That night, Lilac sat out in the tree, waiting for Bolco, ignoring her father's scowl. He sighed, thinking that there had been enough talk about the two of them already and he would prefer that there was no more; but her determination was steely, and he gave way before it, grumbling.
She sat up in the plum tree holding her cup of tea. She had searched long and hard in the kitchen, with Pippin's help, and on the back of an upper shelf, she finally found Bolco's old favorite tea-mug, and adopted it as her own. She drank from it now. When she had finished the tea, she carefully hung the mug on a broken branch, and gazed up at the stars.
Bolco rode up to the Smials on the grass, as quietly as he could. He tied Stormy at the front door of the Smials, took a deep breath, and walked in. He softly knocked on Isembrand's door, but there was no answer. He listened, and heard snoring. He smiled. He proceeded to Lilac's door, and knocked. There was no answer there, either. He went to Pippin's door, and knocked. It opened.
"Hullo, Bolco, how's the moonshine?" said a young lad of fourteen, not unkindly.
"Bright enough, " Bolco evaded, hiding the flowers behind his back. "Where's Pippin?"
"He says he'll be back late this evening, " the lad replied.
"And you're cleaning his room, " Bolco chuckled sympathetically.
"He's trying to teach me to watch my tongue," the lad replied, catching up the broom, and sweeping.
"Right, " Bolco said. "Have you seen Lilac?"
"She's not in her room?" the Lad replied.
"No."
"You could ask Pippin. They've been together a lot lately, " the lad shrugged.
"They have?"
"He helps her with her runes, " the lad replied.
"Oh."
"He smiles at her more these days, " the lad continued.
"He does?"
"Says she's not the same lass she used to be. Says he likes the change."
"He does?"
The lad grinned as he swept. "Aye. He does."
Bolco shrugged, and dismissed the possibility. Pippin wouldn't be interested in Lilac. She wasn't highbrow enough for the Thain's son.
*************
Lilac felt herself falling, and frantically clutched at the branches, and gasped as they gouged and scraped her skin. Ruefully, she looked down at several scrapes and cuts on her arms. She had fallen asleep in the tree, and she was lucky she had caught herself before she had fallen; it was a good eight feet down. She gingerly descended, and then remembered the mug, climbed back for it, descended again and limped inside.
Bolco emerged from a side door, and came out to the plum tree, and looked around. There was the vase, full of fresh water. He sighed, kissed the flowers, put them in the vase, drew out a note, kissed that too, and tucked one corner of it under the vase. Then he returned to the front gate and morosely mounted Stormy. On an impulse, he turned, and headed home northward through the orchards and hedge rows.
Minutes after he had disappeared, Pippin appeared on the road, returning from the Green Dragon, humming softly and gazing up at the stars. He put his pony in the stable, and went to the parlor, and greeted his father.
Lilac approached him hesitantly. "Good evening, Master Peregrin, " she said.
"Hello, Lilac, " he replied with a gentle smile. How she had changed. There was a soft light in her eye, and a glow on her cheek, and she had taken to arranging her hair nicely again; he studied her in the candlelight, and thought how lovely she was. "What can I do for you?"
"I wondered if you could help me with some runes again, " she said shyly.
"You know I'd be glad to, " Pippin said, and they shared a secret smile. Their curly heads bent over the page she had brought with her, and several other people in the parlor noticed how many secretive smiles they shared, and how their eyes glowed and sparkled as they read together in whispered tones.
*********************
August 10
Bolco sang on the riverbank and swam briefly, again expecting the Mayor, again disapointed. He shrugged, and brought his flowers to the bench under the Plum tree.
It was three in the morning. He hesitated. And then he walked into the Smials, quietly, and knocked on Lilac's door.
No answer.
Baffled, he went back out to Stormy, and on an impulse, visited the stables on his way out. There were two ponies missing. Foggy was gone. And so was Pippin's pony.
Shaking his head, he returned to Stormy, and rode home, to meet Daffodil for breakfast and berry-picking. She wondered why he was on the quiet side.
*********************
Fearil was not there that night, and Lilac returned disappointed at sunrise. But she had gotten a lot of thinking done, and she thought she had seen some elves in the distance. She wondered why Bolco had not been looking for them lately; she was sure they were getting easier to find. Perhaps he should not have given up so easily, she thought.
Pippin returned after second breakfast from his overnight visit to Fatty Bolger's. Fatty put on quite a table, and Pippin's morning was rather slow.
*********************
August 11
Early that evening in the parlor, Lilac brought more runes to Pippin, and together they bent over them. Pippin waited patiently as Lilac struggled through her reading, and he gently helped her along and answered her questions. She blushed often, and Pippin was chuckling and laughing, and his eyes were sparkling. When they finished, he pressed her hand, and they shared another secret smile.
Pippin gently rose and left. Lilac sat very still for another moment, and then she stood, blushing slightly, and passed softly out of the parlor as if in a dream. Weary from their previous days travels, both Pippin and Lilac retired early that night.
Late that evening, Bolco rode to the Smials. Pippin's window was dark. He sighed, and walked in, and found Lilac's door, and very softly knocked. No answer.
He crossed the hallway to Isembrand's door, and knocked again.
"Come in."
Very nervously, Bolco entered, flowers and note in hand.
"Well, hello, Lad. Welcome. Come in, come in."
"Hello, Isembrand." Bolco stood, nervously, in the doorway. "I... I've brought Lilac some flowers, sir."
He nodded. "Aye, Lad, so you have. " His eye twinkled. "She's fond of them, you know."
"Yes, sir. Would you give them to her for me?" he asked, his heart pounding.
"Aye, Lad. I will. Is there a note with them, by any chance?"
Bolco blushed. "Yes, sir."
"Well, I'll give her that too, " he said with another smile, and a wink.
Bolco's heart soared, and relief flooded him. "Thank you, sir. Thank you very much."
"All right, Lad. Good night, now." A friendly hand landed on Bolco's shoulder, like old times, and patted him fondly, and guided him back out the door. "Get some rest now, Lad. And come back soon, there's a good fellow."
Bolco almost wept with hope and relief. "Yes, sir, " he choked, and as the door closed behind him, he broke into a run for sheer joy. He burst out the door, and Stormy snorted. He leapt onto Stormy's back, and stifling a wild urge to whoop with glee, set Stormy into a flat gallop, down the hill and into the road, and thirty strides later, a yell of relief did finally escape him. Stormy put his ears back and raced in earnest, and Bolco laughed for joy til he cried.
*********************
August 12
That day in the fields, Bolco worked feverishly, happy one moment and anxious the next. Tom asked him what was amiss, and Bolco told him about his reception from Isembrand, and how happy it had made him. Tom was pleased.
After dinner, Bolco sat up quite late by candlelight composing his next note. He poured out his heart, declaring his love for her in no uncertain terms, and stopping just short of proposing to her. Nervous, he made errors, and recopied the letter, and then made errors copying. He rewrote and rewrote the letter. Finally at eleven at night, he rode out.
Isembrand's window was dark, as he expected it would be. But Pippin's window was dark too. He entered the Smials, and puzzled. He hesitated to leave this letter on the bench with the flowers. He thought, and looked around.
He would wake her. He walked to her room, and knocked. No answer. He knocked again, louder. Nothing. He pounded on the door. Silence.
Isembrand was asleep, and he would not wake him; he smiled, thinking that a few years ago, his pounding on Lilac's door would have woken Isembrand from his very deepest sleep. Isembrand was aging, he thought. No, he would not wake him.
Pippin could give it to her. He went to Pippin's door, and knocked. Nothing. Louder; nothing. Again. Nothing.
With a heavy sigh, he returned to Isembrand's door, and again considered waking him. But he could hear the heavy snoring, and he walked away.
He went out to the garden, and put the flowers in the vase, folded the letter so that it was mostly hidden under the vase. And then on a hunch, he checked the stables again.
Pippin's pony and Foggy were the only ones missing.
*********************
August 13
Lilac trotted home as the sun rose. She was weeping. Fearil had met her, but told her that she would be leaving with the other elves, and that she would not be back for some time. Lilac would miss her terribly. Fearil had refused to tell her when she would return; Fearil said that that was not in her hands. Lilac was afraid that she would never come back, not while Lilac was alive. She did not want any of the elves to leave, but least of all, Fearil.
She went straight to her room, and lay down, weeping. She was so distraught over Fearil's departure that she failed to go and look for the flowers.
That afternoon, she remembered with a gasp. From halfway across the hill, she stood suddenly, dropped her trowel with a loud clatter, hitched up her skirts in both hands, and sprinted to the bench under the plum tree.
There was the vase full of flowers. Was there a note? She lifted the vase, and saw it. She snatched it up and tucked it away into her clothing, and stood clutching the vase full of flowers for several moments.
Then she remembered her trowel. She turned, vase in hand, and retraced her steps, more slowly this time. She came back to the trowel, and set the vase down beside herself, and her glance strayed to it often as she worked, humming and smiling. Periodically she leaned down to sniff them. Pink snapdragons, she smiled. There was no sweeter scent in all of the Shire.
*********************
Bolco had no appetite for dinner that evening, and went straight to his room. In the lingering sunset, he wrote feverishly, again pouring out his heart to Lilac, formally asking for her hand in marriage. He was far too young, he knew, and he admitted that in writing; but he was driven to ask, by an urgency he had never felt before. He wrote about that too.
There were mistakes in the letter, but he did not want to take the time, this time, to copy it over. The sun was down. He finished the letter by twilight, and rode off to the Smials in haste. Tom wished him all speed, and as Mrs. Pansy watched him gallop off, she whispered a blessing into the evening air.
As he rode into the Smials, Bolco suddenly hesitated, and broke into a cold sweat. Instead of going in right away to knock, he decided to go and sit on the bench, and gather his wits. He went to the plum tree, and sat down on the bench. Something was missing. Where was the vase?
He frowned. He looked all around the garden, the plum tree. Nothing. A sudden pang struck him, and he looked in the flower beds, half expecting to see shards of broken pottery. But he saw nothing. He turned, and looked towards Isembrand's window.
Pippin was there.
Isembrand looked on while Pippin and Lilac sat closely side by side, gazing down at Isembrand's desk. They smiled, and their lips moved, nodding and giggling, and sometimes they laughed outright. He could see the vase, still filled with the flowers he had brought yesterday, sitting on the desk near Lilac. Her eyes flashed and sparkled. Isembrand smiled as he listened, sometimes laughing out loud with them.
Lilac looked so very happy. As Bolco watched, Lilac turned to Pippin, and gazed into his eyes. He smiled back at her, with a tenderness that froze Bolco's heart.
They turned toward the desk again, and Bolco held his breath, breaking into a cold sweat. And as he watched, Pippin stood, and smilingly turned to Isembrand, and spoke.
Isembrand laughed for joy; Bolco clearly heard a wild squeal of delight from Lilac even through the closed window. Pippin turned to Lilac, smiling; Lilac jumped to her feet, clapping her hands with delight; and then she reached, laughing, for Pippin's hands. Their hands joined. Isembrand stepped forward, and pounded Pippin on the back, and kissed his daughter, laughing, celebrating. Lilac's face was glowing.
Bolco's blood froze in his veins. In all my life, he thought, in all the time I've spent with her, I have never seen Lilac so happy; so very, very happy. And Isembrand is celebrating. And Pippin looks happy-- almost as happy as Lilac.
Isembrand, Pippin, and Lilac smiled and laughed and talked all at once, happy and excited. Bolco was suddenly and numbly certain that Pippin had proposed to her. He thought of the letter in his pocket, and realised that his own proposal of marriage was too late. He stood frozen to the ground.
As he watched, Pippin gently gathered Lilac into his arms, and still laughing, kissed her hair.
Bolco could watch no more. He tore his eyes away, and turned, dropping the flowers on the bench unkissed; thought better of it, picked them up, kissed them, and put them back down. He returned to Stormy, mounted and rode away.
He rode very slowly, thinking. The world seemed to slow down. He did not feel sad. He felt still, and cold. He suddenly realised that Lilac would be the wife of the Thain, the mistress of the Smials, and one of the most important women in the Shire. What did he have to offer to counter that?
He did not want to take that from her. He did not want to take her from Pippin; he did not want to take Pippin from her. It was clear today that Pippin could make her far happier-- he already had-- than Bolco could. Bolco thought about her utter delight as Pippin took her hands. He had never made Lilac that happy in all his life. If Pippin could make her that happy, he would not stand in his way, even if he could.
So thinking, he rode to The Water, and looked down at the river. But he felt cold, colder than he had ever felt since he had begun to swim. The cold penetrated deep inside him, and he turned from the water, and rode slowly home.
Tom and Mrs. Pansy had gone to bed, and the house was quiet. He considered leaving them a note, but he did not have the heart to write one yet. He packed his few belongings into his backpack and softly left the house. Then he went to the barn and got Stormy's saddlebag, put all his equipment into it, mounted, and softly rode away. Once out of earshot, he urged Stormy into a run.
*************************
August 14
"Bolco! Good afternoon! This is a pleasant surprise, " said Merry, opening the Crickhollow door. "Come in, come in. Oh-- my goodness, your pony is in quite a lather."
"Hello, Merry, " Bolco replied.
"Come, sit down and rest, and I'll look after your pony, " Merry said, studying Bolco's face. It wore no expression. Merry worried, and put a hand on Bolco's shoulder. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine, " Bolco said, coldly. "I was just wondering if you could give me directions."
"You need a rest, " Merry replied.
"I'm fine, " Bolco said flatly.
"Well, your pony isn't, " Merry replied, sternly. "He needs a rest, if you don't. How far have you ridden today?"
"I'll see to him, " Bolco aquiesced, suddenly realizing that Merry was correct, and Stormy was exhausted. "You're right, he does need a rest. You're right, Merry." What have I done to him, Bolco thought; what was I thinking? He stripped everything off of the pony, dumped his belongings on the ground, and after checking Stormy's legs for any sign of swelling and being relieved to find none, he turned to walk the pony cool.
Merry watched him lead the pony away, wondering how everything had gone lately between Bolco, and Pippin, and whether Lilac had continued to show progress. He hadn't seen Pippin in a week, and hadn't discussed Bolco with him since two visits before that. Things had seemed to be going well. He wondered what the latest news was. He went inside, and returning to the kitchen, brought out enough food to stretch his single dinner into two good-sized servings.
Bolco returned forty-five minutes later. Merry met him in the hallway. "There's a stable nearby if you'd like a stall for him, " Merry said.
"He's all right, " Bolco replied. "He's used to being outside."
"Well, if you change your mind, it's not far, " replied Merry. "Bolco, come have dinner."
"I'm not hungry, " Bolco replied.
"I'm not taking no for an answer, " replied Merry, steering him firmly toward the kitchen. "Come join me; I insist."
Merry tried valiantly but unsuccessfully to pry information out of Bolco during dinner. Bolco picked at his plate listlessly and tried to be polite, and by and large, failed. Merry was tempted several times to be annoyed, but without knowing what had happened to bring Bolco all the way to Buckland, he hesitated.
"Merry, I came to ask you for directions to a library, " Bolco finally said.
"Michel Delving is west, not east, " Merry said gently, puzzled.
"I know that," Bolco replied coldly. "I want directions to either Rivendell or Gondor."
"What?"
"They both have libraries, don't they?"
"Well, yes."
"That's where I want to go, then."
"Which one?"
"It doesn't matter."
"What tales or histories are you looking for?"
Bolco sighed. He really didn't want to discuss that now. But Merry waited.
"Tales or histories about Iluvatar."
"Eru?"
"Yes."
Merry brightened. "Well, you're in luck! Frodo has three books full of Bilbo's translations from the Elvish, and that has plenty of information about Eru Iluvatar. You can go to Bag End, and have plenty to study."
"I'm not going back to the Shire."
"No?"
"No, Merry. I'm leaving. Now, which library should I go to, Gondor or Rivendell?"
"Bolco, why are you leaving?"
"I have no reason to stay, " Bolco replied flatly.
"No reason to stay...?"
"No."
Merry watched him, and was at a loss for how to argue with him. "Well... I'd suggest Rivendell first. I suspect they know as much about Eru Iluvatar as Gondor does, and it's not as far away as Gondor."
"All right. How do I get there?"
"It's a difficult journey."
"I thought the roads were better now that the war is over and the king is setting everything in order again."
"Well, yes, better than they were. It is still a dangerous journey. Bolco, isn't this awfully sudden?"
"Yes, Merry, it is. Thank you for dinner. Now, I crossed the Brandywine Bridge to come here; do I go back up towards that way? And head past Bree?"
"Yes, but Rivendell is not easy to find. And it's a long trip, Bolco. I wouldn't do it alone even now. Why don't you wait until a group is headed that way, and join them?"
"Thank you, Merry, but I'll be leaving in the morning."
"Bolco, I don't understand."
"I'm not asking you to."
Merry sighed, and drummed his fingers on the table. "I'll write you a letter to Elrond in the morning, explaining what it is you want, and asking him to help you find it. But I really think you should start with Bilbo's translations. Do you know Sindarin?"
Bolco shrugged. "No. I'll have to learn it sometime. I might as well start."
"Why not ask Frodo to teach you?"
"No." Bolco stood. "Thank you for dinner, Merry. I'd better go and check on Stormy before I retire."
Merry watched him go, and began to worry in earnest. The road east was better than it was, but still no place for a lone hobbit, even one trained to fight, and Bolco had no training at all. Merry did not think Bolco would get very far.
August 15
The next morning, Merry rose, and wondered why Bolco wasn't up early; field workers were usually early risers. He knocked repeatedly on the door to the guest room; no answer. He poked his head in. The bed was neatly made, and the room was set in order-- and empty. Bolco was gone. Stormy likewise was nowhere to be seen. Merry cursed under his breath, and stormed into the study, and hastily penned a letter. He threw the letter and some food into a pack, fetched one pony to ride and saddled another which he led, rode hard to the Brandywine bridge, went to the postal station there, and paid for Quickpost. The errand rider galloped away with the letter, Merry put his ponies in the stable, and went to the Inn for an early beer.
***************
After midnight that night, Pippin galloped up on a lathered pony. Merry was waiting up for him, and came out to meet him.
"Shall we start now?"
"My pony can't go any farther."
"I brought a spare. Leave yours here. You can tell me what happened on the road."
"I wish I knew what happened! I have no idea. I've sent messages to Tom and to his family in Long Cleeve that you said he was talking about heading east to Rivendell, alone. Confound him, Merry. What's he thinking? He'll be waylaid for certain; he's as wilderness-savvy as a week-old lamb. I hope we can find him and talk some sense into him. Drat the boy! Everything was going so beautifully!"
"He didn't look like he thought it was."
"Is he riding hard?"
"The folks here say he wasn't when he came through."
"Maybe we can catch him before he gets to the Barrow Downs."
Merry gave the stableboy a message for Tom and Bolco's brothers to ride hard eastward and catch up. Pippin paid the stableboy and gave him instructions to care for the lathered beast; they saddled Merry's two ponies, and were on the road in half an hour.
*************************
August 16
If he had been paying attention, Bolco would have been surprised how quickly the countryside turned barren after he left the Bridge behind him; but he rode forward in a daze. Stormy was weary, so he let him pick his own pace. Rolling hills stretched away northward to his left, and on his right, the Old Forest loomed. He watched it as he rode past, curious. He remembered Frodo's warning about The Old Forest, and thought to himself, even Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin barely made it out of the Old Forest. If it nearly conquered them, what chance would I have?
"What chance do I want?" he said out loud. He thought about that as he rode, and realised he didn't particularly want a chance. Life had been sweet to him when Lilac had been in the center of it. Now, she was in the center of Pippin's life, and Bolco felt empty, and cold; so very cold, numb, and dreary. He watched the trees march past in an endless line. They beckoned him, he thought. He was sorely tempted to turn into the Forest. But every time he looked down, he thought that although he didn't care what happened to him anymore, he did care what might happen to Stormy. The pony deserved better than disappearing into a forest, never to be seen or heard from again.
Bolco continued to watch the forest march past, and the temptation increased. What did he have to lose? What did he care if he never came out? But his pony's flicking ears kept him honest, and suddenly, he looked forward and gathered his weary pony underneath him, and urged him forward.
Stormy, weary as he was, rallied and surged into a run. Bolco let him go. They ran, the pony wearily fighting off exhaustion and the rider sick with despair, on and on and on, til the exhausted pony slowed involuntarily to a trot, and then to a walk. The sun had climbed to its zenith and was halfway down. The forest was still beside them, marching endlessly. Bolco turned his head away from it. Stormy stumbled along, now weak and thirsty. Bolco gave him his head, and the pony stopped. Bolco got off, and walked him.
The forest drew his gaze again and again. No one would know. No one would miss him. He could leave the pony loose, feral; perhaps he'd make his way back to Evendim, or graze on the North Downs or the North Moors, and be happy. Then Bolco thought of the wolves, and discarded that idea. He walked on, wrestling with himself. To really do right by the pony, he should take him back to the Shire, and leave him safely with somebody. But then they'd ask after him. It was better this way, with nobody knowing where he had gone. If the pony turned up loose, they might assume he had simply been thrown and was wandering somwehere. They might come looking for him. He frowned. He didn't want that. He wanted to just disappear.
But he couldn't disappear into the forest, without his too-loyal pony following him in. The forest was not the answer, he thought, mounting again now that Stormy had had a bit of a rest. He locked his eyes between his pony's ears, and walked on. When he thought the pony could manage it, he urged him forward into a trot, wanting only to leave the Shire behind him as far as he could, as soon as he could. Stormy gathered the last of his strength and drove himself wearily forward.
At sunset, the forest finally began to recede into the distance. Stormy's head hung down; Bolco, looking back over his shoulder to the forest, longing to go back there and enter it, finally felt Stormy stumble badly, and he turned and looked hard at him.
"Oh, Stormy. Look what I've done to you, " he murmured. He slid off.
Stormy halted, trembling. Bolco stared at him, glassy-eyed. "I should be ashamed of myself. Stormy, I'm sorry." But his heart was cold, and he still felt numb.
Bolco tried to lead Stormy on, but Stormy stood fast and did not move. "All right, " Bolco said. "All right. Come on, you rest. I'm sorry. Come on, I'll rub you down. I'm sorry, Stormy." They turned southwards off the road, and Bolco led Stormy a dozen paces onto the grass, stripped the saddlebag and saddle off of him and dropped them on the grass. Stormy snorted, and lowered his head, and took a mouthful of grass and chewed it slowly. Bolco hunted for last years' leftover dead grass, and found some, twisted large handfuls of it into a wisp, and used that to scrape off the sweat. Then he made another and massaged Stormy's muscles with it.
Suddenly Bolco removed Stormy's headstall, and dropped that too. Then he took off his own pack, and collected everything, and dropped it into a ditch that ran alongside the road. Stormy watched him, not moving, carefully chewing another mouthful of dew-soaked grass. The dewfall had been very heavy and wet, and Bolco decided that the grass would go a long way towards quenching Stormy's thirst. And there was water further along the ditch that he had just dropped all his posessions into. Stormy would manage.
Bolco turned, and looked south. The Barrow Downs. He smiled grimly. He walked towards them, and turned, and looked over his shoulder. To his relief, Stormy did not stir. The poor pony was too tired to move, he realised. With a sudden wave of gratefulness, he turned, leaving the loyal pony standing by the side of the road, and he turned southward. He looked. In the fading sunset, the Barrow Downs stretched away southwards, rolling hilltops visible above wisps of fog that were weaving themselves among the low hills. He walked south, and crested a hill, and turned to look back at Stormy. Stormy had not moved.
Bolco took a deep breath of the moist evening air, felt the soft inviting turf under his feet, and broke into a run. Southward, he ran on and on, weaving in and out of the fog that surrounded the rolling hills. He kept to the low areas where the fog was chilly, and where he could not see well. He ran on and on, till the air around him was dark, and he looked up; above the fog, he could see stars. He ran on.
Finally his lungs burned and his legs ached, and he could run no more; weak and panting, he slowed to a walk, and looked around. The hill nearest him was bare, but the hill beyond that held a single, standing stone, tall and starlit, with mist about its feet. Was it a hill like that, he wondered, that had almost taken the lives of Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin? He thought so. He closed his eyes; he could feel darkness, evil, danger. He smiled again, wearily, and made for that second hill.
He crested it, and walked slowly toward the standing stone, and looked around. And then he lay down near it, and closed his eyes. He had already lost all hope; now he set aside the desire for it. He said farewell to Lilac, and prayed that the Creator would bless her marriage, and give Pippin great joy, and many children, and that Lilac would be the happiest wife in all of the Shire. Then he asked the Creator to watch over all of his friends, in the Shire and in Massachusetts, and to let him die soon.
He could feel the evil under the ground beneath him. He rolled over onto his stomach, pressed his face into the grass, and waited.
*************************
He did not wait long. He sensed that something had changed, and lifted his head. From the ground beneath him, vapors rose, and as he watched, they swirled and eddied around him. They had faces. He studied them, wondering, waiting. He wondered when they would attack him. But they circled him instead; sad faces of men and elves, in battle armor. He sat up.
They circled closer, and he grew colder; the air grew clammy. He stood, and walked towards them, and reached for them. To his surprise, they eddied away as he did. But the fear of them turned his heart even colder.
"You came here for me, " he said. They did not answer.
He waited, and the wind blew. The stars glittered cold, and the faces waited. He shivered.
The ground beneath him suddenly felt as if it was pulling him downward. He looked down, expecting the ground to open up and swallow him. It did not. But his feet grew heavy, and it became difficult to move. Weariness crept up his legs and into his body. His head sagged.
His will to live flickered and rekindled, but he fought it with all the despair he could muster. Live for what? Lilac was gone; she belonged to someone else now. She could never be his. He thrust it aside, and gave in again to despair, and the desire for death.
His legs and arms grew heavier, and it became difficult to breathe. He tried to surrender to that, to willingly stop breathing, to let go of life, to throw it away. He heard laughter.
It angered him, and he wanted to speak, to curse the one that laughed at him. But he could not speak. His tongue was as leaden as his limbs. He stood beside the standing stone, unmoving, unable to move, as if his feet were rooted. And he wondered if he was indeed becoming a stone himself; but the way his feet felt rooted, he thought perhaps he was becoming a tree. He thought of the Old Forest, not very far away; but he could not turn to look. He could only stare straight ahead.
Was that what the creatures in the Old Forest really were? Not trees at all, just angry, despairing, enchanted mortals, granted the long lifespan of a tree, and rooted to the ground by their misery and anger? Fear gripped him, and his heart sank, down, down, down into the cold dead earth. He reached down with his feelings to where his heart now lay, deep underground, and shuddered at the evil and anger and despair he felt. That wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want to live with his misery; he wanted to die, and lose it. His anger deepened and simmered.
Breathing became more and more difficult. And now the despairing faces circled closer around him, and he felt his eyes grow wide with terror. He was helpless; he was rooted to the ground, like Old Man Willow, with nothing to do but hate, and be bitter, and live for ages and ages. His heart recoiled at the thought, but his mind had already accepted it as his new destiny.
His feet extended deep into the Barrow of death, his arms were rigid and unmoving, he no longer needed air or speech. He swayed slowly in the cold wind, and he heard the rattle of dead brown leaves and realised they were his own. Bitterness was the winter-thickened sap that slowly coursed through him. A groan escaped him, and it sounded like the creak of an old, dying tree blowing in the wind. He shuddered. He felt empty and hollow, and he wondered how long it would be before he blew over in a storm and fell to the ground to rot.
He was afraid it would be a very, very long time.
*************************
Merry and Pippin rode hard all night, and when dawn came, the Old Forest receeded into the fog on their right. They went on, weary, squinting forward into the cold fog that was whitening with the sunrise. Merry dimly heard a snort off to their right.
"Pippin!"
"What?"
"Did you hear that pony?"
"What pony?"
They halted, listening. They heard it again, southward.
"He didn't."
"Drat the boy!"
They called him, their bellowing voices still sounding thin in the fog. There was no answer. But a shadow emerged from the mist; they started at first, and then were relieved to see it was Bolco's pony. But then they saw that he was stripped of all tack, and their hearts sank. They watched as Stormy walked up onto the road, and approached them, and snorted.
"He's been ridden hard, " Pippin observed. "Look at him. That's not like Bolco."
Merry shook his head. "That pony was drenched when Bolco arrived at Crickhollow."
They scouted around, and found Bolco's posessions in the ditch. They called, and scouted in circles, but they saw no further sign of Bolco. Pippin returned to the ditch, dismounted and picked up the outlandish black backpack, and studied it. "I've never had the look at this that I wanted."
"Is this the time?" Merry asked, impatiently.
"I wonder, " said Pippin, struggling a bit with the zipper; he mastered it, and Merry watched as Pippin ransacked the contents. Clothes, the mysterious shoes, and some parcels of food landed on the long grass. Merry frowned at the shoes while Pippin kept hunting. "Ah. Here it is!"
Merry dismounted, and came up beside him. "What kind of book is that?"
"Nobody knows. But I wonder whether it's a book about Iluvatar."
Merry looked baffled. "Well, if that's a book about Iluvatar, why did he want to go to Rivendell to find more? Has he read that whole thing?"
Pippin shrugged, and studied the book, turning it over and over in his hands. "It looks like this is the front, don't you think?" He inspected the binding, and then opened it and took a close look at the pages. Merry reached past him and felt the paper.
"Look how tiny the runes are. And how regular. Whoever wrote it must have perfect control of a pen."
"I can't imagine copying this whole book out. It must have taken years and years."
"Did Bolco do it?"
"No! His handwriting isn't nearly this good. Not even close."
"In Elvish runes, or Angerthas, " replied Merry. "But these runes?"
Pippin wondered, suddenly not so sure. But then he shook his head. "Not in four months. " Merry reached for the book and Pippin gave it to him, and as Merry was studying it, Pippin reached into the pack and brought out something else.
"Have you ever seen something like this?"
Merry gaped. "No. What-- loops of metal? How strange. And that cover isn't leather, is it? Is it wood? No, it bends. What is it?"
"I think it's a sort of heavy paper, maybe, " Pippin guessed.
Pippin opened the notebook, and gasped. This, he could read. A chill went down his spine. His discussion with Bolco about Iluvatar, and Bolco's dire insistance that he be sworn to secrecy, came flooding back.
Merry approached him again. "What?"
"No, Merry." Pippin moved away from his best friend.
"What? Pippin, you look like you've seen a ghost!"
Pippin turned and held up a hand, and said, "Don't come any closer. You mustn't see this. " Merry, baffled, stopped in his tracks, and Pippin retreated to about ten paces, and then opened the notebook again as if hypnotized. Kneeling down, he studied the runes, and began wordlessly sounding them out. Merry watched as his lips moved.
"What are you doing?"
"Reading. Don't move."
"Pippin!"
"Don't come any closer! Merry, please. I'm going to read this, and see if it tells me why Bolco left. But you mustn't see it. You mustn't read it."
Pippin brought the book over to the edge of the road, and sat down, and began reading in earnest, struggling and frowning often. Merry waited, mystified, while Pippin slowly turned page after page. Finally Merry got down off his pony, and let him graze, and scavenged for breakfast in his pack. He threw some food to Pippin, who thanked him absentmindedly, and kept reading.
The sun climbed almost to its zenith, and Pippin came to a blank page, and sighed. "That's the end. And it's no help at all." He turned to the back, on an impulse, and his eyebrows went up. "Songs?"
"What kind of songs?"
"Nothing. Nevermind, " Pippin muttered, scanning them.
"Pippin!"
"Look, I was hoping this would give us some clue why he went off in such a wild state. But it doesn't. Not in any way that I can understand, anyway, " Pippin said, wondering what Bolco's many references to having the wrong center meant. There were many entries about that, with numerous requests that Iluvatar empty his center, and place himself into it. Pippin ran his fingers across his head, not knowing what to make of it. He closed the notebook, and returned to Bolco's pack, and put the notebook and the outlandish book into the pack, and then stuffed the shoes and clothes in. "He didn't pack much food. How was his appetite at Crickhollow?"
"Terrible, " Merry began, and then became aware of hoofbeats approaching from the west. They turned to watch the road, and their hopes rose.
Five ponies swept into view. Tom, Ned, Songo, Banco, and Dondo appeared out of the mist, on sweaty, very tired ponies. They halted, and their faces fell.
"You found his pack? Where is he?" said Songo.
"He stripped his pony, and left everything in a ditch, here. We've called and called and he hasn't answered, " said Merry.
"But now that you've all come, " Pippin added, "I think we should go and hunt for him. It won't be easy, and we must stick together and not get lost. And we should be out of there well before dark."
"Are you talking about going onto the Barrow Downs?" Dondo's voice sounded thin and afraid.
"Yes, Dondo, " Merry said. "And the sooner we get started, the more searching we can do before nightfall. But we must keep our bearings, and stay together, and get out well before dusk. Understood?"
All five hobbits blanched, and looked at each other uneasily. Pippin understood; he did not want to go onto the Downs again, ever, and he hesitated to go now; but there was no other explanation for the stripped pony waiting by the side of the road. What drove Bolco onto the Downs, Pippin hesitated to think.
"Should we wait for Dad?" Banco asked.
"Bunco is coming?" Pippin asked, surprised.
"He took a spare pony and went to find Toradoc, " Songo replied. "But I don't think we should wait. We don't know how long they'll be. Let's get started." He tried to sound brave.