Chapter 8: Piplover

Aragorn's hands were gentle and steady as he laid the right upon Pippin's forehead and the left upon Frodo's. For long moments the only sound to be heard in the room was the harsh breathing of the young hobbit.

Frodo felt the blood thrumming in his veins, could feel the pull of Aragorn's bright light and the push that was his cousin's resistance. Sweat began to bead upon his brow, his palms moist with it as he felt his hands clench with effort.

But there was no response from Pippin, and even his struggles of before had subsided, only a sliver of green showing beneath heavy eyelids.

'He does not recognize us,' Frodo finally whispered, his hoarse voice breaking the silence so suddenly that Gimli started, scowling.

'What is to be done then?' the dwarf demanded, and even his beard seemed to be bristling with indignation at his lack of ability to fight this unseen enemy. Only Legolas' hand upon his shoulder kept him in place, and when the elf turned despairing eyes to his friends, Frodo felt his heart sink in a way he had not thought possible.

'It is up to Pippin now,' Aragorn whispered softly, using the hand still resting on Pippin's brow to gently stroke the pale temple. 'Only he can decide if he is strong enough to come back to us.'

*****

The smell of grass, sweet and bitter at the same time, tickled his nose, blades of brilliant, emerald green poking insistently into his cheek. He turned his head slightly, felt the rustle of hair over silken stems, and wondered where he was.

What had happened to him?

'You made a mistake.'

The voice, soft and gentle as any snowfall he danced with in his youth, sounded close above him, and when Pippin squinted he could just make out the figure sitting beside him, a blade of grass stuck between his teeth.

'A mistake?' Pippin repeated, dazed. A tickle in the back of his mind warned him that something was wrong, but he could not quite picture it.

'A very grave one, I am afraid,' Boromir agreed. 'However, you still have a chance to fix it.'

'What did I do?'

A fond smile touched the pink flushed face, and for a moment the world shone as bright as any sun on a hot summer day.

'Do you remember the tale of the sleeping princess?' Boromir asked instead, eyes crinkling at his friend's confused nod. 'You ate the poisoned food, Little One, and like the princess, you sleep without dreams.'

'I wanted to sleep,' Pippin whispered after a moment, eyes closed as he struggled to grasp memories that floated, like so many spider webs on a Spring day, just out of his reach. 'I was so very tired, Boromir.'

'A hardship shared by many a soldier,' Boromir agreed, sucking on the blade of grass a bit longer before he sighed. With little effort he pushed himself up, looking down at Pippin expectantly as he offered him his hand.

'Is it time for me to go now?' he asked, sitting up slowly and taking the proffered help.

'It is. The others are waiting for you, and there is still much to be done. But don't fear, Little One, you'll get your rest. Now that Aragorn has you in his clutches, you can be assured of that.'

'I should hope, so long as I am awakened in time for supper.' Pippin agreed.

The two walked in silence, Boromir shortening his stride so that his small friend could easily stay by his side. After several moments, he stopped.

'I cannot go with you, but the way is simple enough. Just follow that path to the edge, and then off you go.'

For one moment Pippin was certain he had heard wrong. 'Are you daft?' he finally demanded, glaring at his friend. 'I am a Took! And though I am quite fond of Strider calling me his Little Bird, I can honestly say that I have never grown a feather in my life!'

Boromir's laughter was rich and deep, and he ruffled Pippin's hair easily. At the hobbit's continued scowl, he knelt down to gaze gently into his friend's eyes.

'What happens when we fall, Little One, and cannot get up on our own?' he asked, so gently it hurt something inside Pippin's throat and eyes, so he had to blink to clear them.

'Someone helps us,' Pippin answered, feeling his lower lip tremble.

'Yes,' Boromir agreed. 'All you have to do is fall, Peregrin Took. Someone will be there to catch you, I give you my word.'

'As a soldier of Gondor?' Pippin whispered.

'As your friend.'

Strong arms surrounded him, a barrier against the fear that started to flutter around his chest. Then they were gone, and Boromir was standing.

'It is time to go now.'

Pippin nodded once, his eyes large as he gazed at his friend, drinking in the sight of him as he would a mug of cold water on a hot day. Then he turned, without another word, and made his way along the path, his feet stumbling slightly was the way become uneven and jagged. He did not look back, nor did his pace falter when he reached what appeared to be the very edge of the world.

Closing his eyes for only a moment, Peregrin Took, Knight of the Citadel, allowed his feet to carry him over the edge.

Knowing that someone would be there to catch him.