Chapter 24. Truth, and Trust

'Will you go back with me to Buckland, Pip?'

It was the end, the very end, of the longest day Pippin could remember. Farry was asleep on the little truckle bed in Hally and Rosemary's room, and Pippin and Merry sat before the fire, having a nightcap before they themselves turned in. He had been reluctant to take the master bedroom, now Farry was out of danger, but Rosemary was a Took when all was said and done, and she knew what was due the Thain of the Shire, whether the Thain wanted it or not.

He was groggy with weariness and reaction from all the emotion of the day. 'No,' he said, after a pause. He'd had business in Buckland, but at the moment he couldn't remember what it had been. Farry's disappearance and everything that had followed had driven it from his mind, and he shrugged it away as something of no consequence. 'You finish it up, whatever it was,' he told Merry. 'Can you do that for me, cousin? I need to be getting home.'

'Of course. Leave it to me; I'll see everything's buttoned up neatly, and fair to Buckland and Tookland alike. You can trust me for that.'

'I know I can.' Pippin smiled at him, leaning his head against the high back of his chair. 'It all ended better than we'd any reason to hope, didn't it? And I needn't start out on a long ride to Gondor, and end by trying to explain to Aragorn why I've a brand on my cheek.'

Merry didn't laugh. 'You wouldn't have gone alone, Peregrin. They'd have been looking for a new Master of Buckland, as well as swearing in a new Thain.' He stretched out his hand, and Pippin took it wordlessly in a grip that pressed Merry's signet ring painfully into his flesh.

'Time for sleep,’ Merry said at last. 'You Tooks can laze about at Woody End as long as you like, but I want to make an early start back to Buckland.'

He had been planning to ride home alone the next morning, but Pippin would have none of it. 'For all this was a false alarm, there might still be ruffians about, Merry. Take Regi and Isenard with you at the very least.'

Merry grinned. 'An escort, in fact, just like the Thain.' Pippin reddened, embarrassed, but shook his head.

'The Thain rides with an escort when he goes a mile down the road to inspect a new digging; there's no sense to it, only tradition! You've got half a day's journey ahead of you, and there are some lonely stretches. I'll not see you go alone, Merry, even if I have to go back with you myself.'

Pippin was so evidently in earnest that Merry forbore to tease him further, agreeing to ride in company at least as far as the Ferry landing.

'They could ride all the way to the Hall, stay the night, and still be back before we leave Woody End,' Pippin said, his tone brooking no contradiction. 'I'd like for Farry to rest two or three days and recover his strength. We'll wait for Regi and Isenard to get back before we start for Tuckborough.'

That put a different light on things for Merry – two or three days of rest and good food for Pippin as well as his son. Pippin was skilled at hiding his debility from worried relatives, but Merry could read exhaustion in his cousin's eyes. 'Very well,' he said with a show of reluctance. 'They shall accompany me to the Hall, and they'd better stay over and ride back the next day.'

Merry did not get the early start he'd planned on, however. Rosemary was up betimes frying sausages, which her girls quickly wrapped in golden griddlecakes and whisked to the table, piping hot. Honey-baked apples steamed under a pewter cover in the middle of the table, and sunny fried eggs followed the sausage griddlecakes in quick succession. It would be churlish to refuse the meal, and Merry swallowed his irritation and sat down to eat a hot breakfast at the table instead of a wedge of cheese and an apple out of his saddlebag. In any event, he reflected, the weather was mild. They'd be able to use the Ferry instead of riding the long way round to the Bridge, and he'd still be home soon after midday.

Pippin fixed him with a stern eye. 'You ought to set yourself the same standard you'd set for me,' he said. 'Were I riding back to Buckland with you, you'd stop at every inn for a hot meal by the fire.'

'What's good for the Thain is good for the Master!' Ferdi quipped, and laughed at Merry's sour face. 'We're none of us getting any younger, cousin. What need to rush back to the wilds of Buckland? Have one more civilised meal, at least.'

'This, from one who has been known to sleep in the hollow of a log or the fork of a tree,' Merry remarked dryly. Rosemary set a ramekin of potatoes scalloped with green onions and thick cream in front of him, and his expression changed with the first bite. 'Hmmm,' he sighed. 'I wonder if I could watch over Buckland from the Marish. So much more convenient to pop in for dinner.'

'And very welcome you would be,' Rosemary twinkled at him. 'I am glad to see my efforts will not go to waste!'

'More likely to go to waist,' Merry muttered, patting his waistcoat. He eyed the Thain, fiddling with his fork on the other side of the table. 'Eat up, Pippin!'

'I'm on my seconds already,' Pippin protested, grimacing at his well-filled plate. Off his feed again, Merry realised with a stab of alarm.

'No you're not!' Rosemary, Ferdi and Robin said with one voice, and Merry laughed.

'I'm glad you're going back with him, Ferdi. You're to let Diamond know if he starts fibbing about how much he's eating, mind!'

'Save us!' Pippin said, rolling his eyes. 'I'm eating!' Grimly he attacked the fine fare, and Merry relaxed to see him clear his plate and accept seconds in truth this time. Finally Pippin pushed his plate back with a sigh. 'Sure you wouldn't rather to go work for Merry, Ferdi?' he said.

'Hah! And miss the chance to badger you six times a day?' Ferdi said. 'I live for mealtimes!' He rubbed his hands together, staring balefully at Pippin under his brows, but then he caught Farry's anxious glance and winked. The lad smiled and relaxed.

'In all honesty, I would rest easier, hearing a dispute, if I had a truth-sifter at hand,' Merry said slowly. He looked at Robin. 'Are you free to come and work for me?'

'Not for a few years, yet,' Hally said. 'He's only a tween.'

'Ah, I'd hoped he just looked young for his age,' Merry said. 'I'm serious, though; I believe we need a truth-sifter in Buckland. I don't suppose you'd care to spare your wife?'

'No, I might starve to death,' Hally said. 'She's the best cook in the Shire, you know.'

'How about if your family moved to Buckland until Robin grew up?' Merry persisted.

'You jest,' Hally said flatly. 'But we might manage an occasional visit, if you'd like Rosemary or Robin to sit in on your hearings.'

'Can I bring the hearings to you, if they cannot wait for your visits?' Merry asked.

Pippin was grinning, shaking his head. 'I don't believe my ears,' he said.

'If they cannot wait,' Hally said, after a moment's consideration. 'It would be good to assure the hobbits of the Marish a fair hearing.'

'And the hobbits of Buckland as well,' Merry said. 'I will pay proper compensation for Rosemary's time, and Robin's.'

'My wife and son might earn more than I do,' Hally said thoughtfully. 'Perhaps I can retire and go fishing.'

'Not on your life,' Rosemary said. 'Your fingers would fall off, they would, were you to stop your carving. I know you too well.'

'Indeed you do,' Hally said, but he didn't sound at all bothered.

Breakfast ended at last, and Merry set off with Reginard and Isenard.  The rest of the Tooks stayed four days longer at the cottage, until Faramir was running about with the other children at playtime, and pitching in with his share of the chores, as from force of habit. Pippin watched, bemused, as Farry carried wood and water, cheerfully, without complaint. He even went out to the cow byre one evening, at Farry's insistence, to admire his son's skill at milking.

"I told him he needn't do any chores, now we know who he is,' Hally told the Thain in some chagrin. 'But he said he likes it, and he seemed so downcast, being told to stop, I didn't have the heart --'

Pippin chuckled. 'It's a harmless amusement, isn't it? Let him work, Hally; far better for him than some of the diversions he's found for himself, the last few years.' He was thoughtful after that, however. He had done chores as a lad himself, of course; his father had not become Thain till Pippin was nearly grown. He hadn't always enjoyed his work, and Paladin had been an exacting taskmaster, but looking back on it, he thought it had done him good. Faramir would be the better for it if he had chores to do, but as the son of the Thain, that was out of the question. Until he was of an age to start helping his father in administering the Tookland, there was no task that would not be considered beneath his station. Condemned to idleness, Pippin thought, and sighed.

Regi and Isenard returned from Buckland, but Rosemary decreed one more night of warmth and rest for Faramir before he should brave the elements. It made for interesting sleeping arrangements. The Thain and his son remained in Hally and Rosemary's bedroom, Hally slept with the boys, Rosemary with the girls; Reginard had the extra bed in the kitchen corner, Ferdi curled himself before the hearth and the rest of the Tooks shared the hayloft. Ferdi felt sorry for the cows, having to put up with Isenard's snores.

Their last night in Woody End, Ferdi wakened in the night, not sure what had disturbed his sleep. He listened to the crackle of the dying fire, the soft susurrus from the corner where Reginard slept, a child's sleepy murmur from the next room. He sat up and looked around the room, dimly lit by the watchlamp in the window. There was a figure sitting hunched at the table, and after a moment he realized it was his sister, a shawl thrown over her head and shoulders, her head on her arms.

He rose silently and stole to her side on hunter's feet. Another barely audible sob – that was what had wakened him – followed by a sniff. He laid his hand lightly on Rosemary's shoulder, not wanting to startle her, but she looked up sharply. 'What?' she whispered, scrubbing at her face with her hands. 'O Ferdi, did you need somewhat?'

He sat down with his arm around her. 'I need to know why my sister is weeping in the watches of the night.'

'It's naught,' she said, wiping away the last of the tears.

'Naught? My oh-so-sensible sister weeping over naught?  I don't believe it, dear one.'

This brought another flood of silent tears, and she struggled vainly to wipe them away as quickly as they came. 'What is it?' he pressed her gently. 'Has the Thain changed his mind, then?'

'Ferdi! Bite your tongue!'

He smiled wryly. 'It has been known to happen.'

'What do you mean?' In her shock, she spoke louder than she intended, and Reginard turned restlessly on his bed. They waited, scarcely breathing, until he settled into deeper slumber.

'As long I've known him, Pip's been as changeable as the weather,' Ferdibrand said in a lower voice.

'You do not trust him even now,' Rosemary said slowly. 'Not even after he bound himself by solemn oath?'

'I do not know how to trust him,' Ferdi said, his voice sad.

'If you think on it, Ferdi, this whole trouble began with your lack of trust,' Rosemary said. 'Have you ever given him a chance, since he came back to the Tookland, since he became Thain?'

'I don't know what you mean.' Ferdi was puzzled. 'Very well, this whole thing was my fault; I handled it badly indeed, but what does it have to do with trust?'

'You didn't trust the Thain to do right by his son. That's the truth of it.'

Ferdibrand sat stunned. 'I--' he said, then shook his head. 'No--'

'You cannot lie to me,' Rosemary whispered fiercely. 'You thought you knew better! Perhaps you even thought that you loved Farry better than his own father did.'

Ferdi shook his head again, but he knew his voice would betray him should he speak.

'And did he?' she continued implacably.

'Did he what?'

'Did he do right by Faramir? Didn't he do exactly what he should? He made restitution, he humbled himself before you all, he admitted his wrong, he apologised. And he apologised to Farry as well, and made him the best promise he could under the circumstances.'

Ferdi was silent, and she went on. 'Pip, changeable? Did you not hear his son's testimony? He never makes a promise he doesn't keep – so says Faramir, who ought to know.'

'He has changed, then,' Ferdi said wryly, and Rosemary took a deep breath, ready to launch more words in her perturbation. He kneaded her shoulder with his hand. 'Rosie,' he said, 'very well, I concede the point. This whole situation has been my fault from the beginning.'

She relaxed. 'Well, perhaps not from the beginning,' she admitted. 'Our illustrious cousin has made mistakes, and his son was the one who ran away; you did not drive him from his home, nor entice him to leave.'

'Very well, it has been my fault since the middle,' Ferdi said, a gleam in his eye daring her to contradict him.

'Be serious!' Rosemary hissed.

'I am always serious,' Ferdi returned, and she snorted softly. 'Why were you crying, then?'

She was taken aback, and he realised she had been distracting him from that topic with her talk about Pippin and Farry.

'What is it, Rosie?'

'Naught,' she said again, but he would not let it go.

'It is not naught,' he countered. 'Who suffers from lack of trust now? Rosie, we've been everything to each other, always. Do not shut me out now!' He laid his hand atop hers where it lay on the table, twining his fingers through hers. They'd had no one else, after the tragedy of their early years, until at last they'd found their mates and begun families of their own. But they had always had each other.

She gulped and bowed her head on her arms again. There were tears falling upon his hand, and he rubbed her back gently with the other hand.

'What is it, Rosie? Do not say "naught"; I know truth when I hear it, you know.'

She raised her head, but she would not look at him. 'We've always trusted one another, Ferdi.  There was no one else we could trust, after Mother died.' Ferdi nodded, his hand making comforting circles on her back, his fingers still interlaced with hers on the table.

'I – I betrayed you, Ferdi,' she said brokenly. 'I thought-'

'You thought me mad,' Ferdi said matter-of-factly. 'So did Hally.'

'Oh – Hally!' she said dismissively. 'But how could I think such a thing? Ferdi, I'm so sorry!'

'You watched our mother descend into madness,' Ferdi said.

'I thought I was seeing it again. All over again, like a bad dream.' She shivered. 'Ferdi, do you remember –'

'I remember the stables burning and Uncle Ferdi running back in. And part of the roof falling in flames and Da going in after him...' He’d begun to tremble. 'I remember Mum holding me so tight her nails drew blood, and the screams, the awful screams...'

'That was the beginning,' Rosemary said. 'But do you remember her death?'

Ferdi thought back, but all he could see in his mind's eye was flames, all he could hear was screams – trapped ponies and hobbits, and at the last his mother's sobs. He shook his head. 'No. I don't remember that.'

'She took you,' Rosemary said softly. 'Don't you remember? She took you from the fire.'

'I only remember the flames,' he said, 'as if they danced before my eyes.'

'She took you to the Water that ran by the farm, and she threw you in,' Rosemary said. 'She was shrieking that she had to save you from the flames, so she threw you in the river. You nearly drowned!'

Ferdi shook his head. 'Why don't I remember?'

'Then she ran for me,' Rosemary continued, her voice shaking. 'She grabbed me by the arm and started dragging me to the Water, but I was older than you; I fought with everything I had.' She took a shuddering breath. 'The neighbours who had come to help fight the fire stopped her before she could throw me into the Water, but they couldn't stop her throwing herself in...'

'Why didn't I drown?' Ferdi asked. He'd never heard this story before, had only known his mother had died mad and no one ever spoke of her afterwards.

'A Brandybuck was passing by on the Road going to Bywater. He saw you thrashing around in the Water and he jumped in and pulled you out.' She smiled wanly. 'Brandybucks can swim, you know,' she said.

He grinned at her tone, in spite of himself. 'Yes,' he said.

'She wanted to save you, but she nearly drowned you,' Rosemary said,  'and you were trying to save Farry...'

'O Rose,' Ferdi said softly. It was not her lack of faith in him that grieved his heart, but the pain his actions had caused her. His sister, who had been everything to him, all the years of his growing-up. 'Forgive me, Rosie.'

'Forgive you!' she gasped.

'Aye,' he said softly. He wrapped his arms around her, and she buried her face against his shoulder and wept. He held her until she was finished crying, and if she felt his tears wetting her hair, where his head leaned against hers, she never told another soul.