Chapter 2: Auntie Meesh
Dismissed by Aragorn after yet another seemingly endless meeting with ambassadors from the South, Pippin wandered through the Citadel, trying to find some sort of distraction. His first instinct was to find Merry and inveigle his cousin into some fun, but Merry was far too sharp, and would want to know why Pippin was falling asleep on his feet. Merry had his own nightmares to trouble him and didn't need to be worrying about Pippin, so that was out. In the end, he failed to find anything very tempting and simply returned to the house he shared with the others, ready for a snack and maybe a nap, if such a thing could be managed.
He was daydreaming about the possibilities awaiting him in the pantry when something penetrated his thoughts. He'd been standing on the doorstep for several minutes now, tugging on the door, with no success. It was only after giving it some serious thought that he remembered the door opened into the house, rather than out onto the street. Flushing with embarrassment, even though no one was about to see, he quickly pushed the door open and stepped into the cool, dark entryway. Once he'd changed out of his livery, eaten and made himself a cup of tea, Pippin was feeling at least somewhat refreshed. It was still early, not past mid afternoon, and he had the house to himself.
Determined to enjoy the solitude, something that happened rarely enough, he filled his pipe, selected a book from the well-stocked bookshelf - a history of Osgiliath - and settled down in the study for a good read.
'There you are, Pippin!' Merry's voice startled him out of the half-doze he'd fallen into. His pipe, which had been dangling forgot from one hand, fell to the floor with a sharp crack, hot embers spilling out onto the rug. Pippin jumped up with a curse, sending the book tumbling to the floor as well, and stamped on the smoldering weed before picking up the pieces of his pipe mournfully.
'That's it,' Merry declared as he walked over to Pippin. 'You know better than to fall asleep with a lit pipe in your hand, Peregrin Took. Something is wrong. Tell me what it is.'
'Nothing,' Pippin answered defensively. 'I'm fine, Merry, honestly. I suppose I'm just a bit more tired than I realized. Listening to all that “diplomacy” wears me out.' He attempted a laugh, but Merry was having none of it.
'You can tell me, or we can go find Cousin Frodo and you can tell him. Either way, you're going to tell.'
Pippin wilted slightly under the stern look Merry directed his way. 'It really is nothing, Merry,' he answered, trying to alleviate his friend's concern. 'I didn't get enough sleep last night and I dozed off. I'm sorry if I worried you, but that's all it is.' Merry looked skeptical, but said nothing more on the subject. Pippin sighed in silent relief as he carefully replaced the book, luckily undamaged, on the shelf.
'D'you feel like a pint?' he asked with a hopeful lilt to his voice as he turned back to Merry. 'Targon told me about an inn not far from here that we've never tried. They play an interesting game there, or so he says. They throw little darts at a board and the person with the best aim wins.'
'Well, in that case,' Merry said, preening slightly, 'you'll have no chance. I've much better aim than you, especially when you've been in your cups.'
'Hoy! And who is it beats you at the slingshot competitions every year?' Pippin countered, relieved that Merry had been so neatly diverted. As he disposed of the pieces of his now useless pipe, he determined that he would take some of that sleeping powder tonight. He couldn't go on as things were, unable to open doors and falling asleep in the middle of the day; it would only be a matter of time before he faltered while on duty, and that did not bear thinking about. With this resolution in mind, he put a smile on his face and braced himself for an evening of scrutiny, determined to convince Merry that everything really was well.