A/N Merry Christmas everyone! Huge thanks to Shirebound, UnnamedElement and Bookworm-soul for your reviews, they are wonderful Christmas gifts and encourage me greatly. I know I predicted 6 or 7 chapters for this, but actually this one ends at a really natural point, so I'll be leaving it here for the main fic dealing with the immediate aftermath of Legolas and Gimli's grievous tidings. However, it's not completely over yet: there is an epilogue in production featuring the Three Hunters talking love, loss, and the beginning of the Age of Men. It might not be next week but I'll try to get it out as soon as I can in between all the general craziness of the season. Continued thanks to my beta Ink Stained Quill for providing some wonderful sparks that set my imagination aflame for this chapter. May all your tidings this season be joyful, dear readers, and enjoy the chapter!

Chapter Five: The Mystery of Peregrin Took

The silence in the room continued after the candle flame had died and the sky had lightened outside; Legolas was unsure of exactly how one ended a Dwarven mourning ritual such as this one and was happy to let Gimli take the lead. The two friends caught each other's eyes for the first time since the vigil had begun and shared a tiny smile of companionship in grief, before looking away again and beginning to bring themselves back from the realms of memory they had wandered in. Soon enough they heard sounds of stirring upstairs, and Gimli heaved a mighty sigh and closed his eyes. Then he began a slow chant in Khuzdul.

Legolas was entranced. Aside from his war cry, he had never heard Gimli speak his native language before and he knew what an honour it was for a Dwarf to share this with an outsider. The language itself was so different from Elvish, a percussive explosion of polysyllables and harsh consonants. But still, it had a musical quality about it, a deep rhythmic beat which Legolas was sure he would not have heard if Khuzdul had been spoken to him earlier in his life; simply because he would not have really listened. Unlike Elvish, the language did not convey images to the minds of those who did not understand it; an uninitiated listener would struggle to make out any details of a tale in Khuzdul. But Legolas was stunned by how emotionally moved he was by Gimli's chant, even without comprehending a single syllable of what was said. The tone was melancholy, bittersweet, and so achingly poignant that Legolas found himself silently weeping without even really knowing why.

Finally Gimli brought his chant to a conclusion and let out a long, slow breath as he opened his eyes. Legolas wiped away his tears and turned to look at him, observing that the Dwarf was calm and had an air of peace about him, a welcome replacement from the anguish of the previous night. He realised then that he himself felt more peaceful than he could remember being since hearing from Eryn Lasgalen. The night spent remembering happy times with their loved ones had been cathartic for them both.

'Well, that was a mighty good idea, laddie. Thank you.' Gimli said at last.

'Nay, thank you. It is your people's ritual and I am honoured that you shared it with me. It helped me to put things into perspective and remember how blessed I have been by the time with my friends, so now I can think of them without being overwhelmed with sorrow at their loss. It is a beautiful custom.'

'You are very welcome, though I would not have thought to do it had you not prompted me. I would have simply seen it as another mourning ritual I had missed because I was away from my kin. Thank you for helping me to see that there was a way to work out my grief here, if I only looked for it.'

'Simply personal experience, mellon nín. It gladdens my heart to know that my sorrow at least has been good for one thing, if it has helped you through yours.'

'I would still have spared you this though, were it in my power,' Gimli protested.

'Likewise, friend Gimli,' Legolas replied, and they briefly clasped forearms in a gesture symbolising the companionship which had only grown deeper since the previous night. They were content to remain in companionable silence for a while after that, watching the room grow steadily lighter and stretching their stiff limbs. Soon the tell-tale noises of Sam thumping down the stairs then working on first breakfast in the kitchen could be heard, followed soon after by the quick patter of Pippin's footsteps. Legolas caught a flash of a head of chestnut curls in the doorway but before he could call out a greeting it vanished. A little while after, his sharp elvish hearing picked up a whispered dispute coming from the kitchen end of the corridor.

'I still don't see why I have to go first, Mr Pippin!'

'Because this was your idea initially and there's nothing to worry about anyway, they'll like it, it's a nice thing to do!'

'But what if we're interrupting something important? It's gone so awful quiet in there.'

'All the more reason to go in and see if they're all right!'

'I want to help as much as you do, but what if they're in some magic Elvish trance or the like?'

'Then we'll have to break it off for some plain hobbit sense, won't we? Look, you saw them yesterday evening Sam, and they must have stayed down here all night. They can send us away again if they need to, but we can't leave them alone like this.'

'We should see they're all right, I agree with that, but Mr Pippin, that still doesn't explain why I'm going first.'

'Because you're Samwise the Brave and you're jolly well brave enough to walk into your own sitting room and offer your friends a cup of tea, that's why!'

Inside the living room, Gimli looked on in puzzlement as a small smile grew on Legolas' face and he cocked his head as if listening to something. He gave a little choked laugh at Pippin's last comment, winked at an increasingly bemused Gimli, and then called out loudly,

'Rest assured, no magic Elvish trances are taking place here. And if someone is in the mood to make us some tea, we would be most appreciative.'

He heard Pippin's surprised laugh and his whispered 'See, Sam!', more footsteps and then a crimson-faced Sam appeared in the doorway, bearing two cups of tea, followed quickly by Pippin, who was sporting a cheeky grin and seemed completely unembarrassed about being overheard.

'You'd think we'd remember about an Elf's hearing now we live with one, but apparently not!'

'I'm glad of that, Pippin, otherwise I couldn't catch you out every now and then, and where would be the fun in that?' Legolas said with a mischievous smile, setting Pippin's heart at ease about his elven companion at least.

Sam set his burdens down on the table and immediately launched into his apologies.

'Ever so sorry about disturbing your peace, sirs, we should have remembered we might be heard in the corridor. It's not like we wanted to intrude or anythin', but well, we were worried and-'

'Sam,' Gimli cut him off from his ramblings and caught his eye in his gentle gaze, 'you have nothing to apologise for. We are very grateful for your concern and we concluded what we were doing ere you came down, so you have not interrupted anything at all and we appreciate your company.'

'Gimli speaks for me,' Legolas added. 'And the tea was a kind thought, thank you both.'

Sam twisted his hands a little. 'It's no bother at all, sirs. You both look a sight better than you did last night, if you don't mind me saying. Are you both all right?'

Gimli responded with an 'aye', whilst Legolas looked at his companion searchingly and murmured, 'we will be.'

Sam frowned as he looked from one to the other as if unsure which one to believe.

Pippin, unable to contain his curiosity when it was combined with a desire to help his friends, blurted out, 'have you been here all night?'

'Aye,' Gimli explained. 'We sat a vigil for our comrades and kinfolk who fell in the War in the North.'

'Oh. Terribly sorry for both your losses,' Pippin said gravely. Sam simply bowed his head in respect.

'You have our thanks, both of you,' Legolas assured them whilst Gimli nodded solemnly in assent.

After a few moments of silence, Sam seemed to come to a decision about something. Then he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin resolutely in what the Fellowship had dubbed his 'Samwise Gamgee is about to take charge of your welfare' pose. It was usually Frodo who was on the receiving end of this, but all of the others had experienced it at some point during the Quest and they knew that resisting it was as about as ineffective as trying to close your mind to Galadriel.

'Well, I do know you're both grieving, and grief can do funny things to a body's appetite, but I think if you've been up all night a spot o' breakfast will do you both a world o' good. Come on through to the kitchen and I'll rustle you up something hot.'

'Really, Sam, there's no need-' Gimli started to say, but Legolas interrupted him.

'Actually, Sam, that's a wonderful idea. I am rather hungry, thank you. Come, Gimli. Let us take this hobbit up on his generous offer.'

Gimli shot him a baleful glance but realised that between the Elf and two hobbits he was probably going to get little say in the matter. So he and Legolas rose and picked up their tea, earning them a satisfied nod from Sam, and followed him and Pippin into the kitchen.

Once Sam's attention was captured by his clattering pots and the distractions of Pippin, who kept getting under his feet, Legolas leaned over to Gimli and whispered conspiratorially, 'And so the feeding commences. Brace yourself.'

And despite feeling that it was terribly inappropriate and disrespectful under the circumstances, Gimli found himself fighting the strange, giddy urge to laugh.

In short order, Legolas, Gimli and Pippin had been supplied with steaming plates of thickly buttered toasted muffins, fried mushrooms and scrambled eggs. Legolas tucked enthusiastically into his, hoping to encourage Gimli to do the same, but the Dwarf had subdued his sudden rush of mirth and was picking at his food and chasing it round his plate rather than eating it.

'Is there owt wrong with the food, Gimli? Can I get you something different?' Sam asked anxiously.

'Nay, it's marvellous, as always. Just not really hungry, that's all.'

Sam's brows creased a little, and Pippin looked up from his own wholehearted attack on his breakfast to say, 'That's not like you at all, Gimli. Is this about what you heard last night?'

Gimli sighed and set down his cutlery. 'I've just heard that my young cousin Orin, whom I love as a nephew, died in the defence of Erebor.'

Sam sat down opposite him and put his smaller hand on top of Gimli's, wordlessly showering him with the compassion that the usual formulaic words felt too trite to express. Pippin reached out and grabbed his other hand and squeezed it, the usual look of sparkling mischief in his eyes replaced by a wholehearted sincerity as he simply breathed, 'Oh Gimli.'

Gimli gave them both a short little nod of acknowledgement, a sort of simultaneous thank you and an I'm fine, really and then continued,

'It doesn't feel right that after I found out he died like that, I just carry on as if it doesn't matter, sitting here eating breakfast like I would any other morning.'

'It does matter to you, we can all see that,' Legolas consoled him. 'You don't need to starve yourself to prove it. You do Orin no disrespect by simply eating breakfast; quite the opposite, in fact. He clearly loved you, so surely you would honour his wishes by taking care of yourself.'

'That would make sense, wouldn't it,' Gimli agreed, in a slightly ironic tone. 'I know it's irrational, but it just…feels wrong.'

'And it probably will, whatever we say' Sam said gently. 'But do your best to get some of it down you anyway, if you can. There's no thinking clearly on an empty stomach.' He patted Gimli's hand as he got up again. 'Well, let's see if some bacon'll tempt you, never known you refuse that before. There's not much in, mind, I need to hunt down some more soon, but I'll see what I can do.'

And, deaf to all Gimli's protests, Sam was soon engaged in his next culinary mission. As he did this, the other hobbits wandered into the kitchen, Frodo yawning occasionally but otherwise alert, though Merry was only just aware enough not to be sleepwalking. Legolas and Gimli were quick to apologise for the disturbances of the previous night and the hobbits were even quicker to forbid them from worrying about it. As Frodo sat down, Legolas noticed that he was looking a little puffy around the eyes.

'Are you well, Frodo?' he asked with concern.

'Me? Oh, yes, I'm fine. It was just a bit of a shock to hear the news last night, and I was thinking of poor Bilbo and how he was going to take it.'

He turned to Gimli.

'But of course that must be nothing to what you're feeling, I can't even begin to imagine. I'm so sorry, Gimli.'

Elf and Dwarf exchanged confused glances.

'Wait, Frodo, how do you know? And I wasn't aware that Bilbo was close to Orin,' Gimli asked, frowning.

Frodo frowned back. 'Who's Orin? Sam just said it was bad news from Erebor and Gimli was upset, so I assumed…'

'You thought Erebor had fallen to Sauron's armies.' Legolas worked it out and Frodo nodded, hope beginning to spark in his eyes. 'Hasn't it?'

'Nay, lad, Erebor stands and they won in the end. But my nephew Orin, and two other friends, died in the doing of it,' Gimli explained.

There was a joint intake of breath from Frodo and Merry and they both gave him their condolences, which he accepted with his own gruff sort of grace. Sam swooped down and deposited some perfectly fried bacon rashers on Gimli's plate.

'I'm sorry for having so little faith, Gimli. I should have known the Dwarves would prevail,' Frodo said a little shamefacedly.

'Don't apologise, Frodo, in fact, you've reminded me of something very important.'

He paused a moment and his companions looked at him expectantly.

'Erebor stands. My parents live, and so does my friend Prince Thorin, who is now King Thorin III. I do grieve for Orin, Brerin and Hrór and there were no doubt many others who fell and will be greatly missed. But Erebor stood against Sauron and emerged battered but unbowed. His forces could not break us, and I will not let what he has done to my family break me now. I will be grateful for the mercies Mahal has blessed us with, for they are many. Erebor stands. Ha!'

Perhaps it was a combination of emotional exhaustion and grief-induced light-headedness finally breaking through his defences, but Gimli's mood took a sudden lift as the euphoria of Erebor's victory finally claimed him. He smiled triumphantly and attacked his breakfast with gusto, as if to show Sauron that he was here, a living, healthy Dwarf, and he intended to stay that way, even if it were solely to spite him.

'Hear hear,' Merry chimed in sleepily, having been woken up a little by Gimli's outburst. He lifted his teacup lazily in salute.

'Do you even know what you're toasting, Merry?' Pippin looked at his bleary-eyed cousin in amusement.

''Course I do.' Merry yawned. 'Erebor stands. Sauron was a silly ass to try it and the Dwarves gave him what for.'

Merry would probably have phrased this more respectfully had he been more awake, but he was one of those hobbits whose brain needed the first cup of tea in his system in the morning before it would deign to begin filtering duties. Nervous laughter around the table quickly grew more relaxed when Gimli looked up from shovelling bacon into his mouth and grinned at Merry.

'Exactly, lad. Got it in one.'

Ignoring Legolas' not so subtle suggestions that he should really get some sleep, Gimli retreated after breakfast to his workroom. It was a small utility room at the back of the house which Gimli had immediately adopted as his space to sketch plans for the city and to work on his smaller whittling and carving projects. He spent most of the day there, finding the space that was his and his alone helpful to ground him as he came to terms with all that had happened to his home. His euphoria from breakfast faded quickly, but returned at random moments, making him long to be quaffing ale in the great feasting halls of Erebor, there with his kin celebrating their victory over evil. However, as he luxuriated in these imaginings, he would be reminded with a pang of the faces that would be forever absent from those halls: Orin, Brerin, Hrór, and doubtless more of whose deaths he had not yet been informed. The letter remained open on the table, and often he strode over to it and snatched it up, as if convinced that of course he had made a mistake, and this time he would read it with proper care and discover that it had simply been a misunderstanding – it could not possibly say that Orin had died. On finding that of course the letter said what it always had, with awful, brutal undeniability, sometimes he would fling it away in disgust, and other times simply sink down with his back against the wall, clutching the parchment with whitened knuckles and bowing his head in despair. On several occasions, he attempted to distract himself with work, and found it effective for short periods of time in which he would whittle with purposeful strokes or sketch with frenetic energy. Invariably, though, the reality of the situation would burst through the fragile shield of occupation, and he would freeze, sometimes in mid-stroke of his whittling knife, no longer able to focus on anything but the vision of the cheerful, lively Orin gasping his last breaths on a desolate battlefield.

By the end of the day, Gimli could near-recite his letter and the table was littered with half-finished sketches and carvings in various stages of completion. The meals which had been brought to him at lunch and dinner had been nibbled at but left uneaten for the most part, the plates being put to use as paperweights to secure piles of gate designs rather than serving their intended purpose. Apart from this, the others had generally let him be, apparently understanding his need for this time to straighten things out in his head and knowing that solitude was an integral part of Dwarven mourning customs.

He was surprised, therefore, to hear an insistent rapping on the door just as the evening was drawing in. He remained seated, absently turning over a carving of a galloping horse between his hands, as he bid his visitors enter. The door opened to reveal Merry and Pippin, who greeted him and invited him to join them for a smoke. Gimli smiled a little sadly as he turned them down.

'That's a friendly thought, lads, and I thank you, but I'm perfectly settled here, and a Dwarf will often take himself off alone at times like this, so don't you fret about me. I fear I'd make for a rather morose companion, at any rate, you don't need me dragging down your mood.'

Merry and Pippin glanced at each other uncertainly, and then Merry said,

'We do know that Dwarves like to grieve in private, and Legolas said we could ask but not to bother you if you didn't want to be bothered, so we will go away if you do really want us to, but- well, you see…'

Merry trailed off, pausing to formulate his next words, and Pippin jumped into the break in conversation.

'It doesn't feel right to us to leave a companion alone in their grief for too long, especially not when you've hardly seen a soul since this morning.'

Merry continued, having gathered his thoughts a little, 'We do things a bit differently in the Shire, see. Of course, a hobbit who's mourning needs a bit of time on his own to sort it all out in his head, and we respect that, but his friends are sure not to stray too far, and to spend some time with him even if he doesn't really feel like it, not always talking, just being there so he knows he has his people round him and he doesn't have to face it all on his own.'

Pippin picked up smoothly where Merry had left off.

'Not sure if you're aware, but we consider you something of an honorary hobbit, you know,' he informed Gimli in a serious tone but with a twinkle in his eye, and at this the Dwarf couldn't help but smile a little. 'So we thought to let you know we're willing to keep you company no matter how morose you are, just like we would if it were Fatty Bolger or any other of our friends in the Shire.'

Merry nodded solemnly and said reassuringly, 'You don't even have to say anything if you don't want. If you're in the mood for just a 'thinking smoke' rather than a 'talking smoke' we'll happily oblige, won't we Pip?'

'Aye. Absolutely. What do you say, Gimli?'

They both looked at him expectantly after this little double act and Gimli found himself moved and unsure what to say. He really was in no mood for company and were he in Erebor, he probably would have retreated deep into the most private areas of the family caves, which the other Dwarves would have recognised as a sign of his need for solitude, and he would only have emerged once he felt ready to face everything again. If one of his kin had come to offer company and check that he was well, they would have retreated respectfully at his first refusal. But nevertheless, he had shared so much with this Fellowship over the past months that they had come to be a second family to him, all of them, and Merry and Pippin's earnest faces and beseeching eyes were slowly chipping away his resistance to the idea of leaving his little haven. He had done many un-Dwarvish things during the Quest, befriending an Elf being the most important one, but he had changed in smaller ways too. They had all changed each other, learned from each other; if he could learn to respect the forests like an Elf, perhaps he could learn to be vulnerable in his grief amongst others like a hobbit. He realised that Merry and Pippin were still waiting for an answer, so he swallowed hard and said,

'Aye, well, maybe I could use a good 'thinking smoke', after all. Thank you, lads.'

They both beamed.

'Our pleasure!' Merry assured him.

When they reached the sitting room, they found it complete with a fire merrily crackling in the hearth and Legolas curled up in an armchair in the corner, reading a book of poetry he had borrowed from Faramir. He looked up when they entered, his expression lighting up in pleased surprise when he saw that Gimli had chosen to emerge. Merry and Pippin immediately began to fill their pipes, but Gimli sent a questioning look at the Elf as his hand hovered over his.

'Go ahead. I won't bother you,' Legolas reassured him, returning serenely to his reading.

He looked up again when he felt eyes on him and chuckled to see a Dwarf and two hobbits staring at him as though he had suddenly grown an extra head. Pippin was actually open-mouthed.

'Are you well, Legolas?' Merry asked anxiously.

'Quite well, I assure you, Merry,' he replied, eyes sparkling in his amusement. 'I maintain my right to vociferously complain about your deplorable habit of pipeweed smoking on any and all future occasions, but just this once,' he sniffed in mock disdain, 'I suppose I can tolerate it.'

'Now that sounds more like our Elf,' Pippin remarked as the hobbits dissolved into relieved laughter. Gimli, however, caught Legolas' eye and said with feeling,

'Thanks, lad.'

Legolas simply smiled gently at him, then turned his eyes back to his page as he murmured,

'Don't mention it.'

Permission to fill the room with pipeweed smoke granted by his sensitive-nosed friend, Gimli needed no more persuasion and settled on the settee to fill his pipe. Merry and Pippin sat down on either side of him, and soon all three were puffing contentedly. Gimli had not realised how tense he had been on leaving his comfortable solitude until he felt himself relaxing, lulled by the little clicks and snaps of the burning logs and the occasional whisper of a page turning from Legolas' corner. True to their word, neither Merry nor Pippin attempted to force a conversation, and indeed both seemed lost in their thoughts, perhaps absorbed in memories of the Shire and concerns for how it had fared without the protection of the Rangers. So Gimli felt free to let his own thoughts wander, trying to imagine how Erebor had changed in his absence, to really picture what it would be like to return home. In his mind's eye, he saw himself enter between gates scarred by a cruel battering ram, run to his father who was hobbling towards him on a stick, visit Tóra and hear her proud words about her son's courage and then deal another cruel blow, witnessing her pain as he confirmed her husband's gruesome demise.

Erebor stands, he reminded himself, almost desperately repeating the phrase in his head as he was tempted yet again to give in to melancholy. He looked to the hobbit companions who were flanking him and Merry gave him an encouraging smile as their eyes met. Gimli's earlier objections to being in company melted away in the face of that tiny gesture. Merry could surely see from his expression that he was brooding on distressing subjects, and yet there was no condemnation of his weakness in the hobbit's gaze, nor any patronising sympathy. There was just that tiny little quirk of the lips that said you are not alone in this. It was at that moment that Gimli decided that he was very grateful, and proud too, that he was an honorary hobbit.

The pipes were refilled several times over the course of the evening, and Gimli allowed his mind to wander where it would, safe in the knowledge that should he stray into the realms of bleak depression, he had only to look to his left or his right to draw strength and courage from his companions to fight it off. They remained sitting there in contemplation after the pipes had been put away, and eventually Gimli became aware of Pippin listing to one side a little, evidently fatigued, occasionally slumping and then jerking himself awake again. Watching all this with an indulgent regard, Merry asked,

'Shall we turn in then, Pip?'

'Aye,' Pippin yawned, snuggling further into the settee and not looking particularly ready to move. 'In a few moments.'

More than a few moments went past, yet no one moved, nor did they seem inclined to. Gimli quickly became lost in thought again. He was in the middle of wondering what had been said at Dáin's funeral and wishing fruitlessly that he had been able to pay his respects to his late king, when he was startled out of his musings by a light touch on his right side. Turning his head to investigate, he saw to his amusement that Pippin had lost his battle with exhaustion and had slumped, asleep, on his shoulder. In a movement that felt as natural as breathing, he reached his arm around the hobbit and pulled him in closer to rest against his side, to which Pippin responded with a sleepy little noise of contentment. Gimli and Merry shared a fond grin, before Gimli turned his eyes to the fire again, watching it burn low.

Exhausted himself after the difficult emotions of the past day and night, Gimli found his mind flitting between his current situation and his memories, blurring the boundaries between them until reality became too elusive to grasp. He was watching the flames burn low after an exhausting few days with the warm weight of a smaller body pressed up against his side. He was in the family hall in Erebor, tired but satisfied after a frenzied scramble to finish an emergency order of weaponry from Minas Tirith. He had just shared a pipe with Orin, congratulating him on his first big challenge as an apprentice; his nephew had panicked at first when he realised how much work there was, but Gimli had taught him to master his stress and break the work down into manageable tasks. They had sent off two wagonloads of quality weapons on time, and Orin had flushed with pride when Gimli had praised his work and told him there was a master ironsmith hiding somewhere behind all those russet curls. And now…now Orin, understandably worn out, was collapsed against Gimli and asleep on his shoulder, tiredness having won out over his usual protests that he was getting too old for this sort of thing. Not that he would have admitted this to anyone, but Gimli delighted in these little reminders of Orin as an innocent and trusting dwarfling, and he yearned for this moment to last for ever, just him relaxing in front of the fire and Orin completely safe in his protective embrace…

'That's one tired little Took you have there, Gimli.'

The voice shattered the mental sanctuary Gimli had unconsciously been building with the force of a pick splintering rock. It was all Gimli could do not to flinch for the sake of his sleeping companion as the crushing reality overwhelmed him. Of course. Of course he was not in Erebor, and it was Pippin asleep on his shoulder, not Orin. He was in Minas Tirith. And Orin was dead.

Merry had interpreted Gimli's serene smile whilst holding Pippin as a sign that he was feeling better and would perhaps like some light talk, and he did not see the change in Gimli's expression, as he had turned his head away to confirm that the curly head on his shoulder was chestnut, not russet. So Merry continued, not realising Gimli's distress.

'It's his own fault, though, the silly goose. Complained to Strider yesterday that he felt he was being given preferential treatment and he didn't need to be babied by being ordered to do only the easy tasks. So naturally, Strider had him on all sorts of duties all across the city today to prove to him exactly how much he was respected as a knight of Gondor. And now look at the state of the foolish Took. Gimli? Are you all right?'

Gimli had still not turned to look at Merry, and some of the earlier tension had crept back into the set of his shoulders. When Gimli did not respond, Merry tried to peer round to look at him.

'Gimli, I'm sorry. Was it something I said?'

Finally, Gimli turned his head and Merry was horrified to see that silent tears were coursing down his cheeks and being absorbed into his beard. Pippin shifted a bit in response to the movement but remained insensible to all of it.

'Oh, I should have just stayed quiet! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to distress you.'

Gimli shook his head mournfully and explained hoarsely, 'Nay, lad. It wasn't you. Only memories.'

No longer trusting himself to say the right thing, Merry simple nodded and rested his hand on Gimli's upper arm in a gesture of mute support. He wasn't expecting Gimli to want to say more, so he was a little surprised and very touched when Gimli went on to confess,

'Orin went to sleep on me exactly like this, once. And for a moment…'

'You thought it was him,' Merry supplied the words Gimli was too ashamed to say out loud, his eyes widening in horror and sorrow as Gimli gave an embarrassed nod. 'Oh, Gimli, I am so sorry. I can wake him up and chivvy him to bed if you like.'

'Nay, do not,' Gimli answered immediately, his arm tightening protectively a little around Pippin's shoulders. 'He looks so peaceful, it'd be a shame to wake him.'

Merry looked at them dubiously. 'Are you certain? It'd be a moment's work to get him upstairs and he'd drop right back off to sleep where he left off. And if it's hurting you…'

'It's not,' Gimli answered, surprised at the conviction in his own voice. 'I grieve because Orin will never have the chance to fall asleep on me like that again after a long week at the forge, and because he was robbed of the chance to be everything that he was meant to be.'

Gimli swatted away the tears with the heel of his free hand and took a deep breath before continuing.

'That Pippin leans on me like this, it reminds me that though the war took away so many innocent young lives, it did not destroy innocent youth entirely. This marvel of a lad here, even after all he's done, all he's been through, he's still a tweenager who trusts me enough to doze off on my shoulder. And that- well, that gives me hope, in a way.'

A little surprised at himself for admitting to that, Gimli cleared his throat. 'So he's fine right where he is, Merry, but thank you for checking.'

'Well then,' Merry smiled softly, 'it seems like he's exactly where he needs to be. I won't disturb him. And thank you for telling me that. Pip brings me hope, too.'

In opening his heart with those last five words, just as Gimli had opened his, Merry managed to instantly quiet the alarm bells ringing in Gimli's mind, which had been warning him that he had revealed too much. Feeling something like calm envelop him again, Gimli found himself able to say with a lighter heart, his tears finally abating,

'I think he brings a lot of people hope. Amazing achievement for such a rascal, really.'

'I don't know how he does it,' Merry replied in mock exasperation, belied by the fond grin he bestowed on his slumbering cousin.

'The mystery of Peregrin Took, eh,' Gimli agreed amicably, relaxing further into the cushions with a yawn. Merry simply smiled and the two friends drifted into a comfortable silence. Merry watched carefully, and sure enough, before long Gimli's eyelids had flickered closed and his breathing had evened out. Once he was sure that his two companions were settled, Merry began to think of heading upstairs to take his own rest, but the scene before him was one of such contentment that he was reluctant to leave. Before he knew it, his own eyelids were drooping, and he was so comfortable in his nest of cushions…

Some time later, Legolas, whose presence all three had forgotten, rose from his chair and padded towards the couch on silent feet. He crouched at the hearth and banked the fire, then found a blanket and spread it over the sleeping Dwarf and his hobbit bookends. They would all have stiff necks in the morning, but they would have a deeper friendship and lighter hearts, so Legolas dismissed the idea of rousing them to get them into bed. Careful not to wake them, he gave each of his companions a light kiss on the forehead and whispered an Elvish blessing for peace of heart and mind.

Then he slipped noiselessly out of the room to take his own reverie on the balcony beneath the stars, and oblivious to all of it, three hobbits (one of them honorary) slept on.