Written for Marigold's Challenge #7

Beta: Pearl Took

Summary: Minas Tirith receives a bit of healing through the restoration process; Pippin receives a bit of healing through helping in that endeavour. Merry…well, that is in the story!

My starter time period is Post-Quest (anytime after the Ring goes in the fire) and the starting sentence is: “____? Which way shall we go?”

Disclaimer: I am sorry to say that these sweet, lovable hobbits are not mine, but belong to JRR Tolkien.

Love and Healing

Part One

“Pippin? Which way shall we go?” Merry lightly nudged his cousin who was staring at the rubble that lay at their feet. Fragments of earthenware and broken white stone were strewn all about the flagstone pavement. Probably pieces from the buildings nearby that now lay in a heap of rubble. A spray of dried blood splattered one of the fragments of stone. Merry and his young cousin stood at the T-crossing of a street trying to decide if they should go left or right.

Without taking his eyes off the wreckage, Pippin softly replied as if in a dream state, “Left.”

Merry put his arm around the shoulder of his dearest friend, gently pulling him away from the terrible sight, veering left as they walked. “Come on, Pip.”

Pippin spotted a bit of shade along the street then trudged over towards it. “I need to sit for a moment,” he said. Both hobbits sat under the eaves of a shop that was closed due to renovations. Many of the shops along this particular street were being rebuilt in the aftermath of the War.

Pippin sat with his legs drawn up supporting his arms. He laid his head upon his arms for a minute, once again reliving the last days in Minas Tirith in his mind--before the Ring was destroyed in Mount Doom. The city had been literally burning away as flying debris of rock and stone filled the air. Pippin clearly remembered the sound of the screaming women and children that had remained behind. Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he asked himself, when would this stop? When would he be able to live in peace and not hear the moans and cries of the dying?

Merry watched his cousin closely. Just last week the young tween had taken off the last bandage from his run-in with a mountain troll. The only hurts the king could not heal in his youngest soldier were the emotional wounds that began scarring upon their return to Minas Tirith. In the days following the fanfare of the soldiers’ returned to the city, the people of Minas Tirith began rebuilding their city anew. Many soldiers volunteered to assist in the effort.

Pippin was no less eager to do his part in the restoration of his adopted city. When he received his assignment--to help rebuild the stone ledge to a house that belonged to an old widow, he immediately asked Merry for his expertise. Over time, the Brandybucks had built stone retaining walls along portions of the Brandywine River. Their purpose was to keep the river at bay from the houses and smials built near the banks when the waters rose up during the rains of spring.

Merry let his dear friend rest in the shade with his head down for a while. Many people on errand walked past the pair sitting in comfortable silence. No one seemed to recognize the small soldiers; neither was dressed in their livery--not wanting to spoil their official garments over messy labour. After a few minutes, Merry ventured to break the hush. “We ought to get moving, Pip. Is it much further?”

Pippin lifted his head to look down the street. He sighed, looking at the numbers and names on the doors. “No. Not much, I think.” He slipped his hand into his shirt pocket, pulling out a piece of paper to read once again. “It should be just beyond those broken columns.” Pippin pointed down the street towards a house with a damaged porch. The supporting pillars lay in a heap at the edge of the portal in ruin.

Taking his cousin’s offered hand, Pippin stood up to his full four feet of height. He was not easily given to melancholy moods, but after revisiting the carnage and destruction of the city prior to fully digesting the reality of it all; a dark cloud had briefly come over Pippin’s cheerful countenance. He was eager to help rebuild the city; he shook off the gloom then moved on.

The young hobbits walked the lane until they met up with a house displaying the number 16. “This is it,” said Pippin, stepping around the displaced stones that were scattered about the porch area. He knocked on the door then looked back, smiling at his waiting cousin as they heard someone approaching on the other side. Suddenly, the door swung open.

“Hello, boys,” said the grey haired woman. She wore a simple blue frock with her hair pinned up in the back. She stood tall in the doorway with a broom in hand. Normally she was quick to return a guest’s smile, but not today. Today, she and her visiting granddaughter were busy completing the final tasks inside the house. It had taken several days to remove the chalky rubble inside then clean the entire house from top to bottom. “I am sorry, but Liddia cannot come outside to play. She is working with me indoors.”

Pippin looked again to Merry who now wore a slight grin at the misunderstanding. Pippin turned again to the woman, “Um…Ma’am,” he hesitated, “we’re not here to…play with your granddaughter. I have been dispatched by my superiors in the Citadel to assist--” He stopped when the woman leaned in close for a better look. “Ma’am?”

The chipper voice belonging to that of a young girl, brushed her way past the elder woman while holding a rather bulky box in her arms. “Excuse me, please!” Her brown, shoulder-length hair bobbed behind the grey scarf that protected it from dust and dirt while cleaning. “I’m taking these things to the refuse pile, grandmother.” She smiled at the visitors as she walked by, nearly dropping her burden, “Hello!”

“Hullo, Miss,” the hobbits replied together in greeting.

Pippin turned back to the woman in the doorway to explain his and Merry’s purpose while letting his cousin assist the girl. “Ma’am,” he began again, “We’re not children. We’ve come with the blessing of the king--to help those in need of assistance. My name is Peregrin Took,” he said with a slight bow. “At your service, Ma’am.”

“You look like one of the errand boys employed at the Houses of Healing. How old are you?”

“I assure you I am not,” answered Pippin. Perhaps he and Merry should have at least worn their elvish cloaks, though the weather was too warm to wear them now. “I recently turned twenty nine, Ma’am.”

“Is that so?” laughed the old woman. “I just turned twenty nine as well!” She sized up the “child” at her door; she certainly did need a bit of help--boy or not. “Come inside, lad. There’s plenty for you to do. So much damage while we were sent away to take refuge in the mountains.”

“But your ledge--I was sent to repair it,” offered Pippin. “I brought my cousin with me; he has experience with building them.” He moved towards a couple sacks of sand, limestone, and a wheelbarrow sitting off to the side. “Two supply soldiers brought these yesterday, did they not?”

Puzzled, the grey haired matron nodded, then took notice of the little visitor’s unshod furry feet. Her hand went to her face in astonishment, “Ernil i Periannath!”

Pippin blushed, chuckling nervously, “Well…not really.”

The woman asked, “Are you not the halfling Mithrandir brought with him from the lands of the north? Did you not bring a small army of halflings with you?”

“I did arrive with Gand--, I mean Mithrandir, but unless you count my two kinsmen and a dear friend as an army, I didn’t bring anyone else. We are only four wandering hobbits for the present, I’m afraid.” Then Pippin added at her inquiring expression, “Hobbits are what we call ourselves in our little country.”

“Well, master perian,” said the old woman, “You may come inside and tell me about your fair little country until your kinsman returns. The burn pile is a fair walk from here.”

Part Two

Liddia walked quietly next to the stranger-lad who offered to carry the bulky box to the burn site. His curling light brown hair wafting in the breeze made her smile. “What is your name, boy?” she asked him.

Merry was in his own little world, gawking at the artistic details of the mountainous architecture that seemed to stand a mile high in comparison to his small stature.

“Helloooo!” Liddia giggled, waving her hand in front of the boy’s eyes. She noticed they were bright blue saucers that twinkled when he smiled back at her.

“Sorry,” replied Merry, smiling. He shifted the box in his arms, then responded, “My name is Merry--and yours is Liddia?”

The girl smiled, “Yes, how did you know?”

“Your grandmother said that you were busy cleaning indoors today--and that my cousin and I couldn’t play with you,” said Merry with a wink.

The jesting wink went over Liddia’s head; the lass didn’t realize she was talking to a grown hobbit just out of his tweens, though they were relatively the same height. She asked him, “Where is your mother and father?”

Liddia’s question threw Merry off for a second. “My parents?” he asked. “I suppose they’re back in Buckland celebrating in the spring fairs. I haven’t seen them since last September.”

“How terrible!” exclaimed the girl, “I cannot imagine not seeing mine for such a long time. I have never heard of Buckland--where is it?”

Merry looked wistfully towards the north, “Far away.” He sighed deeply remembering his mum sitting in her chair by the fireplace reading her favourite book. He then elaborated, “Far away in the north; a province of the Shire.”

There seemed to be too many new places and names for young Liddia to remember, so she took the conversation to another subject. “Why did you knock on my grandmother’s door?”

Merry explained his and Pippin’s assignment for that day. As he spoke, Liddia was thoroughly charmed by this boy’s thoughtful demeanour, his face, his hair--all very captivating for a young eleven-year-old girl. After they dropped off the box of refuse, they immediately started back to her grandmother’s house. Along the way, she pulled Merry to a shop window. “Look! He’s making pastries!”

The sight of food made Merry’s stomach growl. Since returning to the city, he and Pippin were once again eating meals at the normal hobbit times, however, they missed elevenses in their haste to arrive at the house on time. Embarrassed, he put his hand to his tummy asking, “You didn’t hear that, did you?” He stood on his toes looking through the windowpane, “I’ve never seen pastries made like that before--what’s sort of dough is he folding inside the pan?”

“Let us go and look,” Liddia laughed. Taking him by the hand, she led him through the door of the Confectioner’s bakeshop. “Hello, Master Pelarmir!” she greeted the baker. “I have a new friend who has never seen nor tasted Honey-nut pastries before.”

“Never??” asked Pelarmir in mock surprise, humouring the young lad standing on the other side of the counter.

“No, sir,” answered Merry, watching the food-artisan at work. His mouth began to water when he sniffed in the scent of more pastry baking in the ovens.

“Well, then, laddie, I have just the cure for that ailment!” Always willing to entertain children, Pelarmir invited the pair inside, taking them over to his baking table. “Come and see how this special pastry is made!”

Merry wasn’t too keen on Liddia and the baker referring to him as ‘boy’ or ‘laddie’, though Merry decided to hold off on correcting everyone on that issue--at least until he got a taste of the baker’s confection.

Pelarmir explained every step to the “children” as he performed the task. Merry watched in fascination as the baker folded layer upon layer of a paper-thin dough into a baking pan. The baker took two spoons, scooped up a bit of mixture from inside a bowl then handed a spoon to each “child”. Merry swirled it around inside his mouth before deciding he tasted honey, cinnamon, cloves, and lots of chopped walnuts.

Next, the baker brushed the thin dough with melted butter, then evenly spread a portion of the nutty mixture throughout the pan before adding more alternate layers of the thin dough. The baker repeated this effort several times more until he was finished. Then the master baker shoved the pan inside an empty oven to bake. After that, he led the children over to the cooling racks. Pelarmir took a pan of a syrupy concoction, carefully pouring it over a pan of pastry that had recently come out of an oven. He then sliced off a bit of the delicacy for the youngsters to sample, grinning as he waited for Merry’s response. He had yet to witness someone not liking his confection.

Wide-eyed and smiling like the boy that they thought he was, Merry took the offered piece of Honey-nut pastry. They watched in amusement as he sniffed it first, then bit off a tiny corner. His countenance went from curious…to elated. He devoured the rest of his pastry then smacked his lips together as he licked them and his fingers clean.

“That was delicious--and so sweet!” he said, complimenting the Confectioner. “Thank you.”

“Come along now,” Liddia playfully tugged on Merry’s shirtsleeve, “my grandmother will have luncheon on the table when we get back. We do not want to spoil our appetites.”

Part Three

It was just as Liddia said; Lenoreth, as they learned the old woman’s name was, had set out four bowls of stew as well as platters of bread and cheese. It had been a long time since the two cousins ate a home-fired stew. Pippin ate his fill as well as his cousin. Merry pushed away from the table, stifling a belch with his fist.

“Would you care for more?” asked Liddia. Never ask a hungry hobbit if he wants seconds. Liddia got up to refill their bowls. When she returned, it did not escape Pippin that Merry’s bowl had been filled to the brim--while his own was filled…adequately.

Liddia smiled sweetly at Merry, “More water?” She took the water pitcher and refilled Merry’s glass then sat back down to her own meal, never noticing that poor Pippin still held out his own glass for more water. Under the table, Pippin surreptitiously kicked his cousin’s shin, getting Merry’s attention. Merry quietly took the lad’s glass to refill it.

After lunch, the hobbits worked diligently to restore the partially damaged ledge. They decided to hold off on tea until the last few stones were in place and mortared. Liddia had sat off to the side watching Merry work all afternoon--getting up every now and then in an errand of more water for the mortar, or fetching a damp towel so that he and Pippin could wipe their hands. As the cousins finished up, Merry excused himself for minute, asking where the privy was.

Liddia gazed dreamily towards Merry as he disappeared inside the house. Pippin waited outside before he would go in and wash his hands for tea. After the small meal, he and Merry would be on their way back to their own house situated closer to the Citadel. He sat quietly in thought, taking in the late afternoon sun.

“Tell me about him,” Liddia said, taking a seat next to Pippin. “I want to know all about him! What his family is like--how many brothers and sisters he has, what his favourite colour is…”

“Tell you about whom?” asked Pippin, squinting in the bright sun.

“About Merry!”

Pippin recognized the gleam in her grey eyes. He had seen it before--in his own sisters when they first began noticing the opposite hobbit gender years ago back in the Shire. He realized that Liddia had taken a liking to Merry. This troubled the tween; their task was only for today. “Well,” he began hesitantly, “As you know, Merry is my cousin. His full name is Meriadoc Brandybuck. He doesn’t have any siblings. He was born in Buckland,” he paused for effect, “thirty six years ago.” Pippin waited for her response. As he did so, even he was amazed that when this girl of Men was born, he himself was already eighteen years old. He looked off towards another pair of soldiers down the road, working to replace broken pieces of flagstone in the street. Then Pippin added absently, “and his favourite colour is yellow.”

“Yellow, you say?” The girl was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Is he Meriadoc son of Brandybuck? Why do you boys have two names?”

Pippin sighed; the whole age chasm seemed to escape the girl. “No, Meriadoc Brandybuck is his full name. In our little country, we all have two names. The second name is a surname that the entire family bears. Brandybuck is his family’s name. My family’s name is Took--Peregrin Took is my full name, though everyone generally calls me Pippin.” He would have sworn that while he was talking he heard her mumble something under her breath about ‘Mistress Liddia Brandybuck’ .

“Liddia,” Pippin shifted uncomfortably upon the inner ledge where they sat--a part that wasn’t recently repaired. “Merry isn’t a boy and neither am I. He’s a grown hobbit--a perian. I too will become a grown hobbit in several years.”

“What are you talking about, Pippin? I have thought about our…ages. I like him anyway--he is fun, comely, and he makes the most wonderful jests.”

Pippin bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. You haven’t seen him wake up the morning after a night in the ditches like we have! He has no wits or comeliness about him! He spoke aloud, “Liddia--”

Liddia jumped up, “Stop it, Pippin! You are doing this because you are jealous! I am sorry, but I have chosen Merry. You are a nice boy, but that is all that is between us.”

“Chosen me for what?” Merry asked, stepping outside onto the small porch. He looked at Pippin, who took his gaze away. Neither hobbit nor girl spoke.

“Nothing,” Pippin finally answered.

“Well then,” said Merry, picking up the tools and placing them into the wheelbarrow, commencing to clean up their mess. “It seems I am chosen for nothing.”

“You lads have done a fine job in repairing the ledge,” remarked Lenoreth, standing in the doorway admiring the hobbits’ handiwork. “Liddia, come inside and help your poor grandmother to prepare these hungry lads something to eat.” The girl obeyed her grandmother, leaving the hobbits out on the porch.

A few minutes later, Pippin drew close to his cousin, “Merry--You must talk to Liddia. She thinks she’s in love with you!”

“I’ve suspected something of the like since the water incident at luncheon,” answered Merry, sweeping up the sand and white dust on the porch.

After a few more minutes, Liddia briefly stepped outside, gathering up the soiled rags. A pale yellow hair bow adorned the girl’s head; gone was the grey scarf. The young girl turned this way and that to ensure Merry caught sight of the pretty frill.

Merry kindly contained his amusement. Instead, he turned to Pippin with a slight grin, “Look lively, cousin--we don’t have all day.”

Pippin grabbed the dustpan, following Merry around with it as they swept up the chalky dust. He waited for Liddia to go back inside the house before accosting his dear cousin. “Aren’t you going to say something to her?”

Merry paused in his work. “And what would you have me say to her? ‘Sorry, Liddia--I don’t fancy you because you’re a little girl?’ That would break her heart in moment and you know it.”

“That would be better than not saying anything at all,” said Pippin. “After we leave here today, we’re not coming back--unless fate draws us here.”

Merry handed the broom to his cousin, “Then I say let fate guide us.”

Part Four

Four hobbits, an elf, a dwarf, a wizard, and a king all sat around a large table in the great hall discussing the plans for midsummer. In the middle of the table sat empty dishes, mugs, and platters from the evening meal--and two pans that once held Honey-nut pastry. Merry described in detail to his audience just how the confection was made as he watched it being prepared earlier that day.

Pippin sat uncomfortably next to Aragorn, cradling his arm as Bergil brought in a rubbing ointment from the Houses of Healing, handing it to the former ranger. Aragorn took the vial, poured a bit of the oil into his palm, then began massaging it into Pippin’s swollen elbow. “This is what happens to young knights when they try to accomplish too much before they are truly ready,” said Aragorn. He grinned, knowing that his remark needled at the active, young hobbit. “You must refrain from exerting your arm for a few days at least, Pippin.”

“I want to help,” Pippin answered, wincing at the ache in his elbow while the king tended to it. However, he didn’t say that in helping to restore the city, he was helping to heal his own heart.

“Of course you do, but--” The king’s speech was interrupted by a messenger boy who spoke in the king’s ear. “Very well, send them in.”

A young girl, accompanied by her grandmother, approached the king’s table holding a covered basket; her eyes to the floor. She curtsied low, saying, “My king, I have come not to have speech with thee, but to speak with another who sits at your gracious table. My grandmother and I wish to thank him for his labour yesterday.”

Pippin cleared his throat loudly in order to gain the girl’s attention. She faced the king, but her eyes glanced around the table looking for certain person…or hobbit.

“I see,” answered the king, noting where her eyes shifted to. “To whom do you wish to speak?”

“Merry…Brandybuck, if you please, my lord.” All eyes turned towards the young Bucklander. Merry blushed at being the object of the young girl’s affections. “I’m sitting over here, Liddia,” he responded in kind.

The girl walked over to Merry, sitting between Legolas and Gandalf, setting the basket before him. “This is for you, Merry. In gratefulness for repairing our home.”

Merry noticed that Liddia was wearing yet another yellow ribbon in her hair. He ignored the hard glare and drumming fingernails upon the table from his younger cousin.

Bergil looked over at the familiar girl, “Hello, Liddia. As you can see, I am an errand boy at the Houses of Healing.”

Slightly distracted, Liddia replied, “I see that--good for you, Bergil.”

Merry shook his head sadly. “Liddia, I--I cannot take this,” he began, though when he looked up, the girl was not there. Liddia was off to the side speaking with the errand boy; smiling attentively as Bergil described his very important duties to her. Just before she and Bergil excused themselves from the king’s presence, Liddia came over to Merry.

“I am sorry, Merry. It was just not meant to be.” Liddia then kissed Merry’s cheek, turned and left hand-in-hand with Bergil.

Everyone was respectfully silent until the grandmother and children left the hall, then all burst into hearty laughter.

“It seems you’ve been sacked for another lad, Merry!” laughed Pippin, though he was delighted that breaking the girl’s heart had been avoided.

Merry pretended he crushed, “Why are you all laughing? I’ve just had my heart broken by a little girl!” Then he lifted the linens from the basket revealing: Honey-nut pastries! Pippin licked his lips at the sight of the delicious delicacies. Merry kept a close eye on his younger cousin.

Frodo asked, “Are you going to drown your sorrows in your treats all by yourself, cousin?”

Merry gently took the basket between his hands.

“Yes, mister Merry,” chimed in Sam, “You oughtn’t to be alone at a time like this.”

Getting worried, Merry gripped the basket tighter.

“Remember that we are all friends here, young master hobbit,” added Gimli.

Merry brought the basket closer to himself as if to embrace it.

Legolas knew Merry as well as anyone. He studied the young hobbit sitting next to him then remarked with a grin, “He will not go anywhere with the basket.”

“Merry,” Aragorn put in, “May I remind you whose table this is?”

“All right, all right!” said Merry, smiling at all his companions. Friends that over the past five months he had grown to love. He let go of the basket as he set it in the middle of the table. “There’s plenty for all.”

Later, in the evening, Pippin found his cousin standing alone on the balcony of the room that they shared in the house of the Fellowship. Merry was staring out into the panoramic view of lantern lights twinkling in windows at various levels in the city below. Stars were scattered across the clear night sky like diamonds upon a sable canvass. A cool spring breeze blew through Pippin’s nightshirt, though he didn’t shiver. He breathed in deeply a long draught of the fresh air.

Aware of Pippin’s presence, Merry continued to gaze out over the flickering city lights, then broke the long quiet with his soft voice. “I hope she finds someone who loves her dearly, Pip--and he’d better treat her proper.”

Pippin said nothing; he merely stood next to Merry, putting his arm around the shoulder of his dearest friend, sharing in the peaceful night.

The End