October 20/21
It was quiet, and he was laying on something soft, and his head hurt. At first, that was all Merry was aware of. He groaned and reached up to his forehead, but felt only a thick, moist cloth. Confused, he opened his eyes and found himself in a bed, in a room lit only by a number of large candles. Looking down at him was an unfamiliar person with kind, wise eyes.
“Wh. . where am I?” he whispered groggily.
“You are safe,” the Elf said softly. He sat carefully on the bed and removed the cloth from the hobbit’s bruise, replacing it with a fresh one. “You were injured at the Ford, and Aragorn brought you here, along with your friends.”
“I was injured?” Merry couldn’t remember anything past his fear that Strider was about to be trampled to death. There had been no way to help Frodo, but at least he could…
“Frodo!” Merry tried to sit up, but gentle hands eased him back down. He closed his eyes for a moment, dizzy, then opened them. “Please sir, tell me what’s happened.”
“Frodo is here,” the Elf said softly, pointing to the next bed. Merry turned his head, and could just see Frodo lying nearby, Sam curled up at his side. “He is not yet out of danger, but I believe we will be able to help him. Your young cousin is asleep, and Aragorn is also resting. It is several hours since you were brought in.” He smiled at the hobbit. “I have heard from Glorfindel how you saved my son’s life, Meriadoc.”
“Your son?” Merry asked, growing more confused by the minute.
“Aragorn is as a son to me. I am Elrond, and this is my House.”
“We made it, then? This is Rivendell?”
“It is. You and your companions have had a long and difficult journey, but there is nothing more to fear, at present.”
“I’m honored to meet you, sir. Please call me Merry.” Merry frowned. “How was I injured? Something… hit me?”
“Yes,” Elrond nodded. “You were struck by the hoof of one of the wraiths’ horses. You should feel better by morning, but it may take a day or two for the headache to fade altogether.”
“Fade…” Merry felt tears springing to his eyes. “Strider said Frodo might… that the wraiths were waiting for him to…”
“Merry,” Elrond said firmly, “the wraiths are gone, at least for now.” He took one of the hobbit’s hands in his large one and clasped it gently. “Frodo will not fade if it is within my power to aid him. There are measures we have already taken, and others that will be attempted soon. Do not let your heart be troubled.” He picked up a cup from the table next to the bed. “You must sleep again, but first, this drink will give you some nourishment.”
Elrond slid one hand behind Merry’s head and raised it slightly. He held a cup to the hobbit’s lips, giving him the same sweet, healthful drink Pippin had enjoyed earlier, mixed with an herbal powder to ease pain.
Merry finished the cupful and lay back, growing drowsy again. “Thank you. I can’t believe we finally got here. We would never have made it, if not for Strider.”
Elrond smiled. “Pippin called him ‘Strider’ as well. An odd name, but I see that you have learned to trust him, as he has learned to trust you.”
“I know he’s not just a Ranger,” Merry declared suddenly. “He can’t be.”
Elrond touched his fingers to the hobbit’s brow. “There are many aspects to each of us -- to you, as well, Merry.”
“It’s more than that,” Merry insisted. He was suddenly finding it hard to stay awake. “I overheard Glorfindel say… things… and the healing plant, and his… grandfather was…”
“Shhh,” the Elf-lord said softly. “Sleep now.”
Merry sighed, his eyes closing. “There’s something special… about him…”
Elrond sat for a moment, gazing thoughtfully at Merry’s face. When his charge was once more asleep, he rose gracefully to his feet and moved to the window through which he could see the glittering stars.
“Special,” Elrond murmured to himself. “Indeed he is.”
~*~
“Pippin.”
Pippin opened his eyes to a room awash in bright, late-afternoon sunlight. He lay in a large, soft bed, and Aragorn was sitting next to him. He yawned and sat up slowly, amazed by the Ranger’s appearance. The Man was dressed in clean, well-fitting clothes, his hair washed and his facial hair neatly trimmed.
“So this is what you look like, Strider!”
Aragorn laughed. “It’s time for you to clean up as well, Master Took -- you’ve slept nearly around the clock. Are you ready for a nice long bath, and a meal fit for a hobbit?”
“Oh yes,” Pippin sighed. “I could eat a---” He suddenly gasped and looked around at the unfamiliar room. His wondering gaze took in lush plants and sculptures, and a high, carved ceiling. The air was warm, and he heard the faint sound of distant waterfalls and fountains, and birds singing. “Where am I? Where’s Merry?”
“This is your room,” Aragorn explained. “Elrond’s House has two levels, and most of the bedrooms -- and the healing rooms -- are here, on the upper level. I know hobbits are more comfortable closer to the ground, but perhaps you can endure this arrangement as long as you’re here.” He took Pippin’s hand. “Merry has been given his own room as well,” he said gently, “just down the hall. He is much better, Pippin, but Elrond insists he rest quietly today. He’s been able to eat a bit, and is getting a drink that helps dull the pain and allows him to rest.” He smiled. “Your cousin was quite mortified to discover that he had been bathed while he slept.”
Pippin grinned back. “I’m sure he was.”
“Now,” Aragorn said briskly, “it’s time for you to---”
“Frodo,” Pippin whispered. “Is he…”
“He’s alive,” Aragorn reassured him. “He’s still unconscious, but Elrond is doing everything he can for him. It may be another few days before he begins to improve, so try not to be too impatient or worried. We’re watching him very closely; there is always someone with him.”
“Including Sam, am I right?” Pippin smiled.
“Indeed,” Aragorn chuckled. He had hoped the youngster wouldn’t ask any questions about Frodo’s condition that he would rather not answer. “We could barely persuade Samwise to bathe and eat, before he was back in Frodo’s room, where he has insisted on remaining.” He smiled. “He is so amazed to be in a houseful of Elves, he hasn’t stopped asking questions for a moment. Elladan and Elrohir are quite taken with him -- they have only known one other hobbit before in their lives, and a scholarly and quiet one, at that.”
Pippin frowned. “Strider, yesterday I heard Elladan call you ‘my brother’.”
“We are brothers,” Aragorn explained. “Elrond helped raise me, and his sons have been my brothers ever since I can remember.” He pointed to a doorway. “But enough talk. Through that door is a tub filled with hot water, plenty of towels, and soap; I don’t want to see you again until every bit of dirt is scrubbed away.”
“Food first?” Pippin asked hopefully.
“Bath first, food second,” Aragorn said firmly. “Believe me, it’ll be worth the wait.” He pulled over a pile of clothing that had been laid out on the bed. “Perhaps you can wear these until your own clothes are cleaned.”
Pippin picked up a tunic. It was very soft, and beautifully made -- and looked as if it would fit him. “Are these Elf clothes?”
“Indeed they are,” Aragorn smiled. “They once belonged to Elladan.”
Pippin looked at the Ranger, wide-eyed. “They must be very old.”
“They are very, very old,” Aragorn laughed. “It was---” He suddenly found his arms full of hobbit, small arms wrapped around his neck.
“Thank you for getting us here,” Pippin whispered.
Aragorn sighed and held the youngster close for a long moment. “You are quite welcome.”
“Strider…” Pippin pulled away and looked at the Ranger in alarm. “Are Gandalf and Elrond angry with me?”
“No.” Aragorn chuckled at how quickly the youngster’s thoughts flew from one thing to another. “After they got over the shock of a tweenaged hobbit accosting his host, I suspect they were both quite impressed. Gandalf has said that you have given him much to think about, whatever that means.”
“Good.” Pippin frowned at the mess his dirty feet had made on the blankets. “I hope there’s a lot of soap in Rivendell.”
“There is,” came a teasing voice from the room’s open door, “and we will bring as much as you need.” One of the dark-haired twins stepped into the room and smiled at Pippin. “You may not remember me from yesterday, young one. I am Elladan.”
Pippin grinned at the Elf and exchanged a delighted look with Aragorn.
Elladan sighed. “Dear brother, whatever did you tell them about me?”
Aragorn tossed the pile of Elvish clothes into Pippin’s arms. “Go.”
As ordered, Pippin scrubbed and scrubbed, only climbing out of the luxurious bath when tantalizing smells from somewhere started to make his stomach growl. He dried his hair as best he could, pulled on the clean clothes, and left his dirty ones on a chair. Returning to the bedroom, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. Arrayed on a table in the middle of the room was a dinner of roast fowl and baked fish, fresh, fragrant breads, new butter, whipped potatoes, steamed vegetables (some of which he didn’t recognize), one bowl of large, ripe raspberries, and another of crisp apples. Elladan put down the last plate he was carrying, a platter of cakes, and smiled at the hobbit.
“I am glad to see that the garments fit you, Peregrin. May I sit with you while you eat, and tell you something of our House?”
“That would be wonderful,” Pippin nodded. “And please call me Pippin.”
For nearly an hour Pippin ate steadily and listened to Elladan tell him about Rivendell, the layout of the House, and (most importantly) the hours and locations of meals. He finally sat back and surveyed what was left of the food (a few vegetables and one cake, to be exact).
“I can’t remember the last time I could eat as much as I wanted,” Pippin sighed. He took another sip from his cup, which Elladan had filled with the same fragrant, golden draught that Gildor had given them back in the Shire, a month before.
“We have heard something of your journey,” Elladan said, deeply impressed by the amount of food the hobbit had consumed. “Perhaps you would be willing to tell us about it some evening?”
“I’d be glad to,” Pippin said, “although I suspect it will take more than one evening. Elladan…” he asked, suddenly remembering where he was and why, “would you show me where the others are?”
“Of course.” The Elf rose to his feet and smiled down at the hobbit. “Our home is yours for as long as you dwell here, Pippin. Allow me to show you around a bit.”
~*~
Pippin entered the room Elladan had pointed out as Merry’s, and walked quietly over to the bed. There was a small cloth wrapped about his cousin’s forehead, and he appeared to be asleep.
“Merry?” Pippin whispered.
Merry opened one eye and grinned at his cousin. “So they finally cleaned you up, eh? I’ll bet it took a dozen of those Elves to hold you down long enough.”
“Only a half dozen,” Pippin said pertly. “How do you feel? You look a little pale.”
“Not too bad.” Merry looked appraisingly at Pippin’s green tunic and light tan breeches. “You look good in that. It makes your eyes look even greener, somehow.”
“Hmmph.” Pippin hoisted himself up onto the bed and sat next to Merry. “And what are you wearing?”
Merry pushed down the blanket to reveal a gold tunic and grey breeches. “From Elrohir,” he said. “Pip, can you imagine how old these are? They look and feel brand new.”
“I know,” Pippin agreed. “The place is just crackling with ‘Elf magic’, as Sam would say. I wonder whose clothes he got?”
“Speaking of Sam,” Merry said, suddenly serious, “would you go see how Frodo’s doing, and come back and tell me? I tried to sneak over there, but Glorfindel caught me and said that ‘Lord Elrond wishes you to remain in bed today.’” He sighed. “It’s just a teensy headache, after all.”
“All right.” Pippin slid off the bed. “But Strider said there wouldn’t be any change for a few days.”
“As long as Frodo’s going to be all right…” Merry murmured.
Pippin smiled and left the room. He could tell that Merry had more than a ‘teensy’ headache, and he doubted his cousin would still be awake when he returned. Elladan had taken him on a brief tour of the upper level of the House, although there were so many corridors and rooms that Pippin knew he’d have to explore the place for weeks before getting it all straight. Making his way to the largest of what Elladan had called the ‘healing rooms’, he peeked through the door, relieved that Elrond was nowhere in sight. Gandalf sat talking quietly with Sam.
“Awake at last, eh?” Gandalf rose from his chair and walked towards Pippin. “We hardly had time for a proper greeting last night, Master Took.” He crouched down and smiled, and Pippin ran forward and threw his arms around the wizard’s neck.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Gandalf,” Pippin sighed. “Where were you?”
“I was delayed,” the wizard said gravely. “It is a very long tale.” He smiled at the young hobbit. “Sam has been telling me about your journey. You acquitted yourself very well, youngster.”
But Pippin was no longer listening. He could see, past the wizard’s shoulder, Frodo laying on one of the beds, and his eyes filled with tears. He broke free from Gandalf’s embrace and slowly approached the bed. Frodo lay pale and still, and seemed to be breathing very, very slowly.
“Don’t fret so, Mr. Pippin,” Sam reassured him, although his eyes were troubled. “He looks dreadful, I know, but he’s alive, and Gandalf and Mr. Elrond say that they may have to wait a few days to help him more. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.”
Pippin grasped Frodo’s right hand and kissed it, then saw the Ring. It had been strung on a silver chain and lay about Frodo’s neck. The chain was thin, but beautifully made, and it sparkled.
“Where did that chain come from?” Pippin asked.
“From me,” came Aragorn’s voice. He turned to see the Ranger in the doorway, his hand resting gently on the shoulder of an elderly hobbit beside him. To Pippin, the hobbit looked frail and tense, and vaguely familiar. It could only be…
“Bilbo,” Pippin said with wonder. “Are you Cousin Bilbo?”
“Mr. Bilbo!” Sam cried out. He ran to the old hobbit, who embraced him.
“Samwise Gamgee,” Bilbo said, “and young Pippin, is it? I’m sure you have quite a tale to tell.”
While Bilbo was distracted by the younger hobbits, Gandalf hastily pulled Frodo’s blanket up to his chin, covering the Ring. It had been seventeen years since Bilbo had seen it -- not long enough, the wizard thought grimly. Not nearly long enough.
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