“Da?”

The small voice was tremulous, wavering between wanting to be brave and yet needing comfort.

“Yes, Faramir?” Pippin asked gently, turning back from the door he had been about to close, gazing at his five year old tenderly. 

“I’m scared.”

For a moment something flashed across Pippin’s face, then vanished, replaced by a small smile as he returned to the bed, sitting down on its edge and gently touching his son’s cheek. 

“And what are you afraid of, Little One?” he asked gently, already knowing the answer.

“Monsters,” Faramir whispered fearfully.

“Ahhh,” Pippin murmured, looking out the window of his son’s room into the darkness, for a moment seeing not the stars and green hills of the shire, but a chilly mountainside and a wizened old man calmly smoking his pipe. 

“They do exist, don’t they, Da?” Faramir’s voice asked hesitantly, as though afraid his beloved father would laugh at him for believing in such things.

“Aye, Son, they do,” Pippin whispered after a moment, and there was a hint of something sad in his Da’s eyes.  “But you don’t have to worry about them.”

“Because you’ll protect me from them?” Faramir asked, smiling.

Pippin smiled back, ruffling his son’s unruly curls.  “No, Lad.”  His child’s smile faded as he looked up at him in confusion.  “When the time comes for you to face your monsters, only you will be able to fight them.”

“I don’t understand,” Faramir admitted.

“Neither did I,” Pippin murmured, and once more his gaze wandered out the window, to something only he could see.  “But you will, one day.”

He shook himself, then, as though just recalling where he was, and turned back to his son, smiling again.  “As for now, rest assured that there are no monsters under the bed, in the closet, or anywhere else in the smial.  Your cousin Merry and I got rid of them all a long time ago.”

“But what if new ones show up?” Faramir asked, unable to completely put his fear aside.

His father’s gaze wandered once more to the window, and Faramir had to wonder what he saw out there that no else could. 

“Then you shall do the best you can, and simply do what must be done when the time comes.”  He kissed his son’s forehead gently, standing.  “Now go to sleep, and dream sweet dreams of honey buns and almond cakes.”

He was almost to the door when his son’s voice halted him once more.

“Da?”

“Yes, Faramir?” he asked patiently, turning around. 

“Were you afraid when you fought your monsters?”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Pippin whispered, almost so the child could not hear him, “Yes, Faramir.  Very frightened indeed.”

“Then how did you do it?”

His father turned away, but not before he glimpsed something sparkling on his cheek.  “Because I knew that I had to face what came, as it came.  Now go to sleep, Faramir.”

With that he closed the door, knowing his son would soon be sleeping peacefully.  For a moment he leaned his back against the solid wood, eyes closed. 

“Are you all right?”

He started, quickly wiping the tears from his eyes as Merry approached, gazing at him worriedly.

“Aye,” he assured the other, ushering him back into his study, where he poured them both a generous glass of brandy. 

He handed Merry his, looking to a point above his cousin’s shoulder as he whispered, “To monsters - may they always be ready for a fight, because they shall certainly get one from us!”

“To monsters,” Merry agreed.  They both sipped their brandy quietly for a moment, enjoying the now rare peace of each other’s company.

“Now,” Merry broke the silence, casting a penetrating glare at his younger cousin, “are you going to tell me about that pig or am I going to have to ask Sam why you were seen leading it around yesterday?”

“Well, Merry, it was like this…”

At that moment the clock chimed, and Pippin stood to mark the calendar, changing the date from March 15^th to the 16^th.  Then he sat back down and resumed the tale, their laughter filling the night air and banishing any monsters that lingered.