Lockholes.”

Pippin laid a sympathetic arm around Sancho’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry about your brothers, Sancho.  I don’t know what we’re going to find when we get there,” he replied, “but I promise I will help you search for them nevertheless.”

Slowly, a smile crept across Sancho‘s face.  “Thank you, Pippin,” he said, “I mean, Captain Peregrin.”

Pippin was still uncomfortable with this new title the hobbits in Bywater shouted at him, however, he returned Sancho’s smile just the same.  “Just Pippin is fine.  I‘ll help you clean your wound before we leave.”

When Pippin returned to his position on the log beside Merry, out of the corner of his eye he saw his cousin looking at him.  “Is something the matter?” Pippin asked with feigned indifference.

Merry leant forward, a grin on his face and both arms comfortably resting across his drawn up knees.  He had a twinkle in his blue eyes as he spoke.  “Nothing...I suppose,” he said. “That is, if you consider that two life-long sworn archenemies just had a decent conversation without a scuffle in its wake.”

“Sancho is all right, I guess,” Pippin answered while putting away his own eating utensils.  “He’s not the same person he used to be.”

Merry place a gentle hand on Pippin’s shoulder.  “I gathered that.  And neither are you.”

The next thing Pippin knew he was back on the road riding westward in the direction of the Sun...that is, if the Sun had shown her face at all.  Pippin gazed at the gold and orange foliage they passed, inhaling deeply, filling his lungs with the tangy smell of autumn.  In spite of the Shire‘s beautiful countryside, Pippin found that as the miles wore on, his thoughts dwelt more and more upon the Lockholes and its inhabitants far away in Michel Delving.

They stopped for supper on the western edge of Waymeet and then rode on until it was close to midnight, stopping a couple of times to rest the ponies until the Moon was well overhead - or so they deemed when the clouds had broken enough to reveal a starry sky and the Moon casting His light between the fissures.  Those that were hale enough dismounted to walk their ponies the last mile, and as they did so, passed an eerie darkened lodging called The Halfway Inn.  It was aptly named because it was located halfway between Waymeet and Michel Delving at the northern mouth of Hardbottle Road.  During one such luminous moment of the moon, the hobbits saw that every window had been broken, the thatch roof scorched from a blaze within, and they smelt a trace of burnt cinders emanating from the dwelling.  The destruction had obviously been done recently by those who opposed such establishments, or to keep a certain people from socialising and gathering enough courage to rebel.  Pippin shook his head in disgust.

“I heard a Wight from the Barrow Downs haunts it now,” said one fellow from the back of the group.

“No,” came a soft, familiar voice walking beside Pippin.  Pippin stared compassionately at Frodo who seemed to shiver with a far away look in his eyes.  “No Wight lives here - only sorrow and heartache.”  No one contested, and no one else spoke about the inn being haunted.  Pippin knew Frodo wasn’t being condescending; he knew his dear cousin spoke from his heart.

When the company finally made camp Pippin thought his mind would finally find solace from the day’s reflections in sleep.  Sadly, he was wrong. Pippin nearly twisted himself into a knot with his blanket before he gave up on getting any rest.  Rising from the bed of soft grass he, Merry, and Sam lay upon, Pippin meandered towards the campfire where he could see Frodo’s silhouette, having taken the first watch.  Pippin wordlessly sat across from his cousin, taking up a long stick to stoke the burning embers.

Frodo clasped the edges of his blanket wrapped snugly around him then took a sip of his hot tea.  “A bit nippy tonight, isn’t it?” he asked in a near whisper.  Frodo wondered at the lad’s restlessness, but figured it was the same as what had been on everyone’s mind: the Lockholes. 

Pippin stirred the ashes with his stick for a long moment before answering.  “Perhaps.  The sun set hours ago so it should be nippy.”

Frodo poured Pippin a cup of the hot tea then offered it to him.  “A penny for your thoughts,” he asked softly.

“Thank you.”  Pippin took the steaming liquid and sighed.  “When we saw Falco in Hobbiton, he said that Fredegar was captured back in Rethe and locked up in...in that place.”  Pippin couldn’t even bring himself to speak the word.

“Falco did say that,” said Frodo. “That’s why I feel this errand is so pressing.”

“I wonder...,” said Pippin, then broke off his sentence.

“You wonder what?”

Pippin paused his stirring the hot embers to articulate his thoughts.  “I wonder if he is hale at all - or if he’s been beaten like Marcho, too.  How do Ruffians treat their prisoners?  Not kindly, I should think.  I’m frightened for him, Frodo, and all of the other hobbits locked up with him.”

Pippin’s gaze was at his feet, though out of the corner of his eye he could see Frodo stand to his feet.  In the next moment Pippin felt his dear friend’s toasty body sit beside him as he wrapped the blanket he wore around the both of them.

“I’m frightened for him, too, Pip.  We all are.  He‘s the foremost reason why we‘re making this trip.”  Frodo could see that his words had little effect on calming the tween’s fears.

“Go on to sleep,” Frodo said gently while smoothing Pippin‘s curls.

Pippin blinked wearily a couple of times.  “I won’t sleep.  I’d rather sit with you a while, if you please.”

Frodo smiled.  “I’d like that.  In the meantime, why don’t you tell me more of Treebeard and the Entwives?”

~~~~~~~~~

When the Sun had chased the Moon over the western horizon, She shone pale, but warm, which promised an afternoon of another temperate day.  The company broke their fast with bread, strips of dried beef, and water from a nearby stream.  Pippin packed his gear and readied his pony for the last stretch of their journey.  Nearby, a conversation took place between a couple of the accompanying lads.

“Sam’s done a fine job o’ spreadin’ the victuals round to everyone,” said one hobbit, “but we’re runnin’ low.”

“I hope we find some food when we get there,” replied the other.  “The Chief’s Men did a lot o’ gatherin’, but very little sharin’.”

“Aye,” agreed the first hobbit.  “I heard there’re cellars full o’ the Shire’s harvest hidden away there.”

“We’ll look for any food hidden after we’ve opened the Lockholes and have seen to the hobbits inside,” Merry interrupted the exchange, firmly ensuring their first priority was people then food.  “Right now, we probably have more in our bellies than they do.  Consider this - unless one or two stubborn Men have foolishly returned to their post or stayed behind, then who’s been feeding the prisoners?”  Merry’s words quelled any further outbursts about the lack of rations. 

Sam quickly stowed his cooking pans and put out the campfire.  He called to the hobbits helping him, “Let’s finish our business here and move on!”

When he heard Merry’s words, Pippin’s heart fell to his toes, his knees almost buckling beneath him before he could get his foot into the stirrup.  Speechless, he looked over to his cousin who caught his gaze.  Pippin mouthed to him, “Fredegar!”  Likewise, Merry silently gave a nod in response to Pippin and then set about saddling his own pony.

“We have to hurry!” Pippin beseeched his cousin.  “We must rescue Fatty!”

“And so we are,” Frodo put in, having overheard Pippin.  His eyes overlooked the meadows nearby.  “The grass is still green here, so I’d say that these ponies have more in their bellies than we do at this point.  Most of the journey is behind us; I agree that we should make haste.  The prisoners have probably been without water, too.”

Nothing further needed to be said; everyone quickly finished last minute tasks and then climbed into their saddles.

Hours later, the Sun was at her zenith when Michel Delving came into view a long way up the road.  A sudden urgency came upon the Travellers and company; they urged their mounts to a faster pace.  The last few miles lay ahead as did their mission.  Soon, thundering hooves roared in Pippin’s ears as they galloped towards the town.  His Tookish determination focussed on only one thing: to save Fredegar.  As they neared the outskirts of town the company slowed to a trot.  There was a crowd of hobbits standing in front of the Town Hall.

“Ho, there!” Pippin heard a hobbit call out to them; an elder hobbit who appeared to be the leader of the small gathering.  “Are ye new shirrifs sent by the Chief t’ keep order?”

Pippin and Merry were first to slide out of their saddles and walk towards the group.  “No, we are not,” replied Merry.  The town-hobbits stood back when they saw the two taller hobbits advance toward them dressed in exotic finery from foreign parts.  Merry continued, “We’re hobbits like you, most of us from Hobbiton and Bywater, and we’re here to tell you that the Ruffians have were overthrown the day before last and we’re here to open the gates of this prison to set free those left inside.”

Hobbits like them?  Not one town-hobbit moved.  The two advancing hobbits could have easily been diminutive Men sent to “keep the peace”, as they would often put it.  The town-hobbits were used to trickery and lies and therefore did not trust these newcomers.

Frodo dismounted to stand beside Merry and Pippin.  “He is telling the truth,” he announced.  “Please stand aside or give us aid.”  Ponies and hobbits filled the empty town square as various riddles began to unravel.