A Visit From Mayor Samwise

Chapter Four: Making Charges at Crickhollow

Pippin followed Merry about the stable with a rather grim expression on his face. They had two perfectly good stable boys. They did a perfectly good job taking care of the ponies. But Merry was never fully satisfied unless he’d had the chance to check in himself.

"Come about it, Mer," Pippin complained, "Why do you hire the lads if you’re just going to go about re-checking their work every day?"

"They do a good job, Pip."

"Well, yes, I know that, I do, so that’s why I ask: what can the point be in all this second-checking?"

Merry shook his head gravely as he ran a hand over the old hewn wood that made up the stalls. It was a respectable stable, certainly far from shabby, but it was never up to the standards he would have preferred.

"These ponies ought to be kept at Brandy Hall," he murmured, "I’ve no business quartering them in the likes of here."

"What’s wrong with our stable?" Pippin looked about, as if expecting to see a gaping hole in the wall that had previously not been pointed out to him.

Merry sighed. "There’s nothing wrong with our stable, really. But you can’t argue with me that the best stables in all the Shire are at Brandy Hall."

Pippin tossed the rest of his apple to Gromer, his favorite pony, and wiped his hands on his breeches. "So why not send the ponies to Brandy Hall then? Surely they would be taken care of masterfully there and you’d no longer be troubled by the worry."

Merry turned sharply toward his cousin. "Pip, that makes no sense."

"What makes no sense?"

"What you’ve just said, you twit. What good do my ponies do me if they’re stabled all the way over in Brandy Hall?"

Pippin frowned. He was not one to mind usually when Merry called him names, but he didn’t care much for the way that he’d said ‘twit’. "Well, then," he said softly, "why are you complaining that they ought to be in Brandy Hall when you yourself say it makes no sense for them to be where you are not?"

"Because, Pippin," Merry couldn’t help but growl, "I’m supposed to be at Brandy Hall."

Pippin felt a mixture of hurt and anger flame up suddenly inside his chest. He struggled to control it and keep the tone of his high voice flat. "So why don’t you go there, then?"

"Because of you, you daft Took. I have to stay here because of you."

Pippin could feel his throat start to wobble. "Nonsense!" he squeaked, "I am not your charge!"

Merry shook his head and turned away. He began to walk out of the stable, back toward the house, but Pippin came up from behind and pulled his collar to stop him. He spun around viciously and glared at him.

He expected to see Pippin tremble. At least a little. But instead his cousin stood very still, his jaw set firm in defiance and pride. In his face Merry saw a queer combination of his Uncle Paladin and their cousin Frodo.

"I am not yours to take care of, Merry. I never asked to be your charge."

Merry took Pippin’s hand from his collar and set it at his side. "You may not have asked it," he said resignedly, "but you have always been it, nonetheless. And I am bound to it. Whether I want it now or not."

~~~~

Sam and Estella had just finished mopping up the post-bath mess when they heard a great commotion in the kitchen. The sound followed a steady path until it reached the hall outside the door and Pippin stormed in. For such a wiry Hobbit, he could produce an immense amount of noise when he deemed fit.

"Where is Faramir?" he demanded. His face was white save for two spots of scarlet anger that had erupted on his cheeks.

"He just had his bath and now he’s been put down for a nap," Estella stood up cautiously, "What in the Shire are you so worked up about?"

Pippin didn’t answer her. Instead he seemed to be straightening out some complex plan in his head. He ran a hand across his brow and pulled nervously at a stray curl.

"Well, I’ll have to wake him up, then," he said at last.

Estella put her hands on her hips. "And what good reason have you got to do a thing like that?"

"Well, I can not just leave him here. My son must come with me."

Sam cocked his head. "Where are you thinking of goin’, Mister Pippin, if I might ask? I thought your would be here, at least until I had gone."

"Are you going to the Smials?" Estella questioned, suddenly worried that bad news had been sent down.

"No, no, I can’t go back there," Pippin dropped into his thoughts again, put a shaky hand up to his face. That was when they noticed that he was trembling all over. "I can’t go back there right now, I can not…but I must go somewhere…an inn. Right, then. I’ll go to an inn."

Sam crossed his arms about his chest. "An inn is no place for a babe."

"And why would you be going to an inn in the first place??" Estella was exasperated.

"Because I can’t stay here!" Pippin cried. His voice took on a dramatic tone. "It’s become apparent that I am nothing but a burden and a bother to the Master of Buckland, some silly mathom that keeps him tethered here and away from his proper place!"

"Oh, that, then." Estella sighed and now it was her turn to bring a hand up to her brow, as she felt a rather irritating headache coming on. She turned to Sam. "Leave the baby here. Go take Pippin down to the Inn and put a few drinks in him. Bring him back when he’s got some sense returned to his head."

"No," Pippin started to argue, but then he suddenly felt exhausted. He gave up and without another word, he accepted Sam’s steady arm and walked with him out of the house at Crickhollow.

As they walked down to the road, Sam studied Pippin carefully.

"Are you alright, sir?" he asked. "You’re not lookin’ so well."

Pippin sighed and looked sicker than ever. "I am alright, Sam, most days, unless someone tells me that I am not and then I start to feel as though they may possibly be right. And that…that is not a good feeling at all."

Sam gave up on trying to make sense of that statement and turned his thoughts instead to what sort of draught they might have at the inn. It was a more pleasant thing to think about.

~~~~