Chapter 52. 'When the Leaves are Gold'

In that time of year when the leaves were gold before falling, Frodo turned to Merry and Pippin in the yard of the Great Smials and said, ‘I think I will ride with you towards Crickhollow, at least a part of the way. I can’t go far or for a long time now, of course.’

 ‘Is Freddy that poorly?’ Merry asked, but Frodo only shook his head, looking troubled.

 ‘He’ll probably outlive the healers who are predicting his early demise!’ Pippin said stoutly, to try to cheer his older cousins. ‘That’s what I’d do in his place!’

 ‘I’m sure you would at that, scamp!’ Frodo said fondly.

 ‘Too bad for Rudi that neither his niece nor his nephew could be at the wedding,’ Merry said, changing the subject as he checked his pony’s gear with his usual care.

Socks danced and tossed his head as Pippin mounted; he half-reared when he felt his rider settle and snorted, eager for the journey. ‘Coming, Merry?’ Pippin said as he always did.

 ‘I’m right behind you, cousin!’ Merry said, mounting his own Jewel.

Brown Strider stood patiently waiting for Frodo, looking half asleep with one ear cocked forward and the other back on his drooping head. As Frodo mounted the pony’s head came up and craned around, a questioning look in his dark eye. Frodo chuckled and stroked the soft neck, and then his attention was claimed by the Thain and Mistress, emerging from the Smials to see them off. A chorus of good wishes, a lilting of Tookish voices raised in song, and soon they were on their way, waving to the hobbits of Tuckborough as they rode through the little town.

 ‘Where was Estella?’ Pippin asked, when they’d finished their farewells and ridden out of Tuckborough.

 ‘Fever and sore throat, and so not allowed to come,’ Frodo said. ‘I’d imagine she was fit to be tied.’

 ‘Think of the mischief we were spared,’ Merry said, rolling his eyes.

 ‘I don’t know,’ Frodo said thoughtfully. ‘She’s growing up, you know. I think she’ll be quite a beauty.’

 ‘She made a very pretty farm lass indeed,’ Merry laughed, ‘though I’d hardly say beauty! Ornamental enough to decorate her husband’s arm, at least.’

 ‘Merry! She’d put a frog in your bed if she heard you!’ Pippin said. ‘Maybe I ought to anyhow, on her behalf.’

 ‘You should not speak with such disrespect,’ Frodo added. ‘Where are your manners, Merry?’

 ‘Forgive me, Frodo, I was just remembering how she’d follow us and pester us whenever we visited Freddy. “Midge” indeed!’ Merry said. ‘But soon she’ll be married off and her husband’s worry, thankfully.’

 ‘Married off? Who’s the lucky hobbit?’ Pippin asked curiously.

 ‘Don’t know,’ Merry said casually. ‘There’s an agreement; I overheard Odo talking about it with my father.’

 ‘Your father!’ Pippin shouted. ‘So you’re the one, eh?’

 ‘No,’ Merry said in annoyance. ‘My father would have told me. In any event, my parents have arranged no marriage for me.’

 ‘They’d leave such a thing to chance?’ Pippin asked.

 ‘They respect my judgment,’ Merry said.

 ‘Ah,’ Pippin said, shaking his head. ‘Would that my parents felt the same way.’

 ‘You have to show a little judgment first, to give them something to work with,’ Frodo said dryly, but Pippin only laughed.

They rode through the golden morning, crisp with the promise of winter to come, but by noontide the Sun was warming the land and the Travellers rolled their cloaks and fastened them to the saddles. Near midday they were passing a farmstead when a group of excited children came racing towards the road, waving and shouting.

The Travellers reined in their ponies, waiting to see what the cause of the excitement might be. None of the buildings was on fire and the fences were all in good repair, no animals straying...

 ‘Dinner-dinner-dinner! Stay to dinner!’ a small hobbit was shouting before his older brother shushed him. Breathless, the group lined up in a ragged formation under the older brother’s stern eye. When they were arranged to his satisfaction, he turned and bowed to the bemused Travellers.

 ‘Our parents’ compliments, and would you kindly consider gracing our table with your presence?’ he said, rolling his tongue with satisfaction over the elegant words. To think of it! The Travellers at their table!

Fresh, hot food sounded immensely better than cold sausage-rolls and apple pockets, not to mention the prospect of dimming eight pairs of shining eyes with a refusal. The Travellers dismounted and led their ponies to the hole, surrounded by chattering children.

They made a merry meal there in the Green Hill country, extracting themselves with difficulty to continue the journey. However, extract themselves they did, and by the waning of the afternoon they were riding gently down into the beginning of the trees. Frodo shivered, seeing the tree where he’d hid when the Black Rider had first appeared, an age ago and in what seemed another life. Merry, noticing, reached over to loose Frodo’s cloak from its fastenings. ‘Here, cousin. Don’t take a chill!’ he warned. He took up his own cloak and he and Frodo were soon warmly wrapped.

Pippin, on the other hand, rode along seeming unaffected by the growing chill under the shadow of the trees. He laughed when Merry suggested he ought to follow the older cousins’ example. ‘I’m not an old gaffer yet, feeling the chill in my bones,’ he said. ‘You two go ahead, but don’t muffle me up just because you’re cold!’

They camped that night near the ruins of the old Crowing Cockerel, former home to the best beer on the Stock road. The inn had been burned by the ruffians and not yet rebuilt. Pippin hauled some large stones from the remains of the chimney to make a circle for a fire. Frodo dug in a likely place at the base of a gnarled oak, rejoicing to find truffles there, and they roasted these with bacon on long sticks.

 ‘Seems as if some of Lobelia’s money might go to rebuilding the Cockerel’, Pippin said. ‘Travelling hobbits are homeless, after all.’

 ‘Not if they leave a home behind them,’ Frodo countered.

 ‘What about the innkeeper and his family?’ Pippin pressed. ‘They have no home at present.’

 ‘Not to mention a home for the best beer on the Stock road!’ Merry said. ‘I think Pippin has the right idea, Frodo.’

 ‘I wonder what Lobelia would think?’ Frodo said.

 ‘Otho liked the Cockerel,’ Merry said. ‘I’d heard him say so when Lobelia wasn’t nearby.’

 ‘Well then, since some of the money comes from Otho, we’ll see to rebuilding this landmark,’ Frodo said. They toasted this sentiment with their water bottles, rolled themselves in their blankets, and slept.

Frodo wakened in the night, looking for something he couldn’t quite remember. The fire had died down to embers and the wood about them was dark and silent. For a moment he thought he saw a light shining, heard an echo of song, but it must have been a lingering scrap of dream. There was no sign of Bilbo or the elves.