Work Text:
Though he knew in theory that their journey was a perilous one, the spirits of Peregrin Took didn’t seem to dampen. He was the youngest of the Fellowship, both in age and by the standards of each race, and it couldn’t be said that he was wise beyond his years. Some of the non-hobbit members of the Fellowship were beginning to think that Elrond was right: they shouldn’t have brought young Pippin, that he wouldn’t or couldn’t give their mission the gravity it deserved
As the Fellowship travelled south from Rivendell, Pippin was not one to walk in silence: he cracked jokes and made up elaborate games to pass the time, such as the time he challenged Merry and Frodo to see who could recall the most names from their intertwined family trees.
“Can’t you think of a game that doesn’t involve me thinking about Lobelia and Lotho?” Frodo had muttered.
“Don’t worry, cousin, Bag End won’t be in their hands for long. Even if I have to drag Lotho out myself when we return.”
Other times he tried to get Aragorn or Gandalf to tell them stories from their wanderings. But the pair were usually in a solemn mood, and shooed him away more often than not. However, Pippin was a born extrovert, and not so easily deterred from making their journey more pleasant.
Over a week had passed since they set out as a company. They seemed to always be going uphill, and the winter chill was far more biting here than it ever was in the Shire. Pippin and Merry were constantly trading complaints about numb feet. The mountain outlines in the distance fascinated Pippin. He had never been so far away from what he considered the natural and right scenery of the Shire: the green grass and low stretches of hill. Yet they unsettled him, too. On their path they often saw ruins that could have been thousands of years old: tumbled statues, or what may have once been a house or a village. The oddness of it all welled up in him and at times made him long for a sturdy smial and a warm feather bed. But he pushed it down. After all, it couldn’t get that bad. They had made it to Rivendell, and they would make it to wherever they were going now.
When Pippin was absolutely sick of every story he could wring from Merry and Sam, he started working again on the other members. Aragorn remained impenetrable, always listening and scowling and having hushed asides with Gandalf. Legolas often strayed from the trail to flit among the trees and look ahead, so Pippin could barely get the Elf’s attention. And he didn’t find the Dwarf’s gruffness particularly charismatic. That left the Man from Gondor.
Pippin strolled up besides Boromir, who so far had walked largely in silence. The Man always had a sort of moody expression on his face, though not a sour one. It was the expression of someone whose mind was still churning to digest all the news he’d heard of late.
“Ho, Boromir, wait up!” Pippin said. Boromir looked down at him, shook out of his thoughts. “I require your company,” the hobbit added.
“What for?” Boromir said.
“Because we have many miles yet to go today, and I will simply pass out if I have to endure them in silence. And my own kind are being quite glum. Do the Men of Gondor have any good songs?”
Boromir sighed. “We have many songs, though I as a rule do not sing them.”
The hobbit let out a soft gasp. “No singing?” he said. “How terrible! Why Boromir, you’re even more of a grouch than Aragorn! But at least he writes poems.”
Boromir bristled at being compared to the other Man. Kingly Aragorn was always exceeding expectations. He gave Pippin a sharp look. “Perhaps you will hear them one day, from some other Gondorian,” he grumbled.
“Then how do you pass the time?” Pippin asked.
“That does not bother me. Each day slips into the next easily enough.”
“You’re quite good at this questing, I see.”
“You all seem to forget I was on the road for some time before I reached Rivendell. I am not green.”
Pippin had some vague idea that Boromir had journeyed far before joining the company. But he more often thought the stout man had just appeared in Rivendell, dusty and worn, as if by magic. “How long were you traveling?” he asked.
“110 days,” Boromir said with a hint of pride. He delighted in the shocked look on the young hobbit’s face.
“110 days! No wonder you look more like a wandering crow than a Man from a great city.” Boromir’s smile turned into a scowl as he looked down at Pippin, who kept an innocent look on his face as long as he could. Then he cracked and broke into laughter, smiling up at his companion. Boromir relented and let out a soft chuckle to join him.
“Well, young Master Took, our journey may be far longer than that. We’ve just begun. You must be ready to go on for many hundred days. Perhaps you will turn into a crow as well.”
“I can do it. Perhaps you will teach me this trick to make the day slip by faster, and I can in return teach you all the best songs of the Westfarthing.”
Boromir let out an affirmative grunt. Perhaps a little chatter would make the day go by even faster than a head full of thoughts.
“Do you have any other skills you can share?” he teased. “You may also wish to know hunting and sword-fighting, or the lore of Gondor, but I won’t give them up for free.”
Pippin stood in silence for a moment, pondering what he might be good at. After a few moments he shouted “Aha! Do they have pipe-weed in Gondor? I can do rings almost as well as the wizard, you know, and I shall show you. Tonight can be your first lesson. When we get to Minas Tirith you will be the talk of the town, the most cultured Man in the South, and be able to show off to anyone you please. Perhaps when this is over the Shire can send it’s best strains to Gondor, so you can pick it up as well as we have…”
Boromir let Pippin babble on about the finer points of enjoying pipe-weed for some time. The young hobbit did have a charming way of talking even about the most mundane things. He would be a good companion for the company: able to ease the day’s trials with his stories and songs. But he also seemed soft. Boromir suspected he was fresh from a comfortable life where he’d never had to use a weapon. His mind flashed with worry about what was to come.
He decided he’d start teaching the hobbit how to fight that very day.