All Work and No Play (or The Thrum of Tookish Bowstrings, Part 2)
(formerly known as Farry and Ferdi Go to Gondor)

At age 16, Faramir Took aims to follow his father’s footsteps on the Quest to learn more about his family history
as well as Hobbits’ involvement in the Outlands during the War of the Ring.

Prologue

From Just Desserts, Chapter 33. All Work and No Play

~ In the Houses of Healing, New Annuminas, Arnor (the Northern Kingdom), S.R. 1446, about six weeks before Midyear's Day ~

‘I was almost forgetting what I meant to say,’ Ferdi said, turning to the King. ‘You told me the Steward would be wakening soon, and that I should send for Pippin, and so I did; but he looks as deeply asleep as ever he was...’

‘He will waken soon,’ Elessar said, and as if in answer there was a groan from the bed, and the masked man moved to the bedside.

‘Ah, Haldoron,’ he said. ‘What foolishness have you done now?’

‘A great foolishness,’ Haldoron muttered, forcing one eye open and peering up over his shoulder at his brother. ‘As you so kindly informed the King in your letters to him while he was still in the Southlands.’

‘Someone had to make you see reason,’ Halbadhor said, ‘and if you wouldn’t heed my warning, whom would you heed?’

‘I have been blinded by grief,’ Haldoron said. ‘Anger, and despair... Not fit...’

‘...and that is why I’m here,’ Halbadhor said. ‘Come to bear my share of the burden. I’ve been hunting and fishing long enough, and it is time to take up the sword once more.’

‘Battle?’ Haldoron said, confused.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Halbadhor said, and the King chuckled.

‘It is a battle, of sorts,’ he said. ‘You’re stale, old friend, and worn down, and...’

‘In need of a holiday?’ Pippin said helpfully from the doorway.

‘Ah, the Thain has arrived,’ Elessar said.

‘A holiday...?’ Haldoron said, forcing himself up with his hands and rolling to a seated position. He shook his head to clear it of the lingering effects of the draught, and winced at the pain of his back, though it was healing in a remarkable manner thanks to the application of athelas. ‘What sort of nonsense...?’

‘My cousin is famed for his nonsense,’ Ferdi said lightly, ‘though in this case I’d agree. When he’s been too long indoors, listening to complaints, and I notice that he’s stopped listening, I put a stop to things.’

‘He does,’ Pippin said ruefully. ‘Sometimes I wonder just who is in charge of things...’

‘It helps,’ Ferdi said in a lofty tone, ‘that he is the younger cousin.’

‘Helps very much indeed,’ Elessar agreed, and turned once more to Haldoron. ‘Your brother has agreed to take your place while you are elsewhere occupied...’

‘Elsewhere,’ Haldoron interrupted. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound...’

‘The Prince of the Halflings,’ Elessar began, and the other two men snorted, for having guarded the Shire and the Breeland for the better part of their lives, they knew how the Shire-folk themselves would have reacted to such an epithet, ‘has made a request of the King, that...’

‘Are you to set me to guarding the Bounds of the Shire?’ Haldoron said. ‘Is that to be the consequences of my failing to listen to the advice of hobbits?’

‘I had considered the notion,’ Elessar said with a thoughtful air. ‘However, Peregrin’s request came as I was considering, and I am of a mind to grant his petition.’

‘His petition,’ Haldoron said, when the King stopped.

‘He wishes to send his son to the Southlands, to Gondor, for a time of learning,’ Elessar said. ‘As you know, young Faramir Took would be seen as a prize by renegade Men seeking the Thain’s gold. His escort must be carefully chosen.’

Ferdibrand barely suppressed himself from rolling his eyes. Carefully chosen, aye, and for more reasons than one. Headstrong, the lad was, for starters.

‘I’ll be sending Ferdibrand along, of course,’ Pippin said with a nod for his cousin (and ignoring Ferdi’s hastily concealed shock), ‘but I was discussing the need for an experienced Captain to lead the escort, one somewhat familiar with hobbits, but also well-versed with travel in the Wilderlands.’

Ferdi definitely did not like the sounds of this. Nor did Haldoron. It seemed that the two were in complete agreement on this matter, at least, from the glance that they exchanged before Haldoron spoke.

‘Wilderlands?’ he said.

‘My son would like to retrace the journey of the Nine,’ Pippin said. ‘Insofar as it is possible, of course.’ He sighed. ‘I would love to accompany him myself, but am much encumbered by matters of business at present.’

‘Retrace...’ Ferdi said.

‘Yes, Ferdi,’ Pippin said briskly. ‘Isn’t this a stroke of luck? Here you were just saying the other day that you wished you’d seen even half the wonders I’d told you of, and...’

‘Wishing and wanting are two different matters entirely, cousin,’ Ferdi began, but Pippin laughed and spoke over his protest.

‘Well here is your chance!’ he said gaily. ‘The King has offered to provide a seasoned escort for the journey, and...’

The rest of his speech was lost on Ferdibrand, and Haldoron, who had locked glances once more. It seemed they were going on a journey together, whether they wanted to, or no.

***

Chapter 1. The King’s Authority

~ a few hours earlier in the guest quarters set aside for hobbits visiting New Annúminas ~

‘So, the children are safely under Estella’s eye,’ Pimpernel said, pouring a cup of tea for her brother and then for herself. ‘Just what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?’ 

Uncharacteristically, instead of answering at once, Pippin peered earnestly into his teacup and cleared his throat. 

‘Yes?’ said Pimpernel, and then as the silence stretched out, her polite attention became annoyance, and then annoyance turned to alarm. ‘What is it you’re afraid to tell me?’ 

At this, her brother looked up, in that instant his expression seeming less “Thain” and more “little brother”, though “Thain” quickly overtook his countenance. ‘I’m not afraid to tell you anything, Nell, you ought to know that…’ 

‘Be that as it may,’ she said, setting her cup aside and leaning forward. ‘There’s something you’re not saying. You don’t usually invite me for a silent cup of tea…’ 

‘Though I ought to, and more often than not,’ Pippin said, his whimsical nature stirred by the thought. ‘You’re a sensible hobbit, sister that you may be, and know how to hold your tongue when idle chatter isn’t wanted.’ 

‘My thanks... I think,’ Pimpernel said, and added, ‘But none of your nonsense, now, Pip! Just what is it, you called me here to discuss?’ 

Pippin sighed. He sipped at his tea, but it was no longer scalding as he preferred it. With a grimace, he set his own cup aside, and looking up again, he said, ‘Nell, it’s about your husband.’ 

‘Is something the matter with Ferdi?’ Nell said, though she did not rise from her seat to go in immediate search, for her brother seemed much too calm for some emergency to have happened. She knew only that Ferdi had gone to the public square to observe some punishment or other, “the King’s justice” as Diamond had called it, with a sober face. Though Nell had pressed her for more details, Diamond had refused to say more. Come to think on it, Nell not seen her beloved since. Instead of Ferdi returning with an account of what he’d witnessed, Pippin had sent a maidservant with a message for Pimpernel to meet him here, in one of the parlours specially made over to Arwen’s specifications, with every accommodation and comfort imaginable, for the use of visiting hobbits. 

‘No,’ Pippin began, but then he shook his head and amended his answer. ‘Yes.’ 

‘No, there isn’t something the matter, or yes, there is?’ Pimpernel said. Her brother was being rather more obscure than usual. 

‘Yes,’ Pippin said. 

Pimpernel managed not to sigh in exasperation, but persisted. ‘Yes, both, or yes, something is the matter?’ she said. 

Pippin fixed her with a stern eye. ‘You’re not making sense,’ he said, and then as his sister began to splutter, he held up a placating hand. ‘A moment, Nell,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to figure out how to tell you this…’ 

‘Just start at the beginning, and work your way along to the end,’ she said. ‘Or start in the middle, if you must, and I’ll ask questions if I feel the need to do so.’ 

‘Or I could start at the end,’ Pippin mused, looking into the distance, but then his eyes returned to meet hers once more and he nodded. ‘That’s it, then. I want to send Ferdi to Gondor.’ 

Pimpernel nodded – they were getting somewhere at last – and then the significance of his words hit her and she gasped, one hand going to her heart. ‘To Gondor! You’re sending Ferdi…!’ 

‘Yes, Nell,’ Pippin said. ‘I think it’s for the best, all round, save perhaps for yourself and the children, but I think…’ 

‘You want us to go to Gondor? But the little ones…’ 

‘Not you, Nell dear,’ Pippin said, pointing to her and shaking his head. ‘Nor you and the children, even. Just Ferdi.’ 

Nell closed her mouth with a snap, once she realised it was open. ‘Just Ferdi,’ she said, feeling numb. ‘Just Ferdi,’ she repeated, blinking. She tilted her head to one side in her effort to understand. ‘But why? You nearly banished him upon a time, I know… but that was all a mistake...’ As the import of her own words washed over her, she began to feel short of breath, felt the need to pant for air, squelched it down. ‘Why?’ she managed to gasp. 

Pippin reached out to take her hand between his, then patted her hand gently, and she could clearly read the sympathy and concern in his face. Somehow that made it worse. ‘Steady, Nell,’ he said. ‘It’s not like that…’ 

‘Not like what?’ she said. ‘To send a hobbit to Gondor… if not banishment, it’s all but banishment! And to send him without me… to send him away, for months… away…’ She was having trouble breathing and gasped out the last words in consternation.

‘I don’t know about that,’ Pippin said, maintaining his calm demeanor in the face of her dismay. ‘I’ve been to Gondor a number of times already, and I’ve always managed to find my way home again.’ 

‘But…!’ Pimpernel said. ‘I forbid it! Do you hear? You cannot do this to us…! To me!’ 

‘Hear me out, Nell,’ Pippin said. 

‘Hear you out!’ 

He nodded, ‘For I fear the alternative might be worse,’ he said. 

‘Worse! What could be worse than…?’ 

‘I feel I have no choice,’ Pippin said. 

Nell sat back, her head reeling as she fought for coherent thought. ‘No choice,’ she said faintly. ‘But—’ she said, seizing on a word he’d used but a moment earlier, ‘but you spoke of an alternative…’ 

Pippin nodded, his expression unhappy. ‘There is an alternative,’ he said. ‘I could send him to Fredregar at Budgeford instead. He could help oversee young Rudi’s holdings, since Freddy’s health prevents him from assuming the title of The Bolger, until your son comes of age…’ 

‘Send Ferdi to Freddy…’ Pimpernel said slowly. And then, ‘But why? You would exile him to Bridgefields, if not Gondor? But you know how he loves the Tookland! He nearly gave his life for her!’ 

Pippin nodded sadly. ‘Indeed, he did,’ he agreed. ‘But it marked him, Nell, and not only outwardly.’ 

Pimpernel fought down rising indignation. ‘And you think it should not have? You think it’s merely something he can… can set aside on a whim? Those ruffians…!’ 

Pippin put his hand on his sister’s once more, with a firm squeeze. ‘I know very well what the ruffians did, to him, to Tolly, to Freddy… to any number of hobbits who had the misfortune to run afoul of them. To Lotho! And Mayor Will! And Lobelia…’ 

‘Enough!’ Pimpernel said. ‘It wasn’t only the ruffians who overran the Shire during the time of the Troubles. There were the ones that came after your gold, or have you forgot? The ones who took young Farry and would’ve sent him back to you in... in little pieces! Not to mention the one that would have pulled Ferdi’s arm off with no more thought than he’d have given to pulling the wings off a fly – or the one that tried to spit you on his sword for the gold he thought you were escorting, if not for that mithril shirt of Frodo’s that Sam insisted you wear!’ 

Like their father’s anger, her fury ran cold. She pulled her hand from his grasp and stared at him icily for a few breaths. At last, she concluded, ‘I think perhaps your friendship with Men has turned your head, has melted your brains like butter on an overwarm day! Those ruffians…’ 

But her younger brother remained eerily calm. ‘Not you, too, Nell,’ he said, his tone grieved. 

‘Not “myself, too...” – what?’ Pimpernel demanded. 

‘Ferdi regards all Men as ruffians,’ Pippin said. ‘And that is the problem.’ His eyes grew darker as his gaze poured into hers. ‘Even the King, and his loyal guardsmen…’ 

‘Have you already forgot how difficult it is sometimes to tell a ruffian from a “loyal guardsman”?’ Pimpernel reminded. ‘Especially ruffians who have murdered the King’s own guardsmen, and assumed their guise – the dead guardsmen’s uniforms – for their own nefarious purposes!’ 

‘Enough!’ Pippin said in his turn, cutting off his sister’s protests with the single sharply spoken word. After taking a deep breath, he went on. ‘Nell, Ferdi is my right hand, as you heard me introduce him at the welcoming banquet after our arrival, and I am the Thain of the Shire. Do you know what that means?’ 

Pimpernel stared at her brother, opened her mouth to answer, and closed it again. ‘I thought I knew,’ she admitted at last. ‘But I think you mean to say something else, entirely.’ 

‘You would have the right of it,’ Pippin said, nodding slowly. He drew a deep breath. 

‘So… then… what does it mean?’ Pimpernel said at last. ‘And what does it have to do with my Ferdi?’ 

‘As Thain,’ Pippin began, and sat up straighter. ‘Do you know why the Shire has a Thain in the first place? What the Thain’s duties are? How it all started in the beginning?’ 

Pimpernel started to answer, closed her mouth to think again...  

Her brother was wonderfully patient, waiting for her to speak, watching her face, an earnest expression on his own.  

At last, she said slowly, ‘He… he is the master of the Shire-moot…’ and at Pippin’s nod, she added, more confidently, remembering their childhood lessons, ‘and Captain of the Shire-muster and the Hobbitry-in-arms…’ 

When she hesitated, he nodded again and made an encouraging gesture. ‘Go on,’ he said, and when she looked at him, puzzled, he prompted, ‘The roads…’ 

Her face cleared. ‘Ah, yes, he was – and still is – to speed the King’s messengers, by seeing to it that the roads were – are – kept in good repair. How could I forget that?’ 

‘Perhaps because the King’s messengers were so few and far between, after the fall of the North Kingdom,’ Pippin said lightly. ‘At least until the return of the King in the person of Elessar. And…?’ 

‘And…’ Pimpernel said, drawing a blank. 

At last, Pippin said quietly, ‘to hold the authority of the King, until his return…’ 

‘To hold the authority…’ Pimpernel echoed, and brightened. ‘That’s right. I remember hearing old Sandbuck mention that in passing, upon a time, though he rather dismissed it, seeing as how the King hadn’t ever come back in all that time and wasn’t likely to do so…’ 

‘It’s a pity our old tutor didn’t live to see the day…’ Pippin said meditatively. ‘How surprised and delighted he would have been, to see legends come to life…’ 

Pimpernel sighed, but Pippin brought them back from the side trail that had threatened to take them far from the main point. 

‘To hold the authority of the King,’ he repeated. ‘Who is the King, I ask you?’ 

Surprised, she answered, ‘Why, Elessar, of course! You said it yourself just now when speaking of the return of the King.’ 

‘Perhaps a better question might be, what is he?’ 

Confused, she stared at him in perplexity. 

At last, he said with quiet emphasis, ‘He is a Man, Nell.’ 

‘Of course he is,’ she said, but the significance escaped her. And then her brother seemed to change the subject, confusing her further. 

‘Ferdi is to be Thain after me, as you know, should something happen to me before Farry comes of age. The Tooks have finally accepted the Succession as I have set it forth for them.’ 

It had taken Pippin’s brush with death to accomplish this feat: to pass over Reginard, who by the dictates of tradition ought to have been the next in line to be Thain. Regi was currently the Steward of Tookland, and in not taking on the Thainship, he would remain Steward, for there was none better who could fill that position as capably as Regi had proven himself to perform. In a further departure from tradition, Pippin had vowed to bypass Regi’s brother Everard, who would remain Chief Engineer and Delver (for Pippin had a knack for recognising people’s strengths and moving them into the position that best suited themselves and the Shire), ultimately settling the Thainship upon Ferdi’s capable shoulders. During the dark days when his death had seemed both imminent and inevitable, Pippin had actually passed the Seal of the Thain on to Ferdi, reasoning that the Tooks could hardly argue with him after he was dead. 

And then, just as Thain Peregrin seemed to be at his last gasp, Samwise Gamgee had appeared out of the Wilderland, bearing a magical potion – well, the good Mayor insisted it was not magical, but it might as well have been – that proved itself, in the end, a cure for what was killing the Thain. 

Ferdi had been overjoyed to return the heavy ring to Pippin, but the cat was well and truly out of the bag. The Succession, as Pippin saw it – which upset tradition, and which Pippin had foisted off on the Tooks by some trickery, counting on the confusion and grief that would result from his death – soon became common knowledge. And nowadays, though it was only a few years later, now that the Tooks had had a certain amount of time to discuss and wrangle and debate the issue, they were fairly resigned to the notion. Even Reginard, who was competent and happy as Steward and would have been miserable as Thain, out of his element, had come to terms with the idea. Somehow Pippin had worked it out to be a compliment to the Steward – “No one else could fill Regi’s place…” – instead of disgrace. 

‘May that day never come,’ Pimpernel murmured fervently. Ferdi had no desire to follow Pippin as Thain, not even for a limited time, holding the position as regent for young Faramir until Pippin’s eldest son should come of age. 

The corners of Pippin’s mouth tightened, a smile without humour, and he patted her hand once more. ‘It’s a dirty job, rather like keeping the stalls mucked out in the King’s stables, but somebody’s got to do it,’ he said lightly. And then he sobered once more, leaning forward to emphasise the seriousness of what he was about to say. 

‘As Thain, Ferdi would be the King’s representative,’ he said. 

Pimpernel nodded. 

‘He would hold the authority of the King.’ 

Somehow she had the feeling that, whatever it was Pippin was getting at, she was not completely understanding. 

‘The King is a Man, Nell!’ 

‘Well, yes, we’ve been over that already…’ 

‘Ferdi would have to meet with other representatives of the King on occasion,’ Pippin went on, inexorably pounding his message home. ‘He would have to trust, not only Elessar…’ 

Pimpernel caught her breath as understanding swept over her. 

‘…but also those representatives that the King trusted enough to deal with Shire-folk,’ Pippin said, and nodded at the expression dawning on his sister’s face. Soberly, he concluded, ‘We must all pull together, or risk being pulled to pieces, Nell.’ 

There was a long silence as Pippin allowed his sister time to consider all the implications. 

‘And so, you want to send Ferdi to Gondor,’ she said, her heart sinking, for in the light of her new understanding, the separation seemed inevitable. 

‘Yes,’ Pippin said, sitting back again, satisfied though obviously not happy with what he saw as a necessary – no, essential – duty, that would cause distress to those he loved. ‘Farry… he wants to trace the journeys of the Fellowship, as a part of his study of History, and I thought… What a good idea! …You remember how dull and boring History was, under old Sandbuck…’ 

‘Names and dates,’ she murmured, ‘all to be learnt by heart…’ 

‘But when Da would spin his tales after teatime,’ Pippin went on. ‘How he’d bring the people, the stories, History! …to life.’ 

‘I remember,’ said Pimpernel. ‘But… you were gone for more than a year! Surely you don’t mean to keep us apart for so very long!’ 

‘It should not take them a year,’ Pippin said, and counted on his fingers. ‘It took us nearly a month to reach Rivendell, but ‘twon’t take them half that long… Frodo was wounded, and there was Strider’s disastrous “short cut”… And then, of course, they won’t be spending weeks and weeks at Rivendell. They’ll be travelling in summer weather, much faster than it was for the Fellowship in the dead of winter, and not stopping at any one place for very long. The same for Lórien, a few days only, and Minas Tirith, as well. A few days only, for the guardsmen know their duty, and their duty is to ensure the walking party will arrive well before Ring Day, that they may meet me in Gondor for the grand occasion…’ 

‘You’re going to Gondor?’ Pimpernel said. 

‘Well don’t look at me as if I have grown another head, Nell,’ Pippin said in exasperation. ‘The King has invited me to journey southward with him in the last days of summer, to celebrate this year’s Ring Day – Frodo’s and Bilbo’s birthday, as you ought to remember – in Minas Tirith, and so I will meet our own Travellers there and then. And then we shall all travel back together, by the most direct route, along the Kingsway, swift and safe, and be home and safe in the Tookland well before the weather turns.’ 

‘Travellers?’ Pimpernel said, her head spinning with new thoughts and speculations. 

‘Well, I’m of a mind to indulge my son in his wish to learn more of our family history in terms of Hobbits’ experiences in the Outlands during the War of the Ring, as his own father and cousins lived it,’ Pippin said. ‘Along with any sons of the Mayor or Master who’d like to trace their fathers’ journeys as well…’ 

‘That could be quite a pandemonium of young hobbits,’ Pimpernel said, tilting her head to one side and trying to speak calmly. ‘Pity the poor escort…’ 

‘Yes, well,’ Pippin said. He eyed her closely. ‘Do keep in mind, dear sister, that I am not punishing Ferdi for any lacking on his part…’ 

‘I don’t know…’ Pimpernel said slowly. ‘It might seem to him like a punishment…’ 

‘Think of it more as a shared endeavour,’ Pippin said. ‘Ferdi will be working together with Men, good, solid, upright Men of the King’s choosing, Men that Elessar would trust with his own life, or the life of his own son.’ 

‘Shared endeavour,’ Pimpernel echoed. 

‘It is amazing, how people can come to respect one another, when working together on a shared quest or other,’ Pippin said. ‘Why, I watched a Wood Elf and a Dwarf, whose people were not on the best of terms, come to an understanding, once upon a time.’ 

‘Firm friendship, you mean,’ Pimpernel said, ‘unless your stories are highly exaggerated…’ 

‘Why, Nell!’ Pippin reproved. ‘You know I am committed to tell the absolute truth! I never exaggerate!’ 

At her look, he relented slightly. ‘Well, hardly ever…’ 

Laughing together made a good ending for a difficult interview, and brother and sister parted with a heartfelt hug. Though Pimpernel’s heart was heavy at the thought of several months’ separation from her beloved, at least he wouldn’t be as long away as Pippin had been, when her brother had followed Frodo all those years ago. And this time, she’d know where the Travellers were going, and why, and even when to expect them back. At least, that was the plan. 

*** 

Author’s Notes:

Some phrases taken from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, “Prologue: Concerning Hobbits”. I don’t know where the notion of the Thain keeping the roads to speed the messengers of the King came from. I thought it was “canon” but couldn’t find mention of it while writing this story. The only mention I found was when Marcho and Blanco were given land to dwell in by the high king at Fornost, which led to the founding of the Shire.

Pippin’s near-fatal illness and Sam’s miraculous cure are detailed in A Healer’s Tale and At the End of His Rope. 

***

Cautionary note: This chapter has some discussion of the ruthlessness of kidnappers. The details have been left deliberately vague.

Chapter 2. Laying the Groundwork

~ Two weeks later; about one month before Midyear's Day and departure ~

At the tap on the door, Haldoron, former Steward to Elessar’s Northern kingdom, raised his head from his contemplation of the empty desktop in this borrowed room on a lower level of the Citadel of New Annúminas. He’d left the trappings of Steward behind him on the day he’d tendered his resignation to the King. ‘Enter!’ he rapped out.

The door opened. Although the Man who entered wore no uniform, he might easily be taken for a guardsman simply from the polish on his boots and belt and the upright way he carried himself. Indeed, the former Steward saw the fingers of the Man’s right hand twitch as he came to a stop before the desk; he wondered wryly if the fellow had suppressed an almost-instinctive salute.

‘Come in, Denethor, and sit yourself down,’ he said, indicating the chair to one side of his borrowed desk.

‘Sir,’ Denethor said. He nodded and seated himself as ordered, though the impression he gave of a guardsman at attention remained. Denethor’s parents had named him after the Steward of Gondor, a Man both noble and grim, before the latter’s descent into madness. In this moment, he bore an uncanny resemblance to his namesake in older days.

‘At your ease.’ 

‘Sir,’ Denethor repeated, sitting as straight as before, though he raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Haldoron suppressed a sigh as he studied the former guardsman. He supposed the raised eyebrow was something, at least. Might as well launch into the business at hand.

‘I called for you because I am in need of help,’ he said. ‘Your help,’ he amended.

He could swear the former guardsman sat more stiffly, if such were possible. ‘My help, sir?’

The fellow’s caution was understandable, even laudable in light of recent events, but irritation – aimed at himself, mainly – led Haldoron to snap, ‘I’m not about to consign you to the stocks or a cell in the dungeons, Man!’

Something cold and hard replaced the wariness in the former guardsman’s eyes as Denethor lifted his chin and drawled, ‘Nor the gallows, my Lord? Or do the gallows remain an option?’ 

Immediately after the words left Denethor’s mouth, Haldoron had the impression that the former guardsman braced himself then in readiness for the repercussions of what might easily be taken as insolence. Haldoron’s reputation, built up over the past two years of increasing bitterness from his unresolved grief, along with the Steward’s self-imposed isolation, easily justified the Man’s wariness. And so, quite deliberately, the Steward responded with a hearty laugh.

At Haldoron’s answering laughter, the visitor betrayed his surprise with the merest blink of astonishment – honest laughter, it was, seasoned with a tinge of self-derision and... regret? Yes, Haldoron decided. Regret was a part of it. There were past decisions that could not be changed, such as the death warrant he’d signed, condemning this Man’s kinsmen to the gallows. Only the desperate intervention of hobbits and Elessar’s timely return had prevented the deaths of those innocents from being laid at Haldoron’s feet. 

But the past was the past, and he must come to terms with that. Indeed, he must keep his focus on the future decisions yet to be made, and future events that were yet to confront him – along with the others soon to be entrusted to his care.

Sobering abruptly, Haldoron retracted the finger he’d pointed at Denethor, then took hold of himself. ‘Bold as ever, I see. It’s all too clear why the King appointed you to his special bodyguard.’

‘As punishment for not watching my words?’ Denethor queried. 

Though to the casual eye the Man sat as stiffly as before, Haldoron thought he might have relaxed slightly. Truth be told, even when he’d held the position of Steward, Haldoron’s power over this Man had been limited. Denethor was well-known and well-respected in the City, not only for his reputation as a tradesman over the past decade but for his past courage and dedication to duty that had ended his career as a guardsman and nearly taken his life. While following Elessar’s orders to guard the visiting hobbits from all harm, he’d thrown himself between the Mayor of the Shire and a murderous ruffian when Samwise Gamgee had tried to interrupt the abduction of two young hobbits: one of his young lads and the Thain’s oldest son. Shot through at close range, close enough to the archer for the arrow to punch through any protection offered by his mail coat, Denethor had barely survived and had never fully recovered from his wounds.

But Denethor was waiting for a response. The erstwhile Steward wrenched his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

‘O you watched your words, of that I’ve no doubt. Watched them as they came unchecked out of your mouth...’ A smile quirked at his mouth, and his next words sounded more like they came from the Northern Ranger he’d been, a lifetime ago, than the Steward of Elessar’s North-kingdom. ‘You remind me of a few Shire-folk I’ve known in that respect.’

Haldoron saw the corners of the former guardsman’s mouth tighten, though Denethor refrained from smiling as he answered. ‘Perhaps that’s why the Shire-folk have embraced me so heartily... I remind them somehow of some of the Shire-folk they’ve known.’

At this point, one of the hobbits currently visiting New Annúminas would likely have said, ‘None of your nonsense, now, Denny!’ But there were no hobbits in the room. And that was the crux of the matter, was it not?

*** 

Hildibold Took entered the King’s stables rather more cautiously than he might’ve under any other circumstances, such as arranging for ponies for Thain Peregrin or his family members, that they might ride out with the King or Queen on some excursion or other. His frequent visits to see to his own pony’s comfort, as well as ensuring the proper treatment of the other Shire steeds, had brought him into regular contact with the grooms and handlers, so much so that he’d lost much of his shyness and suspicion of them. These Men, at least, he could almost see as people, like himself, rather than potential ruffians. Almost.

In sharp contrast to his Thain, the Tookish archer accepted very few Men as trustworthy. Only Denny, as the hobbits had dubbed the Man in the earliest days of their acquaintance, and Bergil, whose understanding of Shire-folks’ customs and sensibilities had grown out of his friendship with Pippin from the time of their youth, had won Hildibold’s respect, perhaps grudging at first, but later whole-hearted in his acceptance of the two Men. Despite their unnatural height (by hobbit standards), they might be hobbits themselves, in his estimation, with their courage under extreme pressure, demonstrated generosity of spirit, and companionability coupled with an uncannily hobbit-like appreciation of simple pleasures.

And despite the inhibiting factor of the high esteem he had for the King and Queen, he was sometimes able to set aside his reserve in their presence. Not only had these two august beings seen into his very heart and soul, early on in their acquaintance, and accepted him for who he was, but they had never made him feel small or inadequate or less than. And he had seen Elessar lay aside his kingly grandeur for hunter’s clothes, sitting at his ease with a pipe in his mouth. 

Moreover, from his experience, he could look beyond the King and perceive the healer. Although the Tooks gave their own healers a great deal of trouble, as a matter of course, they also (privately, of course) held all healers in high esteem. The Tookish archers, especially, honoured healers in their heart of hearts – for unlike themselves, regretting the lives they’d taken in the past yet knowing they’d all too probably be forced to do so again in future, so long as rogue Men would insist on crossing the Bounds of the Shire, healers restored life to the ill and injured.

The lives he had taken during the Troubles, culminating in the Battle of Bywater, would haunt Hildibold Took to the end of his days. Nor was he ever likely to forget the cruelties of the ruffians who had infested the Outer Shire under Pimple Baggins and, later, Sharkey. Who had besieged the Tookland and threatened dire retribution against Thain Paladin and the Thain’s immediate family and all Tooks in response to the Tookish resistance. Who had beaten and tormented Tooks captured outside of the Tookland, even left some of them – his cousin Ferdibrand and Hilly’s brother Tolibold among them – for dead. Those two, and a few others amongst the rebels captured by ruffians, had survived, but not all had not been so lucky.

What was it, made some men choose to walk the upright path, and others to lead lives that, spilling over onto others, resulted in harm – even death – to those they deemed smaller or weaker? Until he knew the answer, Hildibold would never quite be able to let down his guard completely in the presence of Men.

Ruffians all, as he’d heard Ferdibrand mutter under his breath when Men were the topic of discussion.

Even that King fellow? his cousins would tease, and Ferdi would glower at them from under knitted eyebrows before issuing his inevitable retort.

I haven’t quite made my mind up about him yet. (Hilly could differ with Ferdi on that point, at least.)

The Thain had instructed Hildibold to enter the King’s stables by a particular side door and then wait. For what? he’d wanted to know. You’ll understand when it’s time, Pippin had replied.

But here he was. And he had yet to understand. He reached over his shoulder to finger the arrows in his quiver, an old habit carried forward from the Troubles that offered comfort of sorts, the knowledge that he was ready for whatever situation might arise.

And what’re you going to do, then? he asked himself wryly. Bring down the King’s favourite war horse with a well-placed shot?

The corridor was dark and cool after the bright morning sunlight. Dust motes floated lazily on the air. Hilly stood and listened. Most if not all of the stable’s equine inhabitants were out in the pastures, he deemed. On such a glorious day, the grass would be sweet and still fresh from the early-morning dew. Only the injured or invalids and the mounts kept ready for the King’s Messengers would be in their stalls. At this time of day, with the heavy work of stall-cleaning already completed and the stalls made ready for the return of their occupants, few if any groomsmen would be about. Very early, before the dawning, or this time of day, or late at night were Hildibold’s favourite times to visit his pony or check on the visiting beasts from the Shire.

The hobbit scarcely felt comfortable at this moment, however, feeling the back of his neck prickle with apprehension. It was too quiet, he thought. Uncannily quiet, in fact. To Hilly’s senses, the stables felt all too much like the jaws of a trap set to spring. If anyone other than the Thain had sent him on this errand, he’d’ve retreated silently, cautiously, peering around corners and on highest alert for danger.

Even so, he was alert for the sudden appearance of an unforeseen threat, any road. So alert, his senses tingling, that up until this moment he’d missed the soft sounds a few stalls further along: a rhythmic whisk, punctuated by an occasional grunt. At least one groomsman was still at work. He shook his head at himself. Fool of a Took!

He crept towards the sound, fighting the impulse to draw his bow from his back and string it, ready for trouble. 

The door to the occupied stall was ajar. Cautiously, he peeped through the crack to see a Man at work, forking soiled straw into a wheelbarrow.

Seeming to become aware of the silent watcher, the Man straightened from his labour and turned to face the doorway. ‘Hullo, Hilly,’ the former Steward of the North-kingdom said in welcome, adopting the casual term of reference the escort’s friends and relations used to address him. ‘Denny advised me to meet you in the stables rather than the Citadel. He seemed to think you’d be more comfortable in this setting.’

At a loss for words, Hildibold fisted his hands and then forced them to relax, though he remained poised for flight.

‘All is well,’ the Man said in a low tone, much as he might have spoken to a skittish horse.

The Thain’s archer cocked his head. ‘Is it?’ he said, clearly sceptical.

‘It is,’ the former Steward said. ‘The Thain,’ he carefully and deliberately did not refer to Pippin as the Ernil i Pheriannath, Denny’s having informed him of Hilly’s disdain for the epithet, ‘sent you to meet with me in the utmost secrecy on a delicate matter.’ 

‘Delicate matter...’ the escort echoed, but he stood straighter, more squarely on his feet. He even met Haldoron’s gaze momentarily before looking away, a concession of sorts. 

From what the former Steward knew of the fellow, this hobbit avoided contact with most Men, with the exception of Bergil and Denny and – most of the time – the King. That said, Denny had told him of Hildibold’s tolerance towards the stable workers, suggesting that the stables could serve as neutral ground for a meeting.

Had the Thain directed his escort to meet Haldoron at the Citadel, the Man now suspected that Denny’s prediction – that Hilly would maintain a stubborn silence or speak in monosyllables, at best – would have come to pass.

Even on this “neutral” ground, he sensed that he must proceed slowly and carefully.

From what Denny and Bergil had told him, Hildibold was renowned not only amongst the Tooks but also many of those who lived in the Outer Shire as one of the top archers in the Shire, having never finished lower than tenth in the annual Shire-wide Tournament since he’d first competed as a tween. He was also acknowledged in the Tookland, at least, as one of the Heroes of the Tookish Resistance who had played a large role in keeping the Tookland free during the time of the Troubles. However, uncomfortable with fame or notoriety, if asked about his accomplishments, he would merely have said that he served as one of the hobbits of escort to the Thain. This small group of elite archers, having sworn an oath to guard those they served with their own lives, if need be, would have snorted to hear a Man call them bodyguards. As it was, the escort were more likely to talk about their other duties, such as carrying messages, than the more demanding responsibility for which their position in Tookish society was named.

‘You serve the Thain and his family as a hobbit of the Thain’s escort,’ Haldoron said now, avoiding the term bodyguard that came more naturally to a Man’s mind.

‘I do,’ the Took responded warily.

‘Because of your position, the Thain will have informed you of his plans for his son.’

The small archer lifted his head higher, resembling a deer sampling the breeze for a whiff of danger. Perhaps a deer was the wrong image, however, for his reply sounded more like the snarl of a hunting dog or a wolf, perhaps. ‘What is that to you?’ Hildibold demanded.

‘As a hobbit of the escort,’ Haldoron persisted, ‘you are experienced in safeguarding the Thain and his family, even his oldest son.’ He held up a staying hand, anticipating the archer’s protest. ‘I am not trying to winkle secrets out of you, that I might threaten or harm the Thain...’

‘...or his son,’ the hobbit said, seeming to challenge more than confirm, but he lifted his head to meet Haldoron’s gaze firmly as he responded, and some dark knowledge stirred behind his eyes, darker than the former Steward might have credited in one of the relatively sheltered Shire-folk.

Haldoron clenched his teeth in sudden fury at the subtle but shrewd conclusion that sprang to mind. ‘Who has threatened Thain Peregrin’s son?’ he hissed. As a Northern Ranger, one who had dedicated his life to guarding the Shire and the Breeland, he was outraged at the suggestion of peril to any of the Pheriannath.

Then the Man drew a deep breath and forced himself to relax. His angry, unthinking response to the news of endangerment to Halflings was what had landed him in this mess, after all. By their unselfish, even heroic actions after transgressing the King’s edict by entering the Shire, the Men he’d condemned had won pardon – no, more than that – acclaim and favour from the King and the most powerful leaders amongst the Shire-folk.

More calmly, he said, ‘The Thain sent you to me that I might gain all the information I need in order to carry out the task he has set before me.’

The archer seemed rather nonplussed by this news. ‘The task he... the Thain? ...has set before you?’ he said.

‘That task exactly,’ the former Steward said, sketching a bow to the escort. ‘Which has to do with his plans for his son.’ Though he knew this part of the stables was empty – he had made sure of it before beginning his stall-cleaning efforts – Haldoron glanced about them in tacit warning before returning his gaze to the Thain’s escort.

Hilly nodded at this exercise of caution. ‘I see,’ he said. And then, seeming to change the subject, he added, ‘Not all that long ago, perhaps half-a-dozen years...’

Haldoron waited.

‘Word of the treasure-hoard of the Thain has gone far and wide into the world, it seems,’ the hobbit seemed to interrupt himself. ‘...and since the rediscovery of the lost treasure, our engineers have discovered more silver, and more gold to add to it.’

Haldoron nodded, refraining from asking questions to direct or focus the narrative, but letting the archer follow his own path in the telling.

‘You know how Elessar directed the Northern Rangers to deal with the Men who crossed the Bounds,’ Hilly said now. ‘Hung them up from trees, they did, and left them hanging, at least, until the Thain ordered them to cut them all down again.’ By the King’s decree, the lives of Men who entered the Shire in defiance of Elessar’s edict were forfeit. And yet... though the matter seemed straightforward enough, Haldoron had misstepped in carrying out the terms of the Edict rigidly, enforcing the letter of the law though perhaps not the spirit of the King and the Shire-folk themselves.

As the Man waited for him to say more, the archer levelled a challenging look that seemed to demand an answer, so Haldoron nodded and said, ‘I know of the orders issued to the Watchers, as well as the changes the Thain demanded.’

‘Even so,’ the archer continued, ‘Men would intrude upon the Shire, some with better motives than others...’

Haldoron’s brow wrinkled briefly at the idea that law-breakers might have anything other than the worst of motives, but he nodded for the other to go on.

‘When Farry was not much more than a faunt, a lad of but ten years of age,’ Hildibold said, suddenly switching the topic again, or so it seemed.

Half-a-dozen years ago Haldoron thought. The escort had circled back to the beginning of his tale.

The archer was having difficulty with the telling, Haldoron could see, and his years as a Ranger and subsequent experience as Steward had more than adequately equipped him to guess at the ordeal that undoubtedly lay behind the struggle. He said nothing, only waited and listened.

Hildibold fixed his eyes on a knot in the wall of the stall where they stood and continued, as if he were reciting events that had taken place long ago and far away. ‘A band of ruffians found their way past the Watchers and Bounders,’ he said. ‘The dead of Winter, it was, when most Shire-folk would be cosy in their holes, having just finished their Yuletide celebrations and unlikely to be out and about. Thus, the Men could have more confidence of their ability to go quietly about their foul business without their presence being reported, and a muster of hobbits called to deal with them.’

‘It sounds as if their incursion was carefully planned,’ Haldoron hazarded.

The hobbit looked at him. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘They planned much more carefully than most of the miscreants we have dealt with. They were well-guided into the bargain.’

At the former Steward’s questioning look, he added, ‘One of the band had wandered the Shire in his youth, a long time before the King’s edict. He knew the land, and what’s more,’ he blinked, ‘as a youth, he’d seen the treasury at first hand – had held a gold coin or three or four in his hands, had cupped a handful of jewels in his palm and then, at the insistence of his Master, who’d shared with him the secret, poured them back into the casket where they rested, in a hidden hole deep in the high Green Hills...’

‘So they came to rob the treasury,’ Haldoron prompted when the hobbit fell silent.

But Hildibold flushed, and his hands closed into fists, and he squarely met the former Steward’s gaze once more, his eyes snapping with fury. But he was not insulted because of the Man’s prompting, as it turned out. ‘Two of my cousins were travelling along the track between Tuckborough and Tookbank,’ he said through his teeth. ‘The son of the Thain was one of them, and his escort was the other.’

Haldoron waited.

‘Seeking to avoid discovery, the ruffians struck the escort down and left him to lie in his blood... worse, they talked of burying him alive and prying the rocks loose on the hillside above to make his death look accidental. They would have murdered young Faramir as easily, only one of them recognised him for who he was...’ Hildibold swallowed on an obviously dry throat; his eyes were hot and accusing. ‘There are certain practices that child-stealers follow,’ he added, the words simple but chilling.

How in the world would simple Shire-folk know about child-stealing? Haldoron thought to himself, stunned. He felt his own hands tighten into fists.

Hildibold seemed to confirm the thought. ‘Before my cousins and Samwise travelled to the Southlands and back again, Shire-folk had never heard of such a thing. Mayor Sam learned of the practice while they were recovering from their endeavours, but he saw fit not to tell the others about it until years later.’

The archer’s next words betrayed a horrifying degree of familiarity with the ghastly practices of certain outlaw Men despite the efforts of the Northern and Southern Stewards, acting on the King’s decree to hunt such men down and eliminate them. ‘They cut hanks of Farry’s hair and enclosed them in a note, with dreadful threats of the harm they intended to the little lad,’ Hilly said. The eyes the archer turned to meet Haldoron’s shocked gaze were haunted with the grim memories he still carried. ‘I read that note myself, at the place where the ruffians left it to be found, and I carried it to the Thain. I watched him die a little death as he read it, before he pulled himself together and ordered the muster to ride out, even though it seemed more likely we’d be exacting vengeance rather than managing a rescue. And from what I saw when we recovered the lad, they had inked on his body the guiding lines they intended to follow in dividing him into pieces, to move the Tooks to their will...’

Haldoron, jaw tightly clenched, held up a staying hand.

Both stood silent, breathing, for long moments, before the Man spoke. ‘But Faramir is here with his father,’ he said. ‘And he appears to be whole, and well.’ Better than most victims of child-stealers ended up, at least in Haldoron’s experience. It was enough to make him appreciate the Easterlings’ ruthlessness in dealing with such criminals.

The archer’s mouth twisted in something resembling a grin, though it was more of a grimace. ‘He has all his parts and pieces,’ he affirmed. ‘The muster got to him in time... but we’d’ve been too late if not for one of the ruffians, aye, one of the band that struck Ferdi down and threatened unthinkable harm to Farry. For one of them, a youth, secretly turned against the others and took the lad’s part. He was ordered to take Farry’s eyes and tongue, to be sent in yet another message to the Thain, but he didn’t. As I heard it told, he took instead the eyes and tongue of a young deer, or perhaps a wandering sheep, and he sought to hide from the others the fact that Farry remained unharmed.’ He drew a shaking breath. ‘When the muster arrived, we were expecting the worst. The Talk had gone up and down the ranks of the note and “tokens” the Thain carried next to his heart. It was – it was like a miracle, when they took the bandages off him, and he looked out at us, and spoke...’

Haldoron swallowed down sickness. ‘I understand now,’ he said.

‘Understand?’ Hildibold said thickly.

‘I understand why your Thain sent you to talk to me – to tell me this tale,’ he said. ‘But – wait.’ He thought back. ‘You said struck Ferdi down, did you not? Was he young Farry’s escort? The one they left for dead?’ Clarifying, he added, ‘Ferdibrand, the Thain’s chancellor?’

‘Aye,’ Hildibold answered. ‘Left him for dead. But Tooks aren’t quite so easy to kill as rogue Men might imagine, it seems...’

*** 

Author’s note: The story of young Faramir Took’s abduction in the heart of the Shire can be found in A Matter of Appearances.

***

Chapter 3. Stuff and Nonsense...

‘Why, what’s the matter, Pip? You look terrible!’

Obviously startled, the Thain raised his face from his hands, instantly assuming a bland expression, though he ought to have known by now that Merry knew him too well and would see right through him. ‘Why, Merry!’ he said, all too brightly. ‘You’re already back from your picnic with ‘Stella and the children...?’ His eyes moved to gaze out of the wide, oddly-shaped windows to be found in the dwellings of Men. ‘Did the weather turn? I know Sam was predicting rain on the morrow, but he did say he thought today would remain fair...’

‘Don’t try and put me off with talk of the weather, Cousin,’ Merry said in his sternest tone. 

Ferdi, who’d met the Master of Buckland in the corridor outside the Thain’s guest apartments and entered with him, cleared his throat. ‘He excels at changing the subject,’ he said, almost conversationally. 

Instead of protesting, Pippin ignored his cousins, picked up his cup of obviously cold tea and took a gulp.

The two older cousins exchanged a significant glance, and then Ferdi said, ‘What is it that you don’t want to tell us?’

‘I—’ Pippin said, looking up again, and stopped, looking from one older cousin to the other.

Merry turned to Ferdi and said, ‘It must be worse than I thought.’

‘Much worse,’ Ferdi agreed, then stared down the Thain. When Pippin dropped his eyes to the cup in his hands, Ferdi’s eyes narrowed, and then he said slowly, ‘What... what is it, you don’t want to tell me, in particular?’

Pippin blinked. ‘I look terrible, do I?’ he said.

‘Don’t change the subject!’ both older cousins said in the same breath.

‘Who’s changing the subject?’ Pippin asked. ‘It was the first thing you said as you came in the door, Merry! ...and if I’m doing so badly in your eyes, and Ferdi’s, then how am I ever going to face Diamond?’

‘What is it you’ve done?’ Ferdi said, after an awkward pause. ‘Or haven’t done, perhaps?’

‘It’s so oft what I haven’t done, gets me in the most trouble,’ Merry said, as if he and Ferdi were the only ones in the room.

And then the older cousins fell silent, and waited.

Pippin blinked at them, took another gulp from his cup and shuddered. ‘You’re still here,’ he observed, rather lamely.

No answer.

He tried again. ‘It’s not what I’ve done – or haven’t done, this time.’ He waited for one of his older cousins to jump in with something like Aha! This time!, providing him an opening to build upon more distractions ...but they simply stood before him, presenting a united front, a wall of silence that grew more discomfiting as the moments passed.

Weakly, he gestured to the cosied pot. ‘Will you have some tea, perhaps?’ he suggested.

That, at least, drew a response from Ferdibrand. ‘None of your nonsense, now, Pip.’

‘We can see you’ve been sitting here stewing long enough for that pot to go stone-cold,’ Merry added. ‘How you can drink those dregs...’ He shook his head and added in a lower voice, ‘It’s all too obvious, you’re in some sort of trouble.’

‘I look terrible, and it’s that obvious, is it?’ Pippin said, and laughed, but his expression was bleak.

‘A moment, Cousin,’ Ferdi said to Merry, and then he turned abruptly and exited. True to his word, he returned a moment later, murmuring that a fresh pot was on its way.

‘They train the teapots very well here in New Annúminas,’ Pippin quipped, but his heart obviously wasn’t in it.

‘Amazingly enough,’ Ferdi replied, ‘considering they’re Man-sized and difficult to rein in, once they get the bit between their teeth.’

Since Ferdi was the older cousin, at least where Pippin was concerned, no one told him to rein in his whimsy. And though Merry was older than Ferdi by a year or so, he was too distracted by concern for their younger cousin to take any notice of nonsense in this moment. Instead, he tugged at Ferdi’s arm. ‘Come and sit down.’

Pippin sighed as his older cousins seated themselves to either side. ‘No hope of escape now, I suppose.’

‘Just what is it, you’d like to escape?’ Ferdi said. ‘Things have settled down nicely in the Shire since your miraculous cure, and the famine...’

‘...and the fever...’ Merry put in.

‘...and the troubles with the false guardsmen...’ Ferdi added.

‘Enough!’ Pippin said, his voice suddenly sharp, and he made a cutting gesture that sloshed the last of the tea out of the cup he held.

‘I beg your pardon, Sir,’ a deferential voice said from the doorway, and the three hobbits fell silent as a Man-servant and two similarly tall assistants took away the cosied teapot, bent to wipe invisible crumbs and drips from the table, and laid out platters of food (tea sandwiches cut to fit a hobbit’s hand, teacakes and biscuits baked to the proper size, and all the necessary accompaniments) along with hobbit-sized cups, plates and cutlery for three and, lastly, a large and steaming pot of tea that had obviously just come off the boil. Along with providing comfortable hobbit-sized furnishings, Queen Arwen had carefully trained those who served in the guest quarters set aside for hobbits.

Thus, teatime was usually a pleasant occasion. Not this day, however.

‘That’s torn it,’ Pippin said, after the servers were safely away, taking his soiled teacup and saucer with them and closing the door behind themselves. ‘They’ll be reporting to Elessar all too soon, and then...’

‘And then?’ Merry said, pouring out for the three of them.

But instead of taking up the cup of strong, steaming black tea, just as he preferred that particular drink, Pippin sank his face into his hands once more. ‘And then I have to face him, as well,’ he said, the words muffled but still discernible.

Ferdi took some time in creaming and sugaring his tea, staring into the depths as he stirred thoroughly. 

Meanwhile, Merry absently sipped from his cup, shuddered, and added milk and sugar. ‘Drink whilst it’s still hot, Pip,’ he said. ‘You look as if you need it.’

Pippin dropped his hands from his face, though he could not seem to bring himself to meet either older cousin’s eyes, swallowed hard, and shook himself. Then he took up his teacup and sipped.

‘That’s better,’ Merry said.

But Pippin surprised him with a bitter, ‘Is it, Merry? Is it really?’

Ferdi placed a hand over Pippin’s free hand. ‘You’ve got me badly worried at this point, Pip,’ he said, speaking cousin-to-cousin rather than Chancellor-to-Thain or even Took-to-The Took.

Pippin turned from Merry to Ferdi and said, ‘I’m more worried for you, as things stand, Ferdi. Ah, but I’m sorry that I ever allowed this wretched business to go forward... and now I see no way of stopping it, and...’

Merry was faster to take his meaning than Ferdi, perhaps because the latter was so intimately involved in the “wretched business”. ‘The journey?’ he hazarded, and then nodded to himself. He looked across Pippin to meet Ferdi’s inquiring look and said, ‘Not my journey to Rohan with Merry-lad Gamgee, that we’ve been discussing for the past week, but yours.’

‘My journey,’ Ferdi affirmed uneasily, and breaking away from Merry’s gaze, he looked to Pippin. ‘As I said before, what is it you’re keeping from me now, Cousin?’

‘He’s a stubborn Took,’ Pippin said.

Ferdi missed the significance, however, saying, ‘That I am, Pip, and I know I’ve not given you much joy over the planning.’ He raised his eyes to the high, flat ceiling, which gave him no comfort. ‘To be honest, I am not looking forward to travelling with a body of Guardsmen, whether afoot or in the saddle, for league after league, just so you can assure yourself that I can conduct myself properly in the company of Men!’

At seeing Pippin’s eyes widen, he snapped, ‘I’m not such a fool as all that, Cousin! I know why you’ve consigned me to this duty!’

‘Did Nell...?’ Pippin began.

‘My Nell did not have to say anything to me!’ Ferdi said hotly. ‘It was I, who told her, the reason we must be parted, at least until Remembering Day.’ Lower, he added, ‘I hope I will be back in the Shire by Remembering Day... according to the plans you described, to set out at Mid-year, travel through the summer weather, arrive in Minas Tirith in time for their celebration of the Ring-bearers’ birthdays, and then home again...’ He sighed in spite of himself. How good it would feel to be home again. But he must get through the journey first.

‘How did you...?’ Pippin said haltingly.

Ferdi took a page out of Reginard’s book and looked down his nose at the younger cousin. ‘The Thain has an escort, a body of hobbits who watch over himself and his family,’ he said, quoting from one of the lessons set for young Tooks to learn. ‘The practice was established long ago, when the wild Green Hills were wilder yet, when bears and wolves and Men still roamed the land, not to mention the wild swine and packs of dogs and natural hazards that are still to be found in the back-country.’

Even though he’d argued for years against the need to have one or more archers ride with him everywhere he went in the Shire, much less the Tookland, Pippin nodded. He could hardly refute the Tooks’ historical records and the facts that every young Took was required to memorise. 

Ferdi went on, no longer quoting, but speaking matter-of-factly. ‘Though Paladin disbanded the escort in his time, for he thought it had served its time, he put up with Regi re-forming the escort when the heirs to Tookland and Buckland disappeared on the same day as Bilbo’s heir, and Lotho’s ruffians began to encroach on the Tookland.’

‘You don’t have to lecture me on the history and the duties of the Thain’s escort...’ Pippin began, but Ferdi stared him down.

‘It seems that, perhaps, I do,’ the older cousin answered. 

Merry had nothing to add to this peculiarly Tookish conversation, and so he merely listened as he sipped his tea and nibbled absently at a biscuit, looking from one cousin to the other.

Now Ferdi said, ‘I was confused, at first, when you said you were sending me along with Farry on this journey.’ He looked away, selected a tea sandwich with some care, took a bite, chewed, and washed the mouthful down. ‘Drink your tea!’ he barked.

Pippin drank... and waited (rather uncharacteristically, Merry thought) for the rest of what Ferdi had to say.

‘After all,’ Ferdi resumed, ‘you have half-a-dozen archers you could send along with your son, and still leave one or two to dog your heels at Regi’s insistence.’

Pippin’s mouth twisted at this reminder that the escort did not serve at his pleasure but under the direction of his Steward. Or he’d’ve disbanded the escort himself at the earliest opportunity, as Paladin had done before him.

‘Certainly, it seemed fitting for me to guide your son in our recent retracing of his family history within the Bounds of the Shire,’ Ferdi went on. ‘For I was only sharing my own experience with him, my travels to the Woody End and back again, retracing my steps as a Tookish scout who was gathering information for the Thain to use in shaping the defence of the Tookland. And because the Borderers and Watchers have been doing their job, these past two years, once the false guardsmen were rooted out, it seemed that I’d be enough to keep young Farry safe during our little excursion, with my experience and my ability to shoot – at least a few arrows before my old injury should trouble me and spoil my aim.’

Merry nodded. Yet unforeseen circumstances had arisen, putting both Ferdibrand and Faramir in peril in the midst of what ought to have been an uneventful walking party. 

But Ferdi wasn’t finished. ‘As things turned out, ‘twould have been better if we’d had a hobbit of the escort, or two or three, along for the journey.’

Merry sipped his tea thoughtfully, then refreshed his cup with the warmer liquid in the cosied pot. His cousin had the right of it. He’d been there in The Crowing Cockerel with Pippin when the panting forester had burst through the door, to announce the shocking news that the son of the Thain had been found alone in the depths of the Woody End after his “escort” had fallen into one of the old ruffian traps from the time of the Troubles. Had there been two or three hobbits of escort in the walking party along with Farry and his uncle, the incident might have been a mere inconvenience, an amusing anecdote to be told in future years, rather than the near-disaster that had occurred.

Ferdi cocked his head and regarded his Thain. ‘And of course, there is the fact that I’ve not qualified as a member of the Thain’s escort for nearly a dozen years now,’ he said quietly. ‘O, when I was no longer fit to bend a bow, you had pity on me and made me your special assistant...’

‘Pity had nothing to do with it!’ Pippin said sharply.

‘...and later, it amused you to designate me your chancellor,’ Ferdi went on as if the Thain had not spoken.

Merry seemed to remember that Ferdi had been the first to jest about assuming the title, perhaps after hearing Pippin mention the King’s chancellor in conversation, though the details were murky now. But now was not the time to interject himself into this conversation, he deemed. On second thought, he was lucky they hadn’t banished him from the room whilst they discussed Tookish matters, even though he was half-Took himself. 

‘So why would you send me, your “chancellor” but no longer fit to be an escort, along with your son on this mad endeavour, travelling well outside the relative safety of the Shire?’ Ferdi mused aloud, contemplating the half-sandwich in his hand. Looking up again to meet Pippin’s eyes, he said, ‘I could only conclude it was either meant, misguidedly, as some sort of honour...’ He was silent for a moment, perhaps considering the circumstances one more time, and then he shook his head. ‘...or to address some failing on my part.’

‘Ferdi...’ Pippin said under his breath.

Ferdibrand put his sandwich down and pointed his finger at Pippin’s face. ‘You cannot lie to me,’ he said. ‘As you know very well.’

‘I know it,’ Pippin said wryly. ‘As you know it,’ he continued, looking from one older cousin to the other. ‘And even Merry knows it.’

‘I was there when the truth was revealed to us,’ Merry said quietly. ‘Of course I know it.’

‘The lad is a stubborn Took,’ Pippin said, and Ferdi started.

‘You weren’t talking about me, then,’ he said, a question in his tone.

Pippin sighed, sipped at his cooling tea, shuddered, and placed the cup on its saucer with careful precision before turning back to face Ferdibrand. ‘You have the right of it,’ he said. When Ferdi would have answered, he held up his hand. ‘No,’ he said, heading off the inevitable question. ‘You have the right of it in many things. I cannot lie to you, for you have the curious talent of hearing a lie when it is spoken and recognising it for what it is.’ He ticked off one finger, and then the finger next to it, saying, ‘I am sending you to Gondor for your own good, Ferdi, and for the sake of the Tookland.’

‘My own good...’ Ferdi echoed. ‘How...?’

‘You are to be Thain after me, should anything happen to me,’ Pippin said.

‘And the Thain is one of the Counsellors to the King,’ Merry said in sudden realisation. ‘Is that what this is all about, Pip?’ Worry rose in him again. ‘But I thought the Ent-draught cured you! Is it that...?’

‘I could fall from my pony and die this very day,’ Pippin snapped. ‘...not that I’m planning on doing so,’ he added, looking from one stunned face to the other. ‘But accidents happen. Illnesses... happen. Ruffians happen, even, as both of you’ve found in your own experience, cousins. Escort or no escort.’

And now it was Pippin staring Ferdi down. ‘The King – and many of those who serve him and do his bidding and represent him when he cannot be present – is a Man. And if you cannot tolerate the company of Men, Ferdi... cannot work with Men for the good of the Kingdom... the Shire... the Tookland herself... then not only the Tooks... but all Shire-folk will suffer. And I refuse to die with that on my conscience!’

And neither older cousin chided him for his whimsy or tried to override his argument with the simple fact that he was very much alive in this moment. For accidents... illnesses... and yes, even ruffians... could happen at any time, and anywhere, even deep in the centre of the land called the Shire.

‘So I must go to Gondor,’ Ferdi said. ‘And in the company of Men, that I might get used to them somehow. Or that is your hope, anyhow.’

Pippin nodded and ticked off a third finger. ‘As to the stubborn Took... I wasn’t talking about you, though you might be the first person to come to mind when anyone mentions stubborn Tooks! But no... as I said but a few moments ago, I was talking about my son.’ 

‘And what does this have to do with Farry?’ Ferdi said, his tone subdued. ‘For you might have sent me – just me – to Gondor, and spared your son.’

‘It was Farry’s idea to go to Gondor in the first place,’ Pippin said.

Ferdi nodded.

‘And so,’ Pippin said, ‘I thought it might all work out for the best, and no need to trouble you with my doubts about your ability to serve as Thain, should the need arise...’

‘There’s a “but” in there somewhere,’ Merry said lightly, to cut the tension between these two beloved cousins of his.

Pippin threw him a pained look. ‘There is,’ he said. ‘For my son has decided to trace the journey of the Fellowship as you and I lived it.’

‘We’ve already been over that ground,’ Ferdi said.

‘No,’ Pippin shook his head. ‘We haven’t.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Merry said. ‘Nor do I,’ Ferdi agreed.

Pippin rose from his chair, propelled by his perturbation, strode to the closed door, and turned to confront his astonished cousins. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t understand! My son wishes to retrace the journeys of the Fellowship! ...to retrace...’ He broke off, clenched his fists, and hissed, ‘No escort, do you take my meaning now? No body of guardsmen, no protection, save perhaps what Haldoron can offer, and yourself, Ferdi, despite your ”old injury”, and...’ he swallowed hard and dropped his voice, ‘and perhaps a Man of Gondor, and an Elf and a Dwarf, should fortune favour us somehow and they answer my appeal to them, sent off with a messenger this very morning...’

The Thain took a shuddering breath and added haltingly, ‘and perhaps I can send a pair of hobbits of escort with you. Surely he could not object to that? There were four hobbits in the Fellowship after all...’

‘Call it off!’ Merry objected. ‘There’s no need for...’

But Pippin interrupted him. ‘The lad is a stubborn Took,’ he repeated. ‘Have you already forgot the trial we lived through in the Woody End? And he was only ten at the time!’

To Ferdi, he added, ‘I remember, all too well, the bargain you had to make with him! I remember, like a dagger in my heart, hearing you tell how the lad said he would run away, again and again, no matter how many times someone found him and brought him back home...’ He took a sobbing breath.

‘...because of the Talk of the Tooks, and not any failing on his parents’ part,’ Ferdi said urgently, rising and crossing to Pippin and taking him by the arm. ‘But we settled all that!’

Pippin shook his head. ‘You made a bargain with him, that you’d stay with him for a week in the Woody End, and if he said not a word to the hobbits sheltering you, you’d take him on to Gondor. And I nearly banished you for that! For I would not listen to the rest of the bargain: that if he spoke, even one word, he was bound to give up his plans to run away to Gondor but would return to the Tookland and not trouble his parents any more... as if he troubled us in the first place!’

‘It was all the Talk of the Tooks,’ Ferdi repeated.

‘And you claimed that if Farry had triumphed in your bargain with him, obliging you to take him to Gondor, or at least to set out on the journey... you claimed that you’d have sent for me, to let me know, that I might follow you and catch up to you and my son... to try to heal the hurt that had driven him to seek after such a desperate solution.’

‘And we didn’t believe you,’ Merry said. ‘I am at as much fault as Pippin, here, for that.’

‘And for your loyalty and service, for your trying to talk sense into my stubborn, hurting son, you’d have been rewarded with banishment from the Shire, you and Tolibold together!’

‘But it was your “stubborn, hurting” son who saved us in the end,’ Ferdi said quietly. ‘For he spoke the truth and cleared us from the charges of being in league with child-stealing ruffians.’

‘That is not the point!’ Pippin shouted, stunning his older cousins all over again. With obvious difficulty, he took hold of himself. ‘If he ran away to Gondor by himself, when he was only ten...’

‘I doubt he’d do the same now,’ Merry said. ‘He’s learned much since then of the ways of the world. After all, while he was still only ten, and not all that long after he was persuaded that running away was no solution to any childish problems, he was thrown into the company of evil Men. I doubt he’s forgotten...’

‘No!’ Pippin said, slicing his hand through the air to cut off Merry’s thought. ‘But I cannot shake the fear that, should I forbid him this journey, he would see fit to gather companions – a cousin or two, perhaps a gardener of his acquaintance – and set off on a misguided Quest of some sort.’

He looked helplessly at his older cousins and finished, simply, ‘He is a stubborn Took.’

‘And a fool of one,’ Ferdi said, shaken. He knew Tookish stubbornness all too well, having lived with it all his life. Some Tooks outgrew this quality with time and weathering. Some did not. He had great hopes for Faramir, but the lad had some way to go, so far as Ferdibrand could see. And even as the stubbornness of Tooks was so well known as to be legend amongst the Shire-folk, Fool of a Took was a byword in the Tookland.

‘Just as his father before him,’ Merry said, ‘as Gandalf observed, and more than once, as I recall.’

‘Comfort me not with wizards!’ Pippin said bitterly. ‘Or fools, for that matter. What ever am I to say to Diamond? Much less Strider?’ 

*** 

Author’s notes: More details about Faramir’s attempt to run away to Gondor and the repercussions of that decision, as well as other incidents mentioned here, can be found in the following stories: Runaway (co-author JoDancingTree), A Matter of Appearances, One Who Sticks Closer than a Brother and The Thrum of Tookish Bowstrings, Part 1.

‘Comfort me not with wizards!’ was spoken by Denethor in “The Siege of Gondor” in The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien, when Pippin tried to reason with him during the dark hours as they watched over a stricken Faramir.

*** 

Chapter 4. ...And Serious Business into the Bargain

~ on the banks of a fishing stream near New Annúminas, a few days later ~

Elessar cast his line and moved the hook with its life-like lure through the water in a series of practised jerks. Before long, he had landed another fat trout which he added to the string of fish he’d caught already. ‘Not long before we have enough for breakfast!’ he said. ‘Even if the hobbits should decide to join us at table.’

‘I might as well set aside my rod and sit down at my ease,’ Haldoron said, ‘for all the luck seems to be with you this day, cousin.’

‘Quite possibly,’ Elessar said. ‘It certainly is not with you, as I regret to have to inform you.’

Haldoron retrieved his line and lure, moved to set his pole aside, and turned to confront his cousin. ‘You are talking about more than the fish story you’ll be telling when we return to the lodge with our catch, I think.’

‘Plans have changed,’ Elessar said.

‘Are you going to tell me just which plans have changed, or did you want it to be a surprise?’ Haldoron said sourly.

‘A surprise might be diverting,’ Elessar said, ‘and a good test of how adept you are at landing on your feet—’

‘If I were a cat, perhaps,’ Haldoron said.

Elessar cast his line again and spoke to the lure as he moved it gently through the water. ‘Think of it as your first lesson in learning to understand and appreciate Hobbits.’

‘I should think I’d already had that lesson,’ Haldoron said with a wry twist of his mouth.

Elessar looked over at him, his expression matching his kinsman’s. ‘You might think that,’ he said. ‘But as an old friend of mine once observed, “Hobbits really are amazing creatures. You can learn all that there is to know about their ways in a month, and yet after a hundred years they can still surprise you at a pinch.”’

Haldoron raised an eyebrow. ‘A hundred years?’ he echoed. ‘Who was your friend, a Dwarf? For I cannot imagine Elves bothering to learn “all that there is to know” about the ways of hobbits.’

‘A wizard, rather.’

Haldoron nodded. ‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘I remember... he tasked you to hunt for the creature Gollum...’

Elessar raised a staying hand. ‘I counselled him, rather, when he came to me in calling for help from the Dúnedain...’

‘He asked us to double the Watch on the Shire,’ Haldoron remembered. ‘But then you went off with him on that hare-brained quest... at least, it seemed hare-brained at the time, considering how long it had been since the creature had last been seen. I wasn’t the only one who thought it was too late, and that you ought to fix your attention instead on the deteriorating situation in the North-lands.’

The former Steward shook his head. ‘A long and hopeless search it seemed – and turned out to be. Travelling in the wizard’s company the whole length of the Wilderland, down even to the Mountains of Shadow and the fences of Mordor, at intervals over the span of eight years, and all in vain. As I’ve said, you’d have done better had you stayed in the North-lands and directed the defence of the Shire and the lands around Bree.’

‘Halbarad was a competent Captain.’

‘And then instead of sending you back to the North-lands when he abandoned the search, he went to Gondor...’

‘And you still blame me for not returning immediately, staying, and not going out again,’ Elessar said quietly.

‘We were hard-pressed!’ Haldoron protested. ‘With all my brother could do...’

‘The Dúnedain would have been equally hard-pressed had I returned instead of continuing the search alone,’ Elessar countered. ‘But that is neither here nor there.’

‘Do you mean because you found Gollum at last? ...in the Dead Marshes, as I recall. For what it was worth. For the Wood Elves failed in their trust...’

‘At least Gandalf was able to question him before he escaped,’ Elessar said. ‘And, tragically, the Wood Elves paid for their error with the lives of his guards.’ He raised his pole in a sudden motion but missed the trout that had lunged for the lure, revealing the depth of his perturbation. ‘And that was not what I meant.’

‘Then speak more plainly, cousin, if you wish me to follow your thought. For I may be many things, a fool included, but I am not yet (and will likely never be) a mind-reader.’

Elessar retrieved his line and turned away from the stream, holding pole and line in one hand. ‘The hobbits have surprised me,’ he said.

‘Have they?’ Rich irony dripped from the simple words.

‘The journey before you is no longer a simple matter.’

‘I never imagined it would be,’ Haldoron said. ‘Not after—’

‘The Thain, Master and Mayor did rather confound your application of the law,’ Elessar agreed. ‘But rightly so. In point of fact, their interference – or intervention, for a politer term – ought to have been no surprise at all. In hindsight, it wasn’t.’

‘In hindsight,’ Haldoron echoed, and sighed heavily. ‘Would that hindsight were as clear as... but no. If I’d had the gift of foresight, I’d never have signed that death warrant, the one that spurred the Shire-folk to go to desperate lengths to save those Men.’ He met Elessar’s gaze and scrutinised the King’s face. ‘Why is it, you are trying to salvage your erring cousin, again?’

But Elessar set aside the question as if Haldoron had not spoken. ‘Instead of a full complement of Guardsmen, as the Thain originally requested, the party will now recreate the journey of the Fellowship of the Ring.’

‘That, I thought, was the point of the entire exercise,’ Haldoron said, gritting his teeth.

‘You need neither foresight nor hindsight to perceive the path before you clearly,’ Elessar replied, but at the sternness in his tone, his cousin straightened and looked up in surprise. The King met his quizzical gaze squarely, allowing his annoyance to show. ‘No,’ he said forcefully. ‘All you need do is listen – which is exactly what you did not do in your earlier dealings with hobbits, which has landed you in the spot you are in.’

Haldoron was brought up short. He took a deep breath and let it out again, thinking through all that Elessar had said. At last, he said, ‘The word you used was “recreate”, I think.’

‘Don’t be so modest,’ Elessar snapped. ‘You obviously heard me. And I would assume you were also listening to what I said.’

‘I heard you,’ Haldoron affirmed. ‘But as to my capacity for listening...’ one side of his mouth tightened, ‘I have been informed that my listening skills require refinement.’

Elessar maintained silence.

Haldoron continued. ‘We are not taking an adequate body of Guardsmen to discourage ruffians from attempting to capture the valuable hostages I am to be escorting... the son of the Thain, as well as his sister’s husband.’ He thought further. ‘Guardsmen that the Thain himself requested. And yet, I am certain that you are well-practised in listening to hobbits, so I would deem that you were not the one who set aside the Guard detail.’

From his cousin’s expression, he thought he might be following the right track. ‘And yet, it makes no sense that the Thain would remove the protection he originally requested for his son – unless he were calling off the entire expedition.’ He narrowed his eyes at Elessar. ‘But that is not what he has done, I take it, for you said that we will be recreating the journey of the Fellowship...’

The implications hit him like a punch in the gut, and he gasped.

Elessar nodded slowly. ‘One Man and four Hobbits will travel from Bree to Rivendell. You may be joined by an Elf sometime after you descend from the hills, some days after taking in the view from the summit of Amon Sûl, but there is no guarantee. One of the sons of Elrond may oblige us in this since Glorfindel is no longer to be found in Middle-earth.’ But his face was troubled, and he shook his head. ‘My foster brothers are neither in New Annúminas nor Imladris at this time, and so I do not know if or when my message requesting their aid in this matter will reach them.’

‘And one young hobbit is worth so much trouble?’ Haldoron said under his breath.

‘He is the son of the Thain. And Peregrin is said to be the finest Thain in a hundred years – maybe two. Not only Tooks and Tooklanders, but all Shire-folk, the Bucklanders included, are prospering under his watchful eye.’

‘I’m happy for them,’ Haldoron said. ‘What does that have to do with—?’

‘Peregrin will not survive should he lose his son,’ Elessar said starkly. ‘I saw this in his heart and mind, on a previous occasion when young Faramir’s life hung in the balance.’

‘Something new you’ve learned about hobbits?’ Haldoron said.

‘It is a quality of the Fallohides, especially, among all the Little Folk,’ Elessar said, deliberately employing the Mannish term. ‘Under ordinary and extraordinary circumstances, they form soul-ties. Before their People came to the Bree-land in the first place, it was generally known that a Fallohide did not usually survive the death of a mate.’ He met Haldoron’s curious gaze. ‘In these modern times, the blending of the bloodlines of Fallohides, Stoors and Harfoots means that hobbits, as a rule, do not remarry after losing a spouse even though they are more likely to survive such a loss these days. Ferdibrand, your travelling companion-to-be, is a rare exception. Or more properly, his wife is.’

Haldoron nodded, cataloguing this information for future reference.

‘Such a tie exists between the Master of Buckland and the Thain of the Shire,’ Elessar continued, ‘which I might attribute to the ordeal they lived through together. However, Frodo told me once that they were extraordinarily close from the time of Peregrin’s birth, so it may not be quite that simple.’

‘Nothing seems to be “quite that simple” when it comes to hobbits,’ Haldoron responded. ‘And so there is such a tie between Peregrin’s heart, and that of his son...’

‘The Fallohide strain runs nearly pure in some of the Tooks,’ Elessar said softly. ‘And the ties that form between hearts are not simple or easily explained. I have discerned that Faramir is likely to survive his father’s death (which is all to the good since the lad is supposed to be Thain after his father) though unlikely to survive the death of his wife, whoever she may turn out to be. And Pippin will have the strength to survive the death of Diamond, should she pre-decease him, but only because of Merry’s hold upon his heart.’

‘And if the Thain should die, Buckland would lose her Master.’

‘Neither neat nor tidy,’ Elessar agreed. ‘But it is information that we must take into account. I would not care to lose two of my three Counsellors of the North-kingdom in the Shire at one throw.’

‘Very well then. Cancel the – the re-enactment,’ Haldoron said.

Holding Haldoron’s gaze, Elessar slowly shook his head. ‘Have you not yet learned that hobbits are not such simple folk as they might appear?’

‘I am a slow learner, it seems,’ Haldoron said, looking away.

‘You’ll have time to learn,’ Elessar said. ‘Going on with the journey... At Rivendell, Bergil, son of Beregond and, strictly speaking, a Man of Gondor, will join you. He has been my liaison to the Shire for the past two years, and before he was appointed to that role, he had much experience in the way of dealing with hobbits.’

‘He is the Mayor’s adopted son, someone said,’ Haldoron replied, though his tone implied it was more a question than a statement.

‘And Peregrin hopes that Legolas and Gimli will agree to aid him in this,’ Elessar went on.

‘But why not simply stop—?’

‘When Peregrin was still the son of the Thain and not the Thain himself, when he was still but a tween,’ and Elessar studied Haldoron’s face as if to ascertain the other Man’s understanding, ‘he left the Shire without his father’s knowledge or permission because he felt strongly about the matter he had chosen to undertake. And Faramir...’ he concluded, ‘is his father’s son. In every sense of the word.’

Haldoron took a sharp breath.

Elessar nodded soberly. ‘I think you begin to see,’ he said. ‘Hobbits are not the simple folk they may appear, at casual acquaintance. And in dealing with hobbits, one can never take for granted that the process will be either simple or straightforward.’

‘I’m beginning to grasp that idea.’ 

Elessar looked to see that the string of trout he’d caught were solidly fastened to their lines and safely immersed in the stream, then gestured to the grassy bank. ‘Come, sit down. I think you might benefit from hearing, from my perspective, the full story of the journey you will be retracing...’

*** 

Author’s note: Some phrases and ideas in this chapter were drawn from “The Shadow of the Past” and “The Council of Elrond” in The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

*** 

Chapter 5. Preparations

‘It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door. 
You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet,
there is no knowing where you might be swept off to...’

—Bilbo Baggins

‘I always like to keep a bit o’ rope handy.’

—Mayor Samwise Gamgee

~ in the Thain’s guest quarters in New Annúminas, about a month before Midyear’s Day and departure ~

‘Midyear’s Day will arrive before you know it,’ Ferdibrand warned his young nephew.

Faramir threw up his arms and plopped himself back down in his chair, rolling his eyes. ‘I’m sick nearly to death of planning!’ he said. Thankfully, this time at least, the lad refrained from pointing out that all the grown-ups’ planning had not been sufficient to stave off a near-disaster while he’d been retracing Tookish history with his Uncle Ferdi earlier that spring. 

Which circumstance, to Ferdi’s mind, scarcely rendered planning a useless activity. Who knew what else might have happened had the Thain and his advisors not planned for every contingency they could think of? It wasn’t Ferdibrand’s fault that an unforeseen contingency had arisen, after all. It had been no one’s fault – save perhaps the engineers whose carelessness immediately after the Troubles ended, years ago though it had been, for not accounting for all the traps the Tooks had set to deter Lotho’s ruffians, had nearly meant the end of certain travellers – meaning Ferdi and the son of the Thain – in that recent mishap.

He firmly jerked his mind back to Faramir’s continued complaints. ‘Why, we’re missing...’

Some market day or other, or a picnic with the King and Queen, perhaps, Ferdi thought to himself, barely refraining from rolling his own eyes at his young nephew’s impatience. Keeping his voice even, he said, ‘We’ll miss the plans we didn’t make even more, young master, in the middle of the Wilderlands, when something unforeseen happens.’

How can someone miss a plan he didn’t make? he heard the teen grumble under his breath before subsiding under the influence of “young master”, the term of address that hobbits of a lower station used with him when he was making their work more difficult, a fact that the youth had somehow worked out for himself. Young Faramir was a sharp one, Ferdi reminded himself, and not for the first time. But let us hope he is not so sharp that he ends up wounding himself – and others who have the misfortune to be walking in his train.

He cleared his throat and took up his quill once more. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘Thain and Master and Mayor have worked out the roster of walkers...’

‘Four hobbits and a Man as we leave Bree,’ Farry reminded his uncle. The size of the travelling party was a point the youth had established at the start and defended fiercely against all onslaughts of adult arguments. 

Ferdi couldn’t help sighing. He’d originally anticipated riding ponies, with Elessar’s Big Men on horses, in sufficient numbers to discourage any ruffians who might catch wind as to the identity of the travelling Hobbits in the group. There and back again, as old Bilbo Baggins might have said, relatively quickly and as uneventfully as possible. But that was not to be the case. Nor had he been able to persuade Faramir that they should take along a full score of Tookish archers, with everyone riding ponies. Haldoron could walk along with them, or he could ride a horse for all Ferdi cared. 

But no. For the sake of authenticity (and he was beginning to detest the very sound of the word), there must be Nine Walkers, at least after they reached Rivendell, and Walkers must necessarily walk. For his part, he was not looking forward to walking the length and breadth of Middle Earth, as it were, but then, what was he but merely a glorified hired hobbit?

Faramir broke into his thoughts. ‘Are you listening, Uncle?’

‘I am,’ Ferdi said, returning to the conversation.

Faramir nodded in satisfaction and continued, ‘And then, after reaching Rivendell, when we set out again we’ll have two Men instead of one, in addition to the Hobbits, along with a Dwarf and an Elf. It has to be that way, or it won’t be right!’ He sighed and bit his lip, blinking a little in consternation. ‘I just don’t know what to do about the Wizard...’

‘Four hobbits,’ Ferdi confirmed, and he touched each name on his list with his quill as he reviewed them. ‘You will be one of them, of course, and it seems that I must be another, whether I will or no.’

Farry sat up straighter at his uncle’s wry tone. ‘I’m sorry, Uncle,’ he said in a complete change of mood, and he placed an apologetic hand on Ferdibrand’s arm. ‘If you truly wish, I can ask my da...’

Ferdi wanted to laugh, though the whole situation wasn’t at all laughable. He patted Farry’s hand and said, ‘No need for that, lad. The Thain has ordered me to make this journey for my own good, he tells me, and so I have no choice but to go – even if you wished to exclude me from the walking party.’ His eyes met Farry’s for a brief glance before he looked away, shrugged, and added, ‘And so, it seems, we must make the best of it.’

As he so often tried to do, as he had done from their first acquaintance when Farry had been but a faunt, he was setting an example for the lad to follow, for Ferdi himself hated lectures. Indeed, he had learnt his most deeply engrained lessons from the lumps he’d been dealt by hard experience.

Well, part of his job was to protect his young charge from too-hard experience, he supposed. Nevertheless, he always had done (and in this situation he would endeavour to continue to do) his best to guide the process in a way that life, as they would experience it in the upcoming weeks, would give Farry the requisite lumps without breaking the young Took altogether. He tapped the list of names with the point of his quill and continued, ‘Merry’s son is too young to represent the Brandybucks, and so the Master of Buckland has suggested that Robin Bolger should travel with us in his stead.’ 

Robin, another of Ferdi’s nephews, being his sister’s eldest son, was about the same age now as Ferdi had been during the Year of the Troubles. Before the Thain’s recent summons, the fellow had been training under Steward Reginard Took and learning the duties of a steward for one of the Great Families. Pippin’s intention, or so Ferdibrand surmised, was that Robin would be able to replace both himself and Reginard, when the time came, in serving Faramir as Thain in later years. With his diligent acquisition of Regi’s accumulated knowledge and experience, paired with the same knack that his mother and uncle Ferdi had for knowing truth – and falsehood – simply from the tone of a speaker’s voice, Robin would be an invaluable asset to the future Thain Faramir in the necessary decision-making and action required of the Thain, not to mention the judgements that Farry as Thain would be required to render.

Ferdi went on, ‘And then, representing the Mayor, the Gamgees are sending Pippin-lad, since young Frodo is unable to go. Samwise and Rose might’ve sent more of their sons along with us to retrace your da’s – er, the Fellowship’s journey...’ Ferdi had not yet become used to thinking, much less speaking, of the Nine Walkers as “the Fellowship”, but Pippin had insisted on using the term, and as a loyal Took, he must obey his Thain to the best of his ability.

‘...but that Uncle Merry is taking Merry-lad to Rohan, as he promised some time ago,’ Farry continued the thought, not seeming to notice his uncle’s stumble, ‘and Frodo, who properly ought to be going, that he might properly represent the Traveller he was named for, must not undertake any such long journey afoot...’ he sighed and shook his head. ‘But then, of course, had he been able to come with us, the Party might have had more than four hobbits, and that wouldn’t do at all, even if he hadn’t broken his ankle badly enough to prevent his walking “halfway across Middle Earth this summer, at least”,’ the youth added, capturing Mistress Rose’s phrasing and intonation with impressive accuracy.

‘As to “the Elf and the Dwarf”, Ferdi said, fixing his nephew with a stern look, ‘I feel the need to repeat that it’s quite presumptuous of you to insist on that particular detail, and there is no guarantee that either or both of them will be at leisure to accompany our contemplated excursion.’ He saw Faramir’s wince, quickly controlled, at the impact of the chancellor’s deliberately pompous choice of expression. But then, the son of the Thain had put his father in a difficult position with his insistence, and one of Ferdi’s duties was to smooth the Thain’s path forward to the best of his ability to ease the burden on the hobbit. The Thainship was difficult enough as it was.

As a stubborn Took and his father’s son, Farry set aside Ferdi’s warning of “presumption”, saying only, ‘It won’t hurt to send each of them a letter, inviting them to meet us at Rivendell. They’re free to decline, of course.’ For Pippin had told only Merry and Ferdi about the letters he’d sent to Gimli and Legolas. He didn't want to get Farry’s hopes up if one or both had to decline for some reason or another.

‘And who’s to send these letters, pray tell?’ Ferdi said. ‘Your father would hardly presume to do so,’ (since he has already, Ferdi thought to himself), ‘nor has he instructed me to do so.’ (And adding my pleas to the Thain’s will scarcely move them to set aside their own plans and duties and responsibilities!)

‘No worries,’ Farry said, and Ferdibrand ought to have been set on his guard at the lad’s light tone, but unfortunately, he took from the teen’s words the meaning that Faramir had conceded this point, at least, in recognising the imposition it would be to ask the Elf and the Dwarf to join the expedition. In point of fact, he was mistaken, as he would discover at a later date.

For his part, Pippin had listened intently as Farry had originally presented his proposal to the Thain and his advisors, back in the Tookland, before they had even come to the Lake for the first half of the summer. Farry’s father had sat quietly, his hands resting on his desk, fingers steepled, nodding occasionally to encourage the lad to speak further. Despite the Thain’s mild manner, however, Ferdi had seen Farry’s father blink at the thought of interrupting the labours of Gimli and Legolas. Pippin might consider inconveniencing any number of hobbits, especially if they were Tooks or Tooklanders, if it suited his purposes – and he invariably had a good reason for doing so whenever he did choose to impose his will on those who looked to him as Thain. Nevertheless, though nominally he was the Thain of the Shire as well as The Took of the Took clan, the hobbit observed strict boundaries and avoided imposing his will upon those residing outside the borders of the Tookland unless his assistance or guidance was explicitly solicited by one or more hobbits from the Outer Shire (as they all too often were) or, more rarely, outside the Bounds. In short, Pippin was no Lotho; he had to this point evidenced no desire to be Chief over all Shire-folk, and there was no indication that he had any such ambitious for the future, either.

Inconveniencing folk outside the Tookland, as opposed to issuing orders and expecting them to be obeyed, was another matter entirely for the current Thain. Asking Gimli and Legolas to leave their labours for a lark, at worst, or set aside their duties at the whim of his young son, to state the matter in a better (though brutally honest) light, was not something Pippin could consider lightly.

As for Haldoron, Elessar’s kinsman and the steward of the Northern Kingdom when the King was away, now disgraced and relieved of his post? As things had worked out, Elessar had pronounced the Northern Steward’s doom not long after Pippin had come to a decision regarding his son’s fascination with historical events. 

Pippin had not explicitly asked for the erstwhile steward’s help in the matter. However, it seemed that Faramir’s desire to retrace the paths of the Fellowship fit well into the King’s plan to acquaint his kinsman more closely with Hobbits and their ways, in hopes that Haldoron might become suited to take up his steward’s duties again in future with a better understanding of a large portion of the Northern population. Oddly enough, the King’s goals paralleled Pippin’s wish to place Ferdi in circumstances where the latter would be forced to work closely with one or more Men, that he might gain some understanding of their ways and, it was to be hoped, might learn – at the very least – to tolerate them. Satisfying young Faramir’s curiosity concurrently with the two leaders, Man and Hobbit, learning the intended lessons set before them would be, as a hobbit might say, “gravy on the taters” or “icing on the cake”.

Kingsmen, of course, had to answer to Elessar’s orders as well as those of officers in the chain of command. For his part, as a Guardsman of the King as well as a Counsellor of the North-kingdom, the Thain’s conscience was clear when it came to making demands of them if circumstances required such. As the Ernil i Pheriannath, he could – and had when he had deemed it necessary – issue orders to various Kingsmen, for example, those guarding the borders of the Shire. 

Pippin also knew that Elessar would grant him any reasonable request, but he typically held back from asking for royal favours, choosing instead to maintain the Shire’s autonomy and not become entangled in Men’s affairs. Moreover, despite their friendly relations with certain Men, Merry and Sam were in accord with Pippin. In fact, the Thain’s resolve, along with that of the Master of Buckland and the Mayor of the Shire, had only been strengthened in the wake of extraordinary circumstances (a compilation of disasters: drought, pestilence, and threatened famine) that had led Elessar’s Counsellors of the North-kingdom to beg the King for aid a few years earlier. 

During that terrible time, the Shire-folk had seen both the worst and the best of Men. When Elessar had lifted his Edict so that his Guardsmen could render aid within the Shire, rogue Men had seized the opportunity to cross the Bounds in their greed to help themselves to the Thain’s gold. Their murderous actions had seriously injured Pippin and might even have killed him, if not for Mayor Sam’s insistence that he should wear Frodo’s mithril shirt “with Men loose in the Shire”, as the Mayor had persuasively argued. The Tooks, who were suspicious of Men in any event and had barred all Men from their homeland during the Troubles, had been incensed at the peril to their Thain. In their eyes, the ruffians’ crimes outweighed all the efforts on the part of other Men working on the side of good. There was no convincing them otherwise, no matter how great the friendship between the Thain and the Men of his close acquaintance, including the King, might be. 

On the side of good, Gondor, Rohan and Ithilien had sent aid in the form of enough food to carry the Shire through the next year’s harvest, and even offered promises of land where the Shire-folk could relocate if necessary, though such a move would have required them to intermingle with the Men already in place. The idea was not as Outlandish as the Tooks made it out to be, considering the Men and Hobbits living in harmony in the Breeland already. 

While such an outcome would undoubtedly have led to the interspersing of the Shire-folk among the other peoples under Elessar’s reign, in the end, it was not to be. Instead, the rains returned to the Shire on the heels of the food shipments from the South, and Elessar reinstated his Edict banning Men from the Shire once the emergency had been resolved. In the days and months that followed, the fierce independence of the Tooks seemed to spill over into the rest of the Shire, increasing the distance between Hobbits and Men, in general, though certain individuals of both races were at pains to maintain friendships across the divide.

In any event, Ferdibrand saw no other alternatives open to him, not even removal to Bridgefields to act as regent to the next Bolger for a few years until young Rudivar should come into his inheritance. He had sworn an oath to serve the Thain and his family in Paladin’s time, and by Tookish tradition, nothing and no one could release him from his oath save the Thain – or Ferdi’s death. Asking the Thain to release him was unthinkable. No, but he was well and truly trapped by circumstances in this case, for the sake of honour and because of the ties of friendship that certain individuals – including the Thain of the Shire and the King of the Western Lands – were at pains to maintain.

‘Uncle?’ 

Ferdi became aware that Farry was staring at him, that his nephew had spoken – had asked a question? He shook himself free of his gloomy consideration and gave a wave of dismissal. ‘Off wit’ ye now,’ he said, leaving off his polished, careful speech for the more lilting tones of the wild Green Hill country. For some reason, he suddenly felt as weary of planning as his nephew. ‘Tomorrow is another day.’

Haldoron, after all, was in charge of organising their supplies and planning their route, in consultation with Elessar, who had walked the entire journey with the original Fellowship. At least Ferdi was spared the necessity of hammering out those details with the stubborn son of the Thain. He wouldn’t put it past Faramir, however, to have spoken to the King about authenticity in all details to the greatest possible extent, however. He could only hope it wouldn’t mean they’d be on short rations along the way.

It was bad enough to contemplate travelling with a ruffian, much less to have to manage it on an empty stomach.

***