8. The Archer's Homecoming

For the veterans of all wars, in remembrance of unsung heroes, brave and true.

Pippin thought that Merry's toy soldiers must be the finest in the Shire. They had been a special present from Frodo years before, and ordered by Cousin Bilbo all the way from the Dwarf Halls of the Lonely Mountain. There were metal swordsmen, and horsemen , and even small, stalwart heralds marching into battle with their lord's standards held high, but his very favorites were the archers. They were a bit smaller than all the others, and Pippin liked to pretend that they were actually hobbits called to service by the King.

"That's just silly," Merry laughed. "Hobbits haven't gone into battle for ages and ages. We have more sense now, I should hope, and besides, look, some of the archers have beards." He was fourteen, and didn't play with his soldiers so much now, unless his little cousin came to visit. Pippin liked it best on days like this one, when rain was pattering against the windows and ran down the chimney to sputter and hiss on the hearth, and rain-shadows crawled across the lumpy battlefield of Merry's bed.

"Maybe those are Dwarves," Pippin said.

Merry thought an army of Men going into battle with a mixed score of Dwarf-and-hobbit-archers was about as likely as an army of Elves and Dwarves with a score of Goblin-archers riding North-farthing ponies, but he had to admit that some of the archers were rather squatty and grim in appearance, and Cousin Bilbo had gone off with a great lot of Dwarves on an adventure once, long, long ago, and had fought alongside Men and Elves, too, so it wasn't entirely impossible.

"Very well," Merry conceded. "What shall we play now? Norbury-of-the-Kings?"

This was Pippin's favorite battle to stage, since hobbits had played an important, if only dimly remembered, part in it. He and Merry always made sure to bring all the brave hobbit-archers home again safe and sound, with a lovely big feast and lots of fireworks afterward. "All right," he said cheerfully. "Where will you set up camp?"

"Right here by the pillow-ah, I mean, the big hill ought to do," Merry said. "You should set up by the bedpost, I mean, the trees."

Pippin began to gather his troop, but the quilt dropped off sharply at the end of the bed and four or five unfortunate members of his company kept falling into the ravine. "Stand up, you," Pippin growled. He collected his clumsy warriors and dropped them in a heap on top of their fellows. However did they expect to defeat the Witch-King if they couldn't even stand upright? "Ooh, Merry, look at this one! He looks different from the rest."

Merry peered at the soldier in Pippin's outstretched hand. It was different. The little archer was beardless and young, but some flaw in the casting had given him a drawn and sorrowful look. His small back was bent, his bow was slung over his shoulder rather than held at the ready, and his right hand lay on the hilt of the tiny sword sheathed in the belt at his waist. He leaned forward on the flat piece of metal earth where he was planted, with one foot extended, and looked as though he was taking the first step of a long journey he didn't much care for. "Oh, him," Merry said. "I usually just leave him in the box. Do you want him?"

Pippin nodded, and sat with his head bowed, the archer held in his cupped hands. "He looks sad, Merry."

"I imagine he is," Merry said. "I'm sure he would rather be warm and safe and sitting down to a good meal than going off to war." Merry's stomach growled and he glanced at the clock. "Come along, Pip, are we going to make them fight or not?"

"No," Pippin said. "He doesn't want to fight anymore. I think he's cold and frightened. And lost."

Pippin's mouth trembled, and if Merry had been a different sort of older cousin he might have laughed at this sudden rush of tender feeling toward a scrap of painted iron. "There, there, Pip, it's all right. He's not lost or sad, just tired because he's been walking a long way." He took Pippin's hand and they slid off the bed together. "See, we'll put him here on the night-table and pretend he's already got home from Norbury. Just a few miles more and he'll be there at his own smial, and the kettle will be singing and his place made ready, and everyone he cares about will be waiting. His name is..ah..." Merry scratched his head. "What's his name, Pip?"

Pippin frowned, then smiled. "Persifal. Where are his friends?"

Merry turned back to the bed and scooped up a handful of the archers. "Right here."

Pippin took them one by one and stood them on the table close together, then pushed the shortest one a bit closer to Persifal, so they were touching. "Andy," he murmured. "His best good friend."

Merry put his hand on Pippin's shoulder, and Pippin put his arm around Merry's waist, and they were quiet. Pippin looked up. "Are you going to be a soldier someday, Merry?"

Merry laughed. "Great heavens, no! What a notion! Respectable hobbits don't do that sort of thing anymore, and besides, who would be left to tickle you then?"

He gave Pippin a gentle jab in the ribs that made him squeak. "Aha, stop! I'd go with you, Merry, and become a soldier, too, and look after you."

Merry rubbed his knuckles on Pippin's head. "I know you would. But we needn't worry about that. Let's go see if luncheon is ready, shall we?"

They put the scattered horsemen, heralds, and swordsmen back in the box, but left the little archers where they stood. "They're home now, " Merry said before he and Pippin left the room. "They needn't ever fight anymore. They were very brave and true, and did great things for the Shire, and their task is done. Now they can rest."

"Good," Pippin said, feeling very pleased. From the doorway the painted faces looked more cheerful, and he could almost hear the tread of hobbit feet on soft, Shire earth, and joyful hobbit voices raised in a song to welcome them home.

*********

the end

Author's Note: This little bit of ficlet references a previous story, A Path With No Returning, and reading it would probably give this more depth, but it's not neccessary to have read that one to understand this one.