The Ernil i Pheriannath

By Marigold

The crowning was over, the feasts were done, and Pippin was walking with Merry back to the house they shared with the rest of their Companions. They had taken a long detour home to sample the ale at The White Stag, recommended by Beregond. It wasn’t The Golden Perch or The Green Dragon by any means, but the ale was good enough, and the company even better, and they had stayed until quite late, though they had not drunk overmuch. Neither Merry nor Pippin felt quite themselves yet after their injuries. Healing would take time, Aragorn had told them, and they must take it easy and not overdo. They heeded his advice as much as they were able, though each took better care of the other than he did of himself.

Even though it was late there were still many people in the streets celebrating the return of the King, and many honoured the two passing halflings with bows and words of gratitude for their deeds. Both were gracious and friendly, but rather uncomfortable with the praise, Pippin more so. After the sixth person greeted Pippin by the title they insisted upon calling him in the City, Ernil i Pheriannath, Merry was ready to fall over with laughter at his cousin’s discomfiture. Pippin had long since given up trying to correct the people of Gondor over the mistake they had made soon after he had arrived but it still embarrassed him. He looked at Merry with his best pout.

“It’s not my fault that they insist on calling me the Prince of the Halflings, Merry. I never said that I was any such thing.”

“I am sure you didn’t, dear one,” Merry said solemnly. Then he snickered.

“Meriadoc! You shouldn’t laugh at them, they just won’t understand I am just an everyday, ordinary hobbit.” This made Merry laugh even more and Pip glared at him, vexed at his cousin’s disrespectful behaviour. Of course Merry was always polite enough not to start laughing until the person that had referred to Pippin by that silly title was out of earshot, but still! The people here just didn’t know any better and it was rude of Merry to laugh because these nice people had got the wrong idea about him from somewhere.

Merry smiled at the innocence of the one he loved best and gathered him into a hug. “I am not laughing at them, goose.”

Pippin pulled back a little, confused. “Then what do you keep laughing about?”

Merry kissed him on the nose. “I am laughing at you. Because no matter how much you insist that you are not the Ernil i Pheriannath that is exactly what you are, and you don’t even realise it.”

“Merry, I know you didn’t have that much ale. What are you going on about?”

Merry’s only answer was more delighted laughter as he ambled off down the street. Pip stood where he was, trying to figure out what Merry meant, but his cousin’s voice drifted back to him. “Come along, o’ son of the Thain of the entire Shire. It’s time we were both in bed.”

Pippin thought hard for a moment then his mouth dropped open as he suddenly understood. “Oh.” He said softly to himself. “Oh, my.” Then he laughed aloud, and called to his cousin, “Wait for me, Meriadoc. Your prince commands it!” Merry ignored him, of course, and walked on, but stuck out a hand for Pip to take when he caught Merry up. The Prince of the Halflings and his most loyal subject walked hand in hand, laughing, the rest of the way to their rooms.

End