This not-for-profit work was written purely to amuse…and in this case, to make the reader think. I own nothing; I just like to visit my friends in Middle-earth. New Line, Peter Jackson, and the Tolkien Estate own all intellectual property. All I own is a love for the works of JRR Tolkien and his wonderful characters.

Elements: Dreams of the Dead, Visions of the Living

The First Element

The Trees of the Earth

“Do you dream?” Pippin asked.

“Why, of course.” This was the voice. Whose voice Pippin could not actually pinpoint, but it sounded very nice. The voice was a deep, warm voice, one so deep and warm and welcoming that one might sink into it, like a cozy feather bed.

“Of what do you dream?”

“Many things, even things for which there are no words.”

“That is no answer,” answered Pippin.

The voice laughed, and then it asked, “What would you have me tell you, then?”

“Only, just what is it you dream of? If you have not a simple explanation, then just tell me what the best dreams are about.”

“Well, the best dreams are the ones in which I am dying.”

Pippin woke with a cry lodged firmly in his throat.

“Papa?” said his son, Faramir. “Are you well? Did you have a bad dream?”

Pippin ran his fingers through his mop of curls, now long turned silver. “I——I cannot say. If it was actually a bad dream, or just a surprising dream, or perhaps something else, that is. It was… it was just a dream.”

“You seem to be having lots of those of late, Papa.”

“So I have, so I have.” Pippin patted his son’s hand. “Don’t worry about me, my dear lad. You should be worrying about my grandchildren and your dear Goldilocks, not your old father. Please, do not fuss so. I am well, I am well!”

“Well, if you say so. Still, you have been working far too much, teaching me all I must know as Took and Thain,” Faramir said. “But you will only scold me for saying so. Take a little time for yourself, Papa; you have well earned it, after all these years. I shall bring you some nice hot tea and a few biscuits.”

“Yes, you do that, dear lad, that would be lovely.”

“I’ll be back in a trice,” his son smiled.

“I should like to carve a little whilst you do so, would you hand me my box?”

“Certainly, Papa,” Faramir said. He took down from a shelf the little box containing his father’s knives and the little figurines he had been carving for so many years. Papa has the cleverest hands in all of the Shire and every village and country lane all around it, thought Faramir, running his palm gently across the emblem of the White Tree which his father had carved on the lid in bas relief. He placed the box in his father’s lap almost reverently. Wrapping a shawl about his father’s shoulders, Faramir kissed Pippin’s cheek affectionately, and then left to fetch tea and biscuits. Before he could get through the door, Faramir heard his father speak and grinned at the familiar words.

“You needn’t fuss so! I may be old, but I am yet quite hale and healthy.”

“I know,” Faramir said. The words exchanged were well known by now, but none the worse for wear. “I don’t fuss over you because I think you old and weak, I fuss over you because you are my dear Papa.”

Pippin returned Faramir’s smile with one of equal warmth, their green eyes, so like, locked affectionately. Faramir turned and trotted down the long hall. Pippin lifted the box to his lap and opened the lid. He ran his hands lovingly over the small wooden figurines inside. There was to be one for each of them: the Fellowship. Only two pieces were unfinished. Pippin held the first of the two, turning it this way and that, letting himself slip away to when he had first begun to sculpt his little wooden figurines.

He had taken up carving shortly after returning home from the Ring War. It kept his hands busy when his mind drifted away to memories best left alone. Of course, it had started with one bit of wood. Pippin had picked it up while walking one day.  Sitting beneath a tree, he took a small knife out of a little sheath in his pocket and idly began to whittle. Looking back now, he did not know how long he had been there on that warm autumn day, but it must have been some time, for when he looked more closely at the bit of wood, he could see that it had taken shape in his hands. Obviously, this was a person, though he could not tell who, if anyone, the figure resembled, for the wood had not yet revealed its secret. Shrugging, he slipped the wood into his pocket with his knife and pipe and strolled home. When he was idle and his mind wandered into dark places, he would take the figure out and carve on it, and little by little, it took shape, and the shape was familiar. He remembered one day looking more closely at it when he saw the beginnings of the finer details revealing themselves: it was Boromir. He remembered quite well his reaction. Far from feeling saddened, he had smiled broadly.

“Hallo, Boromir!” He traced a finger across the face of the little carving. “How wonderful it is to see you again, my friend. We shall spend a great deal of time catching up, you and I.” And so it had begun.

He remembered well the day he had shown the finished piece to dear Merry. “Why, Pippin,” Merry grinned. “You have been hiding your talents from us all these years! Why look, you have even carved his horn, and the silver collar with that white stone set in it.” Merry traced a finger down the side of Boromir’s face with a fond but silent tear, and soon Pippin wept as well. It had been months and months since Boromir had died. They had not had the chance to weep for their friend during the time of the Ring War, and afterwards, they had both shied away from thinking about it very much. But sooner or later, even the most cheerful of hobbits must weep tears long held in check. This was such a time, and the pair was grateful to be together when it finally came.

Pippin scrubbed at his cheeks roughly, as if to do so thoroughly would be to banish the sadness in him. Of course, it did not; it only gave him red cheeks to match his red nose and red eyes. “I often wondered about that stone,” he said. “I never got to ask him about it, and afterwards… well, you know how the tale went.”

“Aye, that I do,” Merry said, and shared a look with Pippin. It was a look which one soldier recognizes immediately in another soldier: the look that is fifty leagues long. Hobbits they were, and hobbits they would always be; but they were remarkable hobbits. They were hobbits who had gone to war, hobbits who had been willing to lay down their very lives for all that is good in the world. This set them apart, for even among hobbits who had fought to free the Shire, this pair had seen and done things few hobbits, if any, had done and seen. In this, they were together, yet alone, for among their kind, only Frodo and Sam knew what they had gone through.

“Will you be carving more?” Merry said at last, as if nothing at all had passed between them, for this is the way of hobbits, to never let such grief take them as it sometimes did elves and even men.

“Well, now that you mention it, I suppose I could,” said Pippin, his face once more bright and chipper. “I should like to carve them of the same wood, from the same tree. I know the tree from which the branch was broken. Would you like to go with me to cut some more pieces?”

"I think I would like that very much," Merry said. "Such wonderful things trees are." They gathered a few things---a jug of water, a few apples, some seed-cakes, a small saw, and a hand ax---and soon were on their way. There was a bit of work deciding where the best places to harvest the wood from Pippin's tree, for they were ever mindful and respectful to the trees of the earth.

Merry had come to enjoy sitting quietly with Pippin as he watched his cousin scrape and scrape at the wood with a touch deft and delicate. Oddly, he had never really noticed his cousin’s hands all that much. Watching Pippin sculpting the wood had given Merry a greater appreciation of Pippin’s small, clever fingers, and at times he marveled that Pippin could wield a blade or pluck a bowstring with all the sureness of a greatly seasoned trooper. Pippin had begun learning to play fiddle and harp when he was little more than a faunt, and later had taken up the goatskin drums favored by the Tooks in their upland dances. Merry had not noticed how small and fine Pippin’s hands were then. He had been young, after all, and was usually more concerned with getting Pippin to go bird-nesting or fishing.

Watching Pippin’s clever hands now, Merry thought it almost a shame that such hands ever had to do anything besides make beautiful things spring from wood, or beautiful sounds spring from harp or fiddle or drum. But they had, those hands. Those skillful fingers took to the hilt of a sword as if the blade had been made for Pippin alone. As Pippin carved the piece he now worked on, Merry lifted from the wooden box, still undecorated with the White Tree at this time, the little figure of Boromir, admiring it for the sheer beauty of the artwork itself as much as for the resemblance to their friend. The artistry of the carving never failed to fascinate Merry. How had Pippin ever managed to make them so very life-like, when they were such small figures? Touching the carven sword at the figurine’s side, Merry smiled fondly.

How Boromir had delighted in having a pair of pupils! And how Merry and Pippin had taken to the man, most especially the youngest of the Fellowship. No denying it, a close friendship had bound the three of them, but the bond between Pippin and Boromir had been special. Merry supposed it began when they first had met, and Pippin had been so impressed with Boromir’s kindly and noble nature. Later, Merry would learn of Boromir’s love for his younger brother, and he understood better why Boromir had taken such a liking to the youngest hobbit.

Looking at the face of the little wooden figure now, Merry was yet again taken by the detail. Small though the face was, the most amazing features had been lovingly set there. Why, good old Boromir looked like he might actually smile at him for a moment. Yes, he and Pippin had learned so much from this man… but had Boromir taken away any lessons from them in return?

“I was just thinking,” Merry said, “Do you think Boromir learned much from us? We certainly learned a great deal from him. What do you think, Pippin? Pippin? Pippin, are you…”

At his cousin’s silence, Merry glanced in Pippin’s direction, thinking that perhaps Pippin had dosed off. But no, he was still carving. Only, there was something odd about Pippin’s eyes, as if he were seeing not his handiwork, but something else altogether. When Pippin carved, Merry usually watched Pippin's hands. But now, looking at Pippin's face, Merry saw that there was something decidedly strange about Pippin's eyes. They looked glassy, as if Pippin was in a half-drowse. Merry reached out and touched Pippin’s elbow.

“Pippin? Are you all right?” Merry said, worry plain in his voice.

Pippin shook his head and seemed to come back from wherever it was he had been. He did not answer, but only looked at the figurine he held. “Look, Merry!” he said with a delighted grin, “It’s Gandalf!”

The enthusiastic response served to calm Merry’s worrying, and he edged closer to his kinsman to have a better look. “So it is,” he said. “Tell me, do you know who it will be when you begin to carve?”

“Not really. I just carve, and whoever it will be just shows up, so to speak. It was the same with the other one. Did I not show it to you? Look inside that bit of cloth, there in the box.”

Merry lifted the item from the box and unwrapped it. “Why, it’s cousin Frodo! Why, Pippin, it is lovely! Just look at that, you even carved his hand with the finger missing, and I just love the look on his face. How do you do it, how do you make the features so life-like, when they are so small?”

“I don’t know,” Pippin said with a shrug. “It seems to happen on its own.”

“Oh, I forgot,” Merry said. “I was just going to ask you a question——about Boromir. Do you think he learned very much from us? After all, we learned a great deal from him.”

Pippin put down his carving for a moment and smiled at Merry. “I should not be surprised if he learned a great deal from us, Merry. I am certain of it, in fact.”

“What do you suppose he learned?"

“Well, do you remember all the questions he used to ask us, about hobbits and the Shire and such?”

“I do, of course——he asked so many. He asked questions I just never thought of as being something particular about hobbits. You know——questions about our birthday customs, our calendar, our holidays and traditions.” Merry scratched his head in thought. “But I cannot imagine how that could be considered as anything special, only the differences between our people.”

“Well, that is just the thing I am talking about, Merry,” said Pippin with a little smile. “All his life, Gondor was the world to him. When he came to Rivendell with that riddle, he began to see how the world is so much bigger, and how all the people on it are different. Before that, he only knew about Mannish things, and even then, it could not have been so very much. He only knew how things were as they pertained to his people. He was like an eagle, caged in a great stone mew. His responsibilities were his tethers, you see, and his duties were like a hood that covered his eyes. When he went on his journey, he flew truly free for the first time, and saw much more than he ever had done.”

“Well, I see what you mean.” Merry nodded. “But I was wondering what he might have learned from us, in particular.”

“Oh, that there are other things to love besides what might be found in Gondor or her neighboring countries,” Pippin said. “He learned, too, that he had worth to us as more than a soldier and traveling companion. He learned that there are many kinds of brotherhood. I could see it in his eyes, sometimes. It was as if a door had opened for him, and he could see things outside of the doorway which he had not truly seen before. Gandalf said it best: that it was a good thing you and I went along, if only for Boromir’s sake.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Merry said, leaning forward in his chair, the way he always did when listening carefully.

“Well, I think,” Pippin said, a dreamy look in his eyes, “I think that Gandalf meant that Boromir was able to save himself from the Ring because of us. I cannot think what else he might have meant.”

“Are you saying that had it not been for his affection for us, he may have followed Frodo’s footprints, and perhaps…”

“He could have done just that, you know,” Pippin said, and a little sadness settled on his face. “I’m sure he hunted enough to be able to track most anything. Besides, he was also a hunter of Orcs, and even Men. I think that once the madness had passed, he knew what he had done. Do you remember when he returned? Do you recall the look on his face? He was so ashamed of himself. He loved us all, I am quite sure of it. Otherwise, he might have followed Frodo and…” Pippin paused and shrugged, an unsettling expression of aged wisdom on his young face. “Or perhaps even just left; left and gone back home and given Denethor any tale he wished to dream up. But he did not do any of those things. He came back, all sick at heart. And when the orcs came, he might have chosen not to sacrifice himself, so that he could return to Minas Tirith and fight. Only, he chose differently.” Pippin glanced at Merry with a look that was sad and wistful at once. Pippin shrugged and sighed. "He chose us, Merry. He chose us.”

“I see,” Merry nodded and said. “When you put it like that, I see that he must have thought us worth dying for. He would not have done so if he had not… had not loved us so. Thinking of it like that, I do not know when I have felt so proud, and so humble all at once.”

“He was one of the reasons I did some of the things I did, you know,” Pippin said. “Oh, I was loyal to Frodo, and to our cause. But I might have been content to take it no further, you see. Just to be loyal, without truly doing anything about it, much like a person who is kind-hearted, but never truly does anything about it, if you take my meaning. You see, he taught me the worth of sacrifice, Merry. He taught me that when you are willing to lose everything, even your life, for a person or for the sake of good, it lends a kind of weight and worth to the person or reason you are fighting for.” Pippin paused yet again, looking into the glowing embers in the hearth, yet again with a look of age and wisdom on a face far too young for it. “Sacrifice makes what you are fighting for even more important, for you are fighting for love. He and Faramir, they kindled something in me. I did not wish to fight——I never did. But if you have enough love in your heart, you can do things you might never have done. Sometimes, Merry, love is like a fire that burns you but doesn’t consume you, if you understand what I am saying.”

“I do, cousin, I do,” Merry said, and his heart swelled with pride in his younger kinsman, even as it ached for Pippin’s pain and loss. “And how brightly you burn, sometimes, Peregrin Took. How very brightly you do burn.”

The Third Element

The Clear Air of a Secret Truth

Pippin had laughed even as he wept, watching the ship sail away with Frodo, Bilbo, and Gandalf. He had laughed because he knew in his heart that Frodo needed healing, the kind of healing he could get only in the Undying Lands. He had wept for the aching of his young heart, breaking with the fullness of knowledge that these beloved ones he would not see again in his lifetime. Three more gone——yet not gone as Boromir was gone. At least there was that much good in it, that, and Frodo going to a place which could ease his burdens as no other place in all the world could.

He and Merry had ridden back singing, for singing often lifted their hearts when little else could. The evening after they had gotten home to the little cottage in Crickhollow they shared for a time, he and Merry sat beside the fire while Pippin carved. Merry had been watching Pippin closely when he worked on his carvings. The oddness of Pippin’s eyes with their drowsy, dreaming look as he worked gave nothing away, and Merry wondered if perhaps Pippin was merely caught up in what he was doing. Merry’s own mother sometimes got lost in her tasks when she painted, seeming to withdraw into the world created by her paint and brush. Merry continued to keep half an eye on his cousin. If something should go amiss, Merry would discover it.

He handed Pippin a fresh piece of wood, for Pippin had finished the one of Gandalf. As Pippin began to carve, Merry unwrapped the little wooden figure of Gandalf to inspect the finished piece. As he marveled yet again at the smallest of details, he noticed that Gandalf held something in his tiny wooden hand. He looked more closely at it, but could recall no such item ever being in Gandalf’s possession. “What is this in his hand, Pippin?” he asked.

“I’m sure it is a necklace,” Pippin said. “It was just there somehow, though I do not know what kind of necklace it is, or where it came from. Still, there is something about it which looks familiar.”

“Aye,” Merry agreed, “Oddly familiar, that.” Merry traced around the tiny detail with the tip of one finger. “I cannot think what it is, but it does look somehow familiar.” He shrugged and scratched his head. “Well, all this wondering has made me hungry. Would you care for some tea before bed time?”

“Tea?” Pippin stretched and yawned. “Thank you very much, cousin, but I am all done in; it’s bed and a good sleep for me. The day has been a long one.” He rose and put away his carving and tools in the little wooden box, but did not leave the room. He simply stood there, loosely holding the little box, and with a deep sigh, stared at the fire crackling in the hearth.

“You’ll miss them,” Merry said, then stood beside his cousin and placed a hand on Pippin’s shoulder. “I shall miss them, too. And poor old Sam; I wonder how he will carry on without his dear master?” Pippin said nothing, but nodded gently, and sighed again, and Merry sighed with him. Nothing more needed to be said.

In his room, Pippin slowly undressed, wondering how it was that sometimes he felt so very old. He hung his breeches on the back of a chair, then took off his waistcoat, folding it neatly, smiling to himself that his brief time as a Knight of Gondor had changed him for the better, at least in some ways. Once upon a time, he would simply have let his garments lay wherever he dropped them. Placing the folded waiscoat neatly in the seat of the chair, he smoothed his hand lovingly over the fabric of his simple hobbit’s garment, smiling at the hominess of it. His brow creased as his hand felt a lump in one of the deep pockets, and he dipped his fingers into it to see what the item might be, for he never put his pipe in that pocket. His fingers found the item and pulled it out. It was an envelope, with the familiar G rune impressed in the sealing wax. His hands trembled as he broke the seal and drew from the envelope two items: one, a letter, obviously from Gandalf; the other caused him to gasp in surprise, and his hands shook all the harder.

Numb with surprise, looking at it, turning it over and over in his hands, he felt his heart torn between swelling and shrinking. The item, a necklace, resembled the necklace that his carved Gandalf had in his carved hand. He looked closely at it. It was strikingly beautiful, a sliver collar much like the one Boromir had worn. This one, however, was made up of a fine mesh, whereas Boromir’s had been solid metal, whether silver or mithril Pippin had never learned. Set in the mesh collar was a white stone, the very twin of the stone that had graced Boromir’s collar.

Sticking his head out of his bedchamber door, he called, “Merry! Merry, come and have a look at this!” His voice sounded odd to his own ears, as if he were hearing himself from a great distance, deep in some distant dell where all was shadow and echoes.

Merry came to him quickly, sensing the turmoil in his cousin’s voice——suddenly and inexplicably he remembered a time when Pippin had been chased up a tree by a wild boar. Pippin sounded like that now, and Merry’s heart pounded in his chest, the very reflection of that long-ago dread, when he had been sure Pippin was about to be ripped apart by the long tusks of that horrid beast. He did not bother to knock, but opened the door in such a rush that it banged against the wall. What he found was Pippin sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes wide with trepidation, his hands——his delicate, talented, deadly hands——shaking as if he had seen a ghost.

Merry sat beside Pippin carefully, as if he thought a careless movement might break his cousin like a fragile piece of glass. Gingerly, he touched Pippin’s shoulder.

“Read it to me,” Pippin gulped, his throat making an awful clicking sound. “I——I do not think I can.”

Merry took the letter and read through it silently before reading it aloud. He noticed with no small amount of gratitude that Pippin did not look at him. Heaven only knew what expression might have been stamped on Merry’s face. Well, nothing for it, Pippin wanted it read to him, and Merry would not refuse.

“It is from Gandalf. It seems to have been written rather hastily. It says, ‘Dear Pippin—and Merry, too, for I know he is there with you. How not? It is most seemly that the pair of you should share this moment, for it is a thing which one may not face alone and fare very well, but with the strength of the bond between you, I have all faith this news and the gift which comes with it is not ill-given.

‘I have long desired to divulge a truth to you, a secret truth, and secret it must remain, for I am sure you will come to understand that you would suffer greatly should this information ever become more than idle gossip. As you well know, long has the tale been told that the Tooks are imbued with fairy blood. Well, my dear lad, the time has come for you to know the right of it. Your clan has always been a bit odd amongst your kind, and this is why. It is no secret that among your kind, the Tooks are different. Fairy blood is accountable for many of the oddities of certain Tooks. It even called one of your clan to sea, as you well know. Elrond had knowledge of it, of course. That is why he was so against your going with us as one of the Nine Walkers. The Lady of Lórien also knew it. It was she who convinced me to divulge to you this secret, and to impart to you a special gift. If the stone looks familiar, that is because it should do so, for it is a very special stone, made by your ancient fairy ancestors.

‘Once, that branch of your family——Fae, or Sidh, they should be named—were once friends to Man, Elf and Dwarf. We do not know why faith was broken with them, unless it was because, being small and few in number, they were pushed aside by other races. We do not think the act deliberate on behalf of the other races, but the results were the same. They became hidden and secretive, so that they are now no more than fanciful tales to the world, having removed themselves to a realm unseen by mortal eyes.

'Great was the sorrow of the Sidh, and the tears of parting which they wept as they left their friends fell to the earth, it is said, and these tears became the white stones such as the one you no doubt are now holding in your hand. In bitter grief, the Sidh gathered the stones to keep their sorrow as secret as their very existence.

'Yet there must have been a time when one of the Húrinion befriended one of the Sidh, for unto the House of Húrin was given a pair of mithril collars into which had been set these special stones. The stones were the Tears of Parting, which were made of the tears of the Sidh. In the Library of Minas Tirith I found a brief description of the gifts, but it was written as though the tale was nothing more than fancy.

'But in the tale, I found a reference which caused me to think the stones had been given to protect the House of Húrin from Morgoth’s own curse, for he hated the name of Húrin beyond all reason, and laid a curse on them, saying, "Behold! The shadow of my thought shall lie upon them wherever they go, and my hate shall pursue them to the ends of the world."

‘And so was given to Boromir, son of Denethor, child of the Húrinion, the gift of a Tear of Parting, and also another to his brother Faramir, handed down through the years.

'Another was recovered from Smaug’s hoard, and put away by Bilbo. He kept it with him for many years, having no knowledge of the treasure. He showed it to me once, many years ago, and again on our journey to depart to the Undying Lands. It was at this time that the Lady urged that this gift be left to you, as a token of fealty between the Sidh and all of the free peoples of Middle earth, for it is in you alone, Peregrin Took, my dear fool, that the blood of the Sidh still runs strong. The signs were there all along, in your inquisitiveness, in your sense of mischief, in your unquenchable nature, in your unlimited capacity to love without question, in your fealty beyond reason, yet long did I believe this was simply your character, and not related to the old tales told about the Took clan.

'Lord Elrond, the Lady and I have since become convinced that all those things are inborn in you as a legacy of your ancient ancestors. You, my dear, foolish Took, have been chosen, yes, chosen by the Valar. You were meant to be born with the blood of the Sidh beating strong in your heart, because you were meant to impart the peculiar powers of the Sidh in this great struggle to destroy the One Ring. Thus it was decided that this gift be left to you who are, perhaps, the last of your kind, unless you father children also graced with the blood of the Sidh.

‘We know not if the stone holds any power still, or if it ever did, though the stones may have been vessels of great power whilst the Sidh dwelt still in Middle earth. Yet, I would ask of you that you take great care in handling it, and if you should discover that some powers reside in it still, you must be cautious. Forget not the power of the Palantiri, and what they did to you, and to poor Denethor as well. The gift of Fairy blood may be a perilous gift, made more perilous still should you handle the Tear of Parting with anything other than the greatest respect. I warn you so strongly, Peregrin Took, because I know you shall try to use it in some way, and also, my dear lad, because I have loved you as if you were my own grandchild, and in that, one must ask which of us is the greater fool.

‘Having told you the tale and given you your gift, I now close this letter with deepest fondness for you and Merry. Never doubt that you shall remain forever in my heart.

Gandalf’’

“Well, Pippin, what do you say to that?” Merry said, studying his cousin closely.

Pippin took a deep breath, and, releasing it in the deepest of sighs, he turned to Merry and at last, he spoke. “When I carve, I go away somewhere. I am sure you have noticed it. It feels as though I am in two places at once. I could never recall actually carving, and only saw what I had done when I came back from… from the Hidden Realm. Now I know why. I am not as other hobbits are, Merry.” He looked at his cousin, his eyes wide and brimming. “I have never been as other hobbits. I feared as much, all my life, for I have always felt as though I did not quite fit in, you see.”

Merry placed an arm around Pippin’s shoulder, and, tapping his forehead against Pippin’s forehead, a custom long in practice between them, Merry said, “Well, at least I don’t have to tell myself that it is madness in you that has always got you in a pickle all your life.”

Pippin grinned, his face alight with his irascible nature. “True,” he said. “But then, how am I to excuse your own madness?”

Merry joined in his laughter, and for a moment, it was if everything had gone back to the way it had always been. Then Merry, indicating the necklace with a nod of his head, said, “I don’t suppose I can ever talk you out of trying to use that stone?”

“Well, you know me too well. But I shan't try to use it just yet. Certainly not tonight, at any rate,” Pippin shrugged. “But when I do, I will ask that you be with me, and that you keep this between us.”

“Certainly,” Merry said, voice warm and reassuring. “Also, I think Gandalf’s advice about keeping your fairy blood a secret is also wise”.

“No one would ever understand, you know,” Pippin sighed.

“You cannot be more right,” Merry said. “But just because it is a secret, that does not make the truth of it less important.”

“Yes,” Pippin said, and nodded his assent. “Though only we two may ever know, the truth is still there, like clear, sweet air."

“Well, let us put this aside, at least for tonight. You look very tired.” Merry sat in a chair near Pippin’s bed as his cousin slipped between the cool sheets. "Shall I sit here for a while, until you are sleeping?"

"Yes, please," Pippin said. "You will only lie awake and worry if you don't. And I think I can go to sleep more easily, too, knowing you are here.” As he stretched out under his blankets, Pippin sighed again, looking out of the window at the gibbous moon. “Perhaps in a few weeks, or even months, I will look at the stone again.” Pippin pulled his blankets up to his chin. “But for a little while, I should like to get used to the idea of my fairy blood being real and true. Yes; that is, what I shall do for a while. I must learn to breath the clear air of secret truth.”

The Fourth Element

The Crimson Flood in Crystal Water

Time, that river of life, passes. Sometimes swiftly, as in a torrent, sometimes gently, as in a dream, and thus went the current of the lifetime of Peregrin Took. Like the marks of water which rises and falls upon the riverbank, time and events tallied the years.

Sitting in his study with the shawl about his shoulders, Pippin held the piece of wood he had been carving, waiting on Faramir to bring his tea and biscuits. As usual, the wood took shape in his hands without conscious effort, and he could never remember actually carving them. Looking now at this one, which he had assumed would be Merry since there was only the two of them——Merry and himself——left before the little wooden Fellowship became the complete Nine Walkers.

He sighed, cocking his head in puzzlement at the way this one seemed to be taking shape. Or perhaps not taking shape might be a better description, for this one refused to assume the shape Pippin had expected. Certainly it must be either himself or Merry, but somehow this one looked more like a mixture of the both of them.

“You are losing your touch, or perhaps your Sidh blood has become tired,” he told himself, setting the figure back into the box in frustration. “Ah, but when the Sidh woke up in you!” He sighed again.

A few weeks after Pippin had discovered the letter from Gandalf and the Stone of Parting, he tried to see if it held some special power. Merry was with him, of course, standing there as steady as stone, yet with a grim look of disapproval on his face: Merry did not fancy the idea of Pippin mucking about with something like that, as he had so plainly put it.

Pippin had stood before a mirror as he put the collar around his neck. He shut his eyes, wondering what might happen. But what happened, other than a subtle sharpening of the senses, was more or less nothing. He sighed, plainly disappointed.

“Well?” Merry asked.

“Hmmm—nothing. Perhaps a bit of a tingle, and I seem to smell and hear a little better; the birdsong is a little louder and clearer, not so very much, but a little. The color of everything looks a little sharper and brighter, but other than that…” he shrugged.

“Well, I cannot say I’m unhappy about it,” Merry said, nodding his approval. “I have not forgotten the fright you gave everyone with that Seeing Stone, even if you have.”

Pippin looked at Merry, and Merry suddenly became very sorry he had not chosen his words more carefully. Even after all this time, Pippin still felt terrible about his misdeed, though he knew well that things might have turned out far worse had he not looked into the Palantír.

“I am sorry, Pippin,” Merry said, and gave him an affectionate cuff on his shoulder. “I did not mean to make you feel badly. I just want what is best for you, is all. I don’t want to lose you to some Fairy stone, or whatever it is. I want you to have everything good that life can give you. I want to see the both of us wedded to some nice, lovely lasses, and…”

Pippin grinned. “I’m sure we will, when the time comes, cousin!” he said, his chipper nature erasing his former distress. “Still, I will confess I had hoped something would happen. If my people are to carry the blood of the Sidh, I should like to have more knowledge of them. They, too, were my people. I suppose the stone has little to offer.” He shrugged and gave Merry a smile. “But it is a lovely thing, is it not? I should like to wear it always, to remind myself of all the good things that happened. And it does hold special meaning for me, at least. When I see it around my neck, there in the mirror, I think of Gandalf’s words, that he loved me as a grandson. Yes, I think I will wear it, every day. I will do my best to make myself worthy of such affection. And it is special to me, too, that Faramir has one, and Boromir has—had—one, as well.”

“Then it has a special magic in it, after all,” Merry said. “Come, let us go a-wandering. I should like to ride to the Great Smials.”

“Oh, ho, and you would also like to stop at the Bolger’s for a while. You long to see Estella again, I can tell.”

“You know me too well,” Merry grinned, and wriggled his brows up and down.

The ride was a pleasant one, affording a stop at hall and home of many friends and kinsman, along with every inn on the way—and some that were not on the way. Merry did see Estella again, and spent a quiet evening courting her in the Bolger family’s parlor. Pippin could only smile gently. Merry’s face lit up when he looked at Estella, and Estella seemed equally enthralled with her suitor, the dashing Meriadoc the Magnificent, Knight of the Golden Hall at Meduseld, in the storied land of Rohan. While the budding love affair grew before Pippin’s eyes, he found himself wandering out of the parlor. It was bad enough that Estella’s family watched over the pair so closely, though this was only proper custom for those gently born and reared. Still, Pippin thought they did not need another pair of eyes on them.

He decided a bit of tea would be nice, and went to see if one could be scared up in the kitchen. On the way, he stopped at a mirror in the hall to see if his mop of curls was behaving itself. He had always felt his hair had a mind of its own, and found himself checking his appearance more often than he had before he had been knighted. As he beheld himself in the mirror, the Tear of Parting caught his eye. Did it really look different? Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the jewel seemed to take on a milky and opalescent glimmer. Suddenly, Pippin saw something, something inside the stone itself. He leaned closer to the mirror. There! Who is that lovely creature? It was the face of the most beautiful hobbit lass Pippin had ever seen, with skin as smooth as cream, large, liquid, dark eyes and hair as black and shiny as jet. My goodness, but she takes the breath right out of me! She is perfect—as beautiful as a diamond. Then, the vision of her face receded, and Pippin caught in the briefest of flashes another face, a face that smiled broadly at him, but before he had time to make out the face very well, it was gone. The Tear of Parting became once more the white stone it had been. Well, at least something was still special about the stone, and he promised himself to share the experience with Merry.

Merry, of course, worried about it. Merry always worried about everything. In Pippin’s opinion, Merry worried too much. But the news of the small magic Pippin had seen in the stone was eclipsed by happenings at the Great Smials. There Pippin saw once more the beautiful lass he had seen in the stone, only when he saw her again, she was taking tea in the garden with his sister, Pearl.

Thus began the courtship of Peregrin Took, Knight of Gondor, and Diamond North-Took of Longcleeve, the fabled beauty whose loveliness surpassed that of even Belladonna Took, and whose beauty, it is said, could rival even that of the Fair Folk.

And the river of time meandered on. Many highwater marks there were: the marriages of both Merry and Pippin, the births of their sons, assuming the mantles of new authorities and new responsibilities. Low-water marks, too, when his parents had passed on, as well as the loss of twin daughters shortly before Faramir reached his ’tweens. Most of the time, the Tear of Parting slept, but it would, from time to time, yield up small bits of magic, usually something yet to happen. Most special to him and dearest to his memory, Pippin knew exactly when Diamond came to be with child, and knew also that the babe would be his Faramir.

Yet the stone fell silent on some matters, and after the death of his infant daughters, Pippin became acutely aware of the fact that sometimes, just sometimes, it is better not to know. Perhaps his fairy ancestors had understood this as well, for it seemed to have a kind of wisdom in how much it revealed to its master.

The stone also could show him glimpses of people and things great distances away, mostly of people he had come to know and love. Sometimes he even caught glimpses of Legolas and Gimli, still often found keeping company and continuing their friendly war of words. He beheld glimpses of Prince Faramir and Éowyn, Éomer King and his queen, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, cousin to Boromir and Faramir. He even beheld, far in advance, the wedding of his Faramir to Sam’s daughter, Goldilocks.

But dear as these visions of small magic were, they could not compare to the one which left its deepest mark in Pippin’s heart, for it was this vision which brought the fullness of knowledge to Pippin of just how deeply powerful the magic of the Sidh could be.

It happened one day during lambing season, when Faramir was still a faunt. Merry had come to help him out, because Pippin liked to assist in lambing along with many other relations who lived in the Great Smials, for Pippin dearly loved the birth of a new life, even if it was only that of his sheep. They were washing up in the barn by the rain barrel that sat near the door. Merry and Pippin leaned over the barrel, full to the brim with crystal clear rainwater, to wash their hands and faces when the stone flashed at Pippin’s throat like a star, producing its own brilliant, white light. The light of the Tear of Parting speared through the clear water of the rain barrel, and in it, as though in Galadriel’s own mirror, both Merry and Pippin beheld visions the likes of which they had never seen.

They beheld the face of Boromir, sitting in the dark in the Golden Wood of Lothlórien. They saw Galadriel touch his shoulder and silently beckon, and saw him follow her; he trod in her trackless footsteps heavily, as though his feet were leaden with weariness and his heart heavy with care. Merry and Pippin could even see the stars shining clear and bright above the Lady and Boromir as they made their way to their destination. They watched her prepare her mirror, and saw her guide Boromir to it. She turned and faced Boromir, who hung his head. She placed her fair hand beneath his chin, tipping his face upward so that she could look into his eyes.

“Your mind is weary and embattled, and you know not which path to take,” she said.

“Aye, Lady,” he replied, and cast down his gaze once more, as though he felt sure she could read his every thought.

“Hold hope in your heart; you may yet find your way. Behold the Mirror of Galadriel, in which you may choose to look for wisdom. I will not ask that you look into it, but only offer the opportunity to do so as a gift, though a perilous one it may prove. Yet I sense in you the desire to do all you may to save Gondor and her allies, though your heart be torn, and your path a confused and stony one, bearing no mark by which to find your way. My heart tells me you are in torment, and I would do what I may to help you choose your way. Will you look into the mirror, Boromir of Gondor?”

“I—I am filled with dread, Lady,” he said, his head bowed and shoulders slumped, as one whose heart has become a weight too burdensome to bear. “Yet, I will look into the mirror, if it will help me to see more clearly what I must do.”

“Then look, look and behold what is not, but yet may be,” she said softly, touching his shoulder, as if to give him succor. “Do not touch the surface of the water,” she said. “Hold fast, for you are brave of heart, though your spirit is weary and your heart torn. Be strong a little while longer, and may you find your way in the mirror.”

He seemed to struggle within himself, but only for a brief moment, and then, seeming to brace himself, he looked into the crystalline waters of the mirror. As if standing at his side, Merry and Pippin could see the images he beheld in the Mirror of Galadriel. There, Boromir beheld himself taking the Ring from Frodo. Slipping the Ring on his finger, he dragged Frodo into the wood, and hid until the others came to look for them. When the others sought for them in distress, he forced Frodo to go with him to the boats. He could not release Frodo, for the hobbit would surely have called for help, and so must be forced to go with him. As he slipped across the Anduin undetected with his captive, he could hear the rest of the Fellowship in distress as they were attacked by the Uruk-Hai, but even that did not sway him from his chosen course of action.

He took Frodo to Minas Tirith, where Frodo became more and more mad; as mad and twisted as Gollum himself——a shrunken and twisted creature that stared at nothing with the eyes of the mindless, rocking his body as he squatted in corners and muttered to himself. Boromir’s heart shrank as he saw himself taken by the Ring, eventually imprisoning his father, and even his dear brother, for he could no longer bear Faramir’s accusing eyes upon him. He saw himself grow more and more corrupt, until at last he became a creature of Sauron, a wraith to almost rival the Captain of the Nazgûl, but a wraith, nonetheless.

The nightmarish scene in Galadriel’s Mirror shifted, and Boromir beheld the second vision: he saw himself choosing a different way, allowing Frodo to wander alone and undisturbed. He saw the orcs come upon himself and the others, surround them, and—one by one—slowly kill all but the hobbits. Sam, Pippin and Merry were taken to Orthanc, and there left to the tender mercies of Saruman, while Frodo fled to Mordor alone, and there in the mirror Boromir saw Frodo slain by Gollum, and saw Gollum taken by Nazgûl to the dungeons of the Dark Lord, returning the Ring at last to its dark master.

Then Boromir beheld a third vision. Leaning heavily against the mirror, his face crushed with grief, he wept, and his tears fell into the Mirror of Galadriel like little stones of sorrow, forming circular silver ripples upon its surface.

“Why have you shown me these things?” he asked Galadriel, his voice a horrified rasp.

“Because you must choose, Faithful Jewel,” she said, and placed a slim hand on his shoulder. “The fate of more than Gondor rests upon your decision. Choose wisely and remain Boromir, Gondor’s Faithful Jewel. Choose foolishly, and all shall be lost.”

He stood and faced her, his shoulders slumped under so great a burden. Galadriel reached out her hand, and gently brushed a tear from Boromir’s face, and then she embraced him briefly, placing a soft kiss on his brow with a nod of approval.

The choice was made there, with the Lady Galadriel that night, and again upon Amon Hen, on that fateful day when the Fellowship was broken. Merry and Pippin saw it all again, down to the last arrow in Boromir’s chest, and the clear, clean water in the rain barrel seemed suddenly to have become a crimson flood.

They fell back, dropping to their knees, and there they held each other a while, filled with the bitter knowledge that must ever remain a secret, for to divulge the secret would be to divulge the secret of the fairy blood that ran in the Took clan.

But it did not end there. For they could faintly hear Boromir’s voice, floating bodiless around them. “Weep not for me, nor carry this secret as a burden,” said his voice, its tone gentle, comforting, like warm hands soothing away sorrows unspoken. “For gladly would I do as I did again. It was the only choice I could make, and it ended the torment that the Ring had laid upon my heart, for in dying, I became free in every goodly way. Weep not for me, for I did what I did out of love, and was purified by that love. For such an act, the rewards are many and wondrous. Great are the Halls wherein I now dwell, and in them I reside in both peace and honor, made sweeter still for the love my kin and friends yet bear for me. Know this, too: I see you all, in my dreams, for the dead do dream, my dearest pupils. I see all the wonderful things that have happened to you both, and my heart is made the gladder for my choice, for the dead also hold dear still their living loved ones. You would not have had me live, only to lose me in the end, and to such an unseemly fate, ruinous and altogether evil. Do not carry this secret truth as a burden. Weep for me not, but rejoice. I am not gone, nor am I ever sleeping.”

And then the voice was gone, leaving only the quiet sounds of two hobbits as they struggled to catch their breath and blinked in the muted golden light of the afternoon. Merry looked at Pippin, pale, shaken and wracked with sobbing. He held his cousin, rocking back and forth, making soft and soothing sounds, as if Pippin were still a wee faunt. “Oh, Pippin, how awful,” Merry said, “He knew, oh, the horror! He knew he was going to die.”

Then, to Merry’s surprise, Pippin began to laugh as he wept. “Do you not see, Merry? Do you not see the wonder in it?” Pippin stood and spread his arms wide, looking up as if he could see Boromir where the voice had floated about them. His bright eyes still glittering with his tears, Pippin’s face burned with joy. “He rose above the net he was caught in. He made the right decision. He chose us, as I have said before, but more than that, in choosing death, he also chose life. He chose our lives, he chose many lives—and he chose his life, too!”

Ah, yes, when the blood of the Sidh burned in him, it burned as brightly as the first star, glorious in its newborn beauty. He never forgot that day, yet time is a thief, and one day Pippin could no longer recall Boromir’s voice, or laugh, and even his face came to Pippin only with difficulty. Grief hit him anew at this gradual theft, and though still quite healthy and hale, he began to feel more and more weary, especially after his Diamond passed away, taken by galloping consumption.

A clatter at the door of Pippin’s study heralded the return of his son with the promised tea and biscuits, drawing Pippin back from the memory of that day. He did not let on that his memories had been flooding through him like a rising river. Instead, he filled the time with small talk and the companionship of his son. He wanted to enjoy Faramir’s company a while yet, for he had made a decision. Merry wanted to take one last journey, to Rohan and to Minas Tirith. Now that both Estella and Diamond had passed on and with their son’s both having come into their own, it was time. Yes, they would go on one last journey together, dear old Merry and himself. But until then, he had some things to explain to Faramir. He was a Took, after all, and Pippin knew Faramir would make a wonderful steward to the Took legacy, both halves of it, Hobbit and Sidh.

‘Boromir, O Boromir!’ he cried. ‘What did she say to you, the Lady that dies not? What did she see? What woke in your heart then? Why went you ever to Laurelindorenan, and came not by your own road, upon the horses of Rohan riding home in the morning?' J.R.R. Tolkien - The Two Towers, p. 652

The Final Element

“Well, Merry, would you just look at that,” Pippin said, admiring the beautifully worked mithril items resting in their little gold caskets.

After passing a goodly time away in the Golden Hall with Éomer King before he passed away that autumn, the cousins left Edoras to spend their remaining days in Minas Tirith, where their names were held in great honor, and their deeds told to a new generation of the children of the Men of Gondor. At every turn, in every shop, tavern or home, they were celebrated. They were not only honored guests and friends to the King and Queen; they were heroes of the Ring War, and had even served as Counsellors of the North Kingdom for many years.

The children of Minas Tirith, the rest of Gondor and Rohan, along with all the villages and hamlets for leagues around had heard tales of these brave little people, the Ernil i Pheriannath and his bold kinsman Meriadoc the Magnificent, whom they were all sure held an office of lordship beside the Ernil in their homeland. In spite of the corrections of those who knew them best, including the royals of both countries, the people had grown so fond of the idea that Sir Peregrin was truly the prince of the halflings that when they passed the tales on to their children, the title stuck. Their deeds had grown in the telling as well, much to the amusement of both Merry and Pippin.

As moved as they were by the treatment received from the citizenry of Minas Tirith, they were yet more moved by the welcome they had received from Aragorn and Arwen, both of them laughing and shouting in a manner many would not regard as being exactly regal. Eldarion, too, greeted them with great joy. In him the best of both sides of his family shone forth, and in him could be seen the bright future of Middle earth.

Upon learning that the hobbits were soon to come to Minas Tirith, Aragorn had sent for Faramir and his son Elboron, in whom, it is said, the very best of Faramir, Éowyn and even Théoden and Boromir was personified, in looks as well as in strength, heart and wisdom. Both hobbits nearly burst with joy upon seeing him once more, for in Elboron the Faithful Star they could see their beloved friends; those still living as well as those now passed on.

Faramir had been overjoyed to see them, and after fond embraces, he proudly beckoned his son to come forward and greet his dear friends. Upon seeing them, Elboron had knelt, bowing his head respectfully. Then, with wide smiles, he and the hobbits embraced one another as kin. The honor of that sentiment was not lost on Elboron, for, like his father, he could read the hearts of those he met. Nor did he ever forget their bravery and loyalty, for he was his mother’s son as well as his father’s.

How he had grown since last they had met! Now tall and fair, in looks, much like the Stewards, Elboron had grown to the fullness of a man, and such a man as to make anyone who loved him proud. His eyes were the eyes of his uncle Boromir, who had inherited their opalescent seawater color from his mother, Finduilas. Though proud, his pride was tempered with understanding. He had the inborn ability to lead men and to inspire in them bravery as well as loyalty. His smile recalled that of his father, as did his understanding of beasts and men, and his love of old tales and history. He was as brave and devoted as Éowyn, as steadfast and thoughtful as Théoden: the flower of all the good in the leaders of Gondor, Ithilien and Rohan. Bold he was, as well, and dedicated to the arts of defending Kingdom, Fief and Principality, down to the last ‘rick, cot and tree’, a phrase learned at his sheildmaiden mother’s knee, and one he often used.

As a brother he was to Eldarion, son of the High King. This pair had grown up as close friends, and Eldarion regaled Merry and Pippin with tales of Elboron’s exploits as a child, saying, “My father tells me Boromir was born full of sauce and never lost the taste for it. Poor Elboron, born with a likewise nature, and poorer still his nurse! Once, when he was visiting, an emissary from Harad was foolish enough to say something rude, and Elboron drew his little wooden sword and called him out. The emissary turned to father and said that Elboron should be thrashed as an insolent pup, and Elboron swung his sword and shouted, ‘Shall you be the one to try?’ Prince Faramir was horrified, but my father smoothed the ruffled feathers and quietly had a guard take us riding. Later, father gave Elboron the horse, and bid him use the bridle on his tongue, should it become wild once more.”

Eldarion and Elboron made quite a pair. The one balanced out the other, Eldarion’s patience and understanding countering the fiery spirit of Elboron, and Elboron’s enthusiasm inspiring Eldarion. Merry and Pippin were glad in the knowledge of the close friendship between the future king and his future steward. With such a one as Eldarion on the throne, and with his Faithful Star to help light the way, all could plainly see before them the promise of a better life for all of their children’s children, no matter what race or place they sprang from.

Gimli and Legolas, too, had come, and upon their arrival, the remnants of the Fellowship took a celebratory meal alone with the Queen and Faramir. As the meal ended and the hobbits filled up the last corner in their stomachs (a considerable feat in itself) Aragorn stood, and, taking a small, ornate box from a silver cart at his side, nodded to Gimli and Legolas, as though to signal something. Arwen took the box from Aragorn and stood. With one slender hand, Arwen motioned for Merry and Pippin to remain sitting, and the others gathered on either side of the hobbits as she placed the box on the table between them. She lifted the lid of the box——a gold box, filigreed and encrusted with green jewels of every shade——and dipped her hands inside the box to draw out a pair of smaller boxes of like workmanship. These she placed before each hobbit, and bade them, “Open them, and receive these gifts made for each of you, as yours, and yours alone.”

Merry and Pippin looked at each other and grinned, for they knew that today was not the birthday of anyone there. These were gifts obviously made in advance of their coming, and must be very special. They opened the smaller boxes, eager as faunts on First Yule morning. As they beheld their gifts, they both gave a hissing intake of breath.

Inside the boxes lay matching collars, one the very twin of the other. These were mesh collars on which white stones had been lovingly mounted, stones that looked exactly like the Tear of Parting.

“Gimli made them,” said Legolas. “Also the boxes that held them.”

“They are mithril,” Gimli said. “The stones decorating the boxes came from the Glittering Caves at Helm’s Deep.”

“The stones on the collars,” Pippin said shakily, “From whence do they come?”

“Ah,” Aragorn smiled, “They are not what they seem. These are not the Tears of Parting made in the far mists of time by your ancestors.”

“You——you know about Pippin’s necklace?” Merry said.

“Faramir, too, bears one of the Tears of Parting,” Arwen said. “As I understand, he was always given to dreams and visions. But when you placed your stone around your neck, Pippin, the magic of the Sidh awoke in Faramir’s stone. Much was seen and learned from Fairy blood and Fairy stone.”

“How——how much?” Pippin said, a worried look on his face. He suddenly felt like a youngster caught keeping secrets of some mischief from his elders.

“We know everything, dear Pippin,” Aragorn said, laughing at Pippin’s demeanor. It called forth memories of a much younger Pippin to him, and his heart swelled with fondness at the memory. “Faramir told us. He knew, from the moment you placed the Tear of Parting around your neck. He knew when you first saw your future wife in your own stone. He happened to be looking into a mirror, just as you were. He told us he cried out with astonishment and joy when he saw you and your stone, but that the image of you faded before you could make out his face. He also learned how you came to receive the stone, and the message that Gandalf left for you in your pocket. He said Gandalf slipped the envelope in your pocket when he embraced you in farewell.”

“I saw other things as well,” Faramir said.

“Oh, dear!” gasped Pippin. He thought of the many times he had done foolish or silly things. Once, he had even caught his own breeches on fire in a misguided attempt to make fireworks. Then there was the time he had accidentally locked himself out of the bathhouse, naked as a newborn, after chasing a pup that had strayed from the barn and snatched Pippin’s towel, running off with his nice, clean towel dragging in the dirt behind it. He had been forced to make a mad dash through the private kitchen in an effort to get to clothing unseen. Which, of course, was futile. Diamond had been entertaining her friends and relations in the private sitting room just by the kitchen, and had to rescue him with a tablecloth. And there were other, far more embarrassing moments. Had his friends been privy to all his worst moments?

Gimli roared with laughter at the worried look on Pippin’s face. “Oh, do not look so alarmed, he saw nothing that you would mind any of us knowing, laddie.”

“He saw one thing in particular, though,” Legolas added.

“Indeed,” said Arwen, placing a hand on the shoulder of each hobbit, as if in comfort.

“That day you saw Boromir look into the Mirror of Galadriel," Faramir said. "You both shared the visions it held for my brother, and I beheld the visions as well, and found much comfort in what I saw. I also heard Boromir speak to you, for he spoke to me also, through our fairy stones. Great was my wonder; greater still, my joy.”

“When Faramir shared your vision, he found comfort, knowing what he knew by the virtue of the Tears of Parting; his and yours. We all found much comfort in it,” said Aragorn. “For we saw that though the Ring took Boromir, it could only take him on his own terms. He saw his doom, and knew the Ring would work its will upon him. Yet he chose a path that would spare him, and all Middle-earth, an evil and lowly end. He went willingly, bathed more in love and honor than in his own blood. As a soldier that charges into the breach, knowing full well that his death is upon him, he went willingly and bravely. In this, he was victor over even the Dark Lord himself. How Sauron must have howled in rage to see Boromir defy him so!”

“Aye, Gimli added. “ He was not so much taken from us, you see. That he gave himself is closer to the truth.”

“Bitter dregs for the Dark Lord to drink,” said Legolas, “A draught on which I believe he surely must have choked. Such a prize Boromir would have been to him! In taking Boromir, He would have crushed the spirits of the men of Gondor, especially Denethor and Faramir, and so won his victory the swifter. For Gondor was the last hope of Men, and Boromir would have made a powerful tool for the Enemy to use at His will. To take Boromir would be to take the very heart of Gondor.”

“’Twas the Lady’s own gift to Boromir, more precious even than his belt of golden leaves,” Faramir said.

“But that is not all of the story,” said Arwen. “For when Faramir shared that vision with you two, he beheld something else. He saw his brother bent over the Mirror, and saw his brother’s tears fall into the Mirror."

"And so into Lothlorien I sent Gimli and Legolas," Faramir said. "And there in the basin of the Mirror lay the stones you now see on these collars, and one more also." Here Faramir paused, pulling his own collar of mithril mesh with its white stone out from under his shirt. "My own fairy stone I have given to Elboron, but around his neck, the Tear of Parting sleeps.”

“The stones on these collars are another kind of Tear of Parting, then,” said Merry.

“Aye,” Gimli nodded. “These, the very signs of the Sidh’s fealty in our hour of direst need, are two of but three stones in all the world. For we learned, through Faramir’s fairy stone, that the magic of the Sidh worked with the light of the Lady’s Mirror to leave these, the stones of Gondor’s Faithful Jewel. Rare gems, and precious they are.”

“Rare and precious, indeed,” said Arwen, “For two who are also rare and precious, themselves, the third belonging to the brother of him who shed them. Three stones, for three who were held dear by the one who shed them, left in the basin of the Mirror of Galadriel, by the Grace of the Valar and the power of the Sidh. For he shed his tears and his blood willingly, and has passed into that fair and distant hall, where, it is said, no tear has ever been shed in sorrow, and no blood spilled. But neither Valar nor Sidh would suffer us to doubt Eru’s wisdom, for Boromir was meant to do as he did, just as you, Pippin, were born to carry the blood of the Sidh on your journey, and you, Merry, were born to help slay the Captain of the Nazgûl. And who roused the Ents, and brought about the fall of Saruman? Sauron in his arrogance proposed, yet it was Eru who disposed, and was surely pleased in the ones He chose to do and to build as He bade.”

"And who saved me from certain death?” Faramir added, giving Pippin's shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

“We have come to believe Boromir knew his choice would rankle Sauron,” Aragorn said, “and add to his troubles, so that he was visited with confusion, doubt and desperation, at least in some measure, and cause him to spring into battle in haste.” Aragorn paused, then with a wolfish grin, he added, “Between Boromir’s choice and your mischief with the palantír, he was right. Splendid strategist, he was. I often wonder if the Enemy did not sputter with anger and frustration at his ill fortune. Had he any hair, surely he must have torn it out by the roots. Who could have guessed that four hobbits and one stubborn soldier could have caused him so much trouble? He could not have foreseen the roles that would be played by Frodo and Sam, with their faith, strength and wisdom, all added to three fellows so alike in their contrary natures as Boromir of Gondor, Meriadoc Brandybuck of Buckland and Peregrin Took of the Great Smials.”

Merry burst into peals of laughter at the puzzlement on Pippin’s face. “Oh, dear,” Merry gasped. “You cannot work out whether or not that was a compliment, can you?”

“You concern yourself needlessly,” Arwen said amid laughter that rang like a little silver bell. “It was a compliment, dear Pippin, given with love, as these gifts have been given with love. We hope you both find them to your liking. Shall we fasten them around your necks, now?”

Pippin’s hand went to his throat. “Yes, please,” he smiled. “As Faramir gave his Tear of Parting to his son, I shall give mine to my own son. He is a Took, after all. It should go to him, and not with me, since he is now the Took and Thain. I shall give it to my son before I pass away, just as Faramir gave his own to his son. But I feel there is something more in it for me, before I let it go, so I should very much like to wear the other, as well.”

With her own hands, Arwen fastened the collars around their necks. She stepped back to admire the gifts adorning their two friends, “More handsome than ever,” she said, and laughed merrily.

After this event, things settled down for a while, and Merry and Pippin were quite content to have it that way. At last they were at their leisure, to do or not to do as they would. Eldarion and Elboron kept them company when duties allowed, for both young men wanted to learn from these old hobbits all they may concerning the Pheriannath. Much of the time, they were left to do as they pleased. Pippin often spent time attempting to finish his carvings, but the little figure still refused to take the shape of either Merry or Pippin.

One winter evening, Pippin sat with his carving while Merry dozed in a chair nearby, an old map in his lap. Pippin sat staring at the carving, puzzled by his inability to make it take the shape of one or the other, of Merry or himself. Why, it was as if his Sidh blood was trying to tell him something, but he could not guess what that might be. He yawned and closed his eyes, caressing the wood of the unfinished piece with his thumb, and felt himself slipping off into a dream.

He felt himself drifting, floating weightlessly in some unseen current of…what? Water? Air? Light? No, none of those things, but exactly what made up the current he could not have said, for there seemed to be no word for it. Feeling a kind of pressure and warmth on the bottoms of his feet, he realized he must be standing on something. He opened his eyes and looked down. Sand, he was standing on sand, fine and snow-white, and strewn all about in the sand lay every kind of jewel, from diamond to pearl and beyond; some of them he did not recognize, and knew somehow they were not of this world. All about him shone the purest white light, and he could hear music, like no music that had ever fallen on mortal ear.

“You’ve come, at last!”

Pippin turned.

Boromir…it was Boromir! The bitterness of his inability to recall Boromir’s voice as well as his laugh and his face dissipated like fog in the bright sun. The sweetness of familiarity regained washed through him. He suddenly realized that he was young again.

“Oh, dear, I see now that you have yet to come,” Boromir said.

“What?”

“It is not yet your time,” Boromir said. “You are in a kind of dream, given to you by the Tear of Parting. Or perhaps it is my own dream, given by my own stone.”

“Do you dream?” Pippin asked.

“Why, of course.”

“Of what do you dream?”

“Many things, even things for which there are no words.”

“That is no answer,” answered Pippin.

Boromir only laughed, and then asked, “What would you have me tell you, then?”

“Only, just what is it you dream of? If you have not a simple answer, then just tell me what the best dreams are about.”

“Well, the best dreams are the ones in which I am dying,” Boromir said. Only there was something wrong with his voice. He didn’t sound like Boromir, he sounded like…

“Merry!” Pippin cried, waking with a start. The sun had gone down and the room was now almost completely dark, save for the glowing of the coals banked in the brazier.

The boys that served as their pages heard Pippin cry out. Plainly this was a cry of distress; a high, quavering keen filled with despair, or something very like it. They rushed into the room, having abandoned their posts outside the door. They had been warned that this could happen. In their haste, the youngsters had rushed into the room without a light, thinking that the halflings would have lit their lamps by now. The older boy quickly snatched an unlit torch from a sconce beside the door of the inner chamber and lit it by thrusting the end of it into the banked coals of the brazier. The torch sputtered, flickered, and then the flame burned more steadily. The coals in the brazier gave little light, and the lamp that normally lit the room had burned itself out, meaning the halflings must have fallen asleep while reading and carving. The torch burned brighter, painting shadows on the walls and floor. In the growing light the youngsters saw that the Ernil knelt on the floor beside his kinsman, holding Sir Meriadoc’s hand pressed to his crumpled, weeping face. The map that Sir Meriadoc had been studying had spilled onto the floor and lay half-curled beside his foot.

The older of the boys knelt beside Sir Peregrin and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. The aged halfling trembled beneath his touch. He sobbed deeply, yet nearly soundlessly, as if sure that his body would simply shatter should he attempt to speak. The older page turned to the younger, and, with tears coursing down his cheeks, said, “Have a guard notify King Elessar. Sir Meriadoc has passed away.”

Less than a month later, Pippin took the Tear of Parting from around his neck. He had finally seen the last magic in the stone he had been waiting for. He placed the Tear of Parting in the little golden casket that had held his gift. He held the little box for a moment, understanding that he would not see this precious symbol of his family legacy again. He placed the little casket into the larger gold box, and beside the smaller gold casket, he placed the little wooden box that held his carvings and his knives, along with a letter explaining everything to his son. Beside the letter he placed yet another letter——the one Gandalf had slipped into his pocket those many years ago. He gave these items to a page, the very same one that had held the torch that terrible day, and instructed the boy that it was to be sent to the Thain of the Shire with care and haste.

It was the sixth day of Rethe, by Shire reckoning, Súlimë the sixth, by the King’s calendar, the anniversary of the Breaking of the Fellowship and the death of Boromir, when Pippin received confirmation that the box had been received at the Great Smials. Aragorn and Faramir brought the news to Pippin themselves, and the three sat beside the fire, sharing a flask of red wine.

“The years may come and go,” said Aragorn, refilling Pippin’s goblet himself, “But not a year passes that I do not remember this day.”

“Nor I,” Pippin said, and lifted his goblet.

Faramir said nothing, but raised his cup in salutation; eyes misted with tears unshed, for the men of Minas Tirith seldom weep, and bought their tears dearly.

Aragorn raised his cup as well. “To Boromir,” he said softly.

“To Boromir,” Pippin said. “They will be waiting, you know. Merry and Boromir, they will be waiting for me. My darling Diamond will be waiting too, with Estella and Éowyn. I am afraid they shall not have much longer to wait. You must make sure my Faramir knows my thoughts lie with him. Be sure he knows how much I love him, and remind him that he must use the Tear of Parting with great care. I have asked him if he would mind finishing my carvings. I should like them to go to the museum at Michel Delving, when they are done.”

Aragorn said nothing, but only looked into the fire and nodded sadly.

“Faramir, do be sure that Elboron understands what the Tear of Parting is," Pippin said. "You must be sure he understands fully it’s powers as we know them, and warn him that it may have powers unknown, as well. Though it sleeps now, it may awaken some time. And we cannot guess how much power it might hold for him. I have written my son and warned him that while the stone still spoke clearly to me, I learned that its power may wax with one and wane with another.”

Faramir did not speak, but only sighed deeply.

Again, Aragorn only nodded.

“I am very tired,” Pippin said wearily.

Aragorn still said nothing, but only nodded again.

“I looked into the Tear of Parting, once, and beheld the world as it will be far in the future. I did not care for what I saw. There were not enough wild, green places left. Everywhere there were machines and devices I did not understand, nor care to understand. There were wars, always wars. So much hate, so much anger. Oh, there was good, as well, and I knew it was wondrous, for good to keep striving against evil for so long. But it was not a world for hobbits, I fear. Men were everywhere, though I saw none of the other races. Not so much as a sign of a hobbit. No, it was not a world for the likes of me, my friends. The world will be quite mad, someday. I am glad I shall not be around to see it. I do not envy the elves in that regard——nor men.”

Yet again, Aragorn spoke not, but only nodded his head.

“I am very tired,” Pippin said again. Faramir, silent as well, sat next to Pippin and took his empty cup, setting it aside along with his own. Pippin leaned gently against Faramir, a habit he acquired during the days of the Fellowship when he had taken to leaning against Boromir. He had found that this calmed Boromir’s worries somehow, and gave the man comfort, though he must have thought the reverse true—that Pippin must have leaned on him to comfort himself. Pippin had never thought it necessary to correct Boromir’s assumption, and smiled a little at the memory. Leaning now on Boromir’s brother, Pippin looked at Faramir as if grateful, seeming to explain a need for comfort, and Faramir smiled sadly and gently. Faramir could not have known that Pippin now asked for comfort with this small gesture where he had given it many years ago. Pippin nestled closer, seemingly reassured, closing his eyes with a sigh: a weary wanderer resting his tired head at last.

Aragorn rose and lifted Pippin from his place beside Faramir, laying him gently on the bed. For some time, a king and a prince knelt at the bedside of an old hobbit. Each held Pippin’s small hands tenderly, heads bowed. At last, Aragorn stood, and stepped out of the chamber. Turning to the new page that waited there, he whispered, “Minas Tirith grieves. Sir Peregrin has passed away.”

The page stood frozen in his tracks for a moment before scurrying off to deliver the news to Queen Arwen and the herald, for he had never beheld the tears of a king.

So, thought Pippin, I wonder if this is that far, green country Gandalf spoke of. Well I must say, it surpasses even my most wonderful fancy of the place, and I have yet to leave the shore. Look at all the gems sparkling. Gimli would dance with joy at the sight. Now, where to, where to? Ah, I see a footpath!

Pippin followed the little path up to higher ground. Before him lay a vast field, covered with grass so soft, so green, that he might be treading upon emerald velvet. On either side of the path grew flowers of unearthly beauty. In the distance, he heard birds singing songs of impossible beauty and clarity. The path grew steeper as he approached the hills a short distance away. From a distance, he heard music, enchanting and clear. He hurried along, eager to find the source.

He saw the place on the horizon as he topped the crest of one of the higher hills. There at the top of the highest hill, at the feet of distant mountains, he saw it: a great hall, made of white stone that gleamed like diamonds and pearls in the sun, and beside it a silver river singing. As he approached a tall gate, he heard the clear, sweet sound of bugle and bell, and the gate swung wide. A tall figure stood waiting, arms open in welcome.

“At last! This time, you really have come. Welcome home, dear Pippin!” Boromir said, and he knelt and embraced Pippin warmly.

Pippin wept with joy, but only briefly. He had too many questions to ask. “Am I dreaming again? Or is this really happening? Where are the others? I was certain they would be here,” he said. “I am eager to see my Diamond, and Merry, too. Is this the far green country? Or is this a different place than the one Gandalf spoke of? Why are none of the others with you? How did you know I was coming? Is that your Tear of Parting? How is it you managed to bring it with you? Is this your home now? Will I have my own home? Or do we share this place? Why are you laughing?”

Boromir at last catching his breath after such a fit of laughter said, “So many questions! We have all been eager to hear you ask them, and eager, too, to give you what answers we have to give. Come, they are all waiting! They did not come with me because it is my blessing to be the one to greet you all, since I was the first to depart. Much has been done to make ready for us, and we have our own special place, made just for those of us who strove against the Dark Lord.” He rested his hand on Pippin’s shoulder as they walked toward the great hall on a path of purest gold. Inside the hall was an open space, graced with a fountain whose waters shone silver-blue.

“Oh, my,” said Pippin, “There, by the fountain, that looks like the Mirror of Galadriel!”

“It does bear a resemblance to it, yes, but it is not,” Boromir said. “You see, in this place, wonderful things happen, without one having to do anything to make them happen. I had been dreaming of my living loved ones, and I happened to wish I had a way to see them, and the mirror simply appeared. One moment it was not there, the next it was. It was in this Mirror that I saw you, Merry, and Faramir, that day you were given the vision concerning my choice. As for my Tear of Parting, I do not think the one I have on now is the same one I had in life. That one, I believe, rests with my mortal remains, wherever that shell that held my spirit now rests. This one is a kind of reflection of it, as is my gold belt. You shall see many such things. That is not to say they are not real; they are as real as we are.”

“I am glad you spoke of your choice, because I have always wanted to know something about it,” Pippin said. “Was there no other way?”

“Of course there were other ways, as well you know, but they would not have been good ways.”

“I understand, I do. I only wish there had been another way. It seems so very unfair. I do not understand why it had to be that way.” Pippin stopped and faced Boromir.

“My dear Pippin, it did not, in fact, have to be that way, as you put it. I was shown the paths I might have taken, and I made my choice. ’Twas of my own free will I made my choice. Well I know the pain it brought to those dearest to my heart, yet had I taken any other way, all I loved would have fallen into unending darkness and despair.” Here Boromir knelt and laid a hand on Pippin’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze to emphasize what came next.

“Do you imagine,” he said gently, “I could have chosen otherwise? Nay, I could not. Had I done nothing, as you know, we all would have been killed except for you halflings. Had I taken that choice, my dignity and pride would have remained intact, but what good would that have been, when the world would have gone to ruin? Had I taken the Ring, your friend would have been dead anyway, for I would have become a stranger to you, foul, corrupt and evil, and through me, all would have been destroyed, leaving in my wake a world of ash and blood and horror.”

“So you had to pretend to let the Ring take you?”

“Oh, dear,” Boromir stood, beckoning Pippin to go with him. “Come,” he said, "and sit by the fountain with me a moment.” Pippin followed him to a bench by the fountain and sat beside Boromir, who placed his arm around Pippin’s shoulders. “Dear, dear Pippin,” he sighed. “I did not pretend to let the Ring take me.”

“But…”

“You see, Frodo would have known had the threat not been real. The Ring had sunk its fangs in me, and even in Laurelindorenan, the poison from that bite was coursing through me. The Ring would take me, I knew. I could not fight it. It worked its madness on me, and I knew there was little I could do, as if I had a fatal illness. Yet, I did not say there was nothing I could do, only that there was little I could do. I chose not to fight it. I would bide my time, and when the hour was right, I would let it do its worst, and only resist once I had accomplished my goal, to see Frodo break away from the Fellowship and meet his destiny. My pride would suffer, I knew. But what is the pride of one man against the fate of the world? And so I let the Ring take me, and met my own destiny, which was to be the first here, to make ready for the time when we would all be together again.”

“You are the Steward of this place, then?”

Boromir laughed. “There is no need for a Steward here, my dear halfling. Nay, this is my reward! My reward is in being here, waiting for you all to come home, and greeting you all as you do so. And now, I would have us go on to see the others——Diamond and Merry, Éowyn and Éomer, and Théoden, too. And there are others that you never met, like Théodrid. Do you not hear them? Come, my friend, we rejoice! Only a few more do we await. I shall greet my Faramir next! Arwen and Aragorn shall come after.”

He rose and offered Pippin his hand, and as they approached an arch gleaming with opals and pearls, Boromir said, “Close your eyes, and let me lead you now. There is a surprise awaiting you!”

Pippin held Boromir’s hand and allowed himself to be led for a while, now guided one way, now another, until Boromir stopped. “Open your eyes—now.”

They had made their way near the silver river. There, lining a shady pathway on one side were… hobbit holes? Yes, they were hobbit holes! And such hobbit holes they were, nestled amid sumptuous gardens filled with verdant and fragrant blooms undreamt of in the wildest imaginings. They surpassed by far even the Great Smials and Brandy Hall in beauty and luxury. One of the doors—a red one—opened. Through it came Diamond. She threw herself into his arms, and once more Pippin wept with joy. Gone were all traces of the illness that had consumed her, and she shone more beautiful than ever she had in life, and in her joy, she laughed more sweetly than ever she had while she lived.

And then another door opened, and from that hobbit hole came Merry and Estella, and Pippin’s joy expressed itself in clear, high laughter as he embraced his cousins. Pippin bounced on the balls of his feet as he patted Merry’s shoulders again and again, as if to confirm that his dearest friend really was there, and not an illusion, however pleasant. Pippin gazed joyfully at the broad smile on Merry's face. He saw Merry wore his collar around his neck, and Pippin raised his hand to his own throat to find that he wore his own collar.

“Faramir shall have his, too,” said Boromir. “Tears of Parting they may resemble, but they are not. These were the Tears of Promise, given me as a sign that I chose well, and left for the brother of my flesh, and two brothers of my heart.” Then Merry took one of Pippin’s hands and Diamond the other, and they led him further down the path. Boromir walked behind them, resembling a herding dog with his sheep. His hand rested on Pippin’s shoulder as though to hurry him along. At last, they stopped before the last hobbit hole.

Pippin could not believe his eyes. This one enjoyed a bright green door. The door swung wide, and out stepped Bilbo, Frodo, Sam and Rosie.

“Now, cousin,” Frodo laughed. “It was only Valinor and the elves that were undying! This is not that far, green country, for it is not bound to the world. You did not think we would be excluded from this place, did you? No, even Valinor is not so wonderful as this place!”

But so great was Pippin’s joy that he could not speak, for his heart felt as if it would burst, so full of happiness it was. He embraced Frodo so enthusiastically that Frodo nearly lost his footing. Sam and his Rosie with Bilbo surrounded Pippin with joyful embraces and thumps on the back. The laughter of hobbits filled the air. Pippin heard Boromir laugh as well, and turning, embraced his friend again, so great was his joy. He saw Boromir’s face alight with happiness in seeing the hobbits reunited at last. From the look on his friend's face, Pippin understood now what Boromir had meant when he had said that this was his reward, for Boromir's face shone with white light, clear and pure.

But he was still Peregrin Took, full of inquisitiveness and still unquenchable. He tugged at Boromir’s sleeve, and, looking up at his friend, he asked, “What of your father, Boromir? Does he know at least some measure of peace?”

Boromir knelt beside him once more, and patted Pippin’s shoulder affectionately. “My dear Pippin, I never doubted you would ask after him. When I first came here, I did not have this place. I was sent to another place, a place much like a house of healing. There I dwelt for a while, until my heart was healed enough to be sent here and start my true work. Others, I was told, would bide a while in that healing place before they came. Bilbo first, and then Frodo, soon followed by his Sam. We were there but a short while. My father, I fear, will take some time longer, for he bore many wounds of the spirit, but I am assured he will be healed. My mother, too, dwells there with him, so he is not alone in his suffering, for my mother died of a broken spirit and a broken heart. She, too, I am assured, shall be healed in time.”

“Assured? By whom?”

“Why, by Him who made us all, of course!” Boromir said with surety. “And now, if it so pleases my friends, let us join the others in the courtyard, for they are all eager to see you once again. I know you can hear the music, but can you not smell the feast?” He laughed, seeing the eagerness in Pippin’s eyes. Even in this wonderful place, hobbits were, after all, still hobbits.

And so at last was Peregrin Took reunited with his lost loved ones, also meeting some whom he had only heard of, Théodrid, and Éomer’s queen, Lothíriel, among others. Even Ioreth was there, no longer aged, but as young and fresh as spring, as graceful and beautiful as she had been in her youth.Beregond, along with so many who served in the War of the Ring, too, dwelt in this most perfect of places. He knew the greatest of joys in that place, where blessings are so great, varied and many that no words, known or unknown, can tell, for none exist that can name them all.

The riddle of the dreams of the dead was solved when he dreamed of his own death, for in that dream, he could see his life as it stretched out behind him, yet also could he see an eternal life filled with infinite love ahead of him in this perfect place of perfect repose and perfect joy. Boromir had been right. Those were the best dreams he had ever had. Faramir arrived next, and though Boromir went alone to greet his brother, Pippin found he could actually feel their joy. It would be a while yet before Aragorn joined them, and then Arwen, for she had surrendered her immortality and so could find the blessings waiting to be shared with her husband.

Pippin was not sure if there was such a thing as time in that place, yet it had moments, as if there was a sense of time. Upon one occasion, as he and all his friends here rested around the fountain, listening to Ioreth sing while Estella, Diamond, Rosie and Éowyn danced around the fountain, he found himself near the Mirror, with Boromir, Faramir and Merry. Pippin decided to look into the Mirror, to see what he might see, and reflected in the water were the faces of all who wore a silver collar adorned with a white stone, Boromir with his Tear of Parting, Merry, Pippin, and Faramir with the Tears of Promise. As they gazed into the Mirror, their faces faded, and instead, they saw two other very familiar faces.

And in the Great Smials, Faramir Took placed the last of the little wooden figures into the box his father had decorated with the symbol of the White Tree. They were finished at last, first the one of Merry, and lastly, the one of his dear Papa. He would take them to Michel Delving, himself. He stood and stretched, as if he had been napping, though actually it was the carving that did it; he could never remember actually doing the carving. The wood seemed to simply reveal the figures by itself. He placed the little box on his desk and stretched once more. Smiling, he touched the white stone at his throat. “Hullo, Papa, I can feel that you are watching!” Faramir laughed, and then went to a large mirror by the door of his study. Looking into the mirror to admire this beautiful and remarkable heirloom, he caught a glimpse of something in the reflected stone in the collar. “Hullo, Elboron,” he said.

“Greetings, Faramir! How fare you today?”

finis

Húrin of Emyn Arnen :

Pelendur

Vorondil

Mardil Voronwë

Eradan

Herion

Belegorn

Húrin I

Túrin I

Hador

Barahir

Dior Rian

Denethor I

Boromir

Cirion

Hallas

Húrin II

Belecthor I

Orodreth Morwen

Ecthelion I (one generation)

Egalmoth

Beren

Beregond

Belecthor II

Thorondir

Túrin II

Turgon

Ecthelion II House of Dol Amroth

Denethor II === Finduilas

House of Eorl

Boromir Faramir === Éowyn

Elboron

Barahir