The Prodigal Took 

by Lullenny

e-mail: gutter2stars @ yahoo.com

Pippin led the lads from Bywater across the fields to 
Tuckborough, and never had he felt more like a hero.  
Rousing the Shire to throw off the tyranny of Chief Lotho 
Sackville-Baggins and his Men was a needful task, and 
though Pippin would never wish anyone cursed with such 
wicked deeds as they had inflicted on the entire Shire, he 
found his heart beating fast with anticipation for the 
confrontation.  After all he had seen and done in the war, 
Pippin felt up to the challenge of a few score rowdy Men, 
without reservation.  

Nick Cotton rode alongside him much of the way, and he 
filled Pippin's ears with an unending list of crimes and 
indignities brought on by the Chief and enforced by his 
Men.  Nick's tales fanned Pippin's determination with each 
act of theft, violence, and imprisonment he recounted. 

"They can't withstand us when we draw together," Pippin 
said, sure that once he returned with an army of Tooks, the 
hobbits of Bywater and Hobbiton would find out that they 
were strong.  Hobbits, Pippin learned, had the power to 
change Middle-earth.  "Father will help me gather our best 
archers and hunters to bring to Bywater, and if they don't 
leave, we'll show them just what a rout is." 

"He's got nerve, that one," said Nick. 

"Who?  My father?  Oh, indeed," said Pippin, and he 
laughed.  "He'll probably want to come along.  He'd hate to 
miss the excitement." 

"You think?"  

"Oh, yes.  From what your father says, I'd wager he's got 
the Bullroarer's sword oiled for battle all ready." 

"Tomorrow'll be a fair eye-popper either way, no doubt." 

"Look, that's Widow Chubb's place!" cried Pippin, and he 
pointed to a house under a great oak tree.  The lone house 
stood close by Stock Road and served as a distinctive 
landmark with its red door, the oak tree, and the less 
visual but more interesting reputation of the pretty widow 
who lived there.  "We've reached the Stock Road." 

"In fair good time, too," said Nick.

They had ridden fast as they dared to push the ponies, 
chasing sunset, and now only the hem of the sun's skirt 
glimmered in the southwest, a drape of fading colors 
obscured by the wood that thickened round them the further 
south they rode.  Warm, yellow light glowed from two round 
windows.  

"Keep sharp, lads," said Pippin.  "Those Men might not be 
watching the fields, but it's a good bet they're watching 
the road.  I'm willing to chance it though; we've only a 
short way to go from here.  It's either risk the road or 
fight the wood, and we still have to beat that gang of Men 
from Waymeet back to Bywater."  

As they drew near the house, Pippin saw the widow Violet 
Chubb as she took clean laundry from the line.  The trees 
surrounding the road crowded less densely than in the 
forest, and with the glow from the windows the last bit of 
light in the sky illuminated her as she reached and bent.  
He saw Amaryllis, her daughter, helping her; they both 
worked quickly.  

Pippin was so buoyed by the sight of the familiar tree and 
house and fair lasses he knew that despite the risk, he 
slowed his pace as he and the others passed by, and he 
waved.  Violet started with a jerk and stared at him, her 
mouth a perfect dark O in her pale face, and then she 
dropped her basket of clean laundry and shrieked to her 
daughter as she ran for the door. "Get to the house!" 

Dismayed, Pippin reined in and signaled the others to stay 
back.  He rode forward slowly, stopping his pony by the 
fence, and called, "Wait.  Wait!  Don't go -- it's me, 
Pippin Took!"  He hoped Violet would not scream again. 

Violet opened the door, and bright light streamed out.  
Amaryllis stopped in the open doorway and turned.  Her 
mother pushed her, vainly urging her to go in, but she was 
a sturdy young tweenager and could not be moved.  Unable to 
move her, Violet stood between her daughter and Pippin, 
snatched up a rake that leaned by the door and brandished 
it in front of her.  Amaryllis clutched her arm and said, 
"Mother, wait, look.  It's Master Pippin!" 

Violet lowered the rake.  "Master - Master Pippin?" 

"Good evening!" said Pippin, relieved that she recognized 
him at last, for her fearful scream had filled him with 
disquiet.  He smiled as reassuringly as he could even as he 
was saddened at her obvious terror.  For the first time he 
wondered about the hardships she and all the people he knew 
and loved suffered throughout the long year.  

She squinted at him, rake still gripped in one hand, and 
stepped closer cautiously as she pushed her daughter behind 
her with the other.  "You're fair tall on that horse and 
wearing that get-up.  In the dark, I - I thought you was 
one of them Men," she said, and took another small step 
closer.  Her daughter squirmed to look over her shoulder.  
"They said you were dead." 

"Dead?" said Pippin.  He removed his helm.  "Said who?  The 
Men?"  

"No."  Violet came closer and allowed her daughter to stand 
next to her.  "That was from the Thain himself." 

"The Thain...?"  He lifted one leg over the saddle horn and 
slithered off his pony, letting the reins drop as he 
approached the split rail fence and gripped the top rung, 
stricken dumb.  Cotton and the others drew closer but 
remained mounted.

Violet set the head of the rake onto the ground.  "The 
family set a stone in remembrance on Midyear's Day," she 
said, her voice pitying.  Amaryllis stepped past her 
mother, up to the fence opposite Pippin, and said, "Aye, 
and the Master refused to come.  'Tis said he accused The 
Took for being a fool if he thought their boys were dead, 
and he'd not be party to --" 

Violet hurried forward and shushed her, glancing worriedly 
at Pippin.  "There's no denying that things have been hard 
on Master Paladin.  No father wants to give up hope for his 
son.  Has Master Merry returned as well?" 

Pippin looked from daughter to mother and said slowly, 
"Yes.  We've all come back."

The pity left Violet's expression.  "Oh, your coming is 
like good weather after bad, Master Pippin.  Maybe we can 
hope, now." 

"Hope," echoed Pippin, and his voice gained strength as he 
recalled his errand.  "Yes, hope.  We've come from Hobbiton 
to bring the news -- we're ridding the country of ruffian 
Men." 

"We're here to raise the Shire!" said Nick.  "We're going 
to oust those thieves for good!" 

"Aye!"  One of the Bywater lads spoke up eagerly.  "We're 
going to show them the border -- and the business end of a 
pitchfork if they don't go willin'!" 

"Oh, oh!" cried Amaryllis.  "Did you hear that, Ma?"  She 
turned to Pippin.  "You show them; you show them good!"  
She took the rake from her mother's hand and jabbed it into 
the air.  "I'll lend you a hand!" 

"You guard your mother," he said, smiling.  "I pity the Man 
foolish enough to try to attack this farm."  He bowed low 
to the widow and her daughter before he donned his helm 
once more and mounted his pony.  "Now I must go to my 
father to set things straight." 

"And then what?"  Amaryllis looked up at him, her cheeks 
pink with excitement in the light of the open door.

"And then we take back the Shire!"  He guided his pony to 
the road, and the others followed.  

*

Pippin met few hobbits on the road, hurrying to or from a 
snug supper, and though he recognized each, all stared at 
him fearfully, as though he were a stranger, or a ghost.  
He frowned at that thought, and then a soft, bitter chuckle 
escaped him.  He <I>was</I> a ghost: a ghost returned to 
haunt the land of his birth.  The strange fancy left him 
quickly, though, and he urged his companions to greater 
speed until the sound of the horses was muted thunder on 
the road. 

He led them at a gallop down the lane that ended at the 
principal entrance to the Great Smials, and they drew up 
abruptly by the main gate with its twin lanterns glowing in 
welcome, the ponies' hooves cutting holes into the autumn-
brown turf.  Pippin leapt down, opened the gate and let 
them through before leading them past glowing windows to 
the private entry of his family's rooms.  He paused at the 
door, oddly stirred by hesitation.  He glanced at Nick 
before he stared at the smial, and then said, "I should go 
in first.  Alone." 

"Aye," said Nick and nodded knowingly.  "If he's like my 
dad, he'll beat you sound a'fore he hugs you silly, and 
either one's best done in private." 

Pippin grinned wryly at Nick.  "Ah, so you've met him."  
Nick smiled back briefly before both sobered.  "The stable 
is round back; go see to the ponies. We need to ride back 
soon as may be.  I'll see about getting something for us to 
eat." 

He watched them disappear around the side of the hill, 
leading horse-shaped shadows that faintly steamed in the 
dark, and then he removed his helm, holding it under one 
arm.  He laid his hand on the knob of the door but did not 
turn it.  The door looked weathered in the lamplight, gray 
wood showing through the worn blue paint.  It had been 
Pippin's task to paint all the wooden fixtures of the smial 
last year, a chore he had left unfinished.  Suddenly, the 
knob jerked out of his grasp as the door opened.  Pervinca 
stood in the doorway and gaped at him, her face white, and 
then, like Violet, shrieked.  Pippin winced. 

"Pippin!"  Unlike Violet, Pervinca knew him immediately.  
She threw her arms around his neck and wept into his chest, 
knocking his helm to the ground.  As he patted her back her 
hair ticked the underside of his chin, and he was amazed 
how she disappeared into his embrace.  She spoke as she 
cried, chastising him for staying away so long and causing 
such grief; declaring how overjoyed she was to see him and 
that she had missed him; and all of her speech was barely 
intelligible between gasps and sobs.  He shushed her and 
kissed the top of her head. 

"Where's Father?" he asked.  "I must see him." 

"Father?  You've got to see everyone!"  Pervinca drew away, 
pushing impatiently at the tears on her face with the heel 
of her palm, and then tugged on his sleeve.  "Mother is in 
her workroom.  Oh, she's been so worried!  It's been 
awful!" 

Pippin stood his ground.  "Did - did Father really set a 
remembrance stone for me?" 

Pervinca released his arm.  "He did," she said grimly, 
"even though it nearly broke Mother's heart.  He and Uncle 
Saradoc had a horrible fight, and they haven't spoken to 
each other since Midsummer."  Her eyes filled with tears 
again as her voice fogged with anguish.  "Pippin, where did 
you go?  Why did you stay away so long?"  

"I'm sorry; I never meant to cause anyone to worry," he 
replied, wiping at his own eyes.  He sniffed hard.  "It's a 
very long story, really, and there's no time to tell you 
now.  Ask Frodo someday; he's writing it all down." 

"Frodo's back?  Oh, thank goodness!  But Merry -- tell me; 
is Merry back, too?"  

Pippin nodded, and his sudden smile felt strong and bright 
on his face.  There was so much good to tell: Frodo's 
success, the downfall of the Dark Lord, the return of the 
King, all of Pippin's adventures, and Merry's, and Sam's, 
and Frodo's.  He had good news for everyone -- and he also 
had archers to fetch to Bywater.  "Everyone has returned, 
and things are going to be better, Pervinca: better than 
you ever imagined.  You'll see.  But for now, let's find 
Father.  There's still a battle to fight." 

He stooped to fetch his helm, stepped over the threshold, 
and passed the worn door into his childhood home.  Pervinca 
reflected Pippin's excitement and called down connecting 
halls and open doors as they wound further into the smial 
to The Took's study.  "Pippin's back!  Pippin's back!" 

Various young cousins popped their heads out of rooms like 
curious squirrels, and when they saw who it was, they 
scurried out to thump and hug Pippin even as he tried to 
hurry down the hall.  Others were drawn by the noise; soon 
everyone was exclaiming in surprise and asking questions, 
and though he tried to answer them as best as he could, 
there was no way he could give them an accounting of all 
his adventures since he'd left for Hobbiton to help Frodo 
move to Crickhollow over a year ago.  

"Yes, yes, that is a real sword, and I have grown, and it's 
been a really long time, but we've all come back," he 
repeated.  "Now we're raising the Shire, and we're going to 
get rid of those no-good Men, but first I must speak with 
Father!"  

The whole noisy knot of family paused their embraces enough 
to let him pass through the hall to the door of his 
father's study.  With vigorous irritation that cut through 
both thick door and hubbub, they heard Paladin's angry 
shout, "Go away or come in, but stop that confounded 
racket!  I'm trying to work in here!" 

"He's reckoning the harvest accounting, isn't it?" Pippin 
asked Pervinca quietly, and she nodded.  "Nice to know some 
things haven't changed while I was gone." 

Just then, Tanto Hornblower pushed through, a squalling 
infant in his arms.  "What's all the ruckus?  You 
reprobates woke the baby."  Pippin took note of Tanto's 
presence, because the young Hornblower was far from his 
home in the North Farthing, but figured the Men had 
prevented his departure.  His mild notice became bemusement 
when Pervinca rushed to him and took the child, making 
soothing noises as she swayed back and forth.  With 
practiced ease, her fingers unfastened small buttons down 
the side of her bodice and she cradled the baby to her 
breast.  The wailing abruptly ceased. 

"Pervinca!" Pippin exclaimed, looking in turns at his 
sister and Tanto's paternal hand on the babe's dark head 
and back again.

"A few things <I>have</I> changed," she said, smiling, and 
her cheeks bloomed pink.  "You're not the only one with 
tales to tell.  But you'd best go in before Father has a 
fit.  You can meet little Largo later." 

Still discussing his return, the small crowd dispersed and 
left Pippin standing in front of the closed door to his 
father's study.  Pippin had been called into that room by 
his father's angry voice many times as a child and had left 
with a red-striped backside as often as he'd left with a 
fancy toffee from his father's secret stash in the pocket 
of his cheek.  The door looked shabbier than he remembered, 
the light in the hall dimmer somehow, and he wondered if 
the lamps were dusty.  He wondered if the study door was 
one of those he was supposed to have painted a year ago. 

Pippin entered.  He closed the door quietly behind him and 
found his father, The Took, sitting at his wide, cherry 
wood desk, a quill in hand and head bowed over the 
accounting books spread open in front of him.  Everyone 
knew Paladin hated working with numbers and columns, but 
Pippin knew he hated worse the thought of hiring out the 
task where someone other than family might see details of 
their private business.  Without looking up, Paladin said, 
"Well, what it is it now.  I didn't hear the alarm, so I'll 
assume it's not Pimple's Men invading, but all that noise 
means it must be something important." 

"It's me, Father.  I've come back," he said, "and we're 
going to take back the Shire from Lotho Pimple and his 
Men." 

Paladin looked up sharply and said accusingly, "You."  
Pippin saw a storm of emotion flicker briefly on his 
father's face before he closed his eyes and mastered 
himself.  He opened his eyes and after a long moment said 
gruffly, "You've grown." He set the quill down and examined 
Pippin with great deliberation.  A smile pulled at the 
corners of Pippin's mouth, but he held still, reining in 
the joy he felt at being home while he waited for his 
father's frown to break and his arms to open in welcome, 
just as he always did when Pippin vexed him. 

Paladin remained seated behind his desk.  He picked up his 
quill again.  Scornfully, he waved it at Pippin's chest and 
said, "Where in Middle-earth do people dress like that?" 

Pippin's skin prickled first cold then hot as he looked 
down at himself.  The White Tree gleamed against sable upon 
his chest, and he found it at once familiar, having worn it 
for months, and utterly odd in his father's study filled 
with mellow reds and browns and yellows.  This wasn't how 
he had imagined his triumphant return at all, and pride in 
all that the White Tree on its sable field symbolized came 
to him along with the notion of urgency that the war was 
not over, not while Frodo, Merry, and Sam waited for help 
with the ruffians in Bywater. 

Nettled, Pippin drew back his shoulders, raised his eyes to 
his father's critical gaze and laid his fist on his chest.  
"I'm a Knight of Gondor, Father, and this is my livery.  
Merry and I have returned from there with Frodo and Sam, 
where we've been fighting a great war."  He strode to the 
desk and set his helm on it firmly, causing spots of ink to 
jump out of the inkwell.  "And now, since it seems the war 
hasn't quite ended, it's time to finish it.  I've come to 
lead the Tooks to help Frodo take back the Shire.  We make 
our stand at Bywater." 

"Frodo?  So a Baggins returned from the wild, eh?"  Paladin 
rose from his chair, and the studied indifference he'd held 
broke.  "Why him?  Why Bywater?  The Tooks have been the 
ones fighting back, no help from Bywater or Hobbiton or any 
other part of the Shire for that matter." 

"We found a group of the Chief's Men there," said Pippin.  
"Frodo is going to deal with Lotho Pimple, and we're going 
to deal with those Men." 

"What, so he can take that upstart's place?"  He threw the 
quill down, spotting the open ledger.  "These Bagginses, 
they think their money gives them the right to displace the 
rightful leader of the Shire?" 

"No, no.  Father," said Pippin, "it's not like that at all.  
Frodo just wants things to go back to normal -- we all do.  
But we must get rid of the bad Men, and if the whole Shire 
rises up, we can do it; in fact, we sent half a dozen of 
them running before I left, and Merry's arranging a plan 
for the gang coming up from Waymeet.  If they show the same 
cowardice the first ones did, the others may just turn tail 
and run off into the Wild."  Pippin gripped the hilt of his 
sword.  "And if not, then we'll settle with them."  

The door opened, and Pippin turned.  His mother entered the 
room, and then closed the door, leaning against it while 
she stared at him, her fists tight against her mouth.

"Oh, Pippin," she said finally and went to him, holding him 
in an embrace that he had yet to get from his father.  She 
felt tight as a drawn bow in his arms, though, and before 
he could give himself wholly to her comforting hug, she 
stepped back quickly.  He towered over her, and she looked 
up into his face searchingly.  "You've got so tall!"  She 
reached up and her fingers brushed his brow near his 
temple, and he knew she saw one of his scars there.  Their 
eyes met, and it seemed she read the book of his memory.  
"You're too thin.  You've changed -- you're all grown up." 

"Hah, he's not come of age yet," said Father, a complaint 
Pippin had heard many times; he could recite the rest of it 
and had in the past, "nor've I seen him acting it." 

"He's back, do you see?" said Mother, and her voice was 
bitter.  "He's back, and he's fit, and he's obviously had 
some hard times."  Pippin's heart broke for the anger 
between them, for it was obvious that he was the cause.  
"Look at him!  He's grown up, and grown up exceedingly 
well!" 

"Mother," he said.  He wanted nothing more than to prove 
her wrong and cry at her breast because her loving presence 
caused his heart suddenly to fill with the need to express 
all that had happened to him: the fierce joy and horror of 
battle; the grief for the deaths he'd witnessed; the terror 
of enduring evil hurts; the delight of fair things few 
mortals had ever seen.  But the time for that luxury would 
have to wait until after the Shire was saved.  "I've come 
to lead the Tooks against the Men that Lotho has set to do 
his dirty work.  My lads and I have to ride back to Bywater 
as soon as may be, for the rebellion has started.  We rode 
light, and we need food for when we march back." 

"And leave Tookland undefended?"  His father brought his 
fist onto the top of his desk hard.  "These are the first 
days of peace we've had in a long time, and now you say the 
gang at Waymeet is on the move.  Just what trouble have you 
and your friends stirred up?" 

"We're not stirring up trouble -- we're stirring up the 
countryside to defend the Shire!" 

"Frodo is asking you to do it, you mean."  Paladin said the 
name as if it hurt his throat.  "Causing trouble soon as he 
set foot in the Shire.  You say he wants things back to 
normal, but there's more Southfarthing Took land bought 
with Baggins money than is right.  Just wait and see if he 
don't join up with that Lotho and serve his own family's 
ends."  

"Father!"  Pippin was aghast, but he calmed.  "But then, 
you couldn't know, could you?  Frodo...Frodo saved 
everything." 

"<I>Saved</I> everything?  Take a look round, son!"  
Paladin rounded the desk and stepped close; Pippin could 
smell brandy on his breath and harsh, local-grown pipeweed 
smoke in his gray hair.  Paladin gestured vigorously, 
forcing Pippin to take a step back.  "Them Men burned down 
the Stock Road Inn!  They dug a pit into the beech grove at 
Pincup and left the trees to rot -- now they're setting 
fires in the Woody End!  And they killed your cousin 
Ferdinand!  Shot him through the heart!"  He glared at 
Pippin.  "How could <I>you</I> know that?  You weren't 
here!" 

"I couldn't come back."  Despite the pang he felt for 
Ferdinand Pippin spoke firmly; he had seen comrades fall in 
battle before.  "And if I could have, I wouldn't -- I took 
a vow with the Fellowship to help Frodo.  I had a duty to 
see it through." 

Paladin struck him hard across the face with an open hand.  
Pippin heard his mother gasp, and his left cheek burned 
from temple to jaw.  The blow turned his head, and he 
stared at the floor, grateful that his mother said nothing, 
and did not interfere.  He turned slowly and faced his 
father again.

"Duty?" accused Paladin.  "You dare talk about duty?  What 
about duty to your family?" 

"I did my duty to my family," Pippin said ardently.  "I 
kept my promise to help Frodo on his errand --"

"He's a Baggins, not a Took," Paladin said sharply.  "He's 
no kin of mine."  

"Father, he saved us all because of what he did.  I 
couldn't tell you before because it was too dangerous, but 
now I can.  He saved Middle-earth, and believe me when I 
say that if Frodo had failed his errand, then it would not 
be me standing here now, but orcs from Mordor!" 

"Mordor!  What is Mordor in the face of this?" Paladin said 
angrily as he turned away and scrabbled at the cabinet 
behind him, pulled out an ancient, yellow-bound book and 
threw it on the desk.  His mother cried out as it slid 
across and would have fallen to the floor if Pippin hadn't 
caught it reflexively, shocked that his father would handle 
this book with so little regard.  "I entered your death in 
the Yellowskin!" he bellowed, and his words shuddered and 
strained like a beast overburdened.  He leaned his hands 
upon the desk as if he'd suddenly lost strength, and then 
in a broken, dull voice he said, "I counted my only son 
dead."   

The memory of Lord Denethor's final grief rose in Pippin, 
and he was tossed from his proud surety, confused and 
frightened to witness the same sorrow in his own father 
that had driven Lord Denethor mad; a grief so profound and 
bitter that it stirred anger and despair rather than pity 
and wisdom.  His eyes fell to the gleam of lamplight on the 
tall helm of Gondor where it rested on his father's desk.  
He thought of Boromir, lost forever, and Faramir, the son 
that Denethor refused to reach for through his madness. 

"But," he said and could think of no better words, "you can 
stop mourning me now.  I'm not dead; I'm here."  When his 
father gave no reply, Pippin continued insistently, "And 
Frodo didn't fail his quest, and we can save the Shire, 
right now, and put everything back to rights." 

"So simple you make it sound."  

"It's only hard if we do nothing." 

Paladin's eyes fixed upon the Yellowskin, and he remained 
bent over the desk for long, quiet moments, breathing 
heavily.  At last, he raised his arm with effort, blindly 
reaching, and gripped Pippin's shoulder hard.  He thumped 
it clumsily, his face clenched with some powerful effort, 
and then he pulled Pippin close and held him, and Pippin 
could feel his father's body shudder, refusing to weep.  
"My boy," he whispered once, harshly, and then pushed him 
away.  

Pippin's face was wet with the tears Paladin wouldn't 
spill, tears bittersweet with the sudden knowing that this 
was all his father could give, for his father's face was 
dry and old: lined with worries born over the past year, 
worn with grief, wearied by the evil Men's rape of the 
Shire, and branded deepest by an old battle between pride 
and love in his heart that Pippin had always known raged 
under his father's moods but only now saw fully revealed.  
Pippin felt he was at once both the boy who never lived up 
to the expectations his father thrust upon him and the wise 
veteran of life who, for the first time, saw that his 
father was merely a hobbit, with both powerful strengths 
and deep failings, foundering under grief even as he 
carried on as best he could. 

Paladin cleared his throat and said, "So it has to be 
Bywater, eh?" 

"Aye, but we'll chase them all away, wherever we find 
them." 

His mother went to Paladin's side.  "You can send the 
little boys down the smial to fetch some willing lads, and 
then some of them can run down the road to the Boffins'."

"I know how to muster m'own people," he said thickly, and 
cleared his throat again.  He looked up at Pippin sharply.  
"But I'll not leave us undefended.  If you've been raising 
a ruckus, then we'll have Men with crossbows back on our 
borders by morning."  

"Give me a hundred, Father," said Pippin, "and we'll 
manage." 

"A hundred?  Why not ask for ponies for them all, and 
swords, and fancy headgear like yours while you're at it?" 

"If you have them to spare, then please!"  Pippin said.  
"And I'd like to put in a request for green surcoats, or 
maybe blue.  Black is so somber, and it shows the dust 
terribly."

"Now you joke."  Paladin scowled at him.  "Just what kind 
of war did you fight in?  And how do you think you're going 
to chase off anyone, primping like a tweenager before an 
Overlithe dance?" 

It had been too soon to jest.  Pippin wondered if he and 
his father could ever go back to feeling at ease with one 
another again.  His face felt like stone as he said, "It 
was a grim war, Father, a war we won with hard toil and 
sacrifice."  

He saw that his father looked at him finally, as closely as 
his mother had, and when his gaze touched upon the scars he 
grimaced but said nothing.  

"Give me a hundred hunters," said Pippin.  "We need to 
start marching well before dawn if we're to be of any use 
in Bywater." 

"You can have your hundred," said Paladin coldly, "if you 
can find those as are willing." 

*

At his mother's orders, the younger cousins packed food for 
Pippin and his companions while the older boys dashed 
through the village spreading summons from the Thain to 
gather in defense of Tuckborough.  Pippin made sure that 
Nick Cotton and his companions were fed well, and then he 
went through the village himself, trotting from house to 
house, looking for able lads willing to travel with him to 
Bywater.  Many of his cousins and friends were overjoyed 
that he was indeed alive, and volunteered on the spot; soon 
he had a hundred and some, and dispatched a messenger to 
Bywater to tell Merry.  When the stars had wheeled around 
past midnight, he returned home, and while his small army 
made ready to march, he made time to meet his new nephew, 
Largo, as Pervinca nursed him in the kitchen. 

"When he eats, I get so hungry," she said.  Largo was 
content in the crook of her arm, and she fed herself bread 
and cheese and cold meat with the other hand, careful not 
to drop crumbs.  

"He's a handsome one.  But," Pippin filled his voice with 
mock disapproval, "Tanto Hornblower?  Really now.  I 
thought for sure you would throw him over for a local lad." 

"Ha!  Shows what you know," she replied, her eyes flashing.

"Oh, you know I wish you both all happiness," he said as he 
helped himself to a slice of cheese from her plate.  "And 
Largo really is a charming little lad."

"He's a greedy pig," she replied, and playfully slapped 
Pippin's hand away from her food.  "Reminds me of you." 

He nodded and smiled, too tired to retort.  The old clock 
ticked on the mantle, filling the warm silence that 
lengthened between them, and his sister's loving presence 
fed his spirit in a way that his parents' had not.  

"It hit Father hardest, you know," she said abruptly.  "No 
one else gave up hope, especially not Mother, but he..."  
She swallowed.  "I heard the yelling.  You've always been 
his favorite." 

"And will he ever forgive me for that?"  The question came 
without thought or bitterness, but Pervinca looked troubled 
and made no answer.  Soon after, he made ready to leave, 
checking the gathering of sturdy hobbits by the main gate. 

Paladin, his face grim, did not come outside but stood in 
the hall beyond reach, watching from inside the threshold 
of the Great Smials.  Pippin bowed gravely to him from the 
other side of the open doorway with fair and formal words 
of gratitude.  He noticed those in earshot looked by turns 
approving or puzzled; the words were proper for such a 
solemn occasion as leave-taking for war but less apt for a 
father losing his returned son so soon.  Pervinca knew, it 
seemed, for her expression was pity-stricken in the light 
spilling from the hall.  Her baby looked around with alert, 
sober eyes from her arms. 

"It's cold," he said at last, keeping his voice light as he 
could.  "Get inside and keep my nephew warm.  I'll be back 
soon to teach him some proper mischief."  He dared say no 
more or tears would threaten him again, and he refused to 
break so before the unforgiving cliff of his father's face.  
"Go on now," he repeated, and he nodded and winked at her. 

"Come right back," she said.

"I promise," he replied, and he closed the door, shut out 
both her concern and his father's stern fear. 

Pippin's thoughts flew to the morning's hard work ahead as 
he led a hundred of his kin through the dark.  His cousins 
and uncles and friends were singing and full of excitement 
as they marched in crooked lines, and Pippin rode astride 
his pony, alone, at the front.  He considered the coming 
conflict, troubled that some hobbits might be hurt, or even 
killed, but confident to certainty that they would prevail 
against the ruffians.

When the singing subsided into the thoughtful silent luster 
of false dawn, he considered also how he was the son who 
returned home beyond hope and wondered if he, like Faramir, 
would never find his father. 

*