Took Madness

1401 SR
Pippin is 11 (or 7 in Man years) 

Part I

The rain had been falling in steady currents throughout the past week, forcing everyone to abandon their outdoor duties and activities. So it was that no one noticed when the rain turned to ice, or when the ice turned back to pounding rain. No one noticed the rivers rising, or old and weathered branches falling from sodden trees. From Buckland to Hobbiton to Michel Delving not a soul could be found upon the road or in the fields, for the hobbits of the Shire were locked indoors, staying next to comforting fires and holding steaming cups of tea or cider.

But in Tookland, in the Great Smials, something strange was happening: some of the children had become restless at last and, led by a young but boisterous Peregrin Took, they had snuck outside and up a hill.

Pippin had done his best to contain his boundless energy throughout the long days cooped up inside. He had played many games, heard many tales and even told a few himself. But now he was restless and agitated and far too bored. As a last resort, he had spied on his sisters, one of his most favorite activities, but to his disappointment he found that they were doing nothing of any interest. When Pervinca spotted him, he pretended he had just come in, seeking her out, and his plan took shape. The older children would never go for it, but the younger ones… He dragged Vinca through the many winding halls of the Smials and gathered all that he could find on their way.

“What’s this all about?” asked Everard, a cousin who lived in the Smials, ten years older than Pippin, but always in the mood for one of his games. The others gathered around and waited expectantly for Pippin’s reply.

Pippin explained his game. They shook their heads, saying no, they couldn’t, but Pippin persisted and managed to make it sound like so much fun, they couldn’t possibly say no again. So they made their way through the Smials, going quietly, each of them grabbing any long object they could find for their use that would not be missed. They met by a south-facing door, one used only by the servants, and quickly went outside. They were dressed appropriately enough for the cold and wet weather and were excited enough to not consider the consequences. All they knew was that Pippin had promised them fun, and they intended to have some.

They were six in all, all related through bloodlines in one degree or another. There was Everard, the oldest, and Pippin, the youngest. There was Ferdinand also and Pervinca, and Fredegar Bolger (who would later be known as Fatty though he had not yet gained the girth for any such nickname and was currently called Freddy by all) and his sister Estella. The Bolgers lived in Budgeford but were visiting the Smials for a while, as were many other relatives. Pippin appointed himself the leader and the older children fell in line without question.

They trudged up the hill nearest the Smials, careful to help each other up the drenched and muddy hill, and so that way they suffered only a couple of tumbles. Once at the top, they turned to look back the way they had come. The hill was not of any great height or steepness, and in normal weather they could run up it without breaking a sweat. But now they were panting from their toil as they stared down the hill, huddled together against the cold.

They could just make out the lights from the Great Smials. Under normal circumstances, the lights would have been blazing out brightly into the early evening and casting their soft yellow hues upon the ground beneath the windows. The rain and the dark looming clouds now muted the lights, and their glow reached no further than the flowerboxes, so that the children were quite in the dark. They took no notice of this however, so enthusiastic they were to begin their game.

The rules were simple. They would each take turns sliding down the side of the hill facing away from the Smials, as it was steeper and longer and covered in long blades of grass that would make the game smoother. They would use the long, broad snow shovel that Ferdinand had managed to procure from a storage room that was hardly used by the servants, and so was well-known to the children as an ideal hiding place when need or fun called for it. The grass was wet enough and the shovel flat enough that they figured they could go quite a distance. Once they stopped, they would place whatever marker they had borrowed from the smial into the ground to mark their place. Whoever sled furthest would win. They would play three rounds, and the winners of the three rounds would run a final race. Whoever won that would choose their next adventure.

“Wait,” said Estella, “what if the same person wins each round?”

“The winners will sit out until the final round,” Freddy said.

They all agreed to this and formed a line. Since this was Pippin’s idea, and he was the leader, he went first. Since he was also the youngest, they decided the best order would be youngest to oldest. Ferdinand handed him the shovel and they rooted and cheered in glee as Pippin took a running start, hopped onto the shovel head and slid, flying with all speed, towards the bottom of the hill.

The speed was faster than he had expected – the hill was extremely wet and sodden and the dirt was loose and muddy beneath the grass. Pippin held onto the handle with unabashed delight, reveling at the feel of the wet wind in his face, and slid to a stop about halfway down the hill. He jumped off the shovel, shaking with excitement (and cold) and bowed elaborately to his cheering friends. He placed his marker, a fire poker from the library, into the softened earth, only a couple of feet further down from where he stopped, then headed back up the hill, slipping and stumbling along the way. By the time he reached his friends again, his clothes were muddied and torn, but he hardly noticed as he handed the shovel to Estella.

Estella, though five years older, was still small for her age and light on her feet. She also was quite a good runner, having had plenty of practice running about with her brother and his good friend, the undauntable Merry Brandybuck. So, not surprisingly, she sailed down the hill and past Pippin’s marker by a good three feet. Vinca cheered her wildly and Freddy shouted whoops of encouragement that were carried away by a sudden gust of wind. She set her marker, a roasting fork, into the ground, picked up the shovel and returned to her friends, in much the same fashion as Pippin had.

Vinca went next, then Ferdinand, then Freddy and lastly Everard, whose job it was to collect all the markers, bring them back to his friends, and announce the winner. The winner of the first race belonged to a candlestick holder: Ferdinand. He raised his hands in triumph and was preparing to sit out the next two rounds when suddenly the sky blazed with a bright white flash, followed some moments later by earth-shaking thunder. They all dropped their metal objects and only then seemed to notice how closely they stood to a rather tall elm tree.

“We had better get inside,” Everard shouted over the renewed rain as another flash splintered the night sky. Fredegar quickly seconded the motion and they all agreed to end the game, with Ferdinand as the winner. He would decide their next adventure once they were safely inside and changed into dry clothing.

They picked up their markers and shovel, and bent low to the ground as they turned back towards the Smials. They slipped and slid to the bottom of the hill, ready to drop their burdens at a moment’s notice should the lightning strike again. They found the bottom without further incident and quickly ran inside back through the servants' door.

Only then did they finally realize the true mess they had made of themselves and their once fresh, crisp clothes. Mud and grass was everywhere, staining their clothes, dripping from their arms and legs, and clinging to their hair. Though Pervinca and Estella had wisely brought towels and stashed them near the door, they did not bring enough. The lads agreed to remain where they were, while the lasses dried up as best they could and went quickly to get more towels. If they could all somehow, miraculously, get to their rooms, clean and change without being seen, none of their parents would ever be the wiser. The laundresses would clean and mend their clothes like new and never think to say anything about it. They would be in the clear, but they first had to reach their rooms undetected, which meant none of them could leave a trail through the halls.

So the lasses dashed off, and the lads waited, cleaning themselves as best they could on the already soaked towels left behind. It would be some time before either lass returned, and they did not waste their time. Ferdinand sat with Everard and made plans for their next scheme, which inevitably involved raiding the kitchen for food. It wasn’t much of an adventure, but none would pass it up as they were all quite hungry from their game. For their part, Freddy and Pippin rummaged through the room they were in, more out of curiosity than anything else. They rarely visited the servants’ quarters or stores – the ones that were in constant use that is.

They found they were in a room full of cleaning supplies: brooms, mops, soaps, rags. They thought briefly of using the rags to clean up, but Everard overruled them. The servants would surely notice if anything went missing or was disturbed. They were going through a cupboard of strange smelling cleaning solutions when the lasses returned. They were still in their wet and muddied clothes, and they were clutching towels tightly in their hands. Behind them, following them closely, were Paladin, Odovacar Bolger, and Hilda Brandybuck, formerly of the Bracegirdles, another visiting relative who had arrived with her family from Buckland just prior to the storm.

Caught in the act, the lads stood quickly and fixed the adults with beseeching expressions. Paladin lit the lamps with his candle and looked them all sternly in the eyes. The lasses looked worried but Pippin was not very concerned. True, they would be scolded, but no harm was done after all. How much trouble could they really get into?

“Whose bright idea was this?” Paladin asked, arms crossed, his eyes landing on Pippin before he even finished the question. He raised his eyebrows in such a way that Pippin knew he was expected to start explaining himself.

He stepped forward, prepared to take the blame. “It was mine, Da. I was bored and I had done everything inside, and well, it seemed like fun. And it was! Loads of fun! But, it was wrong and I’m sorry.”

Paladin continued to glower down at his son, but his eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. He could never stay very angry with his youngest child, his only son. “Do you have any idea how worried your mother was when she went to your rooms and found you and your sister gone? Pearl knew you had all taking off down one of the halls but didn’t know where you were going. We were getting ready to search the Smials for all of you.”

They hung their heads, feeling ashamed for not thinking of the worry they would cause, though Pippin seriously doubted his mother was more worried than she was annoyed. “I’m sorry,” Pippin said again. “We should have told someone.”

“No, you should have stayed inside. You could have caught your death of cold out there.” Paladin suddenly softened, as he noticed they were all indeed cold, pale and shivering, though they were trying not to show it. “Go on and clean up.”

“But first,” said Odovacar, counting the children with his eyes, as Hilda wrung her hands worriedly behind him, “where’s Ilberic?”

Ilberic was Hilda’s youngest son, her middle child. He was a year younger than Pippin and he pestered his older cousin every time they came to visit, wanting to play with someone his own age, but always too afraid and timid to do much of the things Pippin wanted to do. Pippin found his cousin’s constant fretting exhausting and he had long ago made it a habit of avoiding him as best he could.

Pippin shrugged as the others shook their heads in confusion. “I haven’t seen him,” said Pippin and the others echoed the statement.

“Pearl said he was following you,” Paladin said, stern once again.

The children looked at each other, all equally confused and surprised by this news. “We never saw him, Cousin Pally,” Everard said, shaking his head.

“He didn’t come out with us,” Ferdinand added.

Hilda became hysterical then. “But he’s not in our rooms!” she moaned in distress. “And he wasn’t with me, or his brother or sister. He wouldn’t go wandering off by himself!”

“Don’t worry, Hilda,” Paladin reassured her soothingly. “This wouldn’t be the first time a child has hid himself in a closet or under a bed during a lightning storm. He’s probably lying somewhere fast asleep. We’ve got a system for these kinds of things, and he’ll be found before the hour is done.”

He turned to the children and motioned for the lasses to hand the towels to the lads. “Dry up, quickly,” he ordered, “then send out the call to search for Ilberic. Everyone knows what to do, but send some of the tweens back here – we’ll need to search outside as well, just to be certain.”

The children headed off, stopping all the adults they met on their way to the main parlor. Once they reached the front room, the word of the search spread quickly, and a handful of the oldest tweenagers were sent to Paladin. The children were ordered to their own rooms, to clean and change – and wait. They didn’t dare refuse, except Everard, who insisted on being allowed to go back outside to help search the grounds. He knew where they had gone, and that would be the best place to begin the search, or so he figured.
 

Pippin sat in his room, his bedraggled clothes thrown hastily into the laundry basket. He had scrubbed most of the mud off himself and changed into clean and blessedly dry clothes, then wrapped himself in one of his heaviest blankets. He had suddenly realized how chillingly cold he was upon reaching his room, where he found the fire tended and roaring in the hearth. He sat alone by the fire, a cold rock of guilt growing in his stomach.

Ilberic had been trying to get Pippin’s attention all day, but the young Took had managed to escape him each time. Now his cousin had snuck outside after them and… what? Become lost or worse, Pippin thought horribly. Then he shook his head, remembering what his father had said about closets and beds. Ilberic would have come back inside as soon as the lightning started, just as they had, if he didn’t turn around and come right back upon seeing how hard it was raining, which was the most likely case. He wouldn’t want to get wet and dirty or possibly sick, knowing how his mother would fret. He was just hiding inside somewhere, and someone would find him soon, and everything would be fine.

And so Pippin waited. And waited. Time seemed to crawl by, but surely an hour must have passed, and the search must be over, and everyone was celebrating another successful search as Ilberic was scolded and smothered by a relieved mother, and soon Paladin would come in and tell Pippin the good news.

He waited, as the fire died down and the candles burned low, and the lightning continued to blazon the sky outside, the rain once again turned to ice, which beat incessantly upon the window. Tap-tip-tap-tap. Tip-tap. Pippin at one point struggled tiredly to his feet, obsessed suddenly with the thought that maybe it was his cousin tapping upon the window. He went to it and opened it, and found nothing but the dark and the chilling, whistling wind. Ice came in and beat against him and the floor. He closed the window again and backed up to the fire, his fear finally overcoming him as tears began to roll down his cheeks. His cousin was lost, and he was the cause of it, and what if they never found him?

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he was suddenly being awakened by a warm, gentle hand upon his shoulder. He opened his eyes and yawned widely as his mother’s face came into focus.

“What closet was he in?” Pippin asked, hoping against hope as his mother enfolded him in her arms and held him tightly.

Eglantine smiled sadly and said nothing. She held her child to her and rocked them back and forth as she gazed absently into the dying embers of the fire.

“Mummy?” Pippin asked, his voice small and remote. “What closet was he in?”

“They found him near the river. We’re waiting to see if he’ll wake up.”

Pippin blinked, not understanding his mother’s words. The river? But, that was a whole mile from the Smials!

“Why don’t you just wake him up?” Pippin asked, more confused and scared now than he was before.

Eglantine did not answer. She kissed her son on his brow and hid her face in his curls. He realized with a shock that she was crying, though she was trying not to show it.

“Mum?” Pippin asked again, his voice now barely above a whisper and filled with fright. His mother was not afraid of showing emotion, but those tended to be exasperation, anger or annoyance, or pride, love or delight. He couldn’t ever remember seeing her sad or frightened. Or crying. “Mum?” Fear and panic were rising in him. He raised his small hand to brush the tears from her cheek. He didn’t want them there. He wanted them gone and his mother smiling or scolding. “Please, don’t.”

But she only grabbed his hand and pressed her lips to his fingers and held him tighter, her tears streaming feely now down her face and into Pippin’s curls. She sobbed and rocked them both in the dimly dark room, as the rain began at last to slacken against the windowpane.
 
 

To be continued...

Part II

By the morning, the Great Storm (as it later became known among the inhabitants of the Shire) had passed at last, leaving its damage behind for others to clean. Several fields would have to be replanted throughout the Shire, some of the oldest and poorest smials had been flooded and ruined, many trees had lost countless branches and many more were uprooted entirely, and the rivers were overflowing past many roads and bridges so that none could pass.

Working class and gentlehobbits alike came out of their holes and homes to survey the damage, and begin repair work as swiftly as possible. In Buckland, the farms closest to the Brandywine had become almost akin to swamps, and trenches needed to be dug to redirect the water back to the slowly subsiding river. In Hobbiton and Bywater, mudslides had overrun many roads and even came up to the very doors of some smials and houses, locking their inhabitants inside until their neighbors could dig them out. In Michel Delving, they fared better, having only some roofs to be replaced and trees replanted. And in the Tookland, a young Peregrin Took woke to once again find he had fallen asleep without being aware of it.

He awakened slowly, reluctantly. He was now tucked tightly into his bed, the morning sun streaming into the room, shining brightly, almost violently so after the gloom of the days before. Pippin yawned and stretched, unaware of the damage that rain could cause, and managed to forget the previous night for a moment as he lifted his face to the warm beams of sunlight. He hummed quietly to himself, a smile playing joyfully upon his face, but Pippin’s moment of peace was interrupted as someone knocked upon the door and entered the room. It was Paladin.

Suddenly the memories of the previous night – the rain sledding, the fear in Hilda’s eyes, his own mother’s powerful sobs – crashed into Pippin’s mind, disrupting his happiness and replacing it with cold misery. Ilberic had been found, his father had been right about that, but not in the Smials hiding safely from the storm. No, he had been found by the river, and he had been sleeping. But even Pippin understood that it was more than that, for no sleeping child could cause such a response in his unshakable mother.

“Da?” Pippin asked timidly, casting his eyes upon the coverlet, for the look in his father’s eyes stung him with guilt and shame. “Ilberic, is he - ?” He trailed off, unable to finish the question. Indeed, he found he was not even really sure what the question was. He knew only that he was afraid of the answer he would get.

“He’s not so well, Pip,” Paladin said, his voice weary from lack of sleep. He sat down on the bed next to his son. “But he will be fine, with time.”

Pippin heard the words, and hope returned, timid and frayed, in his heart. He lifted his head. “How is he now?”

“Now, he’s asleep. Truly sleeping. The healer’s seeing to him and he woke up for a few moments earlier this morning. None of the damage appears to be permanent.”

Damage. The word rang in Pippin’s head in horrifying echoes. He hung his head, not wanting to know more, wanting only to wake up again and find this all a horrible dream. But his father was wiser than his son’s young heart, and he continued.

“It could have been worse, much worse, and that’s saying something,” he said, watching his son’s tiny hands clutching the coverlet. “Best we can figure it, Ilberic must have lost you in the halls and went out one of the West doors: one of the searchers found it standing open. He looks to have sprained his ankle and must have fallen from the pain and hit his head upon a rock. By the time we found him, the river had risen and he was almost completely submerged. We had a time of it getting him to breathe again, and he still has quite a bit of fluid in his lungs. He’ll be under the weather, in a manner of speaking, for a while yet. He’s already coughing and has a fever.”

“It’s all my fault!” Pippin burst out, feeling more wretched now than before.

But Paladin fixed him with a soft, sympathetic look. “That’s a mighty big claim for one so small.”

“But it is!” Pippin said, tears filling his eyes as the emotions of the previous night finally found release. Tears spilled forth and streamed down his cheeks unchecked. “I’m the one who got everyone to go out! I’m the one who ignored him.”

“Well,” Paladin mused, “that is true. It was your idea, and you did ignore him. But it wasn’t your fault. There was no way anyone could guess this would happen. If anyone is to blame, it would be Ilberic.”

“What?” Pippin said, snapping his head up. How could his father say such a thing?

Paladin fixed him with a piercing gaze and continued. “Isn’t he the one who chose to follow you? He also chose to remain outside when he didn’t find you immediately, instead of coming back inside directly, as he no doubt knew he should.”

“But,” Pippin said, struggling to figure out how his father was wrong. “He didn’t choose to get hurt!” Pippin cried, not believing his father could overlook something so obvious.

“No, he didn’t,” Paladin agreed. “And so he isn’t to blame after all, and neither are you. We make our choices based on what we know at the time, and we should always be responsible for those choices. But if Fate decides to send us a cruel turn, or even a blessed one, we cannot be responsible for that. In such a case, we can only be responsible for what we choose to do afterward. What do you choose to do, Peregrin?”

Pippin thought long and hard about this, trying to make sense in his child’s mind of his father’s wisdom. He knew his father was telling him something important, something worth remembering. He knew also he was being given a choice. To do what?

He looked at his father and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully.

Paladin smiled and scooped his son into a mighty hug. Pippin sank into his father’s warm embrace, grateful for the safe haven those arms provided.

“Then you best eat something, and think about how you are going to treat Ilberic in the future. You don’t have to be his friend, but I won’t abide you ignoring him any longer.”

Paladin stood Pippin on the floor and ruffled his curls affectionately. He stood and was about to leave when Pippin tugged on his trousers. “Mum? Is she going to be all right? She was crying.”

“She was scared at the thought of losing you or one of your sisters, and relieved that she had not, and feeling guilty to feel relief while another was grieving. Those are hard things to keep bottled up. You will find she’s quite back to her normal self, and not altogether pleased with the state of your brand new clothes. Step lightly, my son.” He winked and took his son’s hand in his own and gave it a light squeeze. “Get changed and come down to the dining hall. You can see your cousin when he next awakens.” With that, he left the room and Pippin stood for several minutes, still confused but with a substantial weight lifted from his shoulders.
 

The mood in the hall was more reserved than was typical for such a bright morning. Pippin spotted Freddy and Estella, and Ferdinand and Everard, sitting with their families. He noticed that Hilda and her family were not present and figured they were eating in their rooms to be near Ilberic. He went to the table where his family always sat at the front of the hall, and sat next to Pimpernel, who served him. His mother fixed him with a loving gaze, but quickly told him he was restricted indoors until the tailor suited him with new clothes. Apparently, grass stains and torn sleeves were not so easily repairable as he had thought. He managed to refrain from groaning upon hearing his punishment – a groan could easily elongate his restriction, depending on how loud it was or how long it was held – and he did not wish to spend the day being suited for an entire new wardrobe.

The morning passed slowly. All his cousins and friends were outside, enjoying the returned sun and surveying with the innocence of youth the damage of the storm. Only his sister Pervinca was there to keep him company, being on the same restriction as he, but she preferred to ignore him when there wasn’t fun to be had, unless she was teasing him mercilessly. As she wasn’t in the mood to tease, Pippin was left to himself.

Pippin stared longingly out the window and listened with wistful bitterness to the laughter he heard just beyond his sight. How he would love to be out there, running free over the hillsides, instead of standing here as still as possible, his arms held out at his sides as the tailor made his achingly slow and seemingly endless measurements.

The tailor finally released him just in time for elevenses, and he was able to sit with his friends as they discussed in hushed whispers of the previous night's events. Everard gave a full account of all that had happened once he returned to help with the search. The search inside the Smials had gone quickly, and it was determined with grimness that Ilberic must be outside. The search had continued in the endless rain and sleet, until a great commotion arose from the river. Ilberic had been found, unconscious. Everard had been sent to alert the resident healer as the others took the lad inside and set about warming his small and freezing frame. No one got much sleep as they waited for the healer to tend to the lad and declare his prognosis.

“It could have been worse,” Everard finished.

Freddy and Estella had little additional information. They had been permitted to peek in on their cousin earlier but couldn’t see much with all the adults standing in the way. They could hear Ilberic breathing hoarsely and coughing incessantly. They spoke with Doderic, Ilberic's brother, but no new information could be learned from him.

After elevenses, Eglantine sent for her son. Pippin watched as Vinca stepped out into the sun and ran after their sisters. Freddy clapped him on the back.

“I’ll wait for you if you like,” he offered.

Pippin smiled for the offer but declined, knowing Freddy would want to be outside enjoying himself. He waited until his friend was out of sight beyond a bend of the outer wall, then sought out his mother. He found her in their rooms, straightening the mess his sisters had left that morning. She looked up when she heard the door open.

“Ilberic is awake again, though probably not for long,” she said, dropping what she was doing and taking her son’s hand before he could find a place to sit. “Come along.”

She led him through the Smials until they were in the guest quarters, standing before a closed door. She knocked softly but steadily, and a moment later, the door was opened by Ilberic’s father, Seredic. He let them in, smiling fondly though tiredly at Pippin.

“How is he?” Eglantine asked, releasing Pippin’s hand and hugging Seredic tightly.

“Well, it’s hard to say at this point, but the healer’s confident he’ll mend in full. Hilda’s asleep,” Seredic replied and the adults’ voices droned on into an indiscernible din as Pippin focused his attention upon another door.

His cousin must be there, behind that door, lying in wait. He was awake, Eglantine had said, and she had brought Pippin clearly for the purpose of seeing him, but he hesitated. Despite Paladin's reassurances and the caring, nonjudgmental looks of all those around him, he still felt incredibly guilty. He may not have caused the accident, but Ilberic had only gone outside to spend time with a cousin who hadn’t wanted him around. Pippin couldn’t imagine that anything his cousin may say to would be kind.

From the reports he had heard thus far, he had another reason for not wanting to see his cousin, for what would he see once he was on the other side of the door? What would Ilberic look like? Like death itself? That was certainly the picture that had been lurking at the edge of Pippin's since his father first described how Ilberic had been found. Pippin had tried all morning to ignore it, to push it into oblivion by focusing on the sun outside or the annoyingly slow tailor or his sister’s prudish behavior. He had tried to ignore it by focusing on just about anything else that crossed his path. Now his path had led him here, to the very thing he was trying to forget, and he could not ignore it any longer.

He glanced back at his mother, hoping for a final moment’s grace that would save him from this encounter. Eglantine only glanced briefly at him and with a pointed nod of her head towards the door, she went back to her conversation.

Pippin took a deep breath and held it, as he had seen his father do this a couple of times during moments less tense that this. He figured it was supposed to make him feel better or stronger, but it didn’t help. Maybe he was doing it wrong. He took another deep breath and held it. His mother cleared her throat behind him. He sighed, defeated, and placed his hand lightly upon the handle and pushed.

The door swung open into a dim room. The curtains were closed against the light outside and a fire was roaring in the hearth. Pippin stepped inside but left the door open, not wanting to be out of his mother’s sight.

He noticed there were two beds, both occupied. Hilda lay upon the bed closest to the door, sound asleep from exhaustion and worry. A thin blanket covered her. In the other bed, closest to the fire, was a smaller lump covered by many thick blankets. It was Ilberic. Pippin approached with near silent footsteps and peeked at his cousin who, for the moment, appeared to be asleep yet again.

Ilberic was pale to look upon, and his breath was raspy and forced. Pippin noticed a deep gash across his cousin’s cheek, red and bruised, stitched together by many tiny knots. A dark purple lump was over Ilberic's left temple; it hurt just to look at it. Pippin remembered that Ilberic's ankle had been sprained and wondered if his foot was bandaged under the many blankets and coverlets.

Pippin sat on the chair next to the bed and waited, unsure what else he was supposed to do. He focused on a part of the coverlet that was beginning to unravel, and the adults murmuring in the other room, and Hilda’s soft snores, and the fire crackling merrily behind the grate.

“Hi, Pip,” a ragged voice said, interrupting his reverie and startling him. Pippin jumped from his seat and stared at his cousin, who was awake and watching him and had been for some time. Now that he was awake, the injuries didn’t seem so glaring and hideous, but his cousin still looked pale and tired.

“Good morning, Ilberic,” Pippin replied, manners taking over. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Ilberic said as a coughing fit seized him. Several moments passed before he was able to regain control and return his attention to his visitor. When he did, Pippin noticed with relief that he didn’t seem angry or upset, but was regarding his older cousin with thoughtful excitement. Pippin wondered what it meant.

“You’re sick,” Pippin stated, more to fill the room with sound than endure much more of Ilberic’s silent observations.

“Yes,” Ilberic whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Pippin said.

“What for?”

“For everything. This shouldn’t have happened.”

Now Ilberic fixed Pippin with a look of confusion. “But, I thought you’d be pleased. Don’t you see, I had my first real adventure,” he said, smiling now for the first time. He continued before Pippin could respond. “I was very scared, and I thought I was going to die. But it was my first adventure, all by myself, and I survived! Now I reckon I won’t be afraid to try anything you want to do.”

He was stopped again by another coughing fit, this one longer and harsher than the previous one. When it was over, he fixed his cousin with another pleased and satisfied grin. Then Pippin smiled also, sheepishly and uncertainly, but relieved to see his cousin held no ill feelings toward him.

“I’m still sorry though. We should have invited you to join us, then you wouldn’t have got lost,” Pippin said.

Ilberic merely shrugged. “It’s not so bad really. Mom’s been waiting on me hand and foot, and everyone’s been stopping by to visit, and I even got breakfast just as I wanted it. I could rather get used to this. Except the coughing and wheezing, and the sore head and ankle. I’ll be glad when that part’s over,” he finished as another coughing fit seized him. His mother stirred in the other bed but didn’t awaken. He reached for a glass of water beside his bed and took a long drink. When his parched throat was satisfied, he put the glass back and looked at Pippin again, and found Pippin looking at him with confusion.

“How did you get down to the river?” Pippin asked, not even aware until he spoke the words that the puzzle had been gnawing at him since the night before.

“I don’t know,” Ilberic answered slowly, trying to think through the pounding in his head. “I remember walking around for a bit, looking for all of you. I thought I heard your voices at one point, but it took me away from the Smials, and you weren’t there. I must have got turned around. The lightning started, I got scared and ran back toward the Smials, but I guess I was going the wrong way. Then I tripped, and that’s all I remember.”

Pippin said nothing. He felt horribly guilty again, though he knew his cousin didn’t blame him for what happened. He should have invited his cousin to come with them. He had seen him with his brother and sister as he dragged Vinca through the Smials looking for conspirators, but had passed Ilberic quickly before they could be spotted. Only they had been spotted. Pippin made his choice: he vowed never to ignore his cousin again or leave him out of a game, even if Ilberic went back to his fretful ways.

Pippin’s thoughts were interrupted by a hoarse whisper. “So, what’s planned for tonight? I won’t be able to help, of course, but maybe I can think of something.”

Pippin laughed then. Had Ilberic read his mind? Was he testing him? Pippin would pass this test without any trouble. With that question, he finally understood beyond any doubt that everything would be fine. He glanced out the door and noticed his mother and Seredic still deep in conversation. Hilda slept soundly. Pippin leaned forward and spoke silently into his cousin’s ear. “We’re planning a kitchen raid tonight.”

Ilberic’s eyes widened and for the briefest of moments, Pippin thought he might just call out to his father and tell on him, but instead he leaned forward and said, “Do you think you could sneak me some of those cream pastries?”

Pippin smiled at his friend. Yes, he decided, things most definitely could have been worse.
 
 

The End
 
 
 
 
GF 1/22/04
Revised 12/30/06