Matchmakers

There they were again. That same group of lads that Pippin had been noticing of late running about the White City. The hobbit knight watched from the doorway of a shop he had been about to leave. The lads ran by followed a bit later by an out of breath fruit vendor.

“Thieves! Little dirty, scrounging thieves,” the man tired to yell after the lads but his volume was impaired by his labored breathing. The vendor stopped, leaning his hands on his knees as he bent to ease the stitch in his side.

“Sir?” Pippin said walking over to the man. “Do you know anything about those lads?”

The man shook his head before standing straighter to draw in a deeper breath. “No.” He drew another breath, finally turning to look at who had approached him. It seemed a bit of a farce that a lad would be wearing a uniform. His eyes suddenly widened. No, this had to be the halfling the new King had knighted.

“No, Sir. I don’t know a one of them, though this is the second time this week that they have stolen from the bins outside my shop. Might you be able to have some of the King’s men see to dealin’ with them, Sir Knight.”

Pippin wasn’t pleased with the sound of the King’s men “dealing with” the lads. Granted, they oughtn’t be stealing, but he couldn’t shake the feeling these boys had good reason, despite the fact that they also seemed to be having great fun making off with their booty. Pippin set his lips in a firm line. He fully intended to find out more about that group of lads.

“I’ll do what I can,” he told the man handing him enough coin to more than cover the price of the stolen goods. As the hobbit made his way to the house he shared with the other Companions of the Ring, a plan started to form in his head.

Pippin went to Strider that evening to request some days with no duty. It was an odd request as previously he had insisted that he be given regular hours of duty the same as every other Citadel Guard. Odder yet was his refusal to give any real reason for the request. All he would say was that he had some matters that had arisen that needed looking into further, and he would give the King a full report when he himself knew the whole of the situation. His hobbit knight had asked for no favors to this point, so King Elessar gladly granted Sir Peregrin’s request. He would have no official duties to perform until such time as he felt the matters at hand had been properly attended to.

It was in the late afternoon a few of days later that a small group of boys of various ages stood in the deep shadow of a narrow alley. The tallest nodded his head toward a curly haired youth out in the street near a vegetable seller’s cart.

“He’s good,” Berthar whispered to the boys behind him. “He’s pocketed a bunch of carrots, three potatoes and an onion and the old peddler doesn’t even suspect.”

Cunrad nodded, though it was rather pointless as he was behind Berthar. “It was the same at the bakers. A loaf of bread and a sack of biscuits with no one as much as batting an eye.”

Malger leaned forward and sniggered. “And look at him. Looks to not have a care in the world. Like he’s not even worried about getting caught.”

“I think we’ve a new friend.” Berthar turned and winked at the lads, gave them a nod and in an instant the alley was empty.

Pippin had watched the boys for the last few days, dressed in clothes he had borrowed from Bergil so as to look like just any other Gondorian lad. The boys met in a busy market square in the second circle of the city late enough in the morning that the market was crowded. They would then go separate ways to spend the day stealing as much food as they could, eating some as they went but saving most to share for one big meal in the early evening. Pippin had silently followed them. They cooked over a small fire in a hidden open spot amongst some of the destroyed buildings that had not yet been cleared away. Then, before the light faded into dusk, they would put out the fire , lest the glow of it give their hiding spot away, and disperse to spend the night in whatever nook or cranny they could find. Not a one of them went to a house.

Despite how he looked to the group of lads, Pippin was more afraid than he had ever been before when, back home in the Shire, he had been out on a lark of pinching a bit of goods to eat. He had started out just a Took lad who happened to be related to the family of the Master of Brandy Hall. Important enough but not too much so. Then it had been a bit touchier when he was the son of The Took and Thain, but even then it was thought in the Shire that lads would be lads. Now, however . . . now he was a knight of the realm of Gondor, personal friend of the High King Elessar. He hadn’t been able to stand even small thoughts of what might happen should he be caught stealing from merchants.

Pippin rounded a corner and went a short ways down a narrow lane when Berthar suddenly appeared, blocking the way. Pippin stopped short with a start, turned as if to flee only to find the rest of the boys blocking his escape. He drew himself up to his full height to squarely face Berthar.

“Yer blockin’ ma way,” the curly haired lad said.

“You’ve an odd way of talking and I can stand where I want.” Berthar retorted.

“I’m from north o’ here, from beyond the Grey Wood, and yer still blockin’ ma way.” At least, Pippin thought, the part of being from somewhere north wasn’t a total lie.

Berthar took a step closer. He couldn’t make a good guess of the boy’s age, but he was definitely shorter. Berthar easily looked down at the curly haired boy. “You’ve nowhere you’re going, so why say I’m blockin’ yer way?” he mocked the shorter boy’s way of speaking.

Suddenly, the smaller lad was gone. Quick as a frightened piglet, he had ducked and run past Berthar.

“Wait!” Berthar yelled then, waving the other boys to follow, ran after the boy.

He didn’t get far. Just around the first turn in the narrow lane, Berthar tripped and fell . . . over the curly haired lad. He had laid down across the lane to trip his pursuer, then quickly stood over the bigger boy. The new boy made sure the group’s downed leader lay between himself and the rest of the boys as they rounded the bend.

“Now, this seems a bit more fair ta me. Rather than all ‘o you boxin’ me in.”

Berthar made a grab at the stranger’s ankle, getting his hand stomped upon by the lad’s bare foot for his efforts. He stifled his yelp of pain and the others stepped back a step.

“Yer slow!” The stranger snapped, then the look in his eyes softened. “I didn’ want ta do that.” The tone in the curly haired lad’s voice sounded sincere. “I jus don’ know what ya all are after me for. I’ve done nought ta hurt any o’ ya. Well . . . ‘til just now.”

“You’re good,” Cunrad said. “That’s all. We’ve been watching you and, well, you’ve not even been noticed by the merchants, let alone caught.”

The new lad blushed a bit. “I’ve had practice, o’ a sort. We raised sheep and ya have ta sneak up on ’em a bit ta catch ‘em fer shearin’. I learned to move calm but have quick hands.”

The group of boys all nodded, that sounded reasonable to them.

“Can I get up?” Berthar asked.

“Aye.”

The barefooted lad put out his hand and helped the bigger boy up.

“I’m guessing you have a name,” Berthar said as he dusted himself off.

“Adalgrim, at yer service,” Pippin replied while in his head he was hoping his Grandfather’s honor wasn’t being too horribly offended by the number of lies his progeny was telling, including the borrowing of his name.

Berthar’s eyebrows rose. “At my service, eh. Well, someone taught you manners.”

“Even farm lads know their manners, or ought.”

“Well said,” Cunrad put in. “But we need to be moving along before we attract attention. We all know what to do, I’ve got Adalgrum.”

In an instant, only Cunrad and Adalgrim stood in the lane. Just as quickly, the larger boy had the smaller pinned against a wall.

“We’ve agreed to let you join us, but I swear to you, you’ll pay dearly if you give anyone word of where we meet.”

“Not a word.” the curly haired boy said firmly, looking Cunrad steadily in the eyes. “And it’s Adalgrim not Adalgrum.”

Cunrad looked the lad over as he backed away. “It should be Adalgrime by the look of you.” He laughed a bit as he draped his arm over the newcomer’s shoulders. “Come along, Grimy, it’s time for supper.”

2

“Is that stew nearly ready?”

“I’ll take another piece of cheese.”

“This milk is really good! Who pinched it?”

The voices softly swirled around in a ruined building that was tucked against the mountainside in the First Circle of the city. The First Circle had been the most damaged and these areas up against the mountain’s flank were not high on the list for repairs. They had contained mostly storerooms and it was felt to be more important to repair homes and businesses first. Storerooms could wait until nearer to harvest when the need for storage would be greater. Though roofless, a good deal of this large building remained standing, shielding the boys from prying eyes.

“You said you come from up north?”

Adalgrim nodded as he swallowed the bite of bread he had in his mouth. “Aye.”

The twins sat one on either side of the new boy.

“We’re from here,” said Faramund

“From the Fifth Circle,” added Garamund

There was a pause, then Faramund added, “Well we were before the War. Now we’re from nowhere, I guess.”

Adalgrim glanced at the boys. Sorrow marred their youthful faces. “Yer home got . . . damaged way up there?” he asked.

“No, it’s just there’s no one there anymore.” Garamund’s voice faded off.

“Our Mother died three years ago from a fever,” Faramund explained quietly. “And Father was a soldier of the city. He . . . fought on the Pelennor.”

The twins said no more for a few moments.

“I’m sorry,” Adalgrim muttered, keeping his eyes focused on the bread in his hands.

“They tried to put us in one of the orphanages, if you can imagine.” There was a bit of fire in Faramund’s voice. “In with the babes and children. And they treated us as if we were still little boys. Silly games to play and early bedtimes and naps during the day.”

“How old are ya?”

“We’re fourteen,” Garamund proudly said. “Nearly men of the city.”

Pippin held back the chuckle that threatened to rise in his throat. As he recalled, Bergil had told him that a lad had to be eighteen to join the army and twenty to be considered a grown man. The twins were a full six years from their majority. But, Pippin thought, they were definitely not children who had need of nap times. He remembered the visits he had made to one of the orphanages in the Sixth Circle, it was a pleasant enough place but lads this age would not have fit in well with what he had observed there.

“What about you?” Faramund asked. “Why are you here instead of . . . wherever it was you said you’re from?”

“Ma Ma died birthin’ me, and ma Pa was killed by orcs while I was . . .” Adalgrim’s voice failed him for a moment. “I was off with a friend fishin’ at a pond near ta his Pa’s farm. Nigh ta three miles from our place. I came here ‘cause I couldn’ work a farm alone and I had no other family. I thought I might find work here.”

The story had been worked out with Bergil’s help. Pippin was surprised at how easily he played his part, unaware that a great deal of it was the sorrow he felt for the twin’s losses.

“How old are you? You’re shorter than us, though your feet seem a good size. Why aren’t you wearing any boots?” Garamund nodded down at Adalgrim's dry, tough looking bare feet.

This had also been worked out with Bergil.

“I’m thirteen,” Adalgrim replied. “Just small fer ma age, ma Pa always said.” He looked down at his feet. “ ‘Cept fer ma feet and he said I’d grow inta them someday.”

The three boys looked at Adalgrim’s feet. Pippin hoped the hint of darkness from the remains of his foot hair didn’t show in the soft light of the ruined building. No boots had been found that he could tolerate wearing. It had been the hardest thing of all . . . letting Bergil cut then shave off his foot hair.

“Ma boots wore out an’ I’ve not found a pair to pinch that fit me,” Adalgrim explained.

“They’re not that much too big for you,” Garamund said.

“Stew’s ready!” Berthar called out loudly enough for all to hear him, but it wasn’t a shout.

“Stop staring at Grimy’s feet or there won’t be any stew left for you,” Malger said with a laugh as he passed them, using Cunrad’s name for the curly haired boy.

The twins and Adalgrim went to get their share, putting an end to their conversation. The boys all observed the standing silence, then the meal was eaten hurriedly. Each lad left as soon as he finished his meal and within fifteen minutes, the building was empty.

So it went for the next three days and nights. Pippin was Adalgrim, the barefooted boy with the calm demeanor and lightening quick hands. And all the while, he listened. The number of lads in the group at dinnertime changed each day, but he got to know the boys that were the core of the group. Each lad’s tale was similar, though not all were sons of Gondor’s soldiers.

Cunrad’s father had been a shopkeeper. Cunrad had been sent out of the city with the women and children to watch over his aunt who had lived with them. She died of a long standing illness while on the road to Lossarnach and Tumladen. Cunrad returned to Minas Tirith to find both the shop and his father gone. He was sixteen.

Malger, thirteen, stayed near to Cunrad, drawing comfort from the older boy. They had known one another somewhat, their fathers’ shops being near to each other. Malger’s family had lived in a small village in Lebennin until his mother was pulled from her husband’s arms and slain by orcs. Malger’s father barely survived the attack himself and they moved to the city as soon as he had recovered. His father was part of a group of shopkeepers who had some soldierly training and would leave their businesses to help with the fighting. He had died at the gates of Minas Tirith.

Berthar, at seventeen, was the eldest of the main group. His father had been a soldier, a Guard of the Citadel. Bergil recognized him while helping Pippin form his plans and for that reason Pippin had been forced into joining the group alone. Berthar’s story was the same as the twins, though his father had perished before the Black Gates. The prospect of being in the orphanage had been toughest for Berthar. When the war was over and news of his father’s death had come to him, he had only ten months before he would be old enough to join the army of Gondor. But until he turned eighteen, the oldest lad had nowhere he belonged.

The end of Pippin’s third full day of being with the street boys found him creeping silently into the house shared by the Companions of the Ring. He had decided he knew enough to bring the matter to Strider and so would not be going back to the market in the morning.

“Don’t bother lying down.”

Pippin nearly fell over from the start Merry’s voice gave him. He stumbled to his bed, sat down and put his hand to his chest. Merry went to the night stand and lit the lamp before pulling up a chair to sit across from his cousin.

“You’ve been gone a week and all the explanation we get is a hastily written note saying you have work you are doing for Strider and you’ll be back soon. Then today, while I’m taking a leisurely stroll through a market in the Third Circle, what do I see but my cousin, my cousin who is a knight of this realm mind you, out of uniform, in ragged clothes and stealing from a fruit vendor. Stealing, Peregrin Took!”

Merry leaned closer to the wide-eyed hobbit before him. The color had drained from Pippin’s face and he was certain the lad was trembling. “As he should be!” Merry grimly thought.

“What . . . ever . . . were . . . you . . . thinking . . . Pippin?” Merry accented each word with a stab of his forefinger into Pippin’s chest. “Do you know what they do to thieves here? Do you?”

Pippin speechlessly shook his head. Suddenly it seemed that he should have discussed that subject with Bergil.

“They lock them up in a prison for the rest of their life.” Merry paused to let that bit of information sink into Pippin’s brain. “But that is only for an everyday sort of thief. They do even better if he’s a soldier or a noble.” Merry’s voice was getting harsher and tighter with every word, and Pippin felt the look he was getting might set him on fire. “They expect better of soldiers and nobles, Pippin, so they give them a worse punishment. They make an example of them to the people of Gondor. Are you listening to me?” Merry once again poked his finger into his cousin’s chest.

Pippin nodded.

“They flog them. Do you know what a flogging is, Pippin?”

Pippin nodded.

“I thought you did. They flog them in a public square, before they hang them by their necks in a public square. Do you know what hanging does, Pippin?”

“Ki - kills th - them?”

“Yes! Kills them. Kills them . . . Peregrin . . . Took . . . Knight . . . of . . . Gondor!” Merry’s finger once more aided in making his point clear.

Pippin absently rubbed at the sore spot on his chest.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Merry said snidely as he dismissively waved his hand at Pippin’s gesture. “That won’t hurt at all compared to how your back will hurt from your flogging. Though naught to worry about that either. Your back won’t bother you at all once you’ve been hung.”

Pippin said nothing, he could only sit there and tremble.

“Did you know any of this, Pip?” Merry’s voice had softened. He swallowed hard before he continued. “Did you have any idea at all of what might befall you? Let alone the horrible shame of it all. The shame and humiliation this would bring down on those who have loved you and cared for you. Strider. Legolas and Gimli, Gandalf and Faramir. And us, Pippin. Did you even think what this would do to Frodo? To me, Pippin?”

“Did anyone . . . else,” Pippin choked a bit. He coughed a few times before he could continue. “Did anyone else see me?”

Merry slouched back into his chair, his left elbow rested on the chair’s arm and he rested his forehead in his hand. He shook his head. “I can only assume not, seeing as we are sitting here talking instead of in the prison, awaiting your flogging and execution.”

“I knew it would be . . . terrible if I were caught, Merry. I - I didn’t know they would do all that to me, but that wouldn’t be as bad as hurting all of you. Believe me, I did think of that.”

Merry shifted his head to look at his cousin, his cheek now resting on his knuckles. “Is that supposed to comfort me, Pip? Everything is fine now because, well, you *had* thought about it?” Merry sounded tired, and amazingly like Pippin’s father. Pippin glumly thought, “Why not? He’s heard that tone enough over the years. Why shouldn’t he just use it himself?”

“I had a good reason, Merry. It was the only way I could find out . . .”

“Oh, no!” Merry cut him off and once again leaned forward to glare into Pippin’s eyes. “Oh, no. This wasn’t just to satisfy some curious notion of yours, was it? Because if it was, Peregrin Took, *I’ll* flog you myself. And I’m sure Frodo and Sam, Strider and Gandalf will all want a turn at you as well. Maybe even Legolas and Gimli.”

“No. Well, yes, but . . .”

“Pippin!” Merry fell back against the chair once more, this time both hands covered his face.

“Merry, listen. Please! It was not for me, it really wasn’t. I mean . . . I wanted to know but only so I could help them. They aren’t bad sorts at all. I knew they weren’t. They just don’t know what else to do, Merry.”

Pippin was on his knees clutching at his older cousin’s hands, trying to pull them from Merry’s face. Merry fought the effort for a few moments then let his hands be pulled away. He’d seen Pippin’s pleading looks before, but never quite like this. The lad looked truly desperate.

“They think they’ve no choice. They’re too old to be coddled like faunts, but they’re not old enough to be on their own. They’re good lads, Merry, really they are.”

Merry’s brows drew together and his right one rose. “Who, Pippin? You’re not making any sense, as usual. Start at the beginning, would you, and try to put things in their proper order.”

Pippin shifted his legs out from under himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. He nodded eagerly at Merry. “Well, Merry, I’d been at the pastry shop in the market of the Second Circle a few days in a row and I’d kept noticing some boys . . .”

The tale unfolded in a rather orderly fashion, for Pippin, with Merry only interrupting a few times. Pippin told him every detail he could think of, all about the lads he had become most aquatinted with and how they were doing the best they could with what they had.

“I’ve some ideas on what could be done to help. I came home tonight to get a good sleep, as I’ve not had a good sleep in several days, what with sleeping in doorways and once in a chicken house. Then planned to tell you, Frodo and Sam about all of this and my ideas how to help the lads at first breakfast so you could help me put it all in good form to present to Strider.”

Merry didn’t say anything for a few moments. He had let his eyes wander a bit as Pippin talked, ending up looking downwards. Looking at Pippin sitting cross legged. Looking at his cousin’s feet.

“This is important to you, isn’t it Pip?” Merry softly asked.

That wasn’t exactly what Pippin expected. “Well . . . yes. Yes it is, Merry. Bergil could have easily been one of those lads. The boys I met that first day I was here, all of his friends, it has happened to some of them. Bergil recognized Berthar and he said there are three other boys he hasn’t seen in weeks. That’s why I did all this alone. The plan at first had been Bergil and I together with me being his younger brother, but Berthar knows Bergil.”

“So you pretended to be a Man-child.”

“Yes, I told you that. I told you the story we made up for me.”

Merry finally looked up. It was a strange look Pippin saw in those dark grey-blue eyes he knew so well. Hurt, pride, sorrow, concern and love all flitted through them.

“You shaved your foot hair off.” The same emotions filled Merry’s voice.

Pippin looked down at his Mannish looking feet. “Yes. We couldn’t find any boots we could easily borrow that fit me. They all hurt me. I had to look like a boy.” He sounded as though he was leaving things unsaid as he caressed his hairless right foot with his left finger tips. “It will grow back,” he sighed.

“Well,” Merry said as he sat up. He stuck his hand under Pippin’s chin to make his cousin look up. “You were absolutely, positively, totally daft to go stealing from the merchants. You took the most terrible chance doing that. But,” Merry smiled, “I don’t really see how else you could have learned what you did about those lads. Trying to simply talk to them in the markets and such wouldn’t have worked.”

Merry reached over to rumple Pippin’s hair. “You were doing this to help others and I’m proud of you, Sir Peregrin Took.” He got up, stretched then began to pace a bit. “Interestingly enough, I’ve a situation of my own that I was wondering what I could do to remedy, and your situation may hold the answer.” Merry stopped his pacing to offer a hand-up to Pippin. “I suggest we go to the kitchen, fix ourselves a lovely late night snack, then you can tell me what you have thought of to help the lads and I’ll tell you about the situation I’m concerned with. I think we’re going to find they dovetail nicely.”

“You’re not going to flog me, then?” Pippin asked as they headed out of his bedroom.

“Not yet. But you had better be on your best behavior for a good long time.”

3

King Elessar still found it amazing how someone could take what should be a simple issue and turn it into an hour long appointment. And this had actually gone beyond the hour. Mind, the gentleman’s complaint was valid, but he and the friend he brought as a witness had spent nearly half the hour praising their new King’s decisions and his interest in helping the merchants of Minas Tirith, and now they were making a good deal too much of the lads who were stealing from their shops and booths. They were making him late for the audience Merry and Pippin had requested. Pippin’s note mentioned that it dealt with the matter for which he had requested to be excused from duty, and Strider was interested in what had taken hold of his young knight’s attention.

Finally, the King gave the slightest of nods to the guards at the throne room doors. The only way to be rid of the merchant would be to simply bring his next appointment into the hall.

“And just this week, Your Majesty,” the merchant droned on, “they’ve a new boy with them. A slick hand he is and no mistake. If it hadn’t been for the halfling that is with the King of Rohan staring at the lad, I would never had noticed him at his thieving. I did get a good look at his face and I’m sure . . .”

Strider had been watching Merry and Pippin jauntily approaching in their uniforms. He had just breathed a sigh of relief knowing this would put an end to his current appointment when two things happened that caused the sigh to catch in his throat. The longwinded merchant mentioned Merry, and Pippin stopped in mid stride, nearly falling on his face, as he turned deathly pale.

Merry kept walking. The King started to rise. The merchant turned, saw the two hobbits, and shouted, “That’s him, my lord! That’s the lad who stole from me yesterday!”

Pippin slid to the floor in a graceful swoon. Merry stood gaping at Strider and the merchant.

“Thief! Thief!” the man shouted, pointing at the supine hobbit on the floor.

The guards came running and for awhile all was chaos.

A short while later a contrite Pippin sat in a chair, a reviving drink on a small table at his side. The merchant had been calmed, given a very brief explanation of the matter, paid for his stolen goods and sent on his way with assurances that the young knight would be dealt with. Merry looked a great deal like a ruffled bird. The King, after his initial shock at the revelation, rather enjoyed the bit of excitement that it brought to what had been a boring morning.

Pippin shakily raised his glass. “To Merry,” he said. “My deepest thanks for nearly getting me caught. You only spotted me because you taught me how to pinch things in the first place. You know what to look for.” He drank down a large amount of the liquid in one gulp, shivered, then put the glass back on the table. “What with flogging and hanging, you would have had a marvelous story to tell my family.”

Merry looked indignant, though his heart wasn’t really in it. It would have been horrible to have had his noticing Pippin’s actions be what led to his cousin being caught and executed. “You were still the fool who was doing the stealing, “ he said and raised his glass at his cousin before he also took too large a gulp of the drink. He closed his eyes, looked a bit ill for a moment, then slowly opened them again.

Strider laughed. “Do you two really think there is no recourse for an accused criminal in my land? Pippin would have had his chance to speak. As we just witnessed, the offended merchant himself was touched by the plight of those boys and would not have pressed his charge.”

“But you also told him you would deal with me. Which, by the way, is the very phrase that started this whole situation, or at least got me involved in the situation.”

“And I shall, Pippin. As soon as I can decide what to do with you, it shall be done.” The King grinned evilly at his child-height knight. “I should most likely just turn you over to Frodo, he seems rather good at handling errant Tooks.”

Pippin paled a bit, but quickly recovered. He had worked his way around his eldest cousin in the past.

“Now that we know what Pippin has been doing,” Strider cast a sidelong glance at Pippin to make sure the lad knew he wasn’t out of trouble yet, “what about your concerns, Merry? The note said you also had a matter to bring to my attention.”

“True. Mine is not as dramatic as Thief Took’s,” Merry nodded toward Pippin who waved off his comment but slumped a bit lower in his chair. “It was actually later in the day yesterday as I was walking off my anger . . .”

***********

Merry shoved hard at the library’s doors. He had been looking up Gondorian law concerning the punishment of thieves. The look on his face put off the few guardsmen and nobles of the court who otherwise would have greeted the hobbit. He stared straight ahead not really heeding where he was going as he strode across the Citadel grounds then out into the city.

“Fool! Idiot! Thoughtless, disrespectful, impudent . . . TOOK!” Merry muttered under his breath as he stomped along. “I know he said he’s been a bit bored, standing about at Strider’s side most of the day, everyday. But he also said it was an honor worth being bored. Now this! What if someone else saw him? One would think they would have cried out at once and had him arrested. But what if someone else noticed and they choose to take it to the King personally? It just won’t be possible. He can’t have been spared in all he’s been through to be lost to . . .”

Merry’s discourse on his cousin was halted when he tripped over something and fell flat on his face in the road. Well actually, it was more a path he realized as he started to push himself up. He had heedlessly wandered off the road and into a small park.

“Oh dear! Let me help you up, lad.”

“What? Eh, no. That is, I’m fine. Truly.”

A woman was helping him to sit up. She was neither young nor old, with a pleasant voice and a motherly way about her.

“But really, my lad . . . Oh, my!” she said, suddenly taking in his Rohirric uniform and his furry, unshod feet. “You’re no lad. You are one of the noble halflings.”

“We’re not nobles, good lady,” he hurriedly said, forgetting that as knights he and Pippin were, indeed, nobles. “But what’s this?” Merry asked as he stood and got a closer look at her face. “You are crying! Did I hurt you? Did I fall on you, or was it you I tripped upon? You must be hurt. Here,” he said guiding her to sit on the stone bench she had been sitting on before. “Here. Sit down. I’m terribly sorry.”

“No, it isn’t your fault, Sir Knight. I was . . .” she looked at the handkerchief wadded in her hands. “The tears have naught to do with you, good Sir.”

Merry sat beside her. “Are you hurt or ill, mistress?”

“Hurt of heart , perhaps. Truly, things are not as bad as they might be. I have my dress shop to occupy my days, and sometimes my evenings. But it is after the shop has closed that I miss them most.” She blew her nose into the handkerchief then continued. “My daughter, sweet blessed child she was, I lost seven years ago to an accident. A load on a cart came untied and . . . she was crushed, Sir.”

“You have my deepest sympathies, mistress. Loss is never easy.” Merry said softly. His thoughts strayed a moment to someone else who had been crushed, but survived. He kept moving his hand as though to pat her arm, but wasn’t sure if it was a proper thing to do, so he kept lowering it again.

“My dear husband did not come back from Osgiliath . . .” She gazed out of the small park toward where the old ruined city lay. She gave herself a bit of a shake then looked at the hobbit beside her. “It is the evenings that are hardest, good Sir. When there is no one else about and the house is still. A friend of mine suggested that I go to one of the orphanages and see about taking in a child, but I’m not accustomed to the ways of a babe or small child. I need my days to tend to my shop, to earn my way in this world. It would be a comfort, though, to have someone home in the evening, to share a bit of supper, some conversation or a game of cards. Then to know, even though the world isn’t quite as dangerous a place as it was before the war, it would be such a comfort to know I’m not there alone in the night . . . “

*********

“I spoke with her a while.” Merry took a sip of his drink now that his story was drawing to a close. “She invited me to supper and I accepted, though I did not stay long as I needed to be home to catch a thief.”

“Yes, yes,” Pippin sighed, dismissing Merry’s comment with a roll of his eyes. “Get on with things. You’re getting to the important part now.”

“After finding out what this scoundrel had really been doing, and when he mentioned ideas he had to help the lads, I had an idea of my own.”

“Yes, so we’ve combined them, Strider,” Pippin put in quickly. He sat up now and leaned toward his friend and king. “There are lads in this city that don’t need to be watched all day like faunts, I mean like wee children, but have no home or support. We’re sure there are others in the city like Merry’s widow . . .”

“Erelieva,” Merry interjected.

“Yes,” Pippin said then hurried on. “The lads need jobs to do, my lord.” Aragorn started a bit at Pippin’s formal address, but did not interrupt. He took it, correctly, as reflecting how important this was to his friend. “Some are near the age to join the army and wish to do so as their fathers were soldiers. They can’t join yet, but might they apprentice to the army’s smithies, harness makers, cooks and others? That way they are sort of in the army just not yet soldiers.”

“And could the other lads just be apprenticed in some occupation?” Merry spoke up. “They could work during the day and go home to be with a widow or widower for their evening meal and night’s lodging.”

“Or lodge with their teacher, as is oft the arrangement with apprentices,” Pippin added.

“This would help the boys to not need to steal,” Merry said. “As they could be paid a small stipend.”

“And would help those alone in empty homes to not be so lonely,” finished Pippin.

Strider sat a few moments considering the ideas he had been presented. “Yes,” he said slowly. “And there are many tradesmen who are lacking enough workers to get things tended to quickly. Even though the lads would need to be under an experienced worker at first, the work would soon go quicker.”

“And younger lads, say thirteen year olds, could be put to work doing cleaning up for now, until they are old enough to do a harder job,” Pippin added.

King Elessar nodded. He waved over his adjutant. “First, Ricimer, see to luncheon being brought in. Then you are to join us at table during which time we will put all of this into the form of a decree to help some of the citizens of Minas Tirith.”

The aid bowed and turned to see about the meal when the King stopped him.

“And Ricimer.”

“My lord?”

“See if there is a cell available to lock up a thief.”

“Strider!” Pippin cried out, while the King heartily laughed.

*****************
FINIS