March 1
Pippin awoke from his nap to a whisper of softness on his hand, and a chorus of tiny peeps. He opened his eyes, and gasped in delight at the sight of baby ducks just a few feet away, pecking at crumbs left from lunch. One duckling had been bold enough to investigate a morsel by Pippin’s hand, and was being watched carefully by the mother duck.
“Sit up slowly, Pip,” Frodo whispered from where he sat nearby on the spread-out blanket. “Just watch. Aren’t they cute?”
“Don’t let Scamp chase them,” Pippin begged. He sat up, not taking his eyes from the ducklings.
“Bilbo and Scamp went for a walk,” Frodo told him. “The mother duck would probably not let her babies come this close, if there was a puppy around.” He grinned as Pip started wriggling, fists clenching and unclenching. It was obvious that he wanted to grab the nearest duckling, and Frodo doubted that his young cousin was going to be able to hold out much longer.
“Pip, why don’t we let---”
“I want this one,” Pippin suddenly declared, pointing to the nearest chick.
“We can’t take---”
“He wants to come home with me,” the toddler insisted.
“Pip,” Frodo said gently, “the ducklings have to stay here. This is where they live.”
“Please?”
“No, Pip. They’d be sad and lonely if you took one of them away from their mommy and family.”
Pippin pouted for a minute, but the ducklings were too distracting. “That one looks like Pewvinca,” he observed with a giggle.
“Hmmm,” Frodo said seriously. “Do you think so?”
Aragorn had taken Sam for a ride on Arthad, and when he rode back to the clearing, Sam seated in front of him, he brought the horse to a halt some distance from the tableau of hobbits and ducklings.
“That was a purely wonderful ride, sir,” Sam grinned, his eyes sparkling. “Ollie seems to know where to go without you even tellin’ him.”
“Arthad is very smart,” Aragorn agreed, lifting Sam down. “We have travelled together for many years, and there is great love and understanding between us. We have learned to trust one another.”
“He’s a good friend for you,” Sam said, reaching up to stroke the horse’s nose, “like Mr. Frodo is, for me.” Aragorn followed the boy’’s gaze to where Frodo sat next to Pippin, and the Ranger rested a gentle hand on the youngster’s shoulder.
“You are as good a friend for him,” Aragorn said quietly. “Frodo’s come a long way, hasn’t he?”
“He surely has, sir,” Sam agreed. “He surely has.”
~*~
“More cake, Estel?” Frodo asked.
“There’s more?”
“Well, of course,” Bilbo remarked matter-of-factly, revealing yet another covered dish. “No guest -- especially a birthday guest -- will ever go hungry while a Baggins has anything to say about it.”
“Go hungry?” Aragorn stared in amazement as a third slice of cake found its way onto his plate. “I’ve haven’t eaten this much, at one time, since...” He frowned. “Actually, I can’t remember when I’ve ever eaten this much at one time.”
“Birthdays are wonderful,” Sam said, his mouth full of sweet cream frosting.
“I haven’t had many memorable birthdays,” Aragorn said, “but I will surely remember this one. Thank you, my friends.”
“You haven’t?” Sam asked, dismayed. “I remember all of mine.”
“The years tend to pass like water flowing in a river, Sam,” the Ranger said softly. He set his empty cake plate down with finality. “But every once in a while, like today, there is an unforgettable moment.” He smiled to himself, recalling a certain spring a dozen years before -- when his beloved had promised herself to him among the soft green hills of the Golden Wood.
As the sun set, the hobbits and Ranger sat around the crackling fire, the hobbits nibbling at the remains of Aragorn’s birthday feast. To Frodo’s delight, Aragorn brought out the pipe he had made him, and filled it with pipeweed which Bilbo had brought along.
“I wish I had been aware of today’s date before yesterday,” Aragorn sighed regretfully. “A birthday party in the Shire where the guest of honor has no gifts to distribute is quite scandalous... and shows very poor manners.”
“Not in this case,” Bilbo insisted. “Among Men, it is the guest of honor who receives gifts, as I recall. Therefore, we are all equally scandalous and without manners.”
“Bilbo’s right,” Frodo agreed. “Besides, just having you visit is enough of a gift for me.”
“And me,” echoed Sam.
“Thank you,” Aragorn smiled. “I feel the same about all of you. In addition, may I say that being fed to bursting is always a welcome change from a Ranger’s usual fare.”
“Isn’t this better than eating bugs, Pip?” Frodo grinned, cleaning the toddler’s cake-smeared face with a damp cloth.
“Silly ducks,” Pippin giggled.
Two pans of stream water had been set near the fire, and into one, plates, bowls, pots, cups, and utensils had been submerged, ready to be washed. Towels and soap sat next to the other, which Pippin had eyed suspiciously throughout supper. Tub meant bath, and bath meant bed -- and after a long nap in the warm sun after lunch, he wasn’t ready for bed just yet.
Scamp, after inhaling her own supper, visited each person hoping for (and receiving) tiny treats before settling down next to Frodo.
The evening air was a bit chill, and Sam found himself glad that his mother had insisted on packing his cloak. Pippin fussed about wearing a jacket until Aragorn took the tot into his lap and explained to him how ducks had feathers and Scamp had fur -- but people needed to wear warm clothes when it was cold. Pippin seemed once again entranced by the Man’s whiskers, and Bilbo, taking advantage of the opportunity, grinned and handed Aragorn the jacket. The three hobbits smiled at the sight of the Ranger’s big hands guiding tiny arms into equally tiny sleeves.
“Ducks say ‘cheep cheep cheep’,” Pippin informed the Ranger, snuggling into the warm lap, “and Scamp says ‘woof’.”
“Woof!” Aragorn barked, in such a good imitation of Scamp that the pup’s ears pricked up. Pippin giggled happily, and Frodo and Bilbo smiled at each other, glad that the toddler was so at ease around the tall Man.
“Tell us about eagles,” Frodo said, and he and Sam sat raptly attentive as Aragorn told what he knew of the giant, noble birds. Bilbo sat nodding, remembering his own experience so many years before.
Pippin suddenly scrambled to his feet and ran to one of the tents. “C’mon, Scamp,” he called, and the pup followed him inside. After a few minutes, giggles and whispers could be heard from the tent.
“I’d better check on Pippin,” Frodo said. “There’s no telling what---”
Just then, Pippin emerged from the tent, still giggling, followed by Scamp. Frodo stared at the pup in disbelief, and Bilbo roared with laughter. As Sam hid his face in his cloak to keep from laughing, Pippin led Scamp to Aragorn and the pup jumped into the Ranger’s lap.
“Fwodo said you didn’t have to dwess up,” Pippin informed the amused Ranger, “but Scamp wanted to.”
“Pippin,” Aragorn laughed with delight, “I don’t know what to say.” He hugged the toddler with one arm, and picked up Scamp with the other. “What a lovely new wardrobe.” Pippin bounced with glee as Scamp began to lick Aragorn’s face.
“Those are...” Frodo murmured, wondering how Pippin had kept the wriggling pup still long enough to put the green sweater and matching cap on her. “Are those from the pony Merry gave you, Pip?”
“Mm hm,” Pippin replied. He reached out to adjust the cap so that Scamp’s long ears stuck out from either side. “Scamp needs clothes, Fwodo. She likes to get dwessed up.”
“I would never have guessed that,” Frodo said, about to burst from holding in his laughter. “Thank you for letting me know.”
“Look!” Sam cried, pointing to the darkening sky.
“Oh,” Frodo whispered. “Pip, look up. See that?”
“Pwetty!”
The five friends marveled at the beautiful shower of lights beginning to stream overhead, then quickly moved away from the bright fire. They set up blankets on the grass so they could lie back and enjoy the spectacle, the only sound for awhile that of Scamp gnawing contentedly on a meaty bone. Frodo had removed the knitted sweater from the pup, but she seemed oblivious to the green cap still on her head.
“The Elves call this ‘Nienna’s tears’,” Aragorn said quietly, breaking the silence.
“Why?” Sam asked.
“To brighten the skies of Middle-earth, Varda -- she whom the Elves call Elbereth -- took Light from the Two Trees and made the stars, Sam. When the Trees were destroyed by...” Aragorn tried to soften the story so as not to frighten Sam or Pippin. “...by something that wished them ill, Nienna mourned and wept. The Elves say that the star showers are her tears, in remembrance of the greater Light from which the stars were made. Her tears teach us endurance and trust -- even though the stars appear to fall, yet they remain. When light and hope seem to fail, they may be found once again.”
“What a beautiful story, Estel,” Bilbo murmured.
“That was wonderful, sir,” Sam said with delight. “I love hearin’ about Elves.”
Frodo sighed with pleasure as a particularly bright shower streaked overhead. “They look so close,” he marveled.
“Do stars never fall, then?” Bilbo asked. “While among the Elves, I heard some speak of weapons forged of metal from the sky.”
“I have heard those rumors,” Aragorn admitted. “If metals -- or anything else -- fall from the sky, I have not seen it happen myself.” He grew thoughtful. “One of Lord Elrond’s sons -- Elladan -- once showed me a strange bit of glass he found. He believed it to be---”
Without warning, Scamp let loose with an ear-splitting howl, and Aragorn sat up quickly, wondering what the pup was sensing. Pippin suddenly clapped his hands over his ears, and threw himself into the Ranger’s lap. While Sam looked around wildly, Frodo and Bilbo stared at each other in bewilderment -- then quickly put their hands over their own ears.
“What are you---” Aragorn asked, utterly confused; then all at once he, too, could hear it. A high-pitched whine filled the air, and there was a sound of something crashing amidst the nearby trees. Then all was silent once again.
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