7. A Bit Of Hope

Pippin angled the small mirror to catch the light of the rising sun and stood slowly, brushing grass from his knees.  The filigreed roses on its silver frame reflected the brilliant fall colors of the garden.  He looked down at the small circle of brightness on the green mound that was Pervinca’s grave and silently bid his sister farewell.  He’d ridden early to Whitwell, pale stars still dotting the sky, after a restless night that had yielded little insight into a solution for either his father or the Shire.

Trailing fingers through the tall grass in the field between the orchard and the small farmstead that had seen his childhood days, Pippin turned his thoughts to the facts of the situation.  Though he could understand the anger and suspicion that had come of his sister’s abduction, he saw no justification for continuing this isolation, though it had served to keep Tookland free during the Troubles.  His mother had been surprised to hear of the countless festivals and joyous marriages that had filled that spring and summer, from Buckland to the Downs.  No news had come to Tuckborough of the blossoming of the first mallorn in the Shire or the multitude of fair babes that had been born that year.   The post was turned back at the borders and warnings were the only words that greeted the few hobbits desperate enough for news to approach the hard-eyed archers that paced the edge of the wooded hills.  His heart ached with the thought of so many families divided by that silent wall.  How many mourned those hobbits who had sought safety here and were now counted lost?

A quiet rustling from the hedge ahead caught his attention and he slowed his approach.

“Stand by or I’ll stick you!” called the sharp voice of a small lad.

Pippin stopped and raised empty hands in surrender to his unseen foe.

“Run in and fetch Da, quick!  Go on Dinny,” the lad whispered loudly, and a slow grin spread across Pippin’s face as he watched one pudgy nephew dash madly for the kitchen door.

“Is it arrows or swords you’ve got for me lad?” he called out, taking another cautious step forward.

“I spit a coney across the garden patch yesterday, so don’t you move!” the lad answered, stepping out into the path, child-sized bow and arrow at the ready.

“Are Tooks no longer welcome in Whitwell then?”

“What’s this you’ve caught Danny?  Too tall for a proper hobbit…”

Pippin turned to face the stout hobbit that had just emerged from the round door and smiled.  “Danivar Bolger, how goes the morning?”

The newcomer peered closely at the tall young hobbit, taking in the dark surcoat and mail, and the bright sword at his side.

“No frogs in my pockets today,” Pippin promised with a grin.

“Peregrin Took!  As I live and breathe!”

The young Took promptly found himself half crushed by his sister’s husband, who, despite being a good head shorter, was quite a bit stronger.  He swept him forward past the hedge and into the spacious kitchen.

“Pearl, my love!  Look what little Danny caught in the garden this morning,” he caroled as they entered.

“No more frogs or lizards please!  I’m full up!” she called back, emerging from the large pantry with a toddler on one hip and a flour sack on the other.

“Well, I haven’t been called any of those things in some time, so I think we’re alright!” Pippin announced cheerfully with a wink to little Dinny, who was now peeking from behind his mother’s skirts.

“Oh, Pippin, you brat,” she teased with a laugh and pulled him close in a heartfelt hug.  A sharp yank on his hair brought him face to face with a pair of vividly green eyes and a curious frown.

“Perdi!  No!” Pearl remonstrated firmly, trying to untangle the toddler’s sticky fingers from her brother’s wild curls.  Pippin winced at one last tug and gently tweaked her sharp little nose.  He held his hands out to her and smiled.

“Would you like to come and greet me properly, little bird?”

He was rewarded with a joyous grin as the child practically threw herself from her mother’s arms.

“Well, Perdita, say ‘hello’ to your uncle Pip,” her father said with a chuckle.

“Ha!” the little girl crowed and clapped her hands.

They all gathered about the table for a quick breakfast of dark bread slathered with honey and apple butter.  The boys soon followed their father out to see to the day’s first chores and Pippin watched Pearl fuss about the kitchen, little Perdita happily poking at the bright tree on his surcoat.  An indignant shriek had followed his last attempt to return her to her mother, so he was quite content to let her wriggle about on his lap, babbling quietly in her own secret language.

“I can already tell she’s all Took, this one.  Aren’t you, little bird?” he said quietly.

“If you mean stubborn and fearless and loud besides, she surely is all Took!” Pearl replied, looking the very image of motherly exasperation.

“So much the better, I say!  I’ll bet she stole her grand-da’s heart at first sight, and is therefore terribly spoiled already.”

“He…. He hasn’t seen her since her naming day, actually,” Pearl murmured.  “She was born a month after Vinca…  After she…” She sighed and turned back to the sweet rolls she was shaping for their second breakfast.  “She was named for you both, you know.  She seems to take the honor to heart with all the trouble and fuss she kicks up...” she continued, sniffing back tears.

“I’m sorry I stayed away so long,” he said after a moment.

He gently put Perdi down in his chair, temporarily distracted by the dark amber beads of a bracelet he’d brought back as a gift.  He crossed the room to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not enough of a fool to think I can change things much, but maybe just a little…  Just enough.”

They stood silent a moment in the quiet warmth of the kitchen that had been witness to more peaceful days, when fear had meant bed without supper and sorrows were soothed by their father’s gentle hands.

The tug of small hands on his trousers pulled Pippin from his quiet recollections and he found Perdita smiling up at him.

“Pah!” she declared, raised arms demanding to be picked up.

“Do you know, little bird,” he said, sweeping her up, “I think you may be the one holding the key to that old hobbit’s heart.”

“Pippin!  What are you up to?”

“Just plotting to take a little hobbit to get the best of an old dragon is all.  It has worked in the past…”

***   ***   ***

He was securing the last of the saddlebags and murmuring quiet apologies to his heavily burdened pony when his father stormed into the stables.

“And where do you thing you’re going?”

Pippin almost laughed at the predictability of the question.

“For a ride,” he answered simply.

“Where to?”

“Oh, I thought I’d push on to Brandy Hall at least,” he said lightly and waited for the storm to strike.

“Running away to Buckland already?” his father snarled.

“I’ll be back when my errand’s run; no more than a month, I’d guess.”

“So it is true.  Instead of standing by me as any honorable hobbit should, you’re going to defy me from the start!” he accused, yanking open the bulging saddlebag and fingering one of the letters inside.

“I’d hardly call delivering a few letters defiance, Da.  It’s certainly nothing on the scale of my usual mischief.  No salt in the sugar bowl this morning,” the young hobbit replied, trying hard to maintain his light tone.

“You are not going anywhere, Peregrin Took, and that is final!” Paladin thundered.

“Or what?!” Pippin shouted back, control finally cracked. “You’ll send me to my room?  Clap me in irons?  I’ve lived through far worse,” he challenged, thrusting forward fisted hands where the reminders of his captivity stood stark on bared wrists.  “A hundred armed Uruks didn’t keep us from doing the right thing, and neither will you!”  They glared at each other one long moment before his father looked away.  Pippin took his time working fingers into dark riding gloves before continuing more calmly.  “Aunt Esmeralda should hear about Pervinca from a sympathetic heart rather than in some faceless list on parchment.  So should others, but until you come to your senses, these letters will have to do.”

He brushed past him, leading the chestnut mare out into the November wind.

“What makes you think you can get past the archers twice without my leave?” Paladin called after him.

“Let’s hope the armorers of Gondor know their business better than our Tookland fletchers,” Pippin replied with a grin.  “I’ll be back for Yule, mum,” he added, bending down from the saddle to kiss her cheek.  “Remember our mission, little bird,” he whispered to the tot in her arms, ruffling the wild auburn curls.

A few dozen eyes watched him ride off from the Smials, a lonely gray-green figure on the windswept road that carried their hopes and tears on paper wings.