Chapter 9, Gift of Life

April 8

Pippin sat leaning upon the table, head held up by an arm, legs swinging underneath his chair. He impassively watched Merry doodling objects in his tablet; his cousin dealing with his own nervousness of what was about to happen. Two plates held half-eaten scones, eggs, and salted pork sat off to the side of the table. Pippin felt as if a multitude of butterflies were fluttering their wings inside his belly, so he ate little. Merry barely touched any of his breakfast. At length, the entry flap opened up.

“Are you ready?” Gandalf asked the lads.

Pippin stood to his feet at once, feeling a slight twinge from his ribs from the weight of his chain-mail. “Yes!” he said unhesitatingly. Merry, too, rose from his seat along with his dear friend.

“Then let us make our way over to Frodo and Sam,” the wizard replied, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Aragorn is waiting for you two before he calls them back.”

Gandalf ushered the cousins outside and toward a familiar copse of trees further out from the tent where Frodo and Sam lay sleeping. “Not in there,” he said to the young hobbits when they marched in the direction of tent. Without a word, the pair fell into step behind the tall wizard. “Aragorn had them both taken out to the fresh air this morning for their awakening,” Gandalf said to the lads.

This was not the first time Frodo and Sam had been sent out to breathe in fresh air; in fact, Pippin, and many of the injured soldiers, had been taken outside on occasion while healing, so this was not unusual. Aragorn was the type of healer who made use of all of nature’s healing properties; including the pure, untainted air of Ithilien.

“Once you are sitting their bedside, you must not make a sound,” Gandalf instructed as they walked. “Aragorn will call their names and then we shall wait for Frodo and Sam to wake. Do not make a move toward them no matter what; allow them to adjust to their surroundings first--let them make the first move.”

As they walked, dressed in their full livery for the festivities later on, Pippin took up the rear behind Merry, paying little attention to the wizard’s instruction, though he could hear the words spoken. Dew drops sparkled in the pale early morn, soaking the hair on his foot as he paced through the bracken. Pippin wished that they were already at Frodo’s bedside and watching him wake. His chief concern being that either hobbit--especially Frodo--was hale and whole again.

Merry, at least, half-listened to Gandalf’s “dos and don’ts” while they walked, however, like Pippin, his mind was elsewhere. It was a little further down the path already beside the bed of his beloved cousin. For the last twenty feet of their march, after the wizard finished his solemn charge, the only sound heard were metal ringlets tinkling with or against small, moving limbs.

When they entered the shelter of a group of trees, they found the Ringbearer and his faithful servant lying beside one another in a large, man-sized bed. Pippin and Merry stood at the foot of the bed in front of Gandalf while Aragorn sat in a bedside chair next to Frodo. In a firm, but gentle voice, the healer called the name of the Ringbearer. “I call you back, Frodo Baggins! Return to me.”

Blue and green eyes darted between their cousin and the King, half fearing something magically to happen, yet they said nothing as they had been instructed. Aragorn repeated the same command for Sam, calling him by name. Neither slumbering hobbit stirred immediately; however, instead of fully waking, Sam began to snore ever so deeply. Merry and Pippin looked at each other, each with a wry grin on his face. Sam, at any rate, seemed to have somewhat come out of his unnatural slumber without the help of magic, although he now slept just as he would as if he were in his own bed at No. 3 Bagshot Row back in the Shire.

Frodo, after a few seconds, did stir a bit, taking in a few soft breaths before his eyelids fluttered open. The dark circles underneath his eyes were nearly gone, yet contrasted the clear blue eyes that stared up into the boughs high above his bed. Without a word or a sigh, Frodo let his eyes travel around the frame of his view, and then sensing the presence of others, his gaze met the faces of...Aragorn--this face he was all too familiar--and a few strangers. But no! Thos two could never be strangers to him, yet they were unquestionably different. Frodo could almost swear his cousins were larger--if that be possible at their ages. In spite of the inexplicable growth of his cousins, Frodo kept coming back to the tall being with the white beard. It couldn’t be!

“Gandalf,” Frodo spoke in a weak voice. “What?...You...you...”

“I am here now, my lad,” Gandalf tenderly assured the waking hobbit.

Sharing the bedside chair that Aragorn had occupied just moments before, Pippin and Merry glanced at one another, disappointed that Frodo had not recognised them. Perhaps they had grown beyond his recognition. Pippin was clearly crestfallen.

Frodo’s eyes met with Aragorn’s and they both shared a smile at one another. Without warning, Frodo turned his head to thoroughly examine his cousins. “Pippin...look at you! Your mother will box my ears when she sees you.”

Pippin’s eyes filled with tears as he answered, “No, she wouldn’t! She’d hug you and kiss you and thank you for saving the Shire. She’d fill you up with her famous mushroom and potato stew and then apple pie for afters.”

Quickly, and in hushed tones, Merry and Pippin filled their cousin in on what happened after the breaking of the Fellowship, every now and then interrupted by Gandalf or Aragorn. However, they all stealthily kept out the more gruesome details for later when Frodo would be stronger.

“Well, there are definitely some things that you all are keeping hidden from me, I can tell,” said Frodo, “After all, I can plainly see that you two have been well rewarded for your valour.”

“Anything and everything that we did, dear cousin,” said Merry, “was out of love for you, our dear and beloved friend.”

Frodo lifted his hand to Merry’s cheek, tenderly wiping away his cousin’s tears. It was then that the elder hobbit took in the sight of his bandaged hand and missing finger. He held it aloft, turning it this way and that. Merry took Frodo’s injured hand in his, drawing it up to his lips then kissed it.

Moved by Merry’s gesture, Pippin kissed Frodo’s forehead and then also his hand. “Aye, we were so worried about you.”

Noting the bewildered and mournful expression on Frodo’s face, Aragorn decided that his patient had enough of visitation. “The time is near for your duties to begin, my good Sirs. Frodo needs a bit more rest ere he prepares for his own bountiful feast.”

Pippin and Merry bade their farewells to their cherished cousin, taking their leave of the King.

As he and Merry left the seclusion of the trees, Pippin glanced over his shoulder for one last look. He could see Frodo lying back against his pillows, one arm behind his head, his injured hand resting upon his chest. Gandalf would keep vigil until later. Pippin smiled; they had all made it, as far as the hobbits went. And soon they would be back home in the Shire, comfortable in front of the heart, sipping tea, and telling stories of their adventures.

The End

A/N: This chapter took me a while to write, as it wasn’t part of my original tale. Dreamflower mentioned Frodo’s waking in one of her reviews, and I thought it was a nice idea.

Note 2: I forgot to mention one thing--I will pull the story on ff.net later tonight for anyone still wanting to torture themselves.  Later this week I will replace it with this edtition.