When he and Aragorn entered the cool shadows of the Hall, the stone pillars and walls rang with the many voices of those who had rushed in, a collective of men and elves who were talking excitedly and with a great deal of anxiety in their faces.  Gandalf swept up to both king and hobbit.

“I must have your attention,” he said, ignoring Pippin.  Aragorn gave a slight nod and instructed Pippin to close the front doors. Adjusting his own features to resume Court demeanor, the hobbit dutifully marched to the huge oak doors and began shoving them closed.

As the doors swung to the locks, Merry sprang through them, slightly out of breath, and, oddly, out of uniform. Pippin’s expression must have reflected his bemusement, for his cousin and fellow wayfarer grinned and flung his arm around his shoulders with familiar camaraderie.

“I hear you’ve been skulking too much around the Courts,” he announced, a little too loudly for Pippin’s comfort. Some in the Gondorian guard turned with interest toward the two hobbits, as Merry dragged Pippin through the doorway and into the open courtyard. Gandalf and Aragorn watched them leave, and did not signal for Pippin to remain, despite the pleading look he gave them as they departed.  Someone else closed the door for him.
Inexplicably annoyed, Pippin yanked himself out from under Merry’s grasp and straightened his skewed tabard.

“Unlike some hobbits, I take my duties seriously,” Pippin charged, thumping the Brandybuck on the shoulder. Merry laughed. “Are you released from yours today? Or did you pull your old trick of disappearing when they looked for unwary victims to clean the stables?”

“No!” Merry protested. “I told them you were eager for it, since you know Shadowfax so well.”

“Thanks!” Pippin grumbled, then smiled in spite of himself over the jab at his infamous ride.  “But Gandalf relieved me of that duty long ago.”

“What a pity. I think that beast rather liked you. Besides, I’ve missed my drinking partner!” Merry said, marching his cousin towards the tunnel that led into the next tier of the City.

“Oh? Where are we off to then?”

“The tavern in the lower ring. Gimli and I were on our second pint, then we thought, how could we quaff another brew and tease the tavern girls without dear ol’ Pip nearby, eh?”
Merry’s breath confirmed that declaration.

“I see.  So you immediately fell out of your chair and staggered all the way up here, riddled with guilt, just for me?”

Merry nodded.

“Rather thoughtful of me, isn’t it?”

Pippin narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Merry feigned shock, a not very convincing shock at that, by opening and closing his mouth a few times and then, with an air of offense, made for the pipe and tobacco pouch in his weskit.

“Aside from the fact,” Pippin retorted, “that you never tease the tavern girls – you coward - without my presence, you obviously don’t need me around to drain Gondor of its finest beer!”

Merry laughed again.

“Frodo will be there, and Sam,” he informed, as if Pippin had asked an altogether different question. “At least, I hope Sam is there. He’s quite taken with the city. I could swear he sees it as his own personal garden. Frodo may not be able to lure him away.  He’ll have to hire Lotho to take his place!  Can you imagine? Lotho Pimple shoveling manure!”

Pippin stared at him for a moment, uncertain if he should press the matter, then relented with a laugh of his own.

“Then let’s go, Master Sluggard,” he rallied. “But first to my quarters. I am not about to venture into this mysterious inclusion without my own pipe!”

***

Gandalf later found all four hobbits wedged into a corner of the tavern, Frodo rosy-cheeked and placid with ale, Sam snoring as he rested propped against the wall and Merry and Pippin intent on a game with pebbles and sticks.  Tankards of ale, some half full, littered their table.  Gimli sat nearby, chatting and nodding with some elves who had chosen to join them.  The tavern itself was almost empty.   

One of the elves rose to greet him, but Gandalf waved him down, smiling at the realization that no one looked as if they were of the condition to perform the usual greetings. When Frodo saw him, he lit up in a grin, then slumped onto his arms and began to snore himself. Merry and Pippin did not even pause in their contest.

“Gandalf, we saved a place for you,” Gimli moved to show the wizard where he could sit. Gandalf deferred with a wave of his hand.

“I came to retrieve the Prince of Halflings to his post,” the wizard informed.  At that name, Pippin looked up, startled.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Yes,” Merry said, “always.”

“A number have been sent home or to other post duties, but this is not a call to duty,” Gandalf said.

Pippin stood, a questioning look on his face. “The King doesn’t have some special torture planned, does he?”

“I think Aragorn suspects talk of the Fellowship disbanding,” Gandalf said with a smile, “and he wants to make sure you don’t escape too soon.”

“That’s not likely, if the King’s people keep finding new things for us to do,” Merry rejoined. "What do you think he will have Pippin do this time?”

“He’ll show me how to skewer thieves like you, Meriadoc!” Pippin exclaimed, slapping Merry’s hand from the spoils of the game. “I counted more than that, you scoundrel. I was winning.”

“No thanks to Frodo here.” Merry, in classic form, turned the jest onto their elder cousin by jogging him awake. “You used to be quite handy at distracting our Pip, but now you’re getting slack in your old age,” he accused as Frodo sat up.  “Why weren’t you keeping an eye out for me?”

“I recall someone saying we had yet to find brighter wits,” Gimli put in.

“I did not keep an eye out for you because I knew it would be pointless,” Frodo replied.  “Wits of any kind in a tavern is something of a rarity,” he added with a pointed stare.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Frodo,” Sam put in.  He’d come awake as well.

“Dear Merry,” Frodo continued as the others chortled. “You are a man of Rohan now. Who am I to tell a Knight of the Green how to win?  But if you insist …”

Merry was ready with a retort of his own.  “If it involves jumping over the moon, Mr. Underhill, no thanks!”

Saying farewell for the evening, Pippin followed Gandalf out of the tavern and through the streets until they re-entered the darkened courtyard of the Tower, now a ghostly blue spire in the moonlight and as silent as the tombs.  The wizard paused before approaching the large oaken doors of the Great Hall, turning to gaze thoughtfully at Pippin, as he had when they first arrived. 

“If you’re wanting me to remain quiet and listen, you’ll have no argument from me,” Pippin yawned.  “I’m quite ready to play the silent partner.  I do hope Aragorn has something … quiet … for me to do.”

Gandalf answered by turning and beckoning the hobbit to sit on the bench near the White Tree.  In the stark moonlight, it stood barren and forlorn, its fountain dripping constant tears from the dead branches.

“I wonder if it has occurred to you why you were dismissed this afternoon,” Gandalf began, hesitation in his voice.  Pippin’s young face was turned upwards, planed by the shadows of the moonlight so that he looked the ghost of the adult he was becoming.  He noted that the mouth was set in a new firmness, a line that told more of his growth than any year could explain. His eyes were wide with curiosity.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Do you not wonder then, what it was that greeted you when you returned?”

“I do, but as an esquire, I am not in a position to ask questions. Indeed, I am often asked to consider myself deaf and dumb.”

“I think perhaps, you will feel differently when I tell you of the news I learned,” Gandalf hedged.

Pippin’s puzzled expression deepened, the beer-induced haze in his eyes clearing.
“Tell me, then.”

“I have endeavored to find what information I could concerning the War as it happened beyond the lands of Rohan and Gondor … battles at Erebor, Lorien’s defense.  Minions of Sauron bedeviled people throughout Middle Earth and I am sure you have not seen all the many messengers that have come to give their tale.  It was Aragorn’s concern, and mine, that in all of this, you and your companions did not think the Shire was ignored.”

Pippin huffed.

“On the contrary, I am aware that he thinks of it almost as much as we do. Indeed, probably more.”

“He does, indeed.  Then you will be heartened to know that the messengers you saw today shared with us information that should relieve some of your concern,” Gandalf said. “Long have the Dunadan watched the North Kingdom, patrolling it to ward off the evil that crept ever closer. You saw that at Bree and at Weathertop.  I daresay even you, foolishly ignorant of the finer points of our Quest, had some knowledge of this because of the watch your family keeps on the southern borders of the Shire.”

“Aye, I recall tales.”

“And you have been taught how much Aragorn and the others have so treasured the Shire, that the true nature of danger rarely made itself known, not even to the Thain.”

“It is true.  I don’t think any of us, except perhaps my grandfather, had any idea of it …”

“But as the future Thain of the Shire,” Gandalf went on, “you should be aware of this now. Those messengers were among a group of soldiers who encountered Sauron’s orcs approaching the Shire and Bree as they did at rapid pace, orcs accompanied by half-breed men whose purpose was to establish a final blockade against the defense of Rivendell. Should the Ring have fallen into the Dark Lord's hands, they would have been well ensconced in the country-side to prevent any aide from coming to Elrond from the South.  From Rohan, from Gondor.”

“But … Sauron is defeated ...”

“He is, at that.  The orcs were well entrenched.  Even at this juncture, the messengers said the lands between here and the Shire may still be in their captivity…and they do not know the extent to which they have reached.”

For several moments, the wizard was not sure the implication had sunk in, but Pippin’s face hardened. “How can this give me comfort?” he cried.

“Because Pippin,” Gandalf answered slowly, “those soldiers struck fatal blows to much of the company they encountered. There is a large mound now somewhere south of Bree, soaked with orc blood and burning with the fires that they set to their corpses. Some escaped, but not without injury and not with the leadership they need to set themselves against the elves of Imladris. There is mischief yet to be discovered, but it is my satisfaction that whatever Sauron had planned was put to serious rout.”

“Then the Shire is out of danger.”

“I did not say that.  Do not assume that to be the case, Pippin! You can be certain, there are more on the way, but only because Saruman has seen to that. As in all else, Saruman began by only following Sauron's orders. When Saruman began to feel he would not need the Dark Lord, he sent his own contingent, before Treebeard and the Ents came upon Orthanc. Do not think that because he was trapped within the tower he could not access the movements of his troops.”

Pippin’s face was paler than the moonlight.

“So it is Sauron’s deceitful work, anyway?”  He was animated by the sudden surge of anger and fear.  “We have to go back soon!”

Gandalf sighed, hoping all of this would make sense at one point or another.

“It is also likely,” he continued, “that Wormtongue’s impulse and your handling of the palantir was part of the reason why Sauron forsook any further forays towards the Shire. For that, you should feel very fortunate, despite what Saruman may be doing now. Recall, if you will, Sauron's almost immediate response. That, and Aragorn, I think, drew his attention away from the Shire at last.”

“It doesn’t matter, now, does it?  Oh what a wretched person I am, that I was!” Pippin groaned.

“He not only thought you had the Ring,” Gandalf pressed, “he spoke to you as he would a legitimate user of the palantir.  He must have concluded that the son of the Thain was its proper guardian.  Its proper … hobbit … guardian,” Gandalf concluded, meeting Pippin’s eyes with a look of meaning.

“What? Why would he think that?”  Pippin asked, incredulous.  At Gandalf’s grim look, he sat hard once more on the rim of the fountain.  “I am a fool!” He moaned. “I should never have left the Shire!”

Gandalf fell silent, letting Pippin wallow in his own thoughts for a few moments; his own thoughts were of the distance between the light-hearted sociable lad of Tuckborough, who knew everyone and everything about his home, and the wiser and sadder young man in silver and sable.  Of all the others, this hobbit had been the most risky of his projects, a fortuitous bet against the more hidden Shadows that the Dark Lord threatened.

Was it random, or was it destiny, Mr. Took? He wondered, recalling the conversation between the two hobbits on the pinnacle.  He’d overheard.  With your clan, one never knew.  He also mulled over the conversation in the store-room that Aragorn had relayed, of the small stone and the avalanche.  He could see it now, the one stone that he, Gandalf, threw into the company of thirteen dwarves so long ago, hedging bets on the Tookish strain to bring Bilbo to his choice.  He sighed, wondering how much he would miss the hobbits, tumbling as they had into the histories of Middle Earth.  Pebbles, indeed. 

“I disagree with you, Peregrin,” he said, finally, deciding not to explain.  What Aragorn had planned would be much more forthcoming. “It made my heart glad when you volunteered to come along, though Elrond argued against it. A true Thain would have done no less.”

Pippin did not answer. His head was bowed, cradled by his hands, mind reeling with what could have been.