Ferdibrand was true to his word, and got the little band though the checkpoints expediently. Pippin was glad of his assistance, for they were stopped twice more. Apparently, his father had a network of watchers all through the approaches to Tuckborough. That alone told Pippin how desperate the situation was. Moreover, each group was just as quick to spread the word as Ferdi's had been. By the time they left the second outpost, to ride into Tuckborough proper, Pippin's heart was light. It seemed they might really be in a position to deliver him an army by morning, if folk could be summoned with the same efficiency with which they spread the news.

Pippin crested the bowl that led to the town of Tuckborough. The woods loomed on every side, only opening out into tillable land on his right, vaguely indicated by the smooth, distant humps of the Downs. Before them rose the bank of the Great Smials, black against a cloudy sky, a tree-shrouded silhouette. No lights showed in the valley; these were farming folk, farriers, and shopkeepers. They needed their night's rest. At first look, Pippin thought the Smials were the same, all dark; yet as they drew nearer, he could see a faint light gleaming here and there. Some few were still up, but whether reading, or keeping watch, or simply suffering from a sleepless night, Pippin couldn't say.

The guard at the edge of the village was alert enough. "Halt!" he cried, from a little shack that Pippin hadn't seen before. Apparently, a guardhouse had been erected since he had last ridden this road—ages ago, that seemed. Its martial presence jarred him. "Who rides in Tookland?"

"Ferdibrand, from the eastern watch," announced Pippin's guide. "The Shire is rising. I bring riders from Bywater, who ask for Tookland's aid."

"Riders." The guard peeped from the shelter of his shack (doubtless erected to discourage arrows), and held his lantern high. The light fell across Pippin, who had halted at Ferdi's side. Even from six paces off, Pippin heard him gasp.

"No," the guard murmured. "It can't be true. The Thain's son is dead." The lantern began to tremble. "You're… you're spirits from the Old Forest. I… I can't—"

"Peace, Roddy," said Pippin gently. "I am real enough. A spirit wouldn't be as weary as I am at the moment, yet I have all the distance of Tookland to cross again tonight, if I'm to bring back the help I promised."

"Peregrin Took," Roddy whispered. Uncertainly, he stepped forward, holding up the lantern unsteadily. He cleared his throat. "They said you were lost in the Forest, sir. We never heard a word from you all this year." He looked anxiously at Ferdibrand, as if afraid to hope. "It's true, then? He's alive?"

"As alive as you and me," Ferdi confirmed.

Roddy let out his breath in a rush. He managed a weak smile. "Well, we can use you at home, sir, there's no doubt. Pass, most welcome hobbits! But tell me," he drew back, to give Pippin and the others a clear road. "Shall I sound the alert? Tookland will be cheered to learn of your safe return. And you… you said wanted help?"

"I think, Roddy," Ferdi said, as his pony walked by, "we might wait for the Thain to give the word. And I would rather he learnt the news about Pippin directly from him. We'll ride to the Smials now. But you might roust those that you expect to march with us—quietly, if you like."

"Oh, I will, I will!" Roddy's head bobbed, his disbelief giving way to excitement and pleasure. "This is splendid news, the best I've heard in a month of Mondays. Thank you, Ferdibrand. Welcome home, Peregrin Thainson." And he bowed low.

"Thank you, Roddy," Pippin acknowledged, bowing his head as well as he might. He straightened to find himself riding between the dark shapes of hobbits, two on each side of the road. They also bowed, although quickly, popping up again as if eager to catch a glimpse. Obviously, they had remained hidden behind the guardhouse, ready to shoot from the shadows should Roddy need support. Behind them, buildings rose from the gloom, anonymous in darkness. Who knew how many others, perhaps, kept watch there?

Pippin's heart started to go all anyhow. Now and then on his journey, he had envisioned riding home. In his imagination, it had always taken place on a pleasant afternoon, where the surprised shock and warm welcome were immediately followed with strawberries and biscuits on the porch. He had never anticipated returning from his travels in the dead of night, to an armed camp. And he had not expected to be so generally assumed dead.

He recalled now his parting dinner with his family, the day before he left for Hobbiton to help Frodo complete his packing—as well as keep an eye on him. Although he doubted that Frodo meant to give them the slip at this late date, it was best with Frodo to be prepared.

"So," his father had said, after his place had been cleared for coffee. "It's off to Hobbiton for a few days, and then… walking, to Crickhollow?"

Pippin popped a final roll into his mouth, before the basket disappeared. "I think Frodo means to get into better shape," he said around it.

"Hmph, he could use it," his father said, reaching for the sugar.

"Pal," his mother admonished. "Frodo looks very well."

"He could use the conditioning," Paladin continued. His keen eye caught Pippin's. "As could this son of mine."

"Really, Dad," said Pearl, rolling her eyes. "What is there Pippin needs to be in condition for, save drinking? You act as if there is going to be an invasion or something."

Despite her protest, Pearl seemed only marginally interested in his trip. Nel and Vinca were not attending at all, being deep in some side conversation of their own. Pippin's visit to his cousin meant nothing to them, except as a piece of news. Pippin felt rather pleased about that. It meant that he had kept the matter suitably offhand. The family had been far more distressed over Frodo's decision to sell his lovely smial than they were over the actual move to Crickhollow. So much the better.

But Paladin had glowered at his eldest daughter's remark, stirring his coffee briskly. "An invasion is just what we're likely to get!" He said it so sharply, everyone looked at him. Even the younger sisters broke off their chat to stare at him.

Eglantine seemed uneasy. "These reports from the Bounders… surely you're making more of them than is called for."

"I don't think so." Paladin puffed on his coffee, and took a sip. Whether because it was bitter, or if he was merely preoccupied, he winced and set it down again. "It's not just the Bounders, my dear. There are reports—odd reports—within the Shire itself, even as deep inside as Bywater. A sighting here and there I can dismiss. When they come as hard upon one another as they've been coming, and almost to our doorstep—well, that is another matter."

The entire table fell silent. Pippin grew uneasy. He had imagined his adventure as taking place somewhere outside of the Shire, after Frodo and the rest of them were well beyond its bounds—rather as Bilbo's had. To think that adventure might be coming into the Shire, into his quiet valley, unsettled him in the extreme. It was not supposed to be that way; it would upset all his plans. Yet there was his father's stern face, proclaiming the distinct possibility. Pippin lowered his head. His little deception was proving to be a larger matter than he had initially supposed.

"Well, an invasion hasn't happened yet," said his mother brightly. "Perhaps it never will."

"Perhaps," Paladin allowed—though grudgingly, Pippin thought. Pippin's mind raced as he tried to sort the implications.

"Let's turn to happier thoughts," Eglantine announced. She turned to Pippin, shattering his attempt to think. "You've been rather vague about your plans. Have you any idea when you might be home again?"

Pippin's sisters rolled their eyes, bored already. Vinca and Nel resumed their previous conversation.

With a new sense of guilt, Pippin forced himself to meet his mother's eyes. "I really cannot say. I always intended to stay on for a while, and help Frodo settle in."

"Yes, but how long is 'a while?'" Eglantine persisted. "I'd be relieved to hear something more definite, particularly with all these reports coming in."

"He'll hardly run into trouble on the way to Crickhollow," Paladin said dismissively. "He's not a lad anymore, my dear. I daresay he's been introduced to pen and parchment by now. He'll let us know how he fares." Then Paladin lanced Pippin with one of his piercing looks. Pippin, transfixed, merely nodded.

But that, of course, was something he had never done. There hadn't been time to leave a message during their brief night at Crickhollow, even had it been safe to do so. Pippin had to rely upon his original plan. Once Fatty's deception was discovered, and folk realized that Frodo was no longer at Crickhollow as he wanted them to believe, Fatty was to send word to Tookland. The letter Pippin had left for his parents would seem woefully inadequate, but it was the best he could do given his limited knowledge at the time.

"Dear Mum and Dad," he wrote. "I am terribly sorry to leave you in this mysterious way, but an adventure has fallen upon Frodo, and I really must see it through. Secrecy is vital. Only Fatty knows our plans. I daresay he'll be able to fill you in more fully when the time comes. I know we must depart soon, though I do not know the day. I will write you again if I am able.

"I do not know how long I'll be away—some months, I should expect. I cannot tell you any details about our road, for I do not know it myself. Frodo is closer than ever; were it not for Sam keeping his ears open, I'd never have had a clue as to his plans. Sam and Merry go with us; between the four of us, we should be safe enough. I will do my very best to take care of myself and the others along the road. Please don't worry about me. I hate to leave you so suddenly, but I could not be happy with myself if I let my dear cousin face danger unprotected. I trust that you all will be well enough until I return. Please believe that nothing but the utmost emergency could call me away so.

"I remain, your loving son,

Pippin."