“Do you have them?”

            “Yes.”

He reached out to touch it from his bedside, hand trembling, ignoring the ache in his chest as he stretched.  Merry laid them on the bed, spreading the first across his lap.  Pippin swallowed hard, tears prickling his eyes.  His hands brushed it gently, remembering it being clasped in a golden land, an elven land that was an eternity ago.  The finely woven fabric was repeatedly torn, its soft changeable grey now deep brown in patches, stiff, dried.  All dark stains and tatters—it frightened Pippin. He stuck his finger through a hole, black with soot and closed his eyes, imagining fiery sparks, ashes. This was Frodo’s cloak. 

            The other Merry laid beside it and Pippin’s eyes grew wider.  If Frodo’s had been ruined, this was nearly unrecognizable.  More, much more of the brown-red of blood hardened the collar and one of the shoulders. The true black of orc blood splattered into stiff drops here and there; Pippin shivered.  He ran his hands over it, palms shrinking from the rough, twisted surface.  There were more holes burnt into Sam’s cloak; Pippin bit his lip, imagining Sam huddling over Frodo, trying to shelter him as the sky filled with fire. Shredded, burned, filthy with blood, Pippin’s fingers stopped and hovered over a different stain.  His brow furrowed.  Laboriously he sat up, spreading the cloak wider.  The darker shade discolored much more of it than he’d first noticed.  

“Blood?” He whispered.  Blue-black, it gleamed in the candlelight as he hesitantly touched it. The soft elven cloak was rock-hard under his fingertips. The mysterious stuff was thickly caked; Pippin scratched it with his fingernail, repulsed as it crumbled off. Merry nodded.

“Gandalf said it was.”

 “From what?”

“He wouldn’t tell me.”

“Oh.  Not orc?”

“No. Not orc.”

It would be over a week before his question was answered.  In that time, while Pippin lay recovering in his bed, his mind would drift back to the strange dried blood on Sam’s cloak.  It put him in the mind of monsters and foul beasts hobbit mothers told their children about to keep them from wandering the dark, from having adventures in the Wild.  One day he could wait no longer for Sam or Frodo to awake and tell him. 

“Gandalf?”

“Yes, Pippin?” The wizard had come to see him, even though he’d already had earlier.  Settling himself in the only big-person’s chair next to Pippin’s bed, Gandalf waited expectantly.  Pippin sat up slowly, carefully swinging his legs over the side of the bed.  His injuries were all but healed now, but Aragorn would still not allow him more than a few weak steps back and forth.  Merry watched anxiously as he put his feet on the floor. Pippin winced as the chilly ground curled his toes and made goose bumps rise on his legs.  

“Were there monsters in Mordor, Gandalf?”

“What kind of monsters, the ones that are made or the kind that your older sisters invented to frighten you with?”

Pippin flushed at Gandalf’s teasing tone, but refused to give up.  “The one that Sam fought.”

“Who told you about that?” No longer teasing, but sharp, Gandalf’s voice startled them both.  Merry clasped his hands, guiltily looking at the floor.

“Merry showed me the…the elven cloaks. There was this strange blood on Sam’s. He said you wouldn’t tell him what it was.”

“And for good reason.” Gandalf said firmly, then sighed and laid a hand on Pippin’s shoulder. “Listen, my dear Pippin, there are things hobbits should not have to know…”

“But Sam and Frodo already…” Pippin broke in desperately.

“And the only reason I will tell you is so you will not pester them with your infernal questioning, Peregrin Took!” Gandalf loudly overrode him. 

“Oh.” He looked down, embarrassed.  Merry shifted in his chair, looking small beside Gandalf.

“Now, get back in that bed before you catch a chill.”  Moving as fast as he could, Pippin swung his legs back onto the bed, and covered up.  Giving into a sudden urge, he said, “Merry, would you…?”

His cousin was curled next to him before he could finish the sentence.  Gandalf then made them wait while he filled then lit his pipe, puffing gently. Outside, in the slender gap between the tent flaps Pippin could see stars brightly shining, twinkling.  He wondered what it was like in Mordor when it was so dark, all alone with a monster…he shivered and Merry huddled closer.

  “She’s, perhaps, not what you would call a monster in the Shire, Pippin.” Gandalf began.

“She?” Merry frowned.

“Yes, her Ladyship.”

“What was she? Did Sam kill her? Where was Frodo?” Pippin asked excitedly.  He’d only seen what looked like a few smears of the shiny, hard blood on Frodo’s cloak.

“Shh, Pippin.” Merry scolded.  Gandalf puffed his pipe and waited until they were quiet.

“Frodo and Sam went unwittingly into her lair, the passage of Cirith Ungol, the only route left to them into Mordor.” Gandalf paused, but the hobbits were silent. “Her name was, and to the best of our knowledge, still is, Shelob the Great, the last of Ungoliant’s dreadful progeny.” Merry, better versed in his history, gasped.  Pippin frowned.

“Ungoliant was a terrible creature in the shape of a spider.  Many times the size of a man, Shelob, is much the same, great and terribly hungry.” Gandalf looked sad in the dim light. “Yes, Sam fought her, but only in defense. She…” He frowned at the hobbits.

“No, go on.”

“You can’t stop there!”

“All right, but I will not sit with you all night.” Gandalf gazed at them sternly before continuing.  “As I said, Sam and Frodo went unwittingly into her lair, the passage of Cirith Ungol, the only route left to them into Mordor.  Her lair is naught but a dark cave through rock, utterly black, damp, and cold.” Before Pippin could ask, “No, I have not been there, but I have seen much of it from their minds, mostly Samwise’s.” 

And as Gandalf continued, his voice seemed to…change…to Pippin. It became higher, less full of the wizard’s natural authority and more hesitant.  It took a long time for the young hobbit, breathlessly listening, to realize Gandalf’s eyes were closed as he spoke, his expression turned inward.

“It stank someth…terribly…in there. There was no light, and our…”Gandalf’s voice caught, “there were many, many passages.  Frodo and Sam walked far into the tunnel, before she came at them. Do you remember Galadriel’s gift?”

“A light when all other light’s go out!” Pippin cried.

“Yes.” Gandalf smiled. “That is what she said to Ma…Frodo.” He hesitated then continued; “He remembered the lady’s glass just in time, too.” Merry lifted his head from his arm, startled.  He looked at Pippin, who nodded, he’d noticed as well. Gandalf’s voice had changed, not only in pitch, but also in vocabulary and accent.

“She came a…she came from behind, almost without us hearing…” The hobbit’s eyes were wide now. “Frodo lifted the glass and Sting, and she fell back, the light hurt her eyes, I think.  He was terribly brave, and drove her back, and we…we thought she were gone…” Gandalf shuddered once, “her nasty tunnel was full of her webbing, it was strong…too strong for my sword no matter how hard I swung.  Sting cut it though, so we could get through.”

“Merry, what’s…” Pippin whispered.

“Hush.”

Gandalf didn’t notice. “But Frodo, Frodo ran ahead shouting and…she came from a hole, and she…he didn’t hear me, I was too far…she stung him and--” the last was spoken in a pained whisper, ”he fell.”

Merry and Pippin were still on the bed, silent, tightly clutching each other’s hands, each imagining the other standing on the dark path, watching as the huge spider sprang from the shadows, silent and deadly, stinger extended...and being powerless, too far away to help. Pippin swallowed hard and pressed himself against his cousin.   

“I picked up Sting…I ran at her…all I could think was that she had to die…Master, Master Frodo couldn’t be…” Gandalf stopped, the wizard’s fingers were clamped on the arms of the chair, his head bent, tremors went through his body and his pipe fell to the floor, already out.  “She swung at me, I fought her, stabbing, slicing, any way to hurt her, I wasn’t even afraid…I was angrier than I’ve ever been…I got under her, she almost crushed me, I could barely stand up, it stank so terrible, and she felt so…so bad…she came down then and I drove Sting into her belly.”

Gandalf was silent.  Pippin stirred. “What happened next?”

“She went away, somewhere, I didn’t follow.”

“And Frodo?” Merry asked.

“I…I thought he was dead.” Pippin’s eyes filled with tears, the misery and grief in Gandalf’s voice was so terrible, so real. “I took it and…I tried to go on, I had to, there was no one else, but orcs came and they took him away, so I had to follow, ring or no.”

“Sam took the ring?” Merry exclaimed loudly, too shocked to whisper.

“I found him in the tower.” Gandalf said and suddenly he was awake, and himself again.  He smiled gently and tiredly at the two wide-eyed hobbits.

“Yes, Sam took it; it was that or allow the ring to fall into the hands of the Enemy.  He took it and he gave it back when he found his master.”

“So, Frodo was okay, he’s going to be okay now, isn’t he?” Pippin’s voice was a rapid, frightened plea. Merry squeezed his hand.

“Shelob’s poison only had to power to immobilize him and the orcs did not injure Frodo any more than they did you two.  But it was a terribly good thing that Sam took the ring, for they stripped and searched him. That was how they had his mithril coat at the gates.”

“He saved it, then. Sam saved us.”

“Yes, Merry, he did, but he doesn’t think of it that way.” Gandalf raised his hand to quiet their protests. “I would not mention this to him, or Frodo unless they wish to discuss it.” He grew stern. “Promise me young hobbits.”

“I promise.”

“I promise.”

“Good, then rest.  Perhaps tomorrow they will awaken.” Gandalf left the tent and Merry and Pippin sat quietly for a long while.  Finally, it was Merry who spoke, his tone thoughtful.  Pippin agreed. 

* * *

It was nine days before they got Sam alone.  He was in his and Frodo’s tent, sorting some of the clean, if slightly overlarge, clothing that had been provided.  To Pippin’s surprise, he immediately looked up and smiled, “I’ve got something here for you, Mr. Merry, and you, Mr. Pippin.” Turning to the bed, he picked up several neatly folded shirts. “A bit big for Mr. Frodo and me, but I’d say they’d fit you nicely.”

“Umm, thank you Sam.” Pippin said awkwardly taking the clothes. Merry nodded.

“Was there something you needed, sirs?” Sam asked politely, when neither of them made a move to leave. “I believe if it’s Mr. Frodo you’re…”

“We, actually, we wanted to see you, Sam.” Merry interrupted.

“Yes.” Pippin added brightly, nervously. Sam waited.

“Umm, we just wanted to say…” Merry looked at Pippin for help.

“Thank you.” Pippin blurted.

“For what Mr. Pippin?” Sam’s brow furrowed and he suddenly looked wary.  “Nothing to thank me for…” He backed a step toward the clothes.

“You know that’s not true.” Pippin’s voice grew strong.  He’d seen his older cousin, Frodo, a pale, horribly thin, haunted shadow of himself.  He’d seen the scars, the marks from Shelob, orcs, and Gollum.  But he’d also seen Sam after they’d first awoken and if the naturally slender Frodo had seemed painfully thin, then the far stouter Sam had been skeletal, a mere bag of bones. 

Pippin opened his mouth to say that, and then stopped. In front of him, Sam was tense, obviously upset. Pippin remembered his promise to Gandalf. “We, we just wanted to thank you…for helping Frodo.” Sam relaxed slightly.  Pippin swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. 

“That…that was all. Thanks for the shirts.” Merry finished lamely, backing out of the tent.  Pippin nodded hurriedly, trying not to give into the tears threatening as he followed. They walked slowly to their tent, depositing the clothes on their beds.  Pippin stared down at the shirts, vision blurring. 

“He didn’t like it, Pip. Gandalf was right.” Merry tried to comfort him.

“But, there must be something we can do, some way…we can’t just let it go! ”

“I know.” Merry was frustrated too. 

Pippin clenched his fists, angry.  He wanted to express his gratitude; he wanted to show Sam he appreciated all he’d done, he wanted…. “Frodo came back alive, Merry.”

“And we know why.” He sighed.

“Yes.” Pippin said fiercely as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“There’s nothing we can do, Pip.” Merry put an arm around his shoulder, hugging him. “I’m sorry.”

“But, I want him to know…” Pippin whimpered into Merry’s shoulder, snuffling.

“I know, Pip, I do too.”

“The only thing I keep thinking is, “whatever he wants…”” He trailed off, Merry’s eyes suddenly unfocused, then widened, looking back at him.

“Whatever he wants,” He laughed softly, “you want to help, Pippin?”

“Yes.” He said, confused.

“Well, we’re not just plain hobbits, my dear cousin, are we?”

Pippin smiled slowly. Whatever Sam wanted.