than you have treated this hobbit, if it is possible.’
‘Hobbit?’ said Beregond.
‘That is what we call ourselves,’ said Pippin.
‘I am glad to learn it,’ said Beregond, ‘for now I may say that strange accents do not mar fair speech, and hobbits are a fair-spoken folk. But come! You shall make me acquainted with this good horse. I love beasts, and we see them seldom in this stony city; for my people came from the mountain-vales, and before that from Ithilien. But fear not! The visit shall be short, a mere call of courtesy, and we will go thence to the butteries.’
Pippin found that Shadowfax had been well housed and tended. For in the sixth circle, outside the walls of the citadel, there were some fair stables where a few swift horses were kept, hard by the lodgings of the errand-riders of the Lord: messengers always ready to go at the urgent command of Denethor or his chief captains. But now all the horses and the riders were out and away.
Shadowfax whinnied as Pippin entered the stable and turned his head. ‘Good morning!’ said Pippin. ‘Gandalf will come as soon as he may. He is busy, but he sends greetings, and I am to see that all is well with you; and you resting, I hope, after your long labours.’
Shadowfax tossed his head and stamped. But he allowed Beregond to handle his head gently and stroke his great flanks.
‘He looks as if he were spoiling for a race, and not newly come from a great journey,’ said Beregond. ‘How strong and proud he is! Where is his harness? It should be rich and fair.’
‘None is rich and fair enough for him,’ said Pippin. ‘He will have none. If he will consent to bear you, bear you he does; and if not, well, no bit, bridle, whip, or thong will tame him. Farewell, Shadowfax! Have patience. Battle is coming.’
Shadowfax lifted up his head and neighed, so that the stable shook, and they covered their ears. Then they took their leave, seeing that the manger was well filled.
‘And now for our manger,’ said Beregond, and he led Pippin back to the citadel, and so to a door in the north side of the great tower. There they went down a long cool stair into a wide alley lit with lamps. There were hatches in the walls at the side, and one of these was open.
‘This is the storehouse and buttery of my company of the Guard,’ said Beregond. ‘Greetings, Targon!’ he called through the hatch. ‘It is early yet, but here is a newcomer that the Lord has taken into his service. He has ridden long and far with a tight belt, and has had sore labour this morning, and he is hungry. Give us what you have!’
They got there bread, and butter, and cheese and apples: the last of the winter store, wrinkled but sound and sweet; and a leather flagon of new-drawn ale, and wooden platters and cups. They put all into a wicker basket and climbed back into the sun; and Beregond brought Pippin to a place at the east end of the great out-thrust battlement where there was an embrasure in the walls with a stone seat beneath the sill. From there they could look out on the morning over the world.
They ate and drank; and they talked now of Gondor and its ways and customs, now of the Shire and the strange countries that Pippin had seen. And ever as they talked Beregond was more amazed, and looked with greater wonder at the hobbit, swinging his short legs as he sat on the seat, or standing tiptoe upon it to peer over the sill at the lands below.
‘I will not hide from you, Master Peregrin,’ said Beregond, ‘that to us you look almost as one of our children, a lad of nine summers or so; and yet you have endured perils and seen marvels that few of our greybeards could boast of. I thought it was the whim of our Lord to take him a noble page, after the manner of the kings of old, they say. But I see that it is not so, and you must pardon my foolishness.’
‘I do,’ said Pippin. ‘Though you are not far wrong. I am still little more than a boy in the reckoning of my own people, and it will be four years yet before I “come of age”, as we say in the Shire. But do not bother about