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Go to Sleep  by Pipfan

Go to sleep my Little Friend
And rest your weary head.
Daylight has faded,
All our words are said.
Go to sleep my Little Friend,
And rest your weary head.
Time to sleep and dream once more,
When day and night are wed.

Peregrin Took sat easily in his saddle, the chill morning air caressing his face with a gentle breeze that he knew would alleviate the warmth of the noontide sun, but at that moment caused him to pull his cloak tighter.

The scenery around him was green and lush, summer seeming to come later to this land than in Minas Tirith. Though only a few days ride from the White City, the air was already decidedly cooler, and the grass was not withered by the heat of the warm, summer days.

Riding beside him, talking quietly with his new bride, Aragorn looked over at a soft sigh from his young knight, brow furrowing slightly at the wistful, almost lost look on Pippin’s face, wondering what sad thoughts had brought that look to such a normally cheerful countenance.

Pippin did not notice, his gaze focused outward on the passing beauty that surrounded him even as his thoughts turned inward.

Boromir, my friend, I wish that you were here with us now, at the finish of our journeys together as a Fellowship. Would that I had been able to stand by your side once more.

Seldom had the young hobbit allowed his thoughts to stray to his lost companion, the heat of battle and the constant worry for his kin, followed by his own injuries and recovery, had necessitated he put them aside. Now, however, surrounded by the vast beauty of a land that was slowly shaking off the shadow that had overlain it too long, he felt free for the first time to remember, and ponder what might have been.

Had Boromir seen this on his journey to Rivendell? Pippin wondered, then realized that the Gondorian had left on his journey roughly about this same time last year, and he was gazing on the same scenery that Boromir would have enjoyed.

Would he be happy now? Saddened for his father? Joyful for his brother? How would things have fared differently if he had been able to return home, if I had been able to look upon the White City with his eyes to guide mine and show to me things not even Beregond could guess at? If I had been able to fight beside him once more?

A peace seemed to settle itself about him, as though comforting arms were wrapping about his shoulders and easing his mind. Wherever he was, Pippin knew suddenly with a certainty he would not deny, Boromir was at peace.

He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the rich smells of new grass and fresh air, inhaling deeply. The cool air settled heavily in his lungs, and he found himself coughing before he could stop himself, earning startled glances from his friends and kin.

“Are you all right, Pippin?” Arwen asked softly, gentle eyes filling with worry.

“I just - ate a bug!” Pippin managed to choke out, still trying to regain his breath as he buried his face into a leather gloved hand.

He was rewarded for his lie by his Queen’s sweet laughter, quickly joined by that of the rest of his companions.

“How did it taste, Pip?” Merry asked from behind him, where he had been in conversation with Frodo. Though he had begun the journey by Théoden’s side, Éomer had requested the honor of riding on the wain on occasion, and the two of them had worked out an arrangement, so that they both might honor their fallen King.

“Much like your cooking,” Pippin grumbled, still coughing into his hand.

More laughter followed, and quickly the incident was forgotten by the others, though the tweenager was left with a decidedly uneasy feeling. Too often had such fits struck him as a youth, followed soon after by bouts of sickness he shuddered to remember.

He glanced behind him, briefly, the green of Merry’s tunic standing out beside Frodo’s fine velvet black, and considered.

No, he thought to himself, turning back to his vigilant watching of the landscape. I will not place this on his shoulders again, not now, not after so much has happened. After all, it might have been just a tickle, nothing more.

Deep down, however, Peregrin Took, Knight of the Citadel, felt suddenly afraid.



That night they camped on the banks of a swift, bubbling stream, its laughing burble a soothing lullaby to those who slumbered. Pippin, standing his turn at watch, pacing back and forth across the width of his guard-area, blew into his hands, stamping his feet to try and return some semblance of warmth to them. His breath misted as he walked, puffing up in little clouds about his face and sticking to his eyelashes. As near to the snow-topped mountains to the south as they were, the weather was still uncommonly cold. A chill seemed to linger over this land too long covered in shadow. It boggled the hobbit’s mind that by mid-morning, he would be sweating under his armor.

Just a bit longer, he thought to himself miserably, sniffling in the cold air. Please let it be just a bit longer!

A soft tread alerted the hobbit a moment before a shadow detached itself from the surrounding darkness. Pippin’s hand moved to his sword even as a deep voice asked softly, “Master Holbytla?” Pippin smiled, his hand easing away from his weapon. “I am your relief.”

It was big man, a Rohirrim, who held his considerably muscled bulk easily as he moved, flashing a grin down at the small knight.

“All is well, save for the unseasonable cold,” Pippin reported, his teeth starting to chatter once more. “Keep your eyes to the brush, however. It is especially thick over to the right, and the path is not always easy to see there in this dark.”

“I will remember that, Master Holbytla. Have a good rest,” the man bid as Pippin turned to head back to the pavilion the four hobbits were sharing, shivering violently now and looking forward to nothing more than lying down under a thick blanket and drifting off to sleep.

He yawned, a deep inhalation of the cold air that had him coughing violently once more. He paused in his walk to the pavilion, though he could see it but a few yards away, until he could breathe once more without gasping for breath. Only then did he start out again, sniffling into the handkerchief he pulled from his pocket as he finally reached his goal.

The inside of the pavilion was much warmer than the outside, thanks to the small braziers hung from the roof. Shivering more than he had realized, Pippin quickly stripped himself of all his outer garments, the long journey behind them having taught him that it was actually colder to remain fully clothed than to sleep in his undergarments. Of course, that had not usually been an option for the travellers, but when it had been, he had taken the lesson to heart.

Though the pavilion was quite large, with more than enough room for the four of them to spread out, they had found that all slept more easily while travelling when they reverted to their habit of sleeping close. Merry, in spite of Pippin’s injuries, had often shared a bed in Minas Tirith with his cousin, the closeness seeming to banish some of their nightmares and Pippin’s pain. Sam and Frodo, however, had not, mostly, Pippin thought, because Sam thought it improper.

Now, however, his three friends were snuggled closely on the large bed that had been provided for them, three lumps on the great mattress.

He crawled under the blankets that covered Sam, Frodo, and Merry, snuggling up to his cousin as much for warmth as for the comfort his familiar presence offered. With a squeal, Merry sat bolt upright, bringing Frodo and Sam with him, staring about them with wide, panicked eyes.

“Peregrin Took, your feet are freezing!” Merry hissed loudly, glaring at his cousin.

“S -Sorry,” Pippin giggled, trying to stop his shivering. “It’s rather cold outside!”

“Then get warmed up and get some sleep,” Frodo whispered sleepily, once more lying down, Sam following a heartbeat later, still looking about himself as though expecting an attack.

“Sorry, Sam,” Merry whispered, earning a quick smile in reply as the other pulled the blankets firmly up over both his and Frodo’s shoulders.

“Here, Pip,” Merry coaxed softly, lying back down and dragging his cousin with him,
tucking the blankets more firmly around them. “Put your feet on my legs, they’ll warm faster.”

“But they’re freezing!” Pippin protested, still shivering.

“I know. That’s why I want you to warm them on my leg. You’ll never get to sleep so long as you’re shivering like a leaf in the wind. Now close your eyes and try to get some rest,” Merry ordered.

Pippin obeyed, smiling sleepily as he did as he was instructed, and aside from his cousin’s initial startled jerk, Merry showed no other signs of discomfort, and in fact wrapped his arms around Pippin’s waist, pulling him closer until they were as one body.

The tweenager sighed happily as warmth and love surrounded him, and the chill of the night finally began to fade.






        

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