Author's Note: Weeell, I wanted to challenge myself. I have only before completed one first-person story, 'Frodo's Birthday'. It's interesting to have to communicate through thoughts alone, and I imagine Pippin's mind especially to be a complex one. So, I've rendered my favourite hobbit speechless for a brief while. Sorry for the crappy title, and my other story, Little One, has not been abandoned, I promise.

I do not own Tolkien, or any of the following names or places.

Chapter One: Bree

Pippin

One of the most painful things about being a mute, is the inability to communicate with strangers. All of these tall men about, staring at me like I am insane when I cannot reply. It's humiliating, really. Especially when they lose their temper, and sometimes lash out. Why did I ever leave the Shire? At least some of the folk back home understood what I tried to get across, and they at least knew that I no longer have voice.

It was all well and good, before, with Frodo and Merry close at my side. They watch out for trouble, and step in if I get into any trouble.

But now they look to be asleep, and I'm stuck here with this Strider. How could Frodo have fallen asleep? I don't think I could drop off even if he were awake, but...

He's just staring out the window. And I am just sitting against the wall, hugging my blanket like a dim-witted idiot. Once or twice we have met each other's gaze, but eventually we look away; myself uncomfortable, and he amused.

I am quite used to these kinds of awkward silences. Back in the Shire, hobbits understood, but most did not bother to hide their frustration when trying to communicate with me. I've been silent for about five years now, I suppose.

Frodo and Merry sensed something was wrong, that winter. It was (and still is) quite common for me to spend weeks in bed, ill, but for some reason, they sensed that this illness was different. They pleaded da to send for a healer, and soon he did, beginning to notice small differences in my symptoms. How do you explain to a healer, however, that you just have a feeling that something is wrong?

I do not hold a grudge against anyone, but perhaps if the healer had come earlier, I would still be able to talk.

The last thing I remember saying to anyone, was, "Oh, Frodo, this hurts so much."

I always thought that my last words would be jolly and carefree... not pained and weak.

Frodo and Merry, and my close family were hit hard by the loss of my voice. Almost as much as I was, really. Frodo moved into our home for several weeks, and Merry stayed over as much as possible, just to be around me, and offer comfort if they could. Try as they might, they could not bring my voice back, and neither could the healer, as she announced sadly to my family a few weeks later.

I myself was inconsolable. I couldn't speak of my pains so I cried them. I couldn't answer my parents and sisters, so I ignored them. Eventually only Frodo and Merry could get a reaction from me, and it was typically a silent sob.

Nevertheless, it was actually my poor father who came up with the idea: a silent language. Which, of course, meant that everyone close to me had to learn the complex hand gestures, and remember them well. I recall being reluctant about it, but with Frodo and Merry's help, I was soon able to communicate again, without writing things down.

It felt wonderful at first. Like me again, almost. There are symbols for every feeling, most words, and we enjoyed creating a sign for each of our names.

But that was before I felt ready to leave my room again.

Most of my other friends were either scared of me, or they tormented me. Dumb Took.

Other hobbits, adults even, ignored me, or offered condolences to my parents, as if it were my fault. I have lived in loneliness for the majority of past years, basically with Frodo and Merry as my only friends.

I was delighted when Frodo's gardener, Sam Gamgee, decided to learn our language. Always have liked Sam, and it was immense fun to spend time with him before my illness. Turned out it was afterwards, as well, and thus our group of four began.

But this Strider... he cannot understand. Earlier Frodo explained my situation, and Strider seemed sympathetic enough. But once more, I am disabled because of that illness, almost five years ago.

He is looking at me again. I raise my gaze slowly, to meet his eyes, and am met by a friendly smile. Hesitantly I reply likewise, wishing deeply that I could say something. Anything, to wash away the awkwardness of this moment.

Eventually I realise that he is actually holding up his hands. I squint at him, and jump as I realise that he is making a sign: peace, or friendship, depending on the meaning.

I laugh silently and clap my hands together in delight, and Strider smiles at me, making another sign: Understanding.

This is fantastic! No doubt there is a slight difference in the gestures we both use, but we can at least make general conversation now, without Frodo to translate!

I hold up my own hands briefly in a reflection of his peace sign, and make another: happiness, or amusement. He copies the latter, and tries another: sympathy.

I struggle with that one for a moment before it registers, and I hastily shrug it off, making a gesture of acceptance.

Like me, he stares at my hands for several moments, trying to figure it out. At last he nods, and continues.

For the better part of an hour we do our best to communicate, with many a laugh involved. I cannot remember feeling this elated! Finally, someone who can speak to me straight away, without having to go through the process of learning our language, or having Frodo translate for us.

Strider manages to tell me, without words, of his previous experience with the hand signs. I think he has told me that he uses them in the wild, when hunting animals with his companions. I cannot figure out how to ask him exactly who his companions are, or were, but I suppose it does not matter. I am so enjoying having someone to talk to.

Eventually, I begin to yawn, and our conversation slows. The man tries to convey something to me, but I am too tired to translate it. Something about night? Morning?

Smiling patiently, he points to the bed, and signs sleeping. "You'll need some rest, Peregrin." He says softly, breaking the silence reluctantly. With a grin, I sign his sentence out for him, and he copies my gestures, chuckling quietly.

Wishing him friendship, I lie back down besides Frodo, and shuffle closer to Merry, glad for the warmth radiating from his body. As I close my eyes, I smile, unable to believe my luck. We are 'stuck' with this Strider, but I prefer him to any of the other men I have seen.

...I hope he did not understand my previous comment to Frodo, about his appearance...

TBC. Please R&R