Part XII
The Singer
Pass, pass, parry, lunge. Cut, pass, lunge, parry. Parry, parry—
Pippin grunted as he tripped and fell. "Shit!"
"What a foul language," Hoz said, helping him up.
"Orcs are foul," Pippin replied. "What am I doing wrong?" he asked.
It was nine days since his arrival among the Erites, and he had taken up Hoz's offer to spar with him and teach each other their styles of swordfighting. Hoz was truly skilled, a prodigy, in fact, or so it seemed to Pippin. He was at least as skilled as Faramir, at the age of twenty.
They were sparring in a clearing used by the Medzhai, Zeah with them. Despite his lingering despondency, Pippin's natural curiosity, and hobbitry, did not permit him to mope for long. He wanted to learn about the desert, the Medzha fighting skills, about the tamed falcons the warriors used for communicating over the ergs.
Now the cry of Hoz's falcon got their attention, and Hoz lifted up his hand to the small speck in the sky that came spiraling down. "Serak," Hoz greeted the bird, which called in reply. "What have you found?"
The falcon released a scrap of cloth from its talons, bearing marks that looked like writing. Hoz peered at it for a moment, and then gave it to Pippin. "It is in the Westron runes," he said.
Pippin took it. On it was one word, in Cirth.
"'Help'," he said. He peered closer at the writing, then gave it to Zeah. "Is this what I think it is?"
Zeah examined and then tasted it.
"Blood," she said.
They went together, Hoz on his horse, Pippin and Zeah on Swallow, Serak the falcon flying ahead, leading them north into the desert. The hills of the massif turned into the graved valleys and then into gravel flats and finally into the sea of sand. The horses ran as fast as was safe; Swallow outstripped her counterpart, and soon Pippin and Zeah were far in the lead, almost equaling the falcon. Heat and light rained down on them from the sky, and castles of mirages ascended and descended on the horizon.
They saw the horses first, in the lee of a dune scalloped by the wind. Two figures were next to them, one lying on the ground, the other seeming to tend to him. This one looked up as they arrived, heralded by the falcon's cry.
It was the singer from the market. He rose, and gestured to the man on the ground. "He is sunstruck."
Zeah leapt off Swallow with the waterskin. "Pippin, watch him," she said, motioning to the singer.
But Pippin was staring at the prone man, blistered by heat, but not unrecognizable.
"Bangshar?" he whispered.
He skidded down the dune disregarding the heat of the sand, which even he could feel through the soles of his feet.
"Bangshar!"
He bent down close and held up his old shipmate's head and taking the waterskin from Zeah pressed its mouth to Bangshar's. "Drink up, mate," he said.
He looked up at the singer. "What is he doing here?"
"I know not," was the reply. "I came upon him already ill as I was leaving the Nekheti realm."
"And you are not ill?" Zeah asked.
Pippin wondered why she was being so suspicious. Erites were hospitable to all travelers, until those travelers proved other than trustworthy.
Hoz arrived and surmised the situation. "Come," he said. "Lay him on my horse. We will take you to our encampment. Both of you."
The singer bowed. "My thanks."
On the ride back, Pippin asked Zeah, "That bard."
"I do not trust him."
"I can see that." Pippin hesitated. "Some people can hear thoughts," he began. "I think he's one of them."
"There is no such thing."
"Zeah—"
"Hush, Pip."
He was just about to advise the same thing. He had the feeling the singer, riding before them, was listening.
Bangshar was taken to a healer's tent where Pippin joined him. He was delirious, but would survive.
"Seek me when he wakes," Pippin told the physician, and then hastened to the prophet's tent.
The elders and chiefs were assembled. Zedek sat upon his chair. The singer, garbed in his black cloak and hood, stood in the center. Hoz had just finished introducing him, and now stepped aside.
"Welcome to the springs of Zet Pallan," said Zedek, politely but without warmth.
The stranger bowed. "I thank you."
Zeah, seated behind her father with the women, murmured something. Zedek hushed her, but then said, "Forgive us, but it is our custom to seek the name of our guests, of the travelers through this desert land. Please, tell us of thyself."
For a moment the stranger did nothing. Then he reached up and pulled back his hood.
"Dejin," Hoz said in wonder and fear.
"I am Maglor, son of Fëanor," said the Elf, and as his heart leapt Pippin couldn't tell whether it was wonder that he felt, or terror.
2.
The discussion was still ongoing near midnight. The chiefs and elders of the Erites were discussing the matter of Nekhet, contemplating war. Many were inhospitable to the idea of interfering in the matters of the Valley and its people. Some were afraid that too much contact with the "idolaters" would taint the purity of the people of Er. Others were more afraid of war. Hoz and the Medzhai were eager for battle. Zeah spoke, addressing the men thus:
"The evil of Sehty spreads across the desert and into the plains of the south. Have we resisted the lure of the Lord of Mordor, that long claimed our cousins to the north, only to hide our eyes from the Man of Seht?"
The Elf remained in the tent, no longer speaking, only listening, and not just with his ears. Pippin knew this and finally slipped out of the tent into the night outside.
The air had a chill. Pippin drew his cloak about him. He saw a fire where Medzhai were sitting sipping coffee and munching bread. Pippin went to join them, coming silently into their circle. The men looked at him but remained silent. After a while Pippin rose, taking his cup of coffee and bread, and with a nod, left them.
He was sitting by himself upon a rock in the dirt when Zeah emerged from the pavilion. Her face was clouded.
"Didn't go well?" he asked.
She said nothing, but came to sit next to him, her eyes fixed on the clear dark sky.
"Tell me of this dejin," she said. "What do you know of him?"
Pippin thought back to the story of the Silmarils. "Well, it is said …" And he told her briefly of the tale.
Zeah listened darkly. "You have had dealings with dejin. Is he who he says he is?"
Pippin considered the sight of Maglor's eyes, comparing them to Galadriel's, and then nodded. "I think so," he said. "He's old enough, at least. There are ages in his eyes if you look at them."
"I will not," said Zeah. "The dejin are not to be trusted."
"How do you know?" Pippin asked her. "Have you ever met one before in your life?"
"I do not need to."
"Well I have. I have had 'dealings' indeed. This cloak was woven by Galadriel, the greatest lady yet to walk the face of the world. Legolas of Mirkwood is my friend and comrade, and Companion of the Ring same as I. The Evening Star is a half-Elf, and I've met his son, greatest of loremasters on this earth—a person this very Elf cared for, long ago. Elves are beautiful, and lofty, and wherever they dwell is blessed!"
"Yet in the tale you have just told me, they have done great harm and ruinous deeds. Especially these sons of the maker of the Noonstar," Zeah pointed out coolly.
Pippin was forced to admit that she was right. Perhaps in this place and in other places of the world, Elves were dark and untrustworthy. He didn't know.
They sat in silence for a long while.
Brilliant and smoky, a star fell, with a soft exclamation from Pippin.
"What do you see when you see a falling star?" he asked the woman at his side.
"War in heaven," was her answer. "What do you see, Pippin?"
"A chance to make a wish," he replied with a smile.
"And what did you wish for, just now?"
Pippin hesitated. "Well, I suppose there's no harm in telling you, since it's not going to come true anyway. I wished that I returned to the Shire and found Diamond in love with me."
There it was. The first time he had mentioned his wife's name since he had told her he was married. At first she had not understood his concern; Erite men took many wives, and she was not looking for a husband. Pippin painfully explained that he could no longer be her lover. She did not speak to him for days. When once again she did, it was as if their affair had never happened. For a while Pippin was thankful for that. Now it troubled him.
He looked at her, concerned and wary. "I'm sorry for everything."
She said nothing, draping the edge of her headscarf and veil over her knees like a blanket. "Worry not," she finally said. "Let it be forgotten."
"But I don't want to forget." He waited for her reply, any reply, like a fellow in a calm waiting for the wind to strike.
But Zeah said nothing, nor did she look in his direction, or favor him with a glance or a slap. She simply gazed up into the sky, and after a moment that felt unending, Pippin did the same.
"Diamond," Zeah said.
Pippin let out a breath. "Yes? What about her?"
"Did you ever love her?"
Pippin thought. The quick answer, was no; she had been chosen for him; they had been strangers to each other; she was too proud, he too changed, to be more than strangers. They had both been too young.
But even as he thought so, his mind slipped past cold silences and bitter arguments, past dinners spent without a word passing and nights spent apart, she in the satiny cotton of Lebennin sheets, he in the roughspun bedclothes of some barmaid's chamber; slipped to a day after their third anniversary.
Pippin had taken Diamond on a visit to her childhood haunts in the Northfarthing. As they rode, he noticed how, as the miles dropped away, her icy reserve and haughty demeanor did too, as the passed the Three-Farthing Stone and entered her old country.
"My lady," he said.
"My lord."
"Have you ever been in Bindbole Wood?"
"Yes, often."
"Might you have spotted an Entwife?"
"And what is an Entwife?" A light was in her eyes and the wind was in her hair; and she turned to him and he saw the hint of a smile upon her lips.
"The wife of an Ent, of course," he replied, and told her the story Treebeard told them. When he finished, she looked almost moved.
"Perhaps we should go in and look for ourselves," she suggested. And that moment was the moment Pippin started to wonder.
They didn't, of course; but that visit to the poor and beautiful valley of Long Cleeve was one of the most pleasant times they had experienced as husband and wife. A month afterward, she announced she was with child, and he embraced her until she scolded. At the proper time Faramir was born, and she let him name him that even though no one who mattered had ever had it before. The Tooks enjoyed it; it fit into the family.
"One of these days I'll take you to see the man you're named for," Pippin told his newborn son, gazing in wonder at the child's eyes already beginning to turn green, at the full head of fluffy chestnut-brown curls. "What do you say to that, my lady?" he asked his wife.
Diamond sighed, and for a moment, Pippin thought she'd say yes.
"Yes," Pippin said to Zeah, sitting under the stars in the midst of the tents in the oasis. "I suppose I did love her, once or twice, however briefly. I thought perhaps after our son was born, things would get better. Instead he became just another subject for us to fight about."
He shrugged. "I didn't marry for love. I didn't even marry for friendship. I'd never have cared to know her if she hadn't been betrothed to me. I don't expect to find her waiting for me when I return. Why should she? Our Rules are as strict as your law when it comes to things like this: when a husband abandons his wife, she has every right to a divorce." Now he laughed. "I really shouldn't expect any sort of welcome. Prodigal, rebel, runaway … you can be as wild as you want if you're a Took, but never go against the Tooks. By running away, I've done that. They've probably disowned me by now."
He heard Zeah exhale and turned to her. She gazed sidelong at him, and then said, "May I tell you something unlovely about yourself?"
Pippin, taken aback, nodded. "Please do."
"Sometimes you sound like a petulant boy." Zeah looked away into the sky. She continued, "I much prefer you smiling. Riding upon Miraz with a carefree smile on your face, as if all the sands, and plains, and seas, and countries of the world altogether are too small for you. That is the Peregrin Took I love."
Pippin, speechless, got up onto his knees and kissed her. It lasted only a moment; then he turned his head and pressed it against her cheek as he hugged her, saying, "I'm sorry."
Footsteps behind them made them both turn. It was Hoz.
"Father is to make his decision. Come."
It seemed to Pippin that the prophet of Er had aged since he had last seen him. Shadows now lurked beneath Zedek's eyes, and the lines on his face were deeper and more tightly drawn. Yet that face was resolute as he rose from his seat, staff in hand; and his eyes were bright as ever.
"For our guests, the son of Fëanor and the son of Paladin, I shall speak as a man of the West," he began in Westron, "and also for the words I shall speak were not spoken first by me, but by a king of the downfallen land of long ago. War is counseled, war against the Man of Seht, Sehty the sorcerer, and his enthralléd kingdom. And why? He has enslaved innocents and attacked his neighbors; he has transformed the Valley into a place of fear and might. He promotes with dark arts the power of his idol, Seht; and that alone is an affront to Er. So war is counseled me.
"Yet I know that war, though it be righteous, though it be just, though it be called by me holy—war brings sorrow, sorrow and death.
"I am the prophet of Er, as my father was before me, and his father before him; as my son the captain shall be after me." Zedek looked kindly at Hoz, and also at Zeah; and finally he glanced at Pippin. "It is given to me to find the will of Er, and bring it to men. It is also my duty to justify the ways of men to Er.
"The question is war; and so, as Meneldur King of Westernesse said long ago, shall I 'put iron in the hands of captains of conquest, and count the slain as our glory, and say to Er, at least Your enemies were amongst them? Or shall I fold hands, while friends die, and live in blind peace until the ravisher comes? What will then we do: match naked hands against naked might and die in vain, or flee, and say to Er, at least we spilled no blood? Both ways lead to evil.' So spake the King over the Sea, whose subjects brought the faith of Er to our people."
Zedek shook his head. "He did not choose, but chose to leave the choice to his son." He gazed again at Hoz, and again at Zeah. "But I must choose. And so I choose now."
He raised his staff and spoke in a tone of command. "We shall join with the Queen Yses and her guards. We shall aid them in their fight for liberation. We shall bring the might of the desert upon the Valley, until it is cleansed of the darkness of Seht.
"Send riders to all our people," he commanded. "Send messengers in secret to Yses, and to any who would aid us in this task. I call all Erayyim, men, women, and children," said Zedek, "to war."
3.
Zet Pallan burst into activity, and many knew no rest that night. Hoz commanded Medzhai upon the swiftest steeds to summon all their number to the Mountain of Er, west, north, and south.
"I will bring the message to Yses," said Zeah.
"No, sister," said Hoz firmly. Zeah's eyes flashed, but Hoz stood resolute. "You are known now to the Temple Guard, and to Sehty. The same goes for you, Pippin," he added, forestalling Pippin's impetuous suggestion. "My heart tells me Er has another task for you in this great matter."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Pippin muttered. "What about the Bani?"
"I have sent riders and birds to watch the southern marches as far as we can see," Hoz replied. "If and when they come, the Plainsmen will be a great ally to our cause."
"Especially if they come with mumakil," Zeah added.
Pippin remembered that Asouk was dubious of bringing oliphaunts along the Longest River, but then he thought, these were different circumstances.
He left Zeah and Hoz and the Medzhai and went to the tent where Bangshar was resting. He found his friend covered with wet cloths and being fed lukewarm water mixed with goat's milk. Bangshar was awake and looked up at him with a wide, cracked smile.
"I thought I was still seeing things," he said to Pippin, reaching up for Pippin to clasp his hand. "Razar. The Great Rider have been kind after everything."
"Something like that," Pippin replied with a smile. "How are you, Bangshar?"
"Alive and awake," Bangshar said, "which is a surprise, since I lost my way a few days ago coming from Umbar. If I had not run into that Elf, I would be dead. He had food and water."
"Where were you going?" Pippin wanted to know. "What's happened to the ship? Where's Neimor, and Davy? Tell me everything!"
Bangshar smiled and told his story. After the storm that damaged the Sword, they had put into a succession of little harbors and villages, repairing and reprovisioning, and doing a little light piracy. "Nothing much." After perhaps five weeks of this, they decided to venture back into more frequented waters, to see how much of a bounty was still on their heads, if any. They found out quickly, and were engaged by another Corsair ship that they defeated in a duel that ended with the opposing ship sunk by the shoals off Cape Andrast.
Unfortunately, the Gondorin navy had resumed control of Belfalas, and one of the new double-hulled, three-masted war galleys had stopped the Sword and arrested its crew. They were taken as far as Pelargir and brought before the Steward of Gondor himself.
"Then the Steward said to the captain, 'Are you not Mornel, a Ranger of Arnor?' To which the captain said, 'Neimor, if you please, and a pirate.' Then the Steward sent us away to be held while he spoke with the captain. I don't know of what they spoke. But that night, we found the captain at the door of our cell, Davy and I; and he was opening our cells and freeing us. We stole our way through the lord's house in Pelargir and managed to arm ourselves when our flight was detected.
"Oh, Razar, it was a glorious fight! We boarded that trim galley of theirs and made as if to steal it, and you should have seen the look on their faces when it seemed we were going to do so! Ah, but the captain has only one love upon the sea. That was his plan all along, you see.
"Imagine the looks on the harbor-master and the captain of the navy and on all the soldiers as their bright new ship foundered right at port, while the Sword of the Seas slipped her berth and raced away under the darkened moon! And the captain climbed onto the poop deck and ordered our black flags to fly, and so we sailed.
"We came to Umbar to a hero's welcome. All was forgiven for our feat against the navy of Gondor.
"Loaded with booty, the captain offered to disband the crew. I decided it was time to do as I said, and buy a horse and go seek my sister's fate and my own road home.
"I have been seeking the desert nomads for I was told they have lore of many lands. But I am not as skilled as I could be in traveling through a sea of sand. I lost my path and wandered from spring to spring as best I could, hoping to find this so-called holy Mountain where the nomads had assembled. I heard of wars and rumors of wars as well.
"Three days ago, near the end of my tether, I came across another rider coming from the east. So I came into the company of the Elf. Together we sought this place. I believe the Elf called the birds of the nomads. And so here we are. But now, tell me how you came to this place. How did you survive the sea? And do you know what happened to the first mate?"
So Pippin told the story, much abridged, of his journeys with Asouk, from the mysterious help of the leviathans to the traverse of the Plains of the Sun to the installation of Asouk as chief of all his People. He mentioned his capture by the Nekheti, rushing over the circumstances of the barge and the box and his experiences there. He spoke about the capture of Zeah, and the true identity of the magician Sehty as Alatar the Blue, and of the chase across the Longest River into the desert pursued by a sandstorm. At the end of it Bangshar shook his head and laughed.
"There is a word for you in my land," he informed Pippin. "Terik."
"Sounds familiar," Pippin replied, taking one of the cloths from Bangshar's head and refreshing it in a basin of water. "What does it mean?"
"Fool," said Bangshar. "But a special kind of fool: not a simpleton, but someone so reckless as to be clearly unwise, yet whose daring warms the hearts of the gods. Wherever the fool may go, in whatever place he finds himself, he will find himself with whatever grace he requires, to keep going."
Pippin made no reply for a long time. Finally he made himself smile. "No," he said, "that's not me."
"It's a good, if dangerous, thing to be."
Pippin laughed. "Danger? Well, if you wish to talk about danger," and he eagerly changed the subject, "I think there's going to be a war on." He spoke about the meeting. "And that fellow who rescued you—he's quite an Elf."
Bangshar shuddered. "I owe him my life for his kindness. But he scares me, Razar. All Elves do, but he is so old."
"I know," Pippin agreed with a serious nod. Like Galadriel, but dark, with nothing to temper his grief. "Still, I think he intends to help us."
"Us? You will take part in this?"
"Did I say 'us'?" That must have been a slip of the tongue. "Well, I meant the Erites. I'm going to Umbar. I plan to sail back to Gondor."
"You are going home," said Bangshar wistfully.
Pippin didn't tell his friend that he doubted anyplace would truly be home; but the Shire was a good country, where he had friends and family; it would have to do. Until the next time the wanderlust came upon him.
He felt someone join them, and saw Bangshar's eyes widen, and turned to see the Elf.
"How do you fare?" he asked Bangshar.
"The doctor tells me I'll be on my feet by tomorrow," the Easterling replied, not taking his eyes off his visitor.
"That is good." The Elf paused. "You," he said to Pippin. "You are Peregrin."
Pippin nodded. "Peregrin Took, at your service."
"Offer not your service to me lightly," said the Elf with a gleam in his eyes. "For I may require it of you."
"It's too late now," Pippin replied, "for I've given it to you all the same. It's only polite."
"Polite," repeated the Elf. "Rest well," he said to Bangshar with a bow. "If it please you, I shall sing for you, and aid in some small way your recovery."
Bangshar looked uncomfortably at Pippin, but said, "If you want to," looking dubious.
"I do," said the Elf. "I shall return with my harp. halfling, walk with me."
It was not a request.
4.
They were barely out of the tent when Pippin spoke first.
"Are you really the same Maglor from Elder Days?"
The Elf nodded. "Yes, I am. Do you wish for proofs?"
"I'll take your word for it. Why are you here?"
"Surely as you have been to the City of the Hawk, and seen the mechanism in stone being built therein, you already know the answer to your question. But I shall answer you, if you will answer a question of mine. I come, of course, for the Silmaril. It is mine; or, at least, it was, and claim it do I still, though truly I had wished it never fished from its long home in the heart of the Sea. But it has come again within reach, and I am sworn to reach for it."
The Elf brooded darkly, something Pippin had never before beheld in Elves: it was terrible and frightening. Then Maglor turned to him and said, "And you: who are you, Peregrin Took? Why are you here?"
"To tell the truth, I don't know anymore. I just … am."
"A wanderer, then."
"That's my name, or they tell me. What have you been doing with yourself for the past …" He reckoned hard. " … five thousand years?"
The ancient Elf laughed. "Wandering."
They came to the place where the horses were tethered. The Elf went to his steed, caressing its cheeks and murmuring soft phrases to it in his own language, which the other horses heeded. From his pack he produced a simple harp. He noticed Pippin's interest and asked, "Do you play, wanderer?"
"Not a harp. But I can carry a tune."
"You must lend me a tune in the days to come." Maglor gazed up into the sky. "And days there will be yet, whatever happens here upon this corner of the wide and weary world."
"My lord?" asked Pippin.
"Maglor."
"Maglor then. Pippin, or even Pip."
"Pippin."
"Maglor, what is it really like?"
"What is what truly like?"
"Aman. The Blessed Land." Pippin's voice faltered. "I have friends … kin there."
For an instant grief ravaged the Elf's face. Pippin took a step back, terrified.
Then Maglor mastered himself, and gazed as an Elf would: sorrowfully and full of regret.
"A land like any other, but neither time nor death nor the long slow tale of years may touch it. Undying, and beyond reach since the breaking of the world, but to those deemed worthy. All the Eldar who wish to go, all Quendi. And those the Valar grace. Such as your kin."
"You know of them?"
"I was far from the North-west of Middle Earth, but I heard tell at the time. The fall of Sauron was remarked throughout all Arda this side of the Sea. It was a great deed, what your Iorhael did."
"That's what they call him in Gondor," said Pippin, unable to conceal his bitterness. "An Elf-friend, like Beren and Tuor."
"The two were brave Men. I remember them well." Maglor patted his horse. "Pray the fallen wizard fails in his madness, or we shall see Aman indeed, when he activates his machine."
They made their way back to the tent. "That triangular building around the Silmaril is a machine?" Pippin asked.
"The order and measure of its chambers is known somewhat to me. It is a magnifier of power, made for one purpose: to open the Straight Road by force."
"I heard that before, but I still can't understand," Pippin said. "Why would he want to do this? Does he want to conquer the Undying Land? Is he mad? Not even the Númenóreans could do that. Nekhet doesn't even know how to make steel!"
"I know not his purpose," the Elf replied. "Nor care. I care he has laid claim of possession upon my father's work, the Silmaril I held in this hand." He showed his right hand to Pippin; it was whole, but its skin showed the hideous scars of a terrible burn, as if it had been set into a fire and left there. Pippin swallowed at the mark of the Silmaril upon an unworthy hand. "That claim I cannot suffer."
Pippin recalled the story of the Silmarils and the terrible oath of Fëanor and his sons. "I suppose you can't," he said softly. "Will you take it when the Erites attack?"
"The wars of men are no longer my concern, but it seems meet to seize the chances presented to us. Yes, I intend to take it.
"And moreover, I want you to help me."
Pippin halted. He stared at the Elf. "You can't be serious."
Maglor advanced on him, his eyes agleam. "The Silmaril is set in a crystal orb surmounted upon a golden chalice set upon a silver mast that neither I nor any other speaking creature can climb. The structure of the chamber now housing it is such that one cannot climb down to take it. The pillar is set in foundations of Númenórean make, unbreakable by any craft we have at hand. It cannot be toppled.
"To take it, one must climb the tower, onto the capital, and pry the jewel from its crystal. Perhaps once I could have done it myself, but no longer. Men cannot do it. Only a small and nimble creature can do so. I have no patience training monkeys. When I saw you in the market, I thought perhaps you would do.
"Now, after speaking with you, and discerning your mind …"
Pippin realized the whole conversation had been spent unguarded to the Elf's sight. So Maglor had gained his knowledge of the plans of the Stairway: he had taken it from unguarded and unknowing minds. Pippin closed the door to his mind, but it was too late. The Elf continued as if Pippin had done nothing.
" … I feel I should not coerce you, but rather, ask. Pippin, I am in need of a thief. What say you?" Maglor smiled. "Shall we steal a Silmaril?"
"So what do you say, Pip?" Merry asked.
Pippin frowned. The tree seemed awfully high, even for him. All this for a kite?
"I don't know," he told Merry.
Next to Merry, Myrtle Burrows burst into tears. Estella comforted her with a pat on the back, and gave Merry a look.
Merry sighed. He was twenty-two and just discovered Fatty Bolger's sister was very pretty. "Come on, Pippin. You're the only one who can climb that high." He put his hands on Pippin's shoulders. "Come on. Do it and maybe Myrtle will give you a kiss."
"No I won't! Lads are smelly!"
Pippin didn't find the offer very appealing either. "Girls are a bother," he said.
Estella was smirking at Merry, who seemed quite unaware but for the gleam in his eyes. "All right then, I guess we'll just have to try to knock it down," he said. "Where's a rock?"
"No!" Myrtle protested. "You'll ruin it!"
"But it's a very high tree, Myrtle dear," Merry explained to the young hobbit girl. "Even Peregrin Took is daunted from time to time."
Pippin heard that. "I am not!" he protested, and without another word, leapt for a low branch and began to climb.
Up, up, up he went, until he got so high he felt like a giant in a story told by Cousin Bilbo before he went away. He reached for the small white kite, and with his last reckless reach obtained it; but instead of climbing down saw how high he was and decided he liked it up there.
"Merry! Look at me, I'm an eagle!" And Pippin stood on the branch and spread his arms.
"Very funny, young hobbit," said Merry sternly. "Now stop that and finish what you set out to do, and mind you don't end up killing anyone, such as yourself for example."