Summary: Pippin's POV during part of the fellowship
Disclaimer: I do not own the wee hobbit or LOTR
A/N: This is only my opinion of what he might of thought. Any reviews are welcome, flames just amuse me
Pippin followed along behind the other three hobbits, not really caring where they were going, only glad that he was invited along. He often spent time with Merry reeking havoc, and getting caught, but it was all in fun and no harm came from their pranks. He however was not allowed to play with Frodo his cousin often for he was much older, and did not enjoy his antics as well. Now he was frightened and he did not wish to show his fear in front of the others lest they think him a coward. In the past days black riders had chased them, a man named Strider had taken them even further from their home, and now they were on the way to the elves for Frodo had been stabbed.
Once there Pippin thought they would journey home, and had helped Sam pack the bags. They saw frodo and saw he was healed, but they came to find out their trek this way was not quite done. Frodo was to take the ring to Mordor, the place Pippin had only heard about in scary stories. He was not going, there was no way he was going to that place. He and Merry watched the meeting from their hiding place and then Pippin watched as Merry rushed forward to join in and he could not be left behind, not again.
Struggling with each step Pippin found himself frozen to the bone, and exhausted. There was never this much snow in the Shire, and he only wanted out of it. He did not know that they would next be driven into a mine, barely escaping a monster. What waited inside the dark dwelling was even more frightening. Bodies everywhere and for once Pippin was glad it was dark to hide his tears of fear. Running after Gimli they found themselves in a room, once again filled with bodies, but also a shrine of sorts.
Everyone stood as Gimli grieved but Pippin grew nervous with nothing but death around him, and tried to occupy his thoughts. When he touched the arrow it set off a chain reaction, sending the clattering noise echoing off the walls. Everyone glared, and the wizard called him a fool. Pippin had not time to think of his decision or to let the words sink in as the room was filled with the horrible creatures Strider called orcs. His heart pounding Pippin once again drew up the blade and rushed forward, hoping he would not die, hoping his heart would not beat out of his chest.
Pippin stood in awe, in horror as Gandalf fell. The wizard was their guide, his friend for many years, always coming to the Shire to delight him since he was a child with his fireworks, and now he was gone. Pippin could not move, it was his fault. Had he not alerted the orcs that they were there Gandalf would be alive, he would still be there to guide them. Pippin did not feel Merry as he shoved him out the door, he did not notice the smell of clean air, or the wind on his face. He dropped to his knees in anguish, not ever having seen death, not ever having to watch as someone slipped from the world. He could not glance upon Frodo again for when he had the look of hopelessness overtook him and seeped every ounce of joy from his heart. He had caused this tragedy by being a fool, always doing what he should not, and even the comfort from Merry could not stave off the flow of tears. Onward they would go from this point, but Pippin would be forever scarred, no longer the innocent hobbit that left the Shire.