They stopped at a few woodland settlements during that day--"village" was too grand a word for what were at most four or five cottages set together in a clearing, no place even large enough to have an inn or public drinking house. The woodsfolk were not used to seeing strangers, but friendly enough and eager to hear and tell news. Merry and Pippin heard plenty of talk, but none of it useful. They met a few people who knew Rolo, or claimed relation to him; some even said that they had seen him in the Wood recently. No one had seen or heard of an unknown lady residing in the forest.
When the light began to fail, they stopped where they were and made a camp not far from the path near a burbling, stone-filled stream. They might have begged for shelter in a cottage or farm-byre, but the night was warm and mild. They built a small fire and had a meager dinner of bread and cheese from the supplies they'd purchased that morning at the village.
"It's almost like our travels on the quest, isn't it?" Pippin said as they wrapped their cloaks around themselves and settled down on opposite sides of the fire. "Only, we were always in danger then, and hardly ever had a moment to ourselves."
Merry made a drowsy sound of agreement. Pippin watched him for a minute, then got up and crawled around the fire to him.
"We have a moment to ourselves now... if you're not still angry with me. Are you, Merry?" he asked, and put a hand lightly on his shoulder.
"No, I'm not angry." It was the truth. He wasn't angry at Pippin, not really, but he was very much afraid of losing him and it made him snappish and short-tempered. He knew that Frodo was right; he couldn't make Pippin stay with him if he didn't want to. But when the time came to let Pip go, it would be the hardest thing he'd ever done.
"You haven't been living up to your name lately," Pippin observed. "If you go on being as un-merry as this, we'll have to start calling you Grouchy instead."
Merry laughed. "You're right, I haven't been very cheerful." He turned to lie on his back and look up at Pippin, who was crouched over him, smiling hopefully. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too," said Pippin. "I don't want you to worry. I keep trying to say so, but it never comes out right. You have to know, no matter what happens, it won't change things between us. I won't let it. I'll always love you first and best." He leaned down to kiss the tip of Merry's nose, then his mouth.
Merry still had his doubts and fears for their future, but he wasn't going to argue about it now. When Pippin lay down beside him and snuggled close, Merry put an arm around him and stroked his hair. Pippin lifted his head and they were just beginning to kiss, when there was a crackle of movement in the underbrush. "Ssh! What's that?"
They moved apart quickly, sat up, and peered at the dark forest around them. Through the trees, they could see the flare of a torchlight moving, coming closer. A male voice called out: "Who're ye lads?"
"Who're you?" Pippin asked back.
As the torch came nearer, they could see that it was carried by a hobbit past his middle years with a wrinkled, reddened face like a weathered apple. As he reached the clearing where Merry and Pippin had settled, he raised his torch to have a better look at them. "Ye're gentlefolk by the look o' ye. Are ye lost?"
"No," answered Merry. "We're travelers, on our way through the Wood. We stopped here for the night."
"We're not trespassing, are we?" asked Pippin.
"No, lads. The Wood belongs to nobody, though we all tend the trees and cut what's fitting. We saw fire and heard voices, and I thought as I'd best come have a look. My cottage is over yonder. Come wi' me, if ye like. We'll give ye a better bed than the hard ground."
"That's very kind of you, Mister-" said Merry.
"Name's Bindbole."
The name struck neither young hobbit as remarkable; they'd met other Bindboles today. "It's very kind, Mr. Bindbole, but we couldn't put you out. We're used to sleeping rough."
"'Tis no trouble," their prospective host assured him. "There's plenty o' room. We can give ye lads a late supper, and a drop o' my wife's good ale."
There were no further protests; after their light dinner, both Pippin and Merry accepted this invitation gratefully. Once they had put out the fire and picked up their packs, they followed the old woodsman along a footpath that ran beside the stream until they came to a single cottage in a clearing. Even by the torchlight and the light that came through the windows, they could see it was a patchwork home: the original round, central hut had been added to over the years, so that the angled roofs of multiple penthouses jutted out oddly in all directions.
An aging, apple-faced woman, to match her husband, stood waiting at the open door with a worried expression. Her face cleared, but she looked very curious when she saw that her husband was not alone.
"I've brought back company, Missus," Mr. Bindbole explained to her. "These young gents here are travelers, stopped in our woods for the night. I said as we'd give 'em a bite of supper and a place to sleep."
Mrs. Bindbole was surprised to have guests at so late an hour, but welcomed them into her kitchen, where a mushroom stew was just being served. At the table sat two younger male hobbits, presumably the Bindboles' sons, and a younger woman--a daughter, or the wife of one of the sons, Merry guessed; and wife it turned out to be, for when two small, sleepy-eyed children peeked out from behind a curtained recess to see what was going on, their mother sent them firmly back to bed.
"We don't see many travelers in these parts," said Mrs. Bindbole as she placed a plate full of stew and freshly baked and buttered rolls in front of each guest. "Who might ye lads be? Have ye come from afar?"
Merry and Pippin introduced themselves.
"Took?" Mr. Bindbole's expression brightened as Pippin spoke his last name. "Why, we know the North-Tooks well! I've been up Cleeveland-way on business now and again. One o' that family, are ye?"
"The southern branch, actually," said Pippin, but it was close enough; the name of Took was as good as a letter of recommendation. The Bindboles also assumed that Pippin and his companion were on their way to visit his northern cousins, and both boys let them think so.
"Will ye us tell us the news?" Mrs. Bindbole requested over dinner. "I han't been out o' the Wood in ages. Our Rolo here's been out and about the Shire, but he don't like to talk about it now he's home." She indicated her younger son.
"Rolo?" Pippin echoed, and stared at him. "You're Rolo Bindbole?" he asked before Merry could kick him under the table.
The boy looked startled and puzzled. "Yes, that's right. D'you know me, Mr. Took?"
"No-" began Pippin. "We've never met."
"But my name means sommat to you."
"There was a lad by that name in Budgeford awhile ago," Merry said quickly. "Since you've been out around the Shire, I'm sure Pip thought you might be the same one."
Rolo glanced at him with sharp curiosity, but only answered, "No, 'twasn't me. I han't been so far off as Budgeford." That was the end of it as far the rest of the Bindbole family was concerned, but Rolo kept his eye warily on Merry and Pippin throughout dinner.
After dinner, Mrs. Bindbole showed them to one of the penthouses built off the central cottage, a room with a slanted roof so low that they couldn't stand up in it except near the curtained doorway. Pallets were laid out on the floor for them, and blankets brought in. The two settled down and lay quietly waiting side by side, but did not sleep.
After the rest of the household had gone to bed and the cottage was dark and silent, Rolo crept into their room. "You lads," he whispered, "you didn't tell all the truth, did you? You're not simple travelers who come our way by accident." Rolo sat down on the floor between the two pallets. "You know my name. What is it you're after?"
Pippin, who never liked subterfuge, was happy to be direct. "Our cousin Frodo sent us to find you."
"Frodo..." Rolo repeated the name without understanding, and then he remembered. "Frodo Baggins, the detective? He's looking for me--why? What's he want with me?"
"It has to do with Camellia Stillwaters," said Merry.
"He thinks I still got sommat to do with Cammie? But I gave him Cammie's letters, soon as I got them, and there's an end to it."
"No, it's not ended," Merry told him. "You mayn't have heard, if you've been here in the Wood, but Camellia's gone."
"Gone?" Rolo echoed. "Where?"
"Everyone who knows about it thinks she's run off with you. Frodo sent us to find out if you'd brought her here--but she's not here, is she?"
Rolo shook his head. "Cammie isn't with me. Run off with me? No. I han't seen her since she married."
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