Ferdi awakened very early, for he wanted to see his fine lass, Dapple, before being swept up in the events of the day. He trusted that Reginard had taken excellent care of the pony, with his attention to detail and tremendous sense of duty. She'd probably pay Ferdi no mind at all after being cared for by Regi...

...but he came to find her stall empty.

As he stood pondering, one of the stable hobbits came up behind him. 'Looking for a good place to spark a blaze?' he said cheerily.

'I've other fish to fry this day,' Ferdi returned pleasantly.

'Just as long as you don't fry any ponies,' the other chuckled, when a quiet voice spoke behind them.

'On your way, laddie,' Old Tom the head hobbit of the Thain's stables said. 'You've enough work to do, you don't want me finding any more for you.'

'Yessir,' the hobbit said and quickly turned back to his sweeping.

'Hullo, Tom,' Ferdi said.

'Good to see you, Ferdi,' the other answered. 'I'd heard you'd cleared out for foreign parts.'

'Naw, I was just down to Woody End to visit my sister, is all,' Ferdi said. 'I'm back, now.'

'That I see,' Tom said.

'Where's Dapple?' Ferdi asked.

'The lass is down in t'field with all the other ponies,' Tom said. 'The Thain ordered them to be turned out all the night, seeing as how they'd be stuck in their stalls all the day, what with shooting going on and all. As a matter of fact, we were just laying down the fresh bedding before going to round them all up again.'

'You don't need to trouble yourself about my lass,' Ferdi said, picking up the halter from the hook, and slinging it and the lead rope over his shoulder. 'I'll go and fetch her.'

The old hobbit's face crinkled in a grin, and he fished in his pocket, holding out a few pieces of carrot. 'Better take a treat along,' he said. 'Regi's spoilt her rotten, y'know.'

Ferdi laughed and thanked him, pocketing the treat, and went out into the pre-dawn softness, jogging to the larged fenced field where the ponies of the Smials were given freedom to run and graze and roll, or to stand beneath one of the scattered trees to dream of a summer's day. There was just enough light, though the Sun had not yet peeked above the horizon, for him to make out the dark shapes, and the sounds of champing teeth came to him in the breathless silence before the world awakened.

He gave a whistle, a clear call, and one of the heads jerked up to look in his direction. He whistled again, and the pony turned towards him, to trot over to the gate, nodding her head in greeting and pushing at him with her long face. He laughed and offered her the first of the carrot pieces, slipped the halter on her whilst she crunched it, and gave her another for good measure, stroking her gently.

'I missed you, lass,' he said softly. 'Next time I go I'll take you with me.' She nodded wisely, though she was probably just asking for more carrot, and to reward her, he offered the final piece, which she brushed off his palm with a caress of her velvet lips.

Leading her back to the stables, he heard the sound of a trotting pony on the stones of the courtyard, and looked around to see Meriadoc Brandybuck astride his flame-coloured pony. The Sun had peeked her head up out of her covers, and in the brilliant sunrise light the pony shone like new gold. 'Hullo, Merry,' he said politely. 'How was the ride?'

He was shocked at the other's appearance; Merry was off his feed, apparently, and there were circles of sleeplessness under his eyes. He greeted Ferdi politely enough, saying, 'I like the early morning hours best; riding in the quiet I can hear myself think.'

'And why would you want to think before breakfast?' Ferdi asked, but the other gave him only the barest smile. Well, he'd promised Pippin he'd help distract Merry from his troubles...

'Come now, cousin, it's a beautiful day, and you're riding the fastest pony in Eastfarthing, so I hear tell.'

'Do you have a point?' Merry said.

'I bet my mare could beat your pony in a fair race,' Ferdi said, challenge in his tone.

'Do you, now?' Merry asked, a grin tugging at the side of his mouth. 'I'd heard she did no better than fifth in the Tookland races a couple of years back.'

'Fourth,' Ferdi said, stung. 'She took fourth in the pony races.'

Merry laughed. 'Are you saying that the fourth-place runner from Tookland is better than the winner of the Eastfarthing races?'

'That's what I'm saying,' Ferdi grinned.

'You're on!' Merry said. 'Just saddle her up and we'll have a go.'

'Why waste the time?' Ferdi said, and to Merry's amazement he vaulted upon Dapple's back, with only the lead rope to guide her. 'Let us go!' he shouted, and with a wild whoop that wakened half the hobbits still sleeping on the field in tents, he kneed her into a trot towards the racecourse, Merry following in utter bemusement.

When they reached the racecourse, Ferdi got down to scuff a line in the dirt. 'We'll race all the way around and back to this point,' he said.

Merry shook his head. 'You really ought to have a saddle, or a bridle at least...' he said.

'Whatever for?' Ferdi laughed, grabbing at Dapple's mane and jumping up again. 'Are you ready?' he said.

Merry gave a nod and sat deeper in his saddle, and the flame-coloured pony seemed to crouch where he stood behind the line. 'Give the word,' he said.

Ferdi gave a nod of his own, then erupted into a sudden piercing shriek that wakened the other half of the slumbering hobbits on the field, while at the same time he leaned forward on Dapple's neck and dug his heels into her flanks. The yell startled Merry's pony into rearing as the little mare leaped forward and settled into a ground-eating gallop.

Merry mastered his pony and sent him after her, but the mare had a wide lead and had reached the second turn when Merry's pony was just at the first. He achieved a steady rhythm and slowly ate up the ground between them, but Ferdi's pony was still half a length ahead when they flashed over the line.

Merry was actually laughing as they eased their ponies to a walk. He shook his head. 'I do believe you are daft,' he said to Ferdi.

'You mean there was doubt about it?' Ferdi asked with a grin. 'I'd thought it was the general consensus.' He patted Dapple on the neck. 'Wouldn't you agree, Sweetheart?' She tossed her head and both hobbits laughed.

'Well, let's cool them out and get a bite of breakfast,' Merry said. 'For some reason I am absolutely ravenous.'

'Good,' Ferdi said. 'I know just the thing... I'm staying with the finest cook in the Shire, and breakfast ought to be just about ready by now.'

'And this cook won't mind an uninvited guest?' Merry said.

'Ah, no, not at all, she always cooks more than we can eat, anyhow. Don't know how we manage not to waste the food, but it's so good we just eat it all up despite the danger of bursting.'

'Well, let me go along and ease the danger for you a bit, just this once,' Merry said.

'Very kind of you, I'm sure, to make the sacrifice,' Ferdi said. They walked their ponies until thoroughly cooled out, stabled them, and went on to enjoy their breakfast immensely.

Rosemary greeted Merry kindly, remembering him from the visits he'd spent at the Smials as a youth. He and Ferdi had been practically inseparable for a time, with little Pippin tagging along, dragging them into trouble oftener than not. Hally was polite, for he had a higher opinion of Brandybucks as a whole, than Tooks (wife and brother-in-love excepted), and the little Bolgers were quite animated, having seen the latter part of the race after the second whoop awakened them. Between them, they had Merry laughing and relaxed and forgetting his troubles long enough to eat a hearty breakfast.

They were laughing over some joke of Hally's when a horn sounded, and Rosemary jumped to her feet. 'The fair's about to open!' she cried, 'and here I am with the dishes not even washed.'

'Not even cleared, you mean,' Ferdi said, 'but let me help you as best I can.' He popped the last bite into his mouth and gave her his plate. 'There!' he said around his mouthful. 'Anybody else need any help?' But of course, everyone else finished their breakfast without aid, and Ferdi and Hally excused themselves to Merry, to mind the booth.

'Are you joining the shooting this morning?' Merry asked.

'No, I'll be at the tournament after the nooning, though,' Ferdibrand said. 'Will I see you there?'

'As long as Pippin doesn't shoot me by accident this morning,' Merry said. 'He's better with a sword than a bow, I fear. Hardly Tookish of him.'

Ferdi grimaced. He had to agree. 'Enjoy the shooting,' he said. On the morning of the tournament, any archers who cared to would walk together in groups. One would pick a target, say a clump of grass or broken branch, and all in the group would shoot at it. They'd all walk over, then, and see how they did, and the one who'd come closest to the mark would pick the next object to shoot at. It was a pleasant way to spend the morning whilst the wives and daughters were shopping at the fair.

There would be a sumptuous noontide feast, with roasted meat supplied by the Thain (already delicious smells were wafting from the roasting pits), and other foods shared amongst the hobbits who'd come. Since there was quite a rivalry to see who could produce the dish to be used up the fastest, a good meal was had by all.

In the afternoon, Ferdi donned his brace, buckling it securely with ease of the past few weeks' practice. 'Ready?' Hally said quietly, holding his bow and Ferdi's.

'Quite,' Ferdi answered. 'Let us give the Tooks something to gossip about.'

'No worry there,' Hally said. 'They gossip about everything.'

They walked over to the pavilion where archers were registering for the competition. Rudibold Took looked up in astonishment to see Ferdi. 'I thought you'd given it up!' he said.

'Not quite,' Ferdi answered. 'I thought I'd give it one last shot,' he added, 'just for old times' sake.'

Rudi shook his head, but wrote Ferdi's name down on the registry and took his silver. 'Very well,' he said, 'but it feels like robbery to me.'

'Don't let it worry you,' Ferdi soothed. 'Humour me. Rumour says I'm daft, anyway.'

'So I'd heard,' Rudi said wryly. 'What group do you want me to place you with?' His pen hovered over the list of novices. He'd seen Ferdi shoot a couple of years back, after the bones had knitted, before he gave it up in frustration.

'Put him with me,' Hally said quietly. The other looked up, startled. Hally was among the best he knew of; was he looking to humiliate his wife's brother?

But Ferdi was nodding with a smile. 'Go ahead,' he said. 'He wants to keep an eye on me, you know, in case I go off my head.'

'You are daft,' Rudi muttered, but he wrote down the two names on the expert list.

There was a preliminary contest, a kind of quick check to make sure none of the entrants had exaggerated his abilities. All in the expert group quickly passed the test, and moved on to the competition.

Rosemary waved to them from where she stood with the two oldest Bolger sons, who were shooting with a group of lads of assorted size. They were taking turns shooting at apples hanging from strings, and when an arrow hit the mark with the satisfying result of splitting the fruit into pieces, a cheer would go up from the boys and the onlookers.

The intermediates were having a bit of fun shooting straw-stuffed crows from perches of varying height. Every time a bird fell, a cheer went up from the watching farmers.

The shooting became progressively more difficult. Ferdi's group started by shooting at straw animals and birds placed in various locations; in the grass, on the branches of trees, swinging from a high branch on a line, to simulate a bird in flight. Not a few of the expert shooters were eliminated when they had to shoot at targets across a small pond, for estimating distance was trickier over water, as some learned to their dismay. The more experienced archers had practiced for just such a contingency, despite the usual hobbit distrust of water.

Shooting from the back of a pony into targets came next, first at a walk, and then at increasingly faster gaits. The crowd stayed well back, and none strayed beyond the ropes, for not a few arrows went wild at the gallop, and about half the group was eliminated during this event.

Next they moved to the Tuckborough practice range, a permanent mound of earth, a "butt" two hobbits high and a hobbit-and-a-half wide, with an upright face to shoot into, tapering more gradually off on the backside. The master of the tournament had affixed roundels to the face, and the archers took turns shooting from various distances. The small cloth targets, about a handspan in size, were easy to hit at the first distance, but progressively harder as the archers moved back.

Ferdi's arm was tiring, but he stayed with the group to the end, when the final five archers began a contest of "split the willow". The master of the tournament set up the peeled willow wands and stepped back. Two of the archers were quickly eliminated, but Ferdi, Tolly and Hally managed to split the wands on their first try. More wands were set up, the archers moved back, and Hally missed on this round.

A hush fell as the final round began. Tolly stepped up to the line. A great cheer arose from the spectators as he split the wand, though the master shook his head as he examined the split stick, for it was not split into true halves; the arrow had obviously hit off-centre.

Ferdi stepped up. He wanted to rub his aching arm, but the brace prevented that. He shrugged his shoulders to ease the tension, twisted his bad arm slightly within the brace, bowed to the master, and raised his bow. As he started to pull back the string, he felt the warning pain in the bow arm, more than the ache he'd been shooting through. He knew that he could make this shot, but was it worth the possible ruin of his arm? He let off the tension on the string, stood considering as the crowd stared in suspense.

'Come on, Ferdi!' someone shouted. 'You can do it!' He looked up with a smile for Everard, Hilly beside him. The latter raised a mug with a grin. Having finished eighth before his elimination, his position on the Thain's escort was secure for another year. Everard shouted encouragement again; no doubt they'd placed a wager on the outcome. He raised the bow again, fingers caressing the arrow they held, and then... he unnocked his arrow, bowing to Tolly, then walked off the line, as the crowd watched in stunned silence. He knew he could shoot again, and everyone else knew it as well. He had nothing to prove, after all.

[Author's Note: Thanks to Steve Adams at Stortford Archery Club for his invaluable technical advice!]