Bag End, Mid-year Day, 1404 SR
"My dearest hobbits of Hobbiton and honored guests from Northfarthing," began Will Whitfoot, the new mayor of Hobbiton (newly appointed following the untimely demise of the previous mayor, Ben Goodfield, during a particularly vigorous Yule dance.) "It is always a pleasure for me to bear witness to the solemn occasion when two hobbits—driven by love to unite in that holiest of calling, matrimony—wish to share their joy in vowing their undying devotion to each other."
It was one of the reasons why Will was the only obvious candidate for the mayoral post in the hurried election last winter. He did seem to have a flair for language.
"Iris Foxbury," Will Whitfoot gravely addressed the blushing bride, pretty in her dress of pale lilac. "Please bear in mind that marriage means more than this merry gathering, and all the dancing and the feasting. There will be years and years that you shall pass together with this hobbit you have chosen to be your husband; and if you cannot keep the love between the two of you evergreen and blossoming, those years will be like deserts unbearable. It is easy to make a vow of love everlasting, but wait until his petty faults begin to try your patience and his mind begins to stray from thinking only of you. The strength of your love will be put to the test in such a moment."
"She's scared enough as it is, Will, no need to spook her anymore!" hooted a voice from the assembled hobbits.
Will Whitfoot glowered nearsightedly at the crowd, cleared his throat, and went on, softening his voice. "But trust me on this. When you can survive the little bumps in the road, you will come to know the bliss of marriage, a happiness that feels whole and right. More than mere bodily enjoyment…."
"Ahem," remarked Saradoc, his eyes darting in Pippin's direction before glaring at the mayor.
But Will missed the cue and continued, "…which alone is reward enough, but also that certainty of companionship and affection. Also there is the joy of parenting hobbit children, delightful little creatures that never cease to enchant you."
He nodded in satisfaction and turned to Frodo. "Now, Frodo Baggins," he began sternly. "I hope you need no reminder of how fortunate you are to have this lovely lass consenting to marry you. Cherish her in love and high-esteem for the rest of your life, for she fully deserves it. Never drift from her side, no matter how great and inviting the temptation is…."
There was a muted wave of tittering from the audience, and Pippin wondered what had been so funny, because Frodo looked grave and almost wistful when Will said the last sentence.
Pippin turned to look at the crowd and saw a small boy of about five or six playing with a cat far behind. The cat leapt, trying to grab a piece of cloth that the boy waved playfully in the air. Pippin tried not to chuckle. His father glared at him from his seat and Pippin returned his gaze to the polished buttons of his wine-red waistcoat.
"…will be blessed with joy, plenty and an abundance of beautiful babies…."
"Not that abundant," quipped Iris, and everybody laughed. Even Frodo smiled. Pippin scowled. What was so funny about that?
He looked again at the boy and the cat at the end of the alley. His eyes widened.
"…I, Iris Foxbury, hereby truly and sincerely pledge my heart, my soul, my mind and my body to you Frodo Baggins, and as your wife shall love and honor you for as long…."
"Hoy!" Pippin squealed, flitting from his spot next to Frodo. "That's mine!"
Curls turned in comic unison as all eyes followed the burgundy streak that flashed through the aisle.
Pippin skidded to a stop beside the boy, who was crouching and holding his cat laughingly. "That's my handkerchief!" said Pippin. "Give it back to me!"
The little lad looked up, pouting. "It's mine. I found it."
"Where?" shot Pippin.
The boy frowned and started looking around for his mother. "I told you it's mine," he said with quivering lips. "You can't have it!"
Pippin snatched the handkerchief impatiently and shook it. "Where's the ring?" he asked. "Did you find the ring?"
"I don't know anything about rings!" squealed the boy, leaping to grab the handkerchief. "Give it back! It's mine!"
Some annoyed shushing noises rippled from the other hobbits, but Pippin would not relent. "Tell me where you found this," he said, waving the blue handkerchief.
"Under the tree! Give it back!" screamed the boy.
Some hobbits began to rise from their seats. Pippin's mother and father had moved uncertainly to the back of the rows of benches. Under the flower-festooned bower, the rite had practically been brought to a standstill as everyone's attention was riveted to the one-sided duel over a handkerchief. Not many of the spectators were aware of what was afoot. Only a handful of hobbits: both Iris and Frodo and their immediate families, knew that instead of the beautifully crafted diamond ring that Frodo had purchased from the dwarves, Iris would be wearing a simple silver ring that used to belong to Frodo's mother. But Pippin clearly could not let pass the problem caused by his carelessness. He was intent on clearing up his name, even if it meant depriving a small hobbit of his toy.
"Granny!" wailed the little boy finally, when Pippin kept denying him his handkerchief.
"You have to show me where you found this," said Pippin, somewhat confused now that the boy was practically bawling. "It's very important."
"GRANNY!" shrieked the boy.
"I see no reason why you should make such a scene, Pip!" hissed Merry suddenly in Pippin's ears. "Stop it! Get back to the bower. You're disrupting the procession. Come!"
"But if he will only tell where he keeps the ring," protested Pippin, ignoring Merry's tugging hand and his father's disapproving eyes among the crowd of hobbits.
"GRA…NNY!" howled the little hobbit.
Suddenly there was a vast hobbit making her way ponderously through the crowd. "Enough!" she said, brushing Pippin aside. "Stop assaulting him, you brute! Can't you see he's frightened?"
Pippin stared, open-mouthed, at the enormous hobbit wearing a voluminous buttercup-yellow dress and an outrageously tiny plumed hat. She frowned at Pippin and her dark brown eyes narrowed. "You!"
The hobbit scooped the bawling child into her ample bosom and stood glaring at Pippin. "Is it not enough that you lost my Iris's diamond ring that you have to harass my little Phil? What did you do that for?"
Pippin swallowed hard before attempting to speak, "I thought he might've known where the ring is, Mistress Foxbury. He had found my handkerchief under the tree where I must have dropped it. I just want to get the ring for Fr…Iris."
The sternness melted somewhat in Mistress Foxbury's eyes and she looked at her little Phil and her voice turned into a mellow, syrupy tone as she cooed, "Is that true, Philly? Did you find Auntie Iris's ring?"
"He took my handkerchief, Granny!" blurted the boy sulkily, pointing at Pippin.
"Yes," remarked his grandmother sweetly. "He's a bad, nasty hobbit. But did you find any ring, darling, a shiny, sparkly ring?"
Pippin gave Merry a sidelong glance and they exchanged sickened looks.
"Can I have the handkerchief back if I tell you where it is?" asked the little boy innocently.
Pippin groaned inwardly and handed him the handkerchief. The boy snatched it with a triumphant laugh. "A bird took it," he said gleefully. "A black bird that goes 'kraa' and flies high."
Pippin felt weak with relief. "At least it didn't go into the river," he whispered to Merry. Meanwhile, all around him, hobbits started to argue whether to launch another search for the ring or proceed with the wedding without it.
"There are hundreds of magpie's nests around here! We could be searching till midnight and found nothing."
"It's a diamond ring! And it's Iris's!"
"The food'll spoil by the time we find the ring!"
"It's Iris's diamond ring!"
"If anyone should be searching for that blasted ring, it's that Took lad who ought to do it!"
"Ten gold coins for whoever finds the ring!"
"I know some trees around here with magpies nesting on them. Get a hobbit up each one of them and we can be back and get on with the wedding in no time."
"It's nearly tea time!"
Pippin slipped out of the ring of bickering hobbits and all at once saw the deserted benches. He looked guiltily at the bower and was making his way there to apologize, when what he saw made him hesitate.
Frodo still stood under the bower, holding Iris's hand to his lips. There were a few pinkish-white rose petals on his hair, and sadness, grief, in his eyes as he gazed at Iris's downcast face.
"I am sorry," said Frodo softly.
"Don't do this, Frodo," Iris said in a voice that tried to be steady but was betrayed by the shaking of her body. "Can't we talk about this?"
"I'm afraid not, dearheart. I am really sorry," said Frodo, his voice threatening to break. "I wish I didn't have to hurt you this way. But this is easier, less painful, than if I have to leave you after we're married."
"But why do you have to leave?" asked Iris, looking up, tears glistening on her pale cheeks. "Where?"
Frodo shook his head but said nothing.
"Why, Frodo?" whispered Iris plaintively. "What did I do?"
"Not you, dearheart," said Frodo, unfurling Iris's fisted hands with his fingers and kissing her upturned palms, one by one. "Never you."
He let go of her hands and they hung at her sides, trembling. Frodo framed Iris's white face in his hands and gently kissed both of her closed, tear-pearled eyes. "Forgive me," he whispered against her quivering lips, before releasing her and stepping back. He turned and plodded heavily away, not looking back. Iris watched him in silence, standing very still as though she had turned into marble. The wind softly swirled the loose curls around her face; rose petals floated down lazily around her.
Pippin stood motionless by the rows of benches. He never thought that anyone could look so sad.
***