Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Pippin slept soundly all through that day, the first untroubled sleep he had enjoyed since before Rivendale. When Frodo gently shook him awake, he smiled up at his cousin beautifully, and received a smile just as large as his own.

“How are you feeling?” his oldest cousin asked, helping him sit up, and Pippin had a feeling he was referring to more than just his head.

“Better,” he answered truthfully.

“Good, because Aragorn wants you to drink this all up and then eat some breakfast – er, supper. Or whatever meal it is when we sleep all day and wake at night,” Frodo finished with a chuckle.

“Breakfast, and I see Aragorn is getting you to do his dirty work for him,” Pippin sighed, pleased to see that his hands did not shake as he took the proffered mug.

“Maybe he is just tired of you whining,” Merry murmured sleepily next to him, earning a dark look from both of them.

“Hush, Merry, and get up, you can’t laze about all day, er, night. Sam needs help washing the pots, and your supper, er, breakfast is getting cold,” Frodo admonished, reaching over to pull the covers off of his reluctant cousin.

“Hey, that’s cold!” Merry protested, grabbing for the blanket and missing.

“Then get up and moving!” Frodo chuckled.

Pippin smiled at the antics, though it faded quickly as he downed the noxious potion. He shuddered, wondering for a moment if he was going to be sick again, then decided that his stomach was in a forgiving mood that morning. Er, night.

“All right?” Frodo asked, who had been watching him at the same time he was teasing Merry.

“Yech! I mean, yes,” Pippin assured him, shuddering one more time before handing the mug back to his cousin. “Though I think I had better eat that breakfast soon before my stomach decides otherwise.”

Merry stumbled past them, absently touching Pippin’s shoulder and Frodo’s hair as he passed, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he made his way to where Sam was trying to instruct Gimli on the proper care of fried potatoes.

“Am I allowed to help today, or must I stay inactive again?” Pippin asked, giving Frodo his best puppy-dog eyes.

“Oh, no you don’t, stubborn Took,” Frodo laughed, touching his cheek as he stood. “Aragorn wants you to rest until it is time to leave, and then you shall be carried again. If you have no more troubles by morning, then maybe he will let you walk tomorrow. Now eat up, you need your strength.”

It was with a much lighter step that Frodo left his cousin, though he still did not like how the light in Pippin’s eyes had not returned, and his smile was quick to fade.

***

“Here, Merry, Sam made some tea,” Pippin said cheerfully as he approached his cousin, who was standing guard with Borimir. “I’ll get you a mug if you would like one, Borimir,” he added.

“Aye, thank you,” the large man nodded, smiling down at the young hobbit.

Though he had still been silent and withdrawn most of that night’s travel, he had started to revert to his former self, every now and then throwing out an outrageous question and having everyone pondering some pointless fact. The tension in the group had faded noticeably.

He waited for Pippin to leave, but the tweenager stood there for a moment, as though waiting for something, and a moment later a startled cry jerked his attention back to his watch mate.

Merry was staring at his reflection in the tiny pond they had decided to camp by, a look of horror slowly changing to outrage.

“Pippin!” he snarled, turning to look at his cousin and revealing the cause for his distress.

His teeth and lips were stained black.

The youngest hobbit’s giggles quickly turned to shrieks as he darted off unsteadily, trying to avoid capture as Borimir watched in amazement.

Aragorn approached him silently, a smile playing about his lips as he watched the antics, Gimli’s laughter filling the clearing.

“Oh, Sam, you didn’t!” they heard Frodo ask in mixed horror and amusement.

They turned to see the two of them by the small fire Gandalf had permitted them, Frodo looking to his friend in wonderment.

“Of course not, Mister Frodo!” Sam answered in affront, though no one could deny the small smile that was playing around his lips. “Master Pippin put it in after I poured the mug.”

Frodo burst out laughing, and the others who had heard were hard pressed not to follow suit.

“Sam, how could you?” he finally managed, wiping tears from his eyes.

Sam swiveled slightly at the sound of Pippin’s shrill giggle, and the others turned just in time to see Merry mercilessly tickling Pippin, who was curled up in a ball on the ground trying to avoid those pitiless fingers.

“Some things are worth a bit of mischief, Mister Frodo,” the gardener answered softly, watching the scene play out before him.

Frodo watched as Aragorn went to break up the entertainment and admonish Merry about roughhousing with patients not up to it, not noticing as Pippin made faces behind the Ranger’s back.

“Indeed, Sam,” Frodo whispered, turning back to his friend and smiling. “Indeed.”

Epilogue

Yay, it's finally finished! Enjoy!

Epilogue

“Da?”

The small voice was tremulous, wavering between wanting to be brave and yet needing comfort.

“Yes, Faramir?” Pippin asked gently, turning back from the door he had been about to close, gazing at his five year old tenderly.

“I’m scared.”

For a moment something flashed across Pippin’s face, then vanished, replaced by a small smile as he returned to the bed, sitting down on its edge and gently touching his son’s cheek.

“And what are you afraid of, Little One?” he asked gently, already knowing the answer.

“Monsters,” Faramir whispered fearfully.

“Ahhh,” Pippin murmured, looking out the window of his son’s room into the darkness, for a moment seeing not the stars and green hills of the shire, but a chilly mountainside and a wizened old man calmly smoking his pipe.

“They do exist, don’t they, Da?” Faramir’s voice asked hesitantly, as though afraid his beloved father would laugh at him for believing in such things.

“Aye, Son, they do,” Pippin whispered after a moment, and there was a hint of something sad in his Da’s eyes. “But you don’t have to worry about them.”

“Because you’ll protect me from them?” Faramir asked, smiling.

Pippin smiled back, ruffling his son’s unruly curls. “No, Lad.” His child’s smile faded as he looked up at him in confusion. “When the time comes for you to face your monsters, only you will be able to fight them.”

“I don’t understand,” Faramir admitted.

“Neither did I,” Pippin murmured, and once more his gaze wandered out the window, to something only he could see. “But you will, one day.”

He shook himself, then, as though just recalling where he was, and turned back to his son, smiling again. “As for now, rest assured that there are no monsters under the bed, in the closet, or anywhere else in the smial. Your cousin Merry and I got rid of them all a long time ago.”

“But what if new ones show up?” Faramir asked, unable to completely put his fear aside.

His father’s gaze wandered once more to the window, and Faramir had to wonder what he saw out there that no else could.

“Then you shall do the best you can, and simply do what must be done when the time comes.” He kissed his son’s forehead gently, standing. “Now go to sleep, and dream sweet dreams of honey buns and almond cakes.”

He was almost to the door when his son’s voice halted him once more.

“Da?”

“Yes, Faramir?” he asked patiently, turning around.

“Were you afraid when you fought your monsters?”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Pippin whispered, almost so the child could not hear him, “Yes, Faramir. Very frightened indeed.”

“Then how did you do it?”

His father turned away, but not before he glimpsed something sparkling on his cheek. “Because I knew that I had to face what came, as it came. Now go to sleep, Faramir.”

With that he closed the door, knowing his son would soon be sleeping peacefully. For a moment he leaned his back against the solid wood, eyes closed.

“Are you all right?”

He started, quickly wiping the tears from his eyes as Merry approached, gazing at him worriedly.

“Aye,” he assured the other, ushering him back into his study, where he poured them both a generous glass of brandy.

He handed Merry his, looking to a point above his cousin’s shoulder as he whispered, “To monsters - may they always be ready for a fight, because they shall certainly get one from us!”

“To monsters,” Merry agreed. They both sipped their brandy quietly for a moment, enjoying the now rare peace of each other’s company.

“Now,” Merry broke the silence, casting a penetrating glare at his younger cousin, “are you going to tell me about that pig or am I going to have to ask Sam why you were seen leading it around yesterday?”

“Well, Merry, it was like this…”

At that moment the clock chimed, and Pippin stood to mark the calendar, changing the date from March 15th to the 16th. Then he sat back down and resumed the tale, their laughter filling the night air and banishing any monsters that lingered.




Author's note: I forgot to post this in the last chapter, but for those of you have seen the Patriot you know where I got the idea for Pippin to put ink in Merry's tea. Just borrowing the idea, as I thought it was a very Pippin thing to do.