The Darkening

It cannot be!

Surely they lie, these foolish messengers; surely Melkor's foul darkness has addled their wits. Surely such scum as that lying thief could never harm an Elda so noble, as wise and strong as the great King Finwë!

But their eyes, the messengers' eyes; something in their eyes fills my heart with horror . . .

. . . No, no, Ilúvatar, no!

Their eyes say they speak the the truth.

Why? Why did the Valar let the enemy Melkor loose? Why did they not stop him as he fled?

The Valar, curse them! Curse their summons from my father's side!

Melkor and his fellow Valar have stolen my most valued treasure.  Even should my Silmarils be regained, and their light restored to me, my world shall lie forever in darkness.

For Finwë, my beloved father, is dead.

Our Love is Ours Alone

Early in her marriage, Nerdanel was occasionally asked what she saw in her husband.  Curious Elves wondered why, in the name of Ilúvatar, had she wanted to marry someone so temperamental, with eyes only for his work.

At these inquiries, Nerdanel simply smiled and said, “I love him, and our love is ours alone.” 

Only one who knew him and loved him as she did would see how his eyes shone when he gazed at her; no one else could feel how their hearts raced in unison when they touched.

What Nerdanel saw in her husband was a love no other could ever understand.

A/N:  Written as part of Lindelea's collaborative story, "To Tell a Tale".

Those Queer Brandybucks

Bag End, S.R. 1391

"Merry, your cousins are not plotting to get their hands on all your playthings."

"Yes, they are!  Have you seen the way they stare at them whenever I play with them?  Then they act all loving and sweet and ask if they can play with me."

"Maybe it's you they really want to play with, not just your playthings.  You're very good at coming up with diverting things to do, you know."

"That's silly, Frodo.  I tell them to keep their grubby hands off my things, and they run to the grownups and cry and make trouble for me.  And the grownups always believe them!  It's disgusting."

"Well, that isn't very nice of you, Merry."

"They're the ones who aren't nice, trying to steal my playthings!  I'm just protecting them.  The little thieves are so obvious, the way they stare at my things when I play with them."

"Maybe if you didn't boast about what fine-and-fancy playthings you have, and shared them now and then, the other children wouldn't stare so much."

"Are you daft?  Of course they would.  They want my playthings."

Frodo sighed.  This was more difficult than he'd expected.

"Merry, listen.  Just because they like your playthings and enjoy playing with you, doesn't mean they're out to rob you blind."

"Yes, they are.  They play with my things when I'm not around to stop them."

"Have you caught them at it?"

"No.  They're sneaky."

"Has anyone else seen them?"

"If they have, they never told me."

"Do your playthings look like they've been moved when you come back to them?"

"No.  How daft are you?  I told you the little villains are sneaky."

"Well, if no one ever sees anyone with your playthings, and the playthings never look disturbed, how do you know anyone's up to no good with them?"

"I just know."

Frodo sighed again.  This was not merely difficult; it was impossible.

"Merry, Paladin and Eglantine are will be arriving soon, with the lasses and the babe, and you will be expected to play with them nicely.  If you don't, your visit could be cut short.  Do you understand?"

"I'm not playing with that Pervinca.  She's worse than all my Hall cousins put together."

"Nevertheless, you will have to be nice to her, and Nell and Pearl, and little Pippin, and if anyone hears any complaints, all of you will catch it.  Understand?"

Merry grumbled.  

"And if you all can't get along, I might get in trouble too, for not keeping the peace.  Eglantine and Paladin, and your parents, have been looking forward to having some time to themselves.  I'm supposed to be in charge of you while Bilbo looks after the adults.  You don't want to get me in trouble, do you?"

"No."

"So can you manage to be civil to the lasses, for my sake?"

"Oh, all right.  But they're not getting my playthings."

Another long-suffering sigh.

"The way Nell and Vinca giggle together, I know they're up to something.  I'm going to have to hide all my things before they get here."

"For the dozenth time, there is no grand plot to pilfer your playthings, Merry!"

But before the words were out of Frodo's mouth, Merry was out of the room and down the hall, rushing to get his precious playthings to safety.

Frodo collapsed into a nearby chair, nearly pulling his hair out in frustration.  If folks thought the Tooks were the most stubborn creatures in existence, they ought to try reasoning with this nine-year-old Brandybuck.

*****

 The next day...

Frodo sighed with contentment as he entered Bag End's library, looking forward to a day of peace and quiet.  The adults were taking tea with a friend of Bilbo's, Merry and the lasses had found some local children to play with, and Pippin had been recently changed and fed and was now napping.  Frodo was required to stay home to mind the babe when he woke, but he found the wee lad delightful when not tired or hungry.  In the meantime, Bag End was blissfully silent.

Stepping up to a bookcase, he halted and frowned.  The book he had intended to read was missing.  Odd, as he had been reading it to Merry only yesterday, and he was sure this was where he had put it.

Reading it to Merry...

"Oh, Merry," he muttered, "will you never come to your senses?"

He left the library and headed for Merry's room, stopping along the way to fetch a candle.

"Merry, Merry, Merry," he said, approaching a panel in his cousin's wall, "I hate to invade your secret hiding place, but honestly, no one is out to steal my book merely because you like it."  He carefully pushed the panel inward and swung open the door of the hidden closet Merry thought no one knew about.  Holding the candle out before him, he spotted his book leaning against the opposite wall.

Frodo stepped into the closet, letting go of the door.  As he reached for his book, a gleam of colour off to the side caught his eye.  Turning to investigate, he chuckled.  All the playthings and trinkets Merry had brought were carefully stacked in the corner, safe from scheming thieves.

A loud thud sounded directly behind him.  Startled, Frodo whirled around and cursed; the panel had swung shut, trapping him inside.  He knew it could only be opened from the other side.

"Bollocks," he swore.  "There goes my peaceful day."  As he stood in the centre of the closet, wondering how long he might be stuck, a loud and displeased shriek erupted from Merry's plaything stack.

Frodo nearly dropped the candle.  Suspecting Merry had brought in some kind of animal that didn't want company, he stepped back slowly, straining his eyes to see what he shared the closet with. 

Something was moving, struggling to free itself from Merry's cloak.  Frodo cautiously held out his candle, hoping for a better look at -

"Pippin?!" he exclaimed.  "What in the Shire are you doing in here?"

Crawling out of the twisted cloak, Pippin regarded Frodo briefly, and then began to cry.

Frodo set down the candle and hurried over to comfort the babe. 

*****

"So, Pippin, here we are, trapped in a secret closet that only we two and Merry know about."

"Meh-mi."

"That's right.  Merry.  I don't imagine he'll be pleased to find us in his hiding place."

"My."

"How did you get here, anyway?  You were supposed to be napping."

"My, my."

"Did one of your sisters put you down somewhere and then forget about you, instead of putting you in the crib?"

"My, my, my!"

"What?  You want the cloak?  That's Merry's cloak, I'm afraid."

"My!"

"My goodness, you're a squirmy one.  Did you crawl in here when Merry wasn't looking?  He must have accidentally shut you in.  Poor little babe.  At least you had the cloak to keep you warm."

"My, my!!"

"Oh, all right, all right, you can have the cloak.  But Merry will be angry.  There, happy now?"

Wrapped snugly in the cloak, Pippin cooed and sucked his thumb.  He was indeed happy.

"Merry won't like you calling his cloak yours.  You'd best enjoy it while you can."

"Meh-mi."

"Yes, Merry.  The cousin who is surely about to become the most terrifying creature you'll ever encounter.  I hope my ears won't burst from all the yelling.  He really doesn't like his cousins getting into his things, you know."

Apparently unconcerned, Pippin dozed off.

Frodo's eyelids began to droop.  Within minutes, both hobbits were sound asleep.

*****

"Frodo!"

Frodo jerked awake to see a small hobbit's silhouette towering over him, its hands on its hips.

"What are you doing in here?  I thought I could trust you!"

"Hush, Merry, you're waking Pippin."

"Pippin?  Where is he?"

"Right here, I've got him.  We both seem to have got trapped."

"Well, it serves you right, coming in here and trying to steal my cousin."

"What?"

"Pippin is mine!  I put him here to keep Vinca away.  Works better than anything.  She never wants to go near him."

"You put him in here?"

"It was only for a while.  And I gave him my cloak to keep warm."

"Since when do you like babes?"

"I don't like babes.  But Pippin isn't bad.  And anyone who can drive off Vinca like he can has to be trustworthy.  Unlike another cousin in front of me right now."

In Frodo's arms, Pippin stirred, looking up to see Merry.

"My," he said, reaching his hands up.

"See?  He's the one cousin not after my playthings.  He just wants me."

Before Frodo could respond, Merry snatched up Pippin and turned to leave.

"There now, Pip, did Frodo barge in and bother you?"

"My!"

Frodo scurried out of the closet before the panel could close again, suddenly thankful he had not spent his entire childhood at Brandy Hall.  If Merry was any indication, perhaps the folks who said living next to the Old Forest could damage the mind were right.

Sound (Part 1 of 5)

Elven voices fill the air with song, but they cannot drown out Pippin’s memory.

Moria was deathly silent; but for the Company’s footfalls, there was nothing to be heard.  After a few hours in that cavern of nothingness, Pippin wanted to scream, just to hear a living voice.

Mallorn leaves rustle in the wind.  Snapping twigs remind Pippin of the stone he dropped in the well, and it’s horrific consequences.

The Orcs’ tapping hammers, and harsh shrieking, still echo in his soul.  He dropped that stone because he needed to hear something.  Now he longs for silence.

Touch (Part 2 of 5)

Heart pounding painfully in his chest, Pippin staggers through thick grass, urged onward by Orcish whips.  Brambles scratch and clutch at his ankles like the claws of the damned.  His lungs burn as he struggles for breath he cannot catch.

He would give anything for a mug of water; ice cold water, to soothe his cracked, bleeding lips, and smother the fire in his throat.  Water, like the rivers he and Merry would swim in on a hot summer’s day…

Merry!  He searches the throng around him for his cousin, in vain.  His pace slows; a whip snaps at his heels.

Pippin trudges on, almost looking forward to his certain death.

Smell (Part 3 of 5)

The City of Minas Tirith is permeated with death.

Wandering through the lower levels, Pippin surveys the aftermath of battle.  Pyres burn on the Pelennor Fields, thick smoke wafting up, carrying the aroma of roasting flesh.  Inside the walls, the air is little better; dust tickles his nose as he passes piles of rubble, and the acrid remnants of fires choke him.

He dreads returning to the Houses of Healing, where the hallways reek of blood, urine, and vomit, of corpses beginning to rot; but Merry is alive and waiting.  For this, Pippin smiles, even amid the stench of death.