Disclaimer: All the characters and settings (except for the five curious children) belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

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Chapter 1: The Pheriannath

"There they are! Look, up on the fifth wall!"

Five children peered around the corner of the house, craning their necks so as to see high, high up to the top of the rampart above them. There were many such ramparts in the white city of Minas Tirith and the children of the City explored them as often as they could.

"Which ones are they? Does anyone know all their names?"

There was a slight consternation at that. No-one could claim to know all of the names.

Felnor eagerly piped up. "I know that one of them is of the Guard. He knows Bergil."

"Everyone knows that!" Manrim defiantly stuffed his hands in his pockets. "His name is Peregrin, though I do think Bergil calls him something else."

"Pippin. He is called Pippin." A quiet youngster with an earnest face offered this information.

"Which is the one to his left?" demanded Manrim.

"There are two tall ones and two shorter ones," said Telgan confidently. "I saw them at the crowning."

"Well, the one to his right is the same height. So, he must be Meriadoc," Manrim summarily stated. "And the short one to his left?"

A silence fell. Meriadoc and Peregrin were a fairly familiar sight around the City, but the two Pheriannath who had arrived more recently were still mysterious, although legends were already growing.

"So what are you lot up to?" A slightly older, self-assured voice suddenly cut through their frenzied whispering. The children turned around as one to see Bergil standing there amused.

"The Periannath! They are up there. Look!"

"What are their names, Bergil?"

"The middle one is Peregrin, right, Bergil? And Meriadoc? He helped slay the Witch-King!"

"Yes, they are Merry and Pippin." Bergil shaded his eyes from the lowering sun. "And the other one is Samwise the Brave. I've never met him though. I don't know him or the other one."

"The other one is the Ringbearer," the quiet one whispered reverently. "He is the one who cast down the Dark Lord's Tower."

"And destroyed the Mountain of Fire!" crowed Alnoth exultantly. "I wish I could see him! Why isn't he there?"

No one had an answer to that. But the prevailing opinion among them was that if any single one of them were to meet any of the Pheriannath, especially the mysterious and powerful Ringbearer, then he would be a lucky fellow indeed.

Gradually the children scattered, as the distant calls for supper reminded them of the time.

The small child, the quiet one, stood there the longest. He continued to gaze up wistfully at the three halflings. Finally, he reluctantly turned and left.

* * *

Pippin shaded his eyes as he peered out over the walls of the city. The setting sun shone straight into his eyes, making him blink.

"That is going to take a long time to clean up," Merry commented, beside him.

"Just as long as they don't ask us to do it," Pippin said apprehensively. "I've been on my feet all day as it is. Let the men clean up the Pelennor Fields! At least they are tall enough to rise above the mud."

"And you aren't?" Sam said, from his spot on the wall. "Begging your pardon, but you haven't any business being so tall yourself!"

Pippin laughed. "What makes you so sure we're so tall? Maybe you and Frodo have shrunk!"

Merry chuckled a little, but stopped when he saw Sam's face. "Come on, Sam, we're just teasing you. I would have thought that you'd be used to it by now."

"Where is Frodo anyways," Pippin asked. "I thought he was going to join us for the sunset."

Sam shook his head glumly. "He said he wasn't in the mood."

"Not in the mood? Oh good heavens," said Pippin, exasperated. "He has been in a mood for the past week. A bit of fresh air and a fine sunset would take care of that."

"I don't rightly know," said Sam slowly, "but he isn't up to doing much nowadays. He doesn't seem to want to see anything lately."

"What is wrong, Sam?" Merry asked quietly. "I have hardly seen him since Aragorn's crowning. He's been keeping to himself quite a bit, hasn't he."

Sam stared down at his hands, fingers entwined in knots. "Yes. And I figure he'd keep to hisself even more if I didn't drag him to the hall for a bite to eat every now and then."

"Well, then," said Pippin, "we'll simply drag him out here. No getting out of it." He jumped down from the ledge behind the base of the rampart. "Come on. Cousin Frodo simply isn't going to hide away, if I have anything to say about it." He marched off energetically.

Sam looked ruefully at Merry. "I don't think he will be allowed to have anything to say about it, if you ask me."

The two hobbits left their perch on the wall and followed Pippin back up to their dwelling.

* * *

They tried. Oh they had certainly tried. But Frodo would not budge. Despite pleas from all three hobbits, he just said that he preferred to be on his own.

They were unconvinced, but they finally gave up.

"You're right, Sam," Merry said, once they had returned to the ramparts. He took out his pipe and lovingly lit it. He drew on the pipe and exhaled. "There is something wrong. To be honest, now that I think of it, there has been something funny about him since before the crowning. Do you think that Aragorn was able to truly heal him?"

"I don't know," said Sam, distressed. "Sometimes I see him when he thinks I ain't looking at him. He looks so hopeless. The light has gone from his face."

"But why," Pippin said, frowning. "I know he's been through a lot, more than the rest of us. But surely he knows that it's over now. He seemed all right when the two of you first woke up."

Sam fidgeted for a moment. "Maybe Strider could heal him, his body that is, maybe he couldn't. But a lot more happened to Mr. Frodo than what Strider, I mean King Strider, could deal with, meanin' no disrespect.

"And none is taken, Sam. But I know Frodo. He doesn't take things lightly. Once he gets something into his head, he's going to hang on to it, fair or foul, until he works it through."

"The only thing is, he ain't working it through!"

"So what, I ask you, are we going to do about it," Pippin asked. He too had taken out his pipe. The embers suddenly glowed in the gathering dusk.

"Make him talk to us," Merry said decisively. "Corner him if necessary. The silly old fellow can't think that he can hide from us forever."

"He can too," said Sam warningly. "Without a doubt."

"Well, if he does," Pippin said, "and he won't talk to us, then who will he talk to?"

To Be Continued