Chapter Seven: Message from the North

“Trust me,” she had said when his tears at last subsided. “You have trusted me since the beginning. Don’t stop trusting me now. Tell me when you are afraid and if I can I will help you but, please, don’t ever push me or our children from you again the way you did. They love you too and they are as worried about you as you are about them.”

This was what a family was about, but in his fear and with his life and everything he had ever known turned upside down Merimac had forgotten. He was ashamed that he had lacked the courage to confide in his family earlier and all the more grateful to see that they forgave him. He tried his best to erase all traces of his mistake and was surprised at how effortless it was. Now that he no longer denied himself to love them he found that even laughter would come easier to him. He felt like himself again although the burden of their siege kept his spirits from rising too high.

“Will you be up in the north tonight?” Saradoc asked.

Merimac nodded and broke the bread to offer one half to his brother. The dining room was clustered with hobbits and a hubbub of voices filled the air. Many ate in silence, others talked quietly, and only the children said out loud what they all felt. “We’ve had that yesterday. It’s not stew it’s soup.” And once the first plate was finished: “I’m still hungry.”

Merimac was well aware that the children’s parents looked nervously at his brother even as they hushed and chastised their offspring for their ungratefulness. Saradoc avoided those looks as well as he could, but no one could deny that the children spoke the truth. Their situation could be a lot worse, but it was far from what Saradoc would like it to be. Merimac was grieved by the sadness in his brother’s eyes and meant to cheer him up, but he never found the right words.

“It’s been a quiet night last night. I haven’t seen a single ruffian near the border,” Saradoc informed him as he plucked his bread to pieces and threw them into his bowl.

“Perhaps they get bored with teasing,” Merimac smiled a little, “or too cold for it. Whatever their reason is, I’m glad.”

Saradoc nodded and for a time he spooned his soup in silence. “How is Nel?”

“Getting round,” Merimac replied and was glad to see his brother’s lips twitch. “Berilac is talking to nothing else but her stomach. He’s sure it will be a boy. It’s what he hopes for anyway.” Merimac chuckled. “He says girls are trouble which, of course, gets Bluebell all worked up. I guess that’s why he’s doing it in the first place. He just sits there and laughs while Bluebell bickers away at him.”

Saradoc smiled, but Merimac suddenly wished he had kept his mouth shut. His brother’s eyes were empty and desolated and to Merimac he looked utterly miserable. Now that Frodo, Merry, Pippin and Samwise had been gone for over a year Saradoc struggled to hide his worries. Whether or not he still believed in their return Merimac did not dare to ask. He sighed and swallowed hard before he finished his lunch in silence.

They had just pushed the dishes from them, when Doderic stormed into the room and hurried to their table the moment he spotted them. They got to their feet immediately. “What is it?” Saradoc asked concerned.

“Father’s in your study,” Doderic quickly informed them. “Hob Hayward, who’s with the Shiriffs, came running to the border this morning and wanted to see you, but father wouldn’t let him come here alone. He might be a spy and run off to the Big Folk the moment he finds out whatever he has come to look for.”

Doderic made no secret of his dislike for the Shiriffs, but when Saradoc did not reply he seemed nervous. “He has been at the Hay Gate, hasn’t he?” Merimac wondered in hopes he could wake his brother from his ponderings.

Saradoc nodded and recognition dawned on his face. “That’s the one! He’s greeted me.”

Merimac frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know yet, but I doubt he is a spy,” Saradoc replied and Merimac was astounded to see hope shine in his brother’s pale green eyes. “Come with me.”

They found Seredic at the door to the Saradoc’s study glancing suspiciously at the hobbit who stood near the Master’s desk with his hat clutched to his chest. Saradoc thanked their cousin before he entered closely followed by Merimac. Hob Hayward turned and his eyes widened with an almost disturbing amount of joy.

“He is alive, Master Saradoc,” the old hobbit burst out as he advanced them and clutched his hat even tighter. “They are all alive.”

Time froze. As the words slowly sank, in Merimac was struck as dumb as his brother. He stared at the Shiriff with unbelieving eyes, when Saradoc suddenly grabbed his arm for support. “Merry?” the Master asked breathlessly. He was pale and the fingers that held on to him trembled.

“Yes,” Hob said with shining eyes, “and he’s all dressed up – all of them. They looks like princelings in their fine garments and with swords on their sides.”

“Swords?” Merimac wondered incredulous. Beside him Saradoc swayed and Merimac forced himself to wake from his stupor and slowly led his brother to his chair. His heart beat fast, torn between disbelief and excitement.

“How do you know?” Saradoc asked in a shaky voice.

“They came to the Bridge two nights ago and they tears down the notice and breaks the rules; and Mr Merry, he drives away Bill Ferny all by himself he does.”

“Bill Ferny!” Merimac exclaimed and clenched his fist. He was one of the few who knew exactly what had happened the day his brother had visited the ruffians.

Saradoc smiled a little, but his thoughts went into another direction. “Why didn’t they come here?”

Hob shrugged. “They left for Hobbiton in the morning. They’re going to have a word with the Chief.” The old hobbit gasped as he realised what he had said and lowered his head bashfully, almost crushing his hat with his fists. “Mr Lotho, that is.”

“They are going to rouse the Shire,” Merimac said amazed. Saradoc’s smile widened.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Hob looked almost frightened now, “but I don’t know if they will be able to. They’ve been arrested last night in Frogmorton. The Chief has ways of getting news.”

“You mean your spies told him,” Merimac replied darkly and Hob shrank back a step.

“I’m afraid so, sir,” he mumbled. “A Shiriff escort goes with them to Bywater. They’re lucky most of the Big Folk have gone there too or they might be on the way to the Lockholes already, but I don’t know what’s going to happen once they see the Chief. I’ve been dismissed last night and all I knows is that the Chief wants to see them.”

They considered this in silence. Merimac noted that his brother’s first shock had dwindled and excitement was written all over his face. Merimac himself felt like dancing at the news, but at the same time he was worried.

“Merry got rid of Ferny all by himself, you say?” Saradoc inquired and Hob nodded.

“Yes, sir. He drew his sword and Ferny run for it, but before he got far one of the ponies kicked him and sent him sprawling,” he smiled at the memory. “I’d have run too with the four of them all dressed for battle and Mr Merry and Mr Pippin all grown.”

“Grown?” Merimac lifted an eyebrow. “Pippin might grow half an inch but Merry is long past growing.”

“But they did,” Hob insisted and shrank further back nonetheless.

“Never mind their size,” Saradoc said. “What do you think? Could they manage to rouse the Shire and fight the ruffians?”

Hob blushed all the way to the tip of his ears and fumbled nervously with his hat. “They might,” he said at length. “They didn’t put up with what’s going on and most hobbits don’t neither. I reckon most hobbits will come with them if they asks.”

Merimac smiled as he caught Saradoc’s glance. They were going to make it. This was the moment they had waited for. Folk in Hobbiton and Bywater were going to stand up and so would the Bucklanders. If they were lucky the Tooks had got the news as well and would fight from the south. The Shire would soon be theirs again.

Merimac’s skin prickled with excitement and now it was his trembling fingers which held onto his brother’s shoulder. He was about to asks questions about their plan, when Saradoc brought him down to earth again. “There’s going to be fighting,” he said earnestly. His face was stern and in his eyes lay the calm strength of Buckland’s Master for which Merimac had always admired him. “Whose side will you be on?”

Hob stared at him for a long moment, face pale and eyes wide with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. Suddenly his features changed. His brows drew together and his mouth set in a straight, thin line. Without looking at it he held out his hat, took the red feather from it and threw it onto the ground. He was a Shiriff no longer and only Merimac knew what this gesture meant to his brother.

“Welcome back,” Saradoc smiled and Hob shook his outstretched hand.

“Never meant to go away, Master Saradoc, and neither did many others.”

“I know,” Saradoc replied. “That’s why I need your help. I’m going to call a moot.”

~*~*~

When Merimac stepped outside the next morning he could hardly believe his eyes. All the Hall’s inhabitants seemed to be gathered in the garden. Wives embraced their husbands in farewell and children kissed their fathers for good luck. The air was chilly, but Merimac hardly noticed it. He stood, staring at the crowd with a mixture of wonder, relief, joy and a nervous excitement to fulfil the promise Saradoc had spoken the night before.

“This will be the last stand. If we don’t get up now and fight for our home it will be lost to us forever. Every one of you is needed. If we stand together no ruffian can oppose us.”

And they had come. Two hundred were ready to go out with Saradoc – nervous but with new hope. The return of the four travellers as well as a Shiriff joining up with them had raised their spirits and their trust in Saradoc’s words. Yet the scenes of goodbye and the hubbub of voices planted a seed of fear and sorrow in Merimac’s heart. No one knew whether they were all going to return.

He jumped when Adamanta placed her hand in his, then squeezed it, glad for her support. “Are you afraid?” she asked and looked curiously up at him.

“A bit of fear will keep me from recklessness,” he replied and kissed her brow. “This time we will succeed. We have to.”

But even as he spoke his face turned pale. Several steps in front of him stood Berilac, one hand combing trough Pimpernel’s hair, the other resting protectively on her belly. A knife hung at his hip and a sling-shot peeked out from the rim of his trousers.

Merimac let go of Adamanta’s hand and hastened towards his son, not heeding his wife’s calls. “May I talk to you for a second?” he asked and grabbed him by the shoulder even before Berilac could reply.

“You’re not coming,” he said as he pulled Berilac away from Pimpernel.

“What?”

“You’re not coming,” Merimac repeated sternly. “Your wife is expecting and needs you here, not out there.”

Berilac looked at him and his confused features softened into a smile. “If this is your way of telling me you’re worried and would not see me hurt again I appreciate it, but I won’t stay home.”

Merimac grimaced at the truth in these words but could not get himself to let him go. Berilac, however, stopped him before he could even open his mouth. “This is as much my home as it is yours and I want to fight for it like everybody else, especially because my wife is expecting. I don’t want my child to grow up in a world like this. But if it calms you I’ll have you know that I have every intention to return. No single-handed foolishness this time. Besides, I still have you at my side to take care of me, don’t I?” Berilac smiled so genuinely that Merimac was at a loss for words. Tears of pride gathered in his eyes and he pulled his son into his arms.

“I will be at your side all right,” he laughed and looked the boy over. “And I swear I shall rip off your head before any ruffian could, should you only think about foolish ideas.”

“That’s settled then,” Berilac smiled. “Let’s go.”

And go they did to the tears and good wishes of friends and family. Bluebell waved at them until they were out of sight and Merimac was almost relieved to see Berilac look back at their family with sorrow in his eyes. Indeed, a little fear might well do them good today.”

Saradoc had suggested going to the bridge first and as they journeyed there many a hobbit who saw them pass picked up his hay fork and followed them.

When they reached the guard houses they were met by a group of amazed Shiriffs. Hob Hayward stepped out from among them, all smiles and anticipation. “Good morning, Master Saradoc,” he greeted and touched the rim of his hat. “They have grown more careful since Mr Merry’s return. There are five of them in the guard house.”

“Hob, don’t,” one of the Shiriff’s hissed, before he shrank back from the Hall-land folk.

“Will you get them out for me?” Saradoc asked and Hob immediately hurried off.

“Master Saradoc,” a timid voice to their right said. Merimac who sat on a pony next to his brother recognised young Rufus Puddifoot from The Marish. “What are you going to do?”

“What I should have done eleven months ago,” Saradoc replied and seemed strong, proud, and determined at the same time.

Rufus looked at him in awe and a murmur went through the assembled Shiriff’s. The wind came up and brought with it a smell of burning. It whispered and whined as it passed them by and to Merimac it spoke of change. A thrill of anticipation went through his body and made him shiver.

“May I help you?” Rufus asked in a voice hardly louder than the wind’s.

“You may,” Saradoc smiled, “and everyone who has had enough of this my come with me too.”

“But what about the Men?” another voice enquired. It belonged to a well-fed, middle-aged hobbit with dark curls.

“Let them be my worry,” Saradoc replied and as if requested Hob darted out of the Big Folk’s house followed by all five squint-eyed brutes.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the broadest of them enquired harshly and Saradoc moved his pony forward.

“We have come to reclaim what you have taken from us,” he said in a voice that echoed strangely in the sudden silence. “This land was never yours to inhabit and now you will leave it and never return.”

The ruffian’s lips curled in a smile that froze the moment he noticed the assembled group. He merely gaped at Saradoc. Merimac felt his nerves strain and his muscles tense. He held his knife in his hand, ready to push forward. On Saradoc’s other side Berilac stood with the sling of his sling-shot drawn back. The air was stiff with suspense.

The ruffians looked them over and while their leader’s features darkened those of his companions blanched. The Man on the leader’s left was the first to drop his weapon, a wooden club. Another put a horn to his lips, but thought better of it. One after the other the ruffians let go of their weapons and in the end, seeing the superior number of hobbits, the leader, too, surrendered.

Saradoc nodded his head at which several hobbits tentatively advanced the Men and took their weapons.

“The Boss won’t approve of this,” one Man snarled gutturally.

“Your Boss’ days are numbered,” Saradoc replied with an authority that had the hobbits look at him with admiration and wonder alike, and even as he spoke several Shiriffs got rid of their feathers and joined Brandy Hall’s troop. The rest, too afraid perhaps to be recognised as those on the wrong side, followed their example quickly enough and Merimac felt his heart lighten. Perhaps they needn’t fight after all.

“I need fifty of you to guard the bridge and see to it that no one goes in or out,” Saradoc ordered as he made the Men walk before him to the gate. Hob opened it. “The rest of you come with me. We will find every single ruffian in Buckland and The Marish and escort them to the border.”

A loud cheer broke at that and when Merimac turned to look at the crowd they shook their weapons and the tips of their forks glistened in the sunshine.

~*~*~

The next two days they spent riding and walking through Buckland, and in the end it was almost too easy. Most ruffians surrendered quickly when they found themselves surrounded by so many. Only one fought back in earnest. He died before his stroke fell and was buried near the High Hay at Haysend.

In the meantime news had reached them. Sharkey, the real Chief, was dead and so was Lotho Sackville-Baggins. All over the Shire folk were now standing up against the ruffians and one by one they surrendered and fled or were brought to the borders.

Saradoc had just escorted the last group of ten to the bridge whose spiked gates were already ripped down. He felt weary and exhausted yet he was happy beyond measure. They had succeeded. Buckland, no, the entire Shire was free once more.

“We have really done it,” Merimac said as he got off his pony, stretched his back and looked after the last group of Men walking from them like beaten beasts. Saradoc turned to him and smiled. His brother had never left his side these last two days although most of the hobbits had returned to the Hall. Some, so he was told, had already returned to their old homes and were either rebuilding what had been broken or simply cleaning out a long abandoned smial.

Saradoc dismissed the hobbits who had accompanied him on this last escort when old Denham, who had resumed his post as gatekeeper, called out. “There’s somebody coming.”

Instead of looking west the old hobbit pointed east. Saradoc turned and shielded his eyes against the sunshine. A group of over twenty ruffians advanced them surrounded by at least thrice that number of hobbits. Saradoc mounted his pony again and with Merimac at his heel he galloped to meet them. The hobbits cheered and waved when he advanced them. The heady feeling of a newly won freedom lay in the air and Saradoc laughed and greeted them with joy.

“We’re the Bywater troop,” one of the hobbits said when Saradoc asked them where they came from.

“Bywater?” Saradoc gasped and his heart involuntarily skipped a beat. “Have you seen Merry, then? Did you see my son?”

“He is right here,” a voice called from his left and all strength left him. Saradoc was suddenly afraid to turn, afraid all might have been a dream and when he woke up Brandy Hall would still be besieged and he would not have had any news about Merry.

“Merry!” It was his brother’s voice now and the sound of him jumping from his mount and hurrying in the direction of the first voice made him turn around after all.

And there he was: Meriadoc Brandybuck, his son and heir, every inch of him he remembered – and, indeed, several he did not. He had grown both in size and experience. His hair was thick, but it could not quite conceal the brown scar on his forehead. His armour, for that was what he was wearing, was a splendid green with a white horse on his chest that glittered in the sunlight. A princeling Hob Hayward had called him and Saradoc agreed to that wholeheartedly. His princeling.

He jumped from his pony and almost stumbled because of the weakness of his knees. Tears spilled down his cheeks before he even noticed them as he ran to embrace his son. “You’re alive,” he breathed as he kissed first his left cheek, his brow, and then the right cheek. “You’re home.”

Saradoc held him at arms-length to look his son over. He stroked over his hair, gently brushed his fingers over the scar, touched his shoulders, his arms, and grasped his hands only to hug him the tighter a second time. He heard Merry talk to him, but his words were of no meaning to him. For the moment it was enough to hold him – hold him and never let him go again.

It was Merry, who after many reassuring claps on Saradoc’s shoulder and with tears of his own in his eyes, broke from the embrace to laugh out loud. “That’s my uncle!” he called between fits. “More interested in a pony than his nephew’s return.”

Saradoc turned to find Merimac inspecting Merry’s steed from every side and a breathless chuckle escaped him. “What could I do?” Merimac asked as he took hold of the beautiful pony’s reins and patted its neck. “Your father denies me a chance to get close to you. Besides, I need to set up a proper breeding program again. The stables look worse than ever before and this one,” he looked at Merry hopefully, “I’m sure you will lend him to your old uncle, won’t you? He is perfect for a new beginning.”

Merry sobered immediately and drew his brows together in concern. “What do you mean by worse?” he enquired and looked from one to the other.

“Bad enough to have him fear every new morning,” Saradoc said and his light-hearted tone did not bear any hint to the despair he had been through, “but we had it better than folk in Bywater and Hobbiton from all I’ve heard.”

Merimac waved his hand dismissively. “As if you weren’t afraid,” he huffed, but smiled nonetheless as he advanced them with the pony’s reins still in his hand. He pulled his nephew into a tight embrace and kissed his brow. “Welcome home, lad!”

~*~*~

Brandy Hall’s windows – each shimmering golden with the light of lanterns and candles inside – appeared in front of them shortly after sundown. News of their coming had reached the Hall already and when they rode up they found most of the inhabitants assembled in the gardens in spite of the chill air. They cheered and sang and hailed them like heroes returning from the battle against the dragon in the days of old. Merimac’s heart opened and sang with them as he rode home – Brandy Hall as it should be: a source of joys and sorrows, of light and togetherness, of singing and dancing, of bliss and recreation. How he had longed to see it so again!

He waved as he spotted his wife and children among the hobbits. Bluebell ran immediately towards them, but it was Esmeralda who reached them first. She stood ahead of all the others with a shawl around her shoulders and tears and her eyes. Her greying hair, which she wore down for once, played in the wind. For a long while she just stood there and watched them advance with disbelief in her eyes, until suddenly she gathered her skirts and darted towards them, Merry’s name on her lips. Merry dismounted and ran to meet her and face the same treatment Saradoc had administered earlier.

Merimac watched them with a smile and clapped Saradoc’s shoulder when he saw tears gather in his brother’s eyes once more. “We’ve done it,” he simply said, knowing that for Saradoc this had been more than one victory.

He got off his horse to catch Bluebell with open arms and kiss her in welcome. “You’re back!” she said and smiled so brightly that he had to kiss her nose again.

Hand in hand they walked towards the rest of their family. Berilac, who had returned home only this morning, clapped his shoulder and nodded his head, while Pimpernel gave him a quick hug. When Merimac finally turned to his wife he was shocked to find her eyes brimmed with tears. He kissed her lovingly and one of them loosened and trailed down her cheeks. Merimac brushed it away and looked at her with concern. She shook her head and laughed. “You’re smiling and your eyes are shining,” she kissed him and breathed a sight of relief. “Things are really going back to normal then.”

Merimac smiled and kissed her again before he had her lean her head against his shoulder. He gazed out over the garden upon which the hobbits were still singing and dancing. In the midst of them all stood Saradoc, Esmeralda, and Merry still embracing each other and looking Merry over from top to toe. He chuckled and put his other arm around Bluebell. “Yes, normal would be quite nice for a change.”