Out of the Dust by Kaylee Arafinwiel

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Story Notes:

September, 3015 T.A. (Halimath, 1415 S.R.)
Frodo =47, Pippin = 25 (early 30's and 16 years old in Man-years…thanks to
Dreamflower for the Hobbit ages chart!) I don't often write Pippin, but Five
Books Five Characters N43 demanded it.

Also, Art Supplies N43, Emotions 068,
Games I18, Injuries O67, Occupations I22 and O72, Shirish O67, Smells O68,
Weather I22, O68, Book Title I18, Causes of Death O72 and N43, Food O67


Author's Chapter Notes:

Rated PG for offscreen character death.


It was a humid day in Halimath, and Frodo was lying in a field near Tuckborough,
resting on his way to visit his Took cousins, when one of said cousins decided
to surprise him.

"Frodo! Frodo, Frodo, Frodo…" Pippin gasped and ran to Frodo, who turned to look
at him with an indulgent smile. A hurricane would have been slower than the
energetic Pippin!

"Yes, Pipsqueak. Are we playing tag now?" He grinned as the tween huffed
indignantly. "What can I do for you, hmm?" Frodo stretched lithely and settled
back against the boulder supporting him, returning to his carving.

"I'm not a Pipsqueak," Pippin informed Frodo. "I'm Pippin. " He paused.
"Peregrin. And…and…" He sighed, looking downcast. "Have you heard the news from
Great Smials?"

Frodo's smile vanished. "What is it?" He set his knife and the newly carved
object aside, and drew Pippin to him. Pippin buried his face in Frodo's
shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of pipeweed, and his next words came out
muffled.

"Cousin Rumbi."

Frodo froze in shock. "Ferumbras? Has he…" He felt, rather than saw, Pippin's
miserable nod. "Oh…Pip. We knew it would happen soon," he murmured, though that
didn't make it any harder. He had a stomach ache just thinking about what being
the Thain's Heir would mean for Pip. Being the Baggins was hard enough on him.

"It was exhaustion, they said. But with a mum like Lalia, I'd be exhausted, too.
But...we're leaving Whitwell, Frodo!" Pippin whispered, trembling with
apprehension at all that it meant. Frodo sighed.

"How about you come back to Bag End with me when I go, Pip? I'll cook up some
baked apples and iced fruit. You have to eat something," he said gently, and
Pippin hugged him tight.

"Oh, Frodo, thank you!"

"Anything for my Pipsqueak," Frodo said softly. Gently disengaging himself from
Pippin, he picked up his project and handed it over. "For you, Pip." He was no
apothecary, but he knew well the grief of loss, and that even a small
distraction might ease the pain somewhat.

Pippin's eyes were bright with tears. "A new flute!"

The first thing he played on it was a lament for Cousin Ferumbras.




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