A Nightmare in Moria

A/N: Thank you to Shirebound for her wonderful plotbunny: Somewhere in Moria, due to the smothering dark, Pippin (or Merry) begins to have nightmares about being smothered by Old Man Willow. Someone in the Fellowship helps him face his fears with some wise words and comfort.

###

The shuffling would have woken me had I not been already laying awake in the cold, stale mines. Pippin had gone to rest after Gandalf took watch over our company, but his sleep was restless and shallow and his cloak whispered as he tossed and turned, brushing against itself. I wondered if I should try to comfort the halfling, or wait for one of his cousins to wake. Perhaps he was only trying to find a comfortable position in which to lie; the ragged stones covering the ground were probably jarring into his back as they were mine.

I heard a small whimper and thought surely one of the other halflings would wake, or Gandalf would hear and come to console the small hobbit, but neither moved. Gandalf sat hunched in his corner, guarding the light from his pipe with his hand, and the halflings slept on.

Taking care not to trample any limbs I stood and picked my way over to the jumbled pile of halflings, trying to identify Pippin’s curl-topped head from the other hobbits. My plight was eased after I pulled one of the hobbit’s cloaks back slightly to reveal a piece of a teal jacket cuff. I recognized it as Peregrin’s.

“Pippin,” I whispered, but only succeeded in rousing Sam.

“Something the matter, Mr. Boromir, sir?” He asked in a sleep-clouded voice.

“Nothing, Samwise, only looking for Peregrin. I’m sorry to have woken you.”

“Ah, Pip’s just here,” said Sam, carefully uncovering the remainder of another small form. “G’nite, Boromir,” he mumbled, before disappearing underneath his cloak.

I’d thought to ask Samwise to wake Pippin, but the halflings were even more exhausted than I, and Sam badly needed rest after caring for both himself and Frodo.

After Sam had curled back under his cloak I renewed my efforts to rouse Pippin. I lightly shook the hobbit who was now fidgeting under the burden of his nightmare. All at once he sprang up to sitting and clung to my arm with a grip to rival that of a grown man, and I could see his green eyes wide with fear in the dark under the glow of Gandalf’s pipe.

Struggling to remember how my father had once comforted me as a lad, I reached out to stroke Pippin’s back with my free hand.

“Where am I? Merry? Merry? The willow, where’s the willow?” Pippin’s eyes darted around the cavern in horror, searching for his cousin. His breathing was hard and ragged and sweat drenched his brow.

“Shh, Pip,” I said, using the nickname shared between Frodo and Merry, “Merry’s sleeping, right here. And there are no trees in Moria, I’m afraid.”

Pippin looked up at my face and began to realize his surroundings. “Boromir,” he sighed, reassured, and released my arm. It took a few moments for his breathing to slow, but eventually he spoke. “I’m alright now,” he said, smiling in the darkness.

“Are you certain?”

“Promise.”

I rose slowly so as not to trample the sleeping forms around me.

“Boromir?” Pippin whispered, and I turned back to face him. “Will you sleep over here? By me? Just in case...well...”

“Of course.” I said, and tried to find a place to lie between Gimli and the four hobbits. Pippin moved over slightly and I tried to find a comfortable position on the hard rock. As my eyes drifted closed I saw Pippin rise to his knees and carefully search through the jumbled pile of cloaks and hobbits. I could not imagine just what he was looking for until I heard him speak.

“Merry?” He whispered. “Merry, are you alright?”

“I was,” I heard another hobbit reply, Meriadoc, I presumed. “But then a silly Took woke me from a rather nice dream.” Pippin lay back down. “Something the matter, Pip?” Merry asked.

“Just a dream,” said Pippin, and rolled onto is back.

“I’m glad there aren’t any trees in Moria, Boromir,” Pippin said, looking up at the ceiling, “especially willows.”

“As am I.” I said, my response cut short by a yawn. Sleep began to tug at my eyelids as I wondered why Peregrin disliked willow trees so much, and I decided I would have to remember to ask him in the morning.