Knight of the City

        Aragorn lifted the tent flap and entered one of the many tents set aside for those who were being treated for their wounds. The Battle before the Black Gate left many dead and more in need of healing and it was quite a feat to attend to all. The occupant of this tent Aragorn felt a special dedication to.

        He moved silently over to the bedside of an ailing hobbit. “How is he?” he whispered to the dwarf who currently watched over him.

        “Not much out of the ordinary.” replied Gimli eyes still fixed on the hobbit in the bed. “He woke twice on my watch, and thrice on Legolas’, naught enough so as to complain but only to shift restlessly and cry out once.”

        Aragorn nodded. “I will take over until morning. Then I believe he will awaken and no doubt Merry will be the only satisfying company.”

        Gimli grunted as he raised himself from the chair he had been occupying. “Most likely.” He reached out and gingerly brushed the tangle of curls off Pippin’s face before turning and exiting the tent.

        Aragorn took the vacated chair and studied his charge – too often of late had he sat at the bedside of one ailing hobbit or another. He lay back and propped his booted feet on the bed to wait out the last few hours until dawn.

        Not long after dawn the little one began to stir. His nose wrinkled up in pain and he tossed restlessly before settling, his green eyes blinking open.

        Aragorn sat forward to be in his line of vision. “Good morning, Pippin, how was your night?”

        Pippin took a moment to focus on his surroundings and then grinned at the Ranger. “Not as bad as the night before. I never actually woke up enough to articulate a coherent thought.” He struggled to sit up and Aragorn moved to help him in the task.

        When Pippin was situated Aragorn began to check him over. Asking Pippin to do certain things here or there, such as “flex your fingers”, “take two deep breathes”, “rotate your shoulder” and so on.

        “You are no worse for a good nights rest.” he said, after he finished looking over Pippin’s many injuries incurred during battle. “I believe you may even get out for a while this morning if you feel up to it.”

        Pippin smiled broadly and scooted closer to Aragorn so that he was leaning against him. Aragorn smiled also as he draped an arm over the hobbit’s slim shoulders. All the while Aragorn had known him, Pippin had always been the most physical in his affection towards other members of the Fellowship, a quick hug or just leaning against someone for comfort, with his cousins a kiss wasn’t out of place either.

        “Pippin there is something I would like to speak to you about, all right?” he felt the hobbit nod his head against his chest. “Many things have occurred since we first met. I have watched you grow and mature more then I thought possible when I first became acquainted with your flippant personality.” Aragorn shifted so as to look Pippin in the eye. Pippin, for his part, seemed to be trying to decide if he was being scolded or complimented. “You have become a strong, dependable hobbit, who has preformed deeds beyond comprehension. Your bravery and strength of character allowed you to survive and give others a second chance at life as well. I would like to honor your deeds and name you Knight of the City.”

        Pippin’s brow puckered into a frown. “I – do you really, but – “he sighed and looked up at Aragorn a bit defeated and lost for words. “It would be an honor.” He finished quietly.

        “There is to be a ceremony when we return to Minas Tirith to honor those who have earned their knighthood these past weeks. I know no man personally who is to receive this honor, and though I am forever grateful and indebted to them I don’t mind marking one day to honor them all together. However I would prefer to perform your ceremony privately with only those who are closest to you present.”

        “I-I guess I don’t really know how these things are suppose to work.” replied Pippin again leaning against Aragorn’s side.

        “I will mention it to the others and we will most likely commence in a day or two at the most.” continued Aragorn.

        Pippin nodded again but before he could say anything else the tent flap was held back and Merry entered calling “Breakfast!” as he came.

        Aragorn helped situate Pippin on the pillows so that he could easily eat before taking his leave to inform the other members of their Fellowship of the ceremony to be performed.

        The next afternoon the remaining members of the Fellowship were to assemble together in Pippin’s tent. Aragorn arrived earlier then the rest to make sure that everything was as it should be. On first entering he noticed that Pippin was dressed in the Uniform of the Guard, looking closer he saw that he was sitting quite rigid. Thinking he must again be in pain he moved to stand next to him.

        “Are you hurting again?” he asked softly.

        Pippin startled at the voice and then, a bit fiercely, shook his head.

        Aragorn pondered for a moment on what could be wrong then sat down next to him. “What is the matter Pippin? Something troubles you, that is plain.”

        Pippin looked up and Aragorn noticed tears stood in his eyes. “I shouldn’t be here.” His voice was rough with restrained emotion. “I have done nothing extraordinary, there is no reason I should have survived!” He then broke down and began to weep pressing his good hand to his eyes.

        “Oh, Pippin,” Aragorn pulled the distraught hobbit into a loose embrace. “It is not uncommon for one who survives a battle to feel what it known as survivors guilt, to not see why they should live and others not.”

        “By all rights I should be dead!” choked Pippin. “I have messed up everything; Gandalf should not have fallen in Moria, Boromir shouldn’t have died, and here even at the last I gave up hope! I wanted to die!”

        Aragorn rocked gently letting Pippin continue to sob into his tunic. “Perhaps you did not have the right to choose. Do any of us have the “right” to choose whether we live or die? That choice is beyond any of our control.”

        Pippin shuddered trying to reign in the sobs that tried to choke him.

        “Peregrin, do not belittle your worth to this company. You have stood against many foes and conquered them! I fear our fate would have been much worse had you not joined our Company.” said Aragorn, turning Pippin so that he looked into his face. “Things that at the time seemed to be a bad thing turned out for the better: Gandalf returned to us as the White, although looking into the Palantir was frightening you confused the enemy, you were sent to Gondor and there you saved Faramir’s life. Is that not something worth living for?”

        Pippin looked down and answered softly. “Those things perhaps all had a reason but before the Black Gate, why me? All those who died, brave men, who no doubt have someone who will mourn them. Me, I was ready to die, oh Strider, I gave up hope! I shouldn’t be here, I had given myself to death and so many out there did not want to die! I do not deserve to live, much less be honored for it!”

        “It was their time to go, not yours. It is that simple, you are to live and be free from the Shadow,” Aragorn wiped a stray tear off Pippin’s cheek. “It is not because you lived that I wish to honor you. It is for that which you accomplished. Can we go on with that?”

        Pippin leaned forward and rested his forehead on Aragorn’s chest, sniffing only slightly. He was quiet for a long time and they just sat in companionable silence, each one thinking over the words the other had spoken. “I’m sorry I spoke like this to you. I do not mean to belittle what others have given, you forced no man to the Gates, they came knowing what was to befall.”

        “It is all right that you needed some time to say what you were feeling,” said Aragorn, softly. “Are you ready to continue?”

        Pippin nodded and Aragorn set him on his feet. Pippin tugged at the uniform, pulling out the creases that had been made by sitting. He then moved over to a basin used to wash up in and splashed his face; removing lingering traces of the tears. He finished none too soon either, as Gimli and Merry came in chatting amiably.

        Soon two hobbits, one man, a wizard, an elf and a dwarf were gathered in the small tent. Aragorn moved forward to where Pippin stood next to Merry and began to speak. “To earn the knighthood of Gondor you must prove your bravery, skill of arms and love for the country. Deeds that you, Peregrin son of Paladin, have displayed with great nobility over the past few days. Your service to Gondor is indeed worthy of the knighthood that I wish to bestow upon you. Your blade.”

        Pippin removed the barrow-downs sword from its place at his side and presented it hilt first to Aragorn.

        “Kneel, Peregrin son of Paladin,” said Aragorn taking the sword. “Do you so swear your fealty and service to Gondor and its Lord, to come and to go as need makes it, until death part you from your oath?”

        “I do, m’lord,” said Pippin quietly, remembering when he had repeated words similar to these a week or so ago to the Steward, Denethor.

        Aragorn lightly tapped each shoulder with the blade. “I dub thee, Sir Peregrin. Knight of Gondor, rise.”

        Pippin complied. Everyone was smiling, each had watched the little hobbit grow and learn, becoming the knight who now stood before them. As Aragorn handed back the blade, Pippin met his eye and grinned, his eyes speaking far more then the oath could have of love, dedication and thankfulness.

        But when, after the Standing Silence, wine was brought there came in two esquires to serve the kings; or so they seemed to be: one was clad in the silver and sable of the Guards of Minas Tirith, and the other in white and green. But Sam wondered what such boys were doing in an army of mighty men. Then suddenly as they drew near and he could see them plainly, he exclaimed:

“Why, look Mr. Frodo! Look here! Well if it isn’t Pippin. Mr. Peregrin Took I should say, and Mr. Merry! How they have grown! Bless me! But I can see there are more tales to tell then ours!”

        “There are indeed,” said Pippin turning towards him. “And we’ll begin telling them, as soon as the feast is ended. In the meantime you can try Gandalf. He’s not so close as he used to be, though he laughs now more than he talks. For the present Merry and I are busy. We are knights of the City and the Mark, as I hope you observe.”

Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, chapter 4 of Part 2: The Field of Cormallen, by JRR Tolkien