Much apologies for the long delay in posting a chapter. Writer's block is such a pain. I'll be better at it, I promise. Look for a new version of The Bee Charmer with all the missing scenes added, I finally got a beta reader!

Bee Charmed: Missing Scenes

What Empty Places are For

Chapter 14

A small fox with a coat bright as an ember crept around a great tree. He had never seen such a sight in his life, and never would again. The smell of fresh game had brought him here, but he was out of luck in that regard. Since there was no free meal to be gotten he had decided to hide and watch the three figures that had busied themselves around the biggest pile of fresh meat the fox had ever seen.

One of the figures was smaller; a two-leg called a hobbit. The fox was quite familiar with this kind of two-leg. Sometimes hobbits hunted foxes with sharp little sticks that flew through the air like long, thin, serpent-like birds. One of the two-legs was much bigger than the first; he was of those great, noisy Big Folk. Big Folk, too, would sometimes hunt foxes. A very clever fox avoided both types of two-legs; very clever foxes did not make a habit of being caught carrying off a chicken from a farmhouse, the little red fox thought. But this third two-leg! The third was bigger than the second and much, much bigger than the first. This one was no proper two-leg. He sometimes went on four legs as a great bear. The fox had seen him before and knew that he should be avoided whether on two legs or four. There was no chance of a free meal here. The fox crept back around the tree and vanished back into the shadows.

As for those he had been watching, they were nearly done lashing the game to the makeshift litter that would be used to haul the game back home. Had the fox stuck around he would have seen the biggest two-leg shift his shape to that of a great bear which let himself be tied to the two thick branches that made up the litter on which the game was lashed. The bear struck out at a good pace, flanked on one side by Man and Hobbit.

They were heading in the right direction, Pippin knew. The feeling of a lack of proper direction had vanished with the melting snow, and things now seemed more normal, or at least as normal as anything can be in the Old Forest. This little hunting trip had turned out to be an adventure, and though Pippin was Took through and through and not so adverse to adventures as most hobbits, he was ready for this adventure to be over with. Boromir was right. They weren't as young as once they were. Pippin glanced up at his friend and noted his color. It wasn't good; Boromir had not had his medicinal herbs since they had left his home. Not only that, but surely the children would be frantic by now.

"How long have we been gone, Boromir? Two days?" Pippin asked.

"Two days and one night, unless I am mistaken," Boromir answered. "Too long to my mind. I hope our families have not raised an alarm on our account." Boromir watched Pippin. The hobbit looked a bit flushed to him. He motioned for Pippin to stop, then placed a hand on his forehead. "Oh, dear, I believe you have a fever, Pippin."

Pippin brushed his hand away in a manner that seemed abrupt to Boromir, almost rude. "I'm alright, Boromir, you needn't fuss over me. I'm more concerned with your health at the moment. You haven't…"

"Had my medicines, I know." Boromir replied. "You seem ill to me, Pippin. It isn't like you to be so irritable."

"Well, all right, I do have a bit of a sore throat," he confessed. He wrapped his old scarf more tightly around his neck.

Boromir smiled and adjusted the scarf a little. "You and your scarf! I cannot think of you without thinking of that scarf. It has stood you through many a good time as well as bad. Like an old friend."

Pippin returned his smile. "And old friends grow more comfortable with time," Pippin said. "I am sorry I was so ill with you. I should not have been, even if I don't feel well. Do forgive me, my friend."

Boromir gave Pippin's shoulder a squeeze. "There is nothing to forgive," he said. "We had best get home, for the sake of our health and the well-being of my offspring. They shall be very worried about us."

"Yes, I'm sure they shall." Pippin agreed, then sneezed forcibly five times. "Oh, dear… Boromir, I didn't bring a handkerchief. Again."

Boromir grinned. He had learned to carry extras when he was Pippin. The hobbit seemed to never have one on him. Boromir dug a spare from his pocket and passed it to his small companion, whose thanks were cut short by another volley of sneezes. The two walked on, trying to catch up with Beornomir, but Pippin seemed to be sluggish. Without a word, Boromir lifted Pippin and set him atop the game Beornomir was dragging. Pippin didn't protest, which Boromir found worrisome.

The three moved along at a good pace. Beornomir in bear-form was tireless, and in spite of the veritable load of game he was dragging (along with one sneezing hobbit) they seemed to be out of the Old Forest in a trice. The litter was dragged into the barn and Beornomir was unlashed from it, where he once more shifted to Man-shape. Boromir's virtual herd of cats swarmed about the ankles of the Man and the Beorning as they placed the carcasses on hooks while Pippin curled up in a pile of hay. That done, Boromir thought it best to get Pippin inside. He threw a saddle blanket about Pippin's shoulders and helped him from the pile of hay.

Beornomir lay himself down, resting his back against the pile of hay. The hay-pile may have made a cozy resting place for a hobbit, but it was hardly big enough to accommodate a Beorning, especially this particularly large one. Beornomir yawned hugely. "Take your friend in and sort him out," Beornomir said sleepily. "I feel I could use a bit of sleep. We can visit your pantries later."

With that, Boromir placed a hand on Pippin's shoulder and gently gave him a little push towards the house. Their breath plumed in the cold air, but there was no sign of further snow. He noted Pippin was shivering and rubbing his throat, so he wordlessly lifted his sick friend and carried him the rest of the way to the steps at his front door. Opening the door, Boromir stuck his head in and called out to his eldest daughter.

"Ruby! Hoy, Ruby! Put the copper on and make some tea, please, Uncle Pippin is a bit ill." Turning to Pippin, he said, "Go on in and have some tea. And don't scowl so! I'll go in and take my medicines shortly." With a gentle push, he sent the hobbit inside and shut the door, though the warmth inside was inviting. "Now, to settle an old score – chicken soup is what's needed."

He strode to his chicken pen and opened the gate, stepping in. "Where are you?" he seemed to say to no one in particular, but suddenly a young cockerel made for him, his neck-feathers ruffed, squawking with menace. "Ah! Come then, Master Bully! You've spurred me more times than was wise, and now you're big enough to fit in a soup pot properly!"

The young rooster made to spur Boromir yet again. It was a fatal error – Boromir easily caught him by the neck, and with a practiced twist of his wrist, he wrung the bird's neck, then dropped it. It jumped and flailed a bit, not having the sense to know it was dead. "Never liked you anyway," he added dryly. "Besides, I have a sick hobbit on my hands."

The rooster finally became still. Boromir picked it up and tucked it under one arm. Then he made his way to a small shed and took out a little iron cauldron. He dipped water from a rain-barrel and filled the little cauldron, then made his way to his back door, which led into the kitchen. He went to his pantry, laying the rooster aside on the floor. Fishing his medicinal herbs out of a crock, he took a cup and dropped the proper amount of herbs into it, then went to the fireplace, carrying the little cauldron. He took the copper from the hook, poured the boiling water in his cup and set it aside to steep. With that done, he placed the cauldron on the hook and set it over the fire. As he turned he saw Ruby enter the kitchen. She had a determined look on her face. He couldn't help but smile; Merry and Pippin often teased him that he could use that same look quite well.

"What?" he responded.

"Poppa, Uncle Pippin said some nonsense about you two being gone for days!" She cocked her head. Her mother had done this frequently when gently taking her husband to task. "And he says none of us should go to the barn, except you or himself. And something about a lot of game to be dressed out; whatever is going on?"

"Nonsense? What could be nonsense about it? We were gone for days! Did you not notice?"

"Poppa, stop teasing!" Ruby said with a scowl, her jaw set exactly like her father's jaw when he had decided to be difficult. "You know full well you've been gone less than a day!"

"What?" Boromir said. "I think I do not understand… only… well, perhaps I do."

"Poppa!" Ruby stamped one foot peevishly, "Kindly make some sense! Stop teasing!"

"I'll explain later," her father said. "But listen to me now. Heed me, Ruby, and tell your brothers and sisters; none of you are to muck about in the Old Forest, ever. Understand me, it is a perilous place. Now, is Pippin settled in?"

"Yes," she replied peevishly. Boromir hid his grin behind his hand; Saro had been right, Ruby was all too much like her father. "You are not going to scald that hateful old bird in this kitchen, are you?"

"I am," her father replied, knowing exactly was about to be said. He wasn't disappointed.

Another stomp of her foot preceded the following rant: "Poppa! It shall stink up the whole house!" Her father began to roar with laughter, and she saw now that this time he really was teasing her. She picked up a dishcloth and threw it at him. "You're awful!"

"So your uncle Faramir says!" He caught the flung cloth and tossed it back. Ruby grinned. She never could stay angry with him. She watched him go to the pantry and dig out a pot of honey. This he used to sweeten his cup of bitter herbs. "Now, I have a chore for you, my sweet. I want you to go and fetch me our hottest onions and a handful of those dried peppers and lots of potatoes."

"You and your chicken soup!" Ruby rolled her eyes.

"Kindly show some respect for my soup!" he laughed. "You know the good of it; do you not remember last winter?"

"Yes, Poppa, I do," she said with a smile, her demeanor more gentle. "Are you going to use that noisome, foul stuff on Uncle Pippin that Uncle Faramir sent you last year?"

"I am," her father replied.

"He's going to hate you for that," she laughed. "It does work wonders, though. I'll go and get the peppers and vegetables." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and fetched her mantle from a hook on the wall and skipped into the back yard through the door of the kitchen.

Boromir took a large pot from a hook on a rack over the hearth. There was a bucket of water kept handy in the kitchen at all times, and this he emptied into the soup pot, added salt, then placed it on another hook and set it over the fire beside the little cauldron. He turned to the dead rooster on the floor.

"I know a rooster," he said, "that is about to understand the meaning of filling empty places. Nothing like chicken soup to fill the belly and comfort the ill. You, Sir Cockerel, are about to fulfill your great purpose. It is well you grew so large, hobbits have prodigious empty places, where their bellies are concerned."