Disclaimer:  I claim nothing of Tolkien's for my own.

Chapter 28

TIME WILL TELL

October

              1  Gandalf leaves Bree

              3  He is attacked at night on Weathertop.

              6  The camp under Weathertop attacked at night.  Frodo wounded.

              9  Glorfindel leaves Rivendell.

            11  He drives the Riders off the Bridge of Mitheithel.

            13  Frodo crosses the Bridge.

            18  Glorfindel finds Frodo at dusk.  Gandalf reaches Rivendell.

            20  Escape across the Ford of Bruinen.

            24  Frodo recovers and wakes.  Boromir arrives in Rivendell at night.

            25  Apryl arrives at Rivendell at dawn.  Apryl, Frodo, and Peregrin fall ill.             Council of Elves, Gandalf present.

            27  Frodo and Peregrin wake.

            28  Apryl recovers and wakes at dawn.

            29  Apryl catches pneumonia.  Peregrin falls ill.

            31  Peregrin wakes.

November

              2  Death of Apryl.

              3  Council of Elrond.

             

            Tolkien read over the notes he had scrawled over the last several months and shook his head sadly.

            "Such a short part she played in history."

            Gandalf peered over the historian's shoulder, glanced over the man's tedious work and gave a grunt of disapproval.

            "Something displeases you, Gandalf?" Tolkien appeared amused.  Rare was the case when one criticized his work.

            "I don't like that--'Death of Apryl', nor do I like the usage of that name."

            Tolkien looked at the older man in surprise.  "She told me her name herself.  What would you have me name her?" he asked, truly curious.

            Gandalf merely shrugged.  "Leave it then," he said, "But I would have you change 'Death of Apryl'."  He was silent a moment and Tolkien waited patiently.  Both knew the wizard had no say in the historian's work and that Tolkien only allowed such because none other had ever tried.  He was more curious at the outcome than offended at the old man's criticism.  Finally, Gandalf spoke.

            " 'Apryl passes away,' " he said with a nod.  "Change it to 'Apryl passes away.' "

            Tolkien peered down at the sheaf, seemed to think on it for a moment, and then shrugged.  "Very well, Gandalf, if it pleases you."

            "It would."

            Tolkien dipped the quill lightly in an ink bottle to his right, and scratched out the previous writing and put in its stead:

            2  Death of Apryl.  Apryl passes away.

            Gandalf nodded approvingly.  "I commend your work."

            Tolkien hid a smile.  "And for the final departure," he said, dipping the quill once again.  "The third of January, I believe, is what Master Elrond decided.  Two months to give the Fellowship a sufficient amount of time to prepare."

            Gandalf was peering down at the rough timeline.  "Things have changed," the wizard said, stilling the historian's hand. 

            "Indeed?"

            "Frodo recovered on the twenty-forth of October," Gandalf said quietly, and Tolkien was prepared to agree but realized at the last that the wizard spoke only to himself.  "Had I not asked the lad to fetch the child then the Council would have been held on the following day.  'Two months following the Council,' Master Elrond said."  The wizard frowned.  "Two months."

            Gandalf seemed to come to a decision then and he looked hard at the historian.  "The twenty-fifth," he said.  "The Company of the Ring shall set out from Rivendell on the twenty-fifth of December."

            "Master Elrond has agreed to this?"

            "He will," Gandalf was confident, "Once I have spoken with him."

            The wizard grabbed his hat from the table and placed it upon his head.  "Things must be corrected now, if we wish to see the dawn of another day," and with that, Gandalf went from the room.

            Tolkien peered after the wizard for a time, trying to puzzle over all that Gandalf had said.  After a time of no forthcoming results, he turned back to his work with a shrug and the conclusion that all wizards were queer and Eru only created them for the sheer amusement of baffling mortals. 

*     *     *     *     *

            Arwen passed through the archway without a word.  She made not a sound as she approached though she did not think it would have mattered had she made a terrible ruckus.  Either halfling was asleep, both curled up upon the same bed.  The elfmaiden was pleased to see that the youngest slept contently.  She had been in and out of the room for a near month, tending the wee one and trying to comfort his cousin.

            "Take heart, Meriadoc.  Time is the only cure we have, do not give up so easily."

            He never left his fellow, nor could anyone convince him to do so.  Though Arwen was pleased with this devotion the halflings seemed to have for one another, too did she realize that Merry was not tending to his own needs and was wasting away, almost more so than young Peregrin. 

            "Would you have me worrying over you, Master Brandybuck, whereas my time could be better spent caring for your young cousin."  Even harsh words such as those fazed Merry not at all, for the concept of Self had slowly faded over the weeks that Pippin slipped farther and farther from reach and he no longer cared for ought save his cousin.

            "I do not understand what has happened to him," Merry said softly once when she came to see how either faired.  Often was the occasion that she came and went without a word spoken on the hobbit's part, though she herself talked often to fill the room with life, to banish death.

            "She did a terrible thing," Arwen said and Merry looked at her. 

            "You know what's wrong with him?"

            "I do," and from Merry's reaction she realized he had known so all along, though he had not altogether realized it.

            "Apryl did this," he said softly.

            "She did."  Arwen remembered the child from Before.  Atira had been bursting with life and eager to share it with any who would have her.  But the child did not think with her head but with her heart, a fatal error more often than not.  "Peregrin is dying of a broken heart."

            Merry looked down at his cousin and tears gathered in his clear eyes.  "Oh, how I know it, Lady," he whispered.  "How I know it."

            Arwen left him then but she could not banish the memory, though she wanted to very much, for it pained her.  Elves, however, are gifted with a clear memory and no matter her will she knew she would forever see him wasted upon clean sheets, hear him cry out in the dark.  And there she was sure her memory of him would end, for she knew Peregrin had not long in the world.  But of late, he looked hailer and even his cousin seemed to note such for Arwen was sure she saw a glint of hope in his sky-colored eyes.  She prayed to Eru that the halfling would live and thought that perhaps her prayers had been answered, for Peregrin slept peacefully for the first time in a month.

              Her heart uplifted, Arwen went about to clean the room.  Tomorrow the sheets were due for another change, she decided, and went over to stoke the fire.  Perhaps Elrohir would fetch some wood if she asked, for the fireplace was in sore need of somewhat with winter at hand. 

            Arwen grabbed the water pitcher from the stand beside the bed and walked over to the balcony with it.  Peering over the side to make certain an unwary elf was not below, she poured the clear liquid into some shrubs below and imagined they drank it gratefully.  She walked from the room to fetch a clean pitcher and returned not several moments later.            She hadn't even set the full container down when she realized something was different. 

            Her eyes fell to the bed beside her and the pitcher slipped from nerveless fingers. 

            From the hallway beyond a young elf lass was busy doing daily chores.  At the sound of the crash she came scurrying and entered the room breathless and with eyes as wide as a dwarf's.

            "Are you alright, milady," the lass gasped, seeing her mistress before her, still, her back towards her.

            "Fetch my father," was all Arwen could manage and the elf child scurried from the room. 

            Arwen could not take her eyes from the bed.  Merry lay upon the left side, not a hand's span from Pippin, whom lay with his back to his cousin.  But it was not to the halflings that Arwen could not pull her gaze away, but to the one whom slept beside Pippin, her hand clasped within his.

*****