Pippin's mouth was dry as the eight-pony cavalcade pulled up in the stable courtyard. His note, composed so long ago, was all that his parents had had to sustain them over months of suspense. Of course, he'd never really had a chance to write them. Perhaps he should have done, while they stayed in Rivendell. But the uncertainty of the Black Riders lurking about, or of other spies that might be shadowing their road, had made the attempt seem recklessly foolish, even had Pippin been bold enough to prevail upon Elrond for a messenger. And so he had said nothing, while the days stretched into a year, and then began to lap the calendar again. It had been fourteen months since he had sat at table with his family. And even then he'd set off with hardly a proper goodbye, deliberately, so as to allay suspicion.

Well, suspicion had apparently been allayed, quite soundly. Everyone he'd spoken to so far thought he was dead! Pippin felt uncomfortable as he recalled some of the passages in his letter. Perhaps he shouldn't have offered to write, as he had had no clear idea of what his circumstances might be. Then, when a follow-up letter never arrived, his friends and family were left to draw their own conclusions. Pippin swallowed. Knight of Gondor he might be, and one of the celebrated Four Companions. Yet here in the wings of the stables, which hadn't changed a whit from his last visit, he felt only the keen embarrassment of an underage son who was dreadfully late, and had no good explanation for being so.

The sound of the ponies' hoofs roused the sleeping Smials. Lights flickered to life in the burrow for the head groom and the rooms of the ostlers. Even in the Smial proper, where the great extended family dwelt, lights bloomed in windows here and there, one by one. Tookland slept uneasily.

"You'd best go straight in," Ferdi said to Pippin, as they dismounted. "I'll sort out this lot here, and arrange for fresh ponies. Yours, at least, looks fairly done in."

"He's had a long day." Pippin stroked the blaze down Cormallen's face. "Have a rest now, dear fellow. You're home."

The stable hound bolted to the end of his chain, baying a warning. He was silenced abruptly by a voice that could belong only to Old Briff, the head groom. Unwilling to be delayed by explanations, Pippin nodded to Ferdibrand. Pushing Cormallen's reins into Ferdi's hand, Pippin hurried for the side entrance to the Smials.

He swept the door open, and ducked through. His first impression was that the lintel had been lowered. His next impression was that the whole hall had shrunk. Between his cloak, armor, and the increased height that was suddenly brought back into mind, he filled the passage nicely. He rounded the corner briskly, and nearly ran Erling down.

The butler started, making the candles gutter as he jumped back. He stared up at Pippin with astonishment. Pippin in turn looked down. The fellow looked much as he had always done, only… so small. His brown hair was askew, but his dressing gown was neatly knotted, though he must only have risen from sleep.

Erling gasped, "Mr. Pippin—sir!"

Pippin nodded. "Good evening, Erling. It's a pleasure to see you again. Is my father at home?"

Erling looked near to fainting. "In his room, I reckon, unless the noise has disturbed him."

"I must speak with him at once." Pippin smiled. "It's all right, Erling. I'm not a ghost."

Erling managed a weak smile. "No, sir. I never thought you were."

"Thank goodness. That makes one."

With a nod, Pippin passed him. He strode quickly towards the family burrow. The sound of doors opening and closing down various corridors showed that many hobbits had already been disturbed. Pippin turned a corner and pulled up sharply. That could only be Cousin Adelard farther up the hall. He was turned away to call to someone else, invisible round the bend, where a single sconce flickered.

"No, Odo, he's not in his rooms," he called. "Eglantine thinks he went to the map room. I'm headed there now."

Pippin ducked into the side passage. The second parlor lay between the map room and the stables. If Pippin headed that way, he would likely meet his father on the way.

Pippin instincts proved true. He had no sooner set foot in the parlor, when a hobbit in a blue silk dressing gown bearing a full candelabrum stepped through the farther door. He looked up and froze, their eyes meeting across the width of the room. It was Paladin.

Pippin felt slightly breathless. The room seemed to whirl. Mastering himself, he inclined his head. "Hello, Father."

For the space of three heartbeats, Paladin didn't move. Then, slowly, he advanced, setting the candelabrum on the table as he passed, his gazed locked on Pippin's the entire time. Pippin held his ground, listening to his heart pound. His father stood a pace before him, still formidable, still solid. The top of his head came only to Pippin's nose.

Then, silently, he gathered Pippin into his arms. His embrace tightened fiercely, though he made no sound. Pippin hugged him gently in return, unwilling to drive the links of his hauberk into his father's elegant gown. A little awkwardly, he tipped his head to lay his cheek against his father's hair.

A rush and murmur sounded in the doorway that Pippin had just stepped through. The scurrying footsteps halted immediately, as whoever they were beheld the scene. Pippin eased his embrace, and his father did likewise. They stood apart once more.

His father was crying. Pippin stared. He'd never seen Paladin cry, ever. Yet here his father stood, his eyes red in the gleam of the candles, with moisture all round their edges. It was like a knife to Pippin's heart, to see his father so… wounded, and to know that he, and his absence, had caused it.

Pippin whispered, "I'm sorry, Dad. So very, very sorry."

Paladin nodded; apparently, he didn't trust his voice yet. His gaze wandered in puzzlement over Pippin's gear.

"It's from Gondor," Pippin explained. "I'm a subject of the King. The true King has returned, and taken back his realm; I traveled with him, and saw him crowned." At Paladin's bewildered silence, Pippin continued, "He sent me home on leave, to spread the news. All of us have come back, Merry and Sam, and Frodo, too. Merry is a knight of Rohan. We fought in the wars there, to free Middle-earth."

"Pippin!"

Pippin turned. The parlor door behind him was positively crammed with relatives, all staring. Adelard stood in front, along with Odovacar and Reginard, but a diminutive form slipped through them all. Mother.

"Pippin!" she cried, and flung herself upon him. Pippin had passed her height before he left home. Even so, he was startled at how low about his chest she seized him, careless of all else in her joy.

She raised her tear-streaked face to his. "Oh, Pippin. My little Pip," she murmured in obliviousness to his height, stroking his cheek. "I knew—I never gave up hoping. Even when you disappeared, I always thought you might return."

"Mother." Feeling more awkward than ever, Pippin brushed a tear from her cheek. "I never meant to be so long away. But one thing led to another, and it was all so very pressing…" He looked round to catch his father's eye. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Yes, well." Paladin wiped the water from his eyes, then took a steadying breath. "So, you've made it home at last. Unmolested, too, apparently! I should have thought you would have had some trouble at the border, at least."

"So I did. We did." Pippin's embarrassment faded, as the urgency of his errand resurfaced. "Dad, Mum, I had no notion that the Shire might be in danger when I left. I thought that the danger followed Frodo alone. It wasn't until we reached the Bridge of Stonebows two days ago that we had any idea of the difficulties here."

"Oh, Pippin." Eglantine's eyes brimmed. "It has been such a year."

"So I understand—now." He spoke briskly, to keep at bay the emotion that had afflicted both his parents' eyes and threatened to affect his own. "We arrived at last and broke Rules left and right. The Shirriffs arrested us at Frogmorton, but we walked them off their feet. When we rode into Bywater this evening, reinforcements were waiting for us—half a dozen Men, with clubs. We drove them off, but they were horn-calling as they ran. They meant to raise the Hobbiton gang. Farmer Cotton believes that Bywater can handle that lot, but tells me there are many more ruffians at Waymeet. They will certainly attack Bywater in the morning, if they can get word to their fellows tonight. And they will likely come in force, to 'stamp out the match quick,' as Merry puts it." Pippin met his father's eyes. "I am dreadfully late, but I'm home now. We're raising the Shire, Dad. I promised them an army of Tooks in the morning. Will you come?"

Paladin's eyes glittered in the candlelight. He looked past Pippin, to the doorway. Pippin turned to follow his gaze.

"At long last, Adde," Paladin said. "Here's our call. Sound the muster, will you?"

Adelard's weathered face split in a grin. "With pleasure!"

As he turned hurriedly for the door, Paladin called, "I'll want six score at least to send to Bywater—young chaps but sturdy, who can march fast. And I'll want a screen of bowmen all round, both to guard the army, and for mop-up and defense. Find as many as you can here—we'll pick up more from the Green Country as we sweep north. Can you do all that in an hour?"

Adelard nodded, his eyes gleaming. "I can do it in half the time. We'll get to Bywater ahead of the ruffians, never fear."

The crowd made way for Adelard to push through them. Once he reached the doorway, he dashed down the hall, trotting fast. The rest of them crowded farther into the room. Pippin felt the thrill of their tension prickle over his skin, like lightning.

"Erling!" Paladin barked. "Bring the maps from my desk here. We'll never all fit in the map room."

"Sir!"

"Odo, some more light, please, or the maps will be useless. Reginard!"

The sturdy hobbit stepped forward eagerly. "Yes, sir."

Paladin held his eyes. "It is absolutely essential that someone get through to Saradoc as soon as might be." Paladin shifted his gaze to Pippin; so potent was his glance, Pippin felt it almost as a physical touch. "Have you sent word to Saradoc already? Does he know of your coming?"

Pippin frowned. "I'm not sure. When we saw how things were at the Bridge, we decided to come straight on to Hobbiton. But Hob Hayward of Buckland was at the Bridge, and he was friendly enough. He might have sent word down to Bucklebury, if he thought he could get away with it."

"I need more certainty than that." Paladin turned back to Reginard. "We must assume that Saradoc knows nothing about his son's return, or the subsequent rising. Someone must travel the Stock Road with all speed. I need Buckland to attack the forces massed at the Woody End—tomorrow, if possible, while the Men there might still be off their guard. If he cannot engage them, he must find some way to keep them occupied. Otherwise, we leave Tookland vulnerable to the east."

"I'll see to it," Reginard said grimly. "My Everard's out on the eastern fringe tonight. You'll not find a bolder rider. He'll get through, come what may."

"Send Uffo to him with a message. He has that speedy mare. Best have him bring two spare ponies on a lead; they're pretty well dug in throughout the Green Country, and we can't count on finding fresh mounts—not without a delay, and I can't afford delay. If they bring their own ponies, they might switch off as they go and make better time."

"I'll have Briff give me the fastest mounts in his stable. Make way, gents. I've a message to write."

The crowd shifted to let Reginard out the door leading to the stables, even as Erling, maps held high, entered the room by the opposite way. Pippin looked about him in surprise. All the while they'd been talking, the room had been quietly filling up with people. There must be over forty of them now. Pippin noticed his sisters, standing in a huddle near the door. They were watching him, looking both astonished and alarmed. Pippin nodded, but could not speak due to the intervening bodies. A few of the newcomers shot interested looks Pippin's way, but most of them seemed intent upon the plans for the impending battle. No doubt they'd had their look at him when they'd first come in. Now they were all business.

Erling made his way through to the low table, where he helped Paladin spread out a much-marked map of the Shire. The crowd closed about it eagerly. From the front row, his mother watched intently, wringing her hands.

Paladin knelt to study the annotations. "According to our latest reports," he said to the room in general, "there are some thirty ruffians in Bywater and Hobbiton, although most are gathered at Bag End. Does that match what you learned, Pippin?"

Pippin became conscious of the many eyes turned suddenly towards him. "I didn't see the gang myself, only the six that tried to stop us. But Farmer Cotton thought there might be two dozen or so in Hobbiton, all those who weren't roaming about 'gathering,' as he put it. They expected to meet the Hobbiton gang tonight, in Bywater. I imagine that engagement has already been fought."

A grim silence filled the room. It struck Pippin, for the first time, what was happening: already, somewhere in the Shire, the first battle for freedom had already been fought. He felt a curl of worry for his friends, then put it from his mind. Surely, after coming so far through so many perils, none of them would fall to a ruffian's club at this late date…

"Bywater might be able to raise two hundred," Paladin was saying, "but they'll be poorly armed. If the fighting was sharp, they'll welcome any force that comes well-prepared. This is the real trouble." Paladin tapped the town of Waymeet. "There's never less than sixty ruffians in the village, and they send bands roving in all directions. A goodly number is always skulking about the borders of Tookland. No one challenged you, Pippin, when you rode in tonight?"

"None but our own watchers. But I rode with six other lads, and a lurking spy might have been reluctant to challenge so large a party."

Paladin nodded. "We must assume that you have been seen. They will even now be getting the word out, north, east, and south. We needn't worry about the Woody End for a while; Uffo and Everard have a chance of outracing any messages they send there, given the distance. Any rogues squatting in Pincup cannot come north in time. But there's another three score of the villains settled at Michel Delving. If warned, they may choose not to march to Bywater. Instead, such a force might well make a foray south into Tookland, to attack our flank. We must get word west, and put our people there on their guard."

Just then, a great clamoring of bells rang out. Pippin started, as did the rest. A determined murmuring broke out, and the tension in the room tightened another notch.

Paladin smiled. "I see Adelard has sounded the muster. Well, we are ready. Tookland is in the center of the conflict, as usual. While this means we must look to every border, it also puts us in the excellent position of being able to manage the attack. We must trust Buckland to protect our right. Whitwell and Tookbank must guard our left. But I, and the majority of strength I can raise, will march south, to engage the ruffians who have taken root in Longbottom. From there, we must push them back, through Sarn Ford and out of the Shire."

"South?" Pippin felt his jaw slackening. "Then you won't… you won't come to Bywater?"

Paladin gave him a keen look, though a smile played about his lips. "I shall send you to Bywater. With the force we can muster in Tuckborough, as well as those you might gather along the way from our outposts and the Green Hills, I doubt that you'll arrive with fewer than a hundred to bolster the Bywater contingent, and perhaps half as many again in archers. Meanwhile, Bywater will have had all night to prepare. You can master them, son. It's the enemy to the south we must fall upon in force, before they learn their peril, and come at us fully prepared."

"You're sending him away?"

Eglantine's cry pierced the taut atmosphere of the room. She looked from her husband to her son, shocked. "He's only just arrived, and you're sending him away? You're sending him into a battle?"

Paladin rose and took his wife gently by the shoulders. "It's what he came for, my love," he murmured. "Pippin means to save the Shire, and we must let him do it."

For a moment, everyone grew still. The bells continued to ring. Already Pippin could hear a growing din from outside, as of many raised voices, that filtered into the room despite the depth of the passage.

Eglantine held her husband's eyes, then nodded and dipped her head. Pippin felt a tremendous surge of relief, mingled with sadness.

"Well," said old Odo into the silence, "if we're going to save the Shire, we'd best be about it. Shall we help Adelard sort the muster into companies?"

"Of course." Paladin released his wife and turned. "We'll reconvene in the courtyard. I'll explain our approach to the rest of Tuckborough, after Pippin's group gets off. We don't want to hold him up for that. Bywater will be the focal point, and we cannot fail her; time is not so pressing for those of us heading south."

The throng in the parlor broke up as everyone made for the door. A drone of voices rose as everyone turned to his or her neighbor to indulge their thoughts. Pippin suddenly found himself in a swirl of well-wishers. Every hobbit in the room seemed intent upon greeting him in person, shaking his hand or patting his back, or calling out a welcome if the press was too thick to let him through.

The mob propelled him to the door—where his eldest sister waited, pressed against the jamb with a saucy smile on her lips. His other sisters had vanished—likely pushed into the hall by the exiting swarm. But nobody ever pushed Pearl. Pippin paused to speak with her, as the remainder of the crowd filtered past him with warm words and pats of appreciation.

"I knew you weren't dead," she greeted him. "The others were never sure, but I was certain you'd turn up."

Pippin grinned. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You never got the knack of maintaining a proper correspondence, is your problem. I knew your lack of communication was pure indolence on your part."

Pippin's smile faltered. He wasn't entirely certain whether Pearl, under the cover of jest, was making a serious point.

She flicked a finger against the silver tree broidered on his tunic. "What on earth have you been up to? And why in heaven's name are you so tall?"

Pippin's smile relaxed. "Is my older sister actually inquiring into one of my adventures? Now I think I have encountered all the marvels of Middle-earth."

Odo, who had been carried by the throng nearly to the end of the hall, turned and called Pippin's name. He waved for his attention, as the rest pushed past him, heading for the stable yard.

"I would love to fill you in, my little big sister," he said, drawing a smirk from Pearl, "but duty calls. Doubtless we'll have more time to talk when I return. Provided, of course, that you're still interested."

"Make it a longer stay next time." She laid her hand briefly against his cheek, then slipped round the corner and vanished up the hall. Surprised and touched, Pippin watched her go.

"Pippin!" Odo called. "Come on!"