Another one of my 'scrubbed' stories from ff.net...

Disclaimer: These wonderful hobbits are not mine; they belong to the magnificent JRR Tolkien.

Small Summary: It is the wintry month of January (Afteryule), S.R. 1399. Paladin falls ill and the younger children are sent away to stay with relatives. Pippin is yet eight, Merry is sixteen, Sam is eighteen, and Frodo is thirty. Ever since I touched on Bilbo in MBD1, I’ve always wanted to explore the relationship between him and Pippin--and even with Frodo to a slighter extent. This story takes place a few months after MBD2.

I mainly write about my world of Pippin and Merry; I only hope I’ve done Bilbo, Frodo, and Sam justice for all of their fans. I tried my best to stay with how JRRT wrote their personalities. Enjoy.

*Spoiler Alert*  For all of you folks who have yet to read The Hobbit, I’ve posted spoiler alerts just before a couple paragraphs in Chapters Two and Five.

Compassionate Hearts 

Chapter One - To Bag End

“Come along, Pip.” Merry stood at the end of the village road that turned onto the narrow lane leading round The Hill. He watched as puffs of vapor from his breath evaporated before his eyes. The sound of his voice fell at his feet; the thin shroud of snow absorbed much of the resonance of the outdoors. It was a very frigid January morning--what was left of it anyway, as it was nearly noon.

His young cousin lagged behind as if his feet were hundred pound weights. This wasn’t the first time since getting off the coach in Hobbiton that his cousin prolonged their walk, so this time he waited for the eight year old to catch up to him and then let him pass in front. Merry pulled his free hand inside his cloak and placed it between his other arm and ribs to warm it up. The other hand that carried his luggage would remain cold until they were inside Bag End and thawing themselves in front of a warm fire.

“Good mornin’ to ye young Masters!” It was the old Gaffer who lived at Number 3 Bagshot Row. He was walking down the lane in their direction. “I’m on my way to have a few words and a pipe with Farmer Cotton. Lovely day, don’t ye think?”

Merry smiled as best he could, under the circumstances--and the weather. “Good morning, Mister Gaffer,” he responded. “It is indeed a fine morning. How’s Sam these days?”

Pippin gave a sharp look to his older cousin. Merry stifled whatever sarcastic remark was about to roll off his cousin’s tongue with a stern look of his own. The wordless ‘conversation’ wasn’t lost on the old hobbit.

“Just Gaffer will do,” he winked to Merry. “and my Sam is doin’ splendid. Though, I see today isn’t a grand day for us all.”

“I must apologize, Mis--Gaffer, sir,” Merry said. “Pippin and I are on holiday to visit our cousin Frodo, but it isn’t a happy holiday.”

“Oh? I’m sorry to hear that,” the Gaffer said as he looked at the young Took. Pippin made no reply.

“We’d better be going,” Merry said, “I’m certain lunch is waiting at Bag End, and Bilbo expects us to be prompt.” Merry put his hand on Pippin’s shoulder and gently prodded him forward. “Good day to you, Gaffer.”

Pippin was feeling out of sorts this day so Merry let him ring the bell as they stepped up to the round, green door. Pippin always like to ring doorbells--though this bit of joy often got him into trouble whenever he visited Great Smials.

They only waited a few seconds before Frodo opened the door. “Hullo, cousins! Come inside and get warm!” One the lads were inside the warm Smial, Frodo shut the door on the cold weather behind. He then took the luggage from each cousin, saying, “Lunch is ready; after you warm up a bit, go on ahead to the kitchen. I’ll meet you there once I’ve put your bags away.”

They stood in front of the large hearth in the sitting room warming their cold hands and toes until an elder hobbit called to them.

“Lunch is on the board, lads. Come and eat.”

Merry wasn’t quite warm yet, but the smell of Bilbo’s mushroom stew drew him into the kitchen. He and Pippin found their seats and waited for Frodo to return from the back bedrooms. Pippin observed the tableware; he had vivid memories of a birthday celebration that took place here mere months ago. Inwardly, he wondered if all meals were this plush at Bad End. The dining table was covered with a crisp white tablecloth with richly embroidered designs stitched into the corners of the fabrid. Matching linen napkins were meticulously folded next to the plate, and the silver flatware placed on top of it. The plates themselves bore a lovely floral design that Pippin remembered from a far away spring. The ceramic salt and peppershakers, along with the sugar bowl all matched the plates. Such extravagance he knew only the wealthy could afford. His own family was no less wealthy, however, they served their meals in the most simplest manner. Pippin only saw this sort of elegance at Whitwell on special occasions, such as seasonal holidays or celebrating someone’s birthday--like his father’s birthday…which was just one month after his own-- Pippin flinched when a voice broke into his thoughts.

“Smells delicious!” Frodo came into the kitchen and sat down between Merry and Bilbo. “Bilbo makes the best mushroom stew in all the Shire!” Frodo smiled, hoping the good humor would spread among the guests, but the somber mood continued.

The meal was eaten mostly in silence. Only Bilbo and Frodo shared news in bits and pieces, hoping their guests would warm up to more conversation. Merry ate only enough stew to warm his toes; after that, he slowly stirred the mushrooms around inside the bowl. His thoughts were elsewhere. Pippin barely ate at all. After a couple spoonfuls his stomach began to feel strange--almost as if he were in serious trouble and was waiting out his punishment. It had been a while since he last felt this way.

Frodo wanted desperately to ease his guests. “Pippin, your father is strong,” he said. “The Sickness will pass and he will be fine.”

That wasn’t what Pippin wanted to hear. He remembered being deathly ill himself once or twice before and knew just now sick his father really was, and this made him feel sadder than he had ever felt before in his life. He laid down his spoon; he was done eating.

Bilbo gave Frodo a look and turned his attention to the young lad sitting next to him. He lifted the boy’s chin and saw tears running down his face. “Pippin lad,” He said softly, “you may be excused. Your bedroom will be at the end of the hallway on your left.” Pippin sniffed and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, laid aside his napkin and left to go to his bedroom.

Frodo sighed. “I’m terribly sorry, Merry,” he said apologetically, “I only wanted to try and cheer him up a little. It tears at me to see you both so wretched.”

Merry had laid aside his own spoon and now gazed into his lap, watching his fingers trace the intricate stitching in the napkin. “He’s very sick, you know--my uncle.” Merry bit his lower lip, trying desperately to hold in his tears. “I‘m frightened, Frodo,” he said. Now that Pippin was no longer present, Merry felt he could let his guard down. The embroidery blurred as he felt his eyes welling up with tears. He wiped an errant tear away as it ran down his cheek. “I feel so selfish.”

Frodo took Merry into his arms, allowing his young cousin to sob into his shoulder. “No you’re not. You are one of the most unselfish hobbits that I know, Merry! Paladin loves you very much, and I know how you feel towards him. It won‘t do either of you--or Paladin--any good by worrying.”

Bilbo watched the discourse sadly. He’d remembered the tremendous grief Frodo went through when he lost his parents. Perhaps it was this same empathy that his own adopted heir was now displaying. Fortunately, Bilbo thought to himself, Paladin was still living and breathing....for now. Just as parents should never have to bury their children, Bilbo felt that young children should never have to bury their parents. This young teen wasn’t one of Paladin’s own children, but was more like an ‘adopted’ son himself. And Bilbo experienced first-hand just how close nephew and uncle were this past autumn. “Frodo,” he said, “why don’t you take Merry and show him his room?” He felt that a good cry is what both Took and Brandybuck needed.

Later that evening, Bilbo decided to check in on his two young guests before he went to bed. Starting with the furthest bedroom, he knocked lightly and opened the door ajar. “Pippin?” No answer, but he was hoping to not receive one; hopefully the child was asleep. He opened the door further and was surprised to see the bedcovers were laid aside and the bed itself empty. He swept the room with his eyes--looking for any sign that the boy was only hiding. All he saw and heard was the crackling and the hiss of the warm fire burning low in the hearth. After a moment he decided the child wasn’t there and closed the door. He would check on the other young guest before doing an all out search of the Smial--looking for an unhappy hobbit child.

It was a quick knock on Merry’s door as Bilbo twisted the handle and let himself in. Once again Bilbo felt the cozy warmth of flames in the fireplace, but as he stepped more inside he saw not one, but two lumps in the bed. He hoped one of these lumps was Pippin. He softly treaded to the other side of the huge bed for a better view of them. Sure enough, there was Pippin all snuggled up against Merry; both lads deep in slumber. Merry’s arm was wrapped over his young cousin. As if protecting him from some unseen night monster of the sort that most young children Pippin’s age were afraid of. Neither lad stirred as Bilbo pulled the blankets up over their shoulders. He turned around and quietly left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

For unknown reasons, Bilbo found himself turning the door handle of yet one other bedroom. This one was Frodo’s. It seemed ages since the last time he had checked in on the lad before going to bed. He did it routinely for the first few years when the Frodo first arrived at Bag End to make sure he was adjusting properly, but as the tween approached the age of adulthood, Bilbo imagined the young hobbit disliked such nonsense.

At first, Bilbo thought Frodo was asleep, but then the blankets moved. Bilbo was about to bring the bedcovers back over Frodo’s shoulders as well when the lad rolled over to face him. His eyes and nose were red and puffy. “Hullo, Bilbo.”

Bilbo sat down on the bed and sighed, rubbing the tween’s shoulder, “This whole affair with Paladin has affected you, has it not?” He reached into his vest pocket and handed Frodo his pocket-handkerchief.

The young hobbit nodded as he took the cloth and then proceeded to clean his face. “I thought I buried my Mum and Dad when I was twelve. But I found today very hard,” he sniffed. “I keep hoping that Pippin nor Merry doesn’t have to go through what I did.”

“I hope not, also.” Bilbo sat on the bed for a few minutes until he saw Frodo’s weary eyelids blink. Finally, his eyes shut altogether, and his breathing became soft and deep. Bilbo smiled; he couldn’t resist brushing away a few unruly curls from the young hobbit’s face as he used to. Then the elder hobbit got up, bringing the blankets over the sleeping lad’s shoulders, then quietly slipped out.

Chapter Two - A Story for Pippin

Bilbo sat upon his favorite chair in his study while sketching out on a piece of paper an outline for his next entry into the Red Book. He was now pressed for time as the plans he had formulated in his mind were now beginning to take shape. He had much to write and much to do, and the time in which to do it all was dwindling. He decided to wait a bit more before letting the wizard in on the plan, but a plan it was nonetheless.

Things had calmed down some in the last two days. He tried to keep Merry and Pippin busy with light chores around the Smial to help keep their minds off of Paladin, but it was becoming more and more difficult. At the request of Bilbo, the Gaffer sent Sam over to Bag End to help Frodo entertain his young guests. It was the middle winter, and not much else was happening when it came to gardening.

Bilbo smiled to himself, listening to the banter and laughter that drifted in from the sitting room down the hallway. Earlier this afternoon it was a round of checkers, then followed by the telling of some outlandish stories (the sillier, the better), and now it was a game of marbles--something tailored more to the youngest member of the group. Bilbo was quite absorbed into writing his notes when the laughter suddenly became a low murmur. The older lads quickly tired of marbles--particularly when young Pippin kept trying to make up new rules as they went along.

“Hullo.”

Bilbo startled at the high-pitched voice. He looked about him to find a young boy standing in the doorway. “Hullo, Pippin,” he replied, quickly covering the paper he was writing on.

“What are you writing? May I see it?” Pippin stepped up to the desk for a better look.

Bilbo continued to hold down the covered paper. “Now lad, this is not for your eyes--in fact, it is not fit for anyone’s eyes just yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is private; like a lass’s diary.”

“Oh.” Pippin put his hands in his pockets, gazing round the dusty room.

He looked at Pippin, “Why aren’t you with the other lads?”

“They all got angry because I’m better at marbles than they are,” he said, bouncing his lucky shooter in his hand. “Now they’re talking about lasses.” He said the last part with much distaste.

Bilbo hid his smirk, “Don’t you like lasses?”

Pippin was wandering around the room looking at various objects. He picked up an old umbrella and was whirling it in the air as his imaginary sword. “No,” Pippin said in a firm tone. “My sister, Pervinca, is all right sometimes--for a lass. She’s staying with our auntie Violet.”

Bilbo tried to keep pace with the child and also his writing; mostly so the child would not injure himself with his ‘toys’. “Where are your other sisters? Did your mother not send them away also?”

Pippin put the umbrella back in the rack. The music box with the glass ball on the bookshelf now received his attention. “Pearl got to stay behind and help, and so did Pim,” he replied, “but only because she made a fuss at breakfast.” He turned the glass orb upside down to make the snowflakes fall to the bottom. “When Pervinca and I tried to make a fuss before we left, all we got was a swat on the bum and told to mind our manners.” He turned it upright and smiled as the flakes floated back to the bottom of the little house inside the ball, then he turned the key one round and set it back on the shelf. “I wish I got to stay behind.”

Bilbo looked up to see the lad gazing at the various books on the shelf. “Why not read a book? There are plenty in here and in the library.”

Pippin came back round to the desk and watched Bilbo carefully writing in his spidery script. “I tried reading this morning,” Pippin answered, “but my mind wouldn’t stay with the book.”

The old hobbit took the near finished outline and placed it between two leaves of his engagement tablet that sat off to the side. He gave Pippin his undivided attention, “Well, where in the Shire did you let it wander off to?”

Pippin shrugged, looking at his feet. He let his toes dig into pages of a thick book lying at his feet. “My papa.”

That was enough for old Bilbo. “Come along, laddie,” he said, taking the boy by the hand and found a seat in a soft leather chair near the window. He sat down and then brought Pippin onto his lap. “What kind of story do you want to hear?”

Pippin’s spirits lifted a couple notches; he smiled. “You’re going to tell me a story?”

“I asked you what kind you wanted to hear, didn’t I?”

“I want to hear all of them!” Pippin was smiling wide now.

The elder hobbit winked, “Let us choose only one for this evening, is that all right with you?”

Pippin nodded in agreement. He leaned against Bilbo and settled in for a long story. “My papa tells me lots of stories,“ said Pippin wistfully. He would lay aside the depressing thoughts of his father for a while and enter Bilbo’s world of adventure. A sad smile appeared briefly, “I want to hear about...” he paused a long minute, “Smaug the Dragon!”

(**Some Spoilers in this paragraph if you haven’t read The Hobbit**)

Bilbo smiled wide; dealing with Smaug was one of his favorite parts of his journey. He began with how he stole the heavy two-handled cup, and then the ensuing argument with the dwarves about how they were to remove the dragon’s horde. He carefully left out the element of the magic ring, but went into full account of his riddling talk with old Smaug. Bilbo laughed at the memory, “I saw as plain as day the large patch near his left breast, but then I got full of myself--never laugh at live dragons, my boy!” He watched Pippin smile; his green eyes were shining as Bilbo’s embellished but true story unfolded more. “...and I barely escaped with my skin still attached!” He chuckled, “all because I was Belladonna Took’s son!”

Pippin nestled closer to Bilbo. He could hear the beating of the old hobbit’s heart as his head rested upon his chest. His fingers were tracing the elaborate patterns of the brocaded fabric of Bilbo’s vest as he spoke, “Do you like your Took side?”

Bilbo let out a long breath when he responded, “I do now, but back then, having an adventure was the last thing on this Baggins’ mind.”

“I like your Took side.“ Pippin took Bilbo’s hand and flexed out the fingers, placing his small hand against the grown-up’s larger hand. “I want to go on an adventure someday.”

“Really? And where would you go?” Bilbo enclosed his hands over Pippin’s; trying to keep the boy from fidgeting.

“I heard Isengar went to sea when he was a lad. I think I’ll start there--going to sea, I mean.”

“That sounds like a splendid idea,” said Bilbo. “but you must grow up first. Little laddies cannot go on adventures until they’re all grown up--they’re mummies and daddies would miss them terribly.”

Pippin grew uncomfortably quiet. “Bilbo?”

“Yes, lad?”

Pippin looked up, “Do you think my papa misses me--even though he’s very sick?”

“I am most certain he does. I know I would.”

Then Pippin again rested his head against the old hobbit. He had been trying to be the brave lad his mother told him to be before he and Merry left for Hobbiton, but he didn‘t feel very brave right now as he blinked back his tears. He swallowed a rising sob; his voice trembled when he asked, “Will my papa die?”

Bilbo was struck speechless. He couldn’t say yes--it was an outright lie--many folks survived the Sickness. Yet he couldn’t say no, either, and risk lifting up the boy’s spirits only to watch his father perish; because for as many whom survived the illness, the same amount died--though mostly the very old and the very young. But before Bilbo could make any type of answer to him, Pippin already had his hand over his eyes, quietly sobbing. “Shhhh, now lad.” He drew the child closer into a soothing embrace.

Bilbo sat for a long while with Pippin until the boy was finished weeping for his father and had fallen asleep in his arms. He carried the child over to the couch nearby, gently lying him down and covering him with a lap quilt that was spread across the back. While he was sitting with the despairing boy, another plan was forming in his head. Taking a lead stick, a slip of blank paper, and an envelope from his desk, he padded out to the parlor where the other lads sat about and chatted.

“Where’s Pippin?” Merry looked around the parlor, and then towards Bilbo, “I thought he was with you.”

“He was. Now he’s sleeping on the couch in my study.” Bilbo was leaning over the tea table, scribbling letters on the piece of paper.

Frodo watched Bilbo with great interest, “What are you writing?”

“I am writing a note to Mistress Eglantine Took.” He finished off the note with his signature, then started writing on the envelope, “I am asking for news of her husband. Perhaps one of her daughters will be able to respond to this note.”

Frodo glanced at his young cousin sitting across from him near the hearth. Merry returned his gaze with a surprised one of his own.

“But we won’t receive a reply for at least a day after,” said Frodo.

“It may be sooner than that,” Bilbo answered, taking a small candle and letting several drops of wax fall to seal the envelope. As it solidified he pressed it with his thumb and wrote his initials in it with the lead stick. “I am sending you lads to the Market tomorrow to find a courier who will accept the task of delivering it. He is to hire a pony, if he doesn’t already have one,” Bilbo dropped five silver pennies onto the table, “then ride to Tuckborough to deliver the note.”

Merry’s eyes lit up as he watched the discourse between the old hobbit and his heir. So far, no letters or courier notes had arrived from Tuckborough; Bilbo was actually sending for news of his uncle!

Bilbo laid the envelope under a crystal paperweight, “The Market is closed down for supper now, but I want you lads to leave immediately after first breakfast tomorrow.”

Chapter Three - I’m Not Brave

Pippin’s skin prickled as the cold breeze from the open door brushed past him. His older cousins and Sam had just returned from the village Market. “It’s freezing out there,” yelled Frodo from the hallway, hanging his coat up on one of the many pegs that lined the entryway in the tunnel. He came away rubbing his hands vigorously.

“Just makes the spring all the more invitin’, I say,” answered Sam, hanging his coat on a peg between Merry and Frodo’s.

“Cookies!” Merry snagged one that was cooling on the tray, “and they’re still warm, too!”

“Bilbo and I made lots of them while you slackers were at the Market.” Pippin sat at the table and popped another warm cookie into his mouth and washed it down with a mug of milk. He quickly scooped up another handful of cookies before the bigger hands roared through the batch.

Bilbo was pouring hot tea for them to warm up with, “Whom did you hire, Frodo?”

“The cooper’s son was the only person willing to make such a journey,” answered Frodo, holding the teacup in his hands to warm them up. “But as soon as Merry would say how far it was to Tuckborough--and then Whitwell, everyone would refuse.”

“He even asked the tailor’s nephew--and his family could use the extra pence,” Sam put in, “but instead he says ‘My feet are stayin’ where the folk don’t disappear!’”

“Well,” said Bilbo, starting to mix the dough for bread rolls, “all we can do now, is wait.”

A slight anticipation was now growing inside Pippin. He asked, “When do you think we’ll get an answer?”

“Probably not until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest,” Bilbo replied. He set a large bowl of potatoes out on the table along with three paring knives. “When your fingers are no longer numb, you lads can help peel these for lunch.”

Pippin was finished with his cookies and reached for a potato and a knife, only to have it lightly smacked out of his hand by his cousin Merry. “Put that down,” he scolded, “you’ll injure yourself!”

“I know how to peel a potato, Merry!”

“And you know very well how to cut yourself, too.”

Pippin sat at the table and sulked, watching the older lads handle the paring knives so deftly in their hands. “You’re acting like my sisters,” he glowered, “No doubt my job will be like the lasses--washing them off and setting them in the pot to boil.”

“No doubt,” said Merry, chuckling. “Come here, Pippin.” The teen brought the boy in front of him and sat him on one of his legs. Taking Pippin’s hands in his own, together, the pair peeled a fair number of potatoes for lunch. Merry also showed his young friend some of the finer techniques of cutting potatoes.

As Merry picked up the last potato and began paring, Pippin sat back against his favorite cousin’s chest, mesmerized by Merry’s practiced hands. Young Pippin had many questions running around inside his head.

“Merry?”

“Hmm?” Merry was concentrating on not cutting himself in the process as he talked.

“Didn’t your auntie Amma die last spring?”

Uncomfortable with the question, Merry hesitated in his peeling. Then he continued, but at a much slower pace. He answered, “Yes. Why do you ask?”

Still watching his cousin’s hands, Pippin asked, “What was it like? Were you sad?”

Merry sighed, “Of course I was sad. My granddad--Old Rory--he cried; she was his sister.”

“Merry....what if we learn that papa died? What happens then?”

Frodo heard every bit of the conversation; outwardly, he appeared indifferent. Inwardly, his old grief was rising to the surface. He kept on peeling his potatoes, his expression far away and empty. Sam kept a cautious eye on Frodo.

Merry’s heart fell to his toes as his young cousin grew increasingly preoccupied with death. “I don’t know, Pip,” he finally answered. He threw all but two pieces of the raw potato into the bowl. He gave one to Pippin. “I suppose you would go on living with your mum and your sisters.” Though, where would that leave him? He had grown very close to his Uncle Paladin in recent years; he was like a father to Merry.

The recent anticipation Pippin so warmly felt was now cooling off. He nibbled on his piece of potato. “I’m scared, Merry. I don’t want that courier to come back tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

“Because he might bring bad news.”

Merry brought his arms around Pippin to comfort him. He spoke softly into his cousin’s ear, “Or he may bring good news. Wouldn’t you want to know that your dad is well?”

Pippin sighed, “Yes...but....I’m not brave, Merry.”

Merry whispered his reply, “Neither am I.”

*******

Frodo sat outside on the bench in the small garden that Sam helped his father tend during the warmer months. The dead leaves and plants that lay about his feet and the gray winter skies were a perfect match for his own dreary mood. The last of the snow that had welcomed Pippin and Merry a couple days ago had now melted in the afternoon sun. He looked up into the twilight sky as he felt a cold touch upon his nose. He watched as the first few flakes of a new snow drifted in the air.

“Good evening, Mister Frodo.”

Frodo came out of his daydream and looked over at the gate where Sam stood. He forced a smile, “Good evening, Sam.”

“My mother saw you out here from the window and thought you might be needin’ company.”

Frodo couldn’t help but smile at Bell Gamgee in his thoughts, “Your mother is a sweet lady, Sam, but I’m fine.”

Sam stood there in the gathering dusk, wrapping his cloak tighter about him. He didn’t seem to think Mister Frodo looked fine. “What were you thinkin’ about?”

The tween let out a long sigh; vapors steaming from his mouth. “Brandy Hall. My dad. The Brandywine.” He watched more of the tiny flakes fall among the old dead leaves. “You’ve never seen the great Brandywine, Sam, but it’s very wide....and quite deep.”

Sam sat down next to Frodo; he continued to listen as his friend spoke.

“I lived at Brandy Hall all of my life and I never once learned to swim. After my parents died, it was a long time before I even went near the river again.” He smiled sadly, “I looked at it for the last time when we crossed the Bridge as I came to live with Bilbo. For a moment, I thought for sure the water was going to come up and swallow me just as it did them.

“My dad purchased the boat from one of my mum’s cousins. He wanted me to go out in the boat with him....but I was too frightened. That evening he talked my mother into going out with him. They decided to make it special and took a bottle of old Gorbadoc’s finest.” He wiped a tear that rolled down his cheek. “They discovered the boat down river the next morning, overturned and caught between a huge tree branch and a rock. They found my parents the day after further south near Standelf.” Frodo took in a long, deep breath; trying to calm away more tears that threatened to spill any moment. “I was stunned and numb for many weeks after, Sam. I don’t remember anything--not even their burial. I woke up one day and found myself an orphan, Sam.” He sniffed and wiped more tears away, “And I can’t think of any feeling more lonelier than that.”

Sam watched as Frodo’s eyes glistened with unshed tears from that awful time.

Frodo used his handkerchief to wipe his face and recover a bit. “I just hope for their sakes Paladin pulls through this,” he said. “He’s been very good to Merry, and Pippin would just fall to pieces.”

Sam‘s heart went out to his friend. “They’ll be fine, Mister Frodo,” he answered.

The two young hobbits sat in silence, watching the darkness consume the Over-heavens; snowflakes falling quietly to the ground.

Chapter Four - The Messenger

The following day, First Breakfast all the way through to supper passed by without word from the courier. Bilbo was not quite concerned yet; it was winter and there was snow on the ground. The lanes around the Smials were tricky enough on a clear summer’s night, let alone on a slippery, snowy day. The lads seemed quiet today and so Bilbo took advantage of it, deciding to catch up on his naps.

“Sam-Sam-Sam-Sam-Sam-Sam-Sam! No--you don’t want to move your queen there.” Pippin and Sam sat in wing-tipped chairs with a table between them. Upon the table was a chess game in progress. Sam rarely played chess, considering it a game for high-minded folks, though he didn’t do too bad himself. Pippin, already an advanced player for his age group, played chess on a regular basis with his cousins and father.

Sam once again studied the board. He looked at his smaller opponent, “I don’t?”

Pippin, resting his chin in his hand, shook his head. “No. You see, if you move it there,” Pippin pointed to a few of his key pieces, “you will open her up for a kill. And your queen is one piece you don’t want captured--at least not this early in the game.”

“How ‘bout if I move this piece here?” Sam slid his rook down and captured one of the key pieces Pippin previously pointed out.

Pippin sat back in his chair and blinked in surprise. Sam tried his best to hide his grin.

Frodo sat off to the side on the couch reading a book. He’d heard the whole discourse between Sam and his cousin. “I can’t believe you fell for the oldest trick in the book, Pippin.” Frodo smirked, “You allowed Sam to break your concentration.”

Pippin was still stinging over the last move, “I was trying to help him!”

“Don’t let him fool you,” said Frodo, reading the page in his book, “Sam needs no help when it comes to chess.”

Merry walked into the library wearing an apron and bowed low, “Dinner is served!”

Sam rose from his chair and stretched, “Well, I’ll be seein’ you in the mornin’, Mister Frodo.”

Frodo laid his book aside and also stood up. “Why don’t you stay and have a bit of supper with us...and then go home and eat again with your family?” Frodo grinned slyly.

“Yes, Sam,” Merry agreed, “I’ve made plenty for us all.”

Pippin saw this teen and tween diversion as his moment--he would be first at the table. He leaped out of his chair and darted for the kitchen, nearly getting past the apron-wearing hobbit. Merry, still holding conversation with his cousin and Sam, nonchalantly reached down and scooped Pippin into his arms. He lifted him up and threw him like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder and tickled him. “No you don’t! You must wash your greedy little hands first!”

Pippin laughed uncontrollably. “I will! I will!” Then shrieked for mercy, “Put me down!”

Merry let his cousin down and watched him run towards the wash room, “and wake up Bilbo from his nap!” After a moment, he sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets. He looked hopefully at Frodo and Sam, “Did an answer come yet today?”

Frodo shook his head. “No. Nothing has come.” He saw the disappointment in Merry’s eyes and wanted to lessen his torment. “Perhaps he got a little lost,” he offered. “You have to admit, Merry, there are plenty of folks from Hobbiton who’ve never been south of The Water.”

Merry dropped down in Pippin’s empty chair. “But I was certain to give him the simplest of directions. I don’t understand.”

Frodo sat on the arm of the chair and put his own arm about his cousin’s shoulder, “Merry, if we don’t receive word from the courier by tomorrow at tea, then I will ride to Tuckborough myself and find out what is going on with your uncle.”

“I’m sorry, Frodo,” Merry replied miserably, “I shouldn’t be carrying on so.”

“Merry,” Frodo tried his best to comfort his young cousin, “How else should you be carrying on? You obviously love your uncle, as I know he loves you.” Merry looked up. Frodo gave his shoulder a squeeze, “Years ago we had a conversation about you. And I like Paladin, too, if for no other reason than because he loves you, and we both want to see good things happen to you.” Then he gently pulled up on his cousin’s shoulder, “Come along, Merry, and eat supper. I’ve heard the cook makes a most delicious chicken and dumplings!”

A sad smile played on the teen’s lips as he stood up. “I’m told he’s better at eating it than cooking it.”

This made Frodo laugh; it felt good to laugh, after all the gloom these past few days. “Let us go into the kitchen and find out, shall we?”

*******

It was now the second day out from hiring a courier and still no word had arrived from Tuckborough. After tea, there was a bit of planning and scheming between Frodo and Merry as to how they were to ride all the way to Whitwell to find word on Paladin. They packed a few items into their sacks and were about to sneak off to the village stables. As they came to the end of the lane Frodo saw a horse-drawn cart pulling up beside it. Frodo put out his arm in front of his cousin to stop him before he walked into the ponies‘ path. They both stared as the cart and driver came to a stop.

The driver tipped his hat. “Good day to you!” He wore a dark, fur-lined cloak over his woolen overcoat with a gray scarf, and dark trousers to match. By his clothes alone, one should’ve been able to tell he was a wealthy Took from across The Water. “Hullo, Merry! Nice to see you.” It was Adelard Took, a cousin and good friend of Paladin’s. By this time Bilbo and Pippin had stepped out of the Smial and into the wintry cold. He seemed to take no notice that all eyes were riveted on him; no one spoke.

Bilbo had to squint into the setting sun in order to see who this hobbit was. He certainly wasn’t the cooper’s son. “Who are you?” He asked, shielding his eyes.

“You know me, Bilbo! My name is Adelard--though everyone generally calls me Addie.” He saw Sam’s puzzled look, “I’m a Took from Great Smials where a young courier stumbled in from the cold yesterday--ill dressed for the weather and lost. We gave him food, clothing, and lodging until I could travel to Whitwell early this morning to find the answer to your note. I’ve traveled far this day--returning the lad to his father, and seeking this young hobbit here and his cousin.” He nodded towards Merry, then spied the little hobbit standing in front of the Bilbo. “Ah! There you are, Pippin.”

“How is my uncle?” Merry asked, though undecided if he really wanted to know the answer to that question.

Adelard’s smile disappeared. “Have you not heard?”

Chapter Five - The News

It was the way Adelard had said it, and it was all Merry needed to hear; he lost all color to his face and sank down to his hands and knees on the cold ground. Everything around him became a blur and all sound became a distant hum. Pippin began sobbing, then ran off heedlessly down into the field below.

Adelard was genuinely puzzled at the commotion. “I thought you knew--I thought Tina had sent word that his fever broke yesterday afternoon. But perhaps in her joy it slipped her mind, thinking perhaps Pearl or Pimpernel might send it. You must forgive her--she’s been under a terrible strain.”

“Fev-- broke?” Bilbo did a second take at the child running full speed into the snowy field. He saw that Frodo was seeing to Merry. Then he looked back at Adelard, “Look at what you’ve done! Stay right there and don’t move!”

Bilbo carefully stepped over the snow buried cobblestone steps that lead down into the field. He was far too old to be running about as he did during his days of adventure, but he could walk very fast when the situation called for it.

The cold snow took away most of the breath Pippin needed to run with. He was gasping for air in huge gulps when he stopped in the middle of the field and sat down in the white drifts; no coat and no cloak. He folded his arms across his chest trying to keep warm as he sobbed uncontrollably. Pippin felt his heart torn to pieces as his world fell apart right before him. Then he felt someone pull him up out of the snow. It was Bilbo.

Bilbo lifted the boy to carry him back into the Smial and felt him shivering. He held him close to warm him up. “Hush, Pippin,” he spoke softly, “we misunderstood him, my lad.” Pippin continued to sob into his shoulder as he carried him up towards the steps. “Your father lives.”

“But Addie just said that my papa died,” Pippin moaned in his tears.

“No, what he said was ‘I thought you heard’. Does that ring a bell?” Bilbo rubbed the boy’s back to warm him up some more. He took Pippin straight into the Smial and beckoned for the rest to follow him.

Pippin was still wiping tears as they entered inside, but understood what Bilbo was saying. “Then why didn’t he just say my papa was fine?”

Bilbo sat the boy down in a chair in the kitchen. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped Pippin’s eyes, then let him blow his nose while he poured hot tea for the lad. “Why don’t you ask him?” Bilbo looked over to the other adult hobbit in the room.

Adelard was helping a distraught Merry into one of the parlor chairs; he, too, was crying and wiping away tears. Frodo took over as soon as Adelard walked towards the kitchen. “I am dreadfully sorry for all the pain I’ve just caused. I honestly thought Tina--or even Pearl--,” Adelard took another chair and sat next to Pippin, “I’m so sorry. So much has been going on.”

Bilbo came back from fetching the lap quilt in his study, saying, “Well we received no such word yesterday, today, or all week. That is why we hired the courier.” He wrapped the quilt around Pippin, “I would’ve gone myself except I was already charged to watch over these boys.”

Merry asked Adelard, “When can we go back? When can we see him?”

“Let’s go now!” said Pippin.

“It is too late and much too far to travel tonight, lads.” Adelard replied. “But I will take you both back home first thing tomorrow morning. At any rate, I must find shelter for myself and my ponies.” He looked at Bilbo, “Can you point me towards the Inn? I’m embarrassed to say it’s been a long time since I’ve been up in these parts.”

“You will do no such thing!” said Bilbo. “Frodo, take Addie down to the stables then bring him straight back here; he shall be our guest tonight.”

“I don’t want to impose, Bilbo,” said Adelard, though he had pleasant thoughts of catching up on news with his old friend.

“You should know you’re not imposing--and I have a few more spare bedrooms in case you’ve brought your family in your pockets.”

A bewildered Adelard patted down his pockets.....

NOTE: My apologies--the spoiler occurs in this chapter, vice chapter five.

Chapter Six - Destination Whitwell

The two older hobbits sat near the fireplace far into the evening, blowing smoke rings up towards the ceiling. Adelard sipped on a mug of the Gaffer’s fine home brew as he and Bilbo talked about the lads and getting them home. Of course the boys were all tucked away in bed, having had a very wearisome day.

“They’re fine lads, Addie,” said Bilbo of Pippin and Merry. He was watching the flames dance in the hearth. “I’d love to have them over together again, but under better circumstances.”

“Yes, and they are good lads,” said Adelard, speaking from his own personal observations. “And Frodo’s growing into a fine young hobbit himself.”

“That he is, Addie,” Bilbo smiled as he nodded. “That he is.”

Adelard chuckled, “The last time Frodo came to visit Reggie, they both worked their way into plenty of mischief.”

“He’s gotten into plenty of it on his own right here at Bag End,” said Bilbo, “though none so serious, and not like he did when he first came to live here.”

Adelard blew three smoke rings one right after the other and watched them float upwards. “Why is it you don’t visit the Smials like you used to? You still have plenty of kin who would like to see their Baggins cousin every now and then,” Addie grinned, “in spite of his peculiarities!”

(**Minor Spoiler in this paragraph**)

Bilbo laughed softly at the memory of his return from his year-long adventure. He was presumed dead, and as a result, an auction was being held on the very morning he returned. A large crowd of hobbits swarmed the entrance to his hobbit hole; none of them even bothering to wipe their feet on the mat! Indeed, the only ones present who seemed truly happy to see him come back at all were two very young hobbits: Adelard and Paladin Took. These two young cousins had remained good friends throughout their lives, and were the only two Tooks who still invited him to family gatherings. It was at that moment Bilbo decided that he, too, would make the long trek to Tuckborough and visit with the other young hobbit--though not quite so young anymore.

*******

“Uncle Addie!”

The elder hobbit was sleeping comfortably on his belly until he felt a jounce upon the bed, and then again upon his back. He opened an eye as one excited little hobbit pounced him and the blankets into the world of the wakeful.

“It’s time to get up Uncle Addie!” said Pippin, lying atop Adelard’s back.

Adelard could hear Pippin crunching on something that smelled…sweet. Then he sniffed a warm pungent odor of cookie on the child’s breath. Cookies first thing in the morning?, he thought. He made a face and then thought to get up for a real breakfast of eggs and salted pork, but it seemed the boy wasn’t about to get off his back until he stirred. “Very well, Pippin,” he yawned, “I’m awake.” Neither hobbit moved; the boy lay comfortably on Addie’s back and continued munching.

“Pippin,” he said.

“Yes?”

“I cannot get up while you are perched on my shoulders.”

“Sorry.” Pippin slid off the larger hobbit, letting him arise from the bed. “Shall I tell Merry that you’re up?” He brushed his hands together to rid them of the crumbs.

“Tell Merry?” Adelard stood in front of the wash basin and filled it with water from the pitcher. “Tell him what? It was your cousin was behind getting me up? I thought breakfast was on the board.” He splashed his face with the cold water and a bit of soap.

“Uh...,” Pippin had to think fast, “Merry wanted me to wake you.....so that...we could make you your favorite breakfast!” He winced--it really wasn’t the entire truth.

Adelard finished drying his face with the towel, then kissed Pippin’s curly head saying, “Try again.” Then he playfully threw the towel in the boy’s face. “Are you packed yet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well then be a good lad and let me get dressed, eh?” He smiled, “I shall go out to the kitchen for breakfast as soon as I’m finished.”

“May I ask you one question first?”

Adelard sat down on the bed next to Pippin, “What is your question?”

“Did you see my papa? With your own eyes, I mean.”

“Yes, I saw your papa,” said Adelard. “With my own eyes--though he was asleep at the time.” He took in a deep breath and put his arms around the lad, “Pippin....your papa is no longer with fever, however, he is still very weak and tires easily. It will be a long while before he’s out of his sick bed, and will probably not get his full strength back until just before the growing season. He will almost certainly need your help in the fields, and even though he will not ask for it, I will send Reggie or Ever to aid him as well. Do you understand?”

Pippin nodded, “Yes. I helped him in the fields last year, but it wasn’t much more than handing out seed or baskets to the workers. I’m able to do more this year, now that I’m far older.”

Adelard smiled, “You’re a good boy, Pippin. Now you need to let me get dressed so we can have breakfast. The sooner we leave, the sooner you get to see your father.”

*****

After breakfast, Bilbo met up with Frodo as he was packing in his room. He had instructed the tween to bring a few items in case they became stranded in Tuckborough. At any rate, Bilbo hoped to spend at least one night in Great Smials so that Frodo could visit with his friend Reginard Took, Addie’s eldest son.

Bilbo stepped inside the room, “Are you ready, my boy?” He watched as Frodo silently nodded. Bilbo drew closer to Frodo, “How are you feeling?”

Frodo paused in folding a clean shirt before shoving it into his rucksack. He shrugged, “Better, I suppose.”

Bilbo sat on the bed as Frodo busied himself with a few more items. He took hold of one of the lad’s hands as he walked passed towards his wardrobe and guided the young hobbit to sit down on the bed beside him. He gazed into Frodo’s surprised eyes, “You’ve been a brave lad this week.”

Frodo turned away from Bilbo’s eyes, “Funny…I don’t feel brave. I feel…” Frodo hesitated to spill his heart. “I feel…”

“Angry?” He nodded with a knowing look when Frodo abruptly turned back to face him, then lowered his eyes in embarrassment. Bilbo spoke softly to Frodo, “I suspected so; and it is nothing to be ashamed about. I cannot answer why one person dies and the other one lives, and I can only imagine the heartache that you went through. I do believe though, that the memory of your mum and dad will forever live through you, Frodo--through your own life. I know this week must have been difficult for you, lad, but you have come through it a better person. I have seen you grow into a fine young adult; laying aside your sorrow and helping your young cousins to get through their own. I have seen far too much grief take hold of loved ones--making them bitter and stealing away whatever joy that they had in their lives. But to overcome that grief, Frodo, that is where the courageousness comes in. You are brave, Frodo, and I’m very proud of you.”

Frodo wiped a few errant tears that ran down his face, then smiled. “I am happy that Paladin is well again. I just thought that I would disappoint you if you knew I was jealous.”

“No, Frodo,” Bilbo put his arm around the tween and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You could never disappoint me.”

Chapter Seven - Blessed Reunion

Just before nine o’clock, Bilbo and Adelard had the company on Hobbiton road and headed south towards the East Road. After that, they would head west for a bit, then they would stop in Waymeet for elevenses. Thereafter, they would head south a short ways and then back east towards the Tookbank--and hopefully have a late lunch in Whitwell. There would be more winding, narrow lanes around the hills to Tuckborough, and then on to their last stop: Whitwell. It would be on those slender lanes that they’d have to be the most careful.

A long ride it was and very cold, too. The three lads huddled in the back of the cart covered in woolen blankets in addition to their own coats, scarves, and cloaks. When the road was wide enough, Bilbo, who was riding a pony, would ride side-by-side along with the cart talking to Adelard, but when it became too narrow, he’d fall to the back and converse with the boys.

Adelard first tried the lanes around the northern bank, as they were flat and wide; two carts could easily pass by one another. However, as he rounded the northwestern spur of the Tookbank he saw there were deep snowdrifts that had not melted in shade of the Hill. It would be unsafe to try and master them being that there was no way to tell how deep they were, they could easily become trapped. Adelard stopped the cart and backed up a little ways until he was able to turn around, and then he headed for the lanes to the south of the Hills.

To his relief, most of the snow on the south track had melted under the cloudless sky, and so the traveling would not be as treacherous along this slender path as he first thought. However, the Southern lane was perilous in that it was only wide enough for one cart, and situated at the very bottom of the Hill which sloped at certain parts along the way.

Adelard rode slowly as he also kept a wary eye out for the pony rider behind him; walking on a slant was just as hazardous for ponies as it was for carts. He held a tight grip on the reins as he scanned the path ahead for hidden rocks and deep ruts in the road. After nearly an hour, he finally breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the lane open up to the Road on the eastern side of Great Smials. Now more at ease, he called over his shoulder, “It’s just a few more miles now!” He flicked the reins for the ponies to pick up the pace.

Before long, Pippin and Merry were recognizing the familiar landscape of the village Whitwell. Pippin gazed as they passed by a neat row of thatch houses. One was the home of the Saddlers; he had been guest there on many occasions as Mistress Verbena loved to stuff the neighborhood children with her jam preserves. Pippin knew then that he was not far from home. A few more minutes passed when he saw they were riding up the well-known path that led to the tall, grassy embankment that was the home to a special Took family.

When they halted, Pippin wasted no time in sliding out the back of the cart and ran towards the door, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Papa! Momma! I’m home!”

The rest followed at a more leisurely pace with cramped muscles and stiff backs. They were all met at the door by Dahlia the cook.

“Pippin, my dear laddie!” she leaned down and held out her arms. She made a grab for the charging boy, but he wriggled free of her hands saying, “My papa’s not sick anymore, Dahlia! I have to see him!”

“Where’s Auntie?” Merry asked, looking around and not seeing or hearing her anywhere nearby.

“After bein’ cooped up for nearly a week, the lasses convinced her to get out for some fresh air. Yer auntie rode off to Mistress Violet’s house along with the lasses to fetch Pervinca,” she answered. Then she looked at the well-dressed elderly hobbit, “She also sent out a message this morning to Hobbiton, but I s’pose now the messenger will find yer place empty.”

“How’s Paladin?” Adelard voiced the question of all the travelers.

Dahlia scratched her head, “He’s doin’ better. Mr. Paladin’s been very tired and was sleepin’ as ye rode up,” she looked back towards the bedrooms, “but I doubt that he’s sleepin’ now.”

“May we just peek in?” asked Adelard. “Some of us have traveled far to visit him, and if he’s up, we’d like to talk with him a bit.” Then he added, “but I promise we won’t bother him for long.”

The elderly matron took a moment to think about it; she considered herself the guardian of every member of this simple family. “Well...,” she said slowly, trying to make up her mind. “I reck’n it wouldn’t hurt if he’s already awake, but if he’s sleepin’…,” she trailed off.

“Yes, ma’am--we’ll come right back here!” said Adelard. He never crossed ol’ Dahlia.

The group quietly crept back towards the bedrooms and immediately found the room they sought. Inside, they could hear Pippin talking excitedly to the occupant.

“...and we made cookies, and Bilbo even told me a story about Smaug!” Both hobbits looked up at the door as the group entered.

Merry couldn’t take his eyes off of his uncle; he looked pasty and sallow with dark circles under his eyes. The bedroom reeked of bitter herbs and garlic.

“I do look terrible, don’t I?” Paladin smiled weakly. His arm was wrapped around the little hobbit lying on the bed snuggled up at his side. Pippin was all smiles as his arm held a firm grasp around his father‘s waist.

“That won’t last long,” Adelard smiled at his friend, “you’ll be up and about sooner than you know it.” He was better than young Merry at hiding the shock of seeing his normally robust friend appear so frail.

“Yes,” Paladin replied, “but not too soon, I think. I don’t believe I could manage running after this high-spirited lad quite yet.” He gave Pippin a tender squeeze. He noticed his nephew‘s gaze. Even now, Paladin sought to comfort his boys and take their minds off of worry. “Merry lad, could you help your old uncle a bit with sitting up?”

Merry was at Paladin’s side in an instant, while Frodo and Pippin took the other side. Together the young hobbits aided Paladin with fluffing and arranging his pillows so he could better see his visitors. Paladin took Merry’s hand and then pulled him into a warm embrace. “I missed you, too, lad.”

When Paladin finally released him, Merry came away with eyes full of tears and a puffy red nose. He wiped them away and then hurried out of the room. Frodo went after him.

“I have that effect on certain hobbits,” Paladin said wryly, though inwardly he truly worried over his nephew.

“He’s taken your illness quite hard these past few days,” said Bilbo, gently taking the younger hobbit’s hand into his own.

“And I thank you, dear cousin--for caring for my lads this week.”

Adelard raised his brows, “Your lad-s?”

Paladin sighed (more from the growing fatigue). “Yes--my lad-s!” he grinned. “I remember what we talked about a few months ago, but I’ve decided that as long as he’s under my roof, he’s my lad.” Pippin smiled at Adelard’s bemusement; he and his father had talked about Merry many times. Paladin continued, “My sister and Saradoc are letting him spend the winter here, and when the time comes, he will go back to Brandy Hall.” Then he added with a smile, “Then hopefully to return again in the summer for his regular summer holiday.”

Adelard chuckled and shook his head; he knew he was powerless when it came to the will of his tenacious friend. He bent over to kiss his forehead, “I’m only glad that you’re still here with us, my friend. Now go to sleep.”

Paladin was getting drowsy again; he tried fighting the urge to shut his eyes. “I am greatly blessed to have the most wonderful cousins. I know you both have traveled very far only to watch me yawn.” And that he did. Then looking down at his side and saw Pippin was already fast asleep with his ear pressed against his ribs. Pippin had fallen asleep listening to the soothing heartbeat of his own father as he nestled in the crook of his arm. Adelard saw a blanket draped over the back of a chair and covered Pippin in it, tucking him in around his father.

Bilbo noticed the heavy weariness descending upon Paladin. “I won’t keep you from your slumber; I shall return again tomorrow. I will be visiting some old friends at Great Smials for the next few days.” He stood at the foot of the bed and gave Paladin’s leg a couple pats. “Sleep well, lad.”

After his friends left the room, Paladin relaxed and closed his eyes, allowing the silence to envelope him. Just as he was on the verge of dreams, a slight noise woke him. He opened his eyes to discover Merry watching him from the doorway. “Come here,” he beckoned his nephew towards the bed.

Merry slowly padded over to the bed and at his uncle’s invitation, he did as Pippin and lay on the bed next to Paladin, in the crook of the other arm. Merry wanted to always remember this moment; he nuzzled his nose, and then his cheek against the crisp linen nightshirt, feeling the warmth of his uncle’s skin underneath it touch his own. He placed his hand atop Paladin’s chest, feeling it rise and fall against his palm with every breath.

Then he watched his cousin deep in slumber on the other side of his uncle. “He didn’t sleep the whole night--nor on the way here. He was so eager to see you.”

“Pippin? I see that,” answered Paladin. “Usually he never sits still long enough to take a nap.”

“I’m sorry for running out of the room as I did,” said Merry apologetically. “I was being terribly selfish again.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I knew that I’d be miserable and empty if you.... and it frightened me. I never want you to be sick ever again.”

“Son, I have no control over how I leave this world. I may be ill, or I may die of old age.”

Merry smiled at his uncle’s endearment, and he never tired of hearing it. He became peaceful as he listened to Paladin’s heartbeat in his ear; it was like the song of a lullaby to him. He spoke softly, “Then if you must, let it be of old age.” He felt his uncle kiss his head. “I love you, Uncle Paladin,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.” Paladin smiled peacefully as both of his lads slept under each arm. He closed his eyes, letting restful dreams take him away.

~~The End~~