Pippin chewed his nails and fidgeted in Bingo's living room. He had wanted to stay with Faramir during the check-up, especially given his nervousness around strangers, but the old hobbit had shooed him out, claiming that it would be better for everyone if Pippin didn't hover. Pippin had been indignant at that, but seeing as Bingo was the only healer in the Shire, he didn't have much choice. I only hope there is something old Bingo can do for him, Pippin thought. Hobbit healers certainly couldn't hold a candle to elvish medicine, but they generally knew enough to at least help with childbirth or brew a draught to relieve common colds.
The door opened and just as Pippin expected, Faramir raced to him with his arms outstretched and his face puckered up, ready for tears. Pippin quickly picked him up and murmured the same soothing words that he'd used the past two and a half years. He looked hopefully at Bingo, but he simply shrugged.
"Checked him inside and out, I have, and can't find a thing wrong."
"Nothing?" Pippin wasn't sure whether to be glad or not. "Nothing in his throat, no swollen glands?"
Bingo retreated to his kitchen to fetch some tea. "Far as I can tell, the little lad's just a bit nervous, that's all."
"But he's almost three!" Pippin protested. "My mother tells me I was already a chatterbox at that age."
Bingo sighed and offered Pippin some tea, to which he shook his head no. "If you don't mind me saying so, you might be better off not putting so much pressure on the little one, or you may just make it worse. These things happen naturally. You say he's almost three, that means he'll be starting school within a year, and he'll surely learn then."
School. The word sent shudders down Pippin's spine. "Are you quite sure there's nothing I can do for him?" he pleaded.
"Nothing that I can think of, Master Took. Nothing anybody can do but give the lad some time."
"He says it like it's the simplest thing in the world," Pippin said, scowling. He was sitting down to afternoon tea at Bag End with Sam. It had been a while since their last visit, but Pippin thought the house looked much better than it ever had when Frodo and Bilbo had lived in it. The two of them hadn't been the tidiest of hobbits; books and papers had been strewn everywhere, and in Bilbo's case old maps had littered the floor and desks as well. Pippin didn't know how they kept everything so nice-looking with so many children running around- he sometimes felt he could barely handle one- but the Gamgees were nothing if not hard-working. Rosie, who was heavily pregnant with their eighth baby, had left them a few moments ago to check on the children. Pippin glanced out the window and his eyes softened at watching Faramir outside with Elanor, Frodo, Rose, Merry-lad, Pippin-lad, Goldilocks, and little Hamfast.
"Now you be sure to play real nice with little Mister Faramir, understand?" Sam had delivered the command strictly, but he needn't have done. The children, much to Pippin's relief, seemed open to including Faramir. He suspected the siblings were probably tired of only playing with each other; there weren't many hobbit-children in Bag End unless you counted the children of the Sackville-Bagginses, which they didn't. Pippin couldn't thank Sam enough. If it weren't for his children, he sometimes wondered if Faramir would ever have a playmate.
"He might be right, Mister Pippin," Sam said as he sipped his tea. "Little Frodo-lad had at least two years on him before he opened his mouth to say a word. Rosie and I were beginning to wonder if he'd ever talk, and now he can't hardly stop."
Pippin sighed. "But at least Frodo speaks normally." As if on cue, Faramir's voice could be heard from the windows. "N-n-n-no! I w-w-want to s-seek this t-t-time." Pippin winced as he saw the children's looks. The older ones had pity in their eyes, but the younger ones looked annoyed or confused. On their last visit, Goldilocks had bluntly asked, "Why do you talk so queer?" and Sam had slapped her on the backside for her disrespect.
Pippin shook the memory from his mind. "It doesn't trouble me so much as it will others. In particular I worry about when he starts school next autumn."
Sam patted Pippin's hand. "Now Mr. Pippin, don't you worry about that. That there's a good school, the little ones loved it." Sam's voice was full of pride and Pippin smiled. He knew Sam was proud to be the first of the Gamgees to send his children to school. Usually only the wealthiest hobbits could afford to do so when their children were this age; most didn't start them learning until they were older and then at home. But gentle hobbits like Frodo, Merry, and Pippin had been sent to a school built especially for young children, to get them started learning to read and write the common tongue early so they could possibly go on to learning elvish or other skills when they were older. The Gaffer had harrumphed and turned up his nose at the idea, saying that it "weren't nothin' but a fancy day care," but the children had begged to go, and Frodo had once mentioned to Sam that he thought it would do wonders for Elanor. So Sam thought there was no better way to spend the money Frodo and Bilbo had left him than on educating his children.
Pippin wasn't so sure about Faramir, however. He himself had liked school as a child- or so he had been told, at least, since he didn't remember much from that age- but he questioned whether his son was ready for it. "Faramir still has trouble with things like buttoning his shirts and cutting his food and he gets so frightened around other people. I do want him to go to school, but I wonder if perhaps I shouldn't wait a year and start him a little later?"
Sam shook his head. "Oh, I don't know about that, Mister Pippin. That little lad's gonna be Thain someday. He needs all the learnin' he can get."
"That's true, but Sam, don't you remember how he reacted the last time I left him with you?"
Sam did remember. Faramir had latched on to Pippin's leg and wailed as though the very world was ending. No matter how Pippin reassured him that he was only going for an ale, he'd be back soon, Sam and Rosie would look after him, Faramir would not be consoled. He'd started to beg Daddy not to leave, then when he couldn't form a sentence without tripping over the words, he'd simply cried. "And he knew you," Pippin said. "How much worse will it be when he's among strangers?"
Sam sighed. "I know what you mean, sir. But I reckon the sooner he gets used to the idea, the better. Puttin' it off will only make it harder." He thought for a minute. "You know, Elanor was nervous too, but when I sat her down and told her how much fun she'd have and that it's only be for a few hours a day, she felt a little better. Maybe that's all you need to do, is sit down and have a talk with Mister Faramir." He sipped his tea. "The first day was a little tough, but once she saw that I came back for her at the end of the day, she never worried about going to school again."
Pippin nodded thoughtfully and was about to say something when the door burst open and Faramir darted in like a flash, with an apologetic-looking Rosie behind him. "D-daddy!" Pippin scooped him up and settled him in his lap.
"What's the matter?" he asked gently, wiping away his son's tears.
Faramir clung to him. "W-w-we were p-playing hide and s-s-seek, and I w-was l-l-looking f-for Fr-fr-Frodo and I s-saw a b-b-big b-b-b-bee! It g-got this c-close to me!" He held his finger and thumb about a millimeter apart. "A-and then I f-fell and h-hit a rock," he whimpered, holding his knee. Pippin pushed up his pant leg and took a look. The skin was red and slightly scratched and it looked like a bruise was forming, but he couldn't see any blood.
"It's all right, love, it's all right." He held Faramir close and rocked him a little as he sobbed into his shoulder. He glanced at Sam, who looked concerned, but then wrinkled his nose and asked, "You smell something, Mister Pippin?"
Pippin knew what the smell was the minute Faramir had climbed onto his lap. He'd been trying for a year to get Faramir to use the chamber pot, but sometimes the little lad forgot. "Come now, let's get you cleaned up." He stood up with his son in his arms and turned to Rosie. "Could I trouble you for a pair of Pippin-lad's trousers?"
The minute Faramir was clean and his soiled clothes had been washed and laid out to dry in the sunshine, he wasted no time in asking, "C-can I p-p-please have some p-paper an-an-and paint?"
"If Sam says so, then you may." But Sam had already nodded his consent and Faramir raced to Frodo's old desk and fetched several sheets of paper- more than Pippin thought was probably appropriate, but he refrained from saying so- and spread them out on the floor. The Gaffer had shown Pippin and Sam how to make paint from mixing egg yolks, water, and oil with different soils and plants, saying it sometimes kept little ones entertained enough to keep from running all over Middle-earth. When Pippin had told him that Faramir had loved to draw since he could hold a quill, Gaffer had made buckets of paint and gave some to Pippin and kept the rest at Bag End for when they visited. Pippin had begged Gaffer to allow him to pay him for the trouble, but of course the old hobbit wouldn't hear of it.
Rosie fetched the paints and handed them to Sam so he could set them on the floor, as bending over was too difficult for her now. "Here you go, Mister Faramir. You be sure to paint something real nice and pretty." Faramir smiled and eagerly dug his hands into the paint. Sam returned to the table with Pippin and Rosie took up her watch outside with the children, but Pippin's eyes were on Faramir. He always looked happiest when he was painting or drawing something, and only stopped when either he ran out of materials or Pippin shoved him outside, which he found himself doing a lot. There was nothing wrong with painting of course, but Pippin thought it unnatural for a lad to want to spend so much time inside by himself.
"It's striking how much he looks like you, sir," Sam said. "His eyes may be a bit more like Miss Diamond's, but other than that he's the spitting image of you." Pippin smiled. Faramir was tiny even for hobbit standards, just as he himself had been before meeting Treebeard, and he had the same hair. It was a wonder that they looked so alike and acted so different.
"Reminds me of Master Frodo, that one," Sam was saying, and Pippin snapped back to attention. "You remember how he was always reading books instead of roughing like the rest of us?"
Pippin chuckled quietly. "A funny thing that is. When I sent out the birth announcements, our friends in Gondor and Buckland sent responses full of mock panic, thinking that my son would be even more inquisitive and foolish than I was. I can only imagine what Gandalf would have said if he had stayed to see it! But instead of a young Pippin, I had a young Frodo."
"And there isn't nothing wrong with that," Sam said with a smile. "Nothing wrong with that at all." Pippin felt a tug at his heart at seeing the wistful look in Sam's eyes. He too missed Frodo fiercely, but he wouldn't fool himself into thinking his feelings were as strong as Sam's. He had a feeling if Rosie and Elanor hadn't been waiting for him back home, Sam would have jumped on the boat and insisted on coming along, just as he had done so at Rivendell.
His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a presence at his side. He looked down and Faramir held up his paper for Pippin to see. "You finished, have you?" He took the paper and his eyes widened. The painting seemed to be of Bag End, with the children running in the background. "Faramir, this is- this is good!" He was surprised to find he meant it. Given Faramir's age, he had been expecting scribbles, but in this painting the shapes of the hills and houses were clearly defined and given more detail than he himself could have done. The only oddity was the colors. Faramir had painted the hills polka dots and the sky with what looked like diagonal stripes, and the houses of Bag End were now sporting rainbow roofs and doors that were heart-shaped instead of circular. The sun was a light pink and the clouds were varying shapes and colors.
Pippin grinned. "Well done, my lad," he said and ruffled Faramir's hair. Faramir treated him to one of his rare smiles, though he kept his mouth tightly shut. Pippin handed the painting back to him. "Show it to Sam." Faramir did so and Sam nearly fell out of his chair.
"Mister Faramir, this is- my stars, this is magnificent!" His mouth was open and Pippin could tell he wasn't just being polite. "You're right talented for being so little. Mister Pippin, you got a genius on your hands."
Faramir nodded, but Pippin prompted, "What do you say?" Faramir hunched his shoulders and looked stricken, his face reddening. He avoided Sam's eyes and looked pleadingly at his father. Pippin gave him a hard look. "Faramir. What do you say?"
"T-fuh-" The "th" sound was the one he struggled with the most. "F-f-fank y-you," he quickly said, and scurried back to his paints. One of the children came in from play and he scooted into a corner, organizing his paints and papers around him like a barricade.
Pippin shook his head and turned back to Sam. "I think you're right. He needs to start school as soon as possible."