Chapter 1. A Kingly Gift

 ‘Do you think Eomer is trying to tell me something?’ Pippin said. He leaned on the fence, chewing the stem of a long piece of grass, watching Old Tom and half the stable hands trying to subdue the fighting stallion in the centre of the small enclosure.

 ‘He’s the finest piece of ponyflesh I’ve seen this side of Rohan,’ Merry said thoughtfully.

 ‘Yes, but didn’t you tell me that the King of Rohan, on his coronation, was expected to prove his fitness for ruling the Mark by first ruling her greatest stallion?’ Pippin said as the pony reared high, waving his hoofs dangerously as hobbits holding ropes ducked out of the way. 

 ‘This isn’t Rohan,’ Merry began, but Pippin broke in.

 ‘I’m glad of that!’ that hobbit said, wincing as the pony threw himself over backwards, narrowly missing two stable hands.

Grab hold, lads! Old Tom shouted. He’s not through yet, not half!

  ‘He’s honouring you with the finest of Rohan’s ponies,’ Merry said stubbornly.

 ‘I could do with a little less honour, thank you,’ Pippin replied, shaking his head. ‘I must admit, it’d be a quick death to go in there and “master” him.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘At least I’d get out of being saddled with the Thainship.’

 ‘I don’t see what you’re on about,’ Merry said. ‘Your own Socks is impossible, and you manage him perfectly well.’

 ‘My own Socks is not impossible, he’s spirited,’ Pippin said.

 ‘He’s daft,’ Ferdibrand said laconically from behind them. When Pippin turned in annoyance, he waved a hand at the pony in the ring. ‘Him, I mean.’ He’d expressed on other occasions his opinion of the Thain’s pony, but never before Pippin’s face.

 ‘Besides,’ Merry said, ‘No one could master Shadowfax, chief of the Mearas, not even the King of Rohan.’

 ‘I’m supposed to find consolation in that?’ Pippin remarked. ‘And Gandalf did master him in the end.’

 ‘He befriended him, rather,’ Merry said.

 ‘Somehow I don’t think this pony’s about to shake anyone by the hand,’ Ferdi muttered.

Hobbits fought pony to a standstill, but it was an uneasy truce at best. He stood, head high, sweat darkening his coat, not seeming to notice the ropes radiating from his neck in every direction.

 ‘Could Socks have come from Rohan?’ Ferdi said suddenly, his eye going over the clean lines, taking note of the fine head. ‘This one could be brother to him.’ That would explain quite a lot, he said under his breath. Merry snorted. Socks was known for speed and strength and fine foals but precious little sense. Pippin was about the only grown hobbit he tolerated. Of a wonder he was gentle with children, but Old Tom shooed them away from his stall whenever he saw them there, holding out a palmful of carrot or apple to the Thain’s favourite.

 ‘Perhaps this one is descended from Socks, rather,’ Merry said slowly. ‘He did jump a fence when we were visiting Rohan, as I recall, and...’

Pippin threw back his head and laughed heartily until he had no breath left. Gasping, he said, ‘Wouldn’t you know it? This may well Eomer’s way of thanking me for Socks’ contribution to Rohan’s bloodlines!’

 ‘I wouldn’t put it past him,’ Merry said. ‘The perfect jest.’ 

 ‘I see now why they transported him in a box,’ Ferdi said. ‘You cannot ride him, you cannot lead him...’ He broke off, hands tightening on the fence. ‘Hold fast!’ he whispered.

Old Tom was approaching the pony’s head now, crooning a soft sing-song. The watching head rose higher, the nostrils flared red, the ears flattened. The rope-holding hobbits kept their lines taut as stablemaster reached slowly... then the pony was rearing and plunging once more, whistling his defiance. A flying hoof caught Old Tom a glancing blow and he sprawled back.

With a shout Ferdi vaulted the fence to grab one of the lines while two stable hobbits jumped to drag Tom out of reach of the dancing hoofs.

 ‘Tom?’ Pippin asked anxiously as the older hobbit straightened in his rescuers' grasp. Ferdi, relinquishing his line to a stable hobbit, came over the rail in a more leisurely manner than he'd departed.

 'You all right, Tom?' he said, brushing dust from his clothing.

 ‘I’m well,’ the older hobbit said with a grimace. ‘Barely marked me, he did, but we’re no further than we were before. I’d say turn him out in a field of his own, Sir, and turn out any mares you want bred, or put him down. He may father fine foals, but for himself... he’s unmanageable.’

Pippin stared in surprise. ‘You’ve only been working with him a fortnight,’ he said.

 ‘Aye, and it feels like months,’ Old Tom said ruefully. ‘No wonder he was half-starved, and near-dead of thirst when he came out of the box! They had to deny him food and water just to handle him.’

 ‘I cannot believe the Rohirrim would countenance such treatment of one of their beasts,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Of course not,’ Merry snapped. ‘They’d never—if Hamund hadn’t fallen ill along the way...’

King Eomer had sent a knight of the Mark to deliver his gift to the new Thain, but the Man had fallen seriously ill half-way to the Shire. With nearly his last gasp, he’d wrung a promise from the guardsmen who’d found him that they would fulfil his commission. Not able to leave their outpost, they’d handed the pony over to a caravan of merchants travelling to Bree... No telling if the pony had started out half-wild or if the merchants had mistreated him; in any event Old Tom’s diligent care after the merchants’ tender mercies had made little or no difference.

 ‘It’d be a terrible waste to put him down,’ Ferdi said. ‘Look at those lines! He’s built for speed and stamina.’

 ‘He’s intelligent too,’ Old Tom said. ‘But that doesn’t do much good, unless he decides to work with us rather than against us.’

 ‘Very well,’ Pippin said reluctantly. ‘We’ll turn him out in one of the stallions’ paddocks when one opens up after the Pony Sale. Let him make himself at home. At least we can take advantage of his bloodlines,’ he sighed, ‘even if we can’t run him in any of the pony races.’ He shook his head. ‘And here I thought Tookland would have Buckland beat this year.’

Chapter 2. Sunshine and Shadow

When the weather was pleasant, as it was these days, Ferdibrand would sit with his back to the stable wall, hands busy with some work: fletching arrows, braiding reins, carving at something. As head of the Thain’s escort, he needed to be ready at a moment’s notice to saddle ponies and ride out with Pippin.

The new stallion snorted and kicked at the shadow of a hawk that crossed the ring. Ferdi found his fingers trying to capture the fine head, the powerful muscles, the graceful legs. The wood seemed hardly to contain the wild spirit within, as his knife carefully shaved away the outer covering.

Pippin had tried to protest, when he first arrived at the Great Smials to take up his duties. ‘Escort!’ he'd said, throwing up his hands the first time Reginard called Ferdi in to accompany him on a ride to survey the planting in the eastern fields. ‘When was the last time you saw wolf or boar or... or... ruffian! ...in the Tookland, much less the Shire itself?’

 ‘It is tradition,’ Regi said firmly. Pip might be Thain, Ferdi mused, but Regi managed all the niggling day-to-day details of running the Great Smials. In his years amongst the Brandybucks, Pippin had learned the value of tradition as the glue that held things together. In the two months since his return to Tookland, he’d watched and waited, introducing change slowly, letting the Tooks get used to their new Thain. Not all were reconciled to the succession yet. A hobbit who’d gone off to foreign parts for more than a year, who kept going back to foreign lands to visit outlandish folk, and who’d lived amongst the uncivilised Bucklanders for a good deal of the time he’d been back, why, he was more Outsider than Took, or so the Talk went.

A hurrying hobbit burst from one of the lesser entrances of the Great Smials and Ferdi scrambled to his feet, pocketing his knife and the piece of wood he’d been carving. ‘Saddle up!’ he called into the stables behind him, hearing an answering cry from one of the stable lads.

 ‘So where are we going?’ he asked as Hildibold, one of the escort, trotted up to him.

 ‘Bag End,’ Hilly said. ‘And he argued with Regi again, as to how he doesn’t need an escort to ride fifteen miles or so, and Regi stared him down as only Regi can, so he’ll be in a fine humour, for sure.’

 ‘For sure,’ Ferdi echoed. He looked behind him at the ring of pony hoofs. ‘I’ve got Socks and Penny,’ the stable lad said. ‘Do you want White Face and Flame-tail as well?’

 ‘No, leave them,’ Ferdi said, taking the reins. ‘It’ll just be two of us riding out, I gather.’

Hilly waited for the lad to go back into the stables before saying under his breath, ‘And only one, if he slips the escort.’

 ‘He won’t do that,’ Ferdi said. ‘He knows his duty.’

 ‘To let us do our duty, you mean,’ Hilly said quizzically.

 ‘The Tooks expect to see him riding with an escort,’ Ferdi said. ‘They might think he wasn’t Thain, if not for one of us following along. Besides, a wolf or two might decide to visit Tookland one of these days, you never know.’

 ‘We can only hope,’ Hilly said. As a hobbit of the escort, he had to serve the Thain, but he didn’t have to like it. He’d been amongst those who wanted to see Reginard follow Paladin as Thain, passing over Paladin’s son, not exactly traditional, but having precedent in the dusty depths of history. ‘I’ll put flowers on your grave every Remembering Day, for you’ll defend him with your own body of course, for as long as you can manage to hold off the wolves...’

 ‘Be sure to shed a tear or two for me while toasting Regi as the new Thain,’ Ferdi said ironically, ‘seeing as how young Farry’s not old enough to follow his father.’

Hilly hushed him, seeing Pippin striding across the courtyard, pulling his gloves on. With the barest nod to Ferdi, he took Socks’ reins, mounted, turned the pony’s head and nudged him into a walk.

Ferdi shook his head and mounted Penny. With a wave to Hilly he was off, faithful shadow to the Thain.

It would not be a pleasant ride seasoned with conversation, Ferdi decided, for Pippin’s shoulders were stiff, his expression unusually grim. Ferdi kept Penny a length or so back as they trotted across the greening fields, watching for a wave to bring him forward, but the wave never came. And so the two cousins rode, that fine spring morning, together, but apart. No wolves appeared to add interest to the excursion. No ruffians intruded. No wild swine threatened.

All in all it was a pleasant, if uneventful journey. Perhaps Pippin was right; there was no need for an escort. Ferdi ought to take the matter up with Regi... and argue himself out of his post... He could go back to hunting, an agreeable occupation that left him plenty of time to think. Still, being head of escort paid well. He was putting money away to buy more ponies. Someday he’d have a stable of his own, as his father had before him.

They pulled up before Bag End. Pippin slid from the saddle, tossing his reins to Ferdi, and rapped peremptorily at the green door. Mistress Rose answered with a surprised, ‘Pippin!’ and then called into the smial, ‘Sam! Pippin’s here!’ To Ferdi, she said, ‘Would you like to come in?’

 ‘Thank you, missus, but no,’ he answered with a polite nod. ‘I’ll just put the ponies up,’ he said to Pippin and turned away.

Sam was there, then, greeting Pippin and drawing him into the smial. ‘We’re just sitting down to elevenses,’ he said. ‘Ellie! Set another place!’ Ferdi grinned to himself, imagining the Thain sitting at the Gamgees’ humble kitchen table. They knew better than to try to settle him in the parlour or dining room.

There were three empty stalls in the little coach house belonging to Bag End. Ferdi unsaddled the ponies, rubbed them down, gave each a pat and a treat, and returned to the bench in front of the smial, to wait. Had Pippin been in a good mood the escort might have taken himself off for a walk, but as things stood the Thain might leave without him, were he not on the spot when Pippin emerged from the smial again. It was better to be safe than sorry. A head of escort might look awfully foolish, trailing into the courtyard of the Great Smials an hour or so behind his charge.

He found a small folding table set up before the bench holding a little cosied teapot, mug, and covered plate of eggs scrambled with mushrooms, new potatoes and spring onions, with toasted bread and preserves. There were some advantages to being head of escort after all. He ate heartily, enjoying the view of the valley below, and smiled and thanked the dimpled lass who came to take away the tray. She giggled, a pleasant sound.

 ‘Which one are you?’ Ferdi said, and she giggled again.

 ‘Rosie,’ she said.

 ‘Named for your mother,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘My great-aunt,’ she corrected pertly, and taking the tray she skipped away. Ferdi half expected little teapot or mug to come to grief, but evidently the lass had enough practice to prevent disaster. He heard bright voices raised in song, making short work of clearing away and washing up. A bit later he greeted an older lad, perhaps in his teens, who walked out of the smial and on down the lane with a gaggle of smaller children.

Voices floated from the open windows. He listened closely when he heard Pippin saying sharply, ‘What do you mean, you’re not going for Mayor again?’ Sam’s voice rumbled a reply, but was overtaken by Pippin. ‘Merry said...’ and Sam interrupted. An argument was shaping nicely. Ferdi took out his knife and wood and began to carve again, listening idly to point and counterpoint.

He became aware of a tiny lass standing before him, the sun turning her hair to burnished gold.

 ‘What doing?’ she said, though the words were rather jumbled by the fingers in her mouth.

 ‘Carving,’ he answered, and after carefully stowing away his knife, he showed her the small stallion that was emerging.

 ‘Pitty!’ she said, taking her fingers from her mouth to clap her hands together. In no time at all she’d climbed into his lap and they were conversing together as old friends.

 ‘There you are!’ a voice broke into their talk. Ferdi looked up.

 ‘Ah, Nell, did you misplace this one?’ he said. He knew Elanor, for Mayor Samwise had brought her with him on an earlier visit to the Great Smials, shortly after Pippin had been confirmed as Thain.

 ‘Goldi, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! You’re supposed to be taking a nap, little one...’

 ‘No nap,’ Goldi announced firmly. Goldi, a fitting name for one whose hair was the colour of sunshine, Ferdi mused.

 ‘Now, Goldi,’ he said, trying to set her gently down. She suddenly grew arms as long and clinging as ivy that choked old trees, holding tight to her newfound friend.

 ‘No!’ she said. ‘No nap. Want Ferdi.’

 ‘How about if Ferdi carries you to your bed?’ Ellie said desperately, her eyes meeting Ferdibrand’s in tacit plea. She did not want a screaming fit, here before the smial, especially with the Thain in the study and the windows open.

 ‘I’m not Ferdi, I’m a pony!’ Ferdi declared recklessly, disengaging the clinging arms and lifting the tiny mite to his shoulders. He gave a soft neigh, mindful of the discussion going on in the study, and Goldi crowed delight as he pranced. ‘Lead on, fair Nell!’ he said, and followed the laughing teen down to the kitchen door and into the smial.

He swung the little one down and into the low trundle before she knew what was happening. As her face scrunched up in distress, he hastily held out the little carved pony. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘I made this for you.’

 ‘For me?’ she lisped, sunshine breaking through the clouds.

 ‘For you,’ he said firmly, straightening again. He patted Elanor on the shoulder as she whispered thanks and bent to tuck up her little sister.

Returning to the front of the smial, he found Pippin waiting impatiently. ‘I was about to leave without you,’ Pippin snapped, his temper hardly improved by his interview with the Mayor.

 ‘I’ll fetch the ponies,’ Ferdi said, but Pippin was in no mood to wait and stalked to the little stables, saddling and bridling Socks himself as Ferdi tended to Penny. He swung into the saddle and rode off down the Hill, trailed by his faithful shadow.

Chapter 3. Rope Tricks

 ‘So Samwise Gamgee won’t be going for Mayor a second time?’ old Ferdinand said in between bites of rabbit stew. ‘It’s a bit hot, yet, Ferdi,’ he added.

Ferdibrand took care to blow on the next spoonful a little longer, touching the bowl of the spoon to his own bottom lip for good measure, before transferring the contents to his father’s mouth. ‘Is that better?’ he asked.

 ‘Much,’ the old hobbit said with his mouth full, nodding for emphasis. There was a moment of silence while he savoured the flavourful meat, the bits of vegetable and the rich gravy, before he swallowed and spoke again. ‘I cannot say I blame him, gardener’s youngest lad as he was, and likely not right in the head to have gone off into the Wilderland.’

 ‘He was following his master,’ Ferdi protested, after cooling another spoonful.

Old Ferdinand chewed and nodded thoughtfully, then said, ‘Loyalty is one thing, but foolishness another. How did anyone with the name Samwise get elected Mayor, anyhow? Is he not some sort of half-wit?’

 ‘He is not,’ Ferdi said. ‘And he was elected for many reasons, one of which was he made the Shire bloom again after the ruffians did their best to ruin things.’ His father had not seen the wanton destruction wrought by Sharkey’s Men, but Ferdi had. Trees cut down and left to rot, old well-built buildings pulled down and ramshackle eyesores erected, trash piled everywhere, streams fouled and noisome smokes sent into the fresh, clean air.

Ferdinand moved restlessly in his chair and Ferdi put down bowl and spoon to ease him. ‘That’s better,’ the old hobbit said. When Ferdi picked up the bowl again, his father shook his head, saying, ‘A mug of tea is all I’d want now.’

Ferdi fixed the tea to his father’s liking, and another mug for himself, and they sipped companionably. ‘What other things?’ Ferdinand said at last.

 ‘Eh?’ Ferdi said, confused.

 ‘What other things was he elected Mayor for?’

 ‘Ah,’ Ferdi said, sitting back. ‘Well now, let me see. He was one of the Travellers, you know.’

 ‘O aye,’ Ferdibrand said impatiently. ‘Went off into foreign parts to fight in some sort of War that had naught to do with Shirefolk. He’d have done better to stay by his own hearth.’

 ‘Well he helped to throw the ruffians out,’ Ferdi said.

His father eyed him sceptically. ‘I thought you did that, you and the rest of the Tooks. You near gave your life in that Battle at Bywater.’

 ‘So I did,’ Ferdi said. ‘But he was a part of it, and he was with Frodo Baggins when they turned out that Sharkey fellow.’

 ‘Murdered him, wasn’t it?’ Ferdinand said.

 ‘No, ‘twas one of his own did that,’ Ferdi replied. ‘And then Frodo Baggins became deputy Mayor and sent all those extra Shirriffs back to what they ought to have been doing, and got the Post back to running, whilst Samwise travelled about planting trees and such. I think Frodo spoke to Mayor Will about Samwise, before he left.’

 ‘Sailed away,’ Ferdinand said, shaking his head censoriously. ‘Never came back, neither. Hobbits don’t belong on ships.’ He cocked his head at his son, and if he’d not lost his hands in that stable fire he’d have shaken a finger at Ferdi. ‘Let that be a lesson to you.’

 ‘You won’t find me anywhere near a boat, nor a ship,’ Ferdi said. ‘A pony, now, that’s all I care to ride aboard.’

They talked then of the new stallion, and old Ferdinand reminisced about the old days, when he’d been one of the best-known pony trainers in the Shire. He and his brother had travelled to all four Farthings in answer to requests for aid, and he’d pocketed a pretty penny dealing with “impossible” ponies. Ferdi listened, nodding and remembering. He’d watched and learned much in his early years, before the terrible fire claimed his uncle and maimed his father, throwing Ferdinand and his son on “the charity of the Thain” for years afterwards. A part of Ferdi’s wages now paid his father’s way, and he was that grateful that his father no longer had to live as a beggar, on sufferance.

 ‘And Penny, d’you think she might do well in the Pony Races?’ Ferdinand said. The Tookland Pony Races were less than a month away, on the first of June, and the All-Shire Race for the top two ponies from each Farthing would take place in Michel Delving a month after, at the Lithedays Faire. It would be a bigger event than usual this year, what with this being an election year. Ferdi wondered who would be Mayor next, should Samwise remain firm in his resolve not to go again for Mayor.

His father cleared his throat, bringing him back to the conversation of the moment. What was it? Penny’s chances in the Pony Races...

‘She might beat the best that Tookland has to offer,’ Ferdi said slowly, ‘sired by Socks as she was, and out of Dapple. But I don’t know that she could beat Buckland’s offering in Michel Delving at Lithe.’ That stallion now, the one that came from Rohan... He’d lay down a week’s wages on that pony against anything the Brandybucks might put up, were the beast only manageable. If someone could make the stallion see reason, and ride him to win in the All-Shire Race, ah now, that would be something.

 ‘You thinking of managing him?’ Ferdinand said, looking sharply at his son, and Ferdi realised belatedly that he'd spoken his thoughts aloud.

 ‘There’d be a fat purse if he won the Litheday Race,’ Ferdi answered. ‘But no one’s trying to manage him. They’re all too busy working the other ponies.’ He continued to think over the problem. The Thain would get the stud fees resulting from the stallion’s win, but the rider would get half the purse, as custom... enough, perhaps, to buy another pony to add to Ferdi’s string.

 ‘Well don’t break your neck,’ Ferdinand snapped, but then he grinned suddenly. ‘By all that’s green,’ he said, ‘by all that’s green and growing, it would be something to beat the best of Buckland.’

***

Next morning Ferdi settled himself on an upturned bucket just outside the stallion’s enclosure. The creature snorted and kicked at shadows, but the head of escort paid him no mind, absorbed as he was in braiding a new set of reins for Dapple’s bridle. Eventually the stallion stopped his skittering and ambled over to see what Ferdi was doing.

 ‘Well hullo there,’ Ferdi said conversationally. The pony jerked away, laying back his ears, but as Ferdi paid him no further heed he stuck his head over the fence again to watch the busy fingers, his ears switching back and forth to catch the occasional comment. Truth be told he was bored, stuck in this barely adequate pen by himself, with no one for company and nothing exciting happening save the hay forked over the fence twice a day. There wasn’t a proper paddock for him to run in at the moment, and wouldn’t be until after the Pony Sale that would take place during the annual Tookland Races.

The Thain had no errands that day, and so the stallion got quite used to Ferdi’s company. In the afternoon, Ferdi got up and went into the stables, coming back with an apple, which he proceeded to bite into with obvious enjoyment. The pony pricked his ears at this, his nostrils widening as he snuffled greedily.

 ‘Nice and juicy,’ Ferdi said. The ears went back and he turned away from the pony, taking another bite, chewing with exaggerated pleasure. The ears came forward, the head lowered a bit and he turned back. ‘You want some?’ When the head came up, he turned away again. The pony lowered his head once more and Ferdi held out a bit of apple on his palm. The pony lipped the treat.

 ‘So you have him eating out of your hand,’ Hilly said, startling the two of them. He’d been watching quietly for some time, and now as the pony threw up his head, rolled his eyes, and whirled away he apologised. ‘I’m sorry, Ferdi,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise...’

 ‘No harm done,’ Ferdibrand said easily. ‘He’s got to get used to people eventually.’

He shared another apple with the stallion the next morning, and then climbed through the fence with a rope in his hand. Most of the Tooks were eating early breakfast, if they were up at all, and so he had a good bit of time when they ought not to be disturbed. He used the rope, tossing it towards the pony’s hindquarters, to push the stallion in the direction he wanted the beast to go, keeping him moving, keeping him guessing, never giving him time to think... it wasn’t long before he had the pony turning when he told him to turn, stopping, listening, watching for direction rather than opportunity.

When they came to a good stopping place, he said a few quiet words of praise and climbed out of the ring, finding Old Tom standing and watching. ‘Where’d you learn to do that?’ the head of the stables asked, walking with him back towards the stable entrance. ‘I’ve never seen aught like it.’

 ‘It was something my father used to do,’ Ferdi said. ‘He and my uncle, they had a way with ponies.’

 ‘I believe it,’ Old Tom said slowly. ‘Though I wouldn’t have thought it possible, not with that’un.’

 ‘He’s not a bad sort,’ Ferdi said. He hung the rope on its hook and stretched. He was famished. ‘Just needed to get his attention, is all.’ He nodded to Old Tom. ‘If the Thain rides out I’ll be using Dapple this day. Turn Penny out.’

 ‘I’ll do that,’ Old Tom said with a nod of his own. He continued to stare after Ferdi as the head of escort crossed the yard to the Great Smials in search of breakfast. ‘I’d never have believed it,’ he muttered again. ‘Never touched the rope to the beast at all, and yet...’

***
Thanks to Sulriel at HASA for generous help with horse behaviour and training, and to Gypsum and Cheryl for their helpful comments in answer to my questions. If you do a search on the web for "round-penning" and "natural horsemanship" you will find more information on the techniques briefly described in this chapter.

Chapter 4. A Social Call

Ferdi continued to work with the stallion early each morning, and then again in the dark of the night, when the stars shone steady above. He spent much time just sitting nearby, when not running messages or escorting the Thain somewhere, and every free moment found him just outside the ring working at his fletching, or inside it, working at gaining the stallion’s trust. The beast was responding nicely, and Old Tom could now stand at the fence and converse while Ferdi worked with the pony.

 ‘When are ye going to ride him?’ Tom asked.

 ‘Dunno yet,’ Ferdi said. ‘We’ll take things slow and easy.’ He was working a brush all over the stallion, even the ticklish places, without a sign of bad temper on the pony’s part. When finished, he tossed the brush in the bucket and rubbed the shining coat with a soft cloth. ‘Don’t you look fine,’ he crooned. ‘Fit for a king, you are, or perhaps the son of a king.’ One of those Men of Rohan could hardly ride the beast without looking ridiculous, but a youth, now, would have fit him nicely... and if the pony had been as well-trained as Ferdi suspected, before those blasted merchants had got hold of him... Well, he might have come from the son of the King of Rohan, at that.

 ‘D’you think the Thain’d let you race him?’ Tom said, a glint in his eye.

 ‘He might,’ Ferdi said. ‘But then, he might not.’ Never could tell what that cousin of mine was going to do next, he thought to himself, but of course it wouldn’t be meet to say as much. ‘I wouldn’t want to push him. The Pony Races are only three weeks off, now.’

 ‘I’d’ve said you couldn’t be brushing him and picking up his feet in a matter of days,’ Old Tom said. ‘He looks right fine, he does.’ He cocked an eye at the looming clouds. ‘But it looks to be wasted, unless... are you going to be putting him in a stall?’

Ferdi shook his head. ‘Too much like the box waggon the merchants put him in,’ he said. ‘There’s time for that yet. This is all just schooling for the lad, and more to be had on the morrow.’ The stallion put his head down for scratching and Ferdi obliged, following with a treat from his shirt pocket. ‘Here you are, young fellow. It looks to me as if we’ll be working in the rain this evening, but that’s all to the good.’

 ‘Everything’s all to the good with you, Ferdi,’ Tom observed, pushing himself back from the fence. ‘So I needn’t bid you good day, but I will anyhow.’

 ‘Good day, Tom,’ Ferdi said in reply. With a last caress he picked up the bucket of grooming supplies and slipped through the fence. He deposited the bucket inside the stables, emerging to find the first raindrops falling. He pulled his cloak more tightly about his neck and hurried across the yard. He just might catch the last of early breakfast if he tried.

The new stallion wasn’t the only one to get wet that day. The Thain sent Ferdi out with a message for his oldest sister Pearl, whose husband oversaw the hobbits farming his family’s land near Whitwell. Ferdi and Dapple were thoroughly soaked by the time they returned to the Great Smials. He rubbed her down well and made sure her stall was bedded deep, patted Penny’s inquisitive nose, thrust out of the stall next door, and shared a carrot with Pippin’s pony, Socks, for it paid to be on that beast’s good side. On the way from stables to Smials he checked on the stallion, finding him dozing in the rain with one foot cocked. ‘Not afraid of a little rain, I see,’ he said. The ears sleepily swivelled to catch his voice and he chuckled. No need for him to stand in the rain. He’d better take shelter before he deserved the epithet “Fool of a Took”.

Although as head of escort he could claim a suite of rooms, he hadn’t pursued the matter. What need had he of more than a sleeping room, after all? In his little room, he hung his dripping cloak and clothing on a peg, shoving a basin underneath to catch the drips. He applied a rough towel to himself, rubbing until the glow chased the lingering chill. He’d just finished dressing when there came a tap at the door. He sighed. Undoubtedly the Thain had another message to send, now that Ferdi was conveniently dry and warm.

Opening the door, he was surprised to find Rose Gamgee, young Elanor by her mother’s side bearing a covered basket. ‘Mrs. Gamgee,’ he stammered. ‘Miss Elanor,’ he said formally to the teen.

 ‘I thought I told you not to call me “Miss”,’ Ellie said with a frown.

Ferdi shot a worried glance at her mother, who was looking grim. ‘I’m sorry, missus,’ he said hastily, ‘for taking liberties I oughtn’t have... Miss Elanor and I got to talking, the first time the Mayor brought her to the Great Smials, and...’

 ‘And you told me I had a smile like a Nell you’d once known, and I told you to call me “Nell”, then, and no nonsense about “Miss Elanor”,’ Ellie scolded.

 ‘Miss El...’ he began again, but Mistress Gamgee broke in.

 ‘It seems to me you ought to take direction better than that, Ferdi,’ she said. ‘ “Nell”, here, has given you a direct order.’

 ‘I...’ Ferdi said, at a loss, but the Mayor’s wife smiled.

 ‘Ellie is always proper,’ she said, ‘and not one for putting on airs. I’m just a farmer’s daughter, and she’s a gardener’s daughter. No need to stand on ceremony with us.’

 ‘But...’ Ferdi said. What if Pip heard that his head of escort was not extending the courtesy due the family of the Mayor? Old Thain Paladin had been a stickler for propriety.

Elanor distracted him by thrusting the basket at him. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Ginger biscuits. I baked them.’

Ferdi took the basket automatically, holding it stupidly.

 ‘When we told the steward we were looking for you, he said you’d be in the second parlour or in here,’ Elanor said. ‘He said you spend the sunny days outside, but it was pouring down rain when we arrived.’

 ‘Must have been a wet journey over the fields,’ Ferdi said, avoiding the treacherous “Miss” and the too-familiar “Nell” by neglecting to use a name at all.

 ‘It was,’ Mistress Rose said briskly. ‘We popped the little ones into a hot bath, soon after arriving, and now they’re all asleep.’ She pushed past Ferdi, into the little room, taking the basket from him as she passed. Her eyes took in every detail of the sparsely furnished room as she set the basket on the little table, removed the covering cloth, and carefully lifted out a bowl piled high with ginger biscuits. Setting the bowl in the centre of the table, she turned back to Ferdibrand. ‘Now don’t you let those go stale,’ she said. ‘Ellie made them herself, and it was worth her life to get a bowlful out of the smial past her brother Frodo!’ Looking to her daughter, she said, ‘Come now, Ellie, the Thain will be expecting us for tea, and it wouldn’t do to come late.’

 ‘Yes, mum,’ Elanor said, and made a bob to Ferdi. He answered with a bow of his own, stumbling over his thanks under Mistress Rose’s eye. He was relieved to see them go.

Ferdi set a few biscuits aside for his father and the old auntie who watched with him and took the bowl to the second parlour. The Mayor’s wife had told him they’d be staying over at the Great Smials for a few days, and there was no hurry in returning the bowl. Still, it seemed best to empty it soon as possible and get it back to the Gamgees. The other members of the escort, lounging in the parlour, welcomed the treat.

 ‘Some nice young lass setting her cap for you, Ferdi?’ Tolibold said, diving for a handful.

 ‘Too young for that,’ he said hastily. ‘Just a bit of kindness, that’s all.’

 ‘Robbing the cradle, are you?’ Hildibold chuckled.

Ferdi was glad when the others stuffed their mouths full of melting spiciness and there was no further conversation for a time.

***

Rose’s temper was simmering as she stalked to the Thain’s private quarters, Elanor hurrying by her side. Her daughter’s voice finally broke into her thoughts.

 ‘I’m sorry, mama.’

Rose stopped. ‘What’re you sorry about?’ she asked in astonishment.

 ‘We just got to talking, is all, and he was so kind, just like Uncle Jolly or Uncle Nibs, and I...’ her voice trailed off in confusion. ‘I didn’t mean to be improper, or reflect badly on you and Dad.’

 ‘Elanor,’ Rose said softly, putting a hand under her daughter’s chin to tilt her face upwards, ‘he wouldn’t have been given the duty to escort you about the Smials if he weren’t trustworthy. Your Dad asked a few questions about him, when Pippin suggested it,’ – after seven years as Mayor’s wife, she no longer stumbled over “Merry” and “Pippin” without an added “Mister” – ‘and the head of the Thain’s escort is as honourable as the day is long in the summertime. He was just worried that I’d be put out, and rightly so. The Tooks who live here in the Smials are sticklers for protocol, and he and his father lived on the Thain’s charity for years, before he was old enough to make himself useful and pay their way. It’s made him very cautious.’ Listening to herself, she gave a snort. She didn’t know why, but just setting foot inside the Great Smials made her as prone to gossip as any Took.

Releasing Elanor’s chin, Rose gave her daughter a pat on the shoulder. ‘Your Dad and I have raised you to know what’s proper,’ she said, ‘and I know you wouldn’t do anything to shame us. Now come along, or we really shall come late to tea!’

They had a pleasant tea with Pippin and Diamond. Elanor and Frodo-lad were on their best behaviour, taking appropriate portions of the fancies they had here at the Smials for teatime: little sandwiches cut into shapes with a variety of fillings and the crusts taken off, four kinds of biscuits and three kinds of teacake, and hothouse vegetables cut into finger-sized bites. With a twinkle in his eye, the Thain urged seconds, thirds and fourths upon them, while he sipped at his own strong, black tea and nibbled at the contents of his own plate. Finally the serving platters were denuded and the Mayor and his wife were declaring that they could not manage another bite.

 ‘You may clear away, Sandy,’ Diamond said.

 ‘Would you like to walk the children back to our quarters?’ Rose asked. Young Faramir had fallen asleep in his plate some time earlier and been borne away to his bed. Ellie and Frodo-lad were covering their yawns. This “tea” had come at the Gamgee’s usual supper hour, and they were used to eating, washing up, and seeking their pillows. The younger Gamgees had been bathed and fed upon their arrival and slumbered already under the watchful eye of a servant.

 ‘I could get used to this,’ Rose confided as she and Diamond walked slowly back to the Thain’s sitting room after depositing Elanor and Frodo-lad. ‘It seems so strange and free, not to worry about one of the children calling out, though I ought to go back soon.’

 ‘The minder won’t mind, it’s her duty,’ Diamond said. ‘She supports her widowed mother with her wages.’

 ‘Ah,’ Rose said. ‘I’d heard that Pippin was finding ways to provide for widows and gaffers...’ she hesitated.

 ‘What’s on your mind, Rose?’ Diamond said. She had come to know the Mayor’s wife on the Gamgees’ regular visits to Brandy Hall, when Pippin worked for the Master of Buckland before returning to the Great Smials to follow his father as Thain.

 ‘I’ve always been one to speak my mind,’ Rose said ruefully, but thinking of her earlier anger, she straightened with a firm nod. ‘Let us get out of the public corridors,’ she said. ‘What I’ve got to say is not fit for gossip.’

Diamond waited, wondering, until they were settled in the sitting room again. Sam and Pippin had removed to the Thain’s study to discuss business. Diamond took up her stitchery and dismissed a hovering servant. ‘That will be all, Camellia,’ she said. ‘I’ll ring if we need aught.’

 ‘Very good, Mistress,’ Camellia said obediently, and with a bob to Mistress and Mayor’s wife she took herself off.

Rose waited until the door closed, then lowered her voice. ‘It’s a disgrace,’ she said.

 ‘What’s a disgrace, Rose?’ Diamond said softly.

 ‘The Thain’s head of escort lives more plainly than the humblest hobbit who works on my father’s farm,’ Rose said, getting huffy all over again. ‘Does he not earn any wages?’

 ‘He is paid well,’ Diamond protested, then stopped. ‘At least, I think he is... Reginard is steward, and he oversees such details. I’ve been managing the household staff.’

 ‘And how did you find their wages?’ Rose said. She’d heard a rumour...

Diamond frowned. Old Paladin had been tight-fisted and had run the Smials with an iron grip, exacting the most work for the least pay. Having kept Tookland free of ruffians, he had the respect of the Tooks and Tooklanders. They were willing to live under his sway, with the protection it promised. Diamond had gone over the budget with Eglantine, increasing wages in many cases and cutting expenses in other areas. People came before property, in Pippin’s and Diamond’s opinion.

 ‘It’s none of my business, but I’m going to stick my nose in anyhow,’ Rose said recklessly. ‘You’ve done well by the household staff, but I think you ought to pay some heed to the outside staff as well: the escort, the stable workers, the farmhands, the dairymaids...’

 ‘I take your point,’ Diamond said. She put down her stitchery and gave Rose a firm nod. ‘I’ll be looking into it.’

 ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Rose said. ‘Now then,’ she added, changing the subject, for she had every confidence in Diamond, ‘what was this about little Farry learning to shoot? You actually put a bow into his hands...?’

Chapter 5. Clothes Make the Hobbit

Ferdibrand was up well before early breakfast as usual. He saddled Dapple and gave her jaw a good rub. ‘We’re going to teach a lad some manners,’ he said, ‘so be on your best behaviour.’ She nuzzled his hand and followed him sedately from the stable. He hitched her to a post near the little ring. The stallion threw up his head and came trotting over, calling greetings. Dapple answered politely enough, as older mare to younger newcomer.

The clouds were rolling away and it promised to be a lovely day after yesterday’s steady downpour. Ferdi patted Dapple. ‘You stay right here,’ he said. She would. On his forays outside of Tookland during the Troubles, he’d trusted his life to the fact that she’d stand quietly and wait for him with infinite patience, whilst he skulked through the undergrowth to see what tricks the ruffians were up to, in their efforts to get into Tookland. He’d listened to many a campfire discussion and taken the news back to Thain Paladin.

Going into the tack room, he uncovered one of the saddles that had come with the stallion. Not the fancy one, with its silver inlay and flashing jewels, but the plain exercise saddle that was obviously made to order for that pony. He laid a soft blanket over, took the unadorned bridle that hung nearby, and lugged the lot out to the yard, laying his burden atop the fence. He’d wager the stallion hadn’t seen the tack since leaving Rohan. The merchants were much too Big to have tried to ride him, even had they dared to try.

The stallion moved to the fence, paying no mind to the saddle, looking for his morning apple. Ferdi provided the treat and slipped through the fence while the pony was munching. He picked up the blanket and began to rub it over the stallion’s body. ‘Just another grooming cloth is all,’ he murmured. At the end he lifted it over the withers and laid it in place. Next he added the saddle, keeping a watchful eye on the ears, but all was well. He’d worked some with the stallion before fetching Dapple, just to remind him who was in charge...

 ‘Are ye going to ride him?’ Old Tom said. He’d come out of the stable and stopped to wish Dapple a good morning.

 ‘I think we’ll just try dressing him this morning,’ Ferdi said. ‘No need to rush things.’

The pony took the bit fairly easily, confirming Ferdi’s suspicion that he’d been well-trained before leaving Rohan. He knotted the reins and slipped them over the stallion’s head. ‘There,’ he said, ‘all dressed for the day.’ Taking a rein, he practiced leading the pony all over the pen.

Leaving the stallion at last, he slipped out of the pen and mounted Dapple, riding her around the circumference of the pen whilst the stallion followed on the inside rail. They walked, trotted, cantered, changed directions, stopped and started again.

 ‘Almost as good as having him on a lead rein,’ Tom commented.

 ‘Aye, only better,’ Ferdi said. ‘I do believe we’ll have a bit of trouble when we remind him how to follow on a lead rein. It’s probably the first thing the merchants tried, and when he fought them they didn’t know what to do.’

He worked all the way through early breakfast, grabbing an apple for himself from the barrel in the doorway to the stables on his way out. He’d make it up at second breakfast, unless he was carrying a message for the Thain. Still, with the Mayor here, Pip was less likely to ride out or send Ferdi off. He anticipated a quiet morning. Perhaps he’d get some more fletching done. He was working hard to amass a goodly number of arrows to sell to the archers who’d come to the Tournament after Mid-year.

Reginard caught him halfway across the yard. ‘I thought I’d find you here,’ he said. ‘Pip ought to be paying you for training the new stallion.’

 ‘Ah well,’ Ferdi said uncomfortably. ‘I just hated to see him going to waste.’

The steward looked him up and down. ‘Diamond was right,’ he said grimly.

 ‘Right about what?’ Ferdi asked in surprise. What did Diamond have to do with him?

 ‘Someone complained to her that the head of escort was looking shabby. I want you to put on your best clothes and report to me in the Thain’s study.’

 ‘Best clothes?’ Ferdi said. ‘Is there an important guest?’ He mentally kicked himself. The Mayor was at the Smials, of course, to go over some business with the Thain.

 ‘No one more important than the Mayor and Thain,’ Regi said. ‘The Master of Buckland isn’t here to swell the ranks, if that’s what you were asking.’

There was no answer to this but to say, ‘I’ll be right there.’ Reginard nodded and they parted ways.

Ferdi dressed with care, though his clothes were still a bit damp from the previous day. Tolibold was standing outside the door to the Thain’s study. ‘Tolly,’ he said in greeting. Come to think of it, Tolly was looking a bit threadbare himself.

 ‘Ferdi,’ Tolly responded. He tapped at the door, waited for acknowledgement from within, and swung the door open.

To his surprise, Thain and Mayor were not there, only Reginard and two hobbits, one with a measuring tape around his neck, and the other with paper and pencil. Ferdi knew them only slightly. ‘Here he is, Palibard,’ Regi said. ‘See what you can do with him.’

 ‘What?’ Ferdi sputtered, dumbfounded.

 ‘You’re to have a new suit of clothes,’ Regi said.

 ‘But—but I—but...’ Ferdi said. He didn’t want to say he hadn’t the coins to pay for it, not in front of Regi and certainly not in front of these well-dressed hobbits.

 ‘Thain’s orders,’ Regi said. ‘Thain Peregrin insists upon his escort looking presentable, if he must ride about with a shadow.’

Ferdi smouldered internally. He wondered how far in debt this would put him, and how long it would take to climb out again. Perhaps he ought to go back to hunting. It was so much simpler, stalking game for the pot, tracking wild swine and foxes, and the wild dogs that had plagued the Shire since the time of the Troubles, when many dogs had been let loose to wander by hobbits made homeless.

 ‘Hold out your arms,’ the tailor said, and proceeded to measure and mutter to his assistant. ‘Very well,’ he said at last. The assistant finished writing, folding the paper, pocketed the note and took his leave with a nod from the tailor. ‘I have some already made up that will suit quite well, I think. The fancy togs will take a bit longer...’ He looked Ferdi up and down. ‘Green,’ he said. ‘That ought to look quite dashing. You’ll have a hoard of giggling lasses following you about.’

 ‘Regi, I...’ Ferdi tried once more.

 ‘Sit down, Ferdi. Would you care for a cup of tea as we wait?’ Ferdi found himself sitting uncomfortably, sipping a cup of tea, and though his appetite was quite taken away, he nibbled absently on a biscuit while Regi and the tailor chatted pleasantly. Palibard was a close cousin of Regi’s, as it turned out. Ferdi fumed that he’d turn a pretty penny on the commission.

The assistant returned with a stack of folded garments. ‘Here we are, sirs,’ he said cheerily. He shook out the top item, a pair of breeches. ‘Stand up, please,’ he said to Ferdi, and at a look from Regi, the head of escort complied. The assistant held the breeches against him and nodded. ‘Perfect fit,’ he said, folding them up again. He picked up the stack and thrust it at Ferdibrand. ‘Here you are, sir,’ he repeated.

Ferdi took the stack automatically, his head whirling as he tried to count the cost. ‘What... what do I owe you?’ he asked at last, though he dreaded the answer.

 ‘Already been paid,’ Palibard said briskly. ‘Send the next one in.’

 ‘Next one?’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Tolly’s watching the door, isn’t he?’ Regi put in smoothly. ‘Send him in,’ he looked Ferdi up and down again, ‘and go make yourself presentable.’

Ferdi exited, hardly able to summon a word as Tolly cocked an eyebrow at him, saying, ‘They’ve got you running errands now? I thought you were a messenger.’

 ‘It’s your turn,’ he managed. Tolly’s eyebrow rose further. ‘Go on in,’ Ferdi added. ‘They’re waiting for you.’ He couldn’t help a grin as he turned away. He wondered what Tolly would make of all this.

***

Ferdi was called to take tea with Thain and Mayor and their wives this day. Diamond greeted him graciously, sat him down, and offered him tea and cakes. He did not notice the significant look that passed between Rose and Diamond, nor Rose’s satisfied nod.

He was unaccountably nervous. He was not one to spill his food or drink, mind, but this was the first suit of new clothes he’d had since... since they’d come to live at the Great Smials, after the stable fire that devoured his family’s fortune and changed his life forever. He'd made do with cast-offs for years now, being handy with a needle from much experience repairing harness. It was a good thing he’d eaten heartily at noontide, for he could hardly manage a bite now.

As he’d reported to the Thain’s quarters, he’d seen Hildibold standing at ready outside the entrance, also resplendent in new clothes. ‘Hilly,’ he said, a grin splitting his face.

 ‘Ferdi,’ Hilly responded, grinning back. Ah, but being a hobbit of the Thain’s escort was a fine situation!

After tea, Ferdi found Tolly outside the Thain’s door. It was tiresome to stand outside a doorway, waiting to carry a message, and so the hobbits of the escort traded off every hour or so. He nodded to Tolly with a grin, and Tolly responded with a dignified nod befitting his new attire.

He encountered Elanor in the corridor. ‘Why Ferdi! You’re looking fine!’

 ‘Thank you, miss,’ he said, and she frowned. ‘Miss Nell,’ he amended hastily.

 ‘You’re hopeless,’ Elanor said, much as she might to one of her teasing uncles. Ferdi was not teasing, she saw, and the jest fell flat. She decided to stick to business matters. ‘I’m glad I saw you,’ she amended. ‘Goldi slipped from her bed and we cannot find her anywhere!’

 ‘There are all sorts of tots about the Smials,’ Ferdi said. ‘Undoubtedly she’s found a playmate.’

 ‘Undoubtedly,’ Elanor said, ‘But she’s missing, and she’s only three...’

 ‘I’ll keep my eyes open,’ Ferdi promised. He was sure quite a search would be mounted once Miss Elanor told her parents, who were lingering over their teacups in the Thain’s quarters. He did keep his eyes open, seeing a few golden heads in his passage to the yard, but none belonging to a winsome three-year-old Gamgee.

However, halfway across the yard, he stopped in consternation. It seemed that Goldi had indeed found a playmate. She was standing in the centre of the new stallion’s ring, pulling on the pony’s long forelock and crowing in delight as the pony pushed his nose against her chest.

He heard a shout from the stables. Evidently someone else had seen as well. The stallion threw up his head, upsetting the little one, who sat down in the mud with a shriek. The pony danced nervously, his hoofs coming down dangerously near the child. Ferdi broke into a run, vaulting the fence, coming to a stop inside the ring, remembering his father's teaching... He stood firm, shoulders square, facing the stallion, making the shushing noise he’d used when working with the pony, to calm him, get his attention, remind him who was the principle in the relationship.

The pony turned towards him and stopped, standing over the crying tot. ‘Steady now,’ Ferdi said. ‘Steady.’ He heard a cry from behind him, Mistress Rose! He had only a few seconds before hobbits came racing to the fence and upset the delicate balance he’d achieved. ‘Steady,’ he said again, walking forward, extending a hand. The ears pricked forward, the head came down. ‘That’s right,’ he said. He reached the stallion and patted the neck. ‘There’s a good fellow.’

Still moving slowly, with one hand moving along the pony’s side just as if he were grooming the beast, he reached under the pony’s belly. ‘Come now, Goldi,’ he said, ‘Come to Ferdi.’

 ‘Want Ferdi!’ Goldi sobbed, holding up her dimpled little arms.

Ferdi took her, lifting her out from under, crooning the sing-song that told the stallion all was well. ‘Good lad,’ he said, finding a sweet biscuit in his pocket that he’d put away for later. ‘I’ve no carrots at the moment, but perhaps this’ll do.’ He held out the biscuit and the pony swept it from his hand, nodding pleasantly as he crunched the treat. ‘Good lad,’ he said again, and turned away.

The gathering of hobbits outside the fence near to took his breath away. There were the Thain and the Mistress, the Mayor and Mrs Gamgee, Elanor and Frodo-lad, Old Tom and several stable workers with various weapons: whip, pitchfork, rope. He walked slowly to the fence and handed Goldi to her weeping mother.

 ‘They said he was a dangerous beast,’ Mayor Samwise said shakily, ‘and that we should keep the children away from the ring.’

 ‘Ah well,’ Ferdi said, at a loss for words. ‘We all have our good days, and our bad days.’ An expression of chagrin crossed his face as he realised he’d torn his new breeches when he’d vaulted the fence. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he said. ‘I need to take care of a personal matter.’

The crowd parted before him as he walked away with what dignity he could muster, one hand holding the torn cloth in place. He ought to have remained a hunter, he thought, for new clothes were a worry and a bother for certain.

Chapter 6. A Breath of Fresh Air

Everything was back to the way it should be the next day, Ferdibrand was grateful to note. After changing into another new pair of breeches (to have more than three sets of clothing, and two sets of them new, imagine it!) he’d taken himself off on a long ride on Penny, and so missed the summons to attend the eventide meal with Mayor and Thain and their wives. Pippin would have called him to the fore at late supper, to commend him before all the Tooks assembled there, but Diamond reminded her husband that Ferdi always took late supper with his father.

Mayor Sam departed after late supper, for he was to open the Lily Festival in Pincup the following morning, after travelling through the night. He’d catch some sleep after the festive noontide meal and then travel back to the Smials to rejoin his family, and stay over another day at the Smials to plan the installation of the Thain. Pippin had been confirmed by the Tooks in March, but his installation as Thain of the Shire at a properly convened Shire-moot, by tradition, would occur on Mid-year's Day. After the planning it would be back to Bag End until the end of May.

Ferdi was glad to hear, on his pre-dawn arrival at the stables, that the Mayor had gone. It seemed he’d neatly ducked a public show of gratitude, and silly it would have made him feel, for doing something of so little consequence. Goldi had never been in any real danger, he told himself. Dangerous beast, indeed! The stallion trotted to the fence to greet him, whickering softly, dipping his velvet nose to Ferdi’s upturned palm, lowering his head for a good scratching under the mane.

‘Dangerous beast!’ he said under his breath. ‘Is that what you are?’ He laughed as the pony shook his head. They worked through early breakfast, but on sticking his head through the kitchen doorway to beg a piece of bread-and-butter, he found that one of the serving lasses had saved a plate of golden-fried potatoes and sausages for him. He gulped down his food faster than the fine meal warranted and was barely on time reporting to the Thain for the day.

Pippin gave him a sharp look when he stuck his head in at the study door. ‘Where have you been?’ the Thain demanded.

Ferdi raised an inquiring eyebrow. ‘Where I always am,’ he answered. ‘I’m off after teatime, and so I took a ride, and then I was with my da for late supper, and then...’

‘The Gamgees have been looking for you, as you very well know,’ Pippin said severely. ‘They wanted to thank you...’

‘I did nothing out of the ordinary,’ Ferdi said. ‘The stallion’s not all that dangerous, you know. He just wants a firm hand.’

‘You cannot evade their gratitude forever,’ Pippin said.

‘Hopefully the Mayor will be so occupied with planning the installation ceremony he’ll forget inconsequentialities,’ Ferdi said.

Pippin snorted but said no more.

It was a busy day, with messages to run and escort duty besides. He rode with Pippin to a farm on the outskirts of Tookbank, waiting while Pippin met with the old hobbit who held the land. A message had come immediately after early breakfast that the farmer was dying and wished to bespeak the Thain.

Ferdi stood by patiently while Pippin sat himself down in one of the chairs next to the bed, taking the wrinkled, work-worn hand in his own, speaking respectfully as the hobbit’s grown sons stood silent nearby.

‘Lease,’ the old hobbit whispered.

‘Yes,’ Pippin said, and waited.

One of the sons stepped forward, the eldest, probably, from the grey grizzling his curls. ‘The land is on lease from the Thain,’ he said quietly. ‘Da always meant to renew the lease... it expires with his death, you see, and leaves us...’ He hesitated, looked at the brothers to either side of him, and stepped back.

The Thain nodded, his face sober. Their father’s death would leave them grieving not only his loss, but also the loss of the home they’d known all their lives. He had a sudden wild urge to grant them the land outright, but... The land belonged to the Tooks, in care of the Thain, and income from the lease like so many other leases served to pay for road work and other upkeep. It was not his land to give.

‘To renew the lease...’ Pippin said.

‘Would take more than we have,’ the farmer’s wife said quietly from her husband’s other side. ‘He worked as a labourer for years, and I worked as well, to put away enough to buy a lifetime lease in the first place. So much of what we grow goes to feed the little ones, and to pay the yearly rental. There’s not been much left over to put away, year to year.’

‘I see,’ Pippin said. He leaned close to the farmer. ‘Your family will not go homeless,’ he said. ‘You may pass on in peace, and they will not be thrown off the land. You have my promise. We will find a way somehow.’ He looked from the farmer’s wife to his sons. ‘I will have to read the original agreement and consult with the Steward,’ he said. ‘The land is not mine to give, for it belongs to the Tooks, but I will do all I can...’

‘Thank you, Sir,’ the farmer’s wife said softly. ‘You see, Renny, I told you the new Thain would do right by us.’

‘Thank you, Sir,’ the sons echoed, and one of the granddaughters stepped forward. ‘If you’ll stay to take a cup of tea, Sir,’ she said, ‘elevenses is nearly ready.’

‘No, I beg your leave but I must return to the Smials,’ Pippin said. He squeezed the farmer’s hand and rose. ‘I will try to have your answer on the morrow.’

The farmer nodded weakly. He might be able to stay with them that long, to depart with the knowing whether his family was safe or no, rather than the uncertainty that gnawed at him now and gave him no rest. ‘Thankee,’ he whispered.

Pippin and Ferdi rode back to the Smials without speaking, munching dried apple tarts still warm from the oven and pressed on them by the farmer’s granddaughter. Blessing her kindness, Ferdi remembered what it had been to leave his home and all he knew behind. He hoped Pip could find a way to do right by the farmer’s family.

Diamond was waiting when they arrived back at the Great Smials, sweeping Pippin off to a late noontide meal as soon as his feet touched the stones of the yard. ‘I’ll see that Socks is properly cooled out and rubbed down,’ Ferdi said, and Pippin thanked him. As a result, Ferdi was famished by the time he sat down to tea in the great room, for no one had thought to save a plate from noontide for him.

Meadowsweet, a pert serving lass, was sitting at the table reserved for the hobbits of the escort. ‘Where’s Tolly?’ Ferdi asked as he sat down.

‘Not here yet,’ Meadowsweet said, a touch of anxiety in her tone. ‘He promised he’d come, and I switched off with Dahlia so we could take tea together, but...’

Hilly said, ‘He relieved me an hour ago, and the Thain ought to have released him at teatime. I don’t know where he could be.’

‘I’ll go look for him,’ Ferdi said, popping a sausage roll into his mouth as he rose, but Meadowsweet forestalled him.

‘No, don’t neglect your own meal,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he’ll be along. He wouldn’t forget. Not when there’s so much planning yet to be done, and so little time to do it in.’ Their wedding was but a week away.

‘Of course he wouldn’t forget,’ Hilly said heartily. He had every confidence in his older brother, and said so.

Ferdi cleared his plate quickly and efficiently and rose once more. ‘I’ll just take a turn about the Smials,’ he said, ‘and see if I can track him down.’ He smiled to reassure her. ‘I used to be a hunter, you know.’

Meadowsweet thanked him. Her own plate remained nearly untouched.

Ferdi walked swiftly about the Great Smials, asking after Tolly, but none had seen him. At last he thought to check the Thain’s quarters, to ask Pippin if he’d sent the hobbit out with a message. He found Tolly standing outside the study door.

‘Is it nearly teatime yet?’ Tolly said when Ferdi hailed him. ‘I’ve been waiting for Diamond to come and fetch...’

‘She went into town for tea with the Mayor’s wife,’ Ferdi said. ‘Pippin hasn’t released you yet?’ Diamond would be put out, to know her husband had missed the meal.

‘No, he’s working away, said he’d wait for Regi to come back for he had a question for him,’ Tolly said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ‘It’s teatime already?’

‘It’s nearly past teatime, you daft Took,’ Ferdi said. ‘Take yourself off, and quick! Sweetie’s waited through tea for you, and she’s upset enough that she’s hardly eaten a bite!’

‘You don’t think she’d call off the wedding!’ Tolly said.

‘Go!’ Ferdi said in answer, giving him a push for good measure. Tolly took off at a run. Ferdi could only hope he’d be in time to meet Meadowsweet before she was called back to her duties. He’d hunt her up later, explain the circumstances, try to smooth things over for Tolly’s sake.

He tapped on the study door. ‘Come!’ came Pippin’s voice from the study.

Ferdi poked his head in. ‘It’s past teatime,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be done for the day?’

Pippin sighed and pushed aside some papers. ‘The work is never done,’ he said ruefully. ‘But the stack is a little lower than it was. Have you seen Regi?’

‘No,’ Ferdi said. ‘It was his half-day.’ Pippin nodded. ‘He walked with the Mistress and Mrs Gamgee into Tuckborough and as far as I know he won’t be back until eventides.’

‘I wanted to take a look at that lease,’ Pippin said. He pushed himself up from his chair. ‘I suppose I’ll have to go and fetch it myself.’

‘You, fetch something yourself?’ Ferdi said in frank astonishment. ‘Whatever would the servants say?’

Pippin laughed. ‘You may come along if you like,’ he said. ‘Make yourself useful.’

Ferdi found what he meant when they entered the cavernous storehole of records. There were shelves full of leather-bound books, papers in crates, paper in piles, papers on every surface.

‘The leases ought to be filed over here,’ Pippin said, walking to one section and pulling out a crate. ‘I remember copying some out, when I was learning about the legalities.’ He started going through the stack of papers in the crate, nodding to Ferdi to sort through an adjacent crate. ‘Renibard Took-Grubb’s lease would have been signed fifty years ago or so... you’ll have to dig down a ways. It won’t be on top of a stack, though they should be roughly in order by date. Roughly.’ He laughed without humour. ‘I’ve told Regi I ought to send the record-keepers to Rivendell.’

‘Rivendell!’ Ferdi said, losing his place in the papers he was sorting through. ‘Whatever for?’

‘The elves have records going back thousands of years, and they can put their hands on the one wanted in a matter of minutes,’ Pippin said. ‘No sorting, no sneezing, no...’ he sneezed as if in illustration of his words.

Ferdi felt a tickle in his nose and gave an answering sneeze. The two cousins couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculous situation. ‘Let’s make a race of it,’ Ferdi suggested. ‘The sooner we’re out of this place, the better.’ Fingers used to delicate tasks such as fletching arrows and carving trinkets sorted quickly and efficiently through the crate of papers. ‘Not in this one,’ he said.

‘Nor here,’ Pippin replied. He reached to pull another crate towards him and Ferdi stopped to stare. Something was wrong. His cousin was moving more slowly than usual, and his breathing was laboured.

‘Are you well, Pip?’ he asked.

Pippin looked up in surprise. He started to answer automatically, then stopped. ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘I suppose I’m not. Blasted dust...’ Ferdi could hear him wheezing.

‘We’ve got to get you out of here,’ he said, remembering Regi’s warning when Pippin was newly arrived from Buckland. I don’t know what he’s using for lungs, he’d said. A cold, or a good lungful of smoke or dust could be enough to carry him off. He stood abruptly to his feet, putting a hand under Pippin’s arm to help him up. Pippin lurched against him, and he quickly ducked beneath his cousin’s arm, half-carrying him from the room. ‘We’ll get you to clear air,’ he said, and soon they were in the corridor.

Outside the record hall, however, Pippin’s breathing did not improve. ‘I’ll fetch a healer,’ Ferdi said, his worry growing.

‘No,’ Pippin managed to gasp. ‘Just need to... rest... go... quarters...’

Ferdi nodded and guided their steps to the Thain’s private quarters, not far from the hall of records. He eased Pippin down into a chair and stood over him. ‘What can I do?’ he asked urgently.

Pippin shook his head; all his energy was dedicated to drawing breath.

‘Can I be of assistance, sir?’ a quiet voice said behind him. Ferdi spun around to see Sandy, the Thain’s personal hobbitservant.

‘Yes!’ Ferdi snapped, but then he hesitated. The first time Pip had had a bad spell, he wouldn’t let Regi send for a healer.

If the Tooks knew... Ferdi had said, talking it over with Regi afterwards.

Well they’re not going to find out from us! Regi had answered. So the Tooks might reject a seriously-ill Thain. Would they be better off with a dead one? Ferdi made a quick decision and cursed the seconds lost to hesitation. ‘Fetch a healer and be quick about it!’

Sandy was gone and back again in an astonishingly short amount of time, though it felt like an eternity to Ferdibrand as he watched his cousin struggle for air. He found himself panting in sympathy. ‘Hold on, Pip!’ he whispered. ‘Hold on!’ He grasped Pippin’s arms, staring into the glazing eyes, willing each breath to come.

He was never so relieved in his life to hear Healer Woodruff’s voice. Normally he avoided healers like he’d avoid a plague of midges, but now at her grandmotherly, ‘What seems to be the trouble?’ he felt as if he could hug her, were he not holding so tightly to Pippin.

‘Dust,’ he said succinctly.

She reached past him then, saying, ‘Leave hold!’ and breaking his grip, then pulling the Thain’s shirt off over his head. She seized a jar and dug her fingers into the pungent ointment within, smearing it over Pippin’s chest. ‘Tilt him forward,’ she snapped, and proceeded to smear his back for good measure. ‘Feel the tingle, Sir, that means it’s working,’ she said, cradling the Thain against her shoulder. ‘It’ll open things up, you’ll see. Just keep breathing.’

Ferdi found the pungency clearing the panic from his own thoughts. He watched in suspense, hearing the breath whistle in and out, seeing the muscles tighten with every effort, hearing the soft, encouraging murmurs from the healer.

Sandy was there again, holding a covered cup. ‘Here it is,’ he said, ‘Steeped a good five minutes already. I counted to make sure.’

‘It would be better had it steeped twenty minutes,’ Woodruff replied, ‘but he needs it now.’ She laid Pippin back against the cushions. The Thain’s eyes were half-open; his mouth gaped as if by doing so he could draw more air into the constricted passages. ‘Come, lad,’ she said, much as she had to the charming but uncooperative son of old Thain Paladin. ‘Come now, drink this down. It’s bitter, but we cannot help that.’

Pippin half-raised a hand to the cup, but let it fall again as Woodruff pressed the cup to his lips. He sipped, made a face, but downed half the contents of the cup before the healer pulled it away. ‘Good lad,’ she said. ‘Bravely done.’ Her eye went over the straining chest once more. ‘It’s easing a bit,’ she said encouragingly. ‘Let’s try to get the rest down, shall we?’ Pippin nodded slightly and accepted the brew, drained the cup, and let his head fall back.

His cousin’s breath was coming easier, Ferdi thought, and with the realisation his own breathing settled into a steadier rhythm. ‘That’s it, cousin,’ he said, crouching before Pippin, taking the limp hands in his own to give them an encouraging squeeze. For the first time he noticed the marks on the wrists. He knew them at once for what they were. His own wrists bore fading scars from the ropes that had chafed them, when he’d been captured by ruffians during the Troubles.

He raised his eyes to Pippin’s chest, reading a story there. There were knots and lumps standing out against the skin. ‘His ribs,’ he whispered.

‘Crushed,’ Woodruff said succinctly. ‘It’s a wonder he breathes at all.’

‘The story about the troll,’ Ferdi said. ‘He made a joke of it.’

‘Would the Tooks have believed him, had he said the story was true?’ Woodruff said irritably. ‘I learned a good deal from the head healer at Brandy Hall. He asked me to meet him halfway, at the Crowing Cockerel, in the early days after Thain Peregrin’s arrival, and we had a long talk.’

Her fingers circled one of the scarred wrists, feeling for the pulse there. ‘Orcs,’ she said, following Ferdi's gaze. ‘The whipmarks are theirs as well.’

Ferdi nodded, stunned. Pip had not spoken of that aspect of his journeying; he’d only talked of the sights he’d seen and the people he’d met, and tall towers and great battles, but it had all seemed so far away, so unreal to his listening cousins. ‘Walking trees,’ he said numbly. ‘I suppose they were real, too?’

‘I don’t know that I’d go that far,’ Woodruff said briskly, her usual cheerfulness returning as she saw her patient relaxing, his breaths more regular. ‘Come now,’ she added. ‘Let us tuck him up in his bed.’ She shot a stern look at Ferdibrand. ‘The Tooks need not hear about this little incident,’ she said firmly. Sandy was nodding; evidently he was already in on the secret.

‘They won’t hear about it from me,’ Ferdi said.

4/22/04

Chapter 7. Solving Problems

Meadowsweet would not have called off the wedding, of course, for once two hobbits agree to marry only death will part them. She might have decided to put off the wedding, however, and if it did not take place as planned next week, it wouldn’t be likely to happen until next Spring… well, perhaps after harvest if Tolly could persuade Sweetie to set the wedding then, though most hobbit weddings took place in springtime.

Tolly had been distracted enough the past weeks; Ferdibrand as head of escort did not want one of the hobbits working under him to be thinking of things other than his duties. He felt it his business to smooth things, get the wedding over and done with, carry Tolly through and back to business as usual.

The kitchens were a-bustle with preparations for Eventides when Ferdi stuck his head in the main door. ‘Yes, sir? Does the Thain need aught?’ the assistant cook said, seeing the head of escort.

 ‘I need one of your serving lasses, on a commission for the Mistress,’ Ferdi said, his eye roving the large, busy room. He found Meadowsweet, folding serviettes at a side table. ‘You!’ he called. Meadowsweet looked up, startled, then looked to the assistant cook.

 ‘Go on, lass! Don’t keep the hobbit waiting!’ the assistant cook rapped out, moving to jerk a half-folded serviette from Sweetie’s hands, efficiently finishing the folding and adding it to the neat pile.

 ‘Yes’m,’ Sweetie said with a quick bob before hurrying to the doorway. There was a dance in her step, a light in her eyes, a music in her voice that reminded Ferdi of his own lost love. He buried the thought beneath a businesslike air as they strode through the corridors towards the Thain’s private quarters, Sweetie nearly skipping to keep up with his long strides.

 ‘What is it?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘What does Mistress Diamond want?’

 ‘Someone with a quick eye for what needs doing, and the ability to hold her tongue and not add to the Talk,’ Ferdi said dismissively. He quickened the pace to discourage more questions. Sweetie was holding her side and breathing hard when they reached the door to the Thain’s apartments.

Ferdi tapped and entered, nodding to Sweetie to follow.

 ‘Yes?’ Sandy, the Thain’s personal hobbitservant said, straightening from arranging flowers on the little table in the entryway.

 ‘You said you wanted a lass with quick wits who knows when to speak and when not to,’ Ferdi said, drawing Sweetie forward. ‘Here she is.’

Sandy looked Meadowsweet up and down. ‘You’re a bit young,’ he said critically. He looked to Ferdi and back to the serving lass. ‘I’ve seen her in the kitchens chattering away with the rest of the magpies.’

Sweetie lifted her chin to return his regard with flashing eyes... but she held her tongue. The hobbitservant held her eye for a long moment, then smiled. ‘We’ll give you a try,’ he said. ‘Your wages just doubled, lass, and if you make good you won’t be sent back to the kitchens anytime soon, save on errands for the Mistress.’

Sweetie gasped. Doubled! Like that!

 ‘You’ll start on the morrow, first thing--at dawn, mind you,’ Sandy said. What with the Thain asleep after his bad spell, a healer sitting by the bed on watch, and Diamond sure to be upset by the news when she returned from Tuckborough, they wouldn’t want the lass poking about the suite of rooms now. ‘You may want to spend the rest of this day settling into your new quarters.’ 

 ‘No,’ Ferdi said, ‘no need... she’s to marry Tolly next week, you know, and they’ll be taking up residence in one of the escort’s apartments nearby.’

 ‘Of course,’ Sandy said with a bow. ‘May I tender my felicitations, miss?’

Sweetie returned a graceful courtesy, her head spinning. That she’d been noticed at all by the Thain’s personal servant, that she’d be working in the Thain’s quarters, all this on top of the joy of the wedding... if only they could manage the wedding. Somehow she couldn’t bear to put off that happiness, now. ‘Thank you,’ she managed.

 ‘I suppose you will want the entire Highday,’ Sandy said, his lips pursed but a twinkle in his eye.

 ‘Most weddings do run from one dawn to the next,’ Ferdi said dryly.

 ‘It will be a bit difficult for you to be on the spot the day after, then,’ Sandy said, shaking his head. ‘Not a good beginning, but we’ll make do.’

 ‘Sandy...’ Ferdi said in a warning tone.

 ‘Sir, I...’ Meadowsweet said at the same time.

 ‘Don’t you “sir” me,’ Sandy said sternly. ‘I’m “Sandy” to you, lass, and don’t forget it. Of course you’ll have to take the day before and the day after the wedding, and I’m sure the Thain will insist upon your receiving full pay for those days, as part of his contribution to the festivities.’

 ‘Yes...’ Sweetie caught herself before she uttered the forbidden “sir”, ‘...Sandy, and thank you.’

 He wagged a stern finger at her. ‘But I expect you here by dawn the following day, without fail.’

 ‘Yes, Sandy.’ The name came easier with repetition.

 ‘Very well,’ the hobbitservant said. ‘Off with you now. Your time is your own after teatime, unless the Mistress asks you specifically to stay on, and she’s not here at the moment.’

 ‘Come along,’ Ferdi said, taking her arm and pulling her towards the doorway. ‘Thanks, Sandy.’

 ‘Don’t mention it,’ Sandy said in dismissal, closing the door firmly behind them.

 ‘That’s one problem solved,’ Ferdi said. ‘I’d heard the assistant cook wouldn’t grant you a free day before the wedding to help with the final preparations,’ and was going to make you take the wedding and the day after without pay, hardly festive of her, he thought privately, though it would not do to openly criticise the assistant cook. The hobbit was probably feeling sour at not having the day free to join the celebration.

 ‘My mum was that upset,’ Meadowsweet said. ‘Even with what help the neighbours could give she didn’t think it could all be done, for Mrs Sandybank fell and sprained her wrist and Mrs Bitterroot is abed expecting twins, and of course her oldest...’

 ‘It’ll be done,’ Ferdi said. ‘Even if I have to cook half the wedding breakfast myself!’

Sweetie laughed at such a picture, and Ferdi squeezed her hand and smiled. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘You’ve been looking entirely too worried the past few days. Let us find Tolly and tell him the good news.’

Tolly’s long face broke into a smile as Meadowsweet bubbled over with the news of her promotion and the promise of three free days to “do the wedding up proper!”

 ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said, taking Ferdi’s hand and wringing it with vigour.

 ‘That’s a good sign that there’s nothing needs to be said,’ Ferdi replied with a grin. ‘You’re marrying the finest lass in the Smials, you know, and she’ll make good in the position or I’d never have brought her to Sandy’s attention.’

Sweetie coloured prettily, overcome by Ferdi’s praise and her good fortune. ‘That’s everything that was wanted,’ she said hastily, to cover her feelings. ‘We can have the wedding, excepting...’

 ‘Excepting what?’ Ferdi demanded. Tolly suddenly wouldn’t meet his eyes.

 ‘He hasn’t asked,’ Sweetie said cryptically, and pulled at Tolly’s arm. ‘You haven’t asked him yet, have you? You thought we’d be putting the wedding off until after harvest, and so you didn’t ask.’

 ‘Ask what?’ Ferdi said.

Meadowsweet fell silent, giving Tolly’s arm another tug. It wasn’t her place to say.

 ‘Tolly?’ Ferdi asked quizzically. ‘You know you have the wedding day and the day after free, don’t you? Hilly will have to work the day after, of course, for I cannot be short two hobbits for two days, but I’ll see to it that he has the wedding day free...’ It would be difficult, to be the only hobbit of the escort on duty that day, but he’d make do, even if it meant he must station himself outside the door of the Thain’s study from dawn until teatime, without relief.

 ‘But you’re not free,’ Tolly said before he could stop himself, and Ferdi stared, catching his meaning.

 ‘We all cannot attend this wedding,’ he said reasonably. ‘You must, of course, and Hilly’s your brother...’

Tolly’s eyes sought his woolly feet. ‘Of course,’ he said, and stopped. He took a deep breath and forced himself to meet Ferdi’s eyes. Ferdi waited patiently, for he’d never seen Tolly at a loss before.

At last Tolly said, ‘I wanted to ask you...’

Sweetie gave his arm another tug. ‘Go on,’ she whispered. ‘Even if it cannot be, at least you can honour the hobbit.’

This gave Ferdi an inkling of what to expect, so that he was not surprised when Tolly said haltingly, ‘I wanted to ask you... to stand up with me...’ Tolly dropped his eyes again and said to his toes, ‘...but of course it’s impossible.’

Ferdi surprised the happy couple with a hearty laugh.

Tolly looked up in astonishment, to see Ferdi’s eyes dancing with mischief. ‘What?’ he said in surprise.

 ‘It is the duty of the head of escort to accomplish the impossible,’ Ferdi said firmly. ‘Didn’t you know that, after all these years? After all, you’ve been “head” yourself in the past.’ He clapped Tolly on the back as the hobbit smiled uncertainly. Meadowsweet was frankly bewildered.

 ‘We cannot leave the Thain without an escort. Think of the scandal,’ Tolly said.

 ‘If the escort cannot be where the Thain is, we must bring the Thain to where the escort is,’ Ferdi said. ‘Invite him to the wedding.’

 ‘Invite the Thain...!’ Sweetie gasped.

 ‘And his family, of course,’ Ferdi said, adding practically, ‘It’s just three more mouths to feed, and Pip does enjoy a good party, you know.’

 ‘I...’ Tolly said.

 ‘After your years of loyal service, he can hardly refuse you,’ Ferdi went on. ‘It’ll be refreshing for him to attend a wedding where he doesn’t have to do the honours. I assume Mardi is performing the ceremony.’

 ‘Yes, he’s head of our branch of the family,’ Tolly said. ‘He’s senior amongst all the cousins descended from Isembold.’

 ‘Well then, the Thain can just sit back and enjoy himself,’ Ferdi said. ‘Eat, drink, tell a story or two, give a toast perhaps, and never be out of the eye of the escort. Solves our problems all round, wouldn’t you say?’

 ‘Ferdi, you’re brilliant,’ Tolly said.

 ‘Of course I am, you’re only finding it out now?’ Ferdi replied. He laughed at the look on Sweetie’s face and clapped Tolly on the shoulder. ‘Go, for Sweetie has the rest of the day free. Go and plan the finest wedding Tookland has seen in years!’

 ‘But I need to ask the Thain,’ Tolly said, not one to let grass grow under his feet.

 ‘Ask him on the morrow,’ Ferdi said. ‘He was in rather a bad humour when I left him. Now would not be a good time.’

 ‘Very well; thanks for the warning,’ Tolly said. He took Meadowsweet’s hand. ‘How about a picnic in the meadow? We can watch the Sun seek her bed. I imagine Hilly and his sweet Posy will be happy to keep us proper and above gossip.’

 ‘It sounds wonderful,’ Meadowsweet said dreamily.

 'Think of what they'll say in the kitchens when you go to pack the picnic,' Ferdi said mischievously. 'The assistant cook is going to have to start addressing you as "Miss"!'

Meadowsweet's eyes widened at the thought and Tolly chuckled, remembering the trial the assistant cook had posed for Sweetie ever since her arrival at the Smials.

Ferdi nodded in satisfaction as he turned away. Problem solved.

Chapter 8. A Tangible Expression of Gratitude

In the dark before dawn the Steward was waiting just inside the side door of the stables when Ferdi ducked in to grab the rope from the hook.

 ‘Stop right there,’ he said quietly.

Ferdi started. ‘Regi!’ he said accusingly. ‘What were you thinking? You startled me out of half a night’s sleep!’

 ‘You are cordially invited to join the Thain and Mistress for second breakfast in the best parlour,’ Regi said.

 ‘Cordially?’ Ferdi echoed. ‘Invited? That means that if I...?’

 ‘That means that if you elect not to join them, and the Mayor and his family, for second breakfast, a private affair, so that they may thank you for... extracting that tiny child from under the new stallion’s deadly hoofs...’

 ‘There was never any real danger,’ Ferdi protested hotly, but at Regi’s look he backed down, muttering in rebellion, ‘...at least, if hobbits used the brains they’d been born with...’

 ‘Be that as it may,’ Regi said, looking down his nose at Ferdi, ‘should you elect to decline the Thain’s very kind invitation to this private occasion, you will be ordered to attend high tea this afternoon, to be publicly acclaimed before all the Tooks of the Great Smials, as well as those of Tuckborough and as many other Tooklanders as the great room will hold.’

 ‘He wouldn’t,’ Ferdi said faintly.

 ‘Don’t try him,’ Regi warned. ‘You’re in Pip’s good books at the moment, what with rescuing little Goldi and conveniently training the stallion to take a rider,’ he waxed eloquent, letting the words roll grandly from his lips, ‘giving him hopes of winning the Lithedays Pony Races this year, taking the honours away from Buckland.’

 ‘He was cheering Buckland on, last year, as I heard,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Ah well, he was steward of Buckland last year,’ Regi said in his best “let bygones be bygones” manner. ‘This year he’s Thain.’

 ‘And how did he know I’d been riding the stallion?’ Ferdi went on. True, he’d saddled the beast in the depths of the night and ridden him under the stars, even breezed him around the racecourse, glorying in the power beneath him, the song of the wind in his ears, the closest he’d ever come to flying, he’d warrant. ‘Besides, I’m hardly training him to take a rider. I find he’s been beautifully trained already; those merchants spoilt him shamefully but he’s very intelligent, Regi, and quick to show manners for a rider he trusts.’

 ‘Sounds as if he belongs to you already,’ Regi said, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

Ferdi’s smile faded. ‘Of course he doesn’t belong to me,’ he said quietly. ‘He belongs to the Thain, but he’d go to waste turned out in a field.’

 ‘He’d sire foals,’ Regi said. ‘Pip already has a fine pony to ride. All we need is for him to get it into his head that he ought to ride the new stallion, and have the beast break his neck for him.’ Old Tom’s assistant was still laid up with a broken leg and collarbone from his attempt to master the pony.

 ‘So I’ll ride him in the Pony Races and Pip will collect half the winnings and the stud fees that result,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘You know, Ferdi, you just might have something there,’ Regi said thoughtfully, then returned to the point at hand. ‘Now, what shall I tell the Thain?’

 ‘What shall you tell the Thain... about what?’ Ferdi said, confused.

 ‘Is it to be breakfast, or tea?’ Regi said.

 ‘What do you think?’ Ferdi said with a wry face.

Regi chuckled. ‘I’ll tell them to expect you midmorning, then,’ he said.

***

Ferdi usually ate heartily at second breakfast, seeing the skimpy early breakfast he was in the custom of making, for even before the advent of the new stallion he’d used the early morning hours to work his own ponies. The fine food on this occasion stuck in his throat, however, even though they did not molest him with thanks whilst the food snowed and the drink rained down, for business was seldom discussed during a meal. It was not considered good form to take attention from the enjoyment of the food.

In truth, he could not have told afterwards what had been served, though it was hot and plenty, savoury and sweet, of varied colours, textures and tastes, from beginning to end a continuous work of culinary art personally prepared by the head cook. All the other hobbits ate heartily, the Thain and Mistress and their son, the Mayor and his wife, and the children. All eight of the Gamgee children were in attendance, even two-year-old Hamfast in his father’s lap and year-old Daisy nestled in Diamond’s, to spare Rose, who was under the weather it seemed from the pallor of her complexion and her lack of attention to the food.

 ‘She’s so sweet,’ Diamond said, dewy-eyed, looking down at her little charge. ‘I’d love to have a little lass just like her some day.’

Goldilocks sat regally in her high chair, gazing over the table as sharp-eyed as any queen. With her spoon she rapped the knuckles of Faramir, sitting next to her, when he reached for another piece of bread without asking.

 ‘Ow!’ that lad cried, sucking his injured hand, face indignant.

 ‘S’posed to say, “P’ease pass”,’ Goldi articulated, lifting her chin elegantly.

 ‘Now, Goldi,’ Rose said, whilst Diamond soothed her little son’s ruffled feelings and buttered him a piece of bread.

Ferdi smiled despite his discomfort. It seemed to him as if this might be the beginning of something. Farry, with his father’s dark-gold curls, and Goldi with her hair the colour of sunshine, how well they looked, sitting side-by-side. He shook his head to dispel the fancy, and the gesture caught the Thain’s eye.

 ‘So, Ferdi,’ Pippin said, pushing his plate away. ‘It appears you’ve finished your meal...’

 ‘And a fine meal it was,’ Ferdi said dismissively. He hoped that was all that was needed. He’d been thanked with a fine meal, appropriate, very appropriate indeed, convenient, and not discomfiting. It was too much to hope, however, for Pippin looked to the Mayor and said, ‘Sam?’

Mayor Sam cleared his throat, and Mistress Rose dabbed at her eyes with her pocket-handkerchief, seriously alarming Ferdibrand. He wished he could bolt like a startled pony, but no. He’d have to sit here and take whatever they cared to dish out. Regi had made that perfectly clear.

 ‘I...’ Sam began, and stopped, at a loss. He’d grown used to giving speeches over the last seven years, for that is mostly what the Mayor does, opening fairs and fests and celebrations all over the Shire, nearly every Highday of the year. This, however, was close to his heart. He swallowed hard and began again, ‘Ferdibrand, I...’

Ferdi stopped him before he could gain any momentum, however, with a held-up hand. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said firmly, ‘though there’s no need to thank me. I only did what any other hobbit would do.’

 ‘No need!’ Rose burst out indignantly. She rose from her chair to scoop little Goldi into her arms. ‘I might be burying a little one this morning, rather than holding her in my arms,’ she said, and Ferdi had the horrified notion that she might burst into tears at any moment. He made a few placating noises, but the Mayor’s wife went on determinedly. ‘We owe you a great deal, and I don’t want to see you sweeping it out the door like so much dust!’

 ‘No, missus,’ he said hastily. He shot Pippin a pleading glance, but his cousin was smiling.

 ‘The Gamgees would like some way to repay your kindness, Ferdi,’ Pippin said.

Now it was Ferdi’s turn to be at a loss for words. ‘I...’ he said helplessly, and then took a steadying breath. ‘I have all I need,’ he said with what he hoped was appropriate dignity.

 ‘That won’t do at all,’ Diamond said firmly. ‘You must see that, Ferdi. They won’t rest until you allow them to thank you.’

 ‘Then say “thank you” and be done with it!’ Ferdi sputtered, and closed his eyes at his own rudeness. Truly he was not meant to sit at table in such lofty society. Fine. They’d brought him here to thank him and now he was owing apologies. Would this ordeal never end?

 ‘Ferdibrand,’ Pippin said quietly. ‘We did not bring you here to make you miserable; believe me, cousin.’ Ferdi opened his eyes to meet his cousin’s sympathetic gaze. ‘The Gamgees would merely like to make some tangible gesture, to express their appreciation.’

 ‘Tangible gesture,’ Ferdi echoed faintly, but then an idea struck him.

Seeing his expression, Pippin brightened. ‘Yes, cousin?’ he said to encourage Ferdi.

Ferdi looked from Thain to Mayor and back again. Was it fair to put Samwise on the spot like this? Suddenly he found he didn’t much care. Turnabout was fair play, after all, and Mayor Sam and Mistress Rose had certainly had no compunctions about putting him on the spot. ‘There was something,’ he said.

 ‘Yes, Ferdi?’ Mayor Sam said, bending forward eagerly, while Rose leaned against her husband's shoulder and cuddled Goldilocks close.

 ‘Well...’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Anything, Ferdi, if it is in my power,’ Sam said solemnly. He looked up over his shoulder at Rose, and she nodded firmly.

 ‘You could go for Mayor again,’ Ferdi said, greatly daring. Who was he to tell Mayor Samwise what to do, especially when Pip had argued the same point for a good hour or more on that visit to Bag End?

 ‘Go for Mayor?’ Sam said, and dumbstruck, he could say no more.

Ferdi nodded. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘You’ve been a good one, and it seems a shame for you to step down now, just when we've got used to you. You ought to go for seven more years at the least.’ He nodded again, took up his serviette from his lap, dabbed at his mouth, threw the cloth down on the table and rose.

 ‘It has been a pleasure, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘I thank you for your hospitality.’ On that note, he made his exit, before anyone could press any more gratitude upon him.

Chapter 9. Trapping a Fox

It was a pleasant domestic scene, there in the Thain’s sitting room at the Great Smials. Eglantine sat in the comfortable chair by the hearth, knitting busily, her grandson Faramir at her feet. He and the younger Gamgee children were playing with small, intricately-carved figures: a shepherd and his sheep and dogs, a farmer with his team of plough ponies, a byre with shaggy cows, pigs, geese and even a sleek cat curled in the haymow. The young ones were comparing the pieces as they laid out their play farm on the rug before the fire, laughing at the droll expressions and exclaiming at the lifelike details carved by a careful hand.

 ‘Farmer Paladin made them, for young Pippin,’ Eglantine said with a fond glance at her son, ‘in the days before he was Thain Paladin. You’d have liked him, I think.’ None of the children had met Thain Paladin; Samwise had been seldom at the Great Smials, and had never thought to take the liberty of bringing his family, while Paladin was Thain. Eglantine’s needles stilled and she sighed, her look far away. ‘How he loved the land.’

Diamond was stitching away, Rose was brushing out Elanor’s hair preparatory to braiding it, and Pippin and Samwise were engaged in a game of Kings.

 ‘But why won’t he let us thank him?’ Elanor said, in reference to a grown-up conversation overheard over tea. Ferdibrand had not been at the festive high tea in the great room, though every other Took living in the Great Smials was there, with the exception of the invalids and those whose duties kept them away.

 ‘He’s the most un-hobbity hobbit I know,’ Frodo observed in his thoughtful way. His father shot him a reproving glance and he blushed, mumbling an apology.

Pippin shook his head. ‘He is, rather,’ he said quietly, moving a piece on the game board.

Sam took a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘How am I to answer that, I ask you?’ he said to no one in particular. 

 ‘He has lived much alone,’ Eglantine said from her corner.

Elanor and Frodo exchanged glances. Alone? In the Great Smials?

 ‘He lost his home and his family, when he was not too many years older than you, Elanor,’ Eglantine said, correctly interpreting the young hobbits’ expressions. 

 ‘He eats late supper with his father,’ Elanor said, question in her voice.

 ‘Ah yes,’ the mother of the Thain said. ‘He has his father, a helpless invalid, living on the charity of the Thain all these years. His uncle died, and his mother, on the same terrible day, and his sister was taken from him not long after.’

 ‘His sister died too?’ Rosie-lass said in horror, putting down the little wooden goose she’d been admiring.

 ‘No,’ Eglantine reassured, ‘but she lives far away in the Woody End, and they hardly ever see each other.’

Samwise found an answering move, and smiled as Pippin’s eyebrows rose in response.

 ‘He seems cheerful enough,’ Elanor said slowly, ‘though he’s quiet...’

 ‘Quiet, yes, that’s a good word to describe him,’ Eglantine said. ‘He learned quiet the hard way, you might say.’

 ‘The hard way?’ Rose said, her brush strokes ceasing as she turned towards Eglantine.

 ‘He was under the Ban for a number of years,’ Eglantine said, her eyes on her needles.

 ‘Shunned?’ Rose gasped, gathering Elanor closer. How could Pippin have entrusted Ellie to someone who’d lived under the Ban...

‘For years?’ she echoed. ‘But even a thief receives a year, at most...’

 ‘The hobbits who threw in their lot with the ruffians received two years, as I recall,’ Samwise said, looking up. ‘But I thought you’d said he fought against the ruffians.’

 ‘Indeed, he nearly lost his life at the Battle of Bywater,’ Pippin said, moving a piece, keeping a finger upon it so as not to complete the move, looking at the board and restoring the piece to its previous position before taking up his contemplation of the game once more.

Eglantine lifted her head, looking from her son to the Mayor’s wife. ‘He was unjustly punished for something he didn’t do,’ she said. ‘His was not the fault, but he took the blame.’

 ‘Mine was the fault,’ Pippin said quietly, looking up from the board. ‘He was punished because I defied my father.’ He passed a hand over his eyes. ‘Nine years,’ he said softly. ‘How can I ever repay such a debt?’

 ‘You cannot,’ Samwise said, ‘nor would he allow you to try. Look at how simple gratitude sticks in his crop.’

 ‘Nine years?’ Rose said, grieved. ‘Nine years without speaking, or being spoken to?’

 ‘Why in the world would he stay on? Why would he serve you?’ Sam said in honest amazement.

Pippin met his gaze. ‘He is a loyal Took,’ he said simply.

 ‘I don’t understand,’ Rose said, but Sam was nodding. He did. He had travelled much of Middle-earth and back again with a loyal Took, after all.

 ‘For all those years, all he had was his pride and his stubbornness,’ Eglantine said, her needles resuming their task. ‘He could ask nothing from anyone, and no one could offer him anything, and after a time he learned to live so. Now he knows nothing else.’

 ‘Can he not learn how to be “hobbity” again?’ Frodo asked.

Sam smiled. ‘Of course he can,’ he said.

Pippin nodded. ‘Others have,’ he agreed. He thought of Sam, burying his nightmares in the rich soil of the Shire as he re-planted after the ruffians were thrown out, and of Merry, working away in Buckland as if he’d never been away, and of his own efforts to become “hobbity” again, after seeing so many wondrous and terrible things and living through fire, battle, and death.

 ‘Can we not help?’ Elanor asked, her eyes shining.

Sam thought of how much help his golden-haired lass had been already, to bring him back from the depths he’d trodden. ‘I think you could be a great help,’ he said, a slow smile blooming. ‘Perhaps we all could.’ He looked down at the board and saw that Pippin had made a move while he’d been distracted. Suddenly the way was clear before him, and he made a decisive move.

 ‘What!’ Pippin said, startled.

 ‘My game,’ Sam said calmly, then, ‘Come children, time to put away the farm and seek our pillows.’

***  

Next morning, the Gamgees’ waggon was brought out as Ferdi was finishing his early work with the new stallion. Ah, good! They were readying for the ride over the fields, back to Bag End, taking bag and baggage and thanks with them. Hopefully by the time they returned for the Pony Races and Installation they’d have put all such nonsense behind them.

When he came out of the stables after hanging the rope on its hook, he found the six oldest Gamgee children standing by the ring, Goldi in Elanor’s arms. The tot hugged the stallion Ferdi had carved in one chubby hand, the other pointed at the real stallion in the centre of the pen. ‘Pitty!’ she cried in delight, her earlier fright evidently set aside. ‘Pitty!’

The older ones laughed as the pony tossed his head, sending his silky mane flying. ‘He agrees with you, Goldi,’ Frodo said.

 ‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ Ferdi said. ‘I take half the credit, for having combed out the tangles, not to mention brushing and burnishing him until he shines.’ He took a deep breath of the morning air. ‘But then, nothing’s too good for the Thain’s new stallion.’

 ‘He’s as fine as any Elven horse I’ve imagined,’ Elanor said softly.

Ferdi gave her a strange look. She sounded as nonsensical as Pip when he told his whimsical stories of Elves and their faraway lands. ‘He is fine, in truth,’ he answered, ‘and he’s solid, not made of fancy.’ He remembered he was talking to the eldest daughter of the Mayor and shuffled his feet. ‘Begging your pardon, miss,’ he said.

 ‘Nell,’ Elanor corrected.

 ‘Miss Nell,’ Ferdi said, not one to be easily moved.

 ‘This will never do,’ Frodo-lad said severely, his expression a mirror of his father’s when addressing wrong.

 ‘Master Frodo?’ Ferdi said, wondering what he’d done now. To be taken to task by an eleven-year-old! He felt his hands seized and looked down to see little Merry Gamgee on one side, little Pip-lad on the other.

 ‘We’re ‘dopting you,’ Merry-lad said soberly.

 ‘ ‘Dopting me?’ Ferdi echoed.

 ‘That’s right!’ Pip-lad chirped. ‘You’re to be our noner... our none... our none-er airy...’ He sighed. What was the word?

Ferdi was as bewildered as the little one, but his confusion was quickly cleared up by Frodo-lad. Or perhaps not.

 ‘We talked it over, and we all agreed,’ that one said, levelling a Sam-like gaze.

 ‘Agreed?’ Ferdi prompted, wondering why the children were all beaming at him.

 ‘We’re making you our honorary uncle,’ Rosie-lass blurted. ‘Aren’t you pleased?’

 ‘Rosie!’ Elanor said sternly.

Goldi suddenly twisted in her sister’s arms, reaching out to Ferdibrand. ‘Want Ferdi!’ she pronounced. Ferdi had to take her before she toppled out of Elanor’s grasp. ‘There!’ she said in satisfaction on achieving her aim.

Ferdi was beyond words. He stared from one Gamgee to the next.

 ‘We put it in a letter,’ Elanor said, nudging Frodo-lad. He dug in a pocket, bringing out a creased piece of brown paper, a shopping list showing on one side. He unfolded it and thrust the newly-written side at Ferdibrand. In Elanor’s careful printing, in bold pencil, it said,

We the desen (this was crossed out) children of Samwise and Rose Gamgee hearby claim Ferdi Took as our honourary uncle. Singed...’

All the children’s names followed, though not all were written by the bearers of the names themselves. Goldi chortled and pointed to a scribble, by which reposed her name in all its glory. ‘I writed that!’ she said.

Frodo-lad’s mouth had opened in dismay as a sudden realisation hit him. ‘But can you read?’ he asked, too anxious to be polite. ‘It says...’

 ‘I can read,’ Ferdi said, though he hardly knew how he formed the words. ‘Do your parents know about this?’

 ‘Dad told us how to do it up proper,’ Elanor said, her chin in the air. ‘See?’ she said, pointing with her finger. ‘We have eight witnesses! That’s more than a Will, even!’

 ‘So no more of this “Miss” this and “Master” that nonsense,’ Frodo-lad said firmly. ‘You’re to call us by our right names, and we’re to call you Uncle Ferdi, and give you presents on our birthdays.’

 ‘I...’ Ferdi said, nonplussed.

Pip-lad tugged at his hand. ‘And you’re to give us presents on your birthday,’ he reminded.

 ‘Pip!’ Elanor gasped, but Ferdi only laughed.

Still holding Goldi, he crouched to address the youngster. ‘I suppose I shall have to, at that,’ he said with a grin. ‘So what do I call you?’

 ‘Pip!’ the lad chirped.

 ‘That ought to be easy enough,’ Ferdi said. ‘Did I ever tell you about my young cousin, by that same name? We grew up together, you know, and he was no end of trouble...’

By the time the waggon was loaded and Mayor and Mrs. Gamgee exited the Great Smials with Thain and Mistress Took, the group were leaning on the fence, telling jokes and laughing together like old friends whilst the stallion stood nearby, accepting treats as his due.

 ‘Time to go!’ Samwise called, and his children turned from the fence to swarm around him, all chattering excitedly at the same time about their new uncle.

The Mayor played his role well, pumping Ferdi’s hand and saying, ‘So pleased to make your acquaintance, Uncle!’

 ‘Welcome to the family,’ Mistress Rose said.

 ‘Thank you,’ Ferdi responded. He’d had little enough choice in the matter. Eight against one, not a fair fight at all.

 ‘There now, see? Was that so difficult?’ Rose said, hands on her hips.

 ‘What?’ Ferdi said, confused.

 ‘Two words, that’s all, “thank” and “you” and put them together,’ Rose said. ‘That’s all we wanted to say, and you made such a fuss!’

 ‘Come along, Rose,’ Sam said, taking his wife’s arm and urging her towards the waggon.

Ferdi called to them as they were halfway there. ‘Mistress Gamgee!’

They turned; he stood surrounded by the seven older Gamgee children, all intent on bestowing a hearty hug before leaving. Even little Daisy, in Diamond’s arms, seemed to want to join the general embrace. She waved her arms and crowed.

 ‘You’re welcome,’ Ferdi said, and meant it.

Chapter 10. Where Are Ye Goin' on this Merry Day?

A fine mist cast haloes around the torches in the yard before the Great Smials as a merry party prepared to mount their ponies.

 ‘Are you sure you wish to come, Mother?’ Pippin asked Eglantine. ‘You ought to stay by the hearth on a day like this day.’

 ‘Though I’m old as a wizard and fat as Lalia, riding a pony through a little mist won’t put me in my grave,’ she replied. ‘And if it did, why, I shouldn’t want to live anyhow.’

 ‘Bite your tongue!’ Pippin said, but his mother only laughed.

 ‘Perhaps you ought to be the one staying warm and dry by the fireside,’ she said meaningfully.

 ‘Yes, well then,’ Pippin said, his lips tightening. He seized on Faramir. ‘Come lad,’ he cried, forcing cheer into his tone. ‘I will set you before me on Socks, just as Gandalf set me before him on Shadowfax as we rode to Minas Tirith.’

 ‘Hurrah!’ cried the tot, holding his arms up. His father, smile more genuine now, lifted him to the pony’s back.

 ‘Steady, lad,’ he said to the pony as Socks turned his head to see whose slight weight he bore. The pony gave a soft whicker and rubbed his cheek against Pippin’s arm. The Thain absently fished a piece of carrot from his pocket and murmured a word or two as the pony whiffled it from his palm.

Diamond was already mounted, Hilly standing by her pony’s head. Tolly and Ferdi helped Eglantine onto her pony and mounted their own ponies, and at a word from Pippin Hilly leapt lightly into his saddle.

 ‘We’re ready, Sir,’ Ferdi said. By the light of the torches he could see Pippin roll his eyes.

 ‘You’re not going to “Sir” me all the day, are you cousin?’ Pippin said. ‘I’m just a wedding guest, after all, and not attending this affair as “Thain”.’

 ‘I’ll do my best,’ Ferdi replied. ‘I’m that much older than you are, cousin; you must make allowances should I dodder.’

Pippin snorted and mounted behind his little son. ‘Come along,’ he said. Diamond nudged her pony to move to his side, Ferdi rode beside Mistress Eglantine, Hilly led the way with a lantern and Tolly brought up the rear.

Tolly had not spoken a word to anyone, and they let him be. It wasn’t every day a hobbit got married, after all.

A winding track meandered through the wild Green Hills towards Tookbank, suitable perhaps for farm waggons but not for fancy coaches. No matter, Diamond had said as they were discussing travel arrangements. She was a farmer’s daughter, when it came right down to it, and riding pony-back was no novelty for her. Unexpectedly Eglantine had chimed in, saying she would come with them, for she’d been a farmer’s wife, herself, before the farmer had become Thain. On a dry, sunny day it was perhaps an hour to Sunnybanks Farm; in the foggy darkness of pre-dawn it was all of two or even three hours, but singing made the time pass quickly and before the Sun rose from her bed to lighten the mist the little party was riding into the farmyard.

 ‘Welcome! Well come!’ the farmer’s eldest son hailed them cheerily. ‘You’re in good time!’

The smells of roasting meat and baking bread filled the air, and a fiddler was tuning his instrument somewhere in the mist. They dismounted and Pippin, Diamond and Eglantine took the reins of the escorts’ ponies. Ferdi tried to protest.

 ‘Go on with you,’ Pippin said pleasantly, the Tookish lilt stronger in his voice than it had been since he’d gone away to Buckland and come back again. ‘You’ve other work to be doing.’ Ferdi shot him an astonished glance and he grinned. He was farmer’s son, not Thain, this day. He nodded as Ferdi turned away to clap Tolly on the shoulder.

 ‘Don’t stand here until you take root, cousin,’ Ferdi said to the bridegroom. ‘We’ve got to settle you at table and fetch your bride.’

Tolly smiled suddenly, his first smile since Meadowsweet had left the Smials to join in the wedding preparations. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘That we do!’ Pippin watched them walk off into the dark and fog, arm in arm.

 ‘Well now, where do we put up our ponies?’ he said to the farmer’s eldest.

 ‘Right over here,’ came the answer, and they followed his lantern to the designated pony pens, and then to the pavilion, brightly lit with lamps and lanterns and already half-filled with laughing, talking hobbits. ‘Will this do?’ their guide said, stopping at a table not far from the head table. He didn’t know quite who these hobbits were, but they’d arrived with Tolly, so they must be relatives or friends from the Great Smials.

 ‘O no, it won’t do at all!’ Pippin protested. ‘I’m sure you’ve nearer relatives to be seating here! We’ll go lower.’ He gestured to the tables on the periphery, and the farmer’s son nodded agreeably.

 ‘Take any of those seats,’ he said, ‘for no one’s claimed them yet.’

Pippin waved Faramir to a chair and seated his mother and then his wife, and sat himself down beyond Diamond. ‘This is cosy!’ he proclaimed. ‘We have a good view of the proceedings, and all the fresh air we could want.’ The tables were filling rapidly now, to a merry fiddle tune, and a buxom matron bustled to their table, plonking down a basket of fresh-baked bread, a bowl of butter and several jars of preserves.

 ‘Tea’s coming!’ she said briskly, and hurried away as Pippin was still thanking her.

 ‘I ought to serve table,’ Diamond said, ‘rather than putting on airs here.’

 ‘And I!’ Eglantine contributed, her face bright. ‘This is going to be lovely!’ The two rose, leaving Pippin and Faramir with the reassurance that they’d return when the serving was done. Soon they were to be seen amongst the other hobbit mums bearing platters or baskets or cosied teapots, moving between cooking tent or kitchen and festive pavilion.

The fiddler played a flourish and Diamond and Eglantine hurried to their table with platters of food for their own family, which they set down before taking their seats.

 ‘Here comes the bride,’ Pippin said with a grin. Ferdi was escorting Meadowsweet to the head table. Even from their far vantage they could see her radiant face, and Tolly’s, as Ferdi seated her beside her true-love. A cheer went up and the guests rose as one to bow to Sweetie’s father, and then all set to the wedding breakfast with light hearts and hearty appetites.

 ‘Best ham I’ve tasted,’ Pippin said with his mouth full, and Diamond made a private resolution to buy hams from Sunnybanks Farm for the Thain’s table.

 ‘It is good,’ little Farry agreed in his best grown-up manner, and all the adults laughed in delight, their laughter mingling with that from other tables.

 ‘A toast! A toast!’ came the cry from the head table, and Hilly arose, lifting his mug.

 ‘To the finest brother it’s ever been my privilege to ride alongside,’ he shouted.

 ‘And what about your other brothers?’ his eldest brother Mardibold called, but he lifted his mug and drank the toast, before launching into a story of young Tolly and younger Hilly and a good bit of mischief. He ended with a toast of his own before resuming his seat. From then on story followed story, sprinkled with bits of sage advice, well wishes and ever more toasts.

Pippin ate heartily, drank every toast, sang and laughed with the rest, winking at Diamond when he caught her watching in satisfaction. ‘Most relaxing Highday I’ve enjoyed in months,’ he said in an undertone. ‘I’d begin to wonder if the Tooks knew how to do anything but grumble!’

 ‘They’re getting used to you,’ Eglantine said equably, helping herself to more fluffy scrambled eggs, fried potatoes and ham.

Pippin laughed and took his own second helpings of everything. ‘Uncommonly good food,’ he said through a mouthful as Diamond caught his eye.

 ‘Indeed,’ she said. ‘Breakfast always tastes better after a morning ride, and there’s something about eating out in the fresh air...’

Midmorning the hobbit mums jumped up from their seats to clear away the spent platters and renew the teapots, for those who wished tea, and bring out wine jugs for those who were ready to go on with the day. There were baskets of sweet breads and sausage rolls to sustain the celebrating hobbits through the clapping and singing that followed. The Sun was doing her best to burn off the lingering mists, and she promised to be at her best and brightest by noonday.

Partway through the third song, a long ballad in which a dying hobbit who’d gone off to fight for the King declared his love and longing for his faraway lass, Pippin saw a hobbit tween ride into the yard and jump down from his pony’s back. The lad was not dressed for a wedding, and from the set of his shoulders and grim expression he bore ill news.

 ‘Stay here,’ Pippin said to his family as he rose. ‘I just want to see about something.’ He intercepted the tween and listened to the words that spilled forth, his own expression sobering. ‘How many?’ he asked.

 ‘Half a dozen ewes dead, and then there’s the lambs, and we might well lose more,’ the tween said with a gulp. He looked to the pavilion, to the empty table in the midst of the celebration. ‘We were s’posed to be sitting there,’ he said. ‘That was our place.’

Pippin nodded. They were near neighbours, then, to have such a prominent place reserved for them. Likely Farmer Banks was wondering about his neighbour but too deep in his daughter’s wedding to send to the next farm to see what was amiss. ‘Let us not bother the family here,’ he said suddenly. ‘I’ll ride with you, to see the damages.’

The lad looked at him in astonishment. ‘What good would you do?’ he said. ‘You’re not even from around here.’

Pippin smiled and showed the heavy ring he bore. ‘The Thain might be able to offer some assistance,’ he said.

 ‘Thain?’ the lad gasped, but Pippin took his elbow and steered him towards the pony pens. Socks was easy to find, tied beneath a chestnut tree in the field beyond the pens, dozing in the shade.

Pippin quickly had him saddled and bridled. He turned to give the neighbour lad a leg up onto his plough pony’s bare back, then mounted Socks. ‘Lead on,’ he said.

In the pavilion behind the soulful song ended and the fiddler swung into a lively Springle-ring tune.

Chapter 11. Lambs to the Slaughter

It was not far to the neighbour’s fields, to the west towards Tookbank, just over a hill and splash through a stream and round another hill and they pulled up before the door of a cosy smial dug into the hillside. At the lad’s shout a hobbit mum came out of the smial, her hands twisted in her apron and a worried expression on her face.

 ‘I was that sorry to miss the wedding...’ she began, but as Pippin approached she broke off, stared into his face for a moment, and said, ‘You’re not from round here.’

 ‘It’s the Thain, mum,’ the lad said urgently, and his mother’s eyes widened.

 ‘You’re not serious!’ she protested.

 ‘He’s all too serious,’ Pippin said. ‘Where do we find the sheep?’

 ‘They brought some here, that we hope to save,’ the hobbit mum said, making a clumsy courtesy, ‘and the rest are in the far pasture.’ She waved vaguely to the southwest. ‘Take the Thain to your father, Tad.’ She bobbed again, nervously, and said, ‘I must get back to my lambs.’ When she let the apron fall from her hands, smears of blood stood out against the bleached white cloth.

 ‘Go!’ Pippin urged, and she whirled and hurried back into the smial. To the lad, he said, ‘Lead on.’

The track climbed partway up a large hill and then circled its girth. On the far side was a green valley with a tranquil pool tucked near the foot of the hill on the far side. ‘Spring fed,’ the lad said, pointing. ‘Sheep like quiet waters better’n chuckling streams.’

 ‘Aye,’ Pippin said noncommittally. He remembered leading his father’s sheep from pasture to pasture with the help of the dogs that ran and crouched and stared the ewes into submission. Learning the whistles to control the dogs had given him such a sense of power as a young tween... that he alone could direct a flock of hundreds with a few shrill sounds had never ceased to give him a thrill.

A carpet of fleecy white covered the flank of one of the hills, and Pippin could see the dogs working the sheep.

 ‘Not as good a pasture beyond,’ the lad said, ‘but better to take them away from here. Da and my brothers will camp with the flock this night, and perhaps for many a night to come.’

Small puffs of white dotted the valley floor, some tiny, some larger, all stained with red and brown. As they rode down into the valley the white puffs became carcases of sheep, torn and bloody.

The farmer straightened from the sheep he was inspecting to eye the newcomer. The Shirriff standing next to him knew the Thain at once, of course, and doffed his hat with a bow and a respectful, ‘Sir.’

 ‘Wolves?’ Pippin said, though none had been seen in the Shire for years.

 ‘Dogs,’ the Shirriff answered, replacing his hat on his head.

 ‘Wild or strayed?’ Pippin asked.

 ‘Too early to tell,’ the Shirriff answered.

 ‘How much of this trouble have you seen?’ Pippin asked. The farmer looked from one to the other. He knew the hobbit on the grey pony must be important from the Shirriff’s manner, but...

 ‘There’s been some reports of sheep being run to exhaustion, but this is the first worrying I’ve seen,’ the Shirriff said. ‘Tom here had the bad luck to be the first struck, anyhow. There’ll be more.’

 ‘Aye,’ Pippin said, shaking his head. ‘They find the chase intoxicating, but once they taste the blood there’s no turning back...’ He eyed the Shirriff. ‘I want you to put out the word. Ask if any dogs left loose have come home with blood round their jaws. If so they ought to be put down.’

The Shirriff’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. Once a dog learned the joy of sheep worrying you could not break him of it, and it was better to lose one dog than a dozen or more sheep. Still, what if a dog had been off hunting badgers or whatnot?

The Thain continued, ‘All dogs must be kept tied up when not working with a master. If there’s no more worrying we’ll know it was dogs straying from home for a little night time sport.’

The Shirriff nodded. ‘And if it’s wild dogs...?’

 ‘We’ll have to call a hunt,’ Pippin said. ‘Leave a flock unattended in the valley, lie downwind for as many nights as it takes, and watch.’ He looked down at the torn ewe before him. ‘Any dogs that show will be shot on sight.’

The farmer nodded soberly. It was a hard business, but then, he’d lost a score of sheep in the night. Out of a flock of an hundred, that was a number he could ill afford to lose. ‘My thanks, Mister...’

 Pippin smiled and met the outstretched hand. ‘Took,’ he said. ‘At your service, and your family's. If there’s any other way I may be of assistance, please let me know.’ He nodded to the Shirriff. ‘Jay here knows how to get hold of me.’ He turned back to his pony, swung into the saddle, and began the ride back to the farmyard, to see how many animals they’d been able to save, and from thence to Sunnybanks Farm.

 ‘Who was that?’ the farmer asked, turning to Shirriff Jay, whilst the lad looked on open-mouthed.

 ‘That was the Thain, you fool of a Grubb,’ Jay said in response. ‘Don’t you even know our own Thain?’

 ‘Never set eyes on him before,’ the farmer said, shaken. ‘He seemed just like regular folk.’

***

As the Sun reached her zenith, Ferdi rose from his chair and lifted his mug high in the air. There were cheers and then calls for silence. He swept the crowd with his gaze as he intoned the ritual toast. ‘Laugh long!’

A pause, and absolute silence.

 ‘Live long!’

The crowd waited, breathless, for the conclusion of the toast, but Ferdi’s eye was caught by the empty place at a table on the periphery. Diamond was there, yes, and Eglantine, and there was little Faramir, but...

A nudge from Hilly beside him recalled him to his duty. He cleared his throat as if the pause had been deliberate, lifted the mug yet higher, and shouted, ‘Love forever!’

 ‘Hear! Hear!’ chorused the assembled guests, and then all drained their mugs.

He was for it now. Head of escort, and he’d let the Thain slip from under his nose, so to speak. Good thing Paladin wasn’t here, for letting Pippin slip away from his escort had been worth three days on water rations, under the old Thain. Of course, Paladin was dead, but... Ferdi lifted one corner of his mouth in a sour grin. What ought he to do? Put himself, Hilly and Tolly on water rations?

Tolly had held tightly to Meadowsweet’s hand for the entire morning, but now laughing hobbits were pulling her away from him, lifting her onto their shoulders, carrying her to the top of a nearby hill where the two would be joined by vows witnessed by the Sun and open sky, as well as relatives, friends and neighbours.

Ferdi gave a mental shrug. The ponies were out of the stable, and there was no use closing the door, now, was there? To point out the Thain’s absence would worry Tolly on what was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. Ferdi sat back down in his chair and poured more wine into his mug. All around them hobbits were rising from their seats to join the procession to the top of the hill. Ferdi and Tolly would follow at the tail, by tradition.

 ‘Last chance,’ he said.

 ‘Last chance for what?’ Tolly asked.

 ‘Last chance to change your mind,’ Ferdi said.

Tolly stared. ‘Are you daft?’ he asked.

 ‘So they tell me,’ Ferdi answered, taking a goodly swallow of wine. Instead of steadying him as he’d hoped, it seemed to have no effect. He pushed the mug and the rest of the wine it contained away from him, and it tipped, spilling purple-crimson on the snowy tablecloth.

 ‘What’s got into you, Ferdi?’ Tolly said.

 ‘Naught,’ Ferdi said. ‘Just worried about doing my job proper, is all.’

 ‘I thought you’d forgot the words of the toast for a minute there,’ Tolly confessed.

 ‘I did,’ Ferdi said easily. ‘Such a long toast, you know, and so many words to remember.’

Tolly stared at him and then laughed, relaxing.

 ‘That’s better,’ Ferdi said. ‘You looked entirely too worried for a hobbit on his wedding day.’ He picked up his serviette from his lap and threw it down on the table. ‘Come along,’ he said, pushing his chair back. ‘Follow me as meek as a lamb and I shall lead you to slaughter.’

 ‘Die happy I shall,’ Tolly replied, adding for good measure, ‘Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a!’

Chapter 12. Of Blessing and Bane

The Sun was low in the sky as they returned to the Great Smials, Ferdibrand providing a lone escort to the Thain and his family. Tolly had stayed behind, of course, for the wedding celebration would continue into the wee hours of the following morning, and Pippin had given him the day after the wedding as a free day with full pay. Hilly would return to the Great Smials with the rest of his family, probably after serenading the newly married couple, standing outside their wedding bower to sing a song of blessing before departing as the Sun rose from her bed. Hilly would undoubtedly be weary on his return, but hobbits are resilient and sturdier than they look. He’d stand his watches, run messages, escort the Thain or a member of Pippin’s family if need be, seek his bed early, and be himself again upon arising.

Pippin had reappeared just before the wedding feast, none the worse for wear, to Diamond’s relief (and Ferdi’s though he did not say anything to anybody, not Tolly and certainly not the Thain!) and Eglantine’s raised eyebrow.

All he said was, ‘You didn’t think I’d miss the feast, did you?’

 ‘You managed to miss the wedding,’ Diamond replied softly. She was cradling young Faramir, who’d fallen asleep in her arms. Undoubtedly hunger would waken him soon, but young hobbits need their sleep and even in the midst of the celebration hobbit mums and older sisters could be seen sprinkled throughout the crowd of merrymakers holding sleeping babes and toddlers.

 ‘Come, Pip, help me spread out the blanket,’ Eglantine said crisply. All about them coverlets and blankets and cloths were being spread upon the meadow until the hilltop resembled a giant’s patchwork. Enormous baskets containing food and drink were being carried about the field and distributed by pairs of tweens. Hobbit families settled down to eat and drink, sing and laugh and tell stories. Children awakened to eat and lay down to continue their interrupted naps, full and content, lulled to sleep by the rise and fall of the voices around them. A number of adults fell asleep as well, including the Thain, his head pillowed on Diamond’s lap whilst Eglantine snuggled her grandson close and sang songs. Thus Pippin was well-rested when the fiddler played a flourish, shouting at the end to waken those who dozed in the pleasant afternoon sunshine.

 ‘We cannot be lying about all the day!’ he called. ‘There’s a wedding to be celebrating!’

A cheer arose from the crowd as he began to play a lively tune. Farmer Banks rose from his family’s blanket to take Meadowsweet’s hand, to lead her to the space left open by the picknickers. Tolly rose and looked to Mrs. Banks. She smiled, nodded, and gave him a hand so that he could help her up. The guests clapped and cheered as the two couples danced. As the first dance ended, Ferdi claimed the bride from her father.

 ‘Grace go with you, Sweetie,’ Mr. Banks said, squeezing her hand. She smiled at him wordlessly, and he turned to join hands with his wife as Tolly released her. Other hobbits rose to join the dance.

 ‘Well, Sweetie,’ Ferdi said as they danced. ‘It was a good wedding, was it not?’

 ‘I hope it wasn’t too good a wedding,’ Meadowsweet said. ‘You know it’s bad luck if everything goes right. My brothers will be arranging some sort of mishap if things keep going the way they’ve been going.’

 ‘I already told them there’s no need,’ Ferdi said. The Thain slipping his escort was a big enough mishap, as far as he was concerned. That Pippin had come to no harm was not much comfort. He did not look forward to having it out with the Thain, but he had to confront his cousin on such irresponsible behaviour early on, or resign his post, for he did not care to be playing these games. Not anymore.

 ‘Oh?’ Meadowsweet said, blinking.

Ferdi smiled. ‘Nothing to worry your curly head about,’ he said. ‘The problem’s been taken care of already.’ In a sense that was true. He didn’t need to pull Tolly away from his own wedding celebration to mount a hunt for a missing Pippin.

He steered them over to Tolly and stopped. Placing Meadowsweet’s hand into Tolly’s waiting one, he said, ‘Mr. Took, I give to you Missus Took.’

 ‘My thanks,’ Tolly said, his eyes not straying from his bride’s shining countenance.

 ‘You’re more than welcome,’ Ferdi said. ‘May you have a dozen children, and a larder that’s always full.’ He shook Tolly’s free hand, kissed Meadowsweet’s cheek, and stepped back. ‘Congratulations, and see you back at the Smials.’

 ‘You’re leaving so soon?’ Meadowsweet said.

Ferdi shrugged. ‘My part is over. I have toasted you, blessed you, danced you from father to husband, and I relinquish you now to his competent care.’ He smiled to reassure her. ‘I must be ready to depart when the Thain decides to go.’

 ‘Otherwise he’s likely to leave without his escort,’ Tolly said, his arm slipping around Meadowsweet. How good it felt to hold her close!

 ‘Indeed,’ Ferdi said dryly. Tolly didn’t know the half of it.

Though he could have danced with a dozen lasses or more, Ferdi stayed close to Pippin for the rest of the afternoon. After tea was served, with an abundance of fancy biscuits baked over the preceding week by the surrounding neighbours, the Thain rose from his family’s blanket. ‘I’ll return soon,’ he promised.

Ferdi rose to follow as unobtrusively as he could. Eglantine shook her head. ‘He’ll probably put himself on water rations for neglecting his duty,’ she said quietly.

Diamond stared at her. ‘Why would he do that?’ she said.

 ‘He noticed Pip was gone,’ Eglantine said. ‘I saw it in his face when he was giving the wedding blessing.’

 ‘But...’ Diamond protested.

Eglantine put her hand over Diamond’s. ‘O he won’t restrict Tolly and Hilly. They were released from their duties this day. But he escorted us to the wedding, do you not see? It was the only way for him to be here to stand up for Tolly, and while he was busy doing that duty, your husband slipped the escort.’

 ‘Your son,’ Diamond said absently.

Eglantine smiled grimly. ‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘He has his father’s stubbornness and pride, without Paladin’s regard for tradition. If he sees no use for it, he has no compunction about discarding it.’

 ‘But not at Ferdi’s expense!’ Diamond said.

 ‘Oh, yes,’ Eglantine said. ‘Sometimes our husbands are so short-sighted...’ She looked down at little Farry, listening wide-eyed. ‘Come, love!’ she cried gaily, with a quick nod to Diamond that meant, We’ll talk about this later. ‘Your Gran is in need of a partner for this dance!’ She arose, light on her feet for all her bulk and white head, and soon the two were skipping to the music of the fiddle.

Pippin made his way to the blanket where the Banks family were drinking their tea and watching Tolly and Meadowsweet dance. ‘Farmer Banks?’ he said.

The good farmer looked up and got to his feet. ‘Yes?’ he said politely, extending a hand. ‘You must be a friend of Tolly’s, from the Great Smials.’

Pippin smiled and nodded. ‘That I am,’ he said, bowing to Mrs. Banks and addressing the family as a whole as he added, ‘At your service.’

 ‘And your family’s,’ Farmer Banks said. ‘I hope you are enjoying the wedding.’

 ‘Lovely occasion,’ Pippin said politely. ‘I’m sorry to say we must be leaving soon, but we have enjoyed the festivities.’ He received the protestations of Mrs. Banks with a nod and a smile, then said to the farmer, ‘If I might have a word with you before going...’

Farmer Banks allowed his arm to be taken, and he walked with Pippin a little ways down the hillside, away from the merry crowd, Ferdi casually trailing them after a word of congratulations to the Banks family.

In a few words Pippin explained why the Banks’ near neighbours were not at the celebration. The farmer started. ‘But this is terrible news!’ he cried, then clapped a hand to his mouth and looked apprehensively up the hill. Thankfully none seemed to have heard him, save Tolly’s friend Ferdi who was standing nearby for some reason. Ferdi heard the exclamation, of course, but Pippin had spoken so low that he did not know the reason for it, nor, as his cousin turned away and walked with the farmer further down the hill, did he learn any more about the matter. 

 ‘You’ve sheep in the field yourself,’ Pippin said, and the farmer nodded.

 ‘I hired a hobbit to watch them for the day,’ he said. ‘He’ll bring them to the fenced pasture near sunset and join the celebration.’

 ‘You’d best send your sons to watch through the night,’ Pippin said. He hesitated. ‘Did any of your dogs stray in the night and come home bloody?’

The farmer stiffened in outrage, but Pippin showed him the heavy ring on his hand. ‘I must ask,’ he said. ‘Any dog can become a sheep worrier, and there is no help for it but to destroy him, for you cannot break him of destroying sheep.’

 ‘Aye,’ the farmer breathed, then remembered to bow. ‘Aye, Sir,’ he said.

Pippin shook his head. ‘That’s not necessary,’ he said. ‘I came to the wedding as Tolly’s guest, not as the Thain, and a wonderful day it has been, indeed. But I am speaking now as Thain, for I must. Watch your dogs. Shoot any that wander and come home blood-stained. Guard your sheep. You have my leave to shoot any stray dogs that enter your pastures, without fine or penalty or reparations to the owner, until we’re sure the sheep-worrying has stopped. The same word is going out to your neighbours, so I’d tie your dogs up, if I were you, or shut them up to keep them at home.’

Farmer Banks nodded. He’d heard the son was not so hard as the father, but Pippin could have been a young Paladin in that moment, from the set of his jaw and the resolution in his tone.

 ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll shut up my dogs, and we’ll set a watch on the sheep, day and night, until we hear otherwise.’

 ‘Good,’ Pippin said. ‘Send word to me at once if you have any trouble.’ He shook the farmer’s hand again and added, loud enough for Ferdi to hear, ‘Congratulations on your daughter’s wedding.’ He walked back up the hill with the farmer, who had the good sense not to introduce him as Thain to any of his friends or relations.

Meanwhile, Ferdi walked down the hill. He had all the ponies saddled and waiting by the time Pippin, Diamond, Eglantine, and little Faramir descended to the farmyard.

 ‘Thank you, Ferdi,’ Pippin said.

 ‘You’re welcome, Sir,’ Ferdi replied tonelessly. Pippin shot him a sharp look but said no more. It was a quiet ride back to the Great Smials.

Chapter 13. The Challenge

They entered the yard before the Great Smials to cheerful greetings from the dairymaids hurrying to their milking and the stable hobbits sweeping the yard or bringing ponies in from the race course, Tooks returning from business and children playing in the last of the afternoon sunshine whilst their mothers or minders gossiped. Soon the eventide meal would be served and the little ones would be bathed, fed, and tucked in with a story and a song.

 ‘O I’m stiff!’ Diamond exclaimed, pulling her pony to a stop. She slid down off her saddle and stretched. Ferdi instantly dismounted to take her pony’s reins.

 ‘A moment, Mistress,’ he said to Eglantine, ‘and I’ll fetch you some help to get down.’

 ‘Thank you, Ferdi,’ she said with a smile.

Pippin dismounted, leaving little Farry on the saddle. ‘How’d you like to ride Socks in to his rest?’ he said.

 ‘O Da!’ Farry cried, his eyes shining, taking up the reins as his father had taught him.

Pippin grinned and stepped to the pony’s head, lightly holding one rein. He and Diamond walked together. Socks followed with the young son of the Thain beaming from the saddle at all the hobbits in the yard. Eglantine pulled her pony to a stop for a few quiet words with Ferdibrand, who stood holding the reins to his and Diamond’s ponies.

As they passed the pen holding the new stallion, that pony bugled a challenge to Socks and crashed against the gate to the enclosure. It was a sturdy gate of solid construction and had withstood previous assault on the stallion’s part. Unfortunately, a hobbit entering the pen to rake and sweep earlier in the day had been careless in fastening the latch.

Before the horrified eyes of all in the yard, the young stallion burst through the gate, teeth bared, and dove for the older pony's neck. Socks reared to answer his charge. With a shriek of alarm Diamond caught Farry as he flew through the air, jolted loose from the saddle. Socks stumbled back, nearly to the ground, at the force of the impact when the ponies came together, knocking Diamond from her feet, Farry clutched in her desperate grasp. She curled around the tot, but both were in grave danger of being trampled by the slashing hoofs.

Somehow Pippin kept his feet, but before he could do anything several things happened very quickly. Hobbits ran to try to intervene, shouting, brandishing their brooms and pitchforks. Ferdi grabbed his unstrung bow from the quiver on his back and ran into the fray. Socks, ears pinned back tight against his head, breath snorting from his nostrils, fearsome as an enraged dragon, charged at the young stallion. There was a sickening thud of impact, a snapping of teeth, a squeal from the young challenger. As the old stallion gathered himself for another assault, Ferdi jumped in, the fine, strong and flexible wood of his bow singing through the air, landing with a sharp thwack on the young stallion’s hide, as he sought to drive the beasts apart. Seeing the pony fall back a step, Socks responded to Pippin’s urgent jerk on his reins... and the fight was over as quickly as it had begun.

Everything seemed to move slowly in the aftermath. A stable hobbit took Socks’ reins from Pippin and led the older stallion to the stables as Ferdi stared the younger stallion down, brought him under his control, and back into his pen, making sure of the latch this time. Other hobbits were picking up Diamond and Faramir, exclaiming in mingled fear, concern, and relief. Pippin swooped upon his wife and only child, embracing them tightly and looking them over anxiously for obvious signs of injury.

 ‘I’m well, just got the breath knocked out of me,’ Diamond was finally able to gasp, but Pippin ordered two of the dairymaids to help her to the Thain’s quarters, a stable hobbit to carry Faramir there, and one of the hovering Tooks to “fetch Woodruff, and be quick about it!” Tweens had caught Diamond's and Ferdi's skittering ponies and were already leading them into the stables, now that the excitement was over and there was nothing more to see.

Ferdi was standing by the gate, breathing hard, his bow still clutched in his hand. He eyed with regret the welts rising on the young stallion’s hide. He’d need to dress them, as soon as things calmed down here.

 ‘I’m that sorry, Sir,’ Old Tom was saying. ‘I don’t know how that latch...’

 ‘I want that beast destroyed,’ Pippin said through his teeth. ‘He nearly got Diamond and Farry killed! He’s a menace!’

  ‘Destroyed, Sir?’ Old Tom gasped, before he remembered that he was talking to the Thain. Old Paladin would have put him on water rations, suspended him from his duties, even—were he furious enough—discharged the head of stables for questioning an order. He straightened, fingered his cap, and gulped, ‘Aye, Sir.’

Ferdi was staring, open-mouthed, looking from Pippin to Old Tom.

Tom thought of a solution; risky, but he’d heard the son was more reasonable than the father had been, not so stern and unyielding, but able to consider his actions, even said to have un-Tookishly apologised and admitted a wrong decision made. He’d give Pippin a chance to calm down, re-think his words. ‘First thing, Sir,’ he said, meaning first thing in the morning, of course, though it sounded as if he’d get right on the problem. That was the safest sort of answer to give a Thain.

Ferdi was about to protest but Tom grabbed his arm, nodding urgently. He thought Ferdi caught his silent message, for the resistance went out of the head of escort as the Thain snapped, ‘See to it!’ and stalked away.

 ‘You there!’ Tom called to two of the stable hands, standing with broom and pitchfork dangling useless. ‘Help the Mistress from her pony!’ Eglantine still sat upon her docile old mare, frozen, at a little distance from the pen.

 ‘It’s all right, lad,’ Tom said, for there wasn’t time for more. He patted Ferdi’s shoulder, but the head of escort only shook his head and stumbled away, heeding no hobbit, not even Mistress Eglantine’s call.

***

Thanks again to Sulriel at HASA for generous help with horse behaviour and training, and to Gypsum and Cheryl for their helpful comments in answer to my questions.

Chapter 14. A Change of Heart

Eglantine marched into the Smials, Tooks and servants falling back in the face of her grim countenance. Of course the Mistress was grim, seeing as how she’d nearly lost her daughter-in-love and grandson. The Talk was already running wild through the sprawling tunnels of the old manse. Still, the assistant cook gathered her courage and pounced. ‘Mistress?’

Eglantine stopped and reared herself up to her full diminutive height. How she managed to look down on someone a hand-span taller than herself, no one had yet fathomed, but the assistant cook quailed under her eye and said in a shaking voice, ‘A moment, if you please, Mistress?’

 ‘Can it not wait until morning?’ Eglantine snapped.

 ‘Yes,’ the assistant cook stammered, overwhelmed by the regard she was enduring, but quickly said, ‘I mean—no, Mistress, that is...’

 ‘Don’t stand there all the day hemming and hawing,’ Eglantine said. As her impatience increased, her voice grew softer. The assistant cook took warning; the Mistress was furious—quite understandable—and growing angrier with each passing second of delay.

 ‘It was the flour, Mistress, the last shipment of flour,’ she quavered.

 ‘The flour,’ Eglantine said calmly.

The assistant cook wished she could hide in a crack in the floor, but of course there were none to hide in. ‘Yes’m,’ she whispered. ‘The flour...’

 ‘Tell me about the flour,’ Eglantine said, sweet and reason in her tone.

Water rations, for sure, and I don’t know what else, the assistant cook thought in despair, but she bravely continued. ‘The last shipment we had, Mistress, it was full of weevils, and when the new flour was put in the storeroom with the old...’

 ‘Weevils,’ Eglantine said. She smiled slightly, and the assistant cook recoiled as from a blow. ‘Weevils,’ the Mistress repeated. ‘And the head cook sent you to inform me? How thoughtful of her.’

Thoughtful of her own skin, Eglantine fumed inwardly, though her smile did not decrease one whit. She’d been well trained by her mother, as a young lass, to smile and speak softly rather than rage and snarl. Think, dearie, if your face froze in that expression, was one of her mother’s fondest expressions. The servants and Tooks dreaded that tight, polite smile.

 ‘Yes’m,’ the assistant cook said uncertainly. ‘The baking... the bakers must start the bread after midnight supper if it is to have sufficient risings before early breakfast, and...’

 ‘She wants to trouble the Thain for another waggonload, this evening, I take it? Send a waggonload of wheat to the mill, have it ground fresh, and returned to the Smials before the bakers set to their tasks in the middle night?’ Eglantine said pleasantly.

 ‘Not... not to trouble the Thain,’ the assistant cook said, stumbling over the words in her haste to disavow any trouble to the Thain or Mistress Diamond.

Eglantine fixed her with a stern eye. ‘You tell the head cook...’ she began.

 ‘Yes’m,’ the assistant said.

 ‘Tell her this,’ Eglantine said. ‘Tell her to sift the flour needed for late supper, and for midnight supper, and for the early baking.’

 ‘Sift it, Mistress?’ the assistant said stupidly.

 ‘Sift out the weevils,’ Eglantine said. ‘We’re not about to throw out good flour! Sift every grain, every speck, and sift it thrice! I want no weevils in my breakfast bread, or there’ll be a new raft of cooks in the kitchens on the morrow!’ Eglantine took a quick breath, composed her features, lifted her chin and said serenely, ‘Have I made myself clear?’

 ‘Very clear, Mistress,’ the assistant said, swallowing hard. ‘But...’

 ‘Make sure anything containing flour is thoroughly cooked or baked,’ Eglantine said. ‘We want to kill any eggs the weevils might have left in the flour.’

 ‘Aye, Mistress,’ the assistant said with a gulp. She made a graceful courtesy.

 ‘Is that all?’ Eglantine asked with a charming smile.

 ‘Yes’m,’ the assistant said, and with another courtesy she made her escape, though she hardly knew how she could face the head cook with the terrible news.

Eglantine turned away, shaking her head. Throwing out perfectly good flour, when it could be sifted clean! Is that what the kitchens had been up to, those last few years of Paladin’s ill health, when Eglantine as Mistress had not paid as much heed as she ought to the domestic affairs of the Great Smials? How much waste ran rampant in other areas of the Great Smials, in Tookland itself? No wonder the finances were in such a shocking state. The Tooks grumbled about Pippin squandering his father’s hoard, but really, there was little gold to speak of, and after going over domestic records with Diamond, Eglantine could see why. She blamed herself, really. Too selfish by a long measure, and not conscientious enough by a short one. Her son was caught in the difficult position of managing Tookland without adequate resources, and the previous Thain was to blame. And the previous Mistress, she thought bleakly. Well, things are different now.

Her thoughts once more on Diamond—and Farry!—she hurried to the Thain’s quarters. As she entered, she heard Healer Woodruff using her most soothing tones. ‘Now, young Master, it’s not as bad as it looks. A glancing blow, it was, enough to raise a bruise, but no bones are broken...’

Faramir gave a yelp and Eglantine moved hastily to her grandson’s side. Woodruff was gently probing the lad’s left arm, just above the elbow. ‘Not broken,’ she repeated to Eglantine. ‘He’ll be a bit stiff and sore, I think, but he’ll be well.’

 ‘Gran!’ the little lad said tearfully, reaching for Eglantine with his undamaged arm. ‘Gran, make them stop!’

 ‘Make what stop, lovie-dear?’ she crooned, taking him up. He snuggled against her shoulder and sighed.

 ‘Them!’ he said, looking accusingly at Woodruff and her assistant. ‘Make them stop poking at me!’

 ‘Of course, dearie-love,’ she said, holding him tighter. To the healers she said, ‘He’s unhurt, you say?’

  ‘Just bruised,’ Woodruff confirmed, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. A true Took, the lad was, already disdaining healers and trying to escape their attentions. ‘I’d like to apply arnica and a poultice to alleviate the bruising and swelling, but...’

 ‘Make them stop!’ Faramir howled, and Eglantine shushed and soothed until he calmed again.

The door to the Thain’s bedroom opened and Pippin emerged, Healer Fennel behind him, saying, ‘She’ll sleep now until morning. The draught...’

 ‘Da, make them stop!’ Farry called, and Eglantine hushed him. Evidently Diamond had been dosed to sleep.

Pippin crossed the room with quick strides, taking his son in his arms. ‘Make who stop?’ he asked.

 ‘He doesn’t want the healers to bother him with soothing salves and poultices,’ Eglantine said.

 ‘Master Farry,’ Woodruff began, ‘Your arm...’

 ‘What about his arm?’ Pippin said sharply. ‘I thought you said he wasn’t hurt.’ He began to examine his son minutely from head to curly foot.

 ‘It was a glancing blow. The arnica will ease the bruising and swelling, and...’

 ‘No!’ Farry shouted, and Eglantine could see a young Pip in her mind’s eye, resisting the tender ministrations of Healer Gingerroot as the old, gnarled hobbit had tried to stitch a gash. They’d had to dose little Pip to unconsciousness before the healer had been able to ply his needle.

 ‘Come now, lad,’ she said, holding out her arms once more. ‘Come with your old Gran, and we’ll sit by the hearth and spin stories, shall we? Who shall start the weaving of our web?’ Nodding reassurance to Woodruff, she took the lad from his father’s arms, danced him to the hearth, and sank down in her comfortable rocking chair, where she slowly began to rock and croon a sing-song tale.

 Such was her skill that it wasn’t long before the little eyes were drooping closed, the head was resting on her shoulder, the demanding voice had sunk to an occasional murmur, and Eglantine smiled. Healer Woodruff nodded and tiptoed forward. Gently she smeared the arnica unguent on the bruised arm. Her assistant was ready with a poultice which he quickly bound in place as Woodruff stepped back.

 ‘There now, lad,’ Eglantine said, ‘and I think we’ll continue the story on the morrow. Your old Gran is that tired, she is, and she’s going to seek her pillow ere long.’

Farry sighed and did not answer. Pippin lifted his son from Eglantine’s lap and carried him with exaggerated gentleness to his little bed near his parents’ big bed, tucking him up and laying a tender kiss upon his brow. He stared down at the little face a few moments longer, then turned to kiss Diamond in the big bed. She stirred but did not waken. Pippin drew as deep a breath as he could manage. He’d come so close to losing one or both of them this day...

 ‘Pippin, a word with you?’ his mother said softly from the doorway.

 ‘Eh? What’s that?’ he said, startled from his thoughts, but turning he saw the speaker. ‘But of course, Mother,’ he said. ‘What is it?’

She entered and closed the door behind her, leaving the room lit only by the turned-down watch lamp. ‘Peregrin Took,’ she said softly.

 Pippin jumped. ‘What did I do now?’ he asked, immediately reduced to a lad caught in the midst of mischief.

 ‘What did you do? What do you think you did?’ she asked.

Pippin took another deep breath. He’d always hated it when his mother made him consider his actions. ‘It would be easier if you just told me,’ he said. ‘Is this about slipping the escort?’

 ‘Ha!’ Eglantine said, but she kept her voice low. No need to waken the sleepers. ‘There is that as well.’

 ‘As well?’ Pippin said. He waited.

 ‘That pony,’ Eglantine said at last. ‘That pony!’

 ‘Murderous beast,’ Pippin muttered, but his mother shook her finger in his face.

 ‘He was just doing what stallions do,’ she said. ‘There’s been bad feeling between him and Socks since he arrived, and you knew it! He was aching to challenge, and never got the chance until now, and Socks put him in his place, I’d say.’

Pippin’s lips twitched in spite of himself, and he nodded. ‘He did,’ he said.

 ‘And so you order him destroyed?’ Eglantine said, softly outraged.

Pippin stiffened. ‘He nearly...’

 ‘But he didn’t,’ Eglantine said. ‘And even if something had happened, it wasn’t hobbits he was going after, but another stallion! There’ve been fights before this, but no Thain that I know of has ever ordered valuable ponyflesh destroyed simply because...’

 ‘He nearly...’ Pippin said stubbornly.

 ‘So discipline the careless hobbit who left the gate unlatched,’ Eglantine said. ‘Have him assigned to clean stalls for the next month or two, but do not...’

 ‘He nearly...’ Pippin insisted.

 ‘That stallion was a gift from King Eomer of Rohan himself!’ Eglantine hissed. ‘You think so little of his gift that you would cast it away on a whim?’

 ‘A whim?’ Pippin said, but he was listening now, and no longer arguing automatically.

 ‘I had the impression you thought a great deal of these Big Folk,’ Eglantine continued. ‘Why, Merry said the King must have sent you the finest pony in his land to honour your becoming Thain. And you order the beast destroyed, for doing what any young stallion might do, a valuable beast? At the very least you could turn him out in a paddock and let him sire fine sons and daughters!’

 ‘That was what we had planned,’ Pippin said slowly.

 ‘And that can still happen,’ Eglantine said. ‘So all the paddocks are full, are they? Well, put one of those ponies in the pen and the new stallion in the paddock, where he won’t see Socks coming and going, but don’t throw him away like a pouting child who cuts his finger while playing with a new toy!’

 ‘I...’ Pippin started to say, and then his shoulders slumped. ‘You have the right of it,’ he said heavily. ‘I spoke in fear and anger. I was not thinking at the time.’

 ‘But you’re thinking now,’ Eglantine said. ‘So go and take back your order. Don’t let pride destroy that beautiful creature because you will not take back your hasty words.’

Pippin stiffened and stood so for a moment, then he nodded. ‘Aye,’ he said. He took one more look at Diamond, at Farry, and walked to the door.

After he left the room, Eglantine sank down on the little bed beside her grandson. ‘Ah, Farry,’ she whispered, stroking a wayward curl back from his forehead. ‘You have a fine father, you do. He’s all his own Da ever hoped he’d be, and more.’

Reginard, Steward of Tookland, had entered the suite while Eglantine was taking Pippin to task.

 ‘Ah, Regi, I’m glad to see you,’ Pippin said. ‘I gave a hasty order, and I want you to go to Old Tom and rescind it.’

 ‘Hasty order?’ Regi said, though he’d already had an earful.

 ‘Yes,’ Pippin said. ‘I ordered that young stallion destroyed, but that would be a waste and a shame.’

 ‘He attacked Diamond and Farry, was the way I heard it,’ Regi said, but Pippin put up a hand to stop him, shaking his head.

 ‘He challenged Socks, is the truth of the matter,’ Pippin said. ‘We’ve had stallions fight before, when stable hands have been careless.’

Regi nodded. It wasn’t the first time the Talk had twisted the truth, and it would undoubtedly not be the last. ‘I’ll tell Old Tom right away,’ he said, and exited once more.

Eglantine and Pippin were taking a last cup of tea before retiring when Reginard returned from his errand, his face grave.

 ‘Well?’ Pippin said. ‘What did Old Tom say? Did you convey my apologies?’

 ‘You’ll have to convey your apologies in the morning,’ Regi said heavily. ‘The deed is done already. The pen is empty, and the stable hands say Old Tom took himself off for a long ride and said not to expect him back until the dawn.’

Chapter 15. A Matter of Honour

Ferdi found Dapple in her stall, nose-deep in oats. He stood a moment, eyes closed, listening to the homey sound of her munching, then stepped forward. She turned her head to meet him and he threw his arms about her neck, burying his face in her mane. The pony gave a soft sigh, her warm breath tickling his arm. He released her, and she gave him a deep look before turning back to her manger, to make short work of her supper and then lick the last of the grains from the age-darkened wood, after which she turned back to Ferdi, nuzzling for a treat.

 ‘You’re a true hobbit-pony, you are,’ he said, digging a piece of carrot from his pocket. He was getting low and needed to visit the kitchens for a fresh supply, but the thought of food held no appeal at the moment. Dapple was more hobbity than he was... She whiffled the treat from his hand and stood crunching the morsel between her teeth as he combed out her long forelock with his fingers.

Goin’ for a ride, he heard Old Tom say to someone in the corridor. Be back with the dawning. An all-night ride? Tom must be feeling as shaken as Ferdi himself. Had he already taken care of the stallion? There had been no clamour in the yard outside, but then Tom was wise to the ways of ponies and the young stallion was learning to trust him. Had been learning to trust him. Ferdi wiped impatiently at his eyes and gave Dapple a last pat.

 ‘I’ll just be checking on your lovely daughter,’ he said, and the mare nodded wisely.

He found Penny dozing, already finished with her oats, and so he did not disturb her. Sired by Socks, she was also a grey pony, fine of head, possessing clean lines and a regal look in her eye. Reminded of the new stallion, Ferdi turned away. He had several hours before it would be time to share late supper with his father. Eventides would be on in the great room at the moment, but he had no desire to eat.

 ‘Hard luck, eh Ferdi?’ one of the stable hobbits murmured sympathetically as he walked slowly out the side door. He stopped, seeing the new stallion still in the pen, alive and kicking at shadows cast by the torches that had been lit as the Sun sank below the Green Hills. A hint of purple-rose touched the western sky, fading slowly as Ferdi turned his face upwards, to seek the solace of the stars that were throwing off their covers to dance the night away. Though he stood long, until he grew stiff and his neck protested, the stars did not dance for him this night. Cold and indifferent they seemed this evening. There was no comfort there. The new stallion’s life would end with the closing steps of their dance in the dawning. He understood, now, what Old Tom had meant by “first thing.”

The stable hobbits and dairymaids and field workers and gentlehobbits were inside the Great Smials now, eating eventides and gossiping about the events of the day. Ferdi and the grey pony of Rohan and a skulking cat were the only creatures in the yard. A sudden impulse seized Ferdi and he turned back into the stables, grabbed the familiar rope from its hook, and turned to the pen, resolution growing with every step.

The pony moved to the gate to greet him and he rubbed the velvet nose, his hand moving upwards to scratch the bright star shining from the forehead. Fashioning a loop, he slipped it easily over the lowered head and made another quick loop over the nose, making a rough halter. He opened the gate and led the pony out, not bothering to latch it behind them. It was too late for that. With the aid of the fence he climbed onto the pony’s back; he was too weary in body and heart to leap up as was his wont.

He turned the pony’s head towards the high, wild hills beyond the Great Smials, south and west of Tuckborough, where farms were few and far between. When they were off the stones of the yard, he squeezed his knees and the pony, eager to stretch his legs, began to run, nay, fly over the green of the meadow beyond, into the valley between two great hills and on, on...

A last ride? Ferdi wondered to himself at the impulse that drove him. A way to save the pony? He shook his head and leaned forward, the silky mane blowing in his face. The Thain had ordered... He felt warm hide beneath him, a speck of foam fly back to strike his cheek, heard the pony’s quick breaths, the muffled thunder of the hoofs, the cool wind in his face. The Thain had ordered…

Abruptly Ferdi sat upright, pulling back on the rope, and the pony responded immediately, dropping into a walk. The stallion tossed his head, his breathing fast but not laboured. On a usual ride, Ferdi would have laughed, patted the soft neck, said something about the joy of flying as the eagles flew, but this night he simply sat like a stone, letting the pony wander where he might.

He didn’t know how long they wandered, but the moon that had been more than halfway to his zenith when they'd arrived at the Smials, ages ago, now shone high above them to light the landscape with a silver sheen. The pony stopped abruptly. Ferdi patted his neck. It was probably time to turn back anyhow. He heard the chuckle of a stream and saw a silver ribbon before them in the moonlight. Ha. The pony was reluctant to venture foot in water. He imagined that such had been the beginning of the merchants’ troubles; when they’d tried to force him to ford a stream he’d balked, and the fight had begun.

Ferdi knew how to overcome the stallion’s distrust; he knew how to deal with a balky pony. But what was the point? All his work would be for naught, come the dawn. His head drooped, but a sudden resolve straightened his back and brought his head up again. The stallion came to attention as Ferdi sat taller, lifting his head, prancing a bit.

Ferdi slipped from his back, came around to the pony’s head, rubbed the jaw thrust out at him. Aye, that was the way of it. The pony ought not to die in fear and fury, but by the hand of one he trusted, soft and gentle. Ferdi had seen his uncle put down ponies before. A blow with just the right amount of force, at the right place on the skull, now... he discarded the notion. The pony was wary of raised hands, and for good reason. He continued to scratch the hollow in the jaw with one hand, fumbling for the knife in his belt with the other.

 ‘There now,’ he soothed, though there was no need for soothing. The stallion had abandoned himself to the caress, stretching out his neck, his lower lip hanging, his eyes half-closed. ‘Just a quick sting,’ he said, ‘a little prick is all, and you’ll sleep.’ He blinked treacherous tears that surprised him by stinging his eyes as the knife came up. A quick motion and the pony would jerk away, but the deed would be done; the lifeblood released would pour into the ground, the pony’s head would droop and he’d fold his legs and lower himself to the ground, much as if composing himself for sleep. And all would be still.

 ‘The hand of a friend,’ Ferdi said, but his voice broke. The knife fell from his shaking hand and he spun away, to fall upon the grass and bury his face in his arms. ‘I cannot,’ he said into his sleeves. ‘I cannot.’ Not even if the Thain had ordered...

There was a velvet nudge against his shoulder, a questioning sound. He rolled over with a sobbing laugh and threw his arms about the lowered head. The pony suffered his embrace a moment before nudging again.

 ‘I cannot,’ Ferdi told him. ‘I cannot in honour do what I must,’ he said. ‘I cannot take your life, and I cannot take you back. What are we to do, I ask you?’

The pony nudged again, and he laughed suddenly. ‘What is honour?’ he said. ‘Surely I have none left at this late date.’ He rose abruptly, slipped the rope from the pony’s neck, turned them to face the stream. ‘There lies your future,’ he said. ‘Go and seize it.’

With his hand on the pony’s neck, he walked forward. As he expected, the beast balked once more, not wanting to set foot in the stream. Ferdi nodded. ‘It takes courage to begin anew,’ he said. ‘Believe you me, I know all about that sort of thing.’ He stepped away from the pony’s side and gave a sharp yell, bringing the rope down smartly upon the hindquarters, hard as a whip. The pony bolted into the water and up the opposite bank before it had time to think; then turned at the top. Ferdi waved his hands, the moon glistening silver from the rope. ‘Go!’ he cried. ‘Go!’

The whistle of the rope was enough to decide the stallion; he turned and began to run, ghostly in the moonlight. Ferdi watched him until he entered the shadow of another valley between two great hills, and then he turned away to begin the long jog back to the Great Smials.

Chapter 16. Saving the Farm

Ferdi ran at his best pace for the better part of two hours, a little more perhaps, and he came belated to join his father for late supper... but he was there.

 ‘I thought you would not be coming this night,’ old Ferdinand said, ‘though you’ve not missed a day in I don’t know how long.’

Tansy passed bowl and spoon to Ferdi and said, ‘I’ll be back in three shakes with your own portion.’

 ‘No need,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Are you sickening with something?’ Ferdinand said with a sharp glance at his son.

 ‘I am well,’ Ferdi said, stirring the savoury rabbit stew with its rich gravy and generous portions of mushrooms, carrots and taters. He lifted a spoonful to his father’s mouth, his own mouth watering at the aroma.

 ‘Pip’s put you on water rations?’ Ferdinand said in a different tone. ‘What have you done?’

Ferdi’s lips tightened in a humourless smile. ‘It is more a matter of what I haven’t done,’ he said, but then he thought of the pony. Surely he’d be turned out of the Smials in disgrace when the truth of the matter came out.

Ferdinand shook his head. ‘The acorn didn’t fall far from that tree,’ he said. ‘I’d hoped Pip would have better mastery over his temper than Paladin did.’ He sighed. ‘Hard luck about that pony, Ferdi. I’m sorry.’

 ‘But he attacked Diamond and little Farry!’ Tansy said in a shocked tone, returning with a pot of tea which she proceeded to fill from the little kettle singing on the hearth.

 ‘Did he?’ Ferdinand said, his tone sceptical.

Ferdi shook his head. ‘Socks,’ he said succinctly.

Ferdinand nodded, satisfied. ‘I thought as much.’

Father and son remained quiet for the rest of the meal, each deep in his own thoughts. As Ferdi took his leave, Ferdinand stopped him. ‘Don’t lay the whip too hard upon yourself, Ferdi,’ he said. ‘It’s a heavy load you’re pulling, and this stretch of road is dreadful steep I fear.’

Ferdi nodded, forced another smile, and took his leave. He went to his rest, but it was not much of a rest. He was hungry, but he stubbornly paid no mind to the feeling. It was as much as he deserved, and not more than he could bear. He’d lived three days on water rations before, under old Paladin, after all, on more than one occasion.

***

Next morning Old Tom rode into the yard, just before dawn. Rain was pounding down, and he’d be miserable had he not spent the night tucked up warm and dry in the Spotted Duck in Tuckborough. Surely Regi would have talked the Thain round by now; he’d dealt with enough of old Paladin’s fits of temper over the years.

The new stallion’s pen was empty. Old Tom frowned, then relaxed. Of course there was an explanation. They’d moved him to one of the paddocks, or into the stables, out of the rain, perhaps, though Ferdi had said he was not quite ready to shut the pony up in a box, not even one of the generous box stalls reserved for the best ponies in the Smials stables.

His confidence was short-lived, however, for it wasn’t long before he was hearing how the Steward had come out to rescind the Thain’s order, only to find the pony already gone. ‘Who did the deed?’ Tom demanded. No one knew. Someone had taken the pony out of his pen, and who knew where the body was buried?

 ‘The gate was unlatched,’ one of the stable hobbits volunteered when the voices raised in speculation fell again.

Old Tom nodded in relief. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘The gate came unlatched somehow and the stallion wandered. Perhaps he unlatched it himself, and that’s how he got loose in the first place as Socks ambled by.’

He meant to ask Ferdi, but the head of escort had been in earlier, exercised each of his mares in turn, and gone again before Tom arrived. Tom looked for Ferdi at early breakfast in the great room, and again at second breakfast, but did not find him, and then of course he became immersed in the business of the stables and had no more time that day to think on the matter. He’d have to tell the Thain eventually... he thought he’d get a few hearty meals under his belt first, however.

***

Hilly arrived late in the morning, changed into dry clothes, towelled his curly head, and found Ferdi standing outside the door to the Thain’s study. ‘You look worse than I feel,’ he said candidly, ‘and I was the one up all the night.’

 ‘And a ride in the rain in the bargain,’ Ferdi said noncommittally. ‘Did you get yourself some elevenses?’

 ‘I did,’ Hilly said, ‘and good they are! Pork pie and all the trimmings. Cooks know what to serve of a cold, rainy day.’ He stood straighter and said formally, ‘I relieve you.’

 ‘You do indeed,’ Ferdi said. ‘I’ll be back in time for you to take the late noontide meal.’

 ‘Be sure you do,’ Hilly said. ‘I could smell the meat roasting as I left the great room.’

Ferdi snorted for some reason and took his leave, off to eat elevenses, as Hilly presumed, but actually off to the second parlour where the hobbits of escort waited to be called for.

Post arrived shortly after Hilly, and he brought the papers in to the Thain. ‘Thank you, Hilly,’ Pippin said, taking the sheaf. ‘I trust you left Tolly and Sweetie well.’

 ‘We stood in the hallway to serenade them,’ Hilly said, ‘for we’d have been swimming with the ducks to stand outside their window, if that’s what you’re asking.’

Reginard shook his head. ‘They don’t make Tooks the way they used to,’ he said. ‘What’s a little rain?’

There was no answer to this, and Hilly resumed his station outside the door.

Pippin looked through the papers, setting most aside for Regi’s attention. He came to the last and his face changed.

 ‘What is it?’ Regi said.

Pippin sighed. ‘Old Renibard died yesterday, while we were feasting. They buried him this morning.’

Regi nodded. ‘I have several hobbits interested in the lease,’ he said. ‘Most of them fathers looking for a place for their younger sons.’

 ‘I promised the old hobbit that I wouldn’t throw his family off the land,’ Pippin said, levelling his gaze at Regi.

 ‘No, you won’t; you have a steward to do that sort of thing for you,’ Regi replied. ‘I’ll do my best to find them places. Farmers are always looking for hired hobbits this time of year. Planting’s over, but the barley harvest will begin in another month or so, and strawberries are starting to come on now, and...’

 ‘You’ll divide the family,’ Pippin said.

Regi looked surprised. ‘No one could take on that many hired hobbits,’ he said. ‘Of course they’ll have to go to different places.’

 ‘How can we keep them on the farm?’ Pippin asked. ‘If they hadn’t had bad luck, the last few years, they’d have saved enough for one of the sons to renew the lease when old Renibard died.’

Regi was pained. ‘Pip,’ he said. ‘You know we need the coin from the leases to keep Tookland from falling down about our heads. The way it was set out from the beginning, every year farmers die, their leases come open, money pours into the Thain’s coffers as someone buys up a new lease, and with that money we pay for road repairs, upkeep on the Smials and other buildings, and there are the engineers, the miners, the foresters, the field hobbits and...’

 ‘It’s hard, Reg, hard and cruel,’ Pippin said. ‘They lose the head of the family and then they’re to be turned out in the rain.’

 ‘It is not as if they’re stray cats,’ Regi responded. ‘They’ll find work. How many homeless hobbits do you know of? The time of the ruffians is long past.’

 ‘What if I bought the lease, kept them on as tenants?’ Pippin said.

Regi shook his head. ‘You don’t have that kind of gold,’ he said. ‘Your father was tight-fisted enough, but he spent much of his own profits to keep Tookland going, the last few years.’

 ‘Hobbits weren’t dying quickly enough to depend on money from leases, I suppose,’ Pippin said sourly.

 ‘In part,’ Regi said candidly. ‘In part.’ He sighed. ‘I admit it, Pip; Tookland’s been badly managed the past few years. The Thain was... distracted by other things, and cumbered by ill health, and the Mistress...’

 ‘Distracted by a wayward son, I hear,’ Pippin said. ‘So I’m to blame for the ruin of Tookland? My father always said as much, before I left to live in Buckland.’

 ‘Pippin...’ Regi said, but the Thain raised his hand and shook his head. From the expression on his face, Pippin was thinking furiously, and so Regi was not surprised when he spoke again in a completely different tone.

 ‘There’s always pony racing, I suppose,’ Pippin said, and met Regi's astonished look with a wry grin.

Of a wonder, Regi followed the thought, but then he was used to being pulled down side trails after his young cousin. ‘It would take the winner’s purse from the All-Shire Race, and then some,’ he said.

 ‘That’s what I like about you, Reg, you always look on the bright side,’ Pippin said. ‘Very well, then, Tookland’s entry has to win the Litheday race in Michel Delving, that’s all there is to it.’

 ‘Socks, you mean,’ Reginard said.

 ‘That’s what I said,’ Pippin replied. ‘So far as I know, Socks is still the fastest in Tookland.’

 ‘He’s not so young as he used to be,’ Regi warned.

 ‘None of us is,’ Pippin replied. ‘You draught a letter to the Took-Grubbs and tell them their place is secure until the barley harvest. That’s two weeks after Mid-year’s. It’ll give us time to work something out.'

 ‘You’d better make sure Socks gets his workouts, if he’s to win the Tookland Pony Races and go on to capture the Litheday cup,’ Regi said. ‘You think he’s faster than the Brandybucks’ best?’

 ‘He has to be,’ Pippin said. ‘I’m going to tell him so.’

Chapter 17. A Dose of Truth 

Tolly was off the day after the wedding, of course, but he and Sweetie arrived as the Sun was seeking her bed, for Sweetie must be at her post at dawn, and Tolly at his not long after. Ferdi, and Hilly and Tolly’s large family from Tuckborough, brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, had arranged a surprise for the newlyweds. Their new quarters in the Great Smials were completely furnished when they arrived, and all their possessions in place.

 ‘They’re here!’ Iris, a kitchen maid, stuck her head in at Ferdi’s room where he was winding thread carefully about the shaft of an arrow to secure the guiding feathers, paying no mind to the good smells wafting through the corridors from the kitchens. ‘Just rode in, and Tolly’s putting up their ponies. Old Tom will delay them as long as he can.’

 ‘Just long enough for us to gather,’ Ferdi said, putting his work upon a high shelf. He gave his arm to Iris, and she laughed up at him.

 ‘I’ve always wanted an escort of my own, you know,’ she said.

Ferdi smiled. ‘And here you are,’ he answered lightly. ‘And soon to be surrounded by hobbits of escort. It must be your lucky day.’

They reached the new quarters in good time to join the rest of the hobbits crowding the bedroom. Mardi was closest to the door, peering through the crack. ‘Hush now!’ he ordered, and all fell quiet, though they surged behind the door like stormwaters trying to find their way through an earthen dam.

A few moments later they heard the door to the suite of rooms open, and Tolly’s voice. ‘Here we are! Just a moment! I’ve got to carry you in, you know. Mustn’t bruise those delicate toes on the threshold!’

 ‘By rights you ought to have carried me in from the yard,’ Sweetie teased. ‘But then you’d be too weary to—o Tolly!’ The last words were gasped out as she saw the sitting room, table graced with flowers and laden for a welcoming feast.

 ‘Surprise! Surprise!’ the waiting hobbits all burst out at once, as the dam broke and a deluge of well wishers poured into the room.

Meadowsweet laughed and cried at the same time, Tolly beamed and shook every hand thrust at him, there was a jumble of bodies and gabble of voices.

 ‘I hope you like the colour—’

 ‘The carpet came all the way from the North Farthing—’

 ‘We made all your favourites, and even the assistant cook stirred up the cake with her own two hands—’

 ‘And we made up the other bedroom for guests, you know, so that you can have family, Sweetie—’

Tolly looked to Ferdi and Hilly. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

 ‘If you open your mouth and no words come out, that’s a sure sign that something ought to be going in,’ Ferdi said, shoving a mug of ale into his hand. ‘Welcome home!’

 ‘Home,’ Tolly echoed, looking about.

 ‘There’ll be a dozen little ones underfoot before you know it,’ Hilly said with a slap on his brother’s back... not hard enough to spill the ale upon the new carpet, of course.

Ferdi stayed long enough to offer felicitations to the new bride and then slipped out the door. Tolly caught him partway down the corridor.

  ‘Where d’you think you’re going?’ he panted, having run to catch Ferdi up.

 ‘Commission for the Thain,’ Ferdi said. ‘I’m to give his Socks a good workout, breeze him around the race course this evening for starters. He’s been working the pony all along, but now he’s dead serious about winning the pony races, and so he wants me to polish the beast.’

 ‘You wouldn’t be riding him in the races, now, would you? What will you do about your own Penny?’

Ferdi laughed. ‘Pip will be riding his own pony, of course, and I’ll be riding Penny,’ he said. ‘And if the luck is with me we’ll do our best to win, Thain or no.’

 ‘You might at that,’ Tolly said. ‘Penny’s younger, for all she’s a mare.’ He put a hand on Ferdi’s arm. ‘But can you not stay and celebrate? Get a good meal under your belt before you go?’

 ‘Thanks, Tolly,’ Ferdi said, ‘but no. My time is not my own.’

 ‘You’re off duty at teatime,’ Tolly said.

 ‘You know better than that,’ Ferdi responded. ‘Why, if the Thain took it into his head to travel to Tookbank this night, guess who’d be hauled out of the party and into the saddle?’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘I only hope Sweetie gets used to a husband who’s off at all hours of the day or night.’

 ‘That’s what I like about you, Ferdi, your outlook is invariably cheery,’ Tolly said with a punch for his arm. ‘Very well, then, enjoy the run, and don’t let that wild pony of the Thain’s kill you.’

 ‘Socks is impossible,’ Ferdi said, ‘but then, so am I.’ Laughing, the two parted.

***

Next morning Ferdi was up earlier than usual, for he had three ponies to work now, Socks and his own two mares. He was surprised to find himself a bit shaky when he finished the last workout. He’d gone on three days’ water rations before and managed, but then he’d never before forced himself to run any great distance while fasting, either. Ah, well. There was only one more day to this self-imposed discipline after all. Somehow the ache in his middle took away from the ache that went deeper.

With three hobbits of the escort on duty the day was easier, and more difficult. It was custom for the hobbits of the escort to share their meals, either in the great room or in the second parlour where they awaited the Thain’s summons. Ferdi did not want awkward questions from Tolly and Hilly, and so he managed to be busy during second breakfast, elevenses, and the noontide meal. This wasn’t difficult; whenever there was a message to be run to the tweens waiting at the stables to take messages on to their destination, he volunteered to take it.

 'To the Thain's sister,' Tolly said as he poked his head in at the second parlour. He held up a folded piece of paper and pointed to the direction on the outside. It was a message for Pearl at the family’s farm. Her husband had oversight of the hobbits who worked the land Pip had inherited from old Paladin. 

 'Important enough to take it myself,' Ferdi said, buttoning the missive safely inside a pocket. 'Take charge of the escort until I return.'

 'I'll stick to our illustrious cousin as close as cockleburrs in ponies' tails,' Tolly said, and added, ‘I hope you’re getting time to eat, what with all the running back and forth you've been doing!’

 ‘As much as I want,’ Ferdi answered truthfully, but Tolly gave him a long look before he turned away. Sweetie's father had told him about the neighbour's trouble with sheep-worrying, and how the Thain had ridden out without an escort when he went to see the damages. Farmer Banks had also been ordered by the Thain not to talk to outsiders which meant anyone not living within an hour's ride or so, about the trouble, to avoid starting a panic where hobbits would start indiscriminately shooting their neighbours' dogs. It disgruntled Tolly to keep back news from Ferdibrand, but what could he do?

As Ferdi was checking his girth once more, preparatory to swinging into the saddle, he was hailed.

 ‘Hi! Ferdi! Wait a bit and I’ll ride with you.’ It was Pippin.

He raised his hand in answer and called to a stable hobbit behind him, ‘Saddle Socks!’

It wasn’t long before the two cousins were riding along, just like old times, Pippin chatting about this and that and Ferdi listening. It was difficult to get a word in edgewise, which was just as well. Ferdi didn’t feel much like talking, though this was the best opportunity to come along since Tolly’s wedding to have it out with his cousin.

He cleared his throat, and Pippin stopped in the middle of a story and looked at him expectantly. ‘What was that, cousin?’ he said.

 ‘About the escort,’ Ferdi said.

 Pippin nodded. ‘Ah yes, that dratted tradition. Don’t you think it’s about outlived its usefulness by now?’

Ferdi gazed at him in astonishment. Pip was talking about his livelihood.

The younger cousin read the look accurately and laughed. ‘Why, Regi told me you were talking about going back to being a hunter, just the other day! You’d find it a relief, I think, not to always be at the Thain’s beck and call...’

 ‘I do my duty,’ Ferdi said. ‘If you’d like to make my life easier, you could start by doing yours.’ He was immediately aghast. What was he thinking?

Pip stared at him in astonishment for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed. ‘My duty...’ he said slowly.

 ‘I’m sorry, Sir, I spoke out of turn,’ Ferdi said stiffly, mentally kicking himself. Penny tossed her head as his unease communicated itself to her.

Pippin looked from Ferdi’s mare to the head of escort. ‘I’m not sure you did,’ he said. ‘I think, for the first time since I arrived and Regi assigned you as head of my escort, that you’ve spoken truth to me.’

Ferdi shook his head, but Pippin pressed. ‘You never wanted me to return in the first place, never wanted to serve under me in the second, not after what I did to you.’

 ‘What did you do to me?’ Ferdi said bleakly. ‘I’m only a hired hobbit, after all.’

 ‘Ferdi!’ Pippin said so sharply that Ferdi and Penny both jumped. More softly he added, ‘I slipped the escort, nine years ago, took myself off to Buckland and decided never to return.’

Ferdi rode along in silence, staring straight ahead of them. He’d meant to have it out with Pip about this escort business, but this was not what he’d had in mind.

 ‘You ought to have had three days on water rations at most. And if I’d been Thain at the time...’

Ferdi glanced over in spite of himself. ‘You’re not making sense,’ he said shortly.

 ‘Ha!’ Pippin said. ‘If it had been up to me, you’d not have been punished at all, for neglecting your duty. There was no neglect on your part. I tricked you into thinking we’d leave a day later, and then I left a day earlier, thinking I’d pulled a neat trick.’

 ‘Neat trick,’ Ferdi muttered bitterly.

 ‘I was well served for my deceit, Ferdi,’ Pippin said after a moment’s silence. ‘I rode into an ice storm and nearly died, and now...’ He shook his head. ‘I live with the consequences of my rashness, my selfishness, my thoughtlessness, every day, with every breath I take.’ He breathed as deeply as he could, as if in illustration, and coughed as his damaged lungs protested.

He looked over at his older cousin, riding still as a statue of stone, and said, ‘At least you have the chance to make your life new.’

 ‘Do I?’ Ferdi said after a long silence, adding as if to himself, ‘I hardly know how, any more.’

 ‘My father blamed you for my leaving,’ Pippin said. ‘He put you under the Ban. He’d have done better to send word to me that he was punishing you for my actions; I’d have come back to Tookland, for I could not have borne the injustice.’

 ‘Would you have?’ Ferdi said sceptically. ‘I heard you found everything you ever wanted: wife, freedom, a responsible position where you didn’t have Paladin questioning your every move...’

 ‘I would have,’ Pippin said. ‘And perhaps he did send word, in the early days, or my mother did. I do not know. I would not receive their letters.’

Ferdi nodded. The Talk had been that Pippin had sent Thain Paladin’s missives back to Tookland unopened.

 ‘Nine years, Ferdi, nine years!’ Pippin said, sounding as anguished as if he’d been the one living under the Ban. You may speak to no other, and none may speak to you. You must eat your meals in silence, and avoid gatherings, feasts, and festivals. You are under the sentence of shunning, until... But that was the heart of the matter. The longest period of shunning Ferdi had ever heard of before in all the history of Tookland had been three years. Those who’d trafficked with the ruffians during the Troubles received two years. Even a thief was shunned for a year at most. Ferdi’s sentence had lasted the rest of Paladin’s life, lifted on the old hobbit’s dying day, with Paladin’s apology and regrets.

Anger bubbled up then, and bitterness. ‘So?’ Ferdi said rudely. ‘You didn’t live it; you needn’t sound so pained. And here you are, pulling your old tricks again, slipping the escort...’

 ‘I didn’t want the wedding celebration to be spoilt,’ Pippin said reasonably. ‘And besides, the escort is an outdated notion. There have been few ruffians in the Shire for years, no wolves, no...’

 ‘I was there when the wild boar went after Thain Ferumbras, don’t you remember!’ Ferdi shouted, pulling Penny to a stop. She danced beneath him as he mixed his signals, his legs pressing her sides, his hands pulling at the reins. ‘I saw the hobbits of the escort shoot their arrows into the creature as it charged, for all the good it did. I saw Isumbold and Palabard throw themselves in front of Ferumbras whilst Baragrim pulled the Thain out of the line of charge... I watched Palabard give up his life right there, before my eyes!’

Pippin had halted Socks and sat his pony silently, waiting for the tirade to stop.

Ferdi didn’t seem able to stop himself. ‘I knelt beside Isum that day,’ he went on, ‘and I heard him beg us not to move him, not to lift him, to leave him there to lie, as his blood soaked through the cloaks we wrapped around him. I watched them carrying him back to the Smials, and I thought he’d not live to reach it...’ He ran out of words suddenly, as a clock that has wound down, ticking into silence.

 ‘I was there that day,’ he whispered at last.

 ‘Ferdi...’ Pippin said, extending a hand.

 ‘So don’t you go telling me that the escort is a silly notion that’s seen its time,’ Ferdi rounded on him fiercely, but the words he meant to follow died in his throat as he swayed, putting an uncertain hand to his head.

 ‘Ferdi!’ Pippin said, nudging Socks close to Penny to steady his cousin in the saddle.

 ‘I’m well,’ Ferdi lied.

Pippin looked at him narrowly. ‘Did Regi put you on water rations?’ he asked. Ferdi shook his head. ‘Did my mother, then...?’ He shook his own head. ‘No, she wouldn’t have; she took me to task for slipping the escort as it was.’

Sudden realisation struck him and he tightened his grip on Ferdi’s arm, support giving way to a shake. ‘Ferdi!’ he accused. ‘You put yourself on water rations! Are you thick-witted? That’s the stupidest...’

 ‘It’s been drilled into me ever since I came to work under the Thain,’ Ferdi said tonelessly. ‘Any hobbit found in neglect of his duties will take no food for the space of a day. Hobbits in charge of others found in neglect will suffer thrice the penalty. Those who will not work, shall not eat.’

 ‘You will eat,’ Pippin said forcefully, ‘by the order of the Thain, you will!’ He dug in his saddlebag, for Diamond always made sure food was packed for him, whether he’d eat it or not. ‘Here! Eat!’ He shoved a dried-apple tart into Ferdi’s hand, lifted it halfway to Ferdi’s mouth before his cousin shook him off. Pippin half-expected Ferdi to throw down the tart, but the head of escort ate. He was a creature of duty, after all, and Pip had ordered him.

***

The story of Ferdi's shunning and restoration is found in "Flames"; the story of Thain Ferumbras and the wild boar is found in "Pearl of Great Price", also at SoA.

Chapter 18. Of Tea and Talk

They rode in silence the rest of the way to Whittacres, the farm belonging to Pippin’s family. It had always been Paladin’s farm as long as Ferdibrand could remember. With a shock he realised that, of course, with Paladin’s death the farm passed to Pippin as eldest son. Had Pippin remained disinherited, the property would have passed to Pearl, but Paladin on his deathbed had owned his son once more. Somehow there was no lifetime lease in a series of leases tying this land to the Thainship, and the land was held by the family free and clear. Ferdi wondered how that had been managed.

They arrived just about teatime, to a barking of dogs and shouts from children. A buxom hobbit matron exited the smial, wiping her hands on her apron, her face beaming to see the riders.

 ‘Pip! Ferdi!’ she called. ‘Ah, but it has been too long.’

Pippin laughed and slid from his saddle, running to embrace her. ‘Pearl!’ he said. ‘Too long indeed! Why haven’t you come to the Smials to celebrate the return of your long-lost brother?’

 ‘O now, Pip, you know better than that! If it hasn’t been the lambing, it’s been the planting, and if it hasn’t been the planting...’

The children gathered round, eyes wide. ‘Children,’ Pearl said. ‘This is Thain Peregrin, as you’ve been told about.’ An older lad offered an awkward bow to his uncle and then led their ponies away to the barn.

 ‘Uncle Pip?’ one of the smallest squeaked. ‘How can Uncle Pip be Thain?’

Pearl crouched to address the wee mite. ‘When Grand-da died,’ she said, and wiped a tear from her eye, ‘well, he wanted Uncle Pip to be Thain after him, and so your uncle returned from Buckland to take up the reins.’

 ‘Pretty ramshackle waggon I’ve found it to be,’ Pippin said, and Pearl hushed him.

 ‘Not before the children!’

 ‘Pearl, there’s no Lalia to be gathering grudges these days,’ Pippin said. ‘The waggon needs paint and repairs, and the ponies pulling it aren’t much better off. That’s the truth of the matter.’

 ‘Well,’ Pearl said, shooing the children and raising her voice, ‘Go wash up now! Tea’s on!’ Once they were gone, she said in a lower tone, ‘But Pip, you oughtn’t say such things, not even if you’re Thain.’

Pippin rolled his eyes at Ferdi. ‘Keep up appearances at all costs,’ he muttered as they walked into the smial. ‘The boat leaks, but if we paint it a bright colour someone’ll surely hire us to ferry them over the River.’

Ferdi felt a bit queasy at this picture. ‘Rather, the pony is spavined, but we’ll braid his mane with bright ribbons and no one will see how he goes.’

Pippin laughed and slapped him on the back, for which he gave his cousin a pained look in return. ‘Still not in your good books, eh, Ferdi?’ Pippin whispered.

Ferdi retreated to one of Regi’s favourite retorts. ‘None of your nonsense, now, Pip.’

Entering the parlour, Pippin greeted the hobbit sitting there. ‘Isum!’

Isumbold, former head of escort to Thain Ferumbras, raised a hand in welcome. ‘Pip!’ he said, ‘and Ferdi! I’d heard you were head of escort now. I don’t envy you the job!’

Ferdi smiled but Pippin laughed heartily. ‘Don’t you know it,’ he said. ‘He lectured me all the way here about my duty not to slip the escort anymore.’

 ‘No, we’ll leave that up to your son,’ Isum said lightly, and nodded significantly as Pippin’s face changed. ‘Aye, you didn’t think of that, now did you, little brother?’

 ‘Isum!’ Pearl said, and her husband winked at her.

 ‘He must be awfully tired of all the pomp and protocol by now,’ he said. ‘You may be yourself here, Pip, any time you wish to relax and feel as a regular hobbit again.’

 ‘I might just move in, bags and baggage,’ Pippin said, sitting down in the chair Pearl indicated.

 ‘Where are you going?’ Isum called as Ferdi turned away.

 ‘I just thought...’ Ferdi said.

 ‘You thought you’d take your tea in the kitchen,’ Isum said, ‘but you’ll not so long as I’m head of this house-hole! We hobbits of the Thain’s escort need to stick together!’

 ‘You’re head?’ Pippin said in amusement, with a sidelong glance at Pearl.

 ‘He is,’ Pearl said firmly.

 ‘I’m “head”, and she’s “heart”,’ Isum said, holding his hand out to Pearl. ‘And I’d get nowhere without her!’

She smiled and leaned to kiss him, then straightened and said, ‘We’ll have tea ready in three shakes, see if we don’t!’ She bustled out and singing was heard in the kitchen.

Pearl and a procession of giggling lasses brought trays with tea and cups and plates of biscuits, while a small army of lads lined up before Isum for inspection. ‘Hands!’ he said, and these items were presented. Isum looked them over, sent one lad back for another wash, and dismissed the rest to their seats.

Tea was a merry affair, with lively talk and laughter. Ferdi sat and listened for the most part, but Isum knew how to draw him out with questions, and made him laugh out loud at least once with his imitation of a pompous Took.

When tea was over and the children had been sent out to do the washing up or other evening chores, Isum leaned forward in his chair. ‘What news do you bring?’ he said.

Ferdi put a hand to his pocket, then glanced at Pippin. The Thain laughed. ‘You may give him the message, Ferdi, though I’m here to flesh out the details for him.’

Ferdi rose and brought the message to Isum, who took the paper and waved him back to his chair. Ferdi perched on the edge, uneasy. It was not his place to be sitting here, with the family, as business was conducted. He was only a hobbit of escort, after all, and he didn’t see much escorting needing done at the moment.

Isum scanned the few lines within and looked up. ‘Sheep worrying?’ he said. ‘How bad?’

Ferdi gave a start as Pippin began to explain the pattern of attacks. Why, the first had been the day of Tolly’s wedding! He thought of the flurry of messages that had flown between Tuckborough and outlying farms since they'd returned from the wedding, especially in the direction of Sunnybanks.

Isum noticed. ‘You didn’t know,’ he said, and then to Pippin. ‘Your head of escort didn’t know about the worryings? You’ve kept him and the rest of the escort busy seeing to the delivering of messages to farms, but you didn’t bother to tell them why?’

He caught Pippin at a loss. ‘I...’

Isum leaned forward again, his expression stern. ‘It is one thing to minimize the Talk,’ he said, ‘to keep close counsel, but the hobbits of your escort ought to be knowledgeable about dangers...’

 ‘Dangers to sheep!’ Pippin said. ‘My father taught me...’

 ‘Yes, Paladin was one who hated the Talk with a passion,’ Isum said, taking the hand that Pearl held out to him for reassurance, ‘and for good reason, but he used it to his advantage more than once just the same.’

He looked again at Ferdi. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘I’d trust Ferdibrand with any bit of news. Why, I doubt he’d tell his father what was for tea if the old hobbit didn’t need to know.’

Pippin laughed, and Isum turned back to him. ‘Yes,’ he said, addressing Pippin’s earlier question. ‘Not just dangerous to sheep.’ His hand tightened on Pearl’s. ‘Dogs together in a pack can be as vicious as wolves, Pip. Were you to strike out on foot, on a picnic with your family, just Diamond and the little lad...’

Pippin opened his mouth to speak and shut it again. Ferdi’s hands convulsively grasped his knees at the vivid picture that rose in his mind and he had to force himself to relax. ‘I see your point,’ Pippin said at last with a glance at Ferdi. ‘At any rate, this pack of dogs have been too clever for us. They didn’t strike where hunters were watching, and they ranged farther than we thought they might last night, so I don’t think it’s just local dogs out for a run at night.’

 ‘A pack of strays,’ Isum said. ‘What had they been living on, before they hit on sheep?’

 ‘Deer, most likely,’ Pippin said, ‘and other game. The shirriffs have found signs...’

 ‘Two shirriffs?’ Isum said, and whistled. ‘That covers quite a bit of territory. Have you sent warning to all the hobbits in the area?’

 ‘I did,’ Pippin said, and Ferdi nodded, thinking of all the messages that had gone out the day before. None had been important enough for Ferdi to take himself, but he’d been busy running back and forth between the Thain and the stables to send out lads with folded letters bearing the seal of the Thain.

 ‘It seems you’ll have to mount a hunt,’ Isum said, ‘if they won’t conveniently come to you.’

 ‘They haven’t ranged this far, have they?’ Pearl said, thinking of her children playing in the fields in the Sun’s light, and of the lambs under the Moon with their mothers.

 ‘No, not even as far as Tookbank,’ Pippin said, ‘but if Tuckborough’s sheep are too well guarded they may fare elsewhere to find food and sport.’

 ‘We’ll set night watches,’ Isum said, ‘and warn the neighbours to do so as well.’

 ‘My thanks,’ Pippin said. ‘I don’t want a whole-sale panic, mind. No wild talk about a pack of giant wolves invading the Shire. We’ll have hobbits shooting at shadows before you know it.’

 ‘Dogs,’ Isum said. ‘Stray dogs.’

 ‘Well, then,’ Pippin said, rising. ‘We must be off, but I thank you for the tea.’

Ferdi rose hastily and bowed to Isum. The latter smiled. ‘Don’t let Pip lead you a merry race,’ he said.

Pippin laughed. ‘He’ll do his best to beat me,’ he said. ‘Who’s your money on?’

 ‘I think I’ll bet on you both,’ Isum said. ‘At least that way I’ll win, either way.’

They took their leave from Isum, who could not rise from his chair to see them off. Pearl walked them out to the yard, where one of Pippin’s numerous nephews held the reins of their waiting ponies. He bowed again to his uncle, a little more smoothly this time.

Pippin returned the bow, and the lad’s eyes widened. ‘I’m “Uncle Pip” to you, my lad, and do not forget it,’ he said conspiratorially. ‘None of this Thain nonsense when I’m here on the farm, do you understand?’

The lad nodded, recalling adult conversations overheard. ‘I do, Uncle Pip,’ he said.

 ‘Good lad, you’ll go far,’ Pippin said, and mounted. ‘Coming, Ferdi?’

  ‘I’m right behind you,’ Ferdibrand said, stepping up into his own saddle. They rode out of the yard to the tune of an old travelling song sung by Pearl and the children.

Note to readers: Some editing has been done in earlier chapters to reflect the fact that Ferdibrand did not know about the sheep-worrying until chapter 18. Sorry about any confusion.

Chapter 19. Painted into the Corner

Halfway back to the Great Smials, Pippin reined in Socks. Ferdi stopped and looked about for the cause of his cousin’s halt, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

 ‘All right, have at it,’ Pippin said, and Ferdi looked at him in astonishment.

 ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said.

 ‘There’s something else been bothering you,’ Pippin said, ‘so let’s just clear the air between us, have a fresh start. There’s too much important business pending to be distracted with quarrels, old or new.’

Ferdi’s breath came short as he thought of the pony of Rohan. He had not quite figured out how to confess his deed, or perhaps it was more accurate to say he’d not yet summoned the courage. He felt even more wretched to see sympathy join the concern on Pippin’s face.

 ‘What is it, Ferdi?’ Pippin said softly, as persuasively as he might.

Ferdi held on to his resentment of his cousin’s wheedling ways; ah yes, Pip had always been one to get his way. Somehow the flash of anger gave him the courage to speak, though his voice shook slightly.

 ‘I... I... about the pony...’ he said.

 ‘The pony,’ Pippin said politely, and then his eyes widened. ‘Were you the one Old Tom sent off with him?’ Sorrow and regret were added to sympathy. ‘O Ferdi, I was wrong, and I’m that sorry that you had to be the one...’

Ferdi realised that Old Tom had not told the Thain of the pony’s disappearance, had allowed things to stand in confusion. Perhaps Tom himself thought that someone, Ferdi or one of the older stable hobbits, had taken the pony off to destroy in accordance with what he thought Tom had said. Tom might have thought it better to leave the matter unexplored, to avoid bringing the wrath of the Thain down upon the hobbit in question when it turned out that Pippin had changed his mind about the matter.

 ‘But I didn’t,’ he interrupted.

Pippin nodded in understanding. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Ferdi, I thought...’

 ‘I mean, I took the pony,’ Ferdi said, not thinking of his words in his haste to correct Pippin’s wrong impression. ‘I just didn’t destroy him.’

 ‘You took the pony,’ Pippin said slowly, but now there was warning in his tone. Sympathy and regret had vanished.

 ‘I did,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘And then what did you do with him?’ Pippin said. ‘You didn’t bring him back.’

 ‘I...’ Ferdi began to realise his danger, but it was not in him to lie. ‘I let him go.’ He felt a rush of relief to have the truth out, at last, and suddenly realised the heavy burden he’d been bearing as it fell from his shoulders.

 ‘You let him go,’ Pippin echoed, his voice deadly quiet. ‘You took the pony... a pony that did not belong to you... you took him without permission... and you did not return him.’

Suddenly Ferdi found it hard to draw breath as the full implications of his action broke over him like a wave. Drowning, he reached for words to excuse himself, to explain his actions... but there was nothing.

 ‘You know what that is called, Ferdi, here in the Shire,’ Pippin said, still too calm.

 ‘Thie... thievery,’ Ferdi whispered. ‘I only thought... I only thought...’

 ‘What did you think? To save him? Against the direct order of the Thain?’ It did not matter that Pippin had rescinded that order. Ferdi had taken the pony without permission, and hadn’t brought him back.

 Ferdi shook his head miserably. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking,’ he said. ‘I even thought to destroy him, that he might die easy of mind, by the hand of a friend...’ The words sounded halting, the excuse lame and unbelievable, even in his own ears. ‘In the end I just let him go. I could not bring him back.’ The irony of it was, had he destroyed the pony, he would have not been in trouble now, for he would have been following the Thain's orders, and would not be blamed for the change of mind Pippin had expressed after it was too late.

Pippin nodded soberly, not quite looking at Ferdi. ‘You know the penalty for thievery,’ he said quietly.

 ‘A year...’ Ferdi said, heartsick. ‘A year under the Ban.’ He’d built his own nest, this time, and filled it proper with eggs, he had. No choice but to sit.

Pippin sat silent a long time, and even Socks was preternaturally still. Finally he raised his eyes from contemplation of Socks’ ears and said, ‘There’s an alternative to the Ban.’

Ferdi swallowed hard.

 ‘If a thief confesses before an assembly of Shire-folk, Tooks and Tooklanders, and repays double what was stolen,’ Pippin said, ‘and the Thain perceives that he is truly sorry for his actions, and not likely to repeat them...’

Ferdi reached down to stroke Dapple’s soft neck. O he’d still be able to ride her in his duties, he supposed, should Pip keep him on as escort, but she’d no longer belong to him. Nor would Penny. Both of Ferdi’s ponies, which constituted most of his worldly wealth, would be forfeit, and he would forever be branded a thief.

Pippin saw the gesture and nodded. ‘Repay double,’ he said firmly. ‘Your two ponies together would not be worth the price of the finest pony Rohan had to offer.’

 ‘There’s nothing for it, then,’ Ferdi said. The Ban. He’d lived under the Ban before, but he’d been buoyed by the energy of being falsely convicted. This time, he’d be shamed, for he’d earned the penalty.

 ‘There’s nothing for it,’ Pippin agreed, ‘but for you to recover the pony you lost, train him to race, run him in the All-Shire race at Lithe, and turn over the purse.’

 ‘I’d have to win, to turn over the purse,’ Ferdi began, before he realised what Pippin had said. ‘But...’ he protested, head spinning.

 ‘Exactly,’ Pippin said. ‘He’s faster than anything Buckland has to offer, faster even than Socks, I’d venture.’ He caressed his own pony’s neck as Socks snorted. ‘There's not enough time to get him ready for the local races, but after the Tookland Pony Races, I’ll release you from escorting to go pony-hunting, and once you have him, you can ready him for the All-Shire event.’

 ‘How can he run at Michel Delving if...’ Ferdi began.

 ‘I have the authority to substitute another pony for one of the ponies from the Tookland Races,’ Pippin said. ‘We’re allowed to send two to Michel Delving, you know. I'll send Socks and the new stallion, and we ought to win with one or the other.’ His tone commanded attention. ‘I cannot release you to hunt him beforehand; I need you to continue working with Socks. He has to be at his peak when the Tookland Races are run.’ For some reason Ferdi couldn’t fathom, Pippin was determined to own the winners of both the Tookland races and the All-Shire event. Was it the purse from each race? With all the gold that was at the disposal of the Thain, he wanted more? Remembering Paladin’s grasping ways, Ferdi supposed he ought not to be surprised.

 ‘When I have the pony in my stables, and the purse from the All-Shire Race in my hand, I will consider the debt paid,’ Pippin said.

 ‘And if I do not find the pony...’ Ferdi said.

Pippin laughed. ‘You’ll find him,’ he said. ‘I’m told you’re the best tracker in Tookland.’

 ‘But if we do not win the All-Shire race...’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Then the debt will not be paid. If you recover the pony but you do not win the purse, you may give up your two mares, or you may accept the Ban,’ Pippin said. ‘Believe me, Ferdi, I wish there were other choices in the matter, but it is your own doing that has landed us in this mess.’

Ferdi nodded miserably. He didn’t stop to think that Pippin was manoeuvring him into a corner, with no way out but the way Pippin wanted. He’d made the bed, after all, and now he had to lie in it, lumps and all.

Pippin returned the nod. He had all confidence in Ferdibrand, even though Ferdi’s self-confidence was woefully lacking. Perhaps this would be the making of his cousin. He pushed down the niggling thought that it might be his cousin’s ruin instead.

Chapter 20. Shadow and Sunshine

The wild boar turned with a snort, digging a wickedly sharp hoof into the ground, its tiny tail wagging furiously, its small, ferocious eyes sweeping over its adversaries. The Thain’s bright cloak drew its eye and it charged.

Bowstrings twanged as the hobbits of escort shot more arrows into the beast, for all the good they did. Almost without thinking, Ferdi and Tolly threw themselves between Pippin and onrushing death, while Hilly pushed the Thain out of the line of charge, falling atop him as they sprawled upon the ground. As they fell blood fountained over them, Tolly’s voice choked off mid-scream, Ferdi gave a keening wail, then Hilly cried out as the boar reached them, and Pippin felt a tusk score along the length of his exposed calf, though Hilly took the brunt of the boar’s head-tossing slash.

There was a thunder of hoofs and a pony goaded to full gallop smashed into the boar’s side, throwing the beast off its feet. A Took who would later stand firm against the ruffians in the Battle of Bywater, thrust his lance to the heart of the beast, and the battle was over.

Hands were helping the Thain to his feet, anxious voices asking after him. Hilly, heedless of his own wounds, threw himself down by his brother’s side. ‘Tolly,’ he whispered, but the staring eyes saw him not, nor aught else for that matter. Pippin shook off the helping hands, to sink to his knees at Ferdi’s side. Old Verilard turned Ferdi over gently, wringing a moan from the injured hobbit.

 ‘So much blood,’ another hunter whispered.

 ‘Don’t just stand there gaping! Press down! Harder! We’ve got to stop the bleeding or he’ll die here and now!’ Verilard snapped.

 ‘No,’ Ferdi moaned. ‘Leave me be. Hurts...’

 ‘Steady, lad,’ Verilard said, his voice as gentle now as it had been harsh a moment ago.

 ‘We’ve got to get you back to the Smials, Ferdi,’ Pippin said, his own leg throbbing dully. Verilard tied the bandages tight; the hunters wrapped the head of escort in their cloaks.

 ‘No, please,’ Ferdi said again. ‘Do not lift me; please, let me lie.’ Pippin saw the ominous crimson soaking through the butter-yellow cloak they’d slipped under him, to lift him by.

 ‘I’m sorry, Ferdi,’ he said brokenly. ‘I’m sorry.’

 ‘No, please,’ Ferdi moaned.

 ‘Pippin!’ Pain and blood and drizzly rain gave way to warm and dark and softness of wife and bedcovers. ‘Pippin, you’re dreaming! It’s just a dream, my love.’

 ‘Diamond,’ he gasped, rolling to seize her. He buried his head in her voluminous gown, fear and sorrow remaining even as the dream leaked away.

She stroked his curls with soothing fingers and wondered what it was this time... Moria? Boromir’s death? The Uruk-hai? The mad Steward of Gondor? The Black Gate? Orcs in the Old Forest? ‘You’re safe, my love,’ she said.

 ‘Safe,’ he whispered.

There was a tap at the door, and Sandy stuck his head in. ‘Is there aught you be needing?’ he said softly, looking from Farry, curled small in his little bed, to the Mistress holding the Thain in her arms.

 ‘Warm milk, if you please,’ Diamond said softly. ‘A bit of honey in it, and a touch of nutmeg would not go amiss.’

 ‘Very good, Mistress,’ Sandy breathed, and in the next moment he was gone.

 ‘This is better than Buckland,’ Diamond said, her fingers moving gently over Pippin’s head and neck, trying to soothe away the tension. She felt his shaking ease, his breathing become steadier.

 ‘Eh?’ he whispered. ‘What do you mean?’

 ‘I always had to get up and go down to the kitchens to heat the milk myself,’ she said. ‘Here we have Sandy listening at the door for our least whim.’

 ‘Does the hobbit never sleep?’ Pippin said, rising at last, turning over and settling back against the pillows. His eyes were haunted, his face still showing signs of strain in the soft light of the watch lamp.

 ‘Sleep is not one of his duties,’ Diamond said. ‘At least, I don’t think it is.’

***

Mid-morning Mayor Samwise arrived with his burgeoning brood of young Gamgees, for it was Diamond’s birthday and he was to preside over the celebration.

The youngsters greeted the Thain and Mistress very properly indeed, Elanor, Rosie-lass, and Goldilocks making pretty courtesies, after which Goldi presented Diamond with a wilting bouquet, gathered while her father was hitching ponies to waggon and clutched tight in the tiny hand for the entire journey from Hobbiton to Tuckborough. Frodo-lad, Merry-lad, Pip-lad and even tiny Hamfast bowed while Farry frowned from his stance between his parents. He was used to being the centre of attention, after all.

 ‘But come in,’ Diamond said at last. ‘We can share a pot of tea and talk before elevenses is served.’

 ‘And when is the celebration?’ Samwise said as they turned towards the entrance.

Diamond laughed. ‘Pippin wanted to make it an all-day affair,’ she said gaily, ‘from breakfast through midnight supper, but I convinced him it would be too tiring for you to preside over so long an event.’

 ‘So it will be tea with all the Tooks on the party field,’ Pippin said, ‘sitting on the meadow amidst the wildflowers while the Sun smiles down upon us all.’

 ‘A large gathering,’ Sam said, glancing back into the yard. Pippin saw him smile and followed the glance, to see the Gamgee children, their social obligations fulfilled, mobbing Ferdibrand.

The taciturn head of escort did not seem at all bothered by the attentions. He had sat himself down on the stones of the yard, the better for Goldi and Ham to climb into his lap while the others hung on him, all chattering at once. Taciturn? Pippin saw his cousin throw his head back to laugh at something Frodo-lad said, and then gather the pressing children closer, hugging them to himself.

***

 ‘May Ferdi join us for noontide?’ Elanor said shyly, taking her father’s hand as she came up to his side.

 ‘He is our uncle now, after all,’ Frodo-lad put in. ‘The Thain invited our entire family to help celebrate Mistress Diamond’s birthday, and he is a part of our family!’

Samwise glanced over at Pippin, wondering what he’d make of this request.

 ‘Why not?’ Pippin said with a laugh as he rose from his chair. He walked to the door to the Thain’s private apartments and jerked it open. ‘Tolly,’ he said.

The escort came to attention. ‘Sir,’ he replied smartly.

 ‘Send Ferdi to me. I have a little commission for him,’ Pippin said.

Tolly nodded and turned away, his face falling into glum lines as he trotted to the second parlour. Noontide was upon them, and here the Thain was sending Ferdi out again. Did he intend to starve the head of escort, sending him out during mealtimes as had happened all too often these days?

 ‘What is it?’ Ferdi said. ‘A message to be run?’ He sighed. ‘And I was that hungered...’

 ‘I’ll save you a plate,’ Hilly said sympathetically.

 ‘Better cold than not at all,’ Ferdi said philosophically, though the other two knew how he hated cold food. ‘Well then, enjoy your meal,’ he added, and made his way to the Thain’s quarters.

To his surprise he was directed to a place at table between Frodo-lad and Elanor, though several rearrangements were made after he sat, so that he ended between Pip-lad and little Goldi.

 ‘You don’t mind, do you, Ferdi?’ Diamond said, jiggling two-year-old Hamfast on her lap while Farry looked on resentfully. ‘It’s not that we’re making you a child minder, but...’

 ‘We asked for you,’ Rosie-lass said earnestly, reaching over Pip-lad to take Ferdi’s hand.

 ‘Want Ferdi!’ Goldi confirmed with an emphatic nod.

By tacit agreement the adults avoided looking at the head of escort, apparently busy in their own conversations, and so Ferdi was able to make a merry meal with his new-found nephews and nieces, not afraid of a blunder. Blunders there were, for Goldi spilled her milk, and Pip-lad upset his pudding in Ferdi’s lap, but somehow it didn’t matter. In his efforts to console the shame-faced lad, Ferdi forgot his own troubles and soon had all the children laughing at the old story of the chickens that outwitted the fox.

Rose covertly exchanged a satisfied look with Diamond, but Samwise surprised a solemn look on Pippin’s face before Pippin turned to take another helping from the tray held by a hovering servant.

After the noontide meal, Ferdi went to change his clothes. He had to put on his old hunter’s clothes, as it turned out, but he arranged for Hilly and Tolly to dance attendance upon the Thain for the rest of the afternoon. He took his bundle down to the launderers and was reassured that with the bright sunshine and stiff breeze his clothing ought to be dry by sunset; they’d see to the washing immediately and hang the clothes out with the rest of that day’s laundry that was already flapping on the lines.

The children were playing in the sunny yard, games of catch-as-catch-can, and fox-and-goose. Small lasses sat in a circle with their doll-children, gossiping away in mimicry of their elders whilst lads blew about the yard like thistledown on the breeze.

Goldi was bored, and while her older sisters were involved in the intricacies of stitching an apron for Rosie’s doll, she wandered the yard.

 ‘Want to see the new kittens?’ Farry said behind her.

 ‘New kitties?’ Goldi said. ‘Where?’

 ‘In the stables,’ Farry said. ‘Come.’

In the dark and quiet of the stables, the bright hair that held him fascinated dimmed slightly, but still it drew his eye as Goldi exclaimed over the tiny, staggering, furry mites with their protruding bellies and trembling legs. The children laughed together as one kitten pounced upon another, sending both tumbling.

 ‘Want to play?’ Farry said when the kittens tired of their antics and began to fall asleep.

 ‘Hidey seeky?’ Goldi said, her eyes brightening. It was her favourite game, to hide behind a door in Bag End, giggling while her brothers and sisters all pretended to try to find her.

 ‘Hide and seek,’ Farry said. He looked about the stables and shook his head. ‘They won’t let us play ‘mongst the ponies,’ he said. ‘Old Tom scolds.’ Taking Goldi’s hand in his own, he pulled her down the length of stalls to the side door, which opened on the meadow to one side of the great stone yard of the Smials. ‘We could play on the meadow,’ he said.

 ‘Can’t hide,’ Goldi pouted.

 ‘Yes we can!’ Farry said brightly, pointing to the hill that rose beyond the meadow. ‘The grass is head-high there! We can hide and seek and make tunnels and secret places!’

 ‘Yes, let’s!’ Goldi sang, and hand-in-hand the two tots wandered across the meadow, stopping to admire this wildflower or that buzzing bumblebee.

No one noticed them as they climbed the hill on the far side and disappeared into the long grass.

Chapter 21. Hide and Seek

Ferdi heard soft voices as he groomed Dapple. What with pulling extra duty because of Tolly’s wedding, he hadn’t had as much time to spend with his mares the past few days, and now, with his new clothes all hanging on lines in the sun he thought it best to keep out of the way of whoever it was who’d complained of his shabbiness. It was the perfect excuse to give Penny and Dapple a thorough grooming and take Dapple for a long ride. Since he was working with Penny and Socks so much, getting them ready for the races, he felt he’d been neglecting his old lass.

Looking around he saw the son of the Thain and Goldilocks Gamgee petting a mother cat that had set up housekeeping in the vacant stall across the way. He watched to see if they’d try to handle the kittens; the wee mites were a bit too young yet, but Faramir had evidently taken Old Tom’s last scolding to heart and neither tot tried to pick up the babes, content to watch the scraps of fur play and nurse and nap.

Ferdi’s fingers kept working as he watched, of course, for they were almost never still. Indeed, they drew his attention back to Dapple as he encountered a stubborn tangle in the long tail. While he was working this out, he heard the door at the far end of the stables bang, and looking up, saw that the tots were gone.

Dapple was saddled and Ferdi was adjusting the bridle when Elanor spoke from the corridor. ‘Uncle Ferdi?’

He turned with a smile. ‘Hullo, Nell.’

She was not smiling however. ‘Uncle Ferdi, have you seen Goldi? I’ve looked all about the yard, and in the Smials, and...’

 ‘Have you asked your mother?’ Ferdi said. ‘Perhaps she put her down for a nap.’

Elanor dropped her eyes. ‘I didn’t want to bother her until I’d looked everywhere first,’ she said. ‘She’s not been feeling well...’

Ferdi nodded. The Talk was that the Mayor’s wife was in the family way again. ‘She was just here a little while ago,’ he said, meaning Goldi. ‘Looking at the kittens with Farry.’ He nodded to the stall behind Elanor.

She glanced behind her, smiled and said, ‘O such dear little things!’ but the touch of anxiety did not leave her face.

 ‘Come, lass,’ Ferdi said, opening the stall door and leading Dapple out. Elanor fell in by his side. ‘I think I heard them go out the meadow door. Undoubtedly they’re picking wildflowers, or sleeping in the Sun.’ They paced slowly down the cool, dim, dusty corridor to the door at the end. Ferdi blinked a bit at the bright sunshine beyond, but his eyes adjusted quickly and he led lass and pony out into the meadow.

The tots had left no sign of their passing, to Elanor’s eyes, but after they’d been walking only a few moments Ferdi grunted and said, ‘They’ve been here, all right. They left a clear trail to follow.’

Bewildered, she looked before them, but she did not have his hunter’s training nor his hunter’s eyes to see the faint trail through the grass, and the forlorn stems of broken-off flowers left along the way. Ferdi was sure the trail was fresh when he saw several wildflowers picked with stems too short to carry and thus left to lie, though not yet badly wilted.

The sounds of the children playing in the yard behind them faded as they made their way across the meadow. Ferdi wondered just how far the tots had wandered before turning aside, or back to the Smials, or sitting down and falling asleep amongst the flowers.

***

It was a beautiful place to play, wild and yet unfrightening; exciting to be out from under the watchful eye of a tween, yet comforting to know the Great Smials was just down the hill and over the meadow. Goldi hid and Farry found her quickly by her giggling, then Farry hid and Goldi was hot and tired by the time she found him. It was energising, however, to know that it was her turn to hide and be found, and so she perked up as she heard Farry begin the song... when it ended, he would be seeking her, but she determined he wouldn’t find her soon!

As he sang Farry listened as best he could to the sounds of Goldi moving through the grass. She was going to the far side of the grassy hill! He would have to seek her in the direction away from the Smials, that was for certain. She was going quickly, too, and would leave a fine trail to follow. He hurried through the rest of the song when he could no longer hear her movement. He had a good idea where she’d gone to ground.

Indeed, the grasses were still bent down by Goldi’s passing, and Farry chortled as he followed the trail. ‘I’ll find you!’ he shouted cheerily, and listened for her giggles. The trail ended, and he stopped, baffled, then brightened. She had to be right around here, somewhere. He hadn’t seen the side trail, showing where Goldi had doubled back and then moved off to the left, crouching in a little hollow, well hidden by the long grass.

 ‘Goldi!’ he called softly. No giggles. She must have gone on ahead some ways. Farry pushed on.

***

 ‘I cannot believe they’d wander so far!’ Elanor said as they climbed the large hill. She had to lift her skirts from the drag of the long grass, and she was growing hot and tired and more worried than ever. Goldi had wandered more than halfway down the Hill to Hobbiton on one occasion, but Miller Sandyman’s wife had seen her before the tot had reached the Water, and brought her back up the Hill to Bag End. Across the meadow and up this big hill, now, was farther than that, and downhill had been much less work. Elanor could not believe that Goldi had not tired and whined to turn back.

 ‘Two will wander farther than one,’ Ferdi said, thinking of adventures he and Merry Brandybuck had shared in their young days. ‘No telling how far they’d go if they had food, but I’m fairly sure they set off empty-handed.’

They crested the hill and found the hide-and-you-seek-me trails setting off in all directions. ‘This will take some time,’ Ferdi said, looking all about. ‘But here is where they are playing. Easiest just to raise our voices!’ He called. ‘Farry! Goldi! ‘Tis teatime, and we’ve saved some cakes for you!’ That wasn’t far from the truth. They’d be bringing out blankets and baskets of food to the meadow soon for Diamond’s birthday tea, and it would be as well if her young son were in attendance, now wouldn’t it?

Elanor lifted her voice. ‘Goldi!’

Listening, they heard a sleepy, ‘Ellie!’ in reply.

Following the sound, Elanor called again. ‘Goldi!’ Ferdi walked after her, scanning the surrounding grasses.

On the far side of the hill they found the little one, lying curled in a little nest of grass, blinking. Elanor swooped upon her little sister, throwing her arms around her, hugging her and scolding her in the same moment.

Ferdi broke in. ‘Where’s Farry?’ he asked.

Goldi pushed Elanor away and reached her dimpled hands for Ferdi. ‘Want Ferdi!’ she said. Ferdi looked serious, but he wasn’t scolding at the moment. Ellie was.

Ferdi took her up and let her pet Dapple’s velvet nose as the mare stood patiently. ‘Where’s Farry?’ Ferdi said again.

 ‘Don’t know,’ Goldi pouted. ‘I hided, he seeked me, but he took a nawful long time...’

Ferdi raised his voice. ‘Farry!’ There was no answer.

Ferdi thrust Goldi into Elanor’s arms. ‘Take her back to the Smials and tell the Thain,’ he said. ‘His son’s gone wandering in the long grass on the first hill past the meadow. If he’s fallen asleep and doesn’t waken to calls it might take some time to find him.’

Elanor nodded and turned back the way they’d come.

Leading Dapple, Ferdi struck out in widening circles until he thought he’d found Faramir’s path, leading down the hillside, away from the Great Smials. At the bottom of the hill was a tiny stream. The print of a small foot was clear in the mud near the water, on the far side of the stream, leading away.

Chapter 22. Worrying Business

Leading up from the stream was a thin trail, a deer track, perhaps. As there were no other footprints near the water, Ferdibrand decided that Farry had not followed the way of the stream, but more likely had heard the call of the path, leading on, over hill and around a bend, always promising new sights, beckoning a young traveller on. Farry would undoubtedly follow the path until he grew hungry or weary or both, and then he’d probably be too weary to make his way home. He’d be a tween before he learned the wisdom of turning back towards home when still feeling fresh.

Ferdi followed the path, hoping it would not branch, for he’d waste precious time if he guessed wrongly and had to backtrack. He was heartened to cross a damp spot where a spring trickled from the hillside, and stopped to look at the ground. He found once more the small footprint. Farry had passed this way! Ferdi swung into the saddle after letting Dapple drink from the spring and continued to follow the path. He’d have to hurry in order to be back in time for tea.

Around the side of the great grassy hill, through another valley, halfway up another hill and around it, so went the trail. On the far side of the last hill they rounded, the country flattened out slightly before the next large rise. A farmer had taken advantage of the lie of the land and had ploughed a field here, circling a copse of trees at the far end of the valley. Several of the trees looked climbable and Ferdi made a private wager with himself that Farry had been attracted to the spot. He stopped Dapple and got down to examine the field, seeing smudges in the freshly-ploughed furrows that might have been foot-marks. They were the right distance apart for a small lad.

Dapple jerked her head and made an uneasy noise and Ferdi rose from his contemplation of the ground. The breeze carried a faint baying of dogs. Looking down the valley, he saw small shapes dancing and leaping about the trees in the copse. He thought of the sheep-worriers near Sunnybanks, and how the attacks had moved closer to the Great Smials since Tolly’s wedding. Could the worriers have treed the small son of the Thain?

Ferdi got back on Dapple’s back and urged her towards the copse. She expressed her reluctance, but he insisted, and so she forged forward, though it was heavy going in that soft, ploughed ground. As they approached, the small forms grew bigger, and yet bigger, until Ferdi thought that perhaps several of the dogs in the pack rivalled the weight of a full-grown hobbit. Dapple’s coat was wet with nervousness and her ears were pinned back. Ferdi had the feeling that she wanted to bolt, though that would be the worst possible course of action. Should the dogs see her run from them their instinct would cause them to give chase, and with deadly certainty they’d catch her on this ground and pull her down.

Ferdi had seen ruffians run deer in much the same way, their wolf-like dogs coursing a deer to exhaustion. When their quarry slowed, the dogs would jump and fasten their teeth into the ill-fated creature, overpowering it to the ground. The Men following would whip the dogs off, butcher the carcase and throw the entrails to the dogs as a reward.

Ferdi drew his bow from the quiver on his back and strung it, then pulled out several arrows, fitting one to the bow and laying the others across the pommel of his saddle, in the groove made there for that purpose. Of course he could only shoot one at a time, but he wanted to make his shots in as quick a succession as possible. If these were the sheep worriers, he’d shoot as many as he could before the pack retreated. If they were not the sheep worriers, well, they had no business running loose in a pack. Dogs in packs were dangerous.

Halfway up the tree was a bright spot of yellow. Ferdi recalled that Faramir had been wearing a shirt of that shade in the stable. ‘Farry!’ he called.

Above the barking of the dogs he heard a faint plea for help.

Ferdi felt the mare quivering under him. He was close enough now for a fair shot, and so he stopped pushing her forward, whereupon she halted, shivering and sweating, tossing her head uneasily. Had the ground been solid beneath her feet she’d likely have been dancing in her eagerness to get away. Just as well, Ferdi would have a better shot with her standing like a stone.

He pulled back on the bowstring and sighted carefully, taking aim on one of the largest of the brutes, let fly and watched the impact with satisfaction. The dog was thrown off his feet with a high-pitched yelp. The cur attempted to rise, snapping at the protruding shaft. The other dogs interrupted their dance about the tree to sniff and growl at their stricken mate. He snarled and snapped at one that came too close, and then the pack was distracted as Ferdi’s second arrow found its mark in a medium-sized dog.

He took a third shot, and a fourth, expecting at any moment that the dogs would turn tail, great cowards that they were, and so he was surprised as another enormous brute leapt aside, roaring as an arrow grazed him, and ran at Dapple, leaping across the furrows like a creature of myth or Shadow, eerily silent, jaws gaping, followed by more than half, though some had turned tail and fled with the second or third strike.

This was too much for Dapple; she tried to whirl, to flee, only to lose her footing in the treacherous ground. As she desperately struggled to regain her balance the first beast struck her. She half-reared but another dog launched himself at her head. His weight and the soft, uneven furrows were enough to send her sprawling, Ferdi caught beneath her, his bow snapping as he was crushed into the soil.

Dapple rolled away, shrilling with fear and pain, somehow regaining her feet and staggering away as dogs clung to her or jumped at her, trying to bring her down, murder in their eyes, the excitement of the kill in their blood. Ferdi lay dazed where she left him, but as a grinning face appeared above him he instinctively threw up his arms to guard his throat.

The great dog snarled and lunged, sinking his wicked fangs into Ferdi’s arm. He felt the pain of the crushing jaws, even through the stiff leather brace he wore on his bow arm, legacy of a ruffian’s club in the Battle of Bywater, but the slashing teeth did not penetrate. The dog growled and worried at him, trying to win past the shielding arm to the throat where the life-blood pulsed.

Ferdi felt a tug at his right leg, followed by searing pain. Automatically he tried to kick, only to be hampered by a heavy weight. He felt his leg shaken, teeth sinking deeper; his coat was seized on the other side and he realised that the brutes intended to tear him to pieces, even as he heard Dapple’s despairing scream.

Another wild shriek followed almost immediately, more terrible than the first, and Ferdi gasped, for he knew it must be his mare’s death-cry. His own would follow quickly, he feared, though he fought to protect his throat from the brute that was as determined to win through. Ferdi felt blackness creeping over him and knew he had a matter of seconds left to him.

...but the brute was suddenly gone. Ferdi blinked, not sure of his senses. The wild scream came again, and the pull at his leg ceased. He fought for consciousness and then wished he hadn’t, for a great grey shape was rearing above him, wicked slashing hoofs ready to come down upon him, to smash him further into the soil. He gave an involuntary cry as the hoofs descended, but they missed him, coming down instead on the massive dog fastened to Ferdi’s coat and side. Ferdi felt the jaws close convulsively on his ribs and then loose their hold.

He took a shuddering breath and knew no more.

Chapter 23. Needle in a Haystack

Little Farry watched with satisfaction as the first of the dogs fell to Ferdi's first shot, and cheered the deaths of the second and third. He gasped as the fourth arrow missed, but he wasn’t ready for what happened next. He started to shout a warning at Ferdi as the remnant of the pack abandoned their circling and jumping at the tree where he’d taken refuge—he’d heard them baying, fully involved in chasing a rabbit, and he’d climbed the tree to watch events unfurl, only to have the rabbit go to ground near the base of his tree... and then the dogs start to leap at Farry where he sat on a low branch. He’d climbed higher, and then Ferdi had arrived.

He started to shout a warning, but before the words were out of his mouth, Dapple had gone over, on top of Ferdi, and the dogs were tearing at her. The shrieks of the mare were terrible to hear. Farry covered his face, but he couldn’t not look... his next sight was more nightmarish than the last, for Dapple had regained her feet and dogs were jumping at her to bring her down once more, and others were pulling at Ferdi as if he were a rope in a game of “tug”.

He did not want to watch, but he couldn’t look away. Something grey passed swiftly beneath his tree. A fiery stallion it was, bursting into the field in great leaps, trampling underfoot two of the dogs worrying at Dapple before they knew he was upon them, taking in his teeth another hanging from her neck, shaking the dog such that it went limp as it fell. The stallion shrieked a challenge and reared above Ferdibrand, smashing down on the dog at the hobbit's throat. Back broken, the beast rolled away. The stallion whistled another challenge and reared again. This time he came down upon the dog biting at Ferdi’s coat and side. The dog pulling at Ferdi's leg had abandoned his hold and retreated when the throat-worrier was struck down, and now he turned tail and fled yelping, pursued by the wild-eyed stallion.

 ‘Da!’ Farry shouted, finding his voice at last. If Socks were here, his father could not be far behind. ‘Da!’

No answer came, but the stallion turned about and returned to stand protectively over Ferdibrand, head held high and alert, looking in every direction. All the remaining dogs had fled.

Farry slid from branch to branch until he landed on the old stump standing next to the tree that had been his refuge. He started for Ferdi, stumbling in the furrows. As he got closer, the stallion fixed him with a fearsome gaze and stomped his foot threateningly.

 ‘Steady, Socks,’ Farry piped. This was his father’s pony, why, they were old friends. Farry fed him an apple every evening! He moved slowly closer, watching the ears as he’d been taught. Socks must be terribly upset, for the ears went back as he approached.

 ‘Steady, Socks,’ Farry said in as soothing a tone as he could muster. ‘I only want to help him. Please?’ He held out his empty hands, watching the pony warily as he edged closer. Ferdi lay so still, Farry was afraid. He’d never seen Ferdi still before. Even if he sat still his fingers would be moving, creating something. Farry had seen death before, but he still didn’t understand it. Could Ferdi be dead?

 ‘Please,’ he said again, stretching one hand towards the stallion. ‘Please let me help him.’ Suddenly the pony’s head went down and his look softened. Farry moved the few steps to Ferdi and fell to his knees in the dirt. The pony stepped back a pace or two and lowered his head still further, his breath tickling the back of Farry’s neck.

 ‘Ferdi?’ he said, shaking the head of escort. Ferdi’s eyes opened, and the lad nearly cried in relief. ‘Ferdi! O Ferdi!’ He fell forward to hug the tweedy jacket that smelled of leather and ponies and mint, somehow. He felt Ferdi’s arm come up to embrace him weakly and then fall away.

 ‘Ferdi, we’ve got to get home,’ Farry said. ‘What if the dogs come back?’ The head of escort did not respond, seeming not to hear in his dazed condition. ‘Ferdi!’ Farry said desperately. The stallion tossed his head uneasily.

 ‘I’ve got to get help,’ Farry said, though he hadn’t the faintest idea how to go about it. His thoughts returned to his father. Da would know what to do. Da knew everything! He reached for his father’s stallion, but the pony shook its head at him and retreated a step. Farry had never ridden Socks without his father’s firm hold on the bridle.

Dapple caught his eye. She was standing nearby, head drooping, shivering, bleeding from many wounds. ‘We’ve got to get you home too,’ Farry said importantly. He got up. Looking down at the head of escort, he said, ‘Don’t worry, Ferdi. Dapple and I will get help!’ Why, he was just like a character in a story!

He walked over to Dapple and patted her bleeding nose. ‘There-there,’ he soothed, just as he’d heard Old Tom do when he visited the stables. ‘There-there, lass. We’ve got to go home! We have to get help!’

He took the mare’s reins and tugged gently. She stumbled forward a step. ‘That’s it!’ he encouraged. Coaxing and talking cheerily, he led the mare out of the broken ground to the smooth space under the trees. He positioned her next to the old stump. Ferdi was always bragging on how this pony would stand where he put her! Holding his breath, Farry climbed on the stump. Yes, the mare stood!

It was a reach to pull himself up onto the saddle, but Farry managed. He took up the reins as his father had taught him and drummed his heels on the saddle flaps. ‘Home, Dapple,’ he called. ‘Home!’

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure just which way home was, but he was sure the pony would know. He’d heard about ponies returning to the stables without their riders when picnicking hobbits were careless about tying or hobbling them...

Dapple knew the way home, all right, and with a rider on her back who didn’t seem to mind which direction they were going, she had no compunction about turning her face towards the stables and heading there. As a matter of fact, she even broke into a shambling trot once they were past the ploughed ground. ‘That’s it!’ Farry cried encouragement.

Dapple took the shortest route homewards that she could find, trails around rather than over the tall hills surrounding them, and so she bypassed the searchers in the long grass on the hill beyond the Great Smials. Some hobbits of the Great Smials, including the Thain and the remainder of his escort, were searching; others were laying blankets upon the meadow and setting out the picnic, still others were going about their business, hurrying to finish before teatime.

There was general consternation when Farry rode the bloody mare into the yard. Old Tom came up to catch Dapple, though there was no need. She stopped at the trough before the stables and began to suck down quantities of water, with no intention of moving from the spot.

Old Tom grabbed Farry from the saddle. ‘Call the Thain!’ he snapped at the nearest hobbits. ‘He’s on the hilltop! Run!’

 ‘Ferdi’s hurted,’ Farry said, putting his hands on either side of Tom’s face to command his attention. He pulled Tom’s face around to look him in the eye. ‘Ferdi needs help.’

 ‘I can imagine,’ Tom said fervently as stable hobbits hurried to tend to the bleeding mare. ‘Where is he? What’s happened?’

 ‘Dogs,’ Farry said. ‘They tried to eat him and Dapple.’

 ‘You left him?’ Tom said, aghast. What if the dogs returned? Not that little Farry could have done anything, but the thought of Ferdi lying bleeding somewhere, without help...

Diamond ran up to them, taking Farry from Tom and hugging him tight, scolding breathlessly, just as Farry was trying to tell Tom that Socks was guarding Ferdi. The head of stables turned away without hearing the rest of the lad’s tale, shouting for ponies to be saddled and a rescue party to make ready to set out.

 ‘Where is Ferdi?’ he turned back to say.

 ‘By the trees,’ Farry said. ‘By the field.’

 ‘Where?’ Tom demanded. Farry reared back in his mother’s arms, for the intensity in Old Tom’s voice frightened him.

Diamond had taken in the sight of the injured mare, had ascertained that the blood that smeared her son had not come from Farry himself, had grasped the implications of Old Tom’s question. Now she swallowed hard, forced a smile, and said with artificial brightness, ‘Where did you leave Ferdibrand, lovie? Can you tell us how to find him?’

 ‘By the trees!’ Farry repeated in frustration. ‘By the field, over the hill!’

 ‘Pippin’s coming,’ Diamond said, nodding to the figure of the Thain, pelting across the meadow on Socks’ back. ‘He’ll know what to do.’

Farry, however, seeing his father on the grey pony, began to cry hysterically, and it took long moments for them to calm him. Finally, between sobs, they were able to make out something about “Socks” and “Ferdi” but not much more than that.

 ‘I don’t know where he is,’ Tom said. ‘Trees... field... hill... he could be anywhere!’

 ‘Could you show us, Farry-lad?’ Pippin said, taking his son from Diamond.

Gulping back his tears, Farry nodded.

 ‘Good,’ Pippin said. He’d been filled in on what sketchy details they had, and now he mounted Socks once more, putting Farry before him on the saddle. Grim-faced Tooks armed with bows and lances mounted their ponies and fell in behind him.

 ‘All right, Farry,’ Pippin said. ‘Which way?’

They started across the meadow and up the big hill with its tall grass where lately Farry and Goldi had played “hide and you seek me”, only now they were seeking in deadly earnest. Pippin hoped they’d find Ferdi before his time ran out.

After a frustrating half-hour of following a four-year-old’s vague directions, the seekers were back in the yard, and Pippin was calling out orders. All hobbits of the Smials and surrounding town who were able, walked in a spreading fan out of the yard of the Great Smials and into the surrounding hills in a wide search pattern, walking in all directions. Armed hobbits walked amongst the searchers, though Pippin doubted that even wild dogs would attack hobbits appearing in such numbers.

Farry was white-faced and silent. He’d been so sure they were going the same way he’d gone before, but Dapple had come home another way and now all the hills surrounding the Smials looked alike to him. In addition, the Sun was lower in the sky than it had been. Even the shadows looked different.

Pippin gave his young son a hug. ‘Very well, Farry,’ he said. ‘Let us try again. We’ll start on the big hill where you were playing, and try to find our way from there...’

Chapter 24. Bloody Trail

Farry was there, and then he was not there. Ferdi didn’t know how long he lay on his back, blinking at the sky. He wanted to get up, but even sitting up seemed beyond his present capabilities. He settled for rolling over on his face, pushing himself up with his hands, trying to get his feet under him, but excruciating pain in his right leg left him collapsed on the ground, gasping. Further movement seemed beyond him.

There was a nudge at his shoulder, a nibbling along his neck. He struck out wildly, connecting a glancing blow with something above and behind, and heard a snort that sounded more equine than canine. A moment later there was another nudge, strong enough to roll him over this time. He lay gazing up at a grey pony.

 ‘Socks,’ he whispered. ‘How’d you get here, old lad? Where’s Pip?’

The pony whuffled at his shirt, at the pocket where he invariably kept pieces of carrot. The long, tangled mane tickled Ferdi’s face. He reached up, grabbing at the pony, and the stallion jerked his head upwards, bringing Ferdi upright with the motion. Ferdi instinctively tightened his hold. ‘Steady now,’ he murmured, and though his head was swimming he clung fiercely to consciousness. ‘Steady.’

The grey pony’s ears remained pinned back as Ferdi used him as a brace to lever himself erect. The hobbit avoided putting weight on the bad leg, leaning on the pony instead. Once Ferdi was upright, the pony’s ears came up and swivelled back and forth. Ferdi felt an absurd desire to laugh. ‘Quite comical, I’m sure,’ he whispered. ‘We’ve five good legs between us.’

He stroked the soft nose, tried to untangle the long forelock half-hiding the pony’s face. ‘How did you get out, Socks?’ he said. ‘And into such a state? You’ve been rolling in the mud, to all appearances, and wandering amongst the cockleburs. Old Tom will be fit to be tied. Still, I’m that glad to see you.’ He remembered Farry, then, as if it were a dream. ‘Did Farry take you out?’ he asked, and shook his head. No, of course not. Farry had wandered away on foot, and Ferdi had followed on Dapple. He remembered suddenly the mare’s despairing scream and his breath came short.

 ‘Dapple!’ he whispered. He eased his arm over the grey pony’s neck, blessing the creature for bearing his weight, and slowly looked all about. There was no sign of the mare. The dogs had not killed her, then, not outright. She would have stood after the dogs left, and not gone alone back to the stables, unless there were a rider on her back... that was where Farry was! He’d ridden Dapple to find help! Bright lad.

 ‘Well we don’t have to wait for help, now, do we?’ he murmured. ‘You’ll take me back, won’t you, lad?’ The pony blew softly. Further thought confirmed that they had better not wait for help. Ferdi was feeling worse by the moment.

There was a stump by the tree that had served as Farry’s refuge; Ferdi remembered seeing it as he was lining up his first shot. If he could just get to it, climb up; if he could just manage to slide onto the pony’s back... He found himself talking aloud, talking the plan over with the pony, talking himself through each hopping step. The pony seemed to understand; he turned his head easily in the direction Ferdi indicated and walked slowly towards the trees as Ferdi hobbled beside him.

Ferdi wondered if Socks would stand for him to mount. The grey stallion tended to dance as Pippin leapt aboard, indicating his eagerness to go. But no, the pony seemed to understand Ferdi’s need. He stood quietly by the stump, waiting as patiently as an old plough pony while Ferdi managed to surmount the stump, clinging to the pony the whole time to keep from falling.

At last Ferdi stood atop the stump and leaned on the pony. He grasped the right knee of his breeches and pulled the damaged leg over the pony’s back, leaving a bright streak of crimson on the dusky hide. He was bleeding steadily, he noticed with an odd detachment, another good reason not to wait for rescuers.

The grey pony craned his neck around, for all the world as if he were making sure that Ferdi was comfortably settled and secure.

 ‘Home, lad,’ Ferdi said, patting the soft neck and twining his fingers in the tangled mane. ‘Home,’ he whispered again, weakness washing over him. He laid his head down, trusting the pony to find their way.

The grey pony moved as smooth as Elven glass, cutting across the ploughed field by the shortest way and skirting the field as if seeking to avoid jarring his incapacitated rider, though in all probability he was simply after the best footing. He did not follow the way Dapple had gone. The wind blowing from that direction brought the scent of many hobbits, and from the smell of them they were in a perturbed state.

The pony turned to go around the other side of the large hill in the direction of the Great Smials, where a little wood followed a stream there. Brambles and heavy underbrush promised cover. The pony blended like a wraith into the trees, and so the searching hobbits did not see him as they entered the ploughed valley.

***

Elanor was quite hysterical. ‘It’s all my fault,’ she sobbed over and over again. ‘If I had been watching, if Goldi hadn’t wandered...’

In the end, Mistress Rose had had to slap her eldest daughter sharply to bring her round, and then as Ellie stared at her mother in consternation and shame, Rose pulled her close. ‘There-there,’ she murmured, stroking the tumbled curls. Merry-lad had brought the awful news that Ferdibrand had been eaten by dogs while searching for little Farry, who’d come riding home on Ferdi’s blood-soaked mare.

 ‘We were playing hidey-seeky,’ Goldi said. ‘Not dogses.’

Thankfully the child had not understood the breathless message, Rose realised, even as Elanor’s weeping was renewed.

 ‘Don’t cry, Ellie,’ Goldi said, patting Elanor with her little dimpled hand. ‘Don’t cry.’

 ‘O Mum!’ Elanor said, pulling away to hide her face in her skirts, sinking down on the bed with its bright new coverlet.

 ‘It was to be such a nice surprise,’ Rosie-lass murmured, her eyes wide and her face blanched of all colour. Her mother caught her as she swayed, easing her down next to her older sister. It had been a lovely plan. Frodo-lad had ascertained that Ferdi was going for a ride instead of attending the festive picnic, and so the Gamgee children had put into action the plan that had been in the making ever since their last visit to the Great Smials.

Ferdi’s bed sported a bright new coverlet, pieced together of colourful scraps. More scraps had been hooked into a warm and cosy rag rug that graced the floor by the bed. An embroidered cloth covered the little table, and comfortable cushions were tied onto the chair drawn up before the table. Ferdi’s plain room had been transformed by loving hands into a veritable haven of comfort. And now...

 ‘He’s not dead,’ Frodo-lad panted from the doorway. He had pelted out of the Great Smials when Merry-lad had brought the dreadful news from the yard where he’d been watching against Ferdi’s early return.

 ‘Not dead?’ Rose said, relief washing over her. Of course Ferdi wasn’t dead. This was just one more example of the Talk of the Tooks run wild before it could be reined in by sensible folk.

 ‘They’re not sure,’ Frodo-lad said cautiously. This was better than definitely dead but not much comfort. ‘They’re sending out searchers; Dad and I are joining them.’

 ‘I want to come too!’ Merry-lad said.

 ‘No, Merry,’ Frodo-lad answered, putting a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. ‘You and Pip-lad are to stay and watch over... Where is Pip?’

 ‘I sent him to fetch a healer,’ Mistress Rose said. ‘Your sisters have taken the news awful hard.’

 ‘And here I am,’ Healer Woodruff said, bustling in, Pip-lad in her train.

 ‘But you ought to be with them!’ Elanor said incoherently. ‘If he’s not dead...’ She was breathing spasmodically and gulping back tears.

 ‘Mardi went out with the Thain,’ Woodruff said briskly. ‘And you, lass, are going to drink a cup of something soothing and lie down until you get yourself in hand. Come, Mistress,’ she said to Rose. ‘You take that one,’ meaning Rosie-lass, ‘and I’ll take this one.’

 ‘And we’ll take this one!’ Merry-lad said, pouncing upon little Goldi and making her squeal. Pip-lad read his meaningful look and took up Goldi’s other hand, and the two swung her between them, chortling all the way to the Mayor’s quarters. She didn’t even realise, at first, that they were leaving Ferdi’s quarters behind. The original plan had been to wait for him to return from his ride, shout “Surprise!” and grandly escort him to Diamond’s birthday tea, old clothes or no.

A healer’s assistant was there before them, just filling a teapot. ‘Chamomile tea,’ she said. ‘Very soothing. Let us slip off their things down to their chemises and tuck them up for a nice nap.’

 ‘I don’t want a nice nap,’ Elanor said, but Mistress Rose hushed her, saying automatically, ‘Now Ellie, set a good example for your younger sisters.’

Once everyone had taken a cup of “soothing chamomile” and Elanor and Rosie-lass and even little Goldilocks were tucked up for a “nice little nap”, Woodruff turned on Mistress Rose.

 ‘You could stand to put your own feet up for a bit, is what I’m thinking,’ she said in a no-nonsense tone. ‘All this fuss and worry is not good for you, nor your little one!’ Despite her best intentions to seek out Diamond and reclaim Ham and Daisy from whatever tweens Diamond had assigned to watch them, Rose found herself in the easiest chair of the Mayor’s sitting room, her feet propped up on a stool and a lap warmer spread over her.

 ‘There now,’ Woodruff said. ‘You rest, and I’ve told them to send you news as soon as there’s any.’ She turned to Merry-lad and Pip-lad. ‘You two stout fellows watch over your mum, now,’ she said.

 ‘Yes’m,’ Merry-lad said politely, and little Pip nodded. They sat down upon the hearth rug, before the cheerful fire, and toasted their toes while talking quietly and eating apples from the bowl on the table. Young as they were, it wasn’t long before they too, once hunger was satisfied, fell asleep.

***

 ‘This is the field!’ little Farry shouted in excitement. ‘This is the one!’ He waved both arms while his father steadied him on the saddle, and pointed across the furrows to the stand of trees at the far end.

Savilard, chief huntshobbit for the Thain, looked at the ground. ‘Could be a pony,’ he said, studying the marks in the furrows. The ground was too rough to show a clear print. He led the party to one side of the trail of marks, towards the island of trees. Just before reaching the trees they stopped, seeing the bodies on the ground.

 ‘That’s the ones!’ Farry shouted. ‘That’s the ones Socks kilt! I saw him!’ He leaned forward in a frenzy of enthusiasm to hug the grey pony’s neck. ‘Good old Socks!’

Savilard shot a glance at the Thain, but that hobbit only shrugged. He did not know what his son meant, either. The hunter dismounted, the better to scout the ground. ‘Something big here,’ he said, ‘pony perhaps.’

 ‘Dapple fell there!’ Farry said, his eyes wide with remembered horror. ‘Ferdi was under her, and the dogs were tearing at her and she was squealing and thrashing...’

Pippin’s hands tightened on his son.

 ‘I was in that tree!’ Farry said, pointing, then swivelled to indicate two of the bodies. ‘That’s the ones that were tearing at Ferdi. Socks stomped them! The rest all ran away,’ he added, dissatisfied somehow. He wished Socks had stomped them all.

Pippin shot a look at Savilard. Where’s Ferdi?

Savilard took a deep breath and went back to the ground, searching for signs to tell if the dogs had come back.

 ‘Is Ferdi...?’ the Thain asked delicately, not wanting to alarm Farry.

 ‘They’d’ve left something,’ Savilard said obliquely. He frowned absently as he tried to read the story left in the furrows. He walked slowly towards the trees, leading his pony, the others following silently, a little to one side in case he wanted to go over the ground once more.

Suddenly the hunter uttered a sharp exclamation, pointing to a blood trail on the unploughed grass beneath the trees. ‘Here!’ he said. ‘Something...’

 ‘Farry led Dapple to the stump,’ Pippin said. ‘She was bleeding heavily.’

 ‘O aye,’ Savilard said dismissively. He gestured vaguely at the ground. ‘Two trails,’ he said. ‘One’s fresher than the other.’

Pippin looked down at the ground, wondering how the hunter could tell amongst the red-to-brown splotches on the grass. ‘The fresher one would be Ferdi, I’ll warrant,’ he said.

The hunter made an affirmative noise and continued to follow the splotches of blood to the stump. ‘Climbed up,’ he said. ‘Stood, and...?’

Pippin waited. ‘And what?’ he finally asked.

Savilard lifted his cap to scratch his head. ‘Dunno,’ he said slowly. ‘There's no marks on the tree... he climbed no further. Why would he climb on the stump, anyhow, bleeding as he was?’

 ‘To get on a pony!’ Farry said brightly. ‘I told you Socks was here...’ His look turned puzzled. He hadn’t quite figured out how his Da could have been riding Socks, when Socks was rescuing them from the dogs.

 ‘He might have something,’ Savilard said slowly. He began to scout the ground, moving in widening circles about the stump, casting about. ‘Here’s Dapple,’ he said, pointing to a browning splotch on a bush. ‘But here...’ crimson drops shone like rubies atop the leaves skirting a bramble patch. ‘This way,’ he said, as if to himself, and followed the new trail. ‘Ha!’ he said at the edge, where the furrows started.

There was the clear mark of a hoof in the dirt, heading away from the island of trees. ‘Unshod,’ Savilard said, a question in his voice. ‘Another pony?’ He looked up at the Thain. ‘I don’t understand.’

 ‘Nor do I,’ Pippin said, ‘but you say Ferdi’s trail went this way...’

Savilard nodded sharply. ‘Aye,’ he said with more confidence. ‘I’d lay a wager on this trail, I would, more’n anything else there is to see hereabouts.’

He followed the rough marks as they cut across the furrows, calling out in triumph when they reached the far side. ‘More blood!’

 ‘Let us follow,’ Pippin said. ‘Let us hope we find the end of the trail before Ferdi runs out of blood.’

 ‘Aye,’ Savilard said softly. He began to walk more swiftly, and then to jog. ‘Aye,’ he said again, as the rest of the Thain’s party fell in behind him. ‘Let us hope...’

Chapter 25. Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety-Jig

The line of searchers met the Thain’s party halfway through the little stretch of woodland. Pippin nudged Socks ahead of the others to reach Samwise, walking in the line. ‘Did you see Ferdi?’ he asked urgently. ‘He came this way!’

 ‘We saw nothing!’ Sam said in consternation. ‘Heard a rustle in the underbrush, but it was a deer, I think. It was well hidden, and I don’t blame it, with a great mob of hobbits walking through its sitting room!’

 ‘Could it be?’ Pippin asked as Savilard came up to them. ‘They say there was a deer in the underbrush, but could it somehow have been...’

 ‘Possible,’ the hunter replied. ‘He might have crawled to concealment, were he out of his head.’ He still wasn’t sure about the pony’s role, if any. The hoofprint might have been totally unrelated to the current situation, left there before Farry and Ferdi reached the island of trees. The pattern of drops on the bushes could have come from the bleeding head or shoulder of a hobbit on foot, rather than dripping down from a mounted hobbit.

Savilard lifted his horn to his lips and blew a lusty call. In the distance to both sides of them they heard the echo of answering horns responding to the recall. ‘We’ll follow this trail,’ he said. ‘We know we’ve found the spot where the dogs attacked, and the trail leads back towards the Smials... somehow he slipped by the searchers.’

The hunter’s suspicion grew stronger as the searchers reached the end of the wood to find the blood trail continuing, crimson drops shining from the grass. ‘That wasn’t there before!’ Sam said, calling to the hobbits who’d walked to either side of him in for confirmation. ‘I’d swear it!’

 ‘He’s headed back to the Smials,’ Savilard said, his voice rising with excitement, but he sobered quickly. ‘At the rate he’s losing blood, I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t fall in a heap before he’s halfway. I’m surprised he kept his feet this long, for that matter.’

 ‘Then we’d best hurry,’ the Thain said grimly.

***

Falling in a heap was sounding more and more promising to Ferdi as he rode through the deserted party field, bright cloths strewn over the meadow in a patchwork as if a giant had laid out squares for a coverlet and then abandoned the project. No hobbits were taking tea on the meadow, nor standing on the stones of the yard. There were not even any stable hobbits loitering about the main entrance to the stables, enjoying the sunshine.

Nearly all the stalls were empty, as a matter of fact, the ponies gone. Ferdi tried to puzzle out the meaning of it all, but gave it up for the roaring in his head made it nearly impossible to think a coherent thought. All he wanted was a soft place to rest his aching bones—bed!—and something warm to pull over him. Ah, but he was cold, shivering cold, and shudders wracked his body, painfully knotting his tortured muscles.

 ‘That’s it, old lad,’ he murmured into the soft neck beneath his face. ‘In the stables, that’s it.’ Somehow the pony understood the guiding of his hand on the neck and turned into the stable entrance. Ferdi slid from his back and nearly crumpled to the ground. The fingers he’d locked into the tangled mane saved him from a spill.

 ‘Come along, Socks,’ he murmured, hardly hearing his own voice in his ears. Leaning heavily upon the pony, he led the stallion to the stall already prepared for the favourite of the Thain. The straw was bedded deep, the oats were in the feedbox, hay in the haynet, bucket brimming with fresh water. At the smell of the water, the pony’s nostrils dilated and he needed no urging to go into the stall, where he jammed his nose into the bucket and drank deeply, then turned with greedy interest to the oats.

 ‘Good lad,’ Ferdi said, shutting and latching the stall door. He’d half a mind to lie down in that soft bed of straw, but some part of him was still thinking of softness and warmth, pillows and blankets. Perhaps he ought to do something about the bleeding leg, as well, but for the moment above all he craved sleep. He settled for wrapping a cloth around his leg from a bucket of supplies just outside the stall; if it was good enough to wrap a pony’s leg, it was good enough for him. He grabbed at a rake leaning against the wall, where a stable hobbit had abandoned it hastily, to all appearances. Old Tom would never countenance tools left loose. He wondered vaguely where  Tom was, anyhow, but it was a problem beyond his solving.

With the help of the rake he was able to hobble slowly out of the stables and across the stones of the yard. Thankfully he did not have to climb the stone steps leading up to the Great Door; his quarters were not far from one of the lesser entrances at ground level. He grimaced at the rake as he stumbled through the door. The holekeepers would certainly frown upon a dirty stable rake in the Smials proper. He told himself that he’d sneak it back to the stables after he had himself a little rest.

Not far to go now... not far... He found himself chanting the words aloud, an encouragement, a litany of effort that lifted him, propelled him yet another step when he thought he could go no further. Not far... He reached his door, pushed the door open, staggered into the room. Not far...

When he was nearly to the bed he stopped, blinking in astonishment. He must have mistaken the number of doors, but he’d unconsciously counted, third door to the left after the right-hand turn. The fact remained, this was not his room. Even by the light of the turned-down lamp he could see the cheery coverlet on the bed, the snowy cloth on the table, and there was a soft rug under his feet.

He turned to make his way out again but a wave of light-headedness caused him to sway and sink down upon the bed. Really, he’d just rest a moment. Just for a moment, he thought dizzily. He closed his eyes, the better to gather himself for the effort.

When next he opened them, he was looking up at the ceiling, somehow lying down where a moment ago he’d been sitting. The bed was so soft, so comfortable, but he was cold, so cold. He wished he could crawl between the sheets and give himself up to sleep, but he had to get up in a moment, for some reason that was beyond him. He shivered and wished idly for a blanket... and suddenly a blanket was there, in place, pulled over him, and a small hand was stroking his forehead.

 ‘Go to s’eepy, Ferdi,’ Goldi lisped. She’d crept from her little bed to find all her family asleep, just like in the old tale in a book her father read by the fireside. What if Ferdi came back and no one was there to shout “Surprise!” and escort him to the picnic? Goldi crept from her bed, past her sleeping mother and brothers, through empty corridors from the apartments of the higher-ranking hobbits, the Mayor among them, to the corridor of bachelor rooms belonging to those unmarried hobbits who worked for the Thain.

The door was ajar, and peeping in, Goldi saw Ferdi sprawled upon the bed. He’d missed his surprise! Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. Ferdi was playing the nappy-bye game!

Goldi had played this game many the time with Elanor and Rosie. One or both of them would lie down upon the bed and pretend to sleep, and Goldi would be the “little mama” and draw a blanket over them, tuck them up, sing a song, pretend to watch over her sleeping “babes”.

There was a folded blanket at the foot of the bed, and Goldi started to pull it over Ferdi. She frowned a bit, for he was very grimy from playing in the dirt. His mama ought to have sent him to wash before he laid himself down! But then, seeing the blood-soaked rag on his leg she caught her breath. Ferdi was hurted! She knew just what to do...

She pulled the blanket up to his chin and managed to ease a pillow under his head, then stroked his forehead gently. ‘Go s’eepy,’ she repeated, and smiled at the success of the game as Ferdi’s eyes closed once more and he relaxed.

***

The searchers rode into the yard of the Great Smials, still following the blood trail. Pippin jumped down and Reginard seized Socks’ reins. ‘I’ll put him away,’ he said, and led his pony and Pippin’s into the stables.

Savilard was regarding the bloodstains in the yard. ‘I cannot believe he came this far,’ he said. ‘It looks as if someone found him and carried him into the Smials.’

An uproar in the stables distracted them, and Pippin exclaimed, ‘That’s Socks!’ He rushed to see the cause, finding Regi fighting for control of the grey stallion.

There was a splintering sound as a mirror image of Socks charged the door to the stall, but the doors and latches were sturdy, the stall itself reinforced due to the restless nature of its usual occupant. Socks had a reputation for kicking out his stall if he thought he was not having enough exercise.

 ‘Get him out of here,’ Pippin gasped, and Regi pulled Socks back out to the yard. Savilard and Pippin stared at the grey stallion in Socks’ stall.

 ‘Lookit the blood on his back,’ the hunter said slowly.

 ‘I see no wound,’ Pippin said, going over the stallion with a keen eye.

 ‘Not his blood,’ Savilard said. ‘He must be the one, brought Ferdi back.’ He pointed. ‘The trail stops here.’

 ‘Then Ferdi must be in the Smials, and safe!’ Pippin said.

He turned and strode across the yard and into the Smials, a parade of Tooks following him. The first place to look would be Ferdi’s room; if he weren’t badly injured, a healer would have tucked him up there and set a watcher beside him.

Pippin stopped short outside the door to Ferdi’s room. From the relative dimness within, the lamp was turned down. Ferdi must be asleep, but what was that childish voice that came from within? Cautiously, the Thain pushed the door open, to see Ferdi lying upon the bed, face in the low light as pale as the pillow that cradled his head. Tiny Goldi Gamgee looked up with a frown, her song breaking off mid-phrase.

 ‘Shush,’ she told the Thain. ‘Don’t wake the babe! I just got him to s’eep!’

Chapter 26. Put Back Together

Healer Mardibold pushed past the Thain. Seizing Ferdi’s shoulder, he spoke urgently. ‘Ferdi! Are you with us?’

Ferdi blinked and said blearily, ‘O there you are, Mardi. For once I’m glad to see you.’

Mardi exchanged worried glances with the Thain, and Pippin called over his shoulder, ‘Fetch Woodruff! Make haste!’

Samwise swooped upon little Goldi. From the blood they’d followed, he didn’t think the tiny lass ought to be there when Mardi began his examination.

 ‘But I not done,’ Goldi objected, but then she brightened. ‘Is it time for the pic-a-nic?’

Sam seized on this idea. ‘Picnic, yes! Ellie and Fro will take you on a picnic,’ he said, turning towards the door.

Goldi squirmed, turning in her father’s arms to wave over his shoulder. ‘Bye-bye, Ferdi!’ she called cheerily. ‘Bye-bye!’

Pippin had already turned up the lamp and brought it over. Mardi stripped away the blanket, eliciting a protest from Ferdi. ‘Cold,’ the head of escort mumbled, grabbing feebly at the retreating soft warmth.

 ‘Steady, lad,’ Mardi said automatically. He looked first at the bloody leg, pulling away enough of the makeshift bandage to get an idea of damages. Next he fished a clean handkerchief from his pocket and laid it on the wound.

 ‘What can I do?’ Pippin asked, hovering.

Mardi took his hand and placed it over the source of the heaviest bleeding. ‘Press here,’ he said. ‘Firm pressure, now.’

 ‘Hurts,’ Ferdi protested.

Mardi placed his hand on the Thain’s and bore down. ‘I know, lad,’ he said to Ferdi. ‘What needs must be, endure must we.’

 ‘Devote your time to healing,’ Ferdi mumbled. ‘Your poetry is sadly lacking.’

 ‘It was not of my making,’ Mardi said with dignity. Now that Pippin was applying pressure to the leg, he rapidly completed his examination. ‘Does this hurt?’ he said, gently touching the bruised ribs.

 ‘Of course it hurts,’ Ferdi said. ‘What did you expect?’

 ‘Where else are you injured?’ Mardi said, paying no heed to rhetorical questions.

  ‘Bow arm,’ Ferdi said, gesturing vaguely. ‘And my pony fell upon me and squashed me as flat as a spider when a lass has finished screeching and taken action.’

 ‘Your pony fell upon you?’ Mardi said in dismay.

 ‘Aye, rolled me out like pastry for a pie,’ Ferdi said, ‘but ‘twasn’t her fault. She lost her footing in the furrows.’

Mardi looked to the Thain. ‘He’s out of his head,’ he said.

Ferdi half sat up and Mardi had to push him down again. ‘ ‘s truth!’ he protested.

 ‘Of course it is,’ Mardi soothed, then to the hovering hobbits he added, ‘Come, let us take him to the infirmary. He needs more than I can do for him here.’

With three hobbits on a side, they picked up the coverlet that he lay upon and brought him as swiftly as they could to the infirmary. Pippin maintained his hold on Ferdi’s leg.

Woodruff met them halfway to the infirmary, asking quick questions that Mardi answered in the incomprehensible language that healers use amongst themselves. ‘Speak clearly,’ Ferdi complained, trying to raise his head. ‘I want to know if I’m dying or not!’

 ‘You’re not dying!’ Pippin said grimly.

 ‘When did you become a healer?’ Ferdi demanded.

 ‘You’re not dying,’ Woodruff snapped. ‘Now lie down!’

 ‘That’s better,’ Ferdi grumbled, reassured to have a genuine healer abusing... er... caring for him.

They laid him down upon a table and eased the coverlet from under him. ‘Steady on,’ Woodruff said with a hand on Ferdi’s shoulder.

 ‘Cold,’ he mumbled, his head moving restlessly back and forth. ‘So cold... please...’

 ‘Warmed blankets!’ Woodruff snapped, and soon Ferdi was wrapped neatly in heated wool, all but the bloody leg, with hot flannel-wrapped bricks tucked around him.

 ‘Stay with us, Ferdi,’ Mardi said, forcing cheeriness into his voice. Assistants were rapidly assembling the necessary materials and soon one held a basin in place while another rolled Ferdi onto his stomach and pulled the injured leg free of the table, holding it suspended over the basin.

As Woodruff and Mardibold hastily washed up, an assistant emptied a jar of boiled water over the leg. Blood, dirt and water ran down into the basin. Woodruff stepped in with a threaded needle whilst Mardi pulled the edges of the wound back. The bleeder was quickly tied off, and then Woodruff stepped back and gestured to the assistants waiting with more water.

 ‘Again,’ Woodruff said, and again the wound was washed, and yet a fourth and fifth jar were dumped while Woodruff rotated the leg to ensure the most thorough cleansing. When the healer was satisfied, the basin was emptied for the last time and held under the leg to catch the remaining water that was draining.

 ‘Now we get down to business,’ Woodruff murmured. She nodded to her assistants, who began to unwrap the blankets from parts of Ferdi, cutting away his torn and filthy clothing, washing him with warm water, drying him well and wrapping him up again. They ignored his complaints, of course, and stayed out of Woodruff’s and Mardi’s way as the healers worked over the leg.

Diamond entered the infirmary. ‘I heard that Ferdi was found,’ she said, and stopped to see the operation proceeding.

Pippin moved from his observation point and hugged his wife. ‘Alive and well,’ he said.

 ‘I beg to differ,’ came Ferdi’s muffled voice.

Diamond couldn’t help laughing. She bent close to Ferdi’s head and said, ‘What’s your favourite meal, Ferdi? I’m going to order it from the kitchens right now!’

 ‘Liver and onions,’ Woodruff said firmly, not looking up from her work.

 ‘I hate liver!’ Ferdi protested.

 ‘Nevertheless, that is what you’ll be eating over the next few days,’ Woodruff said. Looking to Diamond, she added, ‘A nice steak-and-kidney pie would not go amiss.’

 ‘That’s more like it,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘I meant for myself,’ Woodruff said, but she smiled as she looked back down at her handiwork. She had trimmed away loose scraps of flesh and skin, shaped the wound as best she could, and loosely stitched the opening to allow for drainage. ‘However, I think we can arrange the same for you... if you eat the liver first, that is, and drink all the liquid I prescribe for you.’

Mardi placed a clean dressing on the wound and bandaged the leg loosely. ‘There we are,’ he said.

The washers were working on Ferdi’s torso now, and Diamond kissed her husband and made a hasty exit, saying, ‘I’ll order dinner.’

Woodruff probed the bruises on Ferdi’s ribs, saying, ‘Does that hurt?’

As the assistants rolled Ferdi onto his side, he blinked in Pippin’s direction. ‘Why do healers always ask that?’ he said plaintively. ‘I told them it hurt, already, and it has not ceased from hurting...’

Mardi was examining the bow arm, having carefully removed the leather brace with its toothmarks sunk deep. ‘Powerful jaws, that one had,’ he remarked conversationally. ‘I do believe he would have crushed the bone, had the brace not been there.’

 ‘And what am I to do for shooting?’ Ferdi grumbled. ‘He crushed the brace!’

 ‘Have Hally make you another,’ Pippin soothed. ‘I’ll send a quick post rider to Woody End right away to tell him of your mishap, and to ask your sister to come.’

 ‘No,’ Ferdi said unexpectedly. ‘Don’t worry Rosemary! Why, the way the Tooks talk she’ll be setting out to bury me!’

 ‘I’ll have Diamond compose the message,’ Pippin said in the same calming tones.

 ‘All clean and dry!’ Woodruff announced, sounding pleased. The assistants had finished their washing and drying and had swaddled Ferdi in clean, freshly warmed blankets.

 ‘Cold,’ Ferdi complained again.

 ‘I have just the thing for you, Master Ferdibrand,’ Woodruff said, taking the steaming mug an assistant was extending. ‘A nice hot drink will warm you nicely, and more where that came from.’

 ‘None of your potions now,’ Ferdi said truculently as they sat him up.

 ‘It’s broth,’ Woodruff said, ‘rich, hot, broth. Drink it down now, before I change my mind and order you a double portion of liver and no steak-and-kidney pie.’

 ‘Can’t you do something?’ Ferdi appealed to Pippin.

Pippin patted his cousin’s blanketed shoulder. ‘I’m that sorry, Ferdi,’ he said. ‘She’s the healer, you know, and I’m only Thain.’

***

Thanks to Lyllyn at HASA for her invaluable medical advice.

Chapter 27. Live and Let Liver

Ferdi wakened suddenly with a jerk, not sure where he was. He’d been dreaming that he was trapped under Dapple, hearing her screams as the dogs tore at her... but he wakened to a soothing voice. ‘Steady, Ferdi, all is well.’

 ‘Well?’ he gasped. ‘Dapple...’ He realised now that he had not seen her in the stables on his arrival.

 ‘Old Tom put her in the quarantine barn; he thought it would be quieter for her, better for the rest she needs,’ Tolly said, for it was Tolly who sat beside him.

 ‘Where...?’ Ferdi began, but looking around he realised he was in one of the infirmary beds, his bandaged leg propped on pillows.  ‘Not bad enough to be sent to my own bed to die,’ he said wryly, ‘but not well enough to be sent to my own bed to recover, either.’

Tolly chuckled. ‘You have the right of it,’ he said. ‘Woodruff wants to keep an eye on you for the nonce.’

Ferdi realised that there was no light coming through the drawn curtains. ‘Dark,’ he whispered, and in the next moment he was trying to sit up, and Tolly was forcing him back down with equal determination and much more strength that Ferdi possessed. Of course Tolly won.

 ‘Steady on, Ferdi, what’s all this about?’ Tolly asked sternly.

 ‘Dark—night—late supper!’ Ferdi gasped, and Tolly relaxed his grip, understanding coming into his face.

 ‘I thought you were out of your head there a moment,’ he said.

 ‘My da,’ Ferdi said, trying once more to sit up.

 ‘You’re not to stir from the bed,’ Tolly said sternly, ‘even if I have to sit on you to keep you there.’

 ‘If I don’t join my da for late supper, he’ll think something terrible’s happened,’ Ferdi protested.

 ‘Something terrible has happened,’ Tolly said. ‘You’re weak as a kitten and twice the trouble. Now stay.’

 ‘But my da,’ Ferdi said. For some reason he was having trouble catching his breath.

 ‘Look at you,’ Tolly said. ‘White as the sheets that tuck you up. You’ve lost more blood than is good for you, and...’

 ‘How can you lose less blood than is good for you?’ Ferdi interjected, but Tolly gave him a stern look.

 ‘Don’t change the subject,’ Tolly said.

 ‘And how are we doing?’ Woodruff said from the doorway.

Ferdi levelled a glare at her. He hated healers’ way with words. ‘I don’t know how you are doing,’ he said scathingly, ‘but this hobbit has had enough of the infirmary.’ He made as if to throw back the blankets, but really, he was so warm and comfortable... perhaps he’d wait just a moment, just until the flannel-wrapped bricks lost their glow.

Before he knew what was happening, his eyelids had closed once more.

When he wakened again, there was a savoury smell in the air. Late supper must be at hand. He lay a moment gathering his strength. He had to join Ferdinand for late supper, he had to. He hadn’t missed a night in... he wasn’t sure quite how long, but he’d been there for his father every night, even the night he lost the Thain’s pony.

Ferdinand was not going to miss him this night. Woodruff herself had said he wasn’t dying! There was no need to cosset him as if he were. He breathed as deeply as he could, trying to rid himself of an odd breathless feeling. Breathless or no, he’d take the watcher by surprise, even if it were Tolly still sitting by the bed, and be out the door and on his way to Ferdinand’s little room while the watcher was still scrambling by his bedside.

A sweet soprano voice spoke softly nearby, sounding strangely like Tansy, his father’s night-minder. Perhaps she had come to take a message back to Ferdinand. No matter. The old hobbit would never believe Ferdi was well unless he saw with his own eyes.

The rumbling response, though, in his father’s voice, caused Ferdi’s eyes to blink open in surprise. ‘Da!’ he gasped. Old Ferdinand was propped in a comfortable chair beside Ferdi’s bed.

 ‘There you are, son. I thought you might sleep through late supper,’ Ferdinand said. He turned his head towards Tansy for another bite, chewed, swallowed, and nodded. ‘Good liver,’ he said, ‘and plenty more where that came from.’

He laughed at the face his son made. ‘You need to eat lots of liver, to build up your blood once more,’ old Ferdinand said, and then in a more coaxing tone he added, ‘Come now, it is not all that bad. Why, liver can be quite tasty when it’s properly cooked.’

 ‘I guess I’ve never had it properly cooked, then,’ Ferdi said sourly.

To his surprise, his father threw back his head and laughed. When the laughter ended, and Tansy had wiped away a tear that surprised them all by dropping from the old hobbit’s eye, Ferdinand said, ‘Ah, son, I know they call me the “grumbliest” Took of the Smials Tooks, but it’s hard to find a grumble when I’m sitting here beside you, seeing you alive and mending, after hearing the worst.’

 ‘They told you?’ Ferdi said indignantly, forgetting himself and sitting up so quickly that his head swam. Tansy quickly eased him back against the pillows and offered him water to sip.

Ferdinand waited until his son was resting again before he nodded. ‘They didn’t mean to tell me,’ he said soberly. ‘There was idle talk, and I overheard it. Seems my hearing is sharper than they think,’ he said, and Ferdi chuckled in spite of himself. Old Ferdinand had a way of playing deaf when he didn’t want to cooperate with his minders.

 ‘Disgraceful!’ Tansy muttered indignantly. ‘Why, they ought to be...’

 ‘The Mistress came to tell me what had happened, but that you were alive and well, and found me mourning your death,’ Ferdinand said somberly. ‘She was fit to be tied, I’ll tell you, and those gossipers were on water rations for the rest of the day. They missed Diamond's birthday feast...’

 ‘Serves them right,’ Tansy said, as ruffled as a mother hen with a chick in distress.

 ‘Eaten by dogs,’ Ferdinand said in an undertone, and shuddered.

 ‘But no,’ Ferdi said, even as Tansy finished feeding his father and propped him up on his pillows preparatory to feeding him his own portion. ‘They took a bite, ‘tis true, but couldn’t stomach me, it seems.’

 ‘You probably tasted to them like liver,’ Ferdinand said, and roared with laughter once more.

 ‘That’s a hopeful sound,’ Pippin said, entering with a stoneware pitcher. ‘Here, now, Ferdi, I brought something to sweeten that liver.’

Tansy was hovering a forkful of the detested stuff in front of Ferdi’s mouth, singing the nursery song about the old owl flying to his hole with a fat mouse. ‘Give me that,’ Ferdi said in irritation, grabbing at the fork. He made a face and popped the forkful in, swallowing without chewing. To Pippin he said, ‘What is it?’

 ‘The Thain’s private stock,’ Pippin said. ‘Brought enough for visitors, and a good thing from the looks of it.’ He poured out several mugs of ale and raised his mug in a toast. ‘Here’s to bad taste!’

 ‘I’ll drink to that,’ Ferdi said. It was not often that he was treated to the Thain’s private reserve, after all. He sipped appreciatively and his face changed from the sour expression engendered by the lingering taste of the liver. A sip of this after each bite of liver and he might just live through this meal...

Chapter 28. Starting Over

There was a sharp pain in his leg, and his breath came short and fast as powerful jaws closed on his ribs with crushing force. He writhed but they held him fast, and his screams emerged as whimpers as his struggles weakened.

A voice intruded into the nightmare and Ferdi grasped at it like a drowning hobbit holding to a rope. ‘Steady, Ferdi!’

 ‘Help me,’ he whispered. He felt now a hand gripping his, and heard Everard talking urgently.

 ‘I’m here, Ferdi. You’re safe in the Smials. Safe! Keep still...’

 ‘Ev’ard,’ he gasped. ‘Dogs, all around. Have a care!’

 ‘What seems to be the trouble?’ Healer Woodruff said nearby. Ferdi didn't know it, but she'd come in response to the watchers' urgent summons. 

 ‘He’s out of his head,’ Everard said worriedly.

A cool hand stroked Ferdi’s forehead. ‘Fever,’ Woodruff said. ‘Always a concern with dog bites. Roll him on his side that I may take a look at the wound.’

Ferdi fought as best he could as the dogs rolled him over, seeking better purchase, but they were too strong for him. He could no longer hear Dapple’s screams. Tears leaked from his squeezed-shut lids as he mourned... but then he had little time left himself, it seemed, before he joined her.

He cried out as pain flared hot and bright in his leg, oblivious to the soothing voices, dreams, he thought, fantasies of a dying hobbit seeking some illusion of comfort in his last moments.

Woodruff murmured at length and then there was more pain in the leg, much more pain, as he bucked and fought the hands that restrained him, and after an eternity of pain came a sudden cool rush that made him gasp.

 ‘Are you going to stitch him up again?’ Everard said.

 ‘No, we’ll leave the wound open for proper drainage,’ Woodruff said.

 ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Pippin’s voice came.

 ‘The red swelling,’ Woodruff said succinctly. ‘I’ve had to open the wound, cut out the bad part, and then we flushed the wound well. I hope that will take care of the problem.’

 ‘Will he lose the leg?’ Pippin asked in hushed tones.

Ferdi half-rolled over at that, muttering, ‘Dogs have half-chewed it already, and now Woodruff’s worrying it completely off...’

 ‘Welcome back to the world, Ferdi,’ Everard said close to his ear. ‘You thought for a time that we were the dogs, I think.’

 ‘He ought to keep the leg, if he heeds healers’ advice and stays abed as long as he ought,’ Woodruff said.

 ‘Hear that, Ferdi?’ Pippin sounded closer. ‘Stay in the bed!’

 ‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ Ferdi grumbled. ‘Many’s the time I’ve sat upon you to keep you...’

 ‘Here’s the willow-bark tea,’ a breathless healer’s assistant said.

 ‘Ferdi, we’re going to roll you over and sit you up,’ Woodruff said briskly. ‘Don’t fight us, now.’

 ‘Fight you? Why would I fight you?’ Ferdi said as they moved him. ‘Save for the fact that you want to force one of your bitter brews down my throat...’

 ‘Hardly as bitter as it might be,’ Woodruff said, ‘but we didn’t have time to do better.’

Ferdi blearily opened his eyes to survey his surroundings. He counted three healers in addition to Everard, Pippin, and even Mayor Samwise hovering in the background. ‘What is this, a party?’ he said. ‘Couldn’t you come up with something better to drink than willow-bark tea?’

 ‘Drink,’ Woodruff said firmly, pushing the cup against his lips. He drank.

There was a flurry in the doorway and Ferdi’s sister Rosemary was there, exclaiming over him and pressing past the others to his bedside. ‘I came as quickly as I could,’ she said. ‘Hally’s following with the children in the waggon.’

Looking to the Thain she said, ‘Thank you.’

Ferdi finished the potion and pushed the cup away. ‘Thank him, for what? Scaring you half out of your wits, I wager.’

 ‘He sent a quickpost rider, and ordered the innkeepers along the way to provide fresh mounts for the return,’ Rosemary said.

 ‘You rode quickpost ponies?’ Ferdi said in astonishment. His prim and proper sister, mother many times over, plump and pleasant, had ridden the swift ponies kept for fast riders?

 ‘Just like old times, baby brother,’ she said with a laugh and a kiss for his forehead. She frowned and turned to Woodruff. ‘Fever?’

 ‘We’re dealing with it,’ the healer said. ‘Now, Ferdibrand, how about a hearty portion of liver, followed by a proper meal and a rest?’

 ‘Leave the liver and I’ll take the rest,’ Ferdi quipped.

 ‘I’ll just go to greet our da and be back to see to your eating that liver,’ Rosemary said with a pat for his shoulder.

 ‘It is good to see you again, Rosie,’ Woodruff said.

 ‘I’m not so sure,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Yes, it is such a trial to have a managing older sister about,’ Rosemary said with a smile. ‘Don’t you worry, Ferdi, we’ll get that liver down and have you out of the bed in a week.’

 ‘Two,’ Woodruff said, ‘or better yet, three.’

All but Ferdi laughed.

***

They carried old Ferdinand to his son’s bedside again that evening, to share late supper. ‘You’re looking better, son,’ the old hobbit said. ‘Got some colour in your face.’

Rosemary refrained from telling him it was the fever. She concentrated on feeding him his supper and keeping him occupied with amusing stories about his grands.

 ‘And Hally’s bringing them all?’ Ferdinand said.

 ‘Yes, we thought we’d stay for the races,’ Rosemary said. ‘I hear Ferdi’s Penny has a good chance of winning.’

 ‘Hilly’s riding her,’ Ferdinand said. ‘He told me so earlier today.’

 ‘He’s working Penny?’ Ferdi said.

 ‘He is,’ Ferdinand said. ‘He came to me for advice, and I told him he was doing everything he needed to do, from his answers to my questions.’

Ferdi sighed and relaxed against his pillows. Penny would run, and perhaps win. Of course, he’d have to give half the purse to Hilly for riding, but every little bit would help. He had to heal quickly enough to ride the stallion of Rohan in the All-Shire Race, little more than a month away.

He had to ride, and win, or forfeit Dapple and Penny. They were all he had in the world. If he lost them, he’d have naught, perhaps not even the position of head of escort with its steady wages, for once he confessed before the Tooks that he was a thief, surely Pippin would not keep him on.

He sighed. He’d started over before, from nothing, but at the moment found the thought too wearying to bear.

 ‘But you’re tired, brother,’ Rosemary said softly. ‘I think you ought to try to sleep.’

 ‘Sleep,’ Ferdi murmured, and allowed her to pull the pillows away, to lay him down to rest. Sleep was welcome, even with the danger of nightmares. Indeed, he wished he could sleep his troubles away, waken to a fresh day and a fresh life...

Chapter 29. Laying Plans

The trouble with being under the care of healers, Ferdi mused, was that they were the most contrary of beings. It was bad enough that they forced him to eat and drink things he wouldn’t wish on a ruffian, much less another hobbit, but wakening him to give him a sleeping draught, now, surely that was the most ridiculous idea in the long history of the Shire.

 ‘Come now,’ Fescue said with a smile. ‘Drink it up, and you’ll sleep like a babe.’

 ‘I was sleeping like a babe before you wakened me,’ Ferdi grumbled. His leg hurt like a blazing fire, and his ribs ached, and the bones of his bow arm complained as he moved in the bed. He couldn’t escape the hated cup, however, and found himself drinking it in spite of all his best resolutions to leave it, though he complained loudly over the matter.

 ‘What’s this?’ came Hally Bolger’s hushed voice. ‘Awake? They told me you were sleeping and I’d have to give you my greetings on the morrow.’

 ‘I was sleeping,’ Ferdi repeated bad-temperedly. ‘When did you arrive, anyhow?’

 ‘Not long ago,’ his brother-in-love said. ‘Rosie’s tucking up the little ones as we speak. I just saw to the ponies before hunting you up.’ He smiled. ‘For a change you’re easy enough to find... not out running messages, or shadowing the Thain, or stalking a bit of coney for old Ferdinand’s culinary pleasure...’

 ‘He’s on liver rations now,’ Ferdi said, ‘to keep me company, he says.’ He hitched himself up on his elbows, the better to complain, and winced. ‘There’s no justice in’t—the hobbit likes liver.’

 ‘I saw Penny on the racecourse as we drove in,’ Hally said, changing the subject. ‘My, but she has a nice pace on her. Shall I lay a wager, do you think?’

 ‘If I were to advise you to do any wagering, Rosemary’d double my liver portion,’ Ferdi said. ‘You know how she feels about such.’

 ‘Tolibold Took was taking odds on the Thain’s pony,’ Hally said. ‘I must say he looks good, but a bit wild for my taste.’

 ‘Just like his owner,’ Ferdi muttered, then realised he was talking ill of the Thain. He gulped.

Fescue patted his shoulder. ‘It’s the draught talking,’ she said soothingly and smiled at Hally. ‘Pay him no mind.’

 ‘Don’t wager with Tolly,’ Ferdi said, resisting the watcher’s attempts to ease him down again. ‘He nearly always wins.’

 ‘Ah, that “nearly” gives me hope,’ Hally said with a grin.

 ‘You already...’ Ferdi said, pulling himself up again.

 ‘Steady, lad,’ Hally said, joining the fight to ease Ferdi back onto his pillows. ‘A silver penny only, not anything more than I’d be able to get along without... as it seems I won’t be standing you to any mugs at the Spotted Duck in the near future.’

 ‘A silver penny’ll buy you more’n one mug,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Rosie doesn’t want me to drink too much as it is,’ Hally said, ‘so if I lose it’s no matter.’

 ‘She manages you dreadfully,’ Ferdi said sleepily, fighting the closing of his eyes.

 ‘Does she, now?’ Hally said softly, settling into one of the chairs next to the bed and taking Ferdi’s hand in his own. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

Ferdi was drifting away. His eyes closed and his breathing became more even, but he was not yet asleep enough to miss the exchange that followed.

 ‘A sleeping draught?’ Hally said. ‘Ferdi hates draughts. Is his leg paining him so?’

 ‘More the nightmares,’ Fescue said, pulling the coverlet up to the injured hobbit’s chin. ‘Woodruff’s left orders that when he begins to thrash and cry out, we’re to waken him and give him a draught. She wants to keep that leg as still as possible.’

 ‘How bad is it?’ Hally said. Try as he might, Ferdi could not stay awake long enough to hear the response.

***

He wakened the next morning with a start. ‘Steady now,’ Rosemary said beside him. ‘Just where do you think you’re going?’

 ‘Da,’ Ferdi said in dismay, looking at the bright morning sunshine outside the infirmary windows. ‘Late supper!’

 ‘He took late supper with you as usual,’ Rosemary said, ‘even though you slept through it.’

 ‘How rude of me,’ Ferdi said. ‘I hope he wasn’t put out.’

 ‘Not so you’d notice,’ his sister said with a smile. ‘He ate your portion of liver as well as his own.’

 ‘And welcome to it,’ Ferdi muttered.

Rosemary laughed. ‘You’re sounding more like yourself,’ she said.

 ‘When can I get up?’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Now you sound exactly like yourself,’ Rosemary said, ‘and the answer is, not for some time yet.’

 ‘Who said?’ Ferdi demanded, trying to push the coverlet off. His sister rose from her chair to pull the coverlet back in place. She remained standing over the bed, holding the bedclothes down on both sides of Ferdi's shoulders as he ineffectually tried to sit up.

 ‘The healers said,’ Rosemary returned. ‘Would you like a list of names?’

 ‘Healers!’ Ferdi huffed. ‘I’m well!’

 ‘Well,’ Rosemary said, shaking her head. ‘You’ve been torn nearly to pieces, your leg is not even stitched closed, you still have a bit of fever, and...’

 ‘I’d be well if I could be in my own bed,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Ah yes, all this comfort and nice sunshine is so distressing,’ Rosemary teased. ‘You’d much rather crawl into that dark little hole you call a room.’

 ‘It’s mine, at least,’ Ferdi nearly shouted.

His sister’s face changed and she sat back. ‘Ferdi,’ she said softly. ‘Of course it’s yours! But it’s not the best place for you at the moment.’

One of the few things he could call his own, he thought darkly. His ponies, by rights, were forfeit to the Thain, unless he could get out of the bed and start working the stallion. The clothes hanging on the pegs in his room, why, someone else had paid for them. He didn’t even own the shirt on his back, he thought miserably.

 ‘Ferdi? Don’t go away like that,’ Rosemary pleaded, a hand on his arm. ‘Penny for your thoughts?’

 ‘I could use one,’ Ferdi said low. ‘But it wouldn’t be enough by a long shot.’ He looked at his sister. ‘I’ve got to get out of this bed, ride Penny to win in the Pony Races, and then go on to win the All-Shire Race, that’s all.’

 ‘For what, for the purses?’ Rosemary said, taking his meaning at once. You couldn’t get anything past Rosie. She leaned forward, her look changing from hurt to concern. ‘Ferdi, are you in trouble? Have you wagered yourself into debt?’

 ‘Nay,’ he said sharply, but he saw she didn’t believe him. ‘I don’t wager, you know that, Rose.’

She nodded, perceiving that he told the truth in that matter at least. ‘But you are in trouble of sorts,’ she said.

 ‘Of sorts,’ he conceded.

 ‘Want to tell me about it?’ she asked, after a pause.

 ‘No.’ Ferdi sighed. ‘O I’m sure you’ll find out about it eventually. It’s sure to be all the Talk.’

 ‘We don’t get much of the Talk down to Woody End,’ Rosemary said softly. She patted his arm. ‘The offer’s still open, you know.’ Hally had offered to build on to their little house, a room just for Ferdibrand, if he’d agree to move in with the Bolgers of Woody End. But of course, Ferdi wouldn’t leave his father living on the charity of the Thain, and old Ferdinand refused to leave the Great Smials, to burden Rosemary with his care. Ferdi was stuck, all right, squarely under Pippin’s thumb, and Pippin knew it well.

 ‘I know, Rosie,’ Ferdi said. ‘Don’t give my room away to someone else; you never know when I might come knocking on your door.’

Rosemary smiled faintly, a puzzled look in her eyes. Ferdi was keeping something to himself; she had enough experience dealing with her little brother to recognise the signs. She’d dig it out eventually. She’d had plenty of practice.

***

Over the next few days Ferdi didn’t have much chance to try to get out of bed, what with his sister and her husband taking turns sitting with him, and his nieces and nephews in and out of the room, distracting him with cheer, not to mention the young Gamgees. About the only time the head of escort had to himself was the deeps of the night, and the healers with their dratted sleeping draughts saw to it that he was not wakeful.

Two days before the Tookland Pony Races, Hilly came to see him, shooing away several Bolger nephews and a Gamgee or three.

 ‘How’s Penny?’ Ferdi said.

 ‘She’s in top condition,’ Hilly said, slapping his gloves against his knee. ‘You’ve done a fine job of bringing her along, Ferdi. I believe she’s in better shape than she was last year when she took fourth overall.’

 ‘I do appreciate your taking her in hand,’ Ferdi said.

Hilly cleared his throat, looking down at his feet while he shuffled them. ‘Well,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘I laid a wager that she’d win, and she cannot very well win if she’s not in the race, now, can she?’

 ‘You lose your wager if she’s scratched?’ Ferdi said, comprehension dawning.

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly said low.

 ‘You wagered more than you can afford to lose?’ Ferdi said, his voice stern.

 ‘I—I saw you working her last week, and...’ Hilly said miserably, sinking into a chair. ‘Why, she looked much better than Socks, even, and there’s Talk that Diamond won’t let Pippin race in any event, what with the dust of the racecourse and all...’

 ‘Who’s spreading Talk about the Thain?’ Ferdi said, sitting up, scandalised, ready to throw back the covers and deal with the miscreants.

 ‘Steady, Ferdi,’ Hilly said. ‘It’s the Talk, you know how it is! No one said it, but everyone’s saying...’

Ferdi calmed himself. He’d catch it if they found him out of bed, after all. They’d probably force a draught or two down his throat for good measure.

He sifted back through the conversation and realised that Hilly wasn’t telling him something. ‘So what’s wrong with Penny?’ he said at last.

Hilly jumped as if stung. ‘Who said there’s something wrong?’ he said.

 ‘You did,’ Ferdi said. It wasn’t exactly true, but Hilly’s tone of voice had been enough, when he was talking of Penny being in top condition, had Ferdi been paying close attention and not wrapped up in his own thoughts.

 ‘I said something’s wrong with Penny?’ Hilly said, thinking back rapidly. ‘I said she’s in top condition...’

 ‘So what’s the matter?’ Ferdi said. He held the younger hobbit’s gaze until suddenly Hilly’s face fell.

 ‘She doesn’t run for me the way she runs for you,’ he said to his toes. ‘I’ve seen her with you on her back, the way she gives you everything: heart, soul, strength, spirit...’

 ‘Such a poet, Hilly,’ Ferdi said acidly. ‘You ought to be writing books.’

The younger hobbit flushed and shuffled his feet.

Ferdi relented. ‘So she won’t give you her all,’ he said, ‘and you’re bright enough to pick up on that. Good for you. Not many would. She’s tricksy, that Penny is, makes you think she’s giving everything she’s got when she’s holding back the treasure hoard.’

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly said, still staring at his feet.

 ‘Ponies are naturally lazy creatures, as a rule,’ Ferdi said. ‘It’s no fault of yours.’

 ‘Then how do I get her to give it all?’ Hilly said.

 ‘Easy enough,’ Ferdi said sourly. ‘You help her into the world, watch her take her first steps, rub her down good, sleep in her stall, play with her, laugh with her, teach her right from wrong, learn her little ways...’

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly said. ‘I was afraid it was something like that.’ He sighed. ‘Well, unless the Thain scratches Socks from the race, I might as well sing a farewell song to my next six months’ wages.’

Ferdi gave a low whistle. ‘You’re a fool of a Took, Hilly.’

 ‘I am that,’ Hilly said. ‘Though I thought I’d grown past that, and let someone else take the title.’

 ‘Well now,’ Ferdi said. ‘We’ve got to work out some way to have Penny run her best.’

 ‘How are we going to do that?’ Hilly said miserably.

 ‘Well, we know she’ll go if I ride her,’ Ferdi said thoughtfully.

 ‘Yes, but how’re you...’ Hilly began, then sat up straight, lifting his eyes to stare into Ferdi’s with an accusing look. ‘You’re not...’

 ‘With a little help I could,’ Ferdi said as persuasively as he knew how. If he himself could ride Penny to win, instead of Hilly, he wouldn’t have to split the purse with Hilly, and Hilly would win his wager. Everyone would benefit.

 ‘How?’ Hilly said suspiciously.

Ferdi considered. At the moment there were no healers about, but you never knew if one might be lurking, ready to pounce with a plateful of liver or cup of unpleasant-tasting draught that would leave him sleepy or half out of his head. “For pain,” they’d smile. Truth be told, he’d rather have the pain than the fuzzy head...

Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he said, ‘Here’s what we do...’

Chapter 30. Day of Rest

The day of the races dawned bright and sunny. Ferdi awakened to a whispered argument: Hally and Rosemary were having a difference of opinion over who would stay by Ferdi’s side and who would take their little ones to see the races.

 ‘Why don’t you both go?’ he asked sleepily.

 ‘Ferdi! You’re awake!’ Rosemary said, turning to the bed.

 ‘Not really,’ Ferdi yawned. He stretched cautiously, and was rewarded by only a slight pang from the leg. ‘I feel as if I could go back to sleep and sleep the day away.’ The after-effects of the sleeping draught put truth into his tone and Rosemary smiled, unsuspicious.

 ‘Well, let us get some food into you before you drift away again,’ she said fondly. Hally helped Ferdi to sit up, propping the pillows behind him.

 ‘You both ought to go,’ Ferdi said again as a plate full of eggs, bacon, potatoes, crispy little bangers, toast and jam was placed before him. ‘It would be a shame to miss the races.’

 ‘They’ll go on all day,’ Rosemary said, tucking a serviette under her brother’s chin. ‘Hally can watch in the morning and I can watch in the afternoon, or the other way round.’

 ‘But you hardly ever take a day for a holiday,’ Ferdi argued. ‘You ought to...’

 ‘Your food will go cold,’ Rosemary said. Her brother hated cold food. This did not turn him from his course as she’d intended. He obediently stuffed a forkful of eggs in his mouth and continued to argue.

 ‘There’ll be a healer on duty,’ he said, ‘several, as a matter of fact, in case someone comes a cropper and is carried back from the races. I don’t need you sitting on me.’

 ‘Who’s to keep you in the bed?’ Hally said, openly sceptical.

Ferdi snorted. ‘The next sleeping draught’ll do that, or the pain draught will,’ he said. ‘Probably as soon as I finish my breakfast they’ll be bringing me tea with drops, or brandy with powders, or a lovely herbal concoction to send me off again.’ This was not quite as likely as it sounded; the healers had been stretching out the time between the stronger potions. The bitter willow-bark tea, however, still appeared quite regularly. As a matter of fact, Fescue was hovering in the doorway with a covered cup. ‘See?’ Ferdi said triumphantly, waving his fork.

Thus heralded, the healer’s assistant crossed into the room with a smile. ‘Why don’t you go on?’ she said. ‘We can watch with Ferdibrand this day. You take a holiday.’ She turned her smile on Ferdi. ‘Your brother’s ever so much better than he was.’

 ‘That’s what worries me,’ Rosemary said lightly, but the frown did not leave her forehead.

 ‘Go on now,’ Fescue urged. ‘Are you ready for the draught, Ferdi?’

 ‘I’m always ready for one of those,’ Ferdi said gallantly, but the face he made belied his words and Rosemary laughed. ‘You can come back and tell me all about the races,’ Ferdi said, ‘but I shall feel just terrible if you miss a holiday together on my account.’ This was truth, and Rosemary relaxed after looking sharply into his face for a long moment.

She leaned over to kiss his forehead. ‘Fever’s gone,’ she said. ‘That’s good. Stay in the bed, little brother!’

 ‘Mmmm,’ Ferdi answered noncommittally. He moved against the pillows and said, ‘I think I’ll take a few more winks now.’

 ‘You do that,’ Hally said, pulling the propping pillows away. ‘Come along, Rosemary. The healers can be trusted to do their part.’

 ‘Indeed we can,’ Fescue said.

Rosemary allowed herself to be persuaded as she saw Ferdi’s lids flutter and his breathing become steady and even.

Mayor Samwise had already opened the festivities when they arrived and laid out their blanket upon the hill overlooking the racecourse. It was crowded, but the other hobbits upon the hillside jammed closer to make room for the latecomers. ‘What heat is this?’ Hally said to a neighbour as the ponies below took the far turn at a breathtaking pace. Only the two fastest would move up, to race against other winners of the early heats in the quarter final races to come later.

 ‘Third,’ the neighbour said, his eyes on the ponies. ‘Go Brightbeam!’ he shouted suddenly. Hally politely refrained from questions until the heat was finished. The other hobbit was in a good humour, his favourite having finished second. He was ready to relax and talk as the ponies for the fourth heat were made ready. ‘Did you see the Thain racing?’ he said, sitting back for a sip of his cold tea.

 ‘The Thain is racing?’ Hally said in surprise. ‘Himself, on his own pony?’

 ‘Aye, he’s a regular Took, he is,’ the neighbour said approvingly. ‘Doesn’t hire a hobbit to ride a pony for him, but does the dirty work with his own hands.’

 ‘Won the second heat handily,’ the wife said approvingly. ‘There’s no one here to touch that Socks for speed.’

They watched the fourth heat, cheering on a pony from Pincup, and relaxed in the break between heats. The horn blew to warn the riders of the fifth heat to make ready.

 'That little Pincup pony is full of fire!' Hally said admiringly.

 'The Thain's Socks is faster,' the neighbour's wife said again. 'There's no one here to challenge him, I'd say.'

 ‘Penny might,’ Robin, Hally’s eldest son, said loyally. ‘That’s her, down there.’

 ‘What colour?’ the Took said, craning to follow the pointing finger.

 ‘Green,’ Robin said, and their neighbours were able to pick out the emerald green colours the rider wore.

 ‘She looks just like Socks,’ said another hobbit who’d been following the conversation.

 ‘His daughter,’ Hally confirmed.

Their neighbour choked on his cold tea as he laughed suddenly. ‘I remember now!’ he said triumphantly when he got his breath back. ‘That’s Ferdibrand’s mare! There was the matter of a fence that was jumped, and Ferdi found himself owning two mares instead of one, after a time. But is he well enough to ride?’

 ‘Hildibold is riding her,’ Rosemary said.

 ‘Cannot tell one rider from another, when they have their scarves pulled up to keep out the dust,’ the neighbour said. ‘Could be Hilly or Ferdi or a hobbit from Bywater on her, for that matter.’

 ‘Doesn’t matter who rides her as long as she wins,’ Robin said stoutly. The older hobbits laughed and their neighbour lifted his mug of cold tea in a toast.

Penny won her heat handily, and there was much celebrating on their part of the hillside. There was some speculation as to when she’d face Socks, but one wise old hobbit settled the matter; he’d watched plenty of races in his time. Winners of the even-numbered heats would face each other in the next round, and the odd-numbers would face each other. Thus, Socks and Penny had no chance of meeting this early in the day.

***

Hilly came, dusty as he was, to the infirmary to report to Ferdi on the results of Penny’s first heat. ‘She won by a length,’ he said, ‘but there was no real challenge. She was out for a rest-day stroll, and if I’d wanted her to move faster I’d’ve been in trouble.’

 ‘How about the next race?’ Ferdi said.

 ‘There’ll be something for her to put her teeth into,’ Hilly said, ‘but it’s only the quarter finals. She won’t face Socks until the semi, or even the final race.’

 ‘Final race would be better for our part,’ Ferdi said. ‘The longer I can linger here the better for our plan.’

  ‘Do you really think you can ride the races, and no one the wiser?’ Hilly said.

 ‘Why not?’ Ferdi said. ‘It’s dusty, and you’re riding with a scarf about your face... I can hop onto Penny’s back, ride her, sit upon her back in the winner’s circle, plead weariness in your voice,’ and he said the last words in a passable imitation of Hilly, indeed, ‘ride her back to the stables, switch shirts with you, and hobble back to my bed before they’re done celebrating on the field.’

 ‘You’re the tricksy one, you are,’ Hilly said in admiration. ‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘I’ve got Tolly watching your mare, walking her around to keep her limber. I had better get back.’

 ‘Wouldn’t want you to miss the next race and be scratched,’ Ferdi said as Fescue appeared in the door bearing yet another covered cup.

 ‘That would never do,’ Hilly said, rising carefully so as not to scatter any more dust. As it was Fescue was frowning at him. ‘You get some rest.’

 ‘He will,’ Fescue promised. ‘And you take yourself and your dust off!’ Hilly did.

***

They weren’t giving him anything stronger than willow-bark tea, Ferdi was glad to note. The morning grogginess had quite worn off by midday. Still, he stayed obediently in the bed and did not excite himself when Hilly returned some time after the noontide meal to announce Penny’s triumph in the quarter finals.

 ‘And in the semi final race?’ he asked. ‘Who will she face?’

 ‘Socks is still racing on the “other side of the card”,’ Hilly said. ‘Looks as if father and daughter won’t have their little stroll until the final race this evening.’

 ‘Ah,’ Ferdi said wistfully for Fescue’s benefit. ‘How I wish I could be there to see it.’

Chapter 31. On Your Mark

After the semi-final race, Hilly turned Penny’s reins over to Tolly with a rueful expression. ‘Cool her out for me?’ he said. ‘And then turn her out in one of the pens to stretch her legs; throw her some hay to keep her happy.’

 ‘You’re done for the day?’ Tolly said in surprise.

 ‘I don’t know yet,’ Hilly admitted. ‘She only ran second, Tolly. That doesn’t bode well for the final race. I’m going to ask Ferdi what he wants me to do.’ He shook his head. ‘I was sure she’d go faster if I just laid on the whip a bit...’

 ‘And she ran slower instead,’ Tolly said in understanding. ‘Contrary, she is, just like her master.’ His own wagers were safely on the Thain’s pony, and Socks had handily won his section of the semi-final race. He could afford to be understanding.

 ‘Nearly dropped back to third place,’ Hilly said, shuddering. ‘What a fright she gave me!’

He gazed into the dark eye that stared back at him, and said, ‘What were ye thinking, dearie?’

The mare snorted and shook her head at him, and Tolly laughed. ‘You’d best go ask Ferdi how to get back on her sweet side,’ he said. ‘Seems to me she’s feeling a bit sour about that whip business.’

 ‘I’ll do that,’ Hilly replied. ‘Leave the saddle on the fence rail; if Ferdi has any good words for me I’ll saddle her up again myself.’ Tolly nodded and Hilly took himself off, slapping at the dust on his clothes as he walked slowly to the infirmary. There was no need of hurry. There was a two hour break between the last semi-final race and the final race that would determine the fastest pony in Tookland.

Truth be told, he hadn’t intended to go back to Ferdi at all until after the final race was run. Penny had gone well enough in the earlier races, and he felt uneasy about helping Ferdi sneak out of bed. The healers had kept him there a-purpose, after all... Tooks gave them enough troubles as it was; they’d release a Took from his sick bed just as soon as possible. Sooner, most times. The semi-final had shaken him, however. She’d been running even with the leader, and he’d used every trick he knew to turn her loose, resorting in the end to a few light slaps with the whip... and she’d quit on him.

Quit so bad, she’d dropped back and nearly been caught by the third-place runner. Afterwards, one of the hobbits having a bet on with Hilly came up to him as he walked away from the racecourse and slapped him on the back. ‘Quite an exciting race you ran, there, lad. Are you trying to up the odds, to win yourself a better packet?’

 ‘You’re on to my tricks, Agenard,’ Hilly said lightly. ‘There’s no slipping anything past you, I can see that clear as the stream that runs through the meadow.’

 ‘Join me for a bite to eat?’ Agenard said.

 ‘No, thank you, but I’ve got to go report to Ferdi on how his mare is doing,’ Hilly returned.

Agenard laughed. ‘How she’s following his strategy perfectly, no doubt. That Ferdi is a tricksy cousin, he is.’

 ‘He is that,’ Hilly said, thinking morosely to himself that Agenard didn’t know the half of it, and hopefully never would.

In the infirmary, Fescue listened with interest as Hilly regaled Ferdi with all the race news, before excusing herself to “stir up a bite to eat—racing sounds like exhausting work, and listening is nearly as bad!”

She brought two plates piled high with hearty sandwiches and teacakes, a pot of tea and two cups. ‘I’ve work to do,’ she answered when Hilly asked if she’d join them. ‘You two enjoy your tea, and I’ll be back in time for you to be in good time for the last race.’

Ferdi smiled and thanked her, and Hilly’s heart sank. It looked as if she were playing right into their plans. As she turned from the door, Ferdi gave Hilly a nudge and a meaningful look. With a sigh, Hilly rose.

He called softly to Fescue when she was halfway down the corridor. She stopped and turned, waiting politely to hear what he had to say.

 ‘Ferdi’s leg is paining him,’ he said. ‘Do you suppose you could stir up a draught for him? I’ll see to it he eats, and drinks the draught, and I’ll stay with him until he drops off, if you like.’

 ‘I had thought, from the way he looked just now,’ Fescue said, ‘but I wasn’t going to give him a draught until after you departed. If you’re sure you don’t mind...’

 ‘Not at all,’ Hilly said, feeling lower by the moment.

 ‘Very kind, I’m sure,’ Fescue said. ‘I’ll be back in three shakes.’

Hilly returned to Ferdi’s room and they enjoyed a hearty tea, though Hilly’s heart was not really in it.

 ‘Ferdi,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think it would be best...’

Ferdi fixed him with a firm gaze. ‘You’re not about to quit on me, are you?’ he said.

Hilly flushed. ‘I’m no quitter,’ he retorted.

Ferdi relaxed and popped the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. ‘I didn’t think so,’ he observed.

Fescue, smiling, brought the draught: an innocuous-appearing glass of brandy, it appeared, a treat for a hobbit who might manage a pint of ale on occasion, on an escort’s salary. The brandy was only a means, however, to get the hobbit to take the powders dissolved in it, potent stuff to take away his pain and send him off to sleep.

 ‘Ah, lovely,’ Ferdi said. ‘A bit of cheer to complete the meal.’ He cocked an eye at Fescue. ‘So will you explain to my da for me if I’m missing late supper with him?’

 ‘He’ll be here to take his late supper with you whether you’re awake or asleep,’ Fescue said. ‘He gave his minders no peace until they promised to carry him to your side every evening until you’re out and about again.’

 ‘My thanks,’ Ferdi said, taking the glass, and to Hilly’s surprise he sipped from it. Truth be told, Ferdi’s leg was hurting. He set the glass aside. ‘I’ll just finish this after tea,’ he said.

 ‘You do that,’ Fescue said, patting his shoulder and nodding at Hilly, who’d promised, after all, to stay with Ferdi until he dropped off. ‘I’ll be back later.’

When Fescue was well gone, and they’d allowed extra time for her to remember something and pop her head back into the room, Ferdi said, ‘Well, let’s get to it. The last race is less than an hour away.’

 ‘Right,’ Hilly said. From under his emerald shirt he took a roll of bandage. ‘You asked me to bring this.’

 ‘Aye,’ Ferdi said. ‘Good enough for Penny’s legs; it must be good enough for mine.’ He pushed the covers back and Hilly peeled them down the rest of the way, exposing Ferdi’s loosely-bandaged leg. ‘Wrap it nice and firm,’ Ferdi directed. ‘It needs the extra support; I cannot count on the leg itself.’

Hilly nodded and complied. When the leg was wrapped, he helped Ferdi into breeches and then into one of the chairs by the bed. When Ferdi was comfortably settled, Hilly took off the emerald colours, revealing a plain shirt beneath. ‘Good thing you’re in the chair,’ he said, noting the dust sifting down. ‘She’d’ve noticed the dust on the bedclothes for sure.’

He rapidly arranged pillows and bolster in the bed to look like a sleeper and pulled the coverlet up, stepping back to properly view the final result. Yes, unless Fescue were to pull the covers back, it looked as if there were a hobbit in the bed, his covers pulled over his head to shut out the light, and since Ferdi often slept so, Fescue wouldn’t have a second thought about it. As long as the healer didn’t decide to check the leg, they’d be safe.

 ‘For true,’ Ferdi agreed, slipping his arms into the bright green shirt and pulling it over his head. ‘All I need now is the scarf...’

 ‘But they’d know at once, to see you wearing it walking across the yard,’ Hilly said. ‘We’ll have to chance it until we reach Penny. There oughtn’t to be anyone hanging about the stables at this time of day. They’ll all be at the racecourse, getting the ponies ready for the final run or vying for the best vantage point to watch the race.’

 ‘Then let us be off!’ Ferdi said gaily, though he winced as he rose, grabbing at the brandy that Hilly held, preparatory to dosing the potted plants in the large round window. ‘Just one more sip of that,’ he said.

 ‘You’re about to ride at breakneck speed in a jostling pack of ponies,’ Hilly warned. ‘Do you think you ought to be muddling your head?’

 ‘Just a sip,’ Ferdi repeated, though he took a good-sized gulp before handing the glass to Hilly and whispering to the plants, ‘Sweet dreams, my darlings!’

Hilly snorted, poured out the contents, placed the glass on the table by the bed, and moved to support Ferdi. Though the tightly-bound bandage helped to brace the leg, Ferdi still tried to put as little weight as possible on it as they made their way out of the Great Smials.

 ‘So far, so good,’ Ferdi panted as they reached the entry. They’d met no one along the way. ‘Once across the yard I can trust to Penny’s sound legs, and no more of this hoppity business until afters.’

 ‘Aye,’ Hilly agreed dolefully. He half-wished Fescue had come upon them in the corridor, wager or no wager. His doubts about this mad scheme were growing by the moment.

They crossed the yard to the stables and the pens to the side, and Ferdi stopped to greet the stallion of Rohan. That pony met him with excited whickers, head-tossings and nudges; he’d not seen Ferdi for nearly a week, after all. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d say he was worried about you,’ Hilly said in surprise.

 ‘Were you worried, old lad?’ Ferdi crooned, stroking the pony’s jaw. ‘Old friend, I wouldn’t be here if not for you.’ In more ways than one. He wouldn’t be doing this desperate thing if he hadn’t stolen the pony in the first place...

 ‘Well, you two have a nice chat whilst I saddle the lass,’ Hilly said.

When he returned, leading Penny, Ferdi was scratching under the stallion’s mane and that pony had stretched his neck as far as it would reach, lower lip hanging in bliss, eyes half closed. ‘He’ll roll over in a moment,’ Hilly said dryly, ‘so as you can give his belly a good scratch.’

 ‘Practically a pup, are you?’ Ferdi murmured fondly. He sighed and gave a final caress. ‘You have a nice nap,’ he said in parting.

The stallion jerked his head up, stood alert to watch Ferdi hobble to Penny’s side. Hilly held Ferdi up as he got his left foot into the stirrup, but when Ferdi was standing in the stirrup, he couldn’t get the injured leg over. Hilly carefully lifted the leg over Penny’s back and then settled the foot in the stirrup. ‘Will you be able to keep it there?’ he asked worriedly.

 ‘I’m not sure,’ Ferdi said. He blinked to clear his vision. The leg was paining him less, thanks to the sips of draught, but he was definitely having a problem finding his balance. ‘Best bind it,’ he added.

 ‘Bind it!’ Hilly hissed. ‘Are you completely mad?’

 ‘If I lose the stirrup I could fall,’ Ferdi said reasonably. ‘Fall in the pack and you might have to lay flowers on my grave every Remembering Day.’

 ‘You could fall anyhow,’ Hilly said. ‘Fall with your leg bound to the stirrup leathers and Penny’ll drag you to your death for sure, no “might” about it!’

 ‘There’s no other way,’ Ferdi argued. He bent over the leg. ‘I’ll do it myself if I have to,’ he muttered.

Hilly pushed his hand away, saying, ‘If it’s to be done, let it be done good and proper.’ He looked up at Ferdi. ‘Wait here,’ he said.

 ‘Best hurry,’ Ferdi said. ‘The horn for the ten-minute warning just sounded.’ He pulled up the scarf about his face, preparatory to riding to the racecourse.

 ‘I’ll be back in three shakes,’ Hilly promised, and jogged to the stables. He found a short leather strap in the tack room and hurried back before Ferdi could take it into his head to tie the leg to the stirrup with a pocket handkerchief or the like.

 ‘Here,’ he said grimly. ‘So long as you stay on her back, no one ought to notice this.’ He buckled Ferdi’s leg securely and stood back. ‘Comfy?’

 ‘Quite,’ Ferdi said. Hilly worried. His cousin’s eyes were not as sharp as usual; the draught was having some effect. ‘Ferdi,’ he began, ready to call off the whole mad plan.

 ‘Wish me luck,’ Ferdi said, and turned Penny’s head towards the racecourse. He leaned forward and she broke into an easy trot, which Ferdi sat like a sack of potatoes. He couldn’t rise to the trot, as it were...

Hilly stared after him in growing dismay. He started to run after Ferdi, but if anyone recognised him the game was up...

Ferdi pulled Penny down to a walk before reaching the racecourse, moving well with the pony, relaxed and easy. He ought to be. The draught was making him feel as if he hadn’t a bone in his body. The final horn blew, but he was in good time. As he went through the gate to line up for the final race, he nodded to Pippin on Socks, standing ready.

 ‘So, Hilly, you’ve decided to chance it after all!’ the Thain cried cheerily. His own scarf was firmly in place; thus far he’d been able to avoid breathing dust, which would spoil his riding at the least and threaten his very life at worst.

Ferdi gave a nonchalant wave and then leaned to pat Penny on the neck. He’d decided to chance it, all right.

The ponies were not as fresh as they’d been for their first heats, and so the starter’s assistants had much less trouble lining them up for the start. Penny, with a familiar hand on the reins, quivered with eagerness. Ferdi soothed her with a stroke and a whisper, took a firmer hold on the reins, and waited for the flag to fall.

Chapter 32. Fool of a Took

The stallion of Rohan whinnied after Ferdibrand. For a week he’d been shut up in a pen, the only excitement in his life when they brought him fresh water or something to eat. If a pony could be said to miss something, the stallion missed the frequent workouts, the exercises, the rides and treats and scratching.

Moreover, the pony was familiar with racing. Many were the times that he’d taken his young rider to triumph, on the plains of Rohan, before he’d been sent here. He lifted his head, nostrils flaring, scenting the air: sweat, dust, excitement, effort, victory. He pricked his ears to hear the roar of the crowd, dropping to a murmur. Ferdi had gone off in the direction of the racecourse. The stallion knew the racecourse; Ferdi had breezed him around, glorying in the speed.

He reached over the gate to nuzzle at the latch. He played with the latch when bored, moving it with lips and tongue. Once or twice he’d come close to releasing the latch. It was a game, a way to pass the time. Now the nervousness engendered by the atmosphere of the races drove him to work at the latch once more, grabbing with teeth and tugging, nuzzling with sensitive lips, body so tense in his concentration that he jumped at the crowd’s roar as the starter’s flag dipped and the final race began.

Penny got off to a good start, running near the head of the pack, Ferdi leaning forward, letting her have her way. The crowd shouted as Socks half-reared and jumped, letting the other ponies get ahead of him before he deigned to follow, ears pinned back, as if he were driving them before him.

Penny wove her way through every opening, ears back to listen to the half-song Ferdi crooned, leaning forward on her neck, hands tight in her mane. Halfway through the race she passed the leaders. Ferdi felt her slacken her pace slightly, knew she wanted to run with the others and not ahead of them. He shifted the reins to his left hand and stroked her neck with the right, patting and encouraging as he spoke in a sing-song. ‘Come along, lass, come along, come along.’ Ears switching back and forth, she surged forward once more.

Approaching the final turn, Ferdi saw from the corner of his eye a grey blur, and then Socks was moving up beside them until the two leaders ran neck and neck, the riders in their emerald and sable colours riding knee to knee. Penny’s breath was coming short and fast, her head stretched forward, seeming to run at top speed... but Ferdi knew better.

Forgetting his leg and leaning still farther forward, he began to rub the hair of the mare’s neck against the grain, pushing her forward with every stroke as the tune he hummed changed slightly. The rhythm of her gallop increased with his cadence: ‘Now, lassie, now, lassie, now, lassie, now!’ Slowly she pulled forward, and then Ferdi felt the freedom he craved as the mare’s treasure hoard broke open and shining gold spilled forth; no longer earth-bound, they flew...

They swept around the final turn to the roar of the crowd, the wind singing in Ferdi’s ears, Sock’s nose at his knee and the finish looming before him. The tone of the crowd changed, but he had no time to wonder as a ghostly grey form slipped between the battling ponies, pushed forward, took the lead.

Startled off-balance, Penny’s smooth rhythm broken, she fell back for a fatal instant before finding her stride once more. It was just enough for Socks move ahead, Penny’s nose even with his flank as they flashed across the finish line.

Stunned silence greeted them. As the two grey ponies with their emerald and sable-clad riders battled for the lead, another pony had come from nowhere, jumping the fence, overtaking the pack, pushing through the narrow gap between the leaders until for an instant three grey ponies raced as one... and then the group split, the ghostly grey, unencumbered by a rider’s weight, moving forward, followed by the Thain’s pony and then Penny.

Old Tom moved forward to claim the stallion of Rohan, for the beast had stopped after crossing the finish and turned around to approach Penny, tossing his head in a playful manner. He tolerated the rope Tom eased over his head and suffered himself to be led away, though he whinnied over his shoulder at the other ponies.

 ‘How did he get out?’ Pippin was demanding. ‘Regi, I want you to...’

Ferdi sat Penny in a daze. He wasn’t sure what had happened, only that they’d been flying ahead of the rest when suddenly... suddenly what? Penny hadn’t won, that much he grasped. He needn’t sit through the ceremonies, the laying of the wreath of wildflowers over the neck of the winner. Suddenly exhausted, he turned Penny’s head towards the gate.

 ‘Hard knocks, eh, Hilly?’ Tolly was saying at his knee. ‘Well, you’ll have half the second-place purse, anyhow. It might not be as much as winning, but it’s something. Ferdi’ll understand.’ Ferdi didn’t understand, but he nodded anyway.

Pippin rode up then, to say, ‘We’ll sort it all out, Hilly. Don’t worry.’ Socks jostled against Penny, knocking the two riders’ legs together, and Ferdi fainted clear away.

There were cries of consternation and shouts for the healer as the emerald-clad rider slumped on Penny’s neck, and Pippin leaned to support him, to keep him from falling. ‘Steady, Hilly,’ he said, and when Woodruff came up, he said in answer to her query, ‘I don’t know; it seems Hilly’s been taken ill.’

It didn’t take long for things to go from bad to worse. As they tried to ease him from Penny’s back, they discovered that his leg was bound to the stirrup leather; they noticed the bandages for the first time, and it wasn’t long before they pulled down the concealing scarf to reveal Ferdi’s face, pale and slack.

 ‘Take him to the infirmary. Be quick now!’ Woodruff ordered, her voice tight with fury.

 ‘Where’s Hilly?’ Pippin said coldly as he watched the litter-bearers trot away, Woodruff at Ferdi’s side.

 ‘I don’t know,’ Tolly said with a gulp.

 ‘When you find him, send him to me at once,’ Pippin said, his tone boding no good for the errant hobbit.

An hour or two later, Ferdi was awake once more, tucked up in bed, his leg elevated on pillows “just in case” (‘I don’t know how he managed to escape further injury...’ Woodruff had grumbled. The tight bindings had helped, of course.), drinking an abysmally bitter draught and contemplating a plateful of liver while enduring Woodruff’s muttered imprecations.

Hilly appeared in the doorway. He appeared to have been chewed up and spit out by some indomitable force. Woodruff bristled. ‘Well!’ she snapped. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’

 ‘I’m sorry,’ he said with feeling, shaking his head. ‘I know it does no good to say it, but I’ll say it anyhow. I’m more than sorry.’ He looked from Ferdi to Woodruff. ‘He’s not going to lose the leg, is he?’

 ‘No thanks to you!’ Woodruff growled. ‘It was healing nicely, and you’ve set him back...’

Ferdi’s heart sank. How far? How much longer would he have to endure the bed? They were likely to keep him abed twice as long just out of spite.

Rosemary entered, Hally at her side. ‘Ferdi, how could you?’ she said tearfully.

Hally simply stared at him without a word, but Ferdi could all but read his thoughts. Fool.

 ‘You have the right of it,’ he whispered.

 ‘What is it?’ Woodruff said, rounding on him. ‘Why aren’t you eating your liver? It’s going cold, and I know you hate cold food!’

Chapter 33. In the Bargain

Every dark cloud has its silver lining, and so it was with that momentous race. For one thing, the Steward declared all wagers void, due to the confusion of the pony of Rohan putting himself into the last part of the race. Though he’d crossed the finish line first, he was disqualified, of course, for having no rider and jumping the fence to join the runners. Socks was declared the winner and Penny the second place finisher.

There was some talk of running the final race over again, but in the end all agreed that it could be no more exciting than the race they’d already seen. The grey pony of Rohan was made much of by admiring hobbits (“Jumped the fence! Came from behind the rest and caught them as if they were standing still! Won the race, and don’t let anybody tell you different! Don’t care what the judges say!”) and in a fair way of being thoroughly spoilt by followers bearing carrots.

Tolly was fit to be tied, for he’d bet a fair packet on Socks winning and stood to gain much by the posted results. He didn’t know until some time after that his own brother Hilly was saved from debt and disgrace by the same circumstances. Hilly, shaken by his narrow escape, swore to wager no more than the price of a mug at the Spotted Duck, and he kept his vow for years after.

Hilly was put on three days’ water rations for his part in the affair, and so he missed the race day feast. He didn’t mind much; he’d had no appetite before the wagers were cancelled, and he’d felt terrible about the risk to Ferdibrand in any event. As the Thain told him in no uncertain terms, had Ferdi fallen during the race, Hilly would be no better than a murderer. The Talk gave Ferdi some leeway in the matter, for he’d been under the influence of powerful pain-reducing draughts for some days preceding the race and was therefore considered not to be in his right mind.

Even so, Rosemary was heartily grieved at her brother’s perfidy. ‘How could you?’ she asked more than once.

Ferdi had no answer for her. To tell her why would be to spill the whole mess, and he wasn’t quite ready for that, yet. Soon enough he’d have to confess his deeds before a body of Tooks, and the Talk would carry the news far and wide, and he might as well remove to Woody End for the shame it would cause him. But for now he closed his eyes and ignored the future, choosing to live in the present moment. It was all he had to cling to.

He wasn't even allowed the comfort of the little hobbits. His Bolger nieces and nephews and his adopted Gamgee relations were kept from him, that he might "rest".

Hally was quietly troubled. He’d known Ferdi to be high-spirited, but never such a fool. Ferdi’s exploits against the ruffians during the Troubles had raised him high in the woodcarver’s esteem, and this scrape was so unlike the Ferdi he knew. He spoke little, but listened carefully and watched Ferdi closely. His brother-in-love was hiding something, and it was something serious to Hally’s way of thinking. He didn’t want to worry Rosemary so he said nothing to her of his suspicions.

After the dust settled and Woodruff stopped guarding Ferdibrand like a dragon standing over her hoard, Pippin came to see his head of escort. He was clearly still furious over the whole mess, though his anger blew cold rather than hot like his father Paladin’s. Ferdi shivered and drew up the blanket as his cousin stared him down.

At last Pippin spoke. ‘I’d like to know just what you were thinking,’ he said. ‘We had a bargain.’

 ‘Bargain,’ Ferdi said bleakly.

 ‘How do you expect to train and ride the stallion at Michel Delving if you won’t follow healers’ orders?’ Pippin said tightly. ‘Woodruff was ready to let you up within a few days, you know. Mercy knows how long she’ll tie you to that bed now, and all the while the time is passing.’

He glared. ‘And for what?’ he demanded. ‘For a purse? I’ve half a mind to confiscate that second-place purse as a fine for your shenanigans!’

 ‘It’s yours anyhow,’ Ferdi managed, before falling dumb once more in the face of Pippin’s fury.

 ‘Mine...’ Pippin grated. It took him a moment to grasp Ferdi’s meaning. ‘This was all about...’ he said slowly.

 ‘I’d hoped to save one of the mares at least,’ Ferdi said numbly, not meeting Pippin’s eyes, for he feared to find pity replacing anger as he forced out his confession. ‘O Penny’s too valuable, I know, especially with her nearly winning the Pony Races, but Dapple...’ He had to stop and clear his throat, and a mist surprised him by rising to obscure his vision. ‘Dapple was my uncle’s gift, the day I came of age, out of my father’s lines, the first thing I could call my own after the fire.’ His voice failed entirely on the last word, and he lay back against the pillows in exhaustion, blinking hard.

Pippin was silent a long time. There was a knock at the door, a cheerful voice calling out, ‘Was there anything you be needing, Sir? Time for Ferdi’s sleeping draught, but if you’re not quite finished...’

 ‘Not quite,’ Pippin said, and the healer’s assistant withdrew.

Pippin turned back toward the bed. ‘This was all about the purse?’ he said. Ferdi would not look at him. ‘You risked your leg, your neck, your very life for gold?’

Ferdi stared stubbornly at the wall, not even deigning to look out on the sunset colours brightening the sky through the large round window.

 ‘For Dapple,’ Pippin corrected himself, and saw Ferdi close his eyes and turn his face further away.

Pippin remembered a fox with its paw caught in a trap. Foxes were usually too clever to be caught, but this one had somehow managed to step into a snare, chasing a rabbit, perhaps. The wire loop had pulled tighter with the poor beast’s struggles in the time between being caught and being found and he’d crouched, too far gone to snarl defiance, staring without hope before the Shirriff’s club had come down to finish him. Pippin had looked in fascinated horror at the foot, caught and nearly gnawed away in the fox’s desperation to win free.

It occurred to Pippin then that Ferdi had stepped into a trap of Pippin’s making, and instead of loosing his cousin in understanding that it was too much for Ferdi to contemplate the pony’s death, Pippin had pulled the snare tighter, too tight for the bearing. The fox had gnawed at his own leg in desperation. How could he blame Ferdibrand for doing the same?

 ‘Ferdi,’ he said quietly, but Ferdi still turned away. ‘Ferdibrand,’ he repeated, more intensity in his voice, but his cousin would not hear him. ‘I release you from our agreement.’

That got Ferdi’s attention. He looked around, but the misery did not leave his expression. ‘How can you?’ he asked. ‘You rendered judgment, remember? You cannot take the words back.’

Pippin wanted to protest that it was a private matter, that the judgment had not been written down, recorded in the records, and that he could change his mind if he wanted. But the Thain cannot change his mind so easily. He does not rule on a whim, or his judgments would lose their value and become as changeable as the wind, and about as trustworthy. His shoulders slumped, but he forced them straight again.

 ‘No,’ he said, placing a hand on Ferdi’s shoulder. ‘No, I suppose I cannot. But we will find a way out of this mess, together,’ he said. How, he wasn’t sure. He would not take Ferdi’s ponies away, however. That much was for certain.

Chapter 34. At Breakfast with The Took

Next morning, Healer Woodruff sought out the Thain at second breakfast in the Thain’s quarters. Eglantine welcomed the head healer warmly, insisting that she seat herself and fixing a cup of tea to Woodruff’s liking. Diamond, entering with young Faramir, stopped short in surprise. Her first thought, of course, was that something had happened to Pippin. But no, Eglantine was smiling and chatting lightly. Thus reassured, Diamond settled her small son at the table and began to cut up his ham for him.

Pippin breezed in but stopped before dropping his usual kiss atop Diamond’s head. ‘Woodruff?’ he said in surprise.

The healer rose from her place. ‘I looked for you in your study, Sir,’ she said formally, ‘but I was told that you were out and about early this morning and were expected to take second breakfast with your family to make up for missing the early meal.’

 ‘Very well,’ Pippin said. ‘If you wanted to go to the study...’

 ‘I’ve invited Woodruff to share breakfast with us,’ Eglantine said. ‘She told me she hadn’t eaten yet this morning for some reason, and I, for one, am interested in whatever business she has to discuss.’ She fixed her son with a sharp eye. He looked well enough, she thought. He’d been very careful after his last bad spell, and though he’d ridden in the races he’d taken Woodruff’s warnings to heart and had taken every precaution to avoid breathing dust.

 ‘Very well,’ Pippin repeated with a kiss for Eglantine’s cheek before he sought his own chair. ‘That is, Woodruff, if you don’t mind,’ he added, as he spoke nodding thanks to the servant who placed his plate before him.

Woodruff hesitated, then nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. Eglantine, after all, was still head of the family though she’d passed the title of “The Took” on to her son when he acceded to the Thainship. Eglantine continued to watch over all the Tooks under her eye. 

The healer watched Pippin eat a few bites, waited while Faramir’s spilt milk was mopped up, but pushed the food around her own plate without appetite.

 ‘What is it?’ Eglantine said, laying down her own fork. ‘Woodruff, I haven’t seen you looking so serious since...’

 ‘I am seriously worried,’ Woodruff admitted, giving up on her breakfast. She turned to Pippin. ‘It’s your head of escort,’ she said.

He sat abruptly straighter. ‘Ferdi?’ he said. ‘What’s happened? Has the leg...’

 ‘The leg took no harm the other day,’ Woodruff said. ‘He was luckier than he deserved in that. But...’

 ‘But what?’ Eglantine said, leaning forward. She had a fond spot in her heart for Ferdibrand, bright lad, brave hobbit, a bit down on his luck at the moment but he’d been worse off...

 ‘He’s stopped fighting me,’ Woodruff said. ‘I’m seriously worried about him, I’ll admit it. Last night after the Thain left, Ferdi took his sleeping draught as meek as a lamb, no protests, no putting it off until after he’d shared late supper with old Ferdinand. No, but he drank it down and went off to sleep. Slept through late supper, of course, but what really worries me is that he did not inquire after his father this morning upon awakening.’

 ‘Did he eat?’ Eglantine said, for a good gauge of hobbit health was appetite.

 ‘No,’ Woodruff said, ‘not even with that sister of his badgering him. I don’t know quite what’s the matter, for he won’t talk to anyone!’ Her voice rose slightly in her perturbation before she took herself in hand once more. She turned to the Thain. ‘What did you say to him last night?’ she asked.

 ‘I...?’ Pippin said, arrested in the act of dabbing at his mouth with his serviette.

 ‘Did you discharge him from his position?’ Woodruff persisted. ‘Did you threaten to throw him out on his ear?’

 ‘Of course not,’ Pippin protested. ‘What sort of hobbit do you think I am?’

Woodruff didn’t answer this. She’d known Pippin from his young years, but then he’d gone off to foreign parts and come back changed from the blithe lad she remembered. Taller, darker somehow in tone, more thoughtful, older than his years, but still not settled enough to suit his father. He’d lived amongst the Brandybucks for the past few years, and Woodruff had scarcely known him on his return. The flighty lad was well gone and a grown hobbit had taken his place.

 ‘I only know that after the race he hardly spoke two words to anyone, and after you finished with him last night, he fell completely silent,’ Woodruff said. ‘What did you do to him?’

 ‘I’d like to know the same,’ Eglantine said sternly.

 ‘You may go and play now, Farry,’ Diamond said to their young son. ‘Perhaps Frodo Gamgee can take you and Merry-lad out on the meadow. I’m sure there are lots of lovely hoppers and flutter-bys out there awaiting capture.’

 ‘Yes’m,’ Farry said obediently, though he’d been attending the grown-ups’ conversation. Ferdi was ill, and sad, from the sound of it. Frodo and Elanor might know what to do...

After the door closed behind Farry, and the servants had replenished the teapot and laid down the platters of food so that the diners could help themselves, and then taken themselves off at a quiet word from Mistress Eglantine, Pippin found himself facing three sets of accusing eyes.

 ‘Well?’ Eglantine said.

Pippin looked from one to another. ‘I only told him how angry I was at his taking such a risk,’ he said. ‘Why, Woodruff has kept him practically tied to the bed, even left orders to waken him and force down sleeping draughts should his sleep be restless. He had no business being out on the racecourse, and he knew it very well or why should he work out a switch to make us all think he was Hilly?’

 ‘I thought that was Hilly’s doing,’ Woodruff said. ‘Ferdi’s not been completely with us this week, between the blood he lost and the draughts to keep him quiet.’

 ‘Wagers or no wagers, it was not all Hilly’s doing,’ Pippin said. ‘Ferdi’s stubborn enough to resist Hilly’s silver tongue if he doesn’t agree in the first place.’

 ‘But not yours,’ Eglantine said perceptively. ‘You’ve talked Ferdi out of his better judgment more than a time or two. What have you done this time, Pip?’

 ‘Nothing, yet,’ Pippin said, rising from the table and throwing down his serviette, his breakfast only half eaten. ‘But it seems I must be about my business.’

Before wife or mother or head healer could call him back, he was gone.

Chapter 35. Clearing the Air

When Pippin reached the infirmary, he encountered a small but determined group arguing softly with Fescue outside Ferdi's door.

 ‘He’s our uncle!’ Robin Bolger said.

 ‘We haven’t seen him in days!’ his brother Buckthorn complained.

 ‘Please,’ one of the lasses said, ‘we heard he needs cheering...’

 ‘And we’ve come to cheer him!’ Merry Gamgee said from the middle of the pack. ‘He’s our uncle too, you know!’

Fescue smiled in spite of herself, for she’d heard the Talk about the Mayor’s children adopting Ferdibrand, “offishul” paper and all. ‘Well your uncle is in need of his rest...’ she began.

 ‘That he is,’ Pippin said, pushing forward.

Elanor spied Daisy on his right arm and said hastily, ‘Were you looking for us, Sir?’ She held out her hands to the baby, but little Daisy flung her fat little arms around the Thain’s neck and clung for dear life.

The plump, jolly babe on the Thain’s left arm crowed and pounded Pippin’s shoulder with his chubby fists.

 ‘No,’ Pippin said, his grip on Daisy tightening as Elanor sought to take her baby sister. ‘No, the three of us had a matter of business to discuss with your Uncle Ferdi, and...’

 ‘Business!’ little Pip-lad Gamgee exclaimed, his eyes wide.

 ‘Indeed,’ Pippin said in a remarkably dignified manner, considering Daisy had hold of his ear. ‘If you’ll excuse us...’ He made his way through the little crowd to the door that Fescue was guarding.

The healer’s assistant stood, open-mouthed, unsure of her course. Woodruff had ordered in no uncertain terms that Ferdi was to have peace and quiet, but she had not included the Thain, especially not a Thain bearing babes, in her orders.

As he reached the door, Pippin turned back to face the frustrated young ones, spying for the first time his own son in their midst. His grin brightened and he winked. ‘Why don’t you go and gather green-leafed branches?’ he said. ‘Armloads of bright wildflowers, as well? Ferdi’s been stuck in a hole for a week now, and his eyes must be pining for a sight of nature. By the time you return we ought to have concluded our business.’

Frodo-lad seized on this opportunity. ‘We will!’ he said stoutly. ‘Won’t we?’ he appealed to the other young hobbits. With a chorus of ‘Indeed!’ and ‘We’ll be back in three shakes!’ and ‘Tell Uncle Ferdi we’re coming!’ the young Gamgees and Bolgers and Took made a hasty departure.

Fescue sighed and relaxed against the door. ‘Thank you, Sir,’ she said.

 ‘If you’d open the door for us,’ Pippin replied. ‘I seem to be one hand short.’ He hefted the two fat babies in illustration.

Fescue wanted to protest, but he was, after all, Thain of the Shire and she didn’t quite dare. She meekly opened the door for him, and immediately set off in search of Healer Woodruff, who’d know what to do.

Rosemary Bolger was interrupted in the middle of badgering her brother to eat. ‘Come, Ferdi, how do you expect to get out of this bed if you won’t...’ She looked up, her surprise growing as she took in the Thain’s burdens. ‘Sir,’ she said. ‘What in the world?’

Ferdi didn’t open his eyes; he lay like a lump in the bed.

 ‘Out you go, Rosie,’ Pippin said cheerily. ‘Ferdi and I have a bone to chew over.’

 ‘Now Pip,’ Rosemary said with a rare flash of Tookish temper. ‘I don’t know what you intend to do with him, but...’

 ‘Do with him?’ Pippin said, all innocence.

But Rosemary was not about to take such from Pippin. Thain or no, she’d changed his nappies upon a time. ‘Do with him!’ she snapped. ‘Haven’t you done enough already?’

 ‘What have I done?’ Pippin asked.

 ‘I don’t know,’ Rosemary said, frustrated. ‘But the Talk is...’

 ‘Rosemary,’ Pippin chided gently. ‘You of all hobbits ought to know better than to listen to the Talk.’

 ‘I...’ Rosemary said, nonplussed.

 ‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ Pippin continued, bouncing the babes on his arms, ‘this won’t take more than a few moments. You might just go and find Ferdi a plate of fresh, hot breakfast.’ He cast a dim eye on the plate she held. ‘That looks quite cold, and you know how Ferdi hates cold food.’

 ‘It was hot when...’ Rosemary began.

 ‘I’m sure his appetite will return anon,’ Pippin reassured, nodding her towards the door. ‘You bring another plateful and I have no doubt but that he’ll eat the whole...’ Unwilling, she rose, plate in hand, and moved towards the door, with Pippin nodding and smiling her on her way. As the door closed behind her, he muttered under his breath, ‘...even if I have to stuff it down his throat myself.’

He returned to the bed and stood staring down at the occupant for a long moment. ‘What’s this nonsense all about, Ferdi?’ he said sternly.

Without opening his eyes, Ferdi moved his head back and forth on the pillow in negation. ‘Tired,’ he breathed. ‘I’m tired, Pip. Leave me be.’

Pippin had a cold flash of memory, Ferdi lying bloody on the ground after the wild boar attack—but that was a dream, he told himself sternly. It was just a dream is all; stop acting like a ninny-hammer. The use of Sam’s favourite scorning phrase steadied him.

 ‘Here now,’ he said. ‘Hold this for me for a moment, will you?’ He unceremoniously dumped Daisy Gamgee into Ferdi’s lap. Quite against his inclination, Ferdi opened his eyes and an arm went protectively round the babe to keep her from tumbling off the bed.

 ‘What?’ he said, though his surprise multiplied to see that Pip retained a babe of his own.

 ‘I think you’ve already been introduced to Daisy,’ Pippin said. ‘Miss Daisy Gamgee, this, as you will recall, is your Uncle Ferdibrand.’

 ‘At your service,’ Ferdi said automatically, for the proper response had been drilled into him from his own babyhood.

 ‘And this fine fellow,’ Pippin said, bouncing his own babe until that jolly little one chortled with glee, ‘is Master Harlo Hoarfoot, the apple of his grandfather’s eye.’ Old Horto Hoarfoot was the Thain’s head gardener, as cheerful a hobbit as the day was long in the summertime, and all his children and grands reflected his sunny outlook.

 ‘What is this?’ Ferdi said, confused. He sat up a little against his pillows, quite obviously awake.

 ‘The time has come for you to make your confession,’ Pippin said. ‘You must confess your misdeeds, as you know, before a body of hobbits: Shirefolk,’ (he pointed to Daisy, who was exploring Ferdi’s face with soft baby fingers), ‘Tooks,’ (he pointed to himself), ‘and Tooklanders,’ and he gave Master Harlo Hoarfoot a bounce that made that little one throw his head back and crow in delight.

 ‘What...?’ Ferdi said, stunned.

 ‘Go ahead,’ Pippin said sternly. ‘There’s no putting it off. It was part of our agreement, and the customary thing to do, if you want to avoid the Ban. Pay restitution—we’ll deal with that in a moment—and confess before others. Have at it.’

 ‘But...’ Ferdi said.

 ‘We’re ready to hear your confession, aren’t we?’ Pippin said, chucking Master Harlo under the chin.

 ‘Bah!’ said that one, and Miss Daisy added a few soft croons of her own.

 ‘Go on,’ Pippin said, meeting Ferdi’s eyes, and suddenly his gaze was intent, and demanding. ‘Tell what you did.’

 ‘I’m a thief,’ Ferdi said softly, pain in his voice. Babe or no, he could not face Daisy’s trusting smile, and he looked away, though she put a hand against his cheek to try to turn him towards her again.

 ‘Go on,’ Pippin repeated quietly. ‘What did you do?’

 ‘I took a pony that did not belong to me,’ Ferdi said. ‘Took him and turned him loose, without asking leave beforehand, without a word to the owner afterwards, letting him think the pony lost or taken by another. I stole the pony, and I lied about it.’

 ‘Did you now?’ Pippin said. He started to sit down in the chair next to the bed, but this did not please Master Harlo, who set up a howl of complaint. Pippin hastily rose and began to dance the baby around until he calmed.

 ‘Did you hear that?’ he asked Master Harlo and Miss Daisy. ‘He’s not told the truth even now.’

Ferdi stared with his mouth open, until Daisy decided to explore his teeth, whereupon he closed it quickly again.

 ‘The truth of the matter,’ Pippin said, surveying his audience of three, ‘the truth of the matter is that he took the pony out for a ride, thinking to say his farewells and bring it back again, but he could not bear to take his leave of the beast.’

Ferdi stared, wordless.

Suddenly sober, Pippin said slowly, ‘I’ve used you shamefully, cousin, to try to achieve my own ends. I took your confession and shaped it into a tool to try to pry you loose. I knew you’d never leave your father to go to Michel Delving, to ride in the race there, and you’re the only one to ride that stallion...’

 ‘And he’s the only one to beat the Brandybucks,’ Ferdi said numbly. ‘Socks is too old to win against the best of Buckland.’

 ‘Aye,’ Pippin said, dancing quietly from one foot to the other to keep Master Harlo still.

 ‘And you want the purse, for some reason,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘For a farm,’ Pippin said. ‘For a family that will be thrown off the land unless their lease is renewed, for the land is not mine to give but belongs to the Tooks.’

Ferdi nodded. He remembered old Renibard Took-Grubb.

Pippin reached into his shirt and pulled out a bag. It jingled as he tossed it on the bed. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Your second-place winnings from the Tookland races.’

 ‘But you said...’ Ferdi protested.

 ‘I said I ought to confiscate it, in a fit of temper,’ Pippin said. ‘That’s what began this whole mess, my impulsiveness, my lack of control. In a fit of temper I ordered the pony destroyed, and if not for your actions he’d have been destroyed, undoubtedly. I ought to be paying you a reward instead of fining you for your actions.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Ferdi, deeply sorry. I’ve worked hard to master my temper, but I’ve a ways to go yet.’

 ‘Aye,’ Ferdi agreed absently, his head spinning at this sudden reversal of his fortunes. Recalling himself, he said, ‘but you pronounced a judgment, and you cannot take it back...’

 ‘Nay,’ Pippin said regretfully. ‘I need to mind my tongue a bit better, don’t I?’ He sighed, looking down at the floor and then at Ferdi once more. Master Harlo, in the meantime, had dropped off to sleep, his little head cushioned against the Thain’s shoulder. Pippin took this opportunity to sink into the chair by the bed. Miss Daisy was contentedly exploring Ferdi’s ear, listening quietly to the rise and fall of their voices.

 ‘You were my father’s conscience for years,’ he said. ‘You lived under the Ban he unjustly imposed. You could have escaped it, gone to Woody End to live with your sister and her family, but you chose to stay.’

Since no words seemed to be needed on his part, Ferdi said nothing.

 ‘I’m glad you’re my head of escort,’ Pippin said, ‘keeping you at my side, as it were. It seems I could use a conscience of my own,’ he added wryly, ‘someone to remind me of the consequences of hasty words and thoughtless actions.’

He nodded at the bag on the bed. ‘That contains your winnings,’ he said, ‘take-away a fair price for Dapple. I asked Old Tom how much she was worth, considering her age and condition after those dogs mauled her so badly.’

 ‘I don’t understand,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘I counted out Dapple’s price,’ Pippin said. ‘The rest is yours. You’ve paid more than half the restitution now; you’ve brought the stallion back...’

 ‘He brought me back, you mean,’ Ferdi said, in defence of the truth.

 ‘In any event, he’s here and ready to train and ride,’ Pippin said, ‘though from what I saw at the pony races he doesn’t seem to need that much training. I have the feeling he already knows about racing.’ He shifted the sleeping babe more comfortably in his arms and resumed his train of thought. ‘You’ve brought the stallion back, and you’ve redeemed Dapple in coin.’ His nod indicated the bag still on the bed. ‘With what remains, you could take third at the All-Shire races and still have enough to redeem Penny.’

 ‘I could...’ Ferdi said, hardly daring to believe. This morning he had wakened amidst ruin and ashes, but now a spark of hope began to glow within him once more. ‘I could take third...?’

 ‘Not that you must take third place, mind,’ Pippin said hastily. ‘If you wish you may still go on to win.’ He sighed, a faraway look in his eye. ‘It would be a fine thing to beat the best of Buckland,’ he said. ‘I'd thought to lay a little wager with Merry...’

Chapter 36. Recovering Nicely

When Fescue returned to the infirmary, Woodruff in tow and Diamond and Eglantine trailing behind, a burst of laughter filled the air, spilling out of Ferdibrand’s room. Woodruff moved to the fore, but her outrage died in the face of the scene she confronted as she crossed the threshold.

Ferdi’s room approximated a flowery dell, with leafy branches surrounding the bed and jugs of wildflowers on every surface. Young hobbits were everywhere, including two babes, one asleep on Ferdi’s lap and another sleeping peacefully in the arms of the Thain, despite the bright chatter that filled the room to overflowing.

 ‘What is this?’ Woodruff said, hands on hips and eyebrows about as high as they could go.

 ‘We’re cheering Ferdi!’ little Pip-lad Gamgee said with a grin.

 ‘I should say you are!’ Eglantine said, sitting down in the chair that Elanor hastily vacated. ‘I might have asked how you’re feeling, Ferdi, but I can see the answer for myself.’

 ‘I am well,’ Ferdi said after hastily swallowing a mouthful of tender ham. He was nearly done with his second plateful of breakfast, and Rosemary had gladly gone to fetch a third.

 ‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ Woodruff said briskly, advancing on the bed. All her senses, however, told her that Ferdi was speaking truth in the matter, before she took one of his wrists in her hand and fixed him with a piercing gaze.

The  head of the Thain’s escort had a sparkle in his eye that had been missing for some days--since Tolly’s wedding if the truth be made known. He had colour in his face and an energetic mien for one who’d spent the past week in bed, recovering from mauling and blood loss.

 ‘When can I get up?’ Ferdi asked as Woodruff let go his wrist.

 ‘You are much better,’ she said, ‘but not as well as you think! That leg’s not stitched up yet, and...’

 ‘Then stitch it up!’ Ferdi said. ‘What are we waiting for? I cannot languish the rest of the month in bed; there’s work to be done!’

Woodruff patted his shoulder. ‘We might stitch it up today, if there’s no sign of red swelling,’ she said. From the look of him, she rather doubted there would be. Ferdi looked ready to spring from the bed and ride another race. Woodruff suppressed a sigh. She supposed she’d never know what had made the difference, from the listless patient of this morning to the impatient hobbit that confronted her now. ‘In any event,’ she said, ‘I’ll need to shoo away all your visitors, for they don’t need to see it. And then we’ll give you a nice sleeping draught, and...’

 ‘No draught!’ Ferdi said firmly.

 ‘There’s quite a bit of stitching to do,’ Woodruff said as firmly. Secretly she was pleased at this evidence of Ferdi’s recovery: he was fighting the healers once more.

Pippin of all hobbits leaned forward to say quietly, ‘Take the draught, cousin, and let Woodruff do her embroidery upon your leg while you rest and gather strength. The morrow is soon enough...’

 ‘Morrow!’ Woodruff sputtered, but the Thain continued calmly.

 ‘Or the day after, should the stitches need time to take hold,’ he said. ‘We’ll find a stout stick for you to walk with and have you out of the bed in no time.’

This announcement was met with a cheer loud enough to waken the sleeping babes. Elanor hastily took up little Daisy, and Diamond took Harlo, promising to return him to the bosom of his admiring family, and it was not long before all the young hobbits had left the room, calling farewells to Ferdi and promising to be back in time for tea. Rosemary, swimming against the tide, brought Ferdi’s third plate of breakfast and stood uncertainly in the face of the head healer, Thain, and Eglantine.

In the sudden quiet, Woodruff said, ‘Well, then. Let us see to the leg.’

 ‘But what about...?’ Rosemary said.

 ‘You just sit yourself down, Rosie,’ Woodruff said. ‘Have a bite. You’re looking a little peaked.’

Rosemary sat obediently, still holding the plate.

Woodruff extracted Ferdi’s empty plate from him, laying it down on the nearby little table, and said, ‘Now, Ferdi, if you’d roll to your side...’

She lifted the blankets away, undid the loose dressing that Fescue had tied on only an hour or so earlier, and gently examined the leg while the others watched. ‘Hmmm,’ she said.

 ‘What does “Hmmm” mean?’ Ferdi wanted to know.

 ‘It is healing nicely, as I told you this morning,’ Woodruff said. ‘We’ll stitch it up today, and another week in bed...’

 ‘A week!’ Ferdi and Pippin said together, causing Eglantine to eye her son narrowly.

 ‘Well,’ Woodruff said unruffled, ‘if you’ll promise me you won’t try to sneak out of the bed too early and burst your stitches, I might let you up before... if you’re careful... and keep the weight off the leg...’

Ferdi nodded. Riding ponyback would certainly keep weight off the leg.

As if she guessed his thoughts, Woodruff shook a finger at him. ‘And no riding!’ she said. ‘I’m serious, Ferdibrand. I know as well as you do the strain that riding puts upon the muscles! You may sit, or lean upon a stick, while you work with that wild pony, but if you ride too soon you’ll undo all my efforts.’

She held his gaze until he nodded, and then gave a satisfied jerk of her own chin. ‘We’ll heal you, in spite of yourself,’ she said. ‘In the meantime, eat well, rest well, think good thoughts...’

Rosemary had started up from her chair at Woodruff’s “eat well”. ‘His breakfast,’ she said, extending the plate, its contents complete save the buttered crumpet she’d absently eaten while watching Woodruff examine her brother’s leg. ‘It’s not gone cold yet.’

 ‘Cold or no, I could eat another plateful or three yet,’ Ferdi said. ‘I don’t know why, but I’m that hungered...’ He waited just long enough for Woodruff to do up the dressing again and pull the coverlet up before he rolled onto his back, sat up, and took the plate from his sister.

 'Eat hearty,' Pippin said in leaving, and Ferdi looked up and nodded, his mouth too full to make reply.

Chapter 37. From Frying Pan to Fire

It was rather less than the week Woodruff wanted but rather more than a day later that Ferdi arose from his bed in the infirmary. Rosemary was not there to cheer him on, for she and Hally had returned to their home in the Woody End. They’d see one another in Michel Delving, in less than a month. “Ride to win,” Hally had told Ferdi in parting, and the latter had nodded with a grin. Hally’d had the look of a hobbit who’d already laid his wager...

 ‘Thanks,’ Ferdi said now to Tolly as that hobbit put a stick in Ferdi’s left hand and lifted Ferdi’s right arm over his own shoulders. ‘I was beginning to think the bed had won.’

 ‘Put as little weight on that leg...’ Woodruff warned, watching him narrowly.

 ‘Yes’m,’ Ferdi said meekly, letting his weight rest on Tolly and the stick. Anything to win his escape.

 ‘We’ll walk to the door,’ Tolly said.

 ‘And back again,’ Woodruff interrupted.

 ‘Back!’ Ferdi protested.

 ‘Back,’ Woodruff said firmly. She watched Ferdi’s hopping progress to the door and back to the bed, where Tolly eased him down. She nodded. Ferdi disguised his weakness marvellously well, with that iron will of his, but she could see the trembling in the uninjured limb. ‘You’ve been two weeks in the bed, it stands to reason...’

 ‘Stands to reason! I can barely stand at all,’ Ferdi muttered to Tolly. ‘One thing I do know is I cannot stand another moment in that bed!’

 ‘We’ll carry you to your own bed,’ Woodruff said, ‘where you’ll stay, with a watcher,’ she added more firmly, ‘and be allowed up a little more each day, while you’re regaining your strength.’

 ‘I can sit in a chair as well as a bed,’ Ferdi said, daring her to contradict.

 ‘I suppose, if you kept your leg up on a cushion,’ the healer conceded.

 ‘Then why not in a chair in the yard?’ Ferdi said. ‘Hilly could be working the stallion whilst I direct him.’

 ‘Ferdi,’ Tolly said, warning in his tone, but Woodruff laughed. It was exactly as she’d hoped; Ferdi was pushing past her limits, but he’d set a limit of his own in suggesting the chair, and he’d be honour-bound to stick with it, longer than if Woodruff had been the one to make the suggestion.

 ‘You never stop pushing,’ was all she said, shaking her head. ‘Very well. A chair in the yard it will be, with your leg propped up on another chair, and Hilly works the stallion. He’ll be riding him in the big race, I take it?’

 ‘No, I’m to do that,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘What about Penny?’ Tolly said in surprise. ‘She had Socks beat before the Rohan put himself in the race.’

 ‘Pip is determined to run Socks and the Rohan at Michel Delving,’ Ferdi said. ‘It’s his prerogative.’

 ‘But he must pay you a bounty, to withdraw your Penny,’ Tolly said. ‘By rights the place is hers.’

 ‘He has,’ Ferdi said, and Tolly’s eyebrows rose. He’d heard nothing of the sort, from the Talk. Speculation was still rife amongst the Tooks as to just which Tookish ponies would run in the All-Shire race, and who would do the riding. The traditionalists held that Pip would ride Socks and Ferdi would ride Penny, but those with an eye for wagering held out for the entry of the stallion of Rohan and his seemingly better chance at winning the whole—and at more profitable odds for wagering Tooks, for the other hobbits would discount the rumours of his performance at the Tookland Races as mere Talk.

As for the bounty, well, Pippin had reduced Ferdi’s penalty to an amount that he could reasonably hope to pay. Even though his cousin maintained that he had manoeuvred Ferdi into his difficulty and offered to release Ferdi completely from the debt, Ferdi had unexpectedly countered him. The Thain had pronounced judgment, after all, and Ferdibrand was going to hold him to it.

It was no skin off his teeth at this point. He knew he could take third or better in the All-Shire race. He knew he’d keep his ponies. Dapple was already safely his again, and Penny would be soon enough. He knew after hearing Pippin’s confession that the winner’s purse would burn Pip’s hand as if it contained coals of fire. Pip would give the gold away as quick as he could... If Ferdi was to become Pippin’s conscience, he’d rub Pippin’s nose in the consequences of his actions, and perhaps Pip would think twice before passing judgment on another hobbit in future.

 ‘In any event,’ Woodruff was saying, and Ferdi brought his mind back to the present, ‘there’s time yet for you to be working with ponies. For now we’ll take you to your own bed, to rest.’

Ferdi did not argue. ‘My own bed,’ he said, and smiled. ‘Never thought I’d be so glad to contemplate such a thing.’

Woodruff gestured to Healer Fennel, standing in the doorway. Ferdi stood once more; Fennel and Tolly linked arms to make a “lady chair” behind him and he eased himself down into their firm grasp. ‘Up we come!’ Fennel said cheerily. ‘Next stop, your own room.’

 ‘Say goodbye to the infirmary,’ Tolly muttered in Ferdi’s ear.

 ‘Goodbye, and good riddance!’ Ferdi said rather louder than he meant to, but Woodruff only smiled.

 ‘Same to you, Master Took!’ she replied.

Pippin and Hilly were waiting in Ferdi’s room. Ferdi looked about in wonder at the transformation of his humble abode. ‘Pip, you shouldn’t have,’ he said at last, as Tolly and Fennel eased him down on the bed and the healer tucked him up, making sure the injured leg was propped comfortably on a pillow.

 ‘I didn’t,’ Pippin said complacently. ‘It was all your nieces’ and nephews’ doing.’

The Gamgees had gone back to Hobbiton, but their handiwork remained to remind Ferdi of his place in their affections. The bright coverlet had been washed clean of the blood and dirt; the tablecloth and cushions remained, and several colourful piecework wall-hangings now graced the plain whitewashed walls. Ferdi’s clothes hung neatly from their hooks, and several more new items had been added, including a fine coat of emerald green.

 ‘This cannot be my room,’ Ferdi said after Pippin dismissed Tolly and Fennel, and Hilly settled to watch at the side of Ferdi’s bed. ‘How will I ever find rest? It is all too fine for me.’

 ‘Well,’ Pippin said. ‘We cannot have that! Perhaps a breath of fresh air will help you find your rest.’

Ferdi perked up at this, throwing his covers back. ‘What are we waiting for?’ he said. He’d been resigned to another day or three in the bed, but things were looking up.

Hilly wanted to protest but didn’t quite dare in the face of the Thain and the head of escort; he was a mere hobbit of the escort, after all, and under Ferdi’s authority, and it didn’t look as if Ferdi were about to counter Pippin’s suggestion.

 ‘Come, Hilly, we’ll take him between us,’ Pippin said. ‘Leave the stick, Ferdi, you won’t be needing it,’ he added. ‘You’re not to be walking or putting any weight on that leg, you know.’

 ‘So I’ve heard,’ Ferdi said as they lifted him. He felt like a king as he was borne through the corridors of the Great Smials, his arms around the shoulders of his cousins.

Outside the Sun was shining as brightly as she’d promised through the infirmary windows. Ferdi took in deep lungfuls of the fresh air, feeling as if he’d never get enough.

Someone had been planning ahead. Two chairs were already set up by the stallion’s paddock, comfortable armchairs looking quite out of place in the yard—evidently taken from the best parlour, or second-best at the least. They settled Ferdi in one and propped his leg on the other.

 ‘Comfy?’ Pippin said, a twinkle in his eye.

 ‘Quite,’ Ferdi replied.

 ‘Good!’ Pippin said with a decisive nod. ‘Let us get down to business! Tell Hilly what he’s to do. I’m off to my study, but I’ll send Tolly to fetch you back to your room in an hour or so.’

 ‘An hour!’ Ferdi said. ‘That’s barely enough to scratch the surface!’

 ‘An hour,’ Pippin replied firmly. ‘If you’re a good lad we’ll make it two on the morrow.’

Chapter 38. By Any Other Name*

It was not quite an hour later that Mistress Eglantine stalked across the yard and stopped, looming over Ferdi, diminutive as she was, for he was seated and she, beloved and respected Mistress in the eyes of the Tooks, seemed to grow to troll-height when ill-pleased.

Her voice was low and pleasant, but there was a steel undertone that made the head of escort wince away much as a hobbit lad anticipating a boxing of his ears. ‘And what brings you out of your bed on this lovely day, Ferdibrand?’

 ‘I... I just wanted a bit of air, Mistress,’ he stammered. It was rather awkward to bow, in his position, and he nearly fell out of his chair when he did, which hardly made things any better. Eglantine herself caught him and righted him, her hands remaining on his shoulders a moment in firm message: Stay put! ...before moving to his leg, to adjust it on its pillow.

 ‘You’re weak as a kitten and twice the trouble,’ she said, her customary smile growing thin at the corners. ‘I know for a fact that you weren’t to be out here until the morrow.’ She glared across the ring at Hilly, who was putting the stallion through some basic exercises, so intent on the work that he had not even noticed Eglantine’s arrival. ‘I suppose it was his idea?’

Ferdi tumbled all over himself in his effort to get the words out. ‘No, Mistress, it was all my...’

 ‘Indeed,’ Eglantine said, raising an eyebrow. ‘I find it difficult to believe, in your condition. What did you do, tie him hand and foot and drag him out here?’ She nodded significantly at the rope in Hilly’s hands. ‘How convenient.’

Ferdi wanted to laugh but didn’t quite dare. The Mistress had told a joke, true, but there was no denying the snapping of her eyes, the tightness of her smile.

To make matters worse, Tolly arrived.

Eglantine put two-and-two together at once. ‘Ah, Tolly,’ she said. ‘You’ve come to help Ferdi back to his bed, I gather.’

 ‘Yes, Mistress,’ Tolly said respectfully. He skirted the paddock, walking to the far side to tell Hilly to put up the rope and help him with Ferdi.

Eglantine called him back as Hilly was looping the rope into a coil. ‘Very thoughtful of my son to send you out,’ she said kindly.

 ‘Yes’m,’ Tolly replied. ‘He said an hour only, for the first day, and had Regi remind him of the time just to be sure.’

 ‘Did he?’ Eglantine said, and Tolly stiffened, aware he’d made some sort of error, but not exactly sure what the matter was.

She remained silent until Hilly returned at a trot from putting the rope away, and then with a bright smile said, ‘That’s fine, now; you get the head of escort comfortably settled... who’s to be his watcher?’

This would not be the time for Ferdi to protest that he didn’t need a watcher.

 ‘I, Mistress,’ Hilly said hastily. ‘I was to watch with him until eventides, and then Ev’ard.’

 ‘Good,’ Eglantine said. ‘Very good. Carry on.’ She turned on her heel and sailed regally across the yard and into the Smials. The three hobbits of the escort heaved simultaneous sighs.

 ‘Someone’s for it,’ Tolly muttered. Ferdi only shook his head, and Hilly said nothing. Hilly and Tolly carried on, carrying Ferdi out of the yard and into the Smials.

He had to admit, he was ready to stretch out upon the bed, and his leg was hurting somewhat as Tolly gently nestled it amongst the pillows.

Meadowsweet cleared her throat in the doorway; she was holding a covered cup. ‘I was sent to bring this draught to you,’ she said to Ferdi. 

 ‘Who sent you? The Mistress?’ Tolly asked, meaning Eglantine of course, forgetting for the moment that his wife served Diamond.

 ‘No, the Thain,’ she said, ‘Healer Woodruff said she wanted you to rest before tea, Ferdi, and that your leg would undoubtedly be giving you some discomfort...’

Ferdi snorted at the term. “Discomfort” could mean a slight twinge or a crushing pain, in the language the healers employed.

 ‘Woodruff knew Ferdi’d be up and out this afternoon?’ Tolly said. He hadn’t had that impression from Eglantine’s demeanour.

 ‘The Thain asked her how best to protect the progress you’ve made, Ferdi, and keep you from having a set-back,’ Meadowsweet said, entering and extending the cup, ‘what with the necessity of having the stallion ready for the race and all.’

 ‘Woodruff knew,’ Tolly said as if to himself, feeling only slightly relieved, ‘but the Mistress didn’t.’

Ferdi nodded, and took a steadying sip of the soothing mixture. If all went well he’d drift off and sleep through the repercussions of the Mistress not being completely informed of events. Cowardly, perhaps, but convenient.

But all was not fated to go well. Before he could down half the mixture, Eglantine was in the doorway, saying briskly, ‘A moment, Ferdibrand, before you take that draught.’ She entered and took the cup from his hand, turning to dismiss Meadowsweet and Tolly (the latter left with a distinct feeling of relief that he was evidently cleared of wrongdoing). She set the cup conveniently out of reach and settled in the chair beside the bed. ‘Let us have a nice little chat.’

 ‘Yes’m,’ Ferdi said glumly, and proceeded to fall silent.

 ‘Hilly,’ Eglantine said conversationally. ‘Did you set out those chairs by the paddock?’

 ‘No, Mistress,’ Hilly said. ‘They were already set up there when I went out to work with the stallion.’

 ‘The Thain told you to work with the stallion,’ Eglantine stated.

 ‘Yes’m,’ Hilly said. ‘I’m to work with him every day until Ferdi’s back on his feet. I got a great deal of advice from old Ferdinand, and was going to try to muddle my way through until Ferdi...’

 ‘You were surprised to see Ferdi out today?’ Eglantine asked.

 ‘Indeed, Mistress,’ Hilly said and fell silent. He wasn’t sure just who was in trouble and he didn’t want to put his own foot in the snare by chance. Although he had helped to carry Ferdi out to the yard, he'd been honestly surprised that Ferdi'd been allowed, nay, encouraged, to be out of bed so soon. But he wasn't going to say any more than he was asked, just to be safe.

Eglantine’s little chat was not going all that well, it seemed, but then Pippin spoke up from the doorway.

 ‘Well, Mother, Tolly told me you were here,’ he said.

 ‘Come in, Peregrin,’ she answered, and Ferdi and Hilly exchanged glances. All doubt had been removed.

Pippin entered, straight and proud, serious, a bit quizzical perhaps. ‘How are you feeling, Ferdi?’ he asked.

Eglantine interrupted Ferdi’s answer. ‘I expect his leg is aching a bit, but other than that he’s well—no thanks to my son!’

 ‘I’ll just be going, then,’ Hilly said hastily, and forgetting that he’d been assigned as Ferdi’s watcher, he exited the room.

Ferdi wished he could make as neat an exit. He glanced once more at the cup on the table. No help there; it was definitely beyond his reach, unless he were to get up from the bed. He did not want to draw any attention to himself, however...

 ‘Woodruff said he could...’ Pippin began.

 ‘How much badgering did it take? How many assurances? How many concessions, on your part?’ Eglantine demanded. ‘Just how did you talk her round?’

Instead of deflating like a scolded tween (indeed, Ferdibrand wished he could sink into his pillows and disappear like an old Baggins), Pippin stood straighter, squarely facing his irate mother. ‘I didn’t,’ he said.

 ‘You went behind her back,’ Eglantine snapped.

 ‘I told her what must be done, and she made the arrangements to her satisfaction,’ he said. ‘Healers’ assistants arranged the chairs by the paddock, per her orders, and she allowed that Ferdi could spend an hour in the yard today, and two tomorrow, and half the day the next...’

 ‘What are you about, Peregrin?’ Eglantine said. ‘What did you say to Ferdibrand in the first place? What is your hold over him? I swear, if I found out that you were using your cousin for some ill-thought-out scheme...’

 ‘All is clear between us, Mother,’ Pippin said calmly. ‘We had a misunderstanding earlier, and...’

 ‘Misunderstanding!’ Eglantine snapped. ‘The hobbit stopped talking! Worse, he stopped eating! That’s hardly a misunder—’

Ferdi was hardly about to start talking under present circumstances, but Pippin boldly interrupted his mother.

 ‘Yes, a misunderstanding,’ he said firmly, ‘but it’s all cleared up now.’

Ferdi found his tongue. ‘Aye,’ he contributed. ‘All’s clear.’

Eglantine looked from head of escort to Thain. ‘This is all about that stallion, and the All-Shire race,’ she said slowly. ‘You’re trying to force Ferdibrand into riding, injured as he is... well I forbid it, do you hear?’

Ferdi stared open-mouthed, but Pippin simply took a deep breath and set his shoulders. ‘Forbid away,’ he said coolly. ‘It is Ferdibrand’s choice. I have no hold on him.’

 ‘Not anymore,’ Eglantine said shrewdly, ‘but you did have.’

 Pippin nodded slowly. ‘I did,’ he said, ‘but I’ve put all such matters aside. I will no longer tease and worry my cousins into doing my will. It was convenient, I admit, and even diverting, but it was the shameful practice of a spoilt child and I’m done with it.’

 ‘About time,’ Ferdi muttered in spite of himself, and both mother and son looked to him in astonishment before Pippin laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

 ‘You have the right of it, cousin,’ he said, ‘and I was a long time in growing up, but I think the perilous pass is safely traversed and I’m on the other side of the mountain at last.’

Ferdi shuddered at the image, whether it was reference to the Fallohides crossing the Misty Mountains in the time-shrouded depths of history, or some hint of Pip’s own travels. He’d seen a picture of a mountain in a book, and that was the closest he cared to come to such a thing. Green Hills were enough for the likes of him.

Eglantine misread the shudder, however. ‘If you don’t want to ride the race, Ferdibrand, simply say so and that will be the end of it,’ she said quietly.

 ‘No, Mistress, I mean, yes, Mistress, I mean...’ he said, stumbling over his words in his haste to correct her misapprehension.

 ‘Say what you mean, then,’ she said patiently, waiting for him to regain control of his traitor tongue.

 ‘What I mean is,’ he said, ‘I do want to ride the race, indeed I do, Mistress, whether it’s Penny or the Rohan.’

Eglantine stared at him consideringly for a moment, nodded, and then said in a completely different tone, ‘That pony had better have a proper name. “The Rohan” is simply too unhobbity for words.’

And that was the end of it.

****
Does any alert reader out there have a clue as to proper capitalisation of this title? My editor is on vacation. Thanks.

Chapter 39. Slipping the Surly Bonds*

A week later the stitches came out. Healer Woodruff straightened and fixed Ferdi with a stern eye as he rolled over, preparatory to sitting up. ‘It’s healing nicely,’ she said firmly. ‘Don’t you go running any races, now!’

 ‘Not on my own feet, at least,’ Ferdi said.

The healer nearly smiled. She was not usually the wagering sort, but this time she had a small wager on the head of escort, to win. The Thain had a good chance, indeed, but he rode the older pony.

She handed Ferdi the stout walking stick. ‘Little steps will take you all the way to the South Farthing, if you put enough of them together,’ she said. ‘Don’t overdo.’

 ‘I don’t want to go to the South Farthing,’ Ferdi said logically, firmly planting the stick and his good leg and rising stiffly.

 ‘Go on with ye now,’ Woodruff said with a gentle push calculated not to upset the hobbit’s balance. ‘And I don’t want to see you back here in the infirmary again for... years!’

 ‘That would be nice,’ Ferdi said with a wink. He turned and limped out, on his way, as Woodruff correctly surmised, to his first ride on the stallion of Rohan since Tolly’s wedding.

Hilly was waiting with the saddled pony at the racecourse. ‘I’ve warmed him up for you,’ he said. ‘Settled out the bumps. He’s smooth as silk.’

 ‘Are you now, lad?’ Ferdi said, letting the stallion lip at his hand after the bits of carrot were gone. ‘We shall see, shan’t we?’

Hilly helped him into the saddle, taking the stick and stepping back. ‘Let us see what he’ll do for you,’ he said.

 ‘He’ll fly like an eagle, is what he promised,’ Ferdi said. ‘I hope it wasn’t just talk.’ The pony’s ears switched back to listen and he snorted and shook his head. The hobbits laughed.

 ‘Hold tight,’ Hilly advised. ‘I think you’ve set him a challenge and he means to meet it.’

Ferdi turned the pony’s head towards the racecourse. He felt the stallion quiver under him as they passed through the gateway, and stroked the silken neck. ‘Steady,’ he said. ‘Don’t want you to leave me behind.’

He turned the pony to face the beckoning long curve and sat deeper in the saddle, cautiously stretching his legs before setting himself for the run. The stallion felt like a tightly coiled spring beneath him, and Ferdi felt the same tight anticipation within himself. ‘Steady,’ he said once more, and if possible the powerful muscles beneath him wound tighter. He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and said, ‘Now.’

He rode the flanks of a surging river, he was a fleck of foam borne along the rapids until suddenly he was loosed to rise on the currents of wind sweeping the high clouds higher. He knew now what Bilbo must have felt, riding upon the back of an eagle...

Pippin stood at the fence with Diamond, his breath caught in his throat as he watched the stallion sweep around the grand curve. ‘Magnificent!’ he breathed.

 ‘Merry’s in for a surprise,’ Diamond said when she caught her breath, after the pony had passed them and Ferdi began to ease him to a slower pace on the far side of the course.

 ‘He is at that,’ Pippin said. ‘There’s a matter of a little wager...’

 ‘You didn’t bet against yourself!’ Diamond said in astonishment.

 ‘Of course not, my dear,’ Pippin assured her. ‘Merry would suspect something at once. No, I merely wagered that a Tookish entry would finish first.’

 ‘I suppose he is a Tookish entry at that,’ Diamond said, ‘but if that is the case we must stop calling him “the Rohan”.’

 ‘Indeed,’ Pippin said, waving to Ferdi. They waited while he walked the stallion around the grand curve to them. The pony tossed his head when asked to halt, his breathing free and easy, obviously eager to run on. ‘That was marvellous,’ Pippin called. ‘I’ve never seen the like!’

 ‘It’s the closest to flying this Took ever wishes to come,’ Ferdi replied, a great grin lighting his face, his fingers automatically soothing the pony’s neck as he moved the pony up to the rail where Thain and Mistress waited.

 ‘I’m told we need to give him a proper name,’ Pippin said. ‘What would you call him?’

 Ferdi caught his breath. The pony was Pip’s; he was asking Ferdi’s opinion? ‘Starfire,’ he said, the word slipping out before he could catch himself. It wasn’t his pony; it wasn’t his place...

Diamond reached out to stroke the starry forehead. ‘A perfect name,’ she said, smiling at the head of escort though he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Probably thought he’d put his foot in it. These Smials Tooks were such an odd mixture of boisterousness and reserve.

 ‘He’s fiery,’ Pippin agreed, his hand slipping around Diamond’s waist. ‘Starfire it is.’

 ‘But it’s not proper,’ Ferdi protested. ‘He’s yours to name, not mine...!’

 ‘And so I’ve named him,’ Pippin said, ‘with just a bit of help, as it were.’

***

Ferdi’s one regret was that he’d have to leave his father for some days. It would take two days’ easy journeying to reach Michel Delving, two days to return, and several days staying over at Michel Delving itself. He’d probably be gone a week! Why, he hadn’t missed feeding Ferdinand his late supper in... years, it had been.

He shook himself. What was he afraid of? Deep down, he had to admit, he feared returning to find old Ferdinand gone. It seemed to him, nonsensical or not, that if he were faithful to his task every night, he could somehow keep his father from slipping away. What foolishness! Ferdinand was as he ever had been, older, perhaps, greyer, and not as sour, but still, much as he had been for years. He showed no signs of slipping away. Ferdi gave himself another mental shake and a good scolding about foolishness.

 ‘What is it, son?’ Ferdinand asked as Ferdi took longer than usual to cool the steaming spoonful of tender pork pie in its flaky crust.

 ‘Naught,’ Ferdi said, and then shook his head. He’d never been able to evade his father before, why should he start at this late date? ‘I cannot believe we’ll leave for Michel Delving in just a few days’ time.’

 ‘The time has passed quick enough,’ his father agreed. Ferdi brought the spoon to his mouth and he took the bite, sighing with pleasure. ‘Ah,’ Ferdinand said when the bite was safely chewed and swallowed, ‘that’s Bayberry’s hand, that is. No one can make a flakier crust.’

Ferdi smiled and took a bite from his own plate. His father was right, as usual, though how he could know such a thing, confined to his little room as he was, was beyond Ferdi’s ken.

 ‘Samwise is going for Mayor again, is that right?’ Ferdinand asked before accepting another spoonful.

 ‘He is,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Your doing, I heard,’ his father said.

 ‘Mine!’ Ferdi replied in astonishment. ‘Wherever did you get that idea?’

Old Ferdinand merely smiled and went on. ‘I thought I’d go and give him my vote, just in case he should need it.’

Ferdi nearly choked on his mouthful. ‘You? Go?’ he sputtered.

 ‘Aye,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Been talking with that young Thain; he’s been in the world, you know, and seen a few sights. He told me how those Big Folk of Rohan carry the injured or infirm in their land, and in much more comfort than Shirefolk would think of.’

 ‘Shirefolk would stay sensibly at home,’ Ferdi said.

His father laughed. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But young Pip has told me how it might be done, that I might travel in comfort to Michel Delving, to cast my vote and see you race.’

 ‘In comfort?’ Ferdi said sceptically.

 ‘Well,’ old Ferdinand said, ‘in as much comfort as I might find, these days. He said ‘twould be as comfortable as my easy chair, in any event, and perhaps more restful even, with the rocking motion of the ponies.’

 ‘You’re to go to Michel Delving?’ Ferdi said, hardly taking it in. His father hadn’t stirred from his room in... he didn’t know how long.

 ‘Why not?’ old Ferdinand said jovially. ‘Why, I found ‘twas no trouble at all to be carried to your bedside, after you were eaten by dogs.’

  ‘I wasn’t...’ Ferdi began.

 ‘All but,’ his father said placidly. ‘In any event, it hurt me no more than moving from bed to chair and back again. I can cast my vote, watch you race, and be home again in time for tea.’

 ‘Tea, a week later, you mean,’ Ferdi said in bemusement.

 ‘Just so long as it’s hot,’ Ferdinand retorted. To think of leaving the Great Smials! Why, he hadn't been outside, breathing the fresh air for more than twenty years, now. Nearly thirty, was it? Settling back in his chair he smiled and repeated, ‘Just so long as it’s hot.’

***

*The title is taken from a poem entitled "High Flight" (see below) 

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee
No 412 squadron, RCAF
Killed 11 December 1941

Chapter 40. The Treasure-hoard of the Thain

Tooks were already departing for Michel Delving when Ferdi resumed his escort duties. Indeed, the greater part of the Tooks of the Great Smials would descend upon Michel Delving, along with Shirefolk from all over the Shire, for Lithe. Usually the Tooks had their own Lithedays celebration closer to home, as sensible folk do, but this was an election year, and the election was in Michel Delving.

 ‘Just yourself and a pack pony,’ Pippin said as Ferdi poked his head in at the study door in answer to summons.

Ferdi nodded and withdrew. ‘Where are we going?’ Hilly said, accommodating his usually quick stride to Ferdi’s slow progress.

 ‘Don’t know,’ Ferdi said. ‘They never tell me anything, you know; I only work here.’ His leg gave a twinge and he adjusted his gait. ‘Do me a favour, Hilly, and run ahead to the stables? Have them saddle Socks and Penny and prepare a pack pony. I don’t like to keep the Thain waiting.’

 ‘Not to mention the Thain doesn’t like to be kept waiting. It takes an impatient sort to be Thain,’ Hilly said under his breath. With a grin he clapped Ferdi on the shoulder and trotted off.

Pippin waited patiently in spite of it all for Ferdi to mount and take up the pack pony’s lead rope, before leaping lightly to his own saddle. ‘Beautiful day,’ he remarked, turning Socks’ head to the wild hills to the south and west of Tuckborough.

 ‘Beautiful,’ Ferdi answered noncommittally.

They took a track that wound deep into the hills, crossing shallow streams, passing through copses of trees, until at last they ended on the side of a hill under a sheltered overhang. From the valley below the entrance was not obvious. Pippin slipped from his saddle and hobbled Socks, saying, ‘Here we are.’

Ferdi got down more stiffly as Pippin took the pack pony’s rope. ‘Steady, Penny,’ he said. She’d likely stand without hobbles, but just in case...

Ferdi wondered if this was a meeting place of some sort, for there was no indication of why they had stopped here. There was an overhang, true, and an old fire-circle of stones, though no fire had burned there recently. It seemed a place to take shelter in a storm, to wait out the weather before proceeding, but not a destination in its own right.

Pippin smiled briefly and pressed a place on the stone wall. ‘Dwarf-made,’ he said succinctly. Ferdi’s eyes widened as a large expanse of stone four hobbits wide and two high swung back.

 ‘Here,’ Pippin said, reaching inside and emerging with two torches. ‘Make yourself useful.’

Ferdi lit the torches, handing one to Pippin. ‘What do we want in here?’ he said.

 ‘In all the time you worked for my father, you never saw this place?’ Pippin said. ‘Behold the treasure-store of the Thain.’ He smiled again, a grimace really. ‘A tight secret, it is,’ he said. ‘A handful of hobbits know about this place: the Thain, the Steward, the Chief Engineer, and now the head of escort.’

 ‘I oughtn’t,’ Ferdi blurted without thinking. ‘You never know how long I’ll remain head of escort. Why, with the next tournament...’ For, by tradition, the position went to the finest archer of Tookland, as determined in the annual contest after the barley harvest. Tolly might well beat Ferdi this year, seeing how Ferdi’s luck had been going of late.

 ‘You wouldn’t tell your father what’s for tea if you thought he didn’t need to know,’ Pippin said. ‘Ah, but ‘twould be a shame if the Smials should fall down over our heads and no one survived with the knowledge.’

They entered, Pippin leading the pony, and Pippin cautioned Ferdi to stay well away from the barrels stored to one side of the hole. ‘Black powder,’ he said succinctly, his words echoing, and Ferdi nodded. It was a gift from the King of the West to the Shire, that the art of fireworks should not be lost with the departure of Gandalf. The Hobbits had found it quite handy for blasting out new excavations as well. Happily they were not curious enough to discover other uses for the stuff.

 ‘You keep torches near the entrance for the convenience of ignorant thieves,’ Ferdi said. ‘I see it now. They enter, light the torches, approach too close to the barrels in their greed, and set off the powder.’

 ‘Very convenient indeed,’ Pippin said. ‘No need for a trial afterwards. The Chief Engineer brings a lantern, if he wishes to fetch away some powder. It’s just a bit safer.’

 ‘But we didn’t need a lantern,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘No, for we are not here to fetch powders,’ Pippin said. ‘Something more substantial, rather.’

 They skirted the barrels. Deep in the back of the cavern delved there, the light of the torches fell upon more barrels and chests, most covered with layers of dust.

Pippin muffled his nose and mouth against the dust and opened the nearest chest, which was full of bags. He handed his torch to Ferdi and lifted a bag in each hand with a soft jingling noise, checking to make sure they were closed tight and transferring them to the pony’s back. ‘The proceeds from the Tookland Pony Races,’ he said conversationally. ‘Half the entry fees went into the purses of the ten fastest, and the other half was laid to rest here, most of which must go to Michel Delving to pay for Tookland’s entries in the All-Shire race.’

Ferdi nodded. He’d paid a month’s salary to enter Penny, confident that he would at least recoup his investment. She had run as well as he’d expected. If not for the Rohan... Starfire, he corrected himself. Well, Starfire would have a chance to redeem himself, and Ferdibrand.

Pippin finished loading the pony, leaving the chest nearly empty. He sighed, and Ferdi wondered. Was his cousin truly burdened by the wealth surrounding them? Many’s the time he’d heard Pippin chafing against his father’s grasping ways, seeking ever more gold yet never seeming to spend any except in traditional necessity -- road repairs, for example. Even in his spending Paladin had been well known as one who’d spend a penny and expect tuppence in change.

Ferdi shifted restlessly, and Pippin’s eye came to rest on him, speculatively, he thought.

 ‘The gold won’t turn my head,’ the head of escort said. ‘Have no fear.’

 ‘That was never my thought,’ Pippin answered, and hesitated. He seemed to make some decision then, for he nodded and said, ‘You’ve seen one great secret...’

Ferdi waited.

 ‘A bare handful of Tooks know of this,’ Pippin said.

 ‘So you’ve told me,’ Ferdi answered, but the Thain shook his head.

 ‘Not the secret of the hole, Ferdi,’ he contradicted. He moved to the next chest, brushing away the dust and opening the lid. He beckoned Ferdi closer. This chest, too, was full of bags.

 ‘Take a look,’ Pippin said. As Ferdi stood, wondering what sort of trick his cousin intended, Pippin waved to the bags. ‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘Take up a bag. Open it. You may have the contents, if you wish.’

 ‘I don’t want charity,’ Ferdi said between his teeth. He had not thought Pip the type to flaunt his fortune in a less fortunate cousin’s face.

 ‘Take it,’ Pippin said. ‘Pour it out.’ His tone brooked no contradiction. Ferdi handed him both torches and bent to the chest.

The bag was not as heavy as Ferdi imagined a bag of gold to be; perhaps it contained merely silver... but as he pulled loose the knot that tied it closed, and tipped the bag into his palm...

 ‘Pebbles?’ he said stupidly. ‘Plain rock?’

Pippin laughed, a humourless sound. ‘Behold the treasure-store of the Thain,’ he said. With a wave that encompassed the rest of the barrels and chests in the rear half of the cavern, a vast fortune of gold and silver or so the rumour went, he added, ‘The rest are all the same.’

 ‘Where’s the gold?’ Ferdi said.

Pippin shook his head. ‘ ‘Twas gone, my mother told me, when my father ascended to become Thain. Whether Ferumbras squandered it all, or old Lalia before him, we’ll never know.’

 ‘The firewood you bought for the widows and gaffers,’ Ferdi said, stunned. ‘You said, “The Thain’s paying,”!’

 ‘And so he did,’ Pippin said thoughtfully. ‘I had to sell a dozen sheep from our family’s farm to pay the woodcutters,’ he added. Shaking his head once more, he said, ‘Well, let us not linger. I promised Diamond we’d be back in time for tea.’

Chapter 41. On to Michel Delving

Ferdi helped carry his father out of the Smials. They eased old Ferdinand as gently as might be into the sling suspended between two ponies.

 ‘There you are,’ Healer Mardibold said, mounting one of the ponies and looking down upon his charge.

 ‘Cosy as a babe in his mother’s loving arms,’ Ferdinand said, though his voice was somewhat strained. He smiled to relieve his son’s obvious worry. ‘Steady, Ferdi, you’ll be frightening the ponies if you put on such a face.’

 ‘Let us take a turn about the courtyard,’ Mardi said, taking up his reins in one hand and then the other pony’s reins in the other. He eased the ponies into a walk, watching Ferdinand all the while.

 ‘I remember the feeling,’ Ferdinand said quietly, his words nearly lost in the ringing of hoof on stone. ‘Why, ‘tis nearly like riding once again.’ He closed his eyes, the better to inhale the beloved smells of ponies and leather and fresh air.

 ‘Are you well?’ Mardi asked.

Ferdinand’s eyes popped open at once. ‘Of course!’ he said stoutly. ‘Never better!’ He did not want the journey cut short before it had begun. ‘Soothing,’ he added. ‘You may go on about your business; I think I’ll have a nice little nap in this cradle the Thain rigged together for me.’

Mardi brought the ponies around to the front of the Smials and halted.

Ferdi waited for the verdict, half prepared to help lift his father from the sling and carry him once more to his little room.

 ‘What are we waiting for?’ the healer barked.

Pippin slapped Ferdi on the back and called in reply, ‘We’re waiting for the Sun! And now that she’s joined the party,’ for the Sun was just rubbing the sleep from her eyes as he spoke, ‘we’ll be on our way.’

He mounted up on Socks behind little Farry, who was already waiting on the saddle. Diamond smiled from her own mare’s back. Eglantine had set out by coach several days earlier and would meet them in Michel Delving. Tolly and Hilly settled in their saddles and followed the Thain’s party out of the courtyard.

 ‘I’ll ride with you, Ferdi, if I may?’ Reginard said at his elbow. Other groups were mounting ponies and the courtyard was all a-bustle. Those in waggons and coaches had left several days earlier, having to go round the long way, by way of Stock, up along the River to the Great East-West Road and then to Michel Delving. One of Pippin’s hopes was to build a road between Tuckborough and Bywater, and sooner than later.

 ‘Of course!’ Ferdi said. Talking about travel arrangements, they’d decided that it would be better to keep the two grey stallions separate. Thus, Tolly and Hilly escorted the Thain, while Ferdi escorted his own father and the pony of Rohan, though he rode instead of led the pony in question. It was less stressful that way—the pony trusted Ferdi, but he tended to be fretful when led. Other hopeful pony owners would be leading their racers, and a few might even transport theirs by freight waggon, to have them fresh as possible on race day. The rough and ready Tooks had no patience with such coddling. Indeed, the long journey to Michel Delving, taken at an easy pace, would serve to warm up their racing ponies before race day, keeping their muscles limber. Very sensible, the Tooks argued, even as they happily laid wagers at higher odds than might have been otherwise.

 ‘Ferdi! A word, if I may?’ Healer Woodruff called from the doorway. A look passed between her and Mardibold, and she nodded. He turned his attention back to old Ferdinand, asking a question as Ferdi handed his reins to Regi and walked back to the Smials.

Woodruff took his arm to pull him into a deserted parlour near the doorway, out of casual sight and hearing. Ferdi’s eyebrows rose as the head healer closed the door firmly behind them.

 ‘There,’ she said. Turning back to Ferdibrand, she picked up a sack left just inside the door and reached inside, pulling out a jar. ‘Balm,’ she said, opening the lid and extending it towards the head of escort. He wrinkled his nose as the pungent odour reached him, reminiscent of Pippin’s bad spell earlier in the year. ‘It works in two ways: through the skin, and also when he breathes in the fumes.’

Woodruff nodded to herself, replaced the lid carefully, and placed the jar into a well-padded drawstring bag which she handed to Ferdi before taking another small bag from the sack. She opened this and shook out some of the contents into her palm. ‘Herbs and powders,’ she said. ‘They relax the muscles, send him off to sleep. Shake the bag well, and then pour out a good palmful. Add water that’s nearly to the boil and let it steep at least ten minutes. Twenty would be better, but ten’ll do if time is short.’

 ‘Aye,’ Ferdi said in bemusement as Woodruff poured the palmful back into the bag and tied the string securely.

She gave him a serious look as she added the bag of herbs to what he already held. ‘I cannot dance attendance on the Thain,’ she said. ‘It would cause harmful talk and speculation. But you, as head of escort...’

 ‘I have to stay close to him,’ Ferdi said, ‘but we’re not even riding together!’

 ‘Diamond has the same supplies,’ Woodruff said. ‘I’m hoping that you’ll be by his side when she cannot be.’

She took a deep breath. ‘I cannot impress upon you how...’

 ‘I know,’ Ferdi said. ‘Regi told me. A lungful of dust, or smoke, or...’

 ‘Time is of the essence,’ Woodruff said. ‘If you can get the balm spread on chest, throat and back when he first starts to wheeze, you might not even need the herbs.’

 ‘Wouldn’t that be a sight?’ Ferdi said wryly. ‘I thought you were looking to avoid gossip.’

Woodruff glowered at him. ‘Be as discreet as may be,’ she snapped. ‘But do as you’re told!’

Ferdi shifted the bundles to one arm and patted Woodruff’s arm with his freed hand. ‘I’m good at that,’ he said.

 ‘Not when it comes to healers,’ Woodruff said truculently.

 ‘Especially when it comes to healers,’ Ferdi said. ‘At least, when they’re not giving orders about me.’

Woodruff cracked a very small smile. ‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘We cannot wrap him up in cotton wool, but...’

 ‘We’ll see about that,’ Ferdi said. ‘If I happen to see any cotton wool lying about, I’ll put it to good use.’

 ‘Go on with you, now,’ Woodruff said, giving him a push.

Ferdi smiled, gave her a bow, and left the parlour, and then the Smials. He tucked the bundles into his bags, took the reins from Regi, and mounted. ‘Ready to go,’ he said unnecessarily.

 ‘We almost left without you,’ Ferdinand said jovially. ‘Of course, riding a racing pony, you’d have no trouble catching us up.’

Ferdi patted the Rohan’s silky neck. ‘No,’ he said, ‘but let’s save it for the race, shall we?’

The pony snorted and tossed his head and the hobbits laughed.

 ‘He says it’ll be difficult but he’ll do his best,’ Ferdi said. ‘On to Michel Delving!’

The Tooks in the courtyard, bustling about, loading pack ponies and climbing into saddles and such, stopped to cheer this sentiment.

 ‘And...’ Ferdinand said in his best imitation of a Racing Master, ‘we’re... off!’

Chapter 42. Casting His Vote

Michel Delving was a full pot bubbling over with hobbits gathering to celebrate the Mid-summer days, to cast their votes for Mayor, to partake of good food and good fun, to browse the stalls of handicrafts, to watch the races and other events. In short, it was like any other community fair... only much, much larger. Hobbits had come from all four Farthings, and beyond, from the wilds beyond the Brandywine: Buckland and even Bree (though the latter couldn't vote, not being Shire-folk, they could still celebrate, and did).

Colourful pavilions rose in the fields all about the town, with all the comforts of home and hole, and whole villages of humbler dwelling-places sprang up, from caravans to canvas tents. The inns in the surrounding area were filled to bursting and most of the inhabitants of the town earned a little pocket money by letting rooms and lofts and even tent-space in their gardens to out-of-town visitors, unless, of course, these were already filled with visiting relatives. Hobbits would be coming and going throughout the Lithedays’ celebration; some stopped only to cast their vote and hurry homewards once more, to relieve the neighbours they’d left watching their animals so that those hobbits could come and cast their votes. Then there were those who arrived the day before the festivities started and stayed straight through to the end; these tended to be the more well-to-do who had others to tend the animals or businesses left behind.

 ‘I have never seen so many hobbits together in one place,’ Viola Smallfoot said to her husband, Budgie, clinging tight to his arm with one hand while anxiously eyeing her little brood. ‘Ammy! Keep hold of your sister!’

 ‘Did your father never bring you to the Fair?’ Budgie asked in surprise. Of course, he’d never been to the Fair himself until he reached his majority, Michel Delving being quite a ways from Bridgefields. He had planned to leave his family at home, truth be told. Fredegar had argued. If you’re coming to watch over my heart for me, Budgie, then I insist you bring Viola and the little ones! All work and no play takes from life all joy! Mr. Freddy knew a deal about looking for the joy in life.

 ‘Beg pardon?’ Viola said, for a vendor of candied nuts had gone by calling out the goodness of his wares just as Budgie spoke. He repeated the question.

Viola shook her head. ‘Never!’ she said. ‘ ‘Twas too far, he said, to take the whole family! He went, of course, every seventh year to cast his vote, and he always brought back pockets full of treasures.’

She gazed in appreciative bewilderment at the booths they were passing, spilling trinkets and furbelows, fripperies and necessities, delights and trifles to dazzle the eye and lighten the pocketbook. ‘Ah! There’s Mr. Freddy,’ she said, nodding at the portly figure standing before a woodcarver’s booth, fingering a finely crafted letter-opener.

Budgie steered his little flock over to the woodcarver’s. ‘Freddy, there you are!’ he said, carefully assuming the vocal inflections of one of the gentry. ‘I thought you might be starting to feel a bit parched, and ordered tea and crumpets to be ready at the inn...’ he glanced at the angle of the sun ‘...about three quarters of an hour from now.’

 ‘Crumpets, you said,’ Fredegar Bolger said, turning with a smile. ‘Budgie-my-lad, I hate to inconvenience the innkeeper, but I’ve just been invited to tea with the finest cook in the Shire.’

 ‘Mr. Budgie,’ the woodcarver said with a nod. ‘You’re welcome to join us. Rosemary’s just stirring up some hissycakes to cook over the fire.’ He turned to address the son polishing a pipe rack. ‘Buckthorn, you go tell the innkeeper that Mr. Bolger’s plans have changed, and convey his regrets for the inconvenience.’

 ‘I’m sure he’ll find other hobbits wanting tea,’ Freddy said.

 ‘Indeed,’ Budgie said, and the woodcarver hastily spoke again.

 ‘But yourself and your family are welcome, of course, Budgie!’

 ‘Very kind of you, indeed, Hally,’ Budgie said cheerily. It would be easier to keep a discreet eye on Mr. Freddy this way, and make sure that the drops that steadied the hobbit’s weakened heart made it into his tea.

The woodcarver turned to lift the flap at the back of the booth. ‘More guests for tea, Rose,’ he called.

 ‘Tell them to come round, then,’ Rosemary said. ‘The cakes are singing as we speak, and they’re best hot!’

 ‘You’d best go round,’ the woodcarver said. ‘I’ll join you soon.’

Slipping between Hally’s booth and the next, they found quite a cheery scene: hobbits sitting about with plates in their laps, a fire burning briskly and cakes bubbling and hissing on a griddle.

A blanketed hobbit was propped against one of the wheels of the woodcarver’s waggon, being fed bites of buttery griddlecake.

 ‘Uncle Ferdinand?’ Freddy said in astonishment.

The blanketed hobbit looked up with a grin. ‘Fredegar!’ he said. ‘It has been a long time.’

 ‘Indeed,’ Freddy said. He eased himself down next to old Ferdinand. ‘What brings you from the Smials?’ he asked.

 ‘There’s an election, you know,’ Ferdinand said, ‘and I came to watch my son ride in the All-Shire Race.’

 ‘Ferdi’s riding?’ Freddy said. ‘I’d heard he was eaten by dogs!’

 ‘They spat him out again,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Found him rather hard to swallow, I think.’

Freddy chuckled and accepted a plate from Rosemary Bolger. ‘My thanks, cousin,’ he said, and dug into the steaming griddlecakes.

Budgie poured a cup of tea and added several drops from a flask he carried in his pocket. ‘Here you are, Freddy,’ he said. ‘Cannot have tea-and-cakes without the tea!’

 ‘Nor the tea without the magic drops,’ Freddy said. He drank the tea and extended the cup for a refill of tea without drops. ‘Where is Ferdi?’

 ‘Dancing attendance upon the Thain,’ Ferdinand said. With pride in his voice he added, ‘He’s head of the Thain’s escort, as you know.’

 ‘Would you like your tea now, Grand-da?’ the hobbit lass feeding Ferdinand said.

 ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Ferdinand said easily, and sipped at the cup she held to his lips. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Don’t know why food cooked outdoors over a fire tastes so much better, but it does.’ He cocked an eye at Freddy. ‘Have you cast your vote yet?’

 ‘I did,’ Freddy said. ‘Clink in the barrel.’

 ‘Hope you got the right barrel,’ Ferdinand said.

 ‘Twas the one with the likeness of Samwise painted on the side,’ Freddy said.

Voting was a simple matter; each hobbit dropped his two silver pennies into the cask bearing the likeness of the candidate he favoured. When the pile of silver reached the top, the coins were counted out into coffers and the total marked down, and then the cask would be ready to receive more votes. There were three such casks, this election: for Mayor Samwise, for a Bracegirdle, and one for a Whitfoot, grand-nephew to the old Mayor. Those without ready coin brought chickens or a young pig to exchange for silver: these animals would be used for the feast following the All-Shire Race on the final day, when the election results would be announced. The silver coins, themselves, went towards paying the Shirriffs and Messengers who were under the Mayor’s authority.

Hally joined them when his oldest son took over the booth. Talk was still on the election. The woodcarver laughed. ‘I thought they wouldn’t take old Ferdinand’s vote,’ he said.

 ‘Wouldn’t take it?’ Budgie said, scandalised. ‘Whyever not?’

 ‘Have to drop it in the cask yourself, you know,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Ferdi voted on his own behalf, but when he went to drop the coins in for my vote the Shirriff told him that no one can vote twicet! Well, I wasn’t about to have my right to vote denied...’

 ‘What did you do?’ Freddy said, stirring his refreshed tea.

 ‘I had them carry me there,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Told them they ought to be properly ashamed of themselves, calling an invalid from his sick bed!’ Never mind that he had left his sick bed to see his son race... ‘Even so, the Shirriff was reluctant to let Ferdi drop the coin into the cask I nodded my head at. “Says right here, by his own hand,” he said, pointing to the directions nailed to the tree beside us. Just then Mayor Sam came up.’

 ‘What did he do?’ Freddy asked, and Budgie leaned forward.

 ‘Said he didn’t care if I was to vote for a Bracegirdle or a blockhead like himself, but that I ought to be able to vote without hands, since I didn’t have mine any more.’

Hally laughed again. ‘We worked it out,’ he said. ‘We put the coins in Ferdinand’s mouth after warning him not to swallow them, and lifted him over the cask so he could drop them in!’

 ‘Pity the poor hobbit who has to count out that cask,’ Freddy said with a grin.

Old Ferdinand shrugged. ‘The coins’ll be dry by the time they’re counted out,’ he said practically. ‘Might be a little shinier than the rest, but then, that’s no skin off my teeth.’

***

A/N For a wonderful description of the Michel Delving Lithedays Fair, check out Jodancingtree’s story “Sam’s Rose”.

Author's Note:

Sorry, this was supposed to be the race chapter but I looked at the calendar and realised that Mid-year's Day came before the last day of Lithe, and so the confirmation had to come first. Thanks for your patience.

Chapter 43. Confirming the Thain

Mid-year’s Day dawned bright and promising. Diamond stretched and turned over, and then sat up in alarm. Pippin was usually an early riser, taking his beloved Socks out for a ride in the pre-dawn stillness, returning only after he had greeted the Sun—or her light, anyhow, on an overcast day.

 ‘Pippin?’ she said anxiously. ‘Love?’

He groaned and burrowed deeper under the pillows.

Diamond arose, pulling her robe around her. ‘I’ll call Woodruff,’ she said.

That was enough to rouse her husband, and he emerged, blinking. ‘No, don’t,’ he said.

 ‘You never lie in,’ Diamond said, but he caught at her hand and pulled her down to sit beside him.

 ‘I asked Hilly to exercise Socks this morning,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know that I’d have time, what with all the ceremonies and things.’

By ceremonies and things of course he meant his confirmation as Thain of the Shire. He sounded more as if he were going to be cast out of the Shire and sent into exile, than one who was about to be exalted above all other Shire-folk, save perhaps the Mayor.

Diamond looked at his sombre face. ‘Are you well, my love?’ she asked anxiously.

Pippin sighed. ‘As well as can be expected,’ he said. He let go her hand to lie back upon the pillow, throwing an arm over his face. ‘Truth be told, I’m perfectly miserable.’

Diamond lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘You don’t have to go through with this, you know.’

He peeked under his arm at her. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked suspiciously.

 ‘We could run away to Gondor, my love. How exciting that would be!’

 ‘It would be lovely,’ Pippin said gloomily, ‘right up to the point where Strider asked how things were going in the Shire and Queen Arwen looked into my mind and heart. There’s no escaping that one... she’s as bad as the  Lady Galadriel ever was.’

 ‘We could go to Sea,’ Diamond said. ‘They’d never think to look for us there.’

 ‘You? In a boat?’ Pippin said.

 ‘Well, perhaps not to Sea then,’ Diamond conceded. ‘Tom Bombadil?’

 ‘We’d have to go through the Old Forest,’ Pippin warned.

 ‘Out of the question!’ Diamond said flatly. ‘I don’t care if you never go into that Old Forest again!’

 ‘O it’s not that bad, once you get to know it,’ Pippin mused.

Just then there was a tap at the door. Diamond hastily pulled the bedcovers to her chin as the door opened to admit the head of escort.

 ‘Aren’t you two dressed yet?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve been waiting to escort you to the breakfast celebration!’

 ‘Too late,’ Pippin said under his breath. ‘Should have made our escape while we could.’

 ‘Look on the bright side,’ Diamond whispered back. ‘The hobbits of the Shire may take one look at you and decide they really didn’t want you for Thain after all.’

 ‘They’ve never disputed the succession before, or the choice of the Tooks,’ Pippin said, rather louder than he meant to.

 ‘And they’d better not have the cheek to do so this time,’ Ferdi said stoutly. ‘The Tooks have made the bed, and the Shire-folk are going to have to lie in it!’

 ‘A goodly notion,’ Pippin said, pulling his pillow over his head once more.

 ‘Go on, Ferdi; I’ll see to it that he’s up, washed, and dressed in good time for breakfast,’ Diamond said.

 ‘Good,’ Ferdi replied with a nod. ‘Mercy knows, I hate cold breakfast!’

***

And so Peregrin I of the Tooks was confirmed as Thain before the entire Shire, or all who’d travelled to Michel Delving, anyhow. There was the festive breakfast, with many tiresome speeches, and the grand nooning, with yet more interminable speeches, followed by a time left free for many of the fair-goers to walk about and see the sights—though there was no rest for the Thain. He had to meet with a great many notables, to hear their opinions on how he ought to conduct the affairs of the Shire in general and Tookland in particular.

It was a good thing Reginard was behind him, taking notes, for while Pippin seemed to be attending to the many points in these portentous conversations, he really was desperately trying to remember the names of all the hobbits being introduced in clusters and groups, for he did not want to call anyone by the wrong name and insult them. That would certainly not be starting off on the right foot.

This delightful pastime was followed by a fancy tea and reception, during which a long line of hobbits filed past Pippin and Diamond, wringing his hand, offering congratulations and best wishes, and tipping their hats to the Mistress of Tookland whilst their wives simpered and made elaborate courtesies. The Thain and Mistress were the closest the Shire-folk came to having royalty, and they made themselves quite silly over personally meeting these exalted hobbits amidst all the pomp and circumstance. When they met Pippin at a later date, in the field or farmyard or town, of course, they’d be sensible once more. But it was quite a trial this day.

When Merry and Estella came through the line, Pippin yanked his cousin to his side.

 ‘I only wanted to offer congratulations,’ Merry protested. ‘We haven’t even had our tea as of yet!’

 ‘Join the party,’ Pippin said. ‘I may never eat again, at this rate. Just how many hobbits are there in the Shire, anyhow?’ He gazed down the long line and put on a smile for the hobbit farmer and his family following the Brandybucks. ‘Nice to see you,’ he said. ‘So happy that you could come.’

 ‘Right fine polite fellow that new Thain,’ Merry drawled in Pippin’s ear. ‘But is he truly son to the old Thain? That one were a sharp and surly sort, I heard!’

 ‘Enough to dispute the succession,’ Estella whispered with a wicked look. ‘Why, this fellow must be an imposter! I heard he came from Buckland! Nothing good can come from there!’

 ‘What about the brandy?’ Merry asked innocently.

 ‘That might be good,’ Estella said. ‘We’ll have to sample it, I suppose, before we can make a determination.’

 ‘That Master of Buckland fellow is said to have brought a great deal of brandy to Michel Delving for this evening’s banquet,’ Merry said.

 ‘That would be something!’ Estella returned. ‘But I’m sure it’s quite undrinkable, after journeying over the Road. We ought to take it off his hands, and drink it up before the Thain is put out by being offered such.’

 ‘Indeed,’ Merry said, disengaging his arm from Pippin’s grip and bowing to his cousin. ‘Just a little matter of business, cousin. We need to make sure the brandy is potable.’

 ‘Let me not keep you,’ Pippin said sourly. He’d hated ceremony from the time his father had become Thain. He’d tolerated ceremony in the Southlands, for the feasts that invariably followed quite consoled him for his detainment. But to be the centre of it all, with no retreat! He understood Frodo a little better now, locking himself in that tower room with the excuse of writing down a record of events before the details began to fade.

Merry laughed and patted his younger cousin on the back. ‘Take heart,’ he said. ‘It’s no worse than being tied hand and foot and being given orc draughts.’

 ‘I’m not so sure,’ Pippin retorted, and then turned with a smile to a party of Bracegirdles, to express his delight in seeing them once more. He’d never live it down if they came away insulted by some imagined slight. They’d probably double the price of Longbottom Leaf, for starters.

He quite thought his hand would fall off by the time the banquet was announced. As it was he used his left hand more than his right for the rest of the evening. He scarcely enjoyed the many courses of sumptuous food, served to the large pavilion-full of the hobbits from the heights of Shire society. In the meantime, the rest of the hobbits spread blankets all around the racecourse and ate a picnic dinner as the sun proceeded with appropriate dignity westwards.

At last the banquet was over, and Pippin had to stand to give a speech.

The crowd waited breathless to hear what the first public words of their Thain would be. Pippin swept the assembled hobbits with a glance, cleared his throat, and said clearly, ‘Thank you very much.’

If it was good enough for Bilbo Baggins, being feted by the people of Laketown all those years ago, it was good enough for Peregrin Took here and now.

As the hobbits filed from the pavilion, there were approving murmurs and much nodding of heads. Short and to the point, just the sort of speech hobbits appreciated. It looked as if the Tooks had chosen well.

All that was left was for Pippin and Diamond to stand in the centre of the racecourse to be introduced once more to the entire Shire, as the sun painted the sky with bright and festive colours, and then Pippin knelt before Mayor Samwise, the chosen representative of all the Shire-folk—it was his last day as Mayor, if the election went against him, but he rejoiced to spend it so well, to administer the oath that the Thain would swear before the People, Pippin's promise to protect and defend the Shire in all circumstances so long as he be found faithful. For life, in other words.

Pippin rose and Sam held out his arms, crying, ‘Behold your Thain!’

A great cheer arose, and Diamond took Pippin’s hand and squeezed hard.

He returned the squeeze, smiled briefly, and said, ‘Well, I guess there’s no turning back now.’

Chapter 44. A Slight Difference of Opinion

The final day of Lithe dawned as bright as the previous days. The Shire-folk attending the fair congratulated themselves on the fine weather. Not all Lithedays celebrations had enjoyed the warm, dry weather that had blessed them this year. The farmers among them, however, kept an eye on the sky and muttered about the need for rain.

Ferdi, walking the racecourse that morning with Pippin, shook his head. ‘Dry,’ he said.

Pippin laughed and slapped him on the back. ‘Fine and fast,’ he said. ‘Just as the Rohan likes it. He’s used to running over grassy plains, you know, and has a horror of puddles.’ He eyed his head of escort. ‘I do believe he has a good chance of beating Socks, but don’t tell him I said so!’ 

 ‘I wouldn’t upset Socks for all the world,’ Ferdi said, and meant it. That pony gave trouble enough as it was. ‘Dry,’ he said again. ‘Dry and dusty. I was thinking of you.’

 ‘All is well,’ Pippin said. ‘Never been better. And in the race I plan to be riding ahead of the pack and all the dust they kick up.’

  ‘You’re wheezing,’ Ferdi said flatly. ‘You’ve already taken in more dust than is good for you, just walking. The race is a little less than an hour away, and how bad will you be by the start?’

 ‘I’m fine,’ Pippin said, annoyed.

 ‘Of course you are,’ Ferdi said, holding tight to his temper. He’d have said the same thing in Pippin’s place, of course, but that didn’t make him feel any better. ‘Come along,’ he said now, changing his tack. ‘Let’s get our fancy togs on. Hilly and Tolly ought to have the ponies warmed up by now, and it would be a shame to miss the start.’

The other riders continued around the racecourse as Ferdi persuaded Pippin to duck under the fencerail and walk towards the pavilions that stabled the racers. ‘I’m sure if there’s anything wrong with the racecourse, they’ll see it,’ he said with a gesture to the hobbits they were leaving.

Once inside the pavilion that housed Socks, Ferdi picked up his bag. ‘Take off your shirt,’ he said to Pippin.

 ‘Of course,’ Pippin said. ‘How else would I put the colours on?’ He undressed to the skin from his waist up and then picked up the finely woven green-and-gold of Tookland.

 ‘A moment,’ Ferdi said, taking out the jar of balm.

 ‘Not that smelly stuff!’ Pippin protested.

 ‘You’re wheezing,’ Ferdi said again. ‘Woodruff said that if we use the balm early, we might not need the draught.’

 ‘You may use the balm if you wish, and take the draught for all I care, but I don’t need them!’ Pippin said, emphasising the personal pronoun with a jab of his thumb at his chest.

 ‘Very impressive,’ Ferdi said, carefully not looking at the healed ribs that did not look as hobbit ribs ought. ‘Now let us spread this stuff on. Bad enough I must get it on my hands without having to argue you round.’ To his ear the wheezing sounded worse in the confines of the pavilion.

Pippin seemed to think the same, for he suddenly shifted the bright shirt to his left hand, dug his right hand into the jar, pulled out a handful of pungent unguent, presented his back to Ferdi and said, ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’ As Ferdi carefully rubbed his own handful of balm over Pippin’s back, not commenting on the whip scars he found there, Pippin rubbed the stuff over his chest and throat, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

 ‘Good,’ Ferdi said. ‘Now sit down and let it work.’ He indicated a nearby chair. To his alarm, Pippin sank down without protest. He sealed the jar, placing it carefully in the bag, and fumbled for the bag of tea. ‘Perhaps we ought to make up the draught,’ he said worriedly.

 ‘That stuff? It’ll put me to sleep!’ Pippin said sharply.

 ‘It relaxes the muscles,’ Ferdi corrected.

 ‘Precisely!’ Pippin snapped. ‘I’m not so daft as you are, Ferdi, to ride a race after quaffing a sleeping draught!’ He shook his head, muttering, ‘Not to mention tying your leg to the stirrup leathers. You were risking your death, and for what? Gold?’

 ‘As you are risking your life,’ Ferdi returned evenly. ‘And for what?’

Gold. The answer hung between them.

 ‘The Rohan will likely win,’ Pippin said, ‘and even if Socks drops to fourth place, we’ll do well enough. As it is, we could take second and third and still come out ahead.’

 ‘So, what if the Rohan wins?’ Ferdi said. ‘You don’t have to risk riding at all! Better for Socks in any event, not to run the old pony against the Shire-wide competition he’ll find here. Let him race in Tookland, where he’s amongst the best, and don’t force him to break his heart against younger ponies like the Rohan and the best of Buckland.’

Pippin shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, rising from the chair. ‘We need first place, and at least fourth, or it’s no use.’

 ‘Let me ride,’ Hilly spoke quietly from the doorway. Both turned sharply, and Pippin pulled the shirt that dangled from his left hand over his chest, moving to hide his back... Hilly had seen enough before they noticed him, but he knew better than to speak of it. He’d heard Talk about Pippin’s adventures in foreign parts, but he fancied now he knew a bit more than speculation had spoken, after seeing the whip scars and battered ribs, and he knew enough to understand the argument that he’d interrupted.

 ‘No,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Why not?’ Ferdi said.

Pippin levelled a stern eye on him. ‘You know very well why,’ he said. First... and Fourth, his look said.

 ‘I’ll lay a wager with you,’ Hilly said. Somehow he’d divined that the purse was an issue. The Thain was riding the pony himself so that he wouldn’t have to split the purse, giving half to a hired rider. For some reason Ferdi had given up his share of the purse for riding the Rohan, Hilly hadn’t quite figured out why, yet, though he kept the knowledge to himself. He wouldn’t have known, himself, had he not overheard a scrap of conversation some days earlier, between Ferdi and Pippin. Though he’d spread a rumour as quickly as any other Took, Hilly knew better than to start one.

 ‘A wager?’ Ferdi said. ‘I thought you’d given up wagering.’

 ‘This is no more than wagering the price of a mug,’ Hilly said. ‘I’m not laying down coin that I’d miss, after all. If I didn’t ride, I wouldn’t expect any gold, now, would I, and if I do ride and win, well, it would be a nice bit of “extra”. But I’ll lay a wager with you, as I said.’

 ‘What wager?’ Pippin said, eyeing him narrowly.

 ‘If I ride to win, you pay me half the purse, as is custom,’ Hilly said. ‘If Socks and I take any place but first, I’ll take no pay for riding.’

Ferdi looked at him sharply, but Hilly gave no indication of whether he’d overheard Pippin say he doubted Socks could win this race.

 ‘You’d take no pay?’ Pippin said slowly.

Hilly shrugged. ‘No skin off my teeth,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘I’d get as much as if I only watched the race, but the race will be a great deal more diverting from atop a pony’s back.’ He could see the plea in Ferdi’s face, that his cousin was too proud to voice, and that Pippin was wavering.

 ‘Besides,’ he said, to clinch his argument. ‘Diamond’s going to come to walk with you to the racecourse, and if she smells that stuff on you,’ and his own nose wrinkled, ‘she’s going to pop you into a bed to keep you from racing, and you’ll miss the whole event.’

 ‘Hilly,’ Pippin said, warning in his tone, but then his shoulders slumped. ‘You have the right of it,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to use the stuff at all, but...’

From where he was standing, Hilly could still hear the wheeze in his cousin’s breathing. He extended his hand. ‘Give me the draught,’ he said. ‘I’ll make it up quick-like, in the tea tent, and Diamond and Woodruff will be none the wiser. If you only drink half it’ll relax you without putting you to sleep.’

 ‘How do you know?’ Ferdi said, handing the small bag over.

 ‘I make it a point of knowing,’ Hilly retorted, spun on his heel, and was gone.

 ‘He makes it a point?’ Pippin said.

Ferdi shook his head, couldn’t help a chuckle. ‘He’s the biggest gossip in the Smials,’ he said. ‘And at that, he listens more than he speaks.’ And a good thing for us, he thought privately, but catching Pippin’s eye he saw that his cousin shared the thought.

Hilly returned, bearing a covered cup, as the first horn call sounded to call the riders to the race. ‘Drink up,’ he said. ‘I saw Diamond coming this way, but I got Tolly to delay her with a question.’

Pippin gulped down the drink while Hilly donned the green-and-gold. Ferdi was already dressed.

Diamond arrived with the second call. ‘Tolly wanted me to tell you...’ she began, and stopped short at seeing Ferdi and Hilly dressed for riding and Pippin in his fine linen shirt, just settling his jacket over his shoulders.

 ‘Tolly wanted you to tell me what?’ the Thain said casually, even as his wife’s nose wrinkled at the pungent smell in the pavilion.

 ‘They’ll bring Socks and Star at the last call,’ she said, ‘and meet you at the entrance gate. He thought it better than to stand about waiting for the call, and risk a fight.’

 ‘Hilly’s going to ride Socks for me, my dear,’ Pippin said. ‘I’ll be at your side to watch the race after all.’

 ‘That’s very nice, my love,’ Diamond said, taking his arm. As they exited the pavilion, she whispered, ‘The odour won’t be quite so noticeable in the open air.’

 ‘If anyone asks, we’ll just tell them it’s your new perfume, sent from Gondor,’ Pippin said.

 ‘A capital idea,’ Diamond returned. ‘It’ll be all the fashion, and make breathing easier for you wherever you go, in the bargain.’

Pippin laughed in spite of himself, and she squeezed his arm. She didn’t have to tell him how relieved she was, that he’d be out of the dust and danger of the race. ‘Do you have your handkerchief?’ she asked.

 ‘Right here in my pocket,’ Pippin said, patting that part of his jacket. ‘When the dust starts to blow over our part of the stands, I’ll pretend a sneezing fit and it’ll be over my mouth and nose, have no fear.’

Merry and Estella greeted them as they entered the notables’ box. ‘Pippin! So you had the good sense to hire a rider!’

 ‘Yes, I thought I’d leave the racing to the experts,’ Pippin said. ‘Ferdi’s the son of old Ferdinand, you remember, and Hilly was practically born on ponyback.’

 ‘You and I have had quite a few races of our own,’ Merry said, and then patted Estella’s arm. ‘But I promised my love that I’d sit this one out.’

 ‘I’m such a tyrant,’ Estella said comfortably. ‘Always imposing unreasonable demands upon my patient husband.’

 ‘I ought to give it a try,’ Diamond said.

 ‘It’s quite diverting,’ Estella said. ‘You ought.’

Mistress Rose Gamgee arrived then, with young Faramir amongst her own brood, just as the last call sounded. ‘Here we are!’ she said cheerily.

 ‘You might have missed the start,’ Diamond said.

 ‘Not at all!’ Rose replied with a laugh. ‘They cannot start until my Samwise says a few words!’

The crowd cheered as Mayor Samwise stood up on an overturned bucket in the centre of the racecourse and raised his arms. ‘Are you ready for a race?’ he called.

There was a great shout of accord.

No elaborate speeches this day for the good Mayor. He’d used up most of his fancy words at the confirmation of the Thain the previous day. Besides, after the race, the election results would be announced. He might not even be Mayor, in a little while. It would feel good to be just plain Samwise once more.

 ‘Let us have at it then!’ he shouted, and with a final wave he jumped down off the bucket, ducked under the fence rail, trotted across the course and under the outside rail, and took his place with his family.

 ‘Well done, Samwise, I don’t know that I’ve ever heard you so eloquent before,’ Merry said.

 ‘Short and to the point,’ Pippin put in. ‘My kind of speaking.’

 ‘So I noticed,’ Samwise returned, and then all turned their attention to the ponies being led in with their brightly-clad riders on their backs.

A ghostly grey stallion reared high, and Pippin thought at first it was the Rohan, but for the rider in blue-and-silver on his back. ‘That’s Buckland’s entry?’ he said, turning to Merry. ‘He’s magnificent!’

 ‘Well, yes,’ Merry murmured, pulling at his collar with a finger. ‘Found him on my last journey, you know.’

 ‘He followed you home?’ Samwise said, eyeing the stallion.

 ‘Pippin’s not the only hobbit that Eomer has imposed upon,’ Estella said acidly. ‘Wouldn’t let us leave until we accepted his gift. I tell you! Give me a mathom, any day, but don’t make it a four-footed one!’

 ‘Well, he’s improving the bloodlines of Buckland,’ Merry said, ‘much as those other greys are doing for Tookland, I imagine.’ He indicated the Rohan and Socks with their green-and-gold riders.

They fell silent as the starter’s assistants sorted out the jumble of ponies, their riders bearing the crimson of the West Farthing, the sunny yellow of the South Farthing, the deep indigo of the East Farthing, the icy white-and-silver of the North Farthing, and the colours of Tookland and Buckland.

 ‘They look good,’ Merry breathed, his eye glued to the ponies.

 ‘They ought to,’ Pippin said. ‘They’re the best in the Shire.’

 ‘No matter who wins, it’s an honour to race here,’ Merry said.

 ‘Of course,’ Pippin replied. ‘It doesn’t really matter who wins at all, does it?’ Merry looked at him sharply as he leaned forward on his seat, watching the Master of the Race raise the starting flag.

Chapter 45. And... They're... Off!

Several ponies broke from the rest, only to be called back by the sharp summons of a horn. The crowd relaxed with a sigh of disappointment; there would be a delay whilst the starter’s assistants got all the ponies lined up once more.

Pippin leaned back in his chair, and old Ferdinand, who’d been granted a seat in the box reserved for the Master, Mayor and Thain, heard Merry say sharply, ‘Pippin? Are you well?’

 ‘Never better,’ the Thain answered, but it seemed to cost him effort to force out the words.

Rosemary’s hand tightened on her father’s shoulder and they shared a look. Ferdinand knew of Pippin’s bad spells from his son, who did not engage in Talk as a rule, but often mulled over his thoughts in his father’s presence, knowing that any privileged information he might spill was safe with Ferdinand. Rosemary, on the other hand, had heard none of this... but her healer’s training alerted her to the faint wheeze still to be heard in the Thain’s breathing, and the odour of the balm was a familiar one.

Pippin straightened in his chair, and to distract Merry from his concern he said, ‘Let us double our wager.’

 ‘Pippin!’ Diamond said in shock.

 ‘Very well,’ Merry said. ‘If a Tookish pony wins, I’ll pay you two silver pennies, and if a pony of Buckland wins, you’ll pay me.’

Diamond relaxed and forced a chuckle. ‘O you two!’ she chided. ‘When you said “double” I thought my heart would stop!’

 ‘Not to worry, my dear,’ Pippin said breezily. ‘Of course a Tookish pony will win. Why, even if the South Farthing were to take the honours, the Bracegirdles bought that pony in Tookland a year or two ago...’

 ‘Pippin...’ Merry said, warning in his tone, even as his eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘You are as devious as our illustrious cousin Ferdi.’

 ‘Ferdi? Devious?’ Diamond said in astonishment. Really, the head of escort was so subdued as to make her think he wasn’t even present, most of the time.

 ‘Devious,’ Merry said firmly. ‘Uncle Merimac told me any number of stories about the traps Ferdi laid to keep ruffians out of Tookland...’ He looked back to the racecourse. ‘Ah,’ he said in satisfaction. ‘Just about ready.’

Ferdinand turned his attention to the ponies once more, three of ghostly grey sprinkled amongst darker and brighter hides. His breath came short as a coppery chestnut caught his eye... He had a flash of that odd insight that comes to some Tooks, where they catch a glimpse all unbidden of things to come. A chestnut pony and a silver-grey, battling for position at the head of a field of swift-running ponies—he saw Ferdi bending low over the grey’s neck, yes, it was Ferdi, riding to win! But then the two leaders bumped, tangled, went down to be overrun by the thundering racers that followed.

 ‘No,’ he moaned, and had he still had his hands he’d have covered his face, or perhaps had he still had feet he’d have jumped to them, run forward, called a halt before the race began.

 ‘Da?’ Rosemary said in concern.

Ferdinand’s eyes were closed but the awful vision remained: his son, gone down beneath the hoofs of the racing ponies. He thought back to the previous evening, the songs and laughter. Ferdi and Merry had sung together as in years past, when they were young and free of care, the old songs, including the wistful ballad traditionally heard when races were run in the Shire. In that song, a hobbit’s family begged him to stop his racing, and he promised to do so, after this one last race. ...But the “last” race was indeed his last, and the song ended in sorrow.

Pippin, seeing Diamond grow pale, had jumped to his feet, to begin a hearty clapping song, and soon the entire common room full of hobbits had joined in and were shouting out the choruses as they made thunder, pounding the tables, stomping their feet, and clapping their hands.

The innkeeper was quite pleased with the result, for though the song was noisy, the noise drew even more passers-by to the celebration, and the singers worked up a significant thirst with their endeavours. The room quieted considerably as the restorative mugs were being sipped, such that nearly everyone heard old Ferdinand ask his son to sing once more.

Cries of Ferdi! and Aye! Sing the Treasure Song! erupted from the Tooks in the room.

Ferdi stood to his feet and bowed, then struck a pose. Nodding to the musicians in the corner (a fiddler, a piper, and a hobbit with a harp were being provided with free drinks for as long as they were sober enough to play), he said, ‘The Treasure Song.’ The harp player raised a hand and struck a chord and then his fingers coaxed the plaintive melody from the instrument. The hobbits listened in silence, and then Ferdi began to sing.

I do not know my ending;
My beginning, I can’t recall.
But my life’s a golden treasure,
And I mean to spend it all...

 ‘Da?’ Rosemary said again, and Ferdinand was brought back to the present moment.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the starter’s flag descended and the ponies were off in a fair start.

Unlike the waking dream, flash of insight, whatever you’d call it, Ferdi, on the Rohan, was not running ahead of the field, Ferdinand saw to his relief, but somewhere in the middle of the bunched ponies. Buckland’s grey was running at the head, Socks half a length behind him.

As they rounded the first turn the ponies began to string out, Ferdibrand’s grey remaining somewhat forward of the middle of the field. Old Ferdinand’s heart leaped into his throat as he saw the bright chestnut, blue-and-silver-clad rider on his back, moving up.

 ‘Is that one of Jewel’s colts?’ Pippin asked conversationally. ‘He looks just like his sire.’

 ‘Runs like him too,’ Merry answered. ‘He may yet win this race.’

 ‘Not if Ferdi has anything to say about it,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Well, Ferdi beat me in enough races when we were younger,’ Merry said. He winked conspiratorially at old Ferdinand. ‘Even though you lectured us on “the proper use of ponies” until I thought my ears would fall off.’ His attention was called back to the race as Estella plucked his sleeve and he shouted, ‘Go, Rivermist! Get up, there!’ Socks had pulled even with the grey Bucklander and was beginning to forge ahead.

Pippin slapped his thigh and crowed. ‘I told you the old pony still had it in him!’ he shouted.

Ferdinand remembered to breathe as Ferdi’s pony began to move steadily forward, the chestnut on his tail. In the flash of vision, the riders had been knee-to-knee when the ponies went down. The racers rounded the final turn, Socks and the grey Bucklander battling for the lead, Ferdi third, a black pony with yellow-clad rider fourth, and the chestnut in fifth. The watching hobbits roared their favourites’ names and rose to their feet to see the finish.

Pippin was sitting stiffly, hands fisted on his knees, whispering to his riders; Diamond’s arm was about his shoulders as if in support. Merry was shouting encouragement; Estella sat looking from Merry to Pippin and back again, and old Ferdinand was able to breathe, just as long as that chestnut stayed well back of Ferdi’s pony.

Ferdi was bent over the pony’s neck, nearly lost in the flowing mane, seemingly motionless, but suddenly the pony seemed to grow wings, overtaking the leaders. Pippin jumped to his feet, shouting in excitement as they swept past the stands, the Rohan in first, Buckland’s grey in second, Socks fallen back to third place but still fighting gamely as they flashed across the finish line. 

 ‘We did it! We did it!’ Pippin shouted, jumping up and down in his excitement, as energetic as any tween. It took some time before Diamond was able to convince him to sit down once more, to await the call to the winner’s circle, where he’d stand by the pony as the garland of wildflowers was presented, he would give a short speech expressing his thanks to Ferdi as the rider, and then, almost as an afterthought, he'd accept the heavy purse of gold.

 ‘Did you see? Ferdi won!’ Rosemary cried, hugging her father. Hally beside her was all grins, but his look turned to concern as did Rosemary’s at old Ferdinand’s lack of expression.

 ‘Da?’ Rosemary said.

 ‘I’m well,’ Ferdinand said weakly. ‘Never been better.’ The warning still resonated within, Ferdi going down beneath the thundering hoofs, but it was fading in the celebration that surrounded him. He forced a grin. ‘We won!’

 ‘We certainly did!’ Hally said. He clapped old Ferdinand on the shoulder. ‘Now all we have to hope for is that Mayor Sam won his own race!’

***

Author’s Notes:
The race that Ferdinand is foreseeing is detailed in “Flames”, also on SoA.
The midi file for the Racing Song can be found by clicking here.
The midi file for the Golden Treasure song can be found by clicking here.

Chapter 46. Unexpected Turn

The proprietor of the finest inn in Michel Delving stopped one of his regular patrons coming in the door.

 ‘Knock out your pipe, Clovis. You know you can’t smoke in here.’

 ‘You still singin’ that song, Bert? You wouldn’t let us smoke last night, and now...’

The innkeeper sighed gustily. ‘As I told you,’ he said, adding weight to each word with a stiff-fingered poke at his cousin’s chest, ‘the Master of Bucklander’s bought up all the beer barrels in the cellar, and if you want to drink a drop you’ll put your pipe away!’

 ‘His wife can’t abide pipeweed, is what I hear. I wager the poor hobbit has to go out and smoke in the garden like any old gaffer!’

 ‘Well, he makes up for it in drink, or why would “drunk as a Brandybuck” be a byword, I ask you? In any event, he’s bought all the beer in my cellar, and he's ordered free drinks to all, just as it was last night... as long as no pipes are in evidence. Take a last draw on your pipe and knock it out, I say, or go find a mug somewhere else this night!’

Clovis grumbled and muttered about those benighted Brandybucks and the scandalous way they scattered their gold, but he knocked his pipe out and pocketed it. The beer would flow freely this night, and he’d leave with his pockets not one whit lighter.

It was a merry crowd that night, celebrating the re-election of Mayor Samwise and the exciting race that had capped the Lithedays Fair. Better yet, there would be fireworks provided after darkness fell, courtesy of the Master of Buckland. In the meantime, the hobbits who filled the common room of the finest inn in Michel Delving could while away the long summer evening drinking at the Master’s expense. Bucklanders were queer folk, but generous.

Only one small section of tables was empty, reserved as it were for the Master of Buckland and his party. There were cheers and mugs raised in toast as Meriadoc the Magnificent entered, and he bowed and smiled before leading the way to the tables.

 ‘Here you are, Pippin, Diamond,’ he said, gesturing to the large table in the centre of the section. ‘Estella, my love,’ he added, pulling back a chair to seat his wife.

Ferdi and Hilly were given seats at the next table with Merry’s riders, and they were cheered and toasted for the exciting race they’d run. Brandybucks and Tooks filled all the rest of the empty seats but the two reserved for the Mayor and his wife.

Servers began to bring out trays laden with food, and the merry hobbits ate and drank and sang and laughed, for it was the last night of celebration and they must make the most of it, before packing up their baggage and heading home in the morning light. The vendors in their colourful booths were plying their wares for one more evening; when the fireworks began, they’d close up shop, and after the fireworks they’d pack all they could by torchlight, finish the job in the dawn and be on their way to the far corners of the Shire, homewards.

***

 ‘Where is Mayor Sam?’ Pippin said. ‘He’s missing his victory supper!’

 ‘Some last-minute business or other,’ Merry said noncommittally. ‘The Master of the Races pulled him aside as we were leaving, and he motioned to us to go along. You were conferring with Ferdi at the time, I think, about plans for the morrow.’

 ‘We are still going to the farm, are we not, dearest?’ Diamond said, eyeing her husband anxiously. Beneath the bright smile lay a deep weariness, clear to her loving gaze. It would be good to stop over at the farm to celebrate Pippin’s birthday with Pearl and her family, rather than amongst the mob at the Great Smials where he’d have to play the role of Thain to the Tooks’ satisfaction.

 ‘Of course!’ Pippin said, raising his mug in a toast. ‘Why, Pearl is expecting us! Isum said so yesterday, when he came with their eldest to cast his vote, and he wouldn’t stay for the races but went straight home again when he’d rested.’

 ‘I’m amazed he made the journey at all,’ Ferdi said quietly to Hilly, overhearing the comment. ‘He hardly stirs from his chair as it is.’

 ‘Ah, but he wanted to cast his vote,’ Pippin called over. ‘He said ‘twould be a terrible thing for Mayor Sam to lose by tuppence, and him stay home, so he borrowed a pony from a neighbour, one known for smooth gaits, and made the journey.’

 ‘Much as your father did,’ Hilly said to Ferdi, raising his own mug. ‘To stubborn Tooks!’

 ‘Hear, hear!’ Merry said, standing to raise his mug high and call over the room. ‘To stubborn Tooks!’

All, even the Tooks, laughed and drank the toast.

 ‘Ah, here’s Mayor Sam,’ Merry said, for still on his feet he had a fine view of the doorway. ‘Three cheers for the Mayor, old and new!’

A rousing cheer followed, but for some reason the Mayor’s face remained sober as he bowed and then made his way to the Master of Buckland’s tables, several hobbits with serious expressions in his train.

 ‘Welcome, Samwise!’ Merry cried, gesturing to the empty seats. ‘And will Mistress Rose not be joining us this evening?’

 ‘She’s with the children,’ Samwise said quietly.

 ‘So, Sam,’ Pippin put in. ‘Have a seat, take up a mug, the beer’s paid for! Merry told me he liked the brew here so much he bought up the whole cellar-full!’

Sam walked to the table but paused with his hand on the back of his chair. He did not take up the mug the proprietor set down at his place with a flourish.

 ‘And what will your first official act be?’ Merry asked. ‘Opening the fireworks, I gather. There are still a few hours before us, so why don’t you wet your whistle in preparation?’

 ‘My first official act...’ Samwise echoed, looking ill at ease. He wiped his face of all expression and turned to Pippin.

 ‘What is it, Sam?’ Pippin asked quietly. Diamond, with a feeling of dread, put a hand on her husband’s arm.

 ‘Thain Peregrin,’ Sam said carefully, formally, ‘I regret to inform you that by the rules of the All-Shire Race your pony has been disqualified, and I must rescind your prize.’

 ‘Disqualified!’ Merry gasped, while Pippin’s face lost colour. Ferdi rose from his seat despite Hilly’s restraining hand.

The Master of the Races stepped forward from behind the Mayor. ‘I heard someone call your pony “The Rohan”,’ he said, ‘though he’s down on the entry as “Starfire”. How long has he been in your possession?’

 ‘Since the Spring,’ Pippin said huskily. He cleared his throat. ‘Samwise? What does this mean?’

Sam said unhappily, ‘I’m afraid the rules plainly state that the pony must have been in your possession for a year-and-a-day before running under your colours, Sir.’

Pippin winced slightly at the honorific. ‘Year-and-a-day? I hadn’t heard of that one before.’

The Master of the Races shifted uneasily. ‘It’s been in effect since the days of Bandobras,’ he said. ‘He ran a clearly illegal entry in the All-Shire Race, but there was no written rule and so the race results were allowed to stand. The rules were laid out as a result.’

Pippin smiled faintly. ‘I’ve heard the story,’ he said quietly, patting Diamond’s hand gently. ‘My wife’s illustrious ancestor was well-known for his sense of mischief.’

 ‘It’s to keep folk from buying a winner from another Farthing and racing it under their Farthing’s colours,’ the Master of the Races said. ‘It doesn’t come up very often...’

...for who would sell his winner to another Farthing before the All-Shire Race, to run another and in all probability be beaten by his own pony? And hobbits travelled so little that bringing a pony in from outside the Shire to race was almost unheard-of.

Pippin dug in his pocket, bringing out a handful of coins. He slid two silver pennies over the polished surface of the table towards his cousin, who had sunk into his chair in shock. ‘Well, Merry,’ he said, picking out two more silver pennies and shoving them to join the others. ‘It appears you have won our wager after all. The Tookish pony did not win.’

Merry smiled, or rather he grimaced, and he placed his fingers flat on the coins and slid them back. ‘I’m afraid you have the wrong of it, Pippin,’ he said. Looking up at the Master of the Races, he added, ‘Then you’ll have to disqualify my lad as well. I brought him back from the Outlands just before the leaves began to fall...’

There was a gasp and a murmur that swept the room as the news spread like puffpenny seeds on a windy day. Ferdi gave in to Hilly’s tugging hand and resumed his seat, mechanically taking the mug that one of Merry’s riders put in his hand and gulping down the contents without seeming to notice what he was doing.

Pippin began to laugh, a harsh and mirthless sound in the shock-silenced room.

 ‘My dear, are you well?’ Diamond said anxiously.

‘A Tookish pony won after all,’ he gasped. ‘Just wait until I tell the old pony that he’s the winner!’

 ‘Pippin,’ Merry said urgently, and at his look the hobbits of the escort rose precipitously, taking the Thain by his arms.

 ‘Steady, cousin,’ Ferdi said under his breath, and to Hilly, ‘Let’s get him to his room.’

There was a great scraping of chairs and benches as the hobbits in the common room rose hastily to bow the Thain out of the room. He shook off the escorts’ helping hands, took Diamond’s arm, and stalked with dignity out to the corridor leading to the private rooms, pausing to thank the innkeeper for his hospitality. Master and Mistress of Buckland, Mayor of Michel Delving and Master of the Races, and the four riders followed. Silence lingered in their wake, but only a moment; a buzz of speculation rose in the room and soon hobbits were drinking up, rising from their chairs, and hurrying out into the streets to spread the incredible news.

Chapter 47. From Bad to Worse

Pippin and Diamond entered the graciously appointed sitting room assigned the Thain and his party; he fell into one of the chairs surrounding the little table and fumbled for the decanter. ‘A sip of Buckland’s finest, my dear?’ he said to Diamond. ‘You look as if you could use it.’

 ‘Thank you,’ Diamond said, sinking down beside him. She stopped herself from asking if he was all right.

There was a commotion at the door to the suite; Ferdi had moved to Pippin’s side as the Thain stalked down the corridor and when they reached the Thain’s rooms he’d turned and planted himself before the door, pulling it shut as soon as Pippin and Diamond were through. ‘No entry,’ he said firmly, right into the Masters’ and Mayor’s astonished faces.

 ‘But...’ Samwise said, as the Master of the Races spluttered behind him.

 ‘Ferdi,’ Merry protested.

Ferdi was unmoved. Turning to Hilly, he said, ‘See to it!’ Receiving Hilly’s nod, he turned the knob, slipped into the room, and shut the door decisively behind him, cutting off the babble of protest that arose.

Pippin poured another brandy and extended it to Ferdi, who took up the glass but did not sip.

Ferdi looked from Pippin to Diamond and back again. ‘What are we going to do?’ he said.

 ‘We’ll give back the third-place purse, of course,’ Pippin replied, and sipped at his own brandy. ‘You’re free, of course, Ferdi. You fulfilled all the conditions set upon you. You rode, and you finished even better than the fourth place I’d hoped for.’

 ‘He won!’ Diamond said sharply.

 ‘Of course he did, my love,’ Pippin said in a soothing tone. ‘Pity we didn’t know about the rules, but then I’d imagine no one’s had the imagination to try to run an outsider since the time of Bandobras. Hobbits are rather a dull lot.’

 ‘None of your nonsense, now,’ Ferdi said. ‘What are we going to do? The first-place purse isn’t enough to save that farm for the Took-Grubbs family.’

 ‘The only way to do it is to sell something to raise the rest of the needed gold,’ Pippin said. ‘But what do I own that’s valuable enough? I cannot strip the farm; that’s Pearl’s livelihood!’

 ‘There’s the Rohan,’ Ferdi said, feeling his heart drop to his toes even as he spoke.

Pippin shook his head stubbornly. ‘No,’ he said. He had seen the bond that had grown between the head of escort and the stallion, and he’d not take anything else from Ferdi than he’d already taken, if he could help it. Truth be told, he’d intended to give the stallion to the head of escort, retaining only the breeding rights. The stud fees could go into the coffers of the Thain for the good of Tookland, but Ferdi could keep the pony. The two had saved each others’ lives; they belonged together.

 ‘Socks is still a valuable pony, though he’s growing older,’ Pippin went on slowly. ‘He’s the third-fastest in the Shire, if you reckon on the results of the All-Shire Race.’

 ‘You cannot be thinking of selling Socks!’ Diamond gasped.

Pippin looked to her. ‘He is the most valuable thing I own outright,’ he said quietly. ‘I can sell him without causing harm or inconvenience to anyone else, and with the first-place purse it’ll be enough to keep the Took-Grubbs family on their land.’ He took a good-sized gulp of brandy. ‘If it is in my power, I must not quail. How could I ever look the old fellow in the eye again, how could I climb onto his back, knowing that my selfish pleasure had cost a family the only home they’d ever known?’

Ferdi stood stunned, brandy glass forgotten in his hand. The Thain would sell his favourite?

He swung around as the door to the suite opened, reprimand for Hilly ready on his lips, but the door closed again after admitting only Reginard, Pippin’s steward.

 ‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ Regi said formally, no cousin, or familiar Pip. ‘It seems there is a matter of business yet to discuss.’

 ‘They’re still out there?’ Pippin said, and Regi nodded. Pippin sighed. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Let them enter.’

A silent group of hobbits filed in: Master and Mistress of Buckland, Mayor and Master of the Races, Merry’s riders, and Hilly, who closed the door behind himself and stood against it as if to deny entry to anyone else. Ferdi gave him a sharp look, but Hilly avoided his gaze. His face was white and bleak with the knowledge he held.

 ‘Well,’ Merry said awkwardly as he settled into the chair Pippin indicated. ‘It seems there’s good news and bad news.’

 ‘Ah,’ Pippin said unhelpfully, and waited.

 ‘The good news is, you get to keep your wager,’ Merry forged on determinedly. ‘It seems a Tookish pony did win the race after all.’

 ‘I was aware of that,’ Pippin said stiffly. He saw Merry swallow hard.

 ‘Not quite what we thought, cousin,’ Merry said. ‘You see, Socks would be considered a pony of Buckland, coming as he did with you from Buckland in the Spring... Had he worn the colours of Buckland in the race his first-place finish would be allowed to stand.’

 ‘The black from the South Farthing,’ Pippin said faintly. ‘The one the Bracegirdles bought in Tookland, what was it...?’

 ‘Two years ago,’ Reginard said. ‘Yes, though he finished fourth, with all three ponies before him disqualified, he’s the official winner.’

Pippin straightened in his chair, though he was breathing shallowly and with some effort. ‘Very well, Regi,’ he said evenly. ‘We must give back not only the third-place purse but the winner’s purse as well. See to it, will you?’

 ‘Yes, Sir,’ Regi said quietly, and turned to the others. ‘Was there any other business?’ he barked.

There were shakings of heads and murmured repetition of No on the part of the rest of the hobbits. Merry waved his riders from the room, the Master of the Races bowed and departed, and Sam stood hesitating.

 ‘Samwise, will you join us in a brandy?’ Diamond said, rising.

 ‘No, thank you, ma’am,’ the Mayor said hastily. ‘I left Rose wondering, and...’ He stumbled over the words, for there didn’t seem to be any good words to be found. He nodded to Merry, to Pippin, gave an awkward bow, and took his leave.

Merry and Estella finished their brandy and rose, for it would soon be time for the fireworks, and the Master of Buckland must be by the Mayor’s side to receive the cheers of the crowd, since he’d provided the entertainment. Never mind that it was the last thing he wanted at the moment.

Merry hesitated. ‘Pippin?’ he said. ‘Is there anything...?’ He wasn’t quite sure what to ask. Pippin did not look as well as he had when he’d left Buckland to take up the reins of Tookland and the Shire. He was thinner, Merry thought, and had less colour and life, less energy, less...

 ‘Nothing!’ Pippin said firmly, rising to take his arm. As he escorted Merry to the door, he said heartily, ‘All is well! I suppose they’ll be talking about this race for years to come! Think of the entertainment we’ve furnished the hobbits of the Shire!’

There was no use asking Merry’s help in the current crisis; if word got out that Brandybuck gold had paid for a Tookish lease there’d be a scandal of monumental proportions. Pippin’s fitness to be Thain would be questioned (as if it weren’t already), and Tookland might be cast into even more turmoil than that from which Pippin was trying to rescue his homeland in the first place.

 ‘I’ve got a cloud-cake in the oven,’ he said obliquely, ‘and if you open the door to check it’ll fall flat and come to nothing, you know.’

Merry nodded unhappily. His younger cousin was on his own, thrown into the River to sink or swim, to use an old Buckland proverb. If Merry rescued him from whatever trouble he was in now, Pippin might never be accepted as Thain in his own right. He’d always be looked upon as the younger cousin needing rescuing by an older and wiser head. ‘Let me know how it comes out,’ he said.

 ‘I’m sure everybody will know, sooner or later,’ Pippin said, and Merry looked at him sharply. He knew that tone. Pippin had thought of some scheme, some plan, some ill-advised plot...

 ‘You’re not going to get yourself in trouble?’ he hissed.

Pippin surprised him by laughing and slapping his back. ‘I’m already in a world of trouble, Merry!’ he said. ‘What’s a little more trouble, I ask you?’

 ‘Pippin?’ Merry said, stopping at the door and refusing to go through.

 ‘The Tooks agreed to the succession and I became Thain,’ Pippin said, pushing his cousin gently out the door, kissing Estella on the cheek and nodding at her to follow her husband. ‘What more trouble could anyone think of?’

Chapter 48. When Worse Comes to Worst

Pippin and Diamond rode to Whittacres in Eglantine’s coach, their ponies tied on behind. Farry slept snuggled in his grandmother’s lap, exhausted from being wakened to watch the fireworks, and the difficulty of falling back to sleep again after the excitement. The low-voiced conversation of the adults did not seem to rouse him from his doze.

 ‘...I gave them my word I’d not turn them off the land, Mother,’ Pippin said.

 ‘And that was before you knew the treasury was empty,’ Eglantine said. ‘It never occurred to me...’ She shook her head in wonder and self-reproach. ‘All those years your father was Thain, I thought you knew.’

 ‘I knew he was hard, cold, and tight-fisted,’ Pippin said, and put a comforting hand on his mother’s, seeing her expression. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, I shouldn’t speak of him that way.’

 ‘It is how he was, as Thain,’ Eglantine said low. She took a shaky breath. ‘He had no gold to buy his way, he had no charm to talk folk round, he was just a hard-working, honest farmer thrown into a barren, stony field and told to plough. Half the Tooks wouldn’t listen to him, thinking him an impostor, and the other half were so spoilt as to be practically useless.’

 ‘And if he were here there’d be no difficulty at all; he’d turn them off the land and sell the lease at the best price he could find,’ Pippin said.

 ‘No, Pippin, indeed not!’ Eglantine protested. Farry stirred in her arms and she lowered her voice. ‘He wouldn’t just turn them out; he’d give them time to pack up and he’d find places for them on neighbouring farms or even in the fields of the Great Smials.’

 ‘Just as Thain Fortinbras did for our family when the floods took all,’ Pippin said wryly.

 ‘Thain Fortinbras had gold at his disposal,’ Eglantine retorted, ‘all the fabled hoard of the Thain at his fingertips.’

 ‘Which disappeared, either under his wife, or under his son,’ Diamond murmured, trying to soothe the emotion that crackled between mother and son.

 ‘Which disappeared,’ Pippin said, and his shoulders slumped. ‘I am forsworn, it seems. I gave my word they’d keep the land, and yet the land is not mine to give. It belongs to the Tooks, and I vowed I’d look after the well-being of Tookland. Harvest time is coming, and all too soon it will be time to pay for shipments of grain and flax from the North Farthing and pipe-weed, sultanas and wine from the South Farthing, waggonloads of gravel and barrels of dried fish from the East Farthing, and brandy from Buckland, for starters... They will take only so many sheep in trade.’ Diamond's hand tightened on his as he continued in a lower voice, '...and last year's second- and third-place purses from the All Shire Race did a great deal to offset expenses.' 

 ‘Tooks might smoke fewer pipes and wear more wool,’ Diamond said. ‘Make do with what we have. Sell more wood?’

 ‘For every tree that’s cut, another must be planted,’ Pippin said, straightening again, ‘and how many years will it take to grow? We cannot strip the land bare, my love. Too bad there’s no more gold in the Great Smials.’

 ‘It disappeared,’ Diamond said, but Pippin chuckled.

 ‘In more ways than one,’ he said. ‘How do you think the excavation started in the first place? Gold was found in the Tuckbourne, and one bright Took had the idea of delving a gold mine into the Great Hill, and so the Great Smials began...’

 ‘And when all the gold was dug out some hobbit mum looked at all the lovely tunnels and rooms and said, “Why let this go to waste?”,’ Diamond said.

Eglantine smiled. ‘That’s closer to the truth than you know,’ she said. ‘It’s in the old stories, passed down. Bandobras couldn’t bear working in a dark, closed-in mine, and took himself off to the open spaces of the North Farthing, and that’s how your branch of the family broke off the Took family tree.’

 ‘Only to be grafted in once more at last,’ Pippin said, easing an arm around his wife and pulling her closer, dropping a kiss upon her curls.

 ‘Is there any more gold behind the walls of the Smials?’ Diamond said.

Eglantine shook her head. ‘Paladin had the same idea, and had the chief engineer discreetly pull off the panelling in many parts to survey what was there,’ she said, ‘but no gold was ever found.’

Pippin grimaced. ‘There’s naught for it,’ he said.

 ‘What do you mean?’ his mother asked, her eyes narrowing.

He met her gaze directly. ‘I won’t live a lie,’ he said. ‘My father did, and it made him hard, cold and bitter. I won’t pretend to be the richest hobbit in the Shire, sitting on my hoard.’

Eglantine’s hands tightened unconsciously. ‘But they won’t listen to you if...’ she gasped.

 ‘If they only listen to me for the gold they think I hoard, then I don’t want their ears,’ Pippin said, finality in his tone. ‘They confirmed the succession, they made me Thain; I had to swear to do my best by the Tooks and by the Shire-folk, and do my best I shall, but I won’t do it with lies.’

 ‘What are you going to do?’ Diamond said.

 ‘I’m going to tell the Tooks just how much gold is in the Thain’s hoard,’ Pippin said. ‘If they don’t believe me, I’ll take them to the place and show them.’ He sighed, and added, ‘and then I’m going to send Regi to find places for the Took-Grubbs, and I’m going to turn them off their land and find someone who can pay the lease, and how the Talk will spread... for the Thain is only as good as his word, you know.’

Diamond’s hand tightened on his. ‘We’ll get through this,’ she said, ‘and if worse comes to worst...’

Pippin began to laugh softly.

 ‘What is it?’ his wife and mother wanted to know.

 ‘What’s the worst they can do?’ he said when he’d got his breath back. ‘Turn me off? Find another Thain?’

Farry blinked sleepily as the laughter of the adults washed around him. ‘Are we there yet?’ he piped.

 ‘Nearly, my lad,’ Pippin said, taking him from his grandmother and plonking him down on the seat between himself and Diamond. ‘We’re nearly there.’

***

It was a lovely and relaxing birthday celebration, all too short as such things often are. Pearl and her daughters had cooked enough home-grown food to feed a muster of hobbits. Farry’s cousins took him all about the farm, giving the adults time to talk freely about what must be done to keep Tookland running.

Pearl and Isum had many sensible suggestions, from having lived in the Great Smials before Paladin sent them to manage the family farm. Old Ferdinand took note of what everyone said, for he had a remarkable memory and could repeat back a conversation verbatim on request. ‘I’ll have you give Reginard a full report when we get back to the Smials,’ Pippin told him, and the old hobbit beamed. It was a good feeling to be useful once more, after so many years of helplessness.

Instead of sitting in the yard or eating in the kitchen with the children as business was discussed, the hobbits of the escort found themselves in the parlour with the other adults, or gathered round the large table in the dining room, talking, eating, talking some more.

The day after their arrival was Pippin’s birthday, and at the birthday dinner he rose to the calls for a speech and bowed to the assembled relations gathered there: Eglantine, Pearl’s family, Ferdi and his father, Mardibold, ostensibly there for Ferdinand’s benefit, Hilly, and Diamond and Faramir, of course. He gazed around the table and nodded to himself. ‘I am rich indeed,’ he said, ‘rich in all the things that matter most. You might call me the wealthiest hobbit in the Shire.’

Everyone cheered and raised their glasses in a toast, and then Pearl’s littlest piped, ‘What kind of presents did you bring us?’

Pearl blushed scarlet and Isum put a comforting arm round her shoulders, cocking a mischievous eye up at Pippin. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I was wondering the same! What sort of presents should one expect from the wealthiest hobbit in the Shire?’

 ‘I’m glad you asked!’ Pippin said, ‘...for I have brought treasure, indeed, precious stones from my hoard!’

He ducked beneath the table and came up with a beautifully carved box. Eglantine caught her breath, recognising her husband’s work.

 ‘My da gave me this, upon a time, on this very spot,’ Pippin said softly, ‘on another birthday. He said every farm lad ought to have a box to keep his treasure in.’

Opening the lid, he revealed a collection of pebbles and small rocks, some smooth, some rough, of all colours and shapes. With a flourish he presented the box to each hobbit at the table in turn, letting them choose, and giving them the provenance of the stone chosen. ‘Ah, yes, Perry, I found that one on the bank of the stream while minding a flock of sheep. I slipped it into my pocket, sat down to cool my feet, and promptly fell asleep! When I woke up, I was the only one there. It took me hours to find all the sheep and gather them together again!’

Young Perebold weighed the streaked stone in his hand as Pippin continued. ‘I kept that stone to remind me to be ever mindful of my duty.’

 ‘Thank you, Uncle,’ Perebold said, closing his fingers about the stone. Treasure, indeed.

At last Pippin came around to Hilly and Ferdi. Old Ferdinand had chosen a white stone which sparkled in the sun, and asked little Amethyst to keep it safe for him with her own birthday mathom. Hilly sheepishly chose a stone, smooth to the touch and dull-grey. Pippin said, ‘That came from the middle of the Tuckbourne during the dry season. I was on my way to Bag End from the farm, and I thought I’d simply skip across on the rocks, but a rock turned under my foot and tipped me into the stream. As I came up, that stone was in my fist; I still do not know why my fingers closed around it. When you put it under water, it’s a rich, inky black. I kept it to remember that not every course is as easy to tread as it might look.’

Hilly nodded soberly. ‘Thank you, cousin,’ he said.

 ‘And now your turn, Ferdi,’ Pippin said, extending the box to his head of escort.

Ferdi looked down into the jumble of stone and saw a pebble of mingled grey and white and shadow. Without thinking he took it up, saying, ‘Why, it looks as if it might be a part of Penny!’

 ‘Or the Rohan, perhaps,’ Pippin said. ‘Starfire, I mean.’

 ‘Yes,’ Ferdi said. ‘Imagine it, a stone of dapple grey.’

 ‘Perhaps you’d prefer the real item,’ Pippin said, and Ferdi looked up at him, confusion in his look.

 ‘I don’t take your meaning, cousin,’ he said politely, even as he saw Diamond smile widely, for Pippin had told her what he intended.

 ‘Starfire is yours, if you’ll take him,’ Pippin said. ‘You saved his life when I would have thrown it away, and he saved yours. You belong together. All I ask is to retain the breeding rights, that the proceeds might go to benefit Tookland.’

 ‘If I’ll take him...’ Ferdi breathed, shaking his head in wonder, but the headshake turned to negation. ‘I cannot, cousin, it is too great a gift...’

 ‘Take him,’ old Ferdinand said firmly. ‘Take him, son, do not throw your cousin’s gift back in his face.’

 ‘Honour your father,’ Isum said, and the head of escort looked at the former head of escort in astonishment. Isum locked gazes with Ferdi until the latter nodded and cleared his throat.

 ‘I... I don’t know what to say, cousin,’ he said huskily.

 ‘Thank you is the customary phrase, I think,’ Pippin said, ever ready to be helpful.

 ‘Th—thank you,’ Ferdi said, stammering as he had not in years.

 ‘You’re more than welcome,’ Pippin said, and then slapped his hands together. ‘Now then,’ he said, turning away to spare Ferdi further embarrassment, ‘who’s ready for cake?’

Chapter 49. Tea and Talk and Mouths to Feed

Eglantine was quite put out that for her to ride in comfort from Whittacres to Tuckborough the coach would have to drive in quite the opposite direction: to Whitwell, then up to Waymoot, through Bywater and eastward nearly to the Brandywine on the Great East Road, down to Stock, turning towards the Great Smials at last on the Stock Road.

 ‘Why, it’ll take a week!’ she sputtered. ‘Pony back is good enough for this hobbit!’

 ‘Five days, Mother,’ Pearl said patiently. ‘And you’ve never complained of the journey before.’

 ‘What use was there, before?’ Eglantine said. ‘Old Ferumbras talked about a road between Bywater and Tuckborough but never got around to building one, all the better to inconvenience the Sackville-Bagginses, I suspect! And your father...’

 ‘Didn’t have the gold to pay for it,’ Pippin said, ‘and neither do I, so there’ll be no road built in the near future, I warrant, Sackville-Bagginses or no. Perhaps we can persuade a few of Lobelia’s relations from Harbottle to move closer, that we might inconvenience them with the lack of the road. Hate to see a good bit of bother wasted.’

 ‘None of your nonsense, now, Pippin,’ Eglantine said. ‘You’re determined to confess to the Tooks that the treasury is empty, and you know what they’ll say! They’ll suspect you of spiriting off the gold yourself! After all, so far as anyone knows the gold was still there until you became Thain!’

 ‘Well then,’ Pippin said mildly, ‘you may put me under the Ban for a year-and-a-day as a thief. I say, it’s quite an enticing thought, not to be spoken to for a whole year! Think of how much I could get done, were Tooks not badgering me day and night.’

Diamond, seeing Ferdi’s expression, said, ‘My dear.’

Pippin was immediately apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, Ferdi, I spoke without thinking...’

 ‘No harm done,’ Ferdi said stiffly. ‘I’ll just saddle another pony for Mistress Eglantine, if Isum can spare one, that is, and we’ll send a stable lad to fetch it back to Whittacres good as new.’

 ‘The bay gelding has easy paces,’ Isum said. ‘I swapped two calves for him, after borrowing him to ride to Michel Delving. He’s about as cosy as a rocking chair.’

 ‘Very well,’ Ferdi said, and took himself off to the barn where Hilly and Mardibold were saddling ponies and arranging Ferdinand’s conveyance.

 ‘You’ve got to stop doing that,’ Diamond said sotto voce to her husband.

 ‘Speaking without thinking?’ Pippin said. ‘I have rather put my foot in it.’

 ‘He was doing so well, and now you’ve put his back up again,’ Diamond reproached.

 ‘Stubborn Took that he is,’ Pippin said. He shook his head. ‘To think I nearly ruined him, and for what? Had he ridden the Rohan in the race under duress, he’d still have been disqualified! What a fool I was!’

 ‘Still are,’ Diamond said, taking his arm and leaning against him. ‘But I love you in spite of it all.’

***

Pearl and Isumbold and the children and the hired hobbits sang them down the lane, and then there was the long, pleasant ride up into the wild Green Hills, winding along hillsides, splashing over streams, meandering through pleasant valleys, past neat farmsteads with smoke rising from a stovepipe or chimney, wash flapping on the lines, children playing in the farmyards or pausing from their labours to wave at the travellers.

It was nearly teatime when they rode into the yard at the Great Smials. Excited hobbits were waiting to cheer their return.

 ‘You’d think we’d won,’ Pippin muttered to Ferdi, riding at his side. Socks and the Rohan had evidently worked out their differences for the nonce and gave no trouble.

 ‘We did win,’ Ferdi said stoutly. ‘ ‘Twasn’t the lad’s fault he didn’t fit the rules.’

Pippin looked over to meet his cousin’s eye. ‘To tell the truth, I find it rather hard to fit the rules most times, myself.’

 ‘I’d noticed that,’ Ferdi said. He slid from his saddle, gave Starfire’s reins to a beaming Old Tom, and turned to help Diamond down from the saddle whilst Pippin was lifting down Farry.

 ‘Thank you, Ferdi,’ Diamond said warmly.

 Ferdi nodded welcome and turned to Pippin, saying formally, ‘If that’ll be all, Sir?’

 ‘What’s that?’ Pippin said, distracted by the bright banners hung at all the windows, for all the world as if Tookland had won the All-Shire Race. ‘O, er, yes, Ferdi, that will be all. It’s teatime, after all. I won’t be requiring you for the rest of the day.’

 ‘Very good, Sir,’ Ferdi said, bowing, and moved to help lift old Ferdinand out of the sling that carried him.

You going to keep “Sir”-ing him like that? Hilly whispered as he, Ferdi, Mardibold, and a stable worker took Ferdinand between them.

Ferdi merely tightened his lips in irritation and Hilly desisted, at least until they’d settled Ferdinand in his own little room once more and Ferdi had promised to return for late supper, as always, and the stable hobbit had gone back to his duties. Once they were alone, walking down the corridor to the bathrooms—ah, to soak in a deep tub of steaming water! –Hilly broached the question again.

Ferdi stopped and turned to him, looking about to make sure they would not be overheard. ‘It’s truth, I’m going to bow and scrape and “Sir” as much as may be the next few days,’ he said. ‘You know what he’s up against!’

 ‘A show of respect,’ Hilly said slowly.

 ‘More than show,’ Ferdi said. ‘He’s determined to admit the gold is gone, and unless he’s strong and firm before the Tooks he’ll lose control of the situation, and then where will Tookland be?’

Just then Tolly hailed them and they turned. ‘Welcome back!’ he cried. ‘What a race it was! I tell you, the way everyone’s talking the Rohan is still the winner of the race, no matter who got the purse in the end.’

  ‘Well, he’s still the fastest pony in the Shire,’ Ferdi said. ‘They cannot take that away from him.’

Tolly lowered his voice. ‘When I was riding back with Reginard, a messenger hailed us, sent from Michel Delving to catch us up. Regi met Pippin at the door just now and sent me to fetch you. You’re wanted in the Thain’s study, Ferdi.’

 Ferdi sighed and turned reluctantly, saying over his shoulder to Hilly, ‘Tell them to save some steaming water for me!’

Walking down the corridor with Tolly, Ferdi said, ‘What’s the message about?’

 ‘I haven’t the faintest,’ Tolly said, ‘only that Regi looked grim as he read it and grimmer as he showed it to the Thain, there at the door, not even waiting until they got to the study, and Pippin laughed as if to say, “What more can go wrong?” You know how it is, when you just have to laugh to keep yourself from cursing?’

 ‘I know,’ Ferdi said. He couldn’t imagine what else could go wrong, on top of everything that had already gone wrong. What was that old saying about the luck of the Tooks, and where had the luck gone?

 Tolly lowered his voice and said, ‘The word’s gone out that there’s to be a convocation of Tooks in a week. Regi’s sending messengers far and wide. D’you know what it’s all about?’

 ‘I’m sure we’ll find out, a week from now,’ Ferdi said. He changed the subject, asking about Meadowsweet and married life, and kept the conversation firmly on domestic affairs until they reached the study door.

Pippin sat at the great desk, a message sheaf in his hand. He looked up at Ferdi’s knock. ‘Enter,’ he said. ‘Take a seat, Ferdi.’

Reginard poured out a cup of tea and silently fixed it to Ferdi’s taste. Wondering, Ferdi took the chair indicated and accepted the cup, sipping gratefully at the scalding beverage.

 ‘I’ve received a message from the Master of the Races,’ Pippin said without preamble. ‘It seems he met with the Racing Masters from the Four Farthings, and they agreed that the rules needed refinement.’

 ‘Refinement?’ Ferdi said cautiously. His first thought was that they’d thought twice about disqualifying the top three finishers, seeing as how they’d run fairly. It wasn’t quite the same as the race Bandobras had run, with his illegal entry... But no; looking at Pippin’s sober expression, he suspected the news could not be good news.

 ‘Yes,’ Pippin said, the Tookish lilt nearly gone from his voice. He sounded precise and formal... more like a Brandybuck than a Took at present. ‘It seems that a number of Shire-folk were expressing... alarm... at the prospect of outlandish entries being foisted off upon the racing public, stealing the races from honest Shire-ponies, as it were.’

 ‘I see,’ Ferdi said uncertainly, though he really didn’t see at all.

Pippin seemed to understand his confusion, for he went on. ‘The rules were amended to disallow any ponies from outside the Shire to be entered in official races,’ he said.

 ‘But after a year-and-a-day...’ Ferdi said.

Pippin shook his head. ‘Not after a year-and-a-day,’ he said. ‘Not ever, Ferdi. They wanted to insure that Merry would not bring in any more fine ponies from Rohan to upset the local ponies, for he’s been improving his stables, as you know, with imported bloodlines.’

Ferdi sat stunned. Not to improve the bloodlines... that was madness! Insular conceit of the worst kind! Why, his father had gone all the way to Bree to buy a fine stallion for his stables, a lifetime ago.

 ‘I’m sorry, Ferdi,’ Pippin said. ‘Starfire will never run another race, not in the Shire, at least.’

 ‘Never race,’ Ferdi said numbly. Never.

 ‘He’s still yours, of course,’ Pippin said, ‘and the consolation is that his foals will race someday, for the rules plainly state that only ponies born within the Bounds are eligible. And so his foals will be. But this ruling takes away much of the gain you might have expected to have.’

 ‘I...’ Ferdi said, but could find no more words. He had another pony to feed, ‘twas true, and no hope of increase from riding the Rohan in races. He could put Dapple out to pasture, sure, for he had two ponies to alternate in performance of his duties with Penny and Star. But he’d had hopes for next year’s races...

 ‘Because of this, I felt it necessary to alter our own agreement,’ Pippin said.

Ferdi looked to him in astonishment. Was he taking the pony back?

 ‘I know I reserved the rights to the pony’s breeding,’ Pippin said, ‘but out of fairness to you I think it only fitting that you ought to have the proceeds of one of his foals each year, whether a fee for stud or the foal itself. Would that meet with your satisfaction, cousin?’

Ferdi stared open-mouthed.

Pippin laid down the message and leaned forward. ‘Very well, then,’ he said. ‘Would two foals do?’

Ferdi found his tongue. ‘One foal is enough, cousin,’ he said, ‘more than enough. Very generous of you.’

Pippin sat back. ‘Well,’ he said diffidently, ‘here I gave you another mouth to feed; I might as well give you the means to feed it.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid I’m cutting the wages of all who work at the Great Smials.’

Ferdi nodded. He’d expected as much. ‘Will that be all, Sir?’ he said carefully.

Pippin sighed at the formal address. ‘It will,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t need you again until the morrow.’

Chapter 50. Truth Be Told

As the next few days passed, speculation grew and spread over the nature of the convocation. It did not escape the notice of the Tooks that the hobbits of the escort, the steward, the chief engineer and his assistants and apprentices, all the healers, in other words, an ever-increasing circle of hobbits who worked directly with or for the Thain, began to treat the hobbit with elaborate respect. This influence spread until Pippin could not turn around without being addressed as “Sir” and bowed to with utmost courtesy.

It was a sore trial, but he knew why Ferdi had put the whole process in motion. Ferdi feared, and rightly so, the turmoil that Pippin was about to throw the Tooks into, with his planned admission. The head of escort was fiercely loyal to his clan, and had nearly given his life to defend Tookland against the ruffians in the Troubles. Pippin had no illusions; if Ferdi thought Reginard the better choice to guide Tookland out of this miry ground, he’d throw his support to Regi instead and insist that Pippin step down.

And so Pippin tolerated the “Sirs” from a cousin who’d held him as a wee babe, who’d taken him for his first pony ride, who’d taught him to whistle so that he could astonish Merry on his next visit... He found himself answering in the same manner, a sober sort of formality in his tone. He thought before he spoke, these days, and none of his closest relations had to chide him for whimsical “nonsense”.

 ‘I rather miss the hobbit I married,’ Diamond murmured half-way through the week, sitting on the arm of Pippin’s chair with her arms about him. At a tap on the door she rose and moved to the tea table, to pour out a cup of tea, hot and strong as Pippin liked it.

 ‘Enter,’ Pippin said.

Hilly walked in, Ferdi behind him, both stopping before the grand carved desk.

 ‘Well?’ Pippin said. ‘What’s the Talk today?’

Ferdi looked at Hilly, who looked down in embarrassment. It was one thing to regale half a table of hobbits at the Spotted Duck with guess and gossip; it was quite another to gather the ridiculous threads of rumour and weave them into a report for the Thain. Since Pippin knew that he made it his business to know the Talk, Hilly had been called in daily to report the current gossip running rife in the Great Smials.

Each day a new rumour sprang up, it seemed, and each more ridiculous than the last. The Master and Mistress of Buckland had arrived the previous evening, in answer to the Thain’s summons, and a dozen new theories had taken on wings and flown about the Smials.

 ‘Come now,’ Pippin said. ‘What’s the worst?’

 ‘You’re said to be handfasting young Farry to Berilac’s little daughter,’ Hilly replied, ‘Sir.’

 ‘Handfasting Farry?’ Pippin said in astonishment. 'A four-year-old?'

 ‘Well, Sir, Berilac brought his wife and babe with him, and as Meriadoc has no children as yet, Berilac is heir to Buckland,’ Hilly said.

 ‘It makes an odd sort of sense,’ Diamond murmured, placing Pippin’s tea on the desk before him. ‘Perhaps we ought to consider it.’ Ferdi and Hilly looked to her, scandalised, only to see the corners of her mouth quirking with amusement.

 ‘Yes, joining the two most ancient and venerable families of the Shire,’ Pippin said. ‘Regi, write that down. We might want to refer back to it at a later date, if no heiresses to the Sackville-Baggins family are found.’

 ‘Yes, Sir,’ Reginard answered, unperturbed.

***

Next day, Ferdi escorted Garabard Took-Grubb into the Thain’s study and stationed himself by the door.

 ‘You sent for me, Sir?’ Renibard’s son said quietly, twisting his hat in his hands.

 ‘I did,’ Pippin said. ‘It seems I misspoke earlier, when I said I’d try to see to it that your family would be able to keep the land your father farmed.’

Garabard nodded, his eyes fixed on the Thain’s face. ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘You told us you'd resolve our situation by the time of the barley harvest, the middle of this month.’

 Ferdi stirred uneasily. Your family will not go homeless. You may pass on in peace, and they will not be thrown off the land. You have my promise. We will find a way to renew the lease. The words rang in his ears as if they’d been spoken a moment earlier, Pippin’s promise to the dying farmer.

 ‘I gave my word to your father,’ Pippin said, distracted for a moment by Ferdi’s movement, but then his gaze returned to the humble farmer before him. ‘It was precipitous of me, not well-thought-out, and now I must take back my promise. I am dreadfully sorry, for all the good it does.’

 ‘Yes, Sir,’ Garabard said.

 ‘The Steward has been visiting the farms around Tuckborough, finding places for you all. I know it’s a bitter thing to break up the family, to become hired hobbits when your family has held your own land, but perhaps someday...’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Garabard said, and looked away. ‘Will that be all, Sir?’ He looked back to the Thain, and Ferdi swallowed hard at the reproach in the farmer’s eyes. The Thain had given his word, and Renibard’s family had dared to hope... only to have their hopes cruelly dashed.

 ‘Thank you, Garabard,’ Pippin said, and then, ‘Ferdi, see to it that Master Took-Grubb has a bite to eat before he rides back to the farm.’

 ‘Thank you, Sir, but no thanks,’ the farmer said, stiff with pride. Likely he’d choke, trying to eat anything the Thain offered. He turned and marched out the door, Ferdi following.

Some time later, Hilly tapped at the door with a message to deliver. Hearing no hail from within, he eased the door open. If Pippin had stepped out, or fallen asleep—as had happened once or twice, after a long and arduous day, well, he could walk softly into the room, leave the message on the desk, and let himself out again.

Hilly peeked into the study, to see the Thain, head buried in his hands, a picture of anguish, even despair. Gossip though he was, he closed the door softly and never told a soul.

***

 ‘What’s the news today?’ Pippin asked, the day before the convocation. Hilly shuffled his feet, and Ferdi wouldn’t meet his gaze. ‘Well?’ Pippin pressed. ‘Surely the Talk has grown more outlandish this day?’

 ‘Come now, Hilly,’ Reginard remonstrated. ‘The Thain’s asked you a question. You’re supposed to be gathering and sifting the Talk, and bringing to his attention the mood of the Tooks and Tooklanders.’

 ‘You’re dying,’ Hilly blurted, and slapped his hand to his mouth.

Diamond gasped, and Regi’s quill snapped in his fingers.

 ‘Go on,’ Pippin said quietly.

 ‘The word is, you’ve called the convocation to name your successor, since Farry’s too young to follow you as Thain,’ Hilly faltered. ‘What with summoning the Mayor of Michel Delving and the Master of Buckland and the heads of all the great families in every Farthing...’

Pippin chuckled without humour. Diamond, on the other hand, turned away, but not before the others saw tears spill from her eyes.

 ‘Well, Regi,’ the Thain said. ‘Seems as if the Talk is not so wild as it might be. I’m to name my successor, am I? Are you ready to be Thain, yet?’

 ‘Never,’ Regi said fervently, and then added a phrase he hadn’t seen the need to employ in some days. ‘None of your nonsense, now, Pip. It’s no joking matter.’

 ‘Who’s joking?’ Pippin said, steepling his fingers together, a thoughtful frown on his face. ‘It’s the truth, after all. I am dying, and you know it.’

Diamond, her back still turned, gave a gasp, and her husband rose to encircle her with his arms.

 ‘We’re all dying,’ Regi said quietly. ‘I know of no hobbit who’s lived forever.’ He met Pippin’s eyes with a steady gaze of his own. ‘Some of us will last longer than the others. I could fall from my pony and depart this very day, and you could live to embrace your grandchildren.’

 ‘I could, perhaps,’ Pippin said. ‘We’ll have to look into that handfasting business for certain, marry Farry off as soon as possible, if that’s to be the case.’

 ‘Pippin, how can you...?’ Diamond sobbed into her husband’s shoulder.

 ‘I must be realistic, my dear,’ he said softly, his arms tightening about her. ‘Only by facing reality can I hope to deal with this whole mess. I cannot walk about pretending that all is well and nothing is amiss; that will not solve Tookland’s problems and it certainly will not make things better. In truth, it could do terrible harm.’

He took as deep a breath as he could manage and added, ‘In actuality, I’m looking forward to the morrow. It shall be a great weight off my shoulders, to have it all out in the open.’

A little of the old mischief stirred in his eyes as he looked to Hilly and added, ‘I must say, however, I will miss hearing how the Talk has grown. Once the Truth is out, there’ll be no need for gossip.’

Chapter 51. Of Ruin and Redemption

The next day, Thain Peregrin stood to his feet after he’d finished picking at his share of the noontide feast, his glance sweeping the convocation of Tooks, Tooklanders, and Shire-folk that he’d called together. Hobbits were squeezed in so tight that they could barely budge their elbows to manoeuvre their forks and knives; yet they managed. None complained, nor bemoaned the summons. None would have missed this event for all the world. Something momentous was in the air, that was for certain. The feast itself was held in the open air, in the courtyard of the Great Smials, the tables taken from the great room and borrowed from local public houses and more hobbits spilling onto picnic blankets on the meadow when the tables were filled. The hobbits’ buzz of speculation quieted, their attention riveted on him.

Merry put down his fork and exchanged glances with Sam. It was about to come out, whatever it was.

‘I have called you together for a purpose,’ Pippin said. He smiled faintly as his words brought back an echo of the past. He imagined this crowd would be about as astonished as those who’d seen Bilbo disappear forever from the Shire, all those years ago. Truth be told, he wished he had just for this moment’s use such a Ring... but no. It was time to get the truth out in the open. He looked from one end of the crowd to the other and then went on. ‘To hear a story, to begin with...’ He smiled faintly at the puzzlement that bloomed on the faces before him.

‘Once there was a farmer,’ he said, ‘a hard-working hobbit. How he loved the land! His greatest joy was to walk the fields, whether under the sun behind a plough, or under a misting rain, seeing his thirsty crops drinking and growing. To take a barren field and make it bloom...! To watch a new lamb or calf come into the world, to hold a hatching egg in his hand, these were the jewels in his treasure-hoard.

‘And then, one day, he was told he must leave the land he loved, to come to a dark and stony place, to sit behind a great desk and order hobbits about and listen all the day to problems and complaints, and no longer the chuckles of a stream in the meadow or the rejoicing of the birds.’

He could pick out the farmers in the crowd: they looked horrified.

‘Many hobbits envied him, for with the position came a fabled treasure-store, a hoard of gold dug from the high Hill that held his new abode. He could use the gold to give his family some comfort, in addition to building new roads that were needed, maintaining old roads, buying supplies from the surrounding farthings...’

He wove a story of Paladin’s early days as Thain, and saw many of the older hobbits nodding in remembrance. Paladin had inherited a shabby Shire, left to shamble along under Ferumbras’ benevolent neglect, falling quietly to pieces as dark things gathered unnoticed outside her Bounds.

The good farmer rolled up his sleeves and set himself to ploughing this overgrown rocky field he’d inherited, slowly beginning to set things in order, laying plans for the refurbishment of the Shire, beginning to work on the problem of the roads (for though the Mayor was in charge of messengers, it was those chieftains from which the first Thain had been chosen who were originally charged with speeding the messengers of the King, when there had been a king)... And then the first of the bills came due.

He rode with his steward to the fabled treasure-store of the Thain.

Pippin saw the eyes of the listening hobbits glow as he described the torch-lit cavern, filled with a jumble of crates and chests, more wealth in one place than might be found in the entire rest of the Shire. More, perhaps, than in the legendary treasury at Norbury, before the North-kingdom fell, or in the dragon’s hoard remembered in Bilbo’s tales of the Lonely Mountain.

Thain Paladin opened the nearest chest and counted out the first bag; yes, it was an hundred gold sovereigns, still shining in the torchlight, though they came from the time before the first Thain and bore the faces of kings long gone to dust. Much of the gold was in the form of nuggets taken directly from the old gold mine, but all the bags were weighed to match the bag of sovereigns for easy valuation. Other chests held silver, and one or two contained jewels obtained by trade with the Dwarves.

After laying aside the first bag of ancient sovereigns, the Thain and his steward lifted bags onto the pack-pony they’d brought for the purpose. Then Paladin lifted a bag from the chest that, though as bulky as the others, seemed strangely lighter in the lifting. Curious, he opened the bag, finding only pebbles instead of pieces of gold.

When he and his steward had finished going through every chest and crate and barrel in the cavern, they’d found all the same. Only the first chest had contained gold and some silver, and only half the contents at that.

The vast treasure-store of the Thain was useless rock, stones and pebbles.

***

The assembled hobbits sighed as Pippin’s voice fell after this revelation. He took a sip from the glass before him and continued.

‘Thain Paladin was known as hard and grasping, spending a penny and demanding tuppence change,’ Pippin said. ‘He did not pay hobbits the customary fee for work on the roads but insisted it was their duty to give ten days a year to road repairs. He did not build the Tuckborough-Bywater Road that he’d promised, for “rock was too dear”, even after the Bolgers obligingly lowered the price on rock from their Quarry. He cut salaries and corners and everything else he could think of, and the Smials became ever shabbier as a consequence.

‘And so he ploughed that rocky field with a rusty, broken plough, but he ploughed it the best he could! And when weeds overgrew the neighbouring fields, threatening ruffians they were, he did all he could to keep them out of his own field. And Tookland remained free!

‘Paladin has been called the greatest Thain since Isumbras, though he dismissed the praise as mere flattery. But I would honour him this day. He was given a job to do, and he did it, without any of the proper tools. Let us drink to his memory!’

Pippin raised his glass, and the rest of the hobbits hastily stood to their feet to lift their own glasses high. After the toast, Pippin motioned them to their seats again.

‘But I did not summon you here, merely to hear a story,’ he said. ‘I am here to tell you the way things are, and the way they will have to be in future.’

His gaze swept the Tooks of the Great Smials in the foreground, and the servants sitting uneasily to the sides. All had been called from their duties for this convocation; a very few remained within the Smials, tending the infirm, or minding the little ones who’d been sent off after the meal to play and then have their naps, while the business of the convocation was going on.

‘I increased wages when I became Thain, to what I estimated was a fair compensation. I placed orders to begin to refurbish the Great Smials. I laid plans as my father did before me to build a road between Tuckborough and Bywater. I surveyed the crops and made arrangements to trade for or purchase outright those commodities that Tookland does not produce.’

He looked beyond the Tooks and Tooklanders to the Shire-folk who’d come, and then his gaze returned to the hobbits at the head tables, Master of Buckland, Mayor of Michel Delving, heads of all the influential hobbit families of the Four Farthings. He nodded to himself, took as deep a breath as he was able, and said firmly, ‘I regret to announce that wages have been reduced to what they were before I became Thain, the orders I spoke of are cancelled, the plans are laid aside, and the arrangements are null and void.’

He waited out the resulting gasp and said, ‘Tooklanders will have to limp along with what they can produce, unless you Shire-folk can see your way to trading for wood, wool, and sheep.’

Shock was on the faces of most of the hobbits before him, even the Tooks whose wildest Talk had not foreseen this possibility. The faces of the Bracegirdles of the South Farthing were grim. It looked as if there’d be a shortage of pipe-weed and wine in Tookland in near future, for starters.

‘What about the Bywater Road?’ a farmer shouted. ‘I had plans to take my produce to the market there, for I’ve more than I can sell in Tuckborough alone!’

Pippin spread his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘For all the good it does.’

‘Where’s all the gold?’ another shouted.

Pippin chuckled, though his smile did not reach his eyes. ‘If I knew that, now, we wouldn’t be in this predicament,’ he said.

Shock was turning to anger, and there were murmurs in the crowd. Diamond rose and stood by Pippin’s side, twining her fingers firmly through his.

Any moment and the Tooks will carry me over the border and cast me down, he whispered.

And I’ll be right alongside you, Diamond returned. Just give me a moment to pack my best dress. She squeezed his hand and was rewarded with a small smile from her husband.

Regi, however, had other ideas. He stood up from his chair and bellowed for quiet.

‘Don’t you dare try to blame Peregrin for the situation!’ he thundered. ‘He came in good faith to take up the reins, only to find the plough broken, the ground rocky, and the ponies spavined.’

‘Where’s the gold?’ the same hobbit challenged.

Regi levelled his most quelling stare. ‘The gold was gone when Paladin became Thain,’ he said. ‘He didn’t know the first thing about being Thain, and when he was advised to carry on as if nothing had changed, he took that advice, ill as it might have been. As far as we can tell, the gold disappeared under Ferumbras, or perhaps under Lalia before him.’

There was a muttering and shaking of heads amongst the older Tooks. They remembered Lalia the Fat. Suddenly the disappearance of the gold did not seem all that astonishing.

‘But I delivered waggons of wood to gaffers and widows!’ a woodcutter shouted. ‘And the Thain paid!’

Pippin nodded and raised his voice to say, ‘Aye, the Thain paid; from his own pocket he paid. I sold sheep belonging to my family’s farm to cover the costs. I am not so adept at digging for gold as my father was. He built the Tookland Races until ponies came from all over the Shire to run; some of the proceeds kept Tookland going. He did the same with the Tournament and the Spring and Autumn pony sales. He inherited fast ponies from Ferumbras, bred them, entered them in the All-Shire Race and used the purses to pay wages at the Great Smials. And in the time of the Troubles he persuaded hobbits to work for no wages at all, but for love of Tookland.’

There was a murmur of agreement at that. Paladin had reinstated wages after the ruffians were driven out of the Shire, but they’d remained low, and he’d traded on Tookish pride to keep them that way.

Pippin spread his empty hands. ‘I have nothing to offer you,’ he said, ‘save my promise that I will work hard, seek wise counsel, and do all I can to bring Tookland through, as my father did before me.’ Without the lie, he did not have to add, without the false countenance that he was forced to live, that made him hard, cold, and bitter.

The previous day had been a market day in Tuckborough and Bywater. Many of the farmers and tradeshobbits had come to the convocation with coin in their purses. One such farmer stood to his feet now, walked slowly forward to look the Thain straight in the eye.

‘Garabard,’ Pippin said quietly.

The son of Renibard Took-Grubb nodded. ‘It’s not much,’ he said, ‘but it’ll help a bit, I warrant.’

He took his coin-purse from his pocket and upended it over the table. A handful of coppers and a silver penny or two fell with a jingle to the snowy cloth. Another farmer rose, and more behind him, and a crowd of hobbits began to form, shepherds and woodcutters, potters and ropers, farmers and thatchers and hired hobbits, each coming forward to add to the growing pile of coin.

Old Odovacar Bolger joined the queue, politely waiting his turn, and when he reached the Thain he laid down a serviette with pencilled notations on it. ‘I’ll freely give the stone for the new road,’ he said. ‘You just give this to the overseer at the Quarry and he’ll give you as many waggonloads as it takes.’

Pippin was breathing rapidly, shallowly, and Diamond grasped his arm tightly in apprehension, but when she looked up she saw her husband’s face was shining with wonder, though tears were in his eyes. ‘Thank you, Odo,’ he whispered, and the old hobbit smiled.

‘It’s for the good of the Shire,’ he answered, and with a bow he returned to his seat.

Edelbert Bracegirdle was behind the Bolger. He laid down a gold coin on the mountain of lesser coins and said, ‘It looks as if the Tooks will get their pipe-weed after all. You sure you want to cancel that order? You might have a riot on your hands.’

Pippin drew a shaky breath. ‘I suppose we’ll go ahead and take your pipe-weed, if the price is right,’ he said.

‘It’ll be a fair price,’ Edelbert said, ‘even if I have to take a few waggonloads of wool in exchange.’

‘Which you most likely will have to do,’ Pippin said.

‘Ah well,’ Edelbert said, and a rare smile cracked his face. ‘I was wanting a new knitted muffler for the cold season anyhow.’

Chapter 52. About a year later

 ‘He’s been expecting you since yesterday, Mayor Sam,’ Hilly said as they reached the Thain’s study. He tapped on the door, opened it and motioned Sam to wait.

Pippin evidently had not heard the light tap. As the door closed behind Hilly, Sam craned to catch a glimpse of the Thain at his desk, head resting upon one arm, eyes closed, looking weary and ill.

When the door opened shortly after to admit the Mayor, the Thain was rising from his desk wearing a broad smile, already extending one hand in welcome. Sam might have dismissed the momentary glimpse as an illusion but for his experience with his beloved Mr. Frodo, who had also been adept at hiding his ills.

 ‘Well come, Samwise!’ Pippin said. ‘Have a seat!’ He sat down himself, nodding to Reginard.

 ‘Some ale, perhaps, Mayor Sam?’ Regi said. The stocks of brandy that Merry had sent for a Yuletide present were low; Pippin had decreed that all the rest be reserved for healers’ use, but there was no lacking of the Thain’s private stock, brewed as it was from Tookland’s own barley.

 ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Sam said easily. He relaxed and settled in his chair.

The Great Smials was as shabby as ever, if you looked at the ancient furnishings and faded tapestries, but every surface that could be scrubbed shone: no dust was to be seen, no cobwebs survived the determined efforts of the servants, and the wooden surfaces gleamed with wax and polishing. When the Gamgees had pulled up in the courtyard the many windows had sparkled in the westering sun, and the stones of the courtyard themselves had been swept and scrubbed. What the Tooks lacked in materials they made up for in determination.

Pippin had brought Tookland through the year somehow, even surviving a disastrous fire that had burned half the crops between Tookbank and Tuckborough. The Thain had won the respect of the Tooks with his quick response to the fire, his organisation of the fight, and his foresight in bringing black powder to Tookland, which was given the credit for stopping the fire before it roared over the Great Hill and through Tuckborough.

The pile of coins did not quite make up for the loss of the All-Shire purses, but it helped, along with the Thain’s confession, and subsequent cost-cutting measures. As it was the road to Bywater had not been built, for some farmers had balked at a road running through their fields, but it was just as well. Pippin hadn't the coin to pay the workers anyhow. He and Regi had scrimped and saved and schemed to keep up with all the other expenses. Now that this year's harvests were beginning, they were starting to gain some breathing-room, but it had been a difficult fight. Still, another barley harvest was on the horizon, and better than last year’s, and another All-Shire race would be run soon...

 ‘How’s Ferdibrand?’ Sam said. ‘Though the hobbits of Longbottom wished us to stay over an extra week, we cut the visit short when we heard he’d fallen in the final Tookland Race and been trampled nearly to death!’

 ‘He’s on his feet,’ Pippin said, ‘and he was nearly trampled to death, ‘tis true; they got the words right but in the wrong order.’

 ‘Ah,’ Sam said, leaning back in relief. He accepted the glass from Regi and sipped appreciatively.

 ‘I wish I could say the same for Socks,’ Pippin said, sitting back and ignoring his own ale.

 ‘Socks?’ Sam said.

 ‘His racing days are over, I’m afraid,’ Pippin replied. ‘Old Tom was able to save him, but that knee will never stand up to serious effort. They had to put down the other pony, you know.’

Socks and a chestnut pony from the South Farthing had been running ahead of the rest in a semi-final race when they collided and went down with their riders, leaving one pony with a broken leg, the other lamed, and the two riders injured, though they survived by some miracle the pounding hoofs of the field running over and around them to the finish.

Ferdinand did not see his son go down under the thundering hoofs—he had passed on peacefully not long after the All-Shire Race, in proper hobbit-fashion, after a fine meal and a satisfying smoke.

 ‘And what of the Litheday cup?’ Samwise said, his glance going to the silver cup on the mantel, the trophy from last year’s All-Shire Race, which the Bracegirdles had unexpectedly presented to the Thain, though they'd kept the winner's purse. In all truth, their pony had taken fourth place, behind two ponies wearing Tookland's colours.

 ‘Penny will run; she is the fastest pony in Tookland, now,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Will Ferdi be well enough to ride her?’ Sam said.

 ‘He has a broken arm and got knocked on the noggin into the bargain,’ Pippin said, ‘but he’s determined to ride nonetheless.’ He smiled and seemed to change the subject. ‘You might congratulate me, Samwise; I’m to marry off one of my sisters.’

 ‘Pervinca found a husband?’ Sam said.

 ‘Not that one,’ Pippin replied. ‘Though I am sending her off... she’s gone through all the books to be found in the Great Smials, and now I will foist her off on the Brandybucks, to devour their library. No, it’s Nell.’

Samwise was surprised, for it was almost unheard-of for a widow to marry. ‘Pimpernel will marry again?’ he said politely.

 ‘Indeed she will be married, and to the hobbit she ought to have married in the first place. Ferdi!’ Pippin said, enjoying the Mayor’s surprise.

 ‘Ferdi!’ Samwise said, in astonishment and delight. ‘Wonderful news!’ The head of escort would no longer walk lonely; Pimpernel would bring six little hobbits to the marriage and Ferdibrand would be husband and father in one.

***

The little Gamgees held back upon beholding their “uncle” Ferdi at tea in the great room, put off by the arm bound up in its sling and the fading bruises on his countenance.

He grinned broadly and held out his uninjured arm. ‘Who will sit at the escorts’ table with me?’ he said. ‘Surely my little golden-haired lass will join me? Goldi?’

The tiny hobbit moved to take the outstretched hand. ‘Unca Ferdi?’ she lisped.

Ferdi picked her up and settled her in the crook of his good arm. ‘Uncle Ferdi, as I live and breathe,’ he affirmed, and she threw her little arms about his neck and burst into tears.

 ‘What’s this now?’ he said, mystified.

Frodo Gamgee said, ‘You know how the Talk goes... the hobbits returning to the South Farthing from the Tookland Races said...’

 ‘Ah,’ Ferdi nodded wisely, holding Goldi a bit tighter. He quoted the old tale about the son of a Took who went a wandering and returned to find his possessions auctioned off: ‘The reports of my death have been slightly exaggerated.’

At this the rest of the young Gamgees moved forward to embrace him, to be joined by half-a-dozen more little hobbits until it seemed the head of escort would drown in a sea of hugs.

Pimpernel, standing nearby with Diamond and Rose Gamgee, smiled at the sight.

 ‘It appears he’ll make a good father to your little ones,’ Rose said.

 ‘They already call him “Ferdi-da”,’ Pimpernel answered. Her face was bright with joy.

Tea was a happy affair, after which the littlest hobbits were sent off to bed. Faramir was allowed to stay up, to play with a few cousins and his friends Merry-lad and Pippin-lad Gamgee for a time in the Thain’s many-roomed suite. Ah but the joy of it, “I-hide-and-you-seek-me” with so many little hobbits!

The game continued until Eventides, with no one quite realising that it had been quite awhile since Farry had been found. This happened sometimes: the seeker would be chosen, the others would scatter and hide, only to be found one by one, but if a hider had found a particularly choice spot he might choose to stay hid into another round of the game.

Elanor had appeared to shepherd the remainder of her younger brothers to the Mayor’s suite, for the evening meal and bedtime, and Pimpernel came for her own young ones, but when the excitement of “good night” wishes died down it became apparent that no little Farry was in evidence.

 ‘Don’t disturb the Mistress,’ Sandy, Pippin’s personal hobbitservant said smoothly. ‘It’s possible he hid himself and fell asleep. Young hobbits sometimes do.’

No one had seen young Farry outside the Thain’s suite, and it would have been bad form for him to hide outside the suite of rooms in any event. Surely he was behind a sofa, or under a bed, or in a wardrobe... An hour of determined searching and calling, however, unearthed no small son of the Thain.

Ferdibrand had come in search of Pimpernel, for he’d taken on himself the cheerful task of telling her little ones a story at bedtime, every evening since the betrothal. He had sent her off with her older sons, to join the little ones already sitting at table, promising that he’d aid in the search and return to them with news “the moment we find the lad, the very moment, Nell-my-own!”

He organised the searchers, Tolly to take the sitting room, Meadowsweet the “blue” room, Sandy the “green” room, young Dobby the Thain’s study, and so forth. Ferdi searched the Thain’s bedchamber. At least this way the searching hobbits wouldn’t be tumbling over each other, searching one wardrobe two or three times while missing another.

He was almost certain that Farry was not here. He’d searched under the bed, in the little trundle; he’d unrolled the roll of blankets at the foot of the bed, climbed upon a stool to poke through the folded blankets on the shelf in one of the large wardrobes, patted the jumpers folded and lying upon another shelf, rummaged through the hanging garments, and still no Farry.

He stood up rather too abruptly and suffered a dizzy spell, his half-healed head swimming alarmingly. He tumbled forward into the wardrobe, putting out his good hand to catch himself. With his luck he’d break that arm and have no use of his hands at all!

But no... instead there was a soft click as his hand pressed something hard but yielding on the back wall of the built-in wardrobe. Dwarf-made he seemed to hear Pippin whisper in his ear, as the solid-seeming wall moved inwards and Ferdi tumbled, landing on something soft but small that gave an oof as he landed on it.

 ‘Farry?’ he said breathlessly.

 ‘Uncle Ferdi?’ Faramir said sleepily. (He’d been so pleased to learn that Ferdi would become his uncle upon his marriage to Auntie Nell!)

 ‘What is this place?’ Ferdi said. His voice echoed in the darkness.

 ‘It’s my hiding place; isn’t it grand?’ Farry said. ‘It’s where I come when I don’t want anyone to find me!’

 ‘Grand, all right,’ Ferdi said. He arose cautiously and reached behind him to find the “door” had closed silently once more. ‘How do we get out?’

 ‘Just push,’ Farry said nonchalantly, just as if he hadn’t been “trapped” here on an earlier occasion, pushed in panic at the stone wall, and tumbled into the wardrobe once more in an ecstasy of relief.

Ferdi pushed, and the wall yielded easily. Just to be sure, he told Farry to prop it open while he fetched a lamp (and called off the search). He was curious about this space. It appeared on none of the plans of the Great Smials that he’d seen, the door was disguised and smacked of dwarf-ingenuity, and though he’d heard mention of secret rooms and passages, he’d never seen one with his own eyes and had come to doubt the stories as wishful thinking on the part of young, adventure-seeking Tooks.

 ‘Have you never brought a lamp in here?’ he asked young Farry as he returned, lamp in hand.

 ‘Once,’ Farry said. ‘It’s deep in dust, just a lot of boring boxes and crates is all. I couldn’t get any of them to open.’

 ‘Ah,’ Ferdi said. Farry was just a little hobbit, after all, and lids of chests were often too heavy—a-purpose—for curious little hobbits to lift.

Faramir was right: the cavernous room was deep in dust. Ferdi saw a line of dust-filled footprints leading to the nearest crates, but the only recent disturbance in the dust was where Farry had sat, or slumped against the wall when he fell asleep after hiding.

He gave the lamp to Farry to hold whilst he wrestled with the top of the nearest crate. It was awkward, having only one good hand, but at last the heavy cover budged and allowed itself to be moved aside. Ferdi and Farry peered in wonder into lamp-washed brightness...

Chapter 53. After the Drought, a Deluge

The Thain and Mayor and their wives were lingering over Eventides in the great room when a breathless Tolly came to the table.

 ‘You have to come, cousin,’ he said, pulling at Pippin’s arm in his excitement, all protocol for the moment forgotten.

 ‘What is it?’ Pippin said, half-rising with an apologetic look. ‘Beg pardon,’ he said, ‘but it seems there’s a matter needing my attention. Please,’ he waved Sam and Rose back to their chairs, ‘have another cup of tea. I’ll rejoin you shortly.’

Diamond caught his look and poured out more tea into the guests’ cups and then her own. Pippin nodded and smiled, then gave Tolly a significant look.

 ‘Steady on, Tolly, what’s this all about?’ he said under his breath.

Tolly was recalled to himself and he stiffened, dropping Pippin’s arm and standing at attention. ‘I... I beg your pardon, Sir,’ he said.

 ‘No harm done,’ Pippin said mildly. ‘Now, what’s this matter you’re on about?’

Tolly saw Tooks and servants poised and listening, and he cleared his throat. ‘Just a minor matter requiring your attention,’ he said, taking up Pippin’s phrase of a moment earlier. ‘If you please, Sir.’

They walked unhurriedly from the great room, Pippin nodding and smiling to various Tooks and serving hobbits. They continued at an easy pace to the Thain’s private quarters. Once inside, Tolly handed his own handkerchief to the Thain with a flourish. ‘Tie this over your mouth and nose,’ he said.

 ‘Have we had an incursion of dust?’ Pippin said. ‘Did someone not open the damper?’ He sniffed, but there was no smell of smoke on the air.

 ‘Tie it on,’ Tolly said, and led the way to the Thain’s private sleeping chamber.

Pippin’s eyebrows rose as the escort opened the wardrobe, pushed past Diamond’s gowns, and gestured to the Thain to follow.

He stepped through, feeling much as if he’d stepped into a story book, right through the back of the wardrobe and into a large, echoing cavern layered in dust.

 ‘Here,’ Ferdi said. He was holding a lamp, and Farry stood at his side, excitement on his dust-smudged little face.

Pippin stepped forward, looking at the dusty crates and boxes. ‘Storage?’ he said. ‘Looks as if this stuff’s not wanted; it hasn’t been touched in years!’

 ‘Overlooked, perhaps, but I think we can find some use for it,’ Ferdi replied, and shone the lamp into the nearest crate. A warm yellow glow resulted, and Pippin gasped.

 ‘And here,’ Ferdi said, moving the lamp to illuminate the contents of another newly opened crate nearby. There were flashes of fire in red, green, blue and white as the jewels within caught the light.

 ‘The treasure-hoard of the Thain,’ Pippin whispered, and swayed. Tolly was beside him in a moment, steadying him, laughing in wonder and delight.

Ferdi was laughing too, and Farry’s tinkling laugh joined in. ‘We found the treasure!’ he shouted, his little voice echoing in the cavernous space.

 ‘We did indeed,’ Ferdi said in satisfaction, but looking to Pippin he saw his cousin standing quite still. ‘Pippin?’

 ‘...yours,’ Pippin gasped.

He was obviously having trouble breathing, even with the precaution of covering his mouth and nose. ‘Get him out,’ Ferdi rapped, and Tolly pulled Pippin backwards into the wardrobe once more, through Diamond’s dresses, and into the sleeping chamber, where Pippin sank down upon the bed, panting for air.

 ‘Fetch Woodruff,’ Ferdi snapped, and Tolly was gone in an instant.

Farry climbed up beside his father. ‘Da?’ he pleaded. ‘Da? Please be well. We thought you’d be pleased!’

Pippin reached out to ruffle his son’s curls. ‘I’m pleased,’ he panted, fighting to even his breathing. ‘The mystery’s solved, the gold is found.’ He eyed Ferdi. ‘How does it feel to be the richest hobbit in the Shire?’

 ‘What, me?’ Ferdi said, dumbfounded. Surely Pippin was suffering the lack of air.

 ‘You found it,’ Pippin said, sounding more like himself. ‘Legendary gold belongs to the finder, you know.’

 ‘Fa... Farry found it,’ Ferdi said, stammering in his haste. ‘Which means, of course, the gold is yours!’

 ‘I cannot take it,’ Pippin said.

 ‘The gold is yours by right and tradition,’ Ferdi insisted. ‘You found it.’

 ‘You just said Farry...’ Pippin argued.

 ‘Farry’s not of age,’ Ferdi said. ‘The gold cannot belong to him; it passes to you, as his father.’

 ‘The gold belongs to the Tooks,’ Pippin said. ‘It was never Lalia’s to hide in the first place... or Ferumbras’, for that matter.’ They’d probably never know who had hidden the gold, but it hardly seemed to matter now.

 ‘It’s yours,’ Ferdi said. ‘Face the facts, Pip.’

 ‘What facts?’ Pippin said, still staring at the wardrobe.

 ‘You’re now the richest hobbit in the Shire,’ Ferdi said, and to rub it in he added, ‘richer by far than Bilbo Baggins ever was, I warrant, with his two little chests of treasure.’

 ‘I cannot...’ Pippin protested. ‘I’d feel like a thief.’

Ferdi cleared his throat significantly and bowed.  ‘Welcome to the band, cousin,’ he said.

 ‘Band?’

 ‘Ferdibrand Took, fellow thief and rebel, at your service, and your family’s,’ Ferdi said with another bow.

 ‘Rebel?’ Pippin said, eyeing his cousin as if he’d taken leave of his senses. Perhaps that latest knock on the head had done lasting damage.

 ‘Aye,’ Ferdi said complacently. ‘If you’re in need of someone to organise a resistance effort, or an outright uprising...’ he paused, ‘No, wait,’ he said, ‘the latter is rather more in your line as I recall.’

Pippin laughed. ‘Ferdi, you’re daft,’ he said.

 ‘You’re only finding that out now?’ the head of escort said. ‘I say, Pip, I thought you were quicker of wit than that.’

Healer Woodruff arrived to hear uproarious laughter coming from the Thain’s bedchamber, and slowed her pace abruptly. ‘Just what is going on?’ she demanded of Tolly as she pushed through the door, but she stopped short at the sight of Pippin and Ferdi. The two were sitting together on the bed, their arms about each other in mutual support as they were transported in another gale of breathless laughter, while little Faramir looked on in amaze at his elders’ antics.

 ‘Thain Peregrin...?’ she said, but Pippin leapt to his feet, seized her hands and began to dance a wild jig. ‘Thain Peregrin!’ she said again in outrage, and Ferdi collapsed slowly backwards upon the bed with a gasp and a moan.

Woodruff pulled free, but the head of escort was still chuckling as she bent over him, worried Thain right behind her—though Ferdi had pulled his good arm up over his head and was gasping between chuckles, ‘O—ah—my poor noggin!’

 ‘Ferdibrand Took!’ she snapped. Surely the hobbit had taken leave of his senses; the bad knock to the head had belatedly stolen his wits.

She felt Pippin’s hand on her shoulder, and turned to berate him for this state of affairs, but the words died as she looked into his face. All weariness was gone; his face was shining with merriment. ‘We found it!’ he gasped. ‘Ah, Woodruff—the first thing I’m going to do is pay you all the back wages you’re due!’

***

Tolly fetched Reginard next, and when all the uproar had calmed they debated the best way to tell the Tooks and Tooklanders.

 ‘Another convocation, do you think?’ Pippin said. He wanted to climb to the top of the Great Hill and shout the news, but while that might satisfy his feelings it probably would not be all that efficient a method. ‘Send out messengers?’

 ‘Just announce it at late supper in the great room,’ Reginard said dryly. ‘The news will spread throughout the Shire from there just as quickly as puffpenny seeds on a windy day.’

***

The great room was nearly full, for somehow the news had begun to spread already that something momentous had occurred.

Pippin could hardly eat for excitement; his eyes sparkled and he was more animated than he’d been in months, laughing and talking by turn. Mayor Sam, who’d been escorted to see the recovered treasure, smiled in satisfaction to see him so obviously recovering from the strain of the past months.

At last the Thain stood to his feet. There was no need to hush the diners; talk immediately died and every eye in the room turned to him.

Pippin grinned broadly, and saw answering grins begin to spread over the hopeful faces before him. The assembled hobbits did not know what the news was, but evidently it was good news...

 ‘I am so very pleased to inform you,’ he began. ‘So very pleased... the treasure-hoard of the Thain has been found... recovered... restored to Tookland!’

Stunned silence followed this remarkable announcement, followed by deafening cheers as the Tooks threw their serviettes into the air in wild abandon.

The noise died as abruptly into silent stares. Puzzled, Pippin swept the room with a glance and slowly turned to see what had caught everyone’s attention. He was immediately wreathed in smiles, hurrying forward to embrace the two who stood in the grand arched entrance to the great room.

 ‘Merry! Gimli!’ he cried. ‘You are just in time to join the celebration!’

 ‘So it seems,’ Merry said, while the dwarf grumbled.

 ‘And this is the way you comport yourself when you’re at home? No wonder you turned Minas Tirith on its head!’ After this mild scolding Gimli broke into an answering smile and gently embraced his old friend, who was looking less substantial than he had the last time the dwarf had seen him, but as cheerful as ever.

 ‘What brings you here? I cannot remember the last time a dwarf sat down to dine in the great room... here! Have a place set for our honoured guest!’ Pippin waved to the head server, who leapt to comply.

Gimli stood firm as a rock as Pippin tried to steer him to table. ‘First, a little matter of business,’ he rumbled. ‘I come on behalf of the King of the West, you see, as well as a few other folk.’

 ‘Strider sent you?’ Pippin said, while Merry grinned in secret delight at the surprise his cousin was about to receive.

 ‘King Elessar,’ Gimli said firmly, ‘seeing as how Men are not to pass the borders of the Shire, sent me to convey his best wishes upon your ascension to the office of Thain, and...’

 ‘Very kind of him, I’m sure,’ Pippin murmured, but the dwarf was used to hobbity interruptions and forged ahead.

 ‘And has sent a token of the great esteem and regard in which he holds you, Peregrin, as a knight of the City and Counsellor of the North-kingdom.’

 ‘Is Strider here?’ Pippin said, paying scarcely any heed to the dwarf’s words. He was ready to ride out at once to the Brandywine Bridge, to greet his old friend.

 ‘No,’ Gimli said, ‘but he plans to ride North in a year or two.’ Returning to the matter at hand, he continued, ‘And I bring greetings from Prince Faramir and Legolas of Ithilien, and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, as well as King Eomer of Rohan.’

 ‘Ah yes,’ Pippin said, thinking of Starfire, ‘I’ve already received King Eomer’s good wishes.’

Merry’s smile brightened as he said to himself, You don’t know the half of it, cousin! A dozen fine mares milled in the courtyard, fully Starfire’s match for quality.

 ‘In any event, let us begin with the folk of the Glittering Caverns,’ Gimli said. ‘We all chipped in to get you a little something for the occasion.’

 ‘Why, Gimli, you didn’t have to...’ Pippin began, but the dwarf gestured behind him, and two more dwarves bearing slim and elegant polished wooden boxes entered.

One stopped before Diamond with a bow and flourish; he’d met her when Pippin had travelled to the south with his wife and tiny son two years earlier. ‘Mistress Diamond,’ he said.

 ‘Borli,’ she said with a courtesy of her own. ‘Welcome to our home.’ The smiling dwarf lifted the lid of the box, revealing a magnificent necklace that shone with unearthly fire; Diamond’s smile was wiped away as she gasped in astonishment and awe.

 ‘We thought that your name jewels might be appropriate,’ Gimli said, and looking to Pippin for permission, he lifted the necklace from its velvety resting place and fastened it about Diamond’s neck. Her fingers rose unbidden to caress the sparkling jewels, and tears came to her eyes as she whispered her thanks.

 ‘And just so you would not feel left out, young Pippin,’ Gimli said, gesturing the other dwarf forward.

 ‘Berli,’ Pippin said, wondering, and the second dwarf nodded with a smile as he fingered the catch and lifted the lid.

Pippin caught his breath at the sight of the medallion, skilfully wrought in rare mithril-silver, a falcon stooping, with emeralds for eyes.

Gimli gently lifted the medallion on its chain and settled it about Pippin’s neck, stepping back to survey Thain and Mistress in satisfaction. ‘You make a proper pair,’ he said.

Another pair of dwarves entered, bearing a large cask between them, which they set upon the table after Regi hastily cleared a space.

 ‘Compliments of Legolas and his father the Wood King,’ Gimli said grandly. ‘The finest wine to be had from Dorwinion.’ Behind his hand, he added, ‘There’s a whole waggonload in the yard; this is just to give you an idea.’

Pippin nodded dumbly as another dwarf appeared, bearing a small chest. ‘From Prince Imrahil, a gift from the sea,’ Gimli announced. Since Pippin and Diamond appeared to be paralysed, he opened the lid, revealing a mound of creamy pearls.

With a stomping of heavy boots two more dwarves appeared, bearing a larger chest between them. ‘Silver, from the newly-opened mine in Ithilien, with warmest regards and compliments from Prince Faramir and his fair lady,’ Gimli informed the staring hobbits as he lifted the lid. They’d stopped along the way to take the time to polish every coin in that chest, that no hint of tarnish might mar the appearance of the gift. Ah, but he was enjoying himself. The roomful of hobbits had left their seats and were crowding round, eyes huge at the burgeoning riches.

Pippin paled and swayed, steadied by Diamond, as more booted feet sounded in the corridor.

 ‘Are ye well, lad?’ Gimli rumbled, and Pippin nodded slowly, quite overcome, but still game. ‘Take heart... this is the last of it,’ the dwarf muttered, and then he resumed his smile, to raise his voice in the final grand announcement.

 ‘And from the King and Queen of Gondor and Arnor, of all free peoples of the Western lands, I bring greetings,’ he shouted, his voice rolling through the large hall. ‘Greetings, and a token of their esteem.’

Four dwarves appeared, bearing two heavy chests. Gimli lifted each lid in turn, to reveal the golden sovereigns heaped within, Elessar’s countenance stamped upon their faces.

 ‘A token?’ Pippin whispered.

 ‘There’s more where that came from, laddie,’ Gimli muttered happily. ‘More where that came from.’

***

A/N p.s. Don't go away! There's a little more to come.

Chapter 54. A New Day

The following Spring found the Thain immersed in business; there was much to do before riding to the Brandywine Bridge, to meet the King, coming North to dwell awhile by Lake Evendim. With any luck, Pippin might be able to get away and take his family to the Lake for a holiday.

He threw down his quill with a satisfied grunt. ‘That’s the last,’ he said, and stretched. ‘What say you, Regi? Shall we ride out to the new diggings?’

 ‘I’ll have the ponies saddled,’ the steward said with a smile of his own, ‘just as soon as you finish your elevenses, cousin.’

 ‘Ah, elevenses already!’ Pippin said, and as if on cue, there was a tap at the door and his personal hobbitservant Sandy bustled in with a tray.

 ‘Here you are, Sir!’ that hobbit said briskly, laying his tray down. ‘Lovely cold chicken and spring greens, and the bread still steaming hot out of the oven.’

 ‘Marvellous,’ Pippin said, diving into his portion with gusto. Regi arose from his desk, went to the door, and finding Tolly standing outside, he ordered ponies saddled for the Thain to ride out. He returned to his desk and the plate Sandy had laid thereon, noticing Pippin half-way through his portion already.

Pippin had lost the ill and weary look of the previous year; his frame had filled out somewhat, and while he was not as portly as many hobbits his age, he no longer appeared gaunt and unwell. There was colour in his face and a sparkle in the eye he raised to meet the steward’s look. ‘Well, Regi,’ he said. ‘Eat! We haven’t all day!’

 ‘Indeed we haven’t,’ Regi said, and hastened to do his duty.

Elevenses done, they left the Great Smials to find Ferdi waiting in the courtyard with four saddled ponies.

 ‘Socks, old lad!’ Pippin cried, meeting the outthrust nose with a pat and a piece of apple. ‘You’re in luck—another chance to stretch those legs of yours!’

Socks was looking quite as recovered as his master, though Old Tom warned that he’d never be fit for racing again. Short excursions, such as to the New Diggings were about all Pippin asked of him these days. For the two-day journey to the Bridge, and the week-long ride to the Lake, he’d ride a younger, stronger beast and leave Socks in Old Tom’s competent care.

Pippin stepped up lightly into the saddle and turned Socks’ face towards the West, towards the great hill where new dwellings were being excavated, nearly as ambitious in scope as the Great Smials. Regi fell in beside him, and Ferdi and Tolly took up the rear, seeming relaxed, but their bows were strung and ready. The hobbits of the Thain's escort took their duties duties ever more seriously. Men had intruded into the Shire twice since the New Year, evidently drawn by rumours of the Thain’s gold.

Reaching the New Diggings, Pippin dismounted and fed Socks a few more pieces of apple while Regi went off in search of the hobbit they’d come to see. He used the time to quiz Ferdi on the progress of planting in the fields belonging to the Great Smials.

Ferdi broke off his detailed report and Regi approached, two filthy hobbits in tow. They’d evidently taken time to wash face and hands, which stood out against the dirty remainder in shining cleanliness.

 ‘Sir,’ Garabard Took-Grubb said with a bow, and then gestured to the hobbit behind him. ‘You remember Hildibard, one of my younger brothers.’

Hildibard bowed and received the Thain’s greeting. ‘Sir,’ he said.

 ‘Regi told me you were working at the diggings,’ Pippin said, ‘instead of on the land.’

Garabard shrugged. ‘Dirt’s dirt,’ he said. ‘I move it with a shovel, I get more pay than moving it with a plough, for some reason.’

 ‘It’s a deal more dangerous, digging in the dark,’ Pippin said quietly, ‘and there’s no sky above you, no sun to warm your bones, no birds to sing.’

 ‘I’ll be on the land again,’ the farmer said stubbornly. ‘One of these days.’ His brother nodded assent.

 ‘You told me, when your father was dying, that your family had saved up little more than half the price of the lease,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Aye,’ Garabard said. ‘That I did.’

 ‘And you’ve been saving, still, the last two years,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Aye,’ Garabard repeated, ‘but it’s a slow business. I figure my eldest son, or Hildi’s here, will buy the new lease, when we’ve saved enough.’

 ‘How about today?’ Pippin said, and the two farmers straightened, exchanging glances and then looking back to the Thain.

 ‘I beg your pardon, Sir,’ Garabard said respectfully.

 ‘There’s a lease that just came open,’ Pippin said. ‘The hobbit lost his sons at the Battle of Bywater, and the land’s been dreadfully neglected. At the moment it’s worth only about half of what your family’s farm was worth, but with hard work it could be as good a farm as the one you left. The lease is yours, if you want it.’

 ‘Half...?’ Garabard said, after his brother nudged him to release him from his frozen surprise.

Regi quietly named the amount of the lease, and both farmers broke into wide grins, Hildibard smiting his older brother heartily on the shoulder.

 ‘Our own farm,’ Garabard whispered.

 ‘There is only one request I would make of you,’ Pippin said, and the brothers grew sober and wary once more.

 ‘And that is...?’ Garabard said.

 ‘The hobbit’s widow,’ Pippin said. ‘She has no other family; her sons are gone and her daughter died in the fever a few years back. She has no home to go to. We could take her in at the Great Smials, but it would be kinder if she could stay in the home she’s always known. She’s a quiet little thing, very shy, but her neighbours all say she’s pleasant and sweet-tempered.’

 ‘Of course we’ll take her in,’ Hildibard said impulsively.

Garabard added, ‘If she’ll have us.’ He turned to his brother. ‘Hildi,’ he said, ‘if you’d go and tell Everard that we’ll work to the end of this day but not be back in the morning...’

 ‘Tomorrow’s a new day,’ Hildibard said with a great grin.

 ‘Indeed it is,’ the Thain agreed with a grin of his own. ‘Indeed it is.’