Chapter Four - The Messenger

The following day, First Breakfast all the way through to supper passed by without word from the courier. Bilbo was not quite concerned yet; it was winter and there was snow on the ground. The lanes around the Smials were tricky enough on a clear summer’s night, let alone on a slippery, snowy day. The lads seemed quiet today and so Bilbo took advantage of it, deciding to catch up on his naps.

“Sam-Sam-Sam-Sam-Sam-Sam-Sam! No--you don’t want to move your queen there.” Pippin and Sam sat in wing-tipped chairs with a table between them. Upon the table was a chess game in progress. Sam rarely played chess, considering it a game for high-minded folks, though he didn’t do too bad himself. Pippin, already an advanced player for his age group, played chess on a regular basis with his cousins and father.

Sam once again studied the board. He looked at his smaller opponent, “I don’t?”

Pippin, resting his chin in his hand, shook his head. “No. You see, if you move it there,” Pippin pointed to a few of his key pieces, “you will open her up for a kill. And your queen is one piece you don’t want captured--at least not this early in the game.”

“How ‘bout if I move this piece here?” Sam slid his rook down and captured one of the key pieces Pippin previously pointed out.

Pippin sat back in his chair and blinked in surprise. Sam tried his best to hide his grin.

Frodo sat off to the side on the couch reading a book. He’d heard the whole discourse between Sam and his cousin. “I can’t believe you fell for the oldest trick in the book, Pippin.” Frodo smirked, “You allowed Sam to break your concentration.”

Pippin was still stinging over the last move, “I was trying to help him!”

“Don’t let him fool you,” said Frodo, reading the page in his book, “Sam needs no help when it comes to chess.”

Merry walked into the library wearing an apron and bowed low, “Dinner is served!”

Sam rose from his chair and stretched, “Well, I’ll be seein’ you in the mornin’, Mister Frodo.”

Frodo laid his book aside and also stood up. “Why don’t you stay and have a bit of supper with us...and then go home and eat again with your family?” Frodo grinned slyly.

“Yes, Sam,” Merry agreed, “I’ve made plenty for us all.”

Pippin saw this teen and tween diversion as his moment--he would be first at the table. He leaped out of his chair and darted for the kitchen, nearly getting past the apron-wearing hobbit. Merry, still holding conversation with his cousin and Sam, nonchalantly reached down and scooped Pippin into his arms. He lifted him up and threw him like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder and tickled him. “No you don’t! You must wash your greedy little hands first!”

Pippin laughed uncontrollably. “I will! I will!” Then shrieked for mercy, “Put me down!”

Merry let his cousin down and watched him run towards the wash room, “and wake up Bilbo from his nap!” After a moment, he sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets. He looked hopefully at Frodo and Sam, “Did an answer come yet today?”

Frodo shook his head. “No. Nothing has come.” He saw the disappointment in Merry’s eyes and wanted to lessen his torment. “Perhaps he got a little lost,” he offered. “You have to admit, Merry, there are plenty of folks from Hobbiton who’ve never been south of The Water.”

Merry dropped down in Pippin’s empty chair. “But I was certain to give him the simplest of directions. I don’t understand.”

Frodo sat on the arm of the chair and put his own arm about his cousin’s shoulder, “Merry, if we don’t receive word from the courier by tomorrow at tea, then I will ride to Tuckborough myself and find out what is going on with your uncle.”

“I’m sorry, Frodo,” Merry replied miserably, “I shouldn’t be carrying on so.”

“Merry,” Frodo tried his best to comfort his young cousin, “How else should you be carrying on? You obviously love your uncle, as I know he loves you.” Merry looked up. Frodo gave his shoulder a squeeze, “Years ago we had a conversation about you. And I like Paladin, too, if for no other reason than because he loves you, and we both want to see good things happen to you.” Then he gently pulled up on his cousin’s shoulder, “Come along, Merry, and eat supper. I’ve heard the cook makes a most delicious chicken and dumplings!”

A sad smile played on the teen’s lips as he stood up. “I’m told he’s better at eating it than cooking it.”

This made Frodo laugh; it felt good to laugh, after all the gloom these past few days. “Let us go into the kitchen and find out, shall we?”

*******

It was now the second day out from hiring a courier and still no word had arrived from Tuckborough. After tea, there was a bit of planning and scheming between Frodo and Merry as to how they were to ride all the way to Whitwell to find word on Paladin. They packed a few items into their sacks and were about to sneak off to the village stables. As they came to the end of the lane Frodo saw a horse-drawn cart pulling up beside it. Frodo put out his arm in front of his cousin to stop him before he walked into the ponies‘ path. They both stared as the cart and driver came to a stop.

The driver tipped his hat. “Good day to you!” He wore a dark, fur-lined cloak over his woolen overcoat with a gray scarf, and dark trousers to match. By his clothes alone, one should’ve been able to tell he was a wealthy Took from across The Water. “Hullo, Merry! Nice to see you.” It was Adelard Took, a cousin and good friend of Paladin’s. By this time Bilbo and Pippin had stepped out of the Smial and into the wintry cold. He seemed to take no notice that all eyes were riveted on him; no one spoke.

Bilbo had to squint into the setting sun in order to see who this hobbit was. He certainly wasn’t the cooper’s son. “Who are you?” He asked, shielding his eyes.

“You know me, Bilbo! My name is Adelard--though everyone generally calls me Addie.” He saw Sam’s puzzled look, “I’m a Took from Great Smials where a young courier stumbled in from the cold yesterday--ill dressed for the weather and lost. We gave him food, clothing, and lodging until I could travel to Whitwell early this morning to find the answer to your note. I’ve traveled far this day--returning the lad to his father, and seeking this young hobbit here and his cousin.” He nodded towards Merry, then spied the little hobbit standing in front of the Bilbo. “Ah! There you are, Pippin.”

“How is my uncle?” Merry asked, though undecided if he really wanted to know the answer to that question.

Adelard’s smile disappeared. “Have you not heard?”