Passing for Underhill

Standard disclaimer: This is a fanfic. Characters: ain't mine. World: ain't mine neither. Mistakes: Mine, all mine.

Shire Reckoning dates:

1419 Wedding of Aragorn and Arwen

1423 Birth of Frodo Gardner (son of Sam Gamgee)

1430 Birth of Faramir Took

1432 Merry becomes Master of Buckland

1434 Pippin becomes The Took and Thain.

1436 Aragorn rides north, meets his hobbit friends at the bridge, and then goes on to dwell for a while by Lake Evendim.

Date uncertain in cannon: birth of Eldarion. In this story, his birth year is 1423.

The stonemasons had certainly done a fine job building on the old foundations, and restoring the ruins of the city that was now renamed Undomelin. City and lake were both well named, Merry thought. Evening was a fine time to stand at the wall on the third storey of the palace, and view the stars twinkling over the water. There was no moon tonight, and it was quite dark. It was also growing rather chill. Even the stones beneath his feet were beginning to forget the warmth of the day, despite it being full summer.

A figure just Merry's height appeared beside him. The hood of the fellow's cloak was thrown back, and though it was too dark to see much of his face, Merry made out the shape of his ears, not as rounded as a Man's, nor yet as pointed as an elf's. There was only one other hobbit as tall as Merry, and that was his cousin and best friend Pippin. The Pippin-shape leaned out over the wall and dropped something.

"Hey," Merry slapped his cousin's arm. He paid no heed to the sudden heavy footfalls behind him. "There might be someone below. Have you left your sense in your mug?"

An odd sounding giggle escaped the Pippin-shape as the bootsteps reached him. Suddenly someone seized Merry's arms and picked him up bodily. "Ai! Put me down!" Merry cried out, struggling uselessly. "Who's there? Pippin, help!"

But no help was forthcoming from the small cloaked form. Merry was carried across the rooftop open space and into the smallish structure, but whoever had captured him did not turn for the deserted throne room, but down the stairs. Merry caught a glimpse of his assailant when the man shifted his grip to pick up a torch from the stairwell before entering the basement. Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking the uniform he had seen Pippin wear on so many occasions over the years: the White Tree embroidered onto a black tunic over chain mail. It was one of the palace guards. Merry was no nonplussed that he did not think of trying to take advantage of the single armed grip to try to escape.

This part of the palace was still under renovation, and there was nothing down here but the wine cellar and a lot of empty, dusty, damp rooms. Merry was tossed into one such room. He jumped up and ran for the door, but it closed and locked with a snick. Merry tried to force it open, but it wouldn't budge.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" Merry called through the door. There was no answer. A little dim torchlight came through the crack under the door, but otherwise the underground room was pitch dark. Merry explored the little room by feel, slowly and carefully, with rising trepidation. There were no other doors. The room was not entirely empty, though. There were metal things in the darkness. Merry thought he recognized the shape of a bed, although there was no mattress or other bedding. There were several buckets, and a rod, and some small items on the floor that he could not identify. Perhaps this was some sort of store room? No, he decided, this detritus must be left over from the original palace, because rust came off on his hand whenever he touched any of the metal objects. He knew it was rust, not just dust, because it smelled like wet iron. The scent reminded him of the war. He shivered and pulled his elven-cloak closer about him.

"Don't panic," he told himself. "Pippin will get help. Someone's bound to find me soon. I'm still in the palace, it's not that big a place to search."

Merry continued feeling around the room, and his hand touched a heavy chain. He followed its length and discovered it ended it a metal cylinder. So did the other end. It was a set of manacles. "Oh no! I'm in the dungeon!"

Time passed, and no one came for him. Merry was far too wound up in knots to sleep. Unlike during his captivity by the orcs, he did not have any lembas in his pocket, and soon he was hungry as well as tired, cold, scared, and confused. He was also thirsty and had a headache.

He was unsure whether it was it morning when the door opened again, but he rushed the two guards and wished he had his sword. One of the Men picked him up and the other one came behind with the torch. Merry tried to fight, but unarmed he was no match for a soldier of Gondor. "Let me go! Don't you know who I am?" He was carried all the way up to the top level, and into the throne room.

He stopped struggling when he saw Aragorn on the high seat. A crowd of Aragorn's courtiers filled up the small throne room of the north kingdom. Aragorn's jaw dropped when he saw his soldiers carry in Merry. "What is this?" asked the King.

There was another soldier—the one from last night?—standing before the throne. This soldier indicated Merry and said, "He is the one."

"Set him down," commanded Aragorn.

When the soldier put Merry down, the hobbit ran over to Aragorn. "Thank goodness you're here! I was afraid there was some sort of coup going on. Where is Pippin? Why didn't anyone come to help me? Did they get him too? Are other people missing? Has anyone been assassinated in the night?"

"Calm down, Merry," Aragorn said. "I will sort it all out. I saw Pippin this morning, and he was fine."

"But then, why didn't he bring help to rescue me?" Merry asked. "He saw me taken."

"No one knew where you were, Merry. Certainly Pippin did not, he asked why you were not at breakfast."

"Because these rude Men carried me off right in front of him!" Merry exclaimed indignantly. He turned to look at the three soldiers. "And where was my breakfast, I wonder? The Uruk-hai provided food to their captives, poor fare but no worse than their own rations. The soldiery of Gondor could learn a thing or two about the proper treatment of prisoners from the orcs."

One of the soldiers looked angered at this, but did nothing.

"Peace, Merry," said Aragorn. "I apologize on behalf of my men. I will make certain they know better in the future. Now, tell me exactly what happened last night."

"One of your men attacked me and locked me in the dungeon and didn't give me any food or water or light or blankets, that's what!" Merry's fear had dissipated, and now it was replaced by ire. "And nobody told me what was going on! I was afraid when they carried me up here I would find someone else sitting there and all my friends slaughtered in their beds."

"Before the soldier arrested you. What happened before that?"

Merry shrugged. "I watched the sunset and looked at the lake a while. Then Pippin came out and dropped a rock over the wall onto the road. I gave him a whap and accused him of being drunk. He's the Thain now, he's far too old to be getting up to stupid mischief. He didn't have a chance to respond before the soldier grabbed me."

Aragorn sighed and massaged his face. "Are you sure it was Pippin?" he asked.

"Who else could it have been?" Merry replied. "My height, slightly pointy ears, acting like a fool of a Took. How many people does that describe?"

"Two, unfortunately," said Aragorn. "This is all clearly a misunderstanding. And I am not at all happy with the way my men treated you, nor with them waiting until my normal court hours to present their case," Aragorn said grimly, and eyed his soldiers. They looked suitably chastened. "I will be reviewing the procedures the guards are to follow. I brought only picked men with me from Gondor, and I thought I had finally convinced them that I am not in fact Denethor. They are not to assume that I want things done the way he did them."

"But—what about Pippin?" Merry asked.

"Pippin wasn't there," said Aragorn. "It was Eldarion. The soldiers accused you of assaulting the Crown Prince."

"Oh."

"And they left out the part about him dropping stones from a height onto the public roadway. Nor did my son see fit to explain what he was doing just before the so called attack." Aragorn turned and made a crowd-parting gesture, and his courtiers drew aside to reveal the boy. In the light of day, he did not really look much like Pippin. Aside from his shoes, though, he still seemed remarkably hobbit-like. "You, young man, are confined to your room until tomorrow. Go."

The boy pouted, but didn't argue as he rose and left.

"You, soldier, have made a report so incomplete as to be nearly falsified. Consider yourself warned. Another such lapse and you will be reduced in rank to private, so that you may learn your duties properly. Go." All three of the soldiers left.

"And Merry, of course, you are free. I regret that you spent even one night in the dungeon. Especially in such a state of apprehension. In fact, I was not aware that I had a dungeon. If you would, join me for lunch out on the terrace." His gaze rose to address the entire assembly. "Court is over for the day." And to a servant: "Have the meal brought up." And back to Merry again: "Sit beside me and we will speak."

"Gladly," Merry said.

The court walked outside and found seats around the table. All the hobbits were there, including Pippin and Sam and their wives and children. Merry gave Pippin a heartfelt squeeze before sitting down and tucking into the provender. "What was that about?" Pippin asked. Aragorn explained what had happened to the wide-eyed hobbitry.

At the repast, there was very little speech from Merry until Merry had quite made up for his skipped breakfast. After about plate number seven, Merry relaxed and merely nibbled, filling up the corners.

"He really could pass for a hobbit," Merry mused. "Even in the daylight."

"He could," Pippin agreed. "He really could. Well, if he wrapped up his feet as if there were something wrong with them, anyway. The half elf ears are very much like hobbit ears. Say," said Pippin, "do you suppose—when he's done being kept in his room, that is—that we might test that notion?"

"What do you mean?" asked Aragorn.

"Well, I know you said you'd made a law that the Big People aren't to come into the Shire. I certainly understand the reason for it. There are graves and ruined places still, from the Troubles. And I know you said you wouldn't make one law for yourself and another for everyone else, and I can certainly understand that too, despite the temptation to say to darkness with that and come visit us anyway. But Eldarion isn't Big People yet. And anyway elves still pass through the Shire."

"That's true," said Sam. "I've seen them on the Road. The way to the Havens still goes through Hobbiton, and nobody had better think of turning them back."

"Right," said Pippin. "And if there's one sort of lore that we hobbits go in for, it's geneology, right Sam?"

"Right enough. What are you getting at, Mr. Pippin?"

"Well. Arwen is three quarters elf. That makes Eldarion three eighths elf on his mother's side, and a teeny little bit elf on his father's side. That's close enough for me, and as the Thain of the Shire I officially declare that as long as he's short enough to pass and won't cause a stir, Eldarion is welcome in the Shire."

Merry toyed with a pastry. "Not in Buckland he's not," he growled.

Aragorn said, "I have not given my permission yet. And I am not inclined to do so without considerable further thought. Especially after his display of irresponsibility, last night and today. He knew perfectly well where Merry was all this time, and said nothing, though he assuredly heard you ask after him. But your reasoning is sound, Pippin. Eldarion is not an elf. He is mortal, and cannot ever change, any more than could the second King of Numenor, the son of Elros Halfelven. But even reckoned as a son of Men, he is not a man yet."

Pippin grinned. "There's plenty of time for thought, as I intend to enjoy your table many times before heading home. And Merry, I know you're still upset, but really, you and I have certainly gotten into our share of mischief. We ran completely wild, in fact, for a while there. And most of it was your idea, if I recall."

"My perspective has changed since then," Merry said. "It's called adulthood."

Sam put in, "Oh, but I would dearly love to be able to show Bag End to Strider. Since I can't, hosting his son is the next best thing." Sam exchanged a look with Rosie, down the table. "I'd show him the mallorn tree. And a real hobbit hole, they're quite different from those scaled down hobbit rooms in the inn at Bree."

"Maybe," Aragorn said. "My law is not the only issue."

"Eldarion really does look like a hobbit. Mr. Pippin's right, I think he could pass. You know who he looks like? Well, he doesn't really look like him, as far as a painter would do his portrait, I guess, wrong color eyes for starters, but the intensity is the same. For all you say your son's no elf, Strider, he still feels a bit elvish, if you understand me. He reminds me of Frodo."

"Oh, Sam," Pippin said, reaching across the table to touch his arm. He could not think of any other words to say after that, so he just gave the arm a couple of pats then busied himself with a berry tart.

"Oh please," said Merry. "Frodo wouldn't've—well, no, I'm wrong. I didn't know Frodo as a teenager, but knowing he lived in Brandy Hall after his parents died, and before Bilbo adopted him, and knowing that means any discipline to be handed out would have come from my father, he probably would have left someone in a dungeon to avoid getting in trouble himself. Any sane being would."

"So no more hard feelings?" Pippin asked. "We can hardly bring him back with us if one member of the party hankers for vengeance."

"No vengeance-hankering here," Merry said. "But somebody had better take him in hand if you really plan to take him somewhere without his parents."

"I will," said Sam.

"Oh, great," Merry said. "You just said he reminds you of Frodo. You'll spoil him rotten."

"I've got a son named Frodo, you'll remember," said Sam. "His name never stopped me from giving him a good smack when he needs one."

"There will be no smacking," Aragorn declared. "Arwen and I are raising Eldarion in the elven way. As Elrond raised us."

"Not to worry," said Pippin. "I've saved every response to those anxious letters I wrote to you for advice when little Faramir was born. I know how to do things your way."

"What," said Sam, "you never spank Faramir-lad?"

"Not for my life," Pippin replied. "There was a reason that Merry and I capered like a pair of madmen at Saradoc's funeral. We were not drunk at all, as it happened. I intend to be a different sort."

Merry blushed and picked at his food.

"You were sober?" Sam gasped.

"Ask no more now, Sam, there are children present." Pippin said.

Sam nodded. He filed his questions away for later, for some less public spot, preferably when Merry and Pippin WERE drunk. He could always get them going when they were in their cups.

Aragorn, who had seen Pippin's body when he healed him after the war, also flushed and looked away.

End of Chapter One