The room was silent, dark, illuminated only by a small, guttering candle placed near the bed.  Shadows danced across the walls, an illusion of socialization where there was none.  Only one shadow never changed, sitting silently in the farthest corner, hidden from all but the most persistent of seekers. 

            Peregrin Took, Knight of Gondor, friend to the King and kin to the Ringbearer, sat very still upon the chair too large for his small frame, feet dangling a good foot above the floor.  In his cold and lifeless hands he held a lute, seemingly carved to fit him precisely. 

            It was made of a polished wood that seemed almost alive, and the fittings were of pearl and mithril. The neck was gracefully curved, the metal strings tuning at the merest touch over the plump body.  When plucked, they emitted a sound more pure and heartbreaking than any he had ever heard before.

            And yet…

            He scowled down at his right hand, awkwardly resting on those strings.  The fingers were still swollen and numb, bruising discoloring the joints and beyond to his wrist, and when he moved to form a chord his hand took several seconds to respond. 

            After several failed attempts he bowed his head in defeat, and let his tears christen the never-before-played instrument. 

            As things stood, it would remain so.

                                                            ***

            The Hall of Fire was peaceful, calming to nerves that had been scraped raw and were still healing.  Pippin, Frodo, Sam and Merry, along with Strider, sat contentedly in a small circle around Bilbo, listening as he wove about them a tale of love, loss and romance.

            “And then, the light that shone through the window disappeared, as though a great gust had caught the flame and taken its life.  But there was no wind, nor whisper of breeze,” Bilbo said in a voice barely loud enough to be heard.  His audience leaned forward, unaware of the small group of elves that were making their way over to the ancient hobbit.

            “So Lenhelm began the long climb to the top of the tower, his heart racing, throat dry, knowing that whatever awaited him was – Oh, hello there, what might we do for you?”  

            There was a collective groan from the hobbits as the spell was broken, and all looked up at the group of elves that stood above them, grinning down at their reactions.

            “We have heard that the young hobbit Peregrin knows much of playing stringed instruments, and we have come to ask if he will grace us with a performance,” one of the elves said softly, her dark hair reaching past the small of her back in a loose braid, her eyes smiling as she gazed gently down at the suddenly blushing tweenager.

            “Oh, ah, no, really – I couldn’t,” Pippin stammered, turning scarlet under the combined stares of the elves and Strider and his kin.

            “Go, on, Pip!” Merry encouraged, nudging him with a foot.  “Play something!”

            “Yes, yes, Peregrin, I am very much looking forward to hearing my youngest cousin’s talent!” Bilbo prompted, making a shooing motion with his hands.  “I have heard so much about it!  Why, I remember when you were but a wee lad and could charm the birds from the trees with those fingers…or so it seemed!  Now off, and let me hear what Frodo and Merry have been boasting about!”

            “Please, Pippin?” Frodo begged, unashamedly making his eyes large and pouting his lip just a bit.  Sam had to turn his head to hide his snicker.

            “Yes, Pippin, please?” Strider prompted, smiling.

“Oh, all right!” Pip sighed, still a dark crimson as he stood. 

He followed the three elf maidens to the center of the room, where he froze for a moment, realizing they had meant for him to perform for the entire hall.

“Umm –“ he said, suddenly very shy under their tender gazes. 

“Please, Master Peregrin?” the one who had spoken before asked, bending down so her eyes were level with his.  She blinked them lazily at him, and he found himself suddenly unable to remember why he was making such a fuss.

“A-all right,” he mumbled, taking the lute she handed him a bit dazedly before moving awkwardly to the center of the hall, where a stool had been placed for him.

He tuned the lute quickly, expertly, marveling at the craftsmanship and design of the instrument.  It was a bit overlarge for him, but he thought that he would have no trouble compensating. Suddenly, he realized that all eyes were staring at him, and felt himself blush again.  Quickly, before he could lose his courage, and cursing his cousins under his breath, he started a lullaby that was deceptively simple sounding, yet took years of practice to master.  It was also one of his favorites.

The soft notes echoed off the walls, and he closed his eyes as the music seemed to acquire a life of its own, his fingers finding their way without conscious thought.

Slowly, all noise in the Hall faded, until only those soft notes could be heard.  When Pippin opened his mouth and softly sang the first words to the lullaby, it was as though the whole of the world was holding its breath in anticipation.

            “Hush, hush, little one,

            Close your weary eyes,

            Daylight has faded,

            The owl now cries.

            Hush, hush, little one,

            Lay down your weary head,

            Snuggle deep in blankets,

            Tis time for all to bed.

            Hush, hush, little one,

             Dream away the night.

            Know that mother’s near,

            No reason now for fright.

            Hush, hush, little one,

            The stars are all alight

            So off to sleep, little one,

Dearest one shining bright.”

The room was perfectly still as the last notes faded off into silence, and Pippin, lost in the music, slowly blinked himself back into awareness.  He took a shuddering breath, feeling himself begin to blush again, and made to detune the lute.

“Please, may we hear another?’

He looked up, startled, and saw with astonishment that most of the elves were nodding their heads in agreement, enthusiasm on their faces.

“Yes, Pip, play another!” Merry called, though Pippin could not see him in the crowd.

“All right,” Pippin mumbled, settling back down again.  He thought for a moment, trying to decide on the tune.

“Play The Maid and The Miller!” Frodo encouraged, and Pippin felt himself blush once more.

“Frodo – “ he began, and then gave it up as a lost cause when both Sam and Merry agreed enthusiastically.

Without another word he started the intricate tune, closing his eyes again and allowing the sweet music to flow from his fingers.  Once more his voice rang clear and true, and the song poured forth from him more perfect than ever he had played and sang.  And when the last notes faded, it took very little prompting to move him on to the next song.

                                                ***

“Pippin?  What are you doing in here, all dark and dreary?”

The guttering candle moved, shadows once more dancing their macabre steps, and soon several other candles had been lit. 

“There, now I can see you.”

A hand on his shoulder startled Pippin, and he looked up with lost, frightened eyes.

“What’s wrong, dearest?” Merry asked, frowning.  “What’s happened?”

“I can’t – I can’t play, Merry!”  His voice was heartbroken, lost and scared, and tears continued to fall from those dazed eyes.  “I tried, but my hand -!”

Gently Merry removed the lute from Pippin’s limp grasp, setting it aside on the bed carefully before turning back and gathering his cousin up in his arms.  Little sobs continued to shake the form pressed to his breast, and he murmured soothing sounds and words. 

“What shall I do, Merry?” Pippin asked between broken breaths, looking up long enough to cast a pleading gaze to this one whom had always made things right for him. 

“Calm down, Pippin,” Merry whispered, gently wiping away tears from cheeks gone pale.  “We shall talk to Aragorn, and see if he can recommend anything that will help you regain the use of your hand, all right?  After all, it may be as simple as doing those exercises that I have to do!”

Pippin nodded, sniffling, and mutely accepted the handkerchief Merry produced.

            “Now, you have missed both elevenses and luncheon and your tea, and everyone is becoming most worried about you.  I suggest you clean up and come with me, and we shall find out a solution to this problem, all right?”

            Pippin nodded once more, sliding off the too-large chair gingerly, still favoring his bad leg, and did as he was instructed, washing his face from the basin of cold water by the bed and brushing his hair quickly.

            Merry nodded at his appearance and they made their way to Aragorn’s room, where they found the king enjoying a quiet smoke with the rest of the fellowship, save Legolas, who was watching indulgently. 

            “Ahhh, and here is our lost member,” Gimli greeted them as they entered.

            “We were wondering what had come of you.  Are you all right, Dearest?” Frodo asked worriedly, years of caring for his young cousin alerting him to the signs of crying a quick wash could not dispel.

            “What’s wrong, lad?” Gandalf asked, sitting up straighter and leaning forward in his chair.  His pipe was held forgotten in his hand as he looked to the smallest hobbit with a frown creasing his aged face.

            Suddenly reluctant to bring up his plight, Pippin mumbled something that not even he could understand.  Merry promptly stomped on his foot.

            “Ouch!” he yelped, looking up in shock.

            “You Ninnyhammer,” Merry sighed fondly, earning a surprised chuckle from Sam.  “Just tell them!”

            “Tell us what?” Legolas prompted gently.

            “I –“ To his horror, Pippin felt the tears well up once more and start to trickle down his cheeks. 

            Before he could blink them away he felt three separate sets of arms around him, and realized after a moment of sniffling and trying to control himself that the arms belonged to Merry, Frodo and Sam.

            “Hush, now, Pip-lad,” Sam soothed, rubbing a calming circle on his back.  “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together!”

            “Aye, Dearest,” Frodo agreed, kissing his cousin’s shoulder gently.  “Now calm down, and have something to eat, and tell us what has you troubled.”

            He was steered to a chair, and handed a plate of sliced apples while Merry prepared him a more substantial dinner.  He wiped his eyes self-consciously, feeling himself blush.

            “I – I can no longer play,” he whispered, looking at the apple slices but not touching them.

            “Play?” Gimli asked. 

            Frodo looked horrorstruck, his eyes suddenly haunted.  Sam looked stricken.  Gandalf closed his eyes for a moment, hiding the sharp pain that came into them.

            “The lute, nor most likely anything else,” Pippin clarified, sniffing again. 

            There was silence for a moment, then a shadow fell over him and he looked up, to see Aragorn.  The king knelt beside him, gently taking his battered hand in his own large, gentle one. 

             He instructed him gently to move his fingers in certain patterns, smiling at the fierce concentration on Pippin’s face as he did so, forcing fingers that had been broken and cut to do his bidding.  After what seemed a very long time Aragorn nodded, smiling in relief.

            “I believe, young Knight, that you shall play again,” he said softly.

            Pippin looked up, sudden hope adding color to his pale cheeks.  Distantly, above the pounding in his ears, he heard Frodo and Merry whoop, and Sam’s thankful cheer. 

            “Now, it will not be easy,” Aragorn cautioned, holding up a warning finger.  “You will have to be diligent in your exercises, and practice as much as you can.  Also, it will most likely be very painful, but if you truly wish this, and I know you do, then you shall play again.”

            “Thank you, Strider!” Pippin exclaimed, throwing his arms around his friend with a quickness that caught the former Ranger off guard.  He laughed, hugging the tweenager happily. 

            “You are very welcome, my brave Knight,” he whispered into soft, golden curls.  “Now, I want you to eat your dinner, and after I shall show you the exercises.”

            Pippin obeyed, smiling brilliantly as he finished off every bite of the hearty stew Merry presented him.

                                                            ***

It was a fortnight after his first devastating attempt to play when Pippin walked hesitantly into Aragorn’s rooms, where the fellowship was once more gathered as they enjoyed a quite supper and smoke after a long day.  All fell silent when he entered, lute in hand.

            “Pippin?” Frodo asked gently, hope lighting his eyes.

            “I thought that you all might enjoy a song,” he said shyly, ducking his head as he felt his cheeks flush.  “I’m not – well, I can’t play as well as I once did, not yet, but – “

            He was cut off as Merry’s strong arms surrounded him in a fierce embrace.

            “I think some music would be very nice,” Gandalf said softly, grinning.  “Come, lad, sit by me and play us a tune.”

            Merry walked with him over to the chair next to the wizard, arm draped about his shoulder still, relinquishing his hold only when Pippin sat down and began to prepare the lute.  

            Her paused for a moment, placing his fingers carefully, closing his eyes as he envisioned the song.  Then, slowly at first and a bit hesitantly, then with more confidence, he began to play.  And as he started to sing, the world once more seemed to hold its breath.

“Hush, hush, little one…”