In a boat made by the Elves he sat, carried by Anduin, swiftly and lightly. There was no talk inside, nor was there in the other boats of the company. No merry song could be heard, whether it be of hobbits or birds, and no rustling leaves as there'd been in the forest. Only the rushing of the water, and the splashes when it crashed against rocks in the water or a cliff passing by.
Pippin shivered and pulled his cloak - new, made by the Elves of Lothlórien - tightly around his small body. He did not know where the cold was coming from, for there was no breeze in the air, and no water could reach them inside. There were only the mutters and the gaze of Boromir, fixed upon the hobbit it seemed, and yet looking right through him. Pippin would have liked to ask him what he was staring at, yet something was holding him back; aught there was in his eyes, a glint of a kind that told of restlessness and unease.
Then at once his head turned to the side and his stormy grey eyes found yet another hobbit to glance at; and what Pippin saw in them then had him shift closer to his cousin, who was in the boat with him; for some reason it frightened him, that new gleam, though he could not name the emotion behind it.
"Are you cold?", Merry, to whom his cousin's movement had not gone unnoticed, whispered. Peregrin beheld the man's stare for a moment longer ere he nodded. The Brandybuck opened his own cloak, which he had drawn loosely to cover and warm his upper body, and Pippin, thankfully, slipped beneath it. At once the warmth of both cloak and hobbit ran through him and so did some sort of relief, which he did not fully understand.
Yet tear his eyes away from Boromir, who - still - was observing Frodo sharply, he could not, and for still the hobbit felt the fear, though it was not as present anymore, he snuggled closer to his cousin, who good-naturedly put an arm around him. "Well, Pippin, how can you be so cold? There is not even wind, besides the airstream, and we are floating rather than speeding!"
"It is not the wind," said the Took. "It is something else, yet I cannot say whence it comes, or wherefore."
"Thus it may be a figment! I can see it in your eyes, Pip, that you are weary. Sleep now, and do not worry. Tomorrow the world shall be brighter again."
And Pippin wanted to believe Merry, his clever older cousin, who had always known what he himself had not, yet this time, though indeed he did feel tired and worn, he was certain that this could not be the reason, and was not.
"Wisely spoken, little one," murmured Boromir, now thrusting the paddle into the water like the trees did their roots, for indeed they had slowed, and then he went silent again, and remained it.
"It may be a figment indeed, but it feels real nonetheless, Merry. I will not find sleep ere I have found its source."
And he had already, though Pippin did not know that. So his eyes he opened wide, wide as they would go, as though to prevent them from falling shut ever again.
"My dear cousin," replied Meriadoc. "You shall find the answer not in waking, but in dreams, if indeed you crave it, for they will lighten what your mind cannot."
If he did quite understand his cousin's words, Peregrin did not know. Yet asleep he fell almost at once, for it was warm where he lay in Merry's arm, and protected, and now the rushing of the water seemed calming to him, instead of merely filling the silence.
And when he awoke again to the light of morning, a familiar gnawing in his stomach, he knew where the cold had come from. And at last he tore away his gaze from the man steering the boat, and did not look at him again until they reached the western shore, where Aragorn said they would rest.
But from this moment on, to Pippin, Merry was, and would be for evermore, the wisest hobbit there had ever been, despite his young age; Peregrin Took's sage.
They were shouting his name, both of them, running, scouting, "Frodo! Frodo!"
Sam they had lost already, and Pippin was surprised how fast his stout short legs could carry him in search of his master. The trees around them, himself and his cousin, were tall and closely spaced, and they had clutched each other's hands not to lose one another as well; Pippin knew without Merry he would not find the shore again, for he did not know how long they'd been running, or how far, all the while scouring the countryside for his friend. Afterwards he would wonder how he had not noticed the black figures ahead, though they had indeed been hidden by the shadows of the forest as the hobbits by their cloaks, but he did not see them, and neither did Merry, ere it was too late.
A good dozen of Orcs stood there in black armor, with dark helmets covering their deformed faces and heavy weapons in their hands, and upon laying eyes on them the hobbits drew back at once. After both sides were motionless for a second.
Then the Uruk-hais raised their arms and dashed at them and, with a battle cry, Merry let go of Pippin's hand and drew his sword at once to meet them. Pippin himself was torn between shutting his eyes out of shock and fear for his friend and the desire to help him, for he did not stand a chance against such foes, which were easily twice his size, alone, but there was fear in his heart. Yet he realized he could not look away as well; it was impossible for him not to watch as Merry reached his foes, and one after the other lost a hand, an arm and their weapons with it.
To both their astonishment, the Orcs did not fight back. They were merely grasping for him, and those who were not occupied with his cousin were at once coming at Pippin; little Pippin, whose quivering hand clutched the knife on his belt tightly. And the Uruk-hai would have taken him, had it not been for Merry who cut off their foe's arm in one fast strike.
Yet even his cousin would not have been able to hold up their defense much longer, for the Orcs were tall and frightening, and more were coming, more and more, and no hobbit could fend them off by himself. So it was, just when one of the enemies had succeeded in tearing Merry away from Pippin, who was then plunging his dagger into the goblin's elbow, that Boromir came dashing through the trees, his sword already drawn, and he slew them, one by one. And at last they fought back, and Merry took his cousin's hand to draw him away from their tremendous enemies; Orcs which were then fleeing, running away from the man's sharp blade striking down so many of them.
Pippin was relaxing already, leaning against his cousin's steadily heaving shoulder, and they were turning back, heading down to the shore, when the first arrow came swishing through the trunks. He found himself running towards Boromir, wherefore he did not know, yet the man was able to duck away from where the arrow struck at last without the hobbit's aid. For a moment they gazed at each other simply, gasping for breath, and Pippin beheld in his eyes a fear he had not thought possible since that day in the boat on Anduin; a fear not for himself but for the hobbits, his companions and friends.
And then towards them came a wall of large Orcs, at least a hundred, a black wall armed with bows and swords, and like rain the arrows flew down; yet at Boromir, only at Boromir, who clung to his horn, the horn of Gondor, which rang out like a thunder, bloodcurdling and blustering when he blew it. Their foes seemed alarmed, perhaps even frightened at first, and Pippin thought that perhaps they might take flight, for good this time, or that Strider would join them with his mighty sword, Strider, without whom they should never have run off, foolish as they'd been.
Yet Aragorn did not come, and the spiky rain started once again. But Boromir could not escape this time; they hit his stomach, struck his chest and pierced his legs, and the hobbits could do naught but watch with large eyes full of fear and grief, for in they heart they knew that there would be no cure for these wounds. And when at least Merry, little Merry, stormed at their foes, which were grasping at the hobbits again, his face distorted with pain, he struck down an Orc that was trying to clutch Pippin ere he himself was clutched and knocked unconscious.
Pippin himself, however, glanced first at Boromir, his formerly stout body against a tree, his fingers wound around an arrow, pulling it out with his last strength, and then at his cousin's powerless form, for merely a second, with a mixture of sorrow and amazement, ere darkness consumed him as well; but to him Meriadoc Brandybuck was from then on the bravest creature at that place, and the bravest hobbit there would ever be; his guardian.
A pain like none he had ever experienced, not even when the Orc's nails had drilled themselves into his flesh, flashed through Pippin upon hearing Merry's wretched cry. Almost feel he could the other hobbit's agony when roughly they put salve onto his hideous wound - which they had inflicted upon him in battle; a gash Pippin could not remember seeing afore, yet he wished they would pay for it instead of laughing at poor, old, but brave Merry.
Merry, who was most unwilling to drink what his foes were offering, even if it was medicine, stood proud and truculent after they had poured it down his throat, in defiance of his pallor and worn out body; and in his eyes shone the flame of life, and it was fuming.
"Hullo Pippin," he said, and there was an edge of challenge to his voice. A challenge not meant for his cousin. "So you've come on this little expedition, too? Where do we get bed and breakfast?"
The younger hobbit, despite their plight, felt the urge to laugh, for the first time since he'd awoken to his hurts and memories, defenselessly exposed to those and his captors. Yet with the threat of Uglúk fresh in his mind, brought by the Orc's snarling speech, Pippin kept his mouth tightly shut; even if he shot Merry a smile that was both grateful and distressed. Most of all, the hobbit was relieved to have heard his cousin speak again.
It was most dreadful for Peregrin to get separated from Merry again, and the cold gray rocks beneath his feet and hands, abrading his already damaged skin, would have been unbearable to his - though now no longer weary - legs had he not beheld the faintest shadow of his cousin's curls beyond the Uruk-hais' broad bodies.
The feeling of soft grass tickling his skin was like the first rays of the sun after a long hard winter to him - though in the Shire there had never really been one of those. His heart felt lighter in his chest - not as heavy as the rocks anymore -, even though the plain was misty and should not usually raise a hobbit's spirits, yet when he caught a glimpse of Merry's face he could see the same ease there.
They broke into a run shortly after; he fought hard to make his small legs keep up with his enemies, for they had whips in their fists, and though - which seemed still wondrous to him, even after an explanation - they were keen on keeping both hobbits alive, he did not want to leave Merry alone, not even by going unconscious again; for once, his elder cousin should not have to worry about him, little Pippin, who always got himself into trouble.
And yet, for he was Peregrin Took, and Tooks do not live for plans, Strider came to his mind, and far away he felt the Ranger searching for them, him and his cousin. So when he dashed away from the group he knew that there was no chance of escape. Still the brooch of his Elven cloak he did let fall into the mist, where it'd lay not for an entirety, as after he thought, but till Aragorn would pick it up a few days away merely.
The whip struck him once, as did a promise of later punishment, but Pippin could glance at Merry with a smile of reassurance for once, and had he been allowed to speak he would have told him not to worry; that he would not face a whip and things he did not want to imagine, for there was - even if but a small - chance that Strider would find them now.
And Merry would smile back, the defiance still awake in his tired eyes, and Pippin could see also pride there, a pride he held not for himself. The Brandybuck was proud of his cousin instead, as Pippin realized with mirth, and he also knew then that Merry, with the gleam of fighting spirit on his face, had sparked joy and hope in him in what felt the darkest of times, and from then on Merry was both to him.
But the worst part of their long journey was not the parting from the safety and peace of the fair woods of Lothlórien in the guise of Anduin, not the courageous death of Boromir in battle, and not being held captive by the gruesome orcs, no. Instead it was flying away on Shadowfax's back, clutching the horse's long mane with trembling hands and holding back tears that were coming with the uncertainty of ever laying eyes on his beloved Merry, ever hearing his steady voice or - cheerful as his name - laugh again. I shall miss him more than I miss the Shire, he thought to himself, and he was proved right, as most are in times as these.
Minas Tirith, the City of Kings, was tall and proud when first he beheld it from afar, and remained it when they rode through its great gates and narrow streets. Pippin felt small there beneath the Lord Denethor's gaze, among the Big people and vast towers, and though since Rivendell there had always been creatures taller than him - be it men, Orcs or Elves - there had also always been Merry, to hold his hand and give him strength; never had they meant to part.
And he felt alone as well, alone in the great city till Beregond came and spoke to him and sent him to his son, Bergil, who was but ten years of age, yet stout-hearted and even bold in the sense of brash, though not in a way that displeased Pippin, for of his own young years the lad reminded him.
Still the hobbit missed his friend, and he must have mentioned Merry's name ever and anon, for Bergil at once asked who this Halfling was while they were walking through the streets (and still the name Emil i Pheriannath, prince of the Halflings could be heard whispered now and then) and Pippin was talking about Brandy Hall.
"He is my cousin," Peregrin said. "And he was with me on my journey from the Shire to Rivendell, through the mines of Moria to wonderful Lórien and across the river Anduin, the wide plains of Rohan and through Fangorn Forest, yet we got parted for Gandalf, or Mithrandir as in these parts you call the wizard, took me with him on his ride to the White City."
"When you speak of him I can hear in your voice that you do miss him dearly," replied the lad. "And you have gone a long way together, so why is he not here with you?"
But Pippin had no answer to give, and so he merely smiled and said, "As our paths have parted, they will cross again."
He wished he could be certain of what he told the boy, and he wished he could talk to Merry, hear reassuring words, know that they would see each other again.
"How do you know this?"
Pippin sighed, because it was true; he could not know. Even if he wanted to. "I do not. But dark times are ahead and I have learned that even in dark times. . .", he thought for a moment, ". . .above all in dark times hope must remain in our hearts."
And darkness around them there was, truly. Later, on another day Pippin would tell Beregond how even the air seemed thick and brown, Gandalf would say that there would be no dawn, and right they'd be, both of them. And the hobbit would need reassurance, even if he could not seek it from Merry this time.
"Is there any hope?", he asked the wizard, and though he was asking for Frodo, old Frodo whom he had not seen for such a long time, he was also asking for himself, for Merry, for Gondor, for the world. And when the answer was, "Just a fool's hope," the hobbit did not feel discouraged, as strange as it may have seemed. For Gandalf himself had deemed him a fool of a Took, and Pippin did not want to lose hope. He wanted to see his Merry again, if it meant going through war, and as long as his cousin was alive so would be his hope, he decided.
He reminded himself of his own words to Bergil, words that could have been Merry's, who was wiser and braver, and who had given him hope. Yes, Pippin would see his cousin again, for his love for him went as deep as any love could, and Merry was to Pippin what he had always been and would always be most of all; his best friend.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Lord of the Rings or the direct speech I have borrowed from the chapters: The Uruk-hai (book III) and The Siege of Gondor (book V).
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