23/5: I'm planning on re-writing this to make it fit in better with the
movie just as soon as I get the DVD, so please excuse the mistakes!
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
A/N: Written for Marigold's Challenge 3. It's my first story so please review, constructive criticism would be really appreciated! Based on the movie version of the siege of Minas Tirith. Some quotes are taken directly from the film.
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Gandalf had taken charge of the defence of Minas Tirith. His cries of "To battle!" rang throughout the streets and the soldiers that had fled from their posts a moment ago now turned back. The Lord Denethor had been usurped, it seemed. But whether or not a new voice in command would change the fortunes of the beleaguered City, no one could foresee.
Pippin got up from beside the stricken Faramir, dimly aware that his hands had gone all clammy and his heart was pounding. Everything had just started to happen very quickly, and he knew exactly what that meant – the armies from Mordor were here and the battle had begun. Pippin began to wish that he could just keep on serving the Steward his meals and sing a song or two, even though it sickened him. But Gandalf had told him he would be expected to fight.
The Citadel was quickly emptying of soldiers and everyone seemed to have somewhere to go, and so did he, Pippin reluctantly admitted to himself, he must put on his armour and join the soldiers down below. Well, how bad could it be? He had fought before, although his most recent experience of battle had been from the safe vantage-point of Treebeard's upper branches. But Boromir had shown him what to do with a sword and he had killed orcs before; it would be all right, wouldn't it?
Pippin was distracted from this line of thought as he noticed one of the soldiers gently help a muttering Lord Denethor to his feet. Something had caused the Steward to break down and declare them all doomed and Pippin could not resist a look at what it was. It must be terrible indeed and for a moment he hesitated, torn between curiosity and common sense. It was probably not wise to see what was out there, considering how fragile his courage was already.
But Pippin still could not resist the temptation to look and he leaned over the wall, his hands shaking in anticipation. By the gods! There was no end to the black armies of orcs and other creatures that Pippin had never seen before, massed on the plains below. He looked around fearfully as far as he could in all directions and his breath caught in his throat, unable to believe what he was seeing. Pippin credited himself with a vivid imagination but in all of Bilbo's tales and everything he had already seen on the Quest nothing came close to the monstrous army before him now. It was so dreadful! 'I will never forget this sight as long as I live,' he thought, 'and I shall never be able to explain it either for we do not even have words for such things!' It was a small mercy, but he was grateful for it.
He took a deep, shaking breath and raised his gaze to the Black Land lying so near. He had dreaded this place in a detached sort of way without really knowing why, but Pippin now knew all too well why he should fear it. Since arriving here he had felt quite downhearted, thinking it was because of the palantír and his separation from Merry, but now he saw that it was Mordor, the malice and cruel intent emanating from that place felt like something he could touch, the air was thick with it and all who breathed it in felt the bitterness of defeat.
It felt to Pippin in a moment of stark insight, as though the Dark Lord was slowly strangling the City in the certainty of its own doom. Even from here the dark clouds that shrouded that place seemed to mock him, assuring him that soon they would cover the White City in darkness too, and there was no escape. Pippin was not sure whether this prediction came from the shadow or from his own heart.
He had been frightened out of his wits many times on the Quest but had always managed to shake off the terror and regain his optimistic outlook once the danger was over. Now with Mordor and the armies below commanding his whole vision, he saw for the first time how much power the Enemy commanded and a dread settled on his heart. Would there ever be a time without danger after this day, whether he lived to see it or not?
He felt like such a fool for taking it all so lightly and treating this Quest as if it were little more than a tramp through the East Farthing, wishing with all his heart that he had understood before. But he just hadn't known! If only he could do something right – before the end, he might make up for his foolishness. But he was alone and did not know what to do. He felt utterly bereft without Merry's comforting presence beside him and wished that he had not got himself separated from his cousin. Everything seemed much less frightening and unpredictable with Merry around.
Was Merry on his way here? A flash of hope welled up in him, instantly quelled by the cold realisation that if he was, his dearest friend would be riding into battle against what was surely the biggest army the world of Men had faced in an Age! All of his friends now faced danger that was far too big for them, he would have to be brave like them and meet it, if this was going to be the end!
Pippin wrenched his gaze from the fearsome sight and ran to the room he shared with Gandalf to put on his armour. Maybe the City would not fall. He was forgetting that Gandalf and Aragorn must have a plan, they had always found a way to get them safely through the direst of situations so far. Well, not always, he reminded himself, remembering Weathertop – and Gandalf's fall in Moria, though that had turned out well in the end, at least. And he would have to get through this battle without their help this time.
Pippin struggled to put on his mail-shirt and tried to imagine himself being as brave and strong as Aragorn and Boromir. He had never seen fear in their eyes, or at least not the kind of fear that would defeat a person. He had long been in awe of the confidence his friends had in their own strength, of their silent pledge to the hobbits that they would fight to the end for them if necessary - and they had certainly done that, Pippin thought sadly. If only Boromir could have lived, he would be there now, giving his people hope, and his father would not have gone mad, nor would Faramir have ridden needlessly into that battle at Osgiliath! Pippin would have felt much less hopeless with his noble friend commanding the defence, for although Gandalf was the best leader they could hope for, the people really needed one of their own to stir them from their long despair.
The armour was heavy and Pippin wondered how Gimli could walk across Middle Earth day and night in such attire and not weary of it. He put on his helm last; wincing at the way it pinched him around his ears, and tried an experimental sword thrust. Did he look grand, or absurd, he wondered? He ran his fingers over the silver tree embroidered on the surcoat and observed that in appearance at least, he was now a soldier of Gondor, one of many. But he was a hobbit underneath and he did not want to know what it felt like to be a soldier. The soldiers of Gondor had sad eyes, reflecting all they had endured so long in the shadow of the Enemy. Hobbits were not meant to know such things, not what it felt like to fight beside others without hope only to die alone, amongst the heaps of faceless dead.
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He was running now, down and down to the battle. From the plain below, mighty projectiles had been launched; knocking Pippin off his feet more than once as the frightful weapon scarred the proud face of the City and shook the ground beneath his feet. It fascinated and dismayed him that the Enemy could wield such power, for when he had first laid eyes on the White City, it had seemed to him to be as flawless and strong as Isengard.
The earth shook again, closer this time, and stones came loose from walls above and broke on the street, smashing into fragments. Panic was taking hold and he saw the same fear in his heart reflected in the eyes of the people he ran past. Feeling very small, he tried to avoid all the people running about blindly who did not seem to see him, such was their desperation to save themselves; but in their haste they knocked him to the ground and it suddenly occurred to him that a man or a rock might flatten him before he even had a chance to draw his sword. He meant to try and be brave and did not want to be robbed of the opportunity, so he got up, gritted his teeth and kept running, down and down.
There were bodies crushed beneath the rubble, some of them alive, and Pippin tried not to look and then because he was looking, he nearly fell victim to the shattered walls himself as a large piece of rock broke loose from above and smashed at his feet. He cried out in shock but did not stop, for if his immediate fate were to be a matter of chance it would be better to keep running.
But no, not run now, not away from this. Pippin heard the dreadful, unbearable screech before he saw the Nazgul and instinctively scrambled for cover, not hearing his own small cries of fear as the presence of the Black Rider overwhelmed all his senses. There it was, right overhead, the fell beast clawing at the people as they fled before it in vain, and it swept them up, crushing them cruelly in its claws before casting them into the abyss. Pippin had seen these winged riders before from the safety of Shadowfax, but his mind turned now, blank with panic, back to Weathertop and he saw himself quailing and helpless before the Witch King of Angmar. The same bitter cold and dread had descended on him now and he shuddered uncontrollably. What was he going to do?
He knew he must go on and yet part of him asked why and Pippin again had to struggle with himself. He wanted to turn back so much, but it would make no difference now, he was trapped miserably in this place and horror and death were closing in without mercy from all directions. He just wanted to be somewhere else, away from these narrow, choking streets and he wondered if he headed for one of the outer walls he might still find unbowed soldiers with determination in their eyes.
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Pippin now found himself under an arch leading to the outer wall, knowing with a sinking heart that what he had just been through paled before what was to come. But an unexpected and welcome sight was before him! Pippin could have wept with relief, seeing Gandalf's familiar face amongst all this madness. Maybe he would not be so afraid if he stood by the wizard? But Gandalf turned around and looked at him in utter horror. The last thing he wanted to see at this moment was this white-faced, bewildered young hobbit.
"Peregrin Took! Go back to the Citadel!"
Under any other circumstances, Pippin would have flinched at the especially fierce voice the wizard was using, a sure sign that Gandalf was deadly serious. But his feet were rooted to the spot, stubbornly refusing to take him back the way he had come. And Pippin did not want to leave Gandalf now that he had found him.
"They called us down to fight," Pippin replied in a small voice. He knew he did not much feel like a soldier and he could see why Gandalf was concerned, but it was his duty to fight wasn't it? Or had Gandalf just been trying to frighten him before?
Feeling suddenly very tired and confused, he could only stay where he was and watch in disbelief as a large group of orcs somehow appeared on a sort of bridge and climbed over the wall. They in turn saw him and ran forward, brandishing their weapons gleefully, relishing an easy target. But Gandalf blocked their path, and bellowing with rage he sent the leading orc flying with a blow from his staff and proceeded to dispatch the next two in a similar fashion.
As if having proved his point, he turned once more to the hobbit, fixing him with a resolute gaze. "This is no place for a hobbit!"
Pippin was quite aware of this and supposed he should run back to the Citadel before he got himself into any more trouble. But Gandalf was now surrounded by orcs, lots of them, pouring over the wall. He was keeping them at bay somehow with just his staff, but Pippin began to fear for the wizard as the foul creatures hurled themselves at him relentlessly. He hovered there for a moment, wracked with indecision. He did not want to be a helpless bystander to a re-enactment of Boromir's death, not with dear old Gandalf taking the central role this time! But Gandalf was right, wasn't he? This was no place for a hobbit. He had known this all along. Why did he think there was anything he could do? It was just too big for him.
This is too big for us.
A half-forgotten conversation, a lesson learnt only recently, fluttered about in his mind. What was it? Oh – how muddled he must have been of late to forget so soon! He had said those same words to Merry in Fangorn when he tried to convince him that they should turn back to the Shire, but brave, clever Merry had made him see that something had to be done - or there would be no place left in the world for Hobbits at all. They may be small, but their part in the War was not over as long as they did not give up, and what more proof did he need of the truth in that than the Ents' march on Isengard!
Pippin looked up with determination flickering in his eyes. He would not let this happen again! He had had no choice but to stand by when Gandalf clung to the bridge in Moria and when Boromir was brought down by the Uruk Hai but there had to be some way of stopping them this ti--
His blade was dripping with black blood and he looked at it in surprise. Gandalf was smiling down at him.
"Guard of the Citadel, indeed!" Pippin heard the pride in Gandalf's voice and smiled, uncertainly. He had done it without thinking, seeing his opportunity and rushing forward with every scrap of willpower he possessed, and the discovery of his own warrior-like instincts made Pippin feel both glad and uncomfortable. If he did nothing else in this battle he was glad to have helped Gandalf and to be of some real use finally, having done nothing but exasperate the wizard throughout the Quest. But he hoped these instincts would bury themselves deep down again as soon as this was all over.
Gandalf gently told Pippin to go back and Pippin was glad to obey him this time. The fear in his heart had diminished for now, now that he could see that it was not so bad after all when the time came. He just had to do whatever he could, which wasn't so much to ask of himself.
And perhaps he could hope after all, even if it was a fool's hope, because wasn't that the best kind of hope anyway? It was the sort of hope that had led them here and although the greatest test was yet before them all, Pippin had seen enough surprising and good things happen by now to see that there was still a chance that he would see Merry again and that Frodo and Sam would make it - and if it were not for the fools of this world they never would have set out at all.
He did not suppose he would tell Merry much of what had happened here when he saw him again, beyond comparing notes of course. He would be so glad to see him that it would not matter what they had seen, or how scared and lonely they had been. They would just know all that anyway, without the need for words.
For a moment he allowed himself to imagine their return to the Shire, to sit where they belonged in the Green Dragon with a pint in one hand and a pipe in the other on a warm summer's evening, singing the most ridiculous of Bilbo's songs that they could think of.
The comforting picture lightened his heart and upon a little more reflection, Pippin decided that after the initial joy of seeing each other had worn off, Merry – being the way he was – would undoubtedly have some impressive tales of battle with which to regale him.
Well, maybe Merry would like to hear the story of how the fool of a Took finally proved himself to Gandalf. Pippin was quite fond of that one already and Merry would be glad to know that he had a part in it. Merry had been right of course, in Fangorn, as he always was, and Pippin reflected that his cousin might be less cross that Pippin had got himself into this if he thought about it this way – that maybe, in a small way, they were meant to take separate paths, and Pippin was meant to be here. At any rate, he certainly would not turn back now, whatever may come.
He wondered if Faramir was all right.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
A/N: Written for Marigold's Challenge 3. It's my first story so please review, constructive criticism would be really appreciated! Based on the movie version of the siege of Minas Tirith. Some quotes are taken directly from the film.
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Gandalf had taken charge of the defence of Minas Tirith. His cries of "To battle!" rang throughout the streets and the soldiers that had fled from their posts a moment ago now turned back. The Lord Denethor had been usurped, it seemed. But whether or not a new voice in command would change the fortunes of the beleaguered City, no one could foresee.
Pippin got up from beside the stricken Faramir, dimly aware that his hands had gone all clammy and his heart was pounding. Everything had just started to happen very quickly, and he knew exactly what that meant – the armies from Mordor were here and the battle had begun. Pippin began to wish that he could just keep on serving the Steward his meals and sing a song or two, even though it sickened him. But Gandalf had told him he would be expected to fight.
The Citadel was quickly emptying of soldiers and everyone seemed to have somewhere to go, and so did he, Pippin reluctantly admitted to himself, he must put on his armour and join the soldiers down below. Well, how bad could it be? He had fought before, although his most recent experience of battle had been from the safe vantage-point of Treebeard's upper branches. But Boromir had shown him what to do with a sword and he had killed orcs before; it would be all right, wouldn't it?
Pippin was distracted from this line of thought as he noticed one of the soldiers gently help a muttering Lord Denethor to his feet. Something had caused the Steward to break down and declare them all doomed and Pippin could not resist a look at what it was. It must be terrible indeed and for a moment he hesitated, torn between curiosity and common sense. It was probably not wise to see what was out there, considering how fragile his courage was already.
But Pippin still could not resist the temptation to look and he leaned over the wall, his hands shaking in anticipation. By the gods! There was no end to the black armies of orcs and other creatures that Pippin had never seen before, massed on the plains below. He looked around fearfully as far as he could in all directions and his breath caught in his throat, unable to believe what he was seeing. Pippin credited himself with a vivid imagination but in all of Bilbo's tales and everything he had already seen on the Quest nothing came close to the monstrous army before him now. It was so dreadful! 'I will never forget this sight as long as I live,' he thought, 'and I shall never be able to explain it either for we do not even have words for such things!' It was a small mercy, but he was grateful for it.
He took a deep, shaking breath and raised his gaze to the Black Land lying so near. He had dreaded this place in a detached sort of way without really knowing why, but Pippin now knew all too well why he should fear it. Since arriving here he had felt quite downhearted, thinking it was because of the palantír and his separation from Merry, but now he saw that it was Mordor, the malice and cruel intent emanating from that place felt like something he could touch, the air was thick with it and all who breathed it in felt the bitterness of defeat.
It felt to Pippin in a moment of stark insight, as though the Dark Lord was slowly strangling the City in the certainty of its own doom. Even from here the dark clouds that shrouded that place seemed to mock him, assuring him that soon they would cover the White City in darkness too, and there was no escape. Pippin was not sure whether this prediction came from the shadow or from his own heart.
He had been frightened out of his wits many times on the Quest but had always managed to shake off the terror and regain his optimistic outlook once the danger was over. Now with Mordor and the armies below commanding his whole vision, he saw for the first time how much power the Enemy commanded and a dread settled on his heart. Would there ever be a time without danger after this day, whether he lived to see it or not?
He felt like such a fool for taking it all so lightly and treating this Quest as if it were little more than a tramp through the East Farthing, wishing with all his heart that he had understood before. But he just hadn't known! If only he could do something right – before the end, he might make up for his foolishness. But he was alone and did not know what to do. He felt utterly bereft without Merry's comforting presence beside him and wished that he had not got himself separated from his cousin. Everything seemed much less frightening and unpredictable with Merry around.
Was Merry on his way here? A flash of hope welled up in him, instantly quelled by the cold realisation that if he was, his dearest friend would be riding into battle against what was surely the biggest army the world of Men had faced in an Age! All of his friends now faced danger that was far too big for them, he would have to be brave like them and meet it, if this was going to be the end!
Pippin wrenched his gaze from the fearsome sight and ran to the room he shared with Gandalf to put on his armour. Maybe the City would not fall. He was forgetting that Gandalf and Aragorn must have a plan, they had always found a way to get them safely through the direst of situations so far. Well, not always, he reminded himself, remembering Weathertop – and Gandalf's fall in Moria, though that had turned out well in the end, at least. And he would have to get through this battle without their help this time.
Pippin struggled to put on his mail-shirt and tried to imagine himself being as brave and strong as Aragorn and Boromir. He had never seen fear in their eyes, or at least not the kind of fear that would defeat a person. He had long been in awe of the confidence his friends had in their own strength, of their silent pledge to the hobbits that they would fight to the end for them if necessary - and they had certainly done that, Pippin thought sadly. If only Boromir could have lived, he would be there now, giving his people hope, and his father would not have gone mad, nor would Faramir have ridden needlessly into that battle at Osgiliath! Pippin would have felt much less hopeless with his noble friend commanding the defence, for although Gandalf was the best leader they could hope for, the people really needed one of their own to stir them from their long despair.
The armour was heavy and Pippin wondered how Gimli could walk across Middle Earth day and night in such attire and not weary of it. He put on his helm last; wincing at the way it pinched him around his ears, and tried an experimental sword thrust. Did he look grand, or absurd, he wondered? He ran his fingers over the silver tree embroidered on the surcoat and observed that in appearance at least, he was now a soldier of Gondor, one of many. But he was a hobbit underneath and he did not want to know what it felt like to be a soldier. The soldiers of Gondor had sad eyes, reflecting all they had endured so long in the shadow of the Enemy. Hobbits were not meant to know such things, not what it felt like to fight beside others without hope only to die alone, amongst the heaps of faceless dead.
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He was running now, down and down to the battle. From the plain below, mighty projectiles had been launched; knocking Pippin off his feet more than once as the frightful weapon scarred the proud face of the City and shook the ground beneath his feet. It fascinated and dismayed him that the Enemy could wield such power, for when he had first laid eyes on the White City, it had seemed to him to be as flawless and strong as Isengard.
The earth shook again, closer this time, and stones came loose from walls above and broke on the street, smashing into fragments. Panic was taking hold and he saw the same fear in his heart reflected in the eyes of the people he ran past. Feeling very small, he tried to avoid all the people running about blindly who did not seem to see him, such was their desperation to save themselves; but in their haste they knocked him to the ground and it suddenly occurred to him that a man or a rock might flatten him before he even had a chance to draw his sword. He meant to try and be brave and did not want to be robbed of the opportunity, so he got up, gritted his teeth and kept running, down and down.
There were bodies crushed beneath the rubble, some of them alive, and Pippin tried not to look and then because he was looking, he nearly fell victim to the shattered walls himself as a large piece of rock broke loose from above and smashed at his feet. He cried out in shock but did not stop, for if his immediate fate were to be a matter of chance it would be better to keep running.
But no, not run now, not away from this. Pippin heard the dreadful, unbearable screech before he saw the Nazgul and instinctively scrambled for cover, not hearing his own small cries of fear as the presence of the Black Rider overwhelmed all his senses. There it was, right overhead, the fell beast clawing at the people as they fled before it in vain, and it swept them up, crushing them cruelly in its claws before casting them into the abyss. Pippin had seen these winged riders before from the safety of Shadowfax, but his mind turned now, blank with panic, back to Weathertop and he saw himself quailing and helpless before the Witch King of Angmar. The same bitter cold and dread had descended on him now and he shuddered uncontrollably. What was he going to do?
He knew he must go on and yet part of him asked why and Pippin again had to struggle with himself. He wanted to turn back so much, but it would make no difference now, he was trapped miserably in this place and horror and death were closing in without mercy from all directions. He just wanted to be somewhere else, away from these narrow, choking streets and he wondered if he headed for one of the outer walls he might still find unbowed soldiers with determination in their eyes.
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Pippin now found himself under an arch leading to the outer wall, knowing with a sinking heart that what he had just been through paled before what was to come. But an unexpected and welcome sight was before him! Pippin could have wept with relief, seeing Gandalf's familiar face amongst all this madness. Maybe he would not be so afraid if he stood by the wizard? But Gandalf turned around and looked at him in utter horror. The last thing he wanted to see at this moment was this white-faced, bewildered young hobbit.
"Peregrin Took! Go back to the Citadel!"
Under any other circumstances, Pippin would have flinched at the especially fierce voice the wizard was using, a sure sign that Gandalf was deadly serious. But his feet were rooted to the spot, stubbornly refusing to take him back the way he had come. And Pippin did not want to leave Gandalf now that he had found him.
"They called us down to fight," Pippin replied in a small voice. He knew he did not much feel like a soldier and he could see why Gandalf was concerned, but it was his duty to fight wasn't it? Or had Gandalf just been trying to frighten him before?
Feeling suddenly very tired and confused, he could only stay where he was and watch in disbelief as a large group of orcs somehow appeared on a sort of bridge and climbed over the wall. They in turn saw him and ran forward, brandishing their weapons gleefully, relishing an easy target. But Gandalf blocked their path, and bellowing with rage he sent the leading orc flying with a blow from his staff and proceeded to dispatch the next two in a similar fashion.
As if having proved his point, he turned once more to the hobbit, fixing him with a resolute gaze. "This is no place for a hobbit!"
Pippin was quite aware of this and supposed he should run back to the Citadel before he got himself into any more trouble. But Gandalf was now surrounded by orcs, lots of them, pouring over the wall. He was keeping them at bay somehow with just his staff, but Pippin began to fear for the wizard as the foul creatures hurled themselves at him relentlessly. He hovered there for a moment, wracked with indecision. He did not want to be a helpless bystander to a re-enactment of Boromir's death, not with dear old Gandalf taking the central role this time! But Gandalf was right, wasn't he? This was no place for a hobbit. He had known this all along. Why did he think there was anything he could do? It was just too big for him.
This is too big for us.
A half-forgotten conversation, a lesson learnt only recently, fluttered about in his mind. What was it? Oh – how muddled he must have been of late to forget so soon! He had said those same words to Merry in Fangorn when he tried to convince him that they should turn back to the Shire, but brave, clever Merry had made him see that something had to be done - or there would be no place left in the world for Hobbits at all. They may be small, but their part in the War was not over as long as they did not give up, and what more proof did he need of the truth in that than the Ents' march on Isengard!
Pippin looked up with determination flickering in his eyes. He would not let this happen again! He had had no choice but to stand by when Gandalf clung to the bridge in Moria and when Boromir was brought down by the Uruk Hai but there had to be some way of stopping them this ti--
His blade was dripping with black blood and he looked at it in surprise. Gandalf was smiling down at him.
"Guard of the Citadel, indeed!" Pippin heard the pride in Gandalf's voice and smiled, uncertainly. He had done it without thinking, seeing his opportunity and rushing forward with every scrap of willpower he possessed, and the discovery of his own warrior-like instincts made Pippin feel both glad and uncomfortable. If he did nothing else in this battle he was glad to have helped Gandalf and to be of some real use finally, having done nothing but exasperate the wizard throughout the Quest. But he hoped these instincts would bury themselves deep down again as soon as this was all over.
Gandalf gently told Pippin to go back and Pippin was glad to obey him this time. The fear in his heart had diminished for now, now that he could see that it was not so bad after all when the time came. He just had to do whatever he could, which wasn't so much to ask of himself.
And perhaps he could hope after all, even if it was a fool's hope, because wasn't that the best kind of hope anyway? It was the sort of hope that had led them here and although the greatest test was yet before them all, Pippin had seen enough surprising and good things happen by now to see that there was still a chance that he would see Merry again and that Frodo and Sam would make it - and if it were not for the fools of this world they never would have set out at all.
He did not suppose he would tell Merry much of what had happened here when he saw him again, beyond comparing notes of course. He would be so glad to see him that it would not matter what they had seen, or how scared and lonely they had been. They would just know all that anyway, without the need for words.
For a moment he allowed himself to imagine their return to the Shire, to sit where they belonged in the Green Dragon with a pint in one hand and a pipe in the other on a warm summer's evening, singing the most ridiculous of Bilbo's songs that they could think of.
The comforting picture lightened his heart and upon a little more reflection, Pippin decided that after the initial joy of seeing each other had worn off, Merry – being the way he was – would undoubtedly have some impressive tales of battle with which to regale him.
Well, maybe Merry would like to hear the story of how the fool of a Took finally proved himself to Gandalf. Pippin was quite fond of that one already and Merry would be glad to know that he had a part in it. Merry had been right of course, in Fangorn, as he always was, and Pippin reflected that his cousin might be less cross that Pippin had got himself into this if he thought about it this way – that maybe, in a small way, they were meant to take separate paths, and Pippin was meant to be here. At any rate, he certainly would not turn back now, whatever may come.
He wondered if Faramir was all right.