A Spring Day at Cormallen

By Marigold

Thank you to Llinos for the beta

A/N: This little scene fits into Baylor’s wonderful epic tale Fate and The High King’s Falcon

He should not be alive. He should not and yet, even as I have this thought, he throws his head back and laughs in glee, very much alive indeed. He looks at me, glowing with pleasure and I laugh too, filled with joy at his delight, but then he must quickly pay heed to his business or risk losing his new treasure.

Merry thought of it of course and he and Sam spent the morning scouring the camp for materials, carrying each new acquisition to Frodo, who actually assembled the contraption, a fact that surprised me for a moment though I suppose it should not have. As he is the eldest cousin I can imagine Frodo having done things of this sort innumerable times before.

They presented the gift to Pippin when he awoke from his morning sleep. He was thrilled and insisted upon trying it out at once, begging my permission so enthusiastically that I could not refuse him. I kept my misgivings to myself about his ability to make it work with his foot and knee troubling him so but I need not have worried, as Merry took charge.

Under Pippin’s quite vocal direction, with additional shouted advice from Frodo and Sam, Merry ran to and fro until he was successful. He then gave control over to Pippin and dropped to the long grass with the others to watch.

It has been nearly a quarter hour now and still they are content. All are seated on the grass, Sam dozing, Frodo idly combing his fingers through Merry’s curls, Merry offering Pippin advice, which for the most part is being cheerfully ignored. Pippin holds the spindle and pulls on the string like an expert despite the heavy bandage on his hand, controlling the kite effortlessly from his seat amongst the daisies and buttercups.

No, he should not be alive. When I came to him it had been many hours since he fell and I was already grieving for him. When Gimli found him and I was sent for, I scarcely dared to believe that there was hope. I feared that my skill would not be great enough and we would lose him yet. I feared I would have to bear his death twice over and the pain would be doubled for us all, but I had to try. The other healers looked at me askance, thinking I have no doubt that I should have been taking steps to ease his passing rather than to call him back to suffer needlessly before finally succumbing to wounds that would fell a warrior of great strength and stature. 

Even had I failed and Pippin suffered even more, and needlessly, ere the end, I knew that his bright spirit would have insisted I give him any chance that I could, not because he wished to hold onto life for his own sake, but because of the anguish it would cause his friends and family should he die thus. Eclipsed above all by the anguish he would cause Merry in his leaving. And that would never do.

Some of those same healers now stand with others of the men at a polite distance, as enthralled by the kite flying and at the recovery of the very much alive chief kite flyer as are the other hobbits, as am I. We all watch him as he chatters and sings in the warm sunshine, full of youth and joy and life, the very symbol of this bright new age that beyond all hope we find ourselves in.

No, Pippin should not be alive, but he is, and I think that of all the wondrous things that I have gained by the great deeds of many that his shining, radiant life is among the most precious of all.

End