Chapter Eight: “Thain Peregrin”

Although they watched eagerly for additional signs of physical improvement, none seemed to be forthcoming.

Pippin continued to eat eagerly--typical for a young hobbit. He also would still sometimes jiggle his knee in the bath as he watched the duck. Merry or Eglantine, whoever was holding his head out of the water at the moment, occasionally thought they felt the muscles in his arms tense, but he made no motion with them.

They were bathing him frequently these days, as he seemed to enjoy it. That was one improvement that had lasted, Merry thought: Pip was now truly awake.

The lad had always seemed to enjoy his baths as much as he enjoyed getting dirty. Merry suspected that some of the mud stains Pippin acquired were just an excuse for a longer time in the tub. He said as much to Pippin as he was toweling the youngster off from his latest soak.

“Really, Pip, I’ve never seen such a hobbit as yourself for baths,” Merry bantered. “One would think it’s you who’s the Brandybuck, wanting to swim all the time.” He continued chatting as he dressed Pippin in a clean shirt and breeches. “Oh, except I forgot: you only like hot water in a tub, not cold water like the river.”

He was rewarded for his efforts at conversation with Pippin’s eyes tracking around the room, a faint smile on his face.

The smile faded as someone came through the door, and Merry turned to see Pervinca standing there. “Is Mama here?” she demanded.

“No,” Merry answered. Pervinca had entered from the hallway door, but Aunt Eg had gone out of the quarters earlier.

“Well, where is she, then?” Pervinca demanded loudly.

“How should I know?” Merry snapped back. “And stop being so loud! You’re scaring Pippin.”

Pippin’s eyes were moving anxiously back and forth between his sister and his cousin.

“I am not,” Pervinca snapped back. “Anyway, I told you I was sorry about the rocks. I didn’t know he was there. Regi just said I ought to practice my aim.”

“Apologized to me! You ought to apologize to your brother -- if you’d even talk to him!” Merry was getting rather loud himself, now. Pippin’s eyes were blinking rapidly, and his breath was starting to hitch.

Paladin entered through the hall doorway, then, coming up behind Pervinca. Laying a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, he informed her calmly, “Pervinca, dear, you and your mother seem to have missed each other. She’s waiting for you in the music room.”

“But Merry said--”

“Go, Pervinca,” Paladin’s tone was used to being obeyed. “Leave your brother alone.”

As she left, Merry began to address his uncle. “Thank you, Uncle Paddin. She--”

Paladin held up his hand to stop the words. “Enough, Merry. I know what she’s done and hasn’t done, so there’s no need to be tattling.” He walked over to the bed and stood gazing down at his son, who met his eyes as his breaths calmed. They held this pose for a moment, then Paladin waved his hand dismissively at Merry.

“Why don’t you go find some other playmates today. Amuse yourself on your holiday.”

“But I--” Merry started, taking a step toward Pippin.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Paddin was waving the hand again, but brought his head around to look Merry in the face with gratitude, “And don’t think we don’t appreciate all you’ve done.”

He turned back toward the bed and leaned forward to scoop up his son. “But Pippin will be spending time with me today.”

Paladin, being both a tall and a muscular hobbit, was easily able to carry his son one-handed. His arm snaked around the small back, and a hand supported the rump as they traversed the corridors. Pippin’s nose was pressed into the side of his father’s chest, where he could smell sweat and the scent of the field and pipeweed smoke. They stopped at Paladin’s study.

The assistant to the thain gently eased himself and his son down into the chair behind the desk, then reached out to bring a sheet of parchment before them. He plucked a green colored pencil from a mug which held a collection of them. The mug itself bulged out rather oddly in spots; its now-hardened clay also showed the distinct impressions of four separate sets of small fingerprints.

Paddin placed the pencil in Pippin’s hand, then curled his own fingers around the smaller ones to maintain the grasp. He guided Pippin’s hand in making strokes of color across the parchment. They worked like this for a time, changing the pencil for a new color every so often, sketching in the maps of this year’s plantings in the West Farthing.

When the maps were finished, Paddin leaned backward in his chair, bringing Pippin with him, and stretched his arms to the ceiling.

“Oy, and that’s a relief to be done with that chore,” he said as he looked below his chin to the small face tipped up to his. Paddin gently put his hands on Pippin’s arms and raised them above the small hobbit’s head in an imitation of his father’s stretch that resulted in the ends of his fingers tickling Paddin under the chin. “Don’t know how I ever would’ve done it without you, my lad. You’re such a hard worker-- made the task go twice as fast!”

The small green eyes shone. They were Pad’s eyes in a face and a small physique that otherwise bore such a strong resemblance to Eglantine. For years, Pad had been proud of all his lasses, who had inherited his height and musculature. He’d even quickly forgiven Pervinca for being such a large babe, who’d caused her mother such problems in the birthing they thought there’d never be another. And Pad was still proud of his daughters -- the majority of the time.

But, oh, this lad he held! The lad he’d once looked for; had accepted never was to be his; and then had received as such an unexpected gift. The lad for whom every day, as Pad began his duties, he reminded himself he was preparing a future. The lad who looked at him out of the face of his beloved wife.

Paddin gently set the arms down and dropped a kiss on the tip of Pippin’s nose. “I think such a hard worker deserves a reward, don’t you?” he asked as he pulled open the top drawer of the desk.

Pippin’s eyes twinkled and his mouth opened as Paddin placed a hardened candy, liberally laced with the taste of sarsaparilla root, within. His father leaned forward to whisper into a small ear, “Sweets for now, but that’ll be the taste of ale when you’re old enough. But, shh! Don’t tell your mother on me!”

The lips wavered sadly only a moment before Pippin’s face reverted to happiness once again as he sucked on the candy.

Paddin gently eased his son out of his lap and deposited him in the large desk chair alone. He trod softly to the door of the office and looked both ways down the corridor before pulling the door shut.

Then he returned to the desk, stopping to lift a heavy dictionary off its stand on his way. He placed the dictionary on the desk, then picked Pippin up under one arm and held him there as he placed the dictionary on the chair. He propped Pippin up on the dictionary and drew the chair forward so that the lad seemed to be sitting at the desk.

Then, in a ritual father and son had been performing for years, Paladin placed one arm across his chest, the other behind his back, and bowed, as he whispered, “Thain Peregrin.”