The Mists
A/N: According to the appendices, Merry and Pippin left the Shire in their old age and traveled to Gondor, where they died and were laid to rest alongside Aragorn. As a child reading the books for the first time, I disliked this immensely. That simple sentence added at the end of a grand tale and easily passed up, brought tears to my eyes. It wasn't until years later, when I was older and had read The Silmarillion that I was able to find comfort in those words. In death, the characters I cared so deeply for could find one another once again.
Religion in Middle Earth is always left vague, and it is my belief that Tolkien did that deliberately. Any description of the afterlife is left sketchy, so writing this little ficlet was difficult at first. Then by chance I left my cd player playing and 'The Mists of Avalon' permeated my room. I let the music speak to me, and it, essentially, wrote the story. I should note that the voice speaking throughout is not Frodo's at all, but the voice of the Goddess Elbereth. It is She who guides Pippin through the light to find his loved ones once again. But enough of my blathering! Enjoy.
Pippin....
A slight breeze fluttered the white curtains that were drawn across the open window.
Pippin....
Moonlight painted the dirt path that led up to the garden where the springtime flowers were blooming.
Pippin, dear one....
A soft step lightly graced the wooden floor. Not one board creaked beneath the weightless foot.
Pip.....I've come to take you home.
The bed creaked as a young woman leaned against it to slide a cool, wet cloth over an aged and burning forehead.
Pippin....are you hiding from me?
Outside the window, a night bird sang a lullaby to the stars above, paying homage in its own way to Elbereth, Star Kindler.
Come now, my lovely one, you've nothing to be afraid of.
Fingers soft as rose petals brushed a pale cheek. The touch recalled memories of days long past and a face long missed.
You know me now, do you not, Pippin? I shall not harm you. I've come to bring you home.
There was light in the room. The young nurse did not see it, but the hobbit she was tending did. But had he not had his eyes closed a moment ago?
You do not need your eyes to see me, young one. How I missed you!
Young one? But Pippin was not young; he was old, and very tired.
You shall always be young to me.
The candle beside the bed flickered, casting shadows over the nurse's face. She ceased her ministrations and sat back in her chair, face pinched in a frown.
Come home, Pippin.
An unseen hand pressed the hobbit's palm. Slowly, the night bird's song grew fainter.
Take my hand.
The light was very bright now, but it did not sting the eyes.
There's a good lad.....
The nurse and the bed were far below now. They seemed no more than a dream. Perhaps, that was all that they had ever really been. It certainly felt as if......
It is like waking up after a long and peaceful sleep.
Odd. Pippin had always thought that death would be more like falling asleep after a long sleepless week.
You shall learn much more than that, dear one.
The bright light began to clear. There was music coming from somewhere, music more beautiful than anything Pippin had ever heard before.
They play for you. It is the song that is uniquely yours.
Now the light faded until it was little more than a silver sheen on the dark hair of Frodo Baggins. He opened his arms wide and Pippin fell into them, embracing the cousin he loved and had thought lost to something worse than death.
"You," said Frodo with a laugh. "Are late."
The End