Author's Note: This is a short one based on Pippin and Gandalf's stay in Minas Tirith before the battles actually began. Pippin did a lot of maturing in ROTK, and this addresses that.
Changes
By Ecri
Gandalf stood uneasily at the window of the room he shared with Peregrin Took. The enemy sought always to ensnare those who might otherwise have avoided temptations, and Pippin's naivete and love of life easily made him vulnerable.
When the Hobbits had declared their intentions to accompany Frodo in no uncertain terms, Gandalf had not been surprised. Elrond's easy agreement to the situation had, however, surprised the Wizard to no end. He'd asked the Lord of Imladris about it and had eventually gotten a reply from the enigmatic elf.
"I see your attraction to these small beings, Mithrandir, and I understand why you have so long sought to protect them. They find joy in the simplest of things. They hold tightly to all that they love, and have never really been called upon to defend themselves." Elrond paused then, gazing out the window leading to his balcony. Gandalf knew his sensitive elven hearing could make out the laughter of the only five Hobbits in all of Rivendell, and it brought a smile to his lips.
He looked Gandalf in the eye then, failing to keep the joy from such sounds from setting the blue orbs to twinkling. "Frodo has undertaken a grave responsibility, as have the others. Having the Hobbits nearby may yet remind them why they do what they do. It may help the warriors to remember who they fight to protect, for who can look upon one of these guileless creatures and not understand that the Shadow threatens even the simplest, the quietest, the most endearing ways of life that exist in Middle-earth."
His eyes took on a more somber look as a frown appeared on his face. "For who could help but fight all the more fiercely to protect such a way of life as the one these Hobbits describe."
Gandalf had smiled at Elrond's words, knowing the elf had somehow seen all that the Wizard most valued in the easily underestimated hobbits. Now, waiting for the opportunity to speak to Gondor's Steward, Lord Denethor, Gandalf was astonished to realize that Eru likely meant for the youngest hobbit to be precisely where he was. Pip had impressed the dour, belligerent Ruler of Gondor, and Gandalf could think of no other who could have achieved such a thing.
The Hobbit was exhausted and frightened, yet had put that aside and spoken to the Steward as he might have spoken to Bilbo Baggins if they'd been sitting in Bag End.
He smiled. Pip's preference to follow the lead of the other Hobbits often forced upon others the assumption that Pip was unable to lead, unable to find his own path, or indeed, unable to think things through. True, he was prone to quick decisions, and to speaking before understanding the consequences of his words, but he was young! By the reckoning of his people, he was still some years from coming of age. Few beings of any other race could have comported themselves so honorably.
Yes, it was true, Merry was likely worried out of his mind for his young cousin, as Pippin was for his elder, but by the grace of Eru, they would be reunited again. When they were, Gandalf was certain the reunion would be aided by tall tales and pints of ale!
Pippin was stretched out on his bed, wishing he would simply fall asleep. His thoughts seemed insistent on other courses, and it seemed the more he tried to sleep the more completely he failed.
His thoughts were mostly on Merry, but Frodo and Sam's whereabouts troubled him as well. Somewhere during the recounting of Boromir's end, Pip had realized with a shock, that Frodo and Sam were in Mordor. Oh, he knew that was where they had been headed, but the idea of them actually being there and the stark realization that they faced what Boromir had described at Elrond's council meeting were two vastly different things.
Could they survive out there alone? It had seemed a daunting undertaking when the Fellowship had set out, but then they had been in the company of four formidable warriors and a Wizard they'd known all their lives. Now, Frodo and Sam trudged through darkness and shadow with that horrid ring—
He cut off his thoughts forcing himself to think of something much happier. He could recall times spent at the pub with Merry, Sam, and Frodo. He could recall standing upon a tabletop singing a jolly song with his cousin and the laughter that had rolled through the room when they'd finished. He recalled Bilbo's Birthday party, and how he had watched from the bandstand, playing a jolly, jaunty tune as Frodo literally pushed Sam into the waiting arms of Rosie Cotton.
He almost laughed out loud then, but cut himself off as other memories, seemingly pleasant, intruded to lead him to darker thoughts.
Meeting Sam and Frodo on the road had let first to mushrooms and then to Black Riders. He could recall the fear that had coursed through him as the foursome had raced away from the creatures, who, even though the hobbits had little idea what they were, had radiated a fearful evil.
He recalled Sam coming over to him at the Prancing Pony's bar right after Frodo had accidentally slipped on the ring. He'd been desperate over some stranger's sudden interest in Frodo. He'd claimed the dark, forbidding man who'd been sitting in the corner had taken Frodo upstairs. He recalled how the three of them had armed themselves as best they could and raced after their dear friend and cousin.
He recalled Strider saving them at Weathertop from the attacking Wraiths, and he recalled his shock at having learned that Strider was none other than the Future King of Gondor.
He recalled then learning that he wasn't the only Royalty in the Fellowship. Curiosity got the better of him then, and he opened his eyes to see if Gandalf was yet awake.
The Wizard stood at the window looking out and lost in thought. Pip stared at him, wondering if he dared ask a question. He knew the Wizard thought him something of a fool. He'd used the very word himself on more than one occasion. Still, a curious hobbit, though rare, could not be turned from seeking answers.
"Gandalf?" He called timidly.
"What is it, Pippin?" Gandalf spoke in a gentle, kind tone much to Pippin's surprise.
Screwing up his courage he asked his question. "I was thinking about Aragorn and Legolas. I don't understand why they chose not to tell us about being Princes. It's like denying who they are, isn't it?"
Gandalf placed his staff, which he'd still held, against the wall, and pulled up a chair next to the Hobbit's bed. He sat then his hands resting on his knees. "They don't deny who they are, or even what they are. Their secrecy stems from long years of experience. Indeed, in Imladris it may even have been unintentional on Legolas' part. Everyone there except for Hobbits and dwarves knew who he was. Truthfully, Legolas exposed Aragorn a little prematurely, though I've no doubt it was Eru's intention that we stop hiding the man from the eyes of outsiders."
The Wizard continued to speak, but his tone was soft and his eyes seemed focused on things that were far from that stone room in Gondor. "Aragorn's identity was long kept secret to keep him safe from the taint of the enemy. Legolas merely feels uncomfortable with the idea of his royalty. He is unwilling to believe that he deserves any special treatment or privilege simply because he is the son of a king." The Wizard chuckled. "If he knew what loyalty he commanded from the elves who yet remain in Middle-earth, I wager our young elven prince would blush a deep red from top to toes!"
Pippin laughed at the image and at the sound of the Wizard's laughter. "So they've been friends a long time?"
"Far longer than you would imagine, young Took."
"Will they…will they be all right?" Pippin's question was laced with worry.
The Wizard sat back in his chair drawing his pipe out from somewhere within the voluminous folds of his robes. "That, even I cannot tell."
"What about Merry? Can you tell about him?"
The young hobbit was terribly frightened that he might lose his cousin on this journey. It had always been a possibility, but somehow only recently had the idea found its way from his head to his heart.
"I have not seen any signs of the future, but he travels with Aragorn, at least for a time. He will keep your cousin safe." He smiled reassuringly at Pippin and reached out a hand to the young one's shoulder.
Pippin tried to find comfort in the words, but his anxiety had not abated. "And Frodo? Sam?"
Gandalf sighed. He knew less of those two than of the others. "I can tell you only that I am certain they yet live. That is all I know, and I dare not try to discover more through any magical means lest I draw the attention of the enemy upon them." He saw that his words had little effect on Pippin's worries. "Rest, Young Took. You will yet need your strength. We are still a long way from the shire."
Pippin nodded glancing out the window at the darkening sky. "That even I know, Gandalf." His words were a whisper for his heart was too heavy to bear a louder tone.
Gandalf sat with Pippin once more before Denethor. The Steward of Gondor sat unsmiling as he made Pippin again tell him of his son's death. It had been hard enough for the Hobbit the first time, and Gandalf had been pleased with the way he had conducted himself. To make him do it a second time seemed like torture.
When Pippin had finished, Denethor's only response was, "Again!"
Gandalf raised his staff in protest. "Steward of Gondor!" He bellowed in an intimidating voice, much the same voice he'd used to intimidate Bilbo the night of the elder hobbit's party. "The Hobbit has said all he is going to say! He has twice sat in your presence and regaled you with these tales! You will leave him alone!"
Denethor stood, intending to scream at Gandalf for presuming to speak to him in this fashion, but instead, he clamped his mouth shut and turned away. Once his back was to them, the King's shoulder's slumped. Now, rather than a King, he was a man who had lost his son. "Boromir was everything to me."
"You have another son." Gandalf chided the man.
Denethor scoffed. "Faramir is less than the man I would have him be."
"He is a good man, Denethor. You just refuse to see it." Gandalf whispered.
"Good man? You think so? He had better be, for he will now succeed me as Steward of Gondor!" The King's face twisted in rage. "If there is a Gondor left for him once this is over!"
Gandalf scowled at the man's shortsightedness. The Wizard had known Faramir and Boromir for some time, but Faramir's gentle nature had alienated his father, as had his friendship with Gandalf. Faramir had thrown himself into learning the lore of his land while Boromir had been groomed from birth to succeed his father as Steward.
Both brothers were brave warriors, but where Boromir loved the trappings and methods of warfare and strategizing, Faramir was never more than a reluctant participant. Possessing deadly skill with a bow and a blade, and the fierce loyalty of those who fought beside him had not gained him any praise in Denethor's eyes.
For some strange reason, Denethor doted on his firstborn son yet seemed to have little use for his second. It had always angered Gandalf, especially when he had noted how Faramir dealt with it. As a child, he'd often worn a hurt, surprised expression on his face when Denethor would say something particularly hurtful or cutting. As he'd grown, Faramir had learned to internalize such reactions, for they often angered his father. He'd grown quiet and thoughtful, but, thankfully, his inquisitiveness never diminished.
Gandalf had early on spotted Faramir's ability to discern men's minds. The Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien could not read thoughts or send them, but he had an uncanny ability to see into a man's mind and soul and know what motivated him. It was an impressive trait to have and it would aid him in his role as Steward now that Boromir could not fulfil the role for which he had been groomed.
Of course, Faramir also possessed another gift that so angered his father, he'd learned not to speak of it. Faramir dreamed not the dreams of men, but the dreams of foresight. Predictions, truth seeking, whatever you chose to call it, the Steward's second son possessed it. Denethor had decided this was an indication that Faramir would be better suited to fortune telling than matters of state, and he rarely sought his son's advice unless Boromir insisted, or unless the Captain Ranger of Ithilien spoke only of Ithilien and its defenses. Even then, he would often disregard his son's recommendations.
The Wizard continued to glare at the Steward of Gondor. The man was grieving, certainly, but that could not account for his behavior. "Denethor, I know there is no love lost between us, but heed my words. Your sons were each given to you for a reason, and though your mind always saw Boromir as the shining star of Gondor, your heart should have recognized Faramir's value to you, to Boromir, and to Gondor. For had Boromir lived to take his place as your successor, it is Faramir he would have turned to in dire need for counsel and guidance." The Wizard took a step closer to the man. "And it is Faramir who holds the skills…wisdom and cunning, insight, and forethought…to do this post justice." He paused again, knowing his next words would not be well-received. "Even with the imminent Return of the King."
Pippin's eyes widened at Ganddalf's words. He hadn't thought they were going to mention Aragorn. He turned to look at Denethor.
The Steward seemed not to grasp the implications of Gandalf's words for a moment, but when he did, he looked intently at the Istar. "King? What King? Of whom do you speak?"
The Wizard took a breath and let his convictions show plainly in his eyes. "I speak of the day Gondor has long awaited. I speak of the Return of the King…the descendant of Elros, Isildur's heir…who will take his throne and lead his people from this darkness and into the Fourth Age, Eru be willing."
Denethor seemed in shock. The words were ones his people had longed to hear, yet, now, he found he could not believe it was so. Incredulity and a surprised fear warred in his features, but soon were put down with a scowl. "King? Gondor has no King! Gondor needs no King!"
Pippin gave a little gasp. Those were the very words Boromir had uttered at the Council! Those very words had come after Legolas' announcement that Aragorn was the rightful King of Gondor. Pippin had been spying unnoticed well behind a pillar to Elrond's right. He couldn't see Aragorn as the Ranger spoke about the impossibility of wielding the ring, or as he asked Legolas to sit down, but he could see the elf's hands clenching tight at the slur against his friend. He could also see the effort it took for the elf to do as Aragorn asked.
Pippin looked up at Gandalf. The Wizard knew what had surprised the Hobbit, so he spared a comforting glance at the youngster.
Pippin wondered if Faramir, who he had yet to meet, would be more open to Aragorn's return than the rest of his family.
Pippin stared at the ceiling wondering if Gandalf had drifted off to sleep yet. He wanted desperately to talk to someone, and the Wizard was the only company he had. He wanted to ask about Merry, Frodo, and Sam once more, but he was neither entirely certain Gandalf could tell him anything nor the least bit certain that he would care to know if anything had gone wrong with his three friends.
Not for the first time, he wondered how he had gotten here. This was as far from the Shire as any Hobbit was likely to get.
When Merry had told him that there would be no Shire at all if this war was not won, the very idea had shattered his safe little world. He had believed that they would simply return home when the part they played was over. It had never occurred to him that the Shire might not be there, or that some of the evil he had seen since leaving Crickhollow might find its way there.
He imagined orcs and Black Riders racing through Hobbiton and wargs and wolves hunting their dinners on Bagshot Row. The images refused to leave him and his dreams echoed his waking thoughts.
He shivered and drew the blanket more tightly around him as he shifted position yet again.
"Peregrin Took, if you continue to toss about like a frog on a frying pan, I will have to tie you down!" Gandalf's voice echoed through the silent room, and Pippin inhaled sharply but did not exhale.
A tired moan came back to the Hobbit from across the room. "Forgive me, Pippin, but an old Wizard sometimes forgets himself. I will never tie you down, my dear Hobbit."
Pip breathed again in relief. "I never meant to disturb you."
"I know you didn't, Pippin. Tell me what concerns you so much that it keeps you from a Hobbit's second favorite pass time…sleeping!"
Pippin shrugged even though he was sure the gesture couldn't be seen. "I'm thinking of Merry and Sam and Frodo. It feels like years since I've seen them, though I know that can't be so. Merry was so worried about me when we parted, and now he's all I can think of. Sam and Frodo…we haven't heard a word about them since Boromir died! That seems another lifetime ago!"
Gandaf nodded. "It's natural enough to worry, but it will get you nowhere. Merry is as safe as you are. Theoden was quite fond of him, and I believe he and Eowyn will likely strike up a friendship." The Wizard sighed. "As for Sam and Frodo…I wish I knew. All I can say for certain is they have not yet destroyed the Ring, but then neither has Sauron found it. They may yet succeed in their quest."
Pippin thought this over. "If they don't, how will we know?"
"You will know, Pip. If Sauron finds the Ring, there will be no way to defeat him. Darkness will spread across all of Middle-earth."
Pip thought that over. "Sam and Frodo will win."
"I hope so, Pippin. I truly hope so."
Pippin wondered at the conviction in his own words. In the moment that he'd uttered them, he had believed them utterly. Sam and Frodo would succeed. They had to succeed. As far as Pippin knew, Frodo had never failed in anything he'd set out to do. He could only ever remember Frodo happy and laughing and full of joy...and yet, since leaving the Shire, Pip realized he'd rarely seen Frodo anything other than pensive, sullen, and fearful.
"I wish the Ring had never come to him." Pip whispered, forgetting for a moment that he was not alone.
Gandalf gave a small chuckle that sounded more like a sigh. "Frodo said much the same to me, Young Took, but the fact is it did come to him. And while I would spare him this if I could, as I would spare you...and Merry and Sam, and, come to that, Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli...and Faramir...the choice it not ours to make. We all have some part to play in this."
Pippin's eyes widened slightly. "Even me?"
Gandalf laughed now, though not joyously, the young Hobbit's words and tone had released the tension he'd bottled inside him since departing from Denethor's chambers. "Yes, my friend, even you. I fear my chastisement may have left you thinking ill of your contribution."
"What contribution? I'm a burden to all of you."
Gandalf moved in the darkness, kneeling by Pippin's bedside, and speaking in a voice quieter than a whisper. "If my hasty words have caused you to think so, Peregrin Took, then I regret them more than you can know. You are a member of the Fellowship of the Ring, and while I would have chosen that you not undertake this journey, Lord Elrond knew well what he was doing in sending you along."
Pippin looked intently at the Wizard, eyes wide in amazement. "You believe that?"
Gandalf smiled and rested his hand on Pippin's. "Yes, I do."
Pippin smiled in return feeling slightly better than he had. "Thank you, Gandalf."
"You are most welcome, Pippin." Gandalf rose and retreated to his own bed.
Pippin lay awake listening to the Wizard as he settled down, and, in but a short time, began to snore. As he listened, he promised himself he would live up to Gandalf's words. He would not give the Wizard any reason to call him a fool of a Took ever again. He stretched and settled down, closing his eyes to sleep. His last waking thoughts--of the Shire, and Merry--melted into sweet dreams full of hope and peace.
End