Chapter Text
With a cry, Periwinkle tumbled to her knees. Her frenzied sprint had brought her straight into the cradle of a copse of young pines. Needles tickled her hot, stained cheeks, and her hands grappled blindly at the grass beneath her, clawing dirt under her fingernails. Her pince-nez was hazy with speckled tears, reducing her vision to a blur of dark green. She did not dare to turn her face towards the streams of bright sun that shone from behind her. Hoping with all her heart that she had not been followed, that she could not be seen, she crawled further into the embrace of the boughs.
She grabbed roughly for her eyeglass, knocking it from her face before finally bringing it between her sleeves and wiping it somewhat clear. The lucidity helped little. Her vision still shook in time with the blood pounding against her temples, and she could make out nothing from the shifting greens before her, rising with the ageing trees. One quivering hand rose to her chest, fisting into the fabric of her blouse in a pitiful attempt to soothe the burning pain rising up her throat. The other grasped a sprig of pine, the needles biting into her skin as its siblings whispered gently over her skin.
Wrapping her fingers tighter around the twig — the balmy scent of crushed needles doing nothing to allay her anguish — she hoisted herself precariously to her feet and stumbled further into the soothing darkness of the grove. Still hiccupping around trembling sobs, she desperately gulped down deep breaths of air, succeeding only in quickening her breathing into frantic pants. Clawing her hands into her hair, she pressed her fingertips deep into the skin of her skull to distract from the throbbing within it. Her thumb swiped over the smooth point of her ear, and a fresh wave of tears swam before her eyes.
Bilbo’s words rang loud in her ears, a cruel shout in place of the gentle, parental tone she could hardly remember.
‘I know not their names, nor where the Elf went after the death of his love, but I know that Gandalf kept their daughter safe.’
A whimper spilt from her clenched lips, and she screwed her eyes shut, fingers tightening around her ears and tangling into her hair.
‘You were swapped, given to your mother before any other knew her labour was finished.’
Elf. Elf. Elf. Periwinkle’s head swam from the cacophony of voices blurring together in her mind. Bilbo, Estel, Glorfindel, Elrond, even Arwen’s low whisper was deafening as she stumbled through the thicket blindly, gasping hoarsely.
‘I do not understand why an Elleth insists on calling herself a Hobbit.’
‘And what might your name be, Half-Elf? You’re no more a Hobbit than I am an Orc.’
‘I could give you reason after reason why I know. I could tell you exactly how you look like an Elf, act like an Elf, think like an Elf. But above all else, when I see your soul, when I hear its song, I know, undeniably, that you are an Elf.’
‘This can wait as long as you wish it to, but listen to me when I tell you it cannot wait forever.’
“Hiril? Le vaer? Anírol grest?”
A voice, soft and low and startlingly real, cut through the hazy clamour of her mind.
Periwinkle’s head shot up. A scream wrenched from her throat as she stumbled backwards and, tripping over a root, crumpled awkwardly into a heap on the ground. A half-pained, half-panicked groan escaped her as her eyes strained to focus on the source of the voice.
“Ae!” The voice cried again, louder now.
Periwinkle’s shaking, blurring vision focussed upon a pale-haired figure, nimbly hopping down from the canopy of a gnarled yew, far older and wiser than the young pines about it. The figure — certainly an Elf, she lamented — landed without a sound, before stepping towards her slowly, hands raised as if approaching a wild animal. Her panic sharpened her vision like blinders, and she crawled back slightly as her vision cleared.
“Le nidhin alharnas, ed gweston,” the Elf’s voice was slower now, almost lilting despite its obvious worry. In the dim grove, his pale skin shimmered slightly, and his wide blue eyes were bright with concern. His eyebrows were furrowed impressively high on his forehead, and he pursed his lips together as he knelt almost timidly before her.
Periwinkle was silent now, save for her rapid breathing, staring wide-eyed at the Elf.
“Le harn?” his voice was even slower now, hands still raised. “Pelin toled le a’nestor.”
For a beat longer, she stared. When his lips parted to speak again, she leapt to her feet and sprinted back the way she had come. He shouted after her, and she heard his steps — no longer silent — crunch upon the fallen needles as he broke into a run after her. The Elf yelled again, before slowing to a halt, grumbling something under his breath and giving up on his pursuit as she broke out of the trees and continued to dash across the clearing.
Despite her heart still beating out of her chest, her lucid state afforded her a far clearer view of her surroundings. The grove sat on a slight plateau in the steep hill, below the pale halls and well-pruned gardens, but still far above the chatter of the Loudwater. While she was too far from the patio for the Hobbits to catch sight of her, she had no doubt an Elf would be able to pick her out with ease. She listened for a beat longer, for footsteps, frantic calls of her name, or angry Elvish from whomever it was she had just barged in on. With her wits restored, she had the mind to realise how awfully impolite that had been.
Sighing through her nose, she jogged across the little ley towards a second copse at its end. Although less densely planted, the canopy of tender yews was no less full, cloaking the understory in placid shadow. She slowed her pace and continued to trudge through the trees, alternating between turning the events of the last hour over incessantly and forcing every thought from her mind. The ground sloped down again, but the wood did not relent its sprawl, embracing her still as she descended the valley slope.
The dark, damp earth levelled itself once more, and Periwinkle was met by a line of figures. Tall and quiet under the stark shadows shrouding their forms, ivy climbed their cloaks and blanketed the pedestals upon which they stood. Lit ever so slightly blue, each stony brow was strong, and each mouth was curved near mournfully under the bow of her head. Although blanketed in moss, the carvings upon the headstones below them were still legible. Periwinkle could not read the Elvish epitaphs, but her eyes traced across each one as she passed by them, steps slow and soft. She was quite sure they were Human, despite their Elven names. She frowned, standing before the last in line — her death only eleven years before — and wondered why these Women had been buried in Rivendell. She took a slow step back, forcibly pushing all of her own troubles from her mind to make way for curiosity. She stepped back again, and her heel met something solid.
Another gravestone stood behind her. The only one in its line, and the only one without a statue watching over it. Her eyes traced over its inscription, and her breath wheezed painfully from her still raw throat.
Pînduien Took
T.A. 2968
Ever shall you be loved and never shall you be forgotten.
Bilbo had said that the baby was buried here; it was the last thing he had said before Periwinkle had fled from the gardens. Still, she had not expected to find the grave. Words were one thing, but a headstone, a body deep in the earth beneath her, a name — it was far too real. Her mother’s daughter, who had not even been given a chance at her life before Periwinkle had stolen it away from her. She wondered how Eglantine had raised her, told Paladin that Periwinkle was their daughter, when their real firstborn was dead and buried in a place they would never set foot in. She wondered how she had loved her, pretended to love her, just as much as her real children.
“Periwin!”
She whipped her head around, throat bobbing around freshly brewed tears. Pippin’s head bobbed through the shrubs and bushes of the grove as he ran as fast as he could towards her, stumbling to a halt right before her. He stared at her for only a second before launching himself towards her, with as much of a bear hug as he could manage. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were puffy. Periwinkle felt another pang of anguish, knowing that he had been crying, and placed her hands on his shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into them. She paused. It didn’t feel right to comfort him like a sister, not when she had been unknowingly deceiving him for so long.
“Peri,” he hiccuped. “Peri, are you alright?” He stepped back slightly to survey her, sniffing slightly as he visibly fought down another wave of tears. “Are you— I mean, you just ran off, I didn’t know at all what to do, and you looked so sad and I couldn’t bear it and I was so shocked and, well, do you believe it? Ma always told us not to listen to old Bilbo, but if he’s right, then why would she…” he trailed off for a second. “Ma’s never liked lying, but maybe that’s why she doesn’t like Bilbo one bit — but he did say they were very good friends before, you know — and why would he lie about that, anyhow? But it’s just absurd, it can’t be real, I mean, well, you are a bit odd, but you look just like all the rest of us, and you don’t act all hoity-toity and fancy-like.” He scrunched his nose before looking back up at her face. “Peri?”
Periwinkle balled her hands into fists, gulping roughly. She couldn’t speak, least of all to Pippin, and she breathed heavily through her nose, eyes trained on the ground. Wide-eyed, Pippin stepped slowly into her line of sight and reached with both hands for her left. He looked more and more nervous by the second, as if he was slowly realising that she was not, in fact, his sister. After a long moment, while he chewed his lip and contemplated his words, his eyes flicked in the direction of the tombstone, and his jaw slackened.
“Pînduien?” his voice was quiet, graver than Periwinkle had ever heard it. “This is… Bilbo was telling the truth.”
“Oh, Pippin,” Periwinkle sobbed, covering her face with her hand, unable to fight her tears any longer. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” Pippin’s voice was coloured with incredulity, broken finally from his frantic melancholy. “Sorry for what, Winnie? It’s not your fault, gosh, it’s worse for you than it is for me. Oh, don’t cry, please.”
Pippin tugged on her hand again, gently coaxing her down onto the soft grass below them. Periwinkle landed rather ungracefully, knees knocking and shoulders slumping. Pippin leant upwards from his kneeling position and flung his arms around her neck, burying his face into her shoulder. His fluffy hair tickled her cheek, and Periwinkle let her hands fall limply from her face, lip quivering as she stared at his small form.
“I’ve deceived you all,” her voice was hoarse. “I’m not even your sister and yet I’ve— I’ve—” she cut herself off with a wail, knotting her fingers into her skirt.
“You are my sister!” Pippin cried, pulling back to shake her shoulders. “Don’t say that! You’ve not— you’ve not lied, you didn’t know! Even if this is all true, and I mean, well, it is, I suppose, you’re still my sister. I don’t care about blood, I don’t care that you’re an Elf, you’re still my Periwin,” his voice cracked, lip beginning to wobble. “You’re still my big sister.”
His eyes, although full of tears, were full of determination. His painfully young face was set as firm as he could, trying his best to be strong, and through her own distress, all Periwinkle could see was her little brother, looking at her with the same love he always had. She surged forward, wrapping him in a tight hug, his own arms instantly returning to their place around her neck.
The siblings remained wrapped in each other’s embrace, rocking to and fro soothingly, until their tears finally abated. Periwinkle rested her chin on Pippin’s head, staring into the sympathetic woods around them as her breathing slowly evened out. The dim of the grove and her near-constant hysterics since leaving the southern gardens made it difficult to tell the time — she guessed that it might be past noon, but not yet approaching dusk. She turned her head to study the tomb, at once hesitant, curious, and still burning with questions she knew could not be answered.
“Pînduien,” her voice, although still thick and rough, was more even than she had expected. “Doesn’t sound much like a name Ma would’ve picked.”
Pippin shifted to gaze at the grave, humming softly in agreement. The headstone was simple, small, and hardly embellished, save the neat engravings just beginning to fill with soft moss. The other sepulchres, despite their statues, were similarly rather quiet in design, but none were quite so unadorned as their sister’s. It felt fitting, she thought, to leave it so naked and let her grow back into the earth. It was as though the architect had made a distinct effort to separate it from the rest, but didn’t quite know what to do with the grave of a Hobbit child. Despite the lack of Elven flair, it wasn’t at all like the tombs back home. There was no list of immediate family members, no miniature cameo or neatly kept flowerbed and lawn, and the epitaph was poetically simple.
“No. She’d hate it,” Pippin’s voice was soft. “Da would love it though.”
Periwinkle huffed a slight laugh, not yet feeling ready to give anything more.
“We’ll tell them, won’t we?” he murmured. “When we go back.”
“I think we’ll have a lot to talk about.”
“They’ll feel the same as I do, you know? You already know Ma does, and everyone else will too.” Periwinkle felt Pippin’s gaze shift to her as he spoke. “No one else has to know, if you don’t want them to, but we’ll have to swear Pervinca to silence.”
Periwinkle snorted, and Pippin grinned.
“It’ll be different now, won’t it?” he sighed. “But I don’t… I don’t want it to be different for us. You’re still the same to me.”
Periwinkle sat back up and gazed at her brother fondly. Despite her tangled mess of emotions, her smile came easily.
“And you’re still the same to me, Pip,” she stroked his hair gently. “No matter what happens, we’ll stay the same. If you’ll still have me as your family, then that’s what we’ll always be.”