The King’s Garden in Minas Tirith was a well-kept secret, at least from those who had never been invited to enjoy its welcoming blossoms and small ponds.  By the grace of the Valar it had survived untouched the final battles that had raged around it, and was considered one of the few places of refuge for those who ruled and governed the City. 

            And their guests.

            Four small forms sat serenely around one of the larger ponds, feet dangling from benches too large for their stature, enjoying the warm spring day and the sunshine that streamed down upon them through the newly foliaged trees.

            Merry and Frodo, talking quietly a few benches apart from Pippin and Sam, spoke in hushed, serious tones, faces sober.  Every now and then one of them would raise his eyes from the other to peer over at the nearby bench, assuring himself all was well, before returning to the conversation.  Neither seemed to be aware of doing so. 

            For their part, Sam and Pippin were occupied in their own right, Pippin’s feet stretched out over Sam’s lap as the gardener gently brushed the scarred and abused appendages with the same loving, gentle touch he would show a seedling. 

            “Now just relax, Pip-lad, this may hurt a might,” Sam cautioned softly, moving the comb as gently as he could through a tangle of hair that had grown over burned and singed flesh that was now a mass of scars.

            “Ouch!” Pippin hissed, his eyes squinting shut for a moment. 

            “Sorry, lad, almost done,” Sam assured him, moving the comb a few more times before exhaling slowly, as though he had been holding his breath.  “There, now, that foot’s done, and twasn’t so bad, now was it?”

            “No, Sam, not really.  Though I still don’t see why we have to do this,” Pippin sighed, grimacing as he rubbed his aching foot. 

            “Because Strider says so, and that should be reason enough.  But knowing you won’t leave well enough alone, it’s so that the hair on your feet don’t get skin healing over it.  That could cause infection.  Now, relax, I’m starting on this one, and then we’ll be able to trim you up and have you looking respectable once more,” Sam warned.

            He had just brought the comb up when a movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention.  He scowled, turning his attention back to his task.

            “He’s doing it again,” he growled softly, gently picking out tangles and trying not to yank the hair from still sensitive flesh. 

            “Who?” Pippin asked, speaking just as softly, keeping his eyes lowered as he tensed, feeling Sam’s sudden unease.

            “Lord Faramir.  He’s staring at you again with that look on his face,” Sam whispered.  “I don’t like how he keeps watching you, it’s not natural.”

            Pippin sighed, knowing what his friend meant even as a part of him wished to defend the Steward.  For the past several days, ever since Pippin had begun to stand regular watches in the Council Room, the eyes of the young man had started to follow him.  It had become a bit disconcerting.

            “I wish I knew what he was thinking,” he whispered, then gave a sharp squeak as Sam’s comb touched a still sensitive patch of skin.

            “Pippin?” Merry asked, both older cousins startled out of their conversation to stare at the young hobbit in worry.

            “I’m all right,” he said quickly, motioning that they should go back to their talk and smiling a bit weakly at them as Sam apologized profusely and gently massaged the abused flesh.  Reluctantly, as though not quite certain they believed him, they turned back to their positions and resumed their discussion. 

            “It’s all right, Sam, really, you just startled me is all,” he assured the other quickly.   A movement out of the corner of his eye brought his head up, to see Faramir standing anxiously on the other side of the pond, a strange, almost lost look in his eyes.

            “Hello, Faramir,” he greeted, smiling around a grimace.  “How are you doing today?”

            It took a moment for the other to respond, as though he were deep in his thoughts and had to drag his mind back to the present. 

            “Fine, thank you.  But how are you, Sir Peregrin?” he asked, eyes traveling to the abused feet now gently being combed, Sam’s eyes determinedly lowered. 

            “Oh, I’m fine, thank you,” Pippin answered, hissing as another tangle was discovered.  “Truly, never better!”

            A smile finally touched Faramir’s lips, though it did not quite reach his eyes. 

            “You have an amazing touch, Master Samwise,” the Steward said after a moment of silence, watching as the gardener’s hands gently soothed away the aches and pains of his friend.

            Sam blushed, finally looking up to meet Faramir’s gaze with his own steady one.  “Thank you, Sir,” he said simply.

            “Did Aragorn let you escape finally?” Pippin asked impishly, smiling as the other burst out in stunned laughter.

            “Yes, he did,” he finally managed to say, smiling a true smile.  “But I should return soon, the session is meant to resume in less than a quarter hour.  I shall leave you to your peace.”  He bowed his head to Pippin, then deeper to Sam, and left the two of them in a startled silence. 

            “Now what do you suppose that was all about?” Sam finally asked.

            Pippin shrugged, bracing himself as his friend held up a pair of scissors.

            He is so small, this Knight of Gondor who saved my life.  So small, and yet made of such stern stuff.  No wonder my brother loved them so. 

            I feel my eyes turn to him once more as I walk away, his back tense as he braces himself for what looks like an ordeal.  One that would not be necessary if not for me.  Or, more to the fact of the matter, if not for my…father.

            What possessed this small one to do it?  Few stalwart men in my lifetime have ever dared defy Denethor, yet this one did so with such courage my heart swells just thinking about it.  Surely he was frightened, probably more so than I could ever imagine.  The only one of his kind here in the City, far away from his home and all he has ever known.  And to run through the streets, through battle and flame and carnage to call Mithrandir…

And then to leap into a burning pyre to push me bodily to safety, one who is twice his height and who far outweighs him, then beating out the flames that had taken hold in my clothing. He risked all for me, endured pain for me. Risked death for me.

            Why?

            It seems as though Samwise is finished with his treatments, and is now rubbing those poor feet.  I can see the tension easing out of those small shoulders, even as I feel mine begin to tense. 

            Such a small one, this Knight my brother gave his life to protect.  Is that why he did it?  Why he scorched his own flesh to save mine?  Because of his love for my brother?  It would certainly be something Boromir would have been grateful for.

            As always, the thought of my brother brings an ache to my heart, and I turn away from these small heroes who have changed all our lives.  It is not right for me to keep staring at him, but I cannot seem to help myself.  Every time I look to his small feet, see those scars, I cannot help but wonder why he had acted so.

            It had been quite a shock a few days ago when I first saw them, while he was standing his first guard duty over our council.  I had never really had a chance to gaze at my rescuer before, but at such meetings it seems one has plenty of time to let the eyes wander as well as the mind. 

            Now I cannot seem to help myself. 

            This little one, this youngling, for some reason I still cannot fathom, risked his life and his health for me, and now shall forever bear the scars.  Whatever did I do to deserve such – such…

            “Faramir?”

            I look up, startled, to see the elf Legolas standing before me, Gimli beside him, both eyeing me curiously.

            “Is everything all right, lad?” Gimli asks gently.

            For a moment I hesitate, considering telling them that nothing is amiss, that all is well, but something stops me and I find myself saying, “I must confess, friends, that I have been troubled by something for some few days, now.  Perhaps you may be able to help me understand.”

            Legolas’ eyes are knowing, as though he had been expecting this, and Gimli is thoughtful, but they wait for me to begin.  None of us seem to remember that the council is about to begin.

            Suddenly I am at a loss as to how to start, opening my mouth as though to speak, but the words do not come forth. 

            “He did it because you are Faramir, brother to Boromir,” Legolas whispers softly, as though able to read my mind.  I stare at him in utter shock.

            “Did you think we did not notice, lad?” Gimli asks gently, and the skin around his deep eyes crinkles as he smiles.     “Every time you look to that wee one the question is plain upon your face.”

            “I don’t –” I don’t know what to say!  “I don’t understand,” I finally manage.

            Legolas places a slender hand upon my arm and tenderly turns me around, so I am staring back into the garden, to the forms still sitting there, enjoying the peace of the day. 

            “He is Peregrin, son of Paladin, Knight of Gondor and friend to Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” Legolas whispers, hand still on my arm.  It is warm to my suddenly cold flesh.  “And he is Pippin, friend to Boromir, and beloved by all of us who have the joy of knowing him.”

            He turns me back around and I could no more resist the pull of those slender fingers than if he had tied me up and dragged me.  His eyes are gentle, wise beyond all his years, and filled with a deep love and respect for the small one he speaks of. 

            Gimli moves forward slightly, and for a moment he seems to grow, to stand as tall as we two who normally tower over him.  Suddenly it seems as though it is he who looms over us. 

            “You wonder at a thing that is as plain as the nose on your face,” he growls, eyes boring into me.  I feel myself fighting the urge to shrink back from this powerful dwarf.

“Did you not think that your brother would have mentioned you in all the traveling that we did?  Or that Pippin might come to love you, because of Boromir’s love for you?  And  his love for Boromir?  He watched his dear friend die before his eyes and was unable to do anything about it!”

            My throat tightens, and I find it hard to breathe.

            “And yet you wonder what compelled him to save you?” he demands, eyes boring into me as though willing me to understand. 

            And I begin to.

            “He was unable to save Boromir,” Legolas adds so softly it is hard for me to hear above the rushing of the blood in my ears.  My breath suddenly sounds too loud. 

            “But he knew he might be able to save you,” Gimli whispers.  He steps back, just a step, and suddenly he is his proper size again, looking almost wearied.  “That is why he did it, lad.  For his love of yourself, and for the love and memory of your brother.”

            For a moment that lasts a lifetime we stand there, the blood rushing in my veins filling my ears with its) throbbing.   Once more I look behind me, to that small form talking animatedly with his friend, hands gesticulating to make some point, a cheerful grin on his childlike face, and my heart feels as though it must surely burst. 

            “Accept,” Legolas whispers in my ear, taking my arm once more and leading me toward the Council Chamber. 

            “And be worthy of the gift he has given you,” Gimli adds, those deep eyes looking into my soul, weighing me.  “Be the best Steward Gondor has ever known, and guide our King well.  Live well your days, and make those scars that young lad carries, and your own, mean something other than the doings of your father.”

            For a moment I cannot speak, but merely nod.  It seems to be all they need.

            Live well the days, Gimli had said.  I look to the dwarf’s back as he walks in front of me, and know he speaks the truth.  The both of them do. 

            I shall make these days given to me worthy of the pain that smallest of Knight’s suffered on my behalf. 

             For though he may be small, I know I shall forever look up to him.