Swordplay

The funeral procession of King Theoden of Rohan continued its stately way northwestward. There were no further attacks, just a peaceful journey.

Each morning Pippin would quickly tidy up his belongings and hurry out, turning up again at breakfast. When this happened on the fourth morning after the attack, Frodo’s curiosity go the best of him.

“Pip,” he said as his cousin hurried over to where the hobbits were sitting and eating their meal. “What are you up to?”

Pippin set his mug of coffee down on the ground then began to attack the food on the plate he balanced upon his lap. Merry noticed Pippin was becoming much more efficient at eating left handed.

Pippin finished chewing a mouth full of porridge, washing it down with a sip of coffee, before answering his oldest cousin.

“I go off and have a some conversation with Beregond in the mornings. I like to spend my evenings with all of you, and I ride all day with the knights. Mornings before breakfast and packing to leave is the only time I really have to visit with him.”

Frodo smiled. “I’m glad you found a time for the two of you.” But even as he smiled, Frodo had a feeling there was something Pippin wasn’t saying.

Indeed there was a great deal he wasn’t saying as that time in the morning was being spent fencing. Pippin and Beregond found that, as soon as he was paying specific attention to his sword handling skills, Pippin was making the switch in hands more quickly than either of them had expected. Even with only four days of work he was already somewhat stronger and much more coordinated. The rhythm of the drills, the dance of the various movements, helped Pippin to concentrate and remember better than he might otherwise. Still, Beregond worried about the wisdom of what he was doing. Pippin had spoken just that morning about how eager he was to test his rediscovered skills.

“Not that I’m wanting to kill anyone, mind you, but it would be grand to have the others see how well I’m doing and know that I’m able to defend us if needed.”

“Perhaps a demonstration bout when you feel ready?” Beregond hedged. “It is to be hoped that there won’t be much call for battle any longer.”

“True, but that was what we were all thinking when we set off and look what happened.” Pippin replied firmly. “Next time I shan’t need to hold back. I shall be at Merry’s side as I should be.”

“Of course,” his friend quietly said while his heart sank within him. “How can I tell him of my concerns?” Beregond was thinking. “I’ve no desire to steal this hope from him, yet I know it will not be allowed. I know the King will gainsay any request or attempt that Pippin will make to fight in any form of battle.”

The matter was dealt with the next morning, the tenth morning of their journey to Rohan and the fifth morning of practicing Pippin’s swordsmanship, when Pippin’s eyes suddenly went blank.

Oddly, the hobbit managed to parry Beregond’s first attack, like a sleepwalker avoids running into something that might hurt him. Still, the parry was not as firm as was usual for the hobbit and it was not followed by a repost. Beregond put the tip of his blade to Pippin’s chest and pushed. The lad’s mail protected him from being pierced but not from losing his balance; the small knight of Gondor landed on his back in the dirt with the point of the captain’s sword still placed firmly over his heart.

Pippin was quite surprised when he came to himself a couple of seconds later.

“Eh . . . B-Beregond,” Pippin’s voice cracked. “That . . . eh, that was quick. I didn’t even see it happ . . . en . . .”

Beregond’s heart ached as he saw the light of understanding come into his friend’s eyes; the color draining from his cheeks. Pippin eyes closed as he grimaced.

“I had a spell,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“And you killed me.”

“Yes.”

There was a long silence. Beregond’s sword still rested over Pippin’s heart; he knew there were no words needed. Gradually the grimace eased from the small one’s face. His breath hitched and a tear etched a glistening line from the corner of his right eye into his hairline.

“I can’t fight,” Pippin’s voice was flat and emotionless.

“No. For your own safety or that of those fighting alongside you, you should not fight.”

“You knew that when we started, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Another silence stretched out into the passing minutes. The two friends had not moved.

“Why did you let me start this if you knew?”

“I . . . I felt it would do you good to regain strength and grace of movement in your hand, arm and body. That, and one never knows what might befall. There might be a time when you are the only one with such training available and better . . .”

Beregond swallowed his words.

“Better me than no one,” Pippin finished his friend’s thought correctly. “How complimentary.”

More silence followed.

“Let me up, Beregond,” Pippin said quietly after a few more minutes had passed.

Beregond removed his sword as he stepped aside, offering his free hand to Pippin as he did so. Pippin accepted the proffered hand, stood and then began brushing himself off.

“Thank you Beregond,” he said stiffly and without looking at his friend. “I think I’ve had enough practice. I’ll . . . I don’t think we need meet tomorrow morning.”

Without further words, Pippin sheathed his weapon and walked away.

Beregond’s heart tore within his chest. He hung his head and wept for his friend. How he wished he had not been the one who had to give the small knight this bitter knowledge.

Pippin walked back to the encampment. He went to where Sunshine sat beside Merry, sat down beside her and hid his face in the soft fur of her neck. She had not gone with him in the mornings. He and Beregond had feared she would become overly excited watching the tall man attacking her master.

“Pip?” Merry looked over Sunshine’s head at his cousin. “Are you all right?”

Pippin nodded. “We got to talking about Denethor.” He muttered the lie without looking up.

Merry nodded understandingly, reaching over to rub the lad’s shoulder. Nothing more was said and soon they were busy packing up the camp, moving to their respective places in the cavalcade and recommencing their journey.

Merry rode upon the wain bearing his king’s body. A place of honor. A place of great sadness that couldn’t be openly expressed, it was not the time nor place. Standing beside the bier in Minas Tirith had also been a place of honor and just as riding upon the wain, not the place nor the time to show one’s feelings. He had been told before his first time on duty that he was to keep a sober expression.

It was not an easy task for a hobbit, sapping a great deal of Merry’s energy.

Now he was being further taxed by a growing concern for Pippin. His cousin had helped break camp without as much as a grin, speaking only when spoken to and that quietly, then he left to tend to his pony and join the ranks of the Knights of Gondor. At luncheon Merry watched from a distance as Pippin took his meal with his fellow soldiers. The lad’s behaviour was unchanged from the morning. He sat amongst the men but was not a part of the group. Now the final halt of the day was ordered and the entourage split up to make camp; but Merry didn’t see Pippin anywhere.

“Turgon!” Merry hailed a passing Gondorian knight of his acquaintance. “Have you seen Pippin since the halt was called?”

“No Merry, I have not. He is most likely still in the covered wain. The blue one over yonder.” The man gestured toward wagons and carts parked at the edge of the encampment.

“Thank you! I shall see if I can find him,” Merry sounded casual to the soldier, but in truth he was frightened. Why had Pippin chosen to ride in a wagon? The lad was easing himself out of the back of the wain just as Merry arrived at it.

“Are you all right Pippin?”

Pippin looked up then stretched as he yawned. “I had a rather bad spell and was tired as usual. I thought it best to lie down and sleep for the remainder of the day.” He yawned again.

“Oh,” Merry said as some of the tenseness eased in his shoulders. “Yes, good thinking then. I’m sorry you had such a bad spell. I’m sure tomorrow will be better.”

“I think it will,” Pippin replied with a look in his eyes that Merry couldn’t quite fathom.

The next day, Pippin disappeared into the wagon shortly after luncheon. The day after that Pippin missed luncheon, because he was already asleep in the blue wagon. The day after that the lad was in the wain by what would have been elevenses. At luncheon, Merry sought out Strider who he found sitting at a makeshift table with Arwen and her kin. Merry asked if they could speak in private so they went off a small distance and sat upon the ground.

“I’ve been told that as of this evening we will be two days out from Edoras, is that correct Strider?

“Yes Merry. Why do you ask?”

“Well, there will be important events going on, things that all of us hobbits should be present at. I . . .” Merry paused, took in a deep breath to steady himself and continued. “I’m worried about Pippin. I fear that his medicine may need adjusting.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “What has happened with him?”

“Today is the fourth day he has ended up riding in one of the wains. He says he has been having worse spells and is tired.”

Something in the way the hobbit finished his statement sounded as though he did not believe what he had just said.

“And you doubt his word?”

Merry looked startled. “Well . . . yes. When we are together in the evening, he just doesn’t . . . seem, feel, ah . . . he’s not like he has been in the past when his spells have been worse. More to the point, Sunshine doesn’t seem overly concerned for him. I can’t help but think that if he were having such bad spells, she would be acting differently.”

The king nodded his head thoughtfully. “How long has this been happening?”

“This is the fourth day, Strider, and each day he has retired earlier. I’m worried about him. He had been meeting with Beregond in the mornings before breakfast for several days and seemed to be feeling very well, he was always in high spirits when he would show up for the morning meal. Then four days ago he came back in silence. He said only that they had spoken together about Denethor, nothing more. That was the last time he left early in the morning, so I do not think they are meeting any longer. I’m concerned they have had a falling out.”

To Merry’s surprise Strider said he would speak with Beregond while saying nothing about speaking with Pippin.

King Elessar held up his hand to stave off Merry’s response. “I have my reasons, Knight of Rohan.” His formal tone and words stopped Merry cold. “I will inform you as soon as I have come to the root of the matter.” Then Strider returned, laying a comforting hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “If it is what I think it might be, then best I not approach Pippin unprepared. Have faith in me, Merry.”

Merry put his right hand up to pat his friend’s. “I do, more than in most anyone else.”

Strider noted the touch of Merry’s hand was cooler than it should have been. King Theoden’s esquire was not faring well and most certainly did not need this further worry weighing upon his spirit. He rose to his feet, motioning to Merry to follow him. They approached the royal table.

“A matter of concern has arisen, I would ask that we delay continuing on our way until I have had the opportunity to speak with one of our Captains.”

Everyone at the table looked from Aragorn to Merry and back again.

“Yes, it concerns Pippin, but I do not think he needs the skills of a healer. More that he needs the understanding of a friend. If this concerns what I think it concerns, I will seek him out after we have resumed our journey this afternoon, but there is, as I said, another I need to speak with first. If you will excuse me, oh, and see to Merry,” he nudged the hobbit closer to the table. “He needs to eat and I wish him to have company as he does so.”

With that, the king went to find Beregond, Captain of the White Guard.

“What has happened between you and Pippin, Beregond?”

The Captain of the Steward’s Guard looked his King in the eye for a moment before lowering his eyes to look at the scuffed toes of his boots. He had been expecting and dreading this.

“He approached me, my lord, the day after the attack on our camp, asking that I help him to relearn his swordsmanship using his left hand.”

“And you did this?”

“Yes, my lord. I hated to deny him. He said he had embarrassed himself in your throne room by dropping his weapon and he felt himself to be a danger to others as he was clumsy even with drawing it.”

“And you did not bother to ask my approval for your actions with my own knight, who is also a patient of mine.”

A chill ran through Beregond. The king had already shown him great kindness and mercy; here he was disappointing him, behaving in a disrespectful manner.

“Sir Peregrin wished it kept secret, my lord.”

“I see.” Aragorn nodded slowly. “But something went wrong.”

Beregond brought his eyes up to look at his king. “I would say more, my lord, that something went right. I had immediately thought of his blank spells and fits and the possibility of his having an attack whilst fighting. But he was so dispirited and concerned that he was of no use to Lord Frodo that . . . well . . . I hadn’t the heart to refuse his request. We met in the mornings to begin his retraining.”

The man paused.

A slight grin graced the King’s face. His small knight could be very persuasive. “How did he fare?”

“He was doing better than I had expected . . .” Beregond caught himself. He had let his enthusiasm for what Pippin had accomplished show. “I mean he did rather well, my lord.”

The King’s grin broadened into a smile. “That does not surprise me, Captain. He can be quite coordinated. I have always believed he will become very skilled with his off hand.” Aragorn grew serious again. “But . . .?”

“But what I knew would happen did happen. He had a spell and it was a simple matter to push him to the ground with the point of my sword at his heart.” The man’s eyes dropped once more to stare at his boot tips. “He came to himself and quickly realized what had happened. It took the heart out of both of us, my lord, as he understood the full implication of it all. He left me standing there and we have not spoken since.”

Aragorn sighed. It was as he reckoned. Oh, not that he knew ahead the exact details, but that he knew some heavy blow had befallen the hobbit and that it was tied to the falling sickness. That it was something which had stolen some hope of normalcy from the lad. Pippin felt great pride in being a Knight of Gondor; and knights fought, knights defended their king, their comrades and their loved ones.

Sir Peregrin Took was unable to do this without endangering himself and others.

“Do not blame yourself, Beregond,” King Elessar said laying an affirming hand to the soldier’s shoulder. “I hold you no blame in giving into the lad, nor in keeping the matter between the two of you as he asked. Go back to your company, Captain Beregond. We will be on our way soon. I will deal with the matter and hopefully restore some of our friend’s faith in himself.”

The High King turned and walked away. Beregond was taken by a deep love and respect for the man and, again, he was in debt to his lord’s kindness and mercy.
************************

Pippin was dancing to a sprightly tune with a very lovely lass under the soft glow of party lanterns when he heard his name being called. He chose to ignore it, he didn’t care to be interrupted just now. Whoever it was could wait for this dance to be over.

“Pippin!”

The voice had grown firmer.

“How rude!” Pippin thought as he smiled into the lass’ eyes.

“Sir Peregrin Took!”

The dance vanished. Pippin jumped slightly and opened his eyes. His vision slowly cleared as he took in his surroundings and the large person sitting nearly on top of him in the loaded wagon.

It was Strider, although, with what he had just called Pippin and the look on his face, it was more accurate to say it was King Elessar.

Pippin lifted himself up onto his right elbow.

“Strider! Eh, my lord. Is something wrong?”

“Why are you riding in a wain, Sir Peregrin?”

The hobbit was rather surprised to still be addressed so formally. “Eh, sleeping, my lord,” he replied in kind. “I’ve been . . . having bad spells and I’m tired.”

“You have been having more or more severe spells, yet you say nothing to your king nor your healers? You have been having more or more severe spells, yet Sunshine seems rather calm and has not been noticeably behaving as she usually does when you are having increased difficulties?”

Pippin was shaken by this. He dropped his gaze and stammered. “I-I didn’t . . . I . . .”

“You need to quit hiding, Pippin.”

The tone in the man’s voice had changed and Pippin realized it was now Strider speaking to him.

“ ‘m not hiding, Strider,” he muttered still not meeting his friend’s eyes. “Most everyone knows where I am.”

“I once knew a young man,” Strider said. His voice was soft and full of emotion, his eyes looked at some distant point. “He received some news that filled him with joy and pride. He felt the world was his. He even met a woman who lit the spark of love in his heart.”

He paused in his tale to look at his young friend. Pippin’s wide eyes were fixed upon him. Strider grinned. He knew the lad could never resist a story, but his grin faded as he continued.

“Then a day came when everything changed. He came to realize that the good news was bound up with news that was not as encouraging. His life would be rough, his paths rocky and his lady fair would be hard won. Great sadness came upon him until he found a place where all was gladsome once more, a place where his wishes came true and he and his love shared their passion.”

“Where? Where is this place?” the hobbit asked with more eagerness in his voice than he had intended to show.

Strider turned memory haunted eyes to Pippin.

“His dreams.”

Pippin’s right arm quivered and he fell back with a gasp. The words hit him like a punch to his stomach.

“I slept as often and as long as I could,” Strider continued, “for in my dreams I was assured of my inheritance. I saw myself as the King of Gondor and Arnor with Arwen Undomiel in my arms as my Queen. All was beauty and peace with no thought of the troubles that were growing in the waking world.” Aragorn, son of Arathorn sighed. “I slept part of my life away, losing precious moments, missing opportunities to do needed things because I was trying to hide from the burden that was mine to bear, until a friend came and helped me to see I was tossing my life on the rubbish heap instead of living it.”

Strider blinked then looked deeply into Pippin’s eyes as he laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder.

“Quit hiding in the world of dreams, Pippin. Life is more precious than any dream, even when it is not easy.”

Pippin had gone pale and tears trickled down his face. “I-I was. You’re right Strider. I w-was dreaming so I wouldn’t have to f-face how useless I am.”

“You are not useless, Pippin, even if you never draw your sword in battle again. Your calling is not only to be a soldier. A knight is called to serve and there are many services you may render to me and your friends and family. Can you still smile, Peregrin Took?”

“Yes,” Pippin replied, smiling shyly as he did so.

“Can you still sing? Tell jokes and stories? Offer a caring ear or a shoulder for someone to lean or cry upon? Can you walk with a friend? Can you cry over their tale or laugh at their jokes?”

“Yes,” Pippin couldn’t help softly chuckling.

“Yet, you were hiding all these things, keeping them from being of use to yourself or others while you clung to the version of Pippin who lives only in your dreams.”

Pippin’s smile faded as he dropped his gaze. “I was free, Strider. I danced with lasses and my knee never hurt. My right hand was whole and . . .” His eyes closed as sorrow etched lines onto his features. “I didn’t have the falling sickness.”

“But it is not real, Pippin,” Strider soothed. “You don’t know what awaits you, neither the sorrows nor the joys. Would you miss out on your greatest adventure for something that is not real?”

The lad slowly shook his head.

“And forget not, Pippin, that dreams change. They can as easily be dark and fearsome as light and joyous. It really is no safer a place than the waking world.”

Pippin’s head came up. There was a sparkle in his eyes. “True! That really is quite true, Strider. I’ve had my share of horrid dreams, as you are well aware. Odd I should so easily forget them.” He nodded silently for a few moments. “Yes, you are absolutely right. I’m being a fool of a Took again. Thank you my friend. Oh! You said a friend helped you to see the truth of your hiding like you have just helped me. Who was it that helped you?”

“I did, my young fool of a Took,” a laughing voice from outside the wagon startled them both. Gandalf had ridden up behind the wain and had been listening for a while to their conversation. “Well done Aragorn. Now, will the two of you get out of there and return to your places. Everyone is murmuring about where has the king run off to, and the company of the Knights of Gondor looks a bit shabby with that empty place in their ranks.”

“Of course, Gandalf. I am on my way,” the King said, smiling broadly at his old friend. He turned to Pippin. “If the world weighs you down again Pippin, find yourself some company and ask for a song or a joke, or listen to someone’s tales. Particularly, don’t hide where Merry can’t follow you, it worries the poor hobbit.”

With that, Strider hopped from back of the wain, mounted his horse who had been following along behind the wagon and rode off to rejoin his wife and kin.

Gandalf helped Pippin out of the wagon and onto his pony, Placida, who had been tied to the wain and was walking along behind it.

“Thank you, Gandalf.”

“I couldn’t have you fall trying to climb out of there and onto a moving pony. I . . .”

“No,” Pippin cut the wizard off. “No, I meant thank you for helping Strider when he was younger. Where ever would we have been without him and he might not have been there to help us if you hadn’t helped him.”

Gandalf reached over to untie Placida. “A very astute observation young hobbit.” He smiled fondly at Pippin as he patted his shoulder. “Perhaps you aren’t such a fool after all. Now, get back where you belong, Knight of Gondor!” He ordered, then he and Shadowfax cantered away.

Pippin smiled as he set his heels to his mare, trotting off to join his fellow knights in the long procession. It had felt good to feel whole again, he thought, as dreams do feel real whilst one is in them, but his friend was right, he would miss out on so much. And he hadn’t thought about it being hard on Merry. That was what settled the matter; he had promised himself he would be there for Merry and he couldn’t if he was off sleeping somewhere just so he could deceive himself into feeling whole.

“No more hiding, Peregrin Took.” He whispered aloud to himself as he fell into line with his fellow knights. “Did you miss me?” Pippin asked Witige who rode beside him.

“Where you gone?” the man replied straight faced, breaking into a smile a few seconds later. “Tell me more about that relative of yours, that Lalia woman.”

“Ah, Lalia the Fat . . . I mean the Great,” Pippin chuckled. “I’ve enough stories about her to talk to you for hours!”

And he did.