A/N: This story was written several months ago in response to a wonderful little plot-bunny from Shirebound's hutch. Thanks, Shirebound!
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to the Professor, none other.
Enjoy!
White Stars in the Fading Sky
"'Well if that isn't a plague and a nuisance!' said Pippin. The news: no fire, and a move again by night, had been broken to him, as soon as he woke in the late afternoon. 'All because of a pack of crows! I had looked forward to a real good meal tonight: something hot.'"
For all of his life, Pippin had had no quarrel with birds. They flew through the air, they sang pretty (or sometimes not so pretty) songs, they were fun to throw rocks at... this was really all that he ever thought about those feathered creatures. But this night, birds were foremost in his mind.
The Fellowship had stopped early that morning, looking forward to a long rest. They had marched for a fortnight from Rivendell, and having reached the assumed safety of Hollin were planning on resting a day and a night. Plus, there were rumors of a fire and a hot meal, something that excited Pippin to no end. However, what had seemed to be a strange cloud changed all of that.
"Crows!" thought Pippin miserably as the Fellowship marched that night. "I was about to have a hot meal and a real rest, and it's all gone because of a flock of wretched birds. We may have even had two hot meals!" A small rock bore the brunt of Pippin's frustration as the hobbit kicked it along as he walked. "And we couldn't even get a decent rest. We have to do more of this horrible night-marching, and it's so cold and I'm tired and I'm hungry and I wish I'd never come and I want to go HOME!" To emphasize his last thought, the hobbit kicked the rock very hard. It flew through the air and hit Frodo, who was walking just in front of Pippin, in the calf. Frodo looked behind him in surprise.
"Sorry, Frodo," Pippin quickly apologized, feeling even worse.
"Oh," Frodo said wearily. "Oh, it's alright, Pippin."
Pippin sighed and looked to the ground as Frodo looked away. He hated this quest, he hated the way Frodo always seemed so tired, he hated the ring, he hated birds, and he hated this night-time that the Fellowship was forced to live in. He missed the Shire, with the sun and the trees and the birds that didn't take your dinner away. He had never felt so homesick in his life.
The hobbit was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't notice that he was wandering off the trail that the companions had been following. It wasn't until a gentle hand clasped his shoulder that he came to his senses. Pippin looked up to see Legolas smiling down at him. "Come," the elf said quietly, leading the hobbit back to the trail. As they reclaimed their place at the back of the line, Pippin kept his eyes trained to the ground, embarrassment now mixed with his annoyance and homesickness.
After a few more minutes of silence Legolas spoke again. "Why do you look to the ground, Master Took, when there are such wondrous sights to be seen above you?" Confused, Pippin turned to look at the elf. Legolas's eyes were cast upwards; a strange kind of light was in them. The hobbit followed the elf's gaze and nearly gasped from what he saw. The companions had been marching in an open part of Hollin. This and the fact that it was the first cloudless night since Rivendell made it an excellent opportunity to witness the vast amount of stars that danced in the sky that night.
Pippin's mouth fell open in amazement. There had never seemed to be that many stars in the Shire! There must have been thousands of them shining above him. "There's so many..." he murmured, too awestruck to form a very intelligent sentence.
"Yes," Legolas agreed. "Elbereth's handiwork is in its fullest splendor tonight."
"Elbereth? Who is Elbereth?" Pippin asked, puzzled.
"The Lady of the Stars," the elf replied. "She hangs the stars in the sky and decides what stories are told in their patterns."
"What kind of stories?" Pippin asked, eyes still riveted on the heavens.
"Well," Legolas started softly, "see that star, the very bright one? Look at it and the stars surrounding it, and you will see Earendil sailing with the Silmaril on his brow."
Pippin looked carefully, but he couldn't see the scene Legolas had described. "I'm afraid I don't see it. Besides, I've always known that bright star to be part of old Tobold Hornbolwer!"
"Tobold Hornblower?"
Pippin laughed. "Yes! The hobbit who invented pip weed, of course! The bright star, that's the glowing of his pipe, and those stars off over there are the tendrils of smoke he blows out, and those three right above each others the buttons on his vest."
Legolas studied the sky intently, then a smile lit his features. "Very well, Master Hobbit, I do see what you mean. It does seem fitting that a hobbit of such importance would share a star with Earendil!"
"I like to think that Earendil is the one sharing a star with Old Toby!" Pippin shot back. A broad smile encompassed his features, his earlier dissatisfaction forgotten.
"I'm afraid you are both wrong." A third companion joined the elf and the hobbit at the back of the group.
"What do you mean, Gimli?" Pippin asked. Legolas remained silent, his smile disappearing with the arrival of the dwarf.
"That is the glint of the knife of Azaghal as he wounds the dragon Glaurung," Gimli explained.
"Oh," Pippin said. He wished the dwarf would elaborate, maybe explain the tale of Azaghal and the dragon, but Legolas was now talking.
"Strange for a dwarf to have tales in the stars," the elf said coolly. "I have always thought that your people would keep your stories underground, where you keep everything else."
"You would be wrong, elf," Gimli replied shortly. "Dwarves have many tales in the stars."
"Such as?" the elf prompted, a note of condescendence in his voice.
"Such as that group of seven stars over in the south," Gimli retorted. "Those are the seven fathers of the dwarves, cringing under the hammer of Aule, which you can plainly see right there." Gimli gestured to a group of stars in a row.
Legolas chuckled darkly. "Nay, Master Dwarf, you are mistaken. The stars you are refereeing to are actually Luthien in her dark robe. This 'hammer' you speak of is the rope she made from her hair to escape her father's imprisonment."
"Pfmph," Gimli snorted. "You elves think you know everything."
"Only dwarvish ignorance would make you think you hold more knowledge than the elves."
Pippin sighed as the dwarf and elf continued to squabble behind him. Their fighting got so tiring sometimes!
"Bickering again?" asked a deep voice from above him. Pippin looked up to see Boromir letting Frodo pass him so he could walk with the younger hobbit.
"Yes, and no surprise!" Pippin answered, slightly startled. The man from the south had usually kept himself slightly aloof from the hobbit. This usually didn't bother Pippin too much. While Boromir certainly never seemed like a bad man, the hobbit had never felt as comfortable around him as he did Strider. However, tonight seemed a different kind of night, and he was happy to have company other than the two competing companions.
"What is it this time?" the man asked, nodding towards the elf and dwarf.
"Stars," Pippin answered simply. A thought struck him. "What is in the stars where you come from, Boromir?"
"Well, that group of stars by the tree there is the horse," the man explained. "And over there is the hunter. Do you see the curve of his bow?" Pippin nodded.
"What about that star?" the hobbit asked, pointing to the distinctive star that was the silmaril, the pipe, and the night.
A sad sort of smile cross the southern man's face. "While most of my people would consider that to be the gleam of the sun off the sword of Elendil, I see it in a different way. That star is the star my mother gave to my brother and me."
"She gave it to you?" Pippin repeated incredulously. "I never knew you could do such things!"
Boromir laughed softly. "Well, perhaps she couldn't really give it to us, but it is our star nonetheless. Whenever I look at it, I think of my brother, and of her." He chuckled again, seemingly embarrassed at revealing such a soft side. "I think of home."
"That's nice," Pippin commented. "That is wonderful. I'll have to remember that: I'm sure my sisters will be wanting a souvenir from my travels." Boromir smiled at him, but the man seemed to be lost in his thoughts. Pippin walked quietly next to him, head filled with his own thoughts. They were happier ones than those he had started his march with, though. Elbereth's handiwork had banished the anger and homesickness from his mind, and had left a quiet contentment in their place. His anger at the nighttime had drifted away, like stars when the sun rises.
It would still take a few months, however, for him to get over his annoyance with birds.
March 16 – March 17, 2004