Gone

The great scheme might not have worked if everyone hadn’t been so busy with preparations for the wedding. New clothes had been made for Sam and Frodo. Merry and Pippin’s livery had been sent off to be cleaned and every bit of metalwork polished. Beregond and Bergil were returning from Ithilien where they had gone to begin readying the area for when Lord Faramir would set up his home there as the land’s prince. They would be staying at the house of the Companions of the Ring, so there was extra baking and cleaning of guest rooms to be seen to.

Merry measured the medicinals into the mortar, ground them to as fine a powder as he could, then measured that into the elixir. All the while he was busy thinking about tending to his king; the yet to be crowned King Eomer of Rohan. Merry was to be part of Eomer’s escort at the wedding and would be attending him at the wedding feast afterwards.

Pippin did well hiding the fact that the fake medicine didn’t taste nearly as nice as the real medicine had. If he had made the face he wanted to, it might have tipped Merry off.

He didn’t quite know what he had been expecting, but he hadn’t expected what happened, which was not much at all. All that day, Pippin felt nearly as sick, headachy, dizzy and grouchy as he had been for most of the preceding week, but he worked hard at keeping a civil tongue in his mouth. Though he felt a somewhat better in the evening, Pippin chose to remain at the house instead of going with the others to greet Elrond, Arwen, Galadriel and Celeborn when their entourage arrived at the gate to the White City. He went to bed wondering if it had all been a wasted effort.

The next morning, Pippin Took slowly opened his eyes. There was no evidence of his having a fit during the night. He gave a small laugh of triumph. Parsow had told him, sternly told him, that he would risk bringing on worse spells or terribly dangerous fits if he did not take his medicine.

“Good one, Parsow old lad!” Pippin said aloud. “Just as I thought, a trick to keep me taking that poison.”

He looked around his room. The morning sunlight didn’t seem overly bright as it had before. There was no pounding in his head nor roiling in his guts. He nearly jumped out of bed. Pippin was feeling better than he had in a long time. Whistling a sprightly tune, he got up, took care of his needs, got dressed and headed for the kitchen, from whence good smells were issuing.

Merry looked up from his bowl of porridge in surprise as a whistling, smiling Pippin came into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Pippin,” he said cautiously.

“Good morning, Meriadoc! Dearest cousin and Knight of Rohan. Isn’t it a grand day for Strider’s wedding?”

“Yes, it is. Pippin?”

“Yes, Merry?” Pippin was at the stove helping himself to a heaping bowl of the porridge.

“Are you . . . all right?”

“Yes!” Pippin enthused. “I think good old Strider and Parsow had it right all along. I seem to have got used to this medicine. I started to notice last night that I was feeling better, but didn’t say anything just in case I was wrong.”

He sat down and drizzled honey all over his porridge, poured on some cream, then took a huge spoonful. His left hand handled the tasks, strong and steady. Closing his eyes as he chewed, Pippin’s face became a study of perfect bliss.

“It feels so good to not feel queazy,” he sighed happily. “Merry, would you help me into my livery after we’re done with first breakfast? I want to go up to the Citadel and see if Strider and Parsow will let me be in his majesty’s escort. Maybe, if I am still feeling this well, I can attend him tonight as well, as you are for Eomer.”

Merry looked questioningly, over Pippin’s head, at Sam who had come to the table with Pippin’s morning dose of medicine in one hand and a large platter of sausages in the other. Sam raised his eyebrows and shrugged. It really wasn’t making much sense to him either, but then, he was no healer. He would reserve his judgment until they heard what Parsow and Strider had to say about this turn of events. After setting the platter on the table between the cousins, he set the medicine cup in front of Pippin.

“My medicine!” Pippin exclaimed cheerfully. “Thank you Sam.”

He drank it down, once again having to hide his reaction to the bitter taste.

“And to think, I thought this wasn’t going to work,” he said, handing the cup back to Sam with a big smile. He meant it in quite a different way than how the other two were taking it and he knew it.

Sam and Merry shared another look over the tween’s head as Pip dug back into his porridge. Neither of them felt quite right with this sudden change, yet, who were they to complain about a Pippin returned to his old cheerful nature.

Nor were they the only ones. Parsow said he had been instructed that he was solely in charge of Pippin’s care for the next week as the king would be busy being first a bridegroom then a newly wed husband, so there was no need for the hobbits to take Pippin’s case to the King. After a lengthy examination and conversation, Parsow went with Sir Peregrin to ask permission of Prince Faramir to be in the King’s escort and to attend him at the wedding feast. Permission was granted and the two hobbits bubbled with excitement in anticipation of performing such honors for the two men they had come to cherish.

Yet Merry had caught the surprised look in Parsow’s eyes when they first walked into his office at the Houses of Healing, and as with Sam, they shared a questioning look.

The wedding was that afternoon, an understandably grand affair seeing as it had been nearly one thousand years since the realm had had a King instead of a Steward. Not only that, but he was taking as his wife an Elven Princess; at least that was how most of the citizens of Minas Tirith were referring to Arwen Undomiel. The city hadn’t seen such finery nor such guests in many long years.

Lord Frodo, Lord Samwise, Sir Meriadoc and Sir Peregrin were happily in the midst of it all. The Ring-bearers sat in the front row beside Arwen’s family, Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli. The two hobbit knights stood proudly in the escort of their respective kings at the wedding then cheerfully bustled about waiting on them during the wedding feast. Sir Peregrin even sang a Shire love song to entertain his King, his Queen and their guests.

Sir Peregrin Took: as proud as he had been when the honor had been bestowed, nothing yet in his life had matched how he felt that evening.

His eldest cousin along with his manservant - gardener - best friend watched the youngster carefully. Parsow watched the small knight carefully. Many who were present at the festivities were to one degree or another, keeping an eye on the perian knight of the realm. To the surprise of those closest to him, Sir Peregrin did not falter once. He behaved himself, did not drink any ale or wine, nor in anyway make a spectacle of himself. He was alert, attentive, happy, and articulate.

He was the Pippin Took of the Shire they all remembered.

Back at the house, much later that evening, Pippin was tired, but he and Merry sat up and talked for a while in Merry’s bedroom after the elder had helped the younger change into his nightshirt.

“It was elegant,” Merry sighed, smoke drifting from his mouth as he did so. “We really need to make sure our weddings are elegant, Pip.”

“Do you really think I have any choice? With all of those sisters of mine?”

“You make it sound as though they are a small regiment.”

“They are an army of three, Meriadoc, and you know it. No messing about with the Terrible Took Sisters!”

They both laughed at their favorite pet name for Pippin’s older sisters.

“True, true, my dear young cousin. I’m sure I’ll fare no better, after all, they view me as a brother.”

“True,” Pippin sighed, releasing a cloud of smoke just as Merry had earlier.

Merry grew serious. “I . . . I have honor guard duty tomorrow.”

There was a pause. Although Merry treasured the honor of standing beside Theoden’s bier, it was also quite hard on him. The long hours of thinking over and over of the few conversations he had had with the kindly King of the Rohirrim brought both joy and great sorrow to the hobbit. He was a man who had reminded Merry so strongly of his own father that he had been instantly drawn to him. Merry often found it difficult to hold back his tears whilst at his post.

“Would you like to take a walk with me when I get back?” Merry asked, trying to have some cheer in his voice. “I thought we could go to the garden at the Houses of Healing and take along the chess board.”

All of the hobbits liked the gardens. They were quiet, green, beautiful and didn’t overlook the Pelennor Field unless one chose to go to that part of the garden. It almost felt like they were home.

“Yes, Merry! That’s a wonderful idea.” Pippin’s face lit up. “That should work well. I’ve no duty tomorrow; Parsow wants me to rest. So later in the day should be perfect.”

Pippin rose and stretched. Merry did the same. They gave each other a long firm hug.

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then,” said Merry as he patted Pippin’s back.

“Aye, tomorrow afternoon so I can beat you at chess.” Pippin gave Merry a squeeze.

They smiled, wished each other a good night then went to bed.

Merry got into bed then lay there smiling at the connecting door. He could face tomorrow’s duty. He could face the long journey to Edoras along side Theoden’s funeral wain. He could face the burial of the noble, kindly king. Merry could face the darkness at the edge of his mind.

He had Pippin’s sunshine back in his life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pippin really didn’t remember Sam coming in to have him take his medicine early the next morning. He barely woke enough to swallow it without choking on it then fell immediately back into a sound sleep.

He didn’t wake up until nearly noon.

Pippin attended his needs, but didn’t bother to freshen up. He pulled his dressing gown on over his nightshirt, loosely knotted the sash, and walked somewhat unsteadily to the kitchen.

Frodo and Sam were both surprised to see Pippin looking so disheveled. But it was more than that, the lad looked pale as well.

“G’mornin’ Frodo. Sam,” Pip mumbled as he sat heavily in his chair at the table. “What time is it?”

“I’ve luncheon cookin’, mis . . . Pippin,” Sam nearly forgot himself again in his concern for the youngster.

“It is nearly noon, Pippin,” Frodo added.

It was then that they noticed Pippin was staring at nothing. The good fingers on his right hand twitched a bit at the front of his dressing gown. Nearly as quickly as it came, the spell ended.

“What time is it?” he asked again.

“Noon, Pippin.”

“Good, I’ve not missed luncheon then.” Pippin looked over at his eldest cousin. “I don’t feel well, Frodo,” he added in a weak whisper. “Not like before. My head isn’t pounding and I don’t feel sick to my stomach. I-I just . . . just don’t feel right.”

“Maybe you’re just hungry, Pippin,” Sam suggested. He turned to the stove and began dishing up a bowl of soup. “We’ll just get some of this good vegetable soup into ya and I’m sure you’ll be feelin’ just fine.”

“Yes. Hungry.” Pippin muttered absently. Furrows appeared between his eyebrows as he looked around. “Where’s Merry?”

Sam and Frodo exchanged worried glances.

“He has honor guard duty today until afternoon tea,” Frodo answered.

“Um. Duty. Yes.” Pippin tore some bread into his soup. He began to eat, but paused. The others watched as the spoon simply stopped for several seconds, hovering between the bowl and his lips before finishing it’s path as the spoon went into Pippin’s mouth.

Pippin was trying to think, but it wasn’t working well. He really couldn’t remember getting from his room to the kitchen. It almost seemed that he had thought ‘Go to the kitchen.’ and was simply in the kitchen. That and he just felt odd. He ate the soup, but it didn’t seem to taste right. At times, it didn’t have any taste at all.

It was when he suddenly seemed to go from having a half-full bowl of soup to an empty one in an instant, then feeling he barely had enough strength to lift his spoon, that understanding filtered into his mind. Pippin looked up to find Legolas and Gimli seated at the table. When had they come in? Why hadn’t he noticed? He looked at Frodo as panic rose within him.

“Frodo? Frodo I’m . . . Am I? . . . I’m having spells, Frodo.” His voice seemed far away to his ears.

Without his seeing them move, Frodo and Sam were suddenly at his side. The Elf and Dwarf were on their feet. Pippin was only catching parts of what they were saying to him and they didn’t appear to understand any of what he was saying to them. They all kept changing places without him seeing them moving.

“Frodo! Sam! I’m not right. This isn’t right. I’m having a bad, bad spell. I’m . . .”

Pippin was floating. Down below him, everyone was scurrying about. Legolas ran out the door. Frodo was cradling a limp form in his arms. Sam ran out through the doorway that led into the other parts of the house. Gimli came over to take the body from Frodo.

Body. Odd that his mind had chosen that word. Was it someone dead? Whoever it was lay limp in Frodo’s arms; limp except for the feebly twitching hands. Not a dead body then. If only Frodo would hand the limp person to Gimli, Pippin might be able to see who it was.

Suddenly he was looking up at Frodo’s tear stained face. His cousin’s blue eyes were wide, frightened, like they were sometimes after he woke screaming from his nightmares. He saw Frodo’s mouth forming his own name, though he could hear nothing.

Then Peregrin Took was gone.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Frodo and Sam kept looking from each other back to Pippin. It was quite obvious now that the lad was having some of his blank spells. Actually, that he was having a lot of them.

Sam stuck his head into the doorway to the house, calling for Legolas and Gimli to come to the kitchen at once.

Pippin had kept eating but with longer and longer pauses in the process. Finally, after a small tremor ran through him he looked up. He was bewildered and lost looking, like a small, frightened child.

“Frodo? Frodo I’m . . . Am I? . . . I’m having spells, Frodo.” The words were understandable even though they were mumbled and mixed with too much saliva.

“Pippin!” Frodo jumped up from where he had been sitting at the end of the table and ran to Pippin’s side, joined by Sam who, in his shock, dropped the bowl of soup he had been carrying to the table.

Pippin mumbled. His eyes would glaze over, come back to something near normal only to glaze over again. His hands were grasping at his clothing. He bit at the inside of his left cheek.

Legolas and Gimli rose to their feet.

“He is much worse than before, Frodo,” Legolas said, his eyes huge with concern.

The stricken youngster kept jabbering at them while blood tinged saliva started to leak from the corner of his mouth.

“Get going, ya daft Elf!” Gimli cried out. “You’re the fastest one here. Get Parsow!”

Legolas dashed out of the house, down the garden path and out the gate.

“Get his bed turned down, Sam.” Gimli barked at the stunned hobbit. Sam flinched, than ran from the kitchen.

Gimli moved to stand where Sam had been moments before. “Give the lad to me, Frodo. I can carry him to his bed easier than you,” the Dwarf said gently as he reached for Pippin.

But Frodo held on. For a moment Pippin’s eyes were his own. Terror and confusion filled their green depths.

“Pippin?” Frodo whispered.

But the life drained out of his young cousin’s eyes. His face went slack.

Only the steady pulse that showed at the side of Pippin’s neck and his twitching, grasping fingers let it be known that the lad wasn’t dead.