The challenge was to write a story using Aragorn's Coronation as king as the setting. My elements were:

A song or poem

A character with an allergy

A torn nightshirt

The King´s crown ( AU)

Beta by Pearl and Cathleen J

Fiery hands stretched out for him and disdainful laugher sounded in his ears.

He wanted to run away. He wanted to hide, but his feet wouldn’t mind his orders and he knew that the eye would find him anywhere.

The hands grabbed him, but instead of the expected heat, he only felt icy cold and darkness, lying itself like a heavy mantle over his soul and crushing down on his heart.

“Why did I take the Seeing Stone?” he thought in panic.

“Too late!” a dark voice whispered.

Strong fingers curled around him and black, sharp nails dug deep into his skin.  They seemed to touch him everywhere. There was no escaping.

Pippin panted. He couldn´t get his breath.

With a single jolt the fingers tore his nightshirt in two pieces, which were immediately eaten up by black flames even before they touched the ground. He now stood naked before him.  Uncovered, exposed, helpless.

“Who are you?” the voice thundered.

The eye stared at him with lidless malice.  His gaze, like red-hot strokes with a whip, burned itself in Pippin’s skin and heart.

The Hobbit stayed silent. He was rigid with fear.

The eye narrowed and, with a force like a battering ram, the hands forced their way inside his chest and clasped around the hobbit’s beating heart.

Pippin screamed.

The hands pressed on.

Pippin felt the warmth of life ooze out of him and run down his body, collecting itself in a dead pool on the ground around him.

“Who are you?” the voice asked again. *

“A Hobbit,” Pippin managed to get out. *

Laughter, as sharp as daggers, poisoned with evil, stabbed him and let him bleed.

“Tell Saruman that this dainty is not for him. I will send for it. Tell him just that!” *

*************

Bathed in sweat Pippin woke up and stared with wide eyes into the darkness. His pulse raced and he was trembling from head to foot.

The clutches of the dream world had not totally left him yet and so the darkness around him seemed threatening.  It was a pitch black deep that could, at any moment, shallow him up.

With shaking hands Pippin grabbed a match and lit up the little lamp that was standing on the nightstand next to his bed.  The light chased away the darkness and Pippin leaned back, relieved.

“Just a nightmare,” he sighed. “I am in Minas Tirith…. The war is over. We have won. … It was only a nightmare.”

Pippin’s gaze wandered to the little flames inside his night-lamp. Back and forth they danced and the shadow on the walls started to writhe about as though they were in pain.

Fire…burning…. Burning people… Denethor….

Pippin pressed his eyes firmly shut.

“Leave me alone!” the Hobbit whispered desperately. “At least when I am awake, let me have some peace!”

In one fast movement Pippin jumped from his bed. He knew he would not be able to sleep now. He needed a distraction.

A walk in the fresh air under the beautiful stars would do him good.

Quickly he put on his breeches, that he had carelessly dropped on the floor the evening before, and stuffed the tails of his nightshirt inside them. Then he walked on silent feet through the sleeping house that he shared with his cousins and friends, outside, and into the garden.

********************

Aragorn awoke from a restless sleep and turned uncomfortably around in his bed.

His skin was burning and itching.  Sighing he sat up, lit the lamp on his nightstand, and rolled up the left sleeve of his nightshirt.

“What is this!“ he burst out, appalled. Quickly he threw a glance at his other arm and his legs.  Finally he jumped out of bed and rushed to a big oval mirror that was hanging in his dressing area.

With wide eyes the future king stared into the mirror.

“AHH!” he shouted, while he scratched at his itching body.

“This cannot be true? That is….”

A knocking at the door interrupted Aragorn’s ranting and the door to his sleeping quarters was hesitantly opened.

“Lord Aragorn, sir? Are you in need of help?“ the guard asked nervously, and after a glance at his master he added, “Do…do you want me to send for the royal healer?”

Aragorn sighed and turned to the young guard, whose job it was to keep the king safe and undisturbed.

“No, thank you Tamir.  I think I know what I need for this.”

“As you wish, my Lord.“ Tamir responded, but after another glance at Aragorns face he added. “If you are sure, you really don’t need….”

“Yes! I am sure, I can help myself!”  Aragorn had replied more sharply then he had intended. Tamir jerked a little in surprise then nodded.

Aragon sighed again. He had not wanted to come seem so cross towards the guard, but he wasn’t used to having every step he took watched.

“My apologies Tamir and I thank you for your concern.” He added, more gently. “You may return to your post.

“Yes, my Lord.” Tamir said, a relieved smile on his face.  With a bow he silently closed the door.

******************

Some hours before:

Aragorn stretched out comfortably in the warm water, which was up to his chin, and deeply inhaled the beautiful scent of the bath oil that was given as a present to him.

“Wonderful!” he sighed contentedly. “Simply wonderful!”

Aragorn washed himself thoroughly, ducked under the surface of the water for a moment to rinse his hair, and finally just lay relaxing and dosing for nearly half an hour in the warm water, his eyes closed and a blissful smile appeared on his lips.

When the water started to cool off he climbed out of the tub, took one of the big, soft towels and dried himself off.

Never in his life he had enjoyed a bath as much as this.

Aragorn took the little bottle of bath oil in his hand and studied the contents.

“Lemon, Eucalyptus, Jasmin, Camomile, Carnation…” He read aloud.

“Strange mixture, but wonderful. I feel like a new born.”

*********************

Back at night:

Aragorn put on his robe and opened the door of his sleeping quarters.

Tamir and the second guard on the post, Pergon, stood at attention and saluted their king.

“I am going to the houses of healing.” Aragorn told them then held up a hand. “No, I do not need an escort, thank you. I know the way.”

“As you wish, Lord Aragorn, Sir.” The men spoke in unison then looked with worried frowns after their king as he hurried along the corridor.

*********************

Pippin strolled through the cool night air and breathed in deeply.

It had been many nights since he had slept well. Always the pictures of the war chased after him.  He wished nothing more then to simply close his eyes and sleep, like he had done before the war, but this seemed to be a wish that would not be granted for him.  Pippin had wandered for quite a while through the white city, lost in his thoughts, when he looked up and saw that he was very near to the Citadel.

A longing suddenly filled the young Hobbit. He felt the desire to go into the throne hall and to touch the smooth and cool marble surfaces within it.  Since the Battle of the Black Gate he had not been inside the throne hall.

The Hobbit felt as if he somehow had to draw a line between what had been and what was to come.  Tomorrow he would stand next to the throne of his king and would help with the coronation ceremony.  He wanted to be able to just feel joy for Aragorn and to be free of the dark pictures that came into his mind when he would think about the black seat of the Steward.

He had to go into the throne hall, alone, while it was still tonight.

But would the guards let him in, the way he was dressed and at this hour?

******************

Aragorn applied the rest of the ointment he had mixed onto his itching skin. He sighed deeply when the cooling effects started and hoped, that the rash would be gone in the morning.  Yawning he made his way back to his rooms. At every entrance guards saluted him as he approached then starred after him in wonder.

Aragorn chuckled silently. He probably looked terrible, with the thick ointment on his red skin, clad only in his nightshirt and robe. He grinned as he wondered if the guards would have ever imagined their new king to be like that?

“Their new king.“ Aragorn repeated in his head.

Long years he had prepared for the coming of this day, but now that everything was so near and certain, now that he soon would be the king of Gondor and Arnor, and no longer a wandering ranger, he felt unprepared.

Would he be able to fulfil the expectations of his people? Would he be a good king?

Shortly before he had reached his sleeping quarters Aragorn turned around and decided to go to his office chamber, behind the throne hall, to have a last look at the speech he had written for his coronation.

Before Aragorn sat down at his desk, he opened the door to the throne hall and cast a thoughtful look inside.  Everything was already prepared for the coronation. He knew the crown and the star of Elendil were lying on a table next to the throne.  He could just see the top of the crown gleaming silvery in the white light of the moon, that shown into the hall through the windows.

Silently Aragorn closed the door again then sat back in his chair, taking his speech in his hands.

*********************

Pippin slowly approached the Guards of the Citadel who stood watch near the doors into the throne room. Their number seemed to have been doubled and he sensed that all eyes were following him.

Pippin stopped in front of a tall Guard, who was standing directly before the main door.  He recognized him as Thurgon and smiled at his friend.

“State your business, Sir Peregrin son of Paladin,” Thurgon said to the Hobbit. His voice sounded formal, but his eyes were glittering with amusement while he looked Pippin up and down.

“I request admission into the throne hall,” Pippin answered as formally.

“For what purpose, my lord?”

“I…. Would like to go over my tasks again, the ones that I have to fulfil at the King’s coronation.”

“Permission is granted, Sir Knight.” Thurgon replied, and then he smiled and added with wink, “I hope tomorrow you intend to wear different garments, Pippin.”

Pippin blushed. “I just woke up a-and . . .” he stammered, “I, ah, couldn’t get back to sleep again, and…”

Thurgon laughed and rested a friendly hand on the unsure Hobbit’s shoulder.

 “Go inside,“ He said, while he opened one of the two great doors.  “And Pippin...touching is not allowed,“ he added in a half teasing, half serious tone.

Pippin nodded and the door closed behind him.  Slowly Pippin walked through the hall and looked at the many statues of the old kings as if he were seeing them for the very first time.

In front of the seat of the Stuart he halted and cautiously stretched out his hand.

When his fingertips touched the cold material he jerked them back.

“Be it known that I have now sworn him to my service and he shall be known as Peregrin son of Paladin** . . .” he heard the voice of Denethor saying. The memory of the voice of the old Steward set a trembling running across Pippin’s back. The Hobbit’s gaze was fixed on the black marble before him.  Suddenly flames seem to blaze from it and the stone screamed and quivered under his hands.

Pippin took a step back. His eyes were slightly glazed, his gaze directed inwards, imprisoned by his memories.  In front of him Denethor was sitting upon the seat of the Stewards.  He looked down at him, with eyes showing grief and anger, but also strength and knowledge.  The Steward bent forward and grabbed Pippin by the shoulders.  Nearer and nearer he bent down to him and with every inch, that he came closer, more and more flames blasted around him and ate up his face.

Pippin could smell the burned flesh. Tears were running freely down over the Hobbit’s face. “No.” he whispered, and then he said it a bit louder again. “No!” He tore Denethor’s hands off of him. “Leave me alone! You are dead! Find your peace!”

Pippin fell down on his knees. The tears on his face dropped soundlessly onto the stone floor.  It seemed an eternity that he was kneeling that way in front of the black throne.  When he finally looked up again, the Steward had vanished away.

Pippin stood up and touched the marble again. The stone stayed cold and smooth and silent.  No flames emerged, no hands, no eyes that starred at him.  Pippin sighed, deeply relieved. Suddenly the Hobbit saw something glimmering, just a short distance over him and he curiously lifted up his head.

On the table next to the throne lay the king’s crown, that from the morrow Aragorn would wear upon his head.  Pippin turned around and began walking slowly back to the main door. “Not allowed to touch anything.” He remembered Thurgon’s warning.

“But what about looking?” he suddenly thought.

Pippin halted, turned around again and ran quickly up the steps to the King’s throne.

He stood on tiptoes and looked at the crown with big eyes.  It looked beautiful.  Silver, with big, green jewels.  Slender, curved lines of mithril decorated its surface, and Pippin recognized them as the branches of the White Tree.  There were stars on it, as well as the strong wings of a bird.

Pippin reached out his hand and stroked the precious piece; Thurgon’s warning was already forgotten.

“From the ashes a fire shall be woken. A light from the shadows shall spring. Renewed shall be blade that was broken. The crownless again shall be king.” He whispered the old rhyme in wonder, while his finger followed the oval form of one of the jewels.

“I wonder, if the crown is very heavy?” he asked himself as he lifted it up off the table with both his hands.  “Oh, it really is quite heavy,” he murmured. “I wonder how it feels to carry it on your head?”

Cautiously he positioned the crown on his curly head, but at once it slipped down over his eyes.  Pippin pushed it up again and this time held onto it with both hands to keep it in the right position.

“Peregrin Took the First, Ernil i Pheriannath and King of Gondor and Arnor.” He said giggling and turning around once in a circle.

********************

Aragorn read over his speech one last time, then laid the papers to the side and stretched.  His skin was already feeling a lot better. It was not itching anymore and the redness had started to fade. But he still felt nervous because of the next day. He sighed.  Maybe he should at least try to get some sleep tonight.  Aragorn’s gaze wandered to a bottle with strong, fruity Port wine in it that was standing on one of his shelves.

“Yes,” he thought.  “A small sip of it would do me good. I surly would sleep better.”

He stood up, taking a glass from a different shelve and putting it on the desk, then he took the bottle in his hands.  Just as he started to pour some of the liquid into his glass, he heard a giggling sound that seemed to emerge from the throne hall. Astonished he walked to the door and listened. Yes, there it was again. Silently Aragorn opened the door and stepped into the Hall.

************************

Pippin climbed up on the throne of the King. When he had himself settled, he leaned back and pushed the crown again so it sat correctly on his head while still holding it in place with his hands, then he looked around grinning.

“Not bad up here!” he said to himself. “You may bring in the soup now!” he suddenly called out and laughed.

He pretended he was holding a spoon with his fingertips and sipped soup from it in a noble manner. The crown was now rather sloping on his head as he only had one hand to hold onto it.

“Delicious! Give my compliments to the cook. He has earned himself a prize for this wonderful mushroom soup!” Pippin said.  “You may serve the second course now!” And bring a wine to go with it that will charm my kingly palate. What does my wine steward recommend?”

Pippin seemed to listen to someone.

“Riesling. That sounds good. Bring in the whole bottle!”

Aragorn had exerted a great deal of effort to keep his mirth under control. “Oh Pippin,” he thought. “My dearest rascal, Pippin.”

Finally Aragorn stepped out of the shadow, in which he had lingered and bowed deeply.

“Your wishes are my orders, King Peregrin the First!”

Pippin jumped high. He let go of the crown and it instantly slid over his eyes again.

Quickly he slipped off of the throne and stood there motionless, a bit in shock, his blushing head lowered to his chest in embarrassment.

“Uh . . . Hello St-Strider! I . . . I . . .” Pippin fell silent.

“Oh no,“ he thought, “What trouble have I got myself into now?”

“A bit big, eh?” Aragon said, while he was coming up the stairs. “You think it will fit me better?” he continued in an amused tone of voice, and halted in front of the mortified Hobbit.

He lifted up Pippin’s chin with one hand and pushed the crown up with the other, so that he could look into the lad’s eyes. “Or do you think we had better order another one?”

Aragorn’s eyes were filled with mirth and Pippin gave him a weak smile.

“The smithy in the third circle is very talented, it’s said….” He finally managed to say.

Aragorn threw back his head and laughed loudly. He took the crown off Pippin’s head and put it back on the table. “What are you doing here Pippin? It’s two in the morning.” He turned around again and looked at the Hobbit, who had watched every bit of his movement.

“I could ask you the same…” Pippin said, slowly regaining his old self-consciousness.

The king smiled impishly. “I couldn’t sleep and also there was something in my throne hall that aroused my attention.

Pippin blushed again and gave a little cough. “ I also couldn´t sleep. Why do you look so flushed Strider?”

Aragorn had to chuckle at the Hobbit’s bluntness. “That’s one reason why I wasn’t able to sleep, my curious friend. But come; let’s go into my working chamber.  I was just was about to open a bottle of port wine. Not what you’ve ordered, but also not bad,” he added with a wink.

“Well, if that’s all the royal wine cellar has…” Pippin sighed dramatically,” then I suppose I shall have to be content with it. Come! What are you waiting for? I am dying of thirst!” The Hobbit jumped nimbly down the steps and Aragorn shook his head, laughing.

“Hobbits!” he thought, and followed Pippin.

**********************

“So Pippin, you couldn’t sleep? Why is that?” Aragorn asked, while pouring some of the wine into their glasses.

“Oh…it’s nothing really…. just weird dreams.” Pippin responded and drained the offered glass in one draught, then holding it out to Aragorn again for a refill. Being king made me thirsty!” he grinned, elegantly changing the subject.

Aragorn decided not to press him, and filled Pippin’s glass again. “Indeed,” he said. “Being king is hard work!”

“Are you happy?” Pippin asked after a short moment of silent thinking. “That you will be crowned king in the morning, I mean.”

Aragorn gave a small sigh. “Yes,” he said. “And also, no. I’ve been waiting for many, many years for this day to arrive. It is my destiny. But now that it’s all so near…I am also a little nervous.”

“So that’s the reason why you are wandering around at night?”

“Yes, well and, “Aragorn pointed at his arm. “My skin was itching terribly. I seem to be allergic to something.”

“I think that’s a good sign.” Pippin said, and then fell silent again.

Aragorn waited for a moment, then asked. “What is a good sign?”

Pippin grabbed the bottle of strong spirits and refilled his glass. “That you feel nervous. It shows that you’re aware of the big responsibility you’ll take on as the King.”

Aragorn smiled. “Yes, you are right.“

“However,” Pippin continued, “actually you don’t need to be nervous at all, because you will make a great King!”

“Thank you. You seem to be very sure of that.“

“Oh, I am. You have always looked out for me, and my kin, from the first time we met in Bree. You are smart. And brave. And kind. You have honour and you value fairness. You also have a great sense of humour and you can enjoy a drink and tasty food. But the most important thing is that you care deeply for all living things with all of your heart. I couldn´t trust you any more than I do, as my friend and my king.” Pippin gave a small bow with his head.

Aragorn felt touched by the immense trust his diminutive knight had in him. He felt that every single word that Pippin had uttered had been spoken in absolute honesty.

“I thank you, Pippin,” the man said. “It means a lot to me that you feel that way. My heart is already calmer when I think of the coming morning.” Aragorn sipped his wine and observed that the Hobbit had refilled his glass to the brim.

“Pippin,“ he said. The Hobbit lifted his head and Aragorn noticed that this task was becoming difficult. “This is quite strong spirit we are drinking.”

Pippin shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t you want to tell me, what is troubling you?” Aragorn asked, while pushing the bottle out of the reach of the already tipsy Hobbit.

Pippin averted his eyes and let his finger run playfully over the rim of the glass before he took another big shallow of the drink.

Aragorn waited patiently for his friend to find the right words and summon enough courage to speak.

“It... It’s just… the dark Lord is destroyed, but…in my dreams, he is still alive and he…. It’s as if he….” Pippin stopped.

 When Pippin didn’t speak again even after a few moments had passed, Aragorn prodded gently. “As if he what?”

“As if he would…violate…my…my soul…again and again.” Pippin whispered. “How is Frodo able to sleep, Strider?” he then rushed on more loudly. “He has felt the dark Lord longer and stronger then I have. How can he shut his eyes and…?”

Aragorn put a finger on Pippin’s lips. “I can assure you, that it’s not easy for Frodo. But Pip, we are not talking about Frodo just now. We are talking about you.”

Pippin wiped the sleeve of his nightshirt over his eyes and suddenly began to speak in a breathless rush of the dreams that were haunting him.

Aragorn had to summon all his concentration in order to follow Pippin’s words, as the lad was not only speaking fast, his speech was also slurred. Sobbing, the Hobbit finally lay in the comforting arms of his friend.

“There, there, “ Aragorn murmured softly. “That’s the right way, Pippin. To find words for what is scaring you. I cannot promise you that your dreams will not haunt you again, but the bad memories that follow you into the night will lose more and more of their intense colour as time goes on. There, there, now lad.”

After a while Aragorn felt Pippin’s breathing become even and deep, and the lad, for a lad he still was, fell sound asleep in his arms.

*******************

The next morning Pippin woke up in his bed. His head was pounding somewhat, but he nevertheless felt more refreshed than he had in a long time. He heard Merry calling.

“Pip? You’re not still lying in bed, are you?” The door opened. “Get up, cousin! Hurry! Aragorn’s coronation starts soon. We don’t want to be late!“

Pippin jumped out his bed and quickly washed himself, then donned his uniform.

Half an hour later the young Hobbit Knight was standing proudly at his assigned place near Aragorn’s side, watching the crowning ceremony.

Aragorn, who, thank Eru, felt comfortable in his skin again, glanced sideways at Pippin and smiled when the crown was placed on his head. “Fits!” he whispered with a wink, and Pippin had to stifle a giggle.

Indeed, he thought. That truly is a fitting crown, for the best of kings!

-   The End -

****************************************************************************************

* Marks quotes from the chapter “The Palantir” in the book “The Two Towers”

** Mark quotes from the chapter “Minas Tirith” in the book “The Return Of The King”