As the door opened slightly, a young hobbit looked to the left, then the right before staggering out into the thickly carpeted hallway towards the kitchen. He hoped no one would see him in that condition, but he was so desperate for something to eat he felt he had to risk it.

Being hungry was nothing new, but Pippin had never experienced this before. His head hurt and his heart was beating so wildly he thought it would jump out of his chest. He could smell the food cooking, and the thought of reaching the kitchen motivated him to go on, but his whole body shook and was losing strength with every second. His mind wasn’t focused very clearly either, or he would have known he was going in the wrong direction. The kitchen was the other way.

Pippin was about half way down the hall when he stopped suddenly, thinking he heard voices. He did and to his horror, they were about to come into the hall where he was standing, or rather trying to stand.

If they see me, they’ll think I’m drunk! he thought, frantically looking around for a place to hide.

There was no hiding place and at that moment, the last of his strength failed and everything went dark.

The next thing he remembered, he was laying on his back with his feet elevated. There was something sweet in his mouth, but he didn’t know what it was or where it came from. His clothing had obviously been loosened and he felt fingers on his wrist, as if someone was taking his pulse.

“How is he, sir?” asked a concerned voice that Pippin recognized immediately, despite his disorientation. It was the Tower Guard Beregond, one of the few friends Pippin had in Minas Tirith.

“He should be all right, when he gets some food,” replied the man who was tending him. Pippin almost thought recognized that voice too. It sounded just like…………….but no. That was impossible.

“Master Peregrin?” the voice asked, “Can you hear me?”

Pippin opened his eyes and stared in astonishment at the man who sat next to him.

“Boromir?” he gasped in his confusion.

“No, I’m not Boromir,” the man gently corrected him. “I was his brother. My name’s Faramir.”

Faramir! Pippin recognized that name. Of course, Faramir was the captain of Gondor’s soldies. Beregond spoke about him often, always with great love and respect. Pippin had hoped to meet Boromir’s brother in Minas Tirith, but he never expected it to be this way. He would have been embarassed if his mind were functioning more clearly.

Beregond brought an earthware cup over to the couch where Pippin was laying and, giving Pippin a wink and a reassuring smile, he handed it to Captain Faramir.

“This should make you feel a bit better,” Faramir said as he helped Pippin sit up and steadied his hand while he drank from the cup.

Pippin had a few sips and smiled. It was orange juice, one of his favourite drinks. As he finished it, his mind grew clearer and his body, while still weak, started to relax a bit.

“Did it help, Peregrin?” asked Faramir.

“Yes it did sir, thank you,” said Pippin, apprehensively, “but Captain?” He hesitated for a minute.

“Yes?” asked Faramir with some concern.

“Please call me Pippin. Boromir always called did. Will you?”

“Yes, of course, if you want me too,” replied Faramir, sounding relieved. “Now, you should lie down again. You still haven’t fully recovered.”

Pippin lay back and smiled again as Faramir made him comfortable.