Part I

Something was amiss with Gandalf. 

I’d thought it for some time now, but couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.  I noticed it especially now that he was in council with the Lord Steward and the other men in the Hall of Kings.  He looked perfectly splendid in his gleaming white robes, to be sure, and I was proud of how wise he sounded as he reasoned out this thing and that with the others, and I saw how most of them listened to what he had to say with honor and respect. 

Still, something was missing.  And I couldn’t think what it was.

After a while I got up, turned and left the council room.  I was not on duty, and might go and amuse myself as I liked.  The men were talking of war, as usual, and it began to frighten and depress me.  And I was missing Merry something terrible. 

So I collected Bergil and off we went to wander about the streets and look at the different market stalls.  My twenty-ninth birthday was coming up soon, and I’d begun to think of buying gifts, even though they didn’t observe that custom here. 

Just as we were leaving the Hall, a young kitchen-maid came along with a little plate and presented it to us.  A nice girl, this one.  She’d heard I was used to having elevenses, and missed them, so often about elevenish she’d bring me a jelly roll, or something like a scone, usually hot out of the oven, and drop me a curtsey as she presented it.  First time she did that, my jaw nearly hit the floor.  No kitchen-wench had ever curtsied to me before!  To my father, yes, but to me?  The kitchen-wenches back home considered me just a little squirt, and a bit of a nuisance, I’m sure.  Although they did spoil me quite a bit, and slip treats to me sometimes when I’d been punished for some mischief I’d gotten up to.

Bergil informed me that it was got about that I was a prince.  Prince of the Halflings!  Wait until my father heard that one.  And my mother.  And my sisters!

“She’s the cook’s daughter,” Bergil had told me concerning the kitchen-girl.  “Her name is Mikala.” 

“She’s a nice lass,” I said looking back at her.  Pretty eyes she had, big and brown…but considerably higher up than my own.

“If you like lasses,” Bergil pinked slightly as he too looked her way. 

I think he liked her.

He was only eleven, to be sure, and she was two or three years older, but no taller.  And he was big and smart and mature for his age, and I really think he liked her.

I filed that away in my mind to tease him with, should the need ever come up.

We took our jelly rolls, thanked her, and went on our way.  Bergil had taken quite a shine to me since he’d heard I had a plenty of stories to tell, and I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t gone to my head a bit.  I think of myself when I was a little tyke, sitting on my Cousin Frodo’s lap pestering him for stories, or better yet Bilbo, and now here was a young ’un pestering me for stories.  Yes, it went to my head quite a bit.  Even though much of what had happened to me were things I’d rather not think too much about. 

And if sometimes he suspected a leg pull, he was right to do so, because when I started telling him about being captured by the Barrow-wight and all, I made out like it was me that freed us, instead of Frodo.  And I showed him the sword Tom Bombadill had found for me, by way of proof. 

He was mightily impressed.

We went to this stall and that, looking at the wares.  I could feel the stares that came my way.  Well, of course I knew I stood out, seeing as how I was the shortest person in the City now that most of the children had been--what was the word--eviscerated?  No, evacuated, that was it--on account of the threat of war.  And I knew the kitchen-wenches laughed about my feet.  I found this out when Mikala told me she had a pair of shoes she thought might fit me, they being too small for her anymore.  I thanked her and declined.  If folks laughed about my feet now, just imagine how they’d laugh about me in lasses’ shoes!

But I told her she didn’t have to curtsey to me anymore, because I really wasn’t a prince.  She laughed and said she knew that now, but she liked me because I didn’t put on fancy airs.  Once, she said, there was an ambassador from the East come to the city, and he’d brought his son with him.  The son was just a year younger than herself, but you’d have thought he was a thousand to see the airs he gave himself!  He'd thought it hilarious, for instance, that he could speak her language but she couldn’t speak his.  It was torture to have to wait on him all week and do everything he said and put up with all his big talk and snide remarks.  Insufferable little git!  Bergil imitated him for us:  “Do this, do that, fasten my shoe, scratch my nose, oh, do me a HUGE favor and kiss my backside, darling?”  It must have been quite convincing because she laughed fit to die, and it was good to hear, and I laughed too, for the first time in I don’t remember when.

Little did we realize that the time was coming soon when we’d all have precious little to laugh about.

“Why did the orcs take you and Merry?” Bergil asked me as we lingered at a stall where they were selling some fair wood carvings.  I wanted a smoke, but had to limit myself to one pipe in the evening, since I knew the leaf wouldn’t hold out much longer.  I was wondering what I was going to do when it was all gone.  Then I wondered what to get for Lord Faramir.  I wanted to get him something because he’d been awfully nice to me, and had brought us word of Frodo and Sam.  His father, Lord Steward Denethor, he was a prickly one, and had hardly a kind word to say to me, or to Lord Faramir either.  It made me feel badly, because Lord Faramir had just lost his brother, and you’d have thought it was his fault the way Lord Denethor carried on, and he said some awfully mean things.  I wished I hadn’t pledged my service to him, the more he went at his son.  And I really hated having to sing to him anymore.

Treebeard had been absolutely right when he said I was too hasty.

I was just about to ask Bergil what he thought Lord Faramir would like, when he put his question to me.

This was one of the things about my adventures that I didn’t like to think about.  Seeing Boromir killed right before our eyes, then me and Merry being captured by all those nasty, ugly, smelly creatures and tied up and driven along like cattle, only worse, and hearing what all they were going to do to us once they got us to Isengard…. If I hadn’t been so silly, I could have just told Bergil I didn’t like to talk about it, and I think he would have let it go, but do you think that’s what I did?  Ah, no. 

I told him about Boromir being shot down.  And about our escape from the orcs, and meeting Treebeard and the Ents, and so forth.  But then he had to go and ask why Frodo left the Company.  I said because Boromir had tried to take the Ring from him, which I’d heard about from Lord Faramir—oh, I wished with all my heart that he hadn’t told me that, at first, for I was right fond and admiring of Boromir, and hated to think he’d ever do such a thing.  But I was resigned to it now, for I knew it was the Ring that had driven him to madness, he hadn’t been in control, and he’d more than paid for it.  After all, It was evil, which was why It had to be destroyed in the first place, right? 

And then Bergil said “Ring?  What Ring?” and I clamped both hands over my mouth as though to shove the words back in.

Pippin, you numbskull!!  You’ve done it again!!!

I wasn’t supposed to mention the Ring!!!!  AAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!!  Gandalf would kill me!!!

“What’s the matter?” he said looking at me wide eyed, and I suddenly pointed ahead of me.  I’d really gone and done it now, and all I could think to do was divert his attention away from It.

“LOOK!” I said, pointing at a shop just in front of us like it was the gate to all the splendors of the world.  And he looked, and he really must have thought I’d suddenly gone off my noodle.

It was a hat shop.

“What?”  He looked as though to make sure we were both looking at the same thing.  “What about it?  It’s just a hat shop.”

“I want to go in,” I babbled.  “Come on!” 

Bergil trotted along after me, no doubt still wondering why I was so keen on hats all of a sudden, and maybe thinking I wanted one to keep what was left of my brains from flying out my ears.

And that’s when it suddenly occurred to me what had been bothering me about Gandalf.

He had no hat! 

I could clearly remember his old, pointy blue hat, which he’d lost in the Mines, I couldn’t recall just when and where exactly, but lost it he had, and now he’d come back with a shiny new white robe, and it was just splendid, but something was missing, and now I knew.

I had to get him a new hat.

I told Bergil all this.  I’d forgotten all about the Ring now.  Hopefully, so had he. I seriously doubted he'd believe me if I told him Gandalf had come back from the dead and all.  So when he asked me what happened to his old hat, I thought a moment and said, "I think a balrog ate it."  Then I quickly turned away so I wouldn't have to see what kind of look he gave me.

There were hats aplenty in the shop, mostly ladies’ hats.  What men’s hats there were, wouldn’t have suited Gandalf at all.  I was about to turn away in disappointment when a lady came through a back door saying, “What can I do for you lads?”  She was old, though not old old, if you know what I mean.  Old enough to have been my grandma when I was a little ’un, but not old enough to be my great grandma.  She had a lady’s hat in her hands that she was obviously working on, and she lit up when she saw me, no doubt taken aback at having met the much-debated Prince of the Halflings right there in her shop, of all places.

I remembered the courtesy I was noted for, and cleared my throat, and said, “Pardon me, madam, but I…I need a hat.  I mean…not for myself, but f-for a friend.  Do you, uh…happen to have any…uh…wizard hats?”

I could just see Bergil behind me, clamping both hands over his mouth like I’d done just minutes ago, trying not to laugh out loud.

“Wizard hats?” the lady said.  I think maybe she thought I was having a little joke with her, so I hastened to explain about Gandalf.  Yes, she’d heard about him.  Even seen him from afar.  Yes, indeed….I think she was one of those ladies who like to see everything and get in on everything, and spread the word around as quick as possible.  Which was maybe a good thing for me, because I thought she’d be much more understanding that way.  Although, in that case, I’d have to ask her to keep it, ummm, under her hat.  Ha, ha.

“Well,” she said squinting her eyes a little, “I’m afraid I have no wizard hats such as you describe, dear.  But I can special-make one for you, I’m sure.  What size?”

She had me there. 

“Ummm….”  I thought a moment.  “Well…umm, big, I guess.”  That sounded pretty bad, when I thought about it later.  But it was all I could come up with.  I heard Bergil snicker.  I backed up with the intention of stepping on his foot, but all I backed into was a rack full of hats, which went right over with a loud clatter.

She and Bergil helped me pick up the hats and hang them back on the rack, me apologizing all the while, and then she kindly explained to me about hat sizes:  they came in numbers, it seemed.  And I hadn’t a clue what number Gandalf’s head would be. 

She said I should measure his head with a bit of string, then bring it back to her.  Bergil and I left the shop and I was rather glad I couldn’t hear her, because I’m sure she must have been laughing her head off.

You’d think it would be a simple matter to obtain a bit of string.  But one thing I’ve learned is that nothing is ever simple, even when it is.  I puzzled and pondered for the longest how I was going to come by some string.  I could unravel a bit from my cloak, but I didn’t want to do that.  I could pull a bit out of the carpet in our room, but maybe that wasn’t such a good idea either.  Or maybe…there was a spider web just to my right but...no, I was NOT keen on spiders, to say the least.  I thought of getting a bit of tall grass and using that, but I couldn’t think where any tall grass was to be had.  There were nettles in the Steward's herb garden, which you could pinch to make flax, but I'd already pinched a nettle once, and didn't care to do so again, thank you very much.  Maybe if I was to take my belt…or, I could just go to a dressmaker’s and buy some, well, that made sense, didn’t it?

That’s when Mikala showed up with the afternoon tea.

Did you ever have one of those days when you thought you were pretty good, had things figured out and were starting to feel a bit pleased with yourself, then BAM! out of nowhere, you did something so jaw-droppingly stupid it fairly knocked you on your backside?

Here I’d been puzzling and pondering and cudgeling my so-called brains for hours about where to get me a bit of string…when all I'd had to do was ask the kitchen-maid!!

She brought me a nice length of yarn, quite pretty, much more than I needed.  I'd keep the remainder, for you never knew when a bit of extra string might come in handy. 

I’d get her something too.  She’d been so nice to me, and being a lass, easy enough to shop for, I reckoned.  They had knicks and knacks for young ladies all over the place at the markets.  I ended up telling her about the hat.  She lit right up and said what a wonderful idea, and then she suggested, a bit shyly, that maybe she could come along with us?  If her mother would let her, that is.

I was just about to suggest that very thing.  Surely, being a lass, she knew much more about buying hats than I or Bergil.  He’d mentioned that she could draw well, so maybe she could make a sketch of what I had in mind for the hat lady, too.

You’d have laughed yourself silly if you could have seen me trying to screw up my nerve to measure Gandalf’s head that night.  There he was asleep, and there was I with my bit of yarn, twirling it in my fingers so tight they turned purple, sidling up and back again, muttering, “Just do it, Peregrine Took you ninny, what’s the worst that could happen?  It will only take a second, after all, what's the matter with you?”  You’d have thought I meant to strangle him with it.  Like I said, nothing is ever simple.  But after that business with the palantir, well, I was just really nervous about the matter of slipping up on him while he was sleeping and all.  No telling what he was likely to do if he were to catch me this time.  Maybe he would think I was trying to strangle him, and besides, it would spoil the surprise.

I think it was the better part of an hour before I finally did it.  I pictured how he would look wearing that hat, the wonder in the eyes of the populace, and me sitting beside him proudly in state, in my guard’s livery and all.  And should the Enemy come charging in, well, they would know right away who they were dealing with!

And I thought of how kind he’d been, telling me that my foolishness had maybe served a good purpose after all, showing them Sauron’s intentions and everything. 

And so finally I did it.

It was so easy, I had to laugh at myself too afterward, shaky and sweaty as I was.  “Don’t be hasty,” I reminded myself with a wink, then I cut the length of string with my knife, rolled it up and put it in my pocket with great importance.

The next day we went at noon, and Mikala brought a basket of little meat pies for us to lunch on as we walked along.  I ate three of them, and would have eaten four if there had been enough to go around.  She explained that she’d brought extra for me because I was a guest in the City and so I was entitled, even if I wasn't a prince.  What a girl!

I think she liked me.  I really do.

I asked her what she thought Lord Faramir might like.  Then I almost wished I hadn’t, for she looked sad when I spoke his name.  I remembered her father was with his company.  And that they’d probably be going back to war soon, the way things were looking.

She didn’t have time to think anyway, because there was the hat shop right ahead of us.  She'd never been in a hat shop before, and she was quite in a flutter.  In we went and I gave the hat lady my bit of string and she took it with a smile.  Mikala showed her the sketch we’d made.  What it was, first I’d drawn my idea, and then she’d drawn a good picture from my crude little scratching.  The lady looked at the drawing and studied it, doing a bit with her finger here and there, turning the paper this way and that, then finally she looked at me and said, “What color?”

“White,” I spoke up promptly, feeling pretty pleased with myself that I hadn’t had to think this out and make myself look even sillier than I already had.

And then she said, “What shade?”

“Shade?”

So much for feeling pleased with myself.

I didn’t know there were shades of white.

Now, I knew there was dark blue, and light blue, and in-between blue, and all that.  What I hadn’t known was, there was also smoke blue, and sky blue, and steel blue, and violet blue, and powder blue, and who knows how many other blues.  As for white, well, I hadn’t known there was even dark white, or light white, or in-between white, let alone chalk white, or pearl white, or frog-belly white, or this white or that white.  I’d thought there was just white, period.

Once more she had me.  Seems I couldn’t win, one way or the other.

“Well, uh, you know……white,” I said.  “Like, well….”

“Snowy white,” Mikala spoke up brightly, and I felt like giving her a big wet smacker on the cheek.  What a girl!  Snowy white.  That was it, exactly. 

“The first time I beheld him riding into the City, I thought he was like a pure white snowy mountain, riding along on a silver cloud pierced with lightning,” she said and my jaw fairly hit the floor.  Bergil was impressed too.  “That’s what he needs is a snowy white hat, just like the peak of the mountain, to top him off.”

Bless her.  I was speechless.  My words deserted me like a flock of pigeons at a sudden movement. 

We were in high spirits when we left the shop.  We amused ourselves by seeing how many shades of white we could come up with.  Mikala won easily enough; I’m guessing she came up with upwards of a hundred whites, whereas Bergil and I scared up maybe a dozen or so between us.  She named off some I’d never have thought of:  eye-white white, fish-flesh white, snail-shell white, fingernail-tip white, ox-horn white, and a whole lot of others.  I said sea-foam white, which was cheating because I’d never actually seen sea foam, but she looked pleased.  As for Bergil, he came up with “Minas Tirith white.”

I liked that.  So did she.

Then we started in on brown.  She said my hair was the color of oak leaves in the fall, which was nice, so I asked her what color hers was, and she answered right up “Chestnut” without batting an eye.  I said, “Bergil’s, then?” and she thought a moment, then said, “Honey.”  You should have seen him blush!  I got on a roll then, and started naming off browns too.  I said my Cousin Frodo’s hair was also a chestnut, though maybe a little darker than hers, and Merry’s was tea color--I was proud of myself for that one.  As for Sam’s, well, it was a stretch to call his brown at all, but seeing as how neither of them had ever seen him, I finally hit on “sandstone.”  I named off some other browns, some of them pretty disgusting, if you know what I mean, which pleased Bergil.  I’m sure Mikala could have come up with a lot more browns than she did.  But since she had so soundly bested us with the whites, I think she just didn’t want to overdo it.

She was so unlike my sisters!

I found out what kind of sweets she liked best, and bought her a bagful.  She gave me a big wet smacker on the cheek for that.  I found out much later that she’d divided up the sweets with her two best girl friends...and she told me they'd said I was “adorable”.  I didn't know what to make of that.

It wasn’t until later in the evening that it occurred to me:  how was I going to pay for this hat????

Part II

I’d hardly given a thought to the matter of payment, nincompoop that I was.  I had only a little money on me.  Mikala offered to chip in her pocket money, such as it was, but she had far less than I did, and Bergil didn’t have much either, and all our money together wouldn’t half cover it, anyway.

I thought and thought.  I hardly caught a wink, all through the night.

I didn’t like how the sky was looking the next day, or the day after.  Kind of brown, it was, and a bit foul smelling.  I’d never seen it like that before.  And this brown, well, I doubt even Mikala could have come up with a name for it. 

It was unnamable.

I started watching the sky, keeping my eyes peeled for those Nazgul flying beastie things.  I’d spotted one once already, and I can tell you:  if you’ve seen one of those, you do NOT want to see another.  I still dream about them sometimes.

Gandalf seemed preoccupied, and didn’t seem to hear much of anything I said to him.  Finally he told me Lord Faramir was leaving, and there was a very strong chance he wasn’t coming back.

I felt like my stomach was tying itself into a slow knot.

I remembered what Lord Faramir had said about Frodo and Sam--and Gollum.  How they were taking the Pass of...wherever it was, and the way Gandalf had looked when he said it, and neither of them would speak of it to me. 

I had a feeling, that wherever Frodo and Sam were now, they weren’t liking it.

And here I was bothering about a hat.  Here when the men were discussing about how they were going to defend the City, when orcs and trolls and Nazguls and Eru knew what all else, were advancing across the plains, all the while we three were sitting around naming off colors.

I spoke of it with Gandalf that evening—about the colors, not the hat—as we stood on our balcony overlooking Mount Doom so far away, but burningly visible to us, a hateful coal in the filthy oven of the east.  And he laid a hand on my shoulder, and explained that it was all right, it was exactly what he wanted.  He said war was the business of men, not children, and that was why good men went to war, so that their children could talk of colors and sweets and games and stories and birthday presents and what not in peace and freedom and sunlight, instead of looking at screaming black shapes in a brown sky above them, and growing up only to see their own sons march off to war.

I looked up at him there in the bleary night, and suddenly I sensed this light within him, radiating from the core until he fairly glowed like the moon, and soon I forgot about the brown sky and the screaming beasts, and I thought only of stars and planets and mountains and white trees and silvery clouds and doves and beacons and fountains of light and horses of wonder.  I could hardly speak a word, even to tell him I wasn’t a child.

He would have that hat, or my name wasn’t Peregrine Took.

The next day I went straight to Lord Faramir and showed him my sword, that I’d got from the Barrow-Downs, and asked him to buy it from me.  I could always get a cheaper one from the smithy.  And I still had my dagger from Lady Galadriel.  I hated to part with that, but I would if I had to.  But I hoped hard that the sword would be enough.

Lord Faramir’s eyes fairly popped, and he asked me where I got it, and I told him, and I told him the truth, although I could hear Bergil giggling behind me.  Then I explained about the hat.  Lord Faramir told me this sword was very old and valuable, and I could tell he spoke the truth.  And he took it away with him, and brought me a leather bag of gold pieces, and when I got a good look at them, it was my eyes’ turn to pop.  He also brought me an old dagger of his in place of my sword, so I wouldn’t have to go to the smithy after all, except to have it sharpened.  I actually thought it was much nicer than the other.

I could buy presents for everybody now. 

I guess I got a little teary then, when he told me he was sorry he wouldn’t be around to see me present Gandalf with the hat, as he had to leave tomorrow morning.  For the hat wouldn’t be ready for a couple of days yet.  And I wouldn’t even have time to buy him a farewell gift.  Then I remembered my dagger, which I’d brought with me just in case, and I thought, well, why not give him that, it’s of little use to me now, and being Elvish, it might do him a world of good.  But I think he knew what it meant to me, because he just smiled gently and told me to keep it for him.  And he dropped to one knee before me, placed his hands on either side of my face and kissed my forehead, and I buried my face against his chest for a long moment. 

There are some people in this world who just seem to have this inborn knack for making you fall in love with them at first sight, or pretty nearly, and he was one of them.  Strider was another, at least when he was all cleaned up and got up fine…and maybe even when he wasn’t, which was why we all warmed up to him so fast.  Lady Arwen was yet another, and it wasn’t just her outward beauty that made her so.  So was Frodo.  I was never quite sure exactly what it was about him, but it was as if he were a lamp and you were a moth.  And yes, Sam was that sort too, even if he wasn’t so fine looking as all those others.  But he made you like the way he looked, just as he was.

And then there was Gandalf…but, enough said.

The next morning we all saw Lord Faramir off.  I wouldn’t see him again until his cousin brought him back, half dead, in his arms.

I missed Merry something terrible.

Bergil and Mikala were both pretty solemn when they went with me to fetch the hat two days later.  So was I.  I found out later on that Mikala had gotten an idea about making up a whole mess of baked goods and selling them in the market place.  But that wouldn’t be necessary now.

The hat lady was in quite a twittery mood as she presented the finished product to us.  We all three gasped in one accord.  There it stood, taller than the old hat, just like a miniature mountain in her hands it was, stiff yet soft, covered with purest snow.  There was a feather added, which had been Bergil’s suggestion, after he spied a man’s hat of black velvet with a beautiful big white fluffy feather on it.  The hat lady said the feather came from a bird called the “ostridge” (I think).  I asked her if there were such birds around here, and she said no, they were native to a land very far away, and she didn't think any had ever been spotted in Middle-Earth.  I thought they must be wondrous fair and elegant, to have such plumage, even finer than swans or eagles, and asked her if she could show us a picture of one.  I think I had a notion of having Mikala draw one for a possible tapestry design, and if we could find somebody who could make such a tapestry--maybe the hat lady would know of someone--it could be presented to Strider, I mean Aragorn, when he should become king, and it would make a splendid showing in the throne room and all.  And the hat lady smiled and said actually, they were very ugly birds apart from their tail feathers, and rather mean and stupid besides, and I was greatly disappointed.  But on seeing Bergil’s look, and Mikala’s too, when they saw that plume, looking like a bit of fluffy pure white cloud, I said to go ahead and add a feather. It might be just the right touch, come to think of it, like on old Tom Bombadill’s hat, only even finer.  It’s my guess that Tom Bombadill was of Gandalf’s sort, and therefore, there should be no reason why Gandalf shouldn’t have a feather in his hat as well!  Why should Tom outshine him?

Gandalf needn't know it was from an ostridge.

And much to my astonishment, she charged us half of what she’d originally intended, seeing as it was for the White Wizard.  It would be her contribution, she said.

What a woman!

I felt like a prince for real then.  Now I could treat everybody in style. 

We would present the hat on my birthday.  Bergil would keep it for me, so’s Gandalf wouldn’t see it before then.

I asked Mikala her favorite color, and she said “blue”.  I’d been feeling sorry for her because of the ugly brown dresses she had to wear for the kitchen—mud brown--which didn’t become her at all, and I wanted to have a nice frock made for her, knowing how she liked pretty things.  All lasses do, I suppose.  I thought red would suit her best, myself, with those rosy-apple cheeks of hers, but if she preferred blue, then blue it would be.  “What shade?” I asked her with a wink, and she laughed that rich, sudden laugh of hers and gave me a little shove.  I bought her a length of delphinium-blue cloth and we went to a dressmaker who took her measurements, and I asked the dressmaker if she could put a little embroidery on it too.  She said she didn’t have time, but her mother liked such fancywork and was good at it, and might be willing for a small price. 

Mikala was fairly dancing when she had to go back to work.

Bergil was looking a bit unhappy after she had gone.  I soon guessed the nature of his discomfort, so I took him by the hand and drew him to a bench near a fountain at the end of the row, and told him that no matter what it looked like, Mikala and I were only friends, and it was him she really liked, I knew it.  He was much smarter and braver and better looking than I, not to mention taller! and someday she would see it. 

“She’s sure paid a lot of attention to you,” he said, rubbing at a sore spot on his knee.  “I mean…well, you’re older and you’ve been so many places and had such a lot of adventures and, and you can sing and…”

“It’s because I’m a stranger here,” I explained, “and she knows I’m far from my home, and I get homesick every day of my life, and I’m apart from my friends and worried about them and scared for them and for myself, and she wants to cheer me.  That’s all.  That’s the way she is.”

“You really think so?”  He looked down at me with serious eyes.  I nodded.

“Yes.  I think she’s the sort who doesn’t do friendship halfway.  I’ve friends like that myself—no, I don’t mean THAT,” I hastened to say as he cocked an eyebrow.  I don’t think he really thought anything amiss, not at his age, but that’s what went through my mind at the moment.  “I just mean…when such people take a mind to be your friend, then they’re your friend and no nonsense about it.  No going back.  And you’ve got to take care of such people, just like if you’re given a great treasure.  You don’t leave it sitting out for wicked folks to steal what they like, and you don’t try to twist it into something it wasn’t meant to be.  Neither do you try to pig it all for yourself, and hide it away in a dark closet till it loses its luster.  You were trusted with it, even if only for a while, and so you take the best care of it.  You see what I mean?”

“Is that why you bought the hat for Gandalf?” he asked.  Smart boy!  He caught on fast.

“Exactly,” I said.  “He’s that sort of friend too, and I’ve got to take care of that.  See, I’m older than I seem, and I’m not a fool all the time, and I can tell when a lass fancies me and when she only thinks of me in a friendly sort of way.”

“So how can I get her to like me?” he asked, at the same time looking away in embarrassment, that he should have to ask such a thing of me.  Folks were funny that way here.  It took some getting used to.

“You’ve got to make her like you,” I said, “by taking care of what she is.  Not by showing off and trying to impress her, or trying to turn her into what you think she should be.  What I think you should do is, look at the man you admire most and try to be like him as much as you can, while still being yourself at the same time.  I can’t promise anything.  But it’s a start, and I really think you’re already on your way.” 

He brightened considerably, and we rose and went back toward the market-place, where we found him a little model of a horse very like Shadowfax, beautifully carved in wood and painted…moonbeam white.  He asked me, shyly, if I thought Gandalf might take him for a ride on Shadowfax sometime.  I told him I bet he would, and I would ask him.

He didn’t kiss me.  Boys don’t kiss each other here.  I puzzled a bit about that, but every country has its customs, I suppose. 

I decided I ought get something for his father, Beregond, who’d been really good to me too, and I’d loved him taking up for Lord Faramir against his father.  That was mighty brave of him, I must say.  And something for Mikala’s mother, who was such a fine cook and had sent all those goodies our way, and was probably about to lose her husband…and why not something for the hat lady too, while we were at it?

But for Lord Steward Denethor?  Not a thing, sir.  He’d just sent his only living son probably to his death, after all!  What did he want, TWO dead sons?  One wasn't enough?  When would it all end?  And just thinking about how he’d made Mikala wait on that little snot of an ambassador’s son would have been enough by itself to make my blood boil.

Strider would never have done such a thing!

Oh, but my feelings toward Lord Denethor have softened over the years, after Gandalf and Lord Faramir both explained to me some things about his past life and all.  I can look back and pity what happened to him a bit more, even though I know much of it was his own fault.  He hadn’t taken care of what he’d been given, he just wanted what he shouldn’t have had, and that wrecked all he might have been.  I can see that now.  And he wanted to see too much, and that’s never a good thing.  There was a time when I myself wanted to see too much, after all.  And I saw how the Enemy uses that to His advantage, seizing the opportunity to wedge himself in where he doesn’t belong and crowding out what we should be, the way weeds choke out the lovely growing things, and thus I learned to understand, although it took such a long time.  But learn I did.  I guess we are all stewards, of one sort or another, destined to take care of each other and all we are….

I can see now that maybe Lord Denethor did have some beautiful plumage somewhere about him, even if he wasn’t so keen to show it all the time….   

Part III

“Whatever possessed you to buy Gandalf a hat?” Merry asked as I fed him his breakfast.  What with his hurt arm, he couldn’t hold the tray straight on his knees and feed himself at the same time, so I sat cross-legged on the bed beside him and fed him as though he were a little ’un.  He’d hoped nobody would come in while that was going on, but a maid came to empty the chamber pot.  She looked at us and grinned as she flurried out.  The House of Healing was a splendid and lovely place, but if it was privacy you were wanting, it wasn't for you.

Since Merry looked anything but merry, I told him about trying to measure Gandalf’s head, hoping to make him laugh, but all I managed to coax from him was a tightlipped smile.  When I started telling about all the shades of white, I think his mind started wandering, so I cut it short and commented on the goodness of the rolls and butter, which only made him scowl.  I was feeling oddly chipper that morning, and I think it was starting to get on his nerves.

My mood might have been owing to the pleasant fragrance lingering in the room, from those leaves, asselas—no, athelas, that Strider, I mean Aragorn had steeped a few days before.  Merry said it smelled like heather in the sunshine full of bees, but to me it smelled just like pipeweed, and I wondered if you could smoke it.

“Pippin,” he said after a long moment, “could you take me to see the Lady Éowyn?  How is she?”

Ah, so that’s what was worrying him.  I’d overheard Gandalf talking about her, something about “the bitter watches of the night, when all her something, and the walls of her bower closed in about her, a something something,” and so forth.  Whatever all that meant, it didn’t sound good, and I decided I’d better not tell Merry.

So I just said, “I think she’s better now, and I’ll take you, but let me clean you up a bit first.  You look a mess.  You’d probably scare the lights out of her.”

“Yes, please do,” he said.  I think he liked her.  In fact, I know he did.  I puzzled about that.  I’d not seen very much of her back in Edoras, and although I thought her a beauty to behold, I wasn’t so sure as I liked her.  She seemed pretty cool and distant to me, and just a trifle dangerous--I wouldn’t have wanted to get in her way if she ever got her back up.  Give me a nice, cheery, cozy girl like Mikala, who was the closest to a hobbit-lass as I’d ever meet around here, any ol’ day. 

Still, since the Lady Éowyn had single-handedly knocked the stuffings, so to speak, out of that horrible Witch-King, there was a strong chance I just might warm up to her sooner or later.  I hoped she’d get well quick.  She’d be handy to have around this City in case more orcs took a notion to attack.  Surely Lord Flaming Eyeball wouldn’t want to trifle with her.  There wouldn’t be an eye-patch big enough in all of Middle-Earth for him once she got her hooks on him.

I set the tray aside, then combed Merry’s hair, and brought him a wet rag from the washbasin so he could clean his hands and face.  Then I wetted his hair so it wouldn’t frizz and stick out all over the place like a bird nest struck by lightning, then smoothed it down. 

“So how do I look now?” he asked when I finally had him ready.

“Less horrifying than before,” I said squinting at him.  For someone who was supposed to be suffering from “The Shadow”, whatever that meant, he didn’t look too bad really.  Give him a week or so, and plenty of good grub, and he ought to be up and doing right enough.

“Thanks, Pip,” he said with a little sigh. 

“Shall I carry you?” I volunteered.  “I’m strong enough now.”  I was a little banged up, but aside from a few nasty bruises, I was in pretty good shape.  And to think, the day before, I’d been fretting about not having a real wound. “Everybody’s been wounded except me,” I’d complained, and Merry told me to count myself lucky.  “Pip, trust me, you do NOT want a wound,” he’d said.  Poor old Merry.

I would see what he meant, by and by.

“It’s my arm that’s hurt, not my legs,” he said.  “Just let me lean on you a bit and I’ll be all right.” 

I helped him to stand.  But he wasn’t so steady on his feet as he’d thought, and a moment later he had to sit down again. 

After a couple more tries, I said, “Here, get on my back.”  I stooped down on the floor at his feet and motioned for him to straddle me.

“What?” he said.  “I’m just a bit dizzy is all.  If you’d just let me lean on you…”

“Come on!” I insisted.  He’d piggy-backed me many a time when I was a little ’un.  Now it was turn and turn about.  Finally I managed to get him to lock his legs around my back and he got me round the neck with his good arm, and off we went.  He was kind of hurting my right hip, which was bruised from a wicked fall I’d taken.  I hadn’t really noticed until he was on my back, but I didn’t say anything about it. 

We must have been a sight to see, there in the hallway, me all scrooched over and him riding me like a donkey big as you please.  That’s when we bumped smack into an elderly lady who was the head-nurse, or whatever it was they called her.  Ioreth was her name.  She went “ahem!” and gave us this “Just what do you two think you are doing?” look with her hands on her hips.  I knew better than to sass this one.  I was about to make a “Hee haw” noise, but decided that wouldn’t be such a good idea.  Somehow I didn’t think she would be amused.

So, we just told her the truth, that we wanted to go check on the Lady Éowyn.  I said I’d take good care of Merry.  I wouldn’t let him dance on the tables, nor flirt with any nurses, and if Her Ladyship should give him any guff, I’d protect him, being with the Tower Guard and all; did she want to see my sword?  (Well, I wasn’t really, not any more, but she didn’t know that yet.)  In the end, however, Miss Ioreth turned out to be less immune to hobbit charm than I had her pegged, and she finally laughed and said all right, and she’d even take us to the Lady Éowyn herself. 

She was asleep, but I was startled to see Lord Éomer, her brother, sitting beside her bed, although I’d known he was about.  Merry whispered to me that Lord Éomer was King of Rohan, now that his uncle was dead, and so I dropped to one knee before him, which was pretty awkward with Merry on my back.  I liked Lord Éomer.  Rather a forceful fellow he was, something like Boromir.  He told us we need not kneel, and we expressed our condolences about his uncle and asked after his sister.  He soberly said she was “better” but whether or not she’d recover completely, remained to be seen.

“Gandalf tells me you saved his life,” he said to me, much to my surprise.  It was true that I’d stuck an orc that was about to cleave Gandalf, but I’d pretty nearly forgotten about it, and it came as a shock that he should mention it to others.  “As well as Faramir’s.  I completely take it back what I said about war being the province of men.  Seems everyone has his, or her part to play in the grand scheme of things.”

“Seems they do,” I agreed, ducking my head modestly as Merry gawked at me too.  “Mikala’s mum saved the life of one of Lord Faramir’s men too, by pouring boiling oil out of a window on top of an orc that was about to gut him.  It was something to see.”

“You saw it?” Lord Éomer raised both eyebrows with a little frown.

“Well…no,” I admitted, figuring I probably couldn’t put anything over on the King of Rohan.  I’d just heard about it from Beregond the other day.  I was worried about Mikala, knowing what had happened to her father and all.  I hadn’t seen her since before the Siege.  “But it was surely something to see, I’ll warrant you.” 

Merry snickered.  Lord Éomer chuckled.

“Mikala,” he said.  “A friend of yours?”

“Yes,” I said and Merry grinned.  “She’s the cook’s daughter.”

“Ah,” Lord Éomer smiled,  “the cook’s daughter?  Small wonder she’s your friend then.  Or…a bit more than a friend?”  And he actually gave me a wink, although his eyes still looked sad and somber underneath it all.

I felt myself blush, and my chipperness dropped a couple of degrees.

“Well,” said I, “maybe if she’d been a bit more my size, or I hers…but, as it is, I doubt it would work for either one of us.  If you know what I mean.”

I felt horribly homesick all of a sudden. 

Merry perked up just as I perked down, saying, “Maybe I could find you some more Ent-draught,” to make me smile, I suspect.  Good old Merry.  I did chuckle a bit.  I could smell the athelas even stronger in this room.  Guess it had taken more of it to bring Éowyn around.

The Lady appeared smaller than I remembered.  It was as if she had shrunk.  Her long golden hair lay in two braids on her coverlet, and they made her seem younger and less remote, more real somehow.  Like they were ropes keeping her tethered to this earth.  Merry touched one of them, just barely, with a fingertip.  I can still remember the look on his face.

She didn’t seem inclined to awaken yet, so we said we’d come back later, then went to look in on Lord Faramir…and who should we bump into in the corridor but the hat lady.  Seems her son was among the wounded.  She had a younger woman with her that I could see right away was her daughter, and the daughter had a couple of little ’uns, boy and girl.  They had all just arrived in the City that morning.  The little girl, who was pretty nearly my own height, pointed right at us and yelled, “Mummy, Granny, look at those boys’ FEET!  They have FUR!!” loud enough to be heard all over the House.  Her mum shushed her right sharply and told her to mind her manners.  Merry told her it came of eating too much sheep mutton.  I’d have to remember that one.  It was pretty good.

Introductions were bandied around.  I asked about the son and the hat lady said he had lost his left leg up to the knee and it was still touch and go with him, and he was in a lot of pain.  I shuddered to hear it.  She’d closed up the hat shop for a while, she said.  It wasn’t damaged too seriously, but nobody was much interested in hats at the moment.  She asked if we’d given Gandalf his hat yet.  I said we’d planned to give it to him on my birthday, but the Siege had kind of gotten in the way, and my birthday had come and gone without notice.  I guessed we’d give it to him just before the coronation of the new King.  He could wear it then, since he’d do the coronating, without a doubt. 

The little girl asked Merry if she could pet his feet and I don’t know what he’d have told her if the hat lady hadn’t said, no, dearie, they had to go see her uncle now, didn’t she want to come? 

Bergil and his dad were in the room with Lord Faramir, who was conscious but not looking so good.  Bergil had told me the hat was safe, that during the Siege he’d taken it down into a cellar and hidden it, then locked the door.  I told him that was mighty good of him.  Just the thought of any of those filthy orcs parading around in Gandalf’s hat was enough to make my blood boil, and I said so.  Beregond chuckled at that.  He looked like he could use a good chuckle, for sure.  And a good nap.

I gently set Merry down as I came to stand beside the bed.  Lord Faramir gave us a pale smile as I introduced my cousin.  His face was sort of gaunt and grey looking, dark circles under his eyes.  I guessed he knew about his father by now.  Forgetting there was anyone else in the room, I laid my head on his shoulder, and he weakly stroked my hair a little.  When I raised my head I saw that Bergil and his dad had gone out.  I wished they’d stayed, because I wanted to ask about Mikala.

But right at that moment, she came in, as if I’d summoned her by thinking about her.

She was in black, which didn’t do much more for her than the brown, but the clean white apron she wore over it softened the effect.  Her pretty hair was braided, as usual, but the braids were pinned up behind her ears this time.  She didn’t have her basket with her, but she was carrying some flowers.  I wished I’d thought to bring some, myself.  Her eyes looked a bit red, and my heart turned over, and I went straight to her and we embraced for a long moment.  I heard her sniffle a bit, and I gave her time to get over her sniffles before introducing her to Merry.

“I’m so pleased to meet you at last,” she said with a hint of a smile.  What a girl.  “Pippin’s told me so much about you.”

“I just bet he has,” Merry said wiggling his eyebrows at me.

“Some of it was good,” I said with a wink.

“Right,” he said.  “Pip’s told me all about you too,” he said to Mikala.

“I left out the bad parts,” I said.  She giggled.  I asked her if I could have some of her flowers to take to the Lady Éowyn.  She had quite a sheaf of them, so I figured she could spare a few.  She gave me quite a handful.  Mostly they were daffy-down-dillies, very bright and sunny yellow.

And then she told me, “Oh oh, what do you think?  The White Tree is in bloom!  It has little buds breaking out all over it.”

“I thought it was dead,” I said. 

“So did I,” she said and looked quite radiant.

For some reason I thought of Frodo and Sam.  It seemed a good omen.

Mikala went to Lord Faramir and gave him her flowers, then laid her cheek against his shoulder, as I’d done, and he kissed the top of her head.  I thought I saw a bit of color creeping into his face, whether because of her or because of what she’d said about the Tree, I couldn’t be sure.  Maybe both.

Merry indicated to me that we should go out, and I was about to suggest the same, on the pretext of taking the flowers to Lady Éowyn.  He didn’t seem to need me to carry him anymore, he just leaned on me and hobbled along. 

“Merry, I’ve an idea,” I whispered when we were out of the room.  “Let’s give Gandalf his hat when the buds on the White Tree open.”

“Sure, why not?” he grinned.

It was three days before the blossoms opened all the way.  In the meantime there was yet another counsel going on.

I told Strider, I mean Aragorn, about the hat—I hadn’t gotten around to doing it until then, he’d been so busy with the wounded and all, and Merry told me if I told too many people about the hat, Gandalf was sure to get wind of it.  It was hard getting Aragorn out of earshot of Gandalf, I had to practically beg him to see me alone for a few minutes.  He was got up really fine now, in the black surcoat with the silver tree embroidered on it, same as I’d had, and I hadn’t realized before what a handsome man he really was, though older than I remembered.  He looked every inch a king.

I also told him my idea about the ostridge tapestry for the throne room, hoping to get him to laugh, and I think he would have if he hadn’t been so worn out and dragged down.  As it was, he just chuckled, but then suddenly he touched my cheek and gave me this look I’ll never forget.  A look full of love and pride like I was his only son and had just done something truly wonderful.  That was better than a laugh, any old day.

I’d gotten that look from Gandalf too, after the Siege.  Seemed I could do no wrong in his eyes now.  And from Lord Faramir, the day he bought my sword. 

And from Frodo.  Many times, although what I’d done to warrant it, I couldn’t remember now.  But he made you feel like you’d do anything to earn it.

Never had I gotten it from my father.

Then Str—Aragorn told me about the Counsel.  They were planning to march on Mordor, as a diversion to Sauron, to get his attention away from Frodo and all.  And I would go with them, representing the “Pheriannath” as they called us hobbits here.  If I wanted to, that is.  If I didn’t, he would understand.  In fact, he’d rather I didn’t go, but he wouldn’t forbid me.

He told me to sleep on it.

The blossoms would be all opened by next day, when I made my decision whether to go or not.

Lord Faramir called me and Bergil and Mikala into his room late that evening.  Merry could come too, if he liked.  Lord Faramir was sitting up a bit now, although I could see that it pained him some to do so.  He wore a robe of a dark wine red, that looked good on him, and he had something wrapped up in black cloth on his lap. 

His room was fixed up quite princely.  There were a lot of flowers, and a couple of tapestries on the walls.  And some expensive-looking vases and things, books, and a really beautiful rug on the floor, a rich coverlet for the bed.  No one else in the House had rated such furnishings.  I think some of the women had decorated for him.  I really had to wonder how his father could have thought so badly of him, when the populace so obviously adored him.

 “I am sorry to have missed your birthday,” he said to me, “although I know you can understand why I did so.  I also regret not having given you all that your sword was truly worth.  I meant to have Beregond go and get it appraised, then give you the rest of the money, but so much was going on, it put it completely out of my mind.”

“That’s all right, sir,” I said, taken aback.  “You mean, it was worth more?  But I don’t care, really.  And…”  I broke off as I saw him pick up what he had in his lap and hold it out to me with both hands.

“I know it isn’t the custom where you live to receive presents, that you give them instead,” he said with a little twinkle in his eye.  “But the customs are different here, and I would like to make you a little gift now.” 

I unwrapped the black cloth, and—you guessed it--there was my sword!  All polished up and everything, and with a brand new sheath of black leather, studded with little white and red gems.  Bergil gasped.  I could hardly believe it was the same sword; I hadn’t realized how beautiful it really was.  And something so valuable in my keeping?  I think I knew how Frodo felt with that mithril shirt of his now.

Then Lord Faramir proceeded to apologize to Mikala about the incident with the ambassador’s son.  He explained that it was not Lord Steward Denethor who had given the orders, but he himself.  I nearly fell out of my chair.

“Of course I would never have done so if I had known what the boy was really like,” he hastened to say.  “Certainly he seemed nice and polite on the surface of him.  Too much so, in fact, which should have clued me as to his true nature.  And I certainly never would have thought that at his age, he would have been saying indecent things to you, my child.  You should have come and told me immediately; I would never have stood for such a thing.  But I can understand why you didn’t.”

“Oh, th-that’s all right,” she gasped, glancing down at her hands in her lap.  “So much has happened since then, I’d pretty much forgotten all about it.”

“Still I would like to make it up to you,” he said with a rueful smile.  “The Lady Arwen Evenstar is coming to wed the soon-to-be King of Gondor, and I am going to take you out of the kitchen, which I know you don’t like much, and put you in her service.  Do you think you would like that?”

Her mouth opened wide.  I’d never seen a girl light up the way she did.  I guess Bergil had told Lord Faramir about the incident.  But he hadn’t mentioned that the little rat had said indecent things to her on top of everything else!  I gripped my sword hard.  Oi—if I’d only been there!!

“Oh myyyyy,” was all she could say for a long moment.  Then she said softly, “I have heard that she is the most beautiful living being under the sun.  I hardly feel worthy of such a tremendous honor.”

“From what I hear,” he said, “the Lady is also very kind, and Lord Aragorn has known her a long time.  He would hardly be marrying her if she were otherwise.  But if for any reason you are not happy in her service, come to me and I will find you a position that will suit you.  And if any man or boy ever behaves in an objectionable manner toward you again, you come and tell me, yes?  I will not tolerate any abuse of my servants while I am Steward here.  It’s my guess that the ambassador makes free with the women of his service, and his little monkey of a son is already following in his footsteps.  Although, perhaps we shouldn’t blame the boy so much as his father for setting the example.”

“Oh, oh,” Mikala exclaimed, looking radiantly first at me and then at Bergil, “I hope she likes me.  What if she shouldn’t?”

“I cannot imagine why she wouldn’t,” said Lord Faramir.  “With your loving, generous, and cheerful nature, I should think you would suit the Queen exactly.  I’ve also heard you have considerable skill with a pencil, and that she does fine embroidery.  Perhaps she’ll have you draw some designs for her needlework, what say?”

“I don’t know how to thank you for this,” she said tremulously and her eyes misted over.

“Perhaps I’m not the one you should thank,” he said with a smile over her right shoulder—I was seated on her left.  She turned her head to her right.  “It was Bergil’s idea.”

I wish I could describe the look on Bergil’s face then.  It wasn’t quite a bashful grin, or a smirk, or a suppressed laugh, or a pretense at not knowing what was going on, but a little of all those things. 

It was adorable.

“In the meantime,” Lord Faramir said, “how would you like to come work here in the House of Healing?  Just doing little tasks, carrying things, running errands, small clean-up jobs, washing bandages, and such.  I’m told you have an effect on some of the patients akin to that of sunshine and rain on flowers.”

“I would love to,” she exclaimed.  “Oh, this just seems too good to be true.  I can’t believe this is happening to me!”

“And that,” Lord Faramir said with a wink in my direction, “was Pippin’s idea.”

I think I had the same expression Bergil did then as she turned to look at me.  It felt like it, anyway.

By the way, Bergil did get his ride on Shadowfax…just in case you were wondering.

It was cloudy next day when the hat-giving ceremony took place by the White Tree, now fully in bloom, but no one took much notice.  A great many people were there.  All of those such as could get up, even Lady Éowyn—she wasn’t really up to it, but she insisted on coming, so her brother and Lord Faramir helped her along.  Mikala and her mum and her little sister, who’d just gotten back the day before with her aunt and cousin, all of whom had been staying out on her grandparents’ farm.  Beregond and those of the Tower Guard as were able to get about, they were there.  Legolas and Gimli.  Ioreth and the hat lady and her daughter and grandchildren.  The kitchen-maids, one of whom, I’d heard, had gotten her nose royally out of joint when she’d heard Mikala was going into the service of the Queen.  She’d hoped for that honor herself, being the oldest and prettiest of the kitchen-wenches at eighteen, and she’d been going about saying some spiteful things about Mikala.  I’d also heard she’d been the one who’d joked the hardest about my feet.

Lord Faramir should have assigned HER to the ambassador’s boy.  

There were many, many others.  I don’t know how the word got around so fast.

The City was still quite a wreck, but our eyes were all mainly directed at the Tree.  There it stood, starry white, and the snowy blossoms gave off a soft fragrance like no other flower I knew of.  Mikala wore a white dress, and a white flower or two in her hair.  I thought she looked perfectly lovely.  A pity she wouldn’t get her blue dress now, since the dressmaker’s shop had been demolished, but she wouldn’t have been able to wear it for a long time anyway.

Gandalf appeared a trifle grumpy as he arrived in the company of Str—Aragorn.  I could imagine him muttering about what kind of foolishness was going on out here, when any idiot could see it was going to rain?  I grinned smugly to myself.  I and Mikala and Merry and Bergil had the hat under a large white cloth before us.  Some musicians were playing nearby. 

“All right, perhaps now someone can tell me what’s going on here?” Gandalf said as Aragorn led him to where we were standing.  I couldn’t hear what Aragorn answered to him.  “I do hope this is good.  Looks like we may get a shower today, and I can only hope this is over and done with before we all get soaked to the skin.”

Then I nodded to the musicians, and they struck up again, and the crowd quietened as I began to sing:

   Gandalf, bringer of counsel fair
   Leader and guardian, wizard-friend
   Teacher and savior, balrog slayer
   Fallen master who rose again;

   Always you taught us lessons dear
   Never faltering in your path
   Never flinching from terrors drear
   Never daunted by Sauron’s wrath.

   Now as you stand clothed in wisdom white
   Snowy-white, mithril-white, pure as the lily
   If we would honor you with a gift so bright
   We hope you’ll not think us frightfully silly!

Yes, I knew it wasn’t very good, but I hadn’t had an awfully long time to work on it! 

Maybe I could fix it later, if and when I came back from Mordor….

When I’d finished I made a little bow, and the crowd cheered, although not too loudly.  Gandalf was just standing there still as stone.  Then Bergil handed Merry the hat, still wrapped, and I took it as Mikala stepped forward to place some white flowers in Gandalf’s hands.  The crowd hushed and the musicians started playing softly once more as I stepped forward and slowly unveiled the hat.

For a moment I was horribly afraid he would think we were having a huge joke on him.  He just stood there staring as I presented the hat with another, lower bow.  Aragorn had to hold Mikala’s flowers so Gandalf could take the hat with both hands, and it might have been my imagination but I was sure I could see his fingers shaking a little.  I’d almost forgotten how splendid the hat was, myself.  It was even bigger than the old one, and the feather just rode it like…like a cloud on a snowy mountain. 

And his face was like the sun rising above a field of lilies as he lifted the hat and put it on his head, and when he turned around to face the crowd, their cheers rang out so loudly that no one noticed the thunderclap that the sky let out, as though it were jealous of all the goings-on in the White City that day.

We could have used him for a lighthouse.

~*~Epilogue~*~

I’ve sincerely hoped and prayed that Mikala never found out that her father’s had been among the heads catapulted over the City wall that terrible day.  She never spoke of it to me, and of course I never asked her.  I’d met her dad a time or two, and found him a right jolly and pleasant chap,  and she got her bright eyes and rosy cheeks from him.  He looked not much like my idea of a soldier—more like a baker or innkeeper.  I really hope she never found out just how he died.  Deep down, however, I know life doesn’t work the way we wish, more often than not, and probably…she knew.  

I met her again recently, and although we didn’t speak of her father then either, I saw she’d named her oldest son after him.  He was nine years old and yes, taller than I, but taking mostly after his grandma in looks.  Her twins she was going to call Frodo and Sam, but at the last minute she decided on their prettier Elvish names of Iorhael and Perhail (hope I spelled those right!)  They were six, and looked nothing alike, the one looking the most like his dad, the other favoring his mum.  Still, they had that special something between them, that you see so often with twins, and that, come to think of it, I saw often enough with my Frodo and Sam.  It was most uncanny sometimes, and something you felt like you’d die to protect, as well.

And her youngest boy—he was named after, guess whom?  Me!  Well, she actually named him Pippin, not Peregrine, because she just liked “Pippin” better, she said.  I’ll wager he’s the handsomest of them all! 

I was surprised none of the boys were named for their dad, but she patted her belly, grinned at Bergil, and said the next one would be, if a lad it were…but I think they both really hoped for a maid-child this time.  They would name her “Evenstar” for the Queen…which was the prettiest name Mikala could think of, didn’t I agree?  I said yes…after “Diamond.”

I knew, too, that they’d get their little Evenstar yet…even before she wrote me telling me they did.

It came as quite a shock to me, long before, when Mikala informed me that her mother had remarried, and to a man who’d once been a thief.  Yes, I heard right.  I won’t say I didn’t have serious misgivings about that, as you might well expect.  But when I saw them together, how happy and shining they looked…well, who was Peregrine Took to have any say in the matter?  Especially seeing as how they’d gotten Mikala a little brother out of their union….

….who, if you must know, was named…“Gandalf”.

Looking at the City, you’d never believe anything bad had ever happened there, or ever could.  As we stood out on the balcony of her home, however, the sunlight making bright work of the clothes hanging out on the line, Mikala gently asked me if I had trouble dealing with my memories.  I couldn’t lie.  Yes, there they were, and I was stuck with them.  And when you’re stuck with something, whether it’s a deformity, or a troublesome relative, or a load of evil memories that have no intention of going away, you’re pretty much stuck with it, and all the moaning and grousing in the world wouldn’t get rid of it.  Still, you don’t ALWAYS feel the load.  There are things that can make you forget about it, especially if you work at it.  Then eventually there comes a time when you stop working so hard at it, and just let things take their course.  That’s when some of the load starts dropping off and falling away, and you’re moving on a downhill slide, before you even know it, just greatly enjoying the ride.  Although you do have to look where you’re going lest you hit a nasty bump or two.

It’s really hard, though, when you see so many folks going about it the wrong way trying to get shed of their loads.  You want to tell them their way is wrong and is hurting others around them, and you want to tell them your way of dealing with it, but it ends up sounding foolish in the telling, for it’s something that can only be learned by doing.  And all the while you know they won’t listen anyway.  But that’s how it goes.

I’m rather glad Frodo is where he is now.  If my load of memories was heavy, then his, I imagine, would have been at least ten times more so, and there’d be no working it off.  And no one was ever less deserving of it.  But it’s my guess that he is now laughing and free of them.  His lamp may be broken, but his inner flame lives on, and will shine all the brighter when I meet him again on the Other Side.  And he’ll give me That Look…the look which was what ultimately decided me to go to Mordor to do my part for him in the grand scheme of things. 

I just hope they let us take a pipe together.

As for Gandalf…..

I don’t know if he wears his hat now or not.  He was wearing it when we saw him off on the ship to the Undying Lands, and I rather like to think he wore it on board all the way over, and when he stepped off on those white shores, the Elves knew beyond a doubt that SOMEONE had arrived.  I think maybe he wears the Hat for special.  Then again, maybe he’s retired it, and has hung it in a tree for birds to nest in.  Nice use for it.  Oh yes, and he told me he loved my song just as it was, and not to change a word of it.  He had me write it down for him just before he left.  I wonder who sings it to him now.

But I can see him in his hat, and I think he’s wearing it tonight and thinking of me.  And looking at the stars and thinking of all of us.   Remembering our journey and our purpose, our songs and our pranks and our mushrooms and our dragging feet.  Waterfalls haunted by a lost maiden’s voice.  Doors that opened when you spoke “Friend.”  Horses that blazed like lightning in fields of gold.  Fireworks and hanging lanterns and smoke rings.  And a Tree full of blossoms, and a girl who put names to their whiteness and to the brownness of oak leaves in the fall. 

And as he thinks of me, maybe he hears music from a distant land, adjusts the Hat to a jaunty angle and starts to dance, by the light of the Moon…..the diamond-white Moon.

~*~Finis~*~