Disclaimer: I own neither the Camp Half-Blood Chronicles nor Lord of the Rings. They are the creations of authors Rick Riordan and J.R.R Tolkien, respectively. This story stemmed from my love of both.
Author's Note: This one-shot takes place during The Return of the King and after The Heroes of Olympus.
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Shadowfax sprinted across the plains, hooves thrumming against the dirt. On his back rode Gandalf the White, glorious in splendor, and in front of him sat Peregrin Took, head hung low. Minas Tirith lay days away. They would not stop until they stood under the White Tree itself.
Pippin bobbed despondently with every hoofbeat. He had made a mess of everything. When he'd picked up the Palantír, he hadn't meant to hurt anyone. He'd just. . .just. . .he didn't know what. So he sat, and rode, and tried to ignore the bruises forming on his behind.
His gaze drifted over the landscape, begging for something to distract him.
"Gandalf, there's something following us."
The wizard's beard scraped the back of Pippin's neck as he turned to look. "So there is."
A brown blur raced across the horizon, parallel to Shadowfax's path.
Pippin's heartbeat quickened. Had the Nazgûl found him so quickly? He didn't want to die. He wanted to see Merry again. And Frodo and Sam. "What is it? Is it bad?" He peered earnestly over his shoulder at Gandalf.
The wizard had drawn himself up to full height, his hand coiled around his staff. As he squinted against the sun, the air grew heavy, and Pippin didn't dare breathe. Then Gandalf chuckled. "Certainly not, my dear hobbit. We are in no danger from him."
The spell broke, and Pippin sighed in relief. He was silent for a moment, watching the blur glint gold in the fading light. "Who's him?"
Gandalf laughed once more, but melancholy flickered in his eyes. "A relic, I'm afraid, of a time long past." And it seemed the wizard had little more to say.
But Pippin couldn't help himself. "Does he have a name?"
A dozen hoofbeats passed before Gandalf replied. "Arion the Fleet-Footed."
Pippin ooh-ed. The name seemed to fit the blur quite well. Being a blur and all. Pippin cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. If he looked hard, he thought he could make out four legs and a mane. He fancied another set of hoofbeats rang out beside Shadowfax's. "Is he a horse?"
"Of sorts."
"What do you mean of sorts? You're either a horse or you aren't."
"Things are not always so simple."
"They are when you're a horse."
Shadowfax whinnied beneath him angrily, and Pippin was reminded that he was perched on the back of a horse-lord running faster than he'd ever gone before, charging toward what was more than likely his doom.
Pippin swallowed. "Yes, yes. Sorry." He shifted his short legs so they better hung around Shadowfax's muscular torso. "But if he's a horse, can we ride him?"
Gandalf snorted. "If we were to attempt that, then we would be in greater danger than we are now." He looked out toward the blur. "No, Arion has only ever had one rider, a great warrior indeed, but she and her kin faded long ago."
"She?"
"As much as it might surprise you, women are sometimes much stronger than men."
"Oh." Pippin frowned. "What do you mean faded?"
Gandalf's eyes crinkled in a bitter-sweet smile. His shoulders seemed to stoop. "Not even immortals are exempt from time, young Peregrin."
Pippin looked out at the horizon. The sort-of horse had stopped on a bluff, hair whipping in the wind. Pity gnawed at Pippin's gut. He wondered how awful it would be to be the last one left, alone and friendless, and decided he'd much rather go out before that happened.
Arion reared toward the sky. A whinny carried across the plains, and Shadowfax bellowed back. Then the sort-of horse was gone, and they were alone once more, pounding across the flats of Rohan.
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Author's Note: Many crossovers use Tolkien's world as the past or as an alternate dimension, but in That Which Lingers, I envision it as what comes after our world. Thus, this story is set long after now, in a time when the Greco-Roman gods have faded much as Pan did in The Battle of the Labyrinth, replaced by the Valar and other elements of Tolkien-mythos. A few remnants, like Arion, remain, but most have faded over the millennia.