The courtyard was even busier than Pippin had expected. For all that Adelard had sounded the bell mere minutes ago, already the place was teeming with a riot of voice and color. Hobbits of every description packed the stable yard, some of them armed, some of them half dressed, and all of them keenly excited.

When Pippin ducked his head to step outside, a cheer went up. To his astonishment, the whole of Tuckborough, it seemed, was massed in the courtyard, rattling weapons or clapping their hands. Many were shouting his name at the top of their lungs.

"Hooray for Pippin! Peregrin Took! The son of the Thain returns!"

"Hey, Pippin!" yelled Fosco, one of his old mates. "Nice outfit!"

Paladin, standing a little to one side, raised his hands for silence. "As I started to say," he began loudly, to cut through the noise, "we'll need two forces." The crowd hushed immediately. "Those who will march with Peregrin must leave at once. Look to where Ferdibrand is waving the standard, by the western wing. I think Adelard has been arranging supplies for them—yes? All right, if you're marching with Pippin, assemble there immediately. Everyone from the Smials, bring your weapon. We'll pass through the village, so if you're from Tuckborough and need rations or arms—or clothes—" A chuckle went up. "—you can pick them up as you pass. Time is of the essence. You must make it to Bywater by mid-morning, or you may be too late to help. It is the province of the Thain to protect the Shire. Tookland will not fail them!"

The crowd roared. Arrows clacked on bows, and some banged sling-stones together.

Paladin signaled again for silence. "This is the first mustering of the Shire since the White Wolves attacked from the North, an event now beyond living memory. This time the enemy has crept among us quietly, but they are no less lethal for all that. From this moment, we are at war. Lives are at stake. Indeed, in Bywater, even as we speak, doubtless the first blood has already been spilled." The crowd grew quiet, and grim. "It is a strength of the Shire, I believe, that we do not think to turn to club or bow to settle our differences. Yet there are times when only the bow or sling-stone will serve. From now until the Shire is free, we must adopt a martial attitude. Enemies who escape may warn their fellows, or inflict harm upon our own folk. We must be ruthless. If an enemy cannot be subdued or captured… he must be slain. Your hearts will be reluctant to do it. Yet you must act decisively, if the Shire is to win free."

In the somber pause, Pippin heard doors banging and feet running up, as more hobbits hurried to join the muster. They packed the crowd even tighter, pushing in from the rear. Pippin lifted his head to speak into the pause.

"What my father says is true. I know this enemy; I have dealt with them before. If their methods are anything like those they employed at Isengard, in the Wizard's Vale, then they will leave the Shire a desert and its people homeless—or worse." Pippin drew a breath. "I have fought orc and troll, and wicked Men, to protect my friends and help set our King upon his throne. At times I doubted whether any of us would win through. Yet I fought on, for always I felt behind me the presence of Tookland, a balm to my heart and a shield at my back. Now I return to find that most precious place of all under threat, and the good folk of the Shire oppressed. I will not stop until our land is clean. I owe that much to my father, at least. And I would not have the King learn that I, his servant, failed him in my own homeland, after all the deeds that so many have done to set the rest of Middle-earth to rights." He drew his sword; it flickered orange in the torches' glare. "Arise, dear hobbits! With myself to the north, my father to the south, and Buckland coming in on the east, we shall drive these intruders over the River and into the Wilderness, such that they will never be heard from again. The Shire will be free, for we shall make her so. To Bywater, my friends!"

"To Bywater!" the assembly roared, followed by a great clamor of cheering.

Pippin looked towards his father, but Paladin did nothing to stop the shouting. The Thain's eyes glimmered in the torchlight, though he smiled. He inclined his head. Pippin bowed in turn. Sheathing his sword, he stepped into the crowd, making for Ferdibrand's banner.

It took him some time to win through, as the crowd was high-spirited, keen to cheer him or pound his back in hearty welcome. There was no question of their losing sight of him, as he stood a good half-a-head taller than the rest. This worked to his advantage in the end, for Ferdibrand pushed through a clot of supporters who clustered round him, and seized his arm.

"We've got nearly seventy ready to march," he said quickly, over the noise. "Young chaps, and swift; I'm directing the older volunteers over to Adelard, who's organizing the muster for Longbottom. I've sent the lads you rode in with ahead to the various posts, each with one of ours as a guide. They'll get word to our circle of watchers, who can pass the news along to the townships north and west. Our lads will then sweep round to the east, gathering all the help they can raise, mostly bowmen, and meet us south of Bywater. I reckoned that was best; those Bywater chaps know their own fields, and will know how to position the archers to cut off any escape for these villains, should they seek it."

"Excellent." Pippin looked back towards the Smial. His father stood in a pool of light, speaking urgently with Adelard and Odo. Doubtless the southern venture was being refined. Doors opened and closed continually as burrows divulged additional hobbits, armed and serious, to join the throng.

"I must admit I'm surprised," Pippin murmured, "to find Tookland so prepared."

Ferdibrand smiled. "Your father's been spoiling for a fight all year. He saw the trouble sooner than most, and took what steps he could to make Tookland ready. He said it was the ancient duty of the Thain to defend the Shire, and he'd not be caught negligent on his watch. It grieved him to have to sit bottled up here, watching helplessly while the rest of the Shire slowly succumbed."

Pippin set his jaw. "We shall correct that tonight. Thank goodness!" Pippin looked at the eager group—his soldiers—pressing in close to hear his and Ferdibrand's words. "Shall we wait, or are we ready to go?"

"I say we're ready to start. We must pass through the village slowly, as half this lot still lacks their gear. It will be no trick to keep up with us. Once we pass the guardhouse, however, we must pick up the pace."

"Very well."

Ferdibrand guided Pippin towards the banner. Pippin saw two ponies waiting there.

"I got you a fresh one," Ferdi explained. "Only you and I will be riding; most of the ponies are being reserved for the messengers. Once we near Bywater, and know what our final strength will be, I'll ride ahead and let them know of our coming."

Pippin laughed. "Yes, Ferdi, that will do. Ah, how my heart sings! It is so very good to be home again. Though I've tramped from one end of Middle-earth to the other, through forest and fen and heart of mountain, there is no place like this, and no people so grand as these."

The hastily assembled force, listening on every side, grinned and nodded with approval at his words. Pippin mounted his pony, and the standard bearer took up his staff just behind him. Here and there among Pippin's small army, wives, mothers, or fathers embraced the soldiers preparing to march. Pippin looked back towards the Great Smials.

His father was no longer directing his advisors. His gaze was fastened upon Pippin, across the heads of the crowd. His mother had come out, and stood beside her husband. She peered worriedly across the courtyard, as if trying to make out his face in the darkness. They were too far away for speech.

"Ferdibrand," Pippin said evenly, "sound the call."

The herald blew the hunting call of Tookland. The watching crowd cheered.

Of all his adventures, Pippin thought this was in some ways the most surreal. He was home, yet he wasn't. The people were the same, or nearly so, yet they felt so different. That should hardly be wondered at, as Pippin supposed he was so different. Pearl wanted to talk to him. His father had bowed to him with respect. And now he sat a fretting pony, ready to lead a band of willing friends, relatives, and strangers to an uncertain fate. It was all very strange.

In the past year, Pippin had been a captive of Barrow-wight, Ent, and tree. He'd been a bother to the Fellowship and baggage for the Orcs. He'd killed a troll all by himself in a hopeless battle. He'd been a page to a Steward and a knight to a King. Yet of all his many roles and adventures, it suddenly struck him that this was who he was: Peregrin of Tookland, son of the Thain. In all of Middle-earth, there was no one else he'd rather be.

Pippin raised his sword. Loud above the clamor, he called, "Tookland to Bywater! Peregrin for the Shire!"

"Bywater!" yelled the crowd. "Onward Peregrin Thainson!"

His pony snorted, prancing and bowing his head. Proudly, he stepped forward. Pippin sat tall. Behind him, he could feel his parents watching him—the shield at his back. Smiling gently, he rode into the night.