Title: Will There Ever Be a Morning?
Theme: Song/Poetry
Elements: Will There Ever Be a Morning?
Rating: G
Author's Notes: The title is taken from a poem by Emily Dickinson.
Summary: Pippin encounters a new friend after the siege of Minas Tirith has been broken.
Word Count: 1,338

Pippin sat up. Merry finally slept deeply, the furrow of worry in his brow eased, a bit of color in his pale cheeks, and his breathing deep and steady. Pippin had slept as well, lightly, still almost unable to believe that the two of them had been reunited after all the dreadful fighting.

He fought down a wave of sorrow as he remembered finding Merry. “Are you going to bury me?” Those words would haunt him for a long time, he feared. But good old Strider had put things to rights, and now, after a pipe and some food and a nap, Pippin knew it was time for him to return to his duties, for he had other responsibilities now. He placed a light kiss on Merry’s brow, and carefully slid down from the huge bed. He made sure that Merry’s pipe and a mug of water were left within his cousin’s reach. Then he took up the tray of dirty dishes and quietly padded from the room.

He gave a companionable nod and smile to Beregond, who stood outside the door of the room in which Faramir lay. If there were no other orders for him, he would return and stand guard there with Beregond until other word was given.

Pippin had no idea of the hour. The Sun had broken through the Enemy’s darkness when the Rohirrim had arrived to break the siege, but it had been but a respite. He knew very well that until Frodo and Sam completed their mission the West could not count victory. At least, thanks to Captain Faramir he knew that the two of them were still alive and still bent on their task.

The passageway was quiet, though every now and then, he heard soft murmurs behind closed doors. He began to believe that it might truly be late at night. The stone flags were cool and smooth beneath his feet, and the fragrance of the herbs the healers used was more prominent now than the smell of blood, though not enough to disguise it completely.

As he turned a corner, however, he heard something else: a soft and muffled weeping. A door was ajar, just ahead. It was too small to be the door to a room. He hesitated. While he did not wish to intrude, at the same time, he wished to help. He bit his lip and considered for an instant. The worst the unknown person could do was to tell him to “go away”. He put the tray of dirty dishes down on the floor, and peeked past the door.

He’d found a linen closet, and in it, a child was huddled and weeping miserably. For an instant, he thought it was Bergil, but then he realized that this child was smaller than his friend.

“Hullo!” he said softly.

The boy turned, startled, and wiped an arm across his face. He stared at Pippin, his grey eyes wide in his pale face, and then he whispered, awestruck: “You are Bergil’s friend, the ernil i pheriannath!“

“Yes, I am,” Pippin said, kneeling down next to the child. “I have seen you with the other boys, but I do not know your name.”

“Sador,” was the trembling answer. “Please don’t tell anyone else you saw me weeping like a baby!”

Pippin sat down next to him. “Of course I won’t. But why are you hiding here?” He carefully did not ask why the lad was in tears. Did not everyone in this benighted City have reason for tears the last few days?

“I was not exactly hiding.” Sador gave a sniff. “I came to get clean linens--Dame Ioreth asked me to bring them for one of the beds. The one who had been in the bed,” he paused, his eyes welling up once more, “he died. I had thought he would get better, but he died. Everyone keeps dying, and I know they say we won today, but there are so many dead here, and so much blood, and I don’t know if it will ever get light again.” He sniffed once more, and then scrubbed his face with both fists. “Will there ever be a morning?”

Pippin felt his heart pounding with pity. So young! Bergil was ten, and this boy looked to be at least a year or two younger than that! He placed his arm about the thin shoulders, and took a deep breath. “I do not know, Sador, but I do believe so. After all, we have Gandalf--you call him Mithrandir--on our side! And I am sure that you have heard rumors about the King returning.”

Sador nodded, and looked up at Pippin, his eyes wide. “Dame Ioreth said it was because she said ‘the hands of the King are the hands of a healer’.”

“And so they are,” said Pippin, “for I know him. And I believe that with him on our side, things will get better. There are many people working against the Enemy, and they are all very determined. I do not *know* they will prevail, but I feel that they will.”

“That is good,” the child said, and he leaned into Pippin’s side.

A thought came to him. No songs of the Shire fit for great lords, he thought, but for a troubled child… “Would you like for me to sing for you?” he asked. He did not wait for Sador’s answer, but began to first hum, and then to sing, an old Shire lullaby.

“Evening has fallen, the Sun’s in the West.
The nightbirds are calling, the Shire is at rest.
Peaceful the night and gentle the breeze,
In cot and in smial, the folk take their ease.
High above the Stars are kindled,
Kith and kin within are nestled,
Safe from harm
In loving arms,
Find slumber deep,
Fall into sleep,
May joy find all your dreams,
May only joy find your dreams…”

As the last notes died away, Pippin realized Sador was asleep. He carefully moved his arm. He couldn’t leave the child in a closet. And he was much too large for Pippin to carry. He spotted the stack of linens on the floor next to Sador--they must still be waiting for those. Moving as silently as only a hobbit can, he gathered them up, and slipped into the hall. Yes, just a little further down the passage, another door was ajar, and Pippin could hear a voice there.

“…and so I saw him with his healing hands! He used kingsfoil to cure the Black Breath! He cured our own dear Lord Faramir, and the pretty lady from Rohan, and the little pherian who came in with Mithrandir and the ernil i…why, here’s the ernil i pheriannath now! And with the sheets of all things! Where’s that boy, Sador? He should have brought these long ago…”

Pippin gave a small bow. “Dame Ioreth! I left the poor child fast asleep among the linens. He must have been very tired.”

“Thank you, my lord pherian. I forget how young he is, and this has been a very long day for all of us.” Ioreth took the sheets from Pippin and turned to the other woman in the room, an apprentice healer.

“Merewen, would you mind bearing the boy back to his cot among the other errand boys?”

Her companion nodded, and went out, Pippin following at her heels, to show her where Sador lay. She gave a sigh as she picked him up carefully. “Poor child! He should not have stayed in the City, he is so young. But he had no kinfolk in the outlands to take him in, and his only family is a brother in the Tower Guard.”

That news made tears spring to Pippin’s eyes--imagine that, to be so bereft of family! He patted his young friend on the arm before she carried him away, and then with a sigh, he picked up the tray of dishes and padded on his way.

Will there ever be a morning? He wondered that himself.