Chapter 24. Thain: Into the Future

Pippin’s head was spinning; he scarcely heard anything the Thain said to him, as a matter of fact, as they walked towards the paddock where the ponies of the Thain’s party waited, for these had not been turned out in the field like those of the other guests. As a result, he found himself pulled to a stop at the fence, to watch the hobbits of escort saddling the ponies, and then he realised Ferumbras was waiting for a response.

 ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said politely.

 ‘I asked if you had any questions,’ Ferumbras said patiently. ‘Is everything clear?’

Pippin stared at him. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Nothing’s clear. I don’t understand...’

 ‘Your grandfather...’ Ferumbras began.

 ‘I know all about that,’ Pippin said with a sharp gesture, not caring that he was being rude... to the Thain. After all, the Thain was being interminably rude, in his opinion, to interrupt this joyous occasion, to cut short Pippin’s hopes and dreams for the future, to impose his will in the situation.

After all, he thought with cold logic, what does it matter, if I’m a shepherd for the next seven years? I’ve more than a dozen years before they can force the seal of the Thain upon my hand.

 ‘Very well,’ Ferumbras said, maintaining a mild and pleasant tone. Pippin wasn’t fooled. There was a will of iron beneath the velvet manner. ‘What is it you do not understand?’

 ‘Why may I not even bid my loved ones farewell?’ Pippin said. ‘Why must my party be cut short?’

The Thain gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Do you think it will be a joyous occasion?’ he said. ‘More of a funeral feast, I’d say, but I could not let things go on as they were going, or there’d be the deuce to pay.’

 ‘And the old shepherd,’ Pippin said. ‘What’s he to do? He needs...’

 ‘Now that's a pony of a different colour,’ Ferumbras said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘I may be hard, but I’m not unjust. When I heard the rumour of what was to be done this day, I made certain arrangements. For a surety, I would not see an innocent party harmed, not if I could remedy the situation. I was going to deal with this once we were ready to depart, but you might as well have your mind set at ease now.’ While Pippin wondered, the Thain raised his voice. ‘Haral!’

One of the two hobbits saddling ponies straightened and turned at once. ‘Sir,’ he said smartly.

 ‘Let Baragrim finish,’ Ferumbras said. ‘Attend me.’

Haral pulled the girth he was fastening, made sure it was tight, gave the pony a pat and stepped away. ‘Sir,’ he said again.

With a closer look, Pippin realised that Haral was only a tween, a few years older than himself, perhaps, but not old enough to be a hobbit of the Thain’s escort. Personal servant to the Thain, perhaps?

 ‘Come along,’ Ferumbras said to the two tweens, turning back to the party, where hobbits were milling uncertainly and all tongues were wagging at once. Of course they fell silent in the face of the Thain’s approach.

Pippin saw Merry’s face brighten as they neared him, and he could just imagine what his cousin was thinking. He’s changed his mind! or something of the sort. Pippin had no such illusions. There had been such a note of finality in Ferumbras’ tone, like the snap of a trap shutting, or a snare pulling tight, and no matter how he might struggle, like the hapless hare he could not slip out of the strangling noose.

Gladdy was weeping, the old shepherd’s arms about her, his own expression bleak and his face drawn long with sorrow.

 ‘Shepherd Brockbank,’ Ferumbras said.

 ‘Sir,’ the old shepherd said, straightening and pulling Gladdy to his side. She hastily wiped at her streaming eyes and somehow managed to stifle her sobs, raising her woebegone face to meet Pippin’s sad gaze.

 ‘May I present to you Haral Goodchild, son of Bedelia Took and Garal Goodchild? He comes of a good family, and I will vouch for his character as a steady worker.’

 ‘Master Goodchild,’ the old shepherd said gravely.

 ‘He came to me three years ago, orphaned, and my steward thought he would make an excellent personal servant. He has satisfactorily learned all tasks set before him, and served loyally and with vigour and wit.’

 ‘I’m very happy for you,’ the old shepherd said, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

 ‘I would like him to be trained as a shepherd,’ Ferumbras went on. ‘I think he misses the out-of-door life that he knew as a farmer’s son, and while I have no doubt it will be difficult to replace him, I would apprentice him to you, if you’ll have him.’

 ‘You’ll...’ the old shepherd said, while Gladdy stared, wondering.

There were two ways to be apprenticed in the Shire, in those days. In the most common method, a Master would “buy” an apprentice, from a family with too many mouths to feed, to train for a period of seven years, paying a fee to the apprentice’s family and providing room and board and instruction in return for labour. But a wealthy hobbit might pay a Master to train one of his children in a trade, if that child showed an interest or aptitude in a skill. Better to have a tween that was happy and productive than idle and given to mischief.

 ‘I’ll pay you to take him on,’ Ferumbras said, making himself completely clear. ‘I imagine we’ll both benefit by the arrangement.’

 ‘I...’ Brockbank said, completely at a loss.

 ‘You take him on for a month and a day,’ Ferumbras said. ‘We’ll finalise the agreement then, if he proves himself satisfactory. Which I’ve no doubt but that he will.’ He clapped young Haral on the shoulder and said, ‘Be well, lad.’

 ‘Sir,’ was all Haral said. Evidently he’d been prepared for this turn of events, where Pippin had not.

Ferumbras gave Pippin a little push. ‘You wanted to say your farewells,’ he said. ‘Time is wasting.’

Gladdy gave a little sob and stepped forward, holding out her arms, and Pippin stepped into her embrace, hugging her tightly.

 ‘Go with grace, lad,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘I’ll be thinking good thoughts, your way, and expecting to hear the best in return.’

 ‘Bless you, Gladdy,’ he whispered, fiercely fighting back his own tears.

He stepped back and held out his hand to the old shepherd. ‘Thanks,’ he said briefly, though his eyes spoke volumes. ‘I won’t forget.’

 ‘See that you don’t,’ the old shepherd said with a nod. Then, to the Thain, he said, ‘May the lad come for a visit, on occasion?’

 ‘I’m that sorry,’ Ferumbras said, his tone gentle but final. ‘He’ll be much cumbered with business, you know. Lots to learn, what with him a tween already and so much ground yet to cover.’

 ‘Aye,’ the shepherd said, and then he pulled Pippin into a hug. ‘Make me proud, lad,’ he whispered, for Pippin’s ears alone.

The lad could not speak; he merely nodded against the old shepherd’s cheek.

Brockbank gave him a pat on the back and stepped away. ‘Come, lad,’ he said to Haral. ‘Let us get some food into ye, afore we have to start the long journey homewards.’

At some unspoken signal, Gladdy took Haral from the other side, and the two old hobbits escorted the tween away without a backward look, to spare Pippin further grief, though the set of their shoulders gave silent evidence to their own. Hot with resentment, Pippin watched the other tween walk into the life he coveted.

With another nudge from the Thain (Pippin wondered if he were to be no more than a trained pony, responding to hands and heels, a twitch on the bit and a dig in the side), Pippin stepped forward to a quick flurry of hugs from mother, father, two sisters, and an assortment of other relatives and friends, and then he was helping Isum towards the waiting ponies.

He lifted his little nephews onto the back of the pony they shared, helped Baragrim lift Isum into the saddle, assisted Pearl into her saddle, and mounted the pony Haral had ridden from the Great Smials.

With nothing more than the shirt on his back, he rode out of his old life and into the future.