Note to Readers:

Thanks, Bookworm, for the faithful reviews!

I have added a new chapter to "Merlin" as well, in case you are following that story.

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29. Ill-wishing

Four days later, before the hobbits of the Smials began to arise for breakfast, as Ferdi was crossing the courtyard from the stables, having exercised each of his ponies in the quiet of early morn, a lathered pony clattered into the yard.

Ferdi, being on the spot, grabbed at the reins as the rider threw himself from the saddle. 'Thanks!' he gasped, and ran to the entrance, where he was challenged by a burly Took.

'Message for the Thain!' the impatient rider said.

'He's still asleep,' the guard said truculently.

'Then waken him!' the rider shouted. 'I've no time to waste with fools!'

'You're not a post rider,' the guard challenged. 'That's a quick post pony!'

'Yes, I left Buckland's finest at an inn along the way,' the rider snapped. He showed his hand, then, and the guard gaped to see the seal of the Master of Buckland. 'Now are you going to waken the Thain, or do I have to do it myself?'

Buckland, Ferdi thought, automatically beginning to walk the staggering pony, to keep him on his feet and begin the long cooling-out that he'd need. Bad news from Buckland, eh? He'd wager Pip was behind it all, somehow.

Not long after, the guard burst from the Smials, running to the stables, shouting for Old Tom. As Ferdi walked the pony in circles about the courtyard, he saw ponies being brought out and saddled, bags of supplies from the Smials loaded into saddlebags, obvious preparations for a journey. Then the Thain himself emerged from the main entrance of the Smials, face more grim than Ferdi had ever seen before, his wife on his arm, tears bedewing her cheeks. Reginard accompanied them, along with Pearl and Pervinca, and two of the Thain's sisters and their husbands. All in all, quite a party.

Tolly stood at attention, receiving some order, and then the Thain turned to his pony. He mounted heavily, and as he waited for the others to mount, he caught Ferdi's eye, an expression of mingled rage and despair on his face. Ferdi stepped back as from a blow, and Paladin shook his head and looked away. The Thain raised his hand and barked an order, and the group rode out of the courtyard, onto the road towards Stock... and the Bucklebury Ferry... and Brandy Hall.

When they were well away, Ferdi walked the pony over to where Tolly still stood. 'What is it?' he asked softly.

'News from Buckland,' Tolly answered shortly.

'I gathered as much. What news?'

'Pip's dying,' Tolly whispered, and swallowed hard. 'He got caught in the ice storm, nearly froze to death, and now it looks as if the Old Gaffer's Friend* has come to carry him off.'

Ferdi stood as if turned to ice, himself. The Thain blamed him. He'd read the look aright, then.

He shakily patted the pony he held. 'Come on, lad,' he said. 'You're not cool enough yet, by a long shot.' They resumed their steady plodding around the courtyard, as Tolly slowly retraced his steps into the Smials.

That evening as he sat with old Ferdinand, his father looked at him intently, as if seeing him for the first time in a long time.

'What is it, Ferdi?' he asked softly. 'You've been off your feed, the past week or so, and now you look as if you'd seen a ghost.'

'It's Pippin,' Ferdi said, after a long silence. 'You know he slipped the escort...'

Old Ferdinand nodded. 'I knew that,' he said quietly. 'Ev'ard told me. He said not to bother you about it, though.' Ferdi was surprised at such consideration from his father, that he'd respected Everard's request.

'It seems he rode out into an ice storm and froze himself near to death, and now the Thain has been called to take his leave of his son,' Ferdi finished. He raised a shaky hand to his brow. Somehow the news sounded worse, here in the darkened innards of the Smials, than it had in the brilliant sunrise this morning.

'He was riding for a fall,' Ferdinand said. 'But then, this has been coming a long time.' He eyed his son. 'Young Pip was always headstrong, and they let him have his head for too long... by the time they tried to train him to take the bit, it was too late. Ruint, like a pony left to pasture too long, gone wild, and come to a bad end...'

He fixed Ferdi with a keen eye. 'And you're grieving over him, are ye? After he pulled you down to ruin with himself?'

Ferdi could not meet his father's gaze. 'Well?' the old hobbit barked.

'Aye,' he admitted on a soft exhalation. 'Aye. If I'd kept a better watch...'

' 'Tis the "ifs" and "should haves" that will bring you down to an early grave lad, believe you me,' his father said earnestly.

'But...' Ferdi said, and fell silent.

'But what, lad?'

Ferdi dropped his eyes, spoke in a whisper. 'I wished him ill, Da. I thought of him, showered with attention at Budge Hall, or sipping brandy with his feet up at Brandy Hall, eager relatives hanging on his every word, and I...'

'You wished he'd get his comeuppance, did you now?' Ferdinand said softly. 'You wished him ill, did you? And now he'll die, and you feel somehow responsible? Ill-wishing never did anyone any harm, save the wisher. Don't take on so, son.'

His tone sharpened at Ferdi's lack of response. 'D'you believe you're the only hobbit as has ever suffered loss?' he demanded. 'D'you believe you're the only one to have made a mistake, and had others suffer for it?'

Shamed, Ferdi shook his head, and his father sat back again, satisfied. 'You must go on with your life, Ferdi,' his father said more softly. 'Make the most of what you've got. Life is too short as it is...'

'If Pippin should die...' Ferdi began.

'If Pippin should die,' his father interrupted, 'then it's on his own head, he brought it on himself, and you must go on, for you're not the one dying,' he said. 'And if he should somehow fool the old Reaper the same's he fooled you, give Death the slip, well, p'rhaps he'll be the wiser for it, and p'rhaps not. Look at me.' Ferdinand waited until he had his son's full attention.

'You've watched out for Pip for a long time, all his life. Ah, he were a winsome child, he were, and we all watched out for him. But no more, lad!' He took a deep breath. 'Now it's time for you to look out for yourself. Bitterness can eat you like a canker, believe me, I know,' he said, and Ferdi nodded.

'I want you to promise me that you'll forgive Pip someday,' Ferdinand said. 'Though he doesn't deserve it, and probably never will get the chance to make it up to you, poor lad, dying as he is. Let him go, let him die, don't carry him about with you, poisoning your life. Forgive him, and move on.'

'I'll try,' Ferdi said.

'A fair promise,' Ferdinand nodded. 'Now, then,' he said. 'How about another bite of that fine stew? And a bit of that bread? Supper tastes uncommonly good this night.'

Ferdi broke off a piece of bread, filled a spoon with the savoury stew and lifted it to his father's mouth, followed by the bread. His father chewed with relish, nodding when he was ready for another bite. 'Ah, that's good,' he said. 'Keep it coming...'

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*The Old Gaffer's Friend was a Shire term for pneumonia, which carried off the elderly relatively quickly and painlessly.