Chapter 22: The Hope

“’Tis all prepared, then?” Pippin asked, clutching at his wife’s elbow as she stopped to gasp for breath in their stroll around the sitting room.

“Aye,” Diamond said breathily. She straightened a bit from where she had leant over the table, one hand still rubbing her distended belly, and smiled tremulously at Pippin. she glanced toward their bed chamber as the couple began to slowly walk again and said, “Healer Willow and her lasses have made things ready for when it is time. You must only ring,” she nodded to the servants’ bells as her steps faltered before she resumed the pace, “and they shall be here.”

Pippin looked nervously from bells to wife to door and back to wife, maintaining a firm grip on her elbow as he turned to walk backward while facing her. His other hand reached to push back a lock of Diamond’s dark curls. “Shouldna she be here now?” he asked anxiously. “You seem hot to me. I mean, I dinna want to worry you. I mean, are you certain that you are all right? And the babe? Truly?”

He stopped his shuffling backward steps, his hand hovering still near Diamond’s hair, and peered intently into her face, his green eyes searching hers for any distress.

Diamond could not help it. She laughed.

“Truly,” she said softly as she reached up to clasp his hand against her face. “Healer Willow is not concerned, and so neither am I. All shall be well, and -- and if it ‘tisn’t,” she hesitated and lowered her voice and her eyes. “I shall do nothing to endanger your child.”

She quickly looked up again, just as Pippin’s mouth had opened and he was about to speak, and hastened to add, “Nor your wife, my darling. I--”

Here Diamond’s voice faltered, but it did not matter, for Pippin had closed any remaining gap between their faces, and their lips pressed together in a kiss which expressed the love abiding in her belly between them.

“Oh!” Diamond gasped sharply and broke the kiss as she bent double and clutched at her middle, with Pippin catching at her back to support her from behind.

A sharp rap on the door was followed immediately by the entrance of Healer Willow, who had not waited for a response. She went directly to Diamond, a lass carrying an armload of towels trailing behind her, and bent to look into the hobbitess’s grey-eyed face.

“All right,” Healer Willow said sharply, in a voice that creaked with age. She grabbed Diamond by the shoulders herself and called to her assistant -- “You can boil the towels on that hearth there,” she nodded to it, “and Mistress Eglantine will be along in a moment with the oil, if it is to be needed.

“Now it’s time to come along, dear,” she said to Diamond and began steering her toward the bed chamber. “One more peck and then you’ll need to go, sir,” she said brusquely to Pippin. “I’m afraid you’ll not be any good as a walker anymore. I mean, begging your pardon,” she said as he hastily kissed Diamond again and would have replied -- and she did not sound in any sense as if she were truly begging pardon -- “but this is lasses’ work from here on out.”

“But--” Pippin finally began to say, just as more hobbitesses came through the still-open doorway.

“’Scuse us, Pip,” Pimpernel said as she, Geranium, and Sage, who was well on her way to achieving as stout and sturdy a figure as the Second Cook’s, entered the quarters with their long winter sleeves rolled above their elbows and carrying among them one of the tubs from the bathing room. Trefoil, her frame slimmer than Sage’s but her arms still muscled from three years of cleaning at the Smials, followed behind carrying a bucket full of water in each hand.

“And excuse me as well, dear,” Eglantine Eglantine added as she followed them into the room clutching a stoppered vial. She paused briefly to kiss Pippin’s cheek and murmur, “Your father’s waiting for you, dear,” before pushing him into the corridor and leaving herself and the other hobbitesses on the other side of the closed door to Pippin and Diamond’s quarters.

“But--” Pippin spluttered toward the door, then, “Diamond!” he cried out, and stepped toward it.

A hand on his own elbow stopped him, and he looked only a short ways down to see the green eyes of his father.

“Well, Pip, what say you to an ale?” Paladin asked steadily, with a surprisingly firm grip for one who no longer ventured very often beyond the corridors in his own part of the Smials.

“Nay, thank you,” Pippin answered distractedly and headed for his door again.

“Peregrin!” Pad said sharply, and Pippin drew up short and turned to face him at the wheeze in the words that came afterward. “The Thain and The Took wishes you to take an ale with him.”

“Aye, Da,” Pippin said quietly as he finally stepped away from his door. He glanced back at it over his shoulder, though, after he had turned to walk now with his father, and ran the hand which did not clutch at the older hobbit’s arm backward through his curls, his teeth worrying his lips the while.

“We shall take our drink in the Thain’s offices,” Paladin said, ostensibly to Pippin, but he looked directly at the servanthobbit Bert standing behind his son as he said it.

“Aye, sir,” Bert mouthed, and nodded in acknowledgment as the Thain and the Heir followed the corridor away and the knots of servants and gentlehobbits standing along it busied themselves with polishing wall sconces or tried to duck back into doorways.

Bert himself was left standing at his post outside the Heir’s quarters, his feet planted firmly apart and his hands clasped behind his back, his own sleeves rolled up from his task of helping to carry the bathing tub to the spot in the corridor where the lasses had picked it up.

Bert was ready to do his part of fetching Mr. Pippin when needed, but still he cringed when the door opened and hoped his ears wouldn’t hear nothin’ that, well, that they didn’t need to.

‘Twas just Trefoil that came out of the door, though, and latched it behind her. She gave Bert a mighty odd look, he thought, afore she lifted up her apron and her skirts and took off running toward whatever errand she’d been sent upon.


“Aye! ‘Tis done then, lass,” Healer Willow said, patting Diamond on the shoulder. Diamond looked up from where she lay, her curls sprawled about the pillows, as the healer continued. “The tenth of Solmath. You’ll be wanting to remember that, even if you’ve had other things on your mind as of late.”

“Shall,” Diamond’s small voice caught on a breath, and she shifted uncomfortably. “Shall I forget the feeling of being nearly cleaved in twain?” she asked as tears came unbidden to her eyes.

“Now, dearie,” Willow smiled and patted her shoulder again. “You’ll be all right.” Her wrinkled face broken into a grin as she added, “And so will your lad.”

“Oh!” Diamond gasped as some of the exhausted muddle in her head began slightly to clear. “Where is he? Why haven’t you got my babe?” she demanded of the healer.

“Now, lass,” Willow replied easily as she withdrew her hand and began to ease herself out of the room, “’tis quite all right, as the Mistress has got him.”

“Indeed I do, Diamond,” Eglantine said as she came to take Willow’s place standing beside the bed. She carried a bundle of blankets in her arms. “Would you like to hold him again?”

Diamond merely nodded, her eyes shining, as Eglantine propped the pillows behind her so that she might sit up and then placed the blankets into Diamond’s arms and sat, herself, on the edge of the bed next her daughter-in-law.

“I am sorry,” Diamond said after a few moments in which they both stared at the tiny face peeking from among the blankets. She did not tear her eyes away from the sight as she said it.

Eg laughed gently and put one arm around Diamond, leaning over to hug her and to plant a kiss atop her daughter-in-law’s curls. “’Tis all right, lass,” she said happily as she returned to staring at the babe. “’Tis different for every hobbitess, and each must react as she must. This” -- she reached out with one fingertip to gently tap the babe’s nose, which produced a wide yawn from the tiny mouth which had both hobbitesses giggling.

“This,” Eg continued with a smile when they had finished, “’tis all that matters.”

“I wish he would open his eyes,” Diamond whispered toward the babe, from whom she had not looked away once since he was in her arms. She smoothed a hand over the dark fuzz atop his head, barely enough there even to curl.

“I daresay you shall see enough of them in the years to come to know what color they are,” Eg replied happily.

Diamond nodded, then clutched the babe to her bosom tightly for a moment, her eyes closed, as she whispered fiercely, “’Tis a lad!”

She eased the babe back down to her lap again, and her eyes opened to gaze upon him once more as she asked hesitantly, “Do -- do you think Pippin will be proud of me?”

A lump came to Eg’s throat, and she hugged and kissed her daughter-in-law again as she whispered back, “I am sure he is. And would be, whether ‘twas a lad or no!”

Diamond nodded, and glanced up toward Eglantine, her lips parted to ask a question--

“He has been told,” Eg responded to it unasked, “and sent for, and I am sure is on his way.”

Diamond nodded and looked back again to the babe. “Pippin is to have the naming of him, for certain now that the babe is born a lad,” she said quietly as she stroked a small cheek.

Eg grinned, and then laughed at the memories. “’Tis that so?” she asked. “Well, I shall hope, then, that he has outgrown his plans to name his children such things as ‘Plum’ or ‘Pudding.’

“Well, ‘Plum’ would be more fitting for a lass, anyway, I suppose,” she continued, grinning again at the appalled look Diamond turned toward her, “but aye, ‘tis true, lass.

“O’ course, his father was nay a quick-witted hobbit when it came to choosing names, either. ‘Tis a good thing Pad had thought of ‘Peregrin’ when first we were expecting Pearl, for the only names we had chosen were ‘Posy’ or ‘Petal’ when our unexpected lad arrived.”

“Diamond!” came the shout from the sitting room of the quarters, and Pippin came running into the bed chamber, skidding to a stop beside the bed. Eglantine hastily removed herself from his way as he bent to take Diamond’s face in his hands. The Mistress of the Smials quietly left the room, pulling the door shut behind her, as Pippin kissed Diamond deeply with the passion of relief and of joy.

When at last he pulled his face away, but kept his hands upon her cheeks, he immediately began asking questions.

“Are you all right? The message said you were, but ‘tis it true?”

Diamond had only time to nod before he rushed on. “And -- and.” He suddenly sat down heavily upon the bed and stared with wide eyes at the slightly squirming blankets Diamond held.

He looked at her, and she nodded again, biting the lower lip of her smile.

“A lad,” Pippin breathed out and look to Diamond for reassurance as he bent over to look at all that was visible: a tiny face screwed up into a displeased expression.

“Oh,” Pippin sighed in wonder, and “oh” again, and did not move from his staring for some moments.

“Pippin?” Diamond said softly at last, then, when he did not seem to hear her, she touched his curls above the tip of his ear and asked again, “Husband? Would you like to hold him?”

Pippin nodded silently, awestruck, and settled himself back against the pillows next to Diamond, and she pressed the babe and the blankets into his lap.

Pippin trembled slightly as he held the babe, and his wife leaned her head against his shoulder. His grin was like a sunbeam, even as happy tears fell from his eyes onto the small, upturned face. “Our son,” Pippin said with reverence.

The babe then grunted, as he had been doing occasionally, and wrinkled his face again, twisting it away from the tears that fell, so that both grown hobbits laughed at him.

“We have made a hobbit cub,” Pippin said in a jesting tone and turned a cheeky grin to Diamond to add, “Mayhap we should call him ‘Cullenin.’”


(6 Months Later)

“Well, Sam, it looks as if you were the first to have a Pippin-lad after all,” Pippin Took said among the hobbits milling about the Thain’s office. He held his own son in his arms as he stood, ignoring the twinges caused in his knee by the jouncing that the babe seemed to like.

“Aye, but not by much,” Sam said equably, and smiled as he swooped the babe he held in his own arms toward the small Took. Both lads’ eyes widened as they caught sight of each other, and Pippin Gamgee stuck his fingers in his mouth, and Faramir Took let out a squeal, although that could have been due to the jouncing.

“Two months afore ain’t naught at all,” Sam continued. “Why, if this one” -- he shifted his grip so that he could wave Pippin-lad’s hand toward the Tooks -- “had’a waited just a day or two more, mebbe, they would’ve been born in the same year right enough.”

“Aye,” Pippin said, making Farry wave back. Then he leaned over and whispered to Sam’s babe, but loud enough to be heard, “but you wanted to be among the Yule presents, did you not? We shall have to have a talk some day about such birthdays, you and I.”

Sam chuckled as another tall hobbit strode up behind Pippin and clapped him lightly on the back.

“It’s your parents that Sam will be wanting to speak to, cousin,” Merry said, “to find out how they managed to contain you with the excitement of all those Yule and birthday parties falling in a row.”

“Hoy, Merry,” Pippin said as he stood back up and turned Faramir in his arms so that the babe was facing him. Straightening Faramir’s clothing, Pippin said, with a straight face, “I am eminently containable.”

Merry and Sam looked at each other and laughed, and Pippin grinned as well as he joined in.

“So,” Merry said, giving each of his friends’ babes a pat on the head, “I can see you’ve brought his namesake.” He patted Pippin atop the head, too, taking advantage of the fact that he could easily reach, and ignored the scowl that produced as Pippin reached one hand up to smooth back his curls while clutching Faramir in the other. “Where’s mine?”

Sam smiled in amusement at the cousins’ byplay and nodded both his head and Pippin-lad’s hand toward a cluster of hobbitesses. “Rosie’s got Merry-lad today,” he said, and indeed Rose was holding the faunt while chatting with Estella and Diamond. Five-year-old Rose-lass, 7-year-old Frodo-lad, and 9-year-old Elanor took turns hanging about near their mother’s skirts and following after Pippin’s 13-year-old niece Aster to see if they could fit beneath the desk.

Pervinca’s Ivy, who had just left the faunt years behind, and 5-year-old Harcourt occasionally tried to follow the game, but 7-year-old Bram and 9-year-old Clover quickly pulled them back toward their other cousins, Pearl’s children, and scowled at Aster.

Pearl, Pimpernel and Pervinca stood chatting in another cluster, with their husbands nearby, and other hobbits were grouped about the room, including the North-Tooks. Indeed, Diamond excused herself from Rosie and Estella, and went to speak to her family.

“It does well, in a way, to have ‘em be this close in age,” Sam said, still waving Pippin-lad’s hand toward his brother Merry’s. “Leastwise, we always know where everythin’ is when we be needin’ it again,” he laughed.

Merry Brandybuck grinned, too, and held out his arms toward Pippin. “Well, seeing as how there’s enough to go around, what say I hold my very young cousin for a while?” he asked.

“Nay, Merry,” Pippin laughed, bouncing Farry a bit in his arms. “Not today, as of yet, you know,” he added. Then, with another laugh, he lifted Farry above his head a moment and grinned at the lad, but cut his eyes sideways toward Merry as he said, “Get your own.”

Merry glanced quickly toward Estella, who he thought had been looking in his direction a moment earlier, but it seemed he was mistaken, for her back was now turned.

“So, where is Uncle Paddin, Pip?” he asked abruptly. “I thought he was as eager as you to get Farry’s name written into the Yellowskin.”

“He is,” Pippin replied, low, making his arms into a cradle and rocking Farry back and forth in them. He looked toward the babe as he said, “He’s resting, Merry. ‘Tis hard for him, anymore, this kind of occasion.”

“I’m sorry, Pip,” Merry said, and squeezed Pippin’s shoulder in support, while Sam blinked back tears s he thought of the Gaffer, gone these two years past -- but not afore he’d seen his youngest son made Mayor of the Shire, and Master of Bag End. It hurt, still, that it was Mr. Frodo’s leavin’ as had made all that possible, but who’d’a thought it of him, Sam Gamgee? As the Gaffer hisself used to say, it were an ill wind that blew a body no good, and the stories resultin’ from Sam’s comin’ up in the world that the Gaffer had lived on at The Ivy Bush in the last year of his life...well. That were some good to come out of it, at least.

When Sam blinked again, Master Saradoc had materialized beside Merry, and it were the two of them now leaning over and talking about Faramir Took. Master Saradoc was looking mighty fine and spry for a hobbit of 90. Sam figured it would be a good many years before Merry experienced the kind of loss he’d already had, and that Pippin looked to be facing soon.

“So, what do you think, Uncle Sara?” Pippin asked, holding the babe straight out before him with a grip under the armpits.

“Impressive,” Saradoc answered with a smile as he used his pocket-handkerchief to wipe up the remains of a large spit bubble of which Farry seemed quite proud, his green eyes twinkling underneath his sprinkling of dark curls as he chortled. “Has the Took gift for conversation already, I see.”

Merry was the one who chortled at that, sidestepping away from Pippin as his eyes swept the room for his mother.

“Speaking of which,” Saradoc continued, “I know it’s done in the family to give high-sounding names, and I know that Faramir is a prince of the Outlands, but why that name in particular?”

Pippin shifted part of his attention, as did everyone in the room, as his father entered with his mother upon his arm and made his way to the seat behind the desk.

“Prince Faramir loved someone we both knew and lost,” Pippin said softly to his uncle, and Merry gently squeezed his shoulder again as Pippin looked back at him with compassion in return.

“’Twas so even before he took his father’s place as Steward of the King,” Pippin went on, turning his eyes now to watch as Paladin took the Yellowskin from atop the desk and placed it in his lap. As the old hobbit sat gazing at his lap, Pippin locked his eyes upon him and said, “Be--because Faramir understands.”

Pippin’s green eyes remained locked on his father’s throughout the ceremony, tears glistening in both sets above the smiles. Pippin held open, in front of his father, the book from which Paladin recited the words. Paladin, in turn, cradled Faramir in his arms now, one hand placed upon the lad’s head, just as, forty years ago, he he had done for his own son. This time, though, the room was filled with not only hobbits, but hobbitesses,a and families, each of which watched from their own groupings.

Eglantine stood at Paladin’s elbow, her eyes flicking from her grandbabe to her own little lad, who must have been so tiny when he was first brought to this room, but was all grown now so that he towered over nearly every other hobbit in the room. Diamond, in turn, stood at Pippin’s elbow, her eyes fixed now upon her husband, now her son, as Paladin pressed Faramir’s small, ink-stained foot upon the pages of the Yellowskin and intoned,

“Heir to The Thain and to The Took is Faramir Took, son of Peregrin, of the Great Smials of the West Farthing of the Shire.”

When the ceremony had concluded and the hobbits had broken up again into laughing, chatting groups, Gerin North-Took approached his daughter and Pippin.

Diamond smiled at her father, who had already spoken to her earlier in the day, and then looked down so that her soft smile was turned toward her son, asleep now in her arms.

“Sir, I--” Gerin began to address Pippin and then, in sudden fervor, he grabbed Pippin’s right hand in both of his and clasped it tightly. “Thank you,” he said, and there were tears in this hobbit’s eyes, too.

“The lad there,” he nodded toward Faramir. “Well, when he becomes Thain--not for a long time to come, we should hope!” he added quickly--”well, when he becomes Thain, he’ll have North-Took in him, a thing that carries a great deal of importance to some. They will know about it from now forward and, well, it shall make things easier between the Farthings, I do so dearly hope. And so -- so thank you,” he concluded, squeezing Pippin’s hand a bit more tightly yet.

A slow grin spread across Pippin’s face, and he then lunged forward to engulf Gerin not in a handshake, but in a hug. “’Tis I who thank you,” he laughed into Gerin’s ear, “for the gift of such a daughter.”

Across the room, Ganelon raised his head from where he had been examining the inscription in the Yellowskin which marked Diamond’s babe, quite definitively now, as the Heir to The Took and The Thain.

He saw that other Heir embracing his father in the familiar ways of common hobbits, and saying something no doubt patronizing into the old ear. Ganelon’s lips curled into a sneer, and he scanned the room for the one of the bunch that might have a sense of pride.

Catching Pervinca’s eyes at last, Ganelon tilted his head slightly toward Pippin and Diamond.

Pervinca, too, looked over to see Pippin emerging from a hug with his North-Took father-in-law. ‘Twas, she began to think, a bit odd...but then she quashed that thought. Nonsense, she told herself. ‘Twas nothing. Pip was like to hug anyone; after all, he had never been known for his discriminating tastes.

Pervinca then looked elsewhere in the room, and she saw Pimpernel and Everard playfully shoving each other and laughing, and Pearl emerging from another embrace, that of her husband, and giggling like a much younger lass.

Then Pervinca caught sight of her own husband, standing straight as a rod as he discussed something with Uncle Saradoc. His eyes never strayed in her direction, and she knew that they would not.

Pervinca stepped to place herself at an angle where she could no longer see Pippin and Diamond, but she could meet Ganelon’s steady gaze. She nodded.