CHAPTER 8

Pippin woke up from his nap in the hayloft of the stable at The Green Dragon. He had been lucky in getting a ride part of the way on the cart of a dairy hobbit, and had crept into the stable during the afternoon lull.

In the grey light before dawn he had crept from the Smials. He did not slip out the window this time, but instead he had slipped through the passages, and out through the side door of the main kitchen--making a brief detour to the larder for provisions.

Thinking of this reminded him that he was hungry and thirsty. He looked in the sack, but all that was left was half a cheese sandwich and two apples. His waterskin was empty. Oh well, the apples were juicy. He wasn’t going to risk going out for a drink yet.

If he had been setting their meeting place, it would not have been The Green Dragon. That was where Frodo went sometimes, and more often, Samwise Gamgee. And Pip was pretty well known there. Before he went down this evening, he would have to make sure that neither Frodo nor Sam was there.

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Paladin looked at the note. It was the shortest one yet. Not even a greeting or a signature: “You didn’t say I couldn’t go to Bag End.”

He sighed and shook his head. He had half-expected this. No, he should be honest with himself, he had half-hoped for this. Frodo seemed to have so much more patience with Pippin; all Paladin seemed to do these days was upset his son. Sometimes he wondered who this lad was, that had replaced his sunny little Pip a few years ago. Pippin had always been energetic and impulsive, but then suddenly he became moody and restless and irresponsible as well, and it seemed like the only people who had any influence over him at all were Merry and Frodo.

Sitting down on Pippin’s bed, he thought about the night before, and his own anger. He’d actually seen fear in his son’s eyes, and he had put it there. But how could he ever make his son understand? He sighed. He couldn’t. That would mean admitting the humiliation he had been through ten years ago, when Ferumbras had stepped down from the Thainship and told him he would be taking over. Even Eglantine did not know the *full* story. He could never admit to his son how manipulated and helpless he had felt.

Neither had he *wanted* to be Thain; but he knew his duty and did not try to shirk it. And it had proved to be the only way to secure his children’s future. But he had hoped to avoid it for many more years, at least for Ferumbras’ lifetime. That had not been possible.

Peregrin had to be *prepared* when the duty finally fell to him, not thrown in to sink or swim.

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Menelcar had left Bag End and made his way to The Green Dragon, where he had a word with the innkeeper, Toby Harfoot. Master Toby had already had word of this Man, and how he could fill a room with hobbits eager to hear his songs. He was very pleased to have this attraction for business. He offered Menelcar a bowl of stew, a mug of ale, and a table at which to sit and tune his instrument until the room had filled for the evening.

As Master Baggins had directed, he took a table near the center of the room, and seated himself facing the door, so that when Pippin did come in and join him, he would be looking away from it.

The minstrel sat on the floor, absently eating the stew, and sipping from the tiny mug which seemed almost like a teacup to him, although he was beginning to get used to it after weeks in the Shire. He was deep in thought. His meeting with Frodo Baggins had been most fortuitous. He had not only found out about the object of his long search, and been rewarded with a number of new songs, but he had also been saved from making a grave mistake. A very grave mistake, indeed.

He sighed. His dream of having a new partner on the road was dashed. If the only problem had been that Pippin was underage, he would have sought out the lad’s parents and tried to convince them to apprentice the young hobbit to him. Even though he knew it was highly unlikely they would have approved immediately, he had confidence in his abilities to persuade. Not to mention young Pippin’s own considerable abilities in coaxing what he wanted from people.

But the only son and heir to the lord of the Shire? He snorted bitterly. The Steward of Minas Tirith had *two* sons. If a wandering minstrel had tried to entice either of them away for an apprentice, said minstrel would be cooling his heels in a Gondorian prison--at best. At worst, he might be hanged for treason. He knew enough about hobbits now to realize they would not be so harsh, but whatever their worst penalties might be, he knew they would be enforced in such a case.

Still, he did not look forward to seeing Pippin disillusioned of his ambition of becoming a bard. The lad had real talent, and on top of that his personal charm and the novelty of his being a halfling--a hobbit--his fortune would have been made.

He cast his eye about the room, as it began to fill up. He was uncertain as to when Pippin would enter, but he would have to sing soon. It might be selfish of him, but he hoped that they would get to sing together at least once more before Pippin was found out by his older cousin.

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Across the road from The Green Dragon, Frodo Baggins and Sam Gamgee leaned against the wall of the Bywater bakery, keeping to the shadows and watching the door to the inn.

“Mr. Frodo, are you sure about this? Do you really think that it’s Mr. Pippin who is planning to run off with this Menelcar fellow?

Frodo shook his head. “Think about it, Sam. He meets a young hobbit in Tuckborough, and his description fits Pippin to the last detail. Besides, what other young hobbit in the Shire would be so daft?”

Sam chuckled. “You said that, Mr. Frodo, not me. I would never be so bold as to say something like that about one of your kinfolk--no matter how true it might be. Oh, look! There are Tom and Jolly Cotton.”

“And look,” said Frodo, “there’s Pip!”

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Pippin had been peering out from his vantage point in the stable, and when he saw the Cotton brothers approaching the inn, he knew there was his chance. Leaving his pack and bedroll in the loft, but carrying his fiddle case, he went down the ladder, and brushing himself off, approached the two hobbits.

“Tom! Jolly!” he hailed them. They were not chummy, but they were on speaking terms, as no one who spent much time at Bag End could have avoided making the acquaintance of the Cotton family, who were close friends of the Gamgees.

They stopped politely at his call. “Mr. Peregrin,” said Tom. “And how are you this evening?”

“I’m well, Tom. Could you do me a favor, and see if Frodo or Sam are in the inn tonight? Frodo doesn’t know I’m down from Tuckborough, and I thought I would surprise him. But if he’s here tonight, I shan’t walk on up to Bag End only to wait at an empty hole.”

If they thought it odd that he didn’t simply go into the inn and check for himself, or why he also wished to know Sam’s whereabouts, they were too polite to say so to the son of the Thain. They nodded, and Tom went to peer in the door of the inn. He turned to Pippin and said something. Pippin went into the inn.

In the shadows, Frodo smiled. “Clever Pip. He’s checking on our whereabouts.”

Sam nodded.

“We will give him a few minutes, and let a bit more crowd build up.”

Pippin entered the doorway of the inn, and scanned the room. His face lit up, as he immediately spotted Menelcar, who even seated upon the floor was taller than most of the surrounding hobbits. He began to make his way through the gathering crowd, being frequently stopped by greetings of “Evening, Mr. Pippin!” and queries as to the whereabouts of Mr. Merry and Mr. Frodo. It suddenly dawned on Pippin that this was his first foray into The Dragon without either of his older cousins in tow. Not that it was a problem. In Bywater and Hobbiton, tweenagers were allowed in the inns without older relatives. They just were not allowed to drink without them.

He sighed as he realized there’d be no ale for him tonight.

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Frodo watched The Green Dragon. The Cotton brothers and a few others went inside. Since it was Highday there would be a good-sized crowd; all the better, as it would prevent Pip giving him the slip. However, he intended to take no chances.

“Sam, if you would not mind waiting by the side door, after I go in? I don’t believe Pip will run out on me, but I really don’t wish to take any chances. He has no idea how serious this all could be.”

“Of course, Mr. Frodo. If he tries it, he won’t get past me. Though he’s your kin, I have to say Mr. Pippin is a right puzzlement to me. The lad is smart enough, yet sometimes he don’t seem to have no sense at all.”

“He’s less sense now than he had five years ago. Being a tween does that to some lads, lasses too, I suppose, though I wouldn’t know much about that. But Pippin seems to have it worse than most--it’s the Took in him, I guess. At least his heart is in the right place.”

Sam nodded. Frodo crossed the street and went into The Dragon. After a few seconds, he followed, going around to the seldom used side door.

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Pippin had continued his progress, and finally he reached the Bard’s table. “Menelcar!” he grinned.

In spite of his private reservations, the minstrel could not help but grin back in the face of the young hobbit’s obvious and cheerful delight in seeing him. It was pleasant to be so warmly liked.

Pippin sat down in the chair opposite the Man. “You aren’t singing yet?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Not yet. I’m expecting a bit more of a crowd. It’s--” he paused to think for a moment “--it’s what you in the Shire call ‘Highday’ isn’t it?”

Pippin nodded, feeling a thrill of excitement at this minor revelation. They call it something else Outside! What other things would be different?

Menelcar noted the play of emotions across the lad’s face. His eyes fairly sparked with excitement. “You are still determined, then, to go with me when I leave the Shire?”

“Oh yes!” Pippin’s eyes were wide. “Otherwise, why would I be here?”

Suddenly he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, and the last voice he wanted to hear at that moment said “That’s a very good question, Peregrin Took. Do you think you could explain it to me?”

Pippin turned to look up into a pair of stern and loving blue eyes, and felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach.

“Frodo!” he squeaked.