Pippin nodded, ‘Oh, yes, Bergil’s grandson. I could use a bit of help, Beregorn.’
‘What can I do? Do you want me to get my mother?’
‘Oh, no, lad, do not bother her. I smell supper cooking, this would not be a good time to interrupt. Here is what I want you to do. See my chest, there?’ The boy nodded. ‘Go over to my chest. That’s right. Open it up. See that bundle wrapped in cloth? The long one. There you have it. Bring it over here. Now lay it in my lap. Let us unwrap it.’
The boy stared in fascination as the cloth was gently unfolded. He gasped in wonder at the shining sword within. Intertwining shapes of red and gold and the flowing characters of Numenor shone in the sunset light streaming in the window.
‘Is this the sword…?’
‘Yes. This is the one that killed the troll that would have ripped out your great-grandsire’s throat.’ The boy stared in awe. His hand caressed the weapon, fingers tracing the runes, hand gently coming to rest upon the hilt. ‘Go ahead. Pick it up.’ The boy stared, not sure he was hearing right. ‘Go on, lad. Test the balance.’ He tentatively picked it up and swung it back and forth, gaining confidence with every move. ‘You won’t find a sweeter blade anywhere in the Kingdom,’ the hobbit murmured. He took a few laboured breaths, then spoke again, in a tone of mischievous delight. ‘D’you want to know something?’
Pippin grinned. ‘Today’s my birthday!’
‘Yes. And do you know what my people do on birthdays?’ Wide-eyed, the boy shook his head. Pippin’s face was bright with mischief. ‘They give birthday presents!’
‘Oh, aye. And I have a present for you.’
‘Yes. Take that troll bane. It is a blade of Old Numenor. It will serve you well.’ Stammering his thanks the boy bolted from the room. His mother soon entered, wiping her hands on a cloth.
‘What’s this wild tale Beregorn tells me, you giving him your sword?’
The hobbit smiled. ‘It is his. I will not need it much longer.’
‘Now don’t speak so. You are getting stronger every day.’
Pippin laughed. ‘You cannot fool an old fool,’ he chided, ‘especially an old fool of a Took!’ At her uncomprehending stare, he chuckled again. ‘A very old joke, my dear. Before your time.’
‘All right, have your joke,’ she said easily. ‘I have a very good supper about to come from the pot, and I expect you to eat every bite! I will be right back!’
‘I promise not to go anywhere,’ Pippin smiled.
She was as good as her word, returning promptly with a laden tray, which she dropped, paying no heed to smashed crockery, as she ran from the room to fetch her husband to ride for the King.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.