Written for Marigold's Challenge #7

Beta: Pearl Took

Summary: Minas Tirith receives a bit of healing through the restoration process; Pippin receives a bit of healing through helping in that endeavour. Merry…well, that is in the story!

My starter time period is Post-Quest (anytime after the Ring goes in the fire) and the starting sentence is: “____? Which way shall we go?”

Disclaimer: I am sorry to say that these sweet, lovable hobbits are not mine, but belong to JRR Tolkien.

Love and Healing

Part One

“Pippin? Which way shall we go?” Merry lightly nudged his cousin who was staring at the rubble that lay at their feet. Fragments of earthenware and broken white stone were strewn all about the flagstone pavement. Probably pieces from the buildings nearby that now lay in a heap of rubble. A spray of dried blood splattered one of the fragments of stone. Merry and his young cousin stood at the T-crossing of a street trying to decide if they should go left or right.

Without taking his eyes off the wreckage, Pippin softly replied as if in a dream state, “Left.”

Merry put his arm around the shoulder of his dearest friend, gently pulling him away from the terrible sight, veering left as they walked. “Come on, Pip.”

Pippin spotted a bit of shade along the street then trudged over towards it. “I need to sit for a moment,” he said. Both hobbits sat under the eaves of a shop that was closed due to renovations. Many of the shops along this particular street were being rebuilt in the aftermath of the War.

Pippin sat with his legs drawn up supporting his arms. He laid his head upon his arms for a minute, once again reliving the last days in Minas Tirith in his mind--before the Ring was destroyed in Mount Doom. The city had been literally burning away as flying debris of rock and stone filled the air. Pippin clearly remembered the sound of the screaming women and children that had remained behind. Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he asked himself, when would this stop? When would he be able to live in peace and not hear the moans and cries of the dying?

Merry watched his cousin closely. Just last week the young tween had taken off the last bandage from his run-in with a mountain troll. The only hurts the king could not heal in his youngest soldier were the emotional wounds that began scarring upon their return to Minas Tirith. In the days following the fanfare of the soldiers’ returned to the city, the people of Minas Tirith began rebuilding their city anew. Many soldiers volunteered to assist in the effort.

Pippin was no less eager to do his part in the restoration of his adopted city. When he received his assignment--to help rebuild the stone ledge to a house that belonged to an old widow, he immediately asked Merry for his expertise. Over time, the Brandybucks had built stone retaining walls along portions of the Brandywine River. Their purpose was to keep the river at bay from the houses and smials built near the banks when the waters rose up during the rains of spring.

Merry let his dear friend rest in the shade with his head down for a while. Many people on errand walked past the pair sitting in comfortable silence. No one seemed to recognize the small soldiers; neither was dressed in their livery--not wanting to spoil their official garments over messy labour. After a few minutes, Merry ventured to break the hush. “We ought to get moving, Pip. Is it much further?”

Pippin lifted his head to look down the street. He sighed, looking at the numbers and names on the doors. “No. Not much, I think.” He slipped his hand into his shirt pocket, pulling out a piece of paper to read once again. “It should be just beyond those broken columns.” Pippin pointed down the street towards a house with a damaged porch. The supporting pillars lay in a heap at the edge of the portal in ruin.

Taking his cousin’s offered hand, Pippin stood up to his full four feet of height. He was not easily given to melancholy moods, but after revisiting the carnage and destruction of the city prior to fully digesting the reality of it all; a dark cloud had briefly come over Pippin’s cheerful countenance. He was eager to help rebuild the city; he shook off the gloom then moved on.

The young hobbits walked the lane until they met up with a house displaying the number 16. “This is it,” said Pippin, stepping around the displaced stones that were scattered about the porch area. He knocked on the door then looked back, smiling at his waiting cousin as they heard someone approaching on the other side. Suddenly, the door swung open.

“Hello, boys,” said the grey haired woman. She wore a simple blue frock with her hair pinned up in the back. She stood tall in the doorway with a broom in hand. Normally she was quick to return a guest’s smile, but not today. Today, she and her visiting granddaughter were busy completing the final tasks inside the house. It had taken several days to remove the chalky rubble inside then clean the entire house from top to bottom. “I am sorry, but Liddia cannot come outside to play. She is working with me indoors.”

Pippin looked again to Merry who now wore a slight grin at the misunderstanding. Pippin turned again to the woman, “Um…Ma’am,” he hesitated, “we’re not here to…play with your granddaughter. I have been dispatched by my superiors in the Citadel to assist--” He stopped when the woman leaned in close for a better look. “Ma’am?”

The chipper voice belonging to that of a young girl, brushed her way past the elder woman while holding a rather bulky box in her arms. “Excuse me, please!” Her brown, shoulder-length hair bobbed behind the grey scarf that protected it from dust and dirt while cleaning. “I’m taking these things to the refuse pile, grandmother.” She smiled at the visitors as she walked by, nearly dropping her burden, “Hello!”

“Hullo, Miss,” the hobbits replied together in greeting.

Pippin turned back to the woman in the doorway to explain his and Merry’s purpose while letting his cousin assist the girl. “Ma’am,” he began again, “We’re not children. We’ve come with the blessing of the king--to help those in need of assistance. My name is Peregrin Took,” he said with a slight bow. “At your service, Ma’am.”

“You look like one of the errand boys employed at the Houses of Healing. How old are you?”

“I assure you I am not,” answered Pippin. Perhaps he and Merry should have at least worn their elvish cloaks, though the weather was too warm to wear them now. “I recently turned twenty nine, Ma’am.”

“Is that so?” laughed the old woman. “I just turned twenty nine as well!” She sized up the “child” at her door; she certainly did need a bit of help--boy or not. “Come inside, lad. There’s plenty for you to do. So much damage while we were sent away to take refuge in the mountains.”

“But your ledge--I was sent to repair it,” offered Pippin. “I brought my cousin with me; he has experience with building them.” He moved towards a couple sacks of sand, limestone, and a wheelbarrow sitting off to the side. “Two supply soldiers brought these yesterday, did they not?”

Puzzled, the grey haired matron nodded, then took notice of the little visitor’s unshod furry feet. Her hand went to her face in astonishment, “Ernil i Periannath!”

Pippin blushed, chuckling nervously, “Well…not really.”

The woman asked, “Are you not the halfling Mithrandir brought with him from the lands of the north? Did you not bring a small army of halflings with you?”

“I did arrive with Gand--, I mean Mithrandir, but unless you count my two kinsmen and a dear friend as an army, I didn’t bring anyone else. We are only four wandering hobbits for the present, I’m afraid.” Then Pippin added at her inquiring expression, “Hobbits are what we call ourselves in our little country.”

“Well, master perian,” said the old woman, “You may come inside and tell me about your fair little country until your kinsman returns. The burn pile is a fair walk from here.”