Chapter 11. Giving Credit Where Credit Is Due 

‘A Prancing Pony breakfast, you say!’ Paladin said from his chair at the head of the table, and shook his head as all the others around the table took their seats. He fixed an eye on their over-tall guest at the far end. ‘To tell you the truth, sir, I have a point of contention, or two! – to pick with you. Or perhaps I ought to say “for your part” in this matter.’

His grim gaze swept down one side of the long table and up the other side, taking in the faces of his hired hobbits, Healer Mardi, who’d stayed to breakfast before heading back to Whitwell to take up his duties for the day, his guests Bilbo and young Frodo, his daughters, his wife, and finally open-mouthed little Pippin, sitting between himself and Eglantine. At the distress he saw in the small lad’s face, he dropped the lid of his nearest eye in a half-wink of reassurance.

Pippin closed his mouth, though he still looked uncertain.

Meanwhile, sitting on the floor at the far end of the table, their guest was blinking. ‘I – I,’ he stuttered, then began again. ‘If I have given offence in any way...’

The farmer nodded, a sharp jerk of the chin that conveyed he meant business. ‘If you have given offence...’ he echoed. He deliberately looked around the faces at the table again. Then he stood up from his chair.

When Nod, the forehobbit, started to rise from his seat on the long bench to one side of the table, Paladin barked at him. ‘Sit yourself back down.’ And to the rest of the breakfasters, he added, ‘That means all of you! Sit!’ And to the tall Man at the end of the table, ‘And yourself, Master Robin Tallfellow.’

When he was satisfied that he had the complete attention of everyone there, he nodded, more gently this time, and opened his mouth to speak.

Only to be interrupted by a quiet word from his wife. ‘Food’s going cold.’

He met Eglantine’s eye and gave a subtle nod of reassurance as he responded in a low tone. ‘What I have to say won’t take all that much longer.’ And then louder, he said, ‘And if anyone is to be dismissed from table, it certainly won’t be the benefactor of this magnificent feast that’s been set before us!’

He received several puzzled looks at this, though Bilbo was examining him shrewdly. He noticed that the old hobbit had a firm hold of young Frodo’s arm, as if to preclude any outbursts on the tween’s part. And was that an approving look in his eye, as if he guessed what Paladin’s next words were to be?

Ah, well. Time was a-wasting. He returned his gaze to the Man at the opposite end of the table from him, and without further preamble, gave a deep and respectful bow. ‘To you, Master Tallfellow,’ he said, his voice ringing grandly, as he were presiding over a gathering in the largest banquet hall of the Great Smials rather than in a farmhole kitchen, ‘I convey my utmost respect and heartiest thanks! Such a feast as you have provided here, why, I doubt the Thain’s high table in the Great Hall could boast half the quality and quantity!’

Surveying the stunned faces before him, Paladin added, ‘You all bowed to me and thanked me before you sat down,’ and then fixing his gaze on the Man once more, he finished, ‘but I think rather more thanks are due yourself, Master Tallfellow.’

‘I – I,’ the Man repeated, but the worry had left his face at the farmer’s reassurance. He swallowed hard, gave his own bow as best he could whilst remaining seated, and said, ‘You are most welcome, Farmer Paladin.’

‘Dinny,’ Paladin said. ‘Everyone calls me Dinny – those that I count amongst my friends, that is.’

‘Dinny,’ the Man echoed obediently.

Paladin looked to his hired hobbits on either side of the table. ‘But some o’ you,’ he said, ‘are lacking in good manners.’ 

He nodded pleasantly to Pearl, to one side of the Man. ‘I thank you, Daughter,’ he said formally, and then to his forehobbit on the other side, ‘and you, Nod.’ Growing stern again, he said to the entire table, ‘but some of you – and I won’t name names, to give you the chance to examine your own thoughts and make amends as you see fit – some of you have made me feel ashamed to be the host of this finest of feasts.’ He extended his hand, palm up, towards the Man at the other end of the table. ‘Here this Man, whom fate cast upon our doorstep (or in our stream, rather), has laid before us the most amazing spread this side of the Breeland, or so old Bilbo has informed me – and he ought to know! – and yet some of you have refused to sit yourselves down next to him.

‘That’s why I tendered thanks to my eldest, and to my most excellent forehobbit,’ he said, ‘whom I see are not sitting in their usual places – for my hired hobbits who usually sit at that end of the table have chosen places at some remove from this Man who has honoured us with his best efforts.’

His gaze swept the faces at the table a final time, and he said, ‘You know who you are.’ Suddenly, he put his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. In a completely different tone, he said, ‘Now, food’s getting cold! Let’s not let any of this marvellous feast go to waste!’

‘Hear, hear!’ Bilbo called, and he stood to his feet and bowed to the Man at the end of the table. ‘I thank you, Master Robin, for my part.’

There was a hasty shuffling of feet as all the other hobbits around the table stood up and bowed to the Man, who received their thanks with a somewhat dazed look on his face, though graciously enough to suit the demands of good manners, and then everyone sat down and fell to with a will, a smacking of lips, and delighted hums and even a few low groaning sounds of deep satisfaction.

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(Next update: soon, if all goes well. Story's nearly finished, so we'll knock out this WIP before tackling another of those that have been languishing here for too long. The newest story, on the other hand, will continue to have regular postings. Thank you for your patience.)