It was getting dark in Pippin's room but it was already dark in his heart. He had tried to write a letter to Merry. All the attempts lay crumpled or torn into shreds on the floor. "Dear Merry" No. "Dearest Merry" Crossed out. "Cousin Merry" Crumpled. "Merry" That one he had kept, then didn't know what else to write. "I have to . . ." No, torn in two. "I want to . . ." No. "I must . . ." Yes. "Apologize." Too formal, scratched out, torn three times, crumpled. "Say I'm sorry." Yes, but not quite. "Beg your forgiveness." Yes, beg. Begging was right. But not forgiveness. Pippin knew he was unforgivable.

He had finally given up. He now felt there was nothing he could do to repair the damage he had done. He felt cold, lonely and uncomfortable. Everything ached. After changing into his nightshirt and wool robe, he had looked at the heap of his clothes on the floor. The clothes he had worn when he had hit Merry. Suddenly he stooped down, swept them into his arms and headed to his fireplace. He built a meager little fire then picked up his shirt, gently laying it on the burning wood. The shirt writhed, smoldered and flamed.

"Good bye, Pippin Took!" Pippin said to the smoke as it rose. He then placed his trousers, braces and all, on top of the burning shirt. "Good bye." He grabbed the poker that hung at the side of the fireplace. "You're not even a good hobbit Peregrin Took." He stabbed weakly at the clothes. "You hit your cousin." Another stab of the poker. "You punched him in anger." Stab. Stab. "So go away!" He stabbed his burning clothes once more. One item of clothing still lay upon the floor. He grabbed his scarf. The tassels swung dangerously close to the flames before he pulled his hand back. His scarf. He might have been burning himself in effigy, he might have wanted to get rid of the self he was so ashamed of, but . . . no. Not the scarf. His Grandmother had made it for his Father. Pippin had found it one very cold winter day when he was going with his Dad to help the poorer hobbits who lived around Whitwell and Tuckborough. Paladin had solemnly knelt before him and with a gentle touch tied the scarf about Pippin's neck. They had spent the ride to the farms talking of Grandma Took, how she had loved to knit, how she had loved her family. "'She'll be glad for you to have it, my little Peregrin," his Dad had said as he reached over to give the dangling ends of the scarf a tug. Pippin had treasured it ever since, always having it around his neck or close at hand.

Pippin cried and cried, rocking gently while he hugged his scarf. One end he clutched to his heart the other lay against his cheek, there catching some of his tears. The crying made him start coughing once more. His chest and back ached. His heart ached. He felt totally alone in the world. The flames had eaten the shirt and trousers then died slowly away. Pippin sat there still, hugging his scarf while his room grew cold and dark.

Pearl had been rushing around all day. Trying to get such a big family ready to travel to Brandy Hall for Merry's coming of age party was no easy task so the ladies of the Took household had their hands full. It didn't help that the trip took more than two days to make and there was no town at the half way point, only an inn. They had to be sure they would have everything for the trip as well as what was needed to help with the party.

Pearl sighed. She felt she had walked every tunnel in Great Smials three times over. As she walked past Pippin's room, she was thinking about the extra sets of dishes they were taking . Were there enough? Had they been packed properly? She suddenly stopped. A sound had worked its way through the thoughts of dishes. Someone was coughing, coughing hard. As a healer, that was not a sound she liked to hear. She stepped to Pippin's bedroom door putting her ear to the wood. Nothing. No sound at all. Pearl shook her head as she turned away, her thoughts returning to the dishes. She heard another hacking cough. Turning again to the door, this time she opened it.

It was dark inside the room. Only a bit of pale moonlight flowed in through the round window. The coughing continued, coming from over by the fireplace but in the gloom she could see nothing.

"Pippin?" She called.

"Go away." A strange rough voice replied, followed by more coughing.

Pearl went back into the hallway and lifted a candle sconce from the wall. She went into Pippin's room holding the candle high. On the floor in front of the over-stuffed chair by the cold, dark fireplace was the huddled figure of her younger brother. As she came around the left side of the chair he tried to scoot away but his movements were unusually slow and clumsy. Her hand touched his shoulder but he pulled away.

"No!" Came the rough whispery voice.

She dropped to her knees before him, taking his chin in her hand to make him look at her. He was hot. Before she even touched his skin she could feel the heat coming from him. She turned his face toward hers. His cheeks were flushed with fever, sickly darkness circled his eyes. He kept his eyes lowered. More coughing shook his body, his hair was soaked with sweat. She reached over to hang the sconce on the hook where the fireplace poker had hung then turned her full attention to Pippin. She took hold of both of his shoulders but he shrank away from her touch.

"No!" He said frantically. "Don't touch me!" He had found some strength within himself, enough to jerk free of her grasp. He backed away around the right side of the chair while staring at her with eyes like a trapped animal's.

"No! Don't touch me I'm horrible! I hit him! I punched him! I'm horrible!" He drew in a shallow, rasping breath before going on. "I hit him, do you understand? Hobbits don't hit each other." There was another wheezing intake of air, his eyes were wild with the white showing all around. "I'm not even a hobbit anymore. So I left. I'm gone. I went with the smoke." He was sobbing now with his wide staring eyes fixed on the fireplace. "With the smoke. All gone in the smoke." He held his scarf up in front of his eyes. He sobbed, choked and coughed. Weaker now he spoke again. "Not the scarf though, no, not Pippin's scarf. A little bit of Pippin left behind." He turned his gaze to his sister, his eyes now filled with grief, tears flowing down his cheeks. Pippin held the scarf out to Pearl. "Do you want what's left of Pippin the Fool of the Tooks? He hit a fellow hobbit. He hit his best friend so he had to leave. He left this when he went away with the smoke. Couldn't burn that could he? No. Not his scarf."

Pearl sat frozen in place. What was wrong with her dear little brother? He was sounding mad. Was he that fevered? Pippin's hand that held his scarf dropped to his lap. He leaned against the chair. The sudden burst of terror and its energy was leaving him. He stared at Pearl with sad, pain filled eyes.

"Help me Pearl." He whispered. "I think I'm sick. I must be sick. I hit Merry and I'm sick. Help me." His body started to slump. Pearl barely caught him before his head hit the floor. She laid him down gently , then ran from the room in search of anyone who could help.

The lights of The Floating Log Inn at Frogmorton twinkled invitingly in the dark. It was more early morning than actual night time but here some lights were always shining to welcome any weary traveler. A solitary rider approached. He dismounted then led his pony into the yard. After wrapping the reins around a hitching post he went and banged the large door knocker three times. After a short wait he could hear the sounds of the innkeeper hurrying to the door.

"I'm comin’! Comin’!" the innkeeper hollered. The door opened to let the warm light spill out onto the guest on his doorstep. "Mr. Merry!

Welcome, welcome! You're out and about late, young Master. Or should I say early?" Tom Burrow winked as he stepped aside to let Merry through the door.

"Yes Tom, I left Hobbiton after teatime," Merry said as he shook back his hood. "Is it too late to get something to eat? I didn't bother stopping at Bywater and I'm more than hungry now."

"The kitchen is always open here, Mr. Merry! You just head on to your room and I'll bring a nice bite along in a quick bit." Tom hurried off towards his kitchen. Merry trudged off to his room. One hour later Merry, both thirst and hunger taken care of, was sound asleep.

Early on the next morning his journey continued. The weather was warm for the autumn so he had taken off his cloak, draping it across the pommel of the saddle. The sun shone down, the leaves were glorious colors, the air fresh. The only thing Merry missed was Pippin. Pippin's smiling face, his small though sharp features alight with mirth, came into his mind. Merry sighed, but then his own face brightened. Pippin will have gotten the letter by now. Merry just knew things would be alright. He had written a good letter. He just had to get home, wait for the Tooks to arrive, pull Pippin aside and get everything settled out. It was a day’s ride yet to the Bridge Inn at the Brandywine Bridge, then most of a day’s ride from there to Brandy Hall. He clicked to the pony and its walk changed to a quick trot. Merry could hardly wait to get home.

The glorious sunrise only mocked the sadness that filled the many tunnels and rooms of Great Smials. There was an unaccustomed quiet in the large dwelling. Adults stood about in small groups talking quietly, young hobbit children clung to their parents or older siblings. The "tweens" gathered at the edges of the rooms or in corners and looked uncomfortable. Peregrin Took, heir to the family titles, usually energetic and mischievous, lay in his room deathly ill. This had happened with the lad before, but his family had not lived at the Smials at that time nor had his father been The Took and Thain. The Tooks of the Shire had just finished having a head of their huge clan who left no heirs, they really did not want to go through that again. That and the lad was a rather fun, popular sort.

Sunlight seeped into the bedroom, the candles were extinguished. Eglantine Took sat beside the bed that held her only son. Her little boy, though really not so little anymore. Behind her Paladin paced. He couldn't sit still. He couldn't look at his son's sickly pale face. Paladin's heart tightened in his chest. He couldn't stay in the room very long. He hadn't been able to stay there all through the long night. Paladin went to where Lanti kept her vigil and gently touched her shoulder. Their worried eyes met, she understood her husband's sorrow. Lanti knew he had never been able to abide sick rooms. She reached up to give his hand a squeeze then Paladin sadly left his wife to watch over their son.

Eglantine Took was a healer. She had inherited the gift, then learned the skills from her mother as she was now passing them onto her daughter Pearl, who also had the gift. Lanti had listened to Pippin's desperate efforts to breathe. With her ear to his chest she had heard how little air rewarded his efforts. She hesitated to use a cold bath to lower his temperature, not with his lungs so congested. So the night had been a long weary time of soaking towels in cold water, wringing them out, then laying them on Pippin's limbs and forehead, but not on his chest. She and Pearl had kept on even when their hands lost their feeling from the cold water. Her other daughters, Pimpernel and Pervinca, had kept up with bringing the buckets of cold water even though their arms and backs ached. Finally his fever had broken. For now, at least, Pippin only felt a bit warm, not blazing hot. The oil cloth they had put beneath him had been removed. Fresh sheets had been put on the bed and a sheet now covered him.

Lanti had kept her composure all through the long night but now that she was alone with her sick child her weariness claimed her. She began to weep. She gently laid her palm to his cheek. It was something she had done ever since he was little, whenever she had checked on him as he slept or just before waking him. Usually, he would lean his face into her hand, even if only slightly, returning her touch. This time there was no answering pressure. A soft sob escaped her lips. Her son had slipped far away from her, her touch wasn't reaching him. Her fingers moved to touch the scarf that showed above the sheet at the side of his neck. During the night Paladin had pried it loose from Pippin's hand. Asking his wife to raise the boy's head he had passed it beneath Pippin's neck then draped an end over each shoulder. She had started to protest. Their son's fever was horribly high yet here was his father putting a wool scarf around his neck.

"He would want his scarf." Paladin had said, emotion deepening his voice, tears showing in his eyes. "Pippin always wears his scarf."

His wife's protest had died in her mouth. Paladin had left the room and the scarf had remained, cradling their son's neck with the ends of it crossed on his chest.

Pearl leaned wearily against the door to Pippin's room. She knew her mother needed time alone with her brother as she was needing time to herself. Pearl took the crumpled papers that had been on the floor of Pippin's room from one of her apron pockets. From the other she took the letter a servant had given to her when she had been out of the sick room taking a short break from soaking and wringing out towels. She had time now to read them. She felt a twinge of guilt. They were her brother's papers and the letter was addressed to him. But she hoped they might help her understand what had caused Pippin to be so terribly upset. He said he had hit Merry, an unthinkable thing. The address on the letter was in Merry's writing. Perhaps it would explain what had happened and she felt that someone needed to know what was wrong. Pearl pushed the guilty feelings aside as she took the papers and letter to the apartment she and her husband Ordegar had in the large family dwelling that is Great Smials.