Summary:  Post LotR.  Some years following the War of the Ring, Merry and Pippin host a reunion for friends and the Fellowship, which turns out somewhat differently than expected.

Disclaimer:  Don’t own any of the characters or the setting of Middle Earth – only wish I did.  No profit was made from the writing of this story.

A/N:  This ficlet was written in response to Prompt #36 (Birthday) issued by the aragorn-legolas yahoo group.

CHAPTER 3:  A Gift for a Friend

“Is everything ready?”  Peregrine Took bounced lightly on his toes, watching his cousin converse quietly with the innkeeper.  Merry waved him quiet and Pippin hmmphed, rocking impatiently.  After all, how hard was it to order food and drink for a little party?

Finally, negotiations completed, Merry turned to him, grousing good-naturedly, “Honestly, Pip, you are worse than water dripping on stone!”

“What?  What did I…?”  Merry grabbed his cousin’s arm, tugging him unceremoniously out the door.

“Come on! The message from Faramir said Aragorn could be found in the Tombs this morning.”

At Merry’s words, Pippin dug in his heels and stopped.  “The Tombs?” 

He took a deep breath.  “What is Aragorn doing in the Tombs?”

Merry stared.  “We-e-e-l-l, I don’t rightly know, Pip,” he answered slowly.  “Why don’t we just go and find out?”

He headed back up the narrow street that slowly ascended to the next level of the City, Pippin close on his heels chattering nervously.  “I know it’s been years…I can go in there if I have to…”

Merry looked over his shoulder, slowing so his younger kinsman could draw even and threw an arm around Pippin’s tense shoulders.  “I will go in, if you like,” he offered, his eyes bright with sympathy.

Pippin smiled gratefully, but shook his head.  “No, that’s alright, Merry.” 

He drew himself up to his full height and stuck out his chest.  “After all, I am a soldier of Gondor.  Those dark old musty halls will be no problem – no problem at all.”

He grabbed Merry’s hand and pulled.  “Come ON, Merry!  Why are you so SLOW this morning?”  Merry laughed and the two took off for the seventh level at a brisk walk.

But for all his bravado, Pip’s steps became slower and more grudging the closer they drew to their destination.  Merry kept up a spate of bright, inconsequential chatter in an effort to keep his cousin distracted, but could tell he was only partially successful.  He resolved to keep the conversation with Aragorn brief and get Pippin away from his dark memories as soon as possible.

Upon reaching the Tombs, the hobbits were met by one of the Keepers of the Hallows at the entrance.  “How may I help you?” he asked haughtily.

“We are looking for the King,” Merry informed him firmly. 

The man, looking more closely, recognized the King’s Halfling friends and bowed his head graciously before murmuring, “Follow me.”

He led them through the cool, dim halls, finally pausing and gesturing them forward.  Pippin saw Arwen and Faramir standing silently by a large pillar, their attention fixed on a figure further down the hall beside one of the stone markers.  The two approached silently, coming to stand beside Arwen.  As Pippin took her hand, the Queen glanced down in surprise.

“I am so pleased to see you both,” she whispered, bending gracefully to kiss each hobbit’s cheek.  Faramir clapped both on the shoulders in greeting before returning to his own pensive thoughts, his eyes distant and sad.

“Who?” Merry mouthed.

“It is Halbarad,” she replied softly.  “Every year this day brings Estel here.  He misses him so.”

Her voice broke slightly as they watched Aragorn lean his forehead against the tomb, one hand brushing lightly over the inscription.  Merry closed his eyes for a long moment, swallowing against the lump in his throat.  There was just something about seeing the normally stalwart, strong Strider this way – he wished fervently there was something he and Pip could do to help him pass the day more easily.  His eyes lit as a thought suddenly occurred to him.  Perhaps there was a way!  He tugged the Queen down, whispering urgently in her ear.

She listened carefully to his plan, her sorrowful face brightening a little, and nodded.  “That just might work, Merry.  We will come.  I promise, even if I must enlist Legolas and Faramir’s aid in dragging him along.” 

Merry grinned.  He tapped Pippin on the shoulder, a signal to leave.  “Come on, cousin,” he whispered.  “We have work to do.”  They hurried back through the bustling city to the inn, Merry quickly outlining his idea to an approving Pippin.

Later that evening, a number of tall, cloaked and hooded figures entered the first level inn.  They were admitted to a private parlor by the innkeeper, who was kept busy supplying the party with food and drink well into the wee hours of the morning. 

Throughout the night, a tall, somber-eyed man, who looked remarkably like the King, told tales to his appreciative audience, often reducing the entire room to laughter and tears.  More than once, the innkeeper entered the room to replenish the trays of food, only to hear one of the Halflings entreating the man.  “Tell us another story, Strider, about the time you and Halbarad chased those orcs clear to the mountains…”

“Is this Halbarad here?” the curious innkeeper asked the elf (an elf in his inn – would wonders never cease?) standing near the door, nursing a mug of ale as he listened to the stories, a small grin on his lips, laughter lightening the shadows in his gray eyes.

“Nay,” the watcher replied.  “But it is his birthday today and we would celebrate his life, even in his absence.”

The man nodded, his face thoughtful.  His wife had made some special cakes earlier in the day.  They would be just perfect for a birthday…