Chapter 10. Interlude

One by one the family have filed in, gathering around the bed. They’ve all been on the spot, in a manner of speaking, since the day before yesterday: Pearl summoned from the family farm, Vinca from Buckland, where she was visiting her husband’s family. Nell has lived here at the Smials since the year her brother became Thain.

Now they stand hesitating, as if unsure what to do next. I rise from the chair, releasing the cold hand, to make way for the mourners, and stand back. Pearl, as eldest, moves to the bed, sinking down, leaning forward to embrace her brother for a long and silent moment. At last she whispers, ‘I would not say goodbye, even now, brother...’ Her voice breaks, and the only word I can make out afterwards is “love”.

Like Fennel, I had feared we’d left things until too late, but as Pearl straightens I see the Thain’s eyes are open and aware. His lips form her name, though there is no sound.

Next Pimpernel bends to her brother. ‘You gave me my life back,’ she whispers. ‘I’ll never, ever forget.’

It’s true. She nearly died, a widow with five young children, after her husband was taken from her suddenly. But Pippin would not let her follow; he and Eglantine set watchers on her, making sure she ate, that she was cared for, until the first wave of grief had passed, and eventually he was instrumental in bringing her together with the love of her childhood, Ferdibrand, though it is almost unheard-of for hobbits to remarry.

And then Pervinca lays her cheek against her brother’s. ‘I forgive you,’ she says softly, pulling back to smile at him though the tears glimmer in her eyes. It has been a family jest, for all of Pippin’s life, that he took Vinca’s place as the pet of the family, and she never reconciled herself to her loss. He smiles in return.

The husbands stand clustered, Pearl’s Isumbold supported between Ferdibrand and Meliloc Brandybuck. He was the head of Thain Ferumbras’ escort, until the day he threw himself between the Thain and the charge of a wild boar. Now he supervises the workers on the farm that belongs to Pippin’s family.

Ferdi and Meliloc ease Isum onto the bed. The latter’s arms are heavily muscled, as if to make up for his near-useless legs, but he gathers Pippin into his arms as gently as a mother with a babe new-born. ‘Brother,’ he says. ‘Don’t eat all the seed-cake before I come to the Feast.’

 ‘Isum,’ Pippin whispers, and then, haltingly, he adds, ‘I’ll be sure to save my share of liver for you as well.’

No one chides, or tells him to save his strength.

Isum eases him back against the pillows once more, but sits a moment longer to lock gazes with the dying hobbit. ‘I promise,’ he says, ‘that Diamond and your children will always have a home at the farm, and Farry will inherit a portion of the land.’ It is a generous offering back of what Pippin has given; some time after Pippin received the deed to Whittacres Farm on the death of his father, he deeded the land to Pearl and her family, saying she ought to have inherited it in any event, being the eldest.

Pippin nods, a feeble gesture, and closes his eyes as if even this small exchange has wearied him beyond bearing.

Meliloc helps Isum rise from the bed, and Ferdi sinks to his knees. ‘Cousin,’ he says, as always, but further words fail him and instead he seizes Pippin’s hand and bows his forehead to their entwined fingers. And so they remain, as I remember how the older cousin watched over the younger as a brother might, on his family’s summer visits to the farm, how a young and thoughtless Pippin caused the ruin of this cousin, and how, years later, on taking up the office of Thain, he raised Ferdi up again, restoring to him all he had lost, and more.

At last Ferdi lifts his head, rises to lay a brother’s kiss against the wasted cheek, whispers something that only the Thain hears, and turns away to seek the comfort of his beloved Nell’s arms.

Fennel has fetched a chair for Isum and now Meliloc steps forward to take his leave. He takes Pippin by the hand, says a few broken words, and steps back.

Fennel summons Reginard, Steward of Tookland, from the outer room where he waits with the others gathering to sing the Thain out of this life. He enters and stands just inside the doorway, stiff with dread. I can almost see the weight of the Shire descending upon his shoulders; Farry is much too young to be Thain.

I step forward to take up Pippin’s hand once more. ‘Thain Peregrin, are you with us?’ I say, as clearly as I can. ‘It is time to name your successor.’

We have spoken of this, in the watches of the night. I know his intentions, though they are far from the dictates of custom. Will he be strong enough to carry through on his resolve? Or has he used the last of his strength already?