Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I just enjoy writing about them. I don't mean to break any copyright laws, so please don't sue me.

Bag End, Hobbiton, the Shire
March 15, 1427 (by Shire Reckoning)

"Mama?"

The tiny voice interrupts my peaceful slumber. I know that I should be worried that my child is coming to me in the middle of the night, but I am too exhausted to really care. Ever since the babe started kicking, I've gotten very little sleep. Combine that with the fact that I've got to care for my other three children during the day, and it comes out that I'm less than well-rested.

"Mama, are you awake?"

I drag my eyes open with a trememdous effort and turn to face my visitor. Elanor is standing next to the bed, clutching the Elven doll that Legolas sent for her last birthday. Her hair is mussed from sleep, but her eyes are wide and terrified.

"What's wrong, Elanor?" I ask, fully awake now and worried by how frightened my daughter looks.

"I had a bad dream," she answers, clutching her doll tighter to her chest.

I sigh in relief. I can deal with a nightmare. A bit reluctantly, I throw off the quilts covering my body. I struggle to sit up and look over to see if I've woken Sam, but he's still snoring peacefully. At least one of us will be rested in the morning.

"How would you like some warm milk before going to back to bed?" I ask, turning back to Elanor. She nods mutely, so I stand and pull on my dressing gown. I take Ellie's tiny hand in my own and lead her out of the bedroom.

I had intended to go straight to the kitchen, but a light from the parlor catches my attention. Now who else would be up at this hour of the night?

Pippin is sitting in the overstuffed armchair next to the fire. He had been staring at the flames, but look up when Ellie and I enter the room. There is the same haunted look in his eyes that I've seen in Sam's eyes when he speaks of his journey in the South.

"I wouldn't think an expectant mother and her young daughter would be up at this hour," Pippin says quietly, glancing at the clock on the mantle.

"Ellie had a nightmare," I tell him. "We were just going to the kitchen to get her some warm milk when I saw the light coming from in here."

"I wasn't able to sleep," he explains simply, but I can see that there's more to it than that. "Why don't I sit with Elanor while you get her milk?"

"I'd appreciate that," I say, letting go of Ellie's hand. The lass immediately goes to her Uncle Pippin, who lifts her onto his lap. "I'll be back in just a moment."

Pippin nods and I turn and head into the kitchen. The whole time I'm warming Ellie's milk, I can't help but wonder what is bothering Pippin. I don't doubt that he couldn't sleep tonight, but I don't know what could be bothering him so badly. Of the Travelers, Pippin is usually the one who seems the least bothered by what happened to him in the South.

It takes only a few moments for the milk to warm properly and soon I'm standing in the entrance to the parlor again. The sight that greets my eyes makes my heart melt. The merrily crackling fire is illuminating Pippin, who is sitting with Ellie in his lap, her head tucked beneath his chin. His eyes are closed but he's rocking back and forth gently, singing a soft lullaby.

A tear comes to my eyes and I sniffle quietly, but it's enough to alert Pippin to my presence. He opens his eyes and looks at me, but doesn't stop singing or rocking. I move to sit in the chair next to him and look at my daughter.

Ellie has fallen asleep in her honorary uncle's arms, still holding her Elven doll. She looks so peaceful. I set the glass to milk on the small table next to my chair.

"I guess she didn't need the milk after all," Pippin whispers to me after finishing his lullaby. "I'm sorry you had to go to all the trouble of warming it."

"It was nothing," I assure him, also whispering. "I'd do anything for my children."

Pippin turns towards me, a queer look in his eyes. "I suppose most parents would," he says almost as if to himself, something odd in his voice that I can't quite indentify.

He turns back to the fire and mutely stares at the flickering flames. From what I can tell, though, he's not look at the fire as much as he looking through it.

"What happened to you on your journey that's bothering you tonight?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Pippin's face is full of shock as he slowly turns his head to look at me. For a moment, it seems like he won't answer, but mutely turn back to the fire. Then he speaks.

"You know of Faramir, the Steward of Gondor." There is something hollow in the way Pippin is speaking that makes me shiver in the warmth of the parlor. "Faramir was never meant to be Steward. He brother Boromir was to rule after their father."

I almost think that Pippin is mourning on the anniversary of Boromir's death. I've opened my mouth to offer my sympathies before I remember that Boromir died in February. Sam drank to his memory weeks ago.

"When Denethor heard of Boromir's death, he was crushed. Boromir had always been his favorite son. He thought that books and scholarly thought were for the weak. He hated that Faramir always went to Gandalf first for counsel."

I'm beginning to wonder where Pippin's story is leading. I've heard bits and pieces already from Sam, but as he never speaks ill of anyone, except maybe that foul Gollum creature, I'm greatly interested in what Pippin has to say. Elanor sleeps on in her uncle's arms.

"Denethor sent Faramir on a suicide mission, but Faramir came back alive. Nearly dead, but still alive. It was only then that Denethor realized how badly he had wronged Faramir. He finally realized that he loved his youngest son as much as he had loved his first-born."

Pippin pauses, but continues to stare into the hearth. With one hand, he strokes Ellie's golden curls while he drums the fingers of his other hand on the arm of the chair. The drumming seems frantic somehow. Pippin takes a deep breath and continues speaking in the quietest of whispers.

"Denethor tried to burn himself and Faramir alive. He thought that if they were both going to die in the seige of the city anyway, then they might as well die together of their own doing. Denethor was mad, but he also loved his son, more deeply than he had ever known. He wept when Gandalf took Faramir from him."

I gasp as Pippin looks at me and our eyes lock. The normal twinkle of merriment is gone from his vibrant green eyes. In the firelight, his eyes are black and dead. His hands have stilled their movements, one resting on the arm of the chair, the other on Ellie's back.

"It was eight years ago today that Denethor burnt himself alive," Pippin says, his voice without any emotion whatsoever. "I can still see him burning as clearly as if it happened just moments ago."

With no small amount of effort, I stand and move to sit on the arm of Pippin's chair. I put my arms around him as best I can and simply hug him.

Pippin takes a great shuddering breath and leans his face into my shoulder. I can feel his tears soak through my dressing gown and nightdress. He cries silently, but the tears seem to cleanse his soul. I can feel him begin to relax slightly.

When Pippin pulls away, I force a smile onto my face. "Well, now that that's out of your system, do you think you could get a bit of sleep? I've got some warm milk if you need some."

Pippin smiles genuinely and I'm glad to see it reach his eyes. "Yes, mother Rose," he says quietly, carefully standing and cradling Ellie gently in his arms. "But I think this one need put to bed first."

With a heave, I manage to get to my feet. I pick up the glass to milk and am pleased to note that it's still properly warm. Not that it had a real chance of cooling off, I remind myself. At least not in the warmth of the parlor. I smile as I follow Pippin down the hallways.

Pippin enters the room that Ellie and Rosie-lass share and gently lays Ellie down on her bed. She stirs a little before settling down. Pippin carefully pulls the quilts up to Elanor's shoulders before leaning down and placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Sleep well, my lass," I whisper, kissing Ellie on the cheek. Before leaving the room, I check on Rosie-lass. She's sleeping soundly, one thumb stuck firmly in her mouth.

I return to the hallway and gently pull the door closed behind myself. Pippin is waiting for me. I hand him the glass of milk.

"Thank you, Rosie," he says after taking a sip of milk.

"The milk was warm already, no need for it to go to waste," I tell him.

"Not just for the milk, Rose," he says seriously. "Thank you for listening to me when you probably should have been sleeping."

"It was nothing," I say firmly. "I would have done the same thing if it had been the middle of the day."

"I know," he replies with a smile. He takes another sip of the milk. "Well, goodnight, Rosie,"

"Goodnight, Pippin."

With one last smile, Pippin turns and heads to his own room, still holding the glass of milk. After a moment, I follow his example and head to my own room.

I take off my dressing gown and sink into the soft mattress and feather pillows. I burrow down into the quilts and smile when Sam puts his arm around me in his sleep. I still feel a bit troubled about Pippin, but I can't help but feel that everything is right in the world when Sam has his arms around me.

Just as I am about to fall into sleep, the babe inside of me lets out a kick. "Oh stop, you," I tell him, lightly swatting my belly. "Mama needs some sleep."

The babe seems to listen as he doesn't kick again. I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

The End