Passing for Underhill Chapter Twelve
Pippin left still trembling a little. Whatever had possessed him to draw steel on Merry? Well, that was simple to answer, and he did not need to be a soothsayer to guess it: Saruman's ring. But he really did not want it. He could not have said he didn't want it if that was not the truth. He was repulsed by the very idea of a Ring of Power still in the Shire, after all these years.
He went back to the Took suite, thinking only to cast himself into slumber and quiet the roiling thoughts within him. He found Diamond trying on some of Celandine's clothes, since she had left all but what she had on at Bag End, to be washed along with everything else. A stack of pastel blues and greens lay deflated over a chair. Diamond currently had on a pale pink chemise with a yellow bodice.
Diamond regarded her reflection in a gilt-framed mirror. "Does this dress make me look fat?"
"Yes." Pippin clapped both hands over his mouth.
"Ah!" Diamond peeled off the bodice and dress, and immediately substituted one of light blue. "What about this one? Do I look fat in this one?"
Pippin made a noise behind his hand.
Diamond pulled his hands away from his mouth. "If you have something to say, Pip, say it."
"I like you fat, Di."
"What?"
"If you weren't fat you wouldn't have such big gazongas." Pippin winced and put his hands over his mouth again.
Diamond looked like she was trying to decide whether to be angry or flattered. She raked her eyes over him, and noticed the empty scabbard. "Where's your sword gotten itself to?"
"I left it where Merry kicked it."
"What?"
Pippin turned away and put his hands over his mouth again. He said something behind his hands. Then he melted into the chair on top of the pile of dresses and sighed, "Please stop asking me things. I've become a soothsayer. I told Faramir-lad that lying wasn't nice, but by the Valar truth can be terrible!"
"I knew that!" said a high voice. Faramir was wearing a borrowed nightshirt a few sizes too large.
"Ah. Speak of the Faramir. Isn't it about your bed-time, lad?"
"Come tuck me in."
"Alright." Pippin got up and followed his son to the child's room.
"What are gazongas?"
Pippin held his hands over his mouth for a moment, stifling the automatic reply. Then he said, "Never you mind, son."
Little Faramir hopped into bed and sang, "Onward all you bed-bugs marching down the sheet! When you get to the bottom, please don't tickle my feet."
Pippin tucked him in and then went to his own bed, and blotted out the world with sleep.
The next day, everyone rested, and ate a lot (naturally, being hobbits), and kept the conversation light by mutual unstated accord. The following day, miracle-seekers turned up at Brandy Hall. It started with just two, an elderly fellow and a local laborer. The next day, the elderly fellow's five good friends came seeking the same miracle of healing that Eldarion had worked for him. The next day there was a whole crowd of local people, and the prince locked himself in his room. Sam took on the task of organizing the miracle seekers, and instructed the Brandybucks to admit only one per day to the Hall, so that Mr. Underhill could recover his strength between miracles. This schedule seemed to work fine, but Sam kept a close eye on Eldarion to make sure he was not overtaxing himself.
On the sixth day, at dinner, Merry presented Eldarion with a bag of trinkets, coins, pretty rocks, and a tiny wooden case with nothing in it. "That's your cut," he said.
Eldarion blinked at him for a moment. Then understanding came to him. "Your door-wardens charge admission to see me?"
"Sure. Keeps down the crowds."
"I did not realize, when I set out on this adventure, that 'Traveling Miracle-Worker' would be such a nuisance as a title."
"Well, it's a good title," Merry said. "And it's true, too. You are a Miracle Worker." Merry traded a smile with Estella.
"Do not misunderstand me, Merry. I am happy to help, you and Estella or anyone. It is only that the petitioners are so relentless."
"Just wait 'til you're, um, until you have your father's title. Then they'll really be endless."
"I fervently hope that will not be for a very long time." Eldarion stirred the contents of the bag a little. "There is another trinket of which we should speak, at some more private time."
"There is nothing to say," Merry said.
Eldarion held his peace, at this public dinner with all the various denizens of Brandy Hall. The next afternoon, Eldarion went to his usual after lunch miracle session in the nook off the kitchen, which he had chosen for its proximity to the fire, teapots, bowls, and towels. The miracle seeker admitted by the Brandybucks was a healthy looking tween. He had shiny, curly brown hair, and wore a nondescript white shirt, and trousers and suspenders of dark brown, but there was something most unhobbitlike about the light in his eyes: keen; not sad but certainly not merry; almost predatory.
"Good afternoon," Eldarion greeted him in the hobbitish way. "For what do you seek healing?"
"I seek no healing, esteemed Miracle Worker," replied the young fellow. "I wish only to look upon the legend and carry word of what transpires in the Shire back to my home in Bree. Having spoken to several of your patients, I come to implore you to travel to Bree when next you journey. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Merlin Tunnelly, of the Bree Tunnelly's. My second cousins Robin and Jay, both being of great age, suffer in the hands from the affliction of which you have cured many, here in the Shire."
"I see. As it happens I do plan to travel to Bree, when I leave the Shire." Eldarion wondered about Merlin's speech pattern. It was very like Eldarion's own, which he had learned at his mother's knee, and therefore was rather archaic even by the standards of Gondor. He had been around no one but Shire-hobbits for weeks now, and Merlin's phraseology rang oddly on his ear. Perhaps hobbits spoke differently in Bree.
"Glad am I to hear it." Merlin leaned in a little and looked at him from under his eyebrows, in a way that suggested the fellow was used to having a much bushier pair. "The fee for admittance to an audience with you appears to function on a sliding scale. I hear your assistants accepted a river stone from one poor fellow, but held up a prosperous local farmer for an offering of gold." Merlin's voice changed. He was no longer seeming to make small-talk. Now his voice was more deep and melodious than anything a young hobbit's vocal chords should be able to produce. It was riveting, compelling. "Tell me, have you perchance any jewelry or other such trinkets? If so, I would pay well."
Eldarion suspected the strange hobbit might be asking about the ring, and he wanted to call for help or get out of the room. But he found himself answering, "Yea, trinkets I have in abundance, but not the one you seek." Then Eldarion leapt up, and found his will was his own again. He ran.
Seeking safety in numbers, Eldarion sped to the great room, where there were always at least a few Brandybucks nibbling on tidbits, playing at hedge-men (a game played with wooden markers), knitting, or some such thing. He ran so fast his right foot-rag came off. Eldarion was so intent on reaching help that he took no thought for the uncovering of his hairless foot.
"Aid me!" Eldarion called. "There is an odd force at work!"
Merlin came in right after him, and said, "I had no wish to offend. I am a Breelander, and know not the ways of the Shire." Then his voice changed again, and became compelling. He addressed the occupants of the great room. "Go back to your own pursuits. This does not concern you."
But this order had a contrary effect on Pippin, who had been deep into a game of hedge-men with elderly Seredic. Pippin shot to his feet. "The Voice! I know the feel of that magic!" He looked wildly around for a swift runner, and spotted Celandine, just a few years past her majority. "Celandine, find Merry quick!"
Despite Merlin's use of the wizardly Voice, Pippin's outburst drew the attention of everyone in the room. "What's wrong?" Celandine asked.
"Magic! Tell Merry someone's using magic, and it isn't him! Go! Fast!"
As Celandine hurried off, old Seredic took in the scene and pointed at Eldarion's feet. "He's no hobbit! What is he?"
"Elf-Man," Pippin replied, unable to resist the truth spell. "But don't be afraid! You've all seen him work miracles of healing! He means no harm to any hobbit. It's Merlin we ought to be cautious of!"
Merlin tried the Voice again. "I am merely a simple Breelander, journeying in the Shire to see the Miracle Worker."
"Don't believe it!" Pippin exclaimed. "He's using magic again!"
"What about Mr. Underhill's magic?" asked Seredic. "He uses magic too."
"No, it's not magic, it's the grace of Melian," Pippin said. He did not know what that meant, but it must be the truth.
Merlin seemed to know what it meant, though. "Elf-Man! You mean he is of the line of Luthien! Who is he?"
"Prince Eldarion." Pippin clapped his hands over his mouth too late.
"Pippin!" Eldarion cried.
"And who are you, Merlin?" Pippin asked, then answered his own question. "You're Saruman!"
"Saruman?! What a ridiculous idea," scoffed Merlin. "Saruman is a full sized Man with a long white beard. How do you explain my stature and furry feet, if I am not a hobbit?"
Pippin smirked. Evidently Merlin did not know that asking Pippin a question would result in the truth, whether Pippin had previously known the answer or not. "That's fake foot fur. You're no more a hobbit than Eldarion is."
Merlin glanced at his feet. "How—" Then he scowled at Pippin. "It matters not how you know that," growled the avatar. "Perhaps the feet were a mistake. The necessity of this disguise I will soon outlive, however. I would not be locked into the form of a hobbit for all eternity, even to recover my ring. No, I shall grow to resemble my former incarnation, in time. In the meanwhile, I shall tell Men whom I meet that I age backwards."
"Then you are Saruman," said Eldarion.
Merlin whirled and strode for the exit. "Make way!" A young Brandybuck hastily stepped aside, although by the look on his face he did not know why he was obeying.
"Kherekh burzum!" shouted Pippin.
Saruman winced and stumbled as if struck. Then he scrambled up and ran out of Brandy Hall.
"Well, will you look at that," Pippin commented. "Cursing hurts him. No, curses hurt him. They are a form of magic. I'll never take them lightly again!"
Merry and Celandine arrived, out of breath, just as the front door of the Hall closed.
"Too late!" Pippin cried. "None of us could go after him. He said 'make way' and we all did!"
"He will return," said Eldarion.
"Oh yes, he'll be back alright," agreed Pippin. "And we'll be ready for him. It's time for a council of war, Merry. Unless you think the Brandybucks can shoot him from the walls."
"Nay," said Eldarion. "We dare not hunt him until we have countered the effects of his magic, lest he turn the hunters on each other."
"Too right," Pippin said.
"Who was he?" Merry asked.
"Saruman."
Merry's eyes widened, and he involuntarily put a protective hand over his pocket. "Council of war. Yes."
End of Chapter Twelve
