This story takes place in SR 1451. Pippin is 61, Diamond is 56, and Faramir Took is 21. Merry is 69 and Sam is 71 years old.

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"Pippin!"

Peregrin Took straightened from his cramped position over a line of accounts. The call had held irritation, urgency, and affection--a large burden for one name, he thought with amusement. He rose from his desk and stretched, pressing his hands briefly against the low ceiling in a by-now-habitual gesture; he strode out of the study and toward the main door, where his wife's call had originated.

As he approached he could see her figure outlined against the brilliant autumn day outside: slim and erect as ever, she stood looking out now, hands on hips, her very posture speaking of exasperation. She turned her head slightly to call again, not removing her eyes from whatever it was she saw outside: "Pip--"

"Right here," he said, and she leapt into the air, turning to mock-scowl at him. "There's a delivery here for you," was all she said.

He stifled a grin, pleased at having startled her, and blinked out at the sunlight. A heavy wagon stood crushing the fine green sward, and two stout Dwarves, assisted by assorted members of the household, unloaded crate after crate onto the grass. Nick Burrows, the elderly (and universally feared) head gardener, glared over a hedge at the activity, his clippers held in a position that could only be called warlike; his two sons Bill and Hugo were braced beside him for an imminent explosion.

Pippin hurried out into the yard to direct the cargo into the unloading area behind Great Smials, near the stable. Nick's face changed from impending rage to sour satisfaction, only to sag into disgust again when Peregrin Took, undisputed Lord of the Tookland, Councillor of the Northern Kingdom, Thain of the Shire in whole, squealed with glee at the contents of the crates.

"Books!" he crowed. "My books have finally arrived!" And sitting down on the lawn, he promptly began investigating the nearest wooden box.

Nick and his sons slowly withdrew (not without a glower at Diamond Took, promising ruffled feathers to be smoothed at a later time). The Dwarves and other hobbits continued their work, and Diamond threw up her hands and went to sit by her husband on the grass.

"At last," he was muttering, using his small belt knife to pry off the cover. He drew out sheaf after sheaf of paper: binders, folders, leather-bound and unbound. Words came tumbling into his lap. He murmured over each one, stroking the pages, smelling the bindings, opening the books to gaze at spidery writing or delicate illustrations, only to be drawn on to the next wonder. Diamond took each discovery from him and studied them in her turn, until that crate, at least, was empty, its treasures plundered and heaped about the two like spoils of battle.

"Begging your pardon sir, but where shall we put all these?" came the voice of Teddy Goldworthy. He stood over them with his cap in his hand.

Pippin jumped up and began to pack his crate's contents away haphazardly. "Let's just put them in my study, shall we? It'll take some doing to go through them all--"

"No, sir," said Diamond firmly, and Teddy stifled a smile. "You and the others can take them to the empty storage room on the second level at the back. And as quick as you please, else we'll have Gaffer Nick breathing fire and brimstone for a week."

"But Diamond, that room is so far out of the way--" Pippin began.

"And just as well," she agreed firmly. "I know you've been waiting for an age for these books, and I'll not deny you the pleasure of gloating over them, but your study is already a woeful littered untidy unholy mess, and that room up there has plenty of air, empty shelves, and comfortable seats and tables just needing dusting. Which--" she held up one hand to still her husband's protest-- "I shall see to myself."

Pippin sighed, deflated. "Very well," he said. "At least I shall have the pleasure of cataloging them myself." At 61 years his smile was as unquenchable as it had always been. "And your company, I hope, in the doing."

"Mine and Faramir's," she replied equably. She nodded to Teddy and he turned away, calling the orders to his mates. "He could use the practice in reading something other than our writing."

"Brilliant!" said Pippin. He looked around distractedly. "Now I shall just invite those excellent Dwarves to dinner..." He hurried off and Diamond went back into the Smials to arrange for at least one night's lodging for the two Dwarves, who would need large beds and as much food as any hobbit guest.

The cataloging of the books took longer than any of them could have foreseen. Pippin had dashed off letters to everyone he knew, North Kingdom and South, asking them to please send the most recent writings of interest to his agent, an enterprising Dwarf named Nordri. Nordri had collected and collected and collected the books until his storage for the Thain overflowed, and then sent them on to the Shire in the sturdy wagon with his two sturdy kinsman. The books, sorted erratically into boxes by topic, covered every subject: from history to herblore to romances to tales. They also came at one of the busiest times of the year, for Pippin and his entire clan were taken up with the harvest. Much of their study had to wait until winter settled in and hands lay idle.

Thus it happened that it was well into the cold weather when Faramir, sitting with his father in the no-longer-empty storage room (called now the Book Room by all inhabitants of Great Smials), opened a new crate and picked up a certain tome. "A Tale of the Dark Years of the Third Age," it read, and Faramir cuddled deeper into the soft couch. It was the books of tales that he loved best. He read them voraciously, and stacked them upon a corner shelf to share with Goldilocks Gamgee, his best friend and true love, when she next came visiting or when he next called at Bag End.

Pippin looked up when he heard Faramir's satisfied sigh, and smiled. He himself was deep within a history of the Numenórean kings, far gone into an ancient world of terrible wisdom and corrupt beauty. He went back to his reading, shifting slightly to bring the warm lamplight better onto his page.

Faramir began the book. Within a few sentences, his brow furrowed. He held his place with one finger and skipped ahead in the book, looking at a page here, a paragraph there. At the end of the book he discovered an index, and sat forward to read it. Then he began flipping through the pages rapidly, from one reference to the next.

He made an inarticulate sound, a grin spreading across his face.

Pippin looked up. "What is it?"

"Listen, Father, listen to this!" his son said. "'The Ringbearer was accompanied from his land by three others. Firstly, there came with him his manservant Samwise of the family of Gamgee,'" Faramir snickered and continued, "'secondly there came Master Meriadoc Brandybuck of the eastern realm of the Shire, already a great swordsman and skilled adventurer,'" Faramir's voice became shrill as he attempted to go on through his increasing merriment, "'and finally there came Peregrin Took, a lord of great courage and skill also.'" Faramir gave up the struggle and dropped the book, rolling onto the floor in his jollity.

Said Peregrin Took sat forward at the first words and listened attentively. His eyes were as wide as they could well be when Faramir finished, and he leaned forward and picked the book up from the floor.

Faramir whimpered: "I bet Mr. Gamgee would just love being referred to as a manservant."

Pippin was gazing at the book. "Among other things," he said. "Is that where you got it from?"

"Yes, I just opened that box," said Faramir, popping up to sit on his couch again.

Pippin pulled the crate toward him, its wooden slats scraping noisily across the floor. "The Finding and Loss of the Great Ring." "A Collection of Stories: The Nine Walkers of Rivendell." "Ballads of Bravery: Songs of the Last Age." "The Ringbearer." "The Claiming of the Throne of Gondor." And then one that raised his eyebrows almost into his curly hair: "Halflings, Hobbits, Holbytla, Perrianath: Small Folk, Great Deeds." The crate contained nineteen books, all of them concerning the Fellowship of the Ring before, during, and after the events that had so changed Middle Earth.

At the bottom of the empty crate lay a note. Pippin picked it up and turned it slowly over in his hands. "Master Peregrin Took" it read, and he unfolded it, watched closely by Faramir. Pippin read aloud:

"'My dear hobbit friend, greetings from myself and my brother Sudri. We are in good health and hope that your lovely wife and family are also. I put this box together especially for you and your companions. I have not read all the books contained herein, nor even half, as business is very good this year, and we are very busy, but I hope you enjoy them and I believe they could only be of interest to you and yours. At your service as always: Nordri, son of Regin, son of Asutrin.'"

"Well, that was... nice of him," said Faramir cautiously. His first mirth had passed and he looked at his father curiously. Pippin did not answer; he examined the books again, picking up one and then another.

At last Pippin sighed and let the one he held ("An Examination of the King Elessar and His Peculiar Relationship with the Elves") fall to the couch. "I am not sure I want to read these," he said.

Faramir had no reply to this. He was uncharacteristically still, only his green eyes glittering slightly in the lamplight. He wanted to leap forward, to grab the books and run. If his father did not want to read them, he did, most desperately. But he quelled himself, and sat and waited.

Pippin ran his hands over his face. "But I don't suppose that will do," he said, and Faramir breathed again. "I should invite Sam and Merry to come and stay and look through these as well."

"Maybe they could come for Yule," Faramir said hesitantly.

Pippin looked at his son and smiled a bit. "And perhaps they might bring along certain of their children," he suggested. He was rewarded by his son's blush and he stood up, holding the letter in one hand and slapping it against the opposite palm. "Yes, I think we will invite the Gamgee and Brandybuck families for Yule."

The Gamgees who came numbered only ten: Frodo, Rose-lass, Pippin and Merry had petitioned and won the right to stay in Hobbiton and celebrate Yule with their Cotton cousins, and Elanor and her new husband Fastred had gone to his family in Greenholm. That left Mayor Samwise, his wife Rosie, and an assortment of lads and lasses, from twenty-year-old Goldilocks to little Tom, only seven. The Brandybucks all came, but even so they were outnumbered two to one by the Gamgee horde. Meriadoc, Estella, and their three children were such frequent guests at Great Smials that they slipped seamlessly into the daily life of the Smials; within days the Gamgees (some of whom visited less frequently than others) were also quickly assimilated into the activities of their various peers, cousins, and friends.

The morning after the first night's feast, Pippin met with Sam and Merry and led them to the Book Room. He placed his friends on the deep, soft, threadbare couches and lit the lamps.

"What's all this?" asked Merry curiously, looking around at the stacks.

"I got my books," Pippin said.

Sam whistled and reached to pluck an album from the nearest table. "Didn't you ever," he agreed.

"There are some I wanted to... show to you both," said Pippin. Merry cocked his head and regarded his cousin. Beneath the comfortable, responsible exterior of the Thain, Merry thought he could see a much younger Pippin: a twenty-eight-year-old hobbit setting off with courage and gaiety and fear, unsure of anything, questioning everything. The years fell away and the Master of Buckland himself was no longer an aging hobbit, a husband and father and manager of a large estate: He was merely Merry, curious and enterprising, wanting to protect Pippin from anything that might threaten.

Sam felt none of this. He was still and ever Sam, as he always had been, and he waited impatiently to see what it might be that Pippin would produce. "Well, out with it," he said, plowing through these subtleties (although that did not mean, as Merry and Pippin knew full well, that he did not see them). "What have you got?"

Pippin hesitated, then said in a rush: "Nordri sent me one crate all filled with books about the Fellowship, and I have tried and tried to make head or tales of them, but I don't really want to read them, and Faramir and Diamond just long to, and I don't quite know what to make of the whole thing." He looked down and began parceling out the books to Sam and Merry, placing text after text upon their laps and steadfastly refusing to meet their eyes.

"Well, what do you want us to do about it?" asked Merry.

"Help me," said Pippin. He sat down with his own stack of books and looked, finally, from Merry to Sam and back again. "Help me get through them, and help me get through what they recall." He held up an octavo of poetry. "This, for instance, ought to have some good laughs in it," he said, and one corner of his mouth curved up. "I just need a couple of good hobbits about to stop me getting maudlin about it all."

Sam picked up a book and read the title aloud: "The Tale of Frodo Nine-Fingers." He looked up at them both, and his eyes were sad. "It's a children's story."

The three companions sat in silence for a moment, and then Sam sighed. "Well, that's no help in not getting maudlin," he said. "We'd best get to work if we're to look through all these any time this year."

"Yes, Sam, honestly," said Merry. "You're always such a slowcoach when it comes to the real work. Stop delaying already." His lips twitched and he looked at Pippin. "Well?"

Pippin stared back. "Well, what?"

"We'll need pens and paper to catalog this, my dear Thain. Step to it and fetch them."

Pippin grumbled as he stood. "Since when does the Master of Buckland order the Thain about like a lackey?" he muttered as he headed out the door.

"Since the Master of Buckland remembered that he was senior in years to the Thain," called Merry.

"And I am senior to you both," said Samwise. "Merry, you fetch tea and something to nibble on." He leaned comfortably back and began rummaging out his pipe and weed; then sneezed as the pillow Merry threw hit him on the nose.