Setting: Crickhollow, midsummer, 1421. Frodo is nearly 53 and will leave for the Grey Havens in a month or two. Merry is 39. Pippin has just turned 31.

Disclaimer: Characters and Places are not mine.

A Birthday, A Cold, A Memory and a Gift

Chapter One

Peregrin Took had eleven nieces. They were, in no particular order (as no one could ever keep them in any particular order): Parcilla, Premutine, Peregrinna, Pelvinca, Pespertine, Presincta, Parestia, Paladina, Eglantine II and the twins Pelanora and Peladora.

And at the moment, they were all shrieking.

"Uncle Pippin! Uncle Pippin! Uncle Pippin!"

Frodo cast Pippin a sympathetic smile as the dutiful young uncle came over to see what it was they wanted. Just the sight of all those little Tooks in their party dresses fluttering about like tiny crazed birds made Frodo’s head spin.

"Well," Pippin put his hands on his hips and bent down to address them. "What is it?"

"Uncle Pippin!" Pespertine cried, wrapping her arms about his knees, "Come play with us!"

Pippin looked out at the sea of little lasses and sighed. He did enjoy his place as very most favoritist uncle. He was, after all, the one who showed them all how to make and fly a kite, how to catch a wriggly frog, how to steal only the cookies from the very edges of the tray so their mothers wouldn’t notice and how, once you had accomplished the thankless task of emptying a tin pie pan, you could flip it over and with a particular flick of your wrist could send it sailing in a pleasing arc half way across the yard.

"Well, alright," he gave in, "but I can’t play long, as it is my party and it’s my job to make sure that everyone has a good time. And that includes the adults. So, shall we say piggy-backs, then? One apiece to that great tree there and back?"

There were numerous shrieks of agreement.

"Right," Pippin nodded, "Line up then. I’ll take you one at a time."

The nieces did as they were told, forming a rather uneven, fidgety line behind their uncle. Then he scooped up the first lass, who happened to be Paladina, hoisted her up onto his shoulders, secured her arms around his neck and her legs about his middle, and galloped off down the established path. Her delighted laughter rose up, but was lost in the party music.

One of the smaller lasses, who stood at the end of the line, started to fidget more than the others. It seemed an eternity before her turn would come. Her eyes began to search about, looking for something to occupy her until then. She spotted Frodo sitting alone at a table and immediately abandoned her not-so-great-anyway place in line.

"Hi," she whispered, climbing up to the seat beside him.

"Hello." He smiled.

"Are you Frodo?"

"Yes. And who are you?"

"I’m Peladora," she said, then slumped her shoulders, "but everyone always thinks I’m Pelanora."

Frodo nodded solemnly. "That happens to me too."

Peladora was looking at his hand with interest. "What happened to your finger?"

"Don’t remember."

"Parestia said a dragon ate it."

"Maybe that’s what happened."

She shook her head. "I don’t believe in dragons."

"Well," Frodo shrugged, "Maybe not, then."

"Are you very old?"

"Yes. Very."

"Are you older than Uncle Pippin?"

"No. He’s quite ancient."

"He’s 31 today."

"So I’ve been told."

"He’s very tall."

"He is indeed."

"Have you ever ridden piggy-back with him?"

"I’m sorry to say I haven’t."

"Oh. It’s scary."

"Is it?"

"Yes. But I’m not afraid."

"No?"

"No. Uncle Pippin told us he never drops anyone."

"I don’t suppose he does."

"Well," Peladora eased herself down from the bench, "I better go. It’s almost my turn."

"You don’t want to miss that."

"No, I don’t."

Frodo watched the tiny Took run back to the now-dwindling line and sighed. He gazed about the yard of the Crickhollow house, decorated with gay colored streamers and lanterns, filled with music and food and laughter and singing and happy friends and relations. It made him rather sad when he thought that this would be the last Shire birthday party he would ever attend.

~~~~

"Hoy, Frodo," Pippin grinned, released at last and taking a seat across from him. "At last I get to talk to you unhindered."

"Happy Birthday, my dear Pip." Frodo lifted his glass.

"Thank you."

"How does it feel to be 31?"

"Much the same as to be 30, I’m afraid, though perhaps the drastic changes don’t take effect until the day is entirely through."

"Yes, I think that is the way it works if I remember," Frodo smiled. "Just wait until you come of age. Then you’ll really get a wallop."

"I’m sure." Pippin took out his pipe, but didn’t light it. "How’s Sam?"

"Sorry he couldn’t come, I bet. He and Rose have their hands quite full at the moment with little Elanor, though."

"Ah, I’ve had enough of those for the moment." Pippin laughed.

"And where is Meriadoc Brandybuck, I wonder," Frodo said, craning his head about to get a better view of the party guests. "I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him yet."

"Oh, he’s probably over with old Fatty Bolger and his sister. They’re quite pallsy-wallsy these days, it seems."

"Fatty or his sister?"

"Both."

Frodo understood. "Estella is a fine lass."

Pippin shrugged. "I suppose."

"Come now, Pip, surely a couple of sweet lasses have caught your eye."

"Oh, plenty have caught my eye, alright, but none long enough that I care to go on thinking about them now." Pippin reached over for Frodo’s glass and took a sip of the Baggins’s ale since he had none of his own at the moment. "And anyway," he continued, "I should think it would be rather nice to be a lonely bachelor like yourself."

"Silly Took," Frodo laughed, "You speak such nonsense. Give it a couple years and you’ll be a fat old Thain dragging around your little Pecan and Parsley and Posy and Peppermint."

"Goodness how I hope not!" Pippin moaned and put his head comically in his hands.

"Alright, alright," Frodo smiled, "I’ll not mention it again. I wouldn’t want to spoil your lovely party."

Pippin brought his face back out with a smile. He picked up his pipe again and seemed to consider whether or not he should smoke it, then decided against it and tucked it back inside his coat.

Frodo thought this was a bit odd, then it occurred to him that Pippin looked rather flushed.

"You feeling well, Pip?"

"I’m feeling fabulous," Pippin smiled, "it’s my birthday."

Frodo shook his head. "I’m serious."

Pippin frowned. "So am I."

He stood then and took Frodo by the arm. "Now come and let’s see if we can’t find a bit of this delicious spread everyone’s been complimenting me on all night. And there should be a cake around here somewhere, too, if I’m not mistaken. With candles, I suppose."

Frodo allowed himself to be lead to the food tables, but he could not keep the feeling of dread from rising in his stomach. Pippin not well was not a good thing. And his lying about it generally meant that it was worse.

But then, Frodo thought, perhaps it was not a lie. Perhaps he was just paranoid because of his own illnesses. Pippin had not be sick in many years. He was healthier and sturdier than he had ever been before. And, besides, it Was his birthday. It was not the hobbit way to take ill when there was a party to enjoyed and fancy fare to be eaten.

These worrisome matters dropped back immediately in Frodo’s head as he spotted Merry at a table, seated just as Pippin had predicted between Fatty Bolger and his sister. Yet Merry’s attention, Frodo could see clearly even from this distance, was focused solely on Estella.

Frodo took a seat directly across from them at the table and began to eat his dinner quietly, waiting for Merry to notice his presence. It took a bit of time, but eventually the Brandybuck turned to reach for his half-pint and spotted his cousin. A saucy smile spread over his face.

"Why, hello there, Frodo Baggins. I see you’ve decided to leave your dusty library and very important books to join us for the evening. How splendid!"

"Hallo Merry." Frodo grinned back, but felt a twinge of guilt. He had very nearly decided not to come. The past few months in particular, he had grown increasingly leery of leaving the safe privacy of Bag End, so much so that attending a large gathering like this felt far more like a trial than a party.

"Have you seen the birthday cake yet?" Merry asked. It seemed an odd question so at first Frodo thought he was joking, but then he noticed the earnestness about the hobbit’s eyes.

"Uh, no, I haven’t. I have seen the birthday lad, though."

Merry brushed that away. "Ah, he’s nothing special. Nothing new, anyway. But the cake is grand."

"Is it?" Frodo was becoming rather confused with the direction of this conversation and wondered if maybe he had made the wrong choice in coming. He was rather out of practice with idle talk these days.

"Of course it is," Merry beamed proudly, "Estella here made it. She’s quite exceptional in the kitchen."

Now Frodo understood. He felt a brief wave of pity for Pippin. The two famous bachelors of Crickhollow were not long to remain in the plural. There was a certain look in Merry’s eyes that could not be argued with. The last time he had seen a hobbit this smitten for a lass it was Sam for Rosie. It was sad, in a way, that they did not stay carefree lads forever…

But things must change, he reminded himself, and that is not really a tragedy. Merry and Pippin and Sam were going to continue growing and leading happy lives, whether he would take part or not. He was glad to know this.

"I’m certain," he said then, putting a bright expression on his face, "And I doubt that this is the only area in which she is exceptional, her beauty not the least obvious."

Estella blushed and Merry looked to Frodo appreciatively.

"It really is good to see you, Frodo." He said. "We must find a way to make these visits more frequent."

Frodo just managed to keep his voice steady. "Well, I’m here now."

"That you are." Merry laughed. "Now let us eat and enjoy that pleasure together."

Frodo nodded, grateful for the opportunity to occupy his mouth with something other than conversation.

~~~~

As the meal dwindled down, Estella and Fatty left the cousins to supervise the handling of the cake that was to be brought out soon. Merry moved so that he was sitting beside Frodo and the two lit their pipes to share a smoke while Pippin gave his speech.

"He’s quite improved on his speech-giving, Frodo. You’ll be impressed. I’ve heard him practicing this in his baths all week."

"No more ‘thank you all for coming now let’s have some cake’?"

"Well, that’s still about the gist of it, but he’s learning to be a bit more eloquent."

The both sat up and applauded as Pippin took his place. Merry removed his pipe from his mouth and replaced it with two fingers, letting out a whistle that was particular to the Brandybucks, as well as one finely tutored Took.

Pippin cleared his throat and smiled broadly. Gone were the days of standing on a barrel or a box to give a speech and he was grateful. Being now the tallest hobbit in the Shire all he had to do was stand and everyone could see him clearly. He put his hands behind his back, as he had always been taught to when speaking publicly, opened his mouth and began.

"My esteemed fellow hobbits, lads and lasses, family and neighbors, friends and miscellaneous like and associates. It pleases me so much that you have joined me here tonight on this rather important occasion of my thirty-first birthday, more so than I believe I could accurately describe, although I should like to try..."

"Esteemed?" Frodo whispered.

"I gave him that one." Merry replied.

"I expected as much."

"…more than a second helping of potato pie or discovering an extra sausage hidden beneath your pancake when you thought you’d eaten them all…" Pippin’s eyes were enormous and glassy with excitement.

Merry leaned back and shook his head. "He’s improvising now," he informed Frodo.

"Yes, I can tell."

"…or a day when it has been raining but it chooses to stop just when you must go out…"

Frodo frowned. "Does he look a bit pale to you, Merry?"

"Pip’s always a bit pale. It doesn’t do to worry about it."

"That’s true."

"…and if you’ll agree with me as I’m sure you have that all these things bring a great deal of pleasure to a hobbit, then you must understand the degree to what I speak of when I say that your presence here gives me even more such pleasure. So, for that I am most humbly grateful. And now, let us enjoy this very fine cake and this even finer evening!"

Merry and Frodo cheered with the rest of the hobbits as Pippin took a rather modest bow, the band struck up a cheerful tune, and the cake began to make the rounds.

~~~~

Eventually the party began to wind down and although it was considered a success, most of the hobbits began regretfully to take their leave.

Frodo wandered about a bit, having given up on Merry after Estella had returned and the two commenced to feed each other slices of cake, giggling at their private treat and making moon eyes at one another. Frodo thought quite bitterly that the sight rivaled anything he had seen in Mordor.

He moved among the empty tables, now covered with spilled drinks and crumbs, and the disheveled lawns that would certainly be a disaster in the light of the morning. He was half-heartedly looking for Pippin, but he didn’t care so much if he didn’t happen upon him too soon. The night air and the peace of being alone was rather relaxing to him now.

He walked along the path, following it to the stables and through the small orchard, over the soft summer grasses and back up to the house, admiring the soft moonlight and the sweet smell of the Buckland air.

He came upon Pippin at last, bidding farewell to his sister Pearl and her five daughters. The nieces had each been given as their gift a kite with the letter "P"  (and one "E" for Eggy II) emblazoned on the body in a different color for each lass so there could be no argument over whose kite belonged to whom or who had received a better gift. Very bright of the Took, Frodo felt, and diplomatic as well.

Pippin said his last good-byes to the clan and offered his final kisses. After they had hopped into their carriage and rode off toward town, Pippin turned to Frodo and gave him a weak smile. He looked exhausted. Frodo attempted to make light of it.

"Goodness but you’re getting lazy in your old age, Pip. When I was thirty-one I could carry on all night and then some. You look as though you’re prepared to retire to a rocking chair and a blanket."

"It’s not the number of my years," Pippin laughed, "it’s the number of my relations!"

"Well," Frodo smiled, "Can you spare a bit for one more, then, and show me where I’m to sleep?"

"Of course," Pippin took his arm and lead him back to the house, "You are my very favorite Baggins-relation, you know."

"That’s quite an honor."

"It is." Pippin poked him, "Don’t knock it."

"I would never."

The entered through the back door into the kitchen, which has grown dark and cold. Pippin muttered something under his breath and poked the fire in the hearth until it came back to life a bit.

Frodo glanced about and frowned. "Has Merry already gone to bed and not wished us goodnight?"

Pippin snorted a bit as he abandoned the poker and took instead the tinder box in one hand and a candle in the other. He motioned for Frodo to follow and began leading the way to the guest quarters.

"I doubt that he’s going to be in bed for quite some time," he said over his shoulder, "For he’s gone to bid Estella goodnight at her doorstep and that can take several hours these days."

"But the Bolgers live just around the bend."

"Oh, it’s not the getting there bit that takes such time. It’s the parting."

"I see."

Pippin lead Frodo into a small, tidy room and set the candle down on the night table. He lit a second candle that was near it, then knelt and set to work on the fireplace.

"This is quite nice, Pippin, thank you," Frodo said and located his pack on a chair in the corner. He immediately began to rummage through it, locating his nightclothes and setting out what he would need in the morning.

"The fire should pick up a bit soon," Pippin said apologetically, stepping back from the small flame he’d tindered. "It should be right and warm in here then."

"It’s wonderful. Thank you. Now go get some sleep. You look half-dead."

"Alright," Pippin nodded and, bending down, he gave his cousin a soft kiss on the cheek, something he hadn’t done since he was a lad and had had to stand on his toes to accomplish the task. "Goodnight."

Frodo felt a tight catch in his throat and brushed back a few of Pippin’s near-blonde curls with his finger, the only response he could manage at the moment.

Pippin smiled and took one of the two candles, cupped a hand to shield the flame and made his way to the door. He paused just before leaving. "Goodnight." He said again.

This time Frodo found his voice. "Happy Birthday."

Pippin laughed and closed the door behind him.

"Goodnight." Frodo said quietly after he had gone. "Sleep well, Little Pip."

A Birthday, A Cold, A Memory and a Gift: Chapter Two

Frodo was not sleeping well, a fact he didn’t find too surprising. It was not often that he did sleep well. It hadn’t been for a long time, anyway.

He had just decided to get dressed and see if he could find a book to read until morning, when he heard a large crash in the direction of the kitchen. He froze and his sharp ears picked up what sounded like pottery and cutlery, rolling on the floor. Without further hesitation, he threw back the covers and ran out to investigate.

He moved quickly down the hallway into the kitchen, where he came upon Pippin crouching among the remains of a tea tray, attempting to pick up the pieces of a broken teapot and cup while not burning his fingers on the scalding liquid puddled all around.

"Let me help," Frodo said, kneeling. Taking a large piece of busted teapot into his hands, he began to fill it with smaller shards.

"It’s all right," Pippin muttered, teeth chattering, "I’m sorry I woke you."

"You didn’t. Now tell me what’s the matter."

"Nothing’s the matter, unless you choose to count my clumsy, foolish hands."

"You’ve always had quite clever hands, Pip. But that’s not what I mean and you know it." He sighed. "So I’ll ask you something perhaps you will answer: why were you making tea at this hour?"

"Because it’s so dreadful cold in here and I can’t seem to start a decent fire to save my toes!"

"But it’s not cold, Pip. It’s midsummer. It’s almost entirely too warm…" Frodo’s head was bent as spoke, concentrating his eyes on the task. He accidentally bumped Pippin’s hand then and saw how it was shaking, "And you Are sick after all, aren’t you?"

Pippin shuddered. "It’s just a cold."

"There’s no such thing with you."

"Of course there is! Plenty of hobbits just get colds all the time." He glared at Frodo with as much sternness as he could muster, though it was a hard sell, as he did not look particularly menacing in his pyjamas, shivering on the kitchen floor.

Frodo started to speak and was startled at the amount of anger he found himself feeling toward his cousin at that moment. He knew it must be a combination of fear and frustration, but still, it was surprisingly strong stuff. He attempted to control his voice, keeping it low.

"To bed, Pippin. Now."

"But, Frodo…"

"Now!"

Pippin looked hurt by such sharpness and Frodo again struggled to soften his tone.

"You need to be in bed, even if it is just a cold. If it’s too chilly in your chamber, lay down in mine. There’s quite a good fire going in there now."

"Oh, salt and snakes." Pippin muttered the childish curse bitterly as he rose to his feet.

"You sound just like you did when you were ten," Frodo said through tight lips.

"You make me feel like I am still ten."

"Well, a reasonable hobbit would do as he was told and not stand about pouting."

Pippin had no good response for that (a sure sign that he was not himself, as Pippin always had a good response for everything) and so he opted to just stand. Obstinately.

"Pippin, please!" Frodo nearly shrieked.

Pippin’s resolve finally fell. The picture of misery, he gave up. Wrapping his arms around his shivering chest, he padded off quietly to lay down in Frodo’s room.

Not long after he had gone, Merry came home, entering through the back door and looking quite confused to find Frodo in the kitchen, not only awake, but cleaning up busted dishware. A teasing smile came to life on Merry’s face.

"Still haven’t mastered four fingers, cousin?"

Frodo didn’t return the smile. He said nothing as he moved past Merry, dumped the shards into the rubbish bin, then took the broom and dust pan from where they hung on nails near the door.

Merry could see that there was tea all over the floor as well, so he took the mop and set to work helping Frodo clean up. He could tell there was something wrong, that this was more than just moody Frodo. Yet, he also got an uneasy feeling in his stomach that perhaps it was something he didn’t want to know. He got his answer right then anyway.

"Pippin’s sick."

"What?"

"Sick. He’s sick. While you were out saying goodbye and farewell and gee the moon looks lovely tonight to Estella Bolger, Pippin was getting sick and, and, and, lying to me about it!"

Immediately, Merry began to worry, but he was also taken aback by the vicious tone of Frodo’s voice.

"It’s not my fault," he began quietly. "Honestly, Frodo, I…"

"No." Frodo cut him off. "I know that. I’m sorry. It’s not you I am angry with."

This struck Merry as even more odd. "It’s not Pippin’s fault, either."

Frodo’s face grew dark. "Of course it’s not."

Merry looked at his cousin and didn’t know what to do. He longed to embrace him, as they used to do so easily. But now…well, he hated to admit it, but he found himself almost afraid to, as if Frodo might bite in response.

He shook those thoughts away, though, ashamed of himself, and reached out his hand. He took Frodo’s in it and squeezed hard.

"I’m going to go see Pippin," he said, "I’ll come back."

Frodo nodded and slowly took his hand back, under the cover of needing it to sweep.

Just as Merry was leaving the kitchen, Frodo called out to him.

"Merry?"

Merry turned toward him. "Yes?"

"Is…is there another tea pot?"

~~~~

When Frodo returned to his room with the new tea tray, he found Pippin in bed and Merry sitting pensively beside him. It was difficult to tell which of the two was more pale.

"Is he asleep?" Frodo asked.

"I’m awake." Pippin murmured, eyes still closed.

"I’ve made some more tea if you will have it."

Merry scooted and made room so that Frodo could set a cup of tea on the bed table where Pippin could reach it. He did so and then set the rest of the tray further back so it couldn’t be easily upset but would be there if they wanted it.

He sat down beside Merry then and the two waited for Pippin to take his tea.

The youngest hobbit made no move for it, though. He remained where he was and lay perfectly still. After a moment they heard his breathing grow more heavy.

"Pip?" Merry whispered, leaning in close. Then he turned to Frodo with raised eyebrows. "He’s dropped off to sleep. Just like that."

Frodo smiled wryly. "I envy him."

"Well you won’t much longer. If his fever picks up, anyway."

Frodo shook his head and gazed at the floor. "It’s not right. This shouldn’t happen again. Not now."

"Perhaps it won’t be that bad," Merry said, though he could tell Frodo was not convinced. "He’s much healthier than he’s ever been. The Ents took care of that, if regular old growing up did not."

"I don’t think even the Ents can fix someone who shouldn’t even rightfully be here."

Merry was shocked. "How can you say such an awful thing?!"

Frodo bit his lip, then looked embarrassed. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…I’m just dreadfully worried about him and, well, I’m angry."

"At who?"

Frodo sighed and his eyes looked nearly black by the firelight. "At…well, at myself, I suppose. Or, or something else. I am not sure…All I know is that everything good seems to be taken away. Because of me."

Merry shook his head. "Oh, Frodo, you’ve got it all backwards. Everything good is still here because of you. And only because of you."

Frodo frowned at Merry, then looked to their sleeping cousin. "It isn’t right and it is not fair. This can’t happen again. Not now. I couldn’t stand it if it does."

Merry was quiet while he thought. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, but this situation was remarkably difficult. It was hard enough, after all, to have one cousin sick in body; it was doubly hard to have another sick in heart.

"Well," he said finally, "Hopefully it will not come to that again. I should think it would be bad for all of us if it did. You likely wouldn’t be the only one who couldn’t stand it."

Frodo’s form seemed to shrink visibly several sizes. He longed to tell Merry that he didn’t understand, that Merry couldn’t possibly know what Frodo meant---that he couldn’t stand to leave the Shire if his dear cousin were deathly ill again, but then if he did not leave…well, Frodo knew that would be just as unbearable. He had to leave the Shire and pass over the sea. He knew this in his self, he felt it in every fiber of his bones. And he knew that the time was fast upon him. He must go. He could not afford to stay much longer. Not for any matter.

‘Oh, why must everything always be such a trial?’ he thought to himself, ‘I should like just for once for things to be quite simple and painless!’

Then he looked at Pippin sleeping not at all soundly, but uneasily and, from the looks of it, feverishly. Frodo felt his anger lessen a bit. He put the back of his hand lightly to Pippin’s cheek.

"Do you think we should go for a healer now?" he asked Merry, who had more experience with the matter, mainly through proximity (being that he had spent far more of the past 31 years hanging around at Great Smials than Frodo).

"Is he very hot?" Merry asked, peering over Frodo’s shoulder.

"He is very warm, but I would not yet call it hot."

"Let us wait ‘til morning then," Merry said with a short nod, "Unless he becomes fast worse, I can’t see that it will make much of a difference and it’s better to have a well-rested healer than an unhappy, half-woken one."

"I’ll agree with that."

"But we should stay with him while he sleeps and make certain that he indeed does not become fast worse and we should be ready to go if that is the case."

"I’ll agree to that, too. But you should rest then, Merry. I will wake you if anything goes amiss."

Merry looked hurt. "How could you think that I can sleep any better than you would be able to at a time like this?"

Frodo smiled. "I doubt you could. But I should like you to try so that I may try myself when you are finished. Four sleepy eyes keeping watch are no better than two. You may have him all you like once you are rested and I will gladly give him up to seek sleep myself."

"Well, all right," Merry said reluctantly, "but you must alert me if there is any, mind you, any, sign of his being much worse. I won’t stand for anything else."

"Of course."

Frodo pulled a chair close to the bed and watched Merry leave the room, the Brandybuck’s face an exact replica of the miserable one worn by Pippin just a short time earlier when Frodo had sentenced him to bed as well.

After Merry had gone, Frodo poured himself a cup of tea and drank it with shaky hands. This was not going to be an easy night.

A/N: And thus we enter the first part of the flashback story: what Frodo is remembering as he keeps watch over Pippin. This is twenty years prior to the last chapter.

Setting: Hobbiton, midsummer, 1401. Frodo is nearly 33 and will inherit Bag End along with the One Ring in just over a month. Bilbo is nearly 111 and will have his famous party and leave the Shire forever in just over a month as well. Merry is 19. Sam is 21. Pippin has just recently turned 11.

A Birthday, A Cold, A Memory and a Gift: Chapter 3 (A Memory)

In the summer of 1401, Paladin Took paid a visit to Bag End. Frodo remembered it clearly, for he had been the one to answer the door and had found himself terrified when he saw who it was. His young cousin Pippin had been gravely ill for several months and only two weeks earlier had word been sent that he was well again…and now Frodo feared that perhaps that news had been too hasty.

"Good afternoon, Frodo." Paladin said formally.

"G-good afternoon, sir." Frodo studied the Took’s expression carefully, looking for signs of a terrible tragedy, but there was nothing, save for the same gloomy, tired expression that all the Tooks had been wearing for months that told of sad difficulties facing one of their own.

"Is Bilbo about?" Paladin asked, setting aside his pack and his walking stick, "I should like to speak with him if he is."

"Yes, he’s just in the study. If you go to him there, I shall make some tea and bring it to you."

"Good lad, a good lad," Paladin murmured absently, patting Frodo on the shoulder as he started in the direction of the study. Then he paused and returned to his pack.

"I nearly forgot," he said, taking out a small package and handing it to Frodo, "Pippin sent this for you."

Frodo felt relief wash through his body as he accepted the item, a book about dragons he had sent for Pippin to read during his recovery when he was ordered not to leave his bed.

"He says he has had quite enough of books and bed," Paladin shook his head, smiling blearily, "and is ready to be out and about again. He says to tell you thank you but he should prefer to see some real dragons soon rather than just the book sort."

Frodo could do nothing but smile. He tucked the book carefully under his arm and headed to the kitchen to make tea.

~~~~

Paladin and Bilbo stayed in the study, talking quietly for some time. Frodo brought the tea, of course, twice, but after he had set the tray upon the table between his two elders, he was not asked to stay, so of course he could find out little of what they were discussing. All he had time to take note of were their expressions, and queer ones they were. Paladin seemed apologetic and poor old Bilbo looked positively puzzled.

Frodo wondered for a bit if the Took had come to borrow money from Bilbo. Often times when apologetic-looking hobbits came around to Bag End to meet privately with him, that was what it was about, and Frodo knew that good-hearted Bilbo almost never refused any of them. But that scenario did not make sense when applied to this case. Surely the Tooks were not a Shire family that had ever wanted for money, and even if that was the case, what could possibly have left Bilbo looking so confused?

When Frodo had knocked tentatively to see if they should like their tea refreshed a third time, he was surprised to see Paladin step out into the hall and make way for the front entry.

"Are you leaving so soon?" He couldn’t help but ask.

"Yes, I must be back to Tookland in time for supper, I’m afraid."

"Oh." Frodo hurried then to be helpful and aid the Took with putting on his traveling pack. "Will you tell Pippin then, for me, that as soon as he is feeling up to it I should like to see him again and then I can teach him to tie a proper four-square knot? He’s been after to me to for ever so long."

Paladin smiled and again patted Frodo on the shoulder. "I will indeed."

He bid his farewells to them then, giving Bilbo a stiff hug and Frodo a firm handshake. Together they watched him walk down the path until he had disappeared from sight.

When he had gone, Frodo turned to Bilbo. "I know it’s not my business, Uncle, but could you tell me even just a bit of what that was abou…"

Bilbo silenced him with a raised palm. "It is your business, Frodo, I’m afraid, and you will know all there is to know, but let us have a proper fill first. Paladin absolutely refused to stay for a meal, but my stomach is empty as a bucket with a hole."

Frodo nodded and followed Bilbo into the kitchen, where the two began to prepare a meal together, helping each other with all aspects, as was their habit and the way they liked it.

And after they had had a bit of a fill, Bilbo gave Frodo a look that told him he was ready now to answer all questions.

"It has something to do with Pippin, doesn’t it?"

Bilbo nodded. "It has everything to do with him. Though I doubt there’s been much on the Tooks’ minds other than the lad since he first took ill. Dreadful thing it must be, to nearly lose one like that…" Bilbo drifted off in his thoughts, as he had become more and more inclined to these days.

Frodo sometimes wondered if the old hobbit ever regretted not having his own children. He was fond of many of his young relations, Frodo and Pippin included, and he often said that Frodo was far better than any son to him, but still, Frodo couldn’t help but think about it.

And at the same moment that Frodo was puzzling whether Bilbo felt regretful about never having had any "proper" children of his own, Bilbo was feeling grateful that he hadn’t. He felt it must be nearly unbearable to go through an experience like the Tooks had. Better just to avoid the situation all together, he thought. No one to worry about but yourself.

He reconsidered that immediately, though. He hadn’t avoided the situation all together, actually. After all, he had Frodo. And certainly he was quite attached to the boy and loved him very much. This fact grew more apparent to him every day, especially as the time approached when he knew he was to leave.

He had tried to lessen the feeling by allowing Frodo to participate in his plans, to make him more of a partner in crime than a son left behind…but every day that passed, Bilbo grew more worried about what might happen to "his" lad once he had gone away. He knew inside himself that he must go, that it would be no good to stay and be unhappy, but those worries remained nevertheless present in his heart.

"So what about him?" Frodo asked suddenly, desperate to interrupt Bilbo’s thoughts and remove the frightfully sad look that was sitting upon his face. "Is Pip all right?"

Bilbo startled a little, but masked it by reaching just then for the tea. "Yes, yes," he said and nodded absently. "He’s quite all right. Recovering faster than I think anyone could have expected. That’s the magic of being young, I suppose, and a Took. My mother was the same way, down one day and up the next."

Frodo nodded but couldn’t help but feel impatient. He handed Bilbo the honey pot and then waited for him to go on.

"Anyway, he’s missed his birthday, it seems."

Frodo had forgotten about this. Pippin’s birthday had been a few weeks ago, but no one’s minds had been on birthdays then. It had gone all together unmentioned, as far as he was aware.

"And now he’s asked if he can have…well, a late celebration."

"That would be nice, once he’s up to parties again." Frodo popped a piece of seed cake between his lips thoughtfully.

"Now…he doesn’t want a…regular party, I guess. He’s asked, well, he’s asked to have a special kind of celebration if I can give it to him."

"But, Bilbo, what could you possibly give Pippin that he couldn’t find at Tookland?"

"He’s asked to go ‘adventuring’ with me."

Once Frodo had stopped laughing, he realized that Bilbo was quite serious. "That’s what Uncle Paladin came to talk with you about, isn’t it? But how are you supposed to take him adventuring? Where can you possibly go? An excavation through the kitchens at Great Smials? Is he even well enough for a visit?"

"Paladin says he’s running about again as though he was never anything but well in the first place."

"But, still…even if he does come, what sort of an adventure could you take him on?"

"I said the same to Paladin. I would not dare to take a lad like that anywhere outside the Shire and I couldn’t see any Took in their right mind allowing me to. But Paladin said he has talked to Peregrin about reasonable requests and it seems he would be just as happy to merely spend a night with myself and a campfire listening to plain old stories of adventures."

Frodo smiled then, understanding. "They’re not just plain old stories with you, Uncle. I’m not surprised one spot that he’d rather camp with you than have a party. He nearly worships you. Your Took side, anyway," Frodo laughed, "he doesn’t think much of the Baggins, I fear."

Bilbo seemed surprised at this and he still looked uneasy. "Do you think we can handle this, Frodo?"

"Certainly if it’s just one night. We can hike out to that pretty dell I was fond of when I was younger. And it’s still plenty warm in the evenings. We can keep an eye on him, make sure that he stays well."

"Good," Bilbo nodded, then smiled somewhat bemused at Frodo, "For he arrives tomorrow."

~~~~

The next afternoon the bell clanged at the door and Frodo was pleased when he answered it to see that Pippin had taken their cousin Merry for accompaniment. He knew that Paladin would not let the lad travel alone and was relieved that it was Merry who had come with and not the Thain himself.

"Hello, Frodo!" the two said in unison, as if they had been practicing it.

Frodo laughed. "Hello yourselves. It’s good to see you."

He lead them into the hall and took Merry’s traveling cloak from him. Before he thought to reach for Pippin’s, though, the little Took moved away and wandered past him into the sitting room.

Frodo watched him as Merry followed and tried to figure out what looked so odd about him. Then he realized that Pippin had had his hood up although it was not the slightest bit overcast and was still, in fact, walking about with it pulled firmly over his head, nearly obscuring his face. Frodo shook his head as he hung up Merry’s cloak and then entered himself into the room where the two cousins were waiting.

"Why do you have your hood up, Pip? It’s perfectly sunny, and anyway, we’re indoors."

Merry gave Frodo a warning look, but he didn’t have time to decipher the meaning before Pippin had very cautiously lowered his hood.

The room became silent enough then to hear the summer bugs buzzing outside. Pippin fixed his gaze hard at the floor and Frodo bit his lip.

He’d forgotten that Pippin’s head had been shaved. At the height of his fever, it had been a last attempt to give him some relief. It was said that Pippin’s mother and sisters had wept when it was done and Frodo could understand why. Pippin had always had such lovely curls, rare in that they were nearly blonde, which lead many to bring up again the old legend of a fairy wife having been taken in the Took line at some point. Silliness, of course, but still, it was agreed that young Peregrin, for as much as a mischief-maker he had become, was undeniably a beautiful child.

And he was still beautiful, Frodo thought resolutely, those fine features still in-tact: the clever line of his mouth, his sharp Took nose, his large green eyes…but they looked wearied and incredibly vulnerable without the familiar frame of curls.

Indeed, he looked all together fragile. It was not a common thing to see a hobbit with no hair. They are born with a curly mop and die with mostly the same curly mop and though they may gray, they seldom have occasion to become bald in-between.

"Well then," Frodo began, knowing he had to say something to the lad whose lower lip had begun to tremble noticeably, "It’s certainly growing back fast enough, isn’t it?"

He stepped forward and gently touched the soft fuzz that had begun to grow.

Pippin nodded but still looked miserable. It was then that Bilbo came in. He froze at the doorway, catching sight of the oddly naked-looking little hobbit.

"Oh," he said.

Then, moving forward, he continued, a smile of wonder on his face. "Oh, yes. They’ve cut it all off, now haven’t they? Lucky thing they did, too. I hear your fever finally broke not long after."

Pippin nodded. He had been on the verge of tears but now he was distracted as Bilbo came near him and began to inspect the job. He couldn’t understand why the old hobbit wore such an expression on his face. It was almost as if he were admiring.

"Yes, this is lovely. Looks like you got a present for your own birthday, ah?"

Pippin frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Well, it could grow back lots of different ways, now. Not often one of us gets another chance at how we get to look. If you concentrate hard enough, you might even be able to change the color. A nice black might suit you, I should think."

Pippin’s face lit up. "Green!"

Bilbo nodded. "Yes, that would go nicely with your eyes, now wouldn’t it?" He turned then, noticing Merry for the first time. "Ah, and I see you’ve brought a friend. Good to see you, Meriadoc. The more the merrier, they do say." He laughed at his own joke.

Merry started to greet him as Frodo looked on at his dear uncle with utter admiration, but they were interrupted by a sudden and rather unceremonious rapping at the front door.

"Goodness!" Bilbo muttered, becoming flustered as he often did when there were more things going on than he had reasonably planned for, "I’ve just had the bell tuned and the door re-painted, who on Middle-Earth goes on knocking like that…" his voice faded as he disappeared to go answer the insistent call.

Pippin turned to Merry and Frodo the second Bilbo was gone. "Do you really think I can make my hair turn green?" he gasped.

Frodo and Merry looked uncertainly at each other. Finally, Merry shrugged. "My father does often say that you can do anything so long as you put your mind to it."

The rest of the quote was actually ‘and so long as you don’t go chasing after things you know you can’t be having anyway ,’ but Merry chose not to include that part.

Just then, Bilbo returned. He stood hesitantly in the doorway, rubbing his hands together nervously.

"Well," he said, "It, ah, well, it looks as though I’ll be bringing a friend to our little party, too."

But the three lads were not paying any attention to Bilbo. All eyes were focused instead on the wizard that was standing behind him.

~~~~

Frodo never found out how it was exactly that Bilbo convinced Gandalf, who had been planning to stop by on his way elsewhere only to check up on Bilbo’s most recent plans, to stay and join them for Pippin’s little party. Or perhaps it had been Gandalf who had convinced Bilbo to let him join them…Either way, Frodo was grateful to both of them, whoever made the decision, for if there was anyone that Little Pippin Took was more fascinated with than Bilbo Baggins, it was the wizard Gandalf.

Indeed, this became quite obvious, for as Frodo and Merry managed polite and proper greetings to the wizard, Pippin remained frozen, eyes glued to the big person in the funny hat. He had met Gandalf briefly when he was much younger, but he could not recall much of the meeting and so the wizard had remained entrenched in that area of legend in his mind.

Normally what the locals referred to as a ‘regular chattering little squirrel,’ the Took now found that could not make a single sound pass over his lips, nor move his eyes, though he realized at some point that he had passed into near-rudeness.

Gandalf moved forward then, bending slightly, and smiled at the hobbit lad.

"I hear that you are having a celebration today."

Pippin found, to his embarrassment, that he was shaking in fright. He gripped his hands to his forearms to stop such nonsense and managed to squeak out: "It’s my birthday party."

"Can you forgive my rudeness for dropping by in the midst of such an occasion unannounced?"

Merry nearly fainted at the sound of the great and famous wizard asking forgiveness of his silly little cousin. But Frodo only smiled.

Pippin blinked then and seemed to have been broken of his intimidation.

"You may come with if you like. We’re going to camp. It shall be very exciting."

Gandalf rose and rested one hand on the hobbit’s tiny shoulder.

"I would like that very much."

Then as Frodo was admiring the workings of the scene before him, he was struck with an idea.

"Hey, Pippin. Since you’ve brought a friend and now Bilbo’s brought a friend, do you think I could invite one too?"

Pippin frowned, dismayed at how quickly his carefully thought-out party plans were being altered, even if the results were seeming to be quite good.

"That depends," he said, "who is it you want to bring?"

"Why Samwise, silly." Frodo grinned. "Does he not meet your approval?"

"Oh, Sam," Pippin laughed. "He’s all right. Bring him along, then. But then that is enough for this is my Private Party." He said those last two words with the pomposity and pride that only an 11-year-old Took can carry off.

Frodo put on his most solemn expression to mask the laughter threatening to break through and left them then, to see if he could find young Sam and convince him to join in the future Thain’s very exclusive celebration.

~~~~

Sam Gamgee was flattered to be asked along on the "adventure party" by Frodo but at the same time very hesitant. For many reasons.

"Surely it’s not my place, Mister Frodo."

"Nonsense, Sam! It’s a birthday party for my eleven year old cousin!"

"Certainly, sir, but your eleven year old cousin is the son of Paladin Took."

Frodo heaved a great sigh. "Yes, Sam, he is the son of Paladin Took and the son of Paladin Took has invited to son of Drogo Baggins and has said that the son of Drogo Baggins may take along a friend as well and that the son of Hamfast Gamgee is the only friend of the son of Drogo Baggins that the son of Paladin Took rightly approves of. Now will you come?"

Though Sam was not fully convinced by this statement, his mind moved on to the second leg of his argument.

"But is he even well enough to be out and about like this? Sleeping outdoors at night?"

This was the matter most worrisome to Sam’s heart. He knew possibly even more than Frodo just how close a call the Tooks had had that summer. He had been there in the carpenter’s shop hardly a month before—Sam had gone to order a new wheel barrow—and his eyes had caught sight of something special behind the counter. Now, while Sam Gamgee had always preferred trees to be living, he couldn’t help but admire a fine wood when it was put to good use and he couldn’t help his eyes from drifting over to that lovely pile of oak. His curiosity got the better of him. ‘Now what are you making out of that?’ he had asked. And the carpenter’s face had gone gray. ‘That’ll likely be a casket.’ ‘Such a fine nice wood for a casket,’ Sam had murmured, not to be gossipy, but only thinking out loud, ‘Must be an important hobbit, gets a wood like that.’ Then the carpenter had leaned across the counter and whispered roughly, as if it were a secret it was paining him to keep: ‘It’s that little Took lad. You didn’t hear that from me, but I be telling you, that there is the only order I ever find myself hoping gets canceled.’ Sam had left the shop rather shaken that afternoon and had never been more relieved than when he returned a few days later and found out that the order had indeed been canceled.

"Sam! Have you heard a word I’ve been saying to you?"

Sam was startled out of his chilling memory to find Frodo looking at him anxiously.

"I’m, I’m sorry Mister Frodo," he stammered, "What, what was it you were sayin’?"

Frodo smiled. "I was saying, my dear Gamgee, that Pippin is quite recovered, if impatience is any gauge. He should very much like you to come along, but only if you do so quickly. Now please come."

Sam found himself blushing as he gave in. "All right, then, all right. Just let me get my pack."

~~~~

And so, as the saying goes, the small company was soon off like a herd of turtles.

A Birthday, A Cold, A Memory and a Gift: Chapter Four

The area where Bilbo and Frodo had decided they would camp was actually not far at all from Bag End, tucked just off the East-West road. They didn’t want Pippin to realize this, of course. They knew he was likely to protest if it did not seem that they were going anywhere far or remotely exciting, so they lead the way down in the most round-about manner they could fashion and Pippin, who was far less familiar with the roads of Hobbiton than those in Tuckborough, did not suspect a thing.

On a day as pretty as that one, it was hard not to let the conversation flow freely and effortlessly from one’s mouth, and the small group was no exception.

Bilbo and Gandalf , walking slightly back from the rest, spoke companionably but kept their voices low. Some of the topics they chose to speak about were not best shared with present company, though much of it would be revealed in the coming weeks as Bilbo’s fateful party approached.

Present company was not listening anyway. They were quite busy with their own conversation.

Sam and Merry, who walked nearest to Gandalf and Bilbo, chattered back and forth without any apparent pause. Merry always felt that Sam knew quite a lot of useful things for a lad nearly the same age as him and so whenever the opportunity was upon him, he found himself asking Sam endless questions about all sorts of matters, from how to use rope to make a counter-balance to the best way in which to catch a snake. And Sam felt freer than normal to speak, for Merry, like most of the Bucklanders Sam had encountered, did not see much of a reason to speak differently to those in other stations of class and made no effort to do so.

Frodo and Pippin, walking side by side in the lead, carried on nearly as well. Although Pippin sometimes felt that Frodo could be a bit of a bore and not so adventurous or fun as Merry, he still looked up to him and found that, as a near-adult, he knew a few things of interest. Frodo, for his part, was more than happy to talk to his young cousin again. Hearing that musical, childish voice made his heart feel lighter and it became harder and harder to believe that anything could ever go awry in the world.

At one point, though, Frodo realized that Pippin had fallen quiet, allowing Frodo to ramble on for a bit. He stopped now and looked down at his small relation.

"What’s the matter, Pip?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you frowning so? You look as if you’re thinking about something rather intense. That’s the same face I used to make when Bilbo insisted I learn to do percentages in my head."

Pippin did not smile. He looked up at Frodo, his face the picture of serious 11-year-old concentration. "Frodo?"

"Yes?"

"Are we going to be passing by the Proudfoots’s house?"

"Proudfeet. Yes, Pip, I think we are. We can go another way if you like." Frodo was all too familiar with Pippin’s dislike for Sancho Proudfoot. The two lads were the same age but Sancho was nearly twice the size of Pippin and never let the Took forget it. They usually ended up in an argument or a scuffle at large family parties. Frodo had found himself with the duty of tearing Sancho off of Pip or vice versa on several occasions and while Pippin was certainly less innocent than he looked, Sancho, Frodo knew, was far more cruel than he let on to the adults.

"No," Pippin shook his head, "That’s good. I want to go by there."

"Pip, don’t go looking to start trouble."

Pippin’s eyes grew ridiculously wide. "I’m not!"

"Then why do you want to go by there?"

"Because," Pippin explained through the side of his mouth so he would not be overheard, "I want him to see me with Gandalf!"

Frodo shut his lips tight to keep from laughing. He managed a serious nod and said quietly, "I see."

As they started round the last hill before the road passed the Proudfoot house, Pippin put up his hood, carefully hiding his shorn head from enemy eyes.

Frodo nudged him and he looked up, questioningly.

"How’s Sancho supposed to know it’s you who’s walking with Gandalf if you hide your face?"

Pippin stopped in his tracks, obviously having not considered this.

"But he’ll make fun of me."

Frodo’s heart twinged a little. He got down on his knee and pushed back Pippin’s hood and ran his fingers over the soft fuzz of his hair. "Nonsense. There’s nothing to make fun of. You’re more handsome than any silly Proudfoot ever was and anyway, he’ll be too busy being jealous that you got to go adventuring with Gandalf to even notice your hair."

"Do you think so?"

"Of course."

Pippin smiled slowly. He patted down his hood so that it laid flat across his shoulders and, puffing out his little chest, took his place once again beside Frodo, leading their company onward.

He was sorely disappointed after they passed the Proudfoot house and there didn’t appear to be anyone out playing in the yard. Frodo assured him, though, that he was pretty certain he’d seen Sancho’s puggy nose peeking at the window.

~~~~

They arrived at their destination precisely in time for dinner, as hobbits often do. There was a great bustling about as they set up camp, kindled a small cooking fire, and began to serve the meal.

Pippin was quite pleased with the location (it seemed ever so far from boring old Hobbiton) and even more pleased that he had managed to find himself seated between Bilbo and Gandalf.

Frodo smiled from where he sat across from them, helping Sam to fill plates. It was obvious to him that Pippin was trying very hard not to be caught staring at the wizard and Frodo couldn’t blame the lad for being curious. All hobbits were familiar with the big people who occasionally passed through the Shire on the East-West road, but few had ever had close contact with one. Frodo doubted that the Paladin Took’s, who were particularly protective of their only son, had ever let Pip near a big person, let alone one so notorious as Gandalf.

At some point, though, it became quite apparent that Pippin was staring at the side of Gandalf’s head. There was clearly something quite fascinating there that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

Gandalf turned to him finally, seeming to move only his lips and his bushy eyebrows. "Is there something you wish to ask me, Master Took?"

"Why, yes," Pippin replied, not hesitating at all, as he very much wanted to know the answer, "Do your ears feel funny being like that?"

Merry and Sam gasped, but Gandalf merely raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Well," Pippin sat forward slightly, "All rounded like that. I don’t see how you can possibly hear at all without proper points."

"Pippin!" Merry cried, aghast, "Don’t be rude!" Then he turned to Gandalf and pleaded desperately. "Oh, Gandalf, he doesn’t mean to be rude. I’m sure he’s sorry. He didn’t mean it. He just…says things sometimes and he doesn’t even think they’re rude."

Sam added a beg as well. "Please, sir, d-don’t be angry with ‘em. He’s just a lad!"

Pippin frowned at them all, confused by such a response when all he’d done was ask a reasonable question.

Frodo first looked to Bilbo, who continued lighting his pipe as though nothing had happened. Then he looked to Gandalf and caught the twinkle in the old wizard’s eye. Frodo smiled back.

"My ears," Gandalf began then, "feel no more ‘funny’ than your own ears. And my hearing is quite sharp. Incidentally," he puffed deeply on his pipe, "the Old Took asked me that very same question upon our first meeting."

Pippin sat up and beamed. "See, Merry? You don’t mind questions at all, do you Gandalf?" Before Gandalf could reply, Pippin continued on. "My father says that the only way you can ever get to know anything is to ask about it. So if I continue to ask questions, I should think that I would know everything there is to know before too long."

Merry had regained his color and was now looking at Pippin with his usual tolerance. "Yes, Pip, that’s probably true, but seeing as how most of the questions you ask have to do with how long until the next meal is being served, you’ll probably know everything there is to know about dinner and not much else."

Pippin grinned. "Speaking of which, whenever are we going to eat?"

"Right now!" Frodo replied firmly, and he thrust the first full plate into Pippin’s hands.

~~~~

"Goodness, Pippin, you have the table manners of a piglet."

"We’re not AT a table, Merry. We’re on the grass."

"Well, you should still try to act like it. Honestly, licking jam off the side of your arm…"

"What was I supposed to do? It dribbled down there."

"Why do you think we’ve brought napkins? You’re supposed to use them, apple-brain. It’s just horrid watching you do that."

"No more horrid than listening to you snort and snoggle while you eat."

"I don’t ‘snort and snoggle.’"

"Yes, you do."

"No I don’t."

"Yes, you do."

"Merry! Pippin! Stop it both of you!" Frodo dove between the bickering cousins, covering his ears. "You’ll drive us all quite mad, squabbling like that."

"We’re not squabbling."

"Yes, you are, Pip," Frodo said, setting his hand upon Pippin’s arm firmly. He then drew it back in disgust. "And you’re all sticky!"

"That’s the jam." Merry said smugly, crossing his arms.

"Well, if it’s the same jam you’ve got all over your face, Meriadoc, I’d wager you’re just as sticky," Bilbo interrupted. "Now both of you go down to that little creek over there and have a good washing-up. Frodo, you go with and make sure they do as they’re told."

"But he hasn’t finished his tea." Pippin pointed out.

"Well that’s just too bad, Peregrin."

"But it’ll get cold!"

"I’m sure Frodo can manage to drink cold tea somehow."

Sam stepped forward then and tapped hesitantly on Bilbo’s shirt cuff. "I-if you please, sir, I-I can go down with them and make sure they get washed up. Then Mister Frodo here can stay and finish his tea."

Bilbo threw his arms up. "Thank you, Sam. At last, someone in this party has some decent sense about him. Now, shoo, all of you. Give us a minute’s peace."

Frodo let go of his cousins somewhat reluctantly as Sam took over escorting them to the creek. Meekly, he returned to his tea, which he hadn’t really wanted all that much anyway.

He sat in the warm grass watching dragonflies and bumble bees and the bright dell grew peaceful and quiet once again. It got so quiet, in fact, that he nearly jumped when he heard Gandalf begin to speak again in his low, rumbley voice to Bilbo.

"I should have guessed that only young hobbits could surpass their parents in appetite comparable to size."

"Mmm?" Bilbo looked confused for a moment, then he waved his hand about. "Oh, yes, yes. Growing hobbits certainly do take in a lot. I thought Frodo would eat me into the poor house but he does seem to be tapering off as he comes of age. That Peregrin, though…" Bilbo laughed, "I don’t know how they manage to keep the kitchens stocked at the Smials with an appetite like that."

Gandalf nodded. "Making up for lost time, I suppose."

"Well, that’s true enough," Bilbo said, taking up an abandoned piece of sweet bread and dunking it in his tea, "Paladin says the lad’s lost nine and three-quarters pounds. Now that might not seem a lot to a big person like you, I’m sure, but to a hobbit—and a little half-sized lad who didn’t have much to begin with—that’s a serious matter. Should have been done in about five times over at this point, such a weak thing, he is."

Gandalf was quiet. He did not need to know how much nine and three-quarters pounds meant to a spindly little lad like that—he could tell it easily enough just by seeing him. He did not doubt, either, the validity of what Bilbo said Paladin had claimed. Hobbits, he knew, were quite fond of recording all sorts of factual information and they dearly loved provable numbers (such as degrees, pounds and inches) that could be marked off in neat columns on the pages of some dusty family record book. What he found he did not agree with, however, was Bilbo’s apparent attitude about the matter. He knew the hobbit had a tendency to come off a bit cold or brusque without meaning to, mainly by virtue of having lived alone so many years, but at the moment they were not alone and Gandalf couldn’t help but notice the rigid line young Frodo’s shoulders had taken on as he listened to their conversation.

He cleared his throat. "Do not mistake size for strength, Bilbo Baggins. You of all people should know better than that."

Bilbo looked to his friend a bit startled by the unexpected reprimand, but then he shrugged and took a sip of his tea. "Well, you’re right enough about that, I suppose."

Frodo stood up suddenly, then, and addressed them quickly without making eye contact.

"I, I think I better go down to the creek and check on them," he motioned in the direction the other three lads had tripped off to just a few moments before, "Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I trust Pippin by running water like that."

Bilbo frowned. "Surely Meriadoc will keep an eye on him. He always does."

"I fear Merry is just as likely to encourage him. He’s less grown-up than he pretends, you know, Uncle."

"Well, then Sam--"

"Don’t worry about it, Uncle," Frodo called over his shoulder, walking away briskly toward the creek, "I’ll bring them right back."

He walked quickly, as quick as he could to get away from them, so they wouldn’t see, wouldn’t know how absolutely, (unreasonably, he told himself) utterly terrified he’d suddenly become. He shuddered and wiped tears away from his eyes with his palms. It hadn’t occurred to him before just how fragile everybody really was, how delicately things held together, how he could lose someone so bright and cheerful just as easily as he’d lost…well, as easily as he’d lost his parents.

"You’re a silly fool, Frodo Baggins," he said to himself as he snuffled his runny nose very un-grown-up-like on his sleeve, "Nevertheless, nothing will happen to any of them, so long as I’m here to keep watch now."

~~~~

The three young hobbits who were washing up lazily at the edge of the creek did not notice Frodo watching them from his eagle-eye position, up on the banks behind a narrow birch. They were quite consumed in their own business.

"Now, Mister Pippin, you haven’t barely washed yourself clean at all!"

"I have too, Sam. My hands are cleaner than anything. Look." Pippin forced his hands under the Gamgee’s nose.

Sam batted them down gently and put his hands on his hips. "It’s not just your hands I be lookin’ at. Your face is a right mess as well and you’ve even managed to get jam all stuck about in your hair."

Pippin laughed. "I haven’t got any hair to get jam stuck in."

"I didn’t think so neither, but it’s there plain as day."

"Let me see." Merry said, and he leaned over to inspect. Then he laughed. "It’s true, Pip. You’re a marvel of nature."

Pippin did not look pleased to be a marvel of nature. He scowled. "Well, how’m I supposed to get it out?"

"Just dunk your head in and scrub it out, goose."

"But the creek’s so cold, Merry. I couldn’t."

"I’ll dunk you, then," Sam shrugged, "You won’t have time to worry about how cold it is if you don’t know when to expect it."

"I’ll do it, Sam," Merry said, moving in ever so slightly and taking control. Although he admired Sam greatly, he didn’t trust anyone but himself to lay a hand on his cousin. "Don’t worry, Pippin," he told the uneasy lad, "I won’t hold you down too long. I’ll scrub fast and have you up before you can say Jackrabbit Spongecake."

Pippin grimaced, but he trusted Merry a great deal and he knew that this was the only way they were ever going to leave him alone about the wretched jam. He cursed those lovely, jammy tarts under his breath and consented to being dunked and scrubbed.

Merry did the job quickly and efficiently, quite used to dealing with the squirming Took. He pulled him out of the water before he even had a chance to sputter or complain.

"You alright?" Merry asked, brushing some of the water off Pippin’s dripping face.

Pippin sat very still with his eyes scrunched shut until Sam and Merry were sufficiently worried. Then he cracked a smile and whispered, "Jackrabbit Spongecake."

Merry laughed, then sat back on his knees as Sam came forward, having removed his own shirt and offering it as a towel.

"I won’t have you catching your death of cold now, Mister Pippin."

He realized a moment too late what he’d said and stiffened in horror, as did Merry.

Pippin, however, did not seem to notice. He pushed aside the old but well-made shirt and stood up, shaking water about as he did.

"I’ll let the sun dry me off," he said, and grinning happily, skipped up the bank to where the sunlight shown more direct. There he was startled to find his cousin.

"Why, Frodo, what are you doing up here? And why is your face all red? Did you finish your tea?"

Frodo sat up and, laughing, he pulled the little lad to him. "You do wish to know everything, don’t you?"

Pippin allowed himself to be dragged into Frodo’s lap but didn’t answer that question, preferring to have his own questions answered first.

"Well," Frodo began, "I did finish my tea, thank you. It was quite nice for tea. But then I felt that lunch perhaps didn’t agree with me so well, so I thought I’d come up here and have a lie down because the sun is ever so nice in this spot."

He had unbuttoned his waistcoat while he was speaking and he used the edge of it now to wipe excess water off Pippin’s face. Then, laying back, he pulled Pip down beside him. "Look at how lovely the clouds are," he said.

Pippin nodded and laid still for once. For as much as he was a squirmer, he was also a cuddler. The two were soon joined by Sam and Merry, who laid down to admire the clouds as well. All four gradually grew so quiet, that the birds and squirrels were no longer even aware of their presence.

~~~~

Bilbo’s shrill voice cut across the dell, waking all four young hobbits instantly from the nap they’d drifted into.

"Wherever have you lads gone off to? The sun is setting and it won’t do at all to be getting into mischief. Paldin Took will have my head. Not to mention the Gaffer!"

Pippin bolted to his feet, remembering that there was Bilbo and Gandalf and far more interesting things about. He sprinted for the camp, leaving the other three to follow him in their somewhat bewildered, half-asleep states.

He fell and tumbled to a halt into the dusty ring of the camp, so surprised was he to see the cake set up before him.

It was not a large cake by any means, but he still could not recall seeing any package that looked like it among their packs, although he had not been expecting such a thing and so really had not looked all that carefully.

Bilbo gave the lad a delighted smile as Gandalf bent down to light the candles, which he seemed to be doing with out the aid of matches, although Pippin was too excited to notice.

"Merry!" he shrieked. "Merry! Merry! Frodo! Sam! Come see!"

Frodo appeared then behind him and placed steadying hands on the shoulders of his little cousin, who was jumping up and down in his excitement. "It’s just a cake, Pippin," he laughed.

"Yes, my lad," Bilbo nodded, "Can’t have a proper birthday party without a proper cake."

"And presents!" Pippin whispered, his face becoming three shades brighter, although that hardly seemed even possible. "I forgot. I brought presents!"

"Did you?" Merry asked. "When did you find time to get presents?"

"I made them." Pippin ran to his pack and began tossing out various articles of clothing and food until he came upon the tin box he’d set carefully at the very bottom. But then he paused. He’d been quite impressed with himself when he’d made the gifts about a week ago, but now he wondered if they wouldn’t seem a bit babyish.

But it was too late for that, he figured. He hadn’t thought to pack anything else to give. He was grateful, though, that he’d decided to be generous, at least, for he’d packed two each for Merry, Frodo and Bilbo when he’d thought that was all who’d be coming, but now there would be enough so that everybody could have one.

He opened the tin and began to distribute the gifts shyly, small animals he’d made out of folded paper, a trick one of his North-Took cousins had taught him while he’d been confined to his bed.

"This is Beorn," he said, handing Merry a paper bear. "And this is Thorin the dwarf," he said, handing a pointy-headed figure to Sam. "And Smaug," he handed a dragon to Frodo.

"These are amazing, Pip." Frodo replied, shaking his head in wonder.

"Do you think so?" Pippin suddenly felt much less babyish.

"Of course. I’ve never seen anything like this."

"I can’t believe you made these yourself," Merry murmured, admiring his Beorn then inspecting Sam’s Thorin.

Pippin beamed. "And this is you, Bilbo, with Sting."

Bilbo laughed at the remarkably hobbity little creation with the drawn-on sword. "Oh, yes, you learned this from the North-Tooks, didn’t you? I remember my mother used to know the same tricks. Learned it from her Long Cleave cousins, she once said."

Pippin nodded happily, then approached Gandalf with his gift. "This is the Eagle Lord."

Gandalf accepted the paper bird and bowed his head. "A very accurate representation."

"And who did you keep for yourself, Pip?" Frodo asked, pointing to the last figure left in the box.

Pippin blushed. "That’s Gandalf."

~~~~

After the candles were blown out, a supper was eaten and followed by slices of the delicious frosty cake and many songs. There was more praise for the paper animals, and praise for the food and praise for the fine day and fine company and fine song. Then, as the lads scrambled to lay out their bedrolls and scurried into nightclothes, Bilbo readied for what they’d all been waiting for. He lit his pipe and settled into proper story-telling position.

"What would you lads like to hear?"

"Tell us about when all the dwarves showed up and you nearly drove yourself mad trying to feed them all," Frodo laughed. He loved that story for he loved Bag End and he loved to picture it filled with impertinent dwarves and poor Old Bilbo running about, trying so hard to be polite.

"No, tell us about Smaug!" Merry cried and Sam supported him with a "here, here," for every lad liked that story best.

Bilbo laughed and leaned forward. "And what would you have me tell, Peregrin? This is after all, your party."

Pippin thought about it long and hard. He dearly liked the scariest stories, of Gollum in the cave and the spiders of Mirkwood, but he liked them only in the day time and not when camping out while it was so dark outside. And the dwarves were really Frodo’s story, it was true, and Smaug was what everyone else always asked for. And the stories about Gandalf didn’t seem right to tell when he was here with them.

"Tell us about the trolls that nearly ate you," he said at last, "and then tell us about the eagles at the battle." (For that was really his favorite.)

So Bilbo took a deep breath and began, his voice rising and falling with the animation of the story, gesturing with his hands and hopping to his feet when emphasis was needed.

The lads laughed and cheered and shuddered at appropriate points all through the first story. By the second tale, though, they had grown sleepy, filled with food inside their tummies and contentedness in their hearts. Merry and Sam drifted off quite quickly and Pippin managed to stay awake to the point in the story where Bilbo told about getting bopped on the head with a rock, but he was fast asleep by the time Bilbo finished the story in a soft whisper.

Frodo alone had stayed awake to the end, unable to sleep until he was certain the other lads were slumbering peacefully. And safe. Only then did he allow himself to let drowsiness win and give over his fearful concerns to the twinkling stars. He fell asleep to the sound of Bilbo and Gandalf, speaking quietly between each other and the grasses swaying gently in the breeze.

~~~~

That night Frodo had a very odd dream. What was most odd about it was that at the time he had no doubt it was real.

He awoke in his bedroll, long after the fire had died out. He looked all about him to see what had caused him to wake, but everyone seemed to be still sleeping quite soundly. Then he knew immediately what was wrong. Pippin was gone.

"Pippin," he hissed, "Pippin!"

He sat up just in time to catch sight of his cousin making his way across the dell, running as fast as his short legs could take him, his nightclothes ghostly in the dark.

In a heartbeat, Frodo had set out after him, hissing "Pippin!" all the way.

As he ran through the grasses, struggling to keep his eyes on the darting white form, he felt the strangest certainty that he heard singing.

He caught up with Pippin at last when the lad stopped just over the hill where the dell met the East-West road. Frodo fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around Pippin, who was fixated, staring up the road.

"Look, Frodo," he said softly, pointing, "Elves."

Frodo looked where he was instructed and found that the singing had not been in his head. There were indeed elves coming up the road, two men and a lady in white robes on white horses. They sang between them a gay traveling song.

When they caught sight of the hobbits, they stopped riding and silence fell over their company. Frodo stood and instinctively tightened his hold around Pippin.

The lady and one of the men dismounted and began to approach them slowly.

"H-hello," Frodo stammered, "F-forgive us f-for d-disturbing you. We d-didn’t mean to."

The elves did not reply, but smiled pleasantly. The lady seemed to be interested in Pippin. She knelt in front of him and took his face in her gentle hands. As she peered at him she spoke to her companion in their own tongue.

"What is she saying?" Pippin asked.

Frodo struggled to remember the Elvish Bilbo had taught him, but it was much harder hearing it spoken rather than reading it in a book and, anyway, he was rather nervous. But then he laughed as he was suddenly quite certain that she had said that Pippin looked like a dandelion whose puff has been blown off.

The lady elf smiled, hearing his laugh. She leaned forward and kissed Pippin’s head and whispered odd words that Frodo couldn’t pick out at all but sounded nearly like a spoken song or a poem. She seemed no longer to be addressing any of them, or perhaps she spoke to all of nature all at once.

Then Gandalf was standing beside them and the elves nodded at him and the four spoke briefly for a time in flowing Elvish. Frodo made no attempt to understand the words this time, for he was distracted by Pippin, who seemed to have fallen asleep in his arms after the elf lady returned to her companions.

After a time he heard the singing again and, looking up he found that the elves had mounted their horses and were continuing their journey down the road. Gandalf bent down beside him and took Pippin still sleeping into his arms. Then he took Frodo’s hand into his own.

"Come along now, Frodo. Let’s return to bed."

The walk back across the grasses seemed endless and strange. Frodo could no longer hear the distant singing and by the time they reached the camp he realized with some horror that he was crying silently and could not bring himself to stop.

Gandalf laid Pippin back on his bedroll, then pulled Frodo to his side gently.

"Frodo," he said, "There is something I want you to hear."

Frodo followed Gandalf’s guiding hands and put his ear to Pippin’s narrow chest. At first he heard nothing but his own labored breathing, but then he concentrated harder and he heard beyond that a steady, unerring beat.

"He has a strong heart," Gandalf said as Frodo picked up his head and looked to him, "It is great love that fuels that. That is the only thing that you or anyone else can really give him and it will always be the best that you can do, no matter what may come."

He took Frodo into his arms then and allowed the lad to cry out the remainder of his tears until there were no more to shed. Then he patted his soft, dark curls and lead him to his bedroll beside his little cousin.

"Lay there now," he instructed, "Have no further fear."

Frodo closed his eyes upon his pillow and knew no more as he drifted to sleep and on to what he later supposed were just more dreams.

~~~~

Frodo awoke to quite a commotion the next morning.

"Pippin!" Merry cried, "Your hair!"

Frodo rolled out of his blankets and sat up, rubbing his eyes, just as Pippin started to shriek, grasping the full mop of curls that now grew upon his head.

"My word," Bilbo murmured, "I’ve never seen such a thing. Gandalf, have you ever heard of anything like this before?"

Gandalf did not reply but no one noticed for now it was Frodo who was grabbing their attention, shouting as he stumbled to his feet.

"The elves, Pippin, the elves must have done it! That must have been what the elf lady was saying just before she kissed you!"

Pippin looked even more shocked than he had when he discovered his new hair just a moment before. "Elves, Frodo? What are you talking about?"

"But, but Pippin," Frodo’s eyes were wide, "Don’t you remember? Last night. The elves. They were singing and the lady, the lady—she kissed you."

"Elves?" Bilbo scratched his head, "I think I should have awoken if I heard Elvish singing nearby."

Pippin knit his brows for a moment, then brushed the thoughts and foolish Frodo away, his mind returning once more to his hair. "I do wish I’d brought a looking glass," he said, "Does it look much different than it did before?"

"I think about the same," Merry replied.

"Not any greener?"

Merry shrugged. "Maybe a bit."

Then Sam suggested that perhaps if they went down to the creek, Pippin could see for himself in his reflection in the water. Pippin was off before Sam had barely got the words out, Merry following fast behind him.

Sam hesitated just a moment before he joined them.

"It must be nice to be dreamin’ about elves, Mister Frodo," he said wistfully, "I often try to dream of them myself, but I don’t seem to be much good at decidin’ what I want to dream and then doin’ it."

Frodo gave Sam a weak smile and sighed. He watched him trot off, along with Bilbo, who seemed quite energized by all the commotion. Then he turned to Gandalf desperately.

"You saw the elves last night, didn’t you, Gandalf? You remember what happened, don’t you?"

Again the wizard said nothing, but his eyes twinkled as he lit his pipe.

~~~~

(This is the end of the flashback started in chapter three. We return to the original story in the next chapter.)

A/N: This chapter of the story returns to the "present" timeline of chapters one and two, where we left Frodo watching over Pippin in his bed at Crickhollow. 

Setting: Crickhollow, midsummer, 1421. Frodo is nearly 53 and will leave for the Grey Havens in a month or two. Merry is 39. Pippin has just turned 31.

A Birthday, A Cold, A Memory and a Gift: Chapter Five

"Frodo?!" Pippin cried out, waking suddenly.

Frodo was at his side in the same breath. "Yes, Pip, I’m here. What is it?"

Pippin peered at him with drowsy eyes. "You are here, then?"

"Yes. I’ve been here all night. And I’ll stay until morning as well. You don’t have to worry."

"I worry about you," Pippin murmured, closing his eyes again, "Shouldn’t you be sleeping too, I think?"

Frodo smiled. "I don’t sleep so well these days anyway, Pippin."

"Don’t you?" Pippin had settled back into his pillow, and though he looked as if he were sleeping, his voice belied a curiosity and interest in the conversation.

Frodo reached out and gently brushed his cousin’s hair back. He had such messy hair. Always had. "No," he admitted, "to be perfectly honest with you, cousin, I can’t recall a night for several months back when I have slept full through."

"That’s awful. How is a hobbit supposed to be well if he does not sleep?"

Frodo laughed. "Please take your own advice then and sleep. You need it more than I. Tonight, at least."

Pippin seemed for a time to do just that, lying still and quiet for so long that Frodo started to rise, believing it an opportune time to lay down another kettle in the kitchen for more hot tea. But then the Took surprised him by speaking again. The same restless curiosity remained in his voice.

"Do you have nightmares, then?"

Frodo hesitated, pulled distractedly on a lock of his own dark hair, then crossed his arms and dodged having to answer, replying only with a question. "Do you?"

"Yes," Pippin said, "Sometimes."

"About the troll?"

"Well, yes. And the orcs. And Old Man Willow, too, although that sounds silly when I say it here now."

"It doesn’t sound silly."

"It does to say you have nightmares about a tree. No one ever believes you that a tree can be scary, unless they’ve seen it themselves."

Frodo smiled. "I bet Merry never teases you about that."

"He does not, that’s true. He has worse dreams, though he never talks about them. I think he thinks I don’t know, but I do—how could I not?"

Frodo felt an uneasy feeling in his stomach. "How are you feeling?" he asked, "are you still feverish?"

"I am as well as I was the last time you asked. Please don’t change the subject."

Frodo raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

Pippin continued.

"Mostly what I have nightmares of is about…about what I saw in that globe."

Frodo swallowed, his throat feeling dry. "The palantir?"

"Yes. Do you dream about him too, Frodo?"

"Him?"

"The Dark Lord."

Every night. Every awful, restless night, Frodo thought, but he shrugged. "Sometimes I do, I suppose."

Pippin opened one eye to look at him. They both knew Frodo was lying. Neither spoke for a time.

"I have nice dreams as well," Pippin offered eventually.

Frodo laughed and it came out in a rather startling bleat. He hadn’t realized until then how much tension had been building up in his muscles. "About sweet ale and jelly tarts and pretty hobbit lasses?"

Pippin smiled. "Something like that."

"Well," Frodo said, pulling the covers up tighter over his cousin, "Please go back to sleep and maybe you’ll have one of those."

He left the bedside then to attend to the fire, which had fallen off a bit.

"Do you remember my eleventh birthday party, Frodo? When you and Bilbo took me camping?"

Frodo nearly dropped the poker into the ash. Did Pippin know that’s what he had just been thinking about? How could he? "Y-yes," he coughed.

"Well do you remember how you said you dreamed there were elves that night and then in the morning you couldn’t believe none of us remembered because you thought it really happened?"

"They gave you back your hair." Frodo said flatly, not daring to turn from the grate.

"Sometimes I dream about that myself, you know. And I wake up wondering if perhaps it really did happen. I can see the elves and the lady in her robes and her golden hair and I can hear their singing…Do you think it’s entirely odd to be dreaming about someone else’s dreams?"

"I think," Frodo said, standing quickly and busying himself picking up the tea tray and its contents, "That you will talk all night if I encourage you and then you shall never get your rest. So I’m going to leave for a bit and you’ll have no one to listen but the floorboards. Maybe that will curb your tongue. Now would you like more tea if I make a new pot?"

"The floorboards are rather chatty themselves, you know. You could have taken it upon yourself to buy a less creaky house."

"If I had known I was buying it for such delicate sorts, perhaps I would have considered it."

"Delicate!" Pippin sniffed. "We Tooks may be rather handsome but we are far from delicate."

"And obedient. Now did you want tea or no?"

"Oh, fine," Pippin growled, flipping over onto his side so that his back was to Frodo, "I will have your tea. And another blanket. The crimson wool on the chair in the parlor will do splendidly."

If Frodo closed the door a bit loudly when he left the room, it was entirely by accident. Or so he would have maintained had anyone ever asked.

~~~~

Frodo took his time in the kitchen, boiling another kettle for the tea. He didn’t want to return too soon, while Pippin was in such a talkative mood. Perhaps if he dragged a bit and came back after a longer time, Pippin would be nearer to sleep and less interested in straying from the rest he needed.

And, anyway, Frodo didn’t really want to hear more from him tonight. What Pippin had said about the nightmares unnerved him and lit the old guilt anew. He never should have allowed them to come with. A day did not go by that he was not filled with regret for the pain he had lead into the lives of his dearest friends.

He would have liked to have a good cry right there in the kitchen, where no one would hear him, no one would bother him or try to soothe him with ridiculous reassurances…but he couldn’t. Tears didn’t come for him anymore. They hadn’t for a long time.

~~~~

When he returned to the bed chamber, he set the tea items on the table as quietly as he could, for he was certain Pippin had fallen back asleep. Then he attended to the fire that seemed determined to go out every time he left it. He put some more kindling on and then stirred the embers a bit, his movements progressively slower as he found himself entranced by the beauty of the sinuous dancing flames.

He was so focused that he nearly fell into the hearth when Pippin spoke up from his bed.

"You forgot my blanket."

"Goodness, Pippin, I took you for asleep."

"Well, I’m not, obviously," he started, but his words tapered off into a fit of wet coughing. Frodo moved quickly to his side and did his best to help him, giving his back great wallops with the flat of his palm. When it had subsided a bit, he poured him a cup of tea with a generous addition of brandy and handed it to his cousin, making sure that Pippin had a firm two-handed grip on the cup.

"Drink this while I go fetch your blanket. I don’t want to see a drop in that cup when I come back."

Pippin gulped the tea, too tired and shivery to protest.

Frodo made his way to the parlor and after a brief search came upon what he was certain must be the blanket Pippin requested. He also grabbed another from the bench, just to be prepared. He returned to the room a short while later and was greeted by the sounds of rhythmic, if husky, breathing.

"Oh, thank you," he murmured to no one in particular.

With great care, he unfolded the blankets and tucked them around his cousin, at the same time feeling about his body to see whether he was clammy or flushed. When all seemed well, he climbed onto the bed and put a small kiss on Pippin’s forehead.

"I’m sorry to have caused you and Merry and dear Sam such trouble." He whispered. "I wish I had allowed you to stay in your nice hobbit hole forever where the most dangerous things you should ever encounter would be honey bees and the garden snakes of Tuckborough."

He gave him a second kiss, brushed back his curls, and then lay down beside him to think.

He was not allowed to think for long, however, for Pippin piped up, not having been sleeping at all.

"Why must you be so dramatic, Cousin Frodo?"

"Pippin, have you been practicing playing asleep just planning for this night?"

"I very nearly was asleep or something like it until you started speaking. And such nonsense you wake me up for! Merry and I would never have forgiven you if you hadn’t allowed us to come and everyone knows poor Sam would have died of a broken heart and no direction. And we ended up just fine. Plus a few more inches." He laughed, "Though minus a few digits, I suppose."

Frodo sighed. "Pippin, please just sleep."

Pippin imitated Frodo’s sigh. "How can I just sleep if I know that you’re lying here with your own silly rain cloud above your head blaming yourself when there’s nothing to even blame for. We had an adventure and everyone came out fine."

"Not everyone."

"No," Pippin said quietly, "That’s true."

They both grew quiet and still and stared at the shadows of the flames flickering across the ceiling. Then Frodo shook his head. "I am more worried about you than anything tonight, Pippin. I would worry less if you were getting some sleep and not exhausting yourself. I don’t want you any sicker if I can help it."

"It may just be a cold. I told you that."

"But it likely may not. Please don’t be careless."

"Then please don’t be sad!" Pippin wrapped his arms around Frodo and buried his head into his chest. "Please just be happy, Frodo. I wish you were happy."

Frodo was surprised by this sudden outburst of affection but only because it was as if current Pippin had suddenly been replaced by a previous version. Over the past few years Pippin had become far less impulsive than when he was younger. It had been replaced rather naturally with a kind of brash bravado but was also intertwined with a strong sense of restraint and, dare Frodo think it, caution. It was only to be expected he supposed, that his young cousin would mature just as any other hobbit did as they closed in on their coming of age, but he hadn’t realized until this moment how much he missed the little hobbit who might kick at you if he was angry but was just as likely to kiss you if he was happy.

Frodo swallowed and put his arms about the body on his ribs. "How can I be sad," he lied, "When I’m here with you?"

Pippin didn’t answer but his grip remained firm. He held tight until at last he dropped off into a genuine sleep, his breath hot and damp against Frodo’s shirt.

~~~~

Frodo didn’t know that he himself had fallen asleep until he realized he was waking. He sat up just as Pippin did, hacking again and at the same time kicking the blankets from the bed angrily.

"It’s too hot, Frodo," he complained between coughs, "I am all wet and exhausted from the heat."

Frodo felt his head, but the pale skin was cool and clammy. "I’ll get you a glass of water," he said.

"No. I want a cold bath."

"You can’t have a cold bath. You’ll catch your death."

"But I’m so hot!"

"You’re not really. You just think you are."

"Of course I am really. I’m sweating!"

"And soon you’ll be getting the chills. Now just lie still and I’ll fetch you some water."

"I hate you Frodo."

"Of course you do. And pouting is very becoming in a thirty-one-year-old."

"I am not pouting!"

"No, because that takes energy. Instead you are lying still quietly, waiting for hateful cousin Frodo to bring you a glass of water."

"Where is Merry?"

"He’s sleeping. Do you think he would take care of you better?"

"Well, he wouldn’t stand for this treatment of me. And if I wanted ice cream, he would make sure I got it."

"Ice cream? You want ice cream?"

"I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I didn’t."

"Well, have you got any ice cream in the house?"

"None. It’s too warm to keep it."

"Then how would Merry get it for you?"

"I don’t know. He just would."

"Pippin, you’re determined to drive me mad before sunrise, aren’t you?"

"No," he sighed. Frodo could see the bruises of exhaustion beneath Pippin’s eyes as he climbed from the bed and spread himself across the floor, where it seemed like it might be cooler. "Honestly, I am not. I’m sorry you are even here. I’m sure you would much rather be off somewhere else having a nice sleep and not being forced to deal with bothersome Tookish relations."

Frodo knelt down beside him and began to wipe his cousin’s sweaty face with his own handkerchief. "Please don’t ever think I feel that way."

"How could you not? I am a nuisance plain and simple. I’m quite tired of it myself and I don’t see how you can say you aren’t as well." He closed his eyes and laid his head in Frodo’s lap. "By the Shire, I am so dreadful tired of being sick. Ridiculous to have believed it might not happen again."

"There, now, Pip," Frodo stroked his cheek, "It might not. Perhaps you were right and this is just a cold."

"You don’t believe that."

"I’d like to."

"But you don’t."

"Maybe I do."

They sat there on the floor together for some time, Frodo stroking the soft, hot head in his lap until he worried he would never feel his legs again or be able to stand. He hated to have to say anything, especially since Pippin seemed to have finally stopped chatting, but he knew he had to.

"Pip, darling, you’ll have to get off me. You’re too heavy for me these days."

Pippin made an odd noise from between his lips, some sort of attempt at a laugh. "I used to be a little mouse so small."

"And now look at you, you are quite tall. Jolly-jolly-day-tock." Frodo finished the line of a hobbit nursery rhyme.

Pippin smiled as Frodo helped him to his feet and then back onto the bed. "I used to be just a carefree lass."

"And now my love those days have past. Jolly-jolly-day-tock."

Pippin sighed and put his head on the pillow. "You used to be a lad nimble and gay."

"And now I am a master with no time to play."

"Jolly-jolly-day-tock."

Frodo took one of the sheets and laid it lightly over his cousin. "We’ve a grand hole to keep and six babes to mind."

"But for today let us turn back time. Jolly-jolly-day-tock."

Pippin turned and watched Frodo as he stood back with his arms spread open and proclaimed dramatically: "We will run on the sweet grass and dance in the sun. And sing songs of nonsense till nighttime is done."

"Jolly-jolly-day-tock," Pippin finished, "Jolly-jolly-day-tock." Then he laughed. "What a silly rhyme. Whatever does ‘tock’ mean anyway?"

Frodo smiled. "I never thought about it. I suppose it has something to do with the clock. Like tick-tock-tick-tock."

"My mother used to change it when I was little. She used to say ‘Jolly-jolly-day-Took.’ I was nearly as old as I am now before I realized that wasn’t the actual rhyme."

"I think that’s an improvement. It’s not the best rhyme to begin with."

"And it’s dreadful sad, isn’t it?"

Frodo ran a finger down the slope of Pippin’s nose, then tapped the end playfully. "Most nursery rhymes are for some reason. I wonder why that is?"

"So that the babes will cry themselves into sleep, I suppose."

"That’s probably right," Frodo laughed and left at last for the long-forgotten drink of water.

~~~~

Merry was up with the sun, leaping from his bed and dashing to the guest room where he found Pippin fast asleep and Frodo sitting cross-legged on the floor, pouring over a book of Shire history that had made its way over from Great Smials on one of Pippin’s pipeweed-fetching trips. Not surprisingly, most of the focus was on the Tooks, their line of Thains in particular. It wasn’t very interesting, but then, Frodo wasn’t really reading it anyway. He merely gazed at it while his mind turned over other thoughts.

He looked up as Merry entered and put a finger to his lips. "Shhh. He’s finally asleep. It took near all night to get him to be still."

Merry crept to the bedside and peered at his cousin. "How is he?" he whispered.

Frodo closed the book quietly and set it against the wall. "It’s hard to say. He denies nearly everything and won’t give you a straight answer. I do wish he would try not to be so belligerent."

Merry smiled wryly and moved a blanket back slightly to get a better look at the sleeping hobbit’s face. "That’s actually a good sign. The worse off he is, the less he puts up a fight." He bent in for a closer look, then carefully tucked the bedding back. "Nevertheless, I’m going for the healer. I don’t take any chances with Pip."

Frodo nodded and noticed then in the daylight the noble cast Merry’s features seemed to have taken on in adulthood. It was very easy to look at the serious furrow of his brow and set to his jaw and see the rider of Rohan, the future Master of Buckland. Although Frodo knew he would miss Merry greatly when he left at the Havens, he did not fear to leave him. Merry could take care of himself, he had always known, but now he knew without a doubt that Merry would and could take care of Pippin for as long as the Took needed him to, and anyone else for that matter. Frodo found himself regretting not so much never seeing Merry again, but instead never getting to see Merry be the good father Frodo knew he would become.

"What’s the matter?" Merry asked, taking in Frodo’s thoughtful gaze.

"Nothing," Frodo smiled lightly, "but please hurry."

"Of course." Merry patted the Baggins on the back. "I never lag when I know I am needed."

Frodo watched him leave and then said quietly to himself: "I don’t believe you ever do."

Then he poured himself a cup of the tea which had long gone cold, sat himself gingerly on the edge of Pippin’s bed and waited patiently for Merry to ride toward town and return with the healer. It would not be a lengthy trip, he knew, but still, he willed the pony and the wind and all the nature that surrounded them to hurry on their behalf.

~~~~

A Birthday, A Cold, A Memory and a Gift: Chapter Six

Merry returned promptly with Healer Boffins, for which Frodo was grateful. Pippin was still sleeping heavily as the two entered and Frodo hopped to his feet anxiously.

"Do you want me to wake him?" he asked.

"Do you think we should, Frodo?" Merry frowned. "You said he barely slept all night."

"Well how can the healer do an examination if Pip’s asleep?"

"I’m sure Healer Boffins can tell a lot of things just by looking at him."

"But certainly not enough as he would need to know to make a right judgement."

"But, Frodo…"

The healer interrupted the two babbling, nervous cousins by putting up his hands. "Enough," he said. "Both of you out of this room, now. I will handle this myself, thank you."

Merry’s eyes flashed briefly with anger, but Frodo’s hand upon his shoulder was calming.

"He’s right, Merry. We’re not any help just standing here and jabbering like a couple of old gammers."

Merry looked as though he were about to say something, but did not and followed Frodo reluctantly out to the parlor. Healer Boffins shut the door behind them.

~~~~

"I can’t stand this, Frodo," Merry sighed, throwing himself heavily upon the sofa, "I don’t care for waiting and not knowing and worrying. If there is to be bad news, I’d prefer to have it now."

"Well, we’re both going to have to wait a little bit longer, no matter what the news is to be." Frodo sat gingerly in an arm chair and put his feet up on the tea table. "Just have to be worried together, I’m afraid."

Merry sniffed and crossed his arms. They sat in tense silence for a while, both straining to hear any sound from the bedroom, then giving up, as neither could pick up anything. Eventually Merry spoke up.

"So, you don’t eat any more, then?"

Frodo blinked. "What?"

"Do you not eat anymore?" Merry nodded his head in Frodo’s direction. "You look terrible."

Frodo smiled wryly. "I think you’ve been spending too much time with the Bolgers."

Merry blushed and couldn’t help but smile back.

"Is she…" Frodo ran his fingers over the delicate scroll-work of the chair arm, "Is she the one, Merry?"

Merry turned crimson, but nodded seriously. "Yes."

Frodo found it hard to say anything for a moment, but then he spoke softly. "I’m glad for you."

"Thank you."

"She’s a fine lass."

"I know."

Frodo watched as Merry played with the brocade of his waistcoat and gazed thoughtfully at his feet.

"I don’t think Pippin cares for her much."

"Why do you say that?"

Merry sighed. "I’m not sure. He’s just…well, he does seem to lose a bit of enthusiasm anytime I mention her."

"Well, Pippin never has been content to share you with anybody. I believe he was even jealous of me at a time. He still won’t admit I knew you before he did."

Merry laughed, but then sobered. "I haven’t asked her yet."

"But you will."

"Yes."

"And she’ll have you."

"Do you think so?"

"Of course. And Pippin will be used to it after awhile. Especially once he gets caught up in a lass of his own."

"Have you seen the way they follow him about and make eyes at him?" Merry shook his head in wonder, "Incredible."

"Well, I just hope he finds one like his mother. Auntie Egg is the only one at the Smials with a proper head on her shoulders."

"That’s because she’s the only one who’s not a Took."

"That’s true. I suppose so long as Pippin doesn’t marry another Took, we’ll be safe."

At that moment, the bedroom door slammed and Healer Boffins stomped past the startled cousins, muttering.

"Drag me out at this hour of the morning for that and don’t even offer me a spot of tea…insufferable, absolutely insufferable…"

Frodo and Merry followed the old hobbit into the kitchen and stood bewildered as he yanked the kettle from the hearth and began to make himself a pot of tea.

"Is…is he…" Merry hesitated. Healer Boffins moved past him into the pantry and returned with a roll cake. He set it on the table, then rummaged through the cupboard until he found a plate and a knife.

"Is Pippin going to be all right?" Frodo spat out at last.

The healer glared at them and stuffed his mouth full of cake.

"Of course he is," he frowned, crumbs falling as he spoke, "Or do you think colds are fatal illnesses in these parts?"

"A cold!" Merry cried, "But are you certain?"

"Meriadoc Brandybuck. I have been a healer in Buckland since before you were even born. I tended the colds of your parents and yourself and Mister Baggins here and even old Bilbo Baggins when he was still around. Do you think I don’t know a cold when I see it?"

"But, it’s different, you see," Frodo butted in, "Pip, well, Pippin doesn’t really get colds like a normal hobbit. He just gets sick. He was sick a lot when he was younger...very sick."

"I am quite aware of Peregrin Took’s history. Healer Melko at the Smials is a good friend of mine. But I assure you, Mister Baggins, this is nothing that rest and food and tea," he gestured wildly with the kettle, "will not cure. Keep him abed for a few days and he’ll be fine. I would bet my luncheon upon it, had I been offered any."

Merry reached out his hand to the side and, finding Frodo’s, clasped it tightly in joy. Then he heaved a great sigh of relief. "I shall make you a wondrous luncheon then, one fit for someone bearing such news. Luncheon for all of us, in fact. Frodo, go see if Pippin is awake. I’m going to make him a tray."

~~~~

Frodo entered the bedroom timidly and shut the door quietly behind him. He tiptoed to the bed and peered over at his cousin who still appeared very much a lad while sleeping. He breathed through his mouth and sounded quite congested, though, now that the healer had mentioned it, it did not seem to be in a dangerous way. Then Pippin whispered something softly.

"1412."

Frodo leaned forward. "What was that, Pip?"

Pippin opened one eye and smiled at Frodo. "1412. I was twenty-two."

Frodo pulled the chair up to the bed and sat down. "And what happened when you were twenty-two?"

"Why, lots of things happened. Not too many that I remember and some I’m sure I’d rather forget, but among them was something special."

"And what was that?"

"I got a cold."

Frodo smiled painfully. It was suddenly hard to speak, but then he managed. "What’s so special about a cold?"

"Well, that’s just it. Nothing. It was only a cold."

Frodo was shocked to feel tears welling up in his eyes. He could not recall the last time he had been able to cry and he hadn’t realized until this moment how chill and lonely that absence had left him feeling. With a whimper, he put his head now on his cousin’s chest and wept.

"Oh," Pippin sat up on his elbows and looked down helplessly at him, "Oh, please don’t cry, Frodo. I certainly didn’t mean to upset you. I…I was only really speaking in jest…"

Frodo shook his head and spoke without raising his head, his voice partially muffled by the soft flannel of Pippin’s night clothes. "No. No, don’t tell me to stop, Pip dear. You can’t tell me to stop now."

"Are you angry with me?"

Frodo laughed and hiccuped, sitting up slightly. "Of course not. Quite the opposite, really."

"Is that so?" Pippin looked utterly confused.

"Yes." Frodo nodded then continued to bawl.

"I fear you’ve been spending entirely too much time cooped up in your study, Cousin." Pippin patted Frodo’s curls with bemusement. "Stepping outside for some fresh air might not hurt you once in a while. Or a trip to the pub? I haven’t heard a song from you in ages."

Frodo snuffled and sat up fully then and looked seriously into Pippin’s eyes.

"Will you promise me something?"

Pippin frowned. "That depends what it is, I guess."

"Can you promise me that you will never grow old and grim?"

"Old and grim?!"

"Yes." And Frodo thought to himself ‘like me.’

"Well, I can’t promise you not to grow old because I’ve always been told a hobbit’s not given much choice in the matter. But, grim! Whatever would the point be in becoming like that?"

"Well, sometimes it creeps up on you."

"It certainly won’t with me. I don’t know where you get these ideas, Frodo. I suspect that is the Baggins in you."

Frodo nodded and hiccuped and gave Pippin a kiss. His cousin blushed in response.

"I’m sorry. I embarrass you, don’t I, Pip?"

"I just think sometimes you forget that I am nearly full-grown."

"Yes, that’s true," Frodo sat back slowly, "I do forget. I must try not to."

Pippin looked mournful then and regretted with all his heart having complained. "Well," he began to speak, but then started to cough and could not stop.

Frodo thumped him on the back until he was eased. His fit subsided, Pippin sat in rigid silence, eyes fixed on the coverlet. Then, he jumped forward impulsively, wrapped his arms about Frodo and returned the kiss.

"You may think of me whatever you like, Cousin. You do not embarrass me and never have. I’m very lucky that you’ve always liked me so well. You know of course I feel the same, but I’m foolish and do not speak it so well."

"You speak just fine, Pippin," Frodo murmured, helping him to lay down again, "Just fine."

~~~~

Merry arrived at last with luncheon. While Healer Boffins had been coddled with food and tea and now rested comfortably in the parlor with his pipe and a bag of the Shire’s finest (courtesy of Peregrin Took, although he was unaware that Master Brandybuck had taken the liberty of making that gift on his behalf), Merry did not come alone. Estella Bolger stood at his side with a second tray of food in her arms.

"I saw Merry in town this morning and when I heard you had taken ill, I just couldn’t rest until I made sure a proper mushroom soup was in this house," She explained, "Two bachelors alone together—goodness only knows what sort of things they think it sense to keep in their kitchen."

Merry set his tray upon the night table and pulled a chair out for the hobbitess. "I invited Estella to lunch with us. I hope you don’t mind."

Pippin said nothing but Frodo smiled appreciatively. "I think that was a marvelous idea. Smells terrific, doesn’t it, Pippin?"

"I think I need to rest."

Merry took a seat on the end of the bed and reached out for a bowl and some bread. "Nonsense. Old Boffins said you need to eat and then you can rest. And you know you’re quite partial to Estella’s cooking."

"Well, who isn’t, really?" Pippin grumbled in concession, accepting a bowl of the soup. Then he remembered his manners. "Thank you."

"Ah, that’s nothing," Estella brushed the gratitude away, "Nothing but simple hospitality among neighbors. Now eat up. There’s plenty more where that came from and I don’t intend it to sit. I lugged it all the way here, I’ll not be lugging it back."

And, so, eat up they did. The three tucked into their food eagerly while Estella made sure every empty place on a plate was immediately refilled and kept up a cheerful re-telling of gossip from the previous night’s party. Merry found himself torn between participating in conversation with the lovely lass and keeping a watchful eye on his cousin. "Oh, how silly!" he would laugh or "He didn’t really say that, did he?" and in-between he would steal a careful glance at Pippin to make sure of how he was getting on.

It was during one of these quick check-ups that he noticed Pippin had stopped eating and was now playing with a paper some of the tea cakes had been wrapped in. He folded it into edges and corners in a very deliberate way so that soon the shape of a little creature was becoming visible.

Frodo saw it as well. "Do you still remember how to do that?" he marveled.

Pippin nodded.

"Ah, that’s a bird now, isn’t it?" Estella said, her keen eyes picking up the lines.

"Right," Merry leaned forward, "An eagle. Like the one you made Gandalf."

"I wonder what he ever did with it," Frodo murmured.

"I’ve still got my Beorn-Bear," Merry said, "it’s on a shelf at the Hall."

"Yes, Smaug is sits on my desk at Bag End. I see him every day."

"Well, Gandalf doesn’t have his anymore," Pippin laughed, "It flew away."

Merry frowned. "Flew away? You mean it blew away? He lost it?"

"No. It flew away. When we came back to Bag End after my camping party, Bilbo and Sam and Frodo were in the kitchen unpacking and I went looking for you, Merry, but I found Gandalf instead and he was all alone in the parlor with the windows open. I thought he wanted to be alone so I started to leave, but then he called me back. He called me ‘Peregrin Took,’ like he always has and that was terribly frightening…"

Pippin started to shiver and Frodo tucked another blanket around him. But he continued.

"So I came to him and he sat me on his knee and he told me he was very grateful for the gift and that it was a very fine one, but that it wasn’t right for him to keep it. And I became quite sad because I thought that he was going to try to give it back to me, but he didn’t."

Pippin purposely took his time reaching for the tea, pouring a new cup, stirring in sugar and then taking a prolonged sip until Merry nearly leapt out of his chair.

"Well, what did he do then?" he cried.

Pippin grinned. "Well, Merry, he took out the paper eagle from his robes and he told me to hold open my hands, so I did and he set it in them and he told me to hold very still, so I did."

"And then??"

"And then he leaned forward and whispered some words to the eagle that I couldn’t hear ."

"What did he say?"

"I just told you, Merry, that I couldn’t hear him."

Frodo rolled his eyes. "Well, what happened then, Pip?"

"Well…the bird, it became…real. Or not really real, I suppose, but it wasn’t paper anymore. Or it didn’t act like paper. But it started to move and then its wings flapped and it lifted right off from my hands and flew out the window."

"My goodness," Estella shook her head, not quite believing the tale until she saw the look of utter seriousness on Merry’s face.

"Did it ever come back?" he asked.

"No," Pippin yawned, "I never saw it again."
Estella folded her hands. "Do you think it was a trick?"

"If it was, it was a good one and I think nothing less of it."

"My goodness," Estella repeated, this time with awe.

Merry had a smile of wonder on his face, but then he seemed to shake it away and replace it with one slightly more business-like. "You’re tired now, aren’t you, Pip?"

"Just a bit," he murmured, burrowing back against his pillow, "That was a nice bowl of soup, Estella," he added, "Thank you."

Estella stood then and made her way to the bedside. She stooped and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Rest up now, Pippin Took. There’s more soup keeping warm on the hearth for when you want it, but I best be getting back now before my brother starts to worrying about his supper."

Merry exchanged a brief look of pleasure with Frodo before he left to see the Bolger lass off.

When they had gone, Pippin sighed. "I don’t expect to see old Merry back until after sunset then. He does spend frightful amounts of time saying goodbye these days though it seems a simple enough task to me."

Frodo frowned and Pippin made a face.

"Oh, all right," he sighed, "She’s a nice enough lass and a smart cook to boot. I’m sure she and Merry will have wonderful well-fed children together."

Frodo laughed. "So you give your acceptance, then? You’ll let poor Merry have his sweetheart in peace?"

"Why, I never said he couldn’t. And if it seems that way, I apologize. But I miss him, Frodo. He’s hardly around these days. And when he is all he talks about is Estella this and Estella that and dreary old Brandy Hall business. He’s in danger of becoming genuinely dull."

"Now, Pip, Merry’s been of age for several years now and you know as well as I do…"

"Yes, yes. I know Merry is expected to take a wife soon and to have responsibilities, I do. But I just…oh, I don’t know." He squinched his eyes shut in frustration.

"It’s hard to let go of the ones that you love," Frodo supplied softly.

"Yes," Pippin nodded his head firmly, then struggled to sit up on his elbows and look at Frodo with moist eyes. "Do you know what Gandalf said to me when the bird—the paper—paper bird flew away?"

"I don’t."

"He said to me, ‘Always remember, young Peregrin, if something needs to be free, you must be willing to let it go. Treasure will only tarnish in selfish keeping.’ I didn’t really know what he meant then but it’s beginning to seem quite sensible and good advice now."

Frodo found that his hands were shaking as he put his teacup gingerly on the table, so he crawled onto the bed and wrapped them around his young cousin to steady them, as well as his thumping heart. Pippin snuggled deeper into him in response and sighed.

"Rest now, Pippin, all right?"

"Mmm. I will."

They lay still for a bit in silence, but Pippin had yet to fall asleep, so Frodo decided to ask him one more question.

"Pip?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you never tell Merry or me about the bird before? It’s not like you to keep a story to yourself."

Pippin rolled over and put his nose against Frodo’s chest. "I forgot."

"You forgot?"

"I did. I’ve only really begun to remember it this past night it seems and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since."

"But how did you forget it in the first place?"

"Well, I was quite young still and it was a bit of a lost year for me to begin with, I suppose. And when I saw that all alone I didn’t know how to start to tell it to you or Merry or even my silly sisters and so I kept quiet and figured it would come out of me at some point, but then I guess I forgot I even had the secret, all these years…until now."

Frodo stroked Pippin’s curls gently and soothed him.

"It seems to me that maybe you were only meant to remember it now and I’m glad that you did. Lucky for both of us."

"What do you mean?" Pippin yawned again. "For both of us?"

"Shush, now, Pippin dear. Sleep."

For once, Pippin did as he was told. And Frodo lay still listening to the sound of his breathing, watching the sunlight play patterns over the walls, and marveling that after all he had seen there were still things in this world that could amaze him.

~~~

Frodo had fallen into a light sleep himself and how long he had slept he didn’t know, but he awoke when he found that the weight of Pippin was no longer beside him. He sat up just in time to catch his cousin creeping for the door, wrapped up in a blanket.

"Pippin!" he scolded, "Back to bed now! Whatever do you think you’re doing?"

Pippin turned to him, his face all one cheerful grin. "Can’t sneak anything past you, can I?"

"No, you cannot. Now sit back down and tell me just where you’re off to. Were you hungry? I can bring you more food."

"Oh, second luncheon would be nice. I hadn’t thought of that."

"Well, if you weren’t going to the kitchen then where were you going?"

"To my room."

"Do you prefer your own bed?"

"No," Pippin shrugged, "Yours is just as nice, if a bit short."

"What did you want in your room if not your bed?"

"My coat, thank you."

"Are you cold?"

"Goodness no. And I certainly wouldn’t sleep in my good coat if I was. That’s from the finest tailor in Tuckborough, I’ll have you know."

Frodo felt the growing exasperation that he found often accompanied conversations like this with his cousin. "What did you want with your coat, then, Pippin, and for the last time: lay down!"

Pippin scooted back onto the bed and sighed mock-pitifully. "I only wanted to give you your birthday present."

"You’re giving me your coat?" Frodo tried to mask his distaste, thinking of the hideous blue-green coat Pippin was so fond of.

"I’m sorry, Frodo, but you will have to wait until you grow into it. For now you’ll have to settle for what’s in the pockets."

"What is in the pockets?"

"Unfortunately I’m under the care of a very cruel keeper and he will not let me leave the bed so you’re just going to have to go fetch it yourself and find out."

Frodo bit his tongue to keep from muttering as he went to find the coat, which was hung lovingly on a post at the end of Pippin’s ridiculously long bed. On his way he passed Healer Boffins snoring on the parlor sofa and Merry and Estella talking animatedly in the kitchen. Fatty Bolger was certainly not getting his supper on time tonight, he thought wryly.

Much to Frodo’s surprise, Pippin was still sitting on the bed when he returned.

"Oh, good," he chirped, "You brought it. Did you peek?"

"No, for I fear I’ll find nothing but old toffees and sticky bits of lint."

Pippin laughed as he accepted the coat. "Well I hope that this is somewhat better than that."

He reached carefully into the inside breast pocket and removed a leather wallet on a string.

"There are a few things in here I don’t care to be without. Precious to me as Rings, I used to say." He unbuttoned the wallet and laid out his two pipes on the table, which Frodo recognized as the same ones Pippin had carried with him since he took up the pipeweed in his early tweens. Beside those, he laid his pouch of old Toby. Then at last, he produced two copper Shire coins, darkened with age. Placing them face-up in his palm, he held them out to Frodo.

"Pick one."

Frodo looked down at the coins, stamped with the familiar apple that marked all Hobbit coins, and shook his head. "Why do you have these?"

"For luck, I suppose." Pippin pointed to the coin on the left. "This one here is a 1390 coin. My mother saved it from the year I was born. They say it’s lucky, you know, to carry a coin with the year of your birth on it, though I don’t know how much stock I really put in the idea. I don’t even remember that year, after all."

Frodo pointed then to the coin on the right-hand side. "And why do you carry the other?"

"For luck as well. Though I do say this one’s a bit more logical. That’s a 1412."

"The year you caught a cold."

"That’s right. A cold and nothing else. And after that I wasn’t sick at all for so long. It seems that that was the lucky year for me."

"So you really want me to take one of these coins of yours, Pip? As precious to you as Rings?"

Pippin laughed. "Well, I’ve decided that one lucky coin is good enough for a hobbit. After that, one’s just being greedy. And you don’t have a lucky coin at all, do you Frodo?"

"No. I think my mother had kept one for me with my own year on it, but I don’t know what ever became of it."

"Well," Pippin’s voice became slightly more somber, "It’s a silly tradition. But if you’ll pick one, I’ll be glad for you to have it."

Frodo peered at the coins intently. "Which one should I take?"

"You may have either."

"I’ll take 1390, then. It was a very lucky year for me and I remember it well."

"Really?" Pippin questioned, handing the coin over to Frodo, who tucked it away safely in his own breast pocket. "What happened that year that was so lucky for you?"

"You silly Took," Frodo laughed, "Do you even have to ask?"

~~~~

A Birthday, A Cold, A Memory and a Gift: Epilogue

As Frodo rode alone down the Stock road early the next morning, something caught his eye from the woods and he stopped. He sighed at the sight of his friend and smiled softly as the wizard emerged from where he had been walking beneath the trees, unseen by other eyes.

"Were you coming to see me, Gandalf?"

"I will be soon enough, my dear Frodo, but for the moment I have other business that I must attend to."

Frodo nodded. "That is good then."

"Indeed," Gandalf replied. Then he looked carefully at the hobbit’s face. There was something changed there that he recognized, a relief that had been absent before.

"You are ready now?"

"I am," Frodo admitted, "All of me is at last. I can leave them and they’re going to be all right. And I believe they will understand that I must go."

"They will," Gandalf agreed. "And I’m glad that you will go with an easeful heart."

"Well, it will still be hard, but it will be all right." Frodo’s eyes were mournful but unwavering.

"It will," Gandalf patted his shoulder with finality. "But now I mustn’t delay you on your way any longer. Samwise will be worried."

Obediently, Frodo twitched the reins and his pony continued its leisurely pace.

"Goodbye for now, Gandalf," he called, "I’ll see you soon."

"Take care, Frodo Baggins."

Then the wizard returned to his path in the woods heading up toward Buckland and the hobbit carried on his way steadily down the road to home.