A story!

[piplover]

Hello, all! This story has been a long time in the making. It was inspired by a letter written in response to Shirebound's Letter Challenge by Pipwise Brandygrin. It is with her permission that I have included part of the letter that brought about this story, it being the first letter that Bilbo reads. I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Safe in my Heart

 

            Pippin was restless.  Perhaps it was the fact that Frodo had still to awaken from his terrible ordeal.  Or possibly it was the beds, too large by far for his small frame, so that if he awoke in the night alone, all he felt was emptiness about him. 

 

            Perhaps it was the way the moon shone in through the windows, so unlike what he was used to at home.  Or the ageless feeling given off by the elves. For whatever reason, however, Pippin sat quietly in one of the many gardens of Rivendell, gazing to the stars with a lost look to his eyes. 

 

            Merry was taking his turn at watching by Frodo’s side, insistent that Sam take a few hours of much needed rest, and Pippin found it nearly impossible to stay in his room by himself.  Never in his life had he heard such silence as when he had tried to sleep, and it had unnerved him more than he liked.

 

            Now, having wandered through the many corridors and through several similar gardens, the young hobbit found himself alone, with only the soft croak of frogs from one of the many ponds to keep him company. 

 

            He curled up on his side on the bench he had perched on, drawing his knees up to his chest and closing his eyes.  A gentle breeze brushed his cheek, and carried the scent of late blooming flowers and fresh water to his nose.  The sounds of night birds started to make themselves known, joining the frogs in an impromptu symphony. 

 

            Finally, surrounded by the evening sounds that banished the silence, Pippin fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

                                                                        ***

 

            “Oh, dear me!”

 

            The startled exclamation brought Pippin’s eyes open, and he gazed blurrily at the form standing next to him.  For long moments he did not remember where he was, or understand why his neck was sore and his feet cold. 

 

            “Lad, what are you doing out here?  And without even a blanket!  Now this will never do, honestly!” 

 

            Pippin blinked several times to clear his vision, and found himself staring sideways through sleepy eyes at a very old hobbit, who stood beside him with hands on hips. 

 

            “Come along, lad,” the hobbit commanded, moving to help Pippin sit up. 

 

            “Bilbo?” Pippin murmured, wiping a hand across his face. 

 

            “Aye, lad,” Bilbo responded fondly, gently urging the tweenager to stand. 

 

            Still disoriented and muddled with sleep, Pippin wobbled a bit, and found his elder cousin’s steadying hand on his arm. 

 

            “Come on, lad, and we’ll get you some breakfast,” Bilbo promised, guiding Pippin through a series of corridors. 

 

            They stopped at an unremarkable door, which Bilbo opened one handed, keeping his other on Pippin’s arm, and led him inside to a large, squashy chair. 

 

            “Whatever were you doing sleeping outside, lad?  Wasn’t your bed comfortable?” Bilbo asked, pulling on a long cord as he hobbled around the room, pouring a mug of water and grabbing a blanket, the both of which he took to Pippin.

 

            “I – I just couldn’t sleep in my room,” Pippin whispered, suddenly shy around this cousin of his that he could barely remember. 

 

            Bilbo’s hands were gentle as he wrapped the blanket around Pippin’s shoulders, watching as the tweenager took a long drink from the mug. 

 

            “Rivendell can be rather quiet at times, I agree,” Bilbo finally said softly, patting Pippin’s hand before he turned.  “Someone will be along with breakfast shortly, Pippin, my lad, with plenty to keep us both happy until second breakfast.”

 

            “I’m just tired, Uncle Bilbo,” Pippin mumbled, feeling himself slowly curl up against the softness of the chair cushions.  “Maybe I’ll just have second breakfast later.  Or elevenses.”  His voice trailed off as sleep claimed him once more, this time in warmth, with the smell of home about him.

 

                                                            ***

 

            “…didn’t even want breakfast!  Then he just fell asleep!  I don’t want to worry the others, but…”

 

            Pippin snuggled deeper into the blanket that covered him, inhaling the scent of lavender and apples.  Something gentle touched his forehead and he wrinkled his nose.

 

            “Pippin?  Can you wake up a little?”  Strider’s gentle voice floated down to him, and Pippin struggled to open still sleepy eyes. 

 

            The Ranger was bending over him, but as soon as Pippin opened his eyes he knelt by the arm of the chair. 

 

            “What’s wrong?” Pippin asked, sudden fear for his cousin jerking him upright, trying to disentangle himself from the blanket.

 

            “Nothing, nothing!” Strider soothed, placing a steadying hand on Pippin’s shoulder.  “Frodo remains unchanged, and is resting as comfortably as we can make him.”

 

            “Oh,” Pippin sighed, letting himself sink back into the chair, yawning hugely.

 

            “Bilbo tells me that he found you outside in the garden this morning, and that you were too tired to eat breakfast.  Are you feeling all right?” Strider asked gently, his eyes taking in the dark shadows under the slightly glazed eyes, the pale cheeks and the listless movements. 

 

            “Just tired,” Pippin mumbled around another yawn, his eyes drooping shut once more. 

 

            “All right,” Strider agreed, watching as the small hobbit fell once more into a deep slumber before he placed his hand back on Pippin’s brow.

 

            “Is he all right?” Bilbo whispered, watching from the other side of the chair. 

 

            “I think he is just greatly worn, old friend,” Strider soothed, smiling encouragingly at the old hobbit.  “He is very young to have endured so much, and so bravely. All the same, I would prefer if you kept an eye on him for a little while.  If he is getting sick, I would like to know as soon as possible.  Otherwise, I believe the best thing for him is to get as much rest as he can.”

 

            “Such a small lad,” Bilbo sighed as he walked with his friend to the door.  “He always was a tiny thing, but, oh my goodness, the spirit!  Why, when he was told he was too small to learn the lute, he went and taught himself!  Such a bright little thing, really,” Bilbo sighed.  “And all these years I never answered him,” he added, under his breath.

 

            “What was that?” Strider asked, looking at the hobbit beside him closely. 

 

            “Nothing,” Bilbo murmured, opening the door.  “Just thinking aloud to myself.  I do that more and more often these days.  Now off you go, and make sure you keep an eye on my Frodo.  I’ll be certain to let you know if Pippin starts to feel ill, or if I think he needs you.” 

 

            Bilbo made a shooing motion with his hands, and the Ranger smiled as he left the room, heading back toward Frodo’s chamber.

 

            Bilbo hesitated a moment by the door, face uncertain, as he turned a speculative glance to the sleeping form in his chair. 

 

            “My poor little lad,” he murmured, and his mind was decided. 

 

            Moving with all the stealth still remaining in his old bones, Bilbo moved to the chest at the foot of his bed where he kept all his most prized possessions, and set about his chore.

 

                                                                        ***

 

            The smell of fresh bread and cheese tickled Pippin’s nose, his mouth watering unconsciously as he took an appreciative sniff. 

 

            “Pippin?  Time to get up and have some luncheon,” a voice whispered softly by his side. 

 

            Pippin opened his eyes slowly, still feeling the weight of his fatigue about his limbs, though no longer quite as drained as he had been. 

 

            “Luncheon?” he asked thickly, straightening up slightly in the chair.  The blanket was still wrapped securely around him, and he slowly disentangled himself from its folds.

 

            “Yes, I’m afraid you slept through second breakfast and elevenses, and Aragorn said that he wanted you to eat and drink something before you go back to sleep.  So up you get, and join your cousin Bilbo for a meal,” Bilbo prompted, moving easily over to where a table had been set up, laden with plates and bowls that had Pippin’s stomach rumbling at the sight.

 

            Bilbo chuckled as he sat down stiffly, helping himself to a bit of everything, and watching with delight as Pippin did the same, both of them shoveling food into their mouths with astonishing speed.

 

            Even for a hobbit, Bilbo still had a voracious appetite, and Pippin was a growing tweenager.  It was not long before all the dishes had been emptied, the bowls stacked, and the two at the table sitting back with contented sighs. 

 

            “How about you join me for a pipe on the terrace?” Bilbo murmured, smiling at Pippin’s pleased grin at the suggestion.  

 

            The two of them headed outside, retrieving their pipes from their pockets and filling them from Bilbo’s pouch.  For long moments nothing was said between them, and Bilbo was pleased to see that, though the tweenager’s eyes were still bruised looking, he seemed to have more color to his cheeks.

 

            “Pippin,” Bilbo murmured, his voice hesitant as he blew out a smoke ring, the two of them watching it drift lazily on the breeze. 

 

            “Yes?” Pippin asked, turning an enquiring gaze to the other. 

 

            “I have something to tell you, though I am uncertain how to begin,” Bilbo began, glancing at the youngster from the corner of his eye. 

 

            Pippin said nothing, his silence prompting Bilbo to continue. 

 

            “Yes, well, humph,” Bilbo began, taking another long pull from his pipe.  Finally, blowing out a great gust of smoke, he reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a thick stack of what appeared to be very old letters.

 

            “Bilbo?” Pippin asked softly, his gaze going to the childish scrawl on the top letter.

 

            To:  Bilbo Baggins

            C/O Gandalf

 

            “Bilbo…” Pippin began again, his voice trailing off as he watched his cousin withdraw the top letter and, with an almost reverent air, unfold the crinkling parchment. 

 

 

            “Gandalf brought this to me nearly three months after my party, saying you were very insistent on giving it to him before your family returned to the Smials,” Bilbo said softly, touching the faint writing with ink-stained fingers.  “It took me quite by surprise, and I fear that I did not have the courage to write you back.”  Here Bilbo looked up, and his eyes were saddened. 

 

“I did not have the heart, either, to write back and tell you that there would be no return journey for me.  So I was a bit astounded when a few years later Gandalf brought me another letter!”

 

            Bilbo’s aged eyes crinkled with his smile as he turned his gaze back to the first letter in his hand, reading very softly the first paragraphs that Pippin barely remembered writing all those years ago.

 

            “Dear Bilbo,

I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your party, since I didn't get a chance to tell you before. It was the best party I've ever been to, and it was very clever how you disappeared like that! It was very exciting too, like being in one of your stories. There were a lot of people who weren’t so pleased though, like Frodo, and that’s why I have to go home instead of stay at Bag End with him like we’d planned.

When are you coming back? I did enjoy the joke and I expect you’re having a lot more adventures now, but we all will rather miss you. Frodo will be a bit lonely I think, in Hobbiton all by himself. I told him that you have to come back because you did the last time you went away, and this time you’ll have even more stories to tell, and what is the point of having more adventures if you don’t come back and tell us about them? That didn’t make him feel much better, I don’t think, although he smiled at me and said not to worry.”

            Pippin stared at Bilbo in amazement, his pipe held forgotten in his suddenly limp hand. 

            “There is much more, of course,” Bilbo whispered, refolding the letter and placing it back on the stack, but not before withdrawing the second one.  He gazed at it for a long time before he opened it up, and once more read clearly the words that Pippin scarcely recalled.

 

            “Dear Bilbo,

            I guess that you have been too busy having adventures and such things to give a letter to Gandalf, but that is all right, as Mother says that he is probably very busy and wouldn’t have time to deliver it anyway.  I thought that I should try again, and see if this time maybe he will pass you on one of your journeys when you both have some time. 

Yules are very quiet without you to tell tales by the fire, and even though Frodo tries, he just doesn’t do it like you.  I miss you, Bilbo, and wish you would come back.  Merry says that you are too busy having adventures and such, but I think that you have had enough adventure and need to come home.”

            Pippin could not suppress the smile he felt growing at the bossy words to his eldest cousin.

            “Insistent, wasn’t I?” he finally asked, surprising a chuckle out of Bilbo.

            “Oh, yes,” Bilbo laughed, holding up the thick stack.  “Even though I never wrote you back, you continued to write for several years.  I must admit, I was rather disappointed when Gandalf stopped bringing them,” he added, very softly.

            “You never wrote back,” Pippin murmured, finally remembering he still held his pipe and taking a long pull from it.  “I was almost a tweenager, and thought that if you were going to write, you would have done so by then.”

            “I was a fool,” Bilbo grumbled, scowling as he blew out a smoke ring.  “Gandalf often told me I should write you back, since he was going to all the trouble of bringing your letters to me.  But I didn’t want to break your heart, lad, with false hope of my coming back.”

            “But Bilbo,” Pippin whispered in a weary, shy voice.  “You did break my heart.”

            “Ahhh, lad,” Bilbo muttered, placing his hand on Pippin’s shoulder and squeezing gently.  “I am sorry.”

            Nothing more was said for quite a while, the two of them smoking in thoughtful silence before a giant yawn threatened to dislocate Pippin’s jaw. 

            “Enough,” Bilbo said, softly but firmly.  “You need some more rest, and so do I!  Come lad, you can sleep beside me on the bed, there is plenty of room.”

            Pippin smiled up at his cousin as the other stood, tamping down his pipe and motioning for Pippin to do the same.  As he followed the elder hobbit to the rather large bed near the biggest window of the room, he watched as Bilbo carefully placed the thick stack of letters onto the chest.

            “Now for a nap,” Bilbo yawned, which started Pippin going as well, and the two of them laughed and climbed into the bed. 

            As Pippin curled into his usual ball, the warmth of his cousin beside him, he felt a gentle hand touch his curls briefly before withdrawing, and then Bilbo’s breath deepened into small snores that reminded him of Frodo.

            For a moment the tweenager’s eyes stung at the thought of his cousin, hurting, sick, and carrying a burden none of them truly understood.  What would happen if Frodo became worse, or died?  The very thought had Pippin wiping his eyes hastily, turning his mind quickly from such dark things.

            Instead, he looked over to the hobbit lying beside him, and found the corners of his mouth pulling up.  He may not have remembered the exact contents of the first letters he had written to this cousin of his, but he certainly remembered the last. 

            Even as he had given it to Gandalf, he had told the wizard such.  Now he understood the sadness that had seemed to creep into the aged face. 

            Dear Bilbo,

            I guess that you never did find the time to answer these, being so busy as you are, and I feel guilty giving them to Gandalf.  I hope that, one day, you will know how much you mean to me, and how much I miss you.  Although, in all honesty, I can no longer remember what your voice sounds like, or the feel of your arms as you gathered me into a hug. 

I hope that you are happy, wherever you are, and that you are getting plenty to eat.  I had my 18^th birthday a few days ago, and Gandalf happened to be visiting Frodo at the time, so I thought I would ask him this last time to try and get this to you. 

You missed the lovely fireworks, and such a wonderful cake!  I hope that there is plenty of cake wherever you are.  I don’t have a gift to give you, save for my love, which you have always had.  Please take care of yourself, Bilbo.  I am thinking of you.

Love,

Your cousin, Pippin

            Drifting off to sleep, the young hobbit did not notice the sound of the door to the room slowly closing, nor the sound of soft soled boots approaching the bed.

            Gandalf gazed down at the two hobbits before him, smiling tenderly as he pulled the blankets more firmly around the two sets of shoulders.  One aged, one just beginning to experience life. 

            “Sleep well, my friends,” he whispered, touching each of their brows in turn.  Turning, he spotted the bundle of parchment upon the chest, and gently gathered them up. He found himself smiling fondly at the wrinkled old letters, remembering Bilbo’s expression each time he received one. 

            And Pippin’s hopeful look as he placed the precious items into the wizard’s care.

            “You’ll keep it safe, won’t you, Gandalf?” the eleven year old had asked with unfailing trust in his eyes.

            “Yes, Pippin,” Gandalf had answered, ruffling the tangled curls.  “It shall remain safe for as long as I carry it!”

            Smiling, Gandalf replaced the letters and left his two friends to their slumber, knowing that he had fulfilled his promise. 

 

           

           

           

 

           

 

Comments

[piplover.livejournal.com]

Thank you for reading it! I'm glad you enjoyed it.