He stood in the soft, chilly dawn light, looking around. Toward the sun, rolling downs stretched far away. South of him flowed a river, broad and slow. West of him, in the distance, the faint shimmer of grey on the horizon suggested a large body of water with hills beyond. Just before the body of water, he thought he saw ruins.
It was strangely familiar, yet something was very wrong. He waited, and thought. Then he realised that he was on the wrong side of the Brandywine river. He was north of it. The river Brandywine ran from Lake Evendim eastward, past the North Moors, and then curved south and ran past Dwaling, Quarry, and down to the Brandywine Bridge. He had never, ever, not once been on the far side of that river. And now, he was.
For a moment, it panicked him. He would have to walk east, then south, all the way to the bridge, and he would be outside the Shire the whole time. Who knew what the dangers would be? Wolves, trolls, barrow wights? Bad men?
And then he laughed. It was June. He was alone. There was nobody here to see him. And he could swim, and swim well.
He picked up his backpack, the black zippered one with the university logo that Jake had given him, and opened it. Crammed very tightly inside were his notebook, Jake's bible, and much to his chagrin, his very own boat shoes. He laughed softly. He had meant to find some excuse to remove them but had had no time. There was also a pair of socks, shorts, and a spare shirt; his green chamois shirt rolled very tight, and a windbreaker; a dozen apples, a dozen freezer bagels, and a block of cheese. No water bottle; he and Jake had both forgotten that. That would be a problem eventually, but only when he left the river. He zipped the pack closed, shouldered it, and walked to the riverbank, and drank his fill. The river was wide and calm, flowing smoothly, no rapids, nothing worrisome. The bottom was sandy. The far bank was perhaps half a mile away. The current did not worry him, but it would carry him east quickly. So if he wanted to get across to the bank he could now safely see, he would have to start well upstream. He started walking west.
Half a mile, he thought. Fifteen minutes? Twenty? He forgot how to figure that out. He shrugged. If it took him a half an hour, that was all right too. The one thing that concerned him, he thought, was keeping his pack dry. He needed a small raft to put the pack on. If he'd be dragging his pack on some sort of raft, assuming he could make one, then double the time. So to be safe, he'd walk four miles, or an hour. He kept scanning the far bank, but saw nothing alarming.
He looked down; he was wearing his belt, and he could remove the shoelaces from the docksiders in his pack. He thought this over, and began watching for wood. Scraggly trees were scattered thinly on the moors, but there were occasional glades by the riverbank.
Eventually he found a tree that had dropped three large branches in a high wind. He decided that he had walked far enough upstream, and he experimented with the branches. He broke off the small stuff. Then he pulled out his pocketknife, and cut a long narrow strip of bark and tried tying a knot with it. Not bad. He cut many more strips, and lashed the three branches together as a smallish raft, and lashed on two cross-pieces for a little stability. Then he lashed the pack on top.
The whole thing was fairly heavy, but he could lift it, and so he carried it to the water's edge. He got into the water, stripped off his shirt and stuffed it into the pack, and then took several long lengths of bark, and braided them together, and looped them through the raft and through his belt. He would try towing it first; if that didn't work he would push it.
He didn't even need a warm-up after carrying the raft to the water's edge. He brought the raft into the water, and tested it; it was working nicely, keeping the pack up high. He guessed that the wind would not pick up for another several hours, so he did not think he had to worry about waves. He waded in, feeling the pull of the raft against his belt; it would be tiring if he fought it hard, so he decided to swim slowly, inching along, and save his strength. Once I get across, he thought, and get the books on the far bank, if I still want to I'll reward myself with some sprints.
He enjoyed every moment of the swim across. For one thing, each stroke brought him closer to Lilac. For another thing, this river was the North border of the Shire; to him it seemed absolutely delicious that he was swimming into the Shire. The sun was climbing, and the countryside showing its beauty. And the water was cold but pleasant; it was, he knew, perfectly drinkable, unlike the chlorine pool he had trained in under Josh. When he was thirsty, he drank some. He mostly used a steady breaststroke but occasionally did about a length's worth of easy freestyle when he got bored or stiff. Before an hour was up, he was wading towards the Shire bank. He scanned the horizon and noticed nothing peculiar. He pulled his raft up on the Shire side, verified that his pack was still basically dry, unlashed it, wedged it in a thicket that hugged and cascaded over the bank, and then cut the lashes and eased the five pieces of wood up onto the bank.
He took a good look around. If anybody was here, they were well hidden. Still, he double-checked that his pack was also well-hidden, before he waded back out into the water. Five minutes of good hard freestyle was all he needed or wanted at that point, and then he swam back to the shallows and waded up towards the bank.
Two hobbits stood waiting for him there, seemingly having arisen out of nowhere. They had been hiding from him then. Bolco tensed but then relaxed when he saw feathers in their caps; they were either Shirriffs or Bounders.
"Good morning to you, gentlehobbits. I am glad to see you," Bolco called out.
"And who may you be, and what brings you to our border?" said one.
"My name is Bolco Took. And I am coming home. " He laughed, and let the thought celebrate itself. Impulsively he reached down and gave the water an eastward smack, sending a big spray glistening and sparkling in the sunlight, laughing long and loud.
They gaped at each other, thunderstruck. "Bolco Took! Why, we'd long ago given you up for dead! And here you are swimming like a Brandybuck," said one, an open friendly fellow, leaning forward for a closer look.
"Let's have a good close look at him," said the other, cautiously. "He sounds like a Took, but we can't be too careful."
Bolco obligingly climbed up the sandy bank, and stood before them, still glowing with joy.
"Aye, it's him, " said the first, confidently. "No mistaking those little feet."
Bolco laughed aloud. "All right, " he said. "They got me across the river, though, so I guess they'll do."
The bounders looked at each other. The cautious one shifted his feet, apparently still not sure of Bolco. "Serious bit of swimming you've done there, " he said, frowning. "I don't know many Brandybucks that would have tried it alone, and no Tooks that would have tried it at all. " He studied him, and held his eyes for a bit, eventually deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt. "I guess it's possible that a Took could learn to out-swim a Brandybuck, but it's a first. Well, welcome home, lad, and it's good to know that you're all right. I'm Toradoc Brandybuck. " He reached out a hand to the dripping Bolco, who wiped his wet hands on his still wetter trousers and gleefully shook Toradoc's hand anyway.
Toradoc dried his hand on his trouser leg while Bolco dampened the other Bounder's right hand with another triumphant handshake.
"Guffo Boffin. Well met, Bolco, and welcome back. We are obliged to ask you what your plans are, and we'd also like to know whether we can help you. " Bounders took their duties more seriously than ever during these strange times.
Bolco nodded. "I'm going to follow the river to Lake Evendim, swim there at least once-- probably several times," he laughed again, "and then head south, probably through Bindbale Wood, and on down to Hobbiton and thence to the Smials." He thought about asking for food, but he'd be going past his childhood haunts, and he suspected he could find something edible along the way.
"Haven't you had enough of a swim here, lad? No sense taking unnecessary risks and all, " said Guffo, shaking his head.
Bolco laughed again. "Most people take unnecessary risks all the time, " he said. "I just like taking mine in water when I can." Nothing could dim this morning's triumph for him, but he was also looking forward to an afternoon swim in Evendim when the setting sun had turned the windblown surface to flames.
"Well, then, that's your business, " replied Toradoc; "There are some that swims when the need arises, and a few that swim when they have the excuse. I reckon you are the latter."
Bolco smiled in answer.
"You set for food? Looks like you could use some extra. If you find that you could, stop in at the Bounder's camp just south of Evendim, and tell them we sent you. They'll help you out."
"Thanks." That was indeed good news.
"Well, good luck drying off, " said Toradoc. "And be careful in the woods. We've had troubles with men lately. Ruffians. Keep a sharp lookout."
"All right, " Bolco agreed. "Thank you, and good morning." They marched westward, with an occasional glance backwards at him, discussing between themselves.
He turned his attention to his knapsack, still tucked under the shrub. The shirt would wait until he was dry, he decided, and then laughed long and hard. He had swam across bare-chested, and had come out of the water so, and held a long conversation with perfect strangers; all the while completely forgetting that in Shire-terms he was half dressed. He would have to watch that.
He shouldered his pack and started walking rather slowly westwards. He really didn't want to catch up with the Bounders again. He walked until he found a pleasant glade by the riverbank, and entered it, and set his pack down and inspected trees for a while. He even found one that he could climb, and did so. Once up, he realized that he was hungry, and so he climbed back down, got his pack, and climbed back up, and ate breakfast in the tree.
He considered the apple and the bagel, and he bowed his head, and tears came. He thanked the Creator for bringing him back to the Shire, for giving him the joy of (and the courage for) the swim across the Brandywine, and for bringing him to the grove to climb the tree. Almost as an afterthought, he thanked him also for the bagel and the apple.
As he ate, he thought back to the night before, when he had brought the faded lilac blossom to Jake in his room. They had prayed, and wept, and then packed his backpack, with his notebook and the clothes and food. They had agreed that his pack should be stocked from then on, and they prayed that whenever he left, his pack would end up with him. "You can't carry it everywhere you go, " Jake had said. "We'll just have to trust God with all this. And we'll have to eat what's in here, and we'll replace what we eat every day."
He had not expected Jake to put his own well-worn and well-read bible in his pack, and had protested when Jake did so. But Jake had insisted. "I'll get another. I want you to have mine. And when you read it, I want you to remember me, and pray for me." Then Bolco had agreed.
They had stayed in the pine tree late into the night, talking, reluctant to separate for any reason. And before they retired they had prayed, long, until the early morning hours, and then talked more. The light had begun to return in the sky when Jake had finally fallen asleep.
Bolco had risen then, in a daze, and dressed, and had taken his backpack in one hand, and gone to Jake's side and prayed for him again.
The next morning, they had had an appointment with the agency, which Bolco had been dreading for days. Jake was especially pensive as he drove Bolco there, and Jake had watched, frowning, as Bolco went into the room for the interview. Jake was used to always sitting by Bolco in any counselling session, but these people at the agency were adamant that he sit outside. Bolco had turned to look at Jake, who met his gaze through the glass.
And then he had gotten suddenly quite dizzy, and the room faded as if he was going to pass out. But he didn't; he had instead found himself standing by the Brandywine river, blinking and looking around. Neither the counsellor nor Jake was anywhere in sight. The counsellor he would not miss.
He had never said goodbye to Janiece, nor Josh, nor James; he had thought that he had more time. He thought he would have a week's warning or so. But he had not, and he did not think he would see them again.
Now the impact of that hit him hard, and he wept, and weariness came over him. He realised that he needed sleep, badly. He looked westward through the tree branches; he saw no Bounders, but now he could see the beginnings of the ruins of Annuminas. They drew him. He climbed down and walked westward, weeping softly as he thought of the Scotts, smiling through the tears as he thought of Lilac. He entered the ruins an hour later. He went on, keeping to the riverbank, looking for one of his favorite childhood haunts; he found it. An upper story, with a ledge wide enough to sleep on, and hidden from view, but giving one. He lay down there, and was soon fast asleep.
He awoke rather stiffly with the sun halfway down the sky. He would have to hurry, he thought, if he wanted to swim in Evendim by sunset. He stretched carefully, had a drink at the river, and munched another apple and bagel as he walked. Five miles later, the river widened and widened, and the lake opened out before him.
It had been worth the walk. The sun was an hour before setting, and the brisk June breeze rippled the surface all across the lake. The reflection of the sun made it seem that the lake was on fire. Bolco gazed at it until his eyes only saw green, and then he shut them and lingered in the fragrance of the water, and the soft lapping of the little waves, and the whisper of the breeze.
The south shore of Evendim had been his favorite childhood haunt, and he knew the shore and the shallows like the back of his hand, but the river outlet he did not know nearly as well; it wasn't his favorite place on the lake but it would do for now. He surveyed the bottom as best he could; he saw broad expanses of sand, as he had expected. He looked for a safe place for his pack, and stowed it where he could see it from the water, but it would be mostly hidden from land. Then he waded into the lake.
His main concern this time was to map the bottom. He wanted to know where the rocks were, where the bottom sloped away quickly, where any hazards threatened. He spent the remaining daylight hours mostly swimming gently back and forth not far from the beach, waist deep to shoulder-deep, in no hurry. It was all sandy and gradually sloped. The sun went down.
He watched the clouds fade from pink to purple to grey, and then the sky between the clouds began to darken. He waited. He was getting a chill, but he was not done swimming yet. He did a few sprints to help warm up, and that helped.
The first several stars came out, and Bolco swam to waist-deep water, turned over on his back, and watched all the rest come out. In an hour he was shivering badly, and so did some more sprints to warm back up again, but it worked less well this time. He would have to get out, he thought. But another time, he would survey the bottom in the morning, and not get wet until the stars were coming out, and have plenty of time to float and watch them.
He waded ashore to his backpack, and took it up onto the shore with him. He found an old ruin by the shore that was sheltered from the wind, and shook or scraped off as much water as he could. Then he pulled out one of the socks, and dried off a great deal using that. Then he pulled out his shirt, put it on, and the Chamois shirt over that, and then the windbreaker. Then he took another apple and bagel, and several slices of cheese. He sat down to eat.
"You're either stupid or stubborn, I'm not sure which," said a voice not far from him, and he jumped, but thought he recognized Toradoc's voice.
"Does it matter which?" said Bolco, chewing. "I told you what my plans were. This won't be my last swim."
"In the dark? Alone? That's not safe."
"No. But it's marvelous. Exciting, and beautiful, and not nearly so dangerous as you think, if you plan for it and are quite careful." Toradoc had not had Josh's several lectures on this, and maybe it wouldn't matter if he did. Bolco knew what precautions Josh expected him to take, and he took them. Josh had given nocturnal swimming a great deal of thought, knowing Bolco, and had given him a series of orders, which Bolco was following carefully. Knowing the bottom was a key part of that.
"Well, since you warned us that you were going in again, I convinced Guffo to let me keep an eye on you. I'm glad I did. It'd be awful sad for you to have come back this far and then drown on the borders of the Shire."
"I'm surprised by your concern. Thank you, Toradoc."
"Not just mine. There's more than one Took that asks after you, still."
"Still?"
"Not everybody gave up." But Toradoc would not mention any names, and Bolco had to be content. He wagered quietly to himself it was Pippin and Lilac.
Toradoc stood. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a bit of catching up to do. Guffo promised me a fire when I came in. You're welcome to join us, of course."
Bolco laughed, apologetic and grateful. "I have gotten a rather deep chill, and a fire sounds wonderful. May I join you?"
"Come along, then."
"Where are we headed, if I may ask?"
"Several miles along the coastline, there's another camp."
"Directly along the shore?"
Toradoc nodded. "The camp is near the beach."
"Ah. Toradoc, are you carrying a pack?"
"No."
"Can I ask you to carry mine, then? If it's not too much of an imposition. The pack is really quite light, the heaviest item in it is a book."
Toradoc laughed. "And what are you going to carry?"
"The water will carry me."
"You can't mean that you are going to swim to the camp. It's three miles from here."
"I would rather swim than walk."
"I thought you were cold."
"I'll swim hard." The wind had shifted so that it was coming out of the east giving him a following breeze.
Toradoc threw his hands in the air. "I'll watch for you," he said. "Give me your pack. Have you had enough to eat?"
Why ration food when more was being offered? "One more bagel, I think."
"Bagel?"
"Ring-bread, " Bolco said, lifting it so it was visible. "Would you like one?"
"No. Lad, you're plumb crazy. I'll walk along and keep an eye on you."
"Really, there's no need. "
"I'll feel better about it. If you were my son, I'd want someone watching you."
Somehow that stung, but he knew it was meant very kindly, and so he thanked Toradoc. He devoured the bagel, stripped his shirts off again, packed them and gave the pack to Toradoc, who once again told him he was crazy, and shouldered the pack.
Bolco faced the water. Three miles. And he had not surveyed the bottom at all; he was counting on his teenage memories of wading along the coast to help him, but he knew it was a risk. Josh would kill him. Toradoc was right; he was crazy. He was already tired. This was madness.
Sweet, sweet madness. The breeze blew in his hair, and he drank it in and stretched, and his heart sang. He waded in, turned west away from the rising moon, and swam.
About a mile into the swim, he saw rocks in the moonlight, but not soon enough, and he skinned his right knee and shin on one. It bled a while, but not badly, and he swam cautiously after that until he cleared the rocks and was over sand again. After that, as he recalled, it was all sand for several miles. Occasionally it dropped away and got deeper than he liked, and he veered towards shore when that happened. Toradoc called him three or four times when he got too quiet, doing breaststroke for too long. The fellow's patience was astounding, Bolco thought. He wondered how he could possibly thank him.
He thought he saw a flickering glow off to the left that got steadily brighter. Finally Toradoc called him in. Guffo had built the fire not far from the beach. Eru bless him, thought Bolco, for not camping out of sight of the lake.
Bolco rolled onto his back, and slowly, half drifting half finning, worked his way to the shore and the fire, but he enjoyed the stars thoroughly on the way in. Lilac wove in and out of his thoughts. He could not remember being so exhausted nor so happy. Before he left the water he drank his fill again.
Toradoc stood on the shore ‘til he walked up onto the beach, and then put Bolco's pack down and headed for the fire. Bolco stood, trying not to sway from the weariness, and let the water drip from him for a while, scraped as much water off as he could with the flat of his hand, and then opened his pack and dried himself with the other sock, wringing it out several times. Then he approached the fire, stumbling from exhaustion, but little short of deliriously happy.
Guffo was shaking his head as Toradoc related the story, and only said, "Here, lad, come warm up and eat." There were roast potatoes and carrots with wild sorrel on the side, and plenty of water to go with the dried salted mutton, and Guffo had brought an extra cup of water for him.
He thanked both Guffo and Toradoc profusely, and set to, and ate his fill. He was nodding during the last several bites. They laughed at him. "Get some rest, lad. If you're done swimming for the evening, that is."
He laughed groggily, stood rather dizzily and bowed to his hosts, thanked them again, pulled out his chamois shirt and covered his back with it, lay down toward the fire with his head on his pack, and was sound asleep.
June 17
Guffo and Toradoc took turns watching out of habit more than need. When dawn came, Bolco slept on. They considered splitting up leaving just Toradoc with Bolco and freeing Guffo to patrol further, but there seemed to be no pressing reason to, so they both stayed with him. He slept right through til noon. They let him. Guffo busied himself gathering firewood, and Toradoc stayed patiently with Bolco the whole time.
Finally Bolco awoke, and stretched, and sat up, greeted Toradoc, and turned toward the water, and filled his eyes with it again.
Toradoc watched, wondering. "You really love it, don't you."
Bolco turned. "Don't you?"
"I like it, " Toradoc replied. "It's pretty enough. But you, you're in love. You're enthralled by it."
"Say I'm freed by it, and I'll agree with you."
"Maybe it depends on how you look at it."
"There are a lot of ways to look at it, aren't there?" Bolco murmured, following the far blue shore with his eyes and his soul. The Twilight Hills rose past the shore, and he traced them too. Someday, he thought, I'll explore them, or at least the shore on that side. Someday, I'll swim all the way around this lake, camping as I go. It will take me weeks. Sweet madness. He smiled.
"How much farther are you planning to swim? " Toradoc asked, worrying a little at that smile. He fretted that Bolco would push himself too far, and not make it to shore, and he would be the one who would have to tell the Tooks that Bolco had almost, but not quite, made it home.
"Oh, " Bolco said dreamily, "Just as far as I need to, to be north of Bindbale Wood."
"The Wood? Or the road that leads to the Wood? Well, either way, you've got at least another three miles to go, maybe more."
"Three miles." Bolco yawned and stretched. "Maybe I won't try it today. Maybe I'll wait til tomorrow." He was still very weary.
"Good idea, " Toradoc said. "Meanwhile, you've missed several meals. Why don't you have something to eat?"
Bolco turned and looked at him hard. "Toradoc, you puzzle me. Why are you taking such good care of me?"
"I told you already, " Toradoc replied. "There are Tooks who have been asking for you without fail ever since you disappeared."
"Whoever they are, it seems that you love them."
"Well, perhaps I do." It seemed as if Toradoc had not thought of it that way before. He looked into the fire. "Perhaps I do."
"Thank you, Toradoc."
Toradoc looked up. "Just please live, through all your insane adventures, and get home. All right?"
"I intend to."
"Do you? I wonder. Last night I thought you had a death wish."
Bolco laughed. "But not today."
Toradoc did not laugh. "I'll take the reprieve."
More potatoes and carrots were to be had, and Bolco dug in happily, after bringing out apples and ring-breads from his pack and sharing them with Toradoc, and setting some out for Guffo too. He toasted a bagel for himself, thinking of Jake and wondering whether he would enjoy rock-roasted bagel. He thought Jake would.
Once Guffo learned that Bolco was staying put for the day, he went off towards the ruins to patrol a little there. He was gone much of the afternoon. Bolco wandered down by the beach, back and forth, singing softly, and gazing out at the water, making Toradoc nervous. But he did not go in. He came back again, and lay down by the fire, and slept the day away.
June 18
Toradoc woke with a start and wondered why. He looked across the fire and saw Guffo sound asleep, and where Bolco had been Toradoc saw only Bolco's shirt. "Guffo! Where's Bolco?" Guffo looked around groggily, muttering.
Toradoc jumped up, and ran towards the water, calling Bolco loudly.
He scanned the water, seeing nothing, and his worry escalated, approaching panic. He called louder.
Several hundred feet out, Bolco tore his attention from the river of stars, rolled over and looked toward the beach. "I'm right here, Toradoc, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."
Toradoc was not amused. "You insane fool! Crazy Took! You'll be the end of my sanity!"
Guffo came to the beach and put a hand on Toradoc' shoulder. "He's a wild one. He won't be leashed easily, Torry."
Toradoc sputtered about common courtesy and gave Bolco a few choice new names.
Guffo sighed. "I reckon this is what drove his father so wild," he murmured. Toradoc paused at that, and grew suddenly thoughtful.
Bolco was swimming in to the shore, and soon he stood dripping in front of the Bounders, waiting, staring at Toradoc.
Toradoc gathered his ire from wherever Guffo's comment had scattered it to, and bristled. "How is a fellow supposed to keep an eye on you when you run off without any notice whatsoever in the dead of night?"
Bolco looked him in the eye, and softly replied, "Who asked you to keep an eye on me?"
Toradoc deflated.
Bolco sighed. "Toradoc, I appreciate your vigilance. But just now, I was watching the stars. And I am going to go back to watching the stars. Don't worry. I'll be fine, Toradoc. I slept all day. Perhaps you should get some sleep of your own now. "
With that, Bolco turned and waded back into the water, rolled onto his back and practically disappeared. Toradoc leaned forward. "Confound the lad! Where is he!!"
Guffo stared hard, and pointed. "Right where he was, you can just see him. Barely."
Toradoc fumed, and Guffo shook his head. "Torry, he'll be all right. Sit down. Relax."
Toradoc shook his head, trying not to be angry, failing. He sat on the bank and waited over an hour until Bolco got a good deep chill, and came back in. By then Guffo had built the fire back up. Toradoc walked silently back to the fire with Bolco.
Bolco wondered who had threatened Toradoc with some terrible fate if he lost a swimmer in Evendim. He stared at him. Toradoc glared back.
"I'm not a child, Toradoc."
"The devil you're not!"
Bolco grew more baffled. He turned away and tried to place the odd emotions he was feeling. It took a while, but eventually he placed it: Jake's over-protectiveness, when fully stifling. He smiled and shook his head.
And then he thanked the Creator for Toradoc, lay back down, closer to the fire, still dripping, and dropped off to sleep, and dreamed of Jake, Josh, James and Janiece.
In the morning, Toradoc woke first, and put the coffee on, and the smell of the coffee woke the others.
"When's your next swim?" Toradoc asked, with only a hint of irritation.
Bolco faced him. "Toradoc, I told you that I planned to swim to the road south."
"Yes."
"If I need to, I can walk there, stow my pack, walk back, and swim."
"I won't hear of it. I'll carry your pack, and that's flat."
"Toradoc, I am not trying to inconvenience you. I'm trying to release you from an obligation I never bound you to in the first place."
"Well then, you can't release me from it, can't you?"
Bolco sighed, extracted a bagel and an apple from his pack and offered them to Toradoc; they were accepted, and he got out some more for himself. The bagels were toasted in silence, but without hostility.
"Interesting sort of bread-ring," Toradoc observed.
"I wish I knew how to make them," Bolco agreed. "I'll be disappointed when I run out."
Guffo joined them, and Bolco offered him a bagel and an apple, which he accepted. They finished eating, and Bolco stood, stowed everything in his pack including his shirt, and approached Toradoc. "Toradoc, I don't understand why you feel obligated to watch me. But I appreciate your concern. I hope I'm not a burden or a nuisance, but if I am, I'm sorry." He extended his hand, and Toradoc shook it.
"It's all right, lad. Just stay where I can see you, please."
"All right. I'll try." And he meant it. For the next three miles, he stayed in so close that sometimes his feet hit the sand. He would have enjoyed the swim more out further, but this way he and Toradoc could occasionally chat back and forth. It wasn't quite the swim he'd had in mind, but it seemed like the right thing to do.
Toradoc called him in when they arrived at the road to Bindbale. There were a few dwellings and a camp along that road, and victuals were to be had; Bolco's pack was well-stocked, and he rested ‘til noon.
When he shouldered his now-heavy pack (with a full water bottle, courtesy of Toradoc), he was much astonished to see Toradoc and Guffo turn eastward and take the road to Long Cleeve. "You could have turned toward Long Cleeve at the ruins of Annuminas and been there in hours!" he cried.
"Aye, we could have, " said Guffo, with a sidelong glance at Toradoc.
"Our road is our business, " responded Toradoc pointedly, not unkindly.
"It's your work and your badge, " conceded Bolco. "You went all that distance and all that time out of your way, for me. I'm honored. Thank you."
"You're welcome, " said Toradoc, and turned to go.
"Toradoc?" Bolco stepped forward on a sudden hunch, and spoke softly. "Please. If you happen to see anyone from my old family... there's no need to tell them I swam home, is there?"
Bolco couldn't read his face at all, but there was a long, long pause. And then Toradoc said gently, "No, lad, I suppose there's no need."
"Thank you."
"Get back to the Smials safely, lad."
"All right."
With a parting wave, Bolco turned south.
It was twenty-five miles to Bindbale, and he did half of it that afternoon, and slept in the wood, taking advantage of the solitude to review some of his transcriptions. He saw no ruffians of any sort.
June 19
Midday next day he arrived in Bindbale proper. The place buzzed with his arrival, and he enjoyed a good lunch on the town. They gave him many an odd look about his story, though. When he said that he had been gone for four months, they shook their heads, and a chorus of voices argued with him, adding two years to the time. He laughed hard, and congratulated them for getting the whole town together on a fine practical joke. They laughed too, and ordered another round of beer. But he got some odd looks after that.
He continued south, slower, singing softly as he walked, and arrived at Needlehole in time for supper. He went straight to the inn, where he was warmly welcomed with much back clapping and handshaking, and given a meal on the house again. On a hunch, he mentioned that he was headed toward Bywater and The Smials.
"We've a group of lads headed down past the edge of the wood to Bywater tomorrow, for the Midsummer Festival, " a small fellow named Tad suggested. "Lunch in Bywater, and tea and dinner and supper at The Three-Farthing Stone. Stay the night, and ride with us in the morning. We'll find a spare pony somewhere."
The Midsummer Festival! His eyes lit up and his head spun. Tomorrow was his birthday, then; he would be twenty-seven! Only six years left 'til he would come of age, and be able to marry! And the whole of the Shire would be together at the Midsummer Festival. Lilac would be there! His heart raced, and for the rest of the evening, a smile lit his eyes and often his face.
Riding to Bywater also sounded wonderful, and he agreed with delight, thanking Tad profusely.
The remainder of the evening was spent chatting away. They asked him for the story of his trip, but for some reason he hesitated. Bindbale had puzzled him, with their tale of two extra years. He demurred, asking instead for local news.
What he heard was over two years of marriages and births and news, all interwoven into a wild story told by a respected gaffer about Ruffians-- was that what the Bounders had been talking about? he thought-- ravaging the Shire, and overtaxing the people, and using up all the pipeweed, and in the end, the Shire being roused and raised by Merry Brandybuck, Pippin Took, and Samwise Gamgee. "And Deputy-Mayor Baggins played a part too," mentioned several, although nobody seemed to know quite what that part was.
There followed a rousing description of The Battle of Bywater, and the heroics of Peregrin and Meriadoc and Samwise. "And now under Master Samwise we're replanting The Shire, because of all the trees that them Ruffians had cut down. We've worked hard, and someday Bywater will look itself again, maybe." The gaffer sat back satisfied that he had told his tale well. There were enthusiastic nods and agreement all around, and the talk turned to last week's replanting work and the admirable guidance of Master Samwise.
Bolco sat back, and was glad to have been momentarily forgotten. He was baffled. Two entire towns could not have gotten together on such short notice and put together such an amazing tale. Could they? And the Ruffians had been mentioned by the Bounders. Bolco's head began to hurt. He slipped out of the dining room and went out under the stars, and looked up, his fretting turned to pacing. He tried to keep it from turning to panic. Two years.
The door opened again and Tad came out, the lad who had asked him to ride to Midsummer's Festival tomorrow. "Everything all right, Bolco?"
"I'm not sure." Bolco puzzled. "I can remember the night I left, and every day since then; I remember the changing of the season from winter to spring. I watched the trees bud. I was gone, " he said slowly and carefully, "from mid-February to mid-June. No more."
Tad stared at him. "You heard the tale told, " he said, as if challenging him to disbelieve it, which he was.
Bolco nodded slowly. "I heard it."
"It's 1420, lad."
Tad watched Bolco struggle. "I don't see how it can be any later than 1418. June of 1418."
"It's 1420, like I told you. "
Bolco shook his head. "Tad, please understand. I am not arguing with you. But I don't understand. I know how long I was gone. I was gone for four months."
Tad shrugged. "Better sleep on it, Bolco. Maybe it will make more sense in the morning."
Bolco nodded. He was weary enough. "Where shall I meet up with you in the morning?"
"Won't you be sleeping at the inn?"
"I can't afford it. I'll spend the night in a hedgerow somewhere. I'm used to it."
Tad shook his head again. "You're a strange one, Bolco. Meet us in the inn-yard."
"All right. Thanks, Tad."
Tad went back into the inn, and the crowd did not break up until quite late that night.
Bolco found a hedgerow, and followed it off the main road a ways, and found a little stream. He sat down beside it, thanked the Creator for it, drank, filled his water bottle, and sang for a while, softly. Then he slept.
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