CHAPTER ONE
"Sam, let me take that—you know you’ve got too much there!"
"I’m fine, Mr. Pippin. If someone could just get the door for me? Thank you, Mr. Merry!" Pippin brought up the rear of the troop of hobbits, all laden with a post-dinner meal of oddments from the kitchens. They were determined to enter Frodo’s room as quietly as possible, since he could have fallen asleep already. Pippin hoped he might have done just that; his cousin was still far too pale for his liking, even now, a full week after he woke up in the Houses of Healing.
The bed, however, was undisturbed. The room itself was dimly lit by the fire, and Merry walked over to poke the embers back to life.
Sam looked around for his master. "Mr. Frodo? Where are you?"
"I’m here, Sam" came from the balcony just as the fire leapt up in the hearth.
Luckily, Pippin was standing next to the gardener in that moment, so he was able to catch the two plates as they began to tip out of Sam’s suddenly lax grip. "Whoops, Samwise! I told you you had too much on your hands!" He glanced up, laughing, at Sam, but was shocked to see that his face was ashen, his eyes wide with fear. "Sam? Sam, are you all right?"
A confused expression crossed Sam’s face, and then was blinked away. "What? Yes, I’m fine…" but Pippin could see strong hands still trembling as they wiped away sweat and, he suspected, some tears as well.
"Here—sit down."
"No, I’ll be all right; let me get Mr. Frodo his plate, so he can eat and then get some rest." With his jaw firmly set against all argument, he took the food outside to the balcony, but, Pippin noticed, he left his own plate behind.
Some time later, after coaxing Frodo to sit down in front of the fireplace and join his cousins in their evening meal, Sam slipped back out onto the balcony, alone. Pippin left Frodo and Merry gossiping about their caretakers in the Houses of Healing, poured two glasses of the wine that Merry had brought, and joined his fellow traveler looking over the Pellenor Fields, towards Osgiliath and beyond, to the mountains bordering Mordor. "Here, Sam, something for your throat."
"How did you know…?"
"Those fumes did neither you nor Frodo any good, and it’s only been three weeks since Mt. Doom exploded." Pippin stared at the wide expanse of land, strewn with the rubble of battle, then lifted his gaze to the East. "You can’t see the mountain anymore, not from here. But when Gandalf and I first arrived, it was inescapable."
"Inescapable…yet we escaped." Pippin could hear Sam swallow the wine as if he hadn’t drunk anything in weeks, staring broodingly at the dark expanse of sky and craggy outlines to the East. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he turned to Pippin at last. Thanking him for the wine, he returned inside. Pippin heard him gather up the empty dishes, bid the two still talking goodnight, and leave the room. Pippin remained on the balcony for some time, until Merry and Frodo asked if he was planning on sleeping out there.
"Nay, cousins, I’m merely contemplating a few questions. Something better slept on in my own bed, most likely! Goodnight, gentlehobbits!"