Author's Note: Thanks guish for all the lovely reviews once more. BTW, something will actually happen next chapter, lol. I'm trying to decide how to end this: I was originally going to end at Lothlorien, but I've been thinking about keeping it going a while longer. Any thoughts?
I do not own Tolkien or any of the following names or places.
Gods-girl2004: LOL, I absolutely adore your Pippin plushie! I'm so glad you're enjoying this, and there's always a chance it will go on for longer. Depends on the response, I suppose. Thanks so much for your review :)
Sunn-Kissed: No idea how you sign hysterical laughter. Just thought that, as a hobbit, Pippin probably would :) I've never viewed Pippin as the comic relief, even if he was kinda portrayed that way in the film FOTR. (Not that I didn't love Billy's Pippin to pieces) Thanks for your reviews!
Sweethobbit: I'm glad you enjoyed it! Thanks for the review.
Arlewen: What a lovely review! I'm relatively new too, and love being able to review to fics after each new chapter (although the waiting drives me insane, lol) I appreciate that comment about knowing Pippin fairly well, I hope I'm 'writing him right'. Lol. Thanks for the kind words, and BTW, I am rather jealous that you get Lost over there. Hehehe, I've been emailing the local stations trying to get them to screen it here, I'm so desperate.
Ice Ember: Eurgh, spinach. LOL. If he's anything like me, he would probably rather just slog along. Thanks for the review!
Immortal Sorrow (Arrow): Thank you, mellon-nin! Mae govannen! I'm studying hard for the important exams in a few weeks, thanks for asking, lol. I'm soo glad you're enjoying this, and aren't in a rush for Little One. That poor story. Needs all the help it can get! Lol, thanks for the lovely review.
Hai Took: Oh God, I've had the same problem while trying to review another story. Glad to hear I'm not the only one! Thanks for the wonderful review. :)
Azla: Hullo again! Yea, I'm trying to make my chapters longer, something I must work on. Thanks soo much for the review. :)
Chapter Seven: Pippin
I sit down quietly at Frodo's side, and drape an arm about his shoulders companionably. He looks up and smiles. He doesn't seem tired, which surprises me. He looks wonderfully refreshed, and content, eyes sparkling and full of mirth.
"Glad to see you still have time for your old cousin, Peregrin." He says lightly. I pretend to look highly affronted at his comment.
"But Frodo," I say, smiling in return. "Who said I had time for you? I simply wanted to know when you intended on cooking supper." Frodo nods resignedly, and gives an exaggerated sigh.
"That is all I am good for now, eh? Perhaps you should ask Sam instead. He's wonderful at those grilled mushrooms you're so fond of." I shrug, resting my head upon his shoulder.
"But somehow it tastes better when you cook them, Frodo."
"Why?"
"Because you made them." Frodo smiles fondly and ruffles my hair playfully.
"Well, thank you, Pip. Maybe I shall. But not one minute before this fabulous sun set is over. Look at the sky, cousin. It lights up the whole of the Shire."
I have to agree, turning to include the pond and Green Dragon in my gaze. The pink of the sky is reflected in the gently lapping water, only obscured slightly by the flurries of the young ducklings, hurrying home to their nests. All about the Shire, elderly hobbits are lazing around before their holes, smoking contentedly, as the youngsters play happily in the last of the light.
"Imagine ever leaving the Shire, Frodo, like Bilbo." I say quietly, breathing in eagerly the cool, fresh breeze. "I'm sure there are some wonderful places beyond our borders, but I don't think I would last long away from here." Frodo smiles somewhat ruefully.
"You're made of stronger stuff than you think you are, Pip. I'm sure of it. But yes, it would be a dreadful thing to live elsewhere, even for a short time."
I don't know what to think of the 'stronger stuff' comment, considering my long history with illness. Instead, I shrug, and allow a short yawn. Frodo chuckles, and prods me gently as he climbs to his feet.
"You're tired, Pip. Maybe you should have a quiet evening tonight. Mind you, I don't know how the Green Dragon will make any profits without you and Merry." I pretend to scowl at him, and watch as he shuffles slowly down the path a short way.
"Where do you think the habit came from, dearest cousin?" I ask innocently. "Surely it was not my da who encouraged my drinking."
"Tonight's meal is suddenly dangerously close to becoming my own private feast, Peregrin Took."
"Well, it's about time you ate something, Frodo. You look rather un-hobbit-like." He snorts, shooting a quick glance in my direction.
"I look rather un-hobbit-like?" I chuckle quietly at that, smiling. Frodo returns the expression before turning back to the pond, sighing. "I could live here forever." He says softly.
Suddenly, the landscape has changed. The sky has grown dark. The grass in the garden is long and overgrown, filled with sharp, rough weeds. Glancing around, Bag End lays in ruins, the splintered door hanging brokenly from the hinge.
Shocked, I turn back to Frodo, to freeze in place. Frodo is still standing, surveying the ravaged Shire, but a dark shape is creeping along to him, slinking through the wild, ugly bushes. It can't be a hobbit: too tall and wide. Besides, the whole garden seems to smell of evil suddenly. There is a figure looming just beyond each dying plant or bush.
I spin back to Frodo again, now just inches away from the skulking figure. I open my mouth to call out to him, but no sound comes out. Stunned, I cough, and try again, but all I can produce is a painful rasp.
The figure is raising an iron fist, lifting a sword above my cousin's neck.
"Frodo!" I try to scream, but again, there is no sound. Turn around, Frodo! Desperately, I rush forwards, but the vines from the bush behind me have snagged my legs, and I fall to the ground. I look up just in time to see the figure spring forwards, forcing down the sword closer and closer to the bare skin of Frodo's neck-
Frodo! My mouth forms the silent scream, and I sit bolt upright, staring around frantically, heart pounding. Tears spring to my eyes as I try to cry out, yet nothing comes from my mouth but a rush of air. Frodo, Frodo, Frodo...
Sobbing, I manage to untangle my legs, kicking away the obstacle, and turn around, almost making myself sick with the effort to produce any noise. Where is Frodo? It's so dark, suddenly; I cannot make out anything, let alone the dark, evil figures. Scrabbling around in the dirt, I cannot find the vines, or the pathway. The ground has gone soft beneath my fingers, and all is silent.
Again I open my mouth to cry out, but this time I pale and retch, jerking to the side involuntarily. There is a movement behind me, but somehow my limbs have gone numb. I cannot move, save my heaving chest and throat.
Hands wrap swiftly about my waist, but not with the roughness I expect. Gently, they support me as I am horribly sick, and when finally I can control my breathing once more, the hands lift gently and I am re-seated.
Weakly, I sink back against the figure, closing my eyes resignedly. Perhaps it is too late for Frodo... I didn't-
"Pippin?" comes Merry's concerned voice suddenly. I blink. "Pippin, are you alright now? What's wrong?" It takes me a moment to recognize my cousin's familiar touch, and the softness of his cotton nightshirt.
Confused, I look around wearily, only to find my eldest cousin sleeping peacefully in his bedroll, chest rising and falling softly with each breath. Sam is curled determinately around his side, and Legolas is sitting not far away on watch, scanning the surrounding clearing intently.
With a great shuddering gasp, I sink down further, clutching at my thumping chest. Why... Why did I have to fall sick! Why did it have to happen to me? I didn't do anything to deserve this. Frodo didn't do anything to... He could... If something did happen, what could I do to prevent it? ... Nothing.
A fresh bout of tears spills down my face, and dampens my nightshirt. I realise now that I am shaking. Violently.
Merry gently shifts around to face me, still supporting my shoulders firmly.
"Pippin, lad, what is wrong? Are you ill?" he whispers, eyes wide with fear. I open my mouth to reply, only to remember, and I sob again, feeling utterly helpless. Merry wraps his arms around me in a tight hug, resting his chin upon my shoulder, as he used to when I was a child.
"Pippin, calm down, everything is alright." He soothes, absently running fingers through my hair. I shake my head, feeling nauseous.
Merry, I can't... What if I couldn't... why did this happen to me? Merry stares at my signs for a moment, before his eyes are filled with his own tears.
Oh Pippin, you know I can't tell you. He turns around so that we can face each other, but are still close enough to touch. If there was anything I could do for you, I would do it.
Dimly, I remember my lessons with Legolas, but presently have no great hope in them. It won't matter anyway. By the time I do learn to speak again, something horrid could have already happened... I attempt to blink away the tears, but they remain in a steady stream, rushing down my cheeks.
Merry, if something happens... what could I do? I can't call out to you. I'm too small to be able to defend anyone, really, and... and what if that meant... I can't say it. Frodo is sleeping just beyond Merry: I can't bring myself to speak the words. He's safe right now...
"Oh..." whispers Merry softly, understanding. For a time he is silent, trying to find the right words. All the while, he is gazing unwaveringly at me, meeting my eyes firmly.
Pippin, you mustn't worry about such things, he begins uncertainly. There's no point. Who's to say that you are the only one who could end up in such a situation? If one of us falls sick, and can't raise their voice... or, or come to that, something is covering their mouth... He falters, perhaps unsure of where his point is headed.
That's why this is a Fellowship, Pip: we all look out for each other and do what we can to help. Someone's always going to be watching the other's back.
But Merry, I sign miserably. It's not fair that everyone else has to watch me especially. What if... if my voice meant the difference between Frodo living or-
Pippin-lad, what bought this on? Asks Merry with a sad smile. Has someone said something to you about this? I don't really think-
No one has said anything, Merry, I... I allow my head to droop slightly, blushing a little. Merry has always joked about my reoccurring nightmares as a young hobbit. I had a bad dream. Merry looks somewhat relieved, but not amused.
Oh Pippin... I don't know what I can tell you to make it better. We are in danger, out here, all of us. We all knew it when we set out. Gandalf, Aragorn and the others all knew about your illness, and what that meant. And they did not object to your coming, did they?
My breathing has slowed considerably now, and I nod reluctantly.
No, Merry, but Frodo-
Frodo knows it too, Pippin. If ever something were to happen, Frodo wouldn't hold it against you. But it's not going to happen. I'm always going to be right here: at your side. Anything evil will have to get through the both of us first. I cannot hold back a timid grin at that: Merry can always find the right things to say. I don't know how he does it.
Just like always. I sign meekly, and he nods firmly.
Just like always. Spying the remaining fear in my eyes, he catches my attention once more. Frodo's alive and well, Pippin. says Merry with a smile. Gently, he reaches across and cups my face, turning my gaze to the side. Frodo is lying there, half buried under his own warm blanket, and one of Sam's. His expression is peaceful in sleep; the hunted look banished from his features. The wind has blown his dark curls over his forehead, covering one lightly closed eyelid. Presently, he resembles a much younger Frodo: the Frodo of before Bilbo's 111th Birthday party.
I look back at Merry slowly, and allow a small smile.
You're right, Merry.
"I'm always right." he says gently, pulling me back down against his chest. Sleepily, I close my eyes, the horrors of my dream slowly fading. I can almost perfectly remember the night of Bilbo's party... the fireworks... the tables and tables of deserts... singing...
Merry
Pippin's breathing has evened out now. Colour is returning to his face, if only a little. He sighs comfortably, fast asleep in my arms, free of troubling dreams.
Nightmares have plagued Pippin's nights since early childhood. First about innocent things, like losing his favourite toy, or breaking the dining plates. As he grew older, more disturbing things bothered him. Deaths of family members, or friends. Horrific dreams of Bilbo's trolls, running wild through the Shire and destroying homes. For such a well-loved young hobbit, it seemed strange indeed for him to have such terrible nightmares.
For the past five years, however, his dreams changed. Sometimes wholly silent, otherwise loud and uncontrollable for him: a hobbit with no voice.
He has been sleeping well, for a few months now. Save the time we first spent in Rivendell, when we feared for Frodo's life. Years of sleeping close to Pippin have readied me to wake at the slightest stir, yet I had seen none of late until tonight.
I've had my own dreams, as well. Nightmares of losing both Frodo and Pippin. I don't know what I would do in such a situation. I understand Pippin, in any case: the painful fear of failing either of them could tear me apart, if I thought of it too much.
With a deep breath, I shift and turn around, glancing carefully at each member of the Fellowship. Gimli, snoring softly by the fire, with Boromir at his side. Gandalf on the other side of the flames, and Aragorn, sitting propped up against the stonewall, his legs stretched out long before him as he slept. Frodo and Sam, curled up peacefully behind us. And Legolas, sitting not far away on watch. As I look on, I notice that he is gazing in our direction silently, staring perhaps at Pippin. He notices my questioning look and smiles, signing sleep.
Well, I cannot argue with that. Gently setting Pippin back down, I curl tightly at his side, draping one arm over his slim waist. Unconsciously, Pippin shuffles back into my embrace, and I rest my chin atop his head.
I don't know how much sleep I will get this night, but I very much hope Pippin will rest until morning. He'll need his strength in this 'Moria' Gandalf and Gimli keep talking about.
TBC, please r&r
