Disclaimer: Same dealio, don't own, you know.

A/N: Oi, on yet another topic that's been written about to death? YES! Anyway, these will be in chronological order, each chapter from the perspective of a different member of the Fellowship, and set in the last days of the Third Age to 120~ of the Fourth Age. Each drabble will be 500 words or less.

See you soon for the next update!

000

Between Took and Wizard

"Gandalf! Gandalf!" Pippin trotted up to the aged wizard on soft, hobbit feet in the gardens of Minas Tirith. But Gandalf, for the moment, did not notice. He yanked on the white sleeve of the wizard's robe. "Gandalf?"

That, and the resulting stumble and huff of annoyance meant he had finally caught Gandalf's attention. Glaring down at the hobbit, the wizard spoke, "Peregrin Took, can you not tell that I am off to an important meeting with the king and his guests?"

"Strider can wait." Pippin folded his arms. A mischievous grin curved the corners of his mouth. "He's waited a very long time already, why not a few minutes more? Patience. That's what a king needs! After all, he'll be waited on hand and foot soon enough, if you ask me."

The wizard chuckled, dropping, for a moment, his stern façade. "What is it Pippin?" asked the wizard, his head inclined so that the tall hobbit did not have to strain his neck to look him in the eye. Leisurely, they ambled through the gardens.

Pippin sighed, glancing southward for a moment. "Elves can't get sick, correct?"

"No, they cannot," Gandalf said, sadness deepening the creases near his mouth and eyes, "though they might die from heartache or injury."

He nodded. "I remember hearing such back in Rivendell," Pippin said, taking a seat on the white brick ledge which encircled one of the raised flowerbeds, his toes barely touched the marble walkway. "But…if elves can't get sick…"

Pippin paused, chewing his bottom lip. "Why is Legolas acting so…"

"Ah." The wizard squeezed his shoulder. Pippin looked up at him.

"Ah?" He shook his head in dismay. "He's gone strange…er, Gandalf! Legolas has always been so happy, joyful! Loves trees and flowers and plants and horses and all those natural things, but now he oft stares south, as though yearning for a long lost love, and sings about the sea and seagulls. If elves can't get sick, what is wrong with him?"

"And they're always such sad songs," he whispered. "I do not wish to lose yet another friend." Downcast eyes.

"Not even Elrond can heal this, young hobbit…if, indeed, there is anything to be healed," Gandalf said. The hobbit tilted his head. Why did wizards have to be so cryptic when a simple explanation might suffice? "Once a Sinda feels the sea-longing, Pippin, it cannot be quenched."

Face forlorn, and tears, unbidden, Pippin blinked, clearing his vision. "So, he…"

"He is not dying, Peregrin Took," said the wizard, now also sitting beside him. "Do not worry, it may be long years yet before he sets sail…other oaths and people may still stymie that journey for a time, I think."

May, Pippin thought, he did not like the sound of may. He sighed. "It is better news, I guess, than finding out he is leaving tomorrow…or worse, left without saying goodbye."

All he got in reply was a strange, knowing smile.

It wasn't comforting in the least.