2. books

I found you in the study that afternoon.  You stood before the tall bookcase that stood along one wall.  You rested your forehead on the row of leather-bound books on the shelf in front of you, both of your palms splayed on more book spines on either side of your head.  You looked as though you were leaning on the bookcase for support. 

I crept nearer and peered into your face.  Your eyes were shut; your lips set into a straight, grim line; your brow creased with a frown.

"Frodo?" I called softly, touching your elbow.  "Frodo, why are you asleep standing up?"

Your eyes opened and blinked and I put on my brightest smile.   Your eyes glowed softly and, with an obvious reluctance, you stepped away from the bookcase.   "I didn't hear you wake up, Pip," you murmured.  You looked pale, your voice was low and your hands shook slightly.  "Do you need anything?"

"No, cousin, thank you," I said, troubled by your sadness.  I knew the books were the strongest link that tied you with Bilbo.  Suddenly I realized that I had not seen you touch any of them during my stay, as though you were fearful that they would usher in too many memories on top of the thinly-veiled weight of grief you were already carrying.  And when I saw you again in my mind, a picture of longing and sorrow draped over the books you used to pore over together with Bilbo, I imagined that you were trying to immerse yourself in those pages and find your way through the maze of the curves and lines of the letters, to Bilbo.  I shuddered in terror and quickly seized your wrist.

"I'm bored," I complained desperately.  "I want to play outside."

"It's raining, Pip," you stated, glancing briefly at the window.  "You'll catch a cold playing in this weather."

"Let's play inside then," I insisted, half-tugging at your hand.  "Hide-and-seek."

You shook your head with a pained expression in your face.  "No.  I'm not interested in any game that includes rescuing you when you got stuck in the chimney."

I grinned sheepishly.  Then my eyes caught the books that neatly lined the shelf.  My eyes widening, I looked up at you, breathless with the brilliant idea that had suddenly sparked in my mind.  "Let's play the siege of the Lonely Mountain," I said in a grave whisper.  "I'll be Thorin and you can be the Elvenking.  What do you think?"

Your brow quirked upward, a gleam of amusement in your eyes.  "What do I have to do?"

"Well, first we must raise the Lonely Mountains, I think."

And so we hauled the books off the shelves and stacked them in the space between two armchairs to make a fortress for me.  You turned the small table in the corner onto its side and used it as a shield.  Armed with the pinecones that you heaped in the basket by the fire, we began the siege.

It was a success.  Especially after you offered me the crystal vase Arkenstone and I stoutly refused to accept it and you stormed into my fortress using the foul trick of making me think you were still hiding behind the table while you cunningly crept to the southern side of the fortress and caught me by surprise when you suddenly attacked by toppling the armchair onto its back and with a whoop coming upon me, brandishing the vilest weapon imaginable.  Your fingers.

"Stop, Frodo, stop!" I shrieked at the top of my lungs between bouts of fierce giggles, kicking and scratching futilely at you.  "I surrender!  I surrender, do you hear?"

"And shall the hoard of the Lonely Mountains be ours?" you demanded sternly, still tickling me mercilessly.

"Take it!  Take it all!" I gasped breathlessly.  You relented, sitting back and looking down at me with a smirk. 

All around us the fortress wall lay in rubble, a page open here to reveal a long string of Elvish poetry; another was creased, juxtaposing the painting an axe-wielding dwarf warrior and that of a cask of ale; the smell of old paper, sweat, crushed pinecones and wood smoke was thick in the air. 

"I think I deserve a hero's funeral," I gasped at last.  "I did put up a valiant defense, didn't I?"

"You surely did, Pip," you snorted.  "Where do you want me to bury you?"

"Deep beneath the mountain," I intoned gravely. 

"In the kitchen then," you said, holding back chuckles.  "Very well."

You gathered me into your arms and stood up with a grunt.  "You're getting heavier, Pip," you panted as you started to walk.  "Soon you will be as fat and round as Bombur."

"No, I won't," I said, wrapping my arms around you and burying my face in your neck.  "I shall be tall.  I shall be much taller than you and Merry.  You'll see."

To my alarm, you did not head straight for the door.  You went to your desk and lowered me slightly. 

"Take a quill," you said, gesturing with a glance toward the desk.

"Frodo, the game is finished.  You can't tickle me anymore," I answered anxiously.

"I am not going to tickle you again," you assured me.  "Orcrist, remember?  Thorin was buried with Orcrist on his breast."

"Oh, you're right!" I squealed excitedly.  I grabbed a quill and clasped it to my breast.  "How do I look?"

"Very heroic," you said with a laugh, the crease smoothed out on your brow.

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