Author's Note: I don't know if this is AU or not. But in case it is…warnings for AUish elements. Some pieces pulled from Tolkien, many elements of my own invention.

Little Bird Blue

It was a cold day.

The kind of day that requires mittens, a scarf, and a snug, woolen sweater, the kind where you lose the buttons but keep wearing anyway. The kind of day where you step outside and the clouds are grey; not heavy, but light, and you breathe in, and the air is so sharp and cold, you look up and your hand lifts, to see if maybe, maybe the snow has started to fall. The kind of day where you bank the fire, for coziness and warmth, and you knit, or read, or sit and hum, and lull yourself into a pleasant doze and dream of sunny days and silvery springs.

It was the kind of day, when Pippin woke and opened the shutters, he knew something would happen. Diamond, his wife, was almost due, he knew, and every morning since they discovered she was with child – he was to be a father, he marveled – they had created a routine. He would open the shutters of their room, she would rouse from sleep at the noise, then they would lay together for several minutes, dreaming, and talking softly.

Some mornings, it was about who their babe might be like – would it take after Pippin, and be adventurous? Or Diamond, who loved to sing, and entertain? Other mornings, it was discussing the nursery. They had yet to finish the room – Pippin had asked for the help of both Sam and Rosie, discerning that both were of good taste and that Diamond in particular wanted Rosie's friendship. It, so far, had worked wonderfully – Diamond had blossomed under Rosie's smart, no-nonsense personality, and Pippin himself was leveled by Sam's ease. After all, his friend was a parent already, and made it look effortless – as Frodo said he would.

But this was mindless wandering. Pippin shook himself.

There she was, his wife. Curly black hair, hazel eyes gleaming – many said the two didn't belong together. When he started courting her, tongues wagged. It was said he was pursuing beneath the Thainship. It was said she was reaching for the stars. It was said they were an orange and an apple (though which was which was hotly debated). Neither cared. And at the moment, Pippin was grateful he ignored the gossiping gaffers, and pursued her with the carefree intensity he was known for.

For she was round with their child, and in the wintry morning light, his heart couldn't be any more full.

Diamond woke to see her husband watching her thoughtfully, a small smile on his face. It wasn't the first time she had done thus, but it was the first she had seen that expression. "Why, what is it?" she asked sleepily, brushing hair from her face; it tangled every morning, and every morning, as they talked, Pippin helped smooth it out.
They had met because of her hair. She had lost her hat, along the road, and her hair had blown so terribly in the wind, she could not at all see where she was going, curls twisting before her eyes. As soon as she brushed it back, it blew in her face again. All she had wanted to do was go to the market to retrieve some items for her ailing sister – plagued by the usual hay fever, and there she was, being troubled by her hair. How ridiculous!

But there he was, on his pony, helping Farmer Maggot carry his shares to the same market, and he had offered her a ride. "It'll be faster, and less windy, if you ride with me," he said with a wink. He was right – his height had sheltered her from the worst of the wind, and she had reached the market much faster, though with much more talk.

She never regretted losing the hat.

"I am glad," he answered, taking her hair and gathering it again. It was a habit; despite the tangles, and occasional knots his hand would twist in, she loved his hand running through her curls. "We are married, and we are expecting. What more could I want?"

"Food," she said instantly, and he laughed, and slid into their bed with her. His warmth reassured her. All night she had been having pain, and though Healer Peabody told her to expect the occasional pain, she wasn't sure if this was what he meant.

"What kind of food, dear wife?"

She was ready to reply when the world suddenly faded for a moment. It was like a long, slow blink.

"Pippin? Something is not quite right…"

She looked down, and something was not quite right, at all.

Later, she would recollect only pieces, as if someone had collected her memory and jumbled it into a basket, then spilled it again. She remembered Pippin springing from the bed, alarmed; she remembered Healer Peabody's kind eyes, brown and gentle; she remembered the feeling of fresh quilts, warmed from being before the Great Fireplace in the Great Room; and worst of all, she remembered Pippin's look as he closed the shutters – it wasn't a smile, it wasn't a grimace, it was a twist of the mouth that spoke of a deep pain.

So he feels it too, she thought, before disappearing into a well of blackness.