Disclaimer: Hobbits and the Shire are the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien and are the property of his estate. Not me. (More’s the pity.)

Chapter One: A Mother’s Love

The spring air was fresh in the garden, a gentle breeze caressing Eglantine’s cheeks as she sat on the bench, her youngest cuddled within a blanket on her lap. “Pippin? Love?” she whispered before gently removing what remained of the bowl of custard and the spoon from his slackening grip to place on the bench beside her. Nearly three quarters of the custard gone before he fell asleep; that was good.

It always worried her so, when he was ill, how little he seemed able to eat. Certainly an excuse for cossetting with favorite foods during the times of improvement.

Her darling shifted slightly in her lap, his tiny mouth opening for the tip of a tongue to catch any custard residue on his lips, and Eglantine pulled the blanket over to cover him up to his chin. Fresh air was all well and good, but it would not do to have him catch a chill now that he was on the mend...again.

She sighed softly to herself, looking out over the Smials’ lush gardens, where just the first tips of green sprouts were beginning to show. “Such a tiny hobbit,” she thought. “Eight years old already, and still looks like he’s six.”

“Mistress,” one of the kitchen hobbits called softly from the back entrance to the Smials. “Will you be needing anything else, now? For you or The Little One?”

Eglantine put a finger to her lips to shush any more calls, then reached down to hand the custard bowl and spoon to the kitchen hobbit, who bobbed a quick curtsy before taking the dishes and returning to the Smials.

“Such a tiny hobbit,” Eglantine thought again, as she watched her son’s eyelashes flutter in sleep, “to carry the hopes of all the Tooks.”

Thain Ferumbras was failing in his age, which everyone could see yet no one spoke of, and her husband, Paladin, next in line to the succession, was in truth more an acting Thain than the “assistant” to Rumby which was his official capacity. Strong, tall for a hobbit -- 3’6”, Eglantine had noted giddily the first time she stretched up to put her arms around his neck for a dance! -- Paladin bore the authority well, and assuredly. They had given each other three fine, strong daughters, and they had been happy. Paladin would train Adelard’s son Reginard up to be Thain after him, as Rumby had done for Pad. The title would pass to another branch of the Took line -- why, one day it would get down to the descendants of Isengar, the Old Took’s youngest son, Pad and Eg had joked to themselves.

But then...then, Eglantine smiled, a bit wistfully, bending down to place a quiet kiss on the tousled curls in her lap...there had been a surprise. Another hobbit babe, when she had thought herself finished. She wondered, sometimes, if it had been something she did, or ate, or didn’t do, during those weeks when it didn’t even occur to her what was happening, that caused him to come out so soon, so tiny, with such fragile health.

A lad. A lad who would inherit the titles of the Took and the Thain, despite Regi’s having been prepared already to be Paladin’s heir -- a bit informally after the birth of Pimpernel, then more publicly after Pervinca. Despite the jokes she and Pad had shared about the succession bouncing down the line of the Old Took’s descendants, and their caring not a jot. For Pad had taken one look at the tiny lad and swelled with pride, and invested all his future into this babe. And then he had taken a second look, and moved the family from the farm at Whitwell to the Great Smials, where could be found the best of everything in Tookland: the best food, the best parties, the best healers.

The rest of the Tooks -- for the most part, anyway -- shared Pad’s hope. They had not been keen on having an irregular succession twice in a row. It just was not orderly, or hobbitlike, and introduced too much uncertainty to their genealogies.

Eglantine let Paladin concentrate on the hopes and dreams of the future. His will was strong enough for the both of them. Eglantine just loved.

Chapter Two: A Hungry Hobbit is a Healthy Hobbit

The child in her arms shifted slightly, skrinkling his nose before his eyes blinked open to stare at the sky above. “Mama, look!” Pippin cried out, one hand shooting out from underneath the blanket to point upwards, knocking against Eglantine’s chin in the process.

“Those clouds look like ponies! Giddup! Giddup!” he chirped, drawing his knees up and bouncing his rump up and down on Eglantine’s lap.

“Pippin!” she cried sharply, placing a hand over his knees to still him. “The healer said you are to rest quietly today, and not to get up -- and that means no bouncing either,” she continued as he craned his neck around the cradle of her other arm to peer about the bench and the ground beneath it. “Now, is there anything else you’d like to do?”

“I thought there was custard,” was the response from the small bundle now sitting still on her lap and looking at her hopefully.

Eglantine stifled a laugh as she bent down to touch their foreheads together and peer into his eyes. “Does that mean you’re hungry?”

“Yes, Mama!” was the eager response, accompanied by several nods and an excited swing of a little foot that caught Eglantine on the thigh.

“Then let us see what we shall find in the kitchens,” Eglantine responded, and hoisted her lad and his blanket up for the trip inside. A hungry hobbit was a healthy hobbit.


They entered from the door that led into the gardens, and at first the kitchen hobbits, scurrying to prepare tea trays for the numerous apartments of the Great Smials, didn’t notice their Mistress. It was not until Eglantine’s skirts brushed against those of the head cook that Petunia gave a start, then a quick curtsy, keeping an elegant balance with the tray she held as she did so.

“Mistress. Will you be needin’ aught quickly?” she asked.

Eglantine took in both the flurry of activity in the kitchen and the direction of Pippin’s gaze (and pointing finger), which was fastened upon the cakes of gingerbread that were being cut into slices nearby.

“Nothing too troublesome, I hope, Cook,” Eglantine replied warmly. “I think we’ll just be having our tea in here today. Seems a shame to wait for something so quick to fix.” She inclined her head slightly, first toward the gingerbread, then toward the lad in her arms. “We’ll just have our cup and our bite here at the table.”

It was Fern’s first true meeting with the Mistress and The Little One, as she heard the other kitchen hobbits call him, as she set the gingerbread, milk and tea in front of Eglantine, who sat where a space had been hastily cleared at the great table generally used for rolling out dough.

Cook did not think it quite proper for the Mistress to be perched on a stool in the kitchen sipping a cup of tea as The Little One perched in her lap and busily consumed his gingerbread and milk. That much Fern could tell, although not much more. She was in her first week at the Smials, and she and Cook were just learning the ways of each other, so she had not yet been set to any regular tasks. If she were home on the farm, instead of here, “working out” as her da called it, the tween would have been outside all this fine morning, instead of cooped up in this great stuffy smial. The air couldn’t compare to the freshness of that of the farm, Fern thought, and that must be why she’d had a tickle in her throat for a day now.

Fern glanced again at the Mistress while she began washing up the tea things that had started to arrive back already, from the hobbits who had been among the first to be served. Why...surely that was not proper behavior...even her family practiced better manners than that, Fern thought, as she watched Mistress Eglantine reach into the mouth of her son, who seemed to have fallen asleep on his mother’s lap, and remove a fairly large piece of half-chewed gingerbread before letting the lad’s head fall back against her arm. Fern looked back at her pan of soapy water and scrubbed the dishes roughly as she thought more about her farm, and her family.

Why, if she’d been there, her little brother, ‘Bert, would’ve been running about near her. ‘Course, ‘Bert weren’t so spoiled as this Little One, that got gingerbread just for wanting some and had a mother that practically chewed it for him. Bert was a right stout little hobbit; strong, too -- he could lift a full milk pail, for all he was only five.

Fern twisted to rub her eyes against the shoulder of her sleeve without taking her hands out of the dishwater, and cleared her throat to stifle that durn tickle. What wouldn’t she give for a breath of farm air. She might’ve woke The Little One, with that, ‘cause the next time she glanced over there, his green eyes had blinked open to stare at his ma and he was sayin’, in what the lad prob’ly thought was a whisper,
“Mama! I have to go! Quick!”
even though it was obvious, from the way his ear tips were turnin’ pink and he was holdin’ his knees up to his chest with his little hands, what the sitch’eeation was.

The Mistress was carrying the lad out the door, dropping the blanket on her way out, quicker’n you could say “pop,” and Cook was tutting about ‘twould be a shame if the Mistress ruined that nice dress. And that, Fern was thinking, was another chore young ‘Bert could run hisself to, and right fast at that. She guessed mebbe her own five-year-old was ahead of this one some ways, be he heir to the Thain or no.


A bit later, when Cook had her run the blanket up to the Mistress, Fern used the fine fabric to muffle the cough that had finally escaped. ‘Twouldn’t do to be makin’ such a rude noise in Mr. Paladin’s quarters, and on her first time there, too.


It was dark when Pippin woke up later that night from where he’d been tucked lovingly under his favorite blankets. He didn’t remember that Eglantine had asked Nurse to stay on with Pervinca that night, as she was still fussing and demanding her share of the attention she hadn’t got during Pippin’s illness. He wasn’t sure what did remember, for his head ached, and his throat, and his tummy. But he was sick before, wasn’t he? Was this before, or was this now, when he was supposed to be allowed up to run and play?

He rolled over onto his stomach, raised himself on his elbows, and opened his mouth to call out for Mama. Instead, he was suddenly vomiting over the edge of the bed, leaving a sticky puddle on the floor.

Early the next morning, when Eglantine came in, still clad in her nightgown, to check on her lad, she found him hanging limp, half off the bed. A dried mess was on his chin, and fever sweat matted his curls to his forehead.

hapter Three: No Reason to Make Merry

Eglantine stood at the window to Pippin’s room, half-seeing the full blooms of rose and bridal-wreath bushes that lined the path to the Smials. It would make an attractive welcome for Pad’s sister, due to arrive today on her annual summer visit. Eglantine sighed. If only the welcome inside could be as pleasant.

She turned away from the window to kneel at the bedside and whisper in an ear. “Pippin? Merry’s coming today.” She waited a moment. “Won’t that be fun?” A slow blink of small green eyes, and that was all that moved.


Merry trotted toward Uncle Paddin’s quarters, only a bit put out that Pimpernel had turned her back and rushed into another room at his cheerful greeting. Lasses! He’d never understand them.

His mother had gone to greet her brother, as was proper,and the rest of the Smials was strangely devoid of hobbits in the hallways. Ah, well, all out enjoying the weather, he supposed. But Pip would be waiting for him. After all, the letters said he’d been ill, and they never let him out on his own for a while, after, at least not without someone Merry’s age to to watch after him. Of course, “watching after” could be interpreted so broadly, thought Merry with a grin on his face. Pip was really a fun little lad, and quite handy to have around.

“Hoy! Pip!” he called as he opened the door to his cousin’s room, then stopped in confusion.

Aunt Eglantine was just coming awake from a doze in the chair by the hearth, and this was his cousin’s room, but.... The still lad lying on his side on the bed was dressed in the same breeches and shirt Pippin had worn when he was six, two years earlier, and...weren’t little cousins supposed to get bigger between visits, not smaller? Surely that wasn’t Pippin’s nose, in the middle of that pale face with the skin stretched so tight?

Merry took a half step forward, then was pushed further into the room as his mother burst through the door behind him.

“What is the meaning of this?” Esmeralda Took Brandybuck demanded, her eyes snapping green fire. “Oh!” she uttered a strangled cry as she glanced toward the bed and then continued in a quieter tone. “Why weren’t we told?”

“You were told of the illness,” Eglantine answered softly, now kneeling by the bed and stroking Pippin’s hair. The child’s eyes were half-open, but he did not seem to be seeing the room and the hobbits within it, and he made no motion. “There was no reason to trouble you further, and no reason to make Merry leave his studies early, for the best healers have done all they can.” Eglantine continued to stroke the soft curls.

“All they can?” Esmeralda asked, confused.

“Aye,” Eglantine nodded sadly from her place by the bed. “The fever has broken, you see, and my lad lives. He’s better, now -- better!” and she gave a short bark that might have been a laugh, “and now we can do naught but wait to see if he’ll be well.”

Esmeralda placed one hand on Merry’s shoulder and stepped forward to lay the other on Eglantine’s. “Tell me,” she commanded softly.

“He -- he’ll swallow, some, if we put food in his mouth, but he doesna seem to notice the spoon until then,” Eglantine began, her breath catching as she kept one hand resting on Pippin’s head. “And he doesna speak. Other than to swallow, and his eyes, he doesna move a’tall.” She paused for a moment to ponder the wrongness of a still Pippin.

“Yes? His eyes?” Esmeralda prompted softly, her hand tightening on Eglantine’s shoulder. “You said he moves them?”

Eglantine raised her head to lift her own eyes up to Esmeralda. “He blinks, and the healers say he sees, but he doesna seem to look! It is -- oh, Es, I cannae tell if my babe is sleeping or waking!” Eglantine put both her hands before her face and sobbed as she leaned forward to rest her head against Esmeralda’s waist.

Merry’s mother gave his shoulder a quick pat as she withdrew the hand that held him in order that she might wrap both arms around Eglantine. She gently rubbed the shaking back and drew Eglantine to her feet, casting a sad glance at Merry as she led the Mistress of the Smials into the adjoining room.

Merry took one hesitant step toward the bed; stopped; then another, until he was standing directly in front of his cousin’s still form. He reached a hand out tentatively, stopping it in mid-air. He was afraid to touch.

Pippin looked so fragile, like the dolls some hobbit lasses had at Brandy Hall. They were sculpted from a clay, put through a fire to make it hard, Merry’s da said; but if you bumped them against a wall, they would chip and crack.

Aunt Eglantine’s sobs were louder, now, and Merry could hear her crying out, “Oh, my baby! My poor, poor lad!” as his own mother offered soothing murmurs in counterpoint.

Merry withdrew his hand from the air, squared his shoulders, and slid his hands under Pippin’s knees and neck. He carried the bit of fluff in the gentle cradle of his arms, stopping to stand before the window.

“Hoy. Pip.” His voice choked as tears ran quietly down his face. The teen looked down and shifted the tiny head so the green eyes’ gaze was pointed out the window. A crowd of cheerful hobbit children could be seen running toward the Smials. “We’ve got the whole summer ahead of us.”

Chapter Four: Lazy Days of Summer

Merry and his mum would be staying the rest of the summer as usual; his da joining them when he could. And, as usual, Merry was determined to spend the time playing with his young cousin. Lad might not say much, but that was no reason to leave him behind.

“Now, Merry, you must be careful,” Aunt Eglantine had said as he approached her the first time with Pippin in his arms.

“Yes, of course, Aunt,” he nodded gravely.

“He mustn’t be chilled.”

Merry nodded again, a bead of sweat trickling along his hairline -- he had just come from a tramp in the garden.

“And he mustn’t get overwarm,” Eglantine added, placing a hand on Pippin’s cool brow.

Another nod.

“And you must be very careful. He cannae get sick again, Merry.” Eglantine looked beseechingly at her nephew. “He must not.”

“I --” Merry started to reply, when his mother swept into the room and took Eglantine by the elbow to lead her away. “Merry,” Esmeralda began firmly, only to be interrupted by her son.

“Mum,” he said strongly as he looked into her eyes, “I promise, I’ll take very, very good care of him.”

Esmeralda nodded and drew Eglantine away to tend to some long-neglected business with the Smials, or her daughters.

Merry looked down at the small cousin he held. Pippin’s eyes were open, and staring up toward Merry’s face, but he didn’t seem to notice that they were peering through a fringe of sandy curls.

“Aye,” Merry whispered as he bent to place a kiss through the curls onto Pippin’s forehead. “I’ll be full of care for you, young Pippin-lad.”


Merry had propped Pippin to lean against a tree, a blanket softened by many launderings cushioning him from the rough bark and the green grass. The sun shone in dapples through the leaves of the copse, but the shade protected them from its heat.

“Well, Pip,” he asked from where he sat cross-legged against a nearby tree, “what shall we do today? Find golf balls to throw in the pond? Nick an extra tea when no one’s looking? Put crawly bugs down lasses’ dresses?”

The 15-year-old paused, waiting a moment for his small companion’s response. None was forthcoming as Pippin continued to lean quiet and still against the tree. His eyes were open, but it was as Aunt Eglantine said: you couldn’t tell if he was asleep or awake.

“How about the crawly bugs, then?” Merry continued in a voice of forced cheer, beginning to crawl on his hands and knees to search for likely candidates among the blades of grass. “Pervinca’s still rather cranky with you, you know,” he said over his shoulder to Pippin. “I think she needs you to put a nice, juicy bug down her back.”

He had plucked a blade of grass with a shiny blue beetle crawling along it, and turned Pippin’s hand over to transfer both insect and grass into the palm. “It would do Pervinca good,” he concluded. Merry cupped his own hand beneath Pippin’s to support the tiny burden.

* * *Mmm. ‘Tis warm. But cool in spots, too. Nice. Like when a breeze blows onto my bed. Bed? No, not.... Something’s tickling my hand, but it seems so far away somehow. Funny. Oh, the sleepy-darks are coming again. They always pull me away.* * *


They were in the copse again. Merry lay on the blanket this time, stretched on his back with Pippin lying on top of him. He ran his hands gently along the small back as he spoke.

“Another fine day, then, my lad. My dearest Perry.” He lifted his head to peer at the top of Pippin’s curls, which had moved not a twitch, and let out a breath in a huff of pretended insult as he dropped back down again.

“All right, Pippin, then,” he continued in an aggrieved tone. “Don’t know why they raised such a fuss when I suggested it.” He shook his head. “Stuff and nonsense about too much confusion, my mum being Essie and her sister Bessie. And then Marmadas wanting to call Merimas ‘Merry,’ too. And why not, I ask you?” raising his head to look at Pippin again. “It’s a fine name.”

He leaned back again, his hands still tracing lazy designs on Pippin’s back. “But, no, Uncle Paddin said if he was Paddin, you’d be something along the lines -- and you were pipin’ loud, for all you were such a tiny babe!” Merry grinned down at Pippin, his smile fading only a bit as he continued the tale.

“I still think they should have let me give you your common-name, even if I was only eight” -- his voice broke on the last two words, as his hands squeezed the eight-year-old atop him -- “for you’re my little lad-cousin, after all.”

He leaned forward to whisper into a pointed ear the last part of the story. “But, anyway, you’ll always be my dear little Perry.” He pursed his lips and blew a soft puff into the ear. All that moved with it were the sandy curls.

* * *”Perry,” I heard...there’s a story about him. I think I like that story. But, oh, my pillow’s going thump, thump, and it’s so nice....* * *


Merry crouched beside the bushes that ran along the side of this garden patch farthest form the Smials. His right arm was wrapped around Pippin’s chest, holding the smaller hobbit close against him, legs dangling. His left hand crept out toward the plump maroon berries and snatched one from the branch. He popped it quickly into his mouth, raspberry juice staining his fingers and his lips.

“You see, Pip, it adds a bit of excitement --” he stopped to pop more berries into his mouth, moving awkwardly down the row of bushes as he maintained his crouching position, “--of adventure, if you will, if you take your food for yourself, instead of waiting for someone to give it to you. Eating at the table is all well and good, of course, but a growing hobbit likes to have -- well, something extra.”

A bird screeched overhead as Merry finished the sentence and popped another berry in his mouth, and he looked up to see the head fieldhobbit suddenly catch sight of him from the far side of the garden. Ned had his mouth open in some kind of protest, although Merry couldn’t hear it from this distance, and was taking a step forward to storm across the field.

Merry stared back at him, hard, and turned so he was facing Ned, bringing Pippin around in front of him. He used his forefinger to lift Pippin’s chin toward the fieldhobbit, showing him the slack, thin face. Ned stopped his march, flustered, then turned around to walk in the other direction, waving the other fieldhobbits away from this patch of garden.

Merry watched him go. “Well, then,” he sighed as he removed his hand from Pippin’s face, letting the pointed chin with its streak of raspberry juice fall back down, “I’ve always said you’re a handy little fellow to have around. Here, have a reward.” He pushed a raspberry into Pippin’s mouth before plucking another handful for himself and munching happily.

Yes, still a handy little fellow, Merry mused to himself as he chewed his berries, glancing down at the top of Pippin’s curls. Wait...berries required chewing! Pippin swallowed soft foods, but what if the lad choked? What had he done?

Terrified, Merry grabbed Pippin’s chin again and turned the face toward him, smearing more raspberry juice across the cheeks and chin. Among these darker purplish streaks, there was a pale, pinkish line dribbling down from the center of Pippin’s lower lip. Merry pressed his thumb on the center of that lip and lowered the jaw, peering into the mouth. More raspberry juice stained the teeth, but the berry itself was gone.

Merry let out a sigh of relief, then found his hand trembling as, within it, the jaw shifted and a tongue came out to lick the juice from the lips. The jaw then lowered again, leaving the mouth hanging open expectantly.

“Pip!” Merry breathed out exultantly, leaning forward to place a kiss on the forehead and thus smear more raspberry juice on the tiny face, “You can have as many berries as you want!”

Chapter Five: Supper, Supper, Suppertime

“Meriadoc,” his mother sighed wearily at dinner that night in Uncle Paddin’s quarters. “Whatever were you thinking?”

Her son did not look contrite. Instead, he looked as if he was ready to burst with suppressed excitement. He kept his face schooled well enough, but Esmeralda had learned to read that expression. Besides, she could feel his foot rapidly tapping against the chair rung next to her. She sighed inwardly, and glanced across the table at her nephew, who had been propped to sit leaning back against his mother as she spooned rice pudding into his mouth. The child’s eyes were closed, but he was swallowing steadily. He also looked much cleaner than he had this afternoon, when Merry had returned him to the Smials in a state that required a change of shirt, plus a thorough washing of the face, and even the hair.

“I wasn’t thinking, at first,” Merry admitted, “but, now, Pip and I have a surprise for you.”

The subdued conversation among Paddin and the lasses ceased as Merry left his chair, carefully carrying a small triangle of his creamed peas on toast with him. He paused in front of his aunt, who had ceased feeding Pippin to watch Merry’s actions, and held the toast up to touch his cousin’s lips.

The hobbits in the room held their collective breaths as Pippin, eyes still closed and nothing else moving, parted his lips and then bit down as Merry pushed the toast into his mouth. They could see him chew, then swallow, then open his mouth again for Merry to push the toast in a second time.

“Merry...,” Aunt Eglantine was the first to speak after Pippin had finished the toast and was now waiting with his mouth open like a baby bird for something else to be put into it. Her eyes were glistening as she hurriedly snatched more toast from the plate in front of her and began feeding it to her son. “Merry...”

“It’s all right, Aunt,” Merry said from where he stood smug and proud next to her. “He liked the raspberries, too.”

There were a series of odd noises around the table -- crosses among snorts, laughs, gasps and cries. Pimpernel rose from her own chair to stand next to her mother and drew her long braid streaked with sand- and tea-colored curls over her shoulder.

“You scamp,” she said to her brother as she placed the end of the braid in his hand, closing her own hand around it to make a loose fist. “You just keep getting better, and I’ll let you pull my hair as much as you want.”

“Aye,” choked Paddin from the head of the table, his own eyes suspiciously bright, “We’ll wait as long as need be for that day. And mayhap,” he leaned across the table to aim a loud whisper in the direction of his son, “we can prevail upon that wizard for a tug on the long beard!”

* * *Mmm, sweet. And that’s good, too. I’m so hungry! Everybody’s laughing. I guess they were tired of custard, too.* * *

Chapter Six: A Direct Line

As the days passed, Pippin continued to eat like a bird. That is to say, he eagerly opened his mouth for food to be shoveled in and, although the bites he consumed were small pecks, the amount that went into him each day seemed likely to near his total weight.

Although his family watched eagerly for additional signs of improvement, none were immediately apparent.


The rain spattered hard against the walls of the Smials, gusts occasionally jostling the shutters. Flashes of lightning sometimes added an extra brightness to the corner where Eglantine and Esmeralda sat at their stitching.

Merry and Pippin sat nearby on the floor, Pippin in Merry’s lap. Toys were spread out in front of them. Merry guided Pippin’s hand with his own to pick up a small wooden cow and place it on the roof of the toy barn.

“With a ping and a pang the fiddle-strings broke, And the cow jumped over the moon*,” he sang. He paused and looked about as a flash of lightning illuminated the sitting room.

“Oh, bother,” he muttered, bringing the cow and Pippin’s hand back down to the floor. “We haven’t anything to make a proper moon with, or fiddle-strings, and anyway, it isn’t night.”

He picked up the cow and examined it closely, letting Pippin’s hand fall back to rest at his side. The carver had chiseled his initials and the date of the work’s completion --’95--into the bottom of the wooden oval that formed a base for the cow to stand on.

“Why, this cow is branded,” Merry said in a low voice. He set the toy down carefully in front of the barn and reached for another cow in the pile of toys. This one, added later to the set, had a dollop of black paint on its back and a carved ‘96 on the base.

“Tsk. Not the same,” Merry muttered, reaching across Pippin to set this cow down on a square of green handkerchief that was serving as a “pasture.” His other arm continued to clutch Pippin at the waist. “Maybe we should cull them and get them ready for auction like my da does.”

He proceeded to arrange the cows from the pile into neat semi-circles either in front of the barn or on the handkerchief. Merry worked busily, sometimes remembering to guide Pippin’s hand to pick up a cow and move it appropriately. For the most part, though, he was quietly intent on his task.

* * *No, no, no, no, NO COWS! My cows! Play ball! Ball! My toys! Play my way!* * *

Merry stopped arranging the last cow from the pile and leaned his head down to cast a glance at Pippin. For a moment, he had thought he saw a light in the green eyes. It must only have been a reflection of the lightning, though, for they were glazed again now.

Merry reached out to the toys on the floor and grabbed a multi-colored cloth ball that had been lying there. He rolled it across the floor to bump against Pippin’s foot, then gently grabbed the furry ankle to nudge the ball away again with the small foot.

“Here, Pip,” Merry said. “Maybe you’d rather play with the ball.”


Some rough benches were set up at the side of the meadow. They were placed at a safe distance from where the group of Tookland teens and tweenagers were notching their bows, but still provided a good vantage point. Merry sat on one of the benches, Pippin again on his lap. They watched as the Took lads, led by Reginard, fired their arrows into targets attached to a line of trees at the end of the meadow.

“Don’t worry, lad, I didn’t want to play anyway,” said the fair-haired hobbit on the bench, patting the smaller one’s knee. “I can organize as many archery contests as I want back in Buckland.” Hmm, maybe after the annual skiff races -- no, oiling and recaulking the boats always took such a long time.

“Anyhow, you and I should supervise. We need to se what kind of hobbits we’ll have working for us.” Merry settled his chin on top of Pippin’s head, elbows resting on the lad’s thighs, and hands laced together in front of Pippin’s neck to form a platform for his chin to rest upon. This had the effect of directing Pippin’s face toward the meadow, so he could “see” the actions going on.

“Yes, Regi’s definitely the best shot,” Merry commented a few moments later. He gave a slight nod, which jiggled Pippin’s head, too. “It’s probably because your da’s been teaching him well.” The hobbit who was currently third in line as heir to be the next thain after Ferumbras had shot several arrows into the center of his target, and was coming around behind various lads to adjust their stance or offer them pointers.

“See, Everard’s aim is a bit off,” Merry pointed. The teen on the end of the line of archers nearest to the benches had fired a couple of arrows into his target, but several more were stuck in the ground at the foot of the tree, in the meadow between him and the tree, or even off to the side in the meadow. “I think Regi’s going to help him out next.”

Regi did indeed stop behind his younger brother to offer tips and adjust his grip on the bow. As soon as Regi stepped back away and Everard let the arrow fly, however, Merry let out a yell. It was coming straight toward the bench.

“Duck!” he shouted as he twisted sideways to fling himself face-forward onto the bench, clasping Pippin to his chest with both hands and covering the lad with his body.

He heard the whoosh of the arrow singing through the air, then cautiously opened his eyes a few moments later when he realized he’d also heard the reverberations of the arrow hitting something, but hadn’t felt any pain. The arrow was stuck bolt upright in the ground a couple of feet from the bench, the end still quivering.

Furious, Merry jumped up from the bench with his hands balled into fists at his sides to confront Reginard and Everard as they rushed over.

“What is the meaning of this?” he shouted. “We could have been hurt!”

“I’m sorry, Merry, I’m sorry!” Everard was close to tears. “I tried to do like Regi said, really I did!”

“Regi?” Merry said with an icy calm as turned to face the older hobbit. “Is this true?”

“’Course ‘tis true,” Regi answered brusquely. “Lad wouldn’t lie. He just needs some time to practice, ‘tis all.”

“Well, his ‘practice’ could have killed the future Thain!” Merry huffed.

“Regi, I thought you--”

“Everard! Quiet!” Regi snapped. “Anyway,” he said with a nod toward the bench behind Merry, “looks to me as if The Little One’s entertained right enough.”

Merry turned around to see where he had left Pippin lying on his stomach on the bench. Pip’s legs and arms dangled limply over the sides -- except for his left arm, which was swinging slightly back and forth, as with the smallest sway of a breeze, in the direction of Everard’s arrow. The arm movements accompanied the tracking of two bright green eyes, which studied the arrow in clear fascination.

Merry froze for a moment, and gave a gurgle in his throat. Then he lunged toward the bench, catching Pippin around the waist and hoisting him over one shoulder. With the other hand, he snatched the arrow out of the ground. “I’m taking this by order of the Thain,” he said with a swfit glare at Regi, before he ran back to the Smials.

Merry collapsed to sit on Pippin’s bed, not having found anyone in Uncle Paddin’s quarters, but still holding both lad and arrow. He put the arrow on the bed next to him and hastily pulled Pippin down from his shoulder to look into his eyes.

“Oh, no, oh, no,” he sobbed. The light had gone out of the eyes again. “Here.” He turned Pippin around to sit in his lap and pressed the arrow into the small hands, curling them around to grip the shaft. “You wanted to play with it.”

Merry pulled Pippin’s arm back, and mimicked the sound of an arrow firing. “Whoosh! I know you’ll be the best archer in Tookland someday, Pip! Why, I’ll bet you’ll get to be as big as the Bullroarer, and just as fierce!” His breath came in little gasps as he continued to peer anxiously into the sharp little face. He was rewarded when the green eyes brightened again, and swept back and forth along the length of the arrow.

“Pip!” Merry let out his breath in a whoosh. “I think,” he said after a moment, “that, on second thought, your mama better not find your Bullroarer arrow.” He lifted the smaller hobbit up, still keeping both their hands gripping the arrow, and guided Pippin to wedge it between the back of an old bureau in the corner of the room and the wall. Then Merry clutched Pippin to him and collapsed backward onto the bed, giggling uncontrollably.

* * *Bullroarer! Rarrgh! Hooray! Then I can shoot the sleepy-darks away!* * *


____
*Song from “The Fellowship of the Ring,”; chapter “At the Sign of the Prancing Pony”

**Grateful acknowledgment to Grey Wonderer for her fic, “Thinking of You” (available here on SOA), which helped to inspire Merry’s literal-mindedness in the toy barn scene.

Chapter Seven: Sticks and Stones

Eglantine watched eagerly for the awareness in her lad’s eyes that Merry insisted had appeared while they’d been playing. And, yes, there were a few times when she could lift her lad up, touch their foreheads together, and meet the gaze of two small green eyes filled with hope and trust. These moments, however, still remained precious and far apart.

Giving a tug on the last button of the shirt she’d dressed him in for today, Eg leaned down over the bed where her son was lying to gently kiss his brow. His eyes had been closed as she dressed him, and he seemed to be in a peaceful slumber. He still slept much.

Like a babe, Eglantine thought as she lifted him into her arms and settled into the rocking chair. She gently pushed back and forth with her foot, tracing one hand along Pippin’s face. Like a babe, and as helpless as one; still too weak and tired to move on his own, or to make a sound. In a way, she felt a smidge of guilt. He was her baby, her littlest one, the last she’d ever have, and a part of her wanted to keep him in her arms forever.

But then, she realized with a pang as she looked at his restful features, she also missed her little lad. The one who would laugh, and chatter, and bounce in her arms. The one who was old enough and aware enough that, if he did truly wake while in his current state of health, he’d probably be badly frightened.

She was glad Merry was here this summer, and that he had reacted as she hoped he would to Pippin’s condition, still wanting to take his young cousin everywhere with him as in the past. She could take care of her baby, Eglantine knew, but Merry would help bring back her lad.


“Wait here,” Merry told his small cousin as he settled Pippin against the base of a tree. “It’s shady; you can listen to the others playing, and I’ll be right back with some berries and cream.”

After Merry had trotted off to fill his arms with another sweet load, Pippin sat quietly in the clearing. The sun shone through the leaves in patches, glinting off his curls. His eyes blinked lazily open, closed, then open again as the insects hummed through the air. Their focus wavered, held, then wavered again.

“Hoy!” I’m glad Cousin Paddin let you off early from assisting the assistant!” a hobbit teen puffed as he ran through the path near the clearing, “’Tis a glorious day!”

“’Tis, ‘tis,” laughed the other hobbit running with him. “And he does say that I’m just a young lad still -- won’t reach my majority for another four years yet.”

“Besides,” Regi laughed as he reached out to steady Everard, who had tripped over a branch and was leaning briefly against a tree, “I’ve got to look out for you.”

“Oi!” Everard uttered, rolling his eyes as he straightened, “Give it a rest. You said yourself you’re supposed to be playing, not being responsible. And that’s an order!” he mockingly shook a finger at his brother.

Reginard chuckled, his eyes sweeping the clearing, pausing a moment, then coming to rest on the ground near the stick that had tripped Everard. Some tiny pebbles lay in the dirt. Regi bent down to scoop some up as a slow grin spread across his face. “How about, we combine having fun and being responsible?” he asked. Regi stood up to show his handful of rocks to his brother. “We can practice our rock-throwing!”

“Oi!” Everard cried excitedly as he began to run down the path toward the other hobbits. “And the lasses can play, too!”

“Aye,” Regi agreed as he put his handful of pebbles in his pocket. He cast another quick glance around the clearing, then sauntered after Everard.

“Hii-ya!”

“Hii-ya!”

“Oof!”

“Good throw!”

“Nice one, Everard!”

“Hit the trees, Pervinca! Come on, you can do it!”

Merry listened to the racket as he carried the bowl of berries and cream back to the clearing. As he reached it, a breathless Pervinca crashed through the undergrowth on the other side, holding a rock in one raised fist while searching for the last one she had thrown.

“Pervinca Took!” Merry bellowed forcefully, dropping the bowl so that it shattered and puddles of white cream oozed out among the blue shards on the grass. At the same time, Pervinca let out a high-pitched shriek, then began shouting, “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! It’s not my fault! It’s not my fault, Merry!”

Merry by this time had his back toward her and merely shouted over his shoulder, “Go away! Get out of this smial! I don’t care if I ever see you again!”

As he spoke, he was leaning down to gather up in his arms the small hobbit lad he had left propped against the tree. A trickle of blood was running down Pippin’s left cheek, and the front of his left shoulder bore a rock-shaped smudge of dirt. What caught most of Merry’s attention, though, were the eyes. They were wide open now and fully aware as they stared up at him. Tears streamed down the lad’s face, while his breath came in rapid, soft hitches.

Merry grabbed him up in his arms and raced back to the Smials.

“Aunt Eg! Aunt Eg! Mum!” Merry shouted as he raced toward Paddin’s quarters. Servants and Tookland hobbits scattered out of his path as he ran through the hallways.

Pippin, peering over Merry’s shoulder as he ran, saw blurs of motion veer out of the path behind them. A hobbit’s elbow was suddenly pointed toward his nose; then it jerked away. A flash of red flared up across the hallway as a hobbitess’s skirt turned quickly. He was crying as loudly as he could when he could get a breath, hiccuping a sob every few moments as his nose filled and his eyes grew puffy. He couldn’t hear himself crying, but he could hear the air rushing by his ears, and Merry shouting in front of him, and so many yells and crashes behind them that he couldn’t distinguish any words. Everything was just a cacophony of noise and movement and he didn’t understand and it was all so very frightening and were these hobbits going to hurt him like the other ones did?

Merry reached the family quarters and placed Pippin quickly on the bed in front of his aunt and mother. Pippin closed his eyes tight and wished hard for the dark to come back and take him away where it was safe.

* * *Not...not coming. Come back, sleepy-darks! I won’t fight you no more! I won’t shoot you with arrows-- or--or throw rocks! Aaiee! Make it stop! Make it stop! It’s too scary! Mama! Mama! Merry?

I can hear Merry...Merry wouldn’t hurt me. He took me away from the bad place. Who’s Merry talking to? No, no, I won’t open my eyes! It’s not safe!

Oh, the healer. He says I’m all right, “just a samll bruise and a little scratch.” Big...big...dummy! Dummy! Too scary...make it stop...aiee!* * *

“Here, Mistress, hold him --quickly! You have to calm him down!”

“Calm him? My baby doesn’t move! And I thought you said he was all right, sirrah!?”

“That’s it; keep rubbing and rocking...the physical injuries are slight, Mistress, and should not interfere with the healing, as I said. But listen to his breaths! Would he could talk, the lad would be screaming at the top of his lungs!”

Well, the lad can’t talk, Sir Healer! Can’t talk...can’t run...can’t defend himself...what kind of horrid smial has this become?”

“Mum! Mum, please, I told you, he’s awake! Really awake! You’ll scare him more if you keep shouting at the healer.”

“Indeed, Madam Brandybuck, I have done my best, as have we all here at The. Great. Smials. Good day, Mistress. I suggest you keep the lad calm, and in the company of those he can trust.”

* * *Splish. Splash. Warm. Safe. No! Is it safe yet? Mama? Where is she? I hear Mama crying, but it’s not very loud. Why is she crying?

Oh, she’s behind me! She’s holding me up out of the water. Water? Oh, a bath! It’s...it’s nice, really. Maybe I can open my eyes now.

Just water. Just water on top of me. It’s so quiet in this room. I can just watch the waves for a while....

...Why, there’s Merry! He’s playing with my wooden duckie! Silly Merry! Ducks are funny when they go topsy-turvy like that! (Giggle.) Do it again, Merry, do it again! Play with the duck!”* * *

“Aunt Eg?” Merry breathed out as he knelt by the tub, “did you see that? “ His right hand clutched Pippin’s wooden duck, which he had been pushing about to create ripples in the water. As his aunt raised her face from Pippin’s curls to look, Merry’s hand and the duck it held moved again -- with a movement that originated from underneath: a tiny nudge of Pippin’s knee.

“Pippin?” Merry and Eglantine said together, leaning toward the younger hobbit’s face. Eglantine kept one hand around his chest to hold him up while brushing the curls from his forehead with the other. Merry clenched the duck in one fist and the side of the tub in the other.

As his mother cleared his hair from his face, Pippin raised his eyes to her. He held her gaze for a long moment, then turned his eyes toward Merry and did the same. Then he flicked a glance down at the duck and quickly back up at Merry.

Merry and Eglantine’s hands met as they dipped the duck’s beak into the water.

Chapter Eight: “Thain Peregrin”

Although they watched eagerly for additional signs of physical improvement, none seemed to be forthcoming.

Pippin continued to eat eagerly--typical for a young hobbit. He also would still sometimes jiggle his knee in the bath as he watched the duck. Merry or Eglantine, whoever was holding his head out of the water at the moment, occasionally thought they felt the muscles in his arms tense, but he made no motion with them.

They were bathing him frequently these days, as he seemed to enjoy it. That was one improvement that had lasted, Merry thought: Pip was now truly awake.

The lad had always seemed to enjoy his baths as much as he enjoyed getting dirty. Merry suspected that some of the mud stains Pippin acquired were just an excuse for a longer time in the tub. He said as much to Pippin as he was toweling the youngster off from his latest soak.

“Really, Pip, I’ve never seen such a hobbit as yourself for baths,” Merry bantered. “One would think it’s you who’s the Brandybuck, wanting to swim all the time.” He continued chatting as he dressed Pippin in a clean shirt and breeches. “Oh, except I forgot: you only like hot water in a tub, not cold water like the river.”

He was rewarded for his efforts at conversation with Pippin’s eyes tracking around the room, a faint smile on his face.

The smile faded as someone came through the door, and Merry turned to see Pervinca standing there. “Is Mama here?” she demanded.

“No,” Merry answered. Pervinca had entered from the hallway door, but Aunt Eg had gone out of the quarters earlier.

“Well, where is she, then?” Pervinca demanded loudly.

“How should I know?” Merry snapped back. “And stop being so loud! You’re scaring Pippin.”

Pippin’s eyes were moving anxiously back and forth between his sister and his cousin.

“I am not,” Pervinca snapped back. “Anyway, I told you I was sorry about the rocks. I didn’t know he was there. Regi just said I ought to practice my aim.”

“Apologized to me! You ought to apologize to your brother -- if you’d even talk to him!” Merry was getting rather loud himself, now. Pippin’s eyes were blinking rapidly, and his breath was starting to hitch.

Paladin entered through the hall doorway, then, coming up behind Pervinca. Laying a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, he informed her calmly, “Pervinca, dear, you and your mother seem to have missed each other. She’s waiting for you in the music room.”

“But Merry said--”

“Go, Pervinca,” Paladin’s tone was used to being obeyed. “Leave your brother alone.”

As she left, Merry began to address his uncle. “Thank you, Uncle Paddin. She--”

Paladin held up his hand to stop the words. “Enough, Merry. I know what she’s done and hasn’t done, so there’s no need to be tattling.” He walked over to the bed and stood gazing down at his son, who met his eyes as his breaths calmed. They held this pose for a moment, then Paladin waved his hand dismissively at Merry.

“Why don’t you go find some other playmates today. Amuse yourself on your holiday.”

“But I--” Merry started, taking a step toward Pippin.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Paddin was waving the hand again, but brought his head around to look Merry in the face with gratitude, “And don’t think we don’t appreciate all you’ve done.”

He turned back toward the bed and leaned forward to scoop up his son. “But Pippin will be spending time with me today.”

Paladin, being both a tall and a muscular hobbit, was easily able to carry his son one-handed. His arm snaked around the small back, and a hand supported the rump as they traversed the corridors. Pippin’s nose was pressed into the side of his father’s chest, where he could smell sweat and the scent of the field and pipeweed smoke. They stopped at Paladin’s study.

The assistant to the thain gently eased himself and his son down into the chair behind the desk, then reached out to bring a sheet of parchment before them. He plucked a green colored pencil from a mug which held a collection of them. The mug itself bulged out rather oddly in spots; its now-hardened clay also showed the distinct impressions of four separate sets of small fingerprints.

Paddin placed the pencil in Pippin’s hand, then curled his own fingers around the smaller ones to maintain the grasp. He guided Pippin’s hand in making strokes of color across the parchment. They worked like this for a time, changing the pencil for a new color every so often, sketching in the maps of this year’s plantings in the West Farthing.

When the maps were finished, Paddin leaned backward in his chair, bringing Pippin with him, and stretched his arms to the ceiling.

“Oy, and that’s a relief to be done with that chore,” he said as he looked below his chin to the small face tipped up to his. Paddin gently put his hands on Pippin’s arms and raised them above the small hobbit’s head in an imitation of his father’s stretch that resulted in the ends of his fingers tickling Paddin under the chin. “Don’t know how I ever would’ve done it without you, my lad. You’re such a hard worker-- made the task go twice as fast!”

The small green eyes shone. They were Pad’s eyes in a face and a small physique that otherwise bore such a strong resemblance to Eglantine. For years, Pad had been proud of all his lasses, who had inherited his height and musculature. He’d even quickly forgiven Pervinca for being such a large babe, who’d caused her mother such problems in the birthing they thought there’d never be another. And Pad was still proud of his daughters -- the majority of the time.

But, oh, this lad he held! The lad he’d once looked for; had accepted never was to be his; and then had received as such an unexpected gift. The lad for whom every day, as Pad began his duties, he reminded himself he was preparing a future. The lad who looked at him out of the face of his beloved wife.

Paddin gently set the arms down and dropped a kiss on the tip of Pippin’s nose. “I think such a hard worker deserves a reward, don’t you?” he asked as he pulled open the top drawer of the desk.

Pippin’s eyes twinkled and his mouth opened as Paddin placed a hardened candy, liberally laced with the taste of sarsaparilla root, within. His father leaned forward to whisper into a small ear, “Sweets for now, but that’ll be the taste of ale when you’re old enough. But, shh! Don’t tell your mother on me!”

The lips wavered sadly only a moment before Pippin’s face reverted to happiness once again as he sucked on the candy.

Paddin gently eased his son out of his lap and deposited him in the large desk chair alone. He trod softly to the door of the office and looked both ways down the corridor before pulling the door shut.

Then he returned to the desk, stopping to lift a heavy dictionary off its stand on his way. He placed the dictionary on the desk, then picked Pippin up under one arm and held him there as he placed the dictionary on the chair. He propped Pippin up on the dictionary and drew the chair forward so that the lad seemed to be sitting at the desk.

Then, in a ritual father and son had been performing for years, Paladin placed one arm across his chest, the other behind his back, and bowed, as he whispered, “Thain Peregrin.”

Chapter Nine: Pippin’s Perspective

Pippin rather liked being carried by his da. And, even if he hadn’t been able to make his usual eager demands after Da called him “Thain Peregrin” and then asked with a cheeky grin, “And what do you wish this day, my Thain?” -- still, he’d managed to get an extra snack into the day by opening his mouth in the way everyone thought meant to bring him food.

Pippin wished, though, sometimes, that he could ask for something else when he opened his mouth. He didn’t really understand why he couldn’t. It’s just that nothing seemed to work right anymore. Sometimes, in the bath, the water seemed to help him a little bit and he almost felt like he could move. But most of the time, he just had to let the healers move his arms and legs for him. Or sometimes it was Mama, or Merry, or whoever was carrying him about for the day.

Those two were the ones who took him most often, and they were nice. Mama would talk soft to him, or sometimes she’d sing, or tell a story, and Merry would talk about all sorts of lad things that Pippin thought sounded fun to do. Sometimes he’d even sneak Pip along with him to pilfer from the edges of the gardens: that was great fun!

So those two were all right. And Da had taken the whole day to let him help in the study, even though they usually played the Thain Peregrin game in the winter, because summer was so busy with fieldwork and such.

Pearl flew through occasionally to ruffle his curls and kiss his brow. She’d even helped with his bath, once, but she’d gotten excited telling Mama about a party she’d been to and let go of Pippin’s shoulders as she waved her hands to make a point. She’d caught him before he went under the water, but she hadn’t helped again. And, anyway, Pearl didn’t seem to be home much these days. She was always visiting one cousin or another across the Shire. Mama had said once that that sort of thing happened when you were a tweenager.

Pimpernel talked to him when she was with the family, but there were so many hobbits around the Great Smials that she had a number of friends, and had always spent much of her time with them.

Pervinca hadn’t exactly talked to him at all, since he’d “woken up” on that scary day to see her standing over him with a rock in her hand like those that had just hit him. Instead, she talked about him, like he wasn’t even there.

Pippin wasn’t sure how he felt about this. Pervinca kept telling people she hadn’t known he was there and didn’t mean to hit him. He thought he believed her, but this didn’t really explain why he had found himself suddenly to be sitting among trees acting as a target for rocks when al he could remember for a long time before that was a lot of the sleepy-darks and some jumbled things, including something about an arrow. That whole first day had been very scary, as he slowly figured out that he couldn’t talk, or move, and Pervinca had been a part of that.

Nobody had told him why he couldn’t talk or move, either. They all just seemed used to it, like it was something that had been going on for a long time. Well, Mama cried sometimes, but that was all right; even grown lasses were allowed to cry. Da still thought he’d be Thain some day, so maybe this was how things were supposed to be. Maybe this was something that happened to all hobbit lads when they were eight or so, and that was why none of his friends from the Smials came around anymore. Maybe their mamas and cousins had to carry them, too.

Except -- no, wait; that couldn’t be right, because when he’d been out at the gardens with Merry one day, he’d seen Sancho Proudfoot run out from a game to pick up a ball, and Sancho was just his age. The lads he’d been playing with were probably the same ones Pippin used to play with, too.

So that meant it was just him. Maybe the healers broke him somehow, when he’d been sick this spring. Maybe that was why Aunt Essie seemed so angry this summer whenever she saw one of them. Well, if they broke him, then they’d better fix him! Mama and Da would be angry, too, and Da was a big hobbit who could yell very loud if you were bad!

Just now, Da was sitting in the music room with Pippin propped on one knee. He applauded politely as Pervinca finished playing the tune Mama was teaching her on the pianoforte -- not bad, but she could be a little louder, Pippin thought -- and then beckoned his daughter over.

Pervinca came, halting before her father’s chair. “Yes, Da?” she asked. “Did you like my song?” Mama was busy at the bench behind her, packing away the music.

“It was very nice, Pervinca,” Paladin answered, then cleared his throat and shifted a little. “But, you know, your Cousin Merry was right about something this morning.”

“But, Da!” Pervinca wailed, lips trembling and tears filling her eyes, “It’s the truth! I didn’t know Pippin was there when we were throwing rocks!”

Paladin held up a hand to stop her, as he had earlier. “Yes, lass, I know, and I believe you. But that’s not what I meant.”

Pervinca looked confused and Paladin glanced down at his son, who had squeezed his eyes shut at the mention of rocks but was now cautiously opening them again.

Paladin drew in a deep breath. “You need to apologize to your brother, Pervinca,” he said in a firm voice. “To him. That’s what Merry was right about.”

Pervinca looked down at the floor and chewed her lip for a moment before bringing her gaze back up to meet her brother’s. “I’m sorry, Pippin, it was an accident. I didn’t know you were there I was just practicing throwing rocks like Regi said and I didn’t mean to hurt you and I’m sorry and you have to believe me!” she gushed out without pause.

There was a moment of silence as she finished and Paladin sat awkwardly before her. After Pippin had blinked, twice, Paladin decided that was sufficient.

“Yes, well. I’m sure your brother forgives you now,” he said to Pervinca, and turned his head toward Eglantine to discuss the tray of food she was carrying across the room.

Pervinca continued staring at her brother and, while her parents were engaged in conversation, stuck out her tongue at him.

Finally! Pippin thought, something he could respond to! He opened his mouth to stick out his tongue back.

“Oh,” Eglantine laughed as she stuck the biscuit she’d been about to hand her husband into Pippin’s mouth. “You are a hungry lad!”

Pippin blinked in surprise and then began chewing his biscuit as his sister hid her snort of laughter behind her hand.

“There, there, dear,” Eglantine patted her shoulder. “We all know you’re sorry now, and we don’t need to speak more of it.” She began leading Pervinca toward the food as Pervinca looked over her shoulder at her brother.

He rolled his eyes back at her and smiled around his mouthful of biscuit.

Chapter Ten: Monsters Under the Bed

Pippin blinked sleepily as the bed shook with Merry’s getting-up movements. His cousin had taken to sleeping with him this summer, in case they needed to take him somewhere during the night, Pippin supposed. Merry hadn’t been happy the first time Pip bit him on the arm in order to waken his cousin to carry him to the privy, though. It hadn’t been a very *hard* bite, but still, he’d learned to nibble a bit more gently now.

When he was awake, Pippin’s signal for this was to purse his lips and blink rapidly and nonstop until someone took action. He thought this was a vast improvement over the nappies he found they’d put on him those first days he could remember. Nappies! Uggh! Those were for babies, not big hobbit lads.

Merry was always very good about taking Pippin to the privy first thing in the morning, but then he often deposited his young cousin back in the bed while he spent his own time in there. Sometimes Pippin heard odd noises coming from Merry, like gurgling, or snatches of singing. It was very curious, and Pippin wanted to ask if this was something everyone did at Brandy Hall. He didn’t remember it from his visits, but those were usually at festival times, and perhaps they were distracted by other things. But, of course, he couldn’t ask.

He sighed in frustration as he waited for Merry to come back and dress him for breakfast. Pippin crossed his eyes just to see what the embroidered edging on his pillow would look like that way, and then uncrossed them again as he realized that it was just the same as yesterday.

He heard someone come in through the hallway door behind him, but of course he couldn’t turn to look. Probably Mama; maybe she wasn’t still in the quarters as he’d thought, but had gone down to the kitchens to deal with something.

It wasn’t Mama who appeared at the side of his bed on quiet hobbit feet, though. Pippin blinked in surprise to see his cousin Regi standing there and giving him a critical look.

“Well, hullo there, Pip,” Regi whispered as he leaned over the bed. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

This was odd, as Pippin generally didn’t see Regi all that much anyway. Even though Regi spent a lot of time with Pippin’s da, Pippin was usually somewhere else. He merely blinked again at his cousin.

Regi was leaning very close now, so that his face was right next to Pippin’s. “I’ll bet you’re bored, just lying there all day,” he said in a whisper that blew his hot breath across Pippin’s face. “How’d you like to have some fun and play a trick on all of them?”

It was possible to see a faint line on Pippin’s brow as he attempted to furl it in confusion. Regi was quick, though, to slide his arms under the lad in the bed and lift him out. He straightened, glanced quickly at the doorways, and then dropped to a crouch in order to slide Pippin under the bed as far as his arms could reach.

As Regi stood up again with empty arms, he quickly smoothed his clothing, then glanced at the doorways once more before striding out into the corridor. He was supposed to meet Paddin so they could leave for a full day’s worth of fieldwork.

When Merry returned to the bedroom to find his cousin gone, he guessed that his aunt must have taken Pippin to breakfast already. He didn’t see either one of them as he grabbed his own meal, but breakfast in Uncle Paddin’s quarters was always an informal meal at which you served yourself, when you arrived, from the food laid out. They’d probably already eaten and were off somewhere. It shouldn’t be surprising, really, that the rest of his family wanted to spend time with Pippin, too.

When Eglantine and Merry both caught sight of each other walking toward the table for second breakfast, and neither one was carrying the small hobbit that each expected to be propped against the other’s shoulder, however, things began to be uneasy.

By the time the family convened for elevenses, every one of them had been consulted on Pippin’s whereabouts, but they were no closer to finding him. Snacks were hurriedly snatched, and Eglantine sent servants scurrying to scour the Smials. She was beginning to regret having sent the children’s Nurse off on a summer holiday of her own, thinking that the good care of family was what was needed at this time.

Eg was too preoccupied with worry to place any blame on Merry. Judging from his stricken expression as he quizzed any hobbit coming through the corridors, he was doing enough of that himself.

At luncheon time, Eg did not stop the servants who carried pails of drink and tins of food to the hobbits mowing the year’s third cutting of hay in the fields, but she did not send a message to Paladin, either. In some situations, Paladin was wonderfully effective. This was not one of them. It would take at least an hour to convince him that Pippin had not suddenly fully recovered and walked away on his own. Pad was expecting that sort of thing any day now, as he did each time the lad fell ill. And, once he’d been convinced that someone had to have moved his son, no one would be able to stop Pad from forcing Rumby to call a full Shiremoot. Immediately. Putting to a trial every hobbit who’d so much as walked in Tuckborough in the preceding month, until his son was found.

Of course, Eg thought as she flung herself down on her back along the length of her son’s bed, the last place he’d been seen, this was starting to look like a situation where it would be necessary to put hobbits to a trial.

* * *Play a trick? That might be fun -- what? Why are you putting me under the bed, Regi? Oh, is this the trick? That’s a good one! No one will think to look for me, here, until you tell them, Regi!

Only, I hope you tell them soon, because I think I can smell breakfast, and I’m hungry!

Oh, there’s Merry’s feet. Guess he’s done singing now, and has come to get me for breakfast. Oh! But...but...he’s leaving again? Why didn’t you tell Merry, Regi? He’d be the funnest to play a trick on! I think...I think Mama might not like this trick too much.

Hunh? That’s funny, my pillow wasn’t so hard before. Oh, that’s right. I’m not in my bed; I’m under it. It’ll be a funny trick. Won’t it? I must’ve fallen asleep again.

Were Pimpernel and Pervinca just talking in the corridor about second breakfast? Second breakfast! I didn’t get first breakfast! I’m hungry! Maybe this isn’t such a funny trick. Mama! Mama! Merry? You can find me now.* * *

Yes, Eg thought as she lay with her arm across her face, there was a hobbit somewhere in the Smials who deserved to be put to a trial. She remembered the arrow one of the servants had found tucked into a corner of Pippin’s room as they were cleaning. When she’d brought it to the lad’s parents, Pad had dismissed it as unimportant. Merry probably put it there so he could teach the lad about archery later, he’d said. Eglantine had found it more troubling then, and, now that her son had gone missing, she wondered if it had been some sort of threat.

But from whom? That was the trouble with the Smials: so many hobbits! She suspected, from the way Pippin closed his eyes, as if trying to hide, whenever they were among a crowd, that he was finding the number of hobbits around him a bit overwhelming these days.

But now, to think of one of them actually threatening her baby! Who could you trust? Was it one of the farflung cousins visiting various branches of the family this summer? Was it one of the servants? It would have been easy for one of them to plant the arrow as they cleaned the lad’s room, which was a task done thoroughly every other day. Wipe the windowsill, clean in all the corners, sweep any dust from under the bed -- Eg wanted her son’s room spotless, to keep away the disease that dirt brought with it.

Evidently, no cleaning had been scheduled for today, as the bedclothes were still in disarray. Unless -- Eg sat bolt upright, clutching her hand to her heart -- what if it was the servant scheduled to clean who’d stolen her son? And done what him, she couldn’t imagine. Eg felt a sudden pang that her efforts to protect the inhabitants of the Smials from Pad’s exuberances had backfired. He wouldn’t have been overreacting in this case; it was she who had not reacted quickly enough!

Eglantine lurched herself off the bed, grabbing Pippin’s pillow on the way. It still smelt faintly of him, and Eg held it briefly to her face as she strode toward the door. As she reached the corridor, Eg readjusted her grip on the pillow so that she was cradling it in her arms, as if she were carrying her son himself. Then the Mistress of the Smials set off to rouse Thain Ferumbras to call Paddin and Regi back from the fields. There would be a Shiremoot. The borders of Tookland would be sealed. Whatever was necessary.


As Eglantine shifted on the bed and then launched herself off it, the ropes supporting the mattress from underneath lost some of their tension and eased back into their accustomed place. The weight of the full-grown hobbitess had previously depressed the bedding enough so that the ropes and the bottom of the mattress were resting snugly on top of the small body under the bed, pinning him to the floor. As the mattress settled back into its normal weight distribution, the decreasing bulge shunted Pippin to the side. He was closer now to the edge of the bed than to the middle.

* * *Why isn’t anybody finding me? *I’m hungry!* Mama! Mama!

I hear lots of voices, and lots of hobbit feet are going by. Is something bad happening? Is it scary like all those hobbits in the corridor that day after they threw rocks at me?

I don’t wanna play a trick anymore! I wanna come out.* * *

Pippin exerted all his effort into getting his body to move. On the fifth attempt, he thought he could feel the fingers of his right hand twitch, but he was sweaty and exhausted and fell briefly back asleep.

* * *Hnngh? Oh. Still here. No, no, no! Regi’s a bad, bad hobbit! I don’t wanna play with you no more! How long? Is it nighttime yet? There’s monsters under the bed at night! Is that -- is that dark patch a monster? Mama! Merry! Da! Aunt Essie!

Oh...silly. That’s a shadow where the comforter’s hanging down. But -- but maybe that’s where the monsters hide at night! (Sob.) Why won’t anybody find me?

...Mama! Mama’s coming into my room. MAMA! MAMA! MA-oof. mama? why are you squishing me? don’t you know i’m here? why won’t you say anything? don’t you want to find me?

No! No, Mama, don’t leave! I’ll be good--I--I...Come back!* * *

Again, Pippin drew upon all his reserves of strength. This time, he focused on trying to talk. He was rewarded with his voice making the faintest vibration of an “mmm” sound -- just as he heard Eglantine’s footsteps pick up speed in the corridor.


Merry sank wearily down to sit on the edge of Pippin’s bed. How could he have lost his little cousin? He’d promised to be so careful, and he’d tried, really he’d tried! But somewhere in the Smials there was a bad, bad hobbit! How could they not bring a little lad like that back to his mother, when everyone had to know by now that she wanted him?

The last he’d seen Aunt Eg, she was clutching Pippin’s pillow to her as if it was all she had left. Perhaps she’d be driven mad, if Pippin stayed missing, and that would all be Merry’s fault, too!

Merry sighed and readjusted his weight, the mattress and its rope supports moving with him.

Maybe he should go back to Buckland. He’d be less of a bother there. Obviously, it wasn’t as if Pippin needed him.

* * *Merry! Merry’s foot! Merry’s feet! Stay put, Merry! Don’t leave! I’ll try -- I’ll try again.* * *

Merry leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, staring down as he idly scuffed his toes along the floorboards. It was nearly teatime, he thought morosely. He hoped whoever had taken Pip had remembered to feed the little hobbit.

* * *Big as -- strong as -- the Bullroarer. Gonna be Thain; be big, strong hobbit. Da says. Merry says. No, don’t look at dark, at monsters. Can’t catch you if you don’t look. Look at Merry’s feet. Try -- try -- one, two, three!* * *

Merry stopped moving his foot suddenly, as he thought he’d heard a faint whirr of noise. It was coming from -- under the bed?

He leaned over, and attempted to scoot his feet apart. One of them seemed to be caught on something that was offering a slight resistance. When Merry had his head between his knees, he gave a start, then began taking deep breaths. He was staring into the face of a small hobbit wearing the same nightshirt he’d had on that morning. Pippin’s cheeks were streaked with tear tracks, and more were running down his face. His right hand had a loose grip around Merry’s ankle.

Merry twisted immediately and hauled the lad out from under the bed and into his arms. Pip was crying harder now, huffing out great breaths as tears gullied down his face. The loose, uncoordinated grasp of his right hand now clutched at Merry’s shirt. In between his sobs, he alternated the motions he made with his mouth.

At times, he would leave it hanging open expectantly in a pathetic plea for food. The other times, he closed his lips and uttered the first noise of speech they’d heard from him in months, and he uttered it over and over: “Mmm! Mmm!”

Chapter Eleven: Bedtime Tales

The evening rain was cool with the hint of the approaching autumn as Merry descended from the cart in Hobbiton, clutching a bundle of blankets to his chest. The old hired hobbit -- pulled off the Banks family farm for this task -- continued toward the stables with the cart and pony as Merry headed for Bag End’s front door.

Frodo pulled it open as Merry was still on the path and stood in the doorway, blocking the way in. He craned his neck to peer past his younger cousin at the cart disappearing around the bend.

“Merry!” he chided. “You can’t let Pippin help with the pony in the rain! Cousin Paddin said he’d been ill.”

“Frodo,” Merry responded from in front of the doorway, standing stockstill with his bundle.

“Merry!” Frodo looked the dripping Bucklander in the eyes now. “I’m surprised at you! Go get Pippin and bring him inside the smial.”

“Frodo,” Merry said again, in the same low tone, and tried to move toward the doorway.

“Meriadoc Brandybuck!” Frodo made as if to push past Merry onto the path himself, but was stopped as the fair-haired hobbit interrupted him once more with “Frodo! Shh!” and lifted a corner of the blankets. Within them, Pippin slept in his arms. “May we come in now?”

Frodo led them through the hole to the guest bedroom that had been set aside for Pippin’s use. “I suppose the journey would have been wearying anyway, but I think the motion of the cart put him to sleep,” Merry explained on the way. “I expect he’ll sleep the rest of the night after a bit of a sup.”

Frodo had to let the hired hobbit in with the baggage, and then confirm his directions to the inn, before he returned to the bedroom with a tray. Merry had a small fire crackling in the hearth and had hung his wet things up to dry and changed into a nightshirt. Pippin had actually been dry under the blankets, but he was now wearing a nightshirt as well and was tucked up into the bed.

Merry roused him briefly as Frodo set the tray on the room’s small table. “Pippin? Pippin?” Merry called softly, placing a hand on the smaller hobbit’s shoulder, “It’s suppertime. Don’t you want to eat something?”

Pippin’s green eyes blinked sleepily open, and he slowly opened his mouth. Merry took a bowl of the chowder thick with vegetables from the tray and began spooning it in. Frodo sat quietly at the table and watched, concerned, as Merry finished feeding Pippin the soup, some crusty bread, and a mug of milk before the child’s eyes drooped closed again.

“Come, then,” Frodo started to rise as Merry reached for his own bowl of soup and began to settle into a chair pulled close to the head of the bed, “Won’t you sup with me in the kitchen while he sleeps?”

“No,” Merry responded shortly, and began to shovel his spoon into his mouth with gusto, talking between bites. “And I’ll be sleeping in this room, with him, as well. I can’t leave him alone, Frodo.”

Merry’s eyes had strayed to the lad slumbering in the bed as he talked, and now Frodo looked as well. He saw, as expected, a hobbit lad who was small for his age -- about the same size as he’d been when Frodo had last seen him, near the end of the previous Yuletime, come to think of it. Pippin also seemed on the thin side, and a bit paler than he ought to be. And he seemed -- somehow -- to be a quieter child than Frodo remembered Pippin being.

“Perhaps you’d better tell me, Merry,” Frodo stated as he turned his eyes back to his other cousin. He took a piece of bread to munch on and leaned back into his chair. “What’s afoot with the Tooks?”

Merry paused and stared into his bowl. “First of all, Frodo, where is Cousin Bilbo? And what has he told you of Uncle Paddin’s letter? Have you read it?”

“Bilbo went to Frogmorton on an errand earlier. I suspect the rain caught him by surprise, and he decided to wait it out in an inn. I’m sure he’ll be along home tomorrow. What I don’t understand is why the two of you didn’t wait out the rain somewhere, especially with Pippin having been sick.”

Merry shook his head. “We couldn’t wait,” he said. “And the letter? Did you read it?”

Frodo smiled a soft, fond smile. “I believe Bilbo lost it in his study after he read it. You know how he is about those papers. No one else can touch them, but things are always getting lost in there. He just told me that Cousin Paddin said Pippin had been ill, and that they were sending him away with you to recover, and that he wanted us to take the both of you in for a while. Although I’m not sure why.” He said the last sentence slowly, and with an air of prompting.

“Right,” Merry said, and looked into his bowl once more. “You probably got the same sort of letter Mum was getting this spring,” he muttered, then, louder, after taking a deep breath, “Right,” he said again. “Well, you see, here’s how it is with Pip....”


Merry pressed his ears up close to Uncle Paddin and Aunt Eg’s bedroom door. It hadn’t been his intention to listen when he lay down across the sill, a poker from the fireplace clutched firmly in his fists, but they were whispering so loudly! He wondered if Pip, ensconced firmly between his parents in their bed for the night, was awake.

“...so then, I went to rouse Rumby to fetch you, but Mistress Lalia had parked her chair in front of his door, snoring away like the old, fat cow that she is, and I couldn’t budge her!”

“Eg! Hush, now. Little pitchers have big ears.”

“Oh, Pad! It’s not as if he’s going to say anything!”

“But you said he spoke today?”

“Well, yes, but it wasn’t--oh, oh sweetheart, did we wake you up?”

“Mmm?”

“Yes, Pippin. Yes, darling. Mama’s here. I’ve got you; it’s all right. Go back to sleep now.”

“Whisper, Pad, whisper. It’s just -- I was so frightened, and then Lalia -- ohh! grr!”

“I know, dear, I know. You do all the work, and she tries to take all the credit. When she’s lucid. But don’t worry, dear, our time is coming. Isn’t it, my lad?”

“Pad! Don’t wake him up for that! He’s had a hard day.”

“But he’s improving!”

“He can make that call for Mama, or Merry -- we’re not sure which; all he says is ‘mmm’ -- and we think he moved a little on his own, but it’s cost him, Pad! Could you not see how weary and frightened he is?”

“I see my lad growing stronger. You’re burdened with care, Eg; you need a rest. Now -- now, don’t weep, dearest, please!”

“Oh, Essie’s right! This is a horrid smial! Do you not see, Pad? We cannae trust the Tooks!”

“Cannae trust the Tooks? Nae any Tooks?”

“Only you, Pad, only you! Do you not see? Someone is threatening our lad -- stealing him from his mother, frightening him so, keeping him from his meals--”

“Keeping him from his meals?”

“Well, yes, Pad, did you not listen? Pippin went missing before first breakfast, and Merry did not discover him until teatime!”

“Well, yes, but I thought...how could a hobbit be so cruel? To keep a growing lad from his food! He needs that for his strength!”

“Yes, Pad, somewhere in the Smials there is a cruel hobbit. But my little darling cannot tell us who it is!”

A few moments of silence, and Merry thought the conversation might be over. Then he heard:

“Eg, I think we need to send Pippin away for a while.”

(Gasp.) “Send my baby away!”

“Not right this second, my dear, no need to clutch him so tight. Just for a while, to keep him safe until he recovers.”

“But...but, Pad, what if...”

“Nonsense, my dear; don’t look so. He’s already well on the way.”

“But who can we trust?”

“Hmm. Perhaps Essie and Merry could take him back with them when they depart.”

“Oh, but Pad, Brandy Hall is near as crowded as the Great Smials! So many hobbits are overwhelming for our little one just now, even were we to know we could trust them all!”

“Hmm. Yes. Yes, you’re right. We must send him somewhere safe, and quiet, where we know we can trust all the hobbits.”

Chapter Twelve: Sam I Am

Pippin blinked awake in an unfamiliar room. Merry lay slumbering on the pillow beside him. It was so quiet here -- quiet enough for Merry to hear him moving his head about, evidently, as Pippin soon found his cousin’s blue-gray eyes looking at him.

“Morning, Pip,” Merry said softly. “Do you know where you are?”

Pippin thought a moment, then was able to shake his head slightly “no.”

Merry chuckled softly. “Well, you were rather tired last night. Guess it’s a good thing you can eat in your sleep.” Merry whispered gently to his cousin, “We’re in Bag End, Pip, visiting Cousin Frodo and Cousin Bilbo. You remember Cousin Frodo, don’t you?”

Pippin thought a little, then shook his head “no” again, his eyes starting to grow wide in apprehension.

“Shush, shush, of course you do.” Merry moved to gather Pippin in his arms and began to lift them both out of the bed. “He came to one of the parties at Great Smials last Afteryule -- he was there for your birthday, Pip! He said you were one of the little lads that loved to crowd around and listen to his stories -- he told me so himself.”

Merry was slowly easing himself, carrying Pippin, out of the bedroom and into the corridor as he talked.

“And now you’re here visiting Frodo at his smial! It’s just us and Frodo and Bilbo here,” Merry said as he walked. Pippin had been turning his head to glance nervously at the doors they passed, but at these words, he relaxed slightly and snuggled his face into the crook of Merry’s shoulder.

Merry gave him a couple of soothing pats on the back as he walked and talked. “Remember, Uncle Paddin said you were a big lad now, old enough to go visiting by yourself -- well, with me, of course,” he added. “And Pervinca gave you this trip for her birthday present?”

Pippin pulled his head back from Merry’s shoulder and looked up at him inquiringly. “Well, yes, you’re going to miss Pervinca’s party next week, Pip, but after all, sweetheart, you did already miss Pearl’s and Pimpernel’s birthdays earlier this summer. It would hardly be fair if she had you at hers when they didn’t. I’m sure your mama will make certain Pervinca has a grand time nonetheless. And besides,” Merry bent his head closer to whisper in Pippin’s face, “this way there’s no danger of her asking you to serve at a dollies’ tea party this year!”

Pippin giggled and grimaced simultaneously as he remembered that indignity. Merry had paused in the doorway to the kitchen and now turned Pippin’s face gently toward Frodo, who had his back turned toward them as he stood at the stove. “Shall we see if Frodo’s griddle cakes are as good as his stories, then?” he asked quietly.

Frodo turned to face them, a spatula in one hand. Pippin peered at him with one green eye, pressing the other side of his face into Merry’s shoulder.

“Good morning, then, Cousin Pippin,” the dark-haired hobbit said as he took a step toward Merry and Pippin. “Did you sleep well?”

Pippin hesitated, then gave a slight nod as Merry gently jostled him.

Frodo smiled kindly at him and then said, “Indeed you did! I must welcome you to our smial now since your arrival was rather -- sleepy. Is there anything you need during your stay?”

Pippin had slowly lifted his head as Frodo was speaking, and now looked to Merry for guidance. That cousin nodded back at him encouragingly and smoothed his curls. “It’s all right, Pip. Frodo’s my next-best friend, after you. You can trust him.”

Shyly, Pippin reached out an arm and, with difficulty, as he was still having problems with coordination, pointed to the sizzling griddle cakes.


Pippin was sitting at the table in Merry’s lap, being fed pieces of griddle cake, when the door to Bag End banged open and shut.

“Bilbo?” Frodo called out.

“No, sir, Master Frodo, it’s just me,” a voice cried out in return.

Pippin had looked up from his plate to gaze questioningly at Frodo, who smiled at him. “It’s all right, dearheart, that’s Sam. He works for us. I asked him to help with making up your rooms this morning.”

Pippin nodded, satisfied, and turned his attention back to his food. If it was just a servanthobbit, that meant no one had been lying to him about Bilbo and Frodo being the only hobbits who lived in this smial.

A few moments later, he looked up again as a strange thumping noise could be heard coming down the hallway, interrupting Frodo and Merry’s conversation. Accompanying this noise were muttered imprecations.

“...draggin’ things out of storage again, and with guests and all! It just don’t look right.”

A stocky hobbit slightly older than Merry appeared in the kitchen doorway, clutching onto one end of what appeared to be an old, rolled-up rug, the rest of it dragging on the floor behind him.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Master Frodo,” he said with a head bob toward the hobbits in the kitchen, “but do you know where Master Bilbo’s been about getting this? It were all jammed up under the bed in your cousin’s room, so’s you couldn’t get naught but the tip of a broom under there.”

Pippin had looked up again at this entrance and was now trembling slightly. He tried to twist in Merry’s lap, and lifted up his arms.

Merry picked the little hobbit up and turned him around, hugging him close. “Put it back, Sam,” he said in a commanding tone over Pippin’s head.

“But Master Merry, sir--” the other hobbit began to protest.

“Put it back,” Merry said again, even more forcefully as he sat rubbing Pippin’s back and placing occasional kisses on top of his curls.

“But, Master Frodo--” Sam turned to his employer.

“Sam,” Frodo said sternly, then softened his tone as he added, “You’d better do what Merry says and put it back where you found it.”

Sam stood only a moment in the doorway, mouth agape with astonishment, before turning to drag the rug back the way he’d come.

“Hush, hush,” Merry continued to coo to Pippin, who was giving an occasional sob. He leaned back in his chair and lifted Pippin’s face to look at him. “Was it one of the sevants at the Smials who put you under the bed?”

The lad violently shook his tear-streaked face side to side “no.” His mouth worked for several moments, but no sound came out.

“It’s all right,” Merry sighed as he hugged Pippin close again. “No one’s going to hurt you here.”

After breakfast and getting dressed, Merry carried Pippin about on a tour of the smial. He had visited Frodo and Bilbo many times on his own before. Bilbo had arrived shortly after breakfast, offered perfunctory greetings to everyone, and then shut himself up in his study. Frodo had followed him in there a few moments later to converse in low tones, no doubt about their guests and Pippin’s strange condition.

This door was the last on the tour, as Merry wasn’t allowed to go into the study alone, himself. Bilbo and Frodo must have heard him conversing with Pippin in the hallway, though, because Bilbo popped the door open and stuck his head out, asking Merry to come inside for a chat with him and Frodo.

“Just leave the lad out here,” he said, then, “Oh, er, um.” He ducked back inside the study, there were sounds of scuffling, and he reemerged a moment later carrying two wooden blocks with letters of the alphabet painted on their sides. He placed these on the floor to the side of the study door, then patted Pippin quickly on the head, saying, “Be a good lad and play while the big hobbits talk.” He quickly reentered the study.

Merry bent reluctantly to lower Pippin to the floor. He gave him a kiss on his forehead as he straightened, whispering a promise, “I won’t be long,” before he, too, went into the study.

Pippin listlessly batted the blocks about for a few moments but, although he could now move his arms to some extent, he still couldn’t do anything delicate with his fingers, or anything that required much strength.

The back door opened, and that Sam hobbit came in again. He was pushing a bushel basket through the hall ahead of him this time, using his legs to push it along the floor. The basket was filled to the brim and over with plump, round melons, their brownish gray rinds crinkled.

As Sam pushed the basket along the hallway closer to Pippin, some of the melons on top of the pile began to teeter. Sam gave another shove forward, and the round balls lost their precarious balance and slid down, across and over each other, tumbling more melons out of the stack along the way.

The heavy spheres rained down upon the floor and rolled toward where Pippin sat, unable to move himself out of the way.

Alerted by the heavy thuds, Merry burst out of the study door to swoop up Pippin, who sat surrounded by melons that had rolled to a stop mere inches from him.

Pippin cuddled his face into Merry’s neck and reached an arm out toward the hallway. He awkwardly shook a finger up and down.

“Who’s a bad, bad hobbit, Pip?” Merry asked. Then he caught sight of the gardener coming around the basket to gather his bruised melons. “Sam?” Merry’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Sam didn’t hear him or notice the look, because one of the melons had slipped out of his grasp again, landing heavily on top of his foot.

Merry gave him another funny look before turning to carry Pippin into the study. As he went through the door, he announced loudly, for the benefit of the room’s occupants, “Well, Pip, here’s the last stop on our tour: Cousin Bilbo’s study!”

When Sam had finished restacking the melons in the basket, he noticed the blocks lying on the floor. He shook his head. His Gaffer had told him young gentlehobbits weren’t expected to pick up after themselves.

Cousin Bilbo stayed in the hole’s study the rest of the day, popping out only at intervals for food. Pippin supposed that Bilbo was working, like his da did, but he didn’t see how Bilbo could possibly have as much to do since there were so many fewer hobbits here than at the Smials.

This actually made the hole quite pleasant, he thought, except that he missed his mama a bit. But still, she never let him help when they were cooking in the Smials’ kitchens, and dinnertime preparations were proving to be quite entertaining.

Frodo and Merry had sat him on the floor of the kitchen, at a spot where you could see both that room and into the hallway. It was his job, they told him, to let them know when Bilbo was coming, because they wanted to surprise the old hobbit with a special Buckland cake they were preparing.

“When you see him coming, you just smack your hand down on the floor as hard as you can, and that will tell Merry and me to hide the cake,” Frodo had said as he crouched down to Pippin’s eye level.

Pippin looked uncertain, but spread his fingers apart -- much easier than curling them to grasp something -- and smacked the flat of his right hand down on the floor.

He grinned up at Merry, pleased with the sound he’d made.

“That’s it, Pip,” the Brandybuck nodded encouragingly. “Now, you just do the same thing when you see Bilbo coming.”

Pippin had been waiting for a while now, watching as Frodo and Merry labored over their cake at the far table. Sam had joined them in the kitchen, using a knife to slice heads of cabbage into thin shreds that he pushed off the countertop and into a large stoneware crock. The smial was filled with enticing smells.

“Merry, can you get the cake platter out? I think we’re almost ready,” Frodo asked.

“Certainly,” Merry answered, and excused himself to Sam as he reached into the cupboards above the gardener’s head to retrieve the platter before he brought it across the room to Frodo.

He bumped slightly against the crock as he turned, but did not notice it begin to topple.

Pippin saw the lip of the crock, which reached up to Sam’s chest, begin to teeter. He opened his mouth to cry out, but produced only silence.

As the crock tipped over and began to roll toward him, Pippin managed to wrench his body around so he was lying on the floor on his tummy. He flailed his arms, trying ineffectually to push himself out of the way.

Sam had turned as he heard the crock fall, to see it begin rolling straight toward Master Frodo’s little cousin. It took him a couple of moments to realize that the lad was trying to move himself out of the way, but weren’t able to, somehow. The little face was looking up at him -- Master Frodo and Master Merry still being on the other side of the kitchen, with their backs turned. Master -- Pippin, that were the lad’s name -- looked like he was tryin’ to say somethin’, too, but weren’t havin’ any better luck with that. His green eyes were beseeching Sam’s face, but he didn’t look hopeful.

Sam dropped the knife onto the counter with a clang and jumped over to where the crock had rolled in just these few seconds. He reached over it and snatched the lad up and out of the way just before the stoneware crashed into the wall where he’d been lying. It left a dent, and bedraggled strips of red cabbage spilled out onto the floor.

Sam found himself with his arms full of trembling hobbit child, who looked at the mess on the floor, then at him, then back at the mess again before leaning his head forward to plant an awkward kiss on Sam’s neck.

Bewildered still and shaken, Sam began rubbing the small back and rocking slightly, as he did with his smaller nieces and nephews. He’d been told he was good with them. He was crooning nonsense to the lad as Master Merry and Master Frodo made their way over to the commotion.

“’Tweren’t no harm done, lad, you’re safe now. It’s Sam has got you. Aye, lad, Sam I am...”

Pippin’s green eyes looked up at him with admiration.

Chapter Thirteen: Rolling Along

Pippin soon grew comfortable at Bag End. Bilbo spent most of the day in the study, but joined the others in the parlor in the evenings, ink-stained fingers waving his pipestem as he told stories that were even better than Frodo’s. Frodo himself was quite kind, and never seemed to think Pippin a bother. And, of course, Merry was Merry.

As for Sam, Pippin had quite gotten over his first nervous fear of the gardener, and now his small eyes followed him about in frank admiration. He was quite pleased when Frodo suggested that Sam could watch him while working in the garden. It was time for lessons to start again, and Bilbo was going to be tutoring Merry as well as Frodo for a while.

Pippin had actually started his own lessons the previous year, but he saw no need to attempt reminding anyone of this fact. He found lessons at the Smials dreadfully boring. Every time he started them up again after being stuck in his bed for a while, they always went back to things he already knew.

Anyway, he was sure the things he was learning in the garden with Sam would be lots more useful.

Sam would spread an old blanket out on the ground and let Pippin lie on it while he worked. Then, when he was done harvesting a row, Sam would pick Pippin and the blanket up and carry them to the next row before beginning his work again.

Pippin could prop himself up on his elbows, now, while he lay on his tummy and watched what Sam was doing.

He watched intently as the gardener pulled carrots out of the ground. Merry had taken Pip on several garden raids this summer, but the things he pilfered for them always seemed to be readily visible above ground: berries, tomatoes, sweet corn.... Perhaps he didn’t know what carrot tops looked like. By next season, Pippin meant to be ready to teach his older cousin a thing or two.

Meanwhile, he was succeeding in getting Sam to feed him an occasional carrot from the harvest. He had quite a good face for it, one Merry had helped him discover.

They had been contorting their expressions to make funny faces into a mirror. When Pip sucked in his cheeks so that their insides fell into the hollows between his teeth, Merry stopped laughing. Pippin could see that he looked sad in the mirror, but by the time he twisted enough in Merry’s lap to look directly into his face, the older cousin was ready to laugh and play with him some more.

Pippin had tried the sucking-in-his-cheeks expression on Frodo later that day. Frodo got a sad look, too, and gave him a nice biscuit with icing on it, even though luncheon was over and it wasn’t teatime yet. Pippin decided that when bigger hobbits looked at him sad, he had a good chance of getting extra food.

The first week they were out in the garden, Sam felt he ought to make conversation. He and the Gaffer had always talked some, before the Gaffer decided that Sam was gettin’ on enough in years that he could handle Bag End by himself a while and took himself off to Tighfield for a long visit. Wanted to make sure his grandchillun were gettin’ fed all right, he said, as just because a hobbit was a fine roper didn’t mean he knew no nevermind about gardenin’.

“So, then,” Sam began as he fed the lad a carrot. “You’re Master Frodo’s cousin, too, just like Master Merry.”

Pippin nodded.

“So, what’s it like out in Buckland? I mean,” he added as he remembered the lad couldn’t talk, “Is Brandy Hall as big as they say it is, and all that?”

Pippin nodded again, a little uncertainly. He didn’t know exactly why Sam was asking him questions about Buckland, but he’d been there lots of times. Nobody at Bag End had talked about Great Smials much since he’d been in Hobbiton.

“Well, I suppose it might not seem so big to someone as lives there,” Sam conceded. “Depends on what you’re used to, I guess.”

Pippin shrugged.

Sam worked for a few more moments, then spoke again. “So, do you go swimmin’ and all? And use them -- them boats?” He suppressed a shudder.

Pippin shook his head sadly “no.” Merry hadn’t taught him yet, even though he’d promised to, some day.

Sam nodded sagely. Like enough, even them Brandybucks had enough sense to keep their little ones away from the water. He pulled a few more carrots.

“So, I suppose you’re too young to remember when Master Frodo lived at Brandy Hall, then?” Sam asked a few moments later.

Pippin crinkled his face in confusion. Frodo lived at Brandy Hall?

“Aye, I thought so,” Sam said quietly.

“Just always gets me curious when any Brandybucks is around, if you take my meanin’,” he said with a polite nod toward Pippin.

Pippin, who suddenly did take Sam’s meaning, blew out a great puff of air and crossed his arms in front of him, jutting out his lower lip and drawing his brows together.

“Well, now, what’s this?” Sam asked, surprised, as he turned to lay another carrot on the ground. “Are you tellin’ me you’re not a Brandybuck?”

Indeed not! thought Pippin, and shook his head vigorously, his Tookish little nose in the air.

“Well, what are you then?” Sam asked as he rocked back onto his heels. He’d just assumed, since the lad seemed to belong with Master Merry, that he was another of Master Frodo’s Brandybuck cousins. It wasn’t as if nobody ever called him anything but Master Pippin. But now, the way the lad was starin’ at him, he was like to haughty enough to be...

“A Took!” Sam exclaimed.

Pippin nodded once, shortly, pleased to finally be given his due recognition, and relaxed his scowl. He kept his nose pointed up for a few more moments, though, just so Sam got the idea that Tooks were not to be trifled with.

Sam, for his part, was stunned. He’d known Master Frodo and Mr. Bilbo had Took blood, of course, as it were part of why Mr. Bilbo went adventurin’ all those years ago. But he didn’t expect them to stick him, Sam Gamgee, in the garden all casual-like with a lad from the Shire’s first family and not give him any warning, or any special instructions. He decided not to worry about those extra carrots he’d slipped the lad.

When he carried Pippin in for the day, Sam spoke reproachfully.

“Honestly, Master Frodo, and here you’ve been lettin’ me think this cousin is another Brandybuck.” He shook his head. “He carried on so afore I guessed he was a Took that you’d a’ thought he was The Took, hisself.”

Pippin puffed up his chest, and Merry began to speak uncertainly, “Well, Sam...”

Frodo cut him off with a warning look as he lifted Pippin out of Sam’s arms. He didn’t need his gardener getting any more flustered. “Would you indeed?”

Once they had got that confusion straightened out, Pippin thought, things in the garden went along even better than before. He hardly even had to make his face anymore to get extra carrots. And Sam was very strong when he carried him, almost like Da, and sometimes he said poems to himself. Pippin didn’t know what they meant, exactly, and he had to strain to hear them because Sam tended to whisper, but he liked listening. He wondered if Sam could come work for him when he was Thain.


It was after they’d been in the garden a couple of weeks. Sam was nearing the end of a row, tugging at some stubborn turnip tops. Pippin was farther back in the row, lying on his blanket and enjoying the warm sunshine. He lay his elbows on the ground and tilted his head back, closing his eyes to better feel the sun on his face. Suddenly, one elbow slipped out from beneath him and he fell, the slight incline of the garden propelling him downhill.

When he came to a stop, he blinked in surprise. If he looked back up the hill, he could see his blanket lying there, and Sam still working on the turnips.

* * *Up there...down here...up there...down here...I moved! I moved, all by myself!* * *

Pippin tried to shriek with joy, but succeeded only in producing a small squeak.

* * *Can I...can I do it again?* * *

He dug his elbows into the ground and then pushed off with all his strength. He rolled a couple of more feet down the hill.

* * *Rolling! Rolling! I can move! Such a long time....* * *

Sam finally got the turnips free and moved to carry his little helper to the next row. He froze when he saw the blanket was empty, and then ran as fast as he could when he caught sight of the small body lying farther down the hill.

He was panting as he came to a stop over the lad, who was lying on his back.

“Master Pippin! Master Pippin, are you all right?” Sam asked shakily.

The lad gave him the biggest smile he’d seen him produce, and nodded with great energy. He reached up his arms to signal Sam to pick him up, and pointed up the hill to the blanket.

Relieved, Sam gladly complied.

When he set the small hobbit down on the blanket again, Pippin tugged on Sam’s trouser leg before he could turn back to the garden. He looked up into the gardener’s face a moment, still smiling, then pushed himself off to roll down the hill again.

When Sam carried Pippin inside at the end of that day, he clasped the lad on either side of his chest and held him out at arm’s length.

“Guess I’ll be needin’ to wear my grubbiest overhauls if I’m to be carryin’ you around now, hey, Master Pippin?” he chortled.

Pippin nodded several times, bouncing his curls. He was covered in dirt, but was still smiling broadly and making an occasional giggle.

* * *Rolling, rolling, rolling! And dirt! And they’ll give me a bath! Happy, happy, happy!* * *

He reached out his arms and leaned forward. Sam sighed fondly, giving up on staying clean, and allowed himself to be hugged.

Chapter Fourteen: Here Be Dragons

Pippin sat in a corner of the study, running his fingers over a tin. Frodo’s and Merry’s quills scratched at their parchments, and even Bilbo seemed to be writing something with his own quill, when he wasn’t poking about the many stacks of paper.

It was too cool for Pippin to spend every day in the garden now, the big hobbits said. Sometimes he still went out and rolled a round green squash or two over to Sam, followed by rolling himself down the hill, but some days he had to stay inside. The bulky jackets they put on him made it harder to roll through the garden, anyway.

He was getting quite good at rolling himself around inside the smial, though, and he didn’t even need a hill to do it. He could hold things a lot better now, too.

One of the things he could hold was his tin. It had pictures of colorful sweets on it, even though there weren’t any inside anymore. When Mama first sent it, it had been filled with sweets, and biscuits, and buried near the bottom there was even a little bag of the special candies Da kept in his desk. Bilbo had taken most of those, though, when Pippin shared his box with everyone.

Now, he kept different things in the tin: for instance, the splendid presents Bilbo and Frodo had given him for their birthday.

Pippin had been rather surprised when Cousin Bilbo had announced that his birthday would make him exactly 100 years older than his young cousin. Bilbo didn’t seem that old, and Pippin watched him warily for a couple of days, taking occasional sniffs, to see if he suddenly started to smell funny or act peculiar like Thain Rumby or Mistress Lalia did. Bilbo never smelt of anything but pipeweed or ink, though, and as for acting peculiar..well, it was hard to tell what peculiar was, here in Hobbiton, as things were so different from the Great Smials.

And Bilbo’s birthday present was ever so much better than some of those Pippin received at home. Some of the hobbits there seemed intent on giving him clothes, or utterly useless mathoms that he didn’t want but had to thank them for anyway, like the head his cousin Everard had broken off his sister’s doll and wanted to get out of his own possession.

Bilbo, on the other foot, had given him a wonderful toy he said was made by real dwarves. It was a small, carved version of the carts the dwarves used in their mines, Bilbo said. There were six little carts in the set, and you could string them together by hooks on their fronts and backs, or take them apart if you wanted to play with them separately. One of the carts even had a lever mechanism that you could press so the back end would tip over and spill its load, and the front cart had a lantern-shaped protrusion that was painted yellow and could be made to bob up and down.

The entire string of carts wouldn’t fit in his box, but Pippin liked to keep at least one in there whenever he wasn’t playing with his toy, because it was where he kept special things.

Another thing he kept in there was the letters from his mama. They were written on the parchment that she and Pearl made sometimes, with bits of dried flowers crushed up into the paper as it dried to form pretty designs.

Pippin wasn’t too sure what all his mama’s letters said, himself, but he liked to hold them and look at them. And lots of times, if he held one out and looked up at his older cousin, Frodo would settle Pippin into his lap and read the letter to him.

“Dear Pippin,” the letters would begin.

“I hope you are having fun with your cousins. Pervinca had a very nice party. She hopes you are enjoying her present. I miss you very much.
“Love, Mama”

“Dear Pippin,
“Your father and Regi have gone to Whitwell to help with the harvest. They will stay there for a while, so I am missing both my lads. Your sisters have started their lessons again. I miss you very much.
“Love, Mama”

“Dear Pippin,
“Your father came back from Whitwell yesterday. He is going to tally the harvests now (that means to do sums, darling), and he says that Regi will be a great help. The kitchens made apple spice cake today. I know you like it, so I am sending a piece with this post. I hope it is not too dry when it gets there. I miss you very much.
“Love, Mama”

Pippin liked holding his mama’s letters, but he didn’t like how some of them talked about Regi. He had many conversations about this with Frodo’s birthday presents, two hand puppets that he also kept in his special box.

One puppet was a black cat, with yarn whiskers that stuck out to either side of its embroidered nose, and two pointy ears on top of its head. The other puppet had been made from an old weskit of Frodo’s -- Sam’s mama had done the sewing, Pippin thought -- and was covered all over in blue and green swirls. Two blue strips of fabric had been wrapped up into tight twists and sewed on top of its head to make horns, and when he put his hand inside the puppet and made the mouth flap open, you could see that a jagged red tongue of fire had been stitched into the dragon’s mouth.

* * *Do you want to play with me, Pippin-Cat?

No, Regi-Dragon, you’re mean! I don’t want to play with you.

No, I’m not.

Yes, you are.

Why do you think I’m mean?

You put me under the bed and didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t get any food until teatime.

Oh, you’re just a baby, Pippin-Cat. I don’t want to play with you anyway. I’ll bet you were just afraid. ‘Fraidy-Cat! ‘Fraidy-Cat!* * *

Pippin had to admit this was a good insult, so he had the dragon puppet say it to the cat a few more times.

* * *...’fraidy-cat!

I am not! I’m a...a Bullroarer Cat! I’m very big and strong and I have lots of friends who are dwarves and a wizard who can make you go away!

Really?* * *

The dragon puppet cowered up by Pippin’s shoulder while he closed his fist to make the mouth scrunch up. The cat moved about happily on his other hand.

* * *Yes! You can’t be mean to me anymore!* * *

Pippin started to march the dragon puppet away from him, but turned it around to face the cat again.

* * *If you don’t want to play with me, Pippin-Cat, I’ll go play with your da.

My da is a big hobbit -- Cat. He doesn’t have time to play.

He’ll play with me. I’m a dragon.* * *

Pippin spread his hand apart to open the dragon puppet’s mouth and display the flames.

* * *And if your da doesn’t want to play, I’ll be mean to him, too.

You can’t put my da under the bed! He’s a very big hobbit.

Well...well, maybe I’ll lock him in the barn. And then I’ll eat the key!* * *

The dragon puppet’s mouth opened threateningly once more, but the cat puppet opened its mouth and grabbed one of the dragon’s horns, drawing it off Pippin’s hand and casting it onto the floor. The dragon puppet lay limp in front of him while Pippin stroked the cat puppet’s head.

Frodo paused in his writing to watch Pippin play. The puppets danced about, their mouths opening and closing frequently, but the lad himself remained almost silent.


Pippin had been excited all day, raising his arms repeatedly for his cousins to lift him up to look out the window. Aunt Essie would be coming to Bag End tomorrow for an early celebration of Merry’s birthday, and due to arrive today was...

“Mmm! Mmm!” Pippin squealed as Merry carried him back into the front room. Eglantine and Pimpernel were greeting Bilbo, their things piled on the floor beside them. Their driver had already taken off to avail himself of the Green Dragon’s hospitality during their stay.

“Pippin!” Eg cried out, and mother and son reached out their arms toward each other. Eg spared a quick glance at her nephew -- rosy-cheeked as ever, like the apples that were in harvest -- while lifting Pippin out of his embrace and into her own. She clutched her own lad to her tightly and brushed his curls back to place a kiss on his forehead before running her eyes hungrily over him.

Pippin hugged his mother around the neck and kissed the underside of her chin.

“Well, I’m glad I brought some of your other clothes, darling,” Eg laughed. “It looks like you’ve outgrown these at last.”

Bilbo, Frodo and Merry exchanged guilty looks. None of them had noticed previously how far up his wrists and calves Pippin’s sleeves and trousers were ending.

With Bilbo leading and other hobbits following with the luggage, Eglantine carried Pippin to the room where she and Pimpernel were to stay.

The lad squirmed as she changed his clothes, but she would not -- could not -- bring herself to tell him to hold still.

He had indeed grown, regaining some of the weight he had lost earlier in the year, in addition to becoming taller. He wriggled about, twisting his torso as she dressed him, reaching up to cup his mother’s chin, and even, when Pimpernel’s back was turned as she unpacked clothes to hang in the wardrobe, making a grab for his sister’s braid. She turned around in time that he missed, and Eg’s lad gave a small giggle at his sister.

She heard more such noises from him over the course of the visit -- giggles, sighs, small squeaks -- as well as both pleading and demanding repetitions of “Mmm! Mmm!” as he wanted to show her something or called for her to pick him up.

He insisted on her carrying him out to the gardens. Eg was suitably impressed when he showed her how he could roll down the hill, but mystified when he followed this by repeatedly pointing to an unremarkable patch of ground. The Bagginses’ gardener lad finally shyly explained that Master Pippin had helped him plant tulip bulbs there.

Essie arrived the following day, and the visit continued pleasantly enough. Merry’s presents were perhaps not so fine as those he would give out at Brandy Hall, or as splendid as Bilbo’s, but they were a nice thought all the same. He gave Pippin a board with several types of bugs mounted on it and neatly labeled, with spaces for more to be added to the collection. “We can catch them when I come to Great Smials next summer, Pip,” Merry told him. “I’ll bet you’ll know lots of plants to look under, with all the time you’ve spent in the garden here.”

When the day came for the visiting hobbits to depart, however, the pleasantness came to an end. Pippin became tearful the minute Regi appeared from the Green Dragon with the cart, and clung desperately to Merry’s neck.

“Mmm! Mmm!” he sobbed as the relatives crowded around.

“Pippin, dear, Merry has to go home,” Aunt Essie said, rubbing his back and nodding to her son, attempting to get him to hand her nephew over to Eglantine. “He’s been away for a long time already.”

“You know I’ll miss you, Pip, but we’ll see each other before too long,” Merry assured as he tried to pry small fingers loose. “Are you coming to Brandy Hall for Yule this year?” he asked Aunt Eg.

Eglantine hesitated before answering, but Pimpernel spoke up in her place.

“I don’t think we are, Merry. Da says we should stay at the Smials this year as Cousin Rumby’s likely to be bad off again this winter.”

“Yes,” Regi nodded from behind her. “Cousin Paddin’s likely to have a lot to do, still. I’ll try to help him out, of course.”

“Yes,” Eg answered absently, as she finally succeeded in lifting her son out of Merry’s arms and into her own, “you are a great deal of help to him, Regi.”

Pippin, now in his mother’s embrace, began sobbing even harder.

“Don’t you want to go home, darling?” Eglantine asked, distressed. “I know your father’s missed you.”

Pippin started to nod, but then jumped when Regi placed a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s a good lad, Cousin Eg,” Regi said quietly. “Knows his da is busy, he does, and doesn’t have to worry about his lad while he’s with his cousins.”

“Well...,” Eg began hesitantly as Pippin craned around in her arms so that he was facing away from Regi and could hold his arms out to Frodo.

The younger Baggins took his little cousin in hand as Eg whispered a brief conference with Bilbo. After all, her little lad was doing so well here; he seemed to be getting so much better....

At long last, the visiting hobbits were loaded in their carts and set to head back to Buckland and the Great Smials. Regi clucked the ponies and jiggled the reins.

In front of Bag End, Pippin whimpered softly, “Mmm! Mmm!” from his spot in Frodo’s arms as he sadly returned the goodbye waves of Merry, Essie, Pimpernel and Eg.

Chapter Fifteen: A Quiet Time

* * *I miss Merry. Things were lots more fun when he was here. Now it’s just Frodo and Cousin Bilbo and me, and it’s lots more quiet. Mostly all we do is stay inside the smial all day, and Frodo and Cousin Bilbo read their books and make scribbles on parchment. Sometimes Frodo plays with me a little, but not as much as Merry. I think Frodo forgets to play, but Merry’s good at reminding him.

Sometimes I make Frodo look sad, and that makes me feel bad. One time he bent down to look me right in my face and he said,

“Don’t you want to go home, Pippin? I’m sure your mother and father miss you very much,”

and then he looked like he was going to cry, but I didn’t know why and it made me feel bad and I didn’t like it much. It made me think maybe I was a bad hobbit when I made Frodo look sad so he gave me extra food.

But then I remembered that I have to eat lots because I want to be a big, strong hobbit. Like the Bullroarer. Rarrgh!

I just put my hands up in the air over my head like Merry knows means he’s supposed to say, “Big as the Bullroarer, Pip!” but Frodo just looked at me up out of his book and asked if I needed to go somewhere.

So I pointed to my mouth and then to the kitchen, but he just shook his head and said, “You just had your luncheon, Pippin. Why don’t you play with your cart, and I’ll help you in a little while.” And then he went back to his book, which must be dreadfully boring, because it hasn’t even got any pictures.

Sometimes, when he does remember to play with me, Frodo can come up with very good games and stories, and he says it’s because he reads all about elves and dwarves and such in his books. But I still think it’s better when Frodo or Cousin Bilbo tells stories out loud in front of the fire at night. Then we can eat snacks, too, and nobody has to hold onto a book so it’s in the way of eating with your hands or holding me in their lap.

But I guess Frodo and Cousin Bilbo must like their books. They spend lots of time with them, and even Sam comes up to Bag End sometimes now, too, and looks at a book and doesn’t play with me as much. He gets all funny around me sometimes, now, and acts like he can’t talk out loud either. He just looks down and mutters to his toes until I have to roll over and put my head on top of his feet so I can look up at him and hear what he’s saying better. It tickles when he wriggles his toes under my curls!

He’s been acting funny like that ever since Mama came to visit. I saw him almost drop a sack of potatoes he was carrying to the cellar when Cousin Bilbo was asking Mama about her and Da’s Mistress and Thain work at the Great Smials. But of course he caught the sack and didn’t drop it because Sam really is a very good hobbit.

I got to help him oil the garden tools out in the shed when he put them away for the winter. They made me wear a very thick coat, but I still got oil all over my hands and my feet and my face, so they gave me a bath when we went in and it was warm and that was nice.

Sam kept calling me “Master Pippin” and sometimes “Sir” and I think maybe Mama told him when I was taking a nap that I don’t like to be called “The Little One” like they do at Great Smials because I don’t like being little. Except it’s all right if Mama calls me her little lad, or if Merry says I’m his “darling little Perry” or sometimes for my sisters to call me their little brother, but only if they mean it nice.

So I’m eating lots because I want to get big and strong and Mama always says “a hungry hobbit is a healthy hobbit” and I don’t want to be broken no more.

One time, Cousin Bilbo had already gone to the study after luncheon and Frodo went to answer the door and I could hear him talking to Folco Boffin, and usually I like it when Folco or Freddy comes to visit because sometimes they play with me, and even if they don’t Frodo talks and laughs with them and I can listen and it isn’t so quiet so it’s almost like being at my home. Except this time, Frodo left me in the kitchen and he was gone a long time and I couldn’t hear what he and Folco were saying and I couldn’t get down from the chair by myself, so I dropped my dishes and made them break because I was so mad that the healers broke me.

But then I got scared and I was crying when Frodo came back in the kitchen because I remembered the song Cousin Bilbo’s dwarves sang
“Chip the glasses and crack the plates
...
That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates”*
and I thought maybe Cousin Bilbo would hate me now and want to send me home right away, and I want to go home but I’m still scared.

But Frodo thought it was an accident because I was crying, and he picked up the pieces and threw them away, and maybe Cousin Bilbo doesn’t know that I broke his dish.

Frodo says Cousin Bilbo’s very smart, and he thinks about lots of things that are outside the Shire even, and that he is writing them all down in his big book in the study, but that sometimes he is so busy thinking about all these important things that he doesn’t have room to think about things that are happening in his very own smial.

He forgot to think about the market list for a while after Merry went home, so Frodo just kept sending Sam for the same orders, and I had lots more food to help me get big with, because I know Merry would always share with me.

And one time Frodo went to the market with Sam, and Cousin Bilbo was going to carry me from the kitchen to the study. He picked me up, but then he forgot he was carrying me, which was very funny, really, because he had to use one whole arm to keep me up on his shoulder the whole entire time, but I guess he was thinking very hard about something important because he didn’t even notice he wasn’t using that arm. I didn’t tug on his curls or anything to remind him he was carrying me, either, because even if he forgot about it he was doing a very good job and wasn’t going to drop me. And he did do some very interesting things.

First, Cousin Bilbo wanted to look for something in the high-up cupboards in his kitchen. I haven’t ever seen in anybody’s high-up cupboards before, because even when I’m not broken, I can’t reach that high. So I wanted to see what was in there. There was some food, but mostly it was just dishes. I guess Cousin Bilbo must like this one mug, because that was what he finally took out and filled up with tea, and he just used one hand the whole time!

Before that, when he was looking in one cupboard, I reached and opened the door to the next one because I could already see that the first one just had plates in it, and two silver spoons that fell behind one stack, and that wasn’t very interesting. So I opened the next door to see what was inside, and when Cousin Bilbo got done looking in his cupboard, he took a step and hit his head on the door of mine because he didn’t see it was already open! I put my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t giggle out loud, because I didn’t want him to put me down then, but it was very funny and some day I’ll have to tell Merry.

Then after he got his tea, Cousin Bilbo went into the study, and he was still carrying me, and when he sat down at his writing desk he put me on one of the big arms of his chair, but I don’t think he really even knew he was doing it because he didn’t say anything to me, he just started talking to his papers like he does in funny words I don’t understand.

I got bored after a little while, but then it got funny to watch Cousin Bilbo again because he put his quill behind his ear while he was drinking his tea and then he forgot it was there and started patting all over the papers on his desk looking for it. Then he gave up and got another quill, so I took the one out from behind his ear and waved it around to play with it.

I made the quill move in the air to make letters like Frodo tried to show me how to do, but I already know my letters, I just don’t know how to put them together, but I can’t tell anybody that, so I got mad and threw the quill at Frodo and it hit the ink bottle hard enough it knocked it over and it spilled.

I think maybe that’s why Frodo had to go to the market with Sam, was to get more ink like he likes, because they use lots of it here.

Sam did try to help me make words once, because Frodo said Mama writes to me lots, so Sam should help me write a letter to her and we could both prac -- prax -- learn our letters better. So Sam held my hand and tried to make me write, but he was acting funny and muttering again and I couldn’t tell him what to say because nobody ‘cepting Merry understands me now ‘cause I can’t talk out loud, and Merry always knows good what I mean, but I wanted to write to my mama and Sam wasn’t moving my hand for the letters so I moved it instead and made a big streak across the parchment. I thought maybe we could just send that to Mama and tell her it was from me, or I could draw something else, because I saw once that she has some parchment that Pearl drew on a long time ago, and it’s just lines and squiggles but Mama kept it all these years and she says it’s very good artwork so Mama likes funny things.

And maybe Sam knows Mama likes that, because after I made my line he said we should work on signing my name proper, and he moved my hand so it made letters that looked like this:
PAIRAGREEN
But when Frodo came over and looked at our parchment his face got all scrunched up funny, and he said it nice, but he said that was wrong and maybe we shouldn’t try any more letters for a while.

I don’t know why it was wrong, because it looked pretty to me, but maybe it’s because I’m a lad and lads aren’t supposed to have names that look pretty so maybe mine looks different.

And Frodo wouldn’t let Sam help me no more, and when he tried to help me himself I spilled his ink, and then when he got back from the market and came in the study to find me and Bilbo he saw me playing with Cousin Bilbo’s quills -- he forgot another one behind his ear, so I had two, one for each hand -- and I just then noticed that I got lots of globs of ink on Cousin Bilbo’s shirt, and on me, too, and on the chair.

I got a bath after that, but it wasn’t a very nice bath, even though Cousin Bilbo has ink on him all the time, so I don’t think I should get in trouble for that, but maybe the chair’s harder to clean so Frodo got mad.

Except he can’t say he’s mad because I’m just a little hobbit who’s broken and can’t walk or talk or nothing, so Frodo just put his mouth in a line and scrubbed me hard.

They don’t have any other lads or lasses here, and Frodo has to take care of me lots and sometimes I think he gets mad because he’s ever so much older than Merry, or Pimpernel, or Pearl even, and now he has to sleep with me, too, so he can’t go out lots like Mama says tweenagers do.

One time he put me in his bed already, and Frodo was changing into his nightshirt, and he bumped into a chair in his room and his leg kicked straight out toward me really fast, and I got scared and made a noise I think like a cat does when you kick it. But even if he does get mad at me, I know Frodo wouldn’t never ever want to hurt me really, because he came toward me real slow after that and crawled into bed and held me and told me that all hobbits have re-fexes like that in their legs that if you hit just the right spot, your leg goes flying without you even telling it to. Then Frodo told me a very nice story about dwarves in their caves mining for very pretty stones and metals and using carts like mine until I fell asleep.

But I still remembered what he told me about re-fexes, so the next day, I poked my legs really hard until I found a spot right under my knee that made them jump a little. That made me happy, because they don’t listen to me telling them to walk, but they still listen to the re-fexes inside me, so maybe they’ll start to listen to me again, too.

If my legs start to listen to me, then maybe I can go play outside again when it starts to snow. Right now it’s not very nice out, and there’s no snow, just gray sky and sometimes very cold rain and ice at the same time. Cousin Bilbo writes about his funny words, and Frodo reads lots of his books and takes naps on them sometimes, too, because I don’t think he sleeps as good with me as Merry does. He doesn’t make as much noise, anyway.

I like that Merry makes lots of noise: when he’s asleep he snores, and then he sings in the privy in the mornings, and talks to me lots.

I’ll bet my da has lots to say to me now, too, because I’ve been gone from the Smials for a really long time, and he has to be done with harvest now, and even with doing sums about it, and I think he likes to play the Thain Peregrin game when the weather’s bad like this.* * *

“Gracious! --Drat, I’ll need to blot that--Frodo, lad, could you see who that is pounding on the door? I’m not expecting anyone -- where’s that sand? -- Frodo!”

“I’m awake! Oh, yes, of course, the door....Cousin Paladin! Welcome! This is a surprise.”

“It shouldn’t be a surprise. I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands and collect my lad myself.

“Pippin! Give your da a hug.”

(Squeal!)


____
*Song from “The Hobbit”; chapter, “An Unexpected Party”

Chapter Sixteen: Fast Away The Old Year Passes

“So, what are the damages?” Paladin was asking as the Tooks prepared to leave Bag End.

“Damages?” Bilbo blinked in surprise.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Paddin laughed. “I know what a handful of mischief a little lad can cause.”

Bilbo wondered if Paladin had quite forgotten how little mischief his particular lad was likely to cause at the moment, but then he recalled the curious fact that there had been no decrease -- indeed, a slight uptick could be detected -- in his market bills since young Merry’s departure.

He glanced over at the lad in question, who seemed to be turning a slightly embarrassed shade of pink and attempting to hide his face in Frodo’s shoulder as the young Baggins held him.

“Well, no matter the specifics,” Paddin concluded abruptly. He took out a small pouch of coins and stuffed it into Frodo’s waistcoat pocket. “Treat yourself to something, lad, while Bilbo sits on his dragon’s hoard -- or consider it payment in advance on the damages from the next visit!”

“Next visit?” Bilbo echoed.

“Of course! I said Pippin was old enough to go visiting on his own now, did I not? And I am a hobbit of my word.

“But now, it’s time to go home. Come, Pippin.”

Frodo feared briefly that Pippin would cling to him again as he had at his mother’s departure, and refuse to leave. But the lad merely patted his cheek and gave him a sweet kiss before turning in Frodo’s grasp to eagerly reach out his arms to his father.

When the round door had clicked shut behind them, and Frodo had watched the cart progress halfway down the hill, he announced to the smial,

“I am going to take a long, peaceful and uninterrupted nap.”


Paladin held Pippin, wrapped securely under several layers of blankets, on the cart seat in front of him. Pippin was nestled between his father’s legs, while Paddin’s arms encircled his son as he held the pony’s reins. Frequent squirming occurred beneath the blankets, and Pippin looked eagerly about, tipping his head back often to grin up at his father.

He was a far cry from the still child who had left the Smials a few months ago. Yes, it had been just the thing for the lad to visit family for a while. Done him good, it had. And yet, for Paddin himself, those months had been...

“Lasses! Nothing but lasses!” he informed his son with an exaggerated shudder. “While you” -- he drew one hand back enough to poke the tummy region of the pile of blankets, which caused several giggles to be emitted -- “have been spending time in an entire hole of lads, I have been returning to our quarters each evening to be greeted by nothing but” -- Paddin paused dramatically and lowered both his voice and his head to whisper into Pippin’s ear the last word -- “females!”

Another spurt of giggles erupted.

“And I therefore think, my lad,” Paddin leaned down again, this time to place a kiss on the little upturned face, “that you shall not begrudge me a stop at an inn.”

The cart had been traveling the Bywater Road, and Paddin pulled up in front of The Ivy Bush. Hitching the pony to a post outside, Paddin carried his son in.

Small it might be, but this was the season when The Ivy Bush did most of its business. Capitalizing on the name of the inn, the proprietors spent the month of Foreyule offering their famous pies, each topped with a candied sprig of ivy and one of holly. The crowd which had gathered to enjoy these delicacies was the largest group of hobbits Pippin had encountered since leaving the Great Smials at the end of the summer.

At first, he trembled a little in his father’s arms, but when Paddin set him on top of a table and hailed a serving lass, Pippin realized he had a good view that was much more interesting than the contents of Bilbo’s cupboards. His ear tips twitched throughout the meal as he strained to better hear the snatches of song and the jests from a multitude of hobbit conversations. His da joined in the hailing and conversing with the rest as he quaffed his ale at a seat on the bench in front of Pippin.

Of course, Pippin was somewhat distracted from his eavesdropping by the need to concentrate on his own food. When the serving lass had brought over the tray with sample pieces of each of the pies on offer, Pippin had been torn by indecision. His pointing finger hovered back and forth between the pumpkin and the mincemeat, until his father, laughing, obligingly ordered him a piece of each.

Each plate of pie had come with its own fork, and Pippin was using them both. He alternated shoveling a bite of mincemeat into his mouth with his right hand, and feeding himself pumpkin pie with the fork he held in his left. This made for rather a messy little hobbit, but a very satisfied tongue and tummy.

In fact, the whole experience was rather satisfying, as there was good food, laughter all around, and Da -- the biggest, strongest hobbit Pippin had ever known -- right there with him.

Until, that is, a certain hobbit approached Paladin from among the crowd.

Huthdred Bracegirdle of the East Farthing carried within him his family’s natural streak of ambition. It was quite pleasing to him when his sister Hilda married a hobbit who was in the direct line of succession to the title of Master of Buckland -- a bit far back in the line, true, but in the line still, there you go.

And when his first cousin Magnolia had married Adelard Took and produced a son who was even closer in the line to be Thain, well, that was something to be proud of.

And now, with Paladin Took struck with such misfortune in his son, it looked as if Regi’s prospects were likely to rise again in that regard. So Magnolia had hinted on the visit from which Huthdred had just returned.

Still and all, Paladin here was set to be Thain whenever old Rumby had the decency to pass on, and like as not would appreciate a kind word. It didn’t do to be on the bad side of the Thain.

“Hoy, there, Paladin,” Huthdred called, slapping the Took on the back with one hand, his mug of ale in the other. “How goes it?”

“It goes,” Paddin answered warily. He had learned to be leery of Bracegirdles, particularly after visiting with Bilbo and hearing more tales of cutlery gone missing.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Huthdred nodded, then took a quick swallow of his ale. “So sorry about your lad,” he tutted. “Such a shame.” His eyes flicked over to Pippin, who had paused with a forkful of mincemeat pie in his mouth and was now staring at him wide-eyed. He added, staring into his mug, “Such a waste.”

Throughout their meal, Paddin had been stroking the curls on top of one of Pippin’s feet as it dangled from the table, reassuring both himself and his lad that they were together again. Now his hand’s grip tightened on that foot, and he felt its small twitches within his grasp.

“What do you mean?” Paddin asked in a deceptively calm voice as he set his near-empty mug on the table.

“Oh, come now, Paladin, surely you know it’s near common knowledge by now,” Huthdred responded. “Though I daresay my young cousin Reginard has been a great deal of help to you, as always, in performing the duties of the Thain. Good practice, you know, now that he’ll have to take it on.” Huthdred said the last sentence with a slight nod toward Pippin.

Pippin had stabbed his empty fork toward his father at the mention of Regi’s name, but his father had eyes only for Huthdred.

“Your cousin Reginard, you say?” he asked, green eyes narrowing and going as cold as ice. “Were you a visitor to the Smials this past summer?” he demanded abruptly.

“Why, no,” Huthdred jumped back a bit, startled by the question. “It’s why I have just come from a visit with my cousin now. Why do you ask?”

“I ask because of my son,” Paddin answered, turning his gaze on Pippin. The lad was now looking back and forth between him and Huthdred, casting suspicious glances at the latter but turning a trusting gaze to his father.

“My son,” Paddin continued as he drew himself to his feet, maintaining his clasp on Pippin’s foot so that the leg became extended straight out from the table. “My son who is heir to the Thain. This foot” -- he lifted Pippin’s ankle slightly -- “has been imprinted in the book of Yellowskin as the hobbit who is to follow me as Thain.”

He maintained his hold as he leaned toward Huthdred, managing to fill every bit of space with the bulk of his imposing body. He concluded in a low tone, but in a voice so forceful that it hushed the inn, “And any hobbit who interferes with that will live to regret it.”

Paddin maintained his position for a moment before turning to toss coins onto the table and gather his lad up in his arm for their departure.

Pippin peeked one eye out above his father’s shoulder to observe the silent crowd as they left the inn. He had a lot to think about as he sat huddled in the blankets again for the rest of the drive home. Everyone in the inn had been afraid of his da, even the big hobbits -- everyone except Pippin. What would Da really do to a hobbit who had tried to hurt his lad?


It was nice to be home. Mama had greeted Pippin with lots of hugs, a few tears, and lots of kisses. His sisters had passed him from one to the other to smack welcome home kisses onto his face. Pervinca, at only five years older, had to exert a bit more effort to lift him from Pimpernel’s embrace, but was still able to do so.

While he was gone, someone had built storage drawers that took up all the space under his bed. They were big enough to hold quite a few toys and games and books, and even some out-of-season clothes, but not at all big enough to fit a hobbit lad into.

Pippin knew; he’d checked. He’d managed to pull himself into one after Nurse had finished dressing him and left him to play on the floor of his room while she went to help Pervinca. He was able to sit up, as you would on a pony, but the drawer was not long enough or deep enough for him to lie down. Just as it should be, he decided before leaning over to roll himself out of the drawer and back onto the floor.

The resulting thud brought Nurse running, but she continued to be often preoccupied with the regular bustle of Yule preparations and the lasses’ related tasks. She would often leave Pippin playing in a nearby corridor or adjoining room while the servants worked at festooning a particular parlor. She would check on him occasionally, but was afraid that in the gaiety of the work, the quiet lad would be trampled unnoticed as he played underfoot.

Pippin didn’t mind too much. It was lots more interesting than Bag End: much more noise and conversations to listen to. He was particularly interested in overhearing anything about the Yule Dwarf. And, he was lots better now than when Regi had put him under the bed: he could roll away if he saw a bad hobbit coming. Plus, when Nurse left him alone for a little while, it gave him a chance to work on his own Yule gift to his family.

He was doing just that one day when he heard a familiar voice coming down the corridor. Maybe he wasn’t quite that brave yet. Pippin dropped onto his hands and rolled behind the shadow of an open door as Regi and his brother came along the hallway.

“Why aren’t you happy, Regi? It’s almost Yule!” Everard announced gleefully.

“Why should that make me happy?” Regi muttered.

“Well, don’t you want the Yule Dwarf to come visit you?” Everard asked in surprise.

The footsteps stopped as Regi turned to look at his brother. “Everard, how old are you?”

“Eighteen, Regi,” was the confident answer.

“And do you still expect the Yule Dwarf to visit you?”

“Of course!” Everard answered, surprised that the question was even asked. “Mother says he visits all good lads and lasses, and I’m not of age yet.”

“Am I of age?” Regi asked.

“No, Regi,” another confident answer.

“And did the Yule Dwarf visit me last year?”

A long pause, as if Everard was trying to remember, then a hushed whisper, “No, I don’t think so...oh, Regi, were you a bad hobbit?”

“No, Everard,” Regi finally answered in an impatient voice. “I expect he just forgot. Or perhaps he ran out of gifts for the older lads because he had to give so many to the younger ones who were good.”

Privately, behind the door, Pippin thought that Regi was lying and that this just proved the Yule Dwarf really was magic! *He* knew who was a bad hobbit, even if no one else did.

“So, is that why you’re not happy?” Everard asked again.” Are you afraid the Yule Dwarf will forget you again?”

“No,” Regi said, almost to himself. “It’s not about Yule, really. It’s more about after Yule.”

“Afteryule? What’s in Afteryule?” Everard asked.

“A new year, for one thing,” Regi sighed. “A year when I’ll be thirty, and then the year after that thirty-one, and soon thirty-three, and then where will I be?”

“Won’t you still be here?” Everard asked, confused. “At the Great Smials?”

“Why?” Regi barked at him.

“Well, because...because you live here!” Everard responded, growing more confident of his answer.

“But what am I to do?” Regi asked, slumping against a wall. “I’m to be a grown hobbit soon, and I need a station in life. I won’t be a lackey the rest of my days.”

“What’s a lackey?” Everard asked, and Pippin was glad he did, because he was wondering the same thing.

Regi didn’t seem to answer, though, just said, “Nothing important,” and added quietly, “It’s starting to look as if I’ll never be Thain” as he tipped the back of his head against the wall.

“But I thought you helped Cousin Paddin with Thain duties,” Everard said, even more confused. “That’s why you can’t play sometimes, and I get lonely.”

“I do,” Regi answered calmly.

“And Cousin Rumby’s Thain now, and Cousin Paddin will be after him, and you after Cousin Paddin,” Everard answered, with the air of a long-memorized recitation, but grew more hesitant at the end as he saw his brother shaking his head.

“Who’s Cousin Paddin’s son?” Regi asked his brother.

“Well, Pippin, of course!” Everard answered. “That’s easy!”

“And who follows a father in his office?”

“His...son,” Everard answered slowly, then it was as if a light suddenly shone in his face as he added, “Oh! So Pippin will be Thain after Cousin Paddin.”

“Yes,” Regi answered quietly.

“But--but you won’t be,” Everard responded, now more subdued, his lower lip trembling slightly.

“No,” Regi answered, opening his closed eyes slightly to stare through small slits at his younger brother. “I would only be Thain if Pippin couldn’t for some reason, like if he wasn’t around.”

“But Pippin is here,” Everard answered matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” Regi said calmly, still staring through his slitted eyes for a long moment at his brother.

Everard stood before him blankly, blinking, for a few seconds before collapsing against the wall next to his brother. “Oh, Regi, what are you going to do?” he wailed.

“I don’t know, Everard,” he answered. “I think perhaps I shall have to go away somewhere, where a hobbit of my abilities can command respect in a fitting position.”

“Oh!” Everard gasped. “I shouldn’t like it if you went away though, Regi,” he said in a despondent tone.

“Why ever not?” Regi asked him curiously.

“Well, because...because,” Everard looked down at his feet and wiggled his toes as he said this last part. “I shouldn’t have anyone to play with. The other lads don’t like to play with me, because they all say I’m slow.” He looked sidelong at Regi. “But you’re my brother. You have to be nice and play with me.”

Regi closed his eyes again and sighed before straightening up and draping his arm around Everard’s shoulder. “Yes, I’m your brother,” he said in a long-suffering tone. “So come along, then, and let’s go to greet Mother when she returns from market.”

Peering out from behind the door, Pippin watched them go. Here was more to think about. He knew of course that Regi was a bad, bad hobbit, but Everard.... Pippin suddenly remembered how much he missed his Merry.


First Yule finally arrived. The Yule Dwarf would come in the night between First and Second Yule, in the magic hours when the old year passed to the new. Dwarves knew how to stoke the fires in their mines, and the Yule Dwarf was magic, so he would be unsinged as he leaped across the Yule log to lay gifts -- nuts and sweets and trinkets -- upon the hearth for all the good hobbit lads and lasses.

On First Yule, however, the families gathered privately to exchange gifts among themselves before they converged for the Smials’ great feast.

In their quarters, Pippin and his family exchanged such gifts. He acquired more cows for his farm set -- these had a ‘98 carved on the bottom, Pippin idly noticed as he handled them -- as well as a few pigs and sheep. He also got a shiny new spinning top, a ball filled with dried beans that rattled noisily when you shook it, and two fancy weskits, both of which he would likely be expected to wear for festivities in the coming days. Pervinca gave him a sturdy traveling sack with lots of intriguing pouches. “For when you go visiting again,” she explained. “I thought that was quite a good birthday present.”

Pippin smiled happily at her as he agreed -- it had, overall, been a good visit. He was perched on the floor among the discarded papers and ribbons from the exchanging of gifts. Each family member, after giving him their present, had leant down for a soft thank-you kiss upon the cheek.

For his presents to them, Pippin knew Mama had purchased some suitable item for each family member and put his name upon it, as he had been thanked already for several things that were completely unknown to him.

He still had his surprise left to give, though. Mama and the lasses were exclaiming over the ruches on Pearl’s new blouse -- *they* were actually happy to get clothes for holidays -- and Da had turned to bank up the fire around the Yule log.

The papers rustled beneath Pippin as he carefully leveraged himself to his feet. Slowly, deliberately, he placed one foot in front of the other as he crossed toward the huddle of lasses. Reaching them, he lifted a hand and gently untied the ends of Pimpernel’s new hair ribbon before tugging sharply on her braid.

“Ouch! Pippin, it’s Yule, don’t--” Pimpernel scolded instinctively as she turned around, then stopped, frozen, as she realized what she was saying and what she was seeing. Pippin stood behind his sisters, the floor he had walked across strewn with obstacles.

The floor...he had walked.... Eg didn’t realize she was holding her breath as her heart swelled. The room was silent as she and the lasses stared at the lad who stood before her chair. Paddin, too, was open-mouthed across the room where he still clutched the poker, although a grin was beginning to spread across his face.

Pippin’s face, however, was beginning to lose a bit of its shining pride and take on an uncertain cast. He had practiced lots, as soon as he felt his legs twinging with more than just re-fexes, but maybe this wasn’t such a very good Yule present.

Hastily, before that happiness could fade further, Eg reached out her arms and pulled her lad three more steps forward into her hug. “Oh, darling,” she exclaimed into his ear. “That was the best Yule present ever. Better than any magic the Yule Dwarf could do.”

Chapter Seventeen: Tuesday’s Child Is Full of Grace

Now that he could walk again, Pippin was even more glad to be home at Great Smials, especially with all the feasting and gaming of the Yule celebrations. He was able to participate in many of the games meted out by this year’s Lord of Misrule on Second Yule -- although not, of course, those that required answering questions or making rhymes out loud.

Still, Pearl didn’t choose as many of those games as she might -- or, if she did, she saved them up until her younger brother had been taken to bed. Yawning, he was worn out from the first running and jumping and dancing he’d been able to do in months, his tummy pleasantly full of the nuts and sweets the Yule Dwarf had left him, as well as the treats from the groaning tables of the Smials.

They let him sleep late the next day, and when his mother came in to check on him again shortly after second breakfast, she found Pippin kneeling on the floor of his room next to the underbed storage drawers. He had already removed a pile of objects that were scattered on the floor next to him, and now he reached in and took out another toy, examining it carefully before tossing it onto the pile.

“Pippin?” Eg asked quietly from the doorway behind him, just to let him know she was there.

Pippin turned toward her, a smile lighting his face, and attempted to greet her.

“Mmm!” was all that came out of his mouth, and he looked frustrated, but then his face cleared as he concentrated on what he could do and pushed himself into a standing position before reaching out his arms to hug his mother, who had crossed to him.

Eglantine hugged him back, then drew back a little to look down at the mess on the floor. “Pippin, dear, what are you doing?” she asked.

Pippin sank back to his knees and picked up again the toy he’d been examining when she entered -- a battered jack-in-the-box, with a spring that stuck -- before frowning and casting it onto the pile again.

He then flicked his eyes toward the sitting room where the Yule log still blazed in the hearth, pointed to his own chest, then held one hand straight out in front of him with all four fingers and thumb extended. He added the other hand, with the thumb holding down the littlest finger so that only the three in the middle were extended, and then released the smallest digit so that four of them stood upright on that hand: a total of nine in all.

“You’re gathering presents for your birthday?” Eglantine guessed from where she’d seated herself on the edge of the bed.

Pippin nodded vigorously.

“Well, you know, dear, your father and I are happy to help you select gifts for us and for your sisters.”

Pippin nodded a little shyly, slightly chewing his bottom lip.

“And I think we can easily arrange for something nice for the Bagginses for being so kind as to let you visit for so long.” Eg smiled softly at the look of relief passing over Pippin’s face. “Perhaps a certificate to the bookseller’s for Frodo and a new quill for Bilbo? Goodness knows he’s always losing them.”

Pippin smiled up at his mother, but then suddenly looked down and worried his lip again.

“Is there someone else?” Eg asked. “Don’t worry about Merry, darling,” she added, suddenly inspired. “I’m sending to Brandy Hall all the ingredients and the receipt so that he can have a cake just like yours, and a letter telling about how you’ll be ready to run and play ever so many games with him when next you meet.” She paused. “I know Merry will think that just as magical a birthday present as your father and I have for Yule.”

She leaned forward and brushed the curls off Pippin’s forehead to place a lingering kiss there before settling back on the bed.

Pippin smiled up at her again briefly, before reaching out to his pile and withdrawing a tattered book. He held it up to her with an uncertain face.

“Did you want me to read you a story, sweetheart?” Eg asked, drawing her brows together in puzzlement.

Pippin shook his head quickly no, and then moved to point to himself again while still holding the book.

“It’s for another birthday present?” Eglantine asked, surprised.

A nod.

Eg thought a moment. “Someone at the Smials?”

A head shake “no.”

“Someone in Hobbiton?” she asked, puzzled.

A nod.

Eg racked her brain for any hobbits besides the Bagginses Pippin had encountered while he was away. “The gardener?” she mused out loud. “Sam?”

Pippin’s curls bounced as he nodded hastily up and down. Then his face fell a little as he opened the book of tales to a page covered in what would have been an exquisite illustration -- if it weren’t for the torn corner and the colorful scribbling across the middle of the page.

Eg leaned forward and ran her fingers over the page. This was a surprise, although a sweet one, that her lad wanted to give the Bagginses’ gardener a gift for his birthday. Still...a vision of Pippin lying on this bed, locked within himself and unable to move, passed before her eyes, and she remembered how very kind everyone at Bag End had been toward her son.

Eg smiled softly and bent down to kiss Pippin on the end of his nose. “I think perhaps we can find a new copy of this at the bookseller’s as well,” she informed him.

Pippin’s grin lit his face, and his eyes shone.


Sixth Night at last came and passed, the flames of the Yule log allowed to crackle and dwindle until the fire went out, and the stump was ready to be saved for lighting the new log the following Yule.

The next day -- the third of Afteryule, but the fourth day of both the new year and of the hobbits’ week* -- Pippin awakened before his Nurse could even consider fetching him. He rolled over, scrambled out of bed, and rushed across his family’s quarters to jerk open his parents’ door and fling himself upon their bed.

“Oof!” Paladin grunted awake, and Eglantine let out a soft gasp, but it was tinged with a smile. They both grabbed their lad to hug him and exclaim, “Happy birthday!”

Pippin grinned back.

The grin turned into giggles and happy little shrieks as Paddin kept one arm around his son’s tummy and rolled over onto his back, using the other hand to tickle up and down the squirming nine-year-old.

Eglantine sat back against her pillows and fondly watched her two lads at play. Pippin’s feet kicked out wildly from under his nightshirt, but he was smiling radiantly, his clear green eyes locking with his father’s of the same color.

Eg used the back of her hand to brush away some dampness from her eyes, even as as a smile played about her lips. Each year, Pippin’s birthday felt much like a victory celebration for her. For nine years now, since she’d first brought the tiny babe into the world in such bitter cold, she’d managed to keep him here with her a little longer. This past year, the battle had been especially hard-fought -- and it was still not quite over.

Paddin finally calmed a bit and rolled out of bed, taking his son with him. As he stood, he lifted Pippin above his head and looked up to tell him, “Happy birthday, Peregrin!”

Paddin didn’t say, this time, “Thain Peregrin,” but he certainly thought it. Nine years! Nine years old already! One more year and he could feel even more confident in assuring Eg. One more year, and he could persuade her to let him take the lad more under his wing, to begin preparing him for the future Paddin dreamed of.

As always at the Great Smials, Pippin’s birthday had the effect of prolonging the festivities that had begun with Yule. There was more feasting, of course, as well as more gift-giving and game-playing.

Pippin surprised nearly everyone when it came time to pick partners for the gaming. The other children near his age clustered in their accustomed groups and pairings, quickly sorting themselves out. No one among them thought about partnering with Pippin: he had been away for so long, and unable to join in their play for such a long time before that, it just didn’t occur to them.

Pearl, with the other tweens, was bustling about to set out refreshments, and Pimpernel had paired off with one of her friends among their own grouping. These teens would help the tweens if need be, play with the younger children if pressed, or amuse themselves with their own tales and gossip if left alone.

Pervinca was attempting to edge toward her own friends, and mimic her sister. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her brother, or that she wasn’t happy it was his birthday, but still, he was only nine, and really, now that she was thirteen -- a teen herself, just like Pimpernel! -- should she be playing such baby games?

Eglantine was just about to wade in and sort this out when she saw Pippin approach the group of teen lads hanging about near Pimpernel and her friends. He grabbed hold of Everard’s arm, and pulled the older hobbit back to the game space with him.

Everard was startled but pleased to sit on the floor across from Pippin and join him in the clapping and other hand motions of the pattycake game. Neither of them were singing the words to this tune, Pippin because he still could not speak and Everard because it took all his concentration to focus on what his hands were doing, so he had no thought left for singing.

At the end of the game, Everard glanced shyly over to the groups of teen hobbits, who were still standing about in the midst of their discussions. None looked his way. They had not missed him. Even when the lads his age did deign to play with him, they never wanted to participate in what they called “baby games,” but which Everard still enjoyed.

He let Pippin take his hand and lead him into the circle that formed for the next game.

As Regi took his turn removing chairs from the center of the circling young hobbits, he recognized with a start that the tall lad clasping onto Pippin’s hand was his own brother. Regi reached out a foot and nudged back into place the chair he had set far enough forward so that it would be in the dancers’ path, ready for them to trip.


As a nine-year-old lad with full use of his legs, Pippin had more freedom to roam the Smials. He kept practicing his attempts to say his words, hoping it would lead to the same success he’d had with his legs, but had so far not achieved any results.

Perhaps this was why he continued to be somewhat bored and lonely. After his birthday party, things at the Smials settled back into their regular routine, and Pippin again had no playmates.

He had decided, one afternoon, that a fun thing to do would be to swing on the gates of the stalls in the barn. Bundled in his coat and cloak, he had hoisted himself up onto the gate of one of the empty stalls when this new height allowed him to see into the next row.

A servant hobbit had fallen asleep on the floor of the cattle stall, and Pippin realized it was her soft snuffling he’d heard for the past few moments without being truly aware of it.

Fern didn’t rightly know why she should be carryin’ on so, a-snifflin’ and a-snufflin’ like a hobbit babe. It weren’t as if her time at the Smials had been a hard one, not once’t she and Cook had worked it out so as Fern’s job included bein’ one o’ them milkmaids so long with doin’ some duties in the kitchen.

She knew how to bake some fancy cakes now, that was for certain sure, and to cook some other swell dishes besides. Might be some call for her services ‘round home, now, or (she blushed) might be she’d make some fine hobbit a wife some day.

‘Course, she thought as she sniffed a tear back and brushed her hair away from her forehead, weren’t no sense in countin’ yer chickens afore they’re hatched. She still had some time to be gettin’ through at the Smials afore goin’ home.

Fern aimed a stream of milk into the pail and rested her head on the underside of the cow’s flank. This milkmaidin’ was sure a nice part of her job and all, reminding her of her own farm, as it were.

Well, not that any one of them were exactly her farm or her family’s. She just liked to think such while they were livin’ there, however long it mayhap be.

She’d be goin’ back to her ma and da with her wages in her hand for the first of Rethe, the day they’d all be movin’ to the next farm. This were the best one they’d been rentin’ yet, and the sums Fern had earned at the Smials were truly helpin’ out.

So her da had said in the letter he’d got a gentlehobbit to write for him, and Fern had listened to Mistress Eglantine read her on Second Yule, standing in a line as she were with the other servant lasses waiting to hear their own news from home.

For Fern had stayed at the Smials through Yule, with nary a visit between her and her kin. Right it was that she’d be goin’ home soon enough, and the extra wages were sure to be a help for the new farm, but it were still lonely to think of all she’d missed for the first time ever in her life. She supposed that’s why she was snufflin’ now as she set the full milk pail down and plopped herself onto the straw for a bit of a rest.

She woke up to find herself all snuggly under one of the thick pony blankets that had hung over the end of a stall when she entered the barn. She felt especially warm and cozy around the skirts on her left leg, and she picked up the edge of the blanket to peer at The Little One, who was tucked up against her as a pillow for his own nap.

Fern had changed her mind about this lad over the last near-year, as well -- leastwise, after she’d learned better what it were that his ma and da were facin’ all the time. She knew his proper age now, of course, as she’d been one of the kitchen hobbits makin’ all them fancies for his birthday. And she knew how sad his ma had looked last summer when she couldn’t get The Little One to eat hardly nothin’, let alone do anything else a proper lad should. He certainly weren’t as sturdy as her little ‘Bert, Fern thought, shaking her head. She knew now that rich hobbits had their own problems.

‘Course, that didn’t mean she weren’t goin’ to be in trouble if she didn’t get this pail of milk into the smial afore too much longer. Some of the cream had already started to settle out on the top.

She was thinkin’ whether she ought to wake the lad when the barn door swung to and Pippin’s eyes blinked open as they both heard a hobbit let out a huff of air.

Fern watched those green eyes get big with fright before Pippin shook his head, put a finger to his lips, and then pulled the blanket back down over himself. Mr. Regi banged a fist against the door of her stall.

“Well, here you are!” he bellowed out. “One last cow to milk, you told Cook an hour ago! And I don’t appreciate being sent as an errand boy after servant hobbits lollygagging about!

“Or are you after a roll in the hay with someone?” Regi asked with a leer as he took in the pony blanket.

Fern could feel The Little One trembling against her under the blanket, his fingers gripping her knee hard through her skirts.

“N-no, sir,” she stuttered. “I were just havin’ a nap and a cry, like. Seems I might’ve got bad news from home.”

Drawing on her sudden inspiration, Fern withdrew from the waistband of her skirt the paper that had been stuck together with her father’s Yule message. She was careful not to raise the blanket as she did so.

This paper were more official lookin’ than her family’s greetin’s, but that‘s what she’d been eager to hear, and she’d forgotten about it until after Mistress Eglantine had done and gone back to her quarters on Second Yule. She did ought to know what it was, though, and Mr. Regi here would do just as good as any to read it to her.

He took the paper from her hand and glanced at it contemptuously. “Shiriff!” he snorted. “I daresay you do have bad news from home!” He threw the paper back at her and stalked away. “Mind you bring the milk!” he called back over his shoulder.

Fern had started to sob in earnest, now, and soon as he heard the barn door shut behind Regi, Pippin crawled out from under the blanket to give her a hug.

* * *Bad, bad Regi! He made a lass cry! I’ll bet his Da doesn’t yell at him loud enough.

He lied about the Yule Dwarf, though. Maybe he’s lying to the lass, too.* * *

Pippin picked the paper up from the straw and furled his brow at it. Then, still clutching it in one hand, he moved toward the milk bucket.

“Oh!” Fern shot up. “You mustn’t, young Master Took. That there’s my job.” She picked the bucket up and then sloshed a bit as she heaved into another sob while she held it.

Pippin hugged her around the knees and then placed one hand on the milk bucket handle. Still clutching the paper in his other hand, he walked with her into the smial.

Cook was bemused to see her missing kitchen lass appear with both the expected milk pail and the unlooked-for heir to the Thain, crying as if her heart would break. Fern set the milk pail in its place, but Cook could not get any sense out of her, crying as she was. The Little One did not object to the ginger biscuit she handed him to munch on during this interrogation but, perhaps seeing that Cook was not succeeding in calming Fern down, he finally heaved a great sigh and took hold of the kitchen lass’s arm. Still clutching his paper in his other hand, he marched her to his father’s office.

Fern tried to pull back a bit and began sobbing even harder when she realized where they were, but Pippin gripped her more tightly, knocked once, then pushed the door open.

Paladin quickly shoved the ball and cup game he’d been playing with into his desk drawer. There was some time to relax, these late winter afternoons, after he’d sent Regi off to find a snack for himself in the kitchens. But his son was not alone.

“Peregrin,” Paladin said in the sternest tone with which he ever addressed his son, “have you made this lass cry?’

Pippin shook his head indignantly no, and the lass in question also managed a brief headshake before more sobbing took her.

Pippin marched up to the desk and lay the paper before his father. Paddin took it up, read it once quickly, and then looked up at the scene in his office, thoroughly confused. Pippin tapped the back of the paper and looked at him expectantly. Paddin shook his head, cleared his throat, and read aloud,

“Whereas, Will Whitfoot, Mayor of the Shire, and as such First Shiriff of the Shire, has received the notice of intent of Shiriff Olo Proudfoot of the West Farthing to retire from such position in three years’ time, said Mayor Whitfoot announces that he will accept applications for candidates to the position of Shiriff of the West Farthing during the first two months of the year 1399, Shire Reckoning, being Afteryule and Solmath. The chosen candidate will undergo an apprenticeship training under Shiriff Proudfoot to commence on the First of Rethe, 1399, Shire Reckoning, and to conclude with the transference of office on this same date in the year 1402, Shire Reckoning. In accordance with the mayoral seat and the request of Shiriff Proudfoot, the apprenticeship will be based in the city of Michel Delving. Applicants must have reached the age of majority at the scheduled time for transference of office. Signed Will Whitfoot, Olo Proudfoot, etc., etc.

“-- seven required signatures, very much in order,” concluded Paladin. “I wonder why this didn’t come in an earlier post?” he muttered to himself.

The lass, at least, had stopped crying, and was now gulping for air in his office. “That’s -- that’s what it says, sir?” she asked timidly.

“Of course,” Paddin responded as he let the paper flutter back to his desk, where Pippin promptly picked it up again. “Is there something amiss?”

“N-no, sir,” she gulped out, then a smile shone behind her tears. “Just a misunderstanding is all.” She glanced over to Pippin and looked as if she might be considering hugging him, but when he did not turn toward her, she gave a quick curtsy and rushed back out toward the kitchens.

Pippin was still staring at the the notice he held in his hands, an odd look on his face.

“A little young to be thinking of going for shiriff, aren’t you?” Paddin asked him in a nervous tone. It would never do if his lad got the wrong sort of dreams in his head. On the other foot...perhaps it was best to let these fantasies play out early, before even Paladin himself became Thain in fact as well as in practice.

“Keep the paper if you like,” he smiled indulgently and waved Pippin off. “I’ll let all the hobbits who need to know about this. ‘Twill be a simpler announcement than that is, for sure, as Will never uses one word when seven will do.”

Pippin waited the next day until close to the time he knew his father would release Regi, then darted down the corridor that housed the older hobbit’s family quarters. He dropped Mayor Whitfoot’s notice, crumpled from being in his breeches pocket all day, in front of their door so that it looked as if it had carelessly fallen. Then he scampered back to the safety of his own family’s rooms.

At the end of Solmath, Pippin hung back between his family and the groups of hobbits saying their farewells.

“Well, you’ve been a great deal of help to me these years, lad.”

“Thank you, Cousin Paddin. I am always glad to be of service to you.”

“No, no, don’t worry about me.” Paddin clapped Regi on the back. “I’ll have a new assistant in hand before long.” He glanced over at Pippin and winked.

“Yes, of course,” Regi answered stiffly.

“You just go on and make something of yourself, lad,” Paddin continued. “You’ll do a lot of roaming as a shiriff -- might even get down to the South Farthing a time or few. Ought to give the Longbottom Leaf a try while you’re there.”

“Yes, Cousin Paddin,” Regi answered. He suddenly smiled. “Perhaps I’ll even make myself into a two-feather shiriff someday.”

“Hoy, that’s a good one!” Paddin laughed, clapping Regi on the back again. “Off with you, now.”

When the families and close friends had said their goodbyes to the departing hobbits and the last cart had rolled away from the yard, Pippin approached Everard, who stood with his head down and tears running down his face. He slipped his small hand into the teen’s, then lifted up his face to the tear-stained one and put his other arm around Everard in a hug.


When he woke one morning early in Rethe, Pippin felt different. He eagerly consumed first breakfast, then went in search of Everard.

He led the older hobbit to a particular storage room. This was one thing Pippin had missed doing before, and he knew Everard wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t exactly the right time to be doing it now.

He pulled the end of his family’s Yule log out into the room a little, and then seated himself and Everard on the floor in front of it, clasping hands.

Opening his mouth wide, Pippin offered his high-pitched belated serenade to the Yule log.

“Sing Hey! Sing Hey!
For Yuletide days,
Twine mistletoe and holly,
For friendship grows,
In winter snows,
And so let’s all be jolly!”* *


___________
*Each week in the Shire calendar begins on Saturday, as does the new year. Fellowship of the Ring, Appendix D, “The Calendars.”

**Traditional nursery rhyme, adapted.

Chapter Eighteen: Bestest Friends

It was with trepidation in his heart that Merry rode in the cart approaching the Great Smials for his annual summer visit. All the news coming out of Tookland had been good, but he had learned to his chagrin last year just how much Uncle Paddin’s letters never got around to saying.

They let the stable hobbit take the ponies as Merry and his mother dismounted and began to approach the doors.

“Essie!” Aunt Eg called from the approach to the gardens, waving a handkerchief. At the same time, a small blur topped by sandy curls launched itself around the Smials from the other side and streaked toward Merry, colliding with him at such speed that he was forced to grab on to avoid toppling over.

“Merry!” Pippin shrieked. “Merry, you’re late! Did you stop for a long luncheon? Did you bring me any? Da says I’m always hungry and I’ll eat him out of home and hole, but I don’t think he’s mad, really, because he laughs when he says it, and anyway, I can’t eat apples or other crunchy things too good right now because one of my front teeth fell out -- see?” He opened his mouth for a display and a brief pause of breath, then squirmed around so that he was hanging near upside-down in Merry’s arms.

“Merry, put me down, because I want to show you what me and Everard built with sticks but it’s on the other side of the Smials and I have to take you there, you’ll never find it on your own, we hided it good! Merry, put me down!”

Merry held his little cousin tightly around the knees, despite the affronted green-eyed glare that stared up at him from just below his kneecaps. He remembered the last time he had seen Pip, and last summer, and blinked back a couple of tears even as he beamed.

“I missed you, Pip,” he informed his cousin simply. “I want to hold onto you a while longer.”

“Hullo, Everard!” Pippin suddenly cried out from upside-down in Merry’s arms, punctuating his cry with a large wave that bounced him about a bit. “Merry’s here now!”

Merry watched Everard stop, give him a hesitant wave, then break into a run toward the yard with a huge grin on his face as another cart pulled in. He turned back to Pippin with a sudden fear of a different kind than he’d ever felt with his cousin before.

“Pip?” Merry asked, his voice close to trembling. “Did you miss me?”

“Oh, silly,” Pippin began in an oddly pitched voice. “Merry, put me down, my head feels funny!”

Merry hastily set him on the ground, where Pippin staggered a moment, then righted himself and continued in his normal voice.

“Of course I missed you! But you don’t live here, so I have to have somebody to play with when you’re gone, and Pearl’s old and Pimpernel’s a lass and Pervinca’s a lass, too, and anyway, I don’t want to play lasses’ games, and Everard’s lonely because -- just because -- and so I play with him because he’s lonely and he can help me reach things that are high up and he lets me pick all our games and he gave me a mathom once that was a broken-off doll’s head and I thought it wasn’t very nice but I found out he didn’t know how to fix it so we had Mama make a new body and we gave the doll back his sister Teatime -- her name’s really Four O’Clock, but Da calls her that because four o’clock’s teatime, you know, so it’s funny -- and she wasn’t mad at Everard anymore, and now we’re friends, but you’re my bestest friend, Merry!”

It was a couple of hours later that they were lying on their back near the edge of the garden, idly eating strawberries.

“Pippin,” Merry suddenly said seriously, rolling over to prop himself up on an elbow. “Do you remember last summer?”

Pippin swallowed his strawberry and watched his fingers intently as he licked the juice off them before finally answering quietly, and without looking at his cousin, “Yes, Merry.”

“What I’d like...Do you remember...” Merry made these false starts, then finally blurted out, “Who put you under the bed?”

Pippin sat up and looked up at Merry, then flicked his gaze just for a moment across the garden at the group of teens and tweens playing a running game near the archery field. Everard was among them, happy to play once again with his brother, returned to the Smials for a summer visit.

Pippin looked back to Merry, meeting his gaze square-on, and said, in all seriousness, “A dragon.”

Then he added hurriedly, “But it’s all right now, because I got big and strong and brave, like the Bullroarer, just like you said, and I made the dragon go away.”

“Oh, Pip,” Merry swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, then pulled his cousin into his chest for a tight hug. He whispered into the curls above a pointed ear. “I think you must be one of the bravest hobbits in the Shire.”

The End