October 21-23
“And then Cousin Bilbo came in,” Pippin said, a bit out of breath from his narrative. “He’s ever so much older than I remember, Merry.”
“I know. He came to see me a little while ago, and I was really surprised. But Pip…” Merry thought about it. “…he is one hundred twenty-eight, after all. It’s kind of amazing, if you think about it. Great-great grandfather Gerontius lived to be one hundred thirty, and he was the oldest hobbit anyone’s ever known about.”
“That’s true,” Pippin answered. He lay on Merry’s big bed, still filling his cousin in on everything that had happened in the past few hours.
“This is an enormous place,” Pippin continued. “I think a lot of Elves live here, but this ‘House’ is so huge and complicated, you hardly see anyone about.”
“Maybe Elrond is keeping most of them away from this area,” Merry said thoughtfully. “The Ring is still a secret, I suppose.”
“It sure is,” Pippin agreed. “Gandalf wouldn’t let Bilbo see that Frodo was wearing it.”
“He’s wearing it?” Merry gasped.
“Around his neck,” Pippin hastened to explain. “It’s on a chain that belonged to Strider’s mother. He called it an ‘heirloom of his house’, one of the gifts his father gave to his mother on their wedding day. It’s really beautiful; Strider said that it’s one of the few things remaining of that land he told us about -- the one that was drowned in the Western Seas.”
“Hmmm,” Merry said quietly. “Strider has heirlooms of his ‘house’?”
“Oh!” Pippin suddenly sat straight up. “And the most amazing thing happened, Mer! We were all in the middle of talking about… oh, everthing except the Ring, I guess, because Gandalf didn’t seem to want us to talk about it in front of Bilbo, maybe because---”
“Peregrin Took, what was the amazing thing that happened?” Merry asked in exasperation.
Pippin took a deep breath, his green eyes reflecting the starlight coming in through the window. “A lady came in. You have never, ever, in your entire life seen such a beautiful lady,” he said reverently. “I couldn’t believe my eyes, and neither could Sam. And guess what?” Pippin got so excited he nearly started bouncing, but remembered just in time that Merry still had a headache. “It’s the lady Strider’s in love with! Her name’s Arwen, and she’s so…” He sighed. “She’s really beautiful.”
“You said that,” Merry grinned. “Not too bad looking, eh?”
“Meriadoc,” Pippin said frostily, “wait until you see her. Sam nearly passed out, I think.” He looked thoughtful. “I wonder how old she is.”
“Too old for you, I’ll bet,” Merry said teasingly.
“It doesn’t matter,” Pippin said with deep regret. “The way she and Strider were looking at each other, well… it was like there wasn’t anyone else in the room. Or the world. Strider suddenly looked so different, all of a sudden… But Mer, guess who she is? She’s Elladan and Elrohir’s sister. She’s Elrond’s daughter! It’s like Strider’s betrothed to a princess or something!”
“Prince Strider,” Merry chuckled. “What’s going on out there, now?”
“Sam refuses to leave Frodo’s room, even though Strider and Gandalf say he won’t wake up for a few more days, maybe,” Pippin continued. “Bilbo sat with us for an hour or so, but then he got sleepy and Elrohir took him back to his room, wherever that is; I think Bilbo lives downstairs somewhere. I don’t think he’s been told exactly what happened to Frodo, just little bits and pieces. Here, you’re supposed to keep drinking this stuff.”
Pippin leaned over Merry and grabbed a cup from the bedside table. Merry obediently took a few sips of the pain-reducing potion any time it was offered, which told Pippin a great deal.
“Are you still dizzy?”
“A little,” Merry admitted, “but I’m fine, Pip, truly. What’s a headache, after all? Think about everything Frodo went through these past weeks; did you ever hear him complain? Even once?”
“You can complain to me if you want to,” Pippin said softly. “You know you can.”
“I know.” Merry pressed Pippin’s hand. He was starting to feel drowsy, but still had questions.
“So whose clothes did Sam get?”
“I think they were Strider’s; they’re really nice. Arwen…” Pippin sighed again at the thought of her. “…Arwen said that Frodo will have new clothes to wear when he wakes up. She must like to sew.” He fussed a bit with Merry’s blankets, even though the room wasn’t cold. “Are you getting enough to eat?”
“I wish I was hungry enough to eat all the food these Elves have been trying to feed me,” Merry grumbled.
“You’ll be nearly as good as new tomorrow, I know you will,” Pippin reassured him. “And as soon as you’re allowed up, I’ll show you around a little.”
“Merry? Pippin?” Elladan stood in the doorway. “Do either of you need anything this night?”
“Thank you, Elladan,” Pippin replied. “We’ve been well looked after.”
“You seem to have no difficulty telling me apart from Elrohir,” the Elf said with a smile at the young hobbit. “It usually takes more time than this.”
“It’s easy,” Pippin said promptly. “You wear lots of blue and brown things, and Elrohir likes rust and gold.” He couldn’t resist. “Neither of you wears much green, do you?”
“No,” Elladan replied. “I used to wear quite a bit of green, but then…” He suddenly frowned, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “So that’s it.”
“What?” Pippin asked innocently.
“Nothing.” The Elf slowly smiled, then began to chuckle softly. “I believe I will have a word with Aragorn before bed. Goodnight.” He bowed and left the room, but not before hearing the hobbits’ muffled giggles.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Merry said, poking his cousin in the ribs.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Pippin sniffed. They talked a bit more, but Pippin could see that Merry was getting sleepy again. He didn’t want to go back to his own room just yet, where everything was so big and unfamiliar… he looked at Merry hopefully. “Maybe I’ll stay here with you tonight and keep you company, in case you have a nightmare, or need to talk, or---”
Merry smiled to himself. Pippin could fool a lot of people, but never him. He suspected that his young cousin was feeling overwhelmed, and it was he who needed the company.
“Thanks,” Merry replied, “that would be great.” Pippin lay down, curling up next to him, and Merry felt a small hand seeking out his.
“Pip, if I need company tomorrow night too, would you mind awfully---”
“No,” Pippin whispered, relieved. “I wouldn’t mind.”
~*~
October 23
Pippin found Merry in what had become their favorite place -- indeed, a favorite place for many -- the grand porch on the east side of the House. It lent a view of the high mountains, and the air was filled with a sweet fragrance from the many gardens and the sound of waterfalls near and distant. The evening’s shadows darkened the valley beyond, and a few stars had begun to twinkle in the clear skies above them.
“What are you doing out here all alone, Meriadoc?” asked Pippin. He plunked down on the luxuriously padded bench beside his cousin, who seemed lost in thought. “It’s nearly suppertime!”
“I was just talking with Gandalf,” Merry said. “Pip, did you know that the Rangers are the last remnant in the North of the great people, the Men of the West? Gandalf called them ‘the race of the Kings from over the Sea.’”
“Oh Merry,” Pippin scoffed. “The kings are just legend.”
“I’m beginning to think that they’re not,” Merry murmured.
“Is Gandalf coming back?
”I don’t know,” Merry frowned. “We were talking, and then he got a strange look in his eyes and hurried away.”
Pippin turned to his cousin suddenly. “You know, Mer, I was thinking…”
“I know that look, Peregrin,” Merry said in mock alarm. “Are you up to something we’ll regret?”
Pipipn sighed. “I’m not always planning mischief, you know.” He looked at Merry, his eyes sparkling. “I think that we should learn Elvish.”
“Oh?”
”Think about it,” Pippin explained. “Even after Frodo’s better, he’s going to want to stay here awhile and spend time with Cousin Bilbo. A lot of the Elves can speak with us, but a lot of them can’t. Don’t you want to talk with everyone? Don’t you want to know everything about everyone?”
“Tooks are insatiable,” Merry sighed. He grinned suddenly. “Rivendell would never be the same. Elvish with a Tookland accent will have to be heard to be believed.”
“I agree,” Aragorn said, coming around the corner of the porch towards them. “Even Westron with a Tookland accent has to be heard to be believed.”
“Mae govannen, Dúnadan,” Pippin greeted him.
“That does sound interesting.” Aragorn smiled at Pippin. “And how do you know about Dúnadan?”
“That’s what Cousin Bilbo calls you,” Pippin replied, “and some of the Elves do, as well. Is there no end to the names you have?”
“Good evening, Dúnadan,” Merry said.
“Strider is still fine, you two,” Aragorn chuckled. He came to stand in front of Merry, and placed his hands over his heart. “Meriadoc?”
“Yes?” Merry asked, puzzled by the Ranger’s formal manner.
“I owe you my life, Meriadoc Brandybuck,” Aragorn said gravely. “I have not had the opportunity, until now, to thank you properly. I am in your debt, and at your service.” With that, he bowed deeply.
Merry stared at the Man, astonished. His mouth opened, but nothing came out, and finally he closed it again, still speechless. Pippin was grinning from ear to ear.
“Shall we speak of other things?” Aragorn asked, seeing the hobbit’s discomfort.
“Yes, please,” Merry whispered.
“Very well.” Aragorn joined the hobbits on the bench. “What shall we talk about?”
”Frodo,” Merry said promptly. “No one will tell us anything specific. I want to know what everyone’s waiting for! Why hasn’t Elrond or someone cut that evil thing out of his shoulder? It’s been days, and…” Suddenly he gasped and turned ashen.
“What’s wrong?” Pippin asked anxiously.
Merry stared at Aragorn in terrible comprehension. “Which of you is going to be the one to kill him?” he blurted out.
“What?” Pippin cried.
“Merry!” Aragorn grabbed the hobbit’s suddenly-cold hands and held them tightly. “Merry, no! No one is planning to kill Frodo.”
“You are,” Merry said wildly. “You can’t help him, and he’s fading, like you said, and he’ll become a wraith and disappear and take the Ring, but before it happens… one of you will… will have to…”
“Merry, calm yourself and listen to me,” Aragorn said firmly. “Elrond believes that Frodo can be cured, but he’s waiting for just the right moment to take further action. He doesn’t want to cut into Frodo until he perceives exactly where the shard lies, and he has told me that soon he will know.”
“Soon?”
“Very soon.”
“Swear it,” Merry insisted. “Swear it on your house, and your lineage.”
Now it was Aragorn’s turn to be speechless. After a long silence, he slowly nodded.
“I do so swear it.”
Merry slowly relaxed. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You love him,” Aragorn said gently. “We all do, Merry, but he could not be in better hands.”
“Strider,” said Merry suddenly, remembering his conversation with Gandalf, “did you know we have a saying in the Shire, ‘until the King comes back’?”
“I heard Frodo use it once,” Aragorn replied carefully, “many years ago.”
“It’s just a saying no one ever thinks twice about,” Merry continued, “but recently I’ve been---”
At that moment, all three looked up in amazement at the sight of Elrohir running towards them. Merry and Pippin had seen many Elves over the past few days, but none of them ever seemed to be in any kind of hurry. Until now.
Aragorn stood up as his foster brother approached. Elrohir came to his side and spoke quickly in Elvish, then Aragorn turned to face the hobbits.
“Forgive me, my friends, but I must leave you for a time.” Without another word, the Elf and Ranger swiftly walked back into the House.
“First Gandalf, and now them,” Merry said, shaking his head. “I agree with you, Pip -- we need to learn Elvish.”
“Meriadoc Brandybuck,” Pippin said angrily, “I don’t know what you two were talking about, but Frodo isn’t fading anywhere. He promised me he would never become a wraith. He promised.”
Merry nodded, hiding his deep fear that everyone’s sudden departure could only mean bad news. “You’re right, Pip,” he smiled reassuringly. “He promised.”
“All right, then,” Pippin said sulkily. “Let’s go find some supper.”
~*~
As Aragorn stepped into the healing chamber, and Elrohir closed the door behind them, Elrond was speaking with Sam. The hobbit was sitting in one of the big chairs, his knees drawn up to his chin.
“Samwise,” Elrond warned, “you will not speak of anything you see here. We have spoken long together these past days, and I can read your heart, or I would not permit you to stay.”
“I understand, sir,” Sam said firmly. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
Aragorn sat next to Sam and put an arm around him. The sturdy gardener had dark circles under his eyes, and was pale and trembling slightly. Aragorn wondered how much sleep Sam had allowed himself since that first, exhausted slumber when they all arrived.
“Is it time?” Aragorn asked quietly.
“It is,” Gandalf replied from where he stood by the window. “You will be needed, Aragorn, I feel it; you must not leave for any reason.”
Elrond turned back to the bed, Glorfindel at his side. Elrohir and Elladan came to stand near their father, who bent to cleanse Frodo’s shoulder with a cloth that had been soaking in a nearby basin. On a table, surgical instruments, suturing materials, and bandages were assembled.
“There,” Glorfindel said suddenly. Whatever change had taken place Aragorn could not perceive, but there was no question that the moment Elrond had been waiting for had occurred.
“Yes,” Elrond nodded. He picked up a small, sharp knife and bent over Frodo’s still body. “I see it. We must work quickly, before it is too late.”
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