Chapter Text
“Woooooow!”
Pippin squealed with delight as the fireworks exploded across the sky, shattering into a thousand golden stars. He wasn’t sure why – perhaps it was all the lemon cake he had consumed, or the fact it was so far past his bedtime – but he couldn’t stop jumping up and down. He had never seen such fireworks before – well, not since the last time the great grey wizard had come to celebrate Uncle Bilbo’s birthday. Why couldn't it be Uncle Bilbo's birthday every day? Goodness, wizards had to be the cleverest people in the whole wide world, to make something so amazing, so magical it didn't even seem real…Even when he closed his eyes, he could still see colours.
“Woooooo!” Merry was cheering from up on his father’s shoulders, punching his fist in the air. Seeing this, Pippin immediately followed suit, throwing up his own little arms and cheering – before the sky burst once more with red and purple stars.
“Wow!” he exclaimed, bouncing wildly around. It felt so good to whoop and shout his joy aloud that he simply couldn’t stop. “Wow! Wow! Wow!”
“Shut up, Pip!” Pimpernel snapped from behind him. “You sound like a stupid little puppy dog!”
“Oh, don't be mean to him! He’s only little.” Suddenly, Pippin felt the most familiar hands in the world slide protectively onto his shoulders. Mummy pulled Pippin close to her, wrapping her arms around him and holding on fiercely as only she could. “You bow-wow if you want to, sweetheart! Mummy loves you just as you are!”
Pippin leaned back into his mother’s skirts, drinking in her warm, clean smell. He closed his eyes, seeing flashing colours once more, and beamed. Today he and Merry had played until the sun went down, and tomorrow, they would play again, all day, until the moon appeared in the star-strewn sky. He was safe, he was loved, he was home, and he lived in a world where Gandalf the Grey’s fireworks could light up the sky. Life was as sweet as lemon cake...
It was like looking up at the night sky, and realising that the moon was gone. All your life, every night, you had looked up at the sky, and there was the moon, bright and constant as the stars. It had been there since long before you were born, and it would remain, you were certain, until long after you were dead. You had never even considered that its presence might be temporary. But now, without notice, without warning, without even the chance to say goodbye...it had vanished. Without it, the sky felt empty, cold, and dark.
He wasn’t really dead, Pippin told himself, as he doggedly scraped the remnants of supper from the largest cooking pot. All his life, just like his fireworks, Gandalf was so magical he had never seemed quite real to Pippin. More like a character from an epic poem come to life. He could never be anything so gross, so common, so mortal as dead - that was impossible. No. Gandalf wasn’t dead. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be.
For if he was, if he was gone, if he was really never coming back…then Pippin would have to concede that it was all his fault.
Don’t think about it.
Desperately, Pippin tried to bring himself back into the present. He noticed the shape of the wooden spoon in his hand, the clunking noise it made against the pot, the grass beneath his legs as he knelt on the ground. Lifting his head, he looked around for want of more distractions. Strider and Legolas were gone; they had left to scout the area. Neither had spoken much since the wizard’s fall, and Pippin could hardly look at them. Still at camp, Gimli was already dozing off, resting against the stump of a tree and making low, rumbling snores through his nose. It was quite a marvel that even in his sleep, the dwarf managed to keep hold of his axe, always ready, always prepared. They had never needed to be ready and prepared more. On the other side of the clearing, Merry too was leaning against a treetrunk. From far away, he too looked as though he was asleep, but his eyes were wide awake, fixed on the sky above. It was bizarre how disjointed the party had felt since the loss of Gandalf; they were like a ship without a captain. And yet, together they remained, and together they would stay, for the sake of a single shipmate.
The rings beneath Frodo’s eyes had gone from red to positively black. Those eyes were wider than ever, rarely closed, and often horribly damp. Pippin’s stomach lurched as he recalled the previous evening’s rest, curled up on his side, hands pressed over his ears, trying not to listen as Frodo quietly sobbed into Sam’s chest. He was heartbroken for his poor cousin, who didn’t look so much ill as already half-dead, and it killed him to watch him grieve the wizard he so adored. And yet, a tiny, awful, selfish part of him, a part Pippin hated...still envied him his position in Sam’s arms.
But there was no point fighting it any more. He was sealed and delivered. He was trussed up like a turkey. He was quite, quite helpless.
Sam had little time for Pippin these days; far too preoccupied was he with simply trying to keep Frodo alive. Though Pippin tried to be too tired, hungry, and weary to care much, he remained acutely aware of the rock inside his chest. It was a sharp rock, with jagged edges, and it seemed to double in weight every time he saw Sam and Frodo together. And yet, he could not tear his gaze away. As he stared at Frodo, Pippin found himself actually rubbing his chest. Those early days where his secret had seemed exciting seemed as distant as the memories of Gandalf’s fireworks in Hobbiton. He would never see those fireworks again...
Tearing his eyes from Frodo, Pippin looked instead at Boromir, hoping for a smile, a laugh, a word of comfort…But Boromir’s eyes were fixed firmly on Frodo as well. Pippin sighed, only just managing to avoid rolling his eyes. Everyone was obsessed with Frodo these days...no. Stop it. Don't be so selfish. Pippin reminded himself just how much his cousin was suffering. Just a look at Frodo's eyes told him that...But come to think of it...there were rings around Boromir's eyes too -
“Could y’pass me that spoon?”
Pippin almost jumped out of his skin. Beside him, Sam was holding another pot, staring ruefully down at the blackened mess that was burned onto the bottom.
“Remind me to never Merry in charge of the soup again.”
A strange, snorting laugh bubbled out of Pippin – oh goodness, had anything come out of his nose? Hoping the answer was no, he groped inside the pot he had been cleaning, and managed not to overbalance as he handed the wooden spoon over.
“Thanks.” Sam gave him a tight smile that sent all the blood rushing out of Pippin’s head. Oh, what a fool he was, what a stupid, stupid fool… “You’re a good lad.”
At this, Pippin felt his cheeks flush. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't...But it was no use. Of all the times his brain decided to work, it had to be now. For no matter how much he tried not to think of it, once more, the image of the falling wizard presented itself in his mind...Pippin's heart was ice.
“I’m not…” he whispered to the ground, his voice wavering with tears. He had spoken so softly that no one should have heard...and yet, terribly and wonderfully at once, Sam looked up.
“Hey. Hey. Look at me.” He did not proceed until Pippin had met his eye – and when he did, he found that special sort of gentleness that made his tears near impossible to keep back. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, what happened to…” Sam could not say his name. Instead, he reached over, and patted Pippin on the shoulder. “Look. It’s alright. You weren’t to know.”
Life had grown so hard and harsh, Pippin could hardly stand to receive something almost as soft as his mother’s embrace. Determinedly, he tried to steel himself - he would not cry. He would not cry...and yet, once more, he found that he simply did not have it in him. Instead, he melted. “But it is my fault.” he wailed, the tidal wave of grief he had kept at bay spilling out of him. “It’s-It's just like he said! I-I was a fool!”
As he wept, Pippin bit down so hard on his sleeve to muffle his sobs that he almost chewed straight through it. Thank goodness that if he had to break down in front of anyone, it was Sam. When he looked up at Sam, when he looked at the hobbit he adored, of course he found nothing but gentleness. In fact, there was a strange pulling at the corner of Sam's mouth that even suggested that he was faintly amused.
“I won’t deny that." he agreed. "But all the same – you’re not to blame. So don’t you sit there beating yourself up, that’s no good to no one, it isn’t. Besides – I didn’t know the wizard half so well as I would like, and yet I know that at the end of the day, not matter how silly you might be, above anything else he’d have wanted you safe. All of us safe. And that’s exactly what he made sure of." That hand landed on Pippin's shoulder once more, its warm weight almost as good as Pippin's yellow blanket. "He knew we needed to carry on. So that’s exactly what we’re gonna do for him. Carry on. Hey.” He squeezed his shoulder. “There’s far worse things in the world than being a fool."
Tired, hungry (already) and weary, there was nothing Pippin could do but give in. “…Do you promise?” he spluttered.
“’Course I do!” Sam rubbed his shoulder, sending electric shocks through his skin as he did. Once more, the corner of his mouth twitched. “Come on, where’s that smile, hey? I can’t be doing without that smile!”
Unable to refuse his beloved anything, Pippin tried his best to arrange his face into something that resembled a smile – and managed only a slightly frightening grimace. But all was well, all was glorious, for Sam had let out an odd, bark-like laugh. It cut the air strangely in this mourning camp – but with it, it brought relief. Regarding him with the softest eyes Pippin had seen in weeks, Sam shook his head.
“Told you – you’re here to make me laugh, you are. And you’re doing a great job of it.” With a final scruff of Pippin's hair, Sam picked up the burned pot, and began scraping away once more.
Oh, noodle.
It was like carrying an explosive device in his pocket that was apt to blow up at any moment. And when it did, it would take him with it. When Sam was so kind to him, made him feel so safe, so cared-for as only Sam could, it was as if he was shaking it.
Of course, the only way to relieve himself of the weight of the rock in his chest, the only way to stop the imminent explosion in his pocket…was to tell him.
Oh. Oh, no. Just the thought of that made Pippin feel as though he had been plunged into ice water. He thought of his sister’s friends with their pretty hairbows, Farmer Maggot’s nephew’s toothy smile, Rosie Cotton at the Green Dragon…never once, never once in his life, had he told any of the objects of his affection how he felt. To do so would be to lay himself bare, to show them his heart, to make himself more vulnerable than he had ever been. Even the sight of Moria’s demon didn’t frighten him half so much as the thought of being so exposed. Besides…it wasn’t as if there was any hope. Sam loved Frodo, and Frodo him. Ain’t nothing in the world that could unpick the two of them. And the idea of rejection, of Sam's surprise, hurt, maybe even anger...Pippin thought it might kill him.
But at the same time, he felt that if he didn’t tell Sam...he would explode anyway.
“…I don’t know what I’d do without you, Sam.” Pippin began carefully – and yet, to his horror, his heart reached up his throat, and moved his lips. “You must be the best hobbit I’ve ever met!”
“Ha!” Sam chuckled, continuing to chisel at the bottom of the pot. “Don’t think I deserve none of that! That's right silly, and no mistake. But you’re very sweet, little one. Very sweet.”
Pippin’s heart was beating so hard that he could hear it echoing in his ears. He felt hot and cold…and yet, summoning the last of his courage, he steadied his breathing, and braced himself as best he could.
“Sam…?”
“What is it, little one?”
This, this cataclysmic task he had to perform...it wasn’t in the hope of getting anything in return. It was just to get this damn rock out of his chest.
This was it. Pippin was on the edge of the river - and this time, he was going to dive right in. This was it. He was going to do it. He was going to tell him. He was…
“…Never mind.”
There were too many people around, Pippin told himself, as he sprang to his feet and backed away as fast as he could. The roaring in his ears made him feel rather faint. It wasn’t just because he was simply too scared. And yet, he was. He was scared. He was terrified. Slumping down heavily against a tree, he closed his eyes, and buried his face in his knees. He was a coward, a stupid little fool of a coward, and now he felt his torture would continue for the rest of his life.
Then, all of a sudden, he felt the most familiar hand in the world on his.
“Pip.” Merry whispered, slipping that hand gently, but firmly, into Pippin’s. His lips a tight line of effort, he forced his friend to meet his eye. “This has to stop.” His eyes flicked to Sam, as if Pippin didn’t know – but then again, it was generally assumed that Pippin didn’t know most things. Still, the way Merry regarded him was anything but unkind. It was with the sort of familiarity only the two of them shared, that oldest of respect, that oldest and closest of care. Pippin blinked in its brightness; sometimes, in his Sam-induced haze, he forgot his best friend. “We’re going to be on the road for a long time yet, and I can’t stand to watch this a second longer." Merry was saying. "You can’t keep doing this to yourself, it isn’t healthy.”
“What else can I do?” Pippin hissed back, shuffling closer to him to avoid being overheard. He swiped the last of the tears from his cheeks. “I can’t help myself. I’m-I'm stuck!”
“You’ve been stuck a long time.” Merry pointed out. Though his tone was gentle - he spoke with the sort of frankness only a true friend could. “You can’t live your life stuck. Look…As your best friend, and someone who only wants the best for you, I suggest you make up your mind. Tell him, and get shot down once and for all, or be silent forever."
Oh, ninnyhammers. Oh, noodle. He knew Merry was right - and yet- and yet - “I can’t!”
He had tried. It wasn’t just the horror of the inevitable rejection, which scared him more than anything. What if Sam reacted badly? What if he got angry – or worse, upset? What if Pippin ruined one of the most important relationships he had over his stupid little crush? But Merry was sucking his teeth.
“You’re just afraid, as usual.” He rolled his eyes - and Pippin knew at once that he was trying to goad him. “Wuss!”
“Am not!” Pippin retorted, unable to round even slightly convincing.
“Shhh!” Merry’s eyes flicked towards Gimli, who snored on. But, yet again, Pippin was fighting back tears. Once more, he was on the edge of a rushing river, and he could not, would not, step forward. The goading had not worked then, and it would not work now.
“You don’t understand.” he whispered, his voice very thick. “I can’t take it, I really can’t…It would destroy me.”
“Oh, Pip…” Merry sighed again. When he spoke, his tone was all softness. “I wish I could just get you out of trouble, just like I always did..." he murmured, using the cuff of his shirt to dry Pippin's eyes. "But you need to do it on your own.” With another sigh, he pulled him close, holding him as fiercely as he had ever been held. “Look - whatever you decide, I’ve got you.” he whispered, his breath tickling Pippin’s ear. “Whatever happens, I’m going to be right here to pick up the pieces, and put you back together."
Once more, Pippin could not bear tenderness. It only made him cry harder. He wanted his mother. Goodness, he wanted his mother...
“...I love you, Merry!” Pippin gasped out into Merry’s shoulder, holding onto him for dear life. Once more, Gandalf's falling figure presented itself in his mind. He had not even been able to say goodbye. “I-I should tell you more! All that time, when we were growing up…why did I not tell you every day?”
“Because we weren’t living in evil times.” Merry kissed the top of his head. “Love you too, Pip. Always have. Always will.”
Wearied by emotion and the day, Merry and Pippin eventually sunk down onto the grass, still tangled in one another's arms. Resting his head on his friend's shoulder, Pippin's eyelids felt as heavy as if there were rocks attached to them too. But all sorrows were less with Merry by his side.
"You'll never leave me, will you, Merry?" he asked, finding his hand and holding on.
"What?" Merry gave a sleepy chuckle. "Don't be daft - why would I ever?" He stifled a yawn - before pulling Pippin closer, wrapping his arms around him and hold on. "I promise. I promise I'll never leave you."
"...Alright." he whispered. There was nothing he could do but do the same. He held his cousin as tightly as if he had been the last life raft, and knew that as long as he never let go, at least he would always be loved. It wasn't the same love. It wasn't the love Sam had for Frodo. It wasn't even the love his mother had for him. But it was the love he felt for his sisters, the love he felt for the brothers he had found in this Fellowship...the love he felt for his oldest and dearest friend. And that...that could be enough.
“Are you warm enough?" Merry whispered into his hair.
“Quite warm.”
“Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight, Merry.”
They kissed, and safe in one another's arms, as safe as they could be, they slept.
Pippin had never wanted to learn just how bad they smelled. They had smelled bad in Moria, of course they had – but there was something about being in such close contact, for such a long time, that brought the reality home – orcs smelled terrible.
But there was something far worse than that smell. Worse than the pain of the small wounds he had received. Worse even than the cold, clammy hands that caught him, that held him, that had dragged him away from safety and everything he knew…it was the sight of Boromir, son of Gondor, shot full of arrows and falling to his knees. Pippin's cheeks were stiff with tears, his throat hoarse with shouting, every muscle in his body aching with hepelessness...But this time, there was no denying it. There was no not thinking about it. There was no hope. Boromir, his father, his carer, his protector, was dead. And now, there was no one who could save them.
Merry was close. Oh, thank goodness Merry was close, and he was not alone, or Pippin would have been utterly in despair. But his cousin, his poor cousin, his oldest, dearest friend was smelling the same terrible smell he was, feeling the same terrible, clammy hands, thinking of Boromir...and the thought of Merry suffering as he did made him weep afresh.
But even worse than that...where were Sam and Frodo? What had become of them? The thought of either of them hurt, or worse, made Pippin almost scream aloud. No. No, they would be fine. They had to be fine. He was certain of that. Strider would never let anything bad happen to either or them, never ever. They must have escaped. They had to. They had to.
Oh, what was happening? Where were they taking them? What was going to happen when they got there? Pippin did not know, he did not know...he did not know anything at all.
Not knowing anything, least of all what to do, but needing to do something…Pippin lifted his eyes to the sky, and offered a prayer to anyone who was listening. Please…let Merry escape. Let him live. Oh, if you can, let both of us live...but even if I have to die, please let my friend live, let him get away, somehow...
But more than that, please, look after Frodo. Look after our poor cousin. Ease his path…keep him safe…let him be free of his burden...whatever exactly it was...
Pippin gulped, before, trembling all over, he sent up his final prayer.
And for the sake of any gods there may or may not be, save Sam. Save Sam, keep him whole, keep him strong, and somehow, some way, as soon as fate allowed…
He should have told him. How cowardly he had been – how could he have thought he knew what fear was? This…this was fear.
He had never even got to say goodbye. And now, he may never see that face again.
Pippin wished he could be more like the great romantic poets. He wished he could have said that the memory of his beloved gave him strength. That would have been brave - heroic, even. But he was not great. He was not strong, or brave, or heroic. He was just a little fool of Took, who was scared, who was terrified...who was weeping for his mother.
Mummy loves you just as you are...
As he breathed in orc smell, and gasped out in tears, he had never wanted her more.