Chapter 27: “Are Forever...”

Great Smials, Halimath, 1435

”Hoy!” Pippin called, flattening himself against the wall of the stables as the pony rushed past. “Watch where you’re goin’, there! ‘Tis no rush!”

“Aye, but you dinna want me to be late, do you?” Pervinca grinned unrepentantly, vaulting herself from the saddle and handing the reins to a stablehobbit to walk the pony a bit before stabling it for the night.

She bent forward to catch her own breath, drawing off her leather riding gloves as she did so and slapping them lightly against the front of her skirt.

Pippin merely rolled his eyes, content for once not to respond, and brother and sister strolled together toward the Smials.

“I should ha’e thought arrivin’ two days afore the weddin’, you would nae have had to worry about bein’ late,” Pippin said after a few moments.

“Posh!” Pervinca answered, waving the gloves in front of her face to fan it. “’Twas just a little run to make sure Prancer stays brushed up on his toes whilst I’m here.

“Besides, Pip,” she nudged her brother with an elbow to the side, causing him to stumble sideways slightly, “’twas you who invited me to come a bit early, for the lasses’ sake.

“And well you’ve known that I’ve been here since yestermorn; ‘tis just you who could nae be torn away from his duties ‘til now to come and offer greetings.”

Pervinca stopped walking a moment, pulled her skirts out wide to her sides, and dropped into a curtsy with her head bowed, though with a simpering smile upon her face.

“Greetings, Thain Peregrin,” she said while still deep in the curtsy. “’Tis your humble servant from the--”

“Get up!” Pippin laughed, pulling gently on Pervinca’s elbows to raise her up. When she was standing, the two hugged briefly, laughing, then continued their walk toward one of the side doors.

“How has it been, then, for the lasses on their summer visits, have you heard?” Pippin asked, holding the door for his sister.

Passing under his arm with a slight duck, Pervinca saw the faint line of a furrow begin between her brother’s eyes: a furrow he was unaware he was creating, but that signaled to his family and friends that he was, indeed, thinking on the business of Thain and Took.

Pervinca shook off the pang of wistfulness that passed through her as Pippin closed the door behind them, and answered lightly, “Aye, it has gone well, as far as I’ve heard. Clover and Ivy had the run about the place at Whitwell, along with Pearl’s bairns, and had some chance to see their Proudfeet cousins as well, between that and comin’ here to spend some time with Nellie and Aster.

“Mayhap we’ll send them for some such summer visits each year, or perhaps ‘t could be the lads’ turn next,” Pervinca said with studied casualness. Then she laughed, “As it seems I’m like to be closer to these parts of the Shire in the summer months than I am to Duro and the shop. I think I see what Aunt Essie was on about when she sent Merry here for the summers, and Mama and Da when they sent you off for visits to Bag End and Brandy Hall.”

“’Twas you, I remember,” Pippin said, making an effort to keep the corners of his lips from twitching into a smile as they were wont, and thus ruining his dignity, “who, as a tween, was given quite effusive permission to visit relatives in Sarn Ford for “’as long as they would have you.’ Merry and I were perfectly adorable lads in our turn.”

He stole a sidelong glance at Pervinca, and it was too much for his mouth, which broke into a wide grin, and then a laugh, which Pervinca joined.

“Hoy, Pip,” she said, and took her brother’s hand, squeezing it as they walked through the corridor. “’Tis all right, truly. Duro is -- well, ‘tis as if we have our own hole, in part of the Tunnelings, now, and nae longer need to depend on his sisters, nor does he have to work under the shadow of his brothers.

“He’s set up a small business in leather work in Oatbarton, when he is nae helping Gerin with the shop. And, while that is nae his either, ‘tis enough, I think, to know that Bram and Harry will have quite the opportunities in the North Farthing -- where they seem to be quite sparse in gentlehobbits,” Pervinca laughed ruefully.

Pippin sighed wistfully, and the furrow was back between his eyes “Aye,” he sighed. “I could wish that the North Farthing hobbits had not sent their delegation regarding the North-Tooks’ lack of an heir at such a time...”

“Oh, come now,” Pervinca said, swinging their hands between them. “Gerin is fine now; ‘twas just a bit of overreaction on some hobbits’ part.”

“Aye,” Pippin smiled faintly. “And Garry’s future...well, ‘tis a bit much to decide what path someone should walk when that someone is nae more than a faunt.”

“Aye,” Pervinca said quietly, herself, then looked toward her brother, tears shining on her own lashes above a small smile, “And Mama would ha’e understood, Pip. She did always say that Tooks, in general, had no sense of timing.”

Brother and sister both laughed again, through a few tears.

Then Pervinca withdrew her hand from her brother’s, squared her shoulders back, and put on a no-nonsense voice, ready to discuss business.

“Now, Pip,” she said, “I know you said ‘twould be the full bit for this, but I dinna see how--”

“Dinna worry about it,” Pippin said abruptly, stuffing both hands in his pockets and looking determinedly ahead.

“Pip -- you’re paying for this, aren’t you?” Pervinca realized.

Silence met her.

“But--”

“Hoy!” Pippin cut her off, waving a hand suddenly in front of her face. He looked at his feet and rocked back slightly onto the heels as he continued, “’Tis nae only to the North-Tooks I owe a duty.”


The hobbit and hobbitess stood before Pippin, their hands clasped, as a slight breeze out of the startlingly bright blue sky blew a very few gold and russet leaves among the assembled guests.

Many guests there were, too: relatives and friends of both sides who’d traveled to witness the festivities; Smials hobbits -- both gentles and servants -- who had spilled out of the doors for the event of this Highday -- and, among all sorts of the guests, a few hangers-on who merely appreciated a good party.

Pippin asked the hobbitess whether she promised to love and to honor the hobbit she was to wed, and she answered boldly, her eyes clear and her face plump beneath the wreath of aster which crowned her head, “Aye, sir, that I do.”

He turned then to the hobbit, and asked whether he, too, promised to love, to honor, and to “o -- rder your life around that love and that honor,” he concluded, grinning at the stifled gasps that had swept through the crowd as he began a word that sounded suspiciously like “obey.”

“I -- I,” that sturdy hobbit, uncomfortable with so many eyes upon him, coughed out in nearly a whisper, then belted out, “do!” in a much louder tone after a not-so-subtle squeeze of the hand from his partner.

Pippin smiled upon them both as he presented, “Filibert and Sage Furryfoot!”

“A grand wedding, Pip,” Merry said a short while later, giving an appreciative thump to a barrel which stood near the food tables. “Mighty fine container of ale,” he added before swallowing.

“’Twas a gift come from Tooksank,” Pippin smiled into his own mug, the noise of the music and dancing floating from the slight hollow behind him. “From a former -- admirer -- of the groom.”

Merry shrugged and refilled his glass. “It’s all to the good for making a grand party,” he said philosophically, then raised his glass in a toast as he looked slightly behind Pippin’s head. “Especially if visiting cousins can be invited.”

“Now, that’s not all I am, Mr. Merry, and you know it,” Sam said calmly as he stepped from behind Pippin on his own way to the ale barrel. “I’m one of the ones as had a job here today.”

“And you done it good, too,” the bride said, accepting the glass of ale Sam had just poured. “Ma’d be like to bust her buttons ‘bout havin’ the Mayor and the Thain in my weddin’, if she wasn’t rememberin’ Dad, too, and the Troubles,” Sage said, then took two hearty swallows of her ale as the music swelled.

“’Heel to Heel’!” Pervinca called out from where she was seated before the spinet, hauled out of the Smials and set upon the wooden platform gentlehobbits used for such outdoor parties. For those who wanted the music outdoors at their gatherings, but had no such platform, or did not wish to pay a tuner to come in afterward, she relied on her lute -- much easier to carry about strapped to her back on a pony.

“Step we gaily,
On we go,

she began the sprightly tune,

heel to heel
and toe for toe!”*

Sage, formerly Goodchild but now Proudfoot, laughed and set down her glass. “Come on, cousin Sam,” she said, “You have to dance with me, too, you know, whilst my Ma has Bert.”

Merry snickered as Sam stumbled slightly in turning away from the ale barrel, and Pippin commented cheekily, “’Tis a good thing you are not working for the harvest today, eh, Sam?”

“I harvested in the spring this year,” Sam called back over his shoulder as Sage led them toward the group of dancers which included Bert, her mother, and his sister, “It was a fine crop of Primrose!”

“Pip!” Pimpernel said urgently, pushing her way toward him through the crowd of hobbits and brushing with irritation at the curls that were escaping down the side of her face, “you need to come!”


“And you shall learn to ride ponies, and go to the Fair, and come in the voting booth with me...,” Pippin whispered, two days later, to the tiny babe half-slumbering in the crook of his body as he stretched out upon the bed. His wife, dozing as well, lay propped against the pillows.

“...and you shall always have the best of all good things,” he continued. “Da’s little Pudding.”

“Husband,” Diamond’s low, sleepy voice came from the pillows above his head, and Pippin raised his eyes toward her, his lips still tickling the baby’s tummy.

“Aye?” he whispered, and Diamond smiled back.

“Her name,” she said, and reached for the now almost-fussing babe, “is Petal.”

“Aye,” he sighed with much-exaggerated regret, and scooted to lean against the pillows next to his wife and his busily eating daughter.

Farry and Garry, when they burst through the door a few moments later, he caught up each arm and admonished them not to jostle their mother or sister.

“We wanna hear a story,” Garry grumbled slightly as he tucked himself between Pippin and Diamond.

“Aye, or a song,” Farry added, curling up on the other side of Pippin.

“Sing Mama’s song!” Garry pleaded.

Pippin looked into the gray eyes of his wife, and began to sing the song he had composed not on another’s behalf, but for her alone.

“Oh, once I took a wife;
And then I set to woo her.
I vow’d to stick thru life,
Like a burr right up next to her.
And she to me did take;
Oh, we’ll be long together.
She lights a path for me,
A Diamond in the night.
And I to her, you see,
Gi’e all I have: my heart,
My soul, and love for her own sake.”**

“Pippin,” Diamond breathed at the tune’s end, and shifted the babe against her breast. She withdrew her other hand from beneath Garry, who now lay slumbering at her side, their older son dozing on the other side of Pippin.

“For giving counsel, defending what is right,” she whispered as he took her hand, “in all the world, there is no better knight.”

“Therefore shall a hobbit leave his father and his mother, and cleeve unto his wife.”***

Finis
(or, as they say in common parlance):
“The End”

_____________________________
*From “Marie’s Wedding”; traditional Irish song.

**Loosely based upon “Last Week I Took a Wife” or “The Cobbler’s Song”; from “The 40 Thieves”; words and music by M. Kelly.

***Genesis 2:24 -- paraphrased ;)