A/N: Golden had the idea for this story and sought out a native English speaker to do the actual writing. I read her idea and request and immediately volunteered to be the writer. She accepted my offer and we got to work. We also have and will continue to receive medical information assistance from Surgical Steel.

The title is based on a starter from Marigold’s Challenge #39 that appears near the end of the Prologue.

This chapter edited by Marigold and Llinos

Pearl Took

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The Blessing

Prologue

Merry walked down the gangway of the Gondorian ship. The area around the quay was teeming with Men meeting the ships and he sighed as he was pushed along.

“Is there anyone here to meet me?” he wondered aloud.

He had been looking too far afield, for at the bottom of the gangway stood Legolas and Gimli.

“Greetings young hobbit!” Gimli said, though he did not look quite as cheery as the greeting sounded.

“Welcome, Meriadoc,” Legolas added quietly.

“Well,” Merry looked his friends over. “I can see you two aren’t the injured ones the note mentioned.”

“Note?” Legolas asked.

Merry reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper. “The note that came ordering me to come here with the wains.”

The elf and dwarf looked at the note.

Meriadoc,

You are to join those bringing supplies to the camp at
Cormallen.

Of your friends and kin, all live, some are injured.

Éomer
King of Rohan

“We knew you had been sent for, but did not know the request had been written. This is terse enough.” Legolas looked up from the note. “I do have a cut upon my right leg and Gimli here took a particularly bad gash to his left arm. But you are correct in saying we are not the ones referred to by King Éomer.”

“He could have said a little more. Who is injured and how they are injured would have been nice to know.” Merry made no effort to hide his frustration.

Dwarf and elf looked at the hobbit as they began to walk away from the river’s edge. Merry’s bearing was stiff and he hadn’t smiled when they had greeted him. The two shared a concerned look over the hobbit’s head.

“Everyone has been rather busy, young hobbit,” Gimli was gentle in his tone. “I’m sure that’s why your message was so brief.”

“Where in all this chaos are they?” Merry irritably asked. “All I see are wains and beasts of burden and boxes and crates and men and . . . Oh!”

They had come up to a young man holding two horses, Arod and a small chestnut horse.

“May I give you a leg-up Merry?” Legolas asked as he stood beside the smaller horse’s side. Merry accepted the offer as Legolas contiued. “It is a bit of a ride to where they are.”

Merry may have questioned his friends further on the way to the camp but Srad, his horse, was rather spirited and he had to concentrate on his riding.

More than an hour later they crested a slight rise. Before them stretched a huge city of tents.

“Now you see why we were sent to claim you, Merry.” Gimli said, laying a hand on Merry’s shoulder. “’Twould take you a lengthy time to find them in all of that without guides.”

“Yes. Yes, it would.”

“Come,” said Legolas. “We will take you to Frodo and Sam first.”

It was the beginning of a long and tiring afternoon for Merry. It was a long walk to where Frodo and Sam were housed. Their pavilion stood off from the rest of the tent city. It sat at the edge of a lovely copse of beeches, where it was quiet and the air was free of the dust raised elsewhere by the coming and going of the many healers, soldiers, horses and others in the more crowded parts of the camp.

“Welcome Merry,” Aragorn said, rising to greet the hobbit.

Merry stood still in the doorway. Frodo and Sam lay upon low pallets, covered by light blankets, with their hands resting on their stomachs. They were pale. They looked dead.

Merry stiffened even more as the colour drained from his face. Strider moved quickly to his side.

“They are sleeping, Merry. Deeply sleeping. They will heal more quickly this way and their recovery will be less painful.”

“May I touch them?” the tense hobbit whispered.

Strider smiled. “It will be good for both of them if you do.”

Merry went to where a small stool had been placed between the pallets. He moved it close to Frodo’s then sat down. Frodo was horribly thin. His cousin’s hair was cut rather short and there were still places where Merry could see the hair had been singed. There were small burn marks on Frodo’s face. Some, that had blistered and were weeping, others tender looking red spots. The neck of the garment he was wearing was large so as not to rub against the abrasion that trailed upwards across Frodo’s collarbone, up over his shoulder, around the back of his neck then down over his other shoulder. Merry reached as though to touch the angry red line, but stopped short. Frodo had said It had got heavier.

The Ring had done this to his dear cousin.

Merry shivered at the thought of how it must have hurt. Then he looked at Frodo’s hands. There were burn marks on them as well, but worse than that, the right hand was bandaged and was missing the ring-finger. Merry gently touched the remaining fingers.

“What happened to his finger?” he quietly asked.

Aragorn hesitated. He knew what had happened. He had seen it through Frodo’s eyes, felt the pain of it, as he had brought him back from the brink of death. But was Merry able to bear it?

“It happened at the Cracks of Doom,” was all he said.

Merry nodded. He somehow knew Strider wasn’t telling the full tale. Cold began to seep up Merry’s right arm. He wondered, had Frodo put on the Ring? He decided it was best not to know the answer just now. He kissed Frodo’s forehead, “You are safe now, Frodo. Sleep peacefully. I will be here to welcome you better when you awake.” Then Merry moved over to Sam’s side.

The stout gardener was no longer stout. Though not as thin as Frodo, it was obvious that neither of them had fared well. Like his master, Sam had burn marks on him and patches of singed hair. There was a bandage wrapped around Sam’s head, scrapes and bruises on his face and his hands were bandaged. It looked to Merry as though there had been a fight. He hoped Sam hadn’t had to fight with Frodo; that would have been grievous indeed. He grasped one of Sam’s shoulders then kissed his forehead. “I know you watched over him, Sam. Now we’ll all watch over you. Thank you,” he whispered then he stood up and faced Legolas, Gimli and Strider. “Where’s Pippin?”

Strider sent for one of the women who helped the healers to come sit with the Ringbearers and the four friends left the tent.

As they walked the short way to the tent where Pippin was being cared for, Strider wondered how he was going to tell Merry that he was fairly certain his young cousin was going to be facing difficulties. That like Frodo and like Merry himself, though from a different cause than either of them, Pippin would have trouble using his right hand. The lad’s left knee had been damaged. And, what worried the king most, was how long the youngest hobbit had lain trapped beneath the heavy troll. Several hours had passed before Gimli had found Pippin, and all that time the lad was barely able to breathe enough to keep himself alive.

The plan had been for Strider to tell Merry about Pippin’s injuries, but just as they neared the tent, an errand runner for the healers came up and bowed to the king.

“Your Majesty. One of those suffering from the Black Breath appears to be slipping from us once again. I was sent to find and fetch you.”

The King turned to his friends, but Merry spoke before he did.

“Go Strider. We’ll be fine here. You’re needed.”

Strider gave a quick nod. Merry knew well what the Black Breath could do to a person. “I’ll return as soon as I’m able.” He then followed after the errand lad, both at a run.

Legolas stopped at the entrance to Pippin’s tent. He looked down at Merry.
“Aragorn had intended to be with you. He is best able to tell you of Peregrin’s injuries and I do not know if he would wish us to attempt to do so in his stead. Perhaps we should wait . . .”

“No,” Merry cut the Elf off short. “No, I don’t wish to wait. Tell me what you feel you can. Strider can tell me the rest when he comes.”

They entered the tent. Gandalf sat beside a low pallet, like the ones Sam and Frodo had been laid upon. Merry swiftly moved to Pippin’s side.

“Aragorn isn’t with you?” Gandalf asked.

“He was called away,” Legolas replied. “Since you are here, Mithrandir, I shall return to keep vigil with Frodo and Sam.” He looked sadly at Merry then left.

Merry had closed his eyes. He dreaded to look at Pippin. He had more than expected Frodo and Sam to look terrible. They had gone to the Black Land itself. They had gone to a place called Mount Doom and to the Cracks of Doom. Ashamedly Merry had to admit to himself that after he was felled by the Black Breath he really had not expected to ever see Frodo or Sam again - dead or living. He had been amazed when the short note had said all were alive.

For some reason, he simply had not put Pippin in with the “. . . some injured” the note had mentioned. It was when he was walking down the gangway and saw no sign of the rascal that the fear had started to grip him. If Pip wasn’t there to greet him . . .

He heard movement behind him.

“Sit down, laddie.” He heard Gimli say as he was gently pushed downward.

He sat down. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

There was Pippin. Pale, but no burns or singed hair. Pale, but not horribly thin. He had light bruises on his face. His right hand was wrapped, but all of his fingers were there.

He didn’t really look very bad at all, though he didn’t seem to be breathing.

Merry put a hand to Pippin’s chest. He rested his thumb in the space between Pippin’s collarbones, resting it along the inside edge of the tendons there, and waited a few moments. Merry sighed. He could feel his young cousin breathing, he could feel his pulse.

“Merry.”

He had been looking at his hand on Pip’s chest so hadn’t noticed Pippin opening his eyes.

“Hullo, Pippin!”

“It’s about time you got here.” Pippin’s voice was soft and he sounded as though he was winded.

“Have you managed to catch cold?”

Pippin smiled. “No. Broken ribs. My chest is bound and . . .” he took a short, shallow breath, “it hurts to breathe very deeply. It’s . . . quite awful when I have to yawn.”

“How did you manage to break some ribs, Pip? Did you fall off Strider’s horse or something?”

“I found the lad trying to hide under a troll.” Gimli answered for Pippin.

Merry looked wide-eyed at the Dwarf.

“Aye, Meriadoc. All that was to be seen of the lad was his wee left foot. His knee got twisted or even his foot might not have showed. And when I pushed that great stinking beast off him, imagine my surprise to find the only thing that was sticking into it was young Peregrin’s sword.”

“I killed a troll, Merry!” Pippin said with as much enthusiasm as his limited breathing allowed. “Boromir would have been proud, I didn’t let go of my sword. My right shoulder aches, and my hand got hurt.”

“It isn’t broken though,” Gandalf added, noting the sudden look of concern on Merry’s face. “His hand is badly bruised.” Merry didn’t notice the wizard said nothing of the sore shoulder.

Pippin’s face contorted as he dealt with a yawn. He blinked as he smiled at his cousin. “I’m tired, Merry.”

“I’m certain you are, Pip! You close your eyes and sleep. I’m here now and I won’t go anywhere except to check on Frodo and Sam from time to time.”

“You’ve seen them?” Pippin asked excitedly. “I haven’t been able to, of course. How are they? Have they been awake yet?”

“They are thin, and have some burns and bruises on them. They are sleeping.” Merry didn’t mention the line the chain had carved into Frodo’s skin nor his missing finger. He did not mention Sam’s bandaged head and hands.

Pippin suffered through another inhibited yawn. “That’s what Strider told me, that they’re sleeping.” His eyes started to close. “I’m glad you’re here, Merry,” he said, then was asleep himself.

Merry looked at Gandalf. “He’s hurt his ribs, his leg and his right hand? That is all that is wrong with him?”

“He was carried immediately to Aragorn and it is he who has been the lad’s healer, as he has been with Frodo and Sam. He hasn’t let anyone else but the master healer here see to their care.” The wizard paused, weighing his words carefully. “I do think there were things he wished to discuss with you regarding all three of them, and I shan’t presume to have that discussion without him. Until then, you know a good deal. Try to content yourself with the fact that the four of you are all alive and together in the same place.”

Merry at first looked as though he might argue with Gandalf, but then he looked down at Pippin and nodded. “Yes. Alive and together will do for now. With the war won, there is time now to deal with anything else that arises.”

“Would you be wanting to hear the whole story of how I found the wee lad?” Gimli asked Merry. “’Twill be the first chance I’ve had to tell it with no interruptions from the Elf.”

Merry smiled and chuckled a bit at the eager look in the Dwarf’s eyes. “Then by all means tell me the tale, Gimli. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of such a rare opportunity.”

Gimli began his story, and Gandalf was glad for the conversation taking a different direction.

Later, in the still of the evening after Gimli and Gandalf had left, Merry himself was nearly asleep. There had been no sign of Strider, but Parsow had come to watch over Pippin. Parsow let Merry lie down next to Pippin while he sat in the chair Gandalf had occupied earlier.

Merry was dimly aware of someone entering the tent. He didn’t bother opening his eyes, Parsow would tend to whoever it was. Then he had the feeling of someone leaning over him. Merry opened his eyes a crack to see what was happening.

Strider had come in. Parsow was dozing in the chair, blocking the other side of the pallet, so Strider was reaching over Merry to lay his hand on Pippin’s head.

“May he be brave, and have the strong head to think with, and the strong heart to love with,
and the strong hands to work with and the strong feet to travel with and always come home
safe to his own.” **

Strider softly spoke the words, then left.

“It is an old blessing, usually spoken over newborn males in Gondor.”

Merry jumped a bit at the sound of Parsow’s voice.

“He has come in and spoken it over Pippin every night.”

“Why would he do that?”

There was a pause then Parsow replied, even softer than he had spoken before, “Pippin has need of such a blessing.”

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** The quote is from: "Five Children and It" by Edith Nesbit

Challenges

Aragorn sat in the chair Parsow had been dozing in when he had been in the tent to check on Pippin’s condition. Merry had tried to leap from the pallet but Parsow, having the advantage of not being under a blanket, was first up and out of the tent. He returned a moment later with the King in tow.

Merry was now up and pacing.

“I’ve felt as though I’ve been holding my breath all day,” the hobbit ranted. “And I’ve felt as though everyone else has been doing the same. I am glad we are all alive, don’t mistake me on that count, but I know there are things that have gone unsaid.” Merry stopped, crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his friend. “What is it that I’ve not been told, Strider?”

Strider gestured toward the stool that Merry had sat on earlier in the day when he had first come to Pippin’s side.

“Sit, Merry.”

“I don’t . . .”

“Please.”

They were the dearest of friends, but this man was also now king of a mighty realm. His quietly spoken plea hung in the air between them for a moment, then Merry, somewhat contritely, sat upon the stool.

“I had not expected to be called away as I was while walking here with you, Legolas and Gimli, but such is the way of things when one is a healer and a king. Either role ofttimes places me at other people’s bidding. My expectation was that I would talk to you here after you had time to satisfy yourself that Pippin was alive and being well cared for.”

Now Merry was contrite. He nodded his understanding as he looked down at Pippin, sleeping on the bed. “I’m sorry, Strider. My thoughts have been with three of those in your care, yours have been with all of the injured. They had said the man was still suffering from the Black Breath.” Merry looked up. “How is he faring?”

For a moment Strider said nothing, then quietly he said, “He died. So much depends on the person himself . . . He gave up the fight.”

Merry’s right arm went cold. He shivered. He was all too familiar with how tempting it could be to surrender to that Darkness.

“Had he a family?” Merry asked as he absently rubbed his arm.

Strider shook his head. “I am certain that is why he succumbed.”

The hobbit nodded as the subject of family brought him back to his own kith and kin. “Thoughts of Pippin and Frodo, Sam and my parents back home help me greatly. But that said, Strider, what is wrong with my cousins and Sam? I’m certain there is more here than I’m aware of.”

“Yes. Yes there is, Merry.” Strider closed his eyes a moment. “Where was it I had planned on beginning? Ah, yes.”

He opened his eyes to look directly into Merry’s.

“Frodo and Sam first. Sam will be fine. Foul memories will haunt him, I’m sure, but that will be true for all four of you though I wish it were not so.”

Merry nodded.

“Frodo was most difficult to call back from the darkness. There are still burdens he carries and only time will reveal if they will be too great for him to bear. He has spoken some in his sleep, as has Sam, and I saw many things when I was calling to him. Gollum was there, Merry, in the heart of the mountain.”

“I had heard that he was with them, though it chilled my heart.”

“There is more. He attacked Sam, knocking him unconcious, but worse, Frodo had put on the Ring.”

“I wondered . . .” Merry paused, his voice was a whisper as he continued, “I somehow felt he had when I saw his hand.”

Strider nodded sadly. “Gollum could either see Frodo or was so strongly drawn by the Ring that he was able to find and grapple with Frodo. The strength the madness the Ring gave them both must have been beyond what sane thought would make it. What I saw and felt was a fight the likes of which two strong, healthy men would be more believable as the combatants. In the end, Gollum claimed his Precious the only way he could; he removed it from Frodo by removing the finger that bore it. He bit off Frodo’s finger.”

Merry’s eyes went wide and he swallowed hard at the foul taste in his mouth and the lump in his throat.

“But, what otherwise may not have happened thus happened. Gollum and the Ring fell from the precipice into the fire of Mount Doom.”

Parsow had quietly come around to Merry’s side of Pippin’s bed. He had not heard this part of Frodo’s story before. It was difficult for him to hear, he knew it had to be much worse for Frodo’s cousin. He sat down on the floor beside him and laid his hand atop Merry’s chilled right hand. Their eyes met and Merry placed his other hand on Parsow’s and gripped it tightly.

A slight smile graced Aragorn’s lips. This young apprentice truly had a healer’s heart. He was grateful that Parsow had taken such a keen interest in the hobbits.

“Frodo would have let go of his life because of this,” Strider continued. “It was the hardest thing I faced in bringing him back to us. He feels that he failed in his quest, and I know that he will continue to feel thus even after he awakens. He will bear that burden but also he will struggle with physical wounds. You know of the wound he received on Weathertop.”

“How could I forget?” Merry snarled. Once again the chill spread in Merry’s arm. And yet, it filled him with a grim satisfaction; he had helped bring down the vile creature that had stabbed Frodo.

“That wound will trouble him still, and there is another. Gollum led Sam and Frodo to a most evil place and there Frodo was stung by a spider. Like unto the spiders of Bilbo’s tale, but larger.”

Merry grew pale, but said nothing. Strider continued.

“She, most likely, is mother to those that infest Mirkwood. I fear that he will continue to suffer from the poison of Shelob’s sting. Frodo’s trials have not ended with the destruction of the Ring. He faces regaining his strength of spirit and body as well as regaining full use of his maimed hand. Everything will be awkward for him at first. He will be surprised at how much that finger was used or assisted his other fingers in performing various activities.”

The king looked at Merry. “You and Sam will have to help him, and we all know that will not be easy.” He smiled. “Your older cousin can be most stubborn.”

Merry returned the smile, though with teary eyes. “Yes, stubborn enough to make it to the Cracks of Doom. But he doesn’t fare well against Sam. Sam always has been able to get Frodo to do what he ought to do.”

For a few moments they sat in silence. It was enough to know they would all do whatever was needed to help Frodo. Finally, Merry spoke.

“Parsow said that Pippin will have need of that blessing you have been saying over him. Why?”

Strider arched his eyebrow at Parsow and Merry. “I was certain you were both asleep, and that you, Parsow, had been so the other nights I have come to Pippin’s bedside. I’m not sure I’ll ever trust either of you again.”

The hobbit and the healer both blushed.

“But Parsow is correct, Merry. And though he should not have spoken out, at least he did so at a time when I was readily available to explain his comment.”

Parsow’s head hung at what was obviously a mild reprimand. He had over stepped himself in making so bold a statement. He had sensed Merry’s frustration as they had settled into their vigil that evening. Parsow had suggested that Merry lie down with Pippin partly for Pippin’s sake, but also in hopes it might ease Merry and help him to get some needed rest. He mentioned Pippin’s need only because he was certain that he could catch up with the King and bring him back.

Aragorn, noticing the young man’s response, knew his comment had been taken as he intended. He was sure that later he would receive a formal apology, in keeping with Parsow’s character. But for now, such matters were not foremost in the King’s mind.

He stood and went to the foot of the bed, pulling back the blankets to reveal Pippin’s legs.

“Much of the hurt to Peregrin doesn’t show as he lies covered up here in his bed.” Strider heard Merry’s sharp breath as he saw his cousin’s exposed leg. The left leg was noticeably swollen beneath it’s wrappings. “The bindings will come off tomorrow. His joint needed to rest for a while.”

“Gimli said his leg was twisted.” Merry’s voice was tight with anxiousness.

“His knee was dislocated. The lower leg was at an angle it is not intended to assume. As you can see, all has been set as it should be.” Strider rested his hand on the top of Pippin’s foot for a moment before replacing the covers. “There is blood flow to the lower leg, otherwise I would have needed to amputate it. Yet, it isn’t quite as I would like it to be and I am keeping a careful watch on it.”

Merry nodded. He suddenly remembered he had seen Gandalf and Parsow reach under the blankets at the foot of the bed for a moment then withdraw their hand.

“Pippin’s knee will be weak for a while. He will need to walk with assistance or with a crutch or walking stick until his muscles are strong again. He should be able to be up on it in a few weeks, possibly sooner. Hobbits do seem to heal quickly. You and Pippin even more so.”

“I think it has to do with the water of the Entwash and Treebeard’s draughts.” Merry smiled a bit at the memory of the kind leader of the Ents. “We didn’t notice it at first, but later we realized that all our hurts from the Orcs were already healed, and that for all we were dragged much of the way across Rohan, we weren’t stiff or sore.”

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully. “That would explain a great deal, yes.” He moved back to the far side of the bed and sat down as he gestured at Pippin’s bandaged right hand laying atop the blankets. “Pippin told you how his hand was injured and he mentioned his shoulder hurting?”

“Yes.”

“The hand is badly bruised and would soon be fine, if that were the only injury to be considered. I am fairly certain he has damaged more than his hand, it is his neck and shoulder that worry me.”

Strider looked up, making sure he had Merry’s full attention.

“As I examined him, when he first awoke, Pippin mentioned his neck and shoulder hurting. I asked him to move his arm and he seemed unable to.” Merry’s eyes clenched tightly. Strider hurried on with his explanation. “It might not be too bad, Merry. There are nerves that run through the shoulder and down into the arm. What will ultimately determine Peregrin’s condition is how badly they have been damaged, for they have obviously been damaged.

When I realized the condition of his arm along with his complaining of pain in his neck and shoulder, I asked Gimli to tell me again of his finding the lad. Particularly, I questioned him on the position of Pippin’s body once the troll was rolled off of him. Gimli said his left arm was up so that the forearm was covering Peregrin’s eyes, and that his face was turned rather severely to the left beneath his arm.”

Without warning, Aragorn struck out at Parsow’s face. The apprentice immediately brought his right arm up to guard himself, while at the same time turning his face to the right.

The King’s anticipated blow never fell. He purposefully stopped short.

“Just like that, Merry.”

Parsow look stunned for a moment, then all three laughed.

“Only Pippin,” the King continued, “had his right hand firmly holding his sword which was deeply imbedded in the troll. So it was his left arm that came up to guard his face and he turned his face into it. All a matter of instinct. However,” Strider’s voice grew more serious. “the troll continued it’s fall, landing on Pippin. It’s weight pressed against the upheld arm which in turn pushed against Pippin’s face, forcing it further to the left. And the pressure would have continued to build until the troll’s body finished settling, then it would have remained at that point. The muscles and nerves on the right side of Peregrin’s neck would be stretched much further than if he merely turned his head himself.”

Strider pushed up the sleeve that covered Pippin’s left arm. There was dark bruising across the outer forearm. He then motioned toward a line of lighter bruising along Pippin’s right temple.

“The bruising to his face would have been much worse if he had not been wearing a helmet. As it is, I’m somewhat surprised it didn’t break his arm. What I’m not sure of yet is whether the nerves have been stretched only or if some may have been torn. If all are stretched, though it will take time and exercises, his arm and hand should return to normal, or nearly so. And I do feel that most of the nerves are only stretched. If, however, any were torn, then whatever part of his arm they connected to will never work again. I will know more when the bruising in his hand lessens and I can better examine the feeling and function in it.”

Merry sat still, quietly thinking over everything Strider had said.

“Is there anything else?” He was hoping there wasn’t. There was already a great deal to handle.

Strider looked deep into Merry’s eyes. There was more. A fear that niggled at his thoughts. Did Merry really need to know when there was a fair chance that nothing would come of it? And yet, who better to watch for any symptoms?

He decided against it. He would speak with Parsow and trust more to his trained eye.

“No. Nothing else. Is all this not enough for you, Meriadoc Brandybuck? Dear Samwise will be driven to distraction. You have exercises for your own arm and hand, Frodo will be needing help with his hand and Pippin with his arm, his hand and his leg. All that and I am counting on all of you to keep each other from feeling overwhelmed by it all.”

“Yes, yes!” Merry held up his hand to stave off the barrage as he laughed. “It is quite enough, Strider.”

“And, my dear friend,” Strider said as he stood, “more than enough for this one night. Do you wish to stay with Pippin? We do have a tent prepared for you.”

Merry smiled down at his young cousin, then carefully drew back the blankets and eased himself down along side of Pippin. “Thank you for that, Strider, and I’m sure I will want to seek a bed of my own eventually, but for this night, I will stay with Pip. As long as Parsow keeps vigil.” He looked inquiringly at the young Gondorian.

Parsow smiled and bowed. “It will be an honor. And though I may appear to doze, Merry, I assure you I shall be attentive.”

“I’m not altogether sure he ever sleeps, Merry,” Aragorn chided as he bent to kiss each hobbit on the forehead. Pippin muttered a bit, uttered a soft ‘ow’ as he tried to turn over, then settled back into his slumber. “Sleep well now and awake when you will. You have no duty to attend other than the welfare of your friends.”

Healing and Honors

The next several days were busy ones. Pippin was, indeed, healing more quickly than a Man would. He had been more than eager to tell Strider that Tooks were known to be fast healers, but the King was inclined to giving much of the credit to the Ent draughts. Though it had been nearly a month since they had drunk them, Strider felt they were yet helping both Merry and Pippin to be “green and growing” as the two hobbits joked. Still, the youngest hobbit was in considerable pain.

His knee ached, both from the injury itself and from the exercises that were being done to strengthen it. The pain in his ribs had subsided to an occational dull ache so his chest was no longer bound. Pippin’s arm still pained him greatly and this had delayed the beginning of the exercises needed to return the arm to it’s fullest function. This last had Strider worried, though he had said nothing to anyone but Parsow.

Merry, Strider was certain, would be fine. Most of the stiffness in his arm was gone and being around Pippin, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf and Parsow was keeping his spirits raised. Merry’s spirit was what worried the king the most. Far and away the worst damage to the Brandybuck had been to his spirit. He seemed to have been particularly susceptible to the effects of the Black Breath and had been closely exposed to it on at least four occasions.

Although he had said nothing to the hobbits, their king had plans for them. He and Eomer wished to honor them but more importantly he wished for Merry and Pippin to have at least a semblance of well-being before the Ring Bearers awoke. He truly felt it would not be best if the first thing Frodo would see upon waking was his two young cousins obviously injured. Frodo would have enough guilt upon his heart without taking the blame for Merry and Pippin’s injuries as soon as saw them. But it was becoming clear that Pippin’s arm might still be in the sling when Frodo and Sam awakened.

These thoughts were uppermost in Aragorn’s mind one afternoon as he passed Pippin’s tent. He had told Merry and Pippin that morning that Frodo and Sam would be awakening in two days.

“One more time around, Merry. Please!” Pippin’s whiney voice could be heard through the canvas walls of the tent.

“You should rest a bit,” came Parsow’s calm, steady voice. “You are looking tired.”

“Of course I look tired. I’m always tired these days. That makes no difference whatsoever. Strider said they will be awake the day after tomorrow and I refuse to still be confined to walking around the inside of my tent or walking around the outside my tent.”

Strider stuck his head in through the door flap. “Is there a problem?” he asked, with a look on his face that made it clear that he both knew there was a problem and that he thought it humorous.

Pippin turned quickly, nearly losing his balance and leaving Merry grasping awkwardly at his cousin’s left arm.

“I’m supposed to be giving you support, Pippin. Quit snatching your arm away,”

“I’m all right, Merry,” Pippin snapped then turned his attention to his king. “They keep hovering over me, Strider, and now they are trying to make me stop walking about. I’ll never be ready for when Frodo and Sam wake up if they keep making me lie down. Order them to stop.”

The king looked at the three of them. Merry had obviously been working hard. His hair on his forehead was damp, he looked exasperated. Parsow’s lips were narrowed and tight as though there was a great deal he wanted to say but wasn’t. Pippin’s hair was also damp with sweat. His cheeks sported red spots and he couldn’t hide the occational wince of pain, but there was fire in those green eyes.

Strider looked down at Pippin, glad for the advantage his height gave him in a situation like this. “Parsow has his orders, which are to see to your well-being.”

“I’ve tried, your majesty. I was just considering grabbing hold of Peregrin, lying atop him to hold him down upon his bed, and having Merry tie him to it.” Parsow’s voice was a tight as his lips.

“You should have said so,” Merry put in. “I would have been glad to have helped.”

“Do you see what I mean, Strider!”

Strider put a finger to Pippin’s lips. “Quiet. Yes, I see. They are weary from contending with you and anxious for your welfare.” Pippin started to try speaking around the man’s finger. “No, Peregrin Took. They are right and you know it.”

Pippin lowered his eyes then after a moment nodded his head. Strider removed his finger from the hobbit’s lips.

“I want to see Frodo and Sam when they wake up,” Pippin said in a small, childlike tone. “We’ve heard that there are plans afoot for a great welcoming for them and a feast. I just . . . I don’t want to be the only one of us not to be there.”

It was suddenly very easy to remember that, by the reckoning of his kind, Pippin was still a youngster. Strider sighed. With all the lad had gone through, that all the hobbits had gone through, he had allowed himself to forget how young Peregrin actually was. He went down on one knee, his height no longer being an advantage.

He looked Pippin in the eye. “I promise you that you will be at their welcome and at the feast.”

It was a king’s promise and Pippin gave him a proper reply. “Thank you, your majesty.”

“However, that said my young hobbit, you need to do as you are told. Parsow is a most caring healer and Merry loves you dearly, they only wish your good health, Peregrin. Then there is the matter of a certain Dwarf who sees himself as your protector now.” Pippin looked surprised, Strider grinned sheepishly. “Yes. It is so. I have been informed that, much as he would hate to do so, he would have to see to my assassination before I have even taken the throne if all due care is not given to your recovery.”

Pippin smiled as his left hand strayed up to touch the place where an amethyst disc rested against his chest. Gimli had brought it to help with his healing; Dwarf medicine that only Pippin, Parsow and Merry knew about. Everyone else had been told it was merely a gift.**

“Very well,” Pip said, smiling at Strider. “I would hate to be so cruel to Arwen. She really seems to have her heart set on marrying you.” He paused a few moments, staring at some spot behind Strider, then he blinked a bit. “Arwen is quite set on marrying you.”

“Which is, of course, the important thing, that Arwen is not disappointed.” Strider tousled the lad’s hair as he stood. “Now, young hobbit,” he said in a fair imitation of Gimli’s voice, “to bed with you!”

They all laughed as Pippin lay down.

“Parsow.”

“Your majesty?”

“He is to rest at least three hours or until he awakens on his own. Send for me when he awakes and we will begin some of the exercises for his hand. If he behaves himself, he will be allowed to walk a bit this evening. I think outside to the edge of the field where he can look at the stars. Does that sound agreeable to you, Peregrin?”

“Yes, Strider! Thank you,” Pippin replied enthusiastically, but the comment ended in a large yawn.

“Merry?”

“Yes, Strider?”

“You will go to your tent and nap as well. And no arguments. You will sleep better for being away from Pippin. I do want you here when I begin Pippin’s hand exercises so you may see how they are done.”

“As you wish, Strider,” Merry said with a yawn of his own. “I will see all of you later.” He nodded to his cousin, the king and Parsow then left for his own tent.

Aragorn looked at Parsow. “You are tired as well, lad. I will send Gimli to watch over Pippin, since he has grown so fond of the lad. I want you to nap as well. I will see you later this afternoon.” He patted the young healer’s shoulder and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Pippin had a surprise when Merry came into his tent.

“Merry! You look . . . you look . . .”

“Stiff and uncomfortable?” Merry asked as he tugged at his new green velvet surcoat upon which was broidered a white horse rearing. Mail shone at Merry’s neck and below the short sleeves of the surcoat. A finely tooled leather belt held a scabbard, but it looked to Pippin as though the scabbard was empty. Dark green trousers of proper hobbit length peeked out below the bottom edge of the surcoat. Over all was a dark green cloak with gold embroidery along the edges.

“No,” Pippin chuckled. “Noble. You look noble. But why are you dressed that way?”

“I don’t really know. These were brought to me by King Eomer himself, he even helped me dress in them, but he was smugly silent as to why.”

“Good morning, Merry. Pippin,” Aragorn said as he entered the tent. “It is a fine morning is it not?” He was carrying folded black cloth in his arms.

“I suppose it is a fine morning, though I can hardly be certain as I’m not allowed out of my tent without being watched over.” Pippin retorted, a teasing glint in his eyes. “What are you carrying?”

“Your other livery was ruined. Letting it be soaked in troll’s blood really wasn’t the best thing for it, Pippin,” Strider teased in return. “You are a soldier of Gondor, it is merely time for you to once more be clothed as one.”

Strider set about helping Pippin dress. Pippin noticed there was no mail.

“The mail has been made and you will need to wear it when in uniform once you are more completely healed. I do not wish to burden your shoulder,” was Strider’s response.

The bigger surprise was the surcoat. It was much more ornate than the one he had before. This had the White Tree and the Seven Stars as had Pippin’s former livery, but this bore the image of the Crown of the King as well, as had the banner the army carried before them into the Black Lands. The stars were set with gems and everything gleamed brightly upon the sable velvet.

“This seems a bit fancier than my other livery, Strider,” Pippin said quietly as he ran the fingers of his left hand over the velvet.

“Yes, it is,” Strider replied with a smile as he settled a sable cloak trimmed with silver embroidery around Pippin’s shoulders, clasping it at his throat with a star shaped broach. “Now, Peregrin Took, Meriadoc Brandybuck; shall we take a walk?”

With the King between them they left the tent.

“We are going to the field,” Aragorn said.

Flags were stirring gracefully on the breeze. Soldiers of Dol Amroth, of Rohan, of Gondor and the Dunedain of the North stood in straight rows, forming a path that led to a rise with three thrones set upon it. The Silver Swan and the White Horse flew upon the left and right of the White Tree. At the head of one row of soldiers stood the sons of Elrond, at the head of the oposite row stood Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf.

“Did Frodo and Sam wake up this morning instead of tomorrow, Strider?” Merry whispered.

“No,” was all the King said.

To the hobbit’s surprise the King led them to stand before the three thrones along with a few men of Rohan and Gondor who wore livery like their own. Aragorn went a few more paces to stand before the central throne, then spoke to the assembly.

“It is customary to honor those who perform bravely in the service of their country. All who stand here this fair morning have fought bravely. These few before me did so far beyond what we expect of any soldier.”

He recounted how one soldier had led four separate charges at the Mumakil on the field of Pelennor, bringing three of the four creatures down. Aragorn spoke of a Rider of Rohan who had braved the power of the Black Breath to help the Lady Eowyn bring down the Witch King and of a soldier of Gondor who single-handedly killed a hill-troll thus sparing the lives of several other soldiers. Another had left himself vulnerable as he set as much of a barrier as was possible around several of the wounded before the Black Gate. And there were other stories besides these.

An indescribable feeling flooded through the hobbits as they recognized their own deeds among those the King recounted. A part of them did not quite understand, they had only done what they had to do. Yet they both stood a bit straighter as tears rolled past their smiles.

Eomer presented Meriadoc a new sword, since his sword from the Barrow had vanished after striking the Witch King. Then King Eomer asked for the sword in order to use it to bestow knighthood on the astonished hobbit.

Aragorn called Peregrin forward but quickly told him not to try to kneel. There were others, the King said, who would also be standing to receive their knighthood. Nor was the hobbit the only soldier to offer his sword using only one hand. Pippin had not noticed until called upon, that his sword hung at his right hip.

King Elessar looked at the White Wizard. Had he ever seen Gandalf look more like a proud grandfather? The king smiled, he was sure he hadn’t. He could hardly wait to see the look on that dearly loved face on the morrow when Frodo and Sam would be honored.

“Would you have ever imagined becoming a knight?” Merry asked Pippin as they sat at table at the celebration feast. He nudged Pippin who seemed entranced by something happening across the room. Merry looked there himself but could see nothing of interest.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it , Merry,” Pippin suddenly said, drawing Merry’s attention back to his cousin. “Who would ever think we would be knights!”

“Who indeed, Pip.” Merry looked at the younger hobbit a bit more closely. “Are you all right, Pippin?”

“Tired. I’m just tired I think. Not quite used to all of this after spending nearly a fortnight lying about my tent.”

“Wait here, Pippin,” Merry instructed, then he went to speak with Aragorn and Eomer. “They said we are free to go.”

Pippin started to lower himself from the Man sized chair. Legolas was immediately at his side. “Allow me to assist you, Sir Peregrin.” The elf smiled and bowed.

“Thank you, Legolas,” Merry said with a smile. “Sir Peregrin is tired and I was just going to escort him to his tent.”

“Let me see to him, laddie,” Gimli said planting himself firmly at Pippin’s left side to steady the younger hobbit. “This celebration is in honor of you newly knighted knights.” The Dwarf’s words were a little slurred.

“He will be fine. He’s been enjoying the King’s ale.” Legolas whispered to Merry as he noted his doubtful expression.

With a nod from Merry, Gimli and Pippin headed off at a slow pace towards Pippin’s tent. Pippin woke later in the day but still seemed somewhat off to his cousin and Parsow, who both insisted Pip stay abed for the rest of the day. Pippin didn’t argue, after all, he did wish to be in good form tomorrow when Frodo and Sam awoke. Merry exercised Pippin’s unresponsive fingers while Parsow gently rubbed the back of his injured shoulder and his knee. The cousins played a bit of draughts, though Pippin’s attention kept wandering and he eventually feel asleep sitting up. Sir Meriadoc and Parsow tucked Sir Peregrin in and he slept through the night.

************************

**A/N: This is from my story “Healing Lessons”.

Unspoken

The next day dawned as glorious as the one preceding it. The entire small city that was the tents of the Armies of the West was a-buzz waiting for word to come that they should take their places in the Field of Honor.

It came not long after the sun rose. Frodo Baggins, Ring Bearer, had awakened and Samwise Gamgee, Ring Bearer, would awaken soon. All who were able bodied were to be at the ready on the field. Only those yet abed from their injuries in battle and those who tended them remained in the tents. It was nearly noon when the command to be at attention was given. The gathered soldiers raised a great shout of praise as The Ring Bearers approached and passed them on their way to the King.

Merry and Pippin were each at the front of a row of Riders of Rohan and Guards of the Citadel, respectively. When the assembled soldiers sat upon the lawn to listen to the minstrel sing of “Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom”, the two moved back a bit to the edge of the crowd to the right of the thrones. Pippin would most likely need to stand and stretch his legs before the tale was fully sung and he did not wish to attract attention by moving about at the front. So it was that neither of the Ring Bearers saw the two, amongst the many, whom they most desired to see. And their thoughts strayed a bit, as they looked upon Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf and Strider. Where were their kith and kin?

Pippin fell asleep during the long song. Just as well Merry felt, as they were to help serve their kings at the feast that would begin almost immediately after the minstrel finished, and the lad really was still new to being up and about.

At the meal, Sir Peregrin was the first to serve King Elessar, bringing him his cup of wine, then the fruit that was the first course, both of these being items he was able to carry one-handed. It was then, while Merry and Pippin were serving the wine, that Sam noticed them, pointing them out to Frodo. After a few quick comments they hurried away, Frodo’s eyes following them as they left. Pride and concern wrestled in his heart. They were knights, a high honor indeed, resplendant in their livery. Sam was right they looked taller, but maybe it was how they carried themselves with their heads held high. Yet Merry had looked tired and pale, Pippin was limping and his arm was in a sling.

After they finished their turn at serving their kings, the cousins sat with the other knights of the realms they served. Merry watched, a contented smile lighting his face as he saw the knight seated to Pippin’s right offer and then cut Pippin’s fowl for him. Whatever embarrassment his cousin might have felt at this Merry knew was swept away after the lad took a quick look up and down the table. He was by no means the only soldier needing assistance.

Afterward, there was a joyous reunion as the hobbits hugged each other until they ached from the squeezing and talked all at once so that those around them couldn’t understand a single word. They talked and talked. First the Hobbits and the White Wizard, then later Parsow, Legolas and Gimli joined them. Parsow stayed back a bit not wishing to intrude, but he had become dear to the two knights and to the Dwarf as well, so he was welcomed into the gathering. Merry noticed that, once again, there were times that Pip seemed to lose the thread of the conversation, either asking a question that had already been asked, or repeating himself. At one point he thought the lad had fallen asleep with his eyes wide open while his left hand played with his scarf, which he had sent Parsow to fetch for him as the evening air grew cooler. Pippin had stared off at nothing for many seconds, perhaps near to a minute, then had seemed much more tired afterwards. Merry noticed Gandalf watching Pip as well and found himself more grateful than he would have expected himself to be when the Wizard stood, stretched and said it was time for Frodo and Sam to go to bed. He was even more grateful when Gimli said that applied to Pippin as well for Merry feared Pippin may have insisted that he and the others stay up and talk. As it was, Pippin nodded to the Dwarf, yawned then asked his cousin to help him up.

“You’ll come along and help me out of all of this finery as well, won’t you, Merry?”

“Of course, Pippin. Although I’ll admit to wondering how well you might do at it yourself.”

The younger hobbit shook his head as he yawned. “Not tonight, Merry,” he mumbled. “Too tired to try. Just sleep in my clothes if you don’t help.”

“Then you have the services of a knight of Rohan this evening, good knight of Gondor. I’d hate to have you so badly wrinkle your surcoat.”

Pippin grinned and nodded. “My Mum always said velvet wrinkles much too easily. She won’t be at all happy to see this rig.”

Parsow walked along with the two small knights and helped see both of them into their beds.
******************

There followed nearly a month of halcyon days for the Hobbits and the Companions of the Ring. They wandered about Ithilien, visited Henneth Annun and ate and relaxed as they pleased, excepting those times Pippin and Frodo needed to do their recovery exercises. Everything seemed more than a bit utopian. The Ring Bearers were simply glad to be alive with their friends in a world, more or less, at peace. Merry suffered no shadows of the darkness of the Black Breath. Pippin teased and joked about his own needs and even of Frodo’s as they learned how to do without the use of some of their fingers. Sam’s feet were tender, as were Frodo’s, and for a time he was less protective of Frodo than Strider had anticipated.

It was discovered that Pippin had a bit more damage to his knee than had been thought. If he walked for too long a time or at too fast a pace, his calf muscle would suffer from sudden, sharp cramping. Aragorn had the Master Healer look at Pippin’s leg, and they agreed that it was likely to be a permanent problem, but also that it was one that could be improved upon. They felt that patient use of the leg would gradually increase its endurance, but that the hobbit would always need to be cautious about overtiring it. And even this the lad took, so to say, in stride. And so the four hobbits enjoyed a slower pace on their ramblings, stopping often to rest Pippin’s leg, Sam’s feet and their own spirits as they would soak in the calming atmosphere of Ithilien.

It was easy to accept their limitations, for all about them were soldiers with similar conditions. Everywhere you looked you saw someone using crutches, a cane or leaning on a friend. No meal was taken but there were many needing others to help them with their meal. Some had been blinded, some had lost much or all of their hearing and many wore expressions darkened by memories of battle and the Black Breath. It was easy for the Hobbits to forget themselves.

Finally the day arrived for the journey back to Minas Tirith. Pippin was able to see Cair Andros, where the troops who could not face the Dead Lands and the Black Gate were sent to strike a blow to the enemy. And so down the Anduin to Osgiliath. A day they spent there, awaiting the arrival of the whole of the armies, then onto the Pelennor they rode until they set up their pavilions nigh the gates of the White City.

Frodo and Sam gaped in wonder at the great city built into the mountain, for they had never seen its like before. It gleamed, even as the light of day faded in the sky.

When the next day dawned, the city was first rose colored fading to pale peach then a faint yellow before shining white as though it were made of pearl. The Dunedain of the North approached the makeshift gates, then from their midst came Aragorn, Mithrandir and the four Periannath. The last ruling Steward and Hurin of the Keys met them. As the vast crowd watched the crown was given first to one of the Periannath, who bore it to Mithrandir who then crowned the new King. King Elessar entered his city and when he reached the Citadel, the banner of the Tree and Stars was raised to float proudly on the breeze.

After two days of ceremony and feasting, the Companions of the Ring settled into a house prepared for them not far from the Citadel. It was as light and airy a house as one could find in the Stone City, with windows facing south and a walled garden to one side. Two large bedrooms on the main floor had been made into four rooms for the Hobbits. Two rooms on each side of a hallway with each set having a connecting door. Merry and Pippin had the rooms on the left, Sam and Frodo the ones on the right. The main floor also had the kitchen, dining room, parlor, bathing room and privy. Gandalf, Gimli and Legolas had rooms on the upper level.

A light and airy abode in days of light and fairness in a world recently made free. But the gloom of evil never fades away completely, and though the Great Darkness of that age had been brought down, the darkness still lingered here and there like an illness with vague symptoms. It hung heavily over The Hallows. Not merely because it was the dwelling place of the dead. No, it had been brought hence by the Lord Denethor’s madness and it clung to the charred ruins of the House of the Stewards where the palantir of Minas Anor yet lay untouched. It dwelt high in the Tower of Ecthelion where the Seeing Stone had so long poisoned the last ruling steward. The darkness clung to the area of the Pelennor where the Witch King fell. And other places too it hid, not to be felt until times yet to come.

But it is also the curse of Arda that all things within and upon it carry the taint of the darkness.

Meriadoc Brandybuck was gifted with attention to details, the ability to turn those details into plans, and the energy to see those plans carried out. The taint within him at times turned these gifts to his being a fusspot, not being able to see the forest for the trees, and easily losing patience.

Frodo Baggins was gifted with a scholarly mindset, a patient and gentle nature, and a quick wit. He easily could brood, be patient when the time for patience had passed, and roguish in his teasing and pranks.

Peregrin Took was gifted with a blithe spirit, an inquisitive mind, and an eagerness for life. His cheer was sometimes out of place, his endless questions annoying, and his impulsiveness dangerous.

Samwise Gamgee was as solid as the earth he loved to cultivate, he often saw life with great clarity, and he knew well right from wrong. But solidity can be stubborn, clarity can miss nuances, and legalism can grown from right and wrong too tightly defined.

These four had know each other many long years and spent a great deal of time in each other’s company. But now they were all together for most of each day in the same home in a strange city amongst people not of their own kind. The taint of darkness within them knew it could use this to its advantage.

“Pippin. Pippin!”

The Knight of Gondor was seated at the kitchen table having a light repast. He had just come home from serving as esquire to King Elessar for the day. At the moment, however, he sat staring at the biscuits on the plate. His left hand held a biscuit part way to his mouth, but for some reason, the fingers were crumbling it.

Pippin gave a slight twitch. “What, Merry?”

The elder cousin was obviously displeased. “I asked you how things went today up in the Tower Hall. But, as is getting to be common, you didn’t answer.”

“You didn’t ask.” Pippin noticed the pieces of crumbled biscuit scattered on the table and his surcoat. He brushed them off onto the floor then picked up another biscuit.

“I asked you twice. Maybe I should have someone check your ears,” Merry grumbled. “Though no one seems particularly concerned over you of late. Parsow hasn’t been here in at least a week and Strider . . .”

“ . . . is rather busy, Merry.” Pippin interrupted peevishly. “He is the king. A fact of which I know you are aware. He doesn’t have the time right now to concern himself about me. And Parsow has been made a full fledged healer. He is busy as well.” He paused. “I’m fine, anyway. My leg is getting much better. I can lift my hand more easily and grip things a bit with my thumb and first two fingers. I stood my duty the whole afternoon today.” His look challenged his cousin to argue with him. “And, my hearing is just fine, thank you very much.”

Merry looked steadily back at Pippin. “I would beg to differ, but I see it will do no good.” He turned and left the kitchen and a few moments later Pippin heard his bedroom door get firmly shut.

“My hearing is fine.” Pippin muttered as he bit into his biscuit.

A few days later Frodo stood behind his youngest cousin as Pip struggled with making straight lines and small circles with a pen held in his left hand.

“It’s looking much neater, Pippin.” Frodo’s smile could be heard in his voice.

“Oh yes. It looks like a nine year old’s efforts instead of a seven year old’s,” Pippin replied sarcastically.

Frodo bit his lower lip. It was the third time the lad had snapped at him in the past half an hour. “It took awhile for you to learn to write the first time, you really shouldn’t . . .”

“ . . . shouldn’t what?” Peregrin snarled as he turned to face Frodo. “Shouldn’t expect to learn it the second time at least a bit more quickly? Shouldn’t ever expect to write like an adult again? Or cut my own food?” The look in Pippin’s eyes grew poisonous. “Or how about button my own trousers? What about that, Frodo? I just love having to find someone to undo them for me so I can relieve myself, and then of course have them do me back up when I . . .”

The glare in the Took’s eyes was gone. His right hand awkwardly fumbled about at his scarf. The hand hung somewhat limply from the wrist, the first three digits were twitching slightly while the last two stayed curled. He looked to be chewing a bit at his left cheek. Several moments passed.

Suddenly, Pippin threw the quill. “Do you expect me to learn to do this in a day, Frodo,” he whined. With an effort, he stood. He swayed a bit as he walked toward the archway that led out of the parlor. “I’m tired,” Pippin mumbled. “Going to bed.” And he was gone around the corner and down the hall to his room.

“He was trying to control his temper,” Frodo thought. “His injuries might be paining him. I shouldn’t have tried doing this with him in the afternoon.”

Frodo bent to pick up the quill and decided to practice his own writing as it was awkward now that his ring finger was missing.

A week later Pippin had the afternoon free. He offered to help Sam in the kitchen.

Sam was watching Mr. Frodo’s youngest cousin carefully while trying very hard not to let the lad notice. There! He was doing it again. That made the third time Pippin had backed up in the recipe, adding ingredients he had already added to the cake batter he was mixing.

“Mr. Pippin?”

“What Sam? You know,” Pip kept talking and stirring the batter without waiting for Sam to respond. “I’m really enjoying this. It hasn’t mattered all that much that my right hand is a bit weak. And you haven’t got annoyed with me. Merry gets so upset with me so often now, and even Frodo seems touchier than usual. But you haven’t got upset with me once.” Pippin finally looked over at Sam. “What was it you wanted, Sam?”

Sam was unsure now of what to say. He was going to say something about the cake batter being ruined, but hesitated after what Mr. Pippin had just said. Sam watched as Pippin dropped the mixing spoon into the bowl of batter then walk over to the sink. He stood there doing nothing for several moments, his right arm bent as though his hand was raised to his chest. He tipped his head to the left, straightened it, then tipped it again. Then his shoulders sagged and he grabbed hold of the edge of the sink.

“I don’t feel well, Sam.” Pippin’s voice was soft and tired sounding.

“Why don’t you go have yourself a bit of a nap, Mr. Pippin?”

“Yes. A nap.” The lad stopped to pat Sam on the shoulder on his way out of the kitchen. “You really don’t need to call me ‘Mr.’ any longer, Sam the Ring Bearer,” he smiled and said, then he left .

And that, Sam reckoned, was exactly the problem. Mr. - Frodo - and his cousins now saw Sam as an equal, but Sam wasn’t sure of the whole matter. All the title calling and finery didn’t change the fact that he was a working hobbit’s son and they were gentle hobbits. And now there was all this matter of young Mr. Pippin’s getting odder as each day passed. His cousins had said nothing . . . Sam decided it wasn’t his place to say anything either.

Forcing the Issue

They had been in Minas Tirith for nearly a month when the matter could no longer go unmentioned. Several things happened to make it no longer possible to ignore.

Frodo was fighting his own battle with the guilt Aragorn had feared would assail him. He grew wary of being left alone with Pippin, it pained him so deeply to see the troubles the lad was having with his hand. It was difficult being with Merry and seeing the shadow in his eyes. There were days Frodo even avoided Sam, knowing the horrors through which he had dragged his dear friend.

The darkness of the Black Breath danced around the edges of Merry’s soul. He took his turns serving King Eomer . . . and his turns as a guard standing solemnly at attention beside Theoden’s bier. Mixed with his grief was fear for Pippin’s being able to cope with his handicaps. He knew Frodo had been avoiding all of them at times but wasn’t sure how to help. He had caught Sam hobbling when Frodo wasn’t around.

Sam chafed to go home. Rosie Cotton was in the Shire, not here in this great stone city of Men. He knew when they were home he could settle into his proper place once again with none of this “Ring Bearer” nonsense. Mr. Frodo was the one who deserved title and finery, not him. When they were home everything would be fine; Mr. Merry would loose his haunted look, Mr. Pippin would be well and find his bad hand to not be a problem, Mr. Frodo would be his old self again.

Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf had noticed their small friends were not as cheery as they had been and it was decided that something needed to be done. Though the Wizard wasn’t quite sure of the wisdom in Gimli’s solution, it was the only thing they thought of that would most likely appeal equally well to all four Hobbits.

One evening as they were finishing their dinner, the Dwarf stood. “Well my lads,” he said looking at the four Hobbits. “What would you say to a night away from the house and away from the court? I am inviting you all to my favorite tavern.” He scowled at them from beneath his bushy eyebrows. “And I will not accept ‘No’ for your answer.”

Pippin laughed heartily. “Then we shan’t say no!” It sounded grand to him. Merry had scolded him again earlier in the day and Pip had no real desire to sit about the house with Merry glaring at him all evening. At least at a tavern, his older cousin would be easier to ignore.

Quite unexpectedly, to Pippin, Merry fell into step along side him as they made their way down Minas Tirith’s winding main street.

“I’m sorry for this morning, Pip,” he said, genuine sorrow showing in his voice. “I think I’m . . . well . . .” Merry paused, took a deep breath and continued. “I think I’m letting my grief put me in a sour frame of mind. Let me stand you your first half to make it up to you?”

Pippin felt a tightness he hadn’t noticed was there fade from his shoulders. “Well, thank you, Merry!” He smiled, draping his weak arm around Merry’s shoulders. “Not that it will put you out. You know they won’t let us pay.”

“Why do you think I offered?” Merry teased, receiving a punch on the arm from Pippin.

All was well between them.

The evening was in high spirits already as the group entered the cozy common room of the Tower Tavern. The Companions of the Ring were heartily welcomed and, indeed, never had to show any coin for their drinks or food. At first they all took a turn singing, playing games and telling tales with the regulars, enjoying feeling as though they were simply a part of that evening’s regular patrons.

It was the Wizard and the Elf who first noticed Pippin had moved himself into a corner. He sat barely sipping from his fourth ale. They kept an eye on him.

“Pippin my lad!” Merry called from over by the hearth. “Come and sing. These fine Rohoorim . . . Roha . . . horse riders, need to hear the sweetest voice in the Shire!”

“Bugger off, Merry!” Pippin slurred in response.

Merry looked a bit shocked, then shrugged and turned back to the Rohirrim. After a bit, he looked over at Pippin. He clearly wasn’t having a good time. Merry wondered if it was his fault, seeing as he was with the Riders instead of with Pippin. Perhaps, he thought, he should go sit with his cousin for a bit. But just then Grinhault put an arm around Merry and drew him into the song the Rohirrim were singing.

A bit later, Gimli asked Pippin to try his luck at the shell game. The response he received was a barely intelligible Dwarvish curse.

“I never thought you’d turn that on me, young Hobbit, or I’d not have taught it to you!” He rose, and looked as though he might get rough with the lad. It was a particularly offensive curse and the Dwarf was quite hurt that Pippin had hurled it at him.

“Take no offense, Master Dwarf. I think our lad has had a bit more than is good for him,” Gandalf waved at Gimli to sit as he reached to pat Pippin’s hand. Whatever had got into the hobbit? He had seen Pippin drink before and four ales had never made the lad mean. Peregrin was usually a congenial drunk.

Pippin yanked his hand away, screaming the curse at the Wizard. “Not had too much, ya dotty old bugger! Leave me ‘lone.”

Now Gandalf knew something was very wrong. His brows knit together in concern for Pippin.

The entire tavern went silent. Frodo appeared at Pippin’s side. He whispered into his cousin’s ear.

“No, Fro. I’m no’ being rude. All pickin’ at me. You . . . you too, Fro. All angry a’ me.”

“How many ales?” Frodo mouthed at Legolas.

The Elf held up four fingers.

Frodo’s eyes widened for a moment. Four ales were normally just getting started for Pippin who, along with Merry, had a reputation for doing well at holding his ale.

“Pippin?” Frodo shook the lad a bit.

Pippin nodded his wobbly head.

“I’m not feeling well,” Frodo fibbed. “Would you walk me home?” He had drunk enough that he was light-headed but unlike the rest of the Hobbits, he wasn’t drunk.

“Want me?” Pip slurred. “Don’ wan’ Sammy?”

Frodo thought fast. “It’s dark out and Sam still gets lost easily here. You know the way.”

“Hear tha’,” Pippin said loudly. “Hear tha’, Sir Mer’adoc Bran’y-bastard ‘n Samwide Garden-grubber Ring . . . Ring . . . Person. ‘E wan’s me!” He thumbed his nose at the two wide eyed hobbits he had just insulted, then roughly grabbed Frodo’s arm. “I know t’ way. C’mon Fro-o.”

Frodo walked Pippin out of the tavern with Legolas silently following close behind. The Elf had the feeling Frodo might need some help with his inebriated kin as Pippin’s legs were as unsteady as his speech.

Merry and Sam started to follow. Merry was a little shaky, though Pippin’s insulting outburst had sobered him a bit. Sam was more sober than the Brandybuck, but had passed his usual limit as well. Both of them were worried. This was not the Pippin they were accustomed to. Gandalf reached out and pulled them both over to the table.

“Let them go lads,” the Wizard said in a kindly voice as he smiled. “You have both been having a good time. I’m sure Peregrin will be fine. Let Frodo and Legolas take care of him.”

If they had been more sober themselves, they might have argued with Gandalf, as it was, they nodded and went back to the groups of men they had been with. Gandalf’s smile faded. He was worried about the youngster too. In fact, he was concerned about all of his dear hobbits.

“You wan’ed me, Fro-o,” Pippin kept repeating as they walked slowly up the street. He was now crying and seemed unaware that Legolas had come up and gently taken hold of him under his right arm. “They don’ wan’ me no more, Fro-o. I’m no’ mo’ good. No good. Broke. All bro’en. You wan’ed me, Fro-o”

At the last, Legolas had to pick Peregrin up and carry him the rest of the way to their house. They carefully undressed him, put him into a night shirt and tucked him into his bed. Frodo lingered a moment to kiss his young cousin’s forehead. He sadly wondered what was happening to the lad. He certainly had not been his usual self tonight, not even the usual for a drunk Peregrin Took. Frodo gently brushed a bit of Pip’s sweaty hair off his forehead, then left the room, closing both the door to Merry’s room and the one to the hallway.
*************

Pale moonlight shone through the window as Pippin awoke. He ached all over and his bed seem unusually hard. There was an odd taste in his mouth. He started to sit up, but it made his head swim. He dropped back, bumping his head on something hard. A sharp pain at the back of his head made him come even more awake.

His head felt badly bruised and he suddenly realized he was on the floor.

“Idiot!” he thought. “You haven’t fallen out of bed since you were a wee lad.”

The front of his head didn’t feel right either. His good hand moved up to his left eyebrow. It was sticky and tender to the touch. He must have hit his head on the night table when he fell. That was the odd taste in his mouth; blood. He could barely remember anything after they had arrived at the tavern. He must have got horribly drunk. Pip tried once more to sit up.

It was then that Pippin noticed something else. He felt damp and sticky, as though . . .

Pippin was instantly humiliated. Tears sprang to his eyes. He was wet and he stank. He had apparently lost all control of himself. Never, never before, no matter how drunk he had been, had he ever done such a thing. In fear and frustration he began to tear at the front of his nightshirt. He absolutely would not risk anyone finding him like this and, bad hand or no, he was not going to pull that nightshirt off over his head.

Finally, he tore enough buttons off to slip his shoulders through the opening. He wadded the soiled garment up as best he could, anything to get as little of the mess on the rest of himself as was possible. He made his way unsteadily to the bathing room, gagging as he went. He scrubbed himself for nearly fifteen minutes.

He returned to his room. It stank. He gagged again. After wriggling into a clean nightshirt Pippin picked up the ruined one. What should he do with it? He couldn’t put it in the laundry basket. Burn it? No. It was too wet and besides the smell would be hideous. He finally stuffed it into his chamber pot then returned to the bathing room to wash his hands. Pippin’s head was throbbing and he was nearly asleep on his feet. He would wait until morning to decide how to dispose of the soiled nightshirt. Feeling grateful that he had not pulled the bedding with him when he had fallen out of bed, he collapsed onto his bed and in a few moments was deeply asleep.
*******************************

It was second breakfast by the time Pippin showed his face. He was dressed in a shirt with no buttons and trousers that were held up by the braces, having no buttons and being loose enough for him to take on and off himself as the call of nature may demand. He sat down at his place at the table without a word and started eating the porridge Sam set in front of him. After the events at the tavern, his silence did not seem at all strange to his cousins and Sam. What did seem strange was the cut above Pippin’s left eye.

“What happened to you, Pippin?” Merry exclaimed. Sam turned around to take a closer look at the lad. “Frodo, did that happen to him at the tavern?”

“No, it didn’t.” Frodo looked harder at Pippin who had lowered his head hoping to have his hair better cover the cut over his eyebrow, but Frodo could still see it. “Are you all right, Pippin?”

“Fine,” Pip mumbled around a mouthfull of porridge. He swallowed. “I’m fine. It was there when I woke up. I don’t know what happened. It doesn’t hurt.” He hadn’t looked up as he spoke and now he hastily shoved more porridge into his mouth.

Merry started to ask Pippin another question but suddenly thought it might not be a good idea. Pippin had been touchy enough lately and he obviously didn’t wish to discuss the injury further. He switched his attention to Sam who had been in a bit of a rush getting the meal on the table. “You were a bit late getting second breakfast started, Sam,” Merry said in a teasing tone. “I nearly raided your kitchen to make it myself.”

“And you’d be more than welcome, Mr. Merry, you know that. I had some cleaning to do in the bathing room.”

Pippin choked slightly on his bite of porridge. The cloths and towel he had used to clean up - he had left them laying about in the bathing room. He hoped no one noticed his reaction and would say something. Pippin kept his head down.

Pip didn’t see Sam raising his eyebrows in surprise. His cousins hadn’t noticed either. Sam scowled. He was beginning to think he might know what was going on, and he didn’t like where his thoughts were taking him.

“I think you said you were free of duty today Merry. Is that right?” Frodo asked Merry. “They have a huge herbarium in the library and I thought you would enjoy going with me to see it.”

“That does sound interesting, and yes, Frodo, I’m off duty today. Pour me some more tea, would you, Pip?” Merry held his cup in the general direction of his young cousin, but his attention and eyes were on Frodo. “Do you know if there are any herbs here that will grow as far north as the Shire?”

“I didn’t ask, nor have I seen the collection myself yet.”

Merry nodded and smiled. “I’ll just have to se . . . Ow!” Merry screamed. His overflowing tea cup dropped from his hand to smash upon the table. Pippin was staring blankly as tea still flowed from the pot in his left hand, flowed over the pieces of broken porcelain from Merry’s cup to run off the table’s edge. Then the pot fell from his grasp and smashed.

Pippin looked in wide eyed surprise at the mess. “What? I - I’m s-sorry, Merry. It w-won’t happen again.”

“Sorry! Sorry?” Merry yelled as Pippin shrank back into his chair. “Of course you’re sorry. You’re always sorry. Just like with the stone down the well and the palantir.”

The world froze.

Sam and Frodo stared openmouthed at Merry. They were still staring at him when, after a few moments, Pippin stood and without a word walked out the kitchen door and into the garden. The three in the kitchen barely heard the garden gate slam shut behind him.

This chapter PG 13

Grim Discoveries

Merry sank to his knees. His face buried in his hands.

Frodo and Sam looked at each other, looked at Merry, then looked out the open door into the garden.

“Pippin needs to calm down,” Frodo said firmly, nodding toward the door. “We’ll see to Merry first.”

They went over to Merry.

“What have I done?” They could hear him whispering to himself over and over. Then he was up, running out the door into the garden. He flung open the gate, but there was no sign of Pippin. Merry looked back and forth. The street the gate opened into fed out onto other streets at either end, and those streets quickly spread into other short twisting streets. He would have no chance of knowing which way Pippin had gone. He sat down with a thump on the grass. Frodo and Sam had followed Merry out and now stood beside him.

“Come back in, Merry. You look white as a sheet.” Frodo put his hand under Merry’s arm and tugged on him to stand up.

“I’ll get you some strong tea, Mis . . . Merry. And we’ll work out what to do.” Sam said as he tugged on Merry’s other arm.

They hauled him up then they walked slowly back to the kitchen with Merry turning to look back at the gate every other step or so. Back in the kitchen, Frodo and Sam sat the pale, shaking hobbit in a chair at the table. Sam threw a towel over the broken pottery and spilt tea on the table, put the kettle on to boil, then began to rummage through the cupboards in search of a new tea pot while Frodo held and rubbed Merry’s hands. Merry winced and pulled his right hand back. The tea had burned it a bit, the skin was a dark pink. Frodo went to get a dish towel to soak in cool water.

Merry stared out the doorway then turned to look at his elder cousin.

“Why? Why did I say that, Frodo? What ever possessed me to say . . .” He stopped and stared out the door again.

Frodo came back to the table and wrapped Merry’s hand in the wrung out towel. He sighed.

“I have no idea, Merry. Or, rather I do. I’ve been near to the end of my patience with Pippin lately as well. Having hot tea poured on your hand pushed you over the edge.”

Merry looked at his wrapped hand. “No. I mean yes, it was the last straw, but only to yell at the lad not to . . .” He looked into the garden once more. “Not to crush him, Frodo. I only named the two worst things he has done in his entire life.”

Frodo said nothing. What more was there to say? There was no way to make light of what had been said.

Merry shook his head as he let it droop until his chin nearly rested upon his chest. “He’s been so annoying lately.” He brought his left hand up and put his forehead in its open palm as though his head was too great a weight for his neck to hold up. “No excuse, that. No excuse at all for what I said, but he has been. It’s been as though every annoying habit of his has been magnified. Not paying attention. Letting his mind wander so far that it is like he isn’t there, though before it seemed easier to get his attention. Now I tap him, nudge him, I raise my voice and it doesn’t seem to do a thing.”

Frodo gestured over the towel covered mess on the table. “Yes, he’s been all of that and clumsier as well. Although I’ve blamed most of that on his arm and hand.” And myself, he added in his thoughts.

Merry stood up. “I need to . . . I’ll be right back.”

His friends let him go, thinking he needed to use the privy or wanted to wash the tears from his face. Instead, Merry went to his room. He needed some time alone to think. He sat on his bed. Directly opposite was the door that led from his room into Pippin’s room.

Pippin.

Memories flitted through his mind. A giggling Pippin learning how to walk.
Pippin’s first time boating on the Brandywine without a parent or sister with him; just he and Pip. Yule celebrations. Birthday parties.

Bilbo’s birthday party.

The Ring.

Now the mental pictures were Pippin on the Quest. How he had cheered Merry so many times. How he had frightened him so many times.

His Pippin.

He was drawn into the lad’s room. It smelled a bit odd so Merry opened the shutters before sitting down on Pippin’s unmade bed. He smiled a sad smile. Pip never had been one for making his bed. Aunt Lanti was always after him about that. They were all always after the lad for something, especially when he was little. Not in a mean way, mind . . . not like this morning.

“Why can’t time go backwards?” Merry thought as tears started to pool in his eyes before dripping on to his lap. “Would I be able to not say those horrible things? Or would I do the same thing no matter how many times I went back?” He rubbed at his eyes. “Pip didn’t deserve that, no matter how frustrating he’s been of late.”

Something caught his eye. Pippin’s scarf was lying on the floor. That was strange that Pip would not bother to pick up his scarf. Merry bent over to pick it up. The odd smell grew stronger and he noticed some piece of clothing had been shoved under the bed. With the scarf in his hand, Merry bent over further to look.

Whatever it was, it seemed to be stuffed into the chamber pot.

“Well,” Merry muttered aloud, “that explains the smell. But why would something be stuffed into a used chamber pot?” He paused as an unpleasant thought came to his mind. Quickly Merry stuffed the scarf into his back pocket and got down on his knees. He reached under the bed to grab the pot by it’s handle then headed toward the door to the privy at the end of the hall. Once in the privy, Merry took a deep breath, held it, pulled the lid off the pot and, touching it as little as possible, pulled out its contents.

What he saw made him gasp which in turn made him gag, both from the smell and from recognizing what the cloth was. It was Pippin’s nightshirt, thoroughly soiled with feces and wet with urine.

******************************

“Pippin must really be worried about something to be so distracted.” Frodo mused aloud. “Not that he hasn’t always had trouble with getting distracted. Remember that time when he was about eight years old and we sent him out to pick some strawberries for elevenses?”

Sam smiled as he poured the boiling water from the kettle into the new teapot. “Yes. We were just about ready to sit to the meal when we realized he hadn’t come back in. He was out followin’ a butterfly around the garden and had eaten every berry he’d picked.”

Sam’s smile faded. “But he’s not a wee lad anymore and I think it might be more, beggin’ your pardon.” Sam’s voice was soft but firm. He turned from setting the tea to steep. “I’ve been thinkin’ on this for a few days now, since that afternoon Mis . . . Pippin helped me with gettin’ ready for afternoon tea. Or tried to help is more the way of it.”

Sam turned to check the tea, decided it needed more time and turned back to Frodo. “Three times in less than fifteen minutes he stopped what he was doin’, he was mixin’ up a cake batter you see. Three times he stopped, then when he moved again, he would go back nearly to the beginnin’ of the recipe and add ingredients he’d already put in.”

“Was he distracted do you think, or daydreaming,” Frodo added.

Sam shook his head. He brought the pot over to the table. “I think it might be somethin’ else. He was never like that before, least ways not while cookin’. He takes cookin’ seriously, does Mis . . .” Sam blushed. “I am tryin’, Frodo. As I was sayin’, Pippin takes cookin’ seriously. Since he’s been older he rarely makes mistakes when he’s helpin’ in the kitchen. I’m wonderin’ if his arm and knee are hurtin’ worse than he’s lettin’ on. Not wantin’ to worry you and . . . Merry, if you follow me. And tryin’ to hide how bad he’s hurtin’ takes so much effort that he misses thin’s.”

Sam lifted the teapot was just looking for a place to set it on the table when Merry rushed into the kitchen. Sam set the teapot back on the counter.

“Frodo, Sam!” Merry was shouting.

“What . . . eeww!” Frodo screwed up his face at the smell. “You reek, Merry. What is on your hands?”

“It’s . . . it’s.” He struggled for a moment with how to respond. “I went to Pip’s room to think and it stunk and I looked under the bed, and . . . well, his nightshirt was stuffed into his chamber pot. It was filthy the only . . . stuff in there was what was on the shirt. Frodo, he messed himself.”

The three hobbits stood there staring at Merry’s hands.

“Pippin choked a bit on his porridge when I mentioned I’d cleaned up a mess in the bathing room.” Sam whispered

Merry was shaking his head. “He has to feel totally humiliated. First this, he’s never been this sort of drunk in his life, then me ripping him with my words.”

Frodo nodded, still staring at his cousin’s hands. “Merry, go wash your hands at the garden pump. What did you do with the nightshirt?”

“I dumped it down the privy. I had taken the pot in there to find out what was in it.”

“All right, go wash your hands.”

Sam tossed Merry a piece of soap and he left to wash up outside.

“I think we all could use a strong cup of tea now,” Sam sighed. He picked up the teapot and brought it to the table then sighed again. The mess from earlier was still on the table. He started moving some things around, then suddenly he threw the tea-soaked towel on the floor and began digging with his free hand amongst the shards of Merry’s earlier cup of tea and the tea pot Pippin had let fall.

“What is it, Sam? What are you looking for?”

Sam stopped. His hands were shaking, he had gone pale. “There was a knife on the table, Mr. Frodo.” He looked Frodo in the eye. “It’s not here.”

Merry had just stepped back into the kitchen. “That trimming knife?” he asked casually. “It was by where Pip . . . where Pippin was sitting!” The blood drained from Merry’s face and he turned to head back out the door.

“Merry!” Frodo’s volume and tone stopped his cousin. “We can’t just go running off without thinking.”

“No! We have to find him. We have to . . .” Suddenly, Merry thought of he and Pippin running about Parth Galen yelling for Frodo, and accomplishing nothing. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “You’re right, but we need to hurry, Frodo”

Sam had rarely seen Merry look so fierce when speaking to Frodo.

“Agreed. Why don't you go up, Merry. You know this level and the Citadel better than we do. Sam, you go toward the market places. I think you know those the best. I will get Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli as I was up early this morning and I know where all of them were expecting to be this morning. We will divide up the rest of the city amongst us.

In seconds, the kitchen was empty.

Help in an Unexpected Place

Pippin walked hurriedly away from the house and quickly disappeared in the twisting streets of Minas Tirith. He knew he would have no trouble getting lost, so to speak. Bergil had showed him all the back ways and hidden places in the upper circles of the city. Not that they would follow him. Why should they follow him. He frustrated Frodo, and usually no one managed to frustrate his patient cousin. It was quite clear what Merry thought of him.

The thought of Merry brought a sudden rush of angry heat to Pippin’s face followed closely by a chill that grabbed his heart and wrung it. The stone in the well. The palantir. The plunk of the stone finding water. The horrible voice from the flames tearing at his mind.

And now, added to those sounds was Merry’s voice - “You’re always sorry!”

Yes. A sorry excuse for a Hobbit.

And Sam . . .

Oh how Pippin didn’t want his thoughts to go to Sam.

Sam knew.

Sam knew that he, Pippin, was falling apart. That he was broken inside as well as out.

Pippin didn’t know, as he never knew, that he had gone blank twice since he had slammed the garden gate behind him. Like a sleep walker, continuing on his way but not really there. But now he was doing something else.

Hobbits don’t often dream of flying as most are afraid of heights. But Pippin wasn’t afraid and had sometimes dreamed he was like the birds. Now, he was watching himself walking down a narrow alleyway. Above himself, over his own left shoulder. Separated. Apart.

But he was awake.

It had happened before. He was helping Sam in the kitchen when he had watched himself walk to the sink. Pippin had no idea why he seemed to be floating about, nor why this other Pippin had walked to the sink, nor why Sam only seemed to see the Pippin walking on the floor and standing at the sink, not the Pippin hovering in mid air. Then, just as mysteriously, he was inside himself where he belonged; standing at the sink, no longer floating, but looking out the window and feeling as though he might swoon.

This time the walking Pippin was heading towards a pile of debris.

He wasn’t floating any longer, but was back together, just walking toward the pile. Pippin sat down amidst the rubble feeling too weary to walk any further. Although he didn’t feel as badly as the time he floated in the kitchen; not as though he might swoon, just weary. He looked around.

Pieces of broken buildings. Broken furniture. Broken pottery. A broken doll.

A broken hobbit.

He laid back against a rounded chunk of stone that had once been a column and closed his eyes. His left hand closed around the handle of the knife he had picked up off the kitchen table.

Broken. He was broken. Like all of the things thrown carelessly on this heap. Broken. It was almost funny that his feet had brought him here where broken things were sent to die and be forgotten.

Although the blade still lay flat against his chest, the point was resting above his heart. Peregrin Took drew in a few deep breaths to steady himself. It was all that was left to do.

He hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much.

Then he heard light footsteps coming toward him.

“Go away!” Peregrin thought. “Or go past. There is nothing here but broken remains.”

“Feva!”

It was a child that was coming, almost upon him actually.

“Feva, I found you!”

He could sense her closeness, she was right beside him.

“I didn’t do it, dear Feva. Madam Talaitha did it. She doesn’t understand, Feva.”

Pippin opened his eyes. The child was cuddling the broken doll he had noticed earlier. She caressed its dull matted hair as her happy tears spotted it’s grimy dress. He turned his head to have a better view of the waif.

She jumped back, her eyes wide with surprise. She hugged Feva tight to her chest. “You’re not dead?”

“No,” Pippin replied as he thought how close he had been to being so. Then he thought how sad it was that the sight of a supposed dead body hadn’t kept her from the doll. It pained him. The children of this realm had seen too much death.

“No, I’m not dead.” He turned the knife so the blade was hidden beneath his arm. “Is she yours?”

“Yes!” She said brightly, holding the doll out for the not dead person to see. “This is Feva. Feva, this is . . . Who are you?”

“Pippin. And you are?”

“Mallefinnros.”

“Hello, Mallefinnros.” Pippin sat up. slipping the knife onto the rubble beside him as he did so. He nodded toward the doll. “Hello Feva.” He looked back at Mallefinnros. “What was it you were telling her you didn’t do?”

“Oh! Feva needed to know I didn’t want her put here. She knew, of course, that I didn’t bring her here, but she thought Madam Talaitha did it because I didn’t want her anymore and that’s not true.”

Mallefinnros was still holding the doll out toward Pippin. Poor Feva was a bedraggled mess. Dirty hair, though Pippin knew from living with three sisters that doll hair had a way of getting very dirty. Her porcelain face had a fresh looking crack in it, but the doll’s head was still intact. Feva was missing her left arm, her porcelain right hand had no fingers, she had no foot on her left leg. The dress she wore had once been a fine satin gown, but now was dingy and torn.

“She’s broken,” Pippin said softly. “Why do you want her?”

Mallefinnros hugged Feva to her thin chest, rocking the doll from side to side as she did so, as one would rock a baby.

“Because I love her,” the child firmly replied. “Madam Talaitha said the same thing you did, but she didn’t understand and you don’t either.”

“I’d like to understand. I’m sorry I hurt your and Feva’s feelings.” Pippin knew about being able to hurt a doll’s feelings - and a wee girl’s. “I’m sure she’s glad you love her so much.”

Mallefinnros nodded as she moved Feva up to her shoulder so she could cuddle her with her cheek. “She knows. She knew from the very first day we met on my birthday two years ago.”

Pippin quickly reminded himself that Men received gifts on their birthdays instead of giving them as Hobbits did. “She was a birthday present?”

“Uh-huh. From Mummy and Daddy. Madam Talaitha gave me a new doll that someone brought to the orphanage. She’s a nice dolly, but she said she didn’t know why Feva had to go away as she thought Feva was a very nice doll-friend to have. She told me I should find Feva and bring her back home. Her name is Sister, but she said how can she be a sister if Feva is gone.”

Pippin smiled at the tale. It made his heart ache that little Mallefinnros was orphaned, but he liked her cleverness and pluck. He was certain she wasn’t supposed to be away from the orphanage.

The lass’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Why are you here?”

This brought Pippin’s musing to an abrupt halt. What could he tell the child, that he’d sat down amongst the rubble and discarded goods to kill himself?

“I’m broken,” he sighed, surprising himself with his honesty.

“You don’t look broken.”

The hurting hobbit held up his right arm, its hand, as always now, hung limply from the wrist. He slowly, with effort, raised it a bit but it soon fell back.

“I can only move my first two fingers and my thumb,” Pippin said as he demonstrated. “And they’re quite weak. I can’t even do my own buttons.”

Mallefinnros and Feva inched closer. She seemed to draw the story from him.

“My shoulder is hurt, it’s why my hand doesn’t work any longer, and sometimes it pains me. I hurt my left knee and sometimes I still limp and other times my calf cramps so badly I can’t walk at all for a while. And I think something is wrong inside me. I get tired and clumsy. I think my brain isn’t working as it should. I’m driving them all mad, my kin and friends that is. They say I’m ignoring them and not paying attention, but I think I am paying attention. I don’t know why they are so upset with me.”

He stopped. It wasn’t one of his blank times, he stopped because it felt good to have said it all while at the same time it hurt to have said it all. Tears were threatening to fall, but he did not let them.

“I’m broken and much of it can never be fixed,” he whispered.

Mallefinnros and Feva had inched closer until they could come no nearer because of the debris, but it was close enough. The little girl laid her hand on Pippin’s right hand. She laid Feva’s fingerless hand on it as well. Her tears fell on his hand as well.

“Feva wants to know if you have someone that loves you.”

Pippin was looking at the hands resting on his hand, feeling the tear drops when they fell near his ‘good’ fingers. He thought of Frodo, Merry and Sam. Of Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli and Strider. Faramir, Parsow, Beregond and Bergil. His family back in the Shire. They all cared about him, he knew they did, no matter how it may have appeared at times since he’d been hurt.

No, since they had all been hurt. They all had been hurt in some way. Every one of them.

He nodded. “Yes. I have folks who love me.”

The little girl made the doll’s hand pat Pippin’s as her own did the same. He looked up to see her smiling. Strange, even Feva somehow looked cleaner and happier.

“Feva says it’s all right then. She says being broken doesn’t matter so much if you’re loved.”

The words pierced him, sinking deeper even than Merry’s words that morning. It took his breath away. He couldn’t take his eyes from hers.

“Feva says you should go talk to one of the healers. They help broken people. I have friends at the orphanage who are broken and some of the healers come and teach them different ways to do things and bring them crutches and stuff.”

Mallefinnros paused before adding, “They even say the King is a healer.”

She smiled as she patted his hand a few more times, more firmly than before. “Farewell, Pippin. I need to go back before Madam Talaitha misses me.” She held her doll up by her face and waggled her arm. “Feva says fare you well.”

She turned and in a moment was gone from view.

Pippin slowly stood and walked off toward the Houses of Healing. He needed to talk to Parsow.

Found

Sam hurried off towards the markets. The largest markets were in the first circle of the city were they were easily accessible to the wains that brought goods in and took goods back out of Minas Tirith, but there were markets located on the main road in the second, third and fourth levels as well. He would start with the pastry shops. The young Took loved sweets. If Pippin had decided to comfort himself with food, Sam was certain it would be with pastries.

This was making his feet hurt, nearly running on the cobbles of the road. Sam’s feet had taken quite a beating, as had Frodo’s, but Sam had somehow managed to suffer worse burns and deeper bruising to his. They had healed well, Strider was very pleased. Yet they still pained him, what with all the hard stone one had to walk upon in this place. Sam ignored the ache, they had to find Mr. Pippin before he did something rash.
**************

Frodo went straight to the Third Circle of the White City. There had been a lot of damage to that level so there was now a great deal of repair work being done. It had been decided to turn the ruined section into a park, instead of trying to rebuild the buildings there. Legolas and Gimli were to be found there most days. Good strong stone work was needed to support the soil being brought in. A sound knowledge of handling green an growing things was also needed, so the Dwarf and Elf were both in great demand.

When Frodo found them, hastily explaining what had happened, Gimli said he knew which taverns and inns the young hobbit frequented and would start with them. Legolas said he knew of a few quiet places he had seen Pippin. If the lad had felt the need to think before acting, and it was to be hoped he had, the Legolas added, he may have gone to one of them. The Elf and the Dwarf went in to opposite directions, Frodo went in a third; Gandalf was somewhere in the Citadel libraries. Aragorn would be somewhere in the Citadel as well.
*********************

Merry was making his way around the sixth level, the same level the Companion’s house was on. He knew some of the back ways that Bergil had taught to Pippin. But it wasn’t easing his anxiety, this was taking too long. Everything was moving too slowly. He had been wandering about for over an hour now with no sign of his cousin anywhere. By the time he found Pippin this way he could . . .

Merry stumbled. He took a moment to steady himself, using the back of a hand to wipe sweat from his brow.

“You can’t let your thoughts go there, Merry old lad,” he muttered to himself. “It just makes you panic and that mars your thinking, and I need to think clearly.”

Just then, he felt a tug at his back pocket. Merry spun around to see a little girl, with hair nearly like the Lady Eowyn’s, standing behind him. Pippin’s scarf was in her hands. More precisely, it was her doll who seemed to be holding the scarf to its chest.

“No, Feva!” the child said sternly to the doll. “That isn’t nice to do.” She became aware that Merry was looking at her and shyly lifted her head to look at him.

“Give that back,” the Hobbit said firmly. “I’m in a hurry.”

“You look like Pippin.” The child’s voice was oddly calm, her gaze steady into Merry’s eyes.

“Yes, I suppose . . .” He suddenly realized the meaning of what she had said. “You know Pippin? Have you seen him today? How long ago did you see him? I’m trying to find him.” The words flew out of Merry’s mouth.

The child tipped her head toward her doll while her eyes stayed fixed on Merry’s. “Feva says she’s sorry, she just wanted to cuddle his scarf.” The doll, and of course the little girl as well, held the scarf out to Merry. “Pippin was sad because he’s broken. Feva said he should go and talk to a healer.”

Merry gently took Pippin’s scarf without looking at it. “Yes, he is sad. I said something that hurt him. I . . . I shouldn’t have but I did.”

She smiled. “It’s all right. He told me he has folks who love him. I can tell, you are one of them. You should go and find him.”

“Yes, yes I will. I’ll find him.”

Merry turned and ran toward the Houses of Healing, clutching Pip’s old, soft, grey scarf in his right hand. Mallefinnros and Feva smiled.
*******************

Sam had worked his way through the pastry shops on the way to the first level and now stood before the shop in the first level that was considered to be the finest in the White City. So far, there had been no sign of Pippin. Not one shop owner had seen the lad. Sam took a deep breath and walked into the shop.

“Lord Samwise!” the shopkeeper effused. “With what might I help you this fine bright day? Cream horns? Honey Rolls? Perhaps tarts for Sir Peregrin?”

“I’m looking for Mist . . . eh, Sir Peregrin,” Sam said firmly. He had already been unable to avoid longer conversations than he had wished with a few of the other bakers. “Have you seen him today?”

“I can’t say as I have, my lord.” the baker looked more carefully at the perian. Lord Samwise was sweaty and a bit disheveled, not the way he usually presented himself. “If I do see him, shall I send word?”

“Yes, please, and thank you,” Sam replied, the last being said over his shoulder as he left the shop.
*****************************

As Frodo approached the seventh circle, he began to see more Men in the livery of the Tower Guard. He stopped, slapped his hand to his forehead and shook his head. Why were they trying to search this huge city with only the eight members of the Company? Wouldn’t it be wiser to make use of those members of the guard who were not on duty and thus free to search for one of their own?

“Pardon me,” Frodo said to a Guardsman passing by.

The Guard was brought up short as he realized who had addressed him. “My lord,” he said, bowing.

“Are you on duty?”

“Just coming off duty, my lord.”

“Would you do something for me? We are trying to find Sir Peregrin. It would help us greatly if you and some of the other guardsmen who are off duty could search for him. Make it clear he needn’t be brought to me, unless he seems . . . eh, distressed. Just that whoever finds him should find me and tell me where he is. I shall be in the libraries I should think, looking for Mithrandir.”

“Of course, my lord! I’ll see to it at once. Where shall I tell them to search?”

Frodo felt a bit foolish, but it was the only response he could give, “Everywhere,” he replied.

“Yes, my lord.” the man replied and dashed off to the nearest buttery. He doubted there was a man of the Tower Guard who did not like the small knight. There should be many willing to join the search. What he didn’t quite understand was how the other pheriannath had lost Pippin, as he asked to be called. It was well know they spent much of their time together and were very close.

Frodo went on to the libraries. His feet ached. His left shoulder felt tight and chilled. He was frightened that he was taking too long. As he hurried down the main aisles, glancing quickly down each row of shelves, he thought for the first time ever in his life that it was such nonsense to demand quiet in a library. If he could shout it would making finding the wizard that much simpler.

He began looking into each of the small rooms set into the walls of the main library that were used for even quieter study. Gandalf was in the fourth one he looked into.

“Gandalf, at last!” Frodo said more loudly than he meant to as he rushed over to the wizard sitting behind a small table. Suddenly, Frodo’s usual calm left him. The panic he had restrained to this point broke through. “Pippin is gone, we have to find him as soon as possible. He took a knife and might hurt himself”

Gandalf’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “What? Slow down, Frodo, my lad. You aren’t making much sense.”

“Everthing’s a dreadful mess. Pippin is more Pippin-like than usual. His thoughts wander, he threw a quill, he daydreams, he’s clumsy, forgetful. He’s not himself, he’s surly, snapish. Merry yelled at him. Pip is driving us all to distraction. He poured tea until it over flowed, and just kept pouring. Burned Merry’s hand. He said the most horrible things to the lad and Pippin left. The knife was missing off of the table. Pippin soiled himself.” Frodo tugged at Gandalf’s sleeve. “We have to find him.”

Frodo hadn’t slowed down. He had sounded exactly like his missing cousin, pouring the tale out in a breathless rush.

“The new King’s first poorly made decision. He will will be quite devastated that it was in regards to young Peregrin and the rest of you.” Gandalf stood and set off out of the small room at a pace almost too fast for the hobbit to comfortably follow. “We will visit King Elessar at once. Come along, Frodo.”

“Poorly made decision?” Frodo asked as he hurried along.

The Wizard did not reply, he just kept to his hurried pace until they were at the doors of the Tower Hall. He did not pause to address the guards nor to give them time to announce him but went straight through the doors and down the length of the room. He stopped four feet before the throne.

“I will have your attention, King Elessar.”

Aragorn and the ambassadors with whom he was speaking had dropped into silence as the wizard and hobbit walked so boldly toward them.

“Your Majesty, who is this who treats you with . . .” one of the ambassadors began, but the King raised a hand to silence him.

“Gandalf, Frodo. What is it you need?” the King asked.

The ambassadors’ mouths fell open. These, then, were the mighty White Wizard and the Ring Bearer. They bowed and backed away to give them privacy.

“You should have told the hobbits what you feared might happen with Peregrin. The situation has been going sour and now it appears to have become critical.” Gandalf paused a moment then continued. “I do not lay all the blame upon you, my friend,” He said sadly. “I also said and did nothing. The lad has run off and is now in peril, Aragorn.”

At that moment a man rushed in followed by the guards.

“My lords, we’ve found Sir Peregrin. He’s at the Houses of Healing.”
***************************

“Parsow!”

The young healer turned to see Peregrin trotting awkwardly towards him. His limp was more pronounced than was usual.

“Parsow,” the Hobbit puffed as he came to a stop. “Have you . . . some time . . . just now.”

Parsow quickly thought of all he had to attend to at the moment, but there was something to his friend’s tone that made him push the other matters aside.

“Yes, Pippin, I do. Do you need something?”

“I . . .” Pippin paused, his expression going blank for several moments. Parsow frowned. “I have some questions I’d like to ask you,” Pippin suddenly said.

“Concerning what, my friend?”

“Well, I’m wondering if maybe someone other than Merry and Frodo could help me with my exercises. I seem to be upsetting them both lately, and it might be better if I’m not doing that.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged, Pippin.” Parsow put a hand on Pippin’s shoulder as he spoke. “Perhaps we should sit down by the fountain for a moment. You seem a bit winded.”

Parsow began to guide the lad toward the fountain in the center of the courtyard where there were also benches. Pippin didn’t look right to the healer, nor did he feel right in that hard to explain way of sensing that good healers have.

“Maybe someone who works with the broken . . . I mean hurt children at the orphanage,” Pippin was saying. “They would be used to small sized hands and . . .”

Once again, Pippin stopped in mid-sentence. But this time, with a gasp of pain. He grabbed at his left leg.

Across the courtyard to the right, Merry had just spotted Parsow and Pippin. Off to the left, the off duty guardsman leading the King, Mithrandir and Frodo entered the open space . They each were just about to call out when a strange strangled sounding cry came from Pippin. As Parsow reached for him, the young hobbit stiffened and toppled to the ground.

Everyone ran toward Pippin, but all except Aragorn stopped when, just as they neared the place where he lay, Pippin began to thrash about.

Merry turned to Frodo who had come up beside him. He buried his face in his older cousin’s shoulder and wept, unable to watch as the fit continued to convulse his young cousin’s body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: I will mention here, as well as at the beginning of the next chapter, that I will be using the older terms of “fit” and “falling sickness” in this story instead of the newer terms of “siezure” and “epilepsy”.

Questions, Answers & Shame

Frodo held Merry tightly with his right arm while, without his even realizing it, his left hand sought out, found and clasped Gandalf’s hand which had come to rest on his left shoulder. The Wizard himself felt a need for a comforting touch. He loved the hobbits deeply, had done since his friendship with the Old Took. Bilbo, Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin had become dear to him even before the Quest. He counted Bilbo and Frodo as his dearest friends. Yet he himself was at a loss to explain why Pippin was the only one he felt parental towards.

Unlike Merry, Frodo’s gaze remained fixed on Pippin. He didn’t understand; the most Parsow and Strider had done was to cushion Pippin’s head with Parsow’s open-sided tunic which the healers wore over their robes. The lad was blue about his lips which also had red tinged frothy saliva on them, and he continued to flop and thrash about. Slowly, the frightful movements slowed. A dark, wet spot bloomed on the front of Pippin’s trousers then his young cousin lay still upon the ground. Strider scooped the lad up and set off at a rapid pace toward the Royal Wing of the Houses.

Frodo gave Merry a squeeze and a bit of a shake. “It’s over Merry. Strider’s picked Pippin up and is taking him to a room here at the Houses, I think. We need to follow.”

Merry numbly did as he was told as they all hurried after the King.

Parsow led the way to a large, fair room. Strider laid Pippin on one side of the large bed then he and Parsow began undressing their patient. Frodo suddenly thought about Sam, Gimli and Legolas. An errand lad had come into the room, standing ready by the door should he be needed. Frodo asked him to find a few of the other lads and for them to go to the markets, the taverns and to search out the quieter corners of the city to find the Elf, Legolas, Gimli the Dwarf, and Lord Samwise. The boy nodded and dashed off to do as he was bid.

Frodo turned back at the sound of fussing coming from the bed.

“Hold him steady, Parsow,” Strider’s tone was urgent.

“No! Don’ hur’ ‘im! Merry!”

Pippin was struggling on the bed. Parsow had hold of Pippin’s right arm and leg, Strider his left. Frodo hurried over to stand beside Parsow, Merry was already beside Strider.

“Le’ me go, ‘ou filt’y Orcs!” Pippin’s speech was unclear, like some one who is talking in their sleep, but he was now screaming. “Le’ me go! Le’ . . . me . . . go!” It obviously wasn’t another fit, but the lad was panicking. His eyes were wide with terror and anger. “Don’ hur’ Merry! Filt’y Orcs!”

The two men were glad they were both there. Although either one of them could have easily held Pippin down, the way he was struggling they still might have hurt him in the process. With both of them there, neither needed to use much force to restrain the terrified hobbit

“Pippin,” Strider said softly, his face quite close to Pippin’s ear. “It is Parsow and Strider who hold you, lad. You need not struggle. We won’t hurt you. Only your friends are here, Pippin.”

“No! Orcs! Don’ hur’ Merry!” Pippin was tiring. He was thrashing about less, but he was still agitated and screaming as loud as he could.

Merry suddenly remembered what he had stuffed into his pocket earlier in the day; what seemed like ages ago now. What Pip had dropped on his bedroom floor and what had led his cousin to the painful discovery of the soiled nightshirt. Merry tugged it out of his pocket then reached over to rub Pippin’s cheek with his scarf.

Strider saw what Merry was doing. “It’s your scarf, Peregrin. Merry is giving you your scarf.” He crooned as a mother would to her frightened child. “You should take your scarf, Pippin, it will help you feel better.”

After a few moments, the confused young hobbit stopped his squirming and Strider and Parsow let go of his arms and legs. He slowly turned his head toward the comforting touch and looked at his cousin.

“Mer? No’ hur’ Mer?” Pippin’s voice was weak and a tear formed at the corner of his left eye to then run across his temple and into the soft grey fabric of the scarf. His left hand grasped and held onto his scarf.

“I’m not hurt, Pip. I’m not hurt. You . . . you can rest now, Pippin.” Merry said through his own tears.

“All righ’, Mer,” Pippin mumbled. He relaxed as Parsow and Aragorn let go of his limbs. Pippin’s weak right hand joined his left hand in holding the scarf as he fell asleep. Frodo gently caressed Pip’s other cheek and sighed. He and Merry looked at each other. They wanted answers and they wanted them now.

Strider and Parsow finished with seeing their patient cleaned, put into a night shirt and tucked in. The Ring Bearer walked over to stand behind the King, arms crossed over his chest.

“We will have an explanation now, Strider.”

The tall man had heard Frodo use that tone with the other hobbits but never with him. It was a tone that made it exquisitely clear that Frodo would brook no refusal. Aragorn slowly turned to face the hobbit. He was amazed at how cold those blue eyes could be. His battles had given a great deal of strength to Frodo Baggins.

“When I found Gandalf in the library, he said something about your first poorly made decision as the new King of Gondor being made in regard to Pippin.” Frodo’s voice matched the look in his eyes. “Am I right in assuming that decision had something to do with what we just witnessed?”

Merry stepped up beside his older cousin. “Do you mean to tell us you knew this would happen?” Where Frodo’s anger was cold and fierce as a blizzard, Merry’s was a dragon’s flame. His grey-blue eyes smouldered.

Strider sighed. “Parsow, there is only one chair in here. Would you see to procuring enough for everyone? And I think Legolas, Sam and Gimli will be here soon as well.” He pulled the single seat away from Pippin’s beside and gestured for Frodo to be seated. Frodo glared at him. “Please, Frodo. this will not be a short conversation.”

Frodo pushed the chair back by the bed, took Merry by the shoulders and sat him down. As dear as Pippin was to him, he knew it was Merry who was needing to be closest to the lad right now. Some of the fire went out of Merry’s eyes. “Thank you, Frodo,” he said quietly . He held Pippin’s hand, but kept his eyes on Strider.

By the time the other chairs were brought in, borne by Parsow and several aids, Legolas, Gimli and Sam had arrived. Gandalf hastily told them what had happened and they each sat down. Parsow took a seat as well. Oddly, against all protocol, King Elessar stood.

“Merry,” he began. “You asked if I knew this would happen to Pippin. I did not know for certain, but I thought it might.” The King began to pace. “I did not tell you . . .” he paused to look at the hobbits who were sitting in a row. “I did not tell any of you because I did not wish to alarm you needlessly.”

“Needlessly?” Merry asked loudly, the pitch of his voice rising.

“Needlessly?” Frodo asked quietly, but his voice held more authority.

“I did not know if he would develop the falling sickness or not. It isn’t really a sickness, one does not catch it as one does a cold.”

Strider paced a bit in silence before suddenly sitting on the floor in front of the three hobbits. He had been so hoping it would not come to this; he hated that they were being dealt a further blow.

“It can be something that simply happens to a person. Some will suffer with it as a child only to have it leave them as they mature. Some will find it befalling them later in life.”

He paused again, staring into Frodo’s eyes.

“In other’s it is brought on by an injury to the head, or by not being able to breathe properly for too long a time. I myself have seen it come upon a man who nearly drowned and another who had a beam of a fallen ceiling pressed against his throat for the time it took rescuers to reach him.”

“Or layin’ under a large heavy troll till a battle is over.” Sam whispered.

“Yes.” Strider confirmed. “Gimli said that when he found and uncovered Pippin he thought the lad was dead.”

“Aye,” the Dwarf sadly put in. “He was pale and a wee bit blueish about the face. I could not have been more surprised when Legolas said the lad was alive.”

Aragorn nodded, then turned back to the hobbits. “At first it was hard to know how Pippin might be affected, he had been given poppy for his pain and that can hide many things. But soon, Parsow began to notice Pippin would go blank for a few moments now and again.”

“It’s been getting worse,” Merry said tersely. He was still frightened and somewhat in shock from witnessing as much as he did of Pippin’s fit. “It would have been nice to know there was a reason for it other than just Pippin being rude or inattentive.”

Merry hung his head and held up the hand that wasn’t holding Pippin’s. When he lifted his head, tears were tracking down his face.

“I’m sorry, Strider. I’m not giving you a chance to finish explaining your decision. We’re . . . I’m just frightened and . . . well . . .” He looked at Frodo and Sam. “It appears as though you have treated us as though we are children, or at least as being too young to handle hard news, and we’ve come to expect otherwise from you.”

Strider’s face flushed, Merry had hit close to the truth. It was his turn to hang his head.

“I did. Not entirely, but yes. I feared how the idea of it would affect you all. But there was more to it than that. I didn’t want you looking for signs of the ailment either. They are such that it is ofttimes easy to see them when they are not really there at all. Pippin, from the stories you have all told and from what I observed while we travelled together, has always been given to being easily distracted. It was easy to see that he often gets lost in his thoughts and daydreams then needs to be “wakened” from them. I could easily envision the three of you suddenly seeing those as early signs of the falling sickness when they might not have been.”

Frodo nodded. “That does sound like a reasonable concern. So, you are saying that these qualities that Pippin already has becoming so much worse is part of the falling sickness.”

Parsow spoke up. “Yes. I’ve been doing a great deal of studying of the ailment since His Majesty told me of his concerns. There are some who never have it progress to the falling sickness and so for a long time the two were not connected amongst healers. But, it happened that enough patients that began with having the blankness and inattentiveness later developed the falling sickness that it came to be believed that they are sometimes connected. The times of blankness can be quite debilitating in and of itself as it can happen with increasing frequency until it is happening hundreds of times in a day. Often the person’s character changes as well. They become more irritable and despondent.”

Parsow suddenly realized he might be speaking out of turn again, after all, the King was in the room. “I beg your pardon, sire,” he said to King Elessar.

The King smiled. “I asked that you be made a full healer for a reason, Parsow. There is no need to apologize, this is an informal setting. You have given a good accounting of the ailment.”

Strider turned back to face the hobbits.

“There is something else as well. Here I hold myself to be even more at fault, needing your forgiveness to a greater degree.” Strider drew a deep breath, breathed it out slowly, then continued. “I greatly underestimated how busy I would be. And the same holds for Parsow with becoming a healer.”

The man’s voice was soft. It was easy to tell this pained him greatly.

“I have worked closely with rulers of both Men and Elves all my adult life. Yet working closely is not being the ruler. I have found my attention is required, or at least requested, on nearly every aspect of the daily workings of the realm. Parsow now has novices under him for whom he is responsible as well as patients that are his own to care for.” He looked at Pippin, lying asleep in the bed. “I had not expected to be busy to the point where I had so little time for Pippin or the rest of you, my dearest friends. I had thought that I would visit each day, if only for a while, and observe the lad myself, or that Parsow would do so.”

He slowly looked each hobbit in the eyes. They could see and feel his deep regret. “Alas, it has not been so. Even when he has been on duty I have not really been able to observe him well. So it has happened that Pippin’s condition has deteriorated unobserved by those of us with the knowledge of what was happening.”

“Nor have I observed the lad as I should have.” It was Gandalf who spoke. “I have been helping the King.” He turned to Frodo. “You know I love to dig into the old books as much as you do, my lad. I was too readily drawn into researching old laws and judgments to aid Aragorn in making his many decisions. I also tender my deepest apologies, my dear Hobbits.”

Merry and Sam looked at Frodo. Frodo grinned sadly. Yes. He could understand having people look to a single person they perceived as being older and wiser for answers and decisions.

“You are all forgiven,” The eldest hobbit said with a gentle smile. “All that you have said is reasonable and understandable.”

The other two hobbits nodded their agreement.

“But, now what is to be done?” The ice in Frodo’s eyes had melted into sorrow while his voice betrayed his worried weariness. “Pippin ran from the house this morning. His blankness, as you are calling it, had caused him to pour hot tea over Merry’s hand. Merry dropped his cup, Pippin dropped the teapot and Merry lost his temper.”

“And yesterday evenin’, the lad wasn’t at all his usual self.” Sam added thoughtfully.

“It caught all of us by surprise that Peregrin behaved as he did last night,” Legolas added, sorrow shading his voice. “He sat in a corner much of the time and quickly became ill tempered and abusive.”

Parsow thought a moment. “Had he perhaps been drinking heavily last evening?”

Gimli haruffed and what little of his face that could be seen turned red. “Aye, he had, though not as heavily as is usual for the lad from what we’ve seen and heard of in the past. ‘Twas my idea to take the hobbits out to a tavern as they had seemed to be in need of some diversion.”

“You wouldn’t have known, Gimli.” Parsow said, nodding. “Drinking can worsen the effects of the fits.”

All who had been to the tavern nodded with new understanding. Parsow’s words explained a great deal of what had happened last evening.

Frodo sighed. This had proved to be a long, hard day. “With what happened in the courtyard, with all that’s been said, I think it is clear that this afternoon’s fit was not his first. I’m sure you both saw the cut above Pippin’s eye, Parsow and Strider. That was fresh this morning. Merry said Pip’s bedding was all pulled loose on his bed and he found the lad’s soiled nightshirt hidden in the chamber pot. Sam had found a mess in the bathing room this morning. I’m thinking he had a fit during the night, falling out of bed in the process, cleaned up as best he could, hid the nightshirt and went back to sleep.”

Strider nodded. “I agree with you Frodo,” He looked sadly at Pippin. His heart ached that he hadn’t observed the lad better. “Those are all significant signs, that point to a heavy fit during the night.”

They all sat in silence, working through all they had heard. This only led back to where they had been a moment ago, and Frodo repeated his question.

“What can be done for Pippin?”

The King’s expression brightened a bit. “There are things that can be done.” He paused. This news was not going to be as much a relief as the hobbit were most likely hoping for. “There are things that can be done but, even among the Elves, there is no cure for the falling sickness.”

The expressions on the hobbit’s faces had eased then returned to worried frowns in the span of those two sentences.

“The number of blank spells and fits can be reduced.” Strider said. “There are herbs that I can try in varying combinations and concentrations. Many patients find a great deal of relief with their use. Though it will take time; time to find those that work best for Pippin and then to also determine how strong they need to be. And it may be that things will be worse before they are better.”

“But not cured?” Merry said faintly. His heart was aching. He had turned toward his young cousin, still holding his hand but now gently stroking Pip’s cheek as well.

Strider’s voice was nearly as pain-filled as Merry’s. “No. Not cured. He will always have times of blankness and he will always have the possibility of having falling fits. Hopefully less often. Hopefully we will be able to have it be so they do not affect his life as drastically as they would otherwise.” The new King of Gondor rose, walked a step or two to be next to Meriadoc, then dropped to one knee beside him. Merry’s attention was on Pippin as Strider gently patted and rubbed his back. “But, though it hurts me to say it, not cured, Merry. Like the injuries to his hand and his leg, this will be with him for the rest of his life.”

No more was said about what the future might hold. Only time would tell what would happen with the rest of Pippin’s life. The companions talked of other things, memories of the Quest and of returning to their homes, while they remained where they were, keeping vigil in Pippin’s room.

Several hours later, a bit past the mid point of the night, Pippin stirred and woke up. He blinked lazily then seemed to become aware that he was in bed. He looked down and around himself first, then noticed there were people in the room. He turned to Merry, who was sitting beside the bed with his hand resting on Pippin’s shoulder.

“Merry?”

“Yes, Pip.” Merry sat up straighter and smiled. “It’s good to see you awake.”

“Yes, well . . . thank you, Merry. Why am I here? This is the Houses of Healing, isn’t it? Have I been ill?” He looked around at his fellow Companions and Parsow before turning back to his cousin. “Why is everyone here?”

Merry looked Pippin in the eye for only a few moments before looking away. He looked at Frodo, Strider, Parsow and Gandalf. “What should I say?” he was desperately wondering. Despite having thought about it for hours, his mind was now blank.

Strider came to Merry’s aid. “Not ill, Pippin,” he said, moving closer to the opposite side of the bed. “Indisposed would suit what has happened better.”

“Indisposed?” Pippin looked at his king. “In what way? I don’t feel all that badly.” But even as he said it, Pippin’s eyes momentarily lost their focus. He was already having another blank spell.

“I’ve been indisposed?” he asked again.

Aragorn and Parsow were watching him carefully. Everyone in the room had noticed the short spell.

“You had a fit, Pippin,” Parsow said softly.

“A-a fit?” Pippin’s eyes began to widen.

Merry didn’t like how this was going. How long would they have the lad wondering what was happening to him? They hadn’t exactly been forthcoming up until now. He decided to take matters into his own hands.

“Like cousin Bandobard Took, Pippin,” he blurted.

Pippin whipped his head around to look at Merry, his eyes as wide opened as Merry had ever seen them. “L-like . . . like . . .”

His older cousin could see the realization of all that meant coming into Pippin’s mind, and it was terrifying the lad. Merry began to panic as well; blurting that out had not been the best thing to do after all. Pippin was frantically looking at everyone, who, of course, were all looking at him. Pippin fumbled about for the ends of his scarf as he started to inch his way back from everyone as best he could before reaching the headboard of the bed. He huddled up against it, still looking wildly around.

“No! N-no. I can’t have. I’ve never . . . No.” He continued to twist about as though trying to look everywhere at once. “Staring . . . You’re all, all staring at me . . . I . . . No. D-don’t l-look at m-me.”

Strider reached for the distraught hobbit. “Peregrin . . .” he started gently, hoping to distract him.

But Pippin curled up against the headboard, hiding his eyes with his scarf. “Go away!” he cried out, though it was muffled by the fabric. “Go! All of you! Everybody. L-leave me alone!”

It tore at all of their hearts to hear him. Aragorn had pulled back but now once more reached to touch Pippin’s shoulder. Frodo stopped him. He had experienced similar panics while on the quest and Sam had given him some time alone, while staying near enough that his master knew he wasn’t truly alone. It had been what Frodo had needed then and he was sure it was what Pippin needed now.

“As you wish, Pip-lad. We will be nearby should you need us. We will leave the door ajar to hear you when you call.” Frodo shook his head at Strider, who had drawn a breath to speak, then motioned to everyone to leave. “You too, Merry,” he whispered to his cousin.

They quietly filed out of the room, pulling the door to, but not shutting it tight, behind them.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Today it is well established that both the "blankness" and the "fits" are forms of epilepsy. The former being called Absence siezures and the later being called Tonic-clonic seizures.

Sorting Things Out

The gardens for the Royal Wing of the Houses of Healing were actually an atrium with a covered walk surrounding it. The Company of the Ring, Parsow, along with Beregond and Bergil, went just beyond the balustrade and arches that separated the walk from the garden itself then everyone stopped and all eyes turned to Frodo. He looked back to the slightly opened door of Pippin’s room, only a few paces away, before he spoke.

Frodo turned to his cousin. “I think you should explain about Bandobard Took as you are the one who brought him into this.”

Merry looked at Frodo for several long moments before sighing and nodding his head. “As . . . well . . . As I’m sure you have all . . . You seem to know about him as well Frodo, why is that?”

“Bilbo is half Took, remember. We always knew a great deal of the Took’s affairs.”

“Ah, yes. That would be the case. Well, as I’m sure you’ve all reckoned, Cousin Bandobard had, still has I would say as we’ve not heard of his passing, has the falling sickness.”

Merry’s gaze went past Frodo to fix upon the fountain playing softly in the center of the garden, but his thoughts were in the Tooklands of the Shire.

“He was a playmate of Pippin's and mine when we were lads, he being between us in age. One summer he was just gone, just not around anywhere. He wasn’t at the birthday parties, not around on any Highday afternoons, just . . . not anywhere.” Merry drew a deep breath, held it a moment then huffed it out through his nose. “We went to his house, it wasn’t far from the Whitwell farm where Pip’s family lived, and his mum would always say he was busy, or gone with his dad somewhere, or . . . or ill.”

Merry brought his gaze back to the others. He glanced around at each one of them before settling on Frodo. “We got curious, Pippin and I, and you all know that can be a dangerous thing. Well, we started looking in at the windows and one day we . . . we saw him. We saw him have a fit, and we were scared to death and we thought he was going to die and we ran until we were out of breath and we never went back to ask after him.”

The last had poured out in a rush of breath and tears. Everyone listening could clearly see in their minds the youthful Merry and Pippin, kind hearted lads the both of them, frightened and hurting, running away from their cousin’s home. Those who had been there when Pippin was struck down by his fit now understood Merry’s reaction. Their hearts clenched within their chests.

Merry was sobbing as he spoke. “An . . . and now Pip . . . Pip will have to be shut - sniff - shut away like Bandy was. I-I was a-afraid that you were just going to . . . to not tell him. Not tell him plainly . . . or that you would . . .” He gasped in a hitching breath but kept going. “I could just hear you - sniff - explaining it in some way that he couldn’t understand. He needed to know what . . .”

Merry could go no further but turned to lean against Frodo, who immediately enfolded him in a warm embrace. Sam moved closer and began rubbing Merry’s back. They could all hear Merry’s muffled “I’m sorry” repeated over and over.

“I can understand that concern,” Gimli muttered. He received a glare from the Elf, the Wizard and the King.

Aragorn cleared his throat. “I would have done my best, Merry, to be clear and I’m quite certain with having . . . experienced seeing your cousin, it would not have been too difficult for Pippin to understand what I would have described. But, what is done is done.”

He went over to kneel down beside Merry, Frodo and Sam, laying his hand gently on the back of Merry’s head.

“I was also going to tell him about the things that can be done to help him.”

Merry’s head came up. He turned his red nosed, watery-eyed, tear-wet face to Strider. “And he didn’t get to hear that because I butted in.” He pushed back from Frodo’s embrace to look at his cousin. “We need to go in and tell him, Frodo. He needs to . . .” Merry turned back to the king. “How long will he need to be shut away, Strider?”

Strider had sensed the horror Merry had been feeling as he relived that part of the story of Bandobard Took, and he knew full well what a social being Peregrin Took was. He put as much comfort and reassurance into his voice as he could.

“No, Merry. Pippin will not be shut away. Not while he is here, nor when you all return home to The Shire.”

Merry turned to the Man and grabbed hold of his arm. “But Strider, you don’t understand. They . . . the hobbits . . . they will think he’s evil, or cursed. They will be afraid of him. Won’t let their children near him lest his curse fall on them, or he tries to harm them.”

His young friend’s pleading look and tone cut deeply. Strider looked down for a moment before returning his eyes to Merry’s. “You are right, Merry. I had forgotten. Yet, the hobbits are not fools. I think if Pippin accepts himself, if he goes amongst them with confidence, they will see it for what it is. It is an injury as much as his damaged hand, or your damaged arm, or Frodo’s missing finger. And that is where we all will be be able to help him. You three more so and you the most, Merry. We will need to help Peregrin believe in himself. It is the best analeptic, the best tonic, he can receive.”

Merry, Sam and Frodo were nodding, as was Parsow who was standing on the other side of the three hobbits.

“That is what will heal him most, both with the falling sickness and his other injuries,” Parsow said softly. “I have seen, as I am certain his majesty has as well, a patient with a lesser injury or disease languish, and sometimes perish, when another more seriously ailing recovers and does well. The only difference being not in the care they received but in how each viewed himself and, I would add to that, the love of family and friends.”

The hobbits looked from Parsow to Strider and the king nodded. “It is indeed so, my friends. Our Peregrin is usually of a cheerful nature. We need to help him keep his sunny disposition, to keep hold of his true self. Not to say he will not have times of discouragement, he most certainly shall, but if his heart is still gladsome, it will make a great difference.”

The hobbits looked at each other.

“I’ve heard it’s why husbands ‘n wives often pass soon after the first of them goes,” Sam sagely said.

“Yes,” Frodo said softly. “It was all that held me through my parents deaths. They had taught me to believe in myself, I . . . I had been raised in a cheerful, loving home, and then was taken in by Merry’s mother and father who also loved me. It does make a difference.”

Frodo paused a few moments as he sighed. Then he blushed, grinning an embarrassed grin. “And we have all done such a grand job of being encouraging of late. Mind you, we didn’t realize there was more going on than Pippin just being lazy, careless or inattentive. And we’ve all our own hurts and fears as well. Sam’s feet still pain him.”

Sam gave a start. He thought he had been hiding it well, especially from his master. Then he smiled. He should have know Mr. Frodo would notice.

“Merry has his right arm, I’ve my missing finger and we both have . . .” Frodo’s voice dropped, “the Darkness hovering in the back of our minds. We were expecting Pippin to be, well, to just be Pippin. We weren’t seeing that he was having problems of his own beyond his weak arm and hand.”

Merry was nodding in agreement to everything his older cousin was saying. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and said, “All right then. We need to go back in there and talk to him. He’s had little but frights and our being upset with him for several days. it is time to begin turning that around.” He paused and looked at Frodo. “You seem to understand what is happening just now better than I have, Frodo, do you think he’s had enough time to himself? Should we go in?”

Frodo nodded slowly as he thought for a few moments. “Yes, Merry, we should. But I’m thinking it would be best if it is only you, Sam, me and Gandalf who go in just now. He was horribly upset by this great lot of people, all dear friends mind you but still a lot of people, all standing about looking at him. After hearing what happened when two found out about Bandobard, you two staring in at the windows and all, I’m sure that is what it felt like to Pip. Now he was the one being watched.”

“I think you’re right Frodo,” Merry said.

Gandalf said nothing, though he was thinking a great deal. Frodo had turned his expressive blue eyes on him as he had spoken his name. The hobbit knew how much the wizard love him and Bilbo, but it was clear he knew there was something special between him and young Peregrin as well. It touched Gandalf’s heart to be included.

“I agree, Frodo,” Aragorn said. I think the rest of us should go to our respective homes and get some sleep. It is late,” he said, “well, early actually, and tomorrow will be better faced when rested. Parsow,” the healer-king looked at the young healer.

“Sire?”

“I will see you in the morning to begin working on the first medicine I wish to try with young Peregrin.”

“Yes, my lord.” Parsow bowed. “A good night to you all,” he said, bowing his head to the rest of Pippin’s friends, then left the garden. The others did the same as the hobbits and the wizard headed for Pippin’s room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pippin heard them leave the room. At least, it seemed they all had left. Slowly he peered over the top edge of his scarf to look around the room. He sighed with relief - he was alone.

But the relief he felt was small, nearly insignificant. His heart still raced, his thoughts still churned . . . “like cousin Bandobard Took” Merry had said. His horrified thoughts took him back to that summer in the Tookland.

He and Merry had stood frozen in place, their eyes just over the top of the window sill, watching as their playmate flopped about on the floor like a fish freshly yanked from the water. Frothy spittle had oozed from his lips as he thrashed about, and all his mother had done was move a foot stool aside as though she were afraid Bandy’s writhing might break it. Finally, the fit slowed and whatever gruesome sort of curiosity had held Merry and him at the window left them and they ran away as fast as they could.

Later, a few days later actually when they had worked up the nerve, they asked his mum about it. His mum is a healer and they thought she would know best what was happening to their friend.

“I’m sorry you saw that, my dear lads,” she had said whilst shaking her head sadly. “I don’t really know what to say to you. I’ve seen it before. It comes out of nowhere to strike folk down. Some say it’s a curse. Something that befalls someone who has done wicked things or angered an evil spirit, though,” she looked at each of the lads, “I doubt very much that Bandy has done aught that was wicked, nor angered some evil thing.”

He had sat there scarcely breathing. The three of them, he, Merry and Bandy, had played in the burial plot on the Whitwell farm the autumn before. They were showing off for each other, proving they were brave. Might that have done this to Bandy?

“I don’t think it is from any such thing, my dears,” His mum had hastened to assure them. “I don’t know what it is but, I think something just goes wrong with the body’s essence and it becomes uncontrolled. Even so, it is a frightening thing and the poor hobbit is usually kept away from folks, as they have done with Bandobard.”

He and Merry never saw Bandy again.

Pippin’s mind came back to the here and now, to a room in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. He was far from home, far from his family, but this thing had taken hold of him anyway. Perhaps it was because he was far from home? He had surely been angering evil beings of late and now one of them, maybe even some remaining shred of the Dark Lord himself, had taken hold of him. And why wouldn’t it be so? Hadn’t he managed to say nothing to Him whilst looking in the palantir?

Suddenly, even curled upon the bed inside this vast city as he was, Pippin felt too exposed. He needed to hide. He looked about the room, his eyes finally settling on the curtains that flanked the window. There had been curtains in the library at Great Smials, very much like these curtains, that he had hid behind often as a lad. He slowly eased himself out of the bed, clutching one of the pillows with his good arm, then swiftly crossed the room to huddle behind the security of the heavy curtains. He hugged the pillow between his chest and his drawn up legs. After awhile, Pippin fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frodo led the way as he nudged open the door to Pippin’s room and went inside. He, Merry, Sam and, lastly, Gandalf, stepped into the dimly lit room. It did not take long for them to realize that Pippin was nowhere to be seen.

“He’s gone!” Sam breathed out. “I tried keepin’ an eye on the door, in case he wanted us and called out, or tried to leave. He didn’t come out, I’d swear to it.”

Frodo’s voice was tense and higher in pitch than usual. “I’m . . . I’m sure he didn’t Sam, and you did well to watch. Gandalf?” He looked around in the gloom for the wizard.

“Here Frodo.”

The room grew brighter. Gandalf had lit the large lamp on the table along the wall to the right of the door.

Strangely, Merry didn’t panic. He was finally being more his old self and was standing in the middle of the room thinking.

“He was frightened,” he said quietly. “And being stared at . . .” Merry started to slowly turn about. “I think he might be hiding somewhere.” He went to the wardrobe. The door was ajar, but when he opened it Pippin was not there.

“We’ll help you find him, Mr. Merry,” Sam said, more loudly than Merry had been talking, and he bent to look under the large bed.

Merry thought of his little cousin hiding behind the curtains in the library at the Smials and turned to go over to the window when a small strangled sound came from behind one of the long, heavy, curtains.

Pippin had awakened to find himself someplace dark. The air around him was musty and overly warm, making it hard to breathe. He faintly heard a voice saying, “We’ll . . . find him . . .”

He couldn’t move! He couldn’t breathe properly! It was dark!

Troll!

He was under the troll, slowly dying, and no one knew where he was. He tried to cry out, but only a whimper escaped his lips. He tried to move but was tangled in something. Pippin cried out more and squirmed as much as he could.

There was a squirming, keening bulge at the foot of the curtain. It had to be Pippin. Merry started forward, but was stopped. Gandalf was holding the three hobbits back with his outstretched arms.

Something stirred in his mind. The wizard saw in a flash himself and Pippin flying over the ground to the beat of Shadowfax’s hooves. Pippin, all curious questions one moment then shivering with fear the next, pressing tightly against Gandalf’s chest and cuddling into his arms for safety.

“I’ll see to the lad,” he whispered to Merry, Frodo and Sam. “If he should struggle, better someone strong has hold of him. You three go back to the house and get some rest as Aragorn suggested. I’ll see to the lad.”

Reluctantly, the hobbits left the room, but only as far as the benches in the garden. They did not wish to be too far away from Pippin.

Comfort

Gandalf walked over and sat on the stone floor beside the bulge in the curtains that was Pippin. The young hobbit was quite worked up now, keening and gasping whilst battling the curtain that was enshrouding him. It took some doing to get Pippin freed then the wizard pulled the panicked lad onto his lap, hugging him gently to his chest; being careful not to cover the his face.

“Can’t-can’t see. Can’t breathe. Ca-can’t . . . see. C-can’t breath . . . Can-can’t . . .” Pippin kept gasping out.

“If you cannot see, Peregrin Took, it is because your eyes are closed.”

The deep gentle voice vibrated against Pippin’s body, it sifted through his distraught mind to gain his attention. He slowly opened his eyes and was surprised to see a room instead of a battlefield. He was being held, or more precisely cradled, in some big person’s arms. He looked up.

“Gandalf?” he whispered.

“Yes, my lad. And you are most definitely breathing, so you needn’t fear on that account either. In fact, I would say you are more in danger of making yourself swoon from breathing in pants and gasps. Take a deep breath, Peregrin. There’s a good lad.”

Pippin mechanically did as he was told, his eyes never leaving those of the wizard.

“I . . . I,” Pippin swallowed hard before he went on. “I thought I was under the . . . under the troll again. It was all dark and . . . and the air was hea . . .”

Gandalf saw the blank look come over the youngsters eyes. His thumb and first two fingers of his right hand toyed absently with his scarf. The blank spell only lasted a few moments, then Pippin’s earlier panic returned to his green eyes.

“The air was heavy and I felt I couldn’t breathe.” Pippin closed his eyes. His breathing was changing from frightened gasping to sobs. “Little matter, really. Little matter when it’s all said and done. She . . . she said it wouldn’t . . . wouldn’t matter as much if I was loved. B-but now? All changed. I-it’s a-all changed n-now. I’m too . . . broken . . . too broken, a-and t-they are a-all upset w-with me.”

This, Gandalf felt, was what had been needing to happen for quite awhile; it was about time that Pippin talked about everything that was happening to him.

“Who told you that, Peregrin? One of the women who help here at the Houses of Healing? Or was it one of the matrons who tend to our house for us?”

“ ‘Twas a little girl . . . and, and her dolly. Eh . . . Feva and . . .eh . . . um, Mallefinnros. But it . . . no longer matters, as I . . . I’m worse. Too much . . . worse now,” Pippin sadly sobbed. “They are all u-upset w-with me . . . and I-I’ll have to . . . have to be shut away.”

The last was a whisper, as one might speak a secret. Gandalf felt Pippin’s muscles tightening up. He could hear the panic creeping back into the lad’s voice. Yet, it wasn’t a child’s panic. There is a difference in the fear of a child and the fear of an adult. Pippin had matured a great deal in the last months and it showed. This was no child the wizard held in his lap.

“No, Pippin. You will not be shut away,” Gandalf said with a quiet calm.

Pippin twitched against the wizard before turning his puffy, tear-streaked face upwards.

“Not shut away?” He sniffed loudly before continuing. “But, but Merry said . . .”

“Yes, Merry said you had a fit like what you and he witnessed your cousin having, and indeed you did. But this is not the Shire, Peregrin Took. Merry spoke too soon. Your king had things he wished to say to you which went unsaid. Aragorn has assured us all that there are things the healers of Gondor can do to help you. And forget not, young hobbit, that the King of Gondor learned his healing from Lord Elrond. Middle-earth knows none more skilled in the healing art than Elrond.”

Pippin sat up straighter, an encouraged gleam in his eyes. “He can help me?” he asked, before wiping his nose on the sleeve of his nightshirt. “Then I’ll be well! I’ll have only my leg, which really is getting much better, and my arm and hand to manage.”

Gandalf hated to burst the lad’s bubble of hope. “I said help, Peregrin, not cure. There is no cure for the falling sickness.”

The bubble burst and the lad sagged back against the wizard’s chest.

“No cure,” Pippin sighed. “Then they will shut me away.” The panic began to creep back into his voice, along with despair. “I’ll go mad, Gandalf. I’ll go mad. I won’t be able . . . I can’t . . . I have to be able to get out. I-I have t-to be able t-to see my . . . my friends, Gandalf. I’ll go mad, I t-tell you.”

Pippin burrowed tightly against the wizard.

“What friends?” he moaned. “I’ve g-got them all . . .”

Pippin’s voice faded off. Gandalf could feel his fingers fumbling about with his scarf once more. A few moment’s passed.

“They are all angry with me, G-Gandalf. I-I’m sure . . . sure they d-don’t w-want me any longer.”

Gandalf gently stroked the youngster’s golden-brown curls, hugging Pippin’s head to his chest; remembering to not cover his face with his sleeve lest he start to feel buried again. “If you are meaning your two cousins and Samwise, then you are quite mistaken. They were here just before I pulled you out from amongst the curtains. I sent them back to the house, though I dare say they only went as far as the garden just a few paces away from the door to this room. Whatever frustration they were feeling toward you vanished when they realized what has been happening. They had only the faintest notion that you had anything seriously wrong with you, Peregrin. As soon as they knew you had not been responsible for your recent behaviour all their irritation vanished. Well, except that which they felt toward themselves.”

“I’ll still get shut away,” came a muffled reply.

“Aragorn has promised the others that you will not be shut away, Peregrin Took. Neither while you are here, nor when you return to the Shire.”

Pippin looked up in surprise. “But how? If there is no cure for me, then . . . How?”

“Well, I am no healer, so I will not presume to be able to explain any of that to you. I do think a great deal of it will depend upon what the girl and her doll said to you. What were their names?”

Pippin looked away a moment. He looked back at Gandalf as he said, “Mallefinnros and Feva. What do you mean, it will depend on what they said?”

The old wizard smiled. “Your learning that it doesn’t matter as much if you have hurts and ailments or even disfigurements. If you are loved it is not as hard for you or for those around you. Oh,” he said before his words could be taken wrongly, “don’t you think for a moment that means it will all be easy, Peregrin Took. There will always be folk who don’t understand, don’t even care to try to understand. There will always be those who will turn away from you, those who will mock you and those who will take a stand against you. There will always be things you find you cannot do. But when you have friends and family close to your heart who believe in you, who never forget your worth as a person and help you to not forget it either, it will be bearable.”

Pippin nodded slowly. Gandalf felt him relax.

“Which brings me back to wondering just how much better Strider will be able to make me.”

Gandalf laughed and hugged Pippin, who laid his head back against the wizard’s chest and sighed.

“And I will say again, Peregrin Took, Knight of Gondor and Guard of the Citadel, that you will need to ask your liege and healer about that.”

Pippin huffed. “Oh yes! Grand knight and guard I am, sitting on someone’s lap getting cuddled. I should be in my bed at the very least.”

He looked up, concern creasing his forehead.

“I’ve not put your legs to sleep, have I, Gandalf?”

Gandalf smiled. “No, my lad, you have not. And as to being cuddled . . . say comforted instead if you are concerned with the matter.” His look became sad, his voice full of memories. “I have seen men comforted in like manner by those who care for them many a time in my long years in Middle-earth. Men of Gondor, Rohan, Dol Amroth and other places you may have heard of, and many realms that are no longer. A hurt and frightened person is a hurt and frightened person whether they are large or small.”

He smiled again. A loving smile matched with eyes that sparkled with affection.

“I have not for one moment felt I have been sitting here cuddling a child. No, Peregrin Took. I have been giving comfort to a hurting soldier; to a mature hobbit who has just cause for his fears and concerns.”

At first, the hobbit’s eyes were surprised, then they filled with a goodly pride.

“Well then,” Pippin said, settling back into the folds of Gandalf’s cloak with a contented sigh. “I am quite comfortable here, and if I’ve not put your legs to sleep and if you do not object to sitting here awhile longer, I would like to stay where I am. I shall have a talk with Strider in the morning.”

“I do not object in the least, Pippin my lad.”

Soon, both hobbit and wizard were asleep.

A while later, the door slowly opened and three heads poked around the edge of it to look into the room.

“Looks as though Mr. Gandalf did just fine,” Sam grinned and whispered.

“It does indeed,” Frodo said as he pushed the door open the rest of the way so he, Sam and Merry could enter the room. They stood over the pair on the floor and smiled.

“Pip’s grinning in his sleep,” Merry sighed, obviously pleased with the sight. “They must have had a good talk.”

“We did,” Gandalf said.

The three hobbits jumped at his voice.

“A very good talk indeed. Your cousin asked me earlier if he had put my legs to sleep. He hadn’t then but they are now. Might you be able to carry him to the bed?”

Merry and Sam took Pippin from Gandalf’s lap, try hard to stifle chuckles as they did so. There was something quite funny about Pip having put the large wizard’s legs to sleep. Frodo had quickly straightened up the bedding and soon Pippin was nicely tucked into his bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Pippin was aware of was the enticing scent of food. He decided it smelled good enough to make it worth opening his eyes. He was laying on his side and immediately in front of him was someone’s thigh, hip, rear and an arm. Someone was sitting up in bed beside him. Pippin’s eyes followed the arm upwards.

“Merry,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Pip! Are you awake or just muttering in your sleep?”

“Wakin’. Groggy yet. D’ I smell breakfast?”

“Second breakfast, actually,” Merry chuckled as he replied. “It just walked in the door.”

“All by itself?” Pippin was waking up.

“Oh yes! They’ve trays here that move all on their own. Though the aids and servants are rather put out about it as they are out of a job now.”

“We are not, you naughty lad,” Ioreth scolded before laughing heartily. “You are a terrible tease, Sir Merry. No, Sir Pippin, the trays don’t come walking in on their own.” She set the tray on the table then came over to the side of the bed. With her hand planted squarely in the middle of his chest, she pushed Merry back into the pillows he was leaning against. “Excuse me, Sir Merry. I must check on young Sir Pippin and you are in the way.” She winked at the latter who was now fully awake and enjoying her banter.

“Yes, I am the important one here, Merry old lad. You really oughtn’t get in the way, you know.”

Merry sighed dramatically. “All right. I’ll move.” He sighed again then laughed. “Shall I make up a plate for his lordship, Ioreth?”

The pleasant healer’s aid giggled. “His lordship would like that, I’m sure. Get up, young sir,” she ordered Pippin. “You’re not incapable of getting yourself up and to the privy. I’ve been told you’re to tend to your own needs and so you shall. I’ll have your bed freshened up for you when you return.”

Pippin eased himself off the bed and shuffled off in the direction of the privy.

“Pick your feet up, Pippin!” Frodo called after him, his grin showing in his voice. “Bilbo walks better than that and you are nowhere near his age.”

“Not quite . . .” Pippin interrupted himself by yawning and stretching. “Oh,” he breathed out. “Not quite awake yet, cousin.”

When he returned to the room, Pippin marched in; posture straight and knees brought up high. He got to the side of the bed, made two more steps in place, then turned sharply so his back was to the bed. He gave a small jump to land on his rump on the bed, then quickly situated himself around so he was leaning back against the pillows Ioreth had plumped up for him.

“Where’s my breakfast, Merry?” he asked with an oversized smile on his face.

“Oh no you don’t!” Ioreth cut infront of Merry, easily taking the tray from him. “That is my job since they don’t move about on their own.” She winked at Merry. Turning around, she set the tray over Pippin’s lap then gave him a small curtsy. “Your breakfast, Sir Peregrin. I’ll be back in a while to take the plates and such away,” she said to all of them as she left, shutting the door behind her.

The hobbits all set to eating their breakfast, or second breakfast as may be. A short time passed then Pippin began to feel as though something was wrong, as though everyone was suddenly uncomfortable. He looked up to see the others were watching him. He felt sad and disappointed.

He looked down at his food which he had been awkwardly eating using his left hand. “Waiting for me to make a mess?” he asked without looking up. “Or to have a fit and fling everything about?”

The hurt in his voice cut into the others.

“No!”

“Of course not!”

“Oh, Pippin.”

They all spoke at once followed by an awkward pause.

“We were all trying to tell how upset you were with us.”

Pippin looked up at Frodo.

“Upset with you?”

“We had all got rather put out with you and we know you knew it. We . . . well, we didn’t know there was a reason for it all. None of us spoke to you about it, nor to anyone else.” Frodo’s face reddened. “We made a mess of things and we are hoping you aren’t too put out with us now, though we deserve it if you are.”

Pippin looked at his dearest cousins and his dearest friend while they looked anxiously back at him. He could see the care and concern in their eyes. Pippin’s lips turned up in a soft little smile. Gandalf was right, they still loved and cared for him.

“Yes, you hurt me. I could tell everyone was upset with me and I really didn’t understand why. Well, that’s not quite right either. I knew I was forgetting things, knocking things over, spilling things . . .” Pippin paused and looked at Merry, “pouring hot tea on people. How is your hand, Merry? Is it better?”

Merry smiled. He held his hand up for Pippin to see. “It’s fine, Pip. It’s just fine.”

“Good!” Pippin smiled back at Merry briefly, then continued. “As I was saying, I knew all those things had happened but I didn’t really remember doing them, just that all of a sudden there was a mess and someone was upset with me.” The lad paused again, looking down at his weak right hand where it was resting on the tray. He flexed his first two fingers and thumb as best he could. “Did I have a fit each of those times? Is that why I didn’t remember causing the messes?”

“No, Mis . . . no Pippin,” Sam quickly replied. “We would have said somethin’, done somethin’ if it had been like that. Although Strider says that what was happenin’ is part of what brings on the fits. I don’t quite understand it all, but he was callin’ ‘em ‘blank spells’.”

“Blank spells?”

“It’s like you’re sleep walking or something.” Merry said. “I hate to mention another one of our cousins,” Merry looked uncomfortable but hurried on. “You know, like Doderic used to do. Remember those few times that he sat there in bed and had short conversations with us but wasn’t really awake? And how he once walked all the way into Bucklebury in his nightshirt? Folks thought he was a ghost because he didn’t answer when they spoke to him.”

Pippin was nodding.

“Like that, Pippin. It’s sort of like that. Sometimes you stop everything. Sometimes you keep moving but you don’t know what you’re doing. And your eyes go all empty as well.” The memory of Pippin’s empty eyes after he had looked into the palantir came into Merry’s mind. It was that exact same look, but he wasn’t going to say that to his cousin. Maybe some day, but not this day. It would most likely trouble Pip and he had been troubled enough.

“It only lasts a few moments though,” Frodo was adding.

Pippin nodded a few moments longer. “I see,” he said. “That does make things a lot clearer. No wonder you were all getting irritated with me and, if that is what the “blank spells” are like, no wonder I didn’t understand what I had done.”

Pippin smiled his most charming smile. The one that so often enabled him to get his own way; and bluff his way through things. He did understand and he did forgive them, gladly. But the memory of his cousin Bandy still clung to his thoughts. He was still frightened of what life was going to hold for him.

“Well, that explains it all nicely and I forgive you all. Not much to forgive, really. I would have been angry as well had I been you and any of you had been me.”

Sam, Frodo and Merry all shared a quick, knowing look. Pippin was sounding very much his old self.

“So,” Pippin said, still smiling broadly. “What happens now?”

As if in answer to his question, the door opened. Strider and Parsow came in together. The young healer was carrying a bottle in one hand and a cup in the other.

A/N: I just want to once again say that Golden and I are doing our best to have this be believable and accurate. While we are taking some license with Pippin’s various conditions to accommodate the story, we hope we are not taking too much. I recently was made aware that the “blank spells” we’ve been giving to Pippin are not “absence” seizures as I think I mentioned earlier in another a/n, but are more what are now called “complex partial” seizures. I’m certain Aragorn would not have had such a term available to him :-) My apologies to anyone this may have upset or confused.

Starting with the end of this chapter, we are delving into the world of medications for epilepsy. Modern antiseizure medicines are not anything that would have been available in Middle-earth. I have been researching herbal medicine to find those herbs that have a history of use in treating epilepsy. I don’t know that I’ll use the names of any more than one particular herb that will come into the story later. I will say here that if I use the names, please don’t take how I’m describing their combinations or concentrations as factual. All that will be factual is that those herbs named have been used to treat epilepsy in past times - and some are still being used currently by holistic healers. I’m not willing to take the time to research the proper combinations, the proper doses, nor the correct side effects. I’ll be taking literary license with all of that. But, the side effects that we will be using are indeed side effects those receiving medication for epilepsy do face. We may have Pip face more of them than is typical, or combinations that aren’t exactly typical, but all of the side effects are ones that can happen.

Golden and I once more thank all of you who are reading our story.

Pearl Took

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Down a New Path

Parsow set the bottle and cup on the small table beside the side of the bed nearest to Pippin, then he went to the other side of the bed and sat in a chair. The king sat upon the bed next to his small knight.

“Good morning, Strider,” Pippin said cheerily. He nodded toward the items on the table. “Is that my medicine, Strider?”

Strider smiled back at Pippin while actually looking him over carefully. The lad’s colour was all right, a little wan but that was to be expected. His smile was somewhat over enthusiastic, but his eyes were clear with a touch of Pippin’s usual sparkle in them. The king reached over to unbutton the first few buttons on his patient’s nightshirt.

“Medicine, Peregrin? Why ever should I be bringing you any medicine?” he asked jokingly, then placed his ear to the hobbit’s chest. He listened for a few moments. “Breathe for me Pippin.”

“Because I’ve been told that you said you could help me.”

“I said breathe not talk, Pippin.”

Pippin drew in a loud, purposely noisy breath then let it out just as noisily. “There I breathed. If you didn’t wish me to speak then you shouldn’t have asked questions, Strider. It really does lead to someone answering if you ask questions.”

“Breathe again,” was all the response Pippin received as Aragorn moved his ear to another place on Pippin’s chest. This time his patient merely did as he was told.

“Again.”

Strider leaned Pippin forward and put his ear to his back.

“Breathe.”

“Again.”

Aragorn took his head away from Pippin’s back as he reached for his left wrist. He found the pulse, counted in his mind, then smiled as he let Pippin’s arm drop.

“A point well made and taken, sir knight. I will endeavor to remember that for future examinations. Parsow?”

“My lord?”

“Make a note of that. You should remember it too. No questions if you aren’t actually wanting an immediate response.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Everyone, including Pippin, laughed. Parsow could feel that it helped them all to relax.

“Yes, Pippin. That is your medicine,” Aragorn said as he buttoned Pip’s nightshirt back up, his expression becoming serious as he did so. “What exactly have you been told?”

“Gandalf said that you didn’t get to say all you wished to when you were here before and that there is something that can be done to help me.” Pippin’s eyes widened as he saw a guarded look come into Strider’s eyes. He hastened to add, “Not that you can cure me! No, he was quite clear that there . . .”

The lad paused to swallow but at that moment the light went out of his eyes. Pippin blinked slowly and seemed to chew at the inside of his cheek a few moments. Strider and the others waited patiently, then Pippin once more was looking at his king and friend.

“Gandalf said you can help me but that you can’t cure me.” Pip’s voice softened, his face fell into a worried frown. “He said there is no cure. Not even the Elves can cure the . . . this.”

Strider patted Pippin’s right hand, thinking for a moment that it was ironic that the right was the one which was closest; a caring touch being given to another place where the young hobbit needed comforting.

“He told you correctly, Pippin,” he said gently. “There is no cure. But there are medicaments which can lessen the spells and fits. Lessen both how often they occur and how severe they are.”

Pippin said nothing for a few moments, he simply stared at the bottle and cup on the table, but it was not a blank spell, he was thinking.

“How did this happen?” he whispered. “W-why did this happen?” Pippin looked up into Strider’s eyes. “Is it because I’m related to B-Bandobard? Though, he got it as a youngster and I’m nearly of age and I’ve not heard of any of my closer relatives or ancestors having the . . . the . . .” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “The falling sickness,” he said, then let the rest of the breath out in a rushing sigh. It was the first time he had used the name.

The king sighed. This was the part of the story that he was not looking forward to relating. But Aragorn was a true and noble man. A king in heart and spirit. It had been paining him that he had so badly let slip caring for his young knight.

Pippin had opened his eyes again and Strider looked full into them. “It is a result of your being trapped beneath the troll, Pippin. Because you lay beneath that foul beast for several hours barely drawing enough breath to keep you from death. You lay there while the battle was finished around you, and more time yet whilst your companions searched for you. I feared that it would come upon you but said nothing to anyone except Parsow and Gandalf, not wanting you or the others to see signs of the ailment when it might not be there at all. We had all intended to keep a close watch over you, but allowed ourselves to become busy with other tasks.”

Strider looked deeper into the hobbit’s eyes. He could sense the trembling fear in Pippin’s spirit.

“This should not have happened, Peregrin Took. We all did you a great disservice. I the worst of all since I am both your healer and your liege. I bore a responsibility to you, both as your friend and as your king. I failed at both. I had Parsow made a full healer in these houses forgetting it would steal away time from his care of you. I kept Gandalf busy in the archives finding information for me that others could have as easily found. I hold myself responsible that your condition was allowed to become so dire. I beg of you your forgiveness.”

Aragorn allowed himself to slip from the bed to be on his knees beside it. He bowed his head, awaiting Peregrin’s response.

The other hobbits were watching their kinsman intently. Would Pippin panic again? Would he collapse into sobs and tears? Would he become angry? Would he, as the Pippin they had know from his birth, cheerfully forgive?

After a few moments, Pippin leaned forward to kiss the top of Strider’s head. Tears ran past the small, tightlipped grin that graced his face. In a tender reversal of a gesture so often used to comfort him, Pippin ran the good fingers of his right hand through the man’s hair before lowering his hand to rest on Strider’s.

“Of course I forgive you,” Pippin’s voice quavered. “Wouldn’t I forgive Merry, or Frodo, or Sam? Wouldn’t I forgive my family? You are as dear to me as they are, Strider. How could I not forgive when you obviously feel horrible about it all?”

Pippin sniffed as his smile grew full.

“Now quit being so dramatic and get off your knees. You have to tell me what you plan to do and how it is going to help me.”

The King of Gondor rose, as did the spirits of all in the room. It was a relief to them all that Pippin had behaved so much like his old self and that he had forgiven Strider. Strider sat on the edge of the bed as he had before.

“Well, let me see, where should I start? The falling sickness has long been known amongst Men. It can simply befall a person or can appear after an injury to the brain. Sometimes, though this is most common in infants who do not easily come through their birthing, it can be brought about by not being able to breathe properly for too long a time. It is an odd circumstance for such an injury to occur to an older child or adult as the lack of air more usually kills them.”

Strider paused to see how well Pippin was taking all of this. It was not pleasant to hear, nor did he want the lad to miss any of it due to one of his blank spells. Pippin was nodding.

“I know Gimli thought I was dead at first. That I looked dead and felt cool to the touch, and that it was only because Legolas could sense the life in me that they hurried me to the healer’s tents.”

Aragorn was proud of his knight. Pippin was handling himself with a great deal of maturity.

“Yes. We all owe a great deal to them both. Does that answer the how and at least some of the why for you, Peregrin?”

But the lad didn’t answer, he was gone again, and for a more lengthy time than was usual. The others waited for him to return from wherever it was his mind went during his blank spells.

Aragorn repeated his question.

“Yes. I couldn’t get enough air to breathe and it was because I chose to stab a troll and let it fall on me.” Pippin grinned weakly. “Did I have one of those blank spells just now? I suddenly feel more weary than I did.”

“Yes, Pippin. It is a good thing that you thought of that. I think it will be good for you to have a way of your own to tell you have had one. I don’t expect that to happen every time, as some won’t be strong enough to tire you as much. But at least you are using what you’ve been told to reason out what you are experiencing.”

“The fits will leave you quite exhausted. The blank spells will sometimes have no after effects or will leave you weary, perhaps dizzy and confused when they last longer than a few seconds.”

Pippin sighed and nodded. “All right. That’s some of what they can do to me, what are you planning on doing to them?”

“The Men of Numenor were at one time very wise and powerful, learning much about the world around us and about how we ourselves function. There were many things we learned how to ease or cure. Lord Elrond, being half Man and half Elf, took an interest in the diseases and ailments of Men. He has used many of his long years learning even more than we did ourselves.”

Aragorn sighed and looked for a moment to the West. There lay much of his own past and much of his future. His thoughts strayed for a moment to Arwen and his fear that she would yet not be his to wed. The White Tree still had shown no sign of life.

He shook himself. “Elrond taught me much about many things, healing amongst them, as you know.” Strider picked up the bottle and cup. “There are herbs that can be helpful in treating the falling sickness. They all work best when in concert with other herbs or each other. It also makes a difference how they are prepared and how they are taken. It will take trying different combinations and preparations, perhaps many, to discover what will work most effectively for you, Pippin. And, in most instances, we will need to give the new medicine at least a fortnight of use before deciding if it is working properly or not.”

Strider paused. He had arrived at a part of this talk that he wasn’t looking forward to. He did not want to have the hobbits once more feeling as though they were being treated as too childlike or too naive to handle the details of Pippin’s condition. He was surprised and relieved when Parsow spoke up.

“There will also quite likely be other results from your taking these medicines, Pippin. They most certainly should have some effect on your spells and fits, but they may effect other things as well. However . . .” Parsow looked each of the hobbits in the eye. “although it may seem wrong to do so, as when we did not tell you what to look for to identify the falling sickness itself, it is best that we not tell you, especially you Pippin, about the other things that might or might not occur.”

Merry leaned toward Frodo. “I’m not sure I like the sound of this,” he whispered, though it was loud enough to be heard.

Frodo was shaking his head. “I agree. Strider,” he said more loudly as he looked over at their friend. “Why should you leave us in the dark again? Hasn’t there been enough trouble from not letting us know of your concerns and fears?”

It was Parsow who answered. He was trying to take the focus off of the king, after all, he had been as much a part of these decisions as had his majesty.

“That is why this time we are telling you all that there are things we aren’t telling you. We are, this time, letting you know to observe Pippin. That is what we should have done before. But again, if we tell you exactly what to look for, you, and even more so Pippin himself, might see these things when they are not actually there.” He held up his hand to stave off their anticipated responses. “It is a true and oft seen problem, my friends. You would not do it intentionally, but it is all too common to see what you are told you might see, especially when some of the changes can be subtle.”

The room went quiet. Frodo, Sam, and Merry stood and stepped toward the bed. At a nod from Frodo, Aragorn stood, going to stand beside Parsow’s chair. All the hobbits conferred amongst themselves; this time so quietly neither man could hear distinctly what was being said. When they finished, Frodo spoke for the group.

“All right, Parsow, Strider. We agree to this on one condition.”

“What will that be?” Parsow replied.

“That you, Parsow, will come and spend time with us each day in the morning and the evening as part of your regular schedule as a healer. And that you will both be available to us when called upon.”

The Ring Bearer looked intently at both men. “You have both admitted that lack of time spent with us was part of the problem before, and we all have admitted to each other just now that we were hesitant to trouble either of you, or Gandalf, because we knew you were all busy. If we know Parsow will be here everyday and that if something happens with Pippin that makes any of us feel concerned we are able to speak with you, then we will feel everything is in hand.”

“That is fair and most reasonable, Frodo,” Aragorn said. He walked back to the bed, sitting next to Pippin once more. “It shall be put into writing, signed and witnessed. A promise between us all, and all who serve in the Citadel shall know that all of you are to be granted access to me as needed, at any time.” He turned to Pippin. “We have chosen to begin with a mild concoction, Peregrin. You are to take it twice a day, as will most likely be the schedule for all the medicaments we will be trying.”

Strider began to pour a greenish liquid from the bottle to the small cup. Pippin had noticed before that the cup was clear glass. He now noticed that there were markings on one side of it.

“Frodo, Merry and Sam,” Strider said as he carefully watched the level of the liquid rise in the cup, stopping when it reached a mark about two thirds of the way up from the bottom. “This much.” He held it out for the hobbits to see. “This much in the morning after first breakfast and in the evening after supper.”

The three hobbits all nodded.

“Merry I know you are interested in herb lore and are most often with Pippin. Sam, you are an excellent cook and accustomed to measuring of ingredients. I will be trusting the mixing of this elixir to you two. Parsow will show you how to properly combine the powdered herbs into the liquid. It is best that two of you learn as someone will need to prepare whatever medicament is finally settled upon once you are all home.”

“Yes, Strider,” said Merry.

“As you wish, Strider,” Sam said, less steadily than the Brandybuck had. He knew he was good at measuring and mixing when it came to cooking, but this was something different in his mind. “I’ll do my very best,sir.”

The king smiled at Sam’s return to formal address. “You’ll do just fine, Sam.”

He handed the small cup to Pippin, who took it and held it up to the light from the window, eyeing it suspiciously.

“Ah well,” the lad said. He took a deep breath, let it out, then tossed the drink down his throat. Pippin’s eyes went wide. He choked a bit, then smiled weakly. “I’ve tasted worse,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

Everyone gathered round and hugged or patted the youngster . . . he was on his way to finding a path for living his life as best he could.

First Effort

“So this is what it’s going to be for the rest of my days?” Pippin thought as he gulped down his evening dose of medicine.

He coughed a little and Sam quickly patted him on the back.

“Hope you paid attention to what that tastes like, Pippin,” Sam teased. “I’m making tomorrow morning’s batch.”

Pippin cleared his throat as he smiled at Sam. “Just don’t poison me and I’ll be happy.”

Sam’s eyes twinkled. “Only if Frodo or Merry tell me to.”

Everyone chuckled at the jest.

The other Companions of the Ring and Parsow were seated around Pippin’s room at the Houses of Healing. He would go back to the house they all shared on the morrow, but Strider and Parsow had felt it best they keep him at the Houses for the rest of his first day of being fully awake. Fully awake not being quite accurate as he had dozed and slept most of the afternoon. Now, he was tiring again. Pippin nodded off, and most of his friends went off to their own beds. Merry propped himself up on the bed, half sitting - half laying on some pillows, and fell asleep beside his cousin.

Early the next morning, well before first breakfast, Sam and Merry were with Parsow in the herbarium. The young Healer and the Master Apothecary were beginning the task of instructing the hobbits in the proper mixing of Pippin’s current elixir.

The first problem that arose was the matter of weights and measures. The Gondorian terms meant nothing to the hobbits.

“Master Ricimir,” Merry interrupted the flow of instructions coming from the apothecary. “This is all well and good, and most kind that you have even written all of it down for us. But what good will it be when we are back home?”

“What good will it be, Sir Meriadoc? I don’t understand. It will be all that you need to replicate the medicines that Healer Parsow and His Majesty concoct for your kinsman.”

“Only so long as we take a good supply of your gear back with us,” Sam put in. “We’ve naught like this lot back home. And what you’ve written is not going to make a lick of sense either, sir. There’s not a word of it any healer back home will know what to do with.”

The Master Apothecary and Parsow looked at each other questioningly, before looking back at the hobbits.

“What is the problem, Sam?” Parsow asked. He blushed a bit as he added, “Surely the healers amongst the Hobbits know how to read?”

Merry grinned wryly, understanding Parsow’s confusion to be genuine and not meant as an insult to the education or intelligence of the Shire’s healers. “It isn’t that, Parsow, Master Ricimir,” Merry said. “It’s that the words themselves won’t mean anything to them.”

“Yes,” Sam jumped in. “I’m not sure we call all of these herbs by the same names, for one thing. Then, there’s all these measurin’ terms. Where’s the dabs, dashes, smidgens, drams, gills, and such?”

Sam paused and his eyes widened. “I just now thought, sirs. Most everything we use back home is smaller than anything men use. Smaller cups, smaller spoons, smaller mortar and pestles. I don’t know as any of your measurements are going to work even if the names for them did match up proper.”

For several moments they all stared at one another. It was an obstacle none had foreseen. Finally, Master Ricimir gave a slight nod of his head and spoke.

“Parsow?”

“Yes, sir?”

“If you would please see to the preparation of Sir Peregrin’s elixir for this morning. I will be conferring with Sir Meriadoc and Lord Samwise regarding how to overcome this issue of differing vessels and nomenclature.”

Merry and Sam spent the morning in the herbarium. Sam, as was the case with most good cooks in the Shire, had long ago learned the art of measuring into his hand. He knew the look of each of the various Shire measures in relation to the palm of his hand and while perhaps not as precise a measure as using measuring spoons and cups, when done by as practiced a cook as Sam, it was amazingly accurate. The King was also called in as he was familiar, to a small degree, with the terms for measurements of Men and of Hobbits. By luncheon it had all been worked out and a conversion chart had been drawn up. Sam and Merry would return to the herbarium after dinner to assist with making Pippin’s evening dose.

Although Aragorn and Parsow told them it would take at least a couple of days before they would begin to see if the medicine was working, the hobbits were all hopeful. Pippin got up, played draughts with Frodo and chatted with everyone while having only five very noticeable blank spells, with perhaps a few lesser ones as well. No one said anything, but all felt encouraged.

The next day Pippin returned to the house after taking first breakfast at the Houses of Healing. He headed straight for the bathing room. He hummed a tune as he began to strip off, not noticing, as was always to be the case, that he had a couple of small spells as he did so. What did catch his attention was the door opening.

“Hey!” Pippin shouted. He hastily covered himself with the trousers he had just taken off as Merry walked in.

“Hello, Pip,” Merry said as he walked over to the buckets of heated water then poured two of them into the tub.

Pippin visibly relaxed. “Oh! Thank you Merry.” He smiled broadly. “Most kind of you to help with that, though I can do it myself, I’m a bit awkward with it, with my hand and all.”

Merry added some room temperature water to the tub then stuck his hand in to test it. More tepid water, another test. Twice more. “Your bath awaits!” He proclaimed regally, bowing slightly while sweeping his arm toward the steaming tub.

Pippin stepped past him and into the tub, closing his eyes as he blissfully settled into the water.

“You may go now,” Pip murmured teasingly as he limply waved his cousin away, a contented smile upon his lips. He quietly soaked a few moments then opened his eyes, only to give a startled squeak.

Merry was calmly sitting in a chair beside the tub.

“May I help you with something, Merry?”

“No.”

They sat there a few moments simply looking at each other.

“Go ahead with your bath, Pip. Just wash up and such. Splash about. Sing. Whatever you had intended to do.”

“Eh, right.” Pippin gave Merry a doubtful look, then slowly picked up a flannel and began to lather it up. He washed his arms, his left a bit awkwardly because of his right hand not being able to get the best grip on the slippery flannel. He washed his chest. Pippin ducked down into the water to rinse off. Then he stopped. This was getting awkward. Oh, he had bathed with someone else in the room hundreds of times. His father, Frodo, Merry, Sam, other male cousins or friends. But, except for when he had been a little child, the other person, or persons, each had a tub of their own and was also taking a bath.

Merry was calmly sitting in a chair beside the tub.

Just . . . watching.

And being watched was embarrassing. Especially as Pippin had reached the part of his bath where he would either kneel or stand in the tub and wash his privates. He sat there for several minutes wondering what he should do.

“Merry?”

“Yes, Pippin?”

“What are you doing?”

Pippin felt it was to Merry’s credit that, at this point, he blushed.

“I’m . . . eh, watching you bathe.”

“A new pastime of yours?”

Merry looked decidedly uncomfortable. “No!” he said a bit too strongly. “No. Strider, and Parsow as well actually, said you aren’t to bathe alone. I mean, without someone in the room with you, not that they have to be in the tub with you or anything like that . . .” Merry’s voice trailed off as his blush increased.

“They said what?” Pippin was rather shocked.

“It’s just a precaution, Pippin. It’s not anything perverted.”

“Precaution?”

Merry sighed as he looked down at his feet. He hated making an issue of this but he had known that it could not be handled easily.

“Just in case you were to have a particularly bad spell or a . . . a fit or something.” He looked Pippin in the eye, speaking rapidly. “You could drown, you see. You could have a spell and not know what you are doing and let yourself slip below the water. Even more likely if you were to have a fit. So they said we weren’t to let you be in the tub without someone in the room with you, keeping a watch on you.” Merry let out the rest of his breath as though to say, ‘There, that’s over with’.

“Oh,” Pippin said thoughtfully, then again, dejectedly, “Oh. No more quiet nor fun baths to myself, eh? Well . . . um. Can you at least not stare at me while I wash up my privates? I know it isn’t anything you’ve not seen before, but it’s unnerving with you just . . . just sitting there watching. Can you at least turn around for a few moments?”

Merry blushed again. Pippin had a good point. He could well imagine how he would feel if their places were reversed.

“They didn’t say anything about . . . those sort of details . . . I . . . yes. Of course, Pip. Sorry.” With that Merry turned in the chair so he faced well away from his cousin.

“Thank you,” Pippin muttered as he hurriedly knelt, washed himself, then plopped back down into the water. “Done,” he muttered again. Now he was the one blushing.

Merry turned back around. Pippin washed his hair. Merry handed him his towel. Pippin dried off, put on his dressing gown and left. Merry cleaned up; not really blaming Pippin for not staying to help.

What neither hobbit knew was that Pippin had a moderately long blank spell just before he had started to undress.

The first week of Pippin taking his medicine moved along with everyone wondering when the elixir would start taking effect. There really did not seem to be much change. Pippin would fade away several times during the day and right at the mid point of the week, he had a fit.

It had been the morning of what was to have been his first day back on duty standing guard at King Elessar's side. Merry had heard a muttered oath through the door connecting their bedrooms. He knocked then opened the door enough to stick his head inside.

“Are you all right, Pip?”

“Oh, of course I’m all right, Merry. Just perfect. Can’t you tell?” Pippin’s tone wasn’t angry. Even though he was frustrated, he could see a bit of humour in his predicament. He had managed to get into his uniform trousers on his own. He had even managed to get the shirt that went under his mail, his mail and his tunic on, even though it had taken half an hour of struggling to do it. What he couldn’t manage was the intricate belt.

“Think I can just guard Strider with a sling and some stones?” he asked as Merry came into the room. “Though that might not work either as I haven’t worked on using a sling left handed. And I’ve no pockets in these trousers to put the stones into. Maybe I could just bite any would be assassins on the butt.”

“That would work,” Merry said, chuckling, as he hitched the belt up where it belonged and started buckling it on.

Pippin stood still as Merry worked. This time when he spoke, his frustration was easier to hear.

“I can barely hold the stupid thing up with the fingers I can use on my right hand and I definitely can’t work the buckles.” He sighed heavily. “I don’t know why I’m bothering.”

“Because it is important to you and you’ll feel better about it the more you do it. You’ve slacked off on your exercises of late. We just need to get you working your hand again. That and giving your left hand more practice as well.”

Pippin didn’t answer. Well, not with words. He gave out an oddly strangled gasp and stiffened. He tottered against Merry, who, realizing what was happening, eased the lad to the floor before moving to the bed to get Pippin’s pillow. Merry placed it beneath his cousin’s head just as the convulsions took over him. Merry waited until the fit passed, rolled Pip onto his side then went for help; everything as Strider and Parsow had instructed them all to do should they be present when Pippin had a fit.

Merry felt tears rising in his eyes as he helped Parsow change a groggy Pippin out of his livery and into his nightshirt. Sir Peregrin Took would not be on duty this day.

It was decided that Pippin should stay on the medicine a while longer, even though it did seem to be having little to no effect upon his falling sickness. Everywhere Pippin went, someone else went with him. They would even stand at near to the privy when he was attending to his needs, and though they thought they were being discrete, Pippin knew.

It was starting to annoy him.

A good many things were starting to annoy him.

Eating was often annoying, especially if there was meat needing to be cut. Yes, he had been contending with that for a while now, but it was one more piece of life that had turned into an embarrassment. At first someone had helped him during the meal, now his plate would be set before him with the meat already cut into small chunks.

Like a mother would do for her faunt.

And sometimes, although it might have been his imagination, it seemed the others would be irritated if he asked for second and third helpings as one of them would have to take the time to cut Pippin’s meat for him.

He was getting a little more aware of when he had spells. He would notice they way others were looking at him and realize that he must have gone blank. And, of course, sometimes it would make him tired or confused. Either way, instead of feeling glad that he was more aware of himself, Pippin felt irritated that it seemed to happen so often. Especially when he began to sense it had happened and he was on duty at the Citadel.

It was in the second week of using the first medicine that Pippin had suddenly noticed that Aragorn, Faramir and the gentlemen they were meeting with, were all staring at him. Worse, as the fog in his mind cleared, he realized he had wandered away from his post. He was standing near one of the statues of a former King of Gondor, gazing up at it’s cold, stone face whilst their stares made the back of his head tingle. It was only with a great deal of badgering, after his time on duty was over, that Faramir told Pippin that he had simply walked over to the statue and begun babbling to it.

Pippin was mortified and only a direct order from the King brought him back to duty in the Great Hall two days later.

The two weeks had not passed in full when it was decided that Pippin would be given a new medicine.

“I think, my lord, that we need to try something stronger,” Parsow sighed as he shook his head.

He and the king were meeting together for luncheon and a discussion about Peregrin.

“I agree, Parsow. He’s had five fits and countless blank spells in eleven days time. No unwanted effects, but no desired ones either.”

Both men sighed.

“His mood sours as well, sire. The others of the Company have all shared with me instances of Pippin’s growing ire. I have seen it myself when I am there each morning and evening. I expected as much with the lack of privacy, but I think that only serves to heighten the frustration of knowing he is still having numerous spells per day as well as a frequent number of fits.”

The healers ate in silence as both thought of medicaments they could try.

“Perhaps peony root, betony and jujube fruit?” mused Parsow.

“Hmm. Perhaps.” Aragorn thought for a few more moments. “Yes, that has merit. The betony in particular. Perhaps with cassia bark instead of the peony root and hazelnuts added to what he regularly eats.”

“Khandian scullcap root!” Parsow’s tone brightened. “I’ve heard wonderful things about it’s curative powers and spasms were among the conditions for which it was promoted.”

Aragorn nodded. “But is it not difficult to procure?”

“It has been, yes. Nearly impossible. But I’ve heard . . .” Parsow paused. “As perhaps I shouldn’t have, my lord, but I have heard a delegation from Khand were quite recently at court to honor and offer allegiance to your majesty.”

“True.” Aragorn smiled. He knew well how news traveled in the Citadel and it’s environs. “And trade has been established as well.”

The King dabbed at his lips with a cloth then rose. “Shall we go to the herbarium and see what Master Ricimir has of these herbs, either fresh or dried?”

By the evening, when it was time for Pippin to receive his dose of medicine, the new elixir was ready.

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A/N: The herbs mentioned have been, and in some countries still are, used to help lessen the effects of epilepsy. “Khandian scullcap root” actually is “Asian scullcap root”. On my map in the book “The Atlas of Middle-earth”, Khand is in an area that would be the Middle-east or the western edge of Asia.

I have no idea if any of the combinations mentioned are real, I just picked and chose which herbs to put together.

Better or Worse?

The new medicine was almost sweet, almost tart and Pippin smiled after swallowing it down. Things were off to a good start.

For the first day, there was no apparent change in Pippin’s condition. He had about the same number of small spells, ten to fifteen longer bad spells and one of the longer ones left him feeling wrung out. The next day there were fewer of each, but he had a fit in the evening between dinner and supper. Three days into using the new medicine and the changes were noticeable; less than ten long spells and considerably fewer small ones.

But other changes arrived as well.

The fourth day the hobbits decided to visit the large market in the first circle of the White City, heading out after second breakfast.

“Excuse me.” Pippin said as he lurched against Merry for the third time. “Sorry, Merry. My legs don’t seem to be connected to the rest of me the right way this morning. Maybe I slept on them oddly.”

“It’s all right, Pip. Perhaps if I walk a little slower?”

“No. I think I’ll be fine.”

Soon, Pippin was walking as though he had a few too many ales in him. He kept knocking things off of the vendor’s displays either by cutting corners too sharply or putting his hands out suddenly to catch his balance. They stopped at a pastry shop that had small tables where customers could sit and eat their purchases, and the light repast seemed to help. Pippin was fine until elevenses, but as the morning wore on the clumsiness returned.

“Could we head back?” Pippin asked after banging his hip rather soundly against a bin of oranges. He was rubbing the sore spot with his good hand and looking rather weary.

“I’ll go back with you, Pippin,” Frodo spoke up, taking hold of Pippin’s right arm as he said it. “I’m feeling a bit tired as well. Sam, Merry. You two make a nice day of it and we’ll have dinner ready for you when you get back.” With that he started to steer Pippin back up the hill.

Pippin eyed his cousin carefully. He didn’t want to feel he was taking Frodo away from an enjoyable day of rambling. But no, Frodo did look tired. Pippin sighed with relief. He was becoming increasingly irked at feeling like he was being a burden.

Frodo had been obeserving his young cousin carefully. There had been no blank spells at all that Frodo had noticed, but he was surprised at how much Pippin needed to lean on him. Pippin was very unsteady.

The youngster slept a good part of the afternoon and when he did make it into the kitchen, he still seemed tired and unusually clumsy. He went to bed early, complaining of a headache. Frodo and the others told Parsow about their time in the market place, and he himself had seen Pippin moving about that evening looking as though he’d had too much to drink. Every one assured the healer that Pippin had drunk no ale or wine. Parsow wrote everything down in the diary he had started keeping on Pippin’s condition.

The next day Pippin had duty at the Citadel. He took a quick bath with Frodo in attendance. All his baths were quick these days. It was annoying to have someone minding him so much of the time.

“You have duty today, don’t you, Pippin?” Frodo inquired, trying to distract the lad a bit.

“No, I always try to be in the bath an hour before first breakfast. I would have thought you’d have noticed that by now, Frodo. You notice everything else.”

The acid in Pippin’s tone, added to the sarcastic words, ended any further attempts at conversation.

Later that morning, Sir Peregrin Took was already in place beside and a little behind King Elessar’s throne when the King arrived and took his seat. Strider had noticed, as he approached, that his small knight had an uncharacteristic scowl on his face. Throughout the morning, he would feel Peregrin bumping into the massive chair, and once, the hobbit even grabbed the King’s sleeve to steady himself. But his knight was alert and attentive; there had been no indications of blank spells.

It was as the noon hour drew near that the King’s scribe stood from his desk and approached King Elessar to speak into his ear.

“My lord?”

“Yes, Dinnian?”

“Sir Peregrin is looking pale, sire, and he has been increasingly unsteady on his feet. Just now, a light sweat has broken out upon his upper lip. I fear he is not well.”

The King nodded. He had informed all of his staff of the hobbit knight’s condition and instructed them to inform him at once if they noted anything that concerned them. Peregrin was well liked and the staff was happy to assist in caring for him.

“Sir Peregrin?”

“My lord?” Pippin replied, stepping around to face the king as he did so. Strider could see for himself now, the lad didn’t look at all well.

“You may be excused for your noon meal, Peregrin, and return to duty for first watch tomorrow.”

Pippin looked surprised. He was supposed to be at his post all day this day. But even as he looked surprised, he swayed a bit, put his hand to his mouth and ran from the Great Hall via the nearest doorway. A moment later, he could be heard retching.

As the stomach spasms continued, Pippin felt a large, cool hand upon his brow and a comforting hand upon his back. When he was finished, Strider offered him a handkerchief.

“Have you been getting sick to your stomach before this, Pippin?”

“No, I . . .” Pippin bit back the snide remark that nearly left his lips. His head ached, his legs were wobbly and his stomach was churning. Worse, he wanted to let everyone around him know just how upset he was feeling.

“No, Strider,” he said as calmly as he could muster. “No, just now. My stomach has been fine until now. Maybe I should have eaten . . .” Pippin paused. Just thinking of eating made his stomach roll. He swallowed then went on. “Thank you for giving me the afternoon off. I think the headache I have maybe upsetting my stomach.”

Strider helped his friend to his feet. “You have a bad headache, Pippin?”

Pippin nodded. He was feeling nauseated again, and the nodding hadn’t helped his head.

“Have you had a headache before this. I mean since we changed your medicine?”

“Yes. Yesterday. Can I go now?”

Aragorn’s eyebrow raised. Peregrin’s tone was sharp, not at all the proper way for him to address his king whilst in his livery and not typical for the hobbit in any situation.

“Yes, Peregrin. You may go and you are relieved of duty for the rest of the day.”

Without a nod of the head or a bow, as would be proper, Pippin muttered his thanks and tottered off.

Aragorn immediately sent word to the Houses of Healing. Parsow needed to know what had just happened.

That afternoon, at tea, Parsow was seated at the large table in the kitchen of the house the Companions of the Ring shared. He had his diary on Pippin with him.

“Well, this confirms what we thought might happen with this particular blend of herbs.” Parsow looked around the table. Everyone was there except Pippin. “We have been pleased. Thus far there are good indications that the spells and fits have been either drastically reduced, or possibly eliminated. However, it is now also clear that the herbs are having other effects on Pippin.”

“The walkin’ like he’s slightly drunk?” asked Sam.

“Bad headaches?” added Merry.

“And an upset stomach,” put in Frodo.

“I also noticed, yesterday in the early evening before he retired,” Legolas thoughtfully added, “that Peregrin seemed a bit slow to respond to things around him as an intoxicated person might do. It was not at all like his blank spells. Not even the shorter ones.”

Parsow nodded. “You are all observing him well. Yes, those are the things his majesty and I were thinking might occur.”

“I think you and Aragorn were right not to tell us ahead what to be watching for.” Gimli was nodding his approval as he spoke. “The wee lad hasn’t been well since that troll landed on him and ‘twould be easy to have thought we were seeing what we weren’t.” He paused as he looked the young healer sternly in the eye. “What would you have us do to help?”

“You’ll be changing his medicine, won’t you?” Merry quickly added.

A full minute passed, or it seemed that long a time, before the healer answered.

“No, Merry. We aren’t going to change the medication.”

Merry, and the others were crestfallen.

Parsow continued. “We are pleased with the results . . .” he held up his hand as he saw several of them take a breath to speak. “We are pleased with the results this medication has had on Pippin’s spells and fits, despite the other problems it is causing.”

Those who had started to interrupt sat back a bit. No one around the table looked pleased.

“It is to be hoped that, as he becomes acclimated to the current elixir, these other unpleasant symptoms will diminish or even disappear altogether. In the meantime, I will be giving him some black horehound which will hopefully ease the nausea.”

“Will you be telling Pippin any of this, Parsow, or is he to be left in the dark again?”

All eyes turned to Merry. He sat, unmoving, fingers tented before his mouth, staring straight ahead. He had spoken the words quietly yet they had carried great weight. Everyone turned to look at Parsow; everyone except Merry who continued to stare at the wall.

“Yes,” Parsow replied firmly. “The King and I both agreed that Pippin needs to be told now that it is no longer supposition on our parts in regard to the difficulties the herbs in his medication might have produced. They are producing these other conditions and he needs to know why he is feeling as he is.”

Pippin was told the next morning, along with the information that he would not be on duty that day.

He rose from his chair to stand stiffly beside it. “Anything else? Perhaps you would like to tell me I shall break out in boils? Pimples perhaps?” Pippin’s voice grew louder. “Or bloating. How about bloating? Everyone is always saying I’m too thin. And the fates forbid I should ever stand duty again. Next time I just might puke all over His Royal Striderness. Can’t have that, can we!”

He stopped. His hands were clenched at his sides, or at least his left hand was. His face was red. Pippin picked up his medicine cup and held it aloft.

“Here’s to keeping Pippin sick!” he loudly proclaimed before tossing the mixture down his throat. He slammed the cup down then stomped toward the garden door. “I’m leaving. I’m taking a walk. And woe be to any of you that comes tagging along behind me if I should happen to catch you at it.”

They watched him stumble down the garden path then out the gate, slamming it to behind him.

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A/N: I do not know that the new medicine would actually start taking effect this quickly. I know some modern medicines can take 6 weeks or more to reach their maximum effect. But this is a story and time needs to move a bit more quickly. :-) If any of you know our time frame to be a little absurd, please forgive us.

Pippin’s Solution

The situation only grew worse as the next week began. King Elessar had announced that by the end of the week a delegation of Elves from Imladris and Lothlorien would be arriving and that the day after their arrival would be the wedding of himself to Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond. The entire city was a hive of activity as the people of Gondor made ready to receive their new Queen.

It seemed that as the mood of the citizens of the city and it’s environs rose, the heart of Sir Peregrin took sank into gloom and bitterness. Though each time he left the house he was indeed followed, he did not catch the follower. Usually it was Legolas as he was the most stealthy and, if he was caught, truly what would Pippin be able to do to an Elf?

But it was Gimli who came upon Pippin one afternoon. The Dwarf was, as was his habit in the Stone City, looking about at the areas in need of repairs. Which places could be rebuilt? Which should be replaced by something of an improved design.

Gimli was walking along what had been a narrow street but was now mostly in ruins. He looked down at what was there to support new construction. He looked up to see how best to fit the new buildings to the lay of the mountain side. It was a good thing he looked up when and where he did, for there, on the partial remainder of a once pleasant balcony sat Peregrin Took. His legs were dangling over the rough edge where some missile of the enemy’s had smashed through the left half of the building. It didn’t take the trained eyes of the Dwarf to see the cracks running through the slab of stone on which the hobbit was sitting.

Pippin was oblivious to the fact that he had been found. At the moment he was too full of pride for having spotted Legolas following him. As his friends and kin had surmised, Pippin realized there was little to be accomplished in confronting the Elf - so he promptly lost him. Legolas had been more than piqued when he realized Pippin had gotten away from him.

Gimli carefully climbed to stand as near to Pippin’s perch as he dared to get, seeing as he was a good deal heavier than the hobbit.

“I didn’t . . .”

Gimli didn’t get any further on the first try. Pippin jumped in surprise at hearing a voice so close behind him. The lad scrambled back as a bit of the edge crumbled away beneath his legs.

“I didn’t think wee hobbits liked perching like birds,” Gimli said as calmly as he could. “Ya shouldn’t be sittin’ where you’re sitting, young hobbit.”

“Yes. And I shouldn’t take a bath by myself and I shouldn’t go waking around by myself. I managed to lose Legolas, by the way. I should get some sort of medal for that. No easy thing, losing an Elf. I’ll come down off my perch when I’m ready. Go find the Elf. I’m sure he’s lonely.”

What Pippin didn’t know was that Legolas had spotted him earlier, and had gone to get some rope. He now come up beside the Dwarf, motioned to him to say nothing but to keep Pippin talking, while he made a slipknot and loop in one end of the thin Elvish rope he borrowed from Sam.

“Most likely he is, laddie. Doesn’t like being bested does our pointy eared princeling.”

Pippin scowled, though the Elf and Dwarf couldn’t see it. “I would be careful with the comments about pointy ears. I happen to have pointy ears too. So does Merry and Sam and Mr. Ringbearer himself. You need to be nice to the . . .”

Pippin was stopped in mid sentence by the loop of rope dropping over him and his being suddenly jerked away from the edge of the ruined balcony. More of it crumbled away as Pippin was hauled backwards.

Legolas was tempted to carry Pippin back to the house but chose to at least spare Pippin that humiliation. He was given a stern lecture from Merry, Frodo and Gandalf. And to everyone’s surprise, the lad seemed truly contrite. He wept as he apologized.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he sobbed. “I can’t seem to keep my mind on anything, not draughts, nor patience*, nor any books. I feel I’m in prison, even though I am out walking about. That horehound stuff has steadied my stomach, somewhat, but my head still aches and spins. It keeps me awake and gives me strange dreams. I need to get out . . . but I’m not sure out of what, or where. Can I go to sleep?”

Merry and Legolas took their sorrowful friend to his room, helped him change into his night shirt, then Merry lay down beside his cousin as Legolas sang them both to sleep.

For the rest of the day, Pippin seemed calmer. He was less belligerent and his house mates hoped his experience on the edge of the crumbling balcony had frightened him enough to put and end to Pippin’s ill temper.

The next day shattered those hopes.

Sam awoke fairly early, as was his custom. Being the primary cook for the household it simply made good sense that he would be the first person up in the morning. He made his trip to the privy. He washed his face at the basin in his room. He combed his hair and dressed. He knocked on the connecting door between his room and Frodo’s until Frodo responded, told his master he was on his way to make breakfast and headed off to the kitchen.

Sam stopped dead in his tracks in the kitchen doorway.

Pippin sat at the table, bold as you please, drying his hair with a towel. He wore his uniform trousers and the shirt that went under his mail. It was clear from the damp footprints on the flag stones that he had done more than simply wash his hair.

“Eh . . . Good morning, Pippin,” Sam quietly said, still looking at the footprints.

“Yes,” Pippin snapped. He glared at Sam as though daring him to do something with the obvious evidence. “I took a bath . . . all . . . by . . . myself. And, oh look! I didn’t drown.”

Frodo’s head appeared over Sam’s shoulder. He had wondered why Sam was standing in the doorway, until he heard his youngest cousin’s snide voice.

“Hello Frodo!” Pippin said cheerily, but it was cheerfulness with an icy core. “Oh good! You’re gaping too. Whatever shall we do with naughty Pippin, eh?”

Pippin’s voice was loud and it’s high pitch carried. Merry and Gandalf’s heads could now be seen poking around the edges of Frodo, Sam and the door posts. Merry looked over at the wizard who shook his head in return. Frodo edged past Sam to cross over to the opposite side of the table from the glowering Pippin.

“I took a bath. I stumbled into the bathing room as though I’d been on an all night dunk, my head is pounding and I’m puking again.” He slammed his medicine cup on the table. The watchers were all surprised it didn’t shatter.

“Fill it up, Frodo the barkeep! Let’s make Pippin sicker.” The lad laughed in a drunken sort of way. “I read the same paragraph in a book three times last night. Well, I tried to. I kept losing my place.” Pippin began to get weepy. “Let me see. Fits and bad spells.” He gestured with his left hand. “Or sick as a drunken dog.” He gestured with his right hand. It flopped awkwardly on its weak wrist. “Ooo! Forgot about that.!” He flopped his hand in front of Frodo’s face. “Look, Fro! I’m a cripple!”

Frodo’s face darkened causing Pippin to close his mouth and pull back from the edge of the table.

“So am I, Pippin,” Came the steely reply as Frodo held up his right hand. “Quit your whining, Peregrin Took.”

Pippin looked shocked. He opened his mouth to speak but he said nothing. He seemed to wilt in his chair.

“Quit whining as though you’re the only one of us with any problems. You’re not. I’m glad to be alive, Pippin. I’m hopeful that when we get home I’ll be even more glad. You’re alive, Pippin. Quit your whining and start living.”

Pippin sat there, staring at Frodo. Outside, he still looked to be in a state of shock, inside he was in turmoil. The positives and negatives of what seemed to be not only his life but the lives of the others were slamming about inside his already aching head. No matter which way his mind turned, there seemed to be no good answers.

Frodo had poured the morning dose of medicine into the cup and set it quietly, gently, in front of his young cousin.

“Drink it, Pippin.”

As though in a daze, Pippin did as he was told but when he finished he threw the cup at Frodo, hitting him squarely in the center of his forehead.

“Happy now!” Pippin screamed. “Are you all happy now? I took it. I’ll stay sick and worthless. I’ll . . .”

Pippin’s eyes widened. Frodo had put his right hand to his forehead and now blood was dripping over the nub of his missing third finger. All the color drained from Pippin’s face.

“I’m worthless . . .” he breathed. His voice cracked. “I- I’m vile . . . cruel . . . Frodo?” His look pled for forgiveness, but he didn’t wait to see if it would be granted. He once again, as he had done so many times of late, fled down the garden path and out through the small wooden gate.

Sam had already moved to Frodo’s side. Merry was starting for the door before Gandalf grabbed his arm to stop him.

Merry was livid. “Why are you stopping me? He’s out of control. He’ll hurt someone else. He’s turned into some sort of monster.”

“Meriadoc Brandybuck,” Gandalf reproached the hobbit. “It is a good thing your cousin didn’t hear that. He is no monster, no matter what has happened here. Stay here and help Sam tend to Frodo. I will go and speak to Parsow and Aragorn. Under absolutely no circumstances are any of you to try to find Peregrin. I shall see to that.”

Frodo wasn’t as upset as Merry was, feeling he had brought some of it on himself by letting himself get angry with Pippin. Merry and Sam weren’t so sure. Sam in particular felt it was about time they had got tough with the lad. Eventually the cut stopped bleeding and Frodo lay down on the sofa in the parlor to rest. Gimli and Legolas joined Merry and Sam, sitting at the table in the kitchen waiting for the wizard, or someone, to tell them what was happening.

Pippin stumbled erratically down the streets. It was a good thing he had not put his tunic on or he would have been in dire trouble from behaving in such a manner while in uniform.

He needed to think. He needed to hide. He needed to escape.

Something deep inside him took him to the only place in the vast city that reminded him a bit of home.

The stables.

He was, after all, a farmer’s son. He had grown up around the smells and sounds of animals and barns. Pippin stumbled toward a mound of hay at the far end of the stable. Picking up a pitchfork, he stabbed viciously at the hay.

“Horrible! Worthless! Vile! Worthless Took”

He tore at some old harnesses that hung on the wall, dragging them off of their hooks and onto the floor. Then, spying a riding crop, Pippin grabbed it and began hitting himself on the legs and chest.

“They made me get so angry! Why do they want to keep me so sick? Why did I hurt Frodo?”

Eventually, in truth rather more quickly than it seemed to Pippin, he slumped to the wooden floor, exhausted, whimpering and sobbing. Then he heard a horse nicker. Through his tears he saw a white horse’s head turned towards him over the half door of it’s stall.

“Shadowfax?” Pippin mumbled. He had not realized he had gone into the stable that held the magnificent stallion. Pippin stood, but his legs would not hold him and he crumpled to the floor. He crawled over to the white horse’s stall then tried to stand again.

The mighty horse lowered his head and gently nudged the hobbit. Pippin grabbed hold of Shadowfax's mane with his good hand as the horse lifted his head until the lad was standing.

“Thank you,” Pippin sighed then stood for a while, clutching the long coarse hair, as strength seemed to flow from the horse through his hands, into his body and down into his legs. When his legs no longer felt like jelly, Pippin opened the door of the large stall and went in.

He patted and stroked the soft hair of Shadowfax’s neck and twined the fingers of his good hand in and out of his long mane. Oh how he loved the feel and smell of a pony or a horse! He left the stall in search of a brush or two. Finding an awkward, man sized body brush, curry comb, and pocketing a mane comb, he returned to the stall on legs that were once again turning wobbly.

“Want a bit of brushing, Shadowfax?” he asked the horse, who nickered and bobbed his head in return.

Pippin smiled and set to work, brushing as much of the huge horse as he could reach. It was difficult; he couldn’t move very fast, his legs still wobbled, and the brush and comb were too big for his hands. If they hadn’t had leather straps on the back of them it would have been futile, as grooming a horse who was larger than most horses was, in and of itself, harder for any hobbit than grooming a pony back home in the Shire. He brushed the stallion with his left hand, then dragged the body brush through the curry comb that was actually on his right forearm instead of held in his semi-crippled right hand.

After a while his head started to spin and ache till at last Pippin let the brush and comb fall into the deep straw. He leaned against the horse until his head cleared a bit then went over to the manger. With more effort than he knew it should take him, he climbed onto the manger then onto Shadowfax’s broad back. Pippin lay down with his legs hanging down against the horse’s strong, white shoulders and his head resting comfortably on top of his padded rump.

Despite his aching head, he smiled. He knew he looked ridiculous, laying backwards on such a beautiful horse, but he also knew that a horse’s withers were not a soft place to lay one’s head. Pippin relaxed. He breathed in the warm horsey smell. He fell asleep and dreamed a soothing dream of the farm in Whitwell where he had grown up. The most powerful horse in Middle-earth stood quietly, occational nuzzling his small charge’s legs with his gentle velvety muzzle.

Pippin awoke feeling better than he had in a long while. He lay there, enjoying the pleasantness of not feeling ill, thinking about his dream, thinking about the Green Hill country and his childhood on the farm. Eventually, he knew it was time to get down and go back to the house, but he made the mistake of sliding down from his lofty, living bed too quickly. A sharp pain shot through his head when his feet hit the wooden floor beneath the bedding of the stall. The stall spun around him. He stumbled into a clean corner, dropped to his knees and vomited. Eventually, he flopped over onto his side, being careful to avoid the straw he had just soiled.

Pippin lay there a long while. The White Wizard’s mighty horse stood with his head and neck protectively over him. Pippin’s anger flared once more but this time he channeled it into planning. He was tired of feeling so horrible. He was tired of being watched over like a child. He was Pippin Took and Pippin Took had always taken risks. When he finally stood he had a determined gleam in his eyes.

He was finished with the madness. Let them put what they wished into their powders and elixirs. He knew how to use a mortar and pestle. He had helped grind herbs into powders for his mother many times, her being a healer. Peregrin Took had taken the last of those stupid medicines. The next day was the day before the royal wedding and he was determined that on the following day, he would be at Strider’s wedding; sane, well, stable, and happy.

“Thank you, Shadowfax,” he said as he patted the horse and hugged his head. “You’ve done me a great service. Thank you.”

But Shadowfax was the Lord of the Mearas and sensed many things. He knew things were not well with the small one.

Pippin went back to the house, his new plan making him feel more confident than he had for a long time.

Everyone was still sitting at the kitchen table. It provided the right amount of closeness they were all in need of as well as making it easier to drink and nibble at the coffee, tea and scones that Sam had prepared. Dear Sam, he hadn’t been able to sit still. He had mixed and baked the scones, and now had the last tray of gingerbread hobbits baking in the oven. They all looked up anxiously when they hear the gate at the end of the garden open.

Pippin had been following the smell of gingerbread from when he had turned the far corner and started down the small, narrow street that went past the house and its garden. His mouth was watering by the time he came to a stop in the doorway.

Parsow (Gandalf had sent him to the house), Gimli, Legolas, Frodo (with a bandage on his head) and Merry looked at Pippin from their places around the table. Sam stared at him as well as he came over from where he had set the tray of biscuits to stand beside his injured master.

Pippin hung his head. “May I come in?” he quietly asked.

“Do you want to come in?” Frodo, as quietly, replied.

The lad nodded, then, still not looking up at anyone, made his way to the empty chair that was his usual place at the table. He sat down and laid his head on his arms, face to the well scrubbed wood of the table. For several minutes they all sat in silence, then Pippin turned his face to the side so he could be heard.

“I don’t know what I can say that . . . Nothing is going to . . .”

His head came up quickly and he looked straight into Frodo’s eyes.

“Sorry isn’t good enough. Al . . . although I-I mean it, mean it as deeply as I can . . . it really isn’t good enough anymore. I . . . I have to say it so often.” Pippin got up and started pacing, his steps wobbly, his body tense. “I just feel so angry inside. I-it’s like, like I’m on fire with anger. And so I am nasty to everyone. I’m even nasty to myself, but it doesn’t help. It’s like going at a fire with the bellows. It’s gone now. Gone for now.”

He walked over to Frodo and tugged-up his right trouser leg. Frodo’s eyes widened at the sight of the wheals the riding crop had left on Pippin’s leg.

“I hurt myself,” Pippin whispered, sounding hysterical. “I beat myself for you. I-I punished myself for you, though it would have been better if you had beat me. You should have beat me, Frodo. Does it make the ‘I’m sorry, Frodo.’ good enough? Does it? Is it good enough?” He went down on his knees, laid his head on Frodo’s thigh and began stroking his cousin’s knee as he wept and kept muttering, “Is it good enough?”

Revulsion shot through Frodo as, in a flash, Pippin had become Smeagol whimpering and fawning over him. He nearly shoved his cousin off of his leg, but the vision faded as fast as it had come, and his heart broke for the lad weeping on his lap. He ran his fingers through Pippin’s golden brown curls.

“Yes, Pip-lad. It is all good enough, Pip. It’s good enough.”

Sam and Merry had had a clear view of the red welts on Pippin’s leg and it twisted sickening knots in both of their stomachs. A chill ran through Merry’s right arm as his mind kept repeating Pippin’s “I beat myself for you. You should have beat me, Frodo”. Hobbits didn’t beat each other. Oh, there were those few that Merry had heard rumor of, but it was not anything Pippin had experienced. The darkness that sat just at the edge of Merry’s thoughts deepened with the images his mind showed him of his cousins . . . Frodo beating Pippin with a whip as the Orcs had beat them while they were captives.

Eventually, Pippin got up. He washed his face at the kitchen sink, then insisted on helping Sam with afternoon tea, for which Gandalf had returned to the house. He also doted on Frodo, waiting on his every need.

Parsow watched Pippin closely and in general, though the lad didn’t appear to notice, all of them were feeling awkward around him, not knowing when the monster within him would rear it’s head causing him to lash out once more. But Pippin stayed calm all through the evening, taking his medicine without complaint before he went to bed.

That night, when the house was dark and quiet, Peregrin Took crept silently along the passages from his bedroom to the kitchen. He went straight to the cupboard where the herbs for making his medicine were kept. They had already been somewhat crushed and were stored in jars with tight fitting wooden lids. It was a challenge for him to work off the lids with only one strong hand. He had to be careful to use things that didn’t have much of an odor of their own. He left a bit of the real herbs in each jar, to keep the correct odors, but replaced, most of it with parsley, hay he had managed to cut into bits, and dandelion leaves.

Pippin smiled as he tiptoed back to his room. He didn’t think Merry and Sam would really inspect the herbs. They had been given to them by Strider and Parsow and he knew his friend and cousin would trust that they were correct. They would grind them to a fine powder, mix them in the liquid they had been given by the healers, and give it to him.

In the morning, he would take his medicine. In the evening he would take it again. And the day after that.

Yes, he would take his medicine.

A/N: *patience is the British name for the card games Americans call solitaire.

Gone

The great scheme might not have worked if everyone hadn’t been so busy with preparations for the wedding. New clothes had been made for Sam and Frodo. Merry and Pippin’s livery had been sent off to be cleaned and every bit of metalwork polished. Beregond and Bergil were returning from Ithilien where they had gone to begin readying the area for when Lord Faramir would set up his home there as the land’s prince. They would be staying at the house of the Companions of the Ring, so there was extra baking and cleaning of guest rooms to be seen to.

Merry measured the medicinals into the mortar, ground them to as fine a powder as he could, then measured that into the elixir. All the while he was busy thinking about tending to his king; the yet to be crowned King Eomer of Rohan. Merry was to be part of Eomer’s escort at the wedding and would be attending him at the wedding feast afterwards.

Pippin did well hiding the fact that the fake medicine didn’t taste nearly as nice as the real medicine had. If he had made the face he wanted to, it might have tipped Merry off.

He didn’t quite know what he had been expecting, but he hadn’t expected what happened, which was not much at all. All that day, Pippin felt nearly as sick, headachy, dizzy and grouchy as he had been for most of the preceding week, but he worked hard at keeping a civil tongue in his mouth. Though he felt a somewhat better in the evening, Pippin chose to remain at the house instead of going with the others to greet Elrond, Arwen, Galadriel and Celeborn when their entourage arrived at the gate to the White City. He went to bed wondering if it had all been a wasted effort.

The next morning, Pippin Took slowly opened his eyes. There was no evidence of his having a fit during the night. He gave a small laugh of triumph. Parsow had told him, sternly told him, that he would risk bringing on worse spells or terribly dangerous fits if he did not take his medicine.

“Good one, Parsow old lad!” Pippin said aloud. “Just as I thought, a trick to keep me taking that poison.”

He looked around his room. The morning sunlight didn’t seem overly bright as it had before. There was no pounding in his head nor roiling in his guts. He nearly jumped out of bed. Pippin was feeling better than he had in a long time. Whistling a sprightly tune, he got up, took care of his needs, got dressed and headed for the kitchen, from whence good smells were issuing.

Merry looked up from his bowl of porridge in surprise as a whistling, smiling Pippin came into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Pippin,” he said cautiously.

“Good morning, Meriadoc! Dearest cousin and Knight of Rohan. Isn’t it a grand day for Strider’s wedding?”

“Yes, it is. Pippin?”

“Yes, Merry?” Pippin was at the stove helping himself to a heaping bowl of the porridge.

“Are you . . . all right?”

“Yes!” Pippin enthused. “I think good old Strider and Parsow had it right all along. I seem to have got used to this medicine. I started to notice last night that I was feeling better, but didn’t say anything just in case I was wrong.”

He sat down and drizzled honey all over his porridge, poured on some cream, then took a huge spoonful. His left hand handled the tasks, strong and steady. Closing his eyes as he chewed, Pippin’s face became a study of perfect bliss.

“It feels so good to not feel queazy,” he sighed happily. “Merry, would you help me into my livery after we’re done with first breakfast? I want to go up to the Citadel and see if Strider and Parsow will let me be in his majesty’s escort. Maybe, if I am still feeling this well, I can attend him tonight as well, as you are for Eomer.”

Merry looked questioningly, over Pippin’s head, at Sam who had come to the table with Pippin’s morning dose of medicine in one hand and a large platter of sausages in the other. Sam raised his eyebrows and shrugged. It really wasn’t making much sense to him either, but then, he was no healer. He would reserve his judgment until they heard what Parsow and Strider had to say about this turn of events. After setting the platter on the table between the cousins, he set the medicine cup in front of Pippin.

“My medicine!” Pippin exclaimed cheerfully. “Thank you Sam.”

He drank it down, once again having to hide his reaction to the bitter taste.

“And to think, I thought this wasn’t going to work,” he said, handing the cup back to Sam with a big smile. He meant it in quite a different way than how the other two were taking it and he knew it.

Sam and Merry shared another look over the tween’s head as Pip dug back into his porridge. Neither of them felt quite right with this sudden change, yet, who were they to complain about a Pippin returned to his old cheerful nature.

Nor were they the only ones. Parsow said he had been instructed that he was solely in charge of Pippin’s care for the next week as the king would be busy being first a bridegroom then a newly wed husband, so there was no need for the hobbits to take Pippin’s case to the King. After a lengthy examination and conversation, Parsow went with Sir Peregrin to ask permission of Prince Faramir to be in the King’s escort and to attend him at the wedding feast. Permission was granted and the two hobbits bubbled with excitement in anticipation of performing such honors for the two men they had come to cherish.

Yet Merry had caught the surprised look in Parsow’s eyes when they first walked into his office at the Houses of Healing, and as with Sam, they shared a questioning look.

The wedding was that afternoon, an understandably grand affair seeing as it had been nearly one thousand years since the realm had had a King instead of a Steward. Not only that, but he was taking as his wife an Elven Princess; at least that was how most of the citizens of Minas Tirith were referring to Arwen Undomiel. The city hadn’t seen such finery nor such guests in many long years.

Lord Frodo, Lord Samwise, Sir Meriadoc and Sir Peregrin were happily in the midst of it all. The Ring-bearers sat in the front row beside Arwen’s family, Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli. The two hobbit knights stood proudly in the escort of their respective kings at the wedding then cheerfully bustled about waiting on them during the wedding feast. Sir Peregrin even sang a Shire love song to entertain his King, his Queen and their guests.

Sir Peregrin Took: as proud as he had been when the honor had been bestowed, nothing yet in his life had matched how he felt that evening.

His eldest cousin along with his manservant - gardener - best friend watched the youngster carefully. Parsow watched the small knight carefully. Many who were present at the festivities were to one degree or another, keeping an eye on the perian knight of the realm. To the surprise of those closest to him, Sir Peregrin did not falter once. He behaved himself, did not drink any ale or wine, nor in anyway make a spectacle of himself. He was alert, attentive, happy, and articulate.

He was the Pippin Took of the Shire they all remembered.

Back at the house, much later that evening, Pippin was tired, but he and Merry sat up and talked for a while in Merry’s bedroom after the elder had helped the younger change into his nightshirt.

“It was elegant,” Merry sighed, smoke drifting from his mouth as he did so. “We really need to make sure our weddings are elegant, Pip.”

“Do you really think I have any choice? With all of those sisters of mine?”

“You make it sound as though they are a small regiment.”

“They are an army of three, Meriadoc, and you know it. No messing about with the Terrible Took Sisters!”

They both laughed at their favorite pet name for Pippin’s older sisters.

“True, true, my dear young cousin. I’m sure I’ll fare no better, after all, they view me as a brother.”

“True,” Pippin sighed, releasing a cloud of smoke just as Merry had earlier.

Merry grew serious. “I . . . I have honor guard duty tomorrow.”

There was a pause. Although Merry treasured the honor of standing beside Theoden’s bier, it was also quite hard on him. The long hours of thinking over and over of the few conversations he had had with the kindly King of the Rohirrim brought both joy and great sorrow to the hobbit. He was a man who had reminded Merry so strongly of his own father that he had been instantly drawn to him. Merry often found it difficult to hold back his tears whilst at his post.

“Would you like to take a walk with me when I get back?” Merry asked, trying to have some cheer in his voice. “I thought we could go to the garden at the Houses of Healing and take along the chess board.”

All of the hobbits liked the gardens. They were quiet, green, beautiful and didn’t overlook the Pelennor Field unless one chose to go to that part of the garden. It almost felt like they were home.

“Yes, Merry! That’s a wonderful idea.” Pippin’s face lit up. “That should work well. I’ve no duty tomorrow; Parsow wants me to rest. So later in the day should be perfect.”

Pippin rose and stretched. Merry did the same. They gave each other a long firm hug.

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then,” said Merry as he patted Pippin’s back.

“Aye, tomorrow afternoon so I can beat you at chess.” Pippin gave Merry a squeeze.

They smiled, wished each other a good night then went to bed.

Merry got into bed then lay there smiling at the connecting door. He could face tomorrow’s duty. He could face the long journey to Edoras along side Theoden’s funeral wain. He could face the burial of the noble, kindly king. Merry could face the darkness at the edge of his mind.

He had Pippin’s sunshine back in his life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pippin really didn’t remember Sam coming in to have him take his medicine early the next morning. He barely woke enough to swallow it without choking on it then fell immediately back into a sound sleep.

He didn’t wake up until nearly noon.

Pippin attended his needs, but didn’t bother to freshen up. He pulled his dressing gown on over his nightshirt, loosely knotted the sash, and walked somewhat unsteadily to the kitchen.

Frodo and Sam were both surprised to see Pippin looking so disheveled. But it was more than that, the lad looked pale as well.

“G’mornin’ Frodo. Sam,” Pip mumbled as he sat heavily in his chair at the table. “What time is it?”

“I’ve luncheon cookin’, mis . . . Pippin,” Sam nearly forgot himself again in his concern for the youngster.

“It is nearly noon, Pippin,” Frodo added.

It was then that they noticed Pippin was staring at nothing. The good fingers on his right hand twitched a bit at the front of his dressing gown. Nearly as quickly as it came, the spell ended.

“What time is it?” he asked again.

“Noon, Pippin.”

“Good, I’ve not missed luncheon then.” Pippin looked over at his eldest cousin. “I don’t feel well, Frodo,” he added in a weak whisper. “Not like before. My head isn’t pounding and I don’t feel sick to my stomach. I-I just . . . just don’t feel right.”

“Maybe you’re just hungry, Pippin,” Sam suggested. He turned to the stove and began dishing up a bowl of soup. “We’ll just get some of this good vegetable soup into ya and I’m sure you’ll be feelin’ just fine.”

“Yes. Hungry.” Pippin muttered absently. Furrows appeared between his eyebrows as he looked around. “Where’s Merry?”

Sam and Frodo exchanged worried glances.

“He has honor guard duty today until afternoon tea,” Frodo answered.

“Um. Duty. Yes.” Pippin tore some bread into his soup. He began to eat, but paused. The others watched as the spoon simply stopped for several seconds, hovering between the bowl and his lips before finishing it’s path as the spoon went into Pippin’s mouth.

Pippin was trying to think, but it wasn’t working well. He really couldn’t remember getting from his room to the kitchen. It almost seemed that he had thought ‘Go to the kitchen.’ and was simply in the kitchen. That and he just felt odd. He ate the soup, but it didn’t seem to taste right. At times, it didn’t have any taste at all.

It was when he suddenly seemed to go from having a half-full bowl of soup to an empty one in an instant, then feeling he barely had enough strength to lift his spoon, that understanding filtered into his mind. Pippin looked up to find Legolas and Gimli seated at the table. When had they come in? Why hadn’t he noticed? He looked at Frodo as panic rose within him.

“Frodo? Frodo I’m . . . Am I? . . . I’m having spells, Frodo.” His voice seemed far away to his ears.

Without his seeing them move, Frodo and Sam were suddenly at his side. The Elf and Dwarf were on their feet. Pippin was only catching parts of what they were saying to him and they didn’t appear to understand any of what he was saying to them. They all kept changing places without him seeing them moving.

“Frodo! Sam! I’m not right. This isn’t right. I’m having a bad, bad spell. I’m . . .”

Pippin was floating. Down below him, everyone was scurrying about. Legolas ran out the door. Frodo was cradling a limp form in his arms. Sam ran out through the doorway that led into the other parts of the house. Gimli came over to take the body from Frodo.

Body. Odd that his mind had chosen that word. Was it someone dead? Whoever it was lay limp in Frodo’s arms; limp except for the feebly twitching hands. Not a dead body then. If only Frodo would hand the limp person to Gimli, Pippin might be able to see who it was.

Suddenly he was looking up at Frodo’s tear stained face. His cousin’s blue eyes were wide, frightened, like they were sometimes after he woke screaming from his nightmares. He saw Frodo’s mouth forming his own name, though he could hear nothing.

Then Peregrin Took was gone.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Frodo and Sam kept looking from each other back to Pippin. It was quite obvious now that the lad was having some of his blank spells. Actually, that he was having a lot of them.

Sam stuck his head into the doorway to the house, calling for Legolas and Gimli to come to the kitchen at once.

Pippin had kept eating but with longer and longer pauses in the process. Finally, after a small tremor ran through him he looked up. He was bewildered and lost looking, like a small, frightened child.

“Frodo? Frodo I’m . . . Am I? . . . I’m having spells, Frodo.” The words were understandable even though they were mumbled and mixed with too much saliva.

“Pippin!” Frodo jumped up from where he had been sitting at the end of the table and ran to Pippin’s side, joined by Sam who, in his shock, dropped the bowl of soup he had been carrying to the table.

Pippin mumbled. His eyes would glaze over, come back to something near normal only to glaze over again. His hands were grasping at his clothing. He bit at the inside of his left cheek.

Legolas and Gimli rose to their feet.

“He is much worse than before, Frodo,” Legolas said, his eyes huge with concern.

The stricken youngster kept jabbering at them while blood tinged saliva started to leak from the corner of his mouth.

“Get going, ya daft Elf!” Gimli cried out. “You’re the fastest one here. Get Parsow!”

Legolas dashed out of the house, down the garden path and out the gate.

“Get his bed turned down, Sam.” Gimli barked at the stunned hobbit. Sam flinched, than ran from the kitchen.

Gimli moved to stand where Sam had been moments before. “Give the lad to me, Frodo. I can carry him to his bed easier than you,” the Dwarf said gently as he reached for Pippin.

But Frodo held on. For a moment Pippin’s eyes were his own. Terror and confusion filled their green depths.

“Pippin?” Frodo whispered.

But the life drained out of his young cousin’s eyes. His face went slack.

Only the steady pulse that showed at the side of Pippin’s neck and his twitching, grasping fingers let it be known that the lad wasn’t dead.

A Terrible Result

Merry’s steps grew lighter and he began to hum a happy tune as he neared the house he shared with the others. The sun was still high in the sky, the breeze cool with the scent of flowers borne upon it. He had once more served King Theoden and was now looking forward to an afternoon of chess against Pippin in the beautiful garden.

He entered through the garden gate and immediately, something felt wrong. Merry shook himself. It had to be his imagination.

“Too many memories of Pippin running away down this path,” he thought. “I ought to have used the front door.”

But this reasonable thinking did not chase away the odd feeling.

Merry’s smile faded completely when he walked into the kitchen to find Parsow, Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli all seated in silence at the table.

Gimli was not one given to beating about the bush. “Best sit down, Meriadoc. Young Peregrin is in a bad state and ya should just hear it straight out and get it over with.”

Merry stumbled on weak legs to the nearest vacant chair and fell into it.

“Wh-where are S-Sam and F-Frodo?”

“They are in Peregrin’s room with the Lord Elrond,” Parsow quietly answered.

“L-Lord E . . .” Merry swallowed but the lump that was threatening to choke him didn’t budge. “Lord Elrond?”

“We had to call for him as none of my training prepared me for this. I had read . . .” Parsow paused to settle himself and his voice as best he could. “I had read of this but had never witnessed it. I had no real knowledge of what should, what could, be done. We are . . . Pippin is , most fortunate that Lord Elrond is here.”

“This? You’ve read of this? This what? Has he got some new illness? What . . .”

Merry stopped. For the first time he noticed the opened medicinals jars sitting on the table. He stared open mouthed at them.

“Did Sam or I poison him?” The terrified whisper could barely be heard.

“No, Meriadoc. No.” the wizard laid a gentle hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “You would be better to say Peregrin poisoned himself.”

Merry looked up questioningly.

“We think he switched other things for the medicinals.” Gandalf continued. “At least, it is to be hoped no one else would have done so for, difficult as it is to think of the lad bringing this upon himself, that doesn’t match the horror of thinking someone else would seek to harm him this way.”

“He put something poisonous in the jars instead?”

Merry was obviously confused as well as frightened.

“No,” Parsow said. “No, Merry. He had no need for poison. Do you remember, Aragorn and I told him, when first we started the medications, that he needed to keep taking them? That it was very dangerous for him to suddenly stop taking them?”

Merry nodded. He knew his cousin better most anyone else in all of Middle-earth and now understood what had happened. “But we were always watching. He couldn’t stop taking them so he substituted something else. That way, Sam and I would think he was taking it.” He sighed heavily. “This isn’t the first time he was too clever for his own good.”

No one spoke for a few moments.

“The question that remains is why?” Legolas sighed.

“Which reason would you like first, Legolas?” Merry asked the surprised Elf.

“Which reason?”

“I can think of several.” Merry began to count off on his fingers. “He was tired of feeling sick to his stomach. It’s hard on a hobbit to not be able to enjoy eating. He said he felt like he was on fire with anger. That’s just not Pippin. Not that he never gets angry, but it is short-lived and over with, then he’s happy again. That medicine gave him bad headaches as well, and no one wants to have a headache all the time.”

Merry paused to look around at his friends. “He felt different in ways that weren’t nice. I think he felt like he didn’t belong any longer. He was, well, no longer our friend but our charge. Someone we spent time with because he needed watching, not because we enjoyed being around him anymore. And he was right to a certain extent.”

Merry looked down at his hands, his fingers wrapping and unwrapping around each other.

“I think he was feeling lonely even though he was rarely alone.”

“And if the medicine went away, perhaps all his other ills would go away as well and he would have his friends back.” Gimli’s gruff voice spoke everyone’s thought.

As though to himself, Merry added, “Pip would have himself back.” Then he stood. “I want to go see him. I need to be with him,” he said as he started around the table for the door.

Gandalf caught Merry by the arm. “Perhaps, Merry, you should find out what to expect first.”

Merry looked startled. That he should need any such warning seemed strange enough, but the look on Gandalf’s face and the tone in his voice were unnerving.

“Come,” the wizard said more gently. “I will walk along with you and do my best to prepare you. If need be, we will wait beside his door until you feel you are ready.”

Several minutes later, it was a pale but determined Merry who walked into Pippin’s room ahead of Gandalf. He wasn’t as prepared as he thought.

Sam was busy doing something with the unresponsive form laying on the bed while Frodo and Elrond looked up from their conversation where they stood at the opposite side of the bed.

Merry strode up beside Sam and froze. It looked as though Sam was putting a nappy on . . .

Merry’s guts twisted within him and he nearly got sick. Pippin lay on his side facing the edge of the bed, naked except for where Sam was finishing up pinning the nappy around his hips. His cousin’s sightless eyes were open, as was his mouth. A small towel had been placed upon the pillow beneath Pippin’s face to sop up his drool and an oil cloth was beneath his hips. Every few seconds, his hands or his whole body would feebly twitch. He would grunt or moan and his eyes would move sluggishly about in their sockets.

“No,” Merry whispered, then louder, “No!”

He backed away. Away from the soiled nappy that lay in a basin on the floor. Away from the dirty cloths and soapy water that had been used to clean his cousin’s own filth off of him. Away from the pale, twitching, drooling parody of Pippin.

Merry backed into a small table against the wall, then fell onto his rump with a thud. He pushed with his feet, still trying to get further away. His eyes were wide with horror and all the color had drained from his face. Finally, unable to move back any more, he brought his hands to his face and wept.

With a nod, Frodo left Elrond.

“Sam, stay here!” he said firmly to his friend. “Stay with Pippin.”

Gandalf had already moved to Merry’s side and was picking him up. Frodo went with them through the connecting door and into Merry’s room, closing it firmly behind him.

Gandalf set Merry down in one of the comfy chairs by the hearth, he sat in the other chair while Frodo pulled a foot stool over to Merry’s chair to be closer to his cousin. Merry had not stopped weeping.

“Th-th-that’s-s n-not P-Pip . . . in,” Merry stuttered and gasped. He moved his hands from his eyes to look at the cousin who had been his older brother during his early childhood and his dearest friend until Pippin had grown enough to be a companion.

“I-it i-isn’t . . . Pip.”

Frodo said nothing, he pulled Merry into his shoulder and let him cry himself out. He wondered why Gandalf stayed, but said nothing, keeping his attention on Merry.

Gandalf was whispering. Singing words of comfort. Reciting phrases of strength. He knew the Darkness still haunted these two as it haunted all of them. He was determined that, at least for now, It would leave them alone.

“It will be easier next time . . .” Frodo finally began, but Merry cut him off.

“No!” he said more sharply than he meant. “No, Frodo. I can’t. I-I simply can not. No.” Panic shone in Merry’s blue eyes, making them look even darker than usual.

Frodo was stunned. He had believed nothing would ever keep Merry away from an ailing Pippin. Merry had been around Pippin many times when the lad would be ill with lung fever or bad colds.

Yet . . .

Pictures of Pippin sick at those times and the Pippin who lay on the bed in the next room came to Frodo’s mind. This was different. Yes. It was horribly, pathetically different.

Merry drew in a long, shaky breath. “I can’t explain. Frodo, I . . . I don’t have the words. Maybe . . . later. Yes, maybe later I’ll be able to . . . but I can’t. I can’t look at him now. Can’t be around him now.” Merry trembled from head to foot. “No.”

“We won’t force you, Merry. Calm yourself. We won’t force you.” Frodo thought a few moments. “Shall I send Lord Elrond in? If you’ve questions . . . if there are things you don’t understand, I’m sure he can explain them. He’s spoken to the rest of us but you were on duty.”

Merry’s heart wrenched. Yes, he was on duty while his dearest friend in the world turned into something worse than an infant. It scared him. It horrified him. It tore his heart to shreds with pity. And, though he tried with everything within himself to push it away, the question kept attacking his sanity - what if Pippin never comes back?

Outwardly, Merry nodded his head in answer to his older cousin’s question, inwardly he was feeling horribly lost. Frodo and Gandalf went into the next room. Merry was too lost in his own misery to notice it was ten minutes before Elrond came in and sat in the chair Gandalf had been sitting in. The Elf lord waited until he felt the hobbit was ready.

“You have never had to deal with such a thing.” Elrond quietly stated.

Merry shook his head.

“Have you ever seen another in like condition? Not necessarily a loved one, Meriadoc, but anyone?”

Merry nodded. “I used to nose about the Hall.” He looked up at Elrond. “Brandy Hall, where I live in Buckland, it’s rather like your house with many families and individuals living there.”

Elrond nodded his understanding.

“There was a tunnel, that no one ever seemed to talk about living in, but I would see people coming and going from it. I . . . I guess it’s rather like the Houses of Healing but different, and maybe they have something like it here, but I’ve not seen it. There were . . .” Merry dropped his gaze to the empty hearth as his voice faded to a faint whisper. It was obviously a hard memory to discuss.

“There were very sick hobbits there. I thought some of them were dead at the time as they didn’t move much or anything. I got more and more frightened. I wanted to leave but mistakenly wandered into another room. There was a hobbitess changing a full grown hobbit. It stank in the room and he was . . .”

It took Merry a few moments to continue. Elrond knew he was seeing it all again in his mind.

“She sat him up a bit afterwards. His head hung oddly to one side and his eyes looked wrong and the spit just ran down the side of his face but he didn’t care. I wanted to run but I couldn’t. She talked to him and he would grunt, if he responded at all. She fed him and it all ran down his chin. And I threw up and she turned around. I had to feel around for the door then I ran and ran and ran.”

There was another long pause. Eventually, Merry turned his crying eyes to the Elf lord.

“I was afraid. I felt so sorry for him. He . . . it all scared me and made me ache inside. It was all just wrong. It . . . he needed fixing but no one was fixing him. I-I learned much later that not everything can be fixed.”

Merry’s look stabbed Elrond’s heart. His next words drove the blade in deeper.

“Can Pippin be fixed?”

Elrond weighed his words carefully. “I think so, yes. But I do not know for certain, Meriadoc. He might remain as he is or death may claim him, but . . .” Elrond paused to raise his hand, stopping Merry’s words before they could tumble out of his mouth. “But I do not believe that will be your cousin’s fate, young hobbit.”

He looked Merry over, gently touching his spirit with his own. The lad was near to breaking. The hobbits had all been through so much and until Theoden would be laid to rest, that part of Meriadoc’s pain had no resolution. Yet the little one, as seemed to be in the nature of his kind, had strength left for this burden.

“I do not know how long Peregrin will remain as you observed him, but I do truly believe he will return to us. I have dealt with this before. This and other illnesses and ailments that result in similar situations. Elves do not suffer illness it is true, but we do suffer injury and the falling sickness can be brought about from physical injuries to the brain. You must trust me, Meriadoc. I can still sense your cousin’s essence. He is nearer than it seems. Because of this, I am confident he will return to us from this condition he brought upon himself.”

“What is this ‘condition he brought upon himself’, Lord Elrond?” Merry’s voice was more than weary. He was barely holding himself together. “We were all told that it would be dangerous for him to stop taking any of the medications Parsow or Strider gave him. They said it could cause his blank spells to get worse or his fits to become dangerous, but he didn’t say how. I didn’t know, I don’t think any of us thought it would do . . . what it’s done.”

“He is having a series of his blank spells that are so close together it is as though it is one long spell. If you think about it you can see it. His eyes are empty. His hands grasp and twitch. He speaks, but it is only mumbling.”

Merry was nodding, he could see it.

“The spells have shut his mind down and his body is having no time to recover. The worse of his spells would leave him weary, would they not?”

“Yes.”

“And so they still are. But, with little or no time between them, they are exhausting him, so his body has joined his mind. His body has shut itself down as well. It is a blessing that it is the blank spells that have taken him over.”

“Blessing!” Merry said as loudly as his emotion choked throat would allow. “Blessing?”

“Imagine, if you are able to endure it, what would be happening if it were the falling fits that possessed him?”

Merry froze. The image did indeed come into his mind, infinitely more horrible than what he had seen in the bedroom next door. Elrond saw the truth come to the hobbit.

“That would have killed him, Meriadoc.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: I am editing/betaing this myself, I apologize if the grammar is poor or if spellcheck misses things :-)

A/N: What has happened to Pippin is called a Status Epilepticus. This means that in between the seizures there is little to no real resting period, the person is having continual seizures. One reason people can fall into this condition is by abruptly stopping their medication.

In the available literature, one finds mostly information about the grand mal status, which is life threatening, so we didn’t want to use that. However status epilepticus can also happen for every other form of epilepsy, so even though complex partial status might be more rare, Golden wanted to use it and I agreed.

We could not find a lot about that kind of status, so we put the few things we did find together with how we logically imagined it. We did find that this type often produces “a long-lasting stupor, staring and unresponsiveness” which is how we had thought it would be, and so those are Pippin’s symptoms.

Golden wanted to explore how people deal with someonein such a severe state. I am a person who has great difficulty dealing with people in states similar to this. It has led to many interesting discussions. We will do our best to handle this respectfully and to not drag it out unnecessarily. And I’ll add here - Frodo, Sam and the others are Golden, I’m Merry.

Merry

Pippin’s room was lit brightly enough to make it easy to see the stricken young hobbit. A large lamp, well turned up, sat upon each of the small tables on either side of the bed. It had been decided, well Frodo had simply stated and no one was going to gainsay the Ringbearer, that there would always be a hobbit in the room with Pippin. This first night it was Frodo himself along with Bergil. Beregond and his son had come back to the house as soon as word of Pippin’s condition had begun to work its way around the Houses of Healing. Bergil was seriously considering taking training as a healer as well as a soldier, and so he was spending as much time as he could in the company of the Healers. It had been granted that he could help with Pippin’s care.

That there would always be a hobbit present meant either Sam or Frodo. Merry had not returned to Pippin’s room.

Merry lay in his bed, completely awake. Light leaked into his room from beneath the connecting door, not letting him forget the horror on the other side. He tried. He tried so hard to not think of Pippin that way; as a horror. Yet to Merry, what was in the next room was the stuff of nightmares. The nightmares he had had from time to time ever since that day he had wandered into that one tunnel at the Hall. He had dreamt of his mother like that, his father like that, Frodo, Pippin, Sam, Bilbo, and Uncle Paladin like that. He dreamt of Pippin’s mother and sisters in that horrible state. He had even once dreamt of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins that way and was almost ashamed to admit he hadn’t found that nearly as horrible.

He even had dreamt of walking into a room and seeing himself like that.

But those were dreams. What lay in the room next to his this night was real. Brutally, horribly real.

“You stupid, arrogant, idiodic little Took!” he hissed between his teeth. “Unthinking, uncaring, reckless . . . fool! Yes. Fool. Gandalf had you pegged, you Fool of a Took!”

Merry’s voice cracked as he started tearing up again. “Pippin,” he whispered. The anger, all drained from his voice, was now replaced with despair.

This went on for a few hours. Merry would swing back and forth like the pendulum on a clock. Anger. Despair. Anger. Despair. Until he finally threw off his covers, threw on his dressing gown and walked out of his room. He couldn’t stay in that room any longer, not knowing what was in the room next door. He stole quietly out of the house and into the moonlit street. He didn’t care where he went. He was not even aware of where he was going until he realized he was in the garden of the Houses of Healing. He took a deep, shuddering breath. He and Pippin were supposed to have come here to play chess yesterday afternoon.

He and the real Pippin. The Pippin of the Shire. The Pippin he had know for the lad’s whole life. The Pippin that was at Strider’s wedding.

The Pippin he might never see again.

No.

Would not ever see again. Even if he, by some wonder of Elvish magic and medicine, emerged from the horror, he would still have the falling sickness. He would never be the “old” Pippin again.

Merry sat down upon the night-damp grass and leaned back against a broad tree trunk. He stared out at the moon and the brighter stars that shone in spite of the moonlight.

“What will you do, Meriadoc Brandybuck? What have you done up till now?” he asked himself aloud. “You’ve been upset with him and frustrated with him. Nearly the only time you’ve bothered to treat him as you used to was when he . . .”

Merry’s breath hitched. He was back to the current mess. The only reason Pippin had seemed all right, seemed to be his old self again, was because he had tricked them all and quit taking the medicine he was supposed to be taking.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. “The only time you’ve been treating Pip as you used to was the day of the wedding. You, Meriadoc Brandybuck have been no help at all.”

Merry paused as the arguement continued for a while in his head. One part of his mind would offer reasons for his behaviour, the other would remind him how pathetic all the reasons actually were. The only one with much validity was that he himself was not himself. The darkness still wafted though him like the dank chill of an open grave. The skills of the Men of Gondor were inpressive. King Theoden looked just as he had a few months ago when he first was laid in honor in the Citadel. The . . . the body . . .

Merry closed his eyes a few moments to let the ache in his heart lessen. The body didn’t even smell of death. And yet, for as wondrous as it was, in its way, it was also horrible. Horrible to drag out the grieving. Horrible to stand next to his dear king, knowing he was already gone; had been gone for months. In the Shire, folks were buried the next day, at the latest. The wake would often be held a couple of days later to allow time for relatives who lived aways off to arrive, but the deceased would have already been buried. It was over and done, and it was time to begin healing.

But really, other than his grieving for King Theoden, he had no good reason to have behaved so poorly towards Pippin. No. The end of his mind’s discussion was this: he was having trouble dealing with this different Pippin. Other than the current debacle, it was not Pippin who was to blame. He had the falling sickness, a crippled hand and a leg that he had to be careful with, all because he had been brave. The truth was that the falling sickness would have its way with the lad. Pippin could not control what had happened to him, but he, Meriadoc Brandybuck *could* control how he responded to it all.

Merry tightened his lips and nodded sharply. He had faced the Witch King, well, snuck up on him from behind, and had wounded him. He could find it in himself to face what was happening to his cousin.

Merry slumped, his sudden bravado oozing away. At least he would try.

After a few more minutes of gazing at the beautiful night sky, Merry drifted off to sleep.
***********************

Aragorn awakened to the most wondrous sight in the whole of Middle-earth; his beautiful wife lying next to him in the moonlight that came in from the balcony of their bedroom. The only problem was, this was the fourth time he had awakened this night. With a sigh the King of Gondor got out of his comfortable bed, put on his dressing gown, and left his beautiful wife while he went off to get something to help him sleep.

He walked through the moonlit halls and into the pillared walk that led directly from the Citadel to the Houses of Healing. He smiled and nodded to the guards as he passed. They returned the gesture, then continued to stand their posts while wondering why their liege was heading off toward the Houses in the middle of the night, but not looking worried or anxious.

Aragorn went into the herborium, made a sleeping draught for himself then started back to his chambers to drink it and return to his bed. He hadn’t walked far when he realized that he was still a bit restless. Thinking perhaps it would help to walk about a bit more, he went into the gardens.

The moon poured its silvery-blue light over the garden, nearly as bright as day in some places while some of the shadows were as dark as if there was no moon at all. The fountain made a pleasant sound and the night blooms perfumed the still warm air. There was only one thing that did not fit the scene around him. A small figure, seated upon the ground and leaning against a large tree.

He went over to it to find that it was Merry, sound asleep. Strider chuckled to himself. Apparently he was not the only one who had been unable to sleep in their bed this night. He gently picked up Eomer’s knight and strode off toward the Companion’s house. As he walked down the hall past Pippin’s room, he was surprised to see some light showing from beneath the door. He laid Merry down, covered him, then turned toward the connecting door into Pippin’s room. There was no mistake, rather bright light shone through the space at the bottom of the door.

Frodo startled as he heard a door opening. He chided himself; he shouldn’t have fallen asleep, but he was weary and it was taking him a few moments to come fully awake. One of the Big Folk was standing beside the bed. About the time Frodo realized it was Strider, the King spoke.

“What has happened here!” The question was asked quietly, but with an angry intensity.

“Strider!” Frodo said, still a bit startled, by the King suddenly standing next to Pippins bed.

Strider turned his head to look down at Frodo who was shifting about in the chair in order to sit up straighter.

“What has happened?” Strider repeated his question and waved his hand in Pippins direction, while looking intensly in Frodos eyes.

“Pippin hadn’t really become accustomed to the medicine, Strider.”

“He put other dried leaves into the jars,” Frodo continued. “Elrond said it was . . . eh, hay, parsley and . . . um, dandelion leaves.”

Strider was shocked. He gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed and stared wide eyed at the eldest hobbit.

Frodo continued. “He left enough of the real herbs in the jars so they looked and smelled somewhat as they should, so Merry and Sam simply pulverized them as they had been doing, mixed them into the liquid and gave it to him. I dare say they would have noticed eventually but this,” he nodded at his youngest cousin, “happened before they discovered the tampering.”

Strider said nothing, he looked at Pippin and sighed.

Suddenly the lad’s body jerked a bit and he vomited on the towel that was laying under his head. Frodo rose, but Strider motioned to him to stay seated. Without a word he stood and began cleaning up the mess. He rinsed out Pippins mouth with water then took a clean towel from the stack sittiing on the nightstand and gently placed it under his small knight’s head. Than Strider checked Pippin’s nappy, decided it needed changing and began unpinning it.

Frodo watched as the King of Gondor tended to his cousin’s needs with the gentle hands of a caring healer. Bergil came forward to take the soiled garment and oilcloth away while Aragorn put a new nappy on Pippin. He sat down once more while he gently rubbed the ailling lad’s shoulder.

“Does he need to be rolled over?” he asked.

“No, next time he’s changed,” Frodo replied.

“I’m sure he thought he was being most clever.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“I thought he had learned better.”

“He’s a Took, they often take longer than most to learn those sorts of lessons.”

The Ringbearer and the King shared sad smiles.

“I want to be angry with him,” Frodo softly said, his voice not angry in the least. “But it would serve no purpose. He hadn’t been himself for weeks and the last . . . that last medicine he was taking, was making him sick and mad. He was angry and violent.” Frodo looked at Pippin’s empty eyes that a few days ago had been filled with fire. “I simply cannot say that I blame him for what he’s done. I’m certain he never thought it would do this to him, expecially when, at first, he was feeing so much better.”

Strider sighed, a wry grin graced his lips. “It is hard to stay angry with this one.” He sighed once more. “What a mess he’s made of himself this time. You mentioned Elrond?”

“Parsow sent for him when he realized this was beyond his present abilities and knowledge.”

“But I was not even informed.”

Frodo raised an eyebrow. “You *are* a newlywed, Your Majesty.” The hobbit’s blue eyes twinkled. “We were loath to disturb you lest it upset Queen Arwen. We all like her.”

Aragorn tried not to get angry. Although he appreaciated Frodo’s jest, he was upset that he had not been told of his young knight’s condition. After a moment he asked, “Is Elrond here, at the house?”

“I’m certain he returned to his rooms at the Citadel,” Frodo replied, but his friend’s irritation had been detected. “I’m sorry we upset you, Strider. Lord Elrond said he would tell you himself in the morning.”

The king nodded. “Bergil, would you take word to the Citadel, to be given to the Lord Elrond, that I will speak with him here in the morning. Also, have word taken to Queen Arwen that I am here. Then you may return to your quarters. I will take your watch here.”

“Yes, my lord.” Bergil bowed and was gone on his errand.

All was quiet and soon Frodo was once more nodding off. As sleep over took him, he heard Strider’s deep voice speaking softly to Pippin.

““May he be brave, and have the strong head to think with, and the strong heart to love with, and the strong hands to work with and the strong feet to travel with and always come home safe to his own.”

On the other side of the door between their rooms, Merry sat with his ear to the door. He had awakened in his bed to the sound of voices coming from Pippin’s room. Slowly they drew him from his bed to the door, but no . . . he could not make himself go in there yet. Merry had sat listening, but now he felt anger rising in him. Without thinking, he threw open the door so hard it banged against the wall.

“How dare you, Strider!” he bellowed as he strode into the room. He stopped part way to the bed. With Frodo’s chair where it was, he couldn’t see the figure laying on the bed. “How dare you say that . . . that . . . blessing while you’re sitting there next to . . . to . . .”

His fear started to take hold of him. The nightmares, the terrors, the pain and the pity threatened to flood him, but Merry stood his ground.

“Look at him! Have you looked at him? There is no one there to be brave. He’ll never, ever have a strong head to think with, nor . . .”

Merry stopped.

He knew the words of the blessing. He had said it over his cousin himself many times after he first heard Strider saying it while they were still on the Field of Cormallen. He knew what words came next . . .

. . . and he could not say what he had started to say.

“He’ll never have strong hands or feet and I dread what he’ll find awaiting him when . . .” Merry’s voiced failed him for a moment. He finished in a choked voice, “if he gets back home.”

Frodo had awakened; he was watching Strider. Behind him, he could hear Merry’s rough breathing.

Strider had an air of deep calm about him, like Frodo had often sensed in the Elves. His voice was full, rich and deep, seeming to come up into him from the earth itself.

“You left out a part, Meriadoc.”

Frodo heard Merry gasp.

“You left out a part of the blessing, Merry,” the king said again. “Say it Merry. Say what you stopped yourself from saying.”

“He will . . . he . . .”

“You can’t say it, can you Meriadoc Brandybuck? You can’t say it because you know it would be the worst lie you would have ever spoken.”

From behind the chair came the sounds of Merry sniffling.

“You know that if he’s alive, Pippin will always have a strong heart to love with. Do you not understand? That is the key. If he has that he can gain the rest, or what he cannot regain will lose some of its importance. As long as he can love, and have those around him who return that love, he can survive all of this. He can do more than survive, he can win over it.”

Strider paused. Merry could not see Pippin, but he could see Strider’s face. The healer-king’s eyes held the hobbit’s eyes.

“Come, Merry. Come here.”

Frodo heard the soft scuffing of bare hobbit feet drawing nearer. He could see Merry slowly moving to stand beside his chair; beside the bed. He was not looking at his ailing cousin, his eyes remained locked with Strider’s.

“Touch Pippin’s shoulder, Merry.”

A hand slowly reached out, found Pippin’s shoulder and gently rested upon it.

“Move you hand to Pippin’s neck, Merry.”

The hand slid to rest along the side of Pippin’s neck.

And Merry felt it. Strong and firm he could feel the beating of his cousin’s heart.

“A strong heart to love with. You can feel it. Your cousin, your closest friend, your brother has not left. He may have become hidden from you by a frightening exterior, but Pippin is there.” Aragorn’s deep voice went deep into Merry’s own heart.

“As long as you have people who love you, it doesn’t matter as much that you’re broken.”

Merry and Strider both looked at Frodo.

“It’s what that girl and her doll Pippin told us about said to him. Remember, Merry?”

Merry slowly nodded. He was slowly becoming aware of where he was standing; that he was touching Pippin.

“I do love Pip. I do. I . . . I don’t know if I can . . .” Merry swallowed hard. “If I can be here when you have to . . . change him or fe-feed him. But I’ll t-try to be in here . . . I-I’ll try.”

Bergil had come back. He had been relieved of duty but he had not been relieved of his concern for Pippin and the others. He pushed a chair over behind Merry, then gently pushed on his shoulders to make him sit down. Merry sat without taking his hand from the pulse in Pippin’s neck. He looked up at Strider.

“Can you cover him up? H-he feels c-cold.”

The king covered his knight with the sheet and light blanket, kissed the lad’s brow, then with a nod to Merry and Frodo left the room. Merry grew more relaxed. Eventually, his hand slid off of his cousin as Merry fell asleep.

Another Day

Merry was gone from Pippin’s room when the sun lifted her head above the horizon. Frodo had dozed off, but asked after his younger cousin when he awoke.

“Well, Lo . . . eh, Frodo,” Bergil stammered. Like Sam, who had been asked by his friends to quit calling them Mister Merry and Mister Pippin, Bergil and been asked by all the hobbits to address them as he did Pippin, who he had first got to know as a friend not a superior. “Merry left awhile ago whilst it was still dark. He acted rather frightened at first, realizing where he was and all, but he did tuck the blankets around Pippin and patted his shoulder before he left.”

“That’s good to hear,” Sam said brightly as he came into the room. “My turn to sit with Pippin, Frodo.”

“Yes it is, and good morning Sam. Legolas and I agreed we would give Pippin a tub bath this morning, and then I’ll head off for a little nap.”

“I was just goin’ to say you ought to be gettin’ some sleep in your bed, instead of that chair. I’ll just see to gettin’ him changed before you take him off, and I’ll get his beddin’ changed while he’s in his bath. Good morning, Legolas,” Sam added as the graceful Elf entered the room. He was followed by a few strong men bearing a tub and several buckets of hot and cool water. They were Guards of the Citadel who were off duty. As soon as it had become known that the smallest of their number had been laid low, there had been no end to the number of Guardsmen volunteering to help in whatever way they could. They were helping in the kitchen, fetching supplies, and standing guard beside the front door to the house as well as beside the garden gate.

“Good morning, Samwise, Frodo,” Legolas replied. “Are you ready for Pippin’s bath?”

“Let me tend to my own needs first then I’ll help get the water ready while Sam gets Pippin changed.”

Legolas nodded as Frodo left, then he sat down beside Pippin’s bed. Laying his hand softly upon the hobbit’s forehead, he closed his eyes. Yes. Yes, it was as the Lord Elrond had said, the little one’s essence was near. He could feel the waxing and waning of the spells and, in between them, precious moments when the youngest hobbit’s bright spirit would flare up only to fade again as the next spell came upon him.

Frodo soon returned and, with help from one of the Guardsmen, got the bath water ready, then Legolas gently lifted Pippin from the bed and eased his body into the warm water.

The soap lathered well in the wet flannel and smelled of lavender and lemon. Frodo’s thoughts wandered as he worked. Thoughts of other bath times with his youngest cousin rose in his mind. Pippin splashing and singing, the water in the tub flying about as happily as the notes of the tunes.

Without realizing it, Frodo had started to hum.

Legolas was supporting Pippin’s limp, sometimes twitching, body. He could still sense the passing spells as well as the brief flashes of Pippin’s nearly returning consciousness. There was a change in the flow of the spells as Frodo continued to hum. The Elf was instantly alert.

Then, Frodo’s humming slowly began to fade.

“No!” Legolas spoke softly but urgently. “Do not stop humming, Frodo. It is reaching Pippin’s spirit. It is drawing him nearer. Are there words to this song?”

Frodo was taken by surprise. Not only had he been unaware he was humming, but now that it had been brought to his attention, he was aware of which song it was.

“Eh . . . yes,” he dragged the word out as he hesitated. “There are words, but . . .”

“Sing them. I think that may reach into his being even more strongly.”

Frodo didn’t really feel it was quite the right song to sing, much too cheery for the situation, yet the more he thought about it, the more he thought, “Why not?”

“Sing hey,” Frodo started, rather shakily. He cleared his throat and started again.

“Sing hey! for the bath at close of day
That washes the weary mud away!
A loon is he that will not sing:
O! Water Hot is a noble thing!” *

Sam had joined in on the last two lines. He and Frodo smiled at each other and they went on to the next verse as Frodo scrubbed Pippin and Sam went back to tending to the bedding.

“O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain,
and the brook that leaps from hill to plain;
but better than rain or rippling streams
is Water Hot that smokes and steams.” *

The hobbits were smiling now.

“O! Water cold we may pour at need
down a thirsty throat and be glad indeed;
but better is Beer, if drink we lack,
and Water Hot poured down the back.” *

Legolas had not recognized the tune when Frodo had been humming it, but he had indeed heard this song before and he joined in the singing. Sam shook his head in wonder at the silken voice of the Elf singing a hobbit bath-song.

The three of them heartily sang the last verse.

“O! Water is fair that leaps on high
in a fountain white beneath the sky;
but never did fountain sound so sweet
as splashing Hot Water with my feet!” *

At that moment, beneath the water of the bath, Legolas had felt Pippin’s legs give one solid twitch. He waited . . . but they did not twitch again.

Frodo had looked into Pippin’s eyes, and for a moment they had cleared. Though not looking into his own, Frodo saw them look aware, with a touch of Pippin’s old sparkle in them. But then . . . it was gone.

“The bed’s ready whenever he is,” Sam said quietly. But there was a smile in his voice just as there were smiles on the faces of Legolas and Frodo. The Elf and the eldest hobbit looked at each other, for the first time feeling more confident that Pippin would come back to them.

Frodo left to take his nap. Faramir came to make sure Pippin was getting the best care possible. He was concerned since the hobbit was not being cared for at the Houses of Healing, but he quickly saw that Pippin would be no better watched over at the Houses than in his own bed. Pippin had many friends in the White City and all were anxious to help. A little later, Ioreth came so Bergil could get some rest.

The day went on.

About the time the hobbits would call elevenses, Aragorn and Elrond came to Pippin’s room. The king carried a bowl, the Elf lord a small phial.

“Ioreth, would you please sit Pippin up so that I may see if he is able to swallow some rice porridge?” Aragorn asked.

“Of course, my lord,” the healer’s aid replied as she moved to do as he had asked. She gently drew the small body into a sitting position. She started to reach for the extra pillows, but the king had already set the bowl he had been carrying down and was moving more pillows into place behind Pippin’s back. “Thank you, my lord,” Ioreth said softly as, with the care of a mother with an infant, she leaned the perian back. She was careful to not let Pippin’s head flop, holding it gently with her caring hands until it was settled properly against the pillows. She then tucked a towel behind his shoulders so that it hung down over his chest.

But the king did not pick up the bowl of porridge. The Elf lord sat in the chair beside the bed first.

“We shall see to this first, Aragorn,” Elrond said softly, pulling the stopper from the phial as he spoke. “I do not fault you and young Parsow for not thinking to try this. You have not dealt with the falling sickness. Battle injuries and the afflictions caused by the Darkness were more your concern, and rightly so. I have had Mithrandir looking in the books of the healers as well as speaking with the Warden of these houses while we were discussing the hobbit’s treatment and working in the herbarium. As I thought might be the situation, this herb was not mentioned in their writings on the subject of the falling sickness.”

Sam had drawn closer to better hear what Lord Elrond was saying.

“I hope that’s somthin’ that we can make for Pippin when we get home.” Sam’s voice was tense. “If it ends up doin’ him good that is.”

Elrond turned and smiled at the anxious hobbit. “Indeed, Master Samwise, this herb is more readily found in the more northern regions than it is here. My sons had to travel a hard ride to the north to find it. That is part of the reason it was not written of in the healer’s books.”

He held up the clear glass phial. The liquid within was clear with a slightly golden hue.

“A tincture of milot malina, or what you would call yellow melilot, master gardener.” **

“Yellow clover! Another weed!” Sam exclaimed. His eyes widened as he looked more carefully at the jewel-like liquid. “I see as we hobbits need to be thinkin’ over what we toss on the compost heap.”

Everyone in the room shared a light laugh at Sam’s comment.

“Indeed it does appear so, Samwise. But unlike athelas, this herb will be effective in any healer’s hands.” To Sam’s wide-eyed amazement, the Elf lord winked at him. “It does, however also carry the name milot aranion, or King’s Clover, not because it needs the touch of the king to work it’s best but because it is the supreme medicament for the falling sickness.”

“You and Meriadoc will be taught the proper method for creating the tincture as well as how to properly purify water for the usual dose should this become young Peregrin’s regular medicine.”

Elrond took a small glass tube from his robes and drew up a small amount of the golden liquid. Everyone watched as, with infinite care, gentleness and patience, the Elf managed to place three drops of the tincture on Pippin’s tongue.

“Three drops directly upon his tongue when he is recovering from a fit, or, in his present situation, in which he is having continuous spells, three drops three times a day. If it does become his regular medicine, he will take it mixed in purified water three times each day, Samwise. I would suggest that it be taken with first breakfast, luncheon and supper to make it more convenient. The Master Apothecary can give you the correct amount of water using the charts you have produced.”

Elrond rose from the chair so Aragorn could try feeding Pippin. Strider didn’t do very well with the porridge. Though he did his best, his patient ended up wearing as much of it on the towel that covered him as it seemed he had swallowed. But, at least they had got some nourishment into the young hobbit. Strider sighed as he began to clean the mess of saliva and porridge off of Pippin’s face. Memories of the youngster happily stuffing his face at the feasts and banquets after the War had been won came to his mind, as well as Pippin eating more than even the other hobbits while the Company had been in Lorien and in Rivendell.

He sighed again. He prayed to Eru that Elrond was right and the King’s Clover would begin to bring Pippin back to them and that it might be the medicine that would work the best for him afterwards as well.

And the day went on.

Merry had returned to the house for meals, though he moved the food about on his plate more than he ate it. He only spoke if spoken to, and as soon as he seemed to feel he was finished, he left. Although everyone was concerned, they didn’t intrude on his struggle. Frodo assured them Merry was thinking things through, finding his own way to deal with what had happened to his best friend.

Actually, Merry wasn’t that far away. There were bushes below the window to Pippin’s bedroom; bushes and only the smallest amount of space between then and the low wall that encircled the house. There, in that small spot, he had spent the day keeping watch, in a manner of speaking, over Pippin.

He had heard a great deal. Legolas asking Frodo not to stop humming and then all of them singing the Bath Song. Legolas had said the music was reaching Pippin, that it was “drawing him nearer”. Merry heard what Lord Elrond had said about the new medicine.

Merry was daring to hope, even though he was not daring to go back into Pippin’s room. He could not bring himself to do it, so he kept his vigil below the open window.

It was later in the day, between afternoon tea and dinner, that Gandalf came into Pippin’s room. The house had become quiet in the late afternoon as most everyone by then had been feeling the need for a nap. Frodo was in one of the chairs by Pippin’s bed, although he wasn’t awake. He had come to relieve Sam so that Sam could have the relaxation he found in cooking dinner. Ioreth was still there as Bergil took the hours of the day from after supper until first breakfast.

“Might I have a few moments alone?” Gandalf quietly asked her.

“Of course, Mithrandir. I know you’ll take good care of my dear little Ernil.”

She curtsied and left, leaving the old wizard to smile at the woman for calling Pippin “her” Ernil. Ioreth thought of all the hobbits as “her” pheriannath.

Gandalf sat in the chair on the opposite side of the bed from Frodo. All well and good, he thought, as Pippin had recently been turned and faced that side anyway.

The young hobbit lay on his side in the bed. From time to time his body twitched as small convulsions played with his muscles, than he lay unmoving again. For a long moment Gandalf just sat there, then he reached out his hand to the youngster and softly stroked his curly hair.

"Hello Peregrin, my lad." the wizard whispered, but Pippin showed no
reaction.

Sighing, Gandalf looked at Pippin’s face. The hobbit’s big green eyes missed the sparkle they always had. They were open, but unseeing. His pale face was expressionless, his mouth open. Saliva ran out of the lad’s mouth and dropped onto the towel placed carefully on the pillow.

After a while, Gandalf drew the blanket off of Pippin, lifting his limp body out of the bed and onto his lap. He sat with the lad in his arms, his right hand holding Pippin’s head steady. With his left hand he picked up a cloth, that was lying on the night table and carefully wiped the saliva off Pippin’s mouth and cheek.

Once more, Gandalf looked at Pippin’s face.

Pictures from the past flowed into his mind. Little Pippin laughingly stealing a biscuit off his plate. Little Pippin looking guiltily at his feet, the wizard’s wet hat clasped in both tiny hands. A slightly bigger, older, Pippin jumping, full of joy and life, into his arms and asking an endless stream of questions.

Questions.

Always so full of curiosity.

“What more do you want to know?” he had asked the lad.

“The names of all the stars, and of all living things, and the whole history of Middle-earth and Over-heaven and of the Sundering Seas,” laughed Pippin.***

A smile played around the wizard’s lips. He hugged the hobbit in his arms, who now could not utter a single understandable word. Saliva was again running over Pippin’s chin.

Gandalf’s smile vanished. An expression of deep worry and sadness
took its place. “How I wish you would ask all your questions again, dear lad. I would love to answer them for you . . . if only you would ask them again and laugh at the answers.”

A tear rolled down the wizard’s cheek.

"Gandalf?"

He jumped, suddenly hearing a voice near him, but just as quickly realized it was Frodo’s voice.

"Hello, Frodo," he replied, as he leaned over and carefully put Pippin back into the bed, this time facing his cousin. Then slowly, as though every muscle ached with the effort, the wizard stood up.

Frodo stroked Pippin lovingly on the cheek. "Hullo, dearest Pip." He gave his cousin a kiss on the forehead.

Gandalf stood at the foot of the bed stared down at them.

"I am a powerful wizard . . . and yet I can not do anything for Peregrin.”

Frodo looked up into the familiar and dear face. He stood, then went to the end of the bed to take his old friend into a firm embrace.

"I feel helpless as well Gandalf. We all do," Frodo whispered as tears formed in his eyes. A long time they held each other for strength, and the hope that they would soon hear Pippin laugh and chatter again. There was no other sound they wished so much to hear.

Evening came. Pippin was given his third dose of the tincture of King’s Clover along with another meal of rice porridge for supper. Parsow had arranged with Bergil that he would sit the vigil this night. Sam busied himself adjusting Pippin’s blankets, tending to keeping the lad changed and cleaned, and tidying the already tidy room.

“I know,” Sam sighed, answering Parsow’s unasked question. “I ought to be settlin’ myself down. I can’t is all. Worryin’ does that to me sometimes, that’s why Mis . . . Frodo,” Sam shook his head and softly huffed. “He’s still my Master as far as I’m concerned and I’m still his gardener and I ought to be callin’ him and his kin “Mister”. As I was sayin’, that’s why he sent me off before to do some cookin’ for dinner.”

Parsow nodded. He often felt that sort of restless concern himself.

“Why don’t you go to the kitchen and bake something for breakfast on the morrow? I will be here with Pippin.”

“There’s no need, Parsow, as folks have been bringin’ stuff all day. There really wasn’t need for me to work on dinner when I did but since it had been Frodo that told me to go do some cooking, I did. He usually sits calm when he’s worryin’ and my fidgetin’ starts to grate on him after a while.”

“I know,” Parsow said. “This would be a good time for you to learn to make the tincture. I know, from what I have heard of the talk in the Houses, and that coming from the Citadel, that the Lord Elrond sleeps little and is oft seen walking about the halls and the gardens. The herbarium would be quiet this time of the night, there would be few if any interruptions.”

Sam considered the idea a moment. “But . . . one of us is supposed to be here with the lad, we promised each other there would a hobbit in here all the time, and we take promises seriously.”

“Frodo is just across the hall, Sam. I know that he usually sleeps lightly. Leave the door to this room open as you leave and open Frodo’s door as you go past. If a need arises, I am sure I would need only to call loudly and he will come. I’m sure he would understand.”

The hobbit thought a bit more. “Frodo had mentioned that he hoped my fussin’ about wouldn’t be upsettin’ to Pippin . . . Very well, then. I’ll go on up to the Citadel and look for Lord Elrond. I’ll be back as soon as I can, Parsow.”

Sam went over to the healer and touched his hand. “I know you’ll be keepin’ a good eye on him. You . . . well . . . you remind me a whole lot of Strider and Mis . . . Lor . . . Prince Faramir. I know Pippin trusted you to take care of Merry and Faramir, when he wasn’t yet a prince, and the Lady Eowyn.” He looked down a few seconds before looking up into Parsow’s eyes. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be back.”

With that, Sam left, leaving the door open behind him. Parsow heard him open Frodo’s door and then the night was quiet except for his ailing friend’s occasional grunts and moans.

It was quarter of an hour later when Parsow noticed the connecting door into Merry’s room was slowly moving. Eventually, the Knight of Rohan’s head eased through the opening.

“Is he . . .? May I . . .?”

Parsow had been told of Merry’s difficulties. He smiled at the obviously nervous hobbit.

“Of course, Merry. This is a good time as I am the only one here and all is quiet.”

Merry nodded as he cautiously stepped into the room to slowly make his way nearer to the bed. He was about halfway there when they heard a shuffling noise coming from the hall. Merry froze. He and Parsow stared at the open door.

Eventually, the head of Gimli the Dwarf appeared around the edge of the doorway. He looked around, then addressed the two in the room.

“Might I come in and have a wee moment with the young hobbit?”

Merry hadn’t heard the Dwarf sound so shy since the first time he had spoken to the Lady Galadriel.

“Of course, Gimli,” Parsow replied. “Merry and I are, as you have seen, the only ones here.”

Gimli nodded. He came in, nearly tiptoeing up to the bed.

“Ah, ‘tis all true then, what I’ve been hearin’. Poor wee young hobbit.”

The Dwarf, who usually seemed as tough as the mountains he loved was, like Merry, not the most comfortable around the severely ill. Although he had been there when Pippin had slipped into his current state, he had not been into the lad’s bedroom to visit him.

But Gimli stopped, looking startled. He frantically pulled the covers down a little further, then turned a withering gaze on the healer.

“Where is it, Parsow lad? You’d best know where it is and why it’s been taken off him.”

Parsow calmly answered. “It is under his pillow. The Lord Elrond put it there. He feared the lad might become entangled in it as we aren’t putting a nightshirt on him.” A deep look passed between them then Parsow added, “I think he knew it’s meaning and purpose as he treated it gently and with great respect. He said he knew it would not ‘do young Peregrin as much good’ being removed from him, but that it would still be near enough under the pillow. I was obviously the only one in the room at the time to whom his words made sense.”

They looked at each other a moment longer, then Gimli turned his attention to gently moving his hand about under Pippin’s pillow, feeling for the chain that bore the amethyst disk he had give to Pippin on the Field of Cormallen.

“Aye,” he sighed, “That makes sense. As long as Lord Elrond has been around and with the interest he has in healin’, it makes sense that he would be a little familiar with Dwarvish medicine.” Gimli drew the healing disk from under the pillow.

“I’ve brought some more gems. Ones more for . . . for,” He stopped to clear his throat. “For helping with the fallin’ sickness.” Gimli looked at Merry as he took a small pouch from inside his jerkin. “I’m sorry, young Meriadoc. I’d have put them on him sooner but it has taken a while for me to get word back and forth to the Dwarf healers. I sent word about the wee lad, told them he had the amethyst upon him already but was in great need of more specific help. Our greatest healer sent these with the last group of Dwarves who came to aid with the rebuildin’. And then, well, I too have difficulties being around one so ill . . . I was waitin’ for a time like this when thin’s were a wee bit quieter and when young Parsow here was the one on watch.”

He laid the chain and disk on the table by the bed. He then took some small pliers from the pouch and set to work removing the amethyst disk from the chain.

“Parsow, they keep purified water at the Houses for makin’ potions and such, don’t they?”

Parsow grinned wryly. Potions were the concoctions of false healers. “We use it for elixirs, tonics and such, yes.”

“Fetch some here along with some bandages. The disk needs cleansing and reenergizing. You pay attention to all of this, young hobbit,” Gimli added to Merry. “This needs to be done to all the stones, the healer said, about every six months or they begin to lose their potency.”

Parsow left the room but was back in only a moment. “I sent one of the Guardsmen to fetch it,” he said in explanation.

Soon the water and bandages arrived and the amethyst disc was placed within the pure water. Gimli finished his task then held up the mithril chain to show Parsow and Merry what had been added. Attached to the links, so they would not slip out of place, were three gems that, like the amethyst, had been shaped into disks of various sizes.

“The healer determined the sizes to best work together to help the lad, knowin’ as he’s a wee hobbit. Of course, he didn’t know he’s gone and done this to himself, but I’m hopin’ they will work right for him anyway.” He pointed to the largest, a deep green stone that the lamp light caused to glow. “Emerald is to help with the fallin’ sickness itself, it helps ease the bad spells and fits. This,” Gimli pointed to the next biggest disk, “is a sapphire. The healer said that the fallin’ sickness can trouble the mind and this will help the lad to think more clearly and find peace and joy instead of the sadness that will seek to trouble him.”

Gimli smiled at Merry. “I had mentioned that all of you brave hobbits are kith and kin of Bilbo and that all of you had faced the darkness spun by Dark Lord of Mordor. I told him Bilbo’s own heir had borne the One Ring to the Mountain. He expressed his gratitude and sent some small gifts for each of you and,” the Dwarf’s cheeks flushed, “he sent each of you a sapphire to help fight against whatever darkness still troubles you. They are like this one, so you can hang them on your watch chains or about your necks, though I can’t imagine young Frodo ever wantin’ to wear anythin’ around his neck again.”

Merry nodded at that. “I think you are quite right there, Gimli.”

After a moment of silence, Gimli continued. He pointed to the last disk which glowed like a drop of blood in the lamplight.

“Garnet. We wear this a lot, we Dwarves, as it isn’t strictly a healing stone. It gathers courage to the one wearing it, so we call it the “Warrior’s Stone”. The healer said the lad will have many battles ahead and he’ll need courage.” He paused, then said to Parsow, “We’ll need to let the amethyst cleanse for a while and then we can to put this back on the lad.” He shook his head to stave off Parsow’s attempted response. “It’s what the bandages are for, laddie. Lord Elrond’s concern is a good one, so we’ll just hang it around his neck then bind the stones to the lad’s chest. Tell everyone you had to do it to humour me,” he added with a wink.

Merry slowly moved to stand beside the bed. Again, the sight of his dearest friend in such a state wrung his heart. He placed his hand to his chest and drew in several slow, deep breaths.

“I want to take Pippin out in the garden,” he said in a distant sounding voice. Merry looked at the Dwarf. “Will you carry him for me, Gimli? I . . . I don’t think I can manage.” He turned to Parsow. “Can we put a night shirt on him so he doesn’t take a chill?”

He wanted to say “so he looks more asleep than nearly dead” but managed not to. “Pippin likes being outside at night. He likes the stars and the bit of chill in the air.”

The “real” Pippin liked those things just like the “real” Pippin liked singing and baths. Merry needed so badly to find the his Pippin hidden behind this drooling, soiling . . .

He squinched his eyes shut, his lips tightened. “Please,” he choked out.

“Of course, Merry,” Parsow replied, trying to not have too much cheer in his voice. Merry didn’t need any false cheeriness.

Merry kept his eyes closed. He hear the sounds of fabric being moved about, heard Parsow softly giving Gimli directions, then felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Come along, Merry.” Parsow encouraged. “Pippin is bundled up, warm and snug and here is a blanket for you to wrap about yourself and I’ve another for all of us to sit upon.” There was a pause then Parsow added, “Unless you want to be alone with Pippin?”

Merry opened his eyes but didn’t look at the healer, his eyes followed the sound of Dwarvish boots to see Gimli carrying a blanket-wrapped form out of the main bedroom door.

“No,” Merry mumbled as he started to follow Gimli. “No, I . . . I want you and Gimli to stay.” As they walked quietly along, he turned to Parsow and asked, “May I hold him?”

Parsow smiled and nodded. He hurried ahead to let Gimli know he was to wait until Merry was seated then place Pippin in his cousin’s lap. When they were all settled on the blanket Parsow spread upon the grass, they sat in silence. Merry hugged Pippin close, rocking him ever so gently. The moon had set for the night and the stars seemed close enough to touch. They sparkled and gleamed in the deep blue velvet of the firmament like gems on a lady’s gown.

Then, softly, as Frodo had in the morning, Merry began to hum. And the humming turned to singing. It was a very old song that hobbits often sang while holding vigil o’er a loved one.

When a song leaves my lips
it is only so you will feel loved,
through the night and the darkest dreams,
so that love takes the fear away from you.

Please, say just one word
and show me the barren field is alive.
Please, just press my hand
and show me how the veil lifts from your eyes.

A barren field of dying grass,
but please, let a crack open up,
a path to set the water free, to give hope to us,
when your pain is as high as the sky.

I am here for you, if you have to face danger.
I am ready now for every fight.
I am the first one who’d set you free, if I could,
and the last one to give up hope... ****

Merry put his cheek against Pippin’s cheek, whispering softly into his cousin’s ear, “I learned, my Pip. All I saw was how you had changed. All I saw was a hobbit who was hard to be around because he couldn’t pay attention, had to be watched over and had grown angry and hurtful. I didn’t see that it was all a shell. I didn’t see you were still the same inside. I left you to fight this by yourself because I was so blind. I’ve learned, Pip, I know better now. I will not leave you alone again.”

A breath of a sigh tickled Merry’s ear, a whisper of his name.

“Meh . . . ee.”

Merry moved to look at his cousin. Pippin’s eyes had cleared and the light in them, that sparkle that was his Pippin, shone through. But it was as though his cousin still could not see. The green eyes moved as though they were looking for Merry but were unable to find him, as one would look for something in the fog. Before they found Merry’s face, they went empty once again.

“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
* The Fellowship of the Ring - A Conspiracy Unmasked

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** Melilot or sweet yellow clover (sometimes “king’s clover” - because Henry VII was said to have used it and/or the yellow flowers look like a high golden crown)

“For epilepsy, it is said in the United States of America to be ‘the one grand master-remedy,’ by giving a drop of the tincture every five minutes during the attack, and five drops five times a day in water, for some weeks afterwards.”
Extract from Herbal Simples Approved for Modern Uses of Cure by William Thomas Fernie (1897)

(In Qenya (primitive Quenya), Tolkien named the red clover 'kamilot'. David Salo identifies this plant as Trifolium, if that helps. In mature Quenya, 'malina' means yellow. "aranion" means "of the king", so it might be a good ending for your king's clover.
Elvish: Milot Aranion. Westron: Yellow Melilot

/// I thought I had saved the name of the kind person who did the Elvish translation for me and now, I can’t find it. My apologies and my sincere thanks to you if you are reading this. \\\
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*** The Two Towers - The Palantir
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Information about gemstones found at:

Gemstone bead index of “Rings & Things”
http://www.rings-things.com/gemstone/main.htm

and “Sobriety Stones”
http://www.sobrietystones.com/resources/spiritual_healing_e.htm

I mostly used Rings & Thing’s descriptions.

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**** Merry’s song to Pippin is taken from the song, “Und Wenn ein Lied” [“And If A Song” ] by the group, Söhne Mannheims. The song is in German and was translated into English by Golden, then edited by Pearl.

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Pippin will begin recovering in the next chapter, and will be considerably better by it's end. Thank you all for hanging in there with us :-)

Piecing the Puzzle Together

“Pippin?” Merry whispered. “Pippin,” he said again, this time louder.

He was tempted to shake the lad. Without turning to look at them he spoke to Parsow and Gimli.

“He was there. Pippin was there, in his eyes. He was there but couldn’t see me. He was there.”

Parsow had not been able to see Pippin’s face, but Gimli had. The Dwarf looked at the Gondorian.

“I saw it as well. For a wee moment the lad’s eyes had a sparkle to them.”

“And he whispered my name.” Merry let his excitement grow. “He did, he really did. He said ‘Meh . . .ee’. He said my name, Parsow! That’s a good thing . . .”

Merry paused. Dare he begin to hope? Merry looked at Pippin. His eyes once more had the glazed empty look of the dead.

“Isn’t it?” he finished lamely as his body sagged.

Parsow was nodding. He also feared getting too hopeful, but surely such things had to be good signs. “I think it is a good thing, Merry. I do not doubt what you say, but I do think we need watch for more such signs before we allow ourselves too great a celebration.”

The young healer rose. “I will go up to the Citadel and inform the Lord Elrond and his majesty. They will at least wish to be informed and may wish to come themselves and observe Pippin for a while. I think it would be best to take him to his bed. Merry?”

“Yes.”

“I know it is difficult for you and we can wait to see if he needs to be changed, but if you, or Gimli, would unwrap him it would be best I think. Also, you should stay with him, Merry, as much as you can. Keep talking to him and touching him. Even if he seems not to respond any further, I feel, as a healer, that it will do Pippin great good.”

“I will,” Merry shakily replied. His feelings kept leaping back and forth between euphoria and his old fears and discomforts.

Parsow hurried down the path and out the gate. Gimli stood, took Pippin from Merry and together they headed back into the house.

Parsow returned. Elrond arrived. Strider arrived. Frodo came into Pippin’s room as well, but at Elrond’s orders the rest of the household and any others who came as they heard the news, waited together in the large kitchen.

Everyone waited.

Did Peregrin sense all the concern around him? Did the anxious hopes of so many friends and loved ones make it’s way inside the shell the spells had set around his spirit, mind and body? None could know, except perhaps the great Elf lord. Elrond gently, carefully reached out with his spirit.

“I am certain of what you saw and heard, Meriadoc,” the master healer said with a sigh after several minutes had passed. “Peregrin’s spirit is very near now. It is as a river below a thin layer of ice.”

“Yes! Yes. I’ve seen the Brandywine like that.” Merry was glad this was something he could understand. “When the ice is so thin and clear that you can see the water flowing by beneath it but it isn’t yet free of the ice. And the ice is much too thin for a hobbit to walk on, but birds can still walk on it, the fish are still unable to jump, but that is all close to changing.”

Elrond smiled. He loved how clearly hobbits often saw things; their plain and simple ways of speaking. He would miss them when he left Middle-earth.

“Well said, Meriadoc. That is exactly what I meant. The ice is still thick enough to hide the water in most places, but there are now thin places where the water can be seen. I think we will start seeing more of Peregrin, but he is not yet free. The complete melting of the ice may go quickly, taking only a few days, or it may pass more slowly, taking weeks, but I feel the thaw is beginning.”

The Elf lord held up his hand. “You should understand, Meriadoc, and you as well, Frodo, that at first he will seem quite strange. You have seen when he has had a spell yet continued moving?”

“Yes,” Merry’s reply was subdued. He was certain he would not like what was coming. Frodo merely nodded.

“Peregrin may be like that much of the time at first. He will walk about but not seem to be looking where he is going. You and others will speak to him, touch him, but he will either not respond at all or will respond very slowly. He will be more a part of the here than he has been, and still remains, but for a while he will still be very much away from us.”

Elrond looked calmly at Frodo then at Merry. “It is important that all who will be around the young one understand this and make every effort to not let it discourage them. You in particular, Meriadoc. I think you will be able to reach Peregrin as none other will. That being so, you need to be careful to not frighten him, nor make him feel that you are upset with him as that could hold him back from returning. His spirit might seek to stay hidden where it feels safe.”

A strange, garbled noise came from the bed, causing everyone to startle then look down at Pippin.

“Lih,” he sputtered, then swallowed. “Lih.”

Again, his eyes had cleared. Again they moved with a little more intention, as though looking for something.

“Lih,” Pippin mumbled a last time, as his body relaxed and his eyes slowly closed. He sighed then lay quietly.

“Light!” Frodo exclaimed, pointing at the golden beams of morning sun that were shining through gaps in the curtains. “Pip was trying to say ‘light’!”

Merry was staring at Pippin, waiting for his eyes to open again. They had only been closed for very slow blinks until now. This time, they had stayed closed since the lids slid shut.

“E-Elrond, wh-what is h-appening?” Merry stuttered, forgetting Elrond’s proper address in his concern for his cousin.

The Elf lord smiled as he placed a gentle hand on the frightened hobbit’s shoulder.

“Something wonderful, Meriadoc. Peregrin draws nearer to the here. He is sleeping, Meriadoc. That means he is not having a bad spell. There is time between them and his exhausted body and mind are at last able to rest.”

The morning moved along, with Pippin sleeping until between first and second breakfast. It was then that he needed to be changed. Merry left and Frodo saw to his youngest cousin’s needs.

“Well hello, Pippin!” Frodo cheerily exclaimed when Pippin’s eyes slowly opened. They were clear and alert, though the lad still seemed unable to settle them on anything.

“I just need to get you tidied up a bit, Pip, I’m sure you’ll feel more comfortable.”

Frodo had nearly finished when Pippin experienced a couple of mild convulsions and the glassy stare returned to his eyes. His left hand fumbled at his throat and he chewed at the inside of his cheek.

“He’s gone again,” sighed the eldest hobbit to no one in particular as he shook his head. “The first test of Merry’s patience.” Frodo looked about the room. “Bergil, would you go tell Merry I’m all finished and you had best let him know Pippin’s having another spell. I think it would be best he not just walk in and find him like this again.”

“I agree, Frodo,” the lad nodded. “It is just as the Lord Elrond said would happen. But I’ll also let Merry know Pip was back for a little while before the spell came upon him. That will help, I think, for him to know Pip was awake again.”

“Good thinking, Bergil,” Frodo smiled and sighed. “I’ll take the soiled things to the bathing room when you get back with Merry.”

Bergil would have said Frodo needn’t bother, he could take care of that. But he had learned that there where times the hobbits preferred to do things for themselves. Legolas had told him that even though Sam was Frodo’s servant in some regards, not even on their Quest had Sam waited on Frodo as a servant would wait on a noble in the Citadel. The Elf had said it was most difficult to understand how hobbit society functioned.

Merry took this first relapse well. He sat at Pippin’s side playing with his cousin’s hair or resting a hand upon his cheek, all the while talking to him in a voice too soft to carry.

Between elevenses and luncheon, Pippin awoke again. He stayed awake a little longer, though his eyes still wandered, usually upward as though he was trying to find something on the wall beside the head of his bed. Sam came in and fed the lad some rice porridge and he was given a dose of the new medicine, all of which Pippin swallowed much better than he had before. But Pippin was only awake for less than fifteen minutes. He fell asleep before all of his porridge was gone.

That Merry was exhausted was obvious, but now that Pippin was having times when he was closer to being aware, he refused to leave. He finally agreed to try to sleep lying next to Pippin and was completely asleep in the short time it took Sam to fetch him a blanket.

Merry was still asleep when something very odd happened.

Strider and Arwen came to visit at luncheon when the king had a break in his day’s business. The Queen was quite concerned about the young hobbit, as so many in the city were, and had insisted on coming with her husband. A little after noon Pippin opened his eyes then, rather awkwardly, started trying to get up. Sam immediately moved to stop him, but both Aragorn and Arwen spoke up.

“No, Sam!” they said in unison.

“Let him get up if he wants, Sam,” the Queen gently said. “Only, we must follow him. Do not lose sight of him and stop him only if he goes some way or tries some action that could harm him.”

Pippin got out of bed and wandered off with a strange shuffling gait, Sam and Arwen following in his wake. They only stopped him long enough to put a dressing gown on him. Strider stayed behind so Merry would not panic should he awaken and find everyone, including Pippin, had gone.

“You should be seeing this, Merry,” Strider said to the sleeping hobbit with a smile. “Sir Peregrin is on his furry feet again. Let us hope that he manages to not start getting into trouble again soon as well.” The king chuckled softly to himself as he settled back into his chair.

Everything inside of Pippin was focused on what was inside of Pippin. The feeling of breathing, of moving, of seeing patterns, of hearing sounds. The words for things were not there. He didn’t think to himself, I’m walking or I’m seeing sunlight on the walls or I’m hearing Sam talking. There were just patterns of look at, movements to make and sounds in his ears. He was not part of them nor were they part of him. His bladder was full and something inside him knew that meant he should get up and go somewhere, so he got up and moved. But he went in his nappy.

Pippin stopped to look at the light on the walls. But he also tried talking to it. In the kitchen, Ioreth saw Pippin walk in and the shock of it caused her to drop the baking tray of biscuits she had just taken from the oven. Pippin startled. Something inside him said turn toward the noise, which he did, but his eyes made no effort to look for it’s source.

None of this felt strange to him. Nothing “felt” at all - it simply was or wasn’t.

Everyone else in the kitchen stared openmouthed as Pippin, Sam and Arwen all went back into the rest of the house. Frodo managed to recover enough to smile at Sam, who smiled back as he disappeared around the corner of the doorway.

Sam and the Queen of Gondor trailed around after Pippin for over half an hour. They were out in the garden when he stiffened and toppled, like a felled tree, to the ground. His watchers were on their knees beside him when the fit threw him into convulsions.

To Sam’s surprise, Arwen seemed more pleased than concerned or disappointed as the spasms began to subside.

“My husband and father have told me of Pippin’s other fits. It is quite obvious that this one was not as severe nor did it last as long as the others.”

Off to one side, Legolas, Gimli and Frodo, who had run out of the kitchen and were standing just behind the Queen, heard what Arwen said.

“It wasn’t as bad,” Frodo said softly.

“And that is a good thing, dear Frodo.” She smiled at the Ringbearer. “He is awakening. The King’s Clover is working as my father hoped it would.” She smiled down at the small form sprawled on the path. “We should return Peregrin to his bed.”

Legolas carefully picked Pippin up and the procession followed him back to Pippin’s room.

Merry had slept through it all until Pippin was put back in bed. He smiled at hearing about his cousin getting up and wandering around, was upset that Pippin had had a fit and no one woke him up, and was relieved to hear that it was not a bad as the other fits had been.

Eomer came as Merry took his tea in the kitchen. The King of Rohan looked in on Pippin, spoke to Sam and Ioreth, then returned to the kitchen, taking a seat beside his own hobbit knight.

“You have been missed, Meriadoc. Thank you,” he added to Gandalf who set a mug of ale beside Eomer’s hand. “The Rohirrim in the city are concerned for your kinsmen and yourself and would value hearing from you what is happening.”

Merry stared into his cup of tea while swirling the dusting of tea leaves around in the bottom. Not that he expected to see any signs in them, though he wished he would. He felt torn between the king he had loved and the cousin he loved even more.

“Peregrin is being well looked after, Meriadoc,” Gandalf said softly. “His recovery is progressing nicely. I would think it would do no harm if you should wish to return to your duties.”

Merry nodded, still staring into his tea. He knew one of the things that likely drove Pippin to quit taking his medicine had been being watched over as though he were a faunt. Now would be as good a time as any to start getting himself used to not hovering over his cousin like and old hen with her chicks.

“I think I shall do that.” He looked at his king. “Is there a place for me beside King Theoden this evening, Sire?”

“If there is not, I will make it so.” replied Eomer.

Merry changed into his livery, looked in on Pippin - taking a moment to gently touch his cheek - then went up to the Citadel to stand guard at Theoden’s bier for the remainder of the afternoon and evening. Aragorn and Arwen walked back up to the Citadel with Merry and Eomer.

Elrond and Parsow came to examine Pippin not long after Merry left, and give him his medicine just before supper time. Pippin woke up slowly. He was able to look at Elrond for a few moments before his eyes would once more drift off to look slightly upward and off to one side. He also was able to respond to some simple commands, lifting his hands, turning his head and looking at whoever spoke to him. All of these needed to asked more than once, and Pippin’s movements were slow, but it was an important change for the better.

Peregrin drank his medicine down smoothly and more of the thick beef broth that was his supper than went down his throat than down the towel he wore. Frodo and Sam talked and sang to him and Pippin talked and sang back . . . at least he tried to talk and sing. The talking was still garbled but he carried snippets of tunes rather clearly.

It distressed Frodo that his young cousin still could not focus his eyes on anyone or anything. He either stared off at nothing with only the gleam in his eyes to show he was not having a bad spell, or his eyes wandered about as though searching for something they were not finding. Pippin’s hands were restless, groping and grasping at everything and at nothing while at other times he would rock back and forth with an anxious energy.

Merry came in late from standing guard beside Theoden. He heard Frodo and Sam in Pippin’s room, and he heard Pippin still making noises more than words. He thought, for a moment, of joining them, but his heart was heavy. Though he did not realize it, the Darkness was creeping over him, weighing down his heart and soul. It would have done him good to have sat in his young cousin’s room, to hear him have the right notes to the simple songs even though he didn’t have the words. Merry’s heart would have lightened to see Sam and Frodo’s smiles and hear their gentle laughter. But Merry chose instead to go to his room; alone and having decided to forgo supper. He lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling until sleep overtook him.

A little less than two hours after finishing his meal, which had taken nearly half an hour, Peregrin had a bad spell that lasted several minutes, after which he fell asleep.

In the hour before dawn, when the night seems its coldest and darkest, a nightmare grew in Meriadoc’s mind. He was on a battlefield, surrounded by injury and death. No matter which way he turned he saw the same sight; Pippin driving his sword into the gut of a troll only to be crushed beneath its dying body as it crashed into the ground . The ground would shake beneath Merry’s feet, the sound of the troll’s fall would reverberate like thunder in the heavens. He would turn away from the horror only to be facing it all again.

Merry muttered. Merry whimpered.

Merry screamed.

In the room next to the smallest knight of Rohan, the smallest knight of Gondor stirred before ever the sound of a scream pierced the night. Pippin wiggled around then slipped his legs out from under the blanket to place his feet on the floor. When Merry screamed, Pippin was already standing.

Frodo jerked awake. Bergil was up and heading toward Pippin who had begun to make his wobbly way toward the connecting door to Merry’s room.

“No, Bergil! Watch him and see what he does, but do not stop him.” Frodo hissed in what wasn’t quite a whisper yet was also not his full voice. He and Bergil both followed Pippin.

If they had been before the lad instead of behind him, they would have seen that his eyes were focused on the connecting door. He tried to work the knob with his right hand, then switched to his left, staring at the door not his hands as he did so. The door swung open. Pippin walked through and over to Merry’s bedside. Without asking if he could do so, he pulled back the blankets and got into bed beside his older cousin.

Merry wasn’t awake. He lay on his back, still feebly twisting and turning whilst in his dream he was trying to find someway to escape the endless dying trolls and crushed Pippins. His sweat-soaked hair clung to his head in disarray.

Pippin stared at Merry’s face. He gently stroked at the dripping strands of honey coloured hair with his left hand.

“Bad dream, Merry,” Pippin softly and clearly said. He said it oddly, as though ‘Bad Dream Merry’ was his cousin’s name.

“Better Pippin here,” he said with the same strange cadence.

“Pippin here. Bad dream, Merry. Better. Better Pippin here.”

Over and over Pippin spoke the words in his detached way while pulling stray clumps of hair away from Merry’s face, then stroking his cheek. Gradually, Merry’s stirrings ceased, then Pippin’s mutterings ceased. Pippin lay his arm protectively over Merry’s chest and they both slept.

Frodo smiled and patted Bergil on the back.

“I suppose that is one way to pull Pippin back from wherever it is he has been. Have Merry be in need of him.” The oldest hobbit huffed a soft chuckle though his nose. “I think we can leave them as they are. We’ll leave the door open but return to Pippin’s room.

Frodo was soon asleep in his chair, but Bergil, feeling a need to be more vigilant as he was there in his role as a healer’s aid, moved his chair to where he could see through the door.

The morning light slowly illuminated Merry’s bedroom eventually shining with the brilliance of a clear day. Pippin lay wide-eyed on the bed staring at his cousin, his arm still resting on Merry’s chest. In fact Pippin had barely moved in few hours that had passed since he fell asleep comforting Merry.

Pippin slowly rolled over and got out of bed. He was dry, though that did not last long, once again he felt he needed to to something about what he was feeling but could not put the puzzle together quickly enough to do what was needed. Afterward, he felt something was wrong but couldn’t tell why. He walked down the hall to the privy, but didn’t go in, then he turned and walked away.

With a quicker pace and better balance than the day before, Pippin wandered into the kitchen. He had smelled breakfast cooking . . . Legolas had smelled him. Sam took Pippin back to his room to change him, but it didn’t go as easily as it had. Pippin fussed.

“Do you . . . need some help Sam?” Frodo asked, interrupting himself with a yawn.

“I don’t think so, Frodo. He’s behavin’ like he doesn’t want to be changed but like he doesn’t know what else to do.” Sam removed the nappy, picked up a clean one and set to work putting it where it went.

Pippin pushed it away. “No!” he said very clearly and with the proper intonation. Then the next moment pulled up on it. “Unders,” he said firmly.

“I’m thinkin’ he won’t be needin’ these much longer. He’s actin like a faunt that’s ready for goin’ without nappies.”

“Nappies?” Pippin asked, then added, “ ‘m no’ a faunt. He was looking perplexed. “Unders!” he repeated, then his eyes wandered off to stare at a far corner of the room.

“I’m thinking you are right, Sam.” Frodo rose and stretched. “Maybe we should try and see how he is doing without them, but walk him to the privy right before and after meals.” Frodo stretched again. “I’m going to get ready for the day Sam. I’ll see you in the kitchen in a few minutes.”

“Pippin and I will be there,” Sam smiled as he took off Pippin’s nappy, then went to the wardrobe to get him his small clothes. “Best hurry though as I’m thinkin’ the lad may be getting his appetite back. He showed up in the kitchen before I brought him back in here. That and Legolas is rather partial to my sticky buns and he’s in there alone with them. There may not be any left.”

By the time Frodo came into the kitchen, Pippin was well into his meal, and his meal was on him. He was clumsily using a spoon in his left hand for his porridge, then setting it down to use his fingers to eat his eggs. He had tried to get the eggs into his mouth with the spoon, but they had kept falling off. As hungry as he was, Pippin just decided to use his hands instead. It was so good to be eating regular food that he put too much of the eggs in his mouth and they escaped out the corners. The huge bites Pippin took of his sticky buns caused him to either gag or chew with his mouth open. Gooey crumbs joined the pieces of egg around the lad’s mouth.

The Took was obviously enjoying his meal, but it was equally obvious that he was enjoying it alone. He didn’t look at anyone unless they called his name several times or touched him repeatedly.

“Good,” he mumbled through a mouthful of eggs and sausage. Frodo was fairly sure he heard ‘sticky sweet’ as well, though it was hard to tell with Pippin’s mouth packed full.

“He’s disgusting,” Merry happily said as he came into the room in his dressing gown and scratching at his head. The fact that Pippin was eating regular food and feeding himself were vast improvements, Merry felt. He could handle this messy Pippin much better than the one that drooled most of his food down his chest. It felt wonderful to have something funny to say about Pippin. “He preferred eating like this until he was nearly five years old. It’s good to see him feeding himself.”

Merry sat down and began filling his plate. “Pippin, are you feeling better this morning?” he pleasantly inquired.

He received no response at all. Merry frowned.

“You need to get his attention, Merry,” Legolas said. “Repeat his name or tap him until he looks at you.”

Merry tapped Pippin on the side of his head until he slowly turned to face him.

“You are disgusting,” Merry said smiling an overly big smile.

“D’gus’in’,” Pippin said grinning, spraying Merry with sticky crumbs

“Yes. Disgusting.” Merry repeated laughing, while wiping with his hand over his face. “Are you feeling better Pip?

Pippin kept on chewing, looking Merry in the eyes. “Are you?” he gave the question back.

Then Pippin slowly turned away. He looked back at his plate of food, gone once more into his own world.

Merry’s smile had been replaced with an astonished expression.

Frodo smiled at him. “Pippin slept with you for awhile this morning, Merry. You had a nightmare. Pip got up and crawled into your bed with you to comfort you.”

Merry’s eyes grew even bigger and it took a great deal of effort not to cry, although he did get teary. He rubbed Pippin’s head through his curls. “Thank you Pip,” he said softly, but Pippin didn’t respond.

Peregrin stayed awake much of the morning. At times he was aware of his surroundings at others he was still not in the present. Later the hobbits were all in the kitchen together. Frodo and Merry were at the table enjoying a cup of coffee between second and elevenses. Pippin was sitting by the window, staring outside without really looking, rocking slightly and muttering to himself. Sam was making raspberry tarts because they were Pippin’s favorite.

As Sam spooned the sweet, syrupy filling into the still warm shells, a lovely rich aroma filled the kitchen.

“Frodo. Merry,” Sam whispered. “Look at Pippin.”

The lad sat perfectly still with his nose in the air like a tracking hound seeking a scent.

“Mum’s making raspberry tarts for me.”

The other three looked at each other in amazement as Pippin continued.

“Pervinca can’t have any because she teases me, but Nell and Pearl can have some.”

It was very clear that his mind was not in the kitchen in the house in Minas Tirith, but the memory he was experiencing was so strong that his speech was clear and complete.

“I love raspberry tarts,” Pippin said, but then he said no more. The moment came and it passed. Just a few minutes later, Pippin’s eyes glazed over. His head tipped to the side and his hands fumbled at his scarf, which Merry had earlier decided should be given back to his cousin now that he was doing better.

It was only a bad spell, not a fit, and though it only lasted about two minutes, that combined with his having been awake all morning was enough to send Pippin to sleep. Sam found Gandalf to have him come carry Pippin to his bed.

Everyone else in the household ate at noon, but the hobbits decided to wait for Pippin to wake up. It was nearly one o’clock when he came out of his room, still rosy from sleeping.

“Hullo,” Pippin muttered between yawns, as his eyes focused on the kitchen table. He went to the table where there was food sitting on some plates, grabbed a slice of apple, and stuck it into his mouth. The other three smiled. With every hour Pip became more the Pip they used to know.

Frodo took Pippin to the privy. He helped him to relieve himself and to wash his hands afterward. He was glad to see his cousin doing so well with this necessary task. Pippin also felt happy. Finally he had this piece of the puzzle back. The world around him was starting to have fewer missing pieces and seemed less and less strange. But still some holes were left in the puzzle; the picture was still not complete.

Meanwhile, Sam and Merry started to take their luncheon outside.

“I hope you two are right about this, Sam,” Merry was feeling rather uncertain about his older cousin’s idea. He didn’t think a picnic would be that good with Pippin being as messy as he had been at breakfast.

“Of course,” was Sam’s cheery reply. “We all know that Pippin has always loved picnics.”

And that he did.

They had a lovely feast. Sam, remembering Pippin’s difficult time with the silverware that morning, had put together a meal they all would eat with their fingers. There was cold chicken and slices of ham rolled up with cheese in them. There were berries, carrot sticks, pickles and the slices of apple as well as tea and juice and cold water fresh from the well to drink with the raspberry tarts for pudding.

Pippin did well, though his mind obviously kept wandering. He would be saying something then suddenly stop and a few times he got up and started walking down the path towards the gate.

Pip was lying on his back watching the clouds, or so it seemed, when Merry plucked a nearby carnation and started tickling Pippin’s nose and cheeks with it. He didn’t seem to notice at first, but then suddenly he snatched the flower from Merry’s hand.

He hadn’t even been looking at it so Merry jumped at the sudden movement. Pippin stuck his nose deep into the flower then drew in a huge sniff, which he then blew out through his mouth with a sigh.

“A carnation,” he sighed again before sniffing the flower several more times.

“Who grew the best carnations in the Shire, Pip?” Merry asked him.

“Sam’s Gaffer. Red ones in the north garden, white ones in the east garden.”

Pippin finally looked at the carnation he held in his hand. At first he looked puzzled; it was pink. It didn’t fit what he had been describing. But the concerned creases between his eyebrows slowly eased as he continued to stare at the flower then look around at the rest of the garden.

"A Minas Tirith flower. It's beautiful. The Gaffer would like it."

Then Pip was off again, looking back up at the sky while rubbing the soft petals against his left cheek.

The afternoon was a pleasant one. Frodo had escorted Pippin to the privy again before afternoon tea, just to be on the safe side, but Pippin didn’t need to go.

The four hobbits finished up the rest of the picnic goodies for tea then once more sat around on the cool grass, talking softly and listening to the birds singing in the trees.

Warm breezes. Full stomachs. Pleasant company.

Slowly they all drifted off to sleep . . . except for Pippin. His wandering mind had been in restful places. He had watched clouds floating by, listened to the soft sounds of his friends voices, and wandered in various pleasant memories of the Shire, all without any conscious choosing or thought. And it was without conscious thought that he once more got up to walk down the garden path towards the gate.

He stopped at the gate. For a moment, it appeared the gate would stop him, but it did not. Pippin eventually lifted the latch and walked out of the garden.

He was wearing an old shirt and loose trousers held up with braces, so he didn’t look that different from the boys of Minas Tirith who played in the streets all day. The hobbit walked along, looking at, yet not really seeing, the things and people he passed. Down to the end of the street he ambled, then to his right down a narrower street. Through a couple of the aches that spanned the road, then out onto a large open square where a fountain bubbled cheerily.

Pippin went to the edge of the fountain and stared at the splashing water. It sounded so pretty. He sat down and dragged his right hand through the coolness of the water. After splashing around awhile with his hand in the water he felt something. He had that feeling again, but this time he knew what it meant.

He should go to the privy.

But no one was taking him by the arm and leading him there. Frodo had been doing that, but now Frodo wasn’t there.

Pippin stood up, confusion clearly written on his face. Where was he? Where was the privy?

He did not know.

He just stood there, unsure of what to do and becoming more and more anxious.

On the far side of the square, a young girl with gold-red hair stood beside a dog with fur nearly the same color as her own hair. The dog was tall compared to the girl, it’s back nearly coming to her hips. The child was holding a doll so that it looked as though it were riding the dog like a horse.

“Your ride is over, Feva,” the girl told her doll while lifting it off of the dog. “Time to say good bye to Sunshine.”

She waggled Feva’s arm at the dog.

“That’s right. Good bye, Sunshine. Pippin needs you. Take him home Sunshine and then you get to stay with him. You are his dog now.”

Sunshine looked up at Mallefinnros with a doggy grin on her face. She nudged and licked the child’s hand, then trotted off towards the hobbit, who was still just standing there beside the fountain. Sunshine stood beside Pippin, nudging his right hand with her muzzle until his hand was resting on the back of her neck. She took a couple of steps. His hand slid along her back as he continued to stand where he was.

The golden dog circled behind the hobbit, then pushed against the back of his legs. Pippin took a couple of stumbling steps as the dog placed her neck under his hand once more. This time, as she moved, he griped her fur with his two good fingers and his thumb. She walked off with Pippin walking along beside her.

Frodo woke to the sound of the garden gate banging shut. He startled, then sat up. Panic rose within him for a moment, but that turned to shocked amazement as he recognized Pippin walking up the garden path with a golden dog at his side.

Pippin began speaking before he was even close to Frodo and the others, who were still sleeping on the grass. “I was gone, Frodo, but now I’m back,” the lad said, without looking in Frodo’s direction. He did not stop to talk but walked right by his eldest cousin. “I’m tired.” Pippin said through a yawn. “Need to go. Going inside.”

He shuffled up the path as Frodo shook Merry and called to Sam. “Get up you two. Get up! I’m not sure what’s happened but . . . just get up!”

Frodo hurried after Pippin with Merry and Sam close behind him. They found Pippin standing in the hall not far from the privy door. He was staring down at the dark spot on the front of his trousers and the puddle that was forming on the floor.

“Pippin!” Frodo called out. He hadn’t realized that was what Pippin had meant when he said he had to go.

Merry had moved around Frodo to stand at Pippin’s side. He looked at Pippin’s stained trousers. It was so hard to have his nearly adult cousin having accidents. None of it had bothered him when Pippin had been a baby and a faunt, one expected it of babies and faunts.

Slowly, the lad looked up. He blushed a deep red as tears were running down his face.

“I . . . I’m sorry . . .” Pippin sniffed and swallowed. “I was late. Don’t be angry. Please.”

Merry looked at Pippin’s face as he spoke. He saw the pain and embarrassment there; he heard it in Pippin’s voice. It was his Pippin speaking, not the odd sounding voice that he’d had recently. This was his Pippin once more saying he was sorry, but this time, it was for something that had not been his fault. A shiver ran down Merry’s spine. Hadn’t he promised Pip that he’d learned his lesson? Hadn’t he said he would be there for him when he was hurting? How would he want Pippin to treat him if he had been the one in Pippin’s situation?

Merry stood a bit taller and straightened his shoulders. Pippin needed him. He draped an arm across Pippin’s shoulders.

“It happens to everyone, Pip. Everyone has had an accident at sometime. I’ll go with you to the privy to make sure you’re all done, then we’ll go to the bathing room and clean you up. Frodo will get you some clean clothes and bring them to us, and Sam will get your bed ready. You look really tired, Pip.”

As the two cousins went off toward the privy, Frodo and Sam both stood there nodding their quiet approval at what Merry was doing; at the change it showed in the future Master of Buckland.

While they walked to Pippins room, Sam looked at Frodo and said, “Pippin was embarrassed. He wasn’t before. And he was on his way to the privy on his own. I’m thinkin’ that’s a good thing.”

Frodo nodded. “Yes, it surely is. But I’d say it’s still best for now to leave the oilcloth on his bed. He went to Pippin’s wardrobe and took out clean small clothes and a nightshirt, then headed off to the bathing room.

Sam shook out the bedding and made everything ready for Pippin. The whole time he was watched by the dog that had accompanied Pippin home and now sat patiently next to his bed. Even though it was a strange dog, Sam wasn’t afraid of it. The large animal was calm and quiet, and Sam felt totally relaxed. After he got the bed ready, he picked up a cloth for cleaning up the puddle in the hall.

When Frodo and Merry were finished with taking care of Pippin, they walked with him to his room. The dog still sat next to the bed, wagging her tail when she saw Pippin. Pippin walked up to it, patted its head then got into bed. The big golden dog jumped up and lay down at his feet. Pippin tucked himself in and went to sleep, leaving Sam smiling while Frodo and Merry stared at the dog.

“Where did the dog come from?” Merry whispered, who not really had noticed the animal before.

“I’m not sure,” Frodo replied. “She was with him in the garden just now, I think. I was too busy being surprised by Pippin saying he’d been gone.” Frodo blushed. “We need to be more careful about falling asleep.”

Merry chuckled, though it was a bit shaky. The thought of Pippin out alone in the city, still as confused as he was, frightened him. “Well,” he finally said. “Leave it to Pippin to wander off and bring home a dog.”

Frodo got one of those looks on his face that made Sam think of the Elves. That look of knowing something his master really shouldn’t have known. “I think, the dog brought home a Hobbit,” Frodo said softly, as he waved Sam and Merry out of the door. He stopped a moment before he left the room.

“Thank you,” he whispered to the dog. Frodo wasn’t sure, but he thought she nodded to him just before he turned away.

***********************************************************************************************
A/N: We could not find a lot about what happens when one wakes up after an absence status. It was only said that the waking up does not happen abruptly, but is slow and comes with confusion and restlessness. In children, they also often lose abilities they already had. So we just tried to put all this and our imaginations together for Pippin’s recovery.

A Hard Truth

A few hours later, Merry quietly opened the door into Pippin’s room. They all hated the idea of waking the lad up, but he did need to take his medicine with his supper, so Merry had offered to wake him.

Merry stood beside the bed smiling down at the cozy view. The golden coloured dog had moved. She was now lying stretched out with her back against Pippin’s chest, tummy and thighs; the length of her head and body was longer than his torso. Pip had his right arm under her and wrapped around her chest, his left lay atop her shoulder and was bent so his hand rested on the side of her head. Merry took his first good look at the animal. She was a beautiful dog. Her hair was longish and wavy and amazingly clean for an animal that had been astray in the city.

A pang of worry shot through Merry. If Pippin felt as attached to the dog and she appeared to be to him, what would happen if she was someone else’s dog? She looked well fed and well cared for.

“We should try to find out as quickly as possible who has lost her.” Merry thought with a sigh while at the same time fervently hoping she had no other owner.

She looked at him with her large, soft brown eyes, then started to nudge Pippin’s chin with her muzzle. When that had no effect on him, she started to lick him.

An eerie feeling came over Merry. “One would think she knew I’d come in to wake Pip up,” he whispered to himself. “But, she couldn’t have . . . could she?"

His thoughts were interrupted by giggling.

“No. Stop. Quit licking!” Pippin said as he giggled while trying to move his face away from the dog’s insistent tongue. He finally noticed his cousin standing by the bed. “Merry!” he said cheerfully. “I’ve a dog, Merry.”

“Yes, you do. Where did you find her?”

“Her?” Pippin replied as he felt around for her hind leg and twisted himself around so he could see as he lifted it. He grinned broadly, “Aye!” He looked confused at his cousin who was laughing. Had he said something funny?

“What’s her name?” Pippin asked.

Merry caught his breath before answering. “We don’t know.” Merry hesitated then continued. “She might even have an owner who’s lost her, Pippin. She seems awfully well cared for to not have an owner.”

He noticed his cousin’s hold on the dog tighten as Pippin and the dog stared at each other. Merry felt oddly again, as he had a few moments earlier when it seemed the dog had known to wake Pippin up. The room was silent for a long minute.

Pippin said softly. “I . . . I think she’s . . . I think she’s my dog.”

Suddenly Merry remembered when he’d had this same eerie feeing in the past. He sometimes got it around his mother, Esmeralda (Took) Brandybuck. She was one of those Tooks that other hobbits would often gossip about, whispering about the Took clan and faeries behind their hands. She and Pippin’s father were siblings and Pippin was a lot like his Aunt Esme, they were both green-eyed Tooks, small, with dainty, sharp featured faces. In fact, Merry had got the same feeling from Pippin in the past. He had experienced the same feeling, even more strongly, when the Companions of the Ring had been in Lorien. The Lady Galadriel had somehow looked into each of their minds, speaking to them with her thoughts, offering them the choice to go home or continue on the Journey.

A small, quick tremor ran through Merry. This moment, as Pippin and the dog stared at each other, felt the same. It was a feeling of something important going on that he was not a part of. It was beyond his understanding.

“Eh . . . your dog,” he said hesitantly. “Well what are you going to name her then, Pip?”

The spell over them lifted as Pippin looked at Merry, a huge smile on his face. He was rubbing the dog with both hands.

“Sunshine!” He enthusiastically replied. “She is Sunshine. Come on, lass,” Pippin said to the dog, loosening his hold on her and nudging her to get off the bed, which she did. “I need to get up.”

“Sunshine?” Merry asked surprised at the name and at how easily, how normally, Pippin got up and began to put on his dressing gown.

Pippin paused. He had struggled a bit to get his arms into the sleeves then crossed the tie on the dressing gown and snugged it up, but seemed befuddled as to how to tie it any further.

“Help me Merry?” he asked, blushing a bit. “Yes,” Pippin continued as Merry tied the tie in a bow. “It’s her colour and . . .” He put his left hand on Merry’s shoulder while the good fingers on his right scratched Sunshine’s ear. The expression on his face showed that Pippin thought what he said next would make everything clear to his cousin. “That’s what she told me.”

Pippin grinned then he and Sunshine started walking out of the room. Merry stood there a few seconds, too stunned to move, before he hurried to catch up with the pair.

After luncheon, Pippin napped as had been recommended by Parsow. His healers were trying to be careful not to have their patient over extend himself. Even with the nap, however, Pippin complained of being quite tired and having a small headache that evening before he went to bed.

It was the beginning of the end of the severely ill Pippin that the lad’s own foolish actions had created. The oil cloth came off of his bed and there were no more vigils at his bedside. It was not, however the end of all of Pippin’s problems. Over the next few days, as his speech and cognizance improved, other problems arose. Frodo grew concerned. His youngest cousin woke up feeling quite well each morning and would be in good spirits until mid-day. But even if he napped Pippin grew increasingly moody from tea until an hour or so after supper when he would complain of a bad headache and, scowling, bid them all a good night. Frodo spoke with the others and all who lived in the house agreed; in the late afternoon and evening the Pippin the “bad” medicine had created before the lad had taken matters into his own hands seemed to be returning.

At dinner the third day everything came crashing down.

“Would you like some help with that?” Frodo offered as Pippin seemed to be struggling with buttering his bread left handed while at the same time talking to Merry. The lad would say a sentence or two, stop to make a couple of passes with the butter-laden knife across the bread, stop to say a little more then take a few more strokes with the knife, and so on. He seemed to be having trouble thinking about what he was saying while at the same time paying attention to what his hands were doing. As this went on his sentences became disjointed and he was starting to butter his fingers.

Pippin stopped. He looked at Frodo then shoved the plate with his bread upon it away from himself.

“No!” he exclaimed loudly. “No I – I don’t want help. We’re back to – to that are we? Pippin can’t speak well. Pip - Pippin can’t . . . dress himself well. He needs help eating. He forgets what he’s doing. Even if . . . even if I’m not having spells and – and fits all the time, I’m still annoying. ‘What shall we do with - with annoying Peregrin?’” Pippin roughly shoved back from the table, nearly pushing himself over backwards in the process. Sunshine, who had been lying on the floor behind Pippin’s chair, barely got out of the way before the chair would have hit her. Pippin stood up, leaning forward, his face red and his hands fisted at his sides. He said nothing for a few moments. He looked around at his friends as though he had more to say but could not think of what it was. Slowly Pippin blurted it out in more short, broken, sentences.

“It’s – it’s come to this again. You all – all hate me. You keep giving me . . . that bad medicine. How very kind. It’s making me sick again. I – I was better.”

Pippin’s tirade faded as his hands went to his head. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper, as if his own outburst had caused him pain.

“I-I’m going to my room. My h-head is h-hurting. G’night.”

Sunshine followed at the lad’s heels as he stumbled out of the kitchen.

Merry started to get up and follow, but Frodo held him back.

“A moment Merry, just a moment.” The eldest hobbit looked around at his companions seated around the table. He saw his own emotions upon their faces and in their eyes. Sadness that Pippin was changing again, when everyone had hoped the King’s Clover would not cause such problems. Fear because it was clear to them all that Pippin was blaming the medicine for what was happening and they all knew what that had brought to pass before. Concern because it was obvious that Pippin thought he was still taking the old elixir and was once more upset with what he saw as the cause of his problems.

“He hasn’t been told about what happened,” Frodo said with a sigh, although they all knew about it. “Lord Elrond and the others wanted to wait until he seemed more settled.” He looked around at the worried faces around the table. “It appears we can’t wait for that. Legolas?”

“Yes Frodo.”

“I hate to keep using you as an errand runner, but would you please get Lord Elrond, Strider and Parsow.”

“Of course.” Legolas rose and started out, stopping first beside Merry. He laid one of his slender hands on the hobbit’s shoulder. “We will all see to it that Pippin is kept from harming himself again, Merry.” With a nod of his head, the Elf was gone.

“Now,” Frodo began, with a glance at Merry who had once more started to get up from the table. Frodo gently took hold of Merry’s forearm with his right hand. His cousin stared down at the stub where Frodo’s ring finger had once been. It was a sharp reminder that none of them were how they once had been. “No Merry. It was my offer to help that started Pippin’s outburst, so I will go to him. It makes more sense for me to go and I think it best he not feel as though we are all crowding in on him just now. I’m not even sure we should all be in there when he is told what has happened, but we will decide that later.”

Frodo got up and started out the door but turned to Sam before walking out the door. “Sam, fetch me when Legolas and the others arrive. I want to talk to them before they talk to Pippin.” Then he was gone off to Pippin’s room.

Merry’s gaze shifted to his hands as he toyed with his fork. His feelings were running wild and he wasn’t quite sure which among them was the strongest. He was worried and frightened for his dear younger cousin, and upset that his older cousin seemed to be shutting him out. A chill began to creep up Merry’s right arm, as it always did whenever anything went wrong.

“I . . . he can’t go through that again,” Merry softly said to himself, although he said it aloud.

“He won’t, lad. None of us will,” Gimli gruffly replied. “You and I will just be makin’ sure that it doesn’t happen.”

Merry lifted his head and grinned weakly at the Dwarf. A look of understanding passed between them. Of all the Companions, these two had had the most difficulty dealing with how incapacitated Pippin had been.

Frodo moved silently down the hallway to Pippin’s room. Slowly, silently, he opened the door. Pippin lay atop the bedding curled around a pillow while Sunshine sat on the floor between the door and the foot of the bed, looking every bit a guard dog. Frodo’s old fear of dogs rose in him. Although she wasn’t snarling nor even growling at him, Sunshine nonetheless did not look particularly happy to see Frodo Baggins. He stood frozen in place until a soft voice spoke from the bed.

“You can come in Frodo,” Pippin said. “She knows you.”

“How did you know I was here?” Frodo asked as he carefully made his way past the large dog and over to stand at the side of the bed Pippin was turned towards.

Pippin shrugged but did not answer. His breathing was uneven; his face was blotchy and wet.

“I wanted to see if you were all right.”

Pippin nodded. “M’ head still hurts.”

Frodo understood that to mean that Pippin had calmed down even though he was still not feeling well physically. He sat in a chair near the bed and was just about to speak when Pippin spoke.

“Sorry, Frodo,” the lad mumbled. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you. At everyone.” Pippin drew a deep breath and sighed deeply. “Sorry I’m saying ‘sorry’ again. Why should anyone believe me? I’ve said it too much.” He sniffed and Frodo handed him a handkerchief. For a few moments no one spoke as Pippin tended to his tears and his nose. He still had not looked at his oldest cousin.

“You do say it an awful lot Pip. But you are the most honestly apologetic person I know. You obviously mean it; I don’t think anyone has quit believing your sincerity.”

They sat in silence after that. Frodo was hesitant to say too much. He didn’t want to set Pippin off again. They were going to need him calm, settled and able to concentrate as best he could if they were going to have him understand what had been going on during the last week. He watched Pippin carefully. The lad lay there, not moving much, sniffling and looking anywhere but at him. Frodo was feeling increasingly guilty. This was his fault, in a way. His fault for saying he would take the Ring to the Mountain. No, his fault for not putting his foot down and telling his young cousins, his dearest cousins, that they could not go with him in the first place. What had he been thinking? He had actually felt happy that they insisted on making the journey, although, at that time he had thought it would only be as far as Rivendell. And yet . . .

They had already seen the Black Riders; they already knew they were being followed.

Frodo’s thoughts grew darker and his pity for Pippin increased as he sat waiting for the healers to arrive. Finally, Sam appeared at the door, cleared his throat. Behind him were Lord Elrond, Strider and Parsow. Gandalf had arrived as well. They had not wished to wait as Frodo had suggested, instead, Strider took Frodo aside as Elrond tended to Pippin.

“Sam said you wished to speak with us?”

Frodo nodded. He could not remember what it was he had planned to say. All his strength seemed to have ebbed away. Strider looked carefully at the Ringbearer and perceived the signs of Darkness upon him.

“Sam,” Aragorn called to the hobbit that was standing at the edge of the room as though unsure of what he should be doing. He came over to the king. “Sam, get a bowl of steaming water. I wish to infuse some athelas in it. There is an ill feeling in the room I wish to dispel and it also should help Peregrin’s headache.”

Sam glanced worriedly at Frodo, nodded to Strider and hurried off to get the water.

Parsow had accompanied the Elf Lord to tend to Pippin. Elrond knelt beside the bed.

“Peregrin?” Elrond spoke gently.

“Yes.”

“I have been told that you head aches. May I see if I am able to lessen your pain?”

At a nod from the hobbit, Elrond placed a hand on either side of Pippin’s head and closed his eyes. He was silent for several minutes before beginning to sing softly. The pathways of Peregrin’s brain were still recovering from his being struck down after not taking his proper medicine and, of course, some of the paths of his thoughts were damaged forever by the lack of air that was the cause of his falling sickness. Peregrin’s headache was not solely caused by either the tincture of King’s Clover or his condition; there was also a great deal of fear inside the young one. Fear and confusion and anger, those matters the Elf healer could deal with.

Gradually, with Lord Elrond’s song and the fresh soothing scent of the athelas filling the room, Pippin could feel some of his chaotic emotions quieting and his headache subsiding. However, he chose to remain curled around the pillow, his good fingers of his right hand caressing his scarf at the side of his neck.

Merry, Legolas and Gimli had come into the room.

“We are all involved with this,” Gimli said sternly to Frodo and Aragorn. “We won’t be told to wait in the kitchen. We will be here like the rest of you.”

The king smiled. “I do think young Peregrin is stronger now than he was the last time all of us filled his room while news was given to him. I think it will be well for everyone to be here.”

Frodo went to the bedside. He reached out and stroked Pippin’s hair.

“Pippin lad, we need to talk to you,” he began.

Pippin reached up to touch Frodo’s hand. It was his right hand and Pippin two good fingers searched out the nub where his cousin’s ring finger had once been and began to caress it. A strange emotion flooded Frodo. He hadn’t liked anyone to touch him there, yet Pippin’s touch was warm and soothing.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Pippin whispered. “Not us coming with you, not anything that has happened to any of us. Many sad things would have happened if Merry, Sam and I had not come.”

The words touched Frodo’s heart. How his cousin knew he had just been worrying about this very matter, he did not know, though he had his own theories about it. He himself was an Elf-friend and given to moments of insight, he sensed something similar in his youngest cousin. The warmth of Pippin’s caress spread through Frodo’s hand, up his arm and into his heart.

“Thank you, Pip.” Frodo took a deep breath. “We need to talk to you about the last few days, Pippin. There were some . . . eh . . . problems. You had some problems that we need to . . .”

Merry watched as Frodo stopped, swallowed hard, than began again. The Brandybuck didn’t like how this was going. Frodo could be most stern and forthright most of the time, but he had times, especially since the war had ended, that he was too passive and subdued.

“You . . . you had a very bad . . . you were very ill for a few days Pippin. You . . .”

“Enough!” Merry interrupted.

Frodo jumped and looked over at Merry with a surprised look. The look Merry gave in return surprised Frodo even further. His young cousin had never given him so sharp a look.

Merry was a bit surprised himself. If Frodo had only known that it was his own stern look that Merry was using on him. But Merry hadn’t time to think about Frodo’s feelings just now. He walked over to the side of Pippin’s bed, nudging their older cousin aside as he did so.

“Peregrin Took, sit up,” Merry ordered.

“But Mer . . .”

“Sit up! You say you don’t wish to be treated like a child, well then quit acting like one. Unless he is gravely ill an adult would be sitting up in his bed to speak with visitors. Sit up. And don’t ask for help sitting up. You are perfectly capable of doing it yourself.”

Pippin laid there a moment then sat himself up. He had expected Merry to help with tucking a pillow or two behind his back, but he did not. Pippin reached behind himself and tugged awkwardly at the pillows until they were where he needed them.

“Comfortable?” Merry asked, but not in a caring tone of voice. If anything, Merry was sounding like healers often did; detached.

Pippin nodded. Merry sat down on the edge of the bed.

“You are nearly an adult, Pippin. You have gone through enough experiences that I feel you are an adult in all but years. I expect an answer from an adult, unless he is unable to do so. You are not unable. Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.” Pippin didn’t like this new treatment and it was showing in his irked tone.

“That’s better. What is your rank, Peregrin Took?”

Pippin looked confused for a moment, then answered; “I am a Knight of Gondor.”

“What will you be someday, back in the Shire? What will your titles be?”

“I’ll – I’ll be The Took and Thain of the Shire.”

“Not if you keep acting like this you won’t. Do you have any idea what you did to yourself, Peregrin?”

Pippin was immediately defensive. “I didn’t do anything to myself, *Meriadoc *. A troll fell on me. I didn’t exactly do all this to myself. Well . . .” Pippin paused before adding, “I did forget to jump out of its way. But . . .”

“No, Pippin.” Merry’s tone was suddenly heated. “You bloody well nearly killed yourself because you can’t do as you’re told.”

“Merry!” Frodo exclaimed at his cousin’s bad language.

Merry glared at his elder. “I said what I meant, Frodo. We need to quit mollycoddling him. He wants to be treated like an adult then we need to treat him like an adult.”

Frodo looked deep into Merry’s eyes. The lad sounded angry but his eyes were filled with pain, not anger.

“Go on then Merry.”

Merry turned back to Pippin. Tears were starting to sting his eyes but he didn’t wish to acknowledge them by wiping them away.

“You tampered with your medicine.” Pippin’s eyes grew huge but he did not have time to respond as Merry kept speaking. “You tampered with the herbs that Sam and I were using to make your elixir. You nearly killed yourself and you made us your accomplices, Peregrin!”

At the edge of the room, Sam paled slightly at that thought. His eyes met Merry’s. They shared a knowing look before Merry turned his attention back to Pippin.

Merry took a deep breath and kept going. “You had been told not to stop taking your medicine, told it would make you very ill if you did, but you didn’t care. You . . .”

“It was making me ill taking the wretched stuff!” Pippin blurted out.

Merry put his face mere inches from his young cousin’s face. Tears ran fast and freely down his cheeks.

“Yes. You were vomiting and obnoxious and your head felt near to splitting in two. But you don’t know what happened when you quit taking it.”

“I was better! I went to Strider and Arwen’s wedding I stood with his honor guard and I sang at their feast. And the next day I . . . I . . .”

Pippin stuttered to a stop, but Merry unexpectedly didn’t cut in. Instead he backed away a little, his face no longer so close to his cousin’s, to give the lad some space in which to think. Pippin was trying hard to put the days in order. He held his left hand up; fingers curled, and then began to tick off the days as he remembered them by lifting his thumb and fingers.

He held up his thumb. “Strider’s wedding and I felt quite well.”

First finger. “The next day I . . . well, I didn’t feel as well. I woke up late and then must have gone back to bed . . .”

Merry interrupted with a grim snort. “Oh, you went back to bed all right. What next, Pippin.”

Pippin paused; looking startled by Merry’s comment but went on anyway.

Second finger. “I woke up with Sunshine in my arms and I slept a lot of that day too.”

Third and fourth fingers. “The day before yesterday and yesterday I was feeling better . . .” he paused again. He didn’t want to admit that the headaches and irritability had already been creeping up on him.

“And today I . . .”

Pippin knew he was stuck and Merry’s grin was not a pleasant one.

“So you think this is the fifth day since the wedding? It isn’t, Pippin, it isn’t. Let me correct your counting of days.

Merry once again moved in on Pippin until there were only a few inches between them.

“The wedding day. The day after, when I came home from duty expecting to play a game of chess with my favorite younger cousin but did not. The day after the wedding you went back to bed and were there for half of that day and the next two days, Pippin. Then there was a day where you were in bed and somewhat better but not very much better, though you did start walking again. Then a day you were up most of the day and met Sunshine, but you don’t remember any of it. And then, at last Peregrin Took, the morning you remember waking up with your arms around your dog. Then the day before yesterday, yesterday and today. Today is the ninth day after Strider’s wedding day, little cousin.”

Merry backed away from his astonished cousin. Pippin’s mouth was agape, his expression one of complete confusion.

“How could . . . How . . .” Pippin swallowed hard and looked to Frodo for confirmation of what Merry had said. Frodo slowly nodded. “How could I not remember four whole days?”

Pippin glanced around at his friends. Sam was looking at the floor. Gandalf closed his eyes for a short moment and sighed. When he looked back at Pippin, the Hobbit thought he saw pain in his old, wise eyes. And this pain was not just in Gandalf eyes, as Pippin looked at the others, he also saw it in their eyes. What could have happened, that had hurt and scared his friends so much?

The air in the room grew tense. Who would answer the question they all wished to avoid answering? How would the question be answered?

Merry held the floor.

“You don’t remember because you were having one bad spell after another after another after another with no time in between them. You stared at nothing with eyes that looked dead. You couldn’t move except to twitch and twiddle your fingers at your neck occasionally. You could barely swallow and drooled all down yourself. You had to be fed mush, most of which went down your bib instead of down your throat. You couldn´t speak, you couldn’t hear us, you couldn’t walk and you were in nappies . . . *for nearly four days Peregrin Took!*”

Merry grabbed Pippin and clutched him to his chest, but in spite of the loving gesture, he kept on with the terrible description with a tight, strained voice.

“You have said you didn’t want to be treated like a faunt, Pippin, but you were worse than a faunt. You were an infant, Pippin. And I could barely look at you. I could hardly stand to be in your room with you because it frightened me so and I was so helpless to do anything to bring you back. And with all that, we . . . you, were lucky. Lord Elrond said if it had been your fits instead of your bad spells, it would have killed you. And I mixed the herbs, Sam and I. I didn’t notice what you had done and I could have . . . no, you could have killed yourself.”

Pippin could feel Merry´s heart pounding against him, and could nearly smell the fear his cousin had lived through in the last days.

Could that all be true? He felt awful, embarrassed and sorry all at once.

If their friends in the room thought Merry was finished, they were wrong. He pushed Pippin away, pinning him to the pillows behind him with his hands on the lad’s shoulders.

“You were told not to quit taking your medicine, weren’t you?” The stern, pained tone was back in Merry’s voice.

“Y-yes.”

“Isn’t a knight supposed to do as he’s told by his king? Your king told you not to stop taking your medicine, should he have had to make it a formal order, * Sir * Peregrin Took?”

“N-no.” The poor young hobbit looked as though he was in shock.

“You are getting a new medicine, Pippin. You have been since your cleverness nearly killed you. I dare say you aren’t feeling anywhere near as badly as you felt with the other medicine. Are you?”

“No. Jus-just enough so that I was afraid it was going to end up as bad.”

“You don’t need to worry about that, Pippin. None of us will allow you to get so desperate again without intervening.” Merry’s expression softened for a moment before becoming firm once more. “A wise adult does what is best for himself, Pippin. Do you want to be The Took and Thain when the time comes?”

Pippin’s expression changed. His fear and a touch of anger rose up in him. “I won’t get to be, Merry. It doesn’t matter. Not when they find out I have the falling sickness.”

Merry was stern. “We don’t know that. Your medicine helps a lot but you haven’t been working nearly as hard as you should have to do the most you can. You haven’t and we haven’t.” Merry looked firmly into Pippin’s eyes. “Do you intend to remain a Knight of Gondor and to take your titles in the Shire when the time comes? Do you, Pippin?”

Pippin looked at Merry then looked beyond him again to the others in the room. Not a single face showed doubt in him. Not a single person looked anything but hopeful. He sat up straighter and set his shoulders straight under Merry’s hands.

“Yes. Yes, I intend to remain a knight if my lord and king will still have me as such. And I will serve the Tooks and the Hobbits of the Shire as well if they will have me.”

Merry stood back and Pippin looked more easily at his king and his friends.

“I’ll do as I’m told. I guess even an adult still has to do as he’s told sometimes. I . . . I can’t help being curious but I’ll do as I’m told when I have been told what to do. I . . .” Pippin blushed and looked down. “I want you to be proud of me, Strider. Even when I’m back home and you’re still here and can’t keep an eye on me.”

The small knight looked up into his king’s eyes. “I promise I will do as you tell me and as Parsow and Lord Elrond tell me. No more trying to be clever and hurting myself and others by doing what I’ve been told not to do. I promise.”

King Elessar strode forward. He knew hobbits well. He knew they did not make a promise lightly. “I will honor your promise, Sir Peregrin Took, and trust that you will honor it as well.”

“I will, my lord.” Pippin said, and then hastily covered his mouth as he yawned. Strider noticed the lad paling.

He turned to the others. “I think my knight is tiring. We should take our leave now and let him rest.”

Frodo laid his hand on Pippins shoulder for a moment and gave him a relieved smile, before he walked around the bed towards the door.

Lord Elrond and Parsow came over to Pippin as the king and Gandalf ushered the others out.

“We have been discussing it quietly, Peregrin,” the Elf said. “And have decided to change some of the dosage of your King’s Clover. I think we can reduce the intensity of your headaches. We will begin tomorrow. Rest well tonight, Peregrin.”

Elrond turned and started away. Parsow paused long enough to give an encouraging wink to Pippin.

Merry started to leave as well but Pippin grabbed his sleeve.

“Stay with me Merry?”

His older cousin nodded before moving to the other side of the bed. Merry started to sit down beside Pippin but hesitated.

“You need to get changed into your nightshirt, Pip. I’ll turn the covers down for you.”

Pippin got up and walked over to the wardrobe.

“Was I really in nappies Merry?” he quietly asked as he changed clothes.

“You were really in nappies,” Merry sighed as Pippin snuggled down beneath his blankets. “And I was really terrified. But that is over and done with, my dearest pesty cousin. Tomorrow is your new beginning. What story do you want to hear while you fall asleep?”

Pippin yawned.

“I thought you said I’m an adult now. Do adults get to have bedtime stories?” he grinned at Merry, who ruffled his hair.

“Not often, no, but…,Merry chuckled softly, once again being the Merry Pippin knew so well, “Be that as it may, you nevertheless will always be my little cousin.”

“Alright then,” Pippin smiled widely. “Tell me about one of the Yule times that we spent together at the Hall.” He yawned again. “One where I was really foolish and you had to rescue me.”

Pippin fell asleep listening, Merry fell asleep telling, and they both fell asleep smiling.

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A/N: Thank you to our readers for your patience, and to Golden for hers in dealing with a stressed-out co-author. I have a lot happening in my life right now and it's taking a toll on my writing; it's causing some writer's block issues. I will be making every effort to keep updates timely, but will make no guarentee of how frequent they will be until after my daughter's wedding on Halloween.

A/N: At long last a new chapter.  Thank you all for your patience :-)  The fault is Pearl's, not Golden's.  We are both hoping the my writer's block stays gone for a good, long time.

An Afternoon in the Kitchen

Pippin threw himself into his promised efforts at improvement with the enthusiasm everyone new to be part of the “old Pippin”; the Pippin who had not been crushed by a troll.  But, as the next couple of days went by his newly regained cheerfulness was touched with frustration as he grew increasingly aware of his shortcomings.  He had been letting his exercises slide even before the “bad” medicine had made him so ill and now his left leg often ached, his right shoulder ached and the functioning fingers on his right hand had become weaker.

No one got upset with him when he made a mess while eating, nor when he dropped things, some of which broke.  What had happened over those dark days after the lad had quit his medicine had taught his kin and friends to keep their irritation in check, remembering that this was just the way Pippin would be from now on.

But it frustrated Pippin himself.  His thinking was ofttimes muddled.  He would do something, forget he had just done it and begin to do it again.  Sometimes he would catch it himself, thinking, for instance, that he needed to put on his scarf only to find, while searching for it, that it was already around his neck.  And he wasn’t always making the connections between things; not putting his clothes away being the reason his room was later a mess, or his aches and weaknesses resulting from his not exercising and that he was not yet doing those exercises as consistently as was needed because, yes, he kept forgetting that as well.

Elrond and Parsow had been keeping a close eye on the lad without being obvious about.  It had been noted how much helping Merry through his nightmare had aided Pippin’s recovery.  Having to care for Sunshine also seemed to bolster the lad’s spirits.  It was clear he needed to feel useful.  They had encouraged the king to have his hobbit knight stand duty, and to do so early in the morning as Pippin appeared to have fewer spells and was less confused at that time of day.  Even so, the hobbit had difficulties.

So it came about that Pippin was sitting rather forlornly beside the Fountain of the White Tree one bright sunny day at mid-morning.  Just sitting and watching the dance of the drops as they splashed off the young tree then into the pool below while his thoughts played over the morning’s disasters.  His time on duty in the throne room had not gone well.  Two times, when he had to go up and down the dais steps, he had tripped.  He had dropped his sword when saluting an emissary, and then, he had presented the man to “King Strider Telcontar, High King of Gondor”.

No, it had not been one of his better mornings.

Pippin’s depressed thoughts were interrupted by a soft, lyrical voice.

“Weary so early in the day, sir knight?”

Pippin squinted against the light as he looked up into the eyes of his Queen.

“Not so much weary, my Lady, as I am disappointed with the quality of my service to my Lord.”

The two smiled at each other.  Had they not been in the Court of the White Tree, they would have been less formal.

“What was amiss with your service, Sir Peregrin?”

“I was clumsy, my Lady.  Clumsy of foot and of tongue.  I tripped on the dais steps and used the familiar name my kin and I have for His Majesty when giving an introduction.”

Arwen knew that Samwise was being included in the word “kin”, and she knew well the name by which the hobbit had introduced her husband.  It nearly made her chuckle.  None of the little ones had done very well with addressing their king by a name other than “Strider”.  The Queen had the feeling it would have been a problem for Peregrin even if he had not sustained his injuries.

Now that he had begun to relate his woes, the gates were open and Pippin’s troubles came tumbling out of his mouth.

“I am horribly clumsy, my Lady.  I grasp things but lose my hold on them, even with my left hand.  I forget more than I remember, I think.  And, of course, I still have my bad spells here and there throughout the day.  I know that won’t change, but I wish the other things would leave me alone.  No one has said anything, and they’ve all been nice about it all, but I know it’s annoying them.”  He paused to take a breath and to rein in his flow of words.  His last words were soft and spoken slowly.  “I get tired of being annoying.”

The Queen smiled down at the troubled young hobbit.  She had quickly found that life in the Citadel and a great deal in common with life in Imladris.  In both places there were few secrets.  She had been hearing about the small knight’s difficulties and hoped she might have a chance to help him before he and the others left to head homeward.  Perhaps, by spending some time with him, she could help him see that there were many things he did, or could, do well.  She knew her father could be intimidating and that many people had trouble being entirely honest with their healers.  It might be helpful to let Pippin try to do something without his feeling as though he was being watched.

“Would you like to help me, Sir Peregrin?  I was thinking I would like to do some of my own baking today.  I have certain recipes that I have discovered I miss.  You do know how to bake bread, do you not?”

“Well, yes, my Lady, although I’m not sure I really ought to . . .”

“You are done with your duty for the day?”

“Yes.”

“Do you enjoy baking bread?  I will let you eat what you wish of the bread we bake.”  Arwen knew hobbits liked any opportunity to eat.

Pippin’s eyes sparkled.  Freshly baked bread did sound wonderful, as did spending some time with Queen Arwen.  He hadn’t realized how much he had missed a female’s presence.   He had been raised with three sisters after all, and it had been months since he had had much company other than that of his companions on the Quest.

“Yes, my Lady.  That does sound very nice.  I prefer baking to cooking, truth be told.  I would love to help you.” He stood and bowed as he spoke.

“We shall send word to your kin that they need not fret themselves over your absence.  Come with me, Sir Peregrin.”

She held out her hand and he shyly took it.  They both thought back to that day in Rivendel when they first became friends, when Arwen had eased some of Pippin’s tension and fears over Frodo by teaching him to make things from clay.*

“Might the messenger bring Sunshine back with him?  She’s my dog and I think she would enjoy some time away from our house as well.”

Arwen laughed.  “Of course she may come.  I enjoy the company of animals.  We shall make a special treat just for her.”

Together, the small knight and the tall queen strolled off towards the kitchens.

The Queen inquired of the Head Cook as to the availability of the kitchen for her use and was shown to one of two smaller kitchens which were normally pressed into service only when state dinners were being prepared and served.

“Indeed, Your Majesty, this is called “The Lady’s Kitchen” and has been for the use of the lady of either the Steward of Gondor or, in those days long past, the Queen of Gondor, should either lady so desire.”  The man blushed as he added, “I am sorry, Your Majesty, that none have . . . that I, had not made certain that you were informed of its existence before this.”

“I know of it now, good sir, and thank you for guiding me here.  Is it stocked, Master Cook?”

“Yes, my lady.  It is always kept stocked with whatever is available in the main kitchen though in lesser amounts.  Items are rotated back into the main kitchen to ensure what is here is always fresh and that nothing is allowed to go to waste.”

Arwen nodded her approval.  “Very well, sir, and as it should be.  As I am certain you are aware, the hobbits enjoy cooking and eating.  I have asked my husband’s knight to assist me with some baking this day.”

“Shall I send someone who knows where everything is to assist you, my lady?”

Arwen hesitated a moment.  She hated to refuse the offer, but she wanted to see how Pippin would fare with finding and fetching the things they would be needing.

“Though your offer is most appreciate, Master Cook, it will be fun I think for us to hunt for the items ourselves.”

Pippin coughed to cover the laugh that resulted from the man’s momentary look of shock.  It was clear that he could not imagine the new queen, an Elven princess, as wanting to have fun. 

“And,” Arwen continued.  “I have sent a messenger to inform Sir Peregrin’s kin that he will be with me this day.  He is to bring someone back with him.  Please show them here when they arrive.”

“Of course, as you wish, Your Majesty,” the Master Cook said with a slight bow. “Sir Peregrin,” he added with a bow to the hobbit before leaving them to begin their explorations.

Pippin was halfway into a lower cupboard when the Master Cook rather noisily returned.

“Your Majesty!  My lady.  There must be some misunderstanding, ma’am.  The messenger has brought . . .” the man’s disgust was clear in his voice, “a dog with him, my lady.”

Pippin popped out of the cupboard as quickly as he could calling out Sunshine’s name.  The large golden dog trotted happily over to her master.

The Queen’s sparkling laughter filled the kitchen.

“Sunshine is here at my invitation.  She is clean and well behaved and we are wishing to find which of the dog biscuits I make are her favorites.”

The Master Cook looked at Sunshine, who was busy nuzzling the small knight, drew himself up and huffed.  “As you wish, Your Majesty.” He bowed curtly and left.

“You could nearly hear him add, ‘It better not come into *my* kitchen!’,” Pippin chortled as he rubbed Sunshine’s ears.  “Did you hear that, lass?  Arwen said she will make biscuits for . . .”

Arwen looked up quickly to see Pippin sitting strangely still, staring blankly.  She took a few steps towards him then his smile returned to his face as his eyes blinked.

“Arwen is going to make biscuits for you, Sunshine!” he said cheerily to his dog.

“Indeed.  And so you had best get back to looking for the baking trays Pippin.”

Pippin crawled back into the cupboard unhindered by knowing he had had a blank spell.

While Sunshine’s treats were baking in a slow oven Arwen and Pippin began working on the bread. 

“This is a rich tasting bread,” Arwen said as they mixed the dough, which was yellow in colour due to the large number of eggs the recipe called for.  “We will make double the usual recipe so there will be enough for you to take home and share with the rest of the Companions.  You may add the sugar now, Pippin.”

“Alright,” came his cheery reply.

Indeed, the hobbit’s earlier gloom had entirely disappeared while they had been together in the kitchen.  Pippin had spilled some water but had not become discouraged. He had been very careful and not dropped any of the measuring vessels or utensils as they worked.  But Arwen did notice that he was working hard at paying close attention to what he was doing.  He often asked her to repeat the instructions she gave and she could hear him repeating them over and over under his breath until the task was complete.

Arwen waved her hand at the large lump of dough which now lay upon the floured wooden table and at the long knife that was beside it.

“I think it will work best to divide the dough and each of us knead half of it,” she said.

Arwen turned away to take Sunshine’s dog treats out of the oven, when she turned back to the work table, Pippin was still standing there looking at the large mound of bread dough.  She waited several seconds without moving or saying anything until Pippin turned and looked up at her.

“Are you wanting me to cut it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not the best at cutting things of late,” he mumbled as he slowly reached for the knife, stopping when the fingertips of his left hand came in contact with the knife’s handle.

“It is only a lump of bread dough, sir knight.”

Pippin picked up the knife, eyed the lump, then brought the blade down where he felt the middle to be.  His right hand lay limply on the table.  Arwen gently lifted it to lie atop the dough, uncurling the unresponsive two fingers to rest in a more natural position.  Pippin said nothing, but neither did he move his hand back to the table top.  His friend smiled as she noticed him using his right hand to apply pressure to hold the dough in place against the draw of the blade and pulling the newly formed halves apart as the cut deepened; but she said nothing.  She did not want him to feel he was being tested in every little thing he did.

“You may take the left hand piece to knead,” Arwen said as she drew the right hand piece toward herself and began to knead it.  Again, Pippin stood beside her looking awkward as he tried to work out how he should go about doing what had once been a familiar task.

He rested his right hand on the soft lump so that his ring and little fingers were draped over the dough as Arwen had done moments before, he put his left hand in place and . . . stopped.  Should he push first or pull first?  Pulling would be less easily done yet the dough was already a little too far away, pushing would only serve to put it further away and thus even more difficult to pull back.  With a sigh and a slight nod of his head, Pippin started to pull the lump of dough toward himself.  As he feared, the good fingers on his right hand did not match the strength or coordination of his left hand and the dough pulled well on the left side while barely moving on the right.  He stopped, took a breath and tried again with only minimal improvement.

Suddenly, Arwen was behind him and he found himself between her outstretched arms.  She placed her hands atop his.

“You are fighting your hand instead of working with it, Pippin.”

Her voice was soft and soothing as she moved her hands with his to the back of the dough.  She gently moved their hands past the edge of the lump, then drew his hands back to catch his curled fingers allowing the dough to help uncurl them.  But she did not let him pull his right hand’s fingers tight against the dough as she did those on his left hand.

“Use the top edge of your palm, at the base of your fingers, on your right hand while using the fingers on your left as you would normally.  No, no,” she added quickly as she felt him moving his hands below hers.  “You do not need more force from your right hand, only as much as what you are applying with your left.”  She slowly drew his hands, and the lump of dough, toward them.  “Now, push as you have in the past, using the heel and palms of both hands.  For this motion I think you will find your hands to be nearly equal in strength.”  Slowly they pushed the dough away.

Arwen and Pippin repeated the movements, her hands atop his, gradually developing the familiar rhythm of kneading dough.  But Pippin found himself getting distracted.  Not for the usual reason that he simply could not concentrate on anything for very long.  No, it was something else altogether.  He was getting aroused.  The combination of the gentle motion and Arwen’s closeness was intoxicating.  At first, Pippin was completely embarrassed.  He wished he could stop the kneading but couldn’t think of how to do that without offending his beautiful friend.  But then he reckoned, “Why should I stop?  What could be more natural?  I’m a male, she’s a beautiful female and she has her arms around me.”  Indeed this was answering what had become a gnawing concern of his; would the falling sickness keep him from ever pleasing a wife and having a family?  At least now he knew part of the necessary functions were working properly.  He only hoped that it wouldn’t be obvious whenever she did finally step away from him.  Pippin smiled and relaxed, feeling better about himself than he had in a long time.  When Arwen finally moved away, she focused her attention on kneading her own lump of dough and Pippin’s hands, so his secret remained his own.

“I think we have kneaded this enough, Peregrin,” Arwen said while picking her dough and placing it into a buttered bowl, turning it over, then covering it with a cloth.  Pippin did the same with his then turned to his friend.

“What shall we do while it’s rising?” he asked, a cheery grin on his face.

She smiled, happy to see Pippin obviously happier than he had been when she approached him by the White Tree.  “Do you have a favorite biscuit for which you know the recipe?  I would like to learn a Shire recipe.”

The lad’s grin turned into a full smile.  “I do indeed, my lady.  Gingerbread Hobbits!”

“And what are Gingerbread Hobbits?  We Elves make a bread that is flavored with ginger and other spices as well as dried fruits, but I do not think that is what you are wanting.”

“No, although we do have a breads and cakes that sound like what the Elves make.  Gingerbread Hobbits are a biscuit where you roll the dough out and cut it into hobbit shaped pieces.  Sometimes we use raisins for eyes or buttons on their waistcoats, and some folk, Brandybucks I know do this, pipe icing onto them to make faces and suggest clothes.”  Pippin’s cheeks coloured a pale pink.  “I’m fairly sure that I remember the recipe.  It is the only one I do know by heart as I love them so much my Ma said I had best learn to make them myself.  But I know it in Shire measurements and Sam has told me that Big Folk use different measures than we do.  He had to work it all out with the Master Apothecary so we can make my medicine for me when we get home.”

Arwen nodded.  “I do remember hearing of that difficulty. We shall take care of the matter as I now dearly wish for us to make some Gingerbread Hobbits.”

They went in search of someone who could go to the Houses of Healing and fetch the proper measuring spoons and cups from the apothecary, then returned to the kitchen to find the necessary ingredients.

“First, you’ll need . . . ah . . .”  Pippin looked confusedly at the ingredients on the table.  His face reddened as he struggled with his thoughts.  “I can’t remember now,” he sounded small and embarrassed, but his expression was one of frustration.  He was staring hard at the table top, fighting to control his emotions.

“I lose track of what I’m thinking,” Pippin muttered through clenched teeth, as though talking to himself yet he was obviously addressing his thoughts to Arwen.  “I’ve always had some trouble with that, but it used to be because my thoughts rushed like a new stream.”  His head drooped.  “Now they run like the Brandywine at late summer, slow and muddied.”

A slender hand pushed a piece of paper and a pencil into the frustrated hobbit’s line of sight.

“Pick up the pencil,” Arwen softly said, and he did so.  “Close your eyes and think about being at home.  Think of being in the kitchen with your mother and she is making Gingerbread Hobbits.  She is happy you are helping her and she asks for you to add the ingredients to the mixing bowl.  Now open your eyes and write what you hear her saying.”

Awkwardly, the pencil being in his left hand and writing being another thing he needed more practice with, Pippin slowly began to write, pausing a few moments between each entry.

1 ½ cups of flour

1 teaspoon soda for baking

2 teaspoons ground ginger

He paused, closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and smiled.  “I can smell the ginger,” he sighed.

½ cup butter, cut into little pieces

¾ cup light brown sugar

Pippin chuckled.  “I always like dumping the wee cup-shaped brown sugars in.  You pack it really well into the measuring cup and it keeps the shape until you smash them with the mixing spoon.”

4 tablespoons golden syrup

The lad blushed again, but this time he was grinning.  “I always tried to drink some of the syrup.  Ma always said t’would make me sick, but I kept trying to sneak some anyway.  I drank two huge swallows once, nearly half the bottle, and then got sick.  My poor mother had to stop everything to clean me and the floor.  That was the only batch of Gingerbread Hobbits I didn’t eat any of.”

Still blushing, Pippin went back to his writing.

1 large egg, beaten

Currents and icing to put faces and clothes on your hobbits.**

Pippin stopped and stared at what he had written then smiled up at Arwen.

“I remembered it all!”

“Indeed you did, Sir Peregrin,” Arwen said with a broad smile.  “I knew you could do it.  That was a small lesson to help you concentrate and remember, Pippin.  If you take a few moments to relax and bring to mind pictures, sounds, and smells of the thing you need to recall, it can help you to remember it more clearly.  Mind pictures, sounds, and particularly smells are strong clues for our memories.”  She looked at the recipe.  “Do we mix the ingredients as listed, Pippin?”

He closed his eyes.  She smiled, realizing he was using the memory trick she had just taught him.

“Eh . . . yes!  Just as they are listed.  All the dry things first and mix them about a bit.  Then you . . .”

Pippin paused.  He looked to be thinking, fiddling with his scarf and biting at his lower lip.  But Arwen knew he was having one of his spells and not only because of the look he had about him.  Sunshine had come to sit by his side and stare up at him moments before the spell had begun.  It lasted half a minute.

“You . . . we . . .”  Pippin swayed slightly.  “I need to sit down.”

Arwen picked up the small knight and sat him on a tall stool beside the work table where he immediately laid his head down on his arms.

“Had one of my spells,” Pippin whispered.

“Yes.  I will get you a glass of water.”

As he sipped the water, Arwen told him what Sunshine had done.

“She senses when you are about to have one of your bad spells, Pippin.  Perhaps that is why she was sent to you, for sent to you she was.  This can help you and those who care about you a great deal.  It will greatly increase the number of things you may more safely do if everyone knows to watch Sunshine’s behavior.  You should not go anywhere without her at your side Pippin.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” He smiled as he used his big toe to scratch the panting dog behind her ear.  “You’re a clever lass, aren’t you, Sunshine?”

“I think you should sit awhile, Pippin, so as not to tire yourself too greatly.  Are you at a comfortable height to work?”

He nodded and they began to measure ingredients into the bowl.  Pippin nearly put in twice the amount of soda, but Arwen caught him in time.

“It will also be good for you to always do such things as require you to follow a list with someone there to help you.  There isn’t a trick I can teach you that will guarantee that you won’t still make the mistake of either repeating a step, as you nearly did, or skipping a step in those situations.  The best course will be to have someone else there.”

Pippin scowled down at the table.

Arwen raised his chin so they looked each other in the eye.

“I know this is not what you wish for; to need to be helped.  It does not make you any less an adult Hobbit, nor will you need to be helped with every task of everyday life.  But you will need help with certain tasks.  You will show your maturity by seeking and accepting help graciously.  Work with your difficulties instead of fighting against them.  Learn ways to do everything you can.  Always try to do things yourself then graciously accept assistance with those tasks that will elude you.  Even the High King has aides and advisors.”

A bright smile grew on Pippin’s face as her words took root in his heart.  It was not a weakness to need others.  He thought of all the secretaries, adjutants, aides and others who buzzed around Strider like worker bees around their hive.  No one expected the King to remember everything nor to personally attend to everything.  And no one would expect that of him either.

“Yes!  You’re right, of course.  My father has a secretary at home, at the Great Smials, and a couple of close cousins often advise him. Even when we were at the farm he had help from the farm hands and our family.  He often said if it weren’t for my Ma, he’d forget his feet and never be able to go anywhere so t’was a good thing they were attached to his legs.”

They both laughed.

“Two teaspoons of ginger comes next,” she said with a wink.  “All you need to remember is to not go any further without asking your helper what is next.”

Pippin nodded as he reached for the small spice jar.  “Ginger.  One.  Two.” He muttered under his breath as he measured it into the bowl.

“Oh!” he exclaimed as Arwen put in the butter she had cut into small chunks.  “We have to rub that into the dry ingredients.  My Ma would just smush it all together with her fingers until it looks like a coarse meal.”

“I will write that down while you do the “smushing”  She grinned and chuckled as she wrote.  The young one did have the most creative vocabulary she had ever heard.

Pippin happily attacked the butter and dry ingredients.  This was something he had always enjoyed doing and it wouldn’t matter if he only had his thumb and two fingers on one hand that worked; they were all he needed with the full compliment of fingers on his left hand.  When he was finished he held up his coated fingers for Arwen to see.

“Work with my difficulties and do everything I can,” he stated cheerily, smiling his most becoming smile.”

“I think warm water is needed to remove that mess, sir knight.”  Arwen said, lifting him down off the stool.  They washed his hands off at the sink.

“The bread is now ready to punch down, knead and shape.  We will leave the biscuit dough sitting for now while we tend to the bread.”  She covered the bowl of biscuit dough with a cloth then fetched the two bowls of bread dough.  Pippin enthusiastically punched them down then Arwen dumped each one out onto the workspace she had floured.  Once again, they each kneaded half.  When they were finished, she placed one half back into its bowl and rolled the other half out into a rectangle, which she cut into six long strips then pinched the strips together at the top.

“I will teach you how to braid the bread Pippin.”

Pippin raised an eyebrow.  “With six strands?  I’ll confess to having helped my sisters with braiding their hair from time to time, but that was with three strands.”

Once more the graceful Elf stepped behind him where he sat upon the high stool.  He handled it much better this time and was able to give his attention to the braiding.

“Count in three from the left and cross it over the fourth from the left.  Then take that fouth strip and lay it straight up over where the strips are all pinched together.”

His fingers grasped and moved the strips while with the light of touches she guided the movements of his hands.

“See, we now have two strands to the left, two to the right and one going up in the middle and one that points down in the middle.  The strip on the far  right wished not to be so far away.  It crosses its neighbor and the center, then switch it to your left hand.  Hold it in place while your right hand brings down the strip of dough that is pointing upwards as it now wishes to rest.  The strip in your left hand has moved a long distance and is praised for a job well done, it now gets to point upwards.”

Their hands moved slowly.

“And now the same with the strands to the left.  Outside brought across center, switch hands.  Up pointing strand is brought to rest by coming down.  The strand that moved so far is rewarded by moving upwards.”

Their hands moved evenly.

Arwen began to hear Pippin speaking softly.

“One, cross over.  Two, switch hands. Three, bring down.  Four, move up.  One, cross over.  Two, switch hands.  Three, bring down.  Four, move up.”  His hands gained a rhythm moving every bit as gracefully as hers.  “It is a dance for hands.” He whispered, wonder glowing in his voice as he then began to hum a gentle tune that matched the flow of the dance.

Soon both loaves were finished.  Pippin sat a while longer, eyes closed, humming and moving his hands in the pattern of the double braid.  “I will remember this, I think,” he said as his hands finally ceased moving and he opened his eyes.  “I will remember our hands dancing.”

“As will I, dear friend.”  She kissed his forehead then picked up the baking tray with the braided loaves sitting side by side upon it.  “These now need to rise again then I will brush them with beaten egg before baking them so they will have a shiny crust.” ***  She set them near the warm oven.  “Now we need to finish with our Gingerbread Hobbits.”

Arwen looked at the recipe.  “We were to the place where we add the syrup . . . and no, Pippin, you may not drink any,” she said slyly, giving him a mock stern glance as she did.

He smiled broadly, holding up his hands as if to ward off both her and the idea of drinking the syrup.  “No problem with that, Your Majesty!  I actually did learn my lesson on that matter.”

Arwen measured out the first tablespoon of the syrup and moved to pour it into the mixing bowl.

“No wait!” Pippin exclaimed, placing his hands over the bowl.  “I just remembered.  You need to beat the egg first, then you add the syrup to that then pour all of that into what’s in the main bowl and then mix it all together.”

They both let out a sigh.

“I will hold onto this small spoonful of syrup while you find a small bowl, crack the egg into it then beat the egg,”  Arwen said.  “And do hurry Pippin.”

By this time Pippin had discovered where most items were in the small kitchen.  He was able to go straight to the cupboard where the bowls were (fortunately a lower cupboard) and obtain a small bowl.  He climbed back up on the stool, took the egg in his left hand, then stopped.  He stared at the egg.  He stared at the bowl.  Arwen was standing there holding the spoon of syrup waiting for him to crack this egg.  He had never cracked an egg left-handed.  Pippin gave himself a quick nod.  The tip of his tongue poked out between his lips as he took aim at the rim of the bowl with the egg.

“Not too hard Pippin lad,” he thought to himself, and the first blow didn’t even crack the egg.  “Tad harder,” he told himself.  This time the egg did much more than crack.  He did manage to get all the gooey egg into the bowl – along with several chips of shell.  He looked beseechingly up at his friend.

“I don’t suppose you would want to have me hold the wee spoon while you . . .”

Arwen shook her head.

“I didn’t think so,” Pippin sighed as he took the largest piece of shell and used it to start fishing the smaller pieces out of the egg.  When he was done he felt rather pleased with himself.  He had retrieved them all while holding the larger piece with his good fingers on his right hand.

“Alright.  Ready for the syrup now.”

“Yes, Master Gingerbread Hobbit Maker,” Arwen said, genuine admiration showing in her voice.  Quickly, all four spoonfuls of syrup were added to the egg then beaten together and poured into the other ingredients.

Arwen insisted that Pippin mix the dough for as long as he was able.  “You’ll not strengthen either hand or arm if you don’t challenge them,” she said brightly, though she gladly took over the task when the hobbit tired.

“Now, sir knight, I will go and see how the bread is coming along with its rising while you may get ready for rolling our biscuit dough out.”

Pippin nodded as Arwen walked away.  He tipped the bowl up on edge with his left arm and began to pull the stiff dough out with his right hand.  It took awhile but soon the dough was on the table and Pippin went at it with the child’s size rolling pin they had found.  He was quite pleased to have the dough rolled out and ready to cut when Arwen came back.

“Now we cut out the little hobbit shapes,” Pippin said cheerfully.  “I used to be very good at this, but I expect now they will look more like the poor misshapen Orcs.”

With his tongue once more poking out between his lips, Pippin set to cutting a hobbit shape into the dough with the point of a thin knife with his left hand.  Arwen held her breath as she watched him, startling a bit when Sunshine suddenly yipped.   A moment later, the knife point straggled across the dough as Pippin had another spell, but it didn’t go far.  The spell was a short one and Pippin went back to the more solidly cut line to resume his task without a word.  Soon the very simple shape of a person with its arms and legs spread wide was cut along one edge of the large circle of ginger dough.

“Always start near an edge,” Pippin explained.  “It is easier to get to each biscuit as you finish them and need to lift them out.  You just pull away the excess bits and . . .”

He stopped as the excess bit refused to pull away but instead stuck firmly to the table.

“Eh, you pull the little bits . . .”  He muttered as he tried pulling away a different piece which also stuck fast.   Pippin stopped and stared at the dough on the table with the shape of a hobbit cut into it and the smudged, smeared little pieces he had not been able to move desperately trying to think of what was wrong.  Nothing.  He couldn’t think of what was wrong.

“Did you flour the table?”  Arwen softly asked.

Pippin’s shoulders slumped as he shook his head.  He sighed heavily.

“Everyone makes mistakes, Peregrin.”

Her voice was soft in his ear and he felt the breath of her whisper on the side of his face.  It was comforting.  As though she was keeping the world from noticing his mistake, even though they were the only two in the room.

“Did not my father wish to send you home instead of letting you accompany Frodo and the others on the Quest?  Wasn’t it only at Mithrandir’s words that he grudgingly relented?  My father was mistaken and great harm would have befallen many if he had had his way in the matter.  Everyone,” she emphasized the word, “makes mistakes, Peregrin Took, honored knight of Gondor.”

As if in a daze Pippin slowly nodded his head.  Everyone did make mistakes, not just him.  And this was a rather small thing; easily fixed.

“We’ll just scrape this off the table, put down some flour and start over.  And, I’ve had a thought.  Your mentioning the Quest and my Companions.  I want to make Gingerbread Companions of the Ring.”  He smiled over at the lovely, kind Elf who was now one of his dearest friends.  “Will you help me with making the Big People?  I’m not sure I’ll get them right.”

“I think that is a wonderful idea and I will most certainly help with getting the Big People made correctly.”

She kissed his cheek then they got to work scrapping up the dough, flouring the table and cutting out Gingerbread Companions.  While Pippin added their current eyes, Arwen moved the loaves of bread away from the warmth of the oven.  They would bake the biscuits first as they needed less time to bake, then they would put the bread in when the biscuits were finished.  She did notice that Pippin had added one more Big Person figure to the baking trays as she set them into the oven.

While Pippin cleaned up the table, Arwen began to collect the items needed to make the icing.  A clean bowl, some milk, the small bottle of vanilla, and the bag of icing sugar.  She placed everything in the bowl and headed back to the table.

At the nearly simutanious sounds of Sunshine yelping in pain, Arwen screaming and something breaking, Pippin spun around on the box he was standing on to better work at the table.  Instinctively, he threw up his arms to protect his face from something flying toward him.  A few seconds later he opened his eyes and peered over his arms.

A white cloud was slowly settling.  Pippin sneezed and a small avalanche of white slid off his head.  Sunshine was sitting over by the oven, licking the tip of her tail while occasionally looking up to glare at Arwen.  Arwen was stretched forward, bent over at an awkward angle, legs spread too wide, one hand clutching at the edge of the table, her other arm flung out to one side.  Her eyes wide and she was gasping for breath.  The shattered bowl lay on the floor covered with white dust, the small bottle of vanilla (being of very thick glass) was unbroken but had rolled a couple of feet away.  At Pippin’s feet lay the burst remains of the bag of icing sugar which had hit his upraised arms.

His eyes met Arwen’s and for several moments neither moved or spoke, then slowly they smiled which quickly grew into laughter.   Tears rolled slowly through the dusting of sugar on their faces

“Are you all right, Arwen?”  Pippin asked suddenly thinking that she might be hurt.

“I am uninjured, though I could use your help.”  She rolled her eyes.  “My brothers would have a great deal of fun teasing me.  It is almost a shame they are busy with father today.”

“I can be a brother!” Pippin said brightly.  “I actually am a brother, you know, to three sisters.  I’m good at being a brother.”  He hopped down and took hold of her free hand with his left hand.  Arwen carefully shifted her weight, trying not to slip on the powdery stone floor, until she was standing upright and could let go of the table.

“ ‘Elves are very graceful people, Pippin.’  I think that was what Frodo used to tell me when I was a wee lad.  ‘They almost seem to float and glide along the ground.’” He teased with a twinkle in his eyes.  “Somehow, I don’t think you were gliding just then.  I should have sent a messenger to fetch Frodo.”  Pippin paused in his teasing to close his eyes and shake more of the sugar out of his hair.  “I doubt he’s ever seen an Elf hanging on for dear life to the edge of a table.  Don’t be too embarrassed, Arwen,” he soothed, patting her hand before letting it go.  “It was much more a position he would normally find me in, sad to say.  Although my being covered with icing sugar while wearing my black livery is exactly what Frodo and the others would expect.”

“I am so sorry Pippin,” Arwen sighed as she futilely tried to brush the small piles of sugar off of his shoulders.  It only smeared itself into the fabric of his tunic.  A wry smile graced her lips.  “You really are a mess, but at least you now have proof that even graceful Elves can be clumsy and make mistakes.  I hope I did not hurt Sunshine’s tail too badly.”

The hobbit laughed his bright, cheery laugh; more sugar falling from his hair as he did so.  “Yes, I am a mess.  I used to like being a mess.  I must be growing up at last as I find myself wishing I wasn’t a mess this time.”  He looked over at his dog.  “No, she’s fine.  I think she is laughing as she’s the only one of us not dusted with sugar.”

Pippin made a few swipes at his chest only to find, as Arwen had, that it only made matters worse.

“I think I’ll rinse my hair out and wash off my face at the sink then just put up with the rest for now as I don’t want to go back to the house yet.  It will totally ruin our surprises if I go back early.  Especially when I turn up looking like “Old Flour Dumpling”.

Arwen raised an eyebrow, Pippin hastened to explain.  “The Mayor of the Shire, Old Will Whitfoot, was in a tunnel delved into chalk when it collapsed.  He wasn’t hurt but came out looking like a dumpling.  He’s had the nick-name ever since, though there aren’t many as say it to his face.”

“Understandable,” Arwen said, chuckling.  “You get your face and hair washed and I will fetch some more  sugar.  If you think you will trust me with it?”

“I’ll tell Sunshine to stay out of your path, Your Highness.”

She was back before he finished washing up and soon had the icing made.  She made a small cone of parchment, smaller than if she had been making it for her own use, then scooped some of the icing into it before folding over the open end.  Arwen handed the icing tube to Pippin when he returned.

“This shouldn’t be too different from how it used to be.”  He was smiling as he took hold of the bag at the folded end.  “I hold it closed and squeeze with my left hand while guiding it with my right, and two good fingers and a thumb should suffice for that.”

Pippin set to work putting details on the Gingerbread Companions while Arwen put the bread in the oven and began cleaning up the mess from her accident.  She glanced over at the youngster as he worked but left him alone.  He was obviously doing well with the task

The bread was nearly done baking, the mess finally cleaned when she went over to look at Pippin’s efforts.  There were the hobbits, Frodo with a notch in one hand but a bold smile one his face; Merry with a shakily drawn horse’s head on his chest; Sam, one arm cut out to look bent at the elbow, holding an icing frying pan, and Pippin with his scarf about his neck.  Gimli’s long hair and beard were braided.  Legolas had a slight bump at one shoulder and at the opposite hip with an icing bowstring connecting the two across his chest.  Mithrandir’s beard was long and straight and a belt cinched his robes at his waist.  Her husband was Strider the ranger, his tunic open at his throat.  There were two more figures.  A man with a horn hanging at his side and a female figure with a delicate circlet on her brow.  Arwen reached out and gently touched the last two biscuits.

“I wanted to do the whole Fellowship.  I’ll give Boromir to Farmir,” Pippin softly said.  “And you may have your biscuit.  You have been so kind to me today.  It has been a wonderful day and you deserve to have a Gingerbread Queen Arwen.”

She hugged him tightly before drawing back to kiss his cheek.  “Thank you, Pippin.  It has been my pleasure to give you a wonderful day.  And what are those?”

She pointed to several round biscuits.  She had noticed him adding them to the baking trays earlier but had said nothing.  Each one now bore the symbol of the six pointed Star.

“Those are to eat.  Some may wish to keep their Gingerbread Companion.  I will tell everyone that they dry very hard and will keep for a long time.  I made those in case some decide to keep their likeness, they will still get to sample what the biscuits taste like.”

“What a wonderful thing!  I will keep my Gingerbread Queen and eat one of the Star biscuits.  The bread is done baking.”  She said as she set a basket on the table.  “Place your Companions in the basket along with the loaf that is yours while I go and freshen up,  then we will take the fruits of our labor to your house to share with our friends.”

The Companions of the Ring were just sitting to what the hobbits called dinner when Pippin and Arwen came into the kitchen.  Aragorn was there as well, his wife having sent word that he should be there this evening.

“We’ve brought a special Elven bread to have with dinner,” Pippin announced, pulling the shiny, double braided loaf from the basket.  “And a treat for afters.”

Merry’s nose was in the air.  “Gingerbread, Dumpling Lad?”

Frodo and Sam perked up expectantly as they too could smell the spicy delicacy.

“Gingerbread biscuits, but you don’t get to see them until it is time.  And I do look like Mayor Whitfoot, don’t I?”

“I was thinking a snow-hobbit myself,” Gimli chuckled.

“Too scrawny still for Old Will,” Sam snickered.  “You’ve a ways to go to look like the Mayor.”

“You all should have seen me before I washed out my hair!”  Pippin tossed over his shoulder as he headed out of the kitchen.  “I’ll be back in a few moments, I’m getting itchy.  Merry, come help me change.”

They were soon back, Pippin wearing his comfortable hobbit style clothes, and the meal began.  Everybody loved the rich yellow bread.  Sam shyly asked Arwen if he could have the recipe and was surprised when she told him he would have to ask Pippin.

“I wrote it out with Shire measures and gave it to the Ernil i Pheriannath.  It is he who would be able to teach you how to braid it.”

Sam looked at Pippin, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Of course I’ll share it Sam, and I’m more than happy to teach you how to dance with your hands.”  When Sam looked confused, Pippin winked at him. “That is how one makes the fancy braid.”

Everyone enjoyed the meal.  Compliments abounded for Sam, who had prepared the meal, and to Arwen and Pippin for providing the bread.  Pippin shared some of his meat with Sunshine before she settled down to eating several of the chicken dog biscuits Arwen had baked for her.

Gandalf had barely finished chewing his last bite of beef (the hobbits were all quite certain he had eaten slowly on purpose), when Merry reached for the basket Pippin had been guarding.

“Mine!” Pippin exclaimed, blocking his cousin’s attempt.  “These are mine to hand out, Meriadoc Brandybuck, so just you sit yourself back in your chair and behave or I’ll eat yours.”

Sam smiled and Frodo snickered at Pippin scolding his older cousin.  Merry, who loved gingerbread in all of its varieties almost as much as he liked mushrooms, sat back and pouted.

Pippin rose, taking the basket with him and started going around the table, leaving a biscuit by each person.

“These will keep, if you would like to keep yours.  By that I mean that they harden and become like something made of clay.  I made some that are just circles so everyone can have a couple to eat should they wish to keep their Gingerbread Companion.”

Small gasps of surprise were heard trailing behind the young hobbit as he went on his way, ending up back at his own place at the table.  He presented Merry with his biscuit last.  “You ought not have tried grabbing them.” Pippin said with a wink.

Merry stuck his tongue out at Pippin whilest grabbing two of the Star biscuits from the basket.  He took a big bite of one and sat back with a look of pure bliss on his face.

Pippin had given Gingerbread Boromir to Strider.  The man sat holding it gently for a few moments before turning to look at the youngster, only to find Pippin was already looking at him.

“Will you give that to Faramir?  And tell him about them hardening and all, should he . . .”  Pippin paused and wiped at his eyes.  “Should he wish to keep it.  Please take a couple of the round ones to him as well.”

The King bowed his head to his knight.  “I will be honored to do so.”

Everyone praised Pippin on his renderings of them and all wished to keep their gingerbread likenesses.

Arwen soon bid them all a good night.  She told her husband that she wished him to remain and visit in comfort with his friends, away from servants and others who might interrupt them were they at the Citadel.  He remained, and the Companions of the Ring visited together late into the evening.

Pippin was overjoyed.  As he looked around at all the happy faces around the table, he knew he had had a marvelous day inspite of its questionable beginning.  He accomplished a great deal, learning some lessons that would him help face the challenges ahead of him.  He had made things with his own two hands that brought pleasure to his friends, and he had seen a graceful Elf be as clumsy as he himself often was.  Pippin smiled fondly at that.  He had been like a brother to Arwen and she like a sister to him.  He liked knowing they could be so alike.  It was indeed a day to remember for the rest of his life.

*A reference to Golden’s story, “A Friend’s Hug” which she wrote for Marigold’s Challenge #43.

**Recipe from: Cook it Simply . com – British Recipes/English Recipes

*** The bread is challah, a Jewish bread eaten on Shabbat and holidays (except for passover).  The double braid comes out looking like a small three strand braid set on top of a wider three strand braid.

A Fond Farewell

The small familiar figure of the Ernil i Pheriannath and his golden dog were seen early in the morning hurrying about the streets of the White City. He carried with him a prettily wrapped parcel which was bound with ribbons tied in bows. He went to every orphanage in the city, only to be disappointed in his search. In the end, he sat beside the fountain where, had he remembered the event, he first met Sunshine. He dabbled his fingers in the cool water as he had on that other day when his mind had not yet returned to him.

He now had but one hour’s time left for this mission before he would be leaving the great city of Minas Tirith behind him. Pippin had to be back at the Citadel to help make the final preparations for the King’s first journey as the leader of his people. All was nearly in place for the royal entourage to begin its slow ride to Rohan for the funeral of King Theoden and in two hours the horns would sound their departure. After paying their respects to the fallen king, the Elves of Rivendell and the Hobbits of the Shire would continue northward to the Last Homely House, then, after a short visit with Bilbo, the Hobbits would at last head homeward.

“Where is she?” Pippin sighed to himself. “She really ought to be somewhere, Sunshine. I shall have to have a talk with Strider, while we’re on our journey to Rohan. Better care needs to be taken to keep track of the city’s orphans.”

His eyes and left hand came to rest on the parcel that sat beside him on the short wall that held the fountain’s water as he thought over his morning’s search.

**************************

He had gone first to the orphanage in the sixth circle, the one Madam Talaitha ran, she being the lady the little waif had said gave her a new doll and threw Feva on the trash heap.

“I haven’t seen that girl in nearly a month, sir,” the kind faced old woman had said. “Well, no. That isn’t right either. She was here two weeks ago for a few days. She spent all of the time sitting with a boy who was ill. Poor dear child, he left this life and little Mallefinnros was gone the next morning. It was as though she had come just to ease his passing.”

“You mean the little girl with the reddish hair?” asked the man who ran a large orphanage on the second level of the city. “Odd child, that one, but kindly. She was a help she was, being useful with the ones as were injured during the dark times. Always helping them learn to do things for themselves and giving them hope. They all liked that she loved that broken old doll of hers so dearly.” He shook his head sadly. “I kept hoping she was settled here, but every time she showed up she would leave again.”

Outside the orphanage on the south side of the fourth circle there were children playing in the bright sun of the morning. They all grew quiet and stopped their games when they saw the livery of a Citadel Guard on the person approaching them, but that turned to shouts of joy when they realized it was the Ernil i Pheriannath. They all crowded around the knight of the realm who was barely taller than many of them and shorter than some of them. Several began to pet and hug Sunshine.

“Hello,” Pippin said cheerily. “Are you having fun this morning?”

A chorus of yeses answered his question.

“I was wondering if any of you know where I might find Mallefinnros, if you know of her that is. She is about my height with long red-gold hair.”

“I know her,” replied a lad with a crutch and no foot at the end of his right leg. “She spent time with me helping me to walk well with my crutch. She showed me I can use it to kick a ball and now the lads want me on their team when we play.” His smile faded. “I have not seen her in a while, sir.”

“She talked about some children she knew in the other orphanage in this level of the city that faces out over the great gates.” A little girl spoke up. “She mended my doll’s dress for me.” She held the doll up for the small knight to see. “Perhaps she is there, sir.”

“My thanks to you all,” Pippin bowed and went on his way.

Outside the other fourth circle orphanage, Pippin again spoke with the children who were playing outside and again most knew Mallefinnros, but none knew where she could be found.

He had started to walk away when a voice hailed him.

“Sir! Sir! A moment of your time.”

Pippin approached the elderly woman who sat in the shade before a very small house. He could tell that she was blind.

“I know the little girl you are asking after, sir knight.”

Pippin’s brows drew together, crinkling the skin above his nose. “You know I’m a knight?”

“I hear the clinking of your mail and sword, and the children would only grow so quiet in the presence of a man of high rank. Many had fathers who were soldiers and a mere soldier does not bring them to such attention.”

“I could just be a Guard of the Citadel.”

“They would have called you by rank or called you “Guard”. The oldest of the lads addressed you as “sir”.” She smiled a sly smile. “I see very well with my ears young knight of Gondor. In fact because your voice is so near to my ears and I heard no tread of boot-heels, I know you to be the perian our new King knighted. Sir Peregrin Took, the Ernil i Pheriannath of the Shire.”

Pippin smiled broadly and bowed to the woman. “You see well with your ears, madam. You know Mallefinnros?”

“Indeed. A special one is she. A child with the wisdom of the ages in her words. I felt a special joy in her that is unlike any other I have felt. I . . .” The old woman paused as a wistful look softened her wrinkled face. “I could almost see her.”

For a moment, Pippin could feel the presence of the little girl as he had felt it when they had met at the trash heap. Then with a sigh from the blind lady’s lips the moment was gone.

“I think, sir knight, you will not find her. She will find you if your need calls to her.”

“Perhaps, madam, you are right. But I shall continue my search nonetheless. Thank you and bless you.” Pippin lifted and kissed one of her frail hands as Sunshine nuzzled the other, then the pair headed off toward another of the city’s orphanages.

*********************

Pippin smacked the water of the fountain as he drew in a deep breath, then he let it out in a sigh. “We’ve been to all six orphanages this morning, Sunshine, and it seems totally unreasonable that they all knew of Mallefinnros but then said she had not lived in their particular orphanage for any length of time. They all talked of how she would be there a few days and then be gone, only to be there once again several days or weeks later.” Pippin again sighed deeply. “That simply isn’t right.”

Had the young hobbit been watching his dog instead of the ripples caused by his fingers trailing though the water, he would have seen Sunshine suddenly perk up and stare at a street that opened into the far side of the square to Pippin’s left.

Pippin jumped at a voice beside him.

“Hello Pippin. Hello Sunshine.”

Mallefinnros stood there, her right hand patting Sunshine’s silken head while two dolls hung over her left arm. Pippin knew the one doll to be Feva, even though her appearance had somewhat changed. Her hair had been combed out and was tied back with a piece of coarse string; the grimy spots had been washed off of her cracked face showing the faint blush that was painted on her cheeks. The other doll was obviously Sister, the new doll Madam Talaitha had given to Mallefinnros. Her dress was plain but new and clean. She had all her limbs and her black hair was neat and shiny.

Pippin shook the water from his fingers then wiped them dry on his trousers. “Hello Mallefinnros. Hello Feva, and this must be Sister. Very nice to meet you Sister,” he cordially said as he took each doll’s hand between his thumb and forefinger to give it a small shake. He then took the little girl’s hand from the top of Sunshine’s head and gave it a feather soft kiss.

“Your hand is stronger!” she exclaimed with glee.

“Yes, it is,” Pippin said rather bashfully. Then his tone became stern, though not harsh; his expression was one of concern. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Mallefinnros.”

He looked into her eyes intending to more strongly make his point, but found he was struck silent instead. He had looked into her eyes before, the only other time they had met, but he had not felt their pull as strongly then. She had not allowed it, as he had been weaker then.

“I needed to be a lot of places, Pippin,” she whispered.

Pippin heard her as much with his mind as with his ears. A thrill ran through him. He had felt something like this touch on his spirit before when talking to Merry’s mother and a few of his other Took relatives and when the Lady Galadriel had searched his heart in Lorien. Yet this was different. More like how he had felt when Gandalf called him back from the horror and despair of the palantir.

“I could not care only for you when there were so many little ones needing cheer. I hope Sunshine has cared for you well in my stead.”

The voice was no longer a child’s. Joy and sorrow, abandon and restraint, wisdom and innocence mingled together in a voice that seemed to come up from the mountain the city was built upon.

He suddenly felt smaller than he usually did in the huge city of Men. “I’ve the feeling my gift is amiss,” he sadly said, his eyes still held fast by hers.

“No gift is ever amiss and Mallefinnros is as much who I am as any other guise I’ve taken. What is your gift to me?”

He held the parcel out to her. She took it with her delicate hands then gently began untying the ribbons.

“Oh!” she gasped, delight shining upon her youthful features. “New clothes for Feva and Sister! Look, lasses!”

She held the dolls over the opened wrapping paper so they could see. There were two matching nightgowns, white as clouds, soft as down and all frilly with lace. Two everyday dresses, one in pink and one yellow that were otherwise the same in every detail. And last, two matching fancy gowns, in the style worn by Queen Arwen herself, in the rich sable and silver of Gondor. There were also three small black slippers; Feva would only need one. Mallefinnros had the two dolls hug each other in joy.

“The ribbons binding the parcel are for their hair,” Pippin shyly added. “But as I said, I fear the gift is poorly given.” Again their eyes met but this time, Pippin did not let himself become as lost in them. “I fear your dolls are but a trapping and . . . well . . .” He let his gaze fall. “What need have you for dolls?”

Her smile filled her words. “You have no idea how old dear Feva is, my child.”

Pippin looked up. His mouth hung open with surprise and she laughed merrily.

“Sister is new, given to me by Madam Talaitha as I told you before. I told you the truth about Feva as well. She was a gift from those who nurtured me and ever will they be special to me. She is the symbol of my calling to help the hurting peoples of Arda.”

Her innocent joyful laughter filled Pippin’s heart and his own laughter joined it. He felt better, perhaps, than he had ever felt before.

“You gave from your own joy and love. An innocent heart never forgets the blessing of toys in the life of a child.” Mallefinnros kissed his forehead. “Go with my blessing upon you and those you love. Face your battles with the joy that is in you. Serve your king and kin well.”

As though waking from a deep refreshing sleep, Pippin blinked several times, shook his head, and glanced about the square. Other than himself and Sunshine, it was empty.

Leaving Minas Tirith

Pippin sat there on the wall of the fountain. If it weren’t for the fact the parcel was gone, he might have thought it all a dream, though in an altogether different part of his mind he knew better. He startled, nearly falling into the fountain, when a heavy hand suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Whoa Pippin! Steady on! I didn’t mean to make you jump that badly.”

Merry sounded genuinely concerned as his other hand grabbed hold of Pippin’s flailing left arm to steady him.

“Merry!” Pippin panted. “What are you doing here?” He noticed his cousin’s face was flushed and he also seemed out of breath.

“I have been running about trying to find you, Pippin.” Merry’s eyes took on a stern parental glare. “Where have you been? Were you trying to give us all heart failure? You know you shouldn’t just run off on your own.”

Pippin glared back, shook free of his cousin’s grasp then began straightening out his tunic. “I did not just run off on my own,” he snarled.

Pippin closed his eyes and took a deep breath before standing up to face Merry. He continued in a calm but cold tone.

“I left a note. A large note, so it wouldn’t be overlooked, right in the middle of the kitchen table. And I am not alone.” He glanced and nodded down at the large dog sitting beside his legs. “Sunshine is with me and I dare say she keeps a good watch on me. I had to find Mallefinnros before I left.”

Pippin’s head drooped as reached over to rub Sunshine’s head. “I’m not a wee lad that needs to be watched over, even with the bloody falling sickness.”

Merry’s anger drained out of him leaving him feeling limp and rather foolish. He put his arm around Pippin’s shoulder, patting him as he did so.

“It really isn’t anything new is it; my chasing after you like some frightened mother hen? I did it long before your injuries. Old habits die hard, little cousin, and I’m certain I’ll be clucking about after you when we both are grey, wrinkled like raisins and have 20 grandchildren each.”

A long moment passed before Pippin raised his head to grin at his older cousin.

“Worry wart!” he said then clucked a few times.

“Rascal!” Merry retorted, shaking a finger in Pippin’s face. “Off we go. Mallefinnros isn’t the only person needing a proper goodbye.” Merry stopped short. He looked at Pippin, concern showing on his features. “Did you find her Pip? We can continue looking if you haven’t.”

Pippin waved his concern aside. “All taken care of, Merry. She found me. I’m ready to head back to the house.”

Arms about each others shoulders, they headed off toward the house. Merry noticed Pippin was limping slightly but decided not to mention it, he knew the lad would say something if it troubled him badly enough. Pippin said nothing about having a bad spell whilst asking after Mallefinnros at all the orphanages, but that was only because he didn’t know about it. If Sunshine were able to speak Merry would have known, however, Sunshine had made sure her dear master was not in any danger and she was good at keeping a confidence.

“Are you all packed, Pip?” Merry inquired.

Pippin sighed, rolling his eyes. He clucked again.

"Well . . . what? Are you?"

Pippin blushed. "Um . . . well . . . no. Not really."

Merry sighed.

"What?" Pippin asked grinning. “Old habits die hard. Didn’t you just say that Merry?"

Merry stared at Pippin for half a moment, and then they both started to laugh as they continued on their way.

Those residents of the White City who had come to know the Companions of the Ring personally were gathered in the garden to bid them a more private farewell. Ioreth clucked and fussed over the pheriannath like a mother hen, causing Merry and Pippin to have a fit of stifled giggles. The lasses who had kept house, the stable hands that had tended their horses and ponies, a few members of the royal household’s staff all were there, looking uncomfortable with being fussed over by the Companions.

Pippin hugged Bergil long and hard before letting him go.

“I do wish you were coming along with us to Rohan,” he said as he sniffed and dabbed at his eyes.

“I’m needed here, Pippin,” the lad said glancing over at Parsow. “Parsow has come to be quite lost without me to fetch things for him.”

Parsow turned his head at the mention of his name. He excused himself from his conversation with Lord Elrond to join his patient and his apprentice.

“What is this about my being lost?”

“Nothing of importance,” Pippin hastily said whilst grinning mischievously, but the grin quickly faded. “More to the point is that you and Bergil here aren’t coming along.”

Parsow bit at the inside of his lower lip. It had been a difficult decision to remain behind. But a final farewell would have been the outcome of either choice, and they did have other patients who needed them.

“There are those in the Houses in need of our care, Pippin. I am certain you really would not want us to leave them when you will have the best healers in Middle-earth in the entourage. And whether it is to be goodbye now or at the edge of the Horse lord’s country makes little difference. It shall hurt us all either way.”

The small knight’s head was down, but he nodded it slightly. Then he drew himself up, straightening his shoulders as he did so.

“True. I just will miss you both.” Pippin hugged Parsow and the young healer patted his back.

“You are wearing the Dwarf Stones?” Parsow whispered into Pippin’s ear.

“Aye.” He pulled back a little to look at his friend, blushing as he spoke. “Do they really help, Parsow?” he asked softly, though Gimli was not nearby. “I mean, sometimes I’m sure they do but I’ve had some rough times even with them on me.”

Parsow smiled. “I had doubts of my own, Pippin, but Lord Elrond assured me that you would fare much worse without them. He said he could sense the power present in the stones and he can see them gleaming when they rest upon your chest. If he senses such, then I am sure it is true.”

The hobbit smiled and relaxed. “That’s good then. I dearly love Gimli and hoped they were helping as he believed them to be.”

“Lord Elrond said if you cleanse them as you were shown and they will serve you all your days.”

Pippin nodded and the three friends stood a few moments longer in awkward silence.

“Take care of him,” Pippin said to Bergil, tipping his head at Parsow. “He gets busy and forgets to eat or sleep.”

“I will.”

“And Parsow, I’d best hear that you’ve taught Bergil so well that he becomes a full fledged healer even younger than you did.”

The man and boy blushed. “I will make sure of that,” Parsow assured Pippin.

“Farewell then,” Pippin said, his voice cracking as he turned and walked away.

Parsow and Bergil both sighed.

“Do you think we shall see him again, sir?” Bergil quietly asked.

“I’m certain we shall, Bergil. I don’t think he will be able to stay away. He gave a part of his heart to this city, its king and its steward, and I do not think hobbits forget those to whom they have given their hearts. The Ernil i Pheriannath will return.”

Soon the Companions arrived where those who were leaving were gathering for the procession out of the city. Merry mounted the wain which bore King Theoden’s body. He was the King’s esquire; his place was at his fallen lord’s side, keeping watch over his weapons.

The long cavalcade slowly descended along the winding road that led from the Citadel to the main gate of Minas Tirith.

Frodo and Sam rode beside each other, with Frodo riding next to Aragorn upon the King’s left; Queen Arwen rode at her husband’s right. Gimli had been incorrect in his thinking Frodo would never again wear any chain about his neck. Hidden from view and hanging from a silver chain, the gem gifted to him by Arwen rested against the skin of his chest.

Gandalf rode upon Shadowfax, moving here and there amongst the different companies that comprised the lengthy column.

Gimli and Legolas rode double upon Arod. They, like the wizard, would eventually move freely amongst the companies, but for now they rode just behind the King and Queen and the Ringbearers.

Pippin rode with his brethren in arms; the knights of Gondor. He rode on the outside of a row so Sunshine could walk along side his pony more easily.

It happened that Gandalf was riding beside the small knight when, upon the fourth level, they passed the orphanage that over looked the Great Gate. Pippin suddenly stared into the crowd and Gandalf followed his gaze. There at the edge of the throng of onlookers stood Mallefinnros. She was somehow managing to wave both dolls’ arms at the small knight as he rode past. Pippin smiled and waved back then his eyes widened in surprise. It was no surprise to him that Feva and Sister each wore their dress gowns of sable and silver, but he was surprised to see Mallefinnros in a matching gown. She bowed her head to him and he returned the gesture. He would never forget the magical being who had saved his life. Gandalf also regally bowed his head to the dainty child, but he saw something quite different; a tall female, robed and glowing with power and love, bearing the symbols of her calling as he, with his staff, bore his.

Soon the Great Gate was far behind them and the sounds of farewells stilled. Frodo finally voiced a concern to the king.

“Strider?”

“Yes Frodo.”

“Not to second guess your judgement, but, are you sure it is wise to let Pippin ride a pony and to be away from the rest of us?”

Aragorn smiled at Frodo, hoping to ease the worried creases between his friend’s brows. “An understandable concern, dear friend. The pony he rides upon is a calm and gentle mare. We shall be moving at a decorous pace out of respect for King Theoden.”

A quick look of embarrassment came to the hobbit’s face. “True. I had for the moment forgotten this is a funeral procession.”

Aragorn nodded in reply then continued speaking. “Would you have your cousin feel more singled out than is necessary? He is not the only one among the company of knights who has injuries that make riding a risky endeavour. There is another knight who has the falling sickness. Only the fits befall him and not often, so his case is not that like to Pippin’s, yet he rides. Another amongst them now has difficulty with his sense of balance, yet none would think to say he should not ride. Two there are who lost a leg below the knee, yet they ride.”

The Strider leaned down to speak more privately to Frodo. “You could fall from your mount, Frodo, as could I. Gimli rides behind Legolas who rides without a saddle; he could, and has, fallen from Arod’s back. Shall I tell you not to ride? Shall I insist that Gimli ride in a wain or walk?”

The king straightened up, taking a moment to look back at the company of knights. He could barely see Sir Peregrin Took, but see him he did and he smiled.

“Would you wrap the lad in blankets and have him always sit or lie, Frodo? For only so could you protect him from all chance of harm. Truly, not even then as he could fall from his seat and strike his head upon something. His bad spells are like to a sleep walker who somehow comes to no harm. Sunshine has shone herself to be sensitive to when one of Pippin’s fits is nigh upon him, so I think he could dismount, or nearly so, before one of those would o’er take him. That is part of why he rides upon the right outside edge of the column, so he can more easily dismount should he have the need.* All this was dealt with ahead of our leaving and with Pippin’s full involvement. No Frodo, my knight will ride and he will be the stronger of body and spirit for it.”

Frodo smiled up at his friend. “You are right, as you most often are Strider. Honestly, I feel better. The image of Pippin wrapped up tightly in blankets is humorous and terrible and I would not wish such a thing. You’re right. He needs to be free to be whole. You have eased my mind.”

Later, as they broke formation to make camp, Frodo caught sight of Pippin sitting his mount with an easy grace, smiling as he bid his friends farewell for the evening, and again Frodo’s heart was warmed. No. He would not ever take this away from his young cousin.

So the journey proceeded, drawing ever closer to Rohan. On the third night out from Minas Tirith, there was a raucous disturbance not far from the tent the hobbits shared. Merry and Pippin grabbed their swords and ran out to see what was happening and to assist the guards if they were needed. A small band of orcs and renegade men had attacked the camp. The orcs and three of the men were quickly dispatched and the remaining men made captive. In the morning they would be taken back to Minas Tirith under heavily armed guard.

“The men at least should have recognized this as a funeral procession and shown some honour by not attacking.” Merry spat out as he and Pippin walked back to their tent. “They knew better. I hope they are shown little mercy in the White City.”

Pippin stared at Merry trying to gage his expression as best he could in the dark. Merry was furious. For a moment, Pippin was shocked at his cousin’s words, then like a flood he could feel the sorrow Merry was bearing. He had stood guard by the bier in Minas Tirith, he rode the wain beside the fallen king as they moved slowly toward the time and place of Theoden’s burial. Merry had loved the King of Rohan as deeply as he himself loved Faramir. His cousin was in great pain.

Pippin silently chided himself. His own troubles made it all too easy for him to forget the needs of others, even those nearest and dearest to his heart. He made a promise to himself. He would pay closer attention to his kin and friends and comfort them in whatever way he could. There seemed to be many things he could no longer do, or no longer do with ease; this was not one of them. He could still care for others.

“I’m sure they will punish them as their laws allow, Merry, and we know the laws of Men are rather harsh by our standards. I’m sure they will pay a high price for their disrespect.” Pippin draped an affectionate arm about Merry’s shoulders. “But come now. We’re awake and I’m feeling a bit peckish. I’ll make us some tea and we can sit by the fire until we feel drowsy.”

Merry nodded. “Yes. Some tea and some time with you by the fire sounds good just now.” He turned a sad smile to his younger cousin. “It sounds very good indeed.”

The next day, Pippin had another matter he needed to attend to. He excused himself from the company of the Knights of Gondor and sought out Captain Beregond who rode with the White Company, guards to Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien.

“A moment of your time, if I may Captain,” Pippin called out motioning his friend to join him out a small distance from the entourage. When Beregond was beside him he began to speak.

“Were you there last night when the camp was attacked?”

“Yes, I was as was Merry. Why do you ask?”

Pippin sighed. He looked straight ahead between the ears of his pony. “I was there too,” he said quietly. He waited, but when Beregond did not say anything, he continued. “You didn’t see me because I did not press forward. I had trouble getting my sword out of its scabbard. Then, once it was out, I kept feeling as though I would drop it or . . . or cut one of our own men with it.”

There was another long pause.

“Because of your hand.” Beregond said plainly.

“Because of my left hand,” Pippin’s irritation began to creep into his voice. “Because I have not done much with my sword, other than saluting emissaries in the King’s throne room, and even then I often dropped it.” He finally looked at his friend, his embarrassment bringing a flush to his cheeks. “I dropped it, Beregond! And last night I was completely useless. What if one of them had broken through and made his way toward our tent? It appeared to be what they were seeking. I would have been completely useless, Beregond! They might have hurt Frodo. There is no excuse other than my own laziness. There is nothing wrong with my left arm or hand.”

The man nodded. “You are wishing to relearn your swordsmanship.”

Pippin smiled as he sighed. “Yes. That is it exactly. But I wish it done quietly. I don’t want everyone knowing. I was supposed to have been . . .”

Pippin paused. Beregond studied him as the spell took his mind from the here and now. His friend would never again be a competent soldier, for such lapses gave an enemy all the time needed to strike the hobbit down.

“I need to relearn how to handle my sword, Beregond,” Pippin said as he came to himself.

“It would be best I think,” Beregond nodded his head as he spoke. “To do so quietly. I think your cousins and perhaps others would not think it wise.” “As I do not.” Beregond added to himself. He would take on this task. Teaching the lad all he could handle, while trying to get him to see that he should not plan to use his skills unless their was no one else around who was capable. “I will assist you Pippin, but only if you do what I tell you and you listen well to my instructions as well as learning the movements of swordplay.”

“I will,” Pippin replied. “I’ll do my best. You should write things down for me as I have trouble remembering. If it is written down I can learn it more than once and that does help somewhat. But I will do my best to learn all that you teach me.”

They shook hands upon their arrangement then each returned to their place in the procession.

A/N:

*Normally a rider mounts and dismounts on the left side of the horse, called the near side, swinging the right leg up and over the horse’s back. This was necessitated by the (more common) right handed rider wearing his sword on his left hip. Pippin is now more left handed than right handed and wears his sword on his right hip, so he would need to mount and dismount from the right, or off side, of the horse.

Swordplay

The funeral procession of King Theoden of Rohan continued its stately way northwestward. There were no further attacks, just a peaceful journey.

Each morning Pippin would quickly tidy up his belongings and hurry out, turning up again at breakfast. When this happened on the fourth morning after the attack, Frodo’s curiosity go the best of him.

“Pip,” he said as his cousin hurried over to where the hobbits were sitting and eating their meal. “What are you up to?”

Pippin set his mug of coffee down on the ground then began to attack the food on the plate he balanced upon his lap. Merry noticed Pippin was becoming much more efficient at eating left handed.

Pippin finished chewing a mouth full of porridge, washing it down with a sip of coffee, before answering his oldest cousin.

“I go off and have a some conversation with Beregond in the mornings. I like to spend my evenings with all of you, and I ride all day with the knights. Mornings before breakfast and packing to leave is the only time I really have to visit with him.”

Frodo smiled. “I’m glad you found a time for the two of you.” But even as he smiled, Frodo had a feeling there was something Pippin wasn’t saying.

Indeed there was a great deal he wasn’t saying as that time in the morning was being spent fencing. Pippin and Beregond found that, as soon as he was paying specific attention to his sword handling skills, Pippin was making the switch in hands more quickly than either of them had expected. Even with only four days of work he was already somewhat stronger and much more coordinated. The rhythm of the drills, the dance of the various movements, helped Pippin to concentrate and remember better than he might otherwise. Still, Beregond worried about the wisdom of what he was doing. Pippin had spoken just that morning about how eager he was to test his rediscovered skills.

“Not that I’m wanting to kill anyone, mind you, but it would be grand to have the others see how well I’m doing and know that I’m able to defend us if needed.”

“Perhaps a demonstration bout when you feel ready?” Beregond hedged. “It is to be hoped that there won’t be much call for battle any longer.”

“True, but that was what we were all thinking when we set off and look what happened.” Pippin replied firmly. “Next time I shan’t need to hold back. I shall be at Merry’s side as I should be.”

“Of course,” his friend quietly said while his heart sank within him. “How can I tell him of my concerns?” Beregond was thinking. “I’ve no desire to steal this hope from him, yet I know it will not be allowed. I know the King will gainsay any request or attempt that Pippin will make to fight in any form of battle.”

The matter was dealt with the next morning, the tenth morning of their journey to Rohan and the fifth morning of practicing Pippin’s swordsmanship, when Pippin’s eyes suddenly went blank.

Oddly, the hobbit managed to parry Beregond’s first attack, like a sleepwalker avoids running into something that might hurt him. Still, the parry was not as firm as was usual for the hobbit and it was not followed by a repost. Beregond put the tip of his blade to Pippin’s chest and pushed. The lad’s mail protected him from being pierced but not from losing his balance; the small knight of Gondor landed on his back in the dirt with the point of the captain’s sword still placed firmly over his heart.

Pippin was quite surprised when he came to himself a couple of seconds later.

“Eh . . . B-Beregond,” Pippin’s voice cracked. “That . . . eh, that was quick. I didn’t even see it happ . . . en . . .”

Beregond’s heart ached as he saw the light of understanding come into his friend’s eyes; the color draining from his cheeks. Pippin eyes closed as he grimaced.

“I had a spell,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“And you killed me.”

“Yes.”

There was a long silence. Beregond’s sword still rested over Pippin’s heart; he knew there were no words needed. Gradually the grimace eased from the small one’s face. His breath hitched and a tear etched a glistening line from the corner of his right eye into his hairline.

“I can’t fight,” Pippin’s voice was flat and emotionless.

“No. For your own safety or that of those fighting alongside you, you should not fight.”

“You knew that when we started, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Another silence stretched out into the passing minutes. The two friends had not moved.

“Why did you let me start this if you knew?”

“I . . . I felt it would do you good to regain strength and grace of movement in your hand, arm and body. That, and one never knows what might befall. There might be a time when you are the only one with such training available and better . . .”

Beregond swallowed his words.

“Better me than no one,” Pippin finished his friend’s thought correctly. “How complimentary.”

More silence followed.

“Let me up, Beregond,” Pippin said quietly after a few more minutes had passed.

Beregond removed his sword as he stepped aside, offering his free hand to Pippin as he did so. Pippin accepted the proffered hand, stood and then began brushing himself off.

“Thank you Beregond,” he said stiffly and without looking at his friend. “I think I’ve had enough practice. I’ll . . . I don’t think we need meet tomorrow morning.”

Without further words, Pippin sheathed his weapon and walked away.

Beregond’s heart tore within his chest. He hung his head and wept for his friend. How he wished he had not been the one who had to give the small knight this bitter knowledge.

Pippin walked back to the encampment. He went to where Sunshine sat beside Merry, sat down beside her and hid his face in the soft fur of her neck. She had not gone with him in the mornings. He and Beregond had feared she would become overly excited watching the tall man attacking her master.

“Pip?” Merry looked over Sunshine’s head at his cousin. “Are you all right?”

Pippin nodded. “We got to talking about Denethor.” He muttered the lie without looking up.

Merry nodded understandingly, reaching over to rub the lad’s shoulder. Nothing more was said and soon they were busy packing up the camp, moving to their respective places in the cavalcade and recommencing their journey.

Merry rode upon the wain bearing his king’s body. A place of honor. A place of great sadness that couldn’t be openly expressed, it was not the time nor place. Standing beside the bier in Minas Tirith had also been a place of honor and just as riding upon the wain, not the place nor the time to show one’s feelings. He had been told before his first time on duty that he was to keep a sober expression.

It was not an easy task for a hobbit, sapping a great deal of Merry’s energy.

Now he was being further taxed by a growing concern for Pippin. His cousin had helped break camp without as much as a grin, speaking only when spoken to and that quietly, then he left to tend to his pony and join the ranks of the Knights of Gondor. At luncheon Merry watched from a distance as Pippin took his meal with his fellow soldiers. The lad’s behaviour was unchanged from the morning. He sat amongst the men but was not a part of the group. Now the final halt of the day was ordered and the entourage split up to make camp; but Merry didn’t see Pippin anywhere.

“Turgon!” Merry hailed a passing Gondorian knight of his acquaintance. “Have you seen Pippin since the halt was called?”

“No Merry, I have not. He is most likely still in the covered wain. The blue one over yonder.” The man gestured toward wagons and carts parked at the edge of the encampment.

“Thank you! I shall see if I can find him,” Merry sounded casual to the soldier, but in truth he was frightened. Why had Pippin chosen to ride in a wagon? The lad was easing himself out of the back of the wain just as Merry arrived at it.

“Are you all right Pippin?”

Pippin looked up then stretched as he yawned. “I had a rather bad spell and was tired as usual. I thought it best to lie down and sleep for the remainder of the day.” He yawned again.

“Oh,” Merry said as some of the tenseness eased in his shoulders. “Yes, good thinking then. I’m sorry you had such a bad spell. I’m sure tomorrow will be better.”

“I think it will,” Pippin replied with a look in his eyes that Merry couldn’t quite fathom.

The next day, Pippin disappeared into the wagon shortly after luncheon. The day after that Pippin missed luncheon, because he was already asleep in the blue wagon. The day after that the lad was in the wain by what would have been elevenses. At luncheon, Merry sought out Strider who he found sitting at a makeshift table with Arwen and her kin. Merry asked if they could speak in private so they went off a small distance and sat upon the ground.

“I’ve been told that as of this evening we will be two days out from Edoras, is that correct Strider?

“Yes Merry. Why do you ask?”

“Well, there will be important events going on, things that all of us hobbits should be present at. I . . .” Merry paused, took in a deep breath to steady himself and continued. “I’m worried about Pippin. I fear that his medicine may need adjusting.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “What has happened with him?”

“Today is the fourth day he has ended up riding in one of the wains. He says he has been having worse spells and is tired.”

Something in the way the hobbit finished his statement sounded as though he did not believe what he had just said.

“And you doubt his word?”

Merry looked startled. “Well . . . yes. When we are together in the evening, he just doesn’t . . . seem, feel, ah . . . he’s not like he has been in the past when his spells have been worse. More to the point, Sunshine doesn’t seem overly concerned for him. I can’t help but think that if he were having such bad spells, she would be acting differently.”

The king nodded his head thoughtfully. “How long has this been happening?”

“This is the fourth day, Strider, and each day he has retired earlier. I’m worried about him. He had been meeting with Beregond in the mornings before breakfast for several days and seemed to be feeling very well, he was always in high spirits when he would show up for the morning meal. Then four days ago he came back in silence. He said only that they had spoken together about Denethor, nothing more. That was the last time he left early in the morning, so I do not think they are meeting any longer. I’m concerned they have had a falling out.”

To Merry’s surprise Strider said he would speak with Beregond while saying nothing about speaking with Pippin.

King Elessar held up his hand to stave off Merry’s response. “I have my reasons, Knight of Rohan.” His formal tone and words stopped Merry cold. “I will inform you as soon as I have come to the root of the matter.” Then Strider returned, laying a comforting hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “If it is what I think it might be, then best I not approach Pippin unprepared. Have faith in me, Merry.”

Merry put his right hand up to pat his friend’s. “I do, more than in most anyone else.”

Strider noted the touch of Merry’s hand was cooler than it should have been. King Theoden’s esquire was not faring well and most certainly did not need this further worry weighing upon his spirit. He rose to his feet, motioning to Merry to follow him. They approached the royal table.

“A matter of concern has arisen, I would ask that we delay continuing on our way until I have had the opportunity to speak with one of our Captains.”

Everyone at the table looked from Aragorn to Merry and back again.

“Yes, it concerns Pippin, but I do not think he needs the skills of a healer. More that he needs the understanding of a friend. If this concerns what I think it concerns, I will seek him out after we have resumed our journey this afternoon, but there is, as I said, another I need to speak with first. If you will excuse me, oh, and see to Merry,” he nudged the hobbit closer to the table. “He needs to eat and I wish him to have company as he does so.”

With that, the king went to find Beregond, Captain of the White Guard.

“What has happened between you and Pippin, Beregond?”

The Captain of the Steward’s Guard looked his King in the eye for a moment before lowering his eyes to look at the scuffed toes of his boots. He had been expecting and dreading this.

“He approached me, my lord, the day after the attack on our camp, asking that I help him to relearn his swordsmanship using his left hand.”

“And you did this?”

“Yes, my lord. I hated to deny him. He said he had embarrassed himself in your throne room by dropping his weapon and he felt himself to be a danger to others as he was clumsy even with drawing it.”

“And you did not bother to ask my approval for your actions with my own knight, who is also a patient of mine.”

A chill ran through Beregond. The king had already shown him great kindness and mercy; here he was disappointing him, behaving in a disrespectful manner.

“Sir Peregrin wished it kept secret, my lord.”

“I see.” Aragorn nodded slowly. “But something went wrong.”

Beregond brought his eyes up to look at his king. “I would say more, my lord, that something went right. I had immediately thought of his blank spells and fits and the possibility of his having an attack whilst fighting. But he was so dispirited and concerned that he was of no use to Lord Frodo that . . . well . . . I hadn’t the heart to refuse his request. We met in the mornings to begin his retraining.”

The man paused.

A slight grin graced the King’s face. His small knight could be very persuasive. “How did he fare?”

“He was doing better than I had expected . . .” Beregond caught himself. He had let his enthusiasm for what Pippin had accomplished show. “I mean he did rather well, my lord.”

The King’s grin broadened into a smile. “That does not surprise me, Captain. He can be quite coordinated. I have always believed he will become very skilled with his off hand.” Aragorn grew serious again. “But . . .?”

“But what I knew would happen did happen. He had a spell and it was a simple matter to push him to the ground with the point of my sword at his heart.” The man’s eyes dropped once more to stare at his boot tips. “He came to himself and quickly realized what had happened. It took the heart out of both of us, my lord, as he understood the full implication of it all. He left me standing there and we have not spoken since.”

Aragorn sighed. It was as he reckoned. Oh, not that he knew ahead the exact details, but that he knew some heavy blow had befallen the hobbit and that it was tied to the falling sickness. That it was something which had stolen some hope of normalcy from the lad. Pippin felt great pride in being a Knight of Gondor; and knights fought, knights defended their king, their comrades and their loved ones.

Sir Peregrin Took was unable to do this without endangering himself and others.

“Do not blame yourself, Beregond,” King Elessar said laying an affirming hand to the soldier’s shoulder. “I hold you no blame in giving into the lad, nor in keeping the matter between the two of you as he asked. Go back to your company, Captain Beregond. We will be on our way soon. I will deal with the matter and hopefully restore some of our friend’s faith in himself.”

The High King turned and walked away. Beregond was taken by a deep love and respect for the man and, again, he was in debt to his lord’s kindness and mercy.
************************

Pippin was dancing to a sprightly tune with a very lovely lass under the soft glow of party lanterns when he heard his name being called. He chose to ignore it, he didn’t care to be interrupted just now. Whoever it was could wait for this dance to be over.

“Pippin!”

The voice had grown firmer.

“How rude!” Pippin thought as he smiled into the lass’ eyes.

“Sir Peregrin Took!”

The dance vanished. Pippin jumped slightly and opened his eyes. His vision slowly cleared as he took in his surroundings and the large person sitting nearly on top of him in the loaded wagon.

It was Strider, although, with what he had just called Pippin and the look on his face, it was more accurate to say it was King Elessar.

Pippin lifted himself up onto his right elbow.

“Strider! Eh, my lord. Is something wrong?”

“Why are you riding in a wain, Sir Peregrin?”

The hobbit was rather surprised to still be addressed so formally. “Eh, sleeping, my lord,” he replied in kind. “I’ve been . . . having bad spells and I’m tired.”

“You have been having more or more severe spells, yet you say nothing to your king nor your healers? You have been having more or more severe spells, yet Sunshine seems rather calm and has not been noticeably behaving as she usually does when you are having increased difficulties?”

Pippin was shaken by this. He dropped his gaze and stammered. “I-I didn’t . . . I . . .”

“You need to quit hiding, Pippin.”

The tone in the man’s voice had changed and Pippin realized it was now Strider speaking to him.

“ ‘m not hiding, Strider,” he muttered still not meeting his friend’s eyes. “Most everyone knows where I am.”

“I once knew a young man,” Strider said. His voice was soft and full of emotion, his eyes looked at some distant point. “He received some news that filled him with joy and pride. He felt the world was his. He even met a woman who lit the spark of love in his heart.”

He paused in his tale to look at his young friend. Pippin’s wide eyes were fixed upon him. Strider grinned. He knew the lad could never resist a story, but his grin faded as he continued.

“Then a day came when everything changed. He came to realize that the good news was bound up with news that was not as encouraging. His life would be rough, his paths rocky and his lady fair would be hard won. Great sadness came upon him until he found a place where all was gladsome once more, a place where his wishes came true and he and his love shared their passion.”

“Where? Where is this place?” the hobbit asked with more eagerness in his voice than he had intended to show.

Strider turned memory haunted eyes to Pippin.

“His dreams.”

Pippin’s right arm quivered and he fell back with a gasp. The words hit him like a punch to his stomach.

“I slept as often and as long as I could,” Strider continued, “for in my dreams I was assured of my inheritance. I saw myself as the King of Gondor and Arnor with Arwen Undomiel in my arms as my Queen. All was beauty and peace with no thought of the troubles that were growing in the waking world.” Aragorn, son of Arathorn sighed. “I slept part of my life away, losing precious moments, missing opportunities to do needed things because I was trying to hide from the burden that was mine to bear, until a friend came and helped me to see I was tossing my life on the rubbish heap instead of living it.”

Strider blinked then looked deeply into Pippin’s eyes as he laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder.

“Quit hiding in the world of dreams, Pippin. Life is more precious than any dream, even when it is not easy.”

Pippin had gone pale and tears trickled down his face. “I-I was. You’re right Strider. I w-was dreaming so I wouldn’t have to f-face how useless I am.”

“You are not useless, Pippin, even if you never draw your sword in battle again. Your calling is not only to be a soldier. A knight is called to serve and there are many services you may render to me and your friends and family. Can you still smile, Peregrin Took?”

“Yes,” Pippin replied, smiling shyly as he did so.

“Can you still sing? Tell jokes and stories? Offer a caring ear or a shoulder for someone to lean or cry upon? Can you walk with a friend? Can you cry over their tale or laugh at their jokes?”

“Yes,” Pippin couldn’t help softly chuckling.

“Yet, you were hiding all these things, keeping them from being of use to yourself or others while you clung to the version of Pippin who lives only in your dreams.”

Pippin’s smile faded as he dropped his gaze. “I was free, Strider. I danced with lasses and my knee never hurt. My right hand was whole and . . .” His eyes closed as sorrow etched lines onto his features. “I didn’t have the falling sickness.”

“But it is not real, Pippin,” Strider soothed. “You don’t know what awaits you, neither the sorrows nor the joys. Would you miss out on your greatest adventure for something that is not real?”

The lad slowly shook his head.

“And forget not, Pippin, that dreams change. They can as easily be dark and fearsome as light and joyous. It really is no safer a place than the waking world.”

Pippin’s head came up. There was a sparkle in his eyes. “True! That really is quite true, Strider. I’ve had my share of horrid dreams, as you are well aware. Odd I should so easily forget them.” He nodded silently for a few moments. “Yes, you are absolutely right. I’m being a fool of a Took again. Thank you my friend. Oh! You said a friend helped you to see the truth of your hiding like you have just helped me. Who was it that helped you?”

“I did, my young fool of a Took,” a laughing voice from outside the wagon startled them both. Gandalf had ridden up behind the wain and had been listening for a while to their conversation. “Well done Aragorn. Now, will the two of you get out of there and return to your places. Everyone is murmuring about where has the king run off to, and the company of the Knights of Gondor looks a bit shabby with that empty place in their ranks.”

“Of course, Gandalf. I am on my way,” the King said, smiling broadly at his old friend. He turned to Pippin. “If the world weighs you down again Pippin, find yourself some company and ask for a song or a joke, or listen to someone’s tales. Particularly, don’t hide where Merry can’t follow you, it worries the poor hobbit.”

With that, Strider hopped from back of the wain, mounted his horse who had been following along behind the wagon and rode off to rejoin his wife and kin.

Gandalf helped Pippin out of the wagon and onto his pony, Placida, who had been tied to the wain and was walking along behind it.

“Thank you, Gandalf.”

“I couldn’t have you fall trying to climb out of there and onto a moving pony. I . . .”

“No,” Pippin cut the wizard off. “No, I meant thank you for helping Strider when he was younger. Where ever would we have been without him and he might not have been there to help us if you hadn’t helped him.”

Gandalf reached over to untie Placida. “A very astute observation young hobbit.” He smiled fondly at Pippin as he patted his shoulder. “Perhaps you aren’t such a fool after all. Now, get back where you belong, Knight of Gondor!” He ordered, then he and Shadowfax cantered away.

Pippin smiled as he set his heels to his mare, trotting off to join his fellow knights in the long procession. It had felt good to feel whole again, he thought, as dreams do feel real whilst one is in them, but his friend was right, he would miss out on so much. And he hadn’t thought about it being hard on Merry. That was what settled the matter; he had promised himself he would be there for Merry and he couldn’t if he was off sleeping somewhere just so he could deceive himself into feeling whole.

“No more hiding, Peregrin Took.” He whispered aloud to himself as he fell into line with his fellow knights. “Did you miss me?” Pippin asked Witige who rode beside him.

“Where you gone?” the man replied straight faced, breaking into a smile a few seconds later. “Tell me more about that relative of yours, that Lalia woman.”

“Ah, Lalia the Fat . . . I mean the Great,” Pippin chuckled. “I’ve enough stories about her to talk to you for hours!”

And he did.

Farewell

The next two days passed well enough, the long procession met no challenge and arrived in due time at the broad swath of green grassland surrounding Edoras where they set up camp. In the morning, with appropriate ceremony, King Theoden, Thengel’s son, was borne into his city for the last time. His body would lie in state for three days to allow his own people time to pay their proper respects.

The members of the Royal Household of Gondor, the honored Elves, and the noble Hobytla were given lodging in Meduseld itself, as befitting their stations. Merry had, for a moment, considered asking he be housed with the other Riders and Knights of the Riddermark, but he listened to a voice deep within himself that said he should stay close to his kith and kin. After all, Pippin might need him.

“Merry is going to need me before all this is over,” Pippin said to Beregond as they walked about Edoras and those who dwelt there smiled and shook their heads in amazement as the two friends walked by. They had heard that the hobytla of their children’s stories had sprung to life to not only ride with their own king but with the new King of Gondor as well. But a greater wonder still was the tale that one of the small beings and his esquire had gone all the way to the Dark Lord’s lands and brought him to his ruin. The people of Rohan had marveled at the Ringbearers as they accompanied the High King and their own future king, Eomer, hither and yon about the city. They marveled as well at the small one, liveried as a Knight of Rohan, who stood at attention beside King Theoden’s catafalque in the Golden Hall. It had been the talk of the city for months that Eomer had knighted one of the hobytla because he had helped the White Lady destroy the Dwimmerlaik. Few had believed it yet there he stood beside the fallen King.

“I’m surprised he’s able to stand there at all, Beregond. He’s that weary. I can tell,” Pippin continued as the two ducked into a public house and found seats at a table in a corner.

Beregond nodded. “Though I do not know him as you do, even I can see his weariness.”

“It’s not natural, this long drawn out time of having the King’s body on display. I mean, it might be natural to you Men, this waiting so long to bury your dead, but it is most unnatural to us hobbits. I’ve know times when someone who passes on in the morning is buried as the sun sets the same day. Certainly it is never longer than two days, three at the most, and that only in the winter.”

“I’ve heard from some of the Riders I have come to know that it is unusual for the Rohirrim as well.” Beregond took a long pull of his ale before continuing. “Truthfully, Pippin, it is only royalty that are embalmed with such care in Minas Tirith. All others are buried as you say is customary in the Shire. But, since we are accustomed to it with our nobles this has not seemed odd to us as it has to you and the others who hail from other lands.”

“Well, whether it is only for the royalty or whoever, it’s taking a toll off Merry,” Pippin said sternly, “and I’ll be keeping an eye on the old lad.”

“As will I.”

“Good! An extra set of eyes is always handy to have.”

They shook hands as if closing a business transaction, then the conversation shifted to the new things they had seen in Edoras.

The morning of their fourth day in Edoras dawned bright and fair, but the feeling in the city was neither. With a slow tread of feet Theoden, son of Thengel, King of Rohan was borne to his barrow. The stone enclosure had been covered over with turves of his country’s green grass amongst which grew the white simbelmyne. Simbelmyne; ever white, ever blooming, ever reminding the living of the ones who have passed on before them as it grows upon the burial mounds of the Kings of Rohan.

The Riders of the King’s House rode around Theoden’s barrow, their white horses gleamed in the sun as their voices were lifted in the song Gleowine the minstrel wrote for his king. It was the last song he would ever write. Stately, powerful, bringing images to the minds of all who listened, even those who spoke not the language of the Mark, the song told of Theoden’s life with all of it’s hurts and triumphs.

Meriadoc Brandybuck, Knight of Rohan, Esquire to the King rode not amongst those who circled his king’s mound. Those horses were large and spirited, not a mount that a hobbit could handle. He stood at the foot of the turf covered barrow weeping as the King’s last song was sung. When it finished, Merry stepped forward and cried out:

“Theoden King! Theoden King! Farewell! As a father you were to me, for a little while.”* His voice cracked with his sorrow. Merry paused, swallowed, then more quietly spoke his final “Farewell,” then turned away to join the ranks of the honor guard that stood encircling the newest mound on the eastern side of the Barrowfield.

Sir Peregrin Took stood amongst the honor guard of the High King. Not in the fore of the group, just in case his condition should pick that time to assail him, but with the guards nonetheless. King Elessar had not the heart to deny his smallest knight his place near his king. Sitting proudly beside Peregrin was Sunshine. As he kept watch on his lord, she kept watch on her master.

The Knights of Gondor were holding their swords unsheathed, up by their shoulders, points upwards in a salute. There was a moment when a spell took hold of Pippin and the point of his sword gradually started to lower. King Elessar allowed himself a slight smile as the swords of all those in the honor guard lowered at the same time, returning to their original places only as Pippin regained himself and lifted his. Anyone else would have thought it a planned part of their honoring King Theoden.

Because he was not in the front, Pippin had been unable to see Merry. He occasionally nudged the knight who stood beside him.

“Dagond, is he all right?” Pippin would whisper and the tall man would tell him how the small knight of Rohan fared.

Finally, as the song of Theoden’s life began Dagond said, “He left his place amongst the standing guard to weep at the foot of the mound.”

When the song ended, Pippin needed no assistance to hear his cousin’s cries of farewell to the king he had so quickly loved. Pippin wept for both the dead and the living.

A great feast the likes of which had not been seen in the Mark since the building of the Golden Hall, followed the burial. There was as much to celebrate as there had been to mourn; the new Age had dawned and a new High King had come. Merry sat with his fellow Riders enjoying the food and the conversation, for Eomer had decreed that none who had fought in the battles of Helms Deep, Pelennor Fields or before the Black Gate would serve that day, but all would sit in honor and be served by those whom they had fought to protect.

Frodo was watching Pippin. Sam was watching Frodo. Pippin was keeping as close a watch as he could on Merry. Merry was allowing himself to be distracted by the camaraderie of the Rohirrim. As were many others at the feast, the hobbits had set their grief aside to look forward to life instead of back at death, but life still held its own troubles. Frodo was concerned about Pippin having a bad spell or worse, a fit. It had been awhile since he had had a fit and to Frodo’s mind that just meant the lad was over due for having one. Sam was concerned that the touch of gloom which would settle at times upon his dear master would begin its toying with his thoughts, this being a funeral feast and all. He feared Frodo would be plagued with “If only . . .” thoughts until he would begin to feel every grievous thing was his fault. Pippin was concerned that Merry would withdraw into himself; that the remanent of Darkness might cast its shadow over him. He was watching for the grey pallor to creep into Merry’s face, or the tell tale rubbing of his right arm as the chill crept up it. Merry was simply making every effort to not think at all . . . if he began to think he feared he would crumble.

Despite their concerned observations of each other, or lack of such on Merry’s part, the hobbits gave themselves over to enjoying what they knew would be their last feast with their new friends and companions. They thrilled at the reciting of the names of the kings of Rohan, loving genealogies as all hobbits do, building to the moment when Eomer drained his cup, signifying the end of the rein of King Theoden. Then all assembled rose to their feet and drained their cups after proclaiming “Hail, Eomer, King of the Mark!” Later the hobbits smiled till their faces hurt as the new king announced and blessed the trothplighting of his sister, the Lady Eowyn of Rohan to Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien. Merry and Pippin finally locked eyes across the huge hall, nodding and winking to each other. The bond between the hobbit knights would now be even stronger than it had been before, if such a thing were possible. They had risked their lives for Eowyn and Faramir and the hobbits were nearly bursting with joy that their dear friends would soon be married.

With that the feast was ended and the Companions of the Ring, the Elves of Lorien and Rivendel, the King and Queen of Gondor and all in their party went out to where the horses and wains of their cavalcade had been readied for their departure. Eomer and Eowyn bid farewell to Meriadoc, marveling once more that he would take no treasure with him.

“This I suffer,” Eomer said, “for indeed I have no gift that is worthy; but my sister begs you to receive this small thing, as a memorial of Dernhelm and of the horns of the Mark at the coming of the morning.”*

Eowyn presented to Merry a small horn; ancient and beautifully wrought.

“This is an heirloom of our house,” she explained. “He that blows it at need shall set fear in the hears of his enemies and joy in the hearts of his friends, and they shall hear him and come to him.”*

With tears glimmering in his eyes Merry accepted their gift, kissing his lady’s hand and embracing them both. Then all present drank a final drink together and the entourage took their leave.

They did not ride far that day, it already being after midday when they left. Gradually, Merry grew quiet. He missed the Rohirrim, which made him feel badly for why should he miss them when he now could spend more time with Frodo and Sam? Pippin was still riding in the ranks of the Knights of Gondor, but Merry was free to ride where he wished. Yet there seemed to be nowhere he wished to ride. No place in the long procession felt like it was the right place for him to be and he was relieved when the final halt of the day was called.

Pippin hastened to be with Merry, Frodo and Sam. During supper, he shared some jokes that had been told while riding that afternoon, told a few stories and sang a song he had learned while they were at Edoras, all the while keeping an eye on Merry. Merry had cheered up noticeably when Pippin arrived, but the younger cousin knew that it was not how his elder cousin was really feeling. He could sense that Merry was nearly out of strength.

That night, in the tent the hobbits shared, Frodo was sleeping soundly, the result of a long day and perhaps a mite too much Rohirric ale at the funeral feast. Sam, once satisfied that Frodo was in deep slumber, slept as he usually did; like a log. Of the hobbits only Pippin had not been able to drink his fill of the ale, due to it wrecking havoc with his falling sickness, and only Pippin was lying on his pallet listening intently to the sounds around him.

Only Pippin heard Merry’s attempts to stifle his grieving.

Silently, he picked up his bedding and made his way over to Marry’s camp cot, standing there for a moment to see if his cousin had heard his approach and might order him back to his own bed. Pippin had been given a folding bed as well but abandoned it after their first night of this journey as there was no room in it for Sunshine, and he took great comfort in her snuggling with him if he had had a bad spell or a fit. He now slept on a thin but comfortable mattress on the floor of the tent.

Pippin kept an eye on Merry as he spread out his mattress and bedding, but there was no indication that Merry was aware of anything outside of his own suffering. Finally, Pippin sat down on his pallet beside his dearest friend. Merry was laying on his left side facing Pippin. His knees were drawn well up, his head was tucked well down and his arms were on top of the blankets clutching the bedclothes at his chest. Pippin wanted to see if Merry’s right hand was cold so he cautiously reached up to touch it.

“It feels like ice.”

With a startled yelp, Pippin jerked his hand back.

Pippin gasped in a sharp deep breath. “I-I thought . . . I thought you, eh, hadn’t noticed me, Merry.” Pippin quickly looked around to see if his yelp had awakened Frodo or Sam, sighing with relief when he saw it had not.

Merry did not change position, didn’t lift his head or open his eyes, he only spoke with a raspy, sorrow-filled voice.

“You have been staring at me,” was all he said.

Pippin nodded, although Merry wasn’t looking. “Aye, I was. I didn’t think you would notice.”

“My hand feels like ice and it’s nearly as dark with my eyes open as it is with them closed,” Merry whispered. The tent was bathed with the soft glow of two small lamps. Pippin shivered; it shouldn’t have seemed that dark to his cousin.

“He is gone now. Finally gone. It has hurt for so very long,” Merry continued to whisper. “It was wrong. All wrong, letting it go on and on like that and being told to stand there. Stand there all full of sorrow and not show it.”

Merry shivered. A long minute passed before he continued more quietly than before.

“Too many, Pippin. Too many have died. Didn’t even know them all. No time to know them and they are gone. He is gone. Frodo and Sam were almost gone, just laying there in their cots. You were almost gone.”

He finally raised his head and looked at Pippin. Pippin fought to stay calm. Merry’s eyes looked nearly as empty as they had that day when he had become separated from Theoden and Eowyn’s litters as they were carried into Minas Tirith. He reached up, taking hold of Merry’s icy hand, curling his injured hand into the palm of it while covering the top of it with his left hand then rubbing it gently to try to bring some warmth to it.

“And you were hurting and sick,” Merry went on, “and Frodo . . . there are shadows in his eyes. He seems well, is well mostly, but there are those shadows. I can see them, Pip. See the shadows lurking in his eyes.”

“I see them too. That’s why, now that I’m doing better myself, I make a point of telling stories that I know are Frodo’s favorites or telling about funny sorts of things from while we were apart on the quest.” Pippin scooted forward to lay his head on the edge of the cot. “It’s time to let your sadness out now Merry. You’ve held it in much too long, old lad, and it’s got you all mucked up inside. It is like when Grandpa Rory died. Remember? Once I got there we talked and talked about your grandfather and my cousin Hildigard who had passed a few months before, and we cried and laughed and cried some more.”

Pippin drew Merry’s cold hand over and placed it against his cheek, still keeping it covered by his left hand. It wasn’t as cold as it had been before, which made Pippin smile; he was touching Merry’s spirit, he was helping him to come back.

Merry was gently nodding his head. “It was good talking to you, and that was even with my being able to cry and grieve right from the start.” He sniffed then drew a deep slow breath. “I don’t see how these men can bear to hide their feelings so much and for so long.”

“Beregond has told me that it’s only like this in Minas Tirith and then only for royalty. The Rohirrim and the regular folk of Gondor are buried quickly as we do in the Shire. I think it has been nearly as hard on the Men who have stood in the honor guard as it has been on you, Merry.”

Both hobbits were quiet for a time then Pippin spoke.

“I understand how you feel Merry.”

Unexpectedly, his cousin jerked his hand away from Pippin’s face.

“No,” Merry coldly replied. “No you don’t, Pip. Your grandfathers passed before you were born. You’ve . . . you’ve lost no one so close to you. I-I said he was like a father to me and he was. He was as kind and thoughtful and wise as my Pa and . . . and . . . you don’t understand.”

Pippin was quiet a few moments, gazing sadly at Merry. “I don’t know what it is like to love someone dearly almost as soon as I’ve met them? I don’t know what it is like to love them and then lose them, is that what you’re saying, Merry?” he asked softly.

Merry was silent. Pippin continued.

“I can give you three names without even having to work hard to think of them. Gandalf. Boromir. And nearly Faramir.”

“Gandalf didn’t die,” Merry said lamely. He knew that argument wasn’t a good one.

“We didn’t know that at the time Merry. And he did die, he just came back, and really how would any of us have expected that? From the first time I can remember being around Gandalf I felt as though he was my grandfather, wanting to have him notice me, wanting to please him and have him be proud of me. Then I felt as though I had caused his death.” Pippin stared hard into Merry’s eyes. “Don’t tell me I don’t know how you feel.”

Without saying a word, Merry backed down. “We both loved Boromir,” he quietly said after a brief pause.

“Like a brother,” Pippin said as a smile grew on his face. “A very big brother.”

Merry smiled in response, though it quickly faded. “Eowyn. I nearly lost her and I love her dearly.”

“And I Faramir. But we didn’t and now they are going to be married.”

“Yes,” Merry smiled.

“Do you remember that story Boromir told us about his trying to teach Faramir to shoot an arrow?” Pippin’s eyes were twinkling now.

“I do!” Merry exclaimed before covering his mouth and chuckling softly. “Is there room on your pallet for two, Pip? We can stay quieter if we’re closer.”

“Indeed there is, cousin. Room for three in fact. I’ll lend Sunshine to you. She can snuggle up against your back. It really is the most wonderful warm experience. Very comforting.”

For the next few hours Sunshine slept peacefully against Merry as the cousins remembered tales of their loved ones who they had lost or nearly lost. As Merry fell asleep, he realized he felt better than he had felt since the day when Frodo and Sam woke up from their healing sleep and he was assured that all of them had truly survived the Quest.

******************************************************************
A/N: Passages marked with an asterisk ( * ) are taken from “Many Partings” in Return of the King.

Their Own Paths to Take

The company rode on, coming in three days time to Helm’s Deep. For two days they restocked their provisions and rested both horses and riders. It was a quiet time, a time of reflection and remembering the battle that had been fought there. Legolas made good on his promise to visit the Glittering Caves with Gimli. Their beauty touched him in a way he had not foreseen, much as meeting the Lady of the Golden Wood had touched the Dwarf.

It was a time of reflection of a different kind for the smallest Gondorian Knight. In the soft light of a fading moon, beneath a star strewn sky, on the company’s last night in the great fortress of the Rohirrim, Pippin stood leaning against the parapet of the Hornburg, looking out through one of the embrasures with Sunshine sitting by his right foot. His gaze took in the Deeping stream and the Deeping Coomb beyond it; or it would have if he was paying attention to what he appeared to be looking at. In truth his thoughts were elsewhere.

For reasons of his own, King Elessar, dressed in clothes reminiscent of his old Ranger’s garb, was walking upon the battlements. Though also lost in his own thoughts, his sharp eyes registered the shadowy form of the youngest hobbit where he leaned against the wall with his dog beside him.

“I know you’re there, Strider,” Pippin said softly as his King approached.

Strider grinned. “It is difficult to sneak up on a hobbit, especially one who is being so unusually quiet.” He stopped beside Sunshine, turning to lean upon and look over the merion to the right of Pippin’s embrasure.

“Quite nice of them to have these low spots in the walls. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to look out.”

It was easy to hear the jest in Pippin’s voice. He knew full well the embrasures were there to give defenders a better shot at an attacking enemy, not to give hobbits (or Dwarves) a better view. The two friends stood beside each other in silence for several minutes.

“Why are you out walking about?” Pippin asked his friend while keeping his eyes on the distant, starry horizon.

The King stood silent a few moments more.

“Remembering what has past, considering what is to come. So many things have happened, and many things have yet to happen. Change ofttimes is not easy.”

Again there was silence. Sunshine pressed herself against her master’s leg moments before a short blank spell came over him. It was a light one and he was not even tired after it’s passing.

“I would ask you the same question, Pippin. Why are you walking the ramparts of the Hornburg in the middle of the night?”

“Much the same as you, Strider, although my thoughts of the past are not of this place. As you say, there have been great changes and there are changes coming.”

Strider heard the sigh as Pippin breathed out, and the catch in his voice as he continued.

“I fear losing you,” he said in the forthright manner of his people. “I’m going back to the Shire and nothing will be the same because I am not the same.”

“You can’t take me with you, my friend.” The man’s grin colored his tone.

“I know. Your people just got their King back, I’m sure they will not wish to lend him to the Shire just yet. But . . .” the lad’s voice was serious again. “You have announced that tomorrow is your last day with us. What will happen if my elixir needs adjusting? What if something goes amiss with me?”

“Lord Elrond continues on with you to Rivendell.”

“Well, yes . . .” Pippin hesitated. “I know that.”

“However?” his friend encouraged. He could feel Pippin’s discomfort.

The hobbit said nothing for a moment, then in a rush explained.

“The ‘however’ is that he makes me nervous. Well, not exactly nervous. Uncomfort . . . well, no, not really uncomfortable either. I don’t know what it is he does to me. I know he taught you nearly everything you know. I know it was he that thought of the King’s Clover for me and kept me from dying when I was such a fool. I know all of that, but I also know he didn’t want me to come on the Quest, and that he’s this very powerful person who has lived nearly forever and I feel awkward around him.”

Strider could see Pippin turn his head to look at him.

“The truth of it all is that I feel closer to you,” Pippin said, then turned back to the view over the embrasure’s short wall. “I am thinking of not going home.”

Had Pippin not turned away, even in the low light, he might have seen the widening of Aragorn’s eyes in surprise at this pronouncement made by his young knight. This was indeed a serious matter as he was well aware of how dear The Shire is to the hearts of all hobbits.

“You are thinking of not returning to The Shire, but not yet decided?” Strider asked cautiously, not wishing to lose the moment through ill spoken words.

“No. I’ve not decided yet. There is much . . . it isn’t . . .” Pippin sighed and his head drooped. His gaze was now upon the bottom edge of the embrasure he stood before. The forefinger of his right hand began nervously picking at the stone of the wall. “It isn’t an easy decision and with my thoughts getting muddled more now than they used to, I’m having trouble deciding what I should do.”

The lad, for a lad he still was in many ways, continued to pick at the wall. His friend let him take his time, although, Strider was feeling anxious about what he would soon hear.

“I am thinking of returning to Minas Tirith with you.”

There was another pause, then Pippin turned quickly, raising his face to look Strider in the eye as best he could in the low light of the starlit night.

“I’m understood there. I’m respected there. There are many others who have been hurt or . . . are less than whole, and the people of the city don’t turn away from them nor shun them . . . shun us because of it. They know what happened to us. They know we fought against the Great Enemy and they respect and honor our sacrifices. I will get no such respect in The Shire. Hobbits care little of the affairs of the Outside world, of the world of Men. They won’t have known anything about the Dark Lord, nor the Ring, nor the battles, nor of the things the four of us done or lived through. They will see only Mad Frodo Baggins and his foolishly loyal gardener, along with his daft Brandybuck and Took cousins. They will scoff at and ridicule us, even if it is only behind our backs.”

Pippin stopped to draw a deep breath. He looked down at Sunshine and he began to twitch his fingers in her fur as he had picked at the stone wall moments before.

“And the healers there, in The Shire, they won’t have any idea at all of what to do if I become worse.” He let out a dismissive huff. “They won’t even know what to do with me at all, worse or not. My Ma is a healer, I know a great deal about the skills and knowledge of Hobbit healers, and in regards to the falling sickness, well, both their knowledge and skills are nil.”

The lad paused again. Strider could feel the struggle going on inside his friend. It came off of the youngster in waves as easy for the King to sense as others might feel a flame giving off heat. It was more than a mere struggle of the mind, and as Strider’s thoughts gave name to it, so did Pippin.

“I’m afraid, Strider.” Pippin said as a shudder passed through him. “Some Knight of Gondor I am. Impressive Ernil i Pheriannath.” He once more raised his face to the king. “I’m scared, Strider. I’m afraid of their ridicule, their own ignorance induced fears of those who have the falling sickness and I’m afraid of the lack of knowledge of the healers. There! I’ve said it. I want to take the path that is easiest. I want to go back with you.”

Pippin had drawn himself up to his full height as he made his proclamation, now, he slumped back into the defeated posture that had gripped him before. He sighed as he looked down at his fingers curling and uncurling themselves in Sunshine’s fur.

“But, I want to see my parents and my sisters. I want to embrace them and feel them in my arms and let them know how much I’ve missed them. I want to hold my nieces and nephews. I want to see Merry’s parents, my favorite aunt and uncle. I want to see the rolling Green Hill Country and go back to the croplands and pastures of Whitwell. I want to go home. And there is no way I can do both. I have to choose and either choice will hurt me. What should I do, Strider?”

Silence followed. The Healer King waited until he sensed Pippin’s emotions had calmed somewhat.

“You do not know what awaits you in The Shire.”

Pippin’s head quickly pulled up as he opened his mouth to speak, but Strider continued.

“You are surmising, doing so with the knowledge of your own experiences, but surmising nonetheless.” Aragorn turned and looked in the direction of The Shire. His voice took on a distant tone. “We do not know that all is well in The Shire, Sir Peregrin. The Black Riders, the Nazgul, were there before the four of you left its borders. Sauron knew of The Shire, as did Saruman.”

Pippin gasped, and Aragorn turned back to the hobbit, his voice now gentle. “Nay, Pippin. Be calm in your heart. I know nothing for a certainty. But as you well know there have been reports from the north of Orcs and of battles fought. Of the West, I know naught.”

Pippin reached out and laid his left hand upon Strider’s right arm.

“I’ve had dreams . . .” Pippin began but paused to swallow the lump in his throat. “I’ve had dreams of bad things happening back home.”

“Perhaps you have been given a new sight, Pippin. The brain and the mind are mysterious things that even Elrond does not fully understand. There have been times in the past when some with the falling sickness were said to be prophets and seers.” He smiled and Pippin could see it in the starlight. “And there are those rumors of the Tooks having a touch of the fey folk in them.”

The small hand on Strider’s right arm tightened its grip as Pippin drew in a deep breath.

“That settles it. I will go on with the others. I’ll go home.” He paused in thought. “Perhaps, we are needed after all if things have gone dark in The Shire. Even though I can no longer fight as a soldier, if things have gone wrong there should be something I can do to help. Then later, I can send healers to Rivendell, or Lord Elrond can send some of those he has trained to The Shire before they leave Middle-earth. So I need not worry over the care I may get for my condition. I can then decide how to deal with whatever else awaits me as the years pass.”

Strider clapped him on the shoulder. “Reasoned out like a true Ernil i Pheriannath and Took and Thain of The Shire!” he exclaimed. “That indeed would be a fine solution to your concerns for your health.”

“And the health of those others in The Shire who have the falling sickness,” Pippin replied with his usual cheeriness. “I think it would be good for both of us to seek our beds, my lord, as we both have what I think will be a rather emotional day tomorrow.” He stopped, giving his friend’s arm another squeeze. “Thank you Strider. For everything. You have cared for me, for all of us, since we met you in Bree. No matter what happens when I reach home, whether good or ill, I will miss you terribly. Please, don’t ever forget that.”

Strider dropped to one knee and the two dear friends embraced each other for a long time.

“I will never forget that, Pippin. Neither as your friend nor as your King. Be assured of that.”

Then the Man rose and he, the Hobbit, and the Dog walked back toward the keep of the Hornburg.

The next day they all rode away from Helm’s Deep, coming quickly to Isengard, what Treebeard now called the “Treegarth of Orthanc.” There they were given the not too reassuring news that Saruman was no longer in the tower. It was also where they parted company with Legolas and Gimli as they would take a different path, one that led, as Gimli had agreed to, through Fangorn Forest.

“Here at last comes the ending of the Fellowship of the Ring,” said Aragorn. “Yet I hope that ere long you will return to my land with the help that you promised.” *

“We will come if our own lords allow it,” said Gimli. *

Legolas embraced Aragorn. “We will return, my brother and King. How soon, I do not know, but we will return to your fair city and the friends we have there.” He bowed to Queen Arwen, kissing her hand as he did so. “Though there is pain in your choice, my lady, may there be great joy as well.”

Gimli clasped hands with Aragorn and they held each other’s eyes for several moments. Much more was said in that long look than words could say. The Dwarf then turned to the Queen, who looked down at him with a kindly, though bemused, smile.

He motioned for her to lean closer to him. Softly he said, “You are beautiful indeed, your Majesty.” Then Gimli mumbled. “Though for me, your grandmother shall always be my brighter star.” He sighed. “So is my fate, it seems, to treasure most what will soon be gone.” Then a twinkle came into his eyes. “Take care of this Man you have wed, I fear he’ll need watching over.”

Arwen laughed lightly then kissed Gimli upon his brow. He blushed to the roots of his hair and turned quickly away to look at where Legolas was saying his farewell to the hobbits.

The tall Elf had gone down on one knee before the four hobbits.

“That had best be to spare us getting sore necks from looking up at you, and not any nonsense of bowing to us, Legolas.” Frodo said with a teasing tone in his voice.

“I wouldn’t think of bowing to you,” replied the Elf. “I am a prince and only bow to the King.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

“When have you bowed to me?” Aragorn asked, and the Fellowship all laughed.

When the laughed faded, Legolas addressed the hobbits. “I had no experience with your people before meeting you four and Bilbo in Rivendell. That was my loss, my dear friends. You have taught me much; to enjoy the simple things life in Middle-earth has to offer. To enjoy and treasure them. Now that there will be less need for my skills as a warrior, I intend to act upon that lesson and enjoy all the days that I spend in this land. Farewell to you all. My blessing and those of my people go with you.”

Then to the surprise of all who stood there, the normally taciturn Legolas warmly embraced and kissed each of the hobbits as tears flowed from his eyes. When he was done, he stood and walked a ways away from the group, wishing to recover his usually calm emotions.

“Hrumph,” Gimli huffed through his beard. He wasn’t sure he wished to embrace and kiss the hobbits, but he did hate feeling he had been upstaged by the Elf.

“Well, you all know that those of us of Durin’s folk value you hobbits, and . . . eh . . .” His gruff demeanor took over. “I’d best not hear of you not taking proper care of yourselves or your people. I would hate to have to drag the Elf with me to The Shire to straighten the lot of you out.”

Gimli turned to Frodo. “You’re as good as your Uncle Bilbo and better and I thank you, lad. There won’t be a Dwarf alive in all of Middle-earth that won’t know the name of the one who saved us all.” He lightly hugged the Ringbearer.

“Samwise,” he said looking Frodo’s gardener up on down. “Feed him well, lad. And tend well all those cuttings and such as have been sent home with you. Oh, and marry that lass you’ve your eyes on.” As he hugged Sam, he added in his ear, “You’re a wonder you are at watchin’ over this lot. You keep on with it or I’ll come and box your ears.”

“You’ve no need to worry on that count, Mr. Gimli,” Sam smiled as he whispered in reply. “I’ll be keepin’ both eyes on all of them. May have to give up gardenin’ as I think it will be a full time job.”

The two nodded to each other and Gimli moved on to Merry.

“You’ll remember what I’ve taught you about stonework, Merry lad?”

“I will, Gimli. Buckland will have much better stonework than anywhere in The Shire will.” Merry winked at the Dwarf who grinned back. “I know the Stonebow bridge needs repairs, and it would be good to have another bridge further South. And we’ll improve our roads as well, and I reckon we will have a good deal fewer tunnels collapsing.”

“That’s the right of it, laddie,” Gimli said aloud, then, as he embraced him he added, “And you’ll watch the wee lad, won’t you? See he’s cared for and cares for himself?”

“With all my heart, Gimli. You know I will. Until he finds himself a wife, and then I’ll watch both of them.”

“Thank ya, laddie.” Gimli said as he patted Merry’s back before turning to Pippin.

The Dwarf’s expression was stern, except for his twinkling eyes. “Well, young hobbit! Is there any point in leavin’ you with words of wisdom? Not much seems to have sunk in up till now.”

“No,” Pippin laughed. “No point to it at all. I shall stay a rascal all my days.”

“Well, just don’t let anything else fall on you. I might not be around to get you out from under it.”

“I won’t, Gimli. I promise.”

The Dwarf’s tightest hug had been reserved for Pippin and when it was finished he pulled the youngster over to one side.

“You’ll take your tonic as you’re supposed to?”

“Yes, Gimli.”

“And the stones? You’ve the stones about your wee neck?”

“Aye.”

“And you’ll cleanse them as you should so they can do their work on ya?”

“Aye, mother hen,” Pippin said, laughing and crying all together. He flung his arms around the startled Dwarf. “Thank you, Gimli. Thank you for finding me and shoving that troll off of me.” His voice broke a little. “Thank you for saving me. I’ll take care of myself and Merry too. I promise you.”

“Aye, laddie. I know you will. And you’re welcome, young hobbit. You’re very welcome.”

They both had tears in their eyes as they moved back to the group.

By then Legolas had moved back to the group as well and Gandalf addressed the Elf and the Dwarf together.

“This is one of the greatest sights my eyes could behold,” he said in a tender voice. “Elf and Dwarf friends at last. May it spread to both of your peoples. You will accomplish greater things together than ever you would have apart. The blessings of all of Middle-earth go with you both.”

Legolas and Gimli looked at all of their friends one more time, then turned away, heading toward the dense expanse of Fangorn’s Forest.

Merry and Pippin were invited to have one more drink of entdraught. Pippin looked to Aragorn and Elrond, concerned for the effect the draught might have with his medicine. Treebeard waited, confused over Pippin’s reaction and the short conference held by the two healers. Permission was given and Pippin went with Merry and the old Ent off to one side where an Ent sized stone jar sat with two small bowls and one large one beside it. But Treebeard did not reach to fill the bowls.

“Hoom, Pippin,” Treebeard slowly said. “Is there some difficulty, some ill effect my drink has had on you? I would say it looks to have done both you and Merry well, not ill.”

“What? No, if anything you’re right, it has done both of us a great deal of good. Why do you ask?”

“You, hoom, sought approval from the King and Elrond Half-Elven.”

Pippin looked to Merry. He wasn’t sure the old Ent would have any knowledge of the falling sickness. Somehow, he didn’t think it was something an Ent could have.

“Just tell him, Pip,” Merry said encouragingly.

Pippin turned back to Treebeard, taking a deep breath and straightening his shoulders as he did so.

“I was trapped beneath a troll and was injured. I’ve a . . . a condition now that troubles my brain. I feared that perhaps the draught would not be good to mix with the elixir I take for it, as we know I have to be very careful with ale and spirits. Stri . . . er, the King and Lord Elrond are my healers, so I thought I’d best see what they thought I should do.”

Treebeard hummed softly to himself as he looked solemnly at the small hobbit. Yes, now that it was mentioned, he could sense a small change in his young friend. But the two healers had given the little one their approval, and so they would share a draught before their parting. He carefully filled their small bowls and his large one.

The hobbits drank heartily.

“Take care, take care!” Treebeard said. “For you have already grown since I saw you last.”*

The two cousins laughed and all three of them drained their bowls.

“Well, good-bye!” Treebeard said when they had finished. “And don’t forget that if you hear any news of the Entwives in your land, you will send word to me.” *

“We will,” the cousins replied.

The old Ent waved a farewell to the company and strode off into the wood that now surrounded the tower of Orthanc.

For a long while, as they rode on their way, the hobbits chatted merrily about the Ents. Pippin had been given leave to ride with his kinsmen instead of with the King’s knights so he could share his part of the tales. Frodo and Sam seemed to have even more questions about them, now that they had seen them for themselves, than they had before. Eventually, they quieted. Merry and Pippin whispered together about their concerns for the Ents and their promise to send word should they hear or see anything of the Entwives in the Shire. Sam had been quick to remember that his brother Hal claimed to have seen a walking tree up on the North Moors and this suddenly had taken on new meaning for Merry and Pippin.

The day passed swiftly and almost without their noticing, the sun had drawn nigh to her setting. Pippin had grown quiet and Merry with him. They knew this area. They had been here before. Not very far away was the place another company had halted to make camp for the night. It was in the midst of the Quest, in a time between two great and horrible battles and the next. Helm’s Deep and the destruction of Isengard lay behind . . . The battle of the Pelennor Fields lay ahead.

Not too far from here Peregrin Took had given in to temptation and looked into the Palantir of Orthanc.

A tremble passed through the young hobbit

At a gesture from those in the lead, the entourage came to a halt. The King of Gondor positioned himself at the midpoint of the long line and gave an order for them to move into a circle around him.

“My friends, the time has come for our ways to part. What is now my home is not your home and you are understandably eager to return to those places that are dearest to you. Elves of Rivendell; my family. For so I count you as I spent my childhood and youth amongst you. We know that for many of you this is our last time seeing one another’s faces as you will soon board the ships that will take you into the West. A few, I have seen, will remain for a time and we shall meet again. Know that you are all dear to my heart and I will never forget your love and kindness towards me these many long years.”

Elessar paused, gathering his emotions.

“I would now bid a more personal farewell to those with whom I journeyed on the Quest that won us our lives and our world.”

With a nod to all assembled, he dismounted and stood waiting for the hobbits and Gandalf to come to him.

The Hobbits felt this parting keenly. For all their doubts of him when first they met, through everything that had followed afterwards, Strider had never failed them. At first they all merely stood there, eyes to the ground at their feet.

“I wish we could have a Stone that we could see all our friends in,” Pippin finally said, “and that we could speak to them from far away!” *

Merry’s mouth fell open, and even Frodo and Sam, who had only heard about the business with the palantir, could scarcely believe Pippin would say such a thing.

Strider went down on one knee before the youngest hobbit. “Only one now remains that you could use,” he gently said. “for you would not wish to see what the Stone of Minas Tirith would show you.” *

They looked a long minute into each other’s eyes and for a moment, Pippin saw hands being burned by flames as they held a shining globe. His eyes finally closed as a shiver ran down his spine.

“But the Palantir of Orthanc the King will keep, to see what is passing in his realm, and what his servants are doing. For do not forget, Peregrin Took, that you are a knight of Gondor, and I do not release you from your service. You are going now on leave, but I may recall you. And remember, dear friends of the Shire,” Strider added looking now at Merry, Frodo and Sam, “that my realm lies also in the North, and I shall come there one day.” *

Pippin had drawn himself up to his full height as his King reminded him of his title and assured him that he was not being released from his service, but silent tears crept down his, and the other hobbit’s faces.

“All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost;” Frodo softly recited.

“The old that is strong does not wither,” Samwise the gardener added. “Deep roots are not reached by the frost.”

“From the ashes a fire shall be woken,” Sir Meriadoc of Rohan intoned, a fiery gleam in his eyes. “A light from the shadows shall spring;”

In a full, strong voice Pippin finished the verses with a touch of his own. “Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The once crownless is now our King!”

With that, the smallest knight of Gondor went down upon one knee before his King, who was still down upon on knee himself. Pippin deftly slid his sword from its scabbard and held its pommel toward his liege lord. There was a pause as Strider saw the blankness come over his knight’s eyes, then with a blink, Pippin returned to the matter at hand.

“I pledged my service to Denethor, and though I know there is no need for me to do so, I wish to pledge my service to you, King Elessar.”

The High King grasped the hilt of the small weapon as Peregrin Took restated his vow of service to Gondor and her King.

“This vow I accept,” Aragorn said, “with my hand upon the hilt of the sword that I now name ‘Trolls Bane’, in honor of the service of the weapon and its bearer. May it serve its master well as he serves well his Lord and King.” Despite the formal manner of the exchange, Strider smiled lovingly at Pippin.

“Thank you, Strider.” Pippin said through his tears.

The King stood, and laying his hands upon Peregrin’s head, he spoke aloud the blessing that he had so often spoken over him in the lad’s times of greatest need.

“Peregrin Took, may you be brave, and have the strong head to think with, and the strong heart to love with, and the strong hands to work with and the strong feet to travel with and always come home safe to your own.”

He withdrew his hands then touched Pippin below his chin to bring his gaze up to meet his own.

“I have said this blessing over you many times, my dear young hobbit. Merry has said it over you as well. I believe it will all come to pass although maybe not in ways any of us expect.” Strider looked at the other hobbits. “My blessings go with each of you and I return you to your own people ready to handle whatever may come your way. Look for my coming to the North country, my dearest friends.”

Then all the hobbits embraced their dear friend.

Aragorn then arose and looked long into the eyes of Gandalf.

“Long you have aided and guided me, my dear friend and mentor. There has been for me only one parting that has been more difficult.” The tall, strong man swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. “We will see each other, I know, before you depart this world, and yet, this is the end of the task we worked upon together for so long. I will miss you and your encouragement, wisdom, mercy and humour.”

“You are now the one who others will seek for such things, and they shall not leave your presence disappointed, my dear, dear friend. Until we meet again, peace be with you, Aragorn.”

The two friends embraced then parted.

King Elessar remained at that spot until the departing company had nearly faded from his keen sight, then he lifted up the Elfstone, letting the light of the setting sun set it ablaze in a farewell salute to those he loved so dearly.

******************************************************************

* All passages followed by an asterisk are quoted from the chapter “Many Partings” in “The Return of the King”.

With deep gratitude to both Golden and Cathleen. I have been struggling with this chapter and they rescued me. When you review, please remember them in your comments J I really don’t think this chapter would have happened without them.

Afternoon Delight

It had been Elrond and Gandalf’s intention that the remaining company of the four hobbits, the Elves of both Lorien and Rivendell, and the Dunedain who were returning to the north, would journey on into the early hours of the night. The moon would be up in the clear sky for several hours yet and they thought it best that they move well away from the place they had parted from King Elessar - the place near to where Pippin had looked into the Palantir of Orthanc.

Everyone was downhearted as they rode away from their place of parting with Aragorn. Elrond was unreadable, even by his own sons, but all the Elves and Dunedain knew it was a difficult time for him. Elrond was absorbed in his thoughts. “Why was so much in their long lives made difficult? Why did it seem that nearly every joy carried in it some taint of sorrow? Why did it have to be that by achieving what they all had hoped for he was losing his beloved daughter?” Yet he was grateful for their victory over Sauron and for Aragorn coming into his inheritance. Grateful that the First-Born could slowly leave Middle-earth knowing they left behind at least a semblance of peace.

The Hobbits, Pippin in particular, also had a variety of feelings in their hearts. They had no doubt they would see their friend again but they also knew their relationships to him would never again be as they had been while traveling the long road together. There was a closeness of heart, mind and purpose that would never be duplicated now that they were no longer in constant fear for their lives, or the lives of everyone and everything they loved. Yet they were grateful for the peace that was returning to their world and eager to come again to hearth and home.

When they finally made camp the talk around the fires, long into the night and early morning, was memories of times spent with the man who was now the king of Gondor and Arnor. The Elves of Rivendell shared about young Estel. The Rangers shared about Aragorn’s/Strider’s years as a young man and his growing into his middle-years. The Hobbits listened and shared stories of their time on the Quest.

Gandalf, Celeborn, Galadriel and Elrond sat apart from the rest. What they discussed that night none others knew.

**************************

It was a few days later, in the afternoon, that Pippin sat in some tussocky grass, staring at the ground, with his back leaned against the pale bark of a willow tree. He felt miserable. He had had a fit that morning and the company had not travelled that day because of it. Now, he was feeling depressed. Once again he was being a burden to others. He was scared and he missed Strider. The strength that his last talk with his king had brought into his heart had slowly faded away leaving emptiness in its place. He felt so cold and useless.

Gradually, he became aware of a soft melody flowing through the clear air of the early night. Pippin looked up, astonished. He had never heard such music before and, even though he felt so bad, the music went into him, warming his heart with every new tune.

A smile spread across his face and he looked around to find the source of the music.

Not far away from him sat one of Elrond’s sons, Elladan Pip thought, playing a beautiful small harp with a sound that was different from any harp Pippin had heard before. He got up slowly on unsteady legs as he still was very tired from the fit, and quietly approached the Elven prince.

Elladan looked up at Pippin and smiled as his fingers continued to play a tune. Then, he began to sing, his pure Elven voice blending with the sweet melody he played.

A melody so lovely sounds,

in Elven-song of old,

fills our hearts with warming light,

with shining sun of gold.

The stars in heaven softly sang,

in summers, that have past

and gave to earth their golden voice,

for everyone to last.

Strong as horses, wild and free,

but soft as spring bud, white,

the music still sings to our hearts,

to bring us hope and light.

When Elladan finished the song, he smiled up at Pippin. “Sit down my friend,” he said, and Pippin did so.

The Elf ran his long, white fingers softly over the smooth wooden surface of the harp, his deep eyes shining with memories.

“It is lovely, is it not?” he asked and Pippin nodded. “It is made from the wood of a mallorn tree. My Grandmother had it made for me many years ago.” Elladan paused, a twinkle brightened his eyes as a grin turned up the corners of his lips. “Would you like me to teach you how to play it?”

Pippin stared at the Elf. “Me? Playing this instrument? I don’t know if I can or should. I used to play fiddle and pipes, but now . . .” He made a small

disparaging gesture with his crippled right hand.

Elladan put one finger over Pippin’s lips. “If you will permit . . .” he said as he moved the harp and indicated that the lad should sit on his lap. Pippin hesitated a moment then sat down with his back against the Elf’s chest. Elladan placed the harp in front of Pippin, reached around him, then took the hobbit’s small hands in his big ones. He held them and closed his eyes.

“I can feel how your hand is impaired,” he softly said as the fingers of his right hand matched themselves to Pippin’s. “You have good strength in the thumb and first finger, less but usable strength in the second and none in the last two. This really will be no problem to work around. I think you shall miss few if any notes and the left hand can move in sooner for playing runs.”

Pippin felt his spirits rise at the words he heard. “Yes! Yes, I do believe you are right Elladan. Can you teach me? Well, will you teach me?”

“It will be my pleasure,” the Elf replied. “The golden strings mark where the pattern of the pitches begins again . . .”

Quietly, the lesson continued . . . but it didn’t go unnoticed.

Frodo looked over to where the Elf and the Hobbit were sitting, playing the instrument and smiled.

“Merry, look.” He said pointing out the scene to his younger cousin.

Merry turned around and also smiled, then he started to giggle. “Do you rememebr Frodo, when Pip learned his first instrument?”

Frodo got a pained expression on the face. “Oh my, don´t remind me. My ears still hurt from just remembering that experience.”

Merry agreed. “Oh yes, it was so dreadful. How old was he? Nine?”

Frodo nodded and laughed. “Yes, he was nine that summer. Bilbo was nearly at the end of his patience by the end of summer, wasn´t he?”

Merry also laughed as the picture of a very tired and annoyed loking Bilbo came into his head. Most of that summer Bilbo had tried to read his books in his study while the enthuistic little Took out in the rest of the hole made a noise that could sour milk. Then suddenly, about a week before he was due to go home, Pippin finally began to improve enough to be bearable.

“What are you laughing about?” a voice behind them suddenly asked.

Still giggling they turned around to look up at Elrohir who wore an inquisitive expression upon his face.

Merry pointed to the harp playing pair. “We were just remembering the first time Pip learned to play an instrument.”

Frodo chuckled. “You wouldn’t have believed the noise the child managed to produce.”

Elohir raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Fiddle.” was all Frodo needed to say to elicit a cringe and nod from the Elf.

“That was exactly how Bilbo reacted,” laughed Merry.

***********************************

“Mercy! What is that awful sound? Is someone killing a wild boar back there?”

Bilbo stopped to lean on his walking staff as he reached the entrance to Bag End. His face twisted itself into a most appalling grimace.

“No,” sighed Frodo. “No wild boars. Pippin has arrived.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows to encourage his nephew to continue. The arrival of the little Took usually increased the level of sound in the hole, but not to the current degree.

“Someone is torturing the lad?” Bilbo asked.

“No. Pippin is the one inflicting the torture. He’s begun taking fiddle lessons and he is most eager to demonstrate to everyone his newfound talent for playing it.”

Seated beside Frodo, Merry nodded in agreement. Both lads wore pained expressions upon their usually smiling faces. Bilbo nodded his understanding as an even higher pitched squealing came from behind the hole. All three hobbits cringed.

“He’s with Sam just now. He was tending to the dahlias when Pippin cornered him. Perhaps . . .” Merry paused as the screeching crescendoed, “we should rescue him now.”

“True,” Frodo sighed. “We did rather abandon him.”

“Oh my,” Bilbo shook his head as the three of them started toward the back garden. “It’s going to be a long visit.”

***********************************************

“They did abandon me!” Sam put in. The memory brought a chuckle now; he had not been chuckling then. “It was nearest I ever came to turnin’ my back on Bag End.” He sighed and shook his head. “Thing was, I usually liked the little fella, even when he was being a pest. The lad always could charm the hair off your feet.”

**********************************************

Bilbo and the older lads emerged in the garden to find Pippin holding his fiddle under one arm and taking an elaborate bow while Samwise Gamgee applauded him enthusiastically, if a bit stiffly; he had something pink tucked between his right elbow and his side. They turned as one when Bilbo called out, “Hoi there young Peregrin! Just when did you arrive?” Bilbo knelt and held out his arms and the eager lad sprinted into them, fiddle in one hand and bow in the other.

“Cousin Bilbo!” he exclaimed excitedly. “I play fiddle now, Cousin Bilbo!”

“I know lad, I heard you as we came around the hole.” Bilbo looked over the child’s shoulder. “Hullo Sam! And thank you for helping keep our Pippin out of mischief until I got home.”

Sam gave him a nod, an odd smile still plastered on his face. “I was glad to do whatever I could, Mr Bilbo,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Here’s Miss Tulip, Pippin,” he said quietly as he handed the toy to her owner.

“Thank you, Sam,” The child happily chirped, then he turned to Bilbo. “She does love to hear me play but I can’t have her on my left shoulder as that is where the fiddle needs to be, and she says it is hard to stay on my right shoulder with my having to bow, so I asked Sam to hold her for me. He really is so very nice, Cousin Bilbo. Cousin Bilbo?”

The old hobbit was distracted. He could have sworn that, as the lad was talking, Tulip’s embroidered eyes had grown larger, as though in fear, and that she had shaken her head “No!”. He shook his own head to clear it and the knitted piggy looked just as she always did.

“Yes, Pippin,” he replied while still looking at the toy in the child’s hand and absently patting Pippin’s head. “Yes. Sam is a good lad.”

Merry grinned wickedly as he leaned over and whispered “Sam, you can stop grinding your teeth now,” in Sam’s ear as he backed away from Pippin,

“I have to go home now. I think my mother is calling me.” Sam walked away, appearing a little unsteady.

“Almost as if he’d been into the Gaffer’s home-brew,” mused Frodo as they watched him leave. “We’ll see you later then, Sam,” he called.

Sam wearily waved a hand over his shoulder. “Not if I see him first,” he muttered under his breath.

“Good bye Sam!” the child with the fiddle called as he waved the bow in a farewell salute. “I’ll play some more for you when you come tomorrow.”

Merry, Frodo and Bilbo slowly exchanged looks of terror as they all, at that same moment, remembered the lad was to be with them for four whole weeks.

*********************************

“Four weeks of that horrible racket,” Sam sighed as Frodo and Merry mutely nodded their heads in agreement.

“At least you could get away from it more often than we could,” Merry huffed. “He would have played every minute of the day if we hadn’t put a stop to it, er well, Bilbo put a stop to it.”

“Remember that first night?” Frodo touched Merry’s arm as he closed his eyes in painful memory before continuing. “He got up in the middle of the night to practice because he had dreamed a song and he wanted to not forget it.”

“He even played in the night?” Elohir exclaimed in shock.

Merry nodded. “He would have, yes, but after that first night Bilbo always made him hand the thing over to him at bed time. He locked it in a cupboard in his study.”

“Did that help?” The Elf asked.

“Somewhat,” Frodo replied with a wry grin. “We all ended up dreaming about it. Usually plotting ways to destroy that poor instrument.”

“Having a goat eat it.” Merry said wistfully.

“Accidentally sitting on it,” Frodo sighed.

“Burying it in the garden.” Sam blissfully added.

The others nodded. “Bilbo kept hoping Pip would leave it outside and the dew would ruin it.” Frodo paused, then, with an evil sounding chuckle added, “Or that somehow it would find it’s way down the well.”

Unnoticed by the others Pippin and Elladan had neared them. Pip was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and staring at his elder cousins and Sam.

“You three are doing it again, aren’t you?” he asked. His voice sounded angry, but his eyes revealed the truth; they were sparkling with fun. “You’re telling Elohir all sorts of horrible things about when I learned to play fiddle, aren’t you?”

The other Hobbits turned around smiling and Merry patted Pippins shoulder. “Ah come now, Pip Squeak, you should be used to it by now! Let your elders have some fun.” He grinned, then added, “We had to put up with your playing, you should be willing to put up with the tale being told.”

“Without the proper ending as usual, I’m assuming,” Pippin grumbled good naturedly.

“Some things just never change.” Frodo said with a soft smile on his face. He put one arm around each of his younger cousins’ shoulders.

Pippin leaned into Frodo’s side, breathing in deeply his familiar scent and sighing contentedly.

“No they don’t,” he mumbled.

Merry reached over to ruffle Pippin’s hair and Frodo tightened his grip around their shoulders.

“One year later,” Merry said to the twins, “Pippin was the champion fiddler for his age group at the Lithe Day Fair.”

Pippin lifted his head off of Frodo’s shoulder to nod it firmly. “Yes, it is about time that you finally finished the story properly.”

“And,” Merry cut Pippin off short, “we were able to tolerate having him about again.”

“And I am glad of it.” Frodo whispered with a loving look at his favourite little cousins.

A tremor ran through Pippin as he yawned hugely. “I’m glad of it too, but now I need to go to bed. I hadn’t felt as tired while Elladan was teaching me. I think it has caught up with me again.”

“Then off to bed with you,” Sam said. “You three see to tucking him in and I will bring us some supper.”

Elladan and Elohir smiled after their small friends.

“We shall work upon your harp playing again on the morrow, Pippin.” Elladan called out.

PIppin waved his right arm in acknowledgement as Merry called back, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget. I want to hear how he sounds torturing an Elven harp!”

The cousins all roared with laughter as they walked away, their arms still around each other’s shoulders.

Something Different

It was six days from their parting with Aragorn that the company came upon an unexpected pair of travellers. Saruman, looking much as Gandalf once had, like a beggar in grey or white robes that were now filthy with the dirt of the weary road. Skulking along behind him was Wormtongue.

The former head of the White Council was now filled to overflowing with naught but bitterness and cynicism. During their short conversation with him, Elrond, Galadriel and Gandalf not only heard it in his words but felt it in what was left of his spirit. Although Galadriel in particular had foreseen the possibility of his betrayal, they all were saddened at what remained of the once proud and noble wizard. Gandalf was particularly disheartened to hear Grima muttering to himself much as Gollum had muttered to himself, in the third person as though speaking of someone else. They were both to be added to the long list of those who had fallen victim to Sauron and his Ring. The eyes of all who saw the pair were full of the concern and pity that Saruman disdained as they watched them walk away down the long column of the caravan.

The hobbits were riding together a ways back in the line from Gandalf and the others. They had wondered at the short pause in the progress of the long line of riders and walkers but, as no word was sent back along the line and the pause was of short duration, they didn’t give it much thought. Soon, however, the reason for it became clear as they and the outcast wizard drew abreast of each other. Saruman glared at them before spewing his insults upon them. The hobbits, as had the High Folk at the head of the procession, looked upon the bedraggled pair with pity in their eyes.

All the hobbits except for Pippin. He had begun to feel oddly the moment he set eyes on the wizard and his minion. The feeling reminded him of times in his life that he had seen people or things that . . . that simply weren’t there . . . or were real but were where he wasn’t. Like the times on their perilous journey when he had felt his Aunt Esmeralda was nearby; yet this was somehow different.**

Then suddenly, he was floating again. It had only happened one more time since the day when he had met Mallefinros, and, as upon the other three occasions, he was aware of it. He saw the line of the long entourage of those returning northwards. He saw his earthbound self (who was looking rather blank), Merry, Frodo and Sam astride their ponies about halfway along it’s length. He saw Saruman and Wormtongue. The ruined wizard had a black haze surrounding him, a finger of which reached itself out and spread until its darkness engulfed the part of himself that was aware; until it surrounded the Pippin who was floating.

Visions flashed across his mind’s eye.

Sunshine had at first done nothing. That something was wrong she could easily tell, yet it didn’t feel familiar to her. Was this something to raise an alarm about? Was this something that all she need do was keep a watch over her dear master? This was like but not like his usual bad spells. She hesitantly tugged at the hem of his breeches.

The decrepit wizard had snidely remarked to the hobbits that, “. . . you have all you want, food and fine clothes, and the best weed for your pipes. Oh yes, I know! I know where it comes from. You would not give a pipeful to a beggar, would you?”*

“I would if I had any,” said Frodo.*

“You can have what I have got left,” said Merry, “if you will wait a moment.” *

Merry dismounted to better dig through his saddlebag. He found his leather weed pouch and held it out to the old wizard.

“Take what there is,” he said. “You are welcome to it; it came for the flotsam of Isengard” *

Saruman snatched the proffered pouch of pipe-weed from Merry with a sneer.

”Mine, mine, yes and dearly bought!” cried Saruman. “Well, it will serve you right when you come home, if you find things less good in the Southfarthing than you would like.”*

He eyed them all with a malevolent glare then opened his mouth to speak, but he did not get the chance.

“Awake! Fear! Fire! Foes!”

Everyone within earshot of the hobbits turned in their direction, trying to find the source of the shout. Saruman tightly clutched Merry’s pouch of pipeweed to his chest while his eyes narrowed at the hobbit in the livery of Gondor. Sir Peregrin Took did not return the vile glare, his eyes looked far away and distant, his face was pale; only his words seemed strong.

“Death! Disease! Famine! Destruction!” his words rang out. “Smoke! Pain! Sorrow! Suffering!” A tremor passed through his body. Sunshine whimpered.

“What you have brought down upon them has fallen upon you.” Pippin said quietly, but there was ice in his tone. Convulsing, he fell from his pony to lay writhing upon the ground. Saruman and Wormtongue scuttled off toward the nearby woods while everyone else was drawn to the fallen hobbit.

Pippin’s cousins and Sam were instantly off their ponies and by the lad’s side. Frodo had gone down on his knees, yanked off his Lorien cloak, bunched it up and placed it under Pippin’s head.

“What was all that about?” Merry’s voice quavered with worry as he knelt across Pippin from Frodo.

“I don’t know,” Frodo replied without looking up. He was staying focused on tending to Pippin; he would think more about it all later.

Sam was still standing. He had removed his own cloak and got his water bottle from his saddle bag to be ready to hand them to Frodo when the fit had passed.

“I reckon we will find out soon enough,” Sam said as Elrond, Gandalf, Galadriel and Celeborn’s mounts slid to a halt before group of hobbits. They had heard the loud cry of a voice that was familiar, yet not familiar, and had ridden back along the line to see what was amiss.

“Was it Peregrin who cried out?” Elrond asked as he knelt beside Frodo. He reached his long arm past him to gently rest his finger tips on Pippin’s forehead. The fit was subsiding but the Elf Lord did not move.

“Yes. Yes, he just suddenly called out,” Frodo replied, finally looking over at Merry as though needing him to confirm what he was saying.

“What he said made no sense, though it was spoken clearly,” Merry added as he met Frodo’s gaze. They could see the concern and, yes, some fear, in each other’s eyes.

Elrond had closed his eyes. “Awake, fear, fire, foes. Death, disease, famine, destruction. Smoke, pain, sorrow, and suffering. Those are the things he cried out, were they not?”

“Yes, Lord Elrond, sir,” Sam quietly said. “And a bit more, though he said it quietly and more to Saruman himself as it were.”

Elrond did not respond, so Sam continued. “He said something about what Saruman had brought upon others had befallen him.”

Still the Elf remained silent with his fingertips resting on the youngest hobbit’s forehead. Perhaps a full minute passed before he moved. His fingers gently touched the lad’s cheek as Elrond drew a deep breath and sighed.

“We will make camp now,” he said loudly so everyone standing nearby could hear and begin seeing to the task. He then addressed Merry who was across from him. “This was not a normal spell or fit. Peregrin has never before cried out like that, has he?”

Merry was not the one Elrond usually addressed himself to. Knowing Frodo was the elder of the hobbits, he usually spoke to him. Merry suddenly felt awkward.

“Eh . . . um . . . No. No it didn’t seem to be like his other . . . eh, fits or bad spells, nor has he ever cried out in such a manner.”

Elrond nodded slowly. “He is fevered as well, whereas usually he is cold after one of his fits.”

Frodo looked carefully at the face that was so near his own. He could not read the expression Lord Elrond wore, he only knew that it brought him no comfort. It was almost as though the great healer had expected something like this to happen; yet was surprised that it had.

“I think it best that you all remain here. Do not cover him, Samwise,” Elrond said as he looked at Sam, “unless he begins to feel cool to the touch. I will see to having other’s put your tent up and move your belongings into it.”

“That has already been seen to, Elrond,” Gandalf said, laying a hand upon his friend’s shoulder.

Elrond stood. “That is well,” he replied then turned back to the hobbits. “Get Peregrin and yourselves settled and I will speak with you all after the evening meal.” He looked at each upturned face. “Do not look so worried for the youth nor so perturbed with me,” Elrond said, grinning a soft grin of assurance. “He will be fine and I will tell you all I can.” With that he walked away with Gandalf, Galadriel and Celeborn.

“I’ll worry if I wish to,” Merry said as softly as he could; hoping Elven ears wouldn’t hear him.

“And you had best tell us everything,” Sam muttered.

Frodo smiled wryly at the other’s responses. “Let’s see to Pip, shall we? I think he has cooled off. Help me get his own cloak pulled down so it’s under him and then we can cover him with yours.”

Without further word, the hobbits turned their attention to Pippin.

“They will expect a full explanation, you know.” Gandalf said to Elrond as they walked away from the hobbits. “They have been left uninformed too many times regarding young Peregrin and they have no intention of allowing that to happen again. What do you plan to tell them?”

“As much of the truth as I am able to, and you shall help me. I will not have you sitting back and leaving this all in my hands, Gandalf.”

The two at each other knowingly, then their grins faded.

“How much does he know?” Elrond finally asked.

“Nothing more than rumors and . . .” Gandalf paused and the twinkle returned to his eyes, “. . . faerie tales.”

Later, in the Elf Lord’s tent the conversation between wizard and Elf continued.

“I know the draught of Fangorn has affected young Peregrin. I could sense a change in him almost immediately, and that change has grown. Those channels in his brain, that part of his mind, that the blood of the fey folk in him also touches have been . . . how to say . . . opened? Strengthened?” Elrond thought a moment, decided those words expressed it well enough then continued. “There have been those in past ages in whom the falling sickness somehow opened these channels where they had been closed before, and their people would regard them as wise seers and turn to them for advice and knowledge of distant or future things.”

Elrond looked quizzically Gandalf.

“You say even those Hobbits who carry this gift do not understand it?”

“They barely acknowledge it, my friend. It is regarded as folly even by the majority of the Tooks, the only family in which the blood of the fey folk flows deeply enough to express itself. For it was a Took who joined with a faerie maid in a long past age and it is only a few of their descendants in each generation who receive her gift. Although I will grant there may be a few Tooks who have discerned the truth, but very few and they keep their knowledge to themselves.”

Gandalf sighed, closed his eyes and for a moment rested his lips gently upon his tented fingers. His eyes soon opened, but he did not yet look at his friend.

“One must always bear in mind the insular nature of Hobbits. Not all of them, mind you, but even amongst the bolder families and clans the more open and searching hobbit is an oddity.” Gandalf looked up, but his gaze was distant. “That said, there are those few, mostly Brandybucks, and especially Tooks, who might accept and understand this interesting inheritance, and I’m certain Frodo and Merry would have no trouble with it.”

He finally looked at Elrond with a gentle smile. “I dare say even Sam would accept it now, though, even with all of his exposure to Bilbo and Frodo, I’m quite certain he would have held it as nonsense were he to have ever had someone presenting it all to him as ‘truth’ before he had left upon the quest. Bilbo is half Took and that Took, his mother, was one who carried the faerie’s blood and so had her gift. Although I know for a fact Belladonna was one who did not care to divine the source of her Tookish abilities, nor to give much credence to their existence. That is part of why she fell in love with a stable, and rather stodgy, Baggins. It is also why Bilbo is more Tookish than Baggins-ish, though, of course, he hasn’t the fullness of the faerie blood in him. His dreams and insights came more from his being a friend of the Elves and, of course, from his contact with The Ring. Yet, no denying the bent toward being open to such things was there within him.”

Elrond nodded. “That is all easier to believe than you might realize. Strange as it may seem, even among the Elves there are some of the young among us who now regard the fey folk as more legend than fact, and there is a great deal that is said and believed of them that is exaggeration. Yet, they are like to us as Hobbits are like to Men and they do share certain abilities with us. I sensed it in young Peregrin as soon as Frodo was out of danger and I was able to turn more of my attention upon the others.”

It was the Elf Lord’s turn to become uneasy. He stared into the flickering flame of one of the lamps. “It was the reason for my not wishing him to go as part of the Company of the Nine Walkers,” he said softly.

“And it was why I insisted he be allowed,” Gandalf replied, smiling a knowing smile. “I knew there might be . . . problems. With a Took of any sort there is an increased possibility of problems, let alone one who carries the gift of their ancestor. But, like the fey folk, they seem to have an inordinate amount of what is called ‘good luck’.” He chuckled softly. “Problems he caused indeed, but look at the good that came of them!”

They both sat thinking about the things Pippin had done on the great journey.

“What then do you advise, Gandalf,” Elrond asked, a twinkle brightening his eyes. “In matters of Hobbits I bow to your superior knowledge.”

The Wizard thought a moment as he smiled at the comment. “We know the Ent Draught has, in fact, had a part to play in this. It has opened the paths between his spells and his fey nature. I suggest you put the blame upon the draught of Fangorn, for I do believe it responsible for this public display.”

Elrond nodded as Gandalf continued. “It is not our place to assert as truth to a Baggins, a Brandybuck and a Gamgee something most of the Tooks themselves acknowledge only as jealous rumors and fables started by hobbits of less prosperous and lucky families.” He paused to look Elrond firmly in the eye. “That said, I think you should tell Peregrin.”

He paused again, his gaze changing to look off into the distance. “I somehow think he already suspects. He had some experiences while on the quest. I’m sure of it as I could sense changes in him.” The wizard’s eyes narrowed slightly and he nodded to himself. “Hmm. Yes. Yes, I think that will be best. You should speak with the lad, it will be good if it comes from you. He is unsure of you and self-conscious around you, yet you are now his primary healer. This could open a way for the two of you to become closer. To the others it will be an effect of the Ent Draught alone. If Peregrin later chooses to share his heritage with these closest of cousins and this dearest friend, then that will be up to him; as it should be as it is a matter of his family not theirs. Though Merry is half Took, his mother is a sister to Peregrin’s father and she has the faerie’s blood, Merry is a Brandybuck, not a Took. And though Frodo has Tookish blood he also is not a Took. Such things matter deeply to hobbits. They very much feel that certain family matters should remain within the family and we would be unwise to interfere.”

So it was agreed that naught would be said to the others of that aspect of what had happened to Pippin unless he himself would later choose to reveal it.

Elrond and Gandalf went to the hobbit’s tent after they had had their evening meal. Pippin was still asleep. They pulled their chairs to one side near the brazier that helped warm the inside of the tent; as far from the sleeper as they could be. They took their seats, then simply sat and looked at each other for a few moments.

“You have something to tell us?” Frodo asked, finally braking the uncomfortable silence.

“Yes,” Elrond said firmly as he looked into the eyes of each hobbit. “What happened will most certainly happen again, although I will with equal confidence say it will not happen often.”

He paused to asses how this news was being taken by Peregrin’s kin and friend. Their eyes had widened slightly as they heard this would happen again, but now were more inquisitive than ought else. Inquisitive with a touch of steel.

“It is not unheard of,” the Elf continued, “for the falling sickness to at times open pathways in the brain instead of closing them and for the afflicted person to have visions of distant times and places. Sometimes, they will even experience foresight. Since there had been no such indications in Peregrin previously and since I had not in past examinations sensed any such pathways being opened in his mind by the sickness, I have concluded that this has been brought about by the draught of Fangorn of which he and Merry partook in their farewell from the Eldest.

Sam huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Frodo sat back while nodding thoughtfully, his gaze upon the carpet that made up the floor of the tent. Merry spoke up.

“But you let him drink it, Lord Elrond. You and Strider said he could.”

The healer nodded. “We did indeed grant him permission. It was quite obvious that the draughts you had drunk previously had only done you good. Elessar told me that it they had not only made you somewhat taller but had brought about rapid healing of the hurts inflicted upon you by the Uruk Hai. We both felt that the farewell drink would certainly not endanger Peregrin but might actually improve his condition.”

Merry now crossed his arms before himself. “Some improvement!” he muttered beneath his breath.

“Perhaps,” Elrond said, “not an improvement in that he has obviously continued to have spells and fits, but it has done no injury to him.”

They once more sat in silence.

“He sees things afar off, you said?” Frodo asked without looking up.

“Yes.”

The Ringbearer raised his eyes to meet, not those of the Elf Lord, but the Wizard’s. “What do you think he saw?”

“Elrond and I have discussed this, Frodo, and as I’m sure you’re aware, there is no way for us to know what he saw. Perhaps if we had been there sooner one of us might have had some sense of what the lad was experiencing, but alas, we do not.”

“Will he know?” Frodo persisted.

“He might,” Gandalf replied. “Although, using this rare effect of his condition on others in the past as a guide, it is quite likely that he will either know nothing at all of what he saw in his vision, or will only recall disconnected bits and pieces of it.” Gandalf’s eyes grew thoughtful. “Yet, it may be different in Pippin’s case, seeing as we do not entirely know how this might be affected by the Ent draught.”

Again, they all sat in silence.

“I’m thinkin’ it was home he was seein’,” Sam softly said. “With what old Saruman said to us about things in the Southfarthin’ being less good then we’d like.”

“Perhaps,” Elrond said, as softly as Sam. “We will not deny being aware that the attacks of the Enemy have reached far and wide.”

“Even so,” Frodo said, “it will not change my plans.”

Merry and Sam both raised a brow at this but let the eldest of the hobbits continue without interrupting.

“It may be that he saw the Shire, and it may not. We can’t know. And even if he did, we have no way of knowing if it has already happened, is happening now, or might not happen at all.” Frodo sighed heavily. “We will go to Rivendell and spend some time with Bilbo before we return to the Shire. What we find when we get there we will deal with then. The short amount of delay will most likely make little difference.”

Sam and Merry thought for a few moments then nodded their agreement.

“I am glad to hear your decision,” Elrond said as he smiled. “I would not have relished telling Bilbo that he would not be seeing all of you.” With a glance at the wizard, he and Gandalf stood. “We will leave you now and bid you a good night.”

The hobbits spoke quiet farewells then sat in silence around the brazier.

****************************************************************
A/N Passages marked with * are quotes from the chapter “Many Partings” in “The Return of the King.”

** Things in this paragraph refer, in most part, to events and experiences mentioned in Pearl’s story “While We Dwelt in Fear.”

This aspect of the falling sickness was brought into the story because it used to be thought, in many cultures, that those with epilepsy were seers or prophets. It also fit in well with both a possible effect from the Ent draught and tied in with Pearl's universe with the Faerie Blood in the Tooks, and in Pippin in particular.

A Lot to Learn

Merry lay in his folding bed which was, as was the usual arrangement of their tent, beside Pippin’s mattress which was on the floor of the tent. They weren’t sitting vigil, there really was no need. None of them slept as soundly as they used to and Pippin was usually quite himself when he would awaken after one of his fits.

Although, this had hardly been one of his normal fits.

“Humph!” Merry whispered through his slightly open mouth. “Normal fits! Now I’m thinking of them as normal; as though there is anything normal about having spells and fits.”

He sighed. “Usual,” he thought sternly to himself. “One of his usual fits.” Then Merry sighed again. And now, now there was something else that would be different about his young cousin. “What will happen when we get home?” he thought for what he was certain must be the millionth time. “What will they say to him? Do to him? What will they say and do behind his back?” He sighed again.

“Hobbits!” he muttered sounding for all the world like Gandalf. “If there is a hobbit in the Shire with a heart nearly as tender as Frodo’s it is Pippin. What if this . . . this . . . Quest we’ve been through hasn’t toughened the lad up as much as it seems to have? They’ll crush him with their looks, comments, and jests at his expense.”

As Merry dozed off his thoughts were of how he would do all in his power to defend Pippin against the close-minded, obstinate, uneducated, superstitious hobbits of the Shire, forgetting that at one time he had been nearly as close-minded, obstinate and superstitious as the rest of them.

Frodo was dreaming. The fiery mountain was in the Shire. Hobbits were acting like Orcs. But no. Not all of them were. Some were just acting as though nothing at all was amiss. They gossiped over hedges and worked in their gardens as Hobbit-Orcs walked by cursing and pulling up flowers. In the distance, just on the edge of his sight, a steady stream of what he knew to be barrels of Longbottom Leaf were being hauled away to the south. In the back of his thoughts, like a sound in distance carried on a breeze, He could hear Pippin crying out his words of warning.

Frodo snorted in his sleep, muttered incoherently, rolled over and slipped back into a shallow sleep; his dreams soon turning to dear old Bilbo waiting for them to return to Rivendell.

Sam dreamed of walking into a dank, dark room and finding his Gaffer huddled beside a puny fire in a puny hearth. He looked thin and ever so old and when he turned toward Sam, the eyes that looked at him were sunk with hunger and haunted by fear.

Sam sat up with a start. It took him a few moments to realize where he was, then he looked at Mr. Frodo, and Merry. He leaned over to look under Frodo’s bed to check on Pippin who’s pallet was on the floor between his cousins. When he felt certain the others were resting peacefully, he lay back down and slowly fell asleep. “Must be what Pippin was goin’ on about, causin’ me to have such an awful dream,” Sam thought as he drifted off.

Pippin slowly became aware that he was lying down, all tucked in, with Sunshine’s head just under his chin. Then he noticed that his left side was sore. He must have had a fit and fallen from Blaze, it was the only thing that would explain both his sore side and Sunshine lying with her back tucked up against his chest and stomach and her head nestled below his chin. She only slept that way after he had had a fit, otherwise she would sleep curled at his feet.

Pippin frowned and, without realizing it squeezed Sunshine more tightly. He had had such queer dreams about home. He had heard the Horn-call of Buckland and seen the ominous shapes of the Black Riders as the Call rang out, but he knew that hadn’t actually happened. There had been black smoke hanging in the air rising from burning fields and ugly grey buildings, hobbits who looked haggard and hungry, and people who looked like Men; not just any Men, but Men who looked like ones he had seen with Bill Ferny in Bree and fleeing from the ruin of Isengard. All this he had seen in strangely disjointed swirling images while a strange voice he could barely hear sounded like the voice of doom in the background. Pippin squirmed, hugged his dog a little tighter and sighed heavily; such queer dreams.

“Are you all right, Pip?”

Pippin jumped at bit at Merry’s voice. He nodded, then realizing that Merry most likely couldn’t see the nod, answered, “Yes, Merry,” he said quietly. “I’m all right. I just was remembering some strange dreams I had.” He paused a moment then asked, “I had a fit, didn’t I. Was it a bad one, Merry?”

“Ah . . . well . . .” Merry stammered.

“It was a different sort of one.”

Pippin craned his head around to look towards Frodo’s bed, which was behind him. “Different?” he asked, a touch of fear darkening his voice.

“Different,” Frodo repeated with a sigh. He got up and lit a taper from the small lamp that hung from the center of the tent’s roof and used it to light the lamp on the small table that stood between his bed and Sam’s. He then handed the taper to Pippin who handed it to Merry to light the small lamp on his nightstand. There was no nightstand near Pippin’s mattress, with sleeping on the floor, he had no need of one.

“Sam,” Frodo firmly shook his friend’s shoulder. “Sam, wake up. Pippin’s awake and asking about his fit. I think we should just get up and talk about it all now.”

Sam mumbled a reply, slowly sat up, got up, muttered, “Privy” then stumbled out of the tent. The other three looked at each other then followed him out. When they returned, Sam put the small logs he had grabbed on his way back to the tent onto the embers in the brazier, then used the small bellows to get a small fire going. The four hobbits took up blankets to wrap about their shoulders then sat down around the cozy little fire. Several long minutes passed in silence.

“What did you mean when you said the fit was different, Frodo?” Pippin’s quiet question finally broke the awkward silence.

The lad was looking down at the floor so he didn’t see his oldest cousin squirm a little in his chair as though unable to sit comfortably. Frodo said nothing.

Without looking up Pippin spoke. “Did it seem different to you, Merry, or did it only seem different to Frodo?”

“It was different, Pip,” Merry said softly as he too shifted in his chair.

Sunshine came over to sit beside her master, resting her head upon Pippin’s thigh. He absentmindedly reached out to let the good fingers of his right hand play with the golden, wavy fur on the back of her neck. Pippin looked up at his friends, took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders as he sat up straighter. He always felt better, stronger somehow, when the large gentle dog was under his hand.

“Well, then. Different. It was different. I’m gathering by your eager replies that it wasn’t a good different. What did I do, shout Dwarvish obscenities at Lord Elrond? Gimli taught me some very fine ones while we were in Minas Tirith. He said they might come in handy whenever I felt angry about anything.”

Despite himself, Merry started to grin. He shook his head and huffed a small chuckle. Looking up, his eyes met Pippin’s. They were sparkling with mischief while a bit of fear showed itself in the small creases between the lad’s brows. Pippin’s lips were pulled narrow and firm, ready to face whatever he was about to hear and Merry proudly thought what an interesting young hobbit his former shadow had become.

Merry smiled as he spoke. “No, you didn’t curse at Lord Elrond in Dwarvish, although that would have been interesting to see. Would he have been more shocked at what you were saying than he would be proud that you remembered how to pronounce it all?”

They all relaxed a little, as though they had all let out a unison sigh.

“You did speak, Pippin, but it was all in perfectly understandable Westron. It was what you said that was a bit . . . ah . . . shall we say, disconcerting.” Frodo said.

“Hmm,” Pippin murmured, his expession turning thoughtfully curious. “Disconcerting, eh? What did I say?”

The mood in the tent returned to being serious.

“You recited the Horn-call of Buckland.” Merry offered. “Sort of spoke it in rhythm.”

“Then you said, ‘Death. Disease. Famine. Destruction.” Frodo added. Then Sam finished by adding. “Along with Smoke. Pain. Sorrow an’ Sufferin.’”

“And you didn’t just say all of it,” Merry continued. “You said it like . . . like . . .”

“You were Gandalf making a pronouncement before a large gathering of people,” Frodo finished.

Pippin’s eyes met Sam’s, who nodded his affirmation, adding, “It gave me shivers down my back, it did.” The two friends looked at each other. Sam’s look grew supportive, more than frightened or worried, and he gave the younger hobbit a small nod of his head, which Pippin returned before turning his attention to Frodo.

“Lovely sentiments.” Pippin tried to sound flippant, but failed. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “Was that all I said?”

“No,” Frodo replied with a slight raising of his eyebrows and tilt of his head. “You also told Saruman that what he had brought upon other’s had fallen upon him.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, M . . . Frodo, but that isn’t quite what he said,” Sam cut in. “You said what he brought upon “them” Pippin. That what he’d done to “them” had happened to him.” The gardener blushed as he added, “I said it wrong myself when I told Lord Elrond about it after him and the other Great Folk came riddin’ up. But I’ve been thinkin’ about it whilst I was tryin’ to get to sleep and I suddenly remembered you said “them”.”

The four hobbits once more fell silent.

Pippin’s calm exterior belied the thoughts that were roiling around in his mind. Maybe what he thought had been dreams hadn’t been. Perhaps it was . . . Slowly he realized that he had not dreamed at all, that what he had thought were the dreams of sleep had been the visions brought on by this different fit. A small tremor ran through him and he knew he had somehow seen The Shire, that what he had seen was real. Fear tightened his chest. What should he say to the others?

Then, softly sneaking into his thoughts, he remembered moments on the Quest when he had thought his Aunt Esmeralda had somehow been near him. He thought about the brief visions he had had of Strider tracking the Uruk Hai over the plains when he and Merry had been captives. If it had not been for those visions, he would not have made his dash from the long queue of Orcs to leave his own unsullied tracks and drop his brooch in desperate hope that it would be found. He had even had a few such visions or strong feelings about The Shire while they were still in the White City.

Pippin swallowed at the lump suddenly sitting in his throat.

What should he say to the others?

Merry watched Pippin closely. Slight movements of his eyebrows, small twitchings of his lips were all he needed to see to know that Pippin was working hard to reason things out. Frodo could see the same play of emotions on Pippin’s face, but there was something else. Somehow he knew there were deeper things happening here, that there was something the lad felt a need to keep to himself. Sam’s heart went out to the youngster. It was obvious that he had a great deal going on in his head, Sam could nearly read Pippin as well as he could read his dear master.

“I . . .” Pippin started then stopped. He bent low to hide his face in the back of Sunshine’s neck for a few moments, then he gave her a hug before straightening up, but the fingers of his right hand remained buried her hair. “I don’t really remember . . . all that much.”

He paused again and the others waited patiently. The pause was a small spell and it soon passed.

“I don’t remember all that much,” he repeated. “I don’t remember talking, yet I seem to remember hearing a voice, so I reckon it was my own. I . . . I know I saw things, that’s why when I woke up I thought I had had strange dreams. But . . .” Pippin looked up at the small lamp hanging from the center pole of the tent and let his thoughts be distracted for a moment by its soft, comforting light. He sighed. “I don’t really recall them now, those visions I thought were dreams. I only have a feeling of not liking what I was seeing.” He looked around at his dearest friends before letting his head droop down toward his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, then added, “I’m feeling quite weary.”

They all agreed; they were all feeling weary. Quietly, without further conversation, they went back to their beds, each one knowing full well there was much that had been left unsaid.

When the sounds of the others getting comfortable had faded away, Merry whispered, “Pip? Are you still awake, Pip?” He waited a few seconds then spoke again. “Pippin? You don’t seem as though you are asleep. Are you awake?”

Pippin, his back to Merry, his eyes wide open, did not respond. With a deep sigh, Merry closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, the company was on their way. Elrond occasionally dropped back in the long line ostensibly to talk with the Dunedin although it was noticed by a few of them that the Elf lord glanced often at Pippin. Not that there seemed to be much to observe. Pippin appeared to be his usual self this day. He laughed and jested with his fellow hobbits, as well as any others who cared to join in, but, he did not entirely fool his friends nor Elrond. There were moments when he seemed distracted which their now accustomed eyes could discern were not blank spells.

When the entourage halted for the noon meal, Pippin made immediately for Elladan.

“Elladan?”

His friend had begun to turn toward him even before Pippin had addressed him. “Yes, Pippin?” he replied with a smile.

“Might we have a harp lesson, if there is time?”

“Of course, my friend! That would be a pleasurable way to spend part of our midday rest.”

Pippin smiled brightly. “Wonderful, Elladan. I will seek you out as soon as I am done eating.”

The young hobbit returned much sooner than the Elf expected.

“Did you not eat?” Elladan asked with a chuckle in his voice.

Pippin raised his left eyebrow and looked at his friend as though he questioned his sanity. “Of course I ate, I’m a hobbit, we do not not eat when it is meal time.” Pippin’s questioning look melted into a smile. “I merely ate quickly which, I will say, is somewhat unusual for a hobbit as we place a great deal of importance on properly enjoying a meal. But, I also place a great deal of importance upon music and I wish to have enough time for a proper lesson.”

“Then a proper lesson you shall have!” Elladan replied heartily as he stood, picking up the covered harp that he had brought out from the wagon before he had sat down to eat. The two friends walked off to a nearby small stand of trees.

Pippin had quickly graduated from need to have the Elf sit behind him and guide his fingers. His right thumb and first two fingers had gained new strength and he found that his ability to concentrate was better with learning music than it was with retaining the everyday information of life. The melodies seemed to become a part of him and he could remember and play them with unexpected, and pleasurable, ease. In truth, these were no longer so much lessons as times when two friends shared a gift they loved with Elladan singing as Pippin played.

At first, Pippin didn’t notice that Elrond had at some point joined them, so intent he had been on his playing. When he did notice, he gave a start and blushed.

“You are playing very well, Peregrin,” Elrond gently complimented the youngster. “I hope you do not mind that I came over to listen for a while. The tune you are playing is most restful.”

“I . . . well, no, I suppose it is alright.” Pippin said, some reluctance coloring the response. Then, his attitude changed. Shyly, yet eagerly he asked, “Do you really think I play well, Lord Elrond?”

“It is one amongst many things which you do well, Peregrin Took. I enjoy a goodly number of your jests and I look forward to when you feel comfortable enough with your harp playing to sing as you play. And, although most of your kind have an appreciation for the beauty of nature, you seem to have keen hearing and sight even for a hobbit, noticing many small details which you share with great delight.”

“Thank you!” Pippin replied, beaming with pride as he blushed.

Elrond nodded to his son and the youngling. “I will leave you to your entertainment,” he said, then turned and walked back toward where the bulk of the company were stretching out to enjoy the pleasant afternoon before they would need to pack up and continue on their way.

“I didn’t think he liked anything I did,” Pippin mused aloud without realizing he had done so. As soon as the words left his mouth, however, he was aware they had been said aloud and he looked embarrassedly at Elladan. “Oh my! I’m . . . I’m sorry, Elladan. I meant no offense. I mean, your Father has been most kind to me and my kin and . . . and I, well, I . . .”

Elladan laughed lightly. “Do you think I have not felt the same? As soon as my brother and I were old enough to realize that our Father is a great and highly respected leader of our people, we often felt the same way; wondering if we truly were able to please him.”

Pippin grinned. “Much as my Father is very loving, I’ve ofttimes wondered the same thing about him. I have always seemed to have a penchant for getting into mischief.”

“You will find, if you give him the chance Pippin, that my Father is a caring and kindly person.” Elladan fixed the hobbit with an oddly knowing look. “You would find he is a good person to confide in as well as to seek out for wisdom and insight when life becomes confusing.”

Pippin turned his gaze downward, looking at his fingers as they randomly brushed the strings of the mallorn harp. For a while he said nothing, then, looking up with a sly grin he said, “But I thought Elves were not the best to go to for seeking advice. That they will tell you both yes and no.”

Elladan laughed. “True! That is most accurate. It is a way to maintain our air of mystery. If we say neither yea nor nay, then we cannot be held responsible for the outcome.” His laughter subsided. “That said, the giving of insight and wise perspective is not the same as giving advice. He is more a friend to you than you think, Peregrin.”

“Perhaps he is,” Pippin mused as he looked over to where Elrond sat with Galadriel, Celeborn and Gandalf. Then he shook off his reverie. “Shall we play “The Sun Upon the Meadow Fair?” he asked and the conversation was over as their music floated pleasantly upon the air.

Over the next few days Pippin opened himself to seeing Lord Elrond in a new way. After all, wasn’t he, Pippin Took, friends with a Wizard? Was he not friends with a king? Why should he continue to feel so intimidated by an Elf Lord? So he watched as Elrond spoke with his sons, as he talked to the Dunedin, as he relaxed with Galadriel, Celeborn and Gandalf. Yet still, he kept his distance, speaking himself to the Elf only when the two of them were part of a larger group.

What he saw was someone a great deal like Gandalf, his own father and Merry’s father all rolled into one. Elrond gracefully accepted the homage given to him by the Elves, Men and Hobbits, not puffing himself up over it, as it was his due. Just like Uncle Saradoc and his father did in their positions as Master of Buckland and The Took and Thain of The Shire. Elrond had time for his people, whether great or common. He laughed, he mourned, he comforted. And always his deep love for his sons shone deeply in his eyes. He was a father, a friend and a leader. Pippin could see that Elladan might be right, his father might be more of a friend to him than he had thought.

Elrond began to join Elladan and Pippin more often when the harp was brought out and Pippin found himself minding it less and less.

Finally, near to the Gates of Moria, they took leave of travelling for a week, setting up a more permanent camp. The days were long and easy, the nights all indigo velvet skies dusted with millions of stars. For this was another parting the High Folk were loath to hurry and deep into the early morning hours Galadriel and Celeborn would sit with Elrond and Gandalf sharing the feelings of their hearts and the thoughts of their minds. And sometimes the youngest hobbit would awaken and peer at them from behind a tent drawing a feeling of comfort and contentment just from looking at them.

It was near the end of that restful week and the sun was not yet risen, when Pippin awoke from a restless sleep with a start. Pippin lay awake for a while, then finally threw back his blanket and tiptoed from the tent, that he was sharing with the other Hobbits, who all were sound asleep. Sunshine however followed her Master outside.

The night was clear and warm. Thousands of glittering stars decorated the black mantle that the sky had wrapped about itself. Pippin was still feeling the restlessness that had awakened him. There was something niggling at the back of his thoughts. He knew what it was, he simply was wanting to avoid dealing with it, which of course made it all the more insistent on getting his attention. He and Sunshine wandered around aimlessly for some time when suddenly Sunshine halted and stared ahead of them, her tail wagging. Pippin, who had till then been lost in his thoughts, ran into Sunshine and looked at her startled.

“What´s the matter, lass?” he asked following the dog’s gaze.

Not far off a figure was standing motionless, eyes lifted to the stars and moonlight reflecting from his long, silvery mantle.

Pippin stood still for a moment and just stared at the Elf Lord in wonder.
Elladan´s words came into his head. “You would find he is a good person to confide in as well as to seek out for wisdom and insight when life becomes confusing.” the Elf Lord’s son had said.

Pippin thought about this. Maybe Elladan was right? Maybe his father really could help him to understand what had happened; what had caused that strange, disturbing fit he had had. Pippin had been feeling less nervous and shy around Lord Elrond since that talk with Elladan.

Pippin and Sunshine gradually stepped closer to the mighty elf, but with every step the hobbit felt shyer and more afraid. He knew the high folk were aware of his queer fit, he and his cousins, and Sam, had spoken a little more about it all, although they had not really said all that much. They had related the whole event to him in proper order. He knew Elrond and the others had all ridden up after he had fallen. Pippin also knew all that had been said to the other hobbits while he had still been asleep.

Lord Elrond knew what he had cried out, Pippin suspected that from examining him the Elf knew that Pippin had seen other visions while on the Quest, and Pippin knew he had placed the blame for the strange fit on the Ent Draught he and Merry had shared as a farewell with Treebeard.

But that didn’t account for the earlier visions and the feeling that his Aunt was somehow aware of what was happening. Much of that happened before he and Merry had even met Treebeard, let alone drank any Ent Draughts. It was even before they had taken drinks from the Entwash.

Did Lord Elrond suspect anything further . . . as Pippin himself did?

Pippin stopped and slowly started to back away. Perhaps it was still best not to talk about it.

“It is a beautiful night, is it not, Peregrin?” Elrond suddenly said, causing Pippin to jump.

“Uh-uh . . . y-yes . . . it is,” Pippin stuttered.

Elrond turned around to face him. He was smiling.

“Would you like to join me in my star gazing? I would welcome your company.”

Pippin, still feeling shy and ill at ease, moved to stand next to Elrond. Sunshine laid down at her Hobbit´s feet.

“Do you see those five stars sitting low on the horizon, to the south and west?” Elrond asked, pointing towards the sky.

Pippin nodded.

“The elves call them “The Jewels of the West.” They stand for the beauty of the spring that follows in their wake after they first appear in the skies of late winter. Then they stay to give their blessing to the summer, to the season of growing. They soon will be gone until their time to dance in the night sky comes again.”

Pippin looked at the constellation then after a few moments pointed at another one that was also low in the southern sky, but to the east.

“What is that one called?”

“The Whispering Eagle,” Elrond said with a smile. “The Eagle is the bird of the soul. He flies in the winter months when ofttimes the soul needs strengthening through the gloomy months while Arda can appear to be dead and barren. It is said that sometimes those born during the months when he flies the night skies can hear him whisper the ancient secrets of Arda deep inside their soul.”

Pippin felt his hands start to sweat while his heart began to pound strongly.

“I was born during those months,” he whispered aloud without realizing he had done so. A little louder he asked, “Do you believe in this, Lord Elrond? The whispering I mean? Or is it . . .” Pippin paused. His thoughts were trying to wander, as they did so easily now. With effort, he kept his mind on the subject at hand. “Is it just some old legend, that some madman thought of?”

Elrond’s brow lifted in surprise at the lad’s choice of words; at his use of the term madman. The Hobbit did not see the look of concern come over the ageless face.

“I believe that most old legends have at least a seed of truth in them,” Elrond answered. “And yes, I also believe that some people can hear and see more than others can.”

“Is that . . .” Pippin hesitated. Nervously he played with a button on his nightshirt.
“. . . a bad thing?”

“It is a gift,” Elrond stated simply.

Pippin looked at him with big eyes. “It is?”

Elrond sat down on the grass and motioned for Pippin to sit across from him.

“You have heard, I’ve been told, about an old legend that tells about your own kin. That once there was one of your clan who took a fairy as his wife?”

Pippin looked at the ground, he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

“That’s nonsense,” he mumbled. “Fairies are only in stories for children.”

Elrond chuckled softly. “The same is often said of dragons. And oliphaunts.” He paused and, even in the starlight, Pippin could see the twinkle in his eyes. “Indeed, it is said by some to be the truth concerning Ents and the strange little people known as ‘halflings’.

The halfling lad and the elven lord both smiled a knowing smile, acknowledging the truth of the statement.

“Yes,” Pippin added, humour adding more lilt to his voice, “and many of the strange hafling folk even say that of elves.”

The two chuckled together.

“True, young halfling, quite true,” Elrond conceded. “There are even some among the youngest elves who doubt the existence of many of these, fairies among the rest, since they themselves have never seen them. They question whether there are Ents, oliphants, dragons or Hobbits. Yet, the truth is that, like these others, fairies are not merely beings in stories told to children, Peregrin. The fey folk are as real as you and I are. They avoid being seen, as Hobbits themselves avoid those you call Big Folk. But just because something is not readily seen does not mean it is not there.”

Despite the lightness the conversation had had moments before, it was now feeling weighty once again. Pippin kept his eyes averted. “So you are saying the legend is true? The one saying a Took once married a fairy?” he asked after a moment of silence.

The Elf Lord looked down at the Hobbit with warm, caring eyes.

“What do you believe, Peregrin Took, deep inside your own heart?” he asked in return.

Pippin lowered his face into his good hand while his other hand slipped around his dog’s shoulders. He started to rock slightly as tears welled up in his eyes. Sunshine made a soft, comforting noise in her throat and snuggled up closer to him.

“I-I . . . I don´t want to be a-any more d-different, then I already am.” He stumbled over the words. He was tired of differences and his frustration made his voice sound angry “I’m crippled. I-I have the f-falling sickness. And n-now you are telling m-me I have this . . . this . . .”

Gently, Elrond drew the young Hobbit’s hands away from his eyes and dried some of his tears. He had expected fear from Pippin. This frustrated tone pleased him. Frustration showed the lad was ready to be strong; to not cower and hide but to take charge of himself.

“This fairy blood you have in your veins. Yes, Peregrin, and the different sight that it brings. It is a rare gift; a treasure.”

The eyes of the elf lord looked seriously into the hobbit’s green eyes. In them he saw some fear mixed in with determination.

“But . . . the things I see, the visions, they scare me.”

“Yes, I can understand that. It is not always easy to be able to see things.”

“Will it always be that way?”

“Visions can be many things. They can show you bad, as well as good, things that may happen. Frightening one time, comforting another, while other times you will see things that you will not know if they bode ill or fair. But, whatever they show you . . . they are always an opportunity. An opportunity to change what is going to be or an opportunity to warn.”

“Have you ever had …” Pippin started asking, but trailed off into silence, not knowing if this question might be too personal and maybe offend the Elf.

“Oh yes,” Elrond said. “I have had visions . . . and I still have them.”

“How did you learn to live with your visions?” Hope and the glint of determination flared up in Pippin’s eyes.

Elrond held Pippin’s gaze a few moments, then he looked away, into the distance as though he might, at that moment, be having a vision. It was the gaze of far seeing memory.

“The first time I experienced a vision, I was young by the measure of Elves, and frightened just as you are now. But in time, and with guidance from a mentor, I learned how to read them. I learned to use my gift for the benefit of those I love and those I care for. I will not lie to you Peregrin. It was not always easy and it needs time to learn how to live with them without fear. However you, Peregrin of the Tooks, have courage and strengh in your heart, that is of an infinite value. I feel you will learn quickly.”

“You truly believe that?” Pippin asked in wonder. “Even with the troubles I have because of the falling sickness?”

“I do.” Elrond gently answered. “And if you wish it, I will be your mentor in learning how to bear and use your gift.”

Pippin nodded. “I would like that,” he said, his gratitude showing in his voice.

For some time there was a silence between them. Pippin was pondering about what he had just heard and Elrond knew the Hobbit needed some time to think through all the information he had just received.

“Is the Shire in danger?” Pippin asked suddenly. “I have had a few dreams since that fit . . . dreams of the Shire in which everything is so dark there, painful and burning. Yet, it is also much like the siege of Minas Tirith and I’m never too certain which place I’m seeing.”

“I cannot tell for sure Peregrin. It is the way of the gift to sometimes show things that have gone before as well as things that are to come and it is not always easy to tell the differences. Nor is it always clear if you are seeing what will be or what might be.” Elrond sighed and looked up at the stars in the sky to the north and west where the Shire lay. “But I too feel that there still is a ways to go in ending the effects of Sauron’s evil; that there is still a battle to fight for you and your kin.”

Again, there was silence between them. Pippin’s eyes were dark and he stared at the ground, not knowing what to think of this.

Sunshine licked his hand and yapped softly. Pippin looked her in the eyes and suddenly knew that whatever awaited them in the Shire, they could . . . he, could and would manage it. They had gone through so much already to save Middle-earth and the Shire…and it would all be saved.

He looked up at Elrond with determined eyes and the wise eyes of the elf lord smiled at him knowingly.

“The sun will start to rise in just a few hours,” Elrond said. “I think you and I should get some rest.”

Pippin nodded. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Both, the Elf and the Hobbit stood up, but before Elrond could turn to go, Pippin grabbed his sleeve.

“Thank you,” he said. “I feel much better now, and . . . well, I was scared at first, but I am glad I took Elladan’s advice. It was the right thing to do, to trust in you. Thank you for that.”

“You are very welcome, my friend,” Elrond said. “And, he added with mischievous smile. “I hope you will no longer feel so shy around me.”

Pippin gave him a big grin. “I can assure you of that.”

“Good night then, Peregrin,” Elrond said and still smiling he turned around, going off in the direction of his tent.

Pippin stood for a moment longer, then made his way back to his sleeping quarters, silently crept into his bed, and fell into a deep slumber within seconds of his head resting upon his pillow. Sunshine curled at his feet and if someone would have looked closely, he would have seen a smile on her doggy features.

Two days later the parting of the company who were heading for the north and those heading for Lothlorien came. The Elves of the Golden Wood left from the place of the week long encampment, and the Hobbits, Dunedin and the Elves of Rivendell watched until they could no longer be seen; their grey cloaks melting them into the scenery. The hobbits all sat watching, wanting home while wishing for one more look upon the land of the Golden Wood and its fair Lady.

They rode along the edge of the Misty Mountains until, in the evening of eighth day after the parting, they were upon a high moorland. Merry and Pippin were riding at Gandalf’s right hand, the three friends all chatting happily when Gandalf looked more carefully about himself.

“I think we shall soon see our destination, my lads. It should, if memory serves, be just over that bit of a rise that you can see about half a mile ahead of us. Just beyond are the cliffs of the deep valley where lies Rivendell.”

“Did you hear that, Merry?” Pippin turned to face his cousin.

“Yes, we’re nearly there.”

“That must be a lovely view, wouldn’t you think? Looking out from the edge of the moor, seeing the Last Homely Home nestled down in the valley . . .”

Merry gave Pippin a sidelong look. He knew the tone in his cousin’s voice and it didn’t bode well.

“Pi . . .” was all the protest the elder hobbit got out of his mouth.

“Race you, Merry!” the younger gleefully cried and, putting his heels to Blaze’s side, was off in a flash; Sunshine in full pursuit, barking furiously.

“Peregrin Took! Stop at once!” Merry screamed as loud as he could. “You could have a spell or a . . .” His shoulders sagged and a sigh escaped him. He turned to the wizard with a shrug. “I may as well have a good gallop. He can’t hear me now anyway.” Merry set his heels to Stybba. “Let’s get them!” Gandalf heard him cry out as the pony sprang away.

In a short span of minutes Merry was reining his mount to a sliding stop beside Pippin, Blaze and Sunshine, both he and Stybba breathing heavily.

“Admit it Merry, it was fun.” Pippin said without looking at his cousin.

“I . . . yelled at . . . you to stop.”

“I didn’t hear you, though I wouldn’t have stopped even if I had.”

“I thought as much.” Merry paused to take another deep breath. “Yes, it was fun.”

“And fun, my dear Meriadoc, is important. It lightens the spirit and improves the circulation. Quit staring at me and look at the view.”

Merry had been staring at Pippin, hating to admit to himself that the hard gallop had brought a lovely glow to the lad’s face. He finally looked at the view. It was awe inspiring to see as the setting sun already threw the far side of the deep cleft into darkness.

“You will need to move closer if you wish to see my home.”

Both hobbits turned to see Elrond and his horse coming up beside Pippin. The three of them walked their horses forward until their forefeet were a mere three feet back from the precipice. Down below, the warm lights of the Last Homely House twinkled in the gloaming near the valley’s floor. Lights glimmered in the trees as well.

“Did you ever think we would see it again, Pippin?” Merry whispered.

“I admit, Merry, I had my doubts.” Pippin sighed in response.

Elrond gestured downward although the movement was lost to the hobbits as their eyes were fixed on the welcoming dwelling.

“Yonder come some of my household to welcome us and light our way, as soon this side of the dell will also be in darkness.” He looked over at Pippin and Merry. “Come, my friends. Tonight we will eat a proper supper and we all shall sleep upon comfortable beds.”

The hobbits looked up into the Elf’s smiling face with smiles of their own.

“Only after we see Bilbo.” they said in unison.

“Yes!” came the voices of Frodo and Sam.

“Can we please move along, Lord Elrond?” Frodo asked, his tone a bit beseeching.

“Of course, my friends. Follow me.”

With that, Elrond turned his horse to the trail and the long line of weary travelers followed him as he gradually disappeared below the edge of the cliff.

In the House of Elrond Half-Elven

Bilbo Baggins sat by the fire in his old comfy chair in his snug little room in the Last Homely House. He chuckled a bit at the name. “Hardly the last such place east of the sea. Old Elrond was putting on airs a bit I think. I’ve heard there are a good many homely dwellings to the east of Imladris.”

He released a heartfelt sigh as he gazed into the fire. He thought of places he had been and places he had only heard of. Places near and places far. Places his lad had wandered off to; he and Sam and the rascals. He chuckled softly as he thought about the four of them. They had wandered far afield, those lads, and would soon be here, if the talk going around the large dwelling was correct. First in his head then, without realizing he was doing so, out loud, Bilbo began to sing.

“I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall ever see.

For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring
there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago,
and people who will see a world
that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door.”*

He dozed off as the last line left his lips. In his dream he seemed to hear what he had just sung about and suddenly had that queer feeling one gets when being stared at. He opened his eyes to see his four lads standing about in front of his chair, looking lovingly down at him.

“Hullo, hullo!” he said. “So you’ve come back? And tomorrow’s my birthday, too. How clever of you! Do you know, I shall be one hundred and twenty-nine? And in one year more, if I am spared, I shall equal the Old Took. I should like to beat him; but we shall see.”**

“Yes, we shall, and I’m certain you shall indeed equal and pass him, Cousin Bilbo!” Pippin enthused, a big smile brightening his face.

Bilbo cocked his head to one side and laughed. “The Tooks will be after you for a traitor, Pip lad. Speaking such a heresy!”

“Pippin has learned a lot on our journey, Uncle,” Frodo said as he bent to hug the old hobbit. “He knows the Bagginses are the better hobbits.”

“At least these two Bagginses!” Pippin and Merry said in unison, and they all laughed.

“What’s this?” Bilbo asked after catching his breath and finally taking a good look at his nephew and the others. “You all look as though you just got off of the road.”

“We did, Mr. Bilbo,” Sam replied. “Seein’ you was more important to us all than takin’ time to freshen up.”

“Tsk, tsk!” Bilbo clucked his tongue at them. “Off you all go and get yourselves set to rights and I’ll ring for some refreshments for when you come back to my room.”

The four didn’t move, so Bilbo swept his hands at them as though to sweep them out of the room. “Quit standing there staring at me as though you have never seen and old, crotchety hobbit before. Off with you all! You are dusty and smelly and not at all in the proper condition to be paying a social call. What would Dora say?” He tried to sound stern, but his eyes twinkled and a grin tugged hard at the corners of his lips. “Just don’t fall asleep in your baths and forget to come back.”

“We won’t!” they all replied and jostled each other on their way out of the door.

Bilbo did manage to ring the bell and give his request for food and drink for himself and four other hobbits before he himself dozed off. The lads had to wake him up to dine with them when they returned to his room, but he did stay awake to eat with them. The old hobbit said nothing, but he did notice that they were all a bit different. There was a depth even to their gaiety, and a hint at times of . . . something Bilbo could not quite put his finger on. They had changed. And Pippin, he noticed, spoke a bit more slowly and his attention wandered from time to time as his own was wont to do, though not in quite the same way.

“Ah well,” he thought. “There will be time enough to find things out.”

Bilbo’s, and Frodo’s for that matter, birthday dinner was held during the next day’s noon meal time as the old hobbit wasn’t as alert in the evenings. It was a grand affair, being a combination of the celebration of the birthdays and a welcome home for Lord Elrond and the others who had gone with him to Minas Tirith. The finest of Elven and Hobbit fare was served with special attention paid to providing the favorite dishes of the guests of honor.

During the entertainment after the meal, Bilbo was having difficulties with staying awake. It irritated him that he would doze off so easily, and that was the main reason he spent so much time in his room. However, he sat up straighter and made a concerted effort at staying awake when Elladan and Pippin rose to stand together before the head table as two servants set two stools behind them.

“Elladan has been teaching me to play the harp, Cousin Bilbo,” Pippin announced in his high, clear voice. “And we decided we would like to sing and play a song for you and Frodo for your birthdays.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened for a moment and in his head he pictured a small Hobbit lad playing a very loud, raucous fiddle. Then he heard Frodo, who was sitting beside him, chuckle. He looked at his nephew.

“I know what you are thinking about, Uncle Bilbo, but don’t worry. He already knows how to play it.”

Bilbo smiled as he sighed with relief.

The two musicians took their seats, looked at each other, nodding slightly to set the beat, then began a beautiful ballad. The two harps and two voices wove in and out of each other with only the different pitches and timbres of the voices and instruments distinguishing one from the other. Elladan took the lower notes with a voice as rich and warm as a mid-summer’s day. His harp flowed languidly along like a slow summer river. Pippin’s higher tones added a brightness like the greens of spring time; his harp flitting about like a warbler in full voice.

Until it simply stopped. For a measure, the Elf sang and played alone, then he too quit. The room was heavy with quietness.

Bilbo had been starting to doze when the silence jerked him to his senses. He gazed at the pair sitting before him. Elladan simply sat there, patiently looking at Pippin. Pippin was staring strangely off into the distance. His left hand had traveled upwards to toy with his scarf, his head tipped to one side and he seemed to be muttering to himself. This lasted for what seemed a very long time, leaving Bilbo increasingly confused as no one made a move to help the lad except the big golden dog that went everywhere Pippin went. Sunshine had walked out to her small master and now sat at his side leaning against his left leg.

With a slight startle Pippin’s head straightened up. He played a few wobbly notes, then picked up with the song where it had stopped; Elladan did the same. When they finished, they stood, acknowledged the applause of their audience, then bowed to the guests of honor.

Taking a cue from everyone else at the head table, Bilbo acted as though nothing strange had occurred.

“A beautiful tune, my friends!” He called to them as he applauded.

“Thank you for your generous response,” Elladan said with a smile and a nod, first to the elderly hobbit and then to his Father. “We are glad that our offering pleased you all.” He turned to Pippin, who was also smiling, although he looked somewhat tired, and quietly added, “Will you come with me to put the harps away?”

The youngster nodded and they left the hall with Sunshine staying very close to Pippin’s side.

Bilbo turned to his nephew, a look of concern mixed with anger in his eyes. “What was all that about, Frodo? I’ve the feeling there was a good deal more to your adventures than you have told me thus far.”

Frodo felt the red of embarrassment creep up his neck and onto his face. “Yes, Uncle. Yes there is more, but . . .” Frodo nodded toward the open floor where a small group of Elven dancers were getting into position, “I think there is a little more entertainment planned. I promise we will talk of it with you later.” He gently patted the old hobbit’s hand. “Don’t be worried for Pippin. He will be just fine.”

Bilbo was not really content with that answer, but let it go for the moment and began to watch the dancers. However, while watching the graceful elven movements he quickly fell asleep and was carried to his room when the dancers finished. It wasn’t until later that evening that Frodo and the others, Pippin included, were able to tell him about some of the less pleasant moments from the Quest. Merry and Pippin told of Boromir’s death, of their capture (without the nastier details), and of their parting after the incident with the palantir. Bilbo commented that their account helped him fill in more of the gaps in what had happened with “poor deluded Saruman”.

Frodo and Sam told of meeting up with Gollum, the struggle through the Emyn Muil and the Dead Marshes, and a little about the journey to the Morgul Vale.

It took a long while, in fact they had had to pick the conversation up again the next morning, as Bilbo kept dozing off; something which annoyed him greatly.

“Most of the time it is no bother at all, seeing as I spend much of my day here in my room with my books and thoughts. But it is the most irksome thing when I do wish to converse with someone,” he sighed. “Here it is past elevenses and I still don’t know what happened to young Peregrin here.”

“We’ll simply jump ahead then, shall we?” Pippin stated more than asked. “It was decided to march off to the Black Gate, as a distraction you see, in hopes that it would help Frodo. Merry was hurt and could not go, so I went as a soldier of Gondor and to represent the Shire. This horribly nasty person had come out of the Gate and told us . . .”

Pippin paused and looked at Frodo and the others, unsure of what he should say at this point in the tale. Frodo gave him a small nod, which Pippin returned before taking a deep breath and continuing.

“He had the mithril shirt and some other of Frodo’s things and he said that Frodo had been . . . had been . . .”

“That I had been taken and killed,” Frodo finished to help the lad out.

Bilbo’s eyes widened. His right hand rose to his chest and started to gently massage where his heart was pounding within him. He stared long at his beloved heir, then slowly at the other lads. His had been no easy adventure. Theirs had been so much worse. When his gaze settled on Pippin, the lad continued.

“Yes, he said that, and when we formed lines to fight, I put myself in the front. A troll came and over powered a friend of mine who was next to me, then stooped to kill him. The man has a son, and they are my friends, so I stabbed the troll to keep it from killing Beregond.” A wry grin came to Pippin’s face. “All well and good, right thing to do and all that, but I really hadn’t expected to kill the beast. I was so surprised when it started to fall that I forgot to get out of the way. It landed on top of me and smashed me beneath itself.”

Pippin held up his right hand, wiggling his good fingers and thumb while his ring and little fingers stayed curled. “Two of my fingers don’t work at all. I have a bad knee and I have the falling sickness from going too long with barely enough breath to keep me alive. Other than that, I’m really quite well.”

It had all come out in a rush and seemed to hang in the air.

Bilbo nodded sagely. “That explains a good deal.” He paused to yawn. “It appears you all went through some terrible things.” Bilbo sighed quietly as he sadly looked at each of the lads. They all had changed, he could see it in their eyes. He wondered what else those eyes had seen, what other things they did not want to bother him with. When he looked into Pippin’s eyes he saw the lad was gazing into the distance again. Bilbo then glanced at Frodo, who gave him a sad smile.

“He is strong, Uncle.”

“That he is,” Bilbo murmured. “All of you are,” he added, before another yawn escaped him. Exausted from all he had heard, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

The others sat in silence for a few moments.

“Do you think he really understands?” Pippin softly asked.

Frodo nodded. “Yes. Yes I think more than we expect him to. But I do think he no longer wishes to dwell on harsh things, or sad things. If you recall, the only things that have seemed to stir him, or keep him awake,” Frodo added with a chuckle as he looked fondly at Bilbo, “were when we spoke of Lorien, the honors that were given to us, and Strider’s coronation and wedding. He keeps fallling asleep through the rest of our talk.”

“I’m thinkin’ you’re right, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said. He had easily slipped back into the formal address with being around Mr. Bilbo. “I’m thinkin’ he knows there was bad times but he would rather hear of the wonders we’ve seen.”

Merry stood up and stretched then went over to Bilbo to lay a lap robe over his elderly cousin’s legs. “Well, I’m in need of a walk about the gardens. Anyone else want to come along?”

Sam and Pippin rose to follow but Frodo waved them off.

“I think I’ll sit here and nap a bit myself,” he said through a yawn. He was asleep almost before the door closed after them.

For several days after that, the subject of the Quest and the War were not discussed. The peace of Imladris was all around them all, begging to be enjoyed. The hearts of everyone were given more to being filled with relief, joy and gratitude, even though the Elves knew that for them this was the beginning of the end of their time in their beloved Middle-earth. Those concerns would wait for another day, now was the time to appreciate the beauty of the birth of a new age.

Sam loved to spend time in the gardens. He puttered alongside the Elves, learning as well as teaching the ways of plants and those who tend them. There were ways Hobbits had with potatoes and mushrooms that the Elves did not know and they were glad to learn new things. But even in that place of beauty and peace, Sam would have sudden stabbing thoughts of his Gaffer and his siblings. Were they well? Whatever would they think when he came riding home? Was Rosie waiting for him, or had she accepted another? He would close his eyes and sigh, reminding himself that he would know the answers soon enough, somehow knowing it was not yet time to leave Rivendell.

Frodo spent nearly all of his time with Bilbo, patiently going over everything the old dear had been writing in his books. In between readings, he would simply sit and watch his Uncle as he snoozed in his chair, thinking his own thoughts about what had been before, what had transpired in the last year, and what was to come for both of them. He had a feeling deep inside his soul that they would not be in Middle-earth much longer, but the manner of their leaving was unclear to him.

Merry spent time with the head herbalist, as well as in the map room; that is when he wasn’t keeping an eye on Pippin. He had to keep reminding himself that the lad couldn’t be in a better, safer, place and that he needn’t be an old mother hen. Yet, he couldn’t shake his feelings of responsibility for his young cousin. He just wasn’t sure of how much he could let the lad go. It had always been an issue, and now, with Pippin’s condition . . . Merry would sigh and return his attention to what the herbalist was showing him.

Pippin was feeling as untroubled as he had in a long while. He was also feeling more troubled than he had in a long while. There was a freedom in Rivendell that was hard to put one’s finger on, a safety - even from the falling sickness. It was as though those things weren’t all that important in the realm of Elrond Half-Elven. Yet, he did have worries and concerns and as he and his healer became closer, some of them rose to the surface of his thoughts, demanding to be discussed.

“And so, the best thing to do after you have one of your ‘seeing’ spells is to insist on time alone.” Elrond was saying to Pippin during one of their talks. They were outside in a garden filled with late blooming plants enjoying the lovely bright autumn sunshine shining out of a deep sapphire blue sky.

“You will need to have quiet in which to recall all you are able to, and to give it thought. Meditate upon the images and sounds of your vision. You may not understand it fully, that is not the point, but you will at least have a surety of what you saw and will be able to recall it later should the events unfold.”

Elrond smiled at the youngster. “You have had some smaller visions, haven’t you? Even before your injuries?”

“Yes,” Pippin replied, feeling suddenly shy. “Yes. Not many, nor often, but yes. I had one of Strider tracking the Orcs when Merry and I were captives. More often, though, it is only a feeling of someone being near to me when I know they are far away, and then only when someone is hurting or in danger.” He looked up at his mentor. “Merry’s mother to be more precise. I . . . I have had those feelings, even as a child, that she was near by when Merry or I were badly hurt or frightened. She is my father’s sister and a very Tookish Took. We even look a great deal alike, she and I. I am thinking that, well . . .”

Pippin paused and looked away. This all was still very strange and awkward for him to talk about. As true as he knew the matter was, it still seemed like just so much nonsense when spoken aloud.

“I think the faerie blood is strong in her too.”

Elrond nodded even though he knew Pippin was looking elsewhere. “Yes. I am sure you are quite correct. Gandalf suggested as much to me, as well as saying that he thinks she suspects the truth of the tale herself and knows she has the gift.” Elrond paused and smiled as Pippin looked up at him. “He also said that Bilbo’s mother was a Took in whom the faerie’s blood flowed, which was why he choose him for the journey with the Dwarves.”

Pippin chuckled at that. “Yes, he wanted the adventurousness of a Took, but not the troublesomeness of a Took, so he sent a Took modified Baggins.”

The two friends laughed together, then Pippin spoke again.

“Will I be able to have children, Elrond?”

The change in topic caught the Elf off guard. “I should think it is obvious that you will. Those with the faerie blood have obviously had offspring. You most certainly shall be able to father children, baring any other . . .”

Elrond stopped in mid-sentence as his eyebrows raised with his sudden understanding. Pippin’s eyebrows also rose as he inclined his head toward his healer in a gesture that said, ‘Exactly’ before a rush of red colored his face and he looked down in embarrassment.

“I shouldn’t have just blurted that out,” he mumbled before continuing a little stronger. “I’m the heir to The Took and Thain of the Shire, and well, although it isn’t like being a king or even an Ernil . . .”

Pippin looked up long enough to share a sly glance and a wry grin with the Elf Lord before once more looking at his nervously entwined fingers as they lay in his lap.

“Not that sort of important, but it is important to the Tooks and the other Hobbits of the Shire. I’d like to be able to comfort my father, if only a little bit. My condition will be hard enough for him to come to grips with, I’m afraid. It will be nice to have something good I can tell him.” The youth looked up again. Hope, fear, pleading and determination mixed together in his green eyes. “So, I will put my question to you again; will I be able to have children?”

“Do you fear passing the falling sickness on to your offspring?”

Pippin blushed more deeply, his discomfort showing in his posture and still fidgeting hands. “Well . . . no. I, eh . . . I think, since it came upon me from an injury that that won’t be an issue.” He looked up quickly. “I am right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

Pippin nodded and let out the breath he was holding as he looked back at his wringing hands. “It is more . . . eh, that I was wondering about . . . well . . .” He took a deep breath and looked Elrond straight in the eyes. “I’ve not been with a lass, if you take my meaning, but I’ve heard it is rather exhilarating and I know if I get very angry or really excited or really tired out, it can bring on a fit and so I’m worried that I won’t be able to do it.”

The hobbit sort of shrank into himself as his concern now hung in the air between them. His gaze went back to his hands in his lap.

“Not that we hobbits are normally all that shy about talking about such matters, mind you,” he muttered. “But you aren’t exactly another hobbit.”

Pippin did not expect the reply he received.

“Come with me, Pippin,” Elrond said as he stood. “There is an Elf I have been meaning to introduce you to, and I think this is the time to do so.”

Pippin hurried along after his mentor. They went to the building where the weavers worked, going straight to one of the few male Elves who were sitting at the large floor looms.

“May we interrupt you, Findecano?” Elrond enquired as the Elf turned to see who had come up beside his loom.

“Of course, my lord. How may I help you?”

Pippin noticed that the weaver-elf’s Westron was good, but stiff sounding from lack of use.

“This is Peregrin Took,” Elrond said as he placed his hand upon Pippin’s shoulder. “One of the Company of the Ring, as I’m sure you are aware. Pippin, this is Findecano Amandil.”

The Hobbit and Elf nodded to each other.

“I am at your service, Peregrin Took of the Shire,” Findecano said.

“And I and my family are at yours,” Pippin responded.

“Findecano was seriously injured in battle many of this world’s years ago, Pippin,” Elrond said. “As you know we Elves do not become ill in the manner of mortals, but we can suffer injury and be left to deal with it’s effects. Findecano became afflicted with the falling sickness from his injury as you did from yours. He has a lovely wife who he met and married after his injury. They have three children.”

Elrond smiled as he saw looks of understanding passing between the weaver and the small soldier.

“I think you can be of more help to this brave Knight of Gondor, at this time, than I can, Findecano.” With a nod to them both, Elrond left them to become better acquainted.

The two sat together on the bench, one with his feet dangling while the feet of the other worked the bars of his loom. To the gentle rhythmic sounds of weaving a friendship was formed, and Pippin’s concerns were allayed.

Meal times were the only times that Bilbo left his room, always leaving early enough so that, even with the slow pace of his walk, he was always in his seat at his table when the servers appeared with the food. He no longer sat at table with the Elves of Imladris, as he could not clamber up to either sit upon cushions nor into the tall chair that had been made for him when he had first come to dwell in the Last Homely House. He had a table and chair that was Hobbit-height. The table was big enough so that if one or more Big People wished to visit with Bilbo, there was plenty of space for them to sit on the floor and have room for their plate, bowl and cup upon the table, and usually, there were a few Elves taking their meal there. For now, while his kin were there, the extra space at the table was taken up by Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin; all seated in proper Hobbit sized chairs with Hobbit sized plates and silverware.

“I really wish they hadn’t bothered with the what they see as Hobbit sized plates and bowls,” Merry said durning luncheon one day. “The servers could be saved some steps if we used the bigger plates.” A wicked grin grew on his face and he waggled his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t need fourths or fifths if I had the bigger dishes.”

“Hear, hear! Well said, Meriadoc!” Frodo said as he touched his cup to Merry’s. “We really should take that up with Lord Elrond.”

Pippin laughed happily. “‘Twould be like eating off the serving platters at home! Ma never lets me do that.”

“As well she shouldn’t!” retorted Bilbo, an unconvincing look of shock on his face. “Whatever would proper folk think?”

“That her son can eat his way out of a full pantry.” Sam said as though under his breath, but definitely loud enough for them all to hear.

They were all laughing heartily when Pippin felt Sunshine tug at his sleeve. He picked a piece of chicken off of his plate and offered to her on his palm.

“All right, lass. Here you are, but you really should wait, you know. I always save you a treat.”

Sunshine whined and tugged again at his sleeve.

“Really, Sunshine. This is excellent chi . . .”

Pippin suddenly realized that the light in the large dining hall looked too bright and the sounds of conversation around him were like sounds when he would swim under the surface of the Brandywine; all muffled and distorted.

Sunshine had tugged on his sleeve.

She hadn’t nudged his thigh with her nose as she usually did when begging.

Pippin stood up, still feeling as though he was underwater. Slowly, slowly he flowed away from the table. Slowly, slowly he floated to the floor.

He would not remember landing upon its delicately inlaid wooden surface.

To the others, everything happened very quickly. Pippin jerked up from his seat, then ran for three or four strides, taking him out in to the open area of the large room, where he appeared to dive headlong into the floor, twitching and convulsing as he went.

Merry, Frodo and Sam were beside him in an instant, moving as fast as only hobbits can, and Elrond was there mere seconds later. Bilbo sat frozen in place. He hadn’t even begun to react by the time his lads were up and across the floor. Useless! Old and useless! Never before this had he so begrudged getting old. His heart reached out where his arms couldn’t, every ounce of him holding the writhing lad with his loving, worried, thoughts. Bilbo could see Pippin’s face as he thrashed, pink tinged froth upon his youthfully smooth cheeks, whites showing where the lovely green eyes should have been. Finally, the convulsions slowed and, as the small body relaxed, a dark stain marred the front of the lad’s breeches. Elrond wiped the bloodied froth from Pippin’s face while gently brushing the lad’s hair away from his eyes.

Bilbo had heard of such fits, of course. He understood the implications when Pippin said he had the falling sickness, but he had never seen someone having a fit. “The poor dear lad!” he cried out as tears followed the wrinkles in his face, working their way down to his chin. “The poor dear lad,” he repeated more softly and kept repeating as Frodo enveloped him in a hug, rocking him gently as though Bilbo were the young one, not Pippin.

A pallet had been brought. Merry and Sam helped Elrond move Pippin onto it then they followed as two Elves carried him off to his room. Frodo looked up and caught Sam’s eye, but Sam motioned for him to stay with Bilbo as he and Merry followed after Pippin.

*************************************************************
*Poem from “The Fellowship of the Ring”; chapter “The Ring Goes South”

**From “The Return of the King”; chapter “Many Partings”

The Road Home

Frodo supported Bilbo as they slowly walked to the old hobbit’s room. They did not speak. Bilbo was tired and overwrought, and spared his energy for the task of walking. Frodo let him keep his silence. When they got to his room, Frodo helped Bilbo undress, helped him on with his nightshirt, then settled him, sitting up, on his comfy bed.

“Horrible,” the elder hobbit sighed as a shiver went through him.

Frodo sat on the edge of the bed. He reached over and patted Bilbo’s thin, trembling hands. “Yes,” he softly said. “I won’t say we’ve got used to it. I’m not sure one ever gets used to it. We have all got to where we don’t let it upset us any longer, as that accomplishes nothing. It does no good at all.”

The two held each other’s eyes for a moment, then Frodo continued.

“The fits will come just as his spells and bad spells will come. They will come and go and what is important is that we keep him from harming himself while they are happening and that we give him our support when they are past.”

“I should have asked more about it,” Bilbo berated himself. “There just seems to be too much for my old mind to deal with these days, and after the last time we spoke, I . . . well I’ve just not thought of it again.”

“Quite all right, Uncle,” Frodo smiled as he clasped Bilbo’s hands and gave them a squeeze. “In some ways, Pippin prefers it that way. A minimum of fuss. He’s become weary of being fussed over.” They both chuckled lightly. “He is better than he was. He has an elixir that Elrond devised for him that has done very well at lessening the occurrence of both the spells and the fits. And, even though the Ent Draught that he and Merry drank in farewell to Treebeard has caused some odd things to happen, I will say I think he is having fewer of both his spells and fits since then.”

Frodo looked at Bilbo and smiled. The old dear was starting to drift off again.

“He is brave and has a merry heart. He will be fine, dearest Bilbo.”

“A merry heart . . .” Bilbo murmured and he grinned as he fell asleep.

“They will all be well,” Frodo murmured to himself, meaning his cousins, Sam and Bilbo. He increasingly wondered about himself though. He had done some reading and some inquiry, while in Rivendell, about Celebrian. Her husband, Elrond, had done all he could to heal her but it was not enough and she had had to go into the West. He fingered the jewel that Queen Arwen gave to him, he thought of her other gift; her place on a ship going into the West. Sometimes he felt he would have no need of it . . .

. . . other times he wasn’t so sure.

Pippin woke around dinner time. He was still very tired and thinking a bit slowly from the harsh fit. He drank some beef broth then quickly fell back to sleep, the empty mug still in his hands. Merry, who had handed Pippin the mug, took it out of his hands before gently patting the lad’s curly head. In the quiet hours of the early morning Pippin awoke again, suddenly alert from a deep unremembered dream. Somehow, he knew he had had a bad fit earlier that day. Perhaps it was because of how tired he was, perhaps it was his unsettled thoughts, or perhaps it was how closely tucked against him Sunshine was.

Merry was sprawled in a chair between the bed and the hearth, sound asleep. Pippin smiled. Yes, it must have been a strong fit as the others no longer bothered staying that close by after his more usual ones. It pleased him that, even though Merry was in the room, he wasn’t right next to the bed nor hovering over him. He liked that they were no longer, what he felt was, overreacting to his condition.

“Come along lass,” he said to Sunshine as he rolled to the edge of the bed then sat up. He and the dog toddled off to the privy, for Pippin, then out into a part of the garden outside his room for Sunshine. Then they both went back up onto his balcony to look out over the valley, bathed in the light of a blue-bright moon.

Pippin rubbed, scratched and tousled Sunshine’s ears with the good fingers of his right hand. They were in easy reach as she sat beside him. He thought of how important she was to him. Memories of Mallefinros and Parsow, Beregond and Bergil, Strider and Arwen, of his other home now far to the south swirled happily in his mind.

He thought of how far he had already come. Not in distance, though far in that way as well. No, it was how far he had come in growing up, in dealing with what life, fate? destiny? had handed to him. He was a very different Peregrin Took than the one who ran off on a great adventure with his older cousins and dear friend. Different in so many ways . . . good as well as not so good.

Which, he wondered, was the whole matter of the faerie?

“Good or bad, Sunshine?” he asked the dog without looking at her. “Is that a good or a bad sort of different? I think, somehow, you know all about it as there is something not exactly the usual dog-like about you.”

Pippin looked down as she looked up. She gazed trustingly into his green eyes as he looked searchingly into her brown ones. A wee shiver ran through him.

“Yes, you know.”

“She knows what?”

Pippin jumped at the sound of Merry’s voice coming from close behind him.

“Oh you’re a good one, Merry!” he panted. “Make me swoon or have another fit or something while you’re at it.”

It showed how much the elder hobbit had grown accustomed to the lad’s condition that he was able to see that his younger cousin was joking.

“Fine. Swoon. Have a fit. Naught I haven’t seen before. If that’s all you can do, you are a poor form of entertainment.”

They laughed together, and it felt good and easy and freeing.

“She knows what?” Merry finally asked again.

Pippin turned to lean on the railing and stare out over the valley.

“That I’m different,” he said so quietly that Merry almost couldn’t hear him.

Merry leaned on the railing beside his cousin. Sunshine pushed her way in between them, nudging Merry until he reached down and scratched behind her ears. He felt, as he had a few times in the past, a calm and comfort flow from the big golden dog into him. “Of course she knows he’s different,” he thought, “she is too.”

“Yes, you are Pippin,” Merry said aloud. “No secret there. You’re a Took and they are all a bit odd.”

“Hmm.”

“Are you worried about it?”

“A bit. I mean there is good different and, well, not so good different, and there are times now that I’m not sure which I am and which is which.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort, I’m different now too. Actually, according to most of the hobbits of the Shire, I’m as different as you. I’m one of those odd Brandybucks who had the gall to leave the Shire and live between the River and the Old Forest.”

They both huffed softly, smiles on their faces.

“But yes, you are even more different now, and again so am I. So is the heir to Mad Baggins and Gaffer Gamgee’s son ‘what’s been ruint by spendin’ too much o’ his time with them Bagginses’,” Merry said in an excellent imitation of the speech of rustic hobbits. “We always have been different, Pip, and we always will be.”

“True.”

Nothing was said for several slow minutes.

“Is it odd that some folk are . . . well . . .” Pippin breathed deeply then let it out with a sharp huff. “We’ve met some odd folk, folk that back in the Shire would be called magical folk. Do you think they were good different or bad different?”

Merry smiled. “Which ones do you mean, Pippin? That’s rather like lumping Bilbo and Frodo in with Lobelia and Lotho just because they are all Bagginses. You know as well as I do we’ve met magical folks who are good and some that were as bad as bad can get.”

“Hmm. True. You’re right, it doesn’t work to try to do it that way.”

They were quiet again. An owl hooted off in the distance and a breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. Merry’s mind was working hard at figuring out the puzzle that Pippin was presenting. Why was the lad asking about this? Ah! The strange fit that the Ent Draught had caused?

“Is this all because of that odd fit you had when we met Saruman on the road? Elrond said it was because of the Ent Draught.”

Pippin startled, but did not look at his cousin. “What? Oh! Yes. Yes, it’s because of that. I, eh . . . I’m different now. Well, different again, or more different, or . . . something.” The lad let out another big breath. “Blast it all! There is more to it than that. Elrond told me. Gandalf knows. But it is Took business and not their place to say anything. I’m about to drive myself mad with needing to tell you but being terribly afraid to. You’ll . . . I’m thinking you will think I’m mad. Gone ‘round the bend. ‘Poor mad Pippin! Has the falling sickness and addled brains. Should hide the poor lad away lest he . . .’”

“Pip!” Merry cut him off. “Whatever you are babbling about I will never, never, ever say you need to be locked away unless you start running about naked and challenging trees and rocks to sword duels.”

He had expected Pippin to laugh a bit at the strange picture that conjured up, but he didn’t. Pippin turned toward him, grabbed both of his arms, his green eyes filled with a pleading look that was part desperation.

“It’s true,” he fiercely whispered. “It is all true and your Mum is one as well and so are some of the other Tooks and no one knows because we don’t even believe it ourselves, but Gandalf thinks your Mother knows and he told Elrond Belladonna was one and that’s why he picked Bilbo to go with the Dwarves, and you are my best, dearest friend . . . no!” Pippin finally paused to breathe. “No, you’re my brother. None closer or dearer. And you need to know that it’s all true.”

Merry’s mind truly was spinning now. He was trying his best to straighten all of this out while Pippin kept staring at him with that desperate, pleading stare. His Mum? Belladonna Baggins? Pippin? Tooks. His brain stopped as though he had hit a wall at the thought of the Tooks. Odd Tooks. Strange Tooks. Tooks that ran off and had adventures. Tooks who hadn’t come back, and sometimes stranger still were the Tooks who had come back. And what was it that was always said, in whispers by some and in jeers by others?

A knowing light came into Merry’s eyes. He stared more deeply into Pippin’s eyes and the strange pleading look vanished. He was drawn into those sparkling green eyes.

“Yes! That’s it, you know. You mustn’t say anything,” Pippin’s voice flowed like golden honey in Merry’s mind. Floating. Surrounding. Guiding. “But I had to have you know. I needed you to know so when those types of fits come, you will know what it is that is happening. You mustn’t say anything.”

The strange feeling lifted and Merry was looking into a concerned looking pair of green eyes. The odd sparkle in them had vanished. Pippin blinked and swayed on his feet. His hands slid from Merry’s arms as Merry reached out to steady him.

“Tired, Merry. I’m tired now.”

Merry walked him to the bed and eased him down. He tucked him in and sat on the bed beside him, holding onto Pippin’s left hand. The lad’s eyes were already closed, his breathing starting to slow. Merry leaned forward to kiss his cousin-brother’s forehead.

“I believe you, and I won’t say anything to anyone, Pippin. I won’t let anyone shut you away either. Rest easy, dear Pip. Rest easy.”

A peaceful smile graced Pippin’s lips, his fingers tightened on Merry’s hand, then he was sound asleep.

The next day the peace and beauty of Rivendell reigned once more. Pippin was relaxed, Bilbo probed no further. The four lads and the old hobbit relaxed, ate, talked, ate, sang, ate, walked in the gardens and ate. Soon it was announced that the four wanderers had decided it was time to leave the Last Homely House and go home to the Shire.

Bilbo called them to his room. He did not feel up to the large farewell party and send off that was planned. The weather had turned cold, his joints were hurting and all he wanted was to stay near the cozy fire in his room.

“A few quiet moments with those dearest to my heart,” he told them.

He gave Merry and Pippin each a beautiful pipe, with pearl mouth-pieces and bound with silver which the Elves had made for him. Mathoms in the finest sense. Sam got a small bag of gold, “Almost the last drop of the Smaug vintage,” Bilbo said, “May come in useful, if you think of getting married, Sam.”* Sam blushed as he accepted his gift.

Bilbo gave Frodo the mithril-coat and Sting, apologizing for not being able to find them, forgetting Frodo already had them. He then gave him three volumes of his books of lore, bound in red and labelled “Translations from the Elvish, by BB”*. He also told Frodo to take all of his notes and papers concerning his journey and life. “You see, I haven’t much time for the selection and arrangement and all that. Get Sam to help, and when you’ve knocked things into shape, come back, and I’ll run over it. I won’t be too critical,”* he said.

Frodo assured him that he would return, and with that Bilbo fell asleep.

The next day Gandalf and the hobbits stood before the main entrance to Imladris as the household all bid them farewell.

Elrond laid his hand on each of the hobbits, speaking a blessing over each one of them. He spoke somewhat longer to The Ringbearer, and Frodo looked a bit sad when the Elf Lord stood back. Thenk Elrond raised his hand and spoke.

“This I say for all of you, the four of you who have done so much:

May you all be brave, and have the strong heads to think with, and the strong hearts to love with, and the strong hands to work with and the strong feet to travel with and always come home safe to your own.

This blessing has been said over young Peregrin many a time, I give it now to you all. You are well prepared for your lives in your homeland. You have all become strong in many ways, ready for the time when you will be leaders in the Shire. Although most of my people will soon be leaving Middle-earth, know that you will be in our thoughts and that we will be sending you our continued blessings.”

The four hobbits solemnly bowed to Lord Elrond, mounted their ponies as Gandalf mounted Shadowfax, and they left the valley of Rivendell.

Most of the journey home was pleasant. It was nice to take their time and to not be pursued by the forces of evil. Everything along the way seemed fairer and more full of colour than it had a year ago. Yet the journey was not without grief. Frodo had a difficult time of it at the Ford of Bruinen and again as they passed Weathertop. Darkness fell upon his heart and evil memories plagued his mind. But this did not last and each time by the next day he was as jolly as the rest of them.

On a wind and rain swept evening they came to Bree. They had a long wait at the gate and had the feeling that, had the gate-keeper not recognized Gandalf and seen the others were hobbits, they may not have been let in at all. The gate-keeper had carried a large, sturdy club.

Their welcome at The Prancing Pony was the same. Nob shouted out that, “They’ve come back!” and old Barliman rushed out with a club in his hand. After scolding Nob for not “giving old friends their names”* they were welcomed into the inn and given their old rooms for free. After a good and filling supper, served in the parlor of their rooms instead of the nearly empty common room, the old innkeeper joined them for a smoke and a talk.

What they heard troubled them. There had been trouble in Bree from the time they left with Strider till the present. There had even been some folk killed at the turn of the new year, including two of the town’s hobbits. Barliman’s business was down as people were staying home in the evenings and the only travellers on the road were ruffians and trouble makers that the gate-keepers turned away at the gates.

However, Barliman was greatly encouraged by the news the wizard and hobbits brought. News that the Rangers had returned, and that there was now a king who would be bringing peace and order to Middle-earth. A bigger wonder was that they said this new king cared about the north-lands.

“. . . it will be good for business, no doubt. So long as he lets Bree alone.”*

“He will,” said Gandalf. “He knows it and loves it.”*

“Does he now?” said Barliman looking puzzled. “. . . What’s The Pony to him, or mugs o’ beer? Not but my beer’s good, Gandalf. It’s been uncommon good, since you came in the autumn of last year and put a good word on it.”*

“Ah!” said Sam. “But he says your beer is always good.”*

“He says?”*

“Of course he does. He’s Strider. The chief of the Rangers. Haven’t you got that into your head yet?”*

Barliman finally got it and was amazed. But for Sam the best was yet to come. The mention of Strider had brought back to Barliman’s mind the last time the hobbits had been there; the time they had left with Strider.

“That pony as you bought, well, it’s here. Come back all of itself, it did.”*

Sam was ecstatic and would not sleep until he had gone to see his old friend Bill.

The next day and night the travellers stayed in Bree, visiting with folk in a very full common room in the evening. But they were anxious to get home and so set off the following morning with a large crowd of Bree folk gathered along the street to see them off and wish them safe journey.

Barliman wished them good luck, adding that, similar to Bree, things had not been good in the Shire over the past year.

“But if I may be so bold,” he added, “you’ve come back changed from your travels, and you look now like folk as can deal with troubles out of hand. I don’t doubt you’ll soon set all to rights. Good luck to you! And the oftener you come back the better I’ll be pleased.”*

His parting words put a bit of a chill into the group as they rode off toward the Shire with Bill the pony happily trotting along beside Sam. They kept up a quicker pace than they might have other wise, soon coming to that place along the road where they had said their farewells to Tom Bombadil. Here, Gandalf left them. He had said earlier in the day that he wished to visit with Tom.

“He is a moss gatherer, and I have been a stone doomed to rolling. But my rolling days are ending, and now we shall have much to say to one another.”* the old wizard had said. They had come to the place where they would at last part company.

Frodo sighed and wistfully mentioned that he wished they were going to visit Tom again. But Gandalf encouraged them to continue on their way. “If I were you, I should press on now for home, or you will not come to the Brandywine Bridge before the gates are locked.”*

The hobbits all stared at Gandalf as though he had lost his mind.

“But there aren’t any gates.” said Merry.*

“There weren’t any gates, you mean,” said Gandalf. “I think you will find some now.”*

The astonished hobbits listened as the wizard told them that they could expect trouble ahead before assuring them that they would “manage all right.”* He told them good-bye, turned Shadowfax and was gone like the wind.

And suddenly it was just the four of them on the road again, like it had been a little over a year ago, only this time they had Bill the pony with them as well. It felt strange, as though, perhaps, all that long year had been a dream and they were waking up. Although that was obviously not right. There they sat upon ponies from Gondor and Rohan; Frodo and Sam dressed in the finery of foreign lands, Merry and Pippin in the livery of knights of Rohan and Gondor. No it had not been a dream and Frodo it was who spoke up and said that to him the other had all become so real, that this, that coming to this place on the road, seemed like the dream.

They sat there, suddenly a bit reluctant to move on.

What would they find when they got to the Bridge? Would they find it barred and gated as Gandalf had indicated they would? Barliman had said there had been troubles in the Shire as there had been in Bree. People had been killed in Bree, had hobbits been killed in the Shire as well? Would they be greeted with the same looks of fear that the gate-keeper, Nob and Barliman had worn on their faces as they took their first peeks at the travellers?

Merry was anxious to get on with it. If there was trouble in the Shire, if there was now a gate barring the road across the Brandywine Bridge, then there was certainly trouble in Buckland as well. His father, his people, needed him. Yet doubt tugged at his heart. Would the four of them be strong enough?

Sam’s eyes grew steely. If folk were that afraid in Bree, then they were most likely just as afraid in the Shire. He’d been worrying about his Gaffer for awhile now, Rosie too for that matter. He thought of what he had seen in Lady Galadriel’s mirror; the Shire being torn apart and ruined, Bagshot Row dug up and his father pushing his few belongings down the road in a barrow. It was time they found out what really was happening back home. Then his mind was weighed down. Had everything he loved, excepting Mr. Frodo, been destroyed?

Frodo’s thoughts went straight to Lotho Sackville-Baggins and his bitter mother Lobelia. He wouldn’t put it past either of them to be a part of whatever mischief was abroad in the Shire. But, he himself really was quite ready to be done with discord and strife. He had lived through all the darkness he cared to, and more. He had wanted to come home to peace and quiet; the serenity that was the Shire. He sighed heavily. What were they heading into? He had dreamed dreams, seen visions . . . he prayed they were wrong.

Pippin thought all of this and more. If there was trouble in the Shire, if the ruffians and ne’er-do-wells that had been in and passing through Bree had gone to the Shire . . .

What would he and the others do? More specifically, what could he himself do? He had had dreams and visions that had shown him a horribly damaged Shire. Hurt and hungry hobbits, ruffians that looked like the Men he had seen in Isengard. Would the terrible sights prove true?

Pippin looked at his hands, at his sword hanging on his right side instead of his left. He looked down at Sunshine, the dog who went with him everywhere because he had spells and fits. What would he face in a troubled Shire, and what would he face when the troubles of others were past, seeing as his own troubles would never go away? His head lowered to his chest as he began to despair of being able to do or be anything.

“May he be brave,” Pippin heard the voices of dear friends in his mind. Strider, Parsow, Gandalf, Elrond, speaking in unison. “. . . and have the strong head to think with,” Pippin raised his head. “. . . and the strong heart to love with, and the strong hands to work with,” he put his right hand over his heart while his left reached across to grasp the hilt of Troll’s Bane. “and the strong feet to travel with and always come home safe to his own.” He could feel his feet in the stirrups. He was nearly home. Peregrin Took sat tall and straight in his saddle.

“We will be fine,” he said aloud, breaking the group’s thoughtful silence. “Strider and Elrond, old Gandalf too, have sent us home with their blessings upon us. We will all be just fine.”

Sam, Frodo and Merry all sat up straighter; Merry and Sam’s hands strayed for a moment to their sword hilts. They had indeed been sent home with the blessings of the greatest people in Middle-earth going with them.

“Then let us go home.” Frodo said the words simply, with calm determination.

They set their heels to their ponies and trotted off down the road towards the Brandywine Bridge, and Buckland, and the Shire beyond.

Finis

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A/N: All quotes followed by * are taken from the chapters “Many Partings” and “Homeward Bound” in the book “The Return of the King”.

A/N: Please don’t despair, dear readers. This is only the end of “The Blessing” in this form - that of one contiguous story. The story will be continued as stand alone vignettes in “The Blessing” universe. These will be posted in chronological order so the story will flow properly.

We don’t know when the first vignette will appear, as we both need a break from The Blessing at the moment. However, we hope you will all keep an eye out for when we post the vignettes. Golden and I have been thrilled and honored to have so many people reading this story.

Thank you all so very much!

Golden and Pearl Took