Something Different

It was six days from their parting with Aragorn that the company came upon an unexpected pair of travellers. Saruman, looking much as Gandalf once had, like a beggar in grey or white robes that were now filthy with the dirt of the weary road. Skulking along behind him was Wormtongue.

The former head of the White Council was now filled to overflowing with naught but bitterness and cynicism. During their short conversation with him, Elrond, Galadriel and Gandalf not only heard it in his words but felt it in what was left of his spirit. Although Galadriel in particular had foreseen the possibility of his betrayal, they all were saddened at what remained of the once proud and noble wizard. Gandalf was particularly disheartened to hear Grima muttering to himself much as Gollum had muttered to himself, in the third person as though speaking of someone else. They were both to be added to the long list of those who had fallen victim to Sauron and his Ring. The eyes of all who saw the pair were full of the concern and pity that Saruman disdained as they watched them walk away down the long column of the caravan.

The hobbits were riding together a ways back in the line from Gandalf and the others. They had wondered at the short pause in the progress of the long line of riders and walkers but, as no word was sent back along the line and the pause was of short duration, they didn’t give it much thought. Soon, however, the reason for it became clear as they and the outcast wizard drew abreast of each other. Saruman glared at them before spewing his insults upon them. The hobbits, as had the High Folk at the head of the procession, looked upon the bedraggled pair with pity in their eyes.

All the hobbits except for Pippin. He had begun to feel oddly the moment he set eyes on the wizard and his minion. The feeling reminded him of times in his life that he had seen people or things that . . . that simply weren’t there . . . or were real but were where he wasn’t. Like the times on their perilous journey when he had felt his Aunt Esmeralda was nearby; yet this was somehow different.**

Then suddenly, he was floating again. It had only happened one more time since the day when he had met Mallefinros, and, as upon the other three occasions, he was aware of it. He saw the line of the long entourage of those returning northwards. He saw his earthbound self (who was looking rather blank), Merry, Frodo and Sam astride their ponies about halfway along it’s length. He saw Saruman and Wormtongue. The ruined wizard had a black haze surrounding him, a finger of which reached itself out and spread until its darkness engulfed the part of himself that was aware; until it surrounded the Pippin who was floating.

Visions flashed across his mind’s eye.

Sunshine had at first done nothing. That something was wrong she could easily tell, yet it didn’t feel familiar to her. Was this something to raise an alarm about? Was this something that all she need do was keep a watch over her dear master? This was like but not like his usual bad spells. She hesitantly tugged at the hem of his breeches.

The decrepit wizard had snidely remarked to the hobbits that, “. . . you have all you want, food and fine clothes, and the best weed for your pipes. Oh yes, I know! I know where it comes from. You would not give a pipeful to a beggar, would you?”*

“I would if I had any,” said Frodo.*

“You can have what I have got left,” said Merry, “if you will wait a moment.” *

Merry dismounted to better dig through his saddlebag. He found his leather weed pouch and held it out to the old wizard.

“Take what there is,” he said. “You are welcome to it; it came for the flotsam of Isengard” *

Saruman snatched the proffered pouch of pipe-weed from Merry with a sneer.

”Mine, mine, yes and dearly bought!” cried Saruman. “Well, it will serve you right when you come home, if you find things less good in the Southfarthing than you would like.”*

He eyed them all with a malevolent glare then opened his mouth to speak, but he did not get the chance.

“Awake! Fear! Fire! Foes!”

Everyone within earshot of the hobbits turned in their direction, trying to find the source of the shout. Saruman tightly clutched Merry’s pouch of pipeweed to his chest while his eyes narrowed at the hobbit in the livery of Gondor. Sir Peregrin Took did not return the vile glare, his eyes looked far away and distant, his face was pale; only his words seemed strong.

“Death! Disease! Famine! Destruction!” his words rang out. “Smoke! Pain! Sorrow! Suffering!” A tremor passed through his body. Sunshine whimpered.

“What you have brought down upon them has fallen upon you.” Pippin said quietly, but there was ice in his tone. Convulsing, he fell from his pony to lay writhing upon the ground. Saruman and Wormtongue scuttled off toward the nearby woods while everyone else was drawn to the fallen hobbit.

Pippin’s cousins and Sam were instantly off their ponies and by the lad’s side. Frodo had gone down on his knees, yanked off his Lorien cloak, bunched it up and placed it under Pippin’s head.

“What was all that about?” Merry’s voice quavered with worry as he knelt across Pippin from Frodo.

“I don’t know,” Frodo replied without looking up. He was staying focused on tending to Pippin; he would think more about it all later.

Sam was still standing. He had removed his own cloak and got his water bottle from his saddle bag to be ready to hand them to Frodo when the fit had passed.

“I reckon we will find out soon enough,” Sam said as Elrond, Gandalf, Galadriel and Celeborn’s mounts slid to a halt before group of hobbits. They had heard the loud cry of a voice that was familiar, yet not familiar, and had ridden back along the line to see what was amiss.

“Was it Peregrin who cried out?” Elrond asked as he knelt beside Frodo. He reached his long arm past him to gently rest his finger tips on Pippin’s forehead. The fit was subsiding but the Elf Lord did not move.

“Yes. Yes, he just suddenly called out,” Frodo replied, finally looking over at Merry as though needing him to confirm what he was saying.

“What he said made no sense, though it was spoken clearly,” Merry added as he met Frodo’s gaze. They could see the concern and, yes, some fear, in each other’s eyes.

Elrond had closed his eyes. “Awake, fear, fire, foes. Death, disease, famine, destruction. Smoke, pain, sorrow, and suffering. Those are the things he cried out, were they not?”

“Yes, Lord Elrond, sir,” Sam quietly said. “And a bit more, though he said it quietly and more to Saruman himself as it were.”

Elrond did not respond, so Sam continued. “He said something about what Saruman had brought upon others had befallen him.”

Still the Elf remained silent with his fingertips resting on the youngest hobbit’s forehead. Perhaps a full minute passed before he moved. His fingers gently touched the lad’s cheek as Elrond drew a deep breath and sighed.

“We will make camp now,” he said loudly so everyone standing nearby could hear and begin seeing to the task. He then addressed Merry who was across from him. “This was not a normal spell or fit. Peregrin has never before cried out like that, has he?”

Merry was not the one Elrond usually addressed himself to. Knowing Frodo was the elder of the hobbits, he usually spoke to him. Merry suddenly felt awkward.

“Eh . . . um . . . No. No it didn’t seem to be like his other . . . eh, fits or bad spells, nor has he ever cried out in such a manner.”

Elrond nodded slowly. “He is fevered as well, whereas usually he is cold after one of his fits.”

Frodo looked carefully at the face that was so near his own. He could not read the expression Lord Elrond wore, he only knew that it brought him no comfort. It was almost as though the great healer had expected something like this to happen; yet was surprised that it had.

“I think it best that you all remain here. Do not cover him, Samwise,” Elrond said as he looked at Sam, “unless he begins to feel cool to the touch. I will see to having other’s put your tent up and move your belongings into it.”

“That has already been seen to, Elrond,” Gandalf said, laying a hand upon his friend’s shoulder.

Elrond stood. “That is well,” he replied then turned back to the hobbits. “Get Peregrin and yourselves settled and I will speak with you all after the evening meal.” He looked at each upturned face. “Do not look so worried for the youth nor so perturbed with me,” Elrond said, grinning a soft grin of assurance. “He will be fine and I will tell you all I can.” With that he walked away with Gandalf, Galadriel and Celeborn.

“I’ll worry if I wish to,” Merry said as softly as he could; hoping Elven ears wouldn’t hear him.

“And you had best tell us everything,” Sam muttered.

Frodo smiled wryly at the other’s responses. “Let’s see to Pip, shall we? I think he has cooled off. Help me get his own cloak pulled down so it’s under him and then we can cover him with yours.”

Without further word, the hobbits turned their attention to Pippin.

“They will expect a full explanation, you know.” Gandalf said to Elrond as they walked away from the hobbits. “They have been left uninformed too many times regarding young Peregrin and they have no intention of allowing that to happen again. What do you plan to tell them?”

“As much of the truth as I am able to, and you shall help me. I will not have you sitting back and leaving this all in my hands, Gandalf.”

The two at each other knowingly, then their grins faded.

“How much does he know?” Elrond finally asked.

“Nothing more than rumors and . . .” Gandalf paused and the twinkle returned to his eyes, “. . . faerie tales.”

Later, in the Elf Lord’s tent the conversation between wizard and Elf continued.

“I know the draught of Fangorn has affected young Peregrin. I could sense a change in him almost immediately, and that change has grown. Those channels in his brain, that part of his mind, that the blood of the fey folk in him also touches have been . . . how to say . . . opened? Strengthened?” Elrond thought a moment, decided those words expressed it well enough then continued. “There have been those in past ages in whom the falling sickness somehow opened these channels where they had been closed before, and their people would regard them as wise seers and turn to them for advice and knowledge of distant or future things.”

Elrond looked quizzically Gandalf.

“You say even those Hobbits who carry this gift do not understand it?”

“They barely acknowledge it, my friend. It is regarded as folly even by the majority of the Tooks, the only family in which the blood of the fey folk flows deeply enough to express itself. For it was a Took who joined with a faerie maid in a long past age and it is only a few of their descendants in each generation who receive her gift. Although I will grant there may be a few Tooks who have discerned the truth, but very few and they keep their knowledge to themselves.”

Gandalf sighed, closed his eyes and for a moment rested his lips gently upon his tented fingers. His eyes soon opened, but he did not yet look at his friend.

“One must always bear in mind the insular nature of Hobbits. Not all of them, mind you, but even amongst the bolder families and clans the more open and searching hobbit is an oddity.” Gandalf looked up, but his gaze was distant. “That said, there are those few, mostly Brandybucks, and especially Tooks, who might accept and understand this interesting inheritance, and I’m certain Frodo and Merry would have no trouble with it.”

He finally looked at Elrond with a gentle smile. “I dare say even Sam would accept it now, though, even with all of his exposure to Bilbo and Frodo, I’m quite certain he would have held it as nonsense were he to have ever had someone presenting it all to him as ‘truth’ before he had left upon the quest. Bilbo is half Took and that Took, his mother, was one who carried the faerie’s blood and so had her gift. Although I know for a fact Belladonna was one who did not care to divine the source of her Tookish abilities, nor to give much credence to their existence. That is part of why she fell in love with a stable, and rather stodgy, Baggins. It is also why Bilbo is more Tookish than Baggins-ish, though, of course, he hasn’t the fullness of the faerie blood in him. His dreams and insights came more from his being a friend of the Elves and, of course, from his contact with The Ring. Yet, no denying the bent toward being open to such things was there within him.”

Elrond nodded. “That is all easier to believe than you might realize. Strange as it may seem, even among the Elves there are some of the young among us who now regard the fey folk as more legend than fact, and there is a great deal that is said and believed of them that is exaggeration. Yet, they are like to us as Hobbits are like to Men and they do share certain abilities with us. I sensed it in young Peregrin as soon as Frodo was out of danger and I was able to turn more of my attention upon the others.”

It was the Elf Lord’s turn to become uneasy. He stared into the flickering flame of one of the lamps. “It was the reason for my not wishing him to go as part of the Company of the Nine Walkers,” he said softly.

“And it was why I insisted he be allowed,” Gandalf replied, smiling a knowing smile. “I knew there might be . . . problems. With a Took of any sort there is an increased possibility of problems, let alone one who carries the gift of their ancestor. But, like the fey folk, they seem to have an inordinate amount of what is called ‘good luck’.” He chuckled softly. “Problems he caused indeed, but look at the good that came of them!”

They both sat thinking about the things Pippin had done on the great journey.

“What then do you advise, Gandalf,” Elrond asked, a twinkle brightening his eyes. “In matters of Hobbits I bow to your superior knowledge.”

The Wizard thought a moment as he smiled at the comment. “We know the Ent Draught has, in fact, had a part to play in this. It has opened the paths between his spells and his fey nature. I suggest you put the blame upon the draught of Fangorn, for I do believe it responsible for this public display.”

Elrond nodded as Gandalf continued. “It is not our place to assert as truth to a Baggins, a Brandybuck and a Gamgee something most of the Tooks themselves acknowledge only as jealous rumors and fables started by hobbits of less prosperous and lucky families.” He paused to look Elrond firmly in the eye. “That said, I think you should tell Peregrin.”

He paused again, his gaze changing to look off into the distance. “I somehow think he already suspects. He had some experiences while on the quest. I’m sure of it as I could sense changes in him.” The wizard’s eyes narrowed slightly and he nodded to himself. “Hmm. Yes. Yes, I think that will be best. You should speak with the lad, it will be good if it comes from you. He is unsure of you and self-conscious around you, yet you are now his primary healer. This could open a way for the two of you to become closer. To the others it will be an effect of the Ent Draught alone. If Peregrin later chooses to share his heritage with these closest of cousins and this dearest friend, then that will be up to him; as it should be as it is a matter of his family not theirs. Though Merry is half Took, his mother is a sister to Peregrin’s father and she has the faerie’s blood, Merry is a Brandybuck, not a Took. And though Frodo has Tookish blood he also is not a Took. Such things matter deeply to hobbits. They very much feel that certain family matters should remain within the family and we would be unwise to interfere.”

So it was agreed that naught would be said to the others of that aspect of what had happened to Pippin unless he himself would later choose to reveal it.

Elrond and Gandalf went to the hobbit’s tent after they had had their evening meal. Pippin was still asleep. They pulled their chairs to one side near the brazier that helped warm the inside of the tent; as far from the sleeper as they could be. They took their seats, then simply sat and looked at each other for a few moments.

“You have something to tell us?” Frodo asked, finally braking the uncomfortable silence.

“Yes,” Elrond said firmly as he looked into the eyes of each hobbit. “What happened will most certainly happen again, although I will with equal confidence say it will not happen often.”

He paused to asses how this news was being taken by Peregrin’s kin and friend. Their eyes had widened slightly as they heard this would happen again, but now were more inquisitive than ought else. Inquisitive with a touch of steel.

“It is not unheard of,” the Elf continued, “for the falling sickness to at times open pathways in the brain instead of closing them and for the afflicted person to have visions of distant times and places. Sometimes, they will even experience foresight. Since there had been no such indications in Peregrin previously and since I had not in past examinations sensed any such pathways being opened in his mind by the sickness, I have concluded that this has been brought about by the draught of Fangorn of which he and Merry partook in their farewell from the Eldest.

Sam huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Frodo sat back while nodding thoughtfully, his gaze upon the carpet that made up the floor of the tent. Merry spoke up.

“But you let him drink it, Lord Elrond. You and Strider said he could.”

The healer nodded. “We did indeed grant him permission. It was quite obvious that the draughts you had drunk previously had only done you good. Elessar told me that it they had not only made you somewhat taller but had brought about rapid healing of the hurts inflicted upon you by the Uruk Hai. We both felt that the farewell drink would certainly not endanger Peregrin but might actually improve his condition.”

Merry now crossed his arms before himself. “Some improvement!” he muttered beneath his breath.

“Perhaps,” Elrond said, “not an improvement in that he has obviously continued to have spells and fits, but it has done no injury to him.”

They once more sat in silence.

“He sees things afar off, you said?” Frodo asked without looking up.

“Yes.”

The Ringbearer raised his eyes to meet, not those of the Elf Lord, but the Wizard’s. “What do you think he saw?”

“Elrond and I have discussed this, Frodo, and as I’m sure you’re aware, there is no way for us to know what he saw. Perhaps if we had been there sooner one of us might have had some sense of what the lad was experiencing, but alas, we do not.”

“Will he know?” Frodo persisted.

“He might,” Gandalf replied. “Although, using this rare effect of his condition on others in the past as a guide, it is quite likely that he will either know nothing at all of what he saw in his vision, or will only recall disconnected bits and pieces of it.” Gandalf’s eyes grew thoughtful. “Yet, it may be different in Pippin’s case, seeing as we do not entirely know how this might be affected by the Ent draught.”

Again, they all sat in silence.

“I’m thinkin’ it was home he was seein’,” Sam softly said. “With what old Saruman said to us about things in the Southfarthin’ being less good then we’d like.”

“Perhaps,” Elrond said, as softly as Sam. “We will not deny being aware that the attacks of the Enemy have reached far and wide.”

“Even so,” Frodo said, “it will not change my plans.”

Merry and Sam both raised a brow at this but let the eldest of the hobbits continue without interrupting.

“It may be that he saw the Shire, and it may not. We can’t know. And even if he did, we have no way of knowing if it has already happened, is happening now, or might not happen at all.” Frodo sighed heavily. “We will go to Rivendell and spend some time with Bilbo before we return to the Shire. What we find when we get there we will deal with then. The short amount of delay will most likely make little difference.”

Sam and Merry thought for a few moments then nodded their agreement.

“I am glad to hear your decision,” Elrond said as he smiled. “I would not have relished telling Bilbo that he would not be seeing all of you.” With a glance at the wizard, he and Gandalf stood. “We will leave you now and bid you a good night.”

The hobbits spoke quiet farewells then sat in silence around the brazier.

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A/N Passages marked with * are quotes from the chapter “Many Partings” in “The Return of the King.”

** Things in this paragraph refer, in most part, to events and experiences mentioned in Pearl’s story “While We Dwelt in Fear.”

This aspect of the falling sickness was brought into the story because it used to be thought, in many cultures, that those with epilepsy were seers or prophets. It also fit in well with both a possible effect from the Ent draught and tied in with Pearl's universe with the Faerie Blood in the Tooks, and in Pippin in particular.