"Oh, it's just you," said Pippin artlessly, instantly hiding his hands behind his back. Faramir, who at first could scarcely tell the cousins apart, looked down at him sternly.

"Just I, indeed?"

Pippin turned scarlet. He secretly cherished an admiration bordering on veneration for the lord out of the South, but also felt a certain camaraderie that was no doubt all in his mind and very silly. In any case, he always seemed to be saying dreadfully inappropriate and embarrassing things around him. He looked at Merry, whose expression had fallen into familiar innocent lines, as if they hadn't been stealing mushrooms out of an out-of-the-way spot the Elves seemed to have overlooked. Somehow it was hard to picture the Elves properly enjoying mushrooms.

"Don't pay him any mind, my lord," Merry said firmly. "He puts his foot in his mouth so often that I'm surprised he can walk."

Faramir, to his credit, did not betray his amusement by so much as a twitch of the lip. "Peregrin Took," he said, with a sigh, "what have you done now?"

"Done, sir?" Pippin's eyes widened. "I don't know what you mean."

"You were relieved that it was 'just I' for no reason, then?" Pippin met Faramir's grey eyes for a moment; but they were too bright and piercing to look at very long. He was certain that Faramir somehow knew not only what he had done this time, but all of his misadventures since he was a lad.

"Er," said Pippin, "I was just glad to see you. We always thought all Men were sort of bumbly and stupid, you know; Strider isn't, but he doesn't talk much to us."

"Mm," said Faramir, turning his gaze on Merry, whose face remained almost defiantly innocent. "And you, Master Meriadoc? You have not led your young kinsman into any mischief?"

How had he known it was Merry's idea? Pippin eyed the tall Man uncomfortably. Merry shook his head. "He hardly needs me to lead him into mischief, sir. And I wouldn't—"

Faramir let out a sigh, and held out his hands. "Very well. Peregrin, the mushrooms."

His eyes widened. "But—"

"Now." His voice and demeanour were so commanding that Pippin had already deposited the bag in Faramir's hand before he had even realised what had happened. Merry turned to glare at him.

"Pippin, now we won't get any!"

"Perhaps you should come with me, Meriadoc. And you, Peregrin. You know, in my land, it's considered exceptionally bad manners to rob one's guests — or one's hosts." His tone was very level and calm, but Pippin felt positively wretched at his clear disapproval, which was almost as bad as Gandalf's. But Faramir was an old friend — or student, hadn't Frodo said? — of Gandalf's, so that made sense. He sighed despondently.

"I think you should explain all about your little adventure to Mithrandir."

Merry groaned.

"Yes, you, Meriadoc, unless you wish someone else to tell him?"

Merry scowled. "No, my lord. But what about Pippin? It's not fair that I'm the only one being punished!"

"You are facing consequences," Faramir said sternly, "not being punished. As for you, Peregrin, I think your attention should be diverted onto more meaningful activities."

Pippin squirmed miserably. "Yes, sir."

"Since you insist upon accompanying Frodo, perhaps you should have a clearer idea of where, exactly, you are going."

"Mordor," said Pippin promptly. Faramir sighed, feeling a certain sympathy for the parents of these miscreants.

"It's rather a long way," he said dryly. "Meriadoc, Mithrandir is with Aragorn — that way." He pointed helpfully. "I will ask him if you have spoken to him of this affair."

"Yes," mumbled Merry, "I'm sure you will." He shot Faramir a less than effective glare (the Man seemed unperturbed), and stalked away.

"Have you looked at any maps, Peregrin?"

Pippin flushed and shook his head.

"Do you know where the Black Land is, then?"

Pippin shifted uncomfortably. "Er — east. And I think south, a bit."

"I see. Come with me, then. I think some lessons in geography are called for."

"But, sir, I'm not very good at maps, and things like that," Pippin protested, craning his head to look up at Faramir.

"That's quite all right. I always found it terribly dull, myself; I would much rather hear about Tuor's coming to Gondolin than try to decipher where Gondolin was in relationship to the rest of Turgon's kingdom, and the other kingdoms of Beleriand. I still had to learn it, however; and this is much simpler than that, since all the lands are above water still. Come, Peregrin."

Pippin, who did not think he had understood more than one word in three, blinked in confusion. "But, my lord—"

"Peregrin, how many times must I tell you to call me 'Faramir'?"

"You still call me 'Peregrin,' si—Faramir," Pippin pointed out.

"You did not ask me to call you anything else," Faramir said, only his kind smile keeping Pippin from blushing furiously.

"Oh. Well, nobody calls me Peregrin unless they're angry at me. So please don't. Unless you are, obviously."

"Very well. What did you wish to ask, Pippin?"

"What were you talking about? I've heard of Gondolin before, but only because Bilbo's sword was made there, and I've heard him and Frodo talking about it — it was a mighty city, I know, and it's not there anymore — but nothing about this Turgon or Tour." Since Faramir (despite the situation) seemed so very nice, he gathered his pieces of courage together, reminded himself that he was a Took and not afraid of anything, not adventures or Big Folk or this kind man who had not so much as raised his voice in Pippin's hearing, and looked up at Faramir hopefully. "You could tell me about them, couldn't you? You must know an awful lot — the way you talk, I mean — so you could tell me all the stories, about Gondolin and the old battles, and the Elves and the old Men — and how that place, Beleer something, went under the sea — and the sea, I've never seen it, but Frodo says your folk and Strider's came over the sea, where are they come from, and how do they grow so tall — and how you're related to Strider, so you must be, you're so like, and—"

"Pippin," Faramir interjected with a smile, as soon as the halfling paused for breath, "I could not tell you all of that in a twelvemonth. But if you wish to ask questions, you may — one at a time, mind, and after you have proved that you can tell the difference between Fangorn and Laurelindórenan — and I will try to answer them."

Pippin blinked up at the man, surprised at his easy assent. Gandalf always seemed to think his questions a dreadful annoyance — endless pestering, he call it. "You promise?"

"I promise," said Faramir solemnly, although his eyes laughed.

Pippin blinked at him. "Why? I mean, why should a great lord of men, like you, bother with well, me? I'm just a foolish little hobbit." This last was surprisingly despondent.

Faramir tilted his head, stopped and looked down at him. Then he knelt down so that he could look at him directly. "Pippin, you and your kinsmen have already accomplished great deeds — great deeds not made any less because the hands that performed them were small. Even if I were inclined to think you 'a foolish little hobbit,' I would show you respect for Frodo's sake; but I do not!" He smiled reassuringly at Pippin, who bit his lip. "To be perfectly honest, you remind me a great deal of my own cousin, and a little of myself when I was younger."

Pippin stared. "You?"

Faramir laughed and stood up. "You shall have to ask Mithrandir about his visits to Minas Tirith, and about the boy who asked him enough questions to give even a wizard headaches. Now, come, Pippin, we have some maps to look at. And—" he hesitated.

Pippin, who was by now overflowing with good cheer, looked up at him without the slightest anxiety. "Yes?"

"Perhaps, after I have answered some of your questions . . . you can tell me about the Shire?"

Pippin grinned. "I would be glad to, Faramir."