Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Days of the King ❯ The Fellowship Gathers ( Chapter 24 )

Chapter 24

 

Pippin was not disappointed in what the palace kitchens could provide. Hobbit appetites were as prodigious as those of dwarves, and Gimil, with a superior knowledge of the cuisine of Minas Tirith, provided gustatory guidance. And joined him in the meal. It would be rude to allow him to dine alone.

Legolas had gone to find Aragorn.

"All morning on the road, and he not interested in even a wee bite!" Pippin let loose a considerable belch. Not to be outdone, Gimli produced one that inspired the hobbit to give applause.

"It is pleasant to dine with someone who appreciates the bounty of a well laid table. The Elf barely eats at all, and these Gondorians have rather spare appetites. And as for drinking! Well...!" Here, Gimli drained half a flagon of a good summer ale before continuing, "I've known dwarven maidens with more stomach! But you, laddie...you have the makings of a fine drinking companion too!" Gimli clapped the hobbit on his back, almost toppling him from his perch atop four pillows on the chair seat.

Legolas strolled casually into the room. "Look Pippin - I've brought a great admirer of yours to see you!"

Faramir followed Legolas into Gimli's chambers, with Theodred Castamir in tow. Faramir had told the boy of Pippin's role in saving his life, and he was eager to meet the hero.

Theodred Castamir had difficulty, however, taking his eyes off Legolas; he had never before seen an Elven warrior, but he was taken aback by Pippin's size.

"Master Peregrin Took - I would like to present my firstborn son, Theodred Castamir!"

Theodred and Pippin blinked at each other. Theodred then looked at his father.

"Why, father - he's not much taller than I am!"

Faramir smiled down at him. "It is not size that makes the man, Theodred; it is his deeds. This brave fellow is a Guard of the Citadel, made so by the Steward of Gondor. And he saved my life. We all owe him a great debt."

Theodred executed a formal bow to Pippin. "I meant no offense, sir. I have never before met a Hobbit. My thanks, and the thanks of all my family are yours."

Pippin beamed at the boy and accepted his acknowledgement with a wave of his hand, which happened to hold a roasted chicken leg. "It wasn't easy when you're little more than half the size of everyone else, but I am glad I was able to help when needed."

"Are you truly going to battle with the King and his comrades?" said Theodred, his eyes wide. He looked quickly at Faramir and grasped his hand. "Can I go too?"

 

The men chuckled. "You may be as tall as Pippin, but Master Took has ten years experience with sword, knife, and bow. That's as many years as a warrior as you are old, young fellow!" Legolas smiled at the boy.

"Practice hard, and in ten years, your father might let you ride with the host of Gondor, and do battle for the glory of the Realm!"

The child beamed at the Elf. Visions of the glory of the fields of honor filled his thoughts, surrounded by the remaining members of the famous Fellowship.

Aragorn entered the room, and saw Legolas. They embraced and greeted each other in a rapid stream of Elvish.

"Ah, it is GOOD to see you again, Legolas! It has been far too long, old friend, far too long!"

Then the King glanced around and saw Pippin.

"My word, Pippin, it is good to see a Hobbit again! Let me look at you!" Aragorn slapped him goodnaturedly on his shoulders and back. "You look quite the rake! A beard! It HAS been a long time!"

Aragorn surveyed the carnage that was lunch.

"I see Gimli has had your needs tended to!"

Aragorn suddenly regarded him with a puzzled expression. "Your timing is uncanny, Pippin. We are leaving very soon on a tour of some of my villages and towns that have been plagued by bandits. Will you join us?"

Pippin glanced at Legolas. He had not thought to weigh his explanation of his presence with the elf's request to keep their method of transport to Minas Tirith a secret.

"We have come to do just that, Aragorn!" It was Legolas who spoke. "Can we quest again without thinking of our hobbit comrades? Adding Pippin to our ranks seemed the right thing to do."

"Quite so, Legolas! He is welcome to join us." Aragorn gave the hobbit an appraising look. "Those Entdraughts had given you more height than I remember, Master Took. And you have the look of a man of arms. What have you been up to in these past years?"

Here, Pippin wiped his mouth and swallowed his last bite. He wished he didn't need to sit on so many pillows to reach the table properly. It was difficult to sound and look serious .

"My Lord Aragorn, King of Gondor: I have not been idle in these years past. I immodestly think that I have improved greatly with sword, knife and bow. It is my intention to be a valued man-at-arms to you, and not a burden. I was a foolish child when the Fellowship embarked on it's mission. I am not the same person. I will hold my own against any adversary, my lord; I will not only protect myself, but I would count it as a great favor if you consider me a reliable warrior. Live or die, please; do not protect me. I will defend myself and with any luck, be of considerable value to the mission."

With these words, Pippin slipped from his perch and bowed on bended knee to Aragorn.

"This, I pledge to you, as a sworn Guard of the Citadel."

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After her consultation with Aragorn, Augra left the palace. The dark wizard's presence was becoming actually uncomfortable, and that discomfort increased tenfold when she saw the Elven man with the pale yellow hair.

For the briefest of moments, it seemed to Augra that, as they passed along the street leading to the main palace doors that he did mark her. It was very little, a brief narrowing of the over-large pupils and a glance that lingered upon her a second longer than was casual. He sensed her awareness. The scent the Elf carried with him was strong and very dark. It frightened Augra.

She scurried to her hovel on the city's lowest level, and unlocked her front door. The signs and spells were in place. Good. Now was no time to worry about casual intrusion. There was serious mischief afoot, and it was time to call upon her allies. A battle was coming.

Not the battle that Lord Aragorn was seeking; this was much worse. No bow or sword would win this fight. What was the pale Elf's role in all of this? she wondered.

Her low-ceilinged front room was decorated in a manner calculated to enhance her reputation as a witch -and a bit of a crackpot. Pickled frogs, desiccated bats, dogs' paw butter (yes there is a market for that -very good for gout), herbs and roots, fresh, dried, tinctured, pickled and in salves were on every dark and crowded shelf, alternating with scrolls and books that purposed to reveal ancient lore and forgotton magicks (nonsense for the gullible). A whole oliphant tusk (a small bit, ground up, properly bespelled and put in a man's ale was very efficatious for sagging...libidoes), Teeth of the flying Nazgul mounts (only 3 - very rare; Augra was waiting for a very special occasion to use those). The heart of an ancient sorcerer, very powerful, never seen, in three nesting boxes and bound with dozens of incantations. The list of the bizarre, revolting, unique and (surprisingly)useful was quite extensive.

But none of what Augra sought was here. She dropped her bundle (the King would not miss those two bottles of mead) in the front room, and went to a nearly concealed rear door. It was small; even Augra had to crouch to enter. There were three tiers of spells upon the door, two in languages no longer spoken in Middle Earth by any but the Sisterhood.

She murmured in one of the ancient tongues, and the glyphs, pictograms, and sacred symbols all began to glow. Satisfied that her sanctum was still unviolated. Augra entered. The rear of Augra's shop was her real home. Subtly and covertly carved into the rock upon which the city was built, the size of her residence was unknown to all in Minas Tirith. While the outer room could not hold ten adults comfortably, the rear was larger than the King's audience chamber. It was a very high ceilinged room; Augra's modest household needs were met by a small stretch of the immense interior balcony that encircled the room.

This area held the real magic that coursed through Augra's veins. In the middle of the room, on an oval

raised dais three times longer than Augra was tall, was a map of Middle earth. But not a map of parchment or leather; this map used bits of rock and soil, bark and small plants to demarcate the features of the land.

Small figures,cunningly crafted of wood, metal, leather and fur, depicted samples of the folk and creatures of the land.

Augra stood before the dais now. She searched among her many pouches for the dozen or so that contained soil. Each she held in turn and murmured. When she got to the third pouch, she gasped. Gingerly, she took a pinch of soil from the pouch and sprinkled it upon a small area of the map.

The area where the soil was placed began to glow slightly. Augra dropped the other pouches, and placed both hands, palms downward, over the spot as she recited incantations.

"No...oh, no. Strider..."

Augra tottered to a nearby chair and dropped herself onto it, a look of pain distorting her features.

"I don't know if he can survive without her. She is in his blood."

Augra pushed herself off the chair and went to recover the bundle she carried from the palace. She needed a drink.