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

Author’s Note: Thanks to Pipwise Brandygin for the beta.

Chapter Six: A Midnight Excursion 

  Pippin woke up to find someone shaking him. For a moment, confused by sleep, he thought they were being attacked in the night and must flee as quickly as possible. Sitting bolt upright with a gasp, he raised an arm to beat off his attacker. Someone swift and strong caught his arm and clapped a hand over his mouth before he could scream.

  “Shh, Pip! It’s just me!”

  Pippin went limp with relief, and Eowyn took her hand from his mouth. “What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night!”

  “She came to fetch us off for an adventure.”

  Pippin turned his head; Merry was standing beside his bed, wearing his Lorien cloak, trousers pulled on over his nightshirt. He looked back at Eowyn; she was similarly dressed, with a dark cloak over her white nightgown.

  “I woke him when I knocked on the door,” Eowyn said before Pippin could ask. “I told him all about what we found. I felt that he ought to know.”

  “Oh. Good,” Pippin smiled. When they had had so many misadventures together,  it felt strange not telling Merry about their discovery. “What adventure are we going on?”

  “Dress and I’ll explain,” Eowyn replied as she tossed him his trousers, which had been lying folded over a chair. She sat on the foot of his bed, her back to him.

  Pippin scrambled into his trousers, blushing even though Eowyn could not see him. As he did, Eowyn spoke.

  “I couldn’t sleep for a long time tonight, and I began to think about the portrait gallery. It occurred to me that if there are portraits of all the kings and stewards and their families, there might be one of Alatarial. I thought we could go looking for it now.”

  Merry was grinning slightly. “I take it back, Pip. Let’s get into trouble,” he said, and Pippin laughed. At Eowyn’s confused expression, he explained how he had tried to talk Pippin of poking his nose into the past. Eowyn shook her head at him.

  “My dear Brandybuck,” she said. “Whatever were you thinking?”

  “Ready,” Pippin announced, clasping his cloak. “Shall we?”

  “Wait,” Merry said. “I want to see this doll, first.”

  Pippin shrugged and ducked into his wardrobe. Before he went to bed, he had settled Poppy on a bed made from his ceremonial mantle. Now he took her out, fluffed her faded gown, and passed her to Merry. Merry held her up to the light of the dying fire and examined her.

  “Poor little thing,” he said at last, and set her down in Pippin’s bed. “All right, now we can go.”

  Quietly, so as not to wake the entire household, Merry, Pippin and Eowyn tiptoed down into the main corridor. Merry stole a lantern and candle to accompany the one Eowyn had brought, and they set out for the portrait gallery.

  Everything was dark and silent in the cold marble halls. The rain had ceased around dinnertime, and had not started up again. Pippin rather wished for the soothing sound of raindrops on the roof. It would take away from the utter silence of the sleeping Citadel. The only sounds were their soft footsteps and the little murmurs made by their clothes. Soon enough, they were entering the gallery.

  It was colder here, and Pippin pulled his cloak more tightly about his shoulders. Both he and Merry kept close to Eowyn; the gallery was rather frightening, more so at night than in the daytime. Eowyn held her lantern aloft, clutching the mantle of Finduilas tightly around her body. Merry’s light added to hers, and they walked along slowly, lighting up each portrait as they came to it.

  “Goodness,” Merry whispered, his voice wondering. “I wish you’d told me about this place sooner. It’s fascinating.”

  It was. Each of the portraits was covered with a thin, oily sheen of dust, and there were tarnished brass name placards at the base of each. Some were so faded that they could barely read the names etched on them. Finally, Eowyn stopped in front of one painting, one that was covered by a heavy black curtain. It stood almost next to the alcove where Pippin and Eowyn had found the door.  They all stared at it, knowing that this was the one they were seeking, but none of them wanted to touch it. Finally, Merry lifted the curtain far enough to reveal the brass placard. Alatarial daughter of Belecthor II, 2835, was etched into it.

  “Well, that’s it, then,” Eowyn said, grasping the curtain and wrenching it back.

  Whoever painted Alatarial must have taken into consideration the marriage that her father had arranged for her. The girl in the painting was standing before a round mirror that showed the sea, and a large ship sailing on it. Behind the mirror was a balcony looking out onto  a country scene with a river running though it. Alatarial was dressed in a pale red dress with a white chemise peeping through the collar and a deep purple girdle knotted around her hips. Her hair was brown and her eyes were green. She was gazing to one side of the painting, a small blue bowl held almost to her lips. There was a large book propped open on a lectern at her side.

  “She was very beautiful,” remarked Pippin.

  “She was a baby,” Merry said thoughtfully. “Just a baby.”

  Eowyn frowned at him. “Why do you say that?”

  Merry shrugged. “She looks like a very young lass to me, like she should still be playing truant or something. But she is afraid of something. Do you see her eyes?”

  They all looked again. Indeed, Alatarial was peering nervously off to the side of the painting, as though she was watching the approach of someone she did not trust. Eowyn said grimly, “Her father.”

  At that moment, several things happened at once. A cold breeze blew down the gallery, making the curtains at both ends dance heavily, and there was the sound of someone running.

  “No! No I won’t!” a young voice cried, and the lady and the hobbits leapt together. They could see no one.

  “You cannot make me!” shrieked the voice, desperate and slightly hysterical.

  The footsteps ran right past them. They seemed to come from the main hall where the throne was, and continued until they reached the alcove where the once-locked door stood. Then they were gone. 

  Eowyn and the hobbits stood silent for a moment. Then, “We’re leaving. Now,” announced Eowyn, and seizing Pippin by his cloak, began to haul him up the gallery. Merry had the presence of mind to yank the curtain back over Alatarial’s portrait, than followed them at a run.

*****

   Frodo was alone in the parlor when he heard  a hurried knocking at their main door. He jumped up, setting his book aside, and went to open it. Really, it was too early for visitors; the time was just past elevenses. Still, everyone was gone, to his knowledge, so he couldn’t leave it for Sam to answer.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming!” he called as the knocking continued. “Hold on for a moment!”

  He wrenched the door open to see Arwen standing there, a soft blue version of the Lorien cloak covering her.

  “Are Merry, Pippin and Eowyn here? I’ve been looking for them all morning, but no one has seen them,” she said after greeting Frodo and entering.

  Frodo frowned. Now that he thought about it, he had not seen his cousins since he went to bed the night before. “I don’t know, my lady. The lads may be still abed. Let me see.”

  He turned and strode upstairs, followed by Arwen. The door to Merry and Pippin’s room was shut, and Frodo opened it to see one big lump in Pippin’s bed. He traded a bemused glance with Arwen and went over to it.

  Curled up in the bed, all together, lay Eowyn and the lads. Merry and Pippin lay rather protectively on either side of the White Lady, Pippin curled back to back with her. Frodo leaned over and poked Merry in the shoulder.

  “Merry-lad!” he said loudly. “Wake up!”

  Merry opened his eyes and groaned. “Go ’way, Fro. Oh. Good morning, Queen Arwen.”

  At this, Pippin and Eowyn both stirred. Pippin pulled his blanket over his head with a grumble, but Eowyn opened her eyes and stared at them for a moment.

  “What happened?” asked Arwen, looking utterly confused. “Why are you sleeping in here?”

  Eowyn sighed and climbed out of the warm bed regretfully. “I…got scared of something. I came here.”

  “I’m sure,” Frodo replied, folding his arms and giving her an even look. “As I recall, my lady, you killed the Witch King. Now you tell us that a bad dream made you come running to my cousins. Come on, lass, I want the truth.”

  Eowyn smiled a little and shook her head, giving them an earnest look. “Really, Frodo, I promise I just had a small scare and came in here. That’s all, truly.”

   Frodo didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. Pippin breathed a silent sigh of relief from under the blanket; he was utterly thankful that Frodo’s stern face had not worked on Eowyn. He knew that if it had been him, he would have told his cousin and the queen everything, and that would not have been the best thing that would have happened. He could tell that Merry felt the exact same way.

  “Well, come on, Eowyn,” Arwen said. “We’ve lots to do today, for tonight’s ball. Pippin, are you willing to help us later?”

  Pippin sat up at that, pulling the blanket away fromhis face and bowing as best he could. “Yes, of course, my queen. When would you like me to come?”

  “Eat some lunch,” Arwen said with a smile. “An hour should do it.”

  Pippin nodded. Eowyn climbed out of the bed and smiled her thanks at them.

  “I’ll see you both later. I’m off to dress, Arwen, then I’ll go straight to your rooms,” she promised.

  The group dispersed as the women left the room, followed by Frodo. The Ringbearer paused at the door and looked back at Merry and Pippin.

  “You know, lads, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were up to something,” he said, and left.

  Merry and Pippin exchanged a guilty look. Then they both climbed out of the bed and went to dress and eat. They did not have the time or the courage to discuss what they had heard last night. It was going to be a busy day.

TBC