Disclaimer: All Hobbits and Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien.

Characters: Pippin, Paladin.The title says all.

Just Us Lads

Whitwell, Astron, 1400, S.R.

Pippin sat upon his bed busying himself with counting and shining his ever-increasing marble collection scattered on the bed in his bedroom. Recuperating from a long nap to regain his strength from a recent head cold, Pippin poured himself a glass of water to clear his head. Something felt amiss. He let one of his newest shooters roll down the “hill” toward his leg as the growing silence demanded his attention, the other remained in his hand. He became more and more aware that the whole smial was filled with quiet. No laughter, no arguing…no lasses. This isn’t right, he said to himself. Leaving his colourful little treasures for the moment, Pippin rose up from his bed.

The ten-year-old lad walked deeper into the hallway looking into each of his sisters’ bedrooms. All the rooms were empty of their residents, however, the beds were made, and the clothes folded neatly and set inside their wardrobes. Then the scent of sweet-smelling roses on midsummer’s eve tickled his nose.

Pippin recalled that his mother and sisters owned a vast amount of the expensive rose water, purchasing a month’s supply at a time while at the market in Tuckborough, then dabbed it on sparingly at a moment’s notice. Each sister--and his mother--had their own reason to daub themselves with the rose-water, yet Pippin surmised that it all boiled down to ensnaring a lad. Except for his dear mother, of course; Eglantine had already caught her lad over twenty five years ago.

Not finding any of the lasses about, Pippin decided to stroll out to his father’s study--it was so quiet that he began to worry if his father was indeed home from the fields. Just before he reached the doorway, Pippin heard the ruffling of a page turning. He leaned against the doorjamb watching his father smooth out the page of a book in the soft candlelight. Pippin smiled when he recognized the familiar green binding: The Memoirs of Bandobras Took, written by Bandobras Took. The young lad and his father shared many interests, one of them being their distant author/cousin. Both admired his bravery and courage in the Battle of Greenfield.

Sensing another presence nearby, Paladin looked up toward the doorway, seeing his young son standing there. “Hullo, Pip,” he spoke softly in greeting. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Papa. Where did they go?”

“Where did who go?”

“Momma and the lasses.”

“It’s just us lads tonight,” said Paladin, then smiled lovingly at his son. “That is, until round nine o’clock or so. Your cousin Teasel Banks is having her first Ladies’ Tea. Dahlia left us a pot of stew on the fire--the lasses talked her into accompanying them.”

Pippin quietly smiled at the notion of ‘just us lads’. He also remembered the hasty invitations that arrived the day before from Miss Teasel Banks. “I like that.”

Paladin raised his eyebrows in wonder, “You like what? The idea of a ladies’ tea?”

Pippin smiled again, knowing his papa was having a jest. “No!” said the youngster. He sat down on the couch, snuggling up to his father. “I mean that I like it that the lasses will be gone until much later.”

Paladin kissed his son’s curls then draped his arm around Pippin’s slim shoulders. “They’re your sisters Pip,” said Paladin, reminding the young lad with a gentle squeeze. “But I do like to spend time with just us lads, Pippin.”

Pippin said nothing in reply--he didn’t need to. His facial expression gave away his true feelings in addition to nuzzling closer to his papa. At once, the aroma of Old Toby filled his nostrils; Pippin knew that the familiar brown leather pouch rested just underneath his nose deep inside the breast pocket of his papa’s waistcoat. The smell of pipe smoke always brought warm memories of his father that would last until Pippin took his last breath on this side of the Grey Curtain.

“What is that in your hand?” asked Paladin.

“My newest Shooter,” Pippin replied holding it up for his father to see. “I had a lucky game last Mersday and won it from Tom Woolfoot.”

“Old Rob’s youngest son,” mused Paladin. “He’s almost Merry’s age, isn’t he?”

Pippin nodded, basking in his papa’s attention. “He’s sixteen, Papa.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t luck, Pip. Maybe all the practicing you did with Merry this past month paid off.”

This night would be perfect if Merry was here, Pippin thought to himself. “Papa?” 

“Hmm?”

“Can we read about Bandobras together?”

“You’ve read this book countless times, Pip. Wouldn’t you rather shine your marbles?”

“No…I would rather sit here with you for a while--that is, if you don’t mind.”

Paladin smiled, “I don’t mind at all. Shall we start at the beginning? I’ve only read six pages so far...”

On into the evening the lads took turns reading passages from the adventures (and misadventures) of Bandobras Took. It was just the lads.

The End