Pippin and Merry plunked down on two chairs in the courtyard of the White Tree, panting from the lively jig that had just finished. Merrymakers filled the courtyard, celebrating the downfall of Sauron and the return of the King. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the joyous setting. Glancing at his cousin, Merry noticed that Pippin was staring sadly out over the plains, away from the party, toward the West.
“What’s wrong, Pip?”
“Hmm?” Pippin sighed. “Oh. Merry, I should like… I should like to do something for Boromir, to remember him. It seems like everyone has forgotten all about him with this celebration.” The brown-haired hobbit stared at the floor with a soft smile. “He sacrificed an awful lot for us two.”
Merry put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Let’s do it, Pip. Come on.”
The cousins slipped through the crowd, past the dais where King Elessar and his Queen Arwen sat, past Gandalf telling a story to a group of young Gondorian children, out to the place where Pippin had lit the beacon to summon the Rohirrim, ages and ages ago it seemed. They quietly gathered some extra firewood in their arms and left, unquestioned by the watchful guards who had apparently gained a great respect for the halflings. Passing through the crowd again, the hobbits made their way to the part of the courtyard that jutted out over the city facing the sunset. Merry solemnly produced a tinderbox and lit a small bright flame with the wood. Then he stepped back and put an arm around his cousin whose eyes were wet with tears.
“Boromir, we haven’t forgotten you,” Pippin whispered brokenly. “Merry, he saved our lives…”
Silence fell between them as the smoke from the glowing fire drifted out toward the West.
“Boromir repented in the end. And he did his part.” Frodo, with Sam in tow, put his arms around Merry and Pippin’s shoulders. “You’re right, Pippin. We haven’t forgotten him”
With a smile in his eyes Frodo motioned for Merry and Pippin to look back. Tears sprang afresh in their eyes. They were all there: Gimli, Legolas, Gandalf, and even King Elessar – no, Strider – for he would always be Strider to them, despite all his splendour. With gentle smiles and quiet murmurs of, “Good thinking, Pippin, Merry” and “Of course we must honor Boromir,” the remainder of the Fellowship gathered with the hobbits to say one last goodbye to an old friend. Legolas, with Gimli standing steadfastly by, pulled out a small flute and sent a peaceful melody soaring over the Pelennor Fields. Aragorn knelt down by the hobbits to wipe the tears from Pippin’s and Merry’s eyes and simply be at their level.
Their parting was near, and the Fellowship could feel it. None of the companions standing there knew whether they would ever be reunited with the others again. But at this, perhaps their last gathering together on this Middle-earth, with the sun sinking beyond the horizon, comforting hands on shoulders and filled hearts among friends spoke only a whisper of the ties – of love and friendship and unity, unbreakable by hardship or separation or death – that bound together this unique Fellowship of the Ring. In their hearts, they knew – they would never forget each other.