Chapter 1. The King’s Authority

~ a few hours earlier in the guest quarters set aside for hobbits visiting New Annúminas ~

‘So, the children are safely under Estella’s eye,’ Pimpernel said, pouring a cup of tea for her brother and then for herself. ‘Just what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?’ 

Uncharacteristically, instead of answering at once, Pippin peered earnestly into his teacup and cleared his throat. 

‘Yes?’ said Pimpernel, and then as the silence stretched out, her polite attention became annoyance, and then annoyance turned to alarm. ‘What is it you’re afraid to tell me?’ 

At this, her brother looked up, in that instant his expression seeming less “Thain” and more “little brother”, though “Thain” quickly overtook his countenance. ‘I’m not afraid to tell you anything, Nell, you ought to know that…’ 

‘Be that as it may,’ she said, setting her cup aside and leaning forward. ‘There’s something you’re not saying. You don’t usually invite me for a silent cup of tea…’ 

‘Though I ought to, and more often than not,’ Pippin said, his whimsical nature stirred by the thought. ‘You’re a sensible hobbit, sister that you may be, and know how to hold your tongue when idle chatter isn’t wanted.’ 

‘My thanks... I think,’ Pimpernel said, and added, ‘But none of your nonsense, now, Pip! Just what is it, you called me here to discuss?’ 

Pippin sighed. He sipped at his tea, but it was no longer scalding as he preferred it. With a grimace, he set his own cup aside, and looking up again, he said, ‘Nell, it’s about your husband.’ 

‘Is something the matter with Ferdi?’ Nell said, though she did not rise from her seat to go in immediate search, for her brother seemed much too calm for some emergency to have happened. She knew only that Ferdi had gone to the public square to observe some punishment or other, “the King’s justice” as Diamond had called it, with a sober face. Though Nell had pressed her for more details, Diamond had refused to say more. Come to think on it, Nell had not seen her beloved since. Instead of Ferdi returning with an account of what he’d witnessed, Pippin had sent a maidservant with a message for Pimpernel to meet him here, in one of the parlours specially made over to Arwen’s specifications, with every accommodation and comfort imaginable for the benefit of visiting hobbits. 

‘No,’ Pippin began, but then he shook his head and amended his answer. ‘Yes.’ 

‘No, there isn’t something the matter, or yes, there is?’ Pimpernel said. Her brother was being rather more obscure than usual. 

‘Yes,’ Pippin said. 

Pimpernel managed not to sigh in exasperation, but persisted. ‘Yes, both, or yes, something is the matter?’ she said. 

Pippin fixed her with a stern eye. ‘You’re not making sense,’ he said, and then as his sister began to splutter, he held up a placating hand. ‘A moment, Nell,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to figure out how to tell you this…’ 

‘Just start at the beginning, and work your way along to the end,’ she said. ‘Or start in the middle, if you must, and I’ll ask questions if I feel the need to do so.’ 

‘Or I could start at the end,’ Pippin mused, looking into the distance, but then his eyes returned to meet hers once more and he nodded. ‘That’s it, then. I want to send Ferdi to Gondor.’ 

Pimpernel nodded – they were getting somewhere at last – and then the significance of his words hit her and she gasped, one hand going to her heart. ‘To Gondor! You’re sending Ferdi…!’ 

‘Yes, Nell,’ Pippin said. ‘I think it’s for the best, all round, save perhaps for yourself and the children, but I think…’ 

‘You want us to go to Gondor? But the little ones…’ 

‘Not you, Nell dear,’ Pippin said, pointing to her and shaking his head. ‘Nor you and the children, even. Just Ferdi.’ 

Nell closed her mouth with a snap, once she realised it was open. ‘Just Ferdi,’ she said, feeling numb. ‘Just Ferdi,’ she repeated, blinking. She tilted her head to one side in her effort to understand. ‘But why? You nearly banished him upon a time, I know… but that was all a mistake...’ As the import of her own words washed over her, she began to feel short of breath, felt the need to pant for air, squelched it down. ‘Why?’ she managed to gasp. 

Pippin reached out to take her hand between his, then patted her hand gently, and she could clearly read the sympathy and concern in his face. Somehow that made it worse. ‘Steady, Nell,’ he said. ‘It’s not like that…’ 

‘Not like what?’ she said. ‘To send a hobbit to Gondor… if not banishment, it’s all but banishment! And to send him without me… to send him away, for months… away…’ She was having trouble breathing and gasped out the last words in consternation.

‘I don’t know about that,’ Pippin said, maintaining his calm demeanor in the face of her dismay. ‘I’ve been to Gondor a number of times already, and I’ve always managed to find my way home again.’ 

‘But…!’ Pimpernel said. ‘I forbid it! Do you hear? You cannot do this to us…! To me!’ 

‘Hear me out, Nell,’ Pippin said. 

‘Hear you out!’ 

He nodded, ‘For I fear the alternative might be worse,’ he said. 

‘Worse! What could be worse than…?’ 

‘I feel I have no choice,’ Pippin said. 

Nell sat back, her head reeling as she fought for coherent thought. ‘No choice,’ she said faintly. ‘But—’ she said, seizing on a word he’d used but a moment earlier, ‘but you spoke of an alternative…’ 

Pippin nodded, his expression unhappy. ‘There is an alternative,’ he said. ‘I could send him to Fredregar at Budgeford instead. He could help oversee young Rudi’s holdings, since Freddy’s health prevents him from assuming the title of The Bolger, until your son comes of age…’ 

‘Send Ferdi to Freddy…’ Pimpernel said slowly. And then, ‘But why? You would exile him to Bridgefields, if not Gondor? But you know how he loves the Tookland! He nearly gave his life for her!’ 

Pippin nodded sadly. ‘Indeed, he did,’ he agreed. ‘But it marked him, Nell, and not only outwardly.’ 

Pimpernel fought down rising indignation. ‘And you think it should not have? You think it’s merely something he can… can set aside on a whim? Those ruffians…!’ 

Pippin put his hand on his sister’s once more, with a firm squeeze. ‘I know very well what the ruffians did, to him, to Tolly, to Freddy… to any number of hobbits who had the misfortune to run afoul of them. To Lotho! And Mayor Will! And Lobelia…’ 

‘Enough!’ Pimpernel said. ‘It wasn’t only the ruffians who overran the Shire during the time of the Troubles. There were the ones that came after your gold, or have you forgot? The ones who took young Farry and would’ve sent him back to you in... in little pieces! Not to mention the one that would have pulled Ferdi’s arm off with no more thought than he’d have given to pulling the wings off a fly – or the one that tried to spit you on his sword for the gold he thought you were escorting, if not for that mithril shirt of Frodo’s that Sam insisted you wear!’ 

Like their father’s anger, her fury ran cold. She pulled her hand from his grasp and stared at him icily for a few breaths. At last, she concluded, ‘I think perhaps your friendship with Men has turned your head, has melted your brains like butter on an overwarm day! Those ruffians…’ 

But her younger brother remained eerily calm. ‘Not you, too, Nell,’ he said, his tone grieved. 

‘Not “myself, too...” – what?’ Pimpernel demanded. 

‘Ferdi regards all Men as ruffians,’ Pippin said. ‘And that is the problem.’ His eyes grew darker as his gaze poured into hers. ‘Even the King, and his loyal guardsmen…’ 

‘Have you already forgot how difficult it is sometimes to tell a ruffian from a “loyal guardsman”?’ Pimpernel reminded. ‘Especially ruffians who have murdered the King’s own guardsmen, and assumed their guise – the dead guardsmen’s uniforms – for their own nefarious purposes!’ 

‘Enough!’ Pippin said in his turn, cutting off his sister’s protests with the single sharply spoken word. After taking a deep breath, he went on. ‘Nell, Ferdi is my right hand, as you heard me introduce him at the welcoming banquet after our arrival, and I am the Thain of the Shire. Do you know what that means?’ 

Pimpernel stared at her brother, opened her mouth to answer, and closed it again. ‘I thought I knew,’ she admitted at last. ‘But I think you mean to say something else, entirely.’ 

‘You would have the right of it,’ Pippin said, nodding slowly. He drew a deep breath. 

‘So… then… what does it mean?’ Pimpernel said at last. ‘And what does it have to do with my Ferdi?’ 

‘As Thain,’ Pippin began, and sat up straighter. ‘Do you know why the Shire has a Thain in the first place? What the Thain’s duties are? How it all started in the beginning?’ 

Pimpernel started to answer, closed her mouth to think again...  

Her brother was wonderfully patient, waiting for her to speak, watching her face, an earnest expression on his own.  

At last, she said slowly, ‘He… he is the master of the Shire-moot…’ and at Pippin’s nod, she added, more confidently, remembering their childhood lessons, ‘and Captain of the Shire-muster and the Hobbitry-in-arms…’ 

When she hesitated, he nodded again and made an encouraging gesture. ‘Go on,’ he said, and when she looked at him, puzzled, he prompted, ‘The roads…’ 

Her face cleared. ‘Ah, yes, he was – and still is – to speed the King’s messengers, by seeing to it that the roads were – are – kept in good repair. How could I forget that?’ 

‘Perhaps because the King’s messengers were so few and far between, after the fall of the North Kingdom,’ Pippin said lightly. ‘At least until the return of the King in the person of Elessar. And…?’ 

‘And…’ Pimpernel said, drawing a blank. 

At last, Pippin said quietly, ‘to hold the authority of the King, until his return…’ 

‘To hold the authority…’ Pimpernel echoed, and brightened. ‘That’s right. I remember hearing old Sandbuck mention that in passing, upon a time, though he rather dismissed it, seeing as how the King hadn’t ever come back in all that time and wasn’t likely to do so…’ 

‘It’s a pity our old tutor didn’t live to see the day…’ Pippin said meditatively. ‘How surprised and delighted he would have been, to see legends come to life…’ 

Pimpernel sighed, but Pippin brought them back from the side trail that had threatened to take them far from the main point. 

‘To hold the authority of the King,’ he repeated. ‘Who is the King, I ask you?’ 

Surprised, she answered, ‘Why, Elessar, of course! You said it yourself just now when speaking of the return of the King.’ 

‘Perhaps a better question might be, what is he?’ 

Confused, she stared at him in perplexity. 

At last, he said with quiet emphasis, ‘He is a Man, Nell.’ 

‘Of course he is,’ she said, but the significance escaped her. And then her brother seemed to change the subject, confusing her further. 

‘Ferdi is to be Thain after me, as you know, should something happen to me before Farry comes of age. The Tooks have finally accepted the Succession as I have set it forth for them.’ 

It had taken Pippin’s brush with death to accomplish this feat: to pass over Reginard, who by the dictates of tradition ought to have been the next in line to be Thain. Regi was currently the Steward of Tookland, and in not taking on the Thainship, he would remain Steward, for there was none better who could fill that position as capably as Regi had proven himself to perform. In a further departure from tradition, Pippin had vowed to bypass Regi’s brother Everard, who would remain Chief Engineer and Delver (for Pippin had a knack for recognising people’s strengths and moving them into the position that best suited themselves and the Shire), ultimately settling the Thainship upon Ferdi’s capable shoulders. During the dark days when his death had seemed both imminent and inevitable, Pippin had actually passed the Seal of the Thain on to Ferdi, reasoning that the Tooks could hardly argue with him after he was dead. 

And then, just as Thain Peregrin seemed to be at his last gasp, Samwise Gamgee had appeared out of the Wilderland, bearing a magical potion – well, the good Mayor insisted it was not magical, but it might as well have been – that proved itself, in the end, a cure for what was killing the Thain. 

Ferdi had been overjoyed to return the heavy ring to Pippin, but the cat was well and truly out of the bag. The Succession, as Pippin saw it – which upset tradition, and which Pippin had foisted off on the Tooks by some trickery, counting on the confusion and grief that would result from his death – soon became common knowledge. And nowadays, though it was only a few years later, now that the Tooks had had a certain amount of time to discuss and wrangle and debate the issue, they were fairly resigned to the notion. Even Reginard, who was competent and happy as Steward and would have been miserable as Thain, out of his element, had come to terms with the idea. Somehow Pippin had worked it out to be a compliment to the Steward – “No one else could fill Regi’s place…” – instead of disgrace. 

‘May that day never come,’ Pimpernel murmured fervently. Ferdi had no desire to follow Pippin as Thain, not even for a limited time, holding the position as regent for young Faramir until Pippin’s eldest son should come of age. 

The corners of Pippin’s mouth tightened, a smile without humour, and he patted her hand once more. ‘It’s a dirty job, rather like keeping the stalls mucked out in the King’s stables, but somebody’s got to do it,’ he said lightly. And then he sobered once more, leaning forward to emphasise the seriousness of what he was about to say. 

‘As Thain, Ferdi would be the King’s representative,’ he said. 

Pimpernel nodded. 

‘He would hold the authority of the King.’ 

Somehow she had the feeling that, whatever it was Pippin was getting at, she was not completely understanding. 

‘The King is a Man, Nell!’ 

‘Well, yes, we’ve been over that already…’ 

‘Ferdi would have to meet with other representatives of the King on occasion,’ Pippin went on, inexorably pounding his message home. ‘He would have to trust, not only Elessar…’ 

Pimpernel caught her breath as understanding swept over her. 

‘…but also those representatives that the King trusted enough to deal with Shire-folk,’ Pippin said, and nodded at the expression dawning on his sister’s face. Soberly, he concluded, ‘We must all pull together, or risk being pulled to pieces, Nell.’ 

There was a long silence as Pippin allowed his sister time to consider all the implications. 

‘And so, you want to send Ferdi to Gondor,’ she said, her heart sinking, for in the light of her new understanding, the separation seemed inevitable. 

‘Yes,’ Pippin said, sitting back again, satisfied though obviously not happy with what he saw as a necessary – no, essential – duty, that would cause distress to those he loved. ‘Farry… he wants to trace the journeys of the Fellowship, as a part of his study of History, and I thought… What a good idea! …You remember how dull and boring History was, under old Sandbuck…’ 

‘Names and dates,’ she murmured, ‘all to be learnt by heart…’ 

‘But when Da would spin his tales after teatime,’ Pippin went on. ‘How he’d bring the people, the stories, History! …to life.’ 

‘I remember,’ said Pimpernel. ‘But… you were gone for more than a year! Surely you don’t mean to keep us apart for so very long!’ 

‘It should not take them a year,’ Pippin said, and counted on his fingers. ‘It took us nearly a month to reach Rivendell, but ‘twon’t take them half that long… Frodo was wounded, and there was Strider’s disastrous “short cut”… And then, of course, they won’t be spending weeks and weeks at Rivendell. They’ll be travelling in summer weather, much faster than it was for the Fellowship in the dead of winter, and not stopping at any one place for very long. The same for Lórien, a few days only, and Minas Tirith, as well. A few days only, for the guardsmen know their duty, and their duty is to ensure the walking party will arrive well before Ring Day, that they may meet me in Gondor for the grand occasion…’ 

‘You’re going to Gondor?’ Pimpernel said. 

‘Well don’t look at me as if I have grown another head, Nell,’ Pippin said in exasperation. ‘The King has invited me to journey southward with him in the last days of summer, to celebrate this year’s Ring Day – Frodo’s and Bilbo’s birthday, as you ought to remember – in Minas Tirith, and so I will meet our own Travellers there and then. And then we shall all travel back together, by the most direct route, along the Kingsway, swift and safe, and be home and safe in the Tookland well before the weather turns.’ 

‘Travellers?’ Pimpernel said, her head spinning with new thoughts and speculations. 

‘Well, I’m of a mind to indulge my son in his wish to learn more of our family history in terms of Hobbits’ experiences in the Outlands during the War of the Ring, as his own father and cousins lived it,’ Pippin said. ‘Along with any sons of the Mayor or Master who’d like to trace their fathers’ journeys as well…’ 

‘That could be quite a pandemonium of young hobbits,’ Pimpernel said, tilting her head to one side and trying to speak calmly. ‘Pity the poor escort…’ 

‘Yes, well,’ Pippin said. He eyed her closely. ‘Do keep in mind, dear sister, that I am not punishing Ferdi for any lacking on his part…’ 

‘I don’t know…’ Pimpernel said slowly. ‘It might seem to him like a punishment…’ 

‘Think of it more as a shared endeavour,’ Pippin said. ‘Ferdi will be working together with Men, good, solid, upright Men of the King’s choosing, Men that Elessar would trust with his own life, or the life of his own son.’ 

‘Shared endeavour,’ Pimpernel echoed. 

‘It is amazing, how people can come to respect one another, when working together on a shared quest or other,’ Pippin said. ‘Why, I watched a Wood Elf and a Dwarf, whose people were not on the best of terms, come to an understanding, once upon a time.’ 

‘Firm friendship, you mean,’ Pimpernel said, ‘unless your stories are highly exaggerated…’ 

‘Why, Nell!’ Pippin reproved. ‘You know I am committed to tell the absolute truth! I never exaggerate!’ 

At her look, he relented slightly. ‘Well, hardly ever…’ 

Laughing together made a good ending for a difficult interview, and brother and sister parted with a heartfelt hug. Though Pimpernel’s heart was heavy at the thought of several months’ separation from her beloved, at least he wouldn’t be as long away as Pippin had been, when her brother had followed Frodo all those years ago. And this time, she’d know where the Travellers were going, and why, and even when to expect them back. At least, that was the plan. 

*** 

Author’s Notes:

Some phrases taken from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, “Prologue: Concerning Hobbits”. I don’t know where the notion of the Thain keeping the roads to speed the messengers of the King came from. I thought it was “canon” but couldn’t find mention of it while writing this story. The only mention I found was when Marcho and Blanco were given land to dwell in by the high king at Fornost, which led to the founding of the Shire.

Pippin’s near-fatal illness and Sam’s miraculous cure are detailed in A Healer’s Tale and At the End of His Rope. 

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