The Edge of Night (revised)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was the first LotR fanfic I ever wrote, and after re-watching RotK, I realised it could be so much better. Paragraphing has been improved. Free hobbits for anyone who reviews! I own nothing, except a laptop and some fangirly dreams.
Pippin never thought he'd find himself in this position – knelt before Lord Denethor, the Steward of Gondor – swearing his loyalty. Truth be told, he'd offered his allegiance on a complete whim. He'd felt that he owed so much to the father of the man who had given his life to protect two young Hohobbits he barely knew.
"Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor," Pippin said. "In peace or war. In living or dying. Fr. . . from. . ." he winced and closed his eyes, trying to recall the words he'd worked so hard to memorise, "from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me. . . or death take me."
In this current climate, Pippin thought fearfully, it's more likely to be the latter.
"And I shall not forget it," said Denethor, who had been staring down at the young hobbit with some amusement while he'd been reciting his pledge, getting to his feet, "nor fail to reward that which is given."
He extended his hand to Pippin, who awkwardly kissed the ring on his finger. He felt a slight sickness in his stomach as Denethor placed his fingers beneath his chin and lifted his gaze.
"Fealty with love," he said, seating himself down at the long table, now laden with food. "Valour with honour. Disloyalty. . ." at this point, the Steward threw a contemptuous glance at his son, who was standing a little way behind Pippin, "with vengeance."
He began to pile his plate high with food. Pippin turned his gaze to Faramir, who was staring at his father with resigned sadness.
"I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outer defences. Defences that your brother long held intact."
"What would you have me do?" Faramir asked.
"I will not yield the river in Pelanor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken."
"My Lord, Osgiliath is overrun," Faramir said exasperatedly.
"Much must be risked in war," Denethor said sharply. "Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his lord's will?"
There was a pause, in which Pippin looked anxiously from Denethor to Faramir. Don't rise to it, he silently begged Faramir.
"You wish now that our places had been exchanged," Faramir said. "That I had died and Boromir had lived."
Denethor raised a goblet to his lips. "Yes," he whispered, his voice full of venom, "I wish that."
Pippin could see Faramir's bright blue eyes brimming with tears, and when he spoke, his voice sounded choked.
"Since you were robbed of Boromir. . . I will do what I can in his stead." He bowed to his father and began to walk away, turning only once to say, "If I should return, think better of me, Father."
Denethor's face twisted into a malicious snarl. "That shall depend on the manner of your return," he said.
Pippin wanted to run after Faramir, or at least say something that might convince him that he didn't have to do everything his father wanted. He was sure that Boromir would never have allowed his little brother to be treated in such a way. Faramir always spoke of him so fondly. Pippin whole heart went out to the poor captain – so desperate to please the father he loved who so despised him. It was so unjust. Pippin wondered how Merry would have reacted in this situation. He would have defended Faramir, even if he had just sworn loyalty to the twisted man stuffing his face at the table. But Pippin wasn't brave like Merry. He was a coward. Merry always fought for what he believed in, for what he wanted, while Pippin just hid behind him like a child. If Gandalf's plan had worked and Théoden had answered Gondor's distress signal that he, Pippin, had instigated, Merry would no doubt offer his own services to the Rohan king. He'd want to fight – to stand up for what was good and true, like Aragorn and Legolas would have done. More than anything Pippin missed his best friend. Their parting at Edoras had been so quick and fleeting, he'd not even had a chance to say goodbye, to make amends for his foolishness. Oh, why had he HAD to take that cursed Palantir from Gandalf's hands? He was such a fool, as the wizard had always said. Just a damned fool.
"Can you sing, master hobbit?" Denethor's voice broke Pippin's train of thought.
"Well. . . yes," he said, surprised by the question. "At least, well enough for my own people. But we have no songs for great halls and. . ." he narrowed his eyes at the Stewart, "evil times."
"And why would your songs be unfit for my halls?" Denethor asked. He had a trail of blood-like wine down the side of his mouth. Pippin felt sick. "Come, sing me a song."
Pippin tried to recall any songs that might be fitting for such a demand. He doubted Denethor would appreciate any of the raucous drinking songs sung by the hobbits in The Green Dragon back home. Besides, Pippin was in no mood for them. Then he remembered a song the older hobbits used to sing. His grandfather said it dated back to when the hobbits, homeless, were looking for the Shire.
"Home is behind, the world ahead
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadow, to the edge of night
Until the stars are all alight
Mist and shadow, cloud and shade
All shall fade, all shall fade."
The Steward said nothing, but continued to eat. Pippin felt so lost, alone, in this new world of danger and despair. It was nothing like he'd ever known in the Shire. At least, with Merry, there was always some form of comfort – some ray of hope in the lightless void. Without Merry, he felt no longer whole, like a shard of his heart was missing. He loved Merry more than any other in this world – closer than a brother. More than anything he wished he could see him if only once again. He thought of Merry's warm, loving smile, and felt the tears run down his face.