"The sun shines, and I can't avoid it's light
I think I'm holding on to life too tight
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust
Sometimes I feel like giving up
Because I'm rusted and weathered."
-"Weathered," Creed.
-*-*-
"I knew you'd find me, Pippin."
The words echoed in Pippin's head, in the same quiet manner they had first been spoken on the Pellenor Fields. He stood now in the Houses of Healing, the hallway of which had become still, with the falling of night. Torches set up in brackets illuminated the way, their warm glow dancing over the divots in the wood. Pippin paused, and walked over to one of the few windows that were in this particular corridor. He scarcely could look out from the bottom of the window sill, which was made for the heights of Men, yet caught a glimpse of the ravaged land. A fortnight ago, it had looked very different. Now, it was apparent that war had left every place in Middle-Earth untouched. When he was alive, he had often heard of Boromir speak of the glory of Gondor, and his heart ached to think of what his reaction would be if he could see it now. It would take a long time before Minas Tirith could be back to normal again. Towers had crumbled, and walls had fallen, white rock sending up a cloud of dust as it was destroyed. The day's events scared him still, and he suspected that they would never really leave him entirely. Along the horizon, the jagged black mountains of Mordor loomed over them, lighting occasionally cutting the sky. It was an odd sort of shadow that the night had brought. Unnatural, almost. The dark sky seemed heavy, as if it were pressing down on them, and stars were few and scattered. Turning away, he continued along the corridor. He was sure Gandalf would not approve of his being out of bed, but he had found Merry once, and would find him again. He was tired, but not just in body. He missed familiar surroundings, and the safe feeling of the Shire. His life was there, not here in Gondor. He had changed, but for the best or worst, he did not know. Part of him would have been content if he had never seen anything past lush foliage of the Shire, and if war was just a thing of the stories he read. But here he was, nonetheless. And he could not change that now.
The hallway seemed to stretch longer than it really was. He had been walking for a while now, and had asked a passing man if he had seen another Hobbit anywhere. Fortunately enough, the man did see Merry being carried to a room, and explained the route to get there. He might have been from Rohan, but anything was quite possible. Pippin counted the doors on the left side. He came to the sixth door, and opened it just a little, enough to see who lay in the bed. It was unmistakably Merry, only he looked much different. Or maybe that was just the lighting. A few candles burned brightly at the bedside table, and in the light, Merry looked pale. "Pippin?" whispered Merry, stirring and blinking in the semidarkness. "Yes, it's me," he replied, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "I thought you'd be sleeping." Merry did not reply and Pippin walked closer to him. It had nothing to do with the candles. Merry did not look well at all, and his arm was heavily bandaged and splinted. Pippin took his hand, and felt that it was still strangely cold. Merry forced a smile.
"I'm pretty bad off, eh, Pip?" Pippin shook his head, trying to smile, blinking back tears.
"No, you'll be fine." From the way he looked now, he hoped it was true. It sounded like a lie, even to him. "You just need rest. That's all." They were quiet for a moment. Pippin could not think of anything else to say. He was uncertain if Merry would be all right, and since he had heard nothing of his condition all day, it made it much worse.
"Come a long way from the Shire, haven't we?" Pippin said, trying to break the silence. "And when this is over, we're going to go back there. And Sam'll marry Rosie Cotton, and everything will go back to the way it was." But it would not, he knew. No matter what, even if they won, it would never be the same. "Do you think. . . they're still alive?" he asked quietly.
"I don't know."
"Gandalf says there was never much hope to begin with." Pippin took a steadying breath, and was trying not to weep. He was hoping Merry would give him some comfort, now, when time seemed darkest. "Do you think that's true?" Merry hesitated, thinking, and pointed to the window.
"You see how black the sky looks tonight? It doesn't look like there's a moon out tonight."
"Aren't many stars, either."
"But see? That's the thing. There are still some out there, even if we can't see them." He spoke with a conviction in his voice that Pippin had not heard for quite a while, and as he spoke, he was instantly reminded of being back in the Shire, plotting something that would get them in trouble. Just like when Gandalf caught them in stealing fireworks at Bilbo's birthday party. "They're still there. Frodo and Sam are going to make it." Pippin smiled.
"I hope so." Leaning over, he kissed Merry's forehead. "I have to get back now, or Gandalf won't be pleased. I don't think I was supposed to visit you yet."
"Bye, Pippin," he called softly, watching he walk to the door. "Sleep well."
Pippin left, a few tears spilling out despite his best efforts to hold them in. He hoped this would all end soon. He wanted it all to be whole again, but knew that everything would be different if they got back.
Not if, he could almost hear Merry telling him. When.
I think I'm holding on to life too tight
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust
Sometimes I feel like giving up
Because I'm rusted and weathered."
-"Weathered," Creed.
-*-*-
"I knew you'd find me, Pippin."
The words echoed in Pippin's head, in the same quiet manner they had first been spoken on the Pellenor Fields. He stood now in the Houses of Healing, the hallway of which had become still, with the falling of night. Torches set up in brackets illuminated the way, their warm glow dancing over the divots in the wood. Pippin paused, and walked over to one of the few windows that were in this particular corridor. He scarcely could look out from the bottom of the window sill, which was made for the heights of Men, yet caught a glimpse of the ravaged land. A fortnight ago, it had looked very different. Now, it was apparent that war had left every place in Middle-Earth untouched. When he was alive, he had often heard of Boromir speak of the glory of Gondor, and his heart ached to think of what his reaction would be if he could see it now. It would take a long time before Minas Tirith could be back to normal again. Towers had crumbled, and walls had fallen, white rock sending up a cloud of dust as it was destroyed. The day's events scared him still, and he suspected that they would never really leave him entirely. Along the horizon, the jagged black mountains of Mordor loomed over them, lighting occasionally cutting the sky. It was an odd sort of shadow that the night had brought. Unnatural, almost. The dark sky seemed heavy, as if it were pressing down on them, and stars were few and scattered. Turning away, he continued along the corridor. He was sure Gandalf would not approve of his being out of bed, but he had found Merry once, and would find him again. He was tired, but not just in body. He missed familiar surroundings, and the safe feeling of the Shire. His life was there, not here in Gondor. He had changed, but for the best or worst, he did not know. Part of him would have been content if he had never seen anything past lush foliage of the Shire, and if war was just a thing of the stories he read. But here he was, nonetheless. And he could not change that now.
The hallway seemed to stretch longer than it really was. He had been walking for a while now, and had asked a passing man if he had seen another Hobbit anywhere. Fortunately enough, the man did see Merry being carried to a room, and explained the route to get there. He might have been from Rohan, but anything was quite possible. Pippin counted the doors on the left side. He came to the sixth door, and opened it just a little, enough to see who lay in the bed. It was unmistakably Merry, only he looked much different. Or maybe that was just the lighting. A few candles burned brightly at the bedside table, and in the light, Merry looked pale. "Pippin?" whispered Merry, stirring and blinking in the semidarkness. "Yes, it's me," he replied, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "I thought you'd be sleeping." Merry did not reply and Pippin walked closer to him. It had nothing to do with the candles. Merry did not look well at all, and his arm was heavily bandaged and splinted. Pippin took his hand, and felt that it was still strangely cold. Merry forced a smile.
"I'm pretty bad off, eh, Pip?" Pippin shook his head, trying to smile, blinking back tears.
"No, you'll be fine." From the way he looked now, he hoped it was true. It sounded like a lie, even to him. "You just need rest. That's all." They were quiet for a moment. Pippin could not think of anything else to say. He was uncertain if Merry would be all right, and since he had heard nothing of his condition all day, it made it much worse.
"Come a long way from the Shire, haven't we?" Pippin said, trying to break the silence. "And when this is over, we're going to go back there. And Sam'll marry Rosie Cotton, and everything will go back to the way it was." But it would not, he knew. No matter what, even if they won, it would never be the same. "Do you think. . . they're still alive?" he asked quietly.
"I don't know."
"Gandalf says there was never much hope to begin with." Pippin took a steadying breath, and was trying not to weep. He was hoping Merry would give him some comfort, now, when time seemed darkest. "Do you think that's true?" Merry hesitated, thinking, and pointed to the window.
"You see how black the sky looks tonight? It doesn't look like there's a moon out tonight."
"Aren't many stars, either."
"But see? That's the thing. There are still some out there, even if we can't see them." He spoke with a conviction in his voice that Pippin had not heard for quite a while, and as he spoke, he was instantly reminded of being back in the Shire, plotting something that would get them in trouble. Just like when Gandalf caught them in stealing fireworks at Bilbo's birthday party. "They're still there. Frodo and Sam are going to make it." Pippin smiled.
"I hope so." Leaning over, he kissed Merry's forehead. "I have to get back now, or Gandalf won't be pleased. I don't think I was supposed to visit you yet."
"Bye, Pippin," he called softly, watching he walk to the door. "Sleep well."
Pippin left, a few tears spilling out despite his best efforts to hold them in. He hoped this would all end soon. He wanted it all to be whole again, but knew that everything would be different if they got back.
Not if, he could almost hear Merry telling him. When.