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“Lucky, that I know a hobbit foot from an orc,” said Gimli, good naturedly, proudly. He sat next to Legolas at the trestle table as the companions chatted idly, and shared tales of the journey. Leave Aragorn and Gandalf to their important work; now was the time for rest, and healing, for everyone.
And for Pippin. The horror of her last battle had not left her- the screams, the blood, the terror, the pain, and the sudden darkness… that darkness, that she almost never woke from.
The memory was still fresh and raw. Pippin longed to forget, but there was no escape. From the moment she had opened her eyes again, an unending pain had settled into her bones, curling around the small of her back, and making every moment a torment.
And of course, there was also Gimli to remind her. How happy he was to recount the story again and again! Pippin would have found it unbearable, but for the bright gleam in his eye. She knew that he meant well. Ever since her rescue, the dwarf had never been far away, always ready to help Pippin in any need- to lift her out of bed, to carry her bag, to bring her food and drink. How like a strange uncle. But perhaps, like her, his mind was always drawn back into the darkest parts of that memory. Amidst the horror of that final battle, perhaps this was the moment he clung to, because it held the most joy.
How could she fault him for that? And how could she tell him that his moment of happiness was the darkest part of her memory, the one that stalked her through the day and hunted her in nightmares?
Sam chuckled. “Lucky that your eye is as sharp as the elf’s, if I may say so, begging your pardon, Mister Legolas,” he said. “And I am right glad to find you here, Pippin, after all we’ve been through. You’ve become a warrior through and through, you have.” He patted her lightly on the back.
Pippin winced, stifling a yelp.
“Gentle, lad,” Gimli warned quickly, as Sam looked mortified.
“I’m alright,” said Pippin quietly. “Only, be a little more careful, Sam. The warrior is a little broken.” In body, and in mind.
* * *
Pippin was thankful for the time spent in Minas Tirith. Though there was nothing more for the healers to do for her, there was both peace and rest.
Yet there was also Merry. Dear old Merry. He was healing well, but Pippin could still sense a shadow on him- faint and fleeting, troubling him at odd moments, passing like a cloud over a spring day. She stayed near him, and for once was glad to play the fool. After all, she was a born distraction. Tell me again, cousin, where is Dol Amroth? Did we pass it on our way?
And there was Frodo.
His room was not far, in the Houses of Healing, and set at the end of the quietest corridor. Perhaps it was the only quiet place in all the city; even the pealing bells of celebration seemed muffled there. Pippin was loathe to disturb him. What if she misstepped? If she broke the silence, what would that falling stone awake in the deep?
[more]
* * *
The healers did not come and go- they went to and fro. From room to room, visiting Merry from time to time, though Frodo was always the most concern. Pippin watched them go, like the pendulum of a clock, back and forth, back and forth.
And soon enough Elrond was there too. He fit into the bustle like a puzzle piece, as though he had always belonged. Yet as he left Frodo's room, he turned, and stopped beside her chair. “And you, Mistress Hobbit? How do you fare?”
Pippin hid her surprise- as much as she was able- and nodded her head in small courtesy. “Quite well, thank you, Master Elrond,” she said, then lowered her voice. “Only… worried about Frodo, of course.”
Elrond nodded gravely. “As are we all. And yet, I am concerned for you, also, Mistress Hobbit.”
Something tugged at Pippin’s heart; it almost hurt to be noticed, to be seen... to have someone think of her. “I am well,” she answered. “The healers were very kind, though there’s not much more to be done. Sleep and rest, that’s all that’s needed for me."
"Willow bark tea would also help."
Pippin grimaced at sudden memories. "Must I?"
Elrond smiled kindly. "Or ginger tea, for the pain."
"I am just a small hurt, though," said Pippin. "There are others to care for, much more greviously injured. Frodo needs us, all of us, and I intend to help him, if I may.”
“You may not bear a scar, but your hurt goes just as deep.” Elrond gazed at her softly. “I know that you will care for your friends, but do not forget to care for yourself, or to ask for help in your need.”
* * *
It would be a long time yet, before Pippin was able to lift even a trowel to help with rebuilding the Shire. But Frodo needed care, and Pippin was there for him, as he settled back into life at Bag End.
Yet… he was changed. He was not the same hobbit that had she had followed into the Old Forest and beyond, so very long ago (and yet such a short time past). That journey was over, the Fellowship had returned to their homes, and the companions were hard at work. But now that things were finally quiet, Pippin realized the amount of strength Frodo had needed just to hold himself together for others. And how little there was left.
“Not every day is like this, but so many are. So many are.” whispered Frodo. He sat in front of his arm chair by the fire, unable to muster the strength to climb into the seat. His eyes didn’t see her; they were elsewhere, beyond the fire and into a fiery land, seeing things that Pippin was certain wouldn’t be written into the Red Book after all.
Very slowly, Pippin joined him on the floor. “I tried to explain it to Merry once,” Pippin started, then stopped. You fool of a Took, she berated herself, why would you say something so stupid? But Frodo’s eyes found hers, and she realized that even something foolish could be the right thing to say, if it distracted him for only a moment. “I tried to explain to Merry once, that it feels a little bit like a drawer of spoons.”
“…Spoons.”
“Yes, spoons! With enough for every meal of the day, and some extra, in case a friend comes over for elevensies or tea, and maybe a couple more for special occasions. Plenty of spoons, and never a second thought given to them. But it seems to me, that ever since I’ve returned to the Shire, it’s like I’ve moved in with that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. I don’t have quite as many spoons as I used to, and I never know how many spoons will be in the drawer until I open it! Now, usually, only the teaspoon is missing. That’s no trouble to me, because I don’t mind using a tablespoon with the jam. But some days- like you said, Frodo- not every day, but some days- they’ve just walked off! And I’m left wondering how I could possibly make it through the day at all.”
“Spoons.”
Pippin grimaced internally. Absolute fool of a Took, as usual. “I don’t know, it was just something I thought up recently.”
Frodo gave her a small, fleeting smile. “It’s… it’s a very good thought, Pippin.” He heaved a heavy sigh, and to Pippin’s astonishment, he mustered his strength, and climbed slowly into his armchair. His gaze still lingered on the fire, but this time, it burnt him less. “No spoons for today, I’m afraid,” he told her. “But… perhaps tomorrow, I can make it to elevensies.”
* * *
The year had turned, the green was returning to the gardens, and warmth was seeping into the bones of the earth.
“How is your back?” asked Frodo.
Pippin shrugged. “Alright. Aches in the rain and snow, but alright.”
Frodo sipped his tea, lowered the cup slowly to the plate, and looked out of the parlour window. “You used your cane yesterday.”
“Sam told you.”
Frodo nodded at the accusation.
“I’m alright,” she said again. “I spent too much time in the garden.” She was acutely aware of Frodo’s own hurts, and the scars that he carried on his body and on his mind. What were hers, in comparison?
“I’m proud of you.” His eyes met hers, yet she was the first to look away. “You are caring for yourself. You should be as gentle with yourself, as you are with me.”
“I’m alright, Frodo,” she said, then hesitated. “My hurts are not yours.”
“Your hurts are not mine, but you are still in pain. And so we are equal.” He took a sip of his tea. “Do not compare yourself to others, my dear cousin, in either suffering or health. The former invalidates you, the latter will send you beyond your limits, and cause more grief.”
They stared comfortably out into the garden together, watching the summer bees at their work. Pippin nibbled her scone and digested the words, which had lodged deep within her, and healed something there.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Frodo nodded kindly. “And Bilbo would be proud too, to know that his old cane isn’t just someone else’s mathom.”
That brought a small smile. It did warm her heart to carry something of that old adventurer. “How is dear old Bilbo?” asked Pippin fondly.
“Dear and old,” answered Frodo. A small cloud passed over his expression. “And expected any day now.”
* * *
The journey back from the haven felt like a million miles, full of silence and sorrow.
So, it was all too much for Frodo, in the end. And there was nothing she and her friends could have done. He was too hurt, and too weary, and where else could he find rest?
Pippin grieved the loss of her friend every step of the way home. Yet, that night, she burrowed beneath her quilt, and permitted herself one selfish sob, where nobody else could hear. “Where will I find rest?” she whispered. "Where can I be free of this pain?"
“At least with you, I was not so alone.”
* * *
Pippin followed along behind Merry. He carried two folding chairs slung over his back, and she held tight to the basket of snacks. Bilbo's old cane stamped along to their traveling song.
Merry pointed. “There she is!” he said, slightly winded. “We’ll set down here by the tree, and if we’ve a mind, there’s blueberry bushes just a little ways further.”
“As if we didn’t already pack blueberries ourselves!”
“Blueberry jam, Pip. And what pairs best with blueberry jam? Fresh picked blueberries, of course!”
They dropped their burdens and sprawled lazily in the shade of the tree.
“You’ll always be a tween, won’t you?” laughed Pippin.
“On the contrary, I am old and wise enough to appreciate the sweetest of delicacies. And where better to do it than under the shade of the knotty oak of Bywater on a summer day?”
In no time at all, they were lounging in their chairs, soaking in the warmth and peace, and munching happily.
Pippin opened the jar of jam, then rummaged around the bottom of the basket. "No teaspoons," she sighed. "Just tablespoons today."
"Tablespoons on most days," said Merry quietly.
It seemed to Pippin that the daylight dimmed slightly, as though a thin cloud had rolled overhead. For a moment, Pippin felt the world around her fade. The veil lifted its corner, and she felt it- the fragility of life, the friends that were lost, the war that had touched everything. She would feel it forever. It lived in her bones. But the sun was warm, the day was fair, and Merry was near. The light washed over her again, and she beheld what every sacrifice had been for. And she was thankful. Truly, every moment, she was thankful, and she knew that she would always be so. Her life blossomed still, her friends were here, and there was peace.
She laid her hand softly on Merry’s arm. "And thankful for it," she assured him. She knew that his perception had slipped in the same way, yet his thoughts would tangle darker still, if they could. The pain of her cousin lived still in his mind.
They were both a little bit broken.
But he could carry the chairs. And she could hold his darkness at bay.
"The tablespoon is just fine," said Pippin, finishing with a flourish, and handing the slice to Merry. "Now come try this blueberry jam.”