A Forty-third fic by Iorhael

AN: Written as a birthday mathom for my friend, Raellyra Took. Great, great thanks to Ismenin for the beta. Love you, Ru!

“You're in the service of the steward, now. You're going to have to do as you're told, Peregrin Took, Guard of the Citadel,” Gandalf rebuked, reminding Pippin of his oath.

He drank in the slight, tiny figure of the hobbit and contemplated it for a moment. Then he puffed on his long pipe to hide his remorse over the fact that Pippin was a mere lad, and how far he was now, from home.

“Go. Take a rest. I know you are forespent.”

Oddly enough, Pippin stared back, questioningly.

“But a ward should not sleep, abandoning his watch.”

Gandalf smiled at that, his head shaking. He let out a puff of smoke before replying, “Has anyone ever told you how similar you are to Frodo?” His eyes softened but still wore a trace of amazement. “Your stubbornness – oh! Or is it supposed to be Frodo that is similar to you, the real bearer of the name Took?”

Pippin started to chuckle softly before a yawn failed to be stifled. He eventually had to admit to his body’s real condition. Pippin gazed at the wizard with hooded, watering eyes.

“The bed looks inviting.” And he staggered inside from the balcony into the room where he and Gandalf had been billeted. “Good eve, Gandalf.”

“Good eve, lad. Sweet dreams.”

“I will try,” the young hobbit mumbled, but he swooned onto the bed before he got the chance to change his clothes.

~ * ~ * ~

Tap – tap – tap

Silence.

Tap – tap

“Who’s there?” A muffled voice came from under the sheet.

Tap – tap

A bunch of curls peeped out. “I’m coming!”

“Pippin, open the door! You have a visitor.”

Huh? Mama?

“Pippin!”

“Coming, mum!” And Pippin struggled up, trudging toward the door. His mother pushed it wider once he unlocked it. “Mama!” But he was shushed into silence as his eyes darted over his mother’s right arm. A girl, flushed with embarrassment, was standing there, eyes staring at the floor.

“Raellyra! Why are you here?” Pippin whooped. But now he was red-faced from being so forthright. His mother got a bit fidgety, too, and she sent a fiery glance towards her youngest son.

“Pippin, it’s Rae’s birthday today, don’t you remember? She wants to give you something.”

First thing in the morning? thought Pippin, but he managed to school his tongue this time. After all, Rae was one of the sweetest lasses in Tuckborough. Pippin would not mind if she visited him in the middle of the night!

“Pippin,” his mother hissed through gritted teeth, and the boy was pulled back to the present.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” The lad extended his hand, which was grasped shyly by the golden-curled lass. “Happy birthday, Raellyra. Please come in.” But she shook her head, and looked at Pippin’s mother.

“Rae won’t stay long,” she explained. “She still has to give her gifts to her other friends.” There was a look of disappointment on Pippin’s face. But then the girl was smiling while handing out a bunch of morning glories with baby’s breath around them. They were so fair. The paleness of the reddish purple flowers together with the white accentuated the sheen on Rae’s moist, ruby lips. They were so fair. The flowers. The lips. The smile.

~ * ~ * ~

“Rae…” murmured Pippin.

BLAR!

Pippin’s eyes flew open. Fright and confusion were at one within him.

“Gandalf?” he whispered, shaking.

“Hush…” The wizard dabbed at his sweat-soaked brow. “Minas Morgul. The enemies are armed.” Gandalf led him to the balcony again. Pippin’s knees were weak. It … it was just a dream. His mother, Raellyra’s birthday, the flowers. Rae…

Pippin remembered now that it was August the twenty-third, almost a month since he set out from the Shire with Frodo, Merry, and Sam. The last sweet recollection of home, besides Frodo’s birthday of course, before Pippin let himself be led far, far away into the countries of elves and men.

Pippin shivered. He could not help feeling homesick. And it seemed to him that he could still smell the sweet fragrance of the morning glories and the baby’s breath.

~ fin ~