4. Moon
before Yule, continued
(The Previous December: Moon before Yule) (continued)
Halfway through early breakfast, a farmer interrupted their meal--a pale and
shaking farmer, very upset, out of breath, accompanied by several other
hobbits, elder sons, or hired workers, perhaps. The Master rose, concerned, as
the steward gravely brought the farmer in. 'What is the meaning this?'
'You must hear his story,' old Cardoc said, his face grim.
'It's like this, Sir,' the farmer gasped. 'I rose and went out to check the
fields--I always do, before I take my morning meal, and I went out to find that
half my flock had been slaughtered, Sir, in the night, while my family slept.'
There were gasps around the room and Saradoc looked more shocked at this,
perhaps, than he might have at any other time. He set his face and looked to
Merimas. 'Merimas, you go out with one of them and report the damages to me.'
Merimas nodded, rising, and left with one of the farmer's companions. The farmer
spoke again, 'I've brought some of the carcases in the wagon, for you to see,
Sir. I've naught seen anything like it in my life.'
'Stray dogs, perhaps?' Merimac said smoothly from his place at table. 'We'll
have to alert the Shirriff that there are strays to be dealt with.'
The farmer shook his head vehemently, echoed by his companions. 'I've had sheep
worried by dogs before,' he said strongly. 'This warn't dogs.' There was a
mutter of agreement from the others.
The Master nodded. 'Show me what's in your wagon,' he said. He shot a look of
apology at his wife. 'Stay, my dear,' he said. 'No need for you to see this.'
Pippin rose as well. 'Coming, Merry?' His cousin seemed half asleep, playing
idly in his porridge with his spoon. 'Merry?'
The other looked up. 'O, er, yes, Pip, I'm right with you.' He rose slowly, and
the little group went out to the courtyard.
They looked in silence upon the remains of the sheep, tattered remains of wool
and bone and flesh that lay bloodily mingled in the bottom of the wagon.
The slashes were deep and there wasn't much left. Merimac frowned as the farmer
said. 'We left a lot more in the field. They're all like this. Just torn to
pieces.'
Saradoc nodded. He looked back to his son, and his nephew. He was more certain
than he had been, before, that Peregrin could not stay in Buckland. He must
find some way to convince his nephew to leave.
He was certain that it would come for Pippin again, now that it had its
first taste of blood, and death. It had tasted not only sheeps' blood, but
Pippin's, the slash on his nephew's leg attested to that, and it would not rest
until it had reduced the young Took to tatters of flesh, and bone, and blood.
Saradoc knew it was only a matter of time. The horror had always followed the
same pattern, and there was only one solution, something he did not want to
admit, but would have to face. Soon.
Pippin didn't need to know anymore than he already did. He had a feeling that
already knew those teeth, well enough. He had no desire for a further acquaintance.
***
Second breakfast was an unusually silent meal. After the farmer had left again
with what little reassurance the Master could offer, Saradoc and Merimac, Merry
and Pippin had returned to the dining room, though they had pushed away their plates
and merely sipped at their tea. A lot had gone on in a little bit of time,
between early breakfast and second breakfast.
The silence continued until Pippin spoke his thought. 'I think I ought to go
back home for Yule,' he said. 'After all, my parents would be pleased to have
me join the celebration at the Smials.'
Saradoc jumped in quickly. 'Excellent idea, lad, how thoughtful! If you leave
right away, you could get to the Crowing Cockerel before dark and stop there
for the night, continue on to the Smials the next day.'
Travel by daylight, an increasingly attractive idea... 'Yes,' Pippin said. 'I
think I shall.'
Saradoc rose from his seat, throwing down his serviette. 'I'll just order the
Ferry made ready,' he said. 'We don't normally run it in December, but the
River is not frozen at the moment, and it will cut miles off of your journey.'
'Thank you, Uncle,' Pippin said.
'I'll order the kitchen to pack up some travel rations for you,' Merimac said,
exchanging glances with Saradoc, 'and have Old Nob saddle your pony for you.'
He emptied his teacup and rose. 'You can be on your way as soon as you've
finished your breakfast.'
'Excellent!' Saradoc said so eagerly that Pippin stared at him. Had he offended
his Brandybuck relations somehow, that they were eager to turn him out of the
Hall? As if divining his nephew's discomfort, Saradoc modulated his tone and
said, 'Of course, we'll miss your lively presence, lad, and the stories you
tell, and your voice at the singing, but I think your parents will be very
blessed to have you grace their celebration. Our loss is their gain.'
'Of course,' Pippin said slowly.
'Well, then,' Merimac said briskly. 'Let's get to it.' He and Saradoc left the
great room together.
'I'm sorry to see you go,' Esmeralda said softly, 'but I think it is for the
best.' She looked at him intently, sadness in her eyes, and he had the feeling
she was trying to tell him something.
'You're going back now?' Merry said, as if he hadn't been attending the
conversation until this moment. 'Whatever for?'
Something prompted Pippin to say, 'I've been urgently called back home. Sorry
to miss you. I'll try to come back as soon as I can after Yule.'
'You do that!' Merry said, but his mother's glance spoke differently. Stay
in the Smials as long as you like, her eyes said. Stay as long as you
can... Stay away.
***
Pippin reached the Crowing Cockerel just as dusk was settling on the woods. He
was halfway home, and this was a good place to stop, with the added benefit of
being home to the best beer on the Stock Road. He hurriedly stabled his pony,
entering the common room of the inn just as the last of the light left the sky,
breathing a sigh of relief to hear voices raised in conversation, laughter and
song. He smelled a good dinner cooking, and saw that the common room was quite
crowded. He wasn't in a company mood this night, and his leg was beginning to
pain him again, so when the innkeeper bustled up to him, he asked for a private
room, and dinner and a bath as well.
'Certainly, certainly,' the innkeeper said, recognising the son of the Thain.
'Whatever you wish, Sir, we'll have it for you in a twinkling.' He showed
Pippin to his best private room, a bit smaller than the shared rooms, but with
its own fireplace and a window looking out on the woods.
As soon as the servers had poured buckets of steaming water in the bath, Pippin
said, 'That will be all, thank you. You can leave the bath and the tray until
morning, I do not wish to be disturbed after this; I intend to seek my bed soon
after bath and supper.' He sweetened the order with a few coins in the head
server's hand.
'Yes, Sir,' the hobbit said with a bow. As soon as he shut the door behind
himself and his fellow servers, Pippin threw the bolt, and shoved the heavy
chest over for good measure, then strode to the window and shuttered and bolted
it as well. He had a goodly supply of firewood, he noticed gratefully, and he
built up the fire such that any intruder would think twice before trying to get
at him through the chimney.
Shaking himself for his overactive imagination, he still breathed a sigh of
relief at the feeling of being safely shut into a fortress, and slowly
undressed and immersed himself in the bath. The warm water was soothing to his
injured leg, and he soaked until the water grew tepid, sipping at the beer the
servers had brought, before drying himself and applying himself to his meal.
He slept again this night with his sword in his hand. He wondered if it would
become his constant companion, and if his wife, whoever she might be, would
object. He drifted off to sleep imagining arguments with a pretty hobbit lass
on their wedding night.
'Now, really, Pip, a sword--!'
***
The ride back to the Smials in the bright sunshine was so uneventful that
Pippin began to doubt himself again. Only the occasional throb from his leg
assured him that he had not dreamed this nightmare...
His parents greeted him with surprise, especially his mother, who knew how he
relished his time away from the Smials.
'Pippin,' she said, holding out welcoming arms. 'I didn't think we'd see you
until well into the New Year!'
'You're limping,' his father grunted, and his mother immediately fussed over
his bandaged leg.
'Adelard has been asking after you,' the Thain broke in abruptly. He locked
gazes with his son, then nodded to himself. 'I think you ought to go and greet
him right away. We'll have time to talk, later.'
'Yes, Sir,' Pippin answered, and for once, there was no stir of rebellion deep
within his spirit as he said the words. He gave his mother another hug--it was
so good to be there to hug her--and then said gently, 'I'll have tea with
Cousin Delly and see you at late supper, Mother.'
'Very well, Son,' Eglantine said, giving her husband a questioning look. Pippin
had the feeling they were about to have one of their long talks, but since he
was about to have a long talk of his own with Cousin Adelard, the idea did not
worry him as much as it might have at one time.
Delving ever deeper into the Smials was not disquieting this time, but somehow
comforting, as a mole might feel, working its way deeper into its burrow, away
from dangers to be found outside. The lamp- and torch-lit darkness felt safe,
surrounding him with security. Nothing could get at him here.
He found Cousin Delly in his favourite chair, feet on the fender by the fire,
wrapped in his most tattered dressing gown, made shabbier by the holly with its
bright berries, the balsam branches laid about to dispel the dusty atmosphere
with their sharp, woodsy fragrance, the candles and lamps lit everywhere in
celebration of Yuletide.
A spicy smell arose from the plate of biscuits on a table by the old hobbit,
and steam rose from a mug of hot cider in his hand. His faded eyes lit up to
see Pippin before him, and he gave a shout of welcome.
'Pip! Lad! Come sit down! Welcome, and a most joyous Yuletide to you!' He
turned his head to shout at nobody in particular. 'Bring the lad a mug! He's
half froze, I don't wonder!'
'Thank you, Cousin,' Pippin said, sinking into the other chair by the hearth.
The faded eyes were sharp for all their years, and his uncle took note of the
bandaged leg immediately.
'What happened to you?' he said. 'Stub your toe?'
'It's a long story,' Pippin said, gratefully accepting his own mug of hot cider
and sipping appreciatively. The old hobbit nodded, plying him with spice
biscuits and small talk until he started to relax and feel sleepy.
'And did young Merry Brandybuck come with you this trip?' Adelard said quietly,
as if it hardly mattered.
All of a sudden the bad feeling was back in full force. 'No,' Pippin said, and
was astonished at the feeling of relief that swept over him. 'No, he stayed in
Buckland.'
'And you're not sad at that turn of events,' Adelard said. 'As a matter of
fact, you were glad to get away.'
'How did you--?' Pippin began to ask.
'Tell me, lad, tell me what's been happening in Buckland?'
Pippin began to tell him about the everyday happenings, how he'd been sent to
make sure the poorer hobbits had firewood for the colder months, the tasks the
Master had set him... but somehow, he found himself telling about sheep
slaughtered in the field, the wolf that Merimas and Berilac had guarded in the
old storage shed, and the mysterious attack on his ride from Crickhollow to
Brandy Hall.
The old hobbit nodded wisely, but his eyes were very sad. 'Och,' he said.
'Poor, poor Essie. She should never have married into that family. And her only
son, too.'
'What do you mean, Cousin?' Pippin asked.
'I told you before, lad, weren't you listening?'
'No,' Pippin answered honestly. 'I didn't want to listen.' He took another sip
of his cooling cider. 'But I'm listening now.'
'Well, lad, it all started out when hobbits of the Shire went to fight against
the Witch King... it was said that none returned, you know...'
***
(February: Wolf Moon)
Sam bent to throw another stick on the fire, and Pippin woke with a start. He
looked immediately to the tree, relaxing slightly as he saw Merry's drooping
head. It had been foolish to sleep; though the bonds were as tight, and
intricately tied as they could make them, had he escaped they might never have
this opportunity again.
'What did Saradoc say?' Sam asked quietly. He had not yet heard about Pippin's
confrontation with the Brandybucks, though he knew it had happened, how else
had they been able to spirit Merry out of the bosom of his family as the Moon
approached his full?
'He admitted everything,' Pippin said. 'What else could he do? He said it was
an ancient curse, cast upon a Brandybuck who went to support the North-kingdom
against the Witch King. The stories say that none returned... but one did.'
'Why haven't we heard more about it? And why didn't they stamp it out, years
ago?' Sam asked.
'Often, the Other appeared after a hobbit had a wife and family, and they could
not... could not kill the child, or children, not knowing if the curse would
appear. Many's the generation that was skipped, you know, and they thought it
gone, only to have it raise its head again.'
He sighed, thinking of Merimas and Berilac guarding Merry, in the secluded
storage shed. 'They'd try to keep the Other safe as long as they could, but
eventually it would take him over and he'd have to be slain. 'Tis only at the
beginning that the Other appears when the Moon reaches his full.' He shook his
head in despair. 'The longer it goes on, the longer the Other stays, until
finally it takes him over completely, lasting from full moon to full moon,
swallowing up the hobbit as if he'd never been.'
Samwise shuddered. 'So they were trying to keep him safe as long as they could,
knowing...' He could not continue.
Pippin nodded. '...knowing that the day would come, they'd have to put a sword
through his heart, but putting it off as long as possible, for the love they
bore him.' He broke the stick he was whittling, casting it away with a violent
gesture. 'How can a father order the death of his own son?' he said in
frustration. Then more quietly, he added, 'I think Saradoc was relieved, to
know that we were taking Merry away, to make an end.'
'And that's why the Brandybucks said nothing?' Sam said. Pippin nodded.
