Chapter Three - The South Garden

Isengar, Adelard, and Paladin all sat under the veranda in the south garden smoking their pipes. There were very few hobbits taking a stroll in the south garden this time of year--and with the warm weather not lasting for much longer, they decided to take advantage of it. Being that the north garden was the more beautiful of the two gardens, Adelard was quite certain they would not be disturbed for a good while as they sat biding their time in privacy.

“I still cannot believe that you’re sitting here, Paladin, smoking a pipe!” Adelard chuckled. “You still don’t seem old enough to smoke a pipe yet--you look the same as you did when you were nineteen.”

“You know, cousin,” the younger tween replied, “that I’m a decent twenty-four years old, and will be twenty-five in less than five months. Quite old enough for a pipe, I should say. My own father gave it to me for his birthday a few months ago. It was given to him by his father--my grandfather, Hildigrim.” Isengar smiled at the mention of his older brother now gone from this world.

“Yes, old enough for a pipe, but a ‘decent’ twenty-four? Hardly!” He jested. “Sitting there with a mug at your side--you look more a truant. I suppose your father gave you your mug as well, eh?”

“No,” Paladin answered, taking a draught, “I got this on my own, and a fine brew, I might add.”

Adelard laughed, crossing his feet in front of him to find a more desirable position on the hard bench. He let out a long breath before asking the question that was burning in his head. “So, Uncle, what is it that keeps you from wholehearted mirth this fine day?”

“Wholehearted mirth?” Isengar grinned. He sat on the same bench with his wooly feet perched on the seat of his wheel chair blowing out smoke rings from his pipe. “Wherever did you learn such speech, lad?”

Adelard shifted uncomfortably in his slouching, “Don’t know; I suppose I learned it from my mum.”

Isengar and Paladin looked at each other and laughed; the elder shaking his head, “Nah…too easy, Paladin.”

“You’re avoiding the question, Uncle.” Adelard was not going to let him free and clear that easily.

“I could never disguise my frame of mind from you two lads.” Isengar reached into his jacket pocket and handed an envelope to Adelard. When he was done reading the letter, he handed it over to Paladin.

“The letter says it happens in three days--and I’m guessing it’s a two-day journey to the Havens, is it not?” Adelard gave a questioning look to Isengar, who nodded almost imperceptibly, saying nothing.

Paladin finished reading the letter, stuffed it back into its envelope and was about to give it back to his uncle. He took another look at the addresses. “Uncle,” he said, “did you know that cousin Bilbo sent this to you?”

“Of course I know that, lad,” said Isengar, taking back the envelope. “If the servants had seen the name of who truly sent it to me, then I can assure you that I would not be sitting here alone with you boys. It was sent on purpose to Bilbo to give to me.”

Paladin sighed. “What are you going to do, Uncle?”

“There is nothing I can do,” Isengar answered sadly. Then he added sarcastically, “What can I do with Fortinbras and his son Ferumbras watching me like a hawk; afraid of a ninety-five year old hobbit going on yet another adventure. And then there’s Bart--and he tells them everything.” For a while they sat without talking; mulling over the contents of the letter. In the silence, someone could be heard approaching.

“I thought you said this was a secluded spot!” Paladin whispered, nudging his friend.

“It was until now.”

The intruder eventually appeared through the doorway of the veranda. “Hullo! Who do we have here?” Bart spoke to Isengar as if he were speaking to an errant three-year-old. He bent down and took the burning pipe out of the elder hobbit’s mouth. “There we are,” Bart sang again. “Now, off to bed we go,” he said, taking Isengar by the hand to coax him into his wheel chair. Bart then saw there was an envelope in Isengar’s other hand, preventing him from using it to gain his feet. He took it out of the elder’s hand.

“Stop!” Adelard jumped to his feet, thinking fast. He took the letter out of Bart’s hand. He could not allow Bart to see the letter. His uncle would never stand a chance of… “You can’t have that!”

“What are you doing?” Bart tried to take the envelope back.

Adelard quickly handed the envelope off to Paladin. “It’s--it’s my cousin’s love letter,” he stammered. “You wouldn’t want to humiliate my cousin by taking a very, very personal letter now would you?”

“You’re both cracked!” Bart said, as he dutifully eased Isengar into the wheel chair.

“Good night, lads,” said Isengar; a melancholy coming into his voice again.

“Wait,” Adelard pulled up on the chair from behind. He bent over and kissed his uncle. “Goodnight, Uncle.”

“Yes, goodnight Uncle,” Paladin said. He, too, kissed his uncle, “May we breakfast with you in the morning?” Paladin saw his cousin wink approval at his cleverness.

Isengar looked up at his two nephews, “Of course you may.” He smiled at them before Bart turned him around in the other direction. “Nine o’clock sharp!” he called over his shoulder.

The tweens were left standing alone under the cover of the little shelter. When the wheel chair and Bart were out of sight, Adelard let out a long breath. “That was close, cousin!”

“Too close,” Paladin agreed. “How will we get rid of Bart, or his kitchen server tomorrow at breakfast so we three can talk in private?”

Adelard had lived in the Smials his whole life. He knew which servers he could and could not trust. “Leave that to me.”

Paladin sat back down on the bench. “I want to help him, Addie, but what can we do?” After all his spring and harvest visits as a boy that later turned into summer visits as a teen, Paladin felt as if Isengar was a second father and loved him dearly as such.

Being a bit older, Adelard was the more practical thinking of the two friends. “There’s plenty we can do; we just have to be careful as to how we do it.”

The younger tween puzzled over Adelard’s statement. “What are you talking about?”

Adelard triumphantly blew several smoke rings into the air, “I have a plan. Do you want in?

Paladin only had to be reminded of the sad old hobbit being wheeled away by a well-meaning, though meddlesome attendant. Being every bit the tween that he was, without hesitating or thinking it over, Paladin replied, “Yes!”