Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Chapter Three: The Portrait Gallery 

“So, you are telling me that you’ve developed too much sense to have an adventure?” Pippin stood aghast, staring at Merry in shock. “But…but you’re the one who pointed it out!” he sputtered.

Merry rolled his eyes, folding his arms and glaring at his cousin. “I know, Pip, but think about it. We’ve just had a war. People don’t have adventures after a war; they go home and enjoy having nothing to do for awhile.”

“But the war ended months ago!” Pippin wailed. “I’m tired of having nothing to do. And anyway, how do you know what people do after a war? We’re hobbits, Merry, we’ve never fought in wars before!”

Merry sighed and shook his head. “Really, Pippin, all I’m saying is that Aragorn told us to leave well enough alone, and I think we should. You even said so, out in the garden. What made you change your mind?”

Pippin grimaced and flopped down on the hearthrug. “Boredom. All we do is sit around or stand guard duty, when we’re not at feasts or Queen Arwen’s dance parties. I’ve given it careful thought, and I think that we should explore a little. Aren’t you curious?”

Merry didn’t answer, just sat dangling his feet off the edge of the sofa and staring into the fire. It wasn’t that he did not want to explore, but there was something lethargic in him telling him that after all the adventure they’d seen in the past few months, they hardly needed to see any more. He understood that, being a full-grown hobbit, but Pippin was still a tween, and a Took besides. It was an irrational combination.

“Look,” he said at last. “Just leave it until the masquerade ends. Then, when things are really boring, we’ll have something to do.”

Pippin shrugged, and popped up as a knock sounded at the door of the study they were in. It was one of the maids, come to tell Merry that King Eomer and several of the Rohirrim were waiting for him in the great hall. Pippin was left lying on the floor, staring glumly at the dancing flames.

If Aragorn had done anything, it was only to make him more curious than he already was. Why wasn’t Aragorn curious, anyway? It was, after all, his own home now. Pippin would have turned the Citadel upside down if it had suddenly become his. The only thing that Pippin could think of was the possibility that Aragorn had already been to Minas Tirith. But that was impossible. He couldn’t possibly be that old, he looked like he was in the prime of his life. Pippin stood up and marched from the room. There was nothing for it. If Merry was not going to explore with him, than he would explore by himself. All he had to do was find the doorway to-

“Pippin!”

Pippin stopped and turned, trying not to look annoyed. “Hullo, Legolas.”

The Elf was wearing a leather apron over his clothes; for what, Pippin could not imagine. “Sam and I have found some overgrown greenhouses. Would you care to come and help us in them?”

Pippin sighed softly; he had no excuse ready at hand to throw at his friend. “Sure. It’ll be fun, I suppose.

*****

Working in the greenhouses was enough to put the unused wing out of Pippin’s mind for a time. By the evening of the next ball, he had different things to think about, namely, his costume for the masque. He was supposed to dress in his finest, so of course, Frodo and Merry became complete tyrants, insisting that he dress with utter care in his Citadel uniform, brush his hair to the point where it gleamed, wash his face, scrub behind his ears…Pippin finally bolted when Merry decided that his curls needed a trim. He sought refuge with the Evenstar.

“You look perfectly fine, Pippin,” Arwen assured him, once again smiling down at him from the table she was standing on, having the hem of her skirt pinned up. It was an old dress, one she had come to Gondor with, but the hemline was bad for dancing. Pippin turned in a full circle before her, arms held out for her inspection. Arwen considered him seriously, and nodded. “Yes, you look very good, a veritable prince of the land. Are you willing to act as my page again today?”

“Of course, if you want me to,” Pippin replied. “What do you want me to do?”

“Tell me stories of the Shire. I’ve been wanting to hear them for ages,” Arwen replied.

The rest of the afternoon was quite pleasant; Pippin told her about some of his and Merry’s exploits in the Shire, and taught her several songs. By the time they left for the ball, Pippin’s cousins had given up on him.

The second masquerade was just as spectacular as the first had been. It was something that they would have to introduce in the Shire, Pippin thought as he watched the grand courtiers dancing. Candlelight, swirling music, the aromas of food and fine perfumes…maybe it was too grand for the Shire. There was a huge band-no, they called it an orchestra here. Pippin felt dazzled and slightly overwhelmed by the colors and the number of people.

“Who’d ha’ thought there were so many grand people in Minas Tirith?”

Pippin looked over at Sam, who was sitting near to him, and grinned. “Shocking, isn’t it? I expect they all hid in the mountains during the war.”

“Or else they all came out of the woodwork,” Merry agreed, filling his pipe. “Surely they can’t all have been soldiers.”

Pippin shrugged and sat back. His seat was quite comfortable; he had set himself in the Steward’s seat, and was lounging on Faramir’s cushion with a mug of ale. The rest of the company was dancing, and he rather envied them.

“Oh for a Shire lass,” he sighed, and his fellow hobbits groaned.

“Not this conversation again! Come on, let’s find something to do,” Merry said. “And nothing forbidden,” he added with a swift look at Pippin. “Just some good clean fun.”

“I suppose that rules out mud slinging, then.”

They looked up; Eomer stood beside them, splendid in his finest clothing. He had the sort of look on his face that always caused Frodo to quickly lock up anything valuable.

“Hullo, Eomer,” Merry said. “How are you?”

Eomer grinned down at the hobbit. “Let’s see if we can’t induce the others into a game of sorts. I have one planned.”

“What sort of game?” Frodo asked.

“I’ll tell you when we have Aragorn and company gathered in the corridor.”

It was like Eomer to prey on curiosity, Pippin thought as they scurried around the dance floor, tugging on coats and gowns and whispering to their friends to meet them in the corridor straight away. It was very hobbity of him.

It took the four hobbits and Eomer nearly twenty minutes to round up Aragorn, Arwen, Legolas, Gimli, Eowyn, Faramir, and Gandalf. They gathered in a corridor off the main hall, out of the sight of prying eyes.

“Alright,” Eomer said cheerfully, when they were all assembled. “We’re going to play a game.”

“Oh heaven,” muttered Eowyn, and her brother elbowed her gently.

“It’s a very old game,” Eomer continued, “And a very entertaining one. Everyone hides and one person must find them all.”

This was met by a mixed chorus of groans and laughter. “Hide and seek?” Merry said in disbelief. “I thought that was a hobbit game!”

“Oh it is. And a Man game, and an Elf game, and I dare say a Dwarvish game. I can’t say anything for wizards, though,” Aragorn replied, grinning at the hobbit. “I’m game for it; there are countless places to hide in the Citadel. Who will be the seeker?”

“Not I!”… “Surely not me”… “You can be it, Eomer, it was your idea.”

“I’ll be it,” Gandalf interjected, and they all paused to stare at him. He met their stares keenly. “Wizards do not hide.”

Pippin snickered, and earned a hard elbow in his side from Merry. Gandalf just shook his head. “Are there any objections? No? I’ll give you five minutes, then. Go!”

For a few seconds there was general confusion, as everyone turned and sprinted off in opposite directions. Pippin found himself running at full speed down the darkened corridor, separated from everyone. Or almost everyone. He heard footsteps pounding along right behind him, and glanced over his shoulder to see Eowyn coming up behind, pale green skirts flying as she ran.

“Come on, Pip, we’re winning this game!” she gasped, and they ran on together.

Soon enough, they were well away from the ballroom, turning into a long empty hall that neither had been in before. There were windows with heavy-looking drapes at either end, and the dark shapes of paintings on the walls. Moonlight streamed though one set of windows, giving everything a strange blue light. Pippin and Eowyn walked down the corridor slowly, looking around.

“What is this place?” Pippin whispered.

“A portrait gallery,” Eowyn replied. “We have none in the Mark, but I’ve heard of them before. The portraits of royals and their families hang on the walls, so that they will not be forgotten.”

Pippin nodded. “Yes, we have one in the Smials. My home in the Shire,” he added quickly, seeing Eowyn turn to look at him. “We have paintings of our ancestors going back for generations, but I won’t bore you with the details. We should probably find a hiding place.”

‘Yes, we should,” Eowyn murmured, looking at the pictures as they continued to walk down the gallery.

There were a great many portraits, all of well-dressed people from days gone by. Kingly men and beautiful women stared down at the two newcomers in haughty pride, their painted eyes shining. Eowyn shivered and grabbed Pippin’s arm. “Come on, let’s walk faster. I’m almost positive that Gandalf’s five minutes have passed.”

“Most likely,” Pippin replied, speeding up to match her longer stride. “I think I see an alcove or something over there.”

He pointed to the left side of the gallery; there was indeed an alcove. They ducked into it, pressing back until they were in the very darkest corner. Pippin found that he had the added advantage of hiding behind Eowyn’s skirts, and arranged them to suit his liking.

“Stop that,” muttered Eowyn, laughing softly. “Using me to hide, are you?”

“Yes, but it isn’t that comfortable. I’ve a hinge digging into my back,” Pippin replied.

Eowyn looked down at him, and then at the wall he was leaning against. “There’s a door here!” she whispered in surprise. “Where in Middle-earth can it lead to?”

Pippin felt a strange sensation in his stomach, half of excitement, half of fear. He knew exactly where that door led. “It’s probably to the unused part of the Citadel,” he whispered. “Strider said it hasn’t been used in ages.”

Eowyn was silent for a moment, and then there was a rustling sound and Pippin felt a lock of her hair fall down and brush his cheek. Eowyn had taken a hairpin out of her fancy bun.

“What are you doing?” he whispered nervously. “Are we going to get in trouble?”

“Pippin, from all of the stories Merry has told me about you, I thought that was the last thing you would ask,” Eowyn muttered, leaning forward and inspecting the door’s handle. “I’m going to pick the lock.”

Pick the lock she did, with a few choice pokes and one good twist. Pippin watched in silent admiration, mentally noting that he would have to get Eowyn to teach him how to do that before she went home. The lock clicked loudly in the silence of the gallery, and they both jumped. A tread further down the gallery caused them both to jump again, and Eowyn prudently pulled back from the door. She and Pippin ducked back into the shadows again as Gandalf came walking slowly down the gallery. He paused when he got to the alcove, and looked in on them with a wry smile on his face.

“Why am I not surprised that the old portrait gallery attracted the two of you?” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve won, by the way. I’ve found everyone else. Come along, they’ll be wanting to play another round. Oh, and I should warn you against hiding in the same place twice. It would not be a wise choice.”

Pippin and Eowyn glanced at each other guiltily behind his back. Had he heard the lock click? The wizard said nothing, though, and they continued back up the gallery in near silence. Pippin gazed at the portraits again as they passed, staring back at the noble faces. One suddenly caught his eye, and he stopped.

“Gandalf, who is this?” he called.

Gandalf came back to him, followed by Eowyn, and they stood gazing at the portrait. It was of a young woman with long dark hair and piercing grey eyes. She was a beautiful woman, one with obvious spirit, for she gazed at them with a mysterious, mischievous smile playing on her lips and a light in her eyes. She was wearing a lovely red and gold gown, one that looked very exotic, and her dark hair was pulled back in a low bun on the back of her head. She stood next to a large open book, before a window that looked out to the sea. She was different from the other portraits in a way that Pippin could not explain.

“That is the Lady Finduilas of Dol Amroth, who died before her time,” Gandalf said. “She is the mother of Faramir and Boromir. Now come along.”

He strode off, and Eowyn and Pippin stared after him for a moment.

“Is he being vague on purpose?” Eowyn whispered.

“Probably. Come on,” Pippin muttered back, and they hurried to return to their friends. Behind them, wind shook the dusty drapes on the windows.

TBC