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Chapter Three: Peregrin

Pippin was sitting on the hilltop, his pack cast to one side. He gazed around as the morning unfolded about him. But it was blurred with his tears. Far away, the sea glistened brightly and the crests of waves dotted the vast blue landscape. The little hobbit squinted to see if he could make out the ship on the horizon. But it was long gone. Pippin gulped and clutched at his scarf, curling his fingers in the soft material.

Frodo had abandoned him. Or at least, that it what he believed. He was not quite sure. He was not used to being alone. And he did not want to face this alone. Frodo had left them all. What if now, one by one, all his friends left? Sam and Merry might try and follow Frodo. And Pippin was terrified of being left behind.

"Why did you have to go? You must have known we loved you and how much we wanted you to be happy. We could have taken care of you," he said quietly.

He was tired of having to understanding and be strong so that he would be considered able for adventures. That was all behind them now. So why had Frodo left? Because of the Ring. Why else? It had been the cause of all the world's misery. It had rained death upon innocent people. It had made Frodo leave. Darkness had claimed so very many. All for power. To have dominion over all others. Pippin scowled to himself. He had seen the men at Minas Tirith- like ones without souls, doomed to remain with the living. War destroyed whole cities of good people and for whatever cause, war could never be worth all those lives. Frodo had been a true hero. Even in saving the Shire, he had not wanted blood. In Pippin's eyes, he had grown as wise as Gandalf. No one would understand better than Frodo had this moment. But he was the very reason Pippin was grieving.

Maybe, if all that was true, Frodo had not abandoned them. Instead he was making the last self-sacrifice of his life. Now the Ring no longer haunted the Shire. It had finally burned out. Pippin lowered his eyes to the dry earth, He wanted Frodo to live forever. He wanted him to tell the hobbit children wonderful stories. He wanted him to grow old and let his laughter ring throughout Hobbiton. He wanted him to have stayed. But perhaps Frodo could not do all those things. At least, not this time.

Pippin shouldered his pack and looked back to the hill. A little piece of worn paper fluttered at its summit, waiting for the wind to carry it to Valinor.

'Dear Frodo...'

~ A.J