A Matter of Perspective

Chapter 1. In which a Took reflects on his present circumstances

S.R. 1441, not long after the turning of the year

The Green Hills are surely the most beautiful place in all of Middle-earth, at least the Tooks would tell you so, but this particular Took was not enjoying the sights surrounding him at the moment, for he was feeling rather grumbly, as it were.

Though a sprinkling of snow gave the hilltops a festive air, the hills themselves were as green as their name, or greener, perhaps, rising in great undulations that surrounded the travellers as their ponies picked their way. The path was slippery with mud, if not frost, here in the shadowed valley where the Sun was just beginning to cast her smiles, but the sky was blue as blue could be and not long past noontide all the frost here in the valley would be melted away.

And when shadows pooled on the valley floor once more, they’d be warm in the Great Smials, sitting at tea, young Faramir safely delivered once more to the bosom of his family, while his escort could relax again with wife and children and nearly new babe.

And Naming Day would be upon them soon, for the babe would have been in the world a month-and-a-day in a few days more, and they still hadn’t a proper name, really, for you couldn’t name a hobbit “Little Lass” no matter that her fond father had called her so from the start. And how could they choose a name, without consulting, with Pimpernel snug at the Great Smials with the children, and Ferdi here, having had to ride away before riding back again, escorting young Faramir back from a visit to Pippin’s family holdings near Whitwell, managed by his sister Pearl and her husband Isumbold.

Ferdi had argued the point with Pippin, but the Thain had stood firm. ‘Why not send Haldegrim instead?’ Ferdi had said. ‘Isenard, Hilly, or even Tolly?’

‘Tolly took him out there in the first place,’ Pippin said, ‘and now I want you to fetch him back.’

‘I’ve better things to be doing—those reports you wanted, on the wood marked out for cutting by the foresters, and the winter supplies for the widows and gaffers that were delivered at Yule, and...’

‘And they’ll still be here to be done when you get back,’ Pippin had said, implacable.

‘And we’ve not yet had our Naming Day for the little lass,’ Ferdi had given his strongest argument, saved for last. ‘You know that custom demands...’

‘Aye, and a fine excuse for you to be released from all your duties for a month-and-a-day, to get to know your new daughter better, in order to choose the proper name for her, but most parents choose in the first few moments after birth. Must you be so wedded to tradition, Ferdi? I cannot afford to lose you for so long a time...’

‘You certainly did not seem affected by that concern a little while ago!’ Ferdi had said, and though he’d made a private resolve not to speak of the happenings in the Woody End again, where he and Tolly had been falsely accused of trying to steal young Faramir Took, in league with ruffians after ransom money, he found the words coming in a rush as the blood rushed to his cheeks at the same time. ‘You were ready to send me off, and for a longer time of it – for ever, as a matter of fact.’

‘And that is just why I must send you off now,’ Pippin had said through his teeth.

‘Hardly “just” of you, cousin,’ Ferdi had retorted, watching the Thain’s hands clench into fists of frustration. But the hands had relaxed again, almost as suddenly, and Pippin had shaken his head, shaken himself, taken hold again, not to be goaded. To be angered is to lose the argument, as the old saying goes.

‘Indeed, Ferdi,’ he’d said, speaking quietly. ‘It is exactly just of me. You don’t realise why I sent Tolly with him in the first place, to bring him to the farm, and why I now choose to send you to fetch him back...? I thought your wits sharper than that, Ferdibrand.’

Ferdi’s mouth had half-opened as the realisation struck. ‘A... a...’ he’d stammered, ‘a demonstration of your trust.’

‘Exactly.’

Ferdi had felt as if the air had been sucked from the room, as if there weren’t enough for the breathing; he’d found himself taking shallow breaths, much as those that constrained Pippin, had constrained him since his near-fatal bout with the Old Gaffer’s Friend years before.

Pippin had nodded, satisfied. ‘If the accusation of child-stealing were true,’ he’d said in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘you and Tolly would hardly be given the opportunity to get close to Farry again. You’d’ve been kept busy with other matters, reports and such...’

There really had not been enough air in the room. Ferdi had felt his head whirling.

‘The Talk of the Tooks, Ferdi,’ Pippin had continued, relentless. ‘When you consider the events of a few weeks ago...’

‘You dispelled the Talk when all was said and done,’ Ferdi had said, trying not to gasp for air, ‘when in the end you exposed the accusation as false. Ev’ard paid restitution, and so did you, and the papers were signed by witnesses...’

‘And yet the Talk continues, ill-natured talk, made all the worse for folk being kept inside by the chilly weather,’ Pippin had said grimly. ‘I have been unable to find the source... it doesn’t matter. All it takes is a gaffer who’s had too much of an evening, or two gammers whispering before the fire, and the Talk spreads from there, and worse, it grows. I have,’ and he’d slammed his fist into his other hand in emphasis, ‘to stamp it out somehow, Ferdi, before it renders you and Tolly useless to me, to the service of Tookland.’

And that had been the telling argument. Pippin knew that Ferdi served not himself, but the Tooks and the land he’d nearly given his life to defend, in the time of the Troubles, when Saruman’s ruffians ruled.

To his credit he’d not smiled when Ferdi’s shoulders had slumped, signalling his surrender. He took no pleasure in manipulating his cousin, forcing him to his will. There was no triumph in this victory over the stubborn hobbit, only a sort of lingering sickness that such a measure was necessary at all, and all because he, the Thain, had jumped to conclusions. It didn’t matter that Everard and Reginard had been the first to take the wrong idea from circumstances. Pippin had taken the evidence as they’d presented it, and without hearing Ferdi’s side, or Tolly’s, had thought them guilty, had done nothing to protest the judgment against them – a judgment that would have led to their banishment from the Shire if not for a bit of timely interference by the supposedly stolen child, Faramir himself.

‘So,’ Ferdi had whispered, not trusting his voice, ‘just when is it you’d like me to leave, to fetch your son back to you?’

And so it was, just a few days shy of Naming Day for his yet-unnamed little lass, that Ferdibrand found himself riding through the wintry rolling landscape that under other circumstances he’d have appreciated – nay, gazed upon with awe, satisfaction and not a little delight.