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Chapter Text

The sky spread blue and cloudless above. The sun soaked the grass and rocks below with a warm golden glow. The grasses and weeds swayed beneath the sky. It was a fine morning for a hike, and it was looking to become a fine afternoon for a picnic. Or another hike, if you enjoy exercise like some kind of freak. 

Grasshoppers and flies sprung from the grasses when they were moved, disturbing into the open air. Scraggly grey scrub-oaks grew nearby. They housed large hares and dark-feathered birds which cawed rather than sang. The base of the Misty Mountains was a pleasant place to visit, though a difficult place to live- as evidenced by the lack of large animals or trees.

"Merry, if I were an animal, what kind of animal do you think I would be?" Pippin asked another question, adjusting the strap of his pack as they walked. The rest of the Fellowship groaned- some internally and the more daring ones out loud. For the past three hours, Pippin had been asking his cousin obnoxious questions loudly enough for everyone to hear. Most of them just wanted some peace and quiet to think (or worry) over the quest, and even Merry was beginning to look annoyed.

"Probably a bird since you won't shut up," Merry grit his teeth, trying to hint that he should stop talking lest the rest of the Fellowship develop migraines.

"How about we play Rathers?" Pippin asked, completely oblivious to his cousin's point.

"What's Rathers?" Legolas perked up at the idea of learning more about other race's games. He had been quite sheltered at home and took any chance to learn.

"It's a game where you ask the whole group if they would rather do one thing or another and everyone has to choose. I'll go first. Would you rather have no teeth or no eyes?"

"That is a horrifying question, Pip." Merry made a face.

"Well, would you rather have no teeth or no eyes?"

"I'd rather have no teeth," Legolas thought it over for a moment. "I can survive on liquids just fine but I use my eyes to fight."

"Perfect answer! You get how it works!" Pippin congratulated him.

"Same for me," Boromir answered.

"I think I'd rather have no eyes. I like eating different foods and I wouldn't want to have only liquids for the rest of my life," Frodo explained his answer. The rest of the hobbits agreed. A life spent without food sounded like a dull life indeed.

"I don't want to agree with an elf," Gimli muttered under his breath loud enough for only the hobbits to hear. Then, louder, he said, "I'd rather keep my eyes. Besides, I can sustain myself well enough on ale."

"Ah, good answer, very creative."

"I would like to know the circumstances of these scenarios," Aragorn shoo-ed away a fly. "Am I born without them, or do I get them taken out?"

"Good question," Pippin paused to think it over.

"This game is beginning to become a bit disturbing for me," Sam pulled his travelling cloak closer towards himself.

"Born without, I think. I assume everyone else was answering by that," Pippin finally answered.

"Are you allowed to make fake teeth?" Aragorn asked another question. "I've seen people make wooden teeth after theirs have fallen out."

"No. You can't have any teeth, real or otherwise." At that moment, Gandalf, who had been scouting ahead, returned.

"Who is taking teeth?" Gandalf asked, alarmed.

"Oh, we are playing Rathers," Frodo explained. "Pippin asked if we would rather have no eyes or no teeth and Strider wanted to know if you could use fake teeth."

"Good. I was beginning to worry what sort of conversation I had stumbled back into," Gandalf chuckled.

"I'd rather have no eyes," Aragorn decided.

"Why?"

"I can't see so well anyways and I have always tended to use my other senses more."

"Is that why I saw you smelling the dirt the other day?!" Merry shouted.

Aragorn turned red. "Yes. That's how I track game… isn't it Gandalf's turn now?"

"I want to keep my teeth. I like food far too much to let go of them."

"Alright, someone else's turn to ask," Sam tried to keep the game moving.

"Would you rather have a cat with a human face or a dog with human hands?" Legolas asked.

"I don't want neither," Sam shuddered.

"Well, you have got to choose one," Frodo patted his shoulder.

"I chose the dog with human hands. Then it can go grab me things," Merry said.

"I want the cat with the human face so I can hold it with its back facing other people and say 'look at my cat' and then: Bam!," Pippin mimicked holding something and turning it, "I turn it around and it's got a face!" Most of the Fellowship began to laugh at the idea of that happening.

"Of course you want it just to scare people," Frodo rolled his eyes, though an amused smile was plastered on his face. 

"I don't think I can handle a human face on any animal, much less a cat," Gimli squinted, imagining it.

"I wouldn't trust a dog with human hands," Aragorn countered. "At least I know the cat wouldn't be getting into much trouble."

"But Strider, what if the cat can talk?" Frodo asked.

"I can't tell if that makes it better or worse."

Frodo thought for a moment before answering,"Cat with a human face; I assume this would include the mouth of a human and as such the potential for the cat to speak and I would rather have a cat yelling at me about how I am cruel for not petting it than a dog opening the door to my bathroom because he misses me and has opposable thumbs."

"I don't like that at all," Sam winced.

"I have a good one!" Boromir suddenly interrupted, seeing that Sam seemed to be getting uncomfortable the more they went on with the previous question. "Would you rather sing everything you say or say everything you think."

"Finally something that isn't disturbing!" Sam replied. "I would rather sing everything I say. I like singing."

"I'm pretty sure Pip already says everything he thinks," Merry playfully pushed him.

"Do not!"

"Oh, sorry. I wrongly assumed you knew how to think."

"I do! I'm thinking right now, and you know what those thoughts are thinking? They are thinking that you are wrong!"

"I want to say everything I think," Gimli talked over the fighting. "People are brave who can speak their minds at all times."

Legolas shook his head. "It is best to speak only when you are sure it is the right thing to say. Otherwise we would all be rude and ill-mannered. We elves never stand for brashness or rudeness." He looked pointedly at Gimli when he said this, as though the words were directed at him- and they probably were.

"Really out here committing micro-aggressions, aren't they?" Frodo wondered aloud, quiet enough that only Sam could hear.

"I would sing everything, but I am afraid I would be mistaken for old Tom Bombadil," Gandalf adjusted his hat to keep the sun out of his eyes.

"You know Tom Bombadil?" Frodo asked.

"Yes. Everyone who doesn't know him knows of him, at least. He is quite the enigmatic fellow but I have met folks from all the edges of the earth who had met him or heard his stories."

"Tom Bombadil saved me and Merry from getting eaten by a tree!" Pippin stopped arguing with his cousin for a moment. "He also saved us from ghosts!" 

"Oh! I have got a good question," interposed Merry. "Would you rather see a ghost or be a ghost?"

"Be a ghost! Imagine the pranks I could pull!" Pippin exclaimed, no doubt concocting plans at the very moment for what sort of troubles he would get into should he somehow become one.

"Please everyone, make sure Pippin never dies. I don't want a poltergeist following me the rest of my life. At least while Pip is alive I can lock him out of my house," Frodo laughed. "But, I guess I would rather see a ghost. I've done it once already and I'm fine."

"I wouldn't want to be a ghost," Sam agreed. "It would be so lonely."

Aragorn and Legolas voiced their agreement.

"I would rather be a ghost," Boromir decided. "I want to know, after I die, that my family and friends are well. I would watch over them, I think, and then watch over their children when they are gone." That sobered the mood a bit as everyone was reminded of the far-too-high-to-be-comfortable chance that they could die on their journey. 

Pippin, for once in his life, was able to read the room (or, read the clearing they were walking in, more like), and decided that everyone needed a good bit of cheering up after watching the gloomy expressions on their faces, "Hey, Merry? Why is the sky blue?" Everyone groaned, realizing that they were back listening to Pippin's dumb questions again. However, he knew that his dumb questions would distract them from thoughts of impending doom and towards more "pleasant" thoughts that sound something to the same tune as: " dear gods someone make him shut up." 

"I already answered that, Pip," Merry sounded as though he were going to throttle his cousin again, and at this point the rest of the Fellowship would have probably either cheered him on or enthusiastically become an accomplice to Pippin's murder.

"Yeah, you said it's because of water- but if there is water in the sky, how come we aren't drowning?"

"Can we throw Pippin into Mount Doom when we get there? I cannot handle any more of this," Merry tugged on Gandalf's robe.

"Actually, I was thinking we could get rid of him sooner."

"Gandalf! Not you too!" Pippin wailed dramatically.

"Hmm…" Gandalf eyed the nearby landscape, and then, with a teasing grin, pointed to a ridge off the side of the path,"That cliff looks steep enough."

"No! I promise I'll shut my mouth, just don't kill me!"

"Don't worry, no one is killing anyone," Sam patted his shoulder, accidentally assuming that Pippin's mock horror was real and trying to reassure him.

"Although," Aragorn fought back a smile, "if we run out of food, I think we all know who we will eat first."

"Who?"

" You, Pippin."

A small fire crackled, dying in the night. Aragorn had warned not to light too large a fire, lest another Weathertop Hill situation occur. The night was cold and the fire provided only a small bit of warmth, but enough light that they could see each other's faces. 

Frodo was asleep already, and Sam was trying to, but everyone else was awake. Legolas and Aragorn sat far away from the fire, talking. Gandalf was off somewhere. No one ever knew quite where he disappeared off to. Boromir spoke to Merry, Pippin, and a dozing Gimli in whispers about Gondor and his younger brother. It all sounded so exciting- the tales of his and his brother's antics in the big city. 

"How old is your brother?" Merry asked, poking a stick in the fire.

"Faramir is 35 now."

"Wow, grown up! I'm a year older."

"Do halflings' aging work differently from men?" Boromir asked.

"A little. I suppose I would be about… 20-ish in men's years? That sounds right."

"How old is Pippin?"

"He is 28 so… about 16. Am I doing the math right?" Merry leaned back to ask Pippin.

"I'm no good at maths. You're the smart one."

"I'm probably right," Merry leaned forward again, addressing Boromir. 

"What?" Boromir asked.

"Yeah. Sixteen."

"That's so young? What is he doing here? Pippin, what are you doing here?" 

"I'm eating supper?"

"No, I mean what are you doing in the Fellowship? You are still a child," Boromir looked absolutely horrified at the thought that a child would go on this quest with them.

"I wanted to help Frodo," Pippin stated. "Besides, Merry was going, so I had to go. I can't just let all my friends go on without me. It would be so boring otherwise."

"You let your baby cousin go on a dangerous journey?" Boromir turned to Merry now, a disapproving look on his features. 

"Well, I couldn't just leave him!"

"I would've followed anyway."

"He would have followed anyway!" Merry repeated.

Gimli was shaken out of his snoozing by the whispered arguing. "What's going on?" He asked Pippin.

"Oh, Boromir's mad at Merry for letting me go on the quest because I'm not an adult yet. Gandalf knew I'm a kid too though and he let me go."

"You're a kid?!" Gimli shouted, waking Frodo and Sam as well as disturbing Aragorn and Legolas. They all turned to see what the commotion was about.

"Well, yeah. What did you all think I was?"

Boromir stopped shouting at Merry and placed his face in his hands, defeated. "What do we do?"

"We could take him back to Rivendell?" Gimli supplied.

"No, we're too far to turn back now," Legolas walked towards the campfire. "And I thought everyone knew already, and that we were all okay with this?"

"Obviously we didn't!" Boromir rubbed his temples. "And why would we be okay taking a child to battle?!"

"Who else knew?" Gimli stood up, not liking to be out of the loop.

"I did." Aragorn said. Sam and Frodo agreed as well.

"So only we didn't know?" Boromir asked, gesturing to himself and Gimli.

"Looks like," Merry confirmed.

The arguing between the Big Folk started up again. Gimli and Boromir ganged up on Aragorn and Legolas, arguing that the Fellowship shouldn't be keeping secrets from each other, and that to bring a child on a dangerous quest was both foolish and cruel. 

"I don't see what the problem is with me being here," Pippin muttered, "It's just a journey. It's not like anyone will be doing… adult things."

"There are more things to being an adult than that stuff, Pip. Being an adult means you have to be responsible," Merry explained.

"I am responsible!"

The other hobbits exchanged looks™.

"What? Do you not think I'm responsible?"

"Well…" Merry began to say something but decided against it, believing that what he would say might hurt Pippin's feelings.

"I can't believe you! I'm not a baby anymore! I can do things on my own! I have as much a right to be here as any of you!" Pippin stood up and walked away, not caring that the Big Folk had become silent, nor that walking away was a childish and petty way to end an argument.

Pippin plopped himself down in the middle of a group of scrub oak trees, far enough from the fire that its light no longer reached him, but close enough that he could hear his travelling companions still. How could a day start out with fun and laughter and end in everyone being upset? And over something Pippin couldn't even control? What did it matter that he was a kid? He wasn't that far away from adulthood, and he was strong and fast and able to get himself out of all kinds of tricky situations on his own. 

Maybe he didn't have an advantage of years, but did his age really matter? Frodo was much older than him, but he wasn't very fast and he didn't even know how to hunt conies, but his place in the Fellowship wasn't being questioned, now was it?! 

Pippin seethed in silent anger, pulling grass from the ground and throwing it to the side to relieve his stress. He would probably feel bad about ripping out the poor grass later, but at the moment he was trying only to distract himself from thoughts of getting into a physical fight with Merry, who of all people should have known what Pippin is capable of. 

He strained to listen to what the rest of the Fellowship could be saying. 

"I don't see why it is such a bad thing," he heard Aragorn say. "He is almost an adult and anyways, you heard him. He wouldn't have taken no for an answer. Halflings are stubborn like that."

"Not all of us, pardon me," Sam corrected, "but Pippin is definitely the stubbornest."

"When he was a baby he ripped my shirt once because he was too stubborn to let go," Merry reminisced, "He's gotten a lot bigger since then but his attitude hasn't changed one bit."

"And remember when he was a little child and got sick eating three seed cakes just to spite his mother? He did it because she told him he would get sick, and he accidentally proved her right trying to prove her wrong." Frodo added.

"That sounds like him," Sam laughed.

"So you truly think he would've followed us?" Boromir asked.

"Yes. To the ends of the earth," Merry replied, much more somber than a moment before. "And I would've let him, too. I haven't ever had it in my heart to deny him anything."

Pippin couldn't feel angry anymore after hearing that. He tried to. He thought of every hurtful thing Merry had ever said, or all the times he beat him in races, or told him he was too small to climb the trees or swim in the river- but anger would not come. 

He tuned out the conversation as he thought over how Merry really had always done everything for him. There wasn't a moment that Pippin could think of where Merry meant to do him actual harm. There wasn't a moment when Merry wasn't trying to cheer him up or make him laugh. He always snuck Pippin extra dessert when he visited, or brought him along on all his adventures even if he had to carry him there because the walk was too far for Pippin, or gave him his coat because Pippin forgot his own even when the rain drenched him without it. 

Pippin suddenly felt bad that he was always forcing Merry to do things for him, and he felt bad that everyone was arguing because he was too stubborn to go back home where it was safe.

"Hey," a voice interrupted his worrying. Boromir stood beside him. 

"You scared me."

"I didn't mean to. May I sit?"

Pipin nodded.

"I'm sorry," Boromir sat down next to him, looking up at the sky through the scraggly scrub-oak branches. "I probably overreacted a bit. I just… I have a younger brother, and no matter how old he gets, I still see the baby I held in my arms when I was just a boy. I'm sure Merry is the same way, even if he is too stubborn to apologise right now."

Pippin leaned back and looked at the sky as well. "I don't want anyone thinking I can't take care of myself."

"No one thinks that. Not really. You wouldn't have been able to make it this far if you couldn't. I don't know you well yet, but I know you are capable of many more things than any of us- even you- know. Otherwise, Gandalf wouldn't have let you come with us. I only worry about your age because," Boromir broke off, and he got a sad, faraway look. "I have met many boys your age. Or, well, the equivalent. My country is in constant war, and we never have enough soldiers to fight. Sometimes, boys your age or even younger are made to fight. Most often, they volunteer. 

"It is the saddest thing in the world," Boromir looked down, tracing the links of his chain mail,"to see boys go to war. It is sad to see them get hurt or die. A life should never be cut that short, Pippin. And the ones who aren't killed- they are wounded. Wounds in the body- they heal- but there are other wounds: wounds of the spirit. They come back from battle and they are not the same person they were. They witness terrible things when they go to battle and it changes them. I do not want that to happen to you."

"But, my friends are young too." 

"Not as young as you. They are all adults. You aren't."

"But I don't understand. Can adults not get wounds of the spirit?"

"No. We can. But, it is much worse in children. Children should be able to play and have fun and not worry about anything harder than chores. You deserve to hold onto your innocence for as long as you can."

All of this talk was beginning to worry Pippin. It was true that he wanted to be able to play and have fun for as long as possible. He didn't want to get hurt or die.

"Do you- Boromir, do- does everyone think I am going to die?"

"No. No one can say for sure what will happen to any of us. We may all die, or we may all make it out with only a few scratches. I will not lie to you, we all have a chance of dying. But we are not going to let that happen without a fight. We can't change the past and we can't take you back to Rivendell, but we can protect you."

"But I don't need protecting."

"No one ever thinks they need protecting, but they do. Even the greatest warriors need someone watching their back... Here's an idea. I protect you, and you protect me," Boromir stood up and held out his hand.

Pippin took it. "Promise?"

"Promise."

Chapter Text

Morning came with a chill in the air and dew on the grass. Legolas, who had had the last watch of the night, carefully went around waking each member of the Fellowship. He woke Aragorn first, as he was a light sleeper and needed only for Legolas to whisper "wake up" to rouse him from sleep. Next was Boromir, who Legolas shook gently. Aragorn woke Gimli, mostly because he didn't trust Legolas to do it without hurting the dwarf in some way. 

The hobbits were always difficult to wake, as they were unaccustomed (except for Sam) to waking early. They slept close to each other, with Frodo squished between Merry and Sam, and Pippin using Sam's stomach as a pillow. It was reminiscent of the way kittens pile together as they sleep. 

Legolas kneeled down and shook Merry's shoulder, only to be swatted away with a grumble and a curse. He shook harder this time, and Merry once again grumbled, though he opened his eyes, directing a squinted glare in Legolas's direction. 

" 's too early," he mumbled.

"Breakfast is ready," Aragorn lied. 

Merry sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes and grabbing his large round spectacles from his bag. As soon as they were on, he looked around to see, to his horror, that breakfast had not been made and he had been tricked into waking.

"Strider, that was mean," he stood and glared, pointing an accusing finger at the man. Then, he grinned in a way that could only be described as evil, and said, "Now do it to the rest of them. I can't be the only one being tricked."

Aragorn woke the rest of the hobbits in the same manner, and they were, predictably, as irate as Merry was about the whole incident.

"You canna just wake us up and tell us there is food when there isn't food!" Pippin complained, "That's a war crime!" 

"It's not a war crime."

"Well it should be!"

"Don't worry," Sam took a spatula and a frying pan from his over-large bags. "I can cook breakfast."

"And he does it better than Strider can, too," Frodo whispered, though unfortunately loudly enough that Aragorn could hear. Aragorn pulled a face and walked away, either to sob for a bit at the insult or to find something for Sam to cook up. It was most likely the latter, but it was way funnier to imagine the first.

After a few minutes, Aragorn came back, this time with Gandalf, and a coney. Aragorn began to skin the coney for Sam, who started to fry eggs. 

"Gandalf, where do you go off to?" Frodo asked the wizard when he saw him step into the camp.

"Wandering," replied the wizard, as though that answered anything at all and wasn't incredibly vague or concerning.

"Everyone was arguing so badly with you gone it resembled my family's table at feasts whenever my Uncle Oin got drunk," Gimli gave Gandalf a look.

"Oh?" Gandalf lifted a bushy eyebrow,"and what were these arguments about?"

"What we should do about the child you allowed on this journey," Gimli gestured towards Pippin.

"Oh, don't you start that up again!" Pippin groaned, flopping backwards into the grass. "I don't wanna relive last night. 'Sides, I thought we all settled it when we agreed you couldn't get rid of me and for me to be extra careful!"

"We did," Gimli said, "but I wanted to let Gandalf know what happened when he was gone, and let him know that neither I nor Boromir were aware of the situation."

"It doesn't do well to keep secrets from each other," Boromir pointed out. "I would have liked to know about this sooner."

"I suppose I should've made you all aware," Gandalf, for his part, did at least look regretful. "But, I believe Peregrine is qualified for this journey."

"I hope your wisdom does not fail you this time, Mithrandir."

As the day went on and the Fellowship drew closer to the base of the Misty Mountains, the sun peeked out from behind the clouds and banished them, leaving a sky more blue than the richest dye and unmarred by fluffy white. Scrub oaks began to thin out as they came upon a valley filled with flowers of all kinds, springing from the earth in all shapes and colours.

"So many flowers. How are they all growing here?" Sam wondered aloud.

"This is elvish magic," Legolas looked over the whole field. "A passing group must have grown these flowers just days ago."

"Probably a good place to stop for lunch, right?" Pippin asked, always thinking of food (and how could he keep his mind off it, with all the meals they skipped?).

"That sounds like a great idea," Gandalf opened his pack and pulled out a container with the remnants of the morning's breakfast and yesterday afternoon's lunch.

They sat among the flowers and ate. Sam hardly touched his food because he was so busy admiring all the flowers. Legolas, too, ate little. He instead plucked flowers from the ground and wrapped their stems around each other, gradually forming a chain.

"Are you making a flower crown?" Pippin asked with a mouthful of food.

"Yes. Would you like to learn how?"

"I would," Sam shuffled closer, watching.

Legolas demonstrated how to wrap the stems so the flowers stayed connected, and he narrated as he went, adding white and pink hyacinths. When he finished, Sam went off excitedly and began to pick sunflowers. Pippin noticed that almost everyone else was beginning to make crowns as well. Aragorn had already started long ago, weaving together purple crocus flowers quickly and delicately, in a way that suggested he knew how to do it already. 

Gandalf picked bright blue tulips. Boromir found red poppies and a single large yellow rose. 

"The poppies can be useful because the seeds are used for medicine in my country," Boromir explained. 

Frodo and Merry had run off and held bundles of leaves and flowers of all sorts that didn't seem to go together, but as they made the crowns, they actually began to look quite stylish. 

Gimli was the only one not making a crown. Pippin sat next to him, dumping down an armful of white flowers and shamrocks and getting to work on his own crown.

"Gimli, why don't you make one?"

"I don't like flowers."

"I feel like it's actually because you don't like Legolas."

Gimli grumbled a bit, "You got me there. I won't do anything an elf teaches me to do."

"I don't understand why elves and dwarfs don't like each other," Pippin wrapped a white flower's stem around a vine he had found.

"Elves are untrustworthy and cruel. Especially elves from Mirkwood. His father treated my kin harshly and cruelly. You are a relative of Bilbo's, you must know what happened between us."

"I do know. But, he is not his father, and you are not yours."

"You pick up on a lot more than anyone would think."

"Thanks… wait, that sounds a little bit like an insult!"

Gimli chuckled, "It's just you usually are playing games or asking all kinds of odd questions, so it is unexpected when you are being serious."

Pippin finished making his crown and set it on his head. The flowers caught in his messy golden curls and he didn't have a mirror to see how he looked, so he drew his dagger from its spot on his belt and peered at his reflection in that. Satisfied with how he looked, he put the dagger away.

"Gimli, will you wear a flower crown if I make it for you?" Pippin asked. He really wanted to make another and it wasn't like he could wear two at once. Plus, they couldn't all be wearing flowers except Gimli!

"Aye. I will."

"What kind of flowers do you like?"

"I don't know anything about flowers. Nothing too colourful."

"Okay!" Pippin jokingly saluted and then ran around the field in search for the perfect flowers to give Gimli. He decided he would choose something white because white is the least colourful colour. There were many white flowers. Hyacinths, roses, Lily-of-the-valley, mums, orchids, baby's breath (which Pippin had in his own crown, though he wouldn't have put them in if he knew what they were called), daisies, kingsfoil, gardenia, cosmos, dahlia, camellia, yucca, even hibiscus- which seldom grew this far North. Elven magic really was a wonderous thing if it could make these flowers from all around the world grow here. Pippin decided on daisies, because they were simple. He ran back to Gimli with an armful of daisies and began to work. When he finished, he set the daisy crown on Gimli's head, made a few adjustments, and then stepped back to admire his work.

Gimli used his axe as a mirror. He smiled when he looked back at Pippin, "it looks very nice."

" 'Course it does," Pippin pretended to flip his hair over his shoulder, "I made it, after all."

"Your head is getting so big you soon won't be able to walk upright and will have to walk using your hands," Merry popped up from behind Pippin and messed up his hair.

"Merry, you are so mean! When we get home, I'm telling Aunt Esme you bullied me the whole time!"

"Expect fire ants in your bed roll tonight," Merry threatened as he backed away.

"Boromir!" Pippin called in a whining voice and ran to the man. "Merry said he's putting fire ants in my bed roll tonight!"

"Hey, you threatened me first," Merry pointed out.

"Yeah, I threatened to tell your ma you're a bully. You could've threatened to tell my da some blackmail you have against me but you threatened with fire ants instead! Those are not the same."

"You're telling this to me, why?" Boromir asked, trying and failing to hold back a smile at the hobbits' antics.

"We promised to protect each other!" 

"When it's my turn to keep watch I will protect you from fire ants, then, okay?"

"Thank you Boromir! You are my new favourite older cousin!" Pippin hugged Boromir tightly.

"But you aren't even cousins!" Merry cried.

"Hush, second-favourite-older-cousin, I donna want your opinion."

"Wait, I thought I was your favourite older cousin?" Frodo asked.

"Sorry Frodo, but you once took one of my mushrooms at dinner when we were little and I haven't forgiven you since."

"Fair enough. If you'd done that to me I may have put you only one step above the Sackville-Bagginses in my cousin list."

Chapter Text

The lower ridges of the Mountains were full trees and berry bushes. Many were similar to the ones found by the smaller mountains South of Tuckborough, and some were actually the same. Pippin recognised chestnut trees, wild strawberries, several species of mushrooms, walnut trees, and blackberries. 

As they hiked up the mountain side, he would grab berries from nearby bushes and pop them in his mouth or toss a few to Merry if he asked for some. Nuts were harder to reach because he would need to climb the trees to reach them, and he knew the Fellowship wasn't going to stop just so he could eat a few walnuts. Perhaps when they stopped for dinner he could climb in the trees.

They all still wore their flower crowns from yesterday, though the flowers had begun to wilt already for some of them, and the greener parts of Pippin's crown had already started shriveling in the heat of the sun. The sun was quite hot, though the wind blowing down from the mountains chilled the air just enough that they weren't all melting. The downside of the sunny day, however, was the sun burn Pippin could feel beginning to show on his cheeks and the back of his neck.

Frodo already looked flushed, and Pippin knew from experience that he burned easily. His skin was quite pale and even a few moments in the sun seemed to irritate it. Merry, too, was starting to look a little more red than tan. They were used to the sun in the Shire, but the higher up the mountains they went, the closer to the sun they got. Sam at least looked okay, but he was already quite tan despite his coppery hair. Years of working outside everyday must be helping him.

Aragorn was too dark-skinned to burn, and Gimli too covered. Pippin wasn't sure Gandalf or Legolas could even get sunburns, and Boromir- despite not being very dark-skinned, covered, or magical didn't seem to be burning at all.

"How is it that none of you are getting sunburned?" Pippin complained.

"I was wondering the same thing," Merry added, attempting to adjust his cloak to better cover the back of his neck. "I've never gotten sunburned in my life and now I can all the sudden feel it happening."

"And Frodo looks like a tomato," Pippin pointed out.

"We should rest in the shade for a bit," Boromir suggested, though he wasn't going to wait for anyone to tell him yes or no, simply leading the hobbits away under the shade of a tree. 

"Do none of you have sunsalve?" Aragorn asked, concerned over their burns- especially Frodo's. He knew all too well that burns so bad could lead to sun-sickness, and Frodo had had enough near death experiences already.

"Sunsalve?"

"Mr. Strider, is that like a paste made of tree bark that keeps you from burning?" Sam wasn't sure exactly what Aragorn was talking about, but he could think of something that might be similar.

"Yes."

"We've got that in the Shire, but the only people who wear it are folks who work outside. Gentlehobbits don't tend to wear it. We call it sunblock."

"Oh, I've heard of sunblock," Merry said.

Frodo nodded, "I've never used it, but I don't usually go outside much and the sun isn't so strong where I live anyways."

"I don't think we have that in Tuckborough. It's too rainy."

"Well, you need to use it now," Boromir pulled out a jar and unscrewed the lid, revealing a white powder. "Hold out your hands."

"I already have my own on," Sam said as the others held their hands out.

Boromir shook a bit of the powder into each of their palms and then poured a bit of water onto the powder piles, motioning for them to rub the water and powder together until they mixed. "Now you just rub the paste onto any exposed skin. Make sure you get all the skin. Anything you don't cover will be burned."

Pippin rubbed the sunblock all over his face and on his neck. He was sure he covered everything but Merry put more on the back of his neck because he was sure Pippin did not. 

"I did fine, Merry. I don't need your help," Pippin swatted at Merry's hands. 

"Shut up or I'm putting it on your face too."

"Don't tell me to shut up!"

Merry purposefully got sunblock in Pippin's mouth when he put more on his face, causing Pippin to gag at the taste and try to push Merry over. Merry was taller and broader and therefore heavier, so he remained unmoved, continuing to rub sunblock on Pippin's cheeks as though the tween wasn't squirming and kicking.

When they resumed walking again, Pippin no longer felt his face or neck burning. The sunblock also seemed to soothe the already burnt skin, making it feel cool and tingly. Although Pippi. Could think of no reason why he would need to wear sunblock where he lived, he decided he would ask Boromir where he got it or for a recipe so he could have some at home just in case. 

"Hey," Pippin called to the Big Folk who were always further ahead,"What's for dinner?"

"It isn't dinnertime yet," Gandalf said.

"I know, but when it is dinnertime, what are we eating?"

"I can hunt for something. It is best to save the dried food for once we get higher up the mountains," Aragorn said. 

"I'll go with you," Boromir always wanted excuses to talk to Aragorn, though Aragorn tended to be quite dismissive of him.

"I will go as well," Legolas had mentioned that hunting was one of his favourite pastimes.

"I'll cook again," Sam volunteered.

"Sam, you always cook," Frodo patted his arm.

"Well, I like doing it."

"I'll help you."

"You don't need to, Mr. Frodo."

"I want to. I need to take my mind off things tonight."

"I guess that leaves me and Gimli on campfire duty, then," Merry stuck his hands in his pockets to make sure he hadn't dropped his flint stone. 

Pippin suddenly felt very very left out. Why was everyone else doing things and he wasn't? Obviously he had been banned from campfire duty after he got lost in the forest searching for wood and frightened everyone into thinking something happened to him, but he wouldn't do that again probably! And they didn't want him cooking even though he was actually really good at it. At least, he thought so, anyway.

Despite everyone's promises that they wouldn't treat him differently when they figured out his age, they all started acting like he was some fragile kid who couldn't be trusted with responsibilities. Sam and Frodo already treated him like that anyways, but Merry was usually better about this kind of thing! 

"I want to help too," Pippin announced.

"What, with campfire duty? You got banned from that."

"No, I can do something else!" 

"Well, two people cooking is already more than enough, sorry," Sam said, and he did sound very sorry. He would probably let Pippin help him another night.

"I can go hunting, then!" 

Everyone just stared at him.

"What? I go hunting in Tuckborough all the time Merry, you've seen!"

"He is right," Merry rubbed the back of his neck. 

"See! I know what I'm doing!"

"I have an idea," Boromir went into Big Brother Mode. "How about, you accompany us, and you collect fruits and nuts? I saw you picking berries earlier. You have a good eye for those things, and we are going to need some for the trip over the mountains."

"I can do that," Pippin nodded proudly.

"Good. It's an important job."

When they stopped to make dinner, the sun was beginning to set in the west. The sky was painted orange and red, like fire consuming the blue. It cast a honey-glow over the valleys and mountains. Pippin thought it would be a pretty scene to paint, if he had supplies with him, though he had none and he didn't think he could quite catch the beauty of the sunset anyway. Some things just could not be drawn or recreated, no matter how much someone wanted to. 

"We should start while there is still daylight," Boromir said to the group of hunters while everyone else set up camp. They walked into a small forest nearby which was little more than a grove of trees but promised to be hiding something at least. Pippin unclasped his burgundy cloak and took it off, grasping the corners of the fabric in his hand. This way, he could hold up the fabric of the cloak to create a pouch of sorts to carry anything he might find.

Aragorn messed around in the dirt, tracking something, and Pippin took the opportunity to climb a pine tree. He lifted himself up onto a branch that was almost out of reach and swung himself, momentum carrying his body up and over the branch. He perched atop it, holding another branch to keep himself steady. From this branch, he was able to climb onto another and shimmy his way forward.

Several newly-opened pine cones clung to the tree branches among green needles. Pippin carefully plucked them off the branches. When he climbed down to the ground again, Aragorn and Legolas had gone, but Boromir waited for him nearby.

Pippin pulled apart the layers of the pine cones. The spicy fresh smell of pine flooded his senses. It was rare to find pine trees in the Shire, and they were all up in Bindbole Wood in the North Farthing, so he seldom got to see them. He pulled pine nuts from the cone- the same way Frodo taught him years ago- and shoved the pine nuts in his makeshift bag afterwards. Boromir then led the way towards a clearing where their other two companions had gone, still tracking. The clearing contained wild berries of all sorts, and Pippin gathered handfuls, popping a couple in his mouth every once in a while. As he took another handful of blackberries (most of which ended up in his mouth anyways), Boromir asked, "those aren't poisonous, are they?"

"If they were, d'ya think I'd be eating them?"

"Well, no. Just making sure."

"Have you never seen a blackberry before?"

"We don't have any in Gondor. I didn't think they were edible."

"Take a bunch," Pippin pulled some from his right pocket and dumped them in Boromir's hands. He inspected them for a moment (probably because they came from Pippin's pockets and that doesn't sound sanitary) before eating one.

"It's good."

"I'll pick more, then." Pippin turned back to the bushes.

He was suddenly startled by the sound of an arrow releasing from a bow and turned to see that Legolas had shot down a rather large bird from the sky. Pippin ran over to get a closer look."What… how…" 

Legolas bowed his head and whispered something in Elvish before he removed the arrow from the dead bird, cleaning the blood off on a cloth and placing it into his quiver again.

"That was wonderful!" Pippin exclaimed. "How do you do that?"

"Bit of practice," Legolas shrugged as he picked up the bird.

"Hundreds of years of it," Aragorn whispered to Boromir and Pippin, as though it were some kind of secret, and then, to Legolas, he said, "see if you can spot another. I don't think one is enough."

Pippin forgot that he was supposed to be foraging for nuts and berries as he watched the two men and the elf. Aragorn stood still and silent, turning his head at every small noise in the trees. Legolas looked at the sky or through the foliage, gaze piercing and all-seeing. Boromir- while he seemed not to be doing much at first- kept watch so everyone else could focus on finding food and not have to worry about any potential enemies. Pippin decided he would not want to be hunted down by these three. They were dangerous.

He watched as Legolas shot down another bird, and then they were walking towards the camp again with altogether more food than they had begun with. Boromir and Aragorn held the dead birds and Legolas helped Pippin pick berries from the bushes. The walk back was damp with recent rainfall and fallen leaves. Pippin knew it was the perfect environment for mushrooms to grow in, so he kept an eye on spaces under bushes or at the bases of trees. 

Finally, he spotted a flash of white among the dark soil under the cover of a tree. He handed his cloak (still full of nuts and berries) to Legolas and rushed to the mushrooms, pulling the stalks from the dirt gently so he didn't break any of it off and waste it. He had a feeling he wouldn't be seeing many more mushrooms on this trip, so he couldn't risk missing a single bit of them. 

The mushrooms smelled honey-sweet. The stalks rose tall and skinny, topped by cream-coloured caps which were long and flat and streaked with green. 

"What'd you find?" Aragorn asked.

"I found mushrooms!" Pippin stood up with an armful and followed after the elf and men again. 

Aragorn looked at the mushrooms as Pippin popped one in his mouth. The earthy, muddy taste that mushrooms have filled his mouth. Mushrooms truly were the best food. It tasted like eating dirt straight off the ground except without having to actually eat dirt. Truly, any experience that gives the same taste as shoveling wet leaves in your mouth without having to actually do that is excellent. 

"Spit that out!" Aragorn shouted suddenly, and knocked the mushrooms out of Pippin's arms. Unfortunately, the suddenness of his shouting and his movements caused Pippin to swallow the mushroom.

"Sorry?" Pippin bent down to grab the mushrooms again, but Aragorn stopped him.

"You just ate a death cap mushroom!"

"A death cap?!"

"He ate a death cap!?" Boromir dropped the food and came running, panic coming off of him in droves.

"Just half of one of those can kill a grown man!" Legolas exclaimed, horrified.

"These are sunshade mushrooms," Pippin tried to pick the mushrooms up again, and again Aragorn stopped him.

"We need to do something!" Boromir hyperventilated,"he'll die if we don't do something quick!"

"Boromir, stay calm," Legolas tried his best to soothe the panicking man.

"I eat these things all the time, I'm fine!" Pippin protested.

No one listened, of course. They were too busy panicking (Boromir) or strategizing (Aragorn and Legolas) to even bother trying to listen. So, in the meantime, while he waited for them to calm down, he ate another mushroom. 

"Did you just eat another?!?" Aragorn shouted. "What the fuck, Pippin?!"

"Sorry!"

Boromir dropped to his knees in front of Pippin and pulled him into an embrace, "oh, poor Pippin," he swore he could feel dampness on Boromir's cheeks. 

"I don't understand! What's going on?"

"It's alright, we're just gonna take you back to the others, okay?" Boromir calmed himself down. 

"I don't-"

"Is it okay if I carry you?"

"I suppose," Pippin wasn't sure why Boromir wanted to carry him, but he wasn't opposed to it. 

Boromir scooped him up gently in a way that Pippin's ma used to when he was young. He held onto Boromir's shoulder to stabilize himself as they rose. Boromir walked quickly past trees and bushes, back on the path they first travelled that headed to the campsite.

"What a horrible way to die," Pippin swore he heard Legolas whisper behind him. 

"We could try to make him throw up," Aragorn sounded exhausted and sad.

"Will that help?"

"I don't know."

Pippin was about to ask them what was happening, but Boromir spoke before he could, "Pay no mind to them," he also sounded sad, like something stretched too thin and about to rip. "Tell me about the Shire. What do you do for fun?"

"Oh, I do lots of fun things! Merry and I always get into so much trouble when he visits me or I visit him. One of my favourite things to do is climb up on the inns near our houses at night and talk to drunken patrons when they stumble outside. Since we are on top of the inn, they can't see us, and they get real scared, thinking the sky is talking to them or something. Sometimes, they even think they heard a ghost! And then when we've had our fun we climb down and have a few drinks ourselves!"

"They let you drink?"

"Well of course! Why wouldn't they?"

"We don't let children drink in Gondor."

"Oh, well if I ever go to Gondor, you make sure they make an exception for me," Pippin joked. Boromir smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. 

"I'll tell them, though I can't guarantee anything."

"They'd better. I am technically the closest thing the Shire has to royalty."

"Really?"

"Mhhm. My da's the Thain.  That used to be like a king a long long time ago. So I'm sort of a prince if you squint really hard."

"Me too, I suppose," Boromir said.

"Maybe you can come visit the Shire after all this. You can go to one of the inns with us- me and Merry and Sam and Frodo- I mean. I know all the best inns in the Shire. Some in Bree too. The Prancing Pony was great, did you know they serve whole pints? Green Dragon's still the best though, even if they only serve cups."

Boromir chuckled, though again, he looked rather sad. He looked like he didn't believe it could happen. "We sell pints in Gondor too. It's a standard in men's lands."

"I think I am beginning to like you Big Folk more and more," Pippin giggled. "Nevermind visiting the Shire, I wanna see Gondor! What's it like?"

Aragorn stopped talking to Legolas and tried to look like he wasn't listening in, but he was.

"There are mountains- tall and snow covered- towering above plains of wild grasses and cities of white stone. The people are brave and just," Boromir had that faraway, serene look that he got sometimes. Pippin recognised it as homesickness. He felt it too. 

"Oh, hey! You're back!" Merry's voice rang out from a clearing as they reached the edge of the woods. The mood became somber once again as Boromir set Pippin down and let him run to where the other hobbits were.

"What is wrong?" Gandalf stood. 

"Pippin, he…" Boromir started, but he couldn't finish.

"Pippin ate a death cap mushroom," Legolas continued for him.

"A what?" Sam asked.

"It's the most deadly mushroom in the world," Aragorn explained.

"Deadly mushroom?" Pippin repeated.

"Yeah, what are you talking about, mushrooms can't be deadly," Merry looked doubtful.

"I have one with me," Aragorn pulled out one of the mushrooms from his pocket.

"That's a sunshade mushroom," Sam inspected it. "Why, they aren't poisonous in the slightest."

"We eat these all the time," Frodo added. 

The Big Folk looked at the hobbits in confusion.

"I believe I neglected to tell you," Gandalf spoke to them, "that hobbits are immune to all toxins in mushrooms."

"You couldn't have said that when they first came into the clearing?" Gimli asked. "I thought Pippin was going to die when they delivered that news."

"Wait, mushrooms are poisonous to some folks?" Sam asked.

"Why didn't anyone tell me you all thought I was gonna die?" Pippin shouted in the middle of Sam's question.

"These mushrooms are called death caps by most races because there is no cure for their toxins," Legolas answered Sam's question.

"We didn't want your last moments to be filled with panic," Boromir answered Pippin's question. Boromir had tears in his eyes that he fought against, not wishing for them to fall. Pippin felt horrible to have worried them so, especially Boromir, who he had begun to think of as an older brother, and he was sure Boromir thought of him as a brother too. 

"I'm sorry," Pippin messed with his coat,"I didn't mean to scare you."

"No, it was not your fault," Aragorn stopped him.

"You couldn't have known that this would happen," Boromir added. "Gods, I am just happy you are alive," he ruffled Pippin's hair. 

"It's not that easy to kill me," Pippin laughed. "The universe is gonna have to try a lot harder than that to get rid of me."

"Trust me, I've tried," Merry joked, causing Frodo to laugh loudly from his spot by the fire.

Aragorn gave Sam and Frodo the two birds after he and Legolas plucked out all the feathers. Legolas kept the feathers in his bag to repair or make more arrows. Pippin handed Merry a few pine nuts to munch on while they watched Sam and Frodo make the stew. They stirred wild potatoes, carrots, and onion in the pot with some water. Pippin gave Sam a sprig of rosemary, and he pulled the nettles from the stem and dropped them in the water. Soon, an aromatic vegetable broth had been made and they added the meat. 

When the stew was done, Sam scooped a good and equal amount into everyone's bowls and they all ate in silence. The silence was not due to awkwardness or discomfort, but rather to the fact that the stew was so good they would all rather eat it than talk. 

When Gimli finished his stew, he said, "it has just occurred to me that if things had gone a bit differently tonight we may well have eaten those mushrooms in this soup."

"I thought about that as well," Aragorn began to clean his bowl. "I think the rule should be that someone show us mushrooms before any of us eats them or adds them to food, lest we accidentally ingest something poisonous."

" 'Course," Gimli turned to the hobbits, "you all can eat whatever you want but we just hafta make sure you don't feed us anything you want."

"I will make sure to have all mushrooms inspected before cooking them," Sam promised. "I don't want no one getting sick on my behalf."

"And if they can't have the mushrooms, bring em to me," Pippin gestured to himself with his spoon. "I will dispose of any and all toxic mushrooms."

"Pip, you have to share," Frodo scolded.

"You're not my mother."

Merry whacked him on the back of the head.

"Ow, don't hit me! I'm telling Gandalf! Gandalf, Merry hit me!" Pippin cried out, though Gandalf sat only a few feet away.

Gandalf leaned back against a tree trunk, mischief glinting in his blue-grey eyes as he puffed a smoke ring into the night,"Good. Merry, lad, do it again."

Chapter Text

The further up the mountains they climbed, the chillier and thinner the air became. Soon, all vegetation besides the occasional weed or dead bush disappeared. There were no more nuts to forage and no more animals to hunt, so they ate dried foods, including the berries Pippin had picked days before. Aragorn showed him how the rangers mushed the berries together with fat and dried meat to make little balls that stayed good for years called pemmican. Pippin thought it looked gross at first but was surprised to find he liked it when he tried it.

Now, he kept one in each of his pants pockets should he get lost from the group and his bag. That is what he told Aragorn, anyways. In reality, he thought it was good fun to pull the pemmican from his pockets and offer it to his travelling companions whenever they complained of hunger. Not even Boromir, who had eaten food stored in Pippin's pockets before, could stomach the idea of it, but Pippin did enjoy watching the man try to hide the look of disgust on his face as he politely declined the offered food.

Today, the sky was covered grey with clouds, and a small but chilly breeze blew down from the mountains, nipping their exposed skin. Pippin wished he had brought another coat, or at least some mittens. He had forgotten the mittens when he was packing back in Rivendell and had foolishly assumed he wouldn't be needing them, after all, if they were throwing the ring in lava why would he need to worry about the cold? What he really needed to worry about was actually learning how to use the small dagger he had taken from the barrow-downs. 

Which brought him to the reason he and Merry were speaking in whispers to eachother as the group tried to find a good place to rest.

"I'm not asking Strider, he still scares me, you know," Pippin argued with his cousin.

"Well, what about Legolas, then?"

"Why don't you ask?"

"Asking Legolas is prob'ly a bad idea anyways," Merry sighed. "I bet he would just beat us up and leave us to die without even giving any pointers as to how to get better."

"Well, what about Boromir? I reckon he can fight well, and he's nice," Pippin offered.

"Alright. You ask him."

"No, why me? You ask!"

"No, you're the one who brought him up, so you have to ask."

"You do it. Please?" 

"Fine." Merry walked towards the front of the group, pulling his cousin by the arm.

"Boromir," Merry started, "Pippin wanted to ask you a question."

"Merry!" Pippin protested. " You were supposed to ask!"

"Well, now you have to ask."

"Fine!" Then, turning to Boromir, Pippin fidgeted with the fabric of his cloak, "I- we- we have these daggers- me and Merry, that is, oh, and Sam and Frodo too- but we don't know how uh, how to use them and we wanted to know if… maybeyoucouldteachushowtofight?" His voice sounded higher and thinner the further he talked. Why was he so nervous? Boromir had been nothing but nice to him this whole time, he had nothing to fear!

"Of course. When we find a place to rest, I can start teaching you and Merry. Do Sam and Frodo want to learn as well?"

Pippin turned to look at his oldest cousin, but Frodo just shook his head.

"Looks like they don't," Pippin said.

For some reason, Frodo had grown quite suspicious of Boromir. Last night, he heard Frodo speaking to Sam about how much he distrusted Boromir. Everyone else was asleep, and he suspected they thought he was asleep too. Still, Pippin couldn't help but worry about Frodo. He was becoming distant again, although at least he spoke to Sam. 

"Are you sure?" Boromir asked Frodo. "I don't want you getting hurt because you don't know how to fight."

"I know how to fight already," Frodo said, a barely detectable hint of venom in his voice. "Uncle Bilbo taught me."

"An' then Frodo went and taught me," Sam added. "I was s'posed to be gardening but he would sneak me away for a bit to spar. My ol' Gaffer wasn't happy about that!" He joked.

Any hint of venom or distrust vanished from Frodo's face when Sam began speaking, and he soon joined Sam reminiscing about all the things they got into that the Gaffer disapproved of.

Boromir looked a little sad that he couldn't teach them. He really was becoming quite fond of hobbits and of the Fellowship. He never wanted to miss out on a bonding experience.

"You okay?" Merry picked up on Boromir's mood.

"I'm fine. I just wonder sometimes why Frodo seems not to like me."

"Oh, Frodo's just slow to trust. The only reason he trusts Strider right now is 'cuz he fought off the Black Riders for us. He will come around to you in a bit," Merry assured him.

You know, I think I know what will make you feel better," Pippin said to Boromir.

"I swear if you pull that meat thing out of your-"

"Pocket pemmican!-" Pippin said at the same time.

"-pocket one more time-" Boromir cut himself off as Pippin pulled the pemmican out of his pocket and thrust it in the general direction of Boromir's face. 

"I'll make you go to bed early tonight," Boromir threatened.

They found a space to rest that was closed in on two sides by large tan boulders. Boromir led them down to a sandy area that was flat enough to practice on, while Legolas kept watch and the others rested above on the boulders.

The Barrow Blade felt strange in Pippin's hand. Back home, he owned a light little pocket knife which he used most often for cutting slices in apples. This blade was much larger and heavier, and he certainly wouldn't be slicing any apples with it, though that would be quite the sight. 

He shuddered at the memory of the Barrow-downs. It still haunted him in his nightmares: the thick cold mist that chilled him to his bones and obscured his vision, the fear as he become separated from Sam in front of him and Merry behind, the freezing, decaying hand that clamped down on his arm, the horrible, fading dreams that he was a young girl drowning in a river, or a man stabbed during battle. Pippin shuddered, shaking the memories from his mind. At least he hadn't seen the wights, just felt them. The way Frodo described them made him very glad he was sleeping during most of it, though the peculiar dreams were disturbing enough on their own. 

At least they had gotten the blades out of it, though Frodo's was lost on Weathertop. The blade didn't feel too strange to hold anymore, just unfamiliar, but it was a comfortable weight and length, and it felt well balanced. It was also a plus that the blade was so fancy looking. When Pippin returned to the Shire, he would be sure to show it off to all the other boys and rub it in their faces that he had a fancy sword and they didn't. Maybe he would come up with a name for it too. All the best weapons had names.

"You ready?" Boromir asked the two hobbits.

"Yup!" Pippin replied, and Merry nodded.

"Alright. The first thing you need to learn is a proper stance. You can't fight if you are in danger of falling over at all times. You can't always stand properly, but it is best to learn how to shift your weight so you can fight even on uneven terrain," Boromir stood in front of them and demonstrated a stance. "Your feet should be shoulder width apart. Turn your back foot out, just slightly," the hobbits shifted their stances as he gave directions, "your backs should be a bit straighter, and center it over your hips."

Boromir walked over and moved Pippin a bit so he was standing correctly. "Balance on the balls of your feet, and keep your knees bent a little. Do not bend them so much that you are straining, but enough that you may move quickly. Good."

After their stances were perfect, Boromir walked them through a few different methods of guarding and attacking. Pippin could feel his muscles straining as they moved in ways he had never used them before. Though he wasn't out of breath and his heart didn't pound the way it did when he usually did any form of exercise, he still felt the ache in his arms and legs that told him he was getting quite the workout. 

Though they had been practising long enough, and the others rested more than they had in a while, Aragorn and Gandalf agreed that they were right on track and in no immediate danger so it did not hurt to linger longer. Besides, Gandalf still needed time to figure out the best path through the mountains. 

Boromir soon had Merry and Pippin practice fighting against eachother. It was awkward and slow at first, but they quickly got into it. Merry did much better, of the two of them, for he had an advantage in both strength and height. Pippin managed to win a few times, though he won just barely. 

"I lost again!" Pippin groaned as he dusted dirt from his trousers. Merry had knocked him down into the dirt again.

"You are focusing too heavily on trying to attack," Boromir handed Pippin his barrow-blade, which he had dropped when he fell. "Any enemy we face will likely be larger and stronger than you, so I suggest you focus on defensive strategies rather than offensive ones. Try to concentrate on blocking and dodging."

"How about we spar with you?" Merry asked, "After all, we won't be fighting anything hobbit-sized, so we need to practice against man-sized things."

"Alright," Boromir sunk into a relaxed fighting stance. "One at a time, please."

Merry went first. He practised blocking Boromir's attacks. They were slow at first, but as soon as Merry got the hang of it, Boromir put a little more strength and speed in each swing. Then, Boromir turned to Pippin. 

Boromir was much harder to fight against than Merry was, what with him being more experienced and much taller. Pippin was sure that Boromir could win a fight against anyone. He wanted to be like Boromir. 

They stopped sparring for a bit to eat lunch, and as soon as they were finished, they went back to fighting again. Pippin could see his own improvement each time Boromir turned to spar with him again. He moved faster and became better at blocking each swing of Boromir's sword. The stance he was meant to fight in became more familiar, and his blade began to feel not like a blade, but like an extension of his body. He felt dangerous and wild and quite heroic, and he wondered what everyone back in the Shire would think if they could see him now. 

He wouldn't mind watching the smug grins of the boys who used to tease him about being so skinny be wiped off as they saw him wield a sword. Perhaps the first thing he would do when he returned to the Shire would be to point his blade in that bully Bingo Puddifoot's face. He was a nuisance if Pippin ever met one- getting him into trouble for things he didn't do and calling him names. 

His lapse in concentration was broken by a sharp burning on his finger. He hissed and loosened his grip on his blade, looking down to see a drop of deep crimson gathering where Boromir's blade had nicked him.

"I am so sorry," Boromir dropped his sword and leaned downwards, trying to see what damage had been done. "I didn't mean to-"

Pippin gave him a good hard kick to the shin as payback. 

"Ow!" Boromir cried, hopping on one leg and placing his hands where the other had been hit.

"For the Shire!!" Merry shouted, and Pippin took that as his cue to jump on Boromir, knocking him to the ground. 

Merry jumped on Boromir as well, and began to tickle the man, while Pippin (lightly) punched him. The three of them were giggling as Boromir pretended to struggle against their assault and Merry shouted about revenge. After a moment, Aragorn, who had been spectating and smoking on a rock nearby, said something about that being "enough now" and attempted to remove Merry from Boromir. Pippin did not see how it happened, but he heard the soft "oof" and the thud as Aragorn hit the ground.

"Oh no!" Boromir gasped in exaggerated despair. "All hope is lost! I take my dying breath! Tell my- Ow! Not so hard- Tell my mother… I loved her!" And then Boromir lay still, pretending to die.

Pippin rolled off Boromir, laughing and wiping the dust from his pants. Boromir tried to hold still (because dead people don't move) but he couldn't escape the laughter shaking his form. Aragorn too, was smiling, as he stood up and yanked Merry off of him, depositing him not-so-gently on the ground. 

Pippin took in the scene- Merry: complaining about how his backside now hurt after Aragorn dropped him, Aragorn: pretending he couldn't hear Merry's complaints and pulling a stick out of his black greasy hair, and Boromir: sitting up and clutching his sides as if it hurt to laugh so. He turned to the side to view his other travelling companions, and what he saw made the blood drain from his face: a large black swarm of birds headed in their direction.

Chapter Text

Freezing.

The fellowship struggled through snow and wind and rock. Up the mountain pass they trudged, snow-blind and bit by the frigid chill of the wind. The gusts howled over peaks and slopes like tortured voices in a dreadful choir. 

Snow fell in blankets- and not warm cosy blankets that you curl up under by the fire at night- no, these were like blankets that someone had pulled from a frozen lake and thrown sopping wet at your face. It came down so thick one could scarcely see the person in front of them.

Pippin cursed himself for forgetting his mittens in Rivendell. He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, but even that proved little protection against snow and wind. At first, his fingers burned with the cold, but he could now feel nothing and could hardly move them. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or alarmed about his lack of feeling. 

The fellowship trudged through great drifts of snow up a swerving path. Gandalf had called this place Caradhras. Pippin did not care for Caradhras at all. It seemed as soon as the began up the mountain, the snow had come in, even thicker, Gimli said, than usually seen in the Misty Mountains this time of year. 

Gandalf and Legolas made up the front, little affected by the snow, it seemed. The men struggled through it behind them, though they were tall and strong, and Boromir scooped away snow using his shield as a shovel in order to make the path easier to tread for those behind him. Gimli moved through the snow slowly but confidently, though ice and snow whitened his beard. Dwarves are made for mountain, ice and stone. 

Unfortunately, the hobbits were made for lush grass and temperate weather. Frodo and Sam huddled for warmth as they walked, and Merry had long since taken off his glasses, as the snow stuck to them and they fogged up. Pippin brought up the rear. He felt sluggish and tired- more tired than he had ever been before. His legs felt heavy, like they were made of iron. His pace was slow, and he lagged behind. 

He could no longer see the back of Merry's cloak after a particularly strong gust of wind blew the top off a snowdrift and into his face.

"Pippin?" Merry called through the howling wind. 

"Here!" He shouted back, though his voice was weak. He realised with a start that he had fallen into the snow, and he scrambled up.

Merry reached him and held his arm, probably scared he would lose Pippin again if he let go. 

"Are you okay?" Merry dragged them back to the group.

" 'm cold."

Merry wrapped Pippin's scarf tighter and adjusted his cloak to better keep warmth in. It didn't help, but the gesture was nice at least. It reminded him of the way a mother would adjust her child's clothes before sending them off to play outside.

"Pip, why don't you have gloves on?" Merry looked at his hands, which had turned pale and blue-tinted.

"Forgot them. In Rivendell."

Now Frodo was listening to them. He began to take off his mittens. "Pippin, you'll get frostbite without mittens!"

"Now, Mr. Frodo, don't worry about giving Pippin your mittens, I will give him mine," Sam stopped Frodo taking off his gloves and handing his own to Pippin.

"But then you'll get cold," Pippin handed them back.

"We can take turns," Sam offered. "See, my hands still have some warmth in 'em, but yours are too cold," he showed Pippin his hands, which were red in the cold, but not the lifeless blue of Pippin's.

Pippin put on the mittens.

"Say thank you," Merry whispered in his ear.

"Thank you, Sam."

Sam smiled and offered a soft,"it's no problem."

The mittens brought back warmth to his fingers, though it did nothing to stop the feeling that his veins had turned to ice and his blood to freezing water. 

After the warmth was back in Pippin's hands, he returned the mittens to Sam, whose hands had gone blue. Taking off the mittens was probably the hardest thing Pippin had done in his life up to that point. He didn't want to let go of the warmth they brought.

Hours had passed, and the snowstorm worsened. It was Pippin's turn with the mittens, though this time they brought no warmth to his hands. He couldn't feel his face at all, and he had ceased shivering, able only to stumble sluggishly along. Every step drained more energy from his body.

He heard a sound, like voices coming through a thick wall. Merry was talking to him. Yes, that's what it looked like. His mouth moved, and he was looking at Pippin. The problem was he couldn't figure out what Merry was saying.

"Huh?" 

Merry's mouth moved again.

"Dunno… what… dunno," something wasn't right. Why weren't words coming out when Pippin told them to? "Merry?" He asked, or tried to. It sounded like mumbling.

Merry's face contorted into panic. Pippin tried to say something to calm him down, and stumbled forward, placing a hand on his shoulder as if to say 'I'm alright'. This didn't make Merry feel better, however. In fact, he looked even more panicked. Pippin tried to back off, but he found he couldn't. He could only lean further into his cousin, and he would've collapsed altogether if Merry wasn't there to support him.

"Don' feel s'good…" Pippin leaned his head against Merry's shoulder. He felt someone else steady him. He thought it was Frodo, but he couldn't tell. He wasn't able to see too well for some reason. He couldn't hear either.

He felt like his ears were underwater, because everything was suddenly muffled and then replaced with a high-pitched ringing, like someone playing a fiddle on the space between the bridge and the fine tuner. His vision shaded and became grainy. His limbs became even heavier.

Something shook his shoulder, and the shade over his vision went away, though the ringing in his ears continued, muffling the sounds of voices. It was cold. Too cold. He wished he were asleep. That would feel better than having to move his tired body up the mountain. Sleep really didn't seem so bad right now, actually. He moved to sit down, but someone grabbed him and pulled him upright. 

Someone shouted. Someone else shouted back. Perhaps there was an argument. He wondered what they were arguing about. Maybe they were arguing about where to sleep. Aragorn, Gandalf, and Boromir seemed to like arguing about that a lot. Or maybe they were arguing about what to eat. Pippin could go for some hot food right now. One of Sam's soups sounded good. Sam was a good cook. Pippin could see why Frodo liked him so much. One year, around yule-time Sam had made a particularly good soup out of blueberries and allspice. He thought it strange to put blueberries in a soup, but it tasted so good. What he would do to have a soup like that right now. Maybe he should ask Da if he can go see Frodo next week. He will ask Sam for the recipe then. Maybe Merry can come too, and-

Someone picked him up.

He wasn't in his house. Why did he think that? He was on a mountain, in the snow, and someone was holding him, but there he had been, thinking he was at home in his room, where his greatest problem was figuring out how to get Sam's soup recipe. He was so confused.

" 's this real?" He thought he said it right, but he couldn't be sure. Whoever was holding him pulled him closer, wrapping their cloak around him. It was cosy.

"I have never seen so much snow in my life," Merry gasped. "Pip, how many snowhobbits d'ya think we could out of all this?"

There was no answer. Merry turned to look at Pippin. "Pip? You alright?"

Pippin certainly didn't look alright. His skin was pale, like he had just seen something frightening, and his eyes were unfocused- staring at nothing. He stumbled as he walked, and he looked mere moments away from falling.

"Pip?"

"Huh?"

"Pippin, what's wrong?" Merry walked closer to his little cousin, worry growing in his heart.

"Dunno…" He spoke in a mumbled whisper which Merry could just barely hear above the blizzard. "What… dunno…" Something was horribly wrong. Pippin could hardly speak, it seemed, and his eyes were dull.

"Help!" Merry shouted to Frodo, "something's wrong with Pippin!"

"Merry…" Pippin mumbled, blinking slowly, like he had sleep in his eyes and needed to clear it.

Frodo was by their side in a second, and the rest of the fellowship had taken notice now. Sam stood nearby wringing his hands and unsure what to do, and Aragorn strode forward, a worried Boromir not far behind.

Merry tried to school the expression on his face to one of calm rather than panic, but it was too late because Pippin took notice and mumbled something else and placed what was meant to be a comforting hand on Merry's shoulder. Pippin stumbled and his hand leaned all his weight onto Merry. He looked ready to slump to the floor or faint. 

In fact, Pippin suddenly leaned all his body onto Merry. Merry thought he would be shivering, but he was still. That worried him more.

"Don' feel s'good…" Pippin placed his head on Merry's shoulder as he slumped forward further, going almost entirely limp. Frodo held onto Pippin's coat lapel to keep him up.

"Is he alright?" Boromir rushed forward. He already knew the answer, of course. It was plain to everyone that Pippin was far from alright.

Aragorn pressed a palm to Pippin's forehead. "No fever, but he is cold."

Merry touched his cousin's face. Aragorn was right, he felt as cold as the ice and snow around them, "Strider, is he sick? What's wrong?"

"He needs to be warm. He may be suffering from the first stages of frost-sickness."

"Frost-sickness?" Frodo asked.

"When the body becomes too cold, it shuts down. We call it frost-sickness."

"We need to do something!" Boromir interrupted. "Pippin needs to get warm before the sickness takes hold."

Merry pulled Pippin closer to him, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. 

"We still cannot risk a fire," Gandalf said. "If we can find shelter, we may perhaps be able to. With these winds a fire would be blown out anyways."

"I have a spare blanket," Gimli offered, digging one from his pack. He handed it to Merry, who wrapped it around Pippin. His cousin fought against him weakly, mumbling about something or other.

Then, Pippin tried to sit in the snow. The blanket fell off him. "Tired," he whispered. Frodo pulled him up and stood him on his feet again. 

"I don't think he can walk like this," Sam assisted Merry wrapping Pippin in the blanket again. It was a heavy wool blanket of deep red with an odd knitting pattern that must be unique to dwarves.

"We need to go back," Boromir said hopelessly. "We can't continue on like this!"

"This is the only safe path," Gandalf argued.

"I still don't understand why we cannot pass by Rohan."

Aragorn looked displeased by this argument, which Merry knew they had repeated several times in the past few days. "We do not know to whom Rohan's allegiance lies. They could be allied with Saruman."

"Tell me, Aragorn, have you ever met King Théoden? What about his son? Would you judge their character, and the character of a whole country, even though you are unfamiliar with them and their leaders?" Merry did not completely understand what the men were arguing about, but this conversation was beginning to take on the same tone as the drama and gossip found around the tea table of a group of aunties, not like the arguments of two very powerful and important men.

"I do not claim to know them," Aragorn gave Boromir a nasty glare,"However, we can afford to take no risks."

"I guess Pippin's health isn't something you consider in your list of risks, then?" Boromir returned Aragorn's glare.

"Speaking of Pippin's health," Merry attempted to divert the conversation away from the argument, "I am worried. He- well- he was born too early and because of it, he always got so sick. Every year in the wintertime until just a year or two ago he spent much of his time confined to bed and unable to breathe. Is this- do you think that would make this worse?"

"Do you know what made him ill? A specific sickness?" Aragorn tried not to look as though that news bothered him, but anyone with eyes could tell it troubled him.

"We call it Winter Fever. Tell me- he will be okay, right? A few years ago he was so ill and I- we nearly lost him," Merry panicked. If the wind weren't so cold and harsh, tears may have fallen from his eyes. 

"Pneumonia is what we call it. He does not have it now, but the cold could sicken him," Aragorn didn't want to lie. Merry deserved to know what he truly thought. 

"Please Mr. Strider, don't let him get sick again," Sam pleaded. He had been travelling in Tuckborough with Frodo the year Pippin almost died. The memory of the young hobbit so pale and skinny lying in his bed scared Sam. He had always had a protective personality, so seeing anyone- but especially the young relative who was normally bouncing around the halls of Bag End- sick made him sad. Pippin had looked so small that year, and he was forced to stay in bed for a month after the incident. 

"I will try my hardest," Aragorn promised. "For now, we need to focus on keeping him warm."

"I can carry him," Boromir volunteered. He was the best person to do it because he was strong, Pippin liked him, and he had a magnificent warm cloak made of furs that he could surely share with the young hobbit.

He gently took Pippin in his arms and covered him with the cloak. Merry, in other circumstances, would be quite envious of Pippin. That cloak looked really soft, and he didn't have to trudge through the snow anymore. But, in these circumstances, Merry only worried about his cousin.

"Hey, Pippin, wake up," a worried voice rang through his sleep. "You need to wake up."

Pippin stirred, opening his eyes to see Merry. 

"Can you hear us?" Boromir asked. Pippin started when he heard Boromir so close. It looked like the man was the one carrying him. They sat now, beside a fire, and he was snuggled against Boromir's chest and wrapped in his cloak. Merry stood in front of him, and everyone else gathered around the fire, including Bill, who neighed miserably.

"Wha' happened?" Pippin asked.

"Oh Pip," Merry embraced him. "I was so worried."

"You were succumbing to frost-sickness," Aragorn answered. Frodo too, though not nearly as bad as you were. Boromir carried you, though we were buried in snow. We stopped here to light a fire. The wood is nearly all burned though."

"Is Frodo okay?" Pippin asked.

"I am," Frodo answered. "You were not so okay, though. You were quite confused and you collapsed in the snow."

"You were ice-cold," Merry added. 

"You still are," said Boromir, moving them closer to the fire and wrapping the cloak tighter.

"Good thing you are warm," Pippin snuggled in so only his eyes peeked out from over the thick woolen fabric. 

"Have him drink some of this," Gandalf passed over a flask of something, and Pippin took a sip. It instantly warmed him, and it tasted like warm cinnamon bread.

"What is this?"

"Miruvor. It will warm you temporarily. Everyone else got some but you hit me when I tried to give you any in your delirious state."

Pippin felt his face redden as he thought about what a fool he must have looked trying to hit a wizard who only wished to help him, "Sorry."

Pippin curled up again, and this time Merry joined him in cuddling Boromir and taking advantage of the warmth of his cloak. Boromir only laughed and told them to "quite leaching all my warmth!" But he allowed it. He knew the two hobbits had less experience in harsh conditions, and he had body heat to spare, though it would be nice if Pippin would take his freezing hands off the back of his neck. 

Sam and Frodo huddled beside Bill, close to the fire as they could get without catching aflame themselves. Aragorn took off his mittens to dry them, as snow had gotten inside and melted. Legolas stroked Bill's coat, gazing into the swirling snow as a lookout. Gimli sharpened one of his many weapons, and Gandalf looked troubled, watching the fire burn lower and lower. 

"What will we do when the fire goes out?" Merry wondered aloud. 

"I do not know."

"You need to use something to burn, right? You can't just start a fire on its own?"

"Correct."

"I've brought a sketchbook I don't need," Pippin chimed in. "It's empty, and I forgot to bring along ink or a pen, so I won't miss it."

"That will work," Gandalf took the sketchbook when Pippin dug it out of his bag.

As the fire died, Gandalf ripped out pages and tossed them in, feeding the fire. Everyone watched mournfully when the last page burned. Pippin felt he could cry as he felt the warmth of the fire leave and the chill crept in again.

"I wish we had more wood," Pippin muttered. "Or more things to burn at least."

"Me too," Merry agreed.

"This won't help much, but I heard that ginger makes you warm," Boromir shifted and reached into his pocket. "And I have ginger candies from Gondor."

He had Pippin at "candy" because- as with most boys his age- sweets were the most important thing in the world, right above winning ballgames. Boromir gave them each a candy. It was a round amber-coloured candy that was wrapped in paper and tied on each side, like the saltwater taffy Zinnia Hayward used to sell at the faire in Michel Delving. 

Pippin unwrapped the candy and popped it in his mouth. Immediately, the taste of ginger filled his mouth. It was spicy and sweet at the same time: a confusing mixture, but a tasy one too. 

It didn't warm him like the Miruvor did, but it gave him a distraction from the cold, and also it was candy , who cares if it works as well as magical elf drinks? It was full of sugar and that was all that mattered.

"How come you carry candies with you everywhere?" Pippin asked. "You don't strike me as a candy sort of guy."

"My brother loved ginger candies as a kid. It became my habit to carry them in my pockets. The children in my city quickly figured it out too, so I don't have any reason to stop."

"We will have to sleep here," Gandalf said when the sky finally turned black.

"We need to huddle for warmth," Aragorn moved to the other side of the extinguished fire, beside Sam and Frodo.

"I will not lay beside a dwarf," Legolas turned up his nose and glared at Aragorn.

"I will not cuddle an elf," Gimli too looked furious.

"This is no time to let prejudice guide you. Either cast it aside or freeze," Gandalf snapped. Pippin flinched at the anger in his voice. He had never seen Gandalf so mad, even when Pippin had broken a few plates in Bag End trying to drag down a tray of raspberry tarts he hadn't been so mad, and Pippin had thought that he was very angry then. 

Giml and Legolas looked guilty, and they reluctantly joined the group.

Pippin ended up laying on Boromir's chest, and Merry lay beside Boromir. Gimli lay on the other side, and Sam and Frodo in a heap beside him, guarded by Bill. Aragorn and Legolas laid at their feet, and Gandalf took first watch, sitting beside Merry.

"This is a tad uncomfortable," Gimli whispered his complaint to Boromir.

"Eh, I'm fine. Reminds me of taking care of Faramir when he was little. He used to sleep on my chest like this."

"I'm not so used to sleeping this close to others either," Legolas said. "I don't know how you do it."

"It's free warmth, thats what," Merry answered. "It feels nice on colder nights to snuggle because everyone shares their warmth."

"Some of us are trying to sleep," Aragorn grumbled. 

"Sorry."

"Apologies."

The group fell silent after that. One by one they dropped off to sleep. Pippin felt his eyelids grow heavy. He yawned and it was a yawn so large it made his eyes water. He curled his legs up to his chest, keeping in warmth as he huddled into a ball. He let his eyes close then, and his thoughts drift.

Chapter Text

The walk down the mountain was considerably easier than the hike up. In fact, it was so much easier that Pippin didn't even run out of breath! 

This was, of course, because Boromir carried him all the way down.

None of the hobbits could make it down due to snow drifts that went up to the chests of the men. Aragorn and Boromir had dug as good a path as they could, though it was still too high for the hobbits to make it through, especially with Frodo and Pippin still recovering from frost-sickness. Aragorn carried Frodo and Boromir carried Pippin down. They left the two of them at the bottom with Legolas who was infuriatingly able to walk atop the snow without falling through. The two men later came down with Sam, Merry, Gimli, Gandalf, and Bill.

"We are going to the Mines of Moria," Gandalf said aloud, as though he didn't quite believe it, and needed to confirm it to himself. Pippin wasn't quite sure how to feel about Moria, considering he had seen split reactions between members of the group. Gimli looked ecstatic, and spoke to anyone who would listen about the glory of the dwarf kingdom, though everyone else appeared somewhere on the range between mildly uncomfortable and outright frightened. 

"Uh, is that… bad?" Pippin asked.

"Oh right, you didn't hear any of the arguing," Merry muttered.

"My cousin Balin will be there," Gimli spoke with pride.

"Balin? The Balin? From Bilbo's stories?" Pippin asked.

"Yes, he is the Balin."

"Wow! I can't wait to meet him." Pippin actually remembered Bilbo's stories very well, though he was only eleven when Bilbo "disappeared", and that is quite young. He had hardly even begun to learn his letters at that point! There was just something unforgettable about Bilbo's voice, and the way he related the stories. He always became loud at certain parts, then quiet at others, and he spoke in different voices for every new character. 

He remembered that Balin was a kindly dwarf who seemed to be older than he was, and he was much more understanding towards Bilbo than the others were at first. He had a white beard and a red hood, Pippin remembered that! Wait, no- it was scarlet, Bilbo said scarlet, didn't he? Yes, Bilbo was the kind to be very particular about colours and other specifics. 

"Does Balin still wear a scarlet hood nowadays?" Pippin asked. He wanted to make sure he would recognise him when they got to Moria.

Gimli laughed loudly and clutched at his stomach. 

"What did I say? Why are you laughing?"

Gimli laughed harder, and now Gandalf was chuckling too.

"Was it that stupid a question?"

"Well, Pippin," Frodo looked like he was holding back laughter, "most people don't wear the same clothes every day."

"But we do!" 

"Only because we don't have a change of clothes."

"Oh. Right… Sorry, it was a stupid question. I'm sure Balin has lots of clothes." This only set Gimli to laughing again. 

"Don't laugh at me!" Pippin pouted.

"I'm not laughing at you," Gimli ruffled his hair.

"I am."

"Thanks Gandalf," Pippin snorted. "I sure can always count on you."

Around teatime (though, they didn't get to actually have teatime, Pippin still counted time by meals, though they were missed meals more often than not) the snow cleared away completely and they could see the valley again. He had never thought he would be so happy to see the dry bushes and scraggly trees of this valley, but he now could practically kiss the dirt of it for how excited he was to be away from the snow and the howling wind of Caradhras. 

"How are you doing?" Boromir walked at a slower pace so he could walk beside Pippin.

"Better than yesterday. I'm so so tired, though. I might collapse if I am forced to go on," he whined.

"Ay, you got carried all the way down here, don't go complainin'!" Gimli grumbled.

"Next time we meet snow, I shall carry you," Legolas seemed serious, but he was surely joking.

"I'd rather shave my beard."

Pippin let the dwarf and the elf bicker and he turned back to Boromir, "Do you have any more candies?"

Boromir pulled a ginger candy out of seemingly nowhere and gave it to Pippin, who unwrapped it and then shoved the wrapper into his jacket right beside the pemmican. He popped the candy into his mouth. Boromir gave another to Merry, who was hovering beside him as though to ask for one. He then offered one to Sam and another to Frodo. Sam took the offered candy and placed it in his pocket for later, and Frodo just shook his head. Pippin was surprised by Frodo. He never passed up the chance to eat sweets!

Boromir didn't seem to care, he likely thought that Frodo wasn't one for sweets, so he just ate the candy for himself. 

As the day drew on, Pippin grew wearier and wearier. It was odd, as even though his legs usually tired, he was always full of energy, and he never felt so tired so early in the day. He wondered if the effects of the frost-sickness lingered still. After all, he often fell ill during the winter in the Shire when he was young, and he wondered if this frost-sickness was similar to the bouts of illness that kept him in bed for days as a faunt. He did feel the same ache in his lungs and the stuffiness in his head that often accompanied such illnesses.

"Boromir, can you carry me again?" Pippin pulled on the man's surcoat to get his attention.

"Are you alright? Surely you would rather walk on your own two feet? I know you wouldn't be lazy," Boromir worried.

"I feel sick still. My head feels like it's all stuffed up with cotton."

"At dinner, I can make an herbal tea that should help," Aragorn promised.

"But how is that going to help me now?"

"Peregrin Took! Quit your whining!" Merry scolded with a hiss, though he held a worried shine in his eyes.

"Sorry."

"I can carry you until dinner," Boromir suggested, "It's no trouble."

"If he overexerts himself so soon after a sickness it will come back," Aragorn agreed. 

Boromir leaned down and picked Pippin up. Pippin stuck his tongue out at Merry when no one else was watching, just to flaunt the fact that he got carried but his older cousin had to walk.

When dinner came, they sat beneath a rocky overhang. They ate fruit which Legolas had pressed into leathery dried strips as well as some sorts of cakes from Rivendell. Aragorn then had Sam heat a kettle over a small fire as he pulled dried herbs from a bag.

"Pippin, are you in pain at all?"

"I have a headache. And my lungs hurt, like I have been coughing all day or something."

Aragorn nodded and added a few leaves and seeds to a mortar and pestle and ground it up until it was like powder. When the kettle whistled, Sam poured the hot water in a mug and Aragorn added the powder, stirring it before he gave it to Pippin.

"This has a few herbs to stave off further illness, as well as soothing herbs and poppy seeds to relieve your pain."

"Thank you, Strider," Pippin took the mug and sipped on the warm tea. It tasted weird, though not bad. It wasn't the most tasty tea he had ever had, but it seemed to drive the pain away the more he drank. 

Aragorn made a tea for Frodo as well, though with far fewer ingredients. 

"How come Frodo's had less stuff in it?" Pippin inquired.

"Your cousins brought up a few times you had been ill in the past, so I gave you preventative herbs. They will keep you from getting winter fever. I also gave you more painkillers because you said your lungs hurt. Frodo has a headache too, but he is otherwise fine."

"Oh, that makes sense."

A moment passed.

"Hey, Strider, why do I feel funny?"

"That would be the painkiller kicking in. You might feel sleepy or confused."

"I don't think Pippin can get any more confused than he is regularly," Merry joked.

"I will have you know I may not be the brightest tool… in the toolbox- but I'm a lot more sensible than you give me credit for!"

"Sharpest tool in the shed."

"Huh?"

"The saying is 'sharpest tool in the shed' you said 'brightest tool in the toolbox.'"

"Oh." Everyone began to laugh. Pippin made a face, "Well, I can assure you I would've said it correctly if not for that tea I drank!" 

"We know, Pip," Merry said in the least convincing tone and patted his back.

After dinner, they began the walk again. Boromir still carried Pippin because he was now too drowsy to walk on his own. This didn't stop him from talking a hundred miles a minute, mostly directed at Gandalf, much to the wizard's chagrin.

"Gandalf, how come you wear that silly hat anyways?"

"I happen to like this silly hat."

"But why?"

"There isn't a reason why."

"There has to be a reason why."

"Well, there isn't."

A pause.

"How do you make your fireworks? Can you make some now? I wanna see them again. It's been years and years since I saw any. Although, wait- if you do fireworks now it would make us a big target- but can you promise to do them when we get back? Please?"

"Peregrin Took, you are insufferable!"

"Funny, that's exactly what Frodo told me at least once an hour on our journey to Crickhollow."

"And for good reason!" Frodo defended. "I was trying to discreetly leave the Shire and you kept singing as loudly as possible."

"Gandalf, do you ever brush your beard or is it always messy?" Pippin ignored what his cousin said and leaned over in a clumsy attempt to touch Gandalf's beard, but Boromir moved him out of arm's reach of the wizard and he grasped only air.

"Goodness Mr. Strider," Sam giggled, "what did you put in that tea?"

"Only regular healing herbs. Sometimes it has a strong effect and people don't realise what they are doing or saying."

"I know what I'm saying!" Pippin felt offended that the ranger would say that. "I'm saying words! Lots of 'em! And all of them to Gandalf in the form of questions!"

"Calm down little one," Boromir said in a soothing voice. "He didn't mean any offense."

"I would be much calmer if Gandalf would answer my questions! I want to know things and he won't let me!" Then, in what he thought was a whisper but was actually quite loud, he leaned further towards Boromir and said,"I have a thought- a theory- that Gandalf wishes me to remain ignorant forever."

Boromir held back laughter. "I assure you he wants you to learn, but some of your questions don't have clear answers."

"That doesn't make sense. Every question has answers, if you look hard enough. Maybe you don't know the answers, but they're still there."

That was probably the wisest sounding thing Pippin had said in his entire life up to this point, though of course the effect was lessened by the fact that he was being carried like a toddler and slurring his words.

As the sun was starting to set, they began to walk through a mountain pass which had high, steep walls on both sides. It was rocky and covered in dried, thorny plants which pricked at the legs of all except Pippin, who dozed in Boromir's arms. He woke every so often to mumble something absurd and his dreams were full of odd happenings.

In one dream, Gandalf turned him into a frog and he had to be carried around in one of Sam's frying pans which they had filled with water. He hoped he never angered Gandalf enough to warrant the wizard turning him into a frog.

Soon, Pippin woke up and the drowsiness had worn off, and the fog began to dissipate from his mind. He could probably walk on his own now but the weeds and rocks and brambles looked no fun to walk on and he would much rather be carried by Boromir.

"Did I miss anything?" Pippin asked. He had thought he felt them running at some point before his waking.

"Oh, only us being chased by wargs and fighting them off with fire," Frodo grumbled. It had been a long night for the rest of the fellowship. 

Pippin remembered how terrified Frodo was of dogs. And wargs were just big evil versions of wolves, which were like big evil versions of dogs! Poor Frodo must have been so scared. 

"Well, I guess Farmer Maggot's dogs seem like kittens to you now?" Pippin joked.

"You're right," Frodo chuckled,"I can go back to terrorising his farm and stealing his crops without fear of getting caught!"

"Hey now," Merry protested. "Farmer Maggot really likes me and Pip and he even gives us free stuff sometimes! No cousin of mine is stealing from him and risking tainting his friendship with us!"

"Yeah, he'd tell my da I'm hanging out with a nasty crop-stealer and then I wouldn't get to visit you ever again, Frodo!"

"Don't you two worry, I'll keep Mr. Frodo from stealing his crops," Sam said. "I won't have him be labelled a nasty crop-stealer."

"You wouldn't be put in jail for that, would you?" Boromir asked, curious what sort of laws the hobbits had. In Gondor, food was sometimes scarce due to the enemy destroying their fields, so crop stealing was a serious crime.

"No, but it don't look so good for you if you care about your reputation," Sam answered. 

"Ah, it's just around this corner here, if my memory serves correct!" Gandalf called.

This piqued Pippin's interest, and he tugged on Boromir's tunic sleeve to let him know he wanted down. The man set him gently on the ground, placing a steadying hand at Pippin's back in case he wobbled.

The steep cliffs turned sharply to the right and gave way to an opening. A large, dark lake lay in the center, reflecting the moonlight within its inky ripples. Bare walls of rocks surrounded the lake. There was no way out of the area except the way they just came in and a skinny strip of rock ran all the way around the lake. 

Pippin did not like the look of the lake. Either something nasty in the stagnant water caused its inky appearance, or it went so deep it looked black. Either possibility didn't sound so good. 

"Are you sure this is it? How do we get in?" Merry asked.

"Dwarf doors are invisible to those who do not know their whereabouts," Gandalf explained. "I came this way once, long ago, and at that time the door was open. I was told it reflects the light of the moon and stars. We must wait for the clouds to part." Fortune must have been on their side, as with his words, the wind blew the clouds apart. Moonlight fell upon the cliff-face and a door was revealed. It shimmered and shone like silver beneath the moonbeams. They could see elvish words written upon the stone. Pillars were drawn on the rock, and two elegant, arching trees spiralled around them. A crown, stars, and a hammer also adorned the great door.

"What's it say?" Pippin asked.

"It says the name of the one who made the doors. It also says, 'speak, friend, and enter.'" Gandalf answered. "As we are friends, all we must do is speak the code and the door will open for us."

He said something and thrust his staff towards the door, though nothing happened. Gandalf looked surprised.

"Nothing happened," Pippin thought aloud. 

Gandalf shot him an annoyed look and turned back to the door, saying another spell. Still, nothing happened.

"I once knew every spell in all the languages which had ever been created," Gandalf muttered.

"What are you going to do, then?" Pippin asked.

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! If that doesn't open them, perhaps it will knock some sense into you, or maybe it will give us some peace from foolish questions!" Gandalf snapped. "Now be quiet and let me think!"

Opening the door was, apparently, not as simple as Gandalf said it would be. He had stood in front of the door for the past half hour, reciting every spell he knew in every language he could remember, but the doors did not budge. The rest of the fellowship sat dejectedly about, waiting for something to happen.

Merry and Pippin sat on a large rock at the edge of the lake. Sam was not too far away, saying goodbye to Bill. They did not want to bring him into the caves and Aragorn assured Sam Bill would find his way back to Rivendell. Boromir leaned against a long-dead tree growing from the cliffside, watching the passage they had come in through. 

"I'm bored," Pippin complained.

"Hush, Pip. Complaining isn't going to do anything, save annoying the rest of us," Merry leaned back against the rock and cleaned a smudge off his glasses on his coat. "I wonder if Gandalf will even get us inside or if we'll have to go back up the mountain again," he said to himself.

"Careful," Pippin whispered, still thinking of the way Gandalf had snapped at him. "He may hear you and threaten to use you as a battering ram like he threatened me."

"I wouldn't blame him," Merry said. "You did try to pull his beard earlier today."

"Lies and slander," Pippin huffed. "I would never do such a thing."

"No, you are lies and slander, Pip. You do such things all the time. Stars, the first time you met Gandalf was at Bilbo's eleventy-first birthday party and I remember my Mum yelled at me 'cuz I let you out of my sight for one second and you used that time to climb up Gandalf's robes and get cloudberry jam all over his clothes and his beard."

"In my defense, I was eleven."

"See! You even agree that you did it, which means you know that you do do such things."

"I refuse to believe I did that today."

"Sam saw," Merry said. "Why don't you ask him?"

"Pardon," Sam said, "but I don't want to enter your argument."

"Fine, ask Boromir, then."

"You did try to grab his beard," Boromir confirmed Merry's statement.

"You are a traitor! What happened to protecting eachother?" Pippin picked up a pebble and threw it towards Boromir, intentionally missing and letting it hit the dead tree instead.

Boromir picked up a much larger pebble and threw it in Pippin's direction, though far above his head. It landed in the lake with a splash.

"Do not disturb the water," Aragorn warned. The guilty parties apologised and no more rocks were thrown.

Pippin thought he saw something move towards the surface of the water- a fish, perhaps- but a cry of victory distracted him from looking further. The door was open! 

"I can't believe the answer was right before our eyes!" Frodo exclaimed.

"What'd'ya do?" Pippin asked.

"We only had to say the word "Friend" in elvish."

A splash caught their attention and they all turned towards the lake. Bill spooked and ran the direction they came, and Sam cried out to him, trying to bring him back, though he could not be coaxed back.

Something rose from the lake, long and slimy and dark. Large suckers ringed by teeth decorated the thing- Pippin couldn't even begin to figure out what it was- a serpent, perhaps? Like the one rumoured to haunt the lake in the North Moors? 

Another serpent rose from the water, and then another, and another. Pippin could only stand still in shock as they shot towards the ground on which they all stood. The horrible things slithered along the dusty land and the rock walls, trapping them.

"Get inside!" Someone shouted, though Pippin couldn't even begin to tell who. All that was important was getting away from the serpents. Merry tugged his arm, pulling him away from where he stood in shock. This knocked him out of it and he scrambled to the doorway, keeping a hand at the belt where his dagger hung should he need to use it. He was nearly inside the doorway when a scream echoed across the rocks.

Frodo! He turned and saw that a serpent had wrapped itself around Frodo's leg and dragged him to the water. Sam wrapped his arms around Frodo, keeping him on dry ground. Aragorn sprinted forth and hacked away at the serpent until it let go.

Something larger rose out of the water with a horrible scream. It was the same colour as the serpents and was shaped not unlike a mushroom. Bulging eyes scanned the night around it, and a large circular mouth full of teeth opened wide as it screamed again and burst forward. The serpents seemed to move in sync with this creature, moving forward as it did, and Pippin suddenly realised that they were not serpents, but arms of some sort. One of the arms grasped for Frodo again but Sam pulled him away just in time.

"Get inside!" Strider yelled. Someone grabbed the edge of Pippin's cloak and dragged him the rest of the way inside the tunnel. Aragorn scooped up Sam and Frodo and tossed them inside before jumping in himself, and Legolas and Gimli combined their strength to slam the door shut as quickly as possible, blocking out all light and the creature's roaming arms.

Silence fell over the fellowship, broken only by panting as they caught their breaths. Every noise echoed through the cavern, and cold dampness clung to the walls and hung in the air.

"I suppose now is as good a time as any for role-call," Gandalf echoed through the dark.

"Frodo?"

"Here. I think I'm bleeding."

"Sam?"

"Present, and helping Mr. Frodo."

"Aragorn?"

"Here."

"Boromir?"

"Can someone tell me what that was?"

"Legolas."

"Right here."

"Gimli?"

"Aye, I also would like to know what that was."

"Merry?"

"Me too."

"And Pippin?"

"Hey, how come my name was called last?!"

Chapter Text

The cave was very dark. That is, of course, to be expected. After all, caves are not exactly known for being light- in fact they are more often known for exactly the opposite, though Pippin had expected there to be some light in this cave at least. After all, Balin and all the other dwarves who came with him probably would have at least one light.

Though, considering that… thing had been in the water outside the door, maybe this was a tunnel that was just abandoned or unexplored. 

Speaking of whatever was in the water, "So, what was that?"

"I… I am not certain." Gandalf answered. "I do not know if it has a name, and if it does I don't remember it. All I do know is that it is something evil and it wasn't meant to be on the surface."

"Spooky."

"Spooky indeed, Mr. Took."

Gandalf said some sort of fancy elvish word and then a dim white light illuminated the tunnel, emitting from his staff. The tunnel was carved of deep grey stone. Runes lined the walls, as did sconces which were located every meter and made of sturdy iron with swirling designs on the handles. Though cracks appeared in the walls and floors, and moss grew in corners and crevices, it still held much of its former glory.

Somewhere down the tunnel, they could hear the echo of water drops hitting stone. Cool, moist air blew through the tunnel. Pippin had expected it to be stuffy, but somehow outside air was coming in. Maybe the dwarves used ventilation pipes like hobbits did. 

Gandalf began to walk forward, using his staff to light the way as they travelled through the tunnel to a place where it branched off and connected to several other halls. Gandalf paused for a moment at the crossroads and then turned to a tunnel on the left. The air there was even colder than before. Pippin drew his cloak tighter.

This new corridor was wider and taller. It was so big, the light didn't reach all the corners, and vast amounts of space were left shrouded in shadow. Pippin tried not to look into the shadows. He was afraid he would see something hiding in them. 

The echoes of their footsteps sounded too loud in the empty silence. The only other sounds were the rush of water distantly ahead, the howling whispers of wind, and a low grumble deep deep below. 

"Mr. Gimli," Sam whispered. "Are you sure Mr. Balin is here? I don't hear any sounds of civilization."

"These caverns are large and spread beneath three mountains. Balin's group was not large, and they could be anywhere," Gimli explained. "Though I think they are living somewhere by the main gates on the other side."

"I do not believe anyone has travelled to this part of the mines for hundreds of years, maybe more." Gandalf confirmed.

Sam hardly looked satisfied with their answers, but he nodded anyways and fell into silence. Sam was always anxious and worrying over things. Nothing would calm him down if he got in too bad a state except knowing his friends are completely safe.

"How is your leg?" Sam asked Frodo in a whisper.

"I am fine." Frodo checked the bandage wrapped around his calf. "I am not even bleeding anymore. I think it felt like more blood than it was because it mingled with the water."

Sam looked a little more relieved at this. It checked off one item on his neverending list of worries, at least. 

They entered a large cavern with high pillars carved intricately. The hall seemed to go on for miles in either direction, though that was probably a trick of the light. Pippin had never been one for architecture (because of course not, he wasn't some kind of nerd), though the carvings did catch his eye. They showed pictures of dwarves mining, of stars and trees, of dragons and weapons and jewels and crafting. All the carvings were sharp and geometric- save the ones of trees and stars. Those were curving and spiralling- so delicate they looked to be made by ink on a page rather than by chisel and stone. 

"Finer craftsmanship has scarcely been seen outside these halls," Gimli said. "Not even by Durin's folk in Erebor. Someday these caverns will echo with the singing of hammer and metal again, and we dwarves will reclaim the art and history we have lost." Gimli sighed as he gazed upon the crumbled remains of the dwarfs' lost homeland.

They quickened their pace again, for they were weary and needed to sleep, though Gandalf did not think this was a place to do it.

"It is too large and dark. Anything could sneak up on us," he said.

The faster pace was not very kind to the hobbits, who practically had to jog as everyone else walked. Sam and Frodo had been lagging behind, so the Big Folk stopped every one and a while to let them catch up. Pippin had lots of energy and was very fast. He was almost able to match the pace of the Big Folk. He had lots of experience chasing after lizards and frogs and other little creatures, so he had built up speed and stamina. He was quite proud of the fact that the other hobbits his age refused to race with him, knowing he would win. Even some of the bigger older boys refused. 

"Ow!" Merry hissed behind him. He turned around. Merry had tripped over the debris of a crumbled pillar and clutched his ankle, face twisted in pain.

"Merry!" Pippin rushed to his side. 

"I'm alright, just twisted it a bit is all," Merry pulled himself up, not letting the injured leg touch the ground.

"Should I wrap it?" Aragorn asked, already digging through his bag for bandages.

"I'm fine, really." Merry took a step and winced, freezing for a moment and then leaning down to grasp at his ankle again.

Aragorn gave him a look, and Merry sat down, crossing his arms, "fine, wrap it. Doesn't really hurt or anything. I just want to be careful."

"Mhhm," Aragorn obviously did not believe him. Everyone sat to rest while Aragorn tended to Merry. Pippin sat right next to his cousin, watching with curiosity as Aragorn pulled out some herbs and began mushing them. With all the herbs Pippin had seen Aragorn use, he must be keeping a whole garden in his pack! He wondered if that was the only stuff the man carried, or if he had other things too, like changes of clothes or food. He hadn't seen Aragorn pull anything except plants from his bag this whole journey so far.

Pippin crawled over to look inside the pack but Merry shooed him away. "It's rude to snoop in other people's stuff."

Aragorn chuckled as he watched Pippin scoot away with a pout on his face. Eventually, Pippin looked around the hall again. Frodo and Sam sat a little further from the group, talking in whispers. They always seemed to be speaking in private to each other and Pippin wanted to know what they talked about but Merry told him the point of them talking in private was that they didn't want anyone else to hear. 

Boromir rubbed away at a spot on his shield. He had begun to look uneasy the further they travelled in the caves. Gandalf held his staff close to Aragorn so he could see as he bandaged Merry's ankle. Gimli stood admiring the pillars, looking very much at home, while Legolas stood nearby looking very much out of place. He was doing his best to stand there in an elvish manner though, despite his obvious distaste for the underground. 

"Do you think you can walk?" Aragorn asked Merry as he finished the bandages. 

"I'd rather walk on my own two feet than be carried," Merry stood with Pippin's help. "The motion makes me a bit sick, you see."

Merry held onto Pippin's shoulder as they began the walk again, using his younger cousin as a crutch. 

"Merry, you're too heavy!" Pippin complained. "Stop using me as a walking stick!"

"Walking sticks don't talk," Merry teased. "If I were truly using you as a walking stick I'd tape your mouth shut."

"Merry, that's so mean!"

"I for one would be supportive of it" Gandalf joked. 

"Square up, old man."

Half of the fellowship looked scandalised while the other half tried and failed to hide their laughter. Legolas particularly failed and covered his face with his hands, snorting in a very un elf-like manner. Merry had the good sense to try to look horrified, but he soon turned away and muffled his laughter in his hand.

Gandalf rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation, though an amused smile could not be wiped from his face for some time as they trailed through twisting tunnels. 

Soon, large cracks began to appear in the walls and on the floors. Some were shallow while others ran deep. Most were so thin you could step over them with no trouble. In some, Pippin could hear the sound of rushing underground rivers and streams. 

Then, they came across a large chasm that took up the entire hallway. It was so deep they could not see the bottom, but they could hear the roar of water. It was wide, about seven feet across by the looks of it. The other side seemed so far away. 

"Um we aren't- we're not- we aren't crossing that, are we?" Pippin stuttered, he looked down into the darkness and wished he hadn't. It made him feel dizzy and far too small.

"It is either jump this or get lost in the caves," Gandalf placed a reassuring hand on Pippin's shoulder.

"Easy," Legolas flipped a lock of hair over his shoulder and eyed the distance. Then, without even taking a running start, he leapt across, and landed gracefully and without sound on the other side. 

"Show off," Gimli grumbled. Pippin had to agree with that. Aragorn went next. He had to take a running start, and he landed loudly, though he still looked graceful as he did it.

Gimli backed up quite a ways for his running start, and Pippin was surprised how fast he sprinted towards the edge. There was a horrible moment where Pippin thought he wasn't going to make it, but he landed on the other side safely. 

"I don't think I can run with my ankle," Merry looked into the darkness of the chasm. 

"I can toss you across," Boromir offered.

"I will catch you," Aragorn promised.

Merry nodded, though he didn't look so comfortable with the idea. Pippin didn't want to let go of his hand, terrified that the men might let him fall, but Merry pinched him and he let go in surprise. Pippin squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to see what would happen. His heart pounded. Merry shouted as he was thrown, but Pippin opened his eyes in relief when he heard the sound travel across rather than down. 

"That was fun," Merry laughed. "Let's do it again!"

Boromir jumped next. His spare shirt fell loose from his bag as he flew over the chasm, and he let out a muttered curse when he heard it splash into the water below. Sam, Frodo, and Pippin all exchanged glances, not wanting to be the one to go next. 

"'Ain't no point weeding the garden if you don't pull them all', my ol' Gaffer says," Sam took in a deep breath and ran, leaping higher than Pippin had ever seen another hobbit jump. His pans clanged as he reached the other side. "'Course I think he was talkin' about actual gardens."

Frodo made it across too, though there was a horrible moment when he nearly fell backwards before Boromir pulled him upright and away from the ledge. 

Next was Pippin's turn. He stared into the inky blackness for a good while, breathing far too quickly and shakily. The sound of the water rushing in his ears and the sight of the darkness took over his whole world and threatened to swallow him up. He stepped backwards, shaking. 

A memory he hadn't thought of in a long time reared to the surface of his thoughts:

The morning air was fresh and light with last night's rain. Dew glittered in the grass and hung from tree leaves like the crystal earrings Pippin's ma wore sometimes. Those earrings were really pretty and he could probably play with them for hours if his ma didn't hide them so well after the first time. He had only wanted to see the colours they made when he held them in the light, he really truly didn't mean to drop them in the mud, but Ma didn't understand and Da understanded even worse and he was sent to bed without dinner that night.

Today, in the glittering dew and the fresh morning air, he was playing with some of his Brandybuck cousins. He visited Buckland often and he usually played with Merry but Merry was feeling under the weather today and Pippin couldn't even go in his room on account of Pippin being a "sickly child" like Merry's nurse said. So, he had to settle for the less fun cousins. They didn't appreciate Pippin's presence much because he was too young to do anything fun with like they said but he and Merry had fun all the time, so maybe these boys just weren't very good at having fun like Merry was.

"You can't come on our hike," the oldest boy, Malaric, tried to shoo Pipin away.

"Why not?"

"You're too little."

"Am not! I'm the same age as Marco!" Marco was Malaric's brother who, like Pippin, was 15.

"You are too short."

Pippin fumed with anger. He was not too short! He was only three inches shorter than Marco! 

"Go annoy someone else, we don't want you following along," Bingo Puddifoot, who could always be found bullying the smaller boys, sneered. 

Pippin felt tears in his eyes and he fought against them. He didn't want to look like a crybaby in front of the older boys. 

Once they left he let himself cry, wiping away at his tears with his shirt sleeves and sitting on the ground. When he finished crying, he wiped all his snot on his shirt (completely forgetting the handkerchief in his pocket), and started to pull grass from the ground, throwing it into the air in frustration. He wished Merry wasn't sick, and he wished his other cousins were nicer, and he wished stupid Bingo Puddifoot would… would… would have something bad happen to him! 

… That was it! He didn't care if the older boys didn't want him there, he was going anyways! They couldn't even beat him up either, because he was the fastest and everyone knew that the current Thain didn't want kids so Pippin's father was chosen to be the next one, which meant Pippin would be the next Thain after that, so that protected him from getting beat up by the older boys, at least. He had even recently moved from the farm in Whitwell to the Great Smials so his da could start training to inherit the title. 

What was he waiting for? A future leader wouldn't sit in the grass and cry! He stood, wiped the dirt of his clothing, and hurried down the way the other boys had gone. He knew the way through the trees here because he and Merry went this way all the time to catch frogs by the stream that ran through it. Usually he and Merry went to the shallow pond because Pippin couldn't swim and it would be bad if he fell into the creek, especially after a storm when the waters ran deep at the part of the stream that flowed to the Brandywine River. Merry told him to stay away from the deep parts because they were fast and it was nearly impossible to get out due to the steep banks that led down to the water.

It was near this part of the stream that Pippin found the older boys who had joined up with some others from town. Pippin hid in the bushes and watched as the boys hopped over the edges of the stream, landing on the other side. They were all laughing and having great fun, having competitions on who could jump the farthest or the highest. Pippin wanted to play that game too! He was sure he could do better than half the boys here. 

Pippin stepped out of the bush, pulling a few leaves from his hair so he looked at least somewhat presentable, and strolled towards the group of boys.

"Pippin, we told you to stay home!" Marco stomped towards the shorter boy.

"Aunt Esme says Malaric hasta watch me and you know she gets bad angry when she isna listened to," Pippin put his hands on his hips and looked up at the older boys with what he hoped was an intimidating glare although they were probably more scared of getting Esmeralda's wrath than of any face Pippin could make. 

"Fine," Malaric huffed, "but you have to sit right there," he pointed at a tree stump, "and don't move. Only the big kids get to do this stuff."

"No," Pippin stood his ground. "You aren't the boss of me."

"You're the only one here from the Shire-proper, which means you can't swim," Malaric pointed out. He was right on that regard but Pippin chose to ignore him because he didn't like it.

Just then, Bingo Puddifoot jumped over the riverbank to land beside the older boys and get a better view of what was going on. Bingo really didn't like Pippin in particular because he was the only one in the whole of the Shire foolish enough to disobey him and all the other boys either stayed out of his way or tried to get on his good side. 

Bingo was an entire foot and a half taller than Pippin, and inches taller than most other hobbits, really, and his arms and chest were large and muscled from rowing boats all day. Some of the boys had heard the girls whisper rumours that Bingo was part dwarf which was why he was so large and rude and ugly. Although Pippin had never met a dwarf, he heard a lot about them from the Bagginses and he thought such rumours would be a great insult to dwarves. 

"I thought I told you to go annoy someone else," Bingo stepped right in front of Pippin, letting his height tower over him. 

"How 'bout you leave instead?" Pippin asked, standing up as straight as possible so he could maybe just maybe try to lessen the height difference a little. 

"Well, see, the problem is people actually want me around. No one wants you around."

"Shut up."

"Even your cousin doesn't like you. He only hangs out with you 'cuz he has to babysit you. I bet he faked being sick so he wouldn't have to see you." 

That was it! Pippin saw red and felt anger and fury as he closed his hand into a fist and punched Bingo as hard as he could. It hurt his hand lots but it was worth it seeing the look of surprise on the bully's face as he stumbled back from the force of it. No one had actually dared to hit Bingo before since he was so large and oafish and stronger than all the rest of them, but Pippin didn't think about the possibility that Bingo would hit back. Pippin's problem was that he really didn't think at *all*. 

When Bingo stepped forward with his fist raised, Pippin realised his mistake. He stepped back, hoping that Bingo would let it go if he saw how scared Pippin was, but it only seemed to anger him further, like when you run from a dog and it chases you faster.

He stepped back again, holding his arms out in front of himself to try and block any punches Bingo sent.

Bingo swung once, and Pippin managed to dodge it just it time, though he felt the air whistle dangerously close to his cheek as the fist flew by.

"Pippin, be careful!" Someone in the crowd of boys shouted, and Pippin wondered what they wanted him to be careful of because he *obviously* knew to be careful of Bingo.

He jumped back as Bingo swung again, and as his foot dangled over air instead of hitting the ground, he realised what that boy was warning him of. 

Pippin fell backwards, down down down the riverbank and towards the roaring water below. He just barely had the thought to gasp in air as he hit the cold water below and it shocked him into unconsciousness.

"I can't," Pippin whispered, staring into the depths and hearing the water rush like the stream had that day. Gandalf rubbed his shoulder again, though it did nothing to drive away the fear spreading ice-cold through his bones. 

"I can't do it, please, I can't," He backed up. Fear led his limbs to shake and his heart to beat and his eyes to fill with tears. He didn't want to fall in water again like that, and this was even steeper, and the water was further down. He didn't want to feel the drop of his heart as his body fell, nor the rush of the icy water over his body. He was lucky that day so long ago that the other boys had pulled themselves together and rescued him out of the water, but if he fell today, he feared there would be nothing to rescue.

"You can do it," Gandalf assured him. "Everyone else made it fine and you have always been good at jumping over things. Your father told me once about how you used to jump from tree to tree in the orchard and how much it troubled your mother that you did that. This requires much less skill than that."

He remembered those days. His ma called it a "dangerous habit" but Pippin preferred to call it "Jumping Off Tall Stuff Onto Other Tall Stuff: a game designed and patented by Pippin Took" which was a rather long name but much more fun than the name his ma gave it.

"I don't think I can jump this," Pippin returned back to the present. "If I fell in the orchard I would break a bone or three, but if I fall here I'll die."

"Hey, I'm not going to let that happen, little one," Boromir called from the other side of the chasm. "I will catch you. All you have to do is jump."

"No no no," Pippin shook his head and attempted to hide himself behind Gandalf's robes (childish as it seemed he felt if he couldn't see the chasm anymore it no longer existed), "I'm not doing that."

"Come on, Pip," Merry said. "You're brave. You can do this."

"No, I'm not brave," Pippin felt tears run down his face as his body shook. "I can't do it. I can't do it."

"You have to jump, we can't just leave you here," Legolas tried to reason with him, though Pippin didn't listen to reason any time at all, so of course he wouldn't listen when he was in hysterics.

"Then leave me here!" 

"We aren't doing that," Gandalf said. For all he teased Pippin, he was quite gentle and patient now. 

"Please don't make me jump, please Gandalf," he pleaded.

"I can try to throw you," the wizard offered. 

"No no no!"

"Do you not trust Boromir?" Aragorn asked.

"I do trust Boromir," Pippin wiped at the tears pouring down his cheeks. 

"You cannot say you trust Boromir if you do not trust him to catch you."

Oh. Aragorn was right. Pippin would be a horrible friend if he decided to stop trusting Boromir because his own fear got in the way, and then what about the promise they made? They promised to protect eachother. Boromir wouldn't let him fall and break his promise like that.

Pippin took a moment to compose himself. He wiped his snot and tears onto his handkerchief. He took a deep, calming breath. He backed up as far as the tunnel would allow, and then he took off running, keeping his eyes not on the crevice but on his friends awaiting him on the other side. 

He jumped at the last moment, just as his feet touched the edge, and then he was flying. Air whipped through his hair and his clothes. The water rushed down below but he could not find it in himself to care. He wasn't falling this time. He wasn't among mean older boys. He wasn't a little kid anymore. He was nearly an adult, he was surrounded by friends. He wasn't falling, he was flying .

Boromir held out his hand and Pippin gripped it, feeling the man pull him all the way onto the ledge and safely beside Merry. He still shook with the excitement of the brief flight, and he let out a nervous, giddy laugh as he nearly collapsed against his cousin, all the oxygen he lost while crying trying to come back.

"I'm alright, I'm alright!" He repeated breathlessly, as though he needed to assure himself.

Merry wrapped him in a hug which Frodo promptly joined. 

"I don't like seeing you so upset, Pip," Merry whispered in his ear. "I wish I could've done more to help you."

"Mer, I'm okay," Pippin pulled away from the hug. "I'm better now, I was so scared I would fall but it felt like flying."

Gandalf had leapt the chasm as they were hugging, and now the fellowship walked onwards again.

"You must really trust Mr. Boromir, huh," Sam asked Pippin. He knew that Sam didn't trust any of the Big Folk easily and that he was wary of Boromir due to hearing Frodo's own anxieties about the man.

"Yes. He promised me he would protect me, and I promised I'd protect him. I'm never gonna break that promise and I know he won't either. If he let me fall, that would've been breaking the promise."

Chapter Text

"Gandalf, what'd'ya reckon'd happen if someone ate the ring?" Pippin asked. He had been doing some thinking (yes, he could think, he just often decided not to) and he had come up with a question that he was very curious the answer to.

"Hush, do not speak of it here," Aragorn turned back.

"You didn't ask because you ate it, did you?" Gandalf also turned around, horror on his face.

"I didn't," Pippin shook his head a few times and waved his arms out in front of him, "I was only curious, is all."

"You aren't planning on eating it, are you?" Gandalf leaned down, squinting at him under bushy eyebrows.

"No, why would I do that?!"

"I don't know. Just making sure," Gandalf rose to his full height again and turned back, leading the fellowship through the tunnels. Several of his friends snickered.

"What, of course I wouldn't eat it, I just wanted to know what would happen if something did. " Pippin crossed his arms as well as he could with Merry leaning on him for balance and turned his nose up into the air. "It's only a question. For science, you could say."

"You'd probably shit it out," Merry said.

"Merry, do not use such language!" Frodo scolded his younger cousin. He ought to know better, of the two of them.

"But would it do anything bad t'you before that happened?" Pippin asked.

"Likely," Gandalf answered. "Though this is the most absurd question I have ever heard- even from your mouth, young hobbit."

Pippin decided not to ask any more questions, lest they think him some kind of fool. After all, he had never known a smart person to ask absurd questions. 

Gandalf led them through dark hall after dark hall, searching for a place they all could sleep without fear of any unsavoury creatures which could be lurking in the numerous halls and caverns. Pippin shuddered as he remembered the story of Bilbo's run in with that horrible creature Gollum during his trip through the Misty Mountains. 

The walk through the halls was tiring, especially with all the cracks and crevices they had to jump over (though none as wide as the last one). Thankfully, these cracks became smaller and had more space between and soon disappeared altogether. 

Merry still remained a constant weight at Pippin's side, stumbling stubbornly along and refusing to be picked up and carried by anyone. Pippin was beginning to wish someone would carry Merry anyways because he was really quite heavy and Pippin was too tired for this! He just wanted to lay down somewhere and sleep, but no- he just had to drag his older cousin around the stone halls.

"Merry, you are too heavy," Pippin whined eventually, pushing his hands off his shoulder.

"Maybe you are just too weak."

"Am not!" He hated being called that!

"I know," Merry messed up his hair and- though Pippin couldn't see so well- it looked like Merry was giving him a grin. "I don't think I can put on a tough act much longer anyways. My ankle is getting to be too much and I might just have to have Boromir carry me like I am a babe."

Boromir heard this and came over, picking Merry up gently as possible and promising not to jostle him too hard, noting that Merry really did get sick at the motion of being carried. 

Now Pippin no longer had his cousin leaning on him, but that did nothing to make him feel less tired. In fact, he felt even drowsier than before now that he didn't have the responsibility of holding another person up to keep him from nodding off. His legs didn't want to carry his body any longer and his eyes couldn't stay open without a good deal of straining. His thoughts were all muddled (although that wasn't new) and he could hardly breathe for all he was yawning. 

"Gandalf, I'm sleepy," Pippin complained. "Will we ever sleep or will you force us to walk until we die of exhaustion?"

"Heavens, Mr. Pippin," Sam said, exasperated, "you won't die of exhaustion. What kind of wizard would Gandalf be if he let that happen?"

"Pippin, don't be rude," Frodo said at the same time.

"I can't help it that I'm sleepy when I'm rude… rude when I'm sleepy- I can't help I'm rude when I'm sleepy. I need to sleep in order to be polite."

"Thought you would understand, Frodo," Merry teased. "I happen to remember you once threw a rock through my mum's window because you were cranky after missing your post-lunch nap."

"You did what now?" Pippin was now very much awake.

"Hush Merry! I'm supposed to be the good role-model older cousin!" Frodo hissed.

"Should've thought of that before you threw that rock at my mum's window."

"I was little! Anyways, how do you remember that?"

"My mum tells the story every year at Yule."

Frodo groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"I threw a sword through a window once," Boromir offered his own story to make Frodo feel better.

"What?" Pippin was now even more awake than before.

"Yep. Most of the buildings in my city do not have glass in the windows, they are just carved into the stone. But, the courtyard I trained in as a boy was right beside the library, which did have glass windows, to keep out bugs or rain. I was practising my sparring and I got a cramp in my hand. When I swung my sword around, the pain caused me to let go and it was sent hurtling straight towards the glass window. The sword shattered the window and glass got everywhere but no one was harmed thankfully, only startled when a child-sized sword flew through the window and knocked a few books from their shelves. I had to pick up all the glass and help repair the window."

Pippin giggled as he imagined the scene that would've caused. He would pay to see that happen.

"I think I've found a good enough space to rest for the night," Gandalf said from the front of the group. He opened a large and heavy wooden door that led to a dark, dusty room. 

Pippin sneezed as the cloud of dust billowed into their faces and out into the corridor. Evidently this room hadn't been in use for a very long time.

"It looks like a guardroom to me," said Gimli as Gandalf walked inside, illuminating the room.

They could see a row of torn dusty mattresses on iron bedframes beside a wooden table that was in miraculously good shape. The ceilings were lower than that of the corridor, but tall enough that only Boromir and Legolas- the tallest of the company- had to duck down (although Gandalf had to take off his hat). To the other side of the room, an empty weapons rack hung on the wall, a small fireplace was carved into the stone, and a large well opened up from the ground.

"Stay off the beds," Aragorn warned. "You'll only be sleeping on a pile of dust."

"And bedbugs," Merry added.

"I don't know what bedbugs are and I do not want to know what they are but please keep them far away from me," Legolas stood as far away from the beds as possible.

"Afraid of bugs, eh?" Gimli was obviously happy that he had found a new way to prove himself superior to the elf.

"Where I live the average bug is the size of a pony. I have every right to be weary of them."

"Spiders aren't bugs ya dim-witted snot-nugget." Somehow that was one of the nicer things Gimli had called Legolas.

"Bold of you to believe I would listen to anything a hole-dwelling rock-muncher has to say." All the hobbits winced, hoping Legolas never found out what kind of houses they lived in.

"Loggerheaded treehumper!" Gimli cried.

"Clay-brained coal-sucker!" Came the reply.

"Fool-born leaf-licker!"

Pippin couldn't stand to listen to the two of them insult each other any longer, and neither could Aragorn, who stood in-between the two and tried to regain some semblance of order. While Aragorn tried to calm them down, Pippin checked out the room. 

Most of the room was covered in dust and cobwebs, but Pippin found a rather large dwarf-sized broom tucked into a corner and when he pulled the cobwebs away from the handle he picked it up and found a spot on the floor to begin clearing dust away from. At the first brush of the broom, dust flew into the air around him and he waved his hand in front of his face, trying to clear away the cloud.

"Pip, what are you doing?" Merry asked curiously. No one else noticed him because the fight between Legolas and Gimli was quickly becoming physical and it was much more important to make sure they didn't hurt each other than to babysit the youngest member of their party.

"I called dibs on this little spot right here and now I'm cleaning off all the dust," Pippin answered. Another brush of the broom and a dust cloud flew up again.

"Looks more like you are just moving the dust around to the places where everyone else has to sit," Merry commented, and then sneezed.

Pippin shrugged and continued to clear the dust away, "Not really my problem though, is it?"

"Clear a space for me too," Merry said.

"No, I'm not doing that. You do it."

" You do it."

"You can clean your own spot. I'm not cleaning your spot for you."

"You basically sleep on top of the rest of us every night anyway," Merry argued. "The night before last you used Sam's stomach as a pillow and my face as a foot-rest."

"Clean your own spot!"

"But Pippin, I'm injured. My ankle hurts awfully bad and I can't do it. You wouldn't make your poor injured cousin hop around on his one good leg trying to clean the floor, would you?"

"Fine. I'll make a space for all us hobbits," Pippin grumbled, shooting Merry a quick glare and turning away before he could see the smug smile on Merry's face.

By the time Pippin had cleaned a spot for the hobbits, Legolas and Gimli had been separated and their arguing had stopped. With all the Big Folk moved away, Pippin could see the large well beside the fireplace. You walked over to it and looked down. It was all dark and it seemed like an endless pit to him, but that could've just been from the shadow. Usually, if he couldn't see into the wells near home, he would drop a stone inside to listen to how far away the splash was. He wanted to do that here.

Pippin found a chunk of the wall that had crumbled off the fireplace and held it over the well. It was so deep and scary he almost felt like something would reach out of its darkness and grab his hand, but nothing did. He dropped the stone and leaned over the well, listening for a splash. 

No splash came. Instead, the unmistakable sound of a stone hitting metal boomed out of the well and echoed through the room. Everyone went silent and Pippin could feel eight pairs of eyes turn to his direction. He stiffened and felt his face grow hot and red.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf snapped, marching over and dragging Pippin away from the well. "If anything lives nearby, you have just alerted it to our presence!"

"Sorry," Pippin squeaked. He really was. He didn't know the well would be empty! He didn't think this would happen! If he knew, of course he wouldn'tve done it! Guilt welled up in his chest. What if there was something bad in these caves, like goblins? What if something went wrong and it was all his fault?

"You get first watch tonight," Gandalf deposited Pippin none too gently right beside the door. It was silent for a good long time, and Pippin still felt the rest of the fellowship watching him, but he ignored their staring in favour of focusing harder than he needed to on the dust covering the floor. Eventually, everyone else had set up their bedrolls and laid in them, trying to get some sleep. Gandalf whispered some spell and his staff lost its light, plunging the room into darkness.

Pippin felt like crying. He really didn't mean it! He just wasn't thinking! Gods, why couldn't he ever think before doing something?! He instinctively reached to the ground to pull at the grass, but his hand met only cold dusty stone. Perhaps it was best that yet another grass patch was saved from his abuse, but he didn't know how else to vent his frustrations now. 

Without an outlet for his anger, fear crept in. It was so so dark. There was no difference whether his eyes were open or closed. Most of the time, darkness is never true black. There is always a glimmer of starlight far above, or the soft burn of a candle far away. Even when clouds cover the sky, they cannot shield the light of the moon and stars. Here- in the cool dampness of the cave- there were no stars or moon or candlelight. 

Anything could be in front of him, and he wouldn't even know. 

Something rustled behind him. He stiffened, cold rushing through his veins. He could feel his own heart beating and hear his breaths quickening. He curled into himself- hiding his face- burrowing into his scarf. It wouldn't protect him. He knew that. But it gave him comfort and that was all that really mattered. He was too frightened even to make a noise. He was supposed to be watching, and yet he was too scared to do anything. Whatever it was would kill him and his friends and they would have no warning because Pippin was too cowardly and stupid to warn them.

The rustle came again. Pippin covered his head, shivering and trembling.

"Don't kick me," came Legolas's voice, startling Pippin half to death.

"Sorry," Aragorn responded. "I'll move a bit." More rustling.

Oh. The rustling was just the sound of Strider moving, Pippin uncurled himself, glad it was too dark for the rest of the company to see how frightened he had been over the sound of Aragorn rolling over. Legolas muttered a soft "thanks", and more shuffling was heard. 

Pippin listened to the sounds of the dark room, trying to identify where each came from. There was a mumble of sleep-talking from Merry, and a few low snores from Gimli. Gimli always snored either very quietly or loudly as a bear. Sometimes Pippin wondered if he was part bear, though of course that would be silly. 

He listened to the breathing of his friends slow and turn steady. It sounded as though they had all fallen asleep. 

The realisation that he was the only one awake brought back the horrible pin-prick fear that he was being watched. He could almost imagine something horrible and slimy climbing up the walls of the well, climbing over the side of the wall, scuttling forward, searching. He could imagine it in front of him now, wrapping long wet fingers around his throat, taking his life. 

Pippin shuddered at the thought, pulling his scarf up higher again. Most likely nothing would come up the well and get him, but it is not exactly easy to see logic when one is tired and upset and forced to stay awake in complete blackness. 

Tears threatened to spill again. He was so so tired. He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to get away from the horrid well and cuddle up next to Merry in his warm soft bedroll and sleep and let someone else stay awake in this dreadful dark room. He wanted to find a patch of grass and pull it all out by the handful. He wanted to yell at Gandalf about how unfair he was to force Pippin to stay up when he was in such a state of exhaustion. He wanted a light- he didn't care how small or dim.

One of those wants was granted.

A pale light slowly grew from the tip of Gandalf's staff, and he cautiously made his way over to where Pippin sat, stepping over sleeping bodies easily and without disturbing them.

"Gandalf, I'm so so sorry," Pippin whispered and wiped his eyes with the corner of his maroon cloak. 

"No need to be, Peregrin," Gandalf reassured him.

"Even if I don't need to be, I still am."

"Well, I am sorry for shouting at you," Gandalf sat beside Pippin and laid a comforting hand on his back, "and you may go to sleep now."

"But first watch hasn't ended yet, has it?"

"I can't sleep. It would be better for the watchman to be wide awake rather than half asleep," Gandalf assured him. "Now off to bed with you."

Pippin sniffed and answered with a little "thank you." He walked over to the pile of hobbits in the corner of the room. He found his bedroll easily and without disturbing anyone, and he climbed inside, enjoying the warmth and comfort the blankets gave him.

Pippin peeked back at Gandalf one last time. He could see the wizard's silhouette- hunched over a pipe and funny hat reaching towards the ceiling. He looked for half a second only like an old man rather than the powerful figure of a wizard he had always been.

Pippin looked away and burrowed against Merry's warm back, nestling further under the covers and adjusting his scarf so it covered every inch of his neck. Pippin tried to match Merry's breathing and felt himself grow drowsy and his eyelids weigh heavy. 

Chapter Text

In the morning (Evening? Afternoon? It was impossible to tell) Pippin woke up with a horrible headache. He wanted to close his eyes and sleep it off, but Boromir dragged him out of his bedroll entirely when he discovered Pippin's plans to sleep in. 

"My head hurts and I'm tired," Pippin moaned as Boromir set him on his feet.

"Drink some water," Gimli suggested.

Pippin glared at the dwarf but took a gulp from his water skin anyways.

"I still hurt," he complained.

"I think you need more water."

"No, I don't."

"I don't think you've had any water in front of me until just now," Gimli said. "You probably aren't getting nearly enough."

"I drink loads of water!"

"No you don't," Merry joined the argument.

"Do too!"

"You don't get any breakfast until you have more water," Frodo threatened.

The prospect of skipping breakfast definitely encouraged Pippin to gulp down as much water as he could- which was until Gimli yelled at him to stop ("You'll make yerself sick, lad!")- and then he took the berries and nuts Sam had laid out for him.

The walk began again, though Pippin's headache didn't get any better. At least the halls were dim- only the pale light of Gandalf's staff to illuminate them. They walked in complete silence. Everyone remembered the loud clang the stone had made when it fell into the well, and no one wanted to add any other noises which might alert anything in the caves to their presence. It was unnerving that they had come so far without so much as a sight of friend or foe, though the friend part worried them more. 

Only Gimli, Sam, and Pippin had any hope that the dwarves led by Balin were still alive and residing in Moria. Sam and Gimli had faith in Balin and his leadership skills (despite everything Sam knew of him being second-hand) and Pippin simply didn't have the experience or knowledge to know that the dwarves being dead was an option. The only death he had faced in his life were beloved farm dogs dying peacefully after a long life, or old relatives he didn't know so well passing during the night. The thought that Balin and his company could've been killed just didn't cross his mind. He'd been through some dangers on his journey, but death was something so very far away that it didn't come into his mind often.

Everyone else was not so hopeful nor so ignorant. They had heard no sign of any living beings, let alone dwarves, who- were they trying to reclaim Moria- would've been heard already by the sounds of their forges. 

The atmosphere around them began to become wary and anxious. Gandalf said they were nearly to the other side. The silence around them, where there should have been the clang of dwarven hammer on steel, was unnerving. Frodo was beginning to worry Pippin, because he kept looking back as if he heard something following them. Each time, his breath would hitch, and he would turn to peer into the endless dark behind them. Pippin didn't want to look back. He was afraid he would see something. However, after about a dozen times Frodo turned, Pippin began to look over his shoulder too. He didn't see or hear anything, but he stuck closer between Merry and Boromir to stay safe anyways. 

They came suddenly upon a large hall where light dripped in through vents high in the ceiling. It was not enough to see everything by, but it gave them some light and Gandalf was able to extinguish the light of his staff. The little naggle of fear that Pippin hardly noticed was bothering him was extinguished too. Hobbits really weren't made for darkness, it felt scary and unnatural. They needed the sun. The barest bit of sunlight falling into the hall washed away his worries like bath water to grime. It warmed his skin and he bared his face to it, closing his eyes and soaking in as much as he could to warm away the damp chill which clung to these tunnels. The headache began to go away. 

Apparently, the rest of the fellowship was moving onwards, because Merry grabbed his upper arm and pulled him away. He let out a yelp of surprise as he opened his eyes and regained his footing. He followed after them into another room. This one had a vent on the ceiling that let in a stream of golden sunlight. It illuminated the dust particles in the air as they swirled around. Fresh, cool mountain air blew through it. 

On the floor, bones and weapons were scattered.

In the center of the room was a large marble tomb.

"Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria," Gandalf read the runes on the tomb. 

Gimli choked out a sob, hand covering his mouth as he kneeled beside the tomb.

"What happened here?" Frodo asked- though everyone knew the answer: a battle, one that the dwarves of Moria lost. 

Legolas picked up an ax that was embedded in a skull. "Orcs…" he muttered, face twisting with disgust.

Gimli began to speak in another language, a prayer, it sounded like. Pippin looked at the floor. It didn't feel right to watch Gimli grieve. Grief isn't supposed to have an audience.

Gandalf bent down in front of Pippin and picked up a large, dusty, leather-bound book that a skeleton (a body, his mind supplied: someone who used to live and move and breathe-) had clutched in their arms. The book had been partially opened. 

"Ori wrote this," Gandalf said.

Gandalf flipped through the pages, mouthing the words to himself. Pippin tugged on his long grey robe and the wizard crouched down beside him to let him see the book.

Pippin wasn't very good at reading. His da nearly gave up teaching him his letters but if he was going to be the Thain someday he couldn't be completely illiterate. It was just difficult. All the letters floated around the page and shifted each time he moved his eyes. Reading gave headaches and frustration not only to himself but to whichever poor soul his da hired to teach him. Pippin didn't know how anyone made sense of the letters what with them moving around all the time, and had so concluded that he must just be too stupid for it. 

The letters on this book didn't shift at all, but they were also letters from a language he didn't know. Gandalf flipped another page, and this he read out loud:

"years since... ready sorrow... yesterday being the tenth of November Balin, lord of Moria, fell in Dimrill Dale. He went alone to look in Mirrormere. An orc shot him from behind a stone. We slew the orc, but many more came... up from east up the Silverlode... we rescued Balin’s body… a sharp battle... we have barred the gates but doubt if… can hold them long. If there is… no escape it will be a horrible fate to suffer, but I shall hold."

Pippin didn't like how any of that sounded. No one else seemed to either. Gandalf stood now, and flipped to the last page:

"We cannot get out. We cannot get out. They have taken the bridge and Second Hall. Frár and Lóni and Náli fell there bravely while the rest retreated to Mazarbul. We still hold the chamber but hope is fading now. Óin’s party went five days ago but today only four returned. The pool is up to the wall at West-gate. The Watcher in the Water took Óin -- we cannot get out. The end comes soon. We hear drums, drums in the deep… They are coming."

Gimli looked like he would be sick. These were not just names and stories- these were Gimli's cousins, uncles, friends. 

Pippin felt trapped. We cannot get out. It played over and over in his head. The dwarves had been trapped. They never got to feel the grass on their feet again or see the flowers and trees. They died trapped in the borders of stone walls and stone floors. Panic slowly seeped through Pippin's chest. Surely the orcs were gone? Surely he hadn't alerted them with the rock he threw down the well last night? Surely they could leave this dreadful place and walk in sunlight again and-

Drums. Drums came from the deep. 

The room had been silent with grief and fear before, but it was now a flurry of activity. They ran out of the room and into another. They didn't want to be trapped in the same chamber the dwarves had been in. This room appeared to be a storeroom, though Pippin didn't pay much attention to what was in there as he was paying more attention to the drumbeat echoing through the halls, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Boromir and Aragorn slammed the heavy doors shut and dragged anything they could in front of them. Pippin helped as much as he could. With Merry's help, they dragged over a few stools. The men stacked up large chests filled with what sounded like coins.

Behind them, Legolas readied his bow and pointed it towards the door. Already, they could hear the shouts of the orcs on the other side, and loud booms shook the doors.

Boromir and Aragorn drew their swords. Pippin clumsily drew his dagger. Boromir moved in front of him and Merry. Normally, Pippin would be offended by such a move, but now he felt relieved. Behind them, Sam held his dagger in one hand and his heavy iron skillet in the other. Frodo held Sting, which glowed bright and eerie blue. 

Gimli stood in front of them all, holding his axe. He was going to avenge his fallen kin.

The door shuddered again. Pippin flinched at the sound and stepped behind Merry. Merry held out a protective arm. Pippin was for once in his life glad of Merry's slightly overprotective nature. 

Another hit on the door. A crack opened in the stone. Legolas shot an arrow through and Pippin winced at the sickening squelch of the arrow hitting flesh.

"Come closer," Gandalf called from where he was working on opening a door near the back of the storeroom that no one else had noticed until then. They all dashed over. 

Another crack opened on the door and the stone began to crumble. Legolas shot arrow after arrow at the enemies, hoping to clog the doorway with their bodies. A black arrow whizzed at the fellowship from the orcs' side, nearly hitting Aragorn, who ducked just in time. 

The door fell with a mighty crash and covered the room with dust. A great bellow came from the doorway, and something large stepped in. 

"Cave troll!" Boromir shouted as Legolas released another surge of arrows. 

The cave troll stepped forward. It held a great spear. Around it, orcs came pouring into the room. Pippin adjusted his stance so he was standing like Boromir taught him too, and clutched his dagger in hands trembling with fear. The troll bellowed again, loud enough that Pippin nearly dropped his dagger in favour of covering his ringing ears. 

The battle began in a flash. Pippin barely even remembered what happened. He remembered the clanging of steel on steel, he remembered Merry clutching him tight, he remembered Frodo crying out as he was stabbed in the chest, and the way he got up quickly after as though nothing happened, he remembered looking up at the horrible troll- watching it fall as he and Merry rolled out of the way, he remembered an arrow whizzing by and grazing his cheek, he remembered Boromir helping him up and pushing him to the now-open door as he struggled to defend against the orc spears and swords.

Then he remembered silence. Time stopped. The orcs stopped. This was worse than the noise. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and terror greater than he had ever felt before rose in nauseating waves that shook his body with shivers. He held onto Merry, burying his face in his shoulder to hide himself from whatever evil thing had caused the orcs to stop.

When you walk into a forest, it is always filled with noise. Small animals rustle in the underbrush, birds sing in branches high above, and insects click and fly. The forest is always loud with the sounds of life. When you enter the forest and it is silent, something is wrong. The forest only silences when the animals are hiding from a predator. 

Pippin knew that the predators of forests were bears and wolves and mountain-cats. He could deal with those. He did not want to know what a predator of these caves was.

The drums of the deep started again. They pounded and boomed and rang in his ears and forced his heart to beat their rhythm. Something stepped from the shadows of the doorway. Pippin did not get a chance to see what it was- he knew only that it filled him with icy terror- because Boromir was half-shoving-half-carrying him through the door Gandalf opened and down the stairs. 

A roar echoed down the stairs and rattled the rocks about them. Boromir scooped him up in his arms now and Pippin buried his face in the man's chest, eyes squeezed shut and tears running down his cheeks. His shaking hands clutched Boromir's clothing tightly, as though if he let go he would fall and be taken by the orcs which chased after them squealing and shrieking in delight- or worse- by whatever thing followed them with stomping, ground-shaking footsteps and oppressive furnace-like heat. 

"The Bridge of Khazad-dûm!" Gimli shouted. "We reach the Eastern Gates!"

Boromir set Pippin down. He saw a narrow stone bridge running over a huge chasm. There was sunlight leaking in from somewhere on the other side. Another roar caused the whole company to turn as a huge monster ( he didn't know what else to call it. It filled him with terror and was so horrifying and dreadful that his mind simply could not comprehend it ) stepped through the stairway and onto the marble floor which led to the bridge.

It was so big. Bigger than anything Pippin had ever seen, bigger even than the watcher in the water. Fire burned upon its great body and its face looked like- indescribable- something he couldn't understand but he knew somehow it looked like death and pain and grief and fear. 

The creature's fire did not smell like wood-smoke. Pippin was accustomed to the smell of campfires, or a fire burning and crackling in the hearth. He was used to the welcoming warmth on a chilly night as he cuddled up next to the hearth under blankets while snow fell softly outside. The creature's fire was not comforting. It smelled acrid and near-sulphuric, and the heat was intense. It came in waves of melting-hot and searing-burn. The heat pressed down on them, flattened and burned them. Pippin did not even feel sweat on his skin as it evaporated as soon as it came.

The creature stomped forward, bearing a fiery whip and a golden-hot sword. Wings- no, those were shadows- seemed to spread from the creature's back and drip down the cavern walls.

"A Balrog!" Legolas screamed a choked and horrible scream. Pippin turned and felt himself go cold even in the face of such oppressive horrible heat. Legolas was pale, and his face contorted in terror. The elf shook, fear falling off him in waves. Whatever creature that could terrify Legolas so much must be something horrible, worse that orcs or the thing in the water or the Barrow-wights or even the Nazgûl.

Boromir pulled out his horn as the Balrog approached. He tooted the horn in its face, and Pippin's eyes widened as the eldritch horror in front of them actually looked stunned and stopped for a moment.

"Run!" Someone screamed. 

Merry pushed Pippin into a run and the two of them followed Boromir across the bridge. Merry had his hand on Pippin's back the entire time- pushing him faster, but gently enough he wouldn't stumble. 

They reached the other side. Gimli, Frodo, and Sam were already there, and Argorn joined them not longer, pulling Legolas across. Legolas was still shaking and pale with fear. Pippin feared the elf would faint. Everyone was accounted for, except for Gandalf who stood at the center of the bridge, facing towards the Balrog.

"Gandalf!" Frodo shouted, and made a move to leap forward but was stopped by Sam's hand on his shoulder and Boromir holding him around the middle.

"Frodo, he will be alright," Pippin whispered to his distant cousin. "He's Gandalf. He is a powerful wizard and he has never lost a battle before." Pippin felt hope well up in him at his own words, though Frodo held only despair in his eyes. 

Gandalf would get them out of this, and they would come out with a great story and only scrapes and bruises. That is how it always went in Bilbo's stories. Nothing bad ever happened if you were clever enough and brave enough and had Gandalf the Grey on your side. They would get out of these horrid caves, and Gandalf would be mighty mad at him for attracting all these orcs and things to them and Pippin would feel awfully sorry but everything would go right in the end even if he got punished for being foolish.

The Balrog stamped forward and raised its weapons. Gandalf stood great and tall and held his wooden staff high. He shouted something which Pippin could not hear over the roar of fire on the bridge and blood in his ears. A bright light flashed from Gandalf's staff. Pippin had to squint his eyes against it. The Balrog reared back and screamed, then lashed forward again. Gandalf drew his sword, Glamdring, now, and swung both the sword and the light at the creature. 

Pippin cheered as Gandalf slashed the Balrog with his sword and it fell, taking the other half of the bridge with it. Merry too let out a whoop.

Then, out of the dark below, the whip swung out. It wrapped around the wizard. The whip pulled Gandalf down, and he spun towards them one last time. Even he looked terrified as he shouted, "Fly you fools!" before he disappeared off the edge.

"No!" Frodo fought against Boromir, and Aragorn picked him up and ran towards the light. Someone dragged Pippin away, though he couldn't be sure who. He spent the whole run looking back at the chasm, waiting for Gandalf to reappear.

"We can't leave him!" Pippin tugged his hand back. Merry had been holding it.

"Pippin, don't let go!" Merry grabbed his wrist this time and dragged him away.

"But Gandalf- he- we can't!"

"Stop! Pip, stop!"

"We have to go back!" Pippin pulled his hand out of Merry's grasp with such force that he stumbled back and fell.

"If you go back, you will die too!" Merry had tears running down his face. One of the lenses on his glasses was broken. His voice cracked in grief and frustration. 

"No… no he can't be dead," Pippin felt dazed and shocked. Merry took his confused state to drag him the rest of the way out of the caves with Gimli's help. "Gandalf is magic, he can't die!" Pippin argued, trying to twist his way out of their grasp. He almost didn't believe his own words anymore. After all, if Gandalf was alive he would have come out of the chasm, right? No. No, don't give up hope. He has to be alive.

"Laddie," Gimli tried to calm him as they reached fresh air again. "That was Durin's Bane. No one can survive it. Gandalf is gone. He isn't coming back."

The grief he had been holding back behind a flimsy wall of denial broke through and Pippin crumpled to the ground. He did not know for how long he cried, but Merry held him as he had when they were little and he had fallen and scraped a knee. He could not breathe. He gasped shakily and only long enough to get the air needed to make the next wrenching, aching sob. 

He did not care about the warm sun on his back or the green breeze or the chilled scent of pine trees in the air. He did not hear the birds sing or see the noon sun settling golden in the gem-blue sky. He saw only the dark of the caverns and the flame of the Balrog and Gandalf's horror-filled expression as he locked eyes with Pippin and shouted at them to run.

Pippin felt Merry's hand settle in his curls and stroke them soothingly, but he also felt Merry's tears slide off his face and onto Pippin's neck where his scarf had come loose, and the soft shake of sobs which Merry tried to hide from him.

Pippin could hear Sam crying somewhere nearby, and he could hear Aragorn shouting that they needed to move, but even his strong and confident voice was marred by grief.

Gandalf is dead, Pippin thought to himself. Gandalf is dead and I killed him.

The sun sunk lower in the sky as they followed a rarely-travelled path into the forest. 

I killed Gandalf.

A woodpecker drummed a lovely melody on a tree somewhere deeper in the woods.

I threw that stone in the well.

These woods seemed untouched by winter.

I woke up the orcs.

Moss clung to rocks and the trees stood tall with white trunks and proud green leaves.

I woke up the Balrog.

Legolas softly sang a mourning song to the trees.

Gandalf died because of my foolishness.

The trees sang back. They creaked and rustled though there was no wind.

I should have thrown myself in instead and rid them of my stupidity.

Boromir stood on one side of Pippin and Merry on the other.

I am a murderer.

Merry squeezed Pippin's hand, giving him a small, wobbling smile.

Why aren't they treating me like a murderer?

"We are heading to Lothlorién," Aragorn said.

I killed Gandalf-

"But, the Lady of the Woods- Aragorn, she will curse us," Boromir protested.

"No," Legolas ceased his singing. "The land of Lothlorién is fair and good. The Lady herself is beyond all fairness or beauty of men or elves, and they say she is wise and old as the trees. We sing many songs of her and her woods in the Greenwood. Hers is the wood of gold." 

They crossed a cool stream and deeper into the forest. Legolas spoke of Lothlorién to the men, and Gimli spoke of the Mirrormere to the hobbits. Pippin found himself unable to listen to anything besides the thoughts swirling in his head and the dread rising in his heart.

Chapter Text

He caught his foot on a tree root and stumbled, smacking into the soft earth. 

"Pippin, are you alright?" Boromir asked, helping him up. Merry brushed the dirt off Pippin's shirt.

Pippin said nothing. He stared down at the ground.

"Pippin, you aren't hurt, are you?" Merry took his hands.

"I-" Pippin stopped. He couldn't get any words out. Instead, he burst into tears and sagged into Merry's embrace. 

"Oh, Pip," Merry hugged him and stroked his hair. "It's okay. We are going to be alright. We're gonna see the elves, remember? Just like Rivendell. We had fun at Rivendell." 

Pippin hardly heard Merry over the sound of his own sobbing, but the knowledge that he was here, holding him and whispering to him the same way he did when Pippin was just a faunt soothed him, if only a little.

"I'm sorry, but we need to keep going," Merry said after a minute. "Strider said those orcs will follow us if we don't get far enough. We need to go."

Pippin nodded and pulled away from Merry's arms, wiping away his tears to clear his swimming vision. He hadn't been paying attention to where they were, but he saw now that the trees were taller than any he had ever seen. 

Everyone was staring at him. He noticed that too. They had all stopped when he had started crying, and were now watching him, pity on their faces. No one else was crying. Pippin felt shame sink into his bones. They all looked sad but they weren't crying like he was. They must think me a baby, he rubbed his eyes again. Crying like so, they must think me stupid and childish. No one else is crying anymore. I bet they wish they never brought me. All I do is cry and get in the way and… and hurt people. Kill-

He didn't let himself finish that thought. It hurt too much and Pippin didn't want to hurt anymore. He wanted to be at home, in his room, waking up from this nightmare and shaking its memories away. He wanted to be wrapped up in blankets and blinking away sleep, knowing he was safe and warm. He did not wish to feel so cold and hungry and broken anymore. 

They walked again. Pippin tried to shut out his thoughts, or at least direct them away from his last memory of Gandalf. He thought of the trees and the sky and the chill in the air. He thought about home in the Shire and wondered what the weather was like there and wondered if his family missed him.

"Pip, we need to go," Merry's voice cut through his thoughts.

Pippin nodded and held onto Merry's hand, letting his cousin lead him through the woods. He squeezed Merry's hand to give himself comfort. 

Soon, they came to a towering tree with bark so beautiful it looked like silver. Petal-shaped leaves hung from branches, glinting green and gold in the sunlight.

"This tree has sturdy branches a little ways up," Legolas pressed his palm to the bark of the tree. "I'll climb up. Maybe I can see something from up there."

Then, Legolas scurried up the bark in a way that looked more akin to a squirrel than to a fair and immortal elf. He got up the tree fast though, and that was all that mattered. Gimli muttered something rude about elves and trees that was entirely inappropriate and should not ever be written down. 

Suddenly, Legolas slid back down the tree trunk. Another elf followed. 

"I am Haldir. What is a group such as yourselves doing in these woods?" Haldir asked. He wore metal armour and had hair so blonde it was nearly white.

"We seek refuge in Lothlórien and audience with the Lady," Aragorn replied.

Haldir looked over the group for a moment, taking in the odd assemblage of races, the grimy faces, the injuries, and the grief-battered eyes. He spoke to Aragorn in elvish. The two began a conversation that sounded like it could be an argument, although Pippin could never be quite sure considering how soothing the sounds of the language are.

After a moment, Frodo cut into the argument. After listening to actual elves speak elvish, it was strange to hear Frodo's heavily accented voice speak in it.

The argument ended as soon as Frodo was done talking. Haldir turned to the rest of the company, and, switching to common speech, said, "You may sleep in our guard tower tonight. On the morrow, we will decide where you will go, but I can see that you are presently in danger and I would be cruel to deny you refuge for the night."

Haldir called up to someone in the tree above and a rope ladder descended.

"We have to sleep in the tree?" Pippin asked, alarmed. He liked climbing trees, but not trees this tall, and he certainly never slept in them!

"Then dig a hole in the ground," Legolas said, "but you must dig swift and deep if you wish to hide from orcs." He grinned and climbed up the ladder. Pippin grimaced. A remark like that- it reminded him of Gandalf. Whatever relief he gained knowing they would be safe in the company of elves washed away as he remembered Gandalf again.

Merry let go of his hand and nudged him towards the rope ladder. Aragorn was already ascending, and Boromir stood at the bottom of the ladder. The first step was too high up for any of the hobbits to reach on their own. Pippin ran over to Boromir and let himself be lifted up. The rope was soft as silk beneath his hands, but sturdy as a rope should be. 

Pippin reached up for the next rung. The climb up was not very comfortable due to the swaying of the ladder and the fact that it was obviously not made with hobbits in mind. Pippin had to stretch to reach each new rung and he had to pull himself up using only his arms at times. When he finally reached the top, he was exhausted and his muscles ached.

The top was a platform made of the same silver wood as the trees. It was large and wide and settled right where the branches shot off from the trunk. Some of the branches came through the platform, and Pippin thought one such spot would be a perfect place to put a hammock. The only problem with the platform was that it had no railings. Pippin stayed very far away from the sides and waited amid a few branches which clustered together near the middle for everyone else to come up. 

The sun sank fully by the time everyone made it up. The hobbits were all huddled amid the copse of branches Pippin had sat in earlier, and Sam was busy unrolling his and Frodo's bed rolls. Pippin sat in his own bedroll, staring at the night sky. He could see stars sparkling through the branches. 

"I don't like this at all," Merry said, scooting himself as far back against the branch as he could. 

"You'll tear up your shirt if you keep backing against the bark like that," Frodo said.

"What if the platform falls?" Merry ignored Frodo, "It's such a long way down. We'd all die."

"If it makes you feel any better," Legolas said, "this platform has been up for hundreds of years and hasn't broken."

"Great, it's old," Merry grumbled. "Means it could just crumble anytime. Wood gets like that, you know. It gets wet and water gets in and the inside rots away and the wood collapses. Happens with bridges all the time. That's why we had to start making 'em of stone instead." Merry had seen the aftermath of all the years the Brandywine flooded bad and the bridges fell through.

"Well, I beg your pardon, Mr. Merry, but these platforms are elvish work. The elves wouldn't let the wood rot. I bet ya some sort of magic is keeping this thing up and we needn't worry 'bout anything 'sides gettin' a good night's sleep," Sam finished unrolling the bedrolls and arranged them nicely.

Merry grumbled something unintelligible but got in his bedroll. He was exhausted, it looked like. Sam and Frodo quickly got under their covers too.

At some point, it seemed everyone was either asleep, or trying to sleep. Haldir and his elves kept guard, the only exception to this. Pippin was snuggled between Merry and Frodo, who had both decided he needed extra comforting after the day's events. 

Pippin would be ashamed to admit it, but he spent several hours crying. He covered sobs with his hands and stayed still as possible so he wouldn't bother his cousins. He was so so afraid, but he didn't want comfort- not this time. He deserved no comfort this time.

Clouds rolled over the black sky. Behind them, the stars disappeared. The soft moonlight ceased to flow down bark and branch. The world was dark. Pippin curled in on himself. It was dark like the mines. He could almost hear the echoing caverns, the reverberations of drums, the crackle of fire.

He squeezed his eyes shut. With them closed, he could pretend the world was light. He could almost pretend he was back beneath the old apple tree near the mill in Tuckborough, taking a nap. 

That fantasy didn't last long, as he was startled by the sound of marching feet down below the tree. He shot up, heart racing and breath coming out far too fast. Shaking. He was shaking, he noticed, when he looked down at his arms. 

"Fear not," Haldir had apparently been watching the youngest hobbit for quite a while. "It is only orcs. They will not find us."

Only orcs? Pippin wondered, What horrible things come through these woods that orcs are dismissed so casually?

The hobbit and the unfamiliar elf listened to the sound of the orcs grow fainter and fade into obscurity. 

"You cannot sleep," The elf said.

"I noticed," Pippin shot back, and then, "Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."

"You should get some sleep." Okay, maybe Pippin should retract his earlier apology. This elf was annoying.

"I'll try," Pippin laid back down. An awkward moment passed where the two just stared at eachother before Haldir turned away to look down below again.

Pippin sneezed so hard it jostled Frodo, who mumbled something in his sleep and moved a bit. In his sleep. Pippin would not have noticed the action had not something caught his eye.

It glinted in the moonlight, sparkling with beauty. It urged him to look at it, the way shiny stones glinted from the water at the deeper parts of the riverbanks: beautiful, but dangerous.

The ring.

It had slipped out of Frodo's shirt when he shifted and now it and much of the chain laid on Pippin's blanket. His fingers ached to take it, like an itch that could not be scratched. 

No, he couldn't touch it. He had endangered the mission enough.

Pippin clasped his fingers into fists and placed himself as far from that cursed ring as possible without shoving Merry. He even turned onto his other side for good measure.

Merry lay sleeping beside him, and Pippin forced himself to memorise the way his cousin's curls flowed in the darkness. Anything to keep him from thinking of the beautiful gold ring at his back.

Turn around . 

Pippin almost turned. Why did he think to do that? That would be a stupid idea. He had done enough to ruin their mission. Whyever would he think to look at it again and risk it ensnared him?

A little look won't harm anyone.

Pippin dug his face into the bedroll, shoving his hands beneath the blankets and into his pockets. A "little look" was what caused Pippin to throw that stone down the well. That "little look" killed Gandalf.

It's magic. It has the power to destroy all of Middle Earth. It must have the power to bring Gandalf back. It must have the power to fix your mistakes.

Pippin's hands came out of his pockets. He quickly realised what he was doing and pressed them to his chest, unable to hide them safely back in his pockets. There was no way the ring could bring Gandalf back, was there? Nothing can bring someone back when they are dead.

Pippin choked another sob into his blanket. His throat hurt from keeping the cries down and his eyes stung painfully from keeping back tears.

What if it can bring him back? You want to protect your cousins, don't you? You want to make everything good again. You want to redeem yourself.

Pippin opened his eyes. He was facing Frodo. When had he turned over? 

A glint of light caught his eye. The ring, again, resting on Pippin's blankets, shining brighter than the stars above. Than the sun, even, if Pippin could remember what it looked like. He could not think of anything right now but the band of gold shining just inches away from his fingertips.

Music. He could hear music. Maybe not. He did not know. A memory, maybe, of music. Perhaps he heard a memory.

It did not sound like anything he had heard before. It was alien and strange but… he could not find the words for it. It comforted him, in the odd way the elves did. It was like voices, but more fey and beautiful than any voice he could even dream of. First one voice, high and ethereal. Then another, and another, until a whole choir seemed to fill his ears and block out all thoughts.

Take me. 

I don't want to, he thought. The music grew louder and drowned out his thoughts.

I will fix everything. You need only take me. 

I want everything to be fixed.

Listen to the music. Take me. Frodo doesn't need to know. No one does. 

No one needs to know.

Hurry!

Pippin inched his hand toward the ring. The music drew him in. The voices drew him in. The thought of Gandalf, alive, drew him in. Only a short distance between him and the answer to all his problems. No one needed to know.

Pippin's pinky finger touched the ring. Cold. It was so cold. The music stopped. 

Take me.

"No!" Pippin cried aloud and drew back. That voice in his head wasn't his! That music wasn't real! The ring was talking to him! And he responded! He was about to take it and ruin everything and put everyone in danger again!

"What's going on?" Merry startled awake at Pippin's cry. 

Several of his other companions awoke as well and turned in his direction.

"N-nightmare," Pippin lied. 

Frodo sat up and put his hand in Pippin's hair to brush it with his fingers, just like when Pippin was a kid. 

"Poor Pip," he whispered. "Everything will be alright."

Pippin did not listen. The ring was still out, hanging right in front of his nose, so close to touching him.

Failure. Murderer. That voice that was not his own wormed its way into his head again.

He did the only thing he could do: scrambled back and began to cry, putting as much distance between himself and that cursed ring as possible.

Frodo's face fell when his little cousin flinched away and began to cry as though he had hurt him.

"Are you in pain?" Aragorn asked, shocked.

"N-no," Pippin shook his head, wiping away tears.

"Pip, dear heart, it was just a nightmare. Please, let's go back to sleep," Merry hugged Pippin from behind and dragged him back into his bedroll.

"I can't!" Pippin shook his head again. 

One of the elves said something to Aragorn, who didn't look very happy about whatever he had just been told. He then turned to Frodo and asked him something. Frodo too, looked troubled, but nodded.

"Pippin, I have valerian root. It will help you sleep without nightmares," Aragorn scooted closer to the shaking hobbit and took one of the small hands in his own, "would you like some?"

"But what if the orcs come back?" Merry asked. "He will be too drowsy to fight!"

"Merry, the reason we are doing this is so the orcs don't come back," Frodo said, though he didn't look happy about it. "If Pippin wakes up screaming again, they will find out where we are."

"Please Strider, I want the medicine," Pippin pleaded. His eyes were shut. He didn't want to look at the ring again.

"Help me, Sam," Aragorn's voice said. There was shuffling and a few minutes later he was right in front of Pippin with a cup of lukewarm tea. Pippin drank the bitter tea and allowed Merry to drag him back to his bedroll. He rolled away from Frodo and snuggled against Merry.

Merry, as predicted, wrapped his arms tight around Pippin. He trusted Merry could hold him tight enough to notice if he rolled away and tried to touch the ring again.

As Pippin's heavy eyelids closed, he could hear the ring calling to him. Ethereal music no longer drowned out his thoughts, and the ring's voice was not so caring and understanding as before. Now, it called him a murderer and a failure and a fool.

Chapter Text

"Pippin, it's time to wake up," Merry's gentle voice moved through the fog of Pippin's sleep as he gently pulled one of his warm, comfortable blankets off. 

Pippin grabbed the blanket with sleep-clumsy hands and pulled it back up, mumbling something that sounded quite rude.

"Pippin, wake up," Merry pulled off his covers again.

"Nooo," Pippin whined, "wanna sleep!"

"Next time I'm making Strider wake you," Merry grumbled. "He won't be nearly so nice about it as I am." 

After Pippin woke fully, he joined everyone else eating breakfast. They ate dried currants, roasted pears, and some kind of tangy yogurt drink that the elves mixed honey in to make it sweeter. It didn't taste like anything to Pippin. His senses were dulled by grief and last night's sleeplessness.

"The Lady has decided to allow you to enter her woods," Haldir announced as they finished up breakfast. They followed him down the rope ladder with their bags.

"However," he continued as they reached the ground, "no dwarf has walked these woods for thousands of years. The dwarf must go blindfolded, should he prove untrustworthy. The rest of you may go with sight intact."

"What?" Gimli spluttered, "That is hardly fair! I am far more trustworthy than several in this group and you judge me not based on my intentions but on the fact I am a dwarf!"

"Who, may I ask, do you think is less trustworthy than you?" Legolas snorted.

"I- uh."

"Sometimes the hobbits steal stuff," Boromir pointed out. He also felt it was unfair to Gimli that the elves would be so unwelcoming to him.

"We aren't blindfolding the halflings," Haldir said.

"Oh, so it isn't about trustworthiness, then, is it?" Gimli snarled.

"For all you know I could be a dangerous criminal," Merry piped in.

"You aren't," Haldir sighed.

"But how would you know?"

" I am a dangerous criminal," Pippin piped up, anger over Haldir's treatment of Gimli overwhelming his grief. "I spent a night in the Lockholes and I've been banned from two different inns in Michael Delving!"

"You've been to jail?!?" Boromir turned towards the Fellowship's youngest member, and also the only one to have been to jail.

"This is the first time I've heard this!" Frodo gave Pippin a look that said: we will have words later, young hobbit.

"Enough of this!" Legolas sighed. "Let us just meet their demands!"

"No, I think this is all a little unfair as well," Frodo said.

"It isn't about being fair. It is about safety," Haldir insisted.

"Just let them blindfold Gimli and let's go," Legolas squeezed the bridge of his nose as though he felt a headache coming on.

"If Gimli must be blindfolded, why mustn't we all be? That way, it is unfair to no one," Aragorn reasoned.

"No!" Legolas cried. "I will not go forward blindfolded!"

"Now you know how Gimli feels."

Legolas made a frustrated noise.

"I for one, am not opposed to being blindfolded if the elf is also," Gimli smirked.

"Wait a minute, wouldn't it be more fair if no one goes blindfolded?" Boromir asked. He really didn't want his sight to be taken from him.

"Do you really think the elves will let that happen?" Aragorn asked. 

"You can't blindfold me!" Legolas repeated, speaking over the men.

"But Gimli will only allow it if we all are!" Frodo reasoned.

"Everyone stop arguing. You will all be blindfolded," Haldir sighed. He then said something to his elves and they produced silky, gently folded blindfolds.

"What'dya think they carry blindfolds with them all the time for? Maybe they aren't as prudish as we thought," Merry leaned over and whispered in Pippin's ear. Pippin smiled, but then he felt horribly guilty for smiling or finding amusement after he had caused Gandalf's death. 

One of the elves walked over to Pippin. She had dark hair and dark skin: darker than Aragorn's, even- and she wore the same silver-grey clothing as Haldir, though Haldir's blended in with the rest of his body, and hers stood out. She tied the blindfold over Pippin's eyes, getting a few of his curls stuck in the process. Pippin yelped in pain.

"Ow! Ow! My hair!"

The elf undid the knot, whispering an apology in her own language. She brushed his hair out of the way this time before retying the knot.

She began to lead him through the forest, gently guiding him by holding his hand. Pippin was surprised that he did not trip on anything or crash into a tree or one of his companions.

One of the elves said something, and the one holding his hand laughed a sweet, tinkling laugh that sounded like the fall of water into a stream and the ring of the glass windchimes that hung outside his window in summertime. Pippin felt his face grow warm as he realized he was holding hands with a lass. Sure, there were lasses at home who fancied him, but he had always been a bit too shy (the only time he had ever been shy) to return their advances, and now he was holding hands with a lass- and a beautiful elf lass at that! 

Eventually, the blush faded away when he realized that she was twice his size, probably several hundred times his age, and likely wasn't interested in a skinny, troublesome hobbit with dirt on his face and curls matted with orc blood.

Oh no! I probably smell awful! She must hate having to hold my hand and drag me around! Pippin was suddenly incredibly nervous and self-conscious.

They stopped after a while to eat, though they were not allowed to take their blindfolds off. Pippin tried to peek once but someone slapped his hand away. They ate a fruit that Pippin had never tasted before, though it was sweet and juicy and seemed to refresh him like nothing ever had before. They also had something that tasted like a dessert but felt like crisp bread. Haldir called it lembas. 

Then, they walked again. A cool breeze blew above him so he did not quite feel it, but felt whispers of it. The trees seemed to mutter, conversing through the sonorous rustle of leaves. He heard a small animal scutter through the bushes, and a bird flapping its wings feather-light somewhere behind him. It amazed Pippin how much more he heard when his sight was taken away. His hearing was already sharp, save for the slight muffle in his right ear from when he had stolen one of Gandalf's fireworks at the age of fourteen and set it off too close to his face, but now it seemed that the loss of his sight sharpened his hearing even more.

Pippin felt tears fill his eyes again as he remembered Gandalf. He was trying so very hard to keep his thoughts away from the wizard but they kept straying back. Maybe it was some kind of cosmic punishment that the guilt should never leave him and he would be stuck with the memory of Gandalf always at the forefront of his mind. 

He remembered the events of last night too, how he had nearly taken the ring- how it had talked to him and convinced him to do it, how it had called him a murderer after he forced himself away. That part had been true at least. The rest, he was not so sure of, but he willed himself not to think of it lest it ensnare him again with its sweet lies and ethereal song. 

Pippin heard one of the elves say something, and then Haldir translated, "We have received word that you may take the blindfolds off." As he said this, the elf guiding Pippin let go of his hand and untied his blindfold. He blinked in the sudden light, taking a few seconds for everything to come back into focus. 

If he thought the trees were big before, they were huge now. They grew endlessly into the sky, disappearing in a mist of green and gold so high they blended into the clouds. The whole forest seemed to be made of gemstones and precious metals: silver bark, gold and emerald leaves, opal flowers. A golden haze hung in the air, lazy and soft and full of wonder. 

Pippin stood dazed for a moment as he took it all in. He had thought once, that the most wonderful sight to ever be seen was the rolling hills of the Shire in Spring, but nothing could compare to the view now. Pippin could understand why it was called the Golden Woods. 

They walked again, and now the former silence was filled by Sam and Legolas asking Haldir questions about the plants. Soon, everyone else was talking. Merry was once again trying to explain the Brandybuck family tree to Boromir, who was just as if not more confused than the last time, and Aragorn and Gimli were having a conversation about the politics between Erebor and Laketown. Frodo, meanwhile, lingered behind to talk to Pippin.

"You are upset," Frodo noted.

Pippin nodded, refusing to look at him. He didn't want to see that wretched ring again.

"I am sorry," Frodo said.

"What for?" Pippin shot his head up and looked at Frodo.

"It called to you."

Pippin looked down again, face burning with shame. He did not want to think of his failures.

"How did you know?" Pippin asked finally.

"You flinched away from me. I know you are not scared of me, so it must have been It."

"I'm the one who should be sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Pippin. I'm your older cousin; I'm supposed to be protecting you, and instead all I have done is put you in danger!" Frodo clasped one of Pippin's hands in his own, "I'm sorry for putting you in danger. I'm sorry for letting you be hurt. I'm sorry for being unable to stop it from calling to you. From now on, I will do better. You hold me to that promise, Pippin."

Pippin nodded, tears gathering in his eyes.

"What's wrong, Sprout?" Frodo asked, using the nickname Merry gave him when he was just a baby.

"I- you don't need'ta apologise to me," Pippin sobbed. "I sh- should apologise t- to you."

"Pip, whatever for?"

"I- 've been a- been a burden since- since we left," he could barely speak through each hiccuping sob. By now, everyone had stopped, watching him cry, but he neither cared nor noticed. "I got s- sick an' Boromir hadta carry m- me an' all I do is comp- complain and cry and I k- I killed Gandalf!" 

Frodo pulled Pippin into his arms, hugging him tight. Merry joined them, concern for Pippin etched in his features.

"Don't hug me!" Pippin wailed, struggling away. "I don't deserve-"

"Pippin, you didn't kill Gandalf," Merry grabbed his arm. "The Balrog did." Haldir gasped and looked horrified.

"But if I- if I hadn't thro- thrown that stone-"

"It would've known we were there already," Frodo reasoned. "The orcs knew we were there too. How else do you think they were so prepared as soon as we holed ourselves up in that room with no exits? Putting on armour and getting weapons takes lots of time. That can't have been spontaneous."

Pippin nodded. That made sense. Frodo always made sense. 

"In fact, the only thing your stone-throw did was alert us all to being more cautious, and to not let our guards down. Nothing you did brought about that evil."

Pippin allowed his cousin's to hug him again, and only then did he realize that all of the fellowship and Haldir's elves had stopped and many were looking in his direction or looking elsewhere but very obviously still listening in.

"If anyone is to blame," Frodo said, "it is me, for choosing to go in the mines."

"Or me, for suggesting them in the first place," Gimli piped up, before realising that he had entered what had, until then, been a conversation between family. He looked away after that, as though he had said nothing at all.

"No, no, it's neither of your faults!" Pippin insisted. "You couldnt've known anything was in there!"

"See how quick you are to come to reason when Gimli and I blame ourselves?" Frodo asked. "Why do you not afford yourself that same reasoning?"

"Oh," Pippin breathed, calming down. He had not thought of it that way. He was so quick to deal with his grief by giving himself someone to blame for it that he did not realise the hypocrisy of such an action. 

"Poor Pip," Merry whispered, hugging Pippin even tighter and burying his face in his curls. "You were never to blame for Gandalf's death. No one blames you. No one else even thought to blame you. I should've paid more attention. I knew something wasn't right."

Pippin sagged in his grip, exhausted from crying and from the weight of his grief settling on his shoulders. It hurt still, but now he was allowed to cry for Gandalf without the guilt gnawing at his heart. He was allowed now to grieve fully without feeling he didn't deserve the right to grieve. 

When Pippin's sobbing subsided, his cousins pulled back. Frodo pulled out his handkerchief to wipe the tears of his cheeks.

"Pippin," Boromir spoke suddenly, "when I carry you, you do not feel like a burden. I promised we would protect eachother, remember? Carrying you is part of that. I would gladly do it now, if you like. You hardly slept last night."

Pippin nodded and let Boromir scoop him up, not caring if it seemed childish to want to be held. For all Pippin wanted to be seen as an adult, he also wanted someone to comfort him. 

"Does this mean that I might have to carry you, you know, to honour our agreement?" Pippin asked.

"No," Boromir laughed. "Though I would like to see you try!"

Chapter Text

"Before you meet the Lady, we will give you a chance to bathe and refresh yourselves," Haldir let the Fellowship into a large room with warm pools of water inside. It smelled clean, and the fragrance of perfumed oils wafted through the air.

They had reached the center of the woods,, where all the elves lived, and immediately been whisked away to the bath house. It was much better than the freezing cold streams they had encountered on their way here.

Pippin loved baths more than anything else (except for food, of course), so he was absolutely overjoyed at the chance to take a proper bath. When Haldir left, with instructions to leave their clothes in a basket to be washed and patched, they all got into the baths. Bath time for Pippin always contained equal amounts of splashing and cleaning, but today he tried to be a lot less boisterous and loud than usual. In truth, he was kind of embarrassed to be taking a bath with all these other people. He was fine bathing with the other hobbits, but bathing in the presence of men and elves and dwarves made him very shy. The other hobbits must have shared the same feelings as they all stayed in a little corner away from the rest. 

"So, Pippin," Frodo said after he sank into the bathwater with a sigh. "What's this about spending a night in the Lockholes and being banned from two inns?"

That's it, Pippin's shyness was cured now as he tried to get as far away from Frodo as possible. It was difficult, because Frodo could swim and he could not. 

"Save me!" He yelped as Frodo grabbed his ankle and dragged him back to the hobbits' corner. 

"It wasn't really my fault I swear Frodo!" Pippin yelped.

"Oh? Then explain how your fool self got arrested?"

"Stars above! Let me bathe first!"

"You are stalling, Pippin."

"Fine! All I did was bring one of my Da's goats into the Bird and the Baby, and when they kicked me out I brought her to the Spooky Oyster and I would've brought her elsewhere but they threw us both in jail!"

Silence.

"Why'd you bring a goat to an inn in the first place?" Frodo asked, bewildered.

"I dunno! Thought it would be fun."

"They threw a goat in jail?" Boromir asked.

"Well, where else would they have put her? A room in the Oyster?"

Boromir chuckled and shook his head.

"And anyways, we hardly did any damage," Pippin continued. "All that happened is the goat pissed on the floor and how was I s'posed to know she'd do that?"

"Language!" Frodo shouted, but he was laughing, so Pippin didn't feel as sorry as he should've. Besides, it was good to hear everyone laughing again after all that had happened. 

Pippin devoted his time to actually washing now, and wrinkled his nose at the hair-soaps they were given. In Rivendell, the elves' soaps had messed his hair up badly. He had walked around with his hair frizzed up and tangled among all the elves with their perfect, flowing, straight hair. 

In the Shire, he used bar hair soap made with washing clay, vinegar, and oil. Once a month or so, his Ma made him wash his hair with egg too to keep it "healthy and shiny". The elves, however, used an odd creamy mixture to wash their hair that smelled like herbs and flowers, but it was very obviously not made for a hobbit's hair. Pippin stuck to washing his hair with only water instead, lamenting that none of the hobbits thought to pack proper Shire soap. 

To cheer himself up, Pippin decided that he could do a little splashing and singing. Mostly, he splashed at his fellow hobbits- Merry especially- but he got a few big splashes at Boromir before Boromir started to retaliate and Pippin had to surrender lest he drown in the giant wave Boromir's arms were capable of sending in his direction. Also, Aragorn told him to stop because he was making a mess.

When they had all finished bathing, their clothes were in a basket at the front of the room, cleaned and repaired remarkably quickly. They hurriedly got dressed and then went outside where Haldir was waiting for them. The elf led them to a large, thick tree that seemed to tower higher into the sky than mountains. They walked up stairs that wound up the trunk in a spiral. Every once in a while, they would reach a platform, and they would stop to catch their breaths for a bit before starting the climb again. Pippin's legs burned with the strain of it- especially because the stairs were made for tall elves and not short hobbits. He considered going up on all fours like he used to climb stairs as a child, but he didn't want to make a fool of himself, so he stuck with the more difficult and far less fun method of climbing up on two legs like a normal person.

From so up high, the elves on the ground below looked like carved wooden toys, and the shorter trees were like bushes. It made Pippin dizzy to look down, so he kept his gaze ahead instead.

Merry, too, had looked down, and now looked horribly afraid. He paused and put a hand over his mouth, face turning pale.

"Is Mr. Merry alright?" Sam asked. Then he looked down and stepped back, looking equally frightened. "Oh dear… I suppose I'll just pretend I didn't see that," Sam said, " and pretend I'm climbing up the stairs in the root cellar instead."

"I don't think I can go any further," Merry whispered, looking quesy.

"It is only to the next platform," Haldir tried to comfort him, though to put "comfort" and "Haldir" in the same sentence is a bit of an oxymoron. 

"Come on Merry" Pippin tugged his sleeve. "You can do it! How 'bout you close your eyes and hold on to me?"

Merry didn't look like he thought it would help, but he closed his eyes anyways. Pippin clasped their hands together and led Merry up the last stretch of stairs and onto the platform. 

Pippin gasped as he saw the two elves standing in front of them. Haldir bowed to them, and the rest of the Fellowship followed suit. Pippin bowed a little clumsily, unsure if he was doing it correctly.

Haldir stepped off to the side, introducing the elves as Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. 

Lady Galadriel was the most beautiful being Pippin had ever seen. Her skin was pale and smooth as fresh milk, and her hair was golden as wheat fields in the summer sun. For a moment, he was shocked by how wavy her hair was. It wasn't curly in the way a hobbit's was, but it was not as straight as all the elves' hair he had seen so far. She was beautiful and fair and shone with youth, but something about her told Pippin she held an ancient wisdom that he could never begin to comprehend. To see her was to feel everything: joy, sorrow, fear, love. It was like a wave of all that had been or would be washed over Pippin for a moment and left him feeling a bittersweet melancholy that he would never get the chance to feel again.

"Nine of you there were who set out at the beginning, but only eight I see before me," the Lady said in a voice of deep rolling waters and light rushing wind. "Gandalf the Grey set out with your company, but he did not pass the borders of this land. Tell me, where is Gandalf; for I much desire to speak with him."

Pippin shivered as Lady Galadriel locked eyes with him. The memories of Moria were pulled to the surface, as though she herself was pulling them, while Pippin had tried his best to suppress the memories. He did not feel the pang of guilt he had expected, but rather a warm acceptance, a brush of something he could not describe but told him everything was okay. It soothed away his guilt and worries with reassurances that nothing had been his fault, and for once he was able to believe them.

The presence left his mind as Aragorn began to speak, though Pippin didn't pay any attention to what he was saying. He only stared up at the Lady, full of wonder and admiration. 

At some point, the conversation ended, though they were all frozen in place by Lady Galadriel's presence. She met each of their eyes again, and Pippin became lost suddenly in a whirl of colour and light.

Someone played a lively, joyful reel on a fiddle. A pipe joined in, and a drum, and the clearing was full of movement. Dancers whirled and skipped across the grass lawn. The sky was dark, but lanterns on tables surrounding the grass shone brightly enough to bathe the world in a honey-glow. 

Pippin moved to the beat of the music, spinning and laughing and letting the music control his body. It was a cool summer night and he was young and carefree with the buzz of wine in his head and the taste of peach on his lips. The pure joy of the music and the dance sent his heart beating and a laugh bubbling up from his chest to ring in the night air and mix with the music.

Soon, he was dancing with a partner. He wondered for a moment whether they were a lad or a lass, but as they pulled him to the sway of the music, he found it really didn't matter. Their dark curls bounced as they danced, and his eyes closed as they pulled him in for a sweet, soft kiss.

Then, the scene changed.

The last remnants of a winter breeze brushed the grasses of the meadow, but the warm spring sun shone upon the grasses and flowers. Pippin stretched out among the yellow dandelions and breathed in the smell of the grass and soil and flowers. His hair and shirt ruffled in the breeze. 

"You know, one of these days you are going to fall asleep out here and get horribly sunburned," Merry's voice came from somewhere. Pippin closed his eyes and soaked the sun in, not caring to sit up or look for his cousin.

"No. I think the sun likes me too much for that."

"Why would the sun like you?"

"Well, I like the sun, and surely that is reason enough for it to like me back."

"I think you're getting heat poisoning and need to come inside," Merry's laugh, deep and warm, flooded Pippin's heart.

"I don't suppose you've brought me lunch, have you?" Pippin asked, giggling as he opened his eyes again.

"No, you already ate lunch, you little rascal."

"Second lunch?"

"... that doesn't sound like a bad idea, actually. Why has no hobbit ever thought of that before? I'll get Fatty and Folco to bring out some food and we'll all have a picnic."

The scene changed once again. 

His bed was soft and warm. Blankets covered him and pillows were stacked all around him. He had a tray of breakfast on his lap. Pancakes, strawberries and syrup and cream were piled high, and roasted mushrooms steamed with rosemary sat on another plate. 

Pippin ate a heaping spoonful of mushroom, savouring the combination of earthiness and the minty woodiness of rosemary. His mother's cooking was always the best.

His sisters, Pearl, Pimpernel, and Pervinca, all sat on the floor of his room, eating their own breakfast. Ma and Da sat at his table. Da was scarfing down his food, but Ma sat staring at Pippin with an almost disbelieving look on her face.

"I'm safe now Ma, please don't keep worrying."

"It's a mother's job to worry."

Pippin put his fork down on the plate and looked up at Ma. "I don't wanna see you sad. I'm alright, and I was safe the whole time," the lie tasted bitter on his tongue. "I had Merry with me. I'm truly sorry I didn't tell you where I was going. I was a fool not to."

Ma softened and stood from her chair. She walked over to Pippin and set his tray on the nightstand, before pulling him into a warm hug. He buried his face in her shoulder, a sudden sorrow coursing through him as he realised how much he had missed his mother's affection. He hadn't allowed her to hug him like this since becoming a tween. He wondered what had possessed him to draw away from his family, and to dodge his mother's arms when she tried to hug him. 

"Mama," he whispered, soft enough only for her to hear. Someone else joined the hug- one of his sisters- and the rest of course followed. Da had never been one for physical affection, but even he lightly stroked Pippin's hair. 

A moment of silent love filled the room, and Pippin his eyes water at the intensity of it. He had missed them so so much, more than he ever thought he would.

"No more adventuring until you're of age, at the very least," Ma broke the silence. She laughed, but her tears were still soaking into Pippin's nightshirt.

"A little harsh, don't you think?" Da joked. "He's a Took, after all."

"And you're disasters, the lot of you! I should've married that sweet Hansen boy. What was his name? Wilicar. Ah, he had the most beautiful brown hair…" Ma giggled.

Pippin made an exaggerated retching noise and everyone began to laugh.

Everything faded away, and Pippin was still pinned under the Lady's gaze. There were no words, but he understood that a question hung in the air.

No, he thought. I will not go back, no matter what joy awaits me. Frodo needs us. I am not smart or strong or brave, and I am horribly afraid, but I will not abandon my friends or the promises I made them. 

Galadriel smiled, just a small smile. Do not fear. You will find your courage, Peregrin Took, her voice seemed to fill his head. 

She looked away, and Pippin for a moment felt disoriented. Everyone else must have also been shown images beneath her gaze. Merry looked troubled, and Sam had blushed deeply and looked away. Frodo did not have any outward reaction, though his eyes turned steely as she looked away. 

Pippin could not concentrate well on the rest of the conversation, though he reckoned he didn't need to. Soon, they were led back down the stairs again. Pippin got one last look of Lady Galadriel before he turned the bend, and then the world was back to normal. He felt his emotions at a regular level and his head was clearer.

"Apologies, but you will have to sleep on the ground," Haldir told them. Merry looked incredibly relieved at that. "We have set up beds and we will deliver food to you."

Their beds were in a stone gazebo with moonflower vines creeping up the pillars and over the roof. The blooms were opened and facing the shards of moonlight falling through the trees above. They seemed to glow hazy white under the shine of the moon.

The bedrolls which had been laid out for them all on the stony floor were soft as a real feather bed. Pippin sank into one of the hobbit-sized ones with a sigh. 

Food had been brought to the weary travellers on silver trays set in the middle of the floor, with cushions to sit on all around the trays in a circle. Pippin sat between Merry and Boromir. On the trays sat bowls of creamy soup, turkey roasted with herbs and still steaming, rolls of sweet bread with cinnamon butter, platters of cheese and meat, fresh summer fruit (difficult to find in the winter, of course), yogurt with honey, greens with red wine vinegar, mushrooms (which disappeared down all four hobbits' throats almost immediately), a strong red wine, and light sugar cookies with lavender glaze. It was the most heavenly thing Pippin had ever seen, though he took time to savour the delicate flavours of elvish cooking. 

This, of course, only lasted for the first bite of everything. After that, there was no need to savour the taste because he already knew what it tasted like. Pippin cleared his plate with much more gusto than was necessary, and poor Boromir side-eyed him with a horrified expression the whole time. He had seen hobbits eat before, but he had never seen hobbits eat when food was plentiful rather than scarce. He wondered whether hobbits had more than one stomach for all that they (and especially Pippin) ate. 

"Peregrin Took, that is your final glass of wine," Frodo warned. It was only Pippin's second (elf-sized) glass, and he had beer all the time back home, but he guessed Frodo didn't want him making a fool of himself in the land of the elves. 

"But Legolas is drunk!" Pippin protested. The elf, indeed, was beginning to nod off onto Aragorn's shoulder. No one else had noticed, as Legolas had been very quietly sipping glass after glass of wine.

"Well, we have more manners than that," Frodo hissed. Merry burst into laughter, though covered his mouth when Frodo shot him a look.

Merry cleared his throat and carefully placed his face into a neutral expression, "Frodo is right though. I won't have any more wine either. The two of us are very loud drunks and we wouldn't want to disturb anyone." Pippin huffed in frustration, though he felt better that Merry was joining him in sobriety. 

"I could get used to this elvish food," Sam said, changing the subject towards something the three cousins were less likely to argue about.

"It's certainly the best thing I've ever tasted," Boromir agreed. "Though it may be I haven't enjoyed a Gondorian feast in too long."

"Dwarvish food is undoubtedly the best," Gimli added, "Though this comes at a close second."

"What kind of food do the dwarves eat?" Pippin asked, perking up and the thought.

"Meat is always the main event of the meal," Gimli answered. "When you spend most of your time underground, meat is the easiest to come by. We must also eat lots of dairy, as we need the nutrients that we would otherwise gain from the sun. We roast beef in rosemary and saffron and allspice. I can almost taste it now. Mmm... and we make herb bread and dip it in a sauce made of dill…" Gimli got lost in fantasising about all the foods he had ever eaten.

"What about Gondor?" Pippin asked. "What's food like there?"

"Hmm I suppose I never really paid attention," Boromir said. "We used to eat a good amount of seafood before the ports were blocked again by Corsairs… I suppose the only thing that would interest you is the candy we make. Street merchants in the capitol melt all the ingredients right before you on their carts. There is one road to the market filled by candy makers on each side, and it smells heavenly. I used to take my little brother down that street all the time and buy him all kinds of candy. It was always a terrible idea of course, because he would have enough energy to bounce off all the walls afterward, but it was fun. That's where I got all the ginger candies from."

"Now I really want to go to Gondor," Pippin said. His mouth watered at the thought of a whole street full of people making candy. 

Soon, there was a silence, and Pippin suddenly remembered all the things he had seen when Galadriel had looked at him. He wondered what everyone else had seen, and the question soon began to nag at him.

"Sam, when Lady Galadriel looked at you, what did you see? You blushed pretty red and I can't help but think you've got a guilty conscience!" Pippin jested.

Sam blushed again and looked down, "Now Mr. Pippin, I'm in no mood for a jest. If you want to know, I felt as if I hadn't got nothin' on, and I didn't like it. All I know is she seemed to go inside my head and ask what I'd do if she could fly me on home to the Shire and maybe have a hole with a nice little garden of my own."

"I didn't much like it either," Merry agreed. The rest of the Fellowship voiced similar opinions, and Pippin wondered what everyone else had seen to make them so uncomfortable. 

Someone turned the talk elsewhere, and soon they were laughing and joking again.

That night, Pippin fell asleep with a full stomach, a clean body, and a sound mind for the first time in a long time. 

Chapter Text

The funeral for Gandalf wasn't like any sort of funeral Pippin had ever seen. 

He remembered funerals he had attended in the Shire when he was very young. His mother would neatly arrange his curls in a presentable manner rather than the usual mess, and she would force him into the stiff, itchy fabric of his fancy, ceremonial clothing. He would stand out in the burial field, listening to some old hobbit or another drone on about the life of whichever distant relative had died. 

Pippin was required to go to a lot of funerals after his father became Thain, because it was apparently against the rules for him not to go, but he found he would much rather be out tramping through the woods and fields with the other boys or catching fish in the stream than stand in the middle of some dreary field surrounded by crying relatives he had never spoken a word to.

No, Gandalf's funeral was nothing like that. The elves began to sing early in the morning with the rising of the sun. Pippin didn't know what they sang about but he could feel their grief and sorrow in the haunting melodies that came from everywhere and nowhere at once. 

At some point, Legolas joined in, but he refused to tell them the words of the song. When the elves finished singing, Sam and Frodo made their own songs, insisting that someone had to add a part about Gandalf's fireworks. 

Pippin had always loved to sing, and he had been told he was good at it, but he didn't think he could do it now. He could not come up with words that meant anything, and he was sure he would choke up and ruin the song anyways. So, he listened instead, and felt the grief and acceptance push and pull him like great waves in the sea.

In the days following the funeral, Pippin felt his spirit grow lighter and his energy return to him. He realised that, had Gandalf seen him, he would've scolded him for giving into guilt and grief. He was going to live a life of joy and mischief because he knew Gandalf would wish him to, even if Pippin could still hear him threatening to turn him into some animal or another whenever he did something particularly troublesome or annoying.

He and Merry spent quite a bit of time together running through the forest and singing drinking songs and telling stories. It felt just like old times, back in the Shire. They ran into elves sometimes, and they treated he and Merry like children, which was horribly irritating until Merry showed him how it could be used in their favour. Now, Pippin would put on the wide-eyed, innocent act to get the elves to give him treats or let him into places he technically wasn't supposed to go. Merry tended to make Pippin do the talking since his voice was higher and he still had long-lingering baby fat on his cheeks. 

Sam and Frodo spent a lot of time alone together. They could usually be found in one meadow or another laying among the flowers and speaking in quiet voices. Pippin wondered sometimes if he spotted more than friendship behind the way their hands touched or their eyes softened as they met, but he didn't want to think too much on it and gave his older cousin privacy instead. Relationships like that were not frowned upon in the Shire. Folks would think you a little odd, but there were certainly no laws against it, and no hatred either. Still, Frodo liked to keep his private affairs private, so Pippin decided not to snoop and to just let the two be happy with whatever sort of relationship they had, be it friendship or romance.

Aragorn spent a lot of time brooding, but he wasn't all so different from what he usually did anyway, so no one paid mind to it. Pippin would talk to him sometimes, but he had more a mind to talk to all the fancy elves and to plan for the rest of their journey than to entertain Pippin. Pippin had thought he was sick at first, and fussed over him accordingly, but Aragorn insisted he was fine and only needed time to think.

Legolas and Gimli often went out on walks together, which was entirely surprising to everyone who saw it. They had somehow become fast friends without anyone to see it coming.

One day, Pippin was in the midst of a conversation with Boromir.

"So, he is the great-great grandson of Balbo, and I am Balbo's great-great-great grandson, and Frodo is third cousins with my and Merry's parents, which makes us third cousins once removed on his father's side."

"I- what?"

"And on his mother's side we are both related to the Old Took. Frodo is his great grandson and I'm his great-great grandson and Frodo is second cousins with my Da, which makes us second cousins once removed."

Boromir looked more and more confused as Pippin spoke. He hadn't paid attention to any of the hobbit's speeches about genealogy before and was now regretting asking Pippin how he was related to Frodo, but he wanted to be a good friend and understand more, so he said, "I will admit, I'm confused. Can you explain again?"

"Oh, of course! See, on Frodo's mother's side, his grandmother Mirabella is siblings with my great grandfather Hildigrim, and his mother Primula is first cousins with my granda Adalgrim, so Frodo is second cousins with my Da which makes him my second cousin once removed on his mother's side. On his father's side, his great grandfather Largo is brothers with my great-great grandfather Ponto, and Frodo's grandpa Fosco is my great granny Rosa's first cousin, and Frodo's father Drogo is my Granda Adalgrim's second cousin- and you'll remember that Adalgrim is also Primula's first cousin- so that makes Frodo my Da's third cousin and my third cousin once removed!"

"How much does a cousin have to mess up to be removed?"

"Come, Pippin," Legolas nudged him away from Boromir, who sent him a look of thanks. "You're confusing poor Boromir." Boromir's thankful gaze turned a bit sour at that.

"I am not confused!" Boromir protested, though that was a lie. 

"Either way, why don't you come down to the pond with Gimli and I," Legolas said. "We should let Boromir rest."

"Oh, okay!" Pippin had noticed that Boromir seemed tired and had dark circles under his eyes. Perhaps Pippin would have to invite him to join the hobbit sleeping pile so he could get a good night's rest. No, that wouldn't work because Sam and Frodo weren't too fond of him, but maybe he and Merry could make their own sleeping pile with Boromir just for a few nights until he got used to Lothlórien? That would surely help!

"Have a good sleep Boromir!" Pippin said goodbye to the man as he followed Legolas and Gimli through worn paths in the forest. The forest was so warm somehow, despite it being winter, so going for a quick splash in the pond would be nice and refreshing.

They passed through tunnels of silver trees and through golden flower fields. Pippin saw blue flowers swaying in one field, and he remembered the day all the fellowship had made flower crowns, and how Gandalf had weaved together the most beautiful blue tulips to set upon his hat. Pippin felt his lips twitch upward at the corners as he remembered, and as he realized that this was the first time he had thought about Gandalf without sorrow marring his memory. 

They soon came upon the pond. Cattails and bulrushes rustled along its edges among grasses and pickerel plants and wildflowers. The pond before him and the familiar, swaying plants struck Pippin with a sudden homesickness for the Shire. He used to play in ponds such as this with Merry and his sisters. 

Legolas and Gimli settled by the pond with their feet in the water while Pippin splashed around on the other end. Gimli had warned him not to splash them, and that sounded like absolutely no fun, but Pippin didn't want to be on the receiving end of Gimli's wrath, so he kept his splashing as far from the two as possible. 

"Be careful, lad!" Gimli warned as Pippin jumped and sent water flying in every direction. None hit the elf and the dwarf.

"I am being careful," Pippin whined.

"Not careful enough," Grumbled Gimli.

No fun he is! No fun at all! Pippin lamented to himself as he toned down the splashing. He stopped for a moment to look at a little minnow flicking through the water. When the minnow was a suitable distance away, Pippin began to splash again. 

Splashing really wasn't all that enjoyable when one couldn't do it to one's fullest extent, however. He looked over at Legolas and Gimli, who were having a conversation about architecture in their respective cultures. Pippin scowled. This really was no fun. Whyever did he agree to come here with them?

Then, Pippin had a most wonderful idea. He had promised Gimli he wouldn't splash him, but he never made any promises about not doing other things. 

Pippin dragged his feet through the mud and water to get to the edge of the pond and rifle through the reeds. He got distracted looking at a particularly pretty milkweed plant, but quickly remembered his mission. There, in front of him, was the fattest cattail he had ever seen. It looked like it would burst soon. It was perfect for what he had in mind.

Pippin ever so carefully broke the cattail off midway through the stem. Triumphantly, he carried the cattail out in front of him as he walked along the side of the pond towards his distracted friends. He did this to his sisters all the time, so he was quite practised in the art of this particular method of mischief.

"-geometric patterns are used more in stonework, though in metal work you can sometimes find more organic shapes," Gimli was saying to Legolas. Pippin stood behind them, grinning and menacingly holding the cattail. By the time Legolas noticed the hobbit standing behind him, it was too late. 

Pippin pinched the edge of the cattail and it exploded into a burst of neverending white fluff that rained down on Legolas and Gimli. Pippin laughed at the horror on their faces before they were covered in the cloud. 

The fluff seemed to be everywhere now. The breeze lifted some of it into the air, but the majority remained stuck to the three of them. Pippin fell back laughing at the hilarity of the situation. They all looked like they had just met a blizzard. Gimli grumbled and spluttered as he struggled to remove it from his beard, and Legolas glared at the giggling hobbit with a look that could kill. His lips were pulled down into a displeased frown as he watched Pippin wheeze and gasp and roll around in the grass, having laughed himself into breathlessness.

"Oh- oh my!" Pippin wheezed. "That was- that was- oh I wish Merry were here to see it!"

"I for one am glad Merry isn't here," Legolas said, voice taking a dangerous tone, "for then I would have to kill him too." 

Pippin's eyes grew wide and an embarrassing squeak left his mouth as Legolas launched at him, akin to a cat leaping towards their prey. Pippin rolled over and scurried away, still wheezing and giggling. Legolas was not far behind, so Pippin sped up, hoping to use his smaller size to get away. Gimli watched and cheered Legolas on as poor Pippin was chased around the pond like he was a barn mouse. 

Suddenly, Pippin pivoted and dove between Legolas's legs, running in the opposite direction and gaining much greater distance. Gimli tried to grab at him as Pippin passed, but he jumped away. 

Then, another trick Pippin used to use on his sisters came to mind and, looking over his shoulders so as to make sure Legolas was still far behind, he grabbed a stick he saw laying in the grass in front of him. It fit smoothly in his palm, and it branched out into two at the end. He was lucky to find such a perfect stick.

Pippin rushed to the pond, not slowing until he was waist-deep in the water. He thrust the stick into the water, scraping it along the bottom of the pond until he felt the stick grow heavier as pond weeds tangled around it. He pulled the stick out of the water, and the pond weeds with it. The result was a stick with dripping sludgy plants on the end. 

Pippin turned around and pointed the stick at Legolas, "Come any closer and I touch you with these pond weeds!" Pippin warned. Legolas was not deterred by that, but he shrieked when Pippin thrust the stick in his direction and smacked his upper arm with the cold, slimy, unpleasant smelling weeds.

"How the tides have turned!" Pippin snickered as Legolas dashed away. Pippin chased after him now, waving the weed stick and bragging about how he had bested Legolas. 

"Mercy! Mercy!" Legolas cried in mock fear, although he certainly didn't want to be hit with the pond weeds again.

"There is no mercy in my heart for you!" Pippin bellowed dramatically, waving his stick for extra effect. "Prepare to meet your doom!"

"Ach! No! Pick on someone your own size!" Legolas pleaded. Pippin caught up to him and hit him with the weeds again, and he let out a girly shriek. "Eee! Cold! Go chase Gimli! Gimli is just sitting there! He's slower!

"You're right," Pippin turned towards Gimli. He grinned wickedly as he waved the stick in the air. The dwarf got up and tried to run, but he wasn't fast enough and was subjected to a splat of pond weeds right to the face. 

"Why you-" Gimli was cut off when Pippin hit him again. 

Pippin's sharp hearing detected careful footsteps to his right, and he grabbed one of the weeds off his stick and threw it in that direction, hearing Legolas yelp as it connected to his chest with a soggy squelch. 

Pippin was far too preoccupied laughing at Legolas to notice that Gimli was now closer. Pippin only noticed when he was picked up by the dwarf.

"Wha- hey! Put me down!" Pippin struggled. The stick dropped out of his grasp. 

"Lad, what did I say about bothering us?"

"You only said not to splash you and I didn't splash you!" Pippin protested.

"You did much worse than splashing young hobbit," Gimli dropped Pippin to the ground.

"I declare a mistrial!" Pippin said. "You haven't given me a proper solicitor!"

Legolas didn't seem to care, and instead attacked Pippin, tickling his sides.

"Help! Ah stop! Please!" Pippin begged, laughing and squirming. "This is cruel- Ach!- cruel and unusual punishment!" 

Legolas didn't tickle him for much longer, and when Pippin regained his breath, they were all laughing and smiling.

"I haven't had so much fun I ages!" Pippin exclaimed, settling down into the grass and watching the sunlight filter through leaves. "I was in need of a good tussle!"

"I am all tired out," Gimli groaned, "and I'm covered in cattail fluff."

"You didn't even do any of the running," Legolas said. "Why are you tired?"

"Oi, not everyone is immortal or eternally young!" Gimli protested. 

"You're not even that old," Legolas rolled his eyes.

"Next thing we know, Gimli is going to start being able to predict the weather by the ache of his knees, and he'll spend all his time down in the pub complaining about today's youth," Pippin teased. Gimli, in a manner most mature, threw a pond weed and Pippin. His aim was very bad and he missed Pippin by half a foot.

All three friends laid among the grass and flowers, soaking in the sun in a rare moment of gladness and peace. Legolas sang, his voice seeming to blend with the calls of birds and the swish of reeds.

Pippin's eyes grew heavy. He closed them, and dreamed of all the happy things his mind could think of.

Chapter Text

The next few nights, Pippin and Merry slept in a pile with Boromir in the hopes that he would get more sleep. After all, none of the hobbits could get sleep if they tried to sleep alone. Perhaps it worked, because the circles under Boromir's eyes slowly lightened, and he perked up a bit. 

In truth, all of them felt better with each passing day they spent in the land of the elves. The hobbits regained all the weight they had lost, the men were less stressed, and Legolas and Gimli no longer felt like outsiders in the group in which they were the sole ones of their race. 

Still, the peace could only last so long before they had to leave. Pippin did not want to travel into the cold, dark world again. He was afraid that the fear and guilt would find him again if he left this land of undisturbed peace and golden afternoons. His cousins had both assured him that they would keep him safe, and that nothing would happen, but he wasn't so naïve to believe anymore that such promises could hold true. They could not see the future. How would they know whether they could keep such promises? 

Soon, the day came for them to say farewell to the elves who had welcomed them into the woods, and to the woods themselves, and the Lord and the Lady. They ate lunch on the riverbank, and Pippin ate far more than he should have, not knowing whether or not it would be his last meal for days. The elves sang and played music on instruments that Pippin didn't recognise but which his hands itched to touch and explore. Maybe if he ever came this way again, he would learn them, if the elves let him, that is. When the lunch was finished, Lady Galadriel gave them gifts and parting words. Merry, Pippin, and Boromir all got sword belts, and Boromir's was gold while Merry's matched Pippin's in silver. It fit their waists perfectly and held their swords tightly enough to keep sheathed but loose enough to be pulled out quickly and smoothly. 

Aragorn got a sheath for the broken sword he carried around everywhere, as well as some kind of jewel. Frodo got a vial full of starlight, though Pippin wondered how that was possible since it looked like plain water to him. The glass was very pretty though. Sam got a box of dirt, which Pippin would later tease him about, but which Sam treasured greatly. Legolas got a bow and new arrows. The bow was made of silver wood- like the trees of Lothlórien. Gimli, when asked, said he needed nothing, though would feel blessed if Galadriel would give him a single hair from her head. She gave him three, and Gimli blushed so dark a red that it made his beard look blonde. 

Then, each of them was given a cloak. It was soft as spring grass, and Pippin could not tell the colour because it appeared to change depending on where one held it. Each cloak had a matching clasp modeled off the leaves of Lothlórien.

They set out on light silver-grey boats into the shining grey water of the river. Galadriel sang a song that filled Pippin's heart with melancholy hope. Her voice faded into the distance as their boats sailed away, and was replaced by the running of water and sloshing of oars in water.

In the presence of the elves, Pippin had been calm, but it now sunk in that he was on a boat, in a river, and they would be in these boats on this river for the foreseeable future.

Pippin looked around at the others' boats. Legolas and Gimli were in one, speaking quietly to one another and wearing somber expressions. Aragorn, Sam, and Frodo sat in another. Sam still looked back towards the golden woods, obviously spellbound and unaware of his position.

"Boromir," Pippin whispered, feeling panic set in. He and Merry were rowing the boat, and neither paid attention to him in the back.

"Boromir!" Pippin hissed again, clutching the side of the boat so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Hmm? What is it?" Boromir asked, not turning around. He had to concentrate on rowing.

"I can't swim."

"What?"

"I can't swim."

"You can't-"

"Swim. Yes, I can't. And I've never been in a boat before."

Boromir turned around then, nearly hitting Merry in the head with his oar as he tried to paddle with his eyes now fixed on Pippin, "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Well, I forgot."

"You forgot that you can't swim."

"Yes."

"And you got in the boat-"

"Yes."

"Knowing that you can't swim."

"Yes."

"By the gods, Pippin!" Boromir groaned, and now he caught Merry's attention.

"What's wrong?" Merry asked.

"Pippin can't swim," Boromir groaned.

"Oh, well 'course he can't. He's a Took and he's from the Shire proper."

"By the gods Merry,  explain what that means and please do not bring genealogy into it," Boromir would be facepalming now if he wasn't so busy rowing their boat.

"Well, I'm a Brandybuck-" Merry began.

"I said no genealogy!"

"Which means I live in Buckland-"

"I don't know what that means!"

"Which is right by the River Brandywine. Which means I come from a sane family from a sane place where we teach our children to swim."

"No, you Bucklanders are the insane ones!" Pippin defended himself. "No proper hobbit would get in a boat unless he was out of his mind!"

"You're in a boat, Pip."

"Because I've been spending far too much time with the likes of you! I knew my Ma was right when she said you'd start rubbing off on me!"

"Your ma said what about me!?"

"Gentlemen- er- gentlehobbits," Boromir was glad he was placed between the two hobbits so their fight couldn't get physical. "Please just finish explaining why Pippin can't swim."

"Well, we hobbits in the Shire proper know that swimming is unhobbitish and unnatural, so none of us do it. We don't have boats and the closest thing is the Bucklebury Ferry and I only went on there because I had to or risk death, and it isn't even a real boat."

"Yeah, it isn't a real boat," Merry agreed.

"Okay, okay," Boromir racked through all the information he had ever been given about the hobbits. "Aren't Sam and Frodo from the Shire proper?" Boromir asked.

The hobbits nodded.

"So they don't know how to swim."

"Frodo knows how to swim," Merry said. "He was born in Buckland."

"So Sam doesn't know how to swim."

"Yep, he doesn't."

Boromir let out a long sigh.

"Hey, Boromir?" Pippin asked.

"Yes?"

"I'm gonna vomit."

"My gods! Do it over the side of the boat!" Boromir hefted Pippin up and helped him lean over the side, where he vomited up his lunch.

"Ugh," he groaned, sinking back onto the floor of the boat, "I think the rocking is getting to me," he explained.

"Everything alright over there?" Aragorn called to them.

"Erm… Well, Pippin's getting sea-sick… river sick," Boromir stuttered. "And he has just informed me he doesn't know how to swim." 

"Give him some ginger candy to help with the nausea. And don't tip the boat over I guess?" Aragorn really had no idea what to do about Pippin being unable to swim.

"Mr. Strider sir?" Sam was broken out of his reverie and now looked panicked. "I can't swim neither." 

Aragorn made an exasperated face. "Okay, who here can't swim?" Sam and Pippin raised their hands, and Gimli raised his halfway up.

"Gimli, what does that mean?" Aragorn asked, gesturing to him.

"Oh, I can swim. Just not with all this armor on."

Aragorn looked up and closed his eyes, sighing deeply and seeming to age about a decade, "Oh, this is just great for my blood pressure, really. Nothing could be better than this."

"Well, if the rest of us can swim, we just make sure we rescue anyone who can't, assuming the boat doesn't tip over, or course," Merry said. "And we won't let the boats tip over."

Pippin's nausea eventually went away, but he still held onto the side of the boat with a grip so tight his wrist was beginning to cramp. He stared down into the dark water and watched the boat cut through the water in ripples. He wondered how deep the water was and whether it was so dark beneath the surface or if it was just a reflection of the storm-grey sky above. 

"Pippin, it's your turn on the paddle," Merry climbed back and gave Pippin the oar. Pippin slowly moved to the front. He didn't really know how to use the oar, and he had to sit up on his knees to see over the front of the boat. He placed his cloak under his knees so they wouldn't be leaning on the wood and put the oar into the water, pushing it forward. The water resisted, and he had to push very hard to do anything at all. It left his arms aching as his muscles protested to being used in a way they never had before. 

"Hey, I think I'm getting a hang of this!" Pippin said.

"Yes. You're doing well," Boromir assured him, smiling at how enthusiastic Pippin was. 

"My Ma will be proper pissed," Pippin continued, "to learn that I was on a boat."

"I was gonna say language, but Frodo is too far away to have heard you," Merry giggled.

"Well, I'm not!" Legolas said, turning around with a grin on his face. "And I still need to get back at Pippin for hitting me with pond weeds."

"No, you already got back at me!" Pippin cried, but it was too late.

"Oh Frodo!" Legolas called in a sing-song voice. "You'll never guess what sort of language your dear younger cousin here was using!"

"No!" Pippin moaned, trying to hide himself behind the oar he was holding.

"What did he say?" Frodo called.

"Well, now I think it is too improper for me to repeat," Legolas said in the most innocent voice he could muster. 

"Bullshit!" Pippin whispered. "'Pissed' is hardly even bad language and I've heard you say much much worse."

Legolas gasped and placed his hand over his heart, "Oh my, Frodo! Wherever was this boy raised?"

"Shut up!" Pippin hissed, waving his oar at Legolas and Gimli's boat. "If I ever get near enough to reach you, you'll wish it was just pond weeds I'm hitting you with."

"Frodo, get your cousin! He is like an animal! Whatever has gotten into him! Stars above, he is threatening to attack me!"

"I'm bored," Pippin complained. "And my arms hurt. And my knees. And my butt. Actually, everything hurts. And I'm hungry."

Neither Boromir nor Merry said anything. Pippin had been complaining for the past hour and they found it was better now to just pretend he didn't exist. 

"Can we play I Spy?" Pippin asked.

"You know what, sure. It will keep us awake." Boromir had taught them to play I Spy, a popular game in Gondor, to teach them to be more aware of their surroundings.

"I'll start," Merry said. "I spy with my little eye something that is… green."

"Tree!" Pippin shouted. "Sorry," he said more quietly. "I didn't mean to yell."

"Yeah, it was a tree."

"Okay, I spy with my little eye something that is tall!"

"Trees?" 

"No."

"That rock?" Boromir pointed to a particularly tall rock.

"Nope."

"Is it a person?"

"Yep."

"Is it Boromir?"

"Yep!"

"Alright, my turn," Boromir looked around for a bit. "I Spy with my little eye something that is hairy."

"Hair!" Pippin guessed.

"No."

"My feet?" Merry suggested.

"No."

"Pippin's feet?"

"No."

"Frodo's feet?"

"No, I am not talking about anyone's feet."

"I give up."

"Me too."

Boromir leaned close to the two of them, smiled, and said, "I spy Gimli."

They burst into laughter and Pippin fell against the floor of the boat, clutching his stomach. Legolas, who was always listening in to other people's conversations, and who had sharp elvish hearing, also laughed, and Gimli asked him what was so funny.

"Row away! Abandon ship!" Merry whispered, watching Gimli's face as Legolas told him why he was laughing.

Pippin woke up and shifted, groaning as his body painfully protested his movements. He took a short nap while he waited for his turn to row again. He had propped his head up using his cloak as a pillow, but it hardly lessened the pain he felt waking up from sleeping in such an odd position, especially after having slept so well on his bed in Lothlórien. He was cold now, too, as he had been using the cloak as a pillow rather than covering himself with it.

Pippin sat up and rubbed his eyes, yawning. He was still so very tired. "How long did I sleep?"

"Not long at all," Merry answered. "Twenty minutes, I'd say, at the most."

"Ugh, no wonder I'm still tired."

I hope Boromir is okay, Pippin thought to himself. He and Merry were rowing now while Boromir took a break. 

Boromir seemed troubled, somehow, and he had taken to muttering to himself too quietly for anyone to make out words. Every time Pippin glanced back at him, he looked troubled. He stared into the distance and bit at his fingernails as he muttered. 

Pippin shared a look with Merry, but neither of them said anything. Merry would later tell Pippin that he noticed Boromir was staring at Frodo a lot, and he wondered if maybe Boromir was being affected by the ring, but for now nothing was said and Pippin remained wondering what was wrong. 

Chapter Text

Pippin had perhaps never slept worse in his life, and that was really saying something considering the state of many of the places he had slept these past few months. He swore he slept better in Moria in all that dreadful darkness than he did now.

The boat wasn't cramped by any means. Merry and Pippin could easily sleep with Boromir in between them. However, the rocking of the boat did nothing good for his ability to fall asleep and stay asleep. It made him sick and rendered him painfully aware of what could happen should the boat tip over as they slept. 

Also, rivers apparently hated them, because after Pippin finally got used to the smooth rocking, the river pulled them into a place where the water grew fast and choppy.

"What's happening?" Pippin cried, as his oar was nearly snatched from his hand by the pull of the rushing river.

"It's just some larger rocks deeper in the river. The water goes a bit faster here, but look," Boromir pointed in front of them. "It smoothes out not so far ahead."

They met several of these little patches of rough water, and Pippin grew used to these too.

Then, he found out about the rapids.

"There is something in the treeline," Legolas peered through the dark of the late night. "On the east bank."

Pippin didn't know which way was East, but Merry seemed to sense this, and pointed East for him. They looked at the trees, but Pippin could hardly see anything except the black outlines of pine needles reaching into the night.

"I'm scared," Pippin whispered, for Merry alone to hear.

"It's okay. Whatever it is, it can't reach us. We're closer to the west bank-"

Merry was cut off as the boat shuddered.

"Everyone hold on!" Aragorn called. "We've reached the Rapids!"

"The Rapids?" Pippin yelped. Boromir took Pippin's oar and began to furiously row the boat, keeping it steady as it rocked and shuddered. The roar and rush of water filled the air of the night and drowned out the helpful instructions Aragorn was calling to them. Fortunately, Boromir had experience boating in rough waters, and didn't need Aragorn's instructions.

Pippin just hoped Legolas and Gimli were okay. He didn't know if either of them was experienced on boats.

Merry clasped Pippin's hand in one of his and together they clutched the sides of the boat with their free hands. Pippin felt the spray of ice-cold water stinging his skin as it rushed over the side of the boat. His breath came too quickly, panicked and short. Please don't tip over please don't tip over please don't tip over, he silently prayed to whichever god would be willing to hear him..

Soon, the roar of water wasn't quite so loud anymore, and the rocking stopped. The rapids were behind them.

Pippin couldn't tell when he had started crying, but he felt warm, scared tears mingle with the cold riverwater. He squeezed Merry's hand to ground himself.

"Everyone okay?" Boromir called into the darkness of the night. Not even the moon was bright enough to spare them light tonight.

"We're fine!" Frodo called back. "Lost an oar, though."

"Legolas elbowed me in the face, the bastard!" Gimli said from somewhere behind them, confirming that they were fine as well. 

"Okay, now that that is handled," Aragorn slowed down his boat so he could be closer to the other two, "what do you see on the Eastern shore, Legolas."

"I cannot make much out, for whatever it is is hidden deep in the trees, but there are many of them, and they walk on two legs. The size of a man they are, yet I do not think they are men."

"Orcs?" Frodo asked. "Lord Celeborn said there were reports of orcs in these parts of the woods."

"I fear they may be, though they are far larger than any orcs I have seen," Legolas said.

Pippin shivered, partially from cold, partially from adrenaline, and partially from fear.

"Well, they can't reach us in the water, can they?" Merry asked. His voice wavered, giving away his own fear.

A thunk startled Pippin, and he yelped and jumped, searching for the source of the noise. Merry stared wide-eyed at his hand, and Pippin saw now that a black, spiked arrow stuck out of the wood of the boat between his fingers. Merry was only inches away from having been hit.

"Sweet Yavanna," Merry gasped, trembling with adrenaline.

"We're being shot at!" Pippin cried. 

There was a flurry of movement as a volley of arrows rained down on them from the Eastern bank. Boromir swung his shield off his back and held it at the side of the boat, protecting them from arrows. Pippin heard many clang against the shield. He squeezed his eyes shut and clung on to Merry. 

He heard the frantic splash of oars in water, the thud of arrows hitting the wooden boats, the clear twang of Legolas's bow. It wasn't really clear how long the orcs on the eastern shore shot at them, because Pippin was lightheaded from hyperventilating. Battles were much easier when Pippin was able to actually do something, because it meant his adrenaline had somewhere to go rather than racing around his body and leaving him gasping for air. 

Merry ran a soothing hand through Pippin's hair and clutched him back, staying low in the boat so no arrows could strike them. He too, was scared, but he tried to keep himself strong for Pippin's benefit. 

A horrible scent blew on the wind, and with it- a burst of swirling fear.

There was another twang of Legolas's bow, and a loud, high shriek pierced the air. It was sharp and almost too high to hear, stabbing into their ears and echoing in their skulls. Pippin screamed and pressed his hands to his ears, trying to keep out the sound and the pain. 

A crash and a crackle of tree branches on the east side of the river cut off the shriek, and the arrows ceased to fly their way. Pippin's head pounded as the shriek continued to echo through his mind. 

The fellowship paddled their boats down the river as fast as they could go and came upon an inlet that was covered by a willow tree. They tethered the boats beneath the safety of the willow tree.

"What was that noise?" Merry broke the tense silence.

"It was some fell beast flying in the night. I just barely could see it. It was a dark, winged creature, though no feathers it had. It seemed blacker than the pits of night," Legolas answered. "I shot it, and it fell on the east side of the river. I believe it is dead now, as so being I have met- good or evil- can survive an arrow piercing the heart."

"Are we safe now?" Pippin asked, grimacing at how weak and scared he sounded.

"We are never safe, though I can say we are not in complete peril at the moment," Aragorn sighed. "We must take watches tonight. The orcs cannot get to us without crossing the river, and if we are quiet, they will not find us hidden in this inlet."

"I can take first watch," Legolas volunteered. "In fact, I will watch all night. Elves do not truly need to sleep every night, and my eyes are far keener than anyone else's. I will know if something comes this way."

"Are you sure?" Gimli asked. "You can really stay up all night and not need rest?"

"Yes. I can. I will be fine. You mortals should all go to sleep now."

Gimli huffed a quick laugh as they all settled down to sleep in the boats again. Pippin's whole body shook as he laid down. Danger, it warned him, not allowing him to rest. Like Aragorn said, they were never truly out of danger, but they weren't quite in it either. Right now, he needed to sleep but his mind and his body would not allow him to rest.

"Hey, Pip, calm down," Merry soothed in a whisper. "We're all fine."

"But you- you almost got shot in the arm."

"But I didn't. What actually happened is far more important than what could've happened."

Pippin nodded his head and took deep, slow breaths to calm down his racing heart and mind. Boromir once again lay between him and Merry, and Pippin cuddled up to his side. He used Boromir's chest as a pillow, and curled the rest of his body around his arm like a cat. 

He felt better to be beside Boromir and Merry. They were two people who had become as close to him as blood-brothers, and whose presence he now could not imagine living without. Pippin reached his hand across Boromir and held on to Merry's. His hand was familiar and warm and safe. He knew it better perhaps than his own. And Boromir's sturdy muscles and rising chest and beating heart had become a constant for Pippin. 

He fell asleep with a familiar hand in his own and a familiar heart-beat in his ear.

Pippin awoke still tired and aching. Perhaps even more so than the night before. His eyes didn't want to open, and he wanted more than anything to lay back down and reclaim what more sleep he could gain, but Boromir was shaking him awake and soon it was impossible to try to sleep again. 

They ate lembas bread. Legolas said it was likely all they would eat for some time, but Pippin didn't mind that at all. It was flavourful and honey-sweet. It tasted almost like a cake his great Aunt Violet made this one year at Yule. 

The weather was foggy, and it was difficult to see. When they pushed onto the river again, the east bank wasn't even visible anymore. It brought them relief to know that the orcs likely couldn't see them either. They weren't on the water long before Aragorn led them to shore again. The area ahead was dangerous, he explained. They would need to hike to a better area. They would carry the boats and baggage with them as they went. 

"Which direction are we headed?" Merry asked. It was a long way before they would either branch off to Mordor or Minas Tirith, and no one was quite clear which direction they were to take.

"We should take the path to Gondor," Boromir urged. He set down the bag he had been packing and stood up so he could be at Aragorn's height. 

Pippin shifted uncomfortably, finishing packing Boromir's bag for him. He knew Boromir and Aragorn didn't see eye-to-eye on this issue, but Pippin had thought Boromir had acquiesced to this a long time ago. It seemed the dreary day and the stress of last night's travels had frayed the edges of both mens' patience, however, and Pippin had noticed an uncomfortable rift between the two since after leaving Lothlórien.

"We will not go to Gondor," Aragorn said, "You can go, of course. Lord Elrond said that there is nothing keeping us bound to the ringbearer should we want our paths to differ, but I can say for myself at least, that I will go into Mordor for my part in destroying the ring."

Pippin realized with a sudden sadness that he was probably going to have to say goodbye to Boromir soon- at least until the quest was over. Of course, he knew that Boromir intended to return to Gondor as soon as he could, but the idea hadn't really struck Pippin yet. He knew he would have to face it sooner or later, but he never looked forward to goodbyes, and he would miss Boromir.

"To bring it into Mordor is madness," Boromir's composed voice was beginning to break. "The Enemy will take it and use it for himself. Don't you see that we are delivering it straight into his hands?"

"Boromir-"

"No, you do not understand! While you may be the rightful king of Gondor, you are not her ruler. You do not see how our people die and suffer at the hands of the enemy! I see children wandering motherless through the streets! I see boys too young to even be wed sent into the battlefield never to return! My people and my country have struggled on without hope for as long as I can remember! We are the ones keeping the Enemy at bay. Not the elves, not the dwarves, not the men of Rohan. I will not let our hard work and sacrifices be for naught!"

"Boromir-"

"Perhaps you think I am selfish. I know you think that it cannot be used for good, but I would like you to know that our people have suffered for this war, and our people should have the right to fight back, just once. To have hope for once."

"Boromir, no one can wield it but its master. It doesn't matter how noble you are, how just your cause, how honest your character. It will corrupt you. Was Isildur not a noble man? Did he not fall to its power?"

There was a pause as all the fellowship digested Aragorn's words.

"I need to be left alone for a bit, I think," Boromir pressed his hands to his temple like he had a headache. "Though I disagree with you still, I do not wish to argue, and I apologise for my outburst. Lack of sleep is getting to me, it would seem. I will not wander far, just enough for me to calm myself."

"Yes, take as much time as you need. We all need to rest a bit."

Boromir walked off into the forest. Pippin moved to follow, but Merry grabbed his coat and pulled him back, shaking his head. "He needs real time alone, and that means time away from us too."

Pippin nodded, though he worried about Boromir and wished to see him and make sure he was okay.

Soon, the awkward silence was broken by Gimli and Legolas talking to eachother. Pippin still looked out into the direction of where Boromir went, hoping to see him come back soon. Frodo came over and sat in front of Pippin quite suddenly, with Sam trailing not far behind.

"Hmm?" Pippin turned towards his eldest cousin.

"I was thinking, this may be the most free time we will have in a while, and your hair is in need of a proper haircut," Frodo said. "Merry needs one too, but I know he can get his hair cut without fussing."

"I do not fuss, Frodo," Pippin turned his nose up in quite a haughty manner. "I am not a faunt."

"So you'll let us cut your hair?" Merry asked.

"No. I hate getting my hair cut in the best of circumstances and I certainly don't want to get one when I am sitting in the mud in the fog and it looks like it's about to rain and you really can't cut hair in the rain can you?"

"You're stalling."

"Sam," Frodo looked over his shoulder at his gardener.

"Sam, you put those blasted scissors away right now!" Pippin struggled away from where Merry was trying to hold him still. 

"Pip, your hair is getting too long. What if we get in another fight? We can't have your hair getting in your eyes all the time."

"Strider has his hair in his eyes all the time!" Pippin protested.

"That's because Aragorn can't see for shit," Gimli laughed.

"Language!" Frodo said, forgetting for a moment that Gimli wasn't one of his little cousins.

"Please Frodo, I don't wanna cut my hair," Pippin pleaded. 

"Pippin, you are getting split ends and your whole head of hair will be ruined if you don't let me."

"Fine!" Pippin surrendered. He really didn’t want his hair to split all the way down to the roots.

Frodo, rather roughly, pulled a comb through Pippin's nest of curls. He winced each time the comb struck a knot, and sometimes Frodo pulled hard enough that Pippin's entire head was pulled back with it. 

When Pippin's hair was free of knots, Sam quickly trimmed his hair. Then, the pair moved on to Merry, who made a good deal less fussing and did not yelp so dramatically as Pippin had. 

Sam was wonderful at trimming hair, and one would hardly notice he was there, but Frodo- and not for lack of trying- just wasn't very gentle when it came to combing hair. He insisted he do it though.

Pippin was actually glad, in the end, that he got a haircut. His hair felt lighter and healthier than before, and he found it raised his spirits just a little, to feel like a proper hobbit with a proper haircut once again.

When Boromir returned, they gathered the luggage and boats and hiked. Boromir was still in a dreary mood, though he didn't argue with anyone. They hiked through the whole day and slept on land again. It had begun to rain- a grim, cold drizzle. Pippin had second watch tonight, and was not looking forward to it.

"Boromir?" Pippin cuddled against the man. Pippin would've liked to sleep in the pile with the other hobbits, but Boromir seemed so lonely and sad lately, so Pippin felt he needed some company tonight.

"Yes?" Boromir answered. He couldn't sleep either.

"I think you're really brave."

"Thank you, but… why do you say it to me now? I have not done anything particularly brave today."

"Well, I think you are brave all of the time. And- and after everything you said today about Gondor- and I know you are afraid and it's okay to be a little afraid sometimes I think."

"It doesn't feel okay," Boromir said.

"Well, whether it feels that way or not, it is. Being afraid can be good sometimes too because if you are afraid for your people it means you care about them. I can tell you care about them."

Boromir said nothing, but seemed to be thinking over many things.

"We're gonna destroy It and destroy Him with it," Pippin said. It felt like a promise. One that he wasn't sure they would be able to keep but one that they each had proven they would die trying to. "And everyone in Gondor will be safe after that. No matter if we go to Gondor or to Mordor, the end goal is defeating Him and saving your people. Strider doesn't disagree with you because he hates Gondor. I promise you."

"You are too optimistic," Boromir sighed.

"You have to have hope, Boromir," Pippin snuggled into his side, feeling sad that Boromir sounded so defeated. "Sometimes the only thing we can go on is hope and it's better than nothing."

"I will try. It is hard to find hope when you grow up beneath a shadow," Boromir finally said. "I had just gotten away from it, but now that we move closer to the shadow… I had forgotten how oppressive the weight of a whole country can be. I had forgotten how heavy a burden I had to carry all these years. I see the shadow growing in the East and I fear for my people and for my family."

"You won't have to much longer. We're gonna save your people Boromir. We're gonna save your family. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I only make promises I can keep."

Boromir turned on to his side and wrapped his cloak around Pippin. "I don't know what I will do when you and Merry go back to your home after this is all over. Too long I have lived my life in misery, but am I glad to have met you, and glad you have shown me that I don't have to stay miserable."

"That's what friends are for. Now go to sleep."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Took."

"Well, that is a sentence I need to hear more often!"

Chapter Text

Everything was cold and miserable and wet. Dreary grey rain poured from the dreary grey sky into the dreary grey river and rocks below. Even their fancy elvish cloaks could not chase away the frigid wet that fell from the clouds and rose from the river as fog. 

Pippin drew his cloak closer, shivering. He cursed the rain and the sky and the river, and this time Merry slapped the back of his head in reprimand for cursing, lest Legolas tattle on them to Frodo again. Merry at least, didn't want to get in trouble if it happened again. 

Pippin slapped Merry's head in retaliation for slapping him, and then Merry slapped the back of his head again in reprimand for the retaliation, and soon Boromir was pulling the two of them apart before they could give eachother concussions. 

The sailing today was smooth. No rapid waters broke the calm of the river and no movement in the treeline threatened their safety. Pippin should have been happy for a day of peace, but he found himself rather bored and no one else seemed to be in the mood for chatter, leaving him to stew alone in the soggy silence. 

"Merry, are we there yet?" Pippin asked after a half hour of silence (rather longer than he had ever gone in his life).

"Well, considering I don't quite know where "there" is I would have to say no."

"Oh, but I'm everso bored!"

"It would please you then," Boromir said, "that we will soon be upon the Argonath."

"Maybe it would if I knew what it was."

"You'll just have to see." 

Boromir was brilliant, it would seem, because the anticipation kept Pippin quiet and entertained. Pippin loved nothing more than a good surprise.

They came upon it in mid morning. Huge cliffs suddenly arose on the horizon, seeming to rise from the river itself. As they grew closer, they could see large statues carved out of the face of the mountain. They towered over the river, hands stretched out as if ordering them to stop. The figures wore great helms that seemed more like crowns than armor, and they held swords. 

"Welcome to the Gates of Argonath. The pillars of the kings," Boromir said quietly. He seemed to grow larger with pride as he looked upon the great statues, thinking of better years when Gondor had been a strong and prosperous kingdom. 

The statues had crumbled in places from age, and moss hung from folds and cracks. Pippin wondered what they must have looked like when they were new. Maybe they once shone bright and mighty above clear waters, greeting ships as they passed. Now, they were alone but for eachother, standing in the empty mist greeting no one and nothing, crumbling slowly to obscurity as the river passed barren by. 

Pippin held his breath as the current pulled them towards the statues, almost scared they would move, but the stone remained stone and thus didn't move, and Pippin breathed again. 

"They're so big!" He gasped, taking in their enormity now that they were right beneath their shadow. "How did anyone make this?"

"They attach pulleys to the top of the mountain and the craftsmen sit on a plank connected to the pulley. If they need to go up or down, they pull the rope," Boromir answered. Pippin's question had been rhetorical, but he did like to learn things, so he was glad Boromir answered.

"Wow, I don't think we have anything like that in the Shire," Pippin said, trying to imagine how the pulley system would work.

They passed through the gates and the river drew them through the middle of the cliffs the statues had been carved from. The sides were sheer and smooth as river-stones, and Pippin wondered aloud if the cliffs were just really big river stones, being so smooth and all. 

"I suppose they are," Aragorn said. "I've never thought about it that way, but no- you're right. Stones in the river are smooth and round because water has eroded them, and these cliffs too have been eroded by the water."

"How come I never see cliffs and stones getting eroded? How come water doesn't erode us?"

"It takes a really really long time," Aragorn answered. "Thousands of years."

"Does that mean elves can see things being eroded?" Pippin asked. 

Everyone immediately turned to Legolas, who shrugged dismissively, "I don't really notice things like that. Ask another elf."

"You haven't noticed?" Gimli asked, taken aback.

"Well, I notice the trees growing and moss and ivy take over spaces that were once barren, but I do not take much notice in rocks or rivers. They don't have a life force, so I guess I am not drawn to them."

"Rocks have a life force," Gimli said. "Although I doubt the likes of you would know anything of that."

"The likes of me? Why, Gimli, I remind you I hold the oar, and with it, your fate. I could easily tip this boat over and leave you to drown."

"Strider, Legolas is threatening Gimli with death," Pippin tattled, knowing Legolas and Gimli were only jesting.

Aragorn only shook his head and rolled his eyes and "accidently" splashed Legolas.

Boromir's turn to help Merry paddle the boat came, and Pippin handed it to him, though Boromir stared over Pippin's head, unseeing.

"Boromir?" Pippin squeaked, and shook his arm softly, afraid he was about to faint. Boromir snapped out of whatever trance held him and smiled at Pippin, taking the oar and ruffling his hair. His heart was not in his smile, Pippin could tell, and he knew something was bothering him.

"Boromir?"

"Yes?"

"Are you okay? You were staring off."

"Just thinking. I must be tired, if I let down my guard."

"What were you thinking about?"

"My home."

Pippin could hear a tinge of homesickness in Boromir's voice. He knew it all too well because it had occupied his thoughts many times too. Boromir, mighty warrior that he was, just missed his home and his brother and his father and the friends he had told them about. Pippin missed his home and family too. He found himself longing, sometimes, for the sweet days back in the Shire among golden fields and the honeysuckle breeze and the sound of his beloved fiddle, and even his sisters' teasing, annoying as it could be. 

Still, Pippin could not deny that he loved this too. Adventuring, seeing the world, learning new things. If he were back home, he would've never met these new friends, never seen the Golden Woods, or Argonath, or even Rivendell. It was difficult some days to remember just how much peril they were in. 

Slowly, they reached the end of the canyon, and trees rose up where before there had been only cliffs. The trees were evergreens, with proud emerald needles poofing out among the branches. These trees were very beautiful, and Pippin wished they had more in the Shire. He liked to see green in the wintertime, when usually all is dull and dead.

Aragorn steered his boat towards the shore, and the rest of them followed. Pippin tumbled out of their boat first, glad to be on dry land. The shore was covered in dry yellow grasses and dead shrubs, and pine trees towered above it a little further back. The part closest to the water was sandy, and pebbles smoothed by water were scattered about. 

"How come we stopped here, anyway?" Pippin asked, dusting sand off his breaches. 

"We need to decide where to go next," Aragorn answered, "this is the point where the road towards Gondor and the road towards Mordor separate. We can go no further until a decision is made."

That decision came down to Frodo, who didn't look particularly happy to be the one making the choices. Pippin didn't envy him, it was a difficult choice to make. He wondered what he would've done in this situation. 

While Frodo thought, Pippin decided to take a nap. He snuggled up next to Merry, who was having a conversation with Gimli about pipeweed (of course). Merry pulled a blanket out of his bag and tucked it around Pippin, who burrowed in it until only his nose poked out. 

The warmth of Merry and the sound of his voice lulled Pippin to sleep

Sam gently shook the sleeping bundle that was Pippin. He had a bowl of warm soup in one hand. 

"Thank you Sam!" Pippin pulled his blankets away and sat up. "Waking up to a warm meal… that's the only way I ever want to wake up."

Sam chuckled and handed the bowl to Pippin. He ate a bite, and the taste of potato and wild coney was so wonderful after days of eating only lembas that Pippin just had to sit and savour the taste, regardless of his hunger.

"Sam, I love you," Pippin sighed, scooping up another spoonful. 

"Er, thank you Mister Pippin?" Sam blushed deeply.

"Oh, uh, sorry if that sounded odd!" Pippin spluttered, "I meant that you cook so well and it's really nice!" Memories of the embarrassingly large crush Pippin had had on Sam when he was younger came unbidden to his mind, and now he was blushing too. 

"Well, thank you then. I'm glad you like my cooking. Means a lot to me," Sam smiled, still red-faced, and returned to the cooking pot.

"Very smooth, Pip." Merry whispered.

"Shut up," Pippin hissed. "Everyone west of the Brandywine had a crush on him. I have grown out of it, at least. Much too serious for my liking."

Merry giggled and nearly spilled his bowl of soup. 

"Not that you'd know," Pippin said, a bit offended that Merry was laughing at him. "You only like girls who boss you around." He said this last part rather loudly, and several of their friends looked in their direction.

"I'd tackle you, but I'm not willing to spill this delicious soup Sam made over the likes of you."

They finished the rest of their lunch in silence, ignoring the odd looks Legolas kept shooting them, obviously having heard much of their conversation. 

"Hey, where's Frodo?" Pippin asked, noticing suddenly that he was not near.

"Oh, he went off for a bit to think. He is still near enough that Legolas can keep an eye on him. Between you and me, I think he already has his mind made up, he is just stalling because he doesn't want to tell us."

"Merry?" Pippin curled closer to his cousin, feeling small and scared and very unsure. "You don't think he's going to leave us again, do you?"

"Shh, not so loud."

"Why?"

"Well, it's our conspiracy, isn't it?" Merry wrapped his arms around Pippin, pulling him close. He was grinning, but he didn't look all that happy. He stayed silent for a moment, then sighed and looked away. "I… I think he might try to leave again."

"Why? Why would he do that? Why- we followed him all this way, we- Gandalf d- died and we've all gotten hurt so if he leaves- if he leaves us we came all this way for nothing."

"Shh, calm down, Sprout. I prevented him from leaving without us last time; I can do it again."

"But what if he goes without us? What if he gets lonely or hurt and we can't do anything about it?"

Merry squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know. I don't know. We'll find him again. I don't know."

Pippin sat and thought about nights in the Shire, barely a few months ago but it seemed that years had passed. He remembered feeling giddy excitement at being let in on this conspiracy of theirs, and anticipation for the adventure that would inevitably come. He had not been scared Frodo would truly leave without him (more hurt he would leave without telling them) because he trusted in Merry's planning and scheming. And he had been right to. Merry was the smartest hobbit Pippin had ever met. But, brains don't count for much when you are out in the wild among all the dangers of the outside world. 

"Hey, Merry," Pippin sat up suddenly. "Where'd Boromir go?" His round shield leaned against the tree trunk where he had been sitting, but he was nowhere to be found.

"I don't know. Maybe he needed time alone too? I didn't hear him tell Strider he was leaving…"

"Should we tell someone he is gone, just in case? Maybe he forgot. I don't want him to be in trouble."

"Yes." Merry stood up and pulled Pippin with him.

"Strider, did you see Boromir leave?" 

"He went to gather firewood," Aragorn answered. 

"Okay. Thanks." The hobbits went to their spot and sat down again.

Pippin cuddled back up against Merry, he stroked his hair absentmindedly while he stared off, lost in worried thought.

"Something is bothering you," Pippin noticed.

"I don't know. Something doesn't feel right… No, I'm worrying, is all."

Pippin adjusted his blanket so it covered Merry's lap, before using his older cousin as a pillow again.

Suddenly, Legolas gave a yelp. "I can't see Frodo anymore!"

"What?" Gimli asked, peering into the trees.

"He was there and I looked away for a second and now he is gone!"

"No no no no!" Pippin cried, distressed and anxious.

"Strider, he must have run off!" Merry pulled at his curls, and Pippin was worried he would damage his beautiful cinnamon-coloured hair with how hard he was tugging. "He is going to go the rest of the way alone!"

"How do you know?"

"He's my cousin, Strider. I've known him since I was born and this is the exact sort of self-sacrificing thing he always does! He feels guilty that we are here so he's gone off alone but can't he see that he can't go off alone?!"

"We need to find him," Legolas said. 

"Split up?" Gimli suggested.

They did, ignoring Aragorn's shouting in the background. Thoughts raced through Pippin's head as he held on to Merry's hand, running through dead grasses and around tangled brush and weaving through trees. Was Frodo hurt? What if those orcs came back? Was he already gone? 

"Wait," Merry stopped suddenly, and Pippin nearly collided with him. "We- I- I'm so stupid!"

"What?"

"If Frodo wants to go and finish the journey alone, he isn't going to be in the woods," Merry turned around and looked in the direction they came, "he would've gone to the boats. He would've waited for us to leave so he can get to the boats."

That was all it took for them to run back in that direction again. Pippin held on to Merry's hand tight enough that he was probably hurting his cousin, but he was afraid. He was so very afraid. He was afraid Merry would let go. He was afraid Merry would leave too.

Pippin stumbled over a tree root and had little time to recover as they ran on, watching the world pass in blurs of green. 

Merry suddenly shouted and fell backwards, letting go of Pippin's hand. Pippin tumbled away, rolling down the hill they had been running up and falling into dead and drying blackberry brambles. 

"Merry?" He yelped, squirming and batting away the brambles so he could see what was happening. Something grabbed him and lifted him out of the bush, which made the sticks and thorns snap back and scratch his skin. 

He twisted in the grip of whatever held him, trying to look around. He could hear Merry scream his name. Towards the center of the hill, he saw his cousin, surrounded by large orcs. They were taller than any Pippin had ever seen before, and they had a handprint upon their heads made with white chalk. 

Pippin realized with a sinking feeling that he was being held by an orc.

"Pippin! Pippin!" Merry screamed. He had managed to slip out of his captors' hold and was running towards him. Another orc at the bottom of the hill yanked him back by the hood of his cloak, choking off his voice.

Red filled Pippin's vision and rage rose angry-red from his stomach into his chest. How dare they hurt Merry! Pippin let out a furious, desperate scream that hurt his throat and fought the orc holding him as viciously as he could. Adrenaline lent strength and vigour to him and he actually landed a kick on another one of the orcs, who stood in front of him- harsh face twisted in a cruel smirk. 

I'm not strong enough! They're hurting my Merry and I'm not strong enough to save him! Pippin screamed again, loud as he could, in hopes that someone else would find them and save them. 

The orc holding him placed a disgusting, stinking hand over his mouth to silence him. Pippin could see how his tears washed away the dirt and the slime. An idea came to him- one which he was not exactly happy to have- and he bit the orc as hard as he could. Thick caustic liquid filled his mouth ( blood, his brain supplied, blood ) but the orc dropped him, cursing in pain. 

Pippin got to his feet, ignoring the pain of his ankle, which he twisted when he hit the ground, and running towards Merry, pulling out his sword. He retched and choked on the taste of the blood in his mouth, but he never let his cousin leave his sight.

Merry fought just as desperately to get loose as Pippin had, and he landed a few punches that would've knocked a hobbit off their feet but seemed to do nothing to the giant orcs. 

Pippin had never killed anything before. He had barely used his sword outside of training. He stood in front of foes who were easily thrice his size, all with their own weapons. His fury became spoiled by traces of despair.

Then, the most magnificent sound- a horn- came closer and blasted away his despair. Boromir had come to save them!

The man swung his grand sword and took off the head of the orc holding Merry. As soon as Merry was free, he too drew his sword. 

"Boromir! Oh, thank you for coming!" Merry cried in relief as Boromir deflected the weapons of the orcs. He was able to keep most of them away, but they were still surrounded. 

At one point, Pippin's sword was knocked out of his hands, so he had to resort to throwing well-aimed stones at the heads of the orcs. There was not enough force to knock them out, but it stunned them for a time long enough to allow Boromir to finish them off. 

"Watch out!" Merry warned when an orc got particularly close to Pippin. Merry sliced its hand off- a fair punishment, he thought, for trying to touch his little cousin. 

Pippin was stunned as he witnessed how brave Merry and Boromir were. Boromir's sword flashed magnificent silver as it hewed off heads and hands and arms. Black blood adorned the edge like ink on a feather-quill. His cloak bellowed behind him in the movement of the battle. He looked like a hero in the stories of old, like Frodo used to tell.

Merry did not look so majestic or kingly, but his courage could not be denied either. Dirt and blood covered his face and clothing, yet through it all he seemed to shine as bright as the elven brooch upon his cloak. He burned with ambition and fury and- above all- the urge to protect. 

All three of them stood, surrounded by the bodies of their foes and by those alive who approached still. Through the fear and the horror and the pain, Pippin knew suddenly that they were brothers- the three of them. Not by blood or marriage but by the heat of the battle and the bond of camaraderie and the love for eachother they stored in their hearts which acted to shield and protect them. No, they were not brothers by blood, but brothers they were nonetheless.

"I love you," Pippin whispered, compelled suddenly to voice his thoughts aloud, though no word in any language that has or will exist could put into words what he really felt.

Boromir and Merry knew what he meant though, because they could feel it in their hearts as well, and repeated his words back to him.

Time slowed as Pippin heard Merry shout something, and then there was the sickening squelch of an arrow piercing deep into skin. Pippin had heard that sound many times while hunting with his da.

He whipped around, a scream already rising in his throat and his heart beating faster and faster squeezing in terror and slowing time and twisting his insides with horror.

Boromir stood swaying, eyes wide and stunned. A black feathered arrow stuck out of his back. Pippin shared a horrified look with Merry. Tears clouded his vision. He was hardly aware of the approaching orcs until Boromir recovered from his shock, panting in pain as he swung his sword to deflect a blow. 

Another arrow hit, this time on Boromir's chest. Pippin cried out, trying to reach him, but a harsh, rough arm grabbed him and hefted him into the air.

Pippin screamed again, reaching for Boromir, reaching for Merry. 

It was too late. Another arrow struck Boromir's chest. He fell to his knees. An orc struck Merry in the head with the butt of his blade, and he slumped over unconscious.

Pippin screamed the loudest, most horrible scream he had ever heard as he watched Merry crumple and Boromir slump to the ground. The scream was a sound that he didn't think could ever come out of anyone- leastways himself. 

Tears and snot streamed down to his face and into his mouth. His vision blurred under his tears.

Weakly, he fought back against the orc who held him. Weakly, he screamed until his voice could no longer produce a sound. 

He watched through blurred vision as Merry was picked up, and as Boromir's body disappeared into the distance. 

Pippin was hyperventilating. His head swam and his vision grew dim and clouded. He could no longer kick or scratch at the orc holding him, only able to slump over pathetically in its arms. His head pounded as he was jostled with each running step the orc took. 

He could barely think anymore beyond the fear and the grief and the horror of what just happened.

Boromir can't be dead! He reasoned with himself, trying to reach a clear thought among the modeled mess that was his mind. He can't die! He can't die too! And it's my fault again. My fault for not being strong enough. My fault for getting captured. He wept, not caring that the orc who carried him jeered and laughed at him. He was too trapped in his thoughts to understand the outside world.

Boromir is dead. He sobbed and cried as he hadn't since he was a faunt. Boromir is dead. No one can survive being hit by that many arrows. Boromir is dead. Merry might be dead too. And now I'm going to die. I hope my family understands why I left. I hope Frodo tells them I died a peaceful death. I don't want them to know what really happened to me.

Chapter Text

Awareness slowly came to Pippin. So did pain. It started with needle-pricks, travelling from his back outwards. Cramping pain followed. It all seemed to center in his wrists and his head.

He was laying on the ground, face down. He felt rough, trampled grass underneath him. Small pebbles stabbed his cheek, his arms, his legs.

Where am I? He wondered. What happened? He felt worn out and exhausted, in the same way he always did when he cried. Why had he been crying? Was someone hurt?

He moaned, trying to turn onto his side. He needed to see where he was. He moved his hand to push himself up, but a sharp pain rubbed against his wrists. I can't move my hands? Why can't I move my hands? There was something around his wrists. Rope.

Everything came rushing back in a terrifying, horrible wave. Orcs, Boromir, arrows, pain, fear.

"Boromir," he sobbed, just a whisper. It hurt his throat. "Merry," he sobbed again. "Merry?"

The floodgates opened. His whole body shook with sobs, only making the pain in his body worse. He couldn't control it. 

He remembered suddenly, the promise he and Boromir had made so long ago. Everything had seemed so much simpler then.

I protect you, and you protect me.

Promise?

Promise.

Pippin wished his hands were free. He wished he were alone. All he wanted was to scream his sorrow into the earth, to rip the grass from the dirt in his frustration till not a root remained. He wished that the world would end here and now so he would not have to endure this anymore. He had broken his promise to Boromir, and Boromir had broken the promise to him. He could not protect Boromir from the black feathered arrows that had dug into his chest, leaving him to die and rot among the ancient trees beyond the river. Boromir could not protect him from the hordes of orcs. Now he was here, at their mercy. He wondered why they hadn't tortured or killed him yet.

Pain, a hard, thudding pain hit him in the side. Pippin yelped, choking on his sob. Large, cruel hands tangled into his hair, lifting him off the ground. He cried out in pain, struggling to move away from his captor, but that only made the orc hit him again.

Pippin squeezed his eyes shut, trembling in fear. He didn't want to see the orc. 

"Please don't- please please," he begged, voice tremoring. "Don't hurt me! Don't- don't- please!"

The hand dropped him. He slammed into the ground, squeaking as the air was knocked out of him. His eyes flew open in shock. 

The face of an orc sneered down at him. Misshapen, yellowed fangs protruded from its mouth. White chalk in the shape of a hand was stamped onto its dirty forehead. Cruel yellow eyes glared. Matted, greasy black hair fell over its shoulders as it leaned down to get a better look at Pippin. 

Pippin whimpered, turning his face away and trying to wriggle down into the muddy earth. The tears had stopped before in his shock, but now they were back, streaming down his face as he shivered and shook and held back sobs. He had never felt so small or insignificant than now, laying on his back beneath an orc that was roughly three times his size.

The orc laughed, its sour breath huffing into his face. Nausea stirred in Pippin's stomach. It churned, threatening to heave. He wished he were somewhere else. Anywhere else. Dead, even. 

The orc grabbed his hair again and set him on his feet. Pippin felt his stomach heaving, and he bent over, spilling the contents of his stomach on the orc's booted feet. Very little came out. It was only foamy, bitter stomach acid.

The orc growled and slapped him. Pippin fell limp to the ground, not even crying out. He felt like- foolishly- if he stayed still, the orc would leave him. All the orcs in this camp would leave him, maybe. 

He was wrenched up again, and the orc held a bottle of black liquid. Pippin clamped his mouth shut as the orc tried to get him to drink it. He would not let himself be poisoned. 

"Open your mouth, ya little rat," the orc demanded in a rough, tearing voice. It punched Pippin again, but he had prepared for that and kept his mouth firmly closed. The orc growled and grabbed at him, pinning him to the ground so he couldn't struggle anymore. Then, it pinched two fingers over Pippin's nose, restricting his breathing.

Pippin struggled against the muscled arms which pressed him into the muddy dirt, feeling the clenching dizziness of lack of air. Black spots crowded his vision and his ears rang and he felt he would burst. Finally, he had to gasp in a breath of air, and the mouth of the bottle was forced between his lips, knocking painfully against his teeth. The spicy, caustic liquid poured down his throat. He was forced to swallow it all or risk choking, but still he spluttered and coughed as the drink poured in and he couldn't swallow fast enough. The drink burned as it went down, and his whole body began to feel it was on fire.

The orc finally let go of Pippin and withdrew the bottle. Pippin rolled to his side and took wet, shuddering gasps of breath. Much of the liquid had gone down the wrong way, and now he was coughing and retching. The orc laughed and stood up, walking away.

Pippin let himself cry again, between the choking hacks and rasps that shook his body and squeezed his lungs. His ribs hurt where the orc had held him down, and every movement seemed to antagonise some bruise or scrape he didn't realise he had.

Another orc came and wrenched him painfully up by the arm. Pippin swayed on his feet but didn't dare fall, knowing from experience that the orc would hurt him if he did. With tear-blurry eyes, he tried to take in as much of his surroundings as possible. Orcs of all sizes stretched as far as he could see. Big ones with the white handprint, ones as tall as a man with black armour and red eyes painted on helms and shields, and shorter, skinnier ones like the orcs they had seen in Moria.

Merry, I need to find Merry, Pippin peered between legs and bodies in hopes of finding Merry somewhere among them. Last Pippin saw, Merry had been carried off by one of the tall orcs with the red eye on its breastplate, and his head had been bleeding. 

The orc dragged him forward, pulling his arm so hard he feared it would pop from its socket. He whimpered in pain, a pathetic, small sound- the desperate squeak of a mouse caught in the claws of a cat. Pippin stumbled a few times, nearly falling to the muddy, squashed ground. The orc wouldn't have stopped if he did. It would have continued to drag him.

The crowd of orcs never seemed to thin. No matter how far he was dragged, there was no end to the horde of filthy, unwashed bodies that stunk of death and rot. Pippin was suddenly thrown to his knees, and he had very little time to extend his bound hands to catch himself. 

Pippin was picked up again and set on his feet. Really, this rough handling was going to make him vomit again. The orcs seemed to treat him like a rag doll, dropping him and picking him up whenever they pleased.

Pippin shuddered as the orc in front of him- the leader, he looked like- peered down at him as though he were some unpleasant bug found in the kitchen, one that he could stomp on and extinguish with barely a thought or energy used.

The leader orc talked to a few other orcs in a guttural, grating language. Pippin was shoved off towards another, who was presumably his newly appointed guard. 

Then, the running began. Pippin could not keep up. His legs were too short and his body was too weary. Every time he slowed down, his guard would push him roughly, digging sharp nails into his shoulders or back. His lungs burned and his side ached in horrible cramps. His head felt light from lack of air and his legs burned. Several times, Pippin pitched forward, only to be grabbed around the neck and set back on his feet, gasping around the tight grip. 

The winter sun pounded down on the plains. Sweat poured down Pippin's forehead from the exertion and the heat of the sun, but caused him to shiver when the cool wind blew through. There was no time to think as he ran. He could only feel. Feel the burn of the sun and his muscles.

They stopped once, when the sun began to sink in the sky, and the orcs had an argument that Pippin tried to listen to. From it, he gathered that the group was made up of goblins from the North, orcs from Mordor, and something called Uruk-Hai from Isengard. He also gathered that the leader was named Uglúk, and he had orders from Saruman to deliver the halflings (plural, that meant Merry had to be here!) alive and unspoiled. He wondered what some of this meant, and decided he would have a better idea once he heard more and talked to Merry.

Speaking of Merry, Pippin wondered if he could get his guard to let him see his cousin. Summoning all the courage he could muster, Pippin asked, in a small, trembling voice, "Mister, is the other halfling okay?" He felt stupid as soon as the words left his mouth.

The uruk sneered in a manner which looked far too happy for Pippin's liking and grabbed him, turning him around. Pippin saw that the orc behind him had been carrying his cousin, and had now lain him on the trampled grass.

Merry was still unconscious. The wound on his head had been smeared with something that kept the bleeding down. Pippin dropped to his knees beside his cousin, ignoring the uruk who laughed at him and mocked him.

"Merry?" He whispered, tentatively reaching out bound hands to touch his cheek. Merry was covered in mud and blood. A good amount of the blood was black, but a sickening amount was red. His glasses were gone. Lost somewhere in the woods.

"Merry, please wake up," Pippin pleaded, nudging Merry's shoulder. He did not wake. Pippin was afraid for a moment that he was dead, but he felt a weak, steady pulse at Merry's neck. Relieved tears spilled down his face. He was so happy to see Merry alive.

The march began again. Pippin tried to look back to check on Merry, but every time he did, he would stumble, and he could never catch a good glimpse of Merry anyways. At nightfall, they stopped for a little. The orcs were fighting again, and Merry and Pippin were thrown down on the ground while their guards joined in. Pippin snuggled into Merry's side, watching the center of the fight in fear. Horrible squealing mixed with the shouts, and blood sprayed down to stain the long grasses black. Pippin winced as a spray of it hit his face. 

One of the smaller orcs- a Northerner- fell dead inches from Pippin. He looked at it with wide eyes, watching blood pool out of its chest. A sword was embedded there, the sharp side pointing towards Pippin.

Then, in his mind, Pippin saw an image of Boromir. He had no idea why his mind would conjure up his face at a time like this. Maybe his cruel consciousness wanted to remind him that the man was dead? But somehow, the image gave him strength. He imagined Boromir sitting beside him, speaking to him. What words this imaginary Boromir said, he did not know, but he knew that they were words of courage. Pippin knew what he must do.

Looking around with scared, wide eyes, Pippin made sure that no one was watching him. Thankfully, every orc at the camp who wasn't in the fight was watching it. He crawled forwards, inching towards the body as stealthily as possible. He reached it, finally. The warm, sticky blood seeped from the muddy ground onto his skin and clothes, and he fought the nausea climbing his throat.

Slowly, steadily, he reached out his bound hands and began to saw the rope away using the sword sticking out of the orc's chest. When he was done, he rolled back to Merry's side and looped the ropes so it would appear he was still bound. 

I must be going crazy, Pippin thought to himself as he gave in to the exhaustion, nuzzling his face into Merry's shoulder- still catching the familiar scent of his cousin under the stink of mud and orc blood. I'm seeing ghosts. I'm hallucinating that Boromir is talking to me. He thought he felt a familiar, large warm hand ruffle his curls. It is the wind. I am cracking. And I'm right to do so. After all, what hobbit wouldn't crack after a day like this? I'll be madder than cousin Bilbo at this rate. Seeing ghosts.

Pippin shivered, pulling his cloak around himself and Merry. He laid his head on Merry's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. Tears gathered at his eyes again, and he let them fall, wondering how it was possible for someone to cry so many times in one day.

"Pippin," a raspy whisper. 

Pippin shifted, then whimpered in pain when his bruised body moved. 

"Pip," His eyes opened now, and he saw Merry's blue eyes, dulled in pain, staring half-lidded back at him.

"Mer!" He gasped, joyful tears streaming down his face. "Oh, Merry," that was all he could say. No words were needed, anyways. The bond between the two was stronger than that of brothers, even. Merry could feel his joy just fine.

"I was so worried," Pippin sniffled, leaning into Merry's side as close as he could, as though he were trying to merge himself with his cousin.

"No need to be worried," Merry rasped. His voice sounded painfully dry, and Pippin noticed that his lips were cracked. He needed water.

"But you're hurt."

"Just acting," Merry said, curling closer to Pippin. "Fooled you too." He grinned, but it did not reach his eyes. Pippin realised, with a pang of sorrow, that Merry was lying to him. Lying to make him feel better.

"I'm scared," Pippin admitted. It was the truth, but he also knew that Merry was scared, and he needed something to keep him busy. Merry always did love having someone to protect. 

"I'll keep you safe," Merry promised, kissing Pippin's forehead in the way he used to when he tucked Pippin in at night years and years ago. "Nothing will hurt you. Not when I'm around."

Pippin didn't tell him that they had already hurt him. 

"They're taking us to Isengard," Pippin whispered. Merry had heard none of their plans earlier. Merry was always the smart one. He came up with ways to get them out of trouble all the time back home. Maybe he could do it now. "The ones with the white hands are from there. The leader- Uglúk- says we are to be brought alive and unspoiled. They say we have an elvish weapon. What would they do to us if we had it?" 

"Shhh. Think what they will do when they find out we don't."

Pippin shuddered. He couldn't think of anything they would do. He had grown up sheltered to all the ways of the world. He had never been told what sort of horrible things orcs did to their victims. The only reference he had was the way they had kicked and punched him. Somehow, he felt there were much worse things than that.

"Merry?"

"Yes, Sprout?"

"Do you think anyone is coming for us?"

Merry paused. Pippin could see the hesitance dancing in his eyes. He was pondering whether to tell Pippin the truth, or the nice answer.

"You don't think so," Pippin wanted the truth.

"I'm sorry, Pip," Merry sighed. He looked far older than he was, for a moment. It was like all the stress he had carried, all the things he had kept from Pippin to protect him, were weighing on his shoulders and bringing lines to his face. "I don't know if anyone is coming. I don't even know if anyone else is alive."

Pippin shuddered a sob, keeping quiet as possible. The thought of Frodo, Sam, Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas- the thought of them with orc arrows buried in their chests and looks of regret on their faces filled his mind. Were they all lying dead now, like Boromir? Was their mission failed? 

"Pip, Pippin, listen to me," Merry gently wrapped his bound arms around Pippin, drawing him close. "When- if we get to Isengard- Pippin, they will do horrible things to us to make us confess. If we get there, you have to promise me," Pippin thought he saw the shine of a tear make its way down Merry's cheek. "We will have to take our lives."

"I can't!" Pippin gasped, struggling closer to Merry, trying desperately to attach himself to his cousin- the only person left in the world who he could love right now. "I'll be so scared, I will mess up!"

"Then you'll have to trust me," Merry choked down a sob, "to do it for you."

Pippin nodded, holding back anguished cries, angry and sad that his poor Merry would ever have to even think about doing such a thing to him. 

Maybe he imagined it, but it felt like Merry was crying too.

Chapter Text

Fog hung low over the ground. The day was horribly cold, and horribly wet, and Pippin would've likely been complaining about it had he been in more pleasant company, but at present he did not risk it. Some of the Mordor orcs did though (Pippin supposed any climate was cold compared to the volcanoes of Mordor) and they were silenced quickly by means of a good slap and, if that didn't work, a quick swish of a whip. Pippin was significantly happier than he had been yesterday (which really meant that he was a little less hopeless in his misery) because he could see Merry every once in a while. They had been given only a small amount of time to sleep (and neither had been able to sleep at all) and nothing in the way of food or drink except the orc's draught, but Merry was walking, and that was all Pippin needed to know. 

They were still bound, and Merry walked with a noticeable stumble, but he never fell. Not once. Pippin wished that were the case for him, but it was difficult not to slip on the wet grass or stumble over your feet when you are running with your hands tied. 

Pippin had been thinking of ways to escape all day. Last night, he heard Merry crying. He knew his cousin was thinking about what would happen to them when- if - they got to Isengard, and what he would have to do. Pippin certainly didn't want to die, but he even less wanted Merry to have to be the one to do it. 

Pippin had tried to keep himself from crying, but it was getting hard to hold back tears. He kept thinking about Boromir: the fear and regret and sorrow in his eyes, the limp fall of his body, the crimson blood- far too much of it- staining the tree trunk and fallen leaves. He thought of Merry: the tired stumble of his gait, the strain of his grin, the gash on his forehead, the dull pain in his eyes as he made Pippin promise he would let Merry take his life. A sob burst forth from his chest, and he gasped for breath, trying to run while keeping the tears from falling and his throat closed against the sobbing.

It was too late, a strangled gasp escaped, and then the tears. His vision blurred under them. His guard laughed at him, mocking him in his own grating, evil tongue. Pippin's face burned in shame, but he tried to ignore the uruk. 

Eventually, he got himself under control and stopped crying. He could see again, though not well because the fog was denser now. 

I wonder if anyone is looking for us, Pippin thought. Aragorn is. Pippin wondered where that thought had come from. He had never called Aragorn his real name, not even in his thoughts. He was always Strider to Pippin. 

The same thing that had happened last night occurred again: Pippin felt as though there were someone else with him. A comforting presence. Boromir.

I'm exhausted, is all. I'm scared and hurt and grieving. 

Just relax, his body felt warmer. Like he was being hugged by a warm wind. A familiar scent of metal and leather lingered for a moment, and then was gone.

It didn't matter if he was crazy or not. Whatever it was, real or imagined, it comforted him. It made him feel braver. 

I need to make some sort of track, Pippin thought. So anyone who might be following knows we are alive. A feeling of approval seemed to wash over him. 

The fog is pretty dense. I can make a run for it. Leave a track that won't get trampled by all these orcs.

Pippin watched his guard closely. After a bit, he seemed to get distracted, and Pippin darted off fast as he was able to the side. One of the orcs shouted, and Pippin pushed himself further, straining his lungs, his muscles. The orc behind him was quickly gaining on him, and Pippin realized that the path he left would be trampled under the orc's boots. Thinking quickly, he tore off the clasp of his cloak with shaking fingers and let it fall to the ground. I don't suppose I shall ever see that again, but I hope someone will find it.

Pippin couldn't stop his surprised scream when large arms roughly grabbed him, holding him far too tightly. 

He was then pushed to the ground. He braced himself for whatever pain would come, trying to curl in on himself. Maybe if he made himself small enough he would disappear. Distantly, he could hear Merry shouting. He'd be horribly angry with Pippin, of course, for putting himself in danger so foolishly, but Pippin didn't care. He had seen his chance and taken it, and they may not get another.

The uruk standing above Pippin drew out a whip. Pippin trembled, covering his face with his arms. A single moment that seemed to take forever passed, and then a loud smack echoed across the plains, and sharp, hot pain seared up the back of Pippin's legs. He screamed a short, shrill scream before he was hit again. It hurt more horribly than anything he had ever felt. Even more than all the broken bones he had ever gotten. 

A hand gripped his upper arm and pulled him up, dragging him back to the group of orcs. Pippin could not move his legs. The pain paralysed him. His captor ended up half-carrying half-dragging him the whole way.

"Pippin! Pippin!" Merry yelled, voice hoarse with distress. Pippin lolled his head to look at him, tried to manage a smile. Merry saw through this immediately, mostly because Pippin's "smile" more closely resembled a pained grimace, and because he was crying. The uruk dropped Pippin back to his feet. He stumbled and swayed, trying to stay upright. He apparently wasn't moving fast enough, because the uruk kicked the back of his legs right where the whip had struck. 

The agony was too much. Pippin couldn't catch himself as he hurtled to the ground. Mud from the bottom of the orc's boot had dug into his wound. Pippin heaved, his body so awash with pain that it tried to make him vomit. He had nothing in his stomach.

His guard kicked him again- on the stomach, this time- but Pippin did not stand up or move. He lay shaking and crying in the muddy grass, oblivious to the kicks and to Merry's alarmed shouting as darkness slowly filled his sight. For a moment, he thought he saw Boromir, and he smiled, wondering when the man had gotten here. And hadn't he been dead? The darkness covered him like a warm woolen blanket, softening the edges of the grass blades until he could see them no longer. The uruk was forced to pick him up and run holding his limp body.

The orcs ran further, oblivious to the shiny elven cloak clasp that lay in the grass meters from their trail, beside a little splash of bright red blood.

"Pippin? Pip?" A soft, distant voice slowly entered the dark. 

Pippin tried to tune it out, to push it away. He was quite comfortable sleeping here, thank you very much, and he could think of no reason why anyone should need to wake him. Unfortunately, the voice could not hear his thoughts and continued its aggravating mission to rouse him from his slumber. 

"Pippin, wake up. Pip!" The voice was clearer now- louder- less lost in the haze. 

The comforting embrace of sleep began to fade, and with the fading of the haze the pain grew. Pippin must've made some kind of noise when the pain came on, because someone began to shake him. 

"Ow!" He groaned. A burning sensation began to spread from his legs, and his muscles began to ache. He could hear more sounds now, beyond that nagging insistent voice. The sound of someone sharpening a blade, the sound of loud arguing in a rough language, and then some that sounded like Westron but was too far away to hear well. 

"Pippin, please."

Pippin opened heavy eyelids, and there above him was Merry, his curls sprung about his head like a crown and lit from behind by moonlight.

"Mer…" Pippin tried to make his mouth work. He was exhausted. Every bone in his body seemed to have been whittled down with weariness and he had to fight against his body's want to sink into sleep again.

Merry gave Pippin what he must have thought was a stern look, but the worry swimming in his eyes greatly lessened the effect, "What were you thinking, running off like that? You could've been hurt. You did get hurt!" He hissed.

"Shut up!" One of the orcs shouted at them. A grabbed Merry by the back of the cloak as though he weighed nothing and tossed him away from Pippin as one might toss a cat. Merry, however, was not a cat and neither enjoyed such treatment nor was able to land on his feet and rather crumpled into a ball.

Pippin was just glad they didn't take Merry away to the other side of the camp. The uruk watched over them closely for some time before seeming to get bored and turning its attentions elsewhere. Pippin slowly inched his way closer to Merry. He couldn't sleep if he didn't have someone next to him, especially when he was so scared and cold as he was now. He had gotten used to sleeping in the hobbitpile, as Boromir had named it, and he wondered if he would ever be able to sleep separately from his friends again.

Pippin finally got close enough that he could snuggle into Merry's side, accidentally drawing forth a hiss of pain from his cousin. 

"Sorry," he muttered.

"'s'okay," Merry breathed out. "Just sleep."

Pippin couldn't sleep. Merry had attempted to stay awake so he could watch over Pippin, but he fell into a deep, exhausted sleep from which he would be difficult to rouse. 

Pippin shivered in the chilly night air. He could not see the stars. The fog hung too low and heavy for their light to shine through. 

An argument broke out on the other side of the camp again. Their guards were distracted.

Pippin glanced at one of the nearby orcs. It was watching the fight with delighted eyes. Pippin noticed that his sword- the one he had gotten from the barrow downs- hung on its belt. He wondered if he could steal it back and free himself and Merry.

He carefully unwrapped himself from Merry, making sure not to jostle him. Poor Merry needed sleep, and badly. Pippin didn't want to worry him overmuch either. Already, Merry had to deal with the fact that he would have to kill them both should they be taken to Isengard. He had too much on his mind, and Pippin would not add more.

He rolled towards the orc, stopping to take in his surroundings to make sure no one noticed him. Luckily, he was small, and the elven cloak hid him well. He listened in on whatever the orcs were fighting about, and he shuddered when he realised that the smaller orcs were arguing with the uruks about how they should be allowed to eat he and Merry. He shivered in fear, hoping against hope that the smaller orcs lost this fight. Maybe death would not be so bad, but to suffer it at the hands of orcs- and to be eaten- he would not wish to die that way.

Pippin shook his head, focusing on the task at hand. They wouldn't have to die if he succeeded in this escape attempt.

He moved forward, paused, looked around, moved forward again. Finally, the dagger was within his reach. He flattened to his stomach so he could reach out his bound hands towards the dagger. 

He had been an amazing pickpocket as a child. He only ever stole from the older boys or his sisters and he tended to give whatever he took back. However, he had never pickpocketed anyone with his hands tied.

He accidentally pulled the dagger down and out, tugging the belt it hung on. Before he could realise his mistake, a hand grabbed his ankle and he was held upside down, a surprised shriek leaving his mouth. 

Pippin hung uselessly in the orc's grip. It's claws dug into the whip marks on his leg, drawing new blood to drip warm and sticky up his calf. Pippin trembled, wishing that he had just stayed with Merry and tried harder to sleep.

Pippin curled against Merry's side, sniffling and trying to keep quiet. He really didn't want to wake his cousin. 

The orc had hurt him horribly. He struggled to breath with bruised ribs from the force of being kicked. A few burns lined his chest and stomach where the orc had hit him with heated metal. 

More than the pain though, he was terrified. The orc had told him all about what they would do to him and Merry when they got to Isengard. Pippin was so afraid of the threats. He had never heard of most of the things, and he could not even imagine how someone, even an orc, could do such awful things. Pippin was almost glad that Uglúk was here, because he killed the orc that was hurting Pippin and reminded all the others that "the halflings are not to be used for sport". Then, he had deposited Pippin right back at his spot beside Merry before going off to break up another fight in some other part of the camp.

Pippin finally fell asleep, but he was plagued by nightmares of orcs, of Boromir and arrows, of Gandalf and fire. His nightmares always had fire.

The full extent of the events of this night were something Pippin never told anyone but Merry. He never wanted to burden Frodo with the knowledge of what could have happened. Instead, he would lie to Frodo that he had been asleep that night. When Frodo saw the burn marks, he would brush it off, say they came from an accident while trying to build a fire. But when Merry asked, he would tell the truth, sob into his shoulder and ask how could someone be so cruel? How could someone look at someone else and say those things?

Merry would never have an answer

Chapter Text

Pippin was delighted. Well, delighted as one could be under the circumstances. Last night, when Merry had woken, he had heard the orcs talking about an army of human men gaining on them. Merry quickly whispered this to Pippin before they were pulled off in opposite directions to begin the run to Isengard again. Merry said the men rode horses, and we're gaining on them quite quickly. 

Because of the added threat of the riders, their guards were carrying them today. They were not fast enough to run alongside the faster pace Uglúk had set, and Pippin couldn't be trusted not to attempt an escape again. In fact, Uglúk had ordered that Pippin's legs be tied too, something which both scared Pippin but also made him a little proud. He was dangerous enough that the orcs thought he needed his legs tied together. That was certainly something to be proud of.

Pippin watched the golden grasses rush by as he was jostled in the hold of the uruk. A forest had emerged from the hills and stood grand and mossy and sprawling to their right. 

The presence he kept feeling returned, and Pippin wondered again whether he was going mad, or whether Boromir was actually here somehow, or a part of him, at least. A warm wind that seemed full of care and apology and worry ruffled his hair and clothing for a moment. 

I'm alright, Pippin thought, and the presence seemed to disappear, leaving behind a warmth that made him smile. 

Pippin remembered a day that seemed so long ago, when the fellowship had first set out from Rivendell. He remembered the game of Rathers they played together, and how Boromir had said that he wanted to be a ghost when he died. Pippin wondered if some god had heard him and allowed it to be so. 

Hours passed. Pippin was feeling well and truly sick from the jostling sprint the orcs had set, but he was glad now that at least he himself didn't have to run. Pippin kept looking back to see if he could catch a glance of the army of men that was following them, but he could see nothing. Whoever the army was, they were far behind. Still, it would not be hard for them to follow the trail. All behind the orcs was a trail of flattened grass and mushed up mud.

Night soon came, and the orcs stopped, throwing he and Merry on the ground as they went to set up camp. The orcs broke branches from the trees of the great forest they stopped near, and they built bonfires around the perimeter of the camp. Several of the orcs looked prepared to go to battle. 

"That's Fangorn Forest," Merry whispered. The firelight danced in his eyes as he watched the orcs chop branches off trees for firewood.

"What's Fangorn Forest?"

"It's the forest Lady Galadriel told us all to be wary of. I don't know what about this forest scares the elves, but I don't want to find out."

"Me neither."

The orcs were ignoring the two hobbits in favour of arguing amongst themselves on how best to deal with the men. They were watched enough that they could not just slip away into the night, but not so closely that the orcs would separate them for talking. 

"What if it's like the Old Forest and the trees come alive?" Pippin asked, suddenly remembering the horrible claustrophobic crush of being trapped by Old Man Willow.

"Hopefully they attack the orcs who tore off their branches rather than us two."

A pause.

"Are you afraid?" Pippin asked.

"I- whatd'you mean?"

"I'm afraid. All those men you heard about- what if they die? I don't wanna see any more people die because of me-" Pippins voice broke off as he stifled a sob.

"Pip, no one has died because of you."

"But Gandalf- when I threw the rock down the well- and Boromir- and we don't even know who else is alive still and- and if those men die I won't be able to take it any more, Merry!" Pippin dissolved into tears. He hated this. He hated how often he was crying and how much guilt lay upon him. He hated how small and weak and useless he felt. He wished he were tall like Aragorn, and strong like Boromir, and smart like Merry. He wished he were anything other than Pippin.

"Oh Pip," Merry cried now too, reaching up bound hands to wipe Pippin's tears away. "No one died because of you. Gandalf died because of that horrible demon. Boromir died because of these orcs. You didn't kill them."

"Then why do I hurt so much? Why do I feel like I did?"

"I don't know. I don't know. All I know is that the men are here to get rid of these orcs and to save us. If they die they don't die because of us, but because they were brave enough to put their lives in danger to protect others."

"They shouldn't have to."

"I know. I wish they didn't."

Pippin must have fallen asleep. When he woke, I was dark. Bonfires blazed about the field, and the shadowed figures of orcs stood near them, peering out into the darkness of the night. 

Pippin realised he had been leaning against Merry. Merry was awake, squinting as he tried to survey their surroundings. Pippin noticed suddenly that Merry's glasses were gone. When had that happened?

"Can you see?" Pippin asked.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, you don't have your glasses anymore."

"I haven't had them for a few days now. I can see well enough… just not anything small or far away."

"You'll give yourself a headache."

"No I won't."

"Merry, my eyes are perfectly fine and yours are not. If anyone should focus on seeing things, it should be me. You can focus on thinking up plans. Unless, of course, you think I'd be better suited for thinking up plans."

"No, no, I will 'think up' plans. You can go on looking," Merry closed his eyes. The pained scrunch of his eyebrows smoothed out and he sighed in relief when he closed his eyes, no longer needing to strain to see. 

Pippin grinned, feeling quite smug and proud of himself for getting Merry to relent. Merry sure was stubborn, being a Brandybuck and all, but Pippin had known him long enough to know how to make him think something was a good idea. 

A moment later, a sound that haunted Pippin's nightmares came from somewhere in front of them: the clang of a bowstring and the whizz of an arrow. One of the orcs fell, and shouting came both from their camp and from some invisible army hiding out in the shadows of the night.

"The men are attacking!" Pippin rejoiced.

"We need to get out of the way so they don't get us on accident," Merry urged. "We can escape during the chaos of the fight."

"Alrighty," Pippin undid the loose knot on his wrists.

"What? How-"

"I cut the knots on a dead orc's knife a few days ago. I looped the rope back over so it would look like I was still tied. Thought it would come in handy."

"You amaze me, Pip. You've really grown up," Merry praised him as Pippin untied the knots around his wrist, and then freed his own ankles. 

Now, there was shouting all over the field. The stomp of running horses rolled through the ground like thunder. Merry and Pippin ran through the fray, hiding in the long grasses and using their small size and elven cloaks to conceal themselves further. Through it all, they held eachother's hands in a tight grip, afraid that letting go would mean losing the other. 

"Where do we go?" Pippin asked. All round them was chaos. They could easily be hurt under the legs of horse or orc.

"The forest! To the forest!" Merry did not sound as though he was pleased by this idea, even though it was his own, but it was the only place they could hide without being trampled. 

They were nearly under the cover of gnarled branches when Merry was suddenly ripped out of Pippin's grasp with a shout. Pippin turned to see the orc, Grishnákh, holding his cousin. 

"Let him go! Let him go!" Pippin shouted, kicking at the orc. Rage blinded him, and he could not see the punch Grishnákh threw at him until I was too late. He gasped in pain as his chest was hit and he collapsed on the ground, wheezing. Grishnákh picked him up too and carried them a little ways into the forest, where he sat them down and began to search them. Pipin tried to squirm away, but it was useless. He tied their arms and legs again, and Pippin nearly sobbed with defeat.

"Well, my little ones," Grishnákh whispered in a slimy voice. Pippin gritted his teeth in anger. Boromir used to call them little ones, and to hear it now in the voice of their captor disgusted him. "You shouldn't meddle in affairs that are too big for you," the orc's fingers slithered down to undo their shirt buttons.

Suddenly, Pippin had a thought- Grishnákh knew about the ring! That is why he is searching us! Everyone else is busy, and he intends to steal it for himself! 

"You won't find it that way," Pippin tried to put confidence into his voice. Merry shot him a confused look. "It isn't easy to find."

"Find what?" A cold fire came into Grishnákh's eyes. "What are you talking about, little one?" He let go of Merry and grabbed Pippin's shoulders, digging his claws in cruelly and shaking him. He leaned in closer, breathing his foul breath onto Pippin's face.

Pippin squeezed his eyes shut, willing confidence to come back. A stupid idea came into his head. In fact, it was the stupidest idea he had ever thought of, which is saying a lot considering many of Pippin's ideas were quite stupid. However, he wondered if it might work. So, he tried it out. Remembering the way Bilbo used to tell his stories, and then Frodo afterwards, he made a noise in his throat: gollum gollum. Then, in a raspy voice, he added, "Nothing, my precious."

"Oh," Grishnákh hissed, "that's what you mean."

A look of understanding crossed Merry's face, then, a hint of a smile, "Perhaps. Do you want it, or not? And what would you give for it?" Pippin was very glad that Merry caught on, because in truth he had no idea what he was going to say next if Merry hadn't stepped in.

"What do you mean?" Grishnákh growled, taking a hand off Pippin's shoulder and wrapping it around Merry's arm now. 

"We mean,'' Pippin said, "that it's no good searching us for it. If you untie our legs, we could save you the time and trouble."

"Little fool," Grishnákh snarled. "You think I am some kind of idiot? Everything you have and everything you know will be got out of you sometime. Everything! You'll wish you knew more to satisfy the Questioner!"

"But don't you know," Merry started, "No matter who you bring us to, it won't be you who wins. You won't ever get your hands on it, will you? No, someone else will have it: Saruman, Uglúk. But never you." 

"Which of you has it?" Grishnákh shook them.

"Gollum. Gollum," Pippin gollumed. 

"Untie us, and we will tell you."

Grishnákh paused. Indecision danced in his eyes for a moment. Then, he untied the two hobbits. 

"Now give it to me," Grishnákh growled.

"Nope!" Pippin chimed. 

Then they ran away. Grishnákh moved to follow, but the whizz of an arrow stopped him. Pippin winced at the sound of the arrow hitting the orc.

He and Merry disappeared into the woods before orc or man could find them, hoping to wait out the battle within the safety of the trees.

The forest was old. Moss grew on the bark of the trees and hung like curtains from the branches. The soil beneath their weary feet was soft and dark and smelled of rain and mycelium. The trees around them creaked, like some ancient language known only to growing things. Roots travelled above-ground and below, twisting a maze through the forest floor. 

Something about the air was heavy, but not heavy-sweet like the air had been near Old Man Willow. That air was honey. It had dripped and drizzled slow as sap down the willow, pooled into the water below it. It had made the hobbits slow and susceptible to the willow's tricks. This air was heavy, but it did not hold any ill will over the two hobbits. It felt dangerous, sure, but it was not a danger to them now. It was only a warning.

"Look, a creek!" Merry exclaimed. Pippin followed Merry to the creek. The promise of water after so long hurried his feet.

They drank heartily from the clear, cold water. It felt better than anything Pippin had ever felt before. If I could stay here drinking this water for the rest of my life, I would, he thought to himself, scooping up another handful.

"The only thing better than this," Merry sighed, leaning back on his elbows, "would be a nice meal. Roast chicken with sage, cheese and pickles, those berry tarts your mom makes… mmm and to top it all off, a nice tall glass of beer at the Green Dragon."

"Now, Merry, this is torture!" Pippin cried, throwing himself dramatically onto the ground. "I should've just stayed with the orcs. They wouldn't be bringing up food we can't have."

"Hey, I'm allowed to dream," Merry pouted. 

"Well, we've got food here, anyways," Pippin sat up.

"What food?" Merry asked, hope in his voice.

Pippin shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a slightly smushed but still very much good to eat…

Pocket pemmican.

Merry groaned as Pippin giggled, shoving the pemmican in his face.

"Now now, it's not as good as my ma's cooking, but I assure you, dear cousin, that it is very much FDA approved."

"What's the FDA?"

"I don't know, forget I said anything. Just eat the pocket pemmican!"

"No, I'd rather starve," Merry said. Pippin giggled again and returned the ball of meat to his pocket.

"Let's have a bath. I feel filthy," Merry suggested, pulling his shirt over his head.

"But what if it's cold?" Pippin whined, "I don't want a cold bath."

"I don't want a cousin who smells like orcs. Besides, the sun is coming up. We can even wash our clothes."

Pippin grumbled, but he shed his clothes and leapt into the creek. It was not long before he was gleefully splashing, singing, and dunking Merry underwater.

"Alright, alright! Stop splashing for one second!" Merry held up his hands in surrender. However, Pippin was intent on demonstrating his complete inability to listen to anyone, and kept on splashing.

"We need to actually get clean so our wounds don't don't infected!" Merry shouted over the splashing, singing, and general loud ruckus of his cousin.

When Pippin finally tired himself out, which wasn't long considering the ordeal of the past few days, Merry made sure to scrub Pippin's curls, getting every last bit of dirt out. He still had a sliver of soap in his pocket to use in case of emergencies (courtesy of Sam, who always knew what was most important during an emergency. Pippin lost his emergency soap only minutes after being given it when he dropped it in mud). 

Pippin scrubbed Merry's curls far less thoroughly, and then they each took a look at all the hurts they had taken during their captivity. Merry had a few bruises, some scrapes, and a nasty cut on his forehead. Pippin had whip marks, bruises, burns, and many cuts. 

"Oh Pippin," Merry washed his shirt to use as a washcloth. "I wish I could've protected you."

"It's okay," Pippin tried to comfort him. "It didn't hurt too bad."

"It's not okay, I watched them whip you and I couldn't do anything! And who knows what they did to you when I was out!"

"Merry, it's okay, really!"

"No," Merry rubbed his eyes with his hand. He was crying. "I promised Frodo I wouldn't let you get hurt."

"Oh Merry-"

"I don't know where he is- or if he's even- Frodo didn't want you to go at all, but I just couldn't leave you, so I begged him to let you come with us, and I promised I wouldn't let you get hurt. I was so selfish to bring you along. And now look what's happened!"

"I broke my promise to Boromir," Pippin said softly. "We promised we would protect each other, no matter what. It was a stupid promise to make. Neither of us could control what happened. You couldn't control what happened. You didn't let me get hurt. You fought against those orcs with everything you had, but there were too many and they were too strong and that isn't your fault!"

Merry hugged him. They cried together in the cold water of the creek, whispering apologies and talking about everything that happened. Eventually, their wounds and clothes were washed and dried, and they set out again, feeling much better and much lighter than they had before.

Chapter Text

"I don't suppose you know where we are going?" Pippin asked as they trudged their way through thick undergrowth and over roots.

"Well, I know we are in Fangorn Forest, and that Isengard," Merry pointed to their left, "is that way, but I don't think I care to go there at the moment. Actually, I was hoping we could climb up that hill and get a better view of where we are."

"I can climb that tree," Pippin suggested. "That way, we can see even further."

They started up the hill. It was quite a large hill, and at times the ground was covered only in fine dirt, causing them to slip. They stuck to walking on roots and rocks instead, as they weren't likely to slip on those. Soon, the soft dirt transformed into pebbles, then larger stones, and then finally a stony wall. Whether natural or made, there seemed to be almost a stairway carved through the rock leading up to the old tree.

"Look," Pippin panted, "it's like that old apple tree that grows near Bag End! You know, the one that looked as though it had a face!" Pippin was right. The tree was quite gnarled and it was easy to see shapes in the twisting turns of the bark.

Finally, they reached the shelf at the top of the hill and stood looking out over the sea of trees below them. The air was cool and much lighter here, and they found they could breath with more ease than before. 

"It looks like we've come much further into the forest than I thought," Merry pointed out. Indeed, they had been walking all morning and the edge of the forest was far away. Near the fringe of the forest, black curls of smoke drifted into the air.

"Wonder what that is," Pippin pointed at the smoke. 

"I don't know, but it's coming from where the battle was. Maybe one of those bonfires got out of control." 

"I'll climb up and see what I can see," Pippin suggested. Merry boosted him onto one of the lower branches of the gnarled old tree and from there he scrabbled up higher, stopping a few times to look out over the forest and at its edges. The tree was sturdy, and the gnarled bark was easy to grip with his hands. He stopped and looked up at the sky. Though it was sunny and clear here, dark clouds cloaked the horizon, dark and puffy and promising a storm.

"It looks like it's going to rain soon," he called down to Merry. "The sun's already disappearing behind the clouds. What a pity, it was nice when the sun was out. I was beginning to like this horrid old forest."

" Almost felt you liked it!" A deep rumbling voice came from right beside Pippin. He could feel the rumble too, moving under his body. "How kind of you."

Pippin screamed and nearly let go of the branch, while Merry turned around quickly, a look of horror on his face.

"Now," the deep voice thundered like the sound of a falling tree, "do let me get a look at the both of you. I am almost certain that I dislike you both, but do not let us be hasty!"

A gnarled branch wrapped around each hobbit's waist and lifted them up, until they were looking at the tree. Pippin had been very right that the tree looked like a person, and it now looked even more so. The face of an old man was molded into the curve of the bark, with a mossy beard, a long stick-nose, and two gleaming green-gold eyes peering at the two with a mixture of hostility and curiosity. The eyes seemed filled with the toil and age of years, like the rings of a tree stump. 

"The tree is talking!" Pippin shouted the obvious. He kicked and scrambled to get away but the branch only squeezed him tighter. 

"I am not a tree," the tree rumbled, clearly offended. "I am an Ent… Hrum hoom, it is a good thing I was not too hasty. If I had seen you before I heard you, I would have taken you for orcs and stomped you under my roots. Hoom, very nice voices you have- high and clear. They remind me of something that I cannot recall," the ent drifted off into thought for a moment.

"Um, Mister Ent sir," Pippin squeaked, "who are you, and what are you, and would you please let us go?"

"I am an ent," he answered, as though that really answered anything at all.

There was a silence before Merry spoke, "well, pardon us, but I don't think either of us has met an ent before, and we aren't quite sure what that means."

"Root and twig, what strange little creatures you are. I am an ent, or rather perhaps I am the ent. Fangorn is my name to some, and Treebeard to others."

"What do you call yourself?" Merry asked, "and you still haven't described what exactly an ent is." Merry was beginning to become visibly frustrated by the slow non-answers the ent was giving them.

"Hoo now!" The ent cried, "not so hasty! After all, it is you who are in my country. Who then are you? And what?"

"We're hobbits," Merry huffed. "Or halflings, but we don't like being called that so much. My name is Meriadoc Brandybuck, though you can call me Merry, and this is my cousin Peregrin Took, or Pippin, as he prefers."

"Hmm, hobbits, and with many other names too… I have not heard of hobbits before. You must not be in the Old Lists. I will have to make a New List, then."

"Lists?"

"Yes. Lists of all that is living…" Treebeard then began to sing a poem, several times seeming to forget the words and hum along before starting up again. The sound was rather nice, Pippin thought. Merry, however, was more annoyed than anything and really rather itching to be set down.

"Well, add hobbits to the list then," Merry said, "and then do kindly put us down!"

"Very hasty," Treebeard rumbled.

"Maybe," said Pippin, who was quite coming to like Treebeard, "but I think every small thing is. Hummingbirds are lots faster than ponies because they are so much littler. Maybe we seem hasty because we are much littler than you."

Treebeard seemed to think about that for a moment or two, with much hroom-ing and hrum-ing, before he decided it was a perfectly acceptable answer. 

"Anyways, we still don't know what an ent is," Pippin continued, trying not to be too hasty, but finding it difficult with all the questions he had bouncing around his head.

"An ent is…" Treebeard looked off, as though he weren't sure how to explain it. "An ent is a tree-herder. An ent shepherds the trees and cares for the forest. Yes, that is what an ent is, and what an ent does."

"Do all trees move like you do?" Pippin asked.

"Well, I am an ent. Not a tree. And the trees are not ents."

"Are there other ents?"

"Hroom, yes. Many others. Although some have become tree-ish."

"Well," Merry said, "this is all very nice but would you please let us down? Hobbits don't particularly enjoy being held up in the air."

Treebeard bent and gently placed them on the ground. Merry's face turned less pale, and he took a shaky breath, "Thank you. My cousin here enjoys climbing things, but I rather enjoy being safely on the ground where I won't fall to my death."

"Now," Treebeard straightened up again, and ran a hand through his mossy beard, "where was I… ah, what are you hobbits doing in this forest? Not many come here, not of late at least. Ah, but I have no manners. You must be weary. We will talk on the way," with that he scooped them up again- ignoring Merry's cry of protest and not bothering to tell them where this way was- and walked off through the forest.

Pippin learned quite a bit about Ents and trees and all sorts of other things. Treebeard was very kind about answering all his questions. As they walked, Pippin chattered away from his spot perched on Treebeard's shoulder. Merry thought the sight reminded him quite a bit of a songbird chirping as it hopped from twig to twig, in search of the coming spring.

Treebeard walked through the day, singing slow rumbling songs and telling them about the entwives and the entings. Pippin felt a pang of some ancient, incomprehensible sadness as Treebeard sang of the lost entwives. It was not something he would ever understand, but for a moment the deep sorrow filled his body, his blood, his bones, and then was gone, leaving behind only an echo of primeval mourning.

Pippin and Merry told Treebeard about the Shire, and the sadness Pippin felt then did not disperse. He wondered how the Shire would look now, silver-green with frost and yellowed with hay. The Smials would smell of apples and cinnamon and sticky buns. Ma would be knitting blankets for Pearl's baby- the baby that was probably born now, he realized- Da would be relaxed with fewer papers to sign and he would stretch out by the fire and snore in his sleep. His nephews would be running about, squealing with glee at the snow and the games they played. The sheep would be puffy as clouds, safe in the warmth of their wool and the barns.

He really missed home.

As the sun sank low in the great cerulean sky, Treebeard stopped in a clearing where a great stone table and bench sat. Upon the table, jars and pots that were almost as big as the hobbits lay about or stood up, all filled with water. A bed of soft cushiony moss covered the roots of an enormous tree. The ent set them down on the bed, and Merry breathed in a shaky gasp of relief to feel the ground beneath his feet again. 

The moss was soft, and cushioned like a feather bed. Pippin yawned as he sank against it. Merry laid beside him, yawning as well.

"Sleep," Treebeard said, his voice softening from a booming rumble to a gentle creak. 

"What about you?" Pippin asked.

"I can sleep standing," Treebeard assured him.

"Thank you," Pippin muttered, eyes falling heavy with sleep, "for taking us here. And for not crushing us earlier."

"You are most welcome."

Pippin curled into Merry's side, burying his face in his cousin's chest and breathing in his familiar smell. Merry wrapped his arms around him, and tucked him under both their cloaks. They fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, feeling completely safe for the first time since they left Lothlórien.

He was being carried again. Ropes dug into his skin, drawing blood. It dripped deep and red and warm towards the dark ground. The ground rose up to meet him as his captor dumped him out of its arms. Merry was there, beside him, beaten and bloodied and bruised. His skin was pale, far too pale. Pippin reached for him, but he always seemed too far away. He wanted to clean away the blood and wrap his shivering body in his cloak.

 A shadow cast itself above them, and Pippin watched in helpless horror as a knife stabbed downwards, right above Merry's chest-

"Pippin!"

Someone shook him. Pippin gasped, reorienting himself. It had been a dream- just a dream.

"Pip," it was too dark to see, but he felt Merry move closer and wrap him into his arms. A hand soothingly brushed through his hair.

"I had a nightmare," Pippin whispered. He realized, when he buried his face in Merry's chest, that his cheeks were wet with tears. And he was shaking. When had he started shaking?

"I know, Pip. You cried out so I woke you up."

"I didn't bother Treebeard, did I?"

"No. He left some time ago to talk to some of the trees."

"But what if they- the orcs- what if they come back?" 

"They won't. Treebeard can't have gone far, and this forest is a lot like the Old Forest. I bet the trees would swallow them up before they could get to us, if any of them escaped the battle with all those men." Merry squeezed him tighter, letting him feel safe and secure in the warm arms of his older cousin who had looked out for him since birth.

"I don't think I can go back to sleep," Pippin admitted. "Every time I close my eyes I see those orcs. I see Gandalf. And B- Boromir," he tried to stifle the sob.

"Me too, Pip." Merry rubbed soothing circles on his back. "Me too."

Pippin cried for a while while Merry held him. When he was done, he felt exhausted, but he was still too terrified to witness what his nightmares would hold.

"I miss them," Pippin sighed. 

"Me too." A second passed by. "You know, I would have told you yesterday, but I wanted to make sure we were safe first," Merry dug into his pocket and pulled out a little cloth bag.

"What is that?"

"You know, that day in Hollin when we all made flower crowns?"

Pippin nodded.

"Well, Boromir found a bunch of poppies for his crown because he felt like the seeds might come in handy later. When the poppies wilted, he asked if we had anything to put the seeds in, so I gave him my empty pipe-weed pouch and he filled it with poppy seeds and gave it to me for safe-keeping in case we ever needed to make pain medication. I still have it. It's my last reminder of him."

"I have a wrapper from the candies he carried around. I'm gonna keep it forever," Pippin pulled out the shiny cloth that had wrapped around a candy. It still smelled faintly of ginger and honey. "Maybe I can have my ma sew it onto something so I can keep it with me always."

They sat and cried some more, talking about Boromir, and about Gandalf, and then about all the things the fellowship used to squabble about on the way to the mountains. Pippin cried especially hard as he wondered suddenly if Boromir ever got a proper funeral or if his body was lying among the rotting corpses of the orcs he slew. 

"Hey," Merry got his attention, wiping away his tears with his coat-sleeve, "make me laugh. Tell me a story. Something fun."

Pippin calmed himself down and thought for a moment, then, he leaned in closer to Merry, and whispered quiet as a mouse, "I have a secret."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"I nearly fainted the first time I saw Strider take his shoes off."

"Because of the smell?"

"Well, that didn't help any, but that's not the reason."

"Well, what is the reason?"

"I thought his shoes were his feet. I thought human feet just looked a lot like leather. When I saw him take them off I thought he was tearing off his skin!"

"Oh no!"

"And then, when I remembered that Big Folks wear shoes, I calmed down."

"Your tone of voice suggests there is more to the story."

"Oh, there is. I almost fainted again, right after. Because then I saw him take off his socks!"

Merry laughed, wiping tears from his eyes as did so."I never- oh my- I nev- I can't stop laughing! If I'd known you- I can't breathe!- I should've warned you they weren't his feet! I'd thought about it too, but then I thought you surely knew."

"Well," Pippin sat up, feeling much better than he did before. The roots of the tree their moss-bed covered shifted to cushion him. "Now that I've told you, it's only fair you tell me a secret."

Merry thought for a bit of all the secrets he had ever kept in his life. Most of them weren't nearly as fun as Pippin's, but then a memory came to him, and he leaned towards Pippin almost conspiratorially, "When I first met you, you were very very little. You were only a day old and I wasn't allowed to hold you or anything because you were too tiny and might get sick easily. I was very excited to hear I was gonna have a little lad cousin, but you couldn't even walk or talk or anything! I was so upset, I wanted to bring you on walking trips with me and teach you how to fish but all you knew how to do was cry and soil your nappies!"

"Oh, now see here! This is just bullying!"

Merry ignored him and continued talking, "Everyone kept gushing on and on about how tiny you were, and how precious and sweet and cute. When it was my turn to see the new baby, I was expecting to see something more like the older babies, you know, that already have their hair and foot-fur grown in and such. Imagine my surprise when I look into Auntie Tina's arms to see a wrinkly bald little thing that looked more like an ancient gaffer than a new babe! And of course, I was just a little lad myself, so I announced to your parents and my parents and all the old-fashioned aunties and gammers who came down to see you that you were most certainly the ugliest baby I had ever met, and to 'please Auntie Tina, put it away, it's scaring me!'"

Pippin wheezed with laughter, imagining the looks his mother's face would have bore after hearing her newborn son was ugly. Surely her face would've gone red with anger and she would've pursed her lips and bulged her eyes in that angry way she did when you really mess up.

"I- did you see their faces?" Pippin asked, wishing he had a good enough memory to recall it now.

"Yes. Your ma was right furious and I suppose she would've shouted at me if she weren't holding a baby. My mum dragged me away by the ear to tell me how mean I was being, but not before I saw Uncle Paladin trying to hide a laugh."

"Betrayed by my own father! And on my second day alive no less!" Pippin cried in mock dismay.

"Of course I apologised to your parents, but Great Aunt Astilba-"

"The one with all the cats?"

"The very one. Great Aunt Astilba forced me to apologise to you too, even though babies can't even understand anything! I argued but Mum forced me. After I said sorry you started screaming your head off for no reason at all and I decided I did not ever want a lad cousin and would stick to playing with Vinca and Pimmie, annoying as they were."

"When did you decide you wanted to be my friend?"

"Well, after about four months or so we visited again, and you finally looked like a baby instead of a little old man. You had the biggest, most greenest eyes and you had the whole Took family and more besides wrapped around your finger. I guess whatever spell you cast on them worked on me too, and I cried when we had to go home and I tried to hide you in my luggage."

"I can imagine I would've liked that much."

"Oh, no, you were quite happy about it all. I don't think you wanted me to leave either."

"I never wanted you to leave," Pippin said. 

It was silent for a moment, and Merry stroked his fingers through Pippin's messy curls and down the top of his back. Pippin curled closer, settling his head on Merry's chest, just like he did when they were kids.

"We're safe now, Pip. I don't know for how long, but we're safe right now. And I'm not gonna leave you. Never ever."

Chapter Text

In the morning, the forest was filled with the fresh scent of rain and a light dusting of dew. Pippin sat himself up. He shook the dew out of his hair and sneezed as some of the cold water landed on the tip of his nose. The sneeze startled Merry awake. He shot up, startled for a moment, before he saw that Pippin was okay. The panicked expression was replaced with a fond grin, and he leaned forward to mess up Pippin's hair. 

They got out of the moss bed to where Treebeard sat on the stone bench at his stone table. 

"Do you happen to have any food?" Pippin asked, climbing up onto the bench. He couldn't reach the table unless he stood on the bench. 

"Hrrrm no. Only drink."

"Oh," Pippin tried not to look disappointed as Treebeard set a clay cup in front of he and Merry. He eventually decided it was better to drink the water than not have anything at all. 

The water was cool, refreshing, and sweet. It had a very particular taste, which Pippin took some time trying to recall. Eventually, a memory came back to him of how he used to fill the hollow of raspberries with water and pretend as though it were a cup to drink from. The water drunk from the hollow of a raspberry tasted just like this water did now. Remarkably, it also filled his stomach rather quickly and he felt he had no need for solid food now with the strength and fullness the ent-draught gave him.

As they drank the water, Treebeard told them that he was going to call an Entmoot. It all sounded dreadfully boring to Pippin. When Treebeard picked them up again and travelled to the area where the meeting would be held, Pippin found himself daydreaming and staring off into space. 

All sorts of ents showed up for the Entmoot. There came tall, pale skinny birches with young green leaves, gnarled, stubby old oaks covered in moss and mushrooms, wiry rowan and sturdy spruce and even a willow- who gave Pippin quite a fright, thinking at first that it was Old Man Willow. They gathered about the clearing, branches reaching skyward as they regarded Treebeard in silence. 

Treebeard spoke to them. It was a language neither hobbit could understand. The language was nature itself- ancient, organic, simple and complex as rolling hills and sprouting plants. It rumbled with thunder and creaked like branches and rushed like a storming river. It was terrifying and beautiful and comfortable all at once, and for the first time in his life, Pippin could not hear the thoughts that always buzzed through his head, fast and electric as lightning. It was all replaced as he felt himself wrapped into the deep low rumble of Treebeard's speaking.

It soon became apparent that the ents were speaking about he and Merry, because Treebeard set them gently down in the clearing- close to himself, almost protectively- but it was plain that they were being introduced all the same. Merry's eyes flicked across the council with cautious curiosity, while Pippin waved shyly, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. Neither of them had any idea how to properly greet a gathering of ents, and they most certainly did not want to offend a group of unfamiliar beings of which the smallest was still at least thrice their size.

"Treebeard," Merry looked up at their new friend, "what exactly are you saying about us?"

"Hoom hrum! I had forgot!" Treebeard chuckled, a deep crackle, "It slips my mind too often that you are not entings. I did not give thought whether you would understand us or not. Do forgive me. I have just told them that you are hobbits, and I have started to speak about Saruman's misdeeds against you. Root and twig! How could it that one who used to walk these forests with love for nature and all things living decide to hurt little things like you!"

Satisfied that nothing bad was being said, Merry sat beside Pippin. They listened to the conversation for a long time, but Merry soon became impatient about their lack of action, and Pippin became bored.

"At this pace we shall both grow old before they make a decision," Merry grumbled, soft enough only for Pippin's ears. "Something must be done about Saruman!"

"Perhaps they are already closing up and saying their goodbyes," Pippin suggested, mostly in hopes that Merry would calm down. Merry's anger and stress always uneased Pippin, as though it radiated off him and poisoned the air around him with his displeasure. 

"Doubt it, and don't act as though you are okay with this either. You can't even sit still."

Pippin frowned, noticing that his leg had been bouncing up and down for at least an hour now. "I have been sitting still."

"Don't lie to me. You've kicked me twice now without noticing." 

"Sorry."

"I hate waiting."

Merry's bad mood was really starting to rub Pippin the wrong way. Couldn't he just take a nap instead of complaining?! Pippin reached down to rip some grass from the ground- as he tended to do when upset- but he stayed his hand, wondering for a moment if grass could be a kind of ent.

Soon, Treebeard introduced them to an ent named Quickbeam. He was apparently hasty, for an ent at least, although that still meant quite slow by the reckoning of a hobbit. They travelled to Quickbeam's home. Luckily for Merry, it was close enough that they could walk on their own.

Quickbeam's home was less mossy than Treebeard's, though no less comfortable. Rowan trees grew all about, though it wasn't yet the season for their berries to grow, much to the hobbits' disappointment. Still, they drank heartily from clay jugs of cool ent draught. 

The Entmoot took several days. During the daytime, the hobbits ran about the forest, climbing trees and playing games. However, with the nights came nightmares and worry and fear. Pippin often sat up for most of the night, afraid that if he closed his eyes, the orcs would come back and take them again. When he did fall asleep, he dreamed of the whistle of arrows and the dark scarlet of blood. He saw Boromir, breath shuddering as he fought on while his blood stained the ground and leaves. Sometimes, Merry was there too- lying battered and broken and dead on the forest floor. When he woke, he would curl protectively around Merry and cry for all they had lost and all they might have if things had been different. 

One night, a great rumble of voices came from the direction of the Entmoot, and the ground shook as trees uprooted themselves around them. Pippin clutched Merry's arm fearfully, wondering what was happening. 

"The ents are marching to Isengard," Quickbeam explained.

Yesterday, Merry made a plan for what the two would do if the ents decided to attack Isengard. Now, they quickly hurried into action, taking off their cloaks and using them as pouches to fill from a pile of rocks they gathered yesterday. When all the rocks were tucked away, they let Quickbeam pick them up and join the march. Eventually, they caught up with the rest of the ents, and were handed to Treebeard. 

"Hrum hoom, are you sure you want to join us?" Treebeard asked, obviously unsure how to feel about bringing such little things that reminded him of entings in what could very well be the last day of the ents' lives. 

"Very sure," Merry assured him. "Saruman has been hurting us and our friends for a very long time, and everything Quickbeam says he has done to the forests is awful! I'd rather die fighting Saruman than live knowing I did nothing at all!"

Panic gripped Pippin at the thought of Merry dying. He held onto his pouch of rocks a little tighter, vowing that he would not let anything so much as touch Merry.

It was easy to figure out that they had arrived at Isengard. The ents and the trees all stopped moving, looking at the landscape before them in horrified awe. Where before, trees grew tall and mighty all around, now the trees lay uprooted and scarred. Soot-covered ground stretched on, marked by twisted metal mining tools rising sky-ward, rusted and cruel. The tower, Orthanc, rose spirelike and sharp, inky black stone casting a harsh shadow shadow the burned and barren ground. The sight of it all filled Pippin with dread and sorrow. All those trees, dead and gone.

It seemed the army of ents and trees was noticed, for a loud drum bellowed a warning, and now orcs came running out from various holes and tents scattered around. They were fewer than Pippin expected, and he wondered if Saruman really only had a small army, or if the rest of them were out on some mission somewhere. He hoped his friends wouldn't meet them. 

The ents were too far away to do anything to the orcs yet, but they were close enough that the hobbits could begin their part in the battle. Pippin threw a stone at one of the closer orcs, and he found that, from so high up, a small rock could do a lot of damage. The orc collapsed to the ground, and Pippin wondered for a moment if he had killed it. 

No time for guilt, he thought to himself, flicking another stone at the approaching orcs. And why should I feel guilty anyways? They are just orcs. Hopefully that line of reasoning would clear his conscience, but he wasn't so sure it would. 

"Good job, Pip!" Merry called from his spot on Treebeard's shoulder. Merry could tell Pippin needed the reassurance. 

"Jealous?" Pippin asked, attempting to lift his own mood through teasing his cousin.

"Naw, everyone knows I'm the better shot."

"We'll see about that."

Now, the ents and orcs were close enough to truly fight. The orcs stood no chance against the long limbs of the ents, and many could be sent flying with a single swing of an arm. Their weapons were useless against the bark-like skin of the ents. Then, one orc took a flaming torch and threw it at the ents.

"Quickbeam!" Pippin shouted, watching in horror as a spark caught the ent on fire. Now, all the orcs were reaching for torches.

Treebeard shouted something in Entish, and the whole forest seemed to rise now, coming to the aid of their protectors. 

"The dam!" Merry exclaimed, pointing in the direction of a dam on the mountainside. "It'll put out the flames!" 

Treebeard bellowed again, and several trees and ents began to tear at the wood holding back the river. Pippin grinned at Merry, glad to have him by his side. Merry is the smartest hobbit in all the Shire.

"Hold on!" Treebeard warned the hobbits. The wood was pulled from the dam, and a trickle became a stream became a roaring rush of water that spewed forth, drowning the barren land of Isengard. Fires extinguished, the ugly tents and structures were swept away. Treebeard stumbled a bit from the force of the flow, but the hobbits held tight. When all the water had broken free and was now settling, the ents and hobbits cheered at their victory.

"Ha! Take that, Saruman!" Merry gloated, making a rude gesture at Saruman's tower. Frodo would've slapped him for it, had he been here, but he wasn't, so Merry continued making as many rude gestures as he knew. Pippin joined in, laughing at the absurdity of it. 

Treebeard watched the two hobbits, rumbling chuckles rolling out of him as he shook his head, reminiscent of the way a parent might react if their child did something foolish but entertaining.

Treebeard handed them off to Quickbeam so he could guard Saruman's tower. There really were very few places to set the hobbits that were not covered by water.

"Are you hurt?" Pippin asked the ent, eyes wide with concern for his friend.

"I am well. My bark will heal in time."

"Hey, there's a crumbly bit of the outer wall over there rising out of the water!" Merry pointed. Indeed, there was, and the water around it was shallow enough for even the hobbits to walk in. Quickbeam set them on the stone of the wall, and Merry sighed, laying down against the stone and relishing the feel of solid ground beneath him.

"I will check the area for orcs," Quickbeam rose to his full height, "though there were fewer than expected.

"I wonder why," Merry squinted around. "Surely a wizard would guard their tower better than this?"

"Maybe there were lots of orcs, but they went somewhere?" Pippin suggested.

"If that is the case, it's bad news for the people around here."

Merry and Pippin spent the night huddled together under their cloaks, too exhausted to do anything other than try to sleep. In the morning, they were hungrier than ever, and they decided to search for food. After all, even wizards need to eat. They walked along the crumbling stone wall, ducking into storage rooms full of weapons or mining tools. Merry insisted they both take a dagger, just in case. 

Pippin did not like how the dagger felt. It was too heavy, with an ugly, chipped blade. The hilt was too thick for his hand. Something about the dagger radiated evil, but he took it anyway. After all, he would rather hold an orc's weapon than die at the hands of one. 

The level of the water surrounding the walls had slowly receded overnight. Muddy water lapped against the muddy soil surrounding the wall, like some kind of gross beach. The smell of smoke gradually blew away in the wind, leaving behind only the scent of pine trees and riverwater. Isengard looked pretty once, Pippin remembered from a painting he saw in Rivendell. There used to be gardens and forests, and the tower used to be covered in ivy and other climbing plants. Maybe, one day, it would be pretty again. The flood had washed away the metal and soot. Maybe now plants would take root in the soil of Isengard again, and nature would slowly reclaim its ruins.

"There's another room up ahead," Pippin said. Merry really couldn't see that far away without his glasses. "The stone around it isn't so crumbly. Maybe it will be less flooded!"

"I hope. Don't get me wrong, I love water as much as the next Brandybuck, but all this sloshing around is beginning to get a bit dreary."

"I never thought I'd be saying this, but it'd be nice to have a boat right about now."

They approached the room, occasionally hopping over cracks in the wall. A heavy wooden door blocked the contents of the room from the elements. None of the guardrooms had doors, so this was a good sign.

The door was heavy, and both hobbits had to pull on it to yank it open. Sunlight streamed into the room. Pippin gasped as the sunbeams landed on shelves full of cheeses, cured meats, bottles of wine, breads, and dried fruits.

"Real food!" Pippin cheered, more excited than he had been since Frodo woke up in Rivendell after his surgery. Merry followed him into the larder and they began to inspect all the food. It looked edible- delicious, even. Merry found a stack of plates and cutlery on a counter, and Pippin inspected a barrel of beer. Soon, they had plates loaded with food, and mugs flooded with ale, and Pippin even pulled out a barrel of pipeweed hidden behind a crate of wine. 

"Wonder how Southfarthing pipeweed got here?" Merry thought aloud, squinting at the painted label on the barrel. 

"Don't know. Gandalf and Saruman used to be friends, maybe Saruman used to keep some here for when Gandalf visited?"

"No, the date says Winterfilth 2nd. That's only a few days after the Birthday, and Gandalf was tricked by Saruman in Afterlithe."

"Which farm did it come from?" Pippin asked, leaning down to look at the label as well.

"Too small to see," Merry moved aside so Pippin could try to read it.

"I can't read it either. The letters are floating all over."

Merry squinted closer at the label. He had forgotten, as he often did, that Pippin had difficulty reading. The small letters certainly didn't help. "Uh… 1417- harvested 1417-"

"That was a good year for pipeweed."

"Yes, it was. 'Harvested 1417, Hornblower Farms, Longbottom.' And the paint is newer here: 'Shipped Winterfilth 2nd, S.R. 4019, Sackville-Baggins Plantation, Southfarthing.' That means somehow, Lotho is selling pipeweed outside the Shire and Bree, and somehow, Saruman bought some!" 

"Well, I don't care a lick what Lotho is selling or what Saruman is buying. It's Longbottom leaf, let's smoke it! There's time for worrying later!"

Merry thought it was always time to worry. In fact, Merry was one of those people who worried about everything all the time. Had there been nothing at all to worry about, Merry would have looked for something anyway. 

"Okay," Pippin sighed, watching Merry's expression. "I can tell you want to worry, but if you are going to do that, at least wait until after we have a good meal and a good smoke. Come on, I'm hungry!"

With that, Pippin filled his empty pipeweed bag with Longbottom leaf, and then tied all their handkerchiefs together to fill those too. Then, they walked out onto the wall again, picked a spot where they had a good view of the forest, and set to eating. The food tasted better than anything Pippin had eaten before, but that might have only been an effect brought on by having gone without for several days. 

The cheese was delicious and aged just the perfect amount. It was nutty, with a hint of rosemary. It paired well with the packet of crackers they found which were a little sweet and seemed to disintegrate easily upon being placed in his mouth. A soft sweet-bread filled with dried fruits paired nicely with butter and the pot of honey they found. There were several meats to choose from, and the salted pork was particularly good. Pippin was not incredibly fond of the wine, but he drank it anyway. After all, this meal served two purposes. The first was to feed them. The second was more out of spite; Saruman's orcs didn't feed the hobbits, so now it was only fair the hobbits eat all of Saruman's food.

The meal, of course, was topped off by the lovely brown beer (not as good as the Green Dragon, unfortunately) and a good amount of Longbottom leaf. Contented, Merry and Pippin leaned against one another, lazily puffing smoke-rings into the sky, the satisfaction of a good meal and the drowsy buzz of beer warming their bodies and leading them towards sleep. 

Chapter Text

"Pippin! Put that down!"

"What? It's just chicken."

"Yeah, and it's been floating around in that nasty water all day! It's not safe to eat, you'll get salmonella."

"Don't be silly, Merry- it's chicken, not salmon."

"... Put it down or I'm drinking all your beer and confiscating your pipeweed."

Pippin sighed and dropped the roast chicken back into the water. He really didn't see what the big deal was. Surely a little bit of water wouldn't hurt the chicken, even if the water is a little gross? They could just wipe all the gross water off!

"Come on back up here," Merry said, patting the spot next to him on the wall they had been sitting on. "No need poking around in the water. We have everything we need right here."

Pippin climbed back up the wall and sat beside Merry, pouring himself another frothy mug of beer. It was evening now, and red streaks of sunlight were finally beginning to fade on the horizon, letting darkness cover the sky. They could see the stars from here. Pippin leaned back, looking up into the swirling galaxies of the night sky. Maybe it was the combination of beer and pipeweed, or maybe he was simply becoming sentimental, but he thought the stars looked more brilliant than they ever had before. Yes, maybe he was a little drunk, but there was something else, like he was seeing the sky for the first time with new eyes. Like the stars were prettier with the knowledge that you are alive, and that they are wonderful things in the world of which you never knew before.

Unfortunately, he said all of that out loud.

Merry giggled, then hiccuped, and then slung his arm around Pippin's shoulders, "You are starting to sound like Frodo. Next I know you'll be holed up in your room translating elvish poetry all day and making moon-eyes at Sam."

"Moon-eyes at Sam? I don't do that anymore."

"No, Frodo does."

"Does what?"

"Makes moon-eyes at Sam."

" Oh . Wait, he does?"

"Of course. But it's rude to talk about someone's love life when they aren't around to confirm or deny any rumours."

"That's a funny word," Pippin giggled.

"Hmm?"

"Rumours! It sounds silly, don't you think? Roo-mers. Odd sounding."

"Every word sounds silly when you say it. Say, how much of that beer have you had?"

"What, you're drunk too!"

"Not nearly so much as you," Merry said. That wasn't completely true. They had about the same amount, Merry was just better at functioning when drunk.

Their banter slowed down through the night as they became more and more tired. Pippin laid his head on Merry's shoulder, idly puffing on his pipe and swinging his legs off the edge of the wall. He hummed an old drinking song. Merry was silent and far more sober than Pippin, keeping watch of the ruins around them, in case some creature had survived the flood. 

Merry stiffened suddenly, and straightened up, squinting into the darkness. Pippin straightened up as well. He peered into the woods, watching something white come towards them, reflecting the light of the moon off it. Pippin could see now why Merry could see it even without his glasses. It was like a beacon shining bright in the dark. 

"What is that?" Pippin asked.

"I dunno, but it's coming closer. Quick! Hide!" Merry hissed, grabbing Pippin by the fabric of his coat and ushering him into the storeroom they had raided. They hid behind the barrels of pipeweed.

"Do you suppose that was Saruman?" Pippin whispered. "Whoever it was wore all white."

"Shh! I don't know!"

The sound of horse's hooves crunching on the gravel outside came closer, and the hobbits shivered with fear when they heard the sound stop. More gravel crunched- less heavy this time, as someone got off the horse. Pippin covered his mouth, fighting down a scared squeak as he heard booted feet ascend the stairs. 

A splash came as a pebble fell in the water. The boots stopped for a moment, then continued on. Pippin wished he knew where the orc dagger he had been holding went. He had left it somewhere in his excitement for food, and now he didn't have it. Merry had his, Pippin could see a glint of starlight on dark steel. Merry's hand was shaking, so hard it gripped the hilt. 

The footsteps stopped outside the room. The door was nearby, they could surprise Saruman and try to make an escape. Merry gave Pippin a look that conveyed his plan, and as soon as they heard the footsteps start up again, they pounced.

Saruman was faster, he whirled away sharply and shut the door, keeping the hobbits trapped inside. 

"Whatever are you rascals doing?" He shouted.

"Gandalf?" Pippin asked. That was the voice that bellowed at him in his guilt-filled nightmares. That was the face that he saw when he closed his eyes. The piercing blue eyes and the wrinkles of his skin were as familiar to him as the face of his mother. This was Gandalf, different as he had been before but the same in all the ways that matter. 

"No," Merry pointed his sword at the wizard and pushed Pippin behind him. "You wear the face of our friend and you speak with his voice, but you are not Gandalf. You seek to trick us by taking the form of a dear friend! Do not poison his image with your foul actions!"

"Meriadoc," Gandalf said, laying down his staff and kneeling to their height so he wouldn't appear threatening. "It saddens me to see you so cautious, but I thank you for taking caution anyways. I can prove to you that I am Gandalf. After all, no one else ever knew about the time you dared Pippin to steal one of my rockets, and how he nearly lit himself aflame. We did promise the events of that day would never be told to any but us three."

Merry lowered the sword and burst into happy tears, running to Gandalf and giving him a hug. Pippin followed, sobbing as well.

"Oh Gandalf!" Merry cried, "What- how-"

"Peace my dear hobbits, do not cry so," Gandalf comforted them.

"We thought you were dead," Pippin sniveled. "I was so scared you died and it was all my fault!" Now he was sobbing anew.

Gandalf pulled away from the hug and placed his hands on Pippin's shoulders, "It was not your fault. I never blamed you. The only way it would be your fault is if you planned it all and wanted me dead! You didn't want that, did you?" The teasing light Pippin had missed so shone in Gandalf's eyes.

"Oh, yes," Pippin joked, voice still wavering from the recent tears. "I learned how to speak balrog just so I could get you back for threatening to throw me off a cliff in Hollin."

Gandalf laughed and hugged them again. They stayed hugging for a while before Gandalf saw the barrels of pipeweed beside them. "Is that Longbottom Leaf?"

When Gandalf left, Pippin cried again. He was so happy Gandalf was safe, but it made him feel guilty. Boromir wasn't ever coming back. Boromir was gone forever. 

It isn't fair! Pippin thought to himself. Boromir has to stay dead but Gandalf can come back. Then Pippin realised that for a horrible moment he wished that Gandalf and Boromir's places had been exchanged. Now guilt burned through him harder, and hate, as he berated himself for thinking such horrible things. His mind had been a flurry of racing activity ever since they left Moria. He had not been able to sort through his thoughts or emotions as properly as he should have, and now the effect of that was hitting him hardest. 

Pippin had really had no time to properly grieve Boromir while the trauma and terror of the orcs held him locked in a state of fear. Even in the peace of Fangorn he could not sift through the swirling thoughts and emotions. They had slipped through his fingers like sand, unable to be individually addressed or held close.

Merry hugged him, also crying. Merry hardly ever cried, and when he did he usually tried to hide it. It hurt more than anything to watch Merry cry and cling to him just as desperately as Pippin cried and clung. 

Pippin wanted to talk to his cousin, but something stopped him. It was too shameful, the way he had scorned Gandalf for surviving while Boromir was left to die alone and defeated in the woods. He was afraid of his thoughts and afraid Merry would turn to him with hate-filled eyes and voice dripping with anger as he told him he was no better than any orc with the thoughts he had. 

Something prickled at the end of Pippin's consciousness as he hid his shameful face in Merry's cloak. It was a soft presence- strong and brave and bold, though kind and gentle too. 

It was Boromir. 

Though Pippin's eyes were closed, he saw clearly for a moment Boromir's face, and his strong arms wrapping the cousins into a hug. A warm wind seemed to brush at Pippin's skin, then ruffle his hair, and then was gone. The doubt and shame and hatred was soothed down and what remained was a friendly calm settling his racing heart.

"Merry?"

"Mhhm?"

"Please don't- I don't want you to think I am crazy-"

"Pip, you act crazy, but you aren't really."

"I just- I don't know, I'm scared to say!"

"Whatever it is, it's okay. You don't have to say anything if you don't want, but if you do, I'll listen and I won't say you are crazy."

"Okay," Pippin thought for a long time about how he would go about saying what he wanted to say. Merry did not force him or urge him to speak, only rubbed Pippin's back in a sympathetic manner. "You know how- how some folks say that Tooks are so very queer because one of them had a fairy wife so long ago?" Pippin finally decided on saying.

"Yes," Merry answered, a thoughtful gleam coming into his eyes.

"And some people say that it isn't just adventures that made the family odd, and some of us might have magic?"

Merry nodded.

"I used to think that was all rubbish and rumours but-" Pippin chewed on the inside of his cheek, wishing he could take back everything he just said. He felt quite foolish now and his face was beginning to burn in embarrassment. "Well um, there was this one relative, my fourth cousin three times removed, and she was very old and frail but everyone in the family said she had the Sight."

"The Sight?" Merry asked, looking confused.

"Did your mother never tell you?" Pippin asked. Technically, the Sight was supposed to be a secret known only to the Tooks, but since Merry was half Took himself, Pippin assumed he knew.

"No. I don't believe so."

"I don't really know how to explain it, and most times when I asked questions the adults just told me it was a secret and I would understand when I'm older, but from what I've gathered having the Sight is very very rare and this relative, Cousin Florentine, had it. Sometimes I heard the adults saying she could see things that are in between life and death and that she could see parts of the future."

Merry didn't say anything at all, only seemed to be in deep thought, turning the words around in his head as he was wont to do. Then, after a pause, he asked, "Did you ever observe this- the Sight, that is- in use?"

"Well, Cousin Florentine was really old and sometimes she said odd things so I don't rightly know," Pippin confessed, "but one time when I was very little my Ma took me to her room because she requested to see me apparently and she grabbed my arm and sat up and started saying things I didn't really understand, about fate and fortune and luck, and my Ma made me leave the room quickly and that was the last time I saw Cousin Florentine before she died. I think maybe that was it?"

"Do you remember what she said?"

"No. Only that I was terrified. It was like she was looking through me and her nails gripped me so hard I had marks on my skin. I cried a lot and I didn't sleep well for a long time."

"Why now are you telling me this?" Merry asked, though he looked as though he had guessed something.

"This sounds stupid and crazy, but I've been seeing- no, feeling, really- things that aren't supposed to be there. Maybe it's just from the fear and the stress but I feel like, when I've been at my most scared or I needed help, that I've felt- I think I've felt Boromir." Pippin closed his eyes and waited for the moment that Merry would call him crazy, or say he was just being a fool, or explain it away with some theory that Pippin couldn't understand and which would make him feel dim-witted, but nothing came. He opened his eyes again and Merry was still studying him thoughtfully.

"What have you felt?" Merry asked.

"Um… the first time was when we stopped for a bit on the march. You were still out and I was so afraid that you were-" his voice hitched as he tried to keep himself from crying, "I was so afraid you would die and I would be all alone." 

Merry hugged Pippin close and placed a soothing kiss on the top of his head. "It's okay, Pip. I'm here, and I am not ever going to leave you alone."

Pippin rubbed at his eyes, trying to pull himself together so he could speak again. "The orcs started fighting, and one of them fell next to me, dead. That was when I felt Boromir the first time. I was so angry at myself- I thought my mind was being cruel by reminding me that Boromir was dead- but I felt courage filling me, and it was like he was there, telling me that I needed to protect myself and protect you. I cut the ropes on my wrist on the orc's dagger and then looped them up to make it look like I was still tied."

"That was very brave of you," Merry said. "And I wondered how you cut yourself loose. I had assumed you spent who knows how long biting through the rope."

Pippin laughed, imagining it. He would've looked like one of the mice that used to chew away ropes in the barn at Whitwell. 

"So, you have seen him again? Or felt him, rather?" Merry asked.

"Yes. When I ran off and threw away my cloak-clasp. I knew I had to do something, and it seemed like- like Boromir was there, telling me that Strider was looking for us, and giving me the courage to leave a sign for him. It was foolish, I know, but I had to do it. I had to leave hope for Strider.

"I don't feel Boromir with us all the time, but sometimes, I can feel him here. Sometimes just watching, sometimes giving me courage, sometimes just being a comforting presence. I am not sure it is really him, or just a figment of my imagination, but I thought that if he really is here, you ought to know." 

"Thank you," Merry whispered, "for telling me. I'm glad he is able to give you comfort. I'm glad he is watching over us. Is he here right now?"

"No. He was, just a bit ago, but not right now."

"Well, whenever he comes back, tell me. I want to thank him." Merry's eyes shone brightly, as though tears were dancing in them, fighting to fall down. 

"I will."

Chapter Text

"OW! What'd you do that for?" Pippin yelped, startling awake. Merry had kicked him!

"We've visitors," Merry said, pulling Pippin up. He was still quite drowsy from sleep, and from the ale and pipeweed he had before then, so he leaned quite heavily on Merry as he rubbed his eyes.

When Pippin opened his eyes, he saw that a group of armored men on horses were gathered in front of them. They all wore wonderfully decorated helms and armor, most carved with the designs of horses. 

Rohirrim, Pippin guessed. He knew from Boromir that they loved horses, and Merry said they were very close to Rohan.

Then, moving to the front of the crowd, came familiar faces.

"Gandalf! Strider! Legolas!" Pippin cried out, climbing down off the wall to see them closer. Merry followed.

"I'm here too!" Gimli called. Pippin realised he was sharing a horse with Legolas. 

"Sorry Gimli! I didn't see you!" 

"Wait a moment lads!" Gimli looked them up and down. "How? What- you've grown!"

The hobbits looked themselves up and down, then looked at Gimli. Yes, Gimli did look a lot less tall, and their clothes were a bit shorter too, now that they really looked. How had they not noticed that?

Many greetings were exchanged. Pippin learned that the man leading the Rohirrim was called King Théoden, and his nephew Éomer was with him. Théoden and Gandalf led the Rohirrim elsewhere to inspect the damage to Isengard. The hobbits, meanwhile, invited their friends up to the storeroom for a meal.

They talked over eachother as they tried to tell the story of how the Ents destroyed Isengard, and their companions really couldn't tell what either hobbit was saying. 

"When we first approached Isengard," Legolas said when they stopped talking, "one of the men beside me had the most horrified, astonished look on his face as he took in the damage, and then the sight of the two of you: one sleeping and one smoking. I heard him mutter under his breath, and would you believe it! He thought all that destruction was wrought by only the two of you! He was quite relieved when the Ents came out."

Pippin burst into laughter as he thought of the confusion the sight of the two of them must have brought to the poor man.

They entered the storeroom now. Pippin laid out a blanket and some plates and forks while Merry set about finding food for their friends. They would have a picnic here on the floor of the pantry. Merry cut a wedge out of a wheel of cheese while Pippin gathered dried fruits and the roast beef (which Gimli was eyeing quite hungrily).

"Now then," Merry said, arms on his hips, "it isn't a feast, but it's a proper meal at the very least and should fill your stomachs well enough."

Their friends looked at the large amounts of food, wondering exactly how much food a hobbit feast would have if this was considered only a "proper meal". 

Merry and Pippin shared the meal with them, despite having eaten less than an hour ago. Throughout the meal, Aragorn told them about the battle which had taken place at Helm's Deep. Legolas chimed in every once in a while with further details. Gimli did not talk at all, being far too busy with the ale and roast beef. 

When Aragorn finished eating, he took out his bag of medical supplies and pulled Merry aside, stating, "I need to take a look at any hurts you might have. I will see better in the light of the sun."

While Pippin waited for Merry and Aragorn to come back, Legolas quizzed him about the ents. 

"So you say elves taught them to speak?"

"Yep! And they taught them lots of songs too, Treebeard said."

"We have a song in my homeland about how the ents lost their entwives. Is that true?"

"Yes, Treebeard sang it for us. In Elvish, Westron, and Entish! The Entish version took three hours and it did get a bit boring after a while. Treebeard said the song is true and he asked us if we have seen any entwives but we said no. Have you seen any entwives? If you have, I'm sure Treebeard would be happy to know."

"No," Legolas said, "I'm afraid I have met neither ent nor entwife in all my journeys through Middle Earth."

"What about you, Gimli?"

Gimli just shook his head and grunted, a standard response coming from him.

"That's sad. I'd be sad if all the lasses I knew disappeared one day. Even my sisters and they are the most annoying people I know."

"Do you miss them?" Legolas asked.

Pippin leaned back until he was laying on the stone floor and staring up at the ceiling. He messed with their picnic blanket (it was actually an old curtain) a bit, not really wanting to answer. He didn't want to look like a little homesick lad in front of his friends.

"I miss my family," Legolas said. He saw how conflicted Pippin looked.

"I do miss them," Pippin finally answered. "I keep being afraid I won't ever see my family again. I didn't even leave them a note. I thought those orcs would kill us and my family would never know why I left or what happened to me- or even worse, they would learn that I got killed." Pippin tried to say this as nonchalantly as possible, but inside, grief and worry clouded his thoughts.

"Oh!" Pippin changed the subject now. His mind was straying too close to the memory of Boromir's death and he needed a distraction, "Gimli, you have a new braid in your beard! How come?" Frodo told him once that dwarves and elves put a lot of meaning into their hair, and he said that one can tell almost anything you needed to know about a dwarf just from seeing their beard.

Gimli looked a little sad, "This is a mourning braid." Pippin realised that changing the subject had been a bad idea, because now he was still thinking about Boromir. "It is a simple braid, but you put a strand of the lost one's hair in it, so you may remember them. It stays in for a whole period of mourning, which lasts six months." 

"Elves from Mirkwood use mourning braids too," Legolas said, shifting aside his hair so Pippin could see a very tiny braid running beside his ear. It was placed in a spot where it was difficult to see. "We do not braid the person's hair into our own though."

Before anything else could be said, Aragorn and Merry returned. Aragorn led Pippin out into the sunlight.

"Are you alright?" He asked, seeing the miserable look on Pippin's face.

"Yes," Pippin lied in a strained voice.

"Do not lie, Pippin. I can tell you are not. You do not have to tell me what has upset you, just do not pretend you are fine when you aren't. Are you in pain?"

"Not really."

"Can you please take off your shirt?"

Pippin took his cloak and jacket off, then slid off his braces and began to unbutton his shirt. Aragorn took a closer look at his legs as he did so.

"Merry says you escaped from the orcs only a few days ago, but it seems as though these wounds have been healed for a long time. I believe the water the ents gave you may be responsible for that, and for your unusual growth spurts as well."

Pippin took off his shirt now, and Aragorn gasped.

Pippin looked down at himself. His chest and stomach used to be unblemished save for a multitude of freckles speckling his skin. Now, shiny red burn scars marred his skin. It was a permanent reminder of everything he had been through. His stomach used to be much fuller too. Pippin had always been far too skinny for a hobbit, but now the bones of his hips and ribcage jutted out unnaturally. I don't even look like a hobbit anymore.

Pippin's eyes filled with tears as he thought of how ugly he looked now. Who would ever want to love him now? He had always thought of himself as a little on the ugly side with his small frame and his sharp, unhobbit-like features. But now- he didn't even want to think about it! 

"Oh Pippin," Aragorn leaned down so he was at Pippin's level. His voice was soft with worry and concern.

"I just-" Pippin rubbed at his face as he sobbed. "I'm- I don't want to look at myself!" 

"Shh, it's okay. What is bothering you?"

"I'm all scarred up and I'm too skinny and I look uglier than I did before! It's so stupid- I almost- me and Meery almost died and I'm worrying about how I look!" 

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's not a stupid thing to worry about. Everyone who gets battle scars thinks of that. It is perfectly normal, there is nothing wrong with you. You weren't ugly before and you aren't ugly now." 

"But Strider-"

Aragorn placed a comforting hand in Pippin's and squeezed it softly. "I have lots of scars. When I first got them, I thought the exact same thing." Aragorn rolled up his shirt to show Pippin his stomach, which was covered in scars- some old and some new. "See," he pointed at a particularly large one, "this is from my first battle. It used to look much worse but it has faded over time. I got it when I was thrown off my horse and onto a stone."

Pippin blinked his tears away, sniffling slightly as Aragorn told him the stories behind some of his other scars.

"This one was from my own sword. Can you believe it? I ran into a tree and nicked myself with it! I learned to look where I was going after that. And this is from when an arrow I shot ricocheted off an orc's armor and hit me. It was the most unlucky shot I ever made. And this is from Moria- I don't remember how I got it exactly but it itched something terrible as it was healing up."

By now, Pippin was smiling and laughing as Aragorn told some of the funnier stories. Aragorn took this as a sign that he wasn't upset anymore and tucked his shirt back in.

"Now then, since I've told you how I got all my scars, it is only fair you tell me the stories of yours," Aragorn said.

Pippin shifted uncomfortably, but he couldn't deny that Aragorn was right. It would be unfair not to tell him, now that Pippin knew about Aragorn's scars. "Umm the ones on my front and back are mostly from when one of the orcs got mad at me for trying to steal my sword back, and the stripes on my legs are from when they whipped me for running away."

"Oh, these are much better scars than most of mine," Aragorn smiled. "You got them because you were being very courageous."

"I didn't feel courageous."

"No one feels courageous when they do something brave. Mostly we just feel scared," Aragorn said, "But you didn't let that fear paralyse you. That is the difference between being brave and just being afraid. Here, let's see… they whipped you for running away? When did that happen?"

"I'm not sure which day. It was all rainy and foggy. I threw my clasp from Lothlórien in the mud so I'd anyone was tracking us they would see we were there."

"And we did," Aragorn dug into his bag and produced the brooch, shiny and beautiful as the day it was gifted to him. "Seeing that gave me hope that you were still alive."

"I never thought I'd see it again!" Pippin gasped and took it, holding it close. "I was so sad to part with it, but I really had to! And then the orcs whipped me and kicked me and I fainted from the pain and I kept thinking it wasn't worth it to part with it. I'm glad to have it back!"

"So, how exactly did you get the other injuries?"

Pippin thought pretty hard. The details of that night were blurry. He had been in a lot of pain. "I think some were just from the days before. I got dragged around a good bit and sometimes the orcs would just kick us because they thought it was funny or something, but this one night, I saw that one of the orcs had my sword, and I wanted to get it. I think my hands were still tied but I'm not sure. I know I cut them at some point and looped them up so it looked like I was still tied," Aragorn gave him a very proud look at this, "I tried to get my sword back but the orc noticed and he grabbed me and hit me and cut me and…" Pippin felt sick at the memory of his torture at the hands of the orc, "he heated up his sword in one of the cooking-fires the orcs set up and cut me with it so I b-burned and he threatened me that when we got to Isengard he would hurt us worse." His breathing sped up now, his heart pounded. He felt panic rise in his chest, but Aragorn squeezed his hand again, soothing it away. "The orc who was in charge saw what was happening and killed the one hurting me, and they returned me back to Merry but I was so very afraid and I knew we had to escape before we got to Isengard and got hurt worse!"

"You're safe now, Pippin. Here, you can put your shirt back on now. You are healing very well thanks to the ent-draught. Everything looks alright physically, but I have one more thing I must ask." Aragorn looked Pippin in the eyes, and Pippin saw how serious his gaze was. "I already asked Merry, but he wasn't awake for a while. Pippin, did they hurt you elsewhere?" At Pippin's confused expression, he clarified, "Did they touch you in any private areas?"

"No!" Pippin shook his head, cheeks burning. "No no no! They didn't do that at all! The orc who hurt me threatened that they would do that at Isengard but that was it!"

"Good. I'm sorry I had to ask you, and I know you're embarrassed, I just needed to make sure. Now, I think we are okay to go back now. Hopefully Gimli hasn't had all the ale!"

Pippin laughed and grabbed Aragorn's hand, leading him back to the door. However, his hand brushed against leather and he looked down to see that Aragorn was wearing Boromir's vambraces.

"Strider?" He stopped, looking at the leather armor.

Aragorn saw what had stopped the hobbit. "We gave Boromir a funeral when we found him. We did not have much time, but we placed him in a boat and sang him away down the river, much like the funerals of the Numenorean kings of old. I took his vambraces, so I might always have a part of him with me, and so he might be there to return to his city."

Pippin felt he would cry again, but the ghost of a hand seemed to wipe his tears away before they fell. Boromir was back, and he didn't want Pippin to cry. 

"I think Boromir would be glad you are wearing them," Pippin said. An echo of that gladness bounced through the air around them, but only Pippin could hear. 

When they entered the storeroom again, it was to Pippin and Aragorn's annoyance that Merry had introduced Gimli to the pipeweed without them. Gimli did not have his pipe with him, so he and Merry were sharing.

"I'm afraid I lost my pipe sometime between Moria and Lothlórien," Aragorn sighed.

"I lost mine in the river," Gimli said. "The elf's fault, naturally."

"It actually was," Legolas gave an embarrassed grin.

"Well, lucky for you, I keep several pipes with me at all times!" Pippin said proudly. He really was rather fond of his little collection. He reached into the pockets of his breeches and pulled out two pipes, handing them to Aragorn and Gimli. They were a bit small, but a pipe's a pipe- no one would complain.

Soon, they were all smoking the sweet pipeweed, sans Legolas of course.

"This is the most disgusting habit I have ever known mortals to perform," Legolas shook his head.

"You're disgusting," Pippin retorted, blowing a ring of smoke into the air.

"There is fresh forest air all around us and yet you all want to foul it up with your nauseating weed! I will go outside and breathe in the fine air of the outdoors, and you four may ruin your lungs with that repulsive smoke!" Legolas left, cursing in a very un-elf like fashion as he complained about their behaviour.

"If I knew all it took to rid us of that elf," Gimli laughed, "I'd have brought more pipeweed!"

"I can still hear you!" Came a cry from outside. Gimli choked as he pulled in a breath of smoke and Aragorn had to pound his back as he coughed to help get all the smoke out.

Aragorn stretched out now, languidly smoking. In the shadows of the store-room, he looked much as he did when the hobbits first met him. Like a mysterious stranger sitting and smoking in the corner of an inn. This reminded Pippin very suddenly of their short and frankly terrifying stay at Bree, which led to thinking about poor Bill, which led to thinking of his previous master, Bill Ferny, which led to thinking of how Gimli had described the half-orcs in Saruman's army.

"I was just thinking-"

"Dangerous."

"Shut up, Merry. I was just thinking about Bree, and do you remember Bill Ferny? The one Sam lobbed an apple at?"

A look of understanding came into Aragorn's eyes as he sat forward.

"He looked a tad orcish, right?" Pippin asked.

"Yes, and now that I think of it, some of the half-orcs fighting at Helm's Deep looked a lot like him."

"Saruman must have known we would pass through Bree. He must have sent out spies!" Merry said.

"That all makes a lot more sense now," Aragorn said. "I knew there was something odd about Bill Ferny."

When Gandalf and the men came back, they took Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to talk to Saruman. Merry and Pippin were meant to stay with King Théoden's guard, but they were curious and followed a little ways to the tower. The level of the water had gone down enough that it was now only about their thighs. 

Pippin was honestly a little miffed Gandalf told them they couldn't come along. He had just finally proved himself to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, who had all praised him for being so brave and clever for getting he and Merry away from the orcs, but now here was Gandalf, back from the dead and still treating him like a mere child! He really had missed Gandalf, but he certainly did not miss the way Gandalf treated him like a fool and a baby who was good for nothing but trouble!

If Pippin had thought more (a very un-Pippinish thing to do), he would've realised that Gandalf also told Merry to stay behind, despite consistently treating Merry as an adult, and he would've realised that Gandalf was likely trying to keep the two of them safe from Saruman, who was still under the impression that the hobbits carried with them the Ring. 

The two hobbits hid behind some floating debris as they listened to Saruman hurl insults at the men below. Even though they came to eavesdrop, Pippin quickly found himself becoming bored. They were only talking about politics and wars and weapons and none of that seemed like interesting conversation to Pippin, so he let himself zone out. Besides, if anything they said was actually important, Merry would explain it to him later. 

The only interesting thing that happened was a large object flew down from the parapets, nearly hitting Gandalf, bounced down the stone stairs, and landed with a splash in the water in front of the hobbits. It seemed like the men were turning to leave, and Merry ran towards them to discuss all that had just happened. Pippin, meanwhile, went to check out the object. 

He could see it in the water, round and dark. He couldn't quite make out the shape, but he thought he saw a flash of light- gold and shimmering in the water and the sun of the late afternoon.

He reached down into the water and grasped it, pulling it out and close to his chest. He expected it to be heavy. It had weight to it, but it was light enough that he could pick it up without trouble. It was a sphere of some sort, smooth and dark. He could see his reflection staring back at him in the black glass.

It thrummed with energy. He could feel it under his fingers- warm and golden and tingly. Something about it drew him toward it. A snippet of a song- something he couldn't place but beautiful and familiar all the same. A promise of something- knowledge, answers.

Suddenly the sphere was ripped away and Pippin was made aware of his surroundings once more. Gandalf wrapped it away in the cloth of his cloak, away from sight or touch. Pippin felt a pang of panic as it hid from his sight, than confusion as he wondered why he was panicked.

"Don't touch that," Gandalf said, patting Pippin on the head in a way Pippin felt was rather patronising. "Now come on, our work here is done. We ride to Rohan now."

Chapter Text

When Pippin was twelve years old, he had chickenpox. He wasn't sure why it was called chickenpox, as one doesn't get it from chickens, and it doesn't turn you into a chicken, so why must the name chicken be in there at all? But that is besides the point. He got sick often as a child, but to him, chickenpox was the worst. The horrible itch had crawled up his body, almost like some living thing nagging and taunting him. His fingers had prickled with the urge to itch, but each time, his mother or his nurse would smack his hands away.

He remembered the hopelessness of it, the urgency. He could not think of anything but the itching. He could not eat or sleep or talk as the itch took over his body and clouded his mind with need. And when he had some blessed time alone, when Ma or Nurse were not looking, he would quickly scratch the worst of it, hoping to find relief, only to feel the itching continue worse than before.

He did not itch now, not physically, at least, but his mind did. He could think of nothing but the black, glassy ball concealed in Gandalf's cloak. So close and yet so far. He agonised over the thought of it- the wish to see it, the wish to hold it, the wish to know what it was. He tried to ask Gandalf, but the wizard only shushed him, telling him it wasn't important.

If it isn't important, why is he hiding it from me?

"Pip, you okay?" Merry asked. They had taken a small rest and Aragorn had sidled his horse up next to Gandalf's (whose name was Shadowfax).

"I'm fine!" Pippin snapped. Merry flinched at his tone and Pippin immediately felt bad. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me. Just tired, maybe."

"Okay, I'm sorry," Merry said. "Are you feeling ill?"

"No, I'm fine! I already told you!"

"Sorry, I'll just stay quiet now," Merry looked surprised and confused by his cousin's actions, but he didn't want to upset him further, so he said nothing more on the matter. Gandalf and Aragorn, however, exchanged looks. 

Pippin was oblivious to it. All he could think of was that chickenpox-itch in his mind, nagging and niggling and keeping him from rest. It was beginning to frustrate him. He tried very hard to think about how he had just hurt Merry's feelings, or where they were going, or perhaps even what they would eat when next they had the chance. Not even food could stay at the forefront of his mind, though, when the thought of that glass ball drug its way to the surface to replace it.

Pippin twitched, partially from discomfort and part from frustration. Usually, his thoughts wandered about, disorderly and fleeting. He could not do that now even if he tried. 

Perhaps bugging everyone else would keep thoughts of the ball away? "Gandalf?"

"Yes, my lad?"

He's treating me like a child again! "When will we stop?"

"Nightfall."

"To eat, I mean."

Gandalf handed him an apple but said nothing more. Well now he is just ignoring me! Pippin did not eat the apple. He didn't feel hungry at all, which should've been a sign of concern, but his thoughts were not free enough even to be concerned. 

The sun beat down on the army, high in the late afternoon sky. Spring had not yet come, but it was warmer here than the Shire would be this time of year, and the sun did not help matters much. Pippin could feel it burning the tips of his ears and the back of his neck. He did not complain, just sat in silence and discomfort. The burn of the sun at least distracted him from his thoughts. 

The day seemed to lag at an agonising pace. Hoofbeat by hoofbeat, second by second. Thought by thought. 

Really, Gandalf is being entirely unfair. He will not tell me what it is, he will not let me see it, he did not let me hold it. I wish he had stayed dead.

That last thought shook Pippin away from the dangerous tangle of his mind. He had not thought that, had he? He did not want Gandalf to stay dead, however unfair he was being. It horrified him to think that thought had been his.

The sun began to set, and through it all, Pippin screamed at himself mentally, twitching with poorly covered anger. Confusion, too. Why was this happening to him? What was wrong with him?

He barely registered being lifted off the horse and set on the ground. Merry grabbed his arm and pulled him elsewhere, jogging him into awareness.

"Strider said there'll be ale tonight! I think I'm beginning to like these Rohirrim more and more! After a battle, they drink ale and throw a party honouring the dead and celebrating the victory!" Merry explained, leading Pippin towards a tent that the men were beginning to set up.

"Wasn't the battle ages ago?"

"Only a few days, and they're celebrating the battle of Isengard, actually. So it is for us, really."

"But we hardly did anything! Shouldn't they celebrate the ents?" 

"Well…" Merry thought for a moment. "Well, I mean- the smoking, and the campfires- they might not like it much. Could be a friend," Merry said, gesturing to the pipe he was packing. "Or worse, a relative!"

Pippin laughed, all thoughts of the glass ball ebbing away the further from Gandalf they got. 

"Well, fires aside, do you think they'd have the ale?"

"Don't know. Probably never had it."

"We'll have to bring some when we visit. I think it'll be a grand party!"

"Speaking of a grand party," Merry said, pulling Pippin out of the way of a horse, "I say we join our friends for an ale!"

Most of that night was a haze. They all ate a nice soup and some roasted game animals. Then, everyone began drinking. Pippin had far too many pints than was healthy for him, and eventually Legolas had to start limiting his ale consumption by giving him water and saying it was ale. Evening else found this particularly entertaining when he took a huge swig and then declared that the ale tasted "like swill". 

Merry and Pippin regaled the men with stories from the Shire, and then a few drinking songs which resolved into giggling and hiccuping. Regardless, the men enjoyed them. 

That night was a blur of colour and joy and song and the pleasant buzz of ale and weed. It was a pity Pippin would not remember that night for the party.

It was warmer tonight than the last few nights had been. Pippin shared a comfortable, man-sized bedroll with Merry, but despite the comfort and fair weather, he could not sleep. He had slept off the ale earlier in the night, but here in the dark, still hours of the morning, he could not bring himself to sleep again.

Merry shifted beside him, muttering in his sleep. Pippin tried to sink into his warmth, but found even that could not work. Odd, considering he never failed to sleep when Merry was beside him, even as a baby. He couldn't think of any reason at all why he should be unable to sleep. The weather was nice, he was reunited with most of his friends, the bedroll was comfortable, and the nightshirt one of the men had borrowed to him was soft, if a little big. 

Merry shifted again. All around them, the sound of men and horses sleeping filled the peaceful night. Gimli's snoring drifted over from the bedroll beside them. Pippin wondered how he did that so loud without waking himself. 

Pippin turned over. On their other side, Gandalf was sleeping. He slept on his back, one arm crossed over his stomach, the other laying on his bag, and blankets pulled over his chest. 

Pippin realised suddenly the reason for his disturbed sleep. His eyes landed on the cloth-wrapped glass ball resting at the crook of Gandalf's arm. His mind narrowed on it, and the rest of the world seemed to fade behind the clear image of the object. 

The sounds of the sleeping men and horses and the crackling fire faded away to a dull ring somewhere in the back of Pippin’s mind. His will slipped away slowly, underneath the strength of some unknown power. Music is coming from somewhere, one of his last thoughts rang out before it was drowned by the murkiness of another’s will. There was music, a melody haunting and familiar. He did not know where he had heard it before, didn’t care, really. It was too beautiful to think of, too dangerous to question. Pippin felt himself rise. Panic left his mind as soon as it entered, swept away like water moves in a river. 

Everyone is asleep. No one will know if you take a look. Just a peek. 

That sounded reasonable enough. Pippin could sate his curiosity, scratch that itch, and be back in his bed before anyone knew. 

But what if I get in trouble? He thought, hesitating a moment, realising he was standing in front of Gandalf now.

You won’t get in any trouble. I promise. No one needs to know.

No one needs to know.

The music is so pretty, isn’t it? Don’t you want to hear more? Don’t you want to see? Don’t you want all your questions answered?

More than anything.

Pippin reached out his hands, aware enough now to know he was doing something wrong, but shrugging it off with all the care of a child sneaking sweets from the pantry. Nothing bad would happen, he was sure of it. The worst would be a scolding from Gandalf, and with how twitchy and snappish Pippin had been all day, that was likely coming anyway.

Pippin picked up a large stone to place underneath Gandalf’s hand. He held his breath as he slid the ball out from under his hold and slid the stone under instead. Gandalf murmured in his sleep, sending a jolt of panic through Pippin, but he did not wake

Stumbling a bit under the weight of the ball (when had it gotten so heavy ), Pippin walked a bit away. The ball was still wrapped in a blanket, and Pippin wished to see it more than anything. He sat down on the cool grass, wet with the dew of early morning and green with the promise of Spring. With shaking fingers and shaking breath, Pippin unwrapped the ball carefully and gently. Usually, he unwrapped gifts with gusto and recklessness, but this he did with the cautious reverence of a worshipper before an altar. 

The white blanket fell away to reveal the inky mirror of the ball. It was perfect and smooth. No error or scratch marred its beauty, no smears disrupted the dark sea. Pippin was almost afraid to touch it. He felt his hands, too small beside the enormity of it, too mortal and flawed, would somehow spoil it. 

He hesitated a moment, wondering at the warmth radiating from the ball, at the voice that wasn’t his but mixed with his thoughts, and at the music- almost fatal in its perfection- rising about him. He shook his head and steeled himself. Whether it was his own curiosity that drove him or the influence of some outside force, he never knew, but the question of it would keep him awake more nights than he could count. He reached out his hands and touched the ball.

It was pleasantly warm, and a golden glow rose up from the depths brighter and more dazzling than sun or stars. It shimmered and rippled as light reflecting off water, as a stone beneath the river glinting a golden light from the deepest part of the water. Intriguing but treacherous. 

The light warmed Pippin’s fingertips, and he pressed his palm against the globe, feeling it spread its warmth up his arms. He pressed his face closer, peering into the inky black and at the gold swirling in it, trying to find answers amidst the questions he found himself repeating over and over in his head like a mantra. He wanted to know everything, and the stone promised answers with its brilliant shine. 

Pippin could feel himself being pulled in. It was a soft tug at first, leading him deeper into the stone. Then, it became a pull, dragging his being away from his body and into the field of gold. Pippin let it happen, wanting more than anything to know what knowledge lay beyond the golden veil. He cast himself forward. Slowly, slowly, he fell through starlight and sunrise and into blackness.

Pippin stared into the abyss. He could feel his mind and body existing as two separate entities, connected by his contact with the sphere. It was an odd, uncomfortable feeling, and it began to grow as he felt the stone becoming hotter. Suddenly, it was burning his hands, but he could not let go. They were glued to the smooth heat of the stone. Panic filled him as he tried to yank away from it, but he was stuck.

A dreadful laugh echoed inside his head. It was too loud, but he could not bring his hands off the stone to cover his ears. He cried out in pain as the laugh continued, sharp and cruel as knives hacking away at his soul. 

A figure erupted from the darkness, tall and cruel and overbearingly bright. Pippin cowered beneath it, crying in pain and fear. Sauron- that was all he could think of. Sauron was standing above him. Pippin felt a burning hand yank him upwards, an unkind finger lifted his chin so he was forced to look at Sauron’s face. He was beautiful, terrible, godlike and demonic. Pippin shook with fear under his blazing gaze. 

Pippin had felt fear before. It had been his constant companion for months now. He had coem to be familiar with gnawing anxiety and growing horror and piercing terror. Those fears were like old enemies now. Evil and yet familiar in all their presence.

This was something new. This was not just familiar fear rising from within. No, this was external fear. This fear was not a side effect of his own emotions, but a weapon forged by the flames of the enemy. It was wholly unfamiliar and wholly dangerous, and unlike the familiar fear with which he had become so accustomed, this fear could not be reasoned with or soothed away. He thought the Ring-Wraiths had been bad. No, they were a fraction of this, of Sauron’s presence- creeping, violating, exploiting his vulnerable mind. He had never before felt like a victim. He had never felt more small or weak or young or naked or insignificant as he did beneath Sauron’s hold.  

A terrible voice filled the void, smooth and cold, What are you?

Pippin clenched his eyes shut, but Sauron was not something he was seeing, He was inside of Pippin’s head. He was inescapable. Pippin shook his head, fighting against Sauron’s will, fighting against the urge to answer.

What are you? Louder this time, more painful. It burned Pippin, the sound of it. It was a fire starting in his stomach and eating its way outward. It consumed him and crackled against his soul and inside his bones. The agony of it was too much, and Pippin sobbed out a scream, torn from somewhere inside him and painful to breath out. A tower flashed before him, lit by fire and shadowed by the wings of some monster. A tree was burning and white blooms crumbled to ash, raining on him and sticking to the tears on his cheeks. Then it was gone, and Sauron was back before him, shining brighter than the white centre of a flame or the blaze of the sun.

“Hobbit!” He squeaked, fearing the pain and the fire. “I am a hobbit!”

Something shifted around him, a possessive caress against his mind that had him recoiling and choking with disgust. There was a yearning in it, and a silent fury, but most of all some evil joy that Pippin shuddered to feel surrounding him. There was a promise too, of something Pippin could not comprehend and did not wish to, before it withdrew. He felt violated and unclean, like the touch of Sauron’s mind to his had dirtied him, had stolen away his innocence and stained him forever.

Sauron laughed again, and He let Pippin drop to the ground.

Tell Saruman that this dainty is not for him. I will send for it at once. Nausea coiled in Pippin’s stomach to be referred to as such.

Tell Saruman this dainty is not for him! Say it! The voice stabbed him. 

Weakly, Pippin repeated it back, wishing this torment would end and he could sleep.

Good, Sauron purred, I will be seeing you. And then He was gone.

Something yanked Pippin from the void, and he knew no more.

Chapter Text

Merry woke up. He was not sure what woke him, but he took the time to check on Pippin. Pippin had been acting odd all day, and Merry was beginning to wonder if the lad was coming down with something, or if he was just cranky now that he had time to be so instead of worrying for his life. 

Merry turned over to Pippin's side of the bedroll, and he realised Pippin was not there. Must have gone to the privy, Merry thought, feeling the still-warm blanket beside him. 

He sat up, telling himself he should go find Pippin, but then he laid back down again. He would be back soon anyway. But what if he is sick? Merry moved to sit up again, but then he remembered how frustrating Pippin found it when Merry tried to keep tabs on him at all times. Yes, Merry was perhaps a little overprotective, but he didn't see it as a flaw. He saw it as a good trait, even if everyone else told him Pippin was nearing adulthood and didn't need a babysitter at all times. 

Still, Merry always worried about him. The two of them were alone among all these big folks who couldn't possibly understand the needs of a hobbit, and who especially couldn't understand the needs of Pippin. They didn't know Pippin liked his scarf tied, or how many sugar cubes he wanted in his tea (three), or how he sometimes needed to be reminded to brush the hair on his head and toes. They didn't know Pippin like Merry did. 

Pippin needed Merry. And Merry needed Pippin too. 

Okay, Pippin had really been gone for far too long. Merry stood up. The ale induced headache intensified, but finding Pippin was far more important than whatever his poor head had decided to do to him. 

Suddenly, a scream tore through the air, and the entire camp was awake. 

Merry began to hyperventilate as he rushed through the crowd of groggy, waking men. He knew that scream. He knew that somewhere, Pippin was hurting.

A flash of white burst by Merry. Gandalf! He followed closely after him, realising that he had left his sword back by his bed and would be no use to Pippin without someone else to help fight off whatever was attacking him.

Gandalf stopped very suddenly, and Merry nearly ran into him. He peered around Gandalf and saw the worst sight he would ever see. 

Blades of grass were set alight by a golden glow. A glow that was coming from the dark, glassy ball Merry remembered Pippin had picked up in Isengard. Pippin was hunched over it now, eyes squeezed shut as he screamed in terror and in agony. Merry rushed forward to help, but Aragorn grabbed him and pulled him back. 

"Let Mithrandir help him," Legolas said from beside them.

Gandalf did help him. He lifted Pippin away from the ball and covered the evil thing under his cloak. When Pippin was no longer touching it, he lay limp and lifeless, skin paler than it had ever been. Merry was not sure which was worse, the painful scrunch of his face before, or the lifeless mask he wore now.

"Pippin!" Merry wailed, feeling useless as he watched Gandalf try to rouse him. He looked so small, lying limp on the grass, eyes closed in some cursed sleep. Merry could do nothing to help him, he didn't even know what was wrong! And no one would tell him either! He could only watch everything with a pounding heart and growing dread. He could have stopped Pippin. If only he had woken sooner, or decided to get up and follow Pippin. If only he had recognised the obsession glowing in Pippin's eyes all day!

And he knew that obsession! He had seen it before in the eyes of Boromir. He knew something about Pippin's odd behaviour had been familiar, and now lay his cousin before him, still and pale as the dead. Still and pale as Boromir had been!

Merry could do nothing but watch. He could do nothing but cry and hate himself. He looked away, unable to bare the thought of never seeing his cousin wake again.

"Peregrin! Pippin!" An insistent voice echoed in the darkness. Pippin's soul shuddered, pulling away in fear. He had not given his name away! Sauron left! So why-

"Fool of a Took! Wake this instant! You are safe now, but you must wake!"

No! Pippin answered the voice, fear and desperation sending buzzing confusion through his mind. No! No hurt! Please! His mind struggled to form sentences among the noise and fear, he could only beg and cry for that evil presence to treat him with mercy.

"Pippin!" 

Pippin was wrenched into waking. There were blurry people above him, tall and high above him. Just like Sauron they were watching him, towering over him, waiting for some response. He sobbed and tried to curl up into himself, but strong hands held him. He needed them to let go!

"This dainty is not for you, Saruman! Do you understand? Say just that!" Pippin cried out, remembering the words Sauron had told him to say, then realising he had messed up and added his instructions too. He tensed and squeaked, waiting for the pain to punish him for relaying the message incorrectly, but to his surprise, none did.

Pippin opened his opened eyes again, wide and scared and body trembling. The blurry forms above him slowly came into shape. Gandalf sat above him, holding one of his hands. Merry stood behind, weeping and leaning heavily on Aragorn.

"Pippin," Gandalf said his name again, and Pippin's eyes locked on his. He realised he was gasping and shivering. He tried to stop, but he could not. He couldn't even think through the blur and the haze of his thoughts.

"What did you see?" Gandalf asked. Ordered, more like. He sounded rather stern and alarmed.

"Saw-" Pippin took a gulp and tried to reorder his thoughts. He knew what he saw. He would never unsee it. He just couldn't put it into words quite yet. "Fire!" He finally whispered. "And… and Him ."

"What did Sauron say?" Gandalf's words sent a gasp through the company. Pippin wished they weren't there. He felt so unclean- he did not want anyone else to see him or hear what had happened. "What did he say?"

"He asked me who I was, no what."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I didn't answer- and he hurt me! I-" Pippin shuddered in fear and remembered pain. He turned his face away from Gandalf and squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he would die. Death would wipe away his shame. Death would clean Sauron’s filth from his soul.

"Peregrin, look at me!" Gandalf ordered, stern but not unkind.

Pippin opened his eyes, afraid suddenly for a moment that Gandalf would hurt him if he didn't obey. "I saw a fire. A tower was burning- and a tree- a dying tree, and something was flying and he hurt me! He asked again. I didn't want to hurt more!" Pippin tried to explain, voice cracking, "I told him I am a hobbit. He stopped hurting me and he laughed and he told me to tell Saruman that- that-"

"Yes," Gandalf stroked Pippin's palm. "We all heard."

Pippin choked out a sigh, glad he didn't have to say it again. The words had felt vile in his mouth.

"Did you say anything of Frodo?" Gandalf asked, very urgent.

"No," Pippin shook his head, "No," he responded again, for good measure. 

"I believe you," Gandalf assured him. He gathered Pippin up in his arms, holding him like he was only a babe. Pippin clung to him, feeling safe for the first time after this ordeal. He sobbed now, scared and hurting and overwhelmed. Gandalf rubbed a hand on Pippin's back, shushing him in a way that Pippin would've found infantilizing were he in a better state. 

"Come lad, you need rest," Pippin's eyes had already closed, but he felt himself being gently placed on a bedroll, and large hands tucked blankets around him just as his father used to do when he was a bairn. 

A warm weight settled next to Pippin and he instinctively knew it was Merry. Merry wrapped arms around him and placed a kiss on his forehead. Pippin could feel him crying still. He wanted to say something. Maybe comfort Merry, or apologise, but he was everso tired. The whole ordeal had exhausted him almost as much as a day of hiking would have, so he slept instead, the dreamless sleep of the weary and fatigued.

Pippin stirred. He heard movement about the camp, and fear gripped him for a moment again, before he remembered that he was safe. At least, for a while. 

"Pip, wake up, we have to go," Merry shook him. 

Pippin sat up. Merry refused to look him in the eyes. His jaw clenched as he tried very hard not to show any outward emotion towards Pippin.

"Merry?" Pippin asked. He knew something was wrong.

"Just wake up!" Merry hissed, and walked away from him. He had left Pippin to roll up the bed by himself.

Pippin nearly cried in frustration as he rolled the bed a second time and messed it up again. He kept rolling it unevenly, and it was just too big for him to reach both ends of at once.

"Here lad," Gimli came up behind Pippin and helped him roll it up, taking one end for him.

"Where'd Merry go?" Pippin asked as Gimli helped him tie up the bedroll.

"Don't know," Gimli hefted it up, and Pippin reached up to help, but he swayed on his feet, still so weary from last night. Gimli waved him off. He didn't need any help.

"Gimli, is he mad at me?" Pippin followed Gimli through the camp, dodging horses and men with him as they tried to find the man the bedroll had been borrowed from. 

"Can't think of any reason he'd be. You tried asking?"

"No," Pippin stumbled a little trying to keep pace with Gimli. "But he didn't stay long enough for me to ask. I feel as though he is avoiding me!" 

Gimli huffed out a sound that Pippin supposed sounded concerned, though one could never be quite sure with Gimli. It could very well be an annoyed huff, in which case Pippin wanted to know why everyone seemed to be angry at him this morning.

"Lad," Gimli said, stopping so he could turn to Pippin. "You need to sit down. You're shaking like a wet kitten." Pippin rolled his eyes at the comparison, though he let Gimli lead him over to a less busy part of camp and make him sit down.

Gimli left to return the bedroll. Pippin sat with his chin on his knees, watching the camp pack up. He didn't miss the way some of the men shot curious looks in his direction. 

In the corner of Pippin's vision, he saw Merry. He stood up and waved, but Merry was not looking in his direction. 

"Merry!" Pippin ran towards him. Merry looked heard him and turned around. The expression on his face was unreadable. "Merry," Pippin stopped in front of him, feeling tireder than he should. "Are you mad at me?"

Something flashed through Merry's eyes, and he tensed up. 

"Mer?"

"Why did you do it?" Merry asked, anger simmering beneath his words.

"I-" 

"Why did you look? Why do you always have to look?!" Pippin stepped back at the sound of his cousin's voice, at the ire in his stare.

"I didn't mean to!"

"You did!" Merry shouted. Pippin startled, almost falling. Several men were watching them now, though most at least tried to look as though they weren't listening in. "You did mean to look!"

"I didn't think-"

"That's your problem Pippin! You don't think! You never think!"

Merry's words hurt worse than all the torture Sauron had put him through. The hurt and anger in his eyes cut Pippin deeper than any sword.

"I'm sorry Merry!"

"Sorry isn't enough!" Merry was panting now, and he spoke more quietly next, "Sauron thinks you have the Ring. Do you know what that means?"

Pippin shook his head. 

"It means he's coming for you. It means the Nazgûl are hunting for you! You could die, Pippin!"

Cold dread washed over Pippin. He shook harder now, from fear as well as weariness. The noise Frodo had made when he was stabbed echoed through Pippin's head. Pippin burst into tears.

Merry's expression immediately softened. He hugged Pippin, and brushed a hand through his curls. "I'm so sorry- sorry I yelled at you. I'm not mad at you, not really. I- I should've done something!"

"Don't blame yourself! I was stupid! I acted like a fool and I disobeyed Gandalf and I was snappish and unpleasant towards everyone yesterday! Please forgive me!" 

A scream tore the air. It was horrible and inhuman and pierced hearts with fear. It was a ringwraith.

The camp erupted into chaos. Frightened horses broke away from their owners, men sank to the ground with their hands over their ears. Pippin clung tight to his cousin, wondering if today was the day he would die. Something grabbed Pippin, and he was so very frightened the Nazgûl had got to him, but it was only Gandalf, pulling him onto Shadowfax's back.

"Pippin!" Merry cried.

"We must go!" Gandalf said. "We cannot stay here!" Shadowfax began to run, and Pippin twisted from where he sat in front of Gandalf to watch Merry grow farther and farther away, screaming his name as they were parted.

Chapter Text

Pippin didn't remember much of the beginning of the ride to Minas Tirith. He spent much of it sleeping, and his sleep was plagued by muddled nightmares and confusing dreams. That horrible fire blazed in his dreams. Each time he awoke crying, grasping Gandalf's robe and staining it darker with his tears. 

Gandalf for once did not scold him, only looked at him with eyes sadder and kinder than Pippin had ever seen pointed in his direction. He almost wished Gandalf would scold him. He would deserve it, at least. Instead, the old wizard held Pippin close and calmed him with gentle words. It was different, but it was nice at least, though Pippin wished Gandalf would not treat him so much like a leaf in autumn, ready to fall from its branch and crumble on the ground below. 

After a while, though Pippin could not be sure how long, the heavy fatigue which had hung over him since he looked in that cursed orb fell away. He was back to his usual, energetic self. This was unfortunate considering he was confined to the saddle of a horse.

"Gandalf, I'm sooooo bored!" Pippin whined, leaning his head back against Gandalf's chest. Shadowfax jumped over a small crater in the road and Pippin was thrown forward again.

"Don't be," Gandalf said, helpful as ever. Pippin really took back wishing Gandalf would act normal. It was irritating. How did he not remember how irritating Gandalf could be?

"How far is it to Minas Tirith?"

"Two days now. As the Nazgûl flies."

"That isn't funny," Pippin pouted, intentionally making his pout even more dramatic so Gandalf would get just how very not funny his statement had been.

Gandalf only chuckled and muttered something under his breath about hobbits which Pippin was sure he would've found offensive could he hear it properly. 

"Hey!" Pippin smacked his arm lightly, "whatever you said was probably super mean and I think you should apologise to me now!"

To his surprise, Gandalf did, though he was holding back laughter the whole time and it didn't feel genuine at all. However, the second part of his apology intrigued Pippin greatly, "Now, we have a long few days ahead of us. Let us pass the time. Ask me any question you like, I know you always want to."

"Truly?" Pippin couldn't believe it. Gandalf was usually far too busy to answer Pippin's questions.

"Truly."

Pippin thought for a minute, wondering what question he wanted answered first. He had many, ranging from why the ocean was so big, to how mountains grew, to what knowing the Old Took was like. He decided to go with one that had been nagging him since Gandalf had come back:

"Where is your hat, Gandalf? Did the Balrog take it?"

"No. When I was reborn, I didn't get to take my old clothes with me. I wear now what the elves gave me in Lothlórien."

"So you strolled into Lothlórien naked?"

"Yes"

"I don't suppose the elves liked that much."

"No, they did not."

For two days straight, Pippin asked every question he could (he insisted he wanted to know everything there was to know about everything, and Gandalf said that would take a rather long time). The wizard answered everything to the best of his ability, but even he could not answer some of Pippin's questions after they started to become more hypothetical, such as what would happen if you drowned in a fountain of youth. Gandalf said that no such fountain existed, and Pippin said but if it did what would happen if you drowned in it? And then Gandalf stopped letting Pippin ask questions and started talking about the history of Gondor instead. 

He spoke of wars and kings and stewards as they rode through forest and field, past burnt farmland and the rubble of towns long-deserted. It made Pippin want to cry, seeing the empty husks of houses, places which may never be re-built. Places which would be forgotten, along with their stories and inhabitants. 

It was just too sad to think of.

Finally, on the third day of riding, a gleam of light rose up in the distance. Pippin fixed his eyes to it, wondering what could be shining so bright. As they neared, he could see it was a city like something out of a storybook. White towers rose skyward. Walls of stone reflected the sun back at him, dazzling him and making him squint in the late afternoon light.

He could not believe that this city was Minas Tirith. This was really the place Boromir had lived all his life? He knew it would be grand- after all, Boromir had said so- but he never imagined anything this grand!

"Amazing, isn't it?" Gandalf seemed to read his mind. Or read his face- he was gawking rather obviously.

"Yes, it's so big! And shiny!"

They approached the gate, and Pippin's giddy awe began to become nervous awe. Even just the gate was so big, and he was so little! This was like the complete opposite of the Shire and everything he had ever known!

Gandalf placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, which was strange, because Pippin could see both his hands holding onto Shadowfax's mane… oh! Boromir's back! It was Boromir's hand, not Gandalf's. He was glad Boromir got to see him see the city for the first time. He always said he wanted to take him and Merry to the city. 

But Merry couldn't be here.

Pippin sobered at the reminder that his dearest friend, his other half, wasn't here. His mother had once remarked that he and Merry were two parts of the same hobbit, with how close they were. She was right. Being without Merry, even for a few days, left Pippin feeling incomplete. It was like he was a pie without filling, or strawberries without cream, or eggs without bacon, or gravy without mashed potatoes, or-! Okay, well he was definitely hungry, but he really did miss Merry too! And the rumbling of his empty stomach only made it worse because it made him think of all the times Merry had shared a snack with him. Now there was no one to give him a snack except Gandalf but they were quickly approaching the city, so obviously Gandalf had much more important things to do.

A soldier called out to them from the wall, and the heavy gates swung open. No, swung wasn't the right word at all. It was much slower than a swing. Farmland greeted them on the other side of the gate. 

Shadowfax trotted through the opening, and Pippin looked up at the arch of stone above them. He was afraid for a horrible moment that the stone would buckle and fall under its weight. How could something so big and heavy stay up? 

Then, rolling hills and fields greeted him. It was so similar to the Shire that it hurt to look at. Pippin could almost imagine hobbit farmers working in the fields to sow crops or till the soil. If he concentrated, he could imagine himself and Merry and all their friends running through the fields, pretending they are on one of Bilbo's adventures. 

Bilbo's adventures were much nicer than the adventure he was on now. Pippin didn't know much, but he knew this at least: fighting Smaug would be far safer than fighting Sauron. 

Eventually, they passed through all the farmland (how could it be so empty this time of year? Where was everyone?) and came to another gate. When this gate opened up, it was like entering a whole new world. Paved streets wound upwards, lined by straight, white buildings that reached towards the sky. It was strange and far too symmetric for Pippin to feel any sort of comfort. Empty too. Everything he had seen of the city so far reminded him of a graveyard: the emptiness, the strange atmosphere, the stone buildings standing like faceless graves above them.

Something was very wrong in the city of Minas Tirith. It was like someone was tuning a fiddle, turning the peg further and further until the string was near to snapping. 

"Where is everyone?" Pippin whispered, afraid to break the silence of the city. Already Shadowfax's hooves upon the streets echoed thunder-loud. His voice needn't add to the noise.

"Evacuated to a safer area," Gandalf explained. This reassured Pippin somewhat, but then he realised that meant the city wasn't safe, and since he was in it, neither was he.

"Gandalf, why did we come here again?"

"I have business to attend to," the wizard said. "And you have proven yourself too much trouble to let out of my sight." The amused glint was back in Gandalf's eyes, and Pippin relaxed under that familiar teasing gaze.

They finally stopped at the highest part of the city. A stone ledge looked out over everything. While they dismounted, Gandalf handing the reins off to a soldier in silver and sable, Pippin noticed a dead tree in the middle of a perfectly green field. 

"Gandalf! The tree!" He whispered, pointing at it. "I saw it! I saw the tree! In my vision!"

"It is the White Tree of Gondor," Gandalf said, leading him towards a large building carved from the mountain. Pippin remembered his history lesson during the ride. Yes, the tree had been mentioned, and Gandalf told him it was dead, but to see it now, in person, the tree that held the dying hopes of a dying people in a dying city- some wave of emotion he couldn't name washed over him, threatened to drown him. It was so horribly unbearably sad. 

"Now," Gandalf stopped just before the doors. "It is best you not mention anything about Boromir's death," Pippin nodded. He really didn't want to be the one who bore that piece of news. "And do not mention anything of Frodo or the Ring. Say nothing of Aragorn either. In fact, it is better if you don't talk at all."

And with that, the doors to the building swung open, and now they stood in a large, cool hall. The air really was a few degrees colder here, so Pippin wrapped his cloak tighter about himself. Statues lined the hall, all leading towards a marble-carved throne, and, beside it, a less intricate black chair. 

In the chair, an older man sat. As they got closer, Pippin was amazed by the aura surrounding the man. His pose was confident, kingly, almost. But guarded too. The man looked much like Boromir, or at least, what Boromir would have looked like had he been able to grow old. They looked so alike that Pippin would hardly be able to tell the difference if not for the grey pieces that laced the man's hair or the lines of grief marked upon his face. 

This must be the Lord Denethor.

When Denethor looked at Gandalf, his eyes narrowed, full of taciturn cunning. When he looked down at Pippin, they turned to curiosity and a guarded look that was not unkind but wasn't welcoming either. 

The tension he felt plaguing the city before was now ten times heavier. It was suffocating, almost, standing in the cold echoey hall between the wizard and the man. The fiddle string he imagined before was connecting these two, he realised, and they were each turning the peg, playing a dangerous game that wouldn't end until someone snapped.

Gandalf began to talk. Pippin fidgeted nervously, feeling sweat run down his neck. It was so cold, yet he was nervous enough that he was sweating. He tried really hard to stay still and to stand up straight, but he just couldn't. There was too much pressure weighing him down. 

The meeting passed in an uncomfortable haze. Pipin honestly couldn't remember much of it, but he did know one thing: he swore his service to the Steward of Gondor, and now he had Responsibilities. 

He didn't really think much, in the moment. He just knew it felt like the right thing to do. Boromir always spoke so highly of his country. Pippin could easily remember the look of homesickness on Boromir's face, or the pride in his eyes as he talked about Gondor. Pippin could not protect Boromir, in the end. He broke his promise, but he could do this at least. He could fight for the country Boromri loved more than his own life. It wasn't a matter of honour or pride, Pippin did this as an act of love, a symbol of thanks for a man who died so he could live, even if he felt he didn't deserve to some days.

As they walked out of the cold hall and into the sun, Gandalf scolded Pippin for his rash decision, but Pippin did not bother to listen. He felt disembodied pride directed his way from the ghost of Boromir. If Gandalf noticed the grin on Pippin's face, or the happy tears threatening to fall from his eyes, he said nothing.