The East Gate

by Eastgaters

When Gandalf fell in Moria, The Fellowship escaped through the East Gate with relative ease. This story is what might have occurred had the orcs not fled but kept on coming. Features all the remaining 8 - COMPLETE!

17. Singing and Singed

The East Gate

Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list
Frodo – Baylor
Samwise – Budgielover
Pippin, Merry, Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli andSundry Elves– Llinos

In this chapter most of the original players were no longer available and were all understudied by Llinos

Story Editor Llinos
Beta Marigold

CHAPTER 17
Singing and Singed

After he had been presented to the Lord and Lady, an experience he was setting aside for now, to be examined when he was in a clearer state of mind, before he would eat, before he would bathe, before he would sleep, Frodo had insisted on seeing Merry, and none with him had objected. In fact, Aragorn and Sam had leaned over the bandage-swaddled figure in the bed just as eagerly as he, their faces as disbelieving and grateful. Truly, Frodo had scarcely dared hope for this – to find Merry alive after suffering that horrible wound and, from what Frodo gathered, additional battering after they had parted. He was not certain how, exactly, but Legolas had brought Merry back from the very brink of death, through some power of love and self-sacrifice that had left the Elf looking weary, a first in Frodo's experience.

Merry was deeply asleep though and would sleep for a long time, he'd been reassured, so Frodo allowed himself to be tended to. Cleaned and fed, his wound redressed with comforting hands, he had sunk into a soft bed and not woken until the Sun was nearing Her height.

He paused for more food, but nothing else, before returning to Merry's side, Sam with him. As noon became afternoon, Frodo watched his cousin's face carefully, recollecting all those times he had watched Merry sleep, from infancy to childhood, through illness and injury, in grief and in the sweet sleep of the innocent.

Now, finally, he was rewarded with familiar blue-grey eyes and crooked smile, and the beloved, longed-for voice uttering words Frodo dreaded to hear:

"Where's Pip? Too scared to come up the stairs, I expect. How soon can I go down to see him?"

For a heartbeat, no one said anything, and the smile on Merry's face faltered. Before it could fade, Frodo picked up Merry's free hand and kissed the knuckles tenderly, giving himself the moment he needed to compose his face and steady his voice.

"Merry-lad," he said, and was pleased to hear ease and love in his voice, "when did a Took ever show greater fear of heights than a Brandybuck? I believe you would glue your feet to the ground if it meant never having to leave it. I am certain that the moment he arrives, Pippin will come tearing up those stairs without a moment's hesitation."

He met Merry's eyes steadily as he spoke, and squeezed his cousin's hand.

Merry furrowed his brow as Frodo spoke, desperately trying to remember all he could and to piece those memories together. It was difficult to distinguish waking from sleeping, actual events from nightmare recollections. That he had been injured was one fact to which he could anchor firmly, but his last pain-free coherent moment before that? It had been flying through the air and landing hard and turning to defend himself from an onslaught of orcs in the mines of Moria, only to find his hand empty and his sword gone. After that things became muddled.

Merry thought he had seen Pippin fighting and had several images of him from the past few days. Once when he came to comfort Merry's pain as he lay in the strange cottage and again, when Pippin himself had been hurting, he had been drawn to his little cousin's side. But how much of this was real and how much imagined, Merry could not tell.

So where was Pippin now? Why was he not with Frodo and Sam? What did Frodo mean, 'the moment he arrives'? How could Frodo and Sam and the others have left without Pip? It could mean only one thing!

Merry grasped Frodo's hand with all the poor strength he could muster, digging his fingernails into Frodo's skin to stop him withdrawing, "He's dead, Frodo! He's dead and you can't tell me because I'm ill. I know you too well Frodo, don't lie to me!"

Merry felt his whole body tremble with utter terror as he thought of Pippin torn to pieces by those hideous, gnarled-fanged creatures and then remorse quickly followed. "It was all my fault Frodo! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I let Pippin die… I let go of my sword… I should've held on… it's all my fault!"

0-0-0-0-0-0

Llygoden carefully unbound the dwarf's injured leg and poured a little liquid from a small leather bottle. "This may feel cold, but it is from the witch hazel plant and will ease the bruising of your injury." The elf skilfully rewrapped the broken limb with the right amount of pressure, reusing the splints that Pippin had originally provided.

Gimli sighed with relief as the treatment drew to a close. He did not want to show weakness, especially in front of the elves, but his leg was taxing him almost beyond endurance, since, not only was it a bad break, but he had been dragged around for nearly three days with very little rest or respite. "Thank you Master Elf," he snorted, "your tinctures are cold, but somewhat effective."

Llygoden smiled in return, "I'm happy to be of service Sir Dwarf."

"Gimli – the name is Gimli – son of Glóin." He harrumphed a little and coughed into his beard as if to mask the sudden attempt at courtesy, "What's ailing the young hobbit?" Gimli noticed with concern that Pippin was now holding his belly and groaning.

"Pippin?" Boromir dropped to one knee beside his companion, "are you in pain? Here have some water." The man held the lip of the bottle solicitously to the moaning hobbit's mouth. Pippin grabbed hold of the bottle and tipped it up, taking a long swig of the refreshing liquid, hoping that it would help to wash down the six Elven cakes he had scoffed in his enthusiastic hunger.

"Stop! No! Do not let the perian drink!" Draenog shouted in panic. "The lembas he has consumed will swell within him and cause him great distress!"

Quickly, but too late, Boromir snatched the bottle away, dropping it to the ground as he picked Pippin up and slapped him heartily on the back trying to make him expel the water he had just poured copiously down his throat. He was rewarded with a small dribble and a loud, indignant shout. "Boromir! Ouch! Put me down!"

"Please Sir, do not distress him more." Wiwer looked and sounded alarmed at the man's violent healing technique. "Give the perian to me."

Boromir hefted Pippin upright into the crook of his arm and made to pass him to the elf, but the hobbit had other ideas and wriggled out of the grasp of both man and elf, landing with a thump on the ground. "Stop passing me around like a bag!" Pippin stood up with his hands on his hips looking indignantly around at the concerned company, "I'll be all right in a moment, I just have a touch of indigest… indige… owww! ohhhh my! aieeee my belly!" Pippin clutched his stomach and sank to the forest floor, crying and moaning.

Llygoden knelt beside him as the others looked on in worried concern. Gently the healer elf put one hand on Pippin's brow and the other slid under the hobbit's own little fists to carefully palpate the aching stomach. "There, there, little perian. It must hurt a lot, try to be still and you'll feel better in a while!" The elf reached into the bag around his shoulder and drew out a small glass bottle. He held it under Pippin's nose, letting him breath the contents until the writhing lessened and Pippin's moans grew fainter. Then he brought out a little wooden box that contained a light coloured paste. This he swiped up on his finger and pushed the digit into Pippin's mouth, wiping the paste around the hobbit's tongue and teeth. He repeated this several times, and with each application Pippin grew more and more still until, eventually, his breathing slowed to that of a sleeping hobbit.

Llygoden, without ceremony placed the drugged hobbit in Boromir's arms and turned to confer in Elvish with his brothers. "I think we may have to forgo the blindfolds. This occurrence means now that the little one must be carried and the dwarf already needs much help to reach safety."

"But what of the secrets of Lothlórien?" Wiwer was more than aware that none but elves, wizards and a few trusted men had looked upon their realm since Durin's Day, "are we now to lay all our defences bare unto a dwarf?"

"We have little choice." Draenog decided. "We cannot carry the perian with the care he needs and guide a lame dwarf without further injury, not if he is blindfolded."

"But we could manage it if only the dwarf were blindfold." Wiwer looked over at Boromir, standing as the elves had left him, cradling Pippin in his arms and looking anxious and baffled. "The man could carry the perian and one of us can lead, while the other two guide or bear the dwarf."

"But I think he will not." Draenog said, "It is strange to see such an alliance, but this man of Gondor and this son of Glóin seem determined to suffer each other's fate, whatever it be. If one is blindfold, the other will insist upon the same."

"Then we have no choice," Llygoden shrugged. "We cannot leave them here, so they must come free and without hindrance." As his brothers made no further argument the healer turned back to Boromir and Gimli and spoke once more in the Common Tongue. "It is agreed, because of the little one's illness, you shall travel without blindfolds. Come we must delay no longer – we must travel through the hours of darkness as it is. Even so I doubt we will reach our destination before late tomorrow."

Boromir blinked in surprise and looked at Gimli with raised eyebrows and then with a look of puzzlement and concern at the sleeping hobbit in his arms. "I thank you Sir," he said to Llygoden, "but tell me, what have you done to Pippin? What happened to make him ill and what did you give him?"

Llygoden smiled and looked down at the hobbit, running a gentle hand through the tousled curls to feel his brow, "He ate six lembas loaves in one sitting. It is Elven waybread and one bite is enough to sustain an Elven warrior for a day and a night. Then to drink water on top of that, the bread swelled in his stomach and caused great pain. No, do not worry." Llygoden saw the look of guilt on Boromir's face, remembering that he had given the water to Pippin. "He will recover in time. But I have given him a powerful sleeping potion to keep him out of pain while the bread is… um… digested."

"Would you like me to carry the perian?" Wiwer offered.

"Don't worry, I can bear him for now." Boromir looked down at the now peaceful, sleeping hobbit and was thinking how sweet and innocent the childlike face was, when suddenly he both heard and felt a growling rumble that emanated from the region of Pippin's middle. "Err… I think the digestive process has begun. Perhaps it would be better if you were to carry him… erm… I think Gimli would like my assistance." Hurriedly the man deposited the grumbling bundle into the elf's arms and retrieved Gimli's crutch for him. "Come now friend Gimli, we had best not keep these good elves waiting."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sam's resolution to stay out of the cousins' conversation faltered and dissolved under the pain in Merry's voice. He shouldn't get excited – he shouldn't thrash about so. Even reaching up to take his cousin's hand must have hurt him. The lad was shaking. That surely couldn't be good for him, all wrapped up and bandaged like that.

But he could hardly gainsay his master. If Frodo had chosen not to tell the lad, then it certainly wasn't Sam's place.

He glanced up at Aragorn, hoping the Man would take it upon himself to intervene. To distract Mr Merry, or jolly him out of his fear, or – or something.

Aragorn had kept silent, watching with amused relief as the hobbits greeted one another, but knowing that the inevitable questions about Pippin would come quickly.

Aragorn was impressed with the way Frodo handled it, but he knew that Merry would not settle for less than the truth on this matter. Laying his hand upon Frodo's shoulder, the Ranger leaned forward and smiled gently at the bandaged hobbit.

"We do not know if Peregrin lives, Merry, nor do we know the fate of Gimli, or of Boromir. They were still in Moria when we fled, and indeed they bought our only chance of escape." He paused, looking down at the upturned faces of these small warriors, of which he had grown so fond.

"Do not lose heart. Boromir and Gimli...and Peregrin, are strong and stout-hearted. I for one will not lose hope until I hear more than a rumour of their deaths."

Frodo, his hand still over Merry's, gently ran his thumb across Merry's scraped and battered knuckles. "Merry-lad," he said gently, "Pippin is with Boromir and Gimli, and even better protected than had he been with you and I, and Sam. You know they will not allow harm to befall him, even at the cost of their own lives. Aragorn is right – I will not give up hope until I have seen proof that there is none. We shall see Pippin again, and soon. Even now, scouts are scouring the countryside looking for them."

Still seeing doubt and fear on Merry's face, he drew his cousin's hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it. "I have been reunited with you, dear cousin, when hope of it seemed beyond probability," he said. "If we can be here together, then I've no doubt that Pippin can yet join us."

The words that Merry was hearing did little to comfort him. Pippin's whereabouts it seemed were unknown and, even if he were with Boromir and Gimli, the last they knew of him was inside the mines. "B-but Frodo, if Pip was left i-in the m-mines…"

Merry knew he should not task his poor cousin in this way, he had enough to trouble him with the responsibility of the Ring, but he could not stop the feeling of total dread that lay upon his heart. "I know Boromir and… and Gimli are stout warriors, but Frodo, even G-Gandalf did not survive the horrors of that place… I cannot see how Pip…" Merry gulped and tried to stifle his tears of guilt and remorse.

He knew he should have more trust in his little cousin's ability to survive but somehow the thought of Pippin hurt and without him was too much to bear. Ever since his father and uncle had charged him, as the oldest, to watch out for the heir to the Thainship he had taken that responsibility to heart – and more – Pippin himself occupied the largest part of Meriadoc's soul and the hobbit found it hard to relinquish that responsibility to anyone else, no matter how great and powerful they might be.

Merry tried to compose himself once more to go on, although he knew deep inside that his older cousin understood his bond with Pip and did not really need it explained. "Frodo, how can I trust anyone else? You have to help me get out of here, please Frodo! I can't just lie here with Pip lost!" Merry struggled lamely and attempted to free his trapped arm, trying to sit upright at the same time.

Kindly but firm hands soon stilled his attempt.

"Now that's enough, Mr Merry," said Sam firmly. "Anybody who's got sense could see you're not up to moving about." Sam pushed Merry back down among the pillows and tapped Merry's bandaged arm gently, certain that he wasn't hurting him under all that wrapping. Staying out of family discussions was one thing, but he wasn't going to stand by and see Mr Merry hurt himself by trying to get up, not after they'd got him back after thinking him lost.

Not sure if hobbit-sense was enough to convince his master's cousin, Sam continued, "And do you think Master Pippin would want to see you like this? No offence, sir, but you look right awful. I've seen you and Mr Frodo drag yourselves back from The Green Dragon at dawn looking better than you look now."

That was a telling argument. Embarrassed by his own outspokenness, Sam was careful not to look at his master. More seriously, he continued in a soft voice. "You'll scare him, sir, when he gets here. Looking like you do, I mean. Won't you just take a little nap and rest a bit, so you don't frighten the lad when he comes roaring up them stairs?"

Frodo looked desperately at Merry, wanting to calm and reassure him but not certain how. "Please, Merry," he half-begged, gently taking hold of Merry's other arm and stroking it, trying to hold him still and comfort him. "There is nothing we can do right now, but have faith in Pippin and in Boromir and Gimli. Think of what you have endured, and how little hope there was of you coming to this place alive, yet here you are. And if there is anyone filled with hope, it is Pippin.

Merry withdrew into himself, turning his face into the pillow away from Sam and Frodo. Why could they not understand? He could not find anything positive in the situation. Pippin was lost, had been left behind in the dark and dangerous mines that swarmed with bloodthirsty, terrifying orcs and trolls. In his feverish state it was all Merry could focus on. Pippin was lost and it was all his fault. He hitched a sob, that was muffled into the down of the pillow and murmured the same thing over and over, "Pippin, I'm sorry, so sorry!"

The voice that belonged to none of his companions spoke again, "Meriadoc, my name is Gaeaf, I am charged by the Lady Galadriel to care for you. Would you have her abrade me for neglecting my task?" The healer elf waited for a few moments hoping his words would sink in.

Merry lay still for a moment, neither sobbing nor struggling any more. "I-I j-just can't… I'm sorry. It's too hard to think of anything… wh-when Pip…"

"Then try not to think, you must rest and take some nourishment, or else you will fade into shadow and darkness. Come now, you must drink a little." Gaeaf lifted Merry back to a sitting position and held a goblet to his lips.

Merry turned his head away and refused to drink. "Please, don't make me," he whispered, "I don't want anything, just leave me alone, please, all of you, just go away."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Gimli had been relieved that he no longer needed to argue about the blindfold, especially as he was on the point of capitulating and now would not lose face. He had hauled himself to his feet and taken the crutch from Boromir.

Through the night and into the next day the dwarf had valiantly walked as much as he could with a few well-earned rests. Eventually they took a long break along with some carefully administered lembas, discovered in the bottom of Llygoden's bag and, having washed a few bites down with water, both Boromir and Gimli sympathised greatly with Pippin's predicament. The bread was indeed delicious but, once hydrated, almost painfully satiating.

As the Sun climbed higher, Gimli dragged himself up once more. "Aye, and it's time we were away from here. Are you sure that youngling is only ailing temporarily?" He looked up over the end of his nose at the elf carrying Pippin, "He looks far too…"

Gimli never finished his sentence. Wiwer suddenly threw Pippin up and over his shoulder, balancing the hobbit there, as he pulled his bow from off his shoulder, nocked an arrow in place and fired… one… two and three in quick succession.

"Get down!" Draenog pushed the dwarf back to the ground again, making him fall flat on his face and landing on top of him as an arrow whooshed across the elf's back, almost parting his long, golden hair.

Boromir, in spite of his great weariness, reacting by instinct rather than conscious thought, drew his sword and spun in one seamless move to cleave the head off an orc that came charging into the clearing while Llygoden simultaneously plunged a long bladed dagger into another foe.

Wiwer's first three arrows had each found their mark and now the elf half threw and half handed the still sleeping Pippin to Draenog as he raised up from on top of the dwarf and then raced off into the trees in pursuit of yet another two orcs. One fell to his fourth arrow, but the other evaded him by rolling down a deep gully and into the flowing stream at the bottom. Exasperated the elf made his way back to the others.

"Did you stop him?" Draenog had draped Pippin over his shoulder now as he went to join his brother. "I think he was the last."

"No," Wiwer grimaced slightly, "He escaped into the river. I fear he will bring others back upon us. We must delay no more."

"We will head for the Bythyn Flet," Llygoden decided. "We cannot make enough speed with these injured and indisposed 'guests'." He said the word with the merest hint of exasperation.

"I am sorry we are such a burden, good sirs." Boromir said apologetically, in spite of the fact that he had acquitted himself in the battle with honour, he felt his companions were encumbering their hosts and that they had probably caused the orc attack in the first place.

"It is no matter," Llygoden remembered his manners. "Come, let us delay no more."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"Now that enough o' that, Mr Merry," Sam said firmly, ignoring the startled glance the elven healer awarded him. "I've seen baby ducks that show more sense than you. Like Mr Frodo said, we thought you were dead … and here you are, all safe and sound and getting better."

Sam bit his lip. He couldn't tell from Merry's averted head what effect his words had had. He glanced up at his master, then at Aragorn and the healer. "Mr Merry," he said quietly, "Pippin's going to need you when they all get here. He's going to need you strong enough to take care of him till all this is sorted out so to speak. Won't you let us help you, for his sake?"

"I'm not ungrateful Sam," Merry managed to whisper, "I just can't… I feel like I'm drowning…" he gasped a wheezing breath and tried to cough but could not manage it. "I can't eat… nor drink, I'd… ch-choke…" he broke off again, fighting for his breath, close to hyperventilating.

Gaeaf lifted the hobbit forward in the bed, leaning him over his arm and rubbing his back. "Calm now Meriadoc, breathe slowly, softly, like the wind in the trees, like the kiss of the sun on the flowers, as a ripple across a pond or a raindrop upon a petal." He repeated the words over and over, speaking softly and gently. Finally, satisfied that his patient was breathing normally again, the elf rested him back against the voluminous pillows that kept the hobbit almost sitting upright.

Merry looked around at the anxious faces of his friends, his own cheeks like chalk in stark contrast to his red eyes, rubbed sore from crying. He sniffed a little and drew another difficult breath. "I'm sorry – I d-don't mean to be f-foolish. But I know something is wrong. I felt Pippin in my heart grieving because he'd lost me, because we'll never see each other again. It made me feel he was – was…" Merry could not bring himself to say the words.

"You think he has departed this life?" Gaeaf asked quietly.

Merry nodded, biting his bottom lip to stop the tears from spilling once more.

Frodo looked sadly at his cousin. Merry and Pippin had a strong and intuitive bond, that was certain, but even so, all that Sam and he had just said to Merry was true. Here he was, reunited with his beloved Merry-lad, beyond all hope. He would not believe Pippin was dead until he held the lad's body in his arms.

He took Merry's hand again, gently, and stroked his brow. "If that is so, Merry-lad, then there is naught we can do for him, save lead lives that he would be proud of," he said quietly. "But I will not believe it unless I see his body with my own eyes. I will place my faith in the people of the Golden Wood, that they will discover what has become of our Pippin, good or ill. For now, I know where my place is, and what it is I must do. It is beside you, helping you to recover. Now, please, Merry, rest and grow strong. Sam is right – Pippin will be terrified if he sees you so ill, and he will need your comfort, after whatever hardships he has endured. Please, dear one, sleep now."

"Frodo, I'm scared to sleep," Merry was too weak to move much having exhausted himself with his earlier thrashing around but, even so, he did not feel sleepy, "when I dream I see frightening things – things I don't want to see."

The elven healer, Gaeaf smiled kindly, "It is only your injuries that turn your dreams to nightmares. You have a fever, Meriadoc, that is why you must drink more, to cool your body."

"But there was more…" Merry was interrupted by being offered the cup once more and, this time, as Gaeaf held the goblet to his lips, he obediently took a long drink. "Thank you Sir, I'm sorry to be difficult."

Merry gulped and continued, "I think I did die and… and Legolas he did something; he saved me. I don't know how, but he did and Frodo, I think he harmed himself. Is he all right? Where is he?"

Frodo looked at Merry, puzzled. He had been told that Legolas had saved Merry's life, but he had seen and spoken to the elf, and he did not appear to be harmed in any way, though he did seem tired. But Frodo had supposed that given all they had been through, even an elf could be allowed some fatigue.

"Merry, love, Legolas is just fine. He did save your life," Frodo said. "I have seen him myself and he is not harmed. He is resting now; I understand he went through many trials to save you. Please, Merry, you must rest now, and do as the healers tell you. Surely you would not dishonour all that Legolas and the other elves who strived so hard to save you by not trying your best to recover? Perhaps when you awake, Legolas will come to reassure you himself."

"But Frodo," Merry tried to hitch himself more upright in the bed, but failed and slumped back again, "what are they doing to find Pippin? If Legolas is ill and Strider is still here, is anyone looking for him? I need to go and look for him if no one else will." Merry in his fevered state was convinced that if he did not get out of bed and look for his little cousin, no one else would trouble to. He tried to push himself upright again, using his unrestricted arm, but failed. "What if he and the others are hurt? Poor Pip will never find us again!" Merry was still on the verge of panic and the rush of adrenaline his fear for Pippin was giving him did not help matters.

"Meriadoc, if you do not lie still, I will be forced to bind your other arm." Gaeaf's tone did not leave any invitation to argue or disobey. "I will sit you up for a little while longer so you may see your friends." The healer lifted Merry to rest on the pillows once more and bolstered him on either side with two more bulky cushions. "But then you must eat and rest and any more unnecessary movement will result in the immediate ending of this visit."

As Merry was lifted up again he saw that Frodo himself looked terribly pale and realised with a new wave of guilt that he had hardly asked how Frodo and Sam had fared themselves. "What else happened, Frodo? How did you manage to get here? You're not hurt are you? Is the Ring…" Merry stopped suddenly, remembering he was not supposed to talk about that in front of strangers.

"No, no, Merry, I am well. Just a little bruised," Frodo hastened to reassure Merry, and to divert the topic of conversation. The only stranger in the room was the healer elf, but Frodo did not know who else was about, or how much information they were privy to. It seemed the best course of action was to not speak openly of his quest, or the Ring.

"Fro, I don't know what's going on, it's… all too difficult… can't seem to work it out." Merry gave a small sob as the ache in his side began to throb once more in unison with the pain in his head. "I just can't stop thinking about Pip and what…" Merry broke off, knowing that his protest would only bring more protestations of why he should not worry, but still it would not stop the fears. "Could you just sit by me Fro… and tell me something different. One of your stories, like the ones Uncle Bilbo used to make up."

Merry sighed as he thought of the untroubled evenings sitting around the fire in Bag End with Pippin nestled against him, squabbling about who got the next popped chestnut from the hearth and listening in awe to tales of dragons and dwarves and treasure. Wonderful when it was far away. Now it had all come a little too close for comfort and Merry wondered if he could ever feel the same about those romantic stories again.

"Or perhaps Sam could sing one of his funny songs." Merry stifled a sob and wiped his eye with the back of the long nightshirt sleeve. "That would be nice."

Sam was relieved that Merry had at last stopped fighting them and trying to go after Pippin. Clearly not something he was able to do, but a song? Frantically he shifted through the cluttered recesses of his memory. He remembered how much Mr Merry and the others had enjoyed his silly troll song … but that would bring back memories of that dreadful journey from Weathertop and Sam didn't want to be reminded of that terrible night. Nor remind his master or anyone else of it.

A song … a happy, silly song to cheer up Mr Merry… Sam summoned a smile from somewhere and managed to turn it into a wry grin. "If you lie there still, Mr Merry, I might be able 'ta come up with something." He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels for a moment. With a quick glance at Frodo for permission, Sam inhaled and sang softly in a sing-song voice,

"Her dress was red, the skirts a' billow
Her golden curls tumbling down
Her figure was trim as a wind-blown willow
Her eyes were big and brown.

"The pretty lass walked through the Shire
With many a heart enthral
Such love and longing she could inspire
But disdaining each lad's call.

"The sweet lass sang as she strolled along
A bright and happy air
Even the birds envied her song
And flowers bowed to a lass so fair.

"So taken was she with her song on her way
That she gazed up at the sky
She thought of her love, as well she may,
And her feet and her steps went awry.

"Better to have kept her eyes on her path
For it had rained the previous night
She fell in a puddle as deep as a bath
Oh what a terrible plight!

"Up she jumped, with splutters and shrieks
As muddy as she could be,
Dirty and tangled, with blazing red cheeks
She ran home, ere someone would see.

"Her beau waited long by the old oak tree
His love did not need a reminder
He wondered where she could possibly be
Then at length he set out to find her.

"She opened the door and shrieked again
For she knew she looked quite a sight
Her hair hung limp there was mud on her face
She was bound to give him a fright.

"The lad stood frozen, his mouth wide in shock
His toe-hair began to curl
The lass sighed with shame in her mud covered frock
No longer would she be his girl.

"But the lad reached out and gathered her close
And kissed the mud in her hair
He asked how many their wedding should host
And said, never had she looked more fair.

"The lad and the lass were wed in the spring,
Their smial soon abounded with small ones,
And their Da's favourite story, above everything,
Was told to their daughters and sons.

"The day their Da stood outside a round door
And stared at their mum, dirty and sore
Mud in her hair and her dress all tore
Who he never could love a single whit more."

Rather out of breath, Sam gulped and hoped he hadn't made too much of a fool of himself. He dared to glance at the Elf, remembering the lofty, dignified lays sung in Rivendell. The healer was probably choking back peals of laughter at his ridiculous doggerel. Gaeaf was smiling at him. Encouraged, Sam straightened and shot an embarrassed grin at his master.

"Sam!" Frodo exclaimed. "You never cease to amaze me. That was lovely, and it did my heart good to hear it right now, and Merry's, too, I am certain."

"It's very funny Sam," Merry finally managed a small imitation of a smile, "did you make it out of your own head?"

"Of course, we both know that Sam sings more than he lets on." Frodo cast a sly, yet fond, look at his servant. "Everyone knows the rule at Bag End, don't they, Meriadoc? Quiet down and listen when you hear Sam start to sing, and don't let on that you can hear him lest he stop! I haven't heard him down at the Dragon – unlike other certain young hobbits I could name – but I'll wager that a certain young Bywater lass has heard him sing a time or two. What do you think, Merry? Has Sam showed off his talents to roses other than the ones outside my study window?"

"I shouldn't be surprised." Merry agreed, "Why half the lasses in Hobbiton and Bywater are after young Samwise, but I think he has vowed to wait for mid-Summer – for that's when the true Rose appears."

Sam blushed a bright red at Merry's gentle teasing, caught between mortification and pride that his master had so cleverly distracted the lad from his fears and pain. Merry's response to Frodo's question indicated more clearly than words that the injured hobbit's mind had retreated back to less anxious times. Sam would gladly endure any amount of banter if it made Mr Merry feel better.

"That might be so, Mr Merry," Sam returned with as much dignity as he could muster, "but that's more up to the lass than me."

"You're too modest Sam," Frodo nudged Sam suggestively with a sly wink at Merry. "She's yours for the asking and you know it."

"Mr Frodo!"

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The party set out again with Llygoden in the lead, followed by Wiwer, now carrying Pippin, while Boromir and Draenog took an arm each side of Gimli and almost carried the dwarf along at a good pace. By nightfall they had reached the flet and, with some difficulty, hauled the protesting dwarf up onto the platform.

Wiwer had climbed up lightly with Pippin balanced easily across his shoulder, but as soon as he had set the hobbit down and wrapped him in spare covers that were kept on the flet, Pippin began to moan and thrash about and eventually, opened his eyes and pushed himself up on his elbows, looking groggily up at the company. "Boromir…" Pippin whispered the name urgently. "Boromir, where am I? I need to… you know… now!"

One of the elves moved to pick him up from the nest of rugs, but Pippin petulantly hugged his arms around himself and refused to be lifted. "No, please, I just want Boromir. It's just… well, please… ohhhh! my poor tummy!"

Boromir let a small smile curl the corners of his mouth, glad to see the little one waking but worried nonetheless at his distress, although this was not the first time he had seen one of the hobbits with a bellyache after over-indulging at trencher or board. "Come then Pippin, but you must be quick, as we may be under attack and need the safety of this platform."

"Don't worry, Boromir," Pippin climbed shakily to his feet, "I'll certainly be quick. Oh good heavens, where are we?" Pippin suddenly realised that he was looking at the upper branches of the trees, standing on a flimsy platform and that the ground was nowhere in sight. "Boromir, please get me down from here – quickly!"

"Yes, get him down Boromir," Gimli could see the terrified expression on the hobbit's face, although whether that was from fear of the flet, anxiety about attack or just his aching belly, the dwarf was not sure. "You'd best hurry, he does nae look too good."

Without further encouragement, Boromir hoisted the groaning Pippin over his shoulder and carried him back down from the flet and guided him to a nearby bush. When they finally returned, Pippin climbed by himself with Boromir's reassurance and guiding hand and complained his way back onto the platform. White-faced the hobbit sank back into the heap of rugs and curled up, still clutching his stomach and still moaning and groaning with pain.

"Listen," Draenog held his hand up for silence and then breathed the word, "Yrch!"

"Hush if you can, little perian," Wiwer put his hand on Pippin's back and rubbed soothingly, "You must be quiet, the orcs are near and they will discover us."

But Pippin could not be silenced. He was feverish now and the ache in his stomach had not abated. "I can't… aiiieeee! It's hurting so … sorry I ate those cakes, why did they make me ill… ewwwch!"

"Peace – be still, little one." Wiwer reached into his bag and once more drew forth the wooden box. He scooped some more of the paste onto his finger and put it in Pippin's mouth. "You ate too many, that's why. Eat this now, just suck it and don't…Ew-ouch!" The elf hastily withdrew his finger as Pippin, in his agony, bit down on the alien thing in his mouth.

Gimli tried to suppress a guffaw, "Ah you see, some hobbits never learn, that one'll eat anything that's put in his mouth!"

Boromir, hid his smile behind his hand, before offering to help. "Does Pippin need more of that medicine?" He enquired with a frown. "Will the pain not abate soon?"

"It may, although I suspect the perian will be in considerable discomfort for the next day and night." Wiwer said, standing and sucking at his own sore finger. "The paste will make him sleep and also keep him quiet – his moaning could be the ruin of all of us if the orcs find our flet."

Boromir took the box from the elf's hand. "How much is safe?" he asked, sniffing suspiciously at the contents.

"Just two more fingerfuls," Wiwer looked balefully at the innocent faced halfling, who had now gone back to groaning and rocking with his hands clutched about his middle. "Although I would not recommend using your own finger."

"No, I shall not," Boromir agreed. Moving Pippin upright, he caught hold of the hobbit's hand and pulled his thumb out straight. Carefully he dipped the tiny digit into the box and scooped a liberal helping of the paste onto it and squatting next to his patient, stuck Pippin's thumb in his mouth. "Here Master Peregrin, I've seen you suck your thumb in your sleep and now it has something on it to make you feel better."

"Yech! Boromir," Pippin paused from his moaning to pull his thumb from his mouth and look at it with disgust. "It tastes foul! What have you put on it?"

"Medicine for your…erm… indigestion," Boromir told him simply. "Now take it like a good hobbit." With that the man scooped Pippin's thumb into the box again and, holding Pippin's nose, put the remedy into his open mouth. "Don't spit it out." Boromir warned. "If you eat things that make you ill, you have to have the cure as well."

Pippin said nothing but made a face, working the unpleasant mixture around with his jaws and finally yawning. He flopped over on to his side with a groan and closed his eyes, still holding tightly to his aching belly with one hand, his thumb in his mouth with the other.

"Shhhh!" Draenog hissed urgently. He flapped his arm at them to indicate complete silence as through the trees below a thumping noise could be heard, accompanied by the sound of tearing foliage and swearing in the Common Tongue.

The occupants of the flet froze in silence as the noise grew closer, all save Pippin who had begun to snore gently.

"Where da fug did dem stinkin' rats get ta?" A voice carried clearly up to them, "Gugna youse saw dem last, where was dey?"

"Yeah an' I was runnin' fer me stinkin' life, cuz youse bastids left me ta do it all! 'ow's 'm I s'possed ta know where dey is?"

"Yeowwweee!" Pippin rolled over suddenly and let out a great scream. "Aeiiiee! Merry, it hurts, ohhh Merry!"

"Shhhh… hush little one!" Boromir was at his side, "Sorry Pip, you have to be quiet." With the apology that he knew the hobbit would not hear, he placed his great hand over Pippin's mouth. "Hush… shhh… shhh…" he soothed.

"Was 'at? Comed from up dere!" The cry had been too loud for the orcs not to have heard it.

All three elves took careful aim over the side of the flet, hoping to pick off the leaders. They felled the first five orcs, before the creatures had worked out where the attack came from, but this group was at least thirty strong.

"Get a fire going!" Shouted a voice, "Round that bleedin' tree a' course!"

"What's happening?" Gimli breathed. "What're they doing – those infernal dreucachea!"

"They're going to smoke us out, I imagine." Boromir was holding and rocking Pippin who was now sleeping, "either that or they want to keep us nice and warm tonight."

To Be Continued.

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Hello readers.

Well I guess it's me, Meriadoc (the Magnificent, if I do say so myself), again – everyone else seems to have gone home!

Aranna Undomiel: was really nice to see that alert in my mailbox once again
Merry: And really nice to see a review from you.

Aranna Undomiel: Now all I'm waiting for is the reunion with Pippin and everything will be fine,
Merry: Whoops! I'm afraid you may have to keep watching that mailbox for alerts.

DarkessLady: This is just simply amazing. Heck, I still can't believe this was written by eight different people. All of whom have different styles of writing and yet it all fits in.
Merry: But only one editor remember!

cookiefleck: The in-character replies to the reviews are also entertaining and I'll have to check out the Behind The Scenes, too.
Merry: Well we gave up publishing that, as no one seemed interested in my wheeling and dealing… I mean, my important business transactions. Still, if you really want it...

smalldiver: Poor Merry though. Who's going to tell him that Pippin was lost in Moria?
Merry: What! Ohmigod! Pippin's lost in Moria? Nobody told me!

ziyal: Yay, I love the fact that Merry is on the rode to recovery and they are all close to reunion!
Merry: Well that's a relief! Smalldiver had me worried there, but now you say it's going to be all right!

Aya-Shoru: I am glad Legolas didn't lose his immortality, that would have been too heart breaking. anyway I am ready for more Legolas action, if you have more planned. update soon.
Merry: Excuse me?
Legolas: I'll field this one, Merry, you get some rest. May I enquire exactly what sort of Legolas action you had in mind dear lady? (You are a lady – right?) I am available every second Tuesday in Overlithe by the Perian calendar and Action is my middle name, so I would be more than happy to take you up on your kind offer. I trust you will be ready and waiting for me? We could play "hide the immortal soul" or something like that. I guess it would be a kind of date, or as you put it, an update.

Pip4: Aw, that was a nice sweet chapter. I like that Legolas's immortality isn't gone and the little thing with Orophin, Celeborn and Galadriel. And it was cool the very end when Merry got to finally meet up with Frodo and Sam. But there wasn't anything about Pippin, Gimli, and Boromir.
Merry: Well they can't be in everything, not if Legolas is working so hard at being sweet and I'm busy being cool.

IceEmber: Definitely by next chapter, yes?
Merry: But then it would all be over and the poor authors would have to write another, and you wouldn't want that – would you? Well I wouldn't, I've suffered enough at their hands.

LOTRFaith: Whoops in pure happiness... Then accidentally hits the glass bottle of lemonade and sends it crashing to the floor
Merry: Oh my goodness! You had better send the bill for your lemonade and cleaning to:
Frodo Baggins
Bearer of The One Ring
Wielder of Sting
Master of Bag End
Saviour of Middle-earth
Elf-Friend
Restorer of the United Kingdom
He Who Made the Return of the King a Reality and Not a Pipe Dream

By the way, that last bit was a shameless plug for "Behind the Scenes", the notes which accompany this story, and tell the shenanigans that went on with the characters while they were not required on set. A new chapter may well be posted along with this. Keep watching the skies.

Additional Shameless Plug for Llinos (because she made me do it). She has a new story called Frodo's Exciting Day Out and if you enjoyed the writing in this chapter, you may well like this one too.

That's all for this time,

Yours truly,

Meriadoc the Magnificent